Author Topic: The Last CaB post that made you GUFFAW out loud II: The GUFFAWther Part 2  (Read 83726 times)

Twit 2

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HA HA HA suck it, Intu. Get ''intu'' the grave, am I right forum, ah ha. Oh no wait a minute I work inside Intu! Does this mean I'm going to lose my job along with everything else? Shit! This isn't cool at all

INTU is goin DOWN, out of bidnoh! Into administration oh god, where will i go, who can I turn to

Are they going to close down the big shopping centre where I work, the ill pink warren, the big crocodile with its bentangle toothbroken jaws,
 Carl Urban's Cow Outfitters and Das Boots, snake it down to the anus/cloaca one-two fart punch of Cex and the Build-A-Bear?


where is your god Robin Hood now, Nottingham? who will come and save our poor sizzling, vajazzled souls from administration and unemployment?

INTU, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The tiny bald Western Union rep softly singing Lucas with the lid off to himself in the coin-greened shallows of the water clock. A trapped bee in the Works bouncing off a thrice-discounted Alan Sugar autobiography called ''I Got Nous''. The undentisted, grinding jaws of the phet man clicking: he, naked except for a pair of tight gold speedos, bogling up against a window display in HMV for the new Adele caramel beige avalanche of fallacy; you, apalled, envious. All distractions for the dick-waving contempt our superiors spittle rain down on us daily, a memorial bath to a trolley stacker, a statue of applause for those who have to care or still have something good in them, something those cunts (sorry for swearing) in the stews and sewers uphill that run down on us could never sense or recognise. The velvet soft nexus between the pillow and your sleeping lovers head, the perfumed ghost, the tangle of shed hairs and secret sleep murmurs.

The great threshing machine grinds on and on, chewing us up and disseminating the diarrhoea of our dreams and light out of its ghastly back funnel.

and Greggs! The recently reopened Greggs! You were only just given new life in the afterbirth slick of the breached John Lewis dragon corpse upstream,
where will all those people on their lunches go? how will they push themselves slightly further into a dangerous weight class and/or the artery block rocking, kenny bowel loggins danger zone?
God why you no love us no more, why you shake your steak bakes in our face and then snatch them away so cruelly?

Poor little me. I am Intu, Intu is me. I funnel your ugly-ass hoodie and garment Asos returns into the pipes below Intu where they drop off into the swirling milk shake pink cloud city vortex. I count you as my friends, one in, one out, I leave the doors wide open and get whipped hard for it. I didn't even finish my 'staying within the law' work module. I crawl through ever-dilating mole hell tracts to deliver your perverted mail. I blink politely in the cove-stream of guttering racist once-were-warriors as they lay the smack down on nhs nurses and teenagers with tatts and bikes.I absorb the white rage. I eat the fire as you scream at me about that untracked letter you sent to Sudan eight months ago, I remember you specifically asked to send it 'the shittest, and most hilarious way possible' and now here you are, waving a receipt in my face and demanding revenge because that letter was for my kids you arsehole my kids and now she's taken them to africa and that letter was my last chance, witness me you goon, why arent you wearing your name badge

when I go in on Monday, will I find everything stripped for parts, boarded over, ground salted, shutters soldered. Just a black singe where my till used to be and no sign of the cartoon I drew of a bird saying 'fuck the post office' out of its beak and stuck on my co-workers printer because she liked it. Girls aloud, what am I to do?

"You'll be fine" you might type. "Intu is only being taken over by administrata... shops staying open... new boss" It's fine for you lot, asleep in your luxuriant bald fortresses with your mint condition Flumps figurines and pearl-pressed trumpets that you blow so triumphantly from your balconies each morning to summon the hops and the barley. Christ Ive been writing this post for hours now, literal dragging hours of my abused fingers creaking up and down the laptop's engine plate like a sweaty mechanic feeling for lumps under a nissan

it's day now, a saturday has come up. It was night when I started this.

Sorry for the swear words, and all of the other words.

I might not have a place to go on Monday.

Shoulders?-Stomach!

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It would have been shameful for that to go unpraised.

pancreas

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JE SUIS INTU

FerriswheelBueller

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I’m not breaking new ground here when I say I am hugely fond of Greg and his writing. A real CaB gem.

Gregory Torso

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Thank you, it means a lot, and the same double back to you x

non capisco

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That's some astonishing prose, GT.

Twit 2

  • “As sound as an apple.”
It would have been shameful for that to go unpraised.

It lay unremarked upon in its thread, a fallen Icarus in the Cab landscape, posters carrying on with the discussion, “farmers continuing to plough.”

jenna appleseed

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I remember in Belgrade seeing a mural of who I thought was Joe Strummer, but I'm wondering now if it might have been Roger Lloyd-Pack as Trigger.

Paul Calf

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I don't know why but this just tickled me:

Bog I decline to claim that mess as mine ♪
Bog that mess is just not mine ♪

That was really meant for the Bog thread

Dewt

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I was just trying my darn-tootednees to make a post on the internet

imitationleather

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My granda has a glass eye. Big building site bucket fell on his face when he was a young man. He used to pop it out to scare me.
The eye.

I have a very simple sense of humour and this proper tickled me.

touchingcloth

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Thank you, it means a lot, and the same double back to you x

If you really work INTU, sack it off and get paid for your words. Seriously.

Barry Admin

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I’m not breaking new ground here when I say I am hugely fond of Greg and his writing. A real CaB gem.

I agree.  Thanks Greg.

Twit 2

  • “As sound as an apple.”
History all stinks of shit. History is not only the bin but the seedbank and ice core record of odiousness.

The Siege of Tyre that fucking stunk of shit. The Babington Plot: everyone involved and all the places featured stank of shit. Sex Pistols gig - stank of shit. Crimea - atmospheric strata defined by different extremely concentrated tiers of shit. Repealing the corn laws happened in a building an environment that notably stank of shit. The Hindenburg was a giant balloon that smelt of shit that crashed to ground, exploded and made everywhere else nearby smell of shit. The SAS remarked in 1980 how much like shit the siege of the Iranian Embassy in Kensington smelt of. Harold Larwood's cricket coffin smelt of shit. Confucius wrote every single word surrounded by an atmosphere of caked on shit festering on a hot day. Most naturalist writing such as Wordsworth is wish fulfilment for life to smell less like shit. Henry VIII was a man enveloped constantly by the stench of shit. Football referee David Elleray stank of shit.

Blue Jam

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Didn't know PEPYS was such a massive TWAT

FWIW I always thought Aldous Huxley was a bit of a bell.

Beagle 2

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I guffawed out loud at Urinal Cake still enjoying the work of the cancelled Ghengis Khan.

FerriswheelBueller

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How much money does De Niro need? Not content with flogging cars, he's now selling bagels by referencing assorted mob films from his past. I await his Uber ad, starring an eighty year old Travis Bickle, with bated breath. "You hiring me? You hiring me? Well I'm the only reasonably priced method of transport round here."

Twonty Gostelow

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FWIW I always thought Aldous Huxley was a bit of a bell.
The Brontë sisters were sometimes Bells.

RIP Shelf Abuse.

touchingcloth

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imagine if this all ends up with a Waco style seige at buckingham palace

queen ducked behind  a barracade of dead corgis, swan used as a rudimentary torniquet, the end in her eyes

FerriswheelBueller

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^yeah that was a belter

from the advice for insomnia thread

Lifting.
Leave the lighthouse family out of this mate.

goosebery and camomile. Lovely on soda bread with a cup of Earl Grey

canadagoose

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'Phwooar! I like to look at a cunt really close up.'
'That's not a magnifying glass, mate.'

Sebastian Cobb

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that really tickled me and all

Butchers Blind

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Blitz spirit. I wish the media would call things how they are instead of this blind templated twee shit

"Daft pub owner opens his death trap pub for even dafter wankers to drink at, despite the risk to life being greater than the pleasure of watered down beer and boring chat about garden centres and tits"

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From the same thread: 

Just nipped out to Tesco and was about to join the queue when the bloke walking just ahead of me, and whom I had assumed was going to join the queue just in front of me, instead stopped and did a massive piss on the pavement. The pisser then waddled off to join his mates hanging about near a somewhat rough pub which is doing take-out pints in plastic glasses. Piss mystery solved.

Blue Jam

  • The corpuscles are corpusclin'
Cheers, but oh how I wish I had been able to guffaw at the alfresco Tesco pisser. It was just incredibly bleak.

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Cheers, but oh how I wish I had been able to guffaw at the alfresco Tesco pisser. It was just incredibly bleak.

I think people pissing out in the open in broad daylight is intrinsically funny, but the way you described it was especially amusing.


I started a thread about this subject years ago:

This is a thread for times you've witnessed people weeing all over the place.

Around September or October last year, I was walking from Balham tube in the direction of The Bedford, which is the pub at the bottom of Bedford Hill, when I realised that the man walking towards me on the pavement had his cock sticking out of the front of his trousers, and he was weeing onto the pavement in front of him. 

He wasn't facing the wall, with one arm on it, weeing against it and leaving a big massive stream where everyone has to walk.  He was striding at a decent speed, cock out, weeing ferociously on his way.  It wasn't night time; it was about 5 or 6pm, and the man was wearing a suit and looked like he'd just left his office.  And he wasn't holding his cock to ensure his wee remained shooting in front of him and not to the side or onto his clothes.  It was just jetting out, hands-free.


The second one was a bit before that, maybe mid summer last year.  I was in the British Library toilets, and I noticed that a respectable, white-haired, professorial gentleman had his cock out and was weeing into one of the sinks.  Right behind him, there were some urinals.  Just around the corner, several cubicles.  The sinks didn't look remotely toilet-like, and would have required more effort than the urinals to get himself at the correct height.  But there he was, resembling Richard Attenborough, and carefully weeing directly into the plughole.


Go on then, what are your stories like this, and what on earth is going on?

I found the events funny, but my word choices didn't create an amusing description.

FerriswheelBueller

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I think people pissing out in the open in broad daylight is intrinsically funny.


I started a thread about the subject years ago:

I have a memory of being 10 or 11 and being taken for a day out in North Wales (I want to say some small town near IRONBRIDGE because I remember being bought a tiny souvenir IRONBRIDGE - as we were pretty poor growing up, getting any kind of souvenir was a big deal).

Anyway, as we were waiting outside a chip shop for my dad to get us one lot of chips to share for lunch, I remember a small boy of about 3, trousers around ankles, being openly encouraged to piss directly into a puddle by his mother. He did so. Why is a puddle better than the street? Even though I was young I knew I had seen pure bleakness.

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