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| A Thread Of Pure Drivel | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 7 2006, 10:10 PM (4,823 Views) | |
| JeffLynnesBeard | Dec 25 2006, 06:25 AM Post #101 |
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Thanks Irene & Barb - I'd love to write for some kind of magazine, but which publication would be crazy enough to have me?
I'll try and write more often, Barb - I promise.
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| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| Deleted User | Dec 25 2006, 01:39 PM Post #102 |
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I finally got around to reading this and it is terrific! :lol: (Hugs, Jana) |
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| maccascruff | Dec 26 2006, 02:23 AM Post #103 |
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Sing the Changes
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My favorite part, too. |
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| Bill | Jan 2 2007, 01:38 PM Post #104 |
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I went speed dating for the first time last weekend. That's where you have eight minutes to talk about yourself to someone before they have to lose interest and talk to someone else. I like that because I usually only have ten minutes of conversation in me. Always leave 'em wanting more eh? I think it's great that we now have dating to match what drugs we're on. Next week I'm going marijuana dating. That's where you stare at each other giggling for eight minutes then switch... if you feel like it. If you don't, you just keep giggling with the same person. I hear that's what happens more often than not. When you've found someone you like, you then stagger down to 7-Eleven together for Tim Tams. There are some others that I'm not so keen on. There's heroin dating, which is where participants have eight minutes to steal all your CDs. Then there's Cocaine dating which is where you spend eight minutes telling someone how great you are and another 15 trying to figure out why they're trying to destroy you when you're really so nice. Sometimes there's a hidden catch. LSD dating involves mingling on one astral plane for eight minutes before moving on to another. When a match is made, they have a little competition to see who can get higher. The winner gets to stay on their chosen astral plane and the loser has to wipe the up the winner's dribble for the next 30 years. I think I'll stick to speed dating, if I can just control my temper. I'm sure one of those girls was looking at me, the stuck-up b*tch. |
| Put a puppet on it. | |
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| Emilee | Jan 2 2007, 02:27 PM Post #105 |
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:lol: seeing this thread revived is like coming home. |
| I wished I could save her in some sort of time machine. | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Feb 13 2007, 11:42 AM Post #106 |
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I don't get it. I bought her a turnip for Valentine's Day and she was upset. I don't understand women at all... it was definitely an improvement on the carrot I gave her last year. I told her, I said, "Look, you should be pleased. If I gave you chocolates like everyone else gives their wives, then you'd be even more fat than you are now." Did she appreciate my sentiment? Of course not. She didn't even like my card with the coupon inside for a "bloody good hard shag". There's no pleasing some people.
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| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| Bill | Feb 13 2007, 11:49 AM Post #107 |
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Next year, try a cucumber.
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| Bill | Feb 26 2007, 12:08 AM Post #108 |
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With Andy's global drivel push in full swing, now seems as good a time as any to announce that I am about to publish my first full-length hardcover book of political commentary. It will be called COLON: SUBTITLES OUT OF CONTROL: How ridiculous and increasingly long-winded subtitles of books on politics are lowering the standard of debate and analysis by often laying out the entire premise of the book right there on the front cover so that you need hardly even open the book to have absorbed its entire content, and why it is destroying civilisation as we know it What you should know, why you should care and what you can do about it. A complete looking into, out of, above, below and around the issue and the knock-on effects of same. |
| Put a puppet on it. | |
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| Deleted User | Feb 26 2007, 12:34 AM Post #109 |
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I personally liked Andy's offering better than Bill's ... uhmmm, am I allowed to critique this stuff?? |
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| scottycatt | Feb 26 2007, 12:38 AM Post #110 |
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No! |
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Why? | |
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| Deleted User | Feb 26 2007, 12:49 AM Post #111 |
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Why not? I thought Andy was much more pointless than Bill ... and I'm sticking to that. Hmmm ... well I guess it's suppose 'pure drivel' not 'pointless' right. What are the rules??? |
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| scottycatt | Feb 26 2007, 12:58 AM Post #112 |
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It's drivel. There are no rules.
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Why? | |
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| Deleted User | Feb 26 2007, 01:19 AM Post #113 |
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Yeah ... I suppose I included far too many font sizes and colors in my Brain Test. :lol: So I might be biased.
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| scottycatt | Feb 26 2007, 01:20 AM Post #114 |
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Sorry. I didn't participate in your Brain test, as I don't have one. (said the scarecrow. ;))
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Why? | |
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| Deleted User | Feb 26 2007, 01:23 AM Post #115 |
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Hmmm ... interesting condition, had a friend from the 'way back machine' that had us hide his ... so he wouldn't inflict any damage while he was well, doing things. |
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| Deleted User | Feb 26 2007, 02:27 AM Post #116 |
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:lol: That would be a great title of any book - I'd definitely give it a chance! |
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| FamousGroupie | Feb 26 2007, 02:45 AM Post #117 |
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Obsessive Saddo Fangirl
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Laboratory experiments on men and women dressed as rats show that the outpouring of violent anger is an absolutely necessary and healthy human activity. We took six subjects randomly chosen from a white, football-playing family of Buddhist converts living in Cricklewood and subjected them to a succession of very hard pokes with a sharpened piece of metal. We found that after about half an hour the subjects (who were still alive) began to become restless and irritable. Popular responses were "Stop it!", "Lay off!" and even "Hey, that hurts!" When the pokes with the sharpened piece of metal were interspersed with heavy blows on the back of the head, the responses became more indignant - "Stop it, please!" and even "Lay off, you b*stard!" from one subject. The verbal anger, which they did not have when the experiment began, started to increase until one or two of them began to try and forcibly prevent our scientists from raining blows on their heads. In some cases the amount of force used was quite strong and, indeed, one of our people recieved a cut lip. But as soon as they stopped the hitting and poking responses varied from being "thankful" to being "glad to be alive". This assertion of well-being demonstrates clearly the value of their anger and resistance. So, when you next feel as though "everything's going fine"...just break a few shelves in the kitchen and throw the cat at the postman or run repeatedly at a tree with your head lowered. You'll be surprised how different you feel. |
| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| Deleted User | Feb 26 2007, 02:58 AM Post #118 |
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OMG ... sadly enough, that basically sums up the month of February for me.
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Mar 11 2007, 04:57 PM Post #119 |
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Flying on a liquid salamander, I gazed upon the ruby television screen bearing your many likenesses. It was flickering with ineptitude, roasting with gel pre-treatment, rolling up that tricky hill, resting behind the sink in the men's room at Charing Cross station. You know the one. Yes, that one. The one with the squint. You just have to try to not let it bother you or, if it does, try not to let it show. To save it's feelings. It's the humane thing. Y'know. I paused to telephone my sponsor and then remembered that I didn't have either a telephone or a sponsor and so chuckled at my faux-pas... until I also remembered that I didn't know any French and so, consequently, didn't know what a faux-pas was. So, there I was, right in the middle of pausing, not knowing whether I was orange juice or raisin, when it struck me - right behind the eyes. I was a leader of men! A giant amongst toadstools! Nothing anybody could say would change, alter, amend or delete my mind unless, naturally, they had powers only bestowed upon rich dentists with furry alarm clocks. Is it wrong that I get aroused by looking at my own naked body in the mirror or that I sometimes lick my own nippular area without once consulting a text book? I find that, if I'm having problems maintaining my dignity (which is what I call my erection), that all I have to do is close my driving eyelids, purge my bowels and think about May Pang sitting on a glacier eating tomato ketchup with a spoon. I wonder if I could get a mortgage for my toe and, if so, what collateral they'd need. They may have a pair of socks and nothing else. I'd be damned if I gave them my toast. And hungry. |
| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| Bill | Mar 12 2007, 12:30 AM Post #120 |
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Depending on how you actually do it, it could be very wrong or very impressive that you lick you nippular area! Hmmm.... Is it 35, myopic and Australian in here, or is it just me? |
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| Deleted User | Mar 12 2007, 12:33 AM Post #121 |
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Yeah I was a little caught off guard by the bit about "maintaining his dignity" ... what a curious way to invoke May Pang.
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| FamousGroupie | Mar 12 2007, 03:08 AM Post #122 |
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The 35 bit is just you. As for myopic and Australian....
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| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| Merry | Mar 12 2007, 05:09 AM Post #123 |
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:lol: Another good one, Andy...please keep writing and submit, submit, submit! Merry
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Mar 12 2007, 12:30 PM Post #124 |
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Thanks, Merry - it has been a while since I last felt 'inspired'.
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| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| Jacaranda | Mar 12 2007, 02:01 PM Post #125 |
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Though I didn't write this I felt this was necessary for inclusion as Steve Martin has even wrote an essay called "Drivel." ______________________________________________________________ The King and I By Steve Martin IT is fitting that so many major news organizations have asked me to herald the coming to the United States of the artifacts from King Tut's tomb. After all, I'm the one who wrote the silly song about him. I stepped over the backs of many Egyptologists who wanted to write this article, but it's better that they learn their lesson now: silly song writers are powerful and vicious people who will stop at nothing to write an article about subjects they have treated in a silly way. I know that the song ''King Tut'' has become a standard and that many people believe it has been around for three-quarters of a century and was probably written by Cole Porter or Irving Berlin. But no, I wrote it in my car while driving -- and you probably won't believe this -- I wrote it in less than 15 minutes. The song broke musical ground in that if you look at the sheet music, there are asterisks where the notes should be, because the song has no tune. You will realize this if you hum the song in your head right now. This of course angered many so-called legitimate songwriters who have to make up melodies to go with their lyrics. It does strike me as ironic that the song has become the standard reference work on the subject of King Tut. Many of the lines in the song are now believed to be fact. In this article I should -- as a serious scholar -- set the record straight: King Tut was not ''born in Arizona.'' He did not live in a ''condo made of stone-a.'' King Tut did not ''do the monkey,'' nor did he ''move to Babylonia.'' King Tut was not a honky. He was not ''buried in his jammies.'' The song does, however, make a valid assertion that scholars still regard as a breakthrough: King Tut was, as explained in the song, ''an Egyptian.'' When I got a call from a high-level Egyptian museum official saying that his country was upset that my song ''King Tut'' was not being played worldwide as much as it should be, and asking me if I would endorse an American tour of the artifacts in order to increase awareness of my song, I humbly agreed. The gentleman said, ''If we thought that our exhibit would, in some way, introduce your song to even one more person, then the whole enterprise would be worth it.'' I am proud to be of service. |
![]() "If nothing else works, a total pig-headed unwillingness to look facts in the face will see us through." General Melchett, Blackadder Goes Forth | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Mar 13 2007, 09:49 PM Post #126 |
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The Queen's Birthday Honours List by Chief Royal Correspondant Bertleby Lickspittle-Smythe The Bearded Royal Times is proud to present a sneak preview & summary of those pillars of society consisting of the fortunate, the brave and the great people who are the winners of honours from Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth in The Queen's Birthday Honours. Some surprises, as always, but always richly deserved presented by the deservedly rich! These really are the BEST OF BRITISH!!! Arapahoe Eggbaskett, the inventor of the portable melon scruncher, receives a Knighthood (KBE) It's almost unthinkable to imagine a world without the portable melon scruncher - after all, look in any self-respective woman's handbag and you're bound to find one nestling in there with all that other crap they keep in there. Just one quick look in my wife's purse and what do I find? Lipsticks, tampons, wrap of coke, flick-knife... oh - there you go - a portable melon scruncher. That proves my point. Think back to those oh-so inconvenient times when the only thing you could do when you had a melon on the move was to twist it... if you wanted to do anything more then home you'd go! For services to humanity, Arapahoe Eggbaskett has surely made more impact than everyone else put together and deserves this honour greatly! Calvyn Jockstrap, footballer, receives the Order Of The British Empire (OBE) Calvyn, who earns £120,000 a week for kicking a ball around a field, is justifiably rewarded with a medal and a title from Her Majesty, for scoring the goal which meant that England were a slightly better team than Iceland in the World Cup. Calvyn, when told about his Royal recognition said, "Well, I think it's a great honour. I just hit the ball and it went in the net, so it's a great honour to be given this great honour, for which I'm greatly honoured. How much money do I get?" Spoken like a true champion! Rodney Bigbollocks, receives the Member Of The British Empire honour (MBE), for services to business. Rodney gave the Labour Party a lot of money for this honour, therefore he deserves it. Janice Battersby, actress, receives the Special Order of Windsor (SOW) Token female. Ranjit Achtabar, businessman, receives the People's Ordinary Order (POO) Token ethnic. Stan Oldtimer, dogsbody, receives the Queen's Special Long Service Award (QSLSA) When told that he was to be honoured by the Queen, 80-year old Stan exclaimed, "Well f*ck me ragged!" That shows what kind of salt of the earth, hard working fellow Stan is. "Why me?" he said, scratching under his armpits, producing a rather repellant smell. Well, Stan, why not? We upper classes have to give you scum of the earth working classes a reason to work for pittance each and every day - if you graft for your betters for sixty-five years without a day off sick like Stan, a chicken's anus cleaner, then who knows? One day it could be you going to London for a posh day out with The Queen. So - work hard, shut up and always do what the man tells you - right? Wayne Scrotum, hero, receives the Special Proclaimation of Elizabeth Regina Medal (SPERM) Scrotum, 23, is the youngest person to be honoured this year and has been called to Buckingham Palace to receive his medal for bravery. Wayne gallantly fought a horde of Muslim dissidents who were plotting to do naughty things to England and subdued them until the authorities arrived to deal with them properly. Bravo! Wish there were more of your kind, Wayne! ***STOP PRESS*** Wayne Scrotum will now not recieve anything from The Queen, as it transpires that, rather than being a hero, he actually kicked the living sh*t out of the proprieter and fought with the waiters of the Noor Jahan Indian Restaurant in Tooting, South London, because they gave him a Keema Naan instead of a Garlic Naan after an afternoon in the boozer, necking Stellas, watching the footie. Scrotum will, instead, be forced to spend the afternoon with Prince Phillip who will be teaching him etiquette. Join me for the honours ceremony, live on Beard pay-per-view TV, where I'm sure there will be lots of pretty dresses for you all to gawk at. Until then, commoners! Bertleby Lickspittle-Smythe |
| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| FamousGroupie | Mar 16 2007, 04:29 AM Post #127 |
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Obsessive Saddo Fangirl
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One day, I was hiding behind a bush for no particular reason. Then some guy selling paper rollers came up to me and said "Where is all the cartilege?" I responded, "It's all just peaches and cream to you, isn't it"? After that I asked him if I could buy him some eye drops because he had a inflamed sweat pore underneath his middle slightly large toe on his right foot. But he declined, so I went to the forensic lab to figure out why I decided to consume 1/100th of a iron street lamp with some post-it notes on them, stating all known reasons for activating the improbability drive because it turned a Chrischanukwazica (just for all the people who would find it offensive if I had just said Christmas) albums into piles of stale metals with low grade metabolisms. But if that was its secondary function, I would have to devour a gaggle of prosthetic limbs. After that amazing adventure I then decided to walk down a stair case that just disfunctionally materialised in the middle of the street. I impotently approached a can receptacle and asked where the nearest carrot was. It directed me to a carton of tablets filled with staight sevens. After that I nearly and suddenly and dramatically watched some Q-tips square dance with some Irish Asians. That's why you should never leave a shopping cart in the middle of a elementary school playground. |
| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Mar 17 2007, 04:23 PM Post #128 |
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Now that's good dribble...
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| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Mar 17 2007, 04:47 PM Post #129 |
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Dear Sir or Madam - or Sir, if I was right the first time, I am writing in reference to the advertisement in the Daily Echo in order to apply for the position of Warehouse Manager. I have managed many warehouses in a previous life (during which I was Scottish), but my current occupation in this life is "standing in the local park shouting at trees stopping squirrels from mating using the appropriate measures". Dirty buggers, those squirrels. My current salary is 'as many acorns as I can carry', plus Income Support from the people at the local benefits office who are all homosexual - as I'm sure you're perfectly aware. I hope that you are able to match, if not improve, my current financial package as I could not accept a pay cut. I have to steal bread from the ducks as it is. I believe that I am highly qualified for this job because I'm me and nobody knows me better than myself. I left school at the age of sixteen and graduated with a degree in mayonnaise, with a postgraduate certificate in alopecia. I am happy to point out how this is relevant to warehouse work if you are too bloody stupid to make the connection yourselves. I realise that you have to be diligent and pro-active to lead a team and I will be, once I learn what the words diligent and pro-active mean. I would like to assure you that I am very much a people person because, being a person, that personally makes me people. I am willing to work any time you want me to and am very flexible - just watch me touch me toes. See? You weren't watching! Look... see? Good. You will be pleased to know that I do not have a serious drug habit but am prepared to develop one if you've got any particularly good sh*t there... the stuff Mental Larry gets for me just hasn't cut the mustard recently. Finally, although I am male, I am prepared to be female if the job requires it. If selected for interview, I will be pleased to discuss my candidacy further, face to face, eye to eye, cheek to cheek. Please give me at least two days notice so that I can find a babysitter for my cheese. Yours sincerely, Mr. M. Goatbreed. |
| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Mar 20 2007, 03:22 PM Post #130 |
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Un-famous Last Words "Stand back, I'll get your wedding ring out of the machinery..." "I can't understand why everyone doesn't build their own nuclear reactor!" "What bus?!?" "Why thank you, Mr. Manson - I'd love to come in!" "Of course the safety catch is on... allow me to demonstrate!" "Strange... it doesn't usually do that..." "Whatcha talking about... I don't see a duck!" "I don't know what the fuss is all about... British Beef is perfectly safe!" "It's such an honour to go hunting with you, Mr. Cheney!" "Good boy... nice doggie...!" "Good afternoon Mr. bin Laden - have you thought about accepting Jesus into your heart?" "Wait a minute, Father... what do you mean you're giving me my last tights? I don't wear tights!" "Panic over boys, it's just an American tankbuster 'plane - nothing to worry about!" "If you really must know... YES! Your bum does look big in that!" "I've pulled the pin out, Sarge... now what?" "Don't worry, he's definitely hibernating." "Wow... my scrotum's never been that colour before..." |
| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| Deleted User | Mar 20 2007, 10:56 PM Post #131 |
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YAY!
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| ogoble | Mar 21 2007, 03:38 AM Post #132 |
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Mine too...
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Beatles/Paul McCartney & Wings Fan
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| Emilee | Mar 21 2007, 10:43 AM Post #133 |
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bung |
| I wished I could save her in some sort of time machine. | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Mar 21 2007, 05:30 PM Post #134 |
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The Mystic Beard's Horoscopes Aquarius (January 21st - February 19th) You will get propositioned by a small elderly frog called Gerald. Pay him heed for he will only appear before you when you are naked. The month of April will be a curious one for all of those Aquarians who eat food, so for a straightforward period, refrain from eating. Misfortune wears a nifty bowler hat and plays the trombone. Your lucky word: Hysterectomy. Pisces (February 20th - March 20th) Nothing can go right for you at the moment - including your car - so avoid driving at all costs. Reading a restaurant menu will give you uncontrollable orgasms on the first and third Tuesday of the month, so perhaps eating at home will avoid any embarrassment - unless you don't mind putting people off their food with frenzied screaming and panting. Suspense comes in the form of a money-off coupon for peanut butter. Your lucky word: Chickadee. Aries (March 21st - April 20th) Lucky you! You will win the lottery this month! For the winning numbers, please mail a cheque for $5,000 to Mystic Beard, Post Office Box Number 666, Salt Lake City, Utah. On May 6th, 2008, an orange cat will whisper the name of your true love - but he will speak Russian, so you will have to take a class to understand him. Start now! It's a complicated language, you know. Happiness comes in the form of money and lots of it. Your lucky word: Aardvark. Taurus (April 21st - May 21st) You should pay attention to your dreams because they will tell you all you need to know about your friends and family, even their secret middle names. On selected Thursdays during the month, the cosmos will allow you to remove expensive items from stores without paying - your instinct will tell you which days are your 'special days' and, if not, trial and error will suffice. Opportunity comes in the form of a homosexual otter. Your lucky word: Enema. Gemini (May 22nd - June 21st) Saturn plays a special part in the lives of Geminis this month - you should forsake any other Gods you have and pray to the mighty Saturn or every computer you touch will crash. Seeing eleven red cars this month will be a sign of impending doom, so once you see your tenth, it would be wise to walk everywhere with your eyes tightly shut. You should also say 'yes' to things you'd normally say 'no' to during the third week of June. Hey, bad things may happen, but your partner will be very happy indeed. Just make sure you use a condom. Anger comes in the form of a demi-semi-quaver. Your lucky word: Brick. Cancer (June 22nd - July 22nd) Love is in the air! You will meet your perfect partner in the next few days, but unfortunately they will already be married. That doesn't stop some people, of course, but there are words for people like that. Still, judge not lest ye be casting the first stone... I think. Playing the mandolin will bring about great change for Cancereans this month, as it is Jupiter's favourite stringed instrument, apart from the tuba. Incontinence comes in the form of a stick of chewing gum. Your lucky word: McDonalds. Leo (July 23nd - August 21st) Having sexual relations with a sibling will bring grave misfortune for Leos this month, as well as one eyed children. During the longest night of November, if you remember to put your most expensive piece of jewelry in the microwave oven for three minutes and fourteen seconds then you will be showered with all of Pluto's vast knowledge. Crossword puzzles are an inexpensive source of amusement. Buy low, sell high. Pain comes in the form of a lavatory brush shaped like Florida. Your lucky word: Mississippi. Virgo (August 22nd - September 23rd) Poor you! You can't win, so don't try. With luck like yours this month, you may as well not get out of bed. Don't dispair though, Mars is on your side and will make everything right, if you send a cheque for $5,000 to Mystic Beard, Post Office Box Number 666, Salt Lake City, Utah. If you do that, then your life will be worth living again. Otherwise... well - you don't even want to think about it. Redemption comes in the form of an aroused possum. Your lucky word: Bloodybuggerbum. Libra (September 24th - October 23rd) You will meet a tall, alcoholic man with a dark accent who will be sporting a bowtie depicting all of America's sexiest Presidents. He will tell you exactly where you can find that thing you lost and, in return, you must compose a poem about butterflies which meets with his approval, else you will never be able to use electricity again. Acronyms will be particularly disturbing during April, so watch what you abbreviate. Entertainment comes in the form of a lubricated umbrella. Your lucky word: Puberty. Scorpio (October 24th - November 22nd) A phone call from somebody special will cause you to involuntarily urinate during a snowstorm this month. Precautions are best taken by those Scorpios who read horror stories, but newspaper readers cannot rely on central Government to solve their problems, especially if they relate to failed friendships... those will be tackled by a Mexican lady who favours eggs fried in olive oil. Intrigue comes in the form of a convicted pervert in the Outer Hebrides. Your lucky word: Gumball. Sagittarius (November 23rd - December 22nd) As Mercury is in Uranus this month, Sagittarians can look forward to great fortune, cheap pasta and successful long-distance copulation during the first three hours of sunrise on the fifth day on the thirteenth month. Unfortunately this will also mean very pungent feet for which only ingesting orange segments will provide a cure of sorts. You will argue with a close friend next week about the volume of the television and only one of you will survive the altercation - make sure it's you by concealing a firearm upon your person. Don't worry about the cops, Venus has all that covered. Desire comes in the form of a pasta dish served by a dancing light beam. Your lucky word: Procrastination. Capricorn (December 23rd - January 20th) Although you are down in the dumps, your luck will change during the fifth afternoon of June when your spiritual guide, a peanut in the shape of a peanut, will give you advice that you simply cannot afford to ignore. This month is a very good time to get a new job, so whatever you're doing at the moment, just quit. The Sun will look after you, financially, so don't worry about that. Reading your horoscope and believing it will lead to great gullibility, so ensure that doesn't happen to you by not reading this. Mystery comes in the form of a plum floating on a moonbeam. Your lucky word: Faeces. Tired of waiting for The Mystic Beard's Monthly column? Are you a complete moron? Why not run up your phone bill horrifically and get a daily horoscope by calling 09563 555 1234 and hear what the stars have in store for you! (Calls cost $1.50 per second and all proceeds do not go to a reputable charity) |
| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| LIPA | Mar 22 2007, 01:19 AM Post #135 |
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"Life is a game, boy. Life is a game that one plays according to the rules.": "Ask her if she still keeps all her kings in the back row.": "Almost every time somebody gives me a present, it ends up making me sad." My brother D.B.’s a writer and all, and my brother Allie, the one that died, that I told you about, was a wizard. I’m the only really dumb one.": "Then she really started to cry, and the next thing I knew, I was kissing her all over...": "I’m always saying ‘Glad to’ve met you’ to someone I’m not at all glad I met. If you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff, though.": "I felt like jumping out the window. I probably would’ve, too, if I’d been sure somebody’d cover me up as soon as I landed. I didn’t want a bunch of stupid rubbernecks looking at me when I was all gory.": "Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.": "What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff— I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That’s all I’d do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all.": |
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| FamousGroupie | Mar 22 2007, 06:10 AM Post #136 |
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Obsessive Saddo Fangirl
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Bloodybuggerbum. |
| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| Mark Stephen Baker | Apr 19 2007, 09:27 AM Post #137 |
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Not really drivel this, just had the sudden urge to say 'Flim-flam'! |
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| Bill | Apr 19 2007, 01:57 PM Post #138 |
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People often ask me why I play guitar. The truth is, I started out playing ukulele. A lot of people think the ukulele isn't a real instrument, or at least a harmless, "soft" instrument. At the time, I thought so to. But it's true that it's a gateway instrument. Before too long, I was playing a nylon string guitar. That led to a steel string guitar. I never thought it would happen to me, but eventually, I began playing an electric guitar. I don't think I have a problem. I mean, I could give up any time I wanted to - I just don't want to. It makes me happy when I do it. And I can go a full day without even touching a guitar, and other days, I just have a few strums of the uke, so it's not like it controls my life. People look down on me because of it, but you know, they probably have a harmonica at home somewhere, so who are they to judge, huh? I mean, who didn't experiment with the recorder a bit at school? They're no better than me! |
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| Deleted User | Apr 19 2007, 02:07 PM Post #139 |
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Deleted User
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I really liked that offering Bill ... nicely done. |
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| BeatleBarb | Apr 19 2007, 02:10 PM Post #140 |
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Absolutely no shame in a small instrument, Bill.
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| FamousGroupie | Apr 19 2007, 11:50 PM Post #141 |
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Obsessive Saddo Fangirl
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Of course not. After all, it's what you do with it.... Well, someone had to say it.
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| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| Bill | May 13 2007, 12:52 PM Post #142 |
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.... BREAKING NEWS....BREAKING NEWS....BREAKING NEWS.... TERROR SURRENDERS The intelligence community is abuzz with rumours that after six years, Terror is about to surrender. Speculation first began after representatives of Terror, including Fear, Uncertainty and Xenophobia were seen arriving at the Pentagon several times last week. Then late last night, two key Terrors envoys, Loathing and Distrust arrived at the White House for talks with Vice President Cheney. A source at the White House confirms that they were there to discuss terms of a surrender. It is understood that once the terms are agreed upon, an announcement of the surrender will be made before the end of the week. A surrender will not mean a complete end to the war on Terror since the two groups that split off from Terror, Horror and Disgust, will not be bound by the surrender. However, it will mean an end to conflict in the main theatre of the war on Terror. Hostilities will cease as soon as the conditions of the surrender are agreed to. |
| Put a puppet on it. | |
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| BeatleBarb | May 13 2007, 08:13 PM Post #143 |
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Gotta love it!! |
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| LIPA | May 21 2007, 03:15 AM Post #144 |
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Early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese. |
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| harddaze | May 22 2007, 01:07 AM Post #145 |
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The electric guitar isn't the end, Bill. The next step might be a mandolin, then a zither, and you could eventually end up fingering a banjo. |
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| mspeel 007 | May 22 2007, 04:18 AM Post #146 |
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| [AND IN THE END.....THE LOVE YOU TAKE...IS EQUAL TO THE LOVE YOU MAKE | |
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| Kit_Kat | May 22 2007, 05:38 PM Post #147 |
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Lennon's Mummy xx
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![]() ![]() This can be summed up in one word - organised crime | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Jun 25 2007, 06:41 AM Post #148 |
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Administrator & Moderator
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Roses are red, violets are blue, What will it take to have intercourse with you? I've bought you flowers, candy, chocolate hearts, Just in the hope that your legs you'll part. Roses are red, violets are purple, My yearning, my lust, my needs please fulfil, I've written you poems about my throbbing loins, Yet I'm not one step closer to merging our groins. Roses can be pink, violets can't be green, You make me rub myself in a way simply obscene, You feign innocence, but please don't say you can't tell, Haven't you noticed the way my pants swell? Roses are fragrant, violets simply smell, Why deny that in lust with you I've fell, You must admit that you have an ideal receptacle, For this aching thing above my testicle. Violets are flowers, roses are thorny, Your luscious body makes me crazy and horny, You must know that I'll love you like no other, Why should it be a problem just because you are my mother? |
| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| FamousGroupie | Jun 25 2007, 07:07 AM Post #149 |
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Obsessive Saddo Fangirl
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Paging Dr. Freud. :lol: |
| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Jun 25 2007, 08:51 AM Post #150 |
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Administrator & Moderator
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One bright, sunny, dull October morning, Jeremy awoke to the shrill sound of rutting pigs in his bedroom which, as you can imagine - if you have any imagination, that is - was a rather unpleasant noise to wake up to and rather bewildering too, seeing as there were no pigs in his apartment. The puzzle was swiftly solved when he saw that his ‘Farmyard Sex Noises’ album was in the CD alarm clock. After he smashed it to little pieces using nothing but his unbridled wit and a harpsichord, he made his way down the stairs, causing the elderly woman who lived in the apartment below to scream. It had, of course, slipped Jeremy’s mind that he didn’t have a downstairs and he had, in fact, wandered down the fire escape naked. This was obviously of some concern to Mrs. Staples, who hollered two words associated with sex and travel at the top of her voice at the poor bewildered man. Making a mental note not to send Mrs. Staples a Christmas card this year after the cruel comments she made about his genitalia, he trotted back up the fire escape and re-entered his own apartment, farting merrily. After putting on his rather pungent underwear, Jeremy put some toast into the toaster and switched it on. Naturally, this wasn’t a good move as toast is already toasted - bread would have been better - and soon black clouds of smoke were billowing out of the electrical appliance. Brian, the toaster, was already on the verge of a nervous breakdown having lived with Jeremy for four long years and this particular instance of putting already toasted toast in him was enough to push him over the edge. “I don’t know why you’re attempting to use me to make toast”, pouted Brian, snootily, “because I, my friend, am a vacuum cleaner.” To illustrate this, he started making faint sucking noises, much to the amusement of the kettle next to him. Jeremy, astonished, blinked for the first time in seven weeks, his eyelids making a grinding noise, like sandpaper on a camel’s kneecap, against his bone-dry eyeballs, for his toaster had never before spoken to him with such petulance. His microwave oven was openly sarcastic, sure, but Brian? Never! He didn’t need the little Japanese man who lived inside his head to tell him that there was something seriously wrong. “Brian, sweetheart, what’s up baby?” Jeremy cooed in his most soothing voice. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong, you overactive sweat gland of an orang-utan”, Brian bellowed, “it’s living with you every bloody day and being taken for granted. I’m used, abused and hardly ever even acknowledged. You have conversations with the refrigerator, have repeatedly stroked the coffee machine and often kiss the food blender goodnight, but what do I get? Absolutely bugger all, that’s what!” The other kitchen appliances rolled their eyes at this outburst, or at least they would have done if they had any eyes, but they didn’t, so their disdain went unnoticed. “Brian, honey, I’ll make it up to you!” Jeremy declared. “Get your best clothes on and I’ll take you out for a day and night on the town. We’ll have something to eat, see the sights… we’ll have a great day together!” Brian frowned, or at least did the very best he could to frown despite his lack of a forehead or eyebrows. “Jeremy… I’m a toaster - toasters don’t wear clothes”, he muttered bitterly. Jeremy leapt to his feat, his nipples flailing wildly, “Well you’re going to at least need a tie for where I’m going to take you!” he exclaimed and shot off into his bedroom, returning with a bright red necktie resplendent with bright red polka dots. He deftly fixed it around Brian and then stood back to admire his choice. “My!” gushed Jeremy, “Don’t you look marvellous!” Brian blushed, which was quite a feat for a stainless steel toaster and, just for a moment, forgot that he was supposed to be angry with Jeremy. “Just wait here”, Jeremy instructed, “I’ll be back in a moment!” and disappeared into his bedroom, drinking some of his magic vodka on the way, reappearing minutes later wearing a tartan bathrobe and a shiny, black top hat. “Ready!” he smiled, taking Brian by the electric cord and, taking the bottle of magic vodka with them, the strange pair made their way out of the apartment building, virtually skipping with joy. As Jeremy and Brian made their way down Lobotomy Road, a small child pointed and laughed, as if there was something odd about a barefoot, middle-aged man wearing a top hat and tartan bathrobe skipping down the street with his tie-wearing toaster. “F*ck off, you snotty little b*stard”, Jeremy screamed at the child, “before I split your head open with a frozen squirrel!” The small boy ran away crying as Jeremy and Brian roared with laughter. “Oh, you are witty”, chuckled Brian, “Have more of your magic vodka, Jeremy, drink more, drink more… it makes me so happy when you drink your vodka!” Jeremy happily complied, tipping the bottle back, swigging in great greedy gulps. Brian applauded which, again, was a neat trick for an electrical appliance with no hands. “I love it when you drink your vodka, Jeremy, it’s what makes me talk… please never stop drinking”, Brian pleaded. “No chance of that”, Jeremy retorted, hiccupping happily. Turning left into Bladder Street, the merry twosome glided to the bus stop and only had less than three hours to wait for the number two bus, which was very good by London Transport standards. The bus to take them into London appeared in the distance like a great big red frog and, holding Brian above his head, Jeremy hailed the double-decker which slowed and stopped in front of him. “Hello Jezza, you nutter… Who’s your friend?” smiled the bus driver. “F*ck off, you f*cking f*cker!” snarled Jeremy, and rushed past the driver. Brian apologised for Jeremy’s behaviour as he went past, but of course the driver didn’t hear him because he hadn’t had any magic vodka, like Jeremy. Jeremy sat down at the back of the bus and started reciting the lyrics to OutKast’s ‘Hey Ya’, which was his song of choice whilst travelling on route number two. Being the morning rush hour, the bus soon filled up with commuters in nearly every seat and, just a few minutes after Jeremy had occupied his seat, a woman in a sharp business suit boarded and stood over him. After clearing her throat a number of times, she finally spoke. “Excuse me, can you move your luggage so I can sit down, please?” she asked politely. Jeremy stared indignantly. “Are you blind or are you just f*cking stupid? Can’t you see that my friend is sitting there?” Undeterred, the woman retorted, “Well, can’t you just hold it?” Jeremy was so angry, he pulled a hair out of his nostril and was almost sick. “It? IT? Who are you to call Brian ‘It’? He has a name and a heart, well not a heart, but he has feelings and you’ve hurt his feelings and you ought to bloody well apologise to Brian and you bloody well should else I’m going to have to bloody well urinate on you… are you going to make me urinate on you?” Jeremy gasped, as that was a very long sentence without much punctuation. Wiping the saliva from her face, the businesswoman mumbled an apology to the man’s toaster and slowly backed away until she reached the driver where she started to complain loudly about him ’letting loonies on the bus’. “Did you hear that, Brian?” enquired Jeremy, “Apparently there are loonies on the bus!” “It’s disgraceful”, replied the tie-wearing toaster, “Shouldn’t be allowed!”. The rest of the journey passed by without incident and our plucky heroes were left well alone, which was partly due to Jeremy lightly soiling himself because he saw a yellow car. Brian didn’t mind the slightly whiffy smell because this, so far, had been one of the best days of his life and was right up there with when he got to toast some teacakes with raisins in, back in the winter of 2005. “Come on Brian”, Jeremy near-sang, “It’s our stop!” and the strange couple alighted from the big red bus right in the middle of a crowded Trafalgar Square. Brian and Jeremy had a wonderful time in London together, despite being arrested twice - once when Jeremy attempted to eat a live pigeon for lunch and again when he threw Brian at one of the Queen’s Guard at Buckingham Palace. He was released without charge both times when the threat of precision urination was too much of a risk for the arresting officer to take. They splashed in the Serpentine together, danced round and round Nelson’s Column hand-in-cord, ate roasted chestnuts hungrily, picked scabs off the homeless and even took in a West End show, gaining free entry to Les Miserables when, after being asked for his ticket, Jeremy showed the usher his unwashed testicles bellowing loudly, “These are my tickets! Have you had a good look at my ticket? Would you like to examine my ticket? Go on - touch my ticket!” The usher politely declined and allowed them to enter the theatre, thinking that she really didn’t get paid enough money to deal with unwashed testicles. Even watching Jeremy being ejected halfway through the performance for enthusiastically singing along to every song substituting each word of the lyrics with the word, “gumbo” and then bouncing an empty vodka bottle from the leading lady’s head couldn’t spoil Brian’s day and, on the bus home, he proclaimed himself the happiest toaster in the world. “Do you really mean that?” simpered Jeremy, sweetly. “I do, I do!” replied Brian, “You’ve made me feel wanted, needed and appreciated… thank you, darling Jeremy!” “Well”, said Jeremy coyly, “there is a way you can repay me for today, you know.” Brian shifted his crumb-tray uneasily. “Shall we continue this conversation at home?” he suggested shyly, conscious that they could easily be overheard. Jeremy grinned and nodded vigorously. Back home, Jeremy and Brian came crashing into the bedroom, startling the table lamp. Brian’s cord wrapped itself around Jeremy’s torso and they tumbled onto the bed, kissing and fondling each other - or at least Brian would have been, if he possessed any limbs or fingers, that is. “Are you sure about this?” gasped Jeremy. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life, sweetheart”, breathed Brian, “but first I need you to drink some more of your magic vodka and then plug me in, baby!” Blinded by passion and lust, Jeremy quickly followed Brian’s instructions, downing the contents of his bottle of Russian firewater and then placing Brian’s plug into the electrical socket. Slowly sliding his tartan robe off his shoulders, revealing his thin, trembling, naked body, Jeremy moved towards his beloved kitchen appliance and, cradling Brian in his arms, began to make love to the now glowing toaster. Recording a verdict of misadventure, the coroner covered up Jeremy’s charred and blackened body, shaking his head sadly. “If only he’d have worn a condom… when will people learn how dangerous unprotected sex with electrical appliances can be?” “What happened to Brian?” I hear you cry. Well, shamed and mortified by what happened to Jeremy, Brian never spoke again and lived out the rest of his life as a toaster, making toast for a family of four in Brighton, until his element blew and he died at the grand old age of twelve. Of course, that family probably wouldn’t have wolfed down Brian’s toast so eagerly if they’d have known what part of Jeremy’s dead body had to be chiselled out of the inside of their cherished second hand toaster. If only they knew what we knew, readers - why, they’d never eat toast again, let alone the English muffins the whole family adored. I won't even mention the toasted scones with strawberry jam and fresh cream. Oh - I just did. Bugger. Sleep safely tonight and, if you know what’s good for you, lay off that magic vodka.
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| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| Emilee | Jun 25 2007, 10:07 AM Post #151 |
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Andy, you are somethin' else.. :lol: |
| I wished I could save her in some sort of time machine. | |
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| Deleted User | Jun 25 2007, 10:20 AM Post #152 |
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I sent him to bed because he was unraveling before my very eyes. |
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| Kit_Kat | Jun 25 2007, 11:13 AM Post #153 |
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Lennon's Mummy xx
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:wacko:
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![]() ![]() This can be summed up in one word - organised crime | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Jun 26 2007, 07:01 AM Post #154 |
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"A very good morning and welcome aboard flight number 666 to New York. I am Captain Randolph Peasbody, your pilot today, and if there is anything I can do to make your flight more comfortable, please don't hesitate to ask the crew. Of course, this doesn't include anything sexual - there was this one rather frisky Texan who... well, I'll spare you the precise details, but let me just say that he had the entirely wrong idea about what the word 'cockpit' means. Ha ha! We'll be flying... um, well, quite high really, to avoid hills, mountains and suchlike, primarily to prevent crashing, something that tends to score quite low in customer satisfaction surveys. It's not a pleasant experience either, let me tell you... I've personally crashed five times at it can sometimes hurt a little. Ha ha! The flight attendants will be demonstrating all of the safety features of this rather old Boeing aircraft. Sorry, I shouldn't say rather old, I should call it 'vintage', shouldn't I? Makes it sound kinda cool, don't you think? This particular 'plane should have been scrapped back in the States, but the airline thought they could squeeze one more round trip out of this old rust-bucket, so - after some quick holding repairs - here we are. It's amazing what you can do with a roll of sticky tape, some papier mache and a keen imagination, isn't it? We discovered a couple of flights ago that this particular plane can float, so if the worst happens, at least we won't drown. Ha ha! Anyway, listen carefully to the flight attendants - they trained for a whole afternoon five years ago in order to be skilled enough to do this job, you know. It's important that you pay special attention to the glorified waiters with delusions of grandeur today, because I'm flying solo... no co-pilot, you see. Unfortunately nobody will fly with me any more because my medication can sometimes cause me to become distressed and strike out without warning, so - because of my unstability - it's just me today. Never mind, eh? Ha ha! Truth is, ladies and gentlemen, I've been feeling a little depressed recently. My mother died last Christmas and my wife left me a couple of months ago, taking my beloved dog, Scamp, with her. I haven't been able to keep up the mortgage payments, so my house is being repossesed, and my daughters seem to think that I'm nothing but a walking wallet. So, you see, I've been, you know, kind of lonely and it has been difficult to keep myself from hitting the bottle. My doctor says that these feelings will pass, but I'm not so sure. It's not a good sign when you wake up screaming, is it? Especially when you're in the middle of flying a plane. Ha ha! On the last trip, on the way to Heathrow, I had this irresistible urge to shove the controls forward and to send us plummeting like a speeding elephant into the ocean and to let God be my judge for taking all of those innocent souls with me. I mean, Jesus! Wouldn't we all be better off dead? This f*cking life just screws you up, kicks you when you're down... there's nobody ever there for you when you're lonely, nobody to bail you out when you're arrested for indecent exposure... I mean, what is the point, ladies and gentlemen, what is the f*cking point? Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, our movie today is Sisterhood Of The Travelling Pants and your choice of airline meal is either chicken curry or pasta in some kind of red sauce which may or may not be tomato, but because my behaviour is obviously a cry for help and not a serious attempt at suicide, I wouldn't touch either with a barge pole. I've been sensible and brought sandwiches... cheese and pickle, if you're interested. So, please fasten your seatbelts, sit back, relax, enjoy the flight and I'll see you on the other side. Of the Atlantic. Ha ha! Good luck and God speed. I miss you, Scamp. Thank you for flying with Northwest Airlines." |
| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Jul 23 2007, 03:26 PM Post #155 |
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Administrator & Moderator
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Hello children. Hello Tinky-Winky. "Eh Oh" said Tinky-Winky. Hello Dipsy. "Eh Oh" said Dipsy. Hello Laa-Laa. "Eh Oh" said Laa-Laa. Hello Po. "Eh Oh" said Po. Hello Tellytubbies. What are you doing today? "Teletubbies waiting for friend!" said Tinky-Winky enthusiastically. "Waiting for fwiend!" agreed the others. The Teletubbies were waiting for a friend. Just then, there was a knock on the door. Laa-Laa rushed over to open it. It was Barney, the big purple dinosaur. "Eh Oh Barney" said Laa-Laa. "Hello Laa Laa" said Barney. "Does Barney have our stuff?" asked Po coyly. "Barney has your stuff", replied Barney, "but Barney needs the cash up front." Dipsy stamped his foot. "Dipsy all f*cked up - Dipsy needs a hit." "In a minute", chuckled Barney, "But I need my money first." "Barney want Tubby Toast?" enquired Tinky-Winky. "Look - don't f*ck with me", smiled Barney, "Shove your Tubby Toast up your arse and give me the money, or I'll f*ck you up. I'll f*ck you up bad, motherf**ker." "Oooooh!" gasped all of the Teletubbies together. "Where's Nu-Nu?" asked Barney, "He's not hiding out back, packing heat is he? You don't want to play games with me, Tubbies". "Nu-Nu overdosed on coke", laughed Laa-Laa, "Nu-Nu had seizure and looked funny!" "Tubbies said 'again, again'" chuckled Po, "But Nu-Nu was dead!" "Nu-Nu dead!" roared Tinky-Winky and the Teletubbies all fell to the floor laughing, apart from Dipsy who was going through cold turkey and had the cold sweats and shakes. "Need a fix", muttered Dipsy shivering violently, "Need a fix". "Oh OK then", groaned Barney, "but I need the money tomorrow and you'd better pay me. You wouldn't like me when I'm mad. Elmo didn't pay me and now I have his testicles in my backpack. I f*cked his sh*t up real good!" "Ooooooh!" said the Tubbies, wide-eyed as Barney danged Elmo's testicles in front of them. "Now remember the song", laughed Barney; "I love you, You love me, Remember Barney's money, Or he'll break your f*cking knee With a great big knife, He'll perform a vasectomy, Don't even think of f*cking with me". The Tubbies all nodded solemly and held out their hands expectantly. "Thank-oo Barney" said all of the Tubbies, taking their baggies eagerly. After handing over the drugs and watching four contented Tubbies shooting up, Barney stepped over the icy-white corpse of the Nu-Nu and wandered home, past the happy hopping bunnies and pretty flowers. Time for Tubby bye-bye, Time for Tubby bye-bye... oh - they're ripped off their tits on skag and are quite unconscious. I do hope Barney hasn't sold them some bad sh*t. We'll see in the morning, children, won't we? Join us tomorrow when Po and Dipsy are forced to sell their bodies to The Fimbles in order to pay Barney. Good night Teletubbies! |
| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| bluemeanie | Jul 23 2007, 06:28 PM Post #156 |
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is now a happily married woman x
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I want a pint of what Andy's drinking lol
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Jayne x is loving life and is so happy xxx | |
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| FamousGroupie | Aug 3 2007, 08:15 AM Post #157 |
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Oh my God - :lol: - I'm dying here! :lol: |
| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| Dorfliedot | Aug 3 2007, 08:21 AM Post #158 |
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Beatlelicious
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:lol:
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| Dorfliedot | Aug 3 2007, 08:39 AM Post #159 |
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Beatlelicious
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http://www.portalmix.com/english/horoscope.htm HUMOROSCOPE ARIES You tend to be headstrong and deliberate in your actions. Basically you don't give a f*ck about anyone. Most people hate you but you couldn't care less. You're the type of person who would masturbate at a wedding TAURUS Warm and caring are your most endearing characteristics. You get on well with most people because you're bisexual. You hardly ever wear underwear and you constantly smell of p*ss. GEMINI Your star sign denotes an air of duality in your character. Simply, you're a neurotic schizophrenic. A real f*cking weirdo, the type of person who'd kill them self to win a bet. CANCER You have a businesslike attitude to life and a knack for making money. You're an unscrupulous b*stard who would sell relative's limbs to buy a mobile phone. You are likely to be murdered. LEO The adventurous type, always looking for thrills and willing to try anything. In other words, stupid. You have the IQ of a garden snail and will never amount to anything. Most Leos are living on the welfare. VIRGO You like the good things in life and you know how to enjoy them. But you're prone to bullshitting and you're a cheap b*stard. Virgo men are usually queers and the majority of Virgo women are wh*res. LIBRA You are the forgiving type and you don't bear grudges. This makes you an assh*le. For your entire life people will make a complete prick out of you. Nobody will go to your funeral. SCORPIO You are sharp, a quick thinker and good at puzzles. However these are your only good traits. You screw small animals and love picking your nose. You should become a stunt performer with no helmet. SAGITTARIUS You are the romantic mushy type, soft-hearted and a lover of the arts. You are likely to import Dutch pornography and sex toys. Men even willing to rent Sleepless In Seattle to increase your odds for a romp in the sack. CAPRICORN You are deep and personal in your thoughts, the quiet type. A mean self-centered c*nt and a closet homosexual. Your best friend is probably an altar boy. AQUARIUS You are the academic type and will probably end up working in the legal system. This means you are an absolute pervert, at the least a transvestite. Your ideal sexual partner is a Labrador puppy wearing fishnet tights. PISCES You are the eternal optimist, seeing the best of any situation. You have no grasp of reality and live in a dream world. Most people consider you to be the greatest living moron. You will continually fail. You're a prick. |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Aug 3 2007, 09:33 AM Post #160 |
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Administrator & Moderator
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Glad you enjoyed it Clare & Dotty.
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| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| FamousGroupie | Aug 5 2007, 01:57 AM Post #161 |
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Obsessive Saddo Fangirl
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When did ordering coffee become so complicated? There's something seriously wrong with the world when it takes you less time to drink a coffee than it does to order the bloody thing. At some of the newer chains, you actually need a coffee just so you can have enough energy to navigate your way through the ordering process. I should confess that when it comes to coffee, I'm hardly a connoisseur. In fact, I would say I'm pretty old school about my cuppa. I need it to fell three requirements: 1. help keep me awake, 2. not taste too much like dirt, and 3. hopefully be served in some kind of portable cup. Although, in the interests of full disclosure, I should point out that if I'm going to have milk in my coffee, I will order soy. This is not because I like the taste of soy, but because I'm lactose intolerant. (It turns out I'm intolerant to a lot of things - milk, cauliflower and people who check their account balance at the ATM before withdrawing money. You either have the money or you don't. Have a crack, people.) I digress. These days, some people take drinking coffee very seriously. Some even think the type of coffee you drink reflects what sort of sexual partner you look for. Guys, if your girlfriend's favourite coffee is weak, full-fat and flat white, I'd be worried. People are definitely drinking more and more coffee. Put it this way, you know you're drinking way too much when the local speed addicts are looking at you as if to say: "Dude, you should slow down a little. I mean, have a nap or something." I have one friend who drinks so much lattes, he had a podium placing at the Formula One Grand Prix - and he wasn't driving a car. He was just running around the track yelling "Vrooom!" Of course, you can order a decaf, but coffee without caffeine has always seemed a little like non-alcoholic beer to me. They both belong in the bin marked "What's the point?" Some people even order a decaf skim milk coffee...that's just a glass of water. But it gets worse. I know people who even order their froth on the side. What the? I can kind of understand if you don't like froth, but what is the deal with having it on the side? It's permissible for someone on a diet to order salad dressing or butter on the side - but froth? I haven't read the articles closely, but I'm pretty sure the recent rise in childhood obesity isn't directly related to milk froth consumption. So let me reiterate: you can now order your coffee with milk on the side, sugar or honey on the side and froth on the side. Why stop there? Why not have the coffee on the side? And the water, too? Why not just walk into Starbucks and order an empty cup with everything on the side? Or better still, stay home and make it yourself. In case you think this rant has no real purpose, the other day I actually heard someone order a "no-water coffee". What does that even mean? Do they get you to open your mouth and shove some coffee granules in your gob while singing "Here comes the choo-choo train"? Can anyone explain to me when and why coffee cups became so big? There used to be two sizes: cup or mug. When did they decide to start serving coffee in buckets? Every time I walk out of Starbucks, I feel as though I'm auditioning for the character of Jittery Cricket in the new production of Pinocchio. The last time I was at a franchised coffee house, I ordered a small coffee and it was presented in a cup that looked more like the one that Roger Federer should be raising over his head after winning Wimbledon. That was the "small" - the sizes went all the way up to extra large. Why the hell would anyone anywhere in the world need to drink that much coffee? Surely there isn't that much stuff that's actually worth staying awake for. Finally, how did everyone in the world suddenly become a barista? Maybe I'm wrong, but it's my understanding that such a title implied that you had a specific set of skills and expertise in making coffee. Now it seems that any monkey they let fire up the espresso machine automatically qualifies as a barista. That's like the pimply teenager who cooks the fries at McDonald's referring to himself as a chef or the kid on the little aeroplane ride out the front of Target calling himself a pilot. Rant over. I've been sitting here for a while. I need a coffee. |
| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| Bill | Aug 5 2007, 07:21 AM Post #162 |
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Brilliant rant Clare! You should do that more often.
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| Deleted User | Aug 5 2007, 08:34 AM Post #163 |
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That was funny (Flight 666/Barney Teletubbies) Andy thanks for the :lol: |
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| FamousGroupie | Aug 6 2007, 09:13 AM Post #164 |
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Obsessive Saddo Fangirl
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Thanks. Regular rants are really quite healthy.
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| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| Dorfliedot | Aug 6 2007, 09:30 AM Post #165 |
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Beatlelicious
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I often wonder why people often think I know a lot about computers. because, I happen to make animation. They often ask how you fix my internet employer. Alternatively, other things. When I explain I know nothing about computers just animation they reply that I am being modest. On the other hand, they think I am telling a joke. I am not a genesis. |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Aug 7 2007, 09:26 AM Post #166 |
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You're welcome, Dan - glad you enjoyed them!
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| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Aug 7 2007, 09:30 AM Post #167 |
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I loved it, Clare! Thanks for that - brilliant! :lol: |
| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Aug 7 2007, 09:31 AM Post #168 |
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I have always defended you against those who have called you the first chapter in the bible, Dotty - let that be known.
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| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| Bill | Aug 7 2007, 12:38 PM Post #169 |
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Although it's only August, many big name acts are already eyeing the Christmas number 1 spot. Here are some of the contenders so far: Please Take Me Seriously Again - George Michael We Are Like So Sticking It to the Man - Pearl Jam Mention the War - Roger Waters Veem, Blashh, Flibble Flibble Flibble (Anatomy of Agony) - Radiohead You Know the Album I had a Hit With Last Year? Here's the Same Thing Again, Vol. 2 - Rod Stewart The Very Best of Elton John plus One Track from the Last Album - Elton John Coldplay Would be Nothing Without Us. Nothing! - Travis What's Cool This Year? Make Me Sound Like That - Madonna Greatest Hits and one song from the Last Record - David Bowie How to be Incredibly Kickable and Still Get Away With It - U2 All Time Greatest Hits and the best Track on the Last Album - Billy Joel The Best of Iggy Pop - Jet Take Our Dignity.... Please - Queen and Justin Hawkins What exactly is it that we do again? - Sugababes Keep It on you Shelf to Impress Your Friends - Leonard Cohen Who are You Calling Desperate? - Spice Girls |
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| Dorfliedot | Aug 8 2007, 03:06 AM Post #170 |
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Beatlelicious
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:lol:
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| FamousGroupie | Aug 15 2007, 06:09 AM Post #171 |
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Obsessive Saddo Fangirl
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I have 3 dogs and I was buying a large bag of Purina at Big W and standing in line at the check out. A woman behind me asked if I had a dog. On impulse, I told her that no, I was starting The Purina Diet again, although I probably shouldn't because I'd ended up in the hospital last time, but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IV's in both arms. I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works is to load your pants pockets with Purina nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry and that the food is nutritionally complete so I was going to try it again. I have to mention here that practically everyone in the line was by now enthralled with my story, particularly a guy who was behind her. Horrified, she asked if I'd ended up in the hospital in that condition because I had been poisoned. I told her no; it was because I'd been sitting in the street licking myself and a car hit me. I thought one guy was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so hard as he staggered out the door. Stupid cow...why else would I buy dog food?? |
| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Aug 15 2007, 09:50 AM Post #172 |
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:lol: Very good! |
| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| Bill | Aug 15 2007, 12:09 PM Post #173 |
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For all the times people claim to laugh out loud, I'm sure many of them are a quiet giggle. But that really was a laugh out loud moment Clare. I didn't roll on the floor and as far as I can tell, my arse is still attached, but doubled-over is no exaggeration.
:lol:
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| FamousGroupie | Aug 21 2007, 06:40 AM Post #174 |
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A lot of people in England pooh-pooh Australian table wines. This is a pity as many fine Australian wines appeal not only to the Australian palate but also to the cognoscenti of Great Britain. Black Stump Bordeaux is rightly praised as a peppermint flavoured Burgundy, whilst a good Sydney Syrup can rank with any of the world's best sugary wines. Château Blue, too, has won many prizes; not least for its taste, and its lingering afterburn. Old Smokey 1968 has been compared favourably to a Welsh claret, whilst the Australian Wino Society thoroughly recommends a 1970 Coq du Rod Laver, which, believe me, has a kick on it like a mule: eight bottles of this and you're really finished. At the opening of the Sydney Bridge Club, they were fishing them out of the main sewers every half an hour. Of the sparkling wines, the most famous is Perth Pink. This is a bottle with a message in, and the message is 'beware'. This is not a wine for drinking, this is a wine for laying down and avoiding. Another good fighting wine is Melbourne Old-and-Yellow, which is particularly heavy and should be used only for hand-to-hand combat. Quite the reverse is true of Château Chunder, which is an appellation contrôlée, specially grown for those keen on regurgitation; a fine wine which really opens up the sluices at both ends. Real emetic fans will also go for a Hobart Muddy, and a prize winning Cuvee Reserve Château Bottled Nuit San Wagga Wagga, which has a bouquet like an aborigine's armpit. |
| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| SherryO | Aug 21 2007, 04:47 PM Post #175 |
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| FamousGroupie | Sep 3 2007, 02:57 AM Post #176 |
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Obsessive Saddo Fangirl
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Everyone was happy for Edwina, and proud of her, too. After a lengthy rest at Redeeming Oaks and extensive medication, she had rejoined society as a contributing member. She found a job and somewhere to live and had even talked of dating again. Whether all the crimes attributed to her were her fault or, as her lawyer contends, "happy coincidences for the boys in the forensics lab", Edwina was all better now. Yes, everyone was overjoyed for Edwina. Her coming-out party was shaping into a huge success. All of her old friends were there, and even some new friends from "the inside" as she so endearingly called it. Family, former colleagues, legal counsel - heck, even a couple of members from the prosecution and the judge himself turned up to wish Edwina well and take advantage of the incredible spread. She basked in the glow of acceptance and was careful not to drip sauce from those little cocktail sausages on her new dress. The night went on, the string quartet providing accompaniment to the chiming din of pleasant conversation among happy revelers. Edwina was graceful, almost delicate in the way she moved from guest to guest to thank them for their kindness, careful to say just the right thing to the right people. It was around nine when the buffet was cleared and the desserts and other after-dinner treats were laid out, that trouble struck. Edwina was complimenting the mayor on his recent acquittal when she reached an innocent hand into a crystal bowl filled with M&M's. As she brought a sweet, round, melt-in-your-mouth-but-not-in-your-hands treat to her mouth, she noticed something different. It was blue. It was a remarkable blue. Darker than royal yet not as overbearing as navy, the new M&M blue practically danced on her fingertips, shimmering its way to her mouth. Excited, Edwina turned to the bowl and started picking through, extracting just the new blue sweets and popping one after another into her mouth. Truly, she was now tasting freedom. Oh, she thought, what a world, what a wonderful glorious world filled with marvellous blue sweets where a girl like me can commit brutal atrocities and yet, with the help of the right behaviour and enough cash for good attorneys, rejoin the loving embrace of society with just the minor inconvenience of a few months' incarceration and several thousand volts of electricity. When the blue were gone, she kept eating. First, the warm side of the spectrum: the reds, oranges, the yellows. Then on to the greens - oh those deliciously naughty greens - before gobbling up all the dark browns, and then - Edwina stopped. There were no more M&M's in the dish. But something was wrong! She had eaten no light brown sweets! Where were the light brown sweets? "No!" she cried out. "God, no! Oh, M&M-Mars, what have you done?" Edwina shouted at the ceiling, shaking her fists in anger. "Sure, blue is nice. We all like the blue. But why have you abandoned light brown? Why has it been sacrificed? A new colour may increase sales, but at what cost? At what cost blue?" She continued to scream her lament at the loss of the coffee-with-cream-coloured chocolates lost now except in childhood memories, pulled a small semiautomatic weapon from beneath her gown, and sprayed the room and most of the guests with hot teflon before taking her own life, somewhat awkwardly, with the ladle from the punch bowl. "Oh, Edwina," her mother cried later as the authorities finished their investigation. "Look at that carpet. That'll never come out." The coroner's report would mention the explosive combination of Edwina's antihallucinogenic medication with large amounts of sugar and cocoa. Sadly, it never mentioned her reaction to the change in her favourite sweets, at least not directly. Edwina had overcome so much and had gone so far, only to have her ambitons dashed by the loss of one of her favourite treats. To this day we still wonder who's really to blame. |
| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| Bill | Sep 4 2007, 03:04 PM Post #177 |
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Men and Women of the United States of America. We have your president. Unless $10million is deposited in the International Bank of Bill by Friday night, we will send him back. |
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| FamousGroupie | Sep 4 2007, 10:42 PM Post #178 |
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Yes. That's a joint account, by the way. |
| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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| Kit_Kat | Sep 4 2007, 10:50 PM Post #179 |
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Lennon's Mummy xx
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I have been thinking about the yellow lime infused japanese economy |
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| Mark Stephen Baker | Sep 4 2007, 10:52 PM Post #180 |
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"Green ones, green, green, green!" shouted Mrs Spoon-segment, but she knew in her heart the were really secondhand worm sofas. |
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| Kit_Kat | Sep 4 2007, 10:53 PM Post #181 |
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Lennon's Mummy xx
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Green cheese smells of red bacon feet with slippers |
![]() ![]() This can be summed up in one word - organised crime | |
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| Mark Stephen Baker | Sep 4 2007, 10:59 PM Post #182 |
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Not if you leave it outside to dry indoors on a rainy day in the freezing sunshine until the wind begins to snow like a shelf of marbles. |
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| Kit_Kat | Sep 4 2007, 11:04 PM Post #183 |
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Lennon's Mummy xx
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But blue beer isn't good when left in the sunshine of pink purple clouds with cream teas |
![]() ![]() This can be summed up in one word - organised crime | |
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| Mark Stephen Baker | Sep 4 2007, 11:06 PM Post #184 |
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That's why you should drink it swiftly like a broken hammer in Egypt. |
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| Kit_Kat | Sep 4 2007, 11:09 PM Post #185 |
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Lennon's Mummy xx
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Egypt smells of camels rears with black phones and brown sauce together with the best car around while being in a helicopter |
![]() ![]() This can be summed up in one word - organised crime | |
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| Mark Stephen Baker | Sep 4 2007, 11:19 PM Post #186 |
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Never confuse it with my aftershave, I did and ended up with a inditerable irritation of the houseing benifit office. |
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| Aimee Wilbury | Sep 5 2007, 12:35 AM Post #187 |
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STOP CHANGING THIS ADMINS
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Contents of all posts which is English! In the for secondary license patent right execution contract this board, all post contents England, so happiness, guarantee thing all post work english English simply. In addition, you read the language other than the English regulator and are very difficult because of us. Thank you. |
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| Mark Stephen Baker | Sep 5 2007, 11:01 AM Post #188 |
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It always happens when they have philosophy for breakfast. Mind you, who could be bolder than the thirst quenched uncles of mice groomers? |
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| Kit_Kat | Sep 5 2007, 11:27 AM Post #189 |
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Lennon's Mummy xx
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I have never understood orange grapes that smell of pee |
![]() ![]() This can be summed up in one word - organised crime | |
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| Mark Stephen Baker | Sep 5 2007, 02:32 PM Post #190 |
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You first need to appreciate the length of shade between the distorted and distracted. |
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| LIPA | Sep 5 2007, 04:06 PM Post #191 |
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Hi ho and a jolly welcode to all you surfwide'n interwebber lopers. Here beholdy manifold things - all deep joy and thorkus for great laugh'n tittery. O yes. |
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| Aimee Wilbury | Sep 5 2007, 04:35 PM Post #192 |
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STOP CHANGING THIS ADMINS
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All the index of the tree of the trowel of the beginning to the relative in English, requests! In agreement with the agreement of the authorization for this card, this must be in the English whole index of the tree of the trowel of the beginning, therefore satisfactory it them controls if all the trees of the trowel of the beginning in English he are only forms. The lira of the regolator is ulteriorly varia difficult for automatic us rifle of the languages that English very. Indebted. |
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| Mark Stephen Baker | Sep 9 2007, 07:26 PM Post #193 |
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Ones often quoted ambivalance toward the ballbearing gropers of Chipping Sodbury are prooving to be a definate boon to the remaining exciles of Sainbury's cheese counter. |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Sep 19 2007, 04:10 PM Post #194 |
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Dear Gerald, Well, this is it - I have finally left you. I think that I have tried to be a patient, kind, loving wife and I have put up with a lot over the years, but you have finally pushed me too far. I should have known that marrying you was a mistake when you disappeared for an hour on our wedding day and came back with lipstick all over your collar, making up some story about having to go to the bank and having some woman faint on you. Despite my scepticism, I decided to believe you because marriages are built upon trust. Trust that you abused time and time again. Like the time I found you in bed with my sister. You had claimed that it was a very cold day and that you’d both got into bed to conserve heat - so why were you naked? You don’t keep warm by taking off all of your clothes, do you? Despite the condom wrapper on the bedside table and the fact that you had my sister’s underwear on your left ear, I decided to accept your story. A little more difficult to accept, however, was when I found you in bed with my brother. You can imagine how upsetting it was for me to walk in on your husband and your brother in bed, without even taking into account the fact that you were wearing Teletubby costumes and spanking each other with cucumbers. Oiled up cucumbers, I hasten to add. Of course, it was all a misunderstanding. When you both explained that you were rehearsing for a surprise show you were going to put on for me on my birthday, I apologised profusely to you both. What a fool I was to believe you. My birthday wasn’t for at least another 10 months! I nearly left you last year when I came home early and walked in on you looking at indecent images whilst the suction pipe of the vacuum cleaner was attached to your genitals. I don’t know which was more upsetting - the fact that you were watching two cartoon penguins having sex on the internet and quite clearly enjoying it or that you were befouling my precious Dyson. Needless to say, I haven’t been able to watch Happy Feet again. Nor use the Dyson. It now smells funny. Still, again, you came up with some story about cleaning the computer keyboard with the hose attachment and it slipped - just as you were getting undressed to go in the shower. At that point I was past caring, so I just forgave you. I really have no idea why. Marriage is a lifetime commitment, I suppose. It’s not like you make up for things in other ways - you never helped out around the house, didn’t do any of the little D.I.Y. jobs that needed doing - in fact, you were a lousy husband. You left the towels on the floor, the toilet seat up and, yes I realise that most men pee in the shower, but you must be the only man who thinks that it’s OK to defecate. I was willing to accept all of these little things, just for the sake of harmony, until today. You know that it is my ‘time of the month’ and yet you ate that chocolate bar I left in the fridge. My chocolate bar. My last chocolate bar. My only f*cking chocolate bar. You scum-sucking piece of sh*t. You can do anything you like to me, but eating my bar of Dairy Milk during my monthly cycle is a step too far. You’re lucky that you were at work when I discovered this because if you’d have been here, you would have now been at the Emergency Room asking the doctors to re-attach your testicles after they’d been hacked off with a rusty bread knife. Instead, I’m just leaving - for good. Goodbye. Thanks for ruining twenty-five years of my life. My lawyers will be in touch. All my love, Ethel. p.s. Your dinner is in the fridge. |
| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Sep 19 2007, 04:53 PM Post #195 |
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Story Time For Children One day, Simon the fish was strolling in the park wearing his favourite coat and his brand new Trilby hat. Simon was a very smartly-dressed trout and he truly looked splendid, tipping his hat in a very friendly way to the people walking by. Just then, Simon collapsed to the ground, gasping and flailing wildly until he, sadly, died. You see, fish are animals that obtain oxygen from water by use of a system of external gills which are highly-branched networks of capillaries that bring the blood close to the oxygenated water. In air, the gills collapse under their own mass, and the capillaries shut down, so the fish starves for oxygen even though it is immersed in oxygen-rich air. What a shame Simon didn't know that. Join us tomorrow, kiddies, when Donna the Dolphin goes mountain climbing! |
| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| Gary | Sep 20 2007, 02:26 AM Post #196 |
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Great stuff, Andy! I'm impressed, as usual. |
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Sep 20 2007, 02:30 AM Post #197 |
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Thanks Gary - nice to see you here. Nice to see that somebody is reading this thread still!
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| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| Merry | Sep 20 2007, 02:31 AM Post #198 |
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I am too, Andy, and enjoying what you write, thoroughly! Please get your material together and submit it to a publisher...! You're very talented! Merry
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| JeffLynnesBeard | Sep 20 2007, 02:35 AM Post #199 |
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Oh, thanks Merry! I'm getting there, slowly.
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| ...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. | |
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| FamousGroupie | Sep 20 2007, 05:54 AM Post #200 |
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Andy, were you a woman in a previous life? |
| I don't believe in Bondi. I don't believe in rugby league. I believe in Yoko, John Lennon, the Lost Weekend and me. | |
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