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This is a question Pet Peeves

What makes you angry? Get it off your chest so we can laugh at your impotent rage.

(, Thu 1 May 2008, 23:12)
Pages: Latest, 44, 43, 42, 41, 40, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Here's some actual stuff
There are several issues I would like to address but I don’t have strong enough views on them each to fill a post and make it interesting, so I’ll consolidate all my existing complaints into one outstanding rant.

Americans, please stop with this sickening and overt patriotism. Your country has done fairly well for itself economically but please stop acting like Vietnam never happened and you’re all walking around with bald eagles tattooed on your star-spangled twelve-inch cocks. It is my personal opinion that Britain is in fact the best country in the world, however I don’t feel the need to go bragging about it- I can sit silently smug in a land of good food, strong currency and well-observed tradition without having to compensate for my insecurities by storming into random third-world countries, shitting all over them then pulling out around the time they start wondering how the fuck they’re going to sort out that mess. ... ... Well, yes, point taken, but we only did it because you did!

Religious people, you’re all quite clearly a bunch of raving lunatics. If I had my way religion would be banned and the world would be a nicer place- the World Trade Centres would still be standing, psychotic fundamentalists wouldn’t shout at me from podiums on the street and Hitler would have a far better historical reputation. The fact that you continue to argue against sound scientific reasoning with half-assed arguments and illogical bullshit simply furthers the notion that you’re barking mad. If someone hears aliens in their teeth they get locked up, but if several million people talk to their imaginary friend the Jewish zombie who was his own father in order to remove an evil from their soul that’s there because the rib-woman ate a magic apple, that’s perfectly normal- encouraged, even. Clearly, there’s not only safety but sanity in numbers.

Old people, I appreciate that in your twilight years you deserve a degree of respect and priority but please don’t act like it’s your God-given right to claim seats on buses, barge ahead in queues and just generally act like total wankers. At the end of the day it’s my choice whether or not I would like to give up a seat for you on the bus and you have no authority whatsoever to get pissy with me if you can’t sit down for a pathetic little journey you probably could have walked in the time it took to wait for a bus.

People who do unnecessary things, I must insist you stop this immediately. Doing so slows down the efficiency of everything around you and therefore the world. The man who comes daily into my coffee shop and asks for “a cup of fresh orange juice” would save around six minutes a year if he simply asked for orange juice. I’m not going to serve it to him inside a hollowed out oxen scrotum six weeks out of date so he doesn’t need to specify freshness nor mode of containment. And people who wait at bus stops where there is only one bus that services that particular stop- don’t bother flagging the bus. Despite the fact that the driver probably came into this country curled up in the back of a lorry he has intelligence enough to work out why you are standing at a bus stop.

People too easily offended- piss off, cunts. Get off that high horse of yours and realise that a simple four letter word or a flash of thigh before seven p.m. will not cause your children to grow up into slavering sex-fiends who steal women’s underwear before masturbating in their bras and strangling them during coitus. They turn out like that because you probably bathed them until they were fifteen, you possessive old cow. I think the world would be a better place if there were no “bleeps” or censorship on TV. If the programme is called Katy’s Wild Nipple Tassel Orgy and the warning beforehand says that the show contains sexual scenes, strong language and scenes of drug use then don’t watch it. If you do, don’t be surprised when your delicate sensibilities are offended the minute a couple are shown in the same bed or the image of a family eating without saying grace is broadcast. Oh yes, this post contains frequent swearing and strong points of view that may clash with your mid-century, Church of England, English-not-British, “tea is served at seven, Charles” view. So fuck off if you don’t like it.

Anti-Iraq protestors, please give it up. Yes, the US went in on a bunch of lies and yes, they’ve totally ballsed it up over there, but let’s take the Magnus Magnusson approach, shall we? We’ve started so we’ll finish. Even if your stoned, liberal hippie brains can’t accept this then please don’t go down London waving your hand-made, green, organic signs like they’ll make a difference. The following conversation will never take place at 10 Downing Street:

“Prime Minister, there appear to be a few dozen unwashed students outside asking you to pull out of Iraq and Afghanistan.”

“Och aye tha noo! We’d best be doin’ that then, crivens!”

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals- you’re all a bunch of fucking nutcases. Veganism is impractical and nutritionally unsound, animals are not equal to humans and the natural, Darwinist order of the food chain demands we eat them. And they taste fucking good too, and yes, a lot of them also make excellent clothes.

St. Maddy lovers*- she is one little girl who went missing. It’s tragic, and it should have been a one-week story. But the tabloids have pounced on this like rapists on a nun and they’re sodomising and face-fucking the life out of it. Ashia Jabbi, aged 2; Ying Lee, aged 4; Benjamin Marsh, aged 3; Dorothy Powell, aged 9… Oh, sorry. They’re just a few of the children who have gone missing since May and not been widely reported. OK, for Ashia and Ying that would be normal in Western media but Benjamin and Dorothy are white!

*This was originally written for my blog in September 2007 at the height of the furore.
(, Thu 1 May 2008, 23:17, 19 replies)
Bigotry of any kind
Oh, and Arabs
(, Fri 2 May 2008, 0:05, 4 replies)
Move Along. Nothing To See Here.
My country, my beloved Britain, I weep for you.

The terrorists have won and the loonies have taken over the asylum.

The Labour Party, my party, have turned Britain into a totalitarian police state and we've let them do it. We've sleep-walked into 1984. All of the great freedoms, and a lot of the lesser freedoms are gone now and we'll probably never get them back. In a few short years Blair and his cronies have:

Destroyed Habeus Corpus. You can now be detained, indefinitely, in your own home for 16 hours a day. You can be tagged and forced to attend a police station everyday for the rest of your life and there's nothing you can do about it. There is no appeal. All it takes is for the Home Office to sign a control order and that's it. No charge, no trial, no right of appeal.

Destroyed the right to protest. If you disagree with the Government you can no longer march to Parliament to make your views known. There's a one mile exclusion zone around Parliament (and now, other places in Britain such as American Air Bases) where you cannot peacefully protest without a license. A license can be granted or or withheld on the whim of the police. Even if a license is granted, you will be subjected to unreasonable restrictions.

Freedom of Speech. You can now be arrested for your views on immigration, religion and sexuality. You can be arrested for reading certain websites or literature. You hear that? You can be arrested for reading a book!!

Torture: The Labour government are complicit in the torture of, not only, foreign nationals
but also it's own citizens. They have allowed Americas flights of Extraordinary Rendition to fly through our air space and to land and refuel on our soil. In these planes were people who had been detained by the Americans and who were flown to countries where the could be tortured under the watchful eye of our American Allies. Gitmo is a fucking holiday camp compared to where some of these poor bastards ended up. And I don't *care* if they're terrorists. If they're terrorists, and you have evidence, try them and shoot them. If you have no evidence then you *have* to let them go. You can't just fly them to countries where torture is allowed.

The Right To A Trial By A Jury Of Your Peers. We've still got this but not for much longer. The Labour Government has tried once to abolish trial by jury and they'll surely try again.

The Right To Silence. Gone. You now *have* to answer the questions the police put to you or, if you refuse to answer then you can't later explain yourself in court. You have no right to silence.

Privacy: You have no right to privacy. You have no right to keep private even encrypted files on your computer. If the police ask for your encryption key then you have to give it to them even if you haven't been charged with any crime. Refusing to do so is a crime in it's own right. It doesn't matter if your private files are your deepest secrets or just old love letters. You have no right to keep them secret from the state. You have no right even to your own finger prints and DNA. If you are arrested your finger prints and DNA are the property of the state forever after. Even if you are never charged and never found guilty, you've still lost the right to your own DNA. Most Brits, especially in cities, are photographed hundreds of times a day. You have no right to see these pictures of yourself but the State has. Soon you won't even be able to travel where you want without giving the State first your fingerprints, then your retina scans, and later your DNA. These are no yours, they're the states.

I could go on and on about other freedoms we've lost since 1997 but I'd be here all day.

All this is being done in the name of security. To prevent terrorist attacks. We lived for over 20 years with much scarier terrorist, the IRA, who bombed and shot at us and killed far more than Bin Laden and his bunch of incompetents. But we didn't feel the need to lose our freedoms over them.

Oh. And I forgot to mention one of the things that *really* pissed me off about The New World Order. Detention, without trial or without charge, for up to 28 days. And that was a compromise. Blair wanted 90. Think about that. You can be lifted by the Police without warning and without evidence and held for a month. You can't see your family, your kids, your friends. No newspapers, no news, no idea what your boss thinks of this. Then you can be questioned, relentlessly, for 28 days solid. Then released without charge. "Don't do it again son!". What a fucking lovely weapon to control us.

And all this is being done in our names, in the quest for "security".

But,you've got to ask yourself, "Who's security?"

When the people fear their government, there is tyranny; when the government fears the people, there is liberty. - Thomas Jefferson

Thanks for listening. Normal service will be resumed soon.

(, Sun 4 May 2008, 11:18, 32 replies)
People posting "first"
and nothing else.
(, Thu 1 May 2008, 23:14, 4 replies)
"Last Post"
Now.. I got in a bit of a strop about this last week after discovering that the last 8 pages of answers were - in essence - taken up by a few people endlessly posting pointless posts that had nothing to do with the subject matter.

It ruins the pages, and renders the last few decent stories utterly pointless: few people are interested in reading the result of some snot-bubbled giggling social-'tards who find "hur hur I got the last post" to be amusing. Even worse; the main offenders have voted for bugger-all answers. They give *nothing* to the QOTW.

It has been an issue for some time now, but is now getting steadily worse.

The regulars know me well enough by now to know that "getting to the front page" isn't my goal. This - much like last week - is a vain attempt to get someone so sit up and listen.


Sorry... I hate doing this, but ... you know... make yourselves heard.

*cough cough... testing testing...tap tap*

Register your desire to see the "Last post" bollocks eradicated by clicking "I like this"

If you - like me - wish to see the offenders strung up and publicly flogged, click the damned thing twice.

- That is all... really... sorry about the "if you wanna" etc crap...

(, Mon 5 May 2008, 14:26, 7 replies)
Toilet Roll
My fiancee is guilty of this, and it causes pre-marital disharmony on a regular basis.
Toilet rool should be put on the holder in the "over" position, not the "under" position.

It drives me mental in a hugely disproportionate way. The words "bat-shit crazy" come to mind.



Even looking at the "under" picture is making me angry.

Look how poorly optimised those images are. All pixelly and rubbish. Yay.
(, Fri 2 May 2008, 11:42, 22 replies)
A letter from me.
Dear everyone,

I've got a few things I'd like to get off my chest, and I think a letter is the best way to do it. I'm not entirely sure where to start, so I'll just address various concerns in a concise, and yet clear manner. These are not all the things that annoy me, but the ones that just spring to mind without thinking too hard.

Let's begin with the basics: manners. The words "please" and "thank you" were not invented merely to be said in old-fashioned costume dramas. They are still relevant today. Please use them.

Please do not spit in public. If you've been for a run, kindly contain your phlegm until you reach a bin. Do not simply hawk it onto the ground just where someone is walking. It's disgusting, and one day, if you do it in front of me, you might find yourself being vomited on.

Gentlemen: if you leer at a young lady on the underground, making various salacious remarks about her very audibly, do not call her a "fucking dyke" when she tells you to be quiet. Unbelievable as it is, not every single woman on the planet gets the urge to jump into bed with a middle-aged sweaty pervert.

Ladies: your children might be the centre of your universe, but they are not the centre of mine. You may talk about them for a maximum of 3 minutes to me, before I forcefully change the subject.

Moreover, your pram/pushchair is not a siege weapon. It does not exist for the sole purpose of running over peasants/old people/other children. If you have it in a cafe, and the child is not sitting in it, collapse the fucking thing and store it under the table. If your child is old enough to walk, and looks like it's too big for the pushchair, then make it walk. No wonder kids are getting fat these days, if their parents push them around in a buggy until they're 10 years old.

For all you people who hate cyclists: for every one cyclist who jumps a red light, there will be 9 who cycle carefully and considerately, stopping at lights, making clear signals, and not doing illegal turns. Just because a cyclist is able to weave through traffic jams, and you're jealous of the fact that they are (a) going faster than you, (b) don't pay road tax/petrol etc and (c) are potentially going to live longer than you, it is no reason to shout abuse at them, deliberately force them off the road or drive through the puddles next to them to get them wet. You cunts.

Cyclists: do not run red lights. Wear a helmet and lights. If there is a cycle track, which is in a decent condition, use it. You idiots.

Sensationalist reporting: yes, I'm looking at you, the Daily Mail/Express/Mirror. Diana is very dead, so probably is Madeleine McCann. Heather Mills is batshit insane. Get over it. Do some real reporting.

To the small middle-ages ladies with sharp elbows who constantly try to push onto the tube ahead of me in the mornings: don't give me deathstares when I refuse to let you on before me. I WAS THERE FIRST.

To the small old ladies who can't sit in their usual seats on the bus, because I'm there with my rucksack: don't mutter about how young people these days have no respect. There are 40 empty seats just behind mine. Get over it.

Female colleagues. Just because I am a woman, it does not mean that I will share your obsession for all things wedding-related. If my friends are getting married, fine, good for them, I hope they'll be very happy. Indeed, I hope to get married myself one day. However, just because we are getting closer to summer, please do not show me every single celebrity wedding dress article in Hello/OK!/Heat. I don't care. I find your inane burblings tedious and shallow. And on that note, stop asking me when it's going to be "my turn". I will get married when I want. The more you ask, the more you start sounding like wizened old spinsters, trying to live vicariously through your colleague's lives. If you like weddings so much, go off and have one yourself. I'll bet there are hundreds of men needing UK visas who'll marry you.

Green issues. Our planet is buggered. What do we do about it? Bang on about buying energy saving lightbulbs, and then leave the lights on all day. Obsess about using renewable energy, then turn all the heating up instead of wearing an extra jumper. Agree that we are all flying too much, and then find that the rail companies are charging an arm and a leg to go 50 miles away.

These are a few things that really get my goat. However, while I've found that it is easy to list things that annoy me, a list of things that I like would stretch to the moon and back. I can say with all honesty that I'm pretty fucking happy with life. It would do us all a lot of good if we were to concentrate on the things that make life worthwhile, as opposed to focussing solely on irritating things.

Anyway, hope you're well, and have a lovely Bank Holiday.


(, Fri 2 May 2008, 13:51, 23 replies)
You're not black and you'll never be black. And, for fucks sake, talk English - not the pseudo-American slang you've picked up from Fiddy Cent (and I was one of the guys who showered that waste of DNA with piss at the V festival).

I mean, do really expect me to take you seriously when you threaten to:

"Pop a cap in my ass"

Do you know what goes through my minds eye when I hear that phrase? I see someone trying to bend me over and stuffing a Yorkshireman's flat cap up my arse.

Fuck off.

(, Sat 3 May 2008, 13:21, 7 replies)
Credit where it is due.
It really grinds my gears when for example someone gets in a car wreck, they are completely fucked up, head hanging off, blood pissing everywhere. The fire brigade spend an hour cutting them out while stood in a pool of petrol that could go up any second, and the ambulance crew keep this person alive by whatever magic they perform, again in the same environment. At the hospital a team of dedicated and overworked heroes put all their energy into saving this one life. After hours of groundbreaking surgery and months of painstaking therapy the patient once again has a semblance of a normal life. Who do they thank for this?

They thank God/Jesus.

Throw them back in the fucking flames.
(, Fri 2 May 2008, 3:16, 5 replies)
This will probably force me to incur the wrath of hundreds of football fans but I have to say I hate the game with a passion.

I cannot stand the endless punditry, meaningless conversation, tv coverage and reporting in this country’s media. Often at the expense of what I regard to be much more important/interesting news.

The fans are hostile compared to other sports, the amount of money involved is disgusting and at best our national team is average.

The game has long since lost any form of sportsmanship or sporting endeavour. While I appreciate the game can involve considerable skill, this mostly seems lost amidst the diving and melodramatics.

Even the fact that I'm now in fear of pissing off absolutely everybody with this post makes me angry.

Rant over. Best get my coat.
(, Wed 7 May 2008, 14:36, 20 replies)
Five steps to rage
As a fully paid up member of the "Grumpy Old Men" club, my blood is regularly brought to boiling point by the usual suspects who may or may not get a b3ta style denouncement, depending on whether or not the likes of Osok, Davros’s Grandad or the much missed Pooflake beats me to the spot.

*edit* And Che. And Legless. I like Legless.

However, there are a few other slightly less obvious grievances I have with society in general which drive me crackers:

1) Lowest common denominator television

David Attenborough has earned himself a pint from me for launching a scathing attack on the BBC being "obsessed with endless lifestyle programming". And he has a point.

Our great bastion of impartial entertainment has become obsessed with appealing to the intellectually substandard to the detriment of everyone else with an IQ exceeding 84. The great comedies, documentaries and dramas we grew up with have given way to a deluge of Text Vote TV shows, with annoyingly camp hosts. Every year I send a letter to the BBC complaining that "Strictly Come Dancing" takes up ninety minutes of my BBC1 Saturday night, together with an hour a day on BBC2 during the week. Every year I get the same response; "Children in Need" as a way of reaching out to my innate sense of guilt. I do wish they'd fuck off long time.

If it isn't Z-list celebs I've never heard of in ball gowns, it's the endless grind of humiliation in the name of finding a female star of a musical I'll never willingly go and see while I still have control over my limbs.

I used to be able to look forward to a decent Saturday night film after an evening of programming devoted to learning something new. Now I have to endure endless aesthetically challenged till jockettes from Haringay/Hartlepool massacring their way through "I will always love you" followed by four hours of endless football. The corporation which once served us up the delightful dish consisting of Monty Python, Life on Earth, The World at War and Fawty Towers now slops out My Family, Trinny & Tranny and other bollocks to depressing to name in a derisory, slovenly fashion akin to a BBC canteen dinner lady.

2) Traffic Calming.

You brake, drive carefully over a sleeping policeman and accelerate up to the speed limit before repeating six times along a four hundred yard stretch of road and you wear out your suspension and brakes and burn more costly fuel in the name of safety. Hardly green motoring is it?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but as a child I was raised to believe that playing in a busy road was A Very Bad Thing. I might get hurt. And you know what? It worked for me, for I have never been run over. The current hysteria which suggests that a mob of mindless children will be shambling in front of cars like righteous zombies would be unnecessary if they brought back the road safety ads featuring Dave Prowse and Alvin Stardust which date from a time when even children were trusted with a certain amount of responsibility.

Oh, and that advert with the bloodied girl by the side of the road saying “Hit me at 30mph and I stand an 80% chance of living” makes me want to buy an SUV and go all Grand Theft Auto on sanctimonious parents.

3) Heat & Nuts Magazine

During the mid 90s, "Lad" culture exploded on the scene. What started out as slightly ironic (ie Loaded and early FHM, which both featured some amusing and informative articles and interviews now and again) has turned into an endless stream of airbrushed closeups of Abi Titmuss's & Lucy Pinder's (who?) norks. I find it hard to believe that photoshopped vacuous z listers can do it for anyone, but then I rarely shop at TK Maxx.

Moreover, given that a large number of female movie stars are over thirty years old and that a good many of them have had children leads me roll my eyes skyward when sat on the bus behind a small group of muffin-topped early tweenty somethings cackling away at the photographic evidence to support Heat magazine’s revelation that Uma Thurman has cellulite. Shock! Horror! Call the cops…

Indeed, I end up berating myself for not saying out loud

“She may well have cellulite, but I’d still rather shag her than any of you lot. Even if I were being paid for my trouble”.

4) Mobile Phones

Once upon a time, a telephone was a device through which you conversed with your friends and family, or possibly the speaking clock. Now someone had a brilliant idea, “Why don’t we make a telephone you can carry round all the time?” before building something resembling a briefcase with an aerial sticking out.

Clearly this wasn’t enough. The telephone had to become a fashion accessory and a fifty quid Nokia sports technology that James T Kirk would be envious of. Or maybe he wouldn’t.

Perhaps good ol’ Jim might want to play some shit R&B music whilst waiting for Scotty to beam him up from the surface of Q’uonos? Or maybe he’d try to impress the Klingon ambassador by showing him a grainy video of a woman defecating into her acquaintance’s mouth?

Perhaps the humourless folks from Vulcan would raise an involuntary chuckle at Angry Kid?

“it’s some sort of primitive communication device, Jim”.

5) Compensation

Now ensuring that the unfortunate victims of accidents get some sort of recompense to cover their costs isn’t unreasonable. A recent freak storm in the town of Manningtree, Essex lifted a housewife’s two year old roof clean off and threw it into the front garden. However, because the average speed of the wind recorded in Manningtree’s meteorological (why can I type that word, but find myself unable to say it?) station that evening did not exceed 58mph meant that the strict criteria of “storm” was not met and thus the insurance company did not pay out.

Meanwhile, a sweaty female chav who barely qualifies for the term “mother” falls over an uncontrolled child in the middle of her local Tesco’s and injures herself, unfortunately in such a way as to not impede her ability to reproduce.

A no-win-no-fee lawyer is consulted and Tesco pay out damages on account of the injury sustained because of an unruly and unrestrained child on their premises. Who did the child belong to? That’s right…

Compensation culture is seen as a get rich quick shortcut these days. Indeed, being hit by anything council owned is a sure way of being able to finance that new boob job. I wouldn’t care very much if it were just a case of sticking it to the corporation, but it’s affected my life in several irritating ways.

Firstly is the proliferation of risk assessments and day long courses to ensure that the stupid know how to use a ladder. Secondly is the fact that whenever someone is stupid enough to drive into someone else, the Police decide to leave the wreckage exactly where it is and stop the traffic for hours on end. When challenged, the answer is “Ealf and safety innit? We could get sued if we don’t”, while they sit around, drinking coffee and holding the working people of Britain up for a few hours.

Then there is the fact that scared corporations and councils have hiked their fees in recent years, just in case anyone slips over and injures themselves while using said product / facilities.

The phrase "Watch where you're going, you clot!" is so underused these days.
(, Fri 2 May 2008, 15:00, 10 replies)
"Baby on board" stickers
Yes, very good, we all now know you're fertile. Jolly well done to you.


* Do you remove the sticker when the baby's not on board?

* Did you really think I was going to crash into your car but had a change of heart when I saw that your darling sproglet was in there with you?

* Do you honestly believe that a car can be so badly mangled in an accident that the emergency services can't find a baby (in a massive car seat), and yet either the baby or the sticker will survive?

And people who have "Princess on board", "Babe on board" and other such variations ought to have their eyes poked out with rusty skewers
(, Thu 1 May 2008, 23:30, 15 replies)
I find it pissing annoying that I'll have to die, and what's even worse is it will be after only about 80 years! What the fuck is going to take place that's remotely exciting in the 60 or so years I might have left? Nothing.

Are we going ot terraform Mars in that time? No fucking way. Are we going to have world peace and an end to prejudice so I don't have to walk down a street without hearing some cock going on about "bloody Poles/Pakis/Chinks (delete as applicable)"? No. Are we going to have widespread adoption of teleportation ending the hegemony of oil? No. Am I going to get any good at pool in that time? No. Are we going to make contact with an alien race, let alone for long enough to deduce their inevetibly bizzare language enough that we can have meaningful conversations about esoteric topics such as if you go back in time 2000 years and bring back brand new vase, is it 2000 years old or just one day? No. Will there be anything decent on Channel 5 in that time? No. Are we going to end world hunger, disease and overpopulation? No. Are we going to convert the Moon into a nuclear powerplant? No. Are we going to harness the power of the Sun so we can cure global warming by turning it down to gas mark 5? No.

All those things might happen when I'm dead though. I feel like I've not so much missed the boat, as arrived at the seaport dying from a stab wound.
(, Thu 1 May 2008, 23:56, 7 replies)
What do you MEAN you don't drive?!
If you've ever expressed shock that someone doesn't drive just because they're of a legal age to then- incredulous fuckrags, listen here.

I am 23. I do not drive. I walk everywhere or get the bus part of the way if time and distance dictate. Sometimes I'll cadge a lift if someone is going my way anyway. For my bus ticket I pay about sixty quid a month and that gets me most places I ever need to go. Anything else dealt with ad-hoc, but rarely.

CONSEQUENTLY I pay neither:

MOT fees
Petrol/Diesel costs
Road Tax
Car Tax
Upkeep of sodding car
RAC or similar

I don't have to really pay much attention when on the bus, I can read, listen to music, knit if I so bastard well please. I can have a little sleepy.

....now who's the mug?

/rant over, length and width not really a problem due to being ladytype.
(, Mon 5 May 2008, 1:40, 22 replies)
Females spilling your beer & expecting to get away with it
Last night.

The last McEwans in the place.

I leave my pint on the table (after severely disciplining Mrs Osok for daring to have a sip), turn my back for a nano-second, and all of a sudden there's this young girl sitting flat on her arse on the floor, surrounded by a flood of India Pale Ale, and actually having the temerity to bawl her eyes out, having got her clothes wet with my precious beer.

Now a gentleman knows what to do in this situation. If another gentleman spills your flagon, it is a simple commercial contract. He buys you another, or you physically assault him with extreme prejudice, up to and including biting his jugular out.

If a lady does the deed, then surely she should be treated as an equal, and make amends as above?

Why should I be treated as a master criminal because she is now soaked in ale? Why is this now my fault? Why is she unable or even unwilling to face the consequences of her clumsiness?

So, as a truly chivalrous chap, I was left with no option.

None at all.

I was forced to pick the bawling maiden off the beer-soaked floor, drag her upstairs, and remove her soggy clothing with all speed........

Well, it was bathtime anyway. She's only 18 months old, after all.

What were you expecting?
(, Sat 3 May 2008, 15:18, 4 replies)
Now with hydro-nulceo-repairo-regenerol
Is it just me or is the quantity of psuedo-scientific bullshit in cosmetics/hair product ads reaching epidemic proportions?

Man in Suit 1: Right, we need to come up with a new product to sell to stupid people.
Man in Suit 2: OK, we need something to distinguish it from the others. Any ideas?
Man in Suit 3: We could say we've included "Retinol", which is just vitamin A but sounds like some kind of wonder drug?
MiS1: Nah, we tried that before, you know, the one with that actress we overdubbed. We need innovation, people!
MiS2: How about the new wonder ingredient "Di-Hydrogen Oxide", scientifically proven for its cleansing and moisturising effects?
MiS3: You mean water?
MiS2: Well, yes, but if we dress it up with a cheap CGI diagram of little blue balls going into the skin and making it glow, no-one will notice.
MiS1: I like it.
MiS3: We could say "Now with even more Goji Berry Extract". Goji berries do bugger all to your skin, but if we say it loud enough, people will assume it must be a good thing, otherwise why would it be in the advert?
MiS1: Good stuff, people. We need a name, though.
MiS2: Hang on, I'm getting my random cream-name generator fruit machine out [pulls handle on the side]. It suggests "Hydro-Age-Repleno-Lift"
MiS3: It needs "Pro" in there somewhere.
MiS1: "Pro-Hydro-Age-Repleno-Lift" it is. Any tips on the advert?
MiS2: Well we have to say stuff like "Skin Feels Smoother, more moisturised" rather than "Skin *is* smoother or more moisturised", because, erm, that's not technically true.
MiS3: Well, just make sure that that bit is spoken both loudly and quickly so people don't notice. And make sure the little CGI baubles are swirling around or something to distract people.
MiS2: How about we conduct a survey of about 5 very stupid people who think their skin might have got better, and say it's "scientifically proven"?
MiS1: OK, sounds like a plan. I'll get onto the press people and find a vacuous actress who doesn't use the product for us to overdub. It's a wrap people, let's do lunch!
(, Fri 2 May 2008, 13:51, 8 replies)
*Gets on soapbox again*
A pearoast with added extras…mainly because I'm marking student papers and some are a little weak on the grammar front, but also because reading some posts has begun to irritate me with their errors.

I'm afraid I do not ascribe to the view "I had a poor education/I've got dyslexia/a spot on my bum" - Why? Because education is not the entire responsibility of a school.

The law states that parents have the legal responsibility to ensure their children are educated, they in turn often (but not always) hand their children over to the local state run schools to do the job.

However, children are only in school for part of their time each day, likewise most people have finished in education by the time they are eighteen or twenty-one. Learning goes on throughout your life, so if you didn't pick up the basics of communicating efficiently with your fellow humans at school, learn now!

The same applies to dyslexia - as a child you may not have the intellectual resources to get around your particular form of dyslexia, but do not, ever, use it as an excuse for bad English - as an adult you have the ability to find out where to get help and often with a dyslexic brain you are also able to think far more creatively than non-dyslexics…Leonardo Da Vinci, Albert Einstein, Alexander Graham Bell, Thomas Edison, John Lennon, Pablo Picasso. Don't tell me they couldn't articulate themselves sufficiently because of their dyslexia.

So, onto the pearoast:-

Firstly if you have problems with spelling - no need to feel any shame or fear, it's a common problem and also one easily dealt with. Use Firefox. Set up the English Dictionary Automatic Spell Checker. Each word you misspell will appear with a dotted red line underneath. You need only click on the word and you will be given the opportunity to choose the correct spelling. Alternatively write your QOTW offering in Word or similar and run a spell check.

Secondly if you are unable to use proper English Grammar either purchase or borrow (from a library - if there are any left around you) a copy of the excellent 'Eats Shoots and Leaves' by Lynne Truss. This deals with most common problems and will put you on the path to righteousness.

As a small note….

Its - this is the possessive version - e.g. The monkey grimaced. Its turds were massive.

It's - this is a contraction - a shortening of two words - It and Is - e.g. It's nearly the end of the week, time for a new Question.

Their, There and They're

Their - Possessive - Their house - the house belonging to them.

There - Positional - Over there - Their house is over there.

They're - Contraction - They are - They're over there in their house.

Also beware of homophones - these are not phones from nokia (ha!) but words which sound the same but are spelt differently.

Your (possessive - belonging to - Your fart was smelly.
You 're (contraction)You are smelly.

There is also the abomination that is commonly known as the Greengrocers' apostrophe - as in Tomatoe's, Potatoe's
's means it belongs to someone! It's tomatoes, potatoes, vegetables.

Plurals are shown by a simple s or es

Please, please for the love of all that's good and ginger be aware of these few small rules - use a spell checker, read your post before you click Post and most importantly ensure you know how to use (what is for the majority of you) your FIRST language!

*Goes off to lie down - again. Yes LIE down not LAY - Chickens lay (so arguably I could...) but people LIE down.
(, Tue 6 May 2008, 12:13, 19 replies)
Peeve doesn't really cover it but...


I've lost count of the number of hours I've lost in that money-sucking, life-sapping, soul-bleaching, scandanavian, smart-arsed, devil's vortex. Where do you start? OK, just because they have a good selection of stuff at reasonable(ish) prices that you need e.g. a good duvet for £15, why can't I just go there at 9.00am on a Tuesday morning - I'll even waste a day's holiday - I'll run through the maze, find the item needed, pay for it and come back home?

No. She has to come along, and why not go on a Sunday?
- Oh, and while we're here, let's look at dining chairs.
- Why? We don't need any.
- I know, but I've seen some in the catalogue that I really like.
- Fuck's sake.
- Oh, and look at that 'Arss' storage unit, it's really cheap.
- What, 35 quid? That's not really cheap.
- And look at those 'Twarrt' rugs, we could do with a new rug for the bedroom, and they're on sale.
- Fuck off.
- And while we're here, we need some more 'Fwap' picture frames, they're only £15 a pair, and we might as well get some 'Dong' light bulbs because you can't get them anywhere else, and some new 'Tittz' lamp shades because I want to redecorate the front room, and we're down to three 'Gluggg' wine glasses, so we might as well get some more, and you can't get duvet covers in these sizes anywhere else so we might as well get one.......

And all the time you're dodging little ankle-biters and huge women or couples walking at a snail's pace and the nobs in yellow polo shirts. You can't take a short-cut because then you might not see everything, so it's left and right and left and right and round and fucking round and round. Oh, and don't forget the patronising way they have the little list things and tiny pencils and paper tape measures - just in case you forgot to bring a pen and an old envelope - pick up your furniture in the warehouse, Isle 14, Location 35, and when you get half way round there's a Swedish cafe: we're so nice you have to do it our way and eat meatballs, and when you get to the warehouse it isn't fucking there.

So join a queue that is tailing back so far it's made the traffic news on Radio 2 so that you can then spend £150 on stuff you don't really like or need.

And the final insult before you join the hordes trying to get their car to the loading area? Hot dogs at 50p each, or 75p for an extra long one. That is almost an insult: they are so frigging cheap you feel obliged to buy one and smother it in tasteless mustard when you never buy hot dogs anywhere else and don't even really like them. And by this time, the missus is a bit triumphant but also a bit repentant as she knows you're sitting on a well of anger, resentment and disgust and you've got another couple of hours before you get home to find you've wasted a whole day to spend money you haven't got on shite you don't want. And not only that but as it's Sunday afternoon there's a crap play on Radio 4.

Peeved? Just a tad.
(, Tue 6 May 2008, 10:14, 6 replies)
Bitching on b3ta
There's been quite an abundance of this lately, involving personal attacks and nasty words. Is there any need for this? I think not. See FAQ: "There's someone really annoying on the board, is it ok to be rude to them?"

Of course, one person's definition of annoying is another's humour. We all have differing opinions, morals, values, tastes - it's what makes us individuals and is partly what separates us from the animal kingdom. The other part is not licking our bottoms - courtesy of emvee, see below.

So please, for the love of sugary fuck (to quote Pooflake) if any b3tans aren't your cup of tea, then use the ignore button.

It keeps everyone's blood pressure at a much healthier level, and saves trawling through material that doesn't float your boat.

Happy bank holiday BTW.

(, Mon 5 May 2008, 12:28, 14 replies)

(, Mon 5 May 2008, 1:14, 6 replies)
The appearance of care
What is the appearance of care ?

- Safety audits. 5% trying to stop accidents occurring, 95% trying to cover backsides in case something goes wrong and people get sued as a result
- Drugs legislation. Any country that allows the legal sale of (taxed) nicotine / alcohol and yet tries to ban any other drug being taken is not "trying to protect the public", they are drug dealers trying to protect their revenue stream.
- Speed cameras. 20% of the time trying to slow traffic in known accident blackspots, 80% of the time trying to generate extra income from an easy target, i.e. those of us dutiful enough to register the car in our own names.
- Stupid warning signs, be it the "might contain nuts" on a packet of nuts or a sign warning of a unseen drop the other side of a fence on private property - again, it's not about protection against anything other than a compensation claim.
- 2 minute silences. Sorry, these should be reserved for maybe one person a year who's died; a real hero / heroine, someone who meant something or achieved something. Is it care ? No, it's grief tourism.
- The rigmarole of getting through security when you fly, having a deodorant confiscated off you which you can then buy again from the shops *before* you get on the plane. If it was a genuine security check, it would be directly before you got on the plane.
- Any form of payment protection / post-sales insurance. Is it to protect you, no sucker, it's to take more money off you.
- Work appraisals. Do we care how you are doing ? No,we decided before you entered the room how much more, if any, we're paying you. This is just lip-service. See also - almost anything an HR department does.
- Mission statements. The only "enriching" we are after is not your experience with us, it's our bank balance with your ca$h. Have a nice day now - and remember, we try harder (to financially sodomise you).

I could go on, but you've got the drift by now I'm sure. The appearance of care - meaningless corporate shit, now all-pervasive and dished up by corporate whores with the moral rectitude of Ghengis Khan.
(, Thu 1 May 2008, 23:56, 12 replies)
Football fans

It doesn't fucking matter.

Get the fuck over it. Here are grown men, crying because a group of overpaid millionaires didn't get to earn more money for playing a game.

Why are the fortunes of Manchester United, Liverpool or Arsenal any more important to you than the fortunes of Little Soddington U16s Sunday League team? Are you going to mope when the football team made up of local Argos employees loses against the team made up of local Odeon employees? Of course not, because it's just a bunch of people kicking a ball around, having a laugh, in the same way that the Premier League is.

So stop taking it so fucking seriously!
(, Tue 6 May 2008, 14:51, 13 replies)
Vino Vigilante
Chavs, pikeys, call them what you like, are a major source of irritation. However, live and let live if their only crime is lacking the skills to breathe nasally, causing their chewing gum to fall out all over the town centres. More serious crimes, such as wanton vandalism and stealing cars are another matter.

Last night / early hours of this morning, Davros' Granddad and I were outside in our bikeshed having a smoke. I did quit a few weeks ago but my resolve weakened - and it's a good job it did, otherwise we wouldn't have been outside.

We heard voices and a bit of a commotion so went to investigate. Four hooded chavs were trying to break into our neighbours' car. Such behaviour makes me see red to the extent of making my arsehole putt. It's more than absence of respect, it is total disregard for other people and their property. Fucking GRRRRRRRRRR!

They saw us and scarpered but that wasn't good enough for me. Hell, no. Emboldened by two bottles of red wine (Australian Shiraz) I threw my semi-smoked Marlboro into the wind in abject fury and made chase. DG couldn't join me as he was only wearing slippers. MY bikeshed slip-ons are sensible old ladies' Springers and perfectly good for running. (Also I rather think he wanted to finish his ciggie.)

Shaking like a dog shitting peach-pits with rage, I vanished into the night after the scalliwags. In my head I was running like Jamie Summers. In reality it was more like Penelope Pitstop, complete with knocky knees and arthritic hips.

Scummies tried to hide in a clump of trees in the school field around the corner, but were too thick to know about stealth so I found them easily. Being considerably taller than I am, they were able to leap the fence with the agility of gazelles. I'm about 5'1" at the moment as I've not been to my osteopath for a while. (When he straightens me out I can measure as much as 5'2".)

As I was straddling the fence my phone rang. It was DG. The conversation went thus;

DG: Where the fuck are you?

Me: Straddled on the school fence.

DG: Are you ok?

Me: Bit out of breath but otherwise fine thanks...

DG: Well, get your arse back here for Christ's sake!

Me: The hell I will!

DG: What the fuck do you think you're going to do?

Me: I'm gonna catch those fucking fuckers and cunt them in the fuck! (Thank you b3ta for teaching me that expression).

DG: No you're bloody not.

Me: Yes I fucking am.

DG: (More firmly) No you bloody aren't! There are four of them and they're all much bigger than you.

Me: Er, I win on body mass! (that's true) And do you know how hard I am? (soft as shite) Do you know how many tattoos I've got? (3.5) Do you know how many people I've decked? (0)

DG: (Adopting that tone used with really slow people) Yes pet, that's nice. Now come home.

Me: No.

Scummies were out of sight by then but I'd seen them head for the main road. Undeterred, I marched off in that direction (wearing an imaginary cape by that point - can't remember what colour it was now).

AHA! Spotted the fuckers ahead and broke into *special* sprinting. They saw me and pegged it towards the forest where we walk our dog.
What was puzzling me at that point and on reflection today, was why the hell were they running away from me? A girl in the 5' gang.... although I was foaming like a rabid dog...

I lost the bastards. BOO! CUNTY-FUCKSOCKS!
Normally an uber pacifist, I was really in the fettle for twatting some low-life last night. The whole aggressive bravado crap was entirely hormonal. Stupid bleeding cunt that I am....... (literally)

So we live happily for a while longer.

Length / girth - neither at the moment as I'm off the road :o(
(, Sat 3 May 2008, 20:42, 19 replies)
The Piccadilly line
It makes me angry that I can't go on London's Piccadilly line without committing suicide. Let me explain.

The Piccadilly line goes through Leicester Square. Russell Brand used to have a TV show called 1 Leicester Square, and it's at least slightly possible that I might see him there.

The problem is, I have a deep loathing for Russell Brand, and I have vowed to kill him if I should ever see him in person. I generally carry a bright pink leather filofax, so I'd probably beat him to death with it until he lay festering away on the pavement, getting a few kicks in for good measure.

However, Leicester Square is a big place with lots of fucking tourists in it: i.e. lots of witnesses. I'd be locked away, probably for life, while Russell Brand took on a Kurt Cobain-style iconic post-death mega-celebrity status. It would be so stressful that my meds would stop working and I'd start having epileptic seizures.

Imagine the scene: stuck in prison writhing unconscious on the floor while your arch nemesis is mourned by the nation. Tributes on TV. Tacky merchandise. Statues in every town. I'd almost certainly hang myself with ripped up sheets or electrical cord I had to dig out of the wall with my fingernails. That's not a pleasant death.

That's what makes me angry.

*edit* Also, my parents thought it would be amusing to buy me his autobiography for Christmas. I always thought I would never sink so low as to burn books. I was so wrong.
(, Fri 2 May 2008, 15:12, 7 replies)
I work at an Indian restaurant most nights
So my pet peeve....BAD CUSTOMERS

People who think it's funny to order in an Indian accent and take the piss. It's not funny, you look like a twat and do you really think it's a good idea to antagonise the people who are about to prepare your food?

People who come in and say "Um, I'll get the one I had last time...It was orange". That's wonderful sir, we serve 20 different curries and 15 of them could be described as orange. I'm happy to reccommend dishes but I'm not a mind reader, I don't know what you want. You do.

People who say "Will I be able to handle the spicyness?". See above. I'm not a mindreader, I don't know your palate. I take my curry really hot, so saying "Oh, however you take it" is not going to produce the results you want. All you have to say is mild, medium or hot. Nothing complicated about it.

ALSO, people who order a dish and upon seeing it, decide they don't want it and shouldn't have to pay for it. THAT'S NOT MY FAULT. If you ask for a hot chicken vindaloo, I will give you a hot chicken vindaloo and you can bloody well pay for a hot chicken vindaloo. It's not my fault that you don't know your tastes well enough. It's not my fault that you order it too hot for your own good, or suddenly remember you're vegetarian, and I'm certainly not going to give you a discount for being so fucking dumb.

ALLERGIES: People with severe allergies, I understand that it's be hard to eat out. That's fine by me. Tell me about it and I'll help you out, I'll get a dish made without coriander, or cream or whatever. I don't have a problem with that. But do not get angry at me if you only tell me about your nut allergy as I'm putting your korma onto the table. Kormas are made with almonds, and if you had actually read the menu you would know that. No, I can't just 'get rid of all the nuts in it', I can't unmake it. It doesn't work like that, and if you're gonna choke from eating those nuts, don't bloody well order them.

As someone said before, people who ask for unnecessary things, i.e fresh orange juice. What do you think, that we serve 2 types of orange juice? One that's mouldy and gross and one that's fresh?

Brits who think they're better qualified on curry than Indians. Mainly I love the brits, but saying "oi, I'm from England I know that tikka masala doesn't have coriander in it!!" just makes you look like a twat. Tikka masala does have coriander in it, and newsflash, curry did not originate in Britain. Don't argue with the experts.

Sleazy old men. I'm 16, young enough to be your granddaughter, keep your hands off me. Do you honestly think that a fat, drunk, sweaty, leering old man is going to turn me on? Do you actually think that by grabbing my arse and winking at me, that you'll get a date? Your wife is sitting there looking ashamed of you, and the rest of the restaurant thinks you look like a lecherous old cunt. Stick to your own age.

On the other hand, if you are polite to me, you don't act like an arrogant twat and you treat me with respect, I will go out of my way to make your meal a good one. Drinks will disappear from your bill, we'll give you extra naan bread for no charge, you'll be served in record time. It's not hard to be decent and the rewards will be noticeable. Good customers, you really are appreciated!
(, Fri 2 May 2008, 2:22, 4 replies)
Being unpaid tech support for people I don't even know
Now most people who know me know I'm a pretty IT-literate guy. I've worked for several big names in IT, and at the moment I run all the IT for my company (there's only 5 of us), everything from fixing recalcitrant laptops to database maintenance, and, of course, helping my colleagues out when they have trouble.

Now even though my colleagues can be annoying (especially my boss, who has a degree in computer science but is incapable of remembering his network password), I don't mind fixing stuff for them because it's in my job description and I'm paid to do it.

However, word has got round that I'm some kind of computer guru (not really), and also that I'll fix any kind of computer problem, no matter how trivial (or impossible) over the phone any time of the day or night at the drop of a hat. I foolishly fixed a few things without complaint, and now people take this for granted.

My brother, for instance, who is by no means a noob:

Him: I got a new anti-virus program.
Me: Good for you.
Him: How do I install it?
Me: My guess would be to stick the CD in the drive and press 'install'.
Him: Can you do it?
Him: There's no need to be angry...

My mother is the worst. She's for more IT-savvy than most 56-year-olds, but that just means that she can make a bigger mess of things than someone who hasn't even *heard* of the Windows registry. Worse still, she's been transferring these "skills" to her friends. When they break something, they call my mum. And then my mum calls me.

Picture the scene. It's 9pm after the work day from hell. I only just got in after spending all day dealing with massive IT issues (it's not even the main part of my job desc), email server breakdown, Skype outage, dead wireless router, and I'm kicking back with a beer, ready to relax, when the phone rings:

Mum: Hello Jim, I'm at [old crone]'s house and we're having trouble with her email.
Me: Aaaaaargh!!

Anyway, it turns out the old crumbly's still on dialup and someone's sent her a 10Mb attachment that is crashing her modem drivers when it tries to download.

Me: Does she have webmail? She could delete the message from there.
Mum: What's webmail?
Me: Aaaaargh!

[explanation of what webmail is]

Mum: Could you set it up for her?
Me: No. She'll have to call her ISP.
Mum: What's an ISP?

[explanation of what an ISP is. We establish she's with BT.]

Mum: Can you call them for her?
Me: No! I'm not impersonating an old woman over the phone for something I have nothing to do with.
Mum: But she's 83. She doesn't know her account number or anything.
Me: How am I supposed to help with that?
Mum: Why are you being so difficult?
Mum: Oh.

The limit was reached last month, when I had to fix a corrupted video driver on a PC belonging to Axewoman's aunt:

Who lives in Germany.
Who barely speaks English.
Whose computer has Windows ME.
Installed in German.

Three hours. Three precious hours of my life, translating, trying to remember what the menus in Windows ME look like then what they might say in German, a language I can barely order a beer in. To a woman in her 60's who has trouble holding the mouse the right way up. Totally unpaid, without any thanks.

Well, here's a message to you, you cunts. I'm charging five pounds an hour for tech support for members of my immediate family, ten pounds an hour for acquaintances, and fifteen pounds an hour to help people I don't know. Plus an extra flat fee of £10 as a "lazy tax" if it's something they could have easily fixed themselves. That'll make them think twice before trying to get hardware/software support for free just because they happen to know me.

But here's some tech advice I am prepared to give out for free:
1 - try rebooting it.
2 - if that doesn't work, shove it up your arse.
(, Tue 6 May 2008, 18:25, 6 replies)
E hoti et whin sami jakir swops thi vawil kiys avir an my kiybaord.
(, Tue 6 May 2008, 16:13, 4 replies)
Rights and responsibilities

Everyone appears to know and demand the former but it seems a decreasing number acknowledge and address the latter.
(, Sun 4 May 2008, 4:31, 5 replies)
Mawkish sentimentality.

This more than most things in life make me seeth enough to want to shit out my intestines in anger.

For example, the demise of Diana, Princess of Wales, the "Peoples Princess" and the huge wailing and gnashing of teeth in grief the proceeded her death. Jesus fucking christ it was embarrassing, sitting there watching as the general public lined up teary cheeked decreeing her second only to *insert prefered diety here* as the greatest thing that ever existed, how she did soooooo much good to everyone she ever touched or so much as fawned over. ARRGH!

Maddy McCann, would quite happily strangle the parents with the intestines currenty hanging out of my bottom. Dear Mr & Mrs McCann, you are shit parents and entirely responsible for her not being where she should be by your own fucking negligence, blame a film, sue the police, it works for american parents.

A minutes silence on 9/11? right, if you live in America or lost a friend or relative I absolutely agree, but why should some fat cunt in my office in Cambridge lecture me about not respecting this tragedy and the terrible loss! oh fuck off, ok , how many minutes silences have we held for . . . . . .
Dunblane (shooting) Hungerford, Columbine, Omagh, Lockerbie (plane falling on it) Herald of Free Enterprise, Bardford stadium fire, Hillsborough, The Kings cross tube fire, Belsen, Auschwitz Cambodia, etc etc etc ad fucking nauseum.

Why is this one event so important that I have to respect them? hmm? 9000 dead because a couple of crazy fuckers fly a plane into it compared to what Pol Pot did? or Stalingrad in WW11? or Ethnic cleansing in Rwanda, Whats left of Yugoslavia, The killing fields? can't remember ever being asked and expected to stop and pay respect to these frankly awful events in history.

(, Sat 3 May 2008, 22:25, 7 replies)
When you THINK you're going to get some
I tie you up with scarves so you cant move and begin to massage your body with oil to relax you. I smooth your skin firmly and you let out a moan of happiness.

You still feel a little tense, so I swap my hands for my mouth and begin licking and sucking your neck and chest, paying special attention to your erect nipples. I trace your happy trail down from your belly button to your now rockhard cock and slowly lick up and down your pulsating shaft.

I then move away from your cock and you look angry as you're now desperate for me to suck it, instead I begin kissing your inner thighs and stroking your balls with my fingers very very gently. I take one in my mouth and slowly rotate it, letting my piercing stimulate it. You stiffen and almost cum as it feels so good, so I gently tug on your balls and hold off the inevitable.

I move back up your body, licking and kissing you all over until you're trembling in anticipation. I decide to give you a break and hover over your now monstrous size cock, then slowly lower my mouth over your head, licking and sucking softly at first, then applying more pressure. I move my head up and down and your body starts to buckle with the added pressure, so again I tug on your balls.

Keeping one hand on your balls and the other at the base of your cock, I take your whole shaft in my mouth and begin sucking properly, moving up and down and twirling my tongue around your head, you cannot stop groaning in pleasure and start arching your back, trying to get even further inside my mouth. I push you straight back down, as I'm in control, not you.

I move my hand down from your cock and start rubbing your asshole, then slowly slip one finger inside. You shudder and say no at first, but I add some more lube and slowly slip it inside again and you squirm in delight. I move it inside a little further, feeling for your G spot while still sucking and kissing your cock, then all of a sudden you let out a cry and I know I've found your G and you cum torrents of spunk in my mouth.

And then what do you do? You fucking fall asleep. Pussy
(, Fri 2 May 2008, 10:35, 6 replies)

This question is now closed.

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