Glasgow Area 5's

[Fudge]

As I said a week or so ago, my knee is gubbed. Thankfully it's only a joint effusion caused by fairly minor ligament damage. I'm able to do non impact cardio activities like the cross trainer/cyclcing etc, but can only really muster a light jog at this point.

i'm going away for a few weeks of hillwalking in a couple of weeks time so I'm hoping it will be fit and ready for that, before I return to 5's action at the end of July.

After that I should be available every week as per.

Edited June 21, 2010 by Fudge

[Lambies_Apprentice]

I'm still out for at least the next 2 to 3 weeks, so thats me ticked off the list of folk to seek for the near future.

[Thistle_do_nicely]

Right, time for me to explain the whole story behind me not being able to come to fives (and also other stuff beyond that). Think it's something my fellow grafters shall appreciate.

This is basically the sort of thing that rarely, if ever, happens in the shithole town I live in, but when it does it inevitably involves me somehow. In a way, writing this up is probably going to be a mistake, but f**k it. It pissed me off at first, but tbh now it's just funny.

It's so epic, in fact, I'll try to write it up in the third person, since I think that'd be the best way to go with it.

CHAPTER 1. "Yet another shitty night in the burgh"

It had been another in a long series of alchohol-fuelled, yet mediocre nights out for [my full name deleted]. The only real highlight of the evening being the England - Algeria snorefest, watched at a friends house while drinking some shit, cheap lager. Watching one of the most mediocre, no-hope nations at the world cup stumbling to a draw against Algeria had been amusing, to say the least. The pubs afterward, however, had been disappointing as always, with the only real mercy being that the 2 or so hours spent down in Helensburgh had passed relatively quickly (and also that Bad Bowl Cut Guy, or Fitzy as it turns out some friends of mine know him as, was in attendance and, as always, made him feel a bit better of himself in a "oh well, at least i'm not going through a horrendous mid-life crisis" kind of way) Our hero, Scott, was stood outside the Oriental at the corner of James Street, wondering where the f**k his mates had all gone off to, and was what can politely be described as "rather inebriated" or in less polite terms "aw wheet man ahm fuckin steamin". He decided, in his infinite wisdom, to send a text message to a friend to see where exactly he'd buggered off to, and also remembered that, the reason he'd gone to the oriental in the first place was to get some post-night-out snout. After popping in to get £3.20 worth of sweet, delicious Lambert and Butler, he decided to have a cigarette while waiting for his friend to get back to him.

While he waited, a young lassie proceeded to start talking to him. "Oh shit, man. Cannae believe all ma mates have fucked off and left me, man. Ah stay up in Cardross, fucks sake, how'mur ment tae get back hame?" Scott shared her concerns, since the same thing had happened to him, and also noticed that she had a massive rack. And was quite nice looking, but the massive tits was the important thing here. "Aye," he slurred, while puffing on a ciggy,"I know what thats like". Said lassie then responded, "oh shit man. Would it be alright if ah stayed round at your house, like? Ah mean, its just ah cannae get home nd at." Scott's drunken thought processes, as most single men's would be at this time, went something along the lines of "YOU FUCKING DANCER!" What he said was, "Aye, sure thing, love, let's sweep away and get a taxi home."

They made there way up to the cashpoint, where Scott proceeded to get a tenner out for the taxi and, amazingly enough, went to get a taxi. This, in hindsight, would turn out to be a rather daft thing to do.

CHAPTER TWO: "The Aftermath. No, not the Dr. Dre album, as in "shit that happens after some shits just gone down"".

They then proceeded to stumble in through the door. Sitting in the living room, the lassie said her name was Carla. Scott, meanwhile, said "Carla, huh? Aw, thats a nice name." He was thinking "jesus christ look at the size of those tits they're like melons". She then started going on about how her mates had all left her behind. Scott was still thinking "i want bitty." He leaned in to comfort her, and one thing led to another and [i'll spare you the gruesome details] the two engaged in some sweet shaggin' acshin' after going upstairs into Scott's bedroom. Suffice to say, Scott got his bitty. The two exchanged numbers, and went to sleep.

The next morning, said lassie had gone off. Scott was slightly disappointed she'd not at least stuck around, but f**k it, he'd give her a text next friday to see if she would be cutting about the burgh again. Fast forward to Monday (seriously, f**k all happened on Saturday or Sunday worth mentioning), when Scott suddenly notices his bank card wasn't in his wallet, nor in any of his jackets, nor indeed anywhere in the house. "Aw f**k", thought Scott, "I must have left it in the taxi on Friday, that's the last time I used the cunting thing." [can you see where this is going yet?] Scott then phoned the bank, to cancel his old card and order a new one. He then asked what the last transactions where, just in case, and the woman from the bank told him that they were a 50 pound withdrawal on Monday, a 50 pound withdrawal on Sunday, and a 40 pound withdrawal on Saturday, none of which had been made by him and were, clearly, fraudelent.

By this point, Scott's arse was as tight as a walnutt. He headed down to the bank to have a chat with them, and had his card cancelled while having a chat with the staff to figure out what had happened. During said chat, realisation dawned. Carla (assuming that was even her name) had lifted Scott's bank card from his wallet before leaving, and had subsequently taken out the maximum limit over the next few days. She'd gotten his pin-number, presumably by looking over his shoulder while taking money out for the taxi home, and must have made a note of it in her head or possibly saved it as a note on her phone, then made off with it while Scott was in a deep, hungover slumber. Scott then spent most of Monday and Tuesday at the bank and police station to figure this shit out. The staff at the bank said that, thankfully, he'd get a refund on the £140 that had been lifted, and at least nothing else had gone missing from his house.

Scott's reaction? "f**k me. For £140, I'd have at least expected some anal."

THE END..... (?)

So, there you go folks. Annoyed at first, but now that I think about it its just something funny to tell. Lesson learned too; if it sounds too good to be true, then it almost certainly is, and if you take some random lassie home, for fucks sake don't let her see your pin number.

Edited June 22, 2010 by Thistle_do_nicely

[Sir Kevin Of Kilsyth]

I paid £140 for a shag wan time. Well worth it.

[coldojag]

Right, time for me to explain the whole story behind me not being able to come to fives (and also other stuff beyond that). Think it's something my fellow grafters shall appreciate.

This is basically the sort of thing that rarely, if ever, happens in the shithole town I live in, but when it does it inevitably involves me somehow. In a way, writing this up is probably going to be a mistake, but f**k it. It pissed me off at first, but tbh now it's just funny.

It's so epic, in fact, I'll try to write it up in the third person, since I think that'd be the best way to go with it.

CHAPTER 1. "Yet another shitty night in the burgh"

It had been another in a long series of alchohol-fuelled, yet mediocre nights out for [my full name deleted]. The only real highlight of the evening being the England - Algeria snorefest, watched at a friends house while drinking some shit, cheap lager. Watching one of the most mediocre, no-hope nations at the world cup stumbling to a draw against Algeria had been amusing, to say the least. The pubs afterward, however, had been disappointing as always, with the only real mercy being that the 2 or so hours spent down in Helensburgh had passed relatively quickly (and also that Bad Bowl Cut Guy, or Fitzy as it turns out some friends of mine know him as, was in attendance and, as always, made him feel a bit better of himself in a "oh well, at least i'm not going through a horrendous mid-life crisis" kind of way) Our hero, Scott, was stood outside the Oriental at the corner of James Street, wondering where the f**k his mates had all gone off to, and was what can politely be described as "rather inebriated" or in less polite terms "aw wheet man ahm fuckin steamin". He decided, in his infinite wisdom, to send a text message to a friend to see where exactly he'd buggered off to, and also remembered that, the reason he'd gone to the oriental in the first place was to get some post-night-out snout. After popping in to get £3.20 worth of sweet, delicious Lambert and Butler, he decided to have a cigarette while waiting for his friend to get back to him.

While he waited, a young lassie proceeded to start talking to him. "Oh shit, man. Cannae believe all ma mates have fucked off and left me, man. Ah stay up in Cardross, fucks sake, how'mur ment tae get back hame?" Scott shared her concerns, since the same thing had happened to him, and also noticed that she had a massive rack. And was quite nice looking, but the massive tits was the important thing here. "Aye," he slurred, while puffing on a ciggy,"I know what thats like". Said lassie then responded, "oh shit man. Would it be alright if ah stayed round at your house, like? Ah mean, its just ah cannae get home nd at." Scott's drunken thought processes, as most single men's would be at this time, went something along the lines of "YOU FUCKING DANCER!" What he said was, "Aye, sure thing, love, let's sweep away and get a taxi home."

They made there way up to the cashpoint, where Scott proceeded to get a tenner out for the taxi and, amazingly enough, went to get a taxi. This, in hindsight, would turn out to be a rather daft thing to do.

CHAPTER TWO: "The Aftermath. No, not the Dr. Dre album, as in "shit that happens after some shits just gone down"".

They then proceeded to stumble in through the door. Sitting in the living room, the lassie said her name was Carla. Scott, meanwhile, said "Carla, huh? Aw, thats a nice name." He was thinking "jesus christ look at the size of those tits they're like melons". She then started going on about how her mates had all left her behind. Scott was still thinking "i want bitty." He leaned in to comfort her, and one thing led to another and [i'll spare you the gruesome details] the two engaged in some sweet shaggin' acshin' after going upstairs into Scott's bedroom. Suffice to say, Scott got his bitty. The two exchanged numbers, and went to sleep.

The next morning, said lassie had gone off. Scott was slightly disappointed she'd not at least stuck around, but f**k it, he'd give her a text next friday to see if she would be cutting about the burgh again. Fast forward to Monday (seriously, f**k all happened on Saturday or Sunday worth mentioning), when Scott suddenly notices his bank card wasn't in his wallet, nor in any of his jackets, nor indeed anywhere in the house. "Aw f**k", thought Scott, "I must have left it in the taxi on Friday, that's the last time I used the cunting thing." [can you see where this is going yet?] Scott then phoned the bank, to cancel his old card and order a new one. He then asked what the last transactions where, just in case, and the woman from the bank told him that they were a 50 pound withdrawal on Monday, a 50 pound withdrawal on Sunday, and a 40 pound withdrawal on Saturday, none of which had been made by him and were, clearly, fraudelent.

By this point, Scott's arse was as tight as a walnutt. He headed down to the bank to have a chat with them, and had his card cancelled while having a chat with the staff to figure out what had happened. During said chat, realisation dawned. Carla (assuming that was even her name) had lifted Scott's bank card from his wallet before leaving, and had subsequently taken out the maximum limit over the next few days. She'd gotten his pin-number, presumably by looking over his shoulder while taking money out for the taxi home, and must have made a note of it in her head or possibly saved it as a note on her phone, then made off with it while Scott was in a deep, hungover slumber. Scott then spent most of Monday and Tuesday at the bank and police station to figure this shit out. The staff at the bank said that, thankfully, he'd get a refund on the £140 that had been lifted, and at least nothing else had gone missing from his house.

Scott's reaction? "f**k me. For £140, I'd have at least expected some anal."

THE END..... (?)

So, there you go folks. Annoyed at first, but now that I think about it its just something funny to tell. Lesson learned too; if it sounds too good to be true, then it almost certainly is, and if you take some random lassie home, for fucks sake don't let her see your pin number.

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah

yass

[Thistle_do_nicely]

I paid £140 for a shag wan time. Well worth it.

Mmm. I'm assuming you knew you were paying before doing the deed, though?

[Garrowhillclyde]

Mmm. I'm assuming you knew you were paying before doing the deed, though?

Aye, but for the time you thought it had been a reet good shag and youd pulled something decent looking before you noiced the card I bet you were well chuffed. Well worth the £140

[Thistle_do_nicely]

Aye, but for the time you thought it had been a reet good shag and youd pulled something decent looking before you noiced the card I bet you were well chuffed. Well worth the £140

You're not far off, actually, but I'm still waiting to see what happens regarding the £140. If the bank refund me (which the guy at the bank said was likely, and given that they've apparently got cctv footage of the bint trying to use my card inside the local co-op, but failing because the machine came up "retain the card" when she tried to use the thing, so the staff never handed her back my card and passed the details of what had happened onto the police quite quickly then I'm inclined to agree) then I can walk away smug as a toad, but if not then its still a bit of a pain.

[Sir Kevin Of Kilsyth]

She'll probably get a jail sentence for that if she gets caught as well. Fraud is about the only thing the justice system takes seriously about these parts.

[Garrowhillclyde]

She'll probably get a jail sentence for that if she gets caught as well. Fraud is about the only thing the justice system takes seriously about these parts.

Maybe she can be visited for a conjugal visit.

I would still gladly pay £140 for a piss up out with my mates then a night of swapping bodily fluids with some random buxom wench!

How many times have you went out, spent a fortune, see your team get pumped bandy by a bunch of farmers gone back to Glasgow had a shite night out and then went home only to find youd spend three figures easily. The above story sounds a much better option!

[David W]

Right, who's in for Monday? Stick a fiver underneath your PC keyboard so you don't manage to spend it over the weekend.

[coldojag]

Playing the other week wasn't such a good idea. I paced myself so I didn't aggravate my groin, which has been playing up recently.

Had a wee kick about last night and even just jogging throughout, it went again. It's pretty bad right now, can barely walk. I'm going to rest it fully. So I'll be out for a good while.

Pretty pissed off.

[Adam_Wee]

I'm out yet again chaps. Probably best to rule me out for at least a month. My feet have been flaring up everytime I put shoes on, which isn't the nicest feeling, especially when running.

That and I just can't be fucked.

[Sir Kevin Of Kilsyth]

I should be fine this week. Staying in this weekend (first weekend this year I believe lol) so I won't be so cunted on Monday that even the thought of playing football induces vomit.

[Kylesons]

Out for next 3/4 mondays.

[Sao Paulo]

A bowl of lateness.

[wee-dude]

C.Muir

[Thistle_do_nicely]

out.

[David W]

In:

DW

McGowan

Chrisy

Kevin

[CM.]

2 v 2 long shooty by the looks of it.