ChatterBank0 min ago
Given The Previous Play On Words, A Cornish One....
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"I went to the annual Devon Dickens Fair in Exeter, and now my wife wants a divorce."
A Cornish man trudges into a bar and slumps down on a stool.
"Hey, buddy," the bartender says, "you look pretty down. What's eating you?"
The man sighs and shrugs. "I went to the annual Dickens Fair in the city and now my wife wants a divorce. Charle's mother lived here and he wrote a 'Tale of Two Cities' when snowed up in the Oxenham Arms in south Zeals."
"Isn't that fair just a bunch of local perverts in Victorian costumes, useless souvenirs, and overpriced food?" the bartender asks.
"No, it's when a married couple dissolves their union," mutters the man.
The bartender rolls his eyes. "Why would your wife divorce you for going to the Dickens Fair?"
Once again, the man sighs. "Well, she and I went together, see? As soon as we got there, I saw a tall, gangling guy selling candied pecans, so I said 'Oh, I should get my Dickens nuts.'"
"That sounds reasonable," replies the bartender.
The man nods. "Then I saw a short, stocky guy selling Devonian pasties, and I said 'I should get my Dickens pie, too.'"
"I don't think pies and pasties are the same thing," says the bartender, "but I still don't see any cause for divorce."
The man slumps further down. "It was the apple juice that caused a problem."
"'Apple juice???'" repeats the bartender, incredulous that this sounded to him.
A faraway look comes into the man's eyes as he thinks back. "It was being sold by this absolutely gorgeous young woman, even allowing for her coming from Exmoor. She had curves in all the right places, her chest was barely held back by her corset... and when she saw me looking over, she smiled at me, licked her lips, and winked."
"Jeez," mutters the bartender. "So what did you say?"
"I said 'Forget everything else: I have *got* to get my Dickens cider!'"
A Cornish man trudges into a bar and slumps down on a stool.
"Hey, buddy," the bartender says, "you look pretty down. What's eating you?"
The man sighs and shrugs. "I went to the annual Dickens Fair in the city and now my wife wants a divorce. Charle's mother lived here and he wrote a 'Tale of Two Cities' when snowed up in the Oxenham Arms in south Zeals."
"Isn't that fair just a bunch of local perverts in Victorian costumes, useless souvenirs, and overpriced food?" the bartender asks.
"No, it's when a married couple dissolves their union," mutters the man.
The bartender rolls his eyes. "Why would your wife divorce you for going to the Dickens Fair?"
Once again, the man sighs. "Well, she and I went together, see? As soon as we got there, I saw a tall, gangling guy selling candied pecans, so I said 'Oh, I should get my Dickens nuts.'"
"That sounds reasonable," replies the bartender.
The man nods. "Then I saw a short, stocky guy selling Devonian pasties, and I said 'I should get my Dickens pie, too.'"
"I don't think pies and pasties are the same thing," says the bartender, "but I still don't see any cause for divorce."
The man slumps further down. "It was the apple juice that caused a problem."
"'Apple juice???'" repeats the bartender, incredulous that this sounded to him.
A faraway look comes into the man's eyes as he thinks back. "It was being sold by this absolutely gorgeous young woman, even allowing for her coming from Exmoor. She had curves in all the right places, her chest was barely held back by her corset... and when she saw me looking over, she smiled at me, licked her lips, and winked."
"Jeez," mutters the bartender. "So what did you say?"
"I said 'Forget everything else: I have *got* to get my Dickens cider!'"
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