Plaster Jokes

A drywaller walks into a bar. The bartender says, “Get Out!”

Drywaller asks, “Why?”

Bartender says, “because the last time you were here you got Plastered!”

He walks up and orders a shot of whiskey because he’s depressed. The bartender looks at him gobsmacked because he’s a talking duck and then asks why he’s sad.

The duck says “I just lost my job”

The bartender replies “well don’t be sad I know just the perfect place you can apply. The circus has just pulled into town”

The duck replies “what would a circus want with a plasterer?”

He says “ouch!” the bartender says “what happened” the guy says “I walked into your bar!”

The tender comes around and see’s a piece of rebar sticking out of the wall. “Yikes, here come take a seat at the bar and ill pour you a drink”… He turns around to see the man sitting on the ground beneath the rebar.

“What the heck are you doing?”

“Well im sitting at your bar dummy!”

The bartender raises his eyebrows and grabs a putty knife and a container from behind the counter, next he pushes the rebar back into the drywall and hands the guy the two things.

“Well, if you are going to sit at my bar you might as well get plastered”.

At the end of the tax year, The Taxation Office sent an inspector to audit the books of a local hospital. While the agent was checking the books, he turned to the executive of the hospital and said, “I notice you buy a lot of bandages. What do you do with the end of the roll when there’s too little left to be of any use?”

“Good question,” noted the executive. “We save them up and send them back to the bandage company and every once in a while, they send us a free roll.”

“Oh,” replied the auditor, somewhat disappointed that his unusual question had a practical answer.

But on he went, in his obnoxious way. ”What about all these plaster purchases? What do you do with what’s left over after setting a cast on a patient?”

“Ah, yes,” replied the executive, realizing that the inspector was trying to trap him with an unanswerable question. “We save it and send it back to the manufacturer and every so often they send us a free bag of plaster.”

“I see,” replied the auditor, thinking hard about how he could fluster the know-it-all executive. “Well, What do you do with all the remains from the circumcision surgeries?”

“Here, too, we do not waste,” answered the executive. “What we do is save all the little foreskins and send them to the tax office, and about once a year they send us a complete prick.”

sat down on a subway seat next to a priest. The man’s tie was stained, his face was plastered with red lipstick, and a half empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opened his newspaper and began reading.

After a few minutes the man turned to the priest and asked, “Say, Father, what causes arthritis?”

“My Son, it’s caused by loose living, too much alcohol, and a contempt for your fellow man.”

“Well, I’ll be,” the drunk muttered, returning to his paper.

The priest, thinking about what he had said, nudged the man and apologized. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to come on so strong. How long have you had arthritis?”

“I don’t have it, Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does”.

There once was a sculptor who made beautiful pieces of work. His specialty was beautiful women. He’d toil away for hours on end, immortalizing the prettiest women in plaster and granite. But one day, he realized that his work was no longer in demand. Distraught, he called over his closest friend, an Italian art critic, and asked their advice.

“Your-a works are phenomenal,” he said, “but it has-a nothing to set it apart. That is why your work is no longer in demand-a.”

The sculptor thought about this for days, weeks even. Finally, he decided that he’d sculpt the faces of beautiful women out of blocks of cheese. That’s be what would set his work apart.

He wasted no time. He found the prettiest woman in the city and got to work. A few days later, he was done. He called his friend over to inspect the masterpiece.

“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

His Italian friend looked over the cheese sculpture for several minutes.

Finally, he shrugged. “It’s-a pretty gouda.”

He meets the maths teacher and asks “Hello mifter, how if my fon doing in your claff?”

The maths teacher ignores that slightly odd way of speaking of Leonardo’s father and says, “your son is terrific, he’s clearly a genius, you’ve got to see some of the stuff he’s done in geometry.”

And the dad’s really proud and he’s like “Oh I know, he’f got all fortf of projectf at home!”

So he goes to the biology teacher who is like “Oh you’re the father? Your son is amazing, he has the most incredible understanding of anatomy.”

And the dad: “Oh yef, he makef it a habit of diffecting lizardf at home you know.”

Then he meets the art teacher who can barely contain himself: “Oh your son is the best student I’ve ever seen! In fact look here, you see how my hand is in a plaster cast? That’s because your son drew a fly on my desk, and it was so realistic that I actually broke my hand trying to hit it!”

And the dad says “tell me about it man, the affhole drew a puffy on the ftove.”

It got plastered.

At least that’s the impression that I get.

The gypsy says, “I’ll bet you 20 leu each that I can guess which country you’re visiting from just by looking at you.” The girls think there’s no way this hack gypsy can tell where they’re from just by looking, so they take the bet. The gypsy scans them for a few seconds and says, “you’re all American.”

The first girl says, “damn, it was probably because of our accents!”

The second girl says, “damn, it was probably because of our clothing!”

The third girl asks, “damn, how did you know we were American?”

The gypsy says, “because you have Canadian flags plastered all over your bags.”

A drunk goes up to his host at a party and says with that terrible seriousness of totally plastered adults and very small children, “Excuse Me.”

The host turns around and there is the drunk, just plastered and glassy eyed, completely out of it. The host thinking there is something wrong says, “Yes? what’s the problem? what is it?”

The drunk says, “Can you answer a question?”

And the host says, “Sure! Fire away”

The drunk speaking very carefully says, “Do lemons whistle?”

The host says, “No lemons do not whistle. Why do you ask?”

The drunk staggers back and smacks his forehead in chagrin and states,

“Oh my God! Well in that case I have squeezed your canary into my Gin & Tonic”

when all of a sudden, he clumsily catches himself with the sewing needle. Seeing that he is bleeding, the teacher offers him a plaster. ‘That won’t do Miss’, says Little Jonny. ‘What I need is some cider’. ‘Don’t be ridiculous’, says the teacher. ‘What on earth for?’ Little Jonny replies, ‘My sister says whenever she gets a prick in her hand, she always puts it in cider’.

Then struggles to walk home, despite only living a few hundred yards from there. He literally crawls on the pavement all the way back home, drags himself up the stairs and eventually reaches his bed after two hours. He wakes up the next morning, and his wife tells him:

“You were really drunk last night weren’t you?”

“Yeah, why? How do you know?”

“You left your wheelchair at the pub.”

Just before the school year started, he injured his

back.

He was required to wear a plaster cast around the upper

part of his body. Fortunately, the cast fit under his shirt and

wasn’t noticeable.

On the first day of class, he found himself assigned to

the toughest students in the school. The smart punks, having

already heard the new teacher was a former Marine, were leery of him

and he knew they would be testing his discipline in the classroom.

Walking confidently into the rowdy classroom, the new

teacher opened the window wide and sat down at his desk. When a

strong breeze made his tie flap, he picked up a stapler and stapled

the tie to his chest.

There was dead silence… the rest of the year went quite smoothly.

…but he decides to go out to the bar–just one last time–anyway. As it’s his last there, he drinks excessively and gets even more plastered than usual.

The next morning, he wakes up in his own bed not really sure how he got there. Before opening his eyes, he starts imagining how infuriated his wife must be. But when he looks around, his wife isn’t there. Instead, there’s a hot breakfast on the end table next to a note wishing him a good day and expressing her love.

Suspicious, the man gets out of bed. He goes into the living room and sees a table and chair knocked on their sides and a couple pictures that had fallen off the wall. His son is sitting on the couch, so he asked him what happened.

“Well, Dad, you were pretty drunk when you came home last night,” his son replies. “You stumbled in, knocked over the furniture and pictures until Mom woke up and helped you.”

“Okay, but what’s with the hot breakfast?” he asks. “Why isn’t she yelling at me right now?”

“Oh,” the son says. “When she tried to lead you into the bedroom, you said, ‘No thanks, lady, I’m married.'”

A duck walks into a bar and asks if they serve food, the bartender, a bit taken aback by the talking duck, pauses before replying “Yeah, what would you like?”

“I’ll just have a burger and a pint please” replied the duck.

The next day the duck returns and orders the same, this happens every day for a few weeks.

One day, just after the duck has left, the owner of a travelling circus enters the bar for a drink, while there the bartender says “Hey, I’m sure you’d be interested in this, every day there’s a talking duck come in here for lunch!”

“Really? That would be an excellent addition to my circus!” replies the man, “Tell him to call me on this number if he comes back tomorrow.” and he hands the bartender a card.

The next day, sure enough, the duck returns for his food and the bartender tells him about the man from the circus.

“The circus?” says the duck.

“Yes!” exclaims the bartender.

“Big tent? Pole up the middle?” asked the duck.

“Yes!” says the bartender confused.

The duck goes quiet for a moment and says “So what the hell does he need a plasterer for?”

He smells of beer and looks absolutely plastered. A priest walks by and asks him why he’s getting drunk so early in the day. The man wobbles a bit and belches out “Why, I’m your lord and savior”. The priest is, obviously, unconvinced and begins to walk away. The drunk calls out “Look, I’ll prove it!” The drunk leads the priest into the building closest to them, a bar. The bartender looks over at the man in shock and says…

“*Jesus christ*! You’re back here again?!”

The bartender, who was also a friend, tells him to take it easy, go home, that he’s had enough. Refusing, he goes on until eventually the friend convinced him.

‘I’m going home!’

As expected, as soon as he leaves from the bartop, he falls flat on his face, eventually dragging himself himself to the door.

After finally managing to flag a taxi with his face plastered to the asphalt, he slowly drags himself into the back seat, where he lays passed-out, in a shady configuration. The cabbie sings for him the whole way home, offkey. After he pours himself out of the taxi, he crawls over to the front of his apartment building, where his film finally cuts, putting him in a deep slumber.

The bartender, being a good friend, goes by the next day to check up on him. He finds him laid across his buildings’ lawn.

‘What are you doing, man, you had a bit too much last night, didn’t you?’

‘Yea, I didn’t even realize how much I drank… But how did you figure how bad I got?’

‘For one, you forgot your wheelchair at the bar.’

Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, bar nun.

when they see a guy who is so plastered that he can’t even stand. So they decided to help get him home and end up having to carry him the whole way. They ring the doorbell and the wife answers and they tell her he was very drunk so they brought him home for her and she says “Thanks, but wheres his wheelchair?”

“But you’re not funny,” said Mama shack.

Seeing his daughter’s roofline sag in disappointment, Papa shack spoke up. “Maybe we could get you a coach?”

Daughter shack smiled with joy, and as she left, Papa shack arranged for a coach.

The coach came, a part time tiler who promised that through his tuition, daughter shack would floor her audience. Alas, when she performed a joke for her parents, there was no reaction.

Papa arranged another coach, a part time plasterer who promised that through his tuition, daughter shack would make the walls shake with laughter. Unfortunately, when daughter shack performed for her parents, they were still unmoved.

Undeterred, and adhering to the rule of three, Papa arranged for one more coach, a part time carpenter. He looked at daughter shack, saw that she needed some work and set to it.

That night, daughter shack came to her parents, and her performance was brilliant. She oozed confidence and appeared to be a little taller. At the end of her performance, Mama and Papa shack profusely thanked the carpenter.

“You have worked wonders,” said Mama shack. “She basically told the same jokes again, but I just found them to be so much better! How did you do it?”

The carpenter smiled. “It wasn’t much really. I saw the hard work the others had done before me and essentially left that the same. She just needed reposting.”

I don’t drink, I’m just going as a white guy.

When they arrive at the Pearly Gates Saint Peter says, “I’m SO sorry, Sisters, that was a freak accident and wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Unfortunately, your Earthy bodies were too horribly mangled for us to just send your souls back, but we *do* have a protocol for cases like yours.

“What we do is, we let you choose a person on Earth. You get to inhabit their body, but unfortunately it’s only for six months.

“Okay, Sister Giuseppina, you first. Who would you like to return as?”

“Sophia Loren,” says Sister Giuseppina.

Saint Peter types into his workstation for a few seconds and Sister Giuseppina disappears in a puff of smoke. “Okay, Sister Lucrezia, you’re next. Who would you like to be?”

“Gina Lollobrigida,” answers Sister Lucrezia. Again, Saint Peter types on his keyboard, and Sister Lucrezia disappears in a puff of smoke.

“Sister Benedetta. Who would you like to return as?”

“Sarah Pippolini,” she says.

Saint Peter types for a few seconds, frowns, and types some more. “I’m sorry, Sister, I’m not getting a match for anyone with that name.”

“Sarah Pippolini, Sarah Pippolini!” the little old nun cries imploringly, shaking a newspaper under Saint Peter’s nose.

Saint Peter takes the newspaper and reads it.

“No, you see, Sister, “Saint Peter explains. “This says, the *Sahara Pipeline* was laid by twelve thousand men in six months.”

Hobo 1: “I only have 1 dollar, what are we going to do?”

Hobo 2: ” I have nothing. Okay, let’s buy a Bologna sausage and then go to a bar, I have an idea.”

So they buy a bologna sausage and go to a bar and drink a couple of beers on the tab. They have a great time, but it’s getting quite expensive.

Hobo 1: “Listen, this is fun and all, but how the hell are we going to pay for all this?!”

Hobo 2 :”Okay, just hear me out. I’m going to open my pants’s zip and push the Bologna sausage through then you pretend to suck on it, trust me.”

Hobo 1: “This is crazy man, but what choice do I have now!”

So they do it and the bartender freaks out and throws them out. They are ecstatic that it worked and are in a great mood and decide to try it out again. It keeps working for bar after bar. They end up going to 10 bars and they get absolutely plastered. So after a great night of drinking they are pretty smashed.

Hobo 1: Listen, tonight was great and all, but it’s getting late, and I’m hungry. Where’s the Bologna sausage?”

Hobo 2: “Oh that thing? I got hungry and ate it after the third bar!”

But on the way he’s kidnapped by Satan and dragged down to Hell. After a while, God realises Bob is missing and phones Satan to complain.

“Well,” says Satan “he’s doing a couple of little jobs for me. Just a bit of decorating. Then I’ll send him up to you.”

Time passes. Still no sign of Bob among the choir invisible. God calls Satan again.

“OK then,” Satan says “but I just need him to finish some plastering. Then he’s all yours, honest.”

More time passes. Bob still hasn’t collected his cloud and harp. Enraged, God calls Satan again.

“Look,” pleads Satan “just a bit longer, I need him to put aircon in the Jane Austen Wing, and I reckon we’re going to need another extension soon, and then…”

“ENOUGH!” storms God “send him to me immediately or I’ll sue!”

“Oh yeah,” replies Satan “and where are you going to find a lawyer up there?”

Little Billy wakes up full of excitement on Christmas day. He rushes downstairs as fast as his little legs will carry him. Being from a poor family his parents can’t afford much but he’s grateful for what he receives. A small pile of inexpensive gifts are quickly opened by the young boy.

A little while later Little Billy asks his mother if he can call round to see his friend Johnny next door to see what he got for Christmas. His mother agrees but tells him not to be too long because she’s preparing Christmas dinner.

Johnny opens the door to Little Billy, hardly able to hide his excitement Johnny invites his friend inside. Little Billy see stack upon stack of expensive gifts, A games console, tablet computer, new bicycle, a whole new wardrobe of clothes and piles and piles of toys. The room is literally stuffed with goodies.

“Wow” says Little Billy, “You got loads, didn’t you.”

Johnny nods his head, a big beaming smile plastered across his face.

Little Billy looks at all the wonderful presents filling the room then turns to his friend and says. “You know what Johnny, There’s times I wish I had leukaemia too.”

This is the story of a Rabbi named Steven. Steven was lost in the mountains of Bolivia one day. He had embarked from Lima weeks ago, but his translator had taken a rather nasty tumble and was no longer with him. But the Rabbi continued. He walked forward and up, perhaps being guided by a higher force. On the eighth day of his adventure in the mountains, he stumbled upon a beautiful river in a valley. So he decided to follow it for as long as he could.

He walked for another day, until he came across a tiny village on a small island in the middle of the river. And tiny means tiny, literally miniature. The small twig huts were only a few inches tall each. The largest about two feet, and the smallest about half a foot. This, of course, intrigued Steven, so he waded into the river, and crossed to the island. When there, he realised what a state of disrepair many of the buildings were in. They were all dust free, but most of them had holes in them, or entire portions missing. It appeared as though a mini tornado had passed through.

He carefully walked around the little village until he stumbled (almost literally) upon a very small, barbaric, hospital. When he listened carefully, he could hear tiny shouts of agony coming from within. He, very lightly, tapped on the door, and a little person, no more than 3 inches tall, stepped out. She was dressed in doctor-like clothes, and had some tiny pink splotches of blood plastered on her clothing. She looked up at the Rabbi, and let out a tiny shriek. The rabbi was taken aback, and slowly sat down. The little woman ran back into the hospital, and he heard the tiny shrieks of agony silenced. But the rabbi just sat there.

Days later, one of the other little doctors poked his or her head out. Very quietly, Steven said “hello.” This confused, and obviously frightened the small creature, but it was brave. It stepped out into the street, and though it was visibly shaking, it yelled up to him, “we don’t have any more fire crystals! Go away!”

This confused the rabbi, of course, so he whispered back “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m new to this area, and don’t know what you are.” So, the small creature patiently explained: they were a race of creatures that called themselves “Trids”.

They had a very peaceful society, but a week ago, during the celebration of the Day of Fire, a huge troll ran down from one of the adjacent mountains, and stole their fire crystal, rumoured to be the source of all fire and energy in the village. The Trids gathered their armies, and sent them up to the Troll’s cave at the top of the mountain, but the Trids all got kicked back down the mountain. So the Trids gathered their militia and sent them up, but they got kicked right back down the mountain. Then the Trids gathered their farmers and workers, and sent them up the mountain, but they all got kicked back down. And by the time they were ready to send another wave they realised that they only had a handful of doctors left uninjured.

And so the rabbi offered to help, he’d get the fire crystal back. So he slept on the shore of the island, and then when he woke up at a time resembling midnight, he started his trek up the mountain.

He climbed ever so slowly, avoiding making an excess of noise. Eventually he got to the cave, and slowly sneaked inside. He saw the troll sleeping in a corner, and did a double take. This being was massive, twice as tall as he, and thrice as wide. So he made his way very slowly over to the droves of treasure that this troll had in the corner. He made it in a minute or two, grabbed all the rubies he saw, and turned around. He was about to get out of the cave when *SNAP*!

He had stepped on a twig. He slowly turned around, and the troll was awake, and up. The hulking figure was breathing very heavily, and simply staring at the rabbi. Steven did what any sane man would have; he bolted. He ran faster and further than he ever thought possible, but eventually he noticed that the troll wasn’t chasing him. So he turned around. Ignoring all common sense, he started to walk back to the cave where the troll lived. Approaching the cave, he yelled in “Troll! What happened? Why didn’t you chase me and kick me down the mountain?” Then the troll came into the light, Steven was able to appreciate the full size of the beast. A great roaring laugh suddenly erupted from the creature.

The hulking figure looked at Steven and simply said, “Silly rabbi, kicks are for Trids!”

Ninja edit: This was written on my phone, so please point out any grammatical/spelling errors!

He was the ultimate tractor enthusiast, his bedroom was plastered with tractor posters, his bed was adorned with a tractor bed spread, tractor toys littered the floor and tractor maintenance DVDs dominated his shelves.

Shortly after Terry’s 18th birthday (where he of course had a tractor birthday cake and received numerous tractor themed gifts) Terry’s life turned on it’s head. An old farmer, a tractor driver and hero of Terry’s stopped him in the street and said “Isn’t it about time you grew up a bit lad and stopped wasting your life obsessing over tractors?” Terry had developed a thick skin over the years when it came to ignoring the haters but he knew that this man was no hater, he was a tractor lover and had Terry’s best interests at heart.

After a couple of days of deep thought and soul searching Terry made his decision. The posters were ripped down, the bed spread put on ebay, the toys sent to a local charity shop. It was done. He was now a man.

Somewhat perplexed by his sudden lack of tractor entertainment options Terry decided to visit a pub for the first time. He wandered in, ordered a pint and took up residence in the corner of the pub.

Shortly after arriving Terry noticed a bit of commotion over by the bar *note this was in the days before the smoking ban*. A towel left too close to the ashtray had caught fire on a cigarette ember. Smoke rapidly began to fill the room and despite the bar staff successfully extinguishing the fire and wafting vigorously they were soon left with no option but to order everyone out of the bar.

Just as people began to leave Terry stood up. “wait” he shouted, everyone watched as he ran over to where the smoke was the thickest and took in a huge breath inhaling all the smoke! He then ran to the window, opened it and blew all the smoke outside before returning to his original seat.

“Incredible”, “unbelievable”, “how on earth did you do that!?” came the cries.

“Well” explained Terry “you see I’m an ex-tractor-fan”

I am lonely at home quarantined:

Day 1. Oh, that’s nice.

Day 3. I read books and rest.

Day 5. I bingwatched “Friends”.

Day 7. I talked to the washing machine, but I had worse days.

Day 9. My washing machine is angry. I never had worse days.

Day 11. I’m fine… So-so… Probably… Well, I guess according to my cat I am fine.

Day 13. My mind and subconscious mind have been drinking wine for three hours and singing “Star-Spangled Banner”.

Day 15. I have no fever. So at least Chocko – my mixer – told me.

Day 17. I befriended the washing machine and finally stopped crying. Now I’m just laughing .. for what I don’t know too …

Day 19. The camel that I grow in my bathroom told me that it was no longer wrapped in one place, so I would walk it a little on the terrace.

Day 21. Dumbledore is in my living room and peels peppers. I am helping him. We’re fine.

Day 23. I dreamed of Donald Trump. He told me to not go anywhere, then slapped me and became Kim Jong-Un. I woke up calm.

Day 25. My seven chakras turned out to be fourteen. How did I know? I caught them in my bedroom hugging each other.

Day 32. Today my washing machine, mixer and camel were offended and now no one but the cat is talking to me.

Day 40. Quarantine was extended today. The good news is that the cat caught a mouse that speaks French and cooks. I’m not going to be hungry anymore.

Day 44. Me and the antenna on the top of the roof have a secret connection. Basically, she goes out with the Cable, but what shall I do. Love does not ask.

Day 50. The cat found out about our relationship and told the Cable. No one talks to me now.

Day 98. The aliens came to Earth, but they do not let them in the country, because they do not have Visas and need to be quarantined for 120 days.

Day 108. I came to enlightenment. This isolation helped me connect to space. From there, I was told that Dwayne Johnson and Madonna are KGB agents, and that Donald Trump and Kim Jong-Un are Siamese twins, but they do not know that the Lord is American.

Day 110 and … Is it night … I ate the cat, mouse and camel. I also tried to eat the mixer, but I broke a tooth.

DAY 120 and… I watched the news… I took a rope and decided to do bungee from the terrace… but… The last thing I hear after it cuts and I break my neck is how they announce that quarantine is lifting…

Day 1 at the hospital. I lie in plaster, and Dumbledore brings me juices and fruit.

Life is good again…

… they have a pianist who’s trying his best to play along with the singers and doing a fairly good job.

It goes along merry as a funeral bell till a particularly plastered and tone deaf guy takes the mic. The pianist bravely attempts to keep up, but has to give up. The drunk starts yelling at the hapless pianist who has had enough.

“Mate, I can follow you on the white keys… I can follow you on the black. But you my friend, are singing in the f**cking cracks!!!”

A Catholic priest, a Methodist pastor, a Baptist minister, and an Episcopalian rector were attending an ecumenical conference. After the conferences were done and they had supper, they were relaxing in the hotel restaurant, talking.

The Catholic priest said, “You know, it’s great to get to know one another’s theology across sectarian boundaries like this. But I think it would be even better if we shared some of our human side. Don’t any of you have any bad habits? You know, confession is good for the soul, and we’d surely build mutual tolerance, knowing what faults we all share. How about it?”

The Baptist minister said, “I’d have to say that that’s a fine idea. I’ve been carrying a burden for a long time, and I’d be glad to finally get it off my heart. You see, friends, I’m a terrible, terrible drunkard. I’ve got a flask in every jacket and gown I have. Half the time when the secretary tells callers that I’m out tending to my congregation, I’m really face down on my desk in my office, out cold. I can’t tell you the number of baptisms, weddings, funerals, counseling sessions that I’ve skipped because I was absolutely plastered!”

The Episcopalian rector nodded gravely and said. “Well, that can’t be worse than me. I’m a terrible, terrible adulterer. I’m completely out of control! If a woman in my parish can fog a mirror, I’ll come on to her. I’ve got the back door keys to half the homes in my congregation, and my office couch folds out into a bed. I don’t even like to have my picture taken with the children’s Sunday school classes!”

The Methodist minister heaved a sigh, and said, “I’m afraid I’ve got that beat. I’m a terrible, terrible embezzler. I’m no good with money; and I’ve got a taste for high living that my salary can’t satisfy. Each church I’ve served at could have paid down their mortgage like you wouldn’t believe if not for me and my spendthrift ways. What a hypocrite I’ve been, brow-beating my hard-working parishioners to pledge more each year, while I spent their gifts hand over fist!”

The Catholic priest steepled his fingers and bowed his head. He said nothing. Presently one of the others said, “Well? Don’t you have any skeletons to share?”

The priest shrugged and looked up. “Well, I’m a terrible, terrible gossip.”

It was a magnificent golden palace, with beautiful ornaments covering every surface as it towered over the surrounding landscape with its size. The steps leading up to the front entrance were crafted from the finest marble, the pillars holding up the ceiling sculpted with the rarest jade. It was truly a great piece of human architecture.

As the Great Khan stood facing his latest prize, a general in his inner circle asked “O Great Khan, what shall we do with the palace”. After a long pause, Genghis said with a blank expression:

“Raze it”

While walking away. “Yes Great Khan, with great pleasure”, the general said with a vicious smirk on his face.

Almost immediately, the general orders his army to begin preparations to tear down the palace. The jade pillars were knocked down, the marble stairs leading up to the front entrance ripped from the surface. Fires spread across the whole palace, bringing down the ceiling and ornaments covered across the roof. The loot and spoils hauled out while its inhabitants were dragged out, mercilessly slaughtered by the bloodthirsty soldiers. After a few hours, what remained of the great palace was just rubble stacked on top of each other and the burnt ashes which were carried by the wind into the distance.

A few days later, there was a feast held by the Great Khan and his top generals to celebrate the recent victory. While everyone was celebrating, Genghis asked his general:

“So how did that business with the palace go. Have you taken care of it?”

“Of course Great Khan, I put the soldiers immediately to work and finished in a matter of hours.” Replied the general

“Hoh, very impressive. I didn’t expect you to finish so soon. Take me there tomorrow, I want to see for myself”, Genghis said approvingly

“Yes Great Khan, it would be my absolute honour” Replied the general

Dawn broke, signalled by the rising sun as it slowly enveloped the trees and mountains with an orange hue. Genghis and the general arrived at the location of what used to be the grand palace.

“Behold, O Great Khan. This truly was a grand palace of monolitich scale, but it was no match for our fine soldiers. Every step leading up to the front entrance was pulled out, every pillar broken down, every room set ablaze and every man, woman and child cut down. We also saved the gold and treasure and I made sure every piece went into the treasury. All this, done in your name, oh Mighty Khan.”

The general expected some sort of praise, but when he looked back to see the Khan’s expression, it was not a look of awe. Alas, a look of shock and dismay was plastered across his face.

“W- what happened to the palace? What did you do? Why is it all destroyed?” Genghis said with confusion, turning to fury with each word he spake.

The general himself was equally confused, but also terrified of his blunder, although not knowing why. He sheepishly replied “But sir, you told me to raze it, so that’s exactly what I did.”

Genghis, now red with rage and anger, said “That’s not what I meant you cretin! I only wanted you to add a few storeys!”

After this he wakes up in the hospital with a concussion and a completely shattered foot.

“I’m afraid this happens sometimes in jokes,” says the doctor, “and frankly you got off lightly. You reached the limit of what the laws of physics allow for and hit the fourth wall.”

“Does this mean I can never get any faster?” The sprinter asks.

“Exactly. You’ve gone beyond what any human has ever achieved but now your foot is lost. I can give you a good prosthetic and some physiotherapy but you’ll never be as fast as you were. Perhaps it would be best to retire from running.”

“But I am a sprinter!” exclaims the sprinter, “If I dont sprint, I’m not anyone! No invisible wall is getting the better of me!”

After months of physical therapy and retraining himself all over again, sheer force of will puts the sprinter back on the track and ready to beat his previous time.

The sprinter sets off again, and runs harder and faster than he even managed before, when- THUD. He sees his body smash into the invisible wall, blood and limbs spread everywhere. “Not again!” the sprinter screams, as everything goes dark and he passes into a coma.

He wakes up in hospital, weeks later. He can’t see whatever’s left of his body under all the plaster and tubes everywhere.

“Not you again,” says the doctor. “Somehow we’ve managed to reconstruct most of your body from the mess you made on the wall and we had a team of engineers take care of the rest. But even if you can do this you really shouldn’t, I don’t know if I can fix you again.”

Completely undeterred, the sprinter, now almost more machine than man, continues training to be even better than he was. He has his cyborg legs upgraded and improved upon, and trains his body ten hours a day every day for eight years.

It’s the big day. The story’s gotten out and the sprinter now appears in front of a stadium of thousands as the world gathers to watch his third attempt to get through the fourth wall.

Equipped with a titanium exoskeleton and battering ram, the sprinter takes his mark for his third and final showdown with the fourth wall.

As he speeds up, his life flashes before his eyes, he remembers being the fastest kid on the playground and how everything he’s done since then has led up to this moment- the fastest being on Earth, facing his ultimate challenge- his destiny will be decided here and now. He will break the fourth wall or die trying.

He screams as he hits the wall at what to the audience might as well have been the speed of light.

As the dust from the track settles, the audience gasp in disbelief and horror.

All that remains of the sprinter is a puddle of red and grey goo running down an invisible wall with a very visible crack through the middle.

The same doctor who saved the patient twice before is there in the hospital when the sprinter’s reconstructed brain is somehow revived in a robot body.

“Well,” he says to the doctor, “I suppose this is a running joke.”.