» The thing I've been most ashamed of doing with a penis

Here's one I flicked off in the Carribean recently...
Isn't it awfully nice to have a mimsy?
Isn't it frightfully good to have a bush?
It's swell to have a pussy.
It's divine to own a chuff.
From the tiniest lady garden,
To the world's biggest muff.

So, three cheers for your fabulous vagina.
Hooray for your hoochie coochie friend.
Your lady bits, your cha-cha-cha,
Your cherry, or your box.
You can pierce it or tattoo it,
Or fill it full of cocks.
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock.
And you won't come back!

(With thanks to Powervator and The Pythons for the inspiration)
(Fri 13th Mar 2009, 12:53, More)

» Real-life slapstick

Picture the scene...
In Blackburn there's a single escalator next to the Post Office that takes you up into the shopping centre. Whilst waiting for the bus one afternoon, I saw a drunken chap shuffling towards it. He stood for a second or two at the bottom, one leg rising and falling as though trying to time his step with that of the escalator. He finally committed, shifted his weight, teetered and then started to fall backwards. A well meaning passerby caught him as he fell, hooking him under the arms and catching him just in time. In itself this looked like a perfectly choreographed slapstick routine and I was more than satisfied to have watched it.

However, the feet of the drunkard were still on the escalator, and the passerby watched helplessly as his new friend’s legs rose steadily, until he was almost horizontal. Rather than drop the man, he made the split second decision to jump on the escalator too and the pair rose uncomfortably and precariously out of sight.

I felt like applauding. This was the perfect ending to the slapstick routine, from the viewer’s perspective at least. I don't imagine that the drunk was in the least bit grateful when they got to the top and due to the daft layout of Blackburn shopping centre the passerby had to walk right the way around the block to get back to his wife who he’d been with right at the start.

Disclaimer: Each time I recount this tale, I never feel that I’ve done it justice. In my head it takes the form of a silent movie accompanied by a jaunty piano soundtrack. It starts with an intertitle card with a witty remark and at the end I imagine the crackly black and white film fading to black as the characters slide out of view. I hope you can too.
(Fri 22nd Jan 2010, 16:44, More)

» Terrible Parenting

Short one
I'm a terrible parent - I don't even have a child.
(Thu 16th Aug 2007, 16:33, More)

» Clubs, gangs, and societies

What's in a name...
After several months of forking out considerable sums to attend a sewing class, a few friends and I decided that we'd attempt to go it alone. Every week or two we meet up for a bit of a stich and bitch and swap ideas, skills and patterns. It's cheap and cheerful and makes sure our machines aren't allowed to get too dusty.

I'm not keen on calling our gatherings "sewing club" as it sounds too beige, but over the past few weeks we've all broken needles and had to swap them so often that we're considering calling it "The Needle Exchange".

Might give our image a somewhat more controversial slant...
(Thu 21st Jun 2012, 16:29, More)

» My Collection

Little Purple Triangles
A good few years ago when I was no'but a lass, a certain soft drink company (lets call it Rye-Bee-Nah) was doing a promotion whereby you collected the corners off cartons and could exchange them for various goodies. Being fairly ambitious I decided the soft toys and keyrings were not for me, but I would save up for something big.

Week after week went by and I saved a carton corner from every drink I had. Packed lunches, snacks and vending machines would tremble as I approached with scissors in hand.

I finally counted up the little purple triangles to find I was around a hundred short of anything cool. The next few weeks were spent frantically searching for the last remaining cartons in shops where stock rotation was notoriously poor.

Gathering together my horde, I shovelled them into a large envelope and looked on the final carton for the address to send it to. To my horror the promotion had closed two weeks previously.

I kept the little bastard triangles for 2 years, hoping that the company would do another promotion where you had to collect the same things, but they never did.

Arses.
(Mon 15th Jan 2007, 12:47, More)