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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Chestnuts roasting on an open fireIt was Christmas Eve 1999. I was sitting on my bed, watching the unusually large moon and smoking a joint made with Regal King Size tobacco and seriously gakky hash. Suddenly a large hot-rock fell from the cherry, straight through the fly in my boxer shorts and landed square on my ballbag. The thing was so big (the hot-rock, not my scrote), I was surprised they didn't have to send Bruce Willis and a dozen other pointless twats up in a rocket to drill it a new arsehole. Afterwards, I could play my junk like a fucking ocarina.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 19:12, 1 reply)
I could never play the ocarinaMy spine isn't that flexible.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 20:18, closed)
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