Updated: Aug 25, 2021
Yeah, you’ve probably read the title and thought, ‘What the fuck?' And you’re probably now judging me too. Wondering why the fuck I would read something with such an odd title?
I’ll simply point out, as you’re reading this review, so there’s a part of you that must be as intrigued as I was.
So, open up your nostrils and breath in the heady aroma of Billy, Billy Panty Sniffer.
So, what’s it about then?
Billy is a panty sniffer and proud of it too. On the last day of school, he bags a prize he’s been coveting for a while when he snatches the crusty gusseted underwear from the largest girl in school.
Eager to enjoy his prize, Billy races home to get up close and personal with the undergarments. That involves having a big, deep scented sniff and a quick wank.
Unfortunately for Billy, his family catches him in the act.
What awaits our intrepid crotch-inhaler now that his family know what he’s been doing?
Well, you’ll have to read on to find out.
You probably don’t need me to tell you that a story titled Billy, Billy Panty Sniffer isn’t going to be hailed as a literary classic. It’s probably not going to be a book you’re going to want to be seen openly reading either. Not unless you want folks to carefully back away from you whilst giving you some very stern/disgusted looks. I suppose in that respect, Billy, Billy Panty Sniffer, is a sure-fire way to keep yourself socially distanced from others.
What Simon McHardy has achieved here is a story that is as funny as it is nasally nauseating. Although the comedy stems mainly from just how ridiculous it all is.
By the end, you'll come away from it with an itch in your nostrils, and an urge to take a deep inhalation of some flowers. Or an overflowing ashtray. Anything to get that imagined stink from your system.
I guess we're just lucky there isn't a scratch-n-sniff edition.
For anyone that wants to create perfect olfactory accompaniment for reading Billy, Billy Panty Sniffer, I would recommend you find a dumpster that’s filled with rotting fish and a smattering of dead whores. Get a troop (or whatever the collective noun is) of the most downtrodden and filthy piss-soaked hobos you can, and get them to climb in with you. Snuggle yourself down amongst the filth, light a few vagina scented candles, and then, you just sit back and read.
For anyone who has been slightly disgusted or put-off by any words in this review, well, I wrote it this way for a reason; so you would know that Billy, Billy Panty Sniffer is not the book for you. And let’s be honest here, I haven’t come close to touching on how vivid the book descriptions can get.
For everyone else who’s still here, and who hasn’t pinched their nose shut at just the thought of those rank pant-odours, then welcome. We may have found the book for you. "You sick little spunk monkey," As Billy’s Granddad would say.