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What brought you to the TAMB?


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I was 25 and had a life threatening addiction to Milfs.  Perusing ‘Mature Dating’ for women at least a decade older than me and just as desperate I noticed a banner to the side ‘TAMB – where you can call a spade a spade because some smart arse has proved the etymology is from Greek, and Oscar Wilde used it in 1880 four decades prior to racial connotations, but under no circumstance can you call a Hun a Hun or a Tim a Tim’.  In small print beneath was written ‘Sheep Shagger dealt with on a moderator to moderator basis’.  Although semi interested my attention was more drawn to Rebecca who had somehow moved 10 miles closer to me since yesterday. 

Swiftly clicking on I found a pretty Joanne but in front of a wendy house.  Either she was looking for a stepfather or someone to help her out of her current property ladder issues and I was not the man for either.  Next was Claire who was the same colour as her floor and overly proud of her French doors.  Next was a lass who hadn’t made her single bed probably since the last fella had scarpered and next was a lass whose profile picture looked like it had been taken in an Eastern European asylum.  It was dawning on me that I might actually have to go down the Ferry and try to separate one of these feral beasts from their herd personally in person with free Breezers and a promise of chips.    

Just then a message popped up ‘Boy – if you want a lesson come to this address now’.  My brain was sending alarm signals but my knob was well up for it so ordered a taxi.  I waited for half an hour and was about to leave when I suddenly felt a dull thump to the back of my head and was bundled in to the boot of a car.  On waking I was tied to a chair with a spotlight in my face.  From the impenetrable darkness beyond came a melodious voice ‘Nod if you want shit to get real; say you want your mum if you want to go home’.  My brain screamed ‘Mummy’ but my knob was still game so nodded like the Churchill dog going over speedbumps. 

Next thing I recall was waking up on a pristine white bed with my head hurting almost as much as my anus.  On casting an investigative finger around there I discovered the unmistakable texture and dimples of a tumble dryer efficiency ball before just about managing to wrestle it out.  I was momentarily relieved because these things usually come in pairs but on standing up I realised they did.  Dreading the upcoming difficult situation for all concerned at the local A&E I also caught by reflection on the full length mirror.  Although the bruised wrists, ankles and ribs were disturbing it was nothing on the ‘Admin Bitch’ scratched in to my chest.  I figured I must have been moaning about my job and fully deserved the branding. 

Heels then clacked on the hall outside and in walked what can only be described as the most petrifyingly erotic vision I had ever seen wearing nothing but heels, my shirt and a blood chilling scowl.  Without saying a word, sat in front of three screens totally ignoring me. 

After an eternity in a pathetic voice I enquire as to their name.

‘No names’ Stamping on my foot breaking bones but also spasming my sphincter enough for the second to drop out  ‘you may call me Mod11 and that better not stain the carpet or you’re cleaning it with your tongue.  Ironically 11 is the same mark I gave your performance’ handing me a feedback form ‘don’t look so smug because I mark out of 100.  It would have been low 40’s if you hadn’t screamed for your mammy when I turned the Dyson on’.    

‘What do you moderate?’  I asked secretly chuffed I nearly got a 40!  

‘The TAMB message board’

‘Is no names the first rule of Moderator club’  I asked trying to be funny

‘No first rule is pretend to be unbiased but if in doubt take Celtic’s side’. 

‘Seems unfair’. 

‘Yeah but it saves getting 100 page dossiers twice a week’.

‘Why the three screens?’

‘This one has Chaff telling everyone it’s his birthday and complaining about admin’s failure to celebrate; this one has some fella trying to pass off a fat seagull as an eagle and some fella 100’s of miles away arguing disputing what he saw and; this one has some bloke worrying women at a bus station so I need to keep an eye on them all’. 

‘What about that mentalist banging on about 9/11 getting called all sorts?’ 

‘Och dunna worry about that looney tune – he thinks everything adds up to 11 and it’s the devils work’  I nodded in agreement patting my baboon like arse before they continued ‘anyway if it gets too hot for him he’ll just log on to his mod account and start randomly banning people anyway so don’t worry about him’.

‘Can I get a log-in?’

‘You need to be either clever, funny, arrogant, confrontation or batshit mental to survive in there and you are none of those.  BalochThistle would eat you alive and he’s four foot seven’.

Then a message popped up ‘PistonBroke online’

‘Oh bollocks this is all I need’    

Then a siren dropped from the ceiling and lights flashed everywhere ‘Ron Alias activated’. 

‘Shit Google Ads will freak out and pull their funding if this reprobate gets posting – can you please off I’m busy.’

‘Can I see you again?’

‘You got 11/100 – you don’t even get a small bear from the bottom shelf now go!’ she said glancing menacingly at the hoover. 

As I walked toward the bus stop I decided I would show MOD11 I could survive on here trying to be funny under ThistleWhistle and succeeding in being an intellectual under my Phart log-in but we’ve never been acknowledged outwith an official capacity. 

In an attempt to prompt jealousy I set myself the target of shagging all the mods so when the closure notice came, and I was still missing two, I was mortified – it was like the Sheff Wednesday shiney sticker fiasco all over again.  It was at this point I offered the financial incentive to save the TAMB in exchange for completing my collection but it has to be said one mod was a lot cheaper than the other!! 

I have a dichotomy now though as I thought I had closed my set before MOD6 popped up sounding pretty foxy…. 

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9 hours ago, ThistleWhistle said:

I was 25 and had a life threatening addiction to Milfs.  Perusing ‘Mature Dating’ for women at least a decade older than me and just as desperate I noticed a banner to the side ‘TAMB – where you can call a spade a spade because some smart arse has proved the etymology is from Greek, and Oscar Wilde used it in 1880 four decades prior to racial connotations, but under no circumstance can you call a Hun a Hun or a Tim a Tim’.  In small print beneath was written ‘Sheep Shagger dealt with on a moderator to moderator basis’.  Although semi interested my attention was more drawn to Rebecca who had somehow moved 10 miles closer to me since yesterday. 

Swiftly clicking on I found a pretty Joanne but in front of a wendy house.  Either she was looking for a stepfather or someone to help her out of her current property ladder issues and I was not the man for either.  Next was Claire who was the same colour as her floor and overly proud of her French doors.  Next was a lass who hadn’t made her single bed probably since the last fella had scarpered and next was a lass whose profile picture looked like it had been taken in an Eastern European asylum.  It was dawning on me that I might actually have to go down the Ferry and try to separate one of these feral beasts from their herd personally in person with free Breezers and a promise of chips.    

Just then a message popped up ‘Boy – if you want a lesson come to this address now’.  My brain was sending alarm signals but my knob was well up for it so ordered a taxi.  I waited for half an hour and was about to leave when I suddenly felt a dull thump to the back of my head and was bundled in to the boot of a car.  On waking I was tied to a chair with a spotlight in my face.  From the impenetrable darkness beyond came a melodious voice ‘Nod if you want shit to get real; say you want your mum if you want to go home’.  My brain screamed ‘Mummy’ but my knob was still game so nodded like the Churchill dog going over speedbumps. 

Next thing I recall was waking up on a pristine white bed with my head hurting almost as much as my anus.  On casting an investigative finger around there I discovered the unmistakable texture and dimples of a tumble dryer efficiency ball before just about managing to wrestle it out.  I was momentarily relieved because these things usually come in pairs but on standing up I realised they did.  Dreading the upcoming difficult situation for all concerned at the local A&E I also caught by reflection on the full length mirror.  Although the bruised wrists, ankles and ribs were disturbing it was nothing on the ‘Admin Bitch’ scratched in to my chest.  I figured I must have been moaning about my job and fully deserved the branding. 

Heels then clacked on the hall outside and in walked what can only be described as the most petrifyingly erotic vision I had ever seen wearing nothing but heels, my shirt and a blood chilling scowl.  Without saying a word, sat in front of three screens totally ignoring me. 

After an eternity in a pathetic voice I enquire as to their name.

‘No names’ Stamping on my foot breaking bones but also spasming my sphincter enough for the second to drop out  ‘you may call me Mod11 and that better not stain the carpet or you’re cleaning it with your tongue.  Ironically 11 is the same mark I gave your performance’ handing me a feedback form ‘don’t look so smug because I mark out of 100.  It would have been low 40’s if you hadn’t screamed for your mammy when I turned the Dyson on’.    

‘What do you moderate?’  I asked secretly chuffed I nearly got a 40!  

‘The TAMB message board’

‘Is no names the first rule of Moderator club’  I asked trying to be funny

‘No first rule is pretend to be unbiased but if in doubt take Celtic’s side’. 

‘Seems unfair’. 

‘Yeah but it saves getting 100 page dossiers twice a week’.

‘Why the three screens?’

‘This one has Chaff telling everyone it’s his birthday and complaining about admin’s failure to celebrate; this one has some fella trying to pass off a fat seagull as an eagle and some fella 100’s of miles away arguing disputing what he saw and; this one has some bloke worrying women at a bus station so I need to keep an eye on them all’. 

‘What about that mentalist banging on about 9/11 getting called all sorts?’ 

‘Och dunna worry about that looney tune – he thinks everything adds up to 11 and it’s the devils work’  I nodded in agreement patting my baboon like arse before they continued ‘anyway if it gets too hot for him he’ll just log on to his mod account and start randomly banning people anyway so don’t worry about him’.

‘Can I get a log-in?’

‘You need to be either clever, funny, arrogant, confrontation or batshit mental to survive in there and you are none of those.  BalochThistle would eat you alive and he’s four foot seven’.

Then a message popped up ‘PistonBroke online’

‘Oh bollocks this is all I need’    

Then a siren dropped from the ceiling and lights flashed everywhere ‘Ron Alias activated’. 

‘Shit Google Ads will freak out and pull their funding if this reprobate gets posting – can you please off I’m busy.’

‘Can I see you again?’

‘You got 11/100 – you don’t even get a small bear from the bottom shelf now go!’ she said glancing menacingly at the hoover. 

As I walked toward the bus stop I decided I would show MOD11 I could survive on here trying to be funny under ThistleWhistle and succeeding in being an intellectual under my Phart log-in but we’ve never been acknowledged outwith an official capacity. 

In an attempt to prompt jealousy I set myself the target of shagging all the mods so when the closure notice came, and I was still missing two, I was mortified – it was like the Sheff Wednesday shiney sticker fiasco all over again.  It was at this point I offered the financial incentive to save the TAMB in exchange for completing my collection but it has to be said one mod was a lot cheaper than the other!! 

I have a dichotomy now though as I thought I had closed my set before MOD6 popped up sounding pretty foxy…. 

Magnificent! ?

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