so when do i get to headbutt stuff?
I pretty much did the same thing. One thing I did in Smear the Queer that seems to have benefitted me quite a bit was that I would go on the offensive when I had the ball, on occasion. If there was only one guy anywhere around me (because otherwise it would slow me down too much) I usually tried to hit him with a stiff-arm or a shoulder block to knock him down instead. Sometimes I would attempt to trip the person who was attempting to tackle me also, but that usually had mixed results.
That probably would have been fun, but we kind of had this unspoken rule that the tackle had to be a, “Clean tackle,” any kind of trip, or knocking someone into something would result in the person being allowed to get back up (otherwise unharmed) and getting a five second head start again.
That would be pretty fun. We usually played something of an all-terrain game, but there was another unspoken rule that the ball-carrier could only use a street or sidewalk if he was crossing it with a grassy destination in mind, and that nobody could commit a tackle on the street or sidewalk. If any play took place on the street or sidewalk, it would consist of a regular tag and then the tagger would get to give the ball-carrier a swift kick in the ass and then he would get his five-second head start.
OK this is a minor official visit since we have two deviators. Will the female that wishes to remain here please go to the female thread and see the restrictions for remaining here,that means you Magsj… This twist was expected in this experiment it should add something interesting if these two can do it. 
Man-Stats.
Praise be to Pav for rescuing the thread.
Tab
Height: 6’1"
Weight: 92 kilos.
Scars: Brake-lever indent on lower shin, many on my heart.
Fighting Style(s): Mixed/none. I know one judo throw, A couple of kicks I learned off my son’s martial arts teacher and a few blocks from a month of karate back in 1991. Yoga. Oh hang on, that’s not a fighting style.
Weapon of Choice: A length of aluminium curtain rail with one end filled with lead shot that I keep under the bed. 40lb draw reflex bow.
Favorite Man Movie: 300 Spartans/Sin City.
Organized Sports (Past or Current): Football (soccer to you heathens), tennis, archery.
Claims to fame:
(1) Fighting. I dunno, fights just don’t happen to me really. Last fight I had was when I was 14. Our class was all lined up to go into maths. Boys on one side of the corridor, girls on the other. The class hard-case began at the head of the boys line and started punching everyone, working down towards me somewhere near the back. Anyone who showed unwillingness to get punched was warned “I’ll fucking kill you after the bell.” Maybe if I’d been nearer the front of the queue I’d have acquiesced, but watching him pound his way nonchalantly down the line really pissed me off - why didn’t anyone resist…? Why didn’t anybody team up with anyone and fight back…? There were about 15 boys in the class, and hard-case wasn’t that big, just vicious. Anyway, my turn came and pretty much before I knew what I was doing I’d tackled him, knocked him flat on his belly, and was sitting astride his back. Trouble was, I didn’t really know what to do with him, once I’d got him. So I just sat there for thirty seconds or so, and then let him up. Maybe I’d watched too many movies or something and expected he’d shake my hand and call it quits. He didn’t - the little motherfucker punched me three times right on the nose. Which promptly bled all over the place. I bumped into the maths teacher on the way to the toilets to clean myself up, and muttered something about walking into a door. After I’d cleaned up, I went into class.
Anyway, to cut a slightly longer story slightly shorter, class hard-case completely left me alone after that, apparently my tackle, and the fact I hadn’t grassed him up had impressed him enough to concentrate on easier prey.
After that, I suddenly shot upward and outward, growth hormones finally kicking in, until I was as tall as some of the teachers, and wider than pretty much anyone else in my year. Beyond a few half-hearted name callings - I was as you might have guessed far too clever academically to be popular - no-one bothered me.
And no-one ever has since really. Two guys pulled little fish-gutting knives on me once at the seaside in the very early morning, but as I was very tired and very drunk I just laughed and pushed my way between them like they were those swingy-door things they have in old-time western saloons, and didn’t look back. My friend, who can get a little aggressive when drunk has pissed a lot of people off while I’ve been with him, but I usually manage to insert myself between he and they, and with a lot of arm-waving and “He’s drunk, it’s not worth it mate.” equivalents in Turkish, diffuse the situation. Two pickpockets thought I was a wee-bit more insensible than I was and tried to raid my jeans while I was conked out on a bench near the ferryboat station, and I hugged them both together like some big drunk bear and then staggered off to catch the boat.
Fortune favours the drunk obviously.
(2) Saving people. I life-guarded at university for a year, and hauled a very fat chemistry professor out of the pool after he’d got cramp in the deep end. To be honest he’d probably have managed to save himself after he’d stopped panicking, but he was still very grateful, and as he was one of my professors, I wasn’t about to enlighten him.
Some very twitchy student of mine keeled over in my class a couple of years ago, epileptic. He went off that chair like he was trying to dive through the concrete floor. Whacked his head something fierce. Cue whole class screaming - the classic English stiff-upper-lip bit doesn’t happen over here, everybody is ready to emote at the tops of their lungs at the drop of a hat. Anyway, calmed everyone down, got the guy into something resembling the recovery position with a boardmarker between his teeth just in case, got someone to call an ambulance. Not a lot of drama. He was fucking hopeless at English.
(3) Misc: Being able to roll perfect three-rizzla joints no matter how fucking spaced I was. This is a great skill to have, mainly because no matter where you are, in whomever’s home you might be, there comes a point where you are the last man standing, who can successfully get everyone stoned. I got so good I could actually calculate vaguely who would be smoking which part of the spliff, and load accordingly. The poeple I didn’t like hardly got stoned at all, the poeple I did like got smashed off their faces. Happy days.
Crashing a 70-foot barge into a victorian brick bridge at full speed. Long story involving a crippling LSD/beer hangover, 12 friends and miscalculations of vectors and velocity. I had never been so happy to see my friends faces, still attached to their bodies, pop up one by one over the edge of barge’s roof as I did that day. Thought I’d killed all of them.
I am of course a responsible father figure now, and would never do any of these things again.
Best Man Quotes (That you actually said):
“Don’t worry, that dog’s a pussy.” Said when me and my friend were (very) surprised by a guard-dog while we were short-cutting through the harbour depot on the way home. Luckily, the dog did actually turn out to be a pussy, and stayed in its kennel.
“Dayanabilirim” (trans “I can take it”) said to an ER doctor a few seconds before he shoved my broken (and unanaesthetised) nose back into place… With his thumbs.
“So, are you two attached at the hip…?” To a pair of lipstick lesbians snogging on the dancefloor of the Cookieclub, longer ago than I care to remember.
Smartest Man Move: Not really a bonefide ‘man’ move, but knowing when to cut my losses in the UK and moving out here was probably the smartest move I’ll ever make in my life, closely following the decision to marry my wife.
Never had any official fights.
(Wo)man Stats.
MagsJ
Height: 5’ 4"
Weight: 55 kilos.
Measurements: 34-26-34 
Scars: One or two faded facial-scars from scarps with my younger bro when we were young, which my school friends thought were made by my cat. 
Fighting Style(s): ‘Queensbury rules’ boxing - ding ding, round one 
Weapon of Choice: er… my wooden baseball bat from Disneyland Paris, or my miniature red-nose pit-bull called Pasha from America 
Favourite (Wo)man Movie: 300/Sin City/Apocalytpto/Apocalypse Now/Bladerunner etc. etc. etc. 
Organized Sports: Weights, Baby 
Spectator sports: Polo, Rugby, Snowboarding, Boating, F1
Claims to Fame:
1.) Meeting Prince Charles and him chatting to me and a family friend for over half-an-hour, when I was at Primary school.
2.) Partying with da rich and famous in member’s-only clubs arounnd town.
3.) Being an extra on various films and series in the last few weeks.
Best (wo)man Quotes (That I’ve actually said):
-“TBC.”
-" "
EXIZICI
Height: 5’ 11"
Weight: 155lbs
Measurements: I DON’T KNOW
Scars: Broken arm, broken ribs, broken nose, broken nose, broken nose.
Fighting Style(s): The kind where you bleed.
Weapon of Choice: Right fist.
Favourite Man Movie: Bambi
Organized Sports: Soccer
Spectator sports: Soccer, Women’s vollyball.
Claims to Fame:
-
I once poisoned a river, then went swimming/fishing in it with my two good friends.
-
When I was 6, I told my mom to stay home, because I would walk to the nurse’s office on my own to get the shots I needed. And I did.
Best Man Quotes: The more you bleed in practice, the less you bleed in battle.
Damn, having read through some of MagnetMan’s blog/site he out-man’s us all. The guy lives in the desert, and used to be a crocodile-hunter. How do you compete with that…? The king is dead, all hail the king.
There is a bit too much romanticism in the survivalist mentality. If the world decides to go to shit, an assault rifle isn’t going to help you. They won’t come after you one at a time. There are enough ex-military that have been trained in coordinated platoon tactics that you would need land mines and grenades because they will come looking for whatever you have in gangs. There is nothing wrong in knowing how to live off the land, but the idea of surviving a societal melt-down is bullshit in overdrive.
Screw the land mines, MagnetMan would throw crocodiles with one hand while commanding the dune-worms to attack with the other. He is Muad’ Dib. Except a bit older. And he probably walks with rhythm just because he can.
Ha! Do you really think a real woman is going to stay out of a thread entitled "Thread for Men Only? Anyway, Mad Man P made me do it. And I don’t apologize.
I just couldn’t resist this adorable little boy. Why does he not have a bed to sleep in? Why does his mother not pick him up, carry him inside and put him into his bed. And you call yourselves [size=200]MEN[/size]!!!
Why did you put this picture up Mad Man? I may not be back but I will read it. But then again, I may be back. It is so boring in my pasture these days.
This him?
I expect so, except with more sandworms.
And crocodiles.
Oh that’s true alright
Men aren’t known for their restraint…but in this forum, the stereotypes are reversed. Women just can’t keep their hands out of the cookie jar, huh?
It is a common misconception that men think with their penis. In fact, for the most part, we do not think at all. We are simple beast with very limited amount of memory. Truth is a manly virtue because we such so bad at lying. At God’s command, men were designed with a limited supply of blood which carry oxygen, which is essential to brain function and also penis functions. Decidedly, functions with one’s penis are entirely more satisfying, and designed to be so, to ensure the fertilization of available, probably intoxicated, females. The good Lord had the forethought to endow us with a limited amount of blood that would be enough to think or to f*ck, but not at the same time. It seems these activities are mutually exclusive. It proved a success and God called it “Good”.
So, to sum up:
1- Men do not think with their penis.
2- In fact they do not think that much at all.
3- Limited blood supply precludes a thoughtful bonner.
4- When we do have a bonner, we obviously do not think, but nothing in us is thinking either, but f*ck^g.
do you think it is meant literally when someone says “men think with their penis”? If so, you misunderstand the sentiment. it means not that we have a brain in our dicks, but that we’re constantly thinking about sex, which is in fact more or less true for men in general. i don’t understand your basis for disagreement, unless you took the phrase literally, which would be quite silly sir.
I think entirely with my penis. Luckily it’s really fucking clever.
Mad Man P"
Wow…that picture. I can just go diving into it.
My daughter’s face! Aside from that…
Too, too many to mention, Mad Man. And i’ve come to realize that the beauty that amazes me quite often does not mean a thing to others. And that is a mystery to me. What I’m learning about physics, though able to now maybe put into a cup (not just a spoon), makes me even more aware of how beautiful and mysterious the universe is…not just what we can see but what we cannot see…which makes what we can see even more amazing to me, not less. We don’t even have a clue!
It is truly beyond words though we struggle in vain to find the words. I was outside yesterday moring, early, before sunrise looking at the few stars that were left in the sky. Even that alone feels sacred, though i don’t like to use that word anymore. An indigo early morning sky with many or less stars is the most captivating thing to lay one’s eyes on. No matter how one is feeling at that moment, everything begins to make sense when being swallowed up by that.
Why wouldn’t a view like this whet our appetites to know MORE?!
I can almost come close to intuiting a god when I look at this…but not quite. But I will say…GOD!!!
And then one can only be silent in the face of it.
[/quote]
Oh noes, the man-thread died. Why, god why…?
Well, that’s simple. It was a thread, populated mainly by men, talking about stuff.
And ILP is a site where people, mainly men, talk about stuff.
In fact, if you go into pretty much any thread on any forum, you will find a bunch of people, mainly men, talking about stuff.
