Pearoast (of sorts)
I moved back in with my dad for about a year after running out of money when I was at Uni. One particularly lonely and drunken night, I returned from the pub with a 'lady' that looked not unlike Grotbags.

After getting down to it in my room, my dad had obviously heard the noise as I furiously and drunkenly munched on her cavernous box and he came barging into the room. He thought it was either the TV or his son having one of his inebriated: "I'm going to trash my room" episodes, and was apparently coming in to tell me to "keep the fucking noise down" when he was greeted by the sight of his youngest son writhing around on what appeared to be a mass of whale blubber.

He fucking laughed his head off.

After he composed himself (which took far too long), he laughed his way right back out again. I could still hear the cunt laughing as he went to bed.

Thanks dad.
(god_is_a_ghoti Carpe Deum., Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:07, 1 reply)

You had me at Grotbags,
but it got better and better!
Click!
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:41, closed)