A double entendre is a figure of speech that is open to two interpretations; a way of wording a double meaning; one of which is obvious and the other which conveys a message that could be regarded as socially unacceptable or indeed, to some people, as being offensive, were it to be stated directly.
The late great British actor and comedian Kenneth Williams (1926-1988) must surely have been the best exponent of this art, through his many radio broadcasts (Round the Horne), and films (the “Carry On” series), which still today give us all much laughter.
The Ballad of the Woggler’s Moulie.
Vocals: British actor and comedian the late Kenneth Williams(1926-1988)
The Ballad of the Woggler’s Moulie.
Joe he was a young cordwangler, Monging greebles he did go, And he loved a bogler’s daughter, By the name of Chiswick Flo. Vain she was and like a grusset, Though her ganderparts were fine, But she sneered at his cordwangle, As it hung upon the line.
So he stole a woggler’s moulie, For to make a wedding ring, But the Bow Street Runners caught him, And the Judge said you will swing. Oh they hung him by the postern, Nailed his moulie to the fence, For to warn all young cordwanglers, That it was a grave offence.
There’s a moral to this story, Though your cordwangle be poor, Keep your hands off others moulies, For it is against the law.
Lyrics and Vocals: American stand-up comedian, actor, country music artist and songwriter, Rodney Carrington.
She’s Bitchin Again.
[Chorus]
There she goes, bitching again, Saying things she’s heard from all her friends, And it don’t matter what I do or where the hell I’ve been. There she goes, bitching again.
I could make a million dollars, I could put it in her purse, Buy her a big ol’ mansion and things would just get worse. I could lasso her the moon and throw it in with all her stuff, And she’d want to know where Neptune was, Cause the moon ain’t good enough.
[Repeat Chorus]
I could’ve painted the Sistine Chapel. I could’ve won a nobel prize. Built the Great Wall there in China, And that’d be nothing in her eyes. I could’ve wrote the whole dang Bible and read it to her twice, And she’d want to know why the yard, ain’t mowed, And the fridge don’t make no ice.
There she goes and she’s bitching again, Saying things she’s heard from all her friends, And it don’t matter what I do or where the hell I’ve been. Oh, here she comes and there she goes, bitching again. And she’s bitching again. END
Lyrics and Vocals: American country music singer, songwriter, guitarist and three time Grammy Award winner Brad Paisley.
Ode de Toilet.
She says not to buy her flowers, Or big expensive gifts. She says she don’t want jewelry, And she doesn’t need another dress. If I want to show her how much I adore her, The best way that I’ve found, Is to make sure when I’m finished, I put that toilet seat down. We’ve been to counciling, To try and see the ways we could improve, This thing between us, And different ways to show each other “I love you”. Forget about those getaway vacations, To romantic coastal towns, If you want to say “I love you”, Then put that toilet seat down. ‘Cause in the middle of the night, It’s cold and it’s dark, And when I hear my name in vain, I know I haven’t done my part. She just wants me to support her, And the best way that I’ve found, So with a gentle hand and a loving touch, I put that toilet seat down. I know it’s kind of funny, You can teach a little puppy, But it’s very hard to train a grown man, When I’m all about my business, And the path of least resistance, She’s the one that suffers in the end. In the middle of the night, It’s cold and it’s dark, And when I hear my name in vain, I know I haven’t done my part. She just wants me to support her, And the best way that I’ve found, So with a gentle hand and a loving touch, I put that toilet seat down. Down, down. END.
“I forgot to ask you Mikey, did you get out to cast your vote on June 7th last”, said I. Mikey Ryan and myself was supping above in the Arch Bar in Liberty Square, when I first broached that most delicate of political questions.
“Indeed and I didn’t”, said Mikey, “sure I come from an era when Halloween used to be the scariest night of the year; now it’s bloody election night. Anyway I don’t believe in re-electing repeat offenders”, he quickly added.
“Politics, you of all people should know,” said Mikey “is the art of looking for trouble, finding it, then misdiagnosing it and later misapplying the wrong remedies, so I want no hand act or part in it; anyway instead of giving local councillors keys to Thurles Town, the electorate would be better off changing the locks.”
“This is a fact”, continued Mikey, “one local councillor, no names-no court martial, went out canvassing in the Rahealty – Moyne area of Thurles three weeks ago.He found my brothers unemployed son, Tommy, out in the field milking their only cow.The councillor approached our Tommy, seeking his vote and just as he was getting started with his promises, my brother called him back into the house. Tommy, said he, get your arse into the house immediately; and who is that fellow you’re talking to? I think he’s a local councillor, said Tommy. ” Well in that case, you’d better bring the cow inside with you, said my brother.”
“You know, I remember distinctively,” said I, “that as a school-going child, telling my father that I wanted to be a local councillor when I grew up. And I remember my father asking was I insane; had I lost my mind or was I simply growing up to become a proper moron? It was because of those required qualifications that I gave up and never bothered since, with that notion”.
“I was driving out to a funeral in Holycross about a month ago”, said Mikey, “when I noticed a sign on the side of the road stating ‘Sinn Féin puppies for sale’. Sure, it must have been two week later I was driving on the same route and viewed the sign as reading ‘Fianna Fáil puppies for sale’. I stopped the car and enquired from the dog seller why the sign said Sinn Féin puppies two weeks ago, but Fianna Fáil puppies now. The sellers answer came without any hesitation: Well, sir, you see they have their eyes open now.”
“Ah sure look” said I, “the reason these people want to put their name forward for election, in the first place, is because their wives want them out of the house.” “Give us the same again there Hayes, when you get a chance”, said I.
There is something I have been trying to figure out for a long time; just who actually is He Knows Me?
Every time I return from work my neighbour tells me this person called, with urgency scrawled all over his face, enquiring as to my whereabouts. When my neighbour asks “whom should I say called”, the reply invariably is: “He Knows Me.” I never really take those three words literally. Would you if you were living near a large town and working as a news reporter?
So, I guess it has to be some trendy person whose parents would not settle for some humble name like Mick, Con or Pat for their much adored offspring.
Maybe they saw, at this mysterious person’s birth, the light of genius and immortality shining out of the baby blue eyes of Master He Knows Me, and so decided this gift to humanity should not be saddled with any ordinary plain name. And, figuring their baby was inevitably going to be a celebrity, they christened him by the rather august name, ‘He Knows Me’. That was one name that would sure stick in peoples’ minds, these proud parents probably reckoned.
At any rate, I have never once met Mr He Knows Me, and my curiosity is only bursting to find out his identity. Could somebody help me? If you ever see a person called, He Knows Me, do send him up to my house immediately. Tell him I have been seeking his acquaintance for years without any success.
And if we don’t see him soon, perhaps over a cup of tea, to discuss all those millions of things he called about over the years, I shall feel my living has been totally in vain.
You see Mr He Knows Me is as integral a part of my life, as are the wild cinnamon cats in the back garden, the dog beside the fire, or the lucky black cat in the children’s hobby-house, positioned on the tree beside my kitchen window sill.
Somehow, I feel Mr He Knows Me might think I am ignoring his company. Really, if I knew his address I would probably send a greeting card at Christmas, or St Patrick’s Day or even at Easter. But presently as for Mr He Knows Me’s age, name, address, background, hobbies and interests, romantic associations (if any), I remain completely in the dark. It’s all so perplexing; almost as perplexing and infuriating as that other person who calls to the house on the odd time. He too has a rather uncommon name. He’s called “I’ll See Him Again”, which I can safely say that I never do. But that’s quite another story!
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