Oh the memories...
...when i was 16, as a stroke of pure luck (parents splitting up and fucking off in opposite directions, leaving there 20 something kids to fend for themselves), my mate ended up with his own rent free house.

As you can imagine, faster than immigrants into the back of an Eddie Stobbart truck, I and a few others had moved in and set up PC's.

One of the Lads, due to being the smallest and lest prone to violence, drew cooking duty, and seemed to relish in it.

Within the house, we had a standing rule that we ate nothing that he had actually touched, this being due to his less than exemplary personal hygene, and personal love of mining snot nuggets from knuckle deep in his face.

One day, my 12 year old brother came to visit us, and accepted when offered some recently cooked, home made 'cheesy bread', and happily scoffed away (being a fat fuck back then) while complimenting said mate on his cooking prowess.

Now admittedly, at the time, the cook's hands and nails, in stark contrast to the rest of him, were clean, however, as my mate took great pleasure in telling my bro, this was down to hsi kneading bread dough all morning rather than being anywhere near soap.

My brother felt ill for days.

No apologies for length, he ate the fucking lot!
( BulldogUgly Visit my profile to see what's between my legs, Thu 17 May 2007, 12:13, Reply)