My New Job Is Shit
I've finally got a new job, yay! Unfortunately it's the worst fucking job in the world! How bad is it? Well so bad that last week two separate people decided to have a shit in our carpark. Now, this isn't some out of the way carpark, it's right in the city centre. The carpark is actually half under the building and leads to the back entrance (no pun intended, yet). Because I now work for the council and we deal in serious stuff this carpark is actually covered by two CCTV cameras (along with giant bloody signs telling you so). Despite this, just last week we gathered round the monitors to watch two gentlemen, on separate days, stroll up at around one in the morning, drop their pants, squat against our wall and leave us their calling card. They didn't even wipe! I nearly stood in it when coming into work the next fucking morning!

Anyway, the job being dull as hell this was the talking point in the office. So much so that my boss wandered up to me with the grinning swagger of a man with something to say.

"I see that bloke's been back and had another crap in the carpark.....he must be a serial turderer!"

Without thinking I replied: "Nah, it was a different guy, he must have been a copyshat.".

Oh dear christ I wish I was making this up....
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Thu 5 Mar 2009, 19:08, Reply)

Hmm.
There must be another B3ta joke book coming up.
(Musuko, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 19:01, 1 reply)

I heard it was gonna snow this month
in March?
but then again.. I guess they didn't call it March of the Penguins for nothing.



Well at least I tried.
(Brucey bow chika wa wow, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 19:00, Reply)

Hoovers etc.
I sold my hoover a while ago. Well, it'd only been gathering dust.

I sold it to an eskimo down the road. I asked him of he liked being an eskimo. He replied, "Yeah, I'm Inuit".

In her will my grandmother left me an antique Victorian wig weaving machine. Apparently it's the family heirloom.

I had a pet frog which killed itself. It kermitted suicide.

I went to a Judas Priest concert. After the show I was invited to Rob Halford's. I got nicked trying to break into a bike shop.

It's good to get those off my chest.
(Haywood Manley, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:59, Reply)

Religilols
Catholic School phone call: "Hello, this is the head of John the Baptist"

Nun to Pope John 23rd: "I'm the Superior of the Holy Spirit"
"Oh really? I'm just the Vicar of Christ"

Interviewer to Pope John 23rd: "How many priests work in the Vatican?"
"Oh, about half of them"
(socialcomet, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:52, Reply)

I was brought up in poverty.
Sad but true.

And when I got to my late teens all of my mates got cars, when I could barely afford shoes.

Can you imagine my yearning for a real, splendid car?

Anyway, one day I was wandering past the market, yearning quite a lot, and I spotted some guys breaking up old market barrows - you know the sort - big wooden handles, flat wooden bed, two wooden wheels.

I was sick with yearning so I asked them how much for a redundant barrow.

"£1."

I could stretch to that so I bought one.

Waahey! Admittedly not a Fiesta 950 with an XR2 sticker on to make it go faster but my own set of wheels nontheless.

So for weeks to come I could be seen, going "vroom vroom" and dragging my market barrow around all the fashionable events of my small time home.

I had a nagging feeling, however, that my combo lacked a certain zest and that was playing on my mind one sunny spring Sunday whilst negotiating idyllic country lanes towing along my trusty barrow.

With a mighty clang, fate intervened.

I came upon a farm with a sign outside saying "Mutant Chickens £1 each."

My curiosity was truly pricked so I enquired of the rustic rube about these mutant chickens.

"'Ere they be" - he said.

"Oi been muckin' about wi' this 'ere genetic engineerin' an' ina'verta'nly prodooced a strain o' chicken 9 foot tall."

And by hell they were big buggers. Legs five foot long. Feet the size of your dinner table.

Gingerly I backed the prime of the mutant litter between the handles of my market barrow. A perfect fit!

"Bok" - said the chicken.

Rustic rube was so impressed that he gave me a set of harnesses that had previously belonged to his faithful carthorse, Old Shep. (I think I heard him right but it's a long time ago.)

I handed over my quid, harnessed up the chicken, and prepared to take flight.

"Bok" - said the 9 foot mutant chicken. "Bok bok bok." And off we went.

Like I said, it's a lovely Sunday in spring and what could be finer than riding about on the back of a wooden two wheeled market barrow pulled by a 9 foot mutant chicken. Oh the bliss of that afternoon.

All good things must come to an end, and everything which rises must converge. We headed back into my small home town and came upon a set of traffic lights.

There, alongside us, was Popular Darren - my arch nemesis. He was in his Fiat Panda with several girls in the back, playing a Duran Duran tape quite loudly.

The girls were laughing, and pointing at my mutant chicken.

"I'm going to show these fuckers." I thought.

The lights changed and the race was on.

"BOK! BOK! Bokbokbokbokbokbok" went the mutant chicken as it powered away.

"Vrimm" went the Fiat Panda.

Faster and faster we went, sometimes loosing, sometimes gaining ground.

But then I heard a creak - then a groan.

Market barrows aren't meant to go at 60.

With a gut wrenching shriek one of the wheels fell off the barrow.

The last thing I remember was seeing my cherised 9 foot mutant chicken disappearing over the horizon pacing Popular Darren's Fiat Panda.

Then it all went black.

When I came around an orange light was pulsing in my face.

An AA patrol had kindly stopped to offer assistance.

"Wha..wha..what's happened here?" I asked, from the shattered remains of my beloved market barrow.

The AA man stroked his chin and sagely opined

"Your big 'ens gone."


(I will be available for target practice at any hour suitable to those inconvenienced by this post.)
( The Disappointed Caravanner of the year, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:49, Reply)

Black beauty?
Now there's a dark horse.



Sorry.
(jonehboy is on a reggae tip, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:46, Reply)

A friend of mine...
...got chatting to a girl from the Philipines and eventually went over there for a short holiday. Prior to going we had been teasing him about eating the local food, in particular one food item that looks pretty darned disgusting.

After getting him to promise to at least try the thing, his hosts forgot to remind him about it and the YouTube-quality material never materialised.

I told him: "You dodged a Balut there". True story!
( Biggus Dickus , it was like that when I found it, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:41, Reply)

We should have our stag night and hen do on the same night
Whats a hen do?
A stag night but for the woman
no they lay eggs.

Thats why she's marrying me!
( Mr Nerdy-Speccy-FuckNuts Ouchy ouchy wa wa!, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:22, Reply)

In which Our Hero braves the egos of twits
I used to be really good at chess. I was actually ranked in the USA at one point. I would go to competitions and win (but usually lose) against all different types.

One I thing I couldn't stand was the egos, though. Did you know that chess was classy and that it made you better than everyone else? I wouldn't have known except for the incessant bragging.

My last tournament was years ago in some big cathedral or somesuch. There were the usual tables set up in the main room, and then refreshments and nonsense in the narthex (the proper word for the small space when you first walk into a church).

Well, being a large cathedral the galling chatter of knob-hungry prats echoed and carried throughout the building.

I left early because I couldn't stand the racket of chess nuts boasting in an open foyer.
(jessemoya, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:20, Reply)

Mums sayings
If Mum ever left us kids at home for any reason she would always say "And remember, if a man comes to the door with a moustache, tell him you already have one"
(Reservoir Ducks, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:20, Reply)

Is it just me
Or can anyone imagine apeloverage's reaction this qotw?

"Hmm, what is it this week?"

*Reads*

*Passes into coma of joy*

*Wakes up Friday week*

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"


.
( Hdjejjwsjdjjf LOOK, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:19, 2 replies)

Texting
I once sent a text to my mate Jon. Here it is, plus the reply i recieved.

Get to mine by eight, bring a bottle of vodka, tight arse twat.


His reply.


See you at eight, i have vodka. Jon
(Reservoir Ducks, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:18, 3 replies)

I used to write headlines for a newspaper
Pun-tastic fun when you could get away with it. My favourite was one I wrote for a story about the Russians re-discovering the bones of the executed Tsar and his family and there being a debate about what to do with them.

My headline: Russia's royal bones cause grave dilemma

*feel free to groan and slap your forehead; I won't be offended
(cheez is feeling ergophobic, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:16, 1 reply)

Sorry for length
Tanya sat on her bed hugging her knees and crying to herself. Her stepfather Croft had been in one of his drunken rages again, and as usual, she had been the target.
A frail little girl, all she wanted to do was be left alone to play with her dolls, but as an easy target, she had been left covered with cuts and bruises by the alcoholic bully's outbursts.
A tap on the door roused her from her despair.
"He's passed out," her mother whispered. "let's go."
They knew they would have to come home eventually, but they made the most of their respites. Her mother's guilt at what was happening meant she would treat her little princess every chance she got to make up for the violence.
"I'm sorry my baby," she would tell her, "but the house is his, the car is his, everything is his. Maybe one day we'll have enough money to leave. But for now, be strong, and remember Mummy loves you very much."
On this particular occasion they had gone to the fairground. Tanya could almost forget while she went on the rides, played the games, and felt like a real girl again amongst the noise and bright lights.
They stopped at a goldfish stall to play the hoop game. With a shriek of joy, Tanya got the last hoop on the cylinder and got to pick a fish.
All the fish looked identical, apart from a sickly looking green one at the back huddled in the corner of it's bowl. Not quite a fish, it seemed to have tentacles, was covered in patches of hair and had one bulbous eye looking around as if scared.
Tanya tugged at her mother's sleeve. "Mummy I want that one." It was so scared it reminded her how she felt earlier that evening and she wanted to take care of it.
Later that evening she had it in its own larger tank in her bedroom. After a bit of food it seemed to perk up and start swimming around dragging its malformed tentacles behind it.
"Thank you" it gurgled from its hairy maw. Tanya was aghast.
"You can talk?" she asked amazed.
"Not only that" said the creature. "I can grant wishes. Hold me in your hands, make a wish and I will make the bad things go away."
Tanya didn't need to be asked twice. She carefully scooped it up, closed her eyes and said "I wish Croft was gone. I wish Croft was gone."
There was an ear piercing scream from downstairs as an invisible force grabbed her stepfather, pulled him out of the window and dragged him higher and higher. Both Tanya and her mother ran into the garden to see Croft disappear into the atmosphere.
"Oh my god!" said her mother. "What happened."
Tanya smiled sweetly and said. "Don't you know? Hands that make wishes can send Croft in to space.... With mild-green hairy lip squid."
( Sunburn Go on.... It's character building!, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:13, 2 replies)

Nice cup of STFU
My boss, top bloke despite being a Ginger, after having the snip, was clearly having some complications a few of days after, watching him sit down would make even me wince. Then got a text from him saying " won't be in, going to the quacks something is so not right", as I was in the F.D's office at the time whom is another Ginge I relayed the info. "Nope, could tell he was in some pain yesterday, he was sitting down really gingerly..(pause-"Fuck!")...no pun intended.. for you or him". Icy silence.

Length? I'm not going there, nor will his wife for a while I suspect.
(Eeeza bit Tidy A blink, a pause, a blush and then I knew., Thu 5 Mar 2009, 18:10, Reply)

in reply to halfy
i remember my favourite head line came shortly after an unexploded bomb had been found at a popular seaside destination.
it read

"shell found on beach"
( skeltonator Needs some new daps., Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:57, Reply)

Strawberry fields etc
Many years ago, the Liverpool Echo ran a story about the new greenhouses and protective sheeting a local company had bought to protect their fruit crop. The headline read:
Strawberry shields for weather.
(Mr McKenzie Mr McKenzie, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:56, Reply)

greatest headline ever
a few years ago after ICT (then in the 2nd or 3rd division) knocked Celtic managed by John Barnes I think out of the cup

Super Cally go ballistic Celtic are atrocious
(Halfy By light alone, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:53, Reply)

Always be careful what you wish for
I once wished that ground would open up beneath me and swallow me hole.

Fortunatly, it stopped at me hole and I was able to climb out.
(Cuthbert Annihilator, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:52, Reply)

hmmmmm....
there was an old lady from rhyde,
who ate 40 green apples and died,
the apples fermented,
inside the lamented,
and made cider inside her inside.
( skeltonator Needs some new daps., Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:51, 3 replies)

The local Asda manager
wants to get shot of his wife, after asking around he hears of a local man who is whispered to be a hit man. They meet and the hit man introduces himself as RT, ok RT how much to kill my wife, he replies 1 pound.

RT goes on to explain how much he likes killing and the 1 pound is purely to keep it business like.

The Asda manager says he can do the deed in Asda during a quiet period as he can guarantee his wife will be there at a certain time.

…..So its late evening and RT turns up and the manager points to the booze aisle and he calmly walks up and strangles her with his bare hands, as she lets out her last gasp a member of staff walks around the corner sees the act and runs but RT is too fast and catches him by the chest freezers, RT grabs him and strangles him to death also.

But unfortunately another member of staff sees him, but again RT is to fast and strong and he is strangled next to the quilted toilet tissue.

RT calmly walks over to the manager collects his 1 pound and leaves.

Headline in the paper reads……..




RT chokes 3 for a pound in Asda

Standard apologies about the length apply
(Simple Simon, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:47, Reply)

Suppose you're
in the north of England, royalty is visiting, and you want to change the tv channel to a popular medical drama.

"Er ER, ER!"
( theniwokeup has been awake since, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:43, Reply)

Remembered another
Our local free paper used to have a letters page, and I remember a fierce debate raging for several weeks on the subject of how best to punish rapists. Several people called for them to be castrated, while others objected to this on humanitarian grounds. One of the latter group wrote

"...if you start punishing people by castration, it snowballs..."

EDIT: Just realised I've posted this one before.
(eesnahk, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:35, Reply)

Julie Andrews
Before she landed the role of Mary Poppins, she was a very talented mind-reader. It's true. She lived in Los Angeles, and her speciality was predicting people with bad breath.

Honest, I'm not making this up. She was so goo, they wrote a song about it.

Super California Psychic, Expert Halitosis.

{ Gone for coat. ]
( Tepid_Halibut felt like a cold, empty shell of a human...until, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:32, Reply)

How NOT to chat up attractive women
Crow is talking to attractive woman at party after one too many cans of bitter. Crow is just coming to the end of a short story about some noble, selfless deed. (NB Fiction may have been applied at this point)

Attractive Woman: Aw, did you really? That was really sweet.

Crow: Well, I can be quite unsavoury!

Crow rubs hand together in a seedy sort of way suggestive of a dirty old man in a dirty old macintosh. Attractive woman does not see the funny side of that slightly niche joke and backs away whilst making excuse about needing another drink before finding big butch lesbian friend to hide behind whilst searching for coat and/or disguise and possibly frantically phoning local taxi company.
(LongJohnBaldry, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:31, Reply)

What did the Electrician's wife say to him when he got back from the pub?
Wire you insulate?

B'dum tssh. Ayethangew.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:31, Reply)

On driving past a cemetery....
My step dad would say....

"Popular cemetery that one... People are dying to get in there..."


hoho
(aroe_m0rre, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:29, 2 replies)

I must have a strange right palm.
Backstory. I have a "singular palmate crease"* on my right hand.

I went to a Gipsy fortune teller at the fair last month who took one look at it and burst out laughing! Real, hopelessly crying laughter. I felt really ashamed, as if I had some shameful secret hidden in my palm. My face reddening, I decided to follow my dad's advice, so I decked her.
My case comes up in May. Apparently I'd taken "Always strike a happy medium" a bit out of context.

/coat/veal


*Google it.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:28, 1 reply)

Constipation
can be awafully troublesome. Last year I hadn't had a bowel movement in almost a month; my stomach was in constant pain and it felt like I was carrying a solid concrete block around with me.
I'd tried everything; laxatives, drinking water, excercise - pretty much anything I had read or heard about, and I was giving up hope of ever shitting again.
One of my close friends offered another solution to my agonising dillema and she pulled from her handbag a wrinkled, dark brown object. Handing it to me she said, "Here, try this, it'll do the job".

By now I was desperate, I ate the object she gave me and within 2 minutes 'GRRROOOOAAAAAN BLOOAAAAAHHHH', my bowels collapsed. I ran, hunched and clenching my sphincter tightly, to the toilet where almost a months worth of faeces was emptied from my quivering body over the course of an hour.

And that was my best ever prune.




Oh, pun! nevermind.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Thu 5 Mar 2009, 17:24, Reply)