h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Well, 3 weeks into a new job and I'm loving it. The Company is small and
friendly, most of the customers are small and friendly and the sales
targets are ridiculously small and friendly. Great fun.

But the car is decidedly not small and quite unfriendly. I've moved from
a trendy poseur environmentally-cuddly car to a planet polluting 4x4.
If you've never seen one, imagine a house brick. A
5ft tall, 12ft long housebrick that weighs over 2 tons. Imagine that
it's been laminated shiny black and four truck wheels have been nailed
onto the corners. That's a 4x4.

If this car was a person, it would be Johhny Vegas. Overweight, loud,
wobbly and with a drink problem. I've just checked my receipts and it's
got through £432 of Shell's Best Bitter in two weeks.

Which is appropriate, because I think this car was designed in an oil
tanker shipyard. It's heavy and ponderous and has a five mile turning
circle. This may explain why the speedo is calibrated in knots. You
don't so much turn corners in it as spin the wheel frantically whilst
screaming at Fletcher Christian to steer North Nor'East.

Inside is another story though. With the seats folded down you could
just about hold a five-a-side tournament in the back. In fact, I think
Ken Livingstone could save a few bob and stage the Olympics in a few
4x4's.

There's lots of shiny toys that us boys like. Sat nav, huge power
sunroof, leather seats, cruise control, trip computer and buttons
everywhere. Luvely Jubbly. But I missed a couple.

T'other night, me and the missus went for a curry. A Johhny Cash
special. Even as I was shovelling it in one end, the old Ring of Fire
was sending out smoke signals. As we got in the car to go home, my
stomach was doing it's impression of a Willy Wonka chocolate factory.
Lots of Oompah Lumpahs mixing and churning. Two miles down the M9, the
first fruits of their labours began with a very liquid sounding
emission. "Sorry Dear" says I as Mrs SWL glared at me through a
distinctly green haze.

Then I felt it. That dreaded awful moment that sometimes follows a fart.
The spreading heat in the nether regions. Oh my God, I'd followed
through. As I shifted in the seat, the embarrasment factor grew.
Consider the evidence - a hot curry, a churning stomach, a wet fart and
an uncomfortably warm & clammy bum. All the way home my mind was
frantically trying to work out a way of getting from the car to the loo
without the contents of my bum dripping all the way up the stairs.

Believe me, seatbelts are totally unnecessary in such a situation. It's
amazing the vice-like grip buttocks can exert when firmly clenched.

Once home, I made like Linford for the loo where I ripped off my
trousers and shreddies to find ... nothing. Confused, I hunted with the
aid of a mirror and hesitating fingers for the evidence of my backside's
misdemeanour but could find nary a blemish. Relieved, I went downstairs
where the missus was making coffee.

"That car might be ugly" she said, "but I really like the electric
heated seats".

My first Homer moment with my new car.

Re-posted to cope with the incomprehensible yikeser. I've removed the name of the car and used a more polite word for posterior.

Sheesh

Am I allowed to giggle irrepressibly?

TRiG.

Well, somebody tried to repress this entry earlier, so get yer giggling in quick

I think a similar thing has happened to me before actually - the fake follow-through thing I mean. These things must be shared, eh?

I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not Sure, there's the relief when you get home but there's the hours of embarassment to endure first.

I feel your pain mate. After weeks of nothing happening down below and things starting to move about now thanks to the op I've had a few worried moments meself

Only just read it - BRILLIANT.