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Ain't no way I'm gonna Walk my Labrador One day Gary Potts was ordered by his tyrant of a mother Anita Potts to walk his Labrador Jason/Bracken. Gary was furious and responded the only way he knew how. He got out his favourite felt pen - Shirley and covered his own face in childish scribble. He walked over to his mum and showed her his work. Anita was appalled at the actions of her balding son and embarked on revenge tactics. She rammed a Zanussi twin speed washing machine up her own arse and set it on the slow cycle. Gary felt the ramifications of this immediately as his pulse quickened and three of his eyes became dislodged from his magic gun rack. Gary knew he couldn’t compete with one of Anita’s famous four pronged attacks and consequently apologised and begged his mother to spare him the further 3 elements of her assault (especially the fourth one, which involved being turned into a shopping trolley and called Malcolm). Gary decided to play it safe and do as his mother asked - walk Jason/Bracken. Gary took the dog to all of the fashionable nightspots of Broughton (which is where Gary lives. More specifically, he lives at 14 Moorfield bank, Great Broughton, Cockermouth, Cumbria. So if any of you sad Internet gimps want to contact him and perhaps tell him what you think of his perverted appetite for young children - be my guest.) Even after walking the dog Gary felt sad, he hadn’t made love to any small boys for quite some time and to cap all that he was beginning to lose feeling in his pointing finger. Gary’s pointing finger was an important aspect in his life - after all, how else was he supposed to point at an injured crow in a tree or a particularly juicy cornish pasty in the baker’s window without his pointing finger? Gary was gutted and decided that the only way to salvage a shite day was to kill himself. He knew that humans could die through loss of favourite duvet so he began throwing it out of the window. The duvet was lost and Gary could feel the onset of the death symptoms. Unfortunately for Gary a goblin appeared out of his back garden, returned the duvet and punched Gary in the face. "I cant do anything right" moaned Gary who set off to scrub the mould from under his mothers armpit.
THE END
Remember, Gary Potts is a real person whose adventures can be found on these pages in the Future. Don’t forget to phone or write to him. Be a part of our campaign to taunt Gary Potts.
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