Joke of the Day

**slimslob** · 06-04-2021

**tsbservice** · 06-04-2021

Desperate to know her future, a woman decided to go visit a psychic. In a dark and gloomy room, gazing at the tarot cards laid out before her, the psychic delivered the bad news...

'There is no easy way to say this so I'll be blunt. Prepare yourself to be a widow. Your husband will die a violent and horrible death this year.'

Visibly shaken, the woman stared at the psychic's lined face, then at the single flickering candle and then looked down at her hands. She took a few deep breaths to compose herself and decided to ask the question she desperately needed to know.

She met the psychic's gaze, steadied her voice, and asked,

'Will I get away with it?

**tsbservice** · 06-04-2021

An American photographer on vacation was inside a church in Oldham taking photographs when he noticed a golden telephone mounted on the wall with a sign that read '£10,000 per call'.

The American, being intrigued, asked a priest who was strolling by what the telephone was used for. The priest replied that it was a direct line to heaven and that for £10,000 you could talk to God. The American thanked the priest and went along his way.

Next stop was in Manchester... There, at a very large cathedral, he saw the same golden telephone with the same sign under it. He wondered if this was the same kind of telephone he saw in Oldham and he asked a nearby nun what its purpose was. She told him that it was a direct line to heaven and that for £10,000 he could talk to God.

'O.K., thank you,' said the American.

He then travelled to Blackburn, Darwen, Burnley, Rochdale and Littleborough. In every church he saw the same golden telephone with the same '£10,000 per call' sign under it. The American, upon leaving Lancashire decided to travel to Yorkshire to see if Yorkshiremen had the same phone.

He arrived in Todmorden, and again, in the first church he entered, there was the same golden telephone, but this time the sign under it read '50 pence per call.'

The American was surprised so he asked the priest about the sign. 'Father, I've travelled all over Lancashire and I've seen this same golden telephone in many churches. I'm told that it is a direct line to heaven, but in Lancashire the price was £10,000 per call. Why is it so cheap here?'

The priest smiled and answered, 'You're in Yorkshire now, son. It's a local call.'

**KenB** · 06-04-2021

Originally Posted by tsbservice

THIS IS AN ACTUAL CUSTOMER REVIEW FROM A MAN ON AMAZON.CO.UK AFTER USING VEET HAIR REMOVAL CREAM FOR MEN.

After having been told my danglies looked like an elderly Rastafarian I decided to take the plunge and buy some of this as previous shaving attempts had only been mildly successful and I nearly put my back out trying to reach the more difficult bits. Being a bit of a romantic I thought I would do the deed on the missus's birthday as a bit if a treat.
I ordered it well in advance and working in the North Sea I considered myself a bit above some of the characters writing the previous reviews and wrote them off as soft office types...Oh my fellow sufferers how wrong I was. I waited until the other half was tucked up in bed and after giving some vague hints about a special surprise I went down to the bathroom. Initially all went well and I applied the gel and stood waiting for something to happen. I didn’t have long to wait.
At first there was a gentle warmth which in a matter of seconds was replaced by an intense burning and a feeling I can only describe as like being given a barbed wire wedgie by two people intent on hitting the ceiling with my head. Religion hadn't featured much in my life until that night but I suddenly became willing to convert to any religion to stop the violent burning around the turd tunnel and what seemed like the the destruction of the meat and two veg. Struggling not to bite through my bottom lip I tried to wash the gel off in the sink and only succeeded in blocking the plughole with a mat of hair. Through the haze of tears I struggled out of the bathroom across the hall into the kitchen, by this time walking was not really possible and I crawled the final yard to the fridge in the hope of some form of cold relief. I yanked the freezer drawer out and found a tub of ice cream, toe the lid off and positioned it under me. The relief was fantastic but only temporary as it melted fairly quickly and the fiery stabbing returned. Due to the shape of the ice cream tub I hadn’t managed to give the starfish any treatment and I groped around in the draw for something else as I was sure my vision was going to fail fairly soon. I grabbed a bag of what I later found out was frozen sprouts and tore it open trying to be quiet as I did so. I took a handful of them and an tried in vain to clench some between the cheeks of my arse. This was not doing the trick as some of the gel had found its way up the chutney channel and it felt like the space shuttle was running its engines behind me.
This was probably and hopefully the only time in my life I was going to wish there was a gay snowman in the kitchen which should give you some idea of the depths I was willing to sink to in order to ease the pain. The only solution my pain crazed mind could come up with was to gently ease one of the sprouts where no veg had gone before.
Unfortunately, alerted by the strange grunts coming from the kitchen the other half chose that moment to come and investigate and was greeted by the sight of me, arse in the air, strawberry ice cream dripping from my bell end pushing a sprout up my arse while muttering “ooooohhh that feels good” Understandably this was a shock to her and she let out a scream and as I hadn’t heard her come in it caused an involuntary spasm of shock in myself which resulted in the sprout being ejected at quite some speed in her direction. I can understand that having a sprout fired against your leg at 11 at night in the kitchen probably wasn’t the special surprise she was expecting and having to explain to the kids the next day what the strange hollow in the ice cream was didn’t improve my status…so to sum it up, VEET removes hair, dignity and self-respect.

Perhaps a more traditional approach would be in order?

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