You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Profile for vulga:
Profile Info:

ha haaa! oh bugger, I've fallen over.
People know who I am. Then forget. Then remember again.

Oh, and if you need to email me, it's jim dot patience at gmail dot com

A lovely limerick from Broadsword

There was a young chap called Vulga
Whose pants contained a real bulger
The girlies all swooned
Whenever he mooned
There's not much that rhymes with Vulga

By Bobson Chimpworth
My name is Vulga
I got a dump-a
by a girl-a
because she was-a
sucking someone elses cock-a

A sad moment in my life

If you're lucky, you get one of these.

My first FP


Some others:










Last one, not actually mine, but still amusing.

Recent front page messages:

If you ask...

...I'm going to have to kill you.
(Tue 21st Jan 2003, 19:47, More)

Having a bad time at Mcdonalds...

(Fri 13th Sep 2002, 19:38, More)

Ummm, sorry?

(Mon 22nd Jul 2002, 11:52, More)

The RSPCA

were not going to invite David Blunkett to their charity football match ever again
(Thu 11th Jul 2002, 14:57, More)

Knowledge is power... To Kittens...

(Tue 30th Apr 2002, 1:40, More)

I knew this was a good purchase just by looking at the cover

(Mon 29th Apr 2002, 2:23, More)

I might be a bit slow

but she seems to be licking a cock
(Tue 23rd Apr 2002, 16:48, More)

Quite drunk now...
Amex... Ok...
Click for larger picture (opens in new window)
(Sun 7th Apr 2002, 21:44, More)

Go home?
Go on, fuck off!
Yeah, go on, fuck off!
(Sat 6th Apr 2002, 14:28, More)

I'm so skint, I can't go out for lunch...
Top Tramps!
Well, this reminds me of what I'll be missing this lunch hour
(Mon 18th Mar 2002, 8:53, More)

Best answers to questions:

» Have you ever seen a dead body?

Nasty Shock
Last night, after having a particularly unproductive day at work, I stumbled back up the hill (knckered my ankle last weekend) and went home.

I went straight upstairs, dropped off my bag, took some laundry downstairs, past the living room door and put it on. Went back upstairs to continue doing some work on my laptop. See my flatmate's light on in his room, shout "hello" but no response. Must be asleep.
Door buzzer goes, its a couple of friends of Mark's (my flatmate) so I let them in and go in to the lounge with them. Turn the light on.

Ah. There is Mark on the living room floor, asleep. Nothing unusual there, he doesn't work, so sleeps whenever. Try and wake him up. Nothing.

Then we look over to the table, where there are all his prescription drugs, with a few of them taken out and a half-drunk glass of vodka and orange. Try and wake him up again. Nothing.

Fuck, his face is purple and his lips are blue, so i call an ambulance whilst Jo (one of the two mates of Mark's) starts chest compressions and giving him the kiss of life.
4 paramedics turn up in next to no time, but seemed like hours. They treied all they could, but said he had probably been there hours. Pronounced him dead within a couple of minutes.

Police and coroner comes out to take statements, with all of us shaking like fuck. I call my other flatmate who comes back from work within a few minutes. All of us just sat in a room, chain smoking wandering what the fuck has just happened.

Today, I'm still wandering what the fuck happened.
Posted 21/02/08
---

The results are in.
My flatmate's post mortem and toxicology report say:

over 10 times the normal dose of Zopiclone. Basically fatal.

Not much of the other drugs that were out on the table when we found him were found in his system.

verdict: suicide
Posted 02/03/08
(Sun 2nd Mar 2008, 14:48, More)

» Clients Are Stupid

Never mess with people's money. Unless it's funny
I used to work for American Express (I don't care who knows) and once I had a bloke wait on the phone for 15 minutes to get through (there had been a massive billing problem due to September 11th as a result of no air cargo coming in as the bills were all printed in the US for some reason). When he got through, aside from speaking very broken English in an indeterminate accent, I managed to decipher what the bloody hell he was banging on about...

He wanted to "Speek manayer" which I correctly assumed was "manager". However, due to the fact it was a Saturday and managers have some sort of allergy to working the weekend, there were no managers available. As I'd been there for a while, I had a sound knowledge of the ins and outs of the system at Amex. I put him on hold saying I was going to get a manager, then came back on the phone saying I was the manager. For anyone who wishes to know, this was ENCOURAGED by my manager, who didn't actually do very much apart from take the credit when I did good. Anyway, I digress.

This guy then spoke to me very calmly and said he's been having problems using his card (still finding it hard to understand the guy, but I thought I'd give it a go) so I ask for his card number to check to see what the problem is. He gives me the first four numbers of the card, which from memory I ascertained was a Visa card of some description. As the phonelines were going batshit, I stopped him to say "You've rang the wrong number, you want to call the customer service number printed on the reverse of your card", but actually got as far as saying "You've" before he went right off on one again. So I offered to transfer him to Visa so they could help. However, I thought it would be fun to transfer him to the first number that popped in to my head, the local radio station. Apparently he went live and was very rude to the DJ.

cranberry.
(Fri 2nd Jan 2004, 18:12, More)

» It's not me, it's the drugs talking

Last Xmas day.
I was invited to go to a party on Xmas day last year. The people that ran the place cleared it with management and opened the place for a select few. There must have been around 50 of us in the place, tops. All this in a place that has a capacity for around 2000, so was a very odd, and cold experience.
The management had also purchased, at trade price, two 3 litre bottles of JD, 2 3 litre bottles of vodka and seemingly endless amount of lager / ales. Plus the free usage of the coke / lemonade tap behind the bar.
Within minutes of getting there, everyone was moaning about how they've really not enjoyed the day so far and how their family was arguing etc.
I then realised that a few of my friends have disappeared somewhere. I must remind you I was stone cold sober at the time. One of my mates turned up and said "go upstairs to the office" where I found the most amount of columbian nose candy I've seen in one place. I partook, as you do and wandered back down the stairs to the rest of the people.
One bloke managed to bring along a bottle of absinthe which I said I wasn't going to touch. As the spirits were pretty much free-pour, a few hours I started to feel a bit mashed.
Around 1am is the last time I can remember. Next thing I know I woke up in my own bed, with no trousers on.
Later on Boxing Day, my mates filled me in on the details of the previous night with much mirth.
Apparently, as I was the only one not to have touched Absinthe out of the whole party, they dared me to have a shot of it. I vaguely recall this.
For the next 20 minutes apparently, I was running around like a nutter trying to chat up the lady who normally works on the door, completely ignoring the fact that her bouncer boyfriend was at the same party.
Around 10 minutes after I'd calmed down, they found me, at the bottom of a metal staircase, face pressed up against a fire escape. I'd fallen down the stairs, and at some point, taken my trousers AND my boxers off. Amazingly, my wallet and phone were actually in my jacket pocket.
One of the people there who was sober managed to drive me home, open the door and help me inside. I still don't know who that person was, if they really were sober, or what the FUCK happened to my lower half's clothing.
Coke and Absinthe. Just say "fuck off"

PS No-one ever found my trousers.
(Mon 19th Dec 2005, 12:19, More)

» Old stuff I still know

A mine of useless information.
I can solve a rubiks cube in about a minute. I can tell you all the trivia of the Rocky saga, including why "steadycam" came about. I can also advise you on why drinking is very bad for you, but I drink anyway. Not to put too fine a point on it, I also have a very violent cat, but I'm quite the opposite. I'm a bouncer btw.
(Fri 1st Jul 2011, 12:10, More)

» It's not me, it's the drugs talking

A few years ago
at Brighton Racecourse, the Valve Soundsystem were playing. It was an all-nighter and having been to work all day, I decided I would need a "sharpener" to pick me up in the small hours. At the last minute, my mate let me down, so I thought fuck it and went on my own. Now, I don't do a lot of drugs, but when it's an all-nighter or similar party, it's rude not to, right?
Anyway... Anyone who has ever experienced the Valve Soundsystem will know of it's awesome power in the bass / sub-bass department. Seriously makes you think your internal organs are dancing.
I'd only been drinking since I finished work and didn't think anything of it until around 2am when I felt myself flagging a bit.
Remembering the pills I had stashed in a sock (I'm always a bit paranoid) and in my slightly pissed-up state I managed to accidentally bang two down my throat instead of just the one. Around 2:30ish I remember having the biggest rush I think I've ever had. This was quickly followed by my immediate need to get to the toilet.

Within seconds of the cubicle door being slammed shut behind me, I painted the place. I was just about able to focus on things and had a really nice warm feeling. Apart from the feeling I was going to chunder again. Then the smell hit me. I focussed. Then I realised that the cubicle I'd gone in to was available only because at some stage the toilet had become blocked.
I can only assume that others at the gathering were in a similar state to me, because it hadn't seemed to have bothered them either. The toilet was literally overflowing with shit, piss, and finally, like a cherry on a trifle, my puke.
When I realised this I was sick again. More tactfully, hitting just the floor. After a while I went back out to the main arena where I positioned myself in front of the bass bins, sat down and smoked a cigarette. I don't know how long I was there for, but one of the bouncers came up to me and asked (in fact shouted) if I was alright. I gave him the thumbs up and he looked at me again. This time he was touching his top lip and gesturing towards me. I touched my top lip, looked at my hand and it was covered in blood.
The "warm feeling" that had enveloped half of my face was in fact my blood. Just trickling from my nose. The bass was so savage my nose had started to bleed. Possibly hours earlier.

On the Monday I went to see the doctor about a throat problem and he said that I'd "burnt" it somehow. I said that "for some reason" I was vomiting over the weekend and he said that the stomach acid has burnt my throat. As for the nosebleed, well... That was my fault too.
(Mon 19th Dec 2005, 11:53, More)
[read all their answers]