The unexpected holiday ....
.
When I was a kid, we had a holiday every year. Usually a caravan park somewhere "down south", meaning Great Yarmouth or the like. Still, a lot of our friends never got further than Pease Bay, so we counted ourselves lucky.

One year, Dad had changed jobs and the parents explained to us that they had no spare cash for a holiday. Ah well, we still got 7 weeks off school, so weren't really all that upset.

One day, about a week before the schools broke up (and how I used to wish that phrase would come true!) we got home to find mum and dad in a state of high excitement. Dad had been given a bonus, big enough to pay for a holiday. The only problem was, everywhere was booked solid. All the places we'd been before were gradually crossed off the list.

I don't know how they found it, but somehow they managed to rent a "beachside cottage" at the last minute. Sounded good. Two minutes from the beach, near to amenities, adjacent children's play park.

We got there mid afternoon, and while mum unpacked, dad took us out to find the beach. That was the first disappointment. Two minutes away? Maybe in a Harrier. It took us a good 30 minutes to walk, and we weren't exactly dawdling. It wasn't even a very big beach and had pebbles instead of sand. You can't build castles out of pebbles. I know. I tried.

The second disappointment was the "near to amenities" bit. They meant to say that it was a 20 minute hike to the nearest shop, which was in fact a garage forecourt. And sold the square root of fuck all that kids want to buy.

The final disappointment was the "adjacent children's play park". They meant to say that there used to be a pub across the single track road, but lack of custom had closed it down. In the badly overgrown pub garden were one rusty swing and a broken slide. And a lot of nettles. Most of which I found, effortlessly, with bare legs.

We could just about cope with all that, being a resilient bunch, but then the next day, the rain started. It started and forgot to stop. We had 6 days of sitting in a damp, musty cottage, playing snap with two-thirds of a pack of cards (mice had got the rest) and watching it rain. Joy.

When we got back home we were told by our neighbours that southern Scotland had enjoyed a week of unbroken sunshine. Oh great joy.

The next year, we went to Butlins. It still rained a lot, but at least there was plenty to do.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Fri 27 Jun 2008, 19:57, 2 replies)

Star Wars Episode One
Seriously, Lucas, what the fuck where you smoking?
( Laird Dave Draws Now charges to take off his clothes., Fri 27 Jun 2008, 19:33, 2 replies)

I just...

( idonthaveafunnynickname Drink-Aware? Sure. I'm aware I want another drink., Fri 27 Jun 2008, 19:21, 8 replies)

November 26th, 2007
Drove all the way to Wembley to see Meat-loaf. Got there and it turned out he'd cancelled the rest of his tour. Nothing else to do in Wembley so we got a McDonalds and drove home in silence.

I hate McDonalds.
(Stevie Ruggling, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 18:55, Reply)

Gary
Moore - Milton Keynes Bowl - 1986 - (a week after a dry Glastonbury which was fucking awesome) - fucking shit "I'm not playing if there are footballs flying around" - killjoy cunt.
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 18:51, Reply)

a royal disappointment
tiger was obviously ill. i'd first noticed during the ladybird farm project, a delicate operation involving over 20 ladybirds and a tupperware box. i'd glimpsed tiger catching some rays in his usual spot on the dustbin lid and i decided to take a break from the ladybirds to check on him. tiger was two cats. indoors, he was an amiable, affectionate fellow who purred like a tractor and would watch through the living room window for us to come home so he could greet us at the door. outdoors, he was a wild hunter. his pupils became huge, back discs, his whiskers bristled and his tail twitched, and he would never compromise his outdoor missions by acknowledging your presence. but he seemed unusually docile that day. and i knew something was very wrong when i noticed that the ginger tom from down the road was sitting in serene smugness on the garden wall. tiger had always vigorously defended our garden from the ginger tom. their battles in the past were legendary. i looked at tiger, who seemed to be doing his best to pretend he hadn't seen either of us. i knew what i had to do. for whatever reason, my old friend was unable to defend his territory, so i did it for him. i let out a long, warning hiss as i stalked the ginger tom, which i developed into a low growl, becoming louder and louder the closer i got to him. that took the grin of his face. a final crescendo and spread of my arms as i suddenly rushed at him saw him turn tail and run. that day, with a languid sweep of his tail, tiger passed on to me the responsibility of garden security.

when i wasn't farming in the garden, i would defend the garden remotely from the rear facing windows, armed with a collection of stones from the gravel path. a couple of carefully aimed warning shots was usually enough and tiger's retirement was reasonably peaceful. but things took a turn for the worse when he stopped eating his food and the weight fell off him. as he slept in our laps in the evenings, none of us could keep the worry from our faces.

i knew immediately that something was up when my parents told me that grandpa was coming to stay and that he'd be taking me to see the trooping of the colour the next day.
'the trooping of the what?' i'd asked blankly.
'the colour', they repeated inexplicably. 'the queen will be there, it'll fun,' they said. will it, i thought. trooping didn't sound fun. it sounded depressing. and, at the time, i didn't really understand grandpa. he pronounced 'lasagne' the same as 'champagne' and didn't believe that a potato was a vegetable. so i was in a bad mood when i got ready to go the next morning. before we left, i went to say goodbye to tiger.
'see you later, tiger,' i said, rubbing his chin. he smiled at me and purred gently. he was almost asleep when i left him.

what was trooped that day remains something of a mystery, although i was transfixed by the site of hundreds of soldiers marching precisely in unison. it seemed a bit daft and not a very clever way to conduct yourself in battle. if i was planning an attack, i'd do it while they were eyes right. and i couldn't see the queen.
'she's over there, see?' said grandpa, pointing at a crowd of thousands of people.
'oh yes,' i lied.
my legs were hurting, i was sick of standing and i had taken a distinct dislike to the queen.

at last, i was allowed to go home. as i trudged back up our road, i looked for tiger at the living room window. he wasn't there. i felt my heart physically sink. i ran up the steps ahead of grandpa. he took an age to climb up after me, take the keys out and open the door, which i burst through.
'where's tiger?' i demanded to my parents who were sat at the dining room table, facing me and looking guilty.
'tasmania, we have to tell you something about tiger...'

being made to watch a bunch of weirdos march around playing dress up while my cat was taken away and put to death was one of the most disappointing days ever.
(threadkiller, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 18:19, 6 replies)

Kissing.
Not my thing. Know why? I'm completely asexual.
It didn't help that it was also my socially awkward and momentarily desperate best friend. Aged about, oh, fifteen, at a botched slumber party. Haven't done a thing since then, by sheer physical revulsion at the thought.
Thanks a lot. Put me off sex for life. Some day, I'll be sitting in a nice leather chair at my therapist's office and cursing your name.

The human tongue is a revolting thing. There is a very small, gristly piece of meat in my mouth. I'm not going to make appreciative noises and fall swooning in your arms.
Didn't even have the good luck to magically become a stylish, sexy lesbian afterward. Damn.
Sound pitiful? Yeah. It is.
(Anvilicious, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 18:10, 3 replies)

Camping At The Grand Canyon
I was 13 years old and could hardly wait for our first night of camping with the family, in the wide open spaces of the American West. What an adventure this was going to be!

It took hours and hours of hot, sweaty driving in the tiny, cramped car for our family to reach the mountains south of the Grand Canyon. By then, the sun had set and all the camping spots had filled up. Exhausted, we had to press on, to the park itself.

At 11 p.m., we found a tiny camp spot in a dense Darfur-like warren just outside the park's boundaries. We pitched the brand-new tent, and collapsed.

At 6 a.m., we discovered we were camped right next to a helicopter pad. Choppers started leaving every few minutes to accomodate the tourist mobs. We had to hurriedly eat our oatmeal to the piercing whine of the turbines and brace the tent against rotor wash.

There's nothing like getting back to Nature.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 18:06, Reply)

Riding over Snakes Pass.
I half expected to die, from the way people talk about it.

Yet I didn't. I didn't even come close, actually.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 17:23, 1 reply)

This is going to make me sound such a perv...
...but a few years ago, while on holiday in Turkey my then girlfriend and I got chatting on the bus to this Dutch couple. We knew the way to the beach from the bus stop and they didn't, so they asked if they could walk with us.

Anyway, the girl was very nice, and under her cut-off t-shirt was wearing what appeared to be no bra and a cracking pair of norks.

While walking to the beach, she asked "Do you know if it's okay to go topless here?" to which I replied that it was indeed as I had seen a fair few girls topless on the beach.

Simultaneously, my early 20s brainium was doing the thoughts equivalent of dancing in joy and punching the air exclaiming "Yes!"

So, we got to the beach, got our loungers etc and settled down for the day, and they wandered off after bidding us a farewell. They weren't that far from us and after a while I looked over... to see that she had indeed taken her t-shirt off and was in fact now topless... but that her norks really weren't all that and that she'd looked much sexier with the t-shirt on.

Bah!
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:53, 5 replies)

I was 13
I was sitting in my bedroom overlooking the street. It was getting dark, but I was bored and listless and couldn't be arsed to get up to turn on the light.

As I sat there in the growing dusk I noticed the upstairs light of no.37 over the road come on. Mrs Jones, my friend Bob's mum, walked into her bedroom carrying a bundle of clothes.

She put the clothes down on the bed and started to put them away. When she was done she closed the bedroom door and sat on the bed to remove her shoes.

I started to watch with more interest as she stood to pull down her tights. I couldn't believe it, this was a real women, with real bits and everything, and she was getting undressed practically in front of me!

I hunkered forward, a weird butterfly feeling in the pit of my stomach. She unhook the side of her skirt and slid it down before picking it up and folding it. I could see her underwear! A genuine piece of female lingerie! Fair enough, they were white and at this distance I couldn't exactly make out the details, but so what. All that stood between my eyes and her bottom was a thin piece of cotton material.

I could feel little althegeordie making his presence felt.

She started to undo her shirt. Every button that came loose made the now obvious tent in my trousers twitch like a it was caught in a gale.

Finally, the shirt was taken off and hung up. Her bra was black. She was wearing a black bra! I had never felt this excited in my life, my hands crept towards my flies.

I was about to see a real woman naked, and I was damn well going to have a wank over it. I suddenly realised that I was going to cum whilst I could actually see a naked women, that was practically having sex, it was a least seven eighths of the way to losing my virginity. I was going to be a king at school.

All thought of loyalty to Bob and the fact that I was wanking over his mum went straight out of the window. None of my friends would ever have a story this good to tell. I would be a sex hero.

As my trembling hand waggled up and down she reached round and unhooked her bra. This was it, this was the moment I had dreamed of ever since I first figured out how much fun playing with myself could be.

They were her actual breasts, with nipples and everything. And then it got even better, she slowly slid those little cotton pants down her thighs and onto the floor. I could see a dark triangle of hair between those pale thighs.

I couldn't hold on any more, I fired a huge stream of hot jizz all over the radiator. It was like a fire hose going off. Nobobdy has ever produced as much spunk to this day.

I practically fell off my chair. My head was spinning, my knees were weak and my hand was damp and sticky.

I grabbed the bog roll from under my bed (I was no strange to self love by this time) and cleaned up my radiator.

I got up and opened the bedroom door and wandered downstairs. My mother was just putting my dinner on the table. Beans on toast. I loved beans on toast. This evening could not get any better.

I sat down and tucked in.

WHAT THE FUCK! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH THESE BEANS!

I should explain that my mother was something of an earth mothery type. She didn't like the big brands. So instead of Heinz, she bought some other crap that eschewed the use of sugar, and instead chose to sweeten the beans with apple juice.

Apple Juice.

WTF.

I hated those beans. They ruined a really good evening.
(Bazongaloid, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:53, 23 replies)

Beards
Why, when I have brown hair, is my beard borderline ginger, godammit?

Stupid stupid recessive-gene follicles.

Still, I think it looks good.


Length? You could shelter a vole under it.
(Pickettywitchfinder General, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:50, 10 replies)

Scampi’fied

Disappointments? Hmm well apart from the obvious ones in life that I have i.e.

• Penis – Far too ordinary and mundane.
• Height – still a good two inches off 6ft with an ever diminishing probability I am going to have another growth spurt (I am 27).
• Myopia – I doubt my cornea are going to spontaneously regenerate.

Actually I am depressing myself now so I will stop and tell the story.

When I was a little shrimp maybe 9 or 10 I used to love breaded scampi and chips in a basket. My dad used to take me after swimming to a pub on the way home every week and we both used to have it. It used to be a real highlight of the week.

Fast forward a few months to summer holidays in France. We always used to go to France but at that age it was still exciting even though I eventually became somewhat jaded. We had a static caravan in the south of France and we used to drive down and stay in a few hotels on the way. In one place (possibly Anger) we stopped for a night and went out for a meal at a French restaurant.

I read the menu and saw a phrase that warmed the cockles: Langoustine (Scampi).

I inwardly rejoiced and begged and pleaded with my mother for the scampi. She said that I wouldn’t like it, and that it would be different to my beloved English version. I argued that it was the only constant that was available to me at that time and that it wouldn’t matter what it looked like. I threw a wobbly, as I was determined that would have my favourite dish. I shouted and loudly cajoled and was as obnoxious as a foreign child in a restaurant can be.

My parents eventually allowed me to have the Scampi. What joy of joys! Oh the ecstasy of having scampi in an unfamiliar place! They ordered it and I sat feverishly waiting for the food to arrive (I was also famished).

The moment arrived.

I remember thinking to myself ‘where’s the basket?’ as the garcon approached and brought the dish to the table and placed before me in a flourish.

It was monstrous, a travesty of a scampi.

It was a bubbling giant prawn with feelers, antennae, mandibles, and revolting coal black eyes.

It was pink and scaly. It had a jerking tail. It looked me in the eye and it’s as if it inserted a chitinous appendage into my heart and pulled out my innocence and morality.

It was an alien decapod.

The look on my face made my bastard parents burst out laughing. They said exceedingly helpful things like ‘we told you so’,’ you should listen to your parents’, ‘we always know best’ and the unforgettable ‘well you DID insist…’

In the end I ate steack frites whilst sniffing away my tears.

Such was my disappointment in life that I could never look a basket of scampi in the eye again.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:47, 4 replies)

Bangkok
I do a fair bit of business in Bankok. I sell muffleplugs that fit into car cigarette lighters. The Thai's love them.

Anyway, on one of my longer trips, I suddenly realise that my nuts need emptying. Indeed, it had been some months since I'd ejaculated some spunk out of my cock.

I decided to go out for a stroll down Pyngtonwow street in search of a whore.

I found one eventually - agreed a price, and we went up to her room, which was just above where we were standing. We get down to it, I'm mashing her tits and kissing her... then I reach down to cop a feel of her minge, and guess what???







She didn't have a cock!

I was well disappointed, I wanted something to tell my friends when I got home.
(Spaff_Quaffer Wise fwom your gwave., Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:42, 4 replies)

Cadbury World
A chocolate factory?!

That sounds like great fun! I bet it'll be just like that other chocolate factory I read about one time!

But no... it's just a factory, that makes chocolate bars, and ships them out. No amount of chocolate bought from the shop would help me get over the crushing disappointment of seeing bored staff, a car park, and a big brown building sitting in the place where there should have been dancing Oompa Lumpas, rivers of chocolate and a forest of sweets.
( Thinker, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:32, Reply)

Friday Lunch
Friday lunch where I work is a great chance to bugger off down the local for a few rounds of that liquid bread that's all the rage.

This week it was far more fun, as we have recently been gifted by the local uni some students who wish to earn industry experience over the summer.

Did I mention that this a very techy environment, for those that don't know, techies can drink a pub dry like locusts can strip farms clean (may be a slight exaggeration, but only slight mind). Now we all know that students can do pretty much the same thing - so long as funding is in ample supply (again a slight exaggeration, but only slight mind).

My disappointment is two-fold, the fact that I am no longer 21 and thus not able to partake of the liquid bread with as much vigour as I once did and the fact that the 4 students that accompanied this session to the public house drank less than me when tallied together.

Bloody students these days don't know how to enjoy a Friday lunch, it breaks my heart........

Length? It hasn't changed since I was 21, just learned how to better use it.
(UncleChuckles "Cthulhu fhtagn", Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:21, 4 replies)

Every time I unwrap a chocolate bar
And there's no fucking golden ticket.
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:20, 1 reply)

Well
I had recently finished treatment for a liver infection and the doctor arranged for me to call in to the surgery for a check up. After all the usual questions and poking and prodding (Oo-er) he asked me to provide a urine sample. Unfortunatley I couldn't go so my helpful doctor arranged for me to call back to provide the sample at 12:00.

Many pints of water later I returned as agreed and headed to the toilets to provide the sample. The trouble was that I had drank way too much water and couldn't stop peeing even after filling the vial. I was finally able to leave the toilet shortly before the place closed.

And thats the story of my biggest piss appointment


(Gets coat)
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:17, 1 reply)

All Those Years ago...
While I was at school I really fancied one girl...

Slim, pretty, blonde (quite smart too) and a very nice rack! :D

Being an awkward teenager I never asked her out or even said a few words.

After leaving school to go to college I had lost my V plates and gained buckets of confidence. I saw her again at the same college and thought "Great, here’s my chance!"

Walking up to her I saw that she had quite a short top on, showing off her flat and well tanned belly. On the approach I noticed something else that made me carry on walking and never look back....

She had a HAIRY BACK!!

It was those deceptive blonde hairs that you couldn't see until you were up close, but when you were she had enough hair to rival my own, and I’m sure its another unwritten rule to never go out with a girl with a hairier back than your own!!

So I proceeded to wank over the 'school girl' image I still had in the wank bank when she covered herself up and pretended I didn't know about the hairy back.
(ldwater otherwise known as a 'jive turkey', Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:17, Reply)

My car park....
All the kids had those fancy Fisher Price multi-storey car parks for toy cars. I wanted one badly, so I asked my folks if I could have one for Xmas. "No, no" says R'dad, "you don't want to buy one of those, I'll get the joiners at work to make one".

And they did make me a car park. It wasn't multi-storey mind, but it did have a couple of sloping edges that ressembled drop-krebs, and it did have a fence that ran round the outside.... ok, so it was a flat piece of board, filed down at the edges, with a balsawood fence, and painted blue... not really a car park colour.

Still it worked, and I had it for years. I didn't know about old-men-with-limps who acted as parking attendants back then - but it did have a little blue hut in the corner of the car park for the little limpy get to sit in, if I had one.

I don't think I ever showed my actual disappointment, but from the age of 7, I never asked my folks for anything for Xmas, just in case the "joiners" found out about it.....
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:13, 3 replies)

Australian summers.
Yes. Australian summers. Now, I am a Brit, so am used to wearing woolies and thermals in the middle of July, carrying an umbrella in August, etc., and quite happy to do so because I don't know any better. The wife is an Aussie, so firmly believes that the seasons over here go from: winter - winterer - f***ing wintery - one day of glorious sunshine and warmth - winter. Rinse and repeat.

The first time I went to Australia with her one December, during the height of their supposed summer, Sydney airport was closed due to a hailstorm and we nearly missed our Sydney harbour bridge climb spot because it absolutely tipped it down along with thunder and lighting! I have never in my life seen rain fall so thickly and so furiously.

The second time I went to Australia, a couple of years later, also during December, the ocean was so cold that we couldn't swim in it without bits (especially important man bits) shrivelling up and dropping off and there were even reports of people taking part in iron men competitions being pulled out of the water with hypothermia ffs. Serves them right, mind you.

In conclusion (and perhaps this also belongs in last week's QOTW), my advice to you is save a grand and go to Wales (or Scotland). It's bloody cold, rains most of the time and you can't swim there either!

Amazingly, however, I've just spluffed 1200 squid on another trip to Oz this Christmas...
(Dr. Scambolic, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:07, Reply)

My sledge...
All the kids had those fancy blue or red palstic molded sledges, that slid down snowy hillsides like ger-eased lightning. R'kid and I wanted one badly. "No, no" says R'dad, "you don't want to buy one of those, I'll get the joiners at work to make one".

And so he did. And not longer after he arrived home with the most wonderful of carpenter-built sledges. A long, two seater, sturdy kind of tobogan, with highly polished metal runners. It was all sanded beautifully, and painted very smoothly in tough gloss white paint (not good for finding in snow, but it looked the business).

We waited eagerly for the next snowfall, and eventually it came. Me and r'kid carried it carefully to the park, climbed the hill where the bigger boys had made a compressed snow run.

We took a run at the hill, we jumped on our sleigh, we slid off the very still slats of wood, and face-planted into snow.

The carpenters who had made it were obviously very skilled in the tools of their trade, but knew absolutely fuck all about sledge design, other than what one looked like.

The sides of the sledge that the gleaming steel runners were attached to were no more that 2 inches deeper than the front of the sledge. Instead of behaving like a hot knife through butter, it had all the properties of the Thames Barrier.

Thinking about it makes my bones sore with disappointment.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 16:04, 2 replies)

There was this girl....
That I fancied the arse off at uni. She was lovely. We were mates so I never had the nerve to tell her cos I thought she'd bugger off if she ever found out. Pretty stupid logic now that I think about it but I digest.

All the lads fancied her and occasionally she'd cop off with one of them leaving me heartbroken once again.

Then one day just after the final exams in the 3rd year I pulled her. Yay, me! She was amazing. Absolutely amazing. Then I got my results back from the course. A 1st! Double Yay! The job of my dreams swiftly followed along with a walloping great paypacket.

Of course I was dreaming. I woke up one morning and the whole fantasy world constructed over the course of one night's sleep crumbled to dust in front of me. I swore my tits off. I have never been so disappointed in my whole life.
(Crowtyboy, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 15:26, 3 replies)

Latest disappointment
the fucktard who owns the pub my band are playing in tonight (our first proper gig) has said to our singer that I can't use my guitar amp (and hence distortion) because of some bullshit about it not being too loud because of flats next door.

this is in spite of me using one last sunday until 12 fucking AM.

cocksucker. I'm going to take the fucking thing anyway and argue with him.

even if it does piss of our singer
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 15:25, 22 replies)

Gronksan, Professor Kenny Martin
You've no idea how disappointed I was as a 5 year old kid when I first saw spinach after badgering my mum to buy it for weeks.

She was right, I didn't like it. And it didn't turn my skinny biceps into anvils or pistons.

Popeye's a bastard
(drunkenfud, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 15:17, 1 reply)

Gronkpan's just reminded me...
...of how gutted I was when I found out that eating Ready Brek didn't make me glow on my way to school in the winter mornings =(
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 15:12, 4 replies)

When I was 20 I shared a house with a friend of mine.
I shall call him Kevin, for that was his name. Like me, he was a guitarist, and so our front room, instead of a sofa and television like most people's houses, was full of guitar cases and amplifiers.

I was in seventh heaven; Kevin had many more guitars than me and even better, he didn't mind me playing them! \o/

One day he came home from work and announced that he had ordered a Gibson Firebird. I was so excited I nearly peed: I'd seen one in a video years before but had never actually seen one for real, or played one. Just look at its swoopy curved body, reverse headstock and marvel over its coolosity!

So, after a couple of weeks it arrived, and Kevin brought it home where I was waiting like some crazed uncle-in-waiting. He played it a bit while I looked on, drinking in the shape, then handed it to me.

It was a dog. It hung really awkwardly on the strap, to the extent that it was almost unplayable through having to support the neck while you played, and even worse, it sounded really thin and weedy, nothing like the roaring rock behemoth I was expecting.

I was so disappointed, and told Kevin as much as I handed it disconsolately back to him. I think he was too, for I never saw him gig with it, and in fact can't remember ever seeing it again O_o


/length? About 3 inches too long I reckon, that's why it didn't hang properly =)
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 15:11, 3 replies)

I'm guessing that the ads were similar overseas
my biggest disappointment was my first disappointment. My first realisation that people would lie to me to get my money.

I was four years old. I used to get 20 cents (australian) to buy a bag of mixed lollies from the corner shop each week.

The corner shop got bought out by a petrol chain called "Esso". I used to ask my parents if it was pronounced "ee-ess-ess-oh" and they said "no, it's ess-oh". This confused me a bit because there were two missing letters from their name but whatever. I digress.

They didn't sell mixed lollies anymore. I didn't care. In three weeks I'd have 55 cents, which meant one thing: I could afford a cadbury's crunchie bar.

long story short: My clothes didn't change into a blue-screen image of a windsurfer. They didn't get a bunch of crazy neon scribbles all over them. THE COLOUR OF MY DAY WAS NOT CHANGED.
( gronkpan https://twitter.com/VomitingLarry, Fri 27 Jun 2008, 15:10, 4 replies)