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This is a question Darwin Awards

Bluffboy says: My mate cheated death and burned his eyebrows off looking down the barrel of a potato gun. Tell us about your brushes with the Grim Reaper through stupidity.

(, Thu 12 Feb 2009, 20:01)
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Here it is with the usernames highlighted in case you missed any

I'm bored at work (workboresme). I am completely underwhelmed (Completely Underwhelmed). I want to leave! Wander lust (wanderlust) is taking over my mind, and I feel like I can walk all the way from Brixton to Brussels (brixton bruxelles).

The situation stinks. I'm in love with someone. I'd really like to root her (roota) between the boobs (Tourette's ( . )( . )). When thinking of her, I unleash buckets of jizz (beckyjsbx) from my creamy ankh (ancrenne) -shaped genitals followed by the wee which (TheWeeWitch) cleans out my urethra. But because I'm such a big girl's blouse (big-girl's-blouse), I chicken (chickenlady) out at every opportunity. But really, it stinks! The smell reminds me of my teenage years when I joined a gang who would rebel against society by shitting their pants (they were known as the 'pants cackers (cackers)'). But secretly, I found it too much, so I would discretely give my self several arse-wipes (rachelswipe). It's like I'm living in a bin (Mrs Liveinabin)! As if my nose is pressed next to a seal's bum and I think "This seal end reeks (clendrix)!".

But I have to look at myself and think "Am I a pussy or a vampire (Vampyrecat)?". I really need to man up and badger myself to flirt using the correct grammar (flirting with badgers and The Grammar Badger).

I'm badly addicted to her (Maladicta). I see her as the empress (The Empress) of my heart (AKA Madam (Madam Marlboro) the Fluffy Grandmistress (grandmasterfluffles)) who can't get in because she forgot her password (Rakky (forgot her password)). Thinking of her gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling (warmfuzzyfeeling). I imagine myself being as happy as a little tulip (happylittletulip) dancing to a Celidh band (crackhouseceilidhband). But the reality is very different.

Until then, I'll be crying so much that I'll have to be locked up in the loony bin. For me, there will be a special ward reserved for me - The dire whiner ward.


Apologies? Lengthy.
(, Thu 19 Feb 2009, 9:32, Reply)

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