–Times--
A local resident has today confessed to being wildly horny for her local postie.
“I get my hair done then put on my very best pearls in the hope he notices me” sighed the randy octagenarian pensioner. “My husband is mentally handicapped so he’s utterly hopeless. Plus he’s 97. The decrepit old git looks like he was mistakenly left out under a neighbouring planet’s acid sun for about 60 years. Ugh. Phil, I think his name is. Really, at my age, one of my few remaining joys is the dashing young postman who comes by at about this time every day.”
“He’s fucking late today.”
“Oh, the things I would do to that boy” continued the randy old biddy, her teeth bared and her eyes aglow. “I’d take the handsome young boy out on a fox hunt. Then I would ‘accidentally’ shoot Philip in the brains. Then the boy and I could live happily ever after at Sandringham.”
“For heavens sake, I don’t even care what mail the lad brings. Birthday cards, deeds to islands, Prince Harry’s DNA test results, invitations to rubbish kindy openings, I just don’t dashed well care. I just want that boy to take one final victory lap on my misty-eyed, rain-soaked Brands Hatch chicane.”
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