PTA Planes, Trains & Automobiles
Gemotoriseerd of niet, alles op wielen heeft hier een plek. Van oldtimers tot je nieuwe fiets, van Smart tot brandweerwagen, post het hier!
Ik heb een nieuwe held: Tucker Max!!
The Famous "Sushi Pants" Story
I used to think that Red Bull was the most destructive invention of the past 50 years. I was wrong. Red Bull has been usurped by the portable alcohol breathalyzer. The same device that cops have been using for 10 years to conduct field sobriety tests is now offered by the Sharper Image for $99. It is the size and shape of a small cell phone with a clear round tube sticking up from the top, almost like an antenna. One blows into the tube, and a few seconds later a Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) reading is given. Though not as accurate as a blood test, they are accurate to within .01, which is good enough for my purposes.
I was living in Boca Raton, Florida, when I bought one to take out with me on a Saturday night. This is the story:
9:00pm: Arrive at the restaurant. I am the first one of the group there, even though our reservations are for 9pm. The restaurant is crowded full of the abysmal type of people that infest South Florida. Already depressed, I order a vodka and club soda.
9:08: No one else has arrived. I order another vodka and club. I consider checking my BAC, but doubt that it would show anything thus far.
9:10: Two 30+ year-old Jewish women on my left keep eyeing me. Both have fake breasts. One has exceptionally large fake breasts. They are beckoning me from her shirt. She is not highly attractive. I begin drinking faster.
9:15: No one else has arrived. I order my third vodka and club. While I wait for it, I try out my portable breathalyzer. I blow a .02. This is the greatest invention ever made. I am giddy. I show the breathalyzer to the fake-breasted Jewish women next to me. We begin a conversation.
9:16: They both have thick Long Island accents. I summon the bartender over and change my order to a tall double vodka on the rocks, splash of club.
9:23: Four people at the bar have tried my breathalyzer, both of the fake-breasted women included. Everyone wants to know their BAC. I am the center of attention. I am happy.
9:25: The first member of my group arrives. I show him the breathalyzer. He is enthralled. He buys a round. The fake-breasted women loudly inform us they would like drinks. My friend buys them drinks. I order a double vodka on the rocks. No splash.
9:29: I blow again, a .04. I've been drinking for half an hour, and am on my forth drink. My wheels of intellect begin grinding through the vodka haze that is already forming…four drinks…a .04…that must mean that each drink only adds .01 to my BAC. I begin to think that I can drink a lot. I tell one of the fake-breasted women that she is very interesting.
9:38: Six of the eight are here. I lie to the hostesses, and they seat our incomplete party. Everyone is talking about my breathalyzer. I am the focus of adulation. I forgive everyone for sucking so bad. I think this night may go OK after all.
9:40: I blow again, a .05. This confuses me. I haven’t ordered another drink since I blew a .04. I have a vague memory from a long distant D.A.R.E. class about the rate of alcohol absorption being constant, regardless of speed of drinking. This memory quickly fades when two hot girls at the table next to me inquire about my portable breathalyzer.
9:42: Hot girl #2 is into me. She begins telling me a story about how she got pulled over once for DUI, and had to blow into something like this, and the cop let her off. She tells me that she always wanted to be a cop, but couldn’t pass the entrance exam to the police academy, even though she took it twice. I tell her that she must be really smart. She stops paying attention to me. Hot girl #2 is apparently smart enough to detect thinly veiled sarcasm.
10:04: The novelty of the portable breathalyzer has passed. The table has moved on. I am no longer the center of attention. I am not happy with my table.
10:06: The people at my table begin talking about energy healing. Everyone is mesmerized by a girl who took a class in it. I tell them that energy healing is a worthless and solipsistic pseudo-science. They think energy healing is a real science because the instructor of the girl’s class went to Harvard. One guy calls it a “legitimate, certifiable science,�? while making air quotes with his fingers. I tell them that they are all (while imitating his air quotes) “legitimate, certifiable idiots�? because they believe in horse-shit like energy healing. Two girls call me close-minded. I tell them that they are so open-minded that their brains leaked out. They all glare at me with disapproval. I hate everyone at my table.
10:08: I have completely tuned out their inane conversation. I am slamming down straight vodka as fast as the low-rent wanna-be Ethan Hawke waiter can bring it. I blow every three minutes, watching my BAC slowly creep up.
10:10: .07
10:17: .08. I am no longer legally eligible to drive in the state of Florida. I announce this fact to no one in particular.
10:26: .09
10:27: I decide that I am going to see how drunk I can get and still be functional. I know that .35 BAC kills most people. I think that .20 is a good goal.
10:28: I get up, saying nothing to the seven sophists at my table, and go back to the bar. I don’t leave money for my drinks.
10:29: The fake-breasted women are still at the bar. They want drinks. Upset that I’m only at .09 after a good hour and a half of aggressive drinking, I decide to do a round of shots. I let the women pick the shots, with the explicit instruction that it cannot be whiskey, cannot smell like whiskey, cannot even resemble whiskey.
10:30: The shots arrive. Tequila. Judging by the bill, very good tequila. It is smooth. We order another round.
11:14: I blow a .15. I have passed a milestone. Only .05 away from my goal. My pride swells. I show everyone my .15. The bar crowd is impressed. I am their idol. Someone buys me a shot.
11:28: I feel queasy. I realize that I didn’t even stick around the table for dinner. Not wanting to either go back to my table or eat at the bar, I walk across the street to a sushi restaurant.
11:29: There is a lingerie party at the sushi restaurant. Half of the people are in some form of pajamas or other bedtime clothing. Everyone here sucks as bad as the last place, except they are in their underwear.
11:30: I am confused. I only want sushi. I stand at the door, mesmerized by the shifting masses of near nakedness. A mildly attractive girl who apparently works at the restaurant wants me to put on lingerie. I tell her I don’t have any. I just want some sushi. She says I should at least take off my pants. I ask her if this will get me sushi. She says it will. I take off my pants.
11:30: I pause while unzipping my pants, wondering what type of underwear, if any, I have on. I consider not taking my pants off. I realize that getting food quickly is more crucial than my dignity.
11:31: I take off my pants. I have on pink and white striped Gap boxers. They are too tight. I make sure my package is tucked in. People watch me do this.
11:32: I order sushi by pointing at the pictures and grunting.
11:33: I show a guy at the sushi bar my breathalyzer. He is impressed. He shows it to everyone. People begin congregating around me. I am a star again.
11:41: I blow a .17. I tell everyone my goal. Someone orders me a shot.
11:42: I do the shot. Something that has a familiar taste, makes me feel warm inside. I ask what it is. “Cognac and Alize.�? There is a God, and he hates me.
11:47: My sushi arrives. I slosh soy sauce over it and shovel it into my mouth as quickly as my hands will get it there.
11:49: My sushi is finished. No one is paying attention to my table manners, as everyone is crowded around the breathalyzer, waiting their turn to find out their BAC.
12:18: I blow a .20. I AM A GOD. The sushi bar erupts. Men are applauding me. Girls are pining for me. Everyone wants to talk to me. I forgive them their flaws, as they are all paying attention to me.
12:31: My deity status is lost. Someone blows a .22. This is a challenge to my manhood. I order a depth charge with a Bacardi 151 shot. And a beer back. The crowd is in awe.
12:33: I finish the depth charge, and the beer. I talk shit to my challenger, “Who runs this bar now, BITCH??�? The crowd erupts. Momentum has swung back in my direction. I am Maximus. I am winning the crowd. I will rule the sushi bar.
12:36: I take a better look at my challenger. He is a tall, broad-shouldered, heavily muscular man. His natural facial expression is not one of happiness. He quietly watches me, then orders a shot, throws it back without noticeable effect, and smiles at me. I consider that talking shit to him was a bad idea. At this point I also realize that my stomach is very upset with me. I ignore it. I still have a public that needs to adore me.
12:54: I blow a .22. Only mild cheers this time. Everyone is waiting for the challenger to blow.
12:56: He blows a .24. He smiles condescendingly at me. I order two more shots.
12:59: I do the first shot. It doesn’t go down well. I decide to take a short break from drinking. The crowd is not impressed.
1:10: Reality sets in. I am going to vomit. A LOT. I try to discreetly make it outside.
1:11: I knock a girl over as I sprint through the door.
1:11: I trip over a bush, stumble into it, and begin throwing up. Out of my mouth. And nose. It is not pleasant.
1:14: I can’t figure out why my legs hurt so much. I look down at them in between heaves. I have no pants on. Thorns and branches are embedded in my shins.
1:18: The vomiting is over. I am now trying to stop the bleeding. A bright light hits my eyes. I am not happy. I tell the owner to “get that fucking light out of my face.�? The owner of the light identifies himself as an officer of the law. I apologize to the officer, and ask him what the problem is. A long pause ensues. The light is still in my eyes. “Son, where are your pants?�? Remembering past encounters with the law, and realizing there is no one around to bail me out of the county lock-up, I summon every bit of adrenaline in my body to sober myself up. I apologize again, and explain to the officer that my pants are in the restaurant that is less than 50 feet away, and that I came outside to share my sushi with the bush. He doesn’t laugh. Another long pause. “You’re not driving tonight are you?�?, “Oh, NO, NO, NO…no sir, I don’t even have a valid driver’s license.�?
1:20: He tells me to go back inside, put on my pants, and call a cab.
1:21: I go back into the sushi restaurant. A few people stare at me in a peculiar manner. I look down, and then tuck my partially exposed sack back into my boxers. I don’t know what to do about my bleeding legs. I look around for my pants.
1:24: I can’t find my pants. My breathalyzer is in clear sight. I blow. A .23. Someone informs me that my challenger just blew a .26. They add that he hasn’t thrown up yet. I tell them to “kiss my fucking ass.�? My last clear memory.
8:15am: I wake up. I don’t know where I am. It is very hot. I am sweating horribly. It smells like rotting flesh.
8:16: I am in my car. With the windows up. The sun is beating down directly on me. It is at least 125 degrees in my car. I open the door and try to get out, but instead I fall onto the pavement. The scabs that cover my legs tear and reopen as I move. My penis falls out of my pink Gap boxers and lands, along with the rest of me, in a dirty puddle on the asphalt.
8:19: The fetid standing water finally propels me into full consciousness. I can’t find my pants. Or cell phone. Or wallet. But I do have my breathalyzer. I blow. A .09. I am still not eligible to drive in the state of Florida.
8:22: I drive home anyway.
Let me be clear about this night: it was in my top 5 drunkest nights ever. I was completely shit-housed. I threw up multiple times, some of them through my nose. JESUS CHRIST, I WOKE UP blowing a .09. That's fucking ridiculous. That thing is awful. All you do is drink in order to increase your BAC. That device is the devil dressed in a transistor.
My advice to you: avoid it at all costs.
Meer leuke verhalen
The Famous "Sushi Pants" Story
I used to think that Red Bull was the most destructive invention of the past 50 years. I was wrong. Red Bull has been usurped by the portable alcohol breathalyzer. The same device that cops have been using for 10 years to conduct field sobriety tests is now offered by the Sharper Image for $99. It is the size and shape of a small cell phone with a clear round tube sticking up from the top, almost like an antenna. One blows into the tube, and a few seconds later a Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) reading is given. Though not as accurate as a blood test, they are accurate to within .01, which is good enough for my purposes.
I was living in Boca Raton, Florida, when I bought one to take out with me on a Saturday night. This is the story:
9:00pm: Arrive at the restaurant. I am the first one of the group there, even though our reservations are for 9pm. The restaurant is crowded full of the abysmal type of people that infest South Florida. Already depressed, I order a vodka and club soda.
9:08: No one else has arrived. I order another vodka and club. I consider checking my BAC, but doubt that it would show anything thus far.
9:10: Two 30+ year-old Jewish women on my left keep eyeing me. Both have fake breasts. One has exceptionally large fake breasts. They are beckoning me from her shirt. She is not highly attractive. I begin drinking faster.
9:15: No one else has arrived. I order my third vodka and club. While I wait for it, I try out my portable breathalyzer. I blow a .02. This is the greatest invention ever made. I am giddy. I show the breathalyzer to the fake-breasted Jewish women next to me. We begin a conversation.
9:16: They both have thick Long Island accents. I summon the bartender over and change my order to a tall double vodka on the rocks, splash of club.
9:23: Four people at the bar have tried my breathalyzer, both of the fake-breasted women included. Everyone wants to know their BAC. I am the center of attention. I am happy.
9:25: The first member of my group arrives. I show him the breathalyzer. He is enthralled. He buys a round. The fake-breasted women loudly inform us they would like drinks. My friend buys them drinks. I order a double vodka on the rocks. No splash.
9:29: I blow again, a .04. I've been drinking for half an hour, and am on my forth drink. My wheels of intellect begin grinding through the vodka haze that is already forming…four drinks…a .04…that must mean that each drink only adds .01 to my BAC. I begin to think that I can drink a lot. I tell one of the fake-breasted women that she is very interesting.
9:38: Six of the eight are here. I lie to the hostesses, and they seat our incomplete party. Everyone is talking about my breathalyzer. I am the focus of adulation. I forgive everyone for sucking so bad. I think this night may go OK after all.
9:40: I blow again, a .05. This confuses me. I haven’t ordered another drink since I blew a .04. I have a vague memory from a long distant D.A.R.E. class about the rate of alcohol absorption being constant, regardless of speed of drinking. This memory quickly fades when two hot girls at the table next to me inquire about my portable breathalyzer.
9:42: Hot girl #2 is into me. She begins telling me a story about how she got pulled over once for DUI, and had to blow into something like this, and the cop let her off. She tells me that she always wanted to be a cop, but couldn’t pass the entrance exam to the police academy, even though she took it twice. I tell her that she must be really smart. She stops paying attention to me. Hot girl #2 is apparently smart enough to detect thinly veiled sarcasm.
10:04: The novelty of the portable breathalyzer has passed. The table has moved on. I am no longer the center of attention. I am not happy with my table.
10:06: The people at my table begin talking about energy healing. Everyone is mesmerized by a girl who took a class in it. I tell them that energy healing is a worthless and solipsistic pseudo-science. They think energy healing is a real science because the instructor of the girl’s class went to Harvard. One guy calls it a “legitimate, certifiable science,�? while making air quotes with his fingers. I tell them that they are all (while imitating his air quotes) “legitimate, certifiable idiots�? because they believe in horse-shit like energy healing. Two girls call me close-minded. I tell them that they are so open-minded that their brains leaked out. They all glare at me with disapproval. I hate everyone at my table.
10:08: I have completely tuned out their inane conversation. I am slamming down straight vodka as fast as the low-rent wanna-be Ethan Hawke waiter can bring it. I blow every three minutes, watching my BAC slowly creep up.
10:10: .07
10:17: .08. I am no longer legally eligible to drive in the state of Florida. I announce this fact to no one in particular.
10:26: .09
10:27: I decide that I am going to see how drunk I can get and still be functional. I know that .35 BAC kills most people. I think that .20 is a good goal.
10:28: I get up, saying nothing to the seven sophists at my table, and go back to the bar. I don’t leave money for my drinks.
10:29: The fake-breasted women are still at the bar. They want drinks. Upset that I’m only at .09 after a good hour and a half of aggressive drinking, I decide to do a round of shots. I let the women pick the shots, with the explicit instruction that it cannot be whiskey, cannot smell like whiskey, cannot even resemble whiskey.
10:30: The shots arrive. Tequila. Judging by the bill, very good tequila. It is smooth. We order another round.
11:14: I blow a .15. I have passed a milestone. Only .05 away from my goal. My pride swells. I show everyone my .15. The bar crowd is impressed. I am their idol. Someone buys me a shot.
11:28: I feel queasy. I realize that I didn’t even stick around the table for dinner. Not wanting to either go back to my table or eat at the bar, I walk across the street to a sushi restaurant.
11:29: There is a lingerie party at the sushi restaurant. Half of the people are in some form of pajamas or other bedtime clothing. Everyone here sucks as bad as the last place, except they are in their underwear.
11:30: I am confused. I only want sushi. I stand at the door, mesmerized by the shifting masses of near nakedness. A mildly attractive girl who apparently works at the restaurant wants me to put on lingerie. I tell her I don’t have any. I just want some sushi. She says I should at least take off my pants. I ask her if this will get me sushi. She says it will. I take off my pants.
11:30: I pause while unzipping my pants, wondering what type of underwear, if any, I have on. I consider not taking my pants off. I realize that getting food quickly is more crucial than my dignity.
11:31: I take off my pants. I have on pink and white striped Gap boxers. They are too tight. I make sure my package is tucked in. People watch me do this.
11:32: I order sushi by pointing at the pictures and grunting.
11:33: I show a guy at the sushi bar my breathalyzer. He is impressed. He shows it to everyone. People begin congregating around me. I am a star again.
11:41: I blow a .17. I tell everyone my goal. Someone orders me a shot.
11:42: I do the shot. Something that has a familiar taste, makes me feel warm inside. I ask what it is. “Cognac and Alize.�? There is a God, and he hates me.
11:47: My sushi arrives. I slosh soy sauce over it and shovel it into my mouth as quickly as my hands will get it there.
11:49: My sushi is finished. No one is paying attention to my table manners, as everyone is crowded around the breathalyzer, waiting their turn to find out their BAC.
12:18: I blow a .20. I AM A GOD. The sushi bar erupts. Men are applauding me. Girls are pining for me. Everyone wants to talk to me. I forgive them their flaws, as they are all paying attention to me.
12:31: My deity status is lost. Someone blows a .22. This is a challenge to my manhood. I order a depth charge with a Bacardi 151 shot. And a beer back. The crowd is in awe.
12:33: I finish the depth charge, and the beer. I talk shit to my challenger, “Who runs this bar now, BITCH??�? The crowd erupts. Momentum has swung back in my direction. I am Maximus. I am winning the crowd. I will rule the sushi bar.
12:36: I take a better look at my challenger. He is a tall, broad-shouldered, heavily muscular man. His natural facial expression is not one of happiness. He quietly watches me, then orders a shot, throws it back without noticeable effect, and smiles at me. I consider that talking shit to him was a bad idea. At this point I also realize that my stomach is very upset with me. I ignore it. I still have a public that needs to adore me.
12:54: I blow a .22. Only mild cheers this time. Everyone is waiting for the challenger to blow.
12:56: He blows a .24. He smiles condescendingly at me. I order two more shots.
12:59: I do the first shot. It doesn’t go down well. I decide to take a short break from drinking. The crowd is not impressed.
1:10: Reality sets in. I am going to vomit. A LOT. I try to discreetly make it outside.
1:11: I knock a girl over as I sprint through the door.
1:11: I trip over a bush, stumble into it, and begin throwing up. Out of my mouth. And nose. It is not pleasant.
1:14: I can’t figure out why my legs hurt so much. I look down at them in between heaves. I have no pants on. Thorns and branches are embedded in my shins.
1:18: The vomiting is over. I am now trying to stop the bleeding. A bright light hits my eyes. I am not happy. I tell the owner to “get that fucking light out of my face.�? The owner of the light identifies himself as an officer of the law. I apologize to the officer, and ask him what the problem is. A long pause ensues. The light is still in my eyes. “Son, where are your pants?�? Remembering past encounters with the law, and realizing there is no one around to bail me out of the county lock-up, I summon every bit of adrenaline in my body to sober myself up. I apologize again, and explain to the officer that my pants are in the restaurant that is less than 50 feet away, and that I came outside to share my sushi with the bush. He doesn’t laugh. Another long pause. “You’re not driving tonight are you?�?, “Oh, NO, NO, NO…no sir, I don’t even have a valid driver’s license.�?
1:20: He tells me to go back inside, put on my pants, and call a cab.
1:21: I go back into the sushi restaurant. A few people stare at me in a peculiar manner. I look down, and then tuck my partially exposed sack back into my boxers. I don’t know what to do about my bleeding legs. I look around for my pants.
1:24: I can’t find my pants. My breathalyzer is in clear sight. I blow. A .23. Someone informs me that my challenger just blew a .26. They add that he hasn’t thrown up yet. I tell them to “kiss my fucking ass.�? My last clear memory.
8:15am: I wake up. I don’t know where I am. It is very hot. I am sweating horribly. It smells like rotting flesh.
8:16: I am in my car. With the windows up. The sun is beating down directly on me. It is at least 125 degrees in my car. I open the door and try to get out, but instead I fall onto the pavement. The scabs that cover my legs tear and reopen as I move. My penis falls out of my pink Gap boxers and lands, along with the rest of me, in a dirty puddle on the asphalt.
8:19: The fetid standing water finally propels me into full consciousness. I can’t find my pants. Or cell phone. Or wallet. But I do have my breathalyzer. I blow. A .09. I am still not eligible to drive in the state of Florida.
8:22: I drive home anyway.
Let me be clear about this night: it was in my top 5 drunkest nights ever. I was completely shit-housed. I threw up multiple times, some of them through my nose. JESUS CHRIST, I WOKE UP blowing a .09. That's fucking ridiculous. That thing is awful. All you do is drink in order to increase your BAC. That device is the devil dressed in a transistor.
My advice to you: avoid it at all costs.
Meer leuke verhalen
"Het leven is te kort voor een slechte filmquote als signature"
Dan is de lol eraf...neem de tijd nou maar, het is geen zakelijk stuk...don't worry...
"Het leven is te kort voor een slechte filmquote als signature"
Leest makkelijk weg idd.quote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 12:04 schreef dribbel79 het volgende:
Dan is de lol eraf...neem de tijd nou maar, het is geen zakelijk stuk...don't worry...
Butsex is wel erg overdone trouwens, had je die al gelezen?
Capa del satén blanco, Cuerpo del acero, Corazón del oro.
Samenvatting: Een avond belachelijk veel zuipen en 's morgens nog "dronken" wakker worden en stinken...quote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 12:04 schreef dribbel79 het volgende:
Dan is de lol eraf...neem de tijd nou maar, het is geen zakelijk stuk...don't worry...
Je hebt gelijk, zo is de lol eraf
Jah, hehe...quote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 12:06 schreef hollander172 het volgende:
[..]
Leest makkelijk weg idd.
Butsex is wel erg overdone trouwens, had je die al gelezen?
Die blowjob is ook erg lachen trouwens...
"Het leven is te kort voor een slechte filmquote als signature"
Hmm ? Wie ? Wat ? Waar ?quote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 12:15 schreef dribbel79 het volgende:
[..]
Blah, blabla...
Bla blowjob bla bla bla blabla blabla...
Check www.jossmit.nl ff (Haarlem). Volgens mij scheelt de prijs niet eens zo met Suomy in Sint Oedenrode, weet alleen niet wat de montage kost. Als het verschil niet te groot is dan scheelt 't je 2 uur rijden en 20 euro benzinequote:Op donderdag 13 juli 2006 22:50 schreef kratjuh het volgende:
[..]
Ook best .. Link/info/mail/etc ?
En een bakkie doen is altijd goed ..
En een slap, lauw kopje koffiequote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 13:19 schreef hicham het volgende:
[..]
Check www.jossmit.nl ff (Haarlem). Volgens mij scheelt de prijs niet eens zo met Suomy in Sint Oedenrode, weet alleen niet wat de montage kost. Als het verschil niet te groot is dan scheelt 't je 2 uur rijden en 20 euro benzine
Ik snap niks van die site .. Ik weet alleen dat ik in Geldermalsen voor 324 euri klaar ben (dus inclusief montage en balanceren etc) en dat die tank benzine niet meegerekend hoeft te worden aangezien ik toch lekker een stukje kan gaan tuffen ... En zelfs een bakkie koffie kan doen als ik bij die andere knakkert van Mercy doe ...quote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 13:19 schreef hicham het volgende:
[..]
Check www.jossmit.nl ff (Haarlem). Volgens mij scheelt de prijs niet eens zo met Suomy in Sint Oedenrode, weet alleen niet wat de montage kost. Als het verschil niet te groot is dan scheelt 't je 2 uur rijden en 20 euro benzine
En dat werkt in de IT, kneusquote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 13:31 schreef kratjuh het volgende:
[..]
Ik snap niks van die site .. Ik weet alleen dat ik in Geldermalsen voor 324 euri klaar ben (dus inclusief montage en balanceren etc) en dat die tank benzine niet meegerekend hoeft te worden aangezien ik toch lekker een stukje kan gaan tuffen ... En zelfs een bakkie koffie kan doen als ik bij die andere knakkert van Mercy doe ...
Lekker tuffen over de snelweg
Mzzl, kijk zo wel even wat het prijsverschil is
"Het leven is te kort voor een slechte filmquote als signature"
Bandjes net opgehaald, monteren en balanceren was maar 25 euro.
Hij gaat trouwens dinsdag naar Zandvoort bleek later, samen met motorXtra, wij zijn er woensdag.
Hij gaat trouwens dinsdag naar Zandvoort bleek later, samen met motorXtra, wij zijn er woensdag.
Meestal is het juist onterecht (in ander verband) , maar ik begrijp het wel een beetje.quote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 10:29 schreef hollander172 het volgende:
Weleens aan gedacht dat jouw ouders zich terecht zorgen maken over hun "kleine mannetje"?
SPOILEROm spoilers te kunnen lezen moet je zijn ingelogd. Je moet je daarvoor eerst gratis Registreren. Ook kun je spoilers niet lezen als je een ban hebt.Wat een eikel.quote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 13:48 schreef dribbel79 het volgende:
hier
[..]Aren’t 17 year old girls funny?[...]
[..]I had no desire to face her rifle-wielding father with my face covered in her spit and my sperm.[..]
[..]Once I was out of imminent danger, I couldnt help but laugh[..]
Morgen
Morgen
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*Battlefield3*KZ3*NFShp*BFBC2*MoH*PSN ID:Arijanonline
GoW/Fable III 360 tag:Arijanonline
Pax & Pry Free download
Erg funny jaquote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 10:43 schreef dribbel79 het volgende:
Ik heb een nieuwe held: Tucker Max!!
The Famous "Sushi Pants" Story
[..]
lang maar vermakelijk verhaal
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Let me be clear about this night: it was in my top 5 drunkest nights ever. I was completely shit-housed. I threw up multiple times, some of them through my nose. JESUS CHRIST, I WOKE UP blowing a .09. That's fucking ridiculous. That thing is awful. All you do is drink in order to increase your BAC. That device is the devil dressed in a transistor.
My advice to you: avoid it at all costs.
Meer leuke verhalen
<a href="http://goo.gl/q8fhTe" target="_blank">FAQ?</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
Bij Suomy ben je voor 325 euro klaar incl. montage (MPP 190/50 + 120/60) en bij Jos Smit 289.50 euro excl. montage. Geen idee wat montage daar kost. Dat je het ff weet, je mag best koffie bij Mercy drinken hoorquote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 13:31 schreef kratjuh het volgende:
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Ik snap niks van die site .. Ik weet alleen dat ik in Geldermalsen voor 324 euri klaar ben (dus inclusief montage en balanceren etc) en dat die tank benzine niet meegerekend hoeft te worden aangezien ik toch lekker een stukje kan gaan tuffen ... En zelfs een bakkie koffie kan doen als ik bij die andere knakkert van Mercy doe ...
Moggah
Tuckermax Mooiste vindt ik eigenlijk nog wel Slingblades verslag naar huis bij de booktour verhalen
Zit trouwens ook regelmatig op het forum, vaak erg leuke discussies daar
En nu ga ik post bezorgen
Tuckermax Mooiste vindt ik eigenlijk nog wel Slingblades verslag naar huis bij de booktour verhalen
Mooiste vindt ik eigenlijk nog wel Slingblades verslag naar huis bij de booktour verhalen 
Zit trouwens ook regelmatig op het forum, vaak erg leuke discussies daar
En nu ga ik post bezorgen
Zorg gewoon voor een goede jampotbril/lensjes joh. Lulquote:Op donderdag 13 juli 2006 20:16 schreef Fulcrum_X het volgende:
Eh ja, daarom had ik een zonnebril op sterkte bij mijn autorijexamen. Had hem met AVD voor de motor weer mee, maar de beste man liet me van zo dichtbij een kenteken oplezen dat ik hem niet eens nodig had
Heb de rest van de rit wel met bril gereden geloof ik.. maar die bril krijg ik niet tussen mijn eigen helm, bovendien is het model hopeloos verouderd
Ach, heb hem verder ook niet echt nodig. Okee als er iets op het schoolbord geschreven wordt kan ik het soms niet lezen en richtingsaanwijzers zijn ook heel laat pas te lezen
Slecht zien is echt zonde voor je belevingswereld
Deze zomer extreme files op A4 en A10-zuid
Als ze nou gelijk een mooi klaverblad van knooppunt Badhoevedorp maken ipv wat er nu ligt
Als ze nou gelijk een mooi klaverblad van knooppunt Badhoevedorp maken ipv wat er nu ligt
Amem to thatquote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 15:18 schreef worldpimber het volgende:
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Zorg gewoon voor een goede jampotbril/lensjes joh. Lul
Slecht zien is echt zonde voor je belevingswereld
stemt voorquote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 15:21 schreef hicham het volgende:
Deze zomer extreme files op A4 en A10-zuid
Als ze nou gelijk een mooi klaverblad van knooppunt Badhoevedorp maken ipv wat er nu ligt [afbeelding]
Fok vrienden top 50#★#★#Powered by Akrapovic
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Pax & Pry Free download
*Battlefield3*KZ3*NFShp*BFBC2*MoH*PSN ID:Arijanonline
GoW/Fable III 360 tag:Arijanonline
Pax & Pry Free download
Is het al weekend?
<a href="http://goo.gl/q8fhTe" target="_blank">FAQ?</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
Voor mijn nietquote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 16:14 schreef koffiekoekje het volgende:
Weekend Het is toch vakantie
nog 45 minuten of zo iets
<a href="http://goo.gl/q8fhTe" target="_blank">FAQ?</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
Lijkt me een zwaar leven als je iedere keer van weekend tot weekend leeft.
Anders zoek je iets leuks ofzo
Anders zoek je iets leuks ofzo
4daagse feesten nijmegenquote:
de heeeele week
maar wel bikkelen en gewoon gaan werken
vrijdag wel vrij
<a href="http://goo.gl/q8fhTe" target="_blank">FAQ?</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
Dönner halen?quote:
<a href="http://goo.gl/q8fhTe" target="_blank">FAQ?</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
Nog 7 minuten
<a href="http://goo.gl/q8fhTe" target="_blank">FAQ?</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
Hoe kun je nou de hele week een 4daags feest hebbenquote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 17:04 schreef bwt het volgende:
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4daagse feesten nijmegen
de heeeele week
maar wel bikkelen en gewoon gaan werken
vrijdag wel vrij
stapel tostie'squote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 16:58 schreef koffiekoekje het volgende:
Iemand voedsel tips?
chinees halen
buil chips met mayo ketchup
broodje shoarma
Pizza
zooi beschuitjes met aardbeien
patatje met
1 dag pre partyquote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 17:08 schreef hicham het volgende:
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Hoe kun je nou de hele week een 4daags feest hebben
4 dagen feest
1 dag after party
1 zondag .....
hummm ik ben nu ook wel benieuwd
quote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 17:08 schreef hicham het volgende:
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Hoe kun je nou de hele week een 4daags feest hebben
<a href="http://goo.gl/q8fhTe" target="_blank">FAQ?</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/q8fhTe" target="_blank">FAQ?</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
<a href="http://goo.gl/gYvZFq" target="_blank">Geel is een zonnige en vrolijke kleur, als hij tenminste enigszins warm is gekleurd en wat naar het oranje neigt</a>
Ben ik ook 's geweest ... Superfeesten zijn dat, jij woont daar vlakbij zeker?quote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 17:04 schreef bwt het volgende:
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4daagse feesten nijmegen
de heeeele week
maar wel bikkelen en gewoon gaan werken
vrijdag wel vrij
BK Niet echt in de buurt En de shoarma ligt ook nog vers in het geheugenquote:Op vrijdag 14 juli 2006 17:02 schreef kratjuh het volgende:
Shoarma !
of een Long Chicken met kaas bij de BK
DOH!quote:
Ik ga de lokale buurtsuper maar even ontsieren, middels mijn aanwezigheid.quote:
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