Hi, I’m Apple…
…and I’m Ginger.
And we’ve got a sad tale to tell this week.
All about “Shedshagger Jackson,” as he’s come to be known.
Yes, he gained this epithet after leaving his wife of eighteen years for his shed.
Now, you might understand if it was a big job, with a big pair of double doors, skylight and built in sauna, but he left his wife for an ordinary four-sided, plain, single-door, flat-roof shed.
Maybe the shed was making eyes at him.
Don’t be daft. It’s a shed. How can it make eyes at him?
Then what did he see in it, then?
I have no idea. I mean, sheds are for storing your tools in, not for using your tools out on. Sheds shouldn’t give you an orgasm.
You mean he actually gets pleasure out of his shed?
He does. I mean, lots of men are sad, boring idiots who spend all their time in the shed, or the garden or some other awful place only a man with no imagination could stand.
But, you’re telling me that he actually gets pleasure in the carnal sense from that shed?
I am indeed saying that very same thing.
That shed must be a slut!
There’s many a happy marriage broken by a shed fluttering its’ eyelashes at a man.
And before you know it he’s inserting his key in its’ keyhole and letting himself in.
Exactly, then the wife says “either the shed goes, or I go.”
And the man chooses the shed every time. It’s the same story all over again. Some home-breaking trollop of a shed sits there in his garden, biding its’ time until he falls for its’ wooden, shallow charms.
What about at night? He doesn’t, does he?
He does. He sleeps with that shed as if they were man and wife.
Disgusting. Sheds are for storing things in, not for sleeping with.
Besides, the other month he got just what he deserved when he caught something off that slut of a shed.
You mean VD?
No, he got a splinter in a very embarrassing place. He had to go to the casualty department and sheepishly try and come up with a plausible reason how the splinter got there. It was shameful. Everyone knew the truth. They see a lot of shed splinters from sleeping with a shed.
Disgusting. That shed is young enough to be his granddaughter. He ought to be ashamed of himself.
It gets worse.
How?
He met other people on the darker corners of the internet who swap indecent images of naked sheds. Some of them very young indeed.
You mean he went from being a dirty old man to being a fully-blown shedophile!
He did!
That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard. These shedophiles are sick, perverted monsters who should be locked up and the key thrown away, don’t you think?
It gets worse.
How?
He got together with other shedophiles and held shed swapping parties, plying innocent sheds with metholated spirits and forcing them to French Polish each other.
The animals!
It all caught up with him last week. One of their shed orgies was raided by Detective Inspector Treehouse of Special Branch. They were onto them as soon as they started swapping images of naked sheds and when they bought all that French Polish it was a dead giveaway. Also, when he got that splinter in an embarrassing place the casualty department were duty bound to report it. We didn’t think of that. They were all caught shedhanded. All the sheds were taken into protective custody and offered counselling.
Thankfully we don’t have anyone like that in our lovely little village of Upton Went.
Yes, all this happened in the awful village of Upton Fled. Of course, what makes tracking down real shedophiles even harder than it otherwise would, is that some sheds make up false allegations, or they exaggerate perfectly innocent experiences, just so they can get paid by a tabloid journalist, get a public figure into trouble, or draw attention to themselves. These sheds make it harder for genuine sheds to have the courage to speak up and be believed about genuine cases of shed abuse.
Before we go, we’d just like to say that shed abuse is very rare. Don’t have nightmares. See you next week.
O.K. goodnight folks. See you next Tuesday.
themaster1968 