In the pub last night my mate Ian explained that sperm is ‘intelligent’...
...and each and every one has – for want of a better word – a soul.

To make sure the poor little buggers don’t suffer before landing on the kleenex or dirty sock he has stashed under his bed, Ian explained he always grabs hold of his cock really hard when he’s about to shoot his load. Confused, I asked why he uses this quite possibly dangerous mastabatory technique. Ian explained the extra-firm grip on his beef baton killed every single one of his army of little white warriors, strangling them before they spurted out his japs eye. Apparently this is the kindest way to treat your bollock-dollop.

As Ian’s last girlfriend probably said: this was pretty hard to swallow. Desperate to change the conversation, I asked Ian if he could get the next round of beerski’s in as I’d been paying for the both of us all night. Ian said he was skint although I know for a fact he earns more than I do and is just generally a bit of a cunt when it comes to spending money.

I drained the dregs from my pint glass. “You know what you are, Ian," Ian looked up at me and shrugged. "You’re a self confessed tight fisted wanker, mate.”
( SpankyHanky, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 17:27, 1 reply)

Hooray!
Extra points for "bollock dollop"
( chart cat has an itch, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 0:42, closed)