crank
New member
Brothers,
I cannot believe the incredibly poor quality of service afforded to we Iron Warriors. I, for one, am sick of it. Case in point- yesterday's trip to the supermarket.
I awoke, as usual, eager to get in at least 10 000 calories in my morning meal. My muscles, aching from yesterday's mind-blowing HIT calf, fingers and neck workout, were crying out for nutrients.
The chef, a Korean named Kwak, prepared a dozen eggs, a plate of sausages, 50 strips of bacon, a mountain of toast, and a double-serving of MegaMass 4000. I requested seconds, and he sheepishly whined "Boss, we pinished awl de pood. No moar weft." I sat, like stone, then slowly got up. In a flash, I leapt on Kwak and began strangling his 120 pound skinny Korean arse, screaming "You fucking MORON! You're FIRED!!". Tossing Kwak down the steps, I searched for my trusted chauffeur and training partner, Nobby. I found him in the maid's room. "Nobby, we need to get to a supermarket. Now". Nobby put down the copy of "Just turned 18" porn mag he was reading, pulled up his pants, stuffed a pair of the maid's panties into his pocket, and grunted in acknowledgment. In no time, we were roaring towards the town grocery store, ignoring red lights and pedestrians the whole way. This was an EMERGENCY, bros.
Pulling into the parking lot, Nobby found a great spot within 20 yards of the front door of the supermarket. As we got out of the Rolls, another car pulled up behind us and an incredibly fat, disgusting slob of a woman managed to squeeze herself out and, huffing and puffing, began berating poor Nobby and I.
"That's a handicapped spot. SORRY, but I don't see a bloody sticker on YOUR car. See mine?" she hissed. We noted, on the window of the piece of shit car she was driving, whose seats were covered in candy bar wrappers, a 'handicapped sticker'.
I turned to Nobby. "Wherever is our sticker, Nobby?" I innocently enquired. Nobby lumbered over to the behemoth of a woman's car, took out his chain, smashed the windshield to bits, took the bit of glass with the handicapped sticker on it and planted it on our window. "Roight fookin there it is!" Nobby pointed out. The whale began screaming obsceneties at us, and Nobby's chain came crashing down over her head. Her fat form did a faceplant on the parking lot, and no doubt her blubber continued jiggling for several minutes afterwards.
The horrible woman neutralized, we proceeded to enter the supermarket. An elderly fellow, wearing a supermarket uniform, addressed us as we walked past.
"Why, Hello gentlemen, welcome to Cobson's Grocery" he croaked. I stopped in my tracks. My eyes narrowed, and I turned to him. "Are you talking to me?" I asked, with a glare that let him know the end was near. He looked very afraid. "I said are YOU talking to ME?" I snapped, "Because I bloody fucking well don't see anyone else around!". My blood boiling at his unwanted homosexual advances, I began screaming "SO YOU ARE TALKING TO ME! DO YOU HAVE A FUCKING PROBLEM, YOU OLD SOD?" With the force of the meterorite that extinguished the dinosaurs, my fist came crashing into his face in an uppercut that sent him flying 10 feet through the air, and he hit the ground with a dull sick thud and lay motionless. "Nobby, I can't tolerate these openly gay men coming on to me!" I cried. Nobby grunted in obvious agreement.
Already in a foul mood, we threw open the front doors of the supermarket, shattering their glass panes to bits. "TAKING BLOODY FUCKING CHARGE, PEOPLE!" I roared as I headed down the aisle, fists raised high. We headed down an aisle looking for the meat section, when we saw two men, holding hands, walking ahead of us. Nobby spread out his thick, massive arms and, screaming "FOOKIN POOFTAHHHS!!!" ran and closelined them both from behind, sending them sprawling on the floor. Nobby then executed a devasting elbow drop to each of the sodomites, and we resumed our shopping, the moral cleansing over.
The next aisle we ventured down held a stunning sight- the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, on a ladder, dusting the top shelf. The raven-haired beauty took my breath away. I shyly approached her, and, in a gentle manner, broke the ice. "My lady, you simply do have the most finely cleft arse in England!" I cried, and perhaps it was the 2grams of test in my system, or that wonderful tear-drop-shaped-slightly- plump arse of hers, but I couldn't help myself- seizing her buttocks, I began fondling them! She let out a squeal, and while trying to wiggle away fell off of the ladder and hit the floor, knocking herself out cold. I looked about. No one else around. Putting my hands in my pockets and looking as innocent as possible, I sauntered away, whistling a piece by Beethoven.
On the way to the meat counter, Nobby and I filled up two shopping carts with a total of 30 whole chickens, then headed for the beef counter. A young wimp was working the meat counter. "A side of beef" I snarled. He took out a steak and asked 'This wot you lookin fer, mate?" . "Let me see that, would you please?" I asked. He handed it to me and I threw it hard into his face, thundering "A FUCKING SIDE OF BEEF, YOU BASTARD!" Whimpering in fear, he whined "It's in the back but you can't go there, only employees, you must..." his high voice was cut off as Nobby tossed him aside and lumbered into the backroom. Finding the meat cooler, Nobby seized a 300 pound side of beef, threw it over his shoulder, and lumbered out. The sound of police sirens drew my concern- Nobby was, after all, on parole, and false accusations of assault made against him could prove troublesome. "The back door, Nobby!" I suggested and, pushing two shopping carts full of chickens, led the way out the back door. As 3 police cars, lights flashing, sat in front of the store, and the officers entered the supermarket, Nobby and I casually walked to the Rolls, loaded it up with our food, and sped away.
"Those bastards haven't seen the last of us!" I roared.
The side of beef and 30 chickens should last about two weeks.
Any of you brothers get the same attitude at the supermarket?
--by victorian guy
I cannot believe the incredibly poor quality of service afforded to we Iron Warriors. I, for one, am sick of it. Case in point- yesterday's trip to the supermarket.
I awoke, as usual, eager to get in at least 10 000 calories in my morning meal. My muscles, aching from yesterday's mind-blowing HIT calf, fingers and neck workout, were crying out for nutrients.
The chef, a Korean named Kwak, prepared a dozen eggs, a plate of sausages, 50 strips of bacon, a mountain of toast, and a double-serving of MegaMass 4000. I requested seconds, and he sheepishly whined "Boss, we pinished awl de pood. No moar weft." I sat, like stone, then slowly got up. In a flash, I leapt on Kwak and began strangling his 120 pound skinny Korean arse, screaming "You fucking MORON! You're FIRED!!". Tossing Kwak down the steps, I searched for my trusted chauffeur and training partner, Nobby. I found him in the maid's room. "Nobby, we need to get to a supermarket. Now". Nobby put down the copy of "Just turned 18" porn mag he was reading, pulled up his pants, stuffed a pair of the maid's panties into his pocket, and grunted in acknowledgment. In no time, we were roaring towards the town grocery store, ignoring red lights and pedestrians the whole way. This was an EMERGENCY, bros.
Pulling into the parking lot, Nobby found a great spot within 20 yards of the front door of the supermarket. As we got out of the Rolls, another car pulled up behind us and an incredibly fat, disgusting slob of a woman managed to squeeze herself out and, huffing and puffing, began berating poor Nobby and I.
"That's a handicapped spot. SORRY, but I don't see a bloody sticker on YOUR car. See mine?" she hissed. We noted, on the window of the piece of shit car she was driving, whose seats were covered in candy bar wrappers, a 'handicapped sticker'.
I turned to Nobby. "Wherever is our sticker, Nobby?" I innocently enquired. Nobby lumbered over to the behemoth of a woman's car, took out his chain, smashed the windshield to bits, took the bit of glass with the handicapped sticker on it and planted it on our window. "Roight fookin there it is!" Nobby pointed out. The whale began screaming obsceneties at us, and Nobby's chain came crashing down over her head. Her fat form did a faceplant on the parking lot, and no doubt her blubber continued jiggling for several minutes afterwards.
The horrible woman neutralized, we proceeded to enter the supermarket. An elderly fellow, wearing a supermarket uniform, addressed us as we walked past.
"Why, Hello gentlemen, welcome to Cobson's Grocery" he croaked. I stopped in my tracks. My eyes narrowed, and I turned to him. "Are you talking to me?" I asked, with a glare that let him know the end was near. He looked very afraid. "I said are YOU talking to ME?" I snapped, "Because I bloody fucking well don't see anyone else around!". My blood boiling at his unwanted homosexual advances, I began screaming "SO YOU ARE TALKING TO ME! DO YOU HAVE A FUCKING PROBLEM, YOU OLD SOD?" With the force of the meterorite that extinguished the dinosaurs, my fist came crashing into his face in an uppercut that sent him flying 10 feet through the air, and he hit the ground with a dull sick thud and lay motionless. "Nobby, I can't tolerate these openly gay men coming on to me!" I cried. Nobby grunted in obvious agreement.
Already in a foul mood, we threw open the front doors of the supermarket, shattering their glass panes to bits. "TAKING BLOODY FUCKING CHARGE, PEOPLE!" I roared as I headed down the aisle, fists raised high. We headed down an aisle looking for the meat section, when we saw two men, holding hands, walking ahead of us. Nobby spread out his thick, massive arms and, screaming "FOOKIN POOFTAHHHS!!!" ran and closelined them both from behind, sending them sprawling on the floor. Nobby then executed a devasting elbow drop to each of the sodomites, and we resumed our shopping, the moral cleansing over.
The next aisle we ventured down held a stunning sight- the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, on a ladder, dusting the top shelf. The raven-haired beauty took my breath away. I shyly approached her, and, in a gentle manner, broke the ice. "My lady, you simply do have the most finely cleft arse in England!" I cried, and perhaps it was the 2grams of test in my system, or that wonderful tear-drop-shaped-slightly- plump arse of hers, but I couldn't help myself- seizing her buttocks, I began fondling them! She let out a squeal, and while trying to wiggle away fell off of the ladder and hit the floor, knocking herself out cold. I looked about. No one else around. Putting my hands in my pockets and looking as innocent as possible, I sauntered away, whistling a piece by Beethoven.
On the way to the meat counter, Nobby and I filled up two shopping carts with a total of 30 whole chickens, then headed for the beef counter. A young wimp was working the meat counter. "A side of beef" I snarled. He took out a steak and asked 'This wot you lookin fer, mate?" . "Let me see that, would you please?" I asked. He handed it to me and I threw it hard into his face, thundering "A FUCKING SIDE OF BEEF, YOU BASTARD!" Whimpering in fear, he whined "It's in the back but you can't go there, only employees, you must..." his high voice was cut off as Nobby tossed him aside and lumbered into the backroom. Finding the meat cooler, Nobby seized a 300 pound side of beef, threw it over his shoulder, and lumbered out. The sound of police sirens drew my concern- Nobby was, after all, on parole, and false accusations of assault made against him could prove troublesome. "The back door, Nobby!" I suggested and, pushing two shopping carts full of chickens, led the way out the back door. As 3 police cars, lights flashing, sat in front of the store, and the officers entered the supermarket, Nobby and I casually walked to the Rolls, loaded it up with our food, and sped away.
"Those bastards haven't seen the last of us!" I roared.
The side of beef and 30 chickens should last about two weeks.
Any of you brothers get the same attitude at the supermarket?
--by victorian guy
