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There's always
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Ron said:
There's always
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My wife uses some site with huge numbers of these things Ron. No downloads though. I don't have the patience to deal with puzzles, yet I can sit outside for hours just staring at the world. It's fascinating watching the murder and violence in the insect world. Sometimes my good lady will rush outside as my shrieks split the air as I sit weeping and gnashing my teeth at the carnage those bastard ants inflict upon those the poor, defenceless caterpillars.

"Why don't you save them then?" I hear you ask, well I would but for the three foot chain that binds me to the chair bolted into the cement near the hole into which I'm allowed to urinate .... as long as nobody is walking by. I'm a bit upset at having to wait until I'm alone to piss though, but I suppose it's my own fault. Mrs. Robinson, my neighbour three doors up wasn't too pleased the other day when I asked her to hold my willy while I peed. But I had no choice, what was I supposed to do with the poor Witchetty grub I had cradled in my hands ... the one I'd just liberated from the vicious army of Fire ants. But I still like Mrs. Robinson. She's aged about 40 and has a shock of thick, black hair which washes down around her cute, toothless mouth. And there's something about the way she dresses that fascinates me. Maybe it's the way her thin, cotton frocks desperately cling to her as though in need of urgent gratification. If ever there was a woman of the Earth, it's Mrs. Robinson.

The lady now walks on the footpath on the other side of the road and nobody walks past in the evening, a time when I rejoice in sitting naked as the cool breeze washes over my exposed and generous nether regions.

Honestly, I don't know what the fuss is all about. I think everyone likes me ... except for those bastards who throw stones at me and call me hurtful names. To a lot of folk it might sound horrible having to spend most of my day sitting in the garden, but as I have one or two personal issues with my hygiene, I'm sure you'll all understand why my loved ones have taken to distancing themselves from me. I used to think they detested me, but now, I think, deep down, they really adore me, after all they feed me twice a day and put the hose on me to keep me cool on the hot Summer days.

Defecation is another thing all together though. One can't be allowed the luxury of a bowel movement in front of the public transport that constantly streams past our front yard, so when the need to squeeze one out arises, which happens at least once a week, (as you can see, I'm regular there) I pull on a string that leads to the gardener's quarters near the stables, and two groundsmen, Clutch Plate and Crowbar, bolt out and throw around me, one of those tarps they surround stricken horses with on race day. Once the deed is done, they generally mutter something in the order of. "You dirty little bastard" and quickly scurry out of sight. I have no idea what they have to whinge about, after all they're illegal aliens, although poorly paid, who are lucky enough, or should I say, who are blessed enough to live in the Lucky Country. They should be happy to have the opportunity to carry my foul smelling, fruit induced slush in the **** bucket.

But enough of that. I don't like jigsaws Ron, so please be more considerate about what you post in the future.
 
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Cyclonic said:
My wife uses some site with huge numbers of these things Ron. No downloads though. I don't have the patience to deal with puzzles, yet I can sit outside for hours just staring at the world. It's fascinating watching the murder and violence in the insect world. Sometimes my good lady will rush outside as my shrieks split the air as I sit weeping and gnashing my teeth at the carnage those bastard ants inflict upon those the poor, defenceless caterpillars.

"Why don't you save them then?" I hear you ask, well I would but for the three foot chain that binds me to the chair bolted into the cement near the hole into which I'm allowed to urinate .... as long as nobody is walking by. I'm a bit upset at having to wait until I'm alone to piss though, but I suppose it's my own fault. Mrs. Robinson, my neighbour three doors up wasn't too pleased the other day when I asked her to hold my willy while I peed. But I had no choice, what was I supposed to do with the poor Witchetty grub I had cradled in my hands ... the one I'd just liberated from the vicious army of Fire ants.

Mrs. Robinson now walks on the footpath on the other side of the road and now nobody walks past in the evening, a time when I rejoice in sitting naked as the cool breeze washes over my exposed and generous nether regions.

Honestly, I don't know what the fuss is all about. I think everyone likes me ... except for those bastards who throw stones at me and call me hurtful names. To a lot of folk it might sound horrible having to spend most of my day sitting in the garden, but as I have one or two personal issues with my hygiene, I'm sure you'll all understand why my loved ones have taken to distancing themselves from me. I used to think they detested me, but now, I think, deep down, they really adore me, after all they feed me twice a day and put the hose on me to keep me cool on the hot Summer days.

Defecation is another thing all together though. One can't be allowed the luxury of a bowel movement in front of the public transport that constantly streams past our front yard, so when the need to squeeze one out arises, which happens at least once a week, (as you can see, I'm regular there) I pull on a string that leads to the gardener's quarters near the stables, and two groundsmen bolt out and throw around me, one of those tarps they surround stricken horses with on race day. Once the deed is done, they generally mutter something in the order of. "You dirty little bastard" and quickly scurry out of sight. I have no idea what they have to whinge about, after all they're illegal aliens, although poorly paid, who are lucky enough, or should I say blessed enough to live in the Lucky Country. They should be happy to have the opportunity to carry my foul smelling, fruit induced slush in the **** bucket.

But enough of that. I don't like jigsaws Ron, so please be more considerate about what you post in the future.
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<laugh> Cyc back to his colourful best
 
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Some of our more recent members may not be aware of some of these masterpieces: They are in the main horse racing forum index but
not sure how many actually go there

The Cyclonic Collection Cyc, in his own inimitable style shares some of his masterpieces
The Bustino Collection Our resident breed expert feeds us with some informative articles
The Tamerlo Collection Tam takes us Down Memory Lane (Series)
 
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