Unusual talents
B3tans! Can you hum with your tongue? (Your Ginger Fuhrer can and he once demonstrated this to a producer on Blockbusters on the hope of getting on TV) Maybe you can bend your thumb in a really horrid way that makes it look broken. (Your Ginger Fuhrer's other special talent) What can you do? Extra points if you fancy demonstrating this with the odd pic or youtube vid.
Suggested by Dazbrilliantwhites
( , Thu 18 Nov 2010, 14:28)
B3tans! Can you hum with your tongue? (Your Ginger Fuhrer can and he once demonstrated this to a producer on Blockbusters on the hope of getting on TV) Maybe you can bend your thumb in a really horrid way that makes it look broken. (Your Ginger Fuhrer's other special talent) What can you do? Extra points if you fancy demonstrating this with the odd pic or youtube vid.
Suggested by Dazbrilliantwhites
( , Thu 18 Nov 2010, 14:28)
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My sense of timing... (Deserted me now...)
Many years ago I worked in Crawley.
There was a pub I used to frequent on a lunchtime, sitting quietly in the corner whilst reading a book, smoking a cig, and nursing my pint of beer.
This pub was a little bit of a "local" pub. If they didn't know you, they'd watch you.
Now, reading passed muster, as it was deemed a non-offensive pastime, and failed to upset the pool-cue wielding, Elvis listening locals (both teenagers and retirees).
Anyway, I digress a trifle...
One day, an encampment of pikeys had taken up residence nearby, some of whom had the habit of popping into the pub, sidling around to the loo, using it, and leaving it like a herd of Hippo had been in there, crapping and spraying shit around.
Well, I'm sitting there reading, smoking and drinking, when the landlady unceremoniously evicts one of said miscreants with the aid of a mop.
"I hate pikeys," pipes up one of the regulars.
I carry on drinking, smoking and reading as the discussion raged around. "Arrest them all!" "Make 'em pay taxes" etc...
Finally I hear, "We should bring back the fucking concentration camps!"
*BANG* *WHIZZ* *POW* - Timing kicks in...
I put down my book and cigarette. Stand up. Look at the speaker and announce...
"I take real offence at that! My grandfather died at Belsen!"
Cue a hush...
"Sorry, mate," the speaker says, "I didn't know..."
"Yes," says I, "he fell off one of the guard towers..." I sit down, resume drinking and smoking.
Total...
Silence...
Followed by cries of "you wanker", "you twat", "git", and much mirth.
Didn't go back to work that afternoon.
Was I beaten up?
No, just too plastered on the free beer all day.
I know the joke was old. But, for once, my sense of timing was gold.
It has never been as good.
Ahh, I miss The Samuel Johnson.
( , Fri 19 Nov 2010, 11:02, 2 replies)
Many years ago I worked in Crawley.
There was a pub I used to frequent on a lunchtime, sitting quietly in the corner whilst reading a book, smoking a cig, and nursing my pint of beer.
This pub was a little bit of a "local" pub. If they didn't know you, they'd watch you.
Now, reading passed muster, as it was deemed a non-offensive pastime, and failed to upset the pool-cue wielding, Elvis listening locals (both teenagers and retirees).
Anyway, I digress a trifle...
One day, an encampment of pikeys had taken up residence nearby, some of whom had the habit of popping into the pub, sidling around to the loo, using it, and leaving it like a herd of Hippo had been in there, crapping and spraying shit around.
Well, I'm sitting there reading, smoking and drinking, when the landlady unceremoniously evicts one of said miscreants with the aid of a mop.
"I hate pikeys," pipes up one of the regulars.
I carry on drinking, smoking and reading as the discussion raged around. "Arrest them all!" "Make 'em pay taxes" etc...
Finally I hear, "We should bring back the fucking concentration camps!"
*BANG* *WHIZZ* *POW* - Timing kicks in...
I put down my book and cigarette. Stand up. Look at the speaker and announce...
"I take real offence at that! My grandfather died at Belsen!"
Cue a hush...
"Sorry, mate," the speaker says, "I didn't know..."
"Yes," says I, "he fell off one of the guard towers..." I sit down, resume drinking and smoking.
Total...
Silence...
Followed by cries of "you wanker", "you twat", "git", and much mirth.
Didn't go back to work that afternoon.
Was I beaten up?
No, just too plastered on the free beer all day.
I know the joke was old. But, for once, my sense of timing was gold.
It has never been as good.
Ahh, I miss The Samuel Johnson.
( , Fri 19 Nov 2010, 11:02, 2 replies)
I've used that line to good effect once or twice.
Alas, it didn't get me any beer.
( , Fri 19 Nov 2010, 13:26, closed)
Alas, it didn't get me any beer.
( , Fri 19 Nov 2010, 13:26, closed)
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