Make your own Robert Garnham Poem with this Automatic Robert Garnham Whimsy Generator

Make your own Robert Garnham Poem with this Automatic Robert Garnham Whimsy Generator!
Your birth month:

January : An ocelot

February : A badger

March : A haberdasher

April : A lollipop lady

May : A dental hygienist

June : Jeremy Clarkson 

July : Mark

August : My Aunt

September : A duck wearing a Groucho Marx moustache and glasses

October : Another badger

November : The bus driver

December : TV’s Alan Titchmarsh
Your eye colour:

Brown : is playing a trumpet.

Green : is getting a refund on some trousers.

Hazel : is sneezing.

Blue : Is looking for the tv remote

Grey : has a dodgy stomach.

Other : is fumbling for some loose change.
Birth order:

Eldest child : Look out,

Middle child : Get ready,

Youngest child : Eat some cake and

Only child : Hang on a sec,
Hair colour:

Blonde : They’re coming after you next.

Brown : There’s bound to be an argument.

Red : They’ll send you a Facebook request.

Grey : run!

Black : did someone say ‘plop’?

Bald : Fetch a bucket.

Other : Put the kettle on.

4 Comments

  1. Ruth says:

    A dental Hygienist sneezing. Get ready, there’s bound to be an argument if he does all that sneezing while cleaning my teeth with ferocious cleaning gear. An argument about germs, bleeding gums, cut lips, the bill, compensation, and how private dentistry is ruining the nation, and how come he spends his holidays in the Caribbean, what’s wrong with Butlins and Clacton Pier.
    (Actually I should have confessed to grey hair.. then I could have looked at the sneezing hygienist and just run out of there… maybe gone to sea and sailed away, or at least rowed).
    Ok – I tried.

    Like

  2. Ruth says:

    Quick correction to part 2! as some words escaped from it
    Actually I should have confessed to grey hair.. then I could have looked at the sneezing hygienist and just run out of there… maybe gone to sea and sailed away to the Caribbean, or at least rowed.

    Like

  3. Ruth says:

    Hope I’ve now given this ramble a slightly Garnham-esque ending.

    Like

  4. Pete Shearn says:

    Dave, my mate left me at the bus stop caressing a horney antelope?! Is this bloody thing working?

    Like

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