A Tramore couple were lying in bed together on the morning of their tenth wedding anniversary when the wife said: “Darling, as this is such a special occasion, I think that it’s time I made a confession. Before we were married I was a hooker for many years.”
Her husband pondered for a moment and then looked into his wife’s eyes and said: “OK, Georgina, I’m shocked but, look here, you have been a perfect wife to me for ten years and I can’t hold your past against you. In fact, maybe you could show me a few tricks of the trade and spice up our sex life a bit.”
”Darling, I don’t think you understand”, replied his wife, “I wasn’t that kind of hooker. My name was George and I played rugby with Waterpark.”
Mysterious flying objects
Two lads from the Kill area were out shooting crows last week when they heard a noise above them and, looking up, saw a motorised hand-glider buzzing above their heads. One of the pair quickly raised his gun and took a pot-shot at the glider. “Mother of God”, said the other man, “what on earth was that?” “I don’t know what kind of a yoke it was”, said his companion, ”but whatever it was it let go of the poor divil it was carrying pretty quick.”
A predictable performance?
Tommy was enjoying a rest in bed last Saturday morning about 9.30 and he could hear his wife moving about in the kitchen. “Great”, he said to himself, “there’ll be a cup of tea on the way soon.” Then he heard the sound of a crash and his wife saying ‘Damn’ in a loud voice. Seconds later his wife shouted from the kitchen. “Tommy darling, can you come down here immediately please.”
Tommy did as he was asked and arrived in the kitchen to see his wife slipping out of her tracksuit bottoms. “Listen”, she said, looking up, ”I want you to make love to me immediately, right now, here in the kitchen.”
“Aha”, said Tommy, puffing out his chest, “you still find me irresistible even after all these years.” “It’s not that”, replied his wife impatiently, “I’ve dropped and broken the bloody egg timer so I want to know the exact length of time to leave them on the cooker.”
There’s often more than one problem!
An elderly lady from the Ballybricken area went to see her local GP and in a worried tone of voice outlined her problem. “Doctor, I just don’t know what the problem is but I seem to be passing wind much too frequently. It’s not a problem socially because I don’t make any noise and my wind is clean and fresh but, all the same, I feel it shouldn’t be happening. Indeed, I’ve passed wind twice since I’ve been in here talking to you.”
The doctor nodded wisely, gave her a prescription for some tablets and told her to visit him again in ten days time.
As directed, she completed the course of tablets but when she returned to see the doctor he could tell she was not in a good mood. “What kind of medicine did you give me”, she complained bitterly, “I’m still passing wind but now it stinks to high heaven.”
“Don’t worry, we are making progress”, insisted the doctor, “now that we have your sinus problem cleared up, we’ll work on your hearing next and then the actual passing of your wind.”
Trying to keep up to the Joneses!
A middle-aged couple from the ‘top of the town’ won the Lotto and, after looking after their grown-up family, they were trying to decide what they would do for themselves with their money.
The wife had always had notions of grandeur so she suggested to her husband that they sell their modest house and buy a big, detached home on the Dunmore Road. “The people around here are very common and I’ve always felt that the Dunmore Road people are more our sort”, she sniffed.
Because of the deflated state of the property market, they ended up buying a huge mansion and, as befitting her new role in society, the wife decided to hire a man to look after the garden and a maid/housekeeper to deal with work inside the house. When everything was in place, they sent out invitations to their new neighbours inviting them to ‘a sumptuous dinner party’.
The centre-piece of the pre-meal buffet was a huge salmon tastefully displayed on a bed of exotic salad. But just before the salmon was to be carried triumphantly into the dining room, the maid called the woman of the house into the kitchen. “I’m really sorry Ma’am but your cat got at the salmon dish and has eaten a big lump out of the middle of the fish.” The social-climber hostess didn’t turn a hair. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll fill in the gap with tinned salmon”, she said, taking several tins of ‘John West’ out of a cupboard.
Nobody noticed any difference and the dinner party was going swimmingly when the worried looking maid appeared and asked the woman of the house to return to the kitchen. “It’s the cat, Ma’am”, she wailed with tears rolling down her cheeks, “she’s dead.”
The wanna-be snob was devastated but she knew she couldn’t take a chance on poisoning all her new neighbours so she turned off the music and, red-faced, advised them all that there was a problem with the salmon and it would be wise to go to Waterford Regional Hospital to have their stomachs pumped.
The mortified couple had also eaten the fish so they too went to the hospital and when they got back in the early hours of the morning, the maid had cleared up and was just getting into her taxi home.
“By the way, what did you do with the cat’s body”, asked the woman. “Oh, I couldn’t bear to touch it Ma’am”, said the maid sorrowfully, “the poor little thing is still out on the main road where the car hit it.”