one of my dad's uni storiesMy dad and his mates nicked off with another one of their mate's briefcase, and put about 6 full, glass ink bottles in it, along with all his stuff. They then ran to one of the higher tower block floors. They tied a rope around the briefcase's handle and suspended it out of the window, and shut the window on the rope, leaving the briefcase hanging nicely. I think it was a sharp knife that cut the rope too short on the inside of the building to hold.
Dad's friend how has a problem: Either he opens the window to get the briefcase, and lets it fall to the ground, smashing the ink bottles and ruining his stuff, or leaves it there, rendering everything useless anyway.
Devious.
In the same group of friends, one of them was explaining that methanol burns at a very low temperature, and you can, therefore, burn meths in the palm of your hand without being burned. Another friend, impressed by this, tells him to put his money where his mouth is (conveniently they had a bottle of meths lying around their student house.. i wonder about my dad sometimes) The first friend refuses to prove his theory.
The result? Second friend chasing first friend around the room with a bottle of meths, soaking his hand and arm. Then chasing him with a lighter and setting him on fire. (btw, he wasnt hurt, his arm was just hairless for a while)
More fun with meths:
Realising that methanol could be much more harmless fun than they'd originally anticipated, they went and soaked their friendly neighbor's door with the stuff. set the door alight (note: the meths burns, the wood doesnt) and knocked. Neighbor opens door to firey wall of inferno.
shits and giggles.
(,
Thu 23 Oct 2003, 4:34,
archived)
Dad's friend how has a problem: Either he opens the window to get the briefcase, and lets it fall to the ground, smashing the ink bottles and ruining his stuff, or leaves it there, rendering everything useless anyway.
Devious.
In the same group of friends, one of them was explaining that methanol burns at a very low temperature, and you can, therefore, burn meths in the palm of your hand without being burned. Another friend, impressed by this, tells him to put his money where his mouth is (conveniently they had a bottle of meths lying around their student house.. i wonder about my dad sometimes) The first friend refuses to prove his theory.
The result? Second friend chasing first friend around the room with a bottle of meths, soaking his hand and arm. Then chasing him with a lighter and setting him on fire. (btw, he wasnt hurt, his arm was just hairless for a while)
More fun with meths:
Realising that methanol could be much more harmless fun than they'd originally anticipated, they went and soaked their friendly neighbor's door with the stuff. set the door alight (note: the meths burns, the wood doesnt) and knocked. Neighbor opens door to firey wall of inferno.
shits and giggles.
More meth fun.If it snows at chritmas. Pour meths from the side of the house down the front path. You wait round the side of the house for the arrival of the post man/milk man/bayliff and then proceed to light it. Watch them run in the other direction as a blue flame approaches.
This can be done at any time of year but the white snow makes it really stand out.
(This can be done at any time of year but the white snow makes it really stand out.
Evil Bastardo,
Thu 23 Oct 2003, 12:02,
archived)
Well, yes, butWhat did he do about the briefcase? I must know!
And now my story.
My Dad is an engineer, and he was once helping with the construction of a road. His job mostly involved placing wooden stakes in precise locations to help guide the machinery. Thing is, the stakes needed to be EXACTLY precise, or the road would come out lopsided or something, and then they'd have to tear the wonky area up and start over.
Problem. Every few nights, someone finds it hilarious to move the construction barriers out of the way, and drive their car through the stakes, with the obvious result being lots of broken stakes. So Dad and his engineer lackeys had to measure the locations again, and put the stakes in again. This happened many times.
Finally, Dad had enough, so shortly before quitting time, he got himself a long, thin steel pole. He buried it directly behind one of the stakes, with about four or five feet of it securely underground, and another foot and a half or so sticking straight up, concealed from view by the stake. Then he went home.
When he got back the next morning, sure enough, the stakes were smashed again. Until he reached a certain point. The stake was trash, sure, but the pole was now bent at a strange angle... and the area surrounding the pole was littered with large oil slicks, chunks of metal, and various other things from the underside of some unfortunate bastard's car. Judging by the look of things, the victim had to call a towtruck... to the middle of a construction site... where it would be obvious what happened.
Dad nonchalantly dug up the pole, threw it into the scrap heap, and was greeted by his boss, who was dumbfounded as to why someone's car apparently disembowled itself. Dad felt slightly guilty, but more than slightly pleased.
The stakes were never broken again.
(,
Thu 23 Oct 2003, 18:30,
archived)
And now my story.
My Dad is an engineer, and he was once helping with the construction of a road. His job mostly involved placing wooden stakes in precise locations to help guide the machinery. Thing is, the stakes needed to be EXACTLY precise, or the road would come out lopsided or something, and then they'd have to tear the wonky area up and start over.
Problem. Every few nights, someone finds it hilarious to move the construction barriers out of the way, and drive their car through the stakes, with the obvious result being lots of broken stakes. So Dad and his engineer lackeys had to measure the locations again, and put the stakes in again. This happened many times.
Finally, Dad had enough, so shortly before quitting time, he got himself a long, thin steel pole. He buried it directly behind one of the stakes, with about four or five feet of it securely underground, and another foot and a half or so sticking straight up, concealed from view by the stake. Then he went home.
When he got back the next morning, sure enough, the stakes were smashed again. Until he reached a certain point. The stake was trash, sure, but the pole was now bent at a strange angle... and the area surrounding the pole was littered with large oil slicks, chunks of metal, and various other things from the underside of some unfortunate bastard's car. Judging by the look of things, the victim had to call a towtruck... to the middle of a construction site... where it would be obvious what happened.
Dad nonchalantly dug up the pole, threw it into the scrap heap, and was greeted by his boss, who was dumbfounded as to why someone's car apparently disembowled itself. Dad felt slightly guilty, but more than slightly pleased.
The stakes were never broken again.