Blue Rinse Dragons part I
When I left college moving back in with my folks just didn’t seem like the thing to do, but back then Mrs Spimf and I didn't feel ready to move in together, even though we practically lived together. So I found a flat to rent close to where she lived. It was a nice area with four in block post-war council houses with generous gardens. Most had been bought by the tenants and as a result were well maintained by the owners; quiet, leafy suburbia.

The flat in question was leased to me by a nice couple who had bought it for their elderly mother hoping to make a killing on it when she died, granny it would seem helped them by apparently smoking herself to death but left them with a slight problem – they couldn’t sell the place so soon after buying it due to some loophole in the ‘buy your council flat’ scheme. Old puffin’ grandma had ensured the interiors were yellower than northern social club toilet. The décor was horrendous too. Lurid swirly carpets – and I do mean carpets plural, as I discovered when I decided to sand the floors – I lifted three carpets all on top of each other in the hall, you could fucking limbo under the gap between door and floor. But my reluctant new landlords kindly said if I wanted to strip out all the granny crap and redecorate they would pay for it – splendid!

The only blot on the horizon was the two chintzy, blue rinsed old dragons that lived next door. They had been there for decades so their normality must have been shattered by the death of their neighbour who had lived there for donkeys years. I was sensitive to this and was as friendly and courteous as could be, but it wasn’t long before the barbed remarks began. One day I was in the back garden stripping 40 years worth of layered paint and nicotine off the doors - I had taken them off the hinges and removed the nasty plywood panels people were so keen on in the 50’s. Obviously this would meet with firm disapproval. So no real surprise when from the corner of my eye I caught a garish splash of floral polyester. They had a habit of appearing stealthily like some incontinent ninja brigade. They were standing silently, side by side, like a horribly shrivelled version of the twins form The Shining. A few pleasantries were exchanged – then it came…

“So you don’t work do you?”
“Well no, I’ve just finished an honours degree and I am looking for a job in my field but there is a pretty major recession on”

This was back in the early 90’s, it might not be the global crisis we're in now but the UK was seriously fucked back then, nevertheless I was immediately assigned as ‘workshy’.

But I continued to be cheery, cleared the overgrown gardens, lifted the hallucinogenic carpets, sanded the floors and decorated the place from top to bottom - whilst also applying for jobs, you know - workshy. During which time they closely monitored my EVERY move. If I went into the back garden they would immediately appear, set up deckchairs, plonk themselves down and knit with sustained and intense fury – never once taking their little beady eyes off me. It started raining lightly one day so they simply moved the deckchairs into their shed – left the door open and continued the surveillance!

If I went out they were there at the window. Even if I returned in the dead of night with marshmallows strapped to my feet, in an instant they were at the curtains, like crumpled little lavender fuelled rockets. Eventually I found a job. So they quickly turned their attentions to my relationship with my girlfriend.

“So you’re not married ARE YOU?” they chimed in unison with their powdery bunched-up little faces.

The curtain twitching would go into a frenzy anytime my girlfriend arrived. It was a warm summer so I’d often have the barbecue on the go of an evening. But as soon as I lit the damn thing the same routine would begin: they would make a huge deal out of slamming all their windows shut then rush out to take in their washing tutting and muttering. I should point out the washing that was about 40 feet away down their side of the garden and well up wind from my tiny barbeque.

At this point they were still pretending to be civil towards us but it was simply a ploy to pump us for more information. We went away for the weekend once and when we returned there they were to ‘greet’ us.

“Oh hello” (little matching saccharine smiles) “been away have we?”
“Yes nice weekend in a wee hotel up north” (more scrunched up faces)
“Did you leave in a hurry?”
“Eh?”
“In a hurry - on Friday? It’s just we noticed you didn’t do your dishes”

The nosey old bats had been in my bloody back garden peering through my kitchen window!

“We don’t see much of her (my girlfriend) during the week do we”

My girlfriend worked away a lot during the week but in this I spotted an opportunity for mischief…

“Yes well she spends the weekends with me but during the week she lives with her husband… and the kids, nice bloke. Black fella”

Eyes like fucking saucers!

Then one day they made some comment about hanging out laundry. From what I could gather they had certain days for washing and somehow expected me to adhere to this bizarre ritual. This and the constant prying about my girlfriend gave me an idea.

The following day I waited till they toddled off to wherever the public hanging was that day. Then I hung my washing out, sat in the garden, lit the barbecue, opened a beer and waited for their return. I even took my shirt off for good measure. It was at this point I really wished I had some tattoos. Soon enough I heard their respective front doors slam, counted to 5 and turned around - sure enough there they were peering out their windows. Clearly they couldn’t get a close enough look from there so out came the deckchairs.

They sat in complete silence staring at the spectacle of my laundry billowing in the summer breeze. Next to my usual array of jeans and shirts I had hung some of my girlfriends laundry items. With considerable skill I had carefully pegged one of her laciest prettiest bras to the line. Then below the bra (with some clever use of pegs) hung a matching suspender belt which in turn supported a tiny wispy little pair of panties and of course a pair of sheer lacy topped black stockings that waved lazily in the breeze, like a very thin lady running in slow motion.

“Hello ladies, lovely day!” I waved cheerily.

If they could have pursed their little faces up anymore they’d have turned them inside out. Vicious old bats.

Blue Rinse Dragons Part II
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:05, 17 replies)

Have a pea roasted WOO and Yay for both stories.
I love your writing.
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:09, closed)

It's all tl;dr but you're both cocks if that helps.

( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:20, closed)

rory you penis disease.
Hows the job hunting going?
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:32, closed)

Did you get the Poundland training that you were after?

( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:33, closed)

Why are you asking yourself that question?
You spastic.
( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:43, closed)

Spitting your dummy again rory?
Remember to take breaths in between your posts.
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:44, closed)

was it tl;dr because the amount of words were to difficult for you?
( Trollman, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:36, closed)

Great, yet another made up internet Professor with little grasp of basic spelling, grammar or punctuation.
A successful career at Loughborough University no doubt awaits you.
( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:46, closed)

The Valium is wearing off then rory.
Don't worry the special brew will bring you back up again.
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:52, closed)

Diazepam is a sedative you spastic. U is wel fick.

( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:56, closed)

See I wouldn't know that.
I haven't had your experience of rehab and mental disorders.
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:58, closed)

A bit of basic knowledge kiddo, you seem to have a lot of time on your hands, why not expand on your usual reading of the adventures of Spot the dog.

( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 12:01, closed)

That is your worst attempt yet rory. I really hope you didn't stay up all night thinking that one up.
Unlike you rory some of us have 'Jobs'

One day you might as well and then your dummy spitting anger might not be so bad.
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 12:04, closed)

He really is a bell end isn't he?

I can imagine the closet thing lyon has come to working is as one of those special people you see helping out in charity shops.
( Trollman, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 12:07, closed)

Waaah waaaah waaaaaah
It's 'bellend'; and and and I even bet you and that other prick fill the bags at tesco and then sweep up the leaves except you end up licking all the windows instead and when you go for a wee you get your little weiner caught in the zipper *every*fucking*time*.
( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 12:13, closed)

Haha
You are getting irate now.

So easy with you my retarded friend.
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 12:19, closed)

You and your 'Jobs' eh, you're all grown up now.

( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 12:16, closed)

Boooooohooo
You really still haven't, after all this time even mastered the fact that as a troll you should get so wound up and tearful.

You are the only troll I know who trolls himself.
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 12:21, closed)

tl;dr
Cock
( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 12:29, closed)

It is better than having a name that sounds like a four year old made it up, although judging by your other posts I would not be surprised.
( Trollman, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:54, closed)

That is a bit unfair on four year olds prof.
Some of them can be quite creative unlike rory, who uses his basic boring insults to get him through his bleak days.
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 18 Jan 2012, 11:57, closed)