Burt Reynolds Brought Christmas Cheer – By Bob On The Pot

Hello,

Happy New Year. I hope you enjoyed Christmas.

I got the box set of Smokey And The Bandit and a jumper. I wore the jumper down to the Pickled Filtrum for the Xmas lunchtime pint. My mate Stabman used it to wipe blood up from the pub floor. He saw a man drinking Guinness. He has a thing about people drinking Guinness in confined spaces.

It was nice to have our son Lawrence home from the Young Offenders Institute for the day. You should have seen his face when he unwrapped the Ankle Tag cover Shirley had knitted for him! (he appreciated the crafty stash pouch hidden in Santa’s beard.) Thinks of everything does Shirl.

As I nipped in to the smallest room to unburden myself of the Brussels on Boxing Day, Shirl stops me at the door, thrusts a can of Haze “Scent Of The Forest” into my hand and said, “A liberal squirt please. Remember we are going shopping in 10 minutes.” This didn’t give me the time to study racing form. I had to settle on Substance Abuse in the 2.30 at Kempton (I thought Lawrence being home was an omen regarding drug use). It romped in. Seventh.

Why town? Shirley wasn’t too impressed with the gifts of a toasted sandwich maker and a wind up torch. Handy, practical and self cleaning gifts never go down well. But I should have learned after the retractable rolling pin last year.

Burt Reynolds was wonderful in Smokey and the Bandit by the way.

Christ he’s hairy. Felt like throwing him a stick to fetch at one point.

Laters.

Bob

You can read more of Bob’s musings whilst on the pot here and here. Your lives will be infinitely richer for doing so.

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Australian Toilets Bamboozled Me – By Bob On The Pot

Hello Folks,

Well we are back from our trip “Down Under”. I enjoyed Australia. We stayed in the resort of Wollombonggongerianty. The town’s slogan was, “Playground For Functioning Illiterates”.

Oz water swirls in a anti-clockwise direction! Watching a floater bravely battle for survival in an unusal direction fascinated me for several hours.

“Magnetic Pole”, Bruce our taciturn concierge told me. He still mourns the death of Bon Scott.

So ever the one with a scientific mind, when I returned home I sought to place a spoon Geller like, on the forehead of Zgbniew Zzzzzgmrboniak, our local Polish builder. Safe to say the spoon fell off.

Magnetic Poles my arse.

I am back at work.

I was involved in a repossession.

Sir Amethyst Yeast-Gravel had failed to pay his Council Tax. The poor old chap is potless. Should take a leaf out of my cousin Terry’s book and consider armed robbery as a career option.

Anyway before I took possession of goods to the value of what Sir Yeast-Gravel owed, his noblilityness kindly allowed me to use his facilities.

You could tell he was posh because of the a copy of Horse and Hound as the in-store reading material.

I like horses. Legs, Necks, Tails. They’ve got the lot.

Couldn’t ride a horse though. Suffer from Stirrup Ankle.

But at least the water in the bowl swirls in the direction it should. Bloody Australians taking liberties with my evacuations. You can tell a lot about a country by the way it treats its sewage.

My Dad used to say to me, “Your stool is your best friend.” I don’t have a clue either.  Strange man was Dad. He thought he was 3 parts human and 1 part pigeon.

Bob

 

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My Ice Bucket Challenge – Bob On The Pot

Hello,

The Ice Bucket challenge has become a global phenomenononon.

Dipso Dave did it in the Recalcitrant Peacock on Saturday night and then spent the night in hospital. Nothing to do with the bucket of ice water. Teach him to leer at my lovely wife Shirley.

Any road up, as Saturday night’s Bhuna began its journey to the Sewage plant I wondered how this Ice Bucket Challenge would develop.

As the match flickered and snuffed out the final whiff of my ordure, the idea came to me.

Checking that there was no floating debris, I donned a pair of googles and a snorkel.  I told Shirley bring the camera to record my efforts. I placed my head in the bowl.

On my command she flushed. With gusto. Time and again. Remarkable wrist strength.

My head became firmly wedged in the bowl necessitating the Kent Fire Brigade to attend our home to (as the report said) “extricate from the upstairs toilet, a fat bloke wearing goggles and a snorkel who had managed to get his head stuck in the bowl .”

Thank God for the snorkel or I could have come to a sticky end.

Just watch Bowl Dunking catch on! Plays havoc with your ballcock though.

I nominate Justin Bieber, The Islamic State and Katie Hopkins.

Go on it is for Charridee after all.

 

 

 

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Sandra Bullock Can Cause Infertility – By The Sperm With A Perm

Hi Everyone!

Two words that strike fear into sperm.

Erectile Dysfunction.

Lately with him we’ve had more  chance of raising the Titanic. A diet of oily fish and Sandra Bullock films played havoc with his urgings.

Then it all changed yesterday – during a documentary about Giraffes.

Before you can say “what a load of codswallop” – his downstairs blood flow picks up – and she got more than that egg and tomato sandwich for tea!

I am one happy zygote!

Right……Ready Or Not…..Here I Come!

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The Sperm With A Perm Plays Musical Chairs – He Is A Game Gamete!

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!

But I Won’t Do That!

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I Am Turning Into A Cat But Feline Fine – Help Me Oily George!

Hello Oily,

Several weeks ago I went to a health spa and had the nose spore cleansing that uses Siamese cat spittle as the cleansing agent. My nose has never been so shiny!

However since then I am becoming increasingly feline in my daily activities. Nocturnal, urinating over furniture, munching on mice and not really giving a shit. I have also developed a taste for licking my bottom in front of the TV.

My man has put a bell around my neck.

Do you think I should ask for my money back?

Tiddles, Avondale

Oily Replies;

Tiddles

This problem screams to me of someone who ain’t getting any.

Not surprising if you have allowed your pink canoe to go unused. My lady loveboy is always kept well manicured. In fact I insist on helping in this task myself using my own personal bag of tricks to aid him. I will send you one of these Lovebags on receipt of £ 39.99 plus p&p and a DVD of you and your girlfriend at the masseurs all hot and lithesome and……

Ahem oops..sorry I got sidetracked. Slightly. God is it hot and clammy in here or is it just me?

Anyway poppet the important thing is that once that lawn has been mowed and your punanny pavement has been pounded, the world will seem a much better place.

Have a saucer of milk to get you in the mood…..

Oily

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On Holiday With Bob On The Pot

 

Ola,

We are on holiday in Spain.

Spanish plumbing really has come on leaps and bounds. It is a pleasure to ascend my throne for an hour in the morning and allow the previous night’s paella, chips, sausages, black pudding, egg, chips and leg of lamb begin its momentous journey to the sea. Why David Attenborough hasn’t done a documentary on this still bemuses me. Like that one about the salmon returning to their spawning grounds. Only this would be about turds.

Still can’t get used to the bidet though. Use it to rinse me smalls.

We went on a boat trip.

An On The Pot served as a Tar under Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar.

Horatio On The Pot came to a sticky end. Not in the heat of battle, but sneaking a crafty snifter from the barrel of brandy that Nelson was pickled in. They say the resulting dysentery was the inspiration behind pebble dashing.

We’ve met Brian and Sandra. They are from Basildon. The posh part. He sells double glazing. What he doesn’t know about glazing isn’t worth knowing about. I know because he told me. Often. Very often.

Sandra and my lovley wife Shirley have formed a bond, giggling and glaring at Brian and me as they cane the Gordons.

All this whilst Brian advises me on developments in toughened safety glass. Give me strength. Give me melanoma. Anything but the exciting world of lead beading finishes.

Ole.

 

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Mexican Mescal Madness And My Girl Is Flat! Aunty Bill Please Help!

 

Aunty Bill,

6 weeks ago I was walking along Blackpool Pier, whistling a cheery refrain when a seagull swooped down and pecked me in the unmentionables.

A nearby dog saw this and ambled and sniffed me “downstairs”. Then a monkey, who was eating an ice cream, came over and stuck the cone on me privates.

Finally a rather large Trappist monk leered at me and mimed a spanking motion – I deduced  a form of atonement for my sins.

At no time did my wheelchair bound partner offer to help me fend of these attacks. The monkey let down her tyres and I walked off in a huff with the ice cream cone still plonked on my little stick of Blackpool rock.

Blackpool Council called me this morning to ask when I was going to collect my girlfriend as she was still on the pier and struggling with barnacle build up.

Do you think I should go and collect her or just Fedex her a tyre pump and tell her to get on with it?

Daniel Defoe, Letherhead

Aunty Bill Replies!

Dear Dan

The scenario you describe has all the hallmarks of a sustained sesh on the bong. Seek help (and give me the number of your dealer).

Many years ago I witnessed first hand the damage drugs can do as a similar situation happened to a dear friend of mine (without the appearance of a monkey and wheelchair).

Said friend accompanied me to the city of Hamburg for a football tournament. After running away from an ex mate of the Beatles to avoid buying him a drink (another story for another time), he decided it would be a good idea to team up with a group of Mexicans and partake of a glass of Mescal.

This led to him to “Peyote Pete” and the beginnings of a Mescal Fury.

I myself was a tad messy and in the ensuing imbroglio we lost each other in the crowds of sozzled Mexicans. Some hours later I received a call from a panicked Oily who said he was on a giant gateaux travelling through the Black Forest with no idea how he got there.

It later transpired that he was in fact in a shop doorway near the train station covered in emulsion (Harvest Peach as it turned out, matt from memory).

Let this salutary tale be a warning to you Richard. Just say Nada.

However, If she can wheel herself to the nearest garage she can use the air line for a nominal fee (Jet Garages are free) thus saving you the cost and hassle of Fedexing a pump to her.

Trebles all round!

Aunty Bill

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British Politics – Nonsense For A Purpose – An Occasional Series

There was contrived amazement in the Papers about the Racist (UKIP) Party’s  minor success in fooling morons to vote for them on the basis of ignorance, fear and lies, laced with false bonhomie, a pint of ale and a cigarette. The Party’s leader and chief chap, Nigel “I’m Not Sitting Next To You Darkie” Farage has returned to his cowpat to figure out what to say on tiptoe about the election results for the European Parliament.

Nigel used to work in the City of London as a trader.  He is a chap. He doesn’t like foreigners. Or the poor. Or the educated. Or the tolerant.

 

“The Bigger The Lie”

As previously reported by Gfb, the Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister are a pair of bollocks, whilst the Leader of the Opposition is a dick.

 

They’re In It Together!

These shots were passed to Gfb by Emrie Self-Assembly, who happened across Rupert Murdoch taking off his underpants after a hard day’s undermining the democratic process. Murdoch was heard to say, “How ya doing down there boys? Still wanna fuck with me? Nothing like a shaved scrotum for comfort is there!”

If anyone thinks the Press is giving so much attention to UKIP because of plans to curb a Newspaper’s ability to hack the phone of  murdered children they are naive fools.

Hi! My Name Is Ed Minibellend

It really is a load of bollocks!

Gawd ‘elp us! Nonsense For a Purpose Indeed

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Climate Change Cured My Constipation! By Bob On The Pot

 

Hello Everyone!

I was round my mate, Middle Class Malcolm’s the other day to help him move his wardrobes around a bit to improve his Feng Shui.

I had to excuse myself for a few minutes to use the facilities. I’ve been a bit bunged up recently. Never suffered from shy stools before, but boy oh boy these lads were a tough nut to crack.

I nearly burst the veins on my forehead with the effort, but there was no shifting them. I decided to have a few moments rest and flicked through the Guardian Malcolm had lent me. I read about the melting Polar Ice Cap. I didn’t realise the world was in such a mess. I shat myself.

At least it cured my constipation!

Broke the door on Malcolm’s wardrobe though. Ying and Yang and all that.

Laters

Bob.

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