» Evil Pranks

Oily!
Years ago when I was in the RAF, having spent time with some of the strangest people you can possibly even consider, pranks and gags were, as you can imagine, bandied around with much amusement.

I can still hear Stu Williams' Welsh cries now... "My fucking shoes! What have you bastards done to my fucking shoes?!"

We had bought some white enamel paint (only stuff that will stick to leather No 1 parade shoes, and painted them a perfect shiny gleaming white. Next day we had a No 1 inspection, no less :)

But, of all gags, this was one of the best.
There was a small ginger lad, who owned a Mk1 Escort. Pristine it was, with alloys, chrome, big exhaust, nice stereo, the works. Worth an absolute fucking mint. Had even shown it off at shows and won some awards or whatnot.

I decided, that as his girly affection for his car, and refusal to pick up us lads from the local watering hole (he didn't drink) would require some form of payback. Retribution, if you like.

I got hold of his keys, and pulled one of the spark leads off the distribution cap, just enough so it doesn't IMMEDIATELY look loose, but will cause a cylinder not to fire, and obviously the engine will run shit as a result.

Next, roll car backwards, and under where the engine is, pour a nice quantity of the dirtiest old diesel oil on the floor. Roll car back, lock car, and return keys.

Next day, being a Friday, and a early finish Friday at that, we are all packed up ready to go. Cue ginger tosser starting car, and hearing the noisy starting and obvious shuddering caused by the engine, he looks somewhat confused.
He gets out, and we are all "alright, that sounds a bit noisy, mind you, was a bit damp earlier, it'll be alright in a bit!".
Cue him jumping back in, and reversing.
You now have a few lads looking aghast at the massive puddle of oil from where he has just reversed, and shouting "STOP!!!".

A whiter than white faced ginger emerges from the car, looks at the floor, looks at the car, and is horrified. Lads looking quite forlorn for him, till I whisper to a mate what I had done. One face of thunder and me thinking I'm about to me murdered, to one of impish glee, and he whispers "this will treat the little twat to NOT pick us up from the pub!"

Now, obviously, hes in near hysterics, but, theres nothing hes prepared to do, as he thinks hes just fucked his engine.
Off he trots, makes a phone call to AA recovery, and then to guard room to arrange for AA truck to come through main gates to car park.

At this point, said mate has let on what I've done, and its spreading like wildfire round the melee of people fucking off for the weekend. Hence, we then decide to bugger off to the Naffi for a couple of pints while we wait for others to get packed up, and end up getting pissed as lords as people come in to buy us drinks for this excellent jape.

Piece de la resistance?

Walking up to the AA guy as he's got it hlaf way up his tow truck, and telling him, with the sincerity that you can only muster when half pissed, that its actually just the spark lead, and the oil was a joke puddle. Ginger had demanded that said AA man not touch his car, but just simply to take it and him home.

AA man in tears of hysterics, best joke for a while lads, nice one, and as soon as Ginger comes back from whereever he had disappeared from, AA man straightens up, tells him to jump in, and takes Ginger home (somewhere near Carlisle if I recollect correctly, and this from Cosford, near Wolverhampton!).

Cue monday morning, 7am, and Ginger returns in motor. Nothing said to us all week, hes basically shunned us. Turns out when AA man dropped him off and unloaded his car (some 5 or 6 hours later), he told him.

Nice one AA man, if I ever see you again I will personally buy you drinks all night.

Apologies for length, but tales like this are always best served with warm gravy.
(Fri 14th Dec 2007, 0:59, More)

» Bastard Colleagues

Here be a story.. so be comfy and pull up a kitten.
Once upon a time, there used to be a Evil Witch (TM). And this Evil Witch was the very spawn of Satan. It was told, in tales of old, that the Evil Witch was in fact SO EVIL, that even Satan will bow down to her.

This woman, and I use the word in the most polite way, was just simply MAD.
Not crazy as a shit house rat MAD, just EVIL MAD.

We shall indeed use names that are changed to protect forth from EVIL, as that is the TERROR that she dripped from every pore.

Sod it, I'll just use abbreieviate.

K, in all her crazyness was simply disliked. She had been with the firm for many a year, working in various departments. She has also slept with various persons from the aforementioned departments in some strange ritual, that can only be described as "slaggery".

She was thought of than less than the poor lad who would sit crossed legged in assembly with freshly trod in dog shit on his shoes - in fact, I would rather work with freshly laid dog egg in my office that have to even talk to her.

There are many words that have been used to describe "K", and oh dear, poor readers, I cannot tell you some, as they would simply render you immediately to an immediate and medically justified dose of Mind Bleach.

"K" is a Evil Witch of such self importance, such stuck up her own arse, but having the illusion of having from behind, an average to reasonable figure, but from infront, Good Lord and Jesus Himself Protect Us, the face of Medusa herself, thought she was a stunner.

Nope, sorry "K", you are just a common whore.

In my previous incarnation as an IT Manager however, it came to light that after she had managed to somehoo start boning the MD, she thought she was INDESTRUCTABLE. Think drinking from the Holy Grail style of INDESTRUCTABLE.

She was moved from position to position within the company, and somehow managed to attain one of the biggest offices from which two of the wonderful ladies had been ousted from. She now has an office bigger than the MD's. OH MY WORD.

Her style of evilness was of sometimes simple "I'll have you sacked" to actual verbal and physical attacks. I don't think I'd have much face left if I hadn't jumped out the way when said door was slammed on me.

Even when I was dealing with disaster of worldwide proportion, eg, exchange server self imploding, she would decide that she would gain access code from MD and let herself into my server room, and berate me for not changing her printer toner, which she had emailed me about 10 minutes earlier.

Now, see above. Exchange has hung and its mid afternoon , no emails, but she claims that she SENT ME A FUCKING EMAIL EARLIER NOW COME AND CHANGE MY FUCKING TONER IVE GOT PAPERWORK TO PRINT OUT THATS FUCKING GOING TO EARN MILLIONS FOR THIS COMPANY YOU LITTLE SHIT.

Oh dear. I was also on the phone to one of the sales reps who did ACTUALLY need to send an email of urgency to a sales lass. He advised to tell the potty mouthed little so and so (NOT ACTUAL WORDS) to go away.

I indeed did tell "K" that I was unavailable, and in keeping with her language, told her in no uncertain terms to "Fuck off out of my server room you obnoxious little bitch".

Hence forth, the MD.

Did you read earlier, my lovely B3tans? He was nobbing her. I was then pulled from fixing a CRITICAL problem to fitting a toner.

Did I laugh when she printed a ONE (1) single page sales order QUOTE of about half a dozen plastic chairs?

No. She then went into a tirade of abuse because she couldn't send any emails and her holiday booking form was going to be late.

Her rescue came in the form of the MD.

He then also made forth with "do I like making females cry" when she starting blubbering about her holiday (booked during work time etc etc etc).

Oh dear. Tesco Quality is in the poo, and its over his miserable neck.

What saving grace does the one and only Tesco Quality have?
One simple fact of life.

MD - If I don't get this email system up and running, like, now, then we could have problems.
"Why"

"Erm, because we have just changed to an semi automated wage system of which the financial director gets sent and email of which contains a code, and he has to phone the bank back to confirm code, and funds are released to wages."

"Oh right, you better get on with it then."

"K" : "I can't believe this - hes treated me like shit and just because emails can't be sent you're letting him off".

Me... "Oh, K, knock it off will you. I've got a million more important jobs to do that changing your toner. Oh, hang on. Bollocks. I know! - How about I get on the tannoy and tell ***ALL*** employees that they aren't going to be paid because you wanted your toner changing?"

***Deathly Silence Ensues***

"K" - "Silence"
"MD" - "Erm, theres no need for that now, so, lets just get emails working again shall we?"

She has a large number of complaints against her, of which none were ever followed up. Some staff actually threatened legal action, and I still have the emails sent from her with language that would give even lorry drivers a heart attack.

I'm saving them for a rainy day.

And, on a final note - if you are shagging the MD, for god's sake, don't do it when there are contractors working in the car park fixing the fucking drains getting a eyeful - they AREN'T the most quietist of folk.......

Apologies for length? None at all, as mine is Ad Finitum.
(Fri 25th Jan 2008, 21:59, More)

» Accidental animal cruelty

Worms, snails, electricity and THINGS.
*This real story is accidental in the FACT* that it was carried out under controlled conditions on the grounds of siences.

When we were younger, me and a mate thought it would be both a source of mirth and interesting in the realms of siences* to go hunting for small garden creatures, being as in the title, worms and snails.

The unfortunate creatures were rounded up in a bucket, and masterfully carted off to Matt's garage, located at the bottom of his garden.

Now, the garage was secluded enough so that if Matt's Dad came trundling down, we had time to **put things away**.

Now, being young of age (12 ish if my brain remembers) we were full of childish experimentation, and decided to see what would happen if we wired the poor fuckers up to the national grid.

Yes, ladies and gents, we took an extension lead, whipped off the socket end, and wrapped the live and neutral around said worms and watched in amazement as when power was applied, we would have a disgraceful miniature version of old sparky, but without the chair.

Pop, BANG and fizzle went the worms, but on most occaisions, they would just sizzle and turn rock hard.

Boring.

However, snails were slightly more interesting. You see, the shell seemed to contain the fizzy 240V AC and boiled the poor bastards from the insides, and cause miniature explosions. POW! BANG! SPLAT!

But, of course, after a while, we get bored, and decide to gather up more of the creatures and put them into a fish tank. The fish tank still had gravel, and we indeed did a VERY SILLY THING.

Petrol, the contents of a old chemistry set and the liquids from bottles from your average garage were bunged into this tank, and the creatures were tipped in. They seemed to enjoy swimming / crawling around in this toxic chemical sludge we had created, and we had a brain wave!

LETS CONNECT THE POWER!!

Now, as all good siences people know, electricity and liquid generally doesn't mix, and when we connected the power, there was occasional pops and fizzles as a worm or snail managed to crawl over the bare wires. This unfortunately also cooks them, and we had a mini explosion as the vapours kind of popped, a whoosh was emitted, and a small fire ensued. Luckily also, the 13A fuse had decided on the grounds of safety to blow, and save us from fire/electrocution/mutant creatures.

This also caused a rather strange fog to be formed, which rolled over the top of the tank, and hugged the floor. The fire was no more, but the tank had cracked, and the front of it dropped and shattered. Me and Matt look at each other in the kind of "oh shit we are in trouble look" and look around something to clean the mess up with.

Only problem was, was that this chemical fog was still kind of hugging the floor, and the undead (or rather, lucky) snails or worms were happily wiggling their way through it.

Cue disbelief, ARRRRGGGHHHHSSS and "mutant snails / worms" coming to pay revenge.

Nope, they were just doing as their little invertebrate brains were designed to do best, and wiggle around looking for dead vegetation to devour.

Needless to say, we did have a few moments of terror as we had thought we had somehow created toxic chemical soaked garden things, and they were out for BLOOD.

Our BLOOD.

Happily, these moments passed, and we ignored the little blighters as we cleaned up broken tank and fucked it off in the dustbin.

Still to this day, I cannot tread on a snail or chop a worm in two with a garden spade. I treat them with respect, in the hope the the love and encouragement I give them now will prevent a horde of worms and snails in Hell wiring me up to old sparky for their own peculiar source of entertainment.

Length? Average worm, extended, 6.5 inches. o_O

*FACT : May not contain 100% regarding Accidental and Siences. May contain traces of childish evilness.
(Thu 6th Dec 2007, 23:36, More)

» My Collection

Must be a record breaker......
since the tender age of 14, starting on my birthday, I have, ritually, spluffed off over vintage porn every day into plastic cups.
I now own five thousand, eight hundred and seven of spluff filled cups (with varying degrees of crustyness, based on the years passed), and I can tell you, the smell is much, much worse than a rotting corpse of a pig.

*WINNAR*
(Thu 11th Jan 2007, 20:27, More)

» Where is the strangest place you have slept?

Completely and utterly trashed out of my mind
Whilst at a now demolished RAF training base, for some particular reason, I decided, with another lad, to climb up one of the radar towers that were used for training, and have jolly good fun urinating off the side. With glee, I found the hatch had been left unlocked (noone gave a shit anymore as the base was closing). So, on the tower framework about 40 foot in the air with a big old rotating radar dish (obviously switched off) and the other lad, somewhat inebriated, like me, but looking rather green (who said the Welsh can handle their beer?)
Obviously, Stu vomits over the side of the Watchman tower, and I laugh at his dizzy attempts to climb back down the tower (which, if he had slipped, would of ended up dead!) to retreat back to the accomodation block.
So, theres me, 40 foot up, and decided to spark up a fag, and have a sit down while smoking and take in the lovely pretty twinkly lights in the darkness of this rather shitty RAF base.

Oh dear. Guess who falls asleep up there?

Bear in mind for one second, if you please, that the Watchman radar system is a Air Traffic Control radar, and this one kicks out roughly 10 kW of S band microwave energy.

Oh yes, the output power is over 15 times the power of your average microwave oven.

Cue then, the morning, and a strange clunking noise waking me up. Its the radar head, jolting from side to side. Fuck, fuckity fuck. How the hell had this happened? (Hatch open, therefore safety interlock switch will not allow power to be applied).
The rather distinct steam being exhaled from breathing out had caught the eye of a Tech who was on the way for a early bash in the Gym.
He decides to grab the night crew, and they rewire the interlocking circuit to apply power to the main rotating motor.

Then sliding down the ladder faster than you can imagine, literally shitting myself open to be greeted by the aforementioned Tech pissing himself laughing, and threatening to be given a dose of the fucking TWT if you pull that stunt again!

Slept in lots of other strange places, but, thats the most surreal of them all.
Apologies for Length? None, none at all.
(Sat 30th Dec 2006, 2:17, More)