The Random Thread (My 5985)

Zing.

 

Manchester City have sold Shaun Wright-Phillips to Madonna.

 

That's what happened to me, except in $

 

Shhhhhh!!.......
Don't tell anyone...... I'm gonna go down on you....
...And you're gonna love it...........
........But it's only going to be long enough to let you start enjoying it........
....Then I'm gonna come back up again and fuck you big time.....

Lots of love,
Petrol prices xx

 

Laugh. Out. Fucking. Loud.

 

BEFORE MARRIAGE:

Husband - Aaah! ...At last! I can hardly wait!
Wife - Do you want me to leave?
Husband - No! Don't even think about it.
Wife - Do you love me?
Husband - Of course! Always have and always will!
Wife - Have you ever cheated on me?
Husband - No! Why are you even asking?
Wife - Will you kiss me?
Husband - Every chance I get!
Wife - Will you hit me?
Husband - Hell no! Are you crazy?!
Wife - Can I trust you?
Husband - Yes.
Wife - Darling!

AFTER MARRIAGE: read from bottom to top.

 

What's the difference between a gay and a microwave?

A microwave won't brown your sausage.

 

We call our grandad "Spiderman".

He hasn't got any super powers - he just finds it difficult to get out of the bath.

 

I used to go out with an English teacher, but she dumped me.

She didn't approve of my improper use of the colon.

 

but who says petrol?
...I guess Americans don't

 

Craig David is quitting his singing career to join the British Olympic 2012 Archery team.

He's going to be their bow selector.

 

We say petrol.

Well, actually, I say diesel, and I've been fucked with a red-hot poker with that for quite a few years.

You know, diesel used to be cheaper? Fucking NuLabour.

 

My wife said I'm too immature and if I don't grow up it's gonna erect a barrier between us.

Ha ha ha, erect.

 

I'm with Al-ge-bra and carry weapons of maths instruction.

 

I walked in on my daughter masturbating this morning.

She's still too young to understand what I was doing, though.

 

It was Los Angeles, November, 1997. It was wet. Damned wet. El Nino wet. Our story takes place in a travellers hostel in Inglewood. Yes, i said Inglewood. For those outside of LA and the world beyond, South Central was synonymous with ghetto and violence in LA. In LA, Inglewood and Compton were the places to be avoided.

 

And there we were, a former motel of foreign white folk in the midst. Ironically, it was the foreign part that kept it safe. On the street, no-one ever bothered you, however incongrous a white face in Inglewood may have been. It was like a truce.

 

Into this surreal setting, we pitch our heroes.

 

There were many of us in those days. There was Alexa, the girl from Berlin. Greg, the Kiwi from Taupo. A couple from Perth whose name escapes me just now. Thomas from London. Ross the chef, an Australian Jew from Melbourne who loved bacon and taught me how to shave properly. Catherine, the sweet girl from Dublin. And me, young, wide-eyed, pitched into the dangers of the wider world, unbeknowst of the perils and horrors that lay ahead.

 

^^^

I'm enthralled now!

Please, do go on old chap.