Dog Food

I have a Labrador retriever and I was buying a large bag of Purina at the supermarket and was in line to check out.

A woman behind me asked if I had a dog(?)

On impulse, I told her that no, I was starting The Purina Diet again, although I probably shouldn't because I'd ended up in the hospital last time, but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most my orifices and IVs in both arms.

I have to mention here that practically everyone in the line was by now enthralled with my story, particularly a guy who was behind her.

I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works is to load your trouser pockets with Purina nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry and that the food is nutritionally complete so I was going to try it again.

Horrified, she asked if I had been poisoned by the food and that is why I ended up in the hospital. I told her no; I'd been sitting in the street licking my backside and a car hit me.

 I thought the checkout guy was going to die on the spot.

Anger Management 

When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don't know.

I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd forgotten to make. I found the number and dialled it. A man answered, saying "Hello."

I politely said, "This is Spencer. Could I please speak with Robert Campbell?"

Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear "Get the right f*kin number!" and the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robert's correct number to call him, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.

After hanging up with him, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again.

When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled "You're a C*nt!" and hung up. I wrote his number down with the word 'C*nt' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell, "You're a C*nt!" It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic "C*nt" calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith from BT. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller ID Program?"

He yelled "NO!" and slammed down the phone. I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're a C*nt!"

One day I was at Barnstaple Shopping Centre, getting ready to pull into a parking spot. Some guy in a gunmetal grey Land Rover cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale" sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first C*nt (I had his number on speed dial,) I thought that I'd better call the Land Rover C*nt, too.

I said, "Is this the man with the gunmetal grey Land Rover for sale?"

Yes, it is", he said. "Can you tell me where I can see it?" I asked.

"Yes, I live at 129 Well Street, in Torrington. It's a terraced house, and the car's parked right out in front."

"What's your name?" I asked. "My name is Steve Hansen," he said. "When's a good time to catch you, Steve?" "I'm home most days as I'm currently unemployed." "Listen, Steve, can I tell you something?" "Yes?" "Steve, you're a C*nt!"

Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too. Now, when I had a problem, I had two a**eholes to call. Then one day I came up with an idea. I called C*nt #1.

"Hello?"

"You're a C*nt!" (But I didn't hang up.) "Are you still there?" he asked. "Yeah," I said. "Stop calling me," he screamed. "Make me," I said. "Who are you?" he asked. "My name is Steve Hansen." "Yeah? Where do you live?" "I live at 129 Well Street, Torrington, a terraced house, with my gunmetal grey Land Rover parked out the front." He said, "I'm coming over right now, Steve. And you had better start saying your prayers." I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, C*nt," and hung up.

Then I called C*nt #2. "Hello?" he said.

"Hello, C*nt," I said.

He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."

"You'll do what?" I said.

"I'll kick your a*se," he exclaimed.

I answered, "Well, C*nt, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now." Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 129 Well Street, Torrington , and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover. Then I called Channel 5 News about the hoodie war going down in Well Street, Torrington .

I quickly got into my car and headed over to Well Street. I got there just in time to watch two C*nts beating the cr*p out of each other in front of six police cars, an overhead police helicopter and a News crew.

Now I feel MUCH better.

Take it from me, anger management really works...

You can't get quicker than a quick fit fitter.

This story is about a man, or more accurately a beast, a creature of filth. Our hero of the hour had spent several weeks away from home trawling websites for creatures of filth so they could spend the nights doing things that should only be done on Tarintino films. After a fruitful harvest of over ripe fruits of filth our dirty old man set out on the filthfinder express, he had planned a road trip around the south of England stopping to unload his laden love spuds somewhere different each night.

Our man was enjoying the scenic route to creature A, the sun was out and the birds where singing and status quo were blaring from his MK 2 Cortina, all going well he would be nuts in very soon. Out of no where can a loud bag and a cloud of smoke and the passion wagon began to judder then stopped in its track, steam everywhere. Luckily our man was a prepared fellow and rang a recovery agency to get him back on his way.

With time on his hands and sacks bulging our man reclined his seat slightly and closed his eyes. It had been a while and began to think about the wrong things he would be doing very soon with Zelda the filth queen. It wasn’t long before his wandering mind had a rising effect, now our man of filth wasn’t shy so a quick check to make sure the coast was clear and out came the old boy, with the Cortina rocking and windows steaming our man let out a sigh of relief and the job was done.

In the throws of battle our man had got so immersed in his thoughts he had failed to notice the bright orange recovery vehicle arrive behind him and making his way towards him was your friendly help, in a panic he quickly did his trousers up only to find his man juice all over his hand, Spanners man was closing in quick and there was only one thing to do, our creature bit the bullet and like a wide tongued lizard licking a giant stamp all the evidence was gone just as there was a knock on the window.

Our man got out of the car and the mechanic worked his magic and before long a signature and a firm manly jizz covered handshake was exchanged and the mechanic was on his way.

Climbing into the car our man let out a sigh of relief realising how close he come to being rumbled mid stroke.

or so he thought

On checking his rear view mirror before pulling out onto the main road he noticed the biggest blob of discharge on his shoulder. The very strange looks from the friendly mechanic where now explained.

Soldier X

Some years ago a friend of ours was still serving in the army, when he and a bunch of his friends went to the local cattle market one Saturday night, in search of a few fillies amongst the local inbred, cross eyed dribbling heffers that normally frequented the place on a Saturday evening.

The troops had been out most of the day wetting their whistle so by the time they reached the fine disco dancing establishment they were well and truly hammered. On entering they saw the local bike that had been in more barrack rooms than kiwi boot polish, and as they walked by the troops all nodded and made a large detour to avoid Miss Plague.

The nights festivities got well under way and the drunker the men got the more their memories deserted them; in particular for one soldier. For his sake we shall refer to him as soldier X. As miss Plague put on probably the worst ‘come and get some’ dance in the world for the troops (holes in recycled tights and all), soldier X lost leave of all his senses and decided to take Miss P for a walk in the park, much to the amusement of the rest of the troops.

A walk in the park and a short taxi ride later, Soldier X and Miss P spent the night re-enacting scenes from DVDs that he had hidden under his bed. As his manhood started to fall and the sun began to rise soldier X began to come to his senses, and upon looking down at the bed and seeing an abused Miss P, the stark truth dawned on him that very soon his friends would be queuing at the door to take the piss out of him for his dawn raid on the poor girl.

Panic set in and Miss P insisted she would not leave until she had a few hours sleep. To escape the imminent ridicule from the entire barracks, some pretty quick thinking and a plan more cunning than a fox that has received a Masters in Cunning from Oxford University was required.

Soldier X waited until Godzilla had fallen asleep and began to put the wheels in motion for operation ‘Heffer Extraction’. Soldier X proceeded to change all the clocks and Miss P’s watch to read 0600hrs, got into his uniform, and put his camouflage war paint and equipment on.

When the plan was ready, he shook Miss P until she jumped up in bed unaware of where she was. Soldier X gathered her clothes and quickly led her out of the room, explaining that war had broken out in Dagenham and they were being deployed to keep the peace. A still very drunk and sleepy Miss P was then duly escorted to the main entrance of the barrack block in just her apple catchers.

Soldier X was last seen leaving the foyer at a rapid rate of knots promising to write from the war zone, as Miss P dressed herself in the foyer much to the soldiers on guard duties amusement. Soldier X then made the dangerous journey around the barracks until he reached the pre opened window to his bedroom before climbing in, getting washed and back into bed.

Having escaped a particularly sticky situation with no weaponry and only a handful of non lethal useless household objects, it was time to sit back, light up a cigar and delight in the fact that the plan had come together.

Intelligence reports still claim that Miss P is still in the belief that Dagenham is a rebel stronghold island in the far east and that Soldier X is MIA.

IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM, IF NO ONE ELSE CAN HELP, IF YOU’VE GOT A WOMAN THAT NO OTHER HUMAN WOULD GO NEAR, IF YOU CAN FIND THEM MAY BE YOU COULD HIRE A BRITISH ARMY SOLDIER, HIGHLY TRAINED EXPERTS IN THE ART OF UGLY WOMAN WARFARE AND HAND TO APPLE CATCHER COMBAT.

Bring out the gimp. 

As previously mentioned Mr Pink and Mr Orange were inseparable, they hunted their pray together and often shared their spoils of war.

This particular story finds our intrepid mongrels out on the prowl in their local haunt somewhere in Essex (you can already see where this is leading) The brothers grim were enjoying a few cool ones when they happened to noticed a previous tag team conquest.

You have to understand that this girl was neither smart nor pretty but she went over easily and banged like a shit house door in the wind.

A few diamond whites later and the meat in the sandwich was coming round to idea of joining buttman and throbin for an afternoon squealing session. So they all jumped in the buttmobile and headed back to the buttcave.

On there arrival Alfred the butler didn’t hear them come in as he was in his bedroom watching the T.V. A quick drink and they were soon in the bedroom.

Being in such a hurry to get lilo lil naked and greased up like the Sunday roast buttman had parked the buttmobile in front of a neighbours garage,

The door bell rang and Alfred answered, The neighbour explained that his garage was blocked and could the car be moved, Alfred hadn’t heard the dirty duo return so was 100% unaware that they had company, Remember its around 2 o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, the neighbour is at the door with his wife and kids, Alfred is unaware the duo have been out and returned with bird of a feather.

Alfred shouted out to buttman or throbin to move the car, and then engaged in small talk as you do, the next sight the family saw was throbin in the hall way without his trade mark lycra crime fighting suit but instead dressed only in a huge black strap on, the shrieks were only short lived, closely following throbin was buttman, dressed only in a leather gimp mask and dog collar. The mothers shrieks shattered the windows and the fathers fist nearly shattered Alfred's jaw.

We still don’t know who was shocked the most, Alfred or the Family, but as the door was slamming shut even through the tightly fastened gimp mask buttman could hear the words, ‘fucking wierdos, dirty perverts, freaks, homo’s’ quite clearly.

The bruises healed in time but Alfred was emotionally scared for life at being branded the daddy of this whole gay love nest and as much as the duo tried to convince the neighbours that there was actually a female in the flat, the neighbour hood watch committee never really welcomed them in with open arms.

Leaky Tap 

The story begins with three amigos out one night in the Essex massive. The night was full in full swing, the mohitos were flowing and the gringos were chatting to a group of lovely ladies.

Things were going well and the after party moved to one of the lovely ladies house. The night led into the morning and people began crashing out on the floor and on the sofa’s.

As it happened amigo number one fell asleep on the larger of the two sofas with the girl who owned the house and brand new just out of the wrapper sofas.

As the sun rose and the party gooers began to stir, amigo one was just coming round, a large stretch and yawn awoke his sleeping buddy, as they came to they both noticed a dampness, it took some time to reassure her that amigo one was known to sweat a lot after a night out on the pop.

A taxi was called, phone numbers exchanged and goodbyes were made.

Obviously guilt had gotten the better of amigo one and once in the safety zone of the taxi he spilled the beans about not being able to hold his bladder during his sleep, a skill that most of us learnt at an early age. Obviously the amigos and taxi driver found this hilarious and proceeded to ridicule their piss smelling friend.

The next week the amigos were out again and dumped into the girls from the week before, amigo one was greeted with a pint over him and a wet slap from his no longer new found friend.

As she stormed off, one of the ladies explained how that when they went out last Saturday the taxi driver that picked them up told them a hilarious story of how he had picked up 3 guys that morning and that one of the guys had swamped all over the girl lying next to him and that he had said it was sweat and she fell for it.

Having only unwrapped afore mentioned sofas that morning, to say she was a little pissed would be an understatement.