Wednesday, November 30, 2005
don't try this at home....
A few small notes:
“dial emma” from the previous post…”dilemma” (please?)
and in my profile…this was supposed to be a picture of Charlie, because for ages I had a photo of Toffee there. Now I suppose everyone thinks I’m a dog.
So, how was your day? Honky dory? Smashing, mundane or really quite bad?
Want to play one-upmanship?
I just set fire to my pubic hair.
Accidentally of course, I don’t mind a little pain, but if it’s anything too intense I prefer other people to wear it.
There’s a coal effect gas fire in the living room. It’s more for ambience than heat because the central heating is on most of the time at this time of year. (I’m just setting the scene). So I came in from our walk, and the usual routine is to chage into some floppies – old baggy track suit bottoms and floppy t-shirt. Except this evening, in the nuddy, I decided to light the fire in the living room. The button is on the bottom of the fire, you have to hold it in for a little while, release a little gas (the fire not me) and then in theory the pilot light lights the fire and voila!!
This entails squatting. And I think I held the button in for too long, because when I let go a plume of ignited gas nestled directly in my…lap.
There was a crackling noise, like dry leaves on a bonfire, and a bright red flame engulfed my bits. (And a horrible smell! – those are ‘ketones’ by the way folks, I didn’t get a degree in organic chemistry for nothing (I got it so that if I ever go blind I will still know that the cat is on fire) ).
Shock is a more immediate reaction than reason, so I promptly fell backwards and beat the area with both hands – adding a kind of pubic toothache to the stinging sensation.
I’ve checked out the results in the bathroom. It’s not a pretty sight. I know it’s HNT tomorrow, but I don’t think this is the right place, there are probably specialist sites for that sort of photograph.
The area is largely deforested. I’ve singed my old chap and quite possibly bruised him too. It looks as if my willy has spent a night in a cell with Rambo, and called him a “nancy boy”.
My mother always told me to wear clean undercrackers in case I get run over….if I get knocked down tomorrow how will explain this?
I don't suppose there are any volounteers to kiss....