Nobby Dee’s Diary

Refreshed following a nasty bout of DePfeffel21 Long Furlough Sars-Cov-eboli, Nobby Dee the infamous canvas-kisser is forced into a boxing bout by Nancy Pelosi and a gang of ruthlessly insurrectionist Nation-healing Democrats. If you are a hedge-cuttingsphobe, fear not: they are only briefly present.

You might just be asking yourselves, what’s worse than being laid in bed minding your own bloody business when some crazed spiteful vindictive twat tramples on your herbaceous borders, comes scurrying up your drainpipe, bursts into your bedroom via an insecure window and whilst your’e there physically pleasuring yourself, and at the same time nibbling on a custard slice, they jump on you, thrash you with nettles and tip a bag full of rotting hedge cuttings over you, kick you in the bollocks and then run off into the dead of night?

I mean, that’s pretty bad isn’t it? Who’d want that? I wouldn’t. Mind, I reckon worse things could happen. T’other night I’d fallen asleep dreaming that I was still the most desirable man in the world and women still couldn’t keep their hands off me. I had been expecting a visitation from The Cheeky Girls or Liz Hurley to join me in acts of wanton love but instead, I got what I didn’t want. That’s the trouble with dreams. You don’t always get what you want.

All of a sudden, clambering out of my attic, came a throng of Democrats led by Nancy bloody Pelosi, who was dressed in a tasseled skimpy bra, a sparkly thong and silky black crotchless panties. Gathering around my bed, Nancy shoved a gum shield in my mouth, grabbed a hold of me screaming, ‘I’ll impeach you, you fat bastard’, and dragged me howling outside to a boxing ring to fight Adam Schiff. Adam bloody Schiff! Him, the great liar with the bulging bloody menacing dominating hypnotic eyes who’s deadly stare can induce complete and total mental domination of anyone who’s on the receiving end of his deadly gaze.

The master of ceremonies introduced me as The Yellow Bellied, Canvas-Kissing Coward Of The County who’d drawn one, lost two and chickened out of 27 fights. Before touching gloves, and only God Knows who put them on, Schiff subjected me to his menacing and hypnotic stare that dominated and transfixed me into a state of obedience leaving me unable to defend myself.

In the first round Schiff cut me just below the right eye. In the second, he cut me just below and above the left eye. Only in the third round did I beg the Referee, ‘if you don’t take that knife off Schiff, he’s going to kill someone.’

Thereafter, mostly because of his hypnotic stare, and my inability to defy his dominating gaze, he beat the ever loving shit out of me, hitting me so hard that three times I had to pay to get back in. The only mercy from this physical and debilitating onslaught was the changing rooms were miles away and I was happy that I didn’t have to walk back there.

As if that wasn’t enough, and it bloody was, once I was back in bed bloody Nancy Pelosi equipped with her Gavel, clearly wanting romance with me, tipped up through the window and began to gyrate her exotic sultry provocative dance of love invoking the Incubus and the Succubus to bless our physical union and make me the father of her demonic child. To me, and I bloody told her so, her fertility dance was an act of pointless futility. I told her, ‘Nancy you’re bloody barren. Your Ovaries and Fallopian tubes must be clogged up. You are now at an age where you cannot possibly conceive of a child.’

It made no impact on the House Speaker. Locked into a deep irrational longing and yearning desire to have me, the most desirable man in the world, she simply couldn’t see beyond her lust for my fat face and a bloated gut any mature pot bellied pig would be proud to display whilst engaged in acts of bestial mating with some other breed of swine. Despite my pleading screams of, ‘fuck off Nancy. Go violate some other poor soul. I’ll be damned if I consent to this’ and repeated pleas of, ‘if I’ve got to have it, at least let it be with AOC’, she ripped off me surgical tights which I wear to support a prolapsed hernia, pulled down me pants, removed my gum shield and began her unholy consummation of physical and demonic acts of love.

It didn’t end there. After she’d climaxed, rotten old strumpet, she began emptying me box that contains me medication. I call it my little box that contains my medication. Waving her Gavel she then smashed all my pills including my hydrocortisone ointment that I daub my fat in to treat my eczema. I told her, ‘Pelosi. No!. Not me cream. How would you like it if I disposed of your tube of vaginal lubricant that enables you to violate me’.

Anyways, I reckon that’s a lot worse that having decaying hedge cuttings tipped all over you.