keeping mum

by

** Click here for Episode 116 **

A few of you have actually written in to complain that we’re no longer swearing enough for your liking, and that this must be symptomatic of us selling out or going soft. We assure you, this is not the case. We have merely passed the foul-mouthed baton onto you lot instead, as illustrated by the following charming stories inspired by Simon from Oxford‘s question in Episode 114. Like proud parents, we present the progress of Jim from Tewkesbury:

I’m a regular sort of middle-class guy from a regular sort of middle-class area. I have a regular sort of office job, with regular sorts of colleagues. I have invested many hours crafting a veneer of respectability through working diligently with a polite and helpful attitude.

This has served me well when offering dry remarks with my trademark deadpan delivery, as I have retained what I call, “the shock factor”. Perhaps once a month someone will turn to me agog at my latest crude/clever (usually crude) remark.

Following a recent constitutional along the prom whilst listening to your recordings, I found myself with a powerful new tool at my disposal, and the next day I used it to devastating effect with no thought for the consequences. I started an argument with a colleague just so I could deliver the premeditated closing line, “When can I fuck your mum again?” My victim was shocked beyond my wildest hopes.

Well done, Jim, you obtuse-minded cussbox. Let’s see how Steve from Cheltenham compares:

This Sunday my girlfriend and I drove past several lone magpies, which we consider to be bad luck. We both salute the magpies and wish that their wife and child were well, which is supposed to break the curse.

I was thinking to myself, “Fuck magpies, I’m sick of this saluting them bullshit, they are just birds”. It was the third magpie we passed that instead of saluting, I wound down the window and shouted, “When am I next going to fuck your mum?” The magpie didn’t respond, but later that evening our landlord called and said that we’d have to be out of our house by Christmas because he wanted to sell it.

p.s. the guy that first told me that magpies were bad luck (when I was about 14) he drowned, which fucked his day up a treat.

I think we’ve all learnt something from this; I’m just not sure what.

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