Two months down, only ten to go. Here are Feb’s #punliners:
February 1st – February 28th 2010:
Don’t drink and ski – no sense going off piste.
Jim Carrey pretends he can play stringed instruments from antiquity in new film ‘Lyre, Lyre’.
SCIENCE FACT: Angry bees can lead to cross-pollination.
Got a job removing the waste from car engines. It’s exhausting.
My mother’s a rap superstar with a lot of gold teeth and doesn’t always speak clearly. Too much mumbling.
“Your addiction to religious singing is ruining our relationship. It’s either hymn or me!”
Vandals destroyed my ancient stone circle. I don’t care about justice, but I will have hengeance.
Read in the paper today about Mercury being knocked off course and falling into the sun. A very moving orbituary.
The controversial introduction of open-toed beach shoes was viewed by many as quite sandalous.
I’m being divorced by a bowl of chicken soup. Hopefully it won’t take too long – our marriage was never consomméd.
Someone’s moved my plate of venison. Was it you? Don’t pass the buck.
Why can’t I find some divine Japanese rice-based alcohol?! For heaven’s sake!
Reading about an outbreak of spontaneous combustion that leaves ashes shaped like Disney characters. Everyone’s burnt to Cinders.
I ate a poisoned lentil and now I have no pulse.
Punched through a window. In quite a lot of pane.
Pancakes are flippin’ everywhere.
Nearly impulse bought some posh crockery and spices, but it wasn’t the right thyme or plates.
I won’t compromise on my lollipop diet, not in a month of sundaes.
Moving house is unsettling.
This asteroid is suitable for vegetarians, but over there is a meteor one.
It’s adorable to allow the easy movement of people between adjoining rooms sharing a common wall.
I told the drunk pallbearer to lay off the biers.
Argued with my girlfriend about whether to wear cloth over just one of my shoes. Later realised it was a pointless spat.
Someone should invent a device to measure the radiation coming from luxury designer shoes and call it the Kurt-Geiger counter.
Eyes open, all I see are depressed psychics. Eyes closed, it’s too dark. Wish I could find a happy medium.
Came across a small, red fruit that wears a lopsided hat made of dried grass. Am told it’s a strawberet.
Dating a bag of flour isn’t easy; it’s often strained.
Over 39 years being quiet means its probably time to start being louder. After all, life begins at forte.
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