Profile for SirVile:
student teacher.
Therefore mad as a bag of badgers with bombs.
Never, EVER think of becoming a teacher. It is not worth the stress, work, the pain and humilation.
Just don't do it kids.
Me and my sister arguing again
never, ever contact me. I'll only try to teach you something.
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
- a member for 20 years, 1 month and 19 days
- has posted 1 messages on the main board
- has posted 0 messages on the talk board
- has posted 0 messages on the links board
- has posted 2 stories and 0 replies on question of the week
- They liked 0 pictures, 0 links, 0 talk posts, and 0 qotw answers.
- Ignore this user
- Add this user as a friend
- send me a message
student teacher.
Therefore mad as a bag of badgers with bombs.
Never, EVER think of becoming a teacher. It is not worth the stress, work, the pain and humilation.
Just don't do it kids.
Me and my sister arguing again
never, ever contact me. I'll only try to teach you something.
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Embarrassing Injuries
hard at it
ahhh, twas back in the day, when I was but a slip of a lad, and had recently lost my hated virginity. The barmy summer night in Oxford affected me in a strange and lustful way. My new girlfriend was indeed a goer, and a catholic, and it's TRUE what they say. We did it 6 times (although, not knowing what to do really I don't think she reached her peak, but she seemed to enjoy it) that night.
Upon mounting my second love, my racing bike, I found something was amiss. I couldn't sit down on the saddle without the most hideous pain from my cock muscle.
I went to my now BLANTLY transsexual University doctor to have this problem looked at. He couldn't help but laugh as I told him how I did it. Alas, I couldn't raise the poor battered wee chappie for another few days without terrible pain.
I, being the consumate gentleman though, did perform the next night. Muscle Smuscle.
(Mon 6th Sep 2004, 20:59, More)
hard at it
ahhh, twas back in the day, when I was but a slip of a lad, and had recently lost my hated virginity. The barmy summer night in Oxford affected me in a strange and lustful way. My new girlfriend was indeed a goer, and a catholic, and it's TRUE what they say. We did it 6 times (although, not knowing what to do really I don't think she reached her peak, but she seemed to enjoy it) that night.
Upon mounting my second love, my racing bike, I found something was amiss. I couldn't sit down on the saddle without the most hideous pain from my cock muscle.
I went to my now BLANTLY transsexual University doctor to have this problem looked at. He couldn't help but laugh as I told him how I did it. Alas, I couldn't raise the poor battered wee chappie for another few days without terrible pain.
I, being the consumate gentleman though, did perform the next night. Muscle Smuscle.
(Mon 6th Sep 2004, 20:59, More)
» Have you ever started a fire?
Naked Fire Starter
Once, in the dim misty days of my 2nd year of uni, I once set a rug on fire.
T'was an Indian, or Persian rug, belonging to my mother and father. I was gearing up for another night of unsuccessful and frankly pathetic attempts at pulling, and part of the ritual was the shower. Being spangley and smelling like a teenager who just discovered the POWER OF AFTERSHAVE.
So off I toddle to the shower, and have a nice long hot shower, and return to my room.
Now my student house was freezing, so I left my gas fire on, to warm it so I returned to a warm and lovely room.
The rug, for your information, was in front the very old gas fire.
Now, I had not noticed the rug had crept up to the air intake of the gas fire. It had been happily cooking for the ½ hour shower.
I wandered in, looked at the fire, thought “Burning a bit orange, I’ll move the rug, perhaps it needs more air”. So I moved it, and lo! T’was all a-flame, and burning merrily. Burning wool smells horrid.
I was thus confronted by a burning rug, in my towel. Do I run? Do I use my towel to beat the flame back?
So Naked I beat the flames. I could not call for help, but I won. The Rug was saved, and all my housemates knew about it was the smell of burning wool. I did not need to run into the winter cold nekkid, my modesty was saved, and all people said about me was that I burned whole sheep.
(Wed 3rd Mar 2004, 22:11, More)
Naked Fire Starter
Once, in the dim misty days of my 2nd year of uni, I once set a rug on fire.
T'was an Indian, or Persian rug, belonging to my mother and father. I was gearing up for another night of unsuccessful and frankly pathetic attempts at pulling, and part of the ritual was the shower. Being spangley and smelling like a teenager who just discovered the POWER OF AFTERSHAVE.
So off I toddle to the shower, and have a nice long hot shower, and return to my room.
Now my student house was freezing, so I left my gas fire on, to warm it so I returned to a warm and lovely room.
The rug, for your information, was in front the very old gas fire.
Now, I had not noticed the rug had crept up to the air intake of the gas fire. It had been happily cooking for the ½ hour shower.
I wandered in, looked at the fire, thought “Burning a bit orange, I’ll move the rug, perhaps it needs more air”. So I moved it, and lo! T’was all a-flame, and burning merrily. Burning wool smells horrid.
I was thus confronted by a burning rug, in my towel. Do I run? Do I use my towel to beat the flame back?
So Naked I beat the flames. I could not call for help, but I won. The Rug was saved, and all my housemates knew about it was the smell of burning wool. I did not need to run into the winter cold nekkid, my modesty was saved, and all people said about me was that I burned whole sheep.
(Wed 3rd Mar 2004, 22:11, More)