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Three pieces of string decide to go on a pub crawl only to find their kind is not welcome down town. After several failed attempts to get drinks they manage to get seated in the corner of a dingy, rough dive without anyone noticing.
“Right” says one of them “I’ve got a plan. I’m going to disguise myself and go and get a round”
With help from his mates he twists himself up and around in a sort of tangled loop so he’s bent out of shape and barely recognisable as the tall, slim fellow he once was. Just to be sure he unravels his tips, spreading his fibres this way and that so he looks just as scruffy as the rest of the patrons of the seedy joint.
“Brilliant” say his mates “ Let the evening begin!”
With a drunken swagger he lurches you the bar and, brimming with confidence, orders a round.
The barman hesitates, looks him up and down and, leaning forward with a mistrusting squint asks the killer question.
“Are you a piece of string?”
“No” the string replies “I’m afraid not” -
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Infant-minded lads in their slammed, drainpiped , motors stepping on the loud pedal when they eye somebody eyeing them. Look, sonny. We just happened to glance in your direction at nothing in particular. We didn’t take a look cos we are impressed and we certainly ain’t more impressed-er. What could have been mild but fair appreciation of the talents of the employees of the local body-shop has been ruined by your attempts to out-do the trombone/kazoo section of the Royal Philharmonic.
Oh, and take that sulky look off your face and your stupid rigid arm off the top of the steering wheel while you’re at it. -
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An acorn walks into a bar, orders a pint of Growmore, pours it over himself then ups and leafs.