More hilarity agland so congratulations to DARREN for winning. PM me with a subject for next wank please.
Hence:

Votes - Points - Name
2 - 10 - Darren

Your new subject: HIDE or CORPORATION (chosen by COURTHOUSE).

Rules:
One entry/vote per person. Anyone can enter regardless of colour, sexual preferences or inside leg measurement, except voles.
Can be a sketch, joke, lyric or anything else as long as it's yours and vaguely linked to the topic. Please try to only post your entry/vote and no other posts.
You can edit your entry as much as you want, up until the closing time.

Competition Closes: 21.5.15

Overall Leader Board is now:
Position - Points - Name
1 - 10 - Darren

THE CORPORATE BLADDER

STUDIO.
PRESENTER and TWOT.

PRESENTER Food evening, ladles and ginger men, and weljam to 'Faster Chef', the show in which five young (gets up, dances) 'People of The World, Spice Up Your Life! Every boy and every girl, Spice up Your...' - sorry, five young Wannabes - camp it out to become the new Gordon Ramsay. And incilentilly, we asked five thousand priests, 'What's your favourite spice?' They all said, 'Emma Bunton.'

CANNED LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE.

PRESENTER My first bun-testant is John Thomas from Twottenham. So John, what's the beef?

CANNED LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE.

PRESENTER What's eating you, John?

CANNED LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE.

PRESENTER But seriously John, what've you - ha ha - cooked up for us tobite?

TWOT I call this 'un kebab.

PRESENTER Ah, so you slice the bread slimmer than Victoria Beckham, add more meat than Tiger Woods, and then heat it hotter than a five-year-old in a monastery?

TWOT Nah. I go to the kebabbie when I'm pissed. I walk like so - one foot in front of the other - and then I goes, 'Kebab matie!' He gives me one and I take it home and eat it.

PRESENTER I'm sorry, that's just not the Gordon Ramsay way. Another choice cut?

TWOT Bread and cheese.

PRESENTER Hmmm. So you prepare more dough than Victoria Beckham, add more cheese than Tiger Woods, and then spread like a...?

TWOT F**k that. I go down Sainsbury's when I'm hung over. I walk like so - one foot in front of the other - and then I goes, 'Cheese matie!' He gives me one and I take it home and eat it.

PRESENTER And is it nice?

TWOT Not really. I'm still full from the kebab.

PRESENTER Okay, John. Last chance to do things the Gordon Ramsay stylie.

TWOT Spotted dick.

PRESENTER You go to the...?

TWOT Doctor, yeah.

PRESENTER No...

TWOT Crabs.

PRESENTER You...?

TWOT Doctor again.

PRESENTER No!

TWOT Cockburn.

PRESENTER NO!

TWOT Will you f**king shut your f**king mouth you f**king little f**king f**ker?

PRESENTER You're through to the next round.

Cowboy Pat

This is the story of Cowboy Pat,

who lived for his hoss and his Stetson hat.

With his silver spurs and his leather boots,

he was loved by all, not least barmaid Toots.

On his polished saddle through the town he'd ride.
It mattered not that he was in Mosside.
He saw the cobbles as dusty tracks
and the carpark, as the old corral amidst some wooden shacks.
They called Pat the sheriff amongst other names.
He was about to get even with that crook, Jessie James.
Today his quest couldn't come too soon.
There was to be a shoot out at high noon.
Aware he could possibly meet his maker,
Pat consulted the undertaker.
"Good mourning." Was his sombre greeting.
"I hope our acquaintance will not be fleeting."
Scratching his head, he said, "I know of a boffin,
he'll have something to stop yer coffin."
The barber said, "here, stick this razor in Jessie.
That'll make his face look messy."
The milkmaid said, "here's my brown cow Pat.
If he shoots yer hoss, yer can ride back on that."
So cowboy Pat rode off to the west,
with the barber, the milkmaid and all the rest.
To shoot Jessie James who'd be there at high noon.
They hoped to ride back by the light of the moon.
On they galloped like fast bucking broncos.
They passed Lee Van Cleef and Clint wearing ponchos.
Along Whiskey Trail on the rocks they did go.
When they came face to face with Geronimo.
"Well, ruffle my feathers," the Indian chief sighed.
"Say dearies, don't I just look a sweetie in HIDE?"
From under a sombrero the Mexican said,
"hey gringo, yer looking better in lead."
Well, Calamity Jane she laughed so much,
that is, until Geronimo's hoss kicked her in the crotch.
Well, the Mexican, the barber and all the rest.
trailed cowboy Pat as he headed west.
The good, the bad and the ugly tagged on,
to watch Jessie James shoot out with his gun.
Passed the gold mines they went and over Boot Hill.
It was there they met up with old Buffalo Bill.
"Howdidoodi," he hollered, "could yer do with a hand?"
and Custer stood up and said, "this could be my last stand."
John Wayne drawled, "get off of yer hoss and drink yer milk Pat."
And James Cagney shouted, "you, you dirty rat."
Gary Cooper plugged him with six of the best saying,
"get off Cagney, this is wild west."
One eyed Dick appeared saying,"freeze or yer dead."
And Pat said, "don't touch me...Dick, or I'll fill yer with lead."
Well, Cooper and Wayne followed all the rest.
This was team working folks at its very best.
Kids and coyotes and a smelly racoon tagged on
to watch Jessie shoot out at high noon.
On they rode over Cherokee Hump.
When they saw Gene Autrey tied to a stump.
Now, I wouldn't say Pat had teeth like a rabbit,
but he could sure grate a carrot through a tennis raquet.
Well, he gnawed through that rope in ten seconds flat.
Gene Autrey broke free and said, "thanks cowboy Pat."
They reached the town where Jessie was hiding
and unsaddled their horses, they were sick of riding.
Jessie called, "give me a break yer down town liar."
And Pat replied, "I wouldn't spit down yer throat
if yer back teeth were on fire."
Jessie cried out, " right...this is it!"
And Pat called back, "I don't give a ...damn."
Back to back they stood and took ten paces forward.
Pat swivelled round quick and shot Jess in the forehead.
Jess hit the dust hard and there did he lie,
Pat just brushed his palms as if he'd swatted a fly.
Saloon Sally knelt as she kissed Jessie's hand.
His last words were, "yer were the best one night stand."
There was blood on the ground and blood on the walls.
The chemist was asked, "have yer got cotton wool balls?"
He looked quite indignant as he said with an air,
"what d'yer think I am? A bloody teddy bear?"
Cowboy Pat was a hero as he rode back in town.
He looked proud on his horse, Stetson perched like a crown.
All the crowd cheered as he rode down the street.
Their sheriff was back and Jessie James he had beat.
Barmaid Toots was breathless as she took Pat to bed.
She took off his hat and stroked his head.
Pat took off his boots and unbuttoned his flies.
She took off his Y-fronts and caressed his thighs.
Toots slipped off her dress and unfastened his shirt.
Then ........then.....the alarm clock woke Pat
and he got up for work

JONES: Thanks you for seeing me, minister.

MINISTER: Not at all, Mr Jones. What seems to be the problem?

JONES: Well, not to put too fine a point on it, it's the delivery I received this morning.

MINISTER: Oh, yes: Parcel X.

JONES: Quite. You see, I'm just thinking that we may not be the ideal place to store it.

MINSTER: It's really very small. I'm sure there's a handy nook somewhere in your vast edifice. So, if that's all Mr Jones, perhaps -

JONES: No. You see, it's not really the space, I'm just wondering whether the storage would be better served by some sort of laboratory facility.

MINISTER: Ah! But, that's exactly what the enemy would expect. No, if we're going to hide this from the Nazis, we have to think faster than they do. And that's why we want you to retain this particular testicle.

JONES: In the Albert Hall?

MINISTER: In the Albert Hall, yes. After all, it doesn't need to be centre stage, just slip it away somewhere. Look, here's a padded envelope, does that help?

JONES: Fine, thank you, very kind, but, I still don't understand why you want us to hide Adolf Hitler's, err, attachment.

MINISTER: It's a stratagem that has served Britain well for centuries, man! Ever since we snuck Philip of Spain's toenails into the Globe at Southwark. Do you know, in this nation's long and glorious history, we've stashed Napoleon's appendix in the atrium of the Ashmolean, and secreted Piet Cronje's baby teeth in row F of the Wigmore. Oh yes, this method of slipping an enemy's body parts into a cultural nexus has won us a ton of wars - hey, you'll never guess where we hid Kamal Ataturk's tonsils in 1916.

JONES: No idea.

MINISTER: The National.

JONES: Gallery or Theatre?

MINISTER: Both! They're still there, the bugger never got close to finding them.

JONES: Right...wasn't he on our side?

MINISTER: Well, strictly, yes, but once we'd got hold of them we thought it was best to go ahead. And, I mean, he was foreign, so fair game.

JONES: I see. And, despite this celebrated tradition, what will be the actual value of hiding Hitler's plum?

MINISTER: Aha! When he notices it's gone-

JONES: I suspect he has already.

MINISTER: Maybe, maybe not - but when he does, it'll really, really annoy him.

JONES: And that's good, is it?

MINISTER: Oh, yes! We want an angry enemy. Makes it a good, honest fight.

JONES: Sure, but, I was just wondering, we're not actually at war with Germany, are we? I mean, that militirisation of the Rhineland thing isn't great, but I was hopeful that we'd all get through it.

MINISTER: Rubbish! There's bound to be a war.

JONES: There is now you've surgically emptied his scrotum.

MINISTER: Yes, well, don't worry about that: I started a rumour that it was the Poles. No, I'll not hear any more arguments, you're going to squirrel this love nut away in the Albert Hall, or I'll have you up for treason.

JONES: Any suggestion of precisely where? Because the public do come in the hall quite a lot.

MINISTER: Oh, I don't know. Make a hole. In fact, make lots of holes, to put people off the scent. Find it out, what's the largest number of holes we could possibly make in the Albert Hall?

JONES: Actually, I've had someone look into that already. Chap from Blackburn...

A little poem about hiding!

I used to love to Hide,
when I was just a lad,
I'd run and hide all the time,
Every opportunity I had.
I'd run into the woods,
and Hide amongst the trees,
Hiding places just for me,
But sometimes not my Knees.
I still remember how it felt,
Not wanting to be found,
Staying still for hours and hours,
trying not to make a sound.
But that was many years ago,
everything is different now,
I'm supposed to be a grown up,
and Hidings not allowed.
I have to be responsible,
Go out and earn the money,
But as I read back on this poem, I realise that not only is it very poorly constructed!
It isn't very funny!!!!!!

SEARCHING FOR MR GORE-BLIMEY

The sultry and exotic sounds of the jungle. The thick bush being hacked at by weak-wristed English Gentlemen, unused to wielding a machete.

CARSTAIRS: Let's push on while there's still daylight..

CALDICOT: I don't know how long I can keep going! Day after day of these fetid, disease-ridden swamps! Damn this Heat! - The pages have gone all soggy. - and this article on where the Duke of Windsor buys his flannel trousers is 6 months out of date!

CARSTAIRS : Take a Break?...

CALDICOT: I told you, there wasn't a copy of "Take a Break" in the McColls at "the Royal Geographical Society" . Lawrence of Arabia bought the last one to read about Haile Selassie's cure for 'camel-toe'.

CARSTAIRS: No, let's take a break! The going is so much harder since the Native Barers couldn't bare us any more. The jungle is so foreign to us! - The strange cry of the Spider Monkey...

CALDICOT: Those odd noises from the Monkey Spider...

CARSTAIRS: The constant call of the cricket...

(In the distance the smack of ball on willow, cries of " ' Owzat!" " Ooh , well played " and polite applause as the Native Barers play cricket amongst themselves.)

CARSTAIRS: And they pretended not to understand ' the Off Side Rule" ...While we rest, I'll complete the entry in my journal for today..." Day 147, - we push ever onwards up the furthest reaches of the mighty Limpopo. -Still no sign of Gore-Blimey!
I must find him! I swore a solemn oath to Binky, Stinky, Molesbury Minor and all his other 'close chums, relations and lovers' in the Tory Cabinet.
-He set off with a Liberties "Bumper Bank-Holiday" picnic hamper, a complete set of P.G. Wodehouse -( to trade with the local tribespeople) and a lock of Ivor Novello's hair as a keepsake from their stay in Melton Mowbury." - Or was it a snatch of Melton Mowbury's hair from a dirty weekend in Sigfried Sassoon?...

CALDICOT: I heard it was a clump of hair from Wallis Simpsons snatch.

CARSTAIRS: But then, how typical of him to get lost. At school he couldn't find his way back to the Croquet Pavillion from the croquet oche.

CALDICOT: Or the Hockey oche, with an armful of hollyhocks. - Wait a moment! -Did you say "lost"? He's not lost! He's hiding! - This is 'the All Empire Hide and Seek Championships"! - For the "Lord Lucan Challenge Cup" - He's hoping to beat the magnificent records held by those Princes, in that Tower... (and no-one will ever think of looking for Richard lll there!)

CARSTAIRS: -I did wonder why his last words to me before he went were " Give me 100 and when you catch me I'm 'It'" ....

Quote: Michael Monkhouse @ 14th May 2015, 7:11 PM BST

More hilarity agland so congratulations to DARREN for winning. PM me with a subject for next wank please.

View original

That' same great prize to give out Michael!

Morning, all. Fun week.

First up, am I missing something or was this a weird theme, with 2 unconnected words? Not that this is against the rules, it just threw me for a bit. Doubly odd becuase Courthouse didn;t enter to show us what they were getting at!

Anyhoo, good to see a couple of poems submitted, nice one. I liked Michael's, plenty of top quality Monkhouse smut, but I couldn't really connect it to either theme. So, this week's winner for me is...Darren. Well played.

Michael

Quote: Will Cam @ 20th May 2015, 1:34 PM BST

That' same great prize to give out Michael!

View original

Yes, I'm too generous. I just hope no one chooses 'A Close Relative'.

Quote: gappy @ 22nd May 2015, 10:37 AM BST

First up, am I missing something or was this a weird theme, with 2 unconnected words? Not that this is against the rules, it just threw me for a bit. Doubly odd becuase Courthouse didn;t enter to show us what they were getting at!

View original

Da House had two ideas and I let him have both because I am Michael and I am good. I'm a man so I can't think about two things at once. Unless they are Melanie C's thighs.
Good wank but Gappy pimps it.

Quote: FunyHaHA Not Funy Strange @ 18th May 2015, 2:03 PM BST

A little poem about hiding!

I used to love to Hide,
when I was just a lad,
I'd run and hide all the time,
Every opportunity I had.
I'd run into the woods,
and Hide amongst the trees,
Hiding places just for me,
But sometimes not my Knees.
I still remember how it felt,
Not wanting to be found,
Staying still for hours and hours,
trying not to make a sound.
But that was many years ago,
everything is different now,
I'm supposed to be a grown up,
and Hidings not allowed.
I have to be responsible,
Go out and earn the money,
But as I read back on this poem, I realise that not only is it very poorly constructed!
It isn't very funny!!!!!!

View original

I really like this and of course it's funny but also quite poignant. I am still hiding under the table at work but my boss keeps finding me

Re. the two words, I have a lot of sketches on file after years of writing and when it was up to me to choose a word for the next comp I, being lazy and immoral, was just going to choose a word that related to one of my existing sketches, so I could post that and be done with it! But then my conscience got the better of me so I went to a random word generator website and the first two words generated were 'hide' and 'corporation'. So I sent them to Michael to choose one, in case one of the words had already been used in previous comps, because I overthink things! Michael then posted both words and I was too busy to enter, although, ironically, I have dozens of sketches that are office/business based and so could have just posted one of these for 'corporation', but that would have defeated the whole point of me not choosing the word myself in the first place,

So, basically, don't let me win again because it will turn into a total dog's breakfast.

My vote goes to Darren!

I just wonder why no one ever acknowledges my entries. All the film stars I mention in the above poem are from the 40/50s and perhaps posters on here don't know of them. Maybe they've never heard of Geronimo or Buffalow Bill but it did take a lot if thought and writing and I feel gutted no one even commented. Also I do think that entrants shouldn't be allowed to vote but it does seem that anyone else other than entrants aren't interested in this comp. ???"

I've not been here for ages.

I also have a short atten...

Hi. I acknowledged your entry in passing, by saying I appreciated poems being entered. I'd happily say a lot more about all the entires, but when this topic came up before I was quoted, "Please try to only post your entry/vote and no other posts", so I try to keep the debrief to a minimum, whhilst still justifying my choices in a sentence or two.

Also, rather than saying entrants can't vote, I'd suggest that entrants ought to vote, because otherwise no bugger else will!