> understand one thing - a fucking good kicking and/or their wallet
> being nicked/their mountain bike being smashed to fuck. Actually
> that's three things but you get my meaning.
...our main weapon is a fscking good kicking...a fscking good kicking
and nicking your wallet...dur...TWO...our TWO main weapons are a
fscking good kicking and nicking your wallet and smashing your MTB to
fsck...THREE...our THREE main weapons are a fscking good kicking,
nicking your wallet, and smashing your MTB to fsck...and doing your
head in...FOUR...Ugh...we'll come in again...
Anyway, from historical reference Charleses go one of two ways, I'm glad he went for the serial shagger approach. A platform outside whitehall would block the traffic worse than a wedding.
>In which case, it may be that the skirt was being forced
>against the wall, giving more of a clatter than a slap.
>What sort of small end lubrication is there? Is it splash fed, or is
>there a channel up the conrod from the bigend?
And Mike wins the January award for the most innuendo in a Serious Bike
rgds, 'selective editing' Alan
My Gran used to live in the top flat in one of those old Edinburgh tenements. The gas was fed to these through a coin operated meter; you'd put a shilling in the meter and turn a wee handle and the meter would supply gas for a shilling's worth of time and then shut off the gas. Most people would stoke up their meter with loads of shillings, but my Gran kept forgetting.
So, she's be doing some baking and the gas would run out. "Silly me", she'd say, and put a shilling in the meter. A little later, she'd smell gas. "Silly me", she'd say, "I forgot to re-light the
oven". Then she'd re-light the oven.
This happened on a regular basis. I remember turning up in the street at the foot of me Gran's tenement once to be greeted with a loud "KABOOOM!!" and a shower of window glass.
When she finally went completely doolalley, we stashed her in a sheltered housing scheme. That was the first time I ever saw her with eyebrows.
Its amazing what you can do with one hand...
I had to abandon my old mower, as it was just getting scary to use. It started
off as a normal flymo jobbie, but I got bored one weekend, and skimmed and
ported the head/barrel. Had to run it on avgas in the end, as the compression
was too high for the beaver p*ss laughingly sold as 'unleaded' by my local
I got rid of it when I carelessly ran over a housebrick with it, and it
chopped it clean in two and lobbed one half over next doors fence. Probably
would have been quite a good engine for a kart. Instead I took it to the
local tip and let the pikeys get their hands on it.
But that's why it's my _clever_ strategy, for some of the football fans
will seem as cockney ponces to your crude northern eyes. And in the centre
will be Andy Cannon, who sounds northern to southerners and southern to
northerners. Thus will the group be poised, with palpable tension ... then
I'll call over, suggesting that Andy's in the middle because of
gravitational pull: He will then need to give me an immediate kicking and
start to wade through you little people, who will swarm around shouting
your scouser war cry of "eh! eh! calm down! calm down!".
> Not forgetting that shortly after
> DoubleU-DoubleU-Two, the Japanese had bikes such
> as the Honda "Emperors Revenge", Suzukis "You can
> laugh now American dogs, but our time will come"
> and the Kawasaki "Apple blossom petals falling
> from the sky to scorch and burn and destroy".
[21:04] <stringer> i am a monitor pixie
[21:05] <Hamster> he pastes all the little letters on the screen from the iside, very quickly
Orb: actually - as I'm sure you know - being rimmed is a rather nice experience
Paul Coyne: Never tried it. suspect it tickles lots
Orb and I are the Laurel and Hardy of chubby chasing perversion
[23:57] when tiffany rejects me again this weekend, i can come home to whack it
I find it pretty hard to know where I am when I've played about on Andy's Palm.
> Imagine sitting in an old, overstuffed armchair, perched atop a pogo
> stick bouncing madly around in a bowl of custard - yep that just about
> sums it up ;o)
Old people have such weird sex lives...
nothing gets your blood flowing like getting shot
I'm drunk. Nothing unusual there. However, I have mostly been painting my 1/35 scale model of a Panzer IV Ausf. H in a matt sand colour. I got a bit of it on my thumbnail, and looked at it for a while. It looked nice, so I painted all the rest of my nails in Humbrol matt sand enamel, like nail
varnish. It's dried brick hard now, my daughter and her friends think it looks 'stupid', but I like it. Jeanette will be back in shortly, I wonder what she'll think?
#43(12) [+][-] My knowledge of these things is a bit sketchy - I know how to fiddle with my own bits, but other people's are something of a mystery #47(12) [+][-]
> "At precisely this moment, someone, somewhere is getting ready for a
> ride. The motorcycle stands in the cool, dark garage, its air expectant
> with gas and grease. The rider approaches from outside; the door opens
> with a whir and a bang. The light goes on, A flame, everlasting seems
> to rise on a piece of chrome..."
The key turns in the ignition, lights sparkle on the in the cold morning
air. The rider caresses the start button, the mechanical parts whirr around.
The rider adds choke and caresses the start button again, the mechanical
parts whirr around again but still the fires fail to ignite.
'Fuck' is whispered into the cold air.
The choke is pushed back a little and the button caressed for the third
time. The motor spins again but begins to slow down straight away.
'Oh you twat' the rider says softly.
For a fifth time the button is pressed and the engine is turned over. The
rider persists this time letting the engine run on the starter motor. The
engine backfires once but fails to start. The gentle green neutral light
begins to fade.
'You fucking bastard piece of mechanical arse shite.' swears the rider
switching the ignition off and pushing the bike outside.
Half an hour later, sweaty and breathless the rider returns to the garage
and locks the door. The bike ticks over gently on the side stand at the side
of the road. It has done nearly a mile up and down the street being pushed
by the unfit rider until it reluctantly burst into life.
The rider straddles the bike and snicks into first gear. A whiff of gas and
the clutch is gently let out. The bike stalls.
'Oh you cunt' swears the rider hitting the petrol tank and denting it.
The rider presses the starter button hopefully, the engine whirrs, back
fires then slows down then stops. The rider presses the starter button in
desperation but hears nothing but a 'click'.
'Fecking arse shit bags cunt bollocks' shouts the rider making next doors
The rider dismounts, forgets the side stand and the bike falls into the road
on its side. The rider starts crying gently to himself, the spell is broken.
Not me - I luuurve wedding frocks. You can make any old boiler look really crumpet in one. It's an unrealised ambition of mine to get a burd in a really posh wedding dress and tiara and do her up the arse.
 New York second is the smallest measure of time. It is the time between
the traffic lights turning green and the car behind honking apparently...
I thought (according to New Scientist anyway), the shortest measure of time
is the 'Oh Sh*t' moment which, although infinitely small, allows to you to
foresee the consequences of your actions in full. It occurs, for example,
at the point when you hit the enter key after typing 'rm -R *' while logged
in as root, or at the point where you realise that however hard you hit
those brakes, you aren't going to scrub off enough speed to make the corner.
#40(11) [+][-] Madonna "What it feels like for a girl"
"Old Kuntz Rest House" in the vid
Matt's place ahs been in a Madge video?
Handbag Matt's House?
John Greystrong wrote:
>> >> and it's only now that I'm having enough 'disposable'
>> >> income left in my account that the offset would count for much.
> > Not for much longer Alfa boy ;-)
Climb onto it as you would a horse.
>I do that anyway; nervously, expecting it to bite me at any moment. :o)
>Or do you mean by placing one foot on the footpeg to gain height?
No, you fool; sit on the gable end or your house, with the 'bike parked below.
Leap onto the saddle with your legs spread.
Shout "Hi Ho, Silver, away!"
And topple gracefully sideways with crushed nuts (and a chocolate sauce).
> Eeeew. How in the hell did you get Orb inside >your head?
Someone told him there was a fat burd in white stilettos inside?
#41(10) [+][-] Looks Like I might well be getting a Karcher pressure washer for xmas
THE GPS looks like a non starter atm
They're great, but not cheap
I'd need to get it fitted to the bike as well which I'm sure would be more expense
that's an idea
fit the karcher to the bike
for the purpose of diciplining errant car drivers
er, by washing their cars on the move
If you suggest it to ORB he might look into it
Ixies stop for a cig break and Orb washes his bike