I got ridiculously drunk at the National Society of Hairdressers’ Christmas Ball. I fell into a comber.
As a young man I spent a lot of time dreaming up fancy custard recipes. I wanted to impress Birds.
I don’t think I’ll be picked to play for the blow football team again. I sucked.
Every morning in Habitat the staff repeatedly turn the floor lamps on and off. It’s standard practice.
I was caught shoplifting in Habitat. They let me off with a cushion.
I left Chipperfield’s circus to join the flea circus. It wasn’t much of a leap.
When I emerged from the club all I could think about was bums, fannies and legs. I was off my tits.
Did you hear about the prostitute who only gave blow jobs in The Ashmolean? She wanted to go down in history.
In my quest to climb the UK’s best walls I was ably assisted by the hosts of TV Burp & The Lottery Programme. I went up Hill & down Dale.
I just rang Barclays to ask why there was no balance on my statement. They said it must have been the work of a bank rubber.
“Come on then, stick yourselves in us now you bastards!” shouted my coat sleeves from the cupboard. It was a call to arms.
What’s green and slimy and lets you park on his lily pad? Permit the Frog. (That would have been hilarious 30-odd years ago.)
I’m plucking up the courage to tell my girlfriend to be a little less tactile. It’s a very touchy subject.
Jude Law can’t understand why he keeps getting mistaken for a female TV presenter. Every time he goes out: “Look, it’s clear balding.”
My son has started to express disappointment by making loud grunting noises. We’ll soon cut him down to sighs.
I lost my job at the death mask factory. My face didn’t fit.
Every Monday morning Norfolk councillors populate strips of turf with mini trees, goal posts & dog walking areas. It’s common practice.
I joked that I was going to blow up the plane as it approached Iceland’s Geyser Airport. It landed me in very hot water.
We’ve just bought one of those Fisher Price inflatable cities. We’re going to blow up the airport first. #twitterjoketrial
Magistrates fined me £30 for masturbating in public with a slice of Slimcea bread. I got off lightly.
I just looked in the mirror and saw a tiny hand flapping out of my ear. It was another one of my brain waves.
My friend Ian’s just got a job in a cocktail bar, dropping olives in Martinis. What a plonker.
Should I continue to pretend to my builder friend that I’ve got loads of experience working on floors? Or should I just level with him?
JOKES. PUNS. ETC. 