You lie alone
So small, so fragile
Boxed like a doll
In a toy store window
Where passers-by say
“It’s almost lifelike”
But you are not a doll
You are not for sale
For you are not whole
The essence that was you
Has left you empty
Like a box within a box
You lie alone
Your angelic soul
Was borne to heaven
A man walked into a pub one Saturday night
He
went to the bar and ordered a pint of light
“Certainly,
Sir, that will cost you ten pence”
“Ten
pence? For a pint that makes no sense”
The
man exclaimed delightedly to the barman
“Special
price tonight, enjoy it while you can”
The
man glanced down at the bar food menu
Then
he ordered steak and chips with peas too
“Yes
Sir,” said the barman, “that will be fifty p”
“How
much?” the man said a little doubtfully
The
barman confirmed the price to the man
“Special
price tonight, enjoy it while you can”
“Where's
the other bloke who owns this place?”
The
barman said “Upstairs, with my wife Grace”
The
man asked detecting an undertone of strife
“What's
he doing upstairs with your wife?”
“He’s
upstairs doing to my wife more or less”
What do you call a chicken?
The
question begs
If
it wears a shell suit?
Sebastian seriously ill lay dying
His
wife, Vicky, by his side crying
He
roused from his coma briefly
And
his pallid lips moved slightly
He
whispered, “Vicky my darling,”
“Hush”
she said. “Rest, no talking”
But
he was persistent in his distress
“I
have something I must confess.”
“There's
nothing to confess dearest”
She
replied weeping “Please rest”
But
Sebastian was not about to cease
“No,
no. Vicky I must die in peace,”
“I
slept with your sister, and mother
Your
best friend, and your brother”
She
whispered “I know my sweet one”
“Now
let the poison’s work be done”
Bimbette an unmarried mother went to claim benefit
And in front of a case manager, she was asked to sit
He asked her “How many children do you have then?”
After a few moments the mother finally replied “Ten”
Horrified and thinking this was “One of those” claims
“Ten?” Said the case manager “What are their names?”
Bimbette replied impatiently “They’re all called Wayne”
“They’re all called Wayne? Isn’t that a bit of a pain?
“Naah” she said “If they’re out playing in the street
“I just shout, “Come in Wayne” and it works a treat”
“It works at bedtime and when it’s time for dinner”
“But what if” asked the manager in a perturbed manner
“You want to speak to one boy individually?” He said
“That’s easy,” she said “I use their surnames instead”
What wonderful news not only has the British Government finally made a decision on something, but they have made a good one.
They
are finally going to ban smoking in pubs.
Now
we can not only subject ourselves to coronary inducing meals, smoke free, but
we can also relax safe in the knowledge that our children are free to binge
drink and experiment with drugs without the additional hazard of passive
smoking.
A very simple rule
I
was always taught
Love
your neighbor
