Last week, we detailed the horrors of a lady’s struggle to get her husband to put the toilet seat down. This week, the husband in question has responded angrily to our agonising assistance and is threatening various things against us.
As a reminder, we suggested Penelope rig an automatic machine gun in their bathroom to enforce her husband to put the seat down. This is how it all unfolded.
Professional bloody Moron. The wife of over 30 bloody year suddenly started threatening to, "Gun me down like a bastard!" And I hear it's because of your bloody "advice". What the bloody hell do you think you're bloody playing at!? As a man of 64, it's a terrible bloody strain on my prostrate to have to bloody bend down to put the bloody toilet seat back in its bloody place every single bloody time! When you get to my bloody age, sonny, you'll realise that having to put the bloody toilet seat down while being monitored by a bloody automatic machine gun... that's a different bloody kettle of fish entirely!! What the bloody hell did you think you were bloody doing!? The wife set the bloody thing up with a motion detector, but it didn't bloody work. First time I went for a bloody whizz, I put the bloody seat down and the bloody gun went off like Krakatoa, ripping a huge bloody chunk of the bathroom wall out. All 55 of the bullets grazed me... you bloody bastards! I'm coming down to your bloody office right after this to teach you all a bloody lesson! Barry
Dear Barry. We think you’ll find with complaints like this there’s always two sides to every story.
Our advice wasn’t mandatory, we merely suggested to Penelope that she take the matter in the direction of arson and grievous bodily harm.
Professional Moron’s agony aunt feature has helped billions of people come to terms with marital issues such as:
Whilst we can’t help everybody, since you’ll be attending our premises for a friendly chat we respectfully remind you today is our Chainsaw Revving Contest Day.
As such, the office environment will be noisier and more psychotically violent than it typically is on a day-to-day basis.
What Happened Next
Although we’re eager to move on from this issue so will hastily report what occurred, we can confirm that Barry arrived on the premises and was rather angry.
Although we offered to have a polite conversation to hear out his issues with our publication, it appears he took the sight of five men wielding chainsaws as a sign of aggression.
Screaming sweet bloody murder (as in, he was screaming and using “bloody” a lot – clearly his favourite word) he fled to his automobile: a Reliant Robin.
In a panic, he then attempted to ram raid the Professional Moron office. This activity resulted in superficial damage to the front of our building.
Naturally, we raced into the street to find out about the shaking and kerfuffle to the premises.
Whereupon Barry, believing he was being accosted by five men with revving chainsaws, set about us with whatever came to hand: an old tin of baked beans, a pencil, and his bare knuckles.
Our office apprentice was a bit alarmed by this and accidentally dropped his chainsaw, slicing his left forearm from his body in the process.
In the ensuing pandemonium of blood and screaming, Mr. Wapojif was still able to bribe Barry with a hastily written, blood-splattered check for £100. Problem solved.