Why is it so difficult to meet normal people ?
- Randy Cornhole
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I have to agree, on my frequent trips to The Moon I never met anyone who had been to Hua Hin, some had not even heard of it.
Just goes to show how exclusive Hua Hin is and probably explains why it attracts so many people with an interesting background.
Just goes to show how exclusive Hua Hin is and probably explains why it attracts so many people with an interesting background.
Last edited by Governor on Tue Apr 01, 2008 3:08 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Over the last 6 months I have watched a guy I knew for many years in England create a web of totally ficticious stories about himself presumably in order to impress a load of drunks and bargirls .An all too common scenario here that I have observed many times over the years .They usually piss their money up the wall and end up going home skint to preach from a different bar stool .
Anyway must get back to fixing the pulse cannon on the spaceship .The Verguns are planning an attack on pluto this afternoon .
Crazy 88
Anyway must get back to fixing the pulse cannon on the spaceship .The Verguns are planning an attack on pluto this afternoon .
Crazy 88
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- margaretcarnes
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Why is it so difficult to meet normal people?
Well I think Biscuit Designer is well impressive! It beats my first job after school - Heraldic Artist. Sounds impressive but lasted 6 months cos I couldn't keep up to speed with 'piece work' (you older ones will remember that.)
I was reminded though of a cousin who worked for a few months at Sara Lee as a 'nutter'. This is gospel, honest. The job was putting the nuts on top of fruit cakes in pretty patterns. They had a young lad working there who was always very quiet and got on with the job. One day he started work and after a few minutes just walked out, leaving a cake on the line bearing the words 'f... this' in nuts!
I was reminded though of a cousin who worked for a few months at Sara Lee as a 'nutter'. This is gospel, honest. The job was putting the nuts on top of fruit cakes in pretty patterns. They had a young lad working there who was always very quiet and got on with the job. One day he started work and after a few minutes just walked out, leaving a cake on the line bearing the words 'f... this' in nuts!
A sprout is for life - not just for Christmas.
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Thanks for clearing that up , and detailing all the fantastic jobs ..
I haven't laughed so much since my last bar stool meeting.
But I'm confused, how could anyone be a successful bar owner when they HAVE to listen to those tales every night ? Surely anyone who has run a bar for more than a year, must now either be deaf of suicidal !
For the decent ones, It is surely the most difficult job of all .
I haven't laughed so much since my last bar stool meeting.
But I'm confused, how could anyone be a successful bar owner when they HAVE to listen to those tales every night ? Surely anyone who has run a bar for more than a year, must now either be deaf of suicidal !
For the decent ones, It is surely the most difficult job of all .
But I'm confused, how could anyone be a successful bar owner when they HAVE to listen to those tales every night ? Surely anyone who has run a bar for more than a year, must now either be deaf of suicidal !
They dont as a successful bar owner is seldom behind the bar(he may not have a work permit)
but the girlies do have to listen.
This is actually a really good subject,I agree with Margaret that Boys will be boys.I have lived and worked 5 years in Lisbon and a further 5 years in cape Town and never ran into walter Mitty type people but in Spain and Thailand they abound.I think it is boredom or perhaps a feeling that they never really did much in life and so one starts embellishing on ones life story with a bunch of porky pies.
For poms alone ,no one from 22 SAS will ever admit that fact in a bar,its a very private matter.If you get tired of listening to their drivel,ask them what squadron they were in.If they come up with a numerical number they are having a laugh if they come up with A,B,D or G they might be telling the truth.AS a back up ask them why no C Squadron.that will stump them but anyone true SAS guy will say thats C squadron Southern Rhodesia and was disbanded by Mugabe in 1980
They dont as a successful bar owner is seldom behind the bar(he may not have a work permit)
but the girlies do have to listen.
This is actually a really good subject,I agree with Margaret that Boys will be boys.I have lived and worked 5 years in Lisbon and a further 5 years in cape Town and never ran into walter Mitty type people but in Spain and Thailand they abound.I think it is boredom or perhaps a feeling that they never really did much in life and so one starts embellishing on ones life story with a bunch of porky pies.
For poms alone ,no one from 22 SAS will ever admit that fact in a bar,its a very private matter.If you get tired of listening to their drivel,ask them what squadron they were in.If they come up with a numerical number they are having a laugh if they come up with A,B,D or G they might be telling the truth.AS a back up ask them why no C Squadron.that will stump them but anyone true SAS guy will say thats C squadron Southern Rhodesia and was disbanded by Mugabe in 1980
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This is where the biscuit designer comes into his own. Once you start to explain in great detail the ingredients, texture and temperature of the filling required for a Garibaldi you will find that Mr SAS suddenly has an urgent need to visit the facilities, never to return. Try it!
Ye canny shove yer Grannie off a bus....
SAS?
Those who say don't know.
Those who know don't say (no need to brag).
I do remember the wonderful plume of smoke tailing off the Red Baron's canvas triplane Messerschmidt as he spiraled earthwards carrying my load of hot 50-calibre lead! I turned for home with a swelling in my chest, knowing I had dispatched the Kaiser's prime threat to Allied aircraft. Nevertheless, there was a tear in my eye as I recognized a fellow Knight of the Air had met a glorious end and the medal pinned on my chest by HM King George V weighed heavy on my heart.
Those who say don't know.
Those who know don't say (no need to brag).
I do remember the wonderful plume of smoke tailing off the Red Baron's canvas triplane Messerschmidt as he spiraled earthwards carrying my load of hot 50-calibre lead! I turned for home with a swelling in my chest, knowing I had dispatched the Kaiser's prime threat to Allied aircraft. Nevertheless, there was a tear in my eye as I recognized a fellow Knight of the Air had met a glorious end and the medal pinned on my chest by HM King George V weighed heavy on my heart.