Profile for WillF:
*foof* made this nice superhero version of me.
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*foof* made this nice superhero version of me.
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Best answers to questions:
» Messing with people's heads
Dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick. How many dicks is that? A lot.
In the weeks leading up to the most recent election day, I began receiving phone calls attempting to solicit my vote for various candidates running for local offices. Inevitably, these phone calls seemed to be most common when I was trying to cook or eat dinner. Rather than be annoyed, I decided I would entertain myself at the expense of the next person who called, and I was not disappointed. While I don't recall the candidate's surname, his given name was the unfortunately phallic shorthand for Richard and the conversation went something like this:
“Good evening sir, I'm calling on behalf of Dick Whatshisname, and we'd like to know if we can count on your vote in this upcoming election.”
(Me, pretending to be hard of hearing) “You're calling for Dick?”
“Yes sir, I'm calling to see if we can count on your vote for Dick Whatshisname.”
“Dick?”
“Yes, sir. Dick.”
“Well, I don't really know much about Dick. Do you know a lot about Dick?”
“Yes, he stands for things our community needs.”
“So, Dick is a stand-up guy?”
“Yes sir, I believe he is.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about Dick.”
“Yes, I've been volunteering for Dick's campaign for several months now.”
“So you'll work for Dick? You'll work hard for Dick?”
“Yes, I think he's a candidate worth fighting for.”
“So you like Dick?”
“I think Dick is great!”
At this point I just hung up the phone – I couldn't hold in the laughter anymore, and my wife was laughing loud enough in the background that I could hear through the phone.
(Fri 13th Jan 2012, 20:50, More)
Dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick. How many dicks is that? A lot.
In the weeks leading up to the most recent election day, I began receiving phone calls attempting to solicit my vote for various candidates running for local offices. Inevitably, these phone calls seemed to be most common when I was trying to cook or eat dinner. Rather than be annoyed, I decided I would entertain myself at the expense of the next person who called, and I was not disappointed. While I don't recall the candidate's surname, his given name was the unfortunately phallic shorthand for Richard and the conversation went something like this:
“Good evening sir, I'm calling on behalf of Dick Whatshisname, and we'd like to know if we can count on your vote in this upcoming election.”
(Me, pretending to be hard of hearing) “You're calling for Dick?”
“Yes sir, I'm calling to see if we can count on your vote for Dick Whatshisname.”
“Dick?”
“Yes, sir. Dick.”
“Well, I don't really know much about Dick. Do you know a lot about Dick?”
“Yes, he stands for things our community needs.”
“So, Dick is a stand-up guy?”
“Yes sir, I believe he is.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about Dick.”
“Yes, I've been volunteering for Dick's campaign for several months now.”
“So you'll work for Dick? You'll work hard for Dick?”
“Yes, I think he's a candidate worth fighting for.”
“So you like Dick?”
“I think Dick is great!”
At this point I just hung up the phone – I couldn't hold in the laughter anymore, and my wife was laughing loud enough in the background that I could hear through the phone.
(Fri 13th Jan 2012, 20:50, More)
» Well, that taught 'em
Lame story, but made me feel better at the time.
I used to be a cook at a particular pizza chain that may or may not rhyme with "Meets A Slut". We had one regular customer who was a real twat. When ordering his pizza on the phone, he would list what toppings he wanted, and when you repeated the list back to him verbatim, he would become irate wondering why you were trying to poison him by putting (insert random topping) on his pizza (even though he'd just ASKED for it). Every time he came in to pick up his order, he would open the box, stare at the pizza for several minutes, and then complain about what incompetent fools we were, could never make a pizza right, etc. He would never accept our offers to replace his pizza, though. So one evening, after a particularly difficult phone conversation with him, I went over to the pizza-making line, and meticulously scraped out every single piece of crud I could find trapped in the treads of my boots. All of this nasty gunk went, of course, on his pizza. Before I put on the cheese, I reached down and gave my sweaty balls a good rub, then used my clean hand to put a handful of cheese into my sweaty ball hand, then dumped it on the pizza. A little extra cheese to cover the crud, and into the oven it went.
20 minutes later, customer opens his pizza box, looks at it with pleasant surprise, pulls out a slice and takes a huge bite of it. "Mmm, you guys finally got one right."
(Sat 28th Apr 2007, 3:47, More)
Lame story, but made me feel better at the time.
I used to be a cook at a particular pizza chain that may or may not rhyme with "Meets A Slut". We had one regular customer who was a real twat. When ordering his pizza on the phone, he would list what toppings he wanted, and when you repeated the list back to him verbatim, he would become irate wondering why you were trying to poison him by putting (insert random topping) on his pizza (even though he'd just ASKED for it). Every time he came in to pick up his order, he would open the box, stare at the pizza for several minutes, and then complain about what incompetent fools we were, could never make a pizza right, etc. He would never accept our offers to replace his pizza, though. So one evening, after a particularly difficult phone conversation with him, I went over to the pizza-making line, and meticulously scraped out every single piece of crud I could find trapped in the treads of my boots. All of this nasty gunk went, of course, on his pizza. Before I put on the cheese, I reached down and gave my sweaty balls a good rub, then used my clean hand to put a handful of cheese into my sweaty ball hand, then dumped it on the pizza. A little extra cheese to cover the crud, and into the oven it went.
20 minutes later, customer opens his pizza box, looks at it with pleasant surprise, pulls out a slice and takes a huge bite of it. "Mmm, you guys finally got one right."
(Sat 28th Apr 2007, 3:47, More)
» Filth!
(not so) white shirt
Many years ago, I worked as a security officer for a large hotel in Daytona Beach. One fine afternoon, I had just showered in preparation for work and put on a white undershirt when my then wife asked me to change our son's diaper. I laid him down on our bed and cleaned him up, and was holding his ankles up with one hand while sliding a fresh diaper under him with the other when all hell broke loose.
For those of you who have not had the pleasure, let me take a moment to elaborate. Imagine the worst poo you've ever done after a night out in the pub followed by a stop for Indian food. That smell that you're mentally picturing is pretty much standard for every diaper filled by a small infant. Add in the fact that said diaper was fueled by mother's milk, and the smell mutates into something awesomely inhuman. Additionally, the innocuous-seeming milk turns shades of green and black that most people would not think possible.
Just as I leaned over to slide the clean diaper under his bottom, he let loose with a pressurized stream of the Devil's madness, which hit me directly in the chest. Startled by the sudden spray of liquid poo, I jerked backwards, baby ankles still in hand. My sudden motion changed the angle of the stream, propelling it upward - up the side of my face, up the wall behind me, and onto the ceiling.
Needless to say, I was a little late for work that day.
(Sun 5th Feb 2012, 0:25, More)
(not so) white shirt
Many years ago, I worked as a security officer for a large hotel in Daytona Beach. One fine afternoon, I had just showered in preparation for work and put on a white undershirt when my then wife asked me to change our son's diaper. I laid him down on our bed and cleaned him up, and was holding his ankles up with one hand while sliding a fresh diaper under him with the other when all hell broke loose.
For those of you who have not had the pleasure, let me take a moment to elaborate. Imagine the worst poo you've ever done after a night out in the pub followed by a stop for Indian food. That smell that you're mentally picturing is pretty much standard for every diaper filled by a small infant. Add in the fact that said diaper was fueled by mother's milk, and the smell mutates into something awesomely inhuman. Additionally, the innocuous-seeming milk turns shades of green and black that most people would not think possible.
Just as I leaned over to slide the clean diaper under his bottom, he let loose with a pressurized stream of the Devil's madness, which hit me directly in the chest. Startled by the sudden spray of liquid poo, I jerked backwards, baby ankles still in hand. My sudden motion changed the angle of the stream, propelling it upward - up the side of my face, up the wall behind me, and onto the ceiling.
Needless to say, I was a little late for work that day.
(Sun 5th Feb 2012, 0:25, More)
» Sticking it to The Man
I used to have a friend named Jeremy, who was crazy.
We called him Crazy Jeremy. One day, Jeremy and I walked from my house to the nearest convenience store, which was about 2 miles away. He got a Coke out of the cooler, a bag of doritos, several magazines, a bag of gummy bears, and walked up to the counter where he asked for a pack of cigs. Jeremy then pulled out his checkbook and started writing out a check. Remember the scene in Pee-Wee's Big Adventure where he gets in the truck with Large Marge? The cashier bore a striking resemblance to Large Marge, only 20 years younger. She looked Jeremy up, then down, then up again, and informed him in mostly sign language and grunts that checks were not acceptable. Jeremy protested, but she would not budge on the subject. He asked if he could leave his items at the counter while he went to the bank to make a withdrawal, and was given a curt no in response. Seeing that the cashier was being particularly unreasonable, and hoping to diffuse any situation that was about to erupt, I offered to stay behind while he walked across the street to the bank.
He returned 5 minutes later and without a single word to anyone, went straight into the bathroom. After a few minutes, he came back out with something wrapped up in a paper towel, and headed for the counter. Sensing he was now ready to pay for his purchases, which I was still guarding, I met him at the counter just in time to see him dump the contents of his paper towel on the counter: ten individually balled-up $1 bills. The cashier gave Jeremy an annoyed look, which quickly disappeared when she picked up the first bill and uncrumpled it to reveal a distinct brown streak. The cashier, now shocked and appalled enough to have forgotten whatever originally put her in a bad mood, squealed like the proverbial little girl and dropped the bill onto the counter. "I CAN'T ACCEPT THAT!", she yelled in a voice seemingly too high-pitched to be her own. Jeremy simply smiled and replied calmly, "See the small print there, where it says 'This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private'? That means that by law, you HAVE to accept it. And you can keep the change." We both turned and walked out, trying hard to disguise our giggles. He later admitted to me that, while not every note had been painted in brown, every one had taken a joy ride across his brown starfish, and that the first two or three were fairly well soaked with sweat. He'd first thought about just doing one and handing them to her in a stack, but then decided to do each individually and crumple them up to maximize the amount of handling required by the cashier.
(Fri 18th Jun 2010, 0:41, More)
I used to have a friend named Jeremy, who was crazy.
We called him Crazy Jeremy. One day, Jeremy and I walked from my house to the nearest convenience store, which was about 2 miles away. He got a Coke out of the cooler, a bag of doritos, several magazines, a bag of gummy bears, and walked up to the counter where he asked for a pack of cigs. Jeremy then pulled out his checkbook and started writing out a check. Remember the scene in Pee-Wee's Big Adventure where he gets in the truck with Large Marge? The cashier bore a striking resemblance to Large Marge, only 20 years younger. She looked Jeremy up, then down, then up again, and informed him in mostly sign language and grunts that checks were not acceptable. Jeremy protested, but she would not budge on the subject. He asked if he could leave his items at the counter while he went to the bank to make a withdrawal, and was given a curt no in response. Seeing that the cashier was being particularly unreasonable, and hoping to diffuse any situation that was about to erupt, I offered to stay behind while he walked across the street to the bank.
He returned 5 minutes later and without a single word to anyone, went straight into the bathroom. After a few minutes, he came back out with something wrapped up in a paper towel, and headed for the counter. Sensing he was now ready to pay for his purchases, which I was still guarding, I met him at the counter just in time to see him dump the contents of his paper towel on the counter: ten individually balled-up $1 bills. The cashier gave Jeremy an annoyed look, which quickly disappeared when she picked up the first bill and uncrumpled it to reveal a distinct brown streak. The cashier, now shocked and appalled enough to have forgotten whatever originally put her in a bad mood, squealed like the proverbial little girl and dropped the bill onto the counter. "I CAN'T ACCEPT THAT!", she yelled in a voice seemingly too high-pitched to be her own. Jeremy simply smiled and replied calmly, "See the small print there, where it says 'This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private'? That means that by law, you HAVE to accept it. And you can keep the change." We both turned and walked out, trying hard to disguise our giggles. He later admitted to me that, while not every note had been painted in brown, every one had taken a joy ride across his brown starfish, and that the first two or three were fairly well soaked with sweat. He'd first thought about just doing one and handing them to her in a stack, but then decided to do each individually and crumple them up to maximize the amount of handling required by the cashier.
(Fri 18th Jun 2010, 0:41, More)
» The Great Outdoors
Royal mess
When I was a young teen I belonged to the Royal Rangers, which is sort of like Boy Scouts in a church. I joined because I was excited to learn about camping and outdoorsy things, but it ended up being more like a Wednesday night Sunday school than anything useful for camping.
We did go on one camping trip, however. The group leaders and some of the older teens set about pitching tents, which took literally hours as none of them had any idea on how to do so. Likewise for getting a fire going, as all of the kindling was damp.
Hours after our arrival, and slightly past sunset, the leaders finally set about the task of cooking some food for all the hungry kids. Hamburger patties were cooked over the fire and passed out to a group of 40 or so starving teenage boys, who immediately wolfed down every bite placed in front of them.
Skip ahead to about 2 hours later, when the first vom bomb went off behind the tents. Within half an hour or so, everyone who had eaten a hamburger had liquid beef coming out of one end or the other - sometimes both. Everything was quickly packed up, the vans loaded up, and we were all shuttled back to town where our parents had already been notified and were waiting to pick us up at the church.
Moral of the story: Those who can't set up a tent or get a fire going properly probably shouldn't be trusted to properly cook the hamburgers, either :(
(Fri 30th Mar 2012, 22:24, More)
Royal mess
When I was a young teen I belonged to the Royal Rangers, which is sort of like Boy Scouts in a church. I joined because I was excited to learn about camping and outdoorsy things, but it ended up being more like a Wednesday night Sunday school than anything useful for camping.
We did go on one camping trip, however. The group leaders and some of the older teens set about pitching tents, which took literally hours as none of them had any idea on how to do so. Likewise for getting a fire going, as all of the kindling was damp.
Hours after our arrival, and slightly past sunset, the leaders finally set about the task of cooking some food for all the hungry kids. Hamburger patties were cooked over the fire and passed out to a group of 40 or so starving teenage boys, who immediately wolfed down every bite placed in front of them.
Skip ahead to about 2 hours later, when the first vom bomb went off behind the tents. Within half an hour or so, everyone who had eaten a hamburger had liquid beef coming out of one end or the other - sometimes both. Everything was quickly packed up, the vans loaded up, and we were all shuttled back to town where our parents had already been notified and were waiting to pick us up at the church.
Moral of the story: Those who can't set up a tent or get a fire going properly probably shouldn't be trusted to properly cook the hamburgers, either :(
(Fri 30th Mar 2012, 22:24, More)