Tag Archives: Humour

Post No.18: In which Johnny gets his comeuppance

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Hello again

I must start with a word of warning that some of this may contain naughty words or terms that some people may find a bit much. I’m not into gratuitous profanity but sometimes it just has to go in.

Don’t you think it’s funny that some of the best-selling songs are all about heartbreak and abandonment. You know the sort of stuff, Without You by Nilsen or Love Don’t Live Here Any More by Rose Royce. Personally I’d rather not be reminded what an un-loveable wanker I really am, never mind spending all my pocket-money on a depressing 45.

Anyway if you can’t beat em join em, so here’s Johnny with a sad story in a similar vein called:

I Think My Missus Has Left Me

LEFT

I think my missus has left me
I haven’t seen her for a bit
The wardrobe’s looking empty
And the oven is covered in shit

She’s been doing a lot on facebook
Acting all secretive and sinister
And the last time we had a good fuck
Tony Blair was still Prime Minister

She’s lost a lot of weight
At first I thought it was cancer
And she’s been texting her new mate
Some poncy ballroom dancer

She’s spent a lot on botox
And quite a bit on clothes
Like skimpy tops and short frocks
She’s got an earring through her nose

I guess I should have noticed
That things were getting iffy
But most of the time I’m half pissed
And she is permanently squiffy

The gap between us in bed
Has grown into a chasm
She lies there like she’s dead
And can’t be arsed to fake orgasms

I think I know the final straw
The event that made her leave
When we were coming home in the car
She was as silent as the grave

That’s what made her scoot
To take off without warning
We’d been to the car boot
A week last Sunday morning

I’d bought a rusty chisel
I think she’d got a book
Then it began to drizzle
And she started to moan like fuck

She said now it’s bloody raining
And you haven’t brought a brolly
I said I wish you’d stop complaining
Fat girls are supposed to be jolly

So now I sit here on my own
Hoist by my own petard
What’s that sticking out under the phone
It looks like a message card

It says don’t even try to find me
I’m off to live with Doug
I’m leaving this shite behind me
And we’re going to run a pub

Yes people think he’s poncy
But he knows how to treat a lady
And he sleeps in a tiger print onesie
But at least he’s not dark and shady

He makes me feel prettier and thinner
And you’re a miserable thoughtless twat
And if you’re looking for your dinner
It’s in the fucking cat

Well I ask You

Post No. 17 in which things go from bad to verse

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Hello. I’m back

Those 2b leads were a long time coming. I’ll have to find a shop a bit closer to home.

In times of domestic upheaval and malcontent, I’ve always found it best to get your revenge in first. Although this is a hollow and short-lived victory, inevitably followed by total annihilation, it can offer a shred of comfort to a no-win situation.

So without further ado, here’s one called:

My Wife

 

WIFE

 

My wife’s a lazy bastard

She never does a tap

And now I think she’s mastered

The twenty four hour nap

I’m looking at her now

Snoozing in a chair

A half eaten doughnut on her lap

And greasy matted hair

She’s a mistress of inaction

The children think she’s dead

But I’m sure I saw a reaction

When a fruit gum hit her head

The ironing’s piled up six feet high

The sink is full of pots

The kids are chasing round after a fly

And they’re caked in grime and snot

The carpet needs a hoover

The cupboards are bare of essentials

But she’s just out to prove her

Feminist credentials

It’s a classic case of brinkmanship

It’s her or else it’s me

The house is like a fucking tip

And I’d love a cup of tea

The bedrooms could do with fettle

But who’ll be blinking first

What? Me fill up the kettle?

I’d rather die of thirst

 

Well there you go.

Please don’t think me bitter or sexist. I know I’m just as bad and like I said, hollow and short-lived followed by crushing defeat (more of which next time).

Post 14: In which Johnny goes shopping

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Hello again

Here’s another one.

This one’s about toys and it’s imaginatively titled:

Toys R Us

toys

I’ve just made a trip to Toys R Us
The car’s not taxed so I went on the bus
A bit cautious I hear some of you say
But I tell you, you can’t be too careful these days
And I don’t want some nosey busy bod
Texting my details off to the plod

 After what seemed to me like an endless trek
I was met by a twenty foot poster of Shrek
Inside the door there was one even bigger
And I threaded my way to the action figures
The aisle was untidy, in fact it was messy
I tripped over boxes of Woody and Jessie

 I’m looking for something I can afford
My son wants a Retrofire Megazord
I find one on the second shelf
It’s not something I’d have picked myself
Fifteen quid! My eyelids bat
For a lump of gaudy plastic tat
It looks like it could have somebody’s eye it
Says age 4+ so like a twat I buy it

Now I’m wondering if this is this the worst toy ever
Recommended age? It should say never

 I started to trawl through rest of the junk
There’s a Randy Orton and a CM Punk
At a tenner a pop it’s plenty to pay
And to be honest these wrestlers all look a bit gay

There’s Transformers and Mega Blocs Daleks and Droids
I feel like I’m staring out into the void
I stand there and squint I take my specs from my jacket
Unpronounceable names in unopenable packets
That new range from Lego’s a bit hit and miss
But the guys from Bakugan are taking the piss
Ziperators in green, Zukanators in red
This stuff was conceived in an idiot’s head

I spotted a guy in a Toys R Us hat
I shouted him over, said what the fuck’s that?
He said I think it’s some plastic they spilled on the floor
And they’ve called it a Dragonoid Battle Star

There’s a bin full of discounted Pokemen
Star Wars figures and one from Ben 10
Benwolf his alien mate with five legs
The question then gets on it’s knees and it begs

 Why do our children like all this shite
And how do the marketers sleep well at night.
Would kids really believe that the world was in danger
If we melted down their Power Rangers
And whatever happened to Grandads in sheds
Knocking out scooters and cute doll’s house beds

 Later that evening I got a bit bored
And started to play with my boy’s Megazord
As I sat there I developed a plan
A fight to the death with my own Action Man.

Well that’s that for now.

Back soon with some more tripe about a radio phone in show.

National Poetry Writing Month : Poem 3

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Well its day 3 and I must admit I never thought I’d get this far.

The days are getting longer and the poems are getting shorter.

Here’s one called:

Korean up the Apocalypse

 

Kim Jong-il
Kim Jong very-il
Kim Jong die
Millions cry
Kim Jong’s son
Kim Jong-un
Mega-tons
Mushroom clouds
Shops have no food
They only sell shrouds
He could be thinner
He looks like a boy who enjoys his dinner

Will we make it to day 4?  Not at this rate

National Poetry Writing Month : Poem 1

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Hello

I’ve just heard about something called National Poetry Writing Month where you have to write a poem a day for all of April.  I don’t really know how this works so I’ll just shove some stuff in and see what happens.

I’m a day late starting and probably have no chance of keeping it up but here goes anyway.

We’ll kick off with a heart-rending little number called :

The Saddest Sound

I’ve heard the toll of a solitary bell
The cries of a kitten stuck down a well
My little girl with a poorly tummy
A baby whale that’s lost its mummy
The heart-breaking strains of someone sobbing
The screech when a cat got hold of a robin
The voice of a lover saying goodbye
The haunting howl of a lone wolf’s cry
A tearful toddler that’s over-tired
I’ve heard my boss tell me you’re fired
A favourite band’s new song with something lacking
The thin ice I’m walking on creaking and cracking
A drunk lamenting a wasted life
Silence from an angry wife
A wallflower weeping after the ball
But really the saddest sound of all
The one that stops me dead in my tracks
Is the sound of a pound in an auto vac

Well that’s the first one. Better get off and do another to try and catch up.

Post No. 5 (in which Johnny misunderstands a policeman)

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Hello Peeps.

No preamble or disjointed ramble today.

Just a shorty called….

Stopped by a Cop

 

I got stopped by a cop the other day
He said I’d driven through a red
He said where are you going anyway
I said I’m going home to bed
He said I haven’t got my breathalyzer gear
It’s at the station with my stab proof vest
But I suspect that you have had a beer
So you can do a little test
Walk down the road as far as those lights
And keep to a straight line
I reckon you’ve had at least five pints
You’ll get a ban and a fuck-off fine
I set off he said what’s your name
I said John, what’s yours he said Ralph
He shouted out You’re staggering
I said thanks… you’re quite handsome yourself

Back soon with some more stuff

 

Post No. 3 (in which Johnny comes across Ricky Gervais in Pizza Hut)

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Is it post No.3 already? Doesn’t time fly when you’re sat around in your underpants all day blogging.

We still haven’t got many readers but a big thanks to our followers and likers so far. I’m not sure how to get more readers but one thing that was mentioned was to put a lot of stuff out , so over the next week or so we will probably be going all in as they say in poker. And why not? If nobody likes it after that at least I won’t have to write any more of this shite enlightening doggerel.
Before we start a word of warning there may be some language or terms that some people may find offensive in today’s post but we hope that you will take it in the context that it is written.

Neil Armstrong is the definitive moon man. Buzz gets his rightful place in history but only because he was there as well, and because he is called Buzz. Poor old Mike Collins was like the designated driver who couldn’t find a parking space and had to keep going round the inner ring road while his mates were getting off their tits on moon dust.
But who were the others? The third, the fourth, the tenth?
Nobody knows, unless they are swotting up to go on The Chase, and nobody cares because their journeys were pointless. Some might say money wasting vanity. In this instance the first is the only one that matters and the only one that was necessary.
Somebody had to get there to prove it could be done. When they did get there they found, much like Eastbourne, that there was fuck all to do apart from kick a few stones about. Because they’d bought an eight-hour ticket for the Eagle they had to hang around longer than they wanted to get their money’s-worth.
The flag was planted, the feat accomplished. No one could better Armstrong, not even the guy sat next to him could equal him. Nothing more to do, nothing much to see. Leave it now. It’s done. Next stop Mars, though God only knows why.

Which brings us in a very round-about way to today’s topic…

Just as keenly contested as the race to be the first man on the moon, was that to be the first comedian to say cunt on prime time television.
Step forward Larry David.
I don’t know if Larry was the first but, like Armstrong, his was the definitive one.  Larry David took the c-word and smashed it out of the ground in his brilliant Obituary Typo episode. That showed ’em. Can’t be bettered, can’t be equalled, leave it now. It’s done.
 Disconnected profanity has been sent to bed, it’s no longer shocking or funny, if it ever was. The heroic comedians now have to take things even further in their quest to reach the final frontier of taste, to break down the barriers on our behalf and of most importance to them, to impress their mates. But I can’t help thinking that a lot of them are picking their opponents / victims with the skill of  Don King plotting a no-hoper’s path to a world title bout.  Only difference is for them there’s no final showdown where they get left on their arse while someone else skidaddles with the purse. They’re not that stupid and certainly not that brave.

Blimey, that was a bit of a long-winded prelude to today’s proceedings.

Anyway you can all relax now because here’s Johnny with….

Ricky Gervais

What is it with Ricky Gervais
Him who does the comedy and movies and plays
I saw him out the other night
In Pizza Hut with some acolytes
The tall one with glasses said something funny
And Rick made that face like a speed freaking bunny
He looked a bit scruffy in an old black t-shirt
When they came in I was on my dessert
I was having some of those Chill Company chocs
And I thought put that bunny back in the box

I watched as the waitress arrived with their pizzas
They got three chicken sizzlers and one margherita
Oh and one of them had ordered a supreme veggie
Then Ricky said Wossy loves me when I’m edgy
He does that smirk when I’m controversial
But it fucks up my chances of doing commercials

They ate half their pizzas then stopped for a rest
And Ricky sat back and he puffed out his chest
It’s all about free speech I’m righting a wrong
Then I heard him say retard and spazzer and mong

Well Rick’s little gang they just fell about laughing
The Pizza Hut manager brought all his staff in
He stood them arranged like some heavenly throng
To hear Ricky say retard and spazzer and mong

I swear soon there were fifty around his table
While he searched for more words to mock the disabled
And as they clapped their hands and egged him on
Louder came retard and spazzer and mong

There were people with camera phones wedged in the door
One girl laughed so much that she pissed on the floor
There’s only one Ricky! They’d started a song
As he screamed at them retard and spazzer and mong

He was stood on the table now giving his best
Some of the fuckers were shouting requests
It was then that I saw this geezer approach
Shaven head and a crombie coat
He was carrying a bottle of Peroni beer
And he whispered something in Ricky’s ear
Ricky’s chubby face turned red
And he held two fingers like a gun to his head

As this fellow walked away
I pulled him and said to him what did you say
To make Ricky so visibly nervous and pensive
He said it was something no more and no less offensive
I said if you’re such an outspoken and fearless bloke
Then fuck it why don’t you just go for broke
Then I asked him to say chinky and paki and nigger
But he wouldn’t because some of those guys are much bigger
Bigger and stronger and tougher than him
And he’s shitting himself about getting filled in
And I said your disabled stuff’s good but if you’re wanting to top it
What about having a pop at the Prophet

He said as far as requests go mine got rejected
But it proves beyond doubt that just as I suspected
Ricky’s campaign for the freedom to speak
Is just an excuse to make fun of the weak.

Well that’s it for this one. Tune in next time so see what our pessimistic poet has been up to this week.