I have a mate who works in a casino and he recently lost his arm and had to get a prosthetic replacement.

He's finding it hard to deal with.

I recently got thrown out of the local park as I was arranging all the squirrels in a line based on their height.

Apparently, they don't appreciate critter sizing.

I started a pessimism jar. It's like a swear jar, only you put money in if you have negative thoughts.

I've only had it a couple of days and it's already half empty.

Did you hear about the hooker who had her appendix out so she could make a bit on the side.

A moth flutters into a chiropodist’s surgery on a rainy Tuesday evening.

The chiropodist looks up from a particularly nasty bunion and asks, "Right then, what seems to be the trouble?"

The moth lets out a long, weary sigh and says, "Well, doctor... it’s my job. I’ve been working down at the Factory for nigh on twenty years. I’m just a cog in the machine, really. I spent my youth thinking I was building a legacy, but I’ve realised I’m just marking time until I can collect my state pension. I’m professionally stagnant, and frankly, the motivation has completely evaporated."

"Goodness," says the chiropodist, leaning back. "That sounds incredibly bleak. I’m sorry to hear that."

"It gets worse," the moth continues, staring blankly at a poster of a Verruca. "My wife and I... we’ve been married twenty-eight years. We’ve survived the mortgage, the rising energy bills, and the school runs. But now the house is quiet, I’ve realised I’m sharing a bed with a total stranger. The woman I married is gone, replaced by someone tired and distant. I can’t even bring myself to talk to her about it because I know she’s looking at me and seeing the exact same ghost. I actually suspected she was having an affair last year, and the worst part? I wasn’t even angry. I was relieved. I was glad someone was making her feel alive again, because I certainly can't."

"Blimey," says the chiropodist, wiping his brow. "This is a bit heavy for a foot clinic, mate."

"There’s more," the moth says, his little wings trembling as he starts to sob. "My eldest is at uni and she never comes home for the holidays. She makes excuses about 'studying,' but I know it's because our house feels like a mausoleum. And the truth is... I don’t even miss her. I’m just glad she’s out.

And my son, he’s just started his A-Levels. I can see him following right in my footsteps—a lifetime of mediocre shifts, a semi-detached house in a grey town, and a quiet, desperate life. He has no ambition, and in a way, I admire his honesty. I’m just wandering through the twilight of my life, empty and cold. Every morning I wake up, I feel a genuine sense of disappointment that I didn't pass away in my sleep. Does that make sense?"

"Lord above, man!" cries the chiropodist, genuinely horrified. "You don’t need your toenails clipped, you need a psychiatrist! You’re in a state of total existential collapse! Why on earth did you come in here to see me?"

The moth shrugs and says, "Oh, the light was on."

"A frog goes into a bank and approaches the teller. He can see from her nameplate that the teller's name is Patricia Whack. So he says, "Ms. Whack, I'd like to get a loan to buy a boat and go on a long vacation."

Patti looks at the frog in disbelief and asks how much he wants to borrow.

The frog says $30,000.

The teller asks his name and the frog says that his name is Kermit Jagger, his dad is Mick Jagger, and that it's OK, he knows the bank manager.

Patti explains that $30,000 is a substantial amount of money and that he will need to secure some collateral against the loan. She asks if he has anything he can use as collateral.

The frog says, "Sure. I have this," and produces a tiny pink porcelain elephant, about half an inch tall, bright pink and perfectly formed.

Very confused, Patti explains that she'll have to consult with the manager and disappears into a back office.

She finds the manager and says "There's a frog called Kermit Jagger out there who claims to know you and wants to borrow $30,000. He wants to use this as collateral." She holds up the tiny pink elephant. "I mean, what the heck is this?"

The bank manager looks back at her and says: "It's a knick knack, Patti Whack. Give the frog a loan. His old man's a Rolling Stone""

Please treat any red thumbs down from me in this thread as a "Groan"

Sticking with the Anthony Gordon topic........

The rise of the machine is upon us.