Monkeys Fist

I've heard she just crams a pair over his head,J69 stylee. " Did you know, Viv, that the drink driver mmmmmfffff"

His mate not wearing knickers, then?

That's what his carer is for, man.

Correct, I changed Debbie's name to protect her honour.

The fucking state of UK politics at minute, Kippers decking each other, 7 of 9 is PM, PLP at war with its members because there's a lefty in charge. BAMFU.

Ashley's Skidmark?- it all makes sense now

Touching Cloth?

Henry 7/9ths ?

Hence him needing Craigslist to get amongst it.

I'll bet a Tena he's not a bed wetter.

Had to be a pole vaulter, didn't it?

They're fucking shameless mind. A few years after me and Mrs. Fist got together, I was asked if I'd drive a minibus full of her and her mates to Blackpool ( I know), for a hen do. We hadn't even got past Corbridge and I knew which of the 12 or so lasses was into fisting, rimming and who swallowed. Tough drive

" As long as you asked first, Pet. "

It may come as a shock to many of you, but I was a right slut in my teens/twenties. Women have always 1) Been filthier than a tramps neck 2) Been incapable of not discussing,in great detail, said filthiness when gathered in groups of two or more. My lass was amazed to discover that me and my mates didn't discuss the finer points of our sex lives with each other. Seems to me that the discussions are just more open now, which, up to a point, is no bad thing. As a parent of a boy and a girl, it's a fine balance between letting them know that sex is a normal thing and not something to be ashamed of, but also that they should never do, or let anyone else do, something they're not happy with. Granted, my two are only 9 and 6, so it's not yet an active concern, but the more comfortable they are discussing/asking about sexual matters, the better, I reckon. Oh the joys of the teen years ahead

I used to work with an an old Navy lag, was one of his favourite phrases.

So....she didn't realise she had a vibrating dildo crammed up her turd-cutter? She must have a hoop like a whale sharks mouth. Also, barbecue tongs He's having a laugh there, it's nigh impossible to pick up a sausage with them in normal use, never mind retrieve a Mandingo from up the Tocky Locker.

She looks like she's just caught him...... ooooooh, I dunno....... lets say sniffing her dirty knickers?

Hence the scarcity of our Wearside brethren. Arse

"Whistle blower in Seagull Carnage Scandal!"

I had to do something to get the image of Theresa's hydrophobic axe-wound out of my mind

"Woke up. Still ginger Had some chips. What's bong? " Every day for 20 years.

" Have you ever seen a mackem in Geosynchronous Orbit? (Have you fuck!) Have you ever seen a mackem in Geosynchronous Orbit? ( Have you fuck!) " Have you ever seen a mackem, ever seen a mackem, ever seen s mackem in Geosynchronous Orbit? ( Have you fuck!)"

Can't be arsed with Tubs' crack most of the time, however, see below I've often wondered how someone of our generation and upbringing could be a Tory, and I've been about pondering Jar Jar the Cabby in particular this afternoon. How could he grow up under Thatcher, in the North East, and think she and her various Cabinets were anything other than grade A cunts? I thought it from the moment I was capable of political thought, probably helped along by my older brother who was heavily involved in supporting the miners during the strike( he performed in the Concert for Heroes at the Albert Hall in 1986, as did Lindisfarne, Weller, etc). I realised it (their cuntery) then, and I recognise it now, if anything they've upped the ante. Then I realised, CT is different to me and you. For a cone-headed, buck-toothed, sparrow-shouldered ginger, the 80s must've been a tough time. A bloke can only take so much rejection, and after yet another night spent sitting in the corner at Walkers or the Mayfair, watching the likes of me and PaddockLad fighting off the blart, it's easy to see how he'd come to hate his more handsome, less ginger contemporaries. And then...... the conversion. The new manager at SCS arrives, a former RGS boy called Marcus, or fucking Jeremy, whatever, and he's different. He's posh, wears pink shirts blazers and chinos, (rugby shirts on dress down Friday), and, importantly, he doesn't ignore our Ginger Golem. He cracks jokes with Tubs, calling the punters Plebs and Oiks ( out of earshot, naturally), brings Blue Nun for the staff tombola, gives him sales tips on flogging the utterly pointless Dralon Stainguard Treatment to grannies who can't afford it ( " fuck 'em, think of the commission Smeagol). And idolises Thatcher. Granted, he's shagging Debbie from Accounts and Customer Complaints that CT has secretly loved from the day he saw her, but hey, Marcus/fucking Jeremy gives our boy some attention! A few years on, a promotion to deputy part-time managers assistant in the Leather suites and Pouffes section, the Tory conversion is well under way. When MfJ gives the Goober tickets to a sportmans dinner where he meets Beardsley and other players ( and gets a Polaroid taken! The roughnecks in the warehouse will be soooo jealous!) it's a done deal. Tory Boy is born.