Two married couples were regulars at a Bridge club. On one occasion, they played each other as Ladies versus Gentlemen. One of the men, however, was particularly off form that night. His bidding was awful, his defensive play was atrocious – he was making a dog’s dinner of everything. Mid-way through a rubber, he left the table. “Excuse me,” he said, “I’m going to the toilet.” His playing partner observed, rather dryly, “Well, that’s the first time I’ve known what’s been in his hand all night!”
A long distance truck driver from Newcastle parks his vehicle outside the Dorchester Hotel in London and strides up to the manager on the reception desk. “You got any low terms for lorry drivers, like?” “Yes,” said the rather snooty manager, “Sod off you Geordie Git!”
Patricia Hewitt, the then Health Minister, was making a tour of a hospital, somewhere in Middlesex. She was somewhat perturbed, whilst walking through a ward, to see one of the male patients furiously masturbating! “What’s the meaning of this?” fumed Hewitt. “We don’t allow this to happen in an N.H.S. hospital!” “Actually,” offered the accompanying doctor, “we do. That gentleman suffers from a complaint where his testicles generate semen about twelve times faster than normal. If the semen was allowed to remain where it is, his testicles would literally burst open, so masturbation relieves the pressure.” “Oh, I see”, muttered the Minister, with a hint of sympathy in her voice. She proceeded further into the ward, and saw a rather pretty nurse giving oral sex to another male patient. Ms. Hewitt turned to the doctor and snarled, “Your explanation for this had better be phenomenally good!” “He’s suffering from the same illness as the last chap,” replied the doctor, “but he’s with BUPA”.
Mike and Bill, are hanging out in the lone bar in a one-horse town in northern Idaho, when a local rancher walks in carrying a wolf pelt. "Good work!" says the bartender. He pops the cash register open, pulls out a wad of bills, and counts them out into the rancher's outstretched hand. After the rancher leaves, Mike asks the bartender, "What was that all about?" The barkeep says, "Haven't you boys heard? We got us a real wolf problem in these parts, and the county authorities ain't done a thing about it. Why, just last week, a pack of the damned varmints come onto my property and laid waste to my chicken coop. Old Man Miller down the road even lost four of his cattle to the bloodthirsty beasts! They're vicious, and they got no fear -- and they gotta be stopped. So I'm offerin' a bounty -- a hundred dollars to anybody who brings in a wolf pelt." Mike and Bill look at each other, and immediately race out of the bar to go hunt wolves. After wandering around the hills for several hours, they finally spot a lone wolf in the distance. Mike takes aim with his rifle and shoots the wolf dead. The two fellas sprint over to where the carcass lay, and Mike gets busy with the pelt. Suddenly, Bill says, "Hey, Mike, look." "Not now," says Mike, "I'm busy." Bill tugs on Mike's sleeve and says, "Mike, I think you REALLY ought to see this." "Not now!" Mike says again. "Can't you see I've got a hundred dollars in my hands?" Bill's voice starts to waver. "Mike, please, just look!" Mike stops what he's doing and looks up: The two men are surrounded by a pack of wolves -- at least fifty in all, every one of them growling, drooling, gnashing their teeth, and licking their chops. Mike takes in the sight and gasps: "Oh, my God! We're gonna be rich!"
Remember I was asking (asking? Pleading, more like!) for an M400 Mellotron? Well.....
