Hey Party People!
I didn’t get a chance to bang out another thoughtful, insightful and well written post last night because the universe didn’t want me to. Instead, the universe told me, explicitly, to go home, lie down on the couch and pass out.
Who am I to argue with such a compelling suggestion?
So I’m inviting some community participation today! Like when the teacher tells the class that today they’re doing unprepared speeches in order to ‘work on their public speaking skills’ ie. he was too drunk the night before to prepare a lesson.
I hereby declare today ‘Inappropriate Joke Friday’. The only question that you need to ask to see if your joke qualifies as ‘inappropriate’ is: If I told this to a group of complete strangers, would they ever speak to me again?
If the answer is yes, I’m sorry, but your joke isn’t quite inappropriate enough. Buy a Jimmy Carr DVD and try again next time.
So to get the ball rolling, here’s mine (courtesy of Stikey):
A serious alcoholic keeps coming home at 3 in the morning, blind drunk and covered in his own puke. After years of this, his wife finally offers him the following ultimatum:
‘If you come home like that one more time,’ she says, furious, ‘I’m divorcing you.’
That night the man tells his friends what his wife said while they’re sitting in the pub getting tanked.
‘What the fuck am I going to do?’ the man asks in desperation.
‘Easy,’ says his buddy, ‘put a R100 note in your shirt pocket. When your wife starts bitching you out for being covered in puke again, just tell her that R100’s from the guy at the bar who threw up on you. It’s to cover the dry cleaning costs. Problem solved.’
‘Fuck!’ the man replies, ‘you’re a genius! Who wants tequila? I’m buying!’
Early the following morning, the man staggers home, covered in puke only to be greeted by his wife, who is spitting mad.
‘It’s over!’ she screams, ‘I warned you about this you good-for-nothing drunk asshole!’
‘No, no, no, wait,’ the man slurs, ‘see this hunnered rand note? It’s from the guy who puked on me to get my clothes dry cleaner, um, cleaned!’
‘That’s two hundred rand. What’s the other hundred for?’ The wife asks, still livid.
‘Oh that? That’s from the guy who shat in my pants.’
Da dum.
Tsshh.
Ok, now you!
[Sound Effect: Crickets in the background]
-ST
