Jokes. Puns. Etc. #1

Below are some of the puns and jokes I’ve written these past few weeks on Twitter – hence their brevity. There are a lot (probably far too many) in this first post but I’ll update in smaller chunks in the future. If you want to leave (nice, complimentary) comments you have to scroll all the way to the bottom.

My brother was always boasting about how one day he’d sell his piss in cartons. But in the end he bottled it.

Surgeons were at a loss when Anne Widdecombe came in complaining of stomach pains. In the end they pulled something out of the bag.

Every Friday evening, after his shift at Pickfords, my uncle plays maracas in a Monkees tribute band. He’s a real mover and shaker.

All I can think about these days is how to get lumps out of flour. I’ve got a mind like a sieve.

My robot girlfriend has massive STOP buttons instead of breasts. They’re a real turn off.

My mother told me yesterday that I was conceived at the ‘1967 National Institute for the Mute’ summer ball. I was dumb founded.

I hate mad scientists who cross insects with large hairy mammals. In fact, it’s one of my bugbears.

I was talking to a farmer who was saying how scared he was that his new square peas wouldn’t sell. I told him to grow some balls.

I’ve just been convicted for hanging a sign on Buckingham Palace gates that said: “Death to the Que…” They gave me a suspended sentence.

I used to get into trouble for going into Madame Tussaud’s & revealing Adam’s modesty. Not any more, I’m turning over a new leaf.

I met an amputee who claimed he turns the shaft that keeps the earth rotating. He was an armless old crank.

I’ve got this condition which makes me continually visit the nudist camp that’s just over the road. It’s my cross to bare.

Shall I wear my New Rose badge along with my Dave Vanian mask to the Punk Fancy Dress party? I’ll be Damned if I do and Damned if I don’t.

Me and my mate Rob ruined a Godley & Creme concert by constantly shouting out the little one’s name. LOL!

A professor on the telly has just said that the strangest Conan Doyle story is The Case of the Constipated Detective. No shit, Sherlock.

I’ve been asked to take on the role of bass player in Ipswich’s annual Monkees Festival. I’ll be the Tork of the town.

As Chief Engineer it’s my job to tighten the huge bolt that keeps Ipswich firmly in place. I’m the torque of the town.

Our postman ripped off his mask to reveal a huge bushy beard and then started bellowing at me. It was a Blessed in disguise.

Despite the high safety standards at the Mathematical Equipment Disposal Yard, they’re always breaking the rules.

All I can think about these days is Victorian subterranean architecture and rivers of shit. I’ve got a mind like a sewer.

I was the guest speaker at the Hotel Lobby Heating Engineers’ annual convention. They gave me a very warm reception.

I used to work as Chief Tester in the factory where they make kids’ swings. They gave me the push.

Did you hear about the drag queen at the Hod Carriers’ Christmas party? She went down like a ton of bricks.

I had a fantastic time at the 7th Annual Rickshaw Owners’ Party last night. I pulled.

I went as Welsh rarebit to a food-themed fancy dress event last night. I was the toast of the party.

I went to a fancy dress party last night as one half of Jodie Marsh. I looked a right tit.

My kids found a life-size, but incomplete, T-Rex model kit in their Cornflakes this morning. You couldn’t make it up.

I asked if I could join the Morris dancers. They said they’d give me a bell.

I’ve just been voted Viagra salesman of the year. There was some stiff competition.

I was a judge in the Tiniest Nose competition. It was incredibly difficult to pick a winner.

I regret entering the Guess The Dairy Product quiz at the Farmers’ Market. I should have known butter.

I was all dolled up for last night’s Barbers and Hairdressers’ Dinner & Dance. I turned quite a few heads.

I’m at this very moment being judged in the ‘Everyday Scenes From Nature’ competition. I’m shaking like a leaf.

I won first prize at last night’s Goose Down Pillow Stuffing contest. You could have knocked me down with a feather.

My speech at the Demolition Society’s AGM really brought the house down.

I won first prize in the Cromer Crab Lookalike competition. You could have knocked me sideways.

I was disqualified from the 2nd Annual Mathematical Equipment Carers’ competition. I broke every rule in the book.

I took part in a Scandinavian boxing tournament last week. It was a fight to the Finnish.

I took part in a premature ejaculation contest last night. I came last.

I did better in last week’s premature ejaculation competition though. I came first.

I went as a rectum stretcher to an S&M fancy dress party. I won first prise.

The speech I made at the Television Reviewers’ Annual Ball got a unanimously negative response. Everyone’s a critic.

When asked if the tins of spinach he was carrying were a gift, the Lord Mayor of Edinburgh said: “They’re for the Pope, aye.”

My Pope has got no nose. How does he smell? Of hate, bigotry, abuse and death.

How many Popes does it take to change a lightbulb? None. They don’t have lightbulbs in the 15th century.

The Pope has refused to meet David Cameron as he’s the head of the ConDoms.

We’ve just fitted one of those new intangible doors. At just £15 you can’t really knock it.

A four leaf clover broke out of prison. It was a very lucky escape.

They’ve released a clay figurine of the lead singer of Motorhead. It’s called The Golemmy.

In Sweden they name the subway cars after celebrities. There’s one Bjorn every minute.

Humpty Dumpty. What a numpty.

I just watched a documentary about manure. It was shit.

I just watched a documentary about testicles. What a load of bollocks.

I just watched a documentary about cow’s stomachs. What a load of tripe.

My son has gone to America to topple a scarce and classic Jaguar car over a cliff. It’s a long way to tip a rare E.

My son has gone to America to push a limited edition ecstasy tablet into his girlfriend’s mouth. It’s a long way to tip a rare E.

I just watched ‘Gareth Hale: The Early Years’. It lacked Pace.

Why would anybody buy a dollar making machine? It makes no cents.

I just watched ‘After The Fall: The Humpty Dumpty Story’. It was pretty rotten.

I went to see ‘Rapunzel: The Movie’ last night. What a let down.

I was disappointed with ‘Tom Thumb’s Jacket’. I just couldn’t get into it.

I’ve just started watching ‘Jack & The Beanstalk: The Series’. I reckon it’s a grower.

I was going to buy one of those Personal Future Viewers. But I’m afraid I’ll catch my death.

All I can think about these days is the curtain rail in our front room. I’ve got a one track mind.

I attended a sheep bondage and bestiality party the other night. It was a bit ram shackle.

I was asked what I thought about the ‘Tourette’s Among Itinerant Workers Fund’. I said I couldn’t give a tinker’s cuss.

I was asked what I thought about the illegal trade in animal pelts. I said I couldn’t give a monkey’s.

I was asked what I thought about constipation. I said I couldn’t give a shit.

I was asked if I’d like to donate to the Flood Relief Fund. I said I couldn’t give a dam.

I gave up reading ‘The Impenetrable Door’. I just couldn’t get through it.

I’m currently reading ‘My Right Hand’. It’s a real page turner.

I’m currently reading ‘Rising Gas: The History of Helium’. It’s unputdownable.

I’m currently reading ‘Sticky Business: How Superglue Changed The World’. It’s unputdownable.

We’re really sad because we’ve just sent our robot children for their annual service in Japan. And the kids, well, they were in pieces.

Did you hear about the horse who lost his key for the stable door? He bolted.

My old job as Chief Conveyor Belt Loader on the Generation Game was really stressful. It was just one thing after another.

Our chauffeur is a really irritating giant spider. He’s driving me up the wall.

The curator of Madame Tussaud’s was very upset when the features on the Geronimo waxwork melted. I told him to put a Brave face on it.

I went to see James Cameron’s 3D remake of The Invisible Man last night. Couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.

The ‘Male Erections in Nature’ exhibition at a The Tate was a bit disappointing. We couldn’t see the wood for the trees.

I’ve just found out that my robot girlfriend keeps her power pack hidden inside her vagina. What a shock that was.

Sex with my robot girlfriend is often cold and mechanical. But at least she’s easy to turn on.

Our local school has got a miniature robot teacher. They built him from a Short Sir Kit.

I saw a chicken wanking next to the eggs in Tesco today. He was trying to prove who came first.

Everyone on our street loves my pet spider. Except for our next door neighbours. But then the Muffets have always been a bit odd.

My pet spider’s name is Saddam. He’s an Iraqnid.

My pet spider bought himself a wheelbarrow. He got done for fly-tipping.

What did the snail say to the pushy estate agent? I’m not shelling out for that.

We went to that new escargot restaurant last night. The food was great but the service was really slow.

Did you hear about the worm who fell into a bowl of Twiglets? He was petrified.

Did you hear about the worm who fell in a bowl of spaghetti? He thought he was at a Roman orgy.

Why wasn’t the worm allowed in the pub? Because he was already legless.

My skunk has got no nose. How does he smell? Really fucking horrible. Terrible. Unbearable.

Why did the millipede refuse to fly with RyanAir? There wasn’t enough leg room.

My centipede is a terrible dancer. He has a hundred left feet.

My wife is a centipede. It took me ages to sweep her off her feet.

My centipede is pregnant. Soon we’ll be hearing the pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter of tiny feet.

The Hot Air Balloon Enthusiasts’ Society has expanded operations to accommodate rising membership.

The UK Potholing Society has closed. Membership was right down.

The Flat Earth Society is closing down as a result of membership dropping off.

In a bid to attract more visitors, they’ve installed a massive helter skelter in Kew Gardens. It’s a downward spiral.

This year I’ve decided not to take part in the Fill Yourself Up With Tea or Coffee contest. It’s a mug’s game.

Man on phone just now: “G-g-good m-m-m-morning. I’m from a c-c-c-company that sp-sp-specialises in… ” He was a cold caller.

As I lit my cigarette I was bathed in a pure, warm light and was caressed by an angel. It was a match made in heaven.

What do you call a mole who breaks his glasses? Unlooky.

My wife put my soiled underpants in the cooker instead of the washing machine. Arse biscuits.

We’ve just taken part in a charity tug of war event against Norfolk Traffic Police. They pulled us over.

We’ve just renovated our house to make it look just like my old primary school. Very classy.

Was it difficult to work out what that strange yellow stain was just behind the bathroom door? No, it was a piece of piss.

Was it difficult to work out what the number 2 setting was on our newfangled air conditioning unit? No, it was a breeze.

Was it difficult to work out what Knotty Ash’s most famous son calls his distinctive walk? No, it was a Doddle.

Was it difficult to work out what would be a good way to get gentle exercise on a sunny autumnal day? No, it was a walk in the park.

I decapitated six of my friends, pulped their noggins to liquid and mixed it all up with malt, hops & yeast. It’s a heady brew.

I’ve just taken orders for my latest invention: a showroom dummy that greets customers as they pass. It’s really making waves.

I went to the wedding of the manager of the 24 hour garage & the manageress of the local Budgens. It’s a marriage of convenience.

For lunch I had toasted ringbinders, boiled marker pens and roasted envelopes. It’s all part of a Staples diet.

Every morning I place a small crucifix on my shrine to Rupert. It’s my cross to bear.

My grandfather was very pithy. He called his pith helmet his ‘helmet’.

The Ryanair stewardess went ballistic when I tried to board the plane with my big magical bag of goodies. You’ve never seen such a carry on.

I’m glad they rescued those miners so quickly. They were falling apart at the seam.

Serving toad in the hole at the miners’ celebratory dinner was a tad thoughtless.

They’ve set up a Chilean Miners’ Repatriation fund. Dig deep.

At dinner my cannibal friend ate only the limbs and the torso. He’s off his head.

What do you call a mole who finds an expensive pair of powerful binoculars? Looky.

I had a nightmare that I was dismembered and cooked for breakfast live on the Wogan Show. It was Terry frying.

I put £200 on ‘Chubb Secure’ at Epsom this afternoon. It was a safe bet.

My ex-wife has just turned my minus symbol into a plus symbol. She’s really crossed the line this time.

Every day I don my jester’s costume and waste hours dancing around in front of the mirror. I’m a fool to myself.

My friend Ian gets violent whenever I try to cover him with cream & pop a cherry on his head. He’s not to be trifled with.

I thought it was quite radical, me setting free that dove on Stella McCartney’s doorstep. It flew in the face of fashion.

I backed a horse called Dead Prawn Cocktail. It was a late starter.

My dad was miserable after he had his legs knocked round 90 degrees in a nasty fall. But we think he’s turning a corner now.

We bashed a load of holes and stuck an American flag into the length of floor outside our bedroom door. It’s a moon landing.

Lovers were greeted with a booming “IT WON’T LAST!” when they gazed up at the stars last night. It was the dark side of the moon.

The bailiffs have been round because I failed to keep up payments on a chocolate bar I bought in 1998. I’m a victim of the credit Crunchie.

In the end I decided not to take that job making frozen wine. I got cold feet.

My friend Ian runs the REM lab at the sleep clinic. It’s his dream job.

My friend Ian loves his job as a historian. But there’s no future in it.

My friend Ian designs cul-de-sacs for a living. It’s a dead end job.

I’m working up the courage to talk to my wife about giving up my job as a Braille teacher. It’s a very touchy subject.

Liverpool city council are refusing to decommission the new sculpture of John Power’s second band. It’s Cast in stone.

I once slept with Joan Baez and Pete Seeger. I’m bi-folkal.

Did you hear about the campanologist who threw himself from the belfry when his girlfriend dumped him? He was a real dead ringer for love.

I got caught taking part in an illegal deer tossing contest. They threw the buck at me.

Did you hear about the time I pissed in the ink barrels on Fleet Street? It was in all the papers.

A prawn cocktail has just told us to clean the house up and take the dog for a walk. We’re under starter’s orders.

My friend Rob stuffed himself into a giant envelope and posted himself to his girlfriend. He’s a card.

Just had a very quick birthday visit from our friends who have chickenpox. They gave me the bumps.

The old fella who looks after Big Ben has got a book out. It’s about time.

I’ve just got back from a trip to the North Pole with one half of the BBC’s popular cleaning duo. It was a very Kath Arctic experience.

I’ve just told the Sugared Flake Workers’ Union that they’re not getting a pay rise this year. I got a very Frostie reception.

I’ve just discovered a way to get beef back to a younger, fresher state. Watch this space – all will be re-vealed.

I really wanted to watch that new Animal Extremities programme last night. But I only caught the tail end.

It took me three hours but I finally convinced the salesman at the garden centre that I didn’t want a new wheelbarrow. Far too pushy.

Terry Thomas presided over the funeral of the world’s most famous clown: “Cad buries Coco.”

Terry Thomas forced Errol Brown & his band to take part in their own funeral: “Cad buries Hot Chocolate.”

Terry Thomas murdered & dismembered his wife and then disposed of her smaller body parts: “Cad buries fingers.”

Since he came back from the dead my pet insect has been great at soothing coughs. He’s an ex-spectre ant.

My grandfather bled to death after his tailor accidentally pricked him in the neck with a pin. It was a fitting end.

My wife was just shouting about how tiny our tumble drier is. I told her to put a sock in it.

To people who keep asking: yes, it’s true, I am completely transparent. I can’t be much clearer than that.

My wife reckons she’s treating us both to laser eye surgery tomorrow. We’ll see.

I wouldn’t recommend having sex with the corpse of Malcolm Owen. You’ll just get stuck in a Rut.

I’m thinking of giving away my Idiots Guide to Kleptomania. Any takers?

The new ‘Art of the Taser’ exhibition at the Tate: stunning.

There’s nothing I like doing more than balancing the books for See, Hear, Touch and Smell. There’s no accounting for Taste.

My mate’s just been told he won’t get any compensation for the accident he had at the scrap merchant’s. He’s absolutely crushed.

They’re giving away thousands of Matt Damon DVDs at our local HMV. There’s one Bourne every minute.

Michael Caine after he caught his wife fellating all the bands at the Whisky A Go Go: “You’re only supposed to blow the bloody Doors off!”

Debussy, Rains and Monet had thin foil strips running the length of their bodies. Every Claude has a silver lining.

I’m at a fantastic Underwear Fancy Dress Party! Loads of great-looking women making an effort with sexy lingerie. I just came in my pants.

My friend Buzz refuses to have anything to do with a certain type of Vauxhall car. He’s an Astra nought.

Before I slurped it down, my drink greeted me warmly and asked if I’d had a nice day. It was orange cordial.

People keep telling me how great the new invisible MacBook is. I can’t see it myself.

Jamie Cullum’s new album was recorded in South Africa. What a load of jizz.

They’ve chosen an instrumental version of My Boy Lollipop as the theme song for the Labour conference. It’s another Millie band victory.

I didn’t get through to the 2nd round of the Bedroom Furniture Design competition It was just the look of the drawers.

I got my wife a two-sided coin but she wanted a loaded dice. I got her a loaded dice but then she wanted the two-sided coin. I just can’t win.

My son stole next door’s lawn to wear to a horticultural fancy dress party. We grassed him up.

We’ve got intangible eggs for breakfast. You can’t beat ’em.

We’re having dinner to celebrate securing Britain’s Got Talent’s biggest star for our wedding reception. I can’t believe we’ve got Boyle in the bag.

I’ve just got feedback on my idea for ‘Banana Boat Song: The Musical’. They told me to give up the Day-O job.

I was hoping to retire from the proceeds of selling the missing B*Witched album I’ve just found. But it looks like a lost Corrs.

Tic-Tac have released a back-to-front version of their famous mint. They’re hoping this new Tac-Tic will increase sales.

My friend just told me that he’s got a job testing the beds at Slumberland. He always was a lier.

I tricked my friend into thinking I’d come round and look after him while he was ill. Succour!

What supermarket do axe murderers go to? Bludgeons.

I’ve got this condition which makes me continually visit the nudist camp that’s just over the road. It’s my cross to bare.

Did George Osborne really say, “Let them eat doughnut”? It has a hollow ring to it.

I tell you, if my new range of edible headwear isn’t a massive seller I’ll eat my hat.

I just cleared a space in Tesco’s detergent aisle. It was a Bold move.

Apparently there’s a ridiculous new game called ‘Cricket Punctuation’. Bowled a dash!

We all knew my brother would cut short his treatment at the leprosy clinic. He’s very flaky like that.

I was home when the Wolfman came round to challenge me to a boxing match. Not for Dracula though; I was out for the count.

At our golf club they always serve baked beans for breakfast and lunch. It’s parp for the course.

I had a dodo steak last night. Very rare.

I had an arse bone steak last night. Very rear.

I’ll do anything to lose a few pounds but they’ll never get me on those scales at Weight Watchers. No weigh!

I spent ages in the Radiohead section of HMV’s new underwater store. I got The Bends.

Mayor Bloomberg has just asked me to clean the right side of the Statue of Liberty’s face. What a cheek.

Why did Batman get into trouble when he appeared on the Generation Game in the late seventies? Because he tried to dick Grayson.

Where does Superman buy his red boots from? Clarks, Kent.

My pet parrot is really good at talking, at flying, at eating and at doing sums. He’s a Polly math.

My Grandad likes to have sex with his pet parrot. We call him Polly filler.

As well as his wife leaving him, my brother was fired from his job unloading car parts from lorries. The guy just can’t catch a brake.

My next door neighbour jumped from behind a tree & rammed his leaf blower into my arse. He’s always putting the wind up me.

My wife didn’t appreciate my gift of one of those bondage pulley things and a set of nipple clamps. We had a real bust up.

Our town is so small that there aren’t enough pipes to keep the showers running for more than a few seconds. It’s just a little backwater.

I was very disappointed with the Hollywood version of Waiting For Godot. He turned up.

I got dust all over my dad’s new jumper. He blew his top.

Every time my next door neighbour pulls up on his drive he has a good look into our window. He’s a real nosey parker.

Do you know what’s good for glue ear? Flour and water.

They’ve just elected a mynah bird as the Mayor of Ipswich. It’s the talk of the town.

I’m sure my wife’s having an affair with the bloke who runs the model village. I can see the little signs.

I suppose it is odd that our mynah bird only talks when he locates his food. But as I always say: you should speak as you find.

Although we go to Slimming World together, my wife insists on getting on the scales alone. She always gets her own weigh.

Every time we turn it on we have no idea whether our kettle will boil the water or just leave it cold. It has the element of surprise.

Sometimes we play music by Mick Jones’ other bands: The Clash & Carbon/Silicon. So it’s not all BAD.

The police have been round our estate visiting kitchens, eating the food and swearing at everybody. They’ve Gordoned off the whole area.

My wife cut my hair and got rid of my lovely blonde highlights. It’s very unfair.

My friends keep telling me to ejaculate into the orifice of a farm animal. In a pig’s ear I will.

Two shoplifters were apprehended by John Oates and Bobby Ball in Harrods this afternoon. They were caught by the short and curlies.

I like Simon. But I heart Garfunkel.

The Tate is charging £80 to see Andres Serrano’s controversial new piece: ‘Red NYC Statue’. It’s a bloody Liberty!

Who cares if philosophers occasionally use bad language? I couldn’t give a thinker’s cuss.

I’ve just finished spraying the ‘way out’ signs on the doors at the Jean Paul Sartre Auditorium. Very exit stencil.

Someday I hope to realise my ambition of becoming a supplier of tobacco goods. At the moment it’s just a pipe dream.

I thought my new career arranging pigs’ living areas would be different from my office job. But really, I’m just another pen pusher.

SOON YOU WILL ALL HAVE TO FACE THE INVENTOR OF THE ARTIFICIAL FEMUR. PREPARE TO MEET THIGH MAKER.

I’m looking forward to the Public Sector Workers’ Christmas Ball this year. We’re all getting doled up.

I’ve just bought myself a real country house: Hank in the kitchen, Dolly in the bedroom, Cash in the attic.

I’ve been having trouble remembering the name of a chewy sweet with sherbet in the middle. So I’m going on a Refresher course.

My friend Ian has just patented his ‘Right Angle Fencing System for Outdoor Trading’. He’s cornered the market.

Loads of noise here at the film festival about horror, sci-fi, romance and comedy. But it’s all quiet on the western front.

My colleagues at the waxworks factory have turned out replicas of Gary, Robbie, Howard & Jason. Me, I’m still trying to make my Mark.

I was asked what I thought about donating 60s pop records to charity. I said I couldn’t give a Monkees.

There was a bloke in HMV weeping because they didn’t have The Beatles’ second film on DVD. It was a cry for Help.

My wife says there’s room in the fridge for my favourite fabric conditioner if the cupboards get full. But really, that’s just cold Comfort.

My wife’s a nasty piece of work. She cried at the end of Downfall.

I got a job cleaning out the casks at a brewery yard. I’m really scraping the barrel.