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Profile for monkeyboyalpha:
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Luddite, barely computer literate moron.
That about sums me up.
Cheers for visiting (although I very much doubt anyone will)
Oh, and if you do visit, please tell me how to make one of those fancy profile pages, they look quite nice

Edit: no matter how many times I get told how to, I can't fucking change this thing. Well, bollocks to it all, I'm off to the pub

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Best answers to questions:

» Food sabotage

Booze (or not)
Working in a pub you meet lots of nice people, unfortunately you also have to suffer more than your fair share of cockends.

Now, I have a large number of footy style knobbers who drink in my establishment and one week a particularly loud, mono-brain celled chap fucked me off and I vowed to get him back. The next week he struts in, not bothering to appologise for last weeks penistry and orders a bottle of Becks, and so it starts. I take an ice cold bottle out of the fridge, open it and plonk it in front of him.

Now he proceeds to drink another 8 odd bottles, getting louder and more obnoxious with each one.

Once again he's getting on my nerves. His loud and grating voice letting everyone in the postcode know his small and worthless opinion on every subject. So, I go over to tell him to wind his neck in and stop being so obnoxious.

"Well, you shouldn't have served me so much beer," he tells me. To which, with a big shit eating grin, I can only reply by picking up one of his empty bottles off the table and pointing at it. "It's no alcohol Becks, you idiot. That's all I've been serving you today".

His mates start pissing themselves and taking the piss out of their "friend", who it transpires has managed to get "drunk" of 9 bottles of 0.05% lager. To make matters even better, he ran out of money, couldn't afford to buy another drink, his mates wouldn't buy him one and he got the appropriate response from me when he asked for a tab.

Yes, sometimes I like the power I have in my job.
(Mon 22nd Sep 2008, 12:41, More)

» Narrow Escapes

Not me, my Dad
I love my dad. Infact when I grow up I want to be just like him, but not with the diabetes.

Anyho....one evening my dad had been out on the fizzy pop and had got himself a little worse for wear before coming home. Just before bed he's meant to inject himself with 10mg of slow acting insulin. However, being a little merry, he picks up the fast acting insulin (which you are meant to use 2mgs of) and jacks himself up with 10mg of daytime juice.

An hour later my mum gets worried, she can hear a knocking in the bathroom. Assuming it's my dad pottering around in his drunken state she shouts at him to come to bed. No answer, so she gets up to give him a piece of her mind, only to find him sat on the toilet, pyjamas round his ankles thrashing his hand in a bin. She calls him, prods him, waves a hand in front of his eyes but, but to all intents and purposes he's unconcious.

In a panic, my brother is got out of bed, the paramedics are called while my mum and brother try to get some sugar into dad. They don't know where he's put his glucose gel, they're shitting it knowing that he's getting worse by the minute, so grab a banana and mash it up into his mouth, trying to rub it onto his gums so that he'll get some sugar in his system.

The paramedics arrive and test for blood sugar whilst trying to communicate with dad. They cannot find a trace sugar reading, which is bad. Luckily they have the right kit, inject him and slowly he comes round. If they hadn't have turned up dad would have been in a coma most likely with permanent consequences. However, this is not the only lucky escape, as the paramedics said if that happened again, the quickest way to get sugar in his system would be to shove a Mars bar up his arse.

My Dad, horrified at this prospect, says "It's bad enough coming round on the toilet with your pants round your ankles, your mother rubbing banana all over my face and 2 green men staring into my eyes shouting "MonkeyDaddy! MonkeyDaddy!", without having a banan shoved in my fundament"

To which my mum replies, "You do that again and it'll be a bloody toblerone!"
(Wed 25th Aug 2010, 8:19, More)

» The Police II

Not me, but my friend Jamil (who has been known to embellish a story)
Jamil is a lovely bloke. From Senegal, through France, via Sweden to Blighty. He is also very black ("Born in the night" is a phrase he tends to use)

Whilst living in Sweden he was driving down an unlit road at night when a cop car drove towards him, suddenly turned in the road behind him and started to pull him over.

Now, the black population in Sweden is not exactly huge, and he had suffered racism before, so was slowly beginning to seethe at this perceived injustice.

Slowly, one of the cops starts walking towards his car, as he gets closer he stops and turns to his colleague, who appears to have started a laughing fit in the police car. He turns back to Jamil, walking as slowly as humanly possible until he gets to the drivers window.

The cop has gone bright red, and starts to almost stutter as he speaks. "Sorry sir. Err...I don't know quite what to say. It was dark, and, er, you are dark, and, er, I couldn't see anyone driving the car. I mean, it looked as if there was noone in the car. Sorry. You can go."

Jamil starts pissing himself with laughter, the other cop has walked up to the car as well and is still laughing as the cop who couldn't see goes redder and redder.

It was some time before Jamil stopped laughing and cold go on his merry way.
(Sat 7th May 2011, 10:52, More)

» Beautiful Moments, Part Two

Chav mother
with little boy in hoody walks into my pub.

"Oh dear!", thinks I.

"'e's just dropped his lunch, so we've come in to get 'im cheesy chips"

Cheesy chips come out to her and her offspring, who walks over to the bar. Down comes his hood, and a little angelic face says "Please may I have some mayonnaise? Please" he waits, quietly at the bar until I come back with the pot of mayo. "Thank you very much. I love cheesy chips" and off he walks.

Not overly beautiful, you may say, but I was prepared for some horror child, which I am too often confronted with. And this was a wonderful surprise.

What made it even nicer was the regular at the end of the bar who stopped the mother on her way out to congratulate her on having brought up such a wonderful child, to which she beamed with pride.

Little things like can make the world a lovely place.
(Fri 6th Aug 2010, 10:27, More)

» The Police II

Sensible policing
A magistrate who drinks in my pub has some wonderful stories of old school policing, whereby instead of fines and arrests, public humiliation was the name of the game.
My favorite has to be the lorry driver caught slightly over the speed limit in a thunderstorm.
The policeman pull this man over and saunters over, covered head to toe in his wet weather gear he looked quite imposing as he knocked on the drivers door and asks him to step out of the vehicle.
"You've got something hanging down from the bottom of your vehicle. I suggest you check it"
"Yes officer" so the man walks round his truck, looking for the offending object, but he can't find anything
"It was nearer the front and nearer the middle," says the officer, indicating under the cab.
The driver leans under the cab but still can't see a thing.
"You might need to get down on your hands and knees to see it, we could see it from behind you"
So, down on his hands and knees the man crawls. The rain pissing down on him from above as the puddles soak there way in from below.
Still he can't find a thing.
The policeman shouts to his colleague, "What was it you saw Dave?"
"Looked like a foot, attached to the accelerator peddle"
"There you go then, sir. Lets hope we don't see that again"
Policeman walks off, dry as a bone in his wet weather gear, leaving the lorry driver soaked to the skin and, no doubt cursing the coppers but secretly grateful not to have any points put on his license.
(Sun 8th May 2011, 12:21, More)
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