You can't do 'Sex' with a Kindle...

I apologise for adding yet another ‘list’ post to what will no doubt become a week of such, but I just don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t share with you the books that have changed my life.

‘SEX’ by Madonna. Does anybody remember this? It was once dubbed: ‘the raunchiest coffee table book in history’? Controversial perhaps, but I must confess that mine has never made it as far as my coffee table...Instead, I keep it in my hallway by my front door – largely due to the fact that it’s metallic cover and excessive size make it spot-on for slinging at fucking bible-tappers and double-glazing salesmen should they interrupt me watching 'Bargain Hunt'.

'Mansfield Park' by Jane Austen. Now, the fabled love twists of 'Fanny' and her friends might not be everybody’s cup of tea...but I found, that at 480 Pages, the paperback version was the exact perfect size to wedge under the wonky kitchen table leg that had been pissing me off for fucking ages. Sweet.

'Nineteen Eighty-Four' by George Orwell. An indulgence possibly, but I went all out and spent an extra few quid on the hardback edition. Words can’t explain the feeling of fulfilment I got after I propped it against a copy of ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ by J. D. Salinger and made the pair into a ramp for my remote control car. That combination of mega-literary heavyweights allowed my jeep to launch with exact precision the required 60 degrees so it could land in the dog’s bed from 4 feet away!

'Brave New World' by Aldous Huxley. This Dystopian fantasy classic soon became an invaluable mainstay on my bedside table as its’ strangely thin pages allow me to easily roll it up and twat spiders and suchlike, especially moths, when they fuck about by my lamp at night. Little cuntwads.

'In Search of Lost Time' by Marcel Proust. At 1.5 million words, it might seem like a bit of an epic for some, but I think it was well worth the purchase. This influential and sometimes controversial triumph consists of seven, glorious French volumes that are wank-tasticly massive, and they make a cock-hot footstool if you lob a cushion on top and bundle the lot together with sticky tape.

'The Lost Symbol' by Dan Brown. I’ve highlighted this one in particular but I can pretty much count all of Mr Brown’s tomes in for this one. For every time I perch on the chod bin to pinch off a loaf that turns out to be particularly girthy and troublesome, I know I can always consult my collection of Dan Brown novels. People do tend to slag off his works, but I find there’s nothing better to wipe my dirtbox with after a particularly runny, rancid and blood-coming-out-of–the-eyes inducing uberturd.

Better than Andrex I reckon. Thoroughly absorbing.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 5 Jan 2012, 19:57, 4 replies)

I've always found that..
'A la recherche du temps perdu' is the precise thickness to put under the mrs' arse for full penetration.
Just sayin' like.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 5 Jan 2012, 21:16, closed)

Hahaha...

You see? who says books are 'useless'?...

oh....nobody
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 5 Jan 2012, 21:19, closed)

Do that with a kindle

(Cov Boy, Fri 6 Jan 2012, 14:20, closed)

I'm not sure it quite deserved this but...
I was crying with laughter after reading that. Genius.
(Nitrous Nitrous, Sun 8 Jan 2012, 22:39, closed)