Coronavirus Humour
Discussion
Yes we all know it's bleak and depressing, but Is there a funny side?
We have a million depressing threads, how about a light hearted one.
Comments, Rants, Cartoons, Jokes?
Nothing has ever been off limit before, race, religion, disability, sexes etc etc.
'Coronavirus Customer Service Charter.'
We employ people to work and get the money for it. That’s all.
We do not employ people to monitor performance and check breaches of a Charter with consequent compensation of £50 a day, provided access to the premises was allowed and Civil Disorder or Panic Buying was not in progress.
We will probably come when we say, but do not dismount your bicycle, eject the dummy from the pram, or post a pathetic whinge on social media if we are classified as 'non essential', locked down by Boris and don’t.
There will not be a customer satisfaction survey following the installation, if it doesn’t work, you are still alive, society hasn't broken down, and the phones still work, then we will presume you have the sense to tell us.
We have certain legal obligations which we will abide by; we will not murder you or steal things (unless you have a moronic stockpile of toilet roll or pasta), and we expect the same courtesies in return.
We answer the phone and look at messages if we’re not busy, dead, or not there. You will not get a compendium of other numbers to press. Nor will you receive Greensleeves on the Stylophone or someone droning on giving helpful advice on social distancing and entertaining the family.
We do not seek to thrill and delight you, better leave that to the excitable crowds jostling for the last can of baked beans in Morrisons or your now solitary non existent sex life. Satisfaction is not guaranteed, you are not even guaranteed to live through the installation period, especially if you look a bit peaky when we call.
We will not be emblazoned with names, it can only be of marginal interest to you that 'Chas' was there and not 'Dave'. We do not hope you have a nice day, you probably do not need to be told, and anyway may well be having a day wallowing in self pity at the bleak future of humanity. We don’t care either way. You are not the most important person in the world, we are, or more specifically, I am.
We do not have a customer service department. We have an office where it is all done, except accounts. Ask for accounts if you have to, but they are not a debating society with all the time in the world to hear about your dire financial situation, that’s what paracetamol and the Citizen’s Advice Bureau is for.
You will not be called Sir Or Madam, If that’s what you like, then if posh restaurants ever reopen dine out at eighty pounds for a bowl of mushroom soup with crusts on. Keep out of the way of our staff. They are chosen for taciturnity, their ability to work, and not having a cough or temperature, not social graces.
They definitely do not need advice. In return they will leave you alone to get on making the Lasagne, doing the ironing or deciding which item on the lengthy lockdown DIY job list you should tackle first with your rickety ladder and power tools.
This does not affect your statutory rights, because you don't have any anymore and aren't allowed out to complain anyway.
We have a million depressing threads, how about a light hearted one.
Comments, Rants, Cartoons, Jokes?
Nothing has ever been off limit before, race, religion, disability, sexes etc etc.
'Coronavirus Customer Service Charter.'
We employ people to work and get the money for it. That’s all.
We do not employ people to monitor performance and check breaches of a Charter with consequent compensation of £50 a day, provided access to the premises was allowed and Civil Disorder or Panic Buying was not in progress.
We will probably come when we say, but do not dismount your bicycle, eject the dummy from the pram, or post a pathetic whinge on social media if we are classified as 'non essential', locked down by Boris and don’t.
There will not be a customer satisfaction survey following the installation, if it doesn’t work, you are still alive, society hasn't broken down, and the phones still work, then we will presume you have the sense to tell us.
We have certain legal obligations which we will abide by; we will not murder you or steal things (unless you have a moronic stockpile of toilet roll or pasta), and we expect the same courtesies in return.
We answer the phone and look at messages if we’re not busy, dead, or not there. You will not get a compendium of other numbers to press. Nor will you receive Greensleeves on the Stylophone or someone droning on giving helpful advice on social distancing and entertaining the family.
We do not seek to thrill and delight you, better leave that to the excitable crowds jostling for the last can of baked beans in Morrisons or your now solitary non existent sex life. Satisfaction is not guaranteed, you are not even guaranteed to live through the installation period, especially if you look a bit peaky when we call.
We will not be emblazoned with names, it can only be of marginal interest to you that 'Chas' was there and not 'Dave'. We do not hope you have a nice day, you probably do not need to be told, and anyway may well be having a day wallowing in self pity at the bleak future of humanity. We don’t care either way. You are not the most important person in the world, we are, or more specifically, I am.
We do not have a customer service department. We have an office where it is all done, except accounts. Ask for accounts if you have to, but they are not a debating society with all the time in the world to hear about your dire financial situation, that’s what paracetamol and the Citizen’s Advice Bureau is for.
You will not be called Sir Or Madam, If that’s what you like, then if posh restaurants ever reopen dine out at eighty pounds for a bowl of mushroom soup with crusts on. Keep out of the way of our staff. They are chosen for taciturnity, their ability to work, and not having a cough or temperature, not social graces.
They definitely do not need advice. In return they will leave you alone to get on making the Lasagne, doing the ironing or deciding which item on the lengthy lockdown DIY job list you should tackle first with your rickety ladder and power tools.
This does not affect your statutory rights, because you don't have any anymore and aren't allowed out to complain anyway.
) I would study them carefully, then publish and be damned! 
'Low Hanging Lockdown Fruit.'
Are you sat in front of your computer 'working from home' desperately waiting for the bell icon to change or your mobile to bing. Indicating that thank God! someone you vaguely know, somewhere you vaguely care about, has reacted to something on Facebook.
We are only on day three of the lockdown, but already the tenuous prospect of a few crumbs of intermittent virtual cheer scattered on your sofa of despair was enough to lure you into my unfathomable sinister lair.
You're now going to be sadly disappointed when I tell you the title of this post is not some heinous, depraved or perverted (delete as appropriate) 'whack a mole' style entertainment to help get you through the quarantine period, involving your vivid imagination, extra virgin olive oil, a mallet and overripe fruit.
It's trivial, mundane, and an obvious choice for the situation. It's about boring and unending job lists.
You have probably got one as well, short, long, or if your a bloke and trapped at home with the partner/family, bloody enormous. Stuck up on the fridge door, skewered onto the cork pin board, or feebly clinging to your sweaty forehead on an ancient 'post it note' because you are still on the sofa glued like a zombie to episode 370 of Game of Thrones.
It's there though, hanging over you like the Sword of Damocles, and like your enforced confinement it won't be going away anytime soon unless you man up and confront it.
How men across the county now yearn to be an essential worker, ferrying the sick, delivering food parcels or pampers, anything other than having to start work on the domestic equivalent of painting the forth road bridge.
They know it will never be finished because the knobs will fall off the knackered wardrobe again as they hadn't got the right screws, the patio will need cleaning because it keeps going green, and by some unfathomable miracle that occurs each night, the job list just keeps growing.
So how to combat this dangerous growing menace and threat to civilisation? I mean the jobs list obviously, not the virus.
Knuckle down and tackle it with the rarely seen effort and gusto of a man on a mission to please, fortified by the Dunkirk spirit. (or any spirits??) but desperate inside to sail off alone into the sunset in a little boat?
That sounds like a plan, and a proper way to feel really good after a solid days satisfactory and rewarding work.
Nah... Bugger that.
Like most I expect I will peck at my growing jobs list like a scrawny squawking vulture jostling on the fresh corpse of a wildebeest in the Okavango delta. The juicy easy titbits first, and the tough sunbaked fly blown grissle much later, and only then if i'm really hungry, desperate or Netflix is buffering.
We surreptitiously or subconsciously rearrange the list anyway, so the easy jobs float up to the top like a dead bloated pet goldfish, and can be cherry picked easily like shooting fish in a barrel.
No worries I'll tackle the tricky banging in a few nails today before another four hours in front of the Star Trek Original Series boxed set. But I will leave the digging out the conservatory foundation trenches by hand until tomorrow, i'm a bit tired after my two tons of pizza and chips.
So the low hanging fruit in this ramble is tackling the easy jobs first and leaving the tough pain in the arse stuff until much later, and preferably after a glass of wine or two.
Who knows? In three weeks time blokes across the country accompanied by rapturous applause from admiring crowds (of no more than two people) may be applying the finishing touches to the DIY masterpiece the partner has always craved. The jobs list will have vanished into the bin, completed in a puff of hope, optimism and enthusiastic determination.
Alternatively they will be being visited on the orthopedic ward in the makeshift army camp hospital, ironically being brought low hanging fruit to console them after the unfortunate incident with the rickety step ladder and grandads inherited ancient power tools. Luckily someone 'non essential' was filming it on their phone, so you can see the abject but hilarious DIY fail on youtube or 'You've been framed' at any time.
There is only one 'job' left, but this is on another's mythical list. A rare reward for that hard work and a job well done..
Are you sat in front of your computer 'working from home' desperately waiting for the bell icon to change or your mobile to bing. Indicating that thank God! someone you vaguely know, somewhere you vaguely care about, has reacted to something on Facebook.
We are only on day three of the lockdown, but already the tenuous prospect of a few crumbs of intermittent virtual cheer scattered on your sofa of despair was enough to lure you into my unfathomable sinister lair.
You're now going to be sadly disappointed when I tell you the title of this post is not some heinous, depraved or perverted (delete as appropriate) 'whack a mole' style entertainment to help get you through the quarantine period, involving your vivid imagination, extra virgin olive oil, a mallet and overripe fruit.
It's trivial, mundane, and an obvious choice for the situation. It's about boring and unending job lists.
You have probably got one as well, short, long, or if your a bloke and trapped at home with the partner/family, bloody enormous. Stuck up on the fridge door, skewered onto the cork pin board, or feebly clinging to your sweaty forehead on an ancient 'post it note' because you are still on the sofa glued like a zombie to episode 370 of Game of Thrones.
It's there though, hanging over you like the Sword of Damocles, and like your enforced confinement it won't be going away anytime soon unless you man up and confront it.
How men across the county now yearn to be an essential worker, ferrying the sick, delivering food parcels or pampers, anything other than having to start work on the domestic equivalent of painting the forth road bridge.
They know it will never be finished because the knobs will fall off the knackered wardrobe again as they hadn't got the right screws, the patio will need cleaning because it keeps going green, and by some unfathomable miracle that occurs each night, the job list just keeps growing.
So how to combat this dangerous growing menace and threat to civilisation? I mean the jobs list obviously, not the virus.
Knuckle down and tackle it with the rarely seen effort and gusto of a man on a mission to please, fortified by the Dunkirk spirit. (or any spirits??) but desperate inside to sail off alone into the sunset in a little boat?
That sounds like a plan, and a proper way to feel really good after a solid days satisfactory and rewarding work.
Nah... Bugger that.
Like most I expect I will peck at my growing jobs list like a scrawny squawking vulture jostling on the fresh corpse of a wildebeest in the Okavango delta. The juicy easy titbits first, and the tough sunbaked fly blown grissle much later, and only then if i'm really hungry, desperate or Netflix is buffering.
We surreptitiously or subconsciously rearrange the list anyway, so the easy jobs float up to the top like a dead bloated pet goldfish, and can be cherry picked easily like shooting fish in a barrel.
No worries I'll tackle the tricky banging in a few nails today before another four hours in front of the Star Trek Original Series boxed set. But I will leave the digging out the conservatory foundation trenches by hand until tomorrow, i'm a bit tired after my two tons of pizza and chips.
So the low hanging fruit in this ramble is tackling the easy jobs first and leaving the tough pain in the arse stuff until much later, and preferably after a glass of wine or two.
Who knows? In three weeks time blokes across the country accompanied by rapturous applause from admiring crowds (of no more than two people) may be applying the finishing touches to the DIY masterpiece the partner has always craved. The jobs list will have vanished into the bin, completed in a puff of hope, optimism and enthusiastic determination.
Alternatively they will be being visited on the orthopedic ward in the makeshift army camp hospital, ironically being brought low hanging fruit to console them after the unfortunate incident with the rickety step ladder and grandads inherited ancient power tools. Luckily someone 'non essential' was filming it on their phone, so you can see the abject but hilarious DIY fail on youtube or 'You've been framed' at any time.
There is only one 'job' left, but this is on another's mythical list. A rare reward for that hard work and a job well done..
Spiderman, that was a beautiful piece of prose. 
Thankyou for drawing my attention to the list. I'm sure I'll get round to having a look at it soon.
I have to go now, because I have become infatuated with the female presenters of CBeebies, and I even become slightly tumescent watching Upsy Daisy in her inflatable skirt and long panties whenever she appears in repeats of In the Night Garden".
Thankyou for drawing my attention to the list. I'm sure I'll get round to having a look at it soon.
I have to go now, because I have become infatuated with the female presenters of CBeebies, and I even become slightly tumescent watching Upsy Daisy in her inflatable skirt and long panties whenever she appears in repeats of In the Night Garden".
Miss this and lose out, it's excellent - and not contagious!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XDYEbp7sU8k
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XDYEbp7sU8k
Edited by davhill on Friday 27th March 00:15
davhill said:
Miss this and lose out, it's excellent - and not contagious!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XDYEbp7sU8k
I can't see it as it's been removed. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XDYEbp7sU8k
Edited by davhill on Friday 27th March 00:15
Eagleye said:
I can't see it as it's been removed.
Pity, It's a version of 'Boheminan Rhapsody, called 'Coronavirus Rhapsody'with a good Queen impression and chucklesome lyrics.
It came up playable on the first three sites Google offered me and the lyrics
are printed out on the fourth site.
graham22 said:
You have to feel sorry for the blokes who said they'll do it when they have the time...
I fitted a new rubber o-ring to the bathroom sink plug a couple of days ago. the old one had perished before we moved into the house 5 years ago, and we've just lived with never having a full sink of water as it drains away through the gaps. Took me less than a minute to do the whole job. I'm already planning what to do with the next minute I get free. In 2025.
Gassing Station | The Lounge | Top of Page | What's New | My Stuff