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rob, Sun 1 Apr 2001, 1:00)
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That was the con, you seeWhen marinated in alcohol, something deep in the brain suddenly fires up and makes you think - 'parmo. what a fucking great idea!'. Off you merrily trot, hand over your fiver and get a big greasy pool of cheesy chickeny goo (read: mechanically reclaimed chicken arses and feet), go home, eat half and pass out.
In the morning, the hungover brain cannot believe you've brought this foul concoction home, let alone put it in your mouth.
Just like some men I've met when pissed, really. Arf.
(, Tue 21 Jul 2009, 17:02, 1 reply, 16 years ago)
Could you not just order a ladies parmo then?I did a little chortle when I saw that was the term for half a one!
(, Tue 21 Jul 2009, 17:15, Reply)
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