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- a member for 18 years, 6 months and 27 days
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- has posted 2 stories and 0 replies on question of the week
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» Useless advice
Brotherly advice
My brother gave me the single most useful piece of advice, shortly after I'd been dumped by my first girlfriend for kissing her best frend.
"You're a man, You CAN live with yourself..."
Turns out he was dead right :)
(Thu 19th Oct 2006, 18:42, More)
Brotherly advice
My brother gave me the single most useful piece of advice, shortly after I'd been dumped by my first girlfriend for kissing her best frend.
"You're a man, You CAN live with yourself..."
Turns out he was dead right :)
(Thu 19th Oct 2006, 18:42, More)
» Road Rage
I'm a walking (Driving) Cliche...
I have the dubious honuor of having been involved in at least 3 of the great Road Rage Cliches a few people have already mentioned:
I was once hounded for 3 miles by a Landrover driver, upset that my Astra wasn't capable of safely going above 25mph in a freak blizzard on a main road. He proceeded to take the next availble opportunity to demonstrate his vehicles superiority in these adverse conditions by forcing his way past me, screaming obscenities, and shaking his fist. Less than a mile away, I pootle past him, laughing, as he is stood on the roadside, next to his 4x4 buried to the windscreen in a ditch.
Whilst riding my bike away from a set of traffic lights recently, Mr Dickhead in his company car, talking on his mobile phone, runs through the opposing Red light, making me lock up, and drop my bike. He stops breifly, smiles patronisingly, and drives off. I picked up my bike, which was still running, and baring nothing but a few extra scratches, and dash after him. A mile or so down the road, I pull up next to him, tap on his window. He studiously ignores me, so I take my chain off of my shoulder, and put it uncerimoniously through his window. Then I lifted the front of my helmet, smiled patronisingly, and rode off.
A few years ago, A friend and I were cut up badly on a roundabout. My friend, the driver, decided a bit of horn-and-headlight justice was in order. The guy in front stops, gets out of his car, and starts to walk towards us, screaming obscenities. My friend and I both step out. The guy stops, his faced changed in a millisecond from anger, to outright fear, turned and ran back to his car, locked the doors and stared straight ahead. I'm a Doorman/bouncer/person who looks like they get off on the sound of grinding bone, 6'5", 20 Stone, have a fetching array of tattoos and facial piercing, sport a beard and mohican, and have a prediliction for large boots and a leather jacket; my friend is a prop forward for our local rugby team, weighing in at 22 stone, and 5'10".
No apologies for length, I DON'T APOLOGISE FOR SH*T, MOTHERF*CKER!
(Thu 19th Oct 2006, 5:27, More)
I'm a walking (Driving) Cliche...
I have the dubious honuor of having been involved in at least 3 of the great Road Rage Cliches a few people have already mentioned:
I was once hounded for 3 miles by a Landrover driver, upset that my Astra wasn't capable of safely going above 25mph in a freak blizzard on a main road. He proceeded to take the next availble opportunity to demonstrate his vehicles superiority in these adverse conditions by forcing his way past me, screaming obscenities, and shaking his fist. Less than a mile away, I pootle past him, laughing, as he is stood on the roadside, next to his 4x4 buried to the windscreen in a ditch.
Whilst riding my bike away from a set of traffic lights recently, Mr Dickhead in his company car, talking on his mobile phone, runs through the opposing Red light, making me lock up, and drop my bike. He stops breifly, smiles patronisingly, and drives off. I picked up my bike, which was still running, and baring nothing but a few extra scratches, and dash after him. A mile or so down the road, I pull up next to him, tap on his window. He studiously ignores me, so I take my chain off of my shoulder, and put it uncerimoniously through his window. Then I lifted the front of my helmet, smiled patronisingly, and rode off.
A few years ago, A friend and I were cut up badly on a roundabout. My friend, the driver, decided a bit of horn-and-headlight justice was in order. The guy in front stops, gets out of his car, and starts to walk towards us, screaming obscenities. My friend and I both step out. The guy stops, his faced changed in a millisecond from anger, to outright fear, turned and ran back to his car, locked the doors and stared straight ahead. I'm a Doorman/bouncer/person who looks like they get off on the sound of grinding bone, 6'5", 20 Stone, have a fetching array of tattoos and facial piercing, sport a beard and mohican, and have a prediliction for large boots and a leather jacket; my friend is a prop forward for our local rugby team, weighing in at 22 stone, and 5'10".
No apologies for length, I DON'T APOLOGISE FOR SH*T, MOTHERF*CKER!
(Thu 19th Oct 2006, 5:27, More)