I think it's ridiculous that some morons are letting off fireworks in September. My cat was so scared it ran straight up the Christmas tree.
Non-Stick Nora sends a text to Barmy Albert: “Albert, could you stop off at the local Co-op and get a loaf and some milk on your way home from work. Oh, and your girlfriend Cynthia has phoned.”
Albert replied: “Who's Cynthia?” Nora sez: “Nobody, I just made it up, because I wanted to ensure that you read my text.” Albert curtly announced: "Okay, I’m with Cynthia right now, I thought you spotted us?” Nora opined: “Eh! What! Where abouts are you?” Albert: “Near the local Co-op shop.”
Nora screamed: “Wait there! Don’t you move! I’m coming over there right now!” After ten minutes elapsed, Nora phones Albert and shouts: “I’m at the Co-op now. Where are you?” Barmy Albert replied: “I’m at still at work. But now that you’re at the Co-op yourself, get a loaf and some milk.”
Ever since I was a child, I've always had a morbid fear of thinking that there was a ‘bogey-man’ under my bed at night. So, I went to see a psychiatrist to seek learned counselling on this underlying issue. I told him: “I've got severe problems. Every time I go to bed, I think there's somebody under it. I'm frightened and I think I'm going bananas.” “Just put your good self in my hands for twelve months,” said the shrink. “Come talk to me three times a week and we should be able to rid you of those fears...” “How much do you charge?” “£120 plus VAT per appointment,” replied the doctor. “I'll sleep on it,” I sez. Six months later, I bumped into the doctor on the High Street. “Why didn't you come to see me about those fears you were having?” he asked. “Well, at £120 quid plus VAT per visit, multiplied by three times a week, for a whole year is an awful lot of moolah! The barman in my local pub, The Pitt Bull and Stanley knife cured me for nothing. I was so happy to have saved all that money, that I went and bought myself a new Land Rover Evoque!” “Is that right!” With a bit of an attitude, he replied: “And how, may I ask, did a mere bar person cure you?” “He told me to cut the legs off the bed! - Ain't anybody under there now!”
I’ve joined a wine club. We meet in the park at 8am. See ya there! Fetch a bottle!
They reckon (whoever ‘they‘are) that in the very near future, Blackpool is to undergo radical change and will become a sophisticated gambling oasis, comparable only to Las Vegas. I can’t see it. We just don’t do things as slick as the Yanks here, so there will be notable differences. For example, in Vegas, because so many people have heart attacks, the big high-class casinos are now equipped with elaborate defibrillators. They are computer-controlled to deliver the precise level of electric shock needed to revive a heart attack victim. Whereas, if you were in Blackpool they’d just probably drag you across the nylon carpet and touch your finger to the faux brass door knob. It’s like Neil Armstrong’s first words when he landed on the moon. "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind". You wouldn’t hear such profound metaphors from a resident of the northern hemisphere of the United Kingdom. If a Yorkshire lad landed on the moon, he’d survey his surroundings and say summat like: "There’s no way a cow jumped over this!" We are not cultural bedfellows at all – we never will be. We’re incompatible. I remember when they built a Disney world in Tokyo. It was the only place in the whole world, where everyone was too small to go on the rides. The only comparison to Vegas in Blackpool would be that you could get sex in return for chips!
In a rare moment of reflection, the missus sez to me: “Do what you love and the money will follow.” So, when she went to work, I ordered a 12inch pepperoni and mushroom pizza, drank a half bottle of fine Argentinean Malbec, had a bet on a horse called Chunky Monkey that was running in the 2-30 at Haydock, followed by a snooze in the afternoon and then took lots of selfies with all my dogs. Now I wait....
My mate Dave has been ill in bed for the past couple of weeks, so I went around yesterday and took some DVD’s and a bottle of Argentinian Malbec. Fingers crossed he won't notice they're gone....
Wit is often a mask. If you could peer behind its gossamer façade, you would find either genius meandering or chutzpah sauntering. That’s why you should never let your mind wander. Summat that small shouldn’t be out on its own. Nurse, fetch the screens! Visit my website: www.ComedianUK.com or email me:comedianuk@sky.com
Albert replied: “Who's Cynthia?” Nora sez: “Nobody, I just made it up, because I wanted to ensure that you read my text.” Albert curtly announced: "Okay, I’m with Cynthia right now, I thought you spotted us?” Nora opined: “Eh! What! Where abouts are you?” Albert: “Near the local Co-op shop.”
Nora screamed: “Wait there! Don’t you move! I’m coming over there right now!” After ten minutes elapsed, Nora phones Albert and shouts: “I’m at the Co-op now. Where are you?” Barmy Albert replied: “I’m at still at work. But now that you’re at the Co-op yourself, get a loaf and some milk.”
Ever since I was a child, I've always had a morbid fear of thinking that there was a ‘bogey-man’ under my bed at night. So, I went to see a psychiatrist to seek learned counselling on this underlying issue. I told him: “I've got severe problems. Every time I go to bed, I think there's somebody under it. I'm frightened and I think I'm going bananas.” “Just put your good self in my hands for twelve months,” said the shrink. “Come talk to me three times a week and we should be able to rid you of those fears...” “How much do you charge?” “£120 plus VAT per appointment,” replied the doctor. “I'll sleep on it,” I sez. Six months later, I bumped into the doctor on the High Street. “Why didn't you come to see me about those fears you were having?” he asked. “Well, at £120 quid plus VAT per visit, multiplied by three times a week, for a whole year is an awful lot of moolah! The barman in my local pub, The Pitt Bull and Stanley knife cured me for nothing. I was so happy to have saved all that money, that I went and bought myself a new Land Rover Evoque!” “Is that right!” With a bit of an attitude, he replied: “And how, may I ask, did a mere bar person cure you?” “He told me to cut the legs off the bed! - Ain't anybody under there now!”
I’ve joined a wine club. We meet in the park at 8am. See ya there! Fetch a bottle!
They reckon (whoever ‘they‘are) that in the very near future, Blackpool is to undergo radical change and will become a sophisticated gambling oasis, comparable only to Las Vegas. I can’t see it. We just don’t do things as slick as the Yanks here, so there will be notable differences. For example, in Vegas, because so many people have heart attacks, the big high-class casinos are now equipped with elaborate defibrillators. They are computer-controlled to deliver the precise level of electric shock needed to revive a heart attack victim. Whereas, if you were in Blackpool they’d just probably drag you across the nylon carpet and touch your finger to the faux brass door knob. It’s like Neil Armstrong’s first words when he landed on the moon. "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind". You wouldn’t hear such profound metaphors from a resident of the northern hemisphere of the United Kingdom. If a Yorkshire lad landed on the moon, he’d survey his surroundings and say summat like: "There’s no way a cow jumped over this!" We are not cultural bedfellows at all – we never will be. We’re incompatible. I remember when they built a Disney world in Tokyo. It was the only place in the whole world, where everyone was too small to go on the rides. The only comparison to Vegas in Blackpool would be that you could get sex in return for chips!
In a rare moment of reflection, the missus sez to me: “Do what you love and the money will follow.” So, when she went to work, I ordered a 12inch pepperoni and mushroom pizza, drank a half bottle of fine Argentinean Malbec, had a bet on a horse called Chunky Monkey that was running in the 2-30 at Haydock, followed by a snooze in the afternoon and then took lots of selfies with all my dogs. Now I wait....
My mate Dave has been ill in bed for the past couple of weeks, so I went around yesterday and took some DVD’s and a bottle of Argentinian Malbec. Fingers crossed he won't notice they're gone....
Wit is often a mask. If you could peer behind its gossamer façade, you would find either genius meandering or chutzpah sauntering. That’s why you should never let your mind wander. Summat that small shouldn’t be out on its own. Nurse, fetch the screens! Visit my website: www.ComedianUK.com or email me:comedianuk@sky.com
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