Dear Dreary.
C-can you help me? I am a retired b-boxer, a c-compulsive l-li-liar, and I s-suffer from a t-terrible s-s-stutter. I am just a p-poor boy and my st-storys s-seldom told. I have sq-sq-squandered m-my resistance for a p-pocket fer-full of mumbles,such are per-per-per-per-promises.
All l-l-lies and j-j-jest,b-but a man her-hears want he wants to her-hear and he d-der-der-disregards the rest. W-when i left my h-home and m-my family i was no mer-mer-more than a b-ber-ber-boy,laying l-low,ser-ser-ser-seeking out the per-per-p-poorer qwe-quarters where the r-ragged people go.
L-Lie l-lie. L-lie lie lie,lie lie l-lie lie,l-lie l-lie,lie lie,l-lie lie l-lie,lie lie l-lie,l-lie,lie lie,l-lie lie l-lie. Sorry. That's just n-not t-ter-true.
I am actually a per-per-policem-m-man.I c-can-can-cannot her-help m-my-my-myself.
Wer-wer-what c-can-can i der-der-der-do?
Simon Kerplunkel. L-ler-ler-long Island.
Dear Simon.
My goodness, what a to do.
I don't know where to start. Are you drunk? These words are sure ramblings of a mad man!
It's strange but I can tell certain things from the shite that you spout.
You're a short man with a strange fixation for tall friends with curly hair who look a little bit odd.
You've travelled from America to Scarborough. Why? You're first girlfriend was a Mrs Robinson? Not Kerry? You spend a good deal of your time waiting for trains and walking over bridges in bad weather.
I'm sorry but I just think you're a bore with no future!
Sort your fucking head out short pants!
Dreary. xx
Sunday 22 July 2012
Dear Dreary. I am contacting you on behalf of a friend who has a rather unusual problem. My friend runs a swimming school. He swam for Great Britain back in the day, but some of his recent training techniques have got him into trouble. He films all his pupils so that he can show them where they are going wrong. To make this worthwhile, he also films them underwater,and this is what got him into trouble. Turns out that he was posting the clips on youtube and somebody reported him to the police as the camera work seemed to concentrate largely on the swimmers' crotch area. He tried to deny this when originally questioned, but the fact that he listed the clips as ''Genitalia Aquatica'' probably didn't help. One particular swimmer,a middle aged chap, (let's call him Ian),obviously excited by his new-found passion, was shown to be releasing a little wee as he completed each length. My friend also posted this clip on a more specialist website called www.cloudy waters.com. Unfortunately,this lead to more and more ''leakers'' requesting lessons,even though most of them were perfectly good swimmers. There were sessions where they were queueing up to be filmed, each one desperate for the toilet. The pool was becoming murkier each week,and the local Y.M.C.A,who own the pool,began to ask questions. Ian's patience also ran out one day when he was filmed in the changing room. Normally he didn't mind this,but on this particular occasion he was suffering from post-swim chloride shrinkage so asked my friend not to post the clip. However,there it was a few days later on http://www.towelmedown.com/. At fist there appeared to be very little obvious evidence for the police to use,but with the use of computerised magnification they prosecuted. His business and private life in tatters, my friend attempted suicide in his bath, but his nerve failed
him at the last minute and,ironically, he pissed the bath when he looked at the razor. Can you suggest a way forward for me--er,sorry--him? J. Weismuller-Yoghurt, Poole.
Dear J.
Out in the far East is where you're best trying your luck. Their swimming pools are everything ours aren't anymore and they are always actively seeking middle aged western blokes to fly out to Bangcock and help out with the breast stroke.
They encourage heavy petting and there's always a bloke on hand to scoop out the 'jelly fish' afterwards.
Back, inner thigh, cock and snatch stroke have all been perfected here.
The butterfly or madam as it is known was invented here too. Old widow wanky fell in a lake and her flaps swelled to the size of giant butterfly
wings. Flapping wildly in the breeze her 'wings' brought her safely to the shore.
Don't flounder in the deep end, Ian, you middle aged, fat fuck. Get over there.
Do be careful though, they are fond of whale meat. Wouldn't swim in the sea if I were you.
Dreary. x
him at the last minute and,ironically, he pissed the bath when he looked at the razor. Can you suggest a way forward for me--er,sorry--him? J. Weismuller-Yoghurt, Poole.
Dear J.
Out in the far East is where you're best trying your luck. Their swimming pools are everything ours aren't anymore and they are always actively seeking middle aged western blokes to fly out to Bangcock and help out with the breast stroke.
They encourage heavy petting and there's always a bloke on hand to scoop out the 'jelly fish' afterwards.
Back, inner thigh, cock and snatch stroke have all been perfected here.
The butterfly or madam as it is known was invented here too. Old widow wanky fell in a lake and her flaps swelled to the size of giant butterfly
wings. Flapping wildly in the breeze her 'wings' brought her safely to the shore.
Don't flounder in the deep end, Ian, you middle aged, fat fuck. Get over there.
Do be careful though, they are fond of whale meat. Wouldn't swim in the sea if I were you.
Dreary. x
Dear Dreary.
My goldfish is dead. Do you have any idea why he's dead? Regards, John West, Iceland.
PS: I have come up with some bodily cures for boredom. These are useful as everyone has a body. Here they are: draw an imaginary line across your teeth; count your penis,or if you're a girl,your pigtails; place your ear on the bottom of the bath and listen for bath bombs; scrape your elbow with a cheesegrater and leave the skin in there for whoever has cheese next; close one eye then poke it with your finger. What a lovely sense of relief when you remember that it's closed; check your feet for thumbs; go to the toilet pretending you are a teapot; hold your knees to prevent knocking; make your own candle by inserting a finger into an ear,scrape with fingernail,ignite finger; in winter,remove belly button fluff and place between toes for insulation; face east with a mirror to your left. Once the sun rises,check how long it takes your shadow to travel 360 degrees; hold hands with yourself;
whilst knelt in a hot bath,place scrotum in a beaker of cold water then try to masturbate; lie naked on your back and play hoopla with donuts; surprise yourself by suddenly shouting ''Turtle!'' ; stand at a window and remove an item of clothing each time a double decker bus passes. I've been so bored since little Jaws died.
Poor Jaws. RIP little chap. Have you thought of desposing of the body yet? Horrible thought but consideration is necessary I'm afraid.
It can be so expensive too. Can you afford it? A fish burial isn't cheap. Gone are the days when you could just dig a hole in the back garden and job done. Now you have to apply from planning permission for a burial plot in your back garden. A hole at least six foot deep has to be dug for health and safety reasons. Cause of death has to be determined and I'm afraid having him filleted in the back of Teds chippy just won't do these days.
Flushing him down the loo has been banned since the Chinese spoilt it all by flushing Moby and his mates away almost causing our entire sanitary system to grind to a halt. Don't hide him under the floor boards or the patio. Once the rotting stench filters through to the neighbours you'll be on a murder charge pal.
Hope the memories of you and little Jaws were worth it!
Dreary. x
My goldfish is dead. Do you have any idea why he's dead? Regards, John West, Iceland.
PS: I have come up with some bodily cures for boredom. These are useful as everyone has a body. Here they are: draw an imaginary line across your teeth; count your penis,or if you're a girl,your pigtails; place your ear on the bottom of the bath and listen for bath bombs; scrape your elbow with a cheesegrater and leave the skin in there for whoever has cheese next; close one eye then poke it with your finger. What a lovely sense of relief when you remember that it's closed; check your feet for thumbs; go to the toilet pretending you are a teapot; hold your knees to prevent knocking; make your own candle by inserting a finger into an ear,scrape with fingernail,ignite finger; in winter,remove belly button fluff and place between toes for insulation; face east with a mirror to your left. Once the sun rises,check how long it takes your shadow to travel 360 degrees; hold hands with yourself;
whilst knelt in a hot bath,place scrotum in a beaker of cold water then try to masturbate; lie naked on your back and play hoopla with donuts; surprise yourself by suddenly shouting ''Turtle!'' ; stand at a window and remove an item of clothing each time a double decker bus passes. I've been so bored since little Jaws died.
Poor Jaws. RIP little chap. Have you thought of desposing of the body yet? Horrible thought but consideration is necessary I'm afraid.
It can be so expensive too. Can you afford it? A fish burial isn't cheap. Gone are the days when you could just dig a hole in the back garden and job done. Now you have to apply from planning permission for a burial plot in your back garden. A hole at least six foot deep has to be dug for health and safety reasons. Cause of death has to be determined and I'm afraid having him filleted in the back of Teds chippy just won't do these days.
Flushing him down the loo has been banned since the Chinese spoilt it all by flushing Moby and his mates away almost causing our entire sanitary system to grind to a halt. Don't hide him under the floor boards or the patio. Once the rotting stench filters through to the neighbours you'll be on a murder charge pal.
Hope the memories of you and little Jaws were worth it!
Dreary. x
Monday 9 July 2012
Dear Dreary.
Can you help me with my problem? A childhood period of mumps left me with a strangely deformed, redundant testicle,that has neither hair nor purpose. It's a runt that has lost its reproductive capabilities and its natural shape. I have become somewhat obsessed by its appearance,and now i have reached my twenties, there are some days when i have even considered mutilation. It seems to be able to change appearance at will. I got up one morning
and i swear i had mr.potato head hanging there. One day its Yul Brynner,the next its Tiny Tim. What i can't figure out is why it's looks vary so much. It could just as easily look like a ripe juicy plum as like a sad shrivelled kiwi fruit. Could it be signs of life are returning? My lack of confidence also holds me back where girls are concerned. One girlfriend told me it was like licking a old prune. Just yesterday my good 'un was plump,bursting,and proud, the runt
meanwhile was pathetically sad,deformed,and deflated. I drew a sad little face on it and the two of them were transformed into a testicular version of Laurel and Hardy. It can be most unsettling having an ostrich egg in one pocket and a budgie egg in the other. One's a fine specimen of a walnut in its prime, the other is the last little nut in the bag. Do you think prolonged sessions of wankerage would have a detrimental effect? I don't want to risk any further damage but i get to the point where the good one (my left) overflows and the sluice gates need to be opened to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn't help that i dress to the left as all the action happens on one side of my undies. Daytime seepage and tight underwear is best avoided and i was thrown off a bus recently for making the necessary adjustments downstairs after the vehicle's movements aroused Oliver Hardy. I have enclosed the photo i took in the gents at Asda. You can see that with the addition of a small piece of fuzzy felt, one looks like Kelly Brooke, the other Mother Teresa. Would some sort of implant be possible do you think,just to even things up a bit? I try my best to share the love equally and stroke Stan whenever i can but this just seems to activate Ollie who invariably ends up emptying his ballast into my hand. Another fine mess! What do you suggest?
Fondest best wishes,
Albert Hall,
Pimply-On-The-Mound.
My dear Albert.
Don't be too hard on yourself.
Great double acts have always had the foil so to speak.
Eric and little Earn for starters. The big one is generally the viewers favourite and the little one is often tolerated just like yours.
Little and Large of course. One of theirs spends a lot if time in the Strawberry as does yours.
The thing is people like a good laugh and, like these great comedy duos, your tackle will have people laughing their cocks off!
I bet you're a hit with the ladies! Girls love a sense of humour and with balls like yours you'll have them hysterical, all the way to the vinegar stroke.
When your Dick is trying to be Dasterdly it's no fun I suppose having someone sniggering in the background at your shrivelled Muttleys. Your proud, extrovert Tom being ridiculed by little Jerry.
Carpe Bollox, seize the balls!!!
Dreary. X
Can you help me with my problem? A childhood period of mumps left me with a strangely deformed, redundant testicle,that has neither hair nor purpose. It's a runt that has lost its reproductive capabilities and its natural shape. I have become somewhat obsessed by its appearance,and now i have reached my twenties, there are some days when i have even considered mutilation. It seems to be able to change appearance at will. I got up one morning
and i swear i had mr.potato head hanging there. One day its Yul Brynner,the next its Tiny Tim. What i can't figure out is why it's looks vary so much. It could just as easily look like a ripe juicy plum as like a sad shrivelled kiwi fruit. Could it be signs of life are returning? My lack of confidence also holds me back where girls are concerned. One girlfriend told me it was like licking a old prune. Just yesterday my good 'un was plump,bursting,and proud, the runt
meanwhile was pathetically sad,deformed,and deflated. I drew a sad little face on it and the two of them were transformed into a testicular version of Laurel and Hardy. It can be most unsettling having an ostrich egg in one pocket and a budgie egg in the other. One's a fine specimen of a walnut in its prime, the other is the last little nut in the bag. Do you think prolonged sessions of wankerage would have a detrimental effect? I don't want to risk any further damage but i get to the point where the good one (my left) overflows and the sluice gates need to be opened to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn't help that i dress to the left as all the action happens on one side of my undies. Daytime seepage and tight underwear is best avoided and i was thrown off a bus recently for making the necessary adjustments downstairs after the vehicle's movements aroused Oliver Hardy. I have enclosed the photo i took in the gents at Asda. You can see that with the addition of a small piece of fuzzy felt, one looks like Kelly Brooke, the other Mother Teresa. Would some sort of implant be possible do you think,just to even things up a bit? I try my best to share the love equally and stroke Stan whenever i can but this just seems to activate Ollie who invariably ends up emptying his ballast into my hand. Another fine mess! What do you suggest?
Fondest best wishes,
Albert Hall,
Pimply-On-The-Mound.
My dear Albert.
Don't be too hard on yourself.
Great double acts have always had the foil so to speak.
Eric and little Earn for starters. The big one is generally the viewers favourite and the little one is often tolerated just like yours.
Little and Large of course. One of theirs spends a lot if time in the Strawberry as does yours.
The thing is people like a good laugh and, like these great comedy duos, your tackle will have people laughing their cocks off!
I bet you're a hit with the ladies! Girls love a sense of humour and with balls like yours you'll have them hysterical, all the way to the vinegar stroke.
When your Dick is trying to be Dasterdly it's no fun I suppose having someone sniggering in the background at your shrivelled Muttleys. Your proud, extrovert Tom being ridiculed by little Jerry.
Carpe Bollox, seize the balls!!!
Dreary. X
Dear Dreary.
I think i might need help to get over a recent bout of depression and would appreciate any advice. Nothing ever seems to go right for me. I thought i would cheer myself up by making a special effort to join in the recent celebration of National Fetish Friday,but even this went wrong. I started the day with an old favourite. I painstakingly removed every hair from my genitals,before getting settled down with a megatube of lube,a couple of bulldog clips,and this months Railway Modeller. I slipped on the rubber gloves and swiftly inserted two fingers into the familiar welcoming haven. After a few seconds the burning sensation reminded me that i had used the same gloves the previous day to clean the oven. Fortunately i had a box of assorted lollies in the freezer,and three Zooms later the burning eased. However, i spent the rest of the morning in A & E,having the sticks removed. Undaunted, i ironed my schoolgirl uniform,and positioned myself outside the school gates at lunchtime in the hope that a passing paedo might take an interest. Now,i am a hairy middle-aged man with a bbeer gut. Can you believe some short-sighted teacher came out and manhandled me into school because i was late back after lunch then gave me a detention! I was stuck there and bullied by my classmates till half past three! Some retail therapy was in order,so after a quick change,i hurriedly set off commando style for the town centre.
There's something i've always loved about trying on clothes in shops. I think its the risk of being caught in a state of undress,especially when you accidently leave the curtain slightly open. I always hope that there's a hidden security camera in there. My favourite shop for this is Scope. I think its the musty smell of the clothes and the thought that some dear old granny may have been wearing those knickers when she passed away. I stripped off in the changing room,pulled up the lovely pair of antique silk bloomers nice and snug, then snuck into the next changing to admire myself as this one had a full-length mirror. After pleasing myself for a couple of minutes i sneaked back, only to find that my clothes had been taken by the over-enthusiastic assistant and were now hung out on display! I've never lost a boner so quickly in all my life! I legged it from the shop,snatching a raincoat as i went to restore my dignity,only to trip halfway up the highstreet and be arrested for indecent exposure.
The bloody elastic had gone in the bloomers and they were around my ankles,sad and wrinkled,much like my manhood . So much for National Fetish Friday then. Can you suggest an alternative?
Major Julian Phlange-Bracket,
Muffleby-On-The-Wold,Mold.
Dear Major.
As the summer holiday season fast approaches there are a number of events on throughout the coming months to appeal to everyone.
There's national escape week on at the beginning of July. It's not for everyone but as a military man I imagine it's right up your ally. It gets very congested at this time of year with everyone running away.
Bike thefts are at an all time high and the fancy dress and charity shops pretty much sell out. You can't buy a fake moustache anywhere.
Trains are packed solid and you can't move for gaunt little men wearing floor length leather coats and wire rimmed spectacles.
Hardware stores are sold out within hours. Spades, candles and sewing kits being the much sort after items.
The council wagons are kept busy filling in the holes after numerous tunnel collapses from 'have a go Harrys'.
If this doesn't appeal you could always have a go at national soil yourself week.
Happy holidays!
Dreary. xx
I think i might need help to get over a recent bout of depression and would appreciate any advice. Nothing ever seems to go right for me. I thought i would cheer myself up by making a special effort to join in the recent celebration of National Fetish Friday,but even this went wrong. I started the day with an old favourite. I painstakingly removed every hair from my genitals,before getting settled down with a megatube of lube,a couple of bulldog clips,and this months Railway Modeller. I slipped on the rubber gloves and swiftly inserted two fingers into the familiar welcoming haven. After a few seconds the burning sensation reminded me that i had used the same gloves the previous day to clean the oven. Fortunately i had a box of assorted lollies in the freezer,and three Zooms later the burning eased. However, i spent the rest of the morning in A & E,having the sticks removed. Undaunted, i ironed my schoolgirl uniform,and positioned myself outside the school gates at lunchtime in the hope that a passing paedo might take an interest. Now,i am a hairy middle-aged man with a bbeer gut. Can you believe some short-sighted teacher came out and manhandled me into school because i was late back after lunch then gave me a detention! I was stuck there and bullied by my classmates till half past three! Some retail therapy was in order,so after a quick change,i hurriedly set off commando style for the town centre.
There's something i've always loved about trying on clothes in shops. I think its the risk of being caught in a state of undress,especially when you accidently leave the curtain slightly open. I always hope that there's a hidden security camera in there. My favourite shop for this is Scope. I think its the musty smell of the clothes and the thought that some dear old granny may have been wearing those knickers when she passed away. I stripped off in the changing room,pulled up the lovely pair of antique silk bloomers nice and snug, then snuck into the next changing to admire myself as this one had a full-length mirror. After pleasing myself for a couple of minutes i sneaked back, only to find that my clothes had been taken by the over-enthusiastic assistant and were now hung out on display! I've never lost a boner so quickly in all my life! I legged it from the shop,snatching a raincoat as i went to restore my dignity,only to trip halfway up the highstreet and be arrested for indecent exposure.
The bloody elastic had gone in the bloomers and they were around my ankles,sad and wrinkled,much like my manhood . So much for National Fetish Friday then. Can you suggest an alternative?
Major Julian Phlange-Bracket,
Muffleby-On-The-Wold,Mold.
Dear Major.
As the summer holiday season fast approaches there are a number of events on throughout the coming months to appeal to everyone.
There's national escape week on at the beginning of July. It's not for everyone but as a military man I imagine it's right up your ally. It gets very congested at this time of year with everyone running away.
Bike thefts are at an all time high and the fancy dress and charity shops pretty much sell out. You can't buy a fake moustache anywhere.
Trains are packed solid and you can't move for gaunt little men wearing floor length leather coats and wire rimmed spectacles.
Hardware stores are sold out within hours. Spades, candles and sewing kits being the much sort after items.
The council wagons are kept busy filling in the holes after numerous tunnel collapses from 'have a go Harrys'.
If this doesn't appeal you could always have a go at national soil yourself week.
Happy holidays!
Dreary. xx
Dear Dreary.
There's been a blanket e-mail going around at work and I think I'm in big trouble. You see, it's been written on MY blanket!
I had a house party for some work colleagues the other week end and things got very messy.
Anyway, somebody stole the blanket off my bed and started e-mailing on it.
Thing is, I gave the bosses wife one under that blanket and for a start it had one of her ear rings stuck in it and with all that rumpy going on beneath it the DNA boys will have a field day. I had to ring it out twice and had Mr Muscle out on a few of the more stubborn stains.
You know what office staff are like, bitching and pointing the finger.
They do say that everything comes out in the wash. Not after the action that's seen!
I hark back to more simpler times, before computers when your blanket was your own business and stayed stuck to the bed sheets.
Your thoughts?
Rip Van Winkle.
My dear Rip. Your life appears to be one long fairytale. You obviously need to behave more responsibly and keep mr.muscle in your pants more often. Life has a nasty habit of catching up with you. Remember that pretty Rapunzel girl from your village? Recently convicted for the infamous Honeypot In The Tower murders. She lured several travelling salesmen to their deaths by asking them to rescue her by climbing up what they thought was her hair. It was actually the rope she hung them with. Then there was that Prince chap,what a charmer he was! Crept into girls' bedrooms as they slept, assaulted them,then strangled them in their beds. Each of the girls was blonde and had a pale complexion. As he killed each of them he would whisper '' your prince has come''. Nasty. So think on Rip. I notice you don't mention your age. Could it be that you are getting on in years and trying to re-live former conquests? You need to slow down a little, kick back a while,or maybe find a new hobby. Most of a
ll at your age,Rip,you must try to keep your winkle to yourself. Oh,another thing. Get more sleep. Night night. Dreary.
There's been a blanket e-mail going around at work and I think I'm in big trouble. You see, it's been written on MY blanket!
I had a house party for some work colleagues the other week end and things got very messy.
Anyway, somebody stole the blanket off my bed and started e-mailing on it.
Thing is, I gave the bosses wife one under that blanket and for a start it had one of her ear rings stuck in it and with all that rumpy going on beneath it the DNA boys will have a field day. I had to ring it out twice and had Mr Muscle out on a few of the more stubborn stains.
You know what office staff are like, bitching and pointing the finger.
They do say that everything comes out in the wash. Not after the action that's seen!
I hark back to more simpler times, before computers when your blanket was your own business and stayed stuck to the bed sheets.
Your thoughts?
Rip Van Winkle.
My dear Rip. Your life appears to be one long fairytale. You obviously need to behave more responsibly and keep mr.muscle in your pants more often. Life has a nasty habit of catching up with you. Remember that pretty Rapunzel girl from your village? Recently convicted for the infamous Honeypot In The Tower murders. She lured several travelling salesmen to their deaths by asking them to rescue her by climbing up what they thought was her hair. It was actually the rope she hung them with. Then there was that Prince chap,what a charmer he was! Crept into girls' bedrooms as they slept, assaulted them,then strangled them in their beds. Each of the girls was blonde and had a pale complexion. As he killed each of them he would whisper '' your prince has come''. Nasty. So think on Rip. I notice you don't mention your age. Could it be that you are getting on in years and trying to re-live former conquests? You need to slow down a little, kick back a while,or maybe find a new hobby. Most of a
ll at your age,Rip,you must try to keep your winkle to yourself. Oh,another thing. Get more sleep. Night night. Dreary.
Monday 2 July 2012
Dear Dreary.
I'm male and have been reading about these new exercises that are supposed to make a mans winky bigger and wonder if you've heard about them. Do they work? Are they safe?
They say to warm it up before any exercising usually by rubbing it gently between the palms of your hands or jumping up and down very gently with a wet flannel folded around the base of the shaft to stop the balls chaffing.
A popular exercise to strengthen the old chap is to stand erect next to an old fashioned sash window. Open the window just enough to slip your tinkle through and then start to open the window with your knob. Up and down and up and down etc...
Careful not to exercise with a faulty sash or you could be looking at a week or two in a convalescent home nursing a poorly todger.
Hanging everyday household objects off it has been heartily recommended too to stiffen the old resolve. Frying pans, tins of beans, egg whisks, I-pads, x boxes, even carrying the shopping home on it helps towards the development of one mean looking one eyed beasty!
I don't know if this is true or not but a mans dingler has a sense of smell and loves certain foods.
One suggestion is, when you go to bed place a meat and potato pie next to your slippers at the side of your bed. The idea is that during the course of the evening your willy will smell the delicious aroma and naturally begin to gravitate towards the source of the smell. It should be straining over the edge of the bed trying to reach the pie.
When you wake up in the morning your dinkly should feel suitably enlarged with perhaps a few crumbs 'round it's mouth.
Teaching it to sing, dancing classes, snooker skills and a working knowledge of Victorian work houses are all said to enlarge the surface area of mans best friend.
Am I wrong?
Bert Flowers,
DickTon Cum Hardly.
There's only one way to find out Bert! I would be fascinated to know the outcome so please keep me informed and send photos,before + after, flaccid/excited. The watamothafuka tribe of the Congolese basin are renowned for pairs of males carrying 8-gallon jars of water on poles suspended from their engorged members. Their erections are maintained by the village womenfolk,who walk closely behind,tickling the exposed botty holes with ostrich feathers. Their tribal chief,featured recently on David Attenborough's 'Weird But Arousing', still keeps up the official title given originally to the tribe by the holidaying Roman emperor Chlymedia. The current chief, aka Scrotus Maximus, has fathered 57 children by various village females. The most recent of his offspring he named Heinz. Historically,the chief is selected by measuring the male scrotal sacks after they have been extended by carrying the carcusses of hunted antelope across the plain. Hooks are inserted into the genitals and then thr
ough the neck of the beast and carried up to 50 miles,so anything is possible Bertie! Just beware of the extra expense involved,such as bigger underpants and trousers. I'll send you my number so that i can keep tabs on your progress. D.
I'm male and have been reading about these new exercises that are supposed to make a mans winky bigger and wonder if you've heard about them. Do they work? Are they safe?
They say to warm it up before any exercising usually by rubbing it gently between the palms of your hands or jumping up and down very gently with a wet flannel folded around the base of the shaft to stop the balls chaffing.
A popular exercise to strengthen the old chap is to stand erect next to an old fashioned sash window. Open the window just enough to slip your tinkle through and then start to open the window with your knob. Up and down and up and down etc...
Careful not to exercise with a faulty sash or you could be looking at a week or two in a convalescent home nursing a poorly todger.
Hanging everyday household objects off it has been heartily recommended too to stiffen the old resolve. Frying pans, tins of beans, egg whisks, I-pads, x boxes, even carrying the shopping home on it helps towards the development of one mean looking one eyed beasty!
I don't know if this is true or not but a mans dingler has a sense of smell and loves certain foods.
One suggestion is, when you go to bed place a meat and potato pie next to your slippers at the side of your bed. The idea is that during the course of the evening your willy will smell the delicious aroma and naturally begin to gravitate towards the source of the smell. It should be straining over the edge of the bed trying to reach the pie.
When you wake up in the morning your dinkly should feel suitably enlarged with perhaps a few crumbs 'round it's mouth.
Teaching it to sing, dancing classes, snooker skills and a working knowledge of Victorian work houses are all said to enlarge the surface area of mans best friend.
Am I wrong?
Bert Flowers,
DickTon Cum Hardly.
There's only one way to find out Bert! I would be fascinated to know the outcome so please keep me informed and send photos,before + after, flaccid/excited. The watamothafuka tribe of the Congolese basin are renowned for pairs of males carrying 8-gallon jars of water on poles suspended from their engorged members. Their erections are maintained by the village womenfolk,who walk closely behind,tickling the exposed botty holes with ostrich feathers. Their tribal chief,featured recently on David Attenborough's 'Weird But Arousing', still keeps up the official title given originally to the tribe by the holidaying Roman emperor Chlymedia. The current chief, aka Scrotus Maximus, has fathered 57 children by various village females. The most recent of his offspring he named Heinz. Historically,the chief is selected by measuring the male scrotal sacks after they have been extended by carrying the carcusses of hunted antelope across the plain. Hooks are inserted into the genitals and then thr
ough the neck of the beast and carried up to 50 miles,so anything is possible Bertie! Just beware of the extra expense involved,such as bigger underpants and trousers. I'll send you my number so that i can keep tabs on your progress. D.
Dear Dreary.
You must remember the famous teddy bears pic nic song?
I was actually one of the teddy bears on that pic nic and pic nic it was not.
Teddy Robinson was a right hard, bullying bastard who ran around pinchin' everyone's butties. He pulled one of my eyes off and literally kicked the stuffin' out of me.
Mummy bear got nettle rash from being banged senseless by Paddington in the dingly dell whilst Teddy Edward set fire to little ted off playschool trying to light a spliff in a strong breeze.
Andy Pandy and Lubbie Loo came along with that teddy bear and just fucked each other senseless inside their pic nic basket.
There were empty bottles, cans, johnnies, fag ends strewn all over them woods, it was disgusting.
So, if you go down to the woods today you're fucking right you're sure of a big surprise. They've changed it into a Tesco express. We go on the beach now.
Yours,
The Hair Bear BunchThanks for that Bunch,yet another example of the massive retail chains' effect on the UK and our traditions. Did you hear about the Toytown police station? It went onto daytime hours only for a while,but has now closed and has been bought by Aldi. Can you imagine? Krauts in the village! The Toytown residents could do nothing to prevent it and have simply become puppets. PC Plod has been forced to apply for a community support role. Also, the Fat Controller's assetts have recently been liquidated, and number 1 shed is to be redeveloped into Thomas Park ,a retail and leisure complex. Asda have built on Pogle's Wood,Toad Hall is now a training and conference centre, and the Flowerpot Men have been relocated to a Homebase garden centre. How do we stop this?
Well Dreary, you tell me, you're the fuckin’agony aunt!
The 100 acre wood is now a reasonably sized back garden on a new housing development. Trumpton and Camberwick Green have been turned into a multi storey car park and cinema complex whilst Tales from the river bank has been turned in to a virtual video game experience.
You must remember the famous teddy bears pic nic song?
I was actually one of the teddy bears on that pic nic and pic nic it was not.
Teddy Robinson was a right hard, bullying bastard who ran around pinchin' everyone's butties. He pulled one of my eyes off and literally kicked the stuffin' out of me.
Mummy bear got nettle rash from being banged senseless by Paddington in the dingly dell whilst Teddy Edward set fire to little ted off playschool trying to light a spliff in a strong breeze.
Andy Pandy and Lubbie Loo came along with that teddy bear and just fucked each other senseless inside their pic nic basket.
There were empty bottles, cans, johnnies, fag ends strewn all over them woods, it was disgusting.
So, if you go down to the woods today you're fucking right you're sure of a big surprise. They've changed it into a Tesco express. We go on the beach now.
Yours,
The Hair Bear BunchThanks for that Bunch,yet another example of the massive retail chains' effect on the UK and our traditions. Did you hear about the Toytown police station? It went onto daytime hours only for a while,but has now closed and has been bought by Aldi. Can you imagine? Krauts in the village! The Toytown residents could do nothing to prevent it and have simply become puppets. PC Plod has been forced to apply for a community support role. Also, the Fat Controller's assetts have recently been liquidated, and number 1 shed is to be redeveloped into Thomas Park ,a retail and leisure complex. Asda have built on Pogle's Wood,Toad Hall is now a training and conference centre, and the Flowerpot Men have been relocated to a Homebase garden centre. How do we stop this?
Well Dreary, you tell me, you're the fuckin’agony aunt!
The 100 acre wood is now a reasonably sized back garden on a new housing development. Trumpton and Camberwick Green have been turned into a multi storey car park and cinema complex whilst Tales from the river bank has been turned in to a virtual video game experience.
Dear Dreary.
My family have all suffered from blindness and all have died a horrific death. Help me Dreary, I'm the last of my line and I know I'm next for the chop!
It's all very well having these handy Braille signs dotted about the place to help us blind folk find things or warn us to stay clear for our own safety but they're always in some bloody daft,obscure place. I mean how, as blind folk, are we to know where these signs are in the first place?
It has been little comfort to my family that my grandfather wouldn't have been bayoneted by that nasty German if he had only felt for the warning sign on top of the Germans helmet discouraging blind folk to approach this fellow as he was a dangerous military war machine.
My elder brother Ged, may not have been spread thinly over the bakerloo line had the sign saying fast train, danger been placed in a more prominent position and not on top of the funnel.
My mother drowned in our local swimming baths because she failed to notice the braille sign on the bottom of the pool, in the deep end saying, deep water, please do be jolly careful.
Dreary, I'm terrified something is going to happen to me. I think I work in a saw mill so should I be worried about a grizzly end?
Yours,
Terrence Bond.
There's little to be achieved by worrying about it Terence. You could however show some consideration for your colleagues by always wearing full body plastic overalls in order to minimise the inevitable mess. Alternatively you could seek employment somewhere less hazardous. Many blind people exist happily in their careers without anyone suspecting that they're blind. Any dip in performance is usually just ignored,especially if you are a celebrity. Few people realise Ashley Cole has been totally blind for years,the brave lad even volunteers to take penalties for England! Most people assume Paul McCartney has simply been gradually been losing his talent as he has got older, but he has actually been blind since the Beatles split up. Why else would anyone marry a one-legged bird? Then there's Elton John, Wayne Rooney, Mel Gibson, Bruce Forsyth, Angelina Jolie and many more. All rapidly going downhill because they're blind as bats. The stupid thing is,they would get nothing but sympathy
from the public if they were to admit it! I would also suggest you contact the Association of Blind Dogs For The Guides, a charity that organises girl guides to help you with your everyday needs whilst taking blind dogs for walks. Their motto is 'Don't be alone in the dark'. They also offer night time assistance for a small charge. D.
My family have all suffered from blindness and all have died a horrific death. Help me Dreary, I'm the last of my line and I know I'm next for the chop!
It's all very well having these handy Braille signs dotted about the place to help us blind folk find things or warn us to stay clear for our own safety but they're always in some bloody daft,obscure place. I mean how, as blind folk, are we to know where these signs are in the first place?
It has been little comfort to my family that my grandfather wouldn't have been bayoneted by that nasty German if he had only felt for the warning sign on top of the Germans helmet discouraging blind folk to approach this fellow as he was a dangerous military war machine.
My elder brother Ged, may not have been spread thinly over the bakerloo line had the sign saying fast train, danger been placed in a more prominent position and not on top of the funnel.
My mother drowned in our local swimming baths because she failed to notice the braille sign on the bottom of the pool, in the deep end saying, deep water, please do be jolly careful.
Dreary, I'm terrified something is going to happen to me. I think I work in a saw mill so should I be worried about a grizzly end?
Yours,
Terrence Bond.
There's little to be achieved by worrying about it Terence. You could however show some consideration for your colleagues by always wearing full body plastic overalls in order to minimise the inevitable mess. Alternatively you could seek employment somewhere less hazardous. Many blind people exist happily in their careers without anyone suspecting that they're blind. Any dip in performance is usually just ignored,especially if you are a celebrity. Few people realise Ashley Cole has been totally blind for years,the brave lad even volunteers to take penalties for England! Most people assume Paul McCartney has simply been gradually been losing his talent as he has got older, but he has actually been blind since the Beatles split up. Why else would anyone marry a one-legged bird? Then there's Elton John, Wayne Rooney, Mel Gibson, Bruce Forsyth, Angelina Jolie and many more. All rapidly going downhill because they're blind as bats. The stupid thing is,they would get nothing but sympathy
from the public if they were to admit it! I would also suggest you contact the Association of Blind Dogs For The Guides, a charity that organises girl guides to help you with your everyday needs whilst taking blind dogs for walks. Their motto is 'Don't be alone in the dark'. They also offer night time assistance for a small charge. D.
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