Lake Titicaca
I’m reading a “serious” romance set in the wine country of France. The hero asks his nephew, “Do you want to miss your lessons this morning and ride to the mill with me to watch the small casks being rinsed out on the new machine up there? I am sure you will enjoy seeing the water being jetted in through the bungholes, eh?”
and all I could do was snort loudly and hear “TP FOR MY BUNGHOLE!” ringing in my ears.
“I AM THE GREAT CORNHOLIO! Bunghole…Bungholio! Do you have any TP…TP for my bunghole?”
