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OK, I know that this is the most sensitive and sensible board I frequent, so I'm sure the advice will be sound.
So, this morning, the snow was falling, and I was out with my dogs, as per usual. Every single day I walk across the road, down a bit, then cross into open fields where I can let the pooches run free. Most mornings I pass the same people, doing the same thing, we wave and smile at each other, sometimes my dogs will strain at the leash, trying to attack the other dog, sometimes they just want to sniff their arses.
Now, about ten houses down from mine, there is a very similar dog to my little bograt, owned by an old biddy, probably in her 60s, who keeps it clean and brushed with a little bow in its hair. My bograt, all dreadlocks, daglocks and covered in fox-shit, hates this other dog, so I always pass the house on the other side of the road, lest I meet the old biddy taking the pampered pooch out for walkies and there's carnage. Sometimes I see the other dog sitting in the upstairs window, surveying the world, and I chuckle to myself, knowing that bograt won't have seen it so there won't be any barking, lunging etc.
Well, today, I approached the house and there was the little dog sitting in the upstairs window. Then I saw it. My cold-befuddled mind churned and flashed up the message on my Terminator-like display screen. Yep, no mistake, no wistful thought turned into an optical illusion, it was a positive ID.
There, deep within the inner gloom of the upstairs room, I clocked a milky white pair of funbags. Ding ding ding!!! Achtung!! Ve haff hooters off the starboard bow, we are approaching fast. The old dear is standing in the window, topless. She knows I walk past there at 9.10am every morning, I sometimes even wave to her in a friendly neighbourly way, and there she is, like it's fucking July in Portugal.
So what did I do, my sympathetic chums? Did I grab my junk, shout "Wha-hey!!!", and go in for "breakfast"? No sir-ree, I most certainly did not. I did the only thing possible, I recovered my composure, stared straight ahead and pretended not to notice, the grin frozen onto my face.
Do you want to know about her strumming away, flicking the bean, with a stainless steel anal hook up her fundement as she beckoned me from her lovely warm house? No? Good, because that bit didn't happen.
Now, all this is bad enough, I'm obviously getting old or something, tits are tits, and it's always a good day when tits are on display (unless they are Ron's). No, I feel like I've been a total bastard, I feel that I should compliment her on her admittedly good condition top bollocks,but missed my opportunity. A good rack should be praised, no? She's probably crying herself to sleep right now. I feel so bad.
Next time I encounter her walking her little poncey dog, do I say "Good morning! Splendid pair of mammaries on show the other morning, my compliments. If you'd like some frosting on them, I'd be pleased to donate a couple of pods' worth" or do I just wink and pretend I didn't see them? She KNOWS I clocked them, it wasn't like she was rushing out of the shower and happened to pass a window as I happened to be looking. Nope, she wants my beef bayonet, I can feel it in my, erm, bone.
I mean, I have noticed she has had her hair done a little younger (I am not saying "mutton" or "lamb"), and I may have s******ed to myself when I saw her without her glasses, obviously something she isn't used to (people always look like moles when they get rid of glasses after years, don't they?), my professional opinion is that she's gagging for some cock.
So what should I do chaps? Take my dogs home, or tie them up in her back yard when I feed her the fat one?
I'm sure you will tell me to do the right thing.
PS. I boned her daughter a few years ago, he he.
Like a thoroughbred racehorse, she was, taller than me and very solid. The kind of girl you want standing behind you when drunken punches are being thrown, because you know she won't wobble, even if you do. Not particularly pretty, but they all look the same when they are lying down, don't they? I only did her once.
Twice. Ok, maybe a few times, and she liked it up the dirtbox.
I'd forgotten that I had knobbed her until I saw her getting out of a car at her Mum's one day. Brrrr, she's like Herman fucking Munster now. Do daughters discuss who has boned them with their mothers?
Eeeh, so many things in the world are a mystery, eh?
EDIT: Whoa, whoa, whoa! What's going on here? How come a word I've typed has been censored, arbitrarily? Since when has the past participle of another word for "laughed" been worthy of censorship? Fucking hell, I don't need a computer accusing me of being a racist! Somebody needs to sort that shit out...
So, this morning, the snow was falling, and I was out with my dogs, as per usual. Every single day I walk across the road, down a bit, then cross into open fields where I can let the pooches run free. Most mornings I pass the same people, doing the same thing, we wave and smile at each other, sometimes my dogs will strain at the leash, trying to attack the other dog, sometimes they just want to sniff their arses.
Now, about ten houses down from mine, there is a very similar dog to my little bograt, owned by an old biddy, probably in her 60s, who keeps it clean and brushed with a little bow in its hair. My bograt, all dreadlocks, daglocks and covered in fox-shit, hates this other dog, so I always pass the house on the other side of the road, lest I meet the old biddy taking the pampered pooch out for walkies and there's carnage. Sometimes I see the other dog sitting in the upstairs window, surveying the world, and I chuckle to myself, knowing that bograt won't have seen it so there won't be any barking, lunging etc.
Well, today, I approached the house and there was the little dog sitting in the upstairs window. Then I saw it. My cold-befuddled mind churned and flashed up the message on my Terminator-like display screen. Yep, no mistake, no wistful thought turned into an optical illusion, it was a positive ID.
There, deep within the inner gloom of the upstairs room, I clocked a milky white pair of funbags. Ding ding ding!!! Achtung!! Ve haff hooters off the starboard bow, we are approaching fast. The old dear is standing in the window, topless. She knows I walk past there at 9.10am every morning, I sometimes even wave to her in a friendly neighbourly way, and there she is, like it's fucking July in Portugal.
So what did I do, my sympathetic chums? Did I grab my junk, shout "Wha-hey!!!", and go in for "breakfast"? No sir-ree, I most certainly did not. I did the only thing possible, I recovered my composure, stared straight ahead and pretended not to notice, the grin frozen onto my face.
Do you want to know about her strumming away, flicking the bean, with a stainless steel anal hook up her fundement as she beckoned me from her lovely warm house? No? Good, because that bit didn't happen.
Now, all this is bad enough, I'm obviously getting old or something, tits are tits, and it's always a good day when tits are on display (unless they are Ron's). No, I feel like I've been a total bastard, I feel that I should compliment her on her admittedly good condition top bollocks,but missed my opportunity. A good rack should be praised, no? She's probably crying herself to sleep right now. I feel so bad.
Next time I encounter her walking her little poncey dog, do I say "Good morning! Splendid pair of mammaries on show the other morning, my compliments. If you'd like some frosting on them, I'd be pleased to donate a couple of pods' worth" or do I just wink and pretend I didn't see them? She KNOWS I clocked them, it wasn't like she was rushing out of the shower and happened to pass a window as I happened to be looking. Nope, she wants my beef bayonet, I can feel it in my, erm, bone.
I mean, I have noticed she has had her hair done a little younger (I am not saying "mutton" or "lamb"), and I may have s******ed to myself when I saw her without her glasses, obviously something she isn't used to (people always look like moles when they get rid of glasses after years, don't they?), my professional opinion is that she's gagging for some cock.
So what should I do chaps? Take my dogs home, or tie them up in her back yard when I feed her the fat one?
I'm sure you will tell me to do the right thing.
PS. I boned her daughter a few years ago, he he.
Like a thoroughbred racehorse, she was, taller than me and very solid. The kind of girl you want standing behind you when drunken punches are being thrown, because you know she won't wobble, even if you do. Not particularly pretty, but they all look the same when they are lying down, don't they? I only did her once.
Twice. Ok, maybe a few times, and she liked it up the dirtbox.
I'd forgotten that I had knobbed her until I saw her getting out of a car at her Mum's one day. Brrrr, she's like Herman fucking Munster now. Do daughters discuss who has boned them with their mothers?
Eeeh, so many things in the world are a mystery, eh?
EDIT: Whoa, whoa, whoa! What's going on here? How come a word I've typed has been censored, arbitrarily? Since when has the past participle of another word for "laughed" been worthy of censorship? Fucking hell, I don't need a computer accusing me of being a racist! Somebody needs to sort that shit out...
I just about pissed myself from laughing so hard! 
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