Common
Freddy Woo writes, "My wife thinks calling the front room a lounge is common. Worse, a friend of hers recently admonished her daughter for calling a toilet, a toilet. Lavatory darling. It's lavatory."
My own mother refused to let me use the word 'oblong' instead of 'rectangle'. Which is just odd, to be honest.
What stuff do you think is common?
( , Thu 16 Oct 2008, 16:06)
Freddy Woo writes, "My wife thinks calling the front room a lounge is common. Worse, a friend of hers recently admonished her daughter for calling a toilet, a toilet. Lavatory darling. It's lavatory."
My own mother refused to let me use the word 'oblong' instead of 'rectangle'. Which is just odd, to be honest.
What stuff do you think is common?
( , Thu 16 Oct 2008, 16:06)
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"What did you have for lunch?" "A meta pastiche, from Greggs"
All this talk of poshness and commonness has reminded me of a story my Granddad once told me.
You see, his father was a vaudeville promoter in 20s America and remembers one act in particular, a family act, the bread and butter of a promoter’s troupe back in the day. The father of the family makes the introductions
“British huh? I like that, you got ten minutes” cracks my Great Granddad.
The family pull off boiler suits to reveal their costumes; white Kappa tracksuits, stained with ketchup, grease and cooking oil. The father throws himself into a DFS easy chair, his tracksuit top pulling back to reveal a hairy beer-gut. He opens a can of warm Stella and a bag of crisps then turns on the television. The TV blares while the man spits obscenities and Dorito fragments at the screen, pausing from time to time in order to fart loudly, breathing in his own aroma.
Meanwhile the daughter and mother share a WKD while waiting for the teatime Pot Noodles to cook, “4 for a pahnd from Asdas, innit?” the elder female correctly asserts. The second television screen in the room is tuned to QVC, the mother phones the network to order false nails while her illiterate youngling looks at the pictures in Heat.
The youngest member of the family has relieved himself of his tracksuit and is covered in nothing but grime and cigarette burns. The nude boy tears around the staged lounge, high on Panda Pops, he knocks over his father’s can of lager. Incensed, the pater familias lunges at his son, screaming out “Get ere now Logan, I’m gonna fookin stripe yoh!”.
The scene ends, my Great Granddad is speechless for several seconds, he speaks;
“So, whaddya call this crazy act then?
The father waddles forward;
“The Aristocrats” he jangles
Bada ba chada cha
( , Sat 18 Oct 2008, 4:02, 3 replies)
All this talk of poshness and commonness has reminded me of a story my Granddad once told me.
You see, his father was a vaudeville promoter in 20s America and remembers one act in particular, a family act, the bread and butter of a promoter’s troupe back in the day. The father of the family makes the introductions
“British huh? I like that, you got ten minutes” cracks my Great Granddad.
The family pull off boiler suits to reveal their costumes; white Kappa tracksuits, stained with ketchup, grease and cooking oil. The father throws himself into a DFS easy chair, his tracksuit top pulling back to reveal a hairy beer-gut. He opens a can of warm Stella and a bag of crisps then turns on the television. The TV blares while the man spits obscenities and Dorito fragments at the screen, pausing from time to time in order to fart loudly, breathing in his own aroma.
Meanwhile the daughter and mother share a WKD while waiting for the teatime Pot Noodles to cook, “4 for a pahnd from Asdas, innit?” the elder female correctly asserts. The second television screen in the room is tuned to QVC, the mother phones the network to order false nails while her illiterate youngling looks at the pictures in Heat.
The youngest member of the family has relieved himself of his tracksuit and is covered in nothing but grime and cigarette burns. The nude boy tears around the staged lounge, high on Panda Pops, he knocks over his father’s can of lager. Incensed, the pater familias lunges at his son, screaming out “Get ere now Logan, I’m gonna fookin stripe yoh!”.
The scene ends, my Great Granddad is speechless for several seconds, he speaks;
“So, whaddya call this crazy act then?
The father waddles forward;
“The Aristocrats” he jangles
Bada ba chada cha
( , Sat 18 Oct 2008, 4:02, 3 replies)
Tame for this version
but thanks for reminding me of the wrongmess of the varieties of this joke told.
I'm surprised this hasn't been duntodeth on this forum; maybe it has been, subtley (sp?).
( , Sat 18 Oct 2008, 5:18, closed)
but thanks for reminding me of the wrongmess of the varieties of this joke told.
I'm surprised this hasn't been duntodeth on this forum; maybe it has been, subtley (sp?).
( , Sat 18 Oct 2008, 5:18, closed)
hrm
not enough incest, bestiality, necrophillia or scat, i'm afraid.
( , Sat 18 Oct 2008, 9:58, closed)
not enough incest, bestiality, necrophillia or scat, i'm afraid.
( , Sat 18 Oct 2008, 9:58, closed)
.
And I'm afraid you've missed the point of the question and my answer.
( , Sat 18 Oct 2008, 18:18, closed)
And I'm afraid you've missed the point of the question and my answer.
( , Sat 18 Oct 2008, 18:18, closed)
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