Ancient Babes

[Posteroid]

Just because your friends at the Orana have gone to the third dimension doesn't mean Mount Clarence is Hollywood Hills now. But you inbred WA hillbillies know jackshit about civilisation anyway. Just stick to your donuts and didgeridoos and keep on sniffing cheap homemade glue.

[Ari]

think your tough? go build another bridge so you can walk to your poxy museum and eat your sauerkraut, or are you too busy selling your arse at Flohmarkt am Mauerpark?
By the way what shall I call you? BOY?

[Posteroid]

Call me whatever you like you little punk. It's not without reason that you daybill collectors are known as "bottom feeders" in these parts of the world. Gotta collect the small sizes, cause you're not man enough for the larger ones, right?! Leave the proper posters for the big boys, we can handle it.

[Ari]

how big is your country? wanna get a ruler out? maybe you need a magnifying glass to measure your little petty excuse for a "country" we wouldn't even call it a state here, just that little place out past whoop whoop nobody bothers to visit. Thats right MY country is BIGGER than YOURS! pip squeak.

[jayn_j]

Wow, we have become the new NS4 

[110x75]

That's an excelent old school name-calling. I like it 

[brude]

More of the verbal fisticuffs, please.
This is some jack-shit funny stuff.
 

[Posteroid]

This is some jack-shit funny stuff.

Actually it would be funnier if it weren't so sad. Ari recently told me that he only started collecting daybills when the farmers in the little hick town he grew up in didn't let him "have his way" with the small livestock anymore. Since there was little else to do in Albany, Western Australia (it's a pitiful five hours from there to the next settlement with a fast food restaurant), he started peeling off the daybills that were used as insulation on the walls behind the urinals in the only public toilet in the district. That's the reason why Ari always insists that the "smell of old daybills" is so important to him.

[brude]

[Silhouette]

 

[Ari]

Poor Armin,
He is scared I will tell everything I learned about him from one of his countrymen.
It's shameful what he will do for some sleazy japanese paper.

But sorry Armin, the truth is out.

A few years ago he met a Japanese business man on one of his "business" trips, and was offered a small but rare collection of Nazisploitation Japanese posters, but the price was high, no cash involved. The business man had his own special brand of kink, and Armin was a little too eager to please him.

All I can say is it involved a jar of Vaseline, two live eels, and a costume he kept safe for such occasions:











 


The mans arse was sore for weeks, but he loved it (and secretly so did Armin)