It's not a beard, it's an animal I've trained to sit very still.

Three blokes go into a pub. One of them is a little bit stupid, and the whole scene unfolds with a tedious inevitability.

This shed does not contain me.

Without the beat in the background, Jazz basically sounds like an armadillo was let loose on the keyboard.

It's the augmented fourth, or diminished fifth, depending on your outlook on life.

This was my attempt to deter cold callers: "There's no past, there's no future, just one pulsating present... Please leave your message after the tone."

Marijuana? It's harmless really, unless you fashion it into a club and beat somebody over the head with it