On my way here I was stopped at the border

I have a real problem with customs
Like I won't take my shoes off before I enter someone's house
Though I'm never without my lucky bag of heroin

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My day job is delivering for a supermarket

by night I'm a tribute act, playing songs like Brown Eyed Girl.
It's weirdly the kids that will recognise me... as I pull into the drive they'll shout "Morrisons Van! Morrisons Van!"

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Recently I became a dog walker

then a dog runner
then a dog chaser
a dog yeller
a dog scraper
a dog hider
then a dog burier
You have to create your own jobs in this economy.

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Digital Nomads -

following in the footsteps of their ancestors by scouring the contours of the land for WiFi hotspots.

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I love that there's the film classification...

Parental Guidance.

As in... certain film boards get to remind parents
to do their fucking jobs.

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My mate George said he wants to

be the town crier.

So I punched him in the nuts.

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I went to my favourite nitespot

The carpark was full of ornate travelling caravans
Everyone was in the club gettin' Gypsy

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I wish Justin Timberlake

would give it a rest: now he's in Gloucester performing pop sequels. He's on Cry Me A River 7.

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If U2 did concerts for free

I'd be pro-bono

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My supernatural power:

complaining about swimming pool chlorine levels.
I turn water into whines.

(PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Your daily mirth rations are to be withdrawn for approximately one week while I get spangled with some hippies in a field. This may influence future content)

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