Chasing cows whilst drunk
Coming from rural Shropshire, animals held no fear for me. Those were roughly the words I uttered one night after the pub, walking home to a friend's house accompanied by two of his mates from London. They were freaked by noises in the darkness coming from over the hedge.

"It's only cows" I reassured them and to prove my point, leapt over the next gate we came to and happily ran drunkenly through the muddy field, disturbing said bovine creatures.

How the cockneys laughed when at full speed I hit an electric fence and was propelled ten feet backwards and landed on my arse.

The moral of the story: never choose someone who knows something like that about you to be your Best Man.
(Mr McKenzie Mr McKenzie, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 21:28, Reply)

I don't know what it was but it hurt
A few years ago I was on holiday on Koh Samui in Thailand. One night me and my mate got nicely boozed up and decided we should go skinny dipping in the warm Gulf of Thailand.

I'd got in the water about up to my waist when I suddenly felt an excruciating stabbing pain in my hand. My mate, meanwhile, was happily frolicing around in the water, but I was having none of it and raced back to our bungalow, clutching my paw for dear life.

Once I got into the light I saw two large blackened puncture wounds in my hand, and the pain was just indescribable.

I've no idea what it was, but when I sobered up the next day I realised that whatever had stung/bit/jabbed me had probably passed pretty close to a much more tender part of my anatomy, and that would really have brought tears to my eyes.
(Thomas_The_Spankengine, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 21:23, Reply)

agh come on
Kids last week, animals (again) this week. This is getting like an ITV home-made clip show.

Worst first post ever.
(BarryChuckle, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 21:16, 2 replies)

Now I love cats me, but there was this time...
when I found what appeared to be a stray moggie on our backdoor step. Being a catlovin' kid I put out a bowl of mogchow for the beast and watched it tucking in. After a couple of moments I ventured to stroke said mog at which point it went apeshit and sank it's teeth into my forearm. I recoil in horror and surprise and in the process lift the cat from the ground for it will not release me from it's grip. OWww!
A swift karate chop to the neck caused the mog to open it's mouth even wider and I was free to be shunted off off to hospital for a tetanus shot. That was fun.

Now, thirty odd years later I still have the scars on my arm like some kind of weird vampire attack. (Which is what I always claim it was.) Didn't stop me from giving a hedgehog some milk a week or so later though. Maybe I shoulda been a vet?
(Mr Steve is jobless and fancyfree!, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 21:09, 1 reply)

My friend...
...was stabbed in the head with a pigeon. For real. By a man at the bus-stop.
(duts Optimus whut?, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 21:05, 4 replies)

Violent cattle
Spectacular timing on this QOTW. Just two days ago my dad (being a farmer and all) approached a cow that recently gave birth. He was on his cell phone and wasn't paying attention to the animal. She had no prior history of violence, but something about his approach this time pissed her off.

She decided to take it out on him by thrusting the top of her head into his chest. Being a pretty big (as in, stocky) guy, the impact didn't injure him.

What injured him was his landing--flat on his ass. *crunch* The cell phone went flying but the cow ended up standing above it. So he crawled off to the house and called the hospital.

No paralysis to speak of, but he'll be in a brace for a while until 2 vertebrae in his back heal up. As I understand it, the cow is still giving people the evil eye when they approach. (Not really a funny post, but yay me! it's my first!)

Edit: I've also had birds crap on me on two different occasions. So there.
(chikimonki, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 20:53, Reply)

Temporary post.
This is thoroughly off-topic, so I'll delete or change this post in a day or two. But until then, have a badge for your profile:



I didn't make it but its author is being too much of a big girl's blouse to claim the credit for herself- hence me posting it instead.

If you do put it in your profile, let us know- there simply have to be people on here older than I am! (I can only think of Legless, and he only has two years on me.)

To put it in your profile:

Right-click on the picture and pick "Copy Image Location" if you're using Firefox (if you're foolish enough to use Internet Exploder, you need to choose Properties, then copy the path of the image). Go into your profile and put in {img src="http://www.b3tards.com/u/4766cf149993eb7d8565/badge.jpg"} but use the little pointy brackets over the comma and period instead of the {}. You can just type in {img src=" and hit paste, then "}. Save your changes, and admire your new badge.

This also works for other pictures, of course.

HERE ENDETH THE LESSON.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 24 Apr 2008, 20:34, 18 replies)

the bark was worse than the .....
A friend was restoring (read keeping on the road) an old Rover P6. There was a specialist scrapyard out on a farm near brentwood,open on sunday on a "give me a knock afternoon" basis. 3pm pulled up found the entrance and went up to the house. I noticed a chain then heard what was attached via a loop, ruddy great rottweiller running straight at me. Ok don`t run, stand still, sock it on the nose. Nah I just froze and closed my eyes he jumped up and.... slobbered me to death and nearly knocked me into the mud.

The old softie used to look at people inna clint make my day stylee, but was really: Tickle me tummy? Please? according to the owner, but certainly kept the yobs out.
(tootired Is searching for a funny sig, nothing good so far, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 20:18, Reply)

Owl outrage
After a typically drunken student night out I was walking home down a rather dark road lined with trees. Receiving a sudden blow to the head I turned around to defend myself to see... nobody at all. Shrugged and carried on home.

Woke up next day to a pillow reminiscent of a butcher's slab, so I ambled off to the doc to be told that I was one several owl-attackees in that road. Anway, the head-slashes didn't need stitches, just antibiotics. Messy though, glad I'm not a mouse.

I've also been bitten by a mole (long story) & spat on by a llama.

Some people have a natural empathy with animals - but not me.
(grumpypolecat, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 20:12, 2 replies)

Not quite an attack, but...
My parents had a very affectionate cat called Pud. When he was happy he would dribble. One morning Pud walked into my bedroom, jumped onto my bed, and as I said "hello, Pud!" he dribbled in my mouth. His dribble was quite thick and tasted a bit fishy. I didn't like it.
(nasalhair The Twix guy!, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 19:59, 1 reply)

Mosquitoes!!!!
Here in Manchester it's not too bad, but in Tenerife... Oh, how I hate them! It's not only that they suck your blood; it's not that they have to leave the poison inside your skin; it's that the stupid bloody thingies MUST wake you up in the middle of the night!!!! Why? WHY???

But after years of suffering I've found the solution. And it has nothing to do with insecticides (too hot to sleep with the window closed, so they're a waste). The trick is to cover yourself with the sheet almost completely, leaving only a bit of your cheek available for dinner. Put your hand, covered with the sheet, close to the uncovered cheek, and wait. It will come. Oh, I know it will come.

You hear it. It's getting closer, checking if it's safe. And you don't move and try to breathe normally, until it finally stops on your cheek. Now, this is the difficult part. You can't move or it will fly. You have to wait until you feel it starts sucking, and THEN!!!! HIT IT WITH YOUR HAND!!! NOW!!! DEAD!!! FOREVER!!! JAJAJAJAJA!!!!

Oh, how I hate them....
(Aberracion Life's getting very complicated, but a lot of fun., Thu 24 Apr 2008, 19:57, 4 replies)

Stampede
Well, many moons ago me and a few friends were on Headingly Golf Course in Leeds collecting and nibbling mushrooms long after most people had gone to sleep and long before most of you were even a twinkle in your grandpappy's y fronts.

As the dawn broke properly over the surrounding countryside (you can imagine the scene) we decided that strolling home would be a good idea. Now, walking whilst both stoned and hallucinating is not a easy task but we managed as best we could for we had intelligence on our side, being three lawyers, a doctor and two trainee policemen.

One of these trainee policemen (who is still serving, bless) was striding out ahead and had disappeared from view over the brow of a small hill. We were diligently following in a procession somewhat reminiscent of a human interpretation of Brownian motion when, from over the hill, came our chum, running as if the world was chasing him. Indeed it was for as he passed us travelling at, it would be fair to say, a fair rate of knots, he gasped "stampede".

We took in his ashen and terrified visage and promptly collapsed laughing before finding ourselves being run into and over by a herd of very large, very quick and very directionally determined cows.

Non-plussed we rose, dusted ourselves off and walked the rest of the way home without further incident. Probably.

He has no recollection of this incident. I just rang him and asked his secretary. He sounded cross.
(Mediaslut, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 19:53, Reply)

Lounging cat
I came home from a heavy night out, stamped up the stairs drunk with my MP3 player on, suddenly I feel sharp pains and distant screeching...I'd stepped on my poor cat's stomach who was minding her own business. She pretty much flew up my leg then down the stairs in a feline rage.

That woke the whole house up, but I'm just glad I didn't break my neck or the cat's for that matter.
(trippeh, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 19:46, Reply)

My friend
has a Boxer dog. Big, canny beast. Wouldn't bite you even if you bit him first.

Too lazy to chase anything, too lazy to bark most of the time. Yet he gets attacked in the park all the time. Usually by wee tiny yappy dogs, whose owners always claim "It's alright, he's only playing."

So, he's in the park one day, watching the world go by, and a wee Yorkshire terrier starts harrassing him. Growling, snarling, yapping, totally futile. Toby (for that is the dog's name) is completely unimpressed.

The wee thug then jumped up at Toby's neck, and managed to get his teeth into his collar. Toby decided that enough was enough, and started trying to run away. Only the Yorkie has got a grip and won't let go. So there's Toby, belting round in circles, shaking his head, spit flying everywhere. The Yorkie is hanging on for grim death and its owner is screaming blue murder.

My friend managed to catch Toby eventually, and had to prise the Yorkie's teeth out of his collar. It promptly bit her. She grabbed the wee sod by the scruff of the neck and told the owner that if she didn't come and get the dog, it'd be drop-kicked back to her. Grumpy owner collects wee savage, muttering threats about calling the police.

My friend's answer to that?

"Go on then, report me to the police. There's one of them standing right over there." Yorkie was stuffed under her arm and she moved faster than John Prescott at a pie sale, straight out of the park at top speed.

Although not hurt, Toby developed an aversion to Yorkshire terriers after that and will attempt to run away if he sees one. Big coward!
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 24 Apr 2008, 19:43, 7 replies)

..got mugged by a muppet drummer once....
...oh.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 19:39, Reply)

Cock
A very small me playing in the garden on a summers day. We used to have a very agressive cock *giggle*. Whenever I went outide it would chase me, and pounce. It was only succesful once, digging it's sharp little claws into my leg. Ouch.

Got my own back though, kicked it up the arse. Went flying.
(Ellytots Last thought of chocolate on, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 19:31, 1 reply)

Not my tale exactly...
There are two staffies that are owned by what can only be described as the biggest spastic ever. The kind of guy who carries two big chains around with him, without the dogs being attached to the ends. Due to the way that these little shits come into my front garden, piss and shit everywhere, and on one memorable occasion ran into my house and started attacking my dog, my dog is not fond of them.
Trouble is, every time these dogs screw up, bloke just gets really appologetic, and so it's hard to be too angry at him. Until last week.

Taking my dog out for her late night walk, two sandy blurs come running up the street, barking and snarling. Me and my boyfriend have had enough by this point, and so we kick the dogs as hard as possible, repeatedly as they keep coming back for more, until my other half picked each one up by its back leg and handed them back to moron. We haven't seen him since.

Appologies for lack of point, but the fun of kicking a nasty dog as hard as you can can never be underestimated.
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 19:27, Reply)

Llama
A few years ago I was visiting the Isle of Wight (lovely place, incidentally), and made a trip to a zoo, can't remember which one.
Anyway, I wandered over to the llama enclosure. While I was stroking the nose of one such beast, he decided to test my shirt for edibility. Unfortunately, I thought he was trying to get at my juicy flesh, and so I punched the poor thing on the nose. He relented and I got out of there as fast as could. I still have the shirt, and there is still a green stain, which still smells of llama dribble despite multiple washes.
(steadfastmeat Laconic ham, perhaps?, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 19:01, Reply)

Black flies. Evil.
Once upon a time i was in the depths of the wilderness... in canada.

I was 4 hours away from Ottawa at a cottage by the lake. It was time for me to leave so i could make my flight back the UK, so off i trot back to the car. When all of a sudden... *bzzzzzzz*

Cue flailing. Cue running. OHSHITBUGGERYWHATTHEFUCKWASTHAT. The bastard bit me. Then it went amazingly fast and then bit me again! What the bloody hell do it do? MAKE FOR THE CAR!!!

I got inside the car, closed the door and the fucking thing kept flying at the window trying to eat me. Grrrr.

I hate black flies.

(Thanks Loon!)
( Axai is in Montréal, Canada O.o, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 18:49, 2 replies)

Deer Deer Deer
When my sister visited Scotland, she did a lot of walking, and seeing the various sights. This included the local wildlife. She told me once of an incident involving a stag.

Now, if you've seen them in the wild, you know that they're really quite beautifully elegant creatures. Huge antlers, and a sense of grace and purpose about them at all times. Virtually any photograph of one you take is guaranteed to look good.

Unfortunately, she managed to piss one off. No idea how, but it charged her. And quite obviously she ran for it. She got lucky though, as it didn't succeed in goring her. After only running about a hundred metres or so towards her... the exertion was too much! It collapsed and died.

Another tragic victim of hart failure.

(I am so very very sorry!)
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 18:35, 2 replies)

"Please don't poke the turtle"
More a combination of a grumpy animal and customer stupidity, but I thought I'd share.

I'm a fishkeeper and general fan of slightly more exotic pets (currently researching how to acquire an octopus)

As such, for several consecutive summer holidays I took a job in the Aquatics Department of a garden centre.

This aquatics department had (amongst other things) a large and extremely cantankerous snapping turtle who we'd acquired from someone who thought it was a terrapin until he neatly severed the last joint on her little finger.

Old Snappy used to like to wander a bit. He was deceptively strong and could lift the hood off his tank, but usually failed to haul his armoured ass over the side. Very occasionally you'd come in in the morning and he'd be sitting in the middle of the floor. Looking for stuff to maim, I assume.

On one memorable occasion I was opening up but had been beaten into the department by some cuntstomers. Cuntstomers who had found Snappy on one of his infrequent jaunts. Cuntstomers who had decided to poke and film Snappy with A FUCKING MOBILE PHONE.

Me: "Please step away from the turtle, sir"

Knob: "Why?"

Me: He's a snapping turtle. He's got a beak like a pair of bolt cutters and could happily shear your thumb off."

Knob: "Turtles can't hurt people and he's enjoying the attention" (WTF, it's a REPTILE, not a border collie for God's sake)
(To horrible children): "Look at the silly turtle!" *poke, poke*

SNAP.

Cue one utterly fucked mobile phone (straight through the screen. Good job, Snappy).

Cue one angry chav, and Snappy being gingerly returned home.

Cue one manager paying for replacement phone. And demanding bricks on top of Snappy's lid.

Snappy was eventually sold (after about 10 years in the shop) and now lives in a garage somewhere, I believe. Good old Snapster.

Apologies for length. Would have been shorter if Snappy had got hold of it properly....
(pharmatron Death or Scunthorpe? CHOOSE!!, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 18:32, 4 replies)

East Coast
When I was young, in order to give my parents a break over the summer, my grandmother would take me and my siblings on holiday to a non-descript little seaside town on the east coast of the UK. It had all the standards, a decrepit arcade, loads of fish and chip shops and a rather nice stretch of beach.

But beneath the exterior lurked... a horror. Something that H. P. Lovecraft would have given his left testicle (and maybe even his right) to have caught but the barest glimpse of. The bravest man in the kingdom would have willingly licked John Major's quivering white buttocks before taking on this peril.

Seagulls. Winged demons of the most dreaded kind.

The scene was an utter farce, almost like something out of a cartoon. Visualise for yourself, a small innocent blond-haired little child happily rambling along the beach, with parents following a good fifty feet behind. This was back in the days when paedophiles didn't roam freely and swoop down on such children from the shadows and carry them off in their paedomobiles to be strapped into the Abuse-O-Mat 9000 (or at least that's what the Daily Mail wants me to believe).

Now, this child was carrying a sandwich. A few seagulls were following him. Occasionally, he would throw them a crumb or two. And they seemed to like it, pecking at it, then bouncing along after him. We watched as he passed out of sight under a pier.

Then we heard a scream. Full doppler effect as this red-faced creature, legs pounding like a steam engine ran back the way he came, screaming at the top of his lungs.

And following him was what seemed to my young mind, a biblical plague of seagulls that Moses himself would have been proud of. Though it was probably only about fifty or so. The sandwich was missing by this point, and we think he was lucky to have any fingers left.

Tragic, certainly, and likely to give a child a permanent phobia of birds. What was more amusing is when he made it back to Mum and Dad, who hadn't run after him... they were too busy pissing themselves with laughter, though thankfully we didn't crack up. The woman defended her scruffy little offspring with her bag - swinging it through the air again and again until the flock dispersed. And two or three stunned/dead seagulls lying on the beach. After a hug, the parents got another sandwich out of a rucksack and gave it to the boy. Who happily skipped along the beach again.

And went under the pier again.

This time we couldn't hold back the laughter and got a set of rather evil looks. Once they'd fought off the seagulls.
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 18:27, 2 replies)

Holy Cow.
First day of a 2 month trip round India- walking through the packed streets of Delhi both scared sh*tless and extrememly excited at the same time.

There's cows everywhere in India, just roaming the streets in a don't give a sh*t manner, calm as hindu cows, er, well thats what they are... thousands of the buggers. Anyway, the skinniest, boniest, most manky cow i've seen in my life stumbled across the street like some sort of zombie beast forcing locals to flee in all directions. It headed sraight towards me and delivered a massive powerful headbutt right to the top of my thigh- had i not had the agility of a chinese gymnast it would have got me right in my nads!!

Now if i'd been in England I would have punched it right in it's bovine mouth and hoofed it in the udders, but I figured when in rome and all that... best not get stoned on my first night (stoned tortured, not stoned high). I had to smile, pretend I'd been blessed, then limp back to the hotel (fleapit) to lie down and come as close to crying as I have since EPMD split up.

I had a bruise the size of a football and was limping all the way to Kerala.

Since my return to the UK I have eaten steak every day- rare!! Karma!

India is still the best place I've ever been. By a long way.
(chesterdrawers, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 18:18, Reply)

in a vision I beheld
four riders: grim-visaged War, Famine, plucking his own flesh, foul Pestilence, and last of all was Death himself.

And lo! Each did ride a llama, of purest white.

It was the Alapcalypse.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 18:08, 5 replies)

Polar Bear Trepanning
A friend of mine is a biologist who went on a field trip to Northern Manitoba, which is Polar Bear country.

You should understand that despite the Grizzly's reputation, the Polar Bear is the smartest, biggest and most dangerous bear in the world. Standing on their hind legs, they can reach 11 feet tall, they can run 30 miles an hour and they will stalk their prey for days, swimming through lakes, rivers and under the ice of the frozen arctic ocean.

Anyway, the team of biologists had split up leaving one of their colleagues behind. They were heading back to camp when one of them noticed that a bloody great bear was dragging their pal away by his head.

He knew better than to struggle, so he played dead and stayed limp as the bear backed away, dragging him for about a half a mile.

The boys pulled out a high-powered rifle and dispatched the beast, and the biologist survived, though not without four bear-tooth shaped holes in his head.

Which is to say that Steve Irwin is a fucking pussy. Or a right girl's blouse. Or whatever.
(TommyShanks, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 18:06, Reply)

I had a chicken Tarka for dinner last night

it's like a chicken tikka only a little otter.

*runs*

*sings ring of bright water*

*gets confused by otter based tear jerkers*
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:52, 6 replies)

Long Walk, Windsor Castle
Is full of deer trained to kill those with average annual incomes of under £100k. Tried and tested. Don't enter after dark.
(Smelon, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:45, Reply)

Less of an attack, more a case of harassment
A few days ago, I was peacefully sitting in my room, reading the entire internet in an attempt to avoid doing the work I was supposed to be doing. My window was open a crack, enough to let out fag smoke, but not nearly enough for any winged beasties to find their way in.

So I thought.

At 9.13 a fly buzzed in. I immediately opened the window fully to allow the little git out. It did not immediately take me up on this offer of non-conflict and instead angrily circled the light fitting.

I decided to offer it a five minute period of grace to remove itself from my presence. Here I made a terrible error: negotiating with terrorists. It decided to flaunt my weakness by buzzing around my head. So I did what any reasonable human being would do and declared war. This fly would die.

I grabbed the two most important tools that any fly-hunter will need: a rolled-up newspaper and a can of deodorant.

But the bastard is clever. I am five foot three, and crap at jumping. Although my arms are disproportionately long, there was still no way I could reach the unreasonably high ceiling. The little bastard knew this, it was clever. So it stayed up there, and I waited for it to make a mistake.

Finally, it flew to the space on the ceiling just above the bed. I clambered up, and it was now within reach. It sat, knitting its little front legs, and I moved in for the kill.

It was fast, too. Riduculously fast. I succeeded in bringing down some of the Artex on the ceiling.

I considered combining a lighter with the can of deodorant, to fashion a flame-thrower. I think my airborne enemy must have developed psychic powers--perhaps it was a genetically modified military experiment--as it immediately retreated to a convenient spot at the top of the curtains.

Thankfully, it was within reach of the spray, so it was time for me to breach international law and use chemical weapons. I pressed the button, and my quarry began to fly erratically, suddenly dropping out of the air.

I rejoiced! It was dead! I had won! But where was its hairy little corpse?

I made possibly my silliest mistake. I did not look for the body, assuming it had dropped into the nether region of mess behind my desk.

Ten minutes later, it was time for the sequel. My fuzzy foe had faked his own death and was now severely pissed off. He returned to the onslaught of buzzing in my face, then retreating to higher ground.

It stayed on the ceiling for a while; perhaps it was asleep. By now blind with fury, I wheeled my wheely chair to beneath it, and climbed up, armed with my trusty copy of the Guardian. Wielding my weapon like a baseball bat, I took a swing.

And fell off my chair. Hands up if you could see that coming. With hindsight, I definitely could. So now I was angry and with a sore foot. I vowed that this winged demon would die a peasant's death. I would catch it, and pull its legs off. Perhaps its wings too. And I'm usually a pacifist.

I wish I could tell you that I succeeded in my plan for revenge. Or perhaps that the fly and I settled our differences and embarked upon a plan for world domination.

But the most depressing part of this tale is that there was no resolution. The two-hour battle had made me work up a thirst (not to mention that constantly spraying solvents around tends to dry out the old mouth a little), so I toddled off to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

My nemesis followed me out of the room and left via the kitchen window.

I suppose this would be equivalent to all the Nazis moving to the moon.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:43, 3 replies)

Pearoast alert!
From the accidental animal cruelty question... no apologies for the pearoast; it's on topic.

***********************************************

A scuba diving tale of caution...

On a club diving trip, a couple of lads have just reached the bottom, where they are kneeling on a sandy seabed, getting their bearings.

One diver, Steve, spies something from the corner of his eye. Something half buried in the sand, and a fair size. "Fuck me," he thinks, "it's a monkfish", and swims over to have a look.

Now, instead of admiring this wonder of the North Sea, he does what any self respecting hunter-gatherer would do, and whips his knife from its sheath, and stabs it in the back before it can swim off. He then grabs the knife handle, and with a flourish produces his 'goodie bag' and jams the monkfish in, head first.

His original intention to carry it with him on the dive soon wears a bit thin (what with it being a big bloody fish, quite heavy, and still thrashing around in the bag). So he thinks to himself, "I'll just go up the shotline, chuck the bag in the boat, and pop back down again". Which he does.

Surfacing by the boat, he shouts, "How man, Vince, look after this for me", chucks the bag into the boat, and descends once more.

Vince being a bit of a nosy bastard wonders what's in the bag (thinking it might be a lobster) and goes to have a look. Now at this point it's worth pointing out that the combination of divers jumping in and out the boat, plus a bit of a swell, has caused water to gather on the deck. Not much, but a good 2 - 3 inches. It's also worth pointing out that monkfish are fucking ugly bastards, with a mouth the size of the Tyne Tunnel and a head to match.

So Vince picks up the bag, has a look in, promptly shits himself, and drops the bag. Whereupon the monkfish, by now a tad pissed off, escapes from its canvassy prison, and proceeds to chase Vince around the deck of the boat, still with knife stuck in its back, opening and shutting its gaping maw in a desperate attempt to get its revenge on, well, any poor fucker in the way. Which happened to be Vince.

Apparently it took about 30 blows to club it to death with a large diving torch...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:42, 1 reply)

Everyone probably already knows this
Did you know the great Terry Nutkins (of Really Wild Show fame)lost two of his fingers when they were bitten off by an otter.
(Errorist, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:27, 3 replies)