b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Ginger » Page 11 | Search
This is a question Ginger

Do you have red hair? Do you know someone hit with the ginger stick? Tell us your story.

(, Thu 25 Feb 2010, 12:54)
Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, ... 1

This question is now closed.

I'm happy.
A very pretty redhead sat next to me on the train today. Lovely girl. Now I have to persuade the Mrs to dye her hair that way again...
(, Wed 3 Mar 2010, 9:16, Reply)
Having made careful analysis of all the postings this week
And from the comments made, particularly about the American redheaded women who offered to show off her norks, all I can deduce is; All English people turn into complete fuckwits when confronted by someone with red hair.

My theory is that they do this to take the attention away from their teeth.
(, Wed 3 Mar 2010, 8:39, 16 replies)
I have a hilarious story about this guy

but you can't understand any of the words.
(, Wed 3 Mar 2010, 8:07, 1 reply)
I have an American ginger friend.
We were having a few beers and coming down from some very nice mushrooms, while sat by the edge of a beautiful lake in North Sumartra, so were in a very giggley and silly mood.

A Chinese man approched us and asked my friend where she was from. She told him America. He then asked her, while very nearly keeping a straight face, if she had come to Sumatra to see her family. I nearly shit myself laughing. Best. Joke. Ever.
(, Wed 3 Mar 2010, 7:11, 1 reply)

(, Wed 3 Mar 2010, 1:05, 4 replies)
all my favourite
literary heroines as a child had long red hair, esp anne shirley and jinny manders. jinny even had a ginger arab horse, ffs. i was desperate to have red hair, and was gutted when the red henna shampoo in sainsbury's failed to do anything more than make my (dark brown) hair smell a bit funny.

so when i got to be about 13, my friend and i dyed our hair with harmony wash-in, wash-out colour. called "cherry". it failed to do anything more than make my (dark brown) hair smell a bit funny. however, my formerly white blonde friend turned into a flaming redhead. if only i had been more skilled and had done it evenly. she had brilliant red bits and streaky pink bits and the back of her head, where i had dropped a giant blob, looked as if someone had shot her. even when she washed it, the colour only faded a bit and then refused to budge. she looked like an apricot poodle for weeks.

these days i pay my hairdresser to have my (dark brown) hair dyed a rich and glossy shade of deep auburn. without smelling funny. i even have the ridiculously fair skin that could burn in siberia at midnight. i am such a ginger wannabe.

also, i don't do girls. but the ginger one from "girls aloud"? if it was munch a rug or die, she would probably get it.
(, Wed 3 Mar 2010, 0:50, 4 replies)
This QOTW seems to have died down
so here's a relevant pearoast for your enjoyment.
(, Wed 3 Mar 2010, 0:33, 2 replies)
ginger men
i have a very soft (hard?) spot for ginger men. shame so many of them are straight really...
(, Tue 2 Mar 2010, 19:46, Reply)
The Zoo
I saw a ginger once, at the zoo. He looked like an unshaved monkey.
(, Tue 2 Mar 2010, 19:15, Reply)
Arguments, sex, and the provocative nature of the flame-haired.
Once upon a time, I was friends with a ginger person. A certain ginger person; others have come and gone (oo er madam) but this one sticks in my mind for a couple of reasons. Her name was - let's call her Duracell (since every other bugger in this QOTW is using that term. In point of fact she was a bit hippy and never actually wore black.)

Reason 1: About four years ago, Duracell and I were at the pub - independently, we weren't that good friends. Or so I thought. I didn't even know she was there until round about midnight, an hour before everyone was due to vomit and pass out, when I bumped into her. She promptly dropped what she was doing and grabbed my hand, dragging me into the ladies toilets, where she locked us in a cubicle and proceeded to take off all her clothes.
Now, this isn't as much of a boast as it may sound, because I'm fairly sure that in our joint drunken ineptitude, nothing else actually happened. All witnesses can tell me for certain is that on emerging, I marched back to my table and downed my neglected pint of Guinness, saying it was 'to get rid of the taste'. Unfortunately I'm quite likely to do that sort of thing anyway, so its value as evidence is dubious. Not that I like showing off or owt.

Anyway, the point is that this girl was ginger, and this story became commonly repeated, to the point where a couple of months later it was related with great relish to a girlfriend of mine.

She found it hilarious. Unaccountably, bizarrely HILARIOUS. She would bring it up at any opprtunity, and crease herself laughing like you'd just told her she should spring for a round.
"You had sex with a ginga in the toilets! Bleeheehee!"
"Aha! Ginger face!" etc etc et bloody cetera.
The real clincher came on Valentine's Day that year. This dear, sweet, girlfriend (read: crazy psycho ex, although not redheaded) presented me with a whole heap of presents, lovingly wrapped and presented. I was very impressed at her dedication to this most beautiful and romantic of occasions, and felt extremely bad about only having made her a card and bought her a fucking huge dildo. There must have been about a dozen little gifts in her bag, and she brought them out one by one, letting me open them in a specific order. She'd really thought this out.

I open the first one. Ooh, box of crystallized ginger. I'm a fool for any sweet that used to be a fruit (or thereabouts. See also raisins, dried mango, apricots, etc.) That's really nice of you.

Second present. Some ginger jam. Tasty, but not necessarily what I'd choose Thankyou anyway babe, kisses and so forth

Third box. Ginger biscuits. Ah. I'm beginning to see a pattern here.

Every single gift had ginger in it, or something to do with ginger. The last one was just some root ginger wrapped up, ffs. I think imagination (or Tesco) had failed her by this point.

So my real point is this: what the hell is wrong with some people? I, personally, specifically find redheads attractive. I understand that there's a flipside to this (I'm singling them out for being ginger too), but I cannot see how it's either funny or off-putting that someone's ginger. This girl took the opportunity to use Valentine's Day to rip the piss, because I'd once been involved with a ginger girl. There's some really weird anti-ginger sentiment on this QOTW, some of it even apparently serious. I think anyone who thinks like this is weird, quite frankly. Especially anyone up here in the wild and ginger north, where it's not uncommon. It's a hair colour. So is blonde. Brown, too. Even black! Or sometimes white!

But do you know who I think is weirder? The replies I've seen on this board that involve a concept I've never even heard of before, namely:

"Anti-ginger jokes are EXACTLY LIKE RACISM!!!1!!11"

Apologies to everyone who thinks like this (i.e. has had both a humour and a logic bypass operation*, but for the love of god NO. You are wrong. Not because race is only to do with the colour of your skin ( it isn't), but because gingers are (nowadays) not a race any more than blondes are a race.
It's a physical characteristic, and one that is very easily concealed too (you would have a hard time shaving off all your skin). Granted, taking the piss out of people for physical characteristics isn't pleasant, but you would hardly cry racism if someone was ripping into baldies.
Oh, and that post about the lawyer friend replacing ginger with black or Jew etc: yes, oddly enough altering something to make it racist does make it racist. Who knew.

Let me repeat: NOT RACISM. Reactionary language like that is the reason Godwin's Law came about, and people who descend to using it are worse than Hitler.

*I'm aware it's very easy to bypass the humour when one is ginger and you've had it all your life. I myself unaccountably fail to split my sides when anyone cracks a short joke. Nonetheless, it seems to be not only ginger people spreading this bollocks.
(, Tue 2 Mar 2010, 18:45, 4 replies)
Ah, Sarah. Sarah was a fey, timid beast. She came into my life not long after ex-Mrs SAC and I went our separate ways and was a brief, yet enlightened chapter in my life. She was elegant, slender, well-spoken, blessed with beautiful blue eyes, a fey smile and lustrous strawberry blonde locks. Whilst my erstwhile friends and colleagues would dub her a “ging-ah” I knew that the term strawberry blonde in this instance merely conveyed an self-esteem-boosting term for those whose follicles were not strictly of the traditional red-headed gene pool, but could be safely shoehorned into that category nonetheless.

It began when she joined the company I worked for. She was stationed opposite me. As our desk were diagonally opposite to each other and, if not staring at out screens we could eye each other up, I would notice out of the corner of my beady little, her occasionally looking at me.

On a point of her shyness, I gave her the respect of not bombarding her with idle chat, merely offering the occasional, brief, topic of conversation; the weather, people in the office, what we’d been up to out of work. She seldom discussed her private life, seeming to be one of these 'keep my private life private’-type of people which I respected. The conversations were short, sweet and polite and the more these carried on the more I could feel Sarah growing on me. The more I wanted to break the ice and have a deep and meaningful conversation with her. I wanted to get her out of the office environment and open her up (so to speak).

After about a week, one of the girls in the office let it be known that Sarah had a bit of a thing for me. Hmm, thought I. Goethe once wrote “Boldness has genius, magic and power in it”. Well, permit me to be bold! One Friday, I timed finishing up to coincide with Sarah, so we could transact our end-of-week convo à pied. I asked her again what she was up to at the weekend and again she repeated her plans for Saturday, but was having a quiet night tonight. ‘Fancy going out for a drink? asked I. There was a brief pause, (a bit like the brief pause you'd make, when, stumbling down a street in Phuket and being propositioned by a Thai hooker and spurning her advances only to carry on, realise you are in a dead end street, then to wander back past the same lady of the night, and be regaled with the immortal line ‘I taste your sperm for free’. You know, ‘that’ kind of pause.) Then she said ‘yes’.

We planned to meet at her parents as they were out that night. I procrastinated over whether to wear my Sonic Youth ‘Goo’ t-shirt or my newly-purchased Black Flag one, but instead plumped for the more sedate and less controversial ‘Listen To The Beach Boys’ garment. I turned up at her parents’ at the prescribed hour and was welcomed in. They were out and she offered me a drink. There were some cold beers in the fridge and she’d already made a start on a bottle of red. She’d gone to the trouble of renting a couple of DVDs. Looks like we’d be staying in then. Being of a polite nature she asked me which DVD I wanted to watch. I opted for ‘King Kong’ as I was curious to see whether it would stand up to the original. We plonked ourselves on the sofa and settled down to watch the film.

After about half an hour, she got up to refill her glass. She offered me another beer which I accepted. Half an hour after this, she got up again to refill her glass. When she spoke she sounded somewhat slurred. She then sat down next to me and snuggled up. I put my arm around her shoulder. I ran my fingers up and down her arm which she seemed to like. Then I ran my fingers through her hair, my fingertips running over her scalp. She made pleased little noises. Increasing in boldness, I began running my fingers up and down her back, before deciding to do so underneath her top. She didn’t resist, nor did she do so when I unhooked her bra. Before we knew it we were kissing passionately and were both in a state of undress, both with just our underwear left on. I slipped my hand into her knickers and mucked with her man in a boat. She squirmed and moaned with delight as I soon had her soaking. I rolled her pants down her thighs and freed her. She was shaven in the business area with a little ginger strawberry blonde Johnny Unitas-style buzzcut area on her Beetle bonnet. She lowered my underwear and grabbed my, by now, throbbing gutstick. She moved herself down so her head was now at my groin level. She paused, then said ‘I’m not too good at this kind of thing’. ‘That’s OK’ I replied, my voice rising in tone at the last two syllables, not dissimilar to the bit in Anchorman when a question mark is typed onto the end of Ron Burgundy’s teleprompter. She paused, took me in her mouth. And then...nothing. No sucking, no pulling. Sod all. She just had my cock in her mouth. Granted, she “had” “my” “cock” “in” “her” “mouth”, but surely there’s more to it than that? Nope. For what seemed like an eternity, my cock remained in her mouth, like a Push-Pop waiting to be pushed. Then I felt it, the beginning of the end. Almost instantaneously my cock went from panhandle to panhandler in seconds. ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked, concerned. Alas, I knew it wasn’t going to be. I was gutted

Monday morning was pretty awkward to say the least. About a week later, Sarah had moved desks and within a month, she’d left the company. I often think of Sarah wistfully, especially when Girls Aloud are on t’box and I see the horny ginger one. I always think to myself what her fellatio technique would be like...
(, Tue 2 Mar 2010, 17:17, 8 replies)
love in the aisles
I saw him in the supermarket when I was doing my evening shop: long, slender, and oh so very, very ginger. I leaned closer and at the dorsal side caught a glimpse of shrubbery poking cheekily out. I had to have him.

I imagined what it would be like to take him home, to grip that ginger phallus 'twixt thumb and forefinger, to feel, to taste, to suck..! And reader, following a brief suggestive come hither, I did.

We got down to it straight-away. Quick peel and dice and in the spag bol it went.
(, Tue 2 Mar 2010, 17:14, 3 replies)
This is fucking tenuous
but I'm not waiting for "Revenge", "Pranks" or "Cunts" to come up in QOTW again.

Let's get this out of the way now - I went to a private, all-boys school. As a result I am much better-educated than anything about me would indicate, I never even met an actual female woman until I was 18 and anybody who says anything about school days being the best days of your life gets an immediate fisting from me. But my personal woes are not the issue of the day.

The point is, my school did not stand for practical jokes, boys stepping out of line (yes the older teachers actually did shout "You, boy!" like some neolithic pensioner, no they never had the sense of humour to prefix it with "Me Tarzan") or any semblance of original thought*. Which brings us to the last day before those of us in the Upper Sixth left to do our A-levels.

Assembly was an absurdly formal affair whereby everyone would be seated until the Headmaster came in from the back - OF THE ROOM - at which point everyone had to stand up. On the aforementioned day, three of my fellow students had taken it upon themselves to make a statement of intent by bleaching their hair, like several dickheaded footballers of the time. They sat together with shit-eating grins, convinced of their own godlike status.

The Headmaster disagreed.

He summoned them to his office and gave them a good old-fashioned bollocking, instructing them to turn up for the first day of exams with non-blonde hair or not at all. When Monday rolled around it became apparent that Ed, Tom and Will (for 'twere their names, although I liked to refer to each of them as "Cunty-Chops", not to their faces, they were bigger than me) had very little tonsorial experience. Apparently bright fucking bleach blonde combined with dark brown inside 24 hours equates to a shade best described as "Tabby ginger cat".

A little more background. Ed, Tom and Will were all on the rugby team. They were all moneyed up to fuck. They were all in my politics form and they were all cunts. Especially to me, cos I was a heavy metal-loving geek with no mates. They lorded it over the Sixth Form centre and basically featured in every wish fulfilment fantasy I ever had between 15 and 18 that involved guns and chainsaws instead of Jet from Gladiators. But now the hideous prejudice of a bunch of sexually repressed teenage boys was working against them instead of for them. At every turn their usual jibes were met with volleys of abusive terms such as Tampon, Carrottop and You Stupid Fucking Ginger Twat. Knowing the pain of being on the receiving end of a fuckload of unwarranted abuse, I stayed out of it (they were bigger than me).

Unwisely, but hilariously, they planned revenge on our Septuagenarian Headmaster.

Two days later the Head received a call from the proprietor of Hooty McBoob's Sex Toy Emporium. Yes I've made the fucking name up. He told them that several of his students were causing a ruckus in his shop and that he'd better get down here sharpish unless he wanted the police involved. He dodders down there like an enraged cross between a bull elephant and the human embodiment of gout. He enters the store with a pre-prepared riot act ready for the reading.

He exits the store two minutes later. It's hard to know (as I wasn't there and this could all be bollocks, frankly) whether he was more confused by the proprietor being a different gender to the one who'd called him, by said proprietor having no idea what he was talking about, or the flashbulbs from the cameras capturing the foremost figure of Nottingham's Private Education exiting a sex shop.

Hence, "Cunts"^

*Apart from the time when the Head Boy played the Imperial March as the Head came in for assembly. He got away with it cos a) he was smart enough to do it on the organ, displaying learning, b) it was fucking funny and c) he was every single teacher's pet. He was, shall we say, reared for the job.
(, Tue 2 Mar 2010, 12:22, 5 replies)
Ginger Cat Story No.2
I was in Bristol about a month ago, being taken round some of the fine drinking establishments the city has to offer.

Now, in one pub, they have a big, fat ginger cat. He's awesome, and hilariously shaped. I've seen fat cats before, but this one isn't your normal bloated moggy: he's actually pear-shaped. Basically the cat has a beer gut.

Chatting to one of the locals, it turns out said cat wanders/wobbles along the bar and drinks the spillage from the Guinness tap. Yep, the cat has a huge beer gut from his drinking habit.

GUINNESS: Makes you fat, turns your shit black and makes your cat a pear-shaped orange drunkard.
(, Tue 2 Mar 2010, 12:12, 3 replies)
My mum is naturally ginger...
...and my dad has black/dark brown hair.

My hair is as blond as heaven.
(, Tue 2 Mar 2010, 11:44, 9 replies)
I shall avoid too much detail...
...as 2 years into it the divorce is still ongoing.

However I must concur that the Ginge is a trait known to bring out the most obscure personality defects in the species.

My ex had a temper on her like a Klingon who's found someone used the last of the bog roll, in fact it was a similar look (think Ginger Bill Bailey with tits).

Anyway, the obscure self defeatist, violent and anti-social outbursts have been more than enough to warn me off the Ginger genome.

Yet when out and about my head is always turned by a red head, far more than any blonde or brunette. I remain concerned for my long term safety in the dating world lol!
(, Tue 2 Mar 2010, 9:43, 3 replies)
I know someone who's ginger, right...
no, REALLY! I know, MENTAL, right!

So anyway, right, me and ginger were once walking around Newcastle city centre buying hair dye cos, y'know, lets face it; it's better to be any colour than ginger or something, right?! YEAH!

So we were walking through Newcastle city centre - did I mention that already?! Yeah, so, this other ginger comes up to my mate who's ginger too and they start, like, talking and that as you do. So yeah, like, these two red-headed people are totally talking and stuff and I'm just standing there and waiting for them to finish in Newcastle city centre where we are walking around looking for hair dye.

So, anyway, like this other person with the red hair who is talking to my mate with the red hair, he like walks away and I'm stood there in Newcastle city centre with this red-headed mate of mine who's just like, totally waving at this other dude with red-hair.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we start walking again, and my mate turns to me - which is weird cos y'know, we're like totally walking along so he's like totally side stepping down the street as we're talking - MENTAL I know... So this friend with the ginger hair turns to me and says that we shouldn't really be seen in public any more... I was like well shocked and that... so I says "Why?" and my mate with the red hair says "There are many reason, but the main one is that you're carrying an aborted foetus"

(, Tue 2 Mar 2010, 9:32, 8 replies)
I find ginger/redhead girls physically attractive
but my last ex is a ginger, and she is without a doubt the most psychotic, nastiest, lying piece of shit I ever had the misfortune to cross paths with.
I documented some of her issues previously (pathological liars), but an indication of how deep the trouble, may be that we have been separated since 2000, and until I managed to get a protection order just two weeks ago we (my wife of eight years and I) had abusive calls, all sorts of allegation thrown at us, and a lot of stalking type behaviour. She managed to get my wife arrested by phoning the police and reporting her(my wife's) car stolen. When my wife took her car out, police immediately stopped and arrested her until she could prove that she was who she said she was.
My daughter's psych (she needs one because of her mother)has openly labelled her "toxic".
I could tell ginger stories all day about this poor excuse for a human being, but the crux of it is, I like the look of them (well the slender attractive ones), but I can't get past my previous experience, in my mind, they are all crackers, one just has scratch the surface.
(, Tue 2 Mar 2010, 8:05, 13 replies)
I have to admit
I find it quite ironic that people are implying that Rob is discriminating against ginger people in asking this question, when he himself is famously ginger. Lighten up people.

(For the record - I'm dark ginger myself)
(, Tue 2 Mar 2010, 1:17, 6 replies)
NSFW or anywhere else, but proof if it were needed


p.s. I've been dusted by lifes rusty brush myself, but not to this degree
(, Mon 1 Mar 2010, 23:49, 7 replies)
Have you ever met a woman? Do you know someone who has? Do you have a really sexist story to tell?



Have you ever met a mong? They're funny, aren't they? Look at the way they flap their arms around and drool all over themselves whilst trying to talk like normal people.



Tell us your favourite stories about the man who looked into your eyes for one millisecond too long in the toilets at the service station in Stevenage last week and suddenly made you feel very, very insecure and frightened.
(, Mon 1 Mar 2010, 22:32, 9 replies)
they got their own search engine

(, Mon 1 Mar 2010, 22:10, Reply)
Autumn sunset

(, Mon 1 Mar 2010, 20:22, 1 reply)
The trouble with gingers
is that they never listen.

EDIT: or am I thinking of the deaf?
(, Mon 1 Mar 2010, 20:14, 4 replies)
My First Ginger
There seems to be a split opinion on whether ginger girls are downright filthy because they’re actually ginger, or whether it’s simply just a coincidence.

I’m not overly attracted to ginger haired girls, my preference is either blonde or dark red, so I don’t tend to meet that many to try and prove this one way or another. To me, most seem quite shy and timid, although that could just be my own ignorance. Becky was the notable exception though, I’m pretty sure she was a clinical nymphomaniac.

Becky was a ginger of the highest order. If you stood in front of her and faced the sun it looked like her head was on fire. It was quite scary. Between her fiery red hair and constant need for sex she was pretty damn intimidating as well. In the end it got to the stage where I was reluctant to have sex with her for fear of getting crotch-burn so bad I would have to get a penis graft.

I originally met her when I lived in Orkney a number of years ago but didn’t see her again until after I had moved down to Glasgow. She was studying at the Nautical College which was right across the road from where I worked at the time. I can’t remember exactly what course she was doing. It had something to do with maintaining ships and vessels, but I’m not too sure. For all the periods we talked, we usually had sex straight afterwards so I quickly forgot whatever it was she was going on about.

One particular event sums her up.

Back in October of 2008 I was getting drunk with a mate on some random Monday night. It was about 2am and we had just been kicked out of a club. To make matters worse I had work the following morning. I hadn’t really considered that earlier on in the night when we were downing Jägerbombs and vodka Red Bull’s like we were preparing for Oktoberfest (I tend to get a bit carried away on nights out). We could have given Paul Gascoigne a run for his money. It was around about this time that I blacked out.

My next memory is of walking across the bridge over the River Clyde just near my work, which was a couple of miles away from the club we were at. I wasn’t too sure why I was there and could only assume that I was either walking home or looking for a bus. Either way, I soon became aware of a few things:

1. It was now 3.30am and I had been wandering around for over an hour.
2. I had no idea where my mate was.
3. I had no money.
4. I had work in four hours.

Then I had a moment of inspiration. Instead of waiting for a bus, trying to scheme my way onto it for free and losing an extra hour of sleep, I would simply go into my office and nap there and wait for one of my colleagues to wake me up when they arrived. Sorted.

Unsurprisingly, when I got to the front door I discovered that it was locked, despite my best attempts to try and force my way in*. Becoming increasingly desperate I wandered around the side of the building and sat on the pavement next to the car park preparing to sleep. It was at this point that I decided to text Becky to inform her of my predicament. I didn’t really expect her to reply since it was so late and she had told me earlier that she had an exam the following day. I had barely put my phone back in my pocket when it started ringing.

“Heeeello?” I drunkenly answer.

“What the fuck are you doing lying on the pavement?!” Becky immediately asked.

“Uhh… nothing much, I…uh… just felt like taking a nap before work”

“What?” she asked sounding confused, “It’s freezing out, you should come over”

“Nah it’s okay. I… I’m just gonna wait here until I can go to work…”

“[Fred], don’t be stupid. I’m up now, just come past” she demanded.

“Hmm… well okay then” I replied, tired of arguing.

I dragged myself to my feet and stumbled over to the block of flats she lived in. By the time I arrived at the entrance of her building she was already standing in the front door wearing a loose-fitting black dressing gown. I walked over to her and she greeted me by sticking her tongue down my throat.

A minute later we were in her bedroom; her lying naked on her bed, her gleaming ginger hair brightening up the room like an orange lava lamp. I ripped my clothes off as fast as my drunken hands would allow and slid in her with the accuracy and technique of a blind, retarded chimpanzee.

After a few minutes I could barely even concentrate so I rolled onto my back and let her take control. And fuck me did she take control. I clung to the headboard for dear life as she rode me like she was on a bucking bronco on steroids. She then leaned back so far that she was nearly able to balance on her elbows as I winced in pain at being twisted worse than Aaron Ramsey’s leg. This carried on for a while until she eventually finished herself off and went to sleep while I lay there and tried to restore some feeling back in my manhood. Easily the most vigorous, uncomfortable sex I’ve ever had.

So, in my experience, ginger girls are certainly filthy. Whether I just happened to find the crazy one remains to be seen.

Oh and I made it into work on time the next day.

*In case you’re thinking ‘pics or it didn’t happen’, CCTV footage of this will exist somewhere as there are a number of cameras positioned around the building, but I have no intention of ever asking to see it. No good can ever come from asking our security officer to look for footage of me, drunk, trying to break my way into a government building just so I could take a nap.
(, Mon 1 Mar 2010, 19:49, 6 replies)
and next week's QOTW...

(, Mon 1 Mar 2010, 19:10, 6 replies)
Well the thing is
I've been well and truly raped up the brownstar by the ginger stick.
however I'm not fussed in the slightest and it's true when I say this but, gingers are in fact the chosen people.
Ever since we were put on this earth by Thy lord his holyness Crabmeister General
it has been set in time that one day the Gingers shall rise up and rid the world of anybody not of the copperhaired persuasion.
The time is nigh, prepare yourselves for your inevitable rather nasty deaths by kittens.
(, Mon 1 Mar 2010, 18:56, 17 replies)
This subject invaded my dreams.
I dreamed that a scientist transported me to a parallel universe so she could explain predjudice -- and I was taken to a world where pale-skinned sorts like myself (I'm paler than most redheads I see) were derided.
I was finally saved by a farmer and his flame-haired daughters.
As far as 'isms go I'd say your better off, for example, not working in a company which relies on bigoted morons for recruitment.
(, Mon 1 Mar 2010, 18:45, Reply)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, ... 1