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Stories from the Capital of North Wales
At the end of a tiny deserted bar stood a huge Scouse bloke 6ft 5in tall and 19 stone. He was quietly having a pint when a short, well-dressed and obviously gay man walked in and sat beside him.
After 3 or 4 pints, the gay bloke finally plucked up the courage to say something to the big Liverpudlian.
Leaning over, he cupped the huge ear "Do you want a bl*w job?" he whispered. At this, the massive Merseysider leaped up with fire in his eyes and smacked the man in the teeth, and knocking him off the stool, he proceeded to beat him all the way out of the pub.
He finally left him, badly bruised, in the car park and returned to his seat as if nothing had happened.
Amazed, the landlord quickly brought over another pint.
"I'm not sure" the big Scouser replied. "Something about a job."
Q. If you see a Scouser on a bicycle, why should you never swerve to hit him?
Q: Why does the River Mersey run through Liverpool?
Q: What do you call a Scouser in a three-bed semi?
Q: What do you call a Scouser in a tie?
Q: Why wasn't Jesus born in Merseyside?
Q: What is the difference between a Scouser and a coconut?
Q: What do you say to a Scouser in a uniform?
Q: What's the first question at a Liverpool pub quiz night?
Q: What do you call a Scouser in a White Shellsuit
On the subject of Scousers...
A Scouser walked into the local job centre, marched straight up to the counter, and said, "Hi, I'm looking for a job." The man behind the counter replied "Your timing is amazing. We've just got a listing from a very wealthy man who wants a chauffeur/bodyguard for his nymphomaniac twin daughters. You'll have to drive around in a big black Mercedes, uniform provided. Because of the long hours of this job meals will also be provided and you will also be required to escort the young ladies on their overseas holidays. The salary package is £200,000 a year." The Scouser said "You're bullsh*tting me!" The man behind the counter said" Well you started it.
A woman brought a very limp duck into a veterinary surgery.
As she laid her pet on the table, the vet pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the bird's chest.
After a moment or two, the vet shook his head sadly and said, "I'm so sorry, Cuddles has passed away."
The distressed owner wailed, "Are you sure?
"Yes, I am sure. The duck is dead," he replied.
"How can you be so sure," she protested. "I mean, you haven't done any testing on him or anything. He might just be in a coma or something."
The vet rolled his eyes, turned around and left the room, and returned a few moments later with a black Labrador Retriever. As the duck's owner looked on in amazement, the dog stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the examination table and sniffed the duck from top to bottom. He then looked at the vet with sad eyes and shook his head.
The vet patted the dog and took it out, and returned a few moments later with a beautiful cat. The cat jumped up on the table and also sniffed delicately at the bird. The cat sat back on its haunches shook its head, meowed softly and strolled out of the room.
The vet looked at the woman and said, "I'm sorry, but as I said, this is most definitely, 100% certifiably, a dead duck."
Then the vet turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys, and produced a bill, which he handed to the woman. The duck's owner, still in shock, took the bill. "£150!" she cried, "£150 just to tell me my duck is dead?!!"
The vet shrugged. "I'm sorry. If you'd taken my word for it, the bill would have been only £20, but what with the Lab Report and the Cat Scan..."
|This is from my friend BW|