Drivin' In My Car

Here's a short story I sent to Tim Durant at Tits And Cars International. I reproduce it here for the ages ...

So there I was, minding my own bloody business, driving the XR3i at 100 mph whilst pissed out of my face on cider when Shirley (that’s the wife) reaches over and plants her tits in my face – completely obscuring the windscreen. Alongside those gigantic boobies and the cider, sensory deprivation was heightened by the 1,000,000,000 amp speakers in the back and afore I could bellow ‘MAX POWER!’ I’d slewed The Shark (that’s the car) into a crowd of naked supermodels and Shirley’s left tit exploded in a shower of silicon. Staggering from the wreckage I stumbled straight into (and straight up) one of the supermodels. “Oi!” bellows Shirley, extricating her shattered mammary from the remains of the ‘Scort, “Get your bleedin’ ‘ands off my boyfriend’s parts, you bleedin’ slag!” (Shirley’s from the ‘lower orders’ and when she isn’t pregnant, ripped to the tits on speed or shoplifting, she’s stealing brown ale form Netto or burning down off-licences that refuse to swap cigarettes for sexual favours). “My sweet,” shouts I, “I’m badly bruised and this lady ‘ere was merely massaging life back into my trousers … ahem.” Shirley fixed me with her most withering stare ,”I want a divorce you feevin’ bleeder,” she mutters, adjusting her knickers, “And I’m keepin’ the Sat-Nav.” “Over my dead body you bloody witch!” I bellow, coming at her with the sharp-end of a fanny-hammer I’ve just found in one of the supermodels, “I’ll eat my own arse before I let you ‘ave that fucking navigation system, d’you hear?” Shirley finds a rock and throws it straight at me – inexplicably hitting me on the arse despite the fact I’m facing her. “You come anywhere near me and I’m callin’ the law!” she thunders, squirting her intact tit, spattering my battered face in hot milk (Oh Christ she’s pregnant again!), “Have at you!” she cries. “My God but I love you woman!” I shout, making a grab for her thighs. “I know Dave, I know,” she whispers. I look into her gimlet eye, “My name’s not Dave …?” says I.

It was the worst day of my life.