Shooting Putty At The Moon

My Dear Princess and Dear Fellow,

I had a very pleasant Saturday. The day started with me and Jasper watching the film "Creepshow" with Kat. 

For someone who claims to hate horror she has come a long way. She now recognises horror movie stars and says things like, "Oh we're not gonna miss THIS guy at all," when it's clear that someone deserves to be eaten. 

She liked Creepshow a lot and I'd forgotten how much fun that film is. This is why we like Kat.

In the early evening Caro and I went over to see Loulou and Tiger. It has been too long and I have missed them a lot. Fortunately, we tend to pick up right where we left off. 

FILTH.

I mean, it started innocently enough. We talked about politics and animals and Caro's driving and then masturbation came up. 

I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW. 

Tiger had a number of euphemisms for the activity. "Making knuckle-babies" was one of our favourites (accompanied by the traditional mime). But the one that cracked Tiger up - to the point where he couldn't breathe was "shooting putty at the moon". 

It sounds sort of poetic, doesn't it? But then you stop to think about it. "I'll be checking the skylight for sticky patches," complained Loulou.

Caro and I attempted to make our own contribution to the conversation by bringing up rimming, but really we couldn't compete. 

Later in the evening talk turned to mortality and death and funeral plans. Given the events of this year, it is no surprise. Tiger revealed that his mum had given them some coins from his late father's collection, including a Roman one. 

"But then we found out they weren't from his father at all," said Loulou. 

Tiger added that they'd been working on an entire backstory for the Roman coin so this was a disappointment. "Great grandad went through World War One with it shoved up his bumhole," he went on. "Slot-Machine - that was what they used to call him."

Caro told us that her mum had given her a 1973 diary that she had kept, including entries on the very day that Caro was born. It's a touching and personal keepsake that Caro treasures. She did tell us that it reveals her mum had to have stitches afterward though. 

"A fanny like a punched lasagne," mused Loulou, sadly.

Tiger was off again. He chortled until he turned quite pink. "There's a hair in it!" he giggled. Loulou then talked about "badly-stuffed tacos" but really it was the punched lasagne that stole the evening, even more so than shooting putty or slot-machine. 

"It's the wiggly bits," he giggled. "The wiggly bits of pasta!"

I'm sure I don't need to explain. 

S.