Inflatable Rubber Man

July 2nd 2006

Atkins Down The Road and I realised some time ago that our plan to market inflatable rubber women as artificial car passengers has a major flaw, inasmuch as it would look decidedly odd if not downright suspicious if every person in the front passenger seat were a woman.

To get over this problem we tried converting one of our inflatable rubber women (we have three now – for business, not for pleasure, I would stress) into an inflatable rubber man. The head was comparatively easy. We simply removed Bouncy Beyonce’s wig, turning her into an instant skinhead, and added a false moustache and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

Disguising her tits wasn’t so easy. After much discussion we decided the best thing to do would be to turn her two big tits into one massive tit by filling in her cleavage with foam rubber. This got rid of her tits but what we ended up with was a man with a very large pigeon chest. Atkins suggested that if we dressed it in a Manchester United football shirt and did away with the horn-rimmed glasses people might think it was Eric Cantona.  I observed that it would look even more suspicious if every person in the passenger seat was Eric Cantona than if every person were a woman, and anyway Eric Cantona didn’t play for Manchester United anymore. Atkins accused me of splitting hairs and I told him to grow up and we left the problem unresolved.

So this morning, clutching for straws and not in any real hope, I typed the words ‘Inflatable Rubber Man’ into the Google search box. After all, so far as I could see, the only possible market for an inflatable rubber man would be lonely and unloved women, and all they would want them for was their cock, and cocks are already readily available in the shape of dildos (and the dildos are in the shape of cocks). Google didn’t come up with anything, which didn’t really surprise me, however when I hopefully typed in Inflatable Husband it came up with a whole page full of them. I clicked on one of them and it informed me that the price of the Inflatable Husband was £7, all my friends will like him, he won’t upset my parents, he is always willing to please, he doesn’t like football, never breaks wind, is always faithful and he floats, and is 100cm of pure dominating pleasure.

All pretty straightforward then, and the answer, if not exactly to a maiden’s prayers then certainly to Atkins’ and my prayers. Except for the ‘100 cm of pure dominating pleasure’ bit, that is. For what on earth can this mean? Are we talking here of a man only 1 metre tall, or a normal-sized man with a 1 metre long cock? If it’s the latter it must be the bargain of a lifetime for a lonely woman at only £7

I’ve sent off for one. If he doesn’t come up to scratch, and as he floats, I can always take him along to the swimming pool with me when I go for my next lesson.


Helpful Hints No 1

How To Deal With Jehovah’s Witnesses

July 1st 2006

Surprisingly I had a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses call on me today. I say surprisingly because I haven’t had the displeasure of their company for quite some time now (Incidentally I have never had one Jehovah’s Witness come knocking on my door, they always seem to go around in pairs or small groups – jackals, rather fittingly, hunt in a similar manner).

It isn’t that this particular branch of God’s word-spreaders isn’t active in my area, far from it, they are positively thriving; it’s just that I am no longer on their list of souls to be saved. This is because about four years ago, thoroughly fed up with their regular visits, I decided to put paid to their calls once and for all.

I chose to fight them on my own territory, their territory of course being the front doorstep, and invited them in. I knew I had made the right decision the moment they crossed my threshold, because leaving the familiarity of the front doorstep seemed to unnerve them, probably because it was the first time they had ever been invited into someone’s home. Having got them off their territory and onto mine I put my campaign into action. First I asked them to sit down on the settee and make themselves comfortable. This they did. Then I took off my trousers, stuck my right finger up my left nostril as far as it would go and stood on one leg. They looked at me, then at each other, exchanged worried frowns, then looked at me again.

Probably more worried frowns were exchanged but I don’t know for sure because at that point I enhanced my odd behaviour by tilting my head back as far as it would go and started gargling. After a few nervous coughs one of them spoke. “Are you all right?” Then I made a mistake. I said: “Yes thank you.” This was all the invitation she needed to launch into her spiel about the second coming of Christ and what I had to do if I was to give myself any chance of salvation and God knows what other rubbish they go on about.

Now having your ear bent for almost an hour by two Jehovah’s Witnesses whilst stood at your front door is one thing, but having the Scriptures quoted to you chapter and verse for almost an hour while you’re stood on one leg gargling with your finger thrust up your nose is another. A shiver still runs up my back whenever I recall the experience.  

However it turned out to be well worth it because I was never troubled by them again. Obviously they had put me down as some sort of nutter – the feeling is mutual – and told their fellow Jehovah’s Witnesses to give me a wide berth. Which they did, until today that is, when two more turned up. I can only assume they were newly converted and hadn’t been told about me. Anyway I invited them in and went through exactly the same procedure. And so did they, except that they gave me about five minutes stood on one leg gargling with my finger up my nose before enquiring whether I was all right. This time I kept my mouth firmly closed. And five minutes later they just got up and left, never, I am sure, to return.

I can’t recommend this method of ridding yourself of these pests highly enough and invite any of you out there in the wide world who are similarly troubled to use it. Don’t forget the gargling bit, which really unnerves them.

The Return Of You Twat

June 30th 2006

You Twat has been back for three days now, leastwise it’s three days since I became aware it was back, with not a bark or a howl to inform me of its return. That would make it nine days it had been at large. What it got up to while it was having its taste of freedom I’ve no idea, but whatever it was it certainly quietened it down to some tune because there hasn’t been so much as a peep out of it since its return, despite it being tied to the clothes stump all day while the Pollitts are out, as per usual.

Perhaps its nine days freedom have sated its appetite for the delights of the outside world, maybe now it realises it isn’t such a big deal after all, and certainly not worth barking and howling all day in the hope that it’ll  be given another taste of it. If I had to bark and howl all day in order to be allowed out in it I wouldn’t be doing much barking and howling, that’s for sure.

Atkins Down The Road said, in what I detected as a hopeful tone of voice, that it is the lull before the storm, and it wouldn’t be very long before You Twat is barking and howling again, and at even higher volumes than before to make up for lost time.

If it does I have decided, on moral and humane grounds, to render it more-or-less permanently asleep on sleeping pill-spiked meatballs, until such time as the Environmental Health people have stepped in and put a stop to the whole sorry business. It will mean time and trouble, and it will cost money, but the only other practical alternative would be to let Atkins shoot it, and I just can’t bring myself to sanction that, although Atkins is rather keen on the idea (hence his tone being hopeful when he said it was the lull before the storm, I suspect).

In case the worse comes to the worse I have made an appointment with the doctor so I can obtain from him some more sleeping pills, and I also called in at our local butcher to get his best price for poorest possible quality minced beef in ten pound quantities. “Having a barbecue then, are you?” he asked, which explains the bloody awful beefburgers I get served with whenever I attend any of my neighbours’ barbecues.

Cliff Clarice

29th June 2006

The conversation between Atkins Down The Road and the Flogiteer went like this, or as near to it as makes no difference.

Flogiteer: “I’d like to take a closer look at all the pieces of pottery in both your front windows.”

Atkins: (Very annoyed) “Again? I got them all out for you last week.”

Flogiteer: “Well I’d like you to get them all out again.”

Atkins: “They’re the same bloody things.”

Flogiteer: “No they’re not. That blue teapot wasn’t there last week. And don’t swear at me.”

Atkins: “I’ll just get you the blue teapot out then.”

Flogiteer: “No, there may be other things as well. I want to look at everything.”

Atkins: “Fuck me!”

The Flogiteer having turned down Atkins’  request to fuck him, my friend once again went on hands and knees and proceeded to ferry all the items of pottery out of the windows. Due to the hot weather he was wearing shorts (£2.50 less ten per cent employee’s discount, Age Concern bargain bin) because of the hot weather, which was to have a bearing on events. The process upset Atkins even more than it had last week as this time he contrived to catch his knee on a cut glass inkpot, barking the skin quite badly. As he cursed profusely and repaired himself with a band aid the Flogiteer proceeded to give each piece of pottery the once over.

At this point I had a mischievous idea, and sauntered over to the Flogiteer with it.  “Looking for bargains?” I asked of him, pleasantly.

He eyed me suspiciously. “Just looking generally.”

“Only if it’s bargains you’re after you’ve just missed one, and by only ten minutes.”

“What was that then?”

“Well the man who bought it said it was a bargain. I wouldn’t know myself. Cliff Clarice or something, he said it was. A vase.” 

The Flogiteer’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. “Clarice Cliff you mean? Was it Clarice Cliff?”

“Yes, that was it, Clarice Cliff.” I took him into my confidence. “Actually I’m quite pleased with myself,” I smirked. “Now I know that it was a bargain. Because he wanted to knock the price down but I stuck to my guns and demanded the full four pound fifty on the price tag, every last penny.”

At this his jaw fell open. When he managed to re-engage it he said: “You sold a Clarice Cliff vase for four pounds fifty?”

“Well I didn’t know it was a bargain until after I’d sold it to him, he didn’t tell me until after he’d got his hands on it.”

“Fuck me!”

I no more wished to fuck the Flogiteer than the Flogiteer had wished to fuck Atkins, so ignored his invitation and went on: “Actually, the lady who donated it said she’d be bringing in some more pieces of Cliff Clarice or whatever it’s called once she’s had the chance to sort things out. Her late sister’s effects I believe.”

The Flogiteer all but licked his lips in anticipation. “More Cliff C… Clarice Cliff?”

“Well apparently. When she’s had the chance to sort things out. Soon.”

He didn’t bother carrying on his inspection of the rest of the pottery, just went on his way in a sort of daze.

“What are you up to?” said Atkins.

“With any luck I’m going to get rid of the pest for good,” I said. “Thanks to Helena.”