IS there too many stickies in general chat
Seriously it needs a bit of housekeeping IMO
IS there too many stickies in general chat
Seriously it needs a bit of housekeeping IMO
No, there needs to be one more. Here is my proposal for it
Unfortunately EI has a resident Troll. Far from being entertaining, he is quite literally not the full shilling. Sent here as an exploratory offshoot from his home, Mars, he has now decided to reincarnate himself as Texas, and of late, Dublin Laddie. Converse with this man at leisure, it will be as satisfactory as sucking lemons continuously for an hour followed by having your toenails plucked out, but hey, we all get bored. If you do engage with his frankly insane and wondrous threads, you will shortly have tinnitus and the strong urge to splatter your laptop with rum in the rush to tell the Troll he is a twat. Which, in short, is pointless, as we are aware. So, there you go. Insanity in motion- on a thread, near you, right now
Last edited by lucy chambers; 02-12-10 at 18:44.
If life gives you lemons ask for Tequila
Only sad bastards seek gratification from signatures
69patrick69 (02-12-10), Monkeynut (02-12-10), Rayden (02-12-10), scotus (02-12-10)
“I wish you wouldn’t keep appearing and vanishing so suddenly; you make one quite giddy!”
“All right,” said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.
Rayden (02-12-10)
The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.
Last edited by dublin laddie; 02-12-10 at 18:52.
“I wish you wouldn’t keep appearing and vanishing so suddenly; you make one quite giddy!”
“All right,” said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.