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Friday 25 August 2023

Whale Oil Beef Hooked....

                                                                      



Little Suzannah was talking to her teacher about whales. The teacher said it was physically impossible for a whale to swallow a human because even though it was a very large mammal its throat was very small. Little Suzannah stated that Jonah was swallowed by a whale. Irritated, the teacher reiterated that a whale could not swallow a human; it was physically impossible. Little Suzie said, "When I get to heaven I will ask Jonah." The teacher asked, "What if Jonah went to hell?" Little Suzannah replied, "Then you ask him...."



Barmy Albert and Non-Stick Nora made a pact that whoever died first would come back and inform the other if there is sex after death. Their biggest fear was that there was no after life at all . After a long life together, Albert was the first to kick the bucket. True to his word, he made the first contact: "Nora, Nora, can you hear me?" "Is that you, Albert?" "Yes, I've come back like we agreed." "That's wonderful! What's it like?" "Well, I get up in the morning, I have sex. I have breakfast and then it's off to the golf course. I have sex again, bathe in the warm sun and then have sex a couple of more times.. Then I have lunch (and Nora, you'd be proud -- lots of greens). Another romp around the golf course, then pretty much have sex the rest of the afternoon. After supper, it's back to the golf course again. Then it's more sex until late at night. I catch some much needed sleep and then the next day it starts all over again". "Oh, Albert! Are you in Heaven?" "No -- I'm a rabbit somewhere on Wimbledon Common....."

                                      



A man who just died is delivered to the mortuary wearing an expensive andexpertly tailored black suit. The mortician asks the deceased's wife how she would like the body dressed. He points out that the man does look good in the black suit he is already wearing. The widow, however, says that she always thought her husband looked his best in blue, and that she wanted him in a blue suit. She gives the mortician a blank cheque and says, "I don't care what it costs, but please have my husband in a blue suit for the viewing." The woman returns the next day for the wake. To her delight, she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue suit with a subtle chalk stripe; the suit fits him perfectly. She says to the mortician, "Whatever this cost, I'm very satisfied. You did an excellent job and I'm very grateful. How much did you spend?" To her astonishment, the mortician presents her with the blank cheque. "There's no charge," he says. "No, really, I must compensate you for the cost of that exquisite blue suit!" she says. "Honestly, ma'am," the mortician says, "it cost nothing." "You see, a deceased gentleman of about your husband's size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday, and he was wearing an attractive blue suit. I asked his wife if she minded him going to his grave wearing a black suit instead, and she said it made no difference as long as he looked nice." "Oh, so you exchanged suits?" she asked. "No" said the Mortician "I switched heads".

                                  



Tuesday 15 August 2023

My back legs have gone!

                                                               


My back legs have gone! I have contracted the most appalling malady. I give it the moniker of A-A-A-A-A syndrome. It stands for Age Animated Attention Arrears Ataxia.


It manifests itself thus: The missus instructs me to paint the kitchenette walls. As I lurch towards the front porch, I notice that there is a brown envelope from DVLA just delivered by the Royal Mail. I open the envelope, and go through the other mail before I start painting. The ladders are in the shed. I lay the shed keys down on the hall table, put the junk mail in the waste bin underneath and notice it is overflowing. So, I decide to take out the rubbish first.


However, I think, since I’m going to be near the shed when I take out the waste, I may as well get the ladders out, in readiness. I snaffle the shed keys off the table, and notice that they are actually my car keys. The notice from the DVLA reminds me that it needs taxing. Moreover, the shed key is on a hook in the utility room, so I go upstairs to my study and on my desk, I find an unopened bottle of ale that I was going to drink last night. I’m logging on to the DVLA website to tax the car. But first I need to push the beer bottle aside so that I don’t accidentally knock it over. I see that the beer is warm, and I decide I should put it in the refrigerator to maintain the temperature, because warm lager is undrinkable.


As I totter towards the scullery with the Carlsberg, a wilting potted plant on the dining room table attracts my attention – it needs to be watered. I plonk the bottle down on the kitchenette worktop, and discover my reading glasses that I’ve been searching for all morning. I reckon that I’d better put them back on my desk, but first I’m going to water the arid aspidistra. I set the spectacles back down on the worktop and endeavour to fill a jug with water, when I spot the TV remote control nestling by the bread crock.


I decide to put it back in the living room where it belongs, but first I’ll water the plant. I splash some water on the aspidistra, but most of it spills on the mahogany table. So, I put the TV remote back down, get some paper towel and wipe up the spillage. Then I head off down the front path, trying to remember exactly what I was planning to do.


At the end of the day: the car isn’t taxed, the kitchen remains undecorated, there is a warm bottle of pilsner languishing on the dining table, the aspidistra is well deceased, I can’t find the TV remote, my reading specs are on the missing list. I cannot recollect what I've done with the car keys. I try to figure out why nowt has got done today, It’s been hectic all day long, and I’m really knackered. I realise this is a serious problem, but I must remember to put the wheelie bin out tonight, because it’s Wednesday… or is it Thursday today?

When your dog has eaten your philosophy homework...

Beer. Resistance is futile!

                    


I never drink beer on a Monday,
Cos Monday's the day fer mi health
An' the wife's got me countin' them units,
I've just got to take care o' miself
So I merely have wine wi' mi supper,
An' just the one litre OK?
Then a rather large rum in mi coffee
An' I calls that mi sensible day


I never drink wine on a Tuesday,
Cos Tuesday's mi weightwatchin' club
It's the day when I eat nowt but cabbage,
The day I don't go much fer grub
Now a diet demands plenty fluid,
Summat light an' completely fat-free
So I've chosen that strong German lager
An' I just have five pints wi' mi tea


I never drink lager on Wednesday,
Cos Wednesday's the day fer mi jog
It's tracksuit an' trainers at mid-day
Then I'm off up the road wi' the dog
First stop's at the Globe fer some Guinness,
Three swift ones'll get me to grips
Then I carry on round to The Shepherds
Fer three more an' a burger an' chips
I make sure that I'm suitably rested,
Then I sprint back to our garden wall
In a time of under twelve minutes,
An' it's four 'undred metres an' all


I never drink Guinness on Thursday,
Cos Thursday's mi day to relax
I likes to sit out in t' back garden
In mi brown zip-up cardie an slacks
After lunch I might stroll by the river,
Breeze in at the Fisherman's Drop
Where I lounge on the terrace all lordly,
Sippin' shandy, but beawt any pop
Then cos I've been good through the day like,
She'll allow me to waver a smidge
So mi evenin's spent watchin' the footy
Wi' a few packs o' Boddies from t' fridge.


I never drink Boddies on Friday,
Cos Friday's mi night on the razz
An' we meet in The Firkin at seven,
Owd Nodger an' me an' Fat Baz
Oh The Firkin's a beer-drinker's heaven,
Wi' fifteen real ales from the jug
An' we start wi' the ones in the tap-room
An' we works our way round to the snug
By midnight we're all talkin' gubbins
An' we're off fer a curry up town
But there's summat not reyt about curry
Cos I never seem t' keep the stuff down
We 'ave a good laugh wi' the waiters,
An' Baz moons his bum fer a joke
Then I'm home fer a nightful o' passion,
Cos I'm known as a passionate bloke.


I never do much on a Sat'day,
Cos Sat'day's mi time fer a think
Cos me an' the wife are not speakin' today,
I'm a drunken, fat pig an' I stink
So I sit near the lavvie pretendin'
That really I'm feelin' just great
But I'm goin' right off that Indian food
If it leaves me in this bloody state
It's later I make the decision,
On my forty-third trip to the bog
There's only one thing cures an upset like this
An' they call it the 'air o' the dog
I ring Nodge an' Baz on mi mobile
An' both of 'ems likewise in pain
So we're back in The Firkin at quarter-past-six
An' we do it all over again.


I never say Firkin on Sunday,
Cos Sunday's mi day to repent
I'm ashamed of all o' that boozin' I've done
An' all o that money I've spent
I begs the wife fer forgiveness
An' I promise I'll alter mi ways
An' she gives me a kiss an' a cuddle,
Like she did in our newly-wed days
We watch Songs of Praise on the telly,
Then a nice pot o' tea an' some cakes
An' I swear now I've climbed up the ladders,
I'll never slide down any snakes
But it's borin' on telly on Sunday,
An' I can't say I'm ever impressed
So I 'ave a walk out round the village
An' stop off at the Collier's Rest
Now the beer's a bit crap in The Collier's
So I leave an' pop round to The Swan
Where I flatten a shed-load o' Tetley's
An' I'm bloody well back to square one!