Category Archives: humour

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Song: “Monday Morning Mishap (Never Make Tea In The Nude)”

Going through my old files, and I found this absolute gem that I boshed off, apparently at exactly on the 1st of June 2008 at 4pm. Forgotten I had written it. This was classic me from around 2008; silly, surreal, nutty, smutty. Wish I had my blog then! In any case, despite not remember having written it, as soon as I saw it, I remembered the tune I came up with to go with it. Maybe I’ll post the tune in the future. In any case, this is a song, hence it is not 100% metrically consistent from a poem standpoint.



Got up feeling groggy,

Body somewhat soggy from the night.

Demons and devils, nightmares straddled me,

Screeching in me lugs when I was sleeping, wrapped up tight.


But now awake

I make a cuppa rosy in the kitchen,

This languid body’s twitchin’

‘Cos of warm, wet Rosy Lee it’s itchin’.


Fill the kettle with brown water from a rusted tap,

Seethin’ liquids, pour the water, kettle handle snaps,

I wouldn’t mind too much I swear but only for the fact,

That my John Thomas hanging out was scolded to the sack.



Never make tea in the nude.

Never make tea in the nude.

I ain’t a prude, just please, be shrewd,

And never make tea in the nude.


It really ain’t that clever

To expose your old fella

‘Alf a kettle tests your mettle

An’ leaves ya feelin’ yella


So never make tea in the nude



Several years long after that

My wife long-since departed

Not from her death, but death of sex,

My piston’s not since started


She said I stank, and drank a lot,

An’ was a useless prannock,

But worse disgrace, a waste of space,

Now that I could not fill her crannock.


If you ask me in the pub at five thirty I’ll say

That she’s a fuckin’ whore, a slut, an’ I left her that day,

But come the tollin’ of the bell at closin’ time pissed up,

I’ll tell the truth, an’ climb the roof, an’ threaten to jump off.


It happens every night, last night was no exception,

This morn a banging head, black eyes, and half a recollection;

So I take my medicine, half a pint of gin,

An’ an English fry up, to my dosser day begin.


A fryin’ pan of butter, sizzlin’ sausages,

Some rashers, mushrooms, and brown bread,

Just what old Frankie needs;

The chocka-block brown-rusted pan

I popped in there three eggs,

But I slipped, the handle ripped,

Fried sausage ‘twixt two legs.



Never make eggs in the nude.

Never make eggs in the nude.

I ain’t a prude, just please, be shrewd,

And never make eggs in the nude.


It really ain’t that clever

To expose your old fella

A full up pan sears ya man

An’ leaves ya feelin’ yella


So never make eggs in the nude

Never make eggs in the nude

Don’t be like Frank who’ll no more wank

Never make eggs in the nude.

Never make eggs in the nude.

Don’t be like Frank who’ll no more wank,

And never make eggs in the nude.



Bryan A J Parry 1st June 4ish pm. 2008

© 2019 Bryan A. J. Parry

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So THAT’S Why Men Never Use The Second Button On Suits-gate #snobbery

Here’s one of those “helpful” clickbait articles that just popped up which leaves you wondering why you wasted those ten minutes of your life reading it. It reveals why men aren’t supposed to do up all the buttons on a suit jacket. It turns out the real reason is… no-one is quite sure why. Brilliant(!) But the article does give us the following life-saving advice: sometimes-always-never. That is, sometimes do up the first button, always do up the second button, never do up the third button (on two button jackets, only buttons two and three are present).

I’ve never liked this so-called rule. Seems stupid. I do whichever buttons seem sensible. Generally none, or two, but not one — the supposed proper way –, which is dumb. No buttons means I’m loose and free, two is for when I need to be smart or kept warm. One is a wishy-washy half-measure which achieves neither the end of comfort nor the end of warmth.

Got into a big funeral-based argument with my nouveau-riche uncle recently. He was aghast and full of scorn at my flouting of the sometimes-always-never diktat. I said to him that I’m more comfortable with both or neither button. He ridiculed me. I asked him to explain, in logical objective terms, why I should only do up the middle button — apart, that is, from his slavish following of mindless custom. He said it looks smarter. I said, “According to you”. He spluttered and shook his head sadly at my ignorance. I smiled inside because I had won the argument. Even if he didn’t realise it.

© 2017 Bryan A. J. Parry

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