Camping with Dad
When I was a young warthog.. ahem.. lady. Me and my siblings would often go on a camping trip with my father on the obligatory twice a year visits. Often these trips were fraught with danger and carelessness. My father thought himself quite the sailor and so purchased several row boats or "dories" as he retardedly called them.

On one such trip we were camping on an island in the south of NZ near Queenstown. It took about an hour to row there and this one occasion several trips were needed. The last trip happened to be in the middle of a storm that had brewed from nowhere and after dark. My fearless father made my older brother shine a feeble torch ahead of the boat to watch out for rocks amidst the swirling rough seas whilst we slept in the car overnight - the trip took about 4 hours in pitch darkness in the middle of rough seas. My brother was shitting himself and my mother (when she heard about it) nearly scratched out my dad's eyes.

Oh, and this other time when we were nearing puberty, we went camping in a bay, there just happened to be a barge moored nearby and we had great fun jumping off it and playing on it. My Dad thought it was a fine place to take a shower with his hairy cock jumbling all over the show. The family that went past in the yacht while he was taking his shower in full view of the lake wasn't too impressed.

How embarrassing.

Oh, and one other time he thought he would be funny and took my little sister's easter eggs (she was 6 or so at the time) and hid them on the island for her to find. She bawled her eyes out when she found her stash on top of a log on the other side of the island 4 hours later melted and covered in ants.

Click "I like this" if your father's a twat.
(Sammyj, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 8:57, Reply)