James: are you ready?!
J: BUGGER ME!
Amy: a diving catch! i trashed my trifle in my excitement
J: i don't think i'm ready for the second half! shaking
J: what's with jucinta's teeth?
A: goosebumps!
J: b! eight! get in the cuba!
J: ahahaha "the cuba" :D
A: in my hysteria i deleted your last text before even reading it :P clueless!
J: concentrate stocking! you'd never survive in the cuba!
J: nicola! ;D
A: what's with all the lumberjack shirts?!
J: they're all chopping wood - tapped!
J: national lottery!
A: rollover!
A: untouchable!
A: his lankyness is his greatest asset
J: like me!
J: so tense
J: "don't let it rattle you", wise words from the fox
J: "just that final leg!" omg, that punched me in the stomach
A: you keep quoting just as i'm in the middle of typing the same quote! fwoo trace is getting tight chested
J: tell her to take a deep breath. i've had to remove my knitwear
J: the tower's laughing at him!
A: brought him to his knees, steady on schofield!
J: did you see the body was played by... the body! :D
THE CUBE
Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
Monday, 20 September 2010
Tuesday, 6 April 2010
Como? Não entendi direito
Sim!
a: Você fala português?
b: Eu entendo um pouco, mas não falo.
a: De onde você é?
b: Sou de Pop-sicle.
a: De Pop-sicle?
b: Sim, de Pop-sicle.
a: O que você faz?
b: Sou pop.
a: Como? Não entendi direito.
b: Sou pop.
a: Fale mais devagar.
b: Sou... pop?
a: ...
b: ...
a: Onde é o banheiro?
b: Não sei.
a: ...
b: O senhor pode me trazer mais pão? Obrigado!
Visit The Show Pony Trot to find out how it really went.
a: Você fala português?
b: Eu entendo um pouco, mas não falo.
a: De onde você é?
b: Sou de Pop-sicle.
a: De Pop-sicle?
b: Sim, de Pop-sicle.
a: O que você faz?
b: Sou pop.
a: Como? Não entendi direito.
b: Sou pop.
a: Fale mais devagar.
b: Sou... pop?
a: ...
b: ...
a: Onde é o banheiro?
b: Não sei.
a: ...
b: O senhor pode me trazer mais pão? Obrigado!
Visit The Show Pony Trot to find out how it really went.
Monday, 15 February 2010
Some sons do ave em!
Me: I'm going to an inquest tomorrow.
Dad: What happened?
Me: Some woman fell down the stairs.
Mum: OMG! Is she OK?!
Me & Dad: .....
Now I know where I get it from.
Dad: What happened?
Me: Some woman fell down the stairs.
Mum: OMG! Is she OK?!
Me & Dad: .....
Now I know where I get it from.
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Jokes!
Q: What luxurious beverage would you buy Alison from Starbucks?
A: A gold-frappé.
BA-DOOM-BOOM-BISH!
Sunday, 24 January 2010
Why I love fashion
Tanya Gold is a peculiar woman. On one hand, she can write witty little wisecracks about the the liberating pleasures of living by oneself (exhibit A - "I am a snoring, farting walrus/wildebeest-type creature, lying on melted chocolate buttons with a copy of Hello! scrunched between my thighs") and the difficulty of letting a man into this space (exhibit B - "Sleeping next to Man, I feel threatened. I have awoken to find myself punching people in the face"). And yet it appears she is also capable of throwing together some absolute tosh.
Case in point: a piece that was published in Thursday's copy of The Guardian, entitled 'Why I Hate Fashion' http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/jan/22/i-hate-fashion-tanya-gold (exhibit C).
To summarise, the points Miss Gold makes:
1) Fashion is elitist, unaccessible, and purely there for profit.
2) Fashion was responsible for the death of a 16-year-old girl in West Sussex.
3) Fashion made one 16-year-old model miserable.
4) Fashion decrys Tanya's new-found weight, and has kicked her out of its exclusive club.
There is a lot wrong with the fashion industry, but Tanya Gold must surely be the true definition of a 'fashion victim'. It annoys me how so many people are snobbish about an industry that is founded upon everyday life and a wealth of creativity.
The tale of the two girls is silly and short-sighted. The true beauty of fashion is that it is (secretly, it seems) anti-elitist, expressive and available for all bodies and builds. It might be there for profit, but at the end of the day so are all commodities, and when you're living in these items day-in and day-out, surely they must be seen as investments? Fashion is one of the most open clubs in town; it's your own fault if decide not to step through the door.
The best bit, however, in all of this is the picture.
I mean, OH MY. I wheezed.
Can you imagine the photographer? "What we've gone for here is a unique take on the Lily Allen 2006 look, teaming a khaki ocean with some very chic Primark trainers; it shall be called bag-lady. Right, now that's it, hunch over a little more. Let's try again, but can you look a little bit more shit darling...?"
Case in point: a piece that was published in Thursday's copy of The Guardian, entitled 'Why I Hate Fashion' http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/jan/22/i-hate-fashion-tanya-gold (exhibit C).
To summarise, the points Miss Gold makes:
1) Fashion is elitist, unaccessible, and purely there for profit.
2) Fashion was responsible for the death of a 16-year-old girl in West Sussex.
3) Fashion made one 16-year-old model miserable.
4) Fashion decrys Tanya's new-found weight, and has kicked her out of its exclusive club.
There is a lot wrong with the fashion industry, but Tanya Gold must surely be the true definition of a 'fashion victim'. It annoys me how so many people are snobbish about an industry that is founded upon everyday life and a wealth of creativity.
The tale of the two girls is silly and short-sighted. The true beauty of fashion is that it is (secretly, it seems) anti-elitist, expressive and available for all bodies and builds. It might be there for profit, but at the end of the day so are all commodities, and when you're living in these items day-in and day-out, surely they must be seen as investments? Fashion is one of the most open clubs in town; it's your own fault if decide not to step through the door.
The best bit, however, in all of this is the picture.
I mean, OH MY. I wheezed.Can you imagine the photographer? "What we've gone for here is a unique take on the Lily Allen 2006 look, teaming a khaki ocean with some very chic Primark trainers; it shall be called bag-lady. Right, now that's it, hunch over a little more. Let's try again, but can you look a little bit more shit darling...?"
(You may also notice Tanya look decidedly more glamorous for the contributor image on the Guardian's website...)
Those mannequins are brilliant however, filled with a venomous disgust of what has fallen before them. The only thing that can save Tanya Gold now is if one of the mannequins (or both, if they so wish) would do her the courtesy of stepping out of the window and providing her with a quick wallop about the face with a Chanel handbag, or a fast jab to the knee with a Wang heel.
Monday, 18 January 2010
Shortbodies
If only shorthand was taught like this...
'James'
It's my name, don't wear it out. For some unknown reason Blogger has reverted the image back to its original formatting and won't let me flip it, so you'll have to make do with craning your necks 90 degrees to the right.
No socks were harmed in the making of this art.
'Amy'
'James'It's my name, don't wear it out. For some unknown reason Blogger has reverted the image back to its original formatting and won't let me flip it, so you'll have to make do with craning your necks 90 degrees to the right.
No socks were harmed in the making of this art.
'Amy'
A perfect example of 'y' saying 'i', this is the wonderful Amy Stocking, poet extraordinaire and mystic temptress of the Black Country. You can read her work and musings on life by clicking here: http://showponytrot.blogspot.com/
Thursday, 5 November 2009
Mr Blog and I
It was only in the aftermath of an inordinate amount of time spent formatting an image of Robbie Williams from a GIF file to a JPEG one - a stupidly simple task - that I realised how much I missed the blog that never was.
Mr Blog and I have had a rocky relationship. I first heard of him through the casual chit-chat of those in the know. There seemed to be a buzz about the chap, but I dismissed it as nothing more than hype. Then I caught a glimpse of him; clean-shaven, smart but distinct, with a style all of his own. He was perhaps a little rough around the edges, but we could soon sort that out. However, modern-day cynicism soon set in, and I decided quite quickly that this was no doubt a case of style over substance; all talk and no trousers.
And then, like all the great romances, one day Mr Blog and I just happened to bump into each other. I suppose I should have expected it - I was in his neighbourhood. We got to talking, and it turns out he's a great listener. And what do you know, he shares a lot of the same opinions as me. And so friendly and polite, a complete gentleman. Never interrupts. My heart starts racing and I'm thinking, 'Gosh, this could really be something!'
So, I invite him back for coffee and we started playing around... Then we start fooling around... Which is playing around minus the coffee... Turns out I really know how to turn him on. When we'd shut down for the night, my mind would run rampant with all the, ahem, conversations we'd had. I really felt like I could get something out of this relationship.
We continued fooling around for a couple of weeks, but it wasn't long before the cracks started to show. He couldn't keep anything I told him private. He just regarded our relationship as an open book, for anyone to read. And then he stopped communicating with me altogether...! Can you believe that? He was happy to talk to other people about us, but had nothing to say to me. The nerve! I lost interest in him, and as a result didn't put the effort into our relationship that I perhaps should have... The answer was inevitable.
I deleted him from my life.
Life continued for 6 months or so, and I didn't think much of Mr Blog. And then tonight I found myself in his neighbourhood again. I was certain that he'd tricked me, but something inside me had brought me back here. That old familiar feeling rose up, and before I could stop myself I was caught in his net once more. And that's where I am right now.
The problem before was that I was trying to define our relationship. This time I'm happy for it to be an open one. As long as we're both committed, communicate with each other and keep things exciting, then we should be fine. Like that Robbie Williams photo, I knew our relationship was never going to be picture perfect, but then perhaps I'm missing the bigger picture...?
Mr Blog and I have had a rocky relationship. I first heard of him through the casual chit-chat of those in the know. There seemed to be a buzz about the chap, but I dismissed it as nothing more than hype. Then I caught a glimpse of him; clean-shaven, smart but distinct, with a style all of his own. He was perhaps a little rough around the edges, but we could soon sort that out. However, modern-day cynicism soon set in, and I decided quite quickly that this was no doubt a case of style over substance; all talk and no trousers.
And then, like all the great romances, one day Mr Blog and I just happened to bump into each other. I suppose I should have expected it - I was in his neighbourhood. We got to talking, and it turns out he's a great listener. And what do you know, he shares a lot of the same opinions as me. And so friendly and polite, a complete gentleman. Never interrupts. My heart starts racing and I'm thinking, 'Gosh, this could really be something!'
So, I invite him back for coffee and we started playing around... Then we start fooling around... Which is playing around minus the coffee... Turns out I really know how to turn him on. When we'd shut down for the night, my mind would run rampant with all the, ahem, conversations we'd had. I really felt like I could get something out of this relationship.
We continued fooling around for a couple of weeks, but it wasn't long before the cracks started to show. He couldn't keep anything I told him private. He just regarded our relationship as an open book, for anyone to read. And then he stopped communicating with me altogether...! Can you believe that? He was happy to talk to other people about us, but had nothing to say to me. The nerve! I lost interest in him, and as a result didn't put the effort into our relationship that I perhaps should have... The answer was inevitable.
I deleted him from my life.
Life continued for 6 months or so, and I didn't think much of Mr Blog. And then tonight I found myself in his neighbourhood again. I was certain that he'd tricked me, but something inside me had brought me back here. That old familiar feeling rose up, and before I could stop myself I was caught in his net once more. And that's where I am right now.
The problem before was that I was trying to define our relationship. This time I'm happy for it to be an open one. As long as we're both committed, communicate with each other and keep things exciting, then we should be fine. Like that Robbie Williams photo, I knew our relationship was never going to be picture perfect, but then perhaps I'm missing the bigger picture...?
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
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