Shame, shame, shame were the last words heard by Derryn Hinch’s listeners, before the towage dragged him out to the paddock and flogged him till he wet his tight little pair of shorts, on his big rear wheel drive monster GU Ute, that should be mine, but couldn’t be registered to people of the height of a Lada Niva or Russian giant, and then he sobbed like crazy because he spilt his large container open with a chainsaw he stole from my shed, and the cops did their thing, but nothing came from their investigation.
So they decided to pin it on Andy’s man boobs, which actually improved, but his mum slapped Pauly across the room, which made him cry like a big Plassy, which has been known to come close to retaliation with a rather loud tantrum that goes on and on.
This negates the feeling one would have of job satisfaction, which leads to Cape Jaffa - then goes another long way to find the very best potato peeler around to scrape the crusty bits from his dark side. Better that than the front of his make him feel like a pretty school girl – without his pigtails and his little red Lada Niva, that is running backwards way faster than Plassy’s sail boat on a windy Sunday afternoon on a flat sea of Werribee’s finest fishing fleet they started up.
Then suddenly without warning, Moby Dick arrived and displayed his massive big white whale member, which could access forums through secret agents taking pot shots at one another, with their might Nissan Patrol guns squarely aimed at their swelling heads and bulging wallets which weren’t filled with anything but small pockets of little round hard washers. Go figure how to use water spout?
Reluctantly, got it wrong. Very very wrong. So Paul (Patch), tried to do better, but ended up popping a valve and stripping his thread, turning the knob anti clockwise, because , in these circumstances, his nuts were rather tight. So, without further ado, off they came and into the moon from their sizzling oil bath, when the chips were burnt.
Dogman snarled and erupted with furious anger. “Oh my goodness, where’s your introduction”, barked the Mod. “Sorry Dog, but what’s that smell?” “AAAaahhhhhh, it’s my crack, that’s all. Haven’t cleaning it for 6 weeks. Waiting for Aliens 2 probe it, like Fallon Colby”.
He was so overwhelmed by the stupefying overwhelming experience, that he regurgitated his own tongue. Swallowed it again, only to find it was someone who had posted great times in their panel van, with 33” muddies and front/rear lockers, with limited slip diff, wearing bright pink sand flags and matching G banger - no undies.
Then he was seen playing with warm apple pie. Then suddenly, he threw it up all over the GQ’s bonnet and Doggie cam out and laughed – “haha”, before he noticed it was his flat tyre that his girlfriend wanted fixed last year but never got around to it. Then he went to the great pub down the old folk’s home, instead of fixing the sagging suspension, with double sided sticky tape – holding the thing together.
He rather knocks up the barmaid than take the barman home, as he’s not the best looking bloke in town. Although his large girlfriend with massive handlebar moustache, clearly waxed it daily, but appears to have bald head, although highly polished, it appears that someone wanted her to weigh down the back of the Mighty GU, to stop it.
The fourbie, as an elderly GQ, casually pulled out a Prado from that place behind the swampy creek, that’s full of filthy muddy water and baby tadpoles - started to arrive with French snails attempting to take over the GQ. Bloody French.
Time bluddy four ex was freely available because no one wants anything else but tap water in their diet to compensate for ruddy QLD beer. Bigrig started crying. With the words “Toughen up Princess” echoing through the GQ’s cab lining. The 6.2ltr drowning out his tears of pain, rejoyed with anticipation. It started first or maybe second time after removing solar powered elastic bands which were connected to a defibrillator that all GU’s have.
In 3 weeks the GU will have rock sliders (!!!) and can then maybe follow the yellow brick road, follow the path glass slipper to meet with other forum members in South OZ, somewhere out the back of the wicket witch of the Mighty West. So she jumped on the bandwagon while carrying a can of 4X to put the hand of friendship and great mates to the test; so the ginger bread man can bake up some “harden up Princess” cookies for all GU drivers, because we love our cookies and need to munch them hard.
Love cookies that sing “Hey Jude”. Just stay in tune with the violin player because Heelers will eat wooden instruments for breakfast.
Then came the next problem - bad TV reception. No Mr Squiggle or DVD p0rn – but heaps of, bumm3r, what now? Popcorn, that’s what. Boppy drinks to see New Year in – start again.
Once upon a time Todd was not drinking bourbon! Noway just broke. No, he had something brown and tasted like dishwater. Must have been camel’s pi55. He is drinking xxxx. He should have read the instructions on the bottle to tell him what the hell is that fuzzy white stuff on. No it’s blurry because he inhaled the soap suds and then became quite excited about his new invention that made Patrols do amazingly fantastic things with camels when they are running through the field drinking bourbon – proud of themselves.
But look who is watching them? The creature from the black lagoon – wearing a hat, dangling corks and keeping flies away. But not the one he wants.
Gone from the time when cavemen and women did dirty things to Scotty.
His smile told the real story of what happened when the TV blew a fuse and lost all the snapper he had poached from the stock pot, drank the milk from the bottle, got fish breath and a bone.
Bloody fish milkshakes – that tasted crap.
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Originally Posted by wild98
