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This is a question My Collection

Do you have display cabinets full of stuff? With it all neatly labelled, cross-referenced and entered into a database. Have you been to a convention? Do other collectors look up to you in awe?

I thought I was above this one. I'm not that autistically geeky that I have a Collection with a capital C. But no, I remembered I'm hoarding away every version of "Inside Macintosh" ever published.

What do you collect? And why? I mean, what makes you do it?

(, Thu 11 Jan 2007, 16:52)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Hmmmmmmm... Nescafe

As a kid, my brother once tried collecting his farts. He approached the whole business quite scientifically; for a maladjusted sinister little bastard.

He secreted an old Nescafe jar into the bathroom and filled it to the brim with water. Every time he needed a trumpetation in the bath, he'd submerge the jar upside down, unscrew the top, push it next to his fun junction, and let rip. Once the cloud of goodness was trapped, he'd re-screw the air-tight lid underwater and replace the jar on the bathroom shelf. Voila. One trapped "genie in a bottle".

He continued with this for a number of weeks; slowly but surely replacing the water with gut gas. Until one unfortunate afternoon: 'Black Sunday' as I like to call it. My mum, wondering what an empty coffee jar was doing in the bathroom, removed the lid and got a face full of what she must have thought was the very breath of Satan. Imagine, if you will, the scene in Indiana Jones when the Nazis open the Ark of the Covenant.

One severely beaten arse later, and with the “how respectable young men should behave” lecture still ringing in his ears, my brother decided that the world of guff collecting was not for him.
(, Mon 15 Jan 2007, 17:00, Reply)
Model Behaviour
A while back, one of my friends had a small collection of rudimentary assembled lego toys on top of his wardrobe. Now, we're not talking impressive things like the Millennium Falcon or somesuch, we're talking about four wheels and a windscreen hastily slapped together to look vaguely like a car. This may have been normal if we were toddlers, but we were nearly twenty. So, while he was out of the room getting us a drink I did the obvious and took them all apart and feverishly rebuilt them into something resembling a pixelated cock and balls (with wheels and a windscreen!). On his return I sat giggling like a retard, refusing to tell him what was so funny. He was rather exasperated by the time he followed my occasional glance and saw the lego member sitting proubly on top of his cupboard. I expected him to at least smile but he turned round and looked at me as if I'd just suggested some casual rape fun with his mother.

"What?" I asked.
"My lego!" He squealed with tears in his eyes and I started to get a little worried. "They were the first things I ever built! I was three! My mother kept them for me! They've not been touched in 16 years!" He finished, now openly crying.

I swallowed hard and then should have just waited forlornly for the ground to swallow me up after merrily destroying his childhood in two minutes of misguided mirth. Instead I felt my mouth open and heard myself say, "You don't like the cock then?"
(, Fri 12 Jan 2007, 12:10, Reply)
Porn Mags..
Before the advent of the 'net at my school (private boarding school) (read "on the stage" to get the picture) all the lads required pron mags.

These posh kids would regularly fail to pluck up courage to go into town to the one newsagents and pick up a copy of thier favourite art pamphlet.

I however wasn't a bashful kid.. and went in there and picked up a copy of Men's World, Club and Mayfair (considered to be the best at the time)... and it started me with an Idea.

The house we lived in had around 60 kids... ranging from 13 to 18, and there was no organised porn system: This clearly had to change. Enter Humpty and the porn library.

I'd buy fresh porn monthly and keep the library well stocked. There was a rental fee of 2 quid, and a return bonus of 1 quid. This ensured good and cheap stock rotation for the lads in the house, and as 40 of us had our own rooms there was plenty of alone-time to ensure the quid wasn't wasted.

One magazine returned in poor condition (stuck together) was held up at the evening meal and the perpertrator was labelled (I nearly wrote "fingered" then... ) and ridiculed. Stock from then on was returned in the best possible condition.

"First loan" on new material was 4 quid, with a return fee of 2 quid... thus giving me a slight profit if someone decided to keep it for good.

The profit was enough to give me a decent flow of good bike parts... and to allow me to march into the newsagents on each month and pick up a -by then- "standing order" of 14 spank-mags. I remeber the new lass being taken a-back when I - a 16 yearold lad - came walking in to buy a 50 quid bundle of porn one day... excellent...

Anyhow... I digress.

I returned home from school one summer holiday, to find that my mum had found the front cover of an old "Fiesta" under my mattress. Oh the Shame. But it gets worse: she'd put it in a little freezer-bag, along with a post-it note with "Sweet Dreams ;o)" written on it under my pillow.

My mum though I was whacking off to a COVER of FIESTA!!! The indignation burned from within... I had to set the record straight. I may bave been 17, But I had pride.

The next morning I produced a Stack of 4 box-files. This repressented 2 year's worth of "Club" and "Men Only".
"Look mum... You found a fiesta cover from YEARS ago... *This* is about a third of what's stored at school... and represents the higher-earning end of my little business.

My mum - bless her cotton socks - after nearly choking on her cornflakes, flipped through a copy of each and said that Club seemed better Quality...

My Dad... well.. He grinned like a wanking Jap and winked. I didnt' bat an eyelid when one of the boxfiles finally made a mysterious retun to my room a day before I went back to school... I did however nearly hurl when I noticed that the bottom 4 Clubs had been replaced with copies of Razzle.

Razzle Reader's Wives... dear God... There's just no need for it.

Length? yeah.. well I've been pulling on it a lot you see...
(, Mon 15 Jan 2007, 16:08, Reply)
Thursday silliness - thanks Frank Spencer...and Terry Wogan
John goes to the post office

Chapter 1

It's a lovely spring morning and Janet and John are having breakfast. Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. Who could it be? Ah, it's the courier service with a parcel for John.

"Oh goody," says John, "this must be the new Czerwimkievk variable speed drill that I ordered."

"Oh good," says Janet, "now you won't have any excuse for not doing all those jobs that need doing around the house, will you?"

See John's smile fade as he signs for the parcel. But what's this? It takes both the delivery men to lift the package from the van and bring it into the house. John scratches his head as they drive away and fetches a crowbar to open the crate.

"Oh golly," says John, "they've sent me the wrong model. This is the Czerwimkievk pneumatic road drill. Bother!"

"Well John," says Janet, "you'll just have to return it after breakfast."

Chapter 2

See John sweat as he pulls his little cart up the road to the Post Office. The bell over the door tinkles as John pulls the crate into the Post Office.

"Gosh John," says Miss Trimble the Post Mistress, "that's a big crate, what's in it?"

"It's a Czerwimkievk drill," says John, "but it's the wrong one, and I need to return it."

"A zerwic...zwimk...zerkwim... I can't pronounce that John, is it foreign?" said Miss Trimble, "and besides, that crate will never fit through my window. You'd better bring it around the back, through the small brown door."

"OK Miss Trimble," says John, as he struggles to drag the crate through the doorway, scratching up a large trunk as he does so.

"Oh dear," says Miss Trimble, with tears dripping from her eyes, "you've scratched my Grannies trunk. She died last week and left this to me in her will. I don't even know what's inside it, as I haven't got the key."

"Don't you worry Miss Trimble", says John, "I've got my trusty Swiss Army knife with me, I'll have it open in a jiffy, as soon as I dislodge my crate from the doorway." John kneels down and works on the lock with his knife, but it is rusted up. "Could you give me a hand please Miss Trimble" pants John, as he struggles with the lock. She does, and it soon pops open.

"Oh my," says Miss Trimble reaching into the trunk, "just look at this lovely piece of jewellery John, could you dust it for me please." She opens a faded velvet box and shows it to John. He puts away his penknife and dusts it for her with his hanky. "Thank you John, you are so helpful" she says, and gives John a kiss on the cheek.

"Well, I must be going," says John and he skips out the door and runs all the way home.

Chapter 3

"Hello Janet," pants John, "I'm back from the Post Office."

"You look a bit hot and bothered John," says Janet, "and is that lipstick on your cheek?"

"Well," says John, "when I got to the Post Office Miss Trimble was surprised by the size of my parcel and she couldn't get her mouth round my tool. She said it wouldn't fit in her front entrance and so I had to squeeze it through the brown entrance at the back. It brought tears to her eyes as it was a tight fit but I managed to dislodge it alright. Then she showed me her big chest and asked if I could undo it for her. I had a go with my tool but needed some help, so she gave it a tug as well. I think she was pleasantly surprised when she saw the pearl necklace but she asked me to give it a wipe with my hanky. That was when she gave me kiss on the cheek for being so obliging."

Oh look, Janet's crying now. Do you think John should offer her his hanky? I don't.
(, Thu 18 Jan 2007, 16:18, Reply)
Scientific study of blobness
When the Tampax woman came to our school for The Talk, I was rather amazed when she told us that we lose around 1/2 cup of blood per month. I asked how she knew this and did someone have to sit on a cup for 6 days *snort* She said they just collected the used tampons and weighed them. Soaked weight - dry weight = 1/2 cup of dead uterus apparently. Ok, I'm sure you can work out what I collected. I put them all into a big Nivea tin as we didn't have any scales at home. Then I completely forgot about them. 2 weeks later I remembered, but they had gone all blue and black.
(, Wed 17 Jan 2007, 23:55, Reply)
I have a collection of virgins' hymens.
I'm looking to sew them together into a snatchwork quilt when I have enough.
(, Fri 12 Jan 2007, 15:47, Reply)
Cookbooks
I collect several specific things, but nothing as passionately as cookbooks.

I have just under 800 cookbooks. My last count was 745 and that was a few months ago; with recent aquisitions, I'd put the current number at around 780.

The collection consists mainly of community cookbooks, vintage(pre-1975 only) and antique cookbooks, and handwritten recipe collections. The oldest positively-dated published book is from 1870, though there is a handwritten book that has a possible date of 1850.

The recipes themselves range from delightful to downright bizarre; among the latter are pork cake(spice cake with ground, cooked pork added), 'breakfast cookies'(like chocolate chip cookies with crumbled bacon instead of chocolate bits), acid phosphate whey('suitable for invalids') and numerous recipes for animals like squirrel, possum and raccoon.

I have cookbooks from Africa, Alaska, Australia, Lebanon, Italy, Tibet, the Netherlands, Japan, the former Yugoslavia and many other countries as well.

The pride of my collection is a recipe box whose contents span forty years in the life of one woman. Tucked inside were old cards, bits of newspaper, bills of sale and so many other things that I was able to put together a fairly detailed portrait of the woman who had created the collection. I'm tempted to make a book out of her recipes; each and every one has been a success.

The only room in our house without cookbooks is the bathroom, and if damage wasn't an issue I'd put up shelves in an instant. My husband doesn't object since I'll cook him any recipe he wants but he does admit that after I die, some research library will be getting a massive donation as he won't even begin to know what to do with them otherwise!

As to why I do it, I blame my love of history. They're a wealth of information and more often than not, a glimpse into the secret, everyday lives of women. Sometimes, recipe collections are the only evidence that these women ever existed at all, and preserving what I can of their lives is deeply important to me.

I inherited my grandmother's cookbook and recipe collection after she died, and I think part of it stems from that -- always having her with me in the recipes she wrote and the notes she made makes me want to salvage the voices of all the otherwise forgotten women in my books.
(, Thu 11 Jan 2007, 20:59, Reply)
Tubular Bells

I collect records. I spent three years assembling a collection of Tubular Bells (by Mike Oldfield). 100 copies of it.



I love having them as a collection, but ideally I'd like to play them all at the same time. Anyone out there want to lend me 100 record decks? Cheers in advance (:

I've catalogued them all too...

(, Tue 16 Jan 2007, 17:04, Reply)
Ladies clothes
I have a fine collection of ladies clothes, shoes and handbags - in fact all of my wages go on them. I say it's my collection, but generally my wife and daughter do the purchasing and wearing, I just have the honour of paying.

Thus I have no other collections due to lack of funds.
(, Fri 12 Jan 2007, 12:30, Reply)
I'm collecting enough people
for a threesome.

Only two to go!
(, Fri 12 Jan 2007, 8:22, Reply)
hehe, I love work emails
I was happy. My girlfriend and I had been dating for over a year, and so we decided to get married. My parents helped us in every way, my friends encouraged me, and my girlfriend? She was a dream!

There was only one thing bothering me, very much indeed, and that one thing was her younger sister. My prospective sister-in-law was twenty years of age, wore tight mini skirts and low cut blouses. She would regularly bend down when quite near me and I got many a pleasant view of her underwear. It had to be deliberate. She never did it when she was near anyone else.

One day little sister called and asked me to come over to check the wedding invitations. She was alone when I arrived. She whispered to me that soon I was to be married, and she had feelings and desires for me that she couldn't overcome and didn't really want to get over. She told me that she wanted to make love to me just once before I got married and committed my life to her sister. I was in total shock and couldn't say a word.

She said, "I'm going upstairs to my bedroom, and if you want to go ahead with it just come up and get me." I was stunned. I was frozen in shock as I watched her go up the stairs.

When she reached the top she pulled down her panties and threw them down the stairs at me. I stood there for a moment, then turned and went straight to the front door. I opened the door and stepped out of the house. I walked straight towards my car.

My future father-in-law was standing outside. With tears in his eyes he hugged me and said, "We are very happy that you have passed our little test. We couldn't ask for a better man for our daughter. Welcome to the family."



The moral of this story is:



Always keep your collection of condoms in your car.
(, Thu 18 Jan 2007, 14:20, Reply)
A nice little story for you all
My tongue ring got infected the other week - that taught me to follow the useless advice of my mother in law
"Awesome sickie off work - put some of this shit I got from this godawful restaurant last week in your mouth - it'll make your tongue look awful enough to get off work, but you won't feel ill!"

My wife (a total fookin mentalist) egged me on, and as we had been intense friends and she was my first and only love, I mused “Why the feck not”
My wife was great at convincing me to do things – I was once thought a sex offender cos some stupid tourist found us canoodling in a bush after she suddenly had the horn.

Anywho, on the drive there, I thought I would increase the road rage my wife was experiencing (due to the incompetence of the old geezer in front using his sat-nav) by playing the game I like to call “Driving instructor”. Every time she did ANYTHING that could be remotely construed as ‘bad driving’ I’d tell her;
“I’m sorry madam, but you have failed the test”.
However, due to my schebobilified (my slang for ransacked) tongue, it came out as;
“Am thorry mamam, bu oo a hait he tetht”

Well we got to the dentist, and as it was an emergency, (my tongue was huge and swollen, much like my…balloons I got from a weird teacher of mine….and my cock) he saw me straightaway.
“I’m afraid we need to put you under some powerful local anaesthetic to remove that ring of yours”
“You old people talk so much bollocks” – squeaked the missus – “Just use fire. Could work, you never know”
Having given her a scathing glance, my dentist, ignoring her instructions and administering the knock-out fluid, replied
“Listen, I’m the expert, he trusts me to do this more than you, correct?”
As he was holding a big needle, I agreed wholeheartedly – I had to explain to the dearest later that
“No darling, it wasn’t me, it was the drugs talking! I’d love for you to remove my infectious tongue ring with fire!”

What with all the kerfuffle and the rather busty dental nurse, I started to find the situation (accidentally of course) erotic. My wife, on seeing my quickly-expanding member shouted
“Now there’s no need for that” and did the most awful thing that really hurt my rude bits. It was this event that lead to her dumping me most spectacularly a few days later. :(

Now that was a bit of a shit story, but its relevant cos




I've now shown off my collection of QOTW Answers!

Prize for spotting all of them
(, Tue 16 Jan 2007, 20:33, Reply)
No pron ... promise
I collect stuffed animals. I've got a squirrel, a marmoset, a ferret and a black rat here in my desk draw at work. But it's not only rodents. I also have a collection of fish, including a herring and two turbots ... oh fuck this ... Here's an extract from my other collection of explicit children's books (Squirrel Nutkins' Deep Throat Fantasy, by Beatrix Potter)):

Squirrel Nutkin was looking for some acorns, but the hard hoar frost was too tough for his little paws to break. He was in danger of dying if he couldn't eat soon. Then he had a thought: why not become a sex worker?

So he brushed his tail and licked his fur into a presentable state, then he stood by the large oak at the centre of the forest and tried to look alluring. In no time, a ferret walked by and said, "How much for hand relief?"

"Ten acorns," said Nutkin.
"Ten? That's expensive. How about if I just do it myself and you watch. I'll give you five."
"Er, OK," said the squirrel. And he watched the rat tug and shuffle frantically until a geyser of rodent jizz arced into the air and settled across Squirrel Nutkins' face. Should he charge extra for that?
"Will you sniff my bum?" asked the ferret.
"For another five."
"OK."

And the ferret bent over so that the squirrel could have a whiff. Then a bizarre evolutionary quirk took place. The pheromones in the ferret's arse sent the squirrel into a rage of passion, causing him to mount the furry rear in a salacious bout of inter-species action.

In no time, they were both sticky with the excretions of their new-found love. A few weeks later, a race of hideous tree-climbing ferrets was spawned.

[Beatrix Potter was briefly imprisoned after writing this story.]
(, Tue 16 Jan 2007, 12:23, Reply)
I collect monkeys

but one downside is that they keep following me around, even when I've just gotten out of the shower.




(, Tue 16 Jan 2007, 10:13, Reply)
Little Purple Triangles
A good few years ago when I was no'but a lass, a certain soft drink company (lets call it Rye-Bee-Nah) was doing a promotion whereby you collected the corners off cartons and could exchange them for various goodies. Being fairly ambitious I decided the soft toys and keyrings were not for me, but I would save up for something big.

Week after week went by and I saved a carton corner from every drink I had. Packed lunches, snacks and vending machines would tremble as I approached with scissors in hand.

I finally counted up the little purple triangles to find I was around a hundred short of anything cool. The next few weeks were spent frantically searching for the last remaining cartons in shops where stock rotation was notoriously poor.

Gathering together my horde, I shovelled them into a large envelope and looked on the final carton for the address to send it to. To my horror the promotion had closed two weeks previously.

I kept the little bastard triangles for 2 years, hoping that the company would do another promotion where you had to collect the same things, but they never did.

Arses.
(, Mon 15 Jan 2007, 12:47, Reply)
I'll be honest.....
... as this question fails to involve driving tests, shit, shagging, being accidentally arrested, icecream vans or a gory and stomach-churning story... I'll not be making such an effort.

I am an engineer, heading up a group of lesser -engineers, designing stuff for a big company that makes big stuff. (Wow... my abilities to describe things with such vivid pictorial accuracy surprises me on monday mornings)

Despite spending most of my days clicking away behind a large screen, and drooling over nicely machined lumps of 7005 Aluminium, I have other hobbies in life. Some involve geekyness, many involve Adrenaline/Endorphines, and many involve sex.

Much like the Elves in the story of the cobbler , After working hours I scurry into our workshop - *end elf analogy* - select bars of scrap steel and aluminium, and set about crafting them into pleasing shapes. There is a magic period during the machining process where the shapes transform from *possibly something work-related* to undeniably *Sex-Toy*. I then spend up to 4 hours per toy meticulously polishing them into a beautiful shine.

These toys are either tailor made for friends (solid buttplugs need to be made to measure) or left in my collection.

www.pichotel.com/pic/5760vcBwB/104931.jpg

This is the tip of the iceberg. So far I have made around 20 toys... and 8 I still poses... Others have been given away, or kept by lasses that loved them.

Apologies for length... Just ask, and I'll make them shorter ;o)

P.S... unlike the cobbler's elves, I don't leave them neatly laid out on the workshop bench for people to happily discover!
(, Mon 15 Jan 2007, 9:11, Reply)

I'm trying to start a collection of 'I like this!' clicks...
(, Sat 13 Jan 2007, 16:18, Reply)
Cultural Differences... kind of related.
I used to teach English abroad. One of my students was like a real life pilsbury doughboy, but Japanese.

I had to teach him a module on hobbies, which involved watching a news report about a granny that would go land windsurfing on Venice Beach. We started the warm up to the DVD:
"So... do you have any hobbies?"
"I.. uh... collect uh... baseball cards"
"OK, good, do you know of any unusual hobbies?" (Warming up to landsurfing grannies y'see).
"My freind... uh... he collect uh... womens panties."
"OH... OK... I understand that in Japan you can buy womens panties from vending machines, like how you'd buy coke in reception."
"Uh... Yes... but my freind no like... he say not authentic."
"OK"
"Him steal panties form uh... nandana... uh... wahing line"
"OK, how many pairs does he have"
"Uh.. I think around 2000"

That kind of made my unusual hobby (bell ringing) seem like a sad excuse for a hobby... er... hang on a sec.

But 2000 pairs of stolen womens pants, that's some serious theiving. if you stole a pair of pants from a washing line every day it would take nearly 5 and a half years to ammass such a collection.

Standard lenght/girth apology
(, Fri 12 Jan 2007, 11:02, Reply)
Beer Towels...
At School we used to collect beer towels to furnish our studies with... most people hae the standard ones, Guinness, John Smiths etc...

Justin however decided that he needed a Stones one, and decided to write to the stones Brewery...

"Dear Sir, I have recently started to build my own bar at home. I host many parties and have a good deal of friends who like to drink quality beer. Having surveyed my more frequent guests, It has been decided that I shall be stocking Stones Bitter as the beer of choice.

With this in mind, I wonder whether it would be possible for you to supply a couple of beer towels and some beer mats to add to the "stones experience" and atmosphere.

Best regards,

etc..."

It appears that he underestimated the generosity of the Brewery. 1 week later Justin got home to find a rather large box on his doorstep with the following note.

"Dear Justin, following your letter we take great pleasure in delivering a thousand been mates and 100 towels. You will also find 48 cans of assorted beers from our brewery for youtr sampling. It's a shame you were not in, we sould have very much liked to see your bar!

Best Regards,

You can imagine the shock on the 14 year old's face!

Stones Brewery."
(, Thu 18 Jan 2007, 10:10, Reply)
This is gross, don't bother reading.
Quite a few years ago my feet went a bit manky for a while, with hard skin constatnly peeling off the soles, new skin growing, getting hard, cracking, and peeling off again.

Guess what I collected in a jar? Go on, guess.
(, Wed 17 Jan 2007, 19:24, Reply)
Female body parts in formaldehyde.
Why? I just can't bear to part with them after all the effort that went into hacking them off the FILTHY FUCKING WHORES. Anyway, God told me to.
(, Sun 14 Jan 2007, 19:47, Reply)
Packing my bags
I have an extensive collection of aeroplane sick bags. Originally I only collected from flights that I made myself but after a while other people collected some for me. I have about a thousand now from all around the globe stretching back about twenty five years. I am however going to have to dispose of the older ones as some of them are starting to leak a bit.
(, Fri 12 Jan 2007, 13:00, Reply)
The Don
At most places I work I acquire an apprentice and this is the tale of Don, my apprentice from a large insurance company.

Don was young black kid. Early 20's and *very* good looking - lots of women were attracted to him. Apart from his looks he was also bright, personable and funny. An all-round decent chap.

One week a few of us had to fly up from London to Glasgow and do a bit of work up there. Don was one of the guys who came along. Now on these trips we always went out mob-handed - the visitors (us) and some locals from the Glasgow office and this trip was no different. So we went out on the lash with young Don with us.

We ended up in some God-forsaken nightclub where the Glasgow slappers were out in force. (there were some nice Glaswegians there as well but I digress). We were all a little merry but poor Don was ten sheets to the wind. He was arse-holed. He really couldn't handle his drink and he was pissed as a newt.

So one local moose, a really BIG girl, made a bee-line for poor drunken Don and within 30 minutes of us arriving at the club had hauled the poor lad away to her lair under the stairs. A couple of minutes late and she had whipped down his trousers and was proceeding to ride him like a Grand National jockey. In full view of his cheering workmates.

It's a crying shame that this was before the advent of digital cameras and phones but there you go.

But this QOTW is about collecting things isn't it and you think I'm straying off topic? Ah, but no....

You see, when we got back to London HQ where we worked this tale spread like wild-fire around the company. And then they started to appear. Pigs. In a very short time various different stuffed pigs started to appear on Dons desk along with little notes:

"I heard how much you loved pigs. Saw this and thought of you!"

After a couple of weeks he dozens of the things all lined up in his workspace.

He also managed to collect a new nickname that still hasn't worn off.

Don The Pig-Sticker.

Cheers all
(, Fri 12 Jan 2007, 12:20, Reply)
I collect
phrases that you wouldn't want to hear at a funeral.

My favourite is 'jizz-frenzy'.
(, Fri 12 Jan 2007, 1:30, Reply)
I have a fairly large collection
of Australian currency.

You never know, it might be worth something one day.
(, Sun 14 Jan 2007, 4:57, Reply)
My Parents are collecting...
...humourous anecdotes which my dad can use in his speech at my wedding in however many years time. Their favourite so far goes something like this:

One day when I was about 17-18 I had been out on the piss and had my taxi money stolen by some bigger boys. I decided I wouldn't ring my parents as they wouldn't be too pleased at having to pick me up at 2 in the morning.

So I began an 8 mile trudge home. I was quite pissed at the start so it went rather quickly. However the alcohol eventually wore off so I started to get a bit scared as I was walking down an unlit and unpaved road through the woods. I started hearing loads of funny noises, and after about 6 miles I was too scared to continue, bit the bullet and rang my my mum.

I called her and she got my dad to come and pick me up the 2 miles or so journey it was into the woods. I asked her to stay on the phone until he arrived; I thought it would help for some reason. He collected me after ten minutes or so and I went off to bed.

Anyway, the next day, I came down from my room and my parents were laughing at me. I asked them what was so funny, and my mum said that in my semi-drunken state, I had said to her whilst on the phone and walking through the woods that the squirrels in the trees were throwing nuts at me!

Oh the shame.
(, Sat 13 Jan 2007, 23:45, Reply)
I don't Collect them, i Just can't throw them away...
I have a lot of (low end) specific equipment. This means if I want them to work together I have to use lots of cables.
Like most people I (used to) have a large box or drawer into which I would shove all and any cables into it. It didn't matter if they were coiled, or even individually vacuum packed, because you only had to close your eyes for the time it takes a Chav to purchase a Burberry hat before they become one homogonous lump of frustration. You know how you Gran used to love disentangling wool and stuff? That’s because she was insane, if she hadn't have done that she would have been the next Hitler.

There's no way I’m going to end up with a bobble hat, breasts that warm my knees and a compulsive tendency to invade Poland because a few cables. So, sacrificing a wardrobe given over to bobble hats; I used the clothes rails to hang cables.



They are in order of function. For example, top right you've got mobile phone cables and Ethernet data cables (organised by Cat5, Cat5e and Cat6), bottom right are printer, serial and parallel cables). Top left are power cords, organised by socket terminator (IDC, Figure8 and Compaqfuckinganoyyinglywierdlaptoppowersupply) and then subcategorised into US, UK and Australian Mains plugs.

What me? Anal? naaaaaaaa
(, Fri 12 Jan 2007, 23:49, Reply)
It's my first clit stimulator!
On my first night in the union bar at music college, I ended up hanging around with a bunch of singers, none of whom I had met before. For the most part they were rowdy boys, there was much imbibing of alcoholic beverages, all good fun. After a while, one of their friends arrives. She’s a six-foot-tall, sixteen stone goth called Bex. When I say she was a goth, I don’t mean in a sort of Emo kid kind of way. I mean black from head to foot, caked on white make-up, black lipstick, she even carried a rucksack shaped like a coffin. She looked like the love child of Marilyn Manson and Frank N Furter. Bex, on this occasion, was carrying a brown paper bag, the contents of which she was very keen to share.

It was a massive purple vibrator. It had prongs. She passed it round the table for our inspection and admiration. She was obviously very pleased with it. “I’m SO excited. I’ve never had one with a clit stimulator before. I can’t wait to get home and try it out!” It looked like an instrument of medieval torture.

“So you’ve got more than one of these things?” I said, trying to make polite conversation.

“Oh yeah, I collect them, this is my fifth. Did I tell you it’s my first one with a clit stimulator?”

For the next four years, every time I saw Bex I just couldn’t get the mental image of all of these neon phalluses proudly displayed on her shelf at home out of my head. I suppose it beats stamps.
(, Fri 12 Jan 2007, 12:13, Reply)
Bank of England
Since childhood I've been a keen collector of "bank of England gift vouchers".
At some time or other I've had all of them; £1, £5, £10, £20 and even the rare £50.

Trouble is I can't seem to hang onto them and frequently swap them for goods and services.

It's my dream to collect enough of them to swap for a house or exotic sports car.

You might like to collect them too but to non collecting folk they're just called "cash".
(, Fri 12 Jan 2007, 11:17, Reply)
I collect coins and notes
Of pound sterling.

Every month i seem to lose my collection and have to start all over again.

Bits of it go missing along with my memory ever fiday and saturday nights, without fail.

Weird that.
(, Fri 12 Jan 2007, 5:13, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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