Joke: Men’s shed book club

effinn-shed-bar

effinn-shed-barWe had a novel experience at a recent meeting of our book club at the Men’s Shed. One of our senior members, Ted, who is himself an author lauded for his timeless work “Woodworking for Profit and Pleasure”, came up with an interesting suggestion. He said his wife thought that we should read a book called “Fifty Shades of Grey” as we might learn something from it.

Someone thought it would come in handy when re-painting the house. The chaps were all asked to attend our next meeting with some notes relating to their experience of reading the book and its relevance to our activities.

At the follow-up meeting we had an enthusiastic full house, where the members recounted the literary impact of the novel. Here are their experiences:
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Bill, 74

We tried various positions – round the back, on the side,
up against a wall. But in the end we came to the conclusion the bottom of the garden was the only place for a good shed.
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Nick, 86

She stood before me, trembling. “I’m yours,” she gasped, “You can do whatever you want with me.”
So I took her to the local DIY shop .
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Ted Roberts, 79

She knelt before me and tugged gently at first, then harder until finally, it came. I moaned with pleasure.

Now for the other boot.
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Tom, 73

Ever since she read THAT book, I’ve had to buy all kinds of ropes, chains and shackles. She still manages to get into the shed, though.
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Jack, 78

“Put on this rubber suit and mask,” I instructed, calmly.
“Mmmm, kinky!” she purred.
“Yes,” I said, “You can’t be too careful with all that asbestos in the shed roof.”
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John, 72

“I’m a very naughty girl,” she said, biting her lip. “I need to be punished.”
So I invited my mum to stay for the weekend.
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Colin, 65

“Harder!” she cried, gripping the workbench tightly. “Harder!”
“Okay,” I said. “What’s the gross national product of Nicaragua?”
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Malcolm, 75

I leaned back exhausted, gazing happily out of the shed window.
Despite my concerns about my inexperience, my rhubarb had come up a treat.
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Allen, 74

“Are you sure you can take the pain?” she demanded, brandishing stilettos.
“I think so,” I gulped.
“Here we go, then,” she said, and showed me the receipt.

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Toby, 60

“Punish me!” she cried. “Make me suffer like only a real man can!”
“Very well,” I replied, leaving the toilet seat up.
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