Bulking Up

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Originally Posted by Skarsnik

no, this may bring back bad memories of Clubber Lang.

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My mother hits harder than him:closed:

Notice you were up and about early this morning John. Did all that WKD interrupt your sleep, or were you using the Wi-Fi in the local A&E after taking a bit of a beating? :closed:

I hardly slept last night for worrying about plucky John... when I reached for the washing-up liquid this morning it was almost too much to bear.

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Originally Posted by Hank

I hardly slept last night for worrying about plucky John... when I reached for the washing-up liquid this morning it was almost too much to bear.

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Same here. When I played my daily game of rounders this morning I winced .

I switched on the news this morning, expecting to see Kate Adie or Ross Kemp reporting from some wrecked northern pub, but its' all gone very quiet. Did John M32 bottle it?

No News yet?:w00t::rolleyes:

I'm not sure I can take any more of the not knowing:confused:
Oh plucky John how did you get on?:)

I’ve been following this thread with interest. I have an awful feeling John is languishing in some hell hole police station in the North of England, shivering in the bare corner of a concrete cell, his chinos (I’m sure he must wear them) soaked in a urine/ammonia/washing up liquid/ mix, his eyes red from the salt tears he has cried since his incarceration, his dreams plagued with the memory of what he did last night, his dreams of celebrity hairdressing shattered.

To paraphrase Clint Eastwood;
‘Squirting piss at a man is a hell of a thing to do. You take away all he is and all he’ll ever be, even if that is based around catering’.

Oh John, what have you done?

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Originally Posted by Hank

I hardly slept last night for worrying about plucky John... when I reached for the washing-up liquid this morning it was almost too much to bear.

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I had a similar thought this morning whilst stood at the toilet....

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Originally Posted by Duff

I’ve been following this thread with interest. I have an awful feeling John is languishing in some hell hole police station in the North of England, shivering in the bare corner of a concrete cell, his chinos (I’m sure he must wear them) soaked in a urine/ammonia/washing up liquid/ mix, his eyes red from the salt tears he has cried since his incarceration, his dreams plagued with the memory of what he did last night, his dreams of celebrity hairdressing shattered.

To paraphrase Clint Eastwood;
‘Squirting piss at a man is a hell of a thing to do. You take away all he is and all he’ll ever be, even if that is based around catering’.

Oh John, what have you done?

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Great stuff:)