A couple of rowing mates of mine
from uni shared a house together in our 2nd & 3rd years. Thinking back I wish I'd taken them up on their offer to live there too as it would have saved a good deal of heart ache.

H'anyway one of them is a perpetual batchelor. Nice enough guy, v intelligent (although he doesn't apply himself) and stacked with rowing muscles. The other, however, is a bit scary but nice enough too.
The scary one started seeing a bird after a few months of them moving in and from there the stories started.

Scrotty, for tis the lads nickname, has been known to shag his missus nonstop for hours and hours at a time. This might not be something to write home about, but considering the amount of training we did this sort of aerobic feat is to be marvelled at. I wonder how the poor bird can still walk.

Did I mention that the bed and floor were squeaky and the batchelor lived downstairs underneath? That coupled with the amazing Hammeraction lead the distinct impossibility of sleep.

We're in the bar one day and Batchelor says "Have a listen to this!".
He hands another one of our mates his phone with a recording.
Recording goes something like: "squeak bang bang bang squeak bang bang" etc.
Puzzled and slightly disgusted look on mate's face.. "what the feck is that?"
"That's Scrotty shagging!"
"aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggghhhhhhh"

Phone was eventually retrieved from the other side of the bar.

It's not the size of the nail, it's the hammer you hit it in with that matters...

@ Arthmelow - yeah why did my mate's think I was really weird and fcked up when I told them I accused my sister of smelling of fish? Twonks.
@ Greencloud - You are fogiven, mein Kinder
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Thu 6 Sep 2007, 17:55, Reply)