Archive for May, 2010

Here are some of the alternative words/phrases I like to use for boy/girl body parts etc. Yes this is rude, crude and (hopefully) funny as fuck for you all:-

I shall update it regularly so keep checking back, and if you have any suggestions of your own, please let me know.

Girl bits:- rat, clam, clout, grumbler, twat, mound, muff, hairy polo, gash, gusset, beaver, quimm, furry axe wound, squid ring, clunge, bucket, hairy pie, tuna creek, meat purse, minge, phuddock, cunny, fish taco, hairy cheque book, goo gulley, spunk bucket, growler, stink tube, piss flaps, lady lips, furry cup, meat book, busted clart, bearded clam, beef curtains, fish purse, duck lips, otters/clowns pocket, wizards sleeve, hounds ears, bean pod, clint, spratt, hippos yawn, beetle bonnet, cleft, hood, ham wallet, kloot, bargain bucket, cooter, camel toe, moose-knuckle, fur burger, cooch, catcher’s mitt, cock warmer, whisker biscuit, flesh cavern, hatchet wound, meat massager, cock socket, stench-trench, cock holster, slop hole, hairy doughnut, fish mitten, fuck pocket, sausage wallet, crotch waffle, piss fenders, brakepads, buffalo gums, mossy jaw, blunt-front, bunghole, bunny tuft, womens weapon, bone hider, dick rack,  pole hole, saloon doors, snake lake, temporary lodgings, babyoven, bitch ditch, tampon tunnel, dick mitten, penis purse, rack of clam, wand waxer, bone polisher, pissy froth hole, bald biscuit, cocksleeve, panty hamster, dick basket, knicker bacon, juice pouch, dick duster, (golden) shower curtains, bell-port, minky, cocktrough, fish vault, clopper, mouses ear, pink fig, gusset slug, bin, whisker-pit

Boy bits:- bell, cock, pork sword, mutton musket, spam javelin, japs eye, womb broom, custard chucker, blue-veined piccolo, pink oboe, meat injection, one-eyed trouser snake, dome ferret, top, beef torpedo, purple headed fuck gun, goo stick, pink-skinned kayak, love pump, custard cannon, love spuds, dibner, blue-veined yogurt pump, hat, bell pepper, donka, spaff hammer, lid, twig & berries, pork plunger, spam sock, rooter, meatus, baby’s arm, schlong, meat flute, truncheon meat, goo slinger, spam dagger, ham spanner, kojaks money-box, banjo string, spoof chute, custard stick, blockus, chub stick, bulb (glen), pork sword, piss handle, horses handbrake, spunk trumpet, beef spear, pidge, salt cellar, mud nuzzler, slag hammer, long meat lump, bitch bat, champ, meat teat, blood sausage, prong, gammon cannon, pork cork

Bum bits:- dirtbox, tea-towel holder, balloon knot, hairy eye, puckered starfish, chocolate whizz-way, bourneville boulevard (of broken dreams), choc-o-pipe, shitter, fudge pipe, horses eye, rusty sheriffs badge, back box, mud ring, barking spider, chutney ferret, mud flap, o-ring, wrongun’, bum lips, ringpiece, (rusty) bullet hole, spicy badge, tin star, gate, nipsy valve, sludge pit, ginger wheelspins, mooter, tramps hotdog, wax torpedo, dead otter, mangina, panda’s eye, fudge funnel, cack alley, spicy return, mud muscle, riss(ole), chocolate keyhole, tattered windsock, crinkle-cut pastry cutter, dung funnel, chocolate pudding, clipper muscle, poo knot, hoop, rusty pouch, chutney chunnel, back eye, turd cutter, nipsy ninjas, brown bagel, date-hole

Tit bits: custard pups, lills, funbags, milk pillows, bangers, wangers, clangers, jugs, jubblies, norks, chesticles, sweater-bombs, wobblers, baps, boulders, swingers, spaniels ears, hooters, headlights, milk-mounds, melons, gnat bites, fried eggs, pitta breads, silky domes, 45’s, chest turners, milk taps

Sperm words: baby batter, man fat, population paste, cock custard daddies sauce, goo, spaff, jizz, gleet, eye goo, cock sauce, love lube, bell-glaze, salty-slime, dome dough, love butter, bukkake drizzle, baby gravy, spongle, hat honk, dick sick, man mess, salty soldiers, sex wee, eye fat, frapp salad, baby spray, slap shandy, salty sick, porridge, snedge, root beer, splooge, bell batter, wedding milk, nut butter, nob flob, clit-spit, cunt glue, teat-gleet, choad, knot oil, fuck muck, pisser-puss

You can also listen to me reading* a lot of these Michael-isms here. (*whilst sniggering and laughing like the total and utter fucking child that I am)


It’s true. I had some for the first time the other night.

Normal service has now resumed, and my piss is now smell-free again, I’m pleased to report.

That is all.

Yesterday evening, at 7pm, I experienced my first ever professional massage. It was a birthday gift, purchased by my mum because I’d been whining on for weeks about stress at work, tension headaches, and stiffness – in my neck and shoulders. The hint paid off.

You see, going to a massage parlour just isn’t something I would ever do – unless I was forced in to it. I’d be too nervous, embarrassed and anxious about the experience. And, let’s face it, the idea of massage is to relax you.

Before I go on, I must point out that this is a ‘proper’ establishment. There are no ‘extras’ available, no shady deals to be done, and absolutely no blowing your load over the staff.

In fact, they don’t accept male customers at all unless they are referrals from existing female customers (ie husbands, boyfriends, family members etc).

I won’t lie. I was concerned about ‘involuntary bodily responses’ to having some tidy young strumpet run her smooth, oily hands all over my body. I discussed it at length with friends and colleagues at work. We all had a good laugh about it together – you can imagine some of the conversations that took place surrounding the issue I’m sure.

However, the general (serious) opinion was that I would find the whole experience more relaxing than arousing – I just hoped everyone was right.

And they were.

I walked in and was greeted by a very attractive dark-haired lady by the name of Sammie. She was about 5ft 5, very slim, softly spoken and, contrary to the preferred stereotype, was not wearing a very short white nurse-style uniform with high heels and hold-up stockings. Of this fact, I was eternally glad, for obvious reasons.

There was another, less attractive older woman there too. But yep, you guessed it – it was Sammie who was gonna be the one to massage me.

She led me through to a small room with a massage table (obviously), a chair, a CD playing a mix of soft, relaxing music and the sound of waves crashing. There were also two towels on the table and a selection of oils. Sammie instructed me to get undressed and lay on my back on the table, and that she would return in a few minutes. I did as I was told and placed the towel strategically over my ‘gentleman’s area’ and waited for Sammie to return.

As I lay there, I was troubled by thoughts of what would happen if I became aroused, or if I fell asleep, or farted, whilst she was working her magic on me.

I needn’t have worried.

When she returned, Sammie made a little small talk with me for a few moments as she probably sensed I was a little nervous. I made a point of mentioning the fact that both my sister and mum was customers. I don’t really know why, but it made me feel more comfortable and (hopefully) it did her too. At least she could be sure (well, fairly sure) that I wasn’t gonna suddenly develop a lob-on, jump up off the table, bend her over it and ‘put her to the sword’.

Suffice to say, the next 50 minutes or so passed far too quickly for my liking.  But at least I didn’t get a hard-on, fart or embarrass myself in any way, and came out of there feeling relaxed, refreshed and content.

And having faced the ‘taboo’ of receiving a professional massage now, I think I would return for another – provided they’d let me back in the door of course.

Some people really are disgusting. And I mean really grim…

I arrived at work this morning and, after the usual activity of turning the phones off night service, opening a few windows (yes, it is warm in my office, even at 8am), filing a few overnight reports that had run and then making myself a cup of tea, I decided to visit the little boys room for a tinkle. (I realise this particular piece of information won’t (or shouldn’t, anyway) interest you but, as I’ve said before, this is my blog.)

As I approached ‘trap 2’ (as we affectionately refer to it in my office), I was greeted by the sight of dried on ‘Bungles Finger’ residue on the back on the pan. And below the waterline, it resembled the start/finish line at a F1 racing circuit.

Someone clearly cannot operate a shit-house brush, and also has an oddly angled balloon-knot, given the evident trajectory of their spatterings.

I don’t know who it was for sure, but I have a fair idea. (And no, not because of the look, colour or anything to do with the actual turdage itself.)

I’m tempted to name and shame them, but without proof I probably shouldn’t. Perhaps an email round to everyone reminding them where the toilet duck and bog-brush are located would be a more appropriate and subtle method of avoiding any repeat performances.

It’s not just me being overly sensitive, is it?

The Dragons are calling

Posted: 26/05/2010 in Humour

I’ve had a great idea for a new business venture. Well, more of a name for a great idea for a new business venture. Some of my friends and family have already heard this idea – and they generally laugh. (Maybe they just think I’m taking the piss.) Tell me what you think…

It’s an online Chinese food ordering service. And it shall be called e-wok. I’ve not worked out the full logistics of the business operation yet, but I will. And when I do, I can already picture Peter, Duncan, James, Theo and Deborah fighting over who wants to give me their £100,000 investment for a 2% stake in e-wok, can’t you?

Yep, just waiting for that phone to start ringing…

I should be on TV…

Posted: 25/05/2010 in Humour
Tags: , ,

Okay, so this is my first attempt at a ‘blog’, or ‘blog page’ or whatever else you might wanna call it. I hope it’s right, appears in the correct place within my site, and makes some semblance of sense to you all. If not, tough shit. It’s my blog…

Anyway, I have digressed already.

I should be on TV. It’s true. Last night, on Comedy Central, I was watching Grumpy Old Men. I believe there is now also a Grumpy Young Men version which may be a more appropriate forum for a chap of my tender young age. (The kinder amongst you may agree.)

There are so many things in life that piss me off. I could have an entire programme to myself, lasting an hour or more (with no advert breaks – unheard of in todays TV world – and ironically, this in itself is one of the things that really gets on my moobs) in which I could vent my spleen about such things as:

  • bad driving (lane hoggers, people who don’t speed and the like);
  • bad manners and general etiquette;
  • people who disapprove of swearing (which, I might add, I love);
  • ‘text’ or ghetto speak (ya no wat i meen innit bruv);
  • people who mis-use the words “their”, “there” and “they’re”;
  • tofu (I mean, what is its point, really?);
  • the aforementioned excessive TV advert breaks in programmes (a 1 hour programme consists of at least 15 minutes of woeful ad breaks);
  • Lady Gaga (what a pointless clout);
  • Mika (what an even bigger waste of skin);
  • Football and footballers (grown men being paid vast sums of money to kick a sack of wind round a field);
  • Harry Potter (sorry, I just didn’t get it – and I don’t want to. Ever);
  • El Divo (what bellends they truly are);
  • Britain’s Got Talent (when it clearly hasn’t in 99.8% of cases);

I could go on. And I’d like to. But you’re just gonna have to wait to see me on TV for more of the same…