Minimally on-topic
Apparently Maria Shriver is not above being molested by the press.

On Tuesday, Schwarzenegger sent a Twitter message to TMZ editor Harvey Levin: "Thanks for bringing her violations to my attention. There's going to be swift action." What that action might entail was not specified.

Somehow this gives me the giggles. The Terminator promising swift action brings a lot of odd images to mind.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 15 Oct 2009, 14:35, Reply)

After reading this
I left my office and overheard some student saying that his Dad punched Paul McCartney. Unfortunately soon afterwards he corrected himself and said that it had been Paul McCartney who punched his Dad.
(ignoramusaurus, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 14:10, 1 reply)

A few stories...
I've got a few minor celeb meetings, some mine, some not..

I used to work at the Barbican Centre in London and they were putting on an incredibly pretentious (shurely shome mishtake?) night of 'interpretive dance' soundtracked by the drummer from radiohead. My then housemate Ceris got chatting in the lift to some dude who asked her where she was going and she said, oh some poncey night from the radiohead guy. later on she point him out, and of course it was the bald drummer.

I met King Monkey aka Ian Brown at Glasto by Strummerville once. I went to shake his hand and the weirdo offered me a finger. So i shook his finger. Very odd. He's also really short and ugly with a mahoosive heid

I also met Peter Beardsley randomly at Eurodisney. He is also short and ugly with a massive heid

I met Jarvis Cocker at the bar at the barfly in camden watching a really awful band. I said hello, he ignored me.

My girlfriend had the displeasure of working with Marti Pellow from wet wet wet. Absolute cnart of the highest persuasion. insisted on standing apart from the rest of his band. this was at a charity event too.

Hmm think that's all for now- sorry for length etc..
(chimpo2k, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 14:03, 1 reply)

Boooooooogus!
Background: my father is friends with a certain Mr F. Ford Coppola, and occasionally stays with him at his place in New Mexico if he's passing through. This took place many years ago, but I can still remember it.

*~~~~~~~~~wavy lines~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Emperor Snr: Hello Empressette, I am back from my work in the mighty US of A, and I have brought you a present!
Empressette: Yaaaaay! *thinks: a mylittlepony? A barbie? Some marshmallow in a jar?!?!?!*
Emperor Snr: *gives me a picture of some bearded guy talking to an ugly dead-looking alien with SHARP POINTY TEETH. And some bugger's written all over it.* (It took me a while to realise that this was a signed photo of Mr F. Ford Coppola talking to a Mr. G Oldman on the set of "Dracula").
Empressette: yaaaaay? Erm, thanks Papa! How was your trip to Mexico?
Emperor Snr: Nice, thank you. I had a terrible 3 days driving though. Mr. F Ford Coppola had a young friend staying with him when I was there, who asked if he could grab a lift with me on the way to Mexico.
Empressette: Who?
Emperor Snr: *ignoring me* 3 days I had to spend with him in that car, 3 days with the most idiotic man on earth! He says he was an actor, but I reckon he was just plain retarded.
Empressette: Why? And who was he?
Emperor Snr: He kept banging on about how aliens populated the earth and flew in their mystical pyramid-shaped spaceships around the earth, forming colonies in Egypt, Mexico, South America, Cambodia etc. The boy hadn't a bloody clue. God he was dull as shit. I don't understand how the hell anyone decided that making him the lead actor in a film was a good idea!
Empressette: WHO WAS HE?
Emperor Snr: Oh, just some pillock I've never heard of. Stupid name, too. Kee-aaah-oh Steves or something.
Empressette: *...*

Yup, my father had spent quality time with Keanu Reeves, just after Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure came out in the UK. I dragged him to see the film, where he said "yup, that's the chap. He's not too bad at playing a gormless twerp, is he? I suppose it comes naturally".
The worst thing: he thought about getting me his autograph, on the offchance that he was an actor I might have heard of, but decided not to on the grounds that I wouldn't want the autograph of an alien-loving pillock. Thanks, Papa.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 13:46, 2 replies)

My brother (who is not famous)
He's met and had a good chat with the following:

-Vivienne Westwood (who is technically his boss so probably not that far-fetched)
-The Klaxons
-The bassist from the Kaiser Chiefs

He has also:

-Convinced Simon Amstell he was in a band (having told the doorman he was Jack Penate to get into the club)
-Spend a pleasant evening in the Dubai desert with Bradley Walsh and some drunken Japanese businessmen
-Punched the kid who plays Goyle in the Harry Potter movies to stop him beating up his mate
-Heckled Bobby Davro at a panto, aged 10

I once got barged past by Richard Ayodae (IT Crowd, Mighty Boosh, Garth Marenghi's Dark Place). That was probably the rudest thing a "famous" person has done to me, which just goes to show that a) I don't meet many and b) I obviously don't move in the same circles as my little bro.

I also feel a bit disappointed that Terry Pratchett wasn't rude to me when I met him at a book signing...
(claireyfairy There's a smell in here that will outlast religion, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 12:47, Reply)

I thought I'd save this until last
As a certain b3tan (hi from WAK01 Musuko!) would probably get a little *ahem* antsy.

An ex-colleague of mine once got a little ruder with a celebrity than most people would like to, especially this guy.

Full story here.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 15 Oct 2009, 12:31, 2 replies)

I met former Surrey and England cricketer Ben Hollioake in 1996
when the Surrey team came to visit the new indoor cricket facilities at my then school.

It was my task to show them from the car park to the entrance. When he saw me waiting patiently for the players to arrive he sprinted towards me in a playful 'i'm gonna rugby tackle you' manner. Of course he didnt rugby tackle me but I told him to slow down.

He should have taken my advice
news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/cricket/1889065.stm
(Eggstrovert isnt patronising you...honest..., Thu 15 Oct 2009, 12:09, Reply)

If you want a laugh
And you live near Chorlton, Manchester. Promise a mate (not from the area) that the place is so jam packed with famousians, that you can find one in 15 minutes. When he doesnt believe you, and offers cash, head immediately to the Lead Station in Chorlton during drinking hours. I promise you that Badly Sung Song or Damon Gough will be sat outside holding court and a pint.

(Although I quite like 'about a boy')
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 12:01, 1 reply)

Awkward
Every morning walking to the station, I pass Mani (Stone Roses, Primal Scream) walking his dog in Heaton Moor. I've probably passed him 100 times at the same place and time. Its getting to the point now where we give each other a little nod, you know, the slight jerking upwards of the head and an enigmatic smile.

The other day walking past the Town bar with my other half, my baby and another couple after leaving a christening, he was sitting outside with a pint. He caught my eye and 'recognised' me but obviously wasn't sure why and couldnt place me - like when you see a shopworker from a shop you frequent, I was out of context

. He shouted "a'ight mate" and i momentarily caught the glances of my friends going "ooh he knows Mani" and I just waved back as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Come over 'ere an speak to Johnny, you know Johnny". My stomach turned a little as I thought of famous mancunian musician Johnny's and came up with Marr. However, unless Johnny Marr now looks like Bernard Mannings fatter and more unpleasant grandfather then it probably wasnt him. I made my excuses - "sorry mate cant hang about, later yeah?" I replied. "Yeah no worries mate see ya".

Although this week walking to work has been excruciatingly embarrassing as he's realised now that he only knows me from dog walking and actually doesnt know me at all and has now stopped giving me the nod.

One day, one day, I'll walk past him listening She Bangs The Drums and stop him, shaking his hand and thanking him for that bassline.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 11:58, 1 reply)

Steven Gerrard
Steven Gerrard once threatened to kill my Gran's dog as it barked at him (this was before he was a regular in the Liverpool first team).

Not even a Phil Collins CD in sight
(cadmium Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 11:56, Reply)

I tossed off in Anna Friel's face once
She was on TV, though.
( the_other_jeff_lebowski Croutons on my tits, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 11:40, Reply)

Very much related to the thread below this one
I'd like to invite you to contribute to this thread in Off Topic:

www.b3ta.com/questions/offtopic/post539830
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 10:15, Reply)

Saw Leona Lewis
At a book signing yesterday.

The queue was a bit long though, and I may have lost my rag a little.

(Bindun?)
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 9:36, 2 replies)

Pollies for ya
Stopping at Fleet services on my way home late one night.
I spotted a particularly familiar looking gentleman.
Might have stared at him a bit, but he started chewing his sarnie with his gob wide open going"nomnom nom"
it was only Ted fucking Heath. Did he eat like that at official events? Dirty bastard.
(bellboy last hit the tit on, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 8:54, 1 reply)

I only just remembered
Jodie Sweetin AKA Stephanie Tanner from the TV show Full House went to my university.

I was eating lunch in the cafeteria and she walked over to speak to my friend. They talked about a job my friend had done, which the lovely Ms. Sweetin was vying for as it tied in to her major. Friend says, "Oh you shouldn't have any problem getting the job, they've let all kinds of people work there."

Says me, "So you're saying they don't have standards?"

Cue the both of them staring at me in silence. Cue my transition from smiley jokester to awkward mashed potato eater.

I wish to god she had told me "how rude" I was.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=U70oaQR6tKE
( intesvensk can't recall when I last checked the newsletter, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 6:35, Reply)

Keira Knightley
Keira Knightly went to my old secondary school and was in my mate's older sister's year.
I was once round his and got shown an article/interview in the Daily Mail about Keira Knightly's upbringing and rise to fame etc, in which she claimed she was bullied throughout her teenage years by everyone for being dyslexic (sp?).
My mates sister thinks otherwise as she used to be good friends with her.. and definatley did not bully her about anything nor did anyone else.
So the Daily Mail rang up my old school and spoke to the headmaster who also denied any of her bullying claims and said there was never a complaint of bullying in the 5 years she attended.
I guess the point I'm making is.... IT'S LIES I TELL YOU, MOVIE-STAR ACTING LIES! That is all
(Bludfoot rushing out since, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 3:55, 5 replies)

a distant uncle auditioned a group of four young men from liverpool to play his songs
but ended up turning them down on the basis that "he didnt like the drummer". they remained on good terms.

they also went on to become the beatles.

bugger.
(ladyintheradiator, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 1:59, 2 replies)

my english teacher used to live opposite john cleese
and could see him going jogging every morning from her window.

i would pay good money for this spectacle.
(ladyintheradiator, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 1:51, Reply)

Blessed
BTW. I once spent several weeks pushing the envelope of filth with a nasty, creative little minx whose last four (and recent) fuck buddies had been Robert Plant, Roland Orzabal, Sir James Dyson and someone out of the Stranglers (she wasn't precise). I was young, I was getting seriously laid, I was blessed by Gods.
(foxbean i am a one in ten, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 23:49, 4 replies)

Pervy Paddy
I stopped for petrol, trundling my clapped out Mondeo estate into a south London station, wife beside me, two-year-old daughter asleep in the back next to five-year-old crayon-wielding son. As we halted opposite the shop door it opened and a tall, elderly gent emerged. He looked up past the grimness of Kennington and smiled at a blue sky, his still chiseled features spreading into a self-satisfied grin.

Then he saw us and approached. All the windows were down and he glanced at the wife, still beaming, then past her to me. Then with a cheery wink he stuck his head in the rear window, smile ever wider, relishing with evident physical pleasure the innocent, infantile vista that was the back seat. This elegant, well-preserved, expensively suited, leery old fecker ogled my kids for several long seconds before looking straight at me and speaking in a low, reverential and frankly creepy voice: "They are why I do it you know. They're what it's all about for me."

It was one of those occasions when you're miraculously blessed with verbal inspiration. "Good for you pal. Now get the fuck away from my kids." If my wife was proud, she didn't express it. She stared straight ahead through the windscreen as the tall, clearly shaken paedo disappeared fast.

"That was Paddy Ashdowne" she said, "I used to quite like him..."
(foxbean i am a one in ten, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 23:35, Reply)

One of my heroes...
...and not coincidentally one of the greatest speakers I have ever seen live, was Ken Campbell. Who told me to be quiet. I'm still mortified in my little heart by that. And I deserved it which made it worse. :(

Brilliant performer.
(Good Penny, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 21:40, 2 replies)

Some non-entitiy you will have never heard of.
I ran a climbing wall a few years ago, had the usual wankers in who thought they knew how to climb, who would stand and criticise and maybe do a route or two. But, I was a rock bitch and I climbed to the best I could. I climbed at various places around Europe and taught so many people, that I do not remember most of them.

So, while I was running the wall I had an e-mail from a climbing legend offering his services to teach a select bunch a few tricks of the trade. We snapped him up and advertised the event, getting a full booking with in three hours or so. Places sold out and those who could not make it were suitably pissed off.

The day of the event came and I closed the wall to the plebs and shut them out, leaving just the select few, those with enough cash to waste that they could pay for tuition with Mr Rock God. They started to warm up, he was due any minute. They stretched and climbed the easy stuff, Mr Rock God was now late by ten minutes.

Twenty minutes later an obviously still drunk, slightly smelly man comes into the wall and asked me where the class was to take place. I pointed him in to the wall area and say laughing "Don't worry mate, the wanker is late anyway."

A sudden stony look and the drunk guy hits me with the attitude, the traffic was bad coming down from where ever he had been. Yes folks, the guy who was charging us several hundred pounds for what to be honest I could have taught for thirty quid was the drunken bum I had just insulted.

Our relationship did not really pick up after that and to be honest he was ok once he sobered up, although gobbing in my office bin to clear his throat was not appreciated. Climbers are a funny lot at the best of times, but the Stone Monkey is one of the funniest.
( Rev. Jayneflakes Buy my book, I need the cash for drugs and hookers, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 19:49, 2 replies)

Bait and switch ...
Last night I happened to go along to the fantastic "Evening WIth Kevin Smith" at the indigo2.

Now the seats in the audience were a cramped and tight affair, and at 6'6" and pretty bulky there was insufficient legroom, let alone arse-space so I figured I'd resign myself to an Evening Propping Up The Bar (at the back of the room, so I'd not miss the show).

Kevin Smith opens up with one of his stories that I reckon goes on for maybe about 30 minutes when he points out the microphones and that they're there for us to ask our questions and I figure I'll never get the chance to do this ever again so I saunter down and get in behind a couple of people on one side of the stage.

Mr. Smith then starts answering questions and it seems to take an age for him to get round to me, long enough for him to switch out of his hockey jacket top and into a robe, and when he does reach me the mic isn't even working. I'm wondering if it's a sign I should duck out but I decide (or perhaps it was the pre-show booze that decided) I was definitely going to do this...

The mic comes on and he asks me my question, and in front of a packed house I start to ask my question.



"As a fat, bearded, glasses-wearing Kevin, ..."


And then I pause for a beat and he's looking at me obviously unsure where this is going because I'm far from a small guy, and the crowd seems a little stunned, but I continue
"...I've had my share of abuse over the years and I wanted to ask you ..."


He cuts me off, looking somewhere between relieved and surprised.

"Hang on, is your name Kevin too?"

"Yeah"

"You should come up on stage!"

And I look around thinking he's joking but he's all "no, seriously, the guy will show you how to come up, and I'll answer the next dude's question while you're making your way round."

So I make my way around the back, up on stage and he's answering the question when I appear behind him, looming a little, and he turns to me and invites me to sit on his couch, slap-bang in the middle of the stage, while he continues to answer the next guy's question. He then comes over, asks me to take my jacket off and hands me his hockey jacket, and asks me to put it on and zip it up and then sit back down. So I do. He then gets me a spare mic and sits next to me and asks me my questions. So I finish up asking the question, which concludes with me asking him what he's had to face since he got famous, and we chat a little, and then a few other questions. And I'm thinking "ok, this is a sympathy spotlight thing". And then he says "Hey, do you wanna stay up here for the rest of the show?"

"If it's cool with you it's cool with me."


And that's how I spent most of an Evening with Kevin Smith, with Kevin Smith, on stage. Admittedly most of it he was up on his feet wandering around, and I was just sat there on the couch/sofa thing trying to remain relatively inconspicuous, answering a few things he asked me.



After the gig I got to pop backstage but he was obviously tired and, hey, as much as he knew my name I could have been anybody so I felt slightly out of place (and my wife was still out front), but he offered me a photo (taken with the shitty camera on my phone) - twitpic.com/lfmgo - and he and his crew were pretty cool about the whole thing and saying I was a good sport for sticking it out up there, and then I left him to do whatever he does when he finishes a gig.



So, I managed to sit in comfort throughout the whole show, and get bought beer (I had 3 beers from people in the audience randomly buying me some whilst I was up on stage), and sit as close to the man as was possible.



I call that a successful evening (with Kevin Smith), even if it isn't a successful QotW answer as I was never actually rude to the guy.


*pop*
(phyphor, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 18:48, 9 replies)

A how to guide to wind up Camden's favorite crackhead
If you happen to visit Camden Town you’re more than likely to encounter that pikey scumbag druggy conehead, Amy Winehouse and her posse of annoying hipster hanger-ons, buzzing round her like the proverbial flies round shit.

I’ve had a few pub encounters with this crack-tacular knob head in the years I’ve lived in North London. And I can say without doubt the best way to turn our dearest Amy into a raging, spitting, seething mass of rediculous hair, shit tattoos with the accompanying sort of verbal assault that’d make a nun’s hair turn white in a milisecond is to do the following-

Wait until she’s absolutely falling over shitfaced (usually round the Good Mixer at about 11pm; any night of the week). Allow her time to stagger out - silently count to ten in your head - and when you follow after her she's absouletly guarenteed to be having a little sit down rest on the pavement (usually near the comic book shop a few doors down). Leisurely walk past her while similtaniously reaching into your pocket. And then casually toss a couple of 10 pence pieces into her lap while commenting to your mates: “Terrible thing, this homeless problem."

Absolutely guarenteed to get the mental bitch pissing blood and giving you a crash course in new, interesting and downright flamboyant swear words, this is.

Caution: Remember to wind Amy Winehouse up responsibly. Never attempt to do this unless you're wearing running shoes – that girl can run suprisingly fast when she builds up a head of steam.

Must be all the chemicals.
( SpankyHanky, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 17:17, 6 replies)

He REALLY doesnt like it
several years ago myself and my brother were leaving a pub on St. Martins lane in 'London's glittering west end' when we saw the bloke who played Uncle Monty in 'Withnail and I'...
We thought it would be capital fun to shout one of our favourite lines from Withnail and I at him.. at the top of our voices... from across a busy street...upon hearing 'Mony you terrible cunt!' being shouted at him for probably the millionth time - he turned round in our direction, a look of upmost fury on his face and shouted in reply 'Oh fúck off you pair of fúcking arseholes' -which made it all the more perfect an occasion
( bigmeuprudeboy is using powerpoint or paint...have MERCY, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 17:12, 4 replies)

A Slug in my soup.
Two years ago I was in a small cafe in Milngavie having lunch with my wife. I ordered the soup, carrot and coriander, while my wife, I think, had some duck pate. When the soup came it smelled delicious, but on tasting the first spoonful of orangey sustenance I noticed a small chewy lump, which I then surreptitiously spat back out onto my spoon. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the chewy lump was a slug!

"Crikey!" I said (or words to that effect) "This won't do, I'm going to jolly well complain."

But ere the first words of complaint had left my mouth, I heard the customer at the next table voice his distemper over the self same issue. The waiter tried to placate him, with weasel words: "I'm very sorry sir. This must have been an unfortunate error."

I could not but intervene - "More than an error!" says I "For I too have a gastropodal infestation in my comestibles. There must be some kind of systemic failure in the kitchen", and to my fellow diner I added "I suggest we investigate further!". It was at this point that I noticed that the other customer was none other than David Tennant, of Dr Who fame. Thus, immediately thereafter, David (following this adventure I am now on first name terms) and I proceeded to the kitchen with the waiter to remonstrate with the chef.

Then came my third surprise of the day. The chef was none other than elderly comedian, Tommy Cannon, of "Cannon and Ball" fame.

"Tommy!" says David "What is the meaning of molluscs in our bisques?"

Tommy (following this encounter I am now on first name terms) was shocked at the sluggy presence in the soup. "I am reet sorry lads" says he, in his fine Northern timbre, "Never have ah been so embarrassed by my chowder, by gum. Look now, in the pan I can see many more slugs, and here in this box of carrots the infestation is rife. I am truly sorry, and do not know how I can have missed this before."

"What low life scoundrel has supplied you with such poor quality ingredients?" questioned the erstwhile Doctor, David Tennant.

"Why, all our produce is locally sourced" replied the humourist. "The carrots are grown by a young lady of the town."

"We must repair there at once" quoth I "and complain most vociferously." So David, Tommy and I briskly perambulated to a nearby allotment where a woman was busy weeding the vegetable patch.

"I say there woman" I called "What is the meaning of tendering for sale to this fine old gentleman, vegetables so infested with slugs that they are not fit for consumption by man nor beast?". The woman stood up and faced us, and it was at that point that I recognised her as 90's pop diva Betty Boo, of "Doin' the Do" fame.

"But there can be no slugs in my garden" Betty (following this encounter I am now on first name terms) replied "Because look, I have twelve specially trained and coloured hedgehogs patrolling day and night specifically to consume the nasty little beggars". And indeed she spoke the truth - we had not noticed before, but there on the ground were a dozen pink hedgehogs marching regularly around the allotment. We were baffled - whence the slugs?

At that moment a great shout was heard from the neighbouring allotment, and a small black lump came flying over the fence and landed in the carrots. Bending over, Tommy picked up the lump, and we all gasped to see it was - a slug! As one we rushed to the fence and peered over.

In the neighbouring allotment, a large hairy man was bending over his vegetable patch. "GADZOOKS" cries he, "ANOTHER ONE! BEGONE FOUL CREATURE!" and over his shoulder he threw another slug. It struck David Tennant in the eye, and left a small trail of slime down his cheek.

"Hold fast there good fellow!" I hailed "What is the meaning of this aerial bombardment of invertebrates?"

The man straightened up and turned to face us. It was at this point I recognised him as well known and highly audible thespian Brian Blessed.

"WHAT?!" Cried Brian (following this encounter I am now on first name terms) "WHO ARE YOU?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?! AND WHERE ARE ALL THESE BLASTED SLUGS COMING FROM?!"

But Betty was already pointing at what we had all seen: at Brian's back, a line of slugs was marching from behind the compost heap and into the turnip patch. Quickly we vaulted the fence and followed the moving chain of gastropods to it's origin. Tucked behind the compost heap was a large box, full of slugs. "WHAT?!" cried Brian "WHO HAS PUT THIS HERE?! IT IS NOT MINE!"

Picking up the box, Betty turned it over, and there on the bottom was a label. "Property of Ringo Starr".

"WHAT?! HOW DARE THAT RYTHMIC MUSICIAN SABOTAGE MY ALLOTMENT" shouted Brian "WE MUST TEACH HIM A LESSON! COME ON, I WILL DRIVE!". So David, Tommy, Betty and I climbed into Brian's car (a yellow Ford Anglia with flames down the side) and drove over to Ringo Starr's house.

As we walked up the drive and approached the front door we could hear shouting from within, and in the hallway Ringo (following this encounter I am now on first name terms) was having a stand-up row with another man who had his back to us.

"Why aye mon, Whit yahs alls dooin puttin yon box o slugs in wur allotment like!" cried the gentleman.

"Caam down, caaam down,eh, eh!" replies the Liverpudlian percussionist.

"We also have a container-of-slugs related complaint to make! You must answer our accusations." pipes up our friendly timelord.

"Now listen lads, I have never seen those boxes before in my life, honest!" claimed the bearded bongo basher.

"Well, if not you, then who?" asks Betty, a question which was on all our minds.

"Why aye, I could find oot" chipped in the other man. It was now that I recognised him as none other than Kevin Whately, the Geordie actor famous for playing Sergeant Lewis. "In me pocket I have a prop finger print kit left over from the last episode of Inspector Morse".

Quickly the Humshaugh man dusted the slug boxes with powder, and several finger prints were clearly displayed.

"WHAT?!" cried the blessed Brian "I WOULD RECOGNISE THOSE PRINTS ANYWHERE! ONE JUST SUCH AS THOSE WAS LEFT ON MY BEST TEAPOT THE MORNING AFTER A SWEATY NIGHT OF PASSION BACK IN '91!"

"Good God man, tell us who it is!" I burst out.

"IT'S..."

[edit: sincere apologies to any readers of this anecdote who were left hanging at this cliffhanger point caused by the sudden appearance of my employer. I shall now finish my reminiscence.]

... "Good God man, tell us who it is!" I burst out.

"WHY IT'S YOUNG MS SALERNO!" he declared. "COME WITH ME AT ONCE!".

So David, Tommy, Betty, Brian, Kevin, Ringo and I returned to the Ford Anglia and drove post haste to the mysterius Ms Salerno's house. Who was she, and what was her purpose?

Bursting through her door we found an attractive, naked middle aged lady filling a box with slugs.

"SABRINA!" cried Brian, for it was indeed the Italian 80's pop starlet herself, "ARE YOU UP TO YOUR OLD SLUG SABOTAGING TRICKS AGAIN - FILLING BOXES WITH SLUGS, PUTTING A FAKE NAME ON THE BOTTOM AND THEN SNEAKING THEM ONTO THE ALLOTMENTS OF THE INNOCENT?!"

"Boys, boys, boys!" exclaimed the fine bosomed europop princess, "it-a seems that-a you have-a caught-a me red-a handed. I am-a so sorry, but I can-a make it up-a to you."

And upon so saying she proceded to fellate each and every one of us with gusto and great aplomb. Which was dashed sporting of her. She then promised to never again engage in such slug tom foolery.

So the great slug mystery was solved, and we left happier and wiser than before.

The only downside was that when I returned to the cafe, my soup was cold. And my wife had run off with Lemmy Kilmister, lead singer from Motorhead. But that is tale for another time.
(Mystery_Machine, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 16:51, 3 replies)

I just shook hands with Bryan Adams.
He's in my office.
He didn't want to talk to me, he just wanted to find the boss's dog that wanders around the office.
Oh well.
(w4I4q1O1 was hard at work on, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 16:27, Reply)

The VW advert woman..
Paula Hamilton in real life, was round my place some years back(long story) and aside from being somewhat Cuckoo herself also had a white Scottie dog that was a bit annoying... probably because it was used to having to fight for more attention than it's attention grabbing owner!
A cat I had at the time took and instant dislike to her dog and when no one was looking went mental on it's fluffy arse and beat the shit out of it! When we arrived in the kitchen the poor creature was huddled in a shaking ball in the corner with the cat doing it's best to look like evil incarnate, all fangs, claws and drool and unholy noises!

So.... by association, my pet beat up a celebrity's pet!
(verynaughtyboy, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 16:23, Reply)

Not Mary Carey unfortunately another silliebrity of similar namesake
Me and the Mrs. went to Universal Studios early last year in LA after having saved for nearly two years to fly to the fucking states. The day was going swimmingly, and I was really enjoying myself until we came upon Dueling dragons.
We cued for nearly an hour for the fire dragon, not being aloud to transfer over to the more quickly moving Ice dragon by an upstanding jobsworth. About 40mins in, a leaving patron had taken it upon themselves to regurgitate all of their over priced Pizza and chips quickly following that with an unplanned bowel movement. The smell was putrid and I just wanted to leave, but the wife couldn't justify this, so on we plodded.
Just before, and I mean we were next in line, we got on, none of the barriers would go up o let us on, so we waited. And waited. And waited, until a small side hatch opened down the way. Out steps two of the biggest fucking bouncers you've ever seen behind which Maria... Miss M. Carey appears. Now I'm all for a choice piece of blart, but she looked rank. Spotty, sweaty, short and tits akimbo. Over the tanoy announces her arrival, and she waves like the fucking queen at everyone. No one says a fucking word. So in silence she adorns the seatbelt and away to go. For us all to keep waiting.
Everybody stands there in the sweltering, shit and spew aromated lines waiting for her to come back. On her arrival, she hops off, another regal wave and says to her bouncer. "Eewww, it smells, I'm glad we didn't queue.
I know it wasn't long to wait a bit more, considering we'd waited so much before. But that last wait was like a thousand lifetimes. Stewing away. Toiling the hatred.
Ruined my day that did.
Bitch
(rhyddman, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 16:20, 2 replies)

I used to live upstairs from the UKs only Muslim porn star
she had the police break into my flat to turn the taps off which were leaking into her flat.
which I thought a bit rich from such a proponent of waters sports.
(cymro, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 15:45, 1 reply)