Oh here you go, trying to make your post look more important.hence my post when Duritz was back in his croweater days
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Croweater's thread of not-so-erotic fiction
- Thread starter Croweater
- Start date
- Tagged users None
JoseMourinho
Not A Manager
Mate, there are ppl who idolise themselves way too much. Croweater and duritz are 2 of em lol
I guess if nobody else will idolise you, you have to do it yourself.
JoseMourinho
Not A Manager
Exactly haha!
Messenger
No, I’m just disappointed
Ladies and Gents,
While speculating on the probably fictitious sex life of BigFooty posters is "fun", posting photos of unsuspecting Adelaide lawyers is neither awesome, cool or grouse.
No more, pretty please.
While speculating on the probably fictitious sex life of BigFooty posters is "fun", posting photos of unsuspecting Adelaide lawyers is neither awesome, cool or grouse.
No more, pretty please.
Croweater
Club Legend
- Thread starter
- #257
This story isn't of me, rather my best mate from my teenage years.
We went to different schools, but we hung out all the time. About once a week, I'd hang out with him and his PAC mates, and we'd usually walk to Yanni's on The Parade to get a Yiros. On the weekly trudge up to Norwood, we'd always see this old Volkswagen Beetle parked on a side street.
Now my best mate, bless his soul, was oh how can I put this delicately? A sick bastard. Yeah, that'll do. He had an infatuation with taking a shit on things. I don't know whether it was an all-boys school thing, but he'd shit on playgrounds, vehicles, gardens, a bus bench, you name it. So every time we walked past this Beetle, he'd go "boys, one day I'm going to shit on that car".
Fast forward a couple of months. There was a Seymour party on the weekend, with people from both mine and my mate's school having friends who went there. So a group of my mates from Scotch and his mates from PAC planned to attend.
On said evening, we'd had a few pre-drinks. A few of us (including my mate) walked to PAC to meet a couple of boarders who were part of the group. We booked a maxi-cab and ventured out of the grounds. Because we wanted to have a couple of road beers, we agreed to meet the cabbie just up the road on The Parade. On our way, we passed the Beetle again. "Hold on, boys!" my mate exclaimed. We turn to see him running down the side street, undoing his belt and looking at this poor Beetle like David Armitage looks at dwarfs. "Oh shit", I said. The other lads knew what was going on, too. So we're on the look out for people. In Norwood. On Saturday evening. Surprisingly; no one. My mate unloads a whopper of a turd on this car. It was f*cking grim. He doesn't wipe, because there's no toilet paper. A couple of minutes later, we meet the cabbie and make our way to the party.
Whilst we were in the cab, we notice this smell persisting. We look at each other puzzled, trying to sniff out the source. We figure it out.
My mate knows it's him and looks away guiltily, pretending like he hasn't the faintest idea his arse is more of a no-go zone than Chernobyl.
We arrive at the party. Now, key to this story is that my mate had a bit of a thing going on with the girl who threw the party.
So we get out of the cab and make our way up a very steep driveway. The rubbing and sliding of his arse cheeks inherent in an arduous journey up a seventy metre, twenty degree incline only served to exacerbate his dilemma.
We finally get to the top and make our way around the back. Everyone's there, and we walk over to a group of girls, one of which was the girl my mate had a bit of a thing with. After a couple of minutes, one of the girls asks "what's that smell?". A couple of lads scurry off quick smart as a proclamation of innocence. My mate stays because he doesn't want to just abruptly walk away from the girl to wipe his arse. The rest of us stay there for moral support and to not sell our mate out. This proved successful until the girl flirtatiously asked my mate to go get a drink with her. They leave and the place smells rosy again. A couple of girls standing there make a mention of that fact.
We see him later on looking a bit upset. "What happened?" we asked. "Well she knew I smelled, but I kept denying it when she asked. Eventually I left to wipe my arse, but she's avoided me ever since. No idea why".
Apparently word travelled quick that my mate took a shit on a car, didn't wipe his arse, and made the whole place smell putrid. The girl was one of the first to find out, and avoided him at all costs from that point on.
You know how lads usually screw as many self-loathing broads with daddy issues as they can after they stop seeing a girl? Not my mate. Instead, he went on a bit of a defecation bender. He took a shit on a brand new Pajero, the Hazelwood Park playground, the entrance of Utopia at Waterfall Gully and on the middle of the St. Peter's College Oval in the subsequent weeks.
Why would the girl stop seeing him? The mind boggles.
We went to different schools, but we hung out all the time. About once a week, I'd hang out with him and his PAC mates, and we'd usually walk to Yanni's on The Parade to get a Yiros. On the weekly trudge up to Norwood, we'd always see this old Volkswagen Beetle parked on a side street.
Now my best mate, bless his soul, was oh how can I put this delicately? A sick bastard. Yeah, that'll do. He had an infatuation with taking a shit on things. I don't know whether it was an all-boys school thing, but he'd shit on playgrounds, vehicles, gardens, a bus bench, you name it. So every time we walked past this Beetle, he'd go "boys, one day I'm going to shit on that car".
Fast forward a couple of months. There was a Seymour party on the weekend, with people from both mine and my mate's school having friends who went there. So a group of my mates from Scotch and his mates from PAC planned to attend.
On said evening, we'd had a few pre-drinks. A few of us (including my mate) walked to PAC to meet a couple of boarders who were part of the group. We booked a maxi-cab and ventured out of the grounds. Because we wanted to have a couple of road beers, we agreed to meet the cabbie just up the road on The Parade. On our way, we passed the Beetle again. "Hold on, boys!" my mate exclaimed. We turn to see him running down the side street, undoing his belt and looking at this poor Beetle like David Armitage looks at dwarfs. "Oh shit", I said. The other lads knew what was going on, too. So we're on the look out for people. In Norwood. On Saturday evening. Surprisingly; no one. My mate unloads a whopper of a turd on this car. It was f*cking grim. He doesn't wipe, because there's no toilet paper. A couple of minutes later, we meet the cabbie and make our way to the party.
Whilst we were in the cab, we notice this smell persisting. We look at each other puzzled, trying to sniff out the source. We figure it out.
My mate knows it's him and looks away guiltily, pretending like he hasn't the faintest idea his arse is more of a no-go zone than Chernobyl.
We arrive at the party. Now, key to this story is that my mate had a bit of a thing going on with the girl who threw the party.
So we get out of the cab and make our way up a very steep driveway. The rubbing and sliding of his arse cheeks inherent in an arduous journey up a seventy metre, twenty degree incline only served to exacerbate his dilemma.
We finally get to the top and make our way around the back. Everyone's there, and we walk over to a group of girls, one of which was the girl my mate had a bit of a thing with. After a couple of minutes, one of the girls asks "what's that smell?". A couple of lads scurry off quick smart as a proclamation of innocence. My mate stays because he doesn't want to just abruptly walk away from the girl to wipe his arse. The rest of us stay there for moral support and to not sell our mate out. This proved successful until the girl flirtatiously asked my mate to go get a drink with her. They leave and the place smells rosy again. A couple of girls standing there make a mention of that fact.
We see him later on looking a bit upset. "What happened?" we asked. "Well she knew I smelled, but I kept denying it when she asked. Eventually I left to wipe my arse, but she's avoided me ever since. No idea why".
Apparently word travelled quick that my mate took a shit on a car, didn't wipe his arse, and made the whole place smell putrid. The girl was one of the first to find out, and avoided him at all costs from that point on.
You know how lads usually screw as many self-loathing broads with daddy issues as they can after they stop seeing a girl? Not my mate. Instead, he went on a bit of a defecation bender. He took a shit on a brand new Pajero, the Hazelwood Park playground, the entrance of Utopia at Waterfall Gully and on the middle of the St. Peter's College Oval in the subsequent weeks.
Why would the girl stop seeing him? The mind boggles.
Last edited:
- Moderator
- #258
The Half Back
BC Approved
What the ****, if I knew someone like that, I wouldn't be calling him a mate...
Starburns_
Premium Platinum
- Mar 30, 2011
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No. Noooo. NOnonononononononnono.
That is stupid and hopefully not true at all.
That is stupid and hopefully not true at all.
It's like you're speaking in tongues.
PAC = private school
Yannis = yiros shop
Yiros = kebab
Parade = main road in Norwood
T2B_
The Avo King
- Feb 13, 2011
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This story isn't of me, rather my best mate from my teenage years.
We went to different schools, but we hung out all the time. About once a week, I'd hang out with him and his PAC mates, and we'd usually walk to Yanni's on The Parade to get a Yiros. On the weekly trudge up to Norwood, we'd always see this old Volkswagen Beetle parked on a side street.
Now my best mate, bless his soul, was oh how can I put this delicately? A sick bastard. Yeah, that'll do. He had an infatuation with taking a shit on things. I don't know whether it was an all-boys school thing, but he'd shit on playgrounds, vehicles, gardens, a bus bench, you name it. So every time we walked past this Beetle, he'd go "boys, one day I'm going to shit on that car".
Fast forward a couple of months. There was a Seymour party on the weekend, with people from both mine and my mate's school having friends who went there. So a group of my mates from Scotch and his mates from PAC planned to attend.
On said evening, we'd had a few pre-drinks. A few of us (including my mate) walked to PAC to meet a couple of boarders who were part of the group. We booked a maxi-cab and ventured out of the grounds. Because we wanted to have a couple of road beers, we agreed to meet the cabbie just up the road on The Parade. On our way, we passed the Beetle again. "Hold on, boys!" my mate exclaimed. We turn to see him running down the side street, undoing his belt and looking at this poor Beetle like David Armitage looks at dwarfs. "Oh shit", I said. The other lads knew what was going on, too. So we're on the look out for people. In Norwood. On Saturday evening. Surprisingly; no one. My mate unloads a whopper of a turd on this car. It was f*cking grim. He doesn't wipe, because there's no toilet paper. A couple of minutes later, we meet the cabbie and make our way to the party.
Whilst we were in the cab, we notice this smell persisting. We look at each other puzzled, trying to sniff out the source. We figure it out.
My mate knows it's him and looks away guiltily, pretending like he hasn't the faintest idea his arse is more of a no-go zone than Chernobyl.
We arrive at the party. Now, key to this story is that my mate had a bit of a thing going on with the girl who threw the party.
So we get out of the cab and make our way up a very steep driveway. The rubbing and sliding of his arse cheeks inherent in an arduous journey up a seventy metre, twenty degree incline only served to exacerbate his dilemma.
We finally get to the top and make our way around the back. Everyone's there, and we walk over to a group of girls, one of which was the girl my mate had a bit of a thing with. After a couple of minutes, one of the girls asks "what's that smell?". A couple of lads scurry off quick smart as a proclamation of innocence. My mate stays because he doesn't want to just abruptly walk away from the girl to wipe his arse. The rest of us stay there for moral support and to not sell our mate out. This proved successful until the girl flirtatiously asked my mate to go get a drink with her. They leave and the place smells rosy again. A couple of girls standing there make a mention of that fact.
We see him later on looking a bit upset. "What happened?" we asked. "Well she knew I smelled, but I kept denying it when she asked. Eventually I left to wipe my arse, but she's avoided me ever since. No idea why".
Apparently word travelled quick that my mate took a shit on a car, didn't wipe his arse, and made the whole place smell putrid. The girl was one of the first to find out, and avoided him at all costs from that point on.
You know how lads usually screw as many self-loathing broads with daddy issues as they can after they stop seeing a girl? Not my mate. Instead, he went on a bit of a defecation bender. He took a shit on a brand new Pajero, the Hazelwood Park playground, the entrance of Utopia at Waterfall Gully and on the middle of the St. Peter's College Oval in the subsequent weeks.
Why would the girl stop seeing him? The mind boggles.
There are no words.
peternorth
Moderator
- May 6, 2005
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- #268
has anyone else felt used after recent revelations?
Shell
Premium Platinum
Sicko.
You know who was also into shit? Derek Percy.
Shame no one caught him and rubbed his nose in it, what a campaigner.
Has a thread ever lost its certification of legendary in GD history??
Croweater + junners discussion.....let history record optimal level of entertainment in an awkward flirting thread is achieved at 330 pages
Croweater + junners discussion.....let history record optimal level of entertainment in an awkward flirting thread is achieved at 330 pages
I'll agree that the last 15 pages haven't exactly been the pinnacle of human evolution.
I could class the place up a bit by telling you a story about a mate who pissed his pants on a date.
Well go on...
- Dec 1, 2010
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I'll agree that the last 15 pages haven't exactly been the pinnacle of human evolution.
I could class the place up a bit by telling you a story about a mate who pissed his pants on a date.
You have some weird mates....
blackshadow
Hall of Famer
shitster
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