FISHCAKES & BIGOTRY
From the age of twelve through to the time I left home at eighteen my mum appeared to have one primary purpose: without warning she’d rifle through my room like a hardened prison warden searching for contraband.

She wouldn’t stop until she’d unearthed every last scrap of porn I had stashed away. I’d find new ingenious hiding places; she’d uncover them in a matter of days. It was uncanny. Like she possessed an X-Man mutant bloodhound ability. My mum could sniff out semen-saturated glossy magazines featuring topless girls jumping up and down in a bath full of baked beans while smearing each other’s tits in custard and chocolate sauce from twenty paces. I swear she could actually hear the faint vibrations of porn mags as they lay hidden under carpets, stuffed behind wardrobes, or jammed behind the pipes of the big clunking radiator I had in my room.

I’d come home after messing about with my mates to find a pile of scrunched up boobs, fannies and arses on the kitchen table, standing like an accusing 3D sculptured orgy, with my mum stood over them looking like the Goddess of all things pure and saintly, giving me that look which meant I was in for a bit of a bollocking.

But the bollocking never came. I’d gulp in air, backtrack, and slink off to watch Grange Hill. Then my mum, wearing a face like fucking thunder, would turn up moments later with a dinner tray and hand me over my plate of fishcakes and chips. After I’d eaten my dinner I’d tip-toe into the kitchen and the porn mountain would’ve vanished.

This happened at least seven or eight times. Could never quite put my finger on the whys are wherefores of it.

Years later I took my parents out to a swanky restaurant in London (Burger King near Marble Arch, I’m not made of fucking money). My dad, my mum, my girlfriend of the time Emma and I. Halfway through her whopper, my mum chuckles to herself, puts her hand tenderly on my arm and says:

“Do you remember all those naughty magazines I used to find in your bedroom? You used to go bright red with embarrassment!”

Going bright red with embarrassment I glanced over to my girlfriend who actually believed the common lie: Of course I don’t and never have looked at porn, angel! Why would I? If I’m feeling randy I’ve got you to look at, ehh?!?

“Errr... sorry, mum?” I said.

Then it all suddenly made sense. My mum chuckled again: “I was really annoyed to see you bringing that filth into my house,” she took a slurp of her Coke. “Then again, I was just so relieved you didn’t turn out gay... I had my doubts you were, you know, one of those queers for a few years... You just looked like such a big pansy.” She took another sip of her drink and came out with the immortal line:

"I'd rather have a pervert for a son than a homo."

We didn't get a dessert.

My dear old mum – the porn destroying homophobic bigot...
( SpankyHanky, Thu 11 Feb 2010, 14:49, 3 replies)

hahahaha :D
That's some bizarre logic right there.

If you were ever tempted to "do labour down the docker's yard" you'd get a mental image of fishcakes flashing up before your eyes as you're about to play Pork Sourcery.

There again, if you liked fishcakes then it would most certainly turn you gay.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 11 Feb 2010, 15:16, closed)

Mummy
Spanky rocks!
(Obi wanker nobi Its not a bug, its an unexpected feature, Thu 11 Feb 2010, 15:36, closed)

Spanky
are you Matt Berry?
( Sextant goes to him is emotionally erect, on this day, Sat 13 Feb 2010, 0:35, closed)