Have you ever sent someone a picture of ytour winkle?

[Pokster]

We're toilet training my daughter and she did a shiite in her knick-knacks. Flushing them down the shítter seemed the best of a very, very bad range of options.

So you couldn't be bothered to put them in a bag and stick them in a bin.... FFS, you give parents a bad name

[Monty92]

Your domestic arrangements alarm me, m.

Mind you, this does remind me of a time when the main sewer that ran in an alley next to my old house had some issues and I called the water people. I was working at home at the time and a grubby little homunculus dressed in overalls of indistinct colour and dubious cleanliness came to the door to announce he was going to have a poke about as his calling demanded. "Jolly good," I said, backing away imperceptibly. "Crack on, there's a good fellow."
Half an hour later, he rang the doorbell again wielding a huge and filthy shovel which he jabbed towards me accusingly, saying: "THERE'S YOUR TROUBLE!"

On the shovel were a simply enormous pair of perished, shít-covered Y-fronts of ancient vintage.

"You can't flush things like that!" he continued. "No wonder you've got bloody trouble."
I pointed out hotly that the sewer served the entire street, that these were clearly not my Y-Fronts and that he needed to look elsewhere for the felonious flusher. "Pshaw!" he said (or similar), gave me the stinkeye and stalked off, muttering darkly.
A very distressing experience. I imagine he was one of h's chums. Indeed, when I think of h, I imagine this fellow.

I'm interested to know what it was about these presumably barely-identifiable pair of under-crackers that gave you the confidence to declare them "clearly not mine"?

Men who deal with this kind of stuff seem entirely unaware of how profoundly uninterested anyone else is about the mechanics of plumbing. A fella came round yesterday and insisted on taking me into the basement to point out all of the various pipes and which flats they belong to.

Still, at least he didn't rape me.

[Monty92]

So you couldn't be bothered to put them in a bag and stick them in a bin.... FFS, you give parents a bad name

It wasn't quite that simple. Trust me, on this occasion no deal was definitely better than a bad deal

[IUFG]

We're toilet training my daughter and she did a shiite in her knick-knacks. Flushing them down the shítter seemed the best of a very, very bad range of options.

I remember having to cut one of the kids out of their baby grow, in the bath, after their shíte started coming out of the collar of the grow...

Not once did I think about flushing the totally besmirched garment down the toilet.

M, you are a wrong 'un.
But we already knew that.

[redgunamo]

Your domestic arrangements alarm me, m.

Mind you, this does remind me of a time when the main sewer that ran in an alley next to my old house had some issues and I called the water people. I was working at home at the time and a grubby little homunculus dressed in overalls of indistinct colour and dubious cleanliness came to the door to announce he was going to have a poke about as his calling demanded. "Jolly good," I said, backing away imperceptibly. "Crack on, there's a good fellow."
Half an hour later, he rang the doorbell again wielding a huge and filthy shovel which he jabbed towards me accusingly, saying: "THERE'S YOUR TROUBLE!"

On the shovel were a simply enormous pair of perished, shít-covered Y-fronts of ancient vintage.

"You can't flush things like that!" he continued. "No wonder you've got bloody trouble."
I pointed out hotly that the sewer served the entire street, that these were clearly not my Y-Fronts and that he needed to look elsewhere for the felonious flusher. "Pshaw!" he said (or similar), gave me the stinkeye and stalked off, muttering darkly.
A very distressing experience. I imagine he was one of h's chums. Indeed, when I think of h, I imagine this fellow.

Have you been reading Wodehouse again? He's the only man that can use "pshaw!" and get away with it, imo.

[Luis Anaconda]

Have you been reading Wodehouse again? He's the only man that can use "pshaw!" and get away with it, imo.

Does Bertie say "pshaw" and Psmith use "shaw" I wonder

[Burney]

I'm interested to know what it was about these presumably barely-identifiable pair of under-crackers that gave you the confidence to declare them "clearly not mine"?

Men who deal with this kind of stuff seem entirely unaware of how profoundly uninterested anyone else is about the mechanics of plumbing. A fella came round yesterday and insisted on taking me into the basement to point out all of the various pipes and which flats they belong to.

Still, at least he didn't rape me.

Well
a/ They were Y-Fronts and I don't live in the 1960s
b/ Even when I was rather larger you could have fit two of me into this monstrous garment
c/ They'd been flushed down the lavatory and I am not the sort of man who flushes his underpants down lavatories.

[Burney]

Have you been reading Wodehouse again? He's the only man that can use "pshaw!" and get away with it, imo.

Merely my poor homage to the Master, of course. I couldn't possibly hope to emulate him in any meaningful sense.

[Burney]

Does Bertie say "pshaw" and Psmith use "shaw" I wonder

My favourite thing in the Psmith books is the way Mike Jackson at short notice pops to Lord's and knocks off a quick hundred. We've all been there.

[Herbert Augustus Chapman]

Ah, I have a question.

Since our boiler was serviced a few months ago, whenever we run the dishwasher or washing machine of an evening we get crazy loud gurgling sounds from the plug hole in our sinks and particularly the bath.

Your boiler, a gas fired heating device, has no connection whatsoever with your waste water removal pipes. Surely even a whining filthy workshy money lending heebie soft-hand like yourself can comprehend this. You have fallen for a spurious correlation.

Flushing knickers down the bog will almost always end in serious problems. The cotton, unlike tissue paper, does not dissolve and will almost certainly block your drain, partially at first, then fully as the rest of your waste material attaches itself to the knickers.

The correlation you may have noticed between the plumber's visit and your wife's fanny size increasing markedly is far from spurious and is a direct cause and effect phenomenon.