Profile for QuackCandle:
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Hai
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- has posted 17 stories and 21 replies on question of the week
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I'm new
Hai
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Darwin Awards
Brushes with the Grim Reaper? That night, a good few.
I'll keep this as short and sweet as I can, was only the other week or so when the country went barmy over the snow. I don't know whether it was the snow or the copious amounts of red stripe that had been consumed that made us do these things.
So I'll set the scene, just around the corner from my girlfriends house is quite a large reservoir, Edgbaston reservoir for those who live in Birmingham. Its got quite a large hill, ideal for sledging. No sledge? but you've a pair of the pallets that your mattress lies on? - You can see where this is going.
On the way back to the reservoir with many a can of red stripe in hand and enough masking tape to seal the San Andreas fault we pass a toilet. Some people steal traffic signs, some people steal cones. This night, we stole a second hand toilet off some-ones doorstep. See figure a:
I say again, I don't know whether it was the snow or the red stripe that made us do these things.
This is where the danger begins, illustrated better by this picture:
I could end this story here and say that having your feet heavily strapped to two, 3ft non-ski fit planks on a snowy hill is how I met the grim reaper. But i'll carry on.
After much more farting about in the snow and failing to ski, we made our way to the bottom of the hill. Toilet in hand.
We discovered a football in a nearby tree and as you may or may not do when drunk, (I'm thinking about that advert where the lass loses her balloon...) my friend decides to climb such tree. Can you guess what happens next?
We pass the toilet to him in hope of placing it within the tree and for it to forever be one of those wierd, urban things what no-one can explain. Seemed logical at the time, in hindsight no-one would have been impressed. Another picture to show such friend in tree:
Standing under a tree while drunk, when slippery and snowy, of which a toilet is being balanced is where my story of my brush with the Grim Reaper nears an end. I just don't understand how in a split second of seeing the toilet hurtle towards my face, being able to gain cat like features and flinch out the way.
To conclude, me and my 3 mates that night did indeed have a couple of encounters with death but we all survived. For the toilet that was destined for a meeting with death himself at the local tip, we gave him his last hurrah, having fun with a bunch of arses and a second life :
Apologies for poor grammar and thanks for reading.
(Fri 13th Feb 2009, 1:12, More)
Brushes with the Grim Reaper? That night, a good few.
I'll keep this as short and sweet as I can, was only the other week or so when the country went barmy over the snow. I don't know whether it was the snow or the copious amounts of red stripe that had been consumed that made us do these things.
So I'll set the scene, just around the corner from my girlfriends house is quite a large reservoir, Edgbaston reservoir for those who live in Birmingham. Its got quite a large hill, ideal for sledging. No sledge? but you've a pair of the pallets that your mattress lies on? - You can see where this is going.
On the way back to the reservoir with many a can of red stripe in hand and enough masking tape to seal the San Andreas fault we pass a toilet. Some people steal traffic signs, some people steal cones. This night, we stole a second hand toilet off some-ones doorstep. See figure a:
I say again, I don't know whether it was the snow or the red stripe that made us do these things.
This is where the danger begins, illustrated better by this picture:
I could end this story here and say that having your feet heavily strapped to two, 3ft non-ski fit planks on a snowy hill is how I met the grim reaper. But i'll carry on.
After much more farting about in the snow and failing to ski, we made our way to the bottom of the hill. Toilet in hand.
We discovered a football in a nearby tree and as you may or may not do when drunk, (I'm thinking about that advert where the lass loses her balloon...) my friend decides to climb such tree. Can you guess what happens next?
We pass the toilet to him in hope of placing it within the tree and for it to forever be one of those wierd, urban things what no-one can explain. Seemed logical at the time, in hindsight no-one would have been impressed. Another picture to show such friend in tree:
Standing under a tree while drunk, when slippery and snowy, of which a toilet is being balanced is where my story of my brush with the Grim Reaper nears an end. I just don't understand how in a split second of seeing the toilet hurtle towards my face, being able to gain cat like features and flinch out the way.
To conclude, me and my 3 mates that night did indeed have a couple of encounters with death but we all survived. For the toilet that was destined for a meeting with death himself at the local tip, we gave him his last hurrah, having fun with a bunch of arses and a second life :
Apologies for poor grammar and thanks for reading.
(Fri 13th Feb 2009, 1:12, More)
» Guilty Pleasures, part 2
No Guilt
Farting in the dogs face.
That is all.
(Thu 13th Mar 2008, 20:15, More)
No Guilt
Farting in the dogs face.
That is all.
(Thu 13th Mar 2008, 20:15, More)
» Celebrities part II
Mark Calloway
I was working for the Hilton Birmingham Metropole for a few months last year on the reception desk. Serving the typical yuppie arsetarts day in day out was the norm, however the weekends would tend to bring a bit of humour to my time working there.
Being next to the National Exhibition Centre, we attracted the richest dog owners from crufts, genuinely disturbing (I'm sure many were b3tans) dr who convention visitors and minor celebrities (Keith Chegwin asked me for a light).
One paticular weekend brought the WWE wrestling association cak (I mean, there was only ever WCW and WWF). The wrestlers and staff were stopping in the hotel at the time but as I had the Friday & Saturday off work I'd missed all the check in's and thus didn't have a clue who was stopping over.
This brings me onto check out day and I ws minding my own business trying to find a proxy that worked on the computers when a huge chap came to settle up and leave - It didn't click at the time who it was;
Anyway I ask for his name, Mark Calloway is the answer. I see he is part of the wrestling group on the systems and proceed to ask for payment of which is 3 counts of 'Room Service 2' at £12 a pop. This is Porn, £36 worth of porn in one evening. Shit.
So I get Mr Calloway to sign the A4 receipt and he potters off out the hotel and gone forever. I'm curious to who this 'Mark Calloway' is, doesn't sound like an epic wrestler name and it doesn't ring any bells. You can imagine my total utter shock when I google his name:
www.google.co.uk/#hl=en&source=hp&q=mark+calloway&btnG=Google+Search&meta=&aq=f&oq=mark+calloway&fp=2b5b11435ced62e0
Needless to say I have that receipt hanging on my bedroom wall.
I sold porn to 'The Undertaker' and I have his autograph on the receipt to prove it.
None of my colleagues knew who he was.
I don't work there anymore.
(Fri 9th Oct 2009, 2:10, More)
Mark Calloway
I was working for the Hilton Birmingham Metropole for a few months last year on the reception desk. Serving the typical yuppie arsetarts day in day out was the norm, however the weekends would tend to bring a bit of humour to my time working there.
Being next to the National Exhibition Centre, we attracted the richest dog owners from crufts, genuinely disturbing (I'm sure many were b3tans) dr who convention visitors and minor celebrities (Keith Chegwin asked me for a light).
One paticular weekend brought the WWE wrestling association cak (I mean, there was only ever WCW and WWF). The wrestlers and staff were stopping in the hotel at the time but as I had the Friday & Saturday off work I'd missed all the check in's and thus didn't have a clue who was stopping over.
This brings me onto check out day and I ws minding my own business trying to find a proxy that worked on the computers when a huge chap came to settle up and leave - It didn't click at the time who it was;
Anyway I ask for his name, Mark Calloway is the answer. I see he is part of the wrestling group on the systems and proceed to ask for payment of which is 3 counts of 'Room Service 2' at £12 a pop. This is Porn, £36 worth of porn in one evening. Shit.
So I get Mr Calloway to sign the A4 receipt and he potters off out the hotel and gone forever. I'm curious to who this 'Mark Calloway' is, doesn't sound like an epic wrestler name and it doesn't ring any bells. You can imagine my total utter shock when I google his name:
www.google.co.uk/#hl=en&source=hp&q=mark+calloway&btnG=Google+Search&meta=&aq=f&oq=mark+calloway&fp=2b5b11435ced62e0
Needless to say I have that receipt hanging on my bedroom wall.
I sold porn to 'The Undertaker' and I have his autograph on the receipt to prove it.
None of my colleagues knew who he was.
I don't work there anymore.
(Fri 9th Oct 2009, 2:10, More)