b3ta.com user Dervel
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If you flick through a self-help book for women searching for their ideal man, you'll find a photo of me above the caption "Mr Right".

And if it's your book you're flicking through, then I'm afraid to inform you that I'm taken, so it's life as a cat herding spinster for you.

Sorry about that.

Recent front page messages:


Best answers to questions:

» It's Not What It Looks Like!

I have never ever won a game of Pictionary.

(Wed 15th Dec 2010, 10:54, More)

» Drunk Parents

A Grumpy Old Man, Wrong Numbers And A Very Social Daughter
Last summer my Dad had been getting wrong number phone calls for about a week on his mobile from an Irish lady trying to call her daughter. These calls were normally politely answered with a “sorry, you’ve still got the wrong number. Yes, again. Hahaha. Yes, no problem, bye”.

That was until we were at a barbecue with my wife around her parents in Berkshire. We had been eating and drinking in the garden all afternoon and well into the evening, which in itself was quite the feat for a man who drinks maybe twice a year, when his phone rang. Looking at the screen he realised it was the Irish lady with the wrong number again.
So this time he drunkenly decided he’d had enough and when the lady asked “is Laura there” my father replied “she is, but she can’t come to the phone as I’ve worn her out”. The rest of the family were sat looking at him in shock and confusion as he continued with “yes, we’d been going at it for several hours on the dining table and now she’s having a sleep”.

At this point the woman had hung up and we all started asking my Dad what that was all about and he shrugged and said he’s just had enough of her calling and that he reckoned that should stop it.

A few minutes later his phone rang again, only from a different number. Turned out it was Laura’s Dad, who was calling to find out who the hell had upset his wife and had been shagging his 17 year old daughter.

My Dad was indignant that he’d been called back, so he told the man that “they’d done it in every room in the house and that he wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised if she walked funny when she came home tomorrow”. After a fair bit of shouting and huffing on both sides the other Dad had hung up and we started quizzing our Dad on why he’d done that?

At which point his phone rang again, only this time it was a tearful Laura who had previously been having a lovely evening with friends at a party and now had to go home as her parents were furious with her and she understandably wanted to know who he was and why he would lie and say things like that to her parents.

At which point my Dad grumpily told her it was her Mums fault as she was clearly stupid or had sausages for fingers or both, until Laura hung up on him too.

The next morning, feeling suitably bad and embarrassed and chastised by my Mum, my Dad called the girls Mother up and apologised for the night before saying that when they were in bed asleep last night his son had come home from the pub drunk and had apparently picked up his phone and that he understood he may have caused some offense.

The lady thanked my Dad for calling but pointed out that his drunken son had caused some considerable distress. At which point my Dad passed me the phone “as the nice lady wanted an apology from me in person”.

Thanks Dad.
(Fri 25th Feb 2011, 14:25, More)

» Babysitters

Nurses count as babysitters, right?
When I was 14 I was in hospital for a fairly lengthy stretch with idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura (ITP), one of my nurses was a young, pretty and somewhat busty brunette lady whom I’d immediately taken a bit of a shine to.
In between ogling the lovely nurse I spent my time reading my way though football magazines and playing on the wards original Nintendo.
One day whilst reading about Iwan Roberts’ latest heroics for Norwich City the lovely nurse came along, saw my copy of "Shoot" and started up a conversation about football.
It turned out that she was a Crystal Palace fan and from then on whenever she was working on my ward she would always say "hi" and engage me in a spot of friendly football based banter.

I was a 14 year old boy who had been stuck in hospital for three weeks in a group ward so there was no privacy so having a wank was off the cards, as a result I was incredibly horny and having a pretty darn gosh lovely nurse with real boobies paying attention to me made my mind play tricks and fantasise about things.

I became convinced that lovely nurse fancied me, because you know, pretty nurses always fall for spotty young herberts in their care don’t they? I became absolutely positive that the next time she drew my curtain to give me a check-up and a sponging she’d give me blow job or similar. It was obvious to me, she’d been "flirting" with me for ages.

So it came as little surprise when I was gently woken one night by a soft hand pushing me tenderly on the shoulder. I opened my eyes expectantly, and there was the lovely nurse leaning over me, her face inches from mine and looking directly into my eyes.
"I’ve been waiting ages for you to do this" I whispered quietly whilst taking her in my arms and pulling her down into a kiss, my right hand pawing urgently at her fantastic breasts. At which point she pulled sharply away and yelled "what the hell are you doing?" the bedside light quickly flicked on and there was a very angry looking lovely nurse standing above me holding one of those thermometer things they put under sleeping patients armpits to check their temperature during the night.
Realising I’d made a huge fucking error and was about to get in to deep shit for attempting to grope a nurse, I panicked and blurted out "Sorry, I was dreaming about football!" then realizing that made no sense and was a bit weird I added "Er, no, not football. Tits. Pamela Anderson’s tits" and then I burst into tears.

The next morning I was lying in my bed sheepishly when my Mum came in to visit me and asked me if I was okay and that the lovely nurse had told her that she’d unexpectedly woken me during the night whilst I’d been having a nightmare and that I’d become very distressed.

Which was pretty good of lovely nurse really.
(Tue 2nd Nov 2010, 14:32, More)

» Vomit Pt2

But the worst thing I ever done
I mixed a pot of fake puke at home and then I went to this movie theater, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, t-t-then, I made a noise like this: "hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa" and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience.
And then, this was horrible, all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire life.
(Fri 8th Jan 2010, 10:49, More)

» Breasts

An Open Letter To The Women Of B3ta
Please stop telling stories that demystify or humanise the having of breasts.

They are quite clearly magical and extraordinary things, and we all know it, so don’t think you can pull the wool by making up stories about backache and £40 brassieres to make them appear mundane and ordinary.

In fact, you should probably all write illustrated stories about how only this morning your boobies jiggled about a bit and then fell in your weetabix.
(Fri 7th May 2010, 15:30, More)
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