Horrible things I've done to a loved one
You shat on her Justin Bieber poster because you adore her. She cleaned the toilet bowl with your toothbrush for the same reason. Tell us of the times true love has not been as true as it should
Suggested by Edenmonster
( , Thu 16 Jun 2011, 12:56)
You shat on her Justin Bieber poster because you adore her. She cleaned the toilet bowl with your toothbrush for the same reason. Tell us of the times true love has not been as true as it should
Suggested by Edenmonster
( , Thu 16 Jun 2011, 12:56)
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Drunken Pissery
Pat Gash's story reminds me of an incident at the very start of my marriage.
I had been out on the work Christmas meal, held in a pub in the middle of nowhere, and I arrived home very much the worse for wear. After collapsing into bed saying how much I really, really loved her, I passed out into a fitful sleep.
All too soon, I was awake again, the pressure on my bladder saying that several pints of Guinness were fighting to get out. So, I staggered to the bathroom, and let go with a gushing flow of urine.
At least, I thought it was the bathroom. There was a scream. The light went on, and there was another scream. What I thought was the toilet was, in fact, her dressing table, which was now swimming in piss.
Her hair dryer would never be the same again (which solved the mystery of what to get her that year), but there was worse to come. The veritable Niagra Fall of urine had found - as if laser-guided - my Christmas present, hidden under her dressing table.
So, Christmas Day, my present from my wife of the next twenty years was a signed and framed photograph of the 1989 league title-winning Arsenal squad, yellow and stinking of piss. A collector's item, I think you will agree.
( , Thu 16 Jun 2011, 15:02, 5 replies)
Pat Gash's story reminds me of an incident at the very start of my marriage.
I had been out on the work Christmas meal, held in a pub in the middle of nowhere, and I arrived home very much the worse for wear. After collapsing into bed saying how much I really, really loved her, I passed out into a fitful sleep.
All too soon, I was awake again, the pressure on my bladder saying that several pints of Guinness were fighting to get out. So, I staggered to the bathroom, and let go with a gushing flow of urine.
At least, I thought it was the bathroom. There was a scream. The light went on, and there was another scream. What I thought was the toilet was, in fact, her dressing table, which was now swimming in piss.
Her hair dryer would never be the same again (which solved the mystery of what to get her that year), but there was worse to come. The veritable Niagra Fall of urine had found - as if laser-guided - my Christmas present, hidden under her dressing table.
So, Christmas Day, my present from my wife of the next twenty years was a signed and framed photograph of the 1989 league title-winning Arsenal squad, yellow and stinking of piss. A collector's item, I think you will agree.
( , Thu 16 Jun 2011, 15:02, 5 replies)
^^^^^
in fairness she could/should have wiped her arse on it
before re-wrapping it
( , Thu 16 Jun 2011, 17:12, closed)
in fairness she could/should have wiped her arse on it
before re-wrapping it
( , Thu 16 Jun 2011, 17:12, closed)
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