The Cowboy
I went to uni at Wolverhampton, and there was a bloke who wandered around in a full cowboy outfit (big hat, leather chaps, waistcoat, guns, holsters, spurs, boots - the lot).

Whenever I saw him, I'd shout "DRAW" and he would spin-around and draw his guns at me, while I made pointy-finger guns back at him and had a mock gun fight.

A couple of years later, he was arrested.
They were real, loaded guns.
eeeeeep.


He reappeared on the streets a year or so later in the same outfit, but he had to carry bright pink water-pistols. hehehe
( Zak McFlimby Twibbling @McFlimby, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 12:05, Reply)

I recall getting on a tube carriage
That was completely empty apart from one other occupant, an old rastafarian man who was conducting a conversation with his reflection on the other side of the carriage.

I say "conversation"; one half was venomous Jamaican patois, the other consisted of one word - "warlord". Thus:

"Who yuh look at? I cut yuh rass, bloodclaaat!"

"Warlord."

"You tink yuh hard, yuh fuckin' bumbleclaart?"

"Warlord."

I got off at the next stop. Double quick.
( Bad Horsey Bring back Dr. Ubes Rub!, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 12:15, Reply)

I forgot about Waterboy!
Waterboy (real name Nick) used to come into the cinema where I worked. He was in his late thirties but had a mental age of around nine or ten, lived with his parents who cared for him (despite letting him out on his own), and mostly just spent his allowance on cinema tickets. He didn't fully understand the idea that you bought one ticket to see one film, watched it to the end, then left, so he would frequently leave halfway through with cries of "don't like that one". He would then change his ticket for another film (we often let him get away with this because he didn't really undertsand). Sometimes he would just come in and engage in utterly inane conversation with members of staff while a queue formed behind him and we tried to get rid of him. He had absolutely no concept of subtlety, grace, or propriety, but was for all intents and purposes a harmless individual. His worst crime was occasionally staring down women's tops and dribbling (he had no idea why this was a bad idea - frankly, I'm on his side there), or asking a perfect stranger to guess what was in his bag. This almost got him into trouble once or twice.
So, why "Waterboy"? Well, simply put, he used to have a fetish for films with water in them. His routine for purchasing a ticket would be to point at the list of films showing and ask the following questions: "What's that one called?", "What's it about?", "What time's it start?", "What time's it finish?" and "Has it got water in it?" He would do this over and over for as long as it took for the victim of this insanity to ask him in the politest possible terms to either pick a film or let the person behind him have a go. He would ask each question of each film in a completely random order, asking the same question several times for each film, until he finally bought a ticket. Then he'd go through the same routine with the person who took his ticket at the door to the screen.
One day the water fetish came to an abrupt halt, when he left a screening of "Titanic" in a state of some disarray with the immortal words "That's got too much water!" Strangely, he really liked "Waterworld".
Classic stuff.
(The Ghost of Stephen Foster, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 22:33, Reply)

Not exactly Wimbledon
This is bending the rules slightly...

When we were young 'uns my best friend's dad worked at the local psychiatric hospital. It was a private hospital and extremely well funded to the point that doctors and their families had access to some awesome facilities; swimming pool, tennis court, sauna and the like. Myself and my friend (we'll call him Terry but that's not his name just incase his Dad gets into trouble) would regularly pop down after school for a game of tennis.
One early evening we were playing away pretending to be Agassi and Ivanisevic when this little old lady with gray hair appeared out of nowhere on the other side of the high wire fence that surrounded the tennis court. Terry tried a few words of conversation ("hello", "are you lost?" etc.) but when they were greeted with the trademark mong reply of "Nnnnnggghhh" we just ignored her as best we could and carried on playing. This became more and more difficult as she started shaking the wire fence and going "Nnnngghhhh" more and more loudly. At first we were quite frightened but at the end of the day she was a little old lady and there was a wire fence between us. And so her "Nnnngggghh"'s were soon countered with such witty responses as "Yeah, that's right 30-Love, me to serve" and "What do you mean, foot fault? I was taught by Wade". Much hilarity ensued until the game finished and she was still there "Nnnngh"-ing away. We left the court and she walked over to us and gestured at Terry to hand his racket over. At this point part of me suddenly expected her to take to the courts and produce a dazzling game. 15 years of psychiatric poking and prodding forgotten in ten minutes as she was finally able to communicate with her silky baseline skills. But no, she took the racket, hitched up her dress and proceeded to frig her bare old-lady bush with the handle of Terry's racket. Terry grabbed the racket then quickly dropped it, never ever wanting to touch it again, and we hightailed it out of there.

We didn't play tennis again after that, the running joke being:

"Game of tennis?"

"Not if your mum's gonna be there again".
(R. Jimlad twitter.com/sirmarkymark, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:34, Reply)

Cat Man
Around the streets where I live you'll often see Cat Man, sometimes he'll be dragging his feline about on a leash other times he'll be discussing with it which food to buy at the local supermarket.

Ahh a sad old man that loves his cat I hear you say, but no he's quiet mad and legend says that on demand he will show you that his cat can write....

When we were younger we stopped him one day and sniggering asked to see his cat write. All we were expecting was a torrent of abuse from the old man with possibly some mad fist waving thrown in for good measure.

Instead he showed us!

Holding the pen to the bottom of the cat's paw with complete sincerity he wrote 'Mr Cat' on a piece of paper.

Suddenly this wasn't as funny as we thought and the situation was rapidly getting 'weird' the breaking point was when he went into everything his cat could do and that not only could it write but it was ambidextrous, we quickly left as he started writing with the cat's other paw.
( HornO, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 11:52, Reply)

In Winchester we have the original Foul Ol' Ron from the Terry Pratchett books
In some ways Ron is a celebrity tramp. His voice sounds like a saw blade being tortured. It rings through the streets and people turn to eachother and say 'I can hear him but I can't see him'.

Around the corner they find him pushing a puchchair with a plastic bag on it. The bag has second hand clothes in it that he gives to women in pubs. He gave a bra once to an ex-girlfriend of mine. She was very scared because it was the right size. There's more going on in that head than meets the eye.

He doesn't smell, which singles him out, and while he does creep people out sometimes he does actually know when to leave people alone.

He goes to the same pub almost every night but never buys a drink. There are rumours that the staff are not allowed to serve him, but I've never seen him ask either. You can tell when he has come into the pub because there is a huge belch and the saw-blade voice declaring 'Never fear, Ron is here'.

He sits by the fire and smokes cheap cigars. Occasionally he wanders around the pub telling people that it's 'Nearly Christmas!', usually this happens in July. He also likes telling people what he's going to have for his supper, which is often kippers and boiled potatoes.

Sometimes you'll find him dozing on the high street, where sleep has overcome him and so he's resting in the child's pushchair.

He used to be a boxer, and he has the looks for it. He retired about two years ago after having spent the previous 32 years unemployed and unemployable. He seems rather proud of this.

For all his strange habits, he's really rather lovable after a while. Walking out of the train station one day after a long journey I heard his voice echoing on the wind and I knew that I was home.
( Matazone has new icons, but is keeping this one, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 12:38, Reply)

Frankkie the alternative major of kendal
This guy was so good someone wrote a book about him. Right his greatest moment
Frankie is outside Barkleys bank in Kendal and is watching the securicore van unloading this goes, man hits side of van, bag of money comes out, man walks off. So, frankie hits side of van, bag of money comes out, frankie runns like fuck, frankie is found half an hour latter in the bus station with a 2/3rds drunk bottle of cider and £9,998
When the queen came to visit the police used to give him a free all expensis (£2 bottle of cider) paid trip to morecambe.
He used to buy me pic and mix as well and didn't even want me to hold his willy in return. Top tramp
( Vultan the real one I threw my little yellow shoe, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 12:33, Reply)

Cambridge - Mill Road, again
I had the pleasure of running into an old homeless Irishman outside a second hand store (near the Locomotive). A pleasent old chap, with a rather large gobule of dark orange phlem hanging off his crusty beard. Our encounter was brief, but poignant... If memory serves me correctly, our conversation went thusly...

Tramp: (sceaming) DO YOU KNOW WHY I STINK?
Me: Why's that then?
Tramp: *shits himself and rubs his produce over his buttocks and back of thighs*

...And I never saw him again - I often lie in bed thinking what he's up to now.
(bunny_333, Tue 21 Sep 2004, 10:29, Reply)

Whats Cooking?
Theres a guy in bury who wanders round the place looking generally disturbed, mumbling to himself, and if you say to him "What's cooking?" he actually attacks you.

He was something of an urban legend around my town as a kid, no-one really believed in him, but Me and my mate Nick met him once. He was in boots and Nick bent down and pretended to tie his shoelaces (so he wouldnt see him) and shouted "Whats cooking?", and he totally fuckin flipped out and went for him. A security guard intervened, and "Whats cooking?" ran out of the shop.

There are various stories as to why he doesnt like people saying it. One is that he used to work in a cafe called "Whats Cooking" that used to be near the leisure centre in Bury and that he was fired for having sex with a bacon sandwich. The other that I remember was that he actually burnt his house down with his family inside it (or his house burnt down with his family inside it...). Either way, the guy is not mentally balanced.

My conclusion: Complete fucking nutter.
( PMGT -Bacon., Sat 18 Sep 2004, 16:17, Reply)

Aunty Marge
My boyfriends dad's aunt is a stranger to reason still abroad on the streets. Highlights from Aunty Marge include:

1) Buying her shoes by the literal size of her feet. She has 10" feet (not a 5,6,7,etc) and goes shoe-shopping with a ruler

2) Carrying a broom about and sweeping up leaves from the street. She will leave equal piles in front of everyone's front gardens for them to clear up.

3) She once found a bag in an alley, washed it and gave it to someone as a present

4) She also gave two cousins a remote controlled car for Christmas. She gave one the car, and one the remote. They didn't even live in the same town.

And my personal favourite- she once gave another cousin a skipping rope for a present. A posh one, with bells in the handles and everything. The drawback? The recipient was in a wheelchair. She had cerebal palsy, and couldn't walk, let alone skip.

Actually I thought about this on the bus the other day and laughed out loud - which must have seemed apropos of nothing to my fellow passengers- thereby making me looking like a nutter in the eyes of others. This is the contagious nutter power of Aunty Marge

*edit- Boyfriend has just informed me that she didn't actually wash the bag before giving it to someone. Class.
(clapper, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 11:03, Reply)

2 nutters for the price of one post...
Nutter 1:
My most memorable nutter. Group of 6 of us (3 blokes + associated female partners) walking through Regents Park last summer when in the distance we saw some nutter harrassing people. As we passed he ranted a bit but generally kept to himself until we were about 10 yards from him when he shouted:
"COME ON BOYS, YOU'VE GOT ONE MORE GANGBANG LEFT IN YA!"

Marvellous, I wish I was that mad.

Nutter 2: Dilbert. If I look out of our office window I can see him, he's a bit retarded but harmless enough, spending most of his time in his tracky bottoms, sandals, thick glasses and sticks to petting the local cats. Harmless until he gets the horn, then he drops his kecks, flops out his knob and cracks one off. He usually has a quick look about first to check if anyone is about, but of course can't see us in our 2nd floor office, with our digital camera....
(Scribble, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:31, Reply)

Theres this one guy
Runs around town all day screaming about wanking and kittens with no hands, says he has a website Pfft! that fucker probably doesn't even own a computer

here's the maniac now
(Human, Sat 18 Sep 2004, 19:43, Reply)

Scissor boy of Solihull
That's what I'm calling him anyway. Last Christmas I worked at WHSmith in Solihull, a veritable hotbed for humorous situations, from the woman who dribbled on the counter while signing a cheque to sequential customers buying Watership Down 'Syndrome' and Black Hawk Down's'.

So, the nutter. Twas one day after Christmas and in walks anorak boy, carrying the optional Carlton shopping bag (the kind your mother always has), and shuffles up to me and asks for scissors. So I direct scissor boy towards what he’s after. No, this doesn’t satisfy. He wants “Borrow!” Now, I just want to get rid of him, so I go over to the pens counter, take a pair of scissors out of the draw and put them on the counter. Scissor boy dumps the shopping bag down on the counter and takes out a loaf of bread, medium sliced white Hovis IIRC. Then he removes some photocopied patterns and shapes from the bag, drags the ‘OAP’ chair (you know what I mean) over to the counter and proceeds to cut out the shapes. Now I’m struggling to stifle the my laughter, so I go over to another part of the store and have little giggle. The nutter now starts singing, in the classic ‘tard style (loud and random noises, as if you need to know). Me and another lad on the multimedia section look at one another, in recognition of the mutual need to snigger; cue sniggering. After a few minutes of singing and sniggering it stops. So I go over to see what the mess is like, and if the scissors are still there. Fair play to scissor boy though, he’d put all the clippings in the bin and not kept the scissors to wield at customers. And he kept me amused for the rest of the day.
(Letharge, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 12:10, Reply)

i actually like this one a lot
there's this guy in my town, i don't know his name, but he's a mexican guy, and he's very friendly. he says hello to everyone, and he loves elephants. he is always buying little elephant trinkets from stores, and getting books about elephants from the library.

our town hosts an annual county fair, and a few years ago, a truck carrying some elephants was involved in a minor accident, and elephants walked about the road for a short period of time. this guy happened to see them, and came running back to town, telling everyone, "i saw elephants!" but no one believed him.

i love that guy.
(schnurricane, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 19:00, Reply)

Strange man on the bus
got on with a giant sack of bird seed. He sat down, then took a dead pidgeon out of the bag and stroked it for 5 minutes before putting it back.

also, he took up two seats cuz he was fat. Oh how i love to point and laugh at people.
(. . . . ., Thu 16 Sep 2004, 18:47, Reply)

Cambridge bin busker

Plies his trade round the corner from my house.

www.urban75.org/photos/cambridge/cam12.html

Additionally, we used to have a guy on Mill Road that wandered round everyday with stuff sellotaped to his head. Best I saw was him wearing a partially defrosted chicken.
(fixit, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 16:50, Reply)

Andrew Barratt
This is more about a mental kid who turned into a legend.

I totally harmless person but god was he mental!

He would bite down on his middle finger knuckle, singing this made up song that went

"Nee nee nee ne neeeee!"

Also he couldn't figure out how to walk and his mum would follow him around town yelling at him "Heel toe Andrew! Heel toe!"

His parents let him watch 18 cert movies at the age of 10 and he would laugh and pee himself on purpose!

When he was older and hungry he would go into every shop in the high street and yell "Jacket Potato butter and cheese!!" and open and close one of the hands that wasn't in his mouth really fast by his side...if he go nothing he would walk out the store bitting his Knuckle singing "Ne nee nee ne neeee!"

He also used to boast that he poo'd in his pond to us when we were alot older (late teens) and it turned out to be a sink in his back garden and wouldn't go to the field at the back because the predetor lived there.

Oh yeah and he used to giggle (bitting the knuckle of course) saying "Juicy Keenie! JUICY KEENIE!"

And wee himself on purpose...

This not a joke, just a very spakky man.
( Donkey Gums @mattcomedy, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:48, Reply)

Vinnie
A couple of years ago, we had someone move into our house who at first seemed normal but was patently mad.

He was into Classical music and Charlotte Church and used to play CD's at ridiculous volumes at all hours of the day and night. He also claimed he was in a brass band, and had a big fuck off Tuba, though it was obvious he couldn't play it and would have got a better sound out of a big fuck off Tuna.

In three months he lived with us, he never once washed any of his clothes and only had three changes of clothes. Whenever he used the bathroom, he come out and still stink, but the bathroom used to be covered in water, the floor, walls and ceiling would all be soaking, it would seem the water went everywhere except on him.

He also had an obsession with Wheelie bins, and he was always dragging ours into our lounge and sitting on it, or opening it and jumping up and down in it. He also used to go out in the middle of the night and pinch other peoples bins and bring them in the house as well.

Then there was his early evening routine of going and lying in the middle of the road in his underpants swearing at passers by.

He lived on a diet consisting entirely of Mint Viennetas, and always used to leave the empty wrappers and bowls in the middle of the living room floor.

Turns out there was a reason for all this, one of my housemates caught him taking some tablets and asked what they were for, only to meet gat the reply "I say that they're for stress, but my doctor says they're for schizophrenia." We still got him evicted though.
(Mischeivious_Delinquent_Squirrel, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:45, Reply)

I'll never be bad again.......
When I was in my teens a friend and I used to spend many dull hours in the the only telephone box in the village making crank calls. The telephone box was directly outside the resident village nutter's house so this was double th fun. On one occasion my friend and I were busily winding up some poor dear when I kepy hearing this 'tink tink' noise. After a few moments I turned round to find the village nutcase tapping on the glass of the telephone box with an axe, completely naked apart from a huge line of dribble running down the front of his face and onto his 'bits and pieces'. The quandry of bursting out and making a run for it or staying put and ringing the police was a tough one.......
(Loving Vixen, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 12:50, Reply)

Nottingham used to have
a stick-thin Indian guy who went around wearing the smallest T-shirt you could imagine and the largest trousers, chanting the mantra, "These aren't my trousers" to anyone who would listen.
( giant_squid, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 12:30, Reply)

In my village theres very fat man
theres a seemingly jolly fellow who looks harmless enough until he looks at you, then you can see the demented eyes, the wild hair that hasn't been combed in years. Then you know, you know hes singled out you for todays question.

Thinking hard, the wrinkles on his forehead clenched tight in concentration he picks a subject. Then he prepares his expressions for the question.

"DO YOU LIKE NOTTINGHAM FOREST?"

...

Standing there, looking bemused, just hoping that he'll look away soon and choose another hapless victim. But no, nothing but the eerie silence and his evil stare.

"I LIKE NOTTINGHAM FOREST"

He would then offer to show his collection of "badges"

Politely refusing, sidling on by, once again managing to escape from the horrors of SLIGHTLY MENTALLY RETARDED BUT HARMLESS ALTHOUGH STILL QUITE SCARY MAN
( anythingbutthisactually, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 12:22, Reply)

The Polygon, Southampton
I'd watch out if you live in this supposed student ghetto, as two old ladies don't like the way the area is going and are taking decisive action. This action involves hiding in peoples gardens and videotaping them, in order to present their evidence to the police, I suppose.
The police don't seem to care, at least ever since the grannies got a restraining order put on them for the racist abuse they put the asian drug dealers across the street through.
( Zuowan, Tue 21 Sep 2004, 17:38, Reply)

Train Time
I was on a train coming back from Brighton and this nutter bursts through the door, throws a baby's bottle full of milk at this old couple and screams "it came from outer space"

Later he walked back in and pissed out of the window saying that cos the train was moving fast it would disperse the piss and then 'they' souldnt be able to get his DNA.
The real funny thing was that the window was closed and his piss sprayed back all over him, we were also stopped at a station and there were loads of people outside his door watching him and waiting to get on the train, needless to say they walked to another door.

I was Humbled by his genuis
(wifebeater Funkier than a BinBag of Affro's, Mon 20 Sep 2004, 18:45, Reply)

Working in Camden...
...ensures we always have our fair share of nutters. Some we fear - like the youngish bald bloke with the massive scab on he back of his head that he peels off to gain sympathy from potential money donors. Some we love - like the massive bloke with a beard and straw hat, special brew in hand, shouting loudly at anyone and everyone in such a way that would be terrifying if it wasn't so funny. And others make our minds boggle with their genius - like the toothless hag that came up to me the other day. She claimed to be pregnant and needed some money to get some food. Being a generous bloke, and you never know, she might have been pregnant, I dived into my pockets to come up with nothing but a twenty pound note. Now, in her head, she's thinking, 'He's never going to give me that much' and formulates a plan of attack. So she reiterates that she's pregnant, adding "And it's yours." to the end of it. What the cock do you say to that? Apart from 'Fuck off''. Which I did.
( mrlogic is copying your beard, Mon 20 Sep 2004, 17:20, Reply)

When I was a nipper
There used to be a girl who wasn't the brightest spark who used to let us feel her massive baps when we were about 13 and she was 18. I then one day decided to try downstairs and put a couple of fingers in. I ran home crying as her muff smelt of rotten fish and I was terrified that my mum would smell it.
(manny fagnet, Mon 20 Sep 2004, 16:22, Reply)

Mad Maurine
There's a crazy woman lives down the road I grew up in, went to see my Mum the other day and she's still there and still crazy as ever.

Woman by the name of Maurine, lives at number six. Bad house, scary house, even more derelict that I remember. Pebbledash falling off the walls, six foot of grass growing in the front garden. The lead yellow paint flaked rotting wooden doors hang from their rusty hinges.

As kids we used to rush past as quickly as possible, Mad Maurine had a tendency to stand in the drive and shout obscene abuse at anyone who passed. To tell you the truth most people crossed to the other side of the road if she was about.

"FUCK OFF CUNTS", she would shout. Us kids learnt most our swearing from Maurine.

"HOW WOULD YOU FUCKING LIKE IT IF THE WANKERS CUT YOUR FUCKING ELEC-FUCKING-TRICITY OFF?!", she would sometimes shout.

Some days from a safe hiding place you could witness her weekly crazy trip up our road to the local shops. She always returned from the shops with two carrier bags of shopping. The mad thing was she could only carry one at a time. So she'd walk about twenty paces with one, put it on the floor and walk back to the other one she'd left twenty paces behind, then it'd be a walk 20 paces past the first one and repeat.

I've never bothered to sit and work it out but I bet that mathematically she'd done more than two trips to the shops doing so.

Then there was her tendency to throw things at kids, half bricks, empty milk bottles, sticks, dog shit, anything she could get her hands on. From which arose the following rhyme that has stayed with me ever since.

"Sticks stick, bottles and bricks,
they're all thrown from Number Six."

.
( teknohippy Arghhhhh!, Mon 20 Sep 2004, 10:19, Reply)

granny fanny
About 5 years ago I still lived at home with my parents and 5 younger brothers. Mum, Dad and some of the littler ones were away for the weekend so me and the next eldest had a party on the Saturday night. It was pretty big and didn't finish up til sunrise.

A few of my brother's mates had slept in various beds in the house and one of these lads was woken up at about 9am by something tickling his toes. He looked up, still in a groggy haze to see an old lady playing with his toes and giggling at him. He was a little freaked out but went up to my brothers bedroom to tell him that our grandma was here.

"Don't worry, she comes over all the time" said my brother through his bedroom door...which was true. She used to come in and out of our place at will. My brother went back to sleep.

My brother got up an hour or two later and went downstairs. A few of his mates were watching tv and starting a bit of a cleanup. In the kitchen was the old lady, mucking around in the sink and wearing a white blouse type thing...and nothing else. She was totally naked waist down with her old lady ass and old lady muff and old lady legs on display for young and old. It definitely wasn't our grandma.

"Dude, you didn't say she was naked."
"I just thought your grandma was weird" or something to that effect.

It was the old lady from down the road. Her Alzheimers had kicked in and she had no idea what she was doing.

Best thing is, my brother and his mate walked her two doors down back to her place. But since it was sunday, all the punters from the church down the road were returning to their cars parked in our street (perfect timing) and had to cop my bro and his mate with a naked old lady.
The charming lads didn't even give her a towel to wrap around her waist.
(heatmiser, Mon 20 Sep 2004, 6:19, Reply)

One oddball from donington, the other from leicester.
He hasn't been around here for a few years, but there was a bloke called Johnny Gigalo who used to tell the most fantastic stories. He once regailed us with a yarn which explained why we hadn't seen him for a few days.

His story goes a bit like this....
"I was cycling back from scotland (note donington is in the centre of england...), when the front tyre on me' bike blew up. So I wheelied most of the way back, when this truck jack-knifed in the middle of a bridge. I had to slide underneath it, but then I flipped up and somersaulted over the side of the bridge.
I landed in a convertible ferrari with loads of women in it. They all started shouting "Go Johnny, Go!" so i drove back to dono."

He was a bit psychotic, as well as being older, so noone mentioned the obvious flaws in this story. It was just one of many though.



Another freak that I've seen before is from somewhere near leicester.
I've seen him in 2 clubs now, the Emporium in coalville, and Nocturnels in leicester.
He turns up at a club, goes stright to the front of the DJ booth, then proceeds to run on the spot for a few hours. Then jogs away when he's done.
He does this dressed in 80's tennis/jogging style clothing, and has been doing so for a few years.
(thegreatrobino, Mon 20 Sep 2004, 2:46, Reply)

I work on the Deli counter in Somerfield.
It's shit. Every single customer seems to be either blind, illiterate or socially retarded. None more than the gentleman who ran up, puffing and panting, to say "GIVE ME SOME CHEESE!". Nothing particularly unusual about that apart from the fact that he was quite clearly masturbating furiously, staring at me with a mad little glint in his eye.
I hate my job.
(you FUCKING *BANG* BANG*BANG* AAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!, Sun 19 Sep 2004, 20:02, Reply)