Your starter for ten…
- Picking scabs. Mmmm, bloody and crunchy.
As I’m suffering from a serious head trauma you cunts will have to think of the rest.
Your starter for ten…
As I’m suffering from a serious head trauma you cunts will have to think of the rest.
Not doing yesterday’s Crosaire crossword, getting today’s paper, memorizing the answers, bringing yesterday’s paper into the pub, and very ostentatiously completing the crossword in five minutes flat. Ha ha ha!
Surprised you haven’t discussed the important news story about the three fraudster priests in today’s papers, and the company they started called Shag. Head trauma or not. Ha ha ha ha!
I missed that entirely. Haven’t seen a paper all day.
Love the Crossaire idea. Those clues generally make my brain hurt.
2, Squeezing Zits – don’t you just like the colour?
Breathing.
Other people’s blackheads. Search and destroy.
What you need is a good looking after. Stroking and the like.
Calling people names… Ye freckly one-good-eyed gimp!
Slagging you boggies!
Proud Englishman
….And feeling bad about it.. Ah, sorry.
You know who are cunts?
People who sign their name after their comment when their name is already above it.
I was raped by an English man once-well my belly button was.
Are you afraid to go out for a pint now?
You know who are cunts?
owls ?
Are you afraid to go out for a pint now?
No, I’ll go out later. It’s still too early.
Great story about them priests, fair play they didn’t do things by half, and the stupid American bastards fell for it!
If you pick your nose until it bleeds, wait a day, you then get the wonderful mixture of scab and snot…
what?
oh!
Cracking one off.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6A9mJYYs1zA
Checking out women’s breasts.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TO2OFIXyWko
I am a new girl around here. I have to say I can handle most things. I can cope with ‘Picking scabs.’ I can cope with ‘Picking scabs. Mmmm.’ I can even cope with ‘Picking scabs. Mmmm, bloody.’ But ‘Picking scabs. Mmmm, bloody and crunchy.’ Pass the rubbish bin, I’m going to have to barf. I think that could be one of the only sentences in the English language that has the power to put me off food.
Stick around, laughykate. You’re sure to find more.
proudly sniffing ur own farts.
The firm belief that eating one mint after smoking half a pack of B&H down the pub will somehow fool your unhinged wife.
the sweet sweet feeling of a super-fine shite that needs no cleaning up afterwards…quality
laughykate “picking crabs” might be even more barfmaking
Tayto cheese and onion crisps, all mashed up and crumbly in the bottom of the bag….mmmm Do they still make them ?
oooh. Just thought of another. Proudly peeling off the sunburned skin from the occasional bit of summer Ireland gets.
Picking the smegma off your knob after avoiding the shower for a few days. You know, down by that stringy bit at the front near your jap’s eye.
Promising to be “more gentle this time” prior to taking the “Tradesman’s Entrance”
Would you not be afraid he’d give a box in the head after, Monkey Balls?
Nah, he’s usually just a crumpled squeeling mess by then.
heh
There is a bar near the Wisconsin-Minnesota border called Scabs. The sign outside reads “Thank-you for picking Scabs.” ‘Strue an’all. Popular with boaters.
That’s brilliant.
There’s a Polish bar/deli in Nordeast Minneapolis called Mayslack’s. Their sign says “Nobody Beats Mayslack’s Meat.”
Licking the lid offa yougurt before throwing it in the bin and atin’ the yougurt……..hmmmmmm yougurt…….:) oh and saying ‘good mornin’ Mr Magpie and whistling if ye see a solitary magpie (that’s to break the bad luck ye see)