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so after your little stint on hey dad you stayed with your dullbog supporting uncle who was a catholic priest.
he made you work on his farm planting tomatoes
so rothfield whats it like on your first night without alcohol.1911 1912 1913 1923 1935 1936 1937 1940 1945 1974 1975 2002 2013 2018 2019 2020
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Originally posted by filthyralph View PostYou still call them 'joints' do ya? I thought you new gens had a new name for everything?!?!?!
The act is slipping Mr Mutton!
Gen X dude: hey goat lets go for a spliffy in our chino pants & baller caps.
goat: how do you know I have got a stiffy in my chino pants.
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Originally posted by Mickey Lane View PostGood pick up filthy, I think they call them spliffs.
Gen X dude: hey goat lets go for a spliffy in our chino pants & baller caps.
goat: how do you know I have got a stiffy in my chino pants.
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Originally posted by Steakface View PostI ask kindly for the admin's the leave this in the main forum for at least 48 hours, just out of interest....
I had a dream last night. I, Steakface, was engaged in a game of rugby league, though the rules of the game had been modified a tad.
The ground was approximately 15 meters long by 10 meters wide, maybe even smaller. There were no goalposts. The game was at sunset and the lighting was very poor. A camphor laurel tree stood in the middle of the field right on half way, but it was probably only two meters tall. The rules were one man per team - so it was me versus the other bloke, who was wearing what appeared to be a Bulldogs jersey from the 1950's era.
The scoring worked like this - 2 points for tackle, 4 points for a try. There were no goalkicking duties required.
I would estimate 95% of the crowd was on his side, and enthusiastically so. I copped a lot of verbal abuse from the crowd, though a small but vocal group of my supporters in the far corner kept my spirits up.
I smashed the guy in tackle after tackle, racking up a sizeable total (can't remember what it was). The crowd was enraged and getting even more verbally abusive, and I actually remember fearing for my life at the oranges break at the 50 minute mark.
At this point, out of nowhere, Sonny Bill Williams appeared on the sideline as a mentor, coach and advisor. I handed him a 6 litre plastic bucket which was full to the brim with a mixture of molten lava and petrol. I asked him to pour the concoction all over the tree on the halfway mark and then set it alight.
His demeanor changed, and he said in a deeply concerned tone and with fear in his eyes, "Are you actually serious bro'? . "Do you want to get me killed or somethin' bro" ?!
Anyway fellow chook penners, I thought you would all like to know about this - any thoughts as to what this means?
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