"my wife's gone to the West Indies" "oh really? are you two taking separate holidays now then? I mean it's not my place to pry, but that's kind of a big step as regards separation isn't it? Surely the whole point of the union of marriage is to share big events and experiences together, not to live as isolated entities, existing in completely separate environments? Did you even consider the strain it would forge between the two of you? Maybe you can catch the next flight out there, before she does something reckless & stupid which she will almost certainly regret. I've seen the kind of destructive spiral down which even the most resolute of souls can tumble and it isn't fucking pretty, believe me. Lives are shattered, trust is obliterated into a billion tiny shards of ugly betrayal, the very notion of love lies wrecked and bleeding, all because of one stupid error - the one thoughtless gesture of going abroad without your soul mate, your confidante, your one true love. But look - maybe I'm painting too dim a picture of events - I'm sure you're more in tune with the minutiae of your relationship, and that you trust her implicitly and I hope sincerely that you work through things, remembering the spark, the love, the joy.... the magic that brought you together in the first place. Please try and keep your chin up, and remember - I'm always here if you need to talk, cry, or just be with a friend..." "No - she went of her own accord"
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
"I'm directing Oedipus Rex, and my wife's auditioned for a lead role."
"Ah, don't even go there mate. Even if she's the best available you'll inevitably be accused of favouritism, the rest of the cast will likely ostracise her cos they'll think she's a spy in the dressing room, the whole production will likely founder in an atmosphere of mutual suspicion and recrimination. A real life Greek tragedy, if you will. Seriously, it would be way more trouble than it's worth."
"Nah, she was rubbish."Comment
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
Thank you kindly, hobbes.Comment
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
“I say, I say, I say, my dog’s got no nose!”
“Shit, what the fuck happened? It was one of those pitbulls wasn’t it. I can’t understand how they get away with it… it’s pretty obvious they’re not really dog-lovers, the twats you see walking around with them. Giving them all fucking stupid names, like they do their kids – Tyson, Rocky, Tiger, Ripper, whatever…
It’s a clear statement of aggression. I mean we all used to try to project a bit of tough when we were kids, but the difference is a leather jacket with studs won’t suddenly launch itself at a kid and rip its face off... Or in your case your dog’s nose. I love animals, but I get really wound up by those bastards…
I don’t know how you’d solve it, it seems unfair to have them put down, but something’s got to be done. Maybe we should put the dogs in care and put the owners down? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to come over all Daily Mail, but these fuckers just really get to me. Arrogant bastards. I’d love it, right, if I was out, walking in the park and a couple of those cunts started to try something, and just as they let the dog off, started to set it on me, I pull out a pistol and, I don’t want to hurt an animal, but I’ve got no choice and I put it down with one shot and then I’m really angry because I’ve had to do that, but on the outside I’m really calm and cool and I’m walking towards them and before they can turn and run I say, fucking freeze or I’ll blow your fucking head off, and I make them kneel, right, and they’re crying and shaking because I’ve put my gun in the one’s mouth, and I think he’s wet himself, and them I’m, right, who’s the fucking hard man now you cunts? and they’re saying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry and I force one of them, I say, take your jeans off and make him stand in front of his mate and then I tell him if he wants to live he’s got to suck him off and he doesn’t want to and he’s gagging and crying but after a while the other one can’t help himself and starts to get hard and they’re saying stop, stop, but I tell them he’s got five minutes to come or I’m killing them both and so the one starts sucking harder and then he does and that’s when I look into their eyes and see all the fear and humiliation, and I pull the trigger…”
“Awful!”Comment
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
ChrisJ wrote:
There appear to be some terrible subconcious urges surfacing here. Or possibly concious ones.“I say, I say, I say, my dog’s got no nose!”
“Shit, what the fuck happened? It was one of those pitbulls wasn’t it. I can’t understand how they get away with it… it’s pretty obvious they’re not really dog-lovers, the twats you see walking around with them. Giving them all fucking stupid names, like they do their kids – Tyson, Rocky, Tiger, Ripper, whatever…
It’s a clear statement of aggression. I mean we all used to try to project a bit of tough when we were kids, but the difference is a leather jacket with studs won’t suddenly launch itself at a kid and rip its face off... Or in your case your dog’s nose. I love animals, but I get really wound up by those bastards…
I don’t know how you’d solve it, it seems unfair to have them put down, but something’s got to be done. Maybe we should put the dogs in care and put the owners down? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to come over all Daily Mail, but these fuckers just really get to me. Arrogant bastards. I’d love it, right, if I was out, walking in the park and a couple of those cunts started to try something, and just as they let the dog off, started to set it on me, I pull out a pistol and, I don’t want to hurt an animal, but I’ve got no choice and I put it down with one shot and then I’m really angry because I’ve had to do that, but on the outside I’m really calm and cool and I’m walking towards them and before they can turn and run I say, fucking freeze or I’ll blow your fucking head off, and I make them kneel, right, and they’re crying and shaking because I’ve put my gun in the one’s mouth, and I think he’s wet himself, and them I’m, right, who’s the fucking hard man now you cunts? and they’re saying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry and I force one of them, I say, take your jeans off and make him stand in front of his mate and then I tell him if he wants to live he’s got to suck him off and he doesn’t want to and he’s gagging and crying but after a while the other one can’t help himself and starts to get hard and they’re saying stop, stop, but I tell them he’s got five minutes to come or I’m killing them both and so the one starts sucking harder and then he does and that’s when I look into their eyes and see all the fear and humiliation, and I pull the trigger…”
“Awful!”
Edit: Or possibly the draft script for the gritty reboot of Death Wish.Comment
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
- My wife went to a concert in the Far East last week!
- So what, you tedious boastful dick?Comment
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
Nick makes the sexist assumption that the narrator's wife is going on holiday. So women never go on business travel, eh?Comment
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
But Nick hasn't established which of the conversers he is, if any. It may just be a conversation he observed between two other people. The conversation also indicates that the people involved are close friends, and therefore one party may be aware of the employ of the others' wife anyway, and was able to conclude without question that her Caribbean excursion was purely for pleasure.Comment
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
Two nuns in a bath, and one says:
"Where's the soap?"
and the other says:
"I think you'll find it on the soap dish behind you, if it hasn't already fallen into the bath. It's so annoying when that happens, you just can't seem to get hold of it. Those soaps on a rope used to good, because you could put it around your wrist and then you never lost it, but you just don't see them any more, do you?
"Personally I find soap can irritate my skin. I have such sensitive skin, you know, and the soap we use just seems to dry it out and make it flaky, and scratching it just makes it worse. It would be lovely if we could afford a nice unperfumed skinwash, but I suppose you have to just buy what you can afford these days. Times are hard for everyone, not just the Church, and we should just thank the good Lord for our continuing good health.
"It would be nice if we had showers, though, wouldn't it. Sharing a bath can be a little impersonal and showers are so much more hygienic, none of that sitting around in your own dirty bathwater. They're good for the environment too, they don't use half as much water as having a bath does, and we all have to be a bit greener nowadays, don't we. Or so they keep telling us. The Greens saving the planet and all that. But I suppose we are doing our bit by sharing baths as well. We only use half the water and half the energy to heat it.
"Ooh, hang on a minute, I think I felt something against my leg. Oh yes, here it is dear, there you go.
"Oh yes. One more thing, by the way. Don't start masturbating with it like you did last week, you dirty fucking bitch."Comment
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
Would someone mind explaining why the punchline "she went of her own accord" is funny? I honestly don't get it.Comment
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
Femme Folle wrote:
'Cause "Jamaica" = "D'ya make her?"Would someone mind explaining why the punchline "she went of her own accord" is funny? I honestly don't get it.
Apparently.
But you're still not laughing...Comment
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
“I had a shepherd’s pie last night.”
“And that’s all you got to say, is it? You’ve got some front. One minute we’re talking about moving in together and starting a family, the next minute you swan in here, drunk, and just as you like, say, “I had a shepherd’s pie last night.“ Christ. What? Don’t you “What the fuck are you talking about?“ me. You think I’m stupid, don’t you? You think I don’t know a shepherd’s pie is, don’t you? Give me some credit, will you. I know what sort of websites you’ve been visiting. Yes, I know. Christ, you ought to see your face right now. Pathetic. Thought I’d swallowed all that “Just going onto the net to see how the City got on” bollocks, didn’t you? Little Miss Thick As Shit, she’ll believe anything. She doesn’t understand. One word of advice: if you’re going to visit those websites, you could at least have the common sense, and the common decency, to delete the history afterwards.
What? Don’t you “But” me, you sick ... bastard. It doesn’t matter, not really, but who is it? No, not “Who’s what?” I. Want. To. Know. Who. It. Is. Question’s not that difficult, is it? You owe me that much at least. Ah, forget it, you won’t tell me anyway. You don’t have to. I know who it is. It’s that blonde slag, isn’t it? It’s written all over your face. The one who sits at the bar on her own. It is, isn’t it? Isn’t it? And you had a shepherd’s pie with that? Christ. I’ve seen her in action. Bloke walks past, hand in his trouser pocket, fiddle, fiddle, “While you’re up, can you get me a white wine and lemonade?“ Christ, you disgust me. What, “No”? Well, if it wasn’t her, it might as well have been. And I bet you did it in the toilets as well, didn’t you? That’s just about your dap-off, that is. Shepherd’s pie with the pub bike in a toilet cubicle ankle-deep in shit, piss and Christ knows what else. And I can just picture you afterwards, going back into the pub with that self-satisfied grin on your face. I know that grin. Christ, I know that grin. I’ve seen it often enough myself, although Christ knows you didn’t have any reason, any reason at all, to feel satisfied with yourself. And then you went over to your mates, holding her knickers above her head like you’d just won one of your stupid old men’s five-a-side tournaments. Or were your mates watching? I bet they were, weren’t they? Bloody hell, they were, weren't they? They’re just as bad as you anyway. That’s the problem with your mates. They give it all that about “Yeah, look at me, I do my share of stuff round the house“;“Woo-ooh, look at me, I change my kid’s nappy once a month“;“Woo-ooh, here, me, I read my kid a bedtime story two years ago.“ Yeah they give it all that, but ... Don’t touch me. JUST. DON’T. TOUCH. ME. Yeah, they give it all that, but as soon as you get a shepherd’s pie off That Slag in a pub toilet, they’re all there, egging you on, taking photos on their mobiles. I bet one of them even had a stopwatch. And I bet you all took it in turns as well, didn’t ... ”
”He was furious.”
”He was furious? HE was furious? Christ. Two years. I gave you two years of my life. I didn’t have kids because of you. And now you’re telling me it was all a sham ... ”Comment
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"My wife's gone..." joke written after whiskey...
ChrisJ wrote:
Ah, that old chestnut.Femme Folle wrote:
'Cause "Jamaica" = "D'ya make her?"Would someone mind explaining why the punchline "she went of her own accord" is funny? I honestly don't get it.
Apparently.
But you're still not laughing...
Do better.Comment
Comment