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The Council gave me a good hiding!


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It's true and I'll fight any man who says it ain't. Last night I was laid on the bed, flat on me back dressed up in one of my wife's collection of uniforms. As she writhed, wriggled and generally thrust about upon me, I lay there nibbling upon a platter of Cornish Clams dressed from head to toe in an undersized World War Two Japanese Naval Admirals uniform. Minding me own bloody business, eating me Clams and swigging back the Ale, her right knee hit the hilt of my Decorative Sword causing discomfort to my left ********. I said, 'Sweet Lord! Take care. You'll give me a Torsion of the Testcle. At the very least writhe around and display some care and consideration toward me you brazen and wanton strumpet'.

Course, this then develops into a pointless conversation doesn't it. Wished I'd never bloody mentioned it. She says, 'what's a torsion of the ********'.

I said, ' I'll tell you what that is. It's something you wouldn't want. That's what that is.'. Course, she wants to know more doesn't she. I said, 'fair enough. You're thrusting up and down in pursuit of personal gratification, your knee forces the hilt of this fine sword into my scrotum and me testcles can get all knotted up. That's what that is'. Course, the bloody woman then says, 'I wouldn't want that' leading me then further into this pointless conversation explaining that the last time I checked she hadn't developed a scrotum and therefore it was highly unlikely shed ever suffer the whole torsion of the testicles thing.

Happily, this bag of boll.ocks of a meaningless and pointless conversation was disturbed by a tap, tap, tap on the bedroom window. Keen to end this physical violation of my human dignity, I shouted, 'dismount. I'll see who it is tapping on the window'. And I did. I opened the curtains to see Bill Norman clinging onto me window sill. I said, 'clear off Norman. Im a diligent recycler of rubbish and I'll be damned if I tolerate you scurrying up my bloody drainpipe, disturbing the brackets that affix my drainpipe to my wall and have your bloody feet and knees scraping off my rendering'. I told him, 'be gone or I'll come outside and box your ears'. Wasn't going was he! Determined wasn't he! Said, 'you want to fight me. Get out here now Emperor Horihito and I'll kick your head in'.

Anyway, I popped me little Admirals hat on, hurtled down the stairs, opened the door, slammed the door, which, given the benefit of hindsight was a huge mistake, to find Bill Norman stood there in the company of Geoff Hughes, Jonathon Bretherton, Alistair Neil, Tony Johnson and Pat Morgan. I thought, 'hi up. I shouldn't have slammed me door shut.'

To cut a long story short, they all gave me a kicking, beat me with short pointy sticks and dragged me away for questioning. Course getting dragged up Commercial Road dressed as a World War Two Japanese Naval Admiral was'nt the easiest of experiences, particularly the scorn and ridicule that poured out from the Ale houses that all had the phrase ' you stupid tw.at' incorporated into them.

Once in Plough Lane, they got to work on me. Tied and bound and wired up to the domestic electricity supply the questioning began. 'Give us Paul Cardin'. Over and over again, 'Give us Paul Cardin and the agony of this encounter will end.'Course, being a black plastic bin bag man, a man who refuses to shop within the new development or eat produce that was purchased from within the new development and being someone who's not intimidated, I said,'Get stuffed. Never. I'll never give Cardin up'.

Then after three hours of being head butted, thumped, slapped, pinched, electrocuted, shot, stabbed, poisoned and having my fat face jumped on, Hereford Councils Chief Legal Officer Bill Norman cried, 'we've gone to far. We've abused our positions of power. We'll release him and buy his silence with a generous Compromise Agreement'.

And they did. With a Tax Free Lump Sum of sixty two thousand pounds tucked inside me tight white Naval Britches I staggered back home richer than I was before vowing that I'd never talk about my beatings within Plough Lane. And I won't. Never!

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Oh, they knew what they were doing alright. They tried the lot on me to get me to give him up. I said, 'Never! I say Never. Not while I've Ale in the pantry and the ability to smoke me cigarettes. Never!'

Course, Bill brings his Ass in doesnt he. Lovely beast. I said, 'who's Ass is that then, not that its any of my business'. 'Its me pride and joy it is', he replied. 'Ive been coveting this beast of burden for years. Everyday I'd yell to my neighbour, 'give me that Ass'. I said, 'that's the problem with neighbours like you who go around coveting others folks's Ass'es. If I had me own Ass I'd definetly not give it to you, you bloody coveter of other people's Mules.

Course, eventually the neighbour gave in and must have said, 'here have the bloody thing. You've worn me down'. Any bloody way, back to the purpose of this beast of burden in the Council's Contemplation and Prayer Room with me and my interrogators. Bill then said to Pat, 'pull down his little white and tight Naval Britches. We'll film him making love to the beast, pop it on Youtube and keep the fat tw.at quite forever.'

Course, I told them straight, 'Never. I'll be damned if I breach my Covenant with God and subject that Ass to manly love. Never! This here penis is flaccid, it'll remain flaccid and you can tempt me with a tray of cream cakes, a kilo of Pork Rind and you'll not see an erection develop. Not on my watch. Never!'

And they did try to rouse me. Cream Cakes, Pork Rind, Ale, several bags of ground bail, a photograph of a Barbel and some sultry vixen who happened to come dancing into the room performing a seductive dance that Hot bloody Gossip would never have choreographed for fear of being banned by the BBC.

At the end of the dance, Bill had a rummage through the folds of me Britches and said pointedly, 'flaccid. This man is incapable of subjecting my Ass to manly love'. I howled, 'didn't I tell you Norman. You ain't dealing with a run of the mill normal poster here. Im Bobby Fortyseven and if I say Im flaccid I mean Im flaccid and I'll argue with any man, or woman who claims otherwise.'

And this is the problem we've all got nowadays. The erosion of our civil liberties. One minute you can be in your house minding your own bloody business and the next you can be dragged away and be encouraged to mate with a Mule. Why? Because Paul Cardin won't let go. That's why!, and this County is all the better for it if anything I transmit is worth a jot of notice.

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