My Dad never got drunk
He always got "food poisoning".

The old Volvo they've got still has what looks like bits of carrot stuck down near the passenger door following a quite spectacular incident of poisoning over 15 years ago.
( rofl harris, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 14:11, 1 reply)

Newquay
I was 16 and severely adolescent when it happened.

The traditional end of GCSE celebrations at Sunnyside holiday camp in Newquay continued late one night and young, drunk and excited, we had managed to blag our way into Sailors Nightclub.

Now, I knew my parents were also on holiday in Cornwall but my suspicions were not aroused when a late phonecall from my father arrived, asking what we were up to. "Having fun dad! we are going to try and get into Sailors later!"

So tipsy and jubilant, we had got past the gatekeepers and were into the pussy filled, neon paradise that is Sailors nightclub. We walk up to the bar and standing there, blind drunk, grinning with a bucket of beers is my Old Man!

I meet him with a stare of disgust, my mates greet him like an old, long lost friend. After a brief chat, he starts to tell my friends, in detail, the story of how I was conceived in Newquay when all of a sudden my mother, having been dancing drunkenly in the corner, arrives just in time to help him finish the story.

Thanks Mum and Dad, thanks alot!
(Eggstrovert isnt patronising you...honest..., Fri 25 Feb 2011, 13:45, 4 replies)

Wine and mild racism
First off, let me just say that there's no harm in my mother - she's a lovely, well-meaning woman, who nevertheless has an incredibly mild racist streak that only comes out when she's had a few.

Case in point; The whole family was out celebrating something-or-other in a rather fancy chinese restaurant in Glasgow. My mum had already demolished most of a bottle of wine, and was merrier than Santa Clause on Ecstasy, when she spotted a grand piano in the corner. "Oooh, that's lovely - I wonder how they got it up the stairs?" she slurred.

At that moment, one of the (chinese) waitors came over to take our desert order. My Mum turned to him, and said, "Piano velly nice. How you get up stairs? You carry on back?" in the worst stereotypically racist chinese accent she could muster, while miming carrying a giant piano on her back.

As I started to close my eyes in shame, the waitor looked at her blankly, and said, in a perfect Scottish accent, "I dunno, it was probably already here when we got the place"

"Oh..." said my mum, and shrank in her seat as the rest of us burst into laughter
(Godwin's Lawyer is more evil than Hitler, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 13:45, 7 replies)

It was shit
I've got a whole range to tell you, from being picked up from school drunk (not good when you're in the back seat) to standing in front of the car begging the parent in question not to walk out on us.

Instead, you get a happy tale.

When I was about five, my dad thought it'd be funny (and to be fair, he was about half a bottle of rum down at this point) to give me some. IT BURNED LIKE HELL. I can't express the fire that was in my mouth that night. Him and his friend took a git of figgles, and do you know what? It worked. For a long time, I hated beer, and for several years after that would only have one can and call it a night.

These days I'm into my wine, but here's a tip to all parents: if you don't want your kid to be a teenage drunkard, let them try the stuff when they're five. Put me off altogether for about twelve years.
(jellybeanflicker Jesus was Korean, but there he was Cho Sun Wun, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 13:26, 5 replies)

Another story about my mum
My mum is hugely compettive- if anyone challenges to her anything she will do her most to beat them. She even beat my brother and all of his mates at arm wrestling- who were all in the school rugby team and aged 16. But I digress.
During my uncles wedding the groom and and his best men (including rugby brother) each got a very fine cuban cigar. My brother had never smoked before, and the combination of brandy and cigar ensued he only fnished about a quarter of his. Enter my mum, who had been on the wine, who not only proceeds to toke like on a regular cigarette, but blows out through her nose as well. She has never smoked either. Finished hers before anyone else had. I know its not really a compotition but she made it one.
As an aside- its one of my other brothers 18ths soon, and we have invited mother, who has never been clubbing before, to join us on a venture of bournemouths finest. I have a feeling she may end up upside down in a taxi, there's gonna be far far too many ppl to not chalenge anyone. God help us
(Buftoon posted this on, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 13:25, Reply)

One from just last night - mercifully not one of my own parents
There's a band I've been playing regular gigs with at a venue near Tottenham Court Road; quite a nice venue, usually an interesting crowd, little to no rehearsal, and the whole thing is held together by the lead guitarist: an incorrigible old Irish guy who loves nothing better than to work the audience in between songs with bawdy jokes and facetious comments. When he's on form, he's excellent, but the humour can be a little risqué.

Last night, as we were tuning up, the drummer had a word with him.
"Obviously I don't have a problem with your jokes, but there's a slight chance that my mum might drop by the venue. So if she turns up, do you think you could maybe tone it down a little? I'll give you a nod if I see her."
"You mean I can't embarrass you in front of your own mother? Ah, no worries, give us a nod, I'll behave meself."

And indeed his mother did show up. She dropped in during the interval and he went and had a chat and a quick drink with her at the other side of the venue before we started again. And we all thought, Right, she's here. Best behave ourselves. We shouldn't embarrass the poor feller.

The second half began, and an inebriated crowd gradually got to its feet to dance. A couple of songs in, I looked over at the drummer to see him staring in slight despair over his cymbals at an older woman, in the middle of this crowd, getting her groove on with the rest of them.

We needn't have worried about embarrassing him. Mum had already dealt with that. She was three sheets to the wind and dancing to every song we played. To her credit, people left, more people arrived, some danced, some didn't, but she carried on right until the end of that set. After the final song, a tired and slightly resigned-looking drummer emerged from behind the kit and asked,
"Would you like a lift home, Mum?"
"Ohh, yesh please, dear."
Aww. Well, I think she had a good evening, at least.
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 13:24, Reply)

A very
good point was made in the replies.

So I deleted.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 13:09, 1 reply)

My step-dad used to get very drunk and soppy. This is when we all still lived at home with him and my mum.
He'd get home from the pub and plonk on the living room floor telling us all if there was anything we needed then he'd help us all out, no problem. He would then get all his dosh out of his pockets and share it out between us despite our protestations that we didn't need any money.

In the morning when he was sober we'd have to give it to my mum to give back to him because he was too embarrased to ask for it back himself.


He would also walk home from the pub, quite a distance from home, no matter how pissed. He told us he once left the pub and an hour later got very confused because he looked round and could still see it. He'd only managed to get about 20ft away.
( girlinthehole, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 12:51, 2 replies)

GI blow
The family used to gather at my grandparents every Christmas Eve for a cold meat and mash buffet (not forgetting every sort of pickled something or other) and some warm cans of bitter.

This was then followed by a visit to the local church for midnight mass. Where my eyes would water with the copious amounts of incense, and my feet would itch with having to stand up for hours. Thank the god that doesn’t exist that I’m an atheist now.

Anyway, one year, my granddad and the old man decided to hit the Navy Rum. This seemed to have quite an effect on my dad, who turned into a 15 year-old boy.

Come Christmas morning and I’m playing in the hallway with my new GI Joe toys (Rolling Thunder and Destro’s flyer) and dad appears from the bedroom (having missed breakfast).

Nothing spoils the mood like your dad vomiting like Linda Blair while you’re trying to ensure the GI Joe forces triumph over Cobra.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 12:44, 2 replies)

Conspiracy
My dad's always been pretty good at hiding me coming in drunk from the mother, and if he comes in drunk I get to try and sober him up enough to hide it from her if she's still awake. Doesn't always work, because my dad at ~50 still has a very silly attitude towards sobering up and hangovers...


"Oh, did you have fun with your old school friends?"
"Yeah, but I can't stand up now"
"OK, drink these glasses of water so you're not too hungover"
"Nonsense, I'm going to go and throw up and it'll be fine"

He has taught me well: throw up to avoid a hangover, or drink so much you'll still be drunk and sort of avoid it. I suspect that part of his silliness comes from lurking on here fairly often.

I also recently heard from his older brother of a time in the 70s when they lived on the street I did last year, and my dad threw up a considerable volume of martini from the window of his brother's car in Gosforth, an experience I was to repeat some 32 years later. Like father, like son.

Then there's my best friend's father, who hasn't drank in at least 10 years, and gives us advice on getting as drunk as we can, such as "Down everything", "Give blood before you go out", "Mix your drinks", and so forth. Somehow, my friend and I manage to drink responsibly from time to time, despite our parents fantastic advice.
(oneiromancer was rifling through your fridge on, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 12:32, Reply)

Pissed-up cardshark WIN
This is one of my favourite anecdotes about my dad.

My father is a big drinker and very sociable. He loves pubs, and on arriving in a new town will immediately seek out an inn and spend eye-watering amounts of money on 'getting to know the locals.'
The price of my dad's beery generosity is allowing him to hold court with his theatrics and grizzled wisdom. The barman hands him a pint and he's off on a typically bellicose and entertaining display of posturing, 70s politics, military anecdotes and magic tricks, usually with a suitably attentive audience. After all, he's buying the drinks.
One particular evening in a bar in Scarborough, a deck of cards had appeared. I'll give my dad his dues, he knows some amazing card tricks. He spent the evening wowing staff and clientele alike with an array of spectaculars that would make Paul Daniels break his own fingers in envy. The drunker he got, the more bold and inventive the tricks became. However, one fractious young man was getting more and more infuriated by my dad's trademark blend of attention-seeking and infallible sleight-of-hand.

After one particularly outstanding trick … in fact, let me sidetrack for a second to explain it, because it's a fucking cracker. He pretends to be Wyatt Earp (twat!) and deals out poker hands to himself and four 'baddies' (i.e. random drinkers). Invariably he gets caught dealing to himself from the bottom of the deck, so gets called out. Admitting his deception, he gets a new pack of cards, and allows someone else to shuffle it and continue the deal. Everyone checks their hands – two have flushes and two have full houses. They play their hands expecting certain victory, then my dad turns over his – four aces. It's fucking great …

Anyway, he'd done this trick, and for the irritable young man this miraculous display was the final straw. He leapt up, strode across to my dad, pulled the deck from his hands and snatched a random card out of it. Holding it up in the air, he shouted:
"RIGHT YOU CLEVER FUCKING BASTARD, WHAT FUCKING CARD IS THIS?"

"Ten of clubs."

There was a mirror behind him.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 12:27, 8 replies)

My old man
I got a phone call from my mum

"go and get your dad will you ? He's down the Brooklands" (pub)

"yeah mum no worries"

I get there and lo and behold my dads hammered
he enters his usual routine "alright lad have a drink sit down, this is my son this is " ect.....
im like "come on dad lets get going"
i walk him to the car and drive him home.
He rests his head on the passenger window taking in the views

We both get out of the car back at the house and my dad says
"Jesus H where's the car ?" "somebodies stole the fucking car"

At this point i had to explain to my dad that i have just drove him
home in the "stolen" car and it was parked up behind us.
(Cov Boy, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 12:21, Reply)

This one time my dad got so drunk with his mates in a hot tub that they went back to the 1980s.
It was awesome, if a little clichéd and glossy.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 11:27, Reply)

My Dad is a crap drunk
My Dad has had a long love affair with booze.

As a child I remember him always having a post work "pint", although strangely enough I dont remember him drinking at home.

However, once my rents split up, he really threw himself into his hobby. Cue rambling drunken phone calls, from odd places, at odd hours. The huge car crash where his drunkeness was implied but never proven, and the subsequent weeks in hospital. His health deteriorating slowly over a number of years.

But as all of this happened somewhere else, never in front of me, it didnt hit home until I took my GF to meet him. He lives an hours flight away, so I dont see him with any regularity, well certainly not more than once a year. This was a big deal for me. I had to book holidays and arrange flights and accomodation so I could introduce my GF to him and his 2nd missus.

He had been ok for most of the holiday, we had taken him out so he could show us the sights. He was walking with sticks then, and had IBS, so we had to make sure that our sightseeing was planned around access and toilets. But he was sober. Until the 2nd last day of our stay

We rocked up at his house for 3pm to eat a "goodbye meal" at about 6pm, as we were flying out early the next day. We turned up and he was guttered.

Obviously, as we had been taking him out and about with us, he hadnt had the chance to sit in his living room, brooding at being made to take early retirement, or his health, or all the fuck ups he has made with his life, or the fact he live a gazzillion miles away, so he hadnt got pissed those days (or atleast until we had put him back in his front door).

But as we had turned up mid afternoon, he had started on the cooking whisky early on.

He could hardly string a sentence together, he couldnt stand and when he tried fell his full length and clattered off the dining table. He then became a somewhat pathetic specimen, mumbling continued apologies. I was mortified and the GF was embarrassed for me. And his missus was beyond embarrassed, I really felt for her too. The meal was eaten in almost silence, I couldnt wait to leave.

Next day I got a sober and very contrite apology phone call.

Now I realise there will be posts about how a drunk abusive parent hit person X or killed person Y. Or the tragic drunk driving stories and my story sounds a little lame.

I suppose my tale is about my denial of the facts not that my dads a drunk. Thats what the worst of it is, and that I am virtually powerless to stop the enevitable.

Wow! that was a buzzkill!

/makes the usual length joke
( Fire & Forget it's the only way to be sure, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 10:52, 4 replies)

My dad
had a few stories, so I'm told

Mark Reed
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 10:52, Reply)

hmm
My mother hardly ever drinks, so when she does have a couple, the results are catastrophic.

It doesn't happen often, but some of her highlights.

- Telling my friend not to propose to his girlfriend because 'you are still young and should be out fucking around'.

- Told all of our neighbours that my father locked her in the attic when she misbehaved resulting in a very awkward visit from the police.

- Told me that her and my father never used to bother using a condom because he'd always show up and say 'i forgot'. I don't need to know this stuff.

- Told me my father is a prude because he wouldn't shag around the back of Boots the first night they met. More stuff I don't need to know.

- Saw my girlfriend had a belly button piercing and decided she wanted one too - proceeded to take off her shirt and flop out her belly ready - my mother is not a slim lady.

- Got so wasted that the landlord of the pub I was at came to my table to say there was someone on the phone for me. Odd? Very! I take it and it's some person in our street I've spoken to about twice begging me to come over because my mother is asleep on their couch.

- I came home once and saw my father and a random neighbour carrying her up the drive by hands and feet because she'd passed out in our front garden.

Keep the woman away from the wine.
( Regger, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 10:52, Reply)

My mum
I often stay at my mum's house if I go out in the town where I grew up, just to save money on a taxi etc.

Just before Christmas, I invited a couple of friends back for a few drinks once the pub had closed. Unbeknown to me, my mother had also been out, and was already upstairs in bed, trying to sleep off her drunken state.

About 15 minutes of sitting in the kitchen, laughing and drinking with my mates, the kitchen door burst open. In staggered my bleary eyed mum, who then proceeded to walk over to the fridge, take out an egg, amble over to me, and smash it open on the top of my head, before pointing her finger at me and saying 'Keep the fucking noise down'.

Mental.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 9:53, 4 replies)

From the list of reasons why I quit drinking:
I was outside a pub, I had a pint of cider and a double vodka and ice in front of me. I was reading the paper and a guy walked back from the bar carring what looked to be the same as I was drinking.

He looked maybe 5 years older than me at most. He sat down, knocked back the vodka and started on the pint, lit a cigarette and sat and stared out into the middle distance with no sort of expression on his face other than maybe a slight look of the type of relief that goes with getting that first comforting hit of booze of the day.

I pretty much did the same and I expect I looked the same.

I went back to my paper, not really paying much attention to the rest of the world until I was disturbed by the sound of a young lad shouting 'Dad, Dad' and coming towards us clutching a bag of McDonalds in his hand. The man looked up, drained the rest of his pint stubbed out his cigarette and looking thoroughly pissed off at being interupted, went to meet his son.

It was 11.30 on a Saturday morning and I saw a terrifying sight of my future.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 9:48, Reply)

My mum, Mrs Vagabond and I spent a pleasant evening outside at the picnic table, drinking a couple of bottles of wine and chatting.
Mum got up to go in for a pee, and walked straight - proper borderline nose-breaking stuff - into the very closed French windows.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 9:40, 9 replies)

Sorry, not parents.
But family, so I hope it's close enough.
When I was around 10 my mother took my little brother and me to Poland for a family wedding.
At the reception afterwards the family had kindly provided one bottle of vodka per person -- that is including children and the elderly.
After a dinner of tripe soup and some other things I don't recall (you'll know why later) it was time for the toasts. Now, I'm not sure if it is just my family or all Polish families who do this -- but there were about 10 toasts by various people and each one ended with a shout of "Sto Lat!" and a double Vodka. As a child I was allowed to sip beer for the unimportant ones.
Needless to say we were all smashed.
I recall walking to the flat, belonging to one of my uncles, in which we were staying. The uncle whose flat it was had three bottles of vodka hidden about his person and my other uncle was loping around like an orangutan and climding walls, trees and street furniture.
When we got home (there were about 12 adults and 2 children in a two bedroom state-owned, tiny flat) we spent a little time drinking water and the adults talked. Well, most of them did -- the orangutan-impressionist was chasing the dog around the room trying to bite it's tail.
When we all eventually settled to sleep many of us had to get up to use the toilet (one of those with an inspection platform to look for worms) in the night. For some reason the uncle whose flat it was had to get up to go more than even little me (I still have a weak bladder to this day). My mother and I worked out what he was doing when he forgot to close the door: there was a washing maching in the toilet and he had hidden the three bottle of vodka in there so his wife wouldn't know he was drinking them.
The next morning everyone was surprisingly well and nothing ws said about the night before.
So, that's the story of the most excessive drinking session I have ever been party to -- and, believe me, I've had my share.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 9:30, 4 replies)

not my mum and dad but my sister with her new born
About a month after my sister gave birth, she and hubby went to a dinner party and she got trollied on wine.

The next day was hilarious because she had breast fed the little sprog in the morning and the poor git was pissed all day.
(bigbear45 scousers are the barnacles of society, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 9:07, 4 replies)

Happy Birthday To You
I think one way to make sure your daughters 13th Birthday BBQ is one that everyone else will remember even if you don't is to drink three bottles of wine before lunch, a litre of Vodka and then lay on your back on the grass with your knickers in your hand and your knees apart inviting every man at the party to come and take his turn on you.



You hear a lot of these stories in AA. I am proud to say the person in this one has been sober over 5 years now. Pretty much since she woke up the day after that happened actually.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 8:54, 4 replies)

My mate's dad got so pissed in 1980
that he drove his swanky new rover sd1 into a concrete pillar supporting the M6 and killed himself, my parents, and my baby sister. We still laugh about it.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 8:43, 3 replies)

Drunk Parents
I was often drunk as a parent...though I think I got away with it up till about 2 years ago when my 21 year old grandson carelessly left a can of Special Brew on the table. Whe he came back I`d drunk it!
(I said the cat had knocked it off the table but I don`t think he believed me)
(sabre61, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 7:48, Reply)

My dad isn't really a drinking man...
He's more of a drinking machine
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 7:48, 1 reply)

My mum
Was fond of a tipple or two - in fact, it got to be a serious problem. Hiding bottles in the linen cupboard, and all those alcoholic cliches. This was back when I was at school, and my folks were divorced and not really on speaking terms, so having to live with my mum wasn't ideal. No sir. She'd do crazy things when drunk, like lock me into the houses, or talk a lot of nonsense. She wasn't ill-meaning usually, it was just the drink talking, but it was crap to see her destroying herself, with Dad nowhere to be seen.

The crap she used to speak was the worst thing. It was hard to know whether to believe her sometimes - it's hard to realise your own mum talks a lot of cobblers, but I reached that point early on. She told me she'd killed a man, for example... that was probably the worst one. What are you supposed to say to that?

"Mommy killed him," she said. Absolute cobblers of course. The bastard had already killed two of my friends by that point.
(McChinaman banned, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 7:20, 11 replies)

Last summer, a friend made about 8-10 gallons of wine.
All of said wine was drunk over the course of a lovely saturday afternoon, along with music, fine cheese and biscuits.

My mum got wankered in the first 45 minutes, and retreated upstairs. We were all merry quickly, but she knocked it back like a trooper. The spliffs probably hadn't helped either.

We crept up about 5 minutes later to find her simultaneously shitting in the toilet and puking into the sink next to it, and were greeted with a slurred "fuck offfffffff"..

Given that she'll be reading this question of the week, hi mum, I have it on film!
(Irregular Joe last touched ham on, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 1:45, 8 replies)

My Dad and His Dad.
My Dad likes a beer, preferably his McEwan's Export beer but most dark ales would suffice. He would go through a crate in a week at his own pace, interspliced with long trips twice daily to "go get the paper".

But I never saw him drunk.

There were times when he ought to have been drunk (weddings, birthdays, free wine at the posh theatre do's, etc)and shown none of the usual symptoms; slurring, silliness, calling Sandra Debbie by mistake, sniffing out the best kebab van. I don't know how he did it.

Now. When I saw my Grandad, it was the same. He'd drink rum, neat. Dark Navy rum for the Navy war hero sitting in His Armchair. Never saw him drunk.

Well, come to think of it. The point of this story is that I have seem them both drunk. Once.

==w=a=v=v=y=l=i=n=e=s==

It was a busy weekend. My cousin had got married, I know because I was there, a strapping lad of around 16 about to introduce his girlfriend to the family. A terrifying moment in a young man's life which had so far been 50% successful.

I had managed to introduce her to my mum, she knows this because she was there. My father, on the other hand was not there. He hadn't actually turned up to the wedding. He hadn't turned up to the restaurant after-party. There was an awkward space at our table, not only was Dad's chair empty but there was empty chair next to my Grandma as well.

We paid, left, turned into the street and could hear the sound of two drunks singing in the street. We struggled to place source of the noise but soon sniffed it out to be coming from the vicinity of the grassy round-a-bout.

There was my Dad and His Dad, arms over shoulders, dressed in suits for a wedding they skipped to go to the races, waving a bottle of McEwans in one free arm and a little swigging sized bottle of Navy dark rum in the other, while they drunkenly chanted and span in little tandem spirals.

You are probably going to try and guess who was holding which bottle - but you are wrong, it was the other way around! Ha!

Stay tuned for "First Time I Saw My Dad Hungover". (Spoiler alert: The Bacon did it)
(MrTeapot hasn't played with himself since, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 0:57, 3 replies)

Not my parents
A good friend of mine back home has an incredibly alcoholic dad. Now, my friend is a bit odd--if you've ever seen King of the Hill, he's sort of a Joseph Gribble. His dad is a fair complexion man of English descent, and his mom is a fair-haired Ukrainian. His sister is about equal. My friend, however, is black haired and dark skinned, and could probably pass as Latino or Native.

Anyway, his dad is kind of a bizarre guy. For his 18th birthday, his dad took him to a strip club. I'm not sure about other countries, but in Canada, strippers are allowed to get totally naked. A bit more background, Canada has a one-dollar and two-dollar coin, so a bit of pocket change can be quite a handsome sum of money. A two-dollar coin is just over one pound. On the other hand, this makes dealing with this sort of money a bit cumbersome, especially when you don't have any pockets to store them.

So there they were in the strip club getting drunk, when one of the strippers started a very painful sounding game. She would wedge a two-dollar coin into her vertical smile, and audience members were invited to flick more two-dollar coins at it, the point of the game being to knock the first coin out.

So my friend took his turn, and managed to dislodge the coin. His dad proudly congratulated him for being the winner, and set to collecting the coins off the stage. The bouncers tried to stop him, but he said his son won, so they won all the money lying on the stage. Money that the stripper had, to any sensible person, been earned by the stripper for getting large coins flicked at her underside. But my friend's dad was adamant.

My friend, for his 18th birthday, got forcefully ejected alongside his dad for basically stealing from a stripper.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Fri 25 Feb 2011, 0:54, Reply)

And my Mum.....
.... For some reason has now started taking a 'Horse head mask' to the pub. Because she thinks its funny.

www.cheaptoys.co.uk/img/head-mask-rubber-horse-head-brown-fur-mane_31808_500.jpg

^^ This one.

I do worry.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Thu 24 Feb 2011, 23:39, 7 replies)