Posted in Humour

Cleaning poem

I asked the Lord to tell me
Why my house is such a mess
He asked if I’d been ‘computering’,
And I had to answer ‘yes.’
He told me to get off my butt,
And tidy up the house.
And so I started cleaning up…
The smudges off my mouse.
I wiped and shined the topside.
That really did the trick…
I was just admiring my good work.
I didn’t mean to ‘click.’
But click, I did, and oops – I found
A real absorbing site
That I got SO way into it –
I was into it all night.

So nothing’s changed except my mouse.
It’s as shiny as the sun.
I guess my house will stay a mess…..
While I sit here on my bum.

Posted in Humour

Cowboys, Ranchers, newlyweds and Viagra(?)

One morning a husband is taking his underwear out of the drawer.
“What the **** !” he says to himself as a little dust cloud appears when he shakes them out.
“Sue!” he hollers into the bathroom.
“Why did you put talcum powder in my underwear?”
A cowboy told his Grandson that the secret of long life was to sprinkle a little gunpowder on his oatmeal every day. So The youngster did this, and when he died aged 98 he left behind four children, 12 Grand-childern, 17 great grandchildren, and a 20ft hole in the wall of the crematorium.

Amy, a city girl, marries a Texan Rancher. One day, the rancher gets ready to go out.
“The artificial insemination man is coming over to impregnate one of the cows today,” he tells Amy.
“I drove a nail into the wood just above the cows stall in the barn. You need to show him where the cow is when he gets here,ok?”
So when the artificial insemination man arrives, Amy takes him down to the barn.
“Here it is,” She says when she spots the nail in the wall.
“This is the cow, right here.

”I’m impressed!” says the man, having expected her to be a city girl with no ranch experience.
“How did you know this is the cow to be bred?”
“That’s simple,” Amy answers.
“By the nail over it’s stall.”
Slightly bemused, the man asks:

“Whats the nail for?”

“Well” she replies as she walks away,

“I guess it’s to hang your pants on.
A husband comes home with a tube of intimate lubricating jelly. “This will make you happy tonight,” he tells his wife.
He was right. Later, when he nips to the loo, she squirts it all over the doorknob so he can’t get back in.


A lady asks the pharmacist: “Do you have Viagra?”
“Yes, madam,” he answers.
“Does it work?” she asks.
“It certainly does,” he tells her.
“Can you get it over the counter?” she inquires. “Yes,” he replies, “If I take two.”
A newlywed couple are about to make love for the first time. The young bride doesn’t know what to do, so the groom tries to explain in a way she’ll understand.
“Let’s make it a game, where we call your bit “the cell”
and my bit “the prisoner”,” he begins.
“When the prisoner is put in the cell, he gets angry and moves around,”
Sure enough, the prisoner is put in the cell and the wife loves it. In fact, the prisoner is such a sucess, she wants him in the cell a second, third and foyrth time.
But when she asks the fifth time, the man cries:
“Flaming heck, he hasn’t got a life sentence!”

Posted in Humour

The adventures of Paddy, Mick & Murphy

Paddy and Mick go to London to donate sperm.

It was a disaster!

Paddy missed the tube and Mick came on the bus!

———— ——— ——–oOo———— ——— ——–

Paddy calls Easyjet to book a flight.

The operator asks “How many people are flying with you?”

Paddy replies “I don’t know! It’s your f***ing plane!”

———— ——— ——–oOo———— ——— ——–

Paddy and Murphy are working on a building site.
Paddy says to Murphy “I’m gonna have the day off,
I’m gonna pretend I’m mad!”
He climbs up the rafters, hangs upside down and shouts


Murphy watches in amazement!

The Foreman shouts “Paddy you’re mad, go home”

So he leaves the site.

Murphy starts packing his kit up to leave as well.

“Where the hell are you going?” asks the Foreman.

“I can’t work in the f******’ dark!” says Murphy.
———— ——— ——–oOo———— ——— ——–

Two Irish couples decided to swap partners for the night.

After 3 hours of amazing sex, Paddy says “I wonder how the girls are getting on”.

———— ——— ——–oOo———— ——— ——–

Paddy takes his new wife to bed on their wedding night. She undresses, lies on the bed spread-eagled and says
“You know what I want, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” says Paddy. “The whole feckin’ bed by the looks of it!”
———— ——— ——–oOo———— ——— ——–

Q. What’s a Catholic priest and a pint of Guinness got in common?

A. A black coat, white collar and you’ve got to watch your arse if you get a dodgy one!

———— ——— ——–oOo———— ——— ——–

Paddy, the electrician, got sacked from the U…S. prison service for not servicing the electric chair.

He said in his professional opinion it was a death trap!

———— ——— ——–oOo———— ——— ——–
Paddy, the Irish boyfriend of the woman whose head was found on Arbroath beach was asked to identify her.

A detective held up the head to which point Paddy said “I don’t think that’s her, she wasn’t that tall!”

———— ——— ——–oOo———— ——— ——–
Paddy and his wife are lying in bed and the neighbours’ dog is barking like mad in the garden.

Paddy says “To hell with this!” and storms off.

He comes back upstairs 5 minutes later and his wife asks
“What did you do?”

Paddy replies “I’ve put the dog in our garden. Let’s see how they like it!”
———— ——— ——–oOo———— ——— ——–

Paddy is said to be shocked at finding out all his cows have Bluetongue.

“Be Jeysus!” he said, “I didn’t even know they had mobile phones!”
———— ——— ——–oOo———— ——— ——–

Mick and Paddy are reading head stones at a nearby cemetery.

Mick say “Crikey! There’s a bloke here who was 152!”

Paddy says “What’s his name?”

Mick replies “Miles, from London !”

Posted in Humour

genuine Police complaint letter

This is a genuine complaint to Strandtown Police Force from an angry member of the public. A true email sent to the force, lengthy but brilliantly written…..
Dear Sir/Madam/Automated telephone answering service,
Having spent the past twenty minutes waiting for someone at Strandtown police station to pick up a telephone I have decided to abandon the idea and try e-mailing you instead.

Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this message on to your colleagues in Strandtown, by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or Ouija board.

As I’m writing this e-mail there are eleven failed medical experiments (I think you call them youths) in Parkgate Crescent, which is just off Mersey Street Belfast.

Six of them seem happy enough to play a game which involves kicking a football against an iron gate with the force of a meteorite. This causes an earth shattering CLANG! Which rings throughout the entire building. This game is now in its third week and as I am unsure how the scoring system works, I have no idea if it will end any time soon.

The remaining five failed-abortions are happily rummaging through several bags of rubbish and items of furniture that someone has so thoughtfully dumped beside the wheelie bins. One of them has found a saw and is setting about a discarded chair like a

beaver on ecstasy pills.

I fear that it’s only a matter of time before they turn their limited attention to the caravan gas bottle that is lying on its side between the two bins. If they could be relied on to only blow their own arms and legs off then I would happily leave them to it. In fact, I would even go so far as to lend them the matches.

Unfortunately they are far more likely to blow up half the street with them and I’ve just finished decorating the kitchen.

What I suggest is this – after replying to this e-mail with worthless assurances that the matter is being looked into and will be dealt with, why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath night) when there are no mutants around then drive up the street in a Police car before doing a three point turn and disappearing again.. This will of course serve no other purpose than to remind us what policemen actually look like.

I trust that when I take a claw hammer to the skull of one of these throwbacks you’ll do me the same courtesy of giving me a four month head start before coming to arrest me.

I remain your obedient servant

Mr ??????,
I have read your e-mail and understand your frustration at the problems caused by youths playing in the area and the problems you have encountered in trying to contact the police.

As the Community Beat Officer for your street I would like to extend an offer of discussing the matter fully with you.

Should you wish to discuss the matter, please provide contact details (address / telephone number) and when may be suitable.

PC ???????
Community Beat Officer


Dear PC ???????
First of all I would like to thank you for the speedy response to my original e-mail.

16 hours and 38 minutes must be a personal record for Srandtown Police Station, and rest assured that I will forward these details to Norris McWhirter for inclusion in his next Guinness book.

Secondly I was delighted to hear that our street has its own Community Beat Officer.

May I be the first to congratulate you on your covert skills? In the five or so years I have lived in Parkgate Crescent , I have never seen you. Do you hide up a tree or have you gone deep undercover and infiltrated the gang itself? Are you the one with the acne and the moustache on his forehead or the one with a chin like a wash hand basin? It’s surely only a matter of time before you are head-hunted by MI5 to look for Osama.

Whilst I realise that there may be far more serious crimes taking place in Belfast, such as smoking in a public place or being Christian without due care and attention, is it too much to ask for a policeman to explain (using words of no more than two syllables at a time) to these twats that they might want to play their strange football game elsewhere.

The pitch on Holywood Road , or the one at Victoria Park are both within spitting distance as is the bottom of the Pollock Dock, the latter being the preferred option especially if the tide is in.

Should you wish to discuss these matters further you should feel free to contact me on . If after 25 minutes I have still failed to answer, I’ll buy you a large one in the Great Eastern Pub.


P.S If you think that this is sarcasm, think yourself lucky that you don’t work for the sewerage department with whom I am also in contact !!!

Posted in Humour

God Loves blondes

A blonde finds herself in serious trouble. Her business has gone bust and she’s in dire financial straits. She’s desperate so she decides to ask God for help. So She begins to pray..

“God, please help me. I’ve lost my business and if I don’t get some money, I’m going to lose my house as well. Please let me win the lottery.”

Lottery night comes, and somebody else wins.

She again prays… “God, please let me win the lottery!

I’ve lost my business, my house and I’m going to lose my car as well.”

Lottery night comes and she still has no luck.

Once again, she prays… “My God, why have you forsaken me?

I’ve lost my business, my house, and my car.. My children are starving. I don’t often ask You for help, and I’ve always been a good servant to You. PLEASE let me win the lottery just this one time so I can get my life back in order.”

Suddenly there is a blinding flash of light as the heavens open.

The blonde is overwhelmed by the Voice of God, Himself…. when he said to her ……..

“Sweetheart, work with Me on this……. Buy a ticket.”