He had been driving round and around for ages and still hadn’t found the place. He was already late and he was the one with the tools. Nothing could begin until he got there. And he was lost! His phone was about to die. The satnav had been talking complete bollocks so he’d turned it off. Ah – here was a local. She’d know. He rolled down the wi- BLURFFFBLBLB. Oh, no. He closed the window again and thanked the lord that the local hadn’t noticed. But fucking hell… the sheer amount of shit he’d just emitted into his corduroy bell bottoms was insane, and the stench was in proportion.
He did a backflip, but alas, he’d chosen the worst place to do so, and the thousands of yards he fell gave him time to contemplate his folly before splattering beautifully on the excrement-smeared cobblestones.
What kind of man gets bum implants? Well, apparently the same kind who gets his eyes widened, his jawline straightened and his ribcage shortened to allow self-fellation. And, if the strictly confidential yet poorly-guarded records were to be believed, which the court ruled that they were, the same kind of man also saw fit to have his balls enlarged, which wasn’t unheard of but usually didn’t entail the use, and indeed the tragic and eventually fatal overuse, of growth hormones and, verily, something listed only by its brand name (Mr Magoo’s Magic Nutbulge).
He threw himself from the roof, picking a fight with the corner of the lower building and losing immediately, his headbutt not devastating the brickwork as he had hoped but in fact breaking his own skull open, though the snapping of his neck meant that he only had a fraction of a second to contemplate it, and no consciousness left by the time he hit the floor in a contorted mess and expired with his arse above his open gob and, you know it, a turd emitting languidly from one into the other.
He was in Liverpool! Oh, God, no. No!
Argh! Her face was downright ghastly. Why was it always like this? The boobs would heave into view first, promising great things, and the promise would be immediately reneged upon by the revelation of the hideous face and the contaminated bombsite of a clunge.
If she spazzed out any harder, her spine was going to snap! Well, not really. It wasn’t that ba-SNAP! Right… OK, it was that bad.
The huge hammer head smashed into his shiny bonce, blowing his skull apart and leaving his near-liquidated brain to slop onto the floor where it was booted about and trodden on as civilisation collapsed all around.
His cock drooped pathetically, his miserable, oestrogen-riddled barrel of a body unable to sustain the insistent boner he needed to satisfy his lubricious companion who now gave up and flounced out of his mildewy basement in contempt and disappointment, closing off his only avenue for some measure of birthday action and leaving him alone to onanise lethargically and unsuccessfully as tears streamed down his flabby, acne-strewn cheeks.
She was bent over the bonnet of a car and she was getting bummed hard. That was all well and good – indeed, she had specifically requested it – but, of all the vehicles they could have chosen… well, let’s just say that if it had been a good, sturdy, four-wheeled Talbot Horizon instead of a Reliant Robin, he wouldn’t have ended up with crud all over his Johnson and she wouldn’t have ended up with her horribly scarred face splodging into a urine-soaked nettle patch.