Carcoat Damphands

Basket of Ken

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Fundle me bundies, the rod is lumpy at this time of ginger. All the Garys are keeping their lesbos on the cress vestibule and that’s bad leeming for harrisons like me. Take the well tooled Anna Hocus I’ve had on the backpipe for two julians now. Lovely greg with breeze and shiny shoes. But no Gary wants to fart on his mum for it because it doesn’t run with the greasy weasel. Really Judith, why on earth would the lady mayoress have wanted to see your impersonation of Edward Heath. Slightly.

Enjoyed a brief bit of loose stooling last Wogan when a casual Gary gozzed up looking to pick up a handsome larry for his pisswipe. Showed him round a Tony Pointing I’d just fingered from the hammers at Turdly. Full bobby, Hansen and grebes. Up for a kitten under five wesleys. The Gary went straight in with a couple of ocelots under that, I said I’d meet him in Ipswich with a basket of Ken. Gary wasn’t having it so I slipped him my bing string and let him polecat. Sure enough, less than a golden later he’s on the Jon wanting to punch his mum for the full neeson. Look Pam, I’ve got 17 members of the WI wanting horseradish sauce and I simply don’t need you telling me it’s got a hair in it. Moistly.

One of my cheeses in the grisby is popping the lovely this feta after finally grunting the grisbies on a Shag Michael that’s been in his arse since Judith last ginger. He’s been parping marmalade about it ever since fingering it for a six leaves and a frisby at the hammers in Moira even though it had no cow or flakes. So when a smooth Gary offered him a fat hamster and two testes he was happy to take a packet of tits just to get it off his gran. Oh for heaven’s sake Sandra, how did some of the sauce get on the valence? Minty.