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Then who was phone?

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HolyCheck

I want a tag give me a tag
from me[/i][/b][/c=6] says (10:11 PM):
lol um...the mother?
niiick says (10:12 PM):
holy crap.
you just
wow
i
WOW
TO THE FORUMS.

I just. my mind was blown. anyone elses?

I hope this is an acceptable thread...
 

itxaka

Defeatist
Syth_Blade22 said:
I just. my mind was blown. anyone elses?

I hope this is an acceptable thread...

avahomer.gif
 

Kipz

massive bear, tiny salmon
You thought today was going to be utterly spiffing; your beloved ladyfriend's dear parents happened to be departing the immediate area for a jolly good weekend of tea and crumpets in the highlands, leaving her abode utterly vacated. Just you and her, understood?

As you cross the moat via the drawbridge and enter the Shakespearean manor, you notice that your love has willingly dispensed of her clothing, seeming to be eager to get to it. She leads you up the stairs, and your eye is briefly distracted by a bloody brilliant painting of the Duke of Essex and his trusty hound. With your eye back firmly on the prize (namely, her shapely buttocks), you proceed to the bedroom and begin copulating.

After a rather intense session of kissing and general hanky panky, you find yourselves lying together elegantly like a civilised couple would be, albeit being in the buff. You're about to get back to it, but suddenly, a messenger on a white horse rides into the abode!
"Telegram for you, sir" he says in a high pitched tone. You instantly suspect the scruffy rascal to be one of those dreaded homosexuals. Alas, telegrams are very important when delivered to an established member of society such as yourself, so you reluctantly accept it. The messenger rides away.

"I'm sorry, darling" you say, "but I must view this message, it may be from the Queen." Your lover nods at you, visibly bothered but understanding. You unseal the envelope, remove the telegram, and read it. It reads: "GET YOUR BLOODY ROTTEN HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER YOU RAPSCALLION, signed Chester B. Wankerton, father." Fearstricken, you realise that your lover has been very mischievous in peeping over your shoulder. She whimpers, and worriedly informs your person "my father is tragically deceased, my dear." She sobs. Suddenly, you realise, if the girl's father has passed...

...WHO SENT THE BLASTED TELEGRAM!?
 

Kipz

massive bear, tiny salmon
So ur with ur honey and yur making a sandwich wen the toaster digns. U buter it n the vioce is "wut r u doing wit my dinner?" U tell ur sandwich n it say "my dad is bred". THEN WHO WAS THE PIECE OF TOAST?
 

Timedog

good credit (by proxy)
MaddenNFL64 said:
This question will never be answered.

There was a guy who figured out the answer once, but the last anybody heard from him he was in the desert in New Mexico on a dangerous amount of peyote.
 
Kipz said:
So ur with ur honey and yur making a sandwich wen the toaster digns. U buter it n the vioce is "wut r u doing wit my dinner?" U tell ur sandwich n it say "my dad is bred". THEN WHO WAS THE PIECE OF TOAST?

mudkip-59228.jpg
 

birdman

Member
Kipz said:
You thought today was going to be utterly spiffing; your beloved ladyfriend's dear parents happened to be departing the immediate area for a jolly good weekend of tea and crumpets in the highlands, leaving her abode utterly vacated. Just you and her, understood?

As you cross the moat via the drawbridge and enter the Shakespearean manor, you notice that your love has willingly dispensed of her clothing, seeming to be eager to get to it. She leads you up the stairs, and your eye is briefly distracted by a bloody brilliant painting of the Duke of Essex and his trusty hound. With your eye back firmly on the prize (namely, her shapely buttocks), you proceed to the bedroom and begin copulating.

After a rather intense session of kissing and general hanky panky, you find yourselves lying together elegantly like a civilised couple would be, albeit being in the buff. You're about to get back to it, but suddenly, a messenger on a white horse rides into the abode!
"Telegram for you, sir" he says in a high pitched tone. You instantly suspect the scruffy rascal to be one of those dreaded homosexuals. Alas, telegrams are very important when delivered to an established member of society such as yourself, so you reluctantly accept it. The messenger rides away.

"I'm sorry, darling" you say, "but I must view this message, it may be from the Queen." Your lover nods at you, visibly bothered but understanding. You unseal the envelope, remove the telegram, and read it. It reads: "GET YOUR BLOODY ROTTEN HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER YOU RAPSCALLION, signed Chester B. Wankerton, father." Fearstricken, you realise that your lover has been very mischievous in peeping over your shoulder. She whimpers, and worriedly informs your person "my father is tragically deceased, my dear." She sobs. Suddenly, you realise, if the girl's father has passed...

...WHO SENT THE BLASTED TELEGRAM!?

:lol :lol :lol
 

McLovin

Member
Kipz said:
You thought today was going to be utterly spiffing; your beloved ladyfriend's dear parents happened to be departing the immediate area for a jolly good weekend of tea and crumpets in the highlands, leaving her abode utterly vacated. Just you and her, understood?

As you cross the moat via the drawbridge and enter the Shakespearean manor, you notice that your love has willingly dispensed of her clothing, seeming to be eager to get to it. She leads you up the stairs, and your eye is briefly distracted by a bloody brilliant painting of the Duke of Essex and his trusty hound. With your eye back firmly on the prize (namely, her shapely buttocks), you proceed to the bedroom and begin copulating.

After a rather intense session of kissing and general hanky panky, you find yourselves lying together elegantly like a civilised couple would be, albeit being in the buff. You're about to get back to it, but suddenly, a messenger on a white horse rides into the abode!
"Telegram for you, sir" he says in a high pitched tone. You instantly suspect the scruffy rascal to be one of those dreaded homosexuals. Alas, telegrams are very important when delivered to an established member of society such as yourself, so you reluctantly accept it. The messenger rides away.

"I'm sorry, darling" you say, "but I must view this message, it may be from the Queen." Your lover nods at you, visibly bothered but understanding. You unseal the envelope, remove the telegram, and read it. It reads: "GET YOUR BLOODY ROTTEN HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER YOU RAPSCALLION, signed Chester B. Wankerton, father." Fearstricken, you realise that your lover has been very mischievous in peeping over your shoulder. She whimpers, and worriedly informs your person "my father is tragically deceased, my dear." She sobs. Suddenly, you realise, if the girl's father has passed...

...WHO SENT THE BLASTED TELEGRAM!?
This was kinda corny but I LoL'd
 

borghe

Loves the Greater Toronto Area
ironically none of the comics or web strips in this thread are making it any funnier except for the brief trend of simpsons gifs.

this is like when your kid says a silly made up word and you laugh because they're like 3 and it was cute, and then they keep saying it over and over and over and over again until you want to kill yourself for laughing the first time.
 
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