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Posts Tagged ‘Funny’

Hi Kids,

Christmas can be a tricky time for opiate users!

cupboard crackhead copy

 

My former dealer Dinsdale used to pack up shop and head off to the lovely island of Santorini to help an archeological dig over the Holiday period.  Always good to have a hobby don’t you think.

Anyway as my supply of Class A’s dried up for a few days I was forced to use my imagination as to what to snort, sniff, inject or smoke to attain an alternative level of consciousness.

So, if you find yourself stuck this yuletide in the search for narcotics heaven, here are a few ideas;

  • Snort a bauble
  • Smoke ground up tinsel (the hallucinogenic quality of tinsel has long been overlooked.)
  • Rob a neighbour
  • Place a large Turkey on your head and breathe its decaying fumes After 4 days the high is extraordinary!

Christmas Crack Pudding is lovely too.  Make sure it is locally sourced though.

Merry Christmas!

Peace and Love

Uncle Crackhead

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Hello Folks,

Well we are back from our trip “Down Under”. I enjoyed Australia. We stayed in the resort of Wollombonggongerianty. The town’s slogan was, “Playground For Functioning Illiterates”.

Oz water swirls in a anti-clockwise direction! Watching a floater bravely battle for survival in an unusal direction fascinated me for several hours.

“Magnetic Pole”, Bruce our taciturn concierge told me. He still mourns the death of Bon Scott.

So ever the one with a scientific mind, when I returned home I sought to place a spoon Geller like, on the forehead of Zgbniew Zzzzzgmrboniak, our local Polish builder. Safe to say the spoon fell off.

Magnetic Poles my arse.

I am back at work.

I was involved in a repossession.

Sir Amethyst Yeast-Gravel had failed to pay his Council Tax. The poor old chap is potless. Should take a leaf out of my cousin Terry’s book and consider armed robbery as a career option.

Anyway before I took possession of goods to the value of what Sir Yeast-Gravel owed, his noblilityness kindly allowed me to use his facilities.

You could tell he was posh because of the a copy of Horse and Hound as the in-store reading material.

I like horses. Legs, Necks, Tails. They’ve got the lot.

Couldn’t ride a horse though. Suffer from Stirrup Ankle.

But at least the water in the bowl swirls in the direction it should. Bloody Australians taking liberties with my evacuations. You can tell a lot about a country by the way it treats its sewage.

My Dad used to say to me, “Your stool is your best friend.” I don’t have a clue either.  Strange man was Dad. He thought he was 3 parts human and 1 part pigeon.

Bob

 

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new oily

Hello Oily

Pubic hair topiary is all the rage this year in North Devon. What is your view on “The Brazilian”? Sambatastic or are you a bush guy.

Aged Elsie, Bideford

Oily Replies;

Elsie,

I spent a summer on Copacabana a few years ago and filmed the real Brazil in my documentary ‘City of Thongs’. (Did you know that Queen Victoria wore an early prototype, a kind of hair shirt for the arse – which historians claim explains her permanent miserable gurn).

Armed with such fascinating historical facts I wandered the beach interviewing, oiled up thong clad  ass shaking women. The results were…..well, exhausting.

The question I ask society at large in this wonderful piece of “Deep Throat” journalism is a simple one: is the thong all it’s cracked up to be?

Oh and by the way Elsie, I found your false teeth. Not sure how they got clamped there without me noticing overnight. Let’s stay off the rum in future!

Oily

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Recently we enquired about the cost of a Safari to Kenya. “Just for two mate, not the entire cast of Hair!” I replied to the quote the sweaty travel agent provided.

As we left, we bumped into our old friend and economy traveller supreme Contour D. Klepto.

“Sell me your teeth Fightback” was his opening gambit.

I explained my predicament. He handed me a copy of his latest book “Drug Trotting – Round The World On A Stuffed Rectum”.

Chapter 7 outlined his trip to Kenya’s Masai Mara game reserve!

Day 1 – Hyde Park London – London Balloon Festival – pinch dirigible shaped like Princess Anne’s head – float towards Kent Coast. Faisal, a Moroccan shoeshine, awoke in balloon’s basket with a start.

Day 1 – The Channel – Losing height – throw Faisal out – he lands in briny – his sturdy Fez takes most of the impact.

Day 3 – France – Shot down over Marseille by scrambled French fighter jets – a balloon the shape of Princess Anne’s head is easy meat for a Dassault 125. Land in Hummus factory on outskirts of City.

Day 3 – France – Find employment in hummus factory as chick pea skinner. My naturally powerful buttocks very handy.

Day 17 France – Cadge a lift on articulated lorry carrying three thousand hummus cartons bound for Italy. My rucksack contains thirty tubs.

Day 18 Italy – Hitchhiking – picked up by former German International Footballer – Gerhard Spanker. It was Spanker who won the last gasp moustache grow off with Gary Mackerel that sent England crashing out of the 1985 World Cup.

Day 18 Italy – Arrive at Silvio Berlusconi’s Lake Como villa – Silvio having a new head stapled to his neck – Spanker falls into arms of an 18 year old busty beauty who describes herself as a wannabee lab technician seeking a cure for Alzheimer’s. She answers the phone by speaking to a fridge door.

Day 19 Italy – Bribe a policeman, with three tubs of hummus to drive me to port of Brindisi. Policeman wants to meet a girl who is lab technician seeking a cure for Alzheimer’s. I know just the girl. Kind of.

Day 20 – Stowaway on the “SS Catenaccio” which is carrying a cargo of pita breads and pre-chopped dipping vegetables to Alexandria!

Day 22 – Alexandria, Egypt – use empty hummus pots to build false camel hump – lash myself to a Dromedary which is part of a Caravan bound for Ethiopia. Surprised nobody notices me.

Day 68 – Egypt/Sudan Border – Bad breathed male camel takes a shine to me. Worrying.

Day 75 – Northern Sudan – Male camel buys me Jim Reeves CD in bizarre courtship ritual. Very worrying.

Day 308 – Ethiopian Border – Bump into Bob Geldof and Bono – they are making ham and tomato sandwiches for (presumably) starving locals – Bono is a natural spreader – great wrist action. I tell them my tale – Geldof to set up Hump Hummus Aid.

Day 309 – Geldof tells me that Huey Lewis and The News have signed up to “Hump Hummus Aid” – Bono asks me to nip to his private jet and pick up a bottle of Mayonnaise as he is running low.

Day 309 – Land stolen Bono Boeing in Nairobi Airport. Bribe Kenyan officials with three thousand rounds of ham, cheese and crab paste sandwiches – and four hand finished Cornish Pasties.

Day 310 – Hire Masai Mara warrior to guide me on last leg of journey. The narrow Kenyan roads make manoeuvring Bono’s Jumbo awkward. Pick up a speeding ticket.

Day 312 – Make it! Watch Pride of Lions eat a Tzatziki magnate. Thank my lucky stars. Discover two other things. Lions love Cornish Pasties but struggle with the music of U2.

“Give us me fookin’ Jumbo back!” Bono cries from his spare jet.

Price Comparison

British Airways

Flights; London to Nairobi – Time 10 hrs 30 minutes

2 Week Safari Package – £2,650 per person

Tight Fisted Traveller

Time Taken 7,488 Hours

Travel Costs – Nil!

You Decide!

This is an old TFT tale. He is venturing to the Antarctic at the moment and will soon relive his tale in his new book “Fuck Me It’s Cold.”

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the puppet master

 British PM  David Cameron has played a dastardly final card in his bid to cling to power.

BANNING GINGERS FROM PUBLIC VIEW!

As he trails pointless oaf Ed Miliband in the polls, the posh boy “Who cares deeply” has decided to make Gingers a key plank of his 2015 election campaign.

In his speech today to the Idiocracy that is the Conservative Party, Cameron will say, “Look here Chaps, we’ve fucked over the poor, propped up the Bankers, divided old from young, gay from straight, black from white and STILL people don’t like us! Even giving pooftahs the right to marry hasn’t helped.  I can only reach one conclusion. Gingers are to blame!”

To gasps from his dribbling, incontinent audience he blurted, “Banning Gingers from public life and stopping them using the internet to spread their gingery thingymajigs is all that is left to me. Polish my brogues please Fotheringham. Where is my fag?”

morris1

Last year, Gfb’s correspondent Gail Force-Winds revealed Tory plans to impose Burkhas on Gingers were shelved due to the fact that it was stupid. However, with the lads firing up in Iraq again and a need to appear to have some semblance of control domestically and internationally, the Ginger Question has been brought back.

Cameron’s comments put him at odds with President Barack Obama who, in a speech in Grimsby this month said, ‘We. Are not.  Going. To tell. People what colour. Their hair. Should. Be.’

He Is A Red!

Ed Miliband’s reply was, “I have forgotten what I was going to say. Blah blah blah.”

miliband3

 

 

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Oily George’s latest erotic masterpiece has been described by crticis as a clear satire on the youth obsessed Western culture. “Hand Shandy III” will be available soon on DVD in wankvision.

Hello Oily

You are great and so sexy – how do you do it?

Shiney Sheena, Wisconsin

Heeelllooooo Sheena,

Kind of you to say so and thank you for the photo. Usually I have to ask/badger/beg my ladies to send their portraits but looking at you, my you are enthusiastic. And ambidextereous. A fact I am logging in the darkest recesses of my febrile mind.

How do I maintain my sexiness? Well as you can see from my profile, I model myself on close personal friend and fellow Oil Spill, George Hamilton.

The dear chap has taught me so much about how to slither through life. He was the inspiration that got me into the How-Do-They-Do-That market that I cater for. I doff my fedora to the slippery one

Oily

 

 

 

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Hello

I was round Aunt Bab’s this morning adjusting her new Stenna chairlift. She was very grateful, although medically speaking there is nothing wrong with her unless being bone idle is now recognised as a medical condition.

The lift does set her new wallpaper off a treat though.

I had the inaugural journey, as I needed the smallest room. Got stuck on the landing and had to walk the rest of the way. Not exactly Neil Armstrong – can’t have everything in life.

I had a go at that Sudokio in The Sun whilst on the pot. All Those Numbers! In Boxes. Up. Down. Across. Did My Head In. Numbers are bollocks. End of.

So I rolled up the paper and swatted a fly who was banging its head against the frosted window pane.

Bit like me with the Sodokio.

I walked down the stairs.

The lads in the Dubious Pilchard were impressed when I told them of my new fitness regime. Given up crisps too. On Sundays at least.

Rio’s only round the corner after all……

Be lucky.

Bob

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