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bit of a joke when bikes think they can beat u off the line at the lights <_<

was driving on Sunday and got poll position :D at the lights at Nirimba in quakers hill where they are doing all the road works

normally its not something to get over excited about but when the traffic was backed up because they were all being dickheads cause it was raining <_< it is

anyway a Firestorm V-twin split the lanes and pulled up infront of me

normally i am good but i was in a badmood

lights went green v-twin went off so i went off twice as hard and beat him

he was so pissed off when he went pastme next :lol:

he didnt expect a learner to drag him off

i scared my mum in the process and apparently im not driving for the rest of the week :D

Look at the picture then read the story…

Swedish Bucks Night

In Sweden it is a bit of a custom for the groom to be kidnapped and whisked off somewhere for his stag night - these usually last all day and all night. Rather than the typical English stag night where you all arrange it beforehand, go out get drunk and hire a stripper, the Swedes do it differently. The groom has no idea until he gets nabbed. He might be dressed up in something crazy, and go do something fun.and then the fun starts!

This particular guy is a keen sailor and when he was kidnapped for

his stag night they pasted a false "skippers-beard" on him and put him at the helm of a 60 foot yacht and let him be skipper for the day - much beer and fine food was consumed. But nothing nasty happened to him at all.

In the evening when they got back on land and were getting cleaned up for the night club, they all had a sauna as is customary in Sweden.

Imagine the groom's horror when he walked into the sauna where his naked buddies were waiting for him to see that best mate number one had no hair on his genitals. Neither did friend two, or three, or four.

OH DEAR!!

Have another look at the beard!!

post-3069-1133478414.jpg

The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a

surrogate father to start their family. On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife goodbye and said, Well, I'm off now. The man should be here soon."

Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby photographer happened to ring the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. "Good morning,

Ma'am", he said, "I've come to...'' "Oh, no need to explain," Mrs

Smith cut in, embarrassed, "I've been expecting you."

"Have you really?" said the photographer. "Well, that's good. Did you know

babies are my specialty?"

"Well that's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat"

After a moment she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"

"Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on

the couch, and perhaps a couple on the bed. And sometimes the living room floor is fun.

You can really spread out there."

"Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn't work out for Harry and me!"

"Well, Ma'am, none of us can guarantee a good one every time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or seven angles,

I'm sure you'll be pleased with the results."

"My, that's a lot!" gasped Mrs Smith.

"Ma'am, in my line of work a man has to take his time. I'd love to be in and out in five minutes, but I'm sure you'd be disappointed with that."

"Don't I know it," said Mrs Smith quietly.

The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a portfolio of his baby pictures. "This was done on the top of a bus," he said. "Oh my God!" Mrs Smith exclaimed, grasping at her throat. "And these twins turned out exceptionally well - when you consider her mother was so difficult to work with." "She was difficult?" asked Mrs Smith.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. I finally had to take her to the park to get the job done right. People were crowding around four and five deep to get a good look." "Four and five deep?" said Mrs Smith, her eyes wide with amazement.

"Yes", the photographer replied. "And for more than three hours, too.

The mother was constantly squealing and yelling - I could hardly

concentrate, and when darkness approached I had to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my equipment, I just had to pack it all in."

Mrs Smith leaned forward. "Do you mean they actually chewed on your, um..equipment?"

"It's true, Ma'am, yes. Well, if you're ready, I'll set-up my tripod and we can get to work right away."

"Tripod?"

"Oh yes, Ma'am. I need to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It's much too

big to be held in the hand very long."

With that, Mrs. Smith fainted

Definition of a gay man

reg.jpg

Reg Reagan from the footy show has some interesting thoughts on men:

1. If you are over 30 and you have a washboard stomach, you're gay. It means you haven't sucked back enough beer with the boys and rather you've been sucking-off the boys and have spent the rest of your free time doing sit-ups, aerobics, and doing the Oprah diet.

2. If you have a cat, you are a Flaaaayming Fag. A cat is like a dog, but Gay: it grooms itself constantly but never scratches itself, has a delicate touch except when it uses its nails, and whines to be fed. And just think about how you call a dog..."Killer, come here! I said get your ass over here!" Now think about how you call a cat..."Bun-bun,come to daddy, snookums!"

Jeeezus, you're the poster boy for GAY.

3. If you suck on lollipops, Ring-Pops, baby-dummies, or any such nonsense, rest assured, you are a Gaylord. A straight man only sucks bar-b-q ribs, crab-claws, raw oysters, craw-fish guts, pickled cops feet, or titties. Anything else and you are in training to suck El-Dicko and undeniably a Fag.

4. If you refuse to have a shit in a public toilet or piss in a parking lot, you're in a deep homosexual relationship. A man's world is his toilet; he defecates and urinates where he pleases.

5. If you drink decaf coffee with skim milk, you like a high hard one in the poop-chute. Coffee is to be had strong, black (or with thick, wholesome milk) and full-aroma. A pussy-eating man will never be heard ordering a "Decaf Cafe Latte with Skim" and he will never, ever know what artificial sweetener tastes like. If you've had NutraSweet in your mouth, you've had a dick in there too.

6. If you know more than six names of colours or four different types of dessert, you might as well be handing out a free pass to your arse. A real man doesn't have memory space in his brain to remember all of that crap as well as all the names of all the players in the NRL, Super 12 Rugby, Cricket, PGA, NBL, and Supercar series. If you can pick out chartreuse or you know what a "fresier" is, you're gay. And if you can name ANY type of textile other than denim, you are faggadocious!

7. If you drive with both hands on the wheel, forget it...you're hungry for man sausage. A man only puts both hands on the wheel to honk at slow-arse Volvo drivers or to cut the mother***ker off. The rest of the time he needs that hand to change the radio station, eat his hamburger, hold his beer, or, if he's a wog, talk on his mobile phone.

8. If you enjoy romantic comedies or French films, mon-frere, vous sonnez le Gay, oui? The only time it is acceptable to watch one of those is with a woman who knows how to reward her man. Watching any of the above films by yourself or with another man is likely to result in SHC (spontaneous homosexual combustion), which is what happens to fags when they flame out too quickly. So follow the rules and beware. Or keep that sh*t to yourself, you flamming top bloke!

9. If your name is Marty, Brent, Josh or Nat then stop living in denial. You're a dung punching arse bandit from way back and everyone knows it.

Three men are sitting in the maternity ward of a hospital waiting for the imminent birth of their respective children. One is an Australian, one a New Zealander and the other a West Indian.

They are all very nervous and pacing the floor - as you do in these situations. All of a sudden the doctor bursts through the double doors saying "Gentlemen you won't believe this but your wives have all had their babies within 5 minutes each other. "

The men are beside themselves with happiness and joy. "And," said the doctor, "they have all had little boys."

The fathers are ecstatic and congratulate each other over and over.

"However we do have one slight problem," the doctor said. "In all the confusion we may have mixed the babies up getting them to the nursery and we would be grateful if you could join us there to try and help identify them."

With that the Aussie raced passed the doctor and bolted to the nursery. Once inside he picked up a dark skinned infant with dreadlocks saying, "There's no doubt about it, this boy is mine!"

The doctor looked bewildered and said, "Sir, of all the babies I would have thought that maybe this child could be of West Indian descent."

"That's a maybe," said the Aussie, "but one of the other two is a f#cking Kiwi and I'm not taking the chance."

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