The FastDay Forum

I'm loving these, but I can't think of any that are clean enough to post!

[carorees]

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OK, this is the politest one I can think of.

Our neighbour's dog did it's business in our garden, so my husband told me to get a shovel and throw it over the fence.

I don't see what that solved, now we've got dog poo in our garden and the neighbours have our shovel!

Why are married woman heavier than single woman?
Single woman come home....look in the fridge and head for bed
Married woman come home...look in the bed and head for the fridge!!!!

A new sea food restaurant opened....you know...the type that has the big tank with the lobster etc in it so you can choose your fish and have it freshly prepared.
One of the first seafood in the tank was a little squid...awwwwwww
perhaps it was because the little squid had a green hairy lip that it was never chosen.. so it had become the unofficial mascot of the restaurant.
One day someone came into the restaurant and told the waiter, Gervase, that he wanted squid!!!!
shock...horror!!!
Gervase reluctantly got the net and fished the little squid out of the tank and took him into the kitchen
lifting a large wooden mallet...he raised it above his head to kill the squid
The little squid shaking and trembling looked up and gave a little moan....awwwwwwwwwww
Gervase just couldnt do it
3 times he tried...but each time the little squid looked up and moaned Gervase just melted and couldnt bring himself to kill it.

Now watching all of this was a Danish guy who washed the pots and pans called Hans
seeing Gervases softness...he walked over...took the mallet and raised it above his head to kill the little squid!!
the little squid trembled with fear ...looked up at Hans and moaned...awwwwww
Hans heart melted and he could do it either

Moral?
Hans...who does dishes
Is as soft as Gervase
With mild green hairy lip squid !!!!

Why are cooks so mean?
Because they beat the eggs and whip the cream!

An old one... but strangely relevant...


A lone Welshman, sat on top of the dunes at Merthyr Mawr staring out at the sea. A brisk South Westerly wind was blowing, and slowly out of the early morning mists, numerous dark shadowy shapes shimmered in the distance just above the horizon, then, as they neared, took form out of the haze. Ships, dozens of ships, Roman ships. The lone Welshman stood up and squinted into the mist to take in the looming apocalypse... Roman invasion.

The Roman fleet rode the waves into the long sandy bay, and rapidly they disembarked and with well-rehearsed efficiency, the legions assembled on the beach. The lone Welshman walked to the highest of the dunes, and taking a deep breath, cupped his hands to his face and screamed out...

"Go home Romans...".

The Romans spotted the Welshman and to prevent him warning his comrades, the commanding General looked down the lines of troops, selected a burly legionary and with a last look of disdain at the Welshman shouting abuse from the top of the dunes, instructed the legionary with gladius and pilum in hand to set forth to dispatch the lone Welshman. The legionary at the trot, ran up the dunes, the sand cascading beneath his feet under the weight of armour and weaponary. At the top of the dune, the lone Welshman screamed out a final defiant yell.. "Go home Romans" and as the legionary neared, disappeared from view behind the dune, followed shortly thereafter by the legionary, now prepared for battle. For a moment there was silence, then the unmistakable sound of metal on metal and hand to hand combat echoed across the bay. It did not last long, a pitiful scream signalling a death blow had been delivered. The Romans looked at each other and smiled, knowingly. All was silence and the Romans continued about the business of establishing a beach head whilst they awaited the return of the comrade. Then a sound again echoed across the bay...

"GO Home Romans!.."

A figure appeared at the top of the dunes, perspiring heavily, his wode streaked, hair unkempt, he now held that most feared of all weapons in ancient times - the gladius, the short Roman stabbing sword. Not designed for show, or peakcock-like exhibitionism, but surgical removal of the enemy. Whilst waving the sword to taunt the invaders, again he yelled!

"Go Home ROMANS!"

The General, bit his lip with frustration, quickly identified ten legionaries and sent them towards the lone Welshman. Up to the dunes marched the Roman troops, this time more cautiously, they changed formation to a line abreast and climbed the dune towards the lone Welshman who disappeared from view. Over the crest of the dunes went the legionaries.

High over the dunes, in the stiff South Westerly wind the black backed gulls tacked up and down riding the lift from the rising wind. The gulls screamed out their usual cries and calls. Another screaming now started, that falsetto, blood curdling scream of agony as polished sharpened steel ripped apart flesh and bone. The air was again filled with the sound of battle. The wind increased in speed as the day warmed, then, as quickly as it started, all fell silent.

On top of the dune, a lone figure, slowly, measuredly, raised himself up from bended knee, cupped his shaking hands to his face and yelled out.

"GO HOME ROMANS!"

The Romans looked at each other, this time curiously anxious, a new emotion for them, their battle successes and honours littered the trail across the Empire to this distant land. Irritated and angry, the Roman general called his best centurian, pointed to the hill and sent him and his men after the lone Welshman. The centurian and his hundred men marched towards the dunes, the lone Welshman again disappeared. The Gulls dived and spun, wheeling upwards in the lift in front of the dune. Again the sounds of battle were heard and again all fell silent.

The Romans waited, certain of their success this time, but, jaws dropped in surprise as exhausted, chest heaving, the lone Welshman again appeared on top of the dune, cupped his hands together and screamed out.....

"GO HOME ROMANS!"

The yell again echoed around and across the bay, then died away to silence, pierced only by the sound of the waves breaking on the shore and the screaming of the gulls high above. The Roman legionaries now noticed that black clouds were descending into the darkness beyond the dunes. Crows and Ravens, smelling death and easy pickings, the feathers of their wing tips splayed and flared for rapid descent, they arrived behind the dunes to feast.

The Roman General, cursed, looked up and down the bay at the assembled invasion force and focussed his eyes upon his best legion. His second in command was tasked with the most important mission, never had the Romans faced such humiliation...


"GO HOME ROMANS!"

Again that yell came! With anger in his eyes, the Roman General looked into those of his second in command and ordered him and the best Legion to dispatch the lone Welshman. In ranks, shields locked and interlaced, the legion moved stealthily towards the natural castle of the dunes. Again, the lone Welshman disappeared behind the dunes, this time pursued by an entire Roman Legion.

The battle lasted long into the day. The weather worsened and the sound of the sea, waves and wind mercifully shielded the Romans on the beach from the full intensity of the sounds of battle. The Sun was now setting in the West, and the long shadows cast from the Romans standing on the shoreline, tentatively edged higher and higher, ghost like up the face of the hills and dunes to the east.



In the twilight the Roman legionaries starred and hoped for a clue, an omen, a sign that all was well and Rome was again victor. Their hearts sank when a lone figure was spotted slowly appearing over the top of the highest dune.

They waited for that all too familiar cry, that dreaded yell! But no! This time nothing, they focussed their gaze on the lone figure, who now fell down from the top of the dune and was stumbling crawling, hand over hand. It was a Roman. Bloodied and badly injured, slowly making his way back towards his comrades and safety. Covered in sweat, gore and exhausted from the days efforts he arrived back at his lines. He struggled to get the breath needed to speak, his heart nearly bursting from the physical efforts of the day. The General approached and demanded to know...

"Is it a victory, are we avenged?"....

Struggling, the legionnaire composed himself and blurtted out to his General...

"No, it was a trick, a trap".

The General demanded more information...

"What trick, What trap? Tell me..."

The legionary, now colapsed and lying down on the damp sand, raised a weary head, then pointing with an outstretched arm and shaking hand towards the highest dune and cried out...

"See, look yonder it was a trick, a trap.."

The general demanded, "Explain!".

The Legionary, crying looked up and the dark silhouettes on top of the dune and cried out....

"It was a trap..."

The Legionary, sucked the air painfully into his his expanding lungs, displaying the mucous and blood and in agony, he screamed out in terror....

"There's Two of Them!".....

High on top of the dunes the two Welshman, silhoutted in the light of the Moon, looked down on the Romans and sang out (a minor third apart)

"GO HOME ROMANS"