Innuendos, Double Entendres and Puns, Oh My! – Part 2

This one is so funny to me, yet not one of my American friends ‘got’ it, even after I awkwardly explained it to them….or at least attempted to.

However, I mentioned it to my parents and they got it immediately, so it’s not just me!


I laughed so hard and for so long, that people around me started meerkatting (prairie-dogging) to see if I was OK. I literally had to leave my desk and take a walk to calm down.

Here’s a little background info first.

At work we have internal communication software called ‘Slack’. It’s a great tool for keeping the entire business up to date with information through direct messaging or the use of departmental ‘channels’. So, for example, a department like I.T. or Marketing would have a channel that provides updates, information and answers questions and issues from anyone from around the business.

It’s pretty cool.

So, with this in mind….

My colleague had been involved in a long and convoluted email thread about something or other and, after much back and forth, decided to send this beautifully succinct email out to an entire department.

‘I’m going to hop in your slack channel’

An ASSinine moment.

“There’s a bum fight outside”

I have literally just heard this across the office from one of my work mates.

I stood bolt upright.

“What did you just say???”

“There’s a bum fight happening outside”, he repeated.

Halfway through my Olympic record sprint to the window I realised he was talking about this:


Whereas I imagined this:


Damn you America…..damn you.

I dyed inside.

This morning I had a poo.

When the performance was over I stood up, turned around to flush away the nastiness only to see the water was red with blood!

What the fuck?

I panicked.  I was scared!  Why am I bleeding out of my bum?  Am I dying?  Is this the end????

Oh, wait, I had Beetroot salad last night.

Never mind.


A small entry (apparently)

I try to avoid posting twice in quick succession, especially since it’s been a writing drought recently, but I simply had to share this.

I was driving home from work today and, as I joined the freeway, there was a huge billboard offering ‘Vaginal Tightening’.

This was an occasion where ‘LOL’ was appropriate.

I really did. Loudly.

It was highly amusing and therefore I shared it on Facebook. I mean, it’s funny but I didn’t think it warranted a post of its own.

Anyway, as I neared home I saw a store selling alcohol; a self proclaimed outlet of alcohol, or ‘liquor’ as they called it.

Yes, that’s right, it was called ‘Liquor Outlet’.

I had to pull over before I ROFL’d into the car in front.

Fa la la la la, la la la laaaaaAAAARRGHH!!!

Today is Christmas Day and I am at work.

To be honest, I don’t really mind; the commute to the office was easier, my colleagues are in a festive mood and the customers have reached new depths of unmeasured dumbfuckery.

It all keeps me smiling.

One of the guys (and a good friend) is playing Christmas music loudly through his computer.

How very festive.

I’m torn between my love for him, my disdain for Christmas music and the utterly overwhelming desire to shove his PC up his arse.


The accidental pervert

The London Underground is a busy place at rush hour; crammed full of people from every walk of life and in every shape, size and colour.

A few days ago I was on the platform at London Victoria underground station awaiting the next sardine tin to arrive and whisk us away.  It was the usual scenario of pushing and squashing to get prime position on the platform for the opening doors.  The train pulled alongside the platform, the doors opened and we all started to habitually scowl at the people getting off the train. 

A scowl that basically says, ‘hurry the fuck up’.

Once the dead weight had alighted the train, the slow motion pushing and shoving began, only to be met with the one fucking twat who still hasn’t disembarked the train. 

Why does this happen?  Who the fuck forgets to get off the train? 

It’s likely they suddenly realised this was their stop (at the last minute) because they were too caught up playing Candy (fucking) Crush.

They are, in fact, complete idiots.

This late, sloth-like exodus by these morons usually reignites the scowl, with a subtle hint of eye rolling and a lot of quiet sighing as we’re forced to slowly move back onto the platform from the much coveted metal flooring of the train.  Today was no exception.

Ok, are they out?

Are we sure?



The slow motion mosh pit resumed and bodies were crushed together like a man’s junk in 80s jeans.  It was nuts to butts as we managed to squeeze the last person on, leaving no room to slide a credit card between us.  There were armpits in the face and lumps and bumps pressed against lumps and bumps.

But frankly, I didn’t care.  I was on the train.  So fuck the rest of you.  Ha! 

I freed one of my hands and reached up to grab a rail in anticipation of the train moving.

At this moment a guy managed to somehow shoehorn himself onto the train before the doors closed, causing a domino effect of squashing that resulted in a woman pressing right up against me. 

Now, this isn’t unusual on the underground by any means, but on this occasion she’d managed to effortlessly wedge my other hand against my thigh……with her bum. 

It’s worth mentioning that I hadn’t actually noticed at first; fighting to keep my footing and stay upright as the train pulled away.  To be honest, if I’d let go of the rail I still wouldn’t have fallen over as there wasn’t space to move.  I reckon I could’ve lifted both feet off the ground and still stayed in place, although I may have sunk down like I was in quicksand and I would’ve had a face full of bum.

The train had started to shake and jerk around like it usually does, which is when I realised that I had a bum rubbing left and right against the back of my hand.  This would’ve been tolerable if she’d been a 21 year old model, but not if she was a 55 year old geography teacher.

But i’m a happily married man, so I use the word ‘tolerable’ loosely.


Anyway, I could clearly make out the bum cleft on each pass of her buttocks across my hand.  I could make out the shape and density of each cheek as it swayed left, then right, then left; over and over again like she was Miley Cyrus and I was Robin Thicke. 

The certainty I had of being able to pick out the subtle distinctions in the shape of her bum left me realising the cold, unnerving truth; this granny was either wearing a thong…or nothing.


I was also very aware that my hand was so wedged in that I would’ve had to pull really hard to remove it, alerting her to the fact that it was my hand and not some random bag or something.  Also, considering it had been wedged in there at least 45 seconds at this point, I would’ve been considered a bit of a pervert for not moving it sooner. 

That would’ve resulted in an entirely different type of scowl.

So I could do nothing but stand there for the next two minutes, copping a feel against my will, with very distinguishable buttocks rubbing seductively against me by an unattractive old woman who had no idea she was doing it.

I washed my hands a lot when I got to work.

squashed ass


Tonight at Victoria train station there was the usual rush to be the first at the platform 100 metres away despite the trains not actually leaving for another 8-10 minutes.

As usual there were all sorts of ‘people’ (I use the term loosely) moving at different speeds and, oddly, in different directions towards the same platforms.

I’m 6ft tall and have a pretty hefty pace going on, but I could feel the presence of someone desperately trying to overtake me. I say I could ‘feel’ the presence but in actual fact I could blatantly see her from the corner of my eye as she took up more room in my peripheral vision than was necessary.

This woman was big. I mean BIG.

I’m not racist and therefore I’m going to be sensitive in describing her without causing offence.  In an attempt to be ambiguous and vague I’m going to refer to her as Shaniqua.

She was puffing along on my left and, not wanting to be a hypocrite by becoming one of these people…

…I moved slightly to the right allowing her to pass.

She bumped into me, possibly to indicate she was in a hurry and I was in her way, but probably because I could’ve moved 8 metres to my right and she still would’ve collided with me due to lack of space.

She was a big girl.

Once she’d barged me she muttered something like, “fucking come on!” and starting jogging slightly.

Well, I SAY jogging….

Picture this, she was a BIG girl and was wearing a very SMALL tight white dress with a VERY visible white thong underneath.

I know that thongs visible above jeans are sometimes affectionately referred to as a ‘whale tail’, but this one was to scale.


And it was screaming for help.

So when I say jog, take a moment to think about that.

Got it?

Ok… I’ll carry on.

Her ‘jog’ lasted about 2.5 seconds (which coincidentally was about the same distance in metres) before she went back to a walking pace; a pace that was 95% slower than mine.

I passed her again in about 4 seconds. I had to walk an extra 12 metres around her to do it, but in no time I was ahead of her again.



Grab a seat

I was sat on the train next to the window.  There was a woman sat to my left reading a book on her Kindle.  The train was packed and there were people stood all the way down the aisles.

At one point the train started to leave Clapham Junction station and then abruptly stopped.  The law of Inertia did its thing and threw a man onto the lap of the woman sat next to me.

She instinctively put her hands up to catch him and she succeeded, resulting in her holding his arse perfectly with a buttock lovingly held in each hand. 

Is there anything more funny than a perfect and accidental full on arse grab?  I don’t think so.

Without removing her hands she pushed him back to his feet and he said, “I’m so sorry!”

She said, “That’s ok”, but it clearly wasn’t.

Her Kindle wasn’t the only thing that was re(a)d.


Fantasy Vs. Reality – Part 2

Guys swaggering along with their jeans hanging low, below their asses.  You know the look i’m talking about right?

Fantasy:  Everyone thinks they’re proper ‘gangsta’.  Everyone shows them respec’ cos dey is, like, street blud; you get me?  People feel jealous pride for their urban flava and know that they are not to be messed with.  These are dangerous peoples man, dangerous peoples! (kisses teeth)

Reality:  Everyone thinks they look like a bunch of pricks who desperately need to pull their jeans up.  We can all see their pants, and therefore their asses….which makes them look like a toddler, complete with a full nappy.  Their choices of pants usually leave a lot to be desired.  You recokon you’re ghetto?  Well the Spongebob pants are suggesting otherwise! 

We all laugh at them because they have to walk with wide strides to stop their jeans actually falling down to their skinny, knobbly knees….or they have to walk along holding them up with one hand, which is daft considering they’re already wearing a belt.

And if they ever have to run (for a bus, to cross the road, away from their parole officer), it’s like watchin a penguin in high heels running across a glacier covered in banana skins.

You get me?