After having their 11th child, a Liverpool couple decided that was enough, as the social wouldn't buy them a bigger bed and they weren't strong enough to nick one.

The husband went to his doctor and told him that he and his wife didn't want to have any more children.

The doctor told him there was a procedure called a vasectomy that would fix the problem but it was expensive.

A less costly alternative was to go home, get a firework, light it, put it in a bee [...]

After having their 11th child, a Liverpool couple decided that was enough, as the social wouldn't buy them a bigger bed and they weren't strong enough to nick one.

The husband went to his doctor and told him that he and his wife didn't want to have any more children.

The doctor told him there was a procedure called a vasectomy that would fix the problem but it was expensive.

A less costly alternative was to go home, get a firework, light it, put it in a beer can, then hold the can up to his ear and count to 10.

The Scouser said to the doctor, "I may not be the smartest guy in the world, but I don't see how putting a firework in a beer can next to my ear is going to help me."

"Trust me, it will do the job", said the doctor.

So the man went home, lit a banger and put it in a beer can. He held the can up to his ear and began to count: "1, 2, 3, 4, 5," at which point he paused, placed the beer can between his legs so he could continue counting on his other hand.

One day a guy died and found himself in hell. As he was wallowing in despair, he had his first meeting with a demon.
The demon asked, "Why so glum?"
The guy responded, "What do you think? I'm in hell!"
"Hell's not so bad," the demon said. "We actually have a lot of fun down here. You a drinking man?"
"Sure," the man said, "I love to drink."
"Well, you're gonna love Mondays then. On Mondays all w [...]

One day a guy died and found himself in hell. As he was wallowing in despair, he had his first meeting with a demon.
The demon asked, "Why so glum?"
The guy responded, "What do you think? I'm in hell!"
"Hell's not so bad," the demon said. "We actually have a lot of fun down here. You a drinking man?"
"Sure," the man said, "I love to drink."
"Well, you're gonna love Mondays then. On Mondays all we do is drink. Whiskey, tequila, Guinness, wine coolers, diet Tab and Fresca. We drink till we throw up and then we drink some more!"

The guy is astounded. "Damn, that sounds great."
"You a smoker?" the demon asked.
"You better believe it!"
"You're gonna love Tuesdays. We get the finest cigars from all over the world and smoke our lungs out! If you get cancer, no biggie You're already dead, remember?"
"Wow, the guy said, "that's awesome!"

The demon continued. "I bet you like to gamble."
"Why yes, as a matter of fact I do."
"Wednesdays you can gamble all you want. Craps, blackjack, roulette, poker, slots, whatever. If you go bankrupt, well, you're dead anyhow. You into drugs?"
The guy said, "Are you kidding? I love drugs! You don't mean..."
"That's right! Thursday is drug day. Help yourself to a great big bowl of crack or smack. Smoke a doobie the size of a submarine. You can do all the drugs you want - you're dead, who cares!"
"Wow," the guy said, starting to feel better about his situation, "I never realized Hell was such a cool place!"

The demon said, "You gay?"
"No."
"Ooooh, you're gonna hate Fridays!"

While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favourite cheese scones wafting up the stairs.
He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed.
Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom and, with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
With laboured breath, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the kitchen.
Were it not for death's agony, [...]

While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favourite cheese scones wafting up the stairs.
He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed.
Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom and, with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
With laboured breath, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the kitchen.
Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table, were dozens of his favourite scones.
Was it heaven?
Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted Irish wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a rumpled posture.
His parched lips parted.
He could almost taste the cheese scone before it was in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life.

The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to the nearest scone at the edge of the table, when his hand was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife...............

"Fuck off," she said, "they're for the funeral!"