It's my carpet and I'll cry if I want to

So we broke in through my own bedroom window and decided to strip on the way out of the room. Don’t ask about the logic, or my fucking huge Y-fronts, but wonder instead about the strange spell that my new carpet exerted on Mistress #14.
Just what is it about women and home furnishings? There must be something in the Shake ‘n Vac that turns their brains to custard. I mean, thirty quid a square foot and the daft cow dumps her bird-murdering beast on my brand new carpet.
Be a love and give it a good scrub and hoover. I'm off to the footie.



More proof that women and animals shouldn’t be allowed indoors:

Worship your furry overlords
Harveys' big offer
My furniture takes another caning
Those worms didn't come out of my arse, madam
Down boy
Get off my bleedin' chair
Are you sitting comfortably?