25 November 2012 – Amusements

We’ve had this before but, as the person who sent it to me remarked, the old ones are the best.

A guy is driving around the back streets of Chippenham when he sees a sign in front of an unkempt terraced house: Talking Dog For Sale. So, he stops and rings the bell. The owner appears and tells him the dog is in the garden. The guy goes into the backyard and sees a nice looking Labrador retriever sitting there.

“You talk?” he asks.

“Yep,” the Lab replies.

After the guy recovers from the shock of hearing a dog talk, he says “So, what’s your story?”

The Lab looks up and says, “Well, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young. I wanted to help the government, so I told the SAS.

“In no time at all they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping.

“I was one of their most valuable spies for eight years running.

“But the jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn’t getting any younger so I decided to settle down. I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security, wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible  dealings and was awarded a batch of medals. I got married, had a  load of puppies, and now I’m just retired.”

The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks the owner what he wants for the dog.

“Ten quid,” the guy says.

“Ten quid?  This dog is amazing! Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?”

“Because he’s a liar. He’s never been out of the garden.”

A woman goes into a pet shop to buy a parrot and sees a gorgeous one at only £20. The shopkeeper explains it’s cheap because it used to be in a brothel, and its language can be fruity. But for £20 she can’t resist and takes it home.

She whisks the cover off the cage. “Mmm, new décor,” says the parrot. “Nice.”

Her two daughters walk in. “New girls, lovely!” says the parrot.

Then her husband walks in and the parrot says, “Hello, Keith!”

My wife and I were browsing in a crafts store when I noticed a display of country-style musical instruments. After looking over the flutes, dulcimers and recorders, I picked up a shiny, one-stringed instrument I took to be a mouth harp. I put it to my lips and, much to the amusement of other shoppers, twanged a few notes on it.

After watching from a distance, my wife came up and whispered in my ear, “I hate to tell you this, honey, but you’re trying to play a cheese slicer.”