Back in the Swinging Sixties, Michael Caine is holding a big
showbiz party in his s****y new house.
everyone who's anyone is there - top stars from the worlds of
movies and music, fashion and art.
There's 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 the '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 one 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.
"You're only supposed to blow the bloody Doors off..."
