...he'll find excuses to return, hoping you'll return the favour with your own special Cullen Skink.
"Tomato? A fine choice, madam"
"Sorry - There's no Tomato! How about Vegetable & Parsnip!"
"Sorry - I meant Vegetable OR parsnip!"
"Sorry - we do have Tomato! Tomato or Parsnip?"
"There you go - and you, pretty as you are, ain't getting no ice-cream."
Ahhhh, the aromatherapy of botty gravy vinegar and salty jizzbutter.
And what's do you get? £2 short of winning One Hundred & Twentitty squids, that's what :(
Of course, who's to know the flaky flesh and pubic lice of scabrous scrubbers amounts to 46 million tonnes of putrescent peelings?
But that's nothing, compared to Lord Mayors who get inebriated on NYE, then have to spend NYD in NYC because their quaffage led to oral punchification and disease ridden strumpetry, hence using their public powers to get an 10:35 appointment at the dentist, followed by a guy knackerologist for cock unblocking @ 10:37.
But not unblocking the legendary length of the sizable sword of porkage belonging to Errol "The Hamster" Flynn (not to mention our Kelly nobbing Marilyn Monroe. Or Marilyn Manson. But not Charlie Manson. Or Charlie Sheen - although who knows what'll happen when you're on charlie... those lines of salt and pepper are soooo tempting!).
And with a despectacled Anastacia masquerading as Shakira (who you know is "on" tonight. Presumably "on the blob" with her hips that'll allegedly pass a polygraph on Jeremy Kyle), all that's needed is rapey arachnids and excrutualingly embarassed turtles of awkwardness.
Still, another night spent being swamped with sexy sirens, so not all's lost.
