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This is a question Weird Traditions

Talking with a friend yesterday about school dinners, she suddenly said, "We had to march into the dining room behind the School Band... except on Thursdays." Since all of us were now staring, she qualified this with, "...on Thursdays there was no wind section. It was a tradition."

What weird stuff have you been made to do "because it's a tradition."

(, Thu 28 Jul 2005, 11:11)
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Strange bit true
Every time I walk past a police officer, I immediately scream the word 'CARGANTUA!' and vomit searing hot bile into my cupped hands. I drop to my knees and hold my breath and squeeze my face muscles until my eyes are protruding from their sockets and my tongue hangs out limp, like an old man's old man.
Both my arms grow up to several feet in length and my knees snap back inverting themselves so I begin to resemble a kind of long armed bile spewing dog-man!
My ears take on a 'hybrid wolf-face' shape and begin to spew dark blood all over the Tarmac in front of me. By now the officer of the law is either looking at me sheepishly or cowering on the ground, hands clutched to his heart, gasping for breath.
My head is twice its normal size and much more 'angular', My eyes are protruding on their stalks and my groin is a mass of writhing bore-worm.
The smell of burning faeces makes the officer's eyes water. He can feel something burrowing deep into his neck, My tentacles have speared him and my spindly fingers are now firmly clasped onto his ankles.
There is a look of shear panic in his eyes as my foul breath beats heavy onto his quivering face.
I clasp the scruff of his muscular neck and move his head so that his petrified eyes look deep into mine and I cant hold it anymore....
We kiss passionately and make love then and there, him squirming with ecstasy and me heaving with delight. I take his full manhood deep inside my gaping wound, puss oozes from both of our fat fucking faces and i begin to weep with pleasure.
My clown tears drip down my face and onto the melting corpse now lay in front of me and I begin to vomit with fury at my actions. Both the stillness and I share a vacant glance at one and other and my need for fresh flesh begins to take over. My wobbling legs are now so unsteady and misshapen that they can hardly hold my massive bulk and they begin to buckle under the weight as I bob up and down like a demented jack-in-a-box.
Jacques 'O Box.
Alas we forget.


Every blooody time!
(, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 15:38, closed)

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