Tag Archives: Humour

Post No.18: In which Johnny gets his comeuppance


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


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


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




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


Hello again

Here’s another one.

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

Toys R Us


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


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
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



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)


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)


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.

Post No. 2 (in which Johnny’s friend tries to get the economy going)


Any new readers, which is virtually everybody, may want to check out the first post before reading this one and if that doesn’t put you off  feel free to continue.

Well here we are again with post No.2 from the chronicles of our languid lyricist Johnny Clithero.

The stats so far are very bad in that hardly anyone has looked at the first post. I see there is a section called Freshly Pressed for the most popular blogs so what about one called Freshly Depressed for those that no fucker is interested in. 

Having said that, special thanks go to Patrick from Canada and Brice from the US of A for being our only viewers up to now. I hope some of the English colloquw  colloquil  lingo doesn’t phase you too much and can assure you that when the hits hit the millions and the books and TV series are out, you won’t be forgotten and will be lauded as heroes of the Clithero Corporation.
Alternatively you may be the only people who ever see this crap work of literary and artistic genius.
Either way we go on. This country and it’s people did not get where we are today by refusing to blindly and enthusiastically follow a failing strategy.

So here’s today’s topic..

Don’t you find it funny that politicians, bankers and other disparate glitterati can get away with all sorts of stuff while if the ordinary bloke tries to do exactly the same, the full weight of the law comes crashing down on his sorry bonce.
This anomaly first occurred to me many years ago when I asked my dad how come Freddie Laker was driving away from the bankruptcy court in a brand new Rolls Royce. For this I got a sharp clip round the ear. I don’t know why, it’s just how things were back then.
Anyway, enough of the chit-chat, here Johnny relates how his friend came unstuck by trying to ape his betters when attempting to add some impetus to the flagging economy in…

Quantitative Easing

My mate got done for forgery
He printed twenties tens and fives
He spread them round the pubs of Leeds
The nice ones and the dives
He says he’d have got away with it
But his picture of the Queen
Was taken from the internet
And looked more like Mr Bean

He’d look for places full of folks
Loud and dimly lit
Then he and a pair of other blokes
Would pass the counterfeit
It was in one such place last friday night
While he was waiting for his change
The barman caught a tenner in the light
And noticed something strange

Here he said see this Queen’s head
It looks like him from off  Blackadder
And that’s not a hummingbird on the back
It’s a budgie on a ladder

Well my mate he turned round on his feet
And he legged it good and proper
He’d hardly made it to the street
When he was tackled by a copper
His head was spinning from the blows
He heard the handcuffs click
With blood and snot running from his nose
He was carted to the nick

In these parts they won’t let things lie
And in less than just a week
He was standing in his suit and tie
Up before the beak
The judge addressed his solicitor
Who was cheap and quite unkempt
He looked at him for ten seconds or more
Then he spat out with contempt

There’s too much of this type of thing of late
It’s disruptive and displeasing

But m’lud my client merely states
He was quantitative easing.

Five years said the Judge as he banged his hammer
With some off for good behaviour
The brief looked up and he said with a stammer
S-s-sorry I couldn’t s-s-save yer

I’m getting out of this bloody game
Said my mate as he wiped his eyes
The judge said you’ve only yourself to blame
You should be more precise.


Well that’s it for this one boys and girls, I’m going to hit the publish button and see what happens.

Coming Next on The Chronicles of Clithero

Read what happens when Johnny encounters a gobshite celebrity in Pizza Hut

This will be out as soon as we get a drawing done (could do with resurrecting William Hogarth for this one) and as soon as I learn how to work this blogging a bit better.


Welcome to the Chronicles of Clithero


The musings of our hero Johnny Clithero in approximately rhyming couplets or something.

Described as an “ordinary man for ordinary times” Johnny has decided to share his every day carryings on with the world at large. From the mundane, such as catching the bus to TK Max and his run ins with the police, to his interactions with star studded celebrities, super models and rich fuckers.

At this stage we should have warned you that there might be a bit of language flying about here an there and the odd phrase that one or two people may find offensive. We can assure you that this is all in context and in most part he’s only repeating what he heard. And there’s not much in this one anyway.
 Also he’s not much on punctuation so has more or less dispensed with it but it should be easy enough to follow.

Anyway let’s get on with the first post in which he recounts a terrifying encounter with the Olympic Legacy in…

Thanks a Lot Nicola Adams



I got in from the pub the other night
I might have been a little late
I got quite a start when I switched on the light
It was my missus lying in wait.
I said what are you doing stood there love
You really made me jump
Why have you cut the strings on your oven gloves
And where did you get those pumps.

She said I’m sick of you always coming home pissed
And she took a quick step forward
She threw a left that luckily missed
And broke the corner cupboard.
I said I know I’m late but why the aggression
Don’t you want to hear my explanation
She just gave me a stare and answered the question
With a left right combination.

We got in a clinch she punched my back
I tried to cop a feel
She had this gum shield with a union jack
That she’d made from orange peel.
She said get your hands off my arse you snake
From now on you’re going to do as instructed
And when I say break you’d better break
Or you’ll get some points deducted.

She said I’ll knock thee to Ilkley moor baht bloody tat
As she launched another flurry
I thought hold on a bit why’s she talking like that
She was born and raised in Surrey

I tried to cover as best I could
But she jabbed her way through my guard
Then one in the ribs with a mighty thud
God that bugger was hard
You’ll cause an injury, at my age even death
I thought it best to warn her
As I sank to my knees and struggled for breath
She went and stood in the corner.

She said don’t say nothing you’ll only lie
You’ve always been bloody shifty
I watched her footwork through one good eye
It was really rather nifty.

I got one on the nose, one on the chin
Two heart stopping body shots
She said that’s for not taking out the bin
And for leaving a sink full of pots
A right cross, a jab then a couple of hooks
She was trying to stove my head in
And that’s for chatting up Karen Brooks
At our Samantha’s wedding.

Now the coup de grace a one two three
I did my best to swerve it
Now you probably feel a bit sorry for me
But in some ways I deserve it
I’m not so attentive at the best of times
I can be a selfish lazy bastard
And like she said at the start of this rhyme
I often come home plastered
I’m always dropping stuff about
Like dirty pants and socks
And late at night I can be found flat out
Watching Babestation on the box.
That she was angry came as no surprise
I knew she’d have the face on
But it’s the first time she’s walled up my eyes
And where did she get those moves from

We’ve had words in the past and it must be said
Even the occasional scuffle
And now she’s flouncing off to bed
Doing the Ali shuffle.

I opened the door and put the cat out
And grabbed a lungful of air
Then I knocked the top off a bottle of stout
And settled back in my chair
I grabbed the remote and pressed on the power
It was Gabby Logan she was looking quite handsome
I could hear my missus up in the shower
Singing the national anthem.

Olympic highlights on BBC one
They show them when the the day is over
Gabby gets some winners on
And invites them on to her sofa
There’s this lovely little black lass sat there on it
With a gold medal as big as her face
And when they showed the clips of how she won it
It all fell into place.

So Nicola you’re a great inspiration to women
And Nicci just flashes her smile
And I’m thinking why don’t they just stick to swimming
Or running half a mile
I think Nicola’s fantastic and I’d like to bet
That anybody would
But I can tell you first hand the example she’s set
Is not a force for good.

So as I dab my nose with TCP
I say to Lord Sebastion Coe
If this is your Olympic legacy
Then I don’t want to know.

 So there we have it, the first offering from our not so new kid on the block. 
Why did Johnny’s pal get 5 years just for trying to help to boost the economy?
What was that scoundrel Ricky Gervais up to in Pizza Hut?
 What were the UK’s three richest men doing in the Hadron Collider?
 And much much more!