I Hurt My Rude Bits, AgainMy commute to work was made excellent the other day when I saw a motorcyclist try to ride on the pavement to avoid a traffic queue, lose control, fall off and land bollock-first on a concrete bollard. He was fine, eventually – but tell us your tales of the old blinding agony to the gentleman's or gentlewoman's area.
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Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 12:50)
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Poor Mr Palmer.Mr Palmer was our maths teacher at prep school, and liked to walk up and down between the rows of desks as he spoke; he'd dash back to the whiteboard to solve equations and then resume his slow, incessant tramping.
One day, my classmate Jessica had a cold; she was sniffing and snorting and coughing, and sat in a desk next to the aisle so she could frequently go and dump her snotty tissues in the bin. Poor Mr Palmer started his latest dash to the whiteboard just as Jessica, leaning slightly forward into the aisle, did an enormously violent sneeze and headbutted him in the knackers. He fell over, and then stumbled to his desk, where he taught the rest of the lesson sitting down and regaining his breath.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 11:07, 1 reply)
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahaha!I like this!
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Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 14:20,
closed)
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