Things you can't unsee...
The Eightball Says Yes wimpers, "Waiting for a bus on Upper Street, Islington twenty years ago I was approached by a very old and very potty woman. She must have been 80.
"She was licking her lips salaciously and saying 'fuck me, fuck me.' She then lifted her skirt to show me her fanny. I looked, I ran, I wish I could rinse my mind out, but the image remains."
Tell us and the internet what you cannot unsee
( , Fri 13 Feb 2015, 13:42)
The Eightball Says Yes wimpers, "Waiting for a bus on Upper Street, Islington twenty years ago I was approached by a very old and very potty woman. She must have been 80.
"She was licking her lips salaciously and saying 'fuck me, fuck me.' She then lifted her skirt to show me her fanny. I looked, I ran, I wish I could rinse my mind out, but the image remains."
Tell us and the internet what you cannot unsee
( , Fri 13 Feb 2015, 13:42)
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I've only told this story about 100 times before
Some years ago I was in a fairly shabby Copenhagen club with a few colleagues on the lash. Our boss, a Swedish guy called Sven was having a lovely time working his way through the top shelf of the vodka bar, so we left him to it and went off to dance to whatever passed for music in Denmark at the time.
As the lights came on around 3am, we went to find Sven but he was no longer at the bar and the barman said he'd seen him head towards the gents a good hour earlier.
I wandered into the toilets and was slightly concerned to see that one of the stalls was locked and someone was clearly on the floor inside... judging by the shoes it looked like Sven. I called and banged on the door to no response so started to panic that something was seriously wrong. I fetched a bouncer and the pair of us banged and hollered to no response so the only option left was to break down the door.
As the bouncer smashed through, the sight was something I'll never forget. Sven, face down, arse up, with a perfectly curled cumberland sausage resting proudly on his buttocks. The lime green y-fronts round his ankles were a nice touch too.
( , Tue 17 Feb 2015, 13:27, Reply)
Some years ago I was in a fairly shabby Copenhagen club with a few colleagues on the lash. Our boss, a Swedish guy called Sven was having a lovely time working his way through the top shelf of the vodka bar, so we left him to it and went off to dance to whatever passed for music in Denmark at the time.
As the lights came on around 3am, we went to find Sven but he was no longer at the bar and the barman said he'd seen him head towards the gents a good hour earlier.
I wandered into the toilets and was slightly concerned to see that one of the stalls was locked and someone was clearly on the floor inside... judging by the shoes it looked like Sven. I called and banged on the door to no response so started to panic that something was seriously wrong. I fetched a bouncer and the pair of us banged and hollered to no response so the only option left was to break down the door.
As the bouncer smashed through, the sight was something I'll never forget. Sven, face down, arse up, with a perfectly curled cumberland sausage resting proudly on his buttocks. The lime green y-fronts round his ankles were a nice touch too.
( , Tue 17 Feb 2015, 13:27, Reply)
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