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Aunty Bill - A Tin Opener Short

Here To Help – Here To Care

The Milk Of Human Kindness

Aunty Bill,

My mum sold me to the milkman in order to buy a shoe horn the other week.

Do you think she is trying to tell me something? I weigh 87 stone and recently ate our roof by mistake. It made a healthy alternative to cheese in a sandwich.

Yvonne, Winchester

Aunty Bill Replies;

Dear Yvonne

The shoehorn is merely a metaphor for shoe horning you out of the door and out of her life (although at 87 stone she’s got a job on her hands and will need a bigger horn or lots of smaller ones).

At least she sold you to a milkman.

Milkmen (and women) have over the years demonstrated a deep affection for fat people. Before the days of the milkfloat, they could be seen across Britain pulling the wagon while milkmen jumped on and off delivering the nation’s favourite drink.

Hopefully he will put you to work and you’ll see the pounds fall away and be in a position to replace the roof over you dear old mum’s head which you so thoughtlessly ate.

Chink! Chink!

AB

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Aunty Bill - A Tin Opener Short

Here To Help – Here To Care

Pond Love

Help Aunty Bill!

I am in love with my neighbour’s goldfish pond. It is on two levels and has a nice water feature in the centre (a fountain of Elvis doing the splits). I asked my neighbour if I could take the pond out for a fish supper. He slammed the door in my face and last night firebombed my shed.

How can I get him to see that I really love his pond?

Dai, Rhonnda

Aunty Bill Replies;

Hi Dai,

Just when you think everything’s been covered, up you pop!

Water Feature love isn’t as unusual as you might think. A cousin of mine once had a torrid affair with a friend’s garden sprinkler. Only at night though. There was a hose pipe ban at the time,

I’m not surprised you’ve fallen for your neighbour’s water feature.

Demonstrate your love for this pond by embarking on an extensive cleaning, fish feeding and water filtration procedures. A few weeks of intensive pond maintenance should show that your intentions are honourable.

If this fails, then seek revenge for your shed. You will need the following :

A 12″ gauge shot gun

1 gallon of petrol

1 bucket of bleach

Some gloves

I leave the rest to you – you know what you have to do.

TTFN

Aunty Bill

 

 

 

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Fans of hit TV show, The Great British Bake Off were delighted to hear that Baking Guru, Mary “The Beast” Berry has set a new age category record for the Snatch in weightlifting.

marycakelift2

Mary lifted 7 tons in Glasgow last night, whilst sporting one of her “absolutely scrummy” chocolate tier cakes. Asked about the secret behind her great strength, Mary smiled sweetly and replied, “I use massive amounts of steroids in my baking. My snatch is an absolute picture as a result but I do have to shave my chest occasionally!”

Not to be outdone co-host and self-styled Bad Boy of British Baking, Paul “Product” Hollywood also jerked himself to glory with a lift of 8.5 tons in Abergavenny last Tuesday, whilst balancing a pork pie on his head.

“I’ve nothing left to proof,” Hollywood said.

cleanpiehollywood

All that effort led to a soggy bottom I’m afraid

 

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You hear me

Then heed me!

And other nights of his dinner

Hitting the wall.

To be picked up and eaten with fingers

Namm namm….

 

Two brothers would be wise enough to be offside

My sister and I instead too damn like him to cower

A younger one, God love her

Never concerned him enough to talk to

Nor to pick on

Just the odd stray snarl

Of the beast caged in dark bars

Our Mum always a target

 

Try not to antagonise him as he’d maybe pick on someone else

Seeing your family suffer being much worse than

Being under the Dull Stupid Bloody lash

Of his forked tongue

 

You damn fool

We were your kin

While you were digging out

All we wanted was that you dug in

When they dug the hole for your ashes

Who of us there could pray

‘Our Father who art in heaven…..’

That first line had us all stumped

 

But I know it’s either

‘Love or destruction’

In this life we do get to struggle and to choose

 

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spermwithaperm

The Sperm With A Perm will be providing a regular update on his hopes and fears for impregnation.

Hi Everyone!

Been ages!

It was my cousin Tom’s 3rd minute birthday! Just imagine trying to play musical chairs with 120 million others! Takes Ages! Fold out chairs as well – took ages to set up. I prefer pass the parcel myself but everything gets a bit sticky.

No sign of impregnating an egg at the moment!

Sentient life will be great though – better than this load of bollocks! Think of it! Arthritis! Embarrassment! Laughter! Riding A Bike! Love! Having A Crush On Mother Theresa! ONIONS! Masturbation! (although would that be genocide?!)

Just gotta find that egg!

This bloody hot weather plays havoc with his juices!

Boner me beauty!

Must Go!

Right……Ready Or Not…..Here I Come!

sperm_wiggle

But I Won’t Do That!

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Hello

Here is the final part of this story – thanks for sticking with it.

To make sense of it all;

Part One is here

Part Two is here

Part Three is here

Part Four is here

Part Five is here

Part Six is here

Part Seven is here

Part 8 – Pitlochry Station

When they met at Pitlochry Station, Eunice had to admit that Tibby McVitie’s appearance had barely changed. The ruddy distilled complection remained and the warm bountiful eyes still conveyed that awful bonhomie that a D’aubisson despised. It had been nearly forty years since they last met.

Tibby’s was drinking coffee. From a cup. In public. Her Father’s considered view of the relationship between homosexuality and public displays of coffee drinking once again surfaced in Eunice’s mind and she wondered if Francis had exiled her to some sickening octogenarian lesbian Stalag.

The only visceral memory of Tibby that Eunice possessed was that the woman smelled of disappointment. That smell still lingered when she recoiled from Tibby’s gratuitous hug of welcome and warm words that focussed on Eunice’s journey and the inordinate amount of time since they had last met and how Eunice still looked remarkably well. For a woman of her age.

For her part, Eunice was glad of the company after the exertions of the train journey. Mingling with  children, the working classes, blacks and latent homosexual coffee drinkers had all but exhausted her. At least she knew Tibby’s name. Even if she had stolen Bertie from her.

“The car is parked just outside the station Eunice. Not far to walk. I hope you are hungry. I’ve bought some Breaded Cod for dinner. Francis said you liked it.”

“Breaded……” Eunice saw him. Walking towards them, waving as he did so.  It had been nearly forty years. He hadn’t changed at all in that time. The double chin, thinning hair with pronounced side parting, rounded shoulders and the slightly protruding front teeth.

“Bertie!” cried Eunice, “Bertie. My darling Bertie!” The years slid away and Eunice stood in front of her beloved Brother once more. She felt an emotion that she never thought she would experience again. Joy.

“Bertie. My Bertie.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Eunice, this is my son Archie. Bertie’s son.” Archie nodded and smiled. His teeth were even the same off white shade as Bertie’s.

“Son?  I didn’t know I -”

“- I only found out I was pregnant after Bertie’s death and you were not best pleased with me at the time to say the least.  I thought one day you would find out, that we could be reconciled, in truth I never knew what I had done to upset you so, but time then has a habit of making our decisions for us. But isn’t he the spitting image of Bertie…….” Eunice heard no more of Tibby’s meanderings and focussed on her Brother’s incarnation. All these years of sadness, anger, bitterness and longing for him now fell away like melt water. Even the thought of Breaded Cod did not fill her with ire. Bertie had returned to her.

She knew now. Knew that the fates had decided to test her, ask her to prove her love for Bertie by the one thing that tests all love. Separation.

The past and present  melded themselves into a contiguous whole as Eunice held her beloved brother’s hand in the car as Tibby regaled Eunice with tales of kindness and generosity of spirit. Eunice enjoyed them and readied herself to immerse permanently in the past.

She thought 1960 was going to be a great year. The best. A new dawn had broken in her life.

As Nanny used to say when calming the polio stricken Eunice’s fears of the dark, “Don’t worry Eunice, we need the night so the sun can have a rest. Ready to warm us and make us happy for the tomorrow.  Every day the sun giving us the thoughts, words, dreams, and hopes for us to live good Christian lives and the night to allow us to rest and reflect on our daily transgressions and seek atonement for them.  When I was younger, I had this dream of being able to live in perpetual daylight. Chasing the sun around the world on a magnificent Charger. Always chasing the daylight. Chasing the day. Now, I think I’d like to catch the dawn instead. Everything would be fresh, new, slightly dewy to touch as if you were in possession the keys to each and every day. I used to believe that the morning dew covering the fields and valleys represented the souls of all those young children who had died not baptized and were left in limbo. What a nice place to rest your soul, at the break of each day.”

Boxing Day 1996 – The House In Kensington

“Yes aunt. No Aunt. I’m sure Tibby is not a latent homosexual.  I’m delighted that Uncle Bertie is alive and well. No, I don’t think the McVities have any Negro in them – there is someone at the door. I have to go. I will speak to you tomorrow.”

Francis set the telephone down. He realised that he missed his aunt’s hate flecked speech more than he anticipated. She was all he had. But now was not the time for introspection or reflection.

He walked back into the Dining Room, stared up at the portrait of Great Great Uncle Percy and raised his can of cider to his distant relative. The calipers were now broken in; the initial discomfort now apparent when he bent over. On a couple of occasions they had become snagged in his dressing gown and his foreskin had been pinched on one painful, enjoyable occasion. He was pleased with his plan and concluded that this was the most memorable of Christmases. With luck the Old Girl would not be around much longer and he could set about encapsulating himself at will. Yes, it all added up to a marvellously peaceful, confined Yuletide.

He clambered into the box Terry had helped him locate in front of the television. Luckily Terry did not comment on this as Francis would have struggled to come up with a plausible explanation. It was probably because he was too busy counting out the £280 in loose change that Francis had paid him for the calipers. If he looked closely he would have realised that he had been short changed by 68 pence.

Francis closed the lid of the box and opened its grill. He admired his surroundings and toasted Percy once again and then bit into a date. He enjoyed the succulent sweetness of the fruit.

He waited for the final credits of Calamity Jane to roll.  The Sound of Music was on Television next.  It was his favourite film.

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Hello,

I was at my Sister’s this weekend to help her partner Darren, creosote their garden fence. I don’t like him.  Several years ago he tried to steal my roof.

But how can I refuse little Sis?

The curly Kale worked its magic, so I tucked a Cosmo under me arm and paid a visit to the facilities.

I learned that corduroy is king this year and also how Blandness is now a recognised cognitive disorder.

There was a story about Melanie, an events planner from Balham, had her life saved by her pet cat Snappy. Mel had fallen down the stairs at home and had broken her ankle, tibia, hip, six ribs and neck.

Snappy dialled the emergency services, administered CPR and prepared a poultice using herbs from the garden.

Melanie has made a full recovery thanks to Snappy’s knowledge of herbs.

I am allergic to cats. Bring me out in hives.

The creosoting went well apart from Darren trying to steal his own fence. He has issues.

Bob

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