sheldrake

Well, after whining that I had nothing to say yesterday, today I've got lots!

1. No breakfast again.

2. I am quite annoyed. Semagic refuses to work on this computer. No matter how many times I uninstall/reinstall/re-download etc, it WILL NOT WORK. So I'm posting this from LJ itself, which feels all weird and I don't like it.

3. One of the things I need to do is focus and stop faffing around constantly. The other day I thought I'd like to decide on something to knit, so I got all my stash out and spent an entire evening picking up balls of yarn and going, 'This is a ball of wool. It is blue.' And then I put them all away again.

4. The retired editor of the magazine I work for writes a column of confused ramblings and rantings for us every month. He likes to stick a joke at the end, under the heading 'And finally...' Many of the jokes are at the expense of John Prescott, with whom retired-Ed. is apparently slightly obsessed. I took one and rewrote it to see whether it could be made funny, or failing that, just odd.


The original joke

Following a session of Prime Minister’s Question Time, Tony left the chamber and crossed the hallway heading for Number 10. Close on his heels came John Prescott.

"Tony, I must have a word," he said. "I really am getting depressed with all this talk of me being stupid, just because I sometimes get mixed up."

Tony placed his hand on the shoulder of his deputy and said: "Don’t worry John, there are a lot of stupid people about, let me give you an example."

He headed for the rear lobby taxi rank and hailed a taxi.

"Take me to Number 10, Downing Street, just to see if I am there," the Prime Minister said. The Taxi driver, without hesitation, took the two and dropped them outside Number 10.

"There you are John," said Tony, "How stupid was that?"

"You’re absolutely right," said Prezza. "You could have called from the phone box in the lobby to see if you were here."



My version

Following a session of Hot Prime Minister’s Sexy Question Time, Tony left the bedchamber and crossed the hallway heading for Number 10 Drowning Street. His house wasn't really called that, but he called it that secretly inside his head. It made him laugh. Also, he had to admit that Question Time had nothing to do with sex or beds or anything, but he often pretended the Houses of Parliament were a sort of big fancy brothel, because he was the Prime Minister, and he could do what he liked.

Suddenly he sensed a disturbance in the Force (Tony sometimes pretended to be a Jedi when he was bored of thinking about sex). He looked round. It was John Prescott.

"You trying to touch my arse, Prezza?" said Tony.

"Yes, Tony, but that's not the point," said John, putting his wandering hands hastily in his pockets. "I must have a word."

"What sort of word?" asked Tony. "I've got lots, all inside my head. Here's one: flamingo. Here's another: pants."

John looked nonplussed, or would have, had he known what that word meant or how to spell it. Tony knew what it meant and how to spell it. Tony was the cleverest bugger in the whole government and had done a sketch with Catherine Tate and everything.

"Look," said John, shaking himself out of his confusion. "This is the thing, right? I really am getting depressed with all this talk of me being stupid, just because I sometimes get mixed up. I'm not stupid, am I? You don't think I'm stupid, do you Tony?" His corpulent face wobbled slightly, and his little piggy eyes filled with tears.

Tony placed his hand on the shoulder (not the arse, definitely not the arse) of his deputy and gave it a good squeeze. Then he realised it was the arse. Arses and shoulders feel quite different when you squeeze them, just like arses and elbows. Goodness knows he'd made that mistake often enough! Tony let go of John's arse and said:

"Don’t worry, John. There are a lot of stupid people about -- let me give you an example."

He headed for the rear lobby taxi rank and hailed a taxi.

"What can I do you for?" said the driver.

"Hello," said Tony. "I'm Tony Blair, the Prime Minister. I don't know if you recognise me. I've been Prime Minister for ever such a long time now, you know."

The taxi driver said nothing.

"Anyway," said Tony. "What I want to know is -- what would you do about immigration?"

"Easy," said the taxi driver. "Send 'em back where they came from."

"And what do you think about capital punishment?"

"Er... bring it back."

"Gay rights?"

"'Ang on a minute, I know this one." The taxi driver screwed up his face in concentration. "Send 'em all to an island! That's right, innit?"

Tony turned to his deputy and folded his arms. "There you are, John," he said. "Lots of people even stupider than you." He smiled. Good work, Tony, he thought.

John Prescott nodded a little doubtfully.

"'Ere," said the taxi driver. "I'm not 'anging around 'ere just to be called stupid. I can't stand your lot anyway, I voted UKIP, me. Face it, mate -- your time's up! Now tell me where you wanna go, or 'op it!"

"Oh, all right," said Tony. "Take me to Number 10, Drowning Street. I want to see if I'm there."

The taxi driver took the two and dropped them outside Number 10. On the way, they were lucky enough to hear all about his views on everything in the world that had ever happened ever. As they pulled up, Tony waved to the policeman on the door. He'd miss having his own policeman when he'd retired, he thought wistfully.

"Did you notice," said Tony to John, after he'd paid the annoying man and they'd gone inside. "That taxi driver just did another quite stupid thing?"

"What was that, then?" asked John.

"Well," said Tony, who was finding it quite hard to keep from giggling, "I asked him to take me here... to see if I was here! But I couldn't have been here, could I? Because I was there!" He doubled over, in hysterics.

John looked at him. "But you are here."

Tony stopped laughing. "Oh," he said. "Yes, I suppose I am." He frowned. Things were never simple in politics. It was something he'd learned, over the years.

"Look, John," he said, "I'm afraid you're going to have to go away and let me think about this one. It's a particularly knotty problem. Luckily, I'm the cleverest bugger in the government, and I did comedy with Catherine Tate and everything, but even so... it's a tough one."

"All right," said John. "I do understand. But..."

"What is it?"

"I want to hear you say you don't think I'm stupid." He blushed.

"John..." said Tony softly. "Prezza... Two Jags... of course I don't think you're stupid."

"You don't?"

"No, you big lug! I wouldn't have you as my deputy if I thought you were stupid, would I?"

"S'pose," said John, chewing his sleeve.

"Listen," said Tony. "Stop chewing your sleeve. Listen -- I love you, John! I love you more than democracy! And elephants! And hot air balloons! And you know how much I like hot air balloons."

"Thanks," said John, with a watery smile. "I feel a lot better now. Can I have a kiss?"

"Course you can," said Tony, and kissed him for exactly three minutes, which is how long you should clean your teeth for (he liked things to balance out). Then he made John go away so he could think about important Prime Minister things.

He was wandering off to make himself a cup of hot Ribena when the thought hit him. He hated it when thoughts hit him -- he preferred them to sidle up quietly and have themselves announced by the butler.

"Of course!" he said aloud. "I'm such an idiot. I didn't need to come all the way here just to see whether or not I was here! I could have just phoned myself and asked! What a waste of a taxi fare."

He was so annoyed at his own behaviour that he punched himself in the face and knocked himself out cold. A passing civil servant found him an hour later, lying on the carpet and snoring gently, and kindly put him to bed.