TRUTH : LIES

When you go to the toilet...apologies for another poo related story, but you'd better get used to them because there are many more.

When you go to the toilet and lay down a really massive, solid log do you ever feel some kind of emotional loss? Like a sort of post natal depression. Like something from deep inside you is now missing. Something you nurtured from within is now ejected and fending for itself.
Do you ever hate that poo?

That's post fecal depression.

It eases....with time.

Posted by Dazza at 11:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Have you noticed that you can't even carry an innocent wrap of ketamine through the streets of Soho without getting barked at by the local drug dog?

Well don't worry, I've worked out how to get past these indescriminate, four-legged, law machines.

Get yourself a dog - or borrow one if you have to. Wrap your drugs in a condom or other such lubricated, waterproof recepticle. Now...carefully...insert the package into the dogs bottom.

When the sniffer dogs start nosing around your dogs bum the police will simply assume their well trained dog is lapsing back into normal dog behaviour and pull it away.

Now your only problem is retrieving drugs from an annoyed Alsation's bottom.

Posted by Dazza at 12:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)