One of the perks of living and working in downtown London are the world movie premieres. Case in point - Sex And The City: The Movie last night in Leicester Square. Here is where I'd like to tell you that I was in the front row of the crowd, got autographs from SJP, Kim, Kristen, and Cynthia, and took amazing pictures that I will now sell to Hello! Magazine for oodles of cash. However, I'll opt to not lie and tell you that I made Yulia stand on some street corner with me for 35 minutes while the limos drove past and I tried to peer in the tinted windows to try to discern (to no avail) who it was. This got old quickly and Yulia was itching to be anywhere but there. In my defense, unless we had started queueing at noon for a 7:30 premier, there was no way we were going to get a glimpse of anyone; there was just an overwhelming amount of screaming girls and flamboyant guys. But honestly. For a show BASED IN NEW YORK whose title even includes a REFERENCE TO NEW YORK and a plot line that CENTERS AROUND NEW YORK, why oh why would someone choose to have a world premiere in London?! I am assuming money had something to do with it and that people aren't that dumb.
There was a big presentation at work last Friday for some big shot manager who is leaving the company. My friend K was in charge of organizing the card, gift, and presentation. So we're all standing around watching as this guy opens all 7 of his gifts (I told you he was important) and Aussie T says in front of everyone: "What about my idea for the gift, K? Is she not coming?" (This is the type of stuff I miss about the people from Australia.)
The problem with stopping at the bathroom before you go outside to read on your lunch break is that you're just the freak walking into the work bathroom with a book under your arm.
Joke of the day that is just so horrendous it has no choice but to be funny: What's green and sings rock 'n roll? Elvis Parsley
London's Crazy Headlines:
Stunning Results For Police Tasers
Bodies Of Two Babies Are Found In Toy Boxes
I Have Just Been Run Over By A Cow
Showing posts with label joke. Show all posts
Showing posts with label joke. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Crowded supermarkets at 5:45 pm
Yesterday's paper had a pretty lame joke. Good thing I talked to my sister on the phone and she gave me backup:
What do you say to someone on their 120th birthday?
Have a nice day!
I am sick. Which means the order of things on my priority list when I come home from work are: tea, sweatpants, blankets, sleep, blog. Therefore, it shall be another rude caption installment today. Please bear with me while I deal with a heinous cough and general crappiness. Your patience is appreciated.
3-2-1! Ready or not here I come! Oh, wait. Wait a minute. I'm caught. Can someone come and help untangle my shawl of hair? You know, I thought that if I grew my hair out I would no longer have to buy clothes and I could save up my money for that paraffin I've been wanting. This is totally backfiring.
Satan #1: Phew! We JUST made it past security. I don't know how they didn't catch us with our horns sticking through our hoodies.
Satan #2: I don't care, man. We made it to the line of holy-looking she-males and I call dibs on this one.
Satan #1: That's coo, that's coo. I'm just gonna hold this scale of mini-people for a bit while I think of exactly how I'm going to destroy this angel using only the whip end of my tail.
What do you say to someone on their 120th birthday?
Have a nice day!
I am sick. Which means the order of things on my priority list when I come home from work are: tea, sweatpants, blankets, sleep, blog. Therefore, it shall be another rude caption installment today. Please bear with me while I deal with a heinous cough and general crappiness. Your patience is appreciated.
3-2-1! Ready or not here I come! Oh, wait. Wait a minute. I'm caught. Can someone come and help untangle my shawl of hair? You know, I thought that if I grew my hair out I would no longer have to buy clothes and I could save up my money for that paraffin I've been wanting. This is totally backfiring.
Satan #1: Phew! We JUST made it past security. I don't know how they didn't catch us with our horns sticking through our hoodies.Satan #2: I don't care, man. We made it to the line of holy-looking she-males and I call dibs on this one.
Satan #1: That's coo, that's coo. I'm just gonna hold this scale of mini-people for a bit while I think of exactly how I'm going to destroy this angel using only the whip end of my tail.
Frances: Wheeeee!!! Riding turtles are fun! Whoa, slow down Mr. Turtle! Don't make me pull back on your rein!
Mr. Turtle: There's a naked boy sitting on me with his grundle rubbing up against my shell. I am in HELL.
Back in the day, it was very hard to convince a naked woman to have sex with you. If you even made it past her flesh-eating monster-eel, you then had to deal with The Dreaded Skull Spikes. All in all, it was very cruel for them to walk around nude like that. Teases.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Cuddly wuddly puddly
On a roll here…
Joke of the day: Why wouldn’t the man bet $50 that he could reach the meat on the top shelf?
The steaks were too high.
On my run this morning I saw about 10 London police offers on horseback all in a row, each trotting next to and holding the reins of another rider-less horse. I smiled a huge, shit-eating grin because who doesn’t love to see 20 pretty horsies? But then they trotted on past me and I was hit with a WALL of god-awful horse stink. And that pretty much ruined it for me.
Also on my run I saw something on the ground that I didn’t think could exist in this world – a half-eaten Snickers bar. Really? Is one whole Snickers bar too much for someone out there? Can they not handle all that nougat in one sitting? What has this world come to?!
I’m not sure how I manage it, but I somehow have the ability to stumble upon crazy things. Case in point – yesterday I was taking the bus back to my apartment and we drove right past the Olympic torch relay. I mean, I couldn’t have timed it better had I tried. No, I wasn’t wearing a Free Tibet sash or t-shirt. And no, I didn’t try to put out the flame with a fire extinguisher. But the torch WAS rather small and anti-climatic. There were hordes of people lined up with their cameras poised to take the perfect shot as the 10 Chinese men in blue track suits ran by, encircling a Sugababes singer who, for some reason, was chosen as the most appropriate person to run with the torch. But you know…I’m sure those people will show their friends and family the pictures they took and will be met with a lot of “Where’s the torch? Is THAT it? I can’t even see it! It looks like a cotton candy stick!” In any case, I thought seeing all the protesters was by far a more interesting sight.
Even FURTHER proof…
I check another website where this guy posts quotes overheard on the Tube. He heard this one last week:
“Could someone please explain Mariah Carey to me? I just don’t get it.”
(I know, I know. I’m beating a dead horse…I’ll stop. But promise me you get what I’m saying here, okay? Okay.)
Breaking news – it’s spelled ‘diarrhoea’ in this country. (I didn’t find this out the way you THINK I found this out.)
Today I read the phrase ‘helping my grandmother shell peas in her living room with her hair curlers watching The Price is Right’ and it was the most glorious image I’ve had in my head in a long time.
*music – somebody told me you had a boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend I had in February of last year
Joke of the day: Why wouldn’t the man bet $50 that he could reach the meat on the top shelf?
The steaks were too high.
On my run this morning I saw about 10 London police offers on horseback all in a row, each trotting next to and holding the reins of another rider-less horse. I smiled a huge, shit-eating grin because who doesn’t love to see 20 pretty horsies? But then they trotted on past me and I was hit with a WALL of god-awful horse stink. And that pretty much ruined it for me.
Also on my run I saw something on the ground that I didn’t think could exist in this world – a half-eaten Snickers bar. Really? Is one whole Snickers bar too much for someone out there? Can they not handle all that nougat in one sitting? What has this world come to?!
I’m not sure how I manage it, but I somehow have the ability to stumble upon crazy things. Case in point – yesterday I was taking the bus back to my apartment and we drove right past the Olympic torch relay. I mean, I couldn’t have timed it better had I tried. No, I wasn’t wearing a Free Tibet sash or t-shirt. And no, I didn’t try to put out the flame with a fire extinguisher. But the torch WAS rather small and anti-climatic. There were hordes of people lined up with their cameras poised to take the perfect shot as the 10 Chinese men in blue track suits ran by, encircling a Sugababes singer who, for some reason, was chosen as the most appropriate person to run with the torch. But you know…I’m sure those people will show their friends and family the pictures they took and will be met with a lot of “Where’s the torch? Is THAT it? I can’t even see it! It looks like a cotton candy stick!” In any case, I thought seeing all the protesters was by far a more interesting sight.
Even FURTHER proof…
I check another website where this guy posts quotes overheard on the Tube. He heard this one last week:
“Could someone please explain Mariah Carey to me? I just don’t get it.”
(I know, I know. I’m beating a dead horse…I’ll stop. But promise me you get what I’m saying here, okay? Okay.)
Breaking news – it’s spelled ‘diarrhoea’ in this country. (I didn’t find this out the way you THINK I found this out.)
Today I read the phrase ‘helping my grandmother shell peas in her living room with her hair curlers watching The Price is Right’ and it was the most glorious image I’ve had in my head in a long time.
*music – somebody told me you had a boyfriend who looked like a girlfriend I had in February of last year
Sunday, April 6, 2008
100% vested in nothing
Joke of the day: Why aren’t exit signs fashionable?
Because they’re on the way out.
Theresa sent me a card in the mail and on the back she wrote:
P.P.S. I’m standing in line at the post office on Milk Street. There are three people in front of me in line. I wonder how long it will take and if I’ll have enough room left on the card. Wait it’s my
I know what London is missing. It took me two and a half months to realize it, but probably only because I wasn’t actually missing it. Frat boys. London is pleasantly devoid of frat boys. I was in Soho at 2:30 am on a Thursday night waiting for a bus home and, had this been any American city, I would have been amongst a swarm of drunk 20-something boys yelling and projecting their false sense of manhood on the world in the form of hoots and hollers. But the only drunk people around me were boys in tight black jeans, kissing French couples, and girls with terrible mullets (all of whom were eating McDonalds). And maybe Soho isn’t exactly the London frat boy hangout, but I can’t even think of a place in the city where they would be (other than the bars that Prince Harry frequents). Ted has said that London is my type of city; a lack of frat boys is just one example of why he is so, so right.
(However, for every macho guy I didn’t see that night, I saw at least one police car screaming by. I don’t know what it was, but in the 30 minutes I had to wait for my goddamn bus, I must have seen no less than 20 police cars. What an unruly town!)
I read at least one London newspaper every day and I have been tempted to create a section of my email that recaps the horrific and/or surprising headlines (you would not believe how fucked up this city can be sometimes). Up until now I have resisted that urge because I thought maybe it wouldn’t be that interesting to read. But after Friday’s edition, I am left with no choice but to start a segment called London’s Crazy Headlines:
- Ken admits: I have 5 children by 3 women (Ken is the mayor of London)
- Eat biscuits and have tubby baby
- Head found on beach is immigrant
- Trapped in the Tube for 3 hours
I received a company email on Friday whose subject line was: “Work area privacy PDA awareness.” I eagerly opened it, but it wasn’t about what I thought it was going to be about.
Video to search for on YouTube: ‘She’s f-ing Obama’
Have you ever been on the phone and found yourself nodding to the person on the other end? Funny thing, actually. THEY CAN’T SEE YOU NODDING.
I feel the need to further prove how right I am about the undeserving hype surrounding Mariah Carey. I check a website called TheLondonist.com which informs me of all-things-London. I was happy to read they reported ‘Mariah Carey’s in town and everyone wants a piece of her. This Londonista just doesn’t get it.’
I successfully mortified my mother with my do, dump or marry game. I think it could have been a lot worse had I chosen to do Hillary.
Did you know that the London Underground started on January 10, 1863? That is SO LONG AGO! (Of course, even after 150 years they still manage to trap their passengers on a train for 3 hours.) I know that Boston has America’s oldest subway system, but the Tube blows that right out of the water. How did those proper British ladies fit into the seats with their big poofy dresses?!
You know what’s funny? When you’re talking to a voice-activated credit card 1-800 number and you cough and they think you’ve answered one of their stupid questions. “We’re sorry, that disgusting cough is not a valid answer.”
I asked the question “What’s in that pasty” in front of my mother when she was here and wasn’t even the slightest bit embarrassed. I think that’s sign #1 I’m getting used to London.
Because they’re on the way out.
Theresa sent me a card in the mail and on the back she wrote:
P.P.S. I’m standing in line at the post office on Milk Street. There are three people in front of me in line. I wonder how long it will take and if I’ll have enough room left on the card. Wait it’s my
I know what London is missing. It took me two and a half months to realize it, but probably only because I wasn’t actually missing it. Frat boys. London is pleasantly devoid of frat boys. I was in Soho at 2:30 am on a Thursday night waiting for a bus home and, had this been any American city, I would have been amongst a swarm of drunk 20-something boys yelling and projecting their false sense of manhood on the world in the form of hoots and hollers. But the only drunk people around me were boys in tight black jeans, kissing French couples, and girls with terrible mullets (all of whom were eating McDonalds). And maybe Soho isn’t exactly the London frat boy hangout, but I can’t even think of a place in the city where they would be (other than the bars that Prince Harry frequents). Ted has said that London is my type of city; a lack of frat boys is just one example of why he is so, so right.
(However, for every macho guy I didn’t see that night, I saw at least one police car screaming by. I don’t know what it was, but in the 30 minutes I had to wait for my goddamn bus, I must have seen no less than 20 police cars. What an unruly town!)
I read at least one London newspaper every day and I have been tempted to create a section of my email that recaps the horrific and/or surprising headlines (you would not believe how fucked up this city can be sometimes). Up until now I have resisted that urge because I thought maybe it wouldn’t be that interesting to read. But after Friday’s edition, I am left with no choice but to start a segment called London’s Crazy Headlines:
- Ken admits: I have 5 children by 3 women (Ken is the mayor of London)
- Eat biscuits and have tubby baby
- Head found on beach is immigrant
- Trapped in the Tube for 3 hours
I received a company email on Friday whose subject line was: “Work area privacy PDA awareness.” I eagerly opened it, but it wasn’t about what I thought it was going to be about.
Video to search for on YouTube: ‘She’s f-ing Obama’
Have you ever been on the phone and found yourself nodding to the person on the other end? Funny thing, actually. THEY CAN’T SEE YOU NODDING.
I feel the need to further prove how right I am about the undeserving hype surrounding Mariah Carey. I check a website called TheLondonist.com which informs me of all-things-London. I was happy to read they reported ‘Mariah Carey’s in town and everyone wants a piece of her. This Londonista just doesn’t get it.’
I successfully mortified my mother with my do, dump or marry game. I think it could have been a lot worse had I chosen to do Hillary.
Did you know that the London Underground started on January 10, 1863? That is SO LONG AGO! (Of course, even after 150 years they still manage to trap their passengers on a train for 3 hours.) I know that Boston has America’s oldest subway system, but the Tube blows that right out of the water. How did those proper British ladies fit into the seats with their big poofy dresses?!
You know what’s funny? When you’re talking to a voice-activated credit card 1-800 number and you cough and they think you’ve answered one of their stupid questions. “We’re sorry, that disgusting cough is not a valid answer.”
I asked the question “What’s in that pasty” in front of my mother when she was here and wasn’t even the slightest bit embarrassed. I think that’s sign #1 I’m getting used to London.
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