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- a member for 17 years, 0 months and 29 days
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- has posted 21 stories and 36 replies on question of the week
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» Breasts
Big Boobies!
Wandering around Tesco a couple of months ago, I turned down an aisle in which a chap about my age was shopping with his son of maybe three or four, and a petite but generously endowed young lady was also browsing. As they approached each other the kid spotted the woman and his eyes widened - tugging on his father's hand he yelled "Daddy! Look! Big boobies!".
The poor man blushed and ignored the child, which was probably exactly the wrong response, as he just got louder - "DADDY! BIG BOOBIES! BIG BOOBIES!".
Whoever taught the kid to do that has my thanks - you made my evening.
(Sun 9th May 2010, 3:18, More)
Big Boobies!
Wandering around Tesco a couple of months ago, I turned down an aisle in which a chap about my age was shopping with his son of maybe three or four, and a petite but generously endowed young lady was also browsing. As they approached each other the kid spotted the woman and his eyes widened - tugging on his father's hand he yelled "Daddy! Look! Big boobies!".
The poor man blushed and ignored the child, which was probably exactly the wrong response, as he just got louder - "DADDY! BIG BOOBIES! BIG BOOBIES!".
Whoever taught the kid to do that has my thanks - you made my evening.
(Sun 9th May 2010, 3:18, More)
» Shit Stories: Part Number Two
Catapult
A cat belonging to a friend of mine had been indulging in a pastime many cats are fond of - bin-diving. On this particular occasion the cat had retrieved and devoured the elasticky string stuff that my friend's Sunday roast had been wrapped up with. She was a bit concerned, as this pork-flavoured, but fundamentally indigestible bit of string could have dire consequences for the cat's internal organs, but she was relieved when the cat managed to pass the string a day or two later.
However, the cat had managed to drop a fair proportion of the string, but was struggling to eject the entire thing; so after watching the poor creature strain for a while, she fetched a rubber glove, and attempted to help the cat extricate the remainder.
The cat was understandably panicked by the sensation of tension and legged it - still with half the elastic up its bum. The elastic stretched until some critical tension was achieved, then TWANG-SPLAT - friend was liberally pebbledashed.
Length etc... seven or eight feet, apparently.
(Fri 28th Mar 2008, 0:46, More)
Catapult
A cat belonging to a friend of mine had been indulging in a pastime many cats are fond of - bin-diving. On this particular occasion the cat had retrieved and devoured the elasticky string stuff that my friend's Sunday roast had been wrapped up with. She was a bit concerned, as this pork-flavoured, but fundamentally indigestible bit of string could have dire consequences for the cat's internal organs, but she was relieved when the cat managed to pass the string a day or two later.
However, the cat had managed to drop a fair proportion of the string, but was struggling to eject the entire thing; so after watching the poor creature strain for a while, she fetched a rubber glove, and attempted to help the cat extricate the remainder.
The cat was understandably panicked by the sensation of tension and legged it - still with half the elastic up its bum. The elastic stretched until some critical tension was achieved, then TWANG-SPLAT - friend was liberally pebbledashed.
Length etc... seven or eight feet, apparently.
(Fri 28th Mar 2008, 0:46, More)
» Hotel Splendido
What Dreams May Come
A few years ago myself and Miss Photon were invited to a wedding, which was to take place in the West Midlands. I was travelling from west Wales, she was travelling from East Anglia, so the West Midlands was quite a convenient central point for both of us to get to. Train timetables being what they are (especially from Wales), I was to arrive some 3 hours after her, and meet at the hotel.
Unusually for this QOTW, everything went perfectly according to plan. She arrived, settled in the room and turned on the telly (apparently What Dreams May Come was on), nipping to the loo before the film started. This proved to be her undoing, as shutting the bathroom door caused the door handle on the outside to fall off, and the bar through the middle of the lock to fall out. If you've ever fitted a door handle, you'll appreciate that this rather plain lump of metal is wholly responsible for transmitting force between your hand's pressure on the handle, and the bolt in the doorframe. Without it, there is absolutely no way of opening the door short of breaking it down.
The door was sturdily constructed, and Miss Photon less so, rendering that option impractical, so she settled for yelling and pounding on the door and bathroom walls to alert hotel staff and/or other guests to her plight.
When I arrived three hours later, it was to find a sobbing, hoarse Miss Photon, nursing badly bruised hands, in a little heap on the bathroom floor. She had failed utterly to watch What Dreams May Come, but apparently it sounded rubbish.
Length? 113 minutes, apparently.
(Sun 20th Jan 2008, 0:51, More)
What Dreams May Come
A few years ago myself and Miss Photon were invited to a wedding, which was to take place in the West Midlands. I was travelling from west Wales, she was travelling from East Anglia, so the West Midlands was quite a convenient central point for both of us to get to. Train timetables being what they are (especially from Wales), I was to arrive some 3 hours after her, and meet at the hotel.
Unusually for this QOTW, everything went perfectly according to plan. She arrived, settled in the room and turned on the telly (apparently What Dreams May Come was on), nipping to the loo before the film started. This proved to be her undoing, as shutting the bathroom door caused the door handle on the outside to fall off, and the bar through the middle of the lock to fall out. If you've ever fitted a door handle, you'll appreciate that this rather plain lump of metal is wholly responsible for transmitting force between your hand's pressure on the handle, and the bolt in the doorframe. Without it, there is absolutely no way of opening the door short of breaking it down.
The door was sturdily constructed, and Miss Photon less so, rendering that option impractical, so she settled for yelling and pounding on the door and bathroom walls to alert hotel staff and/or other guests to her plight.
When I arrived three hours later, it was to find a sobbing, hoarse Miss Photon, nursing badly bruised hands, in a little heap on the bathroom floor. She had failed utterly to watch What Dreams May Come, but apparently it sounded rubbish.
Length? 113 minutes, apparently.
(Sun 20th Jan 2008, 0:51, More)
» My most gullible moment
Gullible colleague
I work with a particularly gullible lady, who I'll refer to as R. Over the years she's realised that most of the things I tell her are in fact completely untrue, but occasionally one slips under the radar - particularly if there is an element of truth, or a plausible explanation.
Last summer she went on a cruise (the Med, I think), the first time she's been on a boat. For some reason she asked me and another colleague for advice on what to take, and things she ought to know. We racked our brains, and over the next few weeks came up a few:
1) If you meet a member of the crew walking towards you, you should always pass them on the seaward side.
2) If the ship's horn sounds, it generally means the ship has just entered the waters of another country. It's considered polite to stand and say 'God save the Queen!'.
3) You should always salute a uniformed officer.
4) Most ships expect ladies to wear hats at dinner. Wearing the same hat twice should be avoided.
5) There will usually be a lifeboat test during the first couple of nights - you should sleep fully clothed, as the last person out will be the 'victim' for the 'man overboard' drill.
She distrusts everything I say these days, although I did convince her that limes were just unripe lemons the other day.
(Mon 25th Aug 2008, 17:22, More)
Gullible colleague
I work with a particularly gullible lady, who I'll refer to as R. Over the years she's realised that most of the things I tell her are in fact completely untrue, but occasionally one slips under the radar - particularly if there is an element of truth, or a plausible explanation.
Last summer she went on a cruise (the Med, I think), the first time she's been on a boat. For some reason she asked me and another colleague for advice on what to take, and things she ought to know. We racked our brains, and over the next few weeks came up a few:
1) If you meet a member of the crew walking towards you, you should always pass them on the seaward side.
2) If the ship's horn sounds, it generally means the ship has just entered the waters of another country. It's considered polite to stand and say 'God save the Queen!'.
3) You should always salute a uniformed officer.
4) Most ships expect ladies to wear hats at dinner. Wearing the same hat twice should be avoided.
5) There will usually be a lifeboat test during the first couple of nights - you should sleep fully clothed, as the last person out will be the 'victim' for the 'man overboard' drill.
She distrusts everything I say these days, although I did convince her that limes were just unripe lemons the other day.
(Mon 25th Aug 2008, 17:22, More)
» Food sabotage
Bread sauce?
Work Christmas dinner, about three years ago. They used to hold it in a local hotel, and although the canteen-style serving was perhaps not the classiest, everything was cooked to perfection (plus you could leave out the bits you didn't like, and have more of the bits you did).
They always had beef, turkey or a veggie option - personally I don't think it would be Christmas dinner without turkey, so the beef wasn't an option.
Now when I was a young 'un, we always had bread sauce with Christmas dinner - a lot of people have never heard of this, but look it up and try it - it's basically milk, flavoured with an onion, bay, cloves and pepper, thickened with breadcrumbs.
Imagine my delight then, when I spotted a huge pan of bread sauce. Grabbing the ladle, I poured the stuff all over my plate, making sure every bit of dinner was soaked in clovey bready goodness.
Yup, it was horseradish - I sabotaged my own Christmas dinner.
(Mon 22nd Sep 2008, 23:49, More)
Bread sauce?
Work Christmas dinner, about three years ago. They used to hold it in a local hotel, and although the canteen-style serving was perhaps not the classiest, everything was cooked to perfection (plus you could leave out the bits you didn't like, and have more of the bits you did).
They always had beef, turkey or a veggie option - personally I don't think it would be Christmas dinner without turkey, so the beef wasn't an option.
Now when I was a young 'un, we always had bread sauce with Christmas dinner - a lot of people have never heard of this, but look it up and try it - it's basically milk, flavoured with an onion, bay, cloves and pepper, thickened with breadcrumbs.
Imagine my delight then, when I spotted a huge pan of bread sauce. Grabbing the ladle, I poured the stuff all over my plate, making sure every bit of dinner was soaked in clovey bready goodness.
Yup, it was horseradish - I sabotaged my own Christmas dinner.
(Mon 22nd Sep 2008, 23:49, More)