by 
As a mark of respect for our recently departed Queen, I have chosen to abstain from self-pleasure for the duration of the official mourning period, but blimey O’reilly how can it only be day six?
She did so much for this country, that it only feels right that I should avoid any plonker pulling while the nation grieves, and it’s a sacrifice I was perfectly happy to make on Friday last week.
But it’s Wednesday now, and the mourning period will continue until after the funeral on Monday, which is an awfully long time for a man whose plums are beginning to swell.
Like anyone else currently in mourning, I am trying to distract myelf with other activities such that I am not exposed to temptations of the flesh – but it’s not easy.
I will however persevere, because deep down I know that’s what she would have wanted. Not that I’m into women thinking about me masturbate, or even having women watch to check if I do it. Not that it sounds terrible or anything, to do that, it’s just not my thing. Well not currently. Maybe by Friday it will be, but not right now.
Why is it ten days of mourning anyway? That seems like a very arbitrary number. It feels like a week would be enough, right? Not that I’m looking to set an alarm for 6pm tomorrow or anything, it’s just a week feels like a nice round number, don’t you think?
But if I’m going to succeed in my quest to avoid the five-knuckly shuffle until Monday, it would be helpful if people could stop putting sexually charged imagery in front of me every five seconds. It’s disrepectful to me, and to the Queen. Even the fruit is Tesco was laid out to resemble voluptuous female buttocks. I can’t believe they’d do such a thing at a time like this.
I will now return to watching blanket wall-to-wall coverage of the funeral preperations, well, just as soon as I have another cold shower. My third of the day.
