Today, I explained Google images to my 81 year old mother, who is learning how to use the internet. "Pick anything to search for" I told her. "What about a nice cream pie?" She asked. "Except that." I replied.
My missus once google'd "brown spots on my morning glory". I was pissing myself to which she replied "it is a flower you know and why would you put pictures of that on the internet!"
so do we along with nipple, hose my former secretary used to titter away when typing this pipe terminology especially when you add male and female as required.
"Good King Boroslav looked out, On the night of grungers, Saw them wurdling round about, Armed with rubber plungers, Brightly shone their artefacts, Red their possets glowing, He knew not from whence they came, But 'e knew where they were going" "Reg Pubes, Reg Pubes you lent your great Nog- Rollock me fussett and grindle me nodes. And now my remains are in Ganderpoke Bog- with Len Possett, Tim Screevy, the reverend Phipps, Peg-leg Loombucket, Solly Levy, Ginger Epstein, Able Seaman Truefitt, Scottish Lil, Messrs. Cattermole, Mousehabit, Neapthigh and Trusspot, solicitors and Commissioners for Oaths, Father Thunderghast, Fat Alice, Con Mahony, Yeti Rosencrantz, Foo Tong Robinson and Uncle Ted Willis an' all- and Uncle Ted Willis and all" "Joe he was a young cordwangler, Monging greebles he did go. For he loved a bogler’s daughter, By the name of Chiswick Flo. Vain she was and like a grusset, Though her ganderparts were fine. But she sneered at his cordwangle, As it hung upon the line. So he stole a woggler’s moulie, For to make a wedding ring. But the Bow Street runners caught him, And the judge said-"he will swing". So they hung him by the postern, Nailed his moulie to the fence. For to warn all young cordwanglers, That it was a grave offence. There’s a moral to this story, Though your cordwangle be poor, Keep your hands off others moulies, For it is against the law....Ohhhh"
