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...
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.
Syth_Blade22 said:I just. my mind was blown. anyone elses?
I hope this is an acceptable thread...
MaddenNFL64 said:This question will never be answered.
smurfx said:
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?
smurfx said:
:lolsmurfx said:
awwScullibundo said:
:lol For some reason I really like this oneScullibundo said:
I love that fanfic :lolKipz said:The honey said "No, John. You are phone."
And then John was phone.
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'dKipz 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!?
perfectchaos007 said:What if I accidentally the phone?
JohnTinker said:forced memes really arent that funny
S. L. said:
Oh way to kill the joke :[lennedsay said: