About Me

My photo
The words are all mine, most of the pictures are not. Some of the words are not mine either.

Wednesday, 12 January 2011

Put yer hand in yer pocket...

Proof the world has gone mad.

In its infinite wisdom the UK government has decided that it is going change the money in YOUR pocket.
But and why Bumferry?!?! I hear you ask...

Those little beautiful 5ps and 10 penny pieces are now being made with a different material and are slightly thicker.
This means they will not work in vending machines, parking meters or lubricated protective machines found in gentleman’s washrooms throughout the land.
This can only lead to dangerous consequences!

Imagine, if you will, the following scenario.

You are late for work. The normal parking space you usually occupy is taken and so you have to park on the high street. You rush to the pay and display machine and you have the correct change but – OHNO! - The machine will not accept your money because it has not yet been calibrated to accept the new rubbish 5 and tens.

What to do!!

Sod it. You think about throwing in your last pound coin knowing that the machine will not under any circumstances give you change of any description. But decide against it. There’s never a warden around here anyway, so it’ll be alright.
You don’t have time for messing about. YOU have got a very important meeting to go to.

You rush into work and make it into the meeting with seconds to spare (although you are rather sweaty and flushed in the face).

The meeting drags on all day because that dozy bint from accounts just doesn’t get it even though she’s had explained to her in 4 different ways... honestly, how she got the job in the first place, I’ll never know.
Anyway, because of her you have missed lunch and have to work 'til 7pm! – Bummer.
You go back to the car to find that it’s been clamped.


The tears begin to swell in your eyes when Alice from HR taps you on the shoulder. You know Alice, the French girl with the legs that go all the way to the top. She always smiles at you when she walks through the office... yea that Alice.
Alice asks if you want to go for a drink with the guys from HR.

Now, normally you wouldn’t be seen dead with the geeks from Hr – it’s all over exaggerated tales of sexual exploits and some dodgy goings on with some kind of legal high, which is truly beneath you, but Alice...

Well you can’t say no, your cars been clamped and you’re starving.
Better not eat on an empty stomach though.

You agree to meet Alice in the pub and run upstairs to get a nutri-bar from the vending machine... but OHNO AGAIN!!

The bloody machine hasn’t been calibrated for the new 10ps and 5ps. Cockcockcock!
Never mind. You will just stay for one drink and then get the bus home. That’ll work.

You get to the pub and alive has got you a pint.

Good girl.

Suffering the moronic chattering of the monkeys from HR is only just bearable because of the wonderful pint buying Alice and as you grudgingly finish the last drop she asks if you want another and before you can explain that you should get home she adds that it’s all being paid from the petty cash because it’s her leaving do. The strange emotion that you will never see this heavenly beauty again added with the prospect of free beer paid by work is too tempting and you agree to stay for more.

The day has been a disaster but the night is more than making up for that as by the end of the second pint the dumb gits from HR can’t handle their drinks and are either being sick outside, crying in the toilets or have wandered off to piss on a war memorial.

That leaves just you and the wonderful Alice.

God she-is-beautiful.

More drinks are bought and drunk as the night goes on.

Alice asks you back to her for coffee!


But wait. You don’t any... y’know ...things.

“I’ll just nip to the loo.” You say and race to the gents to buy a helmet for your little general. (Or whatever you call your penis)


The bloody condom machine hasn’t been changed to accept these bloody useless silver pieces of crap you’ve had in your pocket banging against your balls, probably giving you some kind of cancer.

Sod it.

It’ll be alright.

The taxis waiting anyway and you reckon she will have a stash anyway. She’s French!
4 and bit weeks later, the memories of that sweaty, thrusting moaning heavy breathing night are now just simple freeze frames of sexy and possibly illegal positions and manoeuvres.

Everything is ok with the world until your phone beeps.

It’s a text from Alice.

She’s missed her lady period.

It’s yours.


Her father is furious and just happens to be the ambassador to the UK.

Double cock.

You are now involved in some kind European discord that results in France
withdrawing from Europe and dragging the UK into another deep recession as most of
Europe falls in line with the frogs and its all your fault.
What’s more – you still have a load of 5ps and 10ps in your pocket.

That could quite easily happen.

All you can do to make sure it’s not you that causes all this bloody mess is to send all your 10ps (but not 5’s cos they’re too fiddly) to me at The Bumferry Hogart Charity Fund.

Do it now. Don’t get caught out.

You have been warned.

No comments:

Post a Comment

How did this get here?