British Comedy Guide

Skit Comp 22 - 30.10.16


Michael Monkhouse

  • Saturday 22nd October 2016, 8:58am
  • Eternal City, Italy
  • 4,704 posts

Cool has-beans so congratulations to OTTERFOX for winking. Your prize is to PM me with a subject for next wank please. I am generous.

Votes - Points - Name
3 - 10 - Otterfox
1 - 5 - Gappy
Speckled mention: Frankie Rage

Your next subject is EXPLOSION! (chosen by TIGGY). My mother told me never to trust anyone who uses exclamation marks. Mind you, she shags Africans behind churches.
One entry/vote per person. Anyone can enter regardless of colour, sexual preferences or inside leg measurement, except Italo-US mongeese.
Can be a sketch, joke, lyric or anything else as long as it's yours and vaguely linked to the topic. Please try to post just your entry/vote.
You can edit your entry as much as you want, up until the closing time.

Competition closes: 30.10.16

Scoreboard is now:
Position - Points - Name
1 - 55 - Gappy
2 - 20 - Lee
3 - 15 - Tiggy, Frankie Rage
4 - 10 - Otterfox, 404 Not Found, me


Michael Monkhouse

  • Thursday 27th October 2016, 8:25am
  • Eternal City, Italy
  • 4,704 posts

I just read ISIS are now attacking cats... So at last the Brits will do something about it.


Frankie Mildly Perturbed

  • Friday 28th October 2016, 9:37am
  • London, United Kingdom
  • 5,495 posts

Guy Fawkes received the items he'd booked
And into the box he then looked
Four Candles? he cried
To light my gunpowder dry?
But Fork Handles supplied, he was f**ked


Nick Nockerty

  • Friday 28th October 2016, 1:13pm
  • Greater Manchester, England
  • 656 posts


PRESENTER (RELAXED): You join us on a lazy Sunday afternoon here in Baghdad. Antiquities are literally falling from the sky. But this week we are valuing Political Policies. I'm stood with a veiled military lady know as G.I. Jane.

JOHN: (IRATE COCKNEY): Its Jihad John init, you infidel! Now value my item you hag. It's got to be worth an arse.

PRESENTER: You mean a pony, 25 quid ?

JOHN: No forget cockney slang ! I mean ass, or maybe two goats. What's it worth ?

PRESENTER: Now this really is a very intricate Policy. The ornate inscription states that it is illegal for a Jihad to relax. Interesting. Jihads must remain, Iran at all times ?

JOHN: Irate you plonker! Irate at all times!

PRESENTER: Goodness me you really do need to chill. Hating everyone must take it out of you, have you considered just hating Donald Trump and working your way up? Have you tried Pilates? Or possibly a referendum might calm you down, it worked in Scotland.

JOHN: Just value these ancient items will you !

PRESENTER: Well they do look like antiques, dating from the dark ages. But if you look closely you can see they are just recent reproductions.

JOHN: Lies, damned lies you toilet! Why ?

PRESENTER: The originals were written on the dead sea scrolls, but these are on an iPad. So I'm afraid they are worthless.

JOHN: [HIS HIGH PITCHED IRATE VOICE MORPHES INTO THAT OF A DARLICK] Incorrect, can't compute, can't compute. Must exterminate all humans, we are superior, must execute all humans!

PRESENTER: I'll give you a tenner for them.

JOHN: [CARLMLEY] Oh OK. Cheers mate that's very kind of you. What about this clockwork rucksack, do you think this is worth something?

PRESENTER: It's ticking ! Oh my God ! I mean Oh my Allah, no offence, but oh shit...


Any and all feedback would be most welcome.



  • Saturday 29th October 2016, 3:22pm
  • Oxford, England
  • 2,019 posts

The scansion is all over the shop, but I don't have any more time, so...

[There could be some animation with this, if you like - I'm thinking quite simple, like something off Bagpuss - but I don't mind if not. Hey, it's your imagination, use it how you like]

Now, gather round all good people, and listen to my tale
About a pair of brothers and the things they had for sale.
Their factory, each millisecond, made a firework,
And they sold so many of them that they both could buy a Merc.
The staff all loved the company, they each said, "I'm alright, mate",
From men who packed the saltpetre (for which they got a night rate)
To day workers who laboured hard just to ensure that no man
Could ever claim their candles might look anything but Roman.

The brothers loved their business, felt it always might be great,
Until a little while ago (say 1998),
When the children of this country then began the change their scene,
And got far less fond of Bonfire Night and more of Hallowe'en.
The brothers checked their figures and they noticed something funny,
Said "Why aren't all those little Fawkers giving us their money?"
They pondered on the question, but it didn't prove a toughie:
"It's 'cos children don't learn history, just watch repeats of Buffy".
So the brothers got together and decided to take measures
To regain autumn market share for pyrotechnic pleasures,
To make the greatest firework e'er seen in all the nations,
The best that e'er scared toddlers or shat up pet dalmations.

Now, the elder of the brothers, I believe his name was Stu,
Thought he'd make a mega-Catherine wheel to make the crowd say "ooh",
Whilst his canny younger sibling, whom I think was known as Ray,
Thought if people saw the greatest rocket, "aah" is what they'd say.
They started out just arguing, then they began to fight,
About which from the aah- oohing should be considered right.
They gathered round the workers, and made their case sound nifty,
Till the employees joined a side, exactly fifty-fifty
(I mean, it probably was not that accurate a schism,
But for the purposes of song we'll use this rough division).

Now, Ray he worked his cohort hard, he knew what he was doing,
And he knew he'd never win the war by aiming for the oohing,
And Stu he pushed his workers like the meanest of the tsars,
For he knew his brother didn't know his elbow from his aahs.
Each faction set up bases in some specially built hangars
To create the brightest crossettes and perfect the loudest bangers,
Either side was working so hard just to try to get ahead
That no one even noticed their account was in the red.

The brothers thought this final blow would be their equaliser
Until someone said there was explosive stuff in fertiliser,
So they gathered up their spades to make a bid for victory,
Because if you look hard enough then horse droppings are free.
To make the story short the great conclusion of this battle
Was a pair of giant fireworks stuffed with the poo of cattle.
Firework admirers had arrived from many lands,
But when the blue papers were lit, the shit just hit the fans:
They'd had just enough gunpowder to make the things go boom,
But instead of lovely patterns they just made a dung monsoon.

So many died that night in that dread sewage-fed tsunami
That all of the survivors formed a new and peaceful army.
United they decided the best thing to do by far
Was to show that there is no division between ooh and aah.
To prove there was no rivalry, that mount could not be tanta-er,
An equal-tempered loud "ooh ahh" became their constant mantra.
Because this tragic night had been their humbling soul renewer
They wore old tattered clothing with a strong smell of manure.
Now, there is an ending to this tale, I do not want to force it,
They have loads of ardent followers, who make up most of Dorset.



  • Monday 31st October 2016, 10:31am [Edited]
  • Oxford, England
  • 2,019 posts

Props to Nick for a high gag count, but as I was in a poetic mood this week, I'll go for Frankie's limerick.