Upstairs, Downstairs
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Why must the Monkey subject poor Timmy to the horrors of his variegated fluids? The gods themselves, they do not know.
13 comments:
This reminds me of flatting with you, it really does. The number of times I'd wake up sticky demanding "Is this your semen in my bed? Is it? It looks like your semen. It is yours, isn't it? Admit this is your semen in my bed you cad" and you'd look all shamefaced in your little butler uniform and gear up to ejaculate on my cornflakes.
I'm glad you're dead.
Oh, this is nothing like that -- you never wore pyjamas.
you call that a handjob?!?!
You're a sick man, Jeeves. And you need help! That "cream" you gave me with my tea wasn't cream, WAS IT?...Speak up, man! I can help you. I truly can. But first you have to admit you have a problem...
"Look at this sleeve! Look at it! Stripes! Quite clearly stripes. ...On plain pyjamas!! What were you thinking man?"
"Well..erm..if.."
"Spit it out man."
"Well if you didn't keep losing so many up your wife's fanny we wouldn't have run out of plain material. ....There I've said it"
The lady of the house under the covers "Mmssssmmmmuuummmmm - He has a point dear Mmmmmmsssllpppmmmm"
No cheese.
That makes me misty.
Robert had followed the instructions exactly. He had come to the house, worn his finest uniform and stood at attention as the sun dipped below the horizon.
But shortly before midnight he nodded off, sound asleep, still standing at attention.
Robert had waited so long to see the ghost of Mr. Belvedere beg for change and here he was sleeping through his one chance.
30 years later he was still asking:
"Why did I let Angelina go?"
But Billy Bob's life sized Oscar never gave him the answers he wanted to hear.
When Marvin the Magnificent failed yet again to produce a dove "from thin air," poor, loyal Jeeves knew the glory days were truly over.
"I'll get the pills sir," he said dejectedly as Marvin stared wild-eyed into space.
For God's sake, the bonspiel is in less than twenty-minutes and I must present these two commemorative curling brooms to Lady Aberdeen, but the damn Rolls won't turn over. Can you fix it?!!
This is a bed.
Scenes from the future # 37: Jeremy Clarkson's miserable retirement...
"It's got luxury upholstery and a full Bugatti radiator up front. But bugger me, there's just no oomph. If this car was a woman, I'd buy it a vibrator and go off down the pub with my mates..."
"Time for your medication Lord Clarkson."
Jeeves read and reread it - "Tender Loving Care... Tender Loving Care..." - as he repressed an urge force the scalding coffee pot up the old tyrants's jacksy and turn him on his head.
Good play, hillhunt. Good play.
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