I find it vastly amusing when aged, flabby round the edges, unattractive men, try to embarrass me into coquettish horror with the word 'cunt.'
My dears, as you may or may not have gathered, cunt is one of my favourite words. To the extent that I'm considering getting myself a pair of custom skis, with 'cunting' and 'fuck' written on the undersides as a representation of my general appreciation for les mots.
This week I drove a minibus full of driveling mid-fifties cockney types to the resort. There were 7 of them. A vile misogynistic conglomeration of, well... cunts, actually.
I collected them, laminated sign in hand, from arrivals and was greeted with an assortment of anguished faces. Immediately they clocked me, in my skinny jeans and fluffy snow boots, bad language usage and chatter about which positions they most enjoyed banging their wives and each other's female relations in, went up fifty fold. Yawn. Gosh you are dirty boys, aren't you? I'm so dreadfully embarrassed.
When it dawned on them they were being driven in a minibus by someone with a vagina they seemed torn between fear and glee. In the front, a portly Irish chappy, evidently the MD of whichever corporate monstrosity gave birth to them, proceeded to guzzle southern comfort like a baddun and spent the entire journey gawping at my breasts and trying to send me rouge by asking me whether I enjoy fucking skiers or snowboarders more. I answered concisely: So far in my experience snowboarders have, on average, got larger cocks and more athletic tongues, but I haven't fucked enough candidates yet to give a balanced assessment ...could he please get back to me nearer the end of the season?
They: 'Oh dear... we must tone down the language boys, we're making her blush.'
Moi: 'Darlings it's quite alright. I challenge any of you to shock me'
Perhaps I shouldn't have said that. I was treated to a catalog of vile, racist, sexist, incest-related, scatological and pornographic jokes all aimed at wrong-footing the naive young bud of a girl at the wheel. I chuckled away with the dirtiest laugh I could muster - and I have to admit some did tickle me. Although it tickled me more that the old git reading them out muffed up several of the punchlines because he was reading them from a sheet and didn't have his spectacles on.
However, only one is worth relaying here, if only for its heinous relevance to my own experiences previously relayed:
"My wife gets very annoyed with the amount of hair that I leave in the bathroom. Last week she kicked up such a fuss I had to do something about it. So I cleaned out the plughole....
... It was like fingering Susan Boyle.'