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Posts Tagged ‘Men’

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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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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bobonthepot_Cosmopolitan
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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spermwithaperm

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!

sperm_wiggle

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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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chuck norris copy
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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bobonthepot_Cosmopolitan

 

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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