Profile for If it could happen to me like that i'd shit my pants:
I'm into mastabation. Even after shagging my mrs i'l go into the toilet and knock one out. I have even taken captain picard to warp speed in the cubicles of a long haul flight to Australia.
I have always wanted to make the experience more interesting and have often wondered at the possibility of at the point of release, directing ones flow against a wall with some sort of measuring device.
This means that you can measure the height of your ejaculation and perhaps mark them off as to what was your fantasy of choice.
Perhaps a 1 foot wank might be the cause of the late Thora Hird, whilst a whooping 6 foot jizz blast could be the fault of a well thumbed copy of FHM with a Jordan pull out special.
The fun need not stop there. Why not compile the height and sexiness of your muck spreading and compile a flow chart and perhaps present it as a power point presentation to your friends and loved ones at Christmas, at the dinner table?
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I'm into mastabation. Even after shagging my mrs i'l go into the toilet and knock one out. I have even taken captain picard to warp speed in the cubicles of a long haul flight to Australia.
I have always wanted to make the experience more interesting and have often wondered at the possibility of at the point of release, directing ones flow against a wall with some sort of measuring device.
This means that you can measure the height of your ejaculation and perhaps mark them off as to what was your fantasy of choice.
Perhaps a 1 foot wank might be the cause of the late Thora Hird, whilst a whooping 6 foot jizz blast could be the fault of a well thumbed copy of FHM with a Jordan pull out special.
The fun need not stop there. Why not compile the height and sexiness of your muck spreading and compile a flow chart and perhaps present it as a power point presentation to your friends and loved ones at Christmas, at the dinner table?
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Misunderstood
Mother swearing problem
For some reason from when I was about 13 to about 16 my mother got into the habit of calling people silly 'Twats'. At the petrol station, 'you silly twat'; to my elderly uncle'you silly twat'. You get the idea.
Thing was the way she said it was if there was nothing wrong, and I thought it was hilarious as I got the impression that she'd didnt understand what it really meant.
I was right.
One day after spending the day shopping, and her coming out with it several times I asked her did she actually know what it twat means?
She thought it was the same as calling someone a twit. When I pointed out that it actually refers to a ladys unmentionables she took on a rather pained expression and was subdubed for the rest of the day.
Instead of just keeping quiet about it though, the next time she met people she'd been calling twats for the past couple of years she proceeded to apologise to them for calling them twats, when she actually ment twits and promised not to call them twats again. This was just as shocking as she'd collar people when they were with their kids, family ETC.
Misunderstood? Shes a bloody menace.
(Fri 7th Oct 2005, 11:28, More)
Mother swearing problem
For some reason from when I was about 13 to about 16 my mother got into the habit of calling people silly 'Twats'. At the petrol station, 'you silly twat'; to my elderly uncle'you silly twat'. You get the idea.
Thing was the way she said it was if there was nothing wrong, and I thought it was hilarious as I got the impression that she'd didnt understand what it really meant.
I was right.
One day after spending the day shopping, and her coming out with it several times I asked her did she actually know what it twat means?
She thought it was the same as calling someone a twit. When I pointed out that it actually refers to a ladys unmentionables she took on a rather pained expression and was subdubed for the rest of the day.
Instead of just keeping quiet about it though, the next time she met people she'd been calling twats for the past couple of years she proceeded to apologise to them for calling them twats, when she actually ment twits and promised not to call them twats again. This was just as shocking as she'd collar people when they were with their kids, family ETC.
Misunderstood? Shes a bloody menace.
(Fri 7th Oct 2005, 11:28, More)
» Crappy Prizes
Double dealing Budgie breeding fuckers
As teenager my parents tried to force me into things I didnt like, just to live out their sad dreams through me. One of these was to keep Budgies and I fucking hated them.
Anyway they entered me into all these shows where we'd turn up an associate with a load of sad wankers until the judges finished viewing the birds. Interestingly enough the judges always reminded me of collection of elderly gentlemen who other interests know doubt would see there names appearing on some register.
I won. Woopee-Fucking-Doo. I'm the 1987 Llantrisant and District junior Budgerigar breeding champion.
I won a small trophy (crap), some rosettes (crapper) and £10. Now that would come in handy as I was about the age where Id found the value of low cost cider and bus stops, so I knew where that money would be going.
However, the organiser of the event sidled up to me and said everyone else who had won had donated the money back to help with the costs of holding the event next year. Having considered his request and disliking the fact that he waited until I was standing by my parents, so as to try to get full moral attention, I pissed on his chips by telling him where to go.
Day after, up to the local Spar in Tonyrefail where I purchased 8 cans of 7.5% Pulse Cider. Buy 4 get 4 free for £3.99 a shout. Drank the lot and was sick on my mothers kitchen floor and THATS WHY IT WAS THE BEST CRAPPY PRIZE EVER!
PS: The budgie that won died a fortnight later as it caught something or other, and I had to assist in its shuffling off its mortal coil. Therefore I snapped its neck but the little bastard had the last laugh as its head came off in my hand.
(Fri 5th Aug 2005, 11:20, More)
Double dealing Budgie breeding fuckers
As teenager my parents tried to force me into things I didnt like, just to live out their sad dreams through me. One of these was to keep Budgies and I fucking hated them.
Anyway they entered me into all these shows where we'd turn up an associate with a load of sad wankers until the judges finished viewing the birds. Interestingly enough the judges always reminded me of collection of elderly gentlemen who other interests know doubt would see there names appearing on some register.
I won. Woopee-Fucking-Doo. I'm the 1987 Llantrisant and District junior Budgerigar breeding champion.
I won a small trophy (crap), some rosettes (crapper) and £10. Now that would come in handy as I was about the age where Id found the value of low cost cider and bus stops, so I knew where that money would be going.
However, the organiser of the event sidled up to me and said everyone else who had won had donated the money back to help with the costs of holding the event next year. Having considered his request and disliking the fact that he waited until I was standing by my parents, so as to try to get full moral attention, I pissed on his chips by telling him where to go.
Day after, up to the local Spar in Tonyrefail where I purchased 8 cans of 7.5% Pulse Cider. Buy 4 get 4 free for £3.99 a shout. Drank the lot and was sick on my mothers kitchen floor and THATS WHY IT WAS THE BEST CRAPPY PRIZE EVER!
PS: The budgie that won died a fortnight later as it caught something or other, and I had to assist in its shuffling off its mortal coil. Therefore I snapped its neck but the little bastard had the last laugh as its head came off in my hand.
(Fri 5th Aug 2005, 11:20, More)
» When animals attack...
Pig Gets The Chop
When I was around 12 years old back in the mid eighties I lived in a back of beyond Welsh valley town where one day my dad took me to visit my Uncle Jack who had a small holding.
Jack had this big fucking pig that resembled in size a Shetland pony and it was so tame it acted like a dog. Unfortunately for the pig Jack wasn’t interested in a mans best friend relationship, and the pigs card was marked for being the main attraction at Sunday dinner.
Having enlisted my father’s help Jack started playing with the pig who laid down allowing jack to scratch and pat the doomed porker who know doubt thought what a wonderful life it had and happily snorted in pleasure with its eyes closed.
At the given sign from Jack, my dad deftly jumped on the pig holding it down shouting to me to join him as the pig started to get wise to the situation.
It was at this time things started to go a bit wrong when Jack revealed his chosen implement of death, having no doubt agonised for hours at the quickest way to dispatch the pig the stupid bastard pulled out a junior hacksaw and gamely started having a go at the pigs big bulbous leathery neck.
To be fair, before the pig threw me and my dad off Jack had made progress, the down side being that this was at the expense of around 30 odd seconds in which the pig was no doubt in pure agony.
Anyway, having bucked me and my dad off it started chasing jack around the paddock. Bad news for the pig was that Jack had obviously got his jugular on the way and the paddock descended into a surreal scene akin to the part in Clint Eastwoods High Plains Drifter, where he had the town’s people paint the town red.
After about five minutes the pig gave a final lurch in Jacks direction and gave up the ghost leaving behind him a sea of blood that had not only turned the ground muck red, but also made pretty artistic patterns due to arterial spray.
Jack was groaning where the pig had bitten him on the leg and my dad was calling him a tosser for not using something more appropriate. I just stood there traumatised by it all but perked up when my dad bribed me on the way home into saying nothing to my mam buy buying me an ice cream.
Anyway in a bizarre twist of fate Jack died last year of cancer, funnily enough he coughed up his lungs and choked on his own blood, much like the pig.
You got to laugh at the irony.
(Mon 6th Jun 2005, 13:39, More)
Pig Gets The Chop
When I was around 12 years old back in the mid eighties I lived in a back of beyond Welsh valley town where one day my dad took me to visit my Uncle Jack who had a small holding.
Jack had this big fucking pig that resembled in size a Shetland pony and it was so tame it acted like a dog. Unfortunately for the pig Jack wasn’t interested in a mans best friend relationship, and the pigs card was marked for being the main attraction at Sunday dinner.
Having enlisted my father’s help Jack started playing with the pig who laid down allowing jack to scratch and pat the doomed porker who know doubt thought what a wonderful life it had and happily snorted in pleasure with its eyes closed.
At the given sign from Jack, my dad deftly jumped on the pig holding it down shouting to me to join him as the pig started to get wise to the situation.
It was at this time things started to go a bit wrong when Jack revealed his chosen implement of death, having no doubt agonised for hours at the quickest way to dispatch the pig the stupid bastard pulled out a junior hacksaw and gamely started having a go at the pigs big bulbous leathery neck.
To be fair, before the pig threw me and my dad off Jack had made progress, the down side being that this was at the expense of around 30 odd seconds in which the pig was no doubt in pure agony.
Anyway, having bucked me and my dad off it started chasing jack around the paddock. Bad news for the pig was that Jack had obviously got his jugular on the way and the paddock descended into a surreal scene akin to the part in Clint Eastwoods High Plains Drifter, where he had the town’s people paint the town red.
After about five minutes the pig gave a final lurch in Jacks direction and gave up the ghost leaving behind him a sea of blood that had not only turned the ground muck red, but also made pretty artistic patterns due to arterial spray.
Jack was groaning where the pig had bitten him on the leg and my dad was calling him a tosser for not using something more appropriate. I just stood there traumatised by it all but perked up when my dad bribed me on the way home into saying nothing to my mam buy buying me an ice cream.
Anyway in a bizarre twist of fate Jack died last year of cancer, funnily enough he coughed up his lungs and choked on his own blood, much like the pig.
You got to laugh at the irony.
(Mon 6th Jun 2005, 13:39, More)
» When animals attack...
Pig gets the chop
When I was around 12 years old back in the mid eighties I lived in a back of beyond Welsh valley town where one day my dad took me to visit my Uncle Jack who had a small holding.
Jack had this big fucking pig that resembled in size a Shetland pony and it was so tame it acted like a dog. Unfortunately for the pig Jack wasn’t interested in a mans best friend relationship, and the pigs card was marked for being the main attraction at Sunday dinner.
Having enlisted my father’s help Jack started playing with the pig who laid down allowing jack to scratch and pat the doomed porker who know doubt thought what a wonderful life it had and happily snorted in pleasure with its eyes closed.
At the given sign from Jack, my dad deftly jumped on the pig holding it down shouting to me to join him as the pig started to get wise to the situation.
It was at this time things started to go a bit wrong when Jack revealed his chosen implement of death, having no doubt agonised for hours at the quickest way to dispatch the pig the stupid bastard pulled out a junior hacksaw and gamely started having a go at the pigs big bulbous leathery neck.
To be fair, before the pig threw me and my dad off Jack had made progress, the down side being that this was at the expense of around 30 odd seconds in which the pig was no doubt in pure agony.
Anyway, having bucked me and my dad off it started chasing jack around the paddock. Bad news for the pig was that Jack had obviously got his jugular on the way and the paddock descended into a surreal scene akin to the part in Clint Eastwoods High Plains Drifter, where he had the town’s people paint the town red.
After about five minutes the pig gave a final lurch in Jacks direction and gave up the ghost leaving behind him a sea of blood that had not only turned the ground muck red, but also made pretty artistic patterns due to arterial spray.
Jack was groaning where the pig had bitten him on the leg and my dad was calling him a tosser for not using something more appropriate. I just stood there traumatised by it all but perked up when my dad bribed me on the way home into saying nothing to my mam buy buying me an ice cream.
Anyway in a bizarre twist of fate Jack died last year of cancer, funnily enough he coughed up his lungs and choked on his own blood, much like the pig.
You got to laugh at the irony.
(Fri 3rd Jun 2005, 15:38, More)
Pig gets the chop
When I was around 12 years old back in the mid eighties I lived in a back of beyond Welsh valley town where one day my dad took me to visit my Uncle Jack who had a small holding.
Jack had this big fucking pig that resembled in size a Shetland pony and it was so tame it acted like a dog. Unfortunately for the pig Jack wasn’t interested in a mans best friend relationship, and the pigs card was marked for being the main attraction at Sunday dinner.
Having enlisted my father’s help Jack started playing with the pig who laid down allowing jack to scratch and pat the doomed porker who know doubt thought what a wonderful life it had and happily snorted in pleasure with its eyes closed.
At the given sign from Jack, my dad deftly jumped on the pig holding it down shouting to me to join him as the pig started to get wise to the situation.
It was at this time things started to go a bit wrong when Jack revealed his chosen implement of death, having no doubt agonised for hours at the quickest way to dispatch the pig the stupid bastard pulled out a junior hacksaw and gamely started having a go at the pigs big bulbous leathery neck.
To be fair, before the pig threw me and my dad off Jack had made progress, the down side being that this was at the expense of around 30 odd seconds in which the pig was no doubt in pure agony.
Anyway, having bucked me and my dad off it started chasing jack around the paddock. Bad news for the pig was that Jack had obviously got his jugular on the way and the paddock descended into a surreal scene akin to the part in Clint Eastwoods High Plains Drifter, where he had the town’s people paint the town red.
After about five minutes the pig gave a final lurch in Jacks direction and gave up the ghost leaving behind him a sea of blood that had not only turned the ground muck red, but also made pretty artistic patterns due to arterial spray.
Jack was groaning where the pig had bitten him on the leg and my dad was calling him a tosser for not using something more appropriate. I just stood there traumatised by it all but perked up when my dad bribed me on the way home into saying nothing to my mam buy buying me an ice cream.
Anyway in a bizarre twist of fate Jack died last year of cancer, funnily enough he coughed up his lungs and choked on his own blood, much like the pig.
You got to laugh at the irony.
(Fri 3rd Jun 2005, 15:38, More)
» I'm an expert
Budgerigars. They crap everywhere........................
In my early teen years I was an expert on Budgerigars, or was until I grew bored of the little annoying shits and gave them away.
Anyway i'm an expert as I'm the 1987 Llantrisant and District junior Budgerigar breeding champion so there and yes I know it's sad.
I won £10 and spent it on sex mags which my father later found under my bed and gave me a hammering, although I dont know if he ever threw them out himself the dirty bastard.
(Thu 23rd Jun 2005, 15:12, More)
Budgerigars. They crap everywhere........................
In my early teen years I was an expert on Budgerigars, or was until I grew bored of the little annoying shits and gave them away.
Anyway i'm an expert as I'm the 1987 Llantrisant and District junior Budgerigar breeding champion so there and yes I know it's sad.
I won £10 and spent it on sex mags which my father later found under my bed and gave me a hammering, although I dont know if he ever threw them out himself the dirty bastard.
(Thu 23rd Jun 2005, 15:12, More)