I wager that Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor is definitely sweating now! After being arrested on his 66th birthday, he mistakenly assumed that the female police officer was a kissogram! The King has made arrangements for alternative accommodation for him. However, whether Wormwood Scrubs has adequate stable facilities, or they serve a smoked salmon and caviar hors-d'œuvre before one's main course, still remains unanswered. He also needed to know if a butler and valet would be appointed, and if it gets cold, will they put another bar on?
So, this unkempt, scruffy bloke saunters into Scropton Street Hardware Shop and asks the proprietor, Chester Draws, for a bottle of methylated spirits. Chester refuses to serve him and tells him in no uncertain terms: “I know your type! You’ll get the meths and take it outside and sit on my doorstep and drink it and make a right mess, and I’m the poor unfortunate mug who has to clean it all up! No. Get out. I’m not serving you!” The unkempt bloke is most upset by this tirade of abuse and tells Chester that he’s been to rehab and received counselling, and he’s on the straight and narrow now. He’s got his own bedsit that he plans to paint and decorate, and he only wants the methylated spirits to clean his brushes. Chester Draws is totally embarrassed by his incandescent outburst; he apologises profusely and gets a bottle of meths and sez to the guy: “I’m truly sorry for my comments. Here you are. That’ll be £2.64 please.” The scruffy geezer gazed at Chester with a saturnine grimace and asked: “Have you not got a cold one?”
"Do you really have to lick the knife?" a woman asked the man standing next to her. “Whoops! Sorry! Force of habit," he answered, laughing like a drain. "Lots of people do it though, don't they?" "Yes," she replied, "but not during surgery, doctor."
The missus curtly informed me that to have a tranquil home, we have to leave our problems at the door. Now she’s mad at me for locking her out! That’s when the fight started!
At Scropton Street High School, the sarcastic teacher asked the class: “If there are any total morons in the room, please stand up.” After a long pause, young Woody Eckerslyke rose to his feet. “Now then, young Woody. Why do you consider yourself to be a total moron?” With all the decorum that he could rally, Woody replied: “Well, I don’t. But I hate to see you standing up there all by yourself!”
Non-Stick Nora was speeding in her little red Ford Focus when a blonde police officer pulled her over on the M67. The efficient policewoman asked Nora for her driving licence. Nora rummaged through her handbag and became quite agitated. “What does it look like?” she finally asked. The officer replied: “It’s oblong and has your photograph on it.” Nora discovered a small mirror in her handbag and duly handed it over. “Here it is.” She exclaimed. The blonde officer looked at it the mirror and sez: “Okay, you can go. I didn’t realise you were a police officer…”
I very nearly got run over by a council salt-spreading lorry last night. I remonstrated by shouting: “You absolute idiot!” Albeit through gritted teeth.
A bloke who took British Airways to court because they mislaid his luggage has lost his case. Whereas, a neurotic friend of mine left some emotional baggage on an aeroplane. It caused a massive insecurity alert...
In life, there are only two things to worry about: whether you are in fine fettle or you are poorly sick. If you're fit, fine, wonderful & well, then there's nowt whatsoever to worry about. If your back legs have gone, there are only two things to worry about: whether you will get better or whether you'll turn your toes up. If you get better, there's nothing to worry about whatsoever. If you're going to snuff it, you have only two things to worry about: whether you go to heaven or whether you go to hell. If you go to heaven, you have nothing to worry about. If you arrive in hell, you'll meet all your mates from The Pitt Bull and Stanley Knife there, you'll feel very much at home, so why worry?
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