squealing hot wench fun
My town holds an annual ye olde fayre where all of the local gentlefolk dress up in medeval garb, attempt to offload "authentic northumbrian craftwork" on to gullible tourists, get blind drunk, and, amongst other wholesome family entertainments, tie nubile young wenches clad in the flimsiest of material to a chair fixed to the end of a large beam then get several strapping local lads to "duck" her hard and repeatedly into a pool of freezing cold water, usually as penalty for some fabricated misdemeanour concocted for the howling crowd's fetid amusement.

All well and good. Anyway, one year i was standing in the market square watching such a "ducking" and the "Judge", having denounced some nervous vision of buxom glory as a witch, asked the crowd, as is custom, "shall we duck her?", "yeeeeeeeeessssss!" yells the crowd - again he asks, "shall we duck her??", "YEEEEESSSSSS!!!!" they bawled.

At which point I took it upon myself, in my defence oiled by two pints of Old Minge's Mind Wounder, to deliver what I thought at the time was a keenly observed yet universally interpellating riposte - in my best "bawling peasant #32c" I screamed, "BUUUURN HERRR ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVEE!!!!".

I was drunk enough to think this would at least get a good humoured titter, forgetting that this was the middle of a glorious summer's day, the majority of the market square thronged with the merry frolics of daytripping families - went appreciably quieter and, accompanied by the sound of children being suddenly held close to their mothers, turned their eyes toward me with a mixture of fear and suspicion...

...I stumbled off in silence and hid myself for a month.
( octopus footwear raaa, Wed 12 Apr 2006, 20:00, Reply)