» * PFFT *

Following through
Going to meet friend A in London with other friend B. Had a decidedy dodgy arse. As my friend A and I are members of an elite club who have soiled themselve in public (mainly due to drinking) I phoned and told him to bring some immodium from his ample supply.

Friend texts at 1pm to say he can't make it.

Panic sets in. I'm in Harvey Nichols at this point and am concerned that the brewing fart may have (barely but enough to warrant worry) some substnce to it. I pop to the toilets where a dad is escorting his son. I go into cubicle and slowly let out a vile fart. Thankfully no residue. I leave. Dad gives me look of disgust and wonderment at the sulphuric stench.

3pm. SoHo. I fart and successfully emit nothing but purest gas. Result! Perhaps the immodium isn't needed...

5.30pm (or thereabouts)on Loughton tube station...
I decide to let another fart out. I must add at this point, that I am wearing some shorts with an underpant lining.

Fuckfuckfuck! Fucking fucker fuck! Bollocks! I have obviously followed through. Even though I have CLEARLY followed through, I insert hand to check. It's damp. Could just be sweat?

I bring hand to nose to smell. Nope. It's shit. The kind of shit I haven't done since a baby.

I can get away with this methinks.

No chance. Friend B's nose twitches. Twitches again. Looks at Chinese gent standing nearby with disgust. I can't help it...

'B.'
'Yes Lithepanther? Have you farted btw?'
'No, B. I've shit myself.'

I wander off. Shall I ise the ironically positioned Indian takeaway? No toilet.

Eventually I waddle in the way that only people who shit themselves can (and everyone knows your shame) to J Sainsbury and go in customer toilet. Taking off shorts, I clean myself up. Now, how do I clean the shorts? 'Fuck it' I think. Go to rip out lining.

It's made of industrial strength steel or something. Eventually - resourceful this and if it wasn't part of this story would probably get me a job in Mi6 shoud they ever care to interview me - I use the coat peg to saw off my lining. I walk outside, bid Dad and son combo 2 good day and leave.

Friend A likes this story. Friend B was so shocked he has never even used this as ammunition to take the piss.

*Apologies for length.
(Fri 13th Jul 2007, 15:02, More)

» Council Cunts

Dispute
I lived in a Gingerbread house next to a Magic Walrus. It's a nice little cul-de-sac in rural Toyland and though the houses are all similar, they are large and detached and decorated in slightly different fashions so as to fraudulently mark us out as individuals, rather than the generic mass of lollipop dwarves that we really are. Life was one endless round of Lemonade, sugar drops and candied hosepipes.

About two years ago, the Magic Walrus left and in his place came a purple Octopus from a distant land, where they worship a different wizard in the sky. In tow were his family. We welcomed them just as we had been welcomed by the Magic Walrus before.

Each house down Gumdrop lane on our side of the cherry-ade river faces towards the South. They are staggered so that the East elevation looks out over the garden of the house to its left. Obviously, when the genie made the houses many moons ago, he didn't want the occupants of the houses looking into the windows of the adjacent dwelling and its garden. However, to brick the wall up entirely with gingerbread blocks and hundreds and thousands would prevent light from entering each dwelling. The genie had a masterstroke: he commissioned windows made of opaque icicles and lemon-peel pearls which enabled light to enter whilst simultaneously preventing the occupants from seeing out and snooping into the lives of their neighbours.

This was the case for, ooh, let's say... 40 FUCKING YEARS.

This magic glass is not un-stylish or out-moded as you would otherwise imagine and in 2007 in the biggest city in Toyland, interior design types gladly pay THOUSANDS of sherbet pips for a small pane.

The Octopus came round and asked if we minded if he changed the pane.

'YES' we replied.

For two years, nothing happened, then one day, the nasty Octopus changed the window without telling anyone. Papa Tin man went round to object.

'I did it because I knew you'd object' he slyly garbled.

Because Gumdrop lane is a nice place, the genie didn't feel it necessary to place a covenant to cover the window. Papa Tin Man spent hundreds of sherbet pips finding this out from the council and eventually hd to do his own research. Consequently, the Octopus is within his rights to do what he pleases with his window.

Papa Tin Man planted a bean he purchased off a passing Troubadour and this grew into a massive beanstalk which occludes the offending window. It is legal.

However, Toyland council are persisting in that it is illegal and the whole process is becoming tedious and expensive. At the end of the day, it is people who are the problem: a certain type of person wants to work for the council in a particular manner, or as a traffic warden or wants to see into your garden.

Tin Man Jr has offered to do something v.bad with Goldilocks from down the road and he and she are confident that a few hours in the garden making little Tin Goldilocks and having a tea-party with exotic treats will be a) pleasurable and b)sufficient to have the window re-instated.
(Tue 31st Jul 2007, 10:48, More)

» * PFFT *

F Farts
Pulled Irish bird. Really fit. Very, very pleased with self.
Expecting midnight raid on the port, I got Durex Extra safe out of toilets (also known as Tesco Carrier Bag after this event)
Get fruity wih woman.
'I've got the painters in'
'Don't worry - we can put a towel down'
'Ok.' Quoth she.
Wander to bathroom.
Select cream coloured towel (Heh Heh!)
Proceed to copulate. Enjoying immensely. This is brilliant.
"Parp!"
[Methinks: Hmmn. Unusual. Oh well, onwards and upwards!]
"ParpaRP!"
[Methinks: Er... what's happening here? Must be fanny fart/trapped air?]
"PARP!"
[Shit Shit Shit! What's going on! Why me!]
"PPPPPPPPPAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP!"
Now, at this point, I have no idea how her housemate and my mate in the next room don't come in in alarm.
What shall I do? Well, the red bull in my mind was writing cheques the vodka in my body couldn't cash.
[Methinks: try alternate position]
'Let's try something else Irish bird'
'OK'
Joy! No noise!
Two mins happy pounding...
Pound...pound...pound..."BRWRWARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPP!"
Astonishing volume. I nearly soiled myself in shock. I have since recreated the sound to my pals in the pub and the response is always

"Frucking Hell"

Irish bird:

'I don't think we're compatible in bed'

I would have been shocked by this, excepit was very perceptive.

Length? More like a wizards' sleeve.
(Tue 17th Jul 2007, 11:47, More)

» Insults

I once heard
the incredibly racist, but deliberately ironic insult, hurled at a Sikh taxi driver (he was sporting a turban):

'Fuck off back to Hindu-land, you Paki cunt.'

This was because he'd short-changed us five quid. After our gob-smacked queries, my friend (and his name isn't Adolf) then said:

'Well, an authentic racist insult is fundamentally incorrect and deeply ignorant.'

To which we added:
'XYZ'
'Yes Lp'
'You're a wanker.'

There was a cricket match between the aussies (I think) and the West Indians possibly? Anyway, there is this particularly rotund chap who was the butt of all the humour of the Australians, famed for their sledging and one aussie said: 'XYZ... why are you so FUCKING fat?'

To which XYZ replied:

'Everytime I shag your wife she gives me a biscuit.'
(Thu 4th Oct 2007, 16:37, More)

» Best Graffiti Ever

in Reading uni library toilets
was something like:
Philosophers phrase questions ending in the word discuss because they can't think of a proper question. Discuss
(Wed 9th May 2007, 0:20, More)