What happened next?

jimi

jimi

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Please bear in mind that the gentleman in charge of the rubber duck is an RNLI lifeboat coxswain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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<hr width=100% size=1>I Have The Body Of A God... Buddha
 
Oar came out of the rowlock and the poor duffer landed on his a*se on the floor?

Claysie - thats some pair of grundies you have on - do you still wear them outside your trousers?

Donald

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Its his moneybelt fenderstep .. though not a lot o' use as a fender step tied around his waist I don't suppose hmm

<hr width=100% size=1>I Have The Body Of A God... Buddha
 
Claysie is tipped overboard by the weight of his outrageously boastful jockstrap and lands head first in the wee coxwains flubber, tipping them both into the water, where Claysie drifts around upside down supported by his genital flotation unit. A passing S**sail executive was so impressed with the efficiency of Claysie's bouyant equipment that the wearing of similar appendages will be mandatory on all of the company's charter fleet.

Looks like he's even got a spare unit in the stern cabin.

<hr width=100% size=1>God only made so many perfect heads. The rest got covered in hair.
 
1. Mr. Claymore is scratching his head wondering who has right of way in this potential collision situation.
He may not be allowed to ram the smaller vessel, but it doesn't say anything in the colregs about not hitting the ocupant with a large plastic bag....

2. Another consignment of drugs in a white platic bag is about to landed on the blind side of Kerrera. 'One more run like this and I can retire for good...'

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Or is Claysie performing some highland fertility dance, where the man straps a giant buoyant breast to his nether regions and lures passing rubber dinghy navigators to his floating lair.

<hr width=100% size=1>God only made so many perfect heads. The rest got covered in hair.
 
Jings ye shower o Jessies

Yon's Fiona ma Fenderstep yer insultin'
Mind yer manners - she's a refined wee thing an a comfort oan nichts when ma Eberspacher disnae want tae wairk

<hr width=100% size=1>regards
Claymore
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Re: Jings ye shower o Jessies

Well, as Para said - "I've had to let the girlfriend down to be here tonight, but I can always blow her up again later"

<hr width=100% size=1>regards
Claymore
/forums/images/icons/smile.gif
 
Re: Jings ye shower o Jessies

Unfortunately wee jamesie was not up to much at the time this was taken. He may well be an avid taster of the foods of India - but the Bombay Gin proved his match - he blamed the lemon!

<hr width=100% size=1>regards
Claymore
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Re: Jings ye shower o Jessies

So Felicity had got her eyes on the Coxwain then. If I remember rightly young James was suffering from an over indulgence last time I saw him.

<hr width=100% size=1>God only made so many perfect heads. The rest got covered in hair.
 
Bombay Saphire

Not another victim, I can sympathise having had a brush with this particular poison last weekend, thort I was dieing next day.

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Re: Jings ye shower o Jessies

Your Bollocks Fender reminds me to ask how your little anchor versus bow ss protection project went during the winter - any photo?

Not being nosey, just interested in reaping (ie "stealing") ideas.

John

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In the wee rubber duckie we have Hamish McNeepsntatties, Laird o'ra Loch, arriving in Scotland's latest frigate to remonstrate with Mr Claymore over the provocative display of the red ensign in waters over which Scottish home rule has recently been declared. Mr Claymore, realising that he has failed to fly the State's new flag of crossed lorne sausages, surmounted by a fried Mars Bar rampant, on a black field (representing oil spilled from the tanker Braer) with white speckles (representing midges), and that he has recently pawned his full Highland fig to increase his holdings in Scottish Cauliflower Enterprises (1948) Inc, has manned the rail, using a fenderstep to imitate a sporran and placing his hand on his head to counterfeit a tam o'shanter thereby hoping to fool his lairdship into thinking he is dealing with a genuine Jock and not some wee grobbly Lancastrian invader. Meanwhile on the poop deck, one Mr P. Handy is about to squat over the open hatchway to demonstrate why the poop deck is so called.

What happens next? From here on in all is pure conjecture. My favourite outcome is that Mr P. Handy performs the first part of his intended act, drops his breeks and bares what is known in these parts as his stern gland. His Lairdship, affronted by such an act of gross indecency, throws the book at Mr Claymore. The book in question being the collected works of the infamous Jockish poet William McGonagall, it stuns Mr Claymore, who topples backwards and might have sustained a nasty injury had it not been for his great good fortune to find that his fender step caught on the guardrail, and left him finely balanced, suspended horizontally, feet and legs overhanging the Loch, buttocks above the ship's rail, torso and head safely inboard. At this point, a sudden catabatic wind descended the rock strewn slopes, laying the noble ship on its beam ends (and we shall be calling one Mr. Jimi as witness for the defence in the question of beam ending). Mr Claymore now moved from horizontal suspension to vertical ditto, immersing everything south of his naval navel in waters which, it being May in Scotland, are a refreshing 1 degree centigrade above freezing. This resulted in Mr Claymore sustaining frost bite to the parts of his anatomy normally encased from October to April in his red flannel grundies. And that your honour, is why he asked the police lady who is the prosecution's main witness, to perform an act which she, in ignorance of the foregoing, deemed indecent.

<hr width=100% size=1><A target="_blank" HREF=http://www.writeforweb.com/twister1>Let's Twist Again</A>
 
Well - it wasn't really what happened but its such a good account I think we'll have to say it was.
The truth was all rather boring - a dinghy oar came out of its rowlock and the bold cox'n of the Fleetwood lifeboat had to be rescued - don't suppose I'll see him sticking any fivers into my box - Jimi did a fantastic job of floating a fender down to him - unfortunately his string was only about 10 feet long and the bold Cox was at this point some half mile downwind. It was all wee jimis fault really as he had demanded to be fed on Claymore and furthermore demanded to be taxied.

<hr width=100% size=1>regards
Claymore
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