A man walks into a barber shop and looks at the barber. He says, “How long until I can get a hair cut?” The barber looks around his shop and then says, “Three hours.” The man says okay and then leaves. Three hours go by and he doesn’t come back. A few days later the man is back at the barber shop. He asks, “How long until I can get a hair cut?” The barber looks around and says, “About two and a half hours.” The man nods and then leaves and he doesn’t come back. The man does this for a while. One day he comes in again and asks, “How long until I can get a haircut?” The barber, a bit hesitant, says “About an hour, you can chill here if you want.” The man shakes his head and says, “It’s okay. I’ll be back,” and he leaves. The barber looks at one of his friends and says, “Follow that guy. I wanna know what he’s doing.” The friend nods and follows the stranger. When the friend gets back he’s laughing. The barber says, “Where did he go?” The friend says, “To your house.”

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It is just another working day at the brothel. The punters are coming, the cash is coming, and the girls are faking it. Suddenly the door opens, and a figure steps through the threshold, silhouetted against the backdrop of the red lights. It is a boy, a young boy, about nine. In his hand is a length of string, reaching all the way to the floor, where it is fastened around the neck of what looks like a dead frog. The figure picks the frog up, strides up to the counter, and places the amphibian onto it, exclaiming, “I want a bitch with herpes.” Behind the counter, the sexmonger is flabbergasted. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” “I said ‘I want a bitch with herpes’” says the child. “Well I’m afraid we don’t have any ladies that fit that description” replies the Madam. “I want a bitch with herpes, and I am going to have a bitch with herpes” says the boy, putting £1000 on the counter, next to the frog. The Madam thinks about this for a while and decides that the reputation of her house of ill-repute is definitely worth £1000. She sends for one of her many shingle infected sluts. The boy follows the genitally deformed working girl to her room, trailing his frog behind him. After an hour of quite bizarre shenanigans the kid returns to the counter, frog in tow, to thank the Madam. She takes this opportunity to ask the question that had been puzzling her for the entire previous hour, “Why did you want a whore with herpes?” “Well,” explains the boy “My parents are going out tonight. In the evening I’m going to fuck my babysitter. When my dad drives her back home, he’s going to fuck her. Then he’s going home to fuck Mum. In the morning she’s going to fuck the milkman. He’s going to fuck his wife, she’s going to fuck her boss, he’s going to fuck his wife - my English teacher, she’s going to fuck my headmaster and HE’S THE CUNT WHO KILLED MY FROG!”

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An out of work pianist with Tourettes Syndrome is strolling around the streets and bars of Dublin one unemployed afternoon. Walking down Dawson Street he sees a lounge bar with a sign in the window 'Pianist wanted for evening performances'. 'Fucking get in there you cunt!' he says to himself and goes to the bar. 'Get the fucking manager of this pigs shit middle class wank hole please you c*nt', he says to a somewhat startled barman. The barman however obliges and his manager comes upstairs. 'Can I help you sir?' he says. 'Yes you can you fat piece of shit, I saw your poxy advert in the cunting window and I'm here to audition.....wanker.' The manager is naturally put off by the man's abrasive manner but his dire need for a top class pianist forces him to agree to an audition. The first tune the Pianist plays is an uplifting jazzy number, not too involving, yet utterly melodic. At the end the thrilled barman cries, 'Wonderful, wonderful. What was that called?' 'That song, you big nosed twat, was called "Excuse me prime minister but I just jizzed in your daughter's eye, and now the cunt's blind...' 'Oh' says the manager 'err, can you play me another. Something a little less "lively".' 'Wanker..' interjects the pianist before launching into a powerful ballad which leaves the manager in tears. The manager through his salty teardrops asks him the title. 'That little number was called "Sometimes when you do a bird up the shit-box you get crap on your bell end.' 'I see' says the manager, 'Have you got any songs with less offensive titles?' 'Well there's my jazz number "Do you want me to split your ringpiece", or there's the epic "I don't care if you're older my dear, you've still got nice jugs". 'Look' says the manager interrupting, 'I think you're a superb pianist but the title of your songs are a little "racy". I will hire you on the condition that you do not introduce your songs or speak to the audience.' 'Fuck it' says the pianist 'Why not'. On his first night everything is going superbly the crowd are lapping up his repertoire and his silence is being received as modesty. The only thing putting off the pianist is that in the front row there is a gorgeous blonde in a black evening dress with a split up the side revealing the tops of her stockings and a plunging neckline which boasts a proud and inviting cleavage. During the interval the pianist has got such a stonking hard on that he decides to go to the bog and knock one out. Just as he has shot his muck he hears himself being re-introduced over the tannoy, so he rushes back to the stage and finishes his act. After the show he is at the bar relaxing when the blonde approaches him. 'Hi' she says. 'Hello' he winces, struggling to hold in the expletives. She leans over and whispers in his ear, 'Do you know your cock is hanging out of your trousers and spunk is dribbling onto your shoes?' 'Know it?' says the pianist putting his beer on the bar confidently, 'I fucking wrote it !!!'

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