Why is it always me!
After severe penny reducing pints with Pretties in commiseration of work woes and a celebration of a decade of Tanis, it's off home via the Public Transport, and the now legendary Nutter On The Bus.
But this is no normal Nutter on the bus, this is a creepy, sneak up from behind S&M Nutter!
The safety of bag-on-seat-to-deter-Nutters is no safety at all. At least if The Nutter sat next to you, you knew where he was and what he was up to.
Much worse is when you think you've avoided getting The Nutter, and then he takes the seat behind.
The seat that's elevated, allowing then to lean over and whisper his deranged offerings out of sight.
Todays aincient old nutter decided to regail me with tails of magazines. Magazines of a Belgian nature. Magazines that woud make Danish glossies such as Donkey Capers blush. Magaines that can make their way here, if you have The Contacts.
And it's offered to me for a mere £17,000.
Or I could have a selection for £1,000.
Because men like us need to punk it up. Stick together and keep these mads going. Stick it to The Man.
Is I being chatted up again? I'm not sticking it to no men, than you very much!
He's 63... but 27 inside. Keep them magazine's alive.
Alas, he managed to catch me on the one day I don't have 17 grand in me wallet to spend on his pornogratifications.
Oh well, That'll learn me for hoarding me pennies. Let alone whoring me pretties.
Or something,
