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This is a question Good Advice

My pal inspects factories for a living, and I shall take his expert advice to the grave: "Never eat the meat pies". Tell us the best advice you've ever received.

(, Thu 20 May 2010, 12:54)
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Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…

NOTE: This started out as just a harmless (and brief) anecdote, explaining the wisdom of the title advice, however my pent up B3ta-ness has made this somewhat snowball into what seems to have turned into an attempt at the B3ta world length record…so apologies in advance…

Lights!…Camera!…Wavy Lines ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few years ago, I was what could politely be described as ‘a bit down on my luck’ but could be more accurately described as ‘utterly botty-fucked from the planet twist-a-bollock on a sponsored ‘being elbowed-in-the-plums-a-thon’. Suffice to say I had no girlfriend, no job, cock all money, and lived in a shit heap area of war-torn Coventry that was a bubonic blistered boil on the burping backside of middle England.

I spent 3 months renting a squalid little shoebox of a flat, inside a dilapidated tower block that I’m certain was only kept standing due to of a combination of dry rot and the dark side of the force. I spent most of my nights drinking heavily, trying to convince myself that my situation was ‘only temporary’, and fannying about on my beloved new PC which I had (probably unwisely) spent my last few pennies on. This of course, didn’t dispel the fact that I was lonlier than a leprous, blindfolded ginger Fritzl kid on a desert island.

As I plummetted nose-first towards rock bottom, the only people I would have any sort of social contact with were my neighbours - a young couple named Kevin and Amy.

Kevin was a wallowing winnet of workshy sphincter gristle, whom I loathed like you would a seeping haemorrhoid. He, on the other hand, had decided to kindly ‘tolerate’ me due to my harmlessness, and because I would turn an indifferent blind eye to his almost combustible chav-ity, his small time drug deals (conducted in the style of a wannabe gangsta rapper), and his habitual late-night blaring of chronically shoddy boom-bastic rumbling skull-fuck torturous noises that he seemed to consider were ‘top choons’.

Despite his pasty pale skin and lank, greasy blond hair, he insisted on being called ‘The K-Man’ and he sauntered around pretending to act more ‘black’ than if Samuel L. Jackson did an Al Jolson Minstrel impression after an unfortunate collision incident involving tarmac, shoe polish and a permanent marker pen. We’re talking ‘typecasting-to-the-point-of-downright-insulting’ here.

So, like the hideous bastard lovechild of Ali G and Kerry Katona that he seemed to be, ‘The K-Man’ was perpetually blinged up with the finest ‘Lizzie Duke’ gold from Argos, and tracksuited up to the tattoo on his neck with the sort of natty threads that JJB sports would regularly spew onto their ‘reduced-to-clear’ shelves. This guy really was a world class phenomenal bell-end, but like I said I was bored, broke and lonely, so I tolerated him too, and would frequently pop round and help relinquish him of his freshly shop-lifted alcohol reserves.

OK, I’ll admit it…there was another reason I tolerated him - His girlfriend. Amy was quite a pretty young filly, and for the life of me I couldn’t understand what she was doing with a malodorous mong-spack like K-Man. She was 24, and like me, she also presented herself with the demeanour of somebody who had fallen upon hard times but didn’t really belong there. We would share a friendly word when we passed each other on the vom-splattered stairs (the piss soaked lift was always borked). She would tell me about her problems with K-Man, and we would laugh as we spoke about how we should ‘run away together and start a better life’. She was joking. I wasn’t.

She had kind, soft eyes that hid her sorrow well, whilst possessing a wicked sense of humour and respectable intellect. However, I feel I should also mention that a mere glance at her perfectly sculpted body made me feel hornier than being hand delivered a Viagra-spiked oyster sandwich from a butt-naked Girls Aloud; and this was in no small part due to the fact that she proudly sported a pair of such gelatinous gertstonking wondernorks that my beef bazooka threatened to rip through my trollies every time that I was even within their gravitational pull. They were such pert, pointy, pendulous pods of perfection and during my special ‘me-time’ I would regularly tug myself blurry whilst fantasising about motorboating them.

However, for reasons unknown, she was with the cunting K-Man and I respected her decision – and kept my severe frustrations to myself at the fact that he treated her as if she was a lump of southern-fried shite on a piece of dog-turd Ryvita.

Of all his faults though, I felt that possibly the worst thing about him was that underneath his gangsta-chav, uber-twunt exterior, he was secretly a proper mummy’s boy - he would be on the phone to his old ‘ma’ at least 5 times a day. She would regularly ‘pop round’ impromptu, let herself in and do his washing for him, pay his bills, and clean up once a week. Much to Amy’s dismay, Kevin had also embraced (stolen) technology, and had even set his mum up with a new-fangled webcam so that she could regularly check up on them online. The old hag was bitterly resentful towards poor Amy and was constantly critical of her, even actively encouraging K-man to cheat on her, and openly declaring that she thought Amy ‘wasn’t good enough for her boy’. Oh, and God help any of us any time Kev’s mum when she couldn’t get hold of him; she would hunt him down like a Terminator bloodhound, and she would think nothing of regularly calling me with messages to pass on when he wasn’t around…

which is where I drag you to the evening in question…

I had received a call from K-Man’s mum, saying that his phone was constantly engaged, and demanding I go round and tell him to get in contact. (Normally I wouldn’t have been arsed, but I was tired of drinking alone, and thinking of spending some fleeting time with Amy made the short walk down the corridor worthwhile).

As I knocked on the door, Amy answered and invited me in. Sure enough, K-Man was on the phone sorting out one of his deals and he beckoned me over to the sofa where a freshly robbed crate of cider was laying nearby. ‘Help yourself’ he mouthed to me. I quietly wished he was talking about his girlfriend, but I grabbed a can nonetheless and started guzzling away.

As soon as he finished the call, I told him about contacting hs mum and spotted Amy rolling her eyes as K-Man interrupted me. “Not now, eh?” he said “ I’ve just done a MASSIVE mo’ fuckin’ deal! (about £40 quid’s worth – crikey!)…so we is havvin’ a celebration!” and he pointed me towards the bottle of vodka on the table.

A good hour or so later we were all getting spod-tacularly cunted, and as Kev’s accent slipped like a lubed-up conga-eel plonked in a bucket of chip-fat, I sat and fidgeted uncomfortably in my role as unwitting gooseberry inbetween this odd couple’s spats over his infidelity, his blatantly disrespectful attitude, and the everpresent overbearing interference from K-Mum - the monsterous mother. However, like an oasis in a desert of drudgery, the conversation subject somehow eventually changed. Oh yes...It turned to sex.

(Of course, being a gentleman, I tried to remain sensitive in the presence of a lady, and modestly tried to keep my prowess as a ‘galloping lurve brontosaurus’ to myself *ahem*.)

However, K-Man had other ideas, and he took every opportunity to boost his already gargantuan ego; slurring through language more suited to the Bronx than to Allesley Green where he grew up. Fortunately for me, he was so wrapped up in his own self-importance that he seemed blissfully unaware of the sizzling sexual chemistry that seemed to crackle and sparkle between Amy & I like electrically charged Rice Crispies sprinkled with pissflap shaped potassium pieces and dipped in a velvety pouch of Lothario love lotion.

Eventually, as Kev was bigging himself up for the umpteenth time, it appeared that he could tell I wasn’t particularly impressed, and he decided to try and stamp some alpha-male authority on the ground. “I’ll tell you what, Pooflake” he said. “…You see ‘er? *points at Amy*. She’s mah fawckin’ BITCH, Maaaan!” he continued with a snarl in his voice.

“Oh, leave off, you’re out of order mate…” I reply, genuinely outraged at his behaviour. “You shouldn’t talk about her like that”. Amy simply looked at the floor and shook her head timidly.

“Who give da fuck?” Kev continued, obviously too conceited and / or wankered to care. “I can do whatever I want to her, and she’ll always bring that pussy back for mo’, and I’ll tell you why…”

K-Man took another glug of vodka and answered my shocked expression by declaring: “…’Cos I am the best there is at licking da women out!” He continued relentlessly: “…I tell you man, she need it con-stant-leeey, I’m da best at giving it, and she knows it!”

Now although I am as soft as liquidised shite, I was starting to feel some rage building. “What the quacking quadraplegic fuck are you on about?” I growl at him, before chewing the anger back a bit too much and almost do a little sick in my mouth.

“Ya know it, man” He replied, and simply nodded his head slowly.

I knew I should have left it at that, but my disdain towards him swayed me somewhat, and my mischevious side decided to stir things up a little bit.

“Hmmm, Is that so?...” I replied with a raised eyebrow: “I’ll have you know that I’m quite adept at the old ‘prawn-gargling arts’ myself”… I desperately tried to cover up my actual inexperience in an attempt to counter his display of false bravado; swaying my head in a suave fashion as I continued: ”I’ve certainly tongue-lashed a ladies’ clitoral cola-cube or two in my time, and my reviews were always more than favourable…”

“Get da fuck outta here, murr-fucker!...” K-Man spluttered. “I tells ya wot - I betcha your new PC against my laptop that I give da better head to the bitches than you!” He spoke smarmily, seemingly oblivious to what an utterly foul twatflap he was being.

Fortunately, my sense of reason kicked in, and it warned me to put an end to what was developing into a no-win conversation with someone who possibly carries a blade: “No chance…” I said, “…Anyway…It’s a preposterous argument because we haven’t got a point of reference – somebody who could compare our techniques and give us…you know…a ‘rating’…’marks out of 10’ or something”…I then glanced wistfully over to Amy who sat stoic with a sullen yet dignified silence.

At that point I knew that I had dipped my metaphorical ‘toe into the water’, and Kev took the bait like the overly proud and pisstarded piranha that he was. He thought for a moment, then confidently turned to Amy and said: “How about it? Will you let Pooflake have a go on ya so ya can decide who’s best?”

“What the?....” Amy screamed in shock. “Fuck you! How dare you treat me like a piece of meat!” She quite rightly stabbed her finger angrily at him, but then she turned to me, and to my intense delight (and attentive undercarriage) I detected a slight glint in her eye, and she gave a sly little smile which instantly rocketed my spunktrumpet to ‘white alert’.

Kevin was undettered, drunk, stoned and revelling in his newfound role of pimping out his poor girlfriend. “Go on, mah bitch!, do as I say!“ he spat defiantly. “…yo’ gonna find out that yo’ getting the best, and I can blag some good money after I sell his fuckin’ PC!”

Although his arrogance almost made my ears bleed, I felt like I had to interrupt. “Oh no…” I said, “…I couldn’t possibly…this is…ahem…ridiculous?…” but I spoke half heartedly, because although I could see Amy fuming at K-Man’s despicable disrespect, I still thought that I should at least attempt to do the honourable thing – despite the fact that I was secretly gagging to get nostril deep into Amy’s moist flange-packet, and I couldn’t really gives a stoat’s speckled scrotum as to the feelings of a sycophantic cuntwarbler like Kevin.

Amy then got up out of her chair and looked K-Man straight into his beady little eyes. “I’ve told you before, Kevin…Be careful what you wish for…” She said with an eery calm, before glugging a swig from the vodka bottle, and calling his bluff. She walked off slowly towards the bedroom, then turned to me, giving a sexy little swing of her hips, and said with a husky tone: “I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready…” She then closed the bedroom door behind her.

I froze on the spot and agonised for what seemed like ages - weighing up my options. I looked at the door - and then back at Kevin. Finally I spoke: “Ermm…You’re joking, right?...” I enquired meekly: “…I mean, are you sure about this?...” “…I don’t want to start any trouble…”

“Yeah yeah…Whatever – I don’t care…I know I’m DA MAAAAN! She’ll tell you to fuck off, anyway!” Kev confidently drawled. “…Just don’t cry too much when give me your murr-fuckin’ PC!”

I felt I was left with little option. “Erm…Okey dokey then…if you insist” I said as I stood up, walked slowly past him and gently knocked on the bedroom door…

The door was opened and I saw how the bedroom was tiny and cramped. There was only space for an unkempt bed, a couple of bedside cabinets and a dressing table, with Kev’s laptop sat pride-of-place, opened on top of it. (His ‘laptop’ was more like a gerbil-powered breeze-block of a beast, but it nonetheless represented cutting-edge technology at the time). Amy had put on a small personal CD player in the corner of the room and it was quietly playing some (thankfully half-decent) music, yet as I sat down on the end of the bed I was still certain that Amy was going to suggest a practical joke – like we were going to ‘pretend’ or something…

Nervously I finally muttered: “Erm…Ok then… how do we go about this?...I mean, w-w-would you like to kiss first?” I said with a timid chuckle.

“Are you kidding?...”Amy replied urgently. “…I’ve been waiting for this for ages” she then threw her arms around me and pushed her tongue so far down my throat that I thought I felt a kneecap pop out of joint.

She then ran her hand down my body and started grasping at my rapidly swelling groin-bulge as if it was the novelty horn on a clown’s car.

I pulled away. “Whoa there – are you sure about this?...what if he walks in?” I said, still trying to be diplomatic. “No way…” replied Amy “…he’s out of it, and he’s too much of a bigheaded bastard anyway. Besides…the thick twat has invited you to do it…you’ve got a challenge to beat…so don’t disappoint me…”

These few words alone almost gave me a case of premature stack blow in the trouser department. God knows why I was still trying to remain a gentleman...I should have realised that the time for chivalry had long since fucked off and caught the last bus home.

With our mouths locked together, Amy slowly guided my hand down past her skirt then up again, against her inner thigh and into her tiny lacy knickers. My hand was shaking but I delved in deeply, and frantically fumbled around what felt remarkably similar to one of those lumpy fisherman’s jumpers. I then proceeded to rummage excitedly in the fashion of somebody half-expecting to pull out a winning raffle ticket – yet my only ‘prize’ was to end up with fingers that munted a bit whiffy. After just a few blissful moments that I didn’t want to end, the time had arrived for me to demonstrate the reason I was there…

Tentatively, I slid her scuddies down past her knees and with gusto I started lapping at her salmon-scented snaffler like a slobbering St Bernard going at a particularly pungent prawn flavoured punnet of purified Pedigree Chum.

As she wriggled and writhed on the end on my turbo tongue titilation I could tell that her aromatic crotch wookie was rapidly heating to ‘Gash Mark 6’ and she was becoming increasingly desperate for me to ‘slam in the Lamb’.

“Oh my GOD!, ..” she cried dramatically, declaring: “…You’re sooo much better than that wanker Kevin”. Finally it appeared that she could hold out no more. “Fuck me...NOW!” yelled Amy, almost losing control as her flange frothily fizzed, resembling a cheap firework that had been set off into a churned up trough full of worms and bargain-bin bubble bath.

Being quick on the uptake, I was becoming slightly suspicious of the fact that the oral extravaganza I was providing was only to be the entrée in what was promising to be quite an exciting, five-course ‘sexeh-smorgasboard’…which I realised if I played my cards right could culminate in a dessert that could only be described as ‘an extremely sticky chocolate pudding’.

She pulled me up towards her, and then shoved her hand into my pants. After a brief wrangle, she then managed to heave out what was by then my ferociously tumescent, minge-heat-seeking, bollock-ballistic, man-meat-megaton missile…and the safety catch was well-and-truly ‘off’.

After a glisteningly skilful display of hand-to-gland, then mouth-to-south related gratitude, she climbed on all fours on to the bed and insisted I enter her from behind. Although I thought this a bit odd for a ‘starting’ position, I wasn’t going to argue and I triumphantly clamboured aboard. Before long I was getting well into my gut-nudging groove, I even crossed my arms over her arse and gently leaned on her as she gasped and bit down into the pillow.

Then, for a brief moment, I caught our reflection, sillhouetted in the blank laptop screen and I could not resist. I turned slowly to one side, smirked smugly and pretended that I was in an amateur 70’s grumble flick as she moaned in appreciation and confirmed with every breathless sigh at how I was apparently far superior to her useless turd of a boyfriend with his tiny little button-mushroom cock.

As I pounded away relentlessly I realised that the end was fast approaching…yet as she yelped louder and louder, I twanged with guilt as I wondered what her screams of pleasure must be like as they are heard by poor Kevin, sat in the next room. In fact, I was just about to have a crisis of confidence and stop right then…until she made a breathless request for a shufty up the old ‘brown trout dispenser’. Then, strangely, all such thoughts of guilt suddenly disappeared as I switched focus back to the task at hand.

Inevitably, after a few thoughtful thrusts up the chutney clunge my perculating gonads reminded me that it had indeed been a while for me, and the stark realisation hit that when this thing went off, there was going to be a sex-plosion of industrial jet-wash proportions…

But there was no going back now, and with my finest Tarzan-stylie yodelling ‘grunt’, I came…and came…and came. In fact, it was as if a cock-cream Krakatoa had erupted all over the surrounding area. As I spasmed and spurted continuously, I had soon produced forth enough scrote-snot from my love spuds to potentially keep the entire brigade of the ‘Whitley Ladies Guild of Facial Fanciers’ in cream pies and pearl necklaces for generations to come.

I splooged it deep inside her, but with my continual thrustage it started to dribble out the sides. I then pulled out with a ‘squelch’ and sprayed some over her back, but there was still more. Finally I turned away and spoffed what seemed like a remaining half gallon of hog’s-eye hollandaise all over the dressing table and laptop keyboard (which was sat there quietly with the lid still open). I then climbed off her and collapsed, spent, and knackered with my sex-wee gauge finally running on empty.

We briefly lay together on the bed and complimented each other on our performance, before remembering who was waiting outside.

I glanced towards the door. “But…What do we do now?” I asked with trepidation.

“Don’t worry…” said Amy “…I’ve been looking for a reason to dump that fucker, and I think I’ve just found it.”

We then made plans for her to stop with me that night, before cleaning ourselves up, straightening our clothes and preparing for the journey back into the lounge where the K-Man was waiting – his arrogant smirk now understandably wiped off his face entirely.

I ventured out first, and as I strolled out of the bedroom door I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye, as all of a sudden I got the feeling I was no longer welcome. I mumbled: “Well…erm…I guess I’ll be heading off home now”, trying to sound cheery and walking towards the front door, pausing only to pluck a stray pube out from between my teeth and flick it timidly towards the coffee table.

K-Man stood silently rooted to the spot. His shoulders haunched, his jaw agape and his face had the despondant expression of someone who had just been smacked in the mouth by a shovel with dead kittens nailed to it.

The awkward atmosphere was then interrupted as both our eyes turned to see Amy, proudly stood in the bedroom doorway looking directly at K-man – her hair dishevveled and her legs still slightly quivvering from the clattering orgasmic shudders she had experienced just moments before.

’Kevin…” she said quietly but sternly. “…We’ve got to talk…”

K-Man’s face fell as he knew what was coming, or more accurately, what had just been coming all over his bedroom and vigourously up his missus whilst he had sat outside feigning arrogance. There was nothing he could do…after all, he had instigated this. His massive ego and vile attitude had finally bitten him on the arse big time…yet Amy still had another shot to fire in her perfectly executed counter-attack.

She calmly continued: “But before that…”

“…I think your mum wants a word…”

She then stepped out of the doorway and K-Man could just about make out the laptop on the dresser – with the monitor switched back on and featuring the stunned, granite expression of his mother, glaring out with almost sub-atomic rage from the small flip-top screen.

It then became apparent to us all that as an impromptu yet bizarre and booze-fueled act of cruel double-vengeance, Amy had called the K-mum on the webcam just before I walked in to the room. She had then somehow deactivated the laptop screen and turned the volume down – leaving me none the wiser but allowing Kev’s flabbergasted mum to cop a ringside seat of the entire bout of bitter betrayal against her precious cock-boil of a son, by way of devastating dungfunnel debauchery.

(Quite why Amy quite felt so compelled to put on such a display, and why Kev’s mum stayed online to watch is anybody’s guess – but there she was – seething and screaming with her arms flailing about wildly as she demanded to speak to her son.)

K-Man’s eyes narrowed slightly as he recognised the personofication of vein-popping fuming vitriol on the screen….then he gawped awkwardly as his selfish, cretinous mind struggled to comprehend the consequences that he had unceremoniously dumped himself into. To his credit, he bravely, yet briefly tried to adopt his ‘gangsta’ stance and he scowled at Amy…but it was no use. As he stood there on a slight slant with his hands tucked into his armpits, a solitary tear started to streak down his shellshocked spotty cheek, and as the emotion started to overwhelm him, he trembled uncontrollably, Amy then joined me at the front door, put her arm around me warmly, and with a final act of proud defiance she turned to Kevin and said:

“Oh...and don’t forget about your bet. I’ll be back tomorrow to get my stuff and collect the laptop for Pooflake. Be a good chap and wipe it down before I arrive will you?.... byeeeee!”

Now I don’t know about poor Kevin, but I certainly learned an invaluable lesson that night...about treating women with respect. And it’s a lesson that I have never forgotten…So here’s some advice for you all…

Girls might be warm, soft and squidgy on the outside, but piss them off, and eventually you’ll find out that they can be more vengeful, cunning and downright vindinctive than a wheelbarrow full of angry Hitlers.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 12:14, 45 replies)
Jesus titty fucking
christ that was long, but worth the read!
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 12:29, closed)
Some absolutely wonderful
turns of phrase in there.

(, Fri 21 May 2010, 12:29, closed)
*looks sheepish*

(, Fri 21 May 2010, 12:30, closed)
Fuck me. I think the singularity hit.
This veritable orchestra of excessive alliteration and credulity-stretching genital simile is the absolute culmination of its kind, to the extent that I hereby deem it an omen of the Apocalypse.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 12:35, closed)
Just incredible.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 12:40, closed)
Just about the best fucking post i've ever read.
a masterpiece, sir. Now I need a lie down.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 12:40, closed)
But brilliantly written and funny as fuck.

Have a click.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 12:41, closed)

a shovel with dead kittens nailed to it.


er are you spankyhanky in another guise?
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 12:47, closed)
That, right there,
is the Event Horizon of posts :D

*clicks, prints off copies and hands out at train stations*
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 12:55, closed)
you're getting a click purely for topping up my vocabulary to astounding levels of filth.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 12:59, closed)
Win for 2010
Very good, descriptive, and dirty.
True B3ta.
Bless you for turning a shit friday into something more enjoyable.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:00, closed)

*dofs cap*
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:03, closed)
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:04, closed)
Writing like this
is the reason I read QOTW. No apologies for length needed, methinks. I enjoyed every last inch of it.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:06, closed)
This might be the best story I've ever read on B3TA
Fantastic, utterly brilliant.

'Gash Mark 6' was my personal favourite.

What happened with Amy then, did it all work out? Up the arse on a first fuck is always a good sign.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:07, closed)
No, I'm afraid not...
We stayed together for an intensive 'hot'n'heavy' session that involved highly-charged emotions and the almost hourly exchange of bodily fluids...but it only lasted a couple of weeks, we weren't really compatible and she moved in with some friends across town. Slowly, she started sorting her life out, and I'd like to think that I played a (small) part in helping her out of the rut she was in.

I left this bit off the end because I couldn't find a way to (attempt to) put a funny spin on it - Besides, the post is long enough as it is!

Thank you for your kind comments to everybody who has replied.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:13, closed)
One word.....
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:14, closed)
A Pooflake Classic
I particularly liked the kittens
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:23, closed)
I wasn't going to read it at first
Then I spotted the phrase "Like a Terminator Bloodhound" and I couldn't stop myself.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:27, closed)
Fuck me!!!
Well worth the hour and a half it's taken me to read in between customers!

*Click* *Click* *Click*
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:28, closed)
Genius! Genius! Genius!
*comes out of lurking exile*
Brilliantly written - the best B3ta post ever!
Pretenders like Spanky - take note - read this and learn from the master!
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:35, closed)
I dunno!
Fuck-diddley-all for MONTHS and then an epic war and peace of filth!

I like it!
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:38, closed)
Didn't notice you sneak on here...

Don't you ever do any work?

Glad you enjoyed my Magnum Opus.

Prep yourself for possible twanging over the weekend?
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:50, closed)
There is a potential for twangage
Probably Sunday!
And, as to the question 'Do I ever do any work?' - No! I'm a frickin salesman - work is something that happens to other people!
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:41, closed)
Over 7 years I've been here
and that is quite probably the most epic tale I have ever read. You win the Internets, my friend.

(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:42, closed)

i don't like this... I love this! well done Pooflake.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:42, closed)
Good to see you back, matey
Great read. Tip top job. Love and hugs etc etc etc.

Oh, and a great big throbbing *click*, just for you.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:45, closed)
Thanks matey...

After yourself and a few other fellow b3tards ordered asked me kindly to pull my finger out of my arse and post something again I thought I'd blow the cobwebs off my keyboard and make up for lost time.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:52, closed)
Did anyone else skim to the end first
1) to check if it was really that damn long and

2) to see if they were just going to be ambushed by the worst pun ever written?
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:50, closed)
Ha Ha...

I did actually think of putting a 'no pun guarantee' at the beginning!
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 13:54, closed)
Hmm maybe
But then we would have known there was a pun, and denied ourselves the joy of reading it.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 15:01, closed)
I did exactly that
well worth the re-read..... this should be front paged
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:19, closed)

"pausing only to pluck a stray pube out from between my teeth and flick it timidly towards the coffee table"- hahaha
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:00, closed)
It's all been said...
...far more eloquently than I could manage by many others above, but I felt compelled to simply add a further reply saying thank you for making a dull Friday in the office just a little bit better.

Wonderful stuff, don't wait so long for the next one please.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:01, closed)
It's been ages since I've been on here...
...and you sir, have not lost your touch one iota.


I'll look forward to buying you a pint at BGB's in June.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:03, closed)
Good god, everyone's back!!
(, Mon 24 May 2010, 15:23, closed)
Thanks for the giggles dude
This takes me back to a time when I was in much the same position after fucking up university.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:10, closed)
Well my flabber is truely gasted,
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:12, closed)
That was utterly fantastic Mr Flake
Thank you for amusing me once again with your great anecdotes :)
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:17, closed)
A wheelbarrow full of angry Hitlers

That was possibly the finest example of English prose I have ever read in my life. Until now, the Picolax Thread on Single track www.singletrackworld.com/2009/02/the-picolax-thread-returns/ was the funniest thing on t'Interweb, but this beats it into a cocked (fnar) hat.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:24, closed)
I'm a Singletrack reader too.
Excellent stuff occasionally.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:32, closed)
Oh God... That Picolax thread...
...I'm about to get the mother of all bollockings from the boss.

*tears stream down face*
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:40, closed)
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:28, closed)

(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:29, closed)

(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:30, closed)
What an epic!
Like a perverted version of Laurence of Arabia. Except without the camels or sand. And with more anal loving. Top stuff!
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:43, closed)
Or 'The Filthiad', perhaps.

(, Fri 21 May 2010, 14:48, closed)
*We have a winner*
Best post I have read in a long time.. Lets stop this one now, nobody is going to beat it.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 15:05, closed)
Why thankyou. Puns are my forte.
Unless of course you're referring to Pooflake's epic, which I doubt really.
(, Sat 22 May 2010, 14:34, closed)

(, Tue 25 May 2010, 15:27, closed)
I scrolled to the bottom first, too. And it took a while to get there, posttacular.

Still, I Like This.
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 15:33, closed)
Oh Pooflake
Me and my tears of mirth have missed you.
*clicks hard*
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 17:37, closed)
I just wish...
...there was an 'I f*cking love this' button. Oh well, this'll have to do.


Great work big guy!
(, Fri 21 May 2010, 19:11, closed)
This made a friend throw up a bit
In a nice way ;)
I was showing her b3ta
( I think we may have a new convert and I may have to think twice about posting anything she can recognise as me, I wasnt logged in so she dont know my user name)
I had to show her this.
If you could have seen her face as she read it, slack jawed disbelief and awe.
Then she started to laugh, a lot, then cough and the gag reflex kicked in.
(, Sat 22 May 2010, 0:27, closed)
So many new items for one's lexicon of wit
but this got my click: "the sizzling sexual chemistry that seemed to crackle and sparkle between Amy & I like electrically charged Rice Crispies sprinkled with pissflap shaped potassium pieces and dipped in a velvety pouch of Lothario love lotion."
(, Sat 22 May 2010, 16:47, closed)
Truly worth the read, the best thing Ive read in a long time.

Click for you
(, Sun 23 May 2010, 0:41, closed)
Are you selling these to Razzle?
...and if not, why not?
(, Sun 23 May 2010, 14:42, closed)
I saw the length of this ..
.. and couldn't imagine that it was worth reading, even from you.

How wrong I was!

You had me at the blind Fritzel kid and kept the standard all the way to the wheelbarrow of angry Hitlers.

(, Mon 24 May 2010, 16:07, closed)
This needs a FAQ!
For the stupid people. You know, like the people I look after, and friends.
(, Tue 25 May 2010, 3:28, closed)

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