A quick reminder that the Make Mrs Duck Laugh competition closes in one week. Send anything - your original work only please - that you think will make the lovely Mrs Duck crack a smile to firstname.lastname@example.org, and you could win a spanking new copy of the Viz Profanisaurus, plus one or two bonus prizes that have since fallen into my possession.
Little Johnny’s late for school again, and sidles into the classroom just before lunch.
“Oh, Johnny!” cries the teacher, “This is the third time this week.”
“Sorry I’m late miss,” he replies, “But my dad got burnt this morning.”
“Oh, not too badly I hope?” asks the teacher, suddenly losing her anger.
“They don’t fuck about at the crematorium, miss.”
Your favourite Duck is in print again with the publication of Boxer Shorts Redux - a collection of short stories supporting the bandwidth costs for the extremely funky Wil Wheaton Dot Net. This time around the lovely Thumper has allowed me two pieces; the first being a work of fiction that you will not have seen before, and the second - rounding off the book - comprises three of my favourite Scary Stories, including a reworking of the class “PiSS”.
The book is available HERE, at the cost of USD 13 for American orders, and the equivalent of GBP 11 for orders to the UK & Europe. Or you could just wait for it to turn up on Amazon.
Within the next few days, my counter - started at the end of September 2002 - will roll over the 200,000 mark. Will it be you? You know you want it. Keep hitting that F5 button and it could well be! Thank you for your support, I shall wear it always.
Can’t you see I’m burning, burning?
I went for a return visit to the doctor’s surgery this week.
“So, Mr Duck,” asked Dr Blunt, “How are you coming along with the medication?”
“Fine, fine, fine,” I replied, trying to look well, but not too well to be denied a repeat prescription.
“Any side effects?”
“Yes. Constant fatigue, short term memory loss and ...err... something else.”
“Ah yes. Lack of sex drive. The dog’s had it, the little bastard.”
And while we’re on the subject of masturbation, here’s a “big up” to His Royal Highness Prince Charles, Prince of Wales and Duke of Cornwall.
“So, ...err... how long have you been playing the oboe then?”
Not that there's any truth in these ludicrous and risible allegations, at all. Whatever they are. We blame Popbitch.