In case the Irish birds didnt share.
Hope they share it with all the other women around the world.
Of selling my 1998 model NEC video cassette recorder. It is Y2K compliant and can be connected to the stereo system with a cable. But on the other hand maybe I should hold on to it. In fact I have changed my mind now its not for sale, so bad luck.
Just stay off my blog OK. This means each and every one of you alright. I'm sick and tired of going to all the effort of making a blog and seeing my efforts vandalised by your inane comments. It really makes me feel sick.
After meeting on CS, me and this Irish bird started chatting and sending little smiley emoticons to each other. We chatted on Skype and arranged to meet up the following week. Upon arriving in a strange land, full of strange people, with their strange customs and ways, I felt alone. But my anxiety was short-lived because there she was all of a sudden in front of me. Her radiant smile lit up the room and her luxuriant red hair drew obscene comments from the Turkish baggage handlers, and I felt like the luckiest man on Earth.
So we held hands on the beach, then went and had a big feed of haggis. After several pints of Guiness, and a visit to a sleazy kareoke bar, things started to get a bit hot and heavy. It was decided we should go back to my hotel and fool around a bit, to celebrate. She had the most delightful body, everything was in the right place. There she was, completely naked on the bed, apart from a pair of woolen leg-warmers.
Now obviously I'm a massive fan of Flashdance, having seen the film several times, and so I didnt think too much of it. So one thing leads to another, next thing you know I can feel her leg warmers brushing against my face. As I'm allergic to wool, I started sneezing. One or two stray nose goblins flew across the room but I dont think she really noticed.
The leg warmers were really starting to shit me, upon closer inspection I noticed they seemed to bulge out a fair bit at the ankle area which immediately gave me cause for concern. She made loads of feeble excuses not to take the warmers off, such as I'll get cold legs etc etc, to which I replied its OK I'll put the heater on. Eventually she passed out and fell asleep, and I thought it would be the right time to take them off. I tried not to make too much noise, but I kept sneezing.
Finally, I could see why she was so reluctant about it. Her ankles were hairier than a Clydesdale horses, and quite mishapen. They were like rainforest trees with buttress roots, and hairier than a wilderbeasts ballsack. So now it was critical that I didnt wake her up, delicately placing a warm blanket on her otherwise awesome body, before quietly packing my bags and leaving. I had to wait 4 hours at the airport, that was the earliest flight I could get back home.
After that, I moved to Mount Isa and had a sex change before taking up a job driving trucks. These days, I mostly just sit around chewing my fingernails right down and look at porn on the internet.
When I get dressed up in my superman cape and shorty short shorts, and then I catch the bus. When I sit on the back seat like the bad boys, a strange phenomena happens. As the bus takes a sharp left hand turn, my right testicle escapes from its rightful place, whereas when the bus turns right its my left testicle causing heaps of dramas. I have thought about catching the bus which goes straight down the motorway, but I prefer the scenic route. I'm just so confused right now.
Dont be shy now, tell us what you really think. And dont just make something up because I can tell if you're lying.
I had always admired Tiffany in high school, good-looking, athletic, smart, nice arse etc. etc... Then we met at a reunion and she was even hotter than before. So we had a dance when Lionel Ritchie came on, and also when they played Phil Collins (Against the odds). One thing led to another, and a whirlwind romance blossomed. So we moved into a small flat above the gym together.
We were the ideal couple, the talk of the town. We went everywhere in a large Caddilac convertible, and I started smoking French cigarettes and wearing a cravat. Eventually I got rid of the cravat because it made me look like a poof off a cooking show but thats another story.
Unbeknownst to myself, her frequent trips to the gym had taken on a sinister life of their own. At first I made excuses for her appearance changing so radically, such as Christmas kilos or telling my mates she's bulking up for winter when they ask about the situation.
It was becoming more and more difficult to keep up with her in the bedroom, and so I started taking calcium supplements in case she broke my bones. She became incredibly strong, and her breasts developed peach fuzz. She was totally insatiable, demanding services up to eleven times each day.
Then one day I caught her drinking a bright green liquid, immediately I suspected it was the funky cold medina but I wasnt sure. Then the veins on her neck bulged up, then the rest of her neck bulged up too. Then her feet shrivelled up and her forehead became unfeasibly enlarged. So I moved out.
Lately, I have been wondering how products can be described as one thing in marketing, and be something different in reality. Of course I am talking about baked beans. A more accurate description would be beans boiled/stewed in a tomato sauce, as they show no signs pf being baked as such. I never heard anyone say "I'm baking a cake, and I only used 2 bottles of tomato sauce", and at the supermarket the tomato sauce is nowhere near the other baking ingredients.
pat8lanips Blog (74)
