Iraq: SERIOUSLY WTF?

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Why are there no strip clubs or an Iraqi version of Hustler? Shouldn't we be alerted to the sort of tail that is available out there? It could be the new Bangkok! But oh no, all the news wants to focus on is the depressing stuff like the beheadings and such like. Why not have a Miss Nude Iraq pageant to keep the spirits high out there?

― Horny_Henry, Wednesday, 22 September 2004 15:02 (twenty-one years ago)

Wot is so funny about the person registering as me, is that he actually thinks that this will mean I'll not, like, just change my name a bit or something. Still... if it gives the guy something to do. He should come to Cheshire instead, where I run a low-key escort service and could sort him out!

― Horny_Henry, Wednesday, 22 September 2004 15:03 (twenty-one years ago)

Pete is kissing the insides of Carl's thighs trying to stop Carl from thinking, soft skin and hard muscle just underneath on his tongue and Pete likes this, likes the hissing sounds that Carl is making, the little gasps and moans. Likes how Carl swears at the end of a sigh and tangles his hands in Pete's hair as Pete's mouth gets closer –
Pete presses one not-so-chaste innocent kiss to the base of Carl's dick, open-mouthed, tongue pressing down to swirl against bitter-salty skin. Pete wants more, listens with one ear as Carl mutters curses and praise, can’t get enough of that sound, focuses on licking the length of Carl's dick and following the raised curve of the vein underneath.
The fingers in his hair tighten so he wraps one hand around Carl's dick and strokes, gently, experimentally, up and down until he hears Carl fall absolutely mute and jerk against his hand.
Carl reacts amazingly when Pete licks once, slowly at that sensitive spot on the head. Gasps when Pete flicks his tongue repeatedly over it.
Gripping the base, Pete sucks the head into his mouth, and he uses his tongue as he goes down, across the big vein that always makes him twitch and yes, makes Carl twitch, too.
"Peter." His names like the biggest tease, like Carl can't breathe, and Pete pulls back, sucking softly, fingers tightening in his hair even more. Peter finds it impossibly easy, so easy to just go back down, suck hard, and Carl bucks into it, pushing in even more. God, Carl likes this, and Pete shivers, reaching down to briefly squeeze his own dick before bracing one hand on a slim hip and pulling away. Pulling off, and Carl groans.

― Danger Whore (kate), Wednesday, 22 September 2004 15:08 (twenty-one years ago)

No-one ever has found or ever will find

― Andrew Blood Thames (Andrew Thames), Wednesday, 22 September 2004 15:10 (twenty-one years ago)

"Shut up and suck it. If my best friend is going to accuse me of lying to him, the least he can do is suck my cock."
Peter's looking scared now, but something in the phrase 'best friend' makes him reach forward, popping the button on Carl's trousers and pulling them and his boxers down just enough to free Carl's length. With a hesitant glance upwards that gains him nothing but a menacing look from Carl, he leans forward and carefully, experimentally, licks at the head.
Carl groans, bucking forward while placing a hand on the back of Pete's head, forcing himself into Pete's mouth. Peter widens his mouth quickly to accommodate Carl, gagging harshly when Carl doesn't stop, just plows on, eventually bumping the back of Pete's throat.
The movements involved in the gagging feel unbelievably good against Carl's cock, and he moans louder, thrusting again. Peter doesn't gag quite as hard this time, getting used to the intrusion. He starts using his tongue, then, licking at every bit of Carl that passes back and forth as he thrusts, starting a rhythm.
After a moment he reaches up, letting his free hand curl around Carl's hip to help guide his increasingly erratic movements.
"Oh yeah," murmurs Carl, yanking hard on Peter's hair for no apparent reason. "You like this, don't you? You fucking love having my cock between your stupid, rambling lips. Next time I want to shut you up I'm just gonna throw you down and fuck your mouth until you can't breathe."
Peter has no idea why, but these threats make his white heat erupt in his belly, and he whimpers around his mouthful of flesh.
"Yeah, yeah," Carl continues, beginning to sound a bit mindless. "You love this so fucking much. You're such a slut, Peter..."

― Danger Whore (kate), Wednesday, 22 September 2004 15:11 (twenty-one years ago)

http://www.nathanbrickartist.com/lego/rabbit9.jpg

― n/a (Nick A.), Wednesday, 22 September 2004 15:14 (twenty-one years ago)

http://surfclassics.com/BeachParty.jpg

― andy, Wednesday, 22 September 2004 15:37 (twenty-one years ago)

http://www.globalhermit.com/ilx/ccc.jpg

― Sean Carruthers (SeanC), Wednesday, 22 September 2004 16:19 (twenty-one years ago)

ROFFLE

― why do old people and old users of ILX such bastardos (deangulberry), Wednesday, 22 September 2004 16:19 (twenty-one years ago)

eight years pass...

Not robot soldiers I'm afraid, but this story about the sale of iffy bomb detectors is incredible:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2013/apr/23/somerset-business-guilty-fake-bombs

― dschinghis kraan (NickB), Tuesday, 23 April 2013 12:20 (twelve years ago)

oops, i posted this on the wrong thread. nevermind, it'll do

― dschinghis kraan (NickB), Tuesday, 23 April 2013 12:21 (twelve years ago)

He had sold around 6,000 devices to Iraq for as much as £10,000 each while the production cost for the device was as low as £15. McCormick grew rich on the enormous mark-up. He owns a mansion in Bath, a holiday home in Cyprus and a Sunseeker yacht as part of assets worth £7m identified by police.
One of McCormick's devices, the ADE 101, was essentially a golfball finder described by its maker as "a great novelty item that you should have fun with". The antenna was "no more a radio antenna than a nine-inch nail", according to one scientist who analysed the device.

Even by the standards of the arms industry, I'm amazed by his cynicism.

― dschinghis kraan (NickB), Tuesday, 23 April 2013 12:26 (twelve years ago)

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