» DIY disasters

This QOTW has been mildly annoying for me,
because I'm not bad at DIY. I can put up shelves, assemble flat-pack furniture, and even do the odd spot of car repair with a minimum of fuss. So it's been pretty hard for me to think of anything to post at all.

Until this weekend, this is barely on topic, but I'm going to post it anyway. You see, the current Mrs Monkeysex had come round, and true to our name, we were rutting away like an army of Gibbons up to their eyeballs in Viagra and monkey porn.
She was happily bouncing away on top of me, inhibitions to the wind, and her breasts boinging up and down all lovely like. When, she decides to stop, pull me out and lay by my side, before whispering softly into my ear, 'I want to see you come.'
Frankly, I'm just glad she's naked, and that she's there, I couldn't give a flip what we do.
So, she grabs hold of my throbbing member, and begins pumping away like an expert. Now, any man knows that most women are generally terrible at the manual stimulation, they grip too hard, or not hard enough, pull the skin too tight, their weedy little arms just can't pump fast enough, or long enough.
This was the first time Mrs Monkeysex had ever done this to me, and I was impressed. She slapped the Dolphin at just the right speed, her grip of the monster, just below the neck, was spot on, hell she was better at it than I am! I lay there in paroxysms of ecstasy, I could feel the orgasm building inside me, I knew it wouldn't be long before my cock-Vesuvius was erupting it's sticky magma, drowning my pubic lice like Roman peasants.
But, bugger me, it just wouldn't happen! Curse the Gods of masturbation, I was laying there, receiving the best handjob of my life, but my little mini eggs of pleasure just wouldn't bring forth the spooge of life. Dammit, she was happily fwapping away for a good, long, long time. I was writhing away, moaning and groaning, on the cusp of an explosion of cataclysmic proportions for what must have been at least half an hour.

'Sod this for a game of soldiers,' she said, 'Do It Yourself.'

Which I happily did, in less than 30 seconds.
(Mon 7th Apr 2008, 10:48, More)

» Shit Stories: Part Number Two

Mrs Devlin
was one of my R.E. teachers, she was fairly young, average looking, with short, dark hair, and she was from Northern Ireland.
Most of our lessons passed by without incident, she taught us all about the five pillars of Islam, the Easter Bunny and Vishnu. None of us were actually interested, but it passed the time.
Until the day that she announced in her broad, Irish accent, that 'Approximately one turd of all...' I can't remember the rest of her enlightening fact, but I do remember that every ear in the class pricked up.
Every child's eyes widened, as they couldn't quite believe what they'd heard. Had they heard it? Had they misheard? -Of course not, this was just the Northern-Irish pronunciation of the word 'third'.

But now every boy in the class made it their goal to get Mrs Devlin to repeat the word,
'Miss, what percentage of european Jews were wiped out in WW2?'
'Miss, can you name a fraction lower than half, but more than quarter?'
'I had a race with two of my friends Miss, they both beat me, i guess that makes me...?'
They'd all ask, getting the same answer every time, 'A turd.'

We'd all try hard to stifle our laughter, and hold back the tears of merriment, until we could explode with mischievous delight outside of the classroom.

Until, one day, a certain Leslie Nielsen released a sequel, the likes of which have never been seen since...

'Miss, what's the name of that film Leslie Nielsen's in at the cinema..?'

'Naked gun,' she said, and we all waited with baited breath, 'turty-tree and a turd.'
(Tue 1st Apr 2008, 13:40, More)

» Guilty Pleasures, part 2

Sometimes,
I like to take the Celebrations tin I kept to store biscuits, I put the lid on my chest, the tin on my back, and pretend I'm a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.

Heroes in a half-shell! TURTLE POWER!
(Fri 14th Mar 2008, 11:29, More)

» Your first cigarette

Might as well...
I bummed a fag once.

He didn't mind.
(Thu 20th Mar 2008, 11:40, More)

» Shit Stories: Part Number Two

The coathanger
As a young man who lives alone and exists solely on a diet of e numbers, lard and meat, I've become fairly reknowned for spending far too long on the toilet, dropping brown eggs of mammoth proportions.
Of course, this causes one repeating problem... The Floater That Will Not Die.
I've managed to work my way around this problem though, by the clever use of an old wire coathanger I now keep in the dark scary cupboard next to my bog.

What instruments do you use to chop up your wayward excretia?
(Thu 27th Mar 2008, 15:19, More)