» Desperate Times

This one from just a few minutes ago
I have a neat little plugin for Emacs called "Dr Fill". You talk to it and it attempts to psychoanalyze you, with predictable results.

the following is the result of a combination of puerile infantilism and cold logic (the program talks, then the Ninja, and so forth):

I am the psychotherapist. Please, describe your problems. Each time
you are finished talking, type RET twice.

-hi. my bumhole hurts

Maybe you should consult a medical doctor; I am a psychotherapist. .

-no, the bumhole in my forehead

Why do you say the bumhole in your forehead?

-cos it hurts

Perhaps you should consult a medical doctor; I am a psychotherapist.

-ok, changing the subject: im emo

Is it because of your plans that you say you are emo?

-what plans

Maybe your life have something to do with this.

-check your grammar

What makes you believe check my grammar?

-your balls, is what

Can you elaborate on that?

-testicles

I would appreciate it if you would continue.

-my testicles are swinging

Is it because of the people you hang around with that you say your
testicles are swinging?

-yes. they jiggle my balls and make them swing

Is it because of problems at school that you are going through all
this?

-yes. my friends at school also used to thump my balls around. it made
fapping a bit difficult

Tell me about your school.

-we used to fap a lot. oh, and jiggle each others' testicles

Are you sure that that?

-yes, i am sure that that

Go on, don't be afraid.

-i am thinking that you are a dirty old man and need to be sterilised

Is it because I am a dirty old man and need to be sterilised that you
came to me?

-yes. i want you to stroke my bumhole and stop it from hurting because
you are a dirty old man

Does it bother you that I am a dirty old man?

-not at all. i love it. it means that you will jiggle my balls and
stroke my bumhole

When did you first know that I will jiggle your balls and stroke your
bumhole?

-when you pooed on my forehead. that's normally a good indicator

What do you think?

-it was tasty

Earlier you said I am a dirty old man and need to be sterilised?

-yes. the argument stands

How do you reconcile any hobbies you have?

-by sticking my cock in them. normally, cake is involved

Are you afraid of sex?

-no. only sex with chips. the oil makes my shlong blister

Talk about something about your sexual history.

-this one time, i fucked a plate of chips and got blisters on my wang,
it made screwing the rubber giraffe impossible for a few days

Perhaps you could discuss your sex life...

-i take my pleasure from foodstuffs, rubber animals and pictures of
janet jackson with a dong photoshopped onto her forehead. also, i love
it when dirty old men poo on me

What happened when dirty old men poo on you?

-i jizzed on their faces

Do you really think you jizzed on their faces?

-yes. the white streaks of spaff were fairly telling evidence

You mentioned that I am a dirty old man?

-yes. you are.

Perhaps this has something to do with your sex life?

-we've already covered this...

Is it because of hangups you have that you say we've already covered
this?

-yes

I see... Well, what makes you think this is so?

-goodbye. you've been supremely unhelpful

My secretary will send you a bill.

-fuck her. i pooed on her face.

Apologies for length, it was trimmed by an old man's false chompers.
(Thu 15th Nov 2007, 22:09, More)

» Desperate Times

Any port in a storm
This is how I was banned from Verizon's data center in Cape Town:

They don't allow any sort of liquid in the data center - it makes sense, what if some crazed maniac was to throw water all over someone's servers? Anyway, so I got locked inside the colocation room (which has a 1" thick steel firedoor) and was desperate for a drink.

Eventually, I went to our rack, opened the water cooling unit and drank half the fluid in the reserve bottle (one of the joys of having built your own cooler is that you can build in an emergency reservoir).

They guy who filled it hadn't bothered to tell me that he had topped it up with antifreeze. Suffice it to say that when I eventually got out of there I shat liquid mud for three days.

Coincidentally, that was the day I was fired.
(Thu 15th Nov 2007, 15:30, More)

» Kids

Girls poo! Yes! Seriously!
Camp generates the best shit stories- here is one of them.

Long one, so apologies for length in advance.

Last year was my first time as a counselor at my youth movement's end-of-year camp. I led the 11-to-12-year-old age group. The age group have a Hebrew name (Shtilim) which means "Saplings". They are called this because they are green. foul-smelling and hit you in the face if you bend them too much. We try and keep them occupied for three weeks to stop them going insane from boredom and to let their parents recuperate.

So anyway, I was tasked with taking care of a group of 8 girls from Johannesburg. They were righteous terrors, staying up until 3 in the morning to sing Rhianna songs and smash the boys' ladders (they used ladders to get to the cabins in which they slept).

However, none was more terrifying than Elena*.

Elena was a slightly addled kid who was notorious for jumping off the (15m high) kitchen roof and bringing homeless people from the nearby beach to the site because she "thought they were cute". We were mortally afraid that she would end up pregnant or something. Thankfully, this did not happen. After a week, we relaxed, thinking the threshhold for insanity had passed.

Little did I know that things were to become slightly surreal.

I was wakened one Thursday night by a bloodcurdling howl. "ROOOOOOBEEERRRRT!!!!!!" This was repeated 7 or 8 times. I pulled my clothes on and raced to the cabin. Upon enquiry, it transpired that Elena wanted an escort to the shithouse. I politely declined and invited her (by now wide-awake) friends to take her. They told me in no uncertain terms that there was no way they were going to take "that filthy minger [their words] to the bathroom because last time she had, without warning, dropped trou and curled one out in the shower.

I informed them that it was not my responsibility to take anyone to the bathroom, that it was 3am and I was exhausted and going to sleep. Bad move, Mugabe.

The next morning, the girls were found outside their cabin, shivering with cold. Why? Elena, after crapping them all out (wait for it...) had literally crapped them out. Yes, she had laid a chud on the floor of the cabin- I never thought that anyone could do that and come up with a response like hers ("But I needed iiiiitttttuuuuggghhhh!!!"). She went home that afternoon. It fell to her cabin counselor to clean up, as none of the girls would tough the log. The stench of that 12-year-old girl's product nearly melted my brain and dribbled it out of my arsehole.

I'm taking 15-year-olds this year, thank fuck.

Length? 18 cm and yellow like bad curry.
(Thu 17th Apr 2008, 16:00, More)

» IT Support

Not funny, and not interesting
but I need to vent a bit. Apologies in advance, this is going to be very long and probably incoherent but I've just come off working a 20-hour split shift and am a bit drunk so bear with me.

Anyway, before seeing the light and going to school again (culinary school this time), I used to be the backend guy for a very small ISP. Not a real one, mind you, a virtual ISP, geared towards easy access for older people and students. We piggybacked off a certain quasi-governmental phone monopoly (no names) renowned for charging an arm, a leg and a pancreas for substandard ADSL. Support was non-existent, calling a call centre meant being on hold for anywhere up to (this was timed) FIVE CUNTING HOURS as there was'nt (and still isn't) a business call centre, we had to wait in the queue with Bertha from Brakpan whose Rottweiler had eaten the phone or something. That's not the point, though. This is more about my ex-boss.

De Wet, my boss (name not changed to protect those who will burn) was a study. 6.30AM I'd clock in and he'd be sitting at his desk, soupbowl-sized coffe mug in one hand and Blackberry in the other, playing with stationery and shouting down the phone. You'll hae to imagine a thick, slurred Afrikaans accent: "Ja madam, we offerrr a fool survice, twennyfor eeour sepport and assustid setupps. Douwn't worry, Ah'll jist traansfur you to a techie, end you'll be jist faaahhn" (TRANSLATION: Please hold, madam, while I transfer you to one of our technicians").

A bit of background: De Wet used to be a director of some motor finance company before coming to run our team of IT monkeys. His computer knowledge extended to thumbprint logon and logoff, and iTunes. Literally nothing else... I remember showing him how to turn his machine on about 4 times. He used to sit there, talking on the phone, pretending to work until about 11AM. Then he'd come whizzing round our desks, glancing at our monitors, asking pointless questions to the call centre people and constantly trying to figure out what I was doing. Sample: "Er, Tiktock, why is there no windows on your screen" "Because I don't need them, I'm using text mode" "Whats text mode".

At this point, I would generally need a cigarette or five. The man was a fucknugget of epic proportions. He got his, though. Read on for details.

In this country, internet is charged per gigabyte at ripoff prices - consumers pay R70/GB (about 5 pounds), which meant out internal internet policy could have come out of a gulag. In November last year, our lovely manager called us all in. He slurred his way through a tirade about how our "fucking about on banned sites and circumvention of (company name's internal policies" had cost him and his (mate) business partner R50K+ in excess internet usage. He also mentioned something to the effect of "when I walk out of this room, one of you is going to be leaving, and good riddance". Fat Dinesh piped up "actually, I think you should look at this".

Din turned his laptop screen around, to reveal IpCop logs from the past 6 months. It showed his Mac's IP, going to server23.blizzard.com or whatever it was, plus a couple of ultra-dodgy porn sites (fuckfarm.com anyone?) racking up about 330GB of extra traffic a month. We paid R39/GB wholesale, when most of our geriatric user base was only using about 2GB a month, so this was like having an extra 200 users on the system, all unaccounted for. Apparently, being the IT director had its privileges.

What Din said next was classic though.

"Bru, this was sent to the S (the MD) 5 minutes ago. Maybe you should make a phone call"

Boss turns white. Boss walks out. Vids go up on internal wiki, and were cc'ed to director.

Boss is not seen for 3 days. That friday, the director (class guy, but rather clueless) comes in and says there is going to be some internal reshuffling.

De Wet, wherever you are, you're a cunt.

Still glad I got out of there, though. Food's much more rewarding than computery bollocks.

Laters

TT

EDIT: For those interested, the company's named after a long black seedpod that is used for flavouring various sweet items.
(Mon 28th Sep 2009, 16:02, More)

» Rubbish Towns

I live in Cape Town.
We don't worry about the little things, like having people blasting shit music on their phones. There's more immediate things to worry about, like the guy with the knife who will actually kill you if you don't give up all your stuff. Or the taxis with no steering wheels (no, this is not a myth).

Cape Town's lovely to live in if you have money and can afford to shut yourself off in the balmy heights. If you're living hand to mouth or are a Filthy Student(tm), you're fucked. This is the city where 30% of the population does not even have a house, let alone a bank account or anything like that.
(Sun 1st Nov 2009, 21:11, More)