PATIENT: Doctor, doctor, I feel like a pair of curtains
DOCTOR: Luckily for you, NHS cutbacks mean that I have to make ends meets by selling home furnishings. Give me your address and I’ll send you a catalogue, maybe throw in a few fabric samples in there as well.
VAMPIRE MARGARET THATCHER walks in
VAMPIRE MARGARET THATCHER: Look at that, that doctor has the gumption to turn his situation into a business opportunity where he can prosper and so can the economy
DOCTOR: What is it that you are doing here, vampire Margaret Thatcher
VAMPIRE MARGARET THATCHER: Bler bler I’m here to snatch your milk
I’m sorry but your joke only works because of your very poor grasp of grammar. I suggest you go back and study how to construct a sentence in a proper fashion.
A horse walks into a bar. The bar forms part of a fence constituting a ‘jump’ at the Aintree racecourse, during the Grand National, and the horse has walked into it because it is lame and unable to jump. The horse is euthanised within hours.
A piece of string goes into a bar. I say goes, but really it is more blown in by the wind as it is inanimate and cannot choose to ‘go’ anywhere. The landlord picks it up and puts it in the bin.
“Look, I don’t care whether your dad is Mick Jagger, or Mick Hucknall, or Michael fucking J Fox. I’m not lending you any money. You’re a frog. Now fuck off out of my bank, and take your shitty ornament with you.”
A horse walks into a bar, the barman asks “why the long face?” to which Long-Faced Hank says it was due to the midwife who delivered him using forceps. Then they notice that a horse has walked into a bar and turn the jukebox down so as not to spook the horse, seeing as they’re unsure whether the contents insurance would cover the rampage action of a frighted horse. Then, Long-Faced Hank (who, before his retirement, used to do occasional part-time work down at the local stables – only stopping when he and the kids became estranged, after which time the stables only brought up sad memories of bygone times) uses his knowledge of horses to usher the horse out safely.
Returning to the bar, Long-Faced Hank sits down to see the room virtually empty, save for the barman wiping a glass.
“Is it closing time already?” asked Long-Faced Hank.
“I thought I’d stay open a bit longer,” said the barman, passing an ale over, “That’s on the house. Thought it’d be rude not to.”
“Thanks, Storch.”
They linger in silence for a while. Storch has some sweeping to do before shutting up proper and heading upstairs to bed; and he suspects that Long-Faced Hank would prefer silence to ruminate on the horse situation and the memories that are no doubt being dredged up.
Old memories. Old, but no less resonant.
He’s an old fashioned man is Long-Faced Hank. Not one to talk about these things.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door.
“Who’s there?” asks Long-Faced Hank – Storch the bar man by now being in the back room attending to some business.
“Doctor!” says the voice on the other end of the door.
“Doctor Who?”
“No, Doctor Flantargeny! The local GP!”
“OK. Come in, I suppose.”
Doctor Flantargeny takes a seat next to Long-Faced Hank and starts eating some nuts for some reason.
The silence continues on, though frequently Long-Faced Hank will turn towards the doctor, as if he has something he wants to say. Finally, he musters up the courage:
“Doctor doctor, I feel incredible emotional pain whenever I think about horses. Is there anything you can do to help?”
“NEIGH!”
A horse walks into a bar. The barman says “Why the long face?”
The horse replies, “Horses are grazing animals that evolved in open grasslands. We have a small stomach and a diet high in rough foraged plants, so we spend a large amount of our time eating with our head down at ground level. Having a long face places our range of vision when in this position at a level that allows for better awareness of our surroundings - important when you’re a prey animal whose primary defence is running away.”