( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Wed 6 Aug 2014, 1:03, 3 replies)

Did somebody say Noelspin? Because I think I heard somebody say Noelspin!

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Tue 5 Aug 2014, 21:44, 11 replies)

Since the wheely was stolen..
…I have no choice about whether I stay about the bins or not.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Tue 5 Aug 2014, 21:21, 1 reply)

They made me do it

( Zuowan, Tue 5 Aug 2014, 15:08, 4 replies)

Brie
I really like brie, especially when it has got to the point when it has a nice ripe flavour, just before it tips over into dirty socks in ammonia state.
I was visiting an old aunt of mine when she presented a plate of brie that was definitely over-ripe. I took a small piece and choked it down with a smile.
"Go ahead dear," she said, "You finish that up. I can't stand the stuff."
(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Tue 5 Aug 2014, 14:56, 24 replies)

Worst teacher doused
When I was at Juniors aged 10 or so we would have a school open day, with any number of bizarre stalls for parents and friends to enjoy. All for charity with crockery smashing the most popular. Our stall was to do with throwing water laden sponges at hapless schoolboys and my solitary job was standing indoors by the tap with hose connected and to open this whenever the bucket needed filling. A packed and busy day outside - lonely and dull for me with the occasional instruction from Bruce to open or close the tap. An hour into this, one of the school toughs got my attention through the window and said "When I tell you, open up the tap as full as it will go". Bored with the tedium and not wanting to disappoint what could be a valuable new friend I agreed and waited. "OK - NOW". On went the tap and a womans screech rent the air. The school tough was gone but now Bruce wanted answers. He was idly pointing the hose at Mrs Russell, a teacher, when on went the water and so inadvertently gave her a soaking. High jinks and I got a drubbing for it later.
(luckylife , 0 guests and 3 bots are online, Tue 5 Aug 2014, 14:11, 2 replies)

This has unwittingly inspired me to create a new computer peripheral.
The first step will be to pay a visit to my friendly neighbourhood taxidermist to obtain a stuffed dachshund (breed selected because its convenient short legs place it at ideal height when on the desk). Once I have obtained the dachshund, I will make a small circular incision under the tail to remove the anus and a sufficient volume of stuffing to accommodate the control module. The rectum will be replaced by a neoprene tube surrounded by a ring of eight small pressure pads inside the animal, and a slit will be made in each testicle to accommodate microswitches for left- and right-clicking respectively.

Once the USB cable has been threaded through the urethra of the dog's cock, I will connect it to one of the rear USB ports of my PC and install the appropriate drivers. Then I will finally be able to navigate around B3ta by inserting my finger into my cyberdachshund's arsehole and probing in different directions to make the mouse move, tapping its cyberbollocks for every "I like this", and I will feel drunk with power.
( .Yeti., Tue 5 Aug 2014, 13:38, 5 replies)

I posted a reply to something
but then it was deleted against my will*, because someone five replies upthread deleted theirs.

* this may or may not have happened, but the delete logic is b0rked anyway
(Guy Debord cette mauvaise réputation..., Tue 5 Aug 2014, 12:45, 40 replies)

I come here voluntarily, but like to whine about how it's all shit and the answers are shit and everyone's a bully and it's not as good as it used to be and it's been ruined by trolls and it's all so unfair
... in a manner that might make a credulous person think I was forced to come here against my will.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 5 Aug 2014, 11:31, 29 replies)

Rotting fish and meat makes ideal loft insulation for Richard Littlejohn's house.

( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Tue 5 Aug 2014, 10:39, 56 replies)

There is no dog.

( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Tue 5 Aug 2014, 9:46, 1 reply)

SLAVES OF THE FOMBUGG
Hello Sweeties!

This is a tale from long, long ago, all the way back in my first incarnation, would you believe!

Back then I was a slim young male with receding blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. I was quite ascetic and brainy and spent a lot of my time on Gallifrey learning stuff. I became an expert in many fields, and often toured the universe lecturing on such subjects as genetics, astro-engineering, cybernetics, neurostructuralism and moral theology.

For a while I took up residency at Varchon University on the planet Turaleq lecturing on moral theology. Turaleq is a desert planet sparsely populated but with one major city, Varchon, which housed some fifty million indigents and offworlders. The locals were slim and dark skinned with golden eyes and I found them intensely attractive, and had affairs with several of my students of all sexes. My apartment overlooked Lake Varchon and the local cuisine consisted of curry and many ice cold lager-like beverages, so my time on Turaleq was exceedingly pleasurable and stimulating.

This agreeable state of affairs continued for several months, until, one day, it came to a dramatic and surprising, not to say incredibly inconvenient and annoying, end.

One sunny morning I woke next to my latest conquest, a lithe young Turaleqi student called Aravantez. We were about to make love again when a loud, bombastic, booming metallic voice from the street outside shattered the mood:

'THIS WORLD NOW QUAILS UNDER THE AUSPICES OF THE FOMBUGG', it bellowed. And then ten seconds later it bellowed it again, and again ten seconds later, and so on.

'Bollocks!' I shouted, leaping out of my bed where Aravantez did indeed quail, the sheets pulled up over her breasts. 'Time Lords quail under the auspices of NO cunt!' I strode to the window and looked out. There, in the wide street with its shops and fountains and trees, stood a new arrival - a shiny grey cone, about twelve feet high. At its apex a pink glow blurred the air, and it hurt to look at this glow, and I could feel alien mind-tentacles brushing the fringes of my psyche. I looked up and down the street to see more of these cones, evenly spaced along the boulevard, all with their attendant pink glow, and all bellowing at ten-second intervals: 'THIS WORLD NOW QUAILS UNDER THE AUSPICES OF THE FOMBUGG.'

I searched my capacious Time Lord memory but I could not recall anything about this 'Fombugg'; I had never heard of the fucking thing. A student prank? Maybe... but the mental tentacles spoke of something alien, alien and sinister and inimical. I averted my gaze from the pink miasma at the cone's tip and turned back towards the bed. Aravantez had risen and was walking in a trance-like state towards the door. 'Hey!' I called. 'Where d'you think you're going?' But she didn't hear me, or chose not to. I grabbed hold of her arm but she shook free. 'Must... obey... Fombugg,' she was muttering, over and over again. I let her go, and dressed quickly, hoping to get to my TARDIS and get the fuck offplanet, because whatever this Fombugg was, it clearly wasn't good news for the denizens of Turaleq.

But as I slipped my shoes on, I felt those alien mind-tentacles again; more insistent this time, and I felt myself lose control of my mind and body. A prisoner within myself, I marched from my room, muttering 'Must... obey... Fombugg.' I went out into the streets and joined a massive flood of people, all under the control of this mysterious alien entity.

The next few months I find hard to recall, as my mind was totally subjugated to the will of the Fombugg. I was set to work with the Turaleqi and the other offworlders unfortunate enough to find themselves on the planet at the time of the Fombugg's arrival. We were sent into the desert there to construct vast and abstract machines for our alien overlord. The purpose of these machines remains unclear, even afterwards when everything returned to normal and the Fombugg's machines could be explored and analysed. There were too many of them to describe here, but the most notable ones included:

- An enormous construction that resembled a windmill with sieves for vanes
- An enclosure filled with cruciform robots that would crawl all over each other without cease
- A deep pit, accessed by spiral steps along its inner walls, at the bottom of which a giant mirror was constructed
- A thirty-mile long pipe, open at one end, and closed off by a wire mesh at the other
- A series of poles supporting giant latticed cubes that would rotate slowly and ponderously casting surreal shadows on the desert below
- A stepped, pyramidal structure at the top of which sat a gigantic concrete ring
- A number of glass towers that refracted and diverted the rays of the Turaleqi sun
- A moss-like extrusion that emitted the most vile smell I have ever smelt
- An installation of rubber hoops and rings that looked like a giant croquet set
- A great many troughs leading out from all directions in the desert
- A giant spring

And everywhere the grey cones with their pink glowing mantles, overseeing everything.

There was, however, one construction that did seem to have a purpose - to house the Fombugg itself. This was an enormous geodesic dome, surrounded by multitudes of the sentinel cones. It was on this that I was set to work on the most, though of course, at the time, being under the control of the Fombugg, I had no clue as to the true purpose of my work.

I toiled under the control of the Fombugg for several months, and, eventually, like many of its other servants, I died. After weeks and weeks of work I collapsed, dehydrated and starved. Of course, being a Time Lord, I regenerated - it was my first ever regeneration, and my second incarnation woke to find himself lying in a great big pile of stinking decomposing Turaleqi bodies who had died unable to save themselves through the Time Lord gift of regeneration.

This new body, my second incarnation, was, in contrast to the first, a stocky, bullish male with a mane of curly black hair. I extricated myself from the pile of corpses and almost immediately felt the mind-tentacles of the Fombugg attempting to re-acquire my psyche. A newly-regenerated Time Lord, however, is a force to be reckoned with and I was able to use my regenerative energy to shield my mind against the alien entity's mental advances.

Thus protected, I returned to Varchon and marched straight in to my TARDIS, intending to get the fuck off of Turaleq. But this new incarnation had a conscience. I found myself thinking mournfully of that pile of Turaleqi corpses, and wondered if Araventez had been among them. Anger then posessed me, and I vowed to stay on Turaleq and defeat the evil Fombugg.

I looked up the thing on my TARDIS databanks and discovered that the Fombugg was a gestalt entity, a distributed being, which consisted of numerous Nodes (the grey cones) and a central, controlling Kernel - housed in the dome-like building I had helped to construct. Destroy the Kernel, and you destroy the Fombugg. And so, armed with a claw hammer, I made my way back to the desert and to the dome that housed the Kernel of the distributed being.

The Fombugg, alerted now to the danger of my presence, sent its slaves after me and so I had to fight of legions of Fombugg-controlled Turaleqi zombies. And yes, one of these was Aravantez, and I sobbed as I throttled the life out of her. This, of course, only intensified my hatred of the Fombugg. The cunting thing HAD to die.

I reached the dome and smashed my way in. Inside, cobwebby corridors led hither and thither, spiralling round to the centre of the construction. Still pursued by the slaves of the Fombugg, I crashed through these, unerringly intent on reaching the centre of the Fombugg's power.

At last I penetrated the central chamber there to confront the Kernel of the Fombugg.

The chamber was a domed, ribbed, cathedral-like space, and the Kernel hovered in mid-air before me, rotating gently along its longitudinal axis. In appearance it was a small, shiny, grey thing the shape of a comma or a stylised human ear, no bigger than a clenched fist. The slaves of the Fombugg at my heels, I stepped forwards, raised the hammer and brought it down hard right onto the Kernel of the Fombugg.

It shattered into a zillion smithereens, dying with a tiny, keening shriek.

Immediately the slaves were released and stopped their attack. I was taken back to Varchon to explain what had happened, and was hailed as a hero, and given the Freedom of Varchon City. I then returned to Gallifrey where I was, of course, bollocked about my interference in 'local affairs.' Cunts. I saw then why that other Doctor had fucked off, and I was not far behind him, leaving Gallifrey forever to explore, and eventually attempt to take over, the universe (yes, the irony is not lost on me, sweeties, but don't worry I'm nice now, as you all know!)

The Fombugg's machines remain in the Turaleqi desert to this day and are a popular tourist attraction.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 4 Aug 2014, 22:23, 15 replies)

if only dogs could look up

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Mon 4 Aug 2014, 18:56, 7 replies)

If only dogs could type

( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Mon 4 Aug 2014, 13:22, 17 replies)

I once saw Alexei Sayle in the northbound car park of Keele Services on the M6.

( brb Learn Ukrainian and prepare for a referendum, Sun 3 Aug 2014, 21:34, 2 replies)

'I am the Master, and you will obey me.
You will Obey Me!'

Daft cunt.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Sun 3 Aug 2014, 19:09, 10 replies)

A partially relative pea roast
the owl and the pussycat went to sea in a beautiful pea roast boat


I had three less than favourable encounters with our pork flavoured friends in my late teens.

The first was when I was an officer cadet in the merchant navy at the tender age of 18. We had been at anchor in the bay of Gibraltar for two weeks whilst waiting to offload 2k tons of scrap in Algeciras.

When we finally got alongside everyone needed to let off a little steam. The first mate, the ChEng, two ABs and the engineer cadet all jumped in a taxi to Gibralter. To cut a long story short we came across a squaddies bar serving jack and coke for a pound a throw. The last thing I can remember is sitting on the road, alone. Then I woke up in an unlit room with a door yet no door handle. I looked at my watch to try nd figure out how much time had passed. It was gone. To get from Spain into Gib I needed my passport. That was gone as well. Along with my wallet and most worryingly, my belt. I began to wonder what was happening when I heard some screams and a lot of banging. Luckily this was back in 1999. When I think back to what happened I cant help thinking about movies like Saw and Hostel. Anyhoo, amidst all the screams and banging I decided to find out who had locked me in this room so I took the bull by the horns and started signaling for attention in the only way I felt was appropriate. I firmly rapped the door whilst saying "excuse me!".

Eventually my captor grew tired of the anguished moans of my fellow detainees and came to my door. I heard the key in the lock and then there was a blinding light (courtesy of the strip lighting in the hall outside). As soon as my eyes adjusted I found mysel face to face with a Ron Jeremy look-a-like wearing a uniform. I had been found nearly passed out on the street and had been taken in as "drunk and incapable". I got all my stuff back (including the tenner I still had in my wallet) and was politely told to get the fuck out of dodge.

Luckily I had a working cash card which allowed me to get the £50 I needed for a taxi back to Algeciras. Knowing I was likely to be packed on a flight home as soon as the Captain found out (I was 6 hours late for my watch, there was no avoiding it) I thought I may as well get the taxi driver to take me to McDonalds for a shake and some fries. Happily slurping and munching these as I walk up the quayside I hear the cry "CADET OFFICER OTT, COME STRAIGHT TO THE BRIDGE". The old man had been standing on the flying bridge and had spotted me tucking into a McDonalds as if I didn’t have a care in the world. To his credit he listened to my story and told me to fuck off to my cabin for the rest of the day and didnt mention it again. It probably helped that the 1st mate had done something similar but also lost his passport and that the 2 ABs had been arrested for brawling. Happy days.

And that is how I learned to stay away from spirits........


for a while. I left the Merch after breaking my leg and then found suitable college course and a nice wee job. Things were good and I went to Germany on holiday. The people I went with turned out to be incompatible and ran home to their respective mummies. I bravely forged on and had a wonderful time. After about a month bumming around the Fatherland I returned to Frankfurt the day before my flight home. As I was now alone the youth hostel advised I would need to share an 8 bed dorm as opposed to the 4 bed room I had shared with my former companions when we arrived. It was there I met Gus. An affable yank who shared my wariness of our fellow roomies. We decided to hit he town for a few drinks. My last memory was of drinking Jack and Coke whilst playing electronic darts with Gus and a suspiciously tall South American "woman" in a Brazil themed bar. Then my memory cuts to a taxi, then a field, then darkness.

I had gone from the centre of Frankfurt to a field on the beer scooter???!!!

It didn’t help that I had been reading Len Deighton and Robert Harris novels throughout my holiday. One moment I was fine, the next I was taken over by a paranoia so strong that I ran for what seemed like miles, certain as I was that the Stasi was chasing me. I stumbled through the field until I came to a road. A narrow country road in the middle of a wood/forest.

It must have been about 2am but I decided to flag down a car. In most slurred, drunken and broken German imaginable I asked the driver for a lift whilst opening the door. I had one foot in the car when he/she? hit the peddle and accelerated away from the mad drunken potential car jacker. I was left rolling down the road, mercifully uninjured. I saw some more headlights in the distance and felt it was worth another shot. I stuck my thumb out and the van stopped. I peered in and was greeted by two mustachioed German coppers looking at me with bemused expressions. I got bundled in and taken to the local cop shop. I had sobered up somewhat and remember the desk sergeant looking me up and down and then telling my two new friends to cut m loose. And there I was. Safe and a bit more sober, back on the streets of Frankfurt city centre. That should have been the end of it. However, the Stasis re-appeared (in my mind) and I made a break for it. Running full pelt up the street as fast as I could. Sure enough, the security forces caught up with me. Not the Stasi but my two friends from local law enforcement. Luckily they took pity on me and after a lot of slurred attempts, I managed to correctly pronounce the name of the street the youth hostel was on. They took me there and I knocked on the glass door. They guy at the desk shook his head whilst motioning to the curfew sign. Again my new friends helped me out and gestured to him that I should be allowed in.

Somehow I found my room and tried to enter as quietly as possible. I failed miserably by tripping over the unconscious form of Gus the Yank where he had fallen on the floor after returning from our memorable night.

About four months after this I joined my very good friend Mark at the Local Wetherspoons. It was his leaving do and there was much to be celebrated. He and I decided to do this by consuming a few pints. Unfortunately these were in the form of pitchers…..each filled with six shots of Jack Daniels and then topped up with coke. I remember finishing my second one, then I remember standing at the main entrance to Central Station. Then things get really blurry. I was in a field. Again! Then I fell down an embankment landing up to my ankles in muddy water. I was drunk, uncoordinated and trying to get up a 45 degree incline. The only thing I had to hold on to were the stinging nettles growing up the face of the embankment. The scariest bit of all (in retrospect) was that I can vaguely remember walking down the middle of a train track. I have told a few people about this and some have said that it was fine because no services run at that time anyway. I dread to think that a freight train or a placement run could have been scheduled that night. Anyhoo, I found myself in a grass clearing in front of a giant fence. So……I climbed over it. There I was, resplendent in my baggy jeans, white long sleeve t-shirt and skate shoes, standing inside the perimeter of a naval Defence Munitions centre, 20 miles away from Central Station

I was quickly spotted, huckled to a guard post and shouted at. Things went quiet and a few minutes later the cops arrived. I was handed over to them and bundled into their van for the short journey to the local town. They took my mobile, called my dad to make sure he had some cash to pay for a taxi and then bundled me in the first cab they could find. It was at worst a £30 fare. The driver relieved my dad of £80 that night. My hands were numb for about a week afterwards. When I woke up the next morning my first thoughts were for Mark. So, I called his home number to make sure he was OK. His mum answered and laughingly told me he had spent the night on a bench in the city centre. I then, in my still drunken state told her all about what had happened to me. I like to think she took a shine to me for my honesty and candor.

I didn’t drink a drop for 10 months after that and now drink cider with PLENTY of ice (half and half). I also have a bottle of Jack Daniels at home. It has 3 shots out of it at the moment, all of which were for people other than myself. Come Christmas time it will be six years old.

Narrow escapes, I’ve had a few. Luckily the boys in blue in Gibraltar, Frankfurt and Scotland took pity on my happy, grinning, drunken, beaming features. Thanks to their charitable approach I am now a teacher.

PS: At over 1600 words everyone has my sincerest apologies for the length.
(OTT, Sat 2 Aug 2014, 23:44, 10 replies)

NINE MORE YEARS, FUCKERS.

( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Sat 2 Aug 2014, 11:21, 28 replies)

I got arrested. I got put in the cells. I was arrested because I looked like someone they were looking for but it wasn't me.
I was a tad tipsy and although it transpired I was not the person that they were looking for they kept me in for the 5am kicking out of drunks from the cells. I can honestly say that being handcuffed outside of sex play and being locked in a room against your will is a very sobering experience and it makes me wonder how people can actually continue to do crimes after they lose their liberty the first time. It really is a shitty experience and not just because of all the faeces smeared on the walls and floor and blankets in fact anywhere but the clean toilet.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 1 Aug 2014, 15:47, 8 replies)

I've done a three day week.
Next week is a two day week. And so is the week after. Then I might take a holiday.

Nowt to do with the question.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 1 Aug 2014, 15:33, 103 replies)

well...
I was privy to be invited to the ritualistic Doncaster past time of branding your children at the age of 10 (it is held under our cathedral/church whatever it is). I myself am from Doncaster and my brand sits just above my left bum cheek.

Anyways the children came up some sullen faced or some crying, some even looking forward to it as it is a mark of pride for some. My turn came when the great priest handed me the branding iron as i was going to brand my own brother, i felt ecstatic.

I slowly put the branding iron closer and closer to his face as i watched him squirm and flinch, teasing him going nearer then pulling away etc.

As i went for the final thrust a voice shouted out from the silent crowd, it was my friend Yorkshire Luke i could see he had worriment in his eyes, he leapt forward between me and my brother and said:

Don't put that branding iron against your will

The end
(Pennisons Revenge All this trouble over squealing meat, Fri 1 Aug 2014, 14:57, 5 replies)

hasn't hexy got a story he'd like to share here?

( Zuowan, Fri 1 Aug 2014, 12:01, 34 replies)

I hate nightclubs.
My girlfriend at the time was celebrating her 18th birthday and loved nightclubs. Due to the relationship being long distance this wasn't usually an issue but this time, against my strongest wishes and a threat from her that she might "get drunk and do something regrettable" (I know, classy lady), I wound up going to a nightclub called Walkabout on Broad Street in Birmingham.

Most of the evening was spent in the darkest, quietest corner of the club watching barely clothed ladies getting pawed at by gel-headed men like bears pawing at KFC. It was survivable but less survivable was a bloke in his advanced 50s fingering a girl young enough to be his great great great great granddaughter by Birmingham standards up against the wall 4 feet to my right.

To escape this I offered to get everyone in our group drinks. I'm more accustomed to little pubs and so this nightclub bar swamped with people shouting and waving like an alcoholic stock exchange was confusing and stressful. Still, eventually I managed to acquire the 4 pints. Carefully holding them I turn around, and where my elbow was jutting out I managed to catch an honest to god dwarf standing just behind me across the bridge of the nose, causing him a nose bleed.

I'd like to make this story exciting by saying I did battle with an angry dwarf and had my arse handed to me, but I just apologised profusely and he was actually very gracious about it. It was nice to make a little friend at the end of it all.
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Fri 1 Aug 2014, 10:54, 16 replies)

doesn't fit the question but fuck it....
www.vocativ.com/culture/sport/australian-guys-now-pissing-mouths/

NSFW (a bit)
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 1 Aug 2014, 10:07, 6 replies)

I was looking forward to night in front of the telly,
but my wife moaned about not having any snacks to the point where I'm now baking a fucking cake.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Fri 1 Aug 2014, 1:00, 4 replies)