"Needless to say, I had the last laugh"
Celebrity autobiographies are filled to the brim with self-righteous tales of smug oneupmanship. So, forget you had any shame, grab a coffee and a croissant, and tell us your smug tales of when you got one over somebody.
Thanks to Ring of Fire for the suggestion
( , Thu 3 Feb 2011, 12:55)
Celebrity autobiographies are filled to the brim with self-righteous tales of smug oneupmanship. So, forget you had any shame, grab a coffee and a croissant, and tell us your smug tales of when you got one over somebody.
Thanks to Ring of Fire for the suggestion
( , Thu 3 Feb 2011, 12:55)
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'twas the summer
Of last year. Lady Deskbound and myself were returning from a weekend break in St Ives.
At the time, she hadn't passed her driving test (re-taking it many years after failing it previously), so I suggested she drive some of the way back to get some practice in.
Coming back through some single lane A roads in Dorset, we were tail-gated by some Neanderthal, Stella-chugging, lamp-jawed, oxygen thieves for around five miles. They were literally bumper-to-bumper in their (I jest not), modified Volvo Estate.
Their patience, no doubt shortened by the onset of weed psychosis, finally caved in and they overtook on a blind corner before racing off into the distance.
A few miles later, approaching a roundabout, we saw our new three BFF, sitting on a grass verge. Steam and smoke clouds billowing from the engine, which had given up the goose.
Needless to say, we doth chortle ourselves all the way back to our middle-class abode.
( , Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:19, Reply)
Of last year. Lady Deskbound and myself were returning from a weekend break in St Ives.
At the time, she hadn't passed her driving test (re-taking it many years after failing it previously), so I suggested she drive some of the way back to get some practice in.
Coming back through some single lane A roads in Dorset, we were tail-gated by some Neanderthal, Stella-chugging, lamp-jawed, oxygen thieves for around five miles. They were literally bumper-to-bumper in their (I jest not), modified Volvo Estate.
Their patience, no doubt shortened by the onset of weed psychosis, finally caved in and they overtook on a blind corner before racing off into the distance.
A few miles later, approaching a roundabout, we saw our new three BFF, sitting on a grass verge. Steam and smoke clouds billowing from the engine, which had given up the goose.
Needless to say, we doth chortle ourselves all the way back to our middle-class abode.
( , Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:19, Reply)
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