Slave to the Grave

Perhaps one candidate = six candidates.

I may be wrong, but I'm sure there were always two sorts you could buy and the 'expensive' ones had a leaf or two.

My shameful secret is not particularly shameful but death related so I thought I'd share it. When our dog died we buried him in someone else's garden. The people are now close friends, but we didn't know them at the time. We've never been able to bring ourselves to tell them, but we've been quite successful in influencing their landscaping plans for the garden. Incidentally, this is the same house I mentioned ages ago which had stolen railings from a grave as a fireguard (stolen by my aunt).

Big Boys?

Slave to the Grave = Nikki Membrane. Suppose it could have been worse, it could have been mucus. Real name = Slick Styler.

Ahh, too much cheese at bedtime.

I'm not going to hound you Tempus and I don't want to pinscher joke, but since the last one dingo down well (it was terrier-ble), I feel I should not whippet up any further and try to retriever bit of my dignity, while I still can.

This thread is dogged by bad jokes. I'm just going to cocker deaf one.

I particularly liked:

Lady G. Your dandy highwayman appears to be wearing shorts. He has very brown legs though. Could be my eyesight of course.

Well it is a tincy bit. (the predicting bit that is)

Are you sure you don't want to rant? Please? With sugar on top? regards, Hein He's scared.

I feared as much, hence the 'apparently'. (Just off to give that nice Nigerian gentleman my bank details.)

This was apparently shown on BBC TV back in the seventies. Ronnie Barker could say all this without a sN-word, though god knows how many takes it took. Irony is that they received not one complaint. The speed of delivery must have been too much to take in for the serial complainers. 'This is the story of Rindercella and her sugly isters. Rindercella and her sugly isters lived in a marge lansion. Rindercella worked very hard frubbing sloors, emptying poss pits, and shivelling shot. At the end of the day, she was knucking fackered. The sugly isters were right bugly astards. One was called Mary Hinge, and the other was called Betty Swallocks; they were really forrible huckers; they had fetty sweet and fetty swannies. The sugly isters had tickets to go to the ball, but the cotton runts would not let Rindercella go. Suddenly there was a bucking fang, and her gairy fodmother appeared. Her name was Shairy Hithole and she was a light rucking fesbian. She turned a pumpkin and six mite wice into a hucking cuge farriage with six dandy ronkeys who had buge hollocks and dig bicks. The gairy fodmother told Rindercella to be back by dimnlight otherwise, there would be a cucking falamity. At the ball, Rindercella was dancing with the prandsome hince when suddenly the clock struck twelve. "Mist all chucking frighty!!!" said Rindercella, and she ran out tripping barse over ollocks, so dropping her slass glipper. The very next day the prandsome hince knocked on Rindercella's door and the sugly isters let him in. Suddenly, Betty Swallocks lifted her leg and let off a fig bart. "Who's fust jarted??" asked the prandsome hince. "Blame that fugly ucker over there!!" said Mary Hinge. When the stinking brown cloud had lifted, he tried the slass glipper on both the sugly isters without success and their feet stucking funk. Betty Swallocks was ducking fisgusted and gave the prandsome hince a knack in the kickers. This was not difficult as he had bucking fuge halls and a hig bard on. He tried the slass glipper on Rindercella and it fitted pucking ferfectly. Rindercella and the prandsome hince were married. The pransome hince lived his life in lucking fuxury, and Rindercella lived hers with a follen swanny.'

That's the one. After his death several women were apparently so upset they attempted suicide. If only they had copied their idol, they would probably have been a bit more successful.

Another Guest who has not seen the Well Named Thread. Irate Visitors Rage here if you must. Why do you think Irate Guests will helpfully post in the one theard where they're supposed to just to avoid annoying you a little? Good point guest. I always thought the 'Irate Visitors' thread was actually for general derogatory comments. I think specific ones should stay with the relevant thread. It's a bit like those special areas Local Authorities set aside for graffitti a few years back which nobody ever used.

Is there a time limit? I'm currently wrestling with myself.

It was a fun weekend, (I have to confess to getting caught up in the drama of things), we made a few jokes, got found out, got banned. Isn't it time to move on?

I'm sure women in the 1970s had a different taste in men.... The subject of thousands of French womens' fantasies

Oh yes, very fetching.

And one very small brain. You mean brain cell Maybe even prison cell, or come to think of it padded cell.

Put another jumper on?

Then perhaps this thread should be merged? Or mashed.

Ah, sorry. I did think afterwards that perhaps I shouldn't have done it. Something else has gone as well, I've never done 3 posts in a row before. Makes me look quite obsessive.

Wikipedia is your friend Phil Drabble No date of death is a pretty clear indication I did check there in the first place, but, from DDP: