Author Topic: A spot of bother  (Read 3260 times)

A spot of bother
« on: October 31, 2006, 11:50:29 AM »
Dear Aubrey,

As a noted bon viveur yourself, I am sure you can sympathise with my predicament, which I shall endeavour to outline here in order that you might be able to sympathise with it, being the noted bon viveur that you are.

I have of late, and without the knowledge of my wife and offspring, been indulging in night-time activities of a less salubrious nature. Under the pretence of visiting my associates at the local Rotary Club, I have taken to visiting clubs of a quite different nature, if you understand me. Therein I find ladies prepared to fulfill my most outlandish of fantasies. It would of course be wise to spare you the details of my encounters, but suffice to say my most basest of desires have been thoroughly satisfied, including, thanks to a most brazen and delightful young lady named Molly, those involving the mutual consumption and subsequent vomiting of faeces.

However, it has not passed the gaze of my good lady wife that I now walk with a spring in my step and a smear of shit on my cheek, and she has raised suspicions about our meagre savings which, I must confess, I have been using in order that I might provide the nocturnal women in my life with the appropriate payments for their endeavours.

My question, Aubrey, is thus: would you, in your capacity as fabulously wealthy  philanderer, be prepared to lend me a spot of cash in order that I might continue having my secretive, fabulously sordid rendezvous with my new-found ladies of the night?

May the Lord be with you.

Alberon Marmalise

Aubrey Barkus

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Re: A spot of bother
« Reply #1 on: October 31, 2006, 12:18:02 PM »
Quote from: "Jim"
Dear Aubrey,

As a noted bon viveur yourself, I am sure you can sympathise with my predicament, which I shall endeavour to outline here in order that you might be able to sympathise with it, being the noted bon viveur that you are.

I have of late, and without the knowledge of my wife and offspring, been indulging in night-time activities of a less salubrious nature. Under the pretence of visiting my associates at the local Rotary Club, I have taken to visiting clubs of a quite different nature, if you understand me. Therein I find ladies prepared to fulfill my most outlandish of fantasies. It would of course be wise to spare you the details of my encounters, but suffice to say my most basest of desires have been thoroughly satisfied, including, thanks to a most brazen and delightful young lady named Molly, those involving the mutual consumption and subsequent vomiting of faeces.

However, it has not passed the gaze of my good lady wife that I now walk with a spring in my step and a smear of shit on my cheek, and she has raised suspicions about our meagre savings which, I must confess, I have been using in order that I might provide the nocturnal women in my life with the appropriate payments for their endeavours.

My question, Aubrey, is thus: would you, in your capacity as fabulously wealthy  philanderer, be prepared to lend me a spot of cash in order that I might continue having my secretive, fabulously sordid rendezvous with my new-found ladies of the night?

May the Lord be with you.

Alberon Marmalise


Hold on, I thought you'd been beaten to death?  
I'm beginning to suspect that some of these enquiries are not entirely genuine.

Anyway, proceeding in the (generous) belief that there is some truth to your question- fuck off.  I'm living on the State Pension.  The last injection of cash (when my Aunt died) was ten years ago and mostly went on the injection of Speedballs.  These days it's own-brand baked beans and bread with the mould scraped off.  Last week it got so bad that I broke into Waitrose at night and went for the Cognac.  Woke up in a chest freezer with some asymmetrically-faced youth staring down at me.  I mustered up "Don't worry about me, I'm just some pizzas," but still, the same old tedium.  Police called, patronising "at your age" statements made, caution accepted.  Mr Patel came to collect me, thankfully.  God knows how he knew I was there.  
I am beginning to realise he is my only friend.  He gave me some tinned fish, potatoes, and a litre bottle of Vodka.  I dined like a Czar that night!

And, unfortunately, then broke back into Waitrose.

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