'Listen to this it's too good to miss'

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Be warned, it's Luanna, and this podcast contains honest upfront opinions, rants, bans and general explicit content, but you know you love it. Guys, this is our Luanna Roundup. We are coming to the end of 2024, and we are giving you the gift of Luanna's best bits of 2024. Listen to this, it's too good to miss. Wallop. First up, it's a voice note. Voice note from Pete.

Hi you Anna, proud man fan him, can't get enough of the podcast, keep up the good work, loved the saltburn hair image video. Anyway, I'm sharing with you something many would find weird, but I feel this is the right forum. My mates and I are absolute rotters, and although, whooping professionals, find Fark humour the best type of humour. It's like us. Always, always. So like us.

That being said, we often send recordings of our farts. And I sent one this morning to my pal, who noticed it sounded like the intro to Mumbo number five. Our friend Rob, who works in music, that made a cheeky remix. Here's the voice. So this is the first one. Right, Golly Mark. Can I just say as well, farts are funny, because they are just innocent and amusing. Here we go. This is the first one. This is the second one. That first part.

Like the opening of mumbo number five. It does, yeah. Right, and this is then... Oh, Peter's farty remix to mumbo number five. It does sound like... Here we go. Ladies and gentlemen, this mumbo number five. It's perfect!

Oh my god, that is nothing like part of humour. Oh, this is the new thing. This is the content we came for. This is it. Right, ready? Let's hear it again. Shoot it up in the car. Ladies and gentlemen, this number number five.

One, two, three, four, five, everybody in a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell of a hell

There's a message from Sarah. Yes, hi girls. My name is Sarah. I just started listening to you on your podcast and your new podcast is not new, babes. It's bloody old, but welcome on board. And I'm loving it. You're amazing. Thank you, Gorge. After hearing a story from a fellow listener who accidentally ate poo.

Off her bed whilst on her honeymoon i thought i would expose myself as the accident or to get it to the right and to be this might have to have a guy who might have to have to have to go it's just a reminder me yesterday said skating hq we'll share a toilet that blog got blocked twice yesterday with shit who was a well.

Not yet. It wasn't me for a change. Oh, that was a turn. I want him to point the finger at Mr. Brunson. Mr. Brunson, literally, he doesn't do this. I bet it was Tom was Tom Reed Wilson. No, Tom wasn't in. No, he's not guilty. So I'm going to have to find the culprit. Anyway, she says, after hearing a story from a fellow listener who accidentally, I've done a bit,

After going out on the razz with a few of my girls, we hit the local takeaway for the compulsory end of my pizza. That lovely food, just dripping with grease, lovely. Being the greedy cow that I am, I have choked a few times, so the deal me and hubs have. When I'm pissed, I bring any food up to bed and I eat it now.

I love his and I eat it next to him. So when I inevitably choke So when I inevitably choke So she's gobbling so much she makes herself really choke and die she has to eat Next to her husband when she honey have some chips and dips before you going out honey line that stomach She went so I can hit him awake to save me

Super niggas, look. How are you silly bitch, hold up. Hold up, back to sleep. So there I am in the back of the taxi with a 12-inch wallop, chicken and mushroom pizza on my lap. Oh, rank, rank flavor. I've got meaty-mighty. Fighting the urge to scoff it down before I get home with torture, but I make it. I drunkenly waltz upstairs and stumble into the bedroom in my pissed stupor, my trip. I trip top my straighteners.

Am i beautiful pizza? Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it,

Thankfully, our 18-year-old dog Milo, who is sleeping on the end of the bed, is none the wiser. And I can enjoy making beautiful foodie love to my pizza without him begging for any. As I'm tucking in, I feel a rogue piece of chicken at my feet and not wanting to...

And not wanting to miss out on this, I begin shimmying it up the sheets with my face. That is pissed, you can't even bother to reach down. Nudging it, nudging it with your foot. After some footsy with said chicken, I finally get my room gauge within arms reach and I snatch it up. Just like a crab.

And pop it into my mouth. I bite down and think to myself, this feels weird. So I need to remove it from my mouth and give it a sniff.

Instead of the beautiful spell of chicken, I was expecting I got the undeniable stench of dog shit rushing out my nostrils.

I immediately fling the chicken turd across the room and begin to scream. Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug! The husband's asleep! I didn't even know he was in the bed! Of course he's in the bed, chug, chug! The husband's asleep! I didn't even know he was in the bed! Of course he's in the bed, chug, chug! The husband's asleep! The husband's asleep! I didn't even know he was in the bed! Of course he's in the bed, chug! The husband's asleep! The husband's asleep! The husband's asleep! I didn't even know he was in the bed! Of course he's in the bed, chug! The husband's asleep! The husband's asleep! The husband's asleep! I didn't even know he was in the bed! Of course he's in the bed, chug! The husband's asleep! The husband's asleep! The husband's asleep! The husband's asleep! The husband's asleep

She's stacked it on the bed, the pizza's stacked it on the bed, and he's split asleep. And he's split asleep. Typical hub with behaviour. You know? I don't know why you cut up husbands. Ever. What is it about men? They're dead. They're dead. Like corpses. Like, I am such a light sleeper that instant someone puts a toe in the door. The door goes. Yeah. And I'm like...

Awake husband's dead. No. Dead. Hubby wakes up and asks what's happening. I cannot find the worst of explain what is going on. And I start to get a gun controllably. He switches the light on. And all I can do is point. He looks down and in speaks the lump of film. He puts two and two together and begins to die laughing. I pull back the two. I pull back the two, mate. And to my horror, discover she did it with her feet.

Harvard did discover shitty skid marks, scrawled across my sheets. It turns out our elderly dog Milo had had a cheeky shit in his sleeve and I'd spent five minutes skidding it a lot of my sheets with my feet so I could eat it.

What makes it worse is that my- Oh no! What makes it worse is that Milo was being treated for an abscess on his anal gland, so not only had I eaten an ancient standard dog poo, it was poo that had squeezed past an open pus-filled anal.

Save to say I never lived this down. And now my husband and kids remind me about every opportunity. So remember folks, always scratch and sniff. P.S. I carried on eating the rest of my pizza. It was delicious. Sarah from Southport.

Well, so that's a shitty teen story if I ever heard one. You might need to say as well, what a good husband. My husband would have hit the roof if there were dog shit skid marks all over our joint bedding. I don't know how to change better, but she didn't. But she didn't. I've actually just sort of like it. All I want is this chicken and mushroom pizza that now has a slight aftertaste of dog shite. And then all night she's just laying in the skid marks. I bet she didn't even wash her feet.

Oh, Prussia deep. Oh, brilliant. Remember, if you want to get in touch, you can email us through another podcast at gmail.com or you can drop us a what's up on a double seven four five two double six nine four seven. Great story Sarah. Thanks, mate.

We've got a voice note from Laura and X, but M.O. appears to be on the phone, smiling away. Oh, look, she's actually saying that. Let's do a phone search. Right, so we will just carry on. We'll move on. Oh, with the Petty Polly from Anonymous, so Gladys. Hi, Luanna and M.O. I was listening to a Petty Polly from Betty on last week's Take It, that's fun.

and was reminded of my own petty actions from past relationship. Betty's revenge on her awful ex was well deserved, and I applaud her for her creativeness. My own experience of getting some sweet, but quite revenge on my cheating ex is somewhat murder, but here to the point, love it.

After three years of living with a boyfriend who was nothing short of a bore, he turned around one day and ceremoniously dumped me. This came totally out of the blue, but I'd sent something was off and upon questioning him a few days before we were hosting our first big Christmas together, he took the cowards way out and dumped me before I could spend another moment putting together the pieces and realizing that he was in fact cheating. I packed a bag and left and returned the next day to collect my things. I was alone in the house and after a night of weeping,

that anger was setting in. I knew this was all a product of him cheating. My intuition has never steered me wrong. And I was in fact correct, but this proof came later. As I went from rim to rim packing my belongings, I was seething and wanted to do something which would leave my mark. I opened the fridge and had a sudden urge to stab.

Just imagining this room and walking around the house, chocking stuff into a bed. And suddenly, she opens the fridge and starts stabbing the Christmas turkey, which was sitting in the fridge awaiting a Christmas day that she would no longer be part of. I felt this display of psychotic rage was unnecessary.

Imagine him coming home and opening his fridge to find an already dead turkey with a large knife hanging out of it, stabbed and fit a brain like a horror movie. No, I would take a milder approach, sensible. No. Instead, it had to be something which would affect his day to day life. Oh, small irritation causing only the slightest of inconvenience, but something that I could quietly chuckle to myself about each day of the coming weeks. And then it came to me.

My ex wore a suit to work every day. He thought himself a man of business and prided himself on a sharp suit and smart, polished shoes. During the course of our relationship, I would get the ick each morning as I was leaving for work. I'd catch sight of him, hunched over in his smart, freshly laundered suit, beer belly bulging through his crisp white shirt, legs

bread while shoehorning his soft girly feet into his tight, bright worksheets. There is something about a man who holds himself to such a height of sophistication, bending over every morning to use a small contraption, created to help his foot glide easily into a sheet that just knocks him down in a girl's mind and my opinion. She's got shoehorning ready.

the man's spread, the man's spread and shoo-horn. The gut, the gun, like it's resting on the upper thighs as he tries to get his foot into his shin-horned in, his little bro. That businessman grandeur he gave off so desperately was totally obliterated at the sight of his mincey little thing.

I can't, I can't, this description is really gamey. That is a mincey little fingers wrapped around a shoehorn, tackling with his trotters each morning to avoid any snagging on his little hairless ankles.

Oh, wow. You're blessed. She's like a rolled out writer. Yeah, she's angry. Mine's something out of the witches. Yeah, it does. It just made me cringe and every day I had to fight the ick that rose within me as he left for work. I mean, you should have left the babes then. So as I packed my belongings, I collected his shoe horn and took it on my merry way. Shoe horn. Chuckle into myself. Oh my god, this is done. Chuckle into myself.

I'm proud of my pettiness. The revenge was small, but I was so sweet. Weeks later, I'm not.

a week later I bumped into a friend of his and I was told

He had told her she wanted a new shoehorn and his friend had taken delivery.

It really made me laugh. And the satisfaction of knowing that he had missed this small contraption enough to order another was a small win that I needed during a very odd time. Oh don't. She factored that she's described him about all that. She still says it was an upset.

Oh, no, it was petty. I'm pretty pointless. But us girls need to take these moments where we can. Sometimes you have to take a small win and believe in what goes around, comes around. This wasn't my first rodeo, although this was likely my most petty. Please keep me anonymous. I love the pod. You girls are brilliant. Thank you, lovely. Lots of love.

What I loved about this is this is clearly such a big thing that a friend told her he'd order to use you.

Why is that so fun? It's just the way that she describes it with his mince in her little hand. It's just the way that she describes it with his mince in her little hand. It's just the way that she describes it with his mince in her little hand. It's just the way that she describes it with his mince in her little hand. It's just the way that she describes it with his mince in her little hand. It's just the way that she describes it with his mince in her little hand. It's just the way that she describes it with his mince in her little hand. It's just the way that she describes it with his mince in her little hand. It's just the way that she describes it with his mince in her little hand. It's just the way that she describes it with his mince in her little hand. It's just the way that she describes it with his mince in her little hand. It's just the way that she describes it with his mince in her little hand. It's

Well, I mean, I mean, there you go. There's some new merch. We need to do a Luanna shoe horn. Oh, God. We've got another message from Sarah. She was about six years ago. I was working for a training company and had been with them long enough to know all the ins and outs, apprenticeships, training, the whole shebang. My daily routine usually involved driving all over the country to sign up new learners for their apprenticeships. Exciting stuff, right? Yeah. Well, on this day, things took a turn for the bizarre.

I had just driven three hours, yeah, three hours, enough time to contemplate every life decision I'd ever made to a care home, to sign up some carers for their apprenticeships. So far, so normal. But today was different because I had a brand new colleague tagging along for his grand first day on the job. My mission was, of course, to show him the ropes.

First up, everything went smoothly. We were practically professionals at this point. Then it was time to head to the next care home, which was about 45 minutes away. My new colleague, who seemed nice enough, suggested we car share. Now, I'm all for team bonding, but his DBS check hadn't come through yet. How was I supposed to know? He wasn't secretly an axe welded maniac. So dramatic.

So I did what any sensible person would do and I declined. Wow. Oh, OK. Politely, of course, while mentally picturing a Netflix crime documentary about me. Wow. She's like, you know me. You've watched too much Netflix. Yeah. And when you get on a train and you think automatic, you think everyone around you is an axe murderer. Yeah. So off we went on our separate journeys.

I arrived at the next location first because obviously I'm efficient. I hopped out of my car, I'd stroll up toward the payment machine when something caught my

I, underneath one of the dark cars, was what appeared to be a dead body. No. Or at least someone deeply committed to the art of playing dead. Stop. My heart rate skyrocketed. Naturally, I call my new colleague and said, you need to get here. Now, there's a person under the car, and I think

I think they're dead. That was his first day on the job. And already, I'm handing out life in death situations, talk about workplace bonding. When he arrived, we inspected the situation more closely. The person under the car was alarmingly pale. Our eyes had, stop falling.

Their eyes had rolled back into their head, and most concerning of all, there was no detectable blood. They are dead, they snuffed it. Brown bread?

We were both freaking out. The kind of freak out where you consider whether you should have gone into accounting instead. What do two responsible adults do in such a situation? Well, we called 999, of course. The operator calmly asked where we were. And as I relayed our location, I also had to inform my boss that we were going to be late. Why, they asked, oh, you know, just a minor detour. We're standing over a potential fatality.

The ambulance arrived within 10 minutes. That's good. Good. And I stood by the roadside, valiantly waving it in. Like I was directing stuff at a music festival. You can see how... I can only dream of this role, girls. I shouted over to my colleague. The ambulance is here! And then in a twist, no one saw coming. The dead person under the car suddenly got up and spread.

The dead bats and under the car suddenly got up and sprinted away like they were late for the bath. I stood there, jaw on the floor while my colleague, like he might reconsider his life choices.

The paramedics calmly informed us that this was a common occurrence in the area. Apparently, the individual had likely been under the influence of a drug called spice. Oh, I've heard of this. Isn't that my doing prison? I don't know. I don't know. Okay.

But it puts people into a zombie-like state, with a heartbeat so faint that they look well dead. So I had the distinct pleasure of calling my boss again. Oh, false alarm. The dead person. I mean, she wants to know because, you know, that's a completely normal update to give on a Wednesday afternoon. As for my poor new colleague, let's just say his career with us didn't last very long after that. I can't say I blame him.

After all, not everyone's cut out for apprenticeships and surprise resurrections in a car park. I hate my stories. Madness brought a giggle to you midweek. Absolutely love you girls. You bring meaning to the mundane and light up a dark day. Lots of love Sarah.

Well, talk about waste together, but it's time. We've got a message from Matt. Matt says, I love hearing everyone's stories on your podcast. They never fail to make me laugh. I thought I'd share my little story with you. So others may avoid making the same mistake as I did one fateful day. Setting the scene. I was staying with a friend in his family and they had planned to drive to Wales to visit his elderly scene on them. Oh, everybody loves a scene on them. Oh, stop. And I care home shortly after.

Oh babe, this my nan. This episode is dedicated to Anna's dead nanning. She took a picture off. Oh no, that's dead nanning. There's nanny as well. Is that one alive? No, they're both dead. Oh. This episode is dedicated to both Anna's dead nanning. Thanks. Nanning. God bless you, both.

Do you want to cry? I'll save it. Okay, we'll move on then. Right. Shortly after arriving, we decided we needed some refreshments after the long drive. And it's seen a particularly close to the care home. So we decided it would be the perfect place to grab some sweet treat. Nice.

Thankfully, they had my absolute favourite, which is a fresh cream apple turnover encased in a beautiful homemade puff pastry. I hate stuff like that. Can't eat it. After a short walk, we arrived back at the care home and huddled around his nan's bed in a tiny little room.

His father and mother sat on the bed while my friend and his sister sat in two comfortable armchairs next to the window. And I just say, I'm just, I'm now preempting a massive gag warning. I don't know why, Imogen, your scry smile is leading me down this path, continues this month. Okay.

Right, looking for a place to sit so that I could tuck into my apple turnover, I spotted a plastic chair tucked behind the door. As I went to drag the chair across the rim, the seat seemed to wobble and it didn't seem overly sturdy or attached, so I decided as the chair seemed a little flimsy, it would be safer to pick the chair up from underneath the seat and move it across the rim, sit next to my friend.

Finally, I sat down and started to get stuck into my cake. As you may know, these cakes can get a little messy. And I soon found myself with a lap full of pastry crumbs. As I looked at my lap, I noticed I had some burnt pastry stuck to my finger. Oh no, that's gonna come.

Here we go. As no tissues were turned, I thought the best option was to lick it from my hand. It was at this moment the facts of the situation were only dawned on me. It was not, in fact, a piece of burnt pastry that was stuck in my hand, but rather a small nugget. I've smeared poo. I had clearly picked it up from moving the flimsy chair that, in fact... Oh my god, it was not a chair.

It was a commode. Place conveniently behind the door for emergency situations.

It's not the commode. Oh my gosh. It's a bloody commode. A wave of nausea. That is not Nutella. It didn't hit me. But being in a room with the clearly unwell relative and my friends entire family.

You're right there, Lou. She's going. Oh, PBGBs. Here we go. PBGBs. Do you want me to carry on? I just, he swallowed hard and continued to finish the pastry. How did he finish it? I couldn't have done. I guess he had to laugh the taste. I just, I have never told my friend this story. I'm the messed up figure. So disgusting.

Oh, she's gone! No! No! I'm going to do it. Sis-man Pew! No! She's my mom into a cappuccino cup. No, don't do it. Don't do it. He says, I still enjoyed Apple turn over, despite reminding of this story, every team I eat one. Oh, God, she's off. Do you want the bin?

No, no, wait. Here's the bin. Why? Have a bin. So think of butterflies and elephants and green pastures. Shitty commands. Fucking hell. Can I just say... Right, he's just in the room. He's still... Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

Oh, that's got you mate. That's got you. Oh, that's got you. Surprisingly poo, isn't the fecal matter, isn't too bad. For me, it's grolleys.

and discharge. Can you imagine? Just not lifting that. Why did nobody say? He sat on a commode for a start. Matt, Matt, Matt. But I didn't know what to say. That's a commode. And you just literally licked his head off the commode. Oh, no. Oh, you're delicately delicate. Why did a commode have a hole in it?

Didn't he really? They have a lid on it. It's got a lid on them. They have lids on them. That's why he said it was flimsy like that. Yeah, Nanny, I know a commode well. They are very lightweight and they have a little lid on them to obviously cover up many indiscretions. Oh, god. In Matt's case, the indiscretions were smitten. I didn't say cleaner. I mean, they didn't care. Well, a tiny nugget, though, it gets missed.

little nugget of chod. I mean there we are. I apologize to anyone eating their lunch.

Oh, that's really cool. Remember, if you want to get a touchy, you ran a slew out of the podcast at gmail.com or drop us a WhatsApp on 07745. Two double six, 947. It's quite astonishing. It's a lot of people that have actually eaten shit, isn't it? Do you know something? Even my children, it's so weird. Enzo, who's going through a really, like, I'd say really boyzy face. Everything is far, like he did a mama's day card. No, that's not boyzing, my girls are the same.

Yeah, everything, yeah, it was like, happy fart day, you know, fart poo snort. But he did actually say, Mummy, well, I can't, it comes out with all these big questions, like, yeah, Mummy, why can't we eat poo? It's a great question. I just can't eat your own poo. What do you, then he did say, when I've tried my poo, and I was like, oh no! And he said, he goes, not, not like I meant to. He said, when I wiped myself once, and then he soon thought against doing that.

Right, we've got a peta poly from anonymous, so we've called you Mammy. Mammy. Wait, is this a bitty story? Mammy. Mammy. Hello, I've been listening to you guys since hearing you on Pete and Simon's part. And I'm almost caught up now. I'm on June 24th. People are dedicated to the course. Thanks guys. Which I think is good going. It is. Bloody love you girls and you're no fucks given attitude. I feel like

I found my tribe. Welcome beautiful. Yes, you have. Anyway, I have a petty folly for you. Please call me Maimi or pronounced Maimi. It was my great aunt's name and not when you hear often. It was quite pretty actually, even though we just had a joke about it being called a mammary gland. My husband can be really annoying. Can't be all offs. And he's a total technophobe farmer. Oh, I

Oh, he's a farmer, I love a farmer. Do you remember that show about Mary and the farmer? Oh, he's not a farmer. I would have gone on that show. I would have liked to marry a farmer. It was shagging a tractor in a stable. Ooh, treat me like a horse.

Why did I say that? I think I was thinking of riding and riding horses and now that really does sound really awful. I've given myself the egg.

He often hands me his phone to help him do things on it, so I got creative. In iPhones, you can go into the keyboard and dictionary settings and add shortcuts. So, for example, for my business, I can just type three letters and it automatically types my website, which saves me loads of time when I'm texting customers. I didn't know that. That's actually really useful. Anyway, on my husband's phone, I got creative with this feature. I changed it, so when he types the word trailer, it's all sorts of things to do with my big hairy books.

And this plays out with hilarious consequences with farmers and often have his lorry and tractor loads of stock feed delivered from feed suppliers and my husband will accidentally send Texas drivers along the lines of text when you arrive and I'll come and empty my big home.

Or, I've just dropped off my big hairy balls, or our shepherd will be with you in half an hour with my big hairy balls. Off you text in a hurry without checking what he's tied, so he doesn't spot that he's sent me. I love so much when he comes home, it says my bloody phone.

My bloody friends, he weird messages to people again. That's so mean. He's just an innocent father. Love of Giles, and you're, you're sparing him with his text. But he's bloody funny though. He can't work it out. That's the kind of thing. My mum got very text savvy. That's the kind of thing I would do on her phone actually. I might do that. My mum would know. My gaping vagina.

No, my mum always talks about the gym. I'm just going to the gym. I'm just going to my gaping vagina. I'm always talking about it. I'm going to do something on her phone just for shits and gigs and see how long it takes her to find out. I love that one. I love it. It really made me smile.

Martha, please keep me in on. Call me what you want. All right, Martha. I'm just listening to old pods laying in the garden on my sun lounger. Someone has sent in a rate to my fart, which always makes me giggle anyway. Anna, let's out a comment on all types of think to mate. Well, that finished me off. I was hunched trying to be laughing. And my phone up, sun lounger, phoned it up and trapped me in it.

Still I was laughing trying to get out and I was completely trapped. After a few seconds it wasn't. My 85 year old name.

saw the commotion again running. Well, waddling to my rescue. Well, in a tank top and no bra, my little titties didn't sound the chance of staying in and popped up, say hello. He commented saying he's never seen piss nipples before. She's in the sun now, Jack. Tricks out nipples out. And the old grandpa neighbors come in to save her. Brilliant. To cut a long story short, I'm currently in my local stop.

Line an injury unit with a fractured frisking finger. I can't complain. Maybe I'll get my mates to sign my cast. Girls, you've broken me. We need to come with a health warning.

Apologies. Apologies, guys. She looks like clap in the body. She broke her wrist and finger and tipped her out. Do you know what? I would also, I mean, look, where's Blaine with the claim? Surely you can go and blame that son-in-law and just design on someone. I was gonna say, don't you?

So I'm looking right off the money in NASA. Right, message from anonymous, so Bettina. Hi, Luanna Mo, not the pot. Oh, Bettina. Love the pot and all that crap. I have a story for you. It's a long one. So as Anna would say, settle in peeps. Here we go, peeps. I'm a paramedic. So, I mean, already I'm in.

So you bet I have some absolutely cracking stories from my time on the road. But here's a personal favourite. Please keep me a non with your best granny name. I was working on a night shift one summer with a long-term crew mate. We'll call him Andy. He arrived at the start of the shift, talking on and on about an award he recently received for 20 years long since.

He talked endlessly that night to every nurse doctor paramedic and anyone else who'd listen about his award and how the head of the ambulance service presented to him along with a sterling silver ballpoint pen engraved with his name on it.

We've all met an Andy. We've all met an Andy. It's just going on about it. Oh, all right, Andy. McCrumate showed off that bloody Ken over and over. It was truly his pride in what I love that.

It came to the early morning hours of our shift and we'd gotten a call to attend an elderly man's house as unfortunately his wife had passed away during the night. We arrived at the house and indeed find the woman deceased however the scene was odd. She was not in bed but was in fact still sitting dead as a doornail.

I'm not laughing at the dead, but upright on the toilet. She caught it on the bomb. By Elvis Presley, that's how he died on the toilet. Completely naked from the waist down. We comforted the widowed husband and he wasted it. Sorry, why would he keep her on the loo?

He probably might not want to touch her. And he might have felt like, you know, when someone dies, I wouldn't know. Can you move them? What if it's suspicious circumstances and he thought he might get arrested for murder? If he is old and frail, he's not going to be strong enough.

All right, I'll find I'm a horrible person. We coveted the widow husband and Andy wasted no time in whipping out his shiny new pen to start some paperwork before popping it back into one of the many pockets on his paramedic. Can't just imagine the type that Andy is, can't you? He sort of whaps it around and like him between the fingers. Oh, I'll just fill out my paperwork. Titting. Here we go. Let me find a clean surface, you know?

We decided not to leave the poor woman there. You bless our heart until the morning. She deserved her dignified end quite rightly and with at least something covering her bottom half. So we decided to move her off the toilet and back to bed for a final rest.

I hope he wasn't jumping in. Well, I don't think I'd like that. I mean, there's so many questions. The lady was very, very large, so this was evidently going to be a bit of a struggle. Andy was the stronger of us too, so he stood behind her, scooped his arms under hers, facing the same way, hugging his body to hers, whilst I carried her legs. We slowly and awkwardly shuffled her to the bedroom and towards the bed. At this point, we were both seriously out of puff, and I hear Andy straining his breath and gasping, saying,

I'm going to drop her! Quick, quick! Put her down! Quick! Like literally a dead weight. With an almighty thud, I drop the woman's legs and instantly her literal dead weight shifts now entirely onto Andy. 25 stone of naked dead woman catapults him backwards onto the bed. Her corpse comes crashing down into an outrageous position on top of him, crushing the poor sod. A few tenth seconds pass.

I don't know, I can't suffocate you by a dead person. A few seconds pass. I don't know that on his death certificate. Wait, is he dead? Wait, I mean, I'm so wondering where's he's going. A few tenth seconds pass, as I wonder if I will ever see Andy emerge from under the fleshy mass ever again, but he manages to wiggle himself free and crawl out from underneath her. At this point, I'm...

I'm now purpling the face try not to laugh. So the grieving family downstairs don't hear me. Once free he shuffles her.

Once free, he's fucking pinned. Once got crushed. Once free, he shuffles her into position. Finally, she's looking peaceful and calm. Thank God for that. For her last sleep. Our job here is done. A few moments to compose ourselves, and we head downstairs to say goodbye to a house that is now full of less of sobbing relatives. With permission, we prepare to sign the final recognition of death to documents. And he's shining new award pen at the ready.

Suddenly I can see Andy patting himself down rapidly over his body. Panic begins to flood his face and now mine as in tandem we both have a light bulb moment. That's what we realized. Exactly where the pen is gone. We both shot back upstairs to the bedroom to retrieve the item from. You can't see it.

The asscrack of the dead woman upstairs. When I coped her onto my crewmate, the pen had become lodged in between her butt cheeks. I rolled her over. The woman disturbed once again with rolled onto her front. Here it was. Blintly in the light, lodged in her crack. Andy's prized brain.

with a loved hand and just fished it out. We left the scene quickly. I'm filming free silence.

I never followed up on the fate of the infamous pair not that night. I imagine it was Ben, does I ever saw it again? Oh, he's petty! Oh, he loved his pair! Oh, he loved when I ruined it! He loved his pair with their shoes. She ate that. She ate that. Oh, he did what you're doing. I've got plenty more stories where that came from. Please send them in.

Oh, and he is his pen. Oh, remember, if you want to get in touch, you can email us at our brand new email address. Luanna at everythingluanna.com.

Oh, you can drop us a WhatsApp. Oh, double seven, four, five, two, double six, nine, four, seven. Oh, that bloody pen. You know, my dad's got a pen like that. Wafts it around. As you say, it's the prize. It's always in the top pocket as well. Oh, laughing. Brings out, waiting, waiting. Wow.

Right, we've got a message from Liv. She says, Hi girls, I found your podcast from Robin Josh's. Welcome to the fold. See, out of the ashes. Rises the phoenix of three listeners that we managed to poach from parenting house. I've heard a few funny pet stories and I thought I'd share mine. In September 2022, after much convincing of my husband, I got two, my two children, a gorgeous kitten. Oh, we like cats.

He was worshipped in our house and treated by my then two-year-old daughter like a baby. He was sweet, cuddly and had the best little personality. Fast forward to the cold winter months and he started exploring outside. He was still very petite at this time but becoming a Ventress. One frosty morning I had gone outside to the garage and to my horror spotted not a mouse or a vol but a huge rat.

I was horrified and panicked and I didn't know what to do. Luckily we had to field out the back. So with my husband on night shift, decided to shuffle the rat and put it back over the fence.

I got a children's spade from the carriage and proceeded to shovel the huge creature to add to the disgust the rat was frozen solid. So kept its shape throughout the shoveling. It was revolted. It's stiff rat. Anyway, I was really proud as I veered through the garden towards the back fence with the frozen rat weighing heavy on the spade and proceeded to flick the rat over the fence. However, it's not quite how I planned to my father.

The rat hit a true and you start hanging there like a Christmas decoration. I couldn't believe my eyes. Luckily for us, I videoed the whole essay page to show my husband and sister how brave I'd been of getting rid of the rat. Save to say, it wanted me for days after, with its course to what I would wish to do.

It's like coming up a horror movie, frozen bread, looking at you in your own little house. I could see it from my house until nature trickets course in the circle of life continued. Thankfully, this was the first and last gift our little kitten brought us. Well, you want more gifts if you live near a field. And not the best Christmas gift I had, love the pod, and say so much, it brightens up my week, even though I keep accidentally pressing play on my Apple Watch, and it blares up my phone whilst I'm teaching baby classes.

Let's hope you haven't got the sister's chat blaring out. It spread the love in the baby classes. Those mama's need us. So just in case you haven't heard it for the baby class to slag the lesbian. Oh, she sent us a picture on a video. Don't keep me anonymous. It's live from tea side. Let's check it out. Let's have a look at this. Also, thanks for your messages. Remember, if you do want to get in touch, you can email us around the podcast at gmail.com or drop us what's up on a double seven four five two double six nine four seven. Right.

Oh! Oh, it's huge! It's as big as a flip flop. Hang on. Here I already sound. Oh, this is her shoveling. Oh! She's shoveling it now. Oh, my God. A fucking massive. It's absolutely frozen. Guys, this is a size of a rabbit. She's walking through disrespectful, meaningless birds.

Oh my gosh, it is got rigor mortis. It's massive. I love the patch. Don't die, you're right. Oh, it's got stuck. Oh, I haven't seen it yet, the tree, but hang on. Wait, wait. Keep going, keep going. Oh! Oh my gosh. It's in the tree. It's stuck in the tree. It's just hanging. It's the size of a Jack Russell. It's hanging. It's hanging.

You've got to send that to Beck's social media. Send that to Beck's social media. She's got to put this on socials. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. That's okay. I want to send this to Becca. I'm going to send it. Imagine, like, I keep waking up.

That's a good kitten that caught that. It's huge. Oh, hilarious. Thank you, babe. Thanks for your messages, guys. That's brilliant. Morning, Giggle. We do love a dead pet. Well, it's not a dead pet, so right. It's the widow of the Wehika. Estelle says, hi, girls. I've got, and is it weird for you? I'd like to stand on a minimus for this. So it may go for it with the granny name. Well, we've called you a star. Oh, my God. Anna, you're so disgusting. You didn't even let me guess that. Yours always sound the same, though.

When I go to a public bathroom, like at work or the gym, et cetera, and I can smell other women's vaginas, don't deny us. We do that, vagy. That vagy toilet smell. That vagy smell. And I always get it in airport toilets. It's like that vagy warm. Warm hot mouth. Hot mouth. Hot mouth. Hot mouth. Hot mouth. Hot mouth.

It's like hot muffs. Hot muffs in the public toilets. Hot muffs went to the cinema the week. Definitely smell hot muffs in the labs. Anyway, she says, I sometimes smell my own whilst on the toilet, so I can't smell anyone else's. Because the smell of another woman's vouch really makes me gag. Is it just me? Is it weird or do other girls do this? I love the pod. Yes. Do you smell your vouch then? Yes.

Yeah, I do. Yes, I do make sure I concentrate. And when I've experienced a bit of huff, huff, I try and whuff my huff. To see if my huff has got the whuff. And we all can relate to the huff.

Especially when you see the lady that's come out and then you go in. And you know, it sounds judgy, right? Sometimes those women walk out of there and I think I can get the whole busy day. I could guess. I think that's been washed. I, I, I, yeah, we know that Hoff is bad. He's a bad one. Waffy, hoffy. Waff. Does your Hoff. Waff.

That potato is just a slight sort of, yeah, potato, yeasty, sort of, guffy, fishy, uriny, pungent. Can I just say that sometimes when I... I love that.

When I've been up at four, and then I'll do the gym, then I just get busy, and then I'll go straight to the horses, and then I'll ride like three horses, and then I just... You'll rub in that bag on that saddle. And all sorts is going on down there, and then I get to bed, and I go sometimes just to put the PJs on, and I think, no, Louisa, get in the shower. Get in the shower. Why you stinky bitch? But secretly, I like the smells. It is a sign, as we've always said, of a busy day.

Anyway, on that note, I cannot get older as well, does it? Yeah. Perry. Perry. When the perry was. Perry off. Perry off. Perry off. Perry off. We've got one from anonymous. So could you fanny? This comes with a gag warning. Right. Ready, Anna? Ready. Hi, massive fan here. Love the pod and all that shit. I've listened for years and I don't think anyone's ever written in with this as a weirder of the week. Strong claim. Please keep me numb. Since I've been

Oh no. Since I've been a teenager, I've always enjoyed eating my ovulation discharge. We all know that like stringy, white, clammy discharge, the egg white discharge, that ovulation discharge, every month, I eagerly wait for when I ovulate to pull out my stringy fix, not the ovulation discharge and I eat it.

Don't know how or why this started, but I'm 33 and I still do it. Do other women do this or am I a fucking weirdo? That is the weirdest, weirdest thing. My day was going really well. I am speechless actually because what made you first think

that was appropriate, pull any or acceptable. Like, I wonder if she's like pulling it out and then pulling it in her mouth. I like trying to see how long it went on for. And what does it taste like? Look, let's be honest, we've all put our fingers in and add a little taste, you know, when we were kids, right? But we did, look, we all did that. Yeah, we could do that. Let's be honest, everyone's done that. Yeah. Right, so I guess this is just an extension of that. No, it's not as more than an extension. I don't mind it just trying it. But that's disgusting.

No, you're weird, well done. But she does it every month. I don't mind it once to try. We should all be in tune with our bodies, but not every month, babes. Oh, my mouth's watering. That's bile, darling. Congrats, baby. You are baby. You are the weirder of the wee. You're also the ranker of the wee. That's rank. I think that's probably the most rank I've ever heard. That's probably the most rank I've ever heard. Oh, that was ranker.

Oh, this is a good one, Ems. What's this? Hang on a little bit. We've got rate in my fart. In the bath edition. From Dana. Oh, the smell of a fire. The smell of a fire. Colour flower. Listen to this. It's too good to miss.

That's not bloody finding Nemo.

It's not often I'm speechless. That was a delayed. You could see the bubble travel from shrimp to break surface. Oh brilliant, Dana, thank you. That is a good one. You should forever be known as the Nemo Potter. Nemo far spectacular. Oh dear, that was stunk.

Yeah, they always smell when they're in the bath like that. Right, confessions. I've never told anyone this, but, okay, first one up. We most love it, here we go. So, love the show, girls. Why don't you tell you a story so you can judge me? Okay, if you ask, we'll give. I once had an asshole stray Tomcat keep coming into our house by the camera.

Do you know what, we have one of these and it fights with Teddy and it's a big ass. It's Teddy got his balls still. Yeah, I chopped our tannies off the other way. Did you? Yeah, we hadn't had it done. And this other cat does has occasionally come in our cat flap and it's very annoying. It's not anymore because we keep a water pistol outside the door to try and make sure it doesn't go in and come in. We know it's got the message now. Oh, how's that Alaska?

I kept fighting with Teddi and I was like, Teddi's bloody house. When they've got their, when they've got their, when they're intact, they spray. That's why do honey, poor little honey bear, his balls got chopped. Honey, honey, honey's ballers now. Honey bears, baller. Well, this, this cat needs that is, is a bit of a, a bit of a, a bit of a aggressive Tom. Anyway, she goes and says, this is so, keep, keep, I'm, I'm not going to kill our neighbour's cat.

But the cat gets come into a house fire, the cat flap. The stray cat was spraying up a wall to stop, like, pure off and kiss together. That is so bad. He kept coming in, and while I was at, well, you have to go to the owners, babes. He kept coming in. No, it's a stray cat. Oh, it's a stray. Sorry. Sorry, it's a stray. Sorry, it's a stray. He kept coming in.

while i was at work and i couldn't lock the cat flap as we had a cat of our own uh this went on for weeks day and night and every time i heard the cat flap go i would dart out and try and chase the fuck off he became my nemesis and we had a tom and jerry type relationship

My dad let me a humane trap that closed as the cat goes in for food. It took three weeks of the little twat cat tossing me and him avoiding the cage. However, one night at two a.m. I finally caught it. It was genuinely the loveliest cat so friendly and I felt bad. I'll bless it.

I felt bad I hated this prick for so long, but he had ruined my walls, so I took it to the vet and it wasn't microchip, and they weren't interested in helping me rehome him. So suggested I just took it back to mine. It's not what we want to hear, is it? No. This led to one option. Driving the... Oh, babes, you can't do this. I love cats and animals. Driving the cat far, far away. I chose a nice-looking, wealthy estate and thought the cats

could start a new life, pissing people off there instead. I felt terrible, but needs must. Needs must. They'd taken to a cat home. The deed was done. She chose a wealthiest. Well, she'd taken to a cat's protectionism. The deed was done and I left the cat and I drove off. I called my mum two days later to brag that I'd captured the bastard cat feeling all smug, even though she told me I was a terrible human. And in that moment, I turned around whilst on the phone to see a ginger cat pissing up the kitchen wall.

Yes, that's right. I dumped the wrong bloody, oh no! I dumped the wrong cat and taken someone's beloved pet to a new village. That's so awful. Am I going to hell? Yes, you are. My mates now call me Dearly Dumper, just in case anyone's looking for their fat ginger cat, that's the area it is. Mate, you just took someone else's cat.

I think this is one of the worst confessions in my heart. I feel like you need to come down there. I said you need to take the cat to cat protection. I'm going to get the cat back. You've got to go and get that cat back or put a leaflet around that area. I would put a leaf around that area and go, I've jumped someone's cat here. I'm a terrible human. I'm trying to do the right thing. She's going to recapture the cat. She's not going to do that. She should do that.

And then get the cat back. So the cat is in an area called Dearly. I'm not sure. Because if someone picked up my teddy and then chucked him in a different state, like that would be the worst thing in the world to happen to me.

If you've seen a ginger cat in Dearly... You've got to get the cat back. Right, where's Dearly? Dearly is in Hampshire. Right, if you're in Hampshire and a random cat... Dearly near Southampton. Yeah, no, that's dudgy. She's basically kidnapped a cat that belongs to a family and chucked it in a different... How are Dearly in Hampshire? That should be microchip, shouldn't it? It should be microchip, and it should have a columnal. Yeah, it should have a columnal. You know what I mean?

Well, mine don't have collars, because they get stuck in trees. When people do have collars that can come, well, I don't, but my cat is chipped. So I would hope if you see a random cat, guys, in the dirty area in Hampshire, take it to a vet, please get the chip scanned, she can get it back to where it was. That's the problem. Oh, she took it because it doesn't have a chip.

Yeah, so it couldn't have been that beloved. It's actually illegal now, not to have cats chipped. I just had to have all three of mine chipped. You should get for this. I love my cats. A nice, aren't they? Oh my god, the vet said that they were like the tameest friendliest cats, like considering their yard cats. Yeah, yeah. They're so cute. And when we ring a bell, they come for their dinner and their breakfast. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Right, next up, girls, I've got to confess. My best friend and I were pregnant at the same time this past year.

We've both had gorgeous girls. I've never revealed my name preferences because I purely don't think it's a good idea to because everyone has opinions and also because I couldn't settle on a name. However, about a month before we would do, we both went for breakfast with a group of our friends and I overheard her telling our other friend her number one name choice. Well, I know it's awful, but in that moment, I just knew that I wanted that name to my baby.

She didn't know that I had heard her and I just wrote the name at the top of my notes app ready to show my partner later that day. He also loved the name. They didn't know how I'd found it. It was risky because we would do within three weeks with each other and you never know how these things work out.

But as luck was have it, my little angel, although late to come, was born four days before hers. In the hospital, I sent her a photo of my baby with the name and weight. She saw the message, but didn't reply straight away. I knew she was upset, but my baby was here. She had the perfect name and I didn't care.

She did later that day reply congratulating me and her baby came days later and obviously she used another name that she also adores and that suits her baby completely. But she's never mentioned to me that my daughter has her number one name and I'll never tell anyone else. Well it worked out didn't it? I mean, oh that's a bit of a low blow though isn't it? Tony think.

I mean, it's a bit brazen, isn't it? It's a bit brazen. Wow. I mean, it was decent about me, but just not saying anything. Well, she didn't know that she'd heard us, and she never told us that. Yeah, but if it was an unusual name, which it sounds like it was... Do we know the name, am I? No. With that, she said she didn't know how her husband had got that, it makes it feel like it was an unusual-ish name. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Well, it all worked. I like that you say, Lou, let's just come and carry on.

Oh, do you know what? I mean, it has been nostalgia. Yeah, it's been a nostalgic year. It's been a lot that's gone on this year. I just don't know how we generally have a lot of ailments. We have a lot of ailments. I don't know how I might have to prattle so much crap for those who do. One of my favourite things about this year has been us not actually making it to Eurovision, but fully almost doing it.

I mean, we nearly got there. Quite gutting actually. But we didn't do it. But it may be next year. Well, I don't know. I think that boat has sailed. Literally. Quite literally. With raw Caribbean. Off into the distance. Anyway guys, what were your best bits? Have we included it there? If you've got a favourite bit that we haven't mentioned there, then do let us know what it is. We'd love to hear from you. As always, that is Luanna at

Everythingluhanna.com You can also send us a message, a voice note, a WhatsApp, however you want to massage us. Our numbers are 87745 26947 Guys, do subscribe to our podcast as well. Do get somebody else to listen to us. We would love them to join us. And if you could be so kind as well, we would love a five-star review. All you have to do is scroll down to the bottom of your app and just give us a little review and we'll be very, very grateful.

Thanks for listening to us this year. We will of course see you Thursday, which is 2025 bitches.