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» Nightclubs
I went to "the dancin'" in East Kilbride hundreds of years ago.
I'd never been to "Rundown" before though so me and Pete went in one Saturday night. The place was actually called "Downtown Miami" but it was fucking awful, hence the name.
We were in for as long as it took to get to the bar and shout "Heavy! Two pints of heavy! *fuck's sake* HEAVY! Fuck, OK, two JD's then! No ic...never mind." and there's someone, propped up on the bar, looking at me. A lady!
Pete, the cunt, hears Rozalla, gets his Jack and fucks off to do his Bill Cosby impression on the pish-stained dancefloor. I never saw him again that night.
This woman was gorgeous. She looked a bit drunk but it was about midnight and so was I.
"Hiya" she screamed. I was in love. "Alright?" I bellowed back. "Aye! You're a good lookin' basturt. Whit ye dein' here?" she yelled back.
"Jist up wi' ma pal. He's err therr, dancin' aboot lik a fanny!" I pointed out the whirling dervish that was Pete, scaring away all the women with his "jack moves".
And now the nightmare begins.
"Mon we'll git a wee seat!" "Aye"
I proceed to the nearest table, beckoning her with my eyes. "Whit a total fuckin' ride," I'm thinking as I sit down, casually clearing the bottles aside. She moves slowly, sexily, all the while staring straight at me with those "fuck me" eyes, takes two steps towards me and falls flat on her face, knocking strangers aside and flinging her Bailey's everywhere.
"FUCKSAKE, MAN! KEEP A HAUD O' YIR BIRD! SHE'S FUCKIN' HUMPED!" All eyes were on me. "But..." I dragged her up from the floor and because of this everyone thought we were a couple.
I got her into a seat and we chatted for a while, her all embarrassed, me now feeling a bit protective of her. She slipped on something, she told me, but now she's fine. She seemed OK so we had a high-decibel blether and a few more boozes. It came to chucking out time and I said cheerio but she followed me downstairs and we ended up having a big winch outside the TSB.
The nightmare continues...
As we were getting tore intae each other a cry goes up (the names have been changed to protect the "innocent") "Alright, Jeanette Kranky? Gettin' a winch, ur ye?"
Ho-ho. It's her pals. A gentle ribbing is OK.
"Ah'll tell yir man, ya wee hoor!"
Not so good.
"Ah've no goat a man. Thir only takin' the piss." she tells me. Phew! I thought I was in for a pummeling, and not the good kind.
We arrange to meet later that week. "Come round ma hoose. I'll get shot of the wee brother and we can fuck like animals." She agreed.
I sent the wee fucker to the library and she turned up. Unfortunately I'd been out the night before with some friends from work and had been speeding my tits off and, sad to say, I had a genital malfunction. No amount of persuasion would make the bastard work. She didn't leave unfulfilled though so I was of some use.
We arranged to meet at hers (ooh. she has her own flat! Very impressive to a 19 year old college boy) in a couple of days. I promised to be fully functional.
I turned up ready for a good hump. She opened the door and a strange smell hit my nostrils. It smells of baby poo.
"Come in."
I did so. Then a crying sound, almost like a crying bab... It's a fucking baby!
"Do you want to get down to it? My husband will be back from work in a couple of hours?"
*dustcloud*
(Thu 9th Apr 2009, 14:50, More)
I went to "the dancin'" in East Kilbride hundreds of years ago.
I'd never been to "Rundown" before though so me and Pete went in one Saturday night. The place was actually called "Downtown Miami" but it was fucking awful, hence the name.
We were in for as long as it took to get to the bar and shout "Heavy! Two pints of heavy! *fuck's sake* HEAVY! Fuck, OK, two JD's then! No ic...never mind." and there's someone, propped up on the bar, looking at me. A lady!
Pete, the cunt, hears Rozalla, gets his Jack and fucks off to do his Bill Cosby impression on the pish-stained dancefloor. I never saw him again that night.
This woman was gorgeous. She looked a bit drunk but it was about midnight and so was I.
"Hiya" she screamed. I was in love. "Alright?" I bellowed back. "Aye! You're a good lookin' basturt. Whit ye dein' here?" she yelled back.
"Jist up wi' ma pal. He's err therr, dancin' aboot lik a fanny!" I pointed out the whirling dervish that was Pete, scaring away all the women with his "jack moves".
And now the nightmare begins.
"Mon we'll git a wee seat!" "Aye"
I proceed to the nearest table, beckoning her with my eyes. "Whit a total fuckin' ride," I'm thinking as I sit down, casually clearing the bottles aside. She moves slowly, sexily, all the while staring straight at me with those "fuck me" eyes, takes two steps towards me and falls flat on her face, knocking strangers aside and flinging her Bailey's everywhere.
"FUCKSAKE, MAN! KEEP A HAUD O' YIR BIRD! SHE'S FUCKIN' HUMPED!" All eyes were on me. "But..." I dragged her up from the floor and because of this everyone thought we were a couple.
I got her into a seat and we chatted for a while, her all embarrassed, me now feeling a bit protective of her. She slipped on something, she told me, but now she's fine. She seemed OK so we had a high-decibel blether and a few more boozes. It came to chucking out time and I said cheerio but she followed me downstairs and we ended up having a big winch outside the TSB.
The nightmare continues...
As we were getting tore intae each other a cry goes up (the names have been changed to protect the "innocent") "Alright, Jeanette Kranky? Gettin' a winch, ur ye?"
Ho-ho. It's her pals. A gentle ribbing is OK.
"Ah'll tell yir man, ya wee hoor!"
Not so good.
"Ah've no goat a man. Thir only takin' the piss." she tells me. Phew! I thought I was in for a pummeling, and not the good kind.
We arrange to meet later that week. "Come round ma hoose. I'll get shot of the wee brother and we can fuck like animals." She agreed.
I sent the wee fucker to the library and she turned up. Unfortunately I'd been out the night before with some friends from work and had been speeding my tits off and, sad to say, I had a genital malfunction. No amount of persuasion would make the bastard work. She didn't leave unfulfilled though so I was of some use.
We arranged to meet at hers (ooh. she has her own flat! Very impressive to a 19 year old college boy) in a couple of days. I promised to be fully functional.
I turned up ready for a good hump. She opened the door and a strange smell hit my nostrils. It smells of baby poo.
"Come in."
I did so. Then a crying sound, almost like a crying bab... It's a fucking baby!
"Do you want to get down to it? My husband will be back from work in a couple of hours?"
*dustcloud*
(Thu 9th Apr 2009, 14:50, More)
» Barred
I've been barred from getting a taxi from the rank at Birmingham International train station
but it wasn't my fault.
The bus to work didn't turn up, so I had to get a taxi. When we arrived the fare was £6.70 so I whipped out a twenty. He looked at me like I was mental.
"I can't change that." he glowered.
"Eh?"
"I haven't got change of a twenty."
Bear in mind that this was about 8 o'clock in the morning, so I was more than a little confused by this. A taxi driver that doesn't have 13 quid on him. Made more confusing as he was working from the station so most useful journeys (into Brum for the tourist/daft businessperson) from there would have been more than £20, so he'd have been fucked anyway as he obviously didn't have any more than £13.30 on him.
"I haven't got anything smaller. I've just been to the bank." I told him.
He scowled "Well, I can't change it."
"There isn't really anything else I can do. I would have thought you would have had change."
He then informed me that he was "not a bank, mate".
Still feeling a bit confused I asked him what he suggested I do. I was expecting to ask if I had a credit card, or if he could have my name and address or something. I have no idea what to do in such a situation. I was therefore taken aback when he informed me of his ingenious solution to our dilemma.
"I suggest you don't pay, get out and never get in my taxi again."
"Pardon?"
"Get out. I'll make sure I spread the word around the rank. Don't expect to get a taxi from there again."
"But... I've got the money. It's in my hand."
Silence.
So I'm barred from using the taxi rank but I saved the bus fare.
On the off chance that that taxi driver is reading this, I carry £6.70 with me every day when I walk past the rank (mainly to make me feel smug), so you can have the money if you want it.
(Wed 6th Sep 2006, 19:35, More)
I've been barred from getting a taxi from the rank at Birmingham International train station
but it wasn't my fault.
The bus to work didn't turn up, so I had to get a taxi. When we arrived the fare was £6.70 so I whipped out a twenty. He looked at me like I was mental.
"I can't change that." he glowered.
"Eh?"
"I haven't got change of a twenty."
Bear in mind that this was about 8 o'clock in the morning, so I was more than a little confused by this. A taxi driver that doesn't have 13 quid on him. Made more confusing as he was working from the station so most useful journeys (into Brum for the tourist/daft businessperson) from there would have been more than £20, so he'd have been fucked anyway as he obviously didn't have any more than £13.30 on him.
"I haven't got anything smaller. I've just been to the bank." I told him.
He scowled "Well, I can't change it."
"There isn't really anything else I can do. I would have thought you would have had change."
He then informed me that he was "not a bank, mate".
Still feeling a bit confused I asked him what he suggested I do. I was expecting to ask if I had a credit card, or if he could have my name and address or something. I have no idea what to do in such a situation. I was therefore taken aback when he informed me of his ingenious solution to our dilemma.
"I suggest you don't pay, get out and never get in my taxi again."
"Pardon?"
"Get out. I'll make sure I spread the word around the rank. Don't expect to get a taxi from there again."
"But... I've got the money. It's in my hand."
Silence.
So I'm barred from using the taxi rank but I saved the bus fare.
On the off chance that that taxi driver is reading this, I carry £6.70 with me every day when I walk past the rank (mainly to make me feel smug), so you can have the money if you want it.
(Wed 6th Sep 2006, 19:35, More)
» Biggest Sexual Regret
Shagging someone who went "Whee! I'm the winner!" every time she came
and who also hit me quite a lot. Remember, kids: An expert fuck is not worth any number of punches in the face.
(Sat 10th Dec 2011, 13:58, More)
Shagging someone who went "Whee! I'm the winner!" every time she came
and who also hit me quite a lot. Remember, kids: An expert fuck is not worth any number of punches in the face.
(Sat 10th Dec 2011, 13:58, More)