Henry the Polish Dwarf
Henry was my all-white-with-red-eyes-and-a-black-tail Polish Dwarf rabbit.

One day I was using my handkerchief as a matador's cape, trying to entice the raging bull out of my tiny, placid little fur ball.

Instead, he charged straight at me and bit my finger. Over 20 years on and I still have the scar. At least this way my little buddy will stay with me forever *sniffle*

P.S. I apologise for this story being utterly boring, but is at least poignant (at least to me).
(Mean Mad Mutski, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 12:19, Reply)

"He won't bite you"
These words, from the mouth of a dog owner are quite obviously a lie, especially when aforesaid dog is actually in the process of biting your leg.

But that's not the point of this story, which took place while I was living with my parents after unversity. I'd just started smoking the evil dope, after avoiding it throughout the three years at uni (good job, else I'd have come out with absolutely nothing) and, it being a sunny summer day, decided to have a trip to the park, a spot of wine and a little toke or two.

So I'm cycling along, bifter between the fingers of one hand, wine bottle clutched in the other, down a footpath (the kind marked with "No Cycling" signs). As I pass one of the houses a dog runs out, and starts at my leg, this is where the owner comes out with his mother of all lies. I speed up past it only to realise I'm heading for a dead end and I'll have to go back past same dog.

Full of adrenaline for the impending canine encounter, I speed past the dog and round a corner onto another footpath, where I'm greeted by the sight of two coppers walking straight at me. What they made of an out-of-shape mess on a bioke on a footpath riding with wine in one hand, a bifter in the other and blood on his ankle I've no idea, but I wasn't planning on hanging around to find out.

Paranoia then set in and I ended up throwing the dope in the bin, legged it home and hid all afternoon.

Apologies for the crapness of the first post, I just wanted to join in.
(GoodLord doesn't have time for sigs., Fri 25 Apr 2008, 12:14, 3 replies)

My last Tale of the Uber-Moggie, I promise.
And a second tale of Maestro-related woe.

My family was away for a few days, sadly I didn’t get to do anything hilarious, host a party, have an orgy or anything worthy of QOTW.

I had been out along the back roads again taking some more pics of Scotland In The Rain ™ (I was a budding photographer at the time) and was wending my way home as darkness fell. Now on this route was a ford, and we all know how much fun it is to go ‘Kersplash’,don't we?So I was nipping along quite nippily, around the corner we go, and there was the ford. My alleged brain had about two seconds to digest the following:

‘Ooh, that looks a bit bigger than I remember’
‘Hasn’t it been raining steadily for about a week?’
‘Why are my headlights underwater?’

Uh-Oh.

As the current started to push me off the roadbed, I managed to slam it into first gear and rev like a nutter. We got about 2/3 of the way out before ‘phut’. Now the bloody thing won’t start with the exhaust underwater, I’m 20 miles from the nearest civilization, it’s raining, it’s getting dark, and basically I want my Mum. Oh, and there’s no-one at home to come and get me, and I don’t even know the road number (‘it’s the wan where you turn off by the big patch of bracken and the boulders’ is not useful to the AA).

Bollocks. Steeling myself, I wind down the window, and Dukes Of Hazzard out of the car, sploshing into the water with the grace and style of a pre-menstrual hippo.

Handbrake off, and HEAVE. At this point, I discover that the roadbed is extremely slippery with algae, so my legs are pistoning like a cat on laminate flooring, and we are actually rolling backwards. Into the maelstrom. Terror switches on the adrenaline (not the drowning bit, just of explaining to my Mother) and with a superhuman effort I manage to push the thing up the hill just far enough, and then dive headfirst through the window, scrabbling for the handbrake, and nearly ripping my nuts off in the process. I could just have opened the door but that would have been sensible. Finally seated, muscles aching, soaked and shivering, Glory Be, the damn thing starts.

I drive home, and thinking of the cold and empty house that awaits, I decide that can’t be arsed cooking, and some nice hot scoff would be just the job. Chippy. Pie Supper, Salt & Sauce (none of your Englander ‘vinegar’, thank you). Lovely.

Squelch into the house, put supper down, and trudge off to find dry jeans & boots. Righty ho, time for some high-cholesterol sustenance, thinks I, as I walk in to the room, wondering what the strange sound is. A bit like an industrial waste disposal unit?

You.

Hairy.

Bastard.

He’s half way through my pie supper. I never even knew he liked chips.

Cat looks me in the eye, licks his lips, sneers, and waddles off hiccupping.

I may have cried.

Still finished the supper, though.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 11:53, Reply)

Australian Wildlife
.
I've always loved wildlife so I'm enjoying identifying the birds and animals I’m seeing here in Oz and I thought I'd tell you about some of the rarer wildlife here in Oz. So rare, in fact, that most Ozzies don’t even know about them.

The first one is the little known and rare drop-bear. These cuddly creatures are one of Australia's most dangerous creatures and account for more deaths in Australia than any other creature except crocs. They look a little like koalas and hide in gum trees until an unsuspecting tourist comes along when they'll drop from the tree onto the poor buggers head, rip open the top of the skull and dine on brains. I went out with one once.....

Next, the Melbourne Storm Bandicoot. These furry little bugger live in close proximity to humans but are rarely seen. They have the unique ability amongst marsupials of being able to imitate human speech, much like a parrot. However, they're only know to speak during massive downpours when they'll run around frantically (just like the humans they imitate) giving their distinctive cry of: "FUCKINGHELLITSRAINING"....

A frequent visitor to the Victoria coastline is the fascinating Oomeplum bird. This seabird has evolved without any legs as it, like the albatross, spends almost all of its life aloft, only landing to breed. During spring, you can watch these beautiful birds cautiously glide down to the rocky beaches to mate and, just on touchdown they issue their haunting cry of: "OOMEPLUMS!!" Brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it.

And the final animal I'd like to introduce you to is the little seen Winker-Wanker bird. By a curious trick of nature, this bird has it's foreskin attached to its eyelids. So, every time it winks, it wanks and every time it wanks, it winks. They are often found dead of exhaustion after sandstorms.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 11:50, 5 replies)

Demon Hamster
When I was little, I remember my cousin having a brown hamster called Scrabble. I'd always been told not to try and pet him, but i never knew why, until one day when I was helping my cousin clean out his cage. She put him in an ice cream tub with some holes in the lid whilst his cage was out of bounds, then went to the toilet, leaving me alone with the little fluff ball. Having always thought of him as the cutest animal alive, I had no idea why my aunt had always called him a little demon, so I took the lid off the ice cream tub and put my hand in to stroke him.

And that's when he clamped down. Hard. With a deafening scream, I removed my hand from the box rather quickly. Unfortunately, the Hamster was still attatched, flung across the room, and hit the kitchen wall, before sliding down it in horrible slow motion...and survived!

Demon hamster? I think so!
( The Ropewalker, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 11:47, Reply)

Giant Killer Seagulls
A few years ago, back in my student days I lived in the Granite city. (Aberdeen for anyone not from there, who hasn't been duped by a false sence of civic pride into calling it that)


For those of you that don't know Aberdeen its a wee city right on the north sea coast and the seagulls there grow disproportionatly large. Like a medium sized dog, or a very big tall fat cat.


To someone of my small stature (under 5ft) That is Very Very large indeed.

One day, walking down the street towards my union bar I was in a slightly hungover state, feeling a teeny bit delicate and just a smidgeon sorry for myself, I stopped along the way to get myself a sandwhich, hoping this would sooth my hungover self.

I had just opened my tasty treat when... WHACK! Out of no-where I was forcibly pushed to the ground and held there. Surely I cant be getting mugged I thought... Its broad daylight, I'm clearly a student, and therefore have nothing of worth to steal!

I turned slowly... to get a glimps of my assailant, just in time to see the biggest seagull I had ever spotted jump off my shoulder, grab my tuna sandwich and waddle off down the street...
(weekirst23 Is broken! Silly ice. Silly High heels!, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 11:45, Reply)

Does anyone know
the name of the book in which all the birds start attacking humans?

I've heard about it but never read it.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 11:45, 20 replies)

Woof
Another story, this time concerning my wonderful (and now sadly deceased from old age) dog, Mappy. She was a rescue dog, having been born on a narrowboat, the owner was intending to drown 5/7 of the litter because he simply didn't have the room for them on the boat. We got her at 6 weeks old, and found she had a lifelong love of scrambled eggs and weak tea, having been given them from time to time as a pup. She was lovely, affectionate and playful... but as thick as two short planks.

Or so we thought. Sometimes she displayed an animal cunning that was genius. Taking her for a walk along the riverside, she was old enough and well trained enough that she didn't need a leash unless near the road. She loved it, all the scents and other dogs we met occasionally on the walk. Sometimes she'd even jump in the river and go for a swim.

Now, this river was popular with fishermen. You couldn't catch anything big, just little guppy like runts, but it was a relaxing way to spend an afternoon. And we walked past several fishermen just chilling out.

One of them had just caught something. He reeled it in, a little tiddler as always, and was lowering it into his net (the ones you attach to the bank but in the river so you can count your catch and the end of the day). She padded up behind him, about a metre away.

And suddenly started barking. Loudly. The poor bloke jumped... toppled... and fell into the river, knocking his net away from the bank at the same time. It wasn't the bloke who owned the narrowboat... which is a shame, the irony factor would be off the scale.

My mother believes that she saw a squirrel or something, but I secretly think that she wanted to give something back to the river that she came from.

Good dog. Good dog.
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 11:24, Reply)

DIY Ear Piercing
I thought it would be funny to turn my cat Buster upside down and lift him to the ceiling so he could walk around. He thought it would be better to twist around and try to get down. Then he decided to stop his fall by hooking a claw on my upper earlobe, effectively giving me a helix piercing. I could feel his claw inside my skin, and surprisingly it didn't hurt. I put him down on the bed so I could unhook him, and we never discussed it again.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 11:20, 1 reply)

Terrapins!
We had/my parents had terrapins - not the tiny things a couple of inches long, but ones that are *much* bigger than the things you'll see in London Zoo.

How I laughed when I saw my brother trying to hand feed up once...ever seen them eat?

They fix their beady eyes on the target, ankle their heads slowly and carefully and then lunge...my brother picked up one, hanging on the end of his finger. How we laughed as my brother shouted and tried to get the damn thing off.

Saying that, he was the one laughing when I made the mistake of picking one up and it p**ed/sh*t green goo over me.

Length? A 2-foot jet of green reptile faeces.
(Audax Victor, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 11:08, Reply)

This story is LONG
a long time ago, in a land far, far away...

There lived a beautiful princess, called alerella. She was an energetic, young sort, with flowing, golden locks, a skip in her step and a tune in her warm and caring heart.
She lived with her father, King Enzyme, who, despite losing his first wife during the birth of his gorgeous daughter, still loved her dearly. So much so, in fact, that he decided to re-marry another single parent, CHCB, so that little al could still have a mother-figure and a couple of siblings to play with.

Unfortunately, as the story goes, the new Mrs Enzyme was a tad too rigorous in the sack, and during a night of sex play (involving a winch, and several large, Barrymore-esque implements), the good King Enzyme had his pelvis broken in several places. Though, fortunately he'd lost consciousness during the act, because he was being smothered by CHCB's killer pussy at the time, and couldn't breathe, but sadly passed away later from internal bleeding and organ failure.
It was then that Queen CHCB revealed her true nature, and poor little alerella was locked away in a very high tower by her evil step sisters, Kaol and Bob Fossil, who then took her place as the heirs to the throne of the magical kingdom.

In her towery prison, little alerella started to lose her mind, she found that without company she could only keep herself entertained by muttering the most base jokes that she could think of, and eventually her madness descended into a coma, filled with dreams of bestiality, scat and the hope that some day a shining prince would come and rescue her.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the Magical Kingdom, the Brave Knight Sir Bert Monkeysex sat in a Goat Brothel, The Horny Nanny, regaling the legend that had been passed on to him by his mother and father. The tale of a beautiful princess locked away in a high tower who possessed a ring tighter than that of any goat the land had ever known.

'Nonsense!' The other mead drinkers mocked, 'Everybody knows that there is no such thing as a human being tighter than a goat.'
But Sir Bert knew in his heart that some day he would find his true love and they would live happily ever after.

Just then, as if purely to further the somewhat slightly lost point of the story, a strange man by the name of K2k6 entered, his whole appearance a shabby mess, and he was clearly out of breath, 'Someone must help! I have heard news of a beautiful princess trapped in a high tower by her evil step-mother and wicked step-sisters to the east!'

Sir Bert knew that this was his destiny calling him, he got to his feet, thanked the stranger, and left the stunned occupants of the goat brothel to their devices. Outside, he hopped upon his trusty steed, and lover, Billy the Kid, one of the finest goats the land had ever seen.
He rode off with the setting sun to his back at a steady gallop, with the sound of Billy's hooves matching the beating of the renewed passion in his heart, and the throbbing in his codpiece.

Upon arriving at the foot of the mighty tower, Sir Bert despatched of the evil queen and her two hideous offspring with one fell swoop of his dripping baguette, leaving their headless bodies for the likes of PJM and the PenguinOfDeath to have their wicked, necrophiliac way with.

The Brave Knight Sir Bert Monkeysex scaled the tower with ease, and awoke his beautiful princess bride with a one man bukkake marathon, that lasted several hours and left alerella looking like a plasterers radio in June.
The pair fell in love immediately, and bert set about trying to discover whether the legend was true, could she really be tighter than his faithful steed Billy the Goat...?

With al on her knees, Bert slowly began to insert his pulsating cock into her puckered anus, using no lubrication whatsoever.
By God! It was true! He couldn't believe what he was feeling as the inner parts of al's poo chute gripped him tighter than anything he'd ever felt before, and the orgasm built inside of him quickly.
At the moment of climax, al let out a small involuntary cough, causing his unbelievably snug sphincter to twitch, snapping off Bert's nob at the hilt.

'OH NOES!' He cried in agony, and began dancing around holding his crotch like a cowboy at a barn dance.

Al stitched up the wound, and the pair agreed that despite the fact that they would never be able to sexually satisfy each other properly again, they would still be married in the morning.

Unfortunately, on climbing back down the tower, they were both butted to death by Billy, who'd gone into a psychotic, jealous rage, and he stomped them both into the dirt, before sticking his horns into the evil sister, Kaol's lifeless bottom, and ending his own life with a quick snap of his neck.

Bloody animals, eh? Tragic.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 11:06, 57 replies)

My cats are stupid
for example one of them just pounced on me and stapled this to my forehead.

Its a random reply to "how much cash have you carried" qotw.

The plan is to anticipate and successfully answer NEXT weeks shoddy repeatorama, apologies if people are getting narked by this

me = tightfist
Came into some money recently, decided to treat myself to some gadgets and gizmos.

Took £3,000 in cash to brrum for the weekend and spent £2500 in the Apple Shop in the Bullring.

New ibook, new imac with RAM maxed out in both, and the 60gb ipod to match.

At the counter the chap asked me `Visa or Mastercard?`, I opened the 2 breast pockets on my scummy corduroy jacket, slapped the wads on the counter and said 'neither, sorry.'

He rang up the purchases, gave me my receipts and asked if I had far to carry them. I was staying at the Burlington just round the corner and told him so.

There's a McDonalds and some other crappy places between apple store and hotel, he says, so would I like a hand carrying them back?

Of course, cheers, says I.

Rather than one of the burly security guards escorting my wee self to the hotel, the guy behind the counter (even shorter, skinnier and paranoid looking then me) picks up the boxes and bags and says 'right then, follow me.'

We pass some VERY scary looking people of all colours and creeds on the way to the hotel who all look at these shiny white boxes with much interest. We get to the hotel safely with the 2-and-a-half-grands worth of kit, and both of us look very, very relieved.

I tipped him a fiver, which looking back, probably makes me a bastard of the highest order. Apple got me back though, 3 weeks later the video ipod is released and within 6 months everything i bought has been replaced.

Karma, neh?
(FiftyFour, Thu 22 Jun 2006, 19:22, Ignore, Reply)
(Halfy By light alone, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 10:57, Reply)

Wolf! Sort of.
Back in the days, with a freshly minted licence and access to Mumsie's Maestro, I was the king of the road. Well, second cousin of a Duke of the Road. Maybe.

Being as this was before the days of t'internet, DVDs, Playstations or even decent 'pooter games, myself and random mates would trundle off into the remote wee roads in the countryside. Often at ludicrous speeds, as we were 18 and therefore immortal.

Belting down this little one-track road, at night, suddenly a flash of grey fur as the alleged wolf lept into our path.

In stereo "SHIIIIT".

Screech of brakes, onto grass, skid, ROCK!, overcorrect, DITCH!, Crunch.

12 foot deep ditch.Whoops.

We clambered out somewhat woozily, and I staggered off down the road to the nearest house to beg the use of a phone and get a bollocking from the householder for driving too fast. My nervous "it was a wolf" didn't go down too well.

My other mate, who I had begged to bring his parental Volvo to pull me out, turns up in his fucking Lada.

Eventually a very friendly local farmer hoicks us out with a tractor.

Off we go, my rescuers and I in sedate convoy, and then we see.....my nemesis.

The wolf.







Okay, it was a badger.

Happily trotting along the road, basking in his victory over man and machine.

"Right you bastard" sez I. Before I could even change gear and launch into badger-squashing-vengeance, VOOM he's off like a racehorse with a chilli enema.

Turbo-charged badger cunningly disguised as a wolf: 1

Me: 0

Sigh.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 10:41, 3 replies)

Repost from Accidental Animal Cruelty
16years ago (ish)
A good friend of mine got killed by a pigeon..??!

He was riding his 125cc hair-drier bike when one flew in front of him whilst he was doing approximately 75mph (he was rarely going any slower!), smack bang into his helmet and broke his neck, (and probably the pigeons too)

We were at college doing a Btec in small animal care at the time (well not exactly at that time obviously)

If he was still with us he'd have found it funny/ironic.

R.I.P Jez
(Kip, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 10:36, Reply)

When seals attack
My wee sister spent a summer or two working in the Northern Ireland Aquarium (essentially a large fish tank in a field thirty miles from Belfast). The Aquarium's big draw is a seal sanctuary where all the cute ickle babby orphan seals are raised. The mascot of the place is, therefore, Neil the Seal.

To the delight of pretty much no one, each summer a member of staff had to dress up as Neil the Seal and walk around talking to the kiddies. This involved donning a giant brown rubber suit and big foam seal head, and required another member of staff to steer poor Neil through the screaming school children. I don't know who the hell thought it would be a good idea to assign this duty to my wee sister, but they must have had a death wish.

My wee sister, who has the deserved reputation of scathing grumpiest bitchqueen from hell, was duly bundled into the suit and dispatched to be upbeat and merry among the kiddies.

No.

When her boss returned half an hour later she was standing in the middle of the playground, foam seal head tucked firmly under one arm, chain-smoking like a French philosopher, glaring at the little shits who were trying to stand on her rapidly-shortening rubber tail.

"Er, are you alright?", ventured her boss, at which she took the cigarette out of her mouth for long enough to formulate some very salty swear words which were fortunately drowned out by delivery truck reversing nearby.

Thing about it is, seals are aggressive creatures. I think she was spot on in her portrayal.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 10:35, Reply)

On how my cat would thicken the air
As a young Gunter my family owned numerous cats. He to which this tale relates was a very particular cat, perhaps the most unique of all felines to have stumbled about this planet.

Despite our house already being home to a brace of moggies, my brothers and I persuaded my mum that two cats were too few, and we duly hot-footed to the local rescue centre to acquire a new addition to the MunterHunter family.

Upon our arrival we chanced upon some new residents. This pair of brothers had already suffered the most horrific of lives, despite being only weeks old: they had been bundled into a sack along with the remainder of their litter, slung callously out the door and left for the dustbin men to transport them to the local landfill.

Fortune, however, smiled upon young Charlie and Gizmo (as they came to be known), when a kindly old refuse disposal officer, alerted to their plight by the unlikely movement and noise emanating from their makeshift grave, disposed of them at said rescue centre and gave them the chance of a long and happy life.

Gizmo had suffered horribly from his inglorious beginnings and was severely disabled, blind and about as sharp as a sphere. Charlie on the other hand was almost a perfect example of the feline hunter, likening them to meowing versions of Arnie & Danny DeVito in Twins.

As such, Gizmo was unable to attack like a conventional cat and his nature suggested he had no intention of harming anything; appearing as he did to be the single most loving creature ever to have lived. He did, however, unleash surprise attacks that could have been employed by riot police to bring a mob of the most vicious football thugs to a standstill... you see, not only was Gizmo disabled on the outside, but his spasticated guts would produce such air-thickening bouts of flatulence that even the strongest tear gas would be like fresh air in contrast.

He didn't live long, but his 5 or so years on the planet brought joy to many people, and he always seemed happy. Although, to this day I'm convinced that those beautiful blind eyes hid a conniving and deviant mind, which on occasion would remember the cruelty he suffered as a kitten and he would reek revenge whenever he could.

Length? Sometimes they would linger for hours...
( Moey, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 10:34, 1 reply)

The tale of the Scorpions
Once upon a time young Mr. Kaol decided to buy some scorpions.
There were three of them, each about an inch long, and identical-looking.
He kept them in a proper enclosure, so that they didn't escape, and fed and watered them regularly.

One day he went to clean them out, as they made rather a mess with the dismembered body-parts of their food.
He took out the water bowl, pieces of bark and flat rocks, counted the three scorpions, and then carefully placed a piece of bark back over them, where they happily stayed as he cleaned out the tank.

He put the lid back on, dropped a couple of baby locusts in as "play-mates", and went to do some computer-related work.

As he sat there, happily typing away, he felt something tickle the back of his neck.
He assumed it has a stray hair, and ignored it.

It wasn't a stray hair.

He felt it tickle him again.

He realised it had legs.

He felt a moment of cold panic, as his fingers brused something hard and slightly pointy. He then felt a nip, and a jab to his finger.

He got up, and walked briskly to a mirror, and looked.

There was a big fuck-off scorpion on the top of his collar. Dilemma... Where did this scorpion come from? It was about twice the size of his three that were safely in their vivarium upstairs...

Our dashing young hero grabbed an empty glass, deftly flicked the unexpected hitch-hiker from his neck into the container, and dumped the extra scorpion in with the others.

Turning his attention to his recently-stung finger, he paniced a little, then realised that this particular species had venom roughly the same in power to a bee.

It turned out that the mysterious "gigantor-scorpion" was in fact one of the three.
It had shed it's skin, and been lifted out of the tank under one of the rocks.
The skin it left behind had fooled our brave hero into thinking it was a whole, real scorpion.

So, that was the tale of how Kaol was stung by a scorpion. Written in the third person. Because I'm bored today.
( Cawl, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 10:33, 5 replies)

Pigeons, seagulls etc
I think the term 'scattack' should refer to being shat upon by winged vermine.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 10:30, Reply)

Seagulls
I haven't read the rest of this QOTW yet. But I'm sure many of you are familliar with seagulls and their antics, and so I'm sure that I don't need to go into detail here.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 10:25, Reply)

Guard Cats
Honest to god/s, this is true and only happened a couple of months ago.

I now have three cats. Tig, Max and Izzy. All are as soft as can be. They've never attacked anyone and only swear at each other when they're playing around.

One evening in February this year, I was mucking about on the PC as usual when I heard the cats hissing and growling downstairs. Getting up to investigate I wandered downstairs and saw Tig and Izzy peering around the bottom of the stairs and hissing at something in the kitchen. Thinking it was the third cat they were bullying I shoed them away and walked around the corner. The back door was wide open. I knew I had shut it. I started walking towards the door and all of a sudden there came the noise of footsteps legging it down the garden. I stuck my head out of the door but all I saw was a pair of white trainers disappearing around the back gate.

Having had a few drinkies, I was initially a bit unsure what to do first, pursue or call the police. As I didn't have any shoes on I called the police who turned up with their flaming great dog literally two minutes.

So we went through the normal police process, statements, Scene of Crime officers etc etc. Turns out that a house a few doors down from me had been burgled about 10 minutes before mine, which is why the police were in the area. The police had a suspect, he was a walk in burglar. He'd stolen a wallet and mobile phones from the other house.

If it wasn't for Tig and Izzy, I hate to think what he would of got away with from our place. A few days later I found a wallet belonging to the other burglary victim in our back garden.

The CID officer who took my statement clearly stated in "the owner was alerted by two of his cats, Tigga and Izzy, therefore scaring off the intruder".

I know it's not really an attack story, but I think their story needs to be told! I semi-jokingly entered them for a local radio competition to find 'Suffolk's Super Pet'. They didn't even qualify. The winner was a dog that alerted it's owners to a fire in the loft and the runner up was a dog that tried to hump a hedgehog. That is not a super pet! Even a f*ckin' budgie that flew back to it's own cage after escaping beat my crime fighting duo! Stupid inbred county.

If you want to see pictures of my pussy, please ask ;0)
(Big Smurf Brush me daddy-O, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 10:22, 1 reply)

"A swan can break a man's arm, you know."
How many times have you heard people give you this interesting 'fact'? Lots I expect. Yet how many b3tans have or know anyone who has had their arm broken by a swan? I've never heard of it happening. So either society is one big fat liar or I've been sheltered from reports of canal-Nazi attacks my whole life.
(henry's cat is yellow on, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 10:19, 11 replies)

A quick attack, but the results were impressive!
As a young kila girl, I used to ride a nice welsh pony. I was told that he was a “proud cut”-- gelded late and still acted a bit like the stallion he knew he’d once been (sorry men).

One Friday, I was at the ranch waiting for Sue, my best girl pal to arrive from our office (she worked later hours than me). We were going for a ride to take some pictures before the rainy season. Some ranch kids told me that "my" pony’d been laying his ears back and acting funny. I went to go get him, thinking he just needed his ride out.

I stepped into his stall and he seemed fine. Then he laid his ears back, shook his head and
suddenly *boom*! He hit me hard with his open mouth and bit down on my breast, let go and spun around! I fell to the ground, seeing stars, rainbows and little twittering birds, just like in the cartoons. When I came round, the kids were yelling and I dare not hit him in front of them, though the ranch men later said I should have, with a brick or something.

Instead, I stumbled/crawled out of the stall and calmed the kids, then went to wash up and check the damage, which looked like a red mark and sure to be a bruise. The ranch owner, a loony nutjob but desirable to me as she had ponies I wanted to ride, helpfully told me that the pony was treating me like one of his mares because he lurrrves me.

At that point, Sue found me and immediately screamed, “What happened?! You’re white as a sheet!” By then I was giddy and laughing, nothing much, I said, t’horse bit me! She didn’t want me to go riding and said I was acting funny, but I said don’t worry, insisted I’m fiiine so off we went.

Truth be I was little apprehensive and on guard, but the pony behaved so we got our ride in the hills, taking pictures on this last summer ride before saying good bye to the ranch for the season. I took tons of photos of my pal with her pony, she took tons of me with my pony. We finished our ride and cleaned up the ponies and gave them our last loving hugs and kisses goodbye.

I got home and showered and looked at the bite, a mark about a half a hand wide, but the breast was swelling. In fact it was getting redder and also a bit of blue. And quite sore.

By Saturday morning, it had gone Technicolor and I scheduled an appointment with my doc, who laughed, prescribed ice, rest, and “anything but ponies.”

By Sunday, I had to buy support bras to stop the swollen purple-green and blue thing from moving as it hurt so.

By Monday, the entire area was "involved," much worse! I went to work and, in response to my email, Sue called me over to her cube stall and whispered urgently, what happened, what do you mean it’s worse, what does it look like? I laughed and told her, oh I’m quite proud of this, it’s HUGE! If only the other one matched! Aubergine in color, shape and size! I of the giant purple boob! This was too much, and Sue begged to see it.

We giggled and checked that no one was in the area and I lifted my shirt and, gingerly, pulled aside my bra, and she gratifyingly oohed and aaahed at the size, the color and the shape.

I said I have this insane desire to pull up next to those big American 18-wheeler trucks and pull my blouse up to show it off!

As an added bonus, Sue showed me pictures of me that day, huge smiles, laughing, looking coyly at the camera and hugging the pony. Then, she whipped out the pictures of her that I had taken. Every single one of them was a complete blur! I’d been in shock and was shaking the whole time!

Apologies for the length, as this is my first and I wanted you to take your time!

*pop*
( kila is reading clocks upside-down as usual, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 10:13, 1 reply)

"Don't run, they'll only chase you!"
This happened a number of years ago, on one of the rare family outings where all of my family were actually present.

We were out on a fantastic summers day, dog walking, stick throwing, the usual stuff, when we reached a slight clearing in the trees and heard it. What "it" was, was unknown to us, kind of like a slowly growing staccato noise, that carried nothing other than a sense of dread.

As the noise seemed to reach it's peak, around a corner further ahead, came a herd of 8-9 horses going hell for leather, in our direction. Despite the clearing, there wasn't really a lot of space between the dense trees, stinging nettles and other arboreal paraphernalia.

So, being that it was three kids and two parents vs. a shitload of angry french meat product, we legged it, in the opposite direction. Or, at least, us kids did, my parents for some reason stood still and to the side of the path, we didn't stop for them, they'd already lived a lifetime of 30 or so years by then, so it only seemed right for them to make the sacrifice.

As we were running toward the nearest free place to get out of the way, I could clearly hear my dad shouting "Don't run, they'll only chase you!". It was a moot point by this time, they'd started chasing us first, so we were only running as a riposte.

We did reach safety and I clearly remember turning to see the stampede fly past us, and continue their journey out of our sight.

After being reunited with our parents, my dad revealed that wild horses of some sort had been running on that section of land since well before he was ever roaming it in his misspent youth and that they would simply run past you without any problems, he'd just forgotten to mention it.

Apologies for length, horses can run a fucking long way
(ShiftyBastard won the World Cup on World Soccer Champs 2010!, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 10:11, Reply)

There's a moos loose aboot the hoos
Another from the young, carefree and innocent days in Embra in the late 70s/early 80s.

As previously mentioned,we owned what can only be described as a BFO Tomcat. Black furry death to the local fluffy population. It got so bad that we had a chart of 'British Small Mammals' in the kitchen to ID his prey, and at one stage were playing Dead Fluffy Bingo ("A Mole! I win!). After the hare 'incident' this was upgraded to 'British Mammals'.

Soo, said feline death machine was lurking in the hall, growling slightly, and staring intently at the corner. After being tripped over a few times,we ignored him.

For some reason, something had to be fetched from the garden. Mini-osok is despatched. Grumbling, I drag my wellies out (growling increases in volume), and don the first. As I am balanced on one leg, about to stick the second boot on, I notice that he is also dribbling slightly and staring at me as if I was a pallet of Whiskas.

Second boot. What the... there is some sort of obstruction...some sort of furry obstruction....some sort of furry bitey obstruction with razor sharp teeth OWOWOWMUUUUM!

On the spot a new dance sensation was created as I spun like a dervish, attempting to kick the bitey welly off, while the furry bitey thing gnawed away and the cat sat there sniggering.

Finally, the welly sails off and bounces off the wall, dislodging the somewhat confused...FIELD MOUSE OF DOOM!

Silence. I look at the mouse. The mouse looks back. My semi-hysterical mother draws breath. The cat licks it's lips...and leaps.

A sort of human/mouse juggling act was born - GrabOWDropGrabOWDropGrab etc, while the cat was wrestled to the ground and placed in a restraint position, howling slightly.

In the end, we chased the mouse back into the welly and slung it into the garden. We did give it a head start before releasing the cat, however.

The cat, naturally, saunters off with a sneer. And brings back a frog.

I now check my wellies.

And steer clear of Field Mice. They might be small, but they'll 'ave you in a second.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 9:58, 2 replies)

fucking badgers!
About two years ago my brother acquired the Kawasaki AR 125, my mate had a Honda NSR 125, and me? i had never ridden anything more than a BMX before.. so i got lumbered with a mates old Honda City Express 50cc (look it up, you'll laugh your bollocks off i promise)

We we racing round some country roads in the dark near to where i live and as i rounded a tight corner at a mind blowing 25mph a fucking badger runs out in front of me, sees me puttering around the corner as i turn to go round him the cunting thing runs back the way he came and straight under the front wheel.

This "thing" im riding weighs about as much as a new born baby and so i was catapulted off it and face planted the road (thank god i was wearing a helmet!)

i scrambled to my feet and the fucking badger was just standing there like the bionic degenerate, looked at me and bolted off back the way he was originally going.. i have no reservations that if i could of caught it i would have killed the fucker.
(The Reverend annoying the regulars since, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 9:58, Reply)

People moaning
Morning all,

I've been looking through a few posts and all the old hands are complaining about the repeat QOTW's which I suppose they have a right to as they've been here longest.

However,

There are a number of people who have joined in the meantime since these questions were asked and maybe have thought that there were previous QOTW's where they had an amazing story to share but obviously didn't have a chance to.

Admittedly, from looking at replies there does appear to be a dearth of previous QOTW's and perhaps the mod's should instead have a rule where 1 in 4 can be a repeat but the others should be new ideas?

But can we please stop the moaning about how the question is crap/it's bindun/you're doing a peasroast? I don't have the opportunity to go through previous QOTW's and if nothing interesting has happened in the intervening time then by all means pearoast, there is an odds on chance a large number won't have read it and so will enjoy the story no matter the repeat rate.

Rant over, let the flaming begin...
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 9:55, 2 replies)

My cat gets possessed
Normally a docile creature, you can tell when he's been at the ouija board and he's had his body taken over by an evil psychokiller spiritgoblin. It's in the eyes:


( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 9:55, 4 replies)

Dunno if anyone else has posted this
But if you havn't seen it, it's worth a quick read. Both horrible and funny.

www.cracked.com/article_15816_5-most-horrifying-bugs-in-world.html
(ShitBitch, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 9:51, 2 replies)

that pelican
that ate the pigeon in regents park...

that story made me feel ill. the poor pigeon being swallowed alive and whole over about 20 mins and everyone standing around taking photographs, not helping it, the sick sick bastards.

i also hate nature programmes where things kill and eat other things. that one about the lions in botswana eating the elephants haunted me for days. i know it's nature, but that doesn't mean i want to know about it. it makes me well up like a girl, so STOP IT!

edit: and pet rescue or similar. i swear to god i could knife any one of the irresponsible fuckwits who treat animals like that. it is the only thing that ever makes me cry!

odd when you consider that my job means i make people cry on a fairly regular basis when they get my bills/stat demands/horrid letters/summonses etc. but then again, they are usually fat, sweaty businessmen, not puppies...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 9:42, 6 replies)

Cows hate anglers.
For the un-initiated, sea anglers often don’t have the camping style experience of those who sit around lakes in little tents. Sea angling oft involves climbing to some barren remote spot which affords access to a good patch of water. A beach if you’re lucky, or a cliff or rock ledge if you’re brave / daft. As sitting by the sea for several hours can get a bit nippy, you like to be wrapped up warm which usually means several layers of clothing under a thick padded outer layer of black / fluorescent waterproofing (it’s a silly colour in case you fall in so the coastguard can see you – not for misguided fashion merit).

Now picture the scene:
Greencloud and mates are away on a fishing weekend. Monumental amounts of beer are drank. Greencloud and one mate wake early and decide to take advantage of the morning tide while the others lay strewn among a litter of beer cans & bottles, pickling in their filthy sacks. A reasonable session on the rocks was had and we headed back to the car when our hangovers cried out for fried food mid-morning. Togged up as above, carrying two 13ft rods each and various buckets & bags of kit between us we had 50 feet of cliff and about a mile of steep hill to climb. Hung over. Most of said hill was in use as grazing for ‘Aberdeen angus’. The herd must have been in a barn or possibly hiding out watching us when we’d arrived, but were now spread across the field between us and the car.

I’m no scaredy cat, I’m quite aware that the bovine beasts are generally a peaceful sort, eating grass lazily etc. I’m also aware that these hefty ones weigh about as much as a small car and these guys are getting frisky, rearing and running about in an excitable manner. Getting closer all the time. At first I was apprehensive to use my rod in defence. It cost me over £200 and I didn’t want to damage it. Taking care to hold it upside-down, it proved to be a very effective tool to keep the boisterous bovines at bay. Remember the scene toward the end of Dusk-til-Dawn where Clooney and Juliette Lewis are standing back to back while being encircled by vampires? It was like that but with anglers and cows! They paced around us with a look of sheer menace in their long-lashed big eyes, emitting the occasional taunt of "MoooOOOO!!" and gnashing their teeth in a threatening grassy sort of way.

Thankfully no damage was done to persons, equipment or automobile. However, it was interesting to know that the beefy beasts mistook my mates VW for a big grey lollipop and had licked almost every part of the cars surface. The dirty bastards.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 9:40, Reply)