British Comedy Guide

A stampede of gerbils 15 - 23.9.20

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Michael Monkhouse

  • Tuesday 15th September 2020, 7:24am
  • Eternal City, Italy
  • 5,223 posts

Yes. C**tgtasulazioningd to Tiggy for shinking. PM myself with a new slut please. Meanwhereas...
Next slapperjack: Beverages, chosen by Tiggy.
Leg closed: 23.9.20
Runners are nowt...
Score Position Name
8 1 Tiggy
7 2 Playfull, Gappy, Me
5 3 Thief of bad gags
2 4 Patrick
1 5 Altlapel

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Tiggy

  • Tuesday 15th September 2020, 7:35pm
  • Reading, England
  • 187 posts

A WISE MAN SITS ON A MOUNTAIN TOP. WISPY CLOUDS WISP ABOUT A BIT. A REGULAR MAN APPROACHES.

GARY: Hello!

WISE MAN: Hello my child.

GARY: I've travelled far to find you. I've heard you've brewed a drink that grants the drinker 1000 years of happy, healthy, and peaceful life.

WISE MAN: Yes my child. I knew you would come today.

GARY: Cool!

WISE MAN: It's a bit more than "cool".

GARY: Sorry. Oooooh, mystic!

WISE MAN: Er...better. I've collected herbs, roots and berries in the summer moonlight. I stirred them all in the jade pot of blessed rain water collected from a Tibetan temple's garden. Now it is ready. Here my child. Drink and enjoy the next 1000 years of happiness. You'll be like me. Calmly and joyfully at peace with the universe.

GARY: Any sugar?

WISE MAN: What?!

GARY: Is there any sugar?

WISE MAN: No! It's a magical life extending potion. It doesn't need sugar.

GARY: Well, I suppose the berries might do the job.

WISE MAN: Good. Now prepare for...

GARY: Any milk?

WISE MAN: Of course there's no flaming milk! This is a bloody mountain top in a remote unspecified area of the world, not a ruddy Starbucks!

GARY: Okay, okay. No milk. Although how happy will the next 1000 years be with no milk in my tea I don't know.

WISE MAN: Potion! Elixir! Magical libation even, but not sodding tea!!

GARY: Ooooh, steady on.

WISE MAN: Right, sorry. I'm sorry. I'm calm. I'm patient. I'm....forgiving my child. Now sup from my chalice of peace and love and...

GARY: Hobnob?

WISE MAN: F**k off! F**king f**k right off now before I shove this cup up your f**king...

SCENE ENDS WITH GARY BEING CHASED AWAY BY SWEARING CHALICE WIELDING WISE MAN.

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gappy

  • Wednesday 16th September 2020, 7:17pm
  • Oxford, England
  • 2,046 posts

DAVID: Ah, you're here at last.

JONES: What do you mean, at last? It's my office!

DAVID: Grab a seat - you're gonna need to sit down once you hear my ideas.

JONES: These being your ideas for theme nights in the pub, I take it?

DAVID: Durr, Mr Area Manager, of course my ideas for theme nights in the pub. Check it out, I have loads. Monday: Singles night.

JONES: I see.

DAVID: That's a night where you are forcibly withheld from buying double measures of spirits! It's not really. That was a joke.

JONES: Well done.

DAVID: No, it's actually where we encourage people to come along on their own, have a wee drink, sit around...a bit...

JONES: Yes. I mean, Monday night's clientele is pretty much exclusively people sat alone stoically drinking.

DAVID: Yes, but now, who knows, come for a little sip, maybe meet a girl.

JONES: Fair enough, we'll trial it. Next idea, please.

DAVID: Tuesday night: Drinking Night! A night specially set up for drinking

JONES: Drinking night? In a pub? That's quite a stupid idea.

DAVID: I don't know, a pub seems almost uniquely set up to accommodate it, if you ask me. Picture it: meet a girl on Monday, come back for a drink on Tuesday.

JONES: Alright, alright, we'll try it. Jesus, if we're able to convince people to drink Lambrini and Drambuie, I'm sure we can convince them that it would be better on Tuesday.

DAVID: Good choice, sir! And then, following on, on Wednesday...we're shut.

JONES: Shut?

DAVID: The pub's shut, yeah. Because Wednesday night is Making Love Night. At home. So, you know, no point opening up.

JONES: Making Love Night? I was thinking of something like Curry.

DAVID: Bit kinky, but whatever.

JONES: As a theme night, not as an adjunct to love.

DAVID: *Making* love. That's what Wednesday's for. And Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Shut the pub, cut your losses.

JONES: Mr David -

DAVID: Call me Craig.

JONES: Mr David, shall I tell you how your one month trial as promotions manager is going?

DAVID: Why don't you fill me in?

JONES: Very poorly.

DAVID: Woah woah, wait! Re-rewind! I got loads of laydeez in here the first week.

JONES: By giving them free champagne.

DAVID: You never heard of a loss leader?

JONES: I have, but I did not know it featured pouring 4000 bottles of Pol Roger into the snug area.

DAVID: You don't have a jacuzzi! I was improvising! What sort of a pub doesn't have a Jacuzzi?

JONES: A pub. All the pubs. Mr David, you're fired.

DAVID: Oh! But what about my idea for a loyalty app system, which allows users to unlock special deals by buying drinks during quieter periods, and receiving advertisements from selected promotional partners, who pay us revenue in turn?

JONES: That, err, does sound like a good idea. OK, you're not fire, you can finish the trial.

DAVID: Go me! I'm totally gonna take a day off to reward myself. Mark my words, I'm going to chill on Sunday!

JONES: Mr David, you don't work Sundays.

DAVID: Oh yeah! I'm a f**king cretin.

JONES: That you are.

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Michael Monkhouse

  • Saturday 19th September 2020, 9:15am
  • Eternal City, Italy
  • 5,223 posts

Latest stand-up so sorry for any repeats. Actually, I'm not. Some people molest baboons.

All right, how you doing? Think I care?
Well, after twenty years in Rome, I've finally found a great place to work: London. I used to hate work, but now I'm an astrologer and my job is looking up. I wanna be a self-castrator: think I can cut it? I went to a short-sighted castrator. Can I have my ball back please?... I wanna sell celebrity used tampons - just gotta pull a few strings. I invented the self-ejecting tampon: no strings attached. I said to a tampon, How you doing? He said, Just hangin' on in there.
I can never remember any Ronnie Corbett - sorry! I can never remember any Sinitta - shame, shame, shame. I can never remember any One Direction - thank f**k for that, because they're shit... Rod Stewart accused me of plagiarism, but I don't want to talk about it. Jeff Lynne refused my gift of feathers: he said, Don't bring me down. Ringo Starr is impotent: don't come easy.
I read in Wikipedia, so it must be true, impotent men think sentences are complete without a verb. Well I never... I'm joking cos what I actually read was, 48% of impotent men can't count. Ha ha, I feel so sorry for you guys! 48%, that's more than half, isn't it... The best way to stop a man drinking is to say alcoholism leads to impotence. Cos that's all we care about. 'Drinking rots your liver.' - Yeah but it's AWESOME. - 'You waste all your money.' - Yeah but it's AWESOME. 'You make a dick head outa yourself every night.' - Yeah but it's AWESOME. 'You'll never jerk off to the Spice Girls' Say You Will Be There video again.' F**k. This is serious.
Actually I'm very proud to say that after twenty years' struggling against alcoholism, I've finally given it up, YEAH! Applause, thank you! I've given up struggling and started to enjoy it instead. The thing about becoming an alcoholic is you don't realise it's happening to you - you're too pissed. People say, Mike, do you remember the first time you were pissed? I say, No. I was pissed... Worst thing about drinking is you go out with someone unattractive - someone even Jimmy Savile wouldn't bonk - but you have a bit to drink and think, Mmm.. Bit more, mmmm... Then f**k it, you go home, shag the whole night, but wake up in the morning, ewww... And that's why I stopped going to the pub with my dad. It was six months ago, my arsehole is still burning. So is his, but I don't like to boast.
My mother can't choose between fellating Africans or Eskimos, so she blows hot and cold. My dad can't choose between vintage or modern centrefolds, so he takes the rough with the smooth. My sister can't choose between the first and last One Direction albums, because they're both shit... She's so desperate to become a centrefold, she's tearing her hair out. Word nearly got out on how to make women more attractive to priests. It was a close shave.
So, there you go. I'm gonna finish with my English joke. If you don't speak English, cos I know there are some Americans watching, I'll try anyway. 'I always forget the month after June.' - July? 'No it's true... I always forget that Biblical city.' - Judea? 'Yes I do, dear... I always forget that One Direction song..' Thank f**k for that, because they're shit.
That's all from me, you've been mediocre. Thank God that's over.

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playfull

  • Wednesday 23rd September 2020, 10:50pm
  • Nottingham, England
  • 1,789 posts

INSIDE A SPACECRAFT. THREE HUMANOID ALIENS ARE SEATED AT A FLOATING GLASS TABLE, THEY ARE IN AN ANIMATED STATE WITH ALL THREE SHOUTING AND LAUGHING WITH EACH OTHER IN AN ALIEN LANGUAGE.
AN UNSEEN DOOR OPENS IN A WALL AND AN OBVIOUSLY HIGH RANKING ALIEN ENTERS. THE DOOR CLOSES BEHIND HIM LEAVING NO SIGN THAT IT IS THERE. THE OTHER ALIENS ALL JUMP TO THEIR FEET AND SALUTE THE NEW ALIEN EACH IN THEIR OWN UNIQUE AND STRANGE WAY. THE NEW ARRIVAL REGARDS THEM SUSPICIOUSLY AND GESTURES FOR THEM TO SIT. TWO SIT AND THE THIRD CRASHES TO THE FLOOR CAUSING THEM TO ALL FALL ABOUT LAUGHING. ONE OF THE ALIENS POINTS TO A CHAIR HE HAD MOVED.

PRIME: (TAPPING HIS EAR) Protocol gentlemen. Use the translator set to local dialect. Your three-month mission was to infiltrate the humans and confirm they have nothing to offer the galaxy. Their very existence is...

AS HE IS TALKING, THE THREE ALIENS TAP THEIR OWN EARS, THEN START TAPPING EACH OTHER'S EARS, THEN HITTING EACH OTHER'S EARS. LAUGHING UNCONTROLLABLY AS THEY DO SO.

PRIME: What on earth is going on?

CREW 1: 'On earth?'...Brilliant!

PRIME: I demand you tell me what is going on?

CREW 2: Allow me. 'Alexa' what is going on?

ALEXA: 'What's going on' was a hit recording for Soul artist Marvin Gaye in...

PRIME: Silence computer!

ALEXA: ...1971, the Motown singer...

PRIME: Silence...

CREW 2: Alexa.

PRIME: Silence...Alexa! Why has the Computer interface been renamed Alexa?

CREW 1: It was a joke.

PRIME: A what?

CREW 1: The translator doesn't have any word for 'Joke'.

CREW 2: Or 'funny'.

CREW 3: 'Or shit faced'.

PRIME: I see, so you are being a joke?

ALL THREE CREW: Having a joke.

PRIME: And having a funny?

ALL THREE CREW: Being funny.

PRIME: And having a shit face?

CREW 1: Close enough. It is easier to show than to tell.

CREW 3: Here try this. (HE POURS A WHISKY AND HANDS IT TO PRIME).

PRIME: (SNIFFING IT SUSPICIOUSLY) What is this?

CREW 2: It is an alcoholic beverage called Whisky.

PRIME: What does it do?

CREW 2: You will see.

30 SECONDS LATER - PRIME AND CREW 1 ARE ALONE

PRIME: (OBVIOUSLY PISSED) Wow this is great, am I having a shit face?

CREW1: No, not yet you are still being off your tits.

PRIME: Despite not knowing who you are, I have an inexplicable urge to describe you as my best friend.

CREW 1: And now you are shit faced.

PRIME: You and your men have performed an excellent mission. Finding Whisky and learning about joke and funny.

CREW 1: I have saved the best till last.

PRIME: Whisky has more secrets?

CREW 1: 'Beer goggles'.

PRIME: What strange magic is this beer goggles?

CREW 1: It's crazy but drinking whisky somehow causes others to morph into more attractive versions of themselves.

PRIME: That's crazy.

CREW 1: I know.

PRIME: So, if Mrs Prime were to drink some Whisky she would no longer see me as repulsive?

CREW 1: Possibly, yes...after several Whiskys,

PRIME: Where are your crew members?

CREW 1: They are loading several crates of Whisky.

PRIME: Excellent. I have to go now (HE STANDS AND STAGGERS TOWARD THE INVISIBLE DOOR).

CREW 1: Where are you going?

PRIME: I think I am getting my beer goggles. Alexa! Ask Crew member 3 to meet me in the lab!

CREW 1: Well it is a long flight home.

PRIME: And Alexa, prepare the anal probe.

CREW 1: And it might be a very long flight for CREW 3.