Warning, OUTRAGEOUS is a series of filth, swearing, insanity and gross images. The easily offended (and not so easily) and anyone under about 35 should stop reading right now!
I was sitting on the bus the other day thinking about the two pet cats I used to own and how I would spend half my life cleaning out their litter tray, or picking up sicky fur-balls, when I began to wonder if a ferret wouldn’t be a better bet. A better pet, actually.
It seemed like a good idea at first, until the ferret I was imagining turned nasty and bit me. Bloody painful, I can tell you and made me realise just what poor old Richard Whiteley had been put through all those years ago.
To get it off, I had to force my mobile phone into its mouth to prize its jaws open and it hurt so much, I got really angry and shouted at it and waved my bloody hand in its face.
“Look what you’ve done, you spiteful little git!” I yelled. “I saved you from the ferret sausage factory out of the goodness of my heart and just fucking look at the thanks I get!”
A moment later, a girl walked past the bus toting a fine old pair of boobies and attention grabbed, my pet ferret ceased to exist. Sad really. Even if it was a bit aggressive.
I was strolling along the beach early one morning, when I unexpectedly stumbled upon a beautiful sleeping mermaid and managed to capture her and take her home with me.
She took absolutely fucking ages to boil and then didn’t taste very nice. Think maybe I’d left her in the bucket too long and she had turned a bit manky.
The fries were nice and crisp, though.
I wish I had a fluffy little bunny with huge blue eyes and floppy ears. Then I could cut him down the middle with my buzz saw, so me and my kid sister, Mindy, could have exactly half each.
That should stop all the bickering.
I was having problems with dry, fly-away hair, when a friend of mine suggested using egg yolks mixed with lemon juice as an effective and all natural conditioner.
Unfortunately, he neglected to warn me about the perils of rinsing said mixture off my flowing locks with boiling water. Now I’m walking about with a scrambled head and souffle sideburns.
Someone went through my bins a while ago and stole my identity. Now he’s doing life for murder and the catalogue people are after him for forty-two pounds ninety.
Is a dwarf smaller than a midget, or is a midget smaller than a dwarf? I guess it all depends on which one of them is bigger. Either way, I bet I could still bash up the pair of them.
Particularly if their hands were bound behind their backs with gaffer tape and I had a hockey bat with a rusty nail sticking out of the end of it.
Yachting seems like a really sociable, exciting and healthy sport. Unless one of your shipmates gets cabin fever, turns into a psychopath and murders everybody. Not as much fun then, I don’t suppose.
Richard Whitely and the ferret…