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This is a question Bedroom Disasters

Big Girl's Blouse asks: Drug fuelled orgies ending in a pile of vomit? Accidental spillage of Chocolate Pudding looking like a dirty protest? Someone walking in on you doing something that isn't what it looks like?... Tell us about your Bedroom Disasters

(, Thu 23 Jun 2011, 15:14)
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The light from behind
In the misty past of first year of Uni (last year), some friends of mine became a couple. Nothing unusual about this, regular nights of bedroom acrobatics, usually in his halls room which happened to be on the ground floor.

After a while they got sick of us knocking on the window, interrupting their acrobatic routine, to ask if they wanted to join us at the pub. They finally had the realisation that they could carry on in her halls room, which happened to be on the 10th floor of the tower block in our student village, there will be no knock on the window there they think, they don't even bother closing the windows as there are no buildings tall enough in the surrounding area. It was particularly dark at this point, and I'm told this was a particularly spectacular session, so much so that the room seemed to get lighter as they went on. Curious about this light they pause to turn around and see the silhouette of a man with a torch strapped to his head.

Now from my point of view we were headed to the pub, did the usual knocking on the window routine but unfortunately to no avail, so we assumed they were out. As we passed the tower we saw a fire engine and a few firemen, but no smoke, fire or screaming people, so we had a wonder over and asked what was going on, a helpful fireman told us, as this was the tallest building in the area the university allowed them to train for high rise building fires with this building, which included abseiling.

The best thing was as we walked off we joked that they were probably screwing with the curtains open and the firemen were going to get a good show.

We were right.
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 14:59, 4 replies)

Mrs Duck used to do her own unique variation of sleep walking I used to call sleeppsycho because she was usually aggressive & very weird and remembers absolutely nothing about it

For example

One night I woke up to find her rummaging in the wardrobe, actually inside it, doors shut
"what are you doing?" I asked
"shushhhhhhhhhh" came the annoyed response.
I waited a bit the rummaging and knocking continued.
"come on love, come back to bed"
"Come on"
"can't" *rummage rummage*
"what are you doing"
"Looking for the Cumberland sausages, you stupid fuckwit"
I left her to it. In the morning we found she had had a piss in one of my boots.

There were many more she even ran back to her place after shouting nonsense at me and getting annoyed that I couldn't understand her. I quickly learned not to question her or try and make sense of it, just to go with the flow. She's not done it for years thank god. The sleeppsycho episodes stopped when we stopped caining MDMA of the weekends...funny that ;)
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 14:32, 10 replies)
I was once doing rude things with a girl
And she let me finish off in her chamber of horrors. We then fell asleep. I awoke early next morning and went for a pee and to check for the German chancellor (helmet coal. Geddit?).
Reasonably clean, except for the small piece of sweetcorn lodged under my foreskin.

not really, I find the thought of bum sex absolutely abhorrent. Giving or receiving before anybody asks
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 14:18, 7 replies)
I was sharing a room
My partner-in-living-space (Roomy) had a regular root [Australian for a sexual partner] (& often stayed @ hers).
I had pulled [convinced a prospective sexual partner to come home with me] 1 night with a pretty young (not that young) thing (PYT). We got back to mine [my humble abode] & I found 2 bottles of AUD$10 champers [sparkling white wine] on my bed. 1 of my other housemates owed me AUD$20 & I mistakenly assumed that he had paid me in kind as he worked in a bottle-shop [an off-license type place] @ the time.
We cracked [opened] a bottle and eventually got down to me being balls deep in her after some lengthy cunnilingus, 69 & general post-teenage eye-widening sex [We had sex].
Cue my roomy returning with entourage (including a drunk/drugged-up taekwondo headcase I shall call Baby Smurf [an obvious pseudonym]). Roomy interrupts coitus [sex], apologises then says - "Oh, shit you've opened the champagne". Whhhuu?!! [WTF?!]
Cue Baby Smurf barging into the room and dragging me out into the street (only just now NOT balls deep) & and kicking 6 different kinds of shit out of me [beating me up]- in my drunk, post-coital state.
I got my shit together, called a cab for the pretty young (now scared) thing (she took my copy of "Whale Nation" [a book] which I never saw again) & made it clear that although a misunderstanding had happened I wasn't happy! 1 of the very few times I've threatened to call the cops.
As it transpired - Roomy was going to propose to his (soon to be NOT) underage girly & was going to use the $10 champers to celebrate (all class [sarcasm]) - the bottles got left on my bed accidentally & I clearly made the wrong assumption.
Unfortunately Baby Smurf was renowned for having a short, bad temper and a bad speed fixation [he was generally drugged-fucked]. Didn't see him round much after that (Rikki - you were a psycho-cunt, I hope you have some more self-control now [my personal message to him - however I doubt he could figure the interwebs out let alone b3ta]). AFAIK [As Far As I know] Roomy and the child-bride lived happily ever after. PYT turned out to be a nice girl - but she never gave me back my copy of "Whale Nation". & me - well here I sit @ 1015 on A Saturday Night [a Cure song - chucked in for randoms] on b3ta.
Length/volume - about 750mL of shit champagne.[The usual "length" joke].
Does any of that help?
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 13:52, 73 replies)
My mate Dave was skiing in France with 2 pals. They had rented a room in a chalet. They were all getting drunk most evenings, and had bought their own wine to avoid paying bar prices. One night they fell asleep with bottles all over the place. One of the lads woke in the night to go for a piss, knocked a bottle off the table and walked in the broken glass. He cut his foot quite badly - blood everywhere.

Having no first aid kit in the room, my mate Dave went to find the chalet owners to ask for a plaster and a cloth, in his non-existant french. Walking back in he slipped in the blood, fell over and cracked his head on a chair. No blood, but he was knocked out and when he woke up he vomited everywhere. Many times.

The owners came knocking on the door to check their guests were ok, and opened the door to a scene of carnage: two blokes sat on the floor, covered in blood, puke everywhere, and a third bloke trying to staunch the flow of blood from his mate's foot with a tiny plaster.

The owners took control, cleaned the guys up, and took them to the hospital to get them sorted out. The lads came back from hospital to find a bucket and a mop in their still sick-covered room. Dave was about to go and complain that they're paying for this chalet and don't expect to have to clean it themselves, when one of his mates suggested that having woken their hosts in the middle of the night and covered the room in blood and and vomit is probably enough: no need to cause any more trouble. Another win for anglo-french relations.
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 13:42, Reply)
This QOTW is giving me a horn - some of the sex stories are good also.

So I’m working with my old man for the summer. We’re in that glorious part of the world – Grimsby and staying in digs above a pub in Cleethorpes, which guarantees that we’re pissed every night.

We’re sleeping in the same room, me by the window with the sink at the end of my bed, him in the middle of the room.

I wake up in the morning with slightly wet feet – I ask the old fella, who is up and walking around, if it’s raining outside.

“no” comes the reply

“has it rained” I ask

“no, its bright as fuck”

“have you spilt tea or something on my bed – my feet are wet” I ask

“no – and the top of the duvet is dry”

“what’s going on then”

“oh” says he – as the cogs go round “yeah I pissed on your feet in the night”

“fucking brilliant – thanks, why is the top of the duvet dry then” I enquire

“I lifted up the duvet, pissed and then put it back”

Caring, lovely, old father didn’t want his only son’s feet to get cold in the night!

He was a bugger for it though – he pissed in his wife’s handbag, which was in the wardrobe, one night, she didn’t realise until the next day as she handed over a soggy piss soaked fiver in exchange for half a pound of sausages at the butchers.
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 13:26, 11 replies)
A mate at uni...
... only shaved once every six months. Since he was fairly adept with the clippers, a spot of facial topiary once a week kept him from looking like an insane mountain man, but he only ever trimmed it all and shaved twice a year.

So we were surprised one day when he came into the pub with a relatively tidy Frank Zappa moustache and the rest just a patchy singed mess. Apparently, he'd got pished on two bottles of neat Morgan's, and spilt a large glass of it over himself while trying to drink and light a cigarette at the same time.

That was his beard rum disaster.

True story.
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 13:20, Reply)
A perfect end to the night
A good few years back, me and the future Mr Smaldini lived together in a student house with several other miscreants. Mr Smaldini had a pokey room downstairs, riddled with fragments of broken computers and unwashed pants, so generally we slept together in my (larger, less Life Of Grime esque) room.

Cue his sister's wedding. Much alcohol was drunk. Much, much, much. My husband was thrown in a taxi after a member from Hearsay wandered into the hotel foyer, and Mr Smaldini affectionately called him Shrek, and demanded he sign his own hat. It all gets a bit hazy then, but I wake up downstairs in his room, with my comatose bloke asleep upstairs.

Assuming we've had an argument I simply don't recall, I hatch the cunning plan to sneak back into bed with him and pretend that nothing had happened - he's not going to remember a thing, after all. I remember feeling terribly smug about this deception. I was a drunken genius.

I made a terrible mistake. As I wake the next day, stuck to my bed, hair glued to my face, I realise that I had decided to sleep downstairs because he had, rather inconsiderately, puked all over my pillow.
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 12:55, Reply)
Proud Mickey
It was 1981, and my family and I had been happily living in our three bedroom townhouse for the best part of a year.

Having moved in, my dad systematically began redecorating every room in the house as it was clear the previous occupants had an odd fixation with beige (maybe it wasn't a fixation, just the 70's).

It finally came the time to do my bedroom. As a young lad, I picked out the perfect wallpaper, it was Action Man performing all sorts of heroic tasks in jeeps, helicopters and motor bikes. Probably worth a bob or two these days.

Having purchased said paper, my Dad and I began the ball-aching task of peeling the old wallpaper off the walls. All was going well until the final wall, when lurking behind the paper was a 6' illustration of everyone's favourite rodent, Mickey Mouse. Mickey had a big grin on his face, and rightly so because he was sporting the largest penis my tiny eyes had ever seen. The artist had clearly put way more effort into the cock and balls than anything else, ensuring they were fully detailed with bulging veins, neatly trimmed pubic hair and wrinkles.

My mum and dad laughed, I was just a little bit frightened. They called it a day, and left me to go to bed with Mickey's enormous member mere inches from my face.

We papered over Mickey the next day, but to my knowledge he's still there, terrifying unsuspecting 6 year-olds.
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 12:32, 5 replies)
The Pink Ages
First Post. After graduating University I still lived with my parents, who owing to financial circumstances I was no doubt contributing to - decided to move houses. I had never seen the place before the day I arrived and found the whole process a mix of excitement and heartbreak. Oh, and utter horror. You see... I was moving into a room that was very clearly previously occupied by a little girl and what followed remains the most emasculating night of my life. Worse than any drunken/medicated sexual failing I've experienced and as such I consider this to be a bedroom disaster.

The creme carpet, cratered by the legs of tiny dressers was in a peculiar way, haunting though it was the walls that were a masterpiece (or so I thought) that could only have been designed by a mind twisted by barbie dolls and ponies, for they weren't only painted a dark pink, but the must have been mixed with a golden glitter through some unheard of alchemical process before being rolled onto every possible surface. A detail that only became obvious in the pale moonlight, granting the rooms occupant with the feeling of resting within the moist mouth of a giant animal.

Something else that appeared in the absence of light was an entire universe of glow in the dark stars spanning the entire ceiling. Initially, I marvelled at the sight, briefly losing myself in the awesome infinity of the cosmos. My complaints about this room were silly, insignificant and was of no real pro... Wait a minute, I thought to myself as I re-focused my vision. They're glow in the dark hearts. An entire galaxy of glow in the dark hearts. Pulling the duvet over my head, allowing only my mouth to poke out of a hole I had left so I could breathe, I cried slightly and fell asleep. It would be over a year before I painted the walls, though I destroyed the heart galaxy over the next few days, at one point ensuring a giant glow in the dark cock shape adorned my ceiling.

During what I refer to as 'The Pink Ages' I also distinctly recall having a lady friend over for some fun, stripping her of her outer layers to reveal Disney themed underwear. The frenzy that this elicited evoked a small amount of personal concern afterwards.
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 10:52, 24 replies)
It's what Sunday Mornings are for...
Way back in the pre-sprog days, we could actually lie around in bed as long as we liked on a Sunday morning. Maybe read the paper, eat croissants, shag ourselves senseless, whatever we felt like. Well, one such Sunday it was a warm sunny day, and the windows were thrown open to let the balmy air in.

We became aware of certain familiar, rhythmic sounds coming from the couple in the flat above. Then, similar noises from the couple in the basement. Clearly, they also had their windows open, and were enjoying a similarly lazy and bed-oriented Sunday.

What the hell, we thought, and tossed the papers aside to join in the Sunday Shagfest.

Some time later, all was finally quiet from the three flats. We'd managed a six-way synchronised crescendo, though how much was comedy faking will remain forever unknown: clearly they could hear us as much as we could hear them. I wandered over to the window to have a look out at the day. A glorious, sun-drenched day it was, too.

A perfect day, in fact, for the garden party that the next-door neighbours were having...
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 9:53, 7 replies)
I've never had that thing happen to me
where your Mum walks in and catches you wanking. I've done it with the door open, wearing headphones...I even called out for her a few times. Can anyone tell me what I'm doing wrong?
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 9:43, 9 replies)
In Halls
Two people - one of them an agressive emotionally unstable American with no empathy, the other a haughty but pretty ice queen - hated each other. Lots. They had had arguments in dinner queues, pubs, and the street before about who was more offensive to humanity.

Such was the nature of halls of residence, they saw each other nearly every day.

It was inevitable they'd have sex by mistake.

What probably wasn't inevitable was that he'd fall asleep inside her halfway through.

And she'd spend a good ten minutes trying to wake him up.

Our first hint something was wrong was when she walked out of his room (tie on the door handle) mortified with embarrassment. Two minutes later he wandered into the toilet and said to everyone there 'Women are cunts, right guys?'

Then, when everyone who'd been in the toilet had gone, he smeared shit all around the inside of one of the bowls.

We all cope in different ways, I suppose.
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 9:09, 3 replies)
many years ago with mrs fluffybunnykiller mk1 before mk2 came along
we had been down the pub and got mangled on cider and shots after a massive argument that led to total silence i decided that it would be fun to get my own back on her in my own twisted childish way and as it happens she had just taken on a pair of 4 month old kittens .
now these kittehs had evil for blood and pure evil for arse holes and considered it the god given kitteh right to shit and piss every where thus causing more arguments.
so a plan was hatched to gain the upper hand on her and them and the tool was speed no not the film but the drug so wife mk1 had gone out i had a grab of both kittehs and being nice fed them some speed each the change was like the hulk on his period except with less green and more fur.
kittehs running round even more loopy kittehs jumping of furniture i was having a great time laughing at there antics and my diabolical plan for revenge this went on for a couple of hours and i was well chuffd with my handy work alas even speed fed kittehs have to stop as some point and sleep and having chosen to sleep on my side of the bed tey proceeded to shit all over my half much to my wifes amusment
bastards kittehs got there own back on my by helping her with the divorce
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 8:20, 26 replies)
Arse face
I was Greyhounding round America in between university and work, and found myself in San Francisco late one evening with nowhere to stay. I bumped into a group of French students in a similar predicament and we decided to share a couple of rooms in a cheap hotel as a way of keeping costs down. So I ended up sleeping in a double bed with 'Pierre' who talked in his sleep and did the weird sleepy-arm thing, meaning I woke in the night with his arm round me and him mumbling french into my ear.

Meanwhile 'Michel' was on a mattress on the floor. In the morning he woke early and started to do naked yoga. The room was small & cramped so as I turned away from Pierre's mutterings I found myself face-to-face with Michel's arse, as he saluted the sun, or some such bollocks.
(, Wed 29 Jun 2011, 8:16, 8 replies)
Nosey 13 yr old
When i was about 13 may even been 12(30 odd yrs ago),well i had about 10 pubes so it was around then.I was a dirty little barsteward and had managed to cop off with a girl a couple of years older(nice and mature,her own boobs and thatch)
Well we were fooling around in her best mates sisters house while the sister was out.Just to set the scene this was very early eighties when if you didn't pay your electric bill they cut you off,well there was no electric on just candles(very romantic)
Being a nosey get and wanting to have a look at a real vagina i thought i'd go down for look,
She's lay there legs open while go in for a closer look,with my candle in hand looking like wee willy winky,in all my excitement at seeing a real fadge i went in a bit close,
all i can say them pubes are a bit flammable,sadly to say that was the end of that.
There's nothing like the smell of singed pubes to knock even a young lads passion and the fact she wouldn't let me near her unless Red Adair was on stand by...
(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 23:43, 10 replies)
once, i was traveling in the southwest of yunan province in china
I'd crossed the border from laos, and cleverly hadn't brought any guide or phrase book. Using hand signals, I got a hotel room in some ugly highrise on the edge of town. It was not long after I'd gone to bed, listening to the weak overhead fan and some chinese pop music that sounded to my western ears like a women being tortured, when a bad case of the shits struck. To get to the toilet, I had to walk down 15 flight of stairs and across a large courtyard to a ditch toilet. When the second bout came upon me I knew I wouldn't make it that far, so decided to shit on the tray they left in the room with a glass of water. Soon I'd filled the tray with watery shit, which then overflowed onto the bed when I tried to shift it to the floor. More shitting occurred during the night, some of it made it to the tray, some stayed on the bed. To this day I don't know whether this is normal practice for people who oversleep by no more than 10 goddamn minutes, but at 9.10 three middle age women burst into my room, stopped momentarily to take in the scene of shit on the floor, shit all over the bed sheets, a naked westerner covered in shit, and a tray filled with shit as a nice centrepiece, replete with a glass filled with shitty water, before erupting into screaming chinese. They followed me and my shitty pants down each flight of stairs, yelling at me in a continuous cacophony, and followed me like harpies to the bus stop. I gave them what money I had to spare, about double the room rate, though they almost threw this back at me and their haranguing didn't abate in the slightest until my minibus pulled away. The shitting continued, to the horror of the guy in the suit who had the pleasure to be seated next to me, but that's another shitty story
(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 23:36, 9 replies)
Sensitive in the bedroom
Myself and the Mrs was feeling frisky one night while we was away for the weekend, we made our way to the bedroom and proceeded to get it on.

Whilst we was getting it on i was blindly raking around in our bag to find the lube, Bingo, found the lube unscrewed the lid, squeezed it on my fingers and got to work, a second later my Mrs starts screaming "What the fuck is that" as i got up to turn the light on i noticed my hand was covered in sensodyne gel.

It defiantly didn't reduce any sensitivity that night.......
(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 23:29, 1 reply)
So, back when I was in college, I was going back to a flat with a girl, and to cut a long story short, this Star Wars, but we used the wrong lube and something went up my arse by accident, and if you don't agree with me it's because you're immature.

(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 22:00, 2 replies)
When the dog greeted me at the front door with the gift of a used condom
my teenage son and his girlfriend were truly busted.

Well, at least they were using protection.
(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 20:34, 9 replies)
Tampon trouble...
Back in my student days, when I did such things, I got drunk & picked up a (not terribly attractive) lady who invited me home for 'coffee'. I'd had enough Newcastle Brown for the offer to be acceptable & matters took their usual course until the point of clothing removal when she piped up with 'I'm on, but I'm nearly finished'. By this point there was no going back, so I just grunted & thought no more of it until the deed was done & I was leaving. This being student halls, it wasn't unusual to encounter debris on the floor. I thought I'd picked up some chewing gum or an old pie but when I looked I found a used tampon, that had been flung across the room in a moment of passion, glued to the sole of my shoe. I quickly peeled it off, dumped it in the nearest toilet & went home.
She never spoke to me again, so if you're reading this San, I didn't take it as a souvenir. Honest.
(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 18:50, Reply)
The Clap. Alt title - Everyone's a Fucking Critic.
My second long term girlfriend came from a slightly lower OFSTED ranking school, so knowing someone who had become pregnant whilst still at school was perhaps not so surprising. (Yes, I'm a snob and to prove my place of education wasn't much better it turned out the father was from my school).
Now, no-one could blame this girl for trying to enjoy her teen years, though she probably had a better time of it than I did, funded by the state. So, we were occasionally asked to baby sit, and on this instance to have him overnight.
He would have been around one and a half, maybe two. We set up a mattress for him in our room to keep an eye on him if he needed anything or stirred.
Morning followed an uneventful night. It was a glorious morning for this young and amorous male and, after checking that sleeping child was still indeed sleeping (and, I must stress, we were well out of sight), set about trying to even the score in our long running game of shove-piggy-shove.
I forget the position we chose*, but which ever it was caused each thrust to be punctuated with a satisfying slap!.
By now we had stopped, yet the slow clap continued...
The infant in the room had woken in the middle of what he presumed to be a fun clapping game and decided to join in**.

A tad irresponsible, I admit, but in my defence I was young and irresponsible at the time.

* I presume doggy style but cannot be sure
** by join in I mean by clapping.

(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 18:41, 8 replies)
When drinking a dark-and-stormy I spilt it over a certain species of flower, permanently staining it.
I'd found that beer'd rum dyes aster.
(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 18:28, Reply)
My poor manager Darren
has just been yelled at by the entire board of directors. A real boardroom D's ass-tear.
(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 18:15, 2 replies)
My friends older brother
has always had a different approach to getting what he wanted. One such example was the time he wanted a new wardrobe for his bedroom. He duly informed his mother who told him that the one he had was fine and that's that.

Later she went out shopping and on the way back to the house saw smoke rising from it. As she ran into the garden she found a triumphant child stood in front of his burning wardrobe. Apparently he smiled, and said "I need a new wardrobe".
(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 17:58, 5 replies)
Thought there'd be loads of stories about getting caught out by window cleaners.
You know when you're really going at it, in the daytime so it feels even ruder, and the bedsprings are squealing like pigs? Then you collapse, exhausted, but somehow you can still hear that squeaking, and you realise that it sounds awfully like a chamois leather on dry glass?

Just me, then.
(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 17:37, 5 replies)

One summer when I was rather young and innocent, my best friend's dad discovered us excitedly filling up the cool, contemporary, grown up looking water balloons we'd found in her parents' bedside drawer.
(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 16:32, Reply)
Bedroom Violence!
Rather than repost, have this horrible repressed memory:

Background: During my earlier years, my parents supplemented their burgeoning property empire by getting live-in students during the lean bits. The attic was hastily converted into two bedrooms for me and my sister to fight spiders in - boiling hot in summer and freezing in winter.

----------Lines of wave------------

It was summer, and baking. A young 14year old wax-chewer was stripped to his briefs, battling an equally under-undressed 'mate' (Edwin will do) in not-homoerotics-at-all wrestling. An ill-timed grapple attempt had seen me unceremoniously kicked off him. They say that with a lever and a hard place to stand, you could move the world. Well, my floor was hard, and Edwin had plenty of 'lever' in his legs.

I flew into the wall, and went right through it in a shower of plasterboard. Cheap-skate parents!

My sister - frozen and mouth agape - was somewhat startled to have her virtually naked, perky-peened younger brother sail right through her bedroom wall in a shower of plaster dust. Additionally, a shocked Edwin - lying on the floor, pumped pants equally suspicious and legs in an unfortunate akimbo position - was in direct line of sight.

She could never be persuaded I was straight after that one, and rightly so. I'd have suffered far more had she not frozen in the act of doing some sort of bizarre 'jive' to whatever dreadful song was on her walkman; these days, I'm not sure which was the more humilated tbh.
(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 16:06, 5 replies)
I guess my biggest bedroom disaster was the time when I was too poor to afford to rent my own place.

I lived not only in shared accomodation, but actually in a shared bedroom. With one bed that I had to share. With another man.

I mean, it wasn't that bad once we got used to it. He was actually OK. A bit grumpy I guess, but nice enough. Pretentious too though, he fancied himself as a bit of a playwright and was always rattling on while I was trying to sleep about the plays what he wrote.

And to be fair, it was nice to have someone around to help with the breakfast. We got into quite a little routine in the end.
(, Tue 28 Jun 2011, 15:58, 16 replies)

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