The first time I logged onto The Student Room was just over three years ago. At the time it seemed like a perfectly innocent thing to do, after all, what possible harm could come from exchanging a few pleasantries with my fellow students? Or opening up a thread and being able to discover in an instant what everyone had for breakfast today? No harm whatsoever as far as I could see. Yet here I am today, sitting naked at my computer. Bald and 76lbs overweight. Anti-depressants in one hand, mouse in the other, Frantically clicking the refresh button to see if anyone has replied to this thread. My mum has reported me to the police, after they discovered that due to my ever-increasing phone bill, they would once again be under attack from angry parents wanting to know why I had sent a webcam to their house as a present for their kids. My girlfriend has just walked out on me after forcing me to choose between her and the forum, and I have to ask myself, maybe it wasn't so harmless after all?
It was only two days after joining the Internet that I first logged on to TSR. I remember it was a Saturday afternoon. I had just completed my first piece of homework and I was taking a break. So with nothing else better to do, apart from listen to the inane, squeaky voiced ramblings of Willie Carson on the Horse Racing channel, I thought to my self, why not?
As far as I could tell, by simply entering the forum, I had accidentally stumbled upon the secret meeting place of the most knowledgeable students in the world. A place where professors, teachers and the 12 year olds with 300 A*s would gather together to exchange knowledge and general nerdiness. Every other thread appeared to be a gateway to more information. With confident declarations of 'I know the truth about God's existance' and 'I AM THE CLEVEREST KID IN MY YEAR,' I knew I had made the discovery of a lifetime. No more would I spend my days trying to decipher "Maths For Morons", which may as well have been written in Braille. No more would I spend my days lost in the wilderness of exams and homework. TSR had become my Tom Tom. At last, I was finally on the road to success.
The very first thread I read that afternoon was entitled 'I am the hottest chick in England'. Apparently, according to the writer's information, this person has won Miss England 3 years in a row. She has a washboard stomach and legs to die for. However, he was soon shot down in flames by other posters saying she was a fake'. The poster was still absolutely convinced that she was the hottest chick in England though, and she convinced me enough to give her my number. The poster was right. As soon as she started talking to me, I was mesmerised. I started to jump for joy, letting her voice wash over my heart and frazzling my brain. Then there was a sudden change of voice, followed by a shout of "Oh ****, my voice has broken!" The poster was right though - she was the hottest chick in England. Chickens are pretty ugly, especially those battery ones.
It was at this point, as I wiped away the remains of the half eaten pot noodle I had just hurled at my laptop, that I made my second discovery of the afternoon. In the time it had taken for me to be conned, a total of 14 threads had suddenly appeared on the forum, declaring the startling news that "GCSEs ARE UNFAIR AND UNTRUSTWORTHY." Now for a while I had always suspected that exams weren't entirely honest. To suddenly discover it was less straight than George Michael, taking a midnight stroll on the common, came as something of a shock.
However it was already too late. The next girl was about to phone and a further 8 separate threads had already been posted, asking for partners. A quick look at their fake pictures confirmed my belief that the users on TSR were absolute STUDS. Therefore I knew that the only way to recover my dignity was to phone up more girls and have another go.
I was wrong! By the end of the day I had phoned a total of 98 girls, and I didn't pull once.
I will never forget the feeling of staring breathlessly into space; body bathed in sweat, overwhelmed with a sense of guilt, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it pulsing in my ears. It was a feeling I had experienced many times before. Only this time, it wasn't because I had just spent the afternoon downloading midget porn.
So the journey had begun. Day after day, week after week. The unbelievable highs as those elusive hotties began to ring me up and show an interest. The despairing lows, as the forum continued to crash after yet another upgrade.
However it wasn't just the inept standard of totty I had become addicted to. It was the TSR community itself. Suddenly I would find myself logging on first thing in the morning, simply to discover whether Educating Brogan had written anymore stupid exam answers! Or last thing at night, just to check the "GCSE maths thread 2008" thread had been updated with any new posters asking for grade boundaries.
Gradually, over the months that followed, and as my funds continued to dwindle, I slowly began to change. At first it was barely noticeable. For instance, instead of saying hello as I met up with friends and relations, I would find myself making a huge smiley face to indicate I was pleased to see them. Or upon hearing an amusing anecdote I would no longer laugh, I would simply utter the word LOL. Or if it were particularly amusing, I would tell them it was so funny my arse had fallen off. Also, as the forum insecurities began to take hold, my online paranoia began to manifest itself into my home life. Such as the times my parents came to visit and began boasting about how successful my brothers had become. Instead of just shrugging my shoulders, I would immediately accuse them of being a fake user and ban them from the house. Also, if they started talking for too long I would just say to them 'tl;dr'.
Or the day I had a minor disagreement with my neighbour. After he discovered I was responsible for spreading the rumours, that his nubile teenage daughter was actually a middle-aged truck driver called Bob. Bob was merely pretending to be a girl, so desperate men like myself would lavish him with attention, and sign up to his website! Whereas previously I would have entered into a calm and rational debate with the man, hoping to persuade him that my point of view was the correct one and to kindly release his grip on my testicles, nstead I began shouting that he was a MUG and a MUPPET, before arranging to meet him on TSR, where I would neg rep him to infinity.
My online habit continued to grow. So did the concerns of my family despite my insistence there was nothing to worry about. They often went to unbelievable lengths to tempt me away from TSR. The first such occurrence was during the late summer. I remember the speakers had broken down on my computer, and as my radio was in the next room, I had spent most of the day tapping my feet, while reading a thread debating the use of oxygen. I had just begun to read the second page when there came a timid knock at the door. Even as I write this, I can still picture the tear stained faces of my mum and dad, as they gently took my hands, and told me our beloved cat had died. However later that night, as I tapped away at my keyboard, while listening to the sounds of my 5 year old brother digging a 'Tiddles' shaped grave in the garden. I couldn't help thinking how suspicious it was. That a cat that had been in excellent health for over 21 years, why would suddenly pass away as the Big Brother final was about to begin? I tried to reassure them that if Nikki were to win I would buy them an even better cat as a celebration, but they wouldn't listen.
Or the time during early December, when my young brother and sister ran excitedly into my study, and asked if I would take them into town to see Santa Claus. Once again I suspected it was a ruse. After all, what self-respecting person still believes in a flamboyant, rosy-cheeked, fat faced old man? Who does very little, apart from cost people money, sit on his backside, and eat copious amounts of pies for most of the year? Nobody apart from Gordon Brown! I tried to explain to them that I was busy, and that unless my purple loan was approved, or finally managing to cash my riches in then there would be no Christmas! And the only people who would be visiting our house on Christmas Eve were the bailiffs! But again they refused to understand. Deciding instead to burst into tears, before running away shouting 'MUMMY'.
Things finally came to a head just a few days ago, on the evening of my girlfriend's birthday. As I had been fairly busy on the forum that night, monitoring a pair of particularly interesting threads entitled 'I just had sex with my sock, will I get AIDS?' and 'Which hand do you use to wipe your arse' I decided to send a text to my wife asking her if she would care to come upstairs and take a look at the e card I had just mailed her. I was just about to press send, when there she was, naked and smiling at me from the hallway.
In many ways my wife is a wonderful woman. A 18 year-old, former Filipino bargirl who travelled to England just over 4 years ago, with dreams of becoming a waitress. The first time we met was during a friend's secret birthday party. As soon as I saw her walk onto the stage, carrying a bottle of lubricant, and begin firing a succession of ping-pong balls haphazardly across the room, I knew she was the girl for me. Two months later we were together, and now here she was, naked, carrying a racket, and begging me to take her to bed. It was only 3am, but as it was her birthday I felt I really couldn't refuse.
5 minutes later as I lay breathless, and my wifes rabbit continued the job I had begun, all I could think about was the forum. And how many posts I had missed in the time I was away. I told my wife I was going to get a drink of water, but even as I grabbed my laptop and crept ashamedly down the stairs and through the back door, I was certain she suspected the truth.
Thats when it happened. I had just finished typing that my chosen method of wiping was to stand up, lean completely forward, and use a reverse, double-handed sweeping technique, when suddenly the light was turned on and my wife started to scream.
I can only imagine how it must have looked, to open the shed door in the middle of the night, and discover your husband sitting precariously on the edge of the lawnmower in his undercrackers, explaining to a group of strangers how he prefers to wipe his ar$e.
I tried to tell her that it wasn't how it seemed, and that rather than being on the TSR, I was simply ordering a turkey from Tesco and looking at some porn, but the damage had already been done, and despite my protestations and pleas for forgiveness, the very next morning she was gone, taking the new cat with her.
It is for this reason that I have decided to cancel my Internet connection and leave TSRforever. You may think this a touch extreme, but I urge you to heed this warning. As you sit down with your families this Christmas, and suddenly feel the urge to log onto TSR, just to see who's online, or what everyone has had for Christmas, I beg you not to, it just isn't worth it.
Although on second thoughts, who the hell am I kidding? See you all tomorrow.
Sounds a bit similar to my story. The first time I logged onto The Student Room was just over three years ago. At the time it seemed like a perfectly innocent thing to do, after all, what possible harm could come from exchanging a few pleasantries with my fellow students? Or opening up a thread and being able to discover in an instant what everyone had for breakfast today? No harm whatsoever as far as I could see. Yet here I am today, sitting naked at my computer. Bald and 76lbs overweight. Anti-depressants in one hand, mouse in the other, Frantically clicking the refresh button to see if anyone has replied to this thread. My mum has reported me to the police, after they discovered that due to my ever-increasing phone bill, they would once again be under attack from angry parents wanting to know why I had sent a webcam to their house as a present for their kids. My girlfriend has just walked out on me after forcing me to choose between her and the forum, and I have to ask myself, maybe it wasn't so harmless after all?
It was only two days after joining the Internet that I first logged on to TSR. I remember it was a Saturday afternoon. I had just completed my first piece of homework and I was taking a break. So with nothing else better to do, apart from listen to the inane, squeaky voiced ramblings of Willie Carson on the Horse Racing channel, I thought to my self, why not?
As far as I could tell, by simply entering the forum, I had accidentally stumbled upon the secret meeting place of the most knowledgeable students in the world. A place where professors, teachers and the 12 year olds with 300 A*s would gather together to exchange knowledge and general nerdiness. Every other thread appeared to be a gateway to more information. With confident declarations of 'I know the truth about God's existance' and 'I AM THE CLEVEREST KID IN MY YEAR,' I knew I had made the discovery of a lifetime. No more would I spend my days trying to decipher "Maths For Morons", which may as well have been written in Braille. No more would I spend my days lost in the wilderness of exams and homework. TSR had become my Tom Tom. At last, I was finally on the road to success.
The very first thread I read that afternoon was entitled 'I am the hottest chick in England'. Apparently, according to the writer's information, this person has won Miss England 3 years in a row. She has a washboard stomach and legs to die for. However, he was soon shot down in flames by other posters saying she was a fake'. The poster was still absolutely convinced that she was the hottest chick in England though, and she convinced me enough to give her my number. The poster was right. As soon as she started talking to me, I was mesmerised. I started to jump for joy, letting her voice wash over my heart and frazzling my brain. Then there was a sudden change of voice, followed by a shout of "Oh ****, my voice has broken!" The poster was right though - she was the hottest chick in England. Chickens are pretty ugly, especially those battery ones.
It was at this point, as I wiped away the remains of the half eaten pot noodle I had just hurled at my laptop, that I made my second discovery of the afternoon. In the time it had taken for me to be conned, a total of 14 threads had suddenly appeared on the forum, declaring the startling news that "GCSEs ARE UNFAIR AND UNTRUSTWORTHY." Now for a while I had always suspected that exams weren't entirely honest. To suddenly discover it was less straight than George Michael, taking a midnight stroll on the common, came as something of a shock.
However it was already too late. The next girl was about to phone and a further 8 separate threads had already been posted, asking for partners. A quick look at their fake pictures confirmed my belief that the users on TSR were absolute STUDS. Therefore I knew that the only way to recover my dignity was to phone up more girls and have another go.
I was wrong! By the end of the day I had phoned a total of 98 girls, and I didn't pull once.
I will never forget the feeling of staring breathlessly into space; body bathed in sweat, overwhelmed with a sense of guilt, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it pulsing in my ears. It was a feeling I had experienced many times before. Only this time, it wasn't because I had just spent the afternoon downloading midget porn.
So the journey had begun. Day after day, week after week. The unbelievable highs as those elusive hotties began to ring me up and show an interest. The despairing lows, as the forum continued to crash after yet another upgrade.
However it wasn't just the inept standard of totty I had become addicted to. It was the TSR community itself. Suddenly I would find myself logging on first thing in the morning, simply to discover whether Educating Brogan had written anymore stupid exam answers! Or last thing at night, just to check the "GCSE maths thread 2008" thread had been updated with any new posters asking for grade boundaries.
Gradually, over the months that followed, and as my funds continued to dwindle, I slowly began to change. At first it was barely noticeable. For instance, instead of saying hello as I met up with friends and relations, I would find myself making a huge smiley face to indicate I was pleased to see them. Or upon hearing an amusing anecdote I would no longer laugh, I would simply utter the word LOL. Or if it were particularly amusing, I would tell them it was so funny my arse had fallen off. Also, as the forum insecurities began to take hold, my online paranoia began to manifest itself into my home life. Such as the times my parents came to visit and began boasting about how successful my brothers had become. Instead of just shrugging my shoulders, I would immediately accuse them of being a fake user and ban them from the house. Also, if they started talking for too long I would just say to them 'tl;dr'.
Or the day I had a minor disagreement with my neighbour. After he discovered I was responsible for spreading the rumours, that his nubile teenage daughter was actually a middle-aged truck driver called Bob. Bob was merely pretending to be a girl, so desperate men like myself would lavish him with attention, and sign up to his website! Whereas previously I would have entered into a calm and rational debate with the man, hoping to persuade him that my point of view was the correct one and to kindly release his grip on my testicles, nstead I began shouting that he was a MUG and a MUPPET, before arranging to meet him on TSR, where I would neg rep him to infinity.
My online habit continued to grow. So did the concerns of my family despite my insistence there was nothing to worry about. They often went to unbelievable lengths to tempt me away from TSR. The first such occurrence was during the late summer. I remember the speakers had broken down on my computer, and as my radio was in the next room, I had spent most of the day tapping my feet, while reading a thread debating the use of oxygen. I had just begun to read the second page when there came a timid knock at the door. Even as I write this, I can still picture the tear stained faces of my mum and dad, as they gently took my hands, and told me our beloved cat had died. However later that night, as I tapped away at my keyboard, while listening to the sounds of my 5 year old brother digging a 'Tiddles' shaped grave in the garden. I couldn't help thinking how suspicious it was. That a cat that had been in excellent health for over 21 years, why would suddenly pass away as the Big Brother final was about to begin? I tried to reassure them that if Nikki were to win I would buy them an even better cat as a celebration, but they wouldn't listen.
Or the time during early December, when my young brother and sister ran excitedly into my study, and asked if I would take them into town to see Santa Claus. Once again I suspected it was a ruse. After all, what self-respecting person still believes in a flamboyant, rosy-cheeked, fat faced old man? Who does very little, apart from cost people money, sit on his backside, and eat copious amounts of pies for most of the year? Nobody apart from Gordon Brown! I tried to explain to them that I was busy, and that unless my purple loan was approved, or finally managing to cash my riches in then there would be no Christmas! And the only people who would be visiting our house on Christmas Eve were the bailiffs! But again they refused to understand. Deciding instead to burst into tears, before running away shouting 'MUMMY'.
Things finally came to a head just a few days ago, on the evening of my girlfriend's birthday. As I had been fairly busy on the forum that night, monitoring a pair of particularly interesting threads entitled 'I just had sex with my sock, will I get AIDS?' and 'Which hand do you use to wipe your arse' I decided to send a text to my wife asking her if she would care to come upstairs and take a look at the e card I had just mailed her. I was just about to press send, when there she was, naked and smiling at me from the hallway.
In many ways my wife is a wonderful woman. A 18 year-old, former Filipino bargirl who travelled to England just over 4 years ago, with dreams of becoming a waitress. The first time we met was during a friend's secret birthday party. As soon as I saw her walk onto the stage, carrying a bottle of lubricant, and begin firing a succession of ping-pong balls haphazardly across the room, I knew she was the girl for me. Two months later we were together, and now here she was, naked, carrying a racket, and begging me to take her to bed. It was only 3am, but as it was her birthday I felt I really couldn't refuse.
5 minutes later as I lay breathless, and my wifes rabbit continued the job I had begun, all I could think about was the forum. And how many posts I had missed in the time I was away. I told my wife I was going to get a drink of water, but even as I grabbed my laptop and crept ashamedly down the stairs and through the back door, I was certain she suspected the truth.
Thats when it happened. I had just finished typing that my chosen method of wiping was to stand up, lean completely forward, and use a reverse, double-handed sweeping technique, when suddenly the light was turned on and my wife started to scream.
I can only imagine how it must have looked, to open the shed door in the middle of the night, and discover your husband sitting precariously on the edge of the lawnmower in his undercrackers, explaining to a group of strangers how he prefers to wipe his ar$e.
I tried to tell her that it wasn't how it seemed, and that rather than being on the TSR, I was simply ordering a turkey from Tesco and looking at some porn, but the damage had already been done, and despite my protestations and pleas for forgiveness, the very next morning she was gone, taking the new cat with her.
It is for this reason that I have decided to cancel my Internet connection and leave TSRforever. You may think this a touch extreme, but I urge you to heed this warning. As you sit down with your families this Christmas, and suddenly feel the urge to log onto TSR, just to see who's online, or what everyone has had for Christmas, I beg you not to, it just isn't worth it.
Although on second thoughts, who the hell am I kidding? See you all tomorrow.
Sounds a bit similar to my story. The first time I logged onto The Student Room was just over three years ago. At the time it seemed like a perfectly innocent thing to do, after all, what possible harm could come from exchanging a few pleasantries with my fellow students? Or opening up a thread and being able to discover in an instant what everyone had for breakfast today? No harm whatsoever as far as I could see. Yet here I am today, sitting naked at my computer. Bald and 76lbs overweight. Anti-depressants in one hand, mouse in the other,..............
The first time I logged onto The Student Room was just over three years ago. At the time it seemed like a perfectly innocent thing to do, after all, what possible harm could come from exchanging a few pleasantries with my fellow students? Or opening up a thread and being able to discover in an instant what everyone had for breakfast today? No harm whatsoever as far as I could see. Yet here I am today, sitting naked at my computer. Bald and 76lbs overweight. Anti-depressants in one hand, mouse in the other, Frantically clicking the refresh button to see if anyone has replied to this thread. My mum has reported me to the police, after they discovered that due to my ever-increasing phone bill, they would once again be under attack from angry parents wanting to know why I had sent a webcam to their house as a present for their kids. My girlfriend has just walked out on me after forcing me to choose between her and the forum, and I have to ask myself, maybe it wasn't so harmless after all?
It was only two days after joining the Internet that I first logged on to TSR. I remember it was a Saturday afternoon. I had just completed my first piece of homework and I was taking a break. So with nothing else better to do, apart from listen to the inane, squeaky voiced ramblings of Willie Carson on the Horse Racing channel, I thought to my self, why not?
As far as I could tell, by simply entering the forum, I had accidentally stumbled upon the secret meeting place of the most knowledgeable students in the world. A place where professors, teachers and the 12 year olds with 300 A*s would gather together to exchange knowledge and general nerdiness. Every other thread appeared to be a gateway to more information. With confident declarations of 'I know the truth about God's existance' and 'I AM THE CLEVEREST KID IN MY YEAR,' I knew I had made the discovery of a lifetime. No more would I spend my days trying to decipher "Maths For Morons", which may as well have been written in Braille. No more would I spend my days lost in the wilderness of exams and homework. TSR had become my Tom Tom. At last, I was finally on the road to success.
The very first thread I read that afternoon was entitled 'I am the hottest chick in England'. Apparently, according to the writer's information, this person has won Miss England 3 years in a row. She has a washboard stomach and legs to die for. However, he was soon shot down in flames by other posters saying she was a fake'. The poster was still absolutely convinced that she was the hottest chick in England though, and she convinced me enough to give her my number. The poster was right. As soon as she started talking to me, I was mesmerised. I started to jump for joy, letting her voice wash over my heart and frazzling my brain. Then there was a sudden change of voice, followed by a shout of "Oh ****, my voice has broken!" The poster was right though - she was the hottest chick in England. Chickens are pretty ugly, especially those battery ones.
It was at this point, as I wiped away the remains of the half eaten pot noodle I had just hurled at my laptop, that I made my second discovery of the afternoon. In the time it had taken for me to be conned, a total of 14 threads had suddenly appeared on the forum, declaring the startling news that "GCSEs ARE UNFAIR AND UNTRUSTWORTHY." Now for a while I had always suspected that exams weren't entirely honest. To suddenly discover it was less straight than George Michael, taking a midnight stroll on the common, came as something of a shock.
However it was already too late. The next girl was about to phone and a further 8 separate threads had already been posted, asking for partners. A quick look at their fake pictures confirmed my belief that the users on TSR were absolute STUDS. Therefore I knew that the only way to recover my dignity was to phone up more girls and have another go.
I was wrong! By the end of the day I had phoned a total of 98 girls, and I didn't pull once.
I will never forget the feeling of staring breathlessly into space; body bathed in sweat, overwhelmed with a sense of guilt, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it pulsing in my ears. It was a feeling I had experienced many times before. Only this time, it wasn't because I had just spent the afternoon downloading midget porn.
So the journey had begun. Day after day, week after week. The unbelievable highs as those elusive hotties began to ring me up and show an interest. The despairing lows, as the forum continued to crash after yet another upgrade.
However it wasn't just the inept standard of totty I had become addicted to. It was the TSR community itself. Suddenly I would find myself logging on first thing in the morning, simply to discover whether Educating Brogan had written anymore stupid exam answers! Or last thing at night, just to check the "GCSE maths thread 2008" thread had been updated with any new posters asking for grade boundaries.
Gradually, over the months that followed, and as my funds continued to dwindle, I slowly began to change. At first it was barely noticeable. For instance, instead of saying hello as I met up with friends and relations, I would find myself making a huge smiley face to indicate I was pleased to see them. Or upon hearing an amusing anecdote I would no longer laugh, I would simply utter the word LOL. Or if it were particularly amusing, I would tell them it was so funny my arse had fallen off. Also, as the forum insecurities began to take hold, my online paranoia began to manifest itself into my home life. Such as the times my parents came to visit and began boasting about how successful my brothers had become. Instead of just shrugging my shoulders, I would immediately accuse them of being a fake user and ban them from the house. Also, if they started talking for too long I would just say to them 'tl;dr'.
Or the day I had a minor disagreement with my neighbour. After he discovered I was responsible for spreading the rumours, that his nubile teenage daughter was actually a middle-aged truck driver called Bob. Bob was merely pretending to be a girl, so desperate men like myself would lavish him with attention, and sign up to his website! Whereas previously I would have entered into a calm and rational debate with the man, hoping to persuade him that my point of view was the correct one and to kindly release his grip on my testicles, nstead I began shouting that he was a MUG and a MUPPET, before arranging to meet him on TSR, where I would neg rep him to infinity.
My online habit continued to grow. So did the concerns of my family despite my insistence there was nothing to worry about. They often went to unbelievable lengths to tempt me away from TSR. The first such occurrence was during the late summer. I remember the speakers had broken down on my computer, and as my radio was in the next room, I had spent most of the day tapping my feet, while reading a thread debating the use of oxygen. I had just begun to read the second page when there came a timid knock at the door. Even as I write this, I can still picture the tear stained faces of my mum and dad, as they gently took my hands, and told me our beloved cat had died. However later that night, as I tapped away at my keyboard, while listening to the sounds of my 5 year old brother digging a 'Tiddles' shaped grave in the garden. I couldn't help thinking how suspicious it was. That a cat that had been in excellent health for over 21 years, why would suddenly pass away as the Big Brother final was about to begin? I tried to reassure them that if Nikki were to win I would buy them an even better cat as a celebration, but they wouldn't listen.
Or the time during early December, when my young brother and sister ran excitedly into my study, and asked if I would take them into town to see Santa Claus. Once again I suspected it was a ruse. After all, what self-respecting person still believes in a flamboyant, rosy-cheeked, fat faced old man? Who does very little, apart from cost people money, sit on his backside, and eat copious amounts of pies for most of the year? Nobody apart from Gordon Brown! I tried to explain to them that I was busy, and that unless my purple loan was approved, or finally managing to cash my riches in then there would be no Christmas! And the only people who would be visiting our house on Christmas Eve were the bailiffs! But again they refused to understand. Deciding instead to burst into tears, before running away shouting 'MUMMY'.
Things finally came to a head just a few days ago, on the evening of my girlfriend's birthday. As I had been fairly busy on the forum that night, monitoring a pair of particularly interesting threads entitled 'I just had sex with my sock, will I get AIDS?' and 'Which hand do you use to wipe your arse' I decided to send a text to my wife asking her if she would care to come upstairs and take a look at the e card I had just mailed her. I was just about to press send, when there she was, naked and smiling at me from the hallway.
In many ways my wife is a wonderful woman. A 18 year-old, former Filipino bargirl who travelled to England just over 4 years ago, with dreams of becoming a waitress. The first time we met was during a friend's secret birthday party. As soon as I saw her walk onto the stage, carrying a bottle of lubricant, and begin firing a succession of ping-pong balls haphazardly across the room, I knew she was the girl for me. Two months later we were together, and now here she was, naked, carrying a racket, and begging me to take her to bed. It was only 3am, but as it was her birthday I felt I really couldn't refuse.
5 minutes later as I lay breathless, and my wifes rabbit continued the job I had begun, all I could think about was the forum. And how many posts I had missed in the time I was away. I told my wife I was going to get a drink of water, but even as I grabbed my laptop and crept ashamedly down the stairs and through the back door, I was certain she suspected the truth.
Thats when it happened. I had just finished typing that my chosen method of wiping was to stand up, lean completely forward, and use a reverse, double-handed sweeping technique, when suddenly the light was turned on and my wife started to scream.
I can only imagine how it must have looked, to open the shed door in the middle of the night, and discover your husband sitting precariously on the edge of the lawnmower in his undercrackers, explaining to a group of strangers how he prefers to wipe his ar$e.
I tried to tell her that it wasn't how it seemed, and that rather than being on the TSR, I was simply ordering a turkey from Tesco and looking at some porn, but the damage had already been done, and despite my protestations and pleas for forgiveness, the very next morning she was gone, taking the new cat with her.
It is for this reason that I have decided to cancel my Internet connection and leave TSRforever. You may think this a touch extreme, but I urge you to heed this warning. As you sit down with your families this Christmas, and suddenly feel the urge to log onto TSR, just to see who's online, or what everyone has had for Christmas, I beg you not to, it just isn't worth it.
Although on second thoughts, who the hell am I kidding? See you all tomorrow.
It says on your profile that you joined in June 2008, so how could you have joined 3 years ago?
Seen a flying pig? Randomly discovered something spam worthy? Let it all out here till your heart's content. Note: postcount not included.
TSR ruined my life...
?
