Revenge is a dish best served at 120 degrees Fahrenheit
Back when I was at Uni I started regularly snogging/feeling up a girl called Sinead. She seemed a little... reticent about certain details of her life and never invited me back to her place. Nevertheless, I really fancied her and was hoping it was going to go somewhere. Anyway, after a couple of weeks she invited me to a party at her place. I turned up with a couple of my mates, all excited and expecting us to finally get down to some actual mookie that night. Wrong wrong wrong. The place was absolutely stuffed with godawful posh rugby playoing types and my Spidey Senses (finally) started tingling when I saw the biggest of the lot with his arm around the lovely Sinead. Somewhat concerned I weaved my way over to her and, ICE COLD GODDAM BITCH THAT I NOW REALISE SHE WAS, she simply said 'Oh yeah, er hi J***, this is my boyfriend Mongo' (or Humungo or something. I dunno he was just an enormous great big rugger twat). Suffice it so say I was crushed. Now, thankfully the boys I had with me were premier grade vengeance merchants and while I was content to sit in a corner moping they decided to even the score. After breaking into the cellar of the house they turned the stopcock off, snapped the handle off, then turned the heating up as high as it would go and similarly disabled the controls. They then found me, told me I was a f*cking twat for wanting to stay there a minute longer and hustled me into the night, pausing just long enough to pop a bar of soap into the microwave on the way out (try it, it's amazing. But not in your own microwave).

The following day I found out that, with the temperature approaching 120F and nothing to drink but booze, the rugby dicks had all got increasingly aggravated until the whole thing dissolved into a massive pagga. Hilarious violence and household damage ensued.

Serves the two faced crocadilapigdog right if you ask me.
(scunnydelight, Fri 18 Jun 2004, 13:47, Reply)