Nevertheless, a good time was had by all, until Old Jem reckoned he couldn't move his lips any more and the whisky was dribbling out the sides of his mouth, so he went home in a huff.* This dampened the festivities because no-one else knew how to operate the beer pump.
Of course when I were a lad, we didn't have your new-fangled faradizing technology. When we wanted to find out which facial expressions were produced by which combination of muscular contractions, we had to do it the hard way -- by dragging the Animal Magnetism around within the subject's body using Mesmeric magnets, and by sending evil spirits to torment him in his dreams.
(also here, and here for more misuse of animated-giffery).
* A horse-drawn vehicle popular among intoxicated New Zealanders for getting home when the pub closes. Basically a one-person version of a High Dudgeon.
5 comments:
I recognize my black pudding face.
sad for the loss of whiskey during the whiskey dribble.
That's alcohol abuse.
Sha la la la la la la
I'm in love with a Guernsey cow!
Appy-polly-loggys to Signor Waites.
The second row kind of looks like Jack Nicholson.
"Wendy, I'm home!"
...why am I thinking of "Whose Line Is It Anyway?"
Post a Comment