apparently cows are killers
news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/suffolk/7372562.stm
(twiceydrinker hmmm is it pint time?, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 8:24, Reply)

Who's the animal in this story?
Got bitten (seven times in the space of maybe two seconds) by a cat. Arm swelled up like a balloon animal, and I had to wear sweatpants for a week cause I couldn't button anything. I had to hold my arm over my head for three days or it felt like white-hot needles being run through my hand again, and again, and again.

At the emergency room, I saw a doctor for a grand total of five minutes. He wrote me a prescription for antibiotics. Then a nurse put a wrap on my arm.

When I got the bill I looked at the total billed to my insurance company. Antibiotics? $120. Five minutes, a bandage, and a note from the doctor? $2300. Having health insurance in America? Priceless.
( madrabbit is fully prepared, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 6:00, 6 replies)

eels: not as bad as camels
For a few years in my mid-to-late 20's I had a saltwater aquarium, 75 gallons, quite nice. After I'd had it a while, I bought a snowflake moray eel. We fed the vegetarian fish little globs of algae and fish food, and we fed the lionfish live goldfish.

The moray was probably 10" when I bought him. A few months later he's doubled in size, and he knows that when the top of the tank opens, food is coming. So instead of waiting like a good little eel, he starts *darting* at the hole in the top of the tank. And he can launch himself a good six or seven inches out of the water. So I'm reduced to flinging open the top, dropping pellets and live fish in and withdrawing as quickly as possible. Until one day I was too slow, and that little fish-fucker sunk his needle-sharp teeth into my finger and just hung on. It hurt like fuck and all I could do was flail my bleeding finger around until he got annoyed and dropped off.

So after that, we netted him, bagged him, and took him back to the fish store, which bought him back for three time what we'd paid for him.

Also, he ate our hermit crab.
( madrabbit is fully prepared, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 5:49, 4 replies)

Camels: Agents of death
About age eight or nine, I was at the (I think) Berlin Zoo, where you could climb up on a platform, hop on a camel and go for a camel ride (although my memory is hazy I have to assume the camel was led by an adult on the ground). Somehow at the end of the ride I end up standing between the camel and a wall, and the camel decides to SQUIIIIIIISSSSHHHHHHH me up against the wall with all its smelly, dirty, hairy camel might. After some commotion I was thankfully freed before my ribcage cracked open like a walnut, but not before having at least half of ton of fetid camel meat pressed into my face.

In a misguided attempt to make this seem less traumatizing than it was, my family spent the next ten years cheerfully recalling the time I "kissed a camel," until I told them that being teased about my dromedarian near-death experience wasn't really helping, the bastards.

Camels: Foul, filthy, malevolent, contemptible, cowardly, and reprobate. Camels have nothing but murder on their minds. Don't believe me? Read about the woman who was dry-humped to death by her pet camel.
( madrabbit is fully prepared, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 5:32, 1 reply)

I once was rudely awakened
by my dog, a little pappillon, squatting on my chest and merrily pissing all over me and my bedsheets.

I am still unable to recreate the noise I made as the full horror of the situation became apparent.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 3:08, 3 replies)

Cats and Kittens
I know its not the b3ta thing but personally i can't stand the furry gits.
So of course they follow me everywhere (my record is five cats right up to my front door)
I've been ambushed, scratched and bitten.
Mauled, clawed and set upon.
TO be fair i probably deserve it, because as a sprite 16 year old i got drunk and decided to punt the local tom cat over a nearby hedge .
It didn't help matters that i shouted "score!" afterwards.
(shake'n'bake Tally Ho, Biatch!, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 2:56, 2 replies)

I had a mate who named his pets
Burn the cat

and

Flush the goldfish
(tree hugger putting the "semen" in "basement"..., Tue 29 Apr 2008, 1:47, 1 reply)

Raped by A Wombat
This happened a few weeks ago here in OZ:

A NEW Zealand court has sentenced a man to 75 hours community work after he called police to say he was being raped by a wombat.

Arthur Ross Cradock, 48, called police on February 11 and informed them the rape was taking place at his house and he required assistance.

The orchard worker, from Motueka in the South Island, later called back asking to retract the claim.

"Apart from speaking Australian now, I'm pretty all right you know," he told the operator.

Cradock pleaded guilty in Nelson District Court to using a phone for a fictitious purpose.

Police prosecutor Sergeant Chris Stringer told the court alcohol played a large role in Cradock's life.
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 1:23, 3 replies)

My wife's cat
attacked me once...ONCE mind

It was decided by her mum that the attack was the final insult, and the cat was put down :(

I felt quite guilty for a while, despite the fact that I had no part in the poor moggy's downfall.

Our cat attacks me constantly...but she's also lovably stupid, and if anyone tries to put her down I'll deck them.


Length: not much
( Tovi boom bang a bang bangs all the time., Tue 29 Apr 2008, 1:04, Reply)

I've just got back
From a photo-shoot on an industrial site with one of my friends.

We were rigging the lights up, to backlight some scraggly trees, when my friend, Mr Gein, got flown at by half a dozen rudely awoken pigeons, which caused him to run, at me, screaming in fear.

He then managed to trip over a molehill, and caught his foot in a rabbit hole, twisting his ankle.

Nice work there Mr Gein... I had to carry the tripod, camera and lights afterwards, nearly dropped them as I was laughing so much!
( Cawl, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 0:25, 3 replies)

Attacking cows
OK, just to start off, cows didn't attack me. A friend and I attacked some cows, without really meaning to.

About 10 years ago, he and I were enjoying a mountain bike ride near the city, an out-and-back type one where you basically climbed for a good 30 minutes then turned round and enjoyed the downhill back to the bottom. As we descended, we encountered a load of cows, being herded down the track by a farmer on his quad bike.

We rode up to the farmer who said we could go through, slowly so as not to scare the cows. We managed to make our way through all but two of the cows - a mother and her calf, who wasn't tiny but still a fairly young cow. They wouldn't let us through - whenever we tried to pass them they'd start sprinting, swerving all over the place so there was no way past. There was a vertical bank to our left, then the road, then another vertical bank to our right - the road was cut into the side of the hill. We were fast running out of downhill, and with the impatience and selfishness of youth we decided "Bugger this - we've not climbed for half an hour only to follow bloody cows down the hill" we gunned it past the cow and her calf...who put the speed on again...and swerved again...right off the bank to the right. Baby cow followed Mum right off the bank as well. We stopped.

Moo..crash...tree breaking sound...moo...crash...thud...silence.

"Fuckin' hell."
"Let's get the hell out of here before that farmer finds us."
"Good call"

And away we went. Sorry cows - best not to run off cliffs next time eh?

Length - cliff was probably 40 metres.
(dhroadie, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 0:02, 1 reply)

Raped by a bee
Having gotten home from work late, then having had a lengthy telephone conversation with my lovely girlfriend (with whom I shall soon be moving in - yay!), I found myself taking my evening bath at the unusually late hour of 01:30.

Being a short sighted person my contacts were nestled safely in their case, so my eyesight was soft, blurry and most definately not in focus as I probed the pedal of the pedal bin with my foot, nicely softened up by my long hot soak in the bath.

I felt a pinch on my big toe, which rapidly turned to a masive burning sensation and about 2-3 minutes of white hot agony before the adrenaline kicked in.

Two things of importance then occurred to me:

1) What the hell sort of bee was awake and ready to sting at bloody half one in the morning?! (By now it was crawling around dying on the bathroom floor, its guts attached to my toe via its sting - karma is a bitch for bees, I guess...)

2) What do I do with the sting?

The first question remains unanswerable, but for the second I turned to that portal of infallible knowledge (wikipedia) and, alongside the answer of what to do (pinch it out), some interesting info about bees and beestings.

It turns out that a bee sting is the malformed genitalia of a bee, since only the queen bee can reproduce. The sting is the tube down which eggs would roll if the bee it was attached to happened to be the queen.

So, the bee stuck its genitals, violently and unbidden, (definately without my consent) into my toe.

In short, I was raped. By a bee. In my toe. And it bloody hurt.

It could at least have used some lube...

Length and girth? Why thank you I have both, blessed as I am with an enormous schlong.
(Stuffed Chimp, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 22:24, 4 replies)

Pigeons
My significant ex (instead of the insignificant one...long story) had a major huge phobia of those flying rats, the common town pigeon.
Apparently this all started when she was about 3 years old and sat eating a cream bum, and got half way through before coming face to face with a pigeon which had started at the other end. So understandably she wasn't overly keen on the flying fuckers.

This made shopping in town fun, if there was any danger of there being a pigeon in the vicintiy i'd have to go first either flapping my arms or running at them to move them out the way, whilst she sidled furtively down the sides of buildngs, into shop doorways, and sprinting across streets to avoid them, all the while looking like something out of a bad comedy film as if she's pretending to shadow me.

She still does this as i discovered last time saw her, where whilst we are ex's aparently I still had to do the whole pigeon scarer thing.
(Lord Monkey of Yorkshire,OBE killed a gipsy on...., Mon 28 Apr 2008, 21:57, 1 reply)

I've had a couple of glasses of wine.....
No animal attacks as yet but I may trip over my cats this evening.

edit - Ok I've had a bottle so lock me up and throw away the key.
( girlinthehole, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 21:15, 5 replies)

Penguins can be mean little bastards, too.

( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 28 Apr 2008, 19:31, 6 replies)

Boxer Dogs
Picture the scene. A young 14 year old Madone, sits quietly on a road sign, beside one of the quieter northern town council estates.

It's 1980, the dawn of a new decade, and it's Sunday, I'm waiting for a girl (15) and perhaps this will be the day that she finally caves and we do the deed....

I'm dreaming away, when suddenly a pack of dingos come hurtling around the corner like they are banking a turn at White City, led by the blackest/brownest, mad fucker, flat faced cunting drooling boxer you have ever seen.

This bastard runs straight at me, and tears out a lump of thigh and my pale grey pleated pegs! And fucks off without so much as "yeah rude boy, read my tag!".

Bastard! Instead of an afternoon tampering with my girl on the fields behind the golf links, I ended up being stitched and de-tetanussed!
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 18:57, Reply)

Maybe not strictly on topic but made me snigger a couple of times...

Especially at the "he took my trousers down" and the judge's summing up.

Thought I'd share:

"Extract from the Yorkshire Evening Post:

A drunk who claimed he had been raped by a dog was yesterday jailed for 12 months by a judge. Martin Hoyle, 45, was arrested by police after a passing motorist and his girlfriend found a Staffordshire bull terrier, called Badger, having sex with him at the side of a road in Huddersfield, West Yorkshire.

Prosecutor Ben Crosland said the couple had stopped to help because they thought Hoyle was being attacked by the animal. But when they got closer they saw that he had his trousers round his ankles, was down on all fours and the dog was straddling him from behind.

"The defendant mumbled something about the dog having taken a liking to him," said Mr Crosland. "The couple were extremely offended and sickened by what they saw." Another passing motorist contacted the police and Hoyle was arrested as he walked with the dog down the road.

Hoyle, of East view, Marsh, Huddersfield, told police "I can't help it if the dog took a liking to me. He tried to rape me."

He repeated the rape allegation at the police station and added "The dog pulled my trousers down." Hoyle, who has had a long-standing alcohol problem, was jailed for 12 months after he admitted committing an act which outraged public decency.

His barrister said Hoyle had no memory of the incident because of his drunken state, but was now very remorseful and incredibly embarrassed.
Jailing him, Judge Alistair McCallum told Hoyle "Never before in my time at the bar or on the bench have I ever had to deal with somebody who voluntarily allowed himself to be buggered by a dog on the public highway. Frankly it is beyond most of our comprehension. It is an absolutely disgusting thing for members of the public to have to witness."

Apparently genuine too:

www.museumofhoaxes.com/hoax/weblog/comments/3739/

lol
(H K Phooey, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 18:41, 2 replies)

Result!
OK, so not precisely on topic but this has just made me almost punch the air:

news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/lancashire/7370637.stm

When animals attack, it seems that sometimes, just sometimes the justice system does the right thing...

I hope they fucking rot, the lot of them.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 28 Apr 2008, 16:56, 30 replies)

Doing my bit to eradicate disease
As mentioned in a previous QOTW, I managed to fill a marmot burrow with liquid shit while traversing Western Mongolia.

In my defence, marmots spread bubonic plague and in fact, unbeknown to me and my travelling companions, there was actually a plague warning in effect at the time. I like to think of my diarrhoeaic mishap as a pre-emptive strike. It's kill or be killed when faced with these rodents of doom. It's believed they are the biggest killer of humans after the mosquito due to the diseases they have spread.

CHCB's contribution to public service: shit, but very effective.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 16:37, 47 replies)

Attack of the demented killer Labrador puppy
Despite my hobby taking me into situations where I could be face to face with a multitude of potentially dangerous creatures of the deep, I am yet to find myself being mauled by a shark, stung by jellyfish, savaged by crabs (no sniggering at the back), or being given a particularly nasty suck by an angry cod (stop it)! Although I did find myself being stalked by a particularly nasty looking barracuda on one occassion whilst diving off Key Largo once, but it didn't do anything - just hung about 3 feet to my right, gazing at me balefully for a bit...

And so, with the most tenuous of links, I find myself recalling what happened when one of my mates came face to face with my unfeasibly cute puppy, circa 1987.

I was 16, and along with my contemporaries, in full ‘O’ level study mode. This invariably meant that we had some free periods at school, which we used in the time-honoured way to bunk off for a bit on the pretence of ‘research’. What this really meant was, given my close proximity to the school, we’d nip back to my house for coffee and biscuits and discuss exam tactics* for an hour, before heading back to class.

It was around this point that the Davros family took ownership of a black Labrador puppy that was too cute for her own good. Way too cute, and blessed with that endearing excess of energy and excitability that puppies seem to possess. At this early point in her puppy career, Tina was still getting to grips with house-training.

One day, me and some mates sauntered back to my house for a de-briefing session.* On opening the door, puppy Tina went her usual ballistic self and started running round the kitchen for no readily apparent reason other than that there were some new people, and that in itself was an exciting prospect. One of the lads, Matt, was a bit of a dog lover, and was immediately bowled over by this black, bouncing ball of fur and feet, and couldn’t resist. Crouching down to her level, he used his doggy magnetism to get her to come and say hello. Which she did, by bounding enthusiastically across the kitchen and launching herself at him.

Catching her expertly in his arms, Matt stood up and, clutching her like a baby, proceeded to coo and aah as she enthusiastically licked his face. Unfortunately for Matt, Tina was sooooo excited that the only way she could express her delight at meeting a new friend was to piss herself copiously, all down his shirt and blazer… And so, for the rest of the afternoon, poor Matt had to sit through the rest of the day’s lessons covered in puppy wee.

Nice.

* Oh, alright, girls. Call it biology revision if you like…


( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 28 Apr 2008, 16:29, 5 replies)

Mugged by a monkey
Before I had my digestive tract raped in Phnom Penh last autumn (see www.b3ta.com/questions/shitstories2/post135111), we stopped off in Siem Riep for a few days, to wander around the temples, the nearby floating villages, and the deep-fried-insect eateries around various parts of the town.

Our first day there was spent, appropriately enough, watching the sun rise over Angkor Wat. We got there at 5am when it was still pitch black, and made our way over the bridge into the temple complex by torchlight. There were quite a few people there, and there was an audible hum of excitement as the looming presence of the towers became discernible against the slowly-lightening sky.

And so on and so forth. Because, spectacular as that all was, watching the great sun-god ushing his flaming dungball of incandescent shit across the sky doesn't have anything to do with animal attacks.

No, that came later that morning. The sun, defying all expectations, had successfully risen, and was busy heating up the misty citadel. Having got up rather early to watch the dawn, my group (there were 10 of us, including the guy we'd hired to show us around for the day) settled down on some steps around the side of the main temple on our own, facing onto the forest, to eat the breakfast provided by the hotel.

Which turned out to be a stale baguette and a hardboiled egg. Yum.

As we started breaking out the food, we noticed that there were a few macaque monkeys sitting on various roofs, watching us. A couple were timidly edging forwards, as if to investigate us and say hello. Awww, we thought, how sweet.

Wrong.

Monkeys were coming from all directions, and quickly outnumbered us. They were all fairly small, but when one sat next to us and noncholantly yawned, displaying some impressive-looking fangs, we decided to move somewhere where there were a few more humans to keep us company.

Then the monkey-king came along. He was the same height as the others, but twice the weight: incredibly solid and muscular looking, and not timid at all. He came within a few feet of us, and looked at us all meaningfully. He kept looking at me. He then ran at me, teeth bared. One hell of a scary moment. I did what any self-assured young woman would do in this situation: screamed like a little girl and threw my hardboiled egg, which I'd just finished shelling, at his head. Whereupon he stopped, picked up the egg, peeled off the white, and ate the yolk. Then he ran away. I swear I could hear him sniggering.

Bastard monkey. Mugging me for an egg.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 16:02, 17 replies)

Youthful exuberance or animal/sibling cruelty
In my younger days, I was forced to sit on a horse while my family 'trekked' through some merkin national park.

I *hated* horses, but had to do this to satisfy my horse-loving older sister.

To take revenge, I attached some hay to her horse's tail. My horse was immediately behind. The guides took some time to work out why my horse kept biting hers on the bum.

Much hilarity, angry horseness, and beingsenttobedwithoutfood ensued.
( prince-igor si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 15:42, Reply)

A morning surprise, but not in a nice way.
It was a Monday morning, I distinctly remember because I was pissed off at having to get up early to go out on Site after a weekend of laziness in the new house.

I arose at 6am and crawled to the bathroom to perform my ablutions. Having achieved said relief I returned to the bedroom to give the girlfriend a kiss before I started getting dressed.

I removed a freshly laundered pair of pants from the drawers. I knew they were freshly laundered because I had brought them in off the washing line the night before, folded them up and placed them there ready for use.

I put my pants on, little althegeordie and his partners in crime swingin gently in the breeze, and pulled them up snug.

I reached for my trousers when OHGODBASTARDSHAGGINGDAMNHELLCRAP!!! what the hell is that sharp stabbing sensation in my crotch? I staggered across the bedroom, crashing into the wardrobe while trying to remove my underwear. Upon throwing them on the floor I leapt, legs akimbo like John Wayne with piles, and slapped frantically at the light switch, the scene was revealed in all its glory along with a muffled groan from my other half as she rolled over to shield her eyes (from the light, she was not disgusted by my naked form, at least no more than usual).

A wasp, a big bastard wasp, about an inch and a half long crawled out of my discarded pants and lazily took to the air in the style of a dozy wasp in the middle of winter (which it was). It buzzed around my head a bit before settling on the lamp shade where I managed to capture it in a glass and dispose of it out the bathroom window.

Now I should mention that I do not react well to wasp stings. They aren't life threatening, but I do have a tendency to swell. So for the next two weeks I felt like I had a grapefruit in my pants and an almost irrestistable urge to scratch it constantly.

I hate wasps.

length jokes as appropriate.
(Bazongaloid, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 15:34, 11 replies)

Evil
I'm sat in my room next to the window, overlooking the back garden and road next to our house. I'm sat here working on my thesis, now due in exactly three weeks and beginning to prey somewhat on my mind. I have been living, eating, sleeping (and possibly sh*tting) my thesis recently. As you can imagine life has been very, nay, ultra boring. To top off the fandango of enjoyment that has characterised my grey and dull existence the girl I love is not interested, making the whole past month or so an exercise in heart-wrenching academic futility.

So, to set the scene, this is the somewhat despondent, possibily even pessimistic, frame of mind that I currently inhabit. Next to a window.

Through this window I can see a tree in our back garden. This tree is not a paragon of trees. In fact its rather nonedescript. The tree equivalent of Alastair Darling, rather than a racy sycamore, or a hippy willow. In the tree live a family of grey squirrels. The squirrels are in the habit of frolicking in the garden and generally doing squirrely things. I'm sure that Squirrel Nutkin himself would be proud to call these squirrels his compatriots, proud in the knowledge that for nose twitching, acorn burying, tree climbing and general bushiness of tail these squirrels are at the forefront of the squirrelverse.

Anyway, I digress. My housemate just came back from class. As usual he brought his bike into the back garden, rolled it over to the squirrel tree, and started to lock it in place.

At which point a squirrel dropped out of the tree, like some squirrel version of rambo, and clung on to his bike helmet with all its tiny tiny might. My housemate was somewhat perplexed by this unforeseen turn of events, and began flapping at his own head to remove his new squirrely appendage.

This merely enrages the Die Hard Squirrel, which began attempting to chew through the helmet. My housemate takes this somewhat amiss and, becoming slightly concerned, begins to scream oh so softly. The squirrel doesn't really like this shrieking mannikin it appears to have attempted to bring down, and so redoubles is effort to gain unlicensed access to his brain. Now panicking, my housemate, with an audible toot of the sphincter, drops to the ground and rolls around the wet grass, trying to crush the squirrel. This, fortunately for him, works. The squirrel abandons ship post haste, and retreats, probably swearing, back up the tree. My housemate staggers inside covered in grass and mud, swearing he will kill the squirrel.

I'm pretty sure I can see the thing now, on a branch at the same level as my window. My bored mind posits that its sat there, a rolled up cigarette dangling from one corner of its mouth, swigging from a can of stella, flexing its arm muscles... the crazy Begbie squirrel of our garden.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 15:17, 10 replies)

Do Bee's count?
I remember one day oh so many moons ago when I'd arrived home hot and sweaty from the cycle trip home from work (I was on a health kick at the time but I've grown up since then).

On arrival home the gf at the time and two of the neighbours wives were all sitting outside my place having a bit of a chat as you do on a nice sunny.

Well being nacked I promptly parked my Lycra clad arse down on the front step whilst I caught my breath (cycling shorts are not pretty, unless you happen to be a cute young thing (read girl here folks)...........

Anyhoo, as I sat there listening to the wimmin jabbering away I had this uncomfortable "itching" feeling in my left but-ock.

A quick surreptitious scratch provides no relief, and if anything it's now starting to get a little nippy.

So I wiggle about trying to get another scratch in without getting caught when out staggers a rather flat Bee.

I'd just been stung in the arse........

At this point I stands up and quietly explains to the ladies present that I'll have to go inside as I have just been "stung on the bottom".....

QUE gales of laughter as I go in search of a mirror and a pair of tweezers........

The gf refused to help on account of the fact she couldn't see for the tears running down her face.....
(Dark Matter All The Wonders In The World & We Invent Boredom, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 15:08, 3 replies)

Seagulls. Bloody bastard shitty fucking seagulls.
As briefly mentioned in the "Phobias" QOTW a couple of weeks ago, I fucking hate seagulls.

Seeing as this is a rather apt QOTW, I shall elaborate.

Approximately 7 years ago, me and the wife were casually strolling along the main beach in Llandudno, pushing our little boy along in his pushchair (on the beach? yeah I know...) I'm assuming it was off-season because it was bloody cold and there was hardly anyone about. As we were walking along, we saw this little sad looking baby seagull just stood there on the sand, looking around and making little squeaking noises. No other birds in sight. As it sounded so sad and looked to be all on it's own, I decided to throw it a bit of bread from my sandwich.

MISTAKE.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, this massive cacophony of evidently jealous, evil-eyed shrieking scavenging bastard seagulls flew straight for us, flapping at my head as we ran away shouting.

*shudder*

Personally, I think the group of evil little beaky cunts had set up their little friend as a decoy to try and claw food out of sympathetic humans' hands. I bet they were all hiding behind a rock, ready to pounce on me.

Also, we were back in Llandudno earlier on this year, and one swooped by right next to me, causing me to make a strange "NGUUUURGH!" noise, leap backwards and nearly knock a small toddler flying.

Seagulls are are the chavs of the birds.

Pigeons are dirty little fuckers too, but they're more stupid than evil.
( Mike Fishcake teamfishcake.co.uk - better than your mum's face, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 15:08, Reply)

Stupid pigeons
I used to live near Salisbury plain, where those strange creatures the Royal Artillery like to shoot guns. All day.

Anyhows, every-so-often, in the midst of the constant thump of artillery shells, there'd be a closer thump, coupled with the rattling of glass in frame.

Creeper-covered house (honeysuckle AND bindweed for those who know their F&S) + stupid pigeons = constantly patterned windows and flowerbeds full of dead/stunned pigeons.

Still, kept the foxes happy.
( prince-igor si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 14:53, Reply)

Baboon attack
I was doing a bit of utterly bourgeois gap year 'travelling' (we were all young once) around Africa with my then girlfriend. We were at Victoria Falls, on the Zambia side, and very nice it was too. There were a fair few baboons wandering about but we'd been told not to feed them, and not to corner them, and then all would be well.

So, me and the missus wander off to a little platform of rock that was slightly off the beaten track, but which jutted out into the abyss and had a breath-taking view. We were having a litte cheezy romantic moment, when suddenly a full-size male baboon clambers up the cliff in front of us, thereby cornering himself between us and the edge. He's not happy about this, so he stands up on his hind legs and roars, properly bellows, at us. When stood up he was taller than me (and I'm 6'4"). Needless to say we crapped ourselves and ran screaming back onto the main pathway. Of course, the baboon didn't deign to follow us, so as far as everyone else was concerned, we wandered off for a smooch and then came back screaming "BABBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!" and running like our lives depended on it..
(franktard, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 14:42, 7 replies)

Story from Ghana
Was quite happily sleeping in the power-cut room one night (this happened quite often) when the lights came back on at about 2am or something. Since the lightswtich hadn't been flicked back into the "off" position they had turned on. Annoyed at this, my eyes opened and I rolled to face the wall. And instead I faced this:
it was as big as my head ! So obviously I squealed like a little girl and it was skittering around everywhere. It didn't bite me, Ghana doesn't have spiders that can do that thank god, but I scared me witless.

I was also once bitten in the arse by a foxterrier who lept uo and clung on, not wanting to let go. It led to a classic TV moment where i was spinning around and him swirling horizontally around me hanging on for dear life. Bastard! Gave a good bruise.

My cat regularly attacks me. And my dog once bit me when I tried to take his bone (one of those massive sheep ones).

note: No, I did not remove one of the spider's legs. I dont know what happened to it. The semi-wild kitten they had there regularly caught such things and ate them though so maybe this one got away
( morrybyte made a subtle namechange at, Mon 28 Apr 2008, 14:33, 8 replies)