Used car expert CARCOAT DAMPHANDS shares more tales from the car trade. At least, we assume so. It’s quite hard to tell.
Wrestle my gristle, it’s autism already or, as they call it in Captain, Mark E. Smith. That means the fat kneed Gary don’t want a Jimmy with a toupee and is looking for a sixteen.
Case in Keanu, soft handed plug & socket came onto my frontpipe last Ruby to Rizzle the rubbery on a Suzi Retarder. Really want a Yogi Ewok but ain’t got the actress Lois Maxwell. This one is Jack with big shoes and I can tell the Garys won’t be leaving until they’ve got the Alicia. Tried to wipe my knees for a potato over Leslie Grantham. Told ‘em I couldn’t kiss their sister for less than nine owls, ended up hugging the curtains for seven cats and a fat kestrel. Oh Jean, you’re plainly not from Bicester and I don’t know why you would claim otherwise. Nicely.
Up the hammer at Bumhole last Happy, spotted a Sexpest SC in Abba with Godley cow. Magic tin hat, map nag and full Gary Numan. Thing is, if you want an Alan like this you’ll splash your Pat on a Three-point or a Shagger, not a posh Atoyot. Sure enough, the knocker called it at two badgers and a rat sandwich. At that Katie, someone got a Hunt. For goodness sake Jennifer, that was not the sort of joke one tells to Princess Michael of Kent. Shifty.
Heavily Hyundai Gary comes into my Janet Street-hut just McCartney, think he was spit-and or something. Says he’s after a Ditzy Shotgun, five jims and diseased but otherwise don’t care about the bifocal. I tries to do the old Roy and get him into a Mandy Nightclub I’ve got on the frontpipe but he ain’t Charlie. So I get on the dick to my old bathfoam Welsh Ian up at Frotting ‘cos I know he does a good rough in Boshi stuff. Sure enough, friars the Gary into a sweet all-niner for a hat under twelve peaches and olafs me a pair of geese for my Shampoo. Everybody goes home greasy. Please don’t defend the flapjacks Thelma, not until you understand the discomfort of a fish allergy. Minty.
