Dear diary,
Today my best friend, who is also happens to be my boss gave me a new task. Now, I’m only a cleaner and this particular job I hadn’t heard of so pressed him for more information. He went on to describe this as a ‘blow job’, at which point I asked which part I should blow. Thinking this was a new dusting technique I was quite intrigued. Now, I don’t know about you but as a 58-year-old man, this isn't what I expected. He got me down on my knees and this pale dangling thing proceeded to enter out, ‘ooh,’ I said, ‘thought you saved that for Sundays’.
He held my bald head with a tightness so strong my wafer ice cream cone would have snapped in half. I grabbed that thing rather tightly with the suction of my vacuum cleaner turned on to full blast, so tightly, in fact, my friend (Balls, as we shall call him as this whole scenario went rather balls) let out a rather large screech and ran around, with the vacuum leading on behind. Luckily the vacuum was wireless otherwise that would have been a new scenario in itself. I have to say, he had a tighter grip than I thought and proceeded to grab the nearest thing to him, which just so happened to be the floor varnish and sprayed my bald head until he could see his reflection.
After a long silence, we both sat down on the nearby chairs, one with a few bags of frozen vegetables and the other with a mirror, admiring their shining crater. I won't say who was whom.
To say the least, my local parish priest doesn't want me to clean up the pews anymore.
P.S. The nun said something about her having fanny flutters each time she sees me rub the organ pipes up and down and wouldn't mind her rubbing my organ pipe. So, I'm popping in to see her next week, she told me to leave my cleaning products at home but to bring a large hedge trimmer as her bush could do with a good cut. Funny that, she doesn't actually have a garden, she lives in a modern nun complex of housing, Johnson is putting all religions in tower blocks to reduce, reuse and recycle.
Yours truly,
Jeremy.
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