Bad Dates
Tell us about your least successful date. Arrive late? Forget their name? Show them goatse on your phone just as the main course arrived? Or was it the other way around?
( , Thu 17 Oct 2013, 16:27)
Tell us about your least successful date. Arrive late? Forget their name? Show them goatse on your phone just as the main course arrived? Or was it the other way around?
( , Thu 17 Oct 2013, 16:27)
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Not technically a date. More a kind of fig.
So there I was - walking back from a boozer in Brighton to crash round a mate's place, drunk as three lords gaffataped together, happily staggering down the middle of the road at around midnight, with Chris, and his then girlfriend. Each of us was jabbering away slurred gibberish, as you do. Then - a woman's voice shouts out to me "LAURENCE!!!"
Now, Laurence is not my name.
It's my friends name - and I look nothing like him.
I look round, and it's Jules, a girl I've met quite a few times (we even went in the same group to Glastonbury twice) but don't really know that well.
"LAURENCE!" She screeches at me, "Laurence! Hi! Wanna come back to mine?!?"
Er……yes? My drunken mind says, and then my face, so I end up going off with her to her flat. But only after my mate's girlfriend gives me a parting look that, even in my addled state, clearly says "are you SERIOUSLY going beck to this psychotic, mad goth's house when she's mistaken you for someone else?"
Anyway...
Back at hers - I go and have a much needed piss.
When I come back out into the living room, she's got some music video channel playing, with a video from the everyone's favourite "band you love to hate", U2 playing. And Jules is kneeling in front of the TV, topless, with her nipples brushing against the face of bespectacled twat Bono.
And she stayed there for the duration of the song - then the next song, and the next song - with no reaction to any of my questions at all . . that’s all she did.
Rub her nipples over the TV.
I woke up in her bed (edit- Where The Sheets Had No Stains) in the morning fully clothed.
She went to work.
I met her for a pint after work the next day and it was staggeringly awkward.
She did, however, eventually find Laurence.
They made a weird couple, but a couple none the less.
For a fortnight.
TL;DR - I watched, in drunken fascination, a goth with amphetamine psychosis, who thought I was someone else, rub her nipples over a TV screen for about half an hour.
( , Fri 18 Oct 2013, 11:14, 4 replies)
So there I was - walking back from a boozer in Brighton to crash round a mate's place, drunk as three lords gaffataped together, happily staggering down the middle of the road at around midnight, with Chris, and his then girlfriend. Each of us was jabbering away slurred gibberish, as you do. Then - a woman's voice shouts out to me "LAURENCE!!!"
Now, Laurence is not my name.
It's my friends name - and I look nothing like him.
I look round, and it's Jules, a girl I've met quite a few times (we even went in the same group to Glastonbury twice) but don't really know that well.
"LAURENCE!" She screeches at me, "Laurence! Hi! Wanna come back to mine?!?"
Er……yes? My drunken mind says, and then my face, so I end up going off with her to her flat. But only after my mate's girlfriend gives me a parting look that, even in my addled state, clearly says "are you SERIOUSLY going beck to this psychotic, mad goth's house when she's mistaken you for someone else?"
Anyway...
Back at hers - I go and have a much needed piss.
When I come back out into the living room, she's got some music video channel playing, with a video from the everyone's favourite "band you love to hate", U2 playing. And Jules is kneeling in front of the TV, topless, with her nipples brushing against the face of bespectacled twat Bono.
And she stayed there for the duration of the song - then the next song, and the next song - with no reaction to any of my questions at all . . that’s all she did.
Rub her nipples over the TV.
I woke up in her bed (edit- Where The Sheets Had No Stains) in the morning fully clothed.
She went to work.
I met her for a pint after work the next day and it was staggeringly awkward.
She did, however, eventually find Laurence.
They made a weird couple, but a couple none the less.
For a fortnight.
TL;DR - I watched, in drunken fascination, a goth with amphetamine psychosis, who thought I was someone else, rub her nipples over a TV screen for about half an hour.
( , Fri 18 Oct 2013, 11:14, 4 replies)
I rather like this.
It fits the brief.
Which is more than can be said for YM.
( , Fri 18 Oct 2013, 11:45, closed)
It fits the brief.
Which is more than can be said for YM.
( , Fri 18 Oct 2013, 11:45, closed)
It never is, though is it?!?
All I want is a specified time for punning.
That's ALL I want.
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
( , Fri 18 Oct 2013, 12:23, closed)
All I want is a specified time for punning.
That's ALL I want.
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
( , Fri 18 Oct 2013, 12:23, closed)
Go and sit in the corner.
You know why. And no rubbing your nipples against the wall.
( , Fri 18 Oct 2013, 12:46, closed)
You know why. And no rubbing your nipples against the wall.
( , Fri 18 Oct 2013, 12:46, closed)
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