One of them there days again!
Today, I desperately need something1. Something that's been everwhere. For a good few years. All over the place. Here. There. Everywhere.
And, as ever, the one time I need to buy it, it's rarer than a photo on Most Haunted of Fred West's ghost watching Yvette Fielding being fapped by a possessed Derek Acorah who's screaming "Mary LOVES Dick!".
Anyhoo, on the trek for the elusive purchases, I tried Boots (the Chemist).
And found my way, as ever, blocked by gormsters. Blathering on about baby sponges and letting no-one past.
Now, eventually, they made way for me as they concluded their waffle, and by way of farewell, the aisle blocking Useless-I'm-Here-To-Help-Assistant said to the young maiden enquiring about progeny cleansing appliances:
"There you go. All sorted. You're fit for a fiddle."
WHAT?!?!?!
I've heard people compliment others on their health, and being fit AS a fiddle, but never fit FOR a fiddle! That's soooo dodge!
Honestly, if I worked in the insemmination prevention unit of Boots, and some lithe young strumpet asked for a pack of cocksleeves, and I turned to her and said "Phwoar! You're well fit, you are! Fit enough for a fiddle, now drop 'em, bitch!" I'd probably be marched off the premises and forced to sign a registrar.
Them weddingy people are always asking me to sign their busoms, coz, I'm, like, so fab, innit!
Fit for a fiddle indeed! Might as well say Ripe For A Fap and delve your fingers straight into her flange behind the Lemsip shelf!
But, as ever, it's one rule for The Xym, and another for lezzed up deviant drug dispensers ready with a tube of Caniston and a Müller light!
1WELL, NOT EXACTLY NEED. I JUST HAD ANOTHER FABULOUS IDEA, AND WANT TO EXECUTE IT NOW. AND THAT MEANS I MUST HAVES IT RIGHT AWAY!
