A Tribute to Ronnie Barker

In memory of a great man, Ronnie Barker

This was originally shown on BBC TV back in the seventies. Ronnie

Barker could say all this without a snigger (though god knows how
many

takes). Irony is that they received not one complaint. The speed of

delivery must have been too much for the whining herds. Try getting

through it without converting the spoonerisms [and not wetting your

pants] as you read ...



This is the story of Rindercella and her sugly isters.

Rindercella and her sugly isters lived in a marge lansion.

Rindercella worked very hard frubbing sloors, emptying poss pits, and shivelling shot.

At the end of the day, she was knucking fackered.

The sugly isters were right bugly astards. One was called Mary Hinge,
and the other was called Betty Swallocks; they were really forrible
huckers;they had fetty sweet and fetty swannies. The sugly isters had
tickets to go to the ball, but the cotton runts would not let
Rindercella go.

Suddenly there was a bucking fang, and her gairy fodmother appeared.

Her name was Shairy Hithole and she was a light rucking fesbian. She
turned a pumpkin and six mite wice into a hucking cuge farriage with
six dandy ronkeys who had buge hollocks and dig bicks

The gairy fodmother told Rindercella to be back by dimnlight
otherwise, there would be a cucking falamity.

At the ball, Rindercella was dancing with the prandsome hince when
suddenly the clock struck twelve. "Mist all chucking frighty!!!" said
Rindercella, and she ran out tripping barse over ollocks, so dropping
her slass glipper.

The very next day the prandsome hince knocked on Rindercella's door
and the sugly isters let him in. Suddenly, Betty Swallocks lifted her leg
and let off a fig bart. "Who's fust jarted??" asked the prandsome
hince.

"Blame that fugly ucker over there!!" said Mary Hinge. When the

stinking brown cloud had lifted, he tried the slass glipper on both
the sugly isters without success and their feet stucking funk.

Betty Swallocks was ducking fisgusted and gave the prandsome hince a
knack in the kickers. This was not difficult as he had bucking fuge
halls and a hig bard on.

He tried the slass glipper on Rindercella and it fitted pucking ferfectly.

Rindercella and the prandsome hince were married. The pransome hince
lived his life in lucking fuxury, and Rindercella lived hers with a follen swanny.

Good evening.

I am the president of the Loyal Society for the Relief of Suffers from Pismronunciation, for the relief of people who can’t say their worms correctly, or who use the wrong worms entirely, so that other people cannot underhand a bird they are spraying. It’s just that you open your mouse, and the worms come turbling out in wuck a say that you dick not what you’re thugging to be, and it’s very distressing.

I’m always looing it, and it makes one feel umbumftorcacle, especially when one is going about one’s diddly tasks. Slopping at the Sloopermarket, for instance. Only last wonk, I approached the chuckout point, and I shooed the ghoul behind the crash desk the contents of my trilly, and she said “All right, granddad, shout ‘em out.” Well, of course, that’s fine for the ordinary man in the stoat who has no dribble with his wolds. For someone like myself, it’s worse than a kick in the jackstrop.

Sometimes, you get stuck on one letter, such as wubbleyou.
And I said, Well, I’ve got a tin of woup, a woucumber, two packets of wheese and a walliflower.”
She tried to make fun of me and said, “That will be woo pounds, wifty-wee pence.”
So I just said “Wobblers!” and walked out.

So you see how dickyfelt it is. But help is at hand. A new society has been formed by our mumblers to help each other in times of excream ices. It is balled Pismronouncers Unanimous, and anyone can ball them up on the smellyphone any time of the day or note, twenty-four flowers a spray, seven stays a creek, and they will come ‘round and get drunk with you.

For foreigners, there will be inperpetwitters, who will all speak many sandwiches, such as Swedish, Turkish, Burkish, Jewish, Gibberish and Rubbish.

Membranes will be able to attend tight stool, for heaving classes, to learn how to grope with the many complinkities of the daily loaf.
Which brings me to the drain reason for squeaking to you tonight. The society’s first function as a body was a grand garden freight, and we hope for many more bodily functions in the future. The garden plate was held in the grounds of Blennham Paleyass, Woodstick, and the guest of horror was the great American pip singer, Manny Barrellow. The fate was opened by the bleeder of the opposition, Mister Dale Pinnock . . . Pillock, who gave us a few well-frozen worms in praise of the society’s jerk. He said that “In the creeks and stunts that lie ahead, we must do out nut roast to ensure that it sucks weeds.”
And everyone visited the various stores and abrusements, the rudeabouts, thing boats and the dodgers, and of course, all the old favorites such as Srty your Length, guessing the weight of the cook and tinning the pale on the wonky. The occasion was great fun, and I think it can safely be said that all the men present and thoroughly good women were had all the time.

So, please join out society.

"And tonight we will be speaking to the scientist who crossed a yard of ale beer glass with a Chinese vase and a chamber pot, to get a ping-pong-piddle-high-po."

Pardon me DD, should have checked. Been done before. at least a class act was resurrected. RIP Ronnie Barker

YouTube - Ronnie Barker - Mispronunciation Society

YouTube - Two Ronnies: Round of Drinks

YouTube - News at Ton