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The Last CaB post that made you GUFFAW out loud: The Thread

Started by Nowhere Man, March 19, 2018, 04:03:03 AM

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Noddy Tomkey

Quote from: Cuellar on December 05, 2019, 05:55:12 PM
Mad that we now have a world where a cafe, an abstract business entity based in a inanimate building, can call someone a cunt. Not "John Smith on behalf of cafe", the cafe itself.

Imagine a chippy calling you a cocksucker.

This may be implied in the thread title but it took Cuellar to point it out and make me laugh. Which is why I fell in love with the place. You know - Cuellar pointing things out n that.

Twit 2

Quote from: Huxleys Babkins on December 05, 2019, 10:25:29 AM
"No Time To Die" is the name of a Ken Loach film about a single mum with terminal breast cancer who works a zero hours contract in a clock factory.

pancreas


willy crossit

Quote from: kittens on December 05, 2019, 11:09:29 AM
this is so embarrassing. everyone desperately trying not to make eye contact with madhair while he's standing there trying to get us invested in solving the mystery of how he pissed himself.


imitationleather


Shoulders?-Stomach!


king_tubby

Enjoyed regarding Xmas office forced jollity.

Quote from: Sherringford Hovis on December 06, 2019, 04:26:31 AM
Shavey Bonce will think that a cigar is a great idea despite being a fitness fanatic for 359 days a year, will Chong it like a rollie and throw up somewhere. Guaranteed chunks by 2130. Every couple of months.

Yarp will drink much more than anyone else but be unable to get a buzz on and be grudgingly fatherly towards the inebriates generally. Probably log on for a couple of hours overtime when he gets home.

Liverpool Fan will incessantly yap about any sport with anybody in any of the three or four pubs we crawl, so will either make new lifelong friends or get in a fight. Or both, often with the same person.

Obligatory Diversity Balkan's ridiculous handsomeness will get him tops and fingers within 20 minutes of arrival at every pub we visit. His mish-mash of vibes channelling Todd from Scrubs and borderline racist insurance meerkat is an unlikely but efficient mackerel-hammock moistener.

Lunk learned to interact with humankind purely through studying John Candy movies and Chris Farley routines. Every year I hug him because I'm convinced that it's gonna be his last Christmas - a West Country Belushi pogo-ing to The Wurzels with his demons.

Closet Stoner will have an economical pre-game bong and stay precisely twice as long as is actually enjoyable, to later wake in the middle of the night paranoid about whether anyone knew whether he was stoned. Closet Stoner's only two occasional toker team-mates have both left in the last eighteen months and he's really, really missing them.

Dad Of Five will have a great time and be a splendid fellow. Everyone likes him, the work night out is precisely one half of his social life for the entire year. He'll probably announce that he's gonna be Dad Of Six pretty soon: his lack of pull-out game has been heralded three out of the last four Christmases.

Almost teetotal Hilariously Machiavellian Boss will drop in and parsimoniously sip a half of cooking lager just long enough to see two people make absolute twats of themselves then reward them with extra responsibilities and greater prestige over the next six months.

Hat Guy will wear a hat.

Token Cougar will get speechlessly sloshed and it'll be embarrassing when her much-younger boyfriend half-heartedly gives us the evil eye when collecting her early because he's genuinely afraid of a couple of our workforce. Short-changed repeatedly by her own daughter working behind the bar at one of the pubs we go to.

Jug Eared Teen will attempt to drink at the same rate as Yarp, and have a mystical, life-changing near-death experience.

Ollie already knows everyone in every pub we visit. They're either his best mate or a complete cunt, and the feeling is mutual though not always correspondent.

Paintball Tackleberry will silently nurse a single pint of fruit cider all evening that he diffidently smuggles from pub-to-pub while running convoluted and improbable hostage-rescue scenarios in his head. Probably has the best evening out of all of us.


Don't know why you're all laughing. The scene where a former squaddie she meets in the pub falls in love with her, in spite of her double mastectomy and her hair having all come out 'cos of chemo, has reduced Radio 2's James King to tears.

Plot spoiler: They go back to her place and her body consciousness evaporates when she discovers that he's a double amputee 'cos of mines strapped to toddlers in Syria. But there's a further twist when she discovers that his willy has also gone. The culprit? The sanctioning team at the Department of Work and Pensions.