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My commute to work was made excellent the other day when I saw a motorcyclist try to ride on the pavement to avoid a traffic queue, lose control, fall off and land bollock-first on a concrete bollard. He was fine, eventually – but tell us your tales of the old blinding agony to the gentleman's or gentlewoman's area.
( , Thu 7 Mar 2013, 12:50)
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I have to employee bouncers for the pub occasuonally now, they're not as cool as I remember.
( , Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:33, 1 reply)
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Possibly because my mate's brother was one and the first thing I remember about bouncers was watching them have an after hours game of "gutpunch until you puke" and then one of them telling a hilarious tale of how he'd raped his way through the ports of south east asia. Charming gents.
( , Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:42, closed)
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( , Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:53, closed)
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Wherein they'd stand at one end of a crowded bar, flop their cock out, and try to run the length of the bar rubbing their helmet on everyone waiting for a drink.
Invariably there would be one of their friends waiting at the end of the bar to punch them in the balls as soon as they completed a run.
( , Tue 12 Mar 2013, 9:39, closed)
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