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You are a New Left Hipster, also known as a MoveOn.org liberal, a Netroots activist, or a Daily Show fanatic. You believe that if we really want to defend American values, conservatives must be exposed, mocked, and assailed for every fanatical, puritanical, warmongering, Constitution-shredding ideal for which they stand.
My Liberal Identity:
Take the quiz at www.FightConservatives.com
See this? Any kind of DIY I do generally ends up like this:
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» Pubs
There she blows...
When I was 19, I worked in a cocktail bar in a Nightclub in Frodsham - if you know Frodsham, you know the place I'm on about.
It opened at 8pm, but was normally dead until 10.30-ish, when the pubs started letting out. But this one Friday night, they had 2 coach parties in - a Stag and a Hen. This was a bit of a pain in the arse - the normal slow start went out the window, as everyone came through to our bar (given the main room was dead), and set about getting shit-faced.
After about an hour's solid boozing, a Tarzan-o-gram came in and did his thing. The whole bar watched, had a good laugh, and then it came to an end. At which point, three of the Hen party grabbed Tarzan (who was by now down to his loincloth), whilst the Hen ripped the loincloth off, pulled his flesh-coloured thong down and started giving the guy a blow-job. Fuck me, the place went mad - we had people standing on the BAR to watch, the crowd was so deep (I should know, I was one of them).
The Bouncers heard about this, came racing in and split everyone up (Tarzan looked relieved and disappointed at the same time). Given it was the Hen, the Bouncers told her to behave herself (they'd normally have flung her out).
More cocktails get consumed.
About 20 minutes later, the Stag party start singing "Get yer tit's out, get yer tit's out, GET YER TIT'S OUT FOR THE LADS" to the Hen - who obliges, and runs round flashing everyone.
The Bouncers roll back in, tell the Stag's to shut up, and tell the Hen, in no uncertain terms, that if she whips 'em out again, she's outta there (a shame, I felt, as she had what I understand thse days is referred to as a 'splendid rack').
Not 20 mins later (so it's not even 10pm yet), 4 of the Hen party make a daring raid into the Stag group's part of the Bar, and get the kecks off the Stag, at which point the Hen runs over and starts blowing the guy. Cue the same response as last time, everyone back up on the bar, the Bouncers come flying in, only to face some fierce opposition, as some of the Stag group throwing punches to hold them off so the Hen can finish what she's started.
End result: the Hen, the Stag, and about half of each group get flung out to spend the rest of the night sitting on coaches in the car park waiting for the remains of their groups to come out.
Happy days...
(Fri 6th Feb 2009, 11:56, More)
There she blows...
When I was 19, I worked in a cocktail bar in a Nightclub in Frodsham - if you know Frodsham, you know the place I'm on about.
It opened at 8pm, but was normally dead until 10.30-ish, when the pubs started letting out. But this one Friday night, they had 2 coach parties in - a Stag and a Hen. This was a bit of a pain in the arse - the normal slow start went out the window, as everyone came through to our bar (given the main room was dead), and set about getting shit-faced.
After about an hour's solid boozing, a Tarzan-o-gram came in and did his thing. The whole bar watched, had a good laugh, and then it came to an end. At which point, three of the Hen party grabbed Tarzan (who was by now down to his loincloth), whilst the Hen ripped the loincloth off, pulled his flesh-coloured thong down and started giving the guy a blow-job. Fuck me, the place went mad - we had people standing on the BAR to watch, the crowd was so deep (I should know, I was one of them).
The Bouncers heard about this, came racing in and split everyone up (Tarzan looked relieved and disappointed at the same time). Given it was the Hen, the Bouncers told her to behave herself (they'd normally have flung her out).
More cocktails get consumed.
About 20 minutes later, the Stag party start singing "Get yer tit's out, get yer tit's out, GET YER TIT'S OUT FOR THE LADS" to the Hen - who obliges, and runs round flashing everyone.
The Bouncers roll back in, tell the Stag's to shut up, and tell the Hen, in no uncertain terms, that if she whips 'em out again, she's outta there (a shame, I felt, as she had what I understand thse days is referred to as a 'splendid rack').
Not 20 mins later (so it's not even 10pm yet), 4 of the Hen party make a daring raid into the Stag group's part of the Bar, and get the kecks off the Stag, at which point the Hen runs over and starts blowing the guy. Cue the same response as last time, everyone back up on the bar, the Bouncers come flying in, only to face some fierce opposition, as some of the Stag group throwing punches to hold them off so the Hen can finish what she's started.
End result: the Hen, the Stag, and about half of each group get flung out to spend the rest of the night sitting on coaches in the car park waiting for the remains of their groups to come out.
Happy days...
(Fri 6th Feb 2009, 11:56, More)
» Public Sex
9th - meh
Ah well, still on the 1st page.
Lemme see - how about getting a blow job in the 6th Form Common Room after we finished for the day, whilst the cleaners were mulling around outside the door?
Or the time in the Ladies loo of a pub on the road that goes from Widnes to Warrington (in a cubicle, her bent over the bog, me behind her, staring at the floor thinking "Wow, they've got carpet in the bogs!")...
(Thu 23rd Apr 2009, 13:04, More)
9th - meh
Ah well, still on the 1st page.
Lemme see - how about getting a blow job in the 6th Form Common Room after we finished for the day, whilst the cleaners were mulling around outside the door?
Or the time in the Ladies loo of a pub on the road that goes from Widnes to Warrington (in a cubicle, her bent over the bog, me behind her, staring at the floor thinking "Wow, they've got carpet in the bogs!")...
(Thu 23rd Apr 2009, 13:04, More)
» Darwin Awards
2-wheeled Fiend
I was about 6 (mid-70s), and me and my best mate used to go everywhere on our bikes (Tomahawks - I got a Chopper later and felt all grown-up, much cooler than that twat in Whizzer & Chips).
Anyway, we found it was fun to ride our bikes down a steep main road in our village (kids - born with a death wish, aren't they?). After a while it lost its edge, so we started doing it no-handed (looks cool, everyone knows it impresses 6 yr old girls, so of course we were gonna do it). Then we added a new twist - two-thirds of the way down the hill was a turning on the right, into an estate containing an old-people's home (I'm sure they we're retired Nazis, actually, given the warm and loving response we got any time we set foot in there). The twist was this - without slowing at all, you had to turn and cross 2 lanes of traffic - whilst still doing a no-hander. And to top it off, we came up with our own little catchphrase, which you had to yell at the top of your voice.
So, we give it a go. It was a red-hot sunny day, so there goes the shirt (revealing little sausage arms covered in 'lick & stick' tattoos - more things that we were convinced made us look attractive to the neigbour's daughters). We race off, picking up speed. A third of the way down, time for no hands. Now we're bombing it down this road, no-handed, and the right-turn is coming up. But here comes a red Morris Marina in the opposite direction, what to do? I do the only thing a 6-year old knows how to do, dammit - I lean my weight over to the right, make the bike cross the lanes, stare at the Marina driver as I whizz past (who I can still see, shitting himself) and scream "SCIROCCO SPECIALLLLLLLLLLLL"".......and crash into the pavement, sending me flying into a wall, lips-first - OUCH.
We shot off to me mate's Mum, who cleaned me up and said "Don't worry, soldiers have big lips - you look just like a soldier now!" (in that way that all Mum's have of making you feel like, actually, even though I look like the Elephant Man, I feel okay about it). Then I went home, and saw me Dad. "Hey Dad" I spluttered "Look what happened - I look like a Soldier!", at which point he clouted me round the back of the head and said "Don't be so bloody stupid". He'd worked out that HE'D get it in the neck from me Mum when she saw me, even though he had precisely frig-all to do with it. And then I got a right clouting about a week later, when the shop owner who lived opposite the old-people's home told him what I'd done whilst they were in the boozer, the big fat gobshite.
I see the occasional episode of Top Gear every now and again, and whenever I see a mad stunt, I think to myself "Whoa....Scirocco Special"....
(Fri 13th Feb 2009, 10:35, More)
2-wheeled Fiend
I was about 6 (mid-70s), and me and my best mate used to go everywhere on our bikes (Tomahawks - I got a Chopper later and felt all grown-up, much cooler than that twat in Whizzer & Chips).
Anyway, we found it was fun to ride our bikes down a steep main road in our village (kids - born with a death wish, aren't they?). After a while it lost its edge, so we started doing it no-handed (looks cool, everyone knows it impresses 6 yr old girls, so of course we were gonna do it). Then we added a new twist - two-thirds of the way down the hill was a turning on the right, into an estate containing an old-people's home (I'm sure they we're retired Nazis, actually, given the warm and loving response we got any time we set foot in there). The twist was this - without slowing at all, you had to turn and cross 2 lanes of traffic - whilst still doing a no-hander. And to top it off, we came up with our own little catchphrase, which you had to yell at the top of your voice.
So, we give it a go. It was a red-hot sunny day, so there goes the shirt (revealing little sausage arms covered in 'lick & stick' tattoos - more things that we were convinced made us look attractive to the neigbour's daughters). We race off, picking up speed. A third of the way down, time for no hands. Now we're bombing it down this road, no-handed, and the right-turn is coming up. But here comes a red Morris Marina in the opposite direction, what to do? I do the only thing a 6-year old knows how to do, dammit - I lean my weight over to the right, make the bike cross the lanes, stare at the Marina driver as I whizz past (who I can still see, shitting himself) and scream "SCIROCCO SPECIALLLLLLLLLLLL"".......and crash into the pavement, sending me flying into a wall, lips-first - OUCH.
We shot off to me mate's Mum, who cleaned me up and said "Don't worry, soldiers have big lips - you look just like a soldier now!" (in that way that all Mum's have of making you feel like, actually, even though I look like the Elephant Man, I feel okay about it). Then I went home, and saw me Dad. "Hey Dad" I spluttered "Look what happened - I look like a Soldier!", at which point he clouted me round the back of the head and said "Don't be so bloody stupid". He'd worked out that HE'D get it in the neck from me Mum when she saw me, even though he had precisely frig-all to do with it. And then I got a right clouting about a week later, when the shop owner who lived opposite the old-people's home told him what I'd done whilst they were in the boozer, the big fat gobshite.
I see the occasional episode of Top Gear every now and again, and whenever I see a mad stunt, I think to myself "Whoa....Scirocco Special"....
(Fri 13th Feb 2009, 10:35, More)
» Unexpected Nudity
6th? Meh
Went camping with some mates, went out one night and got mullered.
Got back to the tents and got in, crashed immediately. Then got woken up by me mate who told me to sit up and look at the thing on the fly sheet of the tent (basically a fine piece of see-through mesh that separated the inside of the tent from the outside). Sat bolt upright, and found that the 'thing' in question was another mate's hairy arse crack, bulging inward through the sheet, literally inches from my horrified eyes.
Why horrified? Because now I know why they call them 'bum grapes' (shiver)...
(Thu 28th May 2009, 13:38, More)
6th? Meh
Went camping with some mates, went out one night and got mullered.
Got back to the tents and got in, crashed immediately. Then got woken up by me mate who told me to sit up and look at the thing on the fly sheet of the tent (basically a fine piece of see-through mesh that separated the inside of the tent from the outside). Sat bolt upright, and found that the 'thing' in question was another mate's hairy arse crack, bulging inward through the sheet, literally inches from my horrified eyes.
Why horrified? Because now I know why they call them 'bum grapes' (shiver)...
(Thu 28th May 2009, 13:38, More)