^Do I need to remind you girls that this is the boys locker room and you are here for our pleasure, if y’all want it the other way head over to your web site, you know the pink forum. ;))
No, I think society teaches selfishness. I think underneath it all, people aren't that bad. Ive known plenty of people who have done some bad things and they're still great people
A clerk of court told me one time that all Judges in criminal court were completely incompetent until the day when they learned the difference between the bad person and the good person who did something bad. Kills me to agree with Phat, but his statement is correct.
There are reasons why people do things. I know a lot of people who made bad choices but not because they really wanted to, it was the only option they saw. People don't understand how alienated and isolated some communities may feel.
Not saying its always the case, there really are terrible people out there, that's where you get serial killers, child rapists, people who hurt others during crimes when they don't have to, shit like that.
“I have to stay late, our server just shit the bed.”
“I’ll be late, my alternator belt just shit the bed.”
“Can’t go out tonight, our computer shit the bed and I have to re-do the entire presentation.”
The phrase “shit the bed” reminds me of a term from my analyst days working on loan work outs and receivership: “deemed non-recoverable.” This essentially meant, “Sorry, bank, you are officially fucked on this asset. Ain’t nothin’ we or anyone else can do. Please wire our massive fee promptly. Good day to you.”
“Shit the bed” is a descriptor reserved for and only for when something has even past the state of FUBAR. There is no going back from shitting the bed. And I can literally tell you why. (Literally in the literal writer sense, not literally in the shrieking “I LITERALLY CANNOT WITH THIS PUMPKIN SPICE LATTE WHILE ITS STILL CROP TOP WEATHER” sense.)
Let’s take it back three years, before the phrase “I LITERALLY CANNOT” was literally not a thing. (Don’t we all literally feel more relaxed already?) Ahhh. It was the fall of 2012, middle of the night. I was asleep in my then-boyfriend’s bed. Grant jumps up, throws his arm across me and yells “DON’T MOVE.” Since he was a combat veteran, I implicitly trusted his reflexes and reaction in dangerous situations. Some scary shit must have been going down.
See, in 2012, parts of Washington D.C. were still on the fringe of gentrification. Grant’s neighborhood was definitely one of the yuppie pioneers. Crime rates were still comparatively very high to more traditionally residential parts of the city. His neighbor’s house had been broken into just the week prior. With a questionable level of mid-sleep rationality, I assumed we were amid a burglary. Having had family friends be the victims of a tragic home invasion a few years earlier, the idea cemented itself as my worst fear. I immediately froze in panic and waited for the worst. Grant yelled again not to move and he athletically jumped up out of the bed… assumingly to go bravely kick some ass, (even if he was naked). He then made his way to the foot of the bed, and began to violently start to pull the covers off.
“Are we going to hide from the robbers in a blanket fort?” I wondered to myself. Again, implicitly trusting Grant to handle high-risk situations properly.
My fear began to subside into confusion and my brain began to be able to process more than immediate terror. My senses began to open up. I smelled something. Bad. I looked next to me. Oh, shitty situation indeed. It was poop. A lot.
I can see why Grant was adamant I “don’t move.” I leapt out of bed, in the opposite direction of the fecal fiesta. Grant, having removed the covers, was now clawing at the sheets. The fitted sheet ripped from his force, right in the center of poop. The smeared mass was now on the mattress pad too. Relieved that we weren’t in physical danger, I kind of laughed. Then I laughed more. I thought my worst nightmare was coming true, but in reality, Grant had just shit the bed.
Literally.
Once there is a “shit the bed” incident, there is a moment of disbelief. Could someone/something have REALLY fucked up THIS much? I needed my space to process what I had just seen (and smelled). I also wanted to laugh more without hurting Grant’s feelings.
I went downstairs to go lie on the couch and left Grant to also meditate on his experience and contemplate the future of his bed linens. I heard the washing machine start (seriously? You want to salvage the sheets that bad?) and figured the coast was clear. I then went up the stairs and into Grant’s room. I found him placing fresh sheets on the bed. I relentlessly make jokes in attempt to disarm tense situations, and asked Grant “How is everything up here on the poop deck?” Having served in the military, I thought Grant would appreciate the jaunty naval reference.
He didn’t.
He then asked if he could have the sweatpants of his I was wearing. I guess he was reversing his decision on sleeping naked for the foreseeable future. I stepped out of the sweatpants/potential future diaper and handed them over.
We awoke the next morning. We had been together a long time. I did love Grant. I was concerned. He said he must not have been feeling well. Something he ate. Odd, we spent the entire day together and ate the same things. Though we had been together for close to a year and a half, Grant felt like a stranger to me this morning. He was the same man he’d always been but there was now a drafting disconnect. I was eager to leave and I think he felt the same.
I drove home back to Kalorama, dove into my English basement apartment and called my brother and his girlfriend. I had to tell someone. I could not cope with this in isolation.
“I have to tell you something.” I said without saying hello.
“What is it?” Kathleen asked
“I literally cannot even tell you over the phone.” I said pre-ironically.
After confirming I was not hurt, in danger, or bereaved, my brother Jim and Kathleen rushed over. I didn’t know where to start. How does one even broach this? It had actually happened. In real life. I got the story out to my brother and Kathleen, along with my accompanying feelings. I was stunned, humored, confused, embarrassed, disgusted, and also worried about Grant. Things had been rocky with him recently. As weird as I felt to say it, this incident made it worse. Most importantly, I was not sure how to go in our relationship from this. How does a couple deal with this brown elephant in the room?
My brother, wise beyond the 23 years he had at the time, stated it simply and powerfully, “Caroline, there is a reason the term ‘shit the bed’ literally means the worst thing that could happen. There is nothing worse than shitting the bed. You do not go down from there.”
And the truth is, you don’t. I didn’t spend the night at Grant’s that Saturday night for the first time in months. We didn’t have a date that night. (Grant was really working the “ate something bad last night” angle). From there, our relationship fizzled. The force and sound of it slowly dying, much like the high-pitched fart that likely announced the arrival of the fatal shit.
So yes, I can tell you as a primary source that the origin of our beloved idiom “shit the bed” truly does mean a state of fucked-upness that is beyond repair, or recovery and leaves all involved absolutely stunned.
Have a great work week, guys. And I hope no one shits the bed (literally or figuratively). .
And nicespice hasn’t been trolling the board for 14 years as a gay man. So sadly, she can’t claim being the craziest bitch yet, as much as she would love to.
Me telling someone they were being disrespectful to me was never rude ..you may call it me being overly sensitive , etc .but expressing my discontent for someone treating me a certain was not rude..
Nor do I think I was rude to her. So pkz remember ur thoughts abt the situation, like my own, are on my opinions
It must be nice to have the luxury of not truly knowing what others would consider rude or not. And being shielded from all the consequences of your actions in ways that would completely fuck over other people...
By the time we got back to the house, it was burnt down. It was a big shock cause no one expected it at all.
“So what are we going to do now," Vampire asked Tara. “Where will we go to now?”
“I bet it's the Death Eaters that did this to me. They know where I live. OMG, where are all my clothes?!" I screamed suicidally. Vampire tried to calm me down, but it was no good. I wanted to kill myself.
“We will get back at them, those preps, those bastards!” Vampire said to me. He was as angry as I was. What were we to do. I had nowhere to go at all. I was homeless.
Because of this, me and Vampire slit our wrists while listening to MCR's "I don't love you". I cried because I lost my clothes. Those fucking BASTARDS! They will fuckin' pay!
I decided to call a friend. I called her up, and she said, “What is it, my bitch!”
“I've got a prob," I told her, "my house is burnt down! Please pick me up!”
So as we were waiting, Vampire took his pants off, and I took mine off too! He then jizzed in my mouth. Then, after that, he put his throbbing manhood into my muff, and we did it. I then grabbed his balls and he screamed sexily as I did that. But it wasn’t the same as Draco, with his lips, and how he looked like Joel from GC. He was so fucking hot. Hot in his jeans, why did he dump me, that fucking bastard, he must fucking die! I couldn’t keep doing it, cause I kept thinking of Draco and his sexy eyes!
It was then that Willow, my friend, pulled up in a van. She looked so hot with what she wore. With the shirt, black mini skirt with red stripes, and her messy hair, she was fuckin’ hot! She was wearing pink crocs and tight black jeans!
“Come in,” she said…….
35 comments
Latest
Lmao
Doesnt that assume all.of them break ur heart..cuz I don't believe in that cuz I jave positive views on men lol
Always watch your back and be careful who you trust.
@25 be quiet u. Go back to ur raspberry chocolate rings and stop being cranky
To Everyone - Trust should never be given, only earned.
Not saying its always the case, there really are terrible people out there, that's where you get serial killers, child rapists, people who hurt others during crimes when they don't have to, shit like that.
I said I love men bc they are fucking cuties lol
“My computer shit the bed.”
“I have to stay late, our server just shit the bed.”
“I’ll be late, my alternator belt just shit the bed.”
“Can’t go out tonight, our computer shit the bed and I have to re-do the entire presentation.”
The phrase “shit the bed” reminds me of a term from my analyst days working on loan work outs and receivership: “deemed non-recoverable.” This essentially meant, “Sorry, bank, you are officially fucked on this asset. Ain’t nothin’ we or anyone else can do. Please wire our massive fee promptly. Good day to you.”
“Shit the bed” is a descriptor reserved for and only for when something has even past the state of FUBAR. There is no going back from shitting the bed. And I can literally tell you why. (Literally in the literal writer sense, not literally in the shrieking “I LITERALLY CANNOT WITH THIS PUMPKIN SPICE LATTE WHILE ITS STILL CROP TOP WEATHER” sense.)
Let’s take it back three years, before the phrase “I LITERALLY CANNOT” was literally not a thing. (Don’t we all literally feel more relaxed already?) Ahhh. It was the fall of 2012, middle of the night. I was asleep in my then-boyfriend’s bed. Grant jumps up, throws his arm across me and yells “DON’T MOVE.” Since he was a combat veteran, I implicitly trusted his reflexes and reaction in dangerous situations. Some scary shit must have been going down.
See, in 2012, parts of Washington D.C. were still on the fringe of gentrification. Grant’s neighborhood was definitely one of the yuppie pioneers. Crime rates were still comparatively very high to more traditionally residential parts of the city. His neighbor’s house had been broken into just the week prior. With a questionable level of mid-sleep rationality, I assumed we were amid a burglary. Having had family friends be the victims of a tragic home invasion a few years earlier, the idea cemented itself as my worst fear. I immediately froze in panic and waited for the worst. Grant yelled again not to move and he athletically jumped up out of the bed… assumingly to go bravely kick some ass, (even if he was naked). He then made his way to the foot of the bed, and began to violently start to pull the covers off.
“Are we going to hide from the robbers in a blanket fort?” I wondered to myself. Again, implicitly trusting Grant to handle high-risk situations properly.
My fear began to subside into confusion and my brain began to be able to process more than immediate terror. My senses began to open up. I smelled something. Bad. I looked next to me. Oh, shitty situation indeed. It was poop. A lot.
I can see why Grant was adamant I “don’t move.” I leapt out of bed, in the opposite direction of the fecal fiesta. Grant, having removed the covers, was now clawing at the sheets. The fitted sheet ripped from his force, right in the center of poop. The smeared mass was now on the mattress pad too. Relieved that we weren’t in physical danger, I kind of laughed. Then I laughed more. I thought my worst nightmare was coming true, but in reality, Grant had just shit the bed.
Literally.
Once there is a “shit the bed” incident, there is a moment of disbelief. Could someone/something have REALLY fucked up THIS much? I needed my space to process what I had just seen (and smelled). I also wanted to laugh more without hurting Grant’s feelings.
I went downstairs to go lie on the couch and left Grant to also meditate on his experience and contemplate the future of his bed linens. I heard the washing machine start (seriously? You want to salvage the sheets that bad?) and figured the coast was clear. I then went up the stairs and into Grant’s room. I found him placing fresh sheets on the bed. I relentlessly make jokes in attempt to disarm tense situations, and asked Grant “How is everything up here on the poop deck?” Having served in the military, I thought Grant would appreciate the jaunty naval reference.
He didn’t.
He then asked if he could have the sweatpants of his I was wearing. I guess he was reversing his decision on sleeping naked for the foreseeable future. I stepped out of the sweatpants/potential future diaper and handed them over.
We awoke the next morning. We had been together a long time. I did love Grant. I was concerned. He said he must not have been feeling well. Something he ate. Odd, we spent the entire day together and ate the same things. Though we had been together for close to a year and a half, Grant felt like a stranger to me this morning. He was the same man he’d always been but there was now a drafting disconnect. I was eager to leave and I think he felt the same.
I drove home back to Kalorama, dove into my English basement apartment and called my brother and his girlfriend. I had to tell someone. I could not cope with this in isolation.
“I have to tell you something.” I said without saying hello.
“What is it?” Kathleen asked
“I literally cannot even tell you over the phone.” I said pre-ironically.
After confirming I was not hurt, in danger, or bereaved, my brother Jim and Kathleen rushed over. I didn’t know where to start. How does one even broach this? It had actually happened. In real life. I got the story out to my brother and Kathleen, along with my accompanying feelings. I was stunned, humored, confused, embarrassed, disgusted, and also worried about Grant. Things had been rocky with him recently. As weird as I felt to say it, this incident made it worse. Most importantly, I was not sure how to go in our relationship from this. How does a couple deal with this brown elephant in the room?
My brother, wise beyond the 23 years he had at the time, stated it simply and powerfully, “Caroline, there is a reason the term ‘shit the bed’ literally means the worst thing that could happen. There is nothing worse than shitting the bed. You do not go down from there.”
And the truth is, you don’t. I didn’t spend the night at Grant’s that Saturday night for the first time in months. We didn’t have a date that night. (Grant was really working the “ate something bad last night” angle). From there, our relationship fizzled. The force and sound of it slowly dying, much like the high-pitched fart that likely announced the arrival of the fatal shit.
So yes, I can tell you as a primary source that the origin of our beloved idiom “shit the bed” truly does mean a state of fucked-upness that is beyond repair, or recovery and leaves all involved absolutely stunned.
Have a great work week, guys. And I hope no one shits the bed (literally or figuratively). .
And back to the off topic topic.........there's a difference between legal and moral justice
https://www.tuscl.net/discussion.php5?id…
And nicespice hasn’t been trolling the board for 14 years as a gay man. So sadly, she can’t claim being the craziest bitch yet, as much as she would love to.
Lol ok....
Me telling someone they were being disrespectful to me was never rude ..you may call it me being overly sensitive , etc .but expressing my discontent for someone treating me a certain was not rude..
Nor do I think I was rude to her. So pkz remember ur thoughts abt the situation, like my own, are on my opinions
Ok @ DC
Thx
So ya
Chapter 18.
Here is the edited version of the next chapter...
By the time we got back to the house, it was burnt down. It was a big shock cause no one expected it at all.
“So what are we going to do now," Vampire asked Tara. “Where will we go to now?”
“I bet it's the Death Eaters that did this to me. They know where I live. OMG, where are all my clothes?!" I screamed suicidally. Vampire tried to calm me down, but it was no good. I wanted to kill myself.
“We will get back at them, those preps, those bastards!” Vampire said to me. He was as angry as I was. What were we to do. I had nowhere to go at all. I was homeless.
Because of this, me and Vampire slit our wrists while listening to MCR's "I don't love you". I cried because I lost my clothes. Those fucking BASTARDS! They will fuckin' pay!
I decided to call a friend. I called her up, and she said, “What is it, my bitch!”
“I've got a prob," I told her, "my house is burnt down! Please pick me up!”
So as we were waiting, Vampire took his pants off, and I took mine off too! He then jizzed in my mouth. Then, after that, he put his throbbing manhood into my muff, and we did it. I then grabbed his balls and he screamed sexily as I did that. But it wasn’t the same as Draco, with his lips, and how he looked like Joel from GC. He was so fucking hot. Hot in his jeans, why did he dump me, that fucking bastard, he must fucking die! I couldn’t keep doing it, cause I kept thinking of Draco and his sexy eyes!
It was then that Willow, my friend, pulled up in a van. She looked so hot with what she wore. With the shirt, black mini skirt with red stripes, and her messy hair, she was fuckin’ hot! She was wearing pink crocs and tight black jeans!
“Come in,” she said…….
XD is needing editing fangz!
^^^ exactly .@DC and nicespice