Going Too Far
Ever had one of your mates go too far? Back when I was a teenager I went to stay with a friend in the country. We took his dog for a walk in some woods - which was fun.
We came across a breeding pen for the local pheasant shoot - which was interesting.
But then my friend broke into the cages, grabbed a pheasant, strangled it and proceeded to throw it around, only managing to rescue it from his dog's jaws seconds before a gamekeeper turned up to see what the hell was going on. Now, that was a bit too far...
( , Fri 10 Nov 2006, 14:11)
Ever had one of your mates go too far? Back when I was a teenager I went to stay with a friend in the country. We took his dog for a walk in some woods - which was fun.
We came across a breeding pen for the local pheasant shoot - which was interesting.
But then my friend broke into the cages, grabbed a pheasant, strangled it and proceeded to throw it around, only managing to rescue it from his dog's jaws seconds before a gamekeeper turned up to see what the hell was going on. Now, that was a bit too far...
( , Fri 10 Nov 2006, 14:11)
« Go Back
The Ballad of Davey Broon
I was at a music festival in Scotland called T in the park. After many beers and smokes on the Friday night we rose on the Saturday morning rather bleary eyed and got straight back into it.
Sitting there in my mate's big tent, a few of the boys let off one or two large farts (or "pumps", as my mum used to call them). Well I felt confident in my colon to produce a louder and more comical noise than them so squeezed out a beauty which was gratefully received by all. That is except my boxers. I shat myself terribly. However, I managed not to cry and skulked off to my tent to change and get washed with the baby wipes. I then disposed of the soiled garment in the rubbish pile of a nearby gathering of tents. I didn't tell anyone about it until I confided in a friend at the gathering the next year. Seconds later I was named Davey Broon, and 8 years later, I still am. Shite.
( , Fri 10 Nov 2006, 18:01, Reply)
I was at a music festival in Scotland called T in the park. After many beers and smokes on the Friday night we rose on the Saturday morning rather bleary eyed and got straight back into it.
Sitting there in my mate's big tent, a few of the boys let off one or two large farts (or "pumps", as my mum used to call them). Well I felt confident in my colon to produce a louder and more comical noise than them so squeezed out a beauty which was gratefully received by all. That is except my boxers. I shat myself terribly. However, I managed not to cry and skulked off to my tent to change and get washed with the baby wipes. I then disposed of the soiled garment in the rubbish pile of a nearby gathering of tents. I didn't tell anyone about it until I confided in a friend at the gathering the next year. Seconds later I was named Davey Broon, and 8 years later, I still am. Shite.
( , Fri 10 Nov 2006, 18:01, Reply)
« Go Back