but my exes..........
......... there was the one from uni who used to smoke in the house, which we all hated as it was. but he used to light the fucking things off the toaster and to use the crockery as ashtrays, which made it so much worse. given that his idea of "washing up" was to drag a dirty cloth across the plates with a splash of cold water, this was not acceptable. he also used to leave his underwear in the bathroom, occasionally with a telltale brown velvet stripe down the back, and had a frankly bizarre ability to leave the kitchen/freezer door open so that we would come back hours later to ruined food. NOT GOOD as a student on a v tight budget in london.

then there was the bedshitter. that he shat the bed was beyond all measure of gross, but as he only did it once, it was more disgusting than annoying. what was utterly infuriating was his snoring (sleep apnoea). he used to tell me, with no small amount of pride, that people with apnoea have been measured as snoring more loudly than an oncoming train. and then he'd pass out. and snore like an oncoming train. this is why i was with him for 4 years, including a couple of holidays, but we never spent the whole night in the same bed. i have no idea how his wife copes with it. in addition to this, he was 37 but lived like a gross student: never washed up, never changed his bedding, wore the same clothes without a shower from fri night - sun night...

a couple of the others post on here, so i've deleted the next bits to spare their blushes/myself from a lawsuit. but it was cathartic typing them out anyway!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 7 Aug 2011, 12:41, 14 replies)

my bloke
is pretty much perfect in practically every way: we get on really well, he's v kind and sweet, ridiculously bright, gorgeous looking etc etc. and he is in utterly amazing shape. his body looks as if someone sculpted it out of warm cinnamon or something.

but omg he is obsessed with his diet. it doesn't really stop him drinking beers or eating anything, although he does go on slightly worryingly girly detoxes sometimes, but it is quite irritating when the guy you are having dinner with looks at his plate and says sadly, "i'd have been better off with the 1200 calories at fire and stone."

even pointing out that sex burns off about 600 calories an hour doesn't really cheer him up.

i have tried so many times to tell him that he is stunning just as he is that my plan b is to wear earplugs at mealtimes.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 7 Aug 2011, 12:30, 11 replies)

Xmas is a good time for being annoying
My family has a peculiar habit, where it is perfectly acceptable for someone to be the Christmas Pig. This person doesn't know they are the Christmas Pig until they turn up, it is not pre-ordained, it is no one's particular turn, it is just something that happens probably in most families. The Christmas Pig could have been in a jolly mood in the morning and for the remaining 364 days, but for some ungodly reason, Piggery descends around the Christmas table. Presents were slightly strange; the meal didn't have the beetroot jelly that no one ever ate, but the year that Gran forgot it there was hell to pay; old grievances aired to try and sour a cheery mood. Yet the family demonstrates its annual ability to retain a sense of togetherness and launch full scale mockery mortars at the Pig in a carthatic sharing over tasty meats and cold beverages. The next year, even the next day, all is forgiven and the Christmas Pig gains normal status for another year.

I think it is the one day of the year that it is condoned to call out annoying family members. Tradition is a beautiful thing and it is found every year around our Christmas table, wearing the Christmas Pig paper crown of unseasonal and annoying behaviour.
(boozehound is drinking your bar dry, Sun 7 Aug 2011, 11:44, 1 reply)

Cat woman
A year ago I was seeing a girl at weekends that lived in a flat by her self with her cat. When I went over the flat stunk of cat shit, and the cat had a habit of staring at me at the worst times. When I phoned her she would put the cat on the phone to me for at least a good minute—it always feels longer when you’re struggling to make conversation. I never really knew what to talk about with that cat. Miaw?
(joedoggyuk, Sun 7 Aug 2011, 11:42, 2 replies)

For 18 years has been making an irritating noise with her tongue against her cheek, aking to a creaking ship in a storm.
Does it even more when shes stressed, usually when told to shut the f**& up and stop it.
So sensitive to it now I can hear her doing it through 2 closed doors.
Also totally phobic about feet which causes its own hilarity.
(szmytke, Sun 7 Aug 2011, 1:22, Reply)

she wont stop singing the song that never ends
Yes it goes on and on my friends
Some people started singing it
Not knowing what it was
And they'll continue singing it forever
Just because
This is the song that never ends

God. Dammit.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 22:50, 2 replies)

My current...
Doesn't have a sweet tooth, and does not understand that I'm a sugar junkie. He fails to understand why, even though I know sugar is teh evil and I should not eat carbs, ever, I sill have a total addiction to cakey goodness.
Winds me up that he doesn't get cravings at all.
He does get hangovers though - ha!
(Beklet is inexplicably angry, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 22:46, 3 replies)

My ex
Told me he was just after a casual thing, being in the throes of a divorce and custody battle.....I agreed, as I was definitely not up for a relationship....
A month later, I went on holiday with a few mates, and he rings me up and texts me telling me how much he loves me. Cue panic on my part.....
It calms down a bit, then he dumps me, just before my birthday, because he still loves his wife (she dumped him because he cheated on her...then told her)
Three weeks later, he wants me back.....loves me lots etc....
Couple of months later, he dumps me by text while I'm working away. By this point, I really don't give a shit.
He goes to his mates, gets drunk and tells everyone I'm a bunny boiler, because I demanded he come round and explain why he dumped me to my face.....
And then he crashed his mates PC by looking at ladyboy porn.
Twunt.
(Beklet is inexplicably angry, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 22:44, Reply)

Nearly entirely irrelevant poo story
Apologies for near-offtopicness, but it's a good 'un and I thought I ought to share the lurid details before they got lost in the mists of time. I suppose this - to a large extent - qualifies me as an annoying partner, given that I was sharing a hotel room with my wife at the time.

So, we had just completed a delightful week away on the Isles Of Scilly, and rounded off our time with a couple of nights in Falmouth rather than attempt the slog up the M5 at 8pm of an evening. Having gorged on fresh-out-the-sea-that-day fish all week, I was getting cravings for something hot and spicy, so I booked us tables at the Gurkha curry house on the second night.

At the Gurkha, I ordered a Piro-Piro chicken and a chilli paneer. Both came with lumps of fresh green chilli, a fruit which I love the taste of, and one which my digestive system treats with relative equanimity. The Piro-Piro chicken came with an extra treat, a mid-sized roasted chilli on top - about 4 inches long, and a brownish-purple in colour. Having no fear in these matters, I popped it in my mouth, chewed it a couple of times and swallowed it down. I expect you're all waiting for me to get a shock? No, not really. It was smoky, liquoricy, not too hot, and altogether a satisfactory chilli experience. The curries were delicious; I swilled them down with a couple of pints of Doom Bar, and we retreated to our excellent B&B (the Poltair guest house, whom I must namedrop because they gave us a free upgrade to their nicest room). An hour of telly and early night. Job done.

Wave 1 - Rattle your sabres, boys! 2:05am. Having dropped off and had a somewhat disturbing dream about Dara O'Briain and Dustin Hoffman as Captain Hook, I was awakened by my stomach making a 'you know what? You'd be more comfortable on the toilet.' sort of gesture. Having been told off already this week for farting in bed, I retreated to the en-suite, possibly expecting a mild ring-of-fire incident as retribution for enjoying a spicy curry. Instead, I experienced one of those 'Just A Fart' disappointments. But this just wasn't any old big fart, oh no. What started life with the tone and timbre of a 50cc idling motorcycle quickly accelerated in volume, acquiring the accompaniment of a whining like a dozen banshees and the counterpoint of a Lancaster bomber passing overhead. The water bubbled in the toilet bowl, the extractor fan switched itself off, and in the harbour, a container ship sounded its foghorn in bemused reply.

"Cap'n! That foghorn is not marked on our charts!"
"No worries, Number One. It's just a man having a difficult dump in Emslie Road"
"Well, let's at least show him some solidarity"

Suspecting this was the main movement, rather than the overture, I sat with a steely grimace for a couple of minutes and then tottered back to bed.

Wave 2 - A warning shot across the bows. 2:15am. Barely five minutes after convincing myself that nothing else was on the way, my stomach made warning noises again. This time, it was less 'you might be more comfortable on the bog' than 'you will seriously bloody regret not moving me into the lavvy right now sonny'. Gritting my teeth at these unbidden messages from my bowel, I dropped the boxers again and made contact with the cool porcelain. I wasn't going to settle for another JAFfa, although initial signs weren't promising as an emanation with the sound and volume of a small wind machine emanated from my bottom. I was pretty sure that the curry was wanting to effect its exit by now, so I grimaced and pushed hard, crinkling my forehead and pulling the face that Compo used to do when he saw Nora Batty's tights. The reward for my efforts was a single passing - a lump the size and density of a lead ball-bearing, which rolled mockingly around the bottom of the bowl. Still, the pains had passed. Maybe it was really only a bad bout of wind?

Wave 3 - The first cavalry charge. 3:45am. If you could have drawn a map of my internal organs on my ample belly that night, I'm sure I would have been able to trace this curry's passage to the nearest centimetre. Every time, the gut wrench shifted ever so slightly, and this time, there was no mistaking that something really wanted to move on.

Sweaty-foreheaded, I hoisted the toilet lid once more. The damn thing was starting to look like that rock that the Greek chap had to roll up the hill. I was resigned to another windy moment, and - such was the volume - wondering how I could fill gas cylinders with some sort of anal attachment, and flog the results to BOC. This time, though, there were additional vocalisations:

I said: "Oh, ooh, God, God, God". I'm not normally so devout.

My arse said: "Spluph, sploo, splsh, splsh, brrrrrrsplsh, splsh, splut, splsh, splsh, sppprrrllllllll, slsh, slsh, spluph, SPLUPH, SPLUPH". I sat there and recorded the exact spelling for posterity. The feeling was awesome. The smell was also awesome, but in a very different way. It was like being locked in a room with Piers Morgan's compost heap.

This would probably be the end of it, I thought. I can normally dispose of a curry in one sitting. I was taken by the size and shape of the chunks (number 6 on the famous Bristol Stool Chart, if you're wondering) and how similarly they resembled the bits of chicken and paneer I had not long ago masticated upon. Odd, really, given that I'm sure they were properly cooked, and I often eat a lot of Indian spices without complaint.

Wave 4 - The second cavalry charge. 6:00am. I've always been struck* by my novel dumps in the past (the piano leg that was like trying to flush a rolling pin; the one that somehow effected a perfect 90-degree right-angle halfway through extrusion; and most of all, the two perfect spheroids that bobbed in the toilet bowl, bouncing off each other like a little fecal Newton's Cradle), and this one was a new experience. It was EXACTLY THE SAME as the previous one. Same achings, same noises (I won't replicate them), same producedure, same Number 6 lumps**, same wiping procedure (only four sheets - surprisingly few...). As I was convalescing, I coined the term 'deja poo', which resulted in me having to explain to the wife why I was sitting in the bathroom sniggering like Muttley on Prozac at six in the morning. I was really hoping this was over, now, because I had a five-hour drive up the M5 the next day...

* Please note, when I say 'struck', I don't literally mean 'hit on the head'. That would be weird.

** This is not a 'Prisoner' reference. Although it would be cool if it was.

Wave 5 - Heroic procession into Berlin. 8:40am. No! No! Not more, surely? I hadn't eaten this much; there can't have been this much left in my intestines.

I was nursing a cup of tea, having sent the wife downstairs for her full-English and unsurprisingly not feeling much like one myself. The first cuppa of the day is often a good bowel-opener, though, and I found myself with the old familiar rumble down below. It was worryingly like deja poo all over again.

This one was different, though. A couple of preliminary lumps left my sphincter feeling like someone had taken an electric sander to it. As I sat there, wondering if this is how Alan Carr feels every morning, my colon spoke to me one last time.

It squeaked (yes, SQUEAKED. Like a mouse, or an Ewok. Never a noise that you want your anal region to make), paused agonisingly, and blew out a short but incredibly loud trumpet that could have melted cheese at a dozen paces. There followed a prolonged sensation which at the time I likened to trying to give birth to Edward Scissorhands. My ring was being scissored open by razor wire and dipped in sulphuric acid. I cried a little bit. And, then...blissful, glorious emptiness. My guts relaxed more than Roger Moore's acting technique. They were finally empty and at peace once more.

Turning round and routinely inspecting the bowl resulted in a sight which I will take every precaution not to see again. There, bobbing in the sea of foulness, and - I swear - grinning back at me, was a 4-inch long, brownish-purple, barely chewed chilli pepper, every bit as intact and recognisable as it was atop my Piro-Piro chicken 12 hours before. It didn't take much conclusion to work out that it was responsible not only for the razor-edged ring torture, but for precipitating the relentless charge through my digestive system that the rest of my dinner had had to endure.

I felt alright after that.

But, please take my advice, if you have a curry in Falmouth, don't eat the chilli.
( ousgg is not seeking approval, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 22:42, 8 replies)

So... the other morning I was having a poo.
It was one of those poos where everything just falls into place.

I have mentioned in a previous qotw that I am woken up each morning by my dog, Oscar, licking my face (this was no exeption), and I soon became aware that a worrying degree of bowel evacuation was required. I started things off and it seemed to be quite a regular one, no frills and all that, but it was soft and warm enough to merit the term pleasant.

I didn't have to push anymore by this point, as gravity was now on my side and this majectic turd slid from my anus to its final resting place. I realised by this point that I had gone an incrediby long time without pinching, and by now I was revelling in my own brilliance.

The next stage of this particular poo saw a number of silent farts come out, whilst poo was still coming out. This is an experience that I feel is best portrayed by likening it to how a woman must feel when a man has ejectulated in her anus or vagina and, though his penis is still inside her and is effectively filling up the hole (hopefully) some semen leaks out through the almost water-tight seal between vaginal wall and penile shaft.

As I recall, there were 5 of these farts before this monumental toilet treasure called it a day - I didn't even have to clench to finish it, it just ended by itself. Then, before I could take in the extent of my movements, my rectum refilled itself so that I could extend my enjoyment - this truly was a re-loading time that the Royal Artillery would have been proud of. This one was exqually as delightful and pengent as the last had been, though sadly not as long.

Anyway, long story short she was pissed off that I had poo'd on her in her sleep... I mean what the fuck is that all about!? Needless to say I got rid of her.
(2_Killer_Mockingbirds Listened to all the same songs on, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 22:10, 2 replies)

Over the last 6 years:
The average affection level did not extend beyond a goodnight hug and kiss.
He did not like to sit with me he would pick a different sofa.
He ACTED more affectionate when there was a camera around us or if there is a lot of attention on us.
He spends £90 on alcohol in a night sometimes. He never told me if he was coming home
He put me £400 in debt.
He didn’t seem to understand how budgeting works and if I tried to budget he would always overrule me.
He was obsessed with the expensive brands when clothes shopping. (You don’t need 12 pairs of designer jeans. You also don’t need to have matching belts and t-shirts for every outfit.)
He tended to treat me with more sarcasm and contempt than he would treat anyone else with because I wouldn’t argue back.
He wanted to dye his hair blue the night before I graduated!
He used me as a taxi because he was too lazy to book driving lessons.
He subscribed to a gay social networking site and sent naked pics of himself to a guy called Dave (he said he was curious!!!)
He snogged my best friend (female) before he had ever snogged me (he told me he didn’t see the point in kissing).
He got drunk and slept in the same bed as a gay friend, when I questioned him about it the next day he said he couldn’t remember if anything had happened or not.
Over 6 years we only had sex 7 times, he said it didn’t turn him on and he said he didn’t like oral sex. (IMPLYING THAT THIS WAS DUE TO MY LACK OF SKILL)

However, I left him last month and I have a new boyfriend and he is amazing in comparison, and seeing as he is a b3ta user he can vouch for me that I am DEFINITELY VERY GOOD IN BED! (this was news to me) My new boyfriend is Fu-shamazing!
(bobmcbobbity, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 21:02, 41 replies)

The Ex
Started an argument every single time i went out with mates due to the fact most of them are female.

Was positive i wanted to fuck all of them and every other girl, apart from her. Despite me telling her that i've grown up with these girls and nothing has happened in the 21 years of knowing them.

Got pissed off if i ever asked if she was ok when she clearly was in a strop about something (was always something stupid)

Then after months of her being positive i wanted to cheat on her, and me trusting her, she fucked off to Malia with her friends and cheated on me.

Then accused me of hiding things from her because i didn't go mental at her straight away.

Oh and she frequently fell out with me because i'd slept with more people than her......
(scottyb28, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 16:30, Reply)

short on time, long on annoyance
once ended a 7-week relationship with a bloke because if i heard him use the phrase "in more ways than one!" out of context one more fucking time, i would have killed him.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 15:54, 23 replies)

Phoning it in.
Snobby princess, seemed to fancy my best mate even though he was an arsehole to her, she turned out to be my sister because I'm Luke Skywalker.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 15:41, 3 replies)

Baby Talk...
1st proper GF at uni.

Trainee teacher.

Couldn't switch off from prattling to eight year olds.

If I got the hump she referred to me as "Mr Grumble-Bunny" and "Grump-puss"

I could go into the stupid names she had for everything including her push-bike and her vag, but I'm more or less recovered now and don't want to risk a relapse.
(apologies_for_length, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 14:20, 11 replies)

Although he is a fantastic two and a half handwidths of stiffy joy
My lovely ex-hubby is a describer. There were moments where a long, drawn out conversation of something mundane were predictable. So he couldn't have just popped out to the shop for milk and bread; no, it had to be a journey described in Proustian detail. "Last Thursday, reckon it was about mid-morning because if was after my second cup of coffee, but before elevenses, I realised that there was no milk after going to the fridge, so I thought I would go and pick up some milk, but then I got distracted...".

I became serene to it all after nearly two decades, when I started out young and launching verbal shots across the non-summarised chasm to speed up the convo, but then retreated into a world of acceptance where the more calm and silent I became, the more violent and horrible the ways I was going to kill him montaged through my zen-like trance.
(boozehound is drinking your bar dry, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 12:34, 12 replies)

maddie gets anoyed when i get the horn

( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 10:33, 5 replies)

What annoyed me most?
Drinking excessively and being bi-polar........a recipe for disaster.
(pastcaring trembling in a corner....., Sat 6 Aug 2011, 10:29, 2 replies)

Piles

I think this may be a generic guy thing as my dad does it too. He, and my partner, leave small, untidy drifts of paperwork lying around the house in seemingly no order. When I get fed up of looking at them after months of dusting round them and put them all in a pile together ready to be filed away, I get moaned at for spoiling their "system".
(Burnside79, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 9:39, 1 reply)

Torvill and Dean
just something about them...
(spleenspleenspleen coffeeflavouredsugarcoatednicotine, Sat 6 Aug 2011, 6:47, 4 replies)

I once dated a septic
Quite a game lass and pretty filthy, one of her more annoying habits was trying to stick things in my arse. She loved a thumb up there herself, (although never let me get me my brown wings, just a slight discolouration under the nail) therefore she couldn't understand why I didn't want her probing my chocolate brownie. Ever since the first time someone tried that and scratched me internally it has always induced a very strong sphinctal clenching, hard enough to break a finger. Yet every time we got down to it she would be there trying to drive up a one way street, it always put me off my stroke.

Other annoying habits included:

Believing everything was American, including the Beatles and the Spice Girls.

Not believing that "learned" was a real word, as in "He was a learned scholar." Because she had never heard it before.

Violently country dancing in public.

and countless more, the things we put up with for regular sex.
(Little Animal Disaster isn't finishing what he started, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 23:40, 4 replies)

Time and a place, FFS
Yes I know I shouldn't complain, but it is annoying. Mrs SLVA and I are a very touchy feely couple, as if we'd just met or something. Consequently she knows all the places to trace a finger over to get my pulse racing. Those little touches and stroking, combined with certain body language and her 'tongue in her cheek' expression that means "I think I might suck you off, do you mind?" and she can give me at least a semi far too easily.

Why am I complaining I hear you ask. It's nice when lying in bed watching a DVD, or on the sofa when all the kids have gone out. All romantic and soppy and intimate.

It's not so good when walking around Tesco, when I can feel it extending down my leg and I have to walk like I have a small stone in my shoe, pull my jacket down and carry my basket in front of me in an attempt to conceal my tumescence.

She'd laugh, I'd laugh back and tell her to piss off, the we'd carry on shopping. 5 minutes later, it starts again.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 23:24, 4 replies)

Just annoying
I've only *just* started seeing the current fella in my life so I shall refrain from commenting on that relationship.

However, I'm a terrible lab-mate. I had a sex dream involving David Tennant and some ham, and told one of the post docs about it the next day. He hasn't eaten ham for a couple of weeks now.

Length? For some reason, it was hidden by the ham...
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 22:49, 4 replies)

But the sex was good
Went out with someone for a while a few years ago. It was an internet thing, we met, we got on. A week later we were shagging like a couple of rattlesnakes on rohypnol. After a few weeks we were officially going out.

Nice girl but hopelessly high maintenance.

She complained when I went out with my mates but didn't let me tag along when she went out with hers. In fact, she went through her friends one by one and told me the reasons why each wouldn't like me.

On the night of Live8, myself and a female friend of mine in the pub watched and sang along to Pink Floyd together and the girlfriend threw a mental in the pub. Lots of accusations later on that I didn't care about her.

After two months of going out she NEEDED to know if our relationship was going to go anywhere because she wanted marriage and kids.

Any slight argument and she would storm off home and then send me a load of texts telling me that she couldn't deal with my 'moods'. One night, we were getting a little but amorous, there was sudden pain in my old chap quickly followed by blood. Whilst I was trying to mop the mess she freaked out and said that she guessed it was over then and drove home over the limit. Another time, a friend of hers thought it would be a laugh to call me using her phone saying that the girlfriend didn't want to see me anymore. I called her back the next day (many times, it probably was a bit needy) because I needed to know what was going on. The explanation she gave was that her friend was having a laugh.

A couple of days later we split up finally. And I was cut up about it. A couple of months later though, when I met the then love of my life, I realised I'd had a lucky escape.

The thing that confuses me though is that women constantly bang on about how much bastards us blokes are. No, we're not bastards, we just don't deal well with high maintenance, highly strung women.

She was the best shag I'd ever had though...
(Ghostlight, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 22:13, 9 replies)

Phone drama
My ex was prone to mild panic attacks, as I soon found out after getting loads of worried texts while driving or asleep. I got into a habit of texting to say I was driving or going to sleep, then a got there safe or good morning text, which was annoying but no major hardship.

One night we'd been on the phone, she was sleepy so we hung up and she went on msn to me while she listened to music. All was well until she said she could hear some one in the house. A fairly regular annoyance (her hearing people, not them actualy being there) I reassured her there was no one there. No reply. I waited a few mins, still no reply. I decided to text. Still no reply.

I was getting worried, what if she was in trouble. I phoned her mobile. Nothing. The house phone. Nothing. It had been quarter of an hour and she wasn't responding. I was getting worried, images of her being threatened or worse flooded my imagination. I picked up the phone, went to dial 999 when a reply popped on my computer.

"sorry, I fell asleep."

I coulden't believe it. I'd been terrified. "you don't normally worry" she said.
"Well you don't normally say some one is in the house! How did you fall asleep when you were so scared?!" I asked.
"I dunno, I was sleepy."

Fucking hell she was hard work.
(Mong goose, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 21:29, Reply)

Young chap at work
"I've been with my girlfriend for two years, I know how to handle women".

He couldn't understand why me and a couple of the other chaps were in tears of laughter...
(Yellow Car is now red, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 20:47, 7 replies)

I kept telling him not to cross the streams...

(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 19:15, Reply)

Her continued non-existance.

Bitch.
_
( MatJ LOOK, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 18:53, 1 reply)

I wouldn't even call her my partner.
We're only together because we share the same crowd of friends and colleagues, and to be out of the circle almost certainly means to loose deals.
Silly bitch keeps insisting I get us a table at Dorsia, despite the fact she knows it's booked over a year in advance -- the other woman I'm seeing can be convinced any old dive is Dorsia, but not my girlfriend.
Thankfully she doesn't know about the hookers and the coathangers and the other women, or the people I sliced to peices.
Still have a dilemna though -- do I carry on dating her or keepnher head on a stick? As old Ed might say "choices, choices...".
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Fri 5 Aug 2011, 18:06, 9 replies)