Tony Blair Wants To Bomb His Local Indian Restaurant After Dodgy Chicken Tikka Masala

 

Narcissistic loon Tony Blair has called for his local Curry House to be bombed after the Chicken Tikka Masala he’d ordered turned out to be “Dodgy”.

As he told GFB,

“I was with the Chairs of Goldman Sachs, EXXON and Halliburton outlining my plans for peace in the Middle East by bombing the shite out of the place.  Only bombing will bring about the long-lasting peace we in the West deserve. Mass slaughter will open their eyes to my genius.

The curry turns up and the chicken was a ropey.  The owners are Bengali and Muslim – after all I have done for Muslims!  So I got on the blower to the RAF to order them to launch a few Sidewinders into the “Passage To India”.

“They told to me to “Fuck Off You Nutter!”

Me! Tony!

So, I called me old muckers Bill Clinton and George W to see if the Yanks could strike and y’know what? They never returned my call! Me! After all I’ve done for America!

There’s always Vladimir – he’s a chum now – especially as I am considering being a peace envoy for Ukraine – worth a few bob that gig.

As I said 10 years ago. History will be my judge. For without me there would be no peace in Iraq today. Does anybody know where a good curry house is though?”

“Cos We’re Worth It!”

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When Bob’s On The Pot He Likes To Read A Lot (It’s A Man Thing!)

Hello,

I’ve got piles.

Talk about the agony and the ecstasy.

Proper Grapes Of Wrath they are.  I am taking them as a sign of faith in my new religion of Potestantism. My very own stigmata if you will.

Dear old Ma On The Pot warned me that sitting on cold surfaces would bring on the Johnny Giles. I always laughed as I I sank into the freezer to mitigate the effects of the previous night’s Vindaloo. Not exactly haute cuisine from the Bowel of Bengal. Mind you the gallon or two of premium Moluccan Lager I gulped down with me delicately spiced slop may have been a contributory factor.

I have to be very careful when my alimentary canal comes a calling. I read in my lovely wife Shirley’s copy of Cosmo, that men who suffer from piles make the best lovers. I pondered this as my stool began its long journey to the Atlantic, rather like a spawning salmon.

I asked Shirley if she agreed with this point of view. “Twat,” came her jokey reply. I rinsed off the carefully applied Throb aftershave, put the Sacha Distel Singalongalove album back in its cover and limped off to the Whimpering Stoat for a restorative pint or two.  I’ll have to woo her.

Chicken and Mushroom Pie and Chips on the way home it is then……..and some curry sauce, which is going to play havoc with my piles. But what price love?

Laters.

Bob

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