Dear Dreary.
I’ve recently received some lottery funding and have now been able to make my dream come true and opened a gift shop at H.M. Prison Grizzly.
Aside from the usual prison guide, car stickers and badges there’s a wealth of souvenir treats on hand for that ‘hard to buy for’ maximum security risk inmate or indeed the ex-con back home who has everything.
For the kids there’s sawn off shotguns, knuckle dusters, and a knife and dagger play set plus a selection of ‘do it yourself’ tattoo starter kits.
There’s also a range of concrete shoes available in most sizes and a choice of lead, cement or brushed steel effect finish.
There’s handcuff pencil sharpeners, syringe candy dispensers and a patio garden set including spade, chloroform, gaffer tape and disposable overalls.
To set those taste buds racing we have our delicious cake shop where customers can choose from a lavish Victoria sponge with a delicious galvanised metal file filling or why not try our sumptuous black forest gateaux with a hint of hand grenade and hand gun surprise.
The problem is that I keep getting robbed. Last week I was held up by my own water pistol and rubber truncheon set!
It’s high time we, as a society stopped glamorising the life of the criminal mind and come down like a tonne of bricks on those that fail to tow the line. Which reminds me, we have a sale on our house brick range. £3 per brick or five for £50! It’s daylight robbery!
Your thoughts on this matter would be very much appreciated.
Yours,
Myra Porridge.
H.M. Prison Grizzly
My dear Myra.
The "glamorising", as you term it, of what most people would want to see as an institute of correction, is sadly typical of recent government policy. "Commerciality" they call it. Every department has to be seen to be contributing to the central budget. Only last week, a contact I have in Whitehall was spilling the beans to me regarding a Foreign Office initiative to raise funds. At weekends, they plan to run an origami class for Lesbian Muslim Fundamentalists. Appropriately enough for the Shi'ites, the class will take part in the toilet block.
Elsewhere, in order to help keep finance local police stations and to relieve pressure on overnight cells, Lancashire Constabulary are hoping to house "customers" in Premier Inns. The recently-formed Offenders Union, however, has lodged a complaint. They are not too keen on the continental breakfast on offer and the rather basic room amenities. The police response was to threaten the offenders with a stay in a cell with Lenny Henry, which, to be honest, would be enough to convince to take the hotel offer.
So HM Prison Grizzly is not alone. This appears to be the future of government departments. What comes next? Brothels in NHS surgeries? Car washing in fire stations? Who knows.
By the way, a friend of mine manufactures a range of speciality lubrication products. I have taken this opportunity to send you a catalogue. The range is called "Sure Shag Redemption".
Happy shopping!
Dreary.
Thursday 4 June 2015
Shag
Dear Dreary.
Over the last few months i have kept myself busy in the production and cultivation of a new rug. I was extremely proud of my creation, extending and manicuring it with care and dedication. It is deep but yielding to the touch,but with defined edges and is an alluring shade of crimson. I keep it in what has been something of a void between the front and back. My partner Monty however, on his recent return from a tour of duty in Afghanistan, declared it to be opld fashioned and slightly musty. He says he now prefers a minimalistic appearance. What should I do?
Regards,
Davina McFlurry, Axminster.
My dear Davina.
It's always a wise move to have some form of rug down in your passage between front and back. It's bound to take a bit of a beating too what with a constant southerly wind blowing in from the back coupled with a persistent drizzle from your leaking vestibule.
I'd certainly be looking to have it insured. The chances of a stubborn stain upon your pile is quite high also. And if 'friends' insist on traipsing around the back then your shag shall be dulled very quickly indeed.
If Monty is unhappy with the way that you present your hallway then pull the rug from under his feet and send him packing!
Dreary.
Over the last few months i have kept myself busy in the production and cultivation of a new rug. I was extremely proud of my creation, extending and manicuring it with care and dedication. It is deep but yielding to the touch,but with defined edges and is an alluring shade of crimson. I keep it in what has been something of a void between the front and back. My partner Monty however, on his recent return from a tour of duty in Afghanistan, declared it to be opld fashioned and slightly musty. He says he now prefers a minimalistic appearance. What should I do?
Regards,
Davina McFlurry, Axminster.
My dear Davina.
It's always a wise move to have some form of rug down in your passage between front and back. It's bound to take a bit of a beating too what with a constant southerly wind blowing in from the back coupled with a persistent drizzle from your leaking vestibule.
I'd certainly be looking to have it insured. The chances of a stubborn stain upon your pile is quite high also. And if 'friends' insist on traipsing around the back then your shag shall be dulled very quickly indeed.
If Monty is unhappy with the way that you present your hallway then pull the rug from under his feet and send him packing!
Dreary.
Biggles
Dear Dreary,
I am well known in these parts as an avid aeromodeller, but I am becoming somewhat distressed with a specific localised problem.
It's never an issue getting the thing up, but I have recently been suffering from "cutting out", and on several occasions this has culminated in disastrous results, even once having to perform a crash landing. My wife reckons this is being caused by my arial size, and while personally I think it's a wiring issue, she is perhaps right to point out that a little more length might help.The two local hills sometimes make me unsighted when manoeuvring for the landing strip, which itself can be overgrown and potholed. At my age I am very wary about simply blaming my equipment, so I have been wondering if maybe its time to fly elsewhere.
This is keeping me awake at night. Have you any advice?
Regards,
Louis Blearyeyes,
Biggleswade.
My dear Louis.
Performing aerial acrobatics at your age is bound to be frustrating especially when it’s damp and blowing a Southerly wind.
There are certain things that you can do to prevent any unnecessary turbulence, giving you a fuller thrust capability and enhancing performance.
I’d suggest that you have your undercarriage looked at. A good lube and some fresh rubber should give you a smoother feel yet firmer grip when both entering and leaving the runway.
You mention the overgrown and potholed landing strip. This is never a good thing. It’s the responsibility of the owner to maintain a smooth, inviting area for your approach. It should have good drainage and free from any sewage pipes. A leak from one and any sudden friction from the other could have disastrous consequences.
Have your cockpit checked over by a reputable cocksmith to ensure all nuts are tightened correctly and that you can easily grip your joystick with both hands.
If you adhere to my advice I don’t think that it will be necessary to open your bomb doors elsewhere.
So tally ho, chocks away and flaps down for a heavenly upwards assent!
Dreary. X
I am well known in these parts as an avid aeromodeller, but I am becoming somewhat distressed with a specific localised problem.
It's never an issue getting the thing up, but I have recently been suffering from "cutting out", and on several occasions this has culminated in disastrous results, even once having to perform a crash landing. My wife reckons this is being caused by my arial size, and while personally I think it's a wiring issue, she is perhaps right to point out that a little more length might help.The two local hills sometimes make me unsighted when manoeuvring for the landing strip, which itself can be overgrown and potholed. At my age I am very wary about simply blaming my equipment, so I have been wondering if maybe its time to fly elsewhere.
This is keeping me awake at night. Have you any advice?
Regards,
Louis Blearyeyes,
Biggleswade.
My dear Louis.
Performing aerial acrobatics at your age is bound to be frustrating especially when it’s damp and blowing a Southerly wind.
There are certain things that you can do to prevent any unnecessary turbulence, giving you a fuller thrust capability and enhancing performance.
I’d suggest that you have your undercarriage looked at. A good lube and some fresh rubber should give you a smoother feel yet firmer grip when both entering and leaving the runway.
You mention the overgrown and potholed landing strip. This is never a good thing. It’s the responsibility of the owner to maintain a smooth, inviting area for your approach. It should have good drainage and free from any sewage pipes. A leak from one and any sudden friction from the other could have disastrous consequences.
Have your cockpit checked over by a reputable cocksmith to ensure all nuts are tightened correctly and that you can easily grip your joystick with both hands.
If you adhere to my advice I don’t think that it will be necessary to open your bomb doors elsewhere.
So tally ho, chocks away and flaps down for a heavenly upwards assent!
Dreary. X
Nobolongo
Dear Dreary,
A childhood family holiday on safari to the Nakanaka national park in Kenya had a profound effect on me.
I grew up with a fascination of everything African. Not just the animals, but the whole raft of differing cultures and customs. I was mesmerised by it all, even to the point where my private life suffered.
I learnt how many tribes would wear ornate jewellery in order to flaunt their wealth, often extending body-parts such as necks and earlobes in the process.
Having recently reached the age of thirty and never having had a girlfriend, let alone any sort of sexual experience, I began to wonder what I could do to emphasise my rather inadequate appendage, and so attract the opposite sex.
My mind wandered back to an encounter I had with the chief of the Nobolongo tribe, deep in the bush. He was elected chief as he had managed to stretch his black leathery dinky with a series of weights. He assured me at the time that it was well worth the pain.
As a result, I hit upon what I thought to be a fool-proof idea. Under a local anaesthetic, a plastic surgeon friend of mine sewed a series of small metal discs around the inside of my foreskin. Yes, it hurt like hell for a few days, but I soon mastered the art of peeing without discomfort and I moved on to the next part of my plan.
I installed the strongest industrial magnets I could buy in the insides of my left shoe. Then, over the course of the next few weeks, I gradually used a series of straps, sticking plasters, and duck tape to extend my willy down towards my foot. I became accustomed to the initial throbbing, and, after a while, even began to enjoy it.
These days, I find I can mange without the straps, and my eager member grows and swells all too willingly towards my foot. The beast, as I now call it, measures a good eighteen inches when stimulated, and I could have a different girl every night of the week.
And so, I hear you ask, where is the problem?
Well, there has been a strange development which seems to be related to magnetic fields. I now find that whenever I head in or face a southerly direction, I cannot become aroused however hard I try. Yet, the moment I turn to face north, the beast is proudly out in front of me like a rampant tent pole, and all attempts to discourage it are a complete waste of time. Not only that, the distress I suffer from the tension of a cheese-string at near breaking point is immense. Its like a taught violin string being repeatedly plucked.
Please help. I have looked everywhere for trousers with a front gusset, but without success. Please give me some hope to hang my hat on.
Yours in pain,
Dick Smart, Flagstick, Upper Tipperary.
Dear Dick.
What a predicament. I bet you don’t know if you’re coming or going.
You’re obviously the kind of bloke who knows what he wants and will go to any lengths (18 inches in your case) to get them. It shows a certain grit and determination, seldom seen since Sir Walter Raleigh invented the Chopper.
It would be a terrible waste if you were to let it all get on top of you and throw in the towel as it were.
Don’t take the easy route South. Turn around ‘Dick’ Whittington and ‘head’ North!
There are so many ways to promote your pecker to its’ full advantage.
You could help save lives by joining a mountain rescue team. A human compass! Simply point North and you’ll have saved every weary rambler that ever got stuck up a crag!
With the love of Africa so close to your heart you could always consider giving them something back as a thank you. You could act as a temporary pontoon bridge. Preside over limbo dancing competitions, ‘raising the bar’ at your own discretion. Perhaps even act as a security gate at a checkpoint somewhere with a little HALT sign draped over the old chap!
You see Dick, there’s more to it than meets the eye!
Carry On Dick and stiff upper......er, lip!
Dreary.
A childhood family holiday on safari to the Nakanaka national park in Kenya had a profound effect on me.
I grew up with a fascination of everything African. Not just the animals, but the whole raft of differing cultures and customs. I was mesmerised by it all, even to the point where my private life suffered.
I learnt how many tribes would wear ornate jewellery in order to flaunt their wealth, often extending body-parts such as necks and earlobes in the process.
Having recently reached the age of thirty and never having had a girlfriend, let alone any sort of sexual experience, I began to wonder what I could do to emphasise my rather inadequate appendage, and so attract the opposite sex.
My mind wandered back to an encounter I had with the chief of the Nobolongo tribe, deep in the bush. He was elected chief as he had managed to stretch his black leathery dinky with a series of weights. He assured me at the time that it was well worth the pain.
As a result, I hit upon what I thought to be a fool-proof idea. Under a local anaesthetic, a plastic surgeon friend of mine sewed a series of small metal discs around the inside of my foreskin. Yes, it hurt like hell for a few days, but I soon mastered the art of peeing without discomfort and I moved on to the next part of my plan.
I installed the strongest industrial magnets I could buy in the insides of my left shoe. Then, over the course of the next few weeks, I gradually used a series of straps, sticking plasters, and duck tape to extend my willy down towards my foot. I became accustomed to the initial throbbing, and, after a while, even began to enjoy it.
These days, I find I can mange without the straps, and my eager member grows and swells all too willingly towards my foot. The beast, as I now call it, measures a good eighteen inches when stimulated, and I could have a different girl every night of the week.
And so, I hear you ask, where is the problem?
Well, there has been a strange development which seems to be related to magnetic fields. I now find that whenever I head in or face a southerly direction, I cannot become aroused however hard I try. Yet, the moment I turn to face north, the beast is proudly out in front of me like a rampant tent pole, and all attempts to discourage it are a complete waste of time. Not only that, the distress I suffer from the tension of a cheese-string at near breaking point is immense. Its like a taught violin string being repeatedly plucked.
Please help. I have looked everywhere for trousers with a front gusset, but without success. Please give me some hope to hang my hat on.
Yours in pain,
Dick Smart, Flagstick, Upper Tipperary.
Dear Dick.
What a predicament. I bet you don’t know if you’re coming or going.
You’re obviously the kind of bloke who knows what he wants and will go to any lengths (18 inches in your case) to get them. It shows a certain grit and determination, seldom seen since Sir Walter Raleigh invented the Chopper.
It would be a terrible waste if you were to let it all get on top of you and throw in the towel as it were.
Don’t take the easy route South. Turn around ‘Dick’ Whittington and ‘head’ North!
There are so many ways to promote your pecker to its’ full advantage.
You could help save lives by joining a mountain rescue team. A human compass! Simply point North and you’ll have saved every weary rambler that ever got stuck up a crag!
With the love of Africa so close to your heart you could always consider giving them something back as a thank you. You could act as a temporary pontoon bridge. Preside over limbo dancing competitions, ‘raising the bar’ at your own discretion. Perhaps even act as a security gate at a checkpoint somewhere with a little HALT sign draped over the old chap!
You see Dick, there’s more to it than meets the eye!
Carry On Dick and stiff upper......er, lip!
Dreary.
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