If we wanted to do some writing, mostly we'd get together and fall about laughing at jokes we made up that were absolutely hysterical to us, but... not to anyone else. First rule of comedy: Other people must get the joke.
For reasons unknown one we did years ago has sprung back to mind. I've googled for it and it seems that no one, ever, anywhere has come up with anything as nearly as lame as it, which is astonishing and must be redressed. Therefore I must add it to the blogosphere at once.
"There was political intrigue inside the fridge. The 'conservative' foodstuffs faced off against their bitter Labour rivals, who were lead by a cooked chook. The left-leaning foods were determined to undo their foes, and so the drinks, from their exclusive vantage point in the door crisper, decided to infiltrate the conservative camp and report back with any information they could obtain. The other Labourite foods were skeptical at this plot, until the chook reassured them they had successfully placed a mole, a cunningly disguised bottle of Chardonnay in the conservative camp. Privately, the other Labour foods had misgivings about both the mole, and their leader. What did they say?
'Can a chicken catch a Tory with a white wine source?'"
Everyone I've ever told this too moans, some possibly to the point of hospitalisation. You have been warned. I blame Scott.