I get smuggled into wherever they’re having the hen do, pop on an apron with nothing on beneath it, serve a few glasses of champagne and then leave.
You absolute wrong-cock.
I get smuggled into wherever they’re having the hen do, pop on an apron with nothing on beneath it, serve a few glasses of champagne and then leave.
You absolute wrong-cock.
When/how did this tradition start?
My aunt’s dear friend of more than 50 years is having her 70th birthday party next week. I might cover myself in deepheat and eat a bowl of dog shite at their afternoon tea gathering whilst they pelt me with bricks. For the laugh.
So the ‘joke’ is basically they think they’ve ordered a buff male stripper and they instead get the Wealsden Raider in a thong? Wow.
How do you get smuggled in? Is it like Oceans Eleven?
I admire you facing into this Ed. But you must admit its all very strange for a man in his 40s.
All happened in my 30s brother!
I don’t want to say it, but this is beyond Loopy behaviour, no?
In the interest of perspective, think its only fair to point out at this juncture that the story has now actually eclipsed the picture. The image is now only a mere element.
Imagine that.
Its strange for whatever age.
Now, how do I unsee it? Its like laser etched into my brain. Maybe got PDSD. Counselling required. Vom.
Im visioning Ed being offered around all the ditch monsters that work in Big Fella’s various ‘outlets’ at their recent get together a while back.
Poor tart was being pushed around and spanked by all the primitives.