John Lennon probably had the best sense of humor of the Beatles, the one who did silly voices and made sarcastic jokes and remarks. He also sometimes drew funny doodles that didn't appear to make much sense, but made good art. Personally, the style reminds me of Shel Silverstein-esque sketches. In fact, just like Shel Silverstein, this book is full of silly drawings and all sorts of nonsensical poems and short stories and things that make very little sense, except for what you make of it.
Every page is humorously filled with misspellings and vague sentences that leave you scratching your head and thinking, "What? I don't get it! What is he supposed to be saying here?" If you're an editor, this book might possibly be one of your worst nightmares. But if you want some audible laughs escaping your mouth from the simple act of reading, I suggest you read all these stories out loud, to a friend or a two. You might find yourself tripping over some bizarre words, but it's all in pure fun. It's almost like reading Lewis Carrol poetry, or a Dr. Seuss book. Well, at least those guys made some sense, whereas John Lennon makes absolutely no sense at all!
I thought I'd give you a taste of the kind of style this book shows, so here are a couple short stories that I personally enjoyed the most. One is especially short and makes absolutely no sense when you think back on it, and the other one might cause a tiny bit of recognition to stir in your brain, but then turn it right on it's head. All the spelling mistakes you might (and will) catch are not my fault. I copied it directly from online. Remember to read it aloud to yourself, for full effect! And if you find yourself wanting to read the other hilarious stories, then you absolutely must find this book!!!
The Wrestling Dog
One upon a tom in a far off distant land far across the sea miles away from anyway over the hills as the crow barks 39 peoble lived miles away from anywhere on a little island on a distant land.
When harvest time came along all the people celebrated with a mighty feast and dancing and that. It was Perry's (for Perry was the Loud Mayor) job to provide (and Perry's great pleasure I might add) a new and exciting (and it usually was) thrill and spectacular performer (sometimes a dwarf was used), this year Perry had surpassed himselve by getting a Wrestling Dog! But who would fight this wondrous beast? I wouldn't for a kick off.
In a little seashore pub in Bristow, a ragged gathering of rags are drinking and makeing melly (before sailing to sea in serge of grate treashy on a sudden Isle far across the ocean).
'Belay there me 'earty scaba,' says Large John Saliver entering. Pegging along towards some old saviours whom have soled the several seas.
'Where be the Parable you normally 'ave on your shoulder, Large John ?' Asks Blind Jew looking up.
'Never ye mind' responds Large John 'And anyways where be your white stick ?'
"Ow the 'elf should I know when oi can't see ?'
All of a suddy Small Jack Hawkins creep in unobtrugell with a siddy grip on his head.
'Ha ha aa ear Jack lad' says Large John in a typical mariner merino.
Soon they were heady fir the harboar with Cpt Smellit and Squire Trelorgy. That morgan they sailed with a hearty breeze behind.
Large John began to look upon Jack as a son or something, for he was ever putting his arm about him and saying 'Ha Haaaaar', especially with a Parable on his shouldy. One day, however, Small Jack Hawkins was just happening in a barret of abbeys when he overheated Large John and several other saviours planting to botany against the Captain.
'Lung Ho' cry a voice from the pidgeon tow on high, 'Lung Ho and alls well!' Yes and it were true-a little Ivan, cyril carpet ageist the horivan with palmist trees and cockynuts.
'I wouldn't be suprised if there was not a beardy old man hobbing from rock to rock.' Thought Disreali Hands who'd seen the film, and there was.
The first lungboot ashore contained Large John Saliver Small Jack and some others what were numerous and sweaty to behold. Anyway they landed on the Ivan and an owld loon jumps out calling himself Sten Gunn and he's been living all over the treasure for years because cruel old Captaive Flint has put the Black Pot on him and you know what happens with a black pot.
So after a bit of stockade and that they sail home to Bristow where they're all arrested for development and Jack Hawkins turns round to be a thirty two year old midget and Large John Saliver has to pay for a new woody leg because they run from fireplace on the Ivan. Sten Gunn turns round to be a young man in the prime of minister and Tom the faithful cat returns to Newcastle.