quote:Originally posted by Tilde: No, I'm going with the doting father Zygote, happily splashing around in the small pool with his blond haired 2 year old son, sharing some time together, the time that is allocated to them. Afterwards they go to the cafeteria and he gets his son a milkshake and some chips and three straws all different colours.
As nice as that sounds, I went alone.
There wasn't much to report back in the way of sexy, young, single Mothers, however there was a fat bloke there who unwittingly made me swallow large amounts of chlorine through laughing.
He proudly emerged from the changing rooms, donned in bright red trunks; huffing and puffing his way around the perimeter of the pool, clearly struggling to come to terms with the arduous exercise ahead of him. The fat bloke then sat at the side of the pool with his feet dangling in the water. This he did for a good fifteen minutes, at which point he decided to actually get in the water. 'Ah ha!' I mused. 'He's finally going to use his alloted, sixty minutes swimming time to... swim! Good lad!'
He didn't. Instead he started talking to two little old ladies in the shallow end for a further fifteen minutes, before clambering out of the pool and calling it a day. Fat people eh...
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posted
He should be punched firmly in the testicles for behaviour like that.
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scrawny
One Mojito, two Gin and Tonics, Three Bacardi Lime Sodas, and a couple of pints of Stella please.
posted
Hello. I saw something rubbish in one of the London papers the other day, where you text in a short story of no more than 100 words on a given subject and win something. More free London papers, no doubt.
I thought that might be fun to try. It IS quiet, and maybe we can pull people out of the woodwork with a small, short-form writing competition.
So - the subject of our story is: breakfast. I am about to poster first. you may get going in the meantime, though.
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posted
He sat upright as she entered. She wasn't carrying her usual cup of tea, but a whole tray of food. Scrambled eggs! Guilt briefly rolled through his chest as she placed the try in front of him. How long could he keep this up?
This - darling - this looks amazing.
He leaned up to offer another dry kiss onto her dry cheeks. He could smell that she hadn't cleaned her teeth yet.
He maintained eye contact as he ate, making noises to indicate satisfaction. She watched every bite go down, swallowing hard at the butterflies in her stomach.
[ 15.05.2007, 09:40: Message edited by: Jimmy Big Nuts ]
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posted
Zygote, I reckon that was the same fat fucker I saw in the College pool the other day. Sat daydreaming on the side of the pool, kicking his legs idly in the water, and then sat in the spa pool for a bit. And he was ginger.
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posted
Sometimes she found it hard to cope with his unending enthusiasm. One potential backer had called his idea “a genius collective business concept”, before pulling out. And though the bills piled up, she never lost faith in him. But one can only take so much. So her heart sank that morning when she saw that maniacal look of glee in his eye once more, a look she knew well – another desperate initiative to keep his concept afloat.
"Something new this morning darling! Try these. They’re going to revolutionise breakfasts forever!"
posted
Here's a thing not many people know about Scrawny. A while back, when I was at a meet with her, I actually pinched a lock of her hair. With a bit of help from d666 I was able to produce a living clone, incredibly with all her memories and experiences intact. I would up selling the clone to ben, who to this day keeps the clone in his windowless basement, wired up to feeding tubes and waste evacuation pipes, and when his wife is too tired from childcare and housework to sate his monstrous appetite, ben heads down to the basement with a candle, where he abuses the clone with cigarettes and his fingers. For some time, I was wracked with guilt by this, and eventually screwed up the courage to explain to Scrawny that this sentient creature who shared her every memory, life experience and feeling was trapped in an endless torture. Her reaction was simply a shrug and the comment "Rather her than me!" Then she turned back to scouring the Cargo catalogue for shiny things to buy.
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quote:Originally posted by mart: Sometimes she found it hard to cope with his unending enthusiasm. One potential backer had called his idea “a genius collective business concept”, before pulling out. And though the bills piled up, she never lost faith in him. But one can only take so much. So her heart sank that morning when she saw that maniacal look of glee in his eye once more, a look she knew well – another desperate initiative to keep his concept afloat.
"Something new this morning darling! Try these. They’re going to revolutionise breakfasts forever!"
quote:Originally posted by Vogon Poetess: Zygote, I reckon that was the same fat fucker I saw in the College pool the other day. Sat daydreaming on the side of the pool, kicking his legs idly in the water, and then sat in the spa pool for a bit. And he was ginger.
It's fucking pathetic isn't it. I would say something to them, were it not for the fact that it amuses me greatly. I'd love to witness these fat-blokes-faking-exercise boasting to their equally obese friends about how much they go 'swimming', when in fact they might as well be sat on the fucking toilet. Corrupt cunts.
One Mojito, two Gin and Tonics, Three Bacardi Lime Sodas, a couple of pints of Stella, One Mojito, two Gin and Tonics, Three Bacardi Lime Sodas, a couple of pints of Stella, One Mojito, two Gin and Tonics, Three Bacardi Lime Sodas, a couple of pints of Stella, One Mojito, two Gin and Tonics, Three Bacardi Lime Sodas, a couple of pints of Stella, One Mojito, two Gin and Tonics, Three Bacardi Lime Sodas, a couple of pints of Stella, One Mojito, two Gin and Tonics, Three Bacardi Lime Sodas, a couple of pints of Stella, One Mojito, two Gin.
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posted
John walked into the smoky vault of the pub still dressed in his black suit. The court hearing had been adjourned. Again. 'Oh well..' he thought to himself. 'At least I get to spend the rest of the day in the boozer.'
Deafening laughter greeted John as he approached the bar. Bobby, a pub regular bawled, 'Fucking hell John! Where've you been? A fucking funeral?'
'Yeah, you prick. Your fucking funeral.' John paid for his pint of bitter and sat down with his 'friends'.
'So... Why you wearin' that shit suit anyway?' enquired Bobby, struggling to keep the grin off his sweaty, acne-riddled face.
'Well... do you remember that guy I twatted the other week?'
'Oh yeah. What a tosser. He fucking deserved it. So he's gone and pressed charges eh?'
'Yes.' snapped John. Taking a much-needed swig of his bitter, John noticed that the RSPCC charity lady was doing the rounds in the vault. He had decided, just recently, that the lady was not working for the RSPCC but, instead, was using the funds to satisfy her heroin habit. Eventually, she came to John and adopted the necessary woeful, charitable face, before thrusting the collection box under his chin.
'Fuck off,' he blasted. The lady's fringe blew back and her eyes streamed, such was the force of John's retort. It was at that point John felt the sharp prick in his thigh.
posted
Did anyone else find it really romantic that Nicolas Sarkozy (that one out of France) has married his wife twice? First time, it turns out, he was the mayor of the suburb where she lived and one of his duties was to preside over marriages in the local Mairie (which is presumably the origin of the words 'mayor' and 'marry' - and then they all get drunk and 'merry' I suppose. Endlessly fascinating thing language.) - and he actually presided over the first marriage of his future wife.
It's like a Best Foreign Film this story, because later they met again and fell instantly in love and left their spouses (taking her two beautiful daughters with them, natch) and then he became Le President.
posted
That's not romantic if you're one of the original spouses. It's just a horrible story about being left by your husband/ wife for someone they liked better. Like being Bill Pullman in Sleepless in Seattle.
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posted
It's France. I'm sure they both had plenty of lovers in reserve, or just help themselves to someone else's wife. *gallic shrug*Posts: 8467
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posted
what's the point? We've all been tricked by scrawny. Tricked into writing stories. There was no competition was there. Chances are your work will end up in the next sony bravia ad.
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posted
Can somoene write an amusing French farce about Nicolas Sarkozy trying to enjoy breakfast in bed with his wife, or possibly his lover -- who could be Segolene Royale herself. Maybe. Possibly played by Deneuve, a la 8 femmes.
Maybe that's what Scrawny's writing as we speak.
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quote:Originally posted by mart: Can somoene write an amusing French farce about Nicolas Sarkozy trying to enjoy breakfast in bed with his wife, or possibly his lover -- who could be Segolene Royale herself.
Damn that would be hott.
Lots of room for plesidential erection gags too.
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scrawny
One Mojito, two Gin and Tonics, Three Bacardi Lime Sodas, and a couple of pints of Stella please.
posted
quote:Originally posted by Jimmy Big Nuts: what's the point? We've all been tricked by scrawny. Tricked into writing stories. There was no competition was there. Chances are your work will end up in the next sony bravia ad.
You've built it up too much. I got distracted by a swiss roll and now I'll never be able to post it up. I can never fulfil your expectations, hence why it's a clone of me and not actually me that Ben's screwing in a basement.
It did get you all out of the woodwork, though. Tell you what - if someone else suggests a theme, I'll do one on that. Not that that's any kind of compensation.
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quote:Originally posted by scrawny: It did get you all out of the woodwork, though. Tell you what - if someone else suggests a theme, I'll do one on that. Not that that's any kind of compensation.