Sorry, I’m working, and that’s going to have to be the priority. The tawse story gets interesting, since it has sex, sound effects and reflections on how reality isn’t much like pornotopia, but it’s more fun to live in.
Anyway, watch this space. We’ll get under way, or weigh, later. I think under weigh was the original form, and had to do with weighing anchor before you can set sail; but the only thing I know about sailing ships is that if I were a ship’s captain in pornotopia, I’d be birching the cabin boy for, oh, stealing rum, when, after some especially frantic wriggling on the culpit’s part it turned out that the boy was a girl stowaway, who … (continued page 197 of the web)
Back to work, though, for me. I’ll get back to my story when I can come up for air.
You’re rambling, me hearty! The cabin doxy will be a-spreading poxy while you’re nose to le grindstone. We are eagerly awaiting your jolly rogering.
Speak for yourself Bellbird! I intend to be really naughty and walk the plank. Or lick it. Whichever presents itself plank-like first.
Well, I was born a rambling boy. Probably under a bad sign, too. It would’ve been one of those “you don’t have to be mad to work here … but it helps!” notices on the wall above my mother’s hospital bed. My mother claims that I saw that sign, grunted like a theatre critic – it was uncanny, she thought – bit the doctor, gummily, when he went to slap my arse and then tried to crawl back inside.
So, as you say, I ramble. Well, I’ve a long story to tell, and there’s no reason to go there directly. We’ll get there, but by the crinkly road.
I never did manage to take the word “plank” seriously as an alternative to “cock”. I certainly couldn’t say something like, “Lick my plank, girl,” with a straight face.
Still, the plank/cock useage would have livened up “Treasure Island”:
“Jim groaned with despair as he clung to the plank’s end. Long John was sure to withdraw the trembling wood any second, Jim knew, as surely as he knew he was about to get a soaking.”
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