Profile for R. Jimlad:
I've never felt so accepted in all my life. You people looked deep within my soul and assigned me a number based on the order in which I joined.
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I've never felt so accepted in all my life. You people looked deep within my soul and assigned me a number based on the order in which I joined.
twitter.com/sirmarkymark
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Guilty Laughs
Mr Jingles
I have one of those friends who posts status updates to Facebosh to inform all of *everything* that happens in her life. Recently, her status updates ran thusly:
15:46 ...has just rescued a mouse from a horrible sticky mouse trap. Sooo cruel it was just, like, glued there! yay me!
16:11 Turns out the mouse lost quite a lot of fur and skin on his poor belly from the trap. I'm gonna nurse him all better and call him Mr Jingles like in the Green Mile!
16:39 Has just given Mr Jingles a soothing bath/wash and is gonna build him a little home to live in! He gonna be a circus mouse! ;o)
16:54 Mr Jingles is nibbling away at biscuit crumbs! Soooooo cute!
17:44 Would anyone like to come to Mr Jingles housewarming party? Hee hee! Found an old wooden box in the garage and have put some cotton wool and an old catbowl of water in there for him! Don't tell anyone I've taken in a lodger! Hee Hee! x
18:29 OMG! I was only gone 5 minutes and Mr Jingles drowned in his waterbowl :o( :o(
(Thu 22nd Jul 2010, 16:48, More)
Mr Jingles
I have one of those friends who posts status updates to Facebosh to inform all of *everything* that happens in her life. Recently, her status updates ran thusly:
15:46 ...has just rescued a mouse from a horrible sticky mouse trap. Sooo cruel it was just, like, glued there! yay me!
16:11 Turns out the mouse lost quite a lot of fur and skin on his poor belly from the trap. I'm gonna nurse him all better and call him Mr Jingles like in the Green Mile!
16:39 Has just given Mr Jingles a soothing bath/wash and is gonna build him a little home to live in! He gonna be a circus mouse! ;o)
16:54 Mr Jingles is nibbling away at biscuit crumbs! Soooooo cute!
17:44 Would anyone like to come to Mr Jingles housewarming party? Hee hee! Found an old wooden box in the garage and have put some cotton wool and an old catbowl of water in there for him! Don't tell anyone I've taken in a lodger! Hee Hee! x
18:29 OMG! I was only gone 5 minutes and Mr Jingles drowned in his waterbowl :o( :o(
(Thu 22nd Jul 2010, 16:48, More)
» Awesome teachers
Mrs Lewis, English.
I always found English to be one of the more boring lessons; poetry-appreciation, Shakespeare and, worst of all, Jane fecking Austen. I mean, really - what do I care if a bunch of neurotic Victorian bints get all moist at the thought of taking tea in Mr. Bingley's gazebo? I'm fourteen for goodness sake. I like football, Neighbours, Knightmare, Guns N Roses and, in a very shy and not really-understanding-why sort of way, girls. Oh Mrs. Bennet's just said something witty and Victorian, whoop-de-fucking-doo.
During the study of said author my work must have been markedly more disinterested than usual as I was asked to stay behind after class for a chat. Mrs Lewis was one of those try-to-be cool "I'm not your instructor, I'm your friend" type teachers; early 20's and yet to be worn down by the drudgery of teaching teenagers day-in, day-out.
She spoke candidly and said my work wasn't just bad, it was awful. My basic grammar and understanding were fine but my attention to detail was woeful. I'd get characters' names wrong in essays and so forth. With more than just a touch of fear I explained it was, frankly, because I had no interest whatsoever in the characters, story, setting or any of the dreary goings-on that actually very rarely went on.
She paused and there was that awful "oh-no" second where I started picturing detentions and letters home.
"Well what sort of books do you like?" was her surprising response. Honesty seemed to be working so far so I just let the nerdiness flow. "Horror, mainly. You know, Stephen King and that? I quite like Clive Barker too".
Again, I was just expecting derision. Instead, she told me that, for my next composition, why didn't I consider writing in a similar style to the authors I admired? The bell went and I wandered off to my next lesson, pondering what she'd said.
Long story short, my next essay was titled Pride And Pestilence. I'd turned Mr. Darcy into a raging, drunken Jack Torrence figure. He'd get roaringly drunk and go out murdering prostitutes. He got the Bennett girls hooked on opium and eventually co-erced them into murdering their own mother. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it but, given the subject matter, was somewhat trepidatious about handing it in. I let a friend read it first. His response of "Dude, that's awesome but you'll get expelled" didn't help. I had no choice really though. It was either hand it in or say I'd not done my homework.
When homework was handed back it was always in reverse order with everyone's marks read aloud. The D's first, then the C minuses etc. I was a standard C usually.
Mine came last.
With an A+.
With distinction.
She read it to the class.
I've never seen such captivated 14 year olds.
She asked to keep it to show to a few other people.
One of those, with my permission, put it forward to a short-story competiton.
It won.
And was included in a monthly short story magazine.
I went from disinterested teen to published author within a few weeks.
I now work as a writer.
So thank you Mrs Lewis, I can't remember if I ever said it at the time, but that ten-minute chat changed everything. If I were to meet you now I'd say what I was too afraid to say back then.
"Miss, you have the most awesome tits I have ever seen".
(Thu 17th Mar 2011, 14:26, More)
Mrs Lewis, English.
I always found English to be one of the more boring lessons; poetry-appreciation, Shakespeare and, worst of all, Jane fecking Austen. I mean, really - what do I care if a bunch of neurotic Victorian bints get all moist at the thought of taking tea in Mr. Bingley's gazebo? I'm fourteen for goodness sake. I like football, Neighbours, Knightmare, Guns N Roses and, in a very shy and not really-understanding-why sort of way, girls. Oh Mrs. Bennet's just said something witty and Victorian, whoop-de-fucking-doo.
During the study of said author my work must have been markedly more disinterested than usual as I was asked to stay behind after class for a chat. Mrs Lewis was one of those try-to-be cool "I'm not your instructor, I'm your friend" type teachers; early 20's and yet to be worn down by the drudgery of teaching teenagers day-in, day-out.
She spoke candidly and said my work wasn't just bad, it was awful. My basic grammar and understanding were fine but my attention to detail was woeful. I'd get characters' names wrong in essays and so forth. With more than just a touch of fear I explained it was, frankly, because I had no interest whatsoever in the characters, story, setting or any of the dreary goings-on that actually very rarely went on.
She paused and there was that awful "oh-no" second where I started picturing detentions and letters home.
"Well what sort of books do you like?" was her surprising response. Honesty seemed to be working so far so I just let the nerdiness flow. "Horror, mainly. You know, Stephen King and that? I quite like Clive Barker too".
Again, I was just expecting derision. Instead, she told me that, for my next composition, why didn't I consider writing in a similar style to the authors I admired? The bell went and I wandered off to my next lesson, pondering what she'd said.
Long story short, my next essay was titled Pride And Pestilence. I'd turned Mr. Darcy into a raging, drunken Jack Torrence figure. He'd get roaringly drunk and go out murdering prostitutes. He got the Bennett girls hooked on opium and eventually co-erced them into murdering their own mother. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it but, given the subject matter, was somewhat trepidatious about handing it in. I let a friend read it first. His response of "Dude, that's awesome but you'll get expelled" didn't help. I had no choice really though. It was either hand it in or say I'd not done my homework.
When homework was handed back it was always in reverse order with everyone's marks read aloud. The D's first, then the C minuses etc. I was a standard C usually.
Mine came last.
With an A+.
With distinction.
She read it to the class.
I've never seen such captivated 14 year olds.
She asked to keep it to show to a few other people.
One of those, with my permission, put it forward to a short-story competiton.
It won.
And was included in a monthly short story magazine.
I went from disinterested teen to published author within a few weeks.
I now work as a writer.
So thank you Mrs Lewis, I can't remember if I ever said it at the time, but that ten-minute chat changed everything. If I were to meet you now I'd say what I was too afraid to say back then.
"Miss, you have the most awesome tits I have ever seen".
(Thu 17th Mar 2011, 14:26, More)
» Dad stories
In which my dad bums some furniture...
Picture the scene... It's early Christmas evening. The presents have all been opened. The Christmas dinner has been demolished. Her Maj has been toasted at 3pm with the first sherry of the day (A tradition at my folks' house - though they give nary a tinker's cuss for the royals for 364 days of the year) and it's just about that sort of time when...
Ma Jimlad: "Anyone for charades?"
We never learn. It always descends into trouble. But we're all rather merry and in fine festive fettle so myself, my brother and the 'rents settle into a game.
It's all jolly good fun. To begin with. Ma pulls off an impressive 'Gone With The Wind' with a flatulence mime. I get lucky and manage to do 'Imagine' in under 5 seconds while my brother raises a few guffaws by goose-stepping his way through 'Fawlty Towers'. So that brings it round to...
My dad loves a game of charades. Though it does tend to bring out his competitive side. This will quickly be illustrated by what happened next. I'll be as descriptive as possible, see if you can guess what he was trying to do....
Having read the card he pauses for a second in thought and looks around the room.
"Are you ready?" I ask, in my role as time-keeper for the round, "Go!"
"No! Wait!" he screeches and belts out of the room.
Cue three puzzled faces from the remainder of the family while we hear him unlock the back door, run across the patio and burst in to the garage. We can hear some commotion and the clock is still ticking.
"Is it 'The Invisible Man'?" quips my bro. Ho ho!
We hear him coming back and, even though we're all au fait with his competitive nature, none of us were quite prepared for the sheer WTF-ness of what happened next.
He *leaps* back into the room. Wearing a welder's mask and a weird sort of tea-towel scarf *thing*. He has a Christmas card in his hand. The one from Aunty Carol if memory serves.
After standing there in a "Well? Isn't it obvious?" pose for a few seconds, he points at the Christmas Card. Then resumes said pose. We all look at each other, not sure wether to laugh or have him sectioned. He gives us an exasperated look then starts jogging round the coffee table holding the Christmas Card by his side. He stops and gives us a pose that screams "oh come on! You must have got it by now!". No-one's made a single guess since he returned. I think we were all too stunned. We don't know how many words or anything, he forgot about that bit.
I look at the timer and in my stunned state barely manage to blurt out "15 seconds left, do something else quick!"
I so wish I hadn't said that.
He gives us one last infuriated, exasperated stare. Pulls me off the sofa and proceeds to dry-hump it. Hard. Still holding the Christmas card by his side and occasionally looking at it as though it was keeping him going in his furniture-bumming ways.
The buzzer goes.
He continues to give the sofa a seeing-to.
"Come on!", he shouts, now that he's allowed to. "It's obvious!"
"I don't think we're gonna get it dad..." ventures my brother, which is finally enough to stop the cushion-thrusting.
He gets up, red faced and beaten. We can all sense the frustration and anger bubbling under the surface so no-one wants to say what has to be said. He looks at us all in turn like we are dirt. We're an idiot-convention of the world's worst charade-guessers and he hates us.
It was my mum that finally cracked.
"What was it love?"
If, at this point, anyone has guessed correctly then I would suggest you are some form of superior being for if we had guessed for the rest of the day I don't think any of us would have expected him to bellow:
"I'M FUCKING BATMAN!"
There's a silence.
"BATMAN! Look!", he pulls off the tea towel. "What the hell did you think this was?"
Silence. And shrugs.
"It's a cape!"
Then came the questions... And the giggling.
"And the welders' mask?"
"It was the most bat-like mask I could find!"
"What was the little jog round the coffee table all about?"
"You must know the 'Batman Run'!!!? That's how he runs!"
"Oooooo-kaaaaaay... What the hell were you doing to the sofa?"
"THAT WAS THE BATMOBILE!"
We're in hysterics at this point and he's just getting angrier and angrier. Through tears of laughter my brother asks "Since when did Batman carry Christmas cards around with him?"
My dad picks up the card, turns it to face us and points with great conviction at the one detail that might have helped us.
"IT'S. A. FUCKING. ROBIN!"
He refused to play the next year.
(Thu 25th Nov 2010, 16:13, More)
In which my dad bums some furniture...
Picture the scene... It's early Christmas evening. The presents have all been opened. The Christmas dinner has been demolished. Her Maj has been toasted at 3pm with the first sherry of the day (A tradition at my folks' house - though they give nary a tinker's cuss for the royals for 364 days of the year) and it's just about that sort of time when...
Ma Jimlad: "Anyone for charades?"
We never learn. It always descends into trouble. But we're all rather merry and in fine festive fettle so myself, my brother and the 'rents settle into a game.
It's all jolly good fun. To begin with. Ma pulls off an impressive 'Gone With The Wind' with a flatulence mime. I get lucky and manage to do 'Imagine' in under 5 seconds while my brother raises a few guffaws by goose-stepping his way through 'Fawlty Towers'. So that brings it round to...
My dad loves a game of charades. Though it does tend to bring out his competitive side. This will quickly be illustrated by what happened next. I'll be as descriptive as possible, see if you can guess what he was trying to do....
Having read the card he pauses for a second in thought and looks around the room.
"Are you ready?" I ask, in my role as time-keeper for the round, "Go!"
"No! Wait!" he screeches and belts out of the room.
Cue three puzzled faces from the remainder of the family while we hear him unlock the back door, run across the patio and burst in to the garage. We can hear some commotion and the clock is still ticking.
"Is it 'The Invisible Man'?" quips my bro. Ho ho!
We hear him coming back and, even though we're all au fait with his competitive nature, none of us were quite prepared for the sheer WTF-ness of what happened next.
He *leaps* back into the room. Wearing a welder's mask and a weird sort of tea-towel scarf *thing*. He has a Christmas card in his hand. The one from Aunty Carol if memory serves.
After standing there in a "Well? Isn't it obvious?" pose for a few seconds, he points at the Christmas Card. Then resumes said pose. We all look at each other, not sure wether to laugh or have him sectioned. He gives us an exasperated look then starts jogging round the coffee table holding the Christmas Card by his side. He stops and gives us a pose that screams "oh come on! You must have got it by now!". No-one's made a single guess since he returned. I think we were all too stunned. We don't know how many words or anything, he forgot about that bit.
I look at the timer and in my stunned state barely manage to blurt out "15 seconds left, do something else quick!"
I so wish I hadn't said that.
He gives us one last infuriated, exasperated stare. Pulls me off the sofa and proceeds to dry-hump it. Hard. Still holding the Christmas card by his side and occasionally looking at it as though it was keeping him going in his furniture-bumming ways.
The buzzer goes.
He continues to give the sofa a seeing-to.
"Come on!", he shouts, now that he's allowed to. "It's obvious!"
"I don't think we're gonna get it dad..." ventures my brother, which is finally enough to stop the cushion-thrusting.
He gets up, red faced and beaten. We can all sense the frustration and anger bubbling under the surface so no-one wants to say what has to be said. He looks at us all in turn like we are dirt. We're an idiot-convention of the world's worst charade-guessers and he hates us.
It was my mum that finally cracked.
"What was it love?"
If, at this point, anyone has guessed correctly then I would suggest you are some form of superior being for if we had guessed for the rest of the day I don't think any of us would have expected him to bellow:
"I'M FUCKING BATMAN!"
There's a silence.
"BATMAN! Look!", he pulls off the tea towel. "What the hell did you think this was?"
Silence. And shrugs.
"It's a cape!"
Then came the questions... And the giggling.
"And the welders' mask?"
"It was the most bat-like mask I could find!"
"What was the little jog round the coffee table all about?"
"You must know the 'Batman Run'!!!? That's how he runs!"
"Oooooo-kaaaaaay... What the hell were you doing to the sofa?"
"THAT WAS THE BATMOBILE!"
We're in hysterics at this point and he's just getting angrier and angrier. Through tears of laughter my brother asks "Since when did Batman carry Christmas cards around with him?"
My dad picks up the card, turns it to face us and points with great conviction at the one detail that might have helped us.
"IT'S. A. FUCKING. ROBIN!"
He refused to play the next year.
(Thu 25th Nov 2010, 16:13, More)
» Family Holidays
Dad's cock
We were early teens when my folks took me and my brother to Las Vegas on holiday. Obviously being too young for cocktails and bankruptcy at the casinos we busied ourselves at the local 'Wet N' Wild' water park fucking about on huge waterslides and such like. There was one ENORMOUS slide there that twisted, turned and dropped like a motherfucker. Me, my brother and my dad queued for it as my mum wimped out. In front of us was a woman and her daughter who looked about six. On getting to the top it turned out that the little girl was too short for the ride ("You must be yay tall to ride..." etc.) and this started her crying. The lifeguard guy at the top decided to let her ride anyway, probably trying to avoid a scene. Her mum went first, presumably so as to 'catch' the little girl at the bottom. The little girl followed her mum, then my brother went, then I went. Half-way down this slide there was a fully-enclosed 'tunnel' bit that corkscrewed around and as I approached it I could hear crying. I just had to time to register the little girl bawling her head off and holding on to the side of the tunnel before I passed her in a watery blur. I splashed down and my brother was stood there with the mum who was wondering how 2 people had managed to exit the slide before her girl had. The mum was just peering up the exit to the slide in a comedy "looking at the end of the hosepipe before it spurts in your face" type gesture when we heard the crying girl's approach. She was promptly squashed flat by my dad and the little girl arriving together. As if this wasn't already creasing me and my brother up enough it seemed that the perishable underpant lining of my dad's ancient Asda-bought swimming shorts hadn't quite survived the trip intact and his hairy cock was plainly on display for all to see.
Me and my bro were sharing a room and we got no sleep at all that night for collapsing in laughter every time one of us said "That woman had dad's cock in her face!!"
(Thu 2nd Aug 2007, 16:18, More)
Dad's cock
We were early teens when my folks took me and my brother to Las Vegas on holiday. Obviously being too young for cocktails and bankruptcy at the casinos we busied ourselves at the local 'Wet N' Wild' water park fucking about on huge waterslides and such like. There was one ENORMOUS slide there that twisted, turned and dropped like a motherfucker. Me, my brother and my dad queued for it as my mum wimped out. In front of us was a woman and her daughter who looked about six. On getting to the top it turned out that the little girl was too short for the ride ("You must be yay tall to ride..." etc.) and this started her crying. The lifeguard guy at the top decided to let her ride anyway, probably trying to avoid a scene. Her mum went first, presumably so as to 'catch' the little girl at the bottom. The little girl followed her mum, then my brother went, then I went. Half-way down this slide there was a fully-enclosed 'tunnel' bit that corkscrewed around and as I approached it I could hear crying. I just had to time to register the little girl bawling her head off and holding on to the side of the tunnel before I passed her in a watery blur. I splashed down and my brother was stood there with the mum who was wondering how 2 people had managed to exit the slide before her girl had. The mum was just peering up the exit to the slide in a comedy "looking at the end of the hosepipe before it spurts in your face" type gesture when we heard the crying girl's approach. She was promptly squashed flat by my dad and the little girl arriving together. As if this wasn't already creasing me and my brother up enough it seemed that the perishable underpant lining of my dad's ancient Asda-bought swimming shorts hadn't quite survived the trip intact and his hairy cock was plainly on display for all to see.
Me and my bro were sharing a room and we got no sleep at all that night for collapsing in laughter every time one of us said "That woman had dad's cock in her face!!"
(Thu 2nd Aug 2007, 16:18, More)
» Crap meals out
Every sodding family meal since the age of six...
...my Dad feels the compelling need to trot out his array of "hilarious" restaurant jokes.
Someone drops a plate - "Sack the juggler!" followed by howls of laughter.
The sweet trolley arrives - "Is that a trifle or am I wrong?" (to be said to sound vaguely like "a meringue") followed by howls of laughter.
The bread rolls turn up - "Do you have to use your loaf for this job?" "Do you earn a lot of dough?" followed by howls of laughter.
The Soup of the day turns up - "Oh souper!" followed by howls of laughter.
At the chinese when all the dishes turn up at once - "ooh lovely. Whats everyone else having?" followed by howls of laughter.
At the indian placing an order - "Couple of Naans and a grandad!" followed by howls of laughter.
When the bill arrives he hums the theme tune to 'The Bill'.
He once ordered shark just so he could hum the 'Jaws' music as it arrived.
I could go on (making a 'bra' out of his napkin, telling the waitress there's something wrong with his spoon and handing her his fork and don't even get me started on the "leg or breast" shennanigans at Christmas dinner every year) but frankly I'm losing the will to live.
(Thu 27th Apr 2006, 16:31, More)
Every sodding family meal since the age of six...
...my Dad feels the compelling need to trot out his array of "hilarious" restaurant jokes.
Someone drops a plate - "Sack the juggler!" followed by howls of laughter.
The sweet trolley arrives - "Is that a trifle or am I wrong?" (to be said to sound vaguely like "a meringue") followed by howls of laughter.
The bread rolls turn up - "Do you have to use your loaf for this job?" "Do you earn a lot of dough?" followed by howls of laughter.
The Soup of the day turns up - "Oh souper!" followed by howls of laughter.
At the chinese when all the dishes turn up at once - "ooh lovely. Whats everyone else having?" followed by howls of laughter.
At the indian placing an order - "Couple of Naans and a grandad!" followed by howls of laughter.
When the bill arrives he hums the theme tune to 'The Bill'.
He once ordered shark just so he could hum the 'Jaws' music as it arrived.
I could go on (making a 'bra' out of his napkin, telling the waitress there's something wrong with his spoon and handing her his fork and don't even get me started on the "leg or breast" shennanigans at Christmas dinner every year) but frankly I'm losing the will to live.
(Thu 27th Apr 2006, 16:31, More)