Apparently I'm a sex offender
I was once paid £15 to count the amount of people visiting a hairdresser. I stood outside for 3 hours with a clicky counter in my pocket, pressing it every time a person entered. Suddenly there's a copper in front of me, I turn and there's another behind. "What are you up to sunshine?" "A rival hairdresser wants to count the competition" "Well, there's been a call from the shop owner that there's a ginger bloke standing outside fiddling with his cock." Have you ever done anything that made strangers think you were a pervert?
( , Thu 17 Aug 2006, 22:20)
I was once paid £15 to count the amount of people visiting a hairdresser. I stood outside for 3 hours with a clicky counter in my pocket, pressing it every time a person entered. Suddenly there's a copper in front of me, I turn and there's another behind. "What are you up to sunshine?" "A rival hairdresser wants to count the competition" "Well, there's been a call from the shop owner that there's a ginger bloke standing outside fiddling with his cock." Have you ever done anything that made strangers think you were a pervert?
( , Thu 17 Aug 2006, 22:20)
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"Milky Milky"
I used to work at the head office of a nation chain of tyre fitters that rhymes with "Motor Gay". On the way home of an evening, I made a habit of popping into the well-stocked newsagents round the corner for something to read on the train home.
On one occasion, and in a blazing hurry to make the station, I grabbed my usual title from the shelf, paid and *just* made the packed train, clutching my prize to my chest.
It was only then that I realised that I had not picked up my usual music mag, but a publication called "Milk Maids", ninety-six pages in praise of large-chested and lactating young ladies in various erotic, milky poses.
Standing room only, I couldn't even change carriages to escape the pitiful stares of my fellow commuters; and apart from that time with the accidental public nudity, it was the longest eight minute train ride of my life.
Anyone want a skank mag? Free...
( , Mon 21 Aug 2006, 11:29, Reply)
I used to work at the head office of a nation chain of tyre fitters that rhymes with "Motor Gay". On the way home of an evening, I made a habit of popping into the well-stocked newsagents round the corner for something to read on the train home.
On one occasion, and in a blazing hurry to make the station, I grabbed my usual title from the shelf, paid and *just* made the packed train, clutching my prize to my chest.
It was only then that I realised that I had not picked up my usual music mag, but a publication called "Milk Maids", ninety-six pages in praise of large-chested and lactating young ladies in various erotic, milky poses.
Standing room only, I couldn't even change carriages to escape the pitiful stares of my fellow commuters; and apart from that time with the accidental public nudity, it was the longest eight minute train ride of my life.
Anyone want a skank mag? Free...
( , Mon 21 Aug 2006, 11:29, Reply)
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