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This is a question Desperate Times

Stranded in a hotel in an African war zone with no internet access for two weeks, I was forced to resort to desperate measures. Possessing only my passport and the clothes I stood up in; and the warning "You can catch it shaking hands with a vicar out there" ringing in my ears, I had to draw my own porn in order to preserve my sanity.

Alas, it all came out looking like Coronation Street's Audrey Roberts, but, as they say, any port in a storm.

What have you done in times of great desperation?

(, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 10:10)
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skint bikers
back, in the, er, day
the chrome one (my brother) was living on the outskirts of lunnun (in an unheated caravan in some fucksocked wasteland) and rang me reverse call: 'I'm broke, got nothing, wot can you do?'
So I fired up the trusty triumph-no tax/mot-it was, er, 'in process' piled my pockets with grass, my last 20 quid, some packet soups & a vesta curry (hey, they were the days) i had a last spliff as i set off and wended my way along the A3 from portsmuff.
outside petersfield 2 plod pull me over on nice shiny white BMW's...I can't out run them, so I stop and after a bit of banter, tell em I need a piss & manage to lose the baggie in the trees (whoo hoo = result) they decide to impound me & the trumpet, not whoo hoo, that bit BTW.
So i sit most of the day in the chokey, tho' they did feed me fish fingers n beans, anyways, I set off much later than planned & the feckers wouldn't give me a lift back to where they'd stopped me. cnuts. so I walk.
I find the dope, I stick my thumb out and 5hrs later I make it to lunnun. (its a 1 & 1/2 hrs usually, eh? or 55mins if you break the speed limits) apols. i digress.
i get there and we make soup, croutons of stale bread-no recipe attached....and a garnish of grass. in the a.m. he ses 'were you eating the bread in the night? nope ses I: it were the rats! cos there were holes where they'd nibbled away......we spend 2 days getting stoned, eating soup (or is it drinking?) and thinking of rat avoidance. and then it was time to go home.
I pick up an old train ticket and essentially play big bad ass biker to get (read bully/swagger etc) my way across lunnun. and then after 6 hrs of no feckers giving big ass bikers a ride, i'm fed up & hungry; the stone has left a v. large munch hole in me and its getting dark, so I mooch into the shell garage opposite and talk the young black attendant into a belated recognition that all he needed to make his life complete was to swap his tennies' for my snakeskin cowboy boots (& some chocolate of course) he made the recognition after about ooh, a 1/2 hr. or so. and I slid out of there, back to pompey which i then called home-and thats desperation innit: calling portsmouth home.........?
( BTW I lost ownership of the triumph cos it was 'not mechanically sound; sed plod and I got done fer that & the no tax/MOT thing a little later)

no apologies for lenght as i'm due to get seasons greetings printed on it soon'ish: was thinking of getting merry christmas everbody-but that is a lenght issue.
(, Tue 20 Nov 2007, 16:54, 2 replies)
the fuck. Kill yourself. Seriously who lives that life.
(, Wed 21 Nov 2007, 1:41, closed)
I swear I know 8 year olds who write better than that...
lay off the weed.
(, Wed 21 Nov 2007, 9:17, closed)

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