To the way back to the vicarage.

The vicar rushed through the street, leaping and dancing like Gene Kelly over the puddles. This would be night to remember; perhaps with encouragement she would do it twice. He remembered that time when he had taken her to the cinema after having a few drinks, and truthfully she was not a drinker, they went to see a remake of the ten commandments, a sort of rock version, well with a certain manipulation he had encourage her to do a bit of unzipping and he had felt her untrimmed bush and she his wily, mind there was not an accomplishment on that front, for someone in a hurry to  had to go to the toilet for she felt sick after doing a bit of mouth to wily resuscitation and had received more than she bargained for, in her haste to get out had upset the ice cream that the pre Mrs. Bung-Hole was holding in her other hand and the contents landed in the vicars lap, the cold had a rather calming affect on his privates and no form of agitation would reversed the procedure . The ice cream left an embarrassing mark on the trousers. He vicar felt more than annoyed when two young ladies pointed to that region as he walked up the aisle and giggled, she the pre Mrs. Bung-Hole was so embarrassed as she sober up, informed him that there was no hanky panky like this again until they were married. 

The vicar with a hop step and jump as he did at school when he was a lad, kicking the local cats in his way, for he was good at rugby and could kick tries. Wish, swish, up went moggy and with a graceful arch flew through Mrs. Patience Grondyke the third window as she was applying a poultice to her husband Harold’s bottom, for he had a boil there, she had been informed by Esme Twitch, who came from a long line of rurals, that one applied the poultice to the head of the boil, which it would bring the old boil to a head, ready to burst then with a milk bottle with burning newspaper in the said bottle, this it seems would remove the oxygen and the bottle’s rim applied to the boil, the contents of the said boil would be sucked out. The boil itself resided on the inner cheek to be polite, and Harold found it extremely hard to pass a stool as one would and had not been for a couple of days.

The cat with extended claws flew through the window at a number of knots, then with a grace turned as only cats can do. Descended with the said claws out to grip what was ever nearest to break its fall!  Patience’s posterior, naked, for she felt if any of the pestilence in the boil escaped the bottle it would not go on her clothes, she being practical put news papers on the floor. The cat’s claws long and sharp, for she the cat had been for a manicure, one of those walk in places. Buried the claws deep into the substantial buttocks, for she Patience wasn’t going on diet until six weeks before her holiday in Spain, and she had been comfort eating on the couch watching her favourite soaps.

A cry, not heard since Caxton Codpiece had for some unknown reason tried to lengthen his John Thomas in his wife mangle. She catching him, was so annoyed that she turned the handle with vigour. Needless to say they live apart now, and he has to wear baggy trousers and a larger sock on his left foot to accommodate the head of the wily.

Patience whilst screaming pushed forward the milk bottle still with its burning contents, it with unerring accuracy went and disappeared up his anus except for the end with the writing on it, asking for the bottle to be rinsed and left out on the  door step or returned to the milkman. He the recipient of this action let out a huge scream.

The vicar look looked up and felt a tad jealous, for he had never brought his dear wife to that level of ecstasy and really had she done likewise with him, but perhaps tonight was the night.

“Oh my god Patience, what have you done?” Cried Harold.

“I can’t seem to get a grip on it, can’t you help, you men are always farting, try and fart.”

With that she put a handkerchief against her nose. He tried and tried and nothing happened. “It won’t work dear, if I go to the A and E they won’t believe what really happened they will think I’m a pervert.” With that he began to cry.

“Pull your self together, you are British, we fought two world wars, a lot worse happens at sea.”

So she manipulated him, and onto a cane chair she put his legs, and his shoulders onto the bed, then climbing onto the wardrobe prepared to jump.

“I say Veronika.” Said Wilberforce Cardew-Nut. “There is a naked fat lady standing on the top of a wardrobe across the way, do you know her?”

“Let me see. Oh it’s Patience Grondyke, well she so pure, you know? butter wouldn’t melt in the mouth type, my, my, wait until I tell the girls at Weight Watchers, my, my, she’s had an affect on you, you have gone all stiff, come here darling, now we don’t want to waste it do we?”

Patience jumped and landed on his stomach, all twelve stone of her, a farting sound was heard as far away as Slough, and with a flushing sound often heard in farm yard, his bowels vacated themselves, which was a relief for him because he had felt quite bloated. Unfortunately did nothing for the room, for the removal of the said motion traversed the newspapers and went all over the floor with the remains of the broken bottle.

“Mummy said I shouldn’t have married you, I now know she was right, you can clear this mess up I’m going into the other room, why in heavens name you wouldn’t have an antibiotic I don’t know? Oh yes it upset  your stomach, I mean I can see the boil is still there.”

Added 12.8.08

She stormed out of the room. The cat had taken her place on the wardrobe and watched with interest.


The vicar whistled a happy tune down a blind woman’s ear, the side with a deaf aid in it, she believing it was the sound that is designed for the deaf for crossing the road on a zebra crossing, stepped out in front of a coach that was being used for showing some female American tourists round the seedier side of the country, the coach driver had pointed out some hoodies just a moment ago, which actually turned out to be some pensioners sheltering from the rain.
Daisy Cronkite remarked to her friend Billy Jo Pears that she felt they weren’t the real thing as three of them were wearing cardigans and one had a Zimmer frame. But as Harry Parry the guide said, they were crafty these hoodies they often dressed like that to put their victims off, so they other pensioners could be mugged more easily. In fact, Harry believed this was the recommended by a Government Website, priorities for ethnic minorities, seems you can get a kind of Open University degree in mugging. Anyway the coach was going hell for leather as big Tony had another job, naturally on the side after they had dropped off these Yankees. He was going to take the Lodge for their annual piss up and onto the Cat’s Whiskers, where the enhanced girls only wore cat’s whiskers when they danced around the poles.
“Oh my god.” Said Mrs. A. Benedict, “You have run over an old lady, I think you had better stop.”
The coach ground to a halt and Harry got out. Well she the old lady was nearly dead, now they didn’t have time to call for ambulance as he had to get the ladies back to their hotel for their evening meal for they were off to a West End Show, so he put the old lady in the nearest wheelie bin. There would be a collection in the middle of the night to the annoyance of those trying to sleep nearby.
“No ladies, it wasn’t an old lady, but a bundle of rags, mind you I was fooled for a moment it’s amazing what tricks the old mind plays on you, I saw a programme on the T.V. about it.” Said Harry.
The ladies then animated, spoke about how they had been foxed in their past by things they saw, each tried to out do each other with stories.
“Look ladies.” Said Harry. “That’s where the prime minister’s wife cousin on her mother’s side, used to lodge when she was at university, five minutes for photos only.”

Added 18/9/08

The Church

Back at the church, Mrs. Bung-Hole was preparing the table, the fine Tesco Georgian Candle sticks, the Crumpwellian knives and forks that her mother bought at a very low price off a Hebrew on a market store. As her late mother said. “I thought these Hebrews were shrewd, I mean our Lord threw them out of the Temple for money lending, I mean I got them for thirty pounds, I mean he wanted fifty, but I bargained that old Shylock down.”
She naturally didn’t like to tell her mother, that only a couple of weeks later she saw the same set at a car boot sale for a fiver. Mummy went to the grave, believing she had got one up on them. Next to the cutlery was the napkins from the presumingly late Bishop, mind the initials inside spelt British Rail. “Oh, oh”. She sang to the radio, you got a better song on radio three, she always like Mendelssohn until she found out he was a Jewish Composer, so instead joined Wagner Mein Camp instead and saw herself as a Valkarie, riding a horse on and up to Valhalla, which is shrouded by clouds behind the Tesco Store in Slough, the peroxide blondes would roam, riding the night away, many of then done a fair bit of mileage, there they would with the heavenly Larger drunk and then ride stallions through the night. The trumpets blaring, the karaoke singing of love, its triumphs and loses. Yes she could see herself with a big stallion between her muscular thighs going hell for leather, frothing at the mouth, eyes wild like a gypsy, yes just like a gypsy, who peeling a switch, would take her without a by your leave up against the wall without a word.. Ah but there is him, what to do about him, he never embraces her, only the wrong end, and man who kisses that, the filthy beast, he’d kiss anything. I’ll have to stop listening to radio four, back to two, that’s the answer, less of this intellectual twaddle, mind you the gypsy thing was a thought to behold when Bung-Hole returns with the pizzas, perhaps she will get him to wear a head scarf, the one she had bought in the market, he could be a pirate and she his captive, he would have to unlace her corsets and without a word force himself on her with the wind blowing from aft across the bow, there again, his cutlass was much to look at, let alone feel, it was like the hokey cokey, in, out, shake it all about, then something damp to sleep in. Still with bishop gone, their home was safe, perhaps if she built up Bung-Hole’s confidence he might be promoted, the ones she had met at the palace weren’t the brightest pennies, they in her opinion were either old and decrepit, or a few who were wearing frock, seemed to wear them, too naturally and did a lot of giggling. Others after the port and brandy would chat to her a little too close for comfort, half a chance and she would see what was beneath cassock; well she wasn’t going down that route. No she would build up Bung-Hole’s confidence, now Hilda Sweating-Buttocks told her she could get her Arnold to do absolutely anything after giving him a blow job; well she did have a new car, Hilda who came from Religious stock, her mummy hadn’t told her the facts of life, she had gained her knowledge off the toilet wall in her Boarding School The Winifred Humpher-Often Academy for young ladies, and was a tad surprised that her husband was much smaller in the procreation department than the illustrations in the said toilet booth suggested.. Well she had been told over coffee in one of those coffee shops in the high street, by her friend Mildew Fanackerpan, that she had seen how to do this blow job thing on a government website, priorities for ethnic minorities, and the had a young lady, who demonstrated the various ways to facilitate the encumbrance to those well endowed and those not so, it was done in the best possible taste, the lady demonstrator wore glasses and had her hair tied back and wore a white overall and latex gloves, there were also graphics and a help line, twenty four hours a day and an email address. The one thing she felt that wasn’t covered by the details shown was the aftermath, was what to do with the residue, in her opinion one should have a box of tissues handy to spit into, and should clean ones teeth afterwards, use a mouth wash, for one might have to kiss a relative, like mummy and she might notice. In her opinion one shouldn’t swallow deliberately as it was fattening. So she rushed off to the computer and typed in blow jobs, for her last experience with her husband she felt was a bit of a disaster.

Down in the cellar where the Bishop had landed, he was confronted with a cup, metal, silver plated with insignia on it in Latin, after use return to the Temple Lodge or be fined. The content spilled on the Bishop and in a thrice, he found his missing eye was replaced, his arthritis gone, in fact he felt younger as he was when he played rugby for his prep school, Sir Winston Lackey a Twittering, against other schools of equal distinction, he had scored two tries in the final against Lord Malice’s Brown Windsor, oh the chaps held him high and in the communal bath, he was allowed the buttocks of Sodham Minor, who was very accommodating with his anal trap, this tunnel of love was only shared by the head prefect and his acolytes, but two tries over ruled all.
Now being stronger, he found he could free himself with no problems; when he got out of this cellar he’d give that bitch a seeing to. She wouldn’t know what hit her. He’d give it to her all ways, up the bush up the Khyber; she’ll know she’s been had. Then when revealed to her who he is, she’d probably have a heart attack in front of that idiot husband, then he would let him bury her, then make him watch as they pull down the church in front of him, then ship him off to convert the savages in Essex, he wouldn’t last a week. First he had to find a way out.

ADDED 26TH SEPTEMBER 2008

Mrs. Bung-Hole, followed the instruction as presented by the young lady on the website, using it suggested various fruits or vegetables as near as possible to her partners dimensions. The word partner was suggested as against marriage by a government think tank, who after long deliberation and large fee felt that if the put marriage to the forefront, they would alienate the ones who did not believe in the sanctity of marriage. So Miss Chantal Gob, demonstrated, on all groups in an orderly fashion paying special attention to the ethnic minorities, a comparison chart was made between the male appendages and the fruit and vegetables. Mrs. Bung-Hole noticed that the gentlemen from warmer climes seemed to be more like the larger vegetables, cucumbers and in one case a marrow, in fact Miss Gob had to take out her false teeth for such an accommodation on the gentleman in question, Mrs Bung-Hole was glad that Bung-Hole wasn’t that large for it looked quite fierce. Mind you she remembered she had felt something prodding into her when she danced a waltz with that African Bishop, she thought probably was a bit of native jewellery secreted on his person, well they were not long down from the trees she was told by other dignities. Now she realised it was his thing, obviously excited by a white woman.
So Mrs. Gob went through all ethnic types, and held up the various fruit and vegetables as comparisons, bananas, celery, carrots, broccoli, mind you that was an odd one, finally a pea pod, yes that was her Bung-Hole, an advantage in a way for it wouldn’t damage her new crown work or the odd filling. So diligently she practiced to some music, rap she believed in nature, for the ladies group had discussed the current climate in popular music and its affect on behaviour of the elderly, though the drumbeats were rather insistent, the singing was rather of a spoken nature.

ADDED 3rd OCTOBER 2008

Funny goings on At the Kipper Fondlers’ Arm.

The lads of the Rugby club and the lodge were all sitting in the private room at the back of the pub. All from the great powers in the neighbourhoods, all with influence in power broking and industry, the great family’s off springs all been to the best schools money could buy. With such background and privileges, they were spoilt rotten. There was Algy Memnon a near relative of Plumbstone, father in bomb making, scatter shatter bombs, which his dear father sold to apposing armies, special deals for terrorists. Odis Y. Sis, his father in the selling of embryos. To usually rich woman who were unable to bear, usually caused by so it was said a life in the fast lane, the usual hobbies, drink and drugs. They need an offspring to carry on the great and noble houses, adoption was out of the question, one could buy one of those babies and pick a very white one, but later they would let you down by going darker, sometimes over night. The birth wasn’t too difficult, as soon as a labour pain, the quack would knock them out and they would be wakened later when the hairdresser arrived. The child would be wet nursed, so the mother of the child wouldn’t have to contact her cosmetic surgeon to sort out her breasts, by doing that breast feeding lark, then off to pre school, prep school, boarding of course, job in the city and then a good marriage all arranged. Naturally they expected boys to misbehave, and any discrepancies, could go down the plug hole or sold on. The girls on birth control pills from puberty.
N. Ester, could trace his ancestors back to the Invasions by the Normans, his ancestor changed camps when money changed hand and a Baronetcy was in the offing. His forbears, having first hand knowledge from government sources knew there were invasions either abroad or invasions here, they would have the contract for body bags, coffins and such, if fact they made a killing in the second world war by having establishments in all major cities in undertakers. As his father said over drinks when peace was declared, “All good things come to an end.” Still with his ear to the ground set up businesses in the Middle East.
In the group was the mad one who thought he was invincible, Achilles de la Crumpet. His mother claimed she had dipped him in the River Styx just behind Tesco’s in the fair city of Slough. Truth be known, she tried dispose of him in the said toilet in Slough, just as she was going to flush the chain, De la Crumpet rushed in and saved the child, for in his family it was tendency for the birth of sons to be rare and his fiancée Melissa Spoon-Favour was infertile, something about her womb facing south north or what ever, so giving Amy Alison Twat, thirty pounds and a few cds out of the hit parade, the deal was done. They De la Crumpet and Spoon-Favours were married in the Mildew Dionysus. Full of pomp and circumstances, with the baby in attendance, sporting a head of curls that made him quite girlish. This continued into adolescence, for with some friends from school dress in women’s attire and go on the pull, there he met a love of his life an Irish lad Pat O’Trocolus.
As usual the back room was full, the lads drinking to excess except Moshe Coughdrop, who was taking bet, for he owns a betting shop and made a fair penny for the lads, would bet on anything.

Added 10th Octobre 2008

A goodly crowd was there, often they would chorales to the early morning, usually if the rugby match went well and they had destroyed the opposition, or even if they had lost by a great margin, the commiseration would drunk deep, songs of an unsavoury nature and if a birthday perhaps a stripper, this naturally was decided by the committee, and not left to the whims of some of the chaps. Major Toilet Ajax and Minor Pocket sized Deodorant Ajax for a bit of a ruse produced the dance of the seven goat herders, brought from the Animal Husbandry Lab in Cookham Marsh, and those girls were into goats in a big way, or to be precise the goats were into the herders in a big way, and if the price was right a performance was in the offing as seen on Greek artefacts, “well bugger me” said Bethany Foldingarse’s brother Roger, and the goat Arthur did without a by your leave for Roger at the time hadn’t bothered to change after the match, there he was sporting an ancient jock strap, a jock strap with a noble history, passed down from father to son. Originally worn by his great grandfather, Soames Foldingarse, who wore at the great game, when his school, The Chuffer’s were against the Mercantile Hurdy Gurdy, they the rumour suggested, that they had in their mist a professional player from a far away clime. A chap built like the walls of Troy, wide as a barn door or his aunt Ado’s arse, so his father the right honourable Foldingarse said from the touchline to his acolyte Jessup Jenkins, Jessup a do for yer, in all manners, for old Foldingarse was crippled with dreaded gout, maybe caused by the drinking of port with his kippers for breakfast, all though he could hold the Times and smoke a cigar, he couldn’t administer the cooling cream on his haemorrhoids, which did cause a great deal of discomfort when administrating at court for he was a judge, and without the cooling effect of the said balm, which was acquired by great expense from the Middle East, his judgement was a tad prejudice, Mrs. Blange de Corset, who accidentally dropped her poor Fanny-Anne in a hot tub, because the delivery boy goosed her unexpectedly when delivering the milk, finding the down stairs unlocked went to investigate and seeing her leaning over the tub in her shift, and thinking that her writhing buttocks was a call for him to do something of an unsavoury nature, goosed her. Well she dropped the child and what with her husband away fighting a war against the heathen and what with her being in the full flush and the full moon was on the horizon that night, felt that she should oblige, for he did deliver in all kinds of weather and it was up hill to her house, lifted her shift and allowed penetration, now the lad had been told that ladies take longer to reach the climax and they weren’t to pleased if it was over in a trifle, so on advice of the lads, he had a quick wank before he came out, it proved to be the right thing for she came to the boil at the same time as him. Well after the shuffle they didn’t noticed the child was brown bread, floating face down.
The court decided that this was amiss of her, to carry on like this in front of an innocent, and whether the child was dead or alive made no difference. It was not on.
The corruption of minors was a very serious crime, whether the child was at this time scolded and was now residing in heavens arms, naturally that is if she was baptised, would make a difference, if not, the other place, Or even if the child was brought up in the faith for this and no other, Naturally if the child’s father was not of the faith rather a heathen, Catholic, Jewish, Moslem, Buddhist, Hindu, Zoroastrian, Atheistic, Agnostic, Lefty, or American, it would matter, but if the child was of the faith, a custodial sentence was imperative.
Now the Judge suffering from sitting on his grapes of Roth, asked for the black cap and advised, and set a precedent that she should be taken from the court and the following Tuesday to hung by the neck until she was dead. It couldn’t be the previous Friday, for it was the outing for all in Chamber, they were off to Regent’s Park Zoo, there to torment the animals with their canes and walking stick.
“Have you anything to say, Madame?” Said the judge whilst doing a bit of a shuffle with his arse.
“My Lord, I am with child.”
The judge then spoke to clerk of the court. “Is the father of the child, one of us?”
“Yes my lord, the young milk lad’s father, sings in the choir of Saint Peregrine the ever most humble. His dear mother does the court cleaning.”
“Ah.” Said the judge. “I have been to hasty in my judgement, so taking all things into consideration, that this criminal has had blameless life up to this point, I will fine her fifty shilling, can be paid weekly over the next ten years, and that she should be more careful with her new child.”
It’s funny how things work out, on returning home with milk lad for a cup of tea, a telegram was on the mat informing her that husband had died in battle fighting the heathen in La Belle France. A full military funeral was to be performed and she would receive a pension.

Added 15th October 2008

The jock strap passed down to his son Fortunus Foldingarse, it seems his mother Gertrude Foldingarse nee Tadpole-Delirium, when in her teens, went on a cultural tour of classic sights in Greece and Rome and there in Athens after some wine, explored the Acropolis, there fortune smiled on her for she had her Athenian labyrinth felt and dealt with, twice by a young gladiator, whose sword was unbending. So later when an arranged marriage, are there any others? She when fell pregnant, then after giving birth to a boy she named him Fortunus after the memory of that clandestine meeting. He the father didn’t mind for he done his duty, the mare had delivered and he could back to riding with the hounds and so a bit of devilment with the stable lasses.
Fortunus wore the jock strap with pride and was good in the scrum and became captain of his house The Grape-Feelers, they won many a match and celebrated in the noble bar afterwards, he Fortunus would whirl the old jockstrap around his head like David at the time of Goliath, he would put the corks from the wine bottles and with amazing accuracy hit the footmen as the delivered the food to the great table, circular, rumour has it that the knights of Arthur had used if from feasting on, and Guinevere had her salad and dressing eaten there to the shouts of the knights who sat when watching the king perform the ritual. Whether true or not who can tell, but its sods law you also get some stuck in your teeth when leaving the table even now.

Bleedin’ Philosophy

Thus life with revivification, what ever that means, a bit like osmosis, now there is a bit of a word, an Australian Moses? but then it would need a Z, ephemera, I suppose you could have ephemeral underwear, double breasted suede underpants, it would be trendy, naturally you would need a starlet, tall willowy, slim, an English accent, promoting it, there would be those who are unkind, who would say, nearer the bone sweeter the meat, but they would say that, so is this a digression, or a haunting from the past like old Proust would say.
There again, old Proust wouldn’t cut the old mustard, with the reading public or viewing public, all is put together in snippets as is soap opera, can you imagine, there on the old box a jammy dodger dipped into a cappuccino, taking up the whole programme.
“I was disgusted, I mean is this what is the B.B.C about, I pay my license, I expect to entertained, not brow beaten.” Said Mrs. Horticulture Tripe-Fertilizer.
A reply was in the old Radio Time. We felt that it would be a talking point and lead to an open discussion. Now Mr. Marcel Proust of Jewish extraction has been declared by our common market friend France as one of their finest writers. Some would say that compared with our Charles Dickens and Will Shakespeare, who respectively, pointed out in their novels ands plays by using Fagin and Shylock had hit the nail on the head, naturally with our impartiality, for that is our position, none of this would have occurred if the poor Palestinian wouldn’t have their country stolen by the Israelis.
Do I digress? Indeed I do. But we don’t want our one handed readers to go off the boil do we? For Lady Una Unmentionable says she often has done a bit of trilling down with forefinger and thumb and because of this trilling a sound of a cuckoo rents the air at the appropriate moment when turning the pages swiftly. This was when her maid Daisy Clutch is otherwise engaged with his Lordships vegetable patch, which needed a lot of watering and digging over with his lordship’s favourite spade.
Lady Una prefers short stories, for she is now able whistle using her fingers quite a few tunes of a bygone era, the rock and roll one prove to be harder. The rhythms to her were of an African nature, perhaps an Afro American persuasion, one, she didn’t know the words, which her opinion seemed to be repetitive to say the least, and the charm of Noel Coward had gone forever mores the pity. In those days she would dance at tea parties, with dark unscrupulous men, which she seemed with her closeness, produced in them a hardness of the trouser snake. It wasn’t until later her friend Lady Cortège de Fallopian-Tube told her that they put tonic bottles down their underpants to encourage, the gentry to spend the money on them. She Lady Cortege de Fallopian-Tube had met up with her Libertine, Cortisone, who had a litre bottle of ginger beer as against lemonade down there, ginger in case there was a shortage of the female of the species to do a fandango with, perhaps a young college student on his knees for the exchange of money, no cheques. Well she Cortege had a good feel, for it was mighty in her hands for she needed both hands, and she shook it up a bit in preparation for penetration, she being a big girl having been in the saddle since a child and done the old point to point and dressage to the left and right, knowing how to control a stallion well built between her thighs. Unfortunately the agitation that caused to the said bottle to force it’s stopper out, which fired across the room at great velocity and into open mouth of the vocalist a Miss Felicity Trubshore, recently at the London School of Classical Music and Applied Science, who took on this clandestine work to make ends meet because of the high fees and her poor father unable to work as a tram driver, and his part time job as a grave robber had dried up, what with selfish beings being cremated and the access to bodies from Europe, some still alive, but with a coal hammer could be dealt with quickly and efficiently was no longer in plentiful supply. He was on his uppers, his dear wife Cosimo was useless on the game, for even to most sated, because she had a short leg, the left one, been that way since childhood, her father who took a drink or so sat on her and fell asleep, the outcome was at the accident and emergency, they due to over work operated on the wrong leg, lengthening it by adding the latest technology. Thus when she tried to facilitate an upright or vertical copulation, if the pavements were uneven as they are, and it had been raining, if during the agitated shuffle, she would slip, sideways and he standing still upright with eyes shut, probably thinking of that weather girl on the television and because of her weight, for she was a comfort eater, there was a wrenching sound and he found that he was minus a part, she had gained an extra bit. Which lets be truthful in her line of work had no value it was an encumbrance. So she had to go back to the same A.E. department that she had suffered in before. She was dealt with a foreign doctor, under the exchange opportunities, he enable to speak the language, so when she showed him her muffin with a bit sticking out, for her customer was a fine built lad, he immediately assumed that she was there for female circumcision, and with an old penknife as he used back home on many occasions, paired away like doing an apple peel, the in his opinion it was large clitoris. But had heard that British women down below were peculiar. Added to the fact after this operation she could feel nothing, so her only pleasure apart from eating had gone out of the window, she was thrown out of the Union, it seems her client, a Anchor Man on one of the Religious programmes had complained and said he would take the matter further unless his wily was returned in a pristine condition. Well it had been sent to an animal feed plant, so a meeting was held by the ladies of the night, big Hilda said she had a customer, Harold Dangle, who had a week heart, and if they invited him to a smother party, bobs your uncle, they could smother him and cut of the said wily and with the help of Edith who was good at needlework, all would be happy a result all round. So not to go into finer detail, that’s what they did and what with Harold being more substantial in the below the belt stakes, all were happy, natural in this recycling world Harold’s body went to the pig farm.
Another downside was that now Felicity Trubshore could no longer get the high notes, or any note, even the notes outside the Western tempered scale. She was thrown out of College more for not paying her fee than her vocalising, but as they say one door closes another opens. Pendulum Pasteurise Bottle the avante composer heard her trying to warble in the communal toilet, and pulling up his baggy trousers proposed a proposition, to join him in his new opera, The Machination Of Carthage, here he would though allegory encapsulate the origins of philosophy, metaphysical thought, the big bang. She would be the Earth Mother and sitting in an abstract web of nylon designed by his brother Sharpsville, out of recycled lamppost and ceiling wax, there with an small orchestra of one hundred, auxiliary percussion, dancers in flowing robes weaved by Celia Bonny-Twitch, who weaved only on a hand loom made from the branches that were fallen branches from trees, never cut down, and the wool that had been left on gorse bushes by sheep who did a bit of scratching there. Naturally this would take a long time, also so she only worked by natural light, no lighting of an artificial nature, for that would create a carbon foot print, even candles. So far the most she had created was a short scarf. But that was the by the by, he the great composer would write the great work on recycled paper and use a fallen feather from a bird and his own blood as ink.
As he explained to her, there would be triumphant crashing of cymbals, sticks, found sticks whacked together in a complex metre. Horns being blown at fortissimo, she didn’t like to question him as he was genius, but in her mind, how were the audience going to hear her doing the sucking sound on his wily, which he referred as his baton, and how was she going to keep the correct rhythms which changed every bar, maybe she was being a bit picky but he couldn’t keep time, he had a tendency to speed up, and she was aware of this by the conclusion of the piece. There again she had a roof over her head and this way she wouldn’t get pregnant.

Added 24th October 2008

The Vicar’s antics

“Verily.” The Vicar said to himself. “Oh sweet thunder, soon betwixt the old sheets, or perhaps slightly macho brusque, I will be able to watch myself in the dressing table mirror, bringing as the say on those rap song, the bitch to the boil. First let us taste the Piazza drink the wine and then get my Jonah out and sort out the whale.”
They sat at the table, opposite; he had dressed casually in his favourite grey trousers and an open neck shirt with a cravat with a polka dot motif, if inverted the cravat spelt pillock, a present bought for him by his dear wife in a joke shop when went to London shopping. She Mrs. Bung-Hole looked resplendent in a blouse, Russian in design, buttoned like a Cossack, tight down the side, in fact skin tight, which showed off her fine bosom, still firm, though having a tendency to face south. A skirt, tight with a slit at the side, so when she sat astride as if on horseback, it went up to the whistle. She wore beneath a thong made out of leather, so narrow as against her bush it looked like a parting; this she knew would get him to behave like putty in her hands. She also rouged her cheeks, all four of them like a painting by Boucher. On her feet her leather boots up to her dimpled knees, with a crop, bought from one of the Sunday Supplements back page in her Church magazine St. Philpot’s. The advertisement read, ‘if they misbehave, chastise them with a prayer and the crop’ Well Bung-Hole would know how many beans make five, what ever that means. He was so weak, he should have gone above the Bishop’s head and not let this fiasco take place. She was sure that this lunacy with the Bishop had probably aged her, for noticed that when she had put up her hair, that she noticed another grey hair. Bung-Hole was going to pay for this; his bottom would be red raw when she finished with him.
Bung-Hole smiled across at her with that look that he had seen Cary Grant give when he was going seduce women. Mrs. Bung-Hole looked him quizzically, wondering if he was showing the first signs of dropsy. She smiled, in her mind pictured that this was perhaps the first signs of maybe dementia, if that was the case she could have him locked up and perhaps, free of him and join one of the Ladies Slutting Groups, there some of the ladies who had removed their husbands into sanatoriums, insane asylums, respite care etc, for a small fee, naturally wearing animal masks, in the privacy of the hall, with illegal immigrants, naturally a condom machine on the wall, that took euros, well more in a cupboard, Pricilla Pratt-Fortesque had the key, for they did not want prying eyes noticing things and for a stipend plus V.A.T. allowed these chaps from abroad, to frolic about under the chemise. Some had never seen a white woman down below, and were very eager and coming from hot climes were very hot, durable like one of those Duracell Batteries, and in the old prop front were quite substantial. When the ladies had enough, they the illegal were sent on their way with a few coins of the realm in their pockets and a slice of Mrs. Mountjoys' sponge cake.
Bung-Hole poured Mrs. Bung-Hole another glass of Bulls Blood.
“Chin, chin.” Bung-Hole said with a slow wink.
His eye is definitely unsteady, its opening then shutting, he got some complaint, perhaps she will encourage him to smoke a cigar, out doors naturally, and make sure he eats fatty food, a full English breakfast. If he mentions, health food and E numbers. Tell that health food is for wimps and gays. Real men eat steaks and chips. Thought Mrs. Bung-Hole.
“Chin, chin, my dear, you are looking as they say in France tres elegant.” Said Mrs. Bung-Hole, whilst winking provocatively
French, oh thought Bung-Hole, that’s sexy, mind you those French women don’t shave under their armpits, he hoped Mrs. Bung-Hole hadn’t gone all the way with this continental palaver, for judging by her bush, heaven only knows what would grow in the armpit region. Perhaps she would cry out in French, Ma petit Chou that would get his meat and two veg to tremble.
So they tucked into the piazza, and drank the wine and slowly got pissed. Now as Kvetskyher had put in, or had the young man put in the herbal mixture, it as it said on the packet, like that tea they had in the second world war, which preventing the men from masturbating, well the War Office, didn’t want them wasting their energy giving themselves pleasure when they could be out killing the Hun. Also it wasn’t nice, for the barracks would pong a bit and if they were all at it collectively it would shake the old hut on its foundations. The old Chaplain had in one of his sermons said it was really a bit of a sin and they should save themselves until they were married. But as Private Harry Carbuncle said, out there in the war conditions, you might not come back, so really, a good wank before go was necessary. To those in high command, they had the tea doctored for it was demanded by the War Office, well, as General Wellington Blythe-Capstan-Cort-Stealing said in the mess. “We don’t these want are chaps weakened and fight like a load of cissies do we?”
With that his batman poured another large brandy and they all stood and toasted the King.

Now this herbal mixture had the opposite effect on the female, for it produced in her Mrs. Bung-Hole a fire not seen since Joan of Arc went up in flames, for as the old adage says, better to be burnt as a witch than not to be burnt at all. Mrs. Bung-Hole was feeling the flames of desire from her North West passage to her South west passage.

“Bung-Hole, get your kit off, you are going to get the biggest seeing to, not seen since the Allies gave the Krauts one in North Africa. That big gun, well in your case a small howitzer, so get ready.”
Bung-Hole was up the stairs two at a time, not even worrying about the loose stair rod that Auntie Gertrude, slipped upon and crashed to the bottom, fortunately the vicar had quickly moved her out into the adjoining cemetery and laid her on Sir Henry Plant’s gravestone. Sir Henry had died mounting his favourite mare, Shelia Dickcruncher in her flat that he had bought the previous autumn. They had met on the terraces of the local football club, at the Aristotle Stadium, where the Stanley Spencer eleven would play, quite violently. Sir Henry had been given a season ticket for some favours over some form of pestilence appearing the local stream, which contained mercury or something they in lefty government were banning, only three small traveller’s children had gone mad hatter, in Sir Henry opinion, who would notice as he had heard that these gypsy type marry each other first cousins and al that incest thing. So at the lodge a few words were spoken when the trouser leg was raised. Sir Henry thought he’d go and see this working class sport and standing the terrace, the crowd was dense as they were playing a cup game, he in the sway was ensconced with a lady from the back, she wearing what seemed to be a short tank top, a pair of trousers at half mast, a pink thong above the hemisphere with a tattoo which said ‘an alternative route at the ready’ well he had been to public school and was not unfamiliar with that form of dalliance. Little he know this was predestined, by his grateful friend who instead of going to prison, found he could a market for this sort of pestilence and sell it to third world governments to keep their population under control, in fact this Cedric Hamster got an O.B.E. for his work for the export trade. Well from frottage on the terraces, to, up the coalhole in an apartment. The romance lasted until he made her the chief beneficiary in his will. She over drinks and nibbles swapped his heart tablets for amphetamines and with her bucking rodeo tactics, brought him and his heart to a mighty conclusion. William Truelove her gay friend in the other room she gave a shout to, and he being very strong for he had done a lot of bodybuilding, pulled the old chap out of her coal bucket, he noticed he Sir Henry was still primed and cocked.

Added 29th October 2008

Sir Henry was buried in the local cemetery at Saint Philpot’s; his dear wife got the debts and the cost of the stone. Where as the youngish lady, who cannot be mentioned by name, for she moves some of the highest circles in the land, had bit of cosmetic and swaned about, with the body builder as her minder.
The vicar laid the aunt on the grave stone, when she awoke seeing that she was on a grave and not having her reading glasses on, thought the grave was hers so died. Her dear husband had her buried in that cemetery for that’s where she was found, after a decent time of mourning, six days, went the gym, worked out three times a week, shaved off his moustache, dyed his hair and went out on the pull.
The vicar stripped naked, throwing his clothes in all directions and as a bit of a laugh put the dog collar around his crown jewels, but him being on the smaller side to be polite, even with a stud through the said collar, it kept falling off. He was so excited, yet his sexual organ didn’t rise to the occasion, it lay in a dormant position, he tried all things lads would do, but still nothing. Mrs. Bung-Hole stood in the doorway eyeing him, she now wearing her leather underwear, and leather boots, swishing the crop about. Well she swished, this way, that way, to the left to the right, left leg in, left leg out, shock her posterior in his face violently, three small painting fell off the wall. She rubbed his head between her substantial bosoms as she had heard that on of the Bishops at a seminar on chastity had done with the Abbess of the premises they had been hiring. Still nothing happened, she rushed out the room an appeared with a pair of latex gloves, for she it seems needed to handle it and on her hands and knees did blow job thing she had seen on the government website, priorities for ethnic minorities. Nothing.
“Bung-Hole, get a stiffy! I demand it, I am your wife, it is my entitlement, all I have tasted seem to be urine.”
“I am trying dear, I want to but Mr. Wily won’t oblige.”
“Bung-Hole I am as hot as fire cracker and I need quenching, do you copy?”
“I am trying dear.”
“You are bloody trying, now try harder!”
“It won’t work, it has let me down, I’ve been cursed, it’s probably those Jews, they know I put that boy in the grave, you know that lot an eye for an eye.”
“Bung-Hole, it’s not your eyes I’m interested in.”
At that moment the Bishop walked in the room, well not walked but floated through the wall, and seeing Mrs. Bung-hole pulling off her leather knickers immediately got a stiffy, well he thought if Bung-Hole can’t give her one, he surely could, so he kind of floated over and as he tried to get a feel, he past straight through her.
“I’m a bloody ghost.” He said to himself, oh this must be my punishment, if that’s the case I’ll scare them shitless.”
“Do you think it’s gone a trifle cold in here dear?” Said Bung-Hole, whilst hiding his wily from her gaze.
“Bung-Hole if you’d get an erection I would soon heat you up?”
“Bung-Hole pointed to his wily and shrugged his shoulders.
Mrs. Bung-Hole, grab him by the scruff of the neck, put him over her substantial knees a cropped quite violently. (Now as we are decent folk and not her to bring like a lot of publication, put smut and filth to sell books and magazines and let us be aware that we are talking a religious institution, where noble works are down for the flock, we will say that after the corporal punishment was quite severe and Bung-Hole would have a problem sitting for a few days.

Added 10thish November 2008

Philosophy 2

How much stress and strain can we take, like one of those shooting and banging films, or look out it’s behind you, the one where the girl in running like a woman possessed, banging into branches and brambles, falling down, makeup intact, the villain of the piece is pursuing many yards back, for our Common Market friends metres, notice the French spelling, how comes he doesn’t fall over, has he traversed this area before, well it’s always bleedin’ dark, or half dark, we know men wont ask directions, it brings to mind when I was a kid going to Saturday morning pictures, same scene, this girl running, branches, brambles, makeup intact, the geyser, bugger me has a large club foot, with a stick, hobbling along. She is fleet of foot, running like at the Olympics, he snail pace moving. He catches her, she didn’t slow down, he didn’t speed up, maybe it was one of them time space things that Einstein was on about, you could be in two places at the same time, the speculation of what this means is frightening, well I mean, if this was the case, you could chatting to some attractive young lady over a coffee in one of those slick coffee shops, leather seats and such, and at the Einstein thing at the same time, at home taking a dump, now what happens if there is a ripple in space and time and the situation reverses, well Captain Kirk isn’t going to get you out of this, there is no way, he is going to say to Scotty “beam him up.” Well it would be unpleasant to look at. Now the poor girl could or would be traumatised, let’s be philosophical about this, being well brought up, would she finish her coffee and cake, would she pretend not to notice? Perhaps she would say that she is having a migraine, a forgotten appointment or just run? Him, Philosophical? Grabbing a paper serviette, casually finishing his coffee, or that Gallic gesture, shrugging the shoulders, and with a casual air pull up the old trouser and stroll not rush out of the premises. There would be naturally those who would pretend not to notice, a woman pulling at her child and saying to him after he said “Mummy there is a man doing toilets.” In a loud voice. “If you carry on like this, you not go to the cinema.”
“But mummy, there is a man doing his business.”
“That’s it, wait until I tell your father tonight!”
With that she takes the child at speed, around the various pushchair jammed in front of the only door, the only way out if there is a fire.
“Children!” Says an elderly lady, tutting at the lady dragging her child out.
Then to her friend, “Mm, they way these mother’s bring up their children, these, well the government won’t let you scold them, in my day you could clip them around ear, or a smack them on the leg, now if you do that, the Police are around, arresting you, when they should be out there arresting these criminals, it’s got worse, between you and me, it’s these immigrants, in my day, you didn’t get all this stabbing and mugging. The policeman would clip you around the ear and send you home crying, that was not for me, I’d be a home helping mummy, it would be my brother who was a scallywag, he’d come in crying, well my dad if he was home would take none of this rubbish that the do today and sue the police, he give a good hiding within an inch of his life, one day he used a table leg that was nearby and thrashed him, mummy came in and said, Daddy I think that’s enough? Daddy would never make a scene in front of us children, they didn’t in our day, so he stopped and went out to gets some vegetables from his allotment, mummy, patched up my brothers broken arm and leg with elastoplasts, well they will go to the hospital with a paper cut now. Then we all sat down to tea, mind you, my brother had to eat using the other hand, mummy reckoned he was doing it for sympathy, and he kept falling down when taking the dishes to the sink, well daddy and mummy were furious, so he was sent to bed without having desert, rhubarb crumble, his favourite. Well it seems he picked up some form of infection and was laid low, eventually mummy called the doctor, who advised her that the child needed hospitalization, so mummy took him on the bus, well daddy had the car to go to work, he kept fainting on the bus, poor mummy was so embarrassed, he was showing her up. Well in the hospital, it seems his arm and leg were gangrenous, so they had them off in a jiffy. Well as mummy said to him that’s what you get if you are cheeky to a policeman.”

24 nov 2008

Mrs. Bung-Hole gets satisfaction

Mrs. Bung-Hole, unquenched ran out into the street in a state of undress, trying to find a shop where she could buy batteries Rushing around the corner she bump into Paris.
“You o.k.?” Said Paris, quietly observing her in a corset and not much else.
“Oh, I thought I’d go out and get a video, bored at home, need something to cheer me up after a long day tidying the old house.” Mrs. Bung-Hole said, whilst having a sneaky look at Paris, my, my, he was or is good looking, such a noble head, beautiful head of curls, a fine physique, a fine cut to trouser and a bulge of some dimension in the said trousers.
Paris having twenty, twenty vision notice her eyes focused to the area beneath his belt, it was his curse being born and always having a semi erect thingy, still he thought, what ever turns her on, for in this day and age, with cost of living paramount and perhaps global warming on her lips if he was lucky, perhaps being a gallant gentleman he should escort her to Delmonte Video shop, and help her to select a video or DVD from the proprietor Wessex Shitefoot, this way walking down the street he could by his presence save her from vandals who would vandalize her substantial bush, or muggers who would do like wise.
“May I, if I may be so bold? Escort you to the Video shop, for cannot be too careful in this day and age, the streets are full ruffians and such.”
“You are most, kind, if it is not an inconvenience to you?” She said whilst fluttering her eye lids.
Oh the poor woman has probably had a stroke at some time, for eyes are not under control, perhaps in her hour of need, maybe a roll on the couch would alleviate her stress, for he read in a magazine in the local surgery that, Dr. Silvia Sage-Onion had found in her experience not only a doctor, but as patient, that in times of stress a good seeing to, could alleviate the symptoms of many complaints, physically, mentally, metaphorically, metaphysically and boredom. She had studied both under and on top of a follower of Charles Reich and gained from the experience.
Mrs. Bung-Hole couldn’t believe her luck, there was a good chance that this Greek God was going to give her a delight that she dreamt about but not experienced without a sexual aid or a weightlifting dyke with an appliance.
“That is awfully kind of you, the streets can be quite scary, oh, silly me, our video player has been loan to the Scouts, I believe they are watching ‘Get down Lassie.’”
“Well if it’s not an inconvenience, I do have use of a workshop in close vicinity, adequate for my needs; there I play with my tools.”
Mrs. Bung-Hole thought to herself that would be nice playing with his tools. “Yes, may I take you up on your offer?”
“O.K. off to the video shop, hi ho.”
With that she took his arm.

6th dec 2008

Wessex Shitefoot looked up and observed the vicar’s wife in a leather corset and nothing else, and then he began to speak to him self for it was a lonely job and no one to speak to for hours.
“Her hair looks like it had been blown dried, not well in my opinion, well I know about these things, for I have done hairdressing in a past career. Mind you my ex oh ex boss Archie Penko was extremely tetchy, I mean how was I to know that a skin test was advised on all clients before having a tint. Well the young cow went all bitchy, she just, well her face swelled up twice its normal size, her scalp began to weep, she had severe headaches, and her eyes closed up and she looked like an old lady, not that she was that pretty before. What a fuss, so she was getting married that day, her mother who gave me a mouthful and the language was quite appalling, well Big Clara, lucky she had done self defence at the old Kung Fu classes or I could have been bruised on the face and I did a date with a lovely young thing, he would have after rugby practice, showered and shaved and we were going for a few drinks. Well Big Clara, kicked her in the woman’s thing and she hit the deck. Well that wedding was a farce so I heard, she had to wear a veil well down and after he said I do, and she did likewise and the veil was raised for a kiss, he took one look at her face and screamed like an old queen, the place down. Well the monster dropped her veil back in place and fainted, drama queen, they called an ambulance and she was rushed off to hospital, where she went into intensive care, god I don’t know, when I broke a nail, really low, they turned me away in A and E, I blame the government, they never get their priorities right. Rumour has it was, touch and go for her, she was probably play acting. Well the bridegroom was taken outside of the church by the chief bridesmaid, her cousin, and comforted, so I believe more than once, by the mausoleum, well it seems they are an item. Well Archie gave me the sack; well I could not have stayed there because of the atmosphere, I’m very sensitive to those things, well it’s a blessing in disguise really, I could have caught something, I have to cream my hands every night, they get so chapped.”
“Could you suggest a D.V.D, please?” Said Paris.
“Oh sorry dear, I was miles away.” Said Wessex, Oh thought Wessex to him self, what’s that cow doing with him, oh, I could kiss him all over. With that he gave Paris a slow wink.
Poor fella thought Paris he’s got the same eye complaint as she has.
“What kinds of film do you like madam?” Said Wessex, who thought she did look like a bit of a madam
“Well I like romantic films, I always liked the Sound of Music, I’ve seen it half a dozen times, I always wished there was a sequel.”
“Well, let me see, there is The Alternative Sound of Music, with nuns doing more than dancing,”
“Well that sounds fun, go and enjoy, the young man can bring it back when you are finished with it, and can I have your name and inside leg measurement pleased?” He said to Paris, with a sultry smile.
Poor fella thought Paris; he’s got something wrong with his mouth as well. With that they went off into the night arm in arm.
They passed Achilles Crumpet walking in.
Hey.” Said Achilles to Wessex who was preening his eye brows. “Isn’t that the vicar’s wife?”
“Well dear, could be so, well she does have a big arse.”

10th dec 2008

“Built for comfort mate.” Said Achilles, doing a thrusting movement with his hips and holding imaginary hips between his hands.”
He’s a bit of a thrusters that chap, and with that gave him a slow wink.
Achilles thought to him self that the poor chap had an eye complaint.
“Anyway can I help you?”
“Yeah I’m looking for a video or D.V.D on sword swallowing, do you have anything?”
“Well, I don’t think we have, but I have some personal experience at, well you could call it sword swallowing and could demonstrate, if that’s alright with you?”
“Could you that would be awfully kind?”
“I’ll just put the closed sign on the door and pull down the shutters, good now come here and observe.”

The vicarage

Back at the church, Bung-Hole was sitting in the bath calming for a better word his posterior and the back of his legs. Lying back, he reflected on the way life had treated him. Why him, he had been good to everyone, he led his flock down the righteous path, kept away from heathen religions and idol worship. Like those down the road, with their icons, mind you they the flock were a lot of Irish, well the probably needed hell and damnation, they were always fighting and drinking, his lot were the true faith, like her majesty, mind you Princess Margaret looked Jewish, maybe some yid in the past had a bit a dalliance in her forebears. Now what was he reading the Luther Apotheosis Good Gardening Magazine, oh yes, parallel universes, that Jewish chap Einstein had discovered, damn clever those yids, couldn’t be that clever though, should have gone left and they would have landed up with the oil. Let me see, if you can be in to places at the same time, or two scenarios, then there would be two alternatives to each situation, so if one could go back and live the same scene twice, you could correct the errors that happened, well if that was the case, he’d would have seen the dire circumstances with Mrs. Bung-Hole, and would have hid the crop, or perhaps tied her up and administered the corporal punishment on her, what with her having a large arse, he couldn’t miss, a few welts there would put her in her place, then she could be more pliable, and for once do what he wanted, he’d show her, giving the biggest seeing to she had ever experienced. But the problem was that that the old wily was dormant, even thoughts about that weather forecast girl did nothing, now normally, when Mrs. Bung-Hole was experiencing her monthlies he repairing to behind vestry and thinking about her stretching to show Dogger and Bite, a big swell coming in from the North Atlantic and Standing Water, wow, it was all hands to the mast. If that doesn’t work thinking about her, he was finished.
Unbeknown to him the herbs in the pizza were wearing off and the body and brain denied from its normal masculine behaviour, thinking about sex every five minutes, suddenly came into his body with a vengeance. Unfortunately it was at the precise moment that the family dog Judas wandered in wagging his tail. At that precise moment, not before or afterwards, a stiffy appeared.
Oh my God, thought Bung-Hole, I am lost, I am only interested in sexual congress with animals now, I am cursed, what has happened to me? I am lost, hell and damnation, with that thought, he started to whistle to the dog. “Here boy, I’ve got a bone for you to play with.”
Piss off thought dog, I may be a dog, but you ain’t having my cherry mate, and with thought scampered out of the bathroom.
“Are you up there?” Said Mrs. Tingle Moment, who was hobbling up the stairs.
“Go down immediately,” Said Bung-Hole to his wily.
The wily naturally ignored him, for wilys are of an independent mind and nature, they rise to the occasion only if they decide, it’s a whim, many a great philosopher has spent decades in deep discussion over this phenomena, psychologists, psychiatrist, sooth Sayers, herbalists, even a government think tanks, women at the W.I.
“Well my Harvey, can’t produce anything that resemble anything firm let alone stiff, I’ve to him to poke it out of the window when it is cold, maybe that will make it stiff, mind you if that weather forecast girl comes on, voila, up it pops, which let me tell you, it can be embarrassing when mummy is over for tea, I mean if you don’t advantage when it is available, then when can you?”
“So what do you do dear?”
“Well I put some whiskey in mummy’s tea, and she drops off, just in case she wakes up suddenly, I make sure he sitting on one of the firm chairs, well we don’t want any accidents do we? One time we landed on the floor and woke mummy, well I had to lie, and I never lie to mummy, I said I had dropped an earring and we were looking for it, lucky her eyesight is poor. So, quick as a flash, the time she does the whole of the country and the forecast for the rest of the week it’s done.”
“Bit quick?”
“Well I have a very fertile imagination, and have prepared myself through meditation; well I used to go to those Yoga classes until the vicar stopped them.”
So wilys make their own decisions, so many have followed the impulse and saw the writing on the wall as they say.

The vicar clad him self in the bath towel as Mrs. Tingle Moment walked in.
“Oh I am so sorry vicar; I thought there might be burglars.”
“That’s ok Mrs. Tingle, thank you.”
At that moment Judas, spying the vicar and deciding on revenge and not been given his tea, grabbed the towel in his strong jaws and yanked, leaving Bung-Hole naked with a stiffy.
“Oh vicar, really.” Said Mrs. Tingle Moment, my, my, you are a naughty boy.” She wagged a finger at him, as she moved her finger in a gyratory circle the wily followed suit.
Oh, the shame, thought the vicar.
“What would Mrs. Bung-Hole say?” Mrs. Tingle Moment said, slowly winking at him.
Poor woman thought Bung-Hole; she has an affliction with her eye.
“Do you want me to hold it Vicar?”
The wily nodded. So she did.
I think we should close the bathroom door at this point and let them carry on with their madness.

18th dec 2008

Philosophy 3

I think it’s time to take a breather and consider where the plot is going? Personal I have not a clue. There is a brief but tenuous line running through, the hints are in the names, Helen naturally, Paris naturally and Achilles, well there is your battle of Troy as laid down by the pre king of Be Bop, Homer. Now to be only known by one name has got to be the accolade for writers, Shakespeare, Goethe, Dickens, Steinbeck, Joyce, Proust, Archer doesn’t grab you by the bollicks, naturally this is meant hypothetically, for you can get arrested for that in the streets so they tell me.

Now why oh why are the vicar, vicar’s wife and the bishop, what have they got to do with a Homer epic, and their religion wasn’t founded then, well I say why not? Anyone with a name Bung-Hole, needs chapters dedicated to him and Mrs. Bung-Hole well don’t you love her, there she in this wee book she  is being put upon, time is against her, her arse is coming down to her knees and has a bush like a tropical rain forest, dense. She has got to be magic, therefore needs a fulfilment in her life and she shall be fulfilled frequently, if I have my way. The other characters have not been fully developed, but we will see, for depend how the mood I am in. This automatic writing is vague to say the least, but who knows? If it makes you laugh all well and good, if it doesn’t, well give it to a charity shop or send it to someone you don’t like. There is no deep, hidden meaning, it ain’t the Guardian, its not politically correct, the philosophy is in all my books, ‘no good deed goes unpunished’

Now let’s go back to lunacy and fondling in the day and night.

5th jan 2009

Mrs. Bung-Hole’s desserts.

So Mrs Bung-Hole sat with a light aperitif on a couch built by Paris and also the couch, not Mrs. Bung-Hole upholstered in the latest filling, until later, for he had worn out the previous with antics in the horizontal position, and being liberal in nature having no hang-ups with female of the species, whether, fat or slim, or pear shape, bountiful with the milk of human kindness or flat as an ironing board, those with a slight fuzz on their face, those naked without a hair from port to starboard, those who could knit a cardigan with under arm hair, those who need a guide to give direction through their bush, those where the proximity between nature’s exits was merely a breath away, any port in a storm as they say in certain circles. Those with lips full as the moon, some crescent as the quarter moon, those who give no quarter, those who should be hung drawn and quartered, those who sigh, those who sing, those who pussy fart, those who gurgle, those who whisper sweet nothings into his mouth, those demand thing that no one is capable of. Those who demand the bill of rights, the bill of wrongs, duck bills, postal orders, no cheques, no V.A.T. no money lending, cash up front or from the back when laying the other way. Those who want a taste of wine, red, for red hot, Rose for a light refreshment, dry for dry, sweet for sweet, in hot weather an ice lolly, to cool the ardour, or mustard to harden the ardour, delectable, some respectable, and some not, they who scream profanities with a cut glass voice.
So he put on the D.V.D of the Sounds of Music, the opening credits were similar, there she was singing to the hill but not in an apron, well it was an apron, but leather and nothing else.
“Looks different Paris, perhaps she is a blacksmith now?”
“I don’t think she is going to bang the anvil.”
Well in a moment she was at the nunnery and the apron was lifted by a couple of nuns and one with a strap on was giving her a seeing too. The dialogue that was being shouted out was out of lip synch, obviously a foreign made film.
“I think, I’d better take it off, I don’t think it’s the kind of film you expected.” Said Paris, slowly getting up, for he was also rising to the occasion.
“Silly boy, don’t you move, I know a stickadicktome when I’ve seen one, I’ve been to a girl’s only school, and being boarders, well when you are that age, hormones and things, we were quite inventive with strap ons. Now if you are going to get up, have you any latex gloves, because I want to handle it.”
Paris got up poste haste and truth be known, yes she did handle it, also put to use the instruction video which showed how to eat fruit, with the latex gloves she handled it going in and coming out.

13th jan 2009

The goings on at
The Rugby Club.

Meanwhile at the Rugby Club, there in the bar after numerous drinks, Achilles stood up and announced he was going to do a sword swallowing act. He had acquired an old sword, which was found in the back garden by Calchas House his gardener. He Calchas was going to a bit of planting and digging with his trusty spade, it clink a bit as you do when hitting an inanimate object and came across a ceremonial sword of a foreign design, for it had writing on it like scribble. So the gardener presented it to Achilles, who thought it would be a bit of a laugh at the rugby club, so he gave it a bit of a swill in the bath and took it along to the rugby club, well he wasn’t particularly about putting a long object in his mouth and throat, for this he had experienced of that at Boarding School, some of those chaps were well hung to say the least especially that chap from North Africa.
Are we dear reader apprehensive, that this chap with out a care in the world going to swallow a sword, having no experience of shoving anything down his throat except North African wilys, and we must assume that they are not sharp or in the case of the sword he found, rather scimitar shaped, most chaps did not have a bias to the left or right. Perhaps he is like that pillock from sing a long Wagner a Sigmund, who threw a clod of earth over his shoulder, claiming his life, was not worth a jot. Well we know that them from the council would be down on him like a ton of bricks for chucking stuff, he’d be fined, probably get an Asbo, ain’t that one where they give you a bracelet, electric, around one of extremities so I believe. Now Bromide-Hilda would not be able to save his bacon.
Now Achilles was cut from the same mould, he did not care a jot, for he believed he was going have a young ones death and glory, self administered, who knows?
So the lads locked the door and Achilles took as they say centre stage.
“Now chaps, well there ain’t no bints here, I’m glad to say, what I am going to do here, is a sword swallowing performance, here with this trusty blade handed down from the Princes of Morocco, used in battle fought against us, but my ancestor Sir William de Plunge with his bare hand took the blade off the infidel and cut his tripes
out, needless to say it has been disinfected since, well one doesn’t want some contagious disease does one?”
“Don’t he go on?” Said Mathew de la Poof.
“Right, come on Mathew when have you swallowed anything this big?”
“Never had the opportunity sweetie.”
“Right lads, as this thingy is a trifle long I think a few pints is in order to sink the old belly a bit lower.”
So the pints came up and discussions about the recent match was discussed.
“I see Murphy lost an ear.” Davy Socket said.
“He won’t miss it; he can’t take instructions at the best of time.” Said Achilles.
“Couldn’t they sew his ear back on?” Said Fal Lopian-Tube.
“No, Hapstand squired it away, he going to put it the casserole at the future in-laws house on Sunday at lunch, seems the mare won’t let him off for the match, they say planning for the wedding is more important, I always thought that was the filly’s job, so he reckons the old ear in the old soup thing will put the cat amongst the pigeons what?”
“A good wheeze.” Said Smackle Junior.
“Come on Achilles, you’ve had eight pints now, let’s see the old swallowing lark.” Said the Prop.
“O.K. chaps give me some room.” With that he bent his head back and proceeded to swallow the scimitar.
“Looks a bit dodgy to me, Carstairs, I mean the old sword thingy is curved, I thought they need to be straight, and I don’t think he has wash it, I can see some rust on it.” Said Figit Minor.
Achilles huff and puffed and slowly the weapon disappeared from view.
“I say, do you think he’s alright, he’s gone a funny colour.” Said Figit.
“I don’t know about that, but there is a pointy thing, looks like a curved blade sticking out through the back of his trousers.”
“What’s he trying to say?” Said Carstairs.
“I think its charades?” Said Figit.
“Is it a film or a book?” Said Carstairs.
Achilles did a book sign.
“A popular book, a novel and such?” Said Carstairs.
Achilles signalled a no.
“A book of knowledge?”
“Achilles affirmed.
“Encyclopaedia?”
“I think he’s saying yesish Carstairs.”
“I think your right.”
“Geography?”
“He’s saying no.”
“Aeronautics?”
“He’s shaking his head.”
“Gosh this is hard; it’s giving me a head ache.”
“I think you are some how on the right track.”
“Head ache, an aspirin?”
“Not an aspirin.”
“Medical?”
“I think you are on the right track now.”
“Medical book?”
“Not quite.”
Like medical?”
“He’s kinda nodding.”
“Medical practioner?”
“Got it in one.”
“Let me see he wants a doctor?”
“Golly good, he’s trying to say yes.”
“Oh, I’ve got it he wants an ambulance, maybe he had a bad pint, what with the sword in his gullet he can’t do the big spit, well old chap those chaps are awfully busy with accidents and things, I tell you what, lets throw him in the old four track and run him up to the A. and E, get him sorted and back for an old pint.”
“Great idea, come on old chap, this way, hold him arm he nearly knocked the pint out of the captain’s mitt.”
Up at the A and E, it was a normal Saturday night, them who punch the lights out of each other, those who play chicken on the railway lines and are brought in, in pieces, and in these circumstances they use Mrs. Tatty Twicking-Marzipan from the Cookham Rise Fundamentalist Yoski Temple to knit them back together, she was very good with her cross stitching and had won prizes in national competition, she was so busy she had to have an assistant to help her, unfortunately because of political correctness, her choice was limited to ethnic minorities, which in her case was a young lady who not only couldn’t knit but could not speak the language as well, she it seems, this young lady was good at making bombs to be worn around the body, but they in this hospital had no need in these circumstance, but she had been promised that as soon as a job in bomb making was available she would be called to use her expertise and naturally she could demonstrate her prowess in a place of her choosing, but not when there was a home match was on, for we needed the best players to represent us in Europe at football.
Because she was so bored, she would knit bits on back to front especially hands, this would make it difficult for the lads to take it out and pee and the dry cleaning bills were prohibitive.
There was one couple who assuming they were using the brand K.Y. for her tradesman was a trifle narrow, his ex girlfriend swapped it for super glue, but on the bright side a least the could walk in, well march in, in close formation, as against her sister whose young man’s face was glued to her muffin. She was so embarrassed, for she hadn’t changed her underwear, and her mum had always advised her to change her undies just case of accidents, one should always listen to mum.
The troops in the A and E, with a dentist drill which was on loan, enlarged the lady’s anus, as if they were doing a filling and he could remove his wily, once free, he tried to put it back, claiming he hadn’t finished yet, the doctor Mr. Vladimir Blink, advised against it saying it would be rather uncomfortable for the lass as they had to put a rather lot of stitches. He naturally claim the problem was that she was on the old monthly cycle performance, the doctor understood this, being a married man and having been frustrated on many occasions, so he advised him to wait a moment whilst he numbed the area around the torn section, and then to a round of applause from the other patients he did the deed.
The doctor then attended to Achilles. “Well young man, what seems to be the problem?”
Achilles pointed to his mouth.
“A cold sore perhaps? For those minor complaints you should go to a chemist.” Said the doctor.
Achilles took the doctor’s hand and put it on the hilt of the sword.
“Ah, I see, did you pick it up in one of those ham burgers? I had someone’s nail in mine.”
Achilles looked up to heaven.
Zeus looked down. “Hey bitch wot you reckon?”
“Well, I like him, let’s help the doctor, give him an idea.”
“Copy, babe.” So he sent down idea into the doctor’s brain via Hermes, who invisible apart from his Gucci sandals into his ear.
Well the doctor pulled and pulled, and the local tug of war team who were there after an accident when one of the chaps had wound the rope around his neck, had his head removed. Well they tugged to no avail, so the doctor sent out for an electric saw and holding him down, without anaesthetic for they were a bit short and he couldn’t swallow an aspirin, saw off the top bit and then removing his trousers bored a hole in the sharp end and with a cord, taken from the net curtains, the lads from the tug of war team pulled the old sword out. They took bows from the patients as so did Achilles, who shook hands with them all and the doctor who he gave a free ticket to their next home match, then went back to the club for a drink, but stood all the way as his bottom smarted a bit.

20th jan 2009 and all's well

27 th jan 2009

Dear old Kvetskyher and the peeing competition

Outside the vicarage was Kvetskyher, no longer with her rock and roll hero, he ran off into the night with a record producer, was pissing on the wall, since her steroid abuse she could pee standing up like a man, in fact in the peeing competition behind the conservative club, because of the pressure of the extended dingaling she could go higher up the wall than Boris Hestle-Tyme, the local champion, he with the add on piece that he had added when working for the ambassador in Hong Kong, he went for a hair cut and the barber Mr. Wong of the Wong and Wright Barber Emporium, whilst having a cup of tea without milk which was the correct way to do it out there and not cause offence, Mr. Wong the demon barber suggested an add on for his willy, well he had noticed the mare at home didn’t seem agitated when he did the business, he assumed what with her going to hounds always in the saddle and having the twins she had her breech widened. Little did he know that the Great Dane, sorry folks not a dog, but Fungus the Viking had done the deed, he of the fame as a shot putter and javelin thrower also mighty with his discus, but that’s another story? He was very mighty in the javelin department and through frequent practice with her had done the deed. So Boris agreed to have an add on.
Mr. Wong’s back room was a hive of activity; hundreds jammed together making appliances for men and contraptions for ladies in various disguises and in the latest fashion, all copies from the French and Italian courtiers, never English for they were so ugly and cumbersome. Very clever these Chinese thought Boris, as he examined the merchandise, there were naturally demonstrations, by the chaps there and the ladies. What with the advancement of micro engineering, computerisation and digital technology, there was nothing, or to be precise anything couldn’t be accomplished. On the ladies front there was a gadget the size of a lipstick, bit like Spoon Junior’s wily his fag at School, when inserted, a flick of the old nob on it, or better still when bored at a dinner party at the ambassador’s residence, pre inserted, a click on the old mobile and in the flick of and eye it would grow to the correct proportions and as it said on the instructions agitate to a spectacular conclusion, with sweet nothings said with an actor or actresses voice in the air or sung in the ear, what ever the preference, this naturally could be viewed and heard on the mobile(Cell Phone) and if so desired sent to one’s computer at home and launch on one’s website or emailed to one’s friends at the appropriate moment, or if a friend was using similar equipment making both could work in unison or a number of ladies at the same time, thousands, if fact a small island which shall remain nameless off the coast near Southampton actually moved by a number of feet from it’s moorings. Batteries, long life supplied plus the rechargeable contraption, the trouble with the rechargeable contrivance is that if it was worn all the time, people would notice the lead hanging down and spoiling the line of the clothing.
The women realised that they were onto a winner, if it got out, the men would legislate against the use of it on the grounds of health and safety or fire hazards, there would be rules and regulations, when or if it or a number can be used, obviously not in front of small children, pregnant women, the use of heavy machinery, driving a lorry, mowing the lawn, but having priorities for ethnic minorities.
So coding was set up and a secret language was sent out over through the Woman’s Institute and other prestigious organisations, for women knew that once they mentioned the W.I. the men would repair into the other room and switch on the cricket, rugby or if working class football. So the cry of ‘shark attack, lip smackin’ up the chuff’, was on many lips via the mobile, they on mass would repair to the smallest room and shake the tiles. Naturally there were accidents; a chimney pot fell off Mrs. Claris Cornplaster the third’s dwelling and fell on a small immigrant child stealing fruit from the apple tree. So what? They the immigrants bred like flies, they wouldn’t miss one. The child was put in the shredder and then spread on Cuthbert’s allotment and the marrows that year were amazing.

30th march 2009

Boris, decided he need a nob extension and some thickness, so he had the nob in a fine tailored Worcester and the thickness done in tartan, as his ancestors came from Scotland.
Paying his bill he shot off to try out the equipment, he a bit like all fellas never read instructions and as all men are the same refused to take out the plan or how to use it properly. She was in the bedroom bending over doing one of the yoga posture her friend Lady Sheepdip suggested, for she claimed that in this posture, she had experienced many a thrill from Parabola her Blackamoor, but practice was necessary for one’s back could ache. So she knowing that Boris was having his hair cut practiced when he was out. Boris rushed in and with contrivance exposed scored in one, in it went when on the retreat, only Boris’s natural wily came out.
“Oh my god Boris, what are you doing? I seem to have something jammed up the Suez Canal.”
“Oh my God it’s stuck, bloody hell, it cost me Fifty Hong Kong dollars.”
With that they tried pulling it out, but it was stuck fast. Boris went to the tool kit for a pair of pliers.
“You are not going to use them on me, I can tell you.”
“Look old sport, it has to come out, if it slips off so easily, I want to take it back and get my money.”
“That’s all you care about is money, what about me?”
“God it can’t be that bad, you’ve had twins, if they can get them out in tandem them a wily extension should be easy?”
“Oh yes, if it was up your arse, then we see who would be complaining.”
“Steady on old girl.”
“Boris I want a doctor.”
“I can’t do that, if it got out, I’d be a laughing stock, my life would be untenable.”
“If I don’t get this removed at once, you won’t have a life.”
“I’m going into the library for a drink; don’t forget we are having drinks with the ambassador at five.”
She rang for her maid and on entering explained the problem with sigh language, for the maid was from a northern province, where it seems they did a lot of open throat singing, so with a by your leave, those years of singing and open throat breathing in the wastelands that she came from, those icy conditions, in a trice removed the appliance, judging by her expertise, Mrs. Hestle-Tyme rewarded her and she became her full time helper in times of stress when the Viking was away.
Boris returned the appliance to Mr. Wong, used one of his serving wenches to demonstrate the appliances characteristics also writing the instructions on the side.
Mr. Wong, thought to himself it wasn’t long before they took over the world if this was the best Briton had to offer.
Boris was a happy bunny, for with his new toy he could piss up the wall better than other work colleagues and won quite a substantial amount, until he was back in England and took on Kvetskyher.

13th april 2009

Bung-Hole took a walk to clear his head and to put his thoughts into priorities. Then started to talk himself. “What am I going to do? Where should I go? Who should I turn to?”
“Mrs. Bung-Hole was sure to be on the town, heaven only knows what she was up to. It would be disaster if that old boiler took a true fancy to me and ask for a divorce from her husband, in my position it would untenable, a man in my position needs respect, my dignity apart from her looking like an old dog, I’d be a laughing stock, Mrs. Bung-Hole dressed up is presentable to say the least.”
As he passed an old workshop he heard the mooing of a cow, he had heard that before, now where was it? Ah he remember, it was when they went on holiday to Brighton, whilst he was on the putting green, Mrs. Bung-Hole struck up a conversation with a rather masculine female in trousers and sensible shoes, well Mrs. Bung-Hole said she had a headache and would I mind if she went back to the hotel, George, “I suppose that was short for Georgina said she would accompany her back to the hotel.
That was kind as I was on a roll, when I got back to the hotel, I couldn’t get into the room and a kinda of mooing sound was heard. Well I knocked quite vigorously, eventually that George opened the door. It seemed Mrs. Bung-Hole was lying down with one of her migraines, the poor dear, the pain must have be excruciating for the sheets and blankets were all over the floor. Well that George seemed to be very helpful, suggested that I should go down to the bar and she being an ex nurse would see Mrs. Bung-Hole was well looked after. Must have been two hours, then both came down arm in arm giggling, wouldn’t tell me why, said it was a girly thing, that George was an odd one though, had an earring thing in her tongue, bit off putting what with her having such a long tongue, Mrs. Bung-Hole said to me later when I mentioned it, that I was a bit picky. Well the bishop took or showed an interest, but that old boiler, oh, what a thought. Oh my god the wily has popped up.”
Just at that moment a small dog cocked his leg on a nearby wall. Bung-Hole stood transfixed. “I’ll be good lord; I don’t want to be arrested for assaulting animals, its them Jews they have cursed me.”
A moment later Boris came around the corner.
“Hi Vicar, how’s tricks?”
“Fine, nice to see you, back for awhile?”
“A month, hey you are a bit of a sport, I saw you watching that dog pissing up the old wall.”
“Well people should not let there animals do that, they have no consideration.”
“Well old chap as you are fair and square kind of fella, look to not mince words, I’m not that type, I have been challenged to a kind of urination competition, good money and naturally you get a percentage of the old bets, win or loose.”
“What kind of money?”
“Between you and me vicar, the Chinese are laying some big bets on yours truly, if I said tens of thousands, you could be in for a handful of readies if you catch my drift?”
Now thought the Vicar, this could get him out of difficulties, he could use some that money to buy some of that equipment out of the catalogue that takes sounding in the old church and find Philpot’s treasure, and if he squired away the rest of the readies he treat himself and get one of those apartments as a shagging pit.
“Yes of course I’ll do something for one of my flock.”
They wander together talking about the political climate, chances in the six nations in the rugby, and the sexy movements of that weather forecast girl on the T.V.
They came to a big crowd standing by a wall, kept back by a few huge bouncers. The wall had been scrubbed down and a coating applied, so the urine would leave a mark, that to be measured by a team of judges and electronic equipment independently, cameras recorded the events, with slow motion action replays and a satellite equipment to beam it around the world.
“Now.” Said Boris, to one of the judges. “This is Vicar Bung-Hole, a religious man, a pillar of society who we in this noble land trust, so he will make sure the bets in cash are counted and no cheating goes on, for this a stipend should be agreed don’t you think?”
Big Nebbish looked the vicar up and down, well more down as Harry Nebbish was very tall for his height and broader than three men.
“Alright Vicar, you are on an earner, should give you about sixty thousand quid at the last count and is still going up, and pardon my French, any fucking about on your behalf, I will personally bite off your thumbs, so wont be able to pull the old bishop, catch my drift? The only reason I agree is that my old mum was a church goer all her life, so it’s for her.”
Each competitor brought his crowd with him. Mick the Hose from Ireland carried shoulder high by lads wearing green. Taffy Longshanks from the valleys in Wales, surrounded by Druids and Coal miners all carrying Leeks, some had been drinking all day so some taking a leek as they walked. Harry the Horse from Mile End road, was surrounded by a team of geysers all speaking out of the corner of their mouths. Donkey Dave the darkie, surrounded by fellas of a similar colour, in most cases weren’t seen as they merged into the gloom. Donkey was the right name for Dave for he was hung like a donkey. Bung-Hole, felt a tad jealous, but he had heard that those from the Dark Continent were like that. Even though Dave was born in High Wycombe, the characteristics from his ancestors were still with him, necessitating him wearing baggy jeans. On the last occasion he wore a normal pair of trousers, a suite in fact, white shirt and tie, for he was taking his mother to the local church, she naturally liked him to dress properly and not wear a hood all the time, indoors and out, she had noticed that the hood was rubbing away his hair.
Mrs. Orfelia Coldsore was taking her mother for her daily perambulations around the block, the old lady needed two sticks since she suffered a broken hip, caused it seems by trying to wind up her grandfather’s clock, left to her by Uncle Albert, who it seem when he was a removal man stole it from Sir Humphrey Dalliance, who took it from one of the peasants who he evicted off his estate, they destitute had after the news of their forth coming eviction, both in their eighties committed suicide, the old gentleman had Dementia, so his dear wife had to hang him first, then did the deed on herself, so the coroner Sir Arnold Bedwetter said in court. Being a friend of Sir Humphrey no charges were made against him and he did not have pay compensation as there was no offspring, for they did not have any children, it seems he was incapable as he had been gassed in the First World War.

At the Vicarage


Back at the Vicarage, Bung-Hole sat in the Great Chair, a chair that previous vicars had sat and contemplated, as it was a commode as well he could take a dump if he chose to, this might shock some, but rumour has it that Luther suffered from constipation and while he sat he would plan sermons. A forerunner to that was constipation amongst nuns was a sign of saintliness, perhaps it meant they were as they sealed for and aft.
“Woe is me.” The vicar said himself. “Woe, thrice woe, where to go? What to do? Whom can I turn too? And songs like that. Will this noble dwelling still be standing in a year’s time? The Bishop has buggered off, he took too greater interest in my dear wife, mind you she did look sluttish, that bitch never looks like that for me, always wears a cardigan when I’m giving her one, bloody cardigan came from Mrs. Tingle Moment, bloody lopsided. Mind you she might be arthritic but boy she can pull me old bishop well.”
The Bishop, who was standing and watching, tutted to himself and said, “He’s taking my name in vain, bastard.”
“Come on Bishop.” Said Philpot, “You were feeling her bush and if you had your way you would have had her cat flap as well.”
“Yeah you are right, with the cat flap you can touch both sides, and some of these numbers have done a lot of mileage if you catch my drift?”
“Well I wouldn’t know about that, being the other religion, celibate, but I know what you mean about the cat flap, have you tried it after sniffing incense?”
“Well no.”
“Baby you are flying, I was talking to Zeus the other day, that muther is always flying.”
“Well that sounds cool.”
“You want a taste?”
“Yeah, it has got to be better than being around this dick head.”
So off they went to Olympus.

“Woe, thrice woe, what am I going to do? Even though she’s good at the wanking lark, mind you I don’t like it when she French Kisses you with her teeth out, there again on her knees she wouldn’t scrape your dick, there again she couldn’t get down with her arthritis, I couldn’t take her out, people would laugh, they say the vicar has lost his marbles, what’s he doing with a dog? In the pub, you can’t say she gives a good wank with either hand; they’d look at you as if you’re barmy. Anyway Mrs. Bung-Hole wouldn’t be happy, would she? Maybe I should get Mrs. Tingle Moment to give her lessons; I couldn’t see her wearing that, anyway I can’t get a stiffy with Mrs. Bung-Hole anymore. There is no way I’m having it off with the dog, that’s unnatural.
I don’t know why I’m being tested; I’ve been a good vicar, done the old pious work, why oh why? It’s got be those bloody Hebrews, I should not buried that Jew in the church yard, they are weird that lot, eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, we are not like that, mind if Mrs. Bung-Hole took a fall, she is well insured, but you couldn’t push down the stairs, too bloody strong, she did that bloody Ju Jitsu course at the W.I. mind you that was a farce, four got injured, two had to put down and had a miss placed uterus, what ever that is. Mind you Mrs. Bung-Hole was the best they had, cor when she threw Mrs. Trout-Stream through the air was something to be hold then Mrs. Bung-Hole held her down with one of them locks from underneath, mind you it was a bit weird, Mrs Trout-Stream seemed to get her head into Mrs. Bung-Hole’s Judoka, and I heard slurping noises. Well the other ladies, well them that weren’t injured or dead looked away or went off for a cup of tea, Mrs. Bung-Hole seemed to have an agitated look on her face and definitely looked like she was sweating, and I think Mrs. Trout-Stream must have been pressing on a nerve or something for Mrs. Bung-Hole was moaning and gasping for air. Well it took Mr. Kano and his assistant Veronica Buttock a considerable amount of energy to get them apart, there was a popping sound and Mrs. Trout-Stream head came out of the judoka. Funny women, after all the kafuffle they went off arm in arm and have close friends ever since, inseparable for a while

11th may 2009

“Mrs. Bung-Hole was sure to be on the town, heaven only knows what she was up to. It would be disaster if that old boiler took a true fancy to me and ask for a divorce from her husband, in my position it would untenable, a man in my position needs respect, my dignity apart from her looking like an old dog, I’d be a laughing stock, Mrs. Bung-Hole dressed up is presentable to say the least.”
As he passed an old workshop he heard the mooing of a cow, he had heard that before, now where was it? Ah he remember, it was when they went on holiday to Brighton, whilst he was on the putting green, Mrs. Bung-Hole struck up a conversation with a rather masculine female in trousers and sensible shoes, well Mrs. Bung-Hole said she had a headache and would I mind if she went back to the hotel, George, “I suppose that was short for Georgina said she would accompany her back to the hotel.
That was kind as I was on a roll, when I got back to the hotel, I couldn’t get into the room and a kinda of mooing sound was heard. Well I knocked quite vigorously, eventually that George opened the door. It seemed Mrs. Bung-Hole was lying down with one of her migraines, the poor dear, the pain must have be excruciating for the sheets and blankets were all over the floor. Well that George seemed to be very helpful, suggested that I should go down to the bar and she being an ex nurse would see Mrs. Bung-Hole was well looked after. Must have been two hours, then both came down arm in arm giggling, wouldn’t tell me why, said it was a girly thing, that George was an odd one though, had an earring thing in her tongue, bit off putting what with her having such a long tongue, Mrs. Bung-Hole said to me later when I mentioned it, that I was a bit picky. Well the bishop took or showed an interest, but that old boiler, oh, what a thought. Oh my god the wily has popped up.”
Just at that moment a small dog cocked his leg on a nearby wall. Bung-Hole stood transfixed. “I’ll be good lord; I don’t want to be arrested for assaulting animals, its them Jews they have cursed me.”
A moment later Boris came around the corner.
“Hi Vicar, how’s tricks?”
“Fine, nice to see you, back for awhile?”
“A month, hey you are a bit of a sport, I saw you watching that dog pissing up the old wall.”
“Well people should not let there animals do that, they have no consideration.”
“Well old chap as you are fair and square kind of fella, look to not mince words, I’m not that type, I have been challenged to a kind of urination competition, good money and naturally you get a percentage of the old bets, win or loose.”
“What kind of money?”
“Between you and me vicar, the Chinese are laying some big bets on yours truly, if I said tens of thousands, you could be in for a handful of readies if you catch my drift?”
Now thought the Vicar, this could get him out of difficulties, he could use some that money to buy some of that equipment out of the catalogue that takes sounding in the old church and find Philpot’s treasure, and if he squired away the rest of the readies he treat himself and get one of those apartments as a shagging pit.
“Yes of course I’ll do something for one of my flock.”
They wander together talking about the political climate, chances in the six nations in the rugby, and the sexy movements of that weather forecast girl on the T.V.
They came to a big crowd standing by a wall, kept back by a few huge bouncers. The wall had been scrubbed down and a coating applied, so the urine would leave a mark, that to be measured by a team of judges and electronic equipment independently, cameras recorded the events, with slow motion action replays and a satellite equipment to beam it around the world.
“Now.” Said Boris, to one of the judges. “This is Vicar Bung-Hole, a religious man, a pillar of society who we in this noble land trust, so he will make sure the bets in cash are counted and no cheating goes on, for this a stipend should be agreed don’t you think?”
Big Nebbish looked the vicar up and down, well more down as Harry Nebbish was very tall for his height and broader than three men.
“Alright Vicar, you are on an earner, should give you about sixty thousand quid at the last count and is still going up, and pardon my French, any fucking about on your behalf, I will personally bite off your thumbs, so wont be able to pull the old bishop, catch my drift? The only reason I agree is that my old mum was a church goer all her life, so it’s for her.”
Each competitor brought his crowd with him. Mick the Hose from Ireland carried shoulder high by lads wearing green. Taffy Longshanks from the valleys in Wales, surrounded by Druids and Coal miners all carrying Leeks, some had been drinking all day so some taking a leek as they walked. Harry the Horse from Mile End road, was surrounded by a team of geysers all speaking out of the corner of their mouths. Donkey Dave the darkie, surrounded by fellas of a similar colour, in most cases weren’t seen as they merged into the gloom. Donkey was the right name for Dave for he was hung like a donkey. Bung-Hole, felt a tad jealous, but he had heard that those from the Dark Continent were like that. Even though Dave was born in High Wycombe, the characteristics from his ancestors were still with him, necessitating him wearing baggy jeans. On the last occasion he wore a normal pair of trousers, a suite in fact, white shirt and tie, for he was taking his mother to the local church, she naturally liked him to dress properly and not wear a hood all the time, indoors and out, she had noticed that the hood was rubbing away his hair.
Mrs. Orfelia Coldsore was taking her mother for her daily perambulations around the block, the old lady needed two sticks since she suffered a broken hip, caused it seems by trying to wind up her grandfather’s clock, left to her by Uncle Albert, who it seem when he was a removal man stole it from Sir Humphrey Dalliance, who took it from one of the peasants who he evicted off his estate, they destitute had after the news of their forth coming eviction, both in their eighties committed suicide, the old gentleman had Dementia, so his dear wife had to hang him first, then did the deed on herself, so the coroner Sir Arnold Bedwetter said in court. Being a friend of Sir Humphrey no charges were made against him and he did not have pay compensation as there was no offspring, for they did not have any children, it seems he was incapable as he had been gassed in the First World War.
It seems whilst Mrs. Coldsore’ mother was doing the winding up, her husband Clifford was on the throne taking a dump, being a typical man did not notice there was no toilet paper on the roll, so he shouted down to her, she turned suddenly disturbing the heavy pendulum which swung out with such force it hit her on the inner thigh, causing her to fall over the aspidistra onto the wooden floor, hence the hip being broken. Clifford receiving no reply, only a cry for help, used instead the problem page in her magazine that he had been reading. Stepping out of the cubicle he wandered down the stairs and stepped over her in a huff, for her not providing him with the said toilet paper or indeed seeing that there was adequate supplies in the smallest room. In fact there were a number of rolls, in fact an economy pack adjacent to the toilet bowl, but he didn’t notice. The daughter called not long afterwards and receiving no reply after knocking, looked the letter box and saw her poor mother lying prostrate on the floor. Climbing over the back fence and laddering her new tights (Panty hose) whilst stepping on his cucumber frames entered the house and using the phone called for an ambulance, they were delayed by a Gay March and had to attend to a couple who had broken a couple of nails in a cat fight. She was taken eventually to hospital, where the eminent surgeon, Sir Colicky Cardew-Cape, who was going to meet his femme fatale, Gloria Tit for a afternoon of joy, gave the old lady a couple of pain killers, for if he didn’t get his leg over that afternoon, it would be a week before he could have that pleasure, it seems she had another client who was going to take away on a short cruise on board a luxury liner, The Dripping Togger off the Isle of White, where she would entertain some of his Clients from the Gulf.

24th may 2009

The following day it was decided in conference that it was too late to operate, fortunate in some ways, for that wouldn’t impede on the hospital budget which was over spent, what with the Persian carpets in the consultant’s lounge.
Mrs. Orfelia Coldsore noticed what she thought was a large snake wriggling in trousers of Donkey Dave and trying to get out. In fact Donkey Dave had seen the Weather Forecast girl from the T.V on the screen in the shop window, walking past nature in its instinctive way was trying to allow procreation at that precise moment.
Mrs. Orfelia Coldsore threw her arms in the air, for she was frighten of snakes and slithery things, one had only to ask her husband, for she would only do her duty with the light off and the curtains drawn. She Mrs. Coldsore no longer holding her mother’s arm, the lady in questing unable to hold herself steady fell in an ark forward as the municipal Dustcart was speeding its way back to the depot. The elderly lady died quite quickly and in not too much pain. The gentlemen of the dust cart quickly threw her in the cart and drove off.
Though sad about loosing her mother, but she was a burden and with her unable to cope, she Mrs. Coldsore couldn’t take a holiday. But now she could, she could go away on one of those package deals, as for her daddy, she could get some of those frozen meals and put them in the freezer, but knowing daddy, he’d probably get a take-away or eat at the pub.

Miss Kvetskyher had no friends to support her, since the steroid abuse, all were frightened that they would be type cast, for she had started to wear sensible shoes and the lads because of her big muscles, she look more butch than them, they would appear as Nancy boys. Poor soul, but with a stiff upper lip and a stiff dingaling she was ready for the competition, for the money she should be able to go to Amsterdam and have the operation privately and be able to shrink her muscles to merely athletic not for a weight lifting competition. There after perhaps she would meet the person of her dreams, someone who would sing her songs and laments.
She had been diligently practicing buy drinking copious amount of Whore’s Dribbles bitter as recommended by Theodore Sprout the eminent Sluice Gate Specialist having a P.H.D in the expulsion of urine at great knots, he had studied under Sir Blakey Contralto, whose work was reported in Lancet where the lads of the Third Bunny and Ferkin in combat duties somewhere hush hush, finding it impossible to remove some undesirables from their hiding place(One mustn’t use word terrorist as it may cause offence) pissed on the very fabric of the said hiding place, those brave soldiers had tanked up on bottles of Whore’s Dribble and the walls came tumbling down.

“Now chaps.” Said Halfpenny Littlehampton, “I want a fair competition, all equipment will scrutinised by the adjudicated, Sidney Sodham, he will use a magnifying glass if necessary to examine the various hoses and see if any tubes not belonging to the said equipment is being used, if that is found, the person using such will be disqualified immediately. Mr. Sodom has complete backing of the judges who are being guided by big Ernie, who you can see in the corner surrounded by his acolytes, those with the fireman’s axes. Now if the contenders would step forward and be examined, thank you.”
The Irish contender wandered over and Sodom, pulled back the foreskin to see if it was genuine, Mick the Hose who had been practising all day with an intake of Irish fuel, when Sodom pulled off the clothes peg on the end, got many litres down his new trousers, only bought the previous day. Mick apologised and promised to pay the dry cleaning bills, so all was forgiven. Taffy Longshanks, showed his wily, most observers were amazed, that he had a black wily, but it seems he work in a coalmine and with his sandwiches on his break gave Mollie Valley one up the valley, for under equal opportunities ladies could work down the pit during the day, he and being in a hurry only washed his top half would later after giving his wife a seeing to, take a wash in the old tub like his father did. Harry Horse let him have a quick gander, but pulling back his own foreskin for wasn’t no poofter.
Unfortunately when Sodham handled Donkey Dave’s Wily, it hardened in his hand, now Sodham by name was also by nature and Donkey Dave like the unnatural entrance as well, what with him being on training for the last twenty four hours, had not the opportunity to dip his wick as they say in the common parlance. So in the blink of an eye, they Dave and Sodham realised that other accomplishment were to the forefront, so they dash into Mrs. Daisy Trot’s back garden and tried a variety of accomplishments in her greenhouse. There could be heard a sound like the mooing of a cow.
“I’ll take over.” Said Bung-Hole after receiving a wink from Boris.
The judges nodded with some fellow head they had been playing with, he unfortunately it seems did not pay dues.
Bung-Hole only glanced at Boris and passed him as O.K. Kvetskyher, as she had a foreign name, he thought her wily looked strange, and she did say if he handled it she would kick him in the nuts, and did have a very deep voice, so he passed her as well.
So the were lined up, in their lanes, any spraying into other lanes meant immediate disqualification.
Big Ernie took out a sawn off shotgun and Big Harry throwing the head that they had been playing football with into the air shot it, bits went all over the place, unfortunately through Miss Bessie Bendadix' bedroom window at the precise moment that her mummy was doing the hem on her wedding dress. The white dress was covered in blood as was Mrs. Bendadix’ mother.
“Well Bessie you could have told me you were having a period, that’s absolutely naughty, not only is the dress ruined, your beloved Swindon, wont have his entitlements, you know chaps will stray if they don’t get a bit of sporting, your dear daddy has to, regardless of the weather do a bit dips doodling on a Sunday morning, then he has big breakfast, three rashers of bacon, two eggs, three sausages, mushrooms, and toast, then goes peacock proud down to the pub. I change the sheets have a sluice down and go and prepare lunch, in all our years he has never strayed, I had set out my priorities from the wedding night. Now with you having a period, it will be no good you doing the hand thing, chaps are better at doing it themselves, well they have had lots of practice.”
“Mummy I am not having a period, the blood has seemed to come through the window, anyway I am very good at the wanking thing, and my Swindon loves me doing it.”
“Oh a fine thing, you young girls having sexual relationships before marriage, in my day, we didn’t do that kind of thing, and as for that French Kissing lark, never, what with me having a top plate, I would not have wanted my fiancée disturbing that, I wouldn’t want him to know, some things are private.”
“Mummy I don’t have a top plate, we go much further than French Kissing now, even if I was having a period, it wouldn’t matter, my generation does that oral sex thing.”
“Well it all comes out in the wash now, anyway I don’t want to know, just let me say? Make sure he gives it a good wash first.”
“Of, course; what kind of girl do you think I am?”
“I suppose a sponging down would help, but where did the blood come from?”
“Definitely through the window, look on the floor, doesn’t it look like an eye?”
“Let me see, yes you are right, we will give to the cat to play with, take off the dress I’ll rinse it through, you go and get daddy to make a nice cup of tea, I’ll hang the dress up in the bathroom after washing it, then in the morning I’ll get up early and give it a press.”
“Oh, mummy you are quite wonderful, not only are we daughter and mother, but best friends.”

8th june 2009

All at the pissing competition began in earnest, Taffy peed up to ten feet as his highest mark, stepping back, Horace Grunt marked the spot which was checked on the slow motion camera and by laser. Next Mick peed a full flush, but only reached nine and a half feet, (at this juncture I am using feet and inches as against metres, this is my rebellion, I believe under Common Market directives, I can be shot, but for my art, I will not be dictated to.)
Boris his contrivance shielded by Bung-Hole who helped him to hold it up, pissed up to Eleven feet. Kvetskyher because of her feminine contrivance had to bend over and lowering her head downwards to her knees pissed to twelve feet backwards. Boris put a formal complaint, saying that peeing had to be done in a regulated manner. The judges deliberated and decided that as the Fosby Flop was permissible in the Olympics, so someone pissing with rear in the air was O.K.
Harry the Horse was missing, it seems the Flying Squad had caught up with him, now if it would have been his normal practice of maiming and thieving they would have let him compete his job and taken a cut afterwards, but it seems he was selling dirty photos of someone of the highest echelons in the land, a rude picture of a lady and a cucumber and some camembert, this was not tolerated for it might fall into foreign hands and those, who should remain nameless could be blackmailed. So they took Big Harry the Horse and with their night stick beat a tattoo on his nuts, until he gave up the info, then he was quietly disposed of. For basically they in undercover work were very tidy. For if one was untidy, the council could fine one and a custodial sentence past out, so after a shooting where the police out gunned a bank robber, who died, well he would with twenty eight bullets in his head, if they didn’t clean up the gore after forensics had finished with bits, were fined, since that time a team of workers, lady cleaners used to this type of thing with hoses and brooms were brought in as backups.
Round two, after refreshments provided by the sponsors, Herr Hilter and the Dancing Green Gilbert Alliance and Northern Breweries, Mick pissed to a height of thirteen feet. Taffy pissed to Twelve foot six and Kvetskyher to thirteen feet three inches. Boris to thirteen feet two and a half inches. Boris demanded a recount, meaning a recheck. There again he was known as a dunder head at school, that’s why he was put in the Foreign Service. Checks were made, and measurements put into Phyllis Crumpet’s laptop, this given to her by Frederick Frostrop, because of her expertise at lapping, she it seems had been well trained by her brother Gongy Tonk Crumpet, who she had a close relationship. The measurements proved to be totally accurate.
It seems that the world champion Gilbert the Spray from La belle France had been abducted by someone from the Home Office a Claptrap Truffle who was into Golden Showers, this aberration he seemed to inherited from his mother Lady Seafarer De Potty, she from an early age, sixteen to be precise experience a moment when her mother’s horse Tatiana Tethfallowed the Thirst gave her a bath as she lay sleeping in the long meadow behind the Stately Home, young Eric seeing her writhing amongst the daisies, hosed her down with his home grown appliance. She became very excited and at the moment of no return Eric did the deed. So fertile was she, that she landed up the duff and had to be married off to Sir Henry Hortense Habitat, thirty years her senior, who needed an offspring to continue the line, as he like to be tied up with nylon stockings as he did in the war by some Yankee soldiers and have his posterior filled, she naturally obliged, not having a sexual prop used instead a truncheon that she found in the armoury, unfortunately, the nylon hose was too tight around his extremities, cut off the blood, causing a bit of a heart attack. With the help of the Doctor Cronwellien Bush-Herder from the southern hemisphere who it seems was into water sports and a promise of the after birth cooked in an omelette, the deed was cover up and her dear husband was cremated, some say before he was actually dead, but even though there was the sounds like someone screaming as the casket went into the flames, it could have been the machinery needed oiling. Instead being cast asunder, but instead with a forged will, done by the Watersports’s Association who met in a swimming pool, so to leave no clues, kept her late husband vast wealth, she decided to at eight months to marry Lord Seafarer De Potty, from a long line of Potty’ tracing their ancestry back to the Norman Conquest, he Lord Seafarer also thirty years her senior, was it seems into water sports, with her watering his plant, what with her being heavily pregnant and her bladder always readied to be emptied, he had his madness. She naturally looked after the Doctor and made him his afterbirth omelette with her own fair hands which let it be said ate with relish, just a hint of black pepper for seasoning.

22nd june 2009

Claptrap De Truffle de Potty took after his mother in all things and she taught that there was nothing natural under wind sail and sea.
Claptrap seeing Gilbert on a website, watching him peeing up a wall, fell in love with him immediately and enticed him away with money.
So without the world champion to hinder them and after refreshment provided by the W.I. and their tea urn they began the Final round.
All peed away, this time Boris, tightened the contrivance around his wily, unfortunately too tight, the out come was when he put pressure on his bladder, nothing came out, the pressure being so excessive, his balls escaped and fired like two small cannonballs, one hitting Mick the Hose in the eye, putting him off his stroke, he miss directed the flow of urine and flushed a cat off a nearby wall, which fell onto Taffy Longshanks, scratching his scrota, he then miss directed his aim and peed into Donkey Dave’s hood, who was so offended he leapt onto Taffy and started to beat him up, naturally the coalminers withy their shovels went into action, the Druids encouraged them with poems. Donkey Dave’s friends rapped back against the Druids.
So in a short time there was a kind of Welsh Language, rapping, backed by a funky bass line, which suddenly came from Mrs. Blodwyn Momobulo window whilst she was overlooking the procedures. So whilst Dave and Taffy punched it out with minors in pit helmets, lamps turned on and the Hoodies lit by their joints, the rappers and Druids form a group, for a better word and went and toured to racially harmonious audience, each in tern would rap lines, the hoodies on the cap in your butt syndrome and the Druids, Dylan Thomas to an ecstatic audience.
Kvetskyher, raised her hunches after pulling down her horizontal stripped socks and peed up to sixteen feet, a new world record. The grizzly Rock singer, Dimple Haig, overcome by such emotion on seeing this feat caught Kvetskyher as she was fainting and kissing her on the left thigh took her off in his limousine promising her the earth to just be his muse. She, being nobody’s fool now, would only accept if he would pay for her operation in a top clinic in Amsterdam, this he swore on the rock and roll oath. So she knew she was on a winner.
A man from the ministry appeared with a clip board in his hand.
“Who is in Charge?” He said in a squeaky voice.
“I am.” Said Big Nebbish. “Why?”
“This competition does not seem to be open to any ethnic minorities.”
“What? There are Blacks, Irish, Welsh, transsexuals, mate?”
“They don’t count as ethnic minorities; your ethnic minorities are from, your Middle East, and bits of Asia.”
“What Jews?”
“No, No, they don’t count, they don’t belong in your Middle East, Middle East is you’re Arabs.”
“So where do your Jews come in? They are a minority in the country.”
“No they are too wealthy, they own Oxford Street.”
“So Jews are not a minority?”

6th july 2009 

“No, now we in the ministry need to look after minorities and cultivate for their needs, their aspirations and their religious practices, with help, so we have set up a website and a help line.”
“Such as?”
“Well, if they are not sure on how to make a bomb, or if they need a grant to make a suicide vest, the best way to make a will before blowing themselves up, also counselling for failed explosions and housing benefits for their families, re housing, well you know how people are very picky and prejudiced to someone who is a suicide bomber, I mean they are only carrying out their religious obligations, I believe it can be quite painful to the bomber him or herself. Anyways, I’m going to have you and organisation fined over these lapses and you will and your associates will receive a custodial sentence.”
Big Nebbish picked him up and threw in the dust cart passing by, there he would be cut up and recycled.
Mrs. Bung-Hole and Paris had watched the pissing competition with interest standing about ten feet behind Bung-Hole.
“Well.” Said Big Nebbish, “you did a grand job Vicar, the Chinese bookies made a packet and what you being a Vicar, made the whole thing Kosher, so here’s your earner.” With that he paid the Vicar at least sixty thousand in cash.
Mrs. Bung-Hole rush over shouting. ”Oh save me Bung-Hole, that gypsy has being trying to take advantage of me.” With that she brushed her hand against Bung-Hole’s groin. He felt a stirring, at the same time a large cocker spaniel cocked his leg on a lamppost.
Bung-Hole thought to himself, what he’d have to do when shafting Mrs. Bung-Hole from the back, he keep a copy of Horse and Hound handy in case he went soft, with that they went of, her hand on dick.

Paris watched with amusement as Mrs. Bung-Hole and the Vicar strolled along, the gentle rays of the moon illuminating her posterior, the dimple dancing in that freckled light, a poet of little distinction rushed out, bearded, the poet not the arse and with a note book with a collage on it of Rimbaud, Shelly, Keats, Auden, and Madonna on it fake leather surface. With a propelling pencil passed down through the male side of the family, for all the Tumbleweed’s had been poets, since the time of the troubadours, or so it had been said by his great grandfather Theodore Tumbleweed in his huge volume ,’ my family and other poets’. It seems that Hungerford Tumbleweed entertained the Grand Duchess Crumplefart de Varicose-Veins, there on the tracing of her legs with a red inked quilled pen he did ornate nimble verses of a dubious nature, starting at the toes which were enhanced with bells, which enable her maid to know when she was coming. Which she did on many occasions.
Theodore wrote with a lovely hand, verse after verse in and out her veins, of love, each stanza he blotted with a kiss. As her thighs were broad, many stanza were composed and with a fine tracing movement brought her to the boil, higher and higher he climbed for she was sat on the bed and him kneeling before her, into the folds he wrote ditties about nimble shaft travelling upwards and onwards and again blotted with a kiss, higher and high until he reached the garden of Eden, around the well, not a bush but weaved hair into an exotic design, her maid Syphilis Saga-Toga from exotic climes had corn weaved it, and for a coin of the realm filched around the entrance until the bells rang, then with a clip around the ear was sent on her way. The poet still with pen ink fertilized the opening with a love ode of a personal nature, for we have never read it, for this tattooing was never seen by the lay public only those who did the laying. He the poet, dipped his wily as a change from a quill in the crimson ink and into the sugared chamber wrote his last and fulfilling sonnet, for as her bells began to ring, his Lordship entered the chamber believing he was on a promise, sizing up the situation, with his might sword removed the poets head, but as the poet was on that point of no return, continued like the old headless chicken, she the recipient of this noble work joined him in this dance of death and brought it to a conclusion and bells did ring loudly causing her cramp in both carves. How you may ask do we know about this? Well the maid who was watching sold her story to a well known scandal sheet.
By the time the poet had thought about this escapade at the same time moving the change about in his pocket, they the vicar and his wife had disappeared into the darkness, for a cloud of pollution had passed over the moon.
Ah he thought to himself, that he was remiss in not capturing that instant of beauty with his noble pen, so should he die a young man’s death and throw himself into the nearby river, but first compose a poem explaining to all like minded why he would do such a thing, then after they had dragged the river upon his person they would find such a beautiful poem, tears would be spilled, maidens would cut tresses from their hair and scatter these tokens on his path to the cemetery, the solemn parade, with eight coal black, cobbled black, bible black horses pulling the hearse, tall men hatted, the crowds crying, flags lowered to half mast, many a young girl now leaving this life of joy and joining a nunnery, peek a boo clouds in the sky weeping openly, still he’d pop in for a pint first, then drown himself later.

wet july 2009

Paris and Helene

The lovely Helene was walking down the road after being to the chip shop, for some haddock, mushy peas and some diet chips, for Mr. Plaice claimed in his advert that he sold only diet chips, he felt, said the advert that what with obesity on the increase, he felt that his contribution would help, this also applied to his batter sausages, kebabs, deep fried mars bars, hamburgers etc. His rotund appearance he put down to his mother feeding him glands as a small boy. For when people remarked on his size, he would tell them it was glands.
Helene walked alone for her husband was watching a match on the T.V. and said she would be quite safe as the muggers and villains in general would be in the stands at the very same match, also the walk would do her good. In reality, so he could move the change in his pocket when the weather forecast girl was on the telly without her seeing.
So with her fish, chips, mushy peas and diet coke she traversed the unlit street, where a mugger, who had just received his training under a Government help scheme, priorities for ethnic minorities, leapt out, and demanded her wealth as well as her fish and chips etc, as he didn’t speak English very well and up to this point didn’t need to, for on the mugging course they had interpreters, so they shouldn’t feel deprived in anyway, there was a rumour going round that in the next five years English would be dropped as a primary language and eventually phased out, thus this being multicultural society, the Raj mentality would be totally phased out, the trouble was, what language would they use instead, the meeting to discuss it was held in London, everyone spoke their own language and would not communicate in anyone’s else’s, declaring that it was their religious obligation to speak their own language and no one else’s.
They needed a Solomon to sort it out, but as Solomon was a Hebrew, that was not on.

“Bloctis-lo-ghitite-filter-fish”. Said the Mugger
“I beg your pardon?” Said Helene.
“Bloctis-lo-gahitite-filter-fish.”
“Sorry.”
“Bloctis-lo-gahitite-filter-fish.”
“Eh?”
With that the mugger pulled out a large knife, supplied by the Ministry of Mugging, it carefully checked by weights and measure, health and safety, for we did not want one of our new muggers in anyway harmed, they said, if there was an accident a person of the same origin would be available to provide a blood transfusion, thus the hospital could exonerate themselves if a court case occurred. There had been a precedent when a mugger had cut himself quite badly and had to go to hospital and blood he receive seems to come a person of a different religion, well there were ructions, the hospital was closed down and the whole place had to be sterilized, staff replace that had come into contact with contaminated blood from the religion that obviously followed the devil. Mind the other religion didn’t believe they were praying to the devil.
The cut mugger, having the so called contaminated blood in his vein, was before their very eyes changed, he no longer wanted to mug people or blow up people, but got a job in a shop and smiled at people instead. He naturally was cast out of the community, and prayers were said as if was dead. He the ex mugger settled in St. John’s Wood, got married to an unbeliever, opened a wholesale business and bought a Volvo.

So the mugger, he out on his first mugging, grabbed at the fish and chips, and dropped the knife which was squired away by a passing hoddie, then the mugger thought better of it, perhaps the fish and chips was contaminated with heathen blood, so he dropped them as if they were on fire, then grabbed the purse which was clutched in the other hand which also contained a diet coke, the coke spilled on his clothing, at this point he screamed out an oath, for he noticed that the diet coke was from the U.S.A.
Looking at the bus stop sign which said all busses east, he attempted to blow himself up, unfortunately the diet coke prevented the explosives to explode, or it could have meant that the health and safety controls were on it, for he had not checked if the device was in close proximity to small children and pregnant ladies, for it might damage their uterus the ladies that is, what ever that is. He should have listened to the instructions on his I pod, for they were in many languages he might be familiar with, and naturally he had it written and in Braille in book provided by the Government Think Tank. He tried his suicide shoes and reach down for the lasses, unfortunately he had put on his trainers and they had Velcro fastenings. He screamed at her.
“Sorry, I can’t understand you.” Said Helene, who apart from the stiff upper lip was rather frightened.
“Huchenchonic.” He cried, soaking his mask with perspiration.
“I beg your pardon?” Said Helene who at the same time was walking backward casually to as not to inform him of her intentions.
“Huchenchonic.”
“Oh.”
With that he reached into his clothing and took out a phrase book and started to slap her around the head with it.
“Oh I say, that’s not nice.” Said Helene, then using the martial arts technique she was taught at her school St. Friendly Caucasian Rupture and the Sisters of Complaint, kicks him in the goolies.(For our American readers, a colloquial word for testicles)
The mugger rolled on the ground in agony. At that moment a man with a clip board arrived.
“Madame, we at the Ministry of Racial Harmony, take exception to you dealing with one of our ethnic minorities in this underhand manner.”
“He was trying to mug me.” Said Helene.
“Madame, he was doing his job that he had been trained to, and let me tell you at great expense, tax payers expense, now you go and injure him, I’m sure he will sue.”
“But he was after my fish and chips and my money.”
“I don’t think so, why would a mugger grab your fish and chips, it seems a bit fishy to me?”
“And my coke.”
“Good heavens even worse an American product, how could you buy such a thing, you madam are fuelling their nuclear ambitions, for they are the axis of evil, the devil’s spawn and wish to take over the world.”
“Oh, really with a diet coke?”
“Yes indeed, I have it here in this pamphlet, as provided by the ministry of information.”
“But he tried to blow himself up.”
“Madam, we in this country do not, and I repeat this do not prevent anyone carrying out their religious practices, this you have prevented, so I shall have do a citizen arrest on you under the rules of racial harassment, this naturally this will go to court, and the man who you have injured, will naturally sue, which we will encourage, providing a solicitor, top lawyer, free of charge.” With that he grabbed her arm.
Paris stepped out of the shadows and with a left hook pole axed the man from the ministry, then placed him into one of the over flowing bins detached from the lamppost, head first. There in the morning he would if the gentlemen who empty them are not on strike, recycle him.
Helene fell into a swoon, Paris lifted her up and carried her to park and laid her down on the park bench that was free of bird dropping, and dipping his kerchief into the fountain put it against her brow. Now let’s be honest about this, the lovely Helene seeing it was that lovely fellow from the store, did the pretend swoon, just to see what he would, and so far he has done alright.
“Dat bitch has done it right, brother.” Said Zeus to his brother.” The plot really begins.

3rd aug 2009

 Thus in the park verily I say, true romance blossoms, there with the guiding hand of Aphrodite, this my dear readers is not your one handed trial and errors, this is not your sticky page turning, this ain’t your telephone sex with some old bint whispering the sweet nothings down the old ear hole, its your true romance, if you copy that, this is what Shakespeare stated in his vast works, this is not your two humped animal, this is your Romeo not trying to get his leg over. This is your actual love, not dark kisses behind dark doorways, but flowers tossed in the air, ‘every little breeze whispers Helene’ this is hands touching hands, waltzing to imaginary bands, sweet knick names, oogie pooing, my little dumpling, petite choux, kissy wissy, no tongues before seven.
Well excuse me while I throw up, out there my friends, if I may call you that, what do we want? We want tongues down the throat, bums being felt, and the bloody earth move to say the least. Yeah, I can hear a triumphant roar, the sound of bed clothes being tossed on the floor, the moon’s beams bouncing on buttocks, dangles swishing backwards and forwards, even out dear friend Kvetskyher showing her stockings with her legs still in them out of her Amsterdam window, yes the operation went well, I’m please to say ,all is back to normal, but a few additions, she has had a bell attached to her dingaling, so her young man knows when he’s got hold of the right place, for most men can’t find their arse without a route map, for if he finds the right spot, protuberance, naturally it will ring, and she with a good east wind will ring as well. Then they in harmony will make music together. A deed well done. Perhaps this could be compulsory at school, girls of a certain age have it done, one naturally would have to check with the authorities, health and safety, fire regulations, naturally those well trained with the right qualifications, ethnic minorities priorities of course, well those who do female circumcision would be quite good having experience in that area, these details would be posted on the government website, in a number of languages and naturally Braille, for blind people are very good with their hands, there are many piano tuners who are blind, they would be first rate, for they could tune the bell with a bit of tweaking, which I’m sure the recipient of the bell fitment would not mind the discomfort of a pair of roaming hands, naturally they the recipient of this function could help in a way by making sure that there was nothing in the way, natural or unnatural and those with an abundance of hair could have a shave in advance, there again perhaps the unemployed could take up a case of barbering, again this could be encouraged by the government and advertised on the net. I am sure if it came to doing a skilful job of removing hair around a lady’s muffin would preferential to mugging in wet, dark weather, well one could get a cold or flu, there again it’s a place where one could be surprised, especially if the recipient of the mugging had done one of those self defence courses. With these attachments of bells, there would be fewer wars, arguments, a life would be fulfilled. Ah, there is always a down side, the chaps, they won’t follow instructions, they will never read the pamphlets, and before the lady in question is peeling her bell, he would be finished and with the remote, switch on the football on the T.V.

They walked hardly talking, her still nervous from her ordeal, she leaning on his shoulder, naturally being the right height having been feed on decent food, possibly organic, you know organic, that’s the dearer stuff in upmarket supermarkets, now if she came from Essex, without her high heels, she would be leaning against something different to rest her cheek on as they say.
Well perhaps, if the cards are played right, things of a convivial nature will present themselves, and our lonely reader in his or her dark den, knowing that this is not Mills and Boon, or Boom Boom. Soft light through the broken window breaks as Archer said in his famous book, which I believe he is suing a Will Shakhis-Spear for saying the same thing, this he is doing in the high court, there he will represented by a friend from a Holiday Camp he had been recently staying, sharing so I believe the same chalet and taking a stroll together around the facilities in the exercise yard., often discussing the ramifications of the world and how to earn a fragrant shilling.
So in this romantic setting the rain turned into a golden shower, well both had drunk a lot of tea earlier, but in their case, to alleviated their condition, the did separately behind separate bushes, for that wet joint venture might never be accomplished together, well its no to everyone’s taste, now if it was the passing of a good wine, red or white depending on someone’s taste there could be a fad for it, it mentioned in the Sunday Supplements by the eminent wine critics, but then Health and bleedin’ Safety would put there oar in, they would interfere about the gravity, was it tested on animals, could it drunk in front of small children and pregnant ladies, and affect their the ladies’ uterus what ever that is, and those in our society who don’t drink, those who take the pledge or on religious ground, they, we would need some input, would these derivations lead the youth in our society down a downward path to drugs etc. Well I suppose one could smoke a joint up the muffin and suppose blow smoke up the wily, but then what about gays, would they want smoke blown up the cat door, a survey would have to asked, or perhaps a government think tank would be commissioned. Naturally this would make headlines in all the papers unless there was a win or loss in football, cricket according to the time of the year, or a starlet whose tit escaped whilst she popped out of a car and such.
These things were not on Paris’s mind neither the fair Helene.
“I am so wet and shivering.” Said the fair Helene.
“I have a bijou workshop around the corner and it had an electric heater, I promise you, you will be quite safe, I promise.”
“Who said I won’t to be safe.” Helene said with a musical ring.
“At the speed of light, Paris took her by the arm and sped to his humble abode.
As they hurried down the road the past Achilles who was taking a leek in a doorway.
In the humble abode, Paris and the fair Helene undressed back to back and slowly turned.
Aphrodite waved her magic girdle to their direction and the result of her swishing found herself being goosed by the god of war.

16th aug 2009

The Vicar scores.

Meanwhile back at the Bung-Hole residence, Mrs. Bung-Hole was on her knees with Bung-Hole at the back giving her what he believed was a fine seeing too, she not really aware of his activity from behind, gave an occasional sigh to encourage him, why she wondered he needed to rest the magazine Horse and Hound on her bottom, it was beyond her, but if that kept him in line it was alright by her. There was a girl at school who did masturbate her dog, or so it rumoured, well it was good practice and at least the dog wouldn’t want to watch the football afterwards.
As Bung-Hole banged away, Mrs. Bung-Hole counted the money in front of her and found as she piled up the money into stacks it brought her to the boil, and as the last thousand was counted, she felt a twitch of such magnitude that she shouted a stream of obscenities, now Bung-Hole was surprised as he had finished quite some time before, still she wasn’t moaning at him.
Mrs. Bung-Hole considered how she could count the money one handed and use Georgey Porgy at the same time, well if she did it often enough she would get the hang of it. It seem that the last thousand did the trick so she would squire it away for her muffin dancing, the rest she would spend for with Bung-Hole now able to get a stiffy she would have him in her grasp so to speak, now if she could get him to smoke and drink a fair bit, she would cook rich meal in those poly what’s its? Then get him to do the wily dance, morning noon and night, blow him, men liked that, she’d knacker him, then he’d pop off and she’d have it all, the thought brought her to the boil again with that she shouted obscenities again.
The Bishop looking down said to Philpot, “That bitch has him by the short and curlies.”
“Come on Bung-Hole, I’m sure you can give another go, I’ll lie on my back this time and you can squiggy my breasts.”
“I do have a sermon to write.”
“Oh don’t you want to please you lickle one wid your wily, I’m dying for it.”
“I could rehash an old one.” With that he climbed aboard realizing he didn’t need the Horse and Hound magazine.

sept 2009 bring out your dead

 Philosophy what ever.

Are we now in the realm of no retreat, have gone down a path of no return, will there be no salvation at the end of the tunnel? Yes we are, it will be a dark spiral down to hell and damnation and like those medieval paintings, we will meet all those pious pratts that have been waving the flag of morality and with fingers so sly dip our pockets and lecturing on high, parliamentarians, moral crusaders with pockets full of gelt, newspapers who want to know the ins and outs of a cat’s arse, thems with a full pocket telling poor they are work shy, them with the off shore accounts etc, pay no taxes and tell us that we are a third world country now. With our ‘Here Ronnie Must Bush’ spike them up the old Harris (for our American readers, Harris from rhyming slang, Aristotle, rhymes with bottle, bottle and glass, rhymes with arse) a three fork prong.
Oh Garden of Earthly Delights as a prelude, then down into old Nick’s pit, mind you need to a lot of fornication, boozing, thieving, and all that old bollocks to get into the pit, now there’s a question? Say you have been only partially bad, in a way done fuck all, in fact been boring, you cheeked the old mother as top of the list, broken the speed limit, told porkies( Porkie Pies, Lies)? about an insurance claim, copped a feel of your mates bird, nothing earth shattering, what happens then? Well up in the celestial palace, you couldn’t get a look in, and down stair you wouldn’t get through the entrance exam. So where do the boring ones go? They in charge would have to a place for them to go, and what punishment? I mean they can’t burn your bollocks off, this applies to men naturally, mind you some of those butch dykes, the ones who look like they need to shave, they may have a fine set of nuts. Or those ugly bints, only a blind man would shag. We have got to a find a place for them as well. Let’s think? A place they don’t really torture, no thumb screws on the old extremities, nipple clamps, which I believe one can buy now from a high street catalogue. I know, a public library, with silence notices all over, and no toilets and no way outs. No one you could ask if you wanted to take a leak and such. Oh another, restaurants that sold Spam sandwiches on two day old bread with margarine and watery tea. The women could suffer from P.M.T. every day of the month. That wouldn’t be anything new, I thought they did anyway. Now for the men, they would be deprived of the remote control and what ever time they switch on the T.V. they, the blokes had just missed a goal being scored, and she would say, that’s the woman of the house. “Oh I think someone or ever kicked the ball thing in?”
“Which side?”
“I don’t know, I wasn’t really watching.”
At that moment the screen would go blank, then flash on again, the crowd in the stadium would be screaming and the commentator shouting “I’ve never seen a goal like it.” Naturally screen going blank again.
Now for the women, they would be sitting curled up on the settee with nice bar of chocolate. There on the screen would your Mr. D’Arcy look alike, taking heroine in his arms just after rescuing her from the clutches of the villain, their lips would meet.
He arrive in pissed for four or five mates, switch over the telly to match, and say, “Go on love can you make a few sandwiches, me and the boys are starving.”
Well we all know, when all the mates have gone, leaving the place in a mess, and he had boasted to them that he was going to give her a real seeing to, she was definitely going to have a headache. Come to think of it, he doesn’t have go to all that palaver to give her a headache, just his bleedin’ presence will do that. 

14th sept

Doing the deed

Back at Paris’s humble abode, they did the deed, to not put a finer point, it was not on just a full filling experience, exhilarating, and in nuptial stakes, it was top bollock, on a rate of one to ten, it was above ten, Aphrodite had weaved her web of lust over them both. Now we could go into the ins and outs of the shenanigans, but let’s be honesty this serious work in not your porn magazine and out of respect to you noble readers who look for the finer things in life, well what with you being brought up on the finer things in life, like Wordsworth, Shelly, and soaps, you don’t need any, well he did this thrusting, and did she wailed like a cat in heat? Needless to say she did.
Let us say the fair Helene was good at sexual congress and performed antics that took Paris to another plain. Now Helene it seems could pussy fart a half diminished flat five chord. Now those of not musical nature, check with a friend I’m not here to educate you.
In the adjoining workshop there was a young composer, at that moment as the fair Helene pussy farted that chord, he was going to hang himself, around his neck he had placed a noose, for he had spent a month trying desperately the middle eight of a tune, all kept doing was toying with the ‘I got rhythm’ changes, and as the tune was a romantic one, with moon and June, this dedicated to his lost sweet love, for he knew he fell in love to easily, she his Desdemona had done runner with a hairy git in a Heavy Metal Band, who introduce to the rock and roll way of live. Plus he Heavy Metal had an acreage and money to burn. He the composer, was of a different cut, his songs were of an, after hour manner, drinkers in the lush life, perhaps Paris the capital, there in the back streets they would have understood him, there with there Sartre sophistication, there women with slit skirts to the waist and wearing berets would dance provocatively around the tables. Wine would be drunk, tables candle lit, the trio playing the corner, she, a singer who had seen the world, dark seedy and cynical, with a cracked voice sing his song and it’s lyric, like she would say ‘Autumn Leaves’ it, then she would point to him, and he in the spot light would take a bow.
Taking the nose from his neck, he move to the keyboard and hit that pussy fart chord, and again, in the next room, the fair Helene pussy farted again a semi tone up, and Paris was taken to paradise.
So Paris and Helene began a gain their cavorting, as the two humped animal.
Achilles hearing the pussy fart from the street outside looked through the window and recognised the fair Helene on the receiving end of a fine dalliance.

Quickly he ran to the rugby Club and jumping on to a table announced to the chaps there.
“Yes what fellows? I’ve just seen Many-lay-us wife Helene getting a great seeing to from a gypsy looking fella.”
“You’re kidding?” Said Barometer Minor Seven.
“No straight up, and it was definitely straight up and she was doing the obscenities down his ear hole.”
“Well, we can’t have one of the committee’ wife being shagged by a gypo, I mean if she’s going let someone have a taste, it should be someone off the team.”
“Who is going to tell him?” Said Foreskin Twitcher.
“Well no, I shall myself tell him delicately, well I can break the news over a pint.” Said a smirking Achilles.

29th sept 2009

Back at the Vicarage.

Bung-Hole awoke after a serious seeing to by Mrs. Bung-Hole.
“I had a very strange dream my dear.”
“What’s that my dear.” Said Mrs. Bung-Hole whilst toying with his wily and sticking her finger up his anus.
“I dreamt we were walking around our graveyard and there we were surrounded by all these religious Jews on Stilts.”
“On stilts?” Said Mrs. Bung-Hole, whilst inserting another finger up his bum. She had read when in the surgery whilst waiting for Dr. Hilarity Squash, for her smear test. She was always very accommodating, said Dr. Hilarity, for didn’t really need much of the unction to allow entrance, anyway the feel of the latex gloves produce an abundance of juices, Dr. Hilarity had to use a whole box of tissues, whilst the Doctor was taking her time, a thrust here a thrust there, she mentioned between gasps, that in a Horsey magazine and article by Bagshot T. Leviticus in a reply to a desperate housewife, that put some fingers up the old cap flap on the male of the species, would get the old wily doing it’s thing. Well if it didn’t work, why would gays do it.
“Yes on stilts, they were shouting down to me, we are the Frummer Army and we know where body is buried, then the clouds were darkening, and I woke up.”
“Don’t worry about that, it’s only a dream.” Said Mrs. Bung-Hole between mouthfuls.
“Then I’ll fix you a nice steak and we will open a bottle red wine, and perhaps as a treat I will get you a nice cigar, well as it is raining I’ll send Mrs. Tingle Moment out to get it for you, the exercise will do her good.”
“But I don’t smoke.”
“All, really sexy men smoke, and I like sucking on a cigar, honey bunny.”
Well though Bung-Hole as he laid back, cor things had definitely changed, yeah if she was going to do this blow job thingy, and a cigar turns her on, perhaps he’ll take up smoking, what with money he could afford it. What with that dream, maybe he could a deal with Priest fellow down the road and do an exorcism on the grave of the buried Hebe. Then the stilt walkers will leave him alone. At that thought, he felt the vinegar rub. This was caused by Mrs. Bung-Hole doing the shuffle bottom tactics, A technique which to be used on Doris Plant of the upper forth at school, for Doris was tame to say the least when it came to the vinegar rub stage, she Doris was ok at the strapping on the stickadicktome, and some attention was applied to the rowing tactics as done when they were oarsmen on the lake outside, or as the girls called them whores men. But Doris was of a mathematical bent and during the thrusting scenario she would start to work out velocities and displacement of air and vacuum, and as the mathematical perambulations would come to the forefront, she would stop in mid thrust and ponder, even a sharp nail up the old anus wouldn’t shift her, so the shuffle bottom technique was used.
Often the girls would marvel in the gym under the tutorage of Miss Prim who had had brought it to a high art, in fact won medals for it at the alternative Olympic games at Bay Ing, where with her propulsion build up a surplus of air and when a flame was held to her bottom send a brilliant flaming jet across the stadium and light the Olympic flame holder, this without, as rumoured that out friends from the Eastern Bloc were using artificial means and an abundance of steroids. One, Christina Corpolunchonmeatsky, because of the excessive use of the said steroid abuse, her clitoris grew of monumental proportion, and when thrusting her self forward at the appropriate time and pole vaulted out of the stadium. That’s by the way. Miss Prim retired undefeated and now passed on her expertise to her pupils, naturally starting them on bananas and then moving to harder objects and larger ones, and with the shuffle bottom technique which she patented, the money she made was left after her demise to Dykes Anonymous, She was buried with full ceremonial honour, taken from us before her time. She in a moment of error after a large consumption of alcoholic beverage decided to for the amusement of the rest of the staff to take on an elephants Togger, the Head Cynthia Barns-Swallow had shot the elephant as it was mounting the cow elephant, so to be polite primed in his equipment. The head had it embalmed and it was on display in the teacher’s rest room. Well to cut a long story short, Miss Prim lay on one of the large desk with legs akimbo, but only with knickers off. She wouldn’t take the rest of her kit off for she was no slut and didn’t want the other ladies gloating over her bosom. So with some three in one oil, a can full, the help of Argy Margi Larger the rugby coach, they accomplished the deed and got it in. the problem was getting it out. They had nothing to grip on and as they had to go to evening prayers. Miss Prim did have a staggering walk, like a person with bow legs. The head was informed that she had taken a blow to head when one of the girls was swinging a dumbbell, but though had a concussion she would never miss evening prayers.
The downside was that the elephant whose wily it was, was a randy bugger and had been putting it about, unfortunately had picked up a very naughty form of venereal pestilence. She Miss Prim fell into a swoon and closed her eyes never to open them again. When dead, the other teachers cut out the elephants wily out and she Miss. Prim was buried with her favourite stickadicktome in as a replacement. Freshly washed and covered in the school colours.
Mrs. Bung-Hole repaired to the other room so she could get out Georgey Porgy and get some of the joy that she had been handing out, for truth be known is that Bung-Hole was as they say in higher echelons, bleedin’ useless at shagging.

Bung-Hole wander down stairs feeling full of himself and picking up the phone decided to phone Ruckstaff Twinge and get him down to see if he could find Saint Philpot’s hidden treasure.
“Hello Twinge here, can I help you?”
“Vicar Bung-Hole here, I was wandering if you’d like to call when not busy and perhaps we could discuss perhaps excavating the old church and looking for St. Philpot’s hidden artefacts?”
“Leave it alone, you will wear it away.”
“I beg your pardon, leave what alone?”
“Sorry not you vicar, its Derek, he wont leave my wily alone, I think he was taken off the breast to early if you catch my drift?”
“Oh.”
“Yes, what with you being a man of the cloth, you would understand these aberrations, that these chaps have via the old confessional, sorry vicar, that’s the other lot, mind you he is very good at what he does, ah vicar would you mind if I ring you back, I got something on my mind that, how can I say? will take precedent, so, speak later, alright bitch do your worse.”
Funny types thought Bung-Hole; they always seemed to be occupied by sex. At the moment the dog walked past.
As all dogs, they have telepathy.
“No f-ing way.” Barked the dog, if he wants some pussy he can do Mrs. Bung-Hole and with that he farted, an extremely pungent smell, for he had been eating old frogs and a dead rat. The smell was like someone or something had climbed up his arse and died there, that’s not to put a fine point on it.
The vicar held his nose and opened the back door, the dog ran out and lying on the pathway slowly licked his balls.
Bloody dog has a bigger dick than me, mind you with all this money I could go from one of those penis enlargements jobs, this he had read in the small ads in the Priory Magazine.

12th oct 2009

In The Bijou Flat.

“Mummy wants daddy to put his naughty thingy in my botty.” Said Derek Del la
Chuff.
Not now dear, I’ve got us a project, seems that that Bung-Hole at St. Philpot’s wants to us find the treasure, could get T.V involved, make a few quid and perhaps a knighthood, stop sulking, pull that lip in.”
“You care more about your career than me.”
“What do you think pays the rent? Do you want me to put you back out on the streets again?”
“O.K. when do we start?”
“I’ll make a few inquires we a few of the old school on the T.V. go put, no, I’ll tell you what, open a bottle.”

Up above.

“Did you hear that Philpot?” Said the Bishop whilst puffing on his hooker.”
“Yeah.” Said Philpot whilst puffing on his hookah.
“You don’t seem worried.”
“No, they probably open Pam Dora’s box instead.”
“What Pandora? I thought was a legend.”
“No Pam Dora, she was my cleaning woman, cor, she was a bit of an old witch, kept all kinds of evil things in there, a pilot’s thumb, liver of blaspheming Jew, all that old tat, anyone handling the contents without those latex gloves gets a pestilence of such a magnitude, what ever they handle will fall off immediately and no repairs, magic what?”

At the Rugby Club.

“Guess what chaps?” Said Achilles to his chums who were already pissed by the bar.
“Pint old fruit? Arse still sore? Believe it or not, one will venture in case they get their wily cut off, I mean did they remove all of that, old sword?”
“Yes I will have a pint, and you can have a look.” With that Achilles dropped his trousers.
“You still wearing that old jock strap from the match? I say old chap it’s beginning to pen and ink at bit, could do with a bit of a swilling.” Said Algy Memnon.
“I will not take it off until we beat the blighters.”
“When’s the return match?” Said N. Ester.
“About six weeks I reckon.” Said Algy.
“Well that’s ok, Achilles could stand down wind until then, by the way, what was the thing you were going to say?” Said N. Ester.
“Well chaps I was having a nose around those old workshops, yo know Green Street, and have a lookee through the old window, and you will never guess in a million years, what do I spy, Verity Helene on all fours getting a shagging from some gypsy looking type, she was mooing like a cow.”
“What Plum-Stone’s Mrs?”
“Right in one, and judging by her howling, right up to the punch line.”
“Bloody hell.” Said Algy. “I thought she was an untouchable, god I used to wank myself blind over her.”
“I’m telling you on my oath, she was getting from what I can see, at least eight inches of prime pork doing the business.”
“Gypo you say?”
“Yes looked like a gypo.”
“Well we can’t have that, if was one of the fellows in the club it would have been fair game, anyway Plumb-Stone is presenting some cup or other, oh yes when we hospitalised those chaps from league two, old Plumb-Stone firm is putting some gelt in, you know the kind of thing a tax what’s it, any way he’s in the lodge, all brother’s together.”
“True, if she going do some freebie shagging should on her own territory and with own class, now who is going to tell Plum-Stone, draw lots or elect?”
“N. Ester is good, did that course on communication at work.”
“Well ok chaps, I will be diplomatic, gosh look perfect timing, don’t be obvious, talk about rugger and I’ll gently pick up the subject, tactfully.”
So the chaps with exaggerated movements played out the tactics of a recent match, only eight glasses were broken, Ajax got a nine inch cut on his face, but with an elastoplasts stuck on his face such it was fine.
“Hi Plumb-Stone have a pint.” Said N. Ester. And took him by the arm into a corner.
“Thanks old chap, good pints from the local brewery, any news?”
“Let me see? I know you have three guesses, guess who wife is being shagged stupid?”
“Over de Hump?”
“Close.”
“The vicar’s wife?”
“Farther away.”
“What near to home?”
“Got it in one.”
“Our cleaning woman.”
“Disappointed, you were almost there.”
“Not a gay thing?”
“No. definitely one up the pussy, and from what hear, she was mooing like a cow.”
“Well I suppose the old stallion is well hung?”
“Well what I gather, the bit that was still on the outside was about eight inches long.”
“So a good shagger, local lad?”
“No, looks like a gypo.”
“Yeah I know the one, lock your doors, they will steal anything.”
“Got it in one.”
“Randy bastards.”
“Yeah.”
“So she was getting a real seeing too? The old husband must be stupid if he didn’t, notice well it would be obvious, wouldn’t it?”
“Well?”
“So who’s the mug then?"
“Look in the mirror.”
“Why? There’s no one coming in, I can only see you and me, and you’re not married. Bitch, slut, cow, so she’s fucking a gypo.”
“Now, now old chap, have a drink, barman a large whiskey please.”
“Bloody gypo, bloody gypo, I’ll be the laughing stock at the golf club and god only knows what it will do me at the lodge, I mean, my position might untenable. Bastard, bitch, I mean she’s getting a soft top.”
“Maybe that’s the reason old sport.”
“What?”
“Just thinking out loud, just changing the subject for a moment, are you coming to the match on Saturday? Got a full team, young Cyril’s bollocks have descended, that Mary Pleasing- Pillock the physio was very good at the old massage lark, got her hands down there gave him a good working over and voila, down they dropped and as a encore she gave him a bit of wristing. “
“Match, my career may be jeopardy.”
“Can’t be that bad.”
“My dear fellow, it’s the annual ball, managing director, I can’t dance with her up close, I will be belly to belly.”
“Oh yes.”
“She has to toe the line.”
“Throw her out?”
“Better not, she’d get half the money, house etc.”
“You got kids.”
“Got it in one, no it’s the bloody darkie thing, she’ll be tainted, I want him sorted out and her punished.”
“So you are not coming to the match then?”
“Sort them out and not only will I come to the match, I’ll buy the lads a drink as well, but hush, hush, we don’t everyone knowing, keep it under one’s hat.
“Wilco, old sport.”
Plum-Stone wandered off in the TV room. 

26th oct 2009

“I say chaps.” Said N. Ester. “Plumb-Stone’s knickers are right in a twist, he’s, can I say this in company? Livid, absolutely livid, I not sure if it’s because his wife is getting a decent length after all these years or because the old shafter is a gypo.”
“Well maybe in the old trouser department, he’s null and void, how he can with having her available, on tap so to speak, the mind boggles, I get a stiffy just looking at her, imagine her in the stark bollock naked stakes, god you’d cream your jeans.” Said Algy Memnon, whilst provocatively doing a thrusting motion with his hips.
“Bloody right, I’d dance with that, screw it all ways, if I had a chance, have you seen it from the back, the arse is like two puppies fighting under a blanket, bend her over the table and tally ho what?”
“Look out; he’s coming back, talk about rugby, quick.”
“Well Henderson got a biffing, lost and eye, or was it an ear in the scrum.”
“Perhaps a bollock?”
“No, couldn’t have been, Achilles was on the bench at the time, if he would have been there, the fella would have been bollockless, he felt a few in his time.”
“Come on chaps, you are putting me down as a queer.”
“Well you have been known to do a bit of fondling in your time.”
“Well only when pissed.”
“Yes true, if one is pissed it doesn’t count.”
“So anyway he kicked a good drop goal.”
“Not like running a try though, oh hello Plumb-Stone, just chatting about last Saturday’s match.”
Plumb-Stone took N. Ester to the side. “You didn’t say anything did you? I don’t want anything to get out, you know laughing stock.”
Behind him Achilles pretended to do a shagging motion.
“As if I would, my lips are sealed, but if you want him and her sorted, the chaps will have to know something.”
“Well can’t you say she was abducted, something like that?”
“Yes O.K. sounds good.”
“Quickly if possible.”
“Well it seven days to the match, we will have it sorted, you go home, we will be in touch.”
“O.K.”
So Plumb-Stone walked out with as much dignity as he could.
“Look chaps.” Said N. Ester, I’ve promised we’d sort out the gypo and rescue the damsel in distress.”
“Yes O.K. it’s an hour to closing time, get a few down, then we will pop round and sort it out.”


Back at the Vicarage

The vicar sat in the big chair in the lounge and took down the good book, ‘Investments in Darkest Africa’ yes he could see himself in Africa, in control of a diamond mine, cracking the whip, and at night, taking one of those dusky maidens into his hut and give her a seeing to. At the last conference, he had heard from Gladstone Tripe-Major, who had done the old missionary work, that the black girls were gagging for it, desperate for a white dick, mind you needed a sluicing down first, they are not ones for washing and such.
He could hear the mooing of a cow, now he thought that was funny, the farmer didn’t have any cattle in the fields next to vicarage, all had been put down in the foot and mouth epidemic, and anyway he was selling it off to developers at a good price. Maybe the wind was carrying the sound from Horacio Budget-Airlines place, it was a country retreat for him and his friends, bit of a shagging pit, so it was said on the grapevine, had to have some farming interest, that way got a grant from E.U, well why should the undeserving get it. The Brits pay enough in. There again there was a bit of a problem with the sitting tenants, but once they had switched of the old water and charged them for the rite of way, they soon went.
Still that mooing was close, like it was upstairs; mind you it couldn’t be Mrs. Bung-Hole after the seeing too he gave her. Maybe I have been too rough with her, well I did put some action on, maybe she’s bruised inside.
Upstairs Mrs. Bung-Hole put the ribbon back on Georgey Porgy and with a gentle kiss put him away.
“I say Mrs. Bung-Hole are you alright in there?”
“Come in Bung-Hole, I’m in my chemise, don’t be shy.”

11th nov 2009

Bung-Hole walked in, and the dog who was sitting there ran out.
“Oh Mrs. Bung-Hole you look quite spiffing there, but shouldn’t you be wearing some under garments, say someone came knocking at the door, mind you if it was them selling Watch Tower, they would be in for a surprise, but if the milkman, he’d drop the old bottles what.”
“Now Bung-Hole, I was preparing myself for you, you get me so hot, and I am so damp, come here big boy.”
“Steady on, to be truthful I’m a bit knacker from the last assault.”
“You toying with my little feeling, you want mummy to cry?”
“Well no.”
“Would you prefer a wittle blow job instead?”
“Well, maybe?” Said Bung-Hole whilst moving his change in his pocket.
With that Mrs. Bung-Hole had him stripped from the waist down, and from view of a crow sitting on the window ledge it looked like she was chewing gum.
At that moment Mrs. Tingle-Moment was climbing up the ladder to clean the windows. Looking in she saw Bung-Hole getting a seeing too from Mrs. Bung-Hole, “the bitch is giving him some mouth resuscitating (now you may surprised that Mrs. Tingle-Moment would use the word resuscitating, well she had studied language at night school under a Government Incentive scheme, for improving lot for the working classes, mind you it was a hot summer that year and she did get a tan in the garden, so she got in under ethnic minorities) , she had never done that blow job thing to him, he had only to ask, I’d having taken my teeth out.”
With that Mrs. Tingle-Moment lost her footing and fell off the ladder and fell onto Bettina Willow-Arse-Grass who was visiting her beloved Archie’s grave. He was taken before his time, dying at ninety six, found dead on the toilet with half a stool still hanging out of his rear. There was a discussion whether they should leave the turd interred as there would be an autopsy. A family gathering was called; Gerald thought it should be, Alice thought it would better to be shit free. So a family argument broke out between those on leaving everything intact and those of the other persuasion, well fists were raised and blows exchanged, then there was a noise, it seems the old man wasn’t dead, only asleep, in half dazed state wandered out into the room and all its commotion as with his trousers still half mast, the stool that was half in half out of his posterior popped out and onto the lino, he stepped on it and slipped, and with trousers at half mast fell, hitting his head on the mantelpiece, dislodging the carriage clock, fortunately Horace who was good at cricket caught it.
“Well done.” They all cried.
“It would have a shame if that had been broken, worth a fortune, saw one sold on the Antique Road Show.” Said Harvey.
“What about daddy?” Said Jasmine.
“Well one of the ladies, tidy him up, well it won’t be a problem as you do that nappy thing.”
Bettina Willow-Arse-Grass, well she died after hitting head on the composite stone that had been put up on the cheap by the offsprings, the roughage of the stone, flaking like cornflakes in the dapple light autumn weather caught Mrs. Tingle-Moment in her false teeth pushing them down her throat, the convulsions from her body due to the unexpected fall set the teeth in motion and with a will of their own decided to eat their way out of her body. Not a pleasant experience for Mrs. Tingle-Moment, perhaps anaesthetic would have dulled the pain, but with cut backs in the Hospitals, trying to budget, especially with the influx from the common market, and no hospital wanted to be accused to depriving our new found friends of the old treatment, if they did, the old racial thing would evoked. So when the ambulance crew arrived, called by General De Breast, who was doing a bit of flashing at the Girls School, Saint Petite Pussy, private naturally, he wouldn’t flash a working class girls, that if happened he would lose the old stiffy, he did once by accident, for he in his eagerness did not put on his long distant glasses, but his reading glasses instead, so he flashed at Donna Warehouse from the Industrial Estate. Well she complained to her father, who went to the police, who arrested him, for he had after they visited his house in the middle of the night, found floor to ceiling car radios and sat nav, well the magistrate and the court fell about laughing when he said he needed the sat nav to find his way around the car radios etc.
The daughter, thinking philosophically about the old flashing bit, said at the check out where she work to her friend Kylie, that the old General had a fine bit of timber sticking out and if she could get a fella to get a stiffy that easy, she should do it for a living.
The General suffered with a limp wily for a week, he realised that only an upper class bint would get his wily to go vertical, so he wore his long distant glasses when he went on one of his challenges as he called them. When he saw the accident, he thought as he did during the old campaigned duties, better to put it away, call the ambulance and pull the old bishop later. Well the ambulance arrive poste haste, and young Clive Cranberry-Juice, tried blowing an aspirin up Mrs. Tingle-Moment’s nostril as he couldn’t open her mouth and not having a hypodermic, for all had been given to the local druggies as they provided clean urine samples at the clinic, unfortunately she Mrs. Tingle-Moment had a heavy cold due to her old man making her sleep on the old lino, so she wouldn’t get in the way when he was having a wank. Well the aspirin got stuck in the snot as it would, so young Clive not having the experience of the other member of the crew Charlie Shout who was taking a leak behind the fallen angel, blew an aspirin up the other nasal passage, which was also snot filled. So Mrs. Tingle-Moment gave up the ghost and died and in her death spasm the teeth popped out of her side, just below the ribs. An old tramp wandering past took them and put them in his pocket for later.
The police naturally went round to Mr. Tingle-Moment to inform him, and had to shout through the window, for he wouldn’t get up to answer the door, as he was pulling the Bishop whilst the weather girl was on the T.V doing the forecast.
“Mr. Tingle-Moment, I am sorry to tell you that your wife’s has had a fatal accident and need to come down to the vicarage.” Said Constable Plum.
“I’ll be with you in a minute mate, I’m nearly finished.”
Just as the weather girl showed the Barbary Coast was hot and humid, he finished with a flourish.
At the time of the accident, or after the noise of the falling ladder, both Mr. and Mrs. Bung-Hole rushed to the window, she Mrs. Bung-Hole leaning over the sill, Bung-Hole seeing with one eye the fallen couple and with other eye, he naturally having very flexible eyes, saw Mrs. Bung-Hole’s posterior raised and with events of such a savage nature in front of him slipped her a stiffy, she at that moment seeing scenes of such a savage nature had in memory of dying Tingle-Moment a tingle moment of her own.
So what can we gather from this interlude, well it is not original, in the memory, so I had read somewhere, there was cavorting of a sexual nature that people did when they watch someone hung drawn and quartered, this was in front of the mob, naturally the mob in its sack cloth and ashes, what ever was the fashion of the poor, they would their vermin infested clothes do a bit of frottage, or in the common tongue, rogering, the upper crust had window seats, their the participants would arrange themselves with dignity, she in powered wig and lead makeup over the window ledge, her bosom hanging out, and the gentleman behind, lifting hem of the long dress and placing it on her back maybe secured with a pin, get his servant to release his wily and diligently put it up the, I believe the word they used was fanny, or if she was so inclined up her pert bottom, naturally the servant would a pomade it so she wouldn’t feel any discomfort unless so inclined, then as the poor bugger gave up the ghost, both would reach a fulfilment.
After the rapid conclusion of this sexual flurry, Bung-Hole looked up and counted his blessings, he would do a good deed, he would give Mrs. Tingle-Moment a fine sermon and do it on the cheap. 

23rd nov 2009

At Paris’s Workshop.

Helene writhed as Paris took her again and again. Paris had never been so happy. Time passed.
“We must eat Paris.” Said Helene with a laugh.
“I will only eat you, that will satisfy my hunger.”
“Ah, Paris I will drink from your fountain, but between you and me, neither will taste of coffee.”
“Yes you are right, there is a fridge in the corner with some meat and there is a fresh loaf and jars of coffee, yes we shall eat and drink.”


Back at the Rugby Club.

“So chaps, we have had a skin full, shall we go around and give this bugger a seeing too.” Said Achilles.
“Plan of action?” Said N. Ester.
“Well we are big enough to barge in, get the old shoulders down and charge the old frame work.” Said Algy Memnon.
So off they trooped to the less salubrious part of town, quite close to Priam’s house, north of the Walls of Tesco’s.
“Quiet now chaps, you are leaping about like a heard of cattle.” Said N. Ester. “In my day, I worked with more heroic chaps than you, they could stand alone and fight the vast hordes from any industrial estate, let me tell you.”
“I’m bursting for a piss.” Said the Mighty Ajax and with that took out his wily and flashed it in the light.
“I’ll join you.” Said Minor Ajax, with his smaller weapon.
“I say chaps.” Said Achilles, look there is a cat on one of those dust bins; let’s see if we can piss it into the air?”
“Winner takes an award, first crack at the fair Helene, right?” Said Algy Memnon.
“Right on.” They all cried.
Then will a flourish, they pissed the cat into the air, naturally the cat was not pleased and tried clawing at the streams of urine. The cat was the brother to Beastsatron, a small pussy owned and preened by his owner Lydia Atarto, who in her quiet bed chamber stroke it until it quieted down, she like her pussy being stroke for it gave her a sense of achievement, but usually in a five four time signature, but that is another story.
The cat wailed as only a cat’s can. Mr. Hector Emmanuel Bucket who was doing his ablutions in the bathroom next to the bed room before giving his dear wife Ann Drom and Cheese Cake a kiss on her substantial rear, for this she liked a fresh mouth near her entrance and the taste of spearmint on her marginal seat, for its tang, then her friendly oars man would nod his head, this was Hector’ clear indication to put to sea and do a bit of canoeing up the channel, naturally her being fickle as women sometime can, they with the terrorist weapon P.M.T. when we believe the moon is on the turn, I always thought it was made of cheese, mind you some ladies have said in not so many words that the old rocket ship taste of cheese before the moon landing, so, no nodding, no canoeing. Well with the cat screaming, the canal was shut. The Old Catholic contraceptive, the aspirin between the knees job So Hector threw one of his wife’s big fashion boots out of the window at the cat. His wife had a set of feet, in her shoes one could go to sea in and take a family of illegal immigrants as well. The boot bounce off Ajax’s the Mighty’s head, causing him to hose down Minor Ajax, who was mightily pissed off, for the urine containing steroids and best bitter, altered the cardigan’s colours that his Aunt Jill had knitted, this matronly aunt, spinster of the local parish, she had loved a Arnold Benedict in her earlier years, who turned out to be villain behind her back and her being upright and allowing no hanky panky before the wedding, planted his seed all over, and so rich was his seed that he fathered many even on the soft fellows that poised shaved in doorways and clubs with twinkling lights. Well she was so offended by his antics especially when she had heard he had been going with dubious lady of an indeterminate colour, for she heard that this lady had not gone to the Costa Brava or other hot climes for her tan, being too poor. Her dear mother had said that if he and she after the marriage had the old nuptials, if she had a baby it would be a dark one. It seems this was similar to the marriage of a Aryan girl to a Hebrew in the 1930’s in Germany, for stated in a German Medical Journal, that if a fine Aryan Girl married a Hebe, the offspring would be a pig, naturally if she divorced him and married a fine Aryan boy, because of the corruption that had been done to her, she would still produce a pig. So as this was hard evidence, naturally she felt being unopened would be the best deal. So she fawned on her nephew and knitted him cardigans every year for Christmas, when visiting her, he would wear it, for he was the beneficiary of her vast estate, and with it the cardigan pissed stained, that could work against him.

7th dec 2009

Back at the Vicarage.

Standing in the grand drawing stood Ruckstaff Twinge with a pink gin in his hand and next to him standing in a pink number was Derek Del la Chuff with also with a pink gin.
“Well vicar, with help of the old T.V. on one of those digital channels that no one watches they putting up the monies and Derek’s natural ability, we should be able to ascertain if Philpot’s treasure is going to give itself up, and to be candid to make a shilling, I say vicar can I hear the mooing of a cow?”
“Funny thing, yes I can hear it, strange isn’t, all the cattle nearby has been put down in the old foot and mouth crisis, all the barns have conversions for chaps for their weekend retreats from the city. Maybe it’s wind in the old chimney or the pipes?” Said the vicar.
The Bishop looking down said, to St. Philpot. “Yeah it’s Georgey Porgy up Mrs. Bung-Hole’s pipe; boy that bitch can moo a bit.”
“Your dear wife is not joining us Vicar?”
“No she has the migraine, awful for her, has to lie down, she so restless, when I go up with a cup of camomile tea later, the blankets are all over the floor, it’s a funny room that it has a smell of something that has been burning.”
“Well as it is only us, we can have men talk and not embarrass the ladies if you catch my drift. Now with all the modern equipment, you probably seen it on Time Team thing, they can read through walls and such, but I am from the older school, you as a religious man may find this a little distasteful, but in all honesty it’s not witchcraft, some like Derek has a gift, a dowsing rod and can find everything from lost keys to gold coins.”
“So he uses a twig or something like that?”
“Well vicar, you are a man of the world, in Derek’s case, it is a natural bit of equipment, if I may be so bold? It’s his wily.”
“Really? Does he have it insured?”
“Lloyds of London.”
“Gosh, is he going to show it? If so I’ll lock the door, don’t want Mrs. Bung-Hole walking in on us do we?”
So the vicar closed the ornate door, it designed by Merry Anus the Elder, in sixteen twenty seven, finest door maker in Southern England.
“Well Derek give a demo, have you lost anything recently?”
“Well the keys to the bike shed, I did have them here last Tuesday, my late employee Mrs. Tingle-Moment could use the bike to pick up the groceries but had to walk in the rain instead.”
“Derek, now don’t let me down.”
“Only if you will give me kiss first.”
“Derek on the streets. His little joke vicar.”
“So Derek undid his zip and took out his wily. The vicar looked at it in amazement; he had never seen anything like it on a man before, not that he went around eyeing wilys, but a college the chaps in the old showers would walk around naked, more of those chaps with what could describe as a substantial growth. How Mandrake Root could hide his wily in his trousers, well it did still show, funny thing he had a huge congregation, lots of ladies would turn up and often would speak to him in private after the service. But Derek’s wily was, well, thin, a bit like a willow twig.
Derek’s eyes crossed and his wily went straight out parallel to the floor and then twitched. It moved to the left, then to the right, and as if a string was pulling it, the wily led Derek to the fireplace, the wily then pulled him down to the grate and the wily pushed about in the ashes and voila, the wily dislodged the key.
“Bravo.” Cried the vicar.
Ruckstaff patted Derek on the bottom and whispered in his ear “later.”

Tuesday 19th January 2010

At Paris’s Drum.

Paris looked out through the shutters and saw the rugby lads scrumming down, then charging at the door.
“Helene we seem to have lunatics attacking our door.”
“Let me see?” Said the Fair Helene.
“Do you recognise any of them?”
“Oh yes, they are friends of my husband, that is Achilles the madman, thinks he is invincible, N. Ester an old campaigner of many a scrum. Mighty Ajax and Lesser Ajax. Two of the thickest chaps you have ever seen, oh look, that’s Pat O’Trocolus, some say Achilles sometime lover. I think we have been rumbled, perhaps I should go out and they will leave you alone?”
“No, two reasons I will never let you go ever again, two, they are so pissed they wouldn’t even listen. The door is very strong, I believe it was built by Merry Anus the third, built I believe to stop the Hun from getting in, it was built for Charlie Priam’s father Leo Medon, he was in wholesale of grenade making, if the Enemy got in they could have ransacked his supplies and used them on the troops and especially the Home Guards. The Home Guards use to practice with the throwing of cricket balls as they wouldn’t waste grenades, the war office chaps had accountants to make sure there was no wastage and by all accounts The Home Guard were jolly good at throwing both over arm and under arm. In fact the accountants preferred our chaps in the armed services to use the bayonet or knife on the Hun, saved on the old bullets, someone suggested perhaps a bow and arrow, but the accountants said it was O.K. if the arrows were retrieved. So they use our colonials boys to be the, what was referred in the war office as ‘The Gatherers’, naturally the chaps of the darker hue took preferential positions, this again was suggested by the accountants, as it saved the money on corking up, as the comedians did when they did the Coon Songs to entertain those back home, mind you the dark skinned chaps realising that they were cannon fodder, decided under the cover of darkness to do a runner and being dark weren’t spotted. The next ones they proposed were coal miners, naturally unwashed, now the miners though patriotic, preferred working down the pits, one, it was safer down there and apart from what they called a ‘bit of dust’ they weren’t going to be accountants minions, so instead they the accountants tried the mental institutions, there were many so the accountants said, were a drain the economy, they the accountants said that they were slacker or of a lesser mentality, ladies who found themselves pregnant and weren’t married and those who couldn’t read and write. So they sent them out with coal dust on their faces as coal dust was cheaper than dark make up, but as these unfortunates were pill up for so long to keep them quiet in the wards, without the medication, for the accountants felt that the carrying of medication, which might not be used, would in accountancy circle, would not be prudent. Well without their medication they ran round like headless chickens. Mind you they made great target practice for the Enemy.
The accountants decided, that though it wasn’t the original idea, that because of circumstances that occurred in War Time, that with the removal of the so called insane, they the Enemy using their own bullets, it would save the tax payer considerable expense, they would be able to a one swoop, just mere transportation costs, as it wasn’t a holiday they could be packed in, say in cattle trucks, no need to feed them, and voila, boom, boom, neatly done.”
“Paris, time is against us, the world is out of sync, let’s not waste time and enjoy what time we have left.”
So they repaired to the couch

Thursday 11th February 2010

Outside.

“Door seems a bit tough.” Said Minor Ajax who had dislocated his shoulder.
“Perhaps we could call some of the mates, how about those Irish chaps, with their captain Uncanny Lingus?”
“When will you learn? Uncanny spends his time training the ladies Rugby Team, a true prop in more ways than none. He awfully good at bringing the women down, getting up is the hard part, and in the scrum with his antics, the old scrum keeps collapsing, they are down there for ages, mind you when the did come up, old Uncanny was like the cat who got all the cream, if you catch my drift?”
“O.K. chaps, back to the club for a war conference.” Said N. Ester.

The Vicarage.

“Well chaps, get your camera crew ready, we are going down into the cellar and with my assistant here we I am sure we find St. Philpot’s treasure.” Said Ruckstaff. “We off camera, is my makeup O.K., what with lighting we can be so wash out? Derek dear, you can’t wear a frock, this going out before the watershed, good chap, yes some slacks, that will be fine. Vicar where is Mrs. Bung-Hole?”
“Oh she has gone to the old doctor, women’s problems if you can catch my drift?”
“I can relate to that.” Said Derek whilst applying another layer of makeup.
“Well Vicar this going to take time, what we do is shoot loads of film, that’s in laymen turns, the lightening and so and like the old cookery programmes, here is one we prepared earlier, then what ever it takes, you know drills all that donkey work, then we edit it in the studio, do the old music on the old sound track and in the hour slot, for the old T.V. public can’t concentrate for more than ten mins a time, do the old flash backs, neat interviews, you O.K. speaking on the box?”
“Well I’ve never done it before.”
“Don’t worry, we will splice what ever you say, and if you need to relax, calm down, big Veronica over there is employed for that accommodation, well we are men of the world, naturally having our own predilections, mind you between you and me, though Derek’s Chuff is still quite tight, I do like an occasional rousting up a maiden’s channel, so let me tell you, Veronica has a very athletic channel, won medals for it, so feel free to use it, it’s paid for by the Licensee, if you catch my drift?”
With that he nodded to Veronica, who floated over and stood close to Bung-Hole and breathed in his ear. Bung-Hole felt the change move in his pocket.

Thursday 4th March 2010

Down at the doctor’s surgery.

Mrs. Bung-Hole was lying back, if could describe lying back in the stirrups.
“Ah Mrs. Bung-Hole, from what I can see, there has been a lot chafing near the labia and some scorch marks near the G spot, almost worn away. I did not know the Vicar was so vigorous with his entitlement and judging by his equipment I have seen, for I had to examine that cheesy infection under the old foreskin, I did say at the time, having a snip, bit of the circumcision job would have help. But it seems he didn’t want to be mistaken in the toilets for one of the Hebrew race. This I understand it’s not as if he is in Diamonds or Wholesale business. But I would say a trifle, if I may for you on the smallish size? Has he bought one of those enlarging kits?”
Well Mrs. Bung-Hole felt it would not have gone down to well if she talked about Georgey Porgy, she blamed her self, but five hours non stop, was probably going too far, but very satisfying, so she would lie a bit.
“Yes my husband had received it as a gift from, I can’t tell you who, hush, hush, but for higher echelons in the authorities, he had to do a report on it, it seems these thing are becoming common place and for him to advise his flock on the wrongs and rights, he needed to ascertain, its functions and problems.”
“Nature Môn, I totally understand.”
Why thought Mrs. Bung-Hole, is he moving the change in his pocket?
“I think repairs are beyond me as a G.P.” At that moment he gasped. “Yes we have an expert in this field Doctor Vladimir Instep, he is lecturing in the area, I call him in, don’t feel embarrassed.
“Doctor Instep, Doctor Instep.”
Doctor Instep step into the room followed by a dozen male students all looking about twelve years old except for a lady with very short hair and army boots.
“Hello dear, I would like to thank you for allowing us to examine you, these are my students, now if you want handle this lady’s vagina, you must put on the latex gloves.”
As if by magic gloves went on, and all lined up to have a feel.
“Conrad if you want a better look, use a comb to comb the hair out of the way and use some grips(Kirby grips. U.S.A.)”
“So Conrad had a feel, only with one hand, the other he kept in his pocket as did in turn all the lads, also one handed. The lady with the short hair claimed that she had forgotten her glasses so being short sighted had to get close up, very close up, and Mrs. Bung-Hole was sure she felt a tongue prodding her about, for she had experience this at Guide Camp, when it was rained cats and dogs one bank holiday, from Brown Owl. Well this short haired lady definitely had done this before, she also was moving her change in her pocket as well.
“Now coffee breaks chaps, off you go.” Said Instep.
All sighed and went off into the waiting area and used the machines provided.
“Well madam, I will have to ask you some questions to ascertain what procedure, naturally this will be in complete confidence.” With that he switched on a small tape recorder.
“Between you and me, these burn marks have the look of an appliance, am I right?”
“Well, yes.”
“I see, is your husband a bit small in penis stakes?”
“Well, yes.”
“Obviously you can’t tell him that?”
“Well, yes I mean no.”
“So my dear subterfuge is the answer, after a week of this healing balm, which you will put on every night all things will be back to normal I promise, but you must have over used your mechanical friend, now with your husband, you don’t want him to stray and pick up some pestilence I’m sure, so tell him you are having a period and he will have to use starboard entrance.”
“Wont that hurt?”
“I will give you some unction that will facilitate no discomfort, anyway if he’s that small, there is no problem.”
“Well, O.K.”
“I will put on the first healing balm myself to show you where to apply it.”
This he did with his tongue, at the same time moving his change in his pocket.
In the waiting, Conrad rushed to window and said. “Did you hear a cow mooing?”
They all rushed to the window and looked out except the lady with the short hair and army boots who smiled to herself.

So with a contented pussy Mrs. Bung-Hole wended her way back to the vicarage, sniffing the Autumnal flowers whose soft fragrance was on the wind. Behind her like the Pied Piper of Hamlin were a dozen dogs all trying to have a sniff at her apex, for the unction that Instep used was made from female dogs private parts, the larger ones, dogs that is, not private parts tried to roger her legs and the little ones, dogs that is her ankles.
“Naughty boys!” She shouted at them and kicked a couple of the small ones at an on coming bus. The bus driver saw nothing as he was looking at the scantily dressed girls on the hoarding, oh he thought, why couldn’t she at home be like that, oh gosh it was coming to his day off, she would expect a bit of a seeing to, he would have to fold it a bit, mind you if he timed it right, her on all fours and he could catch that girl on the weather forecast over her back, he’d be alright.
The small dogs went squish under the wheels, but died instantly so suffered little or no pain.

Down in the Cellar.

“I say Philpot, the buggers at getting close, that fairy with his wand in his hand is poking about pretty close you know.” Said the Bishop.
“Don’t worry Bishop, have a blow on your Hookah pipe that will calm you down.”
“I’ve got a Hooker blowing on my pipe and to be honest she is striving not to calm me down.”
“My dear Bishop if you can hear me over the panting? Remember Pam Dora’s box, they because they think it contains the treasure, will discard the old cup adjacent to it, for it does not have jewels on, they the jewels turn dull in front of greedy gits, so they will think it is a bit of old tat, and voila they will open the old box instead for it has do not open on it and a government health warning saying not be opened in front of small children and pregnant ladies or it affects the uterus, what ever that is, boy you will see some fun I promise you.”

Thursday 18th March 2010 
 
Back at the Rugby Club.

“Well chaps, we have seen to have made a poor start.” Said Achilles whilst downing his pint of Whore’s Dribble, having a very high gravity.
One asks oneself in these circumstances, do Whores have a high gravity? And how would you know?
“Well.” Said N. Ester when we fought the Dardanians we had to use subterfuge.”
“Really? What did you do?” Said Merry Anus.
“Well they were good in the scrum, brawny lads, we tried putting a mince in the pack, that way if one of them wanted to be bum bandit, he in the old scrumage do a bit of shafting, that way being otherwise engage weaken the old pack. Well they were your red bloodied types, weren’t interested, in fact Gerald Bowel-Thing our mince got trodden into the pitch, it had been raining all week, the pitch was like a quagmire, seems the bugger wasn’t found for a week, it was a sliding tackle by Wilberforce Crump-Tit on Cam Shaft, that brought up some crumpled remains, well there was a sort of head and bits of limbs, we there was all hell broke loose, I mean they bloody officials counted heads, they thought something was amiss, and there were thirty one heads. Didn’t matter that one was dead, rules were rules, well we, would you believe it got penalised, they claimed he was apart of the team, our team, so they sent off Soames, well the dead one, he was useless, couldn’t run, couldn’t tackle and in the scrum he pen and inked a bit and bits kept falling over. Well at the end of the game, naturally we lost, you know how the council is now, you have to tidy up or you get fined, well we had a dilemma, and what bin do you put him in? Everything has to be recycled, well the paper bin, and the one for bottles, well that’s not the right one, so the meat one seemed appropriate, but it had to be you know? meat without the wrapper, well none of the lads wanted to undress it, so we had a whip round and got Mrs. Montague to do it, well she likes a bit of whipping, so she stripped it stark bollock naked, the trouble was that the old worms and such had gone for the more succulent bits. Well she pulled down the old kecks and the old underpants bit, the old wily came loose and she found that she was holding it in her hand, the rest hit the deck, game bloody girl though, didn’t bother her a tad, if fact she said that it reminded her of husband Hoffnung Montague, he it seems when there was a good programme on the old box he would send his wily up to her via the manservant and she would start without him, naturally he would make sure it was firm before she got it, he would firm it up looking at the weather forecast girl which had on tape. Anyway with this flaccid wily, I can say flaccid can’t I? It was no use to her so it was binned as well and would land up on the old pig farm.”

“Well that’s O.K. N. Ester, but the old problem is that we have to crack the fair Helene problem otherwise we are going to look complete pratts.” Said Pat O ’Troilus.
“Yes you are right, now what was it, the old saying beware Greeks bearing gifts, yes, well I’ve got it, bit of a ruse, let’s have a big wooden horse be made, hollow inside on your old wheels and a bit of a trap door in it, we could hide or some of the old lads could and when the gypo pulls it in, bound to think it’s a present for the fair Helene, out we jump, give the old gypo the old one two, maybe get a leg over from the fair Helene, being grateful for being saved. The rescue job, probably held there against her will.”
“So who can do it old chap?” Said Merry Anus.
“Chip and Dale, they are good with their hands, I’ll bell them on the old mobile. Ah here’s the number, quiet you chaps I can’t hear myself think. Hello Chip, N. Ester here, yes at the rugby club, yes the lads are all here, the match oh yes, yes, what? Bad line yes, probably call is going via India or something, yes his arse is O.K. Asking after you Achilles, Achilles says hi, yes drinking a pint, oh yes farting as well, ha ha, that will teach him, what with them taking the sword out of his arse, left a bit of a gap, crapped himself, it’s all right he kicked it under the table, we will blame the dog, what do we want? Ah could you rustle up a wooden horse, big, ten feet high on wheels, a wooden horse, wooden horse, bloody terrible line, what’s happening your end? He’s shagging big Monica, you know, the one who works at the supermarket, well hang on, oh it is that stage, well, give her one for us, isn’t that right chaps, yes they are all with you, yes, what did I want, a wooden ten feet high horse with wheels poste haste, yes wooden horse, got it, I think he’s got it? I think he’s coming chaps? Soon as poss. Great. She’s mooing like a cow, a result, good fellow.”

25th March 2010

Up in Olympus.

“You know Aphrodite, your Paris can’t win, the writing is on the wall, well in the toilet, she’ll have to be rescued.” Said Hera
“Yeah you are right, these things of a poetic nature can’t work.”
“What?” Said Athena and Hera together.
“Like plays, you know soaps.”
“Oh, yes, pretend like we did when we were kids.”
“Yeah, all that dressing up, without the old fondle thing.”
“Yeah fondling definitely lets things get out of proportion, I am glad to say.”
“Truthfully that Paris was good in the old shagging stakes, was it O.K. for you Athena?”
“Oh yeah, not only is my arse accommodating, I seem to have a bit of a dingaling secreted up there as well.”
“Ah good, but what we going to do?”
“Well, he’ll have to loose it’s in the cards, but, let them, Paris and Helene have some more fun and then go different ways.”
“ Look out girls, Zeus has been smoking them Hookahs, we know what that will lead to, better get lost, copy?”
“Copy.” Said the other two.

6th April 2010

Carnage at the Vicarage.

 “My wily is getting warm.” Said Derek.

“When is it not?” Said Ruckstaff.

“Silly, I meant, I’m feeling something through this wall.”

“Oh.” Said the vicar. “Gosh, are we that close?”

“Well Derek’s wily is seldom wrong; there was the case when he was doing the wagging after a few pink gins, we were following his wily from the pub, do you know the Twitcher’s Swallow near Hampstead, a very nice hostelry, very careful with the cliental, they have cubicles with a bit of room for a bit of shunting, well there is nothing worse when doing the deed and you catch yourself on the toilet holder, well to be honest vicar I am quite vigorous when the blood is up, and being a trifle big, can I say that in the prop department? Some of those queens let me tell you have been well used. Well he had a lot to drink, then he felt the old twitch and told me we were onto a winner, well he popped it out, lucky it was foggy or we could have arrested, well we followed the wily and that led us into back of a terrace house and the lady was leaning over shopping basket selecting the clothes in a certain order to hang on the old washing line. Well the lazy thing was in her dressing gown and as I said leaning over and having no under garment, Derek’s wily went straight up her chimney, gave her a bit of a start, she banged her head on the clothes pegs in fact blacked her eye, well Derek does not have relationships with ladies only his mother, they go shopping together, you once his eyes cross he’s in a world of his own, well blow me she gave a scream, Derek came out of a trance, nearly passed out when he saw what he had done, she in fright, may I say this vacated her bowels and in amongst the unpleasant stuff was fifty or so sovereigns, seem the lady was hiding her husbands inheritance up there for a rainy day, her rainy day. Well her old man watching this from the upstairs bedroom window, was peeved to say the least and with his trusty air rifle shot her in the bottom, well we did a runner, so you understand where I’m coming from?”

“Of course.” Said the vicar and moved slightly to the left and stood with his back to the door. Why thought the vicar do all these chaps boast about their bits, well I’m not sharing a urinal with him.”

“Yes I can feel Ruckstaff; it’s behind this loose brick thing.”

So the vicar, Ruckstaff and with Derek watching, they pulled away at the bricks.

“What about the old chaps from the telly?” Said the vicar.

“Don’t worry old chap, its all reconstructed, we have it all put back and they, well some idiot with a hat on, will pretend to do some soundings and with some implements, take half a programme to open the wall, usually with trowels, that gives the impression that nothing is destroyed, all scientific, my arse, everyone want to see what the value is poste haste, well you have seen those antique shows, they give all that baloney about dates and marking, the person who brought it in just want to know what’s the value and how quick they can flog it, even the ones who say, it was my grandfather’s who died carrying it the trenches in the first world war, then the expert says, does it not have a sentimental attachment what with him dying carrying it, they say, oh it doesn’t fit in with our décor and its only in a drawer, then they do the great excuse, that they want it to go to someone who will appreciate it.”

“The bricks are moving, oh like magic, look there is an old metal cup and a box with jewels on it.” Said the vicar whilst moving the change in his pocket.

Meanwhile upstairs Mrs. Bunghole whilst vacuuming felt the change moving in her pinafore.  Now she thought to herself, I’m getting off on the vacuum cleaner and without removing my under garments, well this puts a new emphasis on housework, funny thing Mummy used to do a lot of cleaning even when the house was spotless, used to drive daddy mad.

                         A package arrives at the rugby club.

 “Look chaps a huge package has arrived, must be from Chip and Dale, I suppose it one of those flat pack things, lets hope all the parts are included, we ordered a bed once and after pouring over the old plans, translated from some Japanese, spent days trying to put it up and it turned out to be a chicken shed, so we laid it on the side, put a few mattresses in it and voila, now there’s improvisation for you.”  Merry Anus said whilst downing his pint.

“Right chaps all hands to the deck as they say in nautical circles, lay out the plan and if all the parts are here, we will be able to construct it, Archie Medes has a certificate in woodwork.” N. Ester said.

“O.K. fellas, judging by the plan there should be four wheels, a base, nuts and bolts, I say N. Ester, there seems, that judging by the plan there is no barrel thing to hide in, no trap door, no descending ladder, no horses head, not to put a finer point on it, it looks by the plans to be a wooden clothes horse, not a wooden horse.”

“He couldn’t have heard properly, what with that big Monica, doing those oaths down his ears, when he was giving her one.”

“What we going to do N. Ester?” Said Achilles.

“Well time is getting short, I mean the match is on Saturday and we got to get thing sorted we promised Many Lay-Arse Plum-Stone we’d fix it, I know, improvise, you know like we do in matches when we are loosing.”

“You can’t, take a coal hammer with you and thump someone in the scrum.”

“No, what we will do, is delivered it at night, peg ourselves in sheets, shirts, dresses, tea towels etc and they won’t notice.”

“Can I wear the ladies undies and a bra thingy, what do you think Pat?” said Achilles.

“I can see you in one of those mate, and perhaps them French knickers.”

“Well as long as you are in the shadows.” Said N. Ester.

So the gallant chaps put down their pints and began to work diligently, whilst Minor Ajax went into the female changing rooms, whilst the girls were having a shower, whilst the gals were having a sluice for it had been very he squired some the clothes away, before going had a quick wank whilst watching them frolicking about.  

6th May 2010

Outside Paris’s workshop. “Quiet you chaps, you’ll wake everyone, Achilles stop mincing about, Pat O’Trocolus leave his gap alone, Achilles is mooing like a cow, shush now.” Hector heard a commotion outside the window, immediately his Mrs. In mid stream went off the boil and claimed a headache and rolled over putting a strain on his wily for she hadn’t removed it first. Hector was peeved to say the least, this had happened every night this week, first it was a cat, well he shot that one, then a courting couple, he shot them, then the councilman emptying the bins, he shot him, the man who called from Health and Safety, shot him, then a couple of ethnic minority burglars on work experience, he shot them, all done with his bow and arrow that he had purchased from a catalogue, each time at the inappropriate moment she had applied the old brakes, so he decided that after he sorted this disturbance, he’d do the cushion job over the Mrs. head and go for pastures new, that number next door Phaedra was always showing an interest and had always regardless of the weather had her dumplings on show, what her husband fighting in foreign climes, they wouldn’t be disturbed if he took up her offer, or hint, for she kept saying that she felt lonely and the nights were the worse bit and was frightened in case she was burgled . So opening the window, pulling back the mighty bow, twang went the arrow, ricochets off the old wall and went straight through Pat O’Trocolus nuts and pinned them to a hoarding for haemorrhoid cream, called Piles of relief for Piles relief. Well they couldn’t free them, so Mighty Ajax with his mighty knife had to cut them off, well in a trounce, Pat went all bitchy and demanded that Achilles should hand over the underwear that he was wearing for it would look better on him, than that old ugly Achilles, well there was quite a cat fight, many a nail was broken.

27th May 2010

Whilst inside, Paris and the fair Helene tangoed around the room, he wearing a dark sombrero, leather boots, kerchief and nothing else. She danced with a ribbon in her hair and nothing else except for a smile on her lips. Outside cats were screaming on the roof tiles and the alleyways, well O’Trocolus and Achilles were, both with their kecks at half mast. At the same time Merry Anus and N. Ester were trying to put up the Wooden Clothes horse.
“Look chaps?” N. Ester said to the two who were fighting. “Look, go and steal some more clothes, may I say on the large size and bring them back, we have got to peg ourselves on the washing apparatus, now hurry fellas.”
So the chaps climbed wall, over bins standing on shagging cats and wrecking cucumber frames, bean poles, garden gnomes, courting couples.
Cedric Cough had been trying to get hid fiancée Madeline Gob-Stopper to give him a blow job for at least six months, each time she changed the subject, talking about rose cover cottages, her mother’s veins, babies, twins in particular. There was no chance of that, she made him wear a triple condom, he felt nothing and the only way he could stop himself from loosing his erection was to as the softness was upon him was to think of that weather forecast girl showing the deep depression, for his recipient in these activities, Madeline was null and void, lying there or standing or bending over, like a corpse, for the deed as it was being done was thinking about soft furnishings and in her mind was measuring curtains for their little house, when they were married.
The only reason she decided on this occasion to give him a blow job(American readers, a touch of head.) that her best friend, Brittany Bucket had said in deepest confidence that his the fiancée eyes was a wandering and in her opinion a blow job would keep him check and she shouldn’t worry for she could make him wear a condom and it wouldn’t taste that bad for you could get them in various flavours. So the girl got the catalogue and looked down the condom selection and decided on Belgium Chocolate flavour. So she decided to do some practice with a banana with a condom on it, with her best friend who was the leading light in these matters welding the old banana at the correct level and to make it authentic she put a bit of vinegar around the base so it would smell like a fella.
As it was his birthday as a special present and as he had been a good boy and helped her with her shopping and didn’t stay in and watch the silly football match, well it was only a cup match and his favourite team was playing. So after the pub closed, they on this warm night, repaired to her daddy’s greenhouse, and she undid his zip and put the condom on his wily, for her friend told her boys weren’t good at dressing anything, and if he did with out a condom, the after taste was unpleasant and if you swallowed, it was fattening. So she leaned him up against the tomato plants and putting down a cushion to kneel on, slipped the condom all the way down as it was explained in the instructions and commenced as suggested in the pamphlet a rhythmic motion was the best ways to get results, this was suggested in the instructions by the Government on how to do these sexual antics, with naturally a Health and Safety warning, ‘that these acts should not be done in front of children and pregnant women for it may affect their uterus what ever that is?’ And priorities to ethnic minorities.
Well with the Belgium Chocolate taste it was quite pleasant to do and she did seem to be quite good at it, it was probably that she always preferred ice Lollies to ice creams as a child.
Well just as she felt confident and allowed the wily more penetration, Mighty Ajax came crashing through the greenhouse, pushing Cedric in his back and his wily went into her throat, he, Cedric panicked, for he thought he was being mugged, and his wily being also very scared went soft and Cedric withdrew leaving Madeline with a Belgium flavoured condom trapped in her throat. Naturally in these circumstances, breathing on her behalf was a bit of a problem, in fact the thought of sex, measurements for curtains and soft furnishing went on the back boiler so to speak. The poor lass was choking, Cedric did a runner and went as fast as his legs to carry down the road to Dave house, hoping that Dave had recorded the old football match.
Mighty Ajax seeing this girl, in his opinion giving up the ghost so to speak, now Ajax as his cabaret stunt was blowing up water bottles until they burst, so he thought the kiss of life was in order, also if saved this damsel in distress she may reward him. So taking the lasses head in his head in his hands, he blew into her mouth again and again, her chest inflated, this was caused by the condom, like all balloons got bigger and bigger, a the more the air went in the bigger the chest became, seeing this the Mighty Ajax continued to blow, for he always liked big chests on women. More and more he blew, larger and larger the chest became. Now Mighty Ajax needed to relieve himself for he had drunk deep and mightily, eighteen pints of Whores Dribble, so turning to the side so as not to offend he mightily peed and substantial amount. Now in normal circumstances, with his mouth not on hers the air should escape, but that piece of flesh that is in the back of the throat that separates the meat from the gravy had become jammed in the open end of the condom, the result was that Madeline Gob-Stopper floated out of the broken greenhouse, when Mighty Ajax turned, he noticed that she was gone. How ungrateful he thought and he was giving her the kiss of life.
Madeline floated over hill and dale, dancing, a bobbing in the wind and over Flatulence Ferdy’s Estate where they were having a shoot.
“Pull,” cried Lord Creosote-Depending to his young son Cuthbert, and with his fine Purdy, bought by daddy, having made a killing on the Stock Market in ready made suicide vests, using child labour, shot the bitch.

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