Sinister: Funkyseb & the Cottage of doom

[Funkyseb]

Honey wrote:
>Everyone knows this is a Thai-based B&S list, and I was very surprised
>to see the following news a bit ago: that the American sitcom "Joannie
>Loves Chachi" was banned in Thailand, because Chachi means "penis".
It was the title of an episode of Mork and Mindy. Apparently it was the idea
of the very hairy Mr Robin Williams, who liked "slipping" "rude things"
"in", and there's an episode with a "Mr Bollocks" in it that's never been
shown in Britain. ABSOLUTELY TRUE, according to The Grauniad. So probably
not really.

Anyway, I thought I'd tell you about my strange experience today. Like many
sad men, I use my penis solely for pissing. It's not fair, I know, but there
we are. Anyway, I was wandering prettily through London's louche and
fashionable Bromley by Bow, when I realised that my bladder was absolutely
bursting. SO imagine my delight, as I saw the welcoming steps of a lovely
old lavatory. I dashed across the road, knees straight, buttocks clenched,
rushed down the steps and, with an ecstacy of fumbling, found my trouser
sausage just in time.

    ROCK ON!

It was only as the last drops of willy beer gurgled away down the drain that
I noticed what I'd walked into. The air was smoky, the atmosphere close- all
the lightbulbs removed, bar one. The room was tense with men, huddling away
from the light like anti-moths.
    From one of the stalls came the sound of ernest moaning- two men finding
their natural rhythm, intuitively responding to each others moves. I was
confused- lost- but strangely transfixed. They reached an orgasmic climax,
and then, it all went quiet.
    And then the saxophone solo kicked in. For twenty minutes. Freeform.  I
fought my way out, but the Gaulois laden air was like jam, or maybe treacle.
Finally, I reached the door, and gulping in the daylight, I turned for one
look back. The cubicle door opened.
"Well I think that went quite well", said the first man, the spit of Jules
Holland.
"Aye, it did," said the other, his red haired friend. "Now can you move your
boogie woogie piano, I'm trapped behind the cistern".
    I thought of my encounter for the rest of the day- a brief glimpse of a
furtive, underground world. A world of roll necks, and horns. And Bongos.

I also saw Stuart M rimming Whispering Bob Harris in a superloo in
Spitalfields, but that's another long winded not very funny story.

B&S swearing? Well I've got rather witty subtitle for Stuart David's book.
It's "The (Diamond)Ring of Truth" Hahahahaha! Ring, like an arse. D'you see?
Oh well, please yourselves. Great! P!O!P! thing that book. But it's rather
sad, so don't read it if you cry easily. It's got a fox in it, mind, which
almost makes up for the sad bits. Oh I'll piss off now.

seb

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