Some favourite quick jokes.

Some of the my favourites. You can see me in clubs…I might not be doing stand up, but that’s where you tend to find me….   

My uncle wasn’t well in life. he used to have a cheap NHS pacemaker. It wasn’t so great…every time he farted the garage door would open.

Mt father passed away through having white asbestos all through him. The funeral was lovely but it took an age to cremate him.

A man said to me, “Hypothetically speaking you’re in a hot air balloon with Donald Trump and Theresa May…Who do you through out?”   I said “Probably myself.”

Government to impose cuts to mental health services. Self harmers were said to be initially furious but then spotted a window of opportunity

Andrea Leadsome famously said, “men can’t be nannies, because all men are potential paedophiles. ” I wonder what it was about working in Westminster that made her leap to that conclusion.

If Heather Mills and Abu Hamza were to have a baby together they’d make a pirate.

I saw in the paper the other day a headline proclaiming “The Hunt is on For The New Jihadi John. I thought these talent competitions have gone too far.

My name is Jock Scott which is a very Scottish name. I’ve got a cousin from Yorkshire called Hovis Broadband Miners Strike.

I actually typed tax evasion into the internet and it just went to Google’s homepage.

Gary Barlow is so tight that when questioned about tax evasion he wouldn’t even share his thoughts.  Sorry, I mean Gary Barlow OBE – Offshore Banking Expert.

In Scotland we didn’t vote for Brexit because to us the word just sounds like something’s been damaged. Brexit…it’s what happens when a fat lass sits on a chair.

I got the Donald Trump version of Cluedo. that’s the one where it doesn’t matter who did it, you just always blame the immigrant…and Mrs White always wins.

A UKIP councillor has claimed that the recent floods were caused by God being angry at gay marriage. I was sceptical until I heard that lightning had damaged the statue of Jesus in Rio.  God must be depressed about something if he’s started to self-harm.

It wasn’t all good news for Farage in the lead up to the election was it? He got hit by an egg in Stoke.  Because of that he now chooses to travel with four body guards. Fair enough…there’s six eggs in a box.

A UKIP donor has published an advert in the Telegraph stating there is no such thing as homophobia because the words not in the dictionary. It actually is in the dictionary. It’s sandwiched in between homoerotic and homosexual….which is probably the last place homophobia wants to be sandwiched but that will teach it a lesson.

So we finally left the EU. Or as UKIP pronounce it EUGH!

I actually typed tax evasion into the internet and it just went to Google’s homepage.

Gary Barlow is so tight that when questioned about tax evasion he wouldn’t even share his thoughts.  Sorry, I mean Gary Barlow OBE – Offshore Banking Expert.

A Christmas message for the generation of the self.

Christmas is coming. But please remember there are people less fortunate than you. And there’s a good reason for that, it’s because you’re better than them! Fuck em! Homeless types are in that situation because they bring it on themselves. How dare they put us on guilt trips as we have to step over them during the sales. Same goes for the unemployed. What’s wrong with an 80 hour week on a zero hours contract? If you don’t want to do it I’m sure we can get some child from the Eastern bloc who’ll be more than happy on £2.50 an hour.

So stuff your face and spend thousands on bling, blood diamonds are probably best for profit margin. Up yours Jesus. Anyway Jesus hated the poor didn’t he? There was that time he cured the cripple. He said, “take up thy bed and walk. you’ve been declared fit for work you scrounging bastard” And as for May and Joseph…what you think we’re paying bedroom tax so you can just freeload for the night! That’s what we believe the rest of the year. So why change all that just because it Christmas? Why spoil 30 years of the self just because of some foggy minded Christian values. Hail Thatcher.

A short conversation on right wing comedians.

As a comic I’ve no huge issues to make with comedians that go at stuff from the right. If I don’t like it I move on. Simple. Surely that should be the rule on all of it. But I did have this conversation with a posh old lady recently that really made me laugh….

 

 

OLD LADY:  “Why is it that all comedians are on the left? I’m a Tory and would like to see more right wing comedians.”

ME: “Well there are conservative comedians nowadays. And if you think not so long ago lots of comedians were Tories or on the right. Just look at Jim Davidson and Bernard Manning.”

OLD LADY:  “Yes but they were horrible.”

ME    “Yeah I know. I wonder why that was.”

The Male Pill.

So we’ve got Trump, Clinton, Brexit and the failing pound but the big news is…Scientists announce they’ve finally developed the male pill. And it’s not really before time is it? I mean for women you’ve got pills, coils, implants, patches, caps, and being locked for a week in the menstruating hut. What do we have for men? Err…Rubber Johnny. 100 years of contraception and that’s it! Or get your balls cut off.

Thing is just by a show of hands…How many women here would trust a man who said he was on the pill? (TUMBLEWEED SOUND) Exactly!

I reckon before they bring the male pill out it should have something in it that helps prove a bloke is actually taking it. Perhaps it could make your willy glow in the dark, or it makes your balls make a noise like wind chimes.

I was looking at how the male pill actually works and apparently it lowers sperm count by targeting a bit of the man’s brain. REALLY? You’re telling me there’s some kind of correlation between the brain and the penis. No way! My willy can’t tell the difference between a woman and a bus.

Genuinely there’s a term for why men get unprovoked stiffies on public transport. It’s called Diesel Penis. It’s because of the vibrations from the diesel engine. I mean this could explain why bus drivers always look so unhappy. “Look son just pay the fare and get on the bus. I’ve been sitting with this thing for six hours now. I just want to get home and throttle the life out the bastard. Anyway when are you getting off?”

“When am I getting off? Well that really depends on your driving. If you just give the engine a good fierce revving when we get to the lights I’ll see what I can do.”

 

The Holy Trinity Explained.

THE HOLY TRINITY EXPLAINED.

I was raised in a church background. It’s alright I was a prod so it was mainly getting pissed at communion and sacrificing the odd goat. Saying that I am from a massive protestant family…there’s just me.

Anyhoo I remember the minister saying to us once, one of the things folk find most confusing in Christianity is the Holy Trinity. You know, the idea that the Father (God), the Son and the Holy Ghost they’re all the same thing.

Mind you that’s maybe not so confusing nowadays. Just look at Westminster. You’ve got the Tories, Lib-Dems and a sizable chunk of New Labour and they’re pretty much all the same thing.

Thing is if you look at the Trinity it’s pretty much Jesus that got the shitty end of the stick. The Holy Ghost only had to put in a two day cameo appearance then buggered off for a lifetime on Americas Most Haunted and the odd Panto doing the past, present and future in Scrooge.

And as for God…well he’s God he can do anything he wants. Although according to some he seems to spend most of his time hovering about and watching us masturbate. Or knocking out the odd natural disaster just to see how easily we go squish.

But Jesus…he got sent on a suicide mission. I would have loved to have been at the meeting where that got decided.

“OK this is the new millennium annual general meeting. Since I’m God I’ll take the minutes. First up is a proposal from myself and the Holy Ghost. Son, Jesus, me…whatever. We’ve come up with an idea that we’d like to send you on a mission.”

And if you were Jesus you might go, “Ah cool a mission. I’m well up for that. Now people can meet me face to face. I was getting tired of everybody thinking I’m a white bloke.”

And then God might go, “Ah good I’m glad you’re up for it. So as well as being the living representation of me, him and err… us on earth I’m also going to give you some super powers.”

And at that point Jesus was probably quite happy, “Wow super powers. Awesome! Can I get claws like Wolverine?”

But then God threw a damper on things. “Ah well its more “earthy” powers than that. You know you’ll heal the sick, raise the dead and turn water into wine. Mind you the last one will make you popular for a bit. You’ll be like a Harry Potter for the needy. There’s just one wee thing…You have to die at the end. When you’re quite young actually”

And Jesus might have gone, “Fuck that. What’s the point in that?”

And God might have said, “Well you know. It sets a nice example.”

To which he might reply, “A nice fucking example? How do I die like?”

And God owned up, “We’re going to have you nailed to a lump of wood. By some Romans”

To which he probably replied, “Fuck that! Send the Holy Ghost. He won’t feel a thing.”

To which God made the excuse, “He’s busy…he’s in Panto.”

At which point Jesus saw a flaw in Gods game plan. And did protest, “Hang on a minute if I’ve got superpowers how come I can’t use them to stop the Romans? I mean fuck water into wine, how about nails into water? That could be a great laugh. We could have them there all day…Yeah just hammer away…Oh look it’s turned into water again. That would be a crowd pleaser. It would probably be a bit more productive than dying.”

And then God may declare, “Look we’ve had a word with marketing and we feel this is the best way forward for everybody. Anyway you’re not going to be that popular. I’m bored of Judaism. I want you to start a new religion.”

And Jesus may question, “Worshiping who.”

And God put the final nail in with, “You.”

And Jesus did realise, “Well it’s no wonder they want to kill me. You’ve set me up to look like a total wanker.”

And ye verily the poor lads fate/faith was sealed.

 

 

 

John gets Mad, Class and Elites.

I was doing a gig in a posher bit of town the other night and an elderly lady came up to me and asked, “Why is it that all comedians are on the left?” I replied that there are conservative comedians nowadays. And if you think not so long ago lots of comedians were  right wing or Tories. Just look at Jim Davidson and Bernard Manning. And she replied, “Yes but they were horrible.” I said, “Yeah I know. I wonder why that was.”

I miss the simpler days when there were just three classes. Upper, middle and working. Now we’ve got

  1. Elites
  2. Upper
  3. Middle
  4. Working
  5. Oh my god he’s wearing Crocs.

Class really does inform your sense of humour. here’s a genuine conversation I had with one of the Cambridge Footlights at The Edinburgh festival this year.

ME. So yesterday my front row was four 13 – 14 year old boys.

FOOTLIGHTS. That must have been difficult.

ME. No. They were great. I had a great moment when I did my money bucket speach. I said to them. You young guys don’t have to pay…But I do want a blow job. Don’t worry you still get the free CD.

FOOTLIGHTS. Good God! And the audience were OK with that?

ME. Yeah. Err…It was one of the biggest laughs of the night.

FOOTLIGHTS. Im shocked.

ME. That’s nothing. I shifted another 4 CDs and got a blow job.

FOOTLIGHTS. ( Gazes into the middle distance…. Then goes inside)

ME. Sniggers…

I recently quite inadvertently stumbled on a way to make yourself feel like an Elite. I was in the park and had eaten a bag of pistachio nuts. Obviously when you finish pistachio nuts you’re left with a bag of hard empty shells. Just as I was about to clear them away a gust of wind came and scattered them over the ground. I suppose it looked like I was throwing out grain as a flock of pigeons descended on them… Well, suddenly I felt like the chancellor. I thought “You think you’re getting something. But it’s nothing but empty shells. That’s trickle down economics for you. I get nuts, you get empty shells. Know why? Because you’re vermin.”

And there was this one pigeon that couldn’t fly because it had a broken wing. Well…It was making out it had I broken wing. But I knew better than that. So I started kicking it, “Come on you, you can fly, you’re not fooling me.” Eventually I just picked it up and threw it in the air. It came down with a thud and died. I said, “Fair enough. You’ve passed the assessment.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John gets mad. Bi Polar tales 3. Bad behaviours.

Some stories from a new show I’m doing on mental health.

A friend of mine who is recently single asked me one night. “John did you ever have a longer period in your life when you were single? And was it all right.”  I told them yes I had and no it wasn’t that great. It was over a 5 year period when I’d been misdiagnosed with schizophrenia. That’s never a great icebreaker. It reminds me of that daft valentines poem. “Roses are red violets are blue. I’m a schizophrenic and so am I.”

So not schizophrenic but this was a period in my life when I was self medicating with dope a lot which gave me drug induced psychosis. Drug psychosis is a lot more common that you think.  David Bowie had it in the 70s. At one point he was so off it he thought his backing singers were a coven of witches. It would have been some show if for an encore he came running on with a mob insisting we burn them at the stake.

The best Bowie story of that period was the night he thought he’d been ripped of by a cocaine dealer. So he went out looking for him in his car. Eventually he thought he saw the dealers car at a garage. Then he thought the best plan of action would be to start ramming it with his own car. But it wasn’t the coke dealer it was just a young German couple who sat there looking stunned as David Bowie kept ramming them over and over. Scary enough to have someone ram you as you’re sitting having a snog. But then to turn around and realise it’s David Bowie. “Holy Scheisse Helga. Ve ist being attacked by A lad insane.” Eventually Bowie realised his error. Got out, apologised to them, handed them a pile of money then drove of into the night.You don’t get that stuff from ther winner of X-factor. A lot of people say X Factor has destroyed the spirit of rock and roll, but that’s rubbish every time it comes on I’m ready to throw my telly right out the window.

A lot of folk don’t understand what addiction is. So I’ll try to explain it via a story. One night me and a mate did get ripped of and got sold some Ritalin instead of ecstasy. The medication they  use to pacify disruptive children. We knew not long after it definitely wasn’t E. As we were feeling weird.  So what did we do? That’s right take some more. Later in the night we decided to go for some groceries. Well once they managed to get me up off the naughty step. Thing is as we decided this I’d just made myself a cup of tea. So I thought, bugger it I’ll take it with me. When we got to the supermarket at 2 in the morning a security guard stopped me and said, “Oi! Is that alcohol in that cup?” I said, “No mate it’s tea.” He replied, “Tea? Where you going with that.” I said “Where do you think…the biscuit isle.”

I’ve embarrassed myself many times in those day. worse one? I reckon that would be one morning at a friends house after a particularly bonkers night on the Rave. My mate had gone out and his wife had just up and gone into the shower. As soon as she got in there I felt my stomach shifting. It felt like there was about 2 litres of pure liquid diarrhoea rushing through me like mercury. There was no ifs about it any second I was going to explode out of me and complete transform my tie dye jeans. I had no idea what I was going to do…and then I spotted the cat litter tray. There was nothing else for it. If you saw what came out of me it looked like Id been on a diet of cabbage and cough medicine. Not a minute too soon as my mates wife came into the kitchen. I just stood there with the tray and said, “I really think your cat might be quite unwell.”