Hello,
As the years come and go and my rash shows no sign of clearing up, a man starts to think about his mortality.
My lovely wife Shirley has taken up Zumba to get fit. Yesterday I was answering a call of nature and was studying the racing form She was bomping about upstairs. To Rihanna.
I decided to put a monkey on White Supremacist in the 2.30 at Ascot when in mid wipe I heard a loud crack and a Reebok clad foot appeared in the ceiling overhead. It was Shirley’s foot.
“Get your big arse up ‘ere and help!” She cried, her foot wiggling in despair over me. Like the sword of Damocles it was (I’ve got a box set of classic Greek myths all starring Kevin Sorbo and that girl from ER; the one who had a crutch, but she doesn’t use a crutch in any of these – now that’s what I call acting!)
Despite three flushes, I figured where my priorities lay and bolted upstairs to help Shirl out of her predicament.
She was like a heavily breasted lycra clad Rumpelstiltskin trying to heave her left leg from the rotten joist.
“I was gonna get round to fixing that,” I said.
“Useless twat.” She huffed as I pulled her out. Sadly the Reebok (A Chrissie prezzie from Yours Truly) came away and landed in the bowl amongst me business.
It took ages to flush.
White Supremacist romped home though!
Lowering the lid after use may prove a useful starting point in the search for life’s eternal mysteries. I’ll ponder this.
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.
gingerfightback.wordpress.com 