REVENGE
“What do you see in that guy, Karen – he's a complete prick,” I commented, talking about her new boyfriend, a high flying city gent named Stefan who was a) a German, b) a banker leeching thousands off us tax payers, blowing (literally) ridiculous amounts of cash to fund his nasty habit for Columbian nose candy, and c) he was a fucking GERMAN.

Karen thought for a moment and replied: “Stefan's rich and he's got a fucking huge penis.”

Fair enough. But that was then. A few months later when my mate Karen and this sour kraut were getting heavily involved, it all changed. Fine by me – it was just fucking off putting having her waddle about, bow legged, asking for a cushion to sit on on account of her badly bruised and expanded vag from all the super-sized bratwurst action she was receiving.

Karen sat in our local and fumed. Stefan had given my mate Karen a rather nasty case of the clap he'd picked up from some random sexual conquest which took place in a club toilet with some, and I quote Karen: “fucking under age tart who probably didn't bother putting knickers on that night to save time later.”

Now, if there's one thing I've learned its that you don't fuck about with Karen. She's a Gateshead girl, hard as fucking nails, and incredibly, astoundingly nasty to those who deserve it. Karen then told me what she'd done to get even with this city wanker, I mean, banker. I didn't believe her. So we left the pub (me somewhat reluctantly), got in her car and drove down to Somers Town round the back of St Pancras where all the tramps used to hang out.

And I pissed myself laughing.

“Does Stefan know about this?” I asked.

Karen nodded, “I left him a note. He's an anal little shit so he'll come down here to look for himself. But I don't imagine he'll want anything back.”

I gazed for a bit longer. It's not everyday you see this sort of thing. Then – not being an expert on this sort of thing – I enquired: “How much did all this stuff cost?”

Karen, without batting an eyelid, responded: “About ten grand, so Stefan says.”

I laughed a bit more as I gazed from the car at a collection of elderly, smelly, disease-ridden bearded gents gathered round sitting on empty beer crates and flattened out cardboard boxes, merrily drinking cans of tesco value lager and blue nun. Only these tramps were a little different. They looked the fucking business. What with several of them wearing pristine Gucci suits, others decked out in Armani's finest, and the rest sporting catchy little numbers from the latest Jean Paul Gaultier collection.

It looked like a scene from Miami Vice...

...only Crockett and Tubbs and all the other guys in the vice squad had really let themselves go...
( SpankyHanky, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 23:10, 7 replies)

Whoa!
What a schemer! If my girlfriend gave away my collection of tesco value lagers and my vintage bottles of blue nun I would be *hopping* mad.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 23:18, closed)

I know!
Giving away that alcohol was a terrible thing to do!
(wehttamman via B3ta for microwave, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 11:09, closed)

I want to believe this story
I really do. But there are only so many stories one man can have...
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 23:25, closed)

I think validity ran out weeks ago
But god damnit, will someone just give Spanky his own damn column already? Whatever he's typing, bottle it and sell it to illiterate fuckers such as myself.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Thu 2 Jul 2009, 23:29, closed)

Yes
He's mastered the same art as Legless - you don't actually care if the stories are true or not.
( MatJ LOOK, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 13:11, closed)

I must be slipping
I read that, and didnt even notice it was Spanky until the replies!
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 0:51, closed)

This FTW - love it
Excellent work, matey

*click*
( TheMagicDwarf is back like ballroom dancing, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 10:34, closed)