I used to work in a pub kitchen
Frozen steaks were regulary used as makeshift footballs for customers the waitresses were getting hassle from. Not just one kick, a good 5 minute kick-about, I think I did a few cryff turns in fact.

Sadly, as most of the retard customers ordered them well-done - all the bacteria from the floor was probably cooked off anyway as most were not happy unless their steak was served like a crispy black cowpat.

Not soiling, but most of the customers also found that their ice cream sundaes lacked the advertised amount of fudge pieces and maltesers. That's because I eat them all. Ha ha.
(Pat_Gash, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 15:52, 7 replies)

Bastard chef
My missus worked in pubs as a barmaid for most of her teens (she looked a lot older than she was). When she was about 17, one of the pubs she worked in also did food. It was strictly "chicken ding" type stuff, but it was always fairly busy and she always got to serve on tables, being the youngest.

Unfortunately, the chef (I say "chef" he was the bloke who worked the microwave) at this pub took a shine to my beloved and his harmless flitations rapidly moved through dirty comments straight to outright sexual harrasment. My missus got pissed off with this and told him keep his filthy (and they were filthy) hands off her arse or she'd knock the fucker out - only in slightly more colourful language.

The day after this, I wander into said pub for a crafty free pint and saw my missus had a bandage on one of her hands. Turns out the fucking prick had left a plate on a gas ring for a while, then got my missus to pick it up. She actually still has a scar from this.

Red flag.

He got as far as "you can't come into my ki.." when I nutted him. He didn't actually go down, but he did stagger around the kitchen for a bit, pissing blood all over everything that he was preparing. I wandered back out into the bar and seethed quietly for a while.

Not long after, customers grumbled about their food taking a while to emerge. But emerge it did. I kept an eye on everything that came out the kitchen, not least because I expected a knife-weilding chef to be one of that day's specials, and it all showed signs of having had something spilled on it, then hastily wiped off.

He never hassled her after that, for some reason.
(ScousersPet, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 15:26, 1 reply)

Looking through the pages
I can see you're all a shower of bastards.

You're never coming round for dinner. Ever.

I remembered another story too though.

My friend, who we shall call Josh for fun, used to work in a kitchen with a magnificent cunt called Ian who was the head chef. I too have worked with Ian and know he is in fact a complete shit, and deserves everything he gets.

Ian, being the coked up nazi fuckhead he is, often found it hilarious to chuck fucking hot pans at us lowly dish pigs, as if our jobs weren't shit enough. Towel whipping was rife, as was manly banter, and frequent reminders we were all wankers, when he fucked up.

Anyways, i'd like to say that he got his comeuppance in the form of a briny cup of tea. Alas, my friend Josh told us of his attempts at getting back at Ian, which were as follows.

Whilst incredibly hungover one day, he offered Ian a fresh brew, plotting to spike it with golden treasures. This isn't the funny bit though, for Josh in his unthinking genius decided to stir his tea with his penis after spraying it with his scent.

You heard. He stirred his freshly boiled tea with his cock.

In his hungover state, he didn't even wait for it to cool down that long.

He told us that as he screamed like a girl, the kitchen staff found him holding his raw penis, with steamy, wet legs and a smashed cup on the floor. He didn't even wait for a response from anyone, got his things and left work, never to return.

As I said, I wish this was a story about how Ian got fucked over, but it's not to be. He is a cunt though.
(Scrumpy does not negotiate with terrorists,, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 15:22, 3 replies)

Oh, and
I once cut up some bluetac into neat little rectangles and tried to pass them off as new raspberry chewits. I even got one person to bite into it.

...Bah, not much in my storybag for this QOTW. I shall have to start pacing myself.
(GONEism, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 15:15, 1 reply)

An intellectual's approach to food entrapment...
Tony was an electronics buff... he was a radio ham, geek, and into all sorts of clever things...

There was a food thief in his place of employment. Every night packs of sweets, biscuits, crisps, whatever would go missing.

So Tony decides to teach the miscreant a lesson.

He gets a pack of Polo mints.
Removes the sweets and inner sleeve.
Slices the pack in half and removed a strip of the inner foil equal to 1 sweet.
He charges up a very powerful capacitor and inserts it down the centre of the sweets and connects the opposite ends of the capacitor to the opposing ends of the inner tube roll.
The two halves are taped back together and replaced into the outer sleeve.
The pack was left on his desk that evening.

The next morning they were gone.

There were no more thefts after that...

Mind you.. he could have been done for manslaughter, GBH, ABH and god knows what else.....
(bof, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 15:10, 2 replies)

More tales of Matt
In this instance the food wasn't deliberately sabotaged.

Matt is a very picky eater, so much so he rarely eats the biscuits in the staff room that the rest of us proles eat. When the adjoining café is open he will pop round there and get himself a big old slice of cake.

So I'm sitting up in the staff room as he's eating his cake when he proclaims "Look! There's a little silver ball on my cake!". Sure enough, there is a tiny silver ball on his cake.

My first thought was that it was a cake decoration, but the fact there was just one little ball on this big slice of cake suggested otherwise. Before I got a chance to make any more suggestions, I look round and see Matt chew it up and swallow it.

"What was it?"

"...plastic."
(GONEism, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 15:06, Reply)

Food Sabotage?
I am a regular victim of having my food sabotaged, usually my milk.

It seems to happen evey week, usually after an argument with my mates which ends with me telling Hannibal that "I ain't gettin on no plane".

Love

BA
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 15:03, 4 replies)

a hairy brew?
When i was knee high me and a few other dillinquents bunked off from school and dossed at my mates mums. While the host was upstairs we gathered what pubic hairs we had and placed them in his brew, we then suggested a game of who can drink their tea the fastest - he won of course - i'll never forget that hairy smile!
(ali_bongo, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:55, Reply)

Mr Eldoofus
is something of a wind-up merchant. He lives for it. I think I am possibly the only person who understands his sense of humour and he has turned me into a hard edged cynic from the amount of times I've responded "Really?!" to some non fantastical bull that he has told me.

He once convinced his mum that I would only drink um bongo when we went round for dinner and she was poised to go to Tesco to get me some. He has also on occasion asked me "how much do I owe you?" after certain romantic incidents. He's a bit of a git.

Anyway in my 2nd year at uni my brother came to visit and I'd just made myself a feast of Lidl bought frozen lamb burgers made in a George Foreman. This was back in my poor student days when such a dish was considered a bit of a delicacy. Anyway the thing about George Foremans is that they collect the fat from the questionable substances you cook on them and typical student bums normally don't clean the little troughs for days on end. Rife with disease.

Well the lamb burgers had left a lovely greyish pulp of fat in the trough that Mr Eldoofus scraped onto a plate and convinced my dear brother that it was some "weird traditional dip thing" that our Indian housemate had made. I think he even had a spoon in his mouth to feign his own consumption of the grey goo.

Brother happily eats a spoonfull then realises the gaff when me and Mr Eldoofus fall around laughing. He gets the huff and claims that it was a 'convincing' ruse and he didn't even eat that much of it. Mr E is now a veggie so I would be wary of my brother's revenge. Its bound to happen one day...
(Eldoofus, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:48, Reply)

I'm not proud....
Whilst at secondary school doing GCSEs, I had to the most poisonous Art teacher known to man.

We never saw eye-to-eye, mainly because her idea of teaching ME art (as the opposite of her teacher's pet, rather like her teacher's hemarrhoid) was to get me to run silly errands for her.

One day, she asked me to make her coffee whilst I was trying to complete a final exam-piece clay sculpture. Freshly taken out of the kiln, I was sanding that mother down to make it all baby's bumesque. I bet you can't guess where the clay filings went? Yep. Right into the Kenco.

The teacher was off school for a week with some severe unaccounted for sickness. And I found God praying on a daily basis that she wouldn't snuff it.

She still deserved it though, but that's the first and only time I ever tampered with food. Haven't got the nerves for it!!

EDIT: And some of the stories on here make me wonder how some people aren't in jail for murder!!!
(The Apeface Cherub is not a cunty-uber-cunt, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:47, Reply)

Well, whaddya know!
I didn't think I had a story, but here's a little offering I've just remembered.

I was staying over at a college friend's house for the first time and her parents very kindly served me a glass of cool fresh orange juice to calm my fizzling hangover. I sat on the sofa, wrapped in a disheveled but snuggly pink dressing gown and was slowly coming to terms with the day.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, one of her tiny terriers bounds onto the arm of the sofa, jumps onto my lap for a split second before galloping away. If I'd been any more hungover I'd have missed the fact that one of it's small but grubby paws had landed square in my drink.

I shuffled back to the kitchen and had to ask awkwardly and in my utmost "talking to parents" voice, if I could possibly have a fresh glass of juice as the dog had stood in mine.

The night before I had almost kicked the hapless animal up the stairs as I didn't see it chasing my legs in the dark corridor and so I imagine this was a form of canine revenge for my drunken clumsiness.
( e.m.m.y. foxtrot uniform charlie kilo india tango, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:46, Reply)

Spunk Pizza roulette
my other half went through a phase of hanging up quickly after a take away order whilst simulateously saying "cunt"

I used to hate it, which made her do it more, we never knew if they heard it for sure - and she always insisted she switched off the phone before saying it - but there's always the nagging doubt

I've probably ingested more spunk than Marc Almond over the years
(The Goat www.cuttingthroughthematrix.com, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:45, Reply)

many moons ago...
a rather lunatic roadie from Glasgow (lunatic? Glasgow?... shurely just a coincidence) named John crashed and burned trying to negotiate the pants off a young groupie..
He was miffed!
Returning to a band member's house, groupies in tow, unusually John jumps up and asks if everyone wanted toast to quell the munchies and disappears into the kitchen.
When he returns with a plateful, he hand them out carefully turning the plate to make sure that the offered piece was accepted by the recipient.
He then proceeded to sit and laugh for the rest of evening to the bemusement of all present... it was passed off as just too much illegal substances...
The next morning he explained to some of those present that whilst in the kitchen, he'd squeezed a little nugget of the brown stuff out of his anus and spread it over a piece of toast which he had very diligently made sure was accepted by the aforementioned groupie.

He's a smashing bloke but as mad as bag of monkeys.
I only ever ate once more with him and that was in a restaurant... and another tale.
(bof, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:37, 6 replies)

sisters are bitches.
i haven't sabbotaged anyones food. but years ago i asked my sister ever so nicely if she could make me some toast with phildelphia on it.

she put fish paste on it instead then covered it with phili.

the most vile combonation ever! fucking cow!
(fernbrittonsexcessskin will give a shit later, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:35, Reply)

Boss fart laa!
This is my first ever propper post on a B3ta QOTW. So anyhow...

I'd just started this job within a small company as the general office run around/parts person.

The MD asked me to make him a brew, I did and apparently it was in the wrong mug, so I was sent back to the kitchen to make another fresh cup on tea in a different colour mug as he didn't drink out of anything but white mugs (and I was supposed to know this how?!).

I decided to fart in the new white mug before brewing up, I held it to the seat of my trousers and let rip, a propper beer fart aided by the previous nights Stella.

I couldn't help but giggle as I watched him drink the tea afterwards. Awesome!
(spackattack - Attack of the Spack, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:26, Reply)

Isn't putting stuff like rotting animals
and human waste in people's food really dangerous for health? Couldn't it make someone seriously ill? You bunch of sadistic fucks.
(Youlotfeckingsuck, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:17, 18 replies)

Pubic roll ups
I used to work on a pig farm, and one of my colleagues, Brian, used to be in the army. He was a cunt, mid 40's, with small man syndrome. Because we were all younger than him, he tried to boss us about all the time, even though he was employed at the same level as us, and worked there for about five years less than most of us.
He used to even try and make the fucking pigs march.

At home though his wife wore the trousers, and if we ever met him out and about with her, he was as quiet as a mouse. Anyway she had decided he had to stop smoking, which meant he would come in trying to bum fags off us, and we soon learnt he was also smoking the fag ends out of the ashtray in the portacabin.

So I started making pubic roll ups.

1. mix half Golden Virginia (or your tobacco of choice) and half your pubes (preferably ginger).
2. roll into a cigarette. Break half off, and burn the end a bit so it looks like it's been smoked.
3. Leave in the ashtray.

How he didn't know, every day we would come into the portacabin for lunch and it would be reeking of burning pubes. We then got bored of just pubic roll ups, and started rubbing the mouth end in sows vaginas before dumping them in the ashtray for him.

I also pissed in by bosses shower gel. He didn't eat it though.
( wefbhweiufhweiu party, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:06, 3 replies)

Poo. Lots and lots of poo...
For want of a better explanation, my circle of friends can be utter cunts at the best of times. Nothing horrific or painfully scarring, but just utter cunts for no other reason than it mostly amuses us.

With this out of the way, I bring you a story that is simply 'laxalicious'..... ahem....

My friend, who we shall call 'Adam', had met a girl whilst on holiday who was, to steal R. Jimlad's expression from last week, a bit of a butterface. Well a lot actually. Not only this, but she was fucking nauseating to try and hold a conversation with, as it invariably tended to revolve around her and how awesome she was. As well as this, she had previously shown she was nuts. She stole 2 bottles of Jack Daniels from the house before she last left 'for the road' as she later said in an email, called one of my friends a cunt in the pub and slapped him really fucking hard, because he knocked over a drink by accident into her handbag. Amongst other things she showed us she was a cunt and an oxygen thief.

All in all nobody really liked her at all, including Adam, who wold often complain about her, before giving in to his penis' demands and allowing her to stay over for a weekend.

Anyways, one weekend she was pencilled in the calender to make an appearance so my friends decided to hatch a plan to help out Adam with his lady troubles, and being the friends they are, help to diffuse the relationship in the best possible manner.

That's right, spike their food with a fuckload of laxatives. Somewhat lacking in the creativity department I know but absolutely certain to bring entertainment.

So the day comes and his housemate, Ryan cooks a big slap up curry for everyone in the house, and whilst dishing, it out laces the unlucky duo's plates with the offending material.

Little did we know, Ryan decided to put it in everything. in the curry, the rice, the beers, sprinkled on the popadums, probably even the serviettes and silverware if he knew how. He used one of those sheets of Senakot for two people. Unfortunately, only my friend Adam ate it, as she complained that 'it tastes off'. Damn. Oh well, still one left.

As the night rolls on, in the club Adam feels some funny rumblings, followed by a swift change in the colour of his complexion and a mad dash for the loos. This carried on all night, with Adam trying extremely hard not to look like he was regularly shitting himself, making excuses on the dancefloor etc.

The journey home was a bit of a giggle, as the drunken banter continued between a few of us, with Adam still trying desperately to look like he was enjoying himself. You know the look, nervous laughter every now and then with swift glances here and there looking for an escape route.

Back at the house, after more trips to the toilet, the couple decided to make a move for the privacy of the bedroom. I have to say, at this point the look on Adam's face was one of apprehension, to say the least. I'd say he was shitting himself but....

Anywho. After about half an hour, he's heard using the toilet again, and again, and again. Just when we think he's finally crapped his last, we hear the scream.

Oh yes. You see, instead of telling the girl that he wasn't in the best of shapes to be pumping her full of man batter, he decided to
get on with the job. This backfired greatly, literally even, when after a while of holding in what I can only imagine to be a bowel clenching vesuvius of an anal announcement, he could clench no longer and let out the offending air biscuit.

Followed by a fountain of shit.

Seriously, his bed looked like he'd fired a shitty hosepipe from one end to the other.

She cleaned herself and after calming down enough to pack her things, promptly fucked off at 3 in the morning to catch a coach home, no doubt dying inside a little each minute extra that she stayed in the house.

She text later the next day to say how they probably shouldn't see each other again...

To this day, he still blames it on dodgy chicken in the curry and I still fear for Ryan's legs if he ever finds out the truth.

Length? about 4 feet of poop.
(Scrumpy does not negotiate with terrorists,, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:04, 6 replies)

Fag Ponce
Not quite a food sabotage but...

There was this fucking annoying northern cunt of a relative who at any family occasion would never bring any fags but would always ponce mine, to the extent that once he actually knicked the packet and later on I had to ponce one back!

At a rather drunken wedding he'd ponced one too many so my Brother in-law and I divided the remaining fags between ourselves and took them into the gents. Locked in seperate cubicles we proceeded to rub the butts liberally with helmet cheese and stuck them up our arses. After removing a few stray pubes we replaced them back in the pack and left them awaiting said Ponce on our table.

'Can I nick a fag?' Northern Cunt asked about five minutes later, 'Nick one?' said I, 'Have the pack, I've got another.'

How we chuckled when we saw him sucking on a cigarrette outside the hall. I nearly injured myself laughing when he offered them round to his skanky chav mates.

Vengence is golden.
(onemunki Down there for dancing, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:01, 3 replies)

On how my nose sabotaged my dinner.
I'm not unaccustomed to taking dinner before the television, due in part to me being something of an uncouth lout, but equally as it's preferable to standing at the kitchen counter, in absence of a more suitable location.

I am, therefore, well practised at balancing my plate atop a table mat, which itself rests upon my knees. You may have witnessed such a sight among the other proles that infest this green and pleasant land.

On one such occasion, as I was dining on something-and-chips, as my kind is wont to do of an evening, a sneeze lodge itself within my nasal cavity and rested there, while gathering the energy required to propel itself across the small hovel I proudly call home.

I took the necessary action of running the reverse of my sleeve beneath my nose and continued stuffing my face with vein clogging fare, content in the knowledge that I would be able to enjoy picking the dried mucus from the itchy, cheap material later that evening.

Out of the blue the sneeze decided the time was right, and launched itself from my nose, causing a spasm to course through my body, my legs to twitch and my meal to be sent floorways in horrible, taunting slow motion.

Not content with upsetting my dinner, the sneeze finished what it had started and shot a ball of snot directly onto the now filthy pile of floor food, as though to provide a green cherry as garnish to my ruined dinner-cake.
( Moey, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 14:01, 1 reply)

He tried to frame me at work..
My Fat lazy waste of oxygen of a boss tried to set me up just after Christmas.

I worked hard everyday, and 95% of the time was the first to arrive and the last to leave at night. If it was quiet I would find work to do - even if it meant sweeping the warehouse floor, and when necessary, I would stop over late to load up wagons etc. Customers love me too..mainly because I know these machines like the back of my hand, so on the whole, you'd say I'm a pretty good employee.

It stems back to when I had gone to Australia on business. I'm not a seasoned businessman, and I was in the most beautiful place on the planet for 3 weeks by myself..so consequently I wasn't too hot on 'collecting receipts' to cover the 'advance' the company had given me prior to departure. But as soon as I came back I admitted it, handed in what receipts I had, and was told at the time by the 'owner' of the company to just make a list of what I had spent and it would be sorted.

9 months passed by, and often I would ask what was happening with the receipts to no reply.. so those bits of paper floated around the office.

Christmas break, and I return to work to find a letter from the boss sat on my desk.( Now, there are only 3 of us that work here) Inside it abruptly demanded the balance from the oz trip, a supposed £500 ! (9 months later.. !? Some pregnancies are faster). So I politely replied back by email pointing out that the bits of paper had been in the possession of the company for 9 months..not secured, and that I believed there must have been some lost.. (I had forgotten some receipts, but christ almighty..not £500 worth !) I also reminded him that there had been a break-in into the office November time, but I was always willing to discuss the matter.

The next day, (I have nick named him Judas) Judas stormed into the warehouse and made up a story about a heavy item falling on his leg, (I also knew the warehouse like the back of my hand and I knew there wasn't anything in the area he specified), and he consequently gave me a written warning !

I've never had a written warning in my life !

I appealed, and questioned why, such a serious accident was not written in the First Aid Accident Book?.. and you guessed it, he changed his story to "It nearly fell on him".

The next thing I know, I received a letter, (actually sent to my parents address - which really pissed me off, because my father was given 6 months to live by doctors, and quite frankly he can do without this kind of shit to think about).. The letter was from a Solicitor stating that if I did not repay the money, they would do me for FRAUD !

I was in absolute pieces. How could this be happening? I was in a job that I loved and excelled at, and now the whole deck of cards was falling down around me..

I had kept everything, and had amassed quite a bit of evidence in my favour.. including a message between Judas and the owner of the company with my name on it, listing legislation for dismissal. It seemed they had already made up their minds ! (I was particularly stunned when a customer relayed that Judas had said that I was leaving the company - before Christmas!).

So I went to a solicitor.. she said I had an excellent case, and wrote a letter stating that we would fight tooth and nail.

Relieved that I wasn't going mad, and somebody was fighting my corner for a change, I continued back to work just like normal.

To cut the story from going any longer.. I had the Owner of the company come over from the US and apologise personally, and Judas apologised too. They asked for a clean slate, and to forget it all and move forward..

So what the fuck does this have to do with sabotage?

Well, Judas and I are on (in his eyes) good pally terms, and I always make his cups of tea. Each one lovingly made with my piss.
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Fri 19 Sep 2008, 13:55, 5 replies)

Piss soup
Moving away to start college in another town, in typical fashion I left finding my accomodation for the year until the weekend before I was due to start. Which unfortunately meant all the good digs were taken.

I ended up in a flatshare with another student couple, and my landladys 50+ dodgy unemployed, alcoholic, trampalike friend, who I shall call Jim, because that was his name.

For the first few days all was fine, bonded with the student couple and their mates, went out, got pished, had a few tame gatherings in the flat. Jim, although not the type of person I really wanted to be sharing with, was friendly enough and seemed to let us get on with things. Until Thursday came.

Thursday, was Giro day, and we were to learn that on Giro day, Jim gets up very early, and spends the day pissing his giro up against the wall. Then he would come home, hammered, get quite aggresive and shout abuse at us in only the way a tanked up Glaswegian tramp could.

Even this though, was just funny. It never turned to actual violence, and if it had have done we could have kicked the shit out of him. Jim actually endeared himself to us eventually, as a former electrician he knew how to wire the electricity box up to bypass the card meter, so thanks to him we didn't pay a penny for electricity for about six months.

A few months later though and I'd fallen behind with my rent, but managed to get an emergency loan from the college. Jim was going to see our landlady that day, so I handed him two months rent to take to her. He arrived back hammered that night, unheard of on Monday evening, his giro never lasted that long. He also had a bottle of whiskey, not his usual Jakey cans of special brew. He was hammered again tuesday and wednesday night. We'd assumed he'd had a win on the horses or something, or a long lost relative had died and left him a few pounds, didn't even consider the fact that he might not have bothered giving my rent to the landlady, and had instead decided to drink it all.

Which, as I discovered after my landlady phoned looking for my rent, was exactly the case. She hadn't recieved a penny of it. I couldn't prove I'd given it him, but she seemed to take my word for it, so at least I was off the hook. I was still fucking pissed off though.

A crowd of us came back to the flat that night after the pub, and jim had left half a pot of home made soup on the cooker. Sensing my chance for revenge, I filled a pint glass with the evenings alcohol and kebab flavoured piss, and tipped it into the soup. It was decided we shouldn't ever use the glass again, so it was smashed on the floor. One of my flatmates tried to pick up the broken glass and slashed his hand open, so the resulting flow of blood was also emptied into the soup.

The next day we sat, rough as fuck, trying to hold in the bokes as Jim happily munched his way through the remainder of his pan of pissblood soup.

Christmas time was coming, my flatmates were going to be moving to new accomodation in January, and had stored their stuff in my room, so they didn't have to pay rent over Christmas, while they were away home. I too was heading home and (because of a conspiracy theory we'd cooked up about Jim being able to get into our locked rooms) i'd left a note as a joke in my room saying "MERRY CHRISTMAS JIM, BY THE WAY, I PISSED IN YOUR SOUP. YOU CUNT." I never thought he'd ever see it, as I didn't believe he could actually get into our rooms.

Unfortunately my stay at home over Christmas was extended by an extra fortnight, my stepdad died on hogmanay and I stayed at home longer to look after my mum. As the only keyholder to my room back in Paisley, my ex flatmates were unable to get their stuff out of my room, so Jim ended up kicking my door in to help them get their stuff. Allowing him to read my note.

He never left me any similar notes, but I could pretty much guarantee that in the remaining four months of living in that flat, I must have unknowingly consumed a good quantity of his piss, and probably shit and spunk too for that matter.

But what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger right?
( wefbhweiufhweiu party, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 13:53, 1 reply)

Tea Mr Shifter?
Whilst a student I spent a happy summer unpacking and re-packing tampons for a marketing company.

The people I had to work with were utter canutes to the point where I had to bring in a Thermos as I wasn't allowed to use their kettle.

Whilst alone in the staff room one afternoon it seemed like a good idea to piss in the kettle. I didn't go mad and fill it, just enough for me to raise a smile about it whenever they had a cuppa.

I later found out that someone else (equally disgruntled as myself) was rubbing the teaspoons in their arse crack every day.

Double whammy.
(zebby wasting irony here on, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 13:33, 2 replies)

Am I the only one...
...who finds it perfectly acceptable to unwrap lollipops and shove them up my arse, before re-wrapping and handing them out to twunts during "trick or treat"?
(minimalist ..., Fri 19 Sep 2008, 13:28, 9 replies)

iPlayer sabotaged my dessert!
Coding away at my machine I thought I would take a little break. Made myself a cup of tea and got a nice chocolate mousse from the fridge. As I settled back down in my chair I fired up the BBC's iPlayer and looked for something to amuse me for half an hour. After trawling for literally 30 seconds I started a programme called 'Dog Borstal'. Just as I took the first spoonful of chocolate goodness into my mouth the programme started and the first dog's behaviour problem? Yes it eats turds! After a few lingering shots of fido munching down a few logs, i'd gone right off my mousse... humph
(Crowman, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 13:24, Reply)

"Woman Chokes to Death on Sausage"
You know those sandwich boards outside your local newsagents, shouting the latest local "news" at you?
Imagine the hilarity that ensued after reading "Woman Chokes to Death on Sausage" in big capital letters. So hilarious, in fact, that my boyfriend stole the A3 poster to put up in his bedroom for later LOLz.

Then a story was born!

Back in the day, to put some pennies in my teenage pockets, I worked as a cleaner in the local mental health hospital. It was, shall we say, eventful. Being a slim 17 year old girl, I attracted a lot of unwanted attention from the male patients, I had to promise a man I would marry him if I was still single at 40, or he wouldn't let me past the corridor. He got on his knees and everything. There was some abuse here and there. I never forget the day a morbidly obese woman punched out a junkies front teeth cause "he stole her fags".

Being bored of cleaning the piss and shit, my lovley boss would often let me serve the meals instead.
Sauage and mash was always popular with the patients.

news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/cumbria/3081980.stm

Turns out the story behind the headline was that a patient had been walking around with sausage lodged in her throat for a few days. She was told by the expertly medically trained nurses that she "probably had a cold or something".

A few checks of the calendar and work schedules and we came to the conclusion:

I served that woman her death.

Would have been a better story if I actually had some sort of grudge against her. She was actually alright.
(Gir84, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 13:20, Reply)

I'm a former chef...
...and I had plenty of opportunities to add bodily fluids and roadkill to hundreds of dishes, but I never did.

The nearest I came to it was after one woman asked for a well-done fillet steak, which I cooked in the usual way. Our fillet steaks were like a man's fist so by the time the middle was cooked the outside was pretty crispy.

Lady complains the outside is too "burnt" and wants another one. Bear in mind the first one took 45 minutes and it's 10 minutes before closing time, so I got another fillet steak out, wrapped it in cling film and threw it on the floor before jumping up and down on it.

2 minutes in a 3kW microwave oven, followed by 30 seconds in the deep fat fryer and thrown on the flame grill to catch fire for 45 seconds. On the plate it went and back to the table.

The result? Compliments to the chef, best steak I've had in years, bought all the kitchen staff a pint.
( Amos E Wolfe makes vinyl signs and things like that, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 13:18, 2 replies)

Pizza Hot
When I was a student I worked in a Pizza place. We made the whole thing from scratch, bases, tomato sauce and whathaveyou (obviously not the toppings though). At the end of shift we were allowed to take any pizza of our choice home. We usually finished quite late in the evening. A girl who I worked with would frequently have her pizza stolen by her flatmate because she would leave it in the fridge to eat the next day.

As soon as I discovered this the course of action to take was clear - lots of tabasco at every stage...

The pizza base had tabasco poured into it even before it was left to rise, a small amount of tomato went into the alleged tomato sauce mixture, the rest substituted with tabasco. Her usual veggie toppings were soaked in tabasco before being applied as toppings. And after it was cooked more tabasco was added.

We had to burn it slightly to hide the fact the base was a little pinkish and hope that once cold it wouldn't really smell of tabasco.

It worked. There was only one piece missing which was found in the bin along with the rejected bite taken from it. The c unit.
(crand _.-~stupid ascii thing~-._, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 13:17, Reply)

Whipped Cream
I worked as a Front of House manager at a council arts venue in Freddy West town for a time.

Someone complained about the hot chocolate they had been served, so the barman went into the kitchens to make a fresh one. It was at this point I walked through to find him furiously beating one off into the mug before spraying a liberal dose of cream from the aerosol on top of his own addition, sprinkling some chocolate powder on it and serving it to the customer.

From then on I only bought canned drinks.
(Dionysian Aut viam inveniam aut faciam, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 13:17, 3 replies)