Evening chaps! Weâll, re my last post entitled: âHow would a pervert re-enter polite society?â some of you may be familiar with my circumstance of having to move back with my family due to unfortunate consequences with the credit crunch. Naturally I have tried & failed to curb my nefarious enthusiasm for young ladies bottoms, which is now probably bordering on mental illnessâ¦ My endeavours have been mostly DIY focused, the marvel of having my own laptop provides infinite inspiration for such deeds. The ability to relieve oneself is quite desperate at times, with each passing day the new puppy with all its felicity & its long, salivating tongue, appears even more agreeable for the possibility of an output as the long winter nights draw in. Indeed, having far too much spare time can do strange things to a mans constitution, for one brief moment during my extended period of doing precisely nothing I feared for my society. I found myself in the lounge, wearing my old underwear & eating cheese on toast & also watching Trisha. For one terrible moment I thought Iâd become a chav fortunately I managed to turn the T.V. to the history channel just in time, thus saving me from disgrace & promoting me once more to the lofty heights of eligible bachelor. On a more relevant note, I was talking to my sceptic friend in the US Army the other day & he enlightened me about the wonders of the âwnak sockâ, which apparently provides a convenient location for the expended material to go once the happy moment is concluded. I however, think using old underwear is far more appropriate. Socks are quite rough on the more delicate parts of ones anatomy, whereas old underwear is often soft to the touch & is far more accessible for the hard to reach places where one may encourage vigour, the fact that theyâre soiled already means that you arenât tarnishing a new pair too! Unfortunately my overzealous action has resulted in my using only one pair of underwear for an entire 3 weeks of spaff. This has resulted in a marvellously encrusted set that can be held out level & yet not fold. Itâs taken on a beautiful tinge of gold & amber on some parts & resembles an old snail trail on others, a kind of masterpiece that even Mr Hurst would be proud to boast. Iâve also added another embarrassing stain of more ghastly reference due to a rather personal accident. I had been out celebrating the fact that some poor, deluded fool has finally decided to employ me in town, so decided to go on a jolly with my old school chums. The next day I was nursing a hangover of vodka/fosters/kourma & felt quite bloated. I decided to take care of the bloating in my own usual & charming way, albeit with rather startling & dramatic effect, the type of which I had not planned to become accustomed to until at least pension age... Now it is really something to behold, but I am unfortunately obliged to destroy this perpetually magnificent trophy least it should fall into respectable hands. Herein lies my predicament, to set fire to it would raise the alarm & suspicions of my neighbours. I could attempt to smuggle it downstairs & into the washing machine without being apprehended by mummy dearest et al, but I fear the material has been serviced to such an extent that the washing machine itself may suffer damage. The underwear will also probably never resemble anything wearable again. I suppose I could contemplate posting it to a certain young lady in Bromley But Iâd have stuff it into a letter & then into a postbox whilst covering the smell. It is a grave situation sirs, all the while I consider how to get rid of the offending material it lies beneath my bed festering & with a greater chance of being discovered, gentlemen I do not have much time... I have the honour to remain, &c. ~D.C.