I Am
I am writing a book on Indian curries. Its naan-fiction.
I stand accused of unleashing a sleep-inducing gas in a courtroom. The jury’s still out.
On Friday nights, instead of going to clubs, my friends and I hang out at the hospital’s orthopaedic ward. It’s a hip joint.
My wife accused me of over-complicating things. I almost suffered a mechanical obstruction of the flow of air from the environment into the lungs.
Police have been called to an accident involving an ice cream van, A spokesman said ”we may have to cone the area off.“
As a Private Detective I always carry with me a piece of thin paper and a pencil. It always comes in handy if I have to trace somebody.
I have just bought a dog and named him ‘Achilles’. He’s not big or strong or anything, it’s just so that when I need him to come to me, I can call, “Achilles Heel.”
The pressure was really on in the pub quiz the other night. It fell to me to answer the tie-break question on behalf of my team. ”What does Quasimodo, the bell-ringer of Notre Dame, have on his back?” I really wasn’t sure, but I went with a hunch.
There are very tense scenes at the World Speed Perm finals. At the moment, it’s two sets each.