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Attitude Competition for October


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I've never od'd on edibles but my mother in law did once :ouch:

She used to come round the house when we were at work to do the ironing, hoovering and nose about a bit. On this occasion her nose took her to the biscuit tin where she found some slightly green, home made chocolate bicuits. She took the biggest one.

When I got home from work I was surprised to find the hoover in the garden in several pieces and the door left unlocked. In the house the half done ironing was left out, as was the board and iron, not her usual method.

An hour later we got the phone call. The father in law rang in a panic to tell us he's taking her to hospital, but she's demanding to see her daughter before she goes. We asked whats wrong and he explained her blood pressure was really low, she was slurring her words and couldn't get off the couch and was waffling about biscuits. He refused her pleas for food and water in case they needed to operate, thinking she'd had a stroke. I told him we'd be straight over and then recognised the symptoms. I checked the tin and realised what had happened and we sped off to meet our fate.

We arrived with orange juice and mars bars to find her horizontal on the recliner. "I think she's had stroke, she keeps saying her head feels like a sponge, she can't feel half her face, she says her mouth is full of cotton wool and she's speaking gibberish" said our worried, drug hating father in law. Out of nowhere our patient sat up a bit and started air ironing with her eyes shut. Then she drowsily started talking about how I've got ink on all my cuffs and what a mucky pup I am. She's reliving her afternoon in front of us. Then she starts miming how she took the hoover apart as it sounded strange, then started air driving her car home, talking about reservoirs, road junctions and impatient drivers. So FIL says thats it, I'm taking her to the hospital. Charlie, I say, we're not going to the hospital I know whats wrong with her. She's stoned. She doesn't take drugs, he said, and she mumbled I don't smoke no wacky baccy then started giggling. No, but you eat biscuits don't you! Yes, she said, lovely home made choccy pop biscuits and started giggling again. With that, Charlie, who we thought was going to go off the rails started laughing like a lunatic with relief, so did she and so did we. "I can't wait to tell the neighbours, he said. They'd popped around earlier to find her lying on the floor laughing and ignoring them, gibbering about ironing. We plied her with juice and sugar and took her bed, where she slept like the dead for 19hrs.

We still don't know how she drove home, nor how she took 45 mins to do a 15 min journey, nor why there were any reservoirs on her way :unsure:.

Moral of story. Don't eat my fucking biscuits.

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and seeing as i talk so much shit ,sometimes it needs to be amplified

butt-singer.jpg

If you swapped the microphone for a pack of cotton wool then this morning I would look something similar to that scene.

Picture this if you will. Yesterday was the beginning of the new week and I had a spring in my step. A couple of coffees later and off I went down to the gg patch and do some prep, working in the compost and digging deeper holes.

Following that I carried on with a bit of building work, filling the wheel barrows with sand and lugging it around. It was a good day and I had little smoke with my lunch. I finished the j at tea, then at some point I over did it, I felt a twinge at the top of my leg. I jokingly mentioned to my friend that I had pulled a bum muscle, though deep down I was fearing the worst. This didn't feel like any ordinary glute strain.

I thought I was in my prime, I really shouldn't be getting piles at my age, this is every pregnant woman's nightmare. It bloody hurts and also leaves a bruised ego, to boot. In my search for a remedy I came across a website giving metaphysical reasons for medical problems. It claimed that the cause is a fear of deadlines and a build up of anger in your past. Well that cut a little too close to the bone, let me tell you.

Just now I've been ruefully pondering my anger, resentments and fear of deadlines, whilst I gingerly dabbed at my knot. I used a watered down concoction of witch hazel and lavender oil. Very soothing stuff indeed. Last night, as I lay there like a dying fly, I was considering using a tray of ice to quell the fire. It was that bad.

Please think of me tonight as I make a bucket of comfrey tea. It's not for the garden because I will be gently lowering my self into it to soak my Nobby Styles. If anyone has tips on pelvic floor exercises, now would be a great time to post them.

Maybe this morning I didn't have the spring in my step, but at least my farts are smelling nice.

Edited by Sidi Hidi
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Hi, my name is Olive and my dad says if he doesn't win anything in this competition then he's going to throw me down a well. Do you want that on your conscience? Do you? Look at this face and then imagine it at the bottom of a well, could you really live with yourself?

So please, pretty please with sugar on, press that like button.

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My daughter wrote this last year and it has remained pinned on my fridge ever since :

(Exactly how it was written)

"I wish that poepole were frenlyer and every one be good and kind to each uther"

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