They're offering me Dad £50 off his next bill for everyone of his mates that he gets to sign up to them. So he's asked me to issue the following statement on his behalf: "Virgin Media are not shit, they are fucking ace actually, and have never, ever, let me down. What that Branson bloke wouldn't do for you isn't worth writing down. Won't hear a word said against the nice bewhiskered gentleman. Great bloke, great company. Not at all a complete waste of tossing, bastard, fucking cyberspace. That's some other lot, the ones that get Ruby Wax to advertise on the telly for them. They really are shite. Abject shite. Don't know their arses from a hole in the ground them, not like Richard." The End. He doesn't usually call him Richard. It's Dick normally, that's how close they are. Does anyone know what a supercillious twat is by the way? It sounds very important, and Dick is one apparently. So there. I might send him an engraved pooh on a plinth for his services to telecommunications.
Is a sheepdog and his two-legged is a farmer. Frank was out with him in the tractor drilling wheat last autumn and they unearthed a rusty old lamp. So the farmer hopped out of the cab to have a closer look at it and gave it a little rub on his jacket, as you do, and was amazed to see a genie appear and offer to grant him any wish he wanted. Well the farmer thought for a moment and then said "I'd like the price of wheat to go to £200/tonne!" So the genie sighed but said "OK, I'll sort that out for you then, you greedy bastard" and popped back into his bottle. And the farmer casually tossed the lamp into the back of his cab and got on with his drilling. Well they were out again this morning putting a bit of nitrogen on, Frank and the farmer, and the farmer spotted the lamp and gave it a little rub again, just on the off chance, and you'll never guess what happened, the genie popped out again, and said that he'd grant the farmer one more wish. So the fa...