» My sex misconceptions

Asterix
When I was younger, my parents used to throw a huge costume party about once a year. A hundred or so of their friends would invade our house dressed in ridiculous outfits, while all the kids were shut in a bedroom to watch videos and get utterly buzzed on caffeinated soft drinks (sometimes even staying awake up until the heady hour of two in the morning!).

One year, when I would have been about nine or ten, the APs were discussing the theme of their next bash. Now, at the time, I had just been reading an Asterix book - specifically, Asterix in Switzerland. This features a Roman official who periodically throws large parties for all his Roman buddies, except they aren't called parties - they're called orgies.

Of course, since Asterix is a book for kiddies, these "orgies" don't actually feature any sex - just drinking and music and, because it's set in Switzerland, fondue. My parents happened to own a fondue set (a wedding present, which they didn't actually end up using for the first time until their silver wedding anniversary).

So it came to pass that, armed with my misconception, I in all innocence walked up to my parents and suggested that for their next party they could invite all their friends over for an orgy.

It was another six or so years before I figured out why they both went bright crimson and stifled laughs upon my suggestion. I didn't get it at the time. After all, who doesn't love fondue?
(Thu 25th Sep 2008, 17:00, More)

» Buses

The hideous undead
Last Saturday it was time once again for the annual zombie march. About 50-60 of us gathered in a park, clad in the raiments of the grave and splattered in the finest fake blood we could manufacture (top tip: use cocoa powder, it makes it dry nice and realistically). At the pre-arranged time, we formed up and began our shamble - through the street market, packed with tourists, up into the centre of the city, a quick detour to the blood bank, before finishing at (where else) the pub.

The march was grand fun. We lurched and twitched our way through the city, guttural moans and bone-chilling shrieks emanating from our decaying lips as onlookers stared on, some amused, some bemused, all pulling out phones and cameras to capture pictures of the foul horde. As we neared the end of our journey, all looking forward to a pint of cold beer, a double-decker tour bus came along the street towards us. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. The bus driver must have thought so, too, because he pulled up right next to us.

The vile ranks of the undead spilled onto the road, hands clawing at the windows as we pressed against the bus, our calls for braaaaaiiinnnss filling the air. The driver of the bus was pissing himself laughing, while on the top deck, the Indian tourists aboard jostled for position as they snapped photo after photo of the necromantic swarm. For all I know, they thought this was just another part of the tour.

Our job done, the bus pulled away and we filed into the pub. I sank a few pints, had a game of pool, and peeled the latex off my face. All in all, a great day.



Cheers!
(Wed 1st Jul 2009, 13:36, More)

» School Projects

Grade 9 or 10 science class
The teacher was discussing acid rain, and how combustion products of sulphur combine with water in clouds to form sulphuric acid. He then challenged the students to come up with a way to collect the smoke from a sample of burning sulphur.

At this point the class dero, who has spent most of the year either absent or in a THC-induced daze, steps up to the plate by constructing the perfect device to isolate smoke.

A bucket bong.

The teacher had no idea what it actually was, of course, and gave him a commendation for his "original thinking".
(Thu 13th Aug 2009, 18:08, More)

» When Animals Attack

It wasn't a rock...
A few years back I was out snorkelling with a friend of mine, on the hunt for abalone and rock lobsters, known locally as crayfish.

Click here for a picture of one such beast.

My friend spotted an especially large cray under a rock and decided that it would do nicely for dinner.

Now, most people around here who catch crayfish do so by means of a craypot, which is basically a large wicker basket with a funnel shaped opening that allows crays to get in, but not out. However, us divers regard this as cheating, and hold that the only honorable way to catch a cray is to dive beneath the surface and do battle with the creature yourself. Since crayfish tend to lurk in crevices under rocks, and retreat at the slightest sign of danger, they are quite hard to catch, especially when they're six metres down and you have to hold your breath while carefully extracting them.

My friend took a deep breath and dived down. I waited on top. And waited. And waited. Just as I was about to dive down and see if he was alright, he surfaced nearby, completely out of breath and with a large cray leg clamped tight around his index finger.

As he got his breath back, he told me what had happened. Most crays, when they sense that you're reaching for them, will simply shoot to the back of their hidey-hole and lurk there out of reach. This one, however, clearly pissed off with some bastard reaching into his home and trying to eat him, decided to fight back, and lunged at my friend's hand as he made a grab for it. Firmly latched on, it then used its tail to wedge itself even more firmly under the rock. This had the result that my friend was unable to remove the crayfish from the hole, and he was also unable to remove his hand from the crayfish. Running short on air, and faced with the embarrassing possibility of death by crustacean, he braced himself on the rock, and with an almighty heave tore the leg off the cray and made his escape.

After swimming back to shore, we were able to prise off the death-gripping claw, which my friend now keeps on his desk as a memento of the titanic struggle.

Yet somewhere out there, in the ocean deep, the cray with the missing leg still lurks, growing in size and hatred year after year, awaiting the day that my friend returns to the water, so that the two old enemies may join in their final battle...

...a battle to the death.

Apologies for length, but you're only allowed to take them if the carapace length from horns to rear is over 110mm.
(Thu 1st May 2008, 3:21, More)

» Voyeurism

Room with a view
One time a mate of mine who's into recording his own music decided that he needed some photos for his next album cover. So, he got hold of another friend and they went up to the top floor observation deck of a local luxury hotel, to take some photos of my muso mate with the city at night spread out behind him. For the photo shoot he was wearing a gimp mask and a fake police uniform (No, I don't know why he picked that particular outfit).

Anyway, after taking a few photos, they were standing looking out the window and chatting when they realised that from where they were standing (the observation deck juts out from the side of the hotel) they could see right into the lounge room of one of the luxury apartments. Inside was a naked woman lying on a couch while a bloke stood betwixt her open legs and pounded away. They stood there staring for a minute or two, and then the guy looked up and saw them.

Consider this from his perspective. You're in your hotel room 20 floors above the city, going at it hammer and tongs with a beautiful woman, when you look up to see a photographer and a gimp mask-wearing police officer watching you. What would you do? Full credit to him, this guy didn't bat an eyelid. Staying calm, he reached down, picked up the woman and, still inside, carried her into the bedroom and out of sight.

Unfortunately for him, the bedroom had a full length mirror on the cupboard doors, which was perfectly visible from the observation deck. Said mirror reflected everything that was happening on the bed.

When my mate told me this story, my first question was "Did you take photos?". They didn't. Apparently they were "too shocked".

Length? Like I said, about 20 floors.
(Fri 12th Oct 2007, 3:52, More)