Bulletin Board of Bad Behavior

As hard as it is for me believe it, Me and Mrs Tommy met 14 years ago this week. (On a pub crawl.) I bet my friend that I would be seeing her by the end of the week. Kids all I can say is: don't gamble.

Congrats to you and the missus.

It is nice to hear that it has worked out for someone. So, I will keep my hopes alive in finding that someone, someday . Congratulations! Can you tell us a bit more about how you met your wife?

It is a story I would be glad to tell.


I was kind of hoping that one of the creative types here would knock out a slanderous version first.

If not I'll post the real deal later.

I don't know the real story, but here's how I figure it happened.

London, 1990. Tommy is a brash and dashing young man who has "pulled himself up by the bootstraps", as they say, and has overcome his working class background and won admission to Oxford.

The soon-to-be Mrs. Tommy is a smart and sexy young American girl from a good family who is expanding her intellectual and cultural horizons, also at Oxford.
She is blissfully unaware of her own appeal to the opposite sex, and usually prefers quiet evenings to pub crawls, but a new friend convinces her to come out to some local pubs. She agrees, figuring it will qualify as part of the "cultural" expansion that she came to England for.

Tommy convinces his old Liverpool boys to make the trip to see him in his new upper class life. After much razzing, they agree, and joke that maybe they'll each meet an uptight college bird who they'll shag until she can't remember her own name. Tommy tells them it's not likely that any of these high class women will even look at the tossers he has for friends. He tells them to shut up and let him do the sweet talking.

more to come...

OK, it was Cambridge, not Oxford. So what. I've lost the motivation...

I was hoping for something along the lines of me getting out of the joint and heading for the first cathouse I could find after holding up the nearest liquor store. etc etc

I know, that's why I lost the motivation to write more...because what I was writing was boring.

all right so Tommy Martyn pulled himself off the soiled mattress he'd been lying on since he "swears" he died. The year was 1980 and he'd been on the streets of England pushing ronald reagan / Margret thatcher pornongraphy. and though usually his efforts were met with condemnation and the occasional interest from golddiggers, this day was like no other.
Tommy spied a fine girl, real fine yo, approaching him filling out the London Times crossword puzzle. And though he doubted himself and his cause he couldn't help to stop her.
"Would you like to by some pics of ronald reagan showing maggie thatcher his arabian goggles. check out the close-up of her licking his taint!"
so tommy closed his eyes waiting for mrs. tommy to slap him like so many had done before when he heard, whispered in his ears, "I'd luv to taste your taint." Then he smiled, opened his eyes, and looked deeply into the eyes of the love he had finally found.

fuck...i'm drunk. the band in my basement is still going, i'v got to pay the rent and do the dishes. but i've got pictures to prove i'm better than all of that...well?

now that's more like it.

Mrs Tommy is on the rag right now. Fourteen years seems more and more amazing. I wonder if we will make it to fourteen years and fourteen minutes.

Patience Mr. Martin...quick, someone write him a steamy storywhere he and Mrs tommy are the stars...

I hear the typewriter noise that used to be shown in television news beginnings just after the crappy music and before the man with bad hair began talking. I hear that noise.

The sound of a million typewriters in one dark room.