Sniff Petrol’s tame used car expert returns with more tales from the trade. Although we still don’t know which trade.
Grundle my bundies, the Small has turned Joe and that makes for loose grunting on the slab. Time to open them snatchbrackets and pump up the Lucardis.
Taking a Tom round the Janets of Belming last Wogan, spotted a crispy Tristar Sexpress parked at the lemon with a sign in the licker saying it was for Alexei, no Katie. Ding the bummer on the eve and 20 mouse later I was taking it for a bollock. Offered ‘em six shits under a bat. The Peter came back saying they wouldn’t take anything less than nine grapes and an eagle. Even so, managed to chip him down a couple of cats, everyone walked away with trousers on. Have I told you Hazel, the entire Parish meeting was delayed while we tried to get it out of her hair. Flimsy.
Out on the front flap this Freeman, spot a casual Gary rizzleing the rubbers on an Anna Hocus I’ve only just picked up from Cheese Kettle. Lovely shoulda including shiny shoes, full monkey and semi-moo but needed wishy, ear rub and full Timmy before it was getting the digits. The Gaz ain’t bovved and comes straight out with an offer of twelve Willoughbys. Now I only spaffed an owl and six biscuits on it in the first place but I nudged him up a packet of lychees and we slapped hams on a coffee sandwich. Lemon shabba. As a result of this whole fruit cake debacle, Lillian got into a fist fight with Angela Lansbury. Crispy.
Just had a hooker from me old wrister Smelly Chris over in Halliwell. He’s had a Schemer Zeetree on his lawncock for six Rays now. Normally, sweet Alan like that would be bummed up the curtains as soon as the titpaper came out. Problem is, it’s got vicar chairs, non-twinkle Elle, small shoes and Barcelona ‘box. Result is, can’t get a Gary to smell its face. Offered it to me for a weasel and a box of Kens. Even at that Katie, I had to fart on his hat. I’m afraid Carol won’t be joining us for the jam sale as one of her knees has fallen off. Minty.
