The Great Dave Debate.

[Proper Bo]

I stopped lurking when i got back on to my computer what has my password saved, innit.

You should have just asked barbie what your password was.

And also; good save

[manker]

It just happened to correspond with me offering to give away your Turkey t-shirt.
Total coincidence, like

[Proper Bo]

there never was a turkey t-shirt, was there?

[manker]

Was.

There still is, actually

[Squeamous]

Poor Squeams. Is there no end to her public disgrace?

Goodness, I've disgraced myself in public more than this to the power of ten, multiple times. While people are talking about this they're being distracted from the real car crash that is my personal life

Girls. Mang, they always rune things.

We should put up a sign outside saying no girls aloud or whatevs.

[Snee]

I count up to two in-jokes and one really old pun/instance of musical criticism, and have no recall of making that post.

Pretty chuffed with it, all round.

[chalice]

I count up to two in-jokes and one really old pun/instance of musical criticism, and have no recall of making that post.

Pretty chuffed with it, all round.

Nothing to do with your post history. I gather that's the general Swedish demeanour.

[chalice]

I count up to two in-jokes and one really old pun/instance of musical criticism, and have no recall of making that post.

Pretty chuffed with it, all round.

Nothing to do with your post history. I gather that's the general Swedish demeanour.

Having reread that, it reads harsher than wot I intended.

Still, you're still a Swedish, and you're still a cunt.

[Snee]

I count up to two in-jokes and one really old pun/instance of musical criticism, and have no recall of making that post.

Pretty chuffed with it, all round.

Nothing to do with your post history. I gather that's the general Swedish demeanour.

It's just how we roll

[chalice]

Nothing to do with your post history. I gather that's the general Swedish demeanour.

It's just how we roll

I hear you don't roll at all. I hear you straddle the backs of napalmed Vietnamese children, whipping the sparse flesh from their backs as they snatch at the cash which lines your very streets.

Tired of stepping into daylight, the Swedish have cloistered a dimwitted underclass to litter-pick their wealth for them while they pick their prettied teeth with toothpicks fashioned from platinum.

Meanwhile their Irish and Welsh neighbours starve, apprehensive that someday they will too slide into subjugation of the Swedish master race or something. I have hidden my children. You will never find them.