blue44
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 20 Jun 2009
- Messages
- 8,998
- Location
- Ashton-u-lyne,Manchester.
- Team supported
- St Marks West Gorton
Joke thread
- Thread starter mrcunny
- Start date
Lavinda Past
Well-Known Member
Lavinda Past
Well-Known Member
Lavinda Past
Well-Known Member
Lavinda Past
Well-Known Member
Lavinda Past
Well-Known Member
Lavinda Past
Well-Known Member
Lavinda Past
Well-Known Member
I threw a ball for my dog...
It's a bit extravagant I know, but it was his birthday and he looks great in a dinner jacket.
It's a bit extravagant I know, but it was his birthday and he looks great in a dinner jacket.
Lavinda Past
Well-Known Member
I LOVE THE INTERNET... WELCOME TO MANCHESTER...
Update: After three years of receiving daily birthday cards through my letterbox from my neighbor, I decided to get back at him. I sent him a birthday card with a cat turd taped to the inside of it. He reported me to GMP, who then came to my house.
I showed them the evidence: over 1,000 birthday cards he had sent me every day for three years. They seemed to think I had been hoarding them myself. I lost my temper and was tased by a fat, ginger policewoman; not that any of those things matter. These people are incompetent. Why do they always send in 4'11" women officers anyway? I could’ve been a Pakistani pirate with a cutlass! Or a scrawny, weed head punk hurling snide DVDs, cans of Lynx Africa, and vials of stale urine at em’ — Nobody deserves that.
The man alleges that I’ve been harassing him, banging on the walls, and spying on him, which is utter nonsense. He claims he hasn’t been at his property for two weeks because he was visiting family in Europe, yet I received a card every day while he was supposedly away. I’ve heard him masturbating loudly countless times in the early hours of the morning, so I know he’s lying to the police about being away. He’s a sick man; he knows I can hear him, It’s a total assault on my senses, a spiritual attack.
The police took me to A&E in my smoking jacket, and didn’t even let me bring my comb. I was completely commando, and felt very vulnerable; exposed. A young girl with a neck brace on was staring intently at me. The nurses were mostly fine, good Lancashire women, except for one Chinese nurse who seemed confused about everything. She kept calling me Mr. Jones, but my names not fucking Mr. Jones. But I gave her the benefit of the doubt as I didn’t know what was going on either; I just wanted to go home.
Update: After three years of receiving daily birthday cards through my letterbox from my neighbor, I decided to get back at him. I sent him a birthday card with a cat turd taped to the inside of it. He reported me to GMP, who then came to my house.
I showed them the evidence: over 1,000 birthday cards he had sent me every day for three years. They seemed to think I had been hoarding them myself. I lost my temper and was tased by a fat, ginger policewoman; not that any of those things matter. These people are incompetent. Why do they always send in 4'11" women officers anyway? I could’ve been a Pakistani pirate with a cutlass! Or a scrawny, weed head punk hurling snide DVDs, cans of Lynx Africa, and vials of stale urine at em’ — Nobody deserves that.
The man alleges that I’ve been harassing him, banging on the walls, and spying on him, which is utter nonsense. He claims he hasn’t been at his property for two weeks because he was visiting family in Europe, yet I received a card every day while he was supposedly away. I’ve heard him masturbating loudly countless times in the early hours of the morning, so I know he’s lying to the police about being away. He’s a sick man; he knows I can hear him, It’s a total assault on my senses, a spiritual attack.
The police took me to A&E in my smoking jacket, and didn’t even let me bring my comb. I was completely commando, and felt very vulnerable; exposed. A young girl with a neck brace on was staring intently at me. The nurses were mostly fine, good Lancashire women, except for one Chinese nurse who seemed confused about everything. She kept calling me Mr. Jones, but my names not fucking Mr. Jones. But I gave her the benefit of the doubt as I didn’t know what was going on either; I just wanted to go home.