The Pope got home and slumped on the sofa.
‘How was work?’ asked Little Jimmy.
‘Ah, you know. The usual fire-fighting. Now, enough about me. Let’s pop those off, shall we?’ said the Pope, pointing at the boy’s trousers.
Little Jimmy giggled and did as he was told.
© Carl Burkitt 2015
“What do you make of the quinoa?” asked an old friend, sipping his strawberry Weetabix protein drink.
A tear trickled down my cheek.
“What’s wrong?!” he tried.
“Sorry,” I said, playing with my phone charger. “I’m just trying to work out the quickest way to murder you with this plug.”
“Go with the chord,” he nodded, solumnly removing his leather trilby.
© Carl Burkitt 2015
The northern girl stole a bucket and spade and headed to the beach.
She built herself a tiny castle complete with a seaweed moat, a twig flag, three pebbles (beanbags for guests) and a pet kestrel scribbled in wet sand.
‘Dead posh,’ she thought as she walked back to the orphanage.
© Carl Burkitt 2015
The tattoo artist tattooed a girlfriend on his arm.
‘Hmm,’ he thought. ‘I always imagined I’d end up with a blonde.’
© Carl Burkitt 2015
Yesterday morning a man on my tube dropped dead. He was a sweet man with an infectious laugh. He held wicked and wonderful tales of his far reaching travels. He doted on his wife and two daughters. He was a kind, loving and generous neighbour. He was a man you dream to become and one you treasure to have met.
Well, according to today’s paper. I avoided his gaze on yesterday morning’s commute.
© Carl Burkitt 2015
Piers Morgan interviewed his own reflection.
“Why are you such an arrogant prick?” he asked, as his subject smiled smugly and slowly undressed.
© Carl Burkitt 2015
Every morning I wake up
I wonder if today will be my day.
Then I leave the house;
And I see you
And the love you receive
And the joy that you share
And I go back inside,
clean my balls and
wonder if tomorrow will be my day.
© Carl Burkitt 2015
Once The Great British Bake Off director yelled ‘cut’, Mel and Sue took off their wigs and peeled off their prosthetics.
MEL: Don’t you think we’ve got enough money yet, Ant?
SUE: Shut your mouth Dec and write me some more shit cake puns.
© Carl Burkitt 2015
Mary Berry disrobed and
stepped into the shower.
As she rinsed her hair
with strawberry jam
And scrubbed her bits
with sponge cake,
She giggled at how much
she loved her job.
© Carl Burkitt 2015
When I’m bored I think of you
And imagine you killing the time
By climbing that tree;
Kissing a girl;
Calling your mum.
When I’m alone I think of you
And imagine you filling the void
By going to that pub;
Talking to a stranger;
Saying yes to a friend.
When I’m pissed off I think of you
And imagine you solving the problem
By cracking that smile;
Shrugging your shoulders;
Seeing the silver lining.
When I’m lazy I think of you
And image you using your body
By running a marathon;
Completing a triathlon;
Doing literally what ever the fuck you can.
When I succeed I think of you
And I thank you
For no longer being here
So that I can think of you.
© Carl Burkitt 2015
Carl tells tales 