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Parky senses something.


Park Life
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Parkster, whatever you do mate if you get to the stage where you feel you have to come out and ask her about if frankly, make sure you do it in the best possible circumstances. Do summat swish so you've taken her for an evening out and ask her there, rather than at home over beans and toast with you in your undercrackers. Make sure she sees you in your best light if/when you're asking the question.

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ffs go all macho, rough ya bitch up and get the answer.

 

But make sure you have ya credit card in your pocket, you'll need it for the taxi, the hotel and the elastoplasts you'll need afterwards ( I have a whole mastercard advert of your livingroom and subsequent demise going on in my head at the moment....priceless <_<:icon_lol: )

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Just for a point of contention...

 

You have in your possession a well-written but unpublished novel that describes how a fictional character goes from office drone to professional killer.

 

The facts referenced in the book are all correct. I consulted with law enforcement on the technical aspects.

 

... a two-liter bottle really does work well as a silencer for all but the largest calibers of handguns. Just don't hold it by the neck, and if you think of it, put on a glove as the bottle will get hot...

 

 

 

 

Joking, of course. <_<

 

Maybe it's just me, but the couple of times my wife has mentioned wanting to have some guy she works with over have been met with me going, "Sure. And I'll invite over the accounts receivable manager from Georgetown who recently divorced her husband and Sametimes me on nearly a daily basis."

 

That generally defuses the situation.

 

I don't know, me personally, if she wants to have her girlfriends over for drinks and they bring some guys, that's fine, but I'm not going to sit in MY house around MY table and drink MY booze with some retard male co-worker of hers, just the three of us. Mainly because a) I know what's going through said retard's head, and B ) there'd be no way in hell my wife would allow me to bring home some female co-worker to have a beer and hang out (not that I have any female friends, FFS).

Edited by Cid_MCDP
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So last night she didn't come home till seven in the morning and fate had conspired against my presence at the party, fate had reprised a story that is told up and down the land, but this time I was not in the audience, I was offstage listening to my own inner voices. I became aware that my eye was drawn to the one light in the kitchen, but not the light - the very center of the thing, the spurting fission of the place where raw electric meets its death. My mind whirred past those places and alleys I had closed as a child - my fathers shoes, the one pair he left in the cupboard the day he never came back to the house. The pair I had gently lain under my own bed and from time to time would clean as tears poured down my face. I smoked through cigarretes like he used to, I imagined again the dull golden glow in the garden, the many nights I would watch him pace alone in the darkness - his cigarette tracing and darting like some night bee without a night flower.

 

I knew that time had come for me, that the universe carries a message that has no meaning or perhaps one that could never be bourne in words or light, just the deaths of those many stars and the pointless flow of all that magnetism attracting nothing - just falling gravity wells of black. The machine inside of me the one that had seen me through my childhood now spoke and I rememnbered how all the things I don't know or understand about myself are the very things that have saved me, that in some monstrous counter code the universe loved the death of beautiful things.

 

I know now that I have always carried a message of which I was never the author, whose details I had oft laboured and poured over in moments uncertaintly and despair....Moments where my sonar had pinged against an endless empty sea with no reply. I now know what my father knew that we are nothing but the carriers of a dead signal across time.

Edited by Park Life
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Had long constructive talk with her this morning, I'm just a bit down, but will be fine. Have another brandy you dopey cunt! :lol:

 

:lol:

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So last night she didn't come home till seven in the morning and fate had conspired against my presence at the party, fate had reprised a story that is told up and down the land, but this time I was not in the audience, I was offstage listening to my own inner voices. I became aware that my eye was drawn to the one light in the kitchen, but not the light - the very center of the thing, the spurting fission of the place where raw electric meets its death. My mind whirred past those places and alleys I had closed as a child - my fathers shoes, the one pair he left in the cupboard the day he never came back to the house. The pair I had gently lain under my own bed and from time to time would clean as tears poured down my face. I smoked through cigarretes like he used to, I imagined again the dull golden glow in the garden, the many nights I would watch him pace alone in the darkness - his cigarette tracing and darting like some night bee without a night flower.

 

I knew that time had come for me, that the universe carries a message that has no meaning or perhaps one that could never be bourne in words or light, just the deaths of those many stars and the pointless flow of all that magnetism attracting nothing - just falling gravity wells of black. The machine inside of me the one that had seen me through my childhood now spoke and I rememnbered how all the things I don't know or understand about myself are the very things that have saved me, that in some monstrous counter code the universe loved the death of beautiful things.

 

I know now that I have always carried a message of which I was never the author, whose details I had oft laboured and poured over in moments uncertaintly and despair....Moments where my sonar had pinged against an endless empty sea with no reply. I now know what my father knew that we are nothing but the carriers of a dead signal across time.

 

Christ on a fuckin' chopper.

 

Start reading some Daily Spurt to get that drivel, above, out your head.

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stuck in his little jorman Stadt with everything closed aal the time he has to fantasize - hence that run-in with the elves a year or so back................

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stuck in his little jorman Stadt with everything closed aal the time he has to fantasize - hence that run-in with the elves a year or so back................

 

Don't mention zee elves! :lol:

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Can you just clarify whether or not your wife has been getting nailed? I'm a bit lost here.

 

 

P.S What the fuck did you let the little pric in the house in the first place for? if he hasn't fucked her already he's planning on it, ring the fuckas neck before it's too late.

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