Roustabouts

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What do they do, exactly?

― Matt (Matt), Wednesday, 19 March 2003 04:28 (twenty-two years ago)

they stick toothpicks into olives (and in america into cocktail franks as well). they also hide under the benches on the tube and slowly pull down your stockings. and they have sex with your wives during lent.

― hurley (hurley), Wednesday, 19 March 2003 20:20 (twenty-two years ago)

Perhaps, as an American, I can shed some light on this esoteric "roustabout" business.
Except for the sex part, hurley is mistaken.

Roustabouts, not to be confused with "Rastabouts" those stoned, dredlocked Jamacians with humongous "splifs" hanging from their mouths who go about the island erecting tents, sometimes upside down, are primarily young American males with minimal education who engage in minimum wage work on docks, oilwells, carnivals and such. Most of them are closet Elvis impersonators who are proud of sweat and purposely leave their shirts unbuttoned. If they can afford it, they enjoy driving huge diesel trucks and having unprotected sex with young girls in small towns.

― Zen Clown (Zen Clown), Thursday, 20 March 2003 02:18 (twenty-two years ago)

where do i sign up?

― electric sound of jim (electricsound), Thursday, 20 March 2003 04:54 (twenty-two years ago)

A roustabout is a gadabout in an arroused state.

― Aimless, Thursday, 20 March 2003 21:20 (twenty-two years ago)

it's funny you should mentioned aroused state. i mean really funny. but not odd. just really funny.

― hurley (hurley), Thursday, 20 March 2003 22:16 (twenty-two years ago)

I was aroused once...but then Mum slapped me...really hard...

― Zen Clown (Zen Clown), Sunday, 23 March 2003 05:16 (twenty-two years ago)

You mean 'Mom'.

Notwithstanding, there's no shame in that. If you were British, you'd know that the mother-son bond is what informs human sexuality over here. That, and cups of tea.

― Pooster (pooster), Sunday, 23 March 2003 19:25 (twenty-two years ago)

Hey, you'd fancy my Mum too, if you met her. Grr.

― Matt (Matt), Monday, 24 March 2003 12:54 (twenty-two years ago)

errr....matt thats just weird...urrr

― Kp, Monday, 24 March 2003 23:33 (twenty-two years ago)

Not if you know my mum *winks suggestively*

― Matt (Matt), Tuesday, 25 March 2003 00:15 (twenty-two years ago)

Does she spit on a hankie and wipe your face with it?
I HATE it when that happens.

― Zen Clown (Zen Clown), Tuesday, 25 March 2003 01:32 (twenty-two years ago)

It's worse when she just spits in your face, to cut out the middleman, like. I hate it when that happens.

― Pooster (pooster), Tuesday, 25 March 2003 01:44 (twenty-two years ago)

Does she ever "adjust" you, in your trousers I mean, saying "GENTLEMEN 'dress' on the left."
I hate it when that happens.

― Zen Clown (Zen Clown), Tuesday, 25 March 2003 04:12 (twenty-two years ago)

When I was younger, when people had long faces and short lives, and when cats could still be bought on a Sunday, there was a green enamelled Victorian urinal in Frodsham that, with great municipal foresight, was knocked down to make way for a more authentic al fresco-style of urinal, with real weeds and brambles and stuff.

Anyway. Above each of the Vespasianesque cubicles had been the cast-iron request to "Please adjust your dress."

Those Victorians!

(It was a male-only urinal.)

― Pooster (pooster), Wednesday, 26 March 2003 00:04 (twenty-two years ago)

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