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This is a question The thing I've been most ashamed of doing with a penis

Confess. Female b3tans may need to improvise.

(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 12:13)
Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, ... 1

This question is now closed.

My friends, and other animals
And so. I found myself once again in a fog smoked room. The smoke from the 3rd spliff lingered in the air. I amused myself by making, frankly pathetic, smoke rings. It was my turn to tell a tale.

We'd been here many nights before. A different room, the same people, the same fug. We took it in turns to regale one another with stories from our past. It was my turn.

It was my turn.

I looked around. They'd heard the tale of the abandoned mine shaft. The one about me and the bloke with the hair lip. I'd even recounted the truly dreadful story of the wheelchair. How could I top it? Where could I go next?

Suddenly I remembered. A smooth, glassy wave of relief crashed over me. It was time.

"I'd been with Steve for about 18 months. It was horrible. My liver still hasn't forgiven me. Every conversation was the same, every journey was tired. I was tired. We'd got to that awful point in a relationship when his touch made me cringe. One night, I lay in bed crying. Not prettily, I cried great braying sobs.
A conversation ensued.
'What's wrong?' he asked
'We don't understand each other' said I
A sudden, unexpected explosion of emotion.
'You have no idea' he shouted 'last Friday, when I stayed with my brother, we got drunk and took some charlie. His wife was asleep in the next room, so I crashed out in his bed with him and when I woke up he was WANKING ME OFF'"

Their faces. Their sweet sweet stoned faces all stared at me. Maybe this wasn't the time? Maybe I should never have told that story. It took a few moments before they all started laughing.

Incest.(the worst thing he ever did with his penis? - tenous?) NEVER NOT FUNNY.
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 23:01, Reply)
I trusted the person
who was attached to said penis.

I trusted him when he asked me out, no strings attached.
I trusted him when he said he loved me.
I trusted him when he said he would never hurt me.
I trusted him when he said I could hang out with whoever I want.
I trusted him when he said he was sorry for hitting me.

He raped me and I never trusted him again.
In fact I punched him and ran out the door.
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 22:43, 8 replies)
Hucknall's Hypothesis
When I was much younger and much more impressionable, I used to read FHM. In one edition there was an interview with Mick Hucknall, he of the ginger hair and amazing luck with da ladeez, where he regaled the interviewer of a test to see if you were gay or not.

Basically, this happens:

You and a male friend find a secluded spot, get your keks off, sit down and reach over to touch each other's manhood.

If either of you get an erection in this situation, then you're a gayer. Stay more flaccid than an album by The Feeling and you're a full blown member of the hetero brotherhood.

Now, I've said I was impressionable. Being a teenager was a mad time for me and still had a lot of questions about myself even past the age of 16.

So for some reason I found myself suggested testing the Hucknall Hypothesis with another sexually confused friend from college. For some reason, he was intrigued and willing to have a go.

And lo, two days after the suggestion was made and after a few snifters of strong cider, me and my mate put into practice the Simply Red Scenario.

Keks down, we both reached over. Well fuck me if my cock didn't shrivel to peanut-like proportions. My friend on the other hand seemed to take to the whole idea and his porksword proudly arose from it's dormant state.

Did I use this as blackmail? Yes.

However, how on earth would I use this? Picture this situation...

Me: "Fred's a gay"
Mate: "What?"
Me: "He likes to touch cock"
Mate: "How do you know this?"
Me: "Well, last week at my house I let him touch mine after reading something Mick Hucknall suggested..."

Etc. Etc.

It turned out that 'Fred' was gay. I like to think I played some part in that. Me? Well 13 years later and more sexually repressed than the army general in American Beauty...
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 22:05, Reply)
Wanking in a hotel room
after attending a funeral.

I was too young to buy Hamlet cigars.
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 21:04, Reply)
And on the subject of wanking
I was doing a cleaning session on my computer last night as it started to get really slow, and so I decided to delete stuff to make it speedier. Cue me finding a load of old filthy stuff that I had acquired over the years, including quite a few pictures taken of my darling ex girlfriend. Who was, and still is, fairly hot.

And who also left me a broken shell of a man (well, that and the drinking) for a very long time until I got my shit together. Anyway. I sat there looking at all these pics and reliving the memories evoked by them.

Cue the shame.

I had a wank over them.

It was probably the best wank I've had since 2007.

Apologies for shortness this time, thats not usually like me.
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 21:03, 6 replies)
Here we go...
Two pea-roasts of fairly shameful things involving my cock.

1) I'm bipolar. Specifically type 2. It comes from a long history of mentals in my family, so I've not so much as developed something new as been passed the baton on in my family. The fact that I'm bipolar will come in to play shortly.

This was early last year, back in February, when I had split up with my long term girlfriend, and tried to off myself in the canal in Chester because I had essentially had a breakdown over the period of three days and had cracked quite successfully. I lived with two other students at the time, both girls, and we were all fairly open with each other and used to each others habits a lot of the time.

I must also admit that I had gone from a state of being highly sexed (woo!) to getting none whatsoever. As I was a bit of a social reject at the time, having completely lost the plot along the way and being diagnosed with being bipolar type 2 (which is treatable but incurable), I decided to spend most of my time in bed drinking and wanking. I had my laptop, 8 meg wireless broadband, an almost limitless supply of vodka thanks to parents saying "Here is £150, we know you've had a really rough time lately, go out and treat yourself", so I was set up for the above plan.

Apart from one thing.

I never tended to lock my door unless I was going out. My housemates, I'll call them R and B because that amuses me and it's also true, would wander in most of the time asking for this, that and the other, and I would generally give them what they wanted (fnarr fnarr). About three days into what would become my worst drinking session, and my last (I quit after it and have been sober since), I decide that it would be awesome to have yet another wank. So I do so. Did I mention that I've been drinking for about three days straight? So you may imagine the state I'm in. I had also somehow cut my cock on my nails, so I tended to ooze blood a bit.

The cringeworthy moment is when my fitter housemate, B, wanders in, and sees me very, very drunk on my bed, naked from the waist down, bleeding, my cock held in some sort of death-grip, and me gurning spectacularly. *Cringe* She left my room pretty damn quickly.

2) About a month after the first incident, I am once again in my room wanking. However, unlike before, I am now on proper medication, citalopram and zopiclone (cita is an anti-depressant and zopi are sleeping pills) as opposed to alcohol. So I'm fairly hopped up on the above pills, and not entirely with it. A wee bit stoned, you might say.

Somehow I fail to notice that one of my housemates brothers, we shall call him W, has turned up. Given that my bedroom door was about 5 foot away from the front door, you may begin to see just how fucked I was on these pills. I had learnt my lesson from the first incident, and locked my door whenever I was wanking, so people now knocked on my door if they wanted to speak to me.

So I hear a knock on my door just as I hit the vinegar strokes.

"What is it?" I call, boxers still around ankles and todger still firmly in hand just as I finish up into my hand.
"W's here, he wants to say hi to you." I hear B shout through the door.

Shit. At this point, my mind clears enough for me to drag my boxers and jeans up, do my belt and flies up, and for me to open the door and say hi. However, my mind hasn't cleared enough for me to remember that I should have wiped my hand really clean as opposed to a quick wipe across the back of my jeans. I remember this too late. There was an audible squelch as we shook hands.

Apologies for length here, it just got outta hand.
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 20:55, 1 reply)
Didn't do it myself...
...but stood by and watched as a urologist shoved a catheter the diameter of my little finger into an old man's penis and used a huge syringe to suck out an endless stream of blood clots the size of grapes. Very nasty.

Also, not done by me, (but I was in the next room so it nearly counts) a junior doctor catheterised a man but accidentally used a female length catheter. They're held in place by a balloon you inflate in the bladder after insertion. Unfortunately, because she'd used the wrong length catheter the balloon didn't get as far as the bladder and got inflated in the urethra... Lots of blood was the result.
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 19:13, 3 replies)
Look out below!!
Not really something i'm ashamed of really, but still it was funny.

Back when I was a wee lad I was scrambling around a rocky river with my older brother and my dad. I needed to pee, but being as I was having fun and didn't want to stop messing around I held it in until the last second.
The 'last second' saw me perched on the edge of a rock frantically looking for a bush or a tree to little avail, so I just had to go.

So just as I start peeing it occurs to me I may want to give my brother, who was on a rock some meters below, a heads up. "Look out down below!" I shout, just in time for him to turn, look up, and get covered in pee.
Don't think my split second warning or the warm, smelly shower really went down that well. I thought it was funny though :D
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 18:21, Reply)
Played cock or ball?
This game must be played in a busy place, preferably a nightclub whilst steaming drunk.

Through your opened flies you must flash your mates with a bit of skin. They then have to decide whether it was cock or ball.

That is it, simple as. Hours of fun will be had.
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 17:33, 5 replies)
Marrakesh Gay Boy Cock Muncher
Monkey-chucking capital of the world, Marrakesh is.

You can't walk down the street in Marrakesh without having a monkey chucked in your face, somebody taking your photo and then demanding money off you.

I was out there a few years back with work, teaching sales techniques to the North Africa branch of the multinational insurance company I worked for.

It was pretty dull, really. I remember one night I went out for a meal by myself. I found an authentic Moroccan restaurant and took a seat.

Now, my knowledge of Moroccan is fuck all, and the only thing I know how to say in French is: "I play aeroplane." A sentence which I hadn't found any use for on the trip so far.

A waiter comes over, shows me a menu. Instead I point at what the couple on the next table are eating. I gesticulate, using the international language of flapping your arms about alot, that I'd like what their having.

So, I wait.

Eventually a big pot of steaming hot stew turns up at my table.

I tuck in. Its got veg in it. Its got meat too. Chewy meat. Gristly meat. Some kind of undercooked sausage sliced up, fatty on the outside, hard as nails on the inside. I need a couple of beers to wash it down my gullet.

I'm merrily stirring my spoon in the dish when it floats to the surface, it had a similar effect on me as watching that scene in Jaws for the first time when the body falls through the hole in the boat and scares the shit out of the diver. I actually leapt backwards in my chair.

I stared down, and staring back up at me was a japs eye attached to a swollen purple bloated bell end.

I suddenly felt really rather ill.

The next day in the office I'm looking pale as a ghost. The previous nights' meal had played havock with my insides most of the night. It really was undercooked and had turned my arse into the proverbial tap for shitty brown bum water. I must've shat out half my bodyweight and quite possibly a kidney.

I remember saying to my boss the next day after he enquired why I was so quiet for a change:

"Thought I'd try something new last night. I ate some cock," I say shaking my head wearily. "and to make matters even worse I've been up all night nursing a red raw arse."

My boss looked me up and down and walked off muttering.
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 16:27, 5 replies)
My friend (genuinely)...
... Recently introduced a game to our group of friends called Cock in Pocket. It's exactly what the name suggests - you try to stealthily slip your pork sword into a mates pocket (generally in crowded places such as parties or queues for clubs) before triumphantly declaring 'Cock in pocket!'

I worry about him some times...
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 15:46, 5 replies)
I'm very sorry Doctor
So about 11 years ago I managed to get hit by a cycle courier, never mind how, that'll be a story for another QOTW. Nothing to serious, a knock to the head and a nasty cut deep into my right thigh.

So I wake up on a gurney in the local A&E just as they've finished cutting off my jeans and are examining the gash in my leg. I'm still a little woozy from the bump to the head at this point so I'm not paying much attention but glad I listened to all that advice about always wearing clean boxers in case you get in an accident! The nurse finishes examining me and tells me she's going to send in someone to stitch me up.

Sure enough a few minutes later Doctor Hottie* arrives to sow me back up. To the inexperienced 16 year old I was she was the image of perfection, mid 20's, about 5'9", Brunette with a body that could start wars.

So she gets a suture kit and begins to sow up my leg, because of the awkward location she is swapping angles with each stitch so when she was going one way I could see straight down her loose surgical scrubs and cop an eyeful of her gorgeous black lace bra ensconced (looking back with more experience) 32C's. As if that wasn't enough to get me thinking highly inappropriate thoughts whenever the stitch has to go the other way I've now got a perfect view of an arse you could bounce pennies off and sure enough, just a hint of matching thong peeking out over the top as if to say "Hello, Bill, Look at me".

As you might imagine this was a little to much for the inexperienced 16 year old I was and although I tried to resist nature took it's course and I rose to the occasion. Embarrassing but not too bad I hear you thinking, maybe if it hadn't tapped her on the shoulder as she bent down as if to say "Hi, wanna play?" I might be able to agree with you. The fact that about 5 seconds later both my parents arrived just as she was recoiling in shock only added to the shame I feel every time I remember this.

Length: Long enough to reach anyway.

*Obviously name changed to protect my last surviving shreds of dignity
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 15:20, Reply)
Teaching my three-year old to pee outdoors.

Not because it's wrong, but because she keeps ruining her shoes.

Note: not true in any way. I don't even have a daughter.
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 14:59, Reply)
Apparently, being female and managing to grow one
I've been told that I:

-Drink like a man (why can't women like beer too?!)
-Eat like a man (I may finish off my dinner and yours but I'm still a size 12! Beat that!)
-Walk like a man (I still maintain that with my level of clumsiness, I can't be blamed)
-Think like a man (just because I'm doing a science degree and like maths!)

And I have a self confessed love of men's films.

I spent 2 hours in the hairdresses today attempting to make up for my lack of feminity, and very relaxing it was too!

Length? No apologies whatsoever, my boyfriend loves it ;)
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 14:54, 3 replies)
In the world is a photo of me, with a cuddly toy atop my erect knob, pretending said willeh is actually owned by the toy rather than my good self. Obviously it is MAJORLY over scale for the poor toy involved but you get the idea.

I am hoping the person who has it never realises it is still in a hidden file on their PC.

Oh and the same person also has a piccy of a small Beany Babies chameleon on my knob too, perched there like some branch in a cock built rainforest.

Maybe I have a fluffy fetish.!
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 14:24, 1 reply)
I failed to drop to your level
But those who worked the male genitalia in to one of last week's puns should be highly ashamed of themselves.

Did you really have to? The jokes were bad enough, but bringing your love bone into it? Too far
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 14:24, Reply)
Mr Trouser elephant
When I was 7 I decorated mine with grey acrylic paint and biro so it looked like an elephant's trunk. Being an 7-year-old's todger and thus in no way pendulous the effect was underwhelming. I showed the boy next door but he just looked nonplussed.
Oh the dread when it wouldn't wash off.
(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 3:30, Reply)
All I can say...
I am addicted to cheap late night cop chase shows... but being busted having a dangle dingling with a dungle.. well...

(, Sat 14 Mar 2009, 0:01, 1 reply)
Piss Boy and Crab Girl Do Hampstead Heath
Ever seen a woman impersonate a crab?

I fucking have. And it was weird and strangely beautiful.

Allow me to explain.

During the recent snowy weather in London, I found myself walking home from the pub with my mate Karen. Lovely girl, known her for years. Originally from Gateshead, now she spends her time on the phone screaming: "Give me your fucking money!" for a living, as she works as a credit controller for a large City firm.

So, we're up round Hampstead Heath and we gaze out across the beautiful virgin snow. It was perfect, untouched, the ground undulated and shimmered white in the gentle moonlight.

"Jesus, that's the first virgin anything on Hampstead Heath at this time of night in fucking years," I quipped. "Hang on a minute. I need a piss."

The chill night air was wreaking havoc on my bladder.

I skipped merrily across the road, stood on the edge of the Heath, whipped out my freeze-shriveled cock, and started pissing.

And I wrote my name, as you do, in the unsullied snow. A lovely flowing script, it looked like the type of font you'd expect to see Shakespeare written in, very elegant.

Karen came up beside me as I finished.

"Bet you wish you could do that," I said, with genuine pride in my maleness.

Karen shrugged, looked round to make sure no one was knocking about, "Here," she said, "hold this." and she thrust her bag into my chest.

She walked a little further onto the Heath to a fresh patch of snowy ground.

"Stay over there, Spanky! Don't look!"

So, naturally, I looked, but I had the decency to be sneaky about it. From the corner of my eye I spied Karen wriggle out of her knickers and put them in a pocket (she didn't offer them to me to look after, the cunt), then she hitched up her skirt and squatted, clamping her hands on her knees for extra support.

She then proceeded to piss, and waddle.

It was like a mezmerising, exotic dance. Like something you expect to see the New Zealand rugby team do before a match, like something out of a Stanley Kubrick film at that point you've lost any idea about what the fuck's going on.

Steam billowed up from the hot piss track Karen was laying down and also from her breath as she laboured under her efforts.

Then she'd suddenly stop pissing, waddle crablike a few paces, and start again in a new patch of plaster-smooth fresh snow.

Waddle waddle.


Waddle waddle.


Moments later Karen beckoned me over, lowering her skirt back over her legs.

"Well," she beamed with pride. "Whaddya think?"

I surveyed her work. It was blocky, bold, not without artistic merit. But there was one overriding problem:

"Erm, it just says 'Kaz'."

Karen grappled her bag back off me, in a bit of a huff she said:

"I've only had two pints of Fosters. If you wanted 'Karen', I'd have needed at least another couple more pints."

I shrugged, not really wanting to admit that Karen had beaten my effort hands down, I felt pretty ashamed on behalf of my sex:

"I like the exclamation mark," I commented meekly. "That's fucking class, that is."

I walked Karen back to her gaff, we talked about football and cricket and other such shit, but all I could really think was: a) she's not wearing any knickers, b) dispite the dark, I'm pretty sure I just saw Karen's muff, and c) I've just been beaten in a 'write your name in the snow' competition by someone without a cock.

I feel an immense sense of shame. To everyone out there packing a pork sword, I apologise profusely.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 23:56, 13 replies)
I think I might have posted this before under some other heading, but my memory is many things, sketchy being one...


A long time ago and old friend of mine by the name of Podge was just a wee boy and full of the wonders of the world was he.

Young Podge recieved an invite to his cousins place in the countryside for a week and this filled his little nine year old head and heart with glee and would be a nice change from the urban life he knew.

So it was with an excited air of anticipation that the short panted Podge began his sabatical on the cousins farm. Now Podge's cousin Alan, was a slightly bigger boy of about twelve and in Podges view he was the most worldy chap upon whom he had ever come across. He could catch rabbits, knew how to fish and seemed to know a lot about this sex stuff that Podge had been begining himself to become more aware of though not so clued into during his current life phase.

So it came to pass that the two lads were up in the top field tending to the new calfs and providing feed for the cows. Podge was a bit fascinated at the little calves and their eagerness at the udder and as they suckled away as nature intended a wry grin fell upon Alans face...

... "Ere Podge, watch this" he said, undoing his trousers while simultaneaously sequestering a calf from it's mother... Not yet being well acquainted with the pleasures that moist organic cavities can bestow to a resourceful young mans tadger Podge could only look on in some confusion as Alan presented his ill intended sausage to the wee calf in place of its mothers teat....

Some more research on the project would have served Alan well as calves are not noted for their gentle bedroom manner.

As soon as the Alans wee prick came within sight of the lunch expectant calf its first action was to bite on then deliver a good firm tug followed by a sudden upward headbut into the 'udder' to get the 'milk' flowing... the udder in this case being Alans bollocks...

Alan screamed , Podge laughed and the story has I'm sure been told many times since...

(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 23:22, 1 reply)
i once
had to help my mate piss when he broke both of his arms in a car accident

that was odd
especially because it went all over my hand

i felt dirty
i was so ashamed

it also added the long list of friends' penises that i'd touched over the course of that month (good paying job = many piss ups)
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 23:09, Reply)
Rodney's Penis
From Rodney Carrington.

Dear Penis,
I don't think I like anymore,
You used to watch me shave,
Now all u do is stare at the floor.
Oh dear Penis,
I don't like you anymore.

It used to be u and me,
A paper towel, and a dirty magazine,
That's all we needed to get by.
Now it seems things have changed,
I think that your the one to blame.
Dear Penis,
I don't like u anymore.

Now he sings,

Dear Rodney,
I don't think I like u anymore,
'Cause when u get to drinkin'
You put me places I've never been before.
Dear Rodney,
I dont like u anymore.

Why can't we just get a grip,
On our man to hand relationship.
Come to terms with truly how we feel.
If we put our heads together,
We'd just stay home forever,
Dear Penis,
I think I like you after all.

Oh and Rodney,
While yer shavin',
Shave my balls
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 21:45, Reply)
Not exactly "My" lady-satisfyer, but.....
Has anyone else ever come across (steady....) the "Jelly Green Giant"?

I am still unsure as to where exactly it came from, but I imagine it was some sort of Anne Summers style web page. On the one occassion I left my drunken ex on the PC alone (too drunk to discover the well hidden naked ladies folder), I awoke three days later to the sound of the postman knocking the door.

The package he had for us was too large to be delivered through the letterbox. The dawning realisation on my ex's face as she slowly unwrapped this monster was priceless.

It looked as though someone had sawn off the incredible hulk's arm and lovingly wrapped it in a gift box. I remember being utterly convinced the thing would have to be wired up to a car battery just to get it started, but two double A's seemed sufficient.

She was suitably embarrased for a while and into a drawer it went, presumably until medical science invented a widening operation suitably severe to accommodate the beast.

After she kicked me into the road, I often contemplated going down while she was at work and planting the veiny green enormity in the front garden for everyone to see. It was only the thought of touching it that stopped me.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 21:39, 2 replies)
I once went dogging with Keith Jarret
That's the thing I've been most ashamed of doing with a pianist...

(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 21:12, 3 replies)
Remembering that story has been like opening the floodgates! Between the ages of 12-14 I don't think there waqs anything I wouldn't shove it in!

I even remember giving my atari ST a good seeing to on one occasion :P

It had a small floppy drive but the hottest F-keys you've ever seen.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 21:09, Reply)
Oh Christ.
I've remembered one. *cringe*

OK. Here goes.

I was an odd kid. I was one of those late developers, you see, still playing with toy soldiers in my teens, and I never discovered girls until I was 15. This doesn't mean I wasn't interested in the ladies, though, with all their strangely alluring bumps and lumps, but I was a shy kid (not much has changed) so, erm, getting my grubby little hands on those wobbly charms was pretty much an unattainable goal for a twelve year old me.

What was a boy to do? All those hormones and nowhere to put them.

I found somewhere to put them. Perhaps a little predictably, I soon took an, ahem, "liking" to a toy I had had since I was just a tiny little sack.

Although this particular toy dog had always, in my eyes, been male, this didn't deter me as I fervently set about manufacturing what my teensy adolescent brain believed to be a reasonable facsimile of a fanny.

And so, all was right with the world. Many long, lonesome rainy afternoons were whiled away trying to work out if the scratchy, itchy cotton stuffing felt anything like the real thing. Poor old Scotty, or Scotina as she was now known, got pummelled within an inch of her poor life, and as she was about 10 years old, in dog years that makes her probably the luckiest seventy year old in existence.

Ah,but such bliss is not meant to last. I awoke one morning to a loud "AHEM". I opened my bleary eyes to see my dad standing, arms folded, at the foot of my bed. And there was a noise..... a sort of choking, coughing noise too. I peered over the edge of my bed to see my little love friend, arse burst wide open and stuffing everywhere. And there, in the middle of the floor, was my real dog, merrily boaking up the jizz encrusted innards that she had spent at least half an hour wolfing down.

I tried acting like I didn't know what had happened, but it's one of only three "knowing looks" that my dad's ever given me.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 20:57, 2 replies)
not me but another b3tan:

Cab driver guilty of sex attacks

Image challenge: Recreating Album Covers

So Mr Mstandot, care to spill the beans?

I knew I'd seen that face somewhere before...
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 20:56, 6 replies)
The ex-wife.

That will be all.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 20:53, 4 replies)
I've named mine Kensai
Just unsheathing it from its protective case is almost sexual, the way it glides out, glistening in the light.

I like to polish it once a month to keep it gleaming. A good lubrication of WD40 keeps it moist and good to handle.

Not everyone likes my Kensai, but it's proved to be useful for waving around at potential burglars and TV inspectors alike.

I think I'll keep it.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 20:52, Reply)

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