If you were going to open up a shop, what would you sell?
I would re-open the shop previously closed down by Pressed Rat & Warthog.
Pressed rat and warthog have closed down their shop They didn’t want to; ’twas all they had got Selling atonal apples, amplified heat And pressed rat’s collection of doglegs and feet
Sadly, they left, telling no one goodbye Pressed rat wore red jodhpurs, warthog a striped tie Between them, they carried a three-legged sack Went straight round the corner and never came back
Pressed rat and warthog have closed down their shop The bad captain madman had told them to stop Selling atonal apples, amplified heat And pressed rat’s collection of doglegs and feet
The bad captain madman had ordered their fate He laughed and stomped off with a nautical gate The gate turned into a deroga tree And his peg leg got woodworm and broke into three
Pressed rat and warthog have closed down their shop They didn’t want to; ’twas all they had got Selling atonal apples, amplified heat And pressed rat’s collection of doglegs and feet
“Pressed Rat and Warthog,” is a song from Creams 1968 album “Wheels Of Fire”.
The song was written by Mike Taylor, with lyrics by Ginger Baker.
Perhaps calling this a song is stretching the definition, more a nonsense poem set to music with narration by Ginger Baker.
Still, I feel sorry for Pressed Rat and Warthog. After all twas all they had got
Everything is fair game as a subject for a laugh, and I can find humour in just about any situation.
I will laugh at jokes, be they one liners
I waited and stayed up all night and tried to figure out where the sun was. Then it dawned on me.
or shaggy dog stories
A tall, weather-worn cowboy walked into a saloon and ordered a beer. The regulars quietly observed the drifter through half-closed eyelids. No one spoke, but they all noticed that the stranger’s hat was made of brown wrapping paper. Less obvious was the fact that his shirt and vest were also made of paper. As were his chaps, pants, and even his boots, including the paper spurs. Truth be told, even the saddle, blanket, and bridle on his horse were made entirely of paper. The sheriff walks in, and of course, he arrests him immediately — for rustling.
Nothing gives me greater pleasure than sharing a “dad joke” or, in my case, “grandad joke” with my grandchildren, especially if it elicits a “Oh Grandad!!!” response accompanied by a groan.
What’s an owl’s favorite kind of dance? The hooooooola!
What’s a ballerina’s favourite numbers? Two-two!
To be fair, these usually trigger eye rolling from my wife and kids, too.
Also, I am not averse to a little schadenfreude
e.g. after a waiter treats you badly, you secretly enjoy seeing him trip and slop food on the floor
I am pretty sure my sense of humour has been developed due to exposure to my father, ex matelot, and policeman.
My dad had to deal with many incidents as a policeman, and at times, his humour was quite dark. I think most folks who work in emergency services develop dark humour as a form of protection. I think some of that rubbed off on me.
My sense of humour was further enhanced by my working life, initially as a Fitter & Turner in Pompey Dockyard working with like-minded colleagues as well as alongside more matelots on RN ships.
Matelots have a wide ranging, some might say, disrespecting humour. Brought about by the unique environment in which they work. Again, working alongside some of these guys has had an effect on me.
So, everything has a funny side, at sometime, you just need a warped mind like mine to see it.
And finally …..
1. Did you hear they arrested the devil? Yeah, they got him on possession.
2. What did one DNA say to the other DNA? “Do these genes make me look fat?”
3. My IQ test results came back. They were negative.
4. What do you get when you cross a polar bear with a seal? A polar bear.
5. Why can’t you trust an atom? Because they make up literally everything.
6. Why was six afraid of seven? Because seven eight nine.
7. What do you call a hippie’s wife? Mississippi.
8. What’s the difference between an outlaw and an in-law? Outlaws are wanted.
Aren’t you supposed to get wiser as you grow older ? I don’t recall anyone saying that with increased wisdom comes a marked decline in tolerance levels. I am 72 now, but I think I noted my intolerance building when I hit 60.
I find people, in general, to be rude and impatient. Just the other day, I was waiting 2nd in line to order food in a pub. I opened my mouth to order when a woman stepped past me and started her own order. Once upon a time, I would have said that it was the young that were rude, but these days, I think the older generation doesn’t set very good examples. This person was at least my age, if not older.
When I was young, we were taught to be polite and courteous. I still try to meet those standards, but boy, do I get bent out of shape if I don’t receive the same treatment
Our roads seem to have become more dangerous due to other drivers having forgotten the highway code. Happily tailgating, pushing me because I won’t exceed the speed limit. Not bothering with their indicators, presumably relying on my ability to read their minds and cutting into the safe distance I have left, causing me to have to brake excessively hard.
The driving issue seems to have worsened since the covid lockdowns. Maybe this is just my perception as I was in Australia when it all kicked off, and I spent seven months driving down there in WA. A different style of driving. When I got back to the UK, there were a couple of lockdown periods, and then everyone was back out on the roads. From there on in it seems to me that the UK driving standards have deteriorated.
I think the biggest thing I complain about is the lack of access to doctors. If you want an appointment you have to ring up at 08:00 if it’s urgent, 10:00 for a routine appointment. Woe betide you if you miss that time by a second.
Invariably when you dial you get the engaged tone, you may be lucky and be told you are “number n” in the queue. Then, if you get to speak to a real person you will be told that all appointments for the day are gone.
The online consult system is a joke, and if you happen to have two conditions to discuss with the doctor, you have to go through the whole process twice.
As I said, I spent seven months in WA. I had to sign up for Medicare. Brilliant. I could go on line, see my doctors available appointments, choose one that suited me and then see the doctor.
Six days a week !!! Why can’t we do that here in the UK?
I could go on, but I am sure you all have better things to do than read my rants.
Actually, come to think of it, that’s why you are here.
Meat is an essential part of my diet. A meal is incomplete if it doesn’t have some kind of meat.
I don’t mind the occasional vegetarian meal. In fact, I have been known to order a vegetarian dish to have as a side for a meat dish. But I could never, willingly, become a vegan/vegetarian. What’s the difference?
As children in the 50’s & 60’s, my sisters and I were brought up on a hugely varied diet. My dad grew fruit and vegetables but also raised chicken and geese. So there was generally fresh chicken at least once a week and always eggs.
Naively, the geese were given names, and when “Ethel” drew the short straw at Christmas, we all tucked into roast goose. All that is except Mum, who, although a participant in the preparation and cooking, pushed her plate away, saying, “I can’t eat Ethel”. That was the first time I was confronted with the emotion that can be associated with meat eating. Although I believe it was more that the geese, having been given names, became pets. That was certainly the case with the remaining geese. Ethel’s solo sacrifice saved the many.
No such sentimentality from me, Dad, and my sisters. We happily finished our meal. That episode did nothing to reduce our meat consumption, which, along with lamb, pork, and beef, was supplemented by wild rabbit and pigeon. The rabbits were usually obtained by my dad going off-road to run them down on the grass verges at night, while he was on night duty as a policeman.
Dad ran our garden like a smallholding, so we ate rather well considering the era. In addition, Dad got me into fishing, which in turn triggered something in him. He made our fishing rods, built his own push nets, set sand-lines with 200+ hooks. So we had fresh fish and shrimp.
My freezer is a reflection of me and my eating habits. It has seven drawers full of meat, ranging from chicken thru to venison. I do have another, small, freezer which has just two drawers filled with vegetables.
So I have no qualms about eating meat. If I have any concerns, it’s more to do with the care and treatment of the animals from birth up to and including their death at the abattoir.
That would be January. Because it is the furthest month away from the insanity that has become Christmas.
Once upon a time, Christmas was a joy restricted to December. But now, due to commercial interests, it has expanded into the whole of November and even into October.
Here in the UK it isn’t unusual to see Christmas items being rolled out in stores by mid October.
In October for God’s sake, before Halloween, which, in turn is overshadowing a truly British event, 5th November, Bonfire Night.
I find the whole run up to Christmas totally exhausting. Not only do I have family members gleefully announcing the erection of their Christmas trees, but there are non stop adverts on the TV channels, roadside hoardings and numerous TV chef shows battling for my attention, telling me the “new” best way to cook the turkey, which I detest, the best way to prepare and cook the roasties and of course how to make Christmas Pudding.
What happened to The Twelve Days of Christmas ?
The commercialism and relentless “buy me” pressure has spoilt it for me.
The only joy to be gained is to watch the kids when they open their presents. As far as I am concerned that is the main event and even that is tainted.
Once upon a time Christmas was when the special presents were deployed. Not anymore. Kids get presents all the year round. The latest merchandise craze associated with movies etc. are available immediately after the stars have walked down the red carpet at the premiere. By the time Christmas arrives, the kids already have it.
I apologise for all this negativity but I feel that we all have truly lost the plot.
So that is why January is my favourite month. Even that will be spoilt by some lunatic telling me that there are only 359 days until Christmas.
WrAnTz 