Dave: Where’ve you been chief? Why haven’t you got a shirt on?
Mark: I’ve been down the park looking for blokes to scrap with. LIKE A MANLY BLOKE! WALLOP! It’s fucking cold out there though. Check my nipples one time. It’s like I’ve got two engorged clitori on my chest. Which is apt, because all the ladies were all engorged when they saw me with no shirt on being all manly down the park. WALLOP!
Mark: I can’t I’m all pent up and frustrated. Aside from yours and mine, I haven’t seen any tits in fucking ages.
Dave: That reminds me; I had a great idea for breast enlargement without surgery earlier. I’m thinking of fucking off to the patent office instead of doing the show today.
Mark: Sounds exciting chief. You gonna clue me into it? I won’t nick it, I’m far too lazy to be arsed.
Dave: I know that chief. What I was thinking is that the ladies would pay a really tall bloke like Peter Crouch or something to walk around behind them, arms outstretched as high as the lanky fucker can get them In each hand they’re holding a chain; at the bottom of the chain, perfectly positioned to hang in front of the lady’s own inadequate charms is a bauble shaped like a breast. The woman will be able to select the size shape and colour and everything. What do you reckon?
Mark: I think you’ve basically stolen Reeeve’s and Mortimer’s diet board idea and twisted into an excuse to think about breasts. How are you going to make any money out of this? Surely the woman would just give her money to Peter Crouch? Admit it, you just wanted a legitimate excuse to go to the patent office and talk about tits again. What was that last idea you went up there with? Tit cricket?
Dave: Basically you go to a crowded place filled with girls, a club or busy pub and try to feel up their tits. It’s one run for a casual or accidental brushing of the tits, four runs for grabbing one tit and for six runs you go for a full on grope of both fun bags. Ahh, tits, freckled tits...
Mark: It's a Bisto moment for sure. But you took that to the patent office? Fucksakes Dave. You’re welcome to go to the patent office instead of doing the show; what you just said is well racist. You’re fucking suspended.
*Credit where it's due. Written in collaboration with Sir David Halfpenny MBE. So once again, if you don't like it, write to that cunt.*
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