am scared tò post now!
but... my ex boyfriend just rang and told me we can't talk to each other anymore (we were good mates - amicable breakup) because his new - barely legal, i might add - girlfriend has threatened to "find me and hurt my kids".

I tell you what - I'm beautiful and I'm going to go fucking bonkers if I ever see her! She won't even be ABLE to have kids when I've finished with her, never mind the fact that she is one. Fucking silly cow.

She is a fruitloop. Fact! /Rant over

On a sidenote, one of my exes is now on medication for nutterism, so they tell me. He builds trains.
(The Apeface Cherub is not a cunty-uber-cunt, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 19:42, Reply)

I feel like there's something wrong with me now...
My boyfriend regularly threatens to kick me in the ovaries/womb, I frequently threaten to remove his face and/or genitals with a blunt instrument and we both hit each other at the sight of a yellow car.

I've never been happier.

And it seems a lot of the boys on here can't handle kinky ladies...nuff said
( Spazzcat jam out with your clam out, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 17:05, Reply)

Limited diet
Not really bonkers, just not quite right. Lovely girl - however;

She was hugely paranoid and couldn't function without weed; ate nothing bar chocolate muffins and salt & vinegar crisp sarnies, and after roughly a month of idyllic bliss, decided abruptly to move back in with her ex (hobbies: spousal abuse, alcoholism, shouting in the street, The Fast And The Furious).

Not angry or bitter, just bewildered.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 16:40, Reply)

easyJet pest
Not beautiful - it was me - but I was bonkers. Worth the read I reckon...

Flying to the south of France years ago, I met this girl in the check-in queue, who I'll call Kate. I chatted to her quite briefly, but checked her out: 5’10”, long blonde curls, a really shit-hot curvy figure, very justified low-cut top and pretty, even without the make-up (which would’ve taken a while, I reckon). Anyway, had a bit of banter, got to the desk, got my boarding pass, pissed off to the lounge and thought no more of it.

Later, after I’ve bagged my window seat, Kate wanders along looking for her spot. I catch her eye and she recognises me, smiles (cue ‘woo!’) and asks me about where her seat was. I was able to tell her that “there aren’t any numbered seats on easyJet, you just sit down” - thank you Stelios, for once - and she plopped herself down next to me (cue ‘hell yeah!’). We had a great time, chatting away constantly and getting on really well. It was a clear day, so she even seemed impressed with my spoddy knowledge of the English countryside. She told me she was a lawyer working for a big retail group, and while she was in no way showy, it transpired she had flats in Manchester and in London and was taking the helicopter to Monte Carlo when she got to the airport $¬) so, the dates would be fun. She even felt familiar enough to roll up her trouser leg to show me a scar on her knee from an operation (cue magazine in lap - well, I could see an inch of her lower thigh).

We landed, and I asked if she had a pen and paper (I had none - doh!), and she just handed me her card and said “let’s hook up back in London.” Fair to say, I contend, that this was a result. We even parted with a hug and kisses on the cheek (facial).

Back in Blighty, I gave her a ring, she answered, remembered me, was pleased I rang and suggested we meet up the following Saturday for a day - that’s a whole day - in town (cue stadium roar). Cut to the following Friday, and I was back at work, with a pesky new mobile in my pocket. I’d yet to set it to vibrate, which it needed to do because I was working all evening around very noisy trains. Also, I’d been single/celibate for over a year and didn’t want to tempt fate, so I bit my tongue hard when I told a mate what I was doing the next day. Sure enough, two missed calls and a quick chat later, and Saturday was off because her flat in Manchester was damaged because of - get this – an earthquake (Beeb article).

This is where I got the nutty bug. I ‘phoned her perhaps five times over the ensuing weekend, leaving a couple of messages, and fired in some more unanswered calls over the following week. I was hopping mad about losing out on my first date in ages to a supremely rare seismic event, so eventually I ticked a few more stalker boxes by looking up the number of her company’s office in Manchester. Within seconds I was on her extension…

Kate: (very stern) I really don’t feel comfortable with you calling me at work.
Me: Well I called you a few times…
Kate: I know, I know. Look I’ll call you later
Me: Perhaps you shouldn’t call at all
Kate: Well OK then. Bye.

Me: (months later) Why the hell didn’t you wait a bit rather than behave like a randy Alsatian sniffing a bitch in heat?

Length? She never got to decide, or be gentle like I know you’ll be.
(Good old boy just like yer grandma!, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 16:29, Reply)

Do not use the QOTW for private chat
It makes the site completely unreadable for everyone else.

We have a private chat function already built into the site. Find it by clicking on someones name and pressing the "send me a message" link. it's called Gaz.

I've deleted most of the recent stuff, and temp banned (24hrs) the two worst offenders, as they didn't stop after the first lot of deleting.

BTW: Yes, at some point we'll probably add some kind of "respond to this post" button. But not today. Your best option at this point in time is to use Gaz.

If - for some reason - you want to discuss this, then add your thoughts to my rather stroppy thread on the talk board.
www.b3ta.com/talk/2215229
( rob, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 16:21, Reply)

Here we go then...
Not funny, just sad, I'm afraid.

Mother of my child, she is. I'll let the story tell you.

We get together, couple of months later she's 'got' pregnant. Although I know she was supposed to be taking the pill, I'm quite pleased (always wanted kids anyway) and supportive and promise to stick by her cos my (apparently old-fashioned) morals tell me I should. The back of my mind sends massive messages forwards saying "Get out! Get out!" but I ignore it in favour of the 2.4 children idea.

She gets a scan, it's twins. I'm stunned, but fundamentally quite pleased.

A couple of months later she takes me to one side and says "I've lost the twins." Sad, yes, but immediately followed by "But it's ok, I'm pregnant again!"

So she'd had a miscarriage, not told me, carried on sleeping with me to get pregnant again, then told me all in one big Mohammad Ali-style punch of a statement during my lunch from work. My subconscious pages me again, but I put it on Do Not Disturb.

Things start to go to shit, in a big way. She starts telling lies, small ones at first, then bigger and bigger. I start suffering from depression. She refuses to work, so I support her through her pregnancy with the IT job I've already had for three years. We move house, she gets a dog (at the time, I ffuckking hated dogs). She starts fights, seemingly just to have them. I hate fights, and they push me deeper into depression. Arguments happen virtually every night, never agreeing on anything. We fight, verbally, mentally and physically a couple of times. General unhappiness ensues for both of us.

I get generally angry and sometimes drunk, not a good combination. I start to lose the plot. We have the baby, and things settle down for a few months, but start to deteriorate again soon. I end up out of my mind with worry, things degrading rapidly at work and with my friendship group, and generally being cack.

It takes me almost exactly a year from my daughter's birth to finally plucking-up the courage to end the relationship and, thus, daily meetings with my daughter.

After we split, she went out with a friend of mine, got 'pregnant', split up, had another 'miscarriage', met someone else, got pregnant within a couple of months, had the child and they stuck together until just recently, having another child together, then they split up and she's buggered off to the other side of the country with our daughter, who I haven't seen for six months, and their kids.

In retrospect, she was pregnant when I met her, by her old boyfriend. She was sixteen when I met her, I was twenty-one. It was a major recipe for disaster but I was young and niave and... well, stupid. But I wouldn't ever wish we hadn't had my daughter, who is the most beautiful, happy, bright and attentive child anyone could ever wish for.

This was all eleven years ago. I'm not saying I'm an angel, and that I did nothing wrong during the time of our relationship, but this girl ffuckked me up. And she doesn't even know it.

[edit] Almost forgot, she faked ME, or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, telling me and her family that the doctor had definitely told her that's what she had. She had sudden moments of weakness, especially when the subject of getting a job came about. Fnarf.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 16:03, Reply)

Knife wielding crazy girlfriend
When I was 18, I was going out with a girl who was lovely, but a bit unstable. We were both out in town seperatley one night but due to be both staying at my parents, I got so hammered I ended up at some other girls house. Next morning she was pissed off when I returnedand stormed out of my room and out the house.

I few days later I took my SNES round a mates house to play some bomberman. However the games didn't work. I only put 2 and 2 together a few days later when I looked through my uni diving photos. Every picture of me had my face cut out! Checking the SNES games again, it turned out she'd run a scalpel down them in a mad rage in my bedroom after going though the photos. She'd obviously decided to hit me where it hurt. Luckily she had no knowledge of SNES games so Killer Instinct caught the worst of it while Mario Kart came off relatively unscathed and still worked.

My sister is still good freinds with her.
(fatcatpat, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 15:43, Reply)

Not me,
but a friend of mine. He seems to have a knack of finding them. They're all good lookers, but all a bit bonkers (although they'd probably have to be to be with him!).

Funniest bonkers moment would have to be when we were all out in the pub, just having some beers on a friday after work. At this time, I was due to get married in about three months time or so and she asked me what we were doing for a stag night.

"We're having a stag weekend, not a stag night" says I.

"Where are you going then?" she asks.

"We going to Amsterdam and I'm gonna get me a hooker" says I.

A look of horror spread slowly accross her face.

"You're not serious are you" she asked, shocked.

"Of course I am" says I, winking at my mate, her fella.

She turns to her bloke and tells him in no uncertain terms that he is not coming with me.

"If you went to Amsterdam with him you'd wake up in the morning with some dirty tart next to you!" she shouts as he tries to pursuade her he should go.

"Oh, come on" says he " I'm more of a man than that!"

She starts to calm down until he follows with:

"I'd wake up with two!"

God bless him, everyone laughed. It was a funny line and he delivered it well. The whole conversation was obviously a joke from the start but she didn't seem to understand. She was convinced we were serious and warned me she'd tell my fiance what I'd been saying.* Que tears and toilet for at least half an hour while we all stand around trying to figure out what just happened. I thought it was hilarious, but there's only so much madness you can take and she had to go.

* The missus got used to the Amsterdam and hooker stag do joke and used to play along. She knows what I;'m like and has a sense of humour too.

On the tit size question, any more than a handful is a waste. My wife used to be a gymnast and has a very thin, taught, toned, firm, flexible figure with smallish breasts* which are pert and soft. This is how I like them.

* It was at this point that I came in my left hand while typing with my right. I do hope this adds a new dimension to what you have just read. I feel dirty, but that's not necessarily a bad thing...
(robbersdog, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 15:30, Reply)

Bucket loads of crazy
I dont wanna say too much cos i still feel like a grade A tit for ever going near her.

faked being raped.
faked being mugged.
faked having epilepsy (whilst in hospital having had every scan possible)
'dropped' a knife and cut herself. (through her jeans and into her leg)

she would have these 'seizures' where she'd drop to the floor and do the whole eyes roll back flittering lids etc. having split up with after finally coming to my senses. i saw her at a party several months later....
first thing she does is drop like a sack of potatoes infront of everyone and proceed to have a reminiscent seizure on my behalf.

i wish id been man enough to just step over her and carry on to the toilet.

The plus side of it all is i found the route of the most classic break up cliche in all mankind. its not you....its me. i just need to be on my own blahblah. In all honesty those were pretty much the words i used when i cut her loose. And id never heard them before. i think it must just be in-built.

OH YEAH!! i almost forgot, she faked some sort of heart condition or something. we saw her in town in a wheelchair. absolutely fucking classic. thankfully this was after id got the hell out of there.

i heard some 1 say that she took the wheelchair to a rave, got wheeled in, danced like a trooper (on her feet) all night, then got wheeled back out at the end.

my first prize in the beauty but bonkers challenge goes to...HOLLY.
(WaGawAgA, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 14:05, Reply)

German love poetry
I once dated a German lady (see the "not losing your virginty" post). Nice girl, stereotypically well constructed and flaxen haired but absolutely not romantic when speaking in her native tongue.

Teutonic love verse is up there with Belgian europop for sounding monumentally awful. Being given the choice of enduring the latest Flemish hit of "Bim-o Bam-o" or a pronouncement of the undying which involves the spraying of Roy Hattersley-esque levels of spit from the orator I couldn't decide which to plump for.

She wasn't nuts in any way but had a worrying lack of sophistication on the boob/willy humour department. Even by my own standards.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 23 Nov 2006, 13:31, Reply)

Some grouches do pick'em.
One ex was very fit and very very... bendy, being an ex-ballerina. This was obviously a good thing.

Unfortunately she had a tendency to puke(with excitement, I should add) every time I phoned.

The point her boss asked me to no longer phone her at work as the vomiting was becoming a distraction was the point I decided to call it all a day.

Another was (fairly brutally) discarded when she developed a taste for victorian dress. In public. And including bonnets.

I recently discovered that she married a french herbalist in a pagan setting and now lives in a commune, somewhere near Lille.

A third - I was devoted too. So much so that I got engaged to her. And then dumped, rather brutally - karma will out, it seems.

Unbeknownst to me, she now edits Mills and Boon - lucky bloody escape, i reckon.
( Grouch would quite like his clients to stop being numptys, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 13:27, Reply)

well, she seemed normal at first...
... i'll admit, i wasn't particularly interested in her to start with, but i got to know her, and she was fun, and when she invited me to a house party i figured what the hell.

i didn't actually know she was seeing someone else, so it was kind of amusing when he turned up at the party, saw her sitting on my lap, and left pretty quickly. in hindsight, i'm pretty damn sure he took the opportunity to run like hell without warning me, the git.

anyways, one thing leads to another, we go up to her room, i figure she's a bit drunk, and didn't take advantage of her because i'm a nice guy, deep down, somewhere. long story short, we end up as an item.

now, a couple of months down the line, things start getting a little bit strange. she goes all bunny-in-headlights during sex, so we stop, i comfort her, things all calm down. this happens more and more often. she tells me she's desperate for kids, and that she might stop taking her pill without telling me, so the brown wings is the only way to be sure that she doesn't get pregnant. at this point, i should probably have started thinkings about getting out of dodge.

but it gets even weirder than that. turns out that, despite being on the pill, and despite me knowing when she's due, she doesn't. i ended up billed for a blood stained matress. now that was fun explaining that one.

then she starts cutting herself. and when i try to stop her, she tries to cut me. i start to think that something isn't right, and i uncover some sort of abuse in a park by a stranger when she was a kid. so i suggest she go to see a professional to sort it out.

see? i'm being supportive, caring, and trying to help. i'm a nice guy.

so she dumps me. then gets back together with me. wants me to stop seeing my best friend (who in another bizarre twist of fate, chose exactly the same time to let me down in the biggest possible way - nice timing. bastard.). starts doing things behind my back with other people who should have known better. gets more and more violent towards me - biting, bruising, cuts, the works. i used to explain the injuries away as rollerblading incidents if anyone asked. eventually she actually sees a professional, and things start getting smoother, and she's less violent, and things sort of sort themselves out. of course, by this stage, i'm pretty much batshit, no self-esteem, and see a counsellor - whose take on the situation was 'man, that's f*cked up.' yeah, thanks. i hadn't realised.

she then takes a year out in italy, while i stay at home, get a job, and start living a life surrounded by sane people. i start self-medicating on st john's wort, make some new friends, and ultimately manage to piece myself back together.

then comes the final straw for me - i get really busy at work, and say that i might not be able to email for a couple of days. all hell breaks loose. i'm accused of everything from being unfaithful to not caring about her to behaving unreasonably to not wanting to be with her any more. do i want to be with her?

says i, in a moment of clarity, i did, but right now i'm not so sure. i need time to think that over.
i need to know now, says she.
if you push for an answer now, it'll be no, on the grounds that i'm not being pressured into anything. so give me a couple of days.
no, i must answer now.
it's a no, then.

cue ranting and raving emails and phonecalls, threats of violence, apologies, everything. shortly followed by shacking up with a friend of mine followed by gloating emails. oh, and spreading all sorts of stories about me to my friends. i figured that hey, my real friends would stand by me, and at least get my side of the story.

no, not one of them. so i chalk it up to experience - at least i know now, eh? - and move on. find a new girlfriend, who isn't so out-and-out batshit (and is hotter than hell to boot), and things are good for me.

ex comes home, lives with some people and new bloke, her and new bloke split. ex seems to be cracking slightly under the strain of things. she brings home a bloke, who leaves shortly afterwards mumbling and looking a bit freaked. she stumbles out wanting to talk to her latest ex. he's a bit drunk, lets her in to his bedroom to talk. she ends up smashing him over the head with a candlestick. police get called out, she calms down. as they leave, she goes back and starts smacking hell out of him again. police intervene, she's off the hospital.

my old friends now look at me in a new light. i'm asked would i talk about our relationship in court if it went that far. i had one apology - the guy who was brained with the candlestick.

so, yeah, that's what happens when you try to be a supportive, decent human being.

last i heard, she's hooked up with the best friend that she tried to get me to stop seeing. i tell people that they deserve each other. they think i'm being nice.

i'm not.

hey, i know it's not particularly funny, but let's just think of it as a form of catharsis for me, and then you can all move along with your lives :)
(blades is looking for a brain, any brain, at, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 13:23, Reply)

Went out with a girl for a few weeks
Lots of sex; but she didn't give head.
She told me that she never would.

Welcome to dumpsville. Population you!

That girl is crazy to think I'd stick around after hearing that!
(waxdart hello., Thu 23 Nov 2006, 13:21, Reply)

A Suggestion...
There's only one way to properly know the size of a man's willy - after checking that he does, in fact, truly fancy you, push him gently up against a wall, hold him tight and give him a thorough snogging. You can then potentially check out how he matches up once he has, ahem, 'responded'.

For Men : The same, except with less busoms, and a glimpse of chest hair, please.

I offer this advice Only In The Interests Of Science And Education.. although any offers made to confirm the theory experimentally will of course be considered.

PS I agree with legless - where's the rest of the story!!
(EssY, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 12:13, Reply)

absolutely, thatbloke.
If everything was in proportion, I'd have to be 6'5" instead of 5'10"...

Anyway a story, I'm not going to detail most of my own experiences as they're not that interesting, apart from the woman online who got waaay too interested and obsessed within a couple of hours then threw a fit when I said I was going to see another (attached, didn't fancy) woman just to say hi. Glad I never met up.. There's also the mad bondage woman that tries to MSN me at times.

An ex-friend's fiance is slightly mad, insecure, and a tad controlling. They were round at a friends; he was happily playing Xbox, she was chatting to his friend's wife. Next moment, he receives a text - it's from his fiance, 3 feet away, asking him to get on the couch and cuddle her..(!)

Then there was the forbidding him to see or phone a mutual, *married* female friend right before he decided to resort to the world of sad coupledom, only ever go out with other people if they were in couples (not even attached but on their own counted) and rarely socialise in pubs etc.

He's now almost married with a child, hopefully it won't explode messily in a couple of years and he really is happy.

As to busoms, well ideally larger can be fun, but having experienced A through to G cups in a variety of sizes I can honestly say that size really doesn't matter, it isn't necessarily any more fun in bed and it has no bearing on whether I truly fancy someone or not. Besides big ones get in the way, especially during sport.
(EssY, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 11:56, Reply)

making a grab for it
But then judging erect size from a flaccid member is invariably inaccurate as well, something a lot of girls don't seem to know, oddly. You'd think they would.

EDIT: that we're genital-obsessed? I don't know, I think that just makes us human. Fine, erogenous-zone-obsessed, then :P

EDIT 2: Much to my relief I've never had to touch another man's member, semi, hard or otherwise. My greatest fear is to find a cock in my trousers that isn't my own. Well, ok, not my greatest fear. My real greatest fears are moths and other flying insects.
( Kroney, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 11:36, Reply)

Misnomer: Men are built in proportion...
...spoken like a straight bloke, that's for sure :)

As an example, my BF is six inches taller than me (and I'm no shortarse), and a few inches wider as well but still, mine is almost twice as big as his. I remember one lad also who was shorter than me, but the contents of his shorts were FUCKING HUGE - sadly though, the dick on his head was even bigger.

In essence, the only way to really tell is to make a grab for it - this method carries the added bonus of confirming whether or not the grab-ee is up for it ;)

EDIT - Agreed, if it's asleep an accurate estimate is difficult - the least you need for a definitive assessment is a semi :D

ANOTHER EDIT: This QOTW has metamorphosed from 'Romantic involvement garnished with lunacy' into 'Breast/penis size and inherent perceived values of such - discuss' - what does that say about us? Hang on, breasts aren't genitals... are they?

YET ANOTHER EDIT: And for the record, size matters. Whilst skill is a prominent factor, it always comes second to mass. Anyone who says otherwise is either a) lying or b) hasn't handled a big one.
(thatblokeoverthere not quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 11:31, Reply)

Attractions
As for attractives, I personally don't really have anything specific that draws me to a lady.
Don't have a boob preference, I just like them.

One thing I will say though, I do have a weakness for redheads, like deep auburn red....mmmmm
(The Cosmic Fool Became aware that the bird is indeed the word on, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 11:23, Reply)

A few years ago
I was with this girl, Aisha. Lovely girl, cute, sexy and short. An absolute nutter.
She would sleep with her eyes open AND talk in her sleep...
One night she woke me up begging me to make her tea in return for sexual favours, so I agree and make the tea at supid o'clock in the morning imagining what she would be thinking about doing for me.
finished making tea, go upstairs and .... oh bless, she has fallen asleep again, so, like an idiot I proceed to wake her telling her that I made her tea.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAKING ME UP AT THIS TIME FOR!!!!!"
Imagine my suprise and shock when she then hurls the mug at me, luckily she misses and breaks her lamp which only anger her more.
She then rolls over and mutters "are we going to screw then or what?"

this happened a few time.
and as for too large breasts, I like large but I love personality, my current better half is wearing DDs and is the most intelligent being I know!
(theyerack, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 10:52, Reply)

When I first set eyes on her….

…she had a pair of underpants on her head, a pencil stuck in each nostril, she was wearing a tee-shirt saying ‘You don’t have to be mad to be me, but it helps’ and she was saying “Wibble”. I don’t know how I didn’t notice that she was as cracked as Humpty-Dumpty after a five storey dive onto a crazy-paved patio. She even showed me her passport, which had her occupation down as ‘Das Fruiten-Loop’.

OK, so maybe none of the above was true in the strict meaning of the word, but Ursula WAS German, and pretty damn gorgeous. I hadn’t actually taken any notice of her at first, but my mate Joe had. This was when I was working the beaches in Nice, and I’d met Joe at the hostel we were staying at – not an official Youth Hostel, but a ‘Relais pour les jeunes’ or something. So Joe had noticed Ursula and had invited her along to an impromptu party on the beach that night. This was a few of us international guys passing round bottles of very cheap red wine one way and home-made cigarettes with a certain Moroccan flavouring the other.

Anyway, we were all lying on the beach [quick background note: the beach at Nice is pebbles, like Brighton, it is also way below the promenade, and accessed via regular sets of steps set into the roughly 20’ high wall] in a circle, facing the centre. Joe had positioned himself next to Ursula and I was roughly opposite her. Now what I didn’t realise was that she was besotted with ME!! I have to admit that I was at the peak of my attractiveness at that time, age 21, lean and tanned from bumming around with a backpack for months. Ursula was lovely – almost white blonde hair cut in a bob, amazing clear brown eyes – very unusual – fair of face, spectacular body…18 years old.

The first inkling I had that she fancied me was when (with Joe’s arm draped across her back) she leaned towards me and asked me if I could speak any German. So, being the wily old fox that I was, I leaned in a bit and said huskily: “Ich leibe dich”. Well, rarely can a declaration of love have been so rapidly rewarded! She said to me “I love your voice, it reminds me of an English DJ that is on the radio in Germany, you sound just like him” then she leaned even closer and proceeded to give me a snog that rated 6.1 on the Richter scale.

Bear in mind, we are now in the middle of a circle of people, chatting, smoking and drinking around us and yet we were also alone in that special place that couples go when they are concentrating on each other to the exclusion of all else. Somehow, she’d manoeuvred round and had reached down inside my jeans. My months on the road had lost me three or four inches around the waist, and I was also going commando – less washing – so it wasn’t hard for her to locate ‘little Che’ who was actually not so very little at that moment. It was all I could do to un-glue her from my mouth, re-do-up my button fly and drag her to a more secluded spot.

We went a couple of hundred feet along the beach until I could contain her no more, then we sank down in the area of shade under the over-hang from the promenade. She pushed me down on my back, ripped my kecks down and hers and was on me in a flash. It was great and even better, at the end, there was a spontaneous round of applause. A small group had gathered on the promenade above us and showed their appreciation in the time honoured way.

What followed was a night of passion to file away in the memory for those times in years to come when you need to cheer yourself up. I hope and pray that each and every one of you have (or have had) a night like that. As I said, I was staying in a hostel, as a favoured long-timer who was also working, I was sleeping on the floor of one of the big dormitories in my sleeping bag. Ursula as part of a school group was upstairs in a small room with her classmates. We went ‘back to mine’ and as soon as the lights went out we went for the reprise…we only stopped when the sun was coming up and it was getting light again. At times like that you count…it was seven times – including the one on the beach, in a full dormitory with about twenty people in it, I don’t think poor old Joe got much sleep either that night.

Now if only she’d been leaving the next day, things might have been different – one night of passion and then gone. But no, next day, there was a big fuss; her teacher had been alerted to the fact that she had not been in her room all night, she was effectively put out of circulation and then she started crying. Each time I saw her, she was surrounded by disapproving looking German girls and boys and teachers, she would burst into tears and start really quite embarrassing stuff like calling to me and pleading.

I honestly can’t remember how long this went on, but we were kept apart and yet so near for what seemed like ages. On their final night, we managed to get five minutes to talk, and she wrote me a message in my little address book, which I still have, and would really like to have translated. It reads – the best I can make out (capital B used for the double s thing):

“Ich glaube daB Du Dein Leben total genicBt. Ich finde das super. Fur mich ist das auch der beste Weg mein Lebern zu genieBen. Ich liebe verruchte Menshchen, so we Dich Das ist wondervoll Ich glaube das vericht. Okay, Ursula”

Well, maybe not so bonkers, but I’ve not had time to tell you what happened when I visited her at home a couple of months later! Maybe next time, or if we get a question ‘have you ever really been in the shit?’
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 10:52, Reply)

There was this lass
Who went to Uni with some mates of mine and had all the lads salivating. She had a curious ethnic makeup, being a mix of Danish, Indian and West Indian, but this added up to a gorgeous dusky package. She however was convinced she had a big wide West Indian nose, so she used to wear a clothes peg on it to make it thinner. Her nose was a actually small and cute, but...
The lunacy ensued when she started going out with guys. She accused my dad of letching at her (he probably was), then later started a huge fist fight with me at the Fridge in Brixton. Another lad had a hairdryer broken over his head for touching her (after she had slept with him.)It was all a cry for attention and finally she locked herself in a toilet and left empty bottle of asprin around the place. Dutiful friends called an ambulance and she got the whole stomach pump works. Nothing there but biscuits apparently.
I learnt later that she never finished her degree but ended up in a Loony Bin.
Sad really, as she really was very fit, but so weird. Never took her knickers off for sex, which was a bit of a nuisance. Still miss her though.
(Mr Steve is jobless and fancyfree!, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 10:27, Reply)

maybe that's a cue for QOTW
crap towns and why!

ok so the top spot has already gone to uxbridge, but what about hull, shirley, cardiff and stockport??
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 10:17, Reply)

And this is probably why I'm still single...
A while back I had a drunken one night stand with a friend of a friend. I though I was being terribly sensible and grown up about the whole thing by going for a coffee the next day and doing the "well, that was fun, but it was a one off, right?" chat.

Six months later a letter pops onto my doormat which reads "Rakky, I'm sorry to tell you that I don't think I can carry on this relationship any longer. It's been nice but I'm looking for true love and I know in my heart of hearts that it's not meant to be. I've experienced the joy of finding that special someone once, and I know that, as much as I care for you, I know we can only ever be friends..."

So basically, I was dumped by a nutter that I WASN'T EVEN GOING OUT WITH...

His next "girlfriend" apparently went on to become a nun.
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 9:58, Reply)

I hope he hangs
Not me but a close friend.
Married a man 20 years her senior. An ex-alcoholic but he seemed nice enough. Some years later he lost his job, and couldn't find another. So he becomes a house-husband looking after house and children while his wife goes to work.
Faced with social isolation and a young and pretty wife who spends long hours at work, he becomes jealous, possesive and starts drinking again. Forbids her to leave the house unless its to go to work, phones her at random times to check that she is at work. At starts "over discipling" the children.
Eventually, she's had enough and asks for a divorce. So, "allegedly", he straps the children into the back of the car and drives off the quay into a container port (its sub judice). "Allegedly", he has second thoughts, unstraps himself and escapes, the two children drown.
His case is due to come to court next year (this isnt in the UK). It makes me sick to think I actually used to shake his hand.
(anat0010, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 9:57, Reply)

For the t/j
If girls like blokes that are hung like a donkey, go for a tall lad. Men are built in proportion, generally speaking.

(says the 6 footer ¬_¬)
( Kroney, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 9:48, Reply)

Heard this song...
...and couldn't help thinking how well it fit this QOTW.

I'm seeing this girl and she just might be out of her mind

Well she's got baggage and it's all the emotional kind

She talks about closure and that validation bit

I don't mean to be insensitive, but I really hate that shit



Oh man she's got issues

And I'm gonna pay

She thinks she's the victim

Yeah



Now I know she'll feel abandoned

If I don't stay over late

And I know she's afraid to commit

But it's only our second date



Oh man she's got issues

And I'm gonna pay

She thinks she's the victim

But she takes it all out on me



I don't know why you're messed up

I don't know why your whole life is a chore

Just do me a favor

And check your baggage at the door



Now she talks about her ex nonstop, but I don't mind

But when she calls out his name in bed

That's where I draw the line

You told me a hundred times how your father left and he's
gone

But I wish you wouldn't call me daddy

When we're gettin' it on



Oh man she's got issues

And I'm gonna pay

She's playing the victim

And taking it all out on me

My god she's got issues

And I'm gonna pay



If you think I'm controlling

Then why do you follow me around

If you're not co-dependent

Then why do you let others drag you down



I don't know why you're messed up

I don't know why your whole life is a chore

Just do me a favor

And check your baggage at the door


Yes, the Offspring feels your pain.
No apologies for length. After all, I wouldn't want to chop the 'chorus' out, now, would I?
(satellite blows, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 9:29, Reply)

Waited too long to post.
Just about every major woman in my life has had or does have problems.
My first real g/f Trina was her name, we went out for a while, I'd been after her for a long time, went to stay with her sister in Birmingham for like three weeks, called me every day in tears for how much she missed the Weapon's sweet lovin', was elated when it was finally time to come home, I had flowers delivered as a welcome home, arranged a romantic dinner, followed by a movie and when she got back she dumped me, cold as ice, as though I were suddenly something she had stepped in. Oh, and she was allergic to flowers now.
Wendy, claimed she was raped when she was younger, which is why she wouldn't do it doggie style? I suspect she simply didn't care for it and didn't like to say. Also she claimed her flat had a poltergeist, which was proved by her shreiking, me coming into her room to find her clothes rack had been pushed over and pinned her to the ground, despite the fact that in the window's reflection I saw her do it herself....Then there's Mrs X. Whenever she gets drunk she hates me, I'm accused of being distrusting and controlling, I never let her do anything she wants and my family is rotten. I'm responsible for every bad thing that's happened since we married. Keep in mind this is all while drunk. When she sobers up the next morning, she remembers little of it, but it's still my fault, because of the way I treat her when drunk, sort of a self fulfilling prophecy, I expect her to behave badly so subconciously I make it happen. So I end up apologising. Luckily she drinks rarely, but Christmas is just around the corner, a time most people look forward to with joy and cheer, I approach with a sense of dread and foreboding. One year on Boxing day she punched me and busted my lip, when I pushed her away to avoid further assault, the police were called by my own family (twunts) and I was told ro leave the house. Spent the night on my friends couch.
(The Cosmic Fool Became aware that the bird is indeed the word on, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 8:28, Reply)

threadjack jumping
I've dated arseholes rather than lunatics, so can't contribute to the main question except to say that if you expect free whoring you deserve all you get.

To contribute to the threadjack though, the great majority of my blokes have been hung like donkeys. The ones that weren't were... well, one took great pride in being able to fold his penis back into his scrotum.

My breasts keep my feet very warm, thank you.
(Emily Bruce-Dickinson http://jovialfellow.blogspot.com/, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 8:19, Reply)

Now known as "Psycho Bitch from Hell"
In a bid to try and drag this out of the quagmire of size related conversation... I shall chat about the complete nutter I ended up being mind-raped by.

To cut a long story short, because it went on for months, it's dull and I've forgotten lots and lots of it (ah... selective memory... mmm the subconscious is a wonderful self regulating (when working) tool) - I lived on a corridor with many other peeps in my first year of Uni. I was one of a few people who was left after all the popular guys and dolls had split into groups of smiley sexy people.
I ended up living with 2 ladies (I'm male, by the way). Not bad you might think. Well one was a bit of a munter, but one was a fox. Really. Ok she had a bit of extra weight and was tough (naturally stacked) but she had the most delicious curves and great pointy bits.
The only problem was she was in a very long term relationship, and the kind of girl who gets married asap.
Could have had something to do with her being Christian. They do those sorts of things.
I shall list a few interesting details, things that she'd told people had happened to her (why would you question them at the time... ?)
* Her brother had mental problems and had many many times tried to kill himself. She’d once resuscitated him after an overdose. He had also written things from the Devil when passed out.
* He regularly used to make attempts to break into her room and stab her. Hence the knife marks in her bedroom door at home and the Yale lock.
* He had accused their father of touching him and she had to give counter evidence in court.
* Her mother had miscarried all over the bathroom when she was 11 after telling her and her brother she wasn't pregnant, hence why she *CANT* bear lies or lying.
* Her mother never appreciated her and was always putting her down.
* The shower in halls was so hot one day that she passed out and hit her head, since which time she's had major headaches and some sort of blood clot in her brain. Almost death many times. And yet she’d never had any hair cut or shaved when she’d been in hospital.
* Her immune system isn't 'normal'. She has adrenalin pens in case she's goes into anaphylactic shock. She once got a blister from a new shoe, which turned into septicemia and if she hadn't have got to the doctors when she did... she would have been dead within a couple of days.
* Coupled to having no resistance against disease, her digestive system didn't work. She rarely ate anything but beans. And she could never fart. Or burp. Or shit properly.
* Through all this, she was a highly commended student.
* She could play God knows how many instruments.
* She'd written an Opera or Symphony or something that had been played in Austrailia.
* She was writing a novel about all the horrible things that had happened in her life. She already had a publisher who were just waiting for her to finish.
* She wrote regular articles for a certain Educational Supplement.
* She was a Christian, but one of those strange ones that does things on a Saturday.
* Even though she was gorgeous, she didn't think so. Often men would come onto her, but she didn't encourage them or flirt. It just happened. And girls would get very jealous. Many a time, men would sit next to her on the bus and try to kiss her for no reason.

Taking all those things together it's pretty clear what we're dealing with.

But I fell head over heals biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig time after being round her almost constantly in our house for many months.

After being off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off for ages until she dumped her long term bloke and after (I kid you not, it must have been hot and cold about 100 times), she dumped me for no particular reason.
Let me explain that this was after I'd been the first to take her to bed. Stupid feckin' twat that I am didn't have a certain handy little gadget with me but we couldn't wait. Yes I know now...
Not only did my seed cause her illness because her "body wasn't used to my germs", not only did her pill fail, not only did the morning after pill fail, not only did the lord provide that she conceive on her first go, but he decided that she could lose it along with the ensuing kidney infection. Lucky eh?

But the dumping. Spectacular. She loved me of course, but was off after some big shot at her church. Couldn't get enough of him. Literally. It was such a big step sleeping with me... So much so that even with their strong values and beliefs that forbade them doing even things like drinking the Devils brew, because it "takes you further from God", it didn't stop them bonking like weasles. Right above my head. For months. When I had my rather important exams. Even though I asked if she could do it at his house when I had my exams. After quitting for a while she started again the night before my first exam. Just under 50% for 3rd year of a masters. Not helpful in the long run.

Leaving a pile of tissues and a condom wrapper on top of a pile of rubbish in your bin isn't subtle. But it's helpful if your ex notices so that you can ask him "Why is it such a big deal to you" in a condescending but caring manner when he looks a little shaken.

She never asked me to my face to be an usher at her wedding, but left it in a letter. This was after weeks of hinting that she was getting engaged to Mr Would-be-Jesus-but-born-two-Millennia-too-late. Even putting her hand on my desk in front of me so I'd notice the ring. I didn't. Realised after though.

The last time I spoke to her, she was sobbing her little heart out and shaking out her duvet that my mates had cheerfully filled with crisps and cheese after my 21st.
I love them for that.

Over the months she's attempted many many times to get in contact with me. Mostly by text, the most recent ones stating how wrong and foolish she was and how great I am and how sorry she is. Due for one soon actually. The last email I got from her she said she wanted to make amends as she didn't have much time left. The head thing you know.

The bitch still isn't dead yet.

I apologise for nothing. You psychologists out there are likely thinking I haven’t got over it. In a way you is right. Never felt so down like that before. Managed to avoid happy pills, just. Since then have been out with two fantastic ladies. The first one when I was still living with the psycho. So good to see her face when she saw the gorgeous blonde I was seeing.

I never thought I’d ever say that I’d not be in the least bit sad to hear that someone I used to love had spontaneously combusted. With regards to the list up there near the top – she was and is a fucking liar.
But she loved the length. She was well dirty :)

Christ! Rant over. Well done for reading it. If you did. I break my recent lurkage in style.
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 1:26, Reply)

I had a girlfriend once. I wanted to impress her. I totally set fire to a cat and then fucked it.
She went ape shit. It wasn't a cat. It was a dog.
( baldmonkey a frothy foul-smelling vaginal discharge, Wed 22 Nov 2006, 22:38, Reply)