Deadpan Conversation at a Pub, With Fascinating Insights into the Male Psyche
Scene: A pub.
Ian: Which is your favourite barmaid?
Chris: That one.
Jim: That one.
Ian: The one at the end.
Jim: Ian, that's a bloke.
Scene: A pub.
Ian: Which is your favourite barmaid?
Chris: That one.
Jim: That one.
Ian: The one at the end.
Jim: Ian, that's a bloke.
Posted by Bill Murray's Moustache at 10:30 am 2 blabberers have blabbed about this
Labels: Deadpan Conversations
Well, as promised in the first part of my sleevenotes, here is the second part of my sleevenotes. Man, that was a smooth introduction. And some ugly jpg deterioration above. Oh well, it'll do for now.
Posted by Bill Murray's Moustache at 3:52 pm 0 blabberers have blabbed about this
Labels: Christmas
If you've been good to me this year and I've got your address, you should be getting a copy of Jim's Arrogant Summation of the Music of the Previous Twelvemonth in the post soon, along with a card wishing you a happy Christmas, and probably something positive about the new year. In order to whet your appetite, here's the first part of the tracklisting (more to follow soon):
Posted by Bill Murray's Moustache at 3:46 pm 2 blabberers have blabbed about this
Labels: Christmas
Yep, it's three deadpan conversations for you, reader.
ONE
Scene: Outside my house. I am opening my bin shed to put my bike in. A father and child pass by.
Child: [Amazed voice] Do you live in there?
Me: Yes. Not in the bin shed though!
Father: He asks too many questions.
TWO
Scene: Outside work, I meet the postman. You could tell he is a postman without already knowing that he is, because he wears shorts in all weather.
Postman: Hi.
Me: Hi.
P: You're Catherine's boyfriend, right?
Me: No, I don't think so.
P: Oh.
Me: It's Chris you're thinking of.
P: Oh right. He's the big lad?
Me: Erm.
P: Wears a hat?
Me: That's Ian. Chris works upstairs. He's about my height. Dark hair.
P: Spiky hair? Cycles? Wears a green jumper?
Me: Yes, that's him.
P: Oh yes, the Geordie. I know him.
Me: No, that's not him.
THREE
Scene: A football stadium in Stevenage. Running late owing to cancelled trains and a lack of ticket machines at Finsbury Park, I hurry along towards the turnstiles, but hear a loud roar indicating that we've scored. Damn.
Me: 1 adult, please.
Turnstile Woman: That's £12 please.
Me: Thanks. I don't get a discount for missing a goal then?
TW: No. I ought to charge you more for not being here on time.
Posted by Bill Murray's Moustache at 12:48 pm 0 blabberers have blabbed about this
Labels: Deadpan Conversations
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