This post was inspired by Funky Farmer. Click to read his post, it's brilliant!

This is for National Poetry Day. Some say it's 4th October but never mind, call this the first qualifying round.

I switched on my 'pooter this morning,
My normal, routine I might say.
Fresh from the commode,
I read Funky's ode,
It's National Poetry Day!!

So I brewed up my first mug of Tetley,
And took Mrs Grumpus one through,
Then I settled right down,
With pen, paper and frown,
To contribute a stanza or two.

I stared at the blank sheet of paper,
While my arse and my brain got in gear.
I started to chew,
At my pen, as you do,
But here's all I came up with I fear.

According to the BBC (Read about it here) an award-winning butcher has come up with two special Scottish sausages which are being tipped as the perfect hangover cure - Iron Brew bangers.

The soft drink, Irn Bru, is often used to ease hangovers, along with fry-ups. (Sounds pretty purgative to me)

Stuarts of Buckhaven are launching the Pork Iron Brew Banger and the Pork Sweet Chilli Iron Brew Banger in Fife next week following successful trials.

The master butcher came up with the idea for this new exotic sausage while taking a shower. The mind boggles!!

Could this be the death knell for the Thick Irish Sausage?

Big Brother
There is no other
I'd prefer to smother
Than Davina McCall
She's a doll
Top of my poll
That little tatoo'l
Blow my cool
She makes me drool
But I'm no fool
I went to school
When BB's on
I'M GONE!!!

Uncle Sefton was in his local pub last night trying to have a quiet drink. A bunch of rowdy guys stood near him laughing and joking and generally taking the Mickey out of everyone around them.

Uncle Sefton had just ordered a fresh pint of beer and realised he needed a pee. Fearing one of the unruly mob might take a swig from his glass while he was gone he scribbled a message on a beermat and left it propped against his glass. It said, " I've spat in this beer. Don't drink it."

When he got back, the crowd in the bar was unexpectedly quiet. Sefton checked his glass. It was still full to the brim. But on the beermat someone had added, "SO HAVE WE!!"

There's a terrible ringing in your ears. Someone is shouting, and you are quietly reciting to yourself, "Ti - generma - pease!" Over and over.
The floor looks an awful long way down from your bar stool so you chuckle and slide off very carefully.
People keep bumping into you on the way to the exit.
You say "Excuuuse me!" to a chair and "G'night" to a photograph of a Victorian farm labourer.
Someone has tightened up the pub door since you came in and you have to lean against it to get through, grinning all over your face.
Outside the carpark has moved.
You can only focus with one eye closed.
One foot seems to be dragging as you mumble, "Ooops! Sorry! Sssshhh!"
You should have had a pee but you think there's an alley round the corner.
On the way home you get into discussions with lamp-posts, pillar boxes etc. And you lose the arguments!
In your front garden you have to hold on the lawn for a while till the house stops going round.
At your front door you try all the keys on your ring. Poking, cursing and laughing until one finally fits and you fall in onto the welcome mat.
You crawl up the stairs, giggling, sshhhshing and struggling out of your clothes, then you are at the edge of the bed standing over the "Ole Woman" in your Y-fronts.
Then suddenly you remember why you went to the pub in the first place.

A few years ago Basingstoke Horticultural Gardens played host to a bible-thumping evangelist, the Reverend Billy Loudmouth. Thousands of followers and other idiots assembled in a great marquee to hear him speak.

After a lengthy harangue with many "HAA-lelujahs" and "Lordy! Lordy's!" the Rev. Billy called upon all the sinners to send up their sick and their lame to receive the "cure".

Two volunteers came to the stage. "What is your name?" demanded the preacher of the first man.
"Kwith," said the man.
"Huh?" said Rev.Billy.
"Kwith! ... It'th thyort for Kwithtopher"
"And what troubles you Chris?" said Billy.
"I've had a thpeacth impediment thinth I wath thikth yearth old."
"Go behind the screen at the back of the stage Chris, you are about to be cured of this devil's scourge!"

"What's your name?" roared the preacher at the second man, who had bent and twisted legs and walked with two crutches.
"Cecil," said the second man. "And I've been like this since birth."
"Your sins will be forgiven, your demons cast out, and you will WALK AGAIN!" yelled the Reverend. "Go behind the screen and wait for the miracle that is about to happen."

"HAA-lelujah! Lordy! Lordy!", the Reverend Billy Loudmouth turned on the audience and shouted, "Pray, you sinners! Beg forgiveness! Cast out the evil that is in you all! Humble yourselves and renounce your evil ways that these two poor creatures may be saved ..."

This went on for some time. The audience were stunned. They were about to witness a miracle!

Finally the Reverend, his voice hoarse, schreeched, "Cecil - throw away those crutches! Chris! Come out! You are CURED!!"

The audience stared silently at the screen. Suddenly there was an almighty KERAAASH!!

"What happened?" called the Reverend Billy.

A voice from behind the screen said", I'th Thethil ... he'th fallen over!"

Breaking News!

Japan is to host the world premiere of the fifth Harry Potter film when it debuts on 28 June (BBC News)

Early rumours suggest the title will be:-

"Hawwy Pottle and ha Bidge ova Liver Cry"

Money Tips --- by Robin D. Poor

#101 - Broke? Bankrupt? Seriously in debt?
Make money from Property Auctions ... stand outside and beg for loose change.

#102 - Save money on a winter coat ... only go out in the summer.

#103 - Save money on a fabulous Caribean Cruise ... don't book one.

#104 - Make a list of all the old age pensioners in your area with severe memory difficulties ... then go round every day asking them to pay back the £10 you lent them yesterday.

All contributions gratefully received. The Editor reserves the right to steal them and publish them as his own work.

Poor old Grandad. His hands are all arthritic and calloused and Grandma was getting worried that he wasn't showing as much interest in her as he used to.
She finally persuaded him to go to the doctor and went with him to make sure he did.

Grandma had to do most of the talking as usual but the doctor asked a number of questions during his examination of Grandad.

Finally he asked, "How often do you have ... er ... physical relations?"
"Hardly ever," grumbled Grandma.
"Three times a week," said Grandad simultaneously.
Grandma glowered at him.
"Now tell him the real truth" she snapped.

"That IS the truth," said Grandad, "Once every Monday when you're out at the chiropodist. Then again on Wednesday after you've gone to Bingo. And then on Friday while you're at the hairdresser!"

Help! My name is Roger, I'm a Jack Russell and I'm a prisoner here! I've been here as long as I can remember. So long, I don't even know what I'm supposed to have done wrong.
The warders torture me every day, taunting me with a rubber ball on the end of a bit of rope. They keep on dangling it in front of my nose until I lose my rag and grab it in my mouth. Then they laugh and pick me up off the ground by the teeth and swing me around. They keep this up until they get tired of it.
The food here is awful. They feed me on pigs ears and old bones along with a daily bowl of foul-smelling, cold, slimey, brown muck out of a tin. It's the same every day. They seem to have an endless supply of this gunge.
My captors make me sleep on the floor in the kitchen on a stained and stinking blanket thing which has never been washed, while they sleep upstairs on soft clean beds. I crept up there once while their backs were turned and fell asleep on a pile of pillows. They went berserk when they found me and I narrowly missed getting kicked all the way down the stairs.
Sometimes they go out for hours and lock me in the house on my own. I can be dying for a pee, but I have to hold it until they come home to let me out in the garden. When this happens, I sometimes hear people walking past outside and I rush to the back gate and rattle it and call out for help, but they just swear at me and hurry on past.
Most days when the fat slobs, my keepers, want a bit of exercise, they tie me to a leather strap and make me drag them to the park. I usually use this opportunity to empty my bowels and would prefer to do it in the bushes, but my captors force me to squat on the grass in full view of everyone. Then they humiliate me further by picking it up and parading it through the streets in a plastic bag. How gross!
Somebody comes to the house each day and pushes letters and papers through a hole in the door. I desparately try to attract their attention by jumping up and grabbing their fingers and shouting at them, but again they just shout abuse and run away.
I think I am doomed to be imprisoned here for the rest of my life. I have heard rumours of others before me being secretly buried in shallow graves at the bottom of the garden.

When Grandma and Grandad came back from a holiday in Eastbourne I was first to ask them how they enjoyed it.
"It was wonderful!" said Grandma, "Every day we walked to the end of the pier, to a little bench in a quiet shelter facing out to sea, and had a '69' ... it was lovely!"
"Grandma!" I was shocked, "You did that in public?"
Grandma said, "Well there were a few people about but they took no notice of us. We just went on licking away until we finished then we made our way back to the hotel. Your Grandad does get in a bit of a mess with it nowadays, but I've always got a tissue in my bag to clean him up afterwards."
I was gob-smacked! I said, "Grandma, you DO KNOW what a '69' is, don't you?"
She looked at me a little puzzled and said, "Of course! It's an icecream cone with a chocolate flake in the top!!"

Last week I took Grandma and Grandad to MacDonalds for lunch. I ordered a cheeseburger, fries and a shake. Grandad ordered the same. I said what about Grandma. He said she'll share mine, we share everything.

We all sat down and I started tucking in. Grandad carefully cut his burger in half and placed a piece on a serviette in front of Grandma. He took a bite out of his half as Grandma watched and waited.

I said I could have got you a burger Grandma. She said no thanks Grandad and I share everything.

Grandad carefully counted out the fries and again placed half in front of Grandma. Still she didn't start to eat.
Eat up Grandma, I said, they'll get cold. It's OK, I'll wait she said. We always share like this.

Grandad offered her the milkshake. Grandma took a sip and passed it back. Still she waited, watching Grandad as he took each bite and slowly and deliberately chewed.
I was getting concerned. Grandma PLEASE EAT!

I'm fine she said. We always share like this. I really don't mind waiting.

But Grandma, I said, WHAT are you waiting FOR?

The teeth ... she said!

My nephew Shane, a rather gangly shy young man, was quietly drinking in The Dukes Head the other day. He said he fancied the young barmaid and was wondering how to get into conversation with her.

As he pondered a brash young guy came into the pub, straight up to the bar and said, "Pint of bitter, please, and tickle your arse with a feather!"

"WHAT did you say??" said the barmaid.

"I said, pint of bitter please and it's particularly nasty weather." said the guy innocently.

The barmaid giggled, a little confused, but the ice was broken and the two were soon deep in flirty conversation.

Shane was so impressed with this chat line, he couldn't wait to try it out.

Hurrying across the road to the Rose and Crown, he went straight up to another pretty young barmaid and said, "Half a lager shandy please, and stick a feather up your bum!"

"WHAT did you say??" she retorted.

Shane winked and said, "Bin a sod of a day, ain't it!"

I latched on to an older woman at a club last night.

She was a bit of alright for 57, we drank a bit, had a bit of a snog and she asked if I'd ever had the sportsman's double, a mother and daughter three-some?

I said no but it sounds good to me.

We had a few more drinks, then she whispers that tonight was my lucky night.

I went eagerly back to her place.

She put the hall light on and shouted upstairs:

"Mum you still awake?"

In church on Sunday (I only go to get out of washing the car) I saw one of the regulars, a black lady, very religious, called Gloria Lalooya.

Gloria's very nice but a bit thick. The vicar is a vegetarian and often works this into his sermons. Today was no exception.

As we were all leaving the church after the service I overheard Gloria speaking to the vicar. "Reveraand, can I akx you a question? If we is not susposed to eat animals, how come dey is aarl made out of meat?"

After suffering with constant headaches for most of his life my Uncle Joe was finally persuaded to go to the doctor.
The doctor said, "Joe, the good news is I can cure your headaches. The bad news is that it will require castration. You have a very rare condition, which causes your testicles to press on your spine and the pressure creates one hell of a headache. The only way to relieve the pressure is to remove the testicles."

Joe was shocked and depressed. He wondered if he had anything to live for. He had no choice but to go under the knife.

When he left the hospital, he was without a headache for the first time in 20 years, but he felt like he was missing an important part of himself. As he walked down the street, he realized that he felt like a different person. He could make a new beginning and live a new life.

He saw a men's clothing store and thought, "That's what I need... A new suit." He entered the shop and told the salesman, "I'd like a new suit."

The elderly tailor eyed him briefly and said, "Let's see... Size 44 long."

Joe laughed, "That's right, how did you know?"

"Been in the business 60 years!" the tailor said.

Joe tried on the suit, it fit perfectly.

As Joe admired himself in the mirror, the salesman asked, "How about a new shirt?"

Joe thought for a moment and then said, "Sure."

The salesman eyed Joe and said, "Let's see, 34 sleeves and 16-1/2 neck."

Joe was surprised, "That's right, how did you know?

"Been in the business 60 years."

Joe tried on the shirt, and it fit perfectly.

Joe walked comfortably around the shop, and the salesman asked, "How about some new underwear?"

Joe thought for a moment and said, "Sure."

The salesman said, "Let's see... Size 36."

Joe laughed, "Ah ha! I've got you there; I've worn a size 34 since I was 18 years old."

The salesman shook his head, "You can't wear a size 34. A size 34 would press your
testicles up against the base of your spine and give you one hell of a headache."

New suit - £200
New shirt - £35
New underwear - £15
Second Opinion - PRICELESS

Why is it that so many drivers constantly flash their headlights at other motorists? It iritates me intensely when they do it to me. What does it mean? What message do they think they are conveying?

After years of research I have put together my own idiots guide to flashing. Here it is:-

Key: S=short flash, L=long flash, X=extra long flash.

SS - "Thank you for letting me through"

SL - "Come on you stupid pillock. I'm letting YOU through"

L - "Lets both meet head-on in the middle of this narrow bit and cause a hold up"

X - "I'm sorry dear, I'm trying to find my windscreen wipers"

LL - "Oh, for heavens sake GO!"

LX - "Sorry chum, it's hard to find the right switches when you're on your mobile trying to text your girlfriend"

LS - "I say old chap, do you know the belt of your raincoat is hanging out the door?"

XX - "Oops! I thought you were my Auntie Mabel"

XXX - "You just cut me up, you B----! Now I'm going to chase you until ..."

XXXX - "OK, smartarse! So you've got a faster car than me. I didn't want to chase you anyway."

Can anyone add to my collection?

As I was about to enter my local Tesco yesterday a very loud, unattractive, hard-faced woman pushed in front of me with two kids in tow, screaming obscenities at them all the way through the entrance.

The door greeter said, "Good morning and welcome to Tesco, nice children you've got there. Are they twins?"

The fat ugly woman stopped screaming long enough to snarl:

"Of course they bloody aren't! The oldest is nine and the youngest is seven. Why the hell would you think they're twins?..... Do you really think they look alike, you muppet?"

"Absolutely not," replied the greeter, "I just can't believe anyone would shag you twice!"

The other weekend I spent a day helping a friend clear out and demolish a very old garden shed. It was a filthy job and with my old clothes covered in muck and dust we went to the pub when we finished and she treated me to a couple of pints.

Afterwards she gave me a big thankyou kiss on the cheek and I got straight on the bus to go home. The only spare seat was next to a priest so I sat down and pulled out an old newspaper and started reading. The priest seemed more than a little uncomfortable being next to me, noting my shabby dress, the lipstick on my face and the smell of beer, so after a while, by way of starting a conversation, I said, "What do you think causes arthritis, Father?"

For a moment the priest looked me up and down. Then he sniffed and said sourly, "Probably years of loose living, going with cheap women, self neglect and drinking to excess. But then I shouldn't judge. How long have you had arthritis?"

The bus was just coming to my stop and as I got up to leave I said, "I don't have arthritis, Father, but I just read in the paper that the Pope does."

Great Uncle Arthur's arthritis is so bad now he can hardly turn his head and he finds it difficult to grip things.
He keeps saying he must get his cataracts done because he can hardly see anymore.
He's as deaf as a post and half the time he can't remember where he is.

Poor old soul. His only pleasure now is driving.

I'm not usually one for posting warnings about potential scams but I had a close shave today.

I walked into B&Q at lunchtime and some old guy dressed in orange asked me if I wanted decking.

Fortunately, I got the first punch in and that was the end of that.

However,some of you may be less alert and might not be so lucky.

Be warned... I have heard they might be working in gangs.

My Grandfather went to church last week. He walked into a confessional. He tells me the following conversation ensued:

Grandad: "I am 92 years old, have a wonderful wife of 70 years, many children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. Yesterday, I picked up two young girls, hitchhiking back to Uni. We went to a motel, where I had sex with each of them three times."

Priest: "Are you sorry for your sins?"

Grandad: "What sins?"

Priest: "What kind of a Catholic are you?"

Grandad: "I'm Jewish."

Priest: "Why are you telling me all this?"

Grandad: "I'm telling everybody."

My Auntie Dolly and her friend Hilda were playing golf the other day. At the 17th Par 3 both their tee shots appeared to land on the green but they could only see one of the balls. Arriving at the green they found the other ball had gone straight into the hole. A hole-in-one!
However, the two old ladies couldn't decide which of them had made this magnificent shot.
The club Professional happened to be passing at the time and they called him over to ask his advice.
"It's easy enough", he said, "What brand of ball were you each playing?"
"Titleist", said Dolly.
"Titleist", said Hilda.
"Well what number then?", asked the Pro.
"Titleist 3", said Hilda.
"Titleist 3", said Dolly.
The Pro looked quizzically at the two old dears for a moment then sighed, "Alright then, who played the yellow ball?"