Blythswood return to Chiang Mai for tournament number 16 looking to maintain their 3 year unbeaten run - a record the Bangla Boys would be proud of !
Unlike years past, the 2023 squad is focused on quality rather than quantity and sees 5 tour virgins in the final not so magnificent seven team with many regulars being jettisoned by the ruthless selectors for the final cut.
This year's official tyre sponsors include: Burger King, Papa Johns, Birra Moretti and Stella Artois
Now Baxter is one tight bastard and as times are tight and he loves to get value for money, he makes sure he has an erection when he goes to the sunbed to achieve maximum tanning coverage for his cash. But it turns out that walking into the sunbed shop with an erection harder than trying to read a dyslexic Dutchman’s shopping list is frowned upon at best.
When he was 15 and dog sitting for a family down the street. They left the dog out in back garden in the middle of the Perth Summer and the thing looked miserable. He let the dog into the house and then he thought: “As the house will be empty for a week, why don’t I pop into the master bedroom and empty the content of the wife’s knickers drawer?” He then spent the rest of the week in the master bedroom in a pile of the wife's panties that he took from her underwear drawer, just furiously jacking off and shooting hot ropes of cum everywhere. He had to trash a few pairs of her underwear because they were fully glazed with Gentleman’s Relish. He used their little bottle of red lube called Joy Jelly that he found in her drawer. After a few days of that he put all her underwear back, replaced the now two-thirds-empty bottle of lube and got the fuck out of Dodge. Baxter is almost positive the wife knew as he was never asked to dog sit again.
During the 1990’s he was a teacher at a private preparatory school in the outback. He installed hidden cameras in the changing rooms so he could watch the boys to make sure there was no bullying or horseplay in the showers. A story he tells to this day after spending five years in the pokie after he was caught. Ask him about his six foot five cellmate Stanley who kind of ruined his back box.
Browny likes nothing better than heading off to the Marquis of Bath’s Safari Park at Longleat. Before going he will get naked, cover himself in glue and nip into the local barber’s shop and stick offcut human hair all over himself. At Longleat he will then clamber over people’s cars, waving his arse in their faces, pull the rubber trim off their windscreens and shit on the back of their windows. He loves his day’s out at Longleat.
He is known in his area as the guy that likes to sit on his local park bench and drink copious amounts of the strongest lager he can find. Whilst performing said function last week, a genie appeared and offered him 3 wishes. He wished to be sick, become incontinent and get arrested. Imagine his surprise the next morning on waking up in a police cell to find that all 3 wishes had come true. Shit smeared on the walls, piss and puke everywhere and a charge for breach of the peace.
Whilst passing through London last Sunday, Browny visited a pole-dancing bar at 11 in the morning despite having already just wanked off twice to a sex telephone line in his Ibis hotel room. He wonders, can anyone else boast a a less religious start to the Lord’s day? He was spotted one Sunday morning collecting his dog’s excrement and taking it home with him. Jesus Christ, I shudder to think what his other hobbies are. Ask him if you dare.
Langy is a fiend for porn and is always cranking one off whenever he gets the chance. The last hotel he stayed at did not have Wi-Fi in his room, it was only available in the hotel foyer. Imagine the guests surprise when he sat on the sofa in the lobby, trousers down to his ankles, laptop open and him spanking one out. He has been kicked out of hotels many times as he has a penchant for exposing himself to housemaids when they come to clean his room. Make sure you are not staying in the same hotel as this filthy bastard.
Langy recently discovered that women like to hover when they are having a wee in the women’s public toilets. He found out that women’s urine has found its way onto the seat when they are having a wee. He now has a shit whilst sexually excited by sitting in women’s urine and of course he as to march the penguin to keep his hand in. Such a man is described as a draining board teabag and he takes pride in this title. Talking of toilet behavior, Langy loves to play top dumps. Whenever he has an urgent need to pass a motion and departs post haste to the cubicles in the hope that the previous occupant had failed to fully flush his faeces. He spots one and immediately thinks; “Call that a turd? I’ll show it a proper crap!” He sits down and drops a humungous sticky load onto the previous incumbent’s pathetic poo. This unusual, disturbing and somewhat disturbed behavior is known as top dumps.
Langy loves to engage in self-abuse and one of his favourites is the danger wank. This entails him shouting to his parent’s downstairs and then he tries to blow his tanks before they get to his bedroom. A very dangerous spurt for an adrenalin jizz-junky. I honestly do not have a clue what you could talk about if you ever engage him in conversation.
Lovey used to be a priest but due to an unfortunate incident he has since resigned. Entirely without warning his flaccid member’s foreskin suddenly retracted, exposing his bellend. This was most irritating, as it rubbed uncomfortably against the inside of his cassock and refused to return itself. He had to pause during the funeral he was conducting in order to reach under his gown to replace his prepuce manually. The Bishop on hearing the news was going to relocate him to a less salubrious inner city parish. He thought, fuck it, I will become a male prostitute. He now sells his arse for a 100 quid a pop in Soho, genuflecting before he treats some lucky customers to his oral delights.
Lovey was kicked out from his grandmother’s 40th wedding anniversary recently. He describes it thus. I performed the “Elephant” which is a penile puppetry diversion. An amusing and charming simulacrum (An image or representation) of the popular grey-skinned, gampstand-footed pachyderm achieved using a chap’s generative member and my pocket linings pulled inside out. A great way to break the ice at parties or, indeed to get yourself placed on the sex offenders’ register. At least the sister and her annoying kids do not visit at Christmas anymore.
Lovey also enjoys women and his usual get out phrase in the morning is, “got cricket at ten thirty,” his Sunday morning escape phrase to be used when his beer goggles demist to reveal that he has not copped off with a beautiful bird with big tits but with her grandmother Blanche instead, who has a fanny like a wizard’s sleeve. Works especially well when the cricket season is actually in progress.
When a man loves a woman, can't keep his mind on nuthin' else" crooned Percy Sledge during the summer of 1966. Maso would have to disagree, as during sexual intercourse with his wife he routinely thinks about his next door neighbour Brenda and her border collie Bobbie. Once he has finished with the missus, her face is left looking like a house painter’s radio after he has covered her coupon with his gushing daddy sauce.
Maso reckons that playing with his wife tits will make them bigger, the wife is not so sure but he insists it will. Mind you he is 64 and the wife is 22, so who would not like a bit of that action. Two hours a night he plays with her mutts to test out his theory. The wife does not think there is any truth in it and she really wouldn't mind her fun bags having a rest.
Maso is Putney’s last Pied Piper and he piped his last pipe on Thursday. Normally he can attract a lot of big breasted Chinese grandmothers when they have a toot on his man flute, but he says there is not the enthusiasm for it these days. He was stung by an attempt to upend him in 1999 when south London wigger “The One Eyed Vomitting Womb Ferret” started oral piping without a licence only yards from his marketplace piping spot. The wigger later choked to death in a barrel of women’s breasts and what an unlucky bugger he was. Surrounded by women's tits he choked on his fucking thumb. What a way to go.
As an aside, Maso keeps a cricket bat by his bed in case a burglar breaks into his house during the night and throws a cricket ball at him. Come and visit and he will regale you with stories about his new Satsuma Castanet XR4 Turbo. “It’s more than just a car, it’s a fanny magnet. Drive one and you’ll never sleep alone again.”
Rodders has an argumentative family life. His wife says he is a drunken bastard for coming home at 3 in the morning and pissing in the wardrobe. He reckons she is a lazy cow who never makes any effort to look nice, and if she gave him a bit now and then he would not have to go looking for it elsewhere. To prevent accusations of being impolite or discourteous in the bedroom all he has to do is simply say “excuse me love, would you mind passing me the fanny,” to the missus. Works every time. I was wrong, he tried it and all I can say is that whoever said what goes up, must come down has clearly never had a milk bottle stuck up their arse. Sorry mate.
Rodders was really big into astrology but now he has second thoughts. You see, his girlfriend is and Aries and she has got tits like two small rough pancakes on an ironing board. Meanwhile, her younger sister, who is also an Aries has got the biggest pair of paps he has ever seen. Figure that one out, astrologers. Bastards! But he consoles himself with his collection of more than a 1000 Turkish adult videos as he has another tug of war with the Cyclops.
Rodders now has a job in Camden Town as a traffic warden and last week I read that he was attacked whilst working. Motorists would do well to remember that while receiving a parking fine is inconvenient and annoying, parking inspectors are only doing their jobs. Mind you, it’s a prick’s job and only pricks would want to do it. Yes he is the number one in that category.
Scotty was told to only eat mince because his mother told him it was the only meat that the butcher could not interfere with sexually. In saying that, he once worked in a butcher’s shop and whilst it is true that other sorts of meat are easier to interfere with sexually - chickens, turkey crowns and sausages for example - he knows it is not impossible to molest mince. It can be moulded into a variety of shapes (for example vagina, mouth, anus etc.) or his particular favourite, simply masturbated into, then mixed up a bit. Talking of which, he has eleven photo albums containing numerous photos of him masturbating into Newhaven Harbour. He will sell them for 500 Baht, but be warned they will not separate, even when steamed.
In his business as a professional toilet seat sniffer he does find it difficult to keep secretaries. Scotty finds they have no loyalty to him as an employer. They take his pay cheques, drink his coffee and use his phone, but the minute he tries to give them a quick bonus behind the filing cabinet, they go straight to the police. His favourite place for seat sniffing is in pubs. He was in one recently and it was immaculately clean and fresh smelling and a sign on the door read “Please leave this toilet as you’d expect to find it.” He smeared shit on the walls, pissed on the seat, burst the lock and fucked off with the bog roll. Pop over and visit this classy gent when you have a spare bit of time.
Since early childhood, Charlie has always been fascinated by the idea of breeding a human/chimpanzee hybrid. Such a mongrel, combining as it would the intelligence of Homo sapiens with the strength and agility of Pan troglodyte’s would certainly be a force to be reckoned with. He presently works in the canteen at Richmond Safari Park, so access to chimps isn’t a problem. What he wants to know is, should he bang a female chimpanzee to get it pregnant or should he get one of the males to do his missus? Decisions, decisions! Charlie let a male chimp give the missus a good seeing to and she got pregnant off one of the monkeys. He was very excited about his new hairy daughter Mary, but unfortunately it wasn’t a great success. He took her for a walk in the woods one day and she scampered up a tree and he never saw her again. You will know him by the pained expression on his face and him uttering the words: “Where are thou my hairy Mary?
Every December Charlie announces to his family that he shan’t be celebrating Christmas this year as he has turned Jewish. In case they demand evidence, he has his foreskin chopped off. He keeps it in a bag of peas in the freezer and gets it sewn back on in January. It’s a horrible and agonising ordeal to go through every year, but it’s preferable to spending Christmas with his extended family, particularly his brother-in-law Reg, who is an utter knob end.
Lock up your daughters, Dread is back in town the old Vaseline glove ready for some gladhanding. Dread has opened a parking spot outside his front door, and he faced an angry mob last week. His sister Thumper who is the Director of Controlled Parking Zones, was crumbling under the weight of noisy opposition to the proposed parking increases when Mayor Dread stepped in. Asked to justify why the cost of one hour’s parking had gone from £1.20 to £370, Thumper hardly had time to draw breath when Dread took to his feet. “I’ve been to the moon you know,” he told the group.
Folk started pelting him with tins of beans and to keep the mob settled he told them: “Going to the moon is a unique experience,” he told the crowd. “And I’d like to do it again. In fact, I’d go there every day if I could.”
Dread had to urinate and defecate in his own clothes during his unique experience, describing the moon as “A beautiful place. Miles of golden beaches full of hundreds of little moon people. I was only there for a few hours, and I brought some chocolate back.”
Now that we are questioning the poor man’s sanity it would be wise to mention that Dread is a big fan of fecal smearing and tugging the porridge gun. In fact, it was only last week that the poor man was banned from life from Wetherspoon’s for burping the worm into an old dear’s milk stout. Dread trudged home only to meet misfortune yet again. Two girl guides came calling at his door requesting a glass of Vimto. While Dread was out of the room, his pet parrot, Potatoes, recited his bank details, PIN number and where he kept his savings book to the con girls. Dread, who had taught the details to the bird in case he ever forgot them, was said by police to be in a state of never thinking that this sort of thing would happen to him. Also, he strangled the parrot and sold it to a taxidermist for a fiver.
Now that Dread is £5000 worse off, pop over to see him and buy some moon chocolate for £100 a bar.
Jenny has a T-shirt that is possessed by evil spirits. Whenever he puts it on he always does wicked things. One time whilst wearing it he scratched the words Big Dog’s Cock on his neighbour’s car with a screwdriver. Another time with it on he pulled up all his bedding plants, pissed into the fishpond and then shagged the neighbour’s dog. It was in the wash when he pushed dog shits through his letterbox but it was obviously still exerting its malign influence from the tumble dryer.
Not many people know this, but Jenny was brought up by a family of Spacehoppers, yes, the rubbery bouncy ball thing with handles. He had gone missing from home when he was at a party. He was upset as his mother smacked the back of his legs for hiding minted lamb burgers and a bowl of tossed salad in a goldfish pond. He hadn’t been seen since. It now seems that he had been adopted by Spacehoppers. He had been running wild with them in the local area, scavenging for scraps of food and scaring foxes or badgers. What are the ones with the stripes? It is unsure if he will ever lose his residual orange glow but it does make him instantly recognizable. Jenny still shows sign of feral aggression, so be careful when you approach him because he has already bitten six people for refusing to ride him round and round the local school playground.
In order to impress on a 1st date, he took a lady friend out for a drink and a curry. Back at his place, a two-in-a-bed romp ensued. In the morning, he slipped out of bed to evacuate an enormous fart that had brewed up. To muffle the sound, he used her dress. The fart was a controlled blockbuster, but as he went to replace her dress he discovered that he had followed thorough badly. Jenny wants to know can anyone recommend a good Indian restaurant whose food will not have this effect on his bowels? Also, he needs a good lonely hearts section in the local newspaper. Any recommendations welcome.
Jens is back. Jens does not realise that he is the product of brother marrying sister but I would have thought having 12 toes and 2 thumbs might have given the game away. Mind you he says the wanking is extremely pleasurable. While passing through London last Sunday he visited a pole-dancing bar at 11 in the morning despite having already just wanked off twice to a sex telephone line in his Ibis hotel room. Can anyone boast a less religious start to the Lord’s day?
Jens works at a restaurant and the toilet is so small that he can easily reach the sink while sitting on the toilet. In fact, he saves precious time by washing his hands at the same time as he is “Taking the Brown's to the Super Bowl”, leaving him free to simply wipe and get back to the kitchen for another challenging shift.
Jens had to get a boat to the sixes as he has been a very naughty boy. He has thirty-five million air miles for sale at only 700 quid. It is a reluctant sale, but he has been banned from flying after getting drunk and threatening to glass an air hostess while he was supposed to be landing the plane or something. Yes, our Jens was an airline pilot, but now he is reduced to working in the Three-Legged Cowboy cooking food with culinary grace for customers of a rather dubious bent.