Dirty Doris

Haven’t had much creek money for a while. As you well know, I love creek money. It bobs into my life in such a jaunty way that it would be shameful to spend it on anything other than the purely frivolous. Beer bought with creek money tastes better than ordinary beer, as do Chocitos and works burgers (BBQ sauce but no pineapple, thanks). So imagine my pleasure at seeing this little Placido float past the other day.


Nice as it is, a tenor (boom boom) isn’t enough to score a good time. But I was patient: I knew that the creek gods would smile upon me. And sure enough they did. Someone even put this lobster into a special ziplok bag. Poor things; I’ll bet they spent ages hunting around for it in a handbag or under the passenger seat of the car.

My precious!


Now I have Dirty Doris!

Let the fun begin!



[Ah for the good old days, when jokes that would in these “inclusive” times be condemned as racist were the stock in trade of midweek telly comedians. Anyone of a certain age will remember Benny Hill’s Japanese businessman: “Not ten dollars! Not twenty dollars! Dirty Doris!”]

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