Working the bag.
Being an (almost) married father of two, I was starting to get fat and disgusting. So to try and recapture some of the vim and ginger of youth, I bought a big heavy punchbag and hung it in the garden. Battering the fuck out of it makes me feel vital and energised and oh-so-terribly manly, and fools me into thinking I’m still young and healthy.
When no-one’s around though, I like to pop into the garden and start reasoning with it. I stand there pleading and cajoling, asking why it’s being ‘like this’, before dramatically flinging myself into the air and landing in a heap. Then I scream “WHAT ARE YOU DOING MAN? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” or similar before jerking up and down convulsively as I’m kicked in the face and guts. I’ll eventually end up on my knees waving my arms in the air like in Platoon and softly moaning “noooooooo” as the final blow knocks me unconscious onto the grass.
Without fail though, I always jump up shouting “TIGER UPPERCUT!” and throw one last mighty wallop. This usually cocks up and I hit a tree or skin my knuckles or something, then I have to rush inside and hold my hand under the tap.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 3 May 2013, 9:47, 4 replies)

This cannot be doubted for honesty

( Harpago ¯\(°_o)/¯, Fri 3 May 2013, 9:51, closed)

I'm going to take a wild guess here and say it's in the garden because someone with a fanny went "You're not fucking putting that up in the house."

( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Fri 3 May 2013, 10:23, closed)

Nah, it was my choice.
Fucking about on the lawn doesn't hurt as much.
Also, far more room to practise my spinning bird kick.

( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 3 May 2013, 10:45, closed)

I always wondered what "bag shanking" was

(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 3 May 2013, 10:37, closed)

Vasectomy, innit.
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Fri 3 May 2013, 10:48, closed)