A tramp is in his local Jewellers picking something unsavoury…
Stan T is a bit late in coming up - and needs something to wipe on.
Posts Tagged ‘arse’
November 10, 2008
November 10th: What a spud…
Woke up with a bit of newspaper stuck to me head…
It says here some vicar in Sheffield has had to undergo surgery to remove a potato from his bottom…
He said “I was hanging curtains in the nude in my kitchen…” (as you do) “…when I fell backwards on to the table and impaled myself right up the King Edward…”
Yeah right. Like that’s gonna happen….
It’s a bit like that Sherlock Holmes story in which Watson enters the Drawing Room to discover Sherlock Holmes on all fours on the dining room table shoving citrus fruit up his arse…
WATSON: “Holmes, what the deuce are you playing at man?”
HOLMES: “Lemon entry my dear Watson…”
Funny old world. Think that vicar’s probably a pervy meself…
Stan T
(with a Queen Charlotte with come-to-bed eyes snagged right up where the sun don’t shine)
October 15, 2008
October 15th: Johnny Depp appeared to me in a dream, dressed as Jack Sparrow…
I had a dream – a bit like that Martin Luther King bloke (only I didn’t get shot immediately afterwards) that Johhny Depp, right, dressed as Jack Sparrow, paid a visit to my Wheeliebin. I say paid a visit “to” I meant “against”…
Anyway I lifted up me top flap – and there he was: Jack Sparrow – bold as brass and showing his arse – taking a leak against me Wheeliebin…And Gawd bless ‘im, once he’d finished, he looked up, offered me what was left of his kebab, farted, and then mumbled the following fateful words: “Wheeliebins of the Caribbean…”
To which I replied, quick as a flash: “Sweepy Todd – Demon Bin-Man of Sweep Street…”
Not sure what any of that was about, but thought I’d share that with you…
“Wheeliebins of the Caribbean” – is that an idea with wheels or what?
Dreams ey? Who’d ‘av ‘em?
I reckon that Jack Sparrow must be a kindred spirit or something…
Food for thought – but no actual kebab when you think…
Stan Trolley
October 5, 2008
October 5th: Onward Christian burgers…
Still traumatised by the smell of Christian burgers (if you’ll pardon that particular expression)…
And no, Jesus didn’t save any onions – or in fact manage to turn the rape alarm off…
Arse
Stan
October 4, 2008
3rd October: “No Christ, No Life” : Jesus, no flippin’ burger more like…
11.00 a.m in the Big Wheeliebin house – and let me tell you, all fucking hell is breaking loose…
I lift up me top flap to find meself stuck slap-bang, right in the middle of Bristol University’s “Fresher’s Fare” – with some grumpy old arsewipe of a Security Guard kicking 10 shades of shit out of me bin, and telling me, in no uncertain terms, to shift my bloody bin sharpish…
“Hold on a minute….Hold on a minute, arsey chops…Pardon me for flippin’ breathing but I’ve only just got ‘ere ‘aven’t I? And anyway, it’s not my bleedin’ fault where me bin takes me, is it? Got a mind of its own it has. It’s the Master not me…”
And then of course the bleeder wouldn’t start would it? The tardis mechanism being so flippin’ random and all that…
So there I am – stuck there – whilst bollock-chops is whipping himself into a right old froth, getting more and more of a hair up his arse about me moving on.
” ‘Old , ‘old, ‘OLD ya flippin’ ‘orses – I’m trying to start the bastard thing up aren’t I?…Arsehole…”
Anyway, suddenly – and just in the nip of time as it goes – as a whole gang of the little jobsworth bleeders are all over me like a flaming rash of safari ants, intent on flipping me over and doing me some right old physical mischief.
(And what is it with you Security jobsworth facists? We’re only talking Students here – not the fucking Queen (Gawd bless ‘er) you’re guarding the delicate sensibilities of…)
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, at last the bastard mythical bastard bin tardis-like mechanism engages (finally), and then off I fark with not a moment to lose, with me hanging my arse out of the bin and pulling my cheeks apart as a parting salute. “Fuck You…”
But then – bugger me – I then re-appear a mere 150 yards up the same bloody road, slap-bang-opposite…a Christian Union flippin’ “Free Burger” BBQ fare…CHRIST ON A BIKE…
Well I say “Free”…Free of course provided you’re prepared to put up with some spotty-specky-twat banging on about Jesus and reeking of moth-balls & talcum powder, whilst your going “yeah, yeah, wo’eva – just make sure Jesus Saves me some flippin’ onions would you mate? Thanks…” and then off you push to try to find the fucking mustard (that is unless of course some bloody Christian’s not gone and necked it all before you can get there). And anyway, I thought they’d stopped doing Christian Barbeques way back in Roman times – so what the bloody hell was going on?
And then – is if all that wasn’t enough – to cap it all, I look up, and there’s this huge great big yellow sign emblazened with HUGE red writing saying: “NO CHRIST, NO LIFE”…
And of course in my case, RUB IT IN WHY DON’T YOU? “NO CHRIST, NO LIFE” and more importantly “NO FUCKIN’ BURGER” EITHER…
OH…COCK & ARSEHOLES – WHAT A FUCKING DAY…
“FRESHER’S FARE?” Wish I was “FRESHER” – I smell like a Buffalo’s arsehole today. And I am so fucking HUNGRY…
“Send me some fuckin’ material over here” and A FUCKING BURGER WHILST YOU’RE AT IT…
Fucking hell…It’s not all glamour being fucking Stan Trolley let me tell you…
Flaming students…Go put a cone on your head and then get – wazzed up in a shopping trolley or something highly original like that…Oh and don’t forget to be fucking hilarious whilst you’re at it – and go put another cone on the head of that Military Statue opposite Habitat as a cheeky chappy chaser…Oh yes – and whatever you do – please, please, please make absolutely sure you put some fucking washing powder in the water of that fountain next to the Victoria Rooms. Hi-fucking-larious…
ARSEHOLES…
Stan
(has got the right old hump)
Oh God …Some arsehole’s gone and thrown a rape alarm into the bin now. It’s going off – it’s wedged somewhere – and I can’t get to it to turn it off….
If “Jesus Saves” – now would be a good time mate…
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