so my instincts were truly right. rented from his dad. guys that actually afford the car aren't bragging around and doing helicopters with their micropenis. AND to top if off scamming others. real man you are.
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Welcome to the Brig 992TurboS
- Thread starter tripdog
- Start date
- 23/12/11
- 18,020
- 10,542
- 113
Exactly. I wish I had a dollar for every RWI braggart who has come through here over the years calling everybody else "broke ass basement dwellers" and talking about his priceless genuine watches, seven figure income, multiple corporate positions, luxury vehicles, etc. They all turn out to be punks driving daddy's car or felons dodging an army of debt collectors. This guy falls right in line.
And extremely stupid too. He bragged about his imaginary sports car while telling us he is paying SEK 55k tax annually - around €4.8k, a part-time cleaning lady in Germany pays more tax than him. This guy couldn't execute a proper scam and couldn't tell a proper lie.
Those that have an expensive car as their username usually turn out to be absolute wankers...
edit: let me clarify before I get gangbanged by @TESLA760 and @asusundevils1971, I meant those that have an expensive sports car as their username
reedit: on second thought and before I get banned by @mclarendude, I meant those that have a Porsche as their username
re-reedit: before I get crucified by all those Porsche lovers out there, I only meant that @992TurboS is a wanker...
edit: let me clarify before I get gangbanged by @TESLA760 and @asusundevils1971, I meant those that have an expensive sports car as their username
reedit: on second thought and before I get banned by @mclarendude, I meant those that have a Porsche as their username
re-reedit: before I get crucified by all those Porsche lovers out there, I only meant that @992TurboS is a wanker...
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Too late @KGZ @TESLA760 and myself have video taken of you at his vineyard getting gangbanged by a bunch of midgets dressed up as oompa loompas.
We do apologise for the midgets not being able to dress up like Tattoo from Fantasy Island as you requested but Karbon74 wouldn't let us. He really doesn't want to remember his past life in Hollywood and he didn't want them to use his likeness. Also he is enjoying his Chalet in France and thinks we are all peasants too..
Like I said before. I drive an 96 Yugo. It has a heated rear window so my hands stay warm as I push it in the winter
Calibre16
Active Member
- 31/1/12
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I'm changing my forum name to KiaRioWithDuiInterlockDevice
- 4/6/13
- 1,263
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They do indeed, because she is wise enuf to realise he doesn't need a Porsche to impress her when he whips his cock out
Banker Wanker here.*
Allow me to introduce myself - I am just a middle aged man of sophistication and taste, busily searching for more ways to hedonically abuse my credit ca..…. I mean… to spend MY MONEY, when I happened across this delightful back and forth of opinion and well thought out rationales for not sending watches, and the intellectual and erudite exchanges which have followed.
I like to call people Old (whatever), goes well with the accent, you see. I drift around a bit on that front.
I’ve been equal parts dismayed, perplexed, and amused by this miniature saga. I have no horse in this race other than hoping whatever it was which caused the Old Chap with the Porsche equivalent to a transit van - what an uninspired, gauche choice - in his username has resolved, whether his failure was mental, physical, emotional, or spiritual.
Oh, that’s right, no, it’s not known for either of those things, in fact this is a wonderful place known for neither, even the opposite on both counts. Other than high taxes, the next thing for which the Swedes are known administratively is extraordinarily radical transparency. In fact, so much so that you can call up and ask about your neighbour’s tax liability in Sweden.
And yet… this Old Youngster acts as though the 60% taxation he seems not to pay owing to his limited personal business acumen is somehow an impressive feat?
Then we traverse further into tales about his Cypriot/UAE connections?
Old Youngster, those who can’t master the basics of syntax and grammatical concepts don’t usually do especially well in convincing banks in RAK to handle large amounts of money on their behalf. Do ask me how I know.
One wonders if this is perhaps an overly complicated and verbose case of “Don’t you know who my father is?” - are you able to conceptually disentangle yourself from Old Father and his business and other interests sufficiently to know you are a nepo baby, Old Youngster, rather than a successful business man in your own right?
You’re 30 and you want to pretend you’re winning when you drive dad’s car at that age?
I shall refer to you hence as “Old Son”.
No ballers to be found over yonder… Big boss ballers such as Old Son wants to be aren’t flexing dad’s car while yakking how they’re kicking it stupid hard as to how much tax they pay as though if it were true it would be impressive.
Now forgive me, for I’ve a busy evening ahead, what with harnessing a Buggatti and a Rolls Royce from the collection together with some excess BDSM gear so they can pull my solid rhodium, ruby encrusted chariot along at pace to Buckingham Palace, post haste, such that old pal King Chucky can sort out the rent he owes me, I call him Old Spice. Old Spice is in arrears, and I’m keen to see if my godfather, Old Grandad, who went to school with him was right and that he’s afraid of snakes, you see, so I’m bringing a taxidermy King Cobra or two to be worn as headgear. Made sure I used the alignment tool on their fangs and so on, QC was excellent. I’ll be wearing a beaten brass and silver breast plate, sponsored by Clean Factory - I wonder what the chest sized case back sticker will be this month?
Naturally the B&O sound system aboard the aforesaid bejewelled chariot will be pumping hardcore gangsta harpsichord tracks at maximum volume, and I’ll have at least one gyrating podium dancer in a full body Jacobean ruff in a vintage cast iron cage atop each of my chariot pulling cars to keep both me and the hoi polloi entertained. I am so baller it’s bordering on biblical. Perhaps I need a biblically accurate angel rendered in macaroni and feathers wearing a Daytona on a left and right ocular appendage upon my battle standard fluttering in the wind above the chariot so as not to be misunderstood as a representative of God and rep culture?
Perhaps after that I’ll call my cousin’s husband, Old Baron - I call him that because he gave the last barony to the eldest son you see, I’ve a hard time keeping track with that lot, the surnames change each time they pick up and flip a barony for a lazy 100k - and explain this whole sordid tale. If Old Baron is sufficiently bored he could perhaps write a book about it, “The Holy Folly of Continental Horology about a 30 year old boy who thinks he’s winning by pushing dad’s Trolley”, a tale in not less than 8 parts.
Whether this is how you wanna live your life - and it’s your life, Old Son - playing fantasy land delusional games, living your best nepotism supported life, provided those choices impact nobody else, that’s up to you and the therapists you need but may not have.
To you reading, variously unnamed Old Mate, take what you can from this figurative car wreck (incidentally involving a man who seemingly loses controls of a actual vehicles) - deliver the the watches you sell or explain yourself rather than behave as per Exhibit A, not merely driving Old Father’s Porsche people mover (and doing it very poorly at that, judging by pics we have seen) but before electing to act as though this should be a source of envy to others and prestige for himself, Old Son actually went about making it so much a part of his core identity that it’s his forum username, over here.
If you’re having personality problems I assuredly feel bad for you, Old Son. I’ve got 99 problems with my writing style but acerbic wit ain’t one.
Anyway, you’re boring me. Adios amigo, muskets at dawn.
* If you need an audio reference for how this should sound…
Allow me to introduce myself - I am just a middle aged man of sophistication and taste, busily searching for more ways to hedonically abuse my credit ca..…. I mean… to spend MY MONEY, when I happened across this delightful back and forth of opinion and well thought out rationales for not sending watches, and the intellectual and erudite exchanges which have followed.
I like to call people Old (whatever), goes well with the accent, you see. I drift around a bit on that front.
I’ve been equal parts dismayed, perplexed, and amused by this miniature saga. I have no horse in this race other than hoping whatever it was which caused the Old Chap with the Porsche equivalent to a transit van - what an uninspired, gauche choice - in his username has resolved, whether his failure was mental, physical, emotional, or spiritual.
Old Youngster resides in Sweden, right? Known globally for its incredibly low taxation? And for its steadfast prevention of sharing of personal data?
Oh, that’s right, no, it’s not known for either of those things, in fact this is a wonderful place known for neither, even the opposite on both counts. Other than high taxes, the next thing for which the Swedes are known administratively is extraordinarily radical transparency. In fact, so much so that you can call up and ask about your neighbour’s tax liability in Sweden.
And yet… this Old Youngster acts as though the 60% taxation he seems not to pay owing to his limited personal business acumen is somehow an impressive feat?
Then we traverse further into tales about his Cypriot/UAE connections?
Old Youngster, those who can’t master the basics of syntax and grammatical concepts don’t usually do especially well in convincing banks in RAK to handle large amounts of money on their behalf. Do ask me how I know.
One wonders if this is perhaps an overly complicated and verbose case of “Don’t you know who my father is?” - are you able to conceptually disentangle yourself from Old Father and his business and other interests sufficiently to know you are a nepo baby, Old Youngster, rather than a successful business man in your own right?
You’re 30 and you want to pretend you’re winning when you drive dad’s car at that age?
I shall refer to you hence as “Old Son”.
No ballers to be found over yonder… Big boss ballers such as Old Son wants to be aren’t flexing dad’s car while yakking how they’re kicking it stupid hard as to how much tax they pay as though if it were true it would be impressive.
I laughed so heartily at this rambunctious jape, Old Son, that despite only having the balcony door open to my penthouse - I wasn’t reclining on the deck, you see, London’s not quite yet warm enough, I should probably get back to Thessaloniki to top up the tan in time for Ascot - that horror of horrors, I think those pleb neighbours off to the side without the amazing city skyline view must have heard me. Not enough distance between us if Old Neighbour can make out my laughter, clearly.
Now forgive me, for I’ve a busy evening ahead, what with harnessing a Buggatti and a Rolls Royce from the collection together with some excess BDSM gear so they can pull my solid rhodium, ruby encrusted chariot along at pace to Buckingham Palace, post haste, such that old pal King Chucky can sort out the rent he owes me, I call him Old Spice. Old Spice is in arrears, and I’m keen to see if my godfather, Old Grandad, who went to school with him was right and that he’s afraid of snakes, you see, so I’m bringing a taxidermy King Cobra or two to be worn as headgear. Made sure I used the alignment tool on their fangs and so on, QC was excellent. I’ll be wearing a beaten brass and silver breast plate, sponsored by Clean Factory - I wonder what the chest sized case back sticker will be this month?
Naturally the B&O sound system aboard the aforesaid bejewelled chariot will be pumping hardcore gangsta harpsichord tracks at maximum volume, and I’ll have at least one gyrating podium dancer in a full body Jacobean ruff in a vintage cast iron cage atop each of my chariot pulling cars to keep both me and the hoi polloi entertained. I am so baller it’s bordering on biblical. Perhaps I need a biblically accurate angel rendered in macaroni and feathers wearing a Daytona on a left and right ocular appendage upon my battle standard fluttering in the wind above the chariot so as not to be misunderstood as a representative of God and rep culture?
Perhaps after that I’ll call my cousin’s husband, Old Baron - I call him that because he gave the last barony to the eldest son you see, I’ve a hard time keeping track with that lot, the surnames change each time they pick up and flip a barony for a lazy 100k - and explain this whole sordid tale. If Old Baron is sufficiently bored he could perhaps write a book about it, “The Holy Folly of Continental Horology about a 30 year old boy who thinks he’s winning by pushing dad’s Trolley”, a tale in not less than 8 parts.
Whether this is how you wanna live your life - and it’s your life, Old Son - playing fantasy land delusional games, living your best nepotism supported life, provided those choices impact nobody else, that’s up to you and the therapists you need but may not have.
To you reading, variously unnamed Old Mate, take what you can from this figurative car wreck (incidentally involving a man who seemingly loses controls of a actual vehicles) - deliver the the watches you sell or explain yourself rather than behave as per Exhibit A, not merely driving Old Father’s Porsche people mover (and doing it very poorly at that, judging by pics we have seen) but before electing to act as though this should be a source of envy to others and prestige for himself, Old Son actually went about making it so much a part of his core identity that it’s his forum username, over here.
If you’re having personality problems I assuredly feel bad for you, Old Son. I’ve got 99 problems with my writing style but acerbic wit ain’t one.
Anyway, you’re boring me. Adios amigo, muskets at dawn.
* If you need an audio reference for how this should sound…
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Yeah what's the latest on this? Or has he bought another Porsche with all his undeclared tax money?