Anyone fancy a dance?

I'm sorry Tan, but I'd have to insist the pornographers were spared. My fantasy would be for the intrinsic nature of humans to look after number one to change to the desire to look after number two. If everyone did it, then the world's problems would be largely eliminated. I've tried to make the move, but it's no fun when theres only a handful of you doing it - you just quietly sink to the bottom of society.

A relaxation to the laws of gravity so we might all have the opportunity of taking off, long curved leaps over parks and shopping centres... Does anyone still have flying dreams over fantastic landscapes?

Nothing to apologise for Tan, you can shoot the buggers - in fact, please do, and Clarkson, the prat - I just want my Hustler!

Stan, nothing like getting up after a shit to see Piers Morgan winking up at you...

I think that's generous FTSE, I've been watching bloody loads of dodgy stuff today. Although I've just noticed that mines gone back down to 13 minutes. That's more like it.

And now 1 minute. You're scaring me now.

Such treatment costs about a hundred and fifty quid around here, or so I've heard, it's bloody extortionate. If you like that sort of thing, that is, which I don't. Obviously. And if you want your naughty naked bod strapping to a steel bed frame and wiring up to the mains by your testicles you're bankrupt after a few sessions, if your heart survives the shock..... But enough about my more tranquil hobbies, I have a number of complaints about the list at the beginning of the forum. Isn't it a bit, well, a bit limited? What about traffic wardens and the lawyers that get serious offenders off on technicalities yet gleefully throw people into prison for minor traffic offences? What about Paris Hilton and men wot go down sewers in big rubber boots, and what about those smarmy looking, over-painted, goose-stepping middle aged tarts on the make-up counter at every branch of Boots in the UK? And what about me - what if I want my face shot off with a sub-machine gun after a group of firm-bosomed young women in high heels (and preferably little else) have had a couple of hours firing red hot crossbow bolts at the lipstick targets on my thighs and shins applied by the Boots make-up counter tarts shortly before their execution? Is there no justice?

We'll let them off, then, I suppose. But spam definitely must die.