>Back in the Swinging Sixties, Michael Caine is holding a big showbiz party
>in his swanky new house. Everyone who's anyone is there - top stars from
>the
>worlds of movies and music, fashion and art.
>There's a feed of pints, the best wines that money can buy,
>oysters,champagne, Lennon and McCartney are helping themselves at the bar,
>Jim Morrison and his band are sitting on the couch singing "Light My Fire",
>and over in the corner, George Peppard's getting very pally
>with Sophia Loren.
>All's going really well, until Jim Morrison decides he's bored out of his
>skull, and wants to go home for an early night curled up with a good book.
>"Oi, Jim," objects Michael Caine, "party's just got started. How's about I
>get one of 'the ladies' to take you into the spare bedroom for a bit of
>'how's yer father?'"
>"Fair play," nods Jim [well that's not his exact words, but you get the
>gist], "as long as she does the rest of the band, too."
>"Not a problem, Jim," smiles Michael, as he pulls a young dolly bird in
>close and whispers some instructions in her ear.
>Half an hour later, the young lass is just wiping her chin, when in walks
>Ringo Starr from the Beatles.
>"Alright, luv?" he drones, "don't suppose you fancy extending that service
>to me, do you?"
>The young woman thinks about this for a second, then says "What the hell!"
>and proceeds to unzip Ringo's fly and get to work.
>Ringo's having a grand time, until, mere moments before the end, the door
>flies open and Michael Caine bursts in. He grabs the young girl by the back
>of the hair and slaps her hard across the face!
>"Wh-what was that for?" she whimpers.
>"I told you," Caine snarls.
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>(Wait for it...)
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>"You were only s'posed to blow the bloody Doors off..."
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