Ken Gargett Posted March 13, 2009 Posted March 13, 2009 Dave the hen Dave came home from the pub late one Friday evening stinking drunk, as he often did, and crept into bed beside his wife who was already asleep. He gave her a peck on the cheek and fell asleep. When he awoke, he found a strange man standing at the end of his bed. 'Who the hell are you?', demanded Dave, 'and what are you doing in my bedroom ?' The mysterious man answered, 'This isn't your bedroom and I'm St Peter.' Dave was stunned. 'You mean I'm dead !!! That can't be, I have so much to live for - and I haven't said goodbye to my family. . . You've got to send me back straight away.' St Peter replied, 'Yes, you can be reincarnated but there is a catch. We can only send you back as a dog or a hen.' Dave was devastated, but knowing there was a farm not far from his house, he asked to be sent back as a hen. A flash of light later, he was covered in feathers and clucking around, pecking the ground. 'This ain't so bad', he thought until he felt this strange feeling welling up inside him. The farmyard rooster strolled over and said, 'So you're the new hen, How are you enjoying your first day here ?' 'It's not so bad', replies Dave, 'but I have this strange feeling inside like I'm about to explode.' 'You're ovulating', explained the rooster. 'Don't tell me you've never laid an egg before.' 'Never', replies Dave. 'Well just relax and let it happen'. And so he did and after a few uncomfortable seconds later, an egg pops out from under his tail. An immense feeling of relief swept over him and his emotions got the better of him as he experienced motherhood for the first time. When he laid his second egg, the feeling of happiness was overwhelming and he knew that being reincarnated as a hen was the best thing that ever happened to him . . . Ever!!! The joy kept coming and as he was just about to lay his third egg, he felt an enormous smack on the back of his head and heard his wife shouting... 'Dave, wake up, you drunken bastard. You've sh*t the bed !!'
cigargirl85 Posted March 13, 2009 Posted March 13, 2009 I am shocked and appalled. Will heed future warnings.
Ken Gargett Posted March 13, 2009 Author Posted March 13, 2009 I am shocked and appalled. Will heed future warnings. i did post a warning...
sounddust Posted March 13, 2009 Posted March 13, 2009 If he did get reincarnated as a dog, would he have laid an egg on the bed instead?
cigargirl85 Posted March 13, 2009 Posted March 13, 2009 i did post a warning... OK, just kidding. Tone doesn't transfer on the internet. I thought the **** van Dyke one was funnier, but I'm not that sensitive and 've heard worse
Ken Gargett Posted March 13, 2009 Author Posted March 13, 2009 that was fowl. and that is a poultry thing to say! the yolk is on you.
Colt45 Posted March 13, 2009 Posted March 13, 2009 and that is a poultry thing to say! the yolk is on you. I'm not eggzactly sure what your intentions are, but if you are hatching a scheme to take me under your wing, you will be eggztremely disappointed - I won't do thigh bidding. Breast always, C45
Ken Gargett Posted March 13, 2009 Author Posted March 13, 2009 I'm not eggzactly sure what your intentions are, but if you are hatching a scheme to takeme under your wing, you will be eggztremely disappointed - I won't do thigh bidding. Breast always, C45 seriously, you could have pickled eggs in the time it took you to come up with that.
Colt45 Posted March 13, 2009 Posted March 13, 2009 seriously, you could have pickled eggs in the time it took you to come up with that. no need to act henpecked - let's not squabble.
OZCUBAN Posted March 13, 2009 Posted March 13, 2009 Hi Ken On the back of your "Bad Joke" heres one you might have trouble with especially after a few Beverages Barker - Genius!! This was originally shown on BBC TV back in the 70's. Ronnie Barker could say all this without a snigger, though God knows after how many takes. The irony is, BBC received not one complaint. The speed of delivery must have been too much for the whining herds. Try getting through it without converting the spoonerisms [and not wetting your pants] as you read....... This is the story of Rindercella and her sugly isters. Rindercella and her sugly isters lived in a marge lansion. Rindercella worked very hard frubbing sloors, emptying poss pits, and shivelling shot. At the end of the day, she was knucking fackered. The sugly isters were right bugly astards. One was called Mary Hinge, and the other was called Betty Swallocks; they were really a forrible pair of huckers; they both had fetty sweet and fetty swannies.. The sugly isters had tickets to go to the ball but the cotton runts would not let Rindercella go.. Suddenly there was a bucking fang, and her gairy fodmother appeared. Her name was Shairy Hithole, and she was a light rucking fesbian. She turned a pumpkin and six mite wice into a hucking cuge farriage with six dandy ronkeys who had buge hollocks and dig bicks. The gairy fodmother told Rindercella to be back by dimnlight otherwise, there would be a cucking falamity At the ball, Rindercella was dancing away with the prandsome hince when suddenly the clock struck twelve. "Mist all chucking frighty!!!" said Rindercella, and she ran out tripping barse over ollocks, so dropping her slass glipper. The very next day, the prandsome hince knocked on Rindercella's door and the sugly isters let him in.. Suddenly, Betty Swallocks lifted her leg, and let off a fig bart. "Who's fust jarted?" asked the prandsome hince. "Blame that fugly ucker over there!!" said Mary Hinge. When the stinking brown cloud had lifted, he tried the slass glipper on both the sugly isters without success and their feet stucking funk. Betty Swallocks was ducking fisgusted and gave the prandsome hince a knack in the kickers. This was not difficult as he had bucking fuge halls and a hig bard on. He tried the slass glipper on Rindercella, and it fitted her pucking ferfectly. Rindercella and the prandsome hince were married. The pransome hince lived his life in lucking fuxury, and Rindercella lived hers with a follen swanny!
laficion Posted March 13, 2009 Posted March 13, 2009 Hi Ken, Here in Europe we would call that Spring fever,but you're down under, so, what's happening to you my friend ? have you made an encounter while you were fishing in NZ OR just in a funky mood ??
Ken Gargett Posted March 13, 2009 Author Posted March 13, 2009 Hi Ken On the back of your "Bad Joke" heres one you might have trouble with especially after a few Beverages Barker - Genius!! This was originally shown on BBC TV back in the 70's. Ronnie Barker could say all this without a snigger, though God knows after how many takes. The irony is, BBC received not one complaint. The speed of delivery must have been too much for the whining herds. Try getting through it without converting the spoonerisms [and not wetting your pants] as you read....... This is the story of Rindercella and her sugly isters. Rindercella and her sugly isters lived in a marge lansion. Rindercella worked very hard frubbing sloors, emptying poss pits, and shivelling shot. At the end of the day, she was knucking fackered. The sugly isters were right bugly astards. One was called Mary Hinge, and the other was called Betty Swallocks; they were really a forrible pair of huckers; they both had fetty sweet and fetty swannies.. The sugly isters had tickets to go to the ball but the cotton runts would not let Rindercella go.. Suddenly there was a bucking fang, and her gairy fodmother appeared. Her name was Shairy Hithole, and she was a light rucking fesbian. She turned a pumpkin and six mite wice into a hucking cuge farriage with six dandy ronkeys who had buge hollocks and dig bicks. The gairy fodmother told Rindercella to be back by dimnlight otherwise, there would be a cucking falamity At the ball, Rindercella was dancing away with the prandsome hince when suddenly the clock struck twelve. "Mist all chucking frighty!!!" said Rindercella, and she ran out tripping barse over ollocks, so dropping her slass glipper. The very next day, the prandsome hince knocked on Rindercella's door and the sugly isters let him in.. Suddenly, Betty Swallocks lifted her leg, and let off a fig bart. "Who's fust jarted?" asked the prandsome hince. "Blame that fugly ucker over there!!" said Mary Hinge. When the stinking brown cloud had lifted, he tried the slass glipper on both the sugly isters without success and their feet stucking funk. Betty Swallocks was ducking fisgusted and gave the prandsome hince a knack in the kickers. This was not difficult as he had bucking fuge halls and a hig bard on. He tried the slass glipper on Rindercella, and it fitted her pucking ferfectly. Rindercella and the prandsome hince were married. The pransome hince lived his life in lucking fuxury, and Rindercella lived hers with a follen swanny! i have seen it and it was extraordinary. i don't think many of us could have done it after 100 takes. he was truly brilliant.
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