Cringe!
Chickenlady winces, "I told a Hugh Grant/Divine Brown joke to my dad, pretending that Ms Brown was chewing gum so she'd be more American. Instead I just appeared to be still giving the blow-job. Even as I'm writing this I'm cringing inside."
Tell us your cringeworthy stories of embarrassment. Go on, you're amongst friends here...
( , Thu 27 Nov 2008, 18:58)
Chickenlady winces, "I told a Hugh Grant/Divine Brown joke to my dad, pretending that Ms Brown was chewing gum so she'd be more American. Instead I just appeared to be still giving the blow-job. Even as I'm writing this I'm cringing inside."
Tell us your cringeworthy stories of embarrassment. Go on, you're amongst friends here...
( , Thu 27 Nov 2008, 18:58)
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Look before you speak.
"...always fucking asking me to do too much fucking work." The gratuitous swearing highlighted a serious point. His boss is a knob-jockey and doesn't understand that not everyone wants to work every waking hour.
"Only this morning I get another fucking email telling, not asking mind, but telling me to write a report that's going to take a whole cunting day. Fucking cock-end, what am I supposed to do?"
"It's quite simple, Jim" I speculate, "just respond with: Dear [boss's name], why don't you lick my wrinkly love bags."
"Lick your what, Gunther?" Asks the object of Jim's bile, appearing in the doorway just in time to witness my genius solution.
"Um, I, uuuum, it's not... I mean, I didn't... um, the thing is... Ah, Jim has something he wants to say to you..." I sputter as I grab my coffee and make good with my legs through the open door.
I cope well under pressure, I'm sure you'll agree.
( , Fri 28 Nov 2008, 11:21, Reply)
"...always fucking asking me to do too much fucking work." The gratuitous swearing highlighted a serious point. His boss is a knob-jockey and doesn't understand that not everyone wants to work every waking hour.
"Only this morning I get another fucking email telling, not asking mind, but telling me to write a report that's going to take a whole cunting day. Fucking cock-end, what am I supposed to do?"
"It's quite simple, Jim" I speculate, "just respond with: Dear [boss's name], why don't you lick my wrinkly love bags."
"Lick your what, Gunther?" Asks the object of Jim's bile, appearing in the doorway just in time to witness my genius solution.
"Um, I, uuuum, it's not... I mean, I didn't... um, the thing is... Ah, Jim has something he wants to say to you..." I sputter as I grab my coffee and make good with my legs through the open door.
I cope well under pressure, I'm sure you'll agree.
( , Fri 28 Nov 2008, 11:21, Reply)
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