How can I forget
I once had the misfortune to share a flat with a horrid bint by the name of Liz. She stank. Utterly reeked, showered once a week, washed her sheets once in the year I lived with her, drank a bottle of gin a night and frankly made our lives a misery.

But despite being perhaps the most unsanitary waste of sperm and eggs ever to spawn in Manchester, she was convinced she was god's gift to men and spent hours polishing nails, preening hair and took up to two hours to get ready for work in the morning.

So when she finally moved out of the flat, you can imagine our relief... although I was entrusted with sterilising the room she had vacated. Imagine my disgust to find a patch of grease two feet across, on the carpet in front of the mirror where she preened her corpulent, putrescent carcase for hours every day.

From that day on, she was known as Slugbitch, and never was there better proof that no matter how much you polish it, a turd is still a turd.
( Grouch would quite like his clients to stop being numptys, Thu 25 May 2006, 11:57, Reply)