Tag Archives: car

1278. Yes, Sir

“The thing is,” said Dad… He was driving along in the car.

“The thing is,” said Dad… He was teaching his three kids in the back seat how to survive in this dog-eat-dog world. Mother was happily dozing.

“The thing is,” said Dad, “if you’re stopped by a traffic cop for speeding or something, just call them ‘Sir’. They like that. They’ll give you a warning and tell you to drive on safely. It works every time. Just call them ‘Sir’ – they’re as thick as a mud in a Washington swamp.”

“What’s this? Why am I getting pulled over by a cop? Kids, here’s your chance to see how what I said works.”

“Good afternoon, SIR.”

“You were speeding. Doing 70 in a 50 area.“

“Oh but, SIR, it’s Sunday and there’s little traffic about.”

“That makes no difference. Here’s your fine.”

The cop got in his car and drove off.

“Kiddies,” said Mother, now awake, “I want you to block your ears. Daddy’s about to say something you shouldn’t hear.”

985. Fat, tasteless, and a sore loser

985car

When Tristan entered a competition to win a car, he was pretty sure he’d be in the running to win. You had to say in seven words something clever about a certain brand of king-sized chocolate bar. Tristan knew he’d come up with an unbeatable seven words.

Anyway, Cesaria, the fat lady from down the road, won the car. She was a great big fat lady, and Tristan wasn’t surprised she’d won because she was so fat she looked like she’d been eating nothing but king-sized chocolate bars for half a century.

There was a choice of colour when it came to the car, and Cesaria picked the yellow one. It was bright yellow; sort of the colour of baby’s poo. How tasteless. Cesaria wasn’t just fat, fat, fat; she also had no taste; no aesthetic sense whatsoever.

She said in an interview that she’d entered competitions for years and never won anything before. Sore loser. Tristan hated sore losers. She was fat, tasteless, and a sore loser. Tristan hated her guts.

946. Harriet’s car

946car

Harriet had been a widow for quite a number of years, and still had the same old car as when her husband died. It was getting on a bit and seemed to still go well, but she knew as much about cars as a blow fly. When an advertisement in the paper said the local car company was doing trade-ins, Harriet thought “Why not?” and drove off to the car place.

A young man approached her, and she asked how much would she get off the price of a new car by trading in this old one? The lovely young man said he’d need to take it for a quick spin around the block, to ascertain its worth. So he jumped in and took off.

And he never came back.

909. Kissing in the front seat

909front

Come on, baby. Get over into the back seat.

Nah, I don’t want to.

(Smooch. Smooch). Come on, baby. Get over into the back seat.

Nah. I don’t want to.

(Smooch. Smooch). Come on, baby. Get over into the back seat.

Nah. I don’t want to.

Why not?

‘Cos I want to be with you.