I have a joke for you. Here is my joke:
Q. Why did the chicken cross the road?
A. Because he knew how to do it properly, because he watched this shit road safety DVD that I am about to show you.
This DVD is called SOCHO!, which, after some light googling, I discovered is Hindi for THINK! I don’t know if you have to shout it or not.
Anyway, SOCHO! is an awesome road safety movie sponsored by our local council, for reasons. It’s not well known round here or anything – we just happened to spot it lurking at the back of a charity shop. That’s how much road safety means to people in the Midlands. Continue reading “Road safety with Super Wife Cloud”
Lads, I’ve got to share this abomination with you:
I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve tried eating crisps to distract myself but that hasn’t worked. Continue reading “The Blue Peter wigs of evil”
When you’re five years old in the 80s, your class will go on a trip to one of the following places:
– A farm
– A museum of something no 5 year old cares about, like welding
– The local park/canal
The more exciting trips, such as Alton Towers or abseiling in Derbyshire, are reserved for the older kids, because they can be trusted not to cry and shit their pants on a coach trip of more than two miles. Nevertheless, anything that doesn’t involve tens and units, using the trundle wheel, or running round in your vest and pants is a welcome distraction, so our school trips were always looked forward to like a really shit version of Christmas. Continue reading “The school trip: piss and picnics”
Further evidence of why I shouldn’t be allowed to go to the shop when I’ve had wine:
I decided it was a good idea to spend £1.49 on a ‘Farm Fun’ activity pack, promising ACTIVITY PUZZLES FUN. Continue reading “Corner Shop Crap: So many evil pigs”
Charity shops are ace. You can find untold treasures in them, or even a Right Said Fred annual, and all you have to do is polish your kung fu skills so you can fight off the old ladies who are eyeing up your stuff.
The final boss of the charity shop is Yvonne, Guardian of the Raffle Tickets. She stands behind the counter, and will charge you an arbitrary price for something depending on whether or not she likes the look of you:
“Those slacks look common. 20 quid for the jigsaw.”
“You look like a woman I don’t like called Beverley. I’m not selling you this.”
“Your Malcolm works at the bowls club doesn’t he? Have this Faberge egg for 50p.”
She will also bar your path with her mighty bosom if she decides your handbag’s too big. Continue reading “13 things in every charity shop”