Another trip to Cowbridge's worst residence

[Organ Morgan.]

Visited Sludge's grotto this morning. As ever he answered the door unshaven with his hair all over the shop dressed in his depressingly familiar tracky bottoms - stinking vest combo along with that permanently distant and somewhat bewildered expression on his visage that's exacerbated whenever he's indulged in puffing illicit substances.

Already there, sat on a living room chair, was Asquith (aka Bongo) his brother who's a right numbnut and, like Sludge, another Tory boy. It was sickening to hear them bicker over who's allegedly the greatest football club on the planet, Liverpool or Man Utd. "Robbing Scouse b'stards," Bongo pitched. "Dirty Manc scum," was Sludge's equally juvenile retort. Both are dedicated anti-vivisectionist's but not for any noble reasons as they want dangerous experiments to be conducted on Labour Party members instead of furry creatures.

While Sludge was distracted logging into dogging sites on his iPad, Bongo gave me a few knowing winks to indicate he was about to go on a wind-up. "Bruv," he said, "I know a real sort living near me who wants to meet you. She has a massive pair of bazookas on her." Sludge didn't stir; his gaze remained fixed on the screen and licking his lips. Bongo gave more info; her age, marital status and reputation as a nymphomaniac. But Sludge remained unmoved. Turning to me, Bongo asked: "isn't that right, Orgie, you've heard of her haven't you?" "Er, yes," I replied, "she is notorious for being a strumpet who has no boundaries." Sludge's head shot up, his eyes widened and the iPad was quickly ditched onto a stool. He looked at me for confirmation. "Really?" he asked in a desperate, beseeching voice. "It's true," I assured him, "and many have compared her thruppenny bits to beach balls."

"Fooking hell's bells!" he roared triumphantly when clambering to his feet. He didn't know what to do next such was his excitement until he threw both hands towards the ceiling. "Winner, winner, chicken dinner!" he cried deliriously. He then proceeded to do laps around the settee while using both elbows to imitate flapping wings while making horrid clucking sounds.

He didn't take kindly to Bongo revealing the truth. "Sit down you daft kent, we've been having you on," he told him. Sludge slumped back into his armchair to sulk for the next 15 minutes until we departed.

[SLUDGE FACTORY]

Juvenile nonsense again

I don't vote Tory and respect women , once I have trapped them

[life on mars]

Best read of the month .

Knowing that there's good folk still out there amongst this abyss of nothingness, is very warming indeed.