I Think I Lost My Funny

Artist’s impression of lost and lonely dog

I found a lost dog on Sunday and I told people about it and didn’t crack one joke in the telling.  How is that possible? Remember when I lost my dog, Toby, a few years ago?  I managed to get three blog posts of almost novella length from that thirty minutes of agony, and cracked one joke after another despite my overwhelming trauma (Hello? Scraped knee, remember).  Here, I find a dog, and nothing: no funny, no cute, no whimsy.  I think I need to plank face-first again in peak traffic to knock the funny back into me.

Here’s what happened: I walked the dogs up to the local park and we arrived and a lone dog – husky-cross, I think – ran up to us, freaked Toby out, followed us off the park, freaking Toby out more, followed us back on to the park…are you asleep yet?  The man lying in the grass whose dog I thought it was and who turned out not to be dead (I seriously wondered, he was so still) was.  Asleep, that is.  You forgot where I was up to, didn’t you?  See, not funny.

Toby freaking out plays a big part in this story, because I had to pick him up to calm him down and his toenail caught in my chunky cardigan – kind of like a KitKat made of wool – oh give me a break, I’m desperate here – see what I did there? – and he screamed, and I mean SCREAMED in panic and wriggled like mad and I happened to be wearing earphones and he got tangled in them, my cardi and the lead so he was practically hyperventilating.  Trust me, a screaming, wriggling, hyperventilating Yorkshire Terrier is a terrifying sight to behold.  And hold.

Meanwhile, Molly slipped out of her harness, Lost Dog capered around blissfully unaware of the mayhem he was causing by being within, oh, I dunno, three miles of Toby, Toby freaked some more, and Not Dead Man kept on sleeping, despite the fact I practically fell over his feet trying to untangle me, my dog, my earphones and my clothes.

Artist’s impression of Molly, the naughty little monkey

Then I had the first of what turned out to be the same conversation with several strange men that day:

TB: Is this your dog?

SM: No.

TB: Oh.  Okay, thanks.

Artist’s impression of Toby, the Freaking Yorkie

Molly was already off the lead and Lost Dog had a collar but no ID, so I clipped him on and Toby almost fainted.  Resignation then set in, though he did manage a couple of thin-lipped nips at the air beside Lost Dog when he got too close.  Molly followed us home.  Fortunately, the park sort of backs onto our street (trust me, you don’t want a topographical lesson here; I’m falling asleep in the telling as it is), so I knew she’d be safe on the short walk back.

The Hub was watching City lose the FA Cup semi-final (though he didn’t know that yet) when we all arrived home, but promised to help me find the dog’s owner once the match was done.  Then it went into extra time so I marched Lost Dog out of there on his lonesome this time, Molly declining to walk if it meant her own extra time in the street and Toby reclining on his bed (actually Spud’s bed but what Spud doesn’t know Toby could not care less about), emotionally battered until dinner time.

I had the brainwave of saying to Lost Dog, ‘Home!  Take me home!  Let’s go home!  Where’s home, boy?’  He responded by pulling me through a hole in the park fence and running straight to a front door.  I knocked and a handsome man answered:

TB: Is this your dog?

HM: No.

TB: Oh.  Okay, thanks.  Did you know you’re gorgeous?

Actually, I didn’t say that last bit (I think), but I certainly thunk it.

I was beginning to suspect that Lost Dog, though amiable, was a six-pack short of a six-pack.  I repeated the home mantra and he walked me up and down many streets before leading me to another front door.  I knocked and another handsome man answered:

TB: Is this your dog?

HM: Yes!

TB: Oh.  Okay, thanks.  Did you know you’re gorgeous?  Wait, back up…he’s yours?  Why aren’t you out looking for him?  Handsome is as handsome does, you know.  Can I leave my husband and have your puppies?

Um, everything after ‘thanks’ may have taken place in my head but, seriously, where did all these handsome men suddenly appear from?  It’s like the sun came out and a shower of hunks descended on Stockport.

Artist’s impression of Handsome Man

Handsome Man (who so isn’t because is as does, like I said) was extremely grateful but in a real hurry to get rid of me.  It was odd – discounting the fact that a middle-aged, frumpy dognapper* was drooling on his doorstep, why was he so eager to be rid of me?  And then I looked at my watch: aha!  Extra time was almost over.  He obviously wanted to get back to the match.  Loving your pooch is one thing; football is quite another.

So, good deed done for the day, I headed home, where the Hub was crying into his fixture list:

Hub: Hey, let’s go find that dog’s owner.

TB: I already did, and you wouldn’t believe how ugly he was, yuk! Eurggh! Disgusting, horrible.  I didn’t embarrass myself at all, honest.

Hub: That’s not funny.

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*Spellcheck wants to replace ‘dognapper’ with ‘dapper kidnapper’.  I’m so tempted.

 

Joke 683

These are for my American readers.  I have no idea how funny most of them are but they were all I could find.  I have tried to weed out the offensive jokes. Hope I succeeded.  Let me know if I missed one.  And apologies for the exclamation marks but you know how enthusiastic sports fans can be.

super bowl (Photo credit: sinosplice)

Super Bowl XLV (Febuary 6, 2011; Pittsburgh Steelers vs Green Bay Packers)

Q: Why is Charlie Sheen in such a good mood? A: Because James Harrison now holds the record for most illegal hits!

Q: What do you call 53 millionaires around a TV watching the Super Bowl in Arlington, Texas? A: The Dallas Cowboys!

Q: What do you call a 350 pound Packer fan? A: An anorexic!

Super Bowl XLIII (Febuary 1, 2009; Pittsburgh Steelers vs Arizona Cardinals)

Q: How is the bad economy affecting the Super Bowl? A: Instead of a coin toss they are now going to play rock, paper, scissors!

Q: Why did the bank robber in a Pittsburgh Steelers jacket get away? A: He was surrounded by people in Arizona Cardinals jackets who couldn’t catch him!

Q: How many Detroit Lions does it take to win a Superbowl? A: No one knows, and we may never find out!

Q: What’s the difference between the Baltimore Ravens and Frosties?  A: Frosties belong in a bowl!

Q: What’s more expensive than a Super Bowl Ad? A: Signing Anquan Boldin to a contract extension!

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From jokes4us.com

Joke 680

Football Quotes

Thierry Henry’s debut as a Red Bull (Photo credit: Joscarfas)

• ‘I’ve never wanted to leave. I’m here for the rest of my life, and hopefully after that as well.’ Alan Shearer
• ‘You’ve got to believe that you’ re going to win, and I believe we’ll win the World Cup until the final whistle blows and we’re knocked out.’ Peter Shilton
• ‘I was watching the Blackburn game on TV on Sunday when it flashed on the screen that George (Ndah) had scored in the first minute at Birmingham. My first reaction was to ring him up. Then I remembered he was out there playing.’ Ade Akinbiyi
• ‘Without being too harsh on David Beckham, he cost us the match.’ Ian Wright
• ‘I’m as happy as I can be – but I have been happier.’ Ugo Ehiogu
• ‘Leeds is a great club and it’s been my home for years, even though I live in Middlesborough.’ Jonathan Woodgate
• ‘The Brazilians were South American, the Ukrainians will be more European.’ Phil Neville
• ‘All that remains is for a few dots and commas to be crossed.’ Mitchell Thomas
• ‘One accusation you can’t throw at me is that I’ve always done my best.’ Alan Shearer
• ‘I’ d rather play in front of a full house than an empty crowd.’ Johnny Giles
• ‘Sometimes in football you have to score goals.’ Thierry Henry.
• ‘I was surprised, but I always say nothing surprises me in football.’ Les Ferdinand.
• ‘It was like the ref had a brand new yellow card and wanted to see if it worked.’ Richard Rufus.
• ‘There’s no in between – you’ re either good or bad. We were in between.’ Gary Lineker.
• ‘If you don’t concede any goals you’ll win more games than you lose.’ Wayne Bridge.

From Will & Guy

Joke 628

From whatsinmyhead.

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Scrooge (Photo credit: TheoJunior)

How did Scrooge win the football game?

The ghost of Christmas passed.

 

Joke 577

Great football commentary, courtesy of Will & Guy.

Football’s Coming Gnome (earlier than some expected) (Photo credit: dullhunk)

• The last player to score a hat-trick in a cup final was Stan Mortenson.  He even had a final named after him, the Matthews final.  Lawrie McMenemy
• It’s now 4-3 to Oldham, the goals are going in like dominoes.  Piccadilly Radio
• I felt a lump in my mouth as the ball went in.  Terry Venables
• It slid away from his left boot which was poised with the trigger cocked.  Barry Davies
• We have been saying this, both pre-season and before the season started.  Len Ashurst
• Well actually we got the winner up there with three minutes to go, but then they equalised.  Ian McNail
• Ian Rush, deadly ten times out of ten, but that wasn’t one of them.  Peter Jones
• It was a fair decision, the penalty, even though it was debatable whether it was inside or outside the box.  Bobby Charlton
• Believe it or not, goals can change a game.  Mike Channon
• Ian Rush unleashed his left foot and it hit the back of the net.  Mike England
• Peter Shilton conceded five, you don’t get many of those to the dozen.  Des Lynam
• Everything in our favour was against us.  Danny Blanchflower
• I think everyone in the stadium went home happy, except all those people in Romania.  Ron Greenwood
• John Lyall, very much a claret and blue man, from his stocking feet to his hair.  Peter Jones
• We’ve got nothing to lose, and there’s no point losing this game.  Bobby Robson
• Who ever wins today will win the championship no matter who wins.  Denis Law
• Bryan Robson, well, he does what he does and his future is in the future.  Ron Greenwood
• Wayne Clarke, one of the famous Clarke family, and he’s one of them, of course.  Brian Moore
• So that’s 1-0, sounds like the score at Boundary Park where of course it’s 2-2.  Jack Wainwright
• I am a firm believer that if you score one goal the other team have to score two to win.  Howard Wilkinson
• We are really quite lucky this year because Christmas falls on Christmas Day.  Bobby Gould
• Don’t tell those coming in now the result of that fantastic match. Now let’s have another look at Italy’s winning goal.  David Coleman
• Wilkins sends an inch perfect pass to no one in particular.  Byron Butler
• And Ritchie has now scored 11 goals, exactly double the number he scored last season.  Alan Parry
• I don’t know if that result’s enough to lift Birmingham off the bottom of the table, although it’ll certainly take them above Sunderland.  Mike Ingham

And for those of you who protest that these aren’t  jokes, here’s a football joke (no, not a picture of the English national team) or three, from footballjokes.co.uk:

At the end of the day, football means not having to go to Sainsburys on Saturday.

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A match between two non-League teams took place last winter in the North of England. It had been raining heavily all week and the ground resembled a swamp.

However, the referee ruled that play was possible and tossed the coin to determine ends.

The visiting captain won the toss and, after a moment’s thought, said, ‘OK – we’ll take the shallow end!’

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The football club dance was in full swing when three strangers arrived and demanded admission. ‘May I see your tickets, please?’ said the club secretary at the door.

‘We haven’t got any tickets,’ said one of the men. ‘We’re friends of the referee.’

‘Get out of here!’ said the club secretary. ‘Whoever heard of a referee with three friends!’

Joke 421

Soccer ball (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

An old ‘un but a good ‘un, from Football Jokes.

A team of mammals were playing a team of insects. The mammals totally dominated the first half and at half-time were leading 39-nil. However, at half-time the insects made a substitution and brought on a centipede.

The centipede scored no less than 180 goals and the insects won the game by miles. In the dressing room afterwards the captain of the mammals was chatting to the insect captain.

“That centipede of yours is terrific,” the captain of the mammals said. “Why didn’t you play him from the start?”

“We’d have liked to,” replied the insect captain, “but it takes him 45 minutes to get his boots on.”

Weekly Photo Challenge: Blue

I’m sure other bloggers have done this, but how could I resist?

And finally, I bet this baby was blue when she was born:

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• Weekly Photo Challenge – Blue (whatlifesays.wordpress.com)
• Weekly Photo Challenge: Blue (mizrhi.wordpress.com)
• Weekly Photo Challenge: Blue (thetaskmistress.me)
• http://gobetweenflames.wordpress.com/2012/05/14/weekly-photo-challenge-blue/#comments
• http://romceg.wordpress.com/2012/05/14/weekly-photo-challenge-blue/#comments

Joke 344

A football coach walked into the changing room before a game.  He looked over to his new signing and said, “I’m not supposed to let you play since you failed arithmetic, but we need you to be in the team. So, what I have to do is ask you a math question, and if you get it right then you will be allowed to play.”

The player agreed, so coach looked into his eyes intently and asked, “Okay, now concentrate hard and tell me the answer to this. What is two plus two?”

The player thought for a moment and then answered, “Four?”

“Did you say ‘Four’?” the coach exclaimed, excited that he had got it correct.

Suddenly all the other players on the team began shouting, “Come on coach, give him another chance!”

There’s Always A Silver Lining

Image via Wikipedia

Remember last year’s World Cup and the demon vuvuzelas?  Like a million bored bees hammering on your window?  My Mum used to make the same noise as a child – well, not so much child, as nineteen year old mother.  When she wanted something and Nan had said ‘no’ (she was a nineteen year old mother living at home and children respected their parents in ye olden dayes), she would shuffle along behind Nan, not quite touching her, and say, Nnnnnnn-nnnnnn-nnnnn-nnnnnnn-nnnnn-nnnnnn-nnnnnn-nnnnn until Nan got fed up and gave in.

But that’s beside the point.  My point is, every time we sat down to watch  a game, we all wanted to beat vuvuzela blowers about the head and other places with the sharp end of their instruments.  Because they are the most annoying things on the planet; and I say that as the mother of two sons.

But I read a happy story today, sort of: vuvuzela noise saved three lives in Soweto.  From the Johannesburg Star:

A Soweto family believe the sound of vuvuzelas blown by their neighbours saved them from death when their house caught alight. […] Johanna Matswi, 59, said she was asleep with her daughter Thelma, 21, and her three-month-old baby at about 5am yesterday when they were awoken by the sound of blaring vuvuzelas, loud screams and the crackling sound of fire.

It wasn’t all good news: the neighbours blew the vuvuzelas because the emergency services didn’t respond.  Hooray for football fans.

For another good news story, visit Mangetout today.

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Related articles

• Vuvuzela Noisemakers Turned Homemakers (casasugar.com)
• Annoying Use Of The Vuvuzela Throughout History: A Video Retrospective [Deadspin Presents] (deadspin.com)

Weekly Photo Challenge: Red

The first (but not last) team the Hub coached.  He was driving past somewhere in Johannesburg one day (sorry to be so vague but it was twenty-five years ago and I wasn’t even there) and saw a boys’ football match going on.  He had time to pass so he stopped to watch.  One team was dreadful.  It was Wanderers.  Wanderers is a famous cricket ground in South Africa.  Or is it rugby?  Not football, anyway.

The Hub is not a shrinking violet: at half-time he walked up to the manager and said, ‘Do you mind if I give you a few tips?’  And did.

The manager fell on to the Hub’s shoulder, crying.  He was a young man, about twenty, who played rugby and knew nothing about football.  His brother was in the team and they had no coach, so he took it on.  The Hub was a gift from the heavens.

The Hub loved it.  So did the kids: they equalised in that game, and won many more afterwards.  A novel experience, as they had only ever lost previous games.

I’m not sure how good an example he set, though.  I once went to watch a match and I heard one mother ask another mother, ‘Who is that angry young man?’ 

He was once sent off by the ref, and he didn’t even play.  Hurling abuse from the sidelines doesn’t count as a sport.  If passion for the beautiful game was a sport, however, he’d be the stuff of legend.

Once In A Blue Moon – It’s Time To Celebrate!

This is the moment today that Manchester City won the FA Cup Final.

Excuse the blurring: my hand was shaking with nerves.

The Hub was so excited, he almost stood up.

Thirty-five years since we last had any silver to polish – no wonder we enjoyed it.

Blue are Britain’s entry tonight: that’s got to be a good omen.  I’m off to watch Eurovision!

A Mixed Bag Today

Earlybird pointed me in the direction of different types of snow and I have extended my earlier poem as a result:

Snow Lesson

Eat yellow
snow at
your peril.

Graupel melts
something awful.

Snirt will
make your
insides hurt.

It’s not coming home; it’s not coming home: football’s not coming home. 

Gloom in the room when Russia won the right to host the 2018 World Cup; and mortification at what can only be described as a rout: two votes, and one of those was ours.

I baked a couple of cakes the other day.  I only mention it because they were surprisingly edible, if you don’t mind the aftertaste.

I spent yesterday doing the dreaded housework; I had no choice: Tory Boy is coming home this weekend.  It took me four hours to find his bed under the junk I had stored on it; then I had to put it all in Spud’s room.  On Monday I’ll have to move it all back again.  Why o why did I have children?

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There’s a new poem on my other blog.  It’s only two lines so why don’t you take a peek?

Think I’m Gonna Find Me A Black Cat

Image via Wikipedia

West Brom 0 – 2 Manchester City

…although it killed the Hub not to listen, he reckons it was worth taking one for the team.  So now you know – the fate of the richest football club in the world rests in the hands of the Sick Man of Stockport.  Sheikh Mansour could have saved himself a fortune.

I’ll Never Be Superstitious (Touch Wood)

I would not say that the Hub and I are superstitious.  I’m pretty sure that superstitions like it’s unlucky to walk under a ladder came from a pot of paint being dropped on the head of whoever started it; and the thing about shoes on the table being unlucky came from the bloke whose mother gave him a good slap for putting dirty boots on her newly-cleaned surface. 

But then there’s football.  The Hub is so Man City-mad that most of our house is decorated in varying shades of blue.  He once bought a red England shirt, wore it once, and had to give it away because it reminded him too much of the Salford team.  He is not superstitious when watching a match, but today he refuses to listen to the City game on the radio, because if he does, they will lose.  They can be winning 1-0 when he turns on the radio but will finish the match 2-1 down.  It never fails.

I think I’ve mentioned this before: he says he supports two teams – City, and whoever United are playing.  But when he’s watching United and supporting the other side, you can bet United will win.  It got to such a point that the Hub fleetingly entertained the idea of supporting United in the hope of making them lose every game and being relegated; but he couldn’t do it even in fantasy: he felt nauseous at the thought.

Besides, he says you can’t cheat the football gods; they don’t like it and he doesn’t want to be avoiding ladders for the rest of his life.

Harry Potter Must Be A Soccer Fan

Check out my poem Electoral Math, South African-Style, published today in the ezine Streetcake.  It’s a magazine for experimental writing.  The poem is called Electoral Math in my SA collection but I added the last bit when I submitted it, to give it context.

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I have my niece and nephew staying for two weeks.  They are adorable children (I have to say that because their parents read this).  Whenever they visit we go for lots of long walks.  They arrived on Saturday and so far we have been to Alexandra Park, Bonar Park and Hollywood Park; coming up are Abney Hall Park, Gorsey Bank Park and Reggie the Roller Skating Dog at Stockport Art Gallery.  The appeal of these Stockport attractions are two-fold: they are free and they tire everyone out, including Toby.

I’m a great believer in exposing children to fresh air.  Even wet air, which is what we had yesterday: constant rain.  It’s nothing new; if we didn’t go out when it rained we’d all be as pale as the aliens in Signs, and just as cranky.  It rains a lot here in Stockport, aka Greater Manchester – hence, Manchester Cotton, for which we are famous, and all because of the rain.  Soft rain, of course, or we’d be famous for Manchester Starched Linen instead.

The problem with taking children out in the rain is not that they dislike it, but that they object to wearing coats.  The rellie kids, being well brought up, didn’t argue; but Spud, being mine, argued and complained the whole way about having to wear a cagoule, pausing only when we collected a spare child from his house (spare child being in possession of a football and Spud ensuring he didn’t leave without it). 

When we hit the park, the first thing Spud spied was a girl he knew, which increased his outrage: ‘See.  This is exactly why I didn’t want to wear one.’  I didn’t say it but it occurred to me that the girl wouldn’t have noticed the cagoule, being too busy being unimpressed with seeing him in the park with his mother and his eight-year old girl cousin.

I trundled around the park with Tobes while the kids played football in their t-shirts.  Can you tell me why I insisted they all wear coats as we walked but allowed them to be coverless as they ran around?  It’s not as if football has rain-repelling magical properties, is it?

After an hour or so, Bobo decided enough was enough.  He parked his soaked and skinny carcass on the ground and refused to sniff another soggy leaf.  He was shivering from the wet & cold and demanded to be picked up and cuddled, making pathetic noises that I interpreted as, ‘I wanna go hoooooome.’  So we did, to hot showers and pyjamas.  No-one was the worse for not wearing a jacket the whole time.

I never took off my coat and guess what?  I have had a sore throat and headache since we got home.  Maybe football is magical, after all.