Yeah. Well. I was sitting unobtrusively in the corner of this pub having a think and having a quiet drink and smoking a cigarette which I had just taken up again after eleven years off them. And this guy comes up to me and says, hey, have you ever thought of doing something useful with your life?
And I say, yeah, like what?
And he says, I dunno. Get married and have kids and do something useful, instead of smoking and drinking on your own in a corner.
And I say I’ve got a wife and kids already.
And he says, well how come they’re not here or at least your wife? She might enjoy a night out.
So I stood up and socked him the biggest punch on his jaw I could muster. He fell down and I kicked him in the crotch and left.
Some people don’t know how to mind their fucking business.
At last! Helen Brown was getting a divorce. It had been a tumultuous marriage and now it was over. She was rid of her abusive, domineering, vindictive, jealous husband.
“I have been to hell and back,” announced Helen.
To celebrate, she reverted to her maiden name: Helen Back.
(Footnote: Dear Discerning Reader, Since moving house I no longer have unlimited broadband. A certain amount is paid for and allotted each month – which is needed primarily for work from home. Earlier this week, from 9 to 10.30 am on two consecutive days, when my computer wasn’t even turned on, nine GB were used up. Until this mystery of squander is solved my participation, other than daily posts, will be limited – so comments, likes, etc. from me will be minimal. Thanks. Have a nice day! Bruce)
I’m having a bit of a conundrum. Our marriage needs spicing up and I can’t decide whether to take the evening classes in pole dancing or belly dancing. Both advertisements for the courses look enticing.
The pole dancing workshops require that I have my own pole at home so I can practice. I suppose I could use the pole on the lawn that holds up the kids’ basketball hoop. The trouble is it can get a bit muddy on the lawn sometimes, especially if it has been raining. I would have to wear a pair of wellingtons or gumboots or whatever they call them. The other disadvantage is that the lawn is right next to the main road and it would be quite a spectacle for passers-by until I learnt to do it properly.
Belly dancing demands that I have my own mirror. It has to be large apparently, and I don’t think I have one big enough. Have you seen the price of mirrors these days? Couple that with the cost of paying for the ten-week lot of evening classes and I think that option has priced itself out. It’s a pity because I’ve got the veils and beads and things hidden away somewhere in a bottom drawer.
So it looks like it’ll be pole dancing. Being next to the main road might spur me on to get good at it quicker!
Oh-oh! I’ve just received a text from hubby. He says he has enrolled in evening strip-tease classes. It’s going to be an exciting ten weeks.
Brenda Clifford didn’t realize she was lonely until her television went on the blink.
Angela Charlesworth didn’t realize her marriage was on the rocks until her television went on the blink.
Geoff Craighead didn’t realize he was feeding his kids junk food until his television went on the blink.
Anthony Barlow didn’t realize he believed everything on the news until his television went on the blink.
Augusta Lorrigan didn’t realize she was drinking herself to death until her television went on the blink.
Lou Monks didn’t realize how untidy the house was until his television went on the blink.
When Rod Watson’s television went on the blink he didn’t notice anything except that his television was on the blink. He went out and bought another television and installed it before the sports game started. He bought some beer on the way home, told his wife and kids to shut up, burped, farted, and settled down for the night.
Some people can’t but help get lucky. Such was the case with Sally Ebbett. She fell in love with a Bohemian gentleman who was Count Fridrik Hasištejnský z Lobkowicz. Sally loved his accent. He was not only titled but rich. Count Fridrik Hasištejnský z Lobkowicz proposed and they were married on a Croatian mountaintop with a magnificent view. Sally wanted a lavish church wedding, but Count Fridrik Hasištejnský z Lobkowicz thought something simpler was a lot nicer. And indeed it was!
Count Fridrik Hasištejnský z Lobkowicz had a castle which Sally had never seen. It was in the hinterland and full of tapestries and servants. Sally couldn’t wait to get there, but her husband kept suggesting other plans for them to enjoy their early married life.
“It doesn’t hurt for us rich people to occasionally rough it like ordinary poor folk,” said Count Fridrik Hasištejnský z Lobkowicz. (He pronounced “poor folk” as “purr Voke”; he was so Bohemian! so disarming!) “It is easy to lose touch with reality and misplace one’s humility. A simple walk in a dark forest is more agreeable than having a servant dust your bookshelf.”
They lived for a while in a little caravan on the side of a river. Sally’s husband liked to fish. He certainly led the life of the landed gentry! Who else could afford not to work and to fish all day?
Eventually Sally got really sick of him. “I want to go to my castle and live the life of the rich,” said Sally.
But there was no castle. There was no fortune. And conman, Johnny Jones from the next village, was now floating down the river with his head decapitated by a spade.
The headline said it all, in the opinion of Mrs Angela Fergusson: MINNIE DAVIDSON MARRIES YOUNG.
I’m not at all surprised, said Mrs Angela Fergusson. When she was at school she was a ripe tart, always hanging around boys. It was as if she couldn’t get enough of it even back then, and now she’s gone and got married when she’s barely out of diapers. It disgusts me. It’ll end up in divorce for sure. These days people should wait to get married, not rush into it like they’re mature enough to know what they’re doing. But, oh no, these people have to dash madly in love and run off and buy a wedding dress. Minnie Davidson never had any values, and now she squanders what the rest of us regard as a sacred state to pamper her youthful desires.
If Mrs Angela Fergusson had bothered to read the article she would have noticed that Mr and Mrs Harry YOUNG are both in their thirties and honeymooning in the Seychelles.