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Because of her disfigurements like acne, vibration white finger, and pontoon eyes (one sticking whilst the other twists), Pats romantic possibilities and encounters have always been a heated source of debate.
Her first foray into the realm of hetrosexual love, came during a tiring night jay-clothing massage beds at a working mans brothel in north Halifax. After covering her cloth in more stains than the Turin Shroud, Pats was taking a well earned fag break in a cloakroom cupboard that was well cordoned off from the paying public, in order to stop them being scarred witless. As she sat there trying to figure out why burgers don’t moo like cows, a hand reached in groping for a coat, yet which suddenly grabbed her left breast. As the sexual feelings surged in her loins, Pat felt she’d found the first man, although probably blind, who was interested in her. This could mean a kind of Frankenstein marriage and demon, god-forsaken children. Basically, a future! Unfortunately for our likeably grotesque simpleton though, after 30 seconds of fumbling, the confused drunk outside the door, was sick on his shoes and slumped to the floor in a drunken stupor.
Following this heart-wrenching disappointment, Pats tried to explore promiscuity, although with her looks, she was lucky at times to find sex-toys that’d fancy her. She did manage to occasionally attract the interest of men, but these were usually stoned Gypsies who’d come into town with the fair, and were used to dealing with freaks. She did ultimately lose her virginity to one of these wastrels though, but only after she’d give him her £15 life-savings and first option on tarmacing her drive. No, it seemed as though Pats was forever to be the bridesmaid rather than the bride or, more accurately, the pseudo-woman at the minicab office that was used to ferry the guests to the reception.
As time moved on though, Pats did find a degree of company through Just Chat and other interweb hang-outs for the criminal and alienated, but Love still eludes her.
For these reasons it’s really important that chatters on here support our Halloween poetry bash for Pats, “A Mong not a Monster” where, if enough money is thrown into the collection bucket, we might be able to afford a copy of PlayGirl for her.:lol: :lol: :lol:
how funny (in a wierd way) :shock: :lol:
Stick some glasses on it and its PATS better looking twin.
@anita Gofradump wrote:
Stick some glasses on it and its PATS better looking twin.
Correct me if I’m wrong people but doesnt it look more like Anita trying unsuccesfully to have another crap?
:lol: :lol:
@fastcars wrote:
@anita Gofradump wrote:
Stick some glasses on it and its PATS better looking twin.
Correct me if I’m wrong people but doesnt it look more like Anita trying unsuccesfully to have another crap?
Dont you have some gay morris dancing club to attend or something you sad old people do on sundays.
Talking of gay….. “anita”
@antjive wrote:
Because of her disfigurements like acne, vibration white finger, and pontoon eyes (one sticking whilst the other twists), Pats romantic possibilities and encounters have always been a heated source of debate.
Her first foray into the realm of hetrosexual love, came during a tiring night jay-clothing massage beds at a working mans brothel in north Halifax. After covering her cloth in more stains than the Turin Shroud, Pats was taking a well earned fag break in a cloakroom cupboard that was well cordoned off from the paying public, in order to stop them being scarred witless. As she sat there trying to figure out why burgers don’t moo like cows, a hand reached in groping for a coat, yet which suddenly grabbed her left breast. As the sexual feelings surged in her loins, Pat felt she’d found the first man, although probably blind, who was interested in her. This could mean a kind of Frankenstein marriage and demon, god-forsaken children. Basically, a future! Unfortunately for our likeably grotesque simpleton though, after 30 seconds of fumbling, the confused drunk outside the door, was sick on his shoes and slumped to the floor in a drunken stupor.
Following this heart-wrenching disappointment, Pats tried to explore promiscuity, although with her looks, she was lucky at times to find sex-toys that’d fancy her. She did manage to occasionally attract the interest of men, but these were usually stoned Gypsies who’d come into town with the fair, and were used to dealing with freaks. She did ultimately lose her virginity to one of these wastrels though, but only after she’d give him her £15 life-savings and first option on tarmacing her drive. No, it seemed as though Pats was forever to be the bridesmaid rather than the bride or, more accurately, the pseudo-woman at the minicab office that was used to ferry the guests to the reception.
As time moved on though, Pats did find a degree of company through Just Chat and other interweb hang-outs for the criminal and alienated, but Love still eludes her.
For these reasons it’s really important that chatters on here support our Halloween poetry bash for Pats, “A Mong not a Monster” where, if enough money is thrown into the collection bucket, we might be able to afford a copy of PlayGirl for her.:lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:
@sweetass wrote:
Pats flavour of the week then :?: :wink: :P
seems that way lol. :lol:
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