That is meant to be his head, right…?
…and the fellow is standing up…?
Hang on… Hang on, if thats his head, those must be his arms and that there must be his Ding Dong!
This brandy tastes a bit funny, pour us another one my dear fellow…
I say, have a look at this, says here the Wright brothers will have a machine capable of powered flight before the year is out. Ha! What rot. Zeppelins are the way forward. Trust me, in ten years’ time, they will be all over the skies of Europe.
“Get your lips tighter around it, you’re dribbling.”
This was the third time in the space of ten minutes I had to draw attention to Miss Rotterlicks’ technique. She looked up to me with those bugged eyes of hers, blessed with all the grace of a grasshopper. As she always did in these scenarios, she began to go faster.
the last page of henry lamberton’s journal My experiment worked and I have my proof that Newton was wrong. I have been exploring ways to pass on my observations and I feel that, after going through this in my head, the following is the best way I can find. Let us say that today, I [...]
Stagehand: Curtain call, five minutes, ladies…
Doris: He wanted to put it where?
Ethel: Me back passage.
Doris: But, Ethel… That’s tiny.
Ethel: I know, that’s what I said, wouldn’t listen though. He gave it a good try and got covered in oil, the silly goose. Told him, to stick it round front.
All Rise…
Well, your ‘onour, I arrived on the corner of Brick Lane and White Chapel ‘igh street at approximately 3am on the morning of November 6th 1927. Across the road, lying on the ground face-down, was a body which I presumed to be that of a reveller who was slightly worse for wear.
“I say, what a marvelous cock!”
I was so pleased the Vicar had noticed on this splendid spring day. Last year he had seemed to be obsessed by Lady Watson’s tits, and if we’re being perfectly honest, we would have to admit to agreeing they were a most magnificent pair, and most worthy of the prestigious Best Birds award in the Kensington and Chelsea Annual Ornithology Show 1911. But this was 1912. A whole year had passed. A year in which I had spent a great deal of time preparing and nurturing my Spangling Green Cock.
How wonderful to see you at the races, Duchess Bloemfontein, Ladies.
Oh I had a bit of trouble at the gate, seems my invitation to the enclosure must have got lost in the post this year.
No, one of the three things I promised my mammy I would never do:
1) Never trust a man from Tramore
2) Never fight for the English
3) Never bet on the Horses
Some more Gentlemen’s Spice Asquith: You know Georgie? Browne: Do I ? Rather! Went for a spin in that ferocious motorcar of his the other week. Asquith: We were out around Piccadilly last Friday. Browne: Bet it was a right hoot! Last time I was out with him, practically emptied the bar at the Strand. Next morning, [...]