Pint glass lottery
I woke up this morning, needing to leave the house in five minutes, desperate for a piss, and with one of my housemates in our only bathroom.

The obvious solution was to piss in a pint glass, and chuck it out of the window. Rinse it out, then on the sideboard... But which glass was it? Nobody knows.
(Merrep, Sat 17 Nov 2007, 12:25, 2 replies)

what happens after you desperately try not to wet yourself
'twas, I recall, in my schooldays a much cherished tradition to meet after the last day of school before summer on a remote field, to conserve all the impressions and lectures of the year in alcohol. This “Schoolendparty” was organized by those who had just graduated, and so there were no watchdogs or adults whatsoever, which caused even the otherwise good natured and abstinent folks to get drunk, and make love to each other or get irritatingly aggressive over something minor.
My friend Chris however was drunk basically all year long, so he took it upon himself to break the world record in beer drinking that evening, even though he didn’t really know how much beer he had to devour for this. He was joined by my other friend Roland.
Both soon discovered that the actual limitation to drinking cheap brewery dishwater is not so much the alcohol than it is the capacity of ones bladder. So every couple of minutes both competitors were headed for the bushes to relieve themselves.
It was, I think, after the sixteenth beer, that Chris returned from the loo in a slightly odd fashion. Instead of sitting down with us, he asked us to pass him the next beer, while a foul smell was spreading around. Considering our state, it may be surprising that it wasn’t too long until we noticed the brown brew that was running from under his pants. While relieving himself he must have lost control over his sphincter, which he however did not want to admit, even after we had confronted him with the obvious indications.
It was then, that we noticed, the last bus home for the night was gone. So we made the best of the situation, and indulged in general stupidity, which might be told some other time. Anyway, after one night of drinking, spastic dance moves, vandalizing in the nearby town and mysteriously not being arrested by a passing police officer we wanted to get on the bus and go home. The bus driver however wouldn’t let us in, as he had just cleaned all the seats, he told us. Even though I in the meantime had regained my pants that I had lost at some point during the night, I could understand where he was coming from, so we had to take an eight mile walk home, which isn’t so bad, as long as you haven’t shat yourself several hours ago, and the poo has already started to build up a solid crust around your sphincter. So Chris tried to just spread his legs, and edge forward one side of his entire body at a time, as to minimize the resulting friction in the pelvic area.
Christ still didn’t want to admit anything, so my still very drunk comment, if everything was alright with his arse wasn’t taken in very good humour. Hours later we arrived in the small village we were living in, where his mother already awaited us. Reproachfully she reminded Chris he had to go to Tennis training. He tried to tell her he wasn’t well and everything, but she just said “Oh come on, Chrissi. Next week’s the championships. You want to be prepared for that, don’t you.”
I will never forget the look of sheer desperation and then resignation as he plummeted on the car seat to find not everything in his pants had dried up as much as the part around his sphincter…
(Boor, Sat 17 Nov 2007, 11:28, 1 reply)

Just been reading the newsletter
Symbol-Boy = pint-sized TIT.

What made him so desperate for publicity?

He's still on Cameltoe.org =)

cameltoe.org/Search.html?keyword=prince&image.x=0&image.y=0

Don't know about you, but I rekon it'd be nice to see a link to his diminutive winkie hit the top this week...
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Sat 17 Nov 2007, 9:53, Reply)

Skint
When I was at uni I was absolutely broke. I went to a house party one night, got leathered and wandered back to my house at 4am. Passing a house on the way a saw a big parcel on the step outside. As any drunk student would do, I bowled it into the front garden and sidled up to the box. I opened the box and it was full of bread. I had absolutely no food in the house so I thought "I'll have that!" - but as I was leaving the house I looked up at a sign and it said "Resdidential Care Home". Didn't stop me taking it though!

Yes that's right, I stole a loaf of bread from an old people's home.
(davefromkent, Sat 17 Nov 2007, 9:10, 1 reply)

Friction Burns
When you can use only a thumb and forefinger so you don't aggravate the friction-burn scabs from earlier activity.
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Sat 17 Nov 2007, 8:00, Reply)

another shit story
my friend moved into a new house recently with her partner and their young daughter. anxious to show off her new abode, she invited me to lunch. it was a very nice lunch, jacket spuds topped with thai green prawn curry.
unfortunately, i suffer from I.B.S.*
even more unfortunately, curry goes through me faster than a copy of cosmopolitan through a nunnery.
making the excuse that i was desperate for a pee, i staggered my way upstairs and into her brand-new, pristine white bathroom. turning the cold tap on full blast to cover the noise, i sat down and released my load of spicily-scented arse gravy. bliss!
20 relief-filled seconds later, i reached for the toilet roll, only to discover that the remaining 2 sheets were glued to the cardboard tube. now, i wasn't going to wipe myself with the tube, i've done that once before and refuse to subject my poor chocolate starfish to such cardboard-induced lacerations again.
looking around desperately, i see something on the floor, just within reach. my hostesse's 4-year-old daughter's favourite rag doll. this doll was about 2 feet long and dressed in a flowing, floral number.
aha! thinks i, salvation!
yes, i wiped my arse on that poor doll's dress and flushed it. thank god my friend hadn't chosen a soft-flush toilet!
i left very shortly after, saying i had just remembered a doctor's appointment.
nothing was said about it but, when i phoned her later that evening, i could hear the most heartwrenching sobbing in the background. it was her daughter, completely inconsolable over the unexplained loss of her beloved doll's dress.

guilty? hell, no! it was her curry that gave me the squits!

*Irritable Bowel Syndrome
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 17 Nov 2007, 3:00, Reply)

caloric calculus
When I was attending university I decided to take a year off midstream, out of general boredom and confusion. I went off to live on my own. Unfortunately, the "internship" I had arranged turned out to involve zero interesting work and less pay. I began looking around for a real job, but was thoroughly broke. At this point I came up with a new food shopping plan, which involved figuring out which foods contained the most calories per dollar. You may not be surprised to discover that my diet consisted of candy bars for some time; Mars for lunch, Milky Way for dinner. I could have easily asked my family for money, but for some time pride prevented me.

Until the day I found myself in the grocery aisle with a 5lb bag of sugar, marvelling at what a bargain it was and wondering whether it would be better to eat it with a spoon or dissolve it in water to drink. I called my mother later that evening for a handout.
(Ennui Kissinger, Sat 17 Nov 2007, 1:59, Reply)

It was a cold and wet day
and on the way home from school, my bladder was set to burst, as usual. I tore up the steps, shoved my key in the door...and it wouldn't fucking turn. I twisted and shoved and pushed, but to no avail, and there was nobody in the house to help. Worse, I was starting to leak, and I could feel wee trickling down my leg.
It was raining, my doorstep was already soaking wet and a puddle wouldn't form, what's the worst that could happen?
And yes, as a sober, fully functional 15-year-old, I pissed myself on my own doorstep, on a main road, opposite a bus stop, during rush hour.

I've since discovered alcohol and now wee in public on a regular basis, in bushes, in back lanes, behind bins...
Of course, nothing's quite as bad as the time when a so-called friend told me that the only place in the woods I could piss was a patch of nettles. Nettle stings on the arse are NOT a bundle of fun.
(and now for someone completely different, Sat 17 Nov 2007, 1:36, 1 reply)

Sofacore
Me and Mr Coolant had run out of skunk on a boring winter afternoon in sheffield, and having decided to write some tunes on the synths the previous day, and finding skunk a necessity we decided to raid the couches for any fall-out. 5 couches in one room all with the bottoms ripped out with a carving knife. Then we broke into the housemate's room and found an eighth cunningly disguised by the filth on the carpet. Result.
(Snake (on a) Crane FKA thwack, Sat 17 Nov 2007, 1:01, Reply)

Babysitting
Have a voice post from my new service.


www.daftdoggy.com/recorder/playmp3.php?id=87



Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Sat 17 Nov 2007, 0:22, 6 replies)

Back in the glorious days of Uni......
My gay mate used to cut out of Teh Sun newspaper the page 7 fella, which they ran for a few years back in the early 90's. For those that don't know what this is, it was "Hunky, half naked men in boxers" I remember Sean Bean being one of them (oh the mindbleach needs to be used for that methinks!)

He didn't have much luck pulling in those days as he wasn't the best looking chap on the campus. Thankfully, acne clears up and he is a stunner now!

To make things worse, he used to put them in one of those laminated photo albums. Only because, and I quote "For the wipe-clean surface and reuse-ability!"

He showed me said album pissed one night, proud as a dog with a bone!

Length? I did not want to find that out!
(ToMeToYou is bumming a Unicorn on, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 23:59, 2 replies)

Watermelons
About 6 years ago, I had a friend who was so desperate for sex he tried to chat up anything on legs. Unfortunatly, at the time, he was unsure about how to talk to girls and the fact he was fucking ugly, couldn't get a girlfriend.

He decided to get a watermelon, carve a small hole in the end big enough for his cock and warmed it up in a microwave.

Not only did he fuck up the microwave, he burnt his todger red raw in the process. His story actually makes me glad i'm a girl.
( squiddylyd Once you pop you can't stop!, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 23:44, 1 reply)

While on my way home from work
at around midnight, I was listening to a "confessionals" show on a local public radio station. The topic of the night was sex. When they opened the phone lines, a guy comes on the line, and poses what he thought was the ultimate sexual dilemma:

He was really desperate to have sex with his girlfriend, and at just turned 12am, in lieu of condoms and on the back of a recent pregnancy scare, he wondered if an empty crisp packet and a rubber band would be sufficient.

Personally, I'd rather take pregnancy scare #2.
(guyie failed to be witty on, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 23:28, 3 replies)

Polarity
My friend Joe and I were working on cobbling together an iPod dock from plans he found on the Internet. As part of this, we had to hook a power supply up to the dock connector. Alas, the one he was going to use didn't have the polarity marked, and he didn't have a voltmeter. A dilemma.

However, he did have a drinking glass, water, and salt. So I filled the glass with salt water and stuck the power supply wires in there. The wire that gave off more bubbles would be the electrode producing hydrogen, and therefore the negative wire.

I was pretty pleased with myself, until we tried it and observed the electrodes giving off roughly equal amounts of bubbles. After an embarrassingly long time, we read the back of the power supply again and saw the text "5V AC."

We went to Radio Shack and got another power supply. And a voltmeter.
(tellum0 is spelled with an 'o', Fri 16 Nov 2007, 22:09, 4 replies)

In lieu of a vagina...
I occassionally simulate sex with my right hand.

I know, I know joke answers are annoying but I'm tired of having no stories to tell.

EDIT: Just realised that if I had a brain I would've mentioned how posting a joke answer was a desperate measure. Fuck.
(Tip-Top Tomcat but you can call me Tommo, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 21:55, Reply)

Desperation can make you inhumanly fast, it seems.
After I stopped being a dishwasher I took an even more desperate job- I worked for a seafood wholesaler. This place was a long low brick building where trucks would come filled with fish, and a long line of people (typically illegal immigrants) stood with fillet knives and cleaned fish all day. As the fish are generally not considerate enough to grow to a standard size, there was one guy whose job was to stand there all day weighing fillets and trimming chunks off the end so they could be sold to restaurants. This meant that there were these two to three ounce scraps of fresh fish sitting there- so there was also a fish fry carry-out in the front of the place, which is where I worked.

This was in a particularly nasty part of Rochester in the 1980s- in fact, I found out years later that while I was there a man named Arthur Shawcross was patrolling my neighborhood, picking up whores and killing them, then doing things to the corpses. (Google for him if you feel that you simply have to know.) But as I was a pleasant enough guy working in one of the very few places where people could easily get food of fairly decent quality at a very low price, I quickly made friends with the local characters. (Hell, I probably served Shawcross more than once.) One of these locals was a very muscular black guy about my own age named Jason who also happened to be the leader of the local gang. I didn’t know that at first- to me he was just another hungry person to be fed- and he took a liking to me for some reason. We got along very well indeed, and I would often stop to talk to him if I saw him on the street.

As I didn’t have a bank account- my income and my expenses were pretty well balanced- I used to walk to the nearest bank every Friday and cash my check. (I suspect that the tellers shuddered whenever I walked in, as I’m sure that my paycheck smelled of my workplace- god knows I certainly retained the smell myself.) I would then walk home with my pay in the left front pocket of my jeans.

One Friday as I was walking home a couple of kids, probably 13 or 14 years old, stepped out in front of me. The one on the left had a hunting knife and demanded my money.

Bear in mind that at this point I was living paycheck to paycheck and living in a really horrid little hole of an apartment with a roommate. To lose my week’s pay would have been disastrous, and it would be especially galling to lose it to two little punks.

My left arm whipped up and caught the kid’s forearm and the knife went flying, and I folded over my fingers on my right hand and did a Bruce Lee style jab as hard as I could in his throat. I jumped to my right as the other kid started to react and slammed the edge of my hand across his larynx as well, then jumped over them as they lay gagging and legged it home.

Late the following day Jason stopped by to get some fish, and he had an odd expression on his face. “Yo, ya hear the news?”

“No, what’s up?”

“Coupla kids got the shit knocked out of ‘em yesterday. They’re in the hospital with broken windpipes.” He was watching me closely as he said this.

“Huh. Sounds like maybe they messed with someone they shouldn’t have.” I said it casually, but with full eye contact.

Jason was a very smart and shrewd guy. He knew what I wasn’t saying, and nodded. “They’re part of my gang.”

“Guess you’d better make sure they know who’s who around here. Next time they might not be that lucky.”

He nodded again and smiled slightly. “Yeah… see ya around.”

I never had any troubles with anyone in that neighborhood again. Not so much because I was so feckin’ hard, mind you, but because Jason didn’t want me to be bothered.

Sometimes it’s good to be nice to random people on the street.

EDIT: I should add here that while facing a pair of young wannabe thugs with a hunting knife, I wasn't feeling like Bruce Lee- I was pretty fucking scared. Had it not been for the fact that all the money I had in the world was in the pocket of my jeans I probably wouldn't have even tried it. But panic and adrenaline can make even a slow clumsy oaf like myself move like lightning...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 16 Nov 2007, 21:54, 4 replies)

Lived on my mates couch
Poor.
No food.
Frozen burger + Sandwich maker.
= food(!) + clogged sandwich maker (all congealed with foul smelling congealed grease).

Poor.
Lived on friends couch.
He had cats.
Woke up with a disembowelled pigeon on the floor and another time with a headless mouse on my pillow.

Happy days...

Length? - I'm 6'3" and the couch was 5' long. For five fucking months :(
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 21:43, 3 replies)

Which is it? Pee or Porn?
Pee obviously. Taking my baby son swimming (no, its not a pee in the pool story) we had finished and were in the extra-large baby change cubicle getting dry when I desparaely needed to go. I couldn't leave the boy alone in the cubicle (someone was bound to complain about child abandonment - it's Health and Safety gone MAD I tell ye) I don't know where the lady who went in the car got her baby nappies from but boy pampers can hold an amazing amount of wee - I was, by definition, quite full. Blessed relief.
(karnuvap, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 21:29, Reply)

Desperation is an old and dear friend of mine.
I too will share my tales of desperation, as they are many.

Once upon a time I was a racetrack groom, as I’ve mentioned elsewhere. This was during a time when I was having a conflict of wills with my parents- they wanted me to go into electronics so I would always have a trade doing TV repairs (pffft, riiight- but as this was in the early 1980s it was still being done), whereas I knew that this was an extremely bad fit for me- so I was not talking to them and was determined with the stubbornness of a teenager to make it on my own, no matter the cost to my health or sanity. The result was that I spent two weeks living on $10 while doing fairly heavy physical work- moving hay bales, shoveling stalls, all the sort of nastiness a groom must do as part of his job.

So what did I live on? Not very goddam much. I was living a fair distance away and relying on others for transport, so in the morning when I got to the track I would buy a cup of battery-acid coffee that tasted much like what I removed daily from the stalls, and a single donut. At lunch time it was more coffee and a candy bar. And when I got home? Kraft macaroni & cheese with a can of tuna mixed in. It tasted okay, but the smell! Gah! Cheese and tuna mingled- I’ll let you make your own fanny jokes about that one.

I’m 5’ 11” tall. When I graduated high school I weighed 155 lbs. By the time I was receiving money again, I had lost about 20 lbs. I looked as though I had just emerged from Auschwitz. But by damn, I supported myself that entire summer.

Skip forward a couple of years. I’m no longer in school, so I’m making my living as a dishwasher. Still no car, but now I’m in Rochester, NY and there are buses I can take each day. During the winter this is especially harsh, as the sub-freezing winds would turn my still-wet hair into ice on my head as I waited for the bus, but what the hell- I was still supporting myself. Barely, of course- I got one meal at the restaurant, so that was my big meal of the day- but I still had enough left for Genesee Cream Ale on occasion. (They advertised that it was brewed with the waters of the Genesee River, as though this were a good thing. Imagine a brew advertising that it was made from the waters of the Thames or the Yangtze or the Ganges, and you’ll understand why this was a bitter joke to us locals.)

I usually worked the day shift, but was occasionally called upon to help out when a major act came though- we had Joan Jett (ugly and smelled like Lexol and sardines), Cyndi Lauper just before she got famous (she puked all over the place. Guess who got to clean it up?), the drummer from Journey (talk about an arrogant twat who had no reason to be!)- and when I worked these shows usually someone would give me a lift across town at the end of the night.

Except for the night we had a blizzard. No one was willing to drive me, and I was a good ten miles away at 2:00 in the morning. So I did the only thing I could- I started walking along the expressway, hoping for a passing car. (I had done this before and gotten home just fine, but not during a fucking blizzard.) Needless to say, there was no one out, so I resigned myself to a very long and cold walk.

Just then a terrible racket started behind me, which turned out to be a tow truck dragging a tractor trailer (a lorry, for you Brits). I stuck out my thumb, but of course the driver wasn’t going to slow down for a kid in a blizzard. I cursed him mentally for a moment, before I realized that he was going slowly enough that I could run and catch hold of the truck. So I ran and grabbed at the handles that close the back door on the trailer and jumped up on the iron bar under the bumper, congratulating myself on my cleverness.

Only one little problem, which I’m sure you’ve spotted by now.

I was uneasily contemplating taking my chances with diving off and rolling- he was only going about 30 mph, so I wouldn’t be hurt too badly- when I realized that he was slowing to get off at an exit ramp. Even better- it was my exit! Score! So when he got to the end of the ramp and stopped I hopped off and strolled past the cab, giving a cheery wave to the driver as I did so. The expression on his face was priceless.

I’ll post more stories in a little bit when I’ve had time to think about it…
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 16 Nov 2007, 21:16, Reply)

Get off the bog NOW...............I need a pee !!!!!!
A few years ago I went up to see my Brothers Family in Northampton (appx 174 miles from my south coast home) Via the M25 car park.

After leaving their house we headed south at a rate of knots, and promptly hit a traffic jam !!!!!

Not a problem, I have great bladder control, i can cope.

2 hours later we are still sat in this jam and its beginning to get uncomfortable.

Thankfully the jam lifts and we can head home,an hour later and we are heading heading down the M20 and the situation is now dire!!!!

My Bladder is full and that horrible I want to burst feeling is getting worse,Do i try and stop to find somewhere to go or do we risk it, Sod it we take the risk !!!!

We finally make it home and get in the front door only to find my BLOODY stepson having a feckin bath !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Door locked and the big shit wouldnt open the door so I ended up having a pee behind the shed in the garden only to emerge to find the neighbours upstairs have been watching the cloud of steam coming from my impromptou open air urinal pissing themselves laughing !!!!!!!
(pir881, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 19:28, 1 reply)

What happens when...
you wake up and realize that no one has done the shopping, you must eat breakfast and get to work? When all that is left in the cupboards is lager and cereal...

BEERIOS.
( intesvensk can't recall when I last checked the newsletter, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 18:15, 1 reply)

Current Situation
Match.com and discussing cocks with my gay friend


That's about as close as it gets

*sighs*
(Jugular, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 18:03, Reply)

Desperate moments call for desperate measures...
Snogged this pig in a nightclub once, was hammered if that helped :p managed to get away without being humped though, which was a plus.

The next week me and a few mates were back in the same club, and I'm playing some arcade game. A friend who was out the week before said "Jec, don't turn around for fuck's sake." The first thing I do automatically is turn around (seriously, it's hard to resist the need to totally ignore the command) and I see the pig, plus she also spots me.
"Oh fuck" thinks me.
She wonders over and taps me on the shoulder. I turn around, and she's homing in for a kiss, and I'm fully sober and dreading it. So I do what any man would do in this situation.

"Urrrrrghhh........ARRRRGggghhhhh.....AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

She slaps me a beauty and walks off, while everyone around me pisses themselves laughing, me included.

I did apologise later and buy her a few drinks though, I'm not a complete cunt.

rp from a QOTW reply the other week
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 17:55, Reply)

A few months without my leg over at uni
And Fat Sarah was coming on to me.

I'll not describe the rest, i'm sure you can imagine.

Anyway doing the deed - she says 'can i go on top. My response wasn't the most delicate...

"Better not love, you know, best be on the safe side".
( ogwen69 has returned from Reddit, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 17:41, 1 reply)

Minty Urine
I was fairly ripped up in the local pub one night. Girl gets yapping to me that I'm moderately interested in. She sends all the right signals. I think great, it's been some months since I've had any action with someone else present. So I go into the gents toilets, check my teeth for peanuts, check my barnett, realise my breath is probably honking, so while I'm squeezing out my Stella-induced last donkey wee of the night into an overflowing urinal, I get out my chewing gum, see that it's the last one, and then manage to drop it in the piss (mine and others). I must have spent 30 seconds debating whether to retrieve it, and I plumped for minty-piss breath rather than standard grade beer and fag breath. When I finally got out of the toilet, the cow had gone. I didn't feel well the next day.
(Banster Daddy or Uncle? Daddy or Uncle? Hmm. Both please!, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 17:17, 1 reply)

Keeping the lights off
Sometime ago I went on a date with a very nice chap. It was our first date...although we had known one another for a short while and had become good friends.

We went for a meal in a country pub...where I had three glasses of wine...those of you who know me will know that three glasses are my limit.

So, just before we're leaving I get up to go to the loo. He asks why I agreed to go on a date with him...as I stand up and walk away (swaying slightly in my high heels) I whisper in his ear, "Because you're hot"

Of course I think this is just the sexiest thing possible I can say...and off I go to the loo.

We get in his car and drive down the road...we come to a t-junction and he turns to me and says..."Your place or mine?"

I started to laugh, mainly because I didn't think anyone ever really said this....

Being the lady I am I declined to go back to his place - first date and all that....And I also said it was better if he just dropped me home.

See...I'm not desperate....so I thought....


The the wine kicked in, big time.

Inhibitions swept away...him looking at me with those big brown eyes and cheeky grin....

My skirt seems to be sliding higher and higher....

Before I know it I'm running my tongue over my fingertip, sucking it and then trailing it down my collarbone...my breathing ragged.

"No, turn right here..then left...and pull into the woods"

He drives in...stops the car in the corner of the car park and in the blink of an eye we're on each other like ravenous creatures.

Shirt buttons popping, hair pulling, hands roughly exploring, delicate lacy underwear quickly discarded and one of the most hot first dates I've ever had.

Until while sitting astride him I managed to slam into the car horn....

We start giggling....

Then we notice the other cars in the woodland car park.

The other cars are flashing their headlights at us.

We are still for a few moments...the lights go off and we decide to continue...so desperate are we both to finish....

The point of no return arrives...Headlights appear again on full beam lighting us both up in all our frenzied glory.

Then darkness and the sound of cars being driven away.

Safe.

He gets out of the car to 'adjust' his clothing ....the interior light comes on and is matched by another one in a car only a few feet away....
"Want some help mate?"


And at that moment my entire life flashed before me....

I knew the voice....and it wasn't that of my date.


I had spoken to him once or twice on the phone and plenty of times in the pub...where he's the barman.

I don't go in there anymore.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 17:13, 2 replies)

not a story....
but I would just like to say a big thank you to all todays posters. I have done absolutely NO work for the whole day due to reading and replying to all your amusing stories. I am now about to leave the office (early might I add) and get absolutely shitfaced in the pub. chin chin! have a nice weekend all.
(CaptainFellatioNelson is trying to kill me, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 16:53, 4 replies)