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(, Sun 1 Apr 2001, 1:00)
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I have a voice that's part Brookside, part yodeller. When I'm not talking, whistling, singing or doing accents, I'm snoring or farting. Or both. I'm inane. I ask too many questions. I swear too much. I demand takeys and piggybacks when I'm drunk. I'm like sherbet - you'll think I'm great and fizzy, but then you'll start to feel ill. However, I am good at refreshments and blowjobs (on regular-sized ones) I do as I'm told and I'm proper dead lovely. Hmmm, I might join Match.com with that. Sounds great. It won't get me on the rocket though...
(, Thu 24 Sep 2009, 8:13, 1 reply, 17 years ago)
the blowjobs thing might just do it...
(, Thu 24 Sep 2009, 8:15, Reply)
or gay man, it might be less of an attractive quality!
Assuming the pilot's the one who decides who's coming on his/her rocket, that is.
(, Thu 24 Sep 2009, 8:37, Reply)
It would either be the government, or some committee, or maybe even the crackpot millionaire who funded the rocket.
(, Thu 24 Sep 2009, 8:43, Reply)
might be driving.
Would it be worth giving Richard Branson a blowjob though?
(, Thu 24 Sep 2009, 8:50, Reply)
Although to be honest, I'd drink Ribena from the Queen Mother's rotting furry cup for the chance to go into space.
(, Thu 24 Sep 2009, 8:53, Reply)
Ribena's quite nice. Now if you'd said root beer, then I'd take you seriously!
(, Thu 24 Sep 2009, 8:55, Reply)
Death or Branson's cock... Yeah. It'd be over quickly. Mind you, so would the Apocalypse....
(, Thu 24 Sep 2009, 8:55, Reply)
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