I've been walking home from work recently, wheeling my bike alongside me rather than riding it. Why would I do this? Because over a set distance walking burns over twice the amount of calories cycling does. And if you keep a decent pace (over 4mph) it is better for improving cardiovascular fitness too. Makes your feet a bit hurty, mind.
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quote: Has anybody else felt lower class recently?
I spent this weekend at a stockbrokers country home (swimming pool, hunting/shooting related artwork, lots of taxidermy) with a group of young men who went to boarding schools and talked knowledgably about this banking kerfuffle. Had my friends been there they would have wrestled a stuffed bear into the pool and taken off on the sit-and-ride lawn mower.
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I once spent a weekend like that with friends of a girlfriend, I could feel the righteous class-hatred bubbling in my gut, until I was told to help myself to the contents of the host's 'cellar'. I felt alright about the whole scene, then.
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I would become even more abusive and disagreeable than normal if I had to participate in that weekend. I'd adopt a soft mocking tone early on in the proceedings, smirking at everything around and me and looking quizzical whenever somebody spoke to me. As if everything they said was ridiculous. Then after a few beers, I'd end up making out like I'm some kind of George Orwell character, experiencing the exotic truth of life in a state of utter destitution. Even though, I'm not, obviously. I'd make it clear that the more money you have, the less you get out of life. I'd end up speaking in the laziest of estuary accents, swearing constantly, being incredibly crude, yet pulling up anybody who might be veering into racism or sexism, because in my tiny malnourished mind, these things are synonymous with private schools and poshness. I'd be a full blown socialist worker within hours of my first beer. Perhaps believing myself to be a more hardcore version of Mark Thomas, I'd go deeper and deeper into issues of morality and class in order to try and make these people feel the guilt and shame that I wish to push upon them. But my desperate attempts to punish them by presenting myself as a working class messiah would end turning me into a confused, angry, self hating mess. I'd finish up the night crying by the swimming pool and texting Louise, telling her sorry for being such a failure. I'd end up drowning, but only in my own self pity.
Unless somebody had some coke, in which case, I'd do the same thing, only I wouldn't start crying until two days later, when the horrible reality of the evening would come crashing home after reading a facebook comment.
[ 18.09.2007, 07:32: Message edited by: Jimmy Big Nuts ]
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Hippychick - what does it feel like to drive a convertible? I guess it would be pretty giggly and then suddenly you hit traffic and everybody's looking at you in that lovely judgemental way we have. Is it like that or not?
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quote:Originally posted by 69 Comeback Elvis: what does it feel like to drive a convertible?
I'll field this one. I've driven a ragtop of one variety or another for about 15 years of my driving career. The feeling is undescribable, but if I was to try I'd say that it is one of complete freedom and utter joy. Right up until the moment you slam into a highway barrier doing 125mph because you're totally stoned on lebanese blonde hash and don't think life is really worth living anymore.
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quote:Originally posted by Jimmy Big Nuts: I would become even more abusive and disagreeable than normal if I had to participate in that weekend. I'd adopt a soft mocking tone early on in the proceedings, smirking at everything around and me and looking quizzical whenever somebody spoke to me. As if everything they said was ridiculous. Then after a few beers, I'd end up making out like I'm some kind of George Orwell character, experiencing the exotic truth of life in a state of utter destitution. Even though, I'm not, obviously. I'd make it clear that the more money you have, the less you get out of life. I'd end up speaking in the laziest of estuary accents, swearing constantly, being incredibly crude, yet pulling up anybody who might be veering into racism or sexism, because in my tiny malnourished mind, these things are synonymous with private schools and poshness. I'd be a full blown socialist worker within hours of my first beer. Perhaps believing myself to be a more hardcore version of Mark Thomas, I'd go deeper and deeper into issues of morality and class in order to try and make these people feel the guilt and shame that I wish to push upon them. But my desperate attempts to punish them by presenting myself as a working class messiah would end turning me into a confused, angry, self hating mess. I'd finish up the night crying by the swimming pool and texting Louise, telling her sorry for being such a failure. I'd end up drowning, but only in my own self pity.
See, most people dream of doing that, just without the dreadful self-realisation pay-off bit at the end. It takes a special kind of brave, tortured genius to actually see the whole thing through, though.
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yeah, but the self realisation is really what you're working up to the whole time. All it takes is tub full of bitterness and self delusion to kick things into gear, but the whole exercise is actually a desperate search for comfort and validation, in the face of the kind of defeat that only the terminally aspirational yet crushingly weak can feel.
Anyway, I think my dad had a convertible XR3i at one point, and that was nice to ride in.
[ 18.09.2007, 07:56: Message edited by: Jimmy Big Nuts ]
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quote:Originally posted by Jimmy Big Nuts: a desperate search for comfort and validation, in the face of the kind of defeat that only the terminally aspirational yet crushingly weak can feel.
That's the special kind of bravery I'm talking about.
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What was Abby doing at this house of posh non-friends anyway? I'm imagining a weekend long domination session where the men were ridden like dogs, made to eat shit, and locked in cages, all under the watchful eye of mistress A. Or the opposite, where it's Story of A, and poor abby is whipped and fucked all weekend long, and branded at the end of it.
Hang on, you don't ride dogs do you. Ridden like ponies. Complete with buttplug tail and saddle. and a nosebag full of glue and poppers.
[ 18.09.2007, 08:34: Message edited by: Jimmy Big Nuts ]
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posted
maybe if you had a little hole in the bag so strangers could wank you off? Might be alright?
In bizarre this month there's a chick who lives her entire life in a red pvc all-over gown, so she looks like the imperial guard from star wars. Like, just a red sheet. Over her head that reaches the floor. A hole for her mouth. Her whole life though! Make you wonder doesn't it. Makes you wonder what kind of stuff Abby gets up to on her visits to country estates.
[ 18.09.2007, 08:27: Message edited by: Jimmy Big Nuts ]
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quote:Originally posted by Jimmy Big Nuts: maybe if you had a little hole in the bag so strangers could wank you off?
That would mean spending the whole weekend in a sort of swan-dive pose. That would be pretty uncomfortable. What with being in a rubber bag and having strangers tugging at your cock...
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well, being uncomfortable is probably half the fun. Otherwise you'd just sit on the sofa and watch telly all weekend. Watch old detective shows. Eat hot dog sausages straight from the fridge. wear the same t-shirt for three days. Ignore the phone. ration out cigarettes. Binge on coca cola.
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quote:Originally posted by Jimmy Big Nuts: well, being uncomfortable is probably half the fun. Otherwise you'd just sit on the sofa and watch telly all weekend.
LOL
Indeed. Maybe that's why Abbey spent the weekend with the *****?
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watch the erotic films on tv after 10. Watch Under Siege two nights in a row. Keep rinsing out the same bowl for cereal. pick your toenails. take aspirin. drink from the tap. get pillows from the bedroom. read an old magazine. Think about calling a dating line.
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posted
Don't forget, spending 4 hours a night watching Babecast, because you're too cheap to spend out on a proper porn channel (and besides you know you never see the action on them anyway, they're a bloody waste of money) and you'd rather have a wank on your sofa in front of the telly than go into the study and turn on the computer, but you left it too long and the initial boner you got when you first flicked over went down, so you're then stuck with a limp weiner in your hand, which you'll start furiously tugging as if it were a hand pump in a balloon inflating competition, the moment you see an accidental flash of labia or butthole.
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Well, Gary Busey went on to star in a David Lynch film, and have his own TV series. Tommy Lee Jones was later in Natural Born Killers, Men in Black, and recently had a festival winning directorial debut. Steven Seagal has only just released his second album and his own energy drink. So, it wasn't like Under Seige was a fast track to straight-to-video hell. She was pretty good in that film. At the end, when she's saluting and she's joned the navy. And Steven salutes the camera. She looks pretty intense in that scene. All tearful yet resiliant. She looks like she knows where she's going. She's still working now, but... let's just say it'll be a long time before she has her own energy drink.
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quote:Originally posted by Black Mask: Where could she go? After that?
She went on to do chasers where she not only strips but also has sex in handcuffs. Does that counts a step up or down from jumping out of a cake for Steven Seagal's entertainment?
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quote:What was Abby doing at this house of posh non-friends anyway? I'm imagining a weekend long domination session where the men were ridden like dogs, made to eat shit, and locked in cages, all under the watchful eye of mistress A. Or the opposite, where it's Story of A, and poor abby is whipped and fucked all weekend long, and branded at the end of it.
It was my boyfriend’s brother’s birthday weekend, where various of his old school chums come and visit to drink all their parent’s booze and be fed all their food. There was little to no bondage, but there was a whole lamb spitroast which has some comic potential?
However, one of my other friends actually spent the previous weekend at The Other World Kingdom www.owk.cz (image safe, but maybe not subject) with her slave, so this post is not totally devoid of kink. She said that all the Czech Mistresses were frighteningly ugly, spent all their time getting pissed in the bar and didn’t bother to put any make-up or fancy clothes on. To be fair this is pretty much what I would do given the chance.
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