Whatever happened to RTFQ?

#1
He used to have me crying on my laptop with his threads but just realised - it's been a while but I'm knocking on a bit- that I haven't seen anything of his for at least a year..


anyone got any ideas?
 

the_boy_syrup

LE
Book Reviewer
#3
joey_deacons_lad said:
You mean you never heard about the plane crashhttp://www.arrse.co.uk/cpgn2/Forums/viewtopic/t=103789/postdays=0/postorder=asc/highlight=spanish+plane+crash/start=0.html sad news indeed rip :(
Link not working
 
#4
Ali_Gee said:
He used to have me crying on my laptop with his threads but just realised - it's been a while but I'm knocking on a bit- that I haven't seen anything of his for at least a year..


anyone got any ideas?
At no stage. whatsover, with the Shrew, in the Taps.

She knows him.
 

the_boy_syrup

LE
Book Reviewer
#6
joey_deacons_lad said:
Sausage_meat_beard said:
I'll put this here because I know he'd be laughing at it.

SOme bad news however. RTFQ and his fiancee, were on board the Spanish aeroplane yesterday and neither of them have made it.

Parents and loved ones have been informed and have asked to be left alone.

I never met him, but spoke with him on the phone several times........ a good egg, comedian with impecable timing and a fella that genuinely gave a s*** about his muckers.

Go easy mate.
3 Pages of RIP's later.....

RTFQ said:
The only thing Spanish I've ever gone down on works in the Radisson Edwardian in Bloomsbury, and that was only because she caught me stuffing the bathrobes and kettle into my bergan.

8 pages? I die horribly in the twisted and burning remains of a 737, probably scramblng furiously over the injured, panicked and physically disadvantaged in my efforts to reach the overwing exit, and a bunch of internet no-marks - who probably still have to sign in at the guardroom when they come back from a night on the p1ss - can't even muster a grief thread that runs into double digits?

Let me tell you something, Willis: I fecking made this site. Before I rocked up Arrse was a bunch of scalie backed cnuts moaning about how their ginger CO made them go running in the morning, or threads where MDN claimed to have been on Op Corporate in order to get into Cait's/Dale's/BBC's C&A 'secrets' pants, or "this one time, in the Int Corps" snorathons by Cpunk, or Cutaway giving PXRs on his latest forced sexual conquest of the more rotund and gullible members of the female readership. I spared you all, briefly, from "roflmao" and 'creatively' composed gallery pictures of the double-chinned and hopeless. Or the Endless, fcuking, charity work. What do I get in return? A frankly half arrsed attempt at grief ghoullery.

How many pages did those french paras get? Call yourselves brothers in arms? Chuckle Brothers more like.

And to all you cankled birds on here: all those times you pulled your belly button back with one hand and stroked your peanut with the other while thinking about me and Little RTFQ, and i don't even get a tearful limerick? For shame.
He's alive :D

So why has MDN changed his name to Sausage_meat_beard then?
 
#7
the_boy_syrup said:
He's alive :D
quote]

had me going for a minute....so, where is he?

has he been 02'd, in the hole, banned from the net by his bint, or bumped off on ops??

just realised, this really sounds like I care, far from it, he is/was a long range sniper and as such is always the lowest of the low. It was just a rib tickling read!
 
#8
RTFQ said:
RTFQ:

How did I miss this thread first time round? All the time I’ve been idling in the naafi with nowt to interest me and this gem was sitting there all along.
I’ve got a few such stories because, well basically I’m a cnut when in company I don’t like, and I’m a Rupert so I’m in such company quite a lot. The one that springs to mind first is my inaugural presentation my very first true-love’s family, many moons ago. I was 21 and was completely head over heels in Movie Love for the girl: intelligent, funny, very pretty and a blast to be with. She also gave me the kind of sex I’d dreamed about since my first fumble. Fcuk, how did I screw that chance up…
Anyway, I desperately wanted to impress her parents; I knew as only a 21-year-old could that I wanted to marry this girl and I was pulling out all the stops – nice shirt, casual jacket, my first (and only) set of brogues and tan moleskins. I looked like a well-heeled guards officer instead of the oik my childhood preordained me to remain. I brushed my teeth till the gums bled and practised shaking her old man’s hand in the mirror. I got my CO’s wife to tell me her favourite joke so that I could recite it to her mum over wine and unidentified foreign cheese products. My mum would have beamed with pride at the polite gentleman I had become.
I was being torn in two directions however. On one side I had my mum’s influence: a licked tissue across the cheek and a kindly order to sit up straight and not slurp the soup. On the other I had the voice of my peers and the growl of my first troop of lads – the awe in their eyes as I stepped up unasked to play Suicide Freckles against “Shitboy Mossy”, the power I derived from challenging my Tp Sgt to a first-to-100 press up race in puddles of our own urine. I suppressed this beguiling daemon however, for I Loved This Girl and would have pulled the moon from the sky for her.
We drove to her parents’ house outside Hertford. My entire extended family could have lived within its grey-bricked walls. The dad handshake went well, he commented on how he liked a man to have such a confident handshake – a sure compliment. I charmed her mother and even their (pedigree) Irish Wolfhounds took a shine to me (thanks to an invaluable tip from my adjt – put the really fine powder from a dog biscuit bag in one of your pockets. Not a lot, just enough to faintly dust a couple of fingers now and again. Dog lovers trust their dogs’ instincts on people). It was going well until her older sister showed up with David. David was 14 years older than the sister and was a WO2 in the Engrs when they met, their marriage had been and remained a bone of contention in the family. He saw through me on eye-contact. They’d also bought “Grampy” along – an old sweat from the family’s chosen service, the Royal Navy (the bird’s dad was conspicuous as the only male in the family not to have served). The meal progressed, the wine and port was of a much higher quality than of that I was used to, and to be honest, 21 year old me was suffering. David was asking me penetrating questions about what us ‘young ruperts’ got up to during mess nights and squadron bar sessions, Grampy thought I was him reincarnate and all the while my glass was never allowed to empty. Towards the end, both the father and my girlfriend told me in no uncertain terms not to encourage grampy and that it was mean to egg him on at his age. I was egging no man on, I was trying to keep up. After cheese and biscuits (my joke didn't work as I was so drunk by that stage that I got the punchline wrong) we got onto beer. The father had a hard-on for bottles of Miller GD for some reason. I was still being sycophantic to the git and kept fetching them from the kitchen. After a while grampy got a dusty bottle of rum out. He was immediately shouted down by the disrespectful b@stard who happened to be the father of my girl. Grampy stood as proud as his age, experience and dignity allowed him – “well, young RTFQs the guest and he’ll drink with me won’t you son?” His fiercely proud old matelot’s eyes said “don’t patronise me like these bast@rds, you know better” as everyone else glared at me (I’m sure that the use of the word son didn’t go unnoticed by the father either) David could see the train wreck coming and was smiling smugly the bast@rd. I stood up, offered my glass and said “It would be an honour Sir” I fcuking meant it too.
Grampy shat himself on the sofa 30 minutes later. 5 minutes after that he vomited over mother’s toilet roll cover and down the wall. Where I come from this is a sign of manhood at its most glorious, where my girl came from it was the work of the devil himself.
I really, really, urgently and immediately needed to p1ss by this stage and for all the money invested in that house, only the upstairs toilet worked, and grampy was exorcising his demons in there. I had a plan. I took my empty MGD bottle to the kitchen under the guise of getting some more (itself a gesture that produced more glares). When I was sure everyone was occupied by grampy’s new artwork, I started to power-lag into the bottle. MGD bottle necks are small, so I shoved my jap’s eye into it and pushed the flow. It wasn’t enough, the pressure forced my urine out in an aura of finely sprayed p1ss all over the cooker and the nearest work surface – just as mother walked in to get some badly needed tea towels. Her scream brought the rest of them running in time to see my now absolutely unstoppable flow continue while I resignedly held the superfluous bottle beneath me. Some of the p1ss went in the bottle, most went over my hand and on the floor.
We never married. Grampy survived the night but died 2 years ago. I don’t regret a thing Sir, it was an honour to share a drink with you.
this sort of thing is what I was thinking about.
Enough of "what's your 1.5mile run time......"
 
#9
RTFQs alive, well, and currently making a name for himself at De Efteling.
MDN has changed his name, as, in a desperate attempt to conceal his rapidly receding hairline, he has taken to wearing a syrup (and beard) artfully crafted from sausage meat.
Me? I'm as virile and good looking as ever, come on ladies, keep those (held open) pictures flooding in.
 
#10
Ali_Gee said:
RTFQ said:
RTFQ:

How did I miss this thread first time round? All the time I’ve been idling in the naafi with nowt to interest me and this gem was sitting there all along.
I’ve got a few such stories because, well basically I’m a cnut when in company I don’t like, and I’m a Rupert so I’m in such company quite a lot. The one that springs to mind first is my inaugural presentation my very first true-love’s family, many moons ago. I was 21 and was completely head over heels in Movie Love for the girl: intelligent, funny, very pretty and a blast to be with. She also gave me the kind of sex I’d dreamed about since my first fumble. Fcuk, how did I screw that chance up…
Anyway, I desperately wanted to impress her parents; I knew as only a 21-year-old could that I wanted to marry this girl and I was pulling out all the stops – nice shirt, casual jacket, my first (and only) set of brogues and tan moleskins. I looked like a well-heeled guards officer instead of the oik my childhood preordained me to remain. I brushed my teeth till the gums bled and practised shaking her old man’s hand in the mirror. I got my CO’s wife to tell me her favourite joke so that I could recite it to her mum over wine and unidentified foreign cheese products. My mum would have beamed with pride at the polite gentleman I had become.
I was being torn in two directions however. On one side I had my mum’s influence: a licked tissue across the cheek and a kindly order to sit up straight and not slurp the soup. On the other I had the voice of my peers and the growl of my first troop of lads – the awe in their eyes as I stepped up unasked to play Suicide Freckles against “Shitboy Mossy”, the power I derived from challenging my Tp Sgt to a first-to-100 press up race in puddles of our own urine. I suppressed this beguiling daemon however, for I Loved This Girl and would have pulled the moon from the sky for her.
We drove to her parents’ house outside Hertford. My entire extended family could have lived within its grey-bricked walls. The dad handshake went well, he commented on how he liked a man to have such a confident handshake – a sure compliment. I charmed her mother and even their (pedigree) Irish Wolfhounds took a shine to me (thanks to an invaluable tip from my adjt – put the really fine powder from a dog biscuit bag in one of your pockets. Not a lot, just enough to faintly dust a couple of fingers now and again. Dog lovers trust their dogs’ instincts on people). It was going well until her older sister showed up with David. David was 14 years older than the sister and was a WO2 in the Engrs when they met, their marriage had been and remained a bone of contention in the family. He saw through me on eye-contact. They’d also bought “Grampy” along – an old sweat from the family’s chosen service, the Royal Navy (the bird’s dad was conspicuous as the only male in the family not to have served). The meal progressed, the wine and port was of a much higher quality than of that I was used to, and to be honest, 21 year old me was suffering. David was asking me penetrating questions about what us ‘young ruperts’ got up to during mess nights and squadron bar sessions, Grampy thought I was him reincarnate and all the while my glass was never allowed to empty. Towards the end, both the father and my girlfriend told me in no uncertain terms not to encourage grampy and that it was mean to egg him on at his age. I was egging no man on, I was trying to keep up. After cheese and biscuits (my joke didn't work as I was so drunk by that stage that I got the punchline wrong) we got onto beer. The father had a hard-on for bottles of Miller GD for some reason. I was still being sycophantic to the git and kept fetching them from the kitchen. After a while grampy got a dusty bottle of rum out. He was immediately shouted down by the disrespectful b@stard who happened to be the father of my girl. Grampy stood as proud as his age, experience and dignity allowed him – “well, young RTFQs the guest and he’ll drink with me won’t you son?” His fiercely proud old matelot’s eyes said “don’t patronise me like these bast@rds, you know better” as everyone else glared at me (I’m sure that the use of the word son didn’t go unnoticed by the father either) David could see the train wreck coming and was smiling smugly the bast@rd. I stood up, offered my glass and said “It would be an honour Sir” I fcuking meant it too.
Grampy shat himself on the sofa 30 minutes later. 5 minutes after that he vomited over mother’s toilet roll cover and down the wall. Where I come from this is a sign of manhood at its most glorious, where my girl came from it was the work of the devil himself.
I really, really, urgently and immediately needed to p1ss by this stage and for all the money invested in that house, only the upstairs toilet worked, and grampy was exorcising his demons in there. I had a plan. I took my empty MGD bottle to the kitchen under the guise of getting some more (itself a gesture that produced more glares). When I was sure everyone was occupied by grampy’s new artwork, I started to power-lag into the bottle. MGD bottle necks are small, so I shoved my jap’s eye into it and pushed the flow. It wasn’t enough, the pressure forced my urine out in an aura of finely sprayed p1ss all over the cooker and the nearest work surface – just as mother walked in to get some badly needed tea towels. Her scream brought the rest of them running in time to see my now absolutely unstoppable flow continue while I resignedly held the superfluous bottle beneath me. Some of the p1ss went in the bottle, most went over my hand and on the floor.
We never married. Grampy survived the night but died 2 years ago. I don’t regret a thing Sir, it was an honour to share a drink with you.
this sort of thing is what I was thinking about.
Enough of "what's your 1.5mile run time......"
I'm crying laughing, nice find Ali!!!
 
#12
sandmanfez said:
RTFQs alive, well, and currently making a name for himself at De Efteling.
MDN has changed his name, as, in a desperate attempt to conceal his rapidly receding hairline, he has taken to wearing a syrup (and beard) artfully crafted from sausage meat.
Me? I'm as virile and good looking as ever, come on ladies, keep those (held open) pictures flooding in.
But you're in your 50's aren't you? Hardly virile, senile perhaps, but virile? Your taking the p1ss luv. :)

RTFQ is alive, but he has caught the big screaming alpha, so may not last the next 12 months. RIP in advance you bot loving homo.
 
#13
50's? you cheeky cow! I'll reach 50 about the time you hit the menopause. In the meantime, where are your mott pics, come on, I'm not squeamish. :D
 
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