I've had more fun
chewing cud.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Sat 26 May 2012, 1:41, 2 replies)

Q: What do farmers watch on sundays? A: Farmula One.

( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Sat 26 May 2012, 1:35, Reply)

there's a farm near me that lets children pet the animals.
farms, eh?
( janet aylia y'all motherfuckers need jesus, Sat 26 May 2012, 1:01, 3 replies)

Q: Why do farmers fuck sheep? A: Because they are extremely attractored to them.

( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Sat 26 May 2012, 0:54, 2 replies)

Q: Where do farmers get their hair cut? A: Potatoni and Guy

( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Sat 26 May 2012, 0:51, Reply)

Q: What would McDonalds sell if it was a farm? A: Pig Mcslurry.

( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Sat 26 May 2012, 0:47, Reply)

Q: Why are farmers always killing themselves? A: Because they're bipolarrr

( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Sat 26 May 2012, 0:46, 1 reply)

roidin thur traaaactor
As a 14 year old I used to work on a farm at the weekends, doing (literally) shitty jobs and helping out in the slaughterhouse sluicing down the walls and sorting out piles of still-warm and twitching cow guts.

The farm itself was a very small holding and the equipment was pretty damn old. They had one tractor which looked like it was built in the 50's and looks pretty much like this:

www.hpj.com/wsdocs/ffa/images/News/shane_blaes_old_tractor.jpg

Imagine it with inflated tyres, painted grey and with a filthy old sack instead of a seat and you're there.

The farmer was a smug cunt who I hated, but he also paid my wages (50p an hour in 1984? Utter cunt). He said he had a job for me to do and would I like to drive the tractor?

OH YES PLEASE, SIR!

I'd never driven anything "grown up" before, so I was as excited as a puppy in a room full of kittens. He disappeared and came back driving this heap of shit into the yard, where he attached a scary-looking trailer to it and pulled up outside the cowshed. He handed me a shovel, pointed first to the floor then to the trailer and said, "this shit - in there". 2 hours later, the trailer was full of shit (much like the farmer) and I went to fetch him.

"Grand job lad" he said. "Now you get to drive the tractor".

So he drove it out into the entrance to the field and parked up. He then explained that my job would be to drive the tractor up and down the field, muck-spreading - for the scary-looking tractor was a mechanical muckspreader.

Now I don't know if anyone is familiar with these things, but it is basically a huge conveyor belt that moves the shit slowly towards the rear of the trailer, where scary-looking rotating prongs flick the crap out to the rear. The whole contraption works through the forward movement of the wheels.

As I had never driven a combustion-engine driven vehicle before, he showed me what to do.

"See that pedal there lad? Press that if you want to go faster. That pedal there? Press that down if you want to stop."

Seemed pretty straightforward and I did a 100 yard test run to check I understood the concept. He seemed happy, opened the gate and sent me on my merry way, me beaming from ear to ear on my very own tractor, flicking cow shit to the four winds.

The field was on the side of a hill and the first part was up, so I ascended the incline, pressing the "GO" pedal. The ancient old engine roared, belched filthy smoke and I headed up the hill, looking back at my bovine dung fountain. As I reached the top, I hit the "STOP" pedal and slowed down, to do a U turn and head back down the hill.

Off I went again, little smiling Dixon shit flicker.

As I descended the hill, the tractor started picking up speed. As the wheels were now turning faster, I noticed this was causing the shit to flick higher and higher, so I stepped on the "STOP" pedal. This however caused the tractor to speed up further downhill - so in a panic I tried the other pedal, which made the engine roar and gave more speed. At this point the tractor was going so fast it was causing the shit to be flicked violently and was going over my head, up my back, in my hair, behind my ears, with me all the while pushing pedals and pulling levers like the first chimp in space having a panic attack. I reached the bottom of the hill and it levelled off and the "STOP" pedal worked again.

I had to go through this "Up the hill, engine roaring, down the hill 'jester in the stocks being pelted by dung'" process another 5 times until the trailer was empty.

When I got back to the gate, the farmer was waiting for me with a bright red face and tears in his eyes from laughing. I got off the tractor and I looked like fucking yin and yang.

A few years later when I started to learn to drive properly and was slightly wiser, I realised the "STOP" pedal which he had showed me was in fact, the clutch.
( Richard Shitheels, Fri 25 May 2012, 22:13, 7 replies)

I stayed on my uncle's farm when I was a teenager. At first it was pretty cool as I had never been on a farm before so cows and horses and stuff were a novelty. But after a week or so I was bored and my uncle could tell so he got his shotgun and taught me how to shoot. Awesome fun for a teenager! After a bit of practice he said I should take the dogs and go into the bush and do some shooting, so off I headed. I came back after a few hours and he asked me how I got on. I said 'Best fun I've ever had. Got any more dogs?'
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Fri 25 May 2012, 19:37, Reply)

Pearoast For a Peabrain
I was once assigned to tend some air quality monitoring equipment located on a ranch in southern Arizona, so I'd make periodic visits to the ranch. Unbeknownst to me, the equipment was also claimed by an arrogant and territorial local pheasant.

As I approached the equipment, the pheasant would endeavor to approach me from behind. Every time I turned my back, the pheasant would peck at my legs. Incensed, I whirled around and kicked the pheasant, but I was never able to land a solid punch on the lightweight bird. Every time I kicked, the demented bird would merely jump upon my shoe and ride it angrily up and down like a seesaw. Kicking the bird just made it angrier, which just made me angrier in return. What the bird lacked in strength, it gained through obsessive determination that I just couldn't match over hours of pitched battle. Years later, I plot revenge, but quail at the thought of a rematch.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 25 May 2012, 19:18, 3 replies)

You're in the shit now, my son!
Several years ago, while just into his teenage years, my friend Alan (not his real name) was helping out on his uncle's Scottish farm by cleaning years of encrusted cow shit off a platform in the farm's courtyard, when his uncle walked out of a barn looking the other way. Quick as a sheep pursued by a Welshman, Alan lobbed a crusty lump of excreta at the begettor of his unpleasant task - hitting him on the back of the head. The target spun on his heel to see Alan laughing his head off and, without another word, walked off around the corner.

A couple of minutes later, Alan heard a whirring noise and a peculiar splashing sound just before his uncle walked back around the corner with a broad grin on his face, and told Alan he had a little present for him. Alan was rather suspicious of this but, sadly for him, his uncle got him by the back of the shirt with one hand and the belt with his other before carrying him around the corner.

Where his muckspreader was in full, shit-flinging action.

Despite Alan's protests he was unable to prevent his uncle thrusting him, at arms length, into a veritable wall of flying liquid shit.

When he removed Alan from the flying tsunami of feculence, caked head to toe in "natural fertiliser", he took one satisfied look then walked off into the distance, leaving a dripping Alan to reflect on the folly of annoying a maniac with access to heavy machinery.



(Edited for RoF)
( MatJ LOOK, Fri 25 May 2012, 19:01, 3 replies)

Farm school
In Uni one of my lecturers told us a story about when he used to work with kids that had ADHD. He said that the entire time he worked with them he could never get them to sit still or listen or just concentrate on anything at all. That was until he took them to the farm.
When they first got to the farm the kids acted pretty much as normal, running around and being annoying. But he finally managed to rally them up to talk to them about farmy type stuff.
As he was half way through his lecture he realised that every single one of the kids were watching him and listening to him very intently and had been doing so for a couple of minutes now.
He thought this was great, he'd finally made a breakthrough! So he decided to carry on talking, worried that their concentration might wander if he stopped.
But as he kept going and they kept listening he started to become suspicious. Why had they finally decided to listen to him at that exact moment?
And that was when he realised that they weren't in fact concentrating on him, but on the horse stood directly behind him that had been shooting forth a seemingly never ending stream of piss for the last 5 minutes.
( Mellicious is made of candy, Fri 25 May 2012, 18:03, 2 replies)

What's brown and sticky?
Pig shit. And magic tractors.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 25 May 2012, 17:57, Reply)

Did you hear about the magic tractor?
It was ajar.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 25 May 2012, 17:53, Reply)

Why did Emvees dad hate him and leave his family destitute so his mum became an 11p prostitute?
Soz, I already have that answer
( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Fri 25 May 2012, 17:27, 7 replies)

How did the farmer find his lost cow?
He tractor down.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 25 May 2012, 17:15, 4 replies)

Cold spider tea
We drank that at a rave once. The rave was on a farm. I'd found a tea-pot and made a brew for everyone by the fire in the courtyard.
One of my mates discovered that he had indeed swallowed most, if not all the spider. Although another friend confirmed that he too had drank some spider.

That is all.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Fri 25 May 2012, 16:44, Reply)

I got chased off a golf course...
...by a shotgun toting groundsman. It has snowed heavily and I'd gone out in the car to find a dirty big hill to board down. How was I to know this was a private golf course? All the signs were covered in snow ffs.

I'd only managed one rather disappointingly short run and was breathlessly making my way back to the top only to see said groundsman waving his shotgun... I didn't hang about. Driving a car with snowboard boots on is bloody tricky I can tell you.
( z0mb13e has a bee in his botnet, Fri 25 May 2012, 15:57, 2 replies)

Although not a farmer any more my dad is still very much of the 'get orf moi laaaaand' sort of person.
He's also an atheist.

So when he was minding his own business preparing logs for the fire he was particularly incensed when a couple of Jehova's witnesses appeared on his driveway offering whatever dubious bullshit these people usually offer.

"Get off my land." He announced. They, of course are used to this cunning rebuttal and carried on their spiel.

"You have 5 seconds to get off my property" he announced and proceeded to eject them from his garden.

A few weeks later my girlfriend at the time came home and said,"Your dad is blacklisted amongst Macclesfield's Jehovas witnesses. My colleague is one of them and she was recounting this story about this mad axe-man who chased them both off his land up on the Buxton road. I didn't tell them it was your dad though."

Axe, my arse, it was only a bloody saw. Damned exaggerating Jehovas can't accurately witness anything if you ask me.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 25 May 2012, 15:41, 7 replies)

I saw The Wurzels play the other year.
Does that count? They were excsllent.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Fri 25 May 2012, 15:20, 4 replies)

String of Sausages
As a young boy, back in the black and white days of old... we lived quite close to a farm in Oxfordshire, while playing in the fields a 'crow scarer' (a shotgun cartridge on a timer?) went off.... I literally (or metaphorically for the pedants) shit every last oz of shit out of my body, it certainly felt like one continual turd from my arse to my ankles.... I waddled home followed by a couple of dogs and was hosed down by my mother in the garden!

I have never been the nervous type, but every time I hear a loud bang now, I do tend to clench just in case!

Length, about 3 feet!
(the_icks has the sweet essence of giraffe, Fri 25 May 2012, 15:20, 1 reply)

Did you hear about the magic tractor?
It turned into a field.
(FUXTIX Not my words, Carol, Fri 25 May 2012, 15:11, 8 replies)

What, no Kissing?

(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 25 May 2012, 15:07, 1 reply)

Did you hear about the Irish farmer who had a lie-in?
He got a potato clock!

(He got up at eight o'clock.)
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 25 May 2012, 14:15, 32 replies)

What do you call a robot that turns into a tractor?
A Transfarmer
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 25 May 2012, 14:03, 16 replies)

Tractors are a fucking brilliant design aren't they, when you think about it?
Boxy bit for the engine, bit you can sit on (enclosed or open)... giant wheels at the back, little wheels at the front.

Give or take, that's what they look like now, and what the very first ones looked like however many years ago.

Compare that to how different modern cars look from a Model T and I reckon you'd have to conclude that whoever designed the tractor got it pretty much right first time :)
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 25 May 2012, 13:56, 8 replies)

Fat fisherman fends off ferocious bovine.
Look up the mull of galloway. Go on. It's a lovely spot for sea views and can be great for rock fishing.

The peninsula sticks up about 500 feet from the irish sea and of course, the car park is at the top.

Between the parking and the shore is a large and very steep field of grazing cattle. Half way up this field while weighed down with heavy fishing gear and wearing waterproofs is not a convenient place to be chased by a bull.

Not being a slim chap and already breathing like an asthmatic on a prank call, I was in on position to run.

Like some form of rodeo clown the most I could manage was to jump up and down shaking my bag and shouting like a pissed tramp. Somehow it worked and the tonne of beef stopped and circled. A smart crack on the arse with a fishing rod sent it off in the other direction.

I think of it as a miraculous escape and hence choose to walk around the edge of the field now.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Fri 25 May 2012, 13:51, 5 replies)

Favourite farm joke....
with apologies to Billy Connolly, who tells it much better but would be tl:dr for here......

Back in the day it was the thing for "poor, deprived " inner city kids to be taken on school trips to see "the country" by way of visiting a farm. After one such trip a young lad is bring quizzed by his Dad.....
"Did you enjoy the farm trip, son?"
"Oh yes Dad very much"
"What did you see?"
"We saw a field of cows, a field of pigs, a field of fuckers, a f-"
"WHAT???"
"A field of cows, a- "
"No - after that!"
"A field of fuckers?"
"How dare you use such language! There is no such thing! "
"Well he called them heifers, but *we* knew what he meant....."
(localboy purveyor of pisspoor puns, Fri 25 May 2012, 13:44, Reply)

"But you fuck ONE sheep ... "

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 25 May 2012, 13:40, 2 replies)

Down on the Farm, eh?
I rather liked those pictures he did. What's he up to these days?
(haberman is singing in the changes, Fri 25 May 2012, 13:35, 1 reply)