I like it when men tell me authoritatively what women like in bed.
Their prowess impresses me.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 16:39, 6 replies)

They told me that there was a Chinese man in the Supply cupboard.
I was sorely disappointed when I checked.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 16:14, 10 replies)

Here's a story about something that we weren't told at work...
That the Managing Director was a sociopath who sufferd from short-arse syndrome and would make the life of the first employee who pissed him off a misery.

I was clearly the patsy as once I'd pissed him off within the first month of starting this job everyone else was off the hook.

I made sure that any new starters were aware of his issues so they didn't become his new target. Nobody deserved the grief that guy dished out but I had enough front to deal with it. He later got 'let go' in a round of redundancies. I survived.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 15:53, Reply)

empty jacket
Friend of mine is a coastguard officer. He got called out to a potential jumper off a local bridge (the Hull-Scunthorpe one, quite high, popular with depressives).

Got there to find an off duty fireman had got there first, and was stood holding an empty jacket over the edge of the railing...
(ymmit, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 15:50, 8 replies)

Lunching perhaps too well
Secondhand, so probably somewhat exaggerated, but it's a story my old boss told me, and knowing him quite well, it rings true, so here goes.

Him and his mate had a competitive relationship, where they'd constantly be goading each other in the office about who was fitter, who had the better car, who could drink most, etc. One Friday, they had a quiet afternoon so they headed out for a curry together. It all got a bit competitive and his mate (whose name I don't actually know but let's call him Bob), challenges him to eat the hottest curry on the menu. They both order the vindaloo accompanied by pints. Then another pint, and another, and another, and another.

After finishing the meal, Bob reckons Dave is done, and bets him he can't have another pint. So they have another pint, and another pint, and another pint...

By this time, it's about half past four, so they've got to negotiate the discreet walk back into the office without attracting attention, which is going to be difficult because they're both pissed as newts, and Bob is giggling like a loon. Dave walks in first, and sits down at his desk, immediately beginning to fumble purposefully with some paper, and try to look busy.

Bob walks in a minute later, and heads to his own desk. He then steps on his chair, steps up onto the desk, and shouts 'Dave! I reckon we're going to have to settle this whole thing properly. Who's got the biggest cock?', at which he drops his trousers and pants and spreads his arms, inviting the assembled colleagues to inspect his meat and two veg.

At this point, the PA shoots out of her seat, rounds the desk, and sprints across the room at full pelt, before executing a perfect rugby tackle that takes Bob clear off the desk and onto the floor a good few feet below, causing him to start throwing up lagery, semi-digested vindaloo all over the carpet.

Bob didn't work there anymore, but the PA had been promoted.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 15:05, Reply)

Train spottin
Many many year ago (before health n safety - THAT long ago) my big tough hairy british biker cum hells angel mate was working as a ganger on the tracks close to Gatwank airport.

Well everybody loved this tough guy so much that they had a chat with the engine driver of the ballast train

He steamed down the tracks at 10mph and switched his engine off at Horley station, about 3 miles up track.

Now theres a lot of noise what with hammering and power tools etc, so we kept him busy looking DOWN track and making the noise...

Then this Huge fucking ballast train comes up behind him, still moving and then sounds its horn.

Its good thing those bikers wore 2 pairs of jeans.. e had to take the afternoon off. We laughed till we cried, we were nasty buggers.
( Traducer, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 14:58, 6 replies)

Don’t mess with the Graff Vynda-K
During one of my incarnations I worked as a Capstan Lathe Operator in a Precision Engineering works down by the river in one of your major English cities. It was way beneath me, obviously, but I needed to lay low because the Graff Vynda-K had a contract out on me so I had decided to spend a century or two on Earth in various guises until the heat died down.

On my first day my work colleagues – bear-like greaso-hick Neanderthal beer-monsters, proud fuckers and farters all – insisted on making me a cup of tea. I knew, of course, that this cuppa would be contaminated by them in some humorous way; maybe I would find nuts and bolts at the bottom of the mug, or maybe they had used swarf instead of sugar, or any number of hilarious engineers’ pranks. In the spirit of teamwork I accepted this cup of tea and sat down to drink it, observed by half a dozen pairs of white-trash eyes set in lardy, smirking faces. I took a sip – it tasted fine. So strong that the tannin stained my teeth and it bore at least 3 teaspoons of sugar, but otherwise quite palatable. Or was the sugar masking something UN-palatable?

I continued to drink as these ideologues and Illluminati observed me with boar-like intensity. One of them was barely concealing his mirth; nasal, porcine snorts issued forth from his pugnacious snout in spluttering bursts. I drank more, ruminating on how I would never under normal circumstances tolerate the company of such oiks and devising excruciating methods of torture for each and every one of them. But of course I was powerless as I needed to maintain my cover.

Finally, I drained my mug, and saw, to my surprise, that it was completely empty. No nuts and bolts, no swarf, no putty, nothing. Peals of plebian laughter assailed my Prydonian lugholes. My new colleagues were all cracking up with laughter, hooting and guffawing and – well you get the picture. I gazed at them non-plussed, with a sick feeling rising up through my innards. What the fuck had they done to it? Poisoned me? Were they – were they agents of Vynda-K sent to destroy me?

No. They were just normal working class cunts. Their leader, Bob, the hairiest, ugliest and it turned out eventually nicest of them all leaned over, put his arm around me, pointed at the mug in my hands, and whispered lovingly in my ear, ‘We smeared our cocks round the rim!’

Then he turned around and farted full in my face.

Damn that tyrannical Levithian lunatic!
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 14:07, 5 replies)

Surprise!!
My first job after leaving school was in the anatomy department of Bristol University. The floor above where I worked they kept the bodies the medical students practice on. My supervisor Pete who was an extremely laid back fun bloke to have in charge of you came into my lab looking concerned.
"can you help me with something sittingduck?"
"sure, what is it"
"it's in the body room, I hope you don't mind, you'll find out when we get there"
I was a bit apprehensive I was 17 and I, obviously, had never seen a dead body before. I wasn't scared or anything stupid like that,it just felt a bit weird about it.

He solemnly lead me upstairs and into the room. There were lots of tables and on each of them was a body covered with a sheet. He approached one of the tables still looking very grim then whipped the sheet off and shouted and pointed
"look at the size of that cock!" and pissed himself laughing

It was fucking huge mind
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 13:14, 5 replies)

Steel Mill
This is true - I was on site when it happened.

I worked at British Steel Stainless in the 80's (yes I'm that old!) and our melting shop was called SMACC (stainless melting and continuous casting).

The basic melt is made in a mahoosive cupola that held in the region of 80 tonnes of scrap metal that is melted by an equally mahoosive electric arc and it gets very hot, very quickly.

It was winter and the scrap was kept outside. Part of said scrap was a fridge with the door open and it filled up with snow.

It was soon discovered that if you place a fridge (with the door now shut) filled with snow and heat it with a fucking great spark of electricity that it will fly sideways through the wall of the cupola and straight through the Shift Managers office. Poor bugger was sitting there having a cup of tea when it came through one wall and out the other. I think he lost the gift of speech for a while.
( Blackdogmanguitar is out with Fat Larry's Jazz Band on, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 12:52, 7 replies)

I knew this guy in Abu Dhabi...
He was employed in underwater pipeline maintenance.
In order to get to the pipes, he had to complete a SCUBA course with his company.
On the last day, he was told of the initiation - the one act that would cement his place in the dive school as "one of the men" as opposed to one of the boys.
He had to have sex.
Underwater.
With a manta ray.

He said their sex organs where quite similar to a human female's...
(SigourneysBeaver took off and nuked the entire site from orbit on, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 12:45, 9 replies)

Customer left an eye-wateringly large poo in the toilet at a place I worked once.
Not on the floor, or the seat, or the wall, or in a cup... just in the toilet, where it was supposed to be.

The length and width were truly amazing though; and prompted my mate to proclaim "If that gets into the north sea, it'll be a danger to shipping!"
( skullfunkerry In case of implosion do not look into implosion, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 12:33, 3 replies)

Workplace infidelity
I was a lowly worker at a Medical Equip' Manufacturer and as such never rose to the giddy heights of gossip material. That was reserved for the Rebreathing Apparatus team and Inspection. There were four of them that would go out for lunches and evening shenanegins, two from the shop floor and two girls from the offices. I say girls & boys but these were all married. Before long they were having a flat-out affair, which wasn't obvious by any means but the secret came out. All fairly easy to cover up and this went on for a few months with all able to shroud any 'involvement' to their respective spouse. Until... the four of them went out for an evening of shared debauchery and... had a major car accident! All needing hospital treatment, being bandaged and bruised and a secondary torture - having to somehow evade any connection between themselves all being in the same car to their beloved. Close marital friends were absent for a while. Oh how we laughed.
(luckylife , 0 guests and 3 bots are online, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 12:29, 6 replies)

In the course of my work I have had to deal with both 'The Great Suprendo' and 'Ian Beale'.
It dunt get more horrible than that, I swear down.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 11:47, 13 replies)

Polyurethane foam
is made by mixing two liquid chemicals and then injected into a mould at seriously high pressures.
We had a big cheese from a major customer come visit to see the research and processes involved. Unfortunately during the mould injection demo the injector head blew - covering the VIP from head to foot. Now bearing in mind that, within 20 seconds, 1.0 litre of the liquid will then expand into foam the size of a small car - we had to cut the poor blighter out...
( Shallowz Has Aspirations Syndrome, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 11:42, 6 replies)

My current place of employment is a busy office
Imagine my surprise, when I went to lay a cable on works time, when i found that someone had left a log strategically placed on the toilet seat looking for all the world like a brown smile...
(andythepieman Is surfing the waves of indifference on, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 11:40, 1 reply)

There's a fellow here who is nick-named Catweazle behind his back, because he's a complete tramp.
He's about 45, and a stereotype of a shut-in computer nerd; very intelligent, very capable in terms of coding, and socially incredibly arrogant, and massively patronising. He talks down to everyone in a bored monotone, smokes roll ups through his brown, stained, and chipped teeth, has wispy hair that he cuts twice a year, and grows a beard then shaves it all off then grows it etc, so is in a permanent state of patchy grizzle.

He generally wears red jogging bottoms, and a stained reddy-brown shirt, which hangs off his round pot belly.

Given the opportunity, he'll tell you how all the girls at work fancy him, and how the gay guys all want him, and of course he's a black belt in Tae Kwon Do.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 11:25, 6 replies)

I witnessed a person burning their mouth very badly when they ate a PopTart. I was traumatised.
Who the fuck eats PopTarts?
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 11:11, Reply)

I just
Done a shit on a train on the way to work that hit a man on the tracks.

Think that about covers everything.
( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 10:40, Reply)

I've got a couple for this week.
Workplace Infidelity.

A few years ago I had a manager called Joseph. He was fairly short, balding and dumpy. Not really a "bad" bloke but sometimes his morals were, shall we say 'questionable' - as we shall see.

*Before I get the usual faeces-flingers going on about OkCupid or god knows any other sites on the world wide web I may have signed up for for whatever reasons - I've never held myself up to be a paragon of virtue. I'm quite aware of my failings and I can live quite comfortably with my conscience thank you. & no, this is not an acknowledgment of guilt.*

Unfortunately Joe's memory was also absolutely shocking. Ask him what he had for tea last night and he'd still be looking blankly at you several minutes later. I wish I could say it was induced by alcohol or medications but unfortunately as a manager of an aged care facility Joe was blessed with probably the worst short and mid-term memory in the place!
As part of our regular influx of workers there arrived a young nursing student lass named Ashlyn. Now Ash was kinda pretty in an English Rose way. Long tresses of more strawberry than blonde hair, a waist that curved nicely inwards, hips that flared out and a lovely pair of boobs. Of which I'm thankful to say, since Ash had no qualms about displaying her cleavage were completely unadorned with tattoos of cocks. There was much more "Phoawr!" at work if you were looking for it but I can see where the attraction stemmed from.
Ash and Joe hit it off together from the outset. Laughing and sharing many a secret joke. Soon Ashlyn was getting the pick of all the best shifts (which often coincided with Joe's hours) and frequently they would leave the site in Joe's company SUV to enjoy a far-longer-than-allowed-for-lunch. Gradually the lunches became longer and longer and several times they raced back into the front doors of the facility when Joe was late for a meeting, both looking puffed and disheveled.

People were starting to notice what was going on and discuss their suspicions - it was fast becoming apparent that more than one type of "Manual Handling Training" was going on here. Who knows where they were going to have a fuck but it was clear to young and old that they weren't playing Tiddly-Winks. Being the only other male staff member at time apart from Joe I tended to nod my head sagely, "A-hummed" at what I hoped were the right points in the conversation and mulled over in my head the phrase "Don't shit where you eat."

It all came to a head one Wed. arvo. Ashlyn and Joseph had jauntily all but skipped out the front door, off for another "long & loose lunch" as they had come to be known by most of the staff, with the receptionist hurrying after Joe desperately trying to remind him about something really important for that day. Which Joe ignored as he climbed into his car with Ash and drove off.

About 10 min later Joe's wife arrived ready to go out for lunch with him for their 22nd wedding anniversary. Which he'd been reminded about umpteen times by at least 3 staff members in the days leading up to and that morning. Suffice to say both Joe & Ash turned off their phones when they 'went to lunch' and neither could be reached.
Sadly the receptionist had no "lunch-time meeting" logged to assuage Joes wife's stress.
Most uncomfortable lunch evar! for me sitting in the outside gazebo as she steadily went from concerned to severely pissed off, texting and leaving messages for him every 5 mins.

Joe and Ash turned up nearly an hour later (as usual) looking for all the world like the cats that just got creamed. As Joe's wife watched.
Joe went home early that day. I'm guessing it was a long, quiet drive home. And an even quieter night at home.
Ashlyn got a transfer to another site the following week and Joe got a job working with his missus within a month.

tl;dr? - "Don't shit where you eat." Particularly when you are 1 of two married blokes working with nearly 2 dozen ladies.
(s0ckpuppet logging out to reply to you if you're not careful, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 10:31, 2 replies)

When my dad was a young copper
He was based in a fairly rural police station. On one of his first mornings there he took a call from a local man whose elderly mother had died in the night, and could he come over and help out?
No problem, my dad said. I’ll be there in an hour.
He found the farm house and knocked on the door. A grieving lady answered, eyes red with sadness. “Oh officer, thank you for coming. I’ll make you a cup of tea. Everyone’s just through there.”

My dad stepped into a room full of mourning family members. He removed his hat and said sorry for your loss and all that, taking an empty seat on the sofa. He started making gentle enquiries of the family – was it expected, are you all ok, that kind of thing. They were being a bit cagey and awkward, and my dad was beginning to get a little confused at how the situation wasn’t progressing. Finally he just came out and said, “So, could you let me know where the body is?”

Everyone blinked nervously at each other. “But officer,” said a young woman, pointing. “She’s right there.”

The ‘devastated relative’ my dad had squeezed in next to on the sofa was actually the stiffening corpse of grandma.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 10:13, 1 reply)

there was the guy who smeared the word 'shit' on the wall of a cubicle in his own fecal matter
the guy who masturbated in the bogs and strategically placed his semen on the toilet seat. the guy who quit and ran around the building wearing only his shoes. the guy who washed his knob in the sink.

is this commonplace or just my office?
( The Doveston haunted by the memory of his own amnesia, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 10:08, 8 replies)

I used to work track testing on our glorious rail network
Before they let anyone loose on the rail track you have to be in possesion of a PTS basically a certificate to say you have undergone track safety training.
Ths basically consisted of the do's and don'ts of rail safety punctuated by industry produced videos (ranging from the unintentionally comical to nightmare inducingly scary) and graphic photographs of accident damage. As this was a requirement of all employees of the large firm i worked for we had an in house training officer, a large fellow with a false arm who walked with a bad limp.
He was an ideal choice for safety officer as he served as a walking example to us all.
When walking track side you are supposed to walk on the bank side of the rails towards oncoming traffic and when a train driver comes towards you he will blow his horn to warn you. You are then supposed to acknowledge that you have heard it by raising your right arm.

The safety officer got his false arm and his limp by walking on the opposite side of the tracks. It was a windy day and an oncoming train blew his horn. The officer raised his arm to acknowledge it just in time for the arm to be hit by the train coming behind him. The impact took the arm clean off at the elbow (It was found about 200 yards down the track) and drove a squash ball sized piece of stone up through his boots and foot into his ankle smashing it to bits.

He wasnt bitter about it and it did more to reinforce track safety than any video ever could
(andythepieman Is surfing the waves of indifference on, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 9:50, 6 replies)

I'm getting quite impatient for a liemallow.

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 6 Sep 2013, 7:59, 24 replies)

The story below reminded me of this dirty little fucker
I used to work in a computer shop near the railway station in Swansea and we were privy to seeing some bizarre sights; not merely because we were in Swansea (lols), nor the tramps taking a shit across the road, or drunks getting off the train etc but we were situated about 3 doors down from a brothel. Yes, you may giggle but it was quite fucking awkward working every day next to a knocking shop, especially at my age at the time (I was late teens, essentially a ticking hard-on time bomb). The postman wouldn't drop mail into them and would deliberately drop their post into us to avoid having to knock their front door (funnily enough no letter boxes on their front door), so it would be down to one of us to post it for them. This one day it was my turn, so I grab the letters and saunter off for a quick perv to drop in some mail.

I knock the door, it opens very slightly and some heavenly brunette in a see-thru gown is standing there (seriously, for a hooker she had the goods). "Hi there" she purrs, me stammering far too quickly ".....um mail..I got mail for you...um this place...letters" I manage and practically throw my man-milk some mail at her. What happened next caught me off guard;
"Jeccy, is that you? God I haven't seen you for years!" shouts this tall girl behind her. Turned out the receptionist (most probs a likely story but she was fully clothed at the time) was in primary school with me and I hadn't seen her since leaving the school; I'll call her for the purposes of this L (unfortunately she died about 2 years ago, OD'ed in a flat, very popular girl too).

Anyhows we have a quick catchup chat and I tell her I work in the shop a few doors down and all is well. She started calling in for chats and then started bringing in her little ginger brother. Now I can't remember his name but he was about 12, had a thin short body but a slightly large head and reminded me of the Sputnik kid from "So I married An Axe-Murderer" ("OUT THE WAY HEEEED, ITS LIKE AN ORANGE ON A TOOTHPICK!"). He seemed quiet enough and bought a few Playstation games now and again, didn't really think anything of it. Until one day I noticed that L used to take him into the brothel with her.

Ok, that's a bit odd. He's got to be about 12-13, what the fuck is he doing in a place like that? So the next time I saw L I asked her.

"He does odd jobs for the place," she answered, "like cleaning out the bins, hoovering. That's how he pays for his games." I manage an OK but I was still weirded out a bit, something just didn't sit right.

One night about 2 months later it was getting close to Xmas, we'd closed up at half seven and it was dark and freezing. The boss parked his car in the multi-storey which was beside the station (there's a ramp leading off to the top of it in between the train station and a small path to the back entrance of the brothel) and as it was fucking knobling cold he offered us a lift home. We close up shop and saunter towards the car park. As we pass the back of the knocking shop we are greeted with an unusual sight. This little ginge is by the back door next to some industrial council bins with one of them open ready to throw in a black bag. Except he hasn't. He's sitting cross legged on the floor next to it with the bag open, taking a long sniff at the contents. Even from where we were standing on the path outside we could see a mixture of condoms and used sanitary towels, blood and semen from random fucks dribbling out the top of the black bag. He then DIPPED HIS FINGER onto one of the condoms and shoved it up his nose and this kid was inhaling the fucking lot in, absolutely loving it. All we could do is stand there in utter disbelief, then a car horn from a taxi by the station knocked the ginge out of his trance and he spun around quickly to see two of us looking straight at the rancid twat. He quickly hopped up, threw the bag rather hurriedly into the metal council bin, closed it and legged it back inside. Me and the boss were completely gob smacked.

We never saw that kid again; not even L either. I don't know if he'd made up something to her and she thought we'd done something to offend him but that was the last I ever saw of the pervert. That has got to be the most hideous and disgusting thing I have ever seen.

PS actually found the dirty cunt here, seriously wouldn't surprise me if he follows kids about now with a full condom up his nostril.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 22:53, 6 replies)

Back when I worked in the hospital,
everyone was familiar with the story of the nurse who was discovered to have been fucking the corpses of the recently deceased. He became something of a bogeyman, a tale told to scare those who would find themselves working late and alone.

Less well documented was his subsequent career as arbiter of humour on a briefly popular website. To be honest, I always found this part of the story to be much more upsetting.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 22:38, 4 replies)

Another shit story
Jeccius story reminds me of another arse toffee related incident in my current work place.

"The Phantom Shitter" I work at a large educational establishment with various different campuses dotted about the locality, at the time of this story there were 4 campuses. I had been told a story by an older colleague when I started (he was on his way out the door fat fuck with a bad back and wore noncing glasses) the story was that there was for many many years at another campus a Phantom Shitter.

The Phantom Shitter would quite simply just shit in the middle of the gents toilets, not in a cubicle or hidden away, just curl one out in the middle of the floor and leave it there in all it's glory.

Anyway, Ken (the guy who told me the story) soon received his marching orders from work, he had 6 weeks notice before being made redundant....and as if by magic The Phantom Shitter became a reality. There were meetings called and panels convened at the highest level to try to catch the culprit.

The fucked up thing was he must have had an accomplice, as I quite clearly remember there being reports that TPS had struck twice at different campuses approximately 3 miles apart on the same day at pretty much the same time. Now I was with Ken all day that day, what was even more concerning that I knew he knew that I knew he was the TPS. But we never spoke of it. I kept my mouth shut.

Now the accomplice thing worries me, as either he truly did have an accomplice that he had roped into doing the deed at the other site....or the alternative I think is even more harrowing....he had an admirer, a Copycat Phantom Shitter.

To this day I don't know which is true. But what I can say is he had some balls, he kept this up for 6 weeks almost, not every day, I would say maybe twice a week sometimes three times.

Anyway he's probably dead now.
( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 22:31, 5 replies)

Rev W Awdry it ain't.
A friend of mine works for Network Rail, having started back in the good old days with British Rail. For many years his responsibilities included tidying up after accidents, and what jolly stories he had to tell as a result. I think my favourite was ...

"A chap had committed suicide on the line. The police had done their bit, but the undertakers hadn't arrived, so we decided to move the bits off the tracks ourselves, cover them up, and start the trains running. I grabbed his arms and was moving the torso when I thought 'That's funny, it seems to be getting lighter'. So I looked down, and all his guts were falling out."

Interesting fact: when people stand in front of a high speed train, the acceleration when it hits is often so high that their shoes are left standing on a sleeper, exactly as they were at the moment of impact.
(ubergeekian, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 22:00, 9 replies)

Bin O' Panties
Way, way back in the day, I was a part-time janitor in a women's clothing store. Inventory Day came, and I was given the job of counting all the panties in the "Bin O' Panties".

At first, it was delightful fun, but after an hour, I realized I had basically made no progress. So, I began counting handfuls of panties - about ten panties per grab.

Hours later, little progress. Panties compact small, so removing the weight of panties from the bin just allowed the others below to expand into their place. No one had any earthly idea how many panties were in the bin.

My memory is that I never finished. No one had ever succeeded in completely-counting the panties, and I just joined their number.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 21:13, 5 replies)

I had a wank in the bogs at the office once.

( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 21:01, 9 replies)