Profile for Sea Tramp:
Hello.
The fiendishly talented the fiend did this:
And the mysterious the invisable man did this:
Now, would you like to see some tiresome old crap?
Manger Douse!
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Hello.
The fiendishly talented the fiend did this:
And the mysterious the invisable man did this:
Now, would you like to see some tiresome old crap?
Manger Douse!
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Tactless
OK, I'm crowbarring this one in, cos I just bashed it out as a reply on /links at gone 1am and it was too much work to just see vanish...
Besides, I like making ProfKM chuckle. And there are two or three examples of tactlessness in this tale...
I was living in the shittiest room of a six-"person" house as a student.
We got an early-morning visit from the telly licensing cunt.
My bedroom door was locked, and the fucker woke me by banging on it at about 8am. I ignored it.
I could tell what was going on, cos a housemate (helpful!) shouted who it was, thereby giving the tosser the conviction that I was indeed in the room.
So he carried on banging the door. For several hours. Astonishingly persistent.
Eventually, some time after 11am, I realised this might be a day-long war of attrition, and it was a horrible room I hated spending any time in. And this was at a time when I liked stepping out and having things to do.
I gazed at the knackered, 12-inch black and white portable telly that only picked up two channels, with its screen covered with red wax dribbles from ill-positioned candles, and thought: "Sod this".
I got dressed, picked up the small hammer from my crappy tool bag, and unlocked the door.
"You're very rude," I said to the weaselly prick who was standing there. "What do you want?" I probably looked as pissed-off as I was feeling.
"Have you got a license for that television?"
I turned and put the hammer through the screen. Been wanting to do it for years, and finally had the excuse. Disappointing lack of spectacular sparks, but hey ho.
I turned back to him, hammer in hand, glaring. "What television?"
He left. Swiftly.
(Tue 8th Nov 2011, 1:41, More)
OK, I'm crowbarring this one in, cos I just bashed it out as a reply on /links at gone 1am and it was too much work to just see vanish...
Besides, I like making ProfKM chuckle. And there are two or three examples of tactlessness in this tale...
I was living in the shittiest room of a six-"person" house as a student.
We got an early-morning visit from the telly licensing cunt.
My bedroom door was locked, and the fucker woke me by banging on it at about 8am. I ignored it.
I could tell what was going on, cos a housemate (helpful!) shouted who it was, thereby giving the tosser the conviction that I was indeed in the room.
So he carried on banging the door. For several hours. Astonishingly persistent.
Eventually, some time after 11am, I realised this might be a day-long war of attrition, and it was a horrible room I hated spending any time in. And this was at a time when I liked stepping out and having things to do.
I gazed at the knackered, 12-inch black and white portable telly that only picked up two channels, with its screen covered with red wax dribbles from ill-positioned candles, and thought: "Sod this".
I got dressed, picked up the small hammer from my crappy tool bag, and unlocked the door.
"You're very rude," I said to the weaselly prick who was standing there. "What do you want?" I probably looked as pissed-off as I was feeling.
"Have you got a license for that television?"
I turned and put the hammer through the screen. Been wanting to do it for years, and finally had the excuse. Disappointing lack of spectacular sparks, but hey ho.
I turned back to him, hammer in hand, glaring. "What television?"
He left. Swiftly.
(Tue 8th Nov 2011, 1:41, More)
» Housemates from hell
Steve
was a terrifying 6'4" nutter who drank cheap cider all day every day, had a large collection of Nazi memorabilia, and would wake the household daily before 7am with a mixture of Henry Rollins and a £2.99 tape of marching bagpipe choons he'd bought from Woolworth's.
I once pinched 4 slices of bread out of his portion of kitchen cupboard. The next day, every bit of food I had in the house had had a picture of a human eye cut out from a magazine sellotaped to it, accompanied with various renderings of the word 'GUILTY' scrawled in red biro on little scraps of brown envelope paper.
Could never quite tell if his laugh had any mirth in it, or was just intended to be menacing.
(Wed 11th Apr 2007, 15:35, More)
Steve
was a terrifying 6'4" nutter who drank cheap cider all day every day, had a large collection of Nazi memorabilia, and would wake the household daily before 7am with a mixture of Henry Rollins and a £2.99 tape of marching bagpipe choons he'd bought from Woolworth's.
I once pinched 4 slices of bread out of his portion of kitchen cupboard. The next day, every bit of food I had in the house had had a picture of a human eye cut out from a magazine sellotaped to it, accompanied with various renderings of the word 'GUILTY' scrawled in red biro on little scraps of brown envelope paper.
Could never quite tell if his laugh had any mirth in it, or was just intended to be menacing.
(Wed 11th Apr 2007, 15:35, More)
» Random Acts of Evil
This was on the beach at Barmouth a couple of years ago.
Nick and his daughter went for a swim in the sea, Ian had his dog with him and went walkabout, so I was guarding the heap of beach stuff.
I decided to make a sandcastle to while away the time in pointless activity, and realised as its boundaries grew that some of the boulders nearby would fit very nicely into the bucket, with a bit of room all round for sand.
So once we'd left it behind, the first nasty little sod who ran past, barefoot, and took a good, hefty kick at my sandcastle, would find themselves with broken toes. Heh heh heh.
Ian and dog were back by then. I revealed what I'd done, and such was Ian's approval he took the bag of fresh dogshit he'd been carrying, dug a hole not far from the castle, buried the turds, marked the spot with an X, and wrote 'BURIED TREASURE' in the sand with an arrow pointing to it.
Were were both in our mid-30s and, obviously, without children of our own.
(Tue 21st Feb 2012, 6:43, More)
This was on the beach at Barmouth a couple of years ago.
Nick and his daughter went for a swim in the sea, Ian had his dog with him and went walkabout, so I was guarding the heap of beach stuff.
I decided to make a sandcastle to while away the time in pointless activity, and realised as its boundaries grew that some of the boulders nearby would fit very nicely into the bucket, with a bit of room all round for sand.
So once we'd left it behind, the first nasty little sod who ran past, barefoot, and took a good, hefty kick at my sandcastle, would find themselves with broken toes. Heh heh heh.
Ian and dog were back by then. I revealed what I'd done, and such was Ian's approval he took the bag of fresh dogshit he'd been carrying, dug a hole not far from the castle, buried the turds, marked the spot with an X, and wrote 'BURIED TREASURE' in the sand with an arrow pointing to it.
Were were both in our mid-30s and, obviously, without children of our own.
(Tue 21st Feb 2012, 6:43, More)
» Accidental innuendo
I was in a shorthand class a few years ago. About 15 of us, mostly in their early 20s.
I was 30-odd and the oldest, most should-know-better-ish in the room, bar the tutor.
We'd just taken down a bit of dictation, using our half-learned squiggles as best we could.
The tutor was going back through the passage (nudge) and making sure we'd all got the right squiggles down.
TUTOR: Did everybody get 'would'?
ME: Christ, Pat, it wasn't that exciting...
Poor ol' Pat was the only one in the room who didn't have a clue what all the laughter was for...
(Oh, and a bonus feature: the top dawg in our local horticultural society seems to see nothing wrong with calling himself Dick Eaton.)
(Fri 13th Jun 2008, 0:37, More)
I was in a shorthand class a few years ago. About 15 of us, mostly in their early 20s.
I was 30-odd and the oldest, most should-know-better-ish in the room, bar the tutor.
We'd just taken down a bit of dictation, using our half-learned squiggles as best we could.
The tutor was going back through the passage (nudge) and making sure we'd all got the right squiggles down.
TUTOR: Did everybody get 'would'?
ME: Christ, Pat, it wasn't that exciting...
Poor ol' Pat was the only one in the room who didn't have a clue what all the laughter was for...
(Oh, and a bonus feature: the top dawg in our local horticultural society seems to see nothing wrong with calling himself Dick Eaton.)
(Fri 13th Jun 2008, 0:37, More)
» Useless advice
I too have been told never to go to bed angry.
I haven't slept since 1979.
Grrr.
(Thu 19th Oct 2006, 14:00, More)
I too have been told never to go to bed angry.
I haven't slept since 1979.
Grrr.
(Thu 19th Oct 2006, 14:00, More)