Monday, 28 December 2009

Hope you all had a great Xmas

So, Christmas has been and gone. Mine passed in a drunken haze but more about that later. Hope Santa brought you all what you were hoping for and you and yours had an excellent time.
I bought my Wife and Daughter a Wi Fit which had a mixed reaction. My Daughter and I can't wait to get on it but my Missus is a bit put out.
"Are you saying I need to get fit?"
"Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm no".
Sometimes you just can't win.
Stupidly, my Wife and I didn't wrap any of my nippers presents and label them from Santa. She is 11 so we didn't actually think she believed in Santa anymore. She did, up until Christmas morning but all the crap we had bought her soon took her mind off that.
I also managed to drop myself in the shit with my out laws. My Wifes nephew is 13 and has started playing Rugby for his School. We went there for Christmas day so I had rung him a week before to see what he wanted. Whilst we were chatting he mentioned he was playing hooker. For those that don't know, hooker is one of the worst positions to play in Rugby. You're totally unprotected in the scrums and the pressure on your neck and shoulders are huge. I bought him a scrum cap and weights to beef him up a bit. His Mum, my Wifes Sister, took one look at the scrum cap and asked what it was. I explained and her face sank. Neither her or her Husband had been to watch him and were both blissfully ignorant to what he was doing. Much tears ensued whilst I drank myself into oblivion.
That wasn't too hard either as Xmas dinner was scheduled for 7 pm. What the fuck is that about? I was starving by the time it was served and made a right pig of myself.
The Christmas parties have been fast and furious and I've been pissed since the 17th, not a record by a long way but pretty good for recent times.
The 17th was a few lads out for a few beers. I hadn't seen a couple of the boys for a while so it was a good laugh. We reminisced about the good old days, as you do, and moaned about the Wife and kids.
Friday night was one of our works do's. It was held in one of the roughest clubs in Cardiff so that if the shop floor boys got a bit out of hand the damage costs would be minimal. As a side note, where I now work is the only place I've had to sign a letter stating that if I get in a fight I would be instantly dismissed for gross misconduct. Yes, there really is that many idiots working in our place.
It went quite well though, no fights, a free bar and plenty of food. About midnight a few of us headed to the City Centre. I called it a night about two and after failing to find a taxi popped into the Casino. I started playing some three card brag/poker game and immediately was dealt a straight flush which paid 35/1. Lovely. It got to about four in the morning so I headed off, grabbed a McDonalds and jumped in a taxi. When I got home and unwrapped it I couldn't believe my eyes. The baps were solid, burger was black and no cheese or relish. Being that pissed, I rang another taxi and went back, slung the burger on the counter and asked the guy "what the fuck is this?" Eventually I got my money back plus another cheese burger with fries. After jumping in another taxi to get home it cost me £21. Fuckers.
I've just realised that if I go into detail about the rest of the bashes I went on this post would be fucking huge so I wont bother. I will tell you about my mate Dave though.
The pair of us went back to where we grew up and were sat in a bar when one of our mates reminded us about one of Daves finest moments. There's a fountain in the middle of the town centre and one night Dave, who had nicked a five litre drum of washing up liquid from work, emptied the lot into it. At nine in the morning the fountain fired up and by about five past the town centre was under five foot of bubbles. The town centre closed down, people thought the end of the World had started, traffic ground to an halt. It took five hours to sort it out.
Hope you all had a great Xmas and here's to a fantastic 2010. All the best folks and thanks for reading.

Thursday, 17 December 2009

A day with Mo

Went out for a meal with Mo and his Wife last night. Must admit I felt a little bit sorry for him. He had gone Christmas shopping for a pair of camouflage trousers in the afternoon but couldn’t find any. His Daughter wanted a pet so he went to a buy a Goldfish. The pet shop owner asked if he wanted an aquarium and Mo replied that he didn’t care what star sign it was.
We met up at Houston train station. While we were there he went to buy a couple of tickets to go to Paris with his Missus.
“Eurostar?” the guy behind the counter asked.
“Well my blogs quite well read but I’m no Will Smith” he replied.
He also had to pop to the Doctors.
“Haven’t seen you for a while” the Doctor said.
“I know I’ve been ill” Mo replied.
“What’s up?” asked the Doctor.
“I’ve hurt my arm in several places” Mo told him.
“Well don’t go to them anymore” the Doctor retorted.
“Have you got anything for wind?” Mo asked him so the Doctor gave him a kite.
The Doctor started giving Mo an examination.
“You’re going to have to stop masturbating Mr Stoneskin” she said.
“Why?” Mo asked quite alarmed.
“Because I’m trying to examine you” she answered.
After the examination she told Mo that he had quite a serious illness.
“I want a second opinion” Mo informed her.
“Okay, you’re fucking ugly as well”
After that we had to go to the Dentists.
“Say Aaaaaaaahhh Mr Stoneskin” the Dentist told him.
“Why?” asked Mo.
“Because my Cat’s just died”.
Most Dentists chairs go up and down. The one Mo was in was going backwards and forwards. Finally the Dentist asked him to get out of the filing cabinet.
We had to cut short that little visit though because Mo’s Wife rang him extremely upset.
“I’ve got water in the carburettor” she cried down the phone.
“Where’s the car now?” Mo asked.
“In the Thames”.
On the way back to the house we popped in London Zoo. There was this Monkey in the enclosure with a tin opener.
“You don’t need that to open bananas” Mo told him.
“I fucking know that” said the Monkey, “It’s for the custard”.
We spotted a guy trying to chat up a Cheetah.
“I think he’s trying to pull a fast one” Mo commented.
We were watching the penguins when one walked over to us.
“Have you seen my Brother?” the Penguin enquired.
“What’s he look like?” Mo answered.
“Get all your money on Liverpool this weekend” the Penguin told us.
One of the Zoo keepers was walking past so Mo grabbed him.
“That Penguin just spoke to us” Mo screamed at him.
“Which one?” asked the bemused keeper?
Mo pointed out the Penguin.
“What did he say to you?” the keeper asked.
“He told me to have a bet on Liverpool” Mo replied.
The Zoo keeper shook his head.
“Don’t listen to Trevor” he told us, “he knows fuck all about Football”.
Finally Mo and his Wife got themselves sorted and we went to the Restaurant.
“Can I take your Order?” the waiter asked us.
“I was just wondering” Mo replied, “How do you prepare your chickens?”
“Oh nothing special” the waiter said, “we just tell them straight out that they’re going to die”.
After reading the menu Mo ordered the food in fluent French. This came as a bit of a surprise as we were in a Chinese.
The food arrived and Mo started complaining straight away.
“This chickens cold” he informed the Waiter.
“I should think so” he said, “It’s been dead for three days”.
“And it’s got one leg shorter than the other”.
“Are you eating it or dancing with it?” the waiter enquired.
This Duck walked up to Mo’s Wife.
“Your eyes sparkle like Diamonds” he whispered to her.
“Waiter”, shouted Mo, “I asked for A R O M A T I C Duck”.
On the way home the Police stopped Mo.
“Can you blow in this?” he offered Mo.
“Why?” Mo fired back.
“Because my chips are cold” he said.

Tommy Cooper R.I.P.

Tuesday, 15 December 2009

Sex, drugs and sausage rolls or Xmas parties will never be the same now I'm an old bastard

This is a long one so make yourself a cup of coffee, get out the hob nobs, relax and hopefully, enjoy.
I’m no oil painting to look at, more of a train wreck. I also get pissed pretty quickly although I can drink through that and last longer than most. These two setbacks mean that I always struggled to chat Women up because most of the time I was too pissed to talk and didn’t have the looks to overcome that obstacle. But what I lack in those departments I more than make up for by being intelligent, having a great sense of humour and endearing personality.
These traits come to the fore when you interact with the opposite sex over a period of time. Luckily I’ve spent most of my working life in offices and therefore have had plenty of opportunities to win Women over. Normally their first impressions are “what a prick”. After a couple of weeks its “he’s sweet” and a few months down the road after much joking, opening doors, making them tea and listening to all their problems it’s “Rubbish is brilliant”. You might say I’m a bit of an acquired taste but eventually I’ve had most of the Women I’ve worked with eating out of my hand. And that’s why I love Xmas works parties.
My first job was in an Accountants as a wages clerk. Having gone to an all boys Grammar School, I hadn’t really spent much time in the company of the opposite sex. I’d had a few girlfriends but I was very much one of the boys, playing sport and getting pissed. The Chief Accountant or whatever they’re called was a raging alcoholic and would turn up at eleven in the morning and be in the pub next door by half past. It was a pretty wild office to work in. The Daughter of one of the Secretary’s had just come second in Miss Wales and she clearly had inherited her Mothers looks. I was smitten with her, the Mother that is. She only had to snap her fingers and I was by her side like a little lap dog. The receptionist, a twenty one year old stunner called Rachel, hated this. I think it was because I paid her little attention and followed a forty year old Mum of three around, hanging on her every word. I was in the kitchen one day, early in December and Rachel followed me in and whispered in my ear “come the Xmas party you’re having it”. I thought she was threatening me being quite young and naive.
As it happened I couldn’t go to the Xmas do for reasons I can’t remember but Christmas Eve was on a Friday and we were due to work. One of the Accountants, an ex pro gambler called Mike, told me to catch the bus in because we were having a few drinks. I turn up at nine and there’s a can on my desk. By twelve we were in the pub. Rachel was wearing a tight little cocktail dress. She was quite tall and had lovely long legs. With her stilettos on she towered over me.
My favourite Mum disappeared quite early, though I did get a little peck on the cheek and this was Rachel’s cue to move in.
“Right Rubbish, now that she’s gone you have got five minutes to start paying me a bit of attention or you’ve had it”.
Mike leaned in to me “you jammy little bastard”.
Finally the light turned on and I realized what “you’re having it” meant.
There was one problem though. I lived miles away and if I didn’t catch the last bus I wouldn’t get home. Mike had landed a decent win on the horses so the beers were flowing. My last bus came and went. Finally Rachel grabbed my arm and informed me that we were leaving.
We got to her house and she disappeared upstairs whilst I slumped on the sofa. Five minutes later she reappeared to tell me that her Mum who was a nurse was working Xmas morning and would give me a lift. Sorted.
We went into the kitchen for a night cap and I noticed that her cocktail dress had ridden up ever so slightly giving me a tantalizing view of her stocking tops. Ten seconds later she was bent over the kitchen table and I was going like a little jack rabbit when her Mum walked in to make a cuppa. Time stood still. Her Mum froze in the doorway, chin on the floor before turning around to beat a hasty retreat. I almost mumbled “Merry Xmas” but thought better of it.
Rachel’s Mum woke me up the next morning and I suffered the most excruciating car journey ever. The drive of shame. She couldn’t really ask me if I had had a nice evening knowing I had been shagging her Daughter and I just couldn’t think of anything to say. It was purgatory. Welcome to the World of the Office Xmas party.
Fast forward a few years and I was working for a Finance House. The Office was situated on the top floor of the tallest building in Cardiff. On my first day I walked in and asked the Commissionaire where the office was and he pointed to the lift and told me it was the 23rd floor. What he didn’t tell me was that it was an express lift which didn’t stop at the first 15 floors. I was later told it was the fastest lift in Europe at that time although I’m not sure how true that was. I got in the lift and pressed the button and the fucking thing took off like a rocket. About ten seconds later I collapsed out of it a gibbering wreck. I never used that lift again.
Every day I would walk the twenty three flights of stairs to work. I’d wander up and down them for dinner and then walk down them to go home. It became a standing joke amongst all my colleagues.
And what a crew I worked with, Ian, the Branch Manager was the oldest and he was only thirty two. Other than two Zone Managers who were hardly in the office I was the only other male there. One girl, Liz, had taken a shine to me. She was dark haired, quite petite with a dirty laugh and nice rack. Most of the girls were of similar age and would gossip about everything and everyone. Their main topic of conversation was this punk girl who worked with us called Jo.
Jo used to turn up to work with different coloured hair every week. Bright orange, shocking green, you name it she dyed it that colour. She used to wear baggy tops and camouflage trousers years before they became de rigueur for the masses. Her make up was a mess. Black eyeliner and lipstick which made her look like one of the undead. That said, she was a lovely girl and had something about her.
On the day of the Xmas do everyone turned up with their glad rags on. All the girls looked the business in little black numbers and I even wore a suit for a change. We were sat around chatting when Jo walked in. The silence was deafening.
She had dyed her hair blonde and had slicked it back instead of its usual spiky style. Her dress was a tight yellow mini dress a bit like the one Liz Hurley wore to that film premiere but not quite as daring. A shapely pair of pins was revealed in a pair of fishnet stockings and a lovely pearl necklace highlighted a stunning cleavage. Not forgetting her punk roots she topped it all off with a pair of Doc Martens boots. The traditional war paint had disappeared and replaced with a flattering pinkish lipstick and understated eyeliner. She looked stunning.
Steve, one of the Zone Managers, turned to me and said, “Fuck me son, who would have guessed?” And he was right. Sara, the biggest bitch in the office let out a whistle, “Christ alive Jo, you look gorgeous”. Jo blushed which only made her look more attractive.
Not a lot of work was done in the morning and at twelve we all headed to the pub. Two hours later Ian and Steve nipped to Marks and Spencer’s to get some booze and we all strolled back to the office. I had a quick chat with Terry the commissionaire before walking to the stairwell. Jo was waiting for me in the lift.
“Rubbish” she called “get in the lift with me now and I’ll shag you stupid”.
With that she hitched up her dress to reveal she wasn’t wearing any knickers.
As much as I wanted to I just couldn’t step into the lift and mumbled some excuses before tackling the 23 floors on foot, berating myself every single step of the way. When I walked in the office all the girls were laughing. Jo had told them.
An hour or so later Steve gave me a wink and we sloped off onto the roof to smoke some weed. This was a regular occurrence and hey, we were on the roof of the tallest building in Cardiff so it wasn’t as if anyone could see us. Jo joined us and as we sat there smoking she slipped me a pill and said “take this now”.
Twenty minutes later I felt indestructible. We were all quaffing Champagne and playing stupid games and I excused myself to go to the toilet. When I walked out Jo was again in the lift. This time, probably because of what she had slipped me, I managed to grow a pair and got in the lift with her. We went down two floors before she pressed the emergency stop and got my dick out. A minute later Terry’s voice came over the intercom.
“Is anyone in there?”
“Yes Terry, it’s me Rubbish”.
“Fucking hell Rubbish what you doing in the lift?”
“I’m with someone Terry”.
“Can’t say”.
There was a slight pause followed by a snort.
“Okay mate, don’t be long and don’t make a mess”.
I’m not sure if it was talking to Terry or the fact that he had mentioned the lift but I started having a panic attack. Sweat was pouring out of me and I was shaking like a leaf. Within seconds I was the one on my knees begging Jo to get me out of there. The look of disappointment on her face would have given Shakespeare enough material to write a trilogy. Reluctantly she started the lift up and I fell out, straight into the toilet to puke my guts up. I walked back into the office to be greeted by everyone shouting “fore” at me. Everyone that is except Jo who was standing by her desk slowly drumming her fingers and Liz who looked like she was going to burst into tears.
“What the fuck is that about Steve?” I enquired.
Not even trying to mask his amusement Steve told me that Jo had walked in and casually told the entire office that she had enticed me into the lift and had started blowing me only for me to start crying like a baby and pleading with her to let me out. The fore was actually “four” relating to how many minutes I’d managed to last in the fucking death trap.
We all went for a meal in the evening and then hit a few clubs. I then experienced one of the most surreal moments of my life when Jo wanked me off in the middle of a MacDonald’s. I took her back to my place and made up for lost time and was quite pleased to find out in the New Year that she’d given me an 8.5 out of 10 rating for my performance between the sheets. Liz wasn’t so pleased as she spat out that bit of information. Jo left a few months later and Liz and I hooked up for a couple of years before parting ways when she took another job in London.
For twelve years I was fortunate enough to be employed in my dream job. I ran the ticket office for a famous sporting body and had, at times, fifty people under me. The Christmas parties were wild.
When the new Stadium was built we relocated offices and ended up in an office block with HSBC bank amongst others. I was quite friendly with one of the guys there and we decided on having an office block party. This was made easy because in the basement there was a pub. I talked the Manager into laying on a buffet and we all met up at three in the afternoon. It was a cracking day, socializing with people from other offices and the Manger made a small fortune.
I was seeing a girl called Mandy at the time who worked in a different Department. She was a bit of a Liz clone but barking mad as well. At the end of the evening the pair of us were sat at the bar talking to this Australian girl. Most people had fallen by the wayside at this point and I was flagging so we made our excuses and left. Oz followed us out and while we were waiting for a taxi asked us where we were heading. Has luck would have it she lived quite near to Mandy so we shared a taxi. When we got to Mandy’s house Oz jumped out and came in for a nightcap. We sat around the kitchen table drinking wine and Mandy started rubbing my balls with her foot. It wasn’t too long after that we were heading up the stairs, telling Oz to slam the door on her way out.
Not long later I’m lying in bed whilst Mandy did what she did best and the bedroom door opens. We both look around and Oz is stood there.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
I looked at Mandy who had her mouth full and she just shrugged so I willingly agreed and with that she stripped off and jumped in with us. A few hours later she climbed out of bed and stated that she was off home. Looking back it was quite bizarre but I wasn’t complaining.
When we got back to work I visited every office in our block making small talk with people I knew. “How was your Christmas, what did you get up to for the New Year, have you got an Australian girl working with you?” No one knew her. Fuck knows who she was but she’ll always have a special place in my heart.
Congratulations if you’ve got this far, hope you enjoyed my favourite Xmas party experiences. Feel free to share any of your own.

Monday, 14 December 2009

Decembers Poker post - back to normality tomorrow

Been a decent weekend but could have been superb.
Played a load of PLO STT's on FT and cashed in 50% of them. Was up at 70% at one stage but had a few coolers. I've also satellited into a couple of the FTOP's events. Played the £50 PLO on Saturday night with $100k guaranteed.
Card dead for the first hour but managed to get a few hands after the first break. Got up to $27k and was going along nicely when I got involved in a hand I should have just folded.
Had JJ67 in the BB and first to act raised. Folded around to me so called. Flop came 8h9h10d. Checked and guy bets half pot so call. Turn is 4d and we both check. At this stage I've got him on AAxx possibly double suited and with two Jacks in my hand I'm thinking I'm ahead. River blanks and I check. He makes a shitty little half pot bet so I raise him all in. He insta calls with QQJJ. That crippled me and went out in 500th of 2300.
Played the Bloggerment last night, only a disappointing 13 others showed up. It never ceases to amaze me how one person just seems to run away with these. Last night it was Ter"Mair"nator who demolished the field. The tourney lasted 75 minutes which is a record. I bombed in 5th when my AQ was no match to Mairs 67. Mik was the funniest when his JJ was insta called with K10 for a K10X flop. You just knew that Mair could call with any two and hit. Heads up against her Hubby, Stan, it lasted one hand. Stan goes all in and Mair calls with complete air and hits a nut straight. It was Mairs birthday yesterday as well so congrats Hun, spend your winnings wisely because you wont run that good on Stars again for another six months.
I'm in another FTOP's event on Saturday so run good you twat one time. I'm also out on a works do on Friday so will be struggling big time.
Love works Xmas do's, big post coming up next which may or may not involve Copious amounts of alcohol, drunken fumblings, drug fuelled shennanigans in a lift, the drive of shame and threesomes.

Friday, 11 December 2009

Wrong place, wrong time, story of my life.

Beads of sweat slowly raced down my back. Nothing unusual there as it was well over 100 degrees in the pub. Not bad for three in the morning. And I use the term “pub” in its loosest term. There were only two walls, either side, nothing at the front or back and a corrugated roof. The lack of walls and doors at the front and back was alleviated by the fact that the place never closed. The furniture looked like a three year old may have constructed it and probably had. The bar was inside a cage where the barman passed your drinks through the Steel bars. For the neighbourhood we were in though it was a classy joint. It could have been the Viper Lounge or Mahliki seeing as it was ideally situated directly in front of a shanty town.
Samba music blasted out of a make shift DJ platform, the bass ramped up so high that it reverberated through your body. Not so much as listening to the music but feeling it. Two girls danced topless on a table in the middle of the room, quite brave of them in my opinion as the table looked like it was held together with blue tac.
Five of us were sat on what could only be described as a picnic table made out of Lego. I can’t recall what Lager we were drinking but it was some bottled shite. I do remember the Cachaca chasers, a particularly nasty little shot peculiar to that area. The Lager was poured into plastic glasses, bottles not allowed. And it wasn’t poured in the traditional manner of holding the glass at a 45 degree angle and slowly emptying the bottles contents into the glass. The glasses were slapped on a table and poured as quickly as possible. There was a perfectly logical explanation for this as the barman only used his left hand; his right hand had a permanent tight grip on a shotgun draped over his right shoulder. The shotgun served two purposes as far as I could see. One was to detract undesirables which had obviously failed and the other was to camouflage the fact that his right ear had been cut off which also didn't work.
And the clientele were a real motley crew. Glasses weren’t allowed but every guy in there had a knife, machete or gun. I was waiting for some guy to walk in with a bazooka. There were probably thirty people sat about and apart from the two girls dancing I would say that the only other people not packing were Dave, Tony and myself. It wasn’t hard to spot either as most of the people had their weapon of choice placed on the table next to their drinks. Hardly any of the men were wearing tops, come to think of it neither were the women. I guess it looked like the inside of a plastic surgeons operating room there were so many scars on view.
Conversation was nigh on impossible because of the music which was okay because I was so pissed I couldn’t talk. Incredibly, behind the bar were hammocks with about half a dozen people sleeping. How they managed that I can only put down to the copious amount of drugs freely available. One dark haired beauty had caught my eye. She was quite tall, olive skinned, wearing a bikini top incasing breasts the size of small planets and intriguingly had a denim mini skirt on which barely covered her ten inch dick. I couldn't take my eyes off her/him.

Welcome to Rio de Janeiro Mardi Gras 1985.

In one of the greatest ironies the World has ever thrown up, My mate Dave had gone to the biggest Footballing Nation on the planet to coach Rugby for nine months. Big Tony and I had flown out for the Mardi Gras and what an eye opener that was. Luckily the team Dave was coaching had some of the most vicious bastards ever to take a Rugby field playing for him. One guy, Santo R.I.P. an extremely violent little cunt, had taken Dave under his wing and introduced him to the seedier side of Rio.
Dave had picked us up at the airport and by the time we reached his gaffe we had been held up twice. You could't stop at a red light without someone prodding a gun through the window and demanding cash. After a few days I was handing out £10 bills to anyone who approached me, regardless of whether they were holding me up or asking for directions.
People would be waving guns about like you would wag a finger when talking to someone and after a few days there you were so used to it that you became oblivious to the danger you were in. Until the night described above.
In all probability we would have been skinned alive had we not been with Santo. We certainly wouldn't have gone to that area of town by choice and would probably have left in a body bag. The cheap drugs and Cachaca had kicked in and the bird with the dick was looking like a Goddess. Santo was egging me on whilst Dave was screaming something about standards and gayness. Suddenly Santo sat bolt upright and grabbed his gun. Three guys walked in and casually gunned down the DJ. The barman opened fire, straight over the top of our heads and I hit the floor in double quick time. Within 30 seconds six people were dead.
After the gunfire had stopped and I opened my eyes, Dave, Tony and I just stared at each other. I lifted my head over the table and Santo and his mate were sat there still drinking as if nothing had happened. I do not think I've ever been so scared in all my life.
I mention this because Dave rang me yesterday. One of the boys who played for him has organised a 25 year reunion next year and Dave has been invited. "Fancy coming?" he asked.
"Go fuck yourself Dave", I replied, "once was enough in this lifetime".

Monday, 7 December 2009

It could be worse, I could be Mo.

I came home from work tonight to find a Plumbers van outside the house. I actually sat in the car and said a prayer. God wasn't fucking listening though. The guy was sat in the kitchen dinking a cuppa. I said, "please tell me you're here because you've been shagging my Wife"? "No luck sorry Rubbish", he replied, "Your boilers fucked and it's going to cost you £1500".
That's just fucking typical.
And has my Missus a kiss and tell story regarding Tiger to sell. Has she fuck. I feel like dropping him an e-mail asking what's wrong with her because she's the only Woman in the Northern Hemisphere he hasn't boned, alledgedly.
Pokers going shit as well. Played one tournament on Stars the other night that summed it up. Four hours in and I make the final table of a $4.40 PLO tourney with 740 runners. I've beaten 731 people and for that I make $39.45. Not even $9 an hour. I've been getting e-mails from filipino street urchins taking the piss out of me for earning so little.
Played yesterday and I'm going along nicely when I get involved in a pot which would have given me the chip lead. I've got 10 10 9 8 on a A 10 6 flop. Guy bets, I raise, he re-raises, I go all in, he calls. He turns over A 9 8 7 for top pair and a gutshot straight draw. Turn A, river A. Fuck Stars.
I ran a quick poll last week to see why people don't comment. 53 of you are lazy twats which is fair enough. 64 of you think I'm a twat. I was a bit worried about that until I looked into it further and found that 63 of those came from Mo's IP address. The other one was my Mother.
On to my favourite fuckwit, Mo. He rang me up last week in a bit of a state. After calming him down the conversation went like this:
Me; "So what's up Mo?"
Mo; "Well, I found a young homeless girl out by my bins last night. She was dirty and didn't smell too good but underneath the grime I could see she was pretty and had a good body".
Me; "You didn't did you Mo?"
Mo; "Well, I brought her into the house and gave her a bath. As I was towelling off her naked body I became aroused and one thing led to another".
Me; "Tell me you didn't take advantage please Mo?"
Mo; "I couldn't help myself Rubbish. Before I knew it I was making mad passionate love to her. I was banging her so hard that a couple of times you'd have sworn she was still alive".