It happened like this. Patrick Swayze, John Travolta and Olivia Elton John went into a pub.
Patrick Swayze ordered a new name and a packet of crisps. They call me 'Patrick Sways,' he complained, 'and that's why my life has been such shit.' The barman, who had the power to grant all booze and salty snack wishes, gave him a packet of cheesy, munchy crisps. He had a cold, so he called it 'a baggid of grisps.'
John Travolta was up next, and he wanted nothing more than to be photographed pretending to dance with Uma Thurman, née Umma Gumma Fireman, and her plastic pageboy wig. And a packet of crisps. The barman, who would willingly have supplied him with booze, gave him the crisps.
Lastly came Olivia Elton John. She too wanted a packet of crisps, but the barman, believing her to be innocent of all crimes, refused to serve her for a very entertaining reason.
Nobody paid for their crisps.
I first heard this joke when I was Michael Jackson. Ever since I have been obliged to dance with piles. Nobody knows why.
Comments
Ewan | September 26, 2009 - 17:35
I heard something similar from Aleister Crowley, only he was called Edward Alexander Crowley at the time.
He went to Bourneville with Golden Dawn French, only it wasn't crisps on offer, it was chocolate, and there were only two of them. Oh, and I can't dance at all, never could.
What a coincidence!
chuck | September 26, 2009 - 17:41
Perhaps it's a Scientology thing.
steven00 | September 28, 2009 - 16:26
Wonderbra!
tcook | September 29, 2009 - 09:45
The surrealists have taken over the living room. Now it's called the pantaloon.