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Man would gladly trade all his Father's Day presents for a single blowjob

A MAN who received the customary annual haul of disappointing presents would gladly swap them all for a single blowjob from his wife, it has emerged.

Stephen Malley confirmed he would prefer a session of oral sex to the novelty socks and whisky stones that his children have supposedly given him for the sixth tedious year in a row.

Malley said: “Yet again my family has conspired to disappoint me. In what world would I, a sexually frustrated man, prefer that my wife buys shit she pretends is from the children rather than fellate me?

“I went down on her on Mother’s Day, which took ages, and made her breakfast in bed, and this is how I’m repaid? With a pair of Han Solo socks? Hardly a fair exchange, is it?

“Anyway, I can’t take my annoyance out on the kids as it’s not their fault. So I’ll pretend to be thrilled and they’ll pester her to buy exactly the same crap next year. Brilliant.”

Helen Malley said: “I might have got cunnilingus on Mother’s Day but the prick forgot my birthday. So, unless he can nosh himself off, he’s getting no action today.”

Date cancelled on grounds it is too hot to f**k

A WOMAN’S date has cancelled tonight’s planned rendezvous on the grounds that it is far too hot to f**k.

Hannah Tomlinson received a surprise text at 10am reading ‘Hey! Hate to spoil the party but temp’s forecast to be 25 degrees so sex not possible! Catch you later’, even though it was only a second date.

She said: “Cancel, fine. But I feel cancelling on this basis is all kinds of presumptuous.

“No, there was no way I was going to f**k him. Yes, the key factor in that, rather than attractiveness, compatibility or intoxication, was that it’s bloody boiling. But still.

“The entire ‘I’m-not-putting-that-sweaty-dick-in-my-face’ vs ‘Yeah-well-no-way-am-I-going-near-your-stank-pussy’ debate could have comfortably been held in our heads, as they used to in Jane Austen’s day. No need to be so upfront.

“Of course we couldn’t f**k in this heat. We’d fuse together like melting dolls. Any act of intercourse would be like the hot-poker murder of Edward II.

“I’ll make a note in my diary for October. Perhaps the fragile wilting flower can handle a shag then.”

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