The first few times
I didn't have a clue what I was doing. I would roll it between my hands as if making a long sausage shape with plasticine. It took so long I gave up thinking "Is that it?"

Then one day my mate showed me some mags he'd found on top of his dad's wardrobe. After looking through the alarmingly grotesque pictures, I started reading one of the stories. Then I read the line "..her hand moving faster and faster up and down my glistening shaft.." or something of similar poetic excrement. Hmm, thought I.

That night, I had a bath and managed 4 or 5 before the water went cold.

Actually that's quite a good euphemism. "Sorry darling, it's not you, it's just the water went cold"
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 18 Feb 2011, 1:22, Reply)

I came down to the breakfast table,
Felt like I could cry
Tried so hard, but wasn’t able,
To look you in the eye
For I am feeling so much shame
Yes I have brought disgrace
Can tell I soiled my good name
By the look upon your face…

Well, it seems last night you caught me spanking it
No use denying it, I was really cranking it
Dry your eyes, don't be so sad.
If you could just forgive me, and talk to me dad

I didn’t hear you enter, no I didn’t hear the door
With my hand upon my member and my pants upon the floor
Now burnt into your brain is an image you despise
Like blood and guts and starving kids and Stevie Wonder's eyes

Well it seems last night you caught me spanking it
No use denying it, I was really cranking it
Well dry your eyes, don't be so sad
But I wouldn’t use those tissues, they’ve already been had
Talk to me dad

The look upon your face made my swollen gland diminish
So I said “could you close the door, I really wanna finish.”
Another 30 seconds and if all had gone to plan,
you'd have seen your future grandchildren, running down your hand.

Well it seems last night you caught me spanking it
No use denying it, I was really cranking it
Well dry your eyes, don't be so sad,
Just because it was your bed, it’s not that bad

When I was only 17 you told me it was dirty,
So it must be really creepy when you kid is pushing thirty
But you cannot tell me, dad, you have never had a whack
At the thing that hangs below your belt and bumps into your sack

Well it seems last night you caught me spanking it
No use denying it, I was really cranking it
Dry your eyes, don’t be so sad
But I wouldn’t use those tissues, they’ve already been…
Just because it was your bed, it’s not that…
Oh daddy, daddy, please forgive me, and talk to me dad
Talk to me dad
(Vigilante Man weeps because you're stupid., Fri 18 Feb 2011, 0:45, 5 replies)

I'm typing this
with my left hand
(Jazzspasm, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 23:30, Reply)

Just last week
I came home sick from work, decided I deserved a treat. As the horses bolted, I held a wad of bog roll to the business end of my pleasure pole, only to shoot clean through and hit myself in the neck.

It wasn't pleasant.
(Mong goose, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 23:21, 2 replies)

It all began with my first proper girlfriend
We'd met up on a Sunday and hung around the shopping centre for a bit. After some persuasion, I'd managed to convince her to wank me off in the slightly hidden spot behind Barclays bank.

So lil lil ben is out and, before starting, she tells me not to cum on her.
No problem, I think, I'm 16* and have managed to get a good few years of practice in and am pretty apt at finishing myself off.

However I had failed to take in to account that her wanking technique wasn't quote as honed as mine. I think she'd picked up tips off farming programs as it was suspiciously similar to the way they milk cows.

Some 45 minutes later, 30 of that being on the brink, I'm finally at the vinegar strokes. Sod this, I think, it's taken so bloody long I'm just going to cum. So cum I did.

Funnily enough, I lose interest in hanging around her and decide to head off home without even a thought to where my man juice went.

I got home, hung my coat up and exchanged pleasantries and had a chat with my parents before heading in to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Then I noticed it.

My dark red top had a huge white smear that from my right shoulder to my left hip that could only be cum.
Yep, I'd spent a good 5 minutes chatting to my parents with a massive cum stain on my jumper.

Amazingly, they've never mentioned it.

*late I know
(lilben81, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 22:17, Reply)

Rememberance Sunday
In my mispent youth I felt the urge to put something back to the community and was an upstanding member of the Special Constabulary. Each year I used to police the Rememberance Sunday parades. I quite liked the old codgers, my grandad used to drop bombs on the hun, and I suppose I felt a bit of an affinity and gratitude.

One such year, I had just finished escorting the British Legion parade to the local church and was chatting up a fit WPC as I recall when we got a call to the same church for a 'disturbance' which was a bit of a turn up as most of them were in their eighties and pretty immobile.

I opened the door and looked down the isle. There was definitely a bit of a kerfuffle going on, packed with people but I couldn't see what was happening. I made my way to the front, still not being able to see what was happening, when a rather large lady in front of me in a beautiful pink dress and hat let out a yelp and span around to reveal a lovely splash line running from her waist across her ample if somewhat droopy breasts and across her overly powdered face.

Still with no idea whatsoever what was going on I looked past her to see one of the old boys in full medal regalia, immaculate pressed white pants around his ankles, cock in hand and giving me his best Fred Scuttle/Benny Hill salute. All he simply said was "I have been a very naughty boy haven't I officer" as I led him away.....

That's dementia for you.
(Mong The Merciless Older not wiser, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 20:32, 4 replies)

A record?
When I was 14 or thereabouts, upon taking ownership of a glossy new edition of Men Only, I managed to spill my filthy seed eight times in one evening. Can anyone claim to have beaten this milestone of crusty-handkerchiefness?
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 19:08, 15 replies)

They say if a butterfly flaps its wings it can cause hurricanes half way across the world.
I will forever feel guilty about having a wank on monday september 10th 2001
(FondaAccord, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 19:03, 1 reply)

To cut a long story short.
They escorted me from the election hall, and told me I'd spoilt my ballot.
(FondaAccord, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 18:41, 2 replies)

Unexpected consequences.
As a teenager the only time I got to wank was in the bath. One day, after a massive wankathon, my mother decided she needed a bath and, to save money on heating, would use my bath water. All was well, until my father realised that my mother had become pregnant while he was stationed in Germany.
My father still thinks my mother cheated and she still thinks she is the blessed Mary reincarnated.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 18:41, 6 replies)

My mum was making a cup of tea
At the end, she closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet aroma of the Twinings, and by the time she opened her eyes, I'd wanked in the teapot.
(__, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 18:18, 2 replies)

ow. just ow.
during my teen years, my friends and i would often have to employ the "you go out with the ugly bloke so i can have his sexy mate" strategy. it wasn't a perfect solution, but it did mean we often got the blokes we were after.
one saturday night, a friend of ours was having her 16th birthday party. it was the first time her parents had let her have booze in the house, so we were all intent on getting pissed and frisky.
one of the lads, J, was someone i'd had my eye on for some time. he always hung out with P, who was a bit of a wall-faced twat. i'd tried to set my mate up with P before, but she was having none of it. J wasn't willing to leave his mate in the lurch, so i was having none, either.
as the night wore on and we became ever more drunk, i finally managed to persuade my mate that P wasn't that bad a catch. with a sigh and an "oh, all right", she took P by the hand and led him into the hall closet for a bit of privacy. seeing that they were occupied, J and i went onto the verandah to indulge in a bit of snogging.
2 minutes later, the closet door flew open and a screaming P ran out, clutching his bleeding todger. seems my mate had agreed to give him a wank and, forgetting that she was wearing an eternity-type* ring, had pretty much lacerated his man-meat. needless to say, the party pretty much fell apart at that point.
the second worst thing was that the cow refused to go to casualty with him, so J had to go and try to explain what had shredded his mate's cock.
the worst thing was that both P and J refused to go out with us afterwards :(

*this particular type of ring has stones right the way around it.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 18:07, Reply)

caught by the step mother
many many "many's" ago when i was a raging pit of teenage hormones i found my dads stash of mid 80's porn.
so after discovering this dog eared pile of hairy clunges and ample bosoms.
i was happy to discover, that it was possible to get a "instant boner just add porn" moment, anyhoo i was in a daze of self induced knob polishing with mags laid out in the garden shed.
and in mid stroke i saw the door open and in stepped step mother just as i was gurning over a particularly hairy clunge, that still to this day reminds me of brian blesseds mouth and beard turned side ways, she took one look at me and started to scream and shout i took one more stroke and shot the lot.
needless to say that dinner for next few weeks was rather a uncomfortable time
( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 17:45, 3 replies)

Filthy spunky time
The date is 2005 and I was in my final year of Uni. It was a warm autumn day in Bristol and i was alone in my room with sun light pouring through my open window. All was good in the world, and as a little personal treat, I decided to partake in a little bit of personal hand love.

Instead of a leisurely bed wank, instead I’d opt for the more professional desk wank, complete with swivel chair and pc. The event itself was none too remarkable; I coaxed one out to the lovely Brianna Banks, and given that it was a treat I decided to finish with a standing ovation, spurting my silky man fat onto the hard wooden floor under the desk. It felt good, and why wouldn't it?

About 30 seconds later there was knock at my bedroom door from one of my housemates and he immediately burst in. I had re assumed the sitting position at this point, and feeling relief that I hadn't been caught red handed and that there was no pron left on the computer screen, I instead focused on trying to cover the dying erection in my trousers, while at the same time trying to look nonchalant. I also partook in the obligatory eager and yet stilted conversation one does when trying to hide the fact that mere seconds ago i had been having an orgy of self love with nothing more that a fist and my trouser lizard.

"Mind if I grab a couple of the songs we downloaded last night?" he said while at the same time brandishing a USB stick.

Before i could properly respond he was already down on his knees, by the side of me. This in itself was unnerving; given that he was now eye level with the aforementioned, diminished, but never the less still dangerous trouser lizard. Worse still was that there were no USB sockets on the front of the pc free, and before I could protest he said:

"I’ll just stick this in one of the others round the back"

I tried to say something but nothing came out. That's when it happend, with his little face looking back at me waiting for my reply, he leant further forward under the desk, put his hand down to steady himself and immediately froze. He'd twigged. We were locked in the death stare for no more than 5 seconds but in those 5 seconds a lot was processed by both of us. He was hoping what he'd just put his hand in, wasn't what he thought it was, but it was. Each of use continued to stare deep into the others soul's. His soul crying out and trying to comprehend how this could have happened, me trying to think of a plausible excuse for my filthy act of floor spunkage.

Amazingly, he broke the silence first, the pained look on his face disappeared and he continued on his mission, inserting the USB and copying the music from my desktop, all the while acting as if nothing had happened. I guess it was a knee jerk reaction to the hideousness of knowing my potential babies were currently trying to swim into the pours of his hand. He was trying to pretend it hadn't happened while it was still happening!

He finished, got up and left, leaving us both to digest/vomit over what had just happened.

It was disgusting, an unnatural moment shared by two close friends, and despite this, i swear, just as he left the room, i saw him bring his glistening palm to his hand and take a sniff. filty cunt.

Length? a bit too much in this case.
( lucosade is counting down the minutes until, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 17:17, 8 replies)

I have two stories
Tale one

Going back all the way to 1994. A fresh-faced me has the house to himself for a couple of hours. This of course is a golden ticket to drop my C&A jeans and grab my pink wand.

I'd discovered my dad's porn collection a few years before, but video was a whole new concept. I'd found the promised land. So, settling down for a nice meet and great with the old chap, I was watching a scene involving Ron Jeremy (no joke) and two other early 80s teens. Great scene, I love it so much I started to rewind the tape so I could time the required strokes to perfection.

However, the VHS player starts to make an odd noise....

PANIC

I tried to stop the rewind. No joy.

FUCK IT

Finally the tape stops rewinding. But not before it had ripped to shreds and dumped half of the tape into the machine itself.

BLIND PANIC

I've got about an hour to get myself out of a deep, wank-free zone.

I ran to the garage, semi-erect cock deflating faster than the Hindenburg. Found a couple
of screwdrivers and opened up the video. It looked like a Tauntauns innards.

I managed to get the tape out and fix the video.

I was still left with the ruined tape though. I tried in vain (I even shed a tear in fright) to fix the tape. I only had about 5 minutes before the parents came back.

Sod it, nothing I could do, so I chucked it back in dad's cupboard and ran for my bedroom.

Cue two weeks of abject fear, before I finally managed to move on.

Many years later I mentioned it to my dad. He told me he never watched the tape as it was broken...

Tale 2 to follow
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 17:06, 7 replies)

So I was calmly stroking one out
When this girl who was visiting the house took a wrong turn, and came into my room. Seeing my straining erection, she was overwhelmed with desire, and insisted that I shagged her right away.

Completely spoiled the wank, that did.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 17:01, Reply)

I don't have one about myself
But you know when you're cooking a chilli or curry and using fairly hot peppers? That horrible moment when you realise you've not washed your hands enough to get the chilli out and you've just rubbed your eye?

Yeah, that's a whole lot worse when you're rubbing something else, apparently.
(Fredz A graveyard of hopes, a dump of ambition, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 16:50, 8 replies)

When I was 15, and at school
a lad in my year had a real fixation with his genitals (who hasn't at 15) but was very 'open' about it.
He'd often flop it out in class to amuse/annoy/disgust the girls (I later learned that he did it in order to seperate the 'give outs' from the 'fridges' as he put it)
Anyways, one day he came to school and described a wanking incident that had happened to him that very morning.
He'd woken up with a 'wigwam' and so decided to knock one out before having a shower. Getting 'close' he peeps out across the landing from his bedroom, sees that it's deserted and makes a run for the bathroom whilst at vinegar stroke stage (to aim it straight into the bog, he says)
He reaches to toilet with perfect timing and ejaculates - over his mother who was sat there having a shit.
(Appleseed Is getting married 24/05/2014. All invited., Thu 17 Feb 2011, 16:35, 3 replies)

Well, when I was younger I used to sit on the suction pump
to get my ass sucked as I jacked off underwater in the swimming pool. One fateful day it sucked too hard...
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 16:21, 10 replies)

Captain V called me a wanker the other day
but he's a motherfucker.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 16:13, 2 replies)

I was once
enjoying a nice cup of tea, when my mum walked in and wanked me off.

Actually no, it was your mum.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 15:57, 6 replies)

Internet cafe buzz
I was in an internet cafe in a predominantly Muslim area. I was getting bored waiting for an Aussie friend skyping so I got a computer myself. I was then bored looking at the guardian site so decided to get my "buzz" on.

The computers had dividers giving a certain amount of privacy. The girl sat next to me would have had to lean round to see what I was doing. I did start to feel uncomfortable when I went to type in my favoured hardcore porn site and bottled it. I googled "lesbians" instead. I clicked on the first result and then totally bottled it and shut the window down. Only it didn't shut down. It opened up four more windows. Which I then shut down. Only they didn't shut down. They opened up 4 more windows. Then my computer froze. This brought me, my computer and my frozen computer screen to the attention of the Devout Ismalist running the internet cafe.

As he walked over the girl, wondering what all the fuss was about, checked out my screen. I vividly remember the picture in the top corner of my screen being a middle aged woman with clothes pegs covering her genetals. She looked at the image then turned to me with a face of contempt and disgust. I then turned from the damning face of my fellow surfer to find the Internet Cafe manager standing next to me. By this point I was crippled with embarrasment. I looked like I was about to have a nervous breakdown. Fortunately he saw the anguish I was going through. He gave me a look like "it's happened before" and let me leave.

Upon joining me outside I informed the Aussie of my plight. He laughed. Hard. After laughing he asked: "Did you get to finish one off?" No. No I didn't.
(MC_Histamine, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 15:51, 3 replies)

One time, I wanked so hard I killed Bela Lugosi*
Alone in a darkened room, naturally.


*well, it's hardly worth calling it Little Mr Cunt, is it?
(The Cunt of Monte Cristo, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 15:32, 1 reply)

Have a roasted pea
Back at uni, during what was technically my second first year, I was in a bit of a state mentally as I had split up with my long term missus, tried to commit suicide, and was diagnosed with bipolarity type 2 on pretty much the same day. A few weeks after that and after a brief trip to hospital because of problems with drink and pills, I am now on proper medication, citalopram and zopiclone (cita is an anti-depressant and zopi are sleeping pills) as opposed to alcohol. So I'm fairly hopped up on the above pills, and not entirely with it. A wee bit stoned, you might say.

Somehow I fail to notice that one of my housemates brothers, we shall call him W, has turned up. Given that my bedroom door was about 5 foot away from the front door, you may begin to see just how fucked I was on these pills. I had learnt my lesson from the first incident, and locked my door whenever I was wanking, so people now knocked on my door if they wanted to speak to me.

So I hear a knock on my door just as I hit the vinegar strokes.

"What is it?" I call, boxers still around ankles and todger still firmly in hand just as I finish up into my hand.
"W's here, he wants to say hi to you." I hear B shout through the door.

Shit. At this point, my mind clears enough for me to drag my boxers and jeans up, do my belt and flies up, and for me to open the door and say hi. However, my mind hasn't cleared enough for me to remember that I should have wiped my hand really clean as opposed to a quick wipe across the back of my jeans.

I remember this too late.

There was an audible squelch as we shook hands.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 15:26, Reply)

A day at the beach
Fuck yeah!
As children, there was nothing my brother and I liked more than splashing around in the freezing turd-strewn rip tides of the north sea. I fancied myself as something of a swimmer, even shaving my head so as to look more like smooth-pated man-dolphin Duncan Goodhew. I'd strut about the sands in my Bermuda shorts, proudly flaunting my fat nipples and chronic wheezing to the sexy ladies. I could tell they loved it by the way they laughed and pointed.

After one such day spent wallowing in the shallows, I returned home for a long bath. My pre-teen balls were suitably shrivelled from the cold, and as I lay in the hot water I began idly tugging at my walnutty scrotum to get it back to to that lovely, stretchy balloon-like consistency I knew and loved. Well, one thing led to another and before I knew it my mum was walking in on me having a wank.

So far, so predictable. But rather than accepting my situation and living with the shame, I tried to talk my way out of it. This led to the worst three days of my life – three days that left an indelible mark on my psyche.

Spluttering with embarrassment, I tried to tell my mum that I had, in fact, merely been inspecting my genitals for abnormalities. "Why?" she gasped, "Is something wrong?"
"I wouldn't know," I informed her haughtily. "You interrupted me mid-procedure."
"Well for goodness sake, let me have a look …"

Cue an impromptu testicle inspection. Fuck it, I thought. I can suffer the indignity of my mother preening my balls for imaginary tumours; after all, it's preferable to her thinking I'm a beastly little dough kneader. Then suddenly …

"Ouch!"

A little pain. Not massive, just a pinching sensation, like being flicked by a grumpy midget. "Ooh, that's funny," my mum said. "Your sack's a bit swollen here. Does it hurt?" I told her it did, a little. Attentive mother that she was/is, she drove us down to the GP.
The doctor carried out the same procedure as my mother, harumphed, frowned, and made a phone call. Then turned to us and said "I think this might be a testicular torsion. Basically, that's where the stem of the testicle twists round due to injury or an abnormal growth. I've booked you in at the hospital for this afternoon."

To a twelve-year old, this translates as follows:
"We're chopping your cock off and turning you into a gay."

I managed to put my brother on damage control before leaving – spread rumours, say I hurt my leg kicking a mugger in the face. The truth must not be told to anyone. If they find out that I'm going to hospital because I have freaky balls, I'll be ruined. The sexy ladies at the beach won't fancy me any more. No-one will ever teach me to moonwalk. I will be alone, forever.
He nodded obediently, and ran next door to tell them how his rock-hard little brother had broken every bone in his foot from beating a biker in a roundhousing competition.

Stoically, I set off for the hospital with my mum. More prodding, more poking, only this time by several people at once in a place that's basically like school, only you have to sleep there, you don't know anyone, and everyone's dying. "We'll keep you in for observation," a doctor said to us at last. "I should tell you, if it is a torsion, we'll need to take you in for surgery. It's ok to cry, by the way. Why, I've known grown men cry at the pain of having one of these."

Why did he feel the need to tell me that? Fuck it, I thought, I'm not going to cry. No matter how much pain this causes me, I'm not going to cry.

"Nurse, make sure he has no food for 12 hours."

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Three days and two nights I was in that bed. And for what? I'll tell you. After three days of fear, starvation, dread, humiliation, and general genital manipulation, they decided I was suffering from …

A sand-fly bite.

My brother told everyone I'd been castrated.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 15:09, 20 replies)

Desktop Pictures.
I quite enjoy having stupid images as my desktop background - my phone has a picture of a giraffe's arse up close, whilst my laptop has a picture of a crudely drawn fish.

One Wednesday last year (I work from home) I decided that as I had worked rather hard I deserved some mid-morning hand and arm exercise.

Thinking the house was empty was my first mistake - realising my Dad has zero respect for knocking the door was my second - my third was having a hairy chested reclining picture of David Hasselhoff as my background image.

So the second I hear footsteps outside the door firefox gets shut trousers start getting yanked up just the time the door opens.

It was quite clear what I was doing; embarrassing enough... but my old man now thinks to make man milk I need stars of the 1980's hairy male variety.
(feedingtimeatthezoo day 1 of his bikini diet started, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 14:48, 1 reply)

I was having a wank in front of the mirror
When my mum walked in. It'd been a good night, though. We went to Carl Cox's nightclub and everything.
(McChinaman banned, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 14:30, 2 replies)

Well - since this isn't the most popular QOTW, I might as well pea this roast:
The connection is tenuous at best, so stop reading now if you're prone to whining:

My mum is a very light sleeper - I discovered this in my teens when trying to return to the house intoxicated in various forms, and get to bed without waking anyone up.

Now I'm in my mid-thirties, and a few years ago was visiting my mum.

The second or third Harry Potter film had just come out on video, and she loves it, because she reckons she's just like one of the teachers in it - the one played by Zoe Wannamaker - and to a certain degree she's quite right.

Now - she was insistent that I watch - or at least try to watch - the video, but her and hubby were off to bed (they're in their sixties and anything beyond 9pm is a stretch these days), so here's the telly, here's the video, here's the remotes - off you go, and you know where the fridge is if you fancy a sandwich.

So I started watching it, and I vaguely got into it - I had enjoyed the books when they came out, and - irritating child-actors aside - I thought the film was quite engaging.

Half way through, I decided that yes indeed a sandwich and another beer would be a good idea , so I hit "Pause", and go and make myself some sort of BLT-type affair.

I return to my seat, and look around for the remote, which seems to have hidden itself entirely from my ken.

Now - the older children among you will recall that certain telly-and-video combos mean that after the video's been paused for a while, it stops the tape and flicks back to actual telly automatically, at the volume the telly was before you turned the video on.

This happened at this point, and BANG the telly came on and what was it? Channel Five. It was now late at night, so showing was soft porn - cue some topless girl bouncing up and down shrieking excitedly at the top of her bleedin lungs, at top volume on the telly because my mum has the telly loud as she's a bit deaf.

In desperation I look for the remote where the fucker is I don't know under the chair by the sofa on the pouffe on the table where the FUCK are you DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CHAIR DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CHAIR I desperately start reaching for the remote, my back to the living room door as I search with my hand where is it where is it where is it oh god where is it

when I hear

"Erm ... Vagabond ... " I turn and stare, terrified, over my shoulder - the living room door is open a tiny crack, "Could you, ah ... turn the volume down please, we are actually trying to sleep upstairs ... " as I turn back to the screen, the actress finally reaching the climax of the scene.

Oh god.

I honestly was just looking for the remote. I swear to god, mum.

Will I ever be able to raise this in conversation, and the truth be known?

Will I fuck.

Length? She might as well have made me a cup of tea.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 14:27, Reply)

It was 1989 and my computer got badly infected by a worm
What a disaster!

For de-ris: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WANK_%28computer_worm%29
( camp freddy well, would you look at that!, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 14:18, Reply)