One Of Their Cunts Smelt

One of their cunts smelt, putrid bitch. There was no mistaking it. I could smell it wafting around my nostrils, every so often, like passing clouds, that damp, musky, rank odour just passing over me, by me.

Did I have to bring in a flannel and some phenyl and order them to the ladies?

Was it Rachel, or was it Kylie? I so wanted it to be Rachel, all perfect on the outside, but rotten to the core, dripping out her fistula, but I suspect it was probably northern nuffy Kylie. It's usually the simpleton.

I wanted to say, take yourself away and wash your filth, woman.

I wondered if it was nylon panties across her red lips, excreting gunge. Or was it dirty knickers not washed, the reason for her shame. I know it's cold in the bathroom in the mornings, but you've got to wash that thing.

Of course, she looked quite happy, they say a dog can't smell it's own rancidness. Getting up with fleas, indeed.

The two slags huddled over the monthly figures and seemed to struggle.

They asked me to check the support company when it go to, now what was it, an hour past the first sign off for the monthly figures.

What do you think the effect on self proclaimed control freak Kylie would have been to me finding something like 20 mistakes? So many mistakes that needed to be fixed. Yeah, good call Rachel, this one is a keeper.

Kylie went home with a head ache, around 4pm after all the work was done, I guess, as a reward for her incompetence.

Maybe he nylons were wedge up her patootie?

It was good to get out of there, away from the dirty slags. (Can you pick that I don’t like them? Really? What gave it away?)

Sam worked late and when he got home the cover had blown off his sky light. He didn’t notice straight away, but as he is taking a leak he looked at the floor and wondered why it was wet? Then he looked up to see the lid to the skylight had blown off.

That gave me my first laugh for the day. Sad really.