Warning, OUTRAGEOUS is a series of filth, swear words, insanity and gross images. The easily offended (and not so easily) and anyone under about 35 should stop reading right now!
The only reason men ever needed suspenders was because knitted woollen socks kept falling down. Most annoying and particularly so when using the old Victorian conveniences, which were ankle-deep in putrid piss and the blood of murdered street urchins. Apparently.
Once the elasticated sock was invented, however, no more need for suspenders (apart from a niche market for cross dressers and gangsters). Well, hey, that was the end of that little clip-on gold mine.
I expect that explains why so many geezers these days grow tits and mince about in lady’s togs, pretending they haven’t got Adam’s apples like conkers or big, sweaty, pre-snip bollocks.
“Timmy, stop staring at the nice lady’s knuckles!”
When I was an itty bitty baby, my mother done rock me in the cradle. Then she would slap a scalding hot flannel on my ickle tummy for a laugh.
I wish I had a fluffy little bunny with huge blue eyes and floppy ears. Then I could take it to the local nursery school and strangle it in front of all the horrified, blubbing kiddies.
I’ll give ’em fucking show and tell.
Bruhahaha and other evil noises…
A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!
Sounds like a bit of a bargain, but I’ve only got a sodding cat. That won’t get me a patch of weeds, let alone a kingdom.
Just my luck. I’ve always dreamed of owning my own kingdom, but all I ever get for Christmas is more underpants. Got a fucking drawer full of the bastards and I’m never going to get my end away, either, not with my tadger sticking out of a novelty Santa’s mouth.
Oh yeah, big chuckle.
I hate my family.
I wish I had a fluffy little bunny with huge blue eyes and floppy ears. Then I could dip him in paint and use him to rag role my old cupboard.
Distressed sideboard – distressed bunny.
IS IT DRY YET, MUM…?
I’ve heard of someone “dis-mantling” something, like a bridge, a car or a shop window display, but have you ever heard of anyone “mantling” anything?
Of course you fucking haven’t. Don’t chat shit.
Embarrassed, I explained to the young female clinician that I must have caught my dose of syphilis from an unclean toilet seat. She replied: “Chewin’ it, was ya?”
Well, I would have given the cheeky little miss a stiff talking to for her judgemental and sarcastic accusation, but my front teeth chose that exact moment to fall out of my head and a big blob of putrid-smelling puss ran down my chin and dripped onto her shoe.
She turned down my supper invitation as well.
I offered to pay for all the chips she could eat, but oh no, not good enough.
Scaramouche, Scaramouche, can you do the fandango?
If not, what the fuck am I paying you for?
Clear your desk.
Spiders are supposed to be the most amazing predators, but if that’s true, how come they spin their webs behind cupboards and down the back of toilets instead of around lampshades where all the flies actually hang out?
Dopey fucking arachnids. More legs than sense. Odd, considering some of their brain is actually in their legs, which I guess means, when you pull them off, they are all thinking “you bastard”.
Doing the washing up like mum and dad asked is no way to become famous. Butcher the pair of bullying oldsters in their sleep, however, beating them senseless with a cast iron pot before removing their heads and sticking them on the garden railings and it’s instant notoriety.
Fame is a fickle mistress.