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One of the B3ta team danced on stage at the Brixton Academy dressed as an enormous white rabbit, and lived to tell the tale. Confess the stuff – good or bad - you've done anonymously.

(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:10)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Morph Suit Fun
The morph suit is an all in one suit made of some kind of stretchy material and is a little bit pervy. Of course this makes them perfect for freaking people out, particularly when there are 5 of you running around like demented power rangers at a music festival.

The people who were tripping were pretty wierded out by the 5 of us running around and dancing like loons.

for those who have never seen one www.morphsuits.co.uk
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 14:57, 8 replies)
Grass(less) cock
When I was a student one house was in a controlled parking zone near the city centre. Most people realised that there would be occasional visitors for the residence and would allow a non-permitted car a parking space.

No so our neighbour she hated people with out permits parking. Now we were all non drivers so we didn't have a car and, get this, NEITHER DID SHE! but god forbid anyone without a permit park outside our house. She'd phone up the hotline and a ticket would be issued. I think you could get a temporary permit but that needed a level of forward thinking and organisational skills our drug intake wasn't compatible with. I went round and asked her to cut us some slack she basically told us rules were rules.

When we moved out that summer I left her a little gift. I snuck into her garden with some strong weed killer and painted a BDC on her lawn.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 14:13, Reply)
I did this

I'm a terrible person. I feel it's been long enough since I did it that I don't have to be quite as secretive any more (maybe?).
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 14:02, 5 replies)
Snow cock
I used to live next door to our school, which was fine for nipping home for stuff, but meant you could never, ever have an excuse for being late.

One night, it snowed. I had to get up early for my paper round, and looking over the school gate, I could see the pristine, virgin snow in the school playground.

There was only one thing for it. Under the cover of darkness, I stole in, and trampled out a fifty-foot long speed-cock in the snow, and legged it for the newsagents.

School assembly.

The headmaster got up on his podium with a grave look on his face.

"Who did it?" he thundered. "Who did that THING in the playground?"

I sat there, ashen-faced, radiating guilt.

"Mrs Ackrill, the caretaker's wife" he stormed, "Mrs Ackrill saw it and had one of her turns".

I thought about it, and considered sticking my hand in the air to own up. No point getting anybody into trouble, and there would be a certain status for being The Boy Who Made The Fifty Foot Snow Cock.

Status that could involve girls.

"There will be NO break-time this morning. Anyone seen in the playground without good excuse faces a week of after-school detention."

I sat on my hands and bit my tongue. For owning up after the entire school had been dealt this collective punishment would have signed my own death warrant.

But now I can confess. It was I who spoiled the entire school's snow fun.

It was I who caused hundreds of kids to watch helplessly from classroom windows as the snow slowly disappeared.

For, by home-time, it had rained, and both the snow and the fucking huge penis were gone.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 13:59, 9 replies)

I buy things for people anonymously. Only if I have enough money and enough goodwill true, but I think it really brightens someone's day if they get a chocolate bar outside their door. To reassure you, not the same people each time because that would be weird, just people who I know, who need a bit of cheering up. I've done it with a few things, mostly chocolate though I've sent some amazon vouchers occasionally.

It's always worked, and no-one has ever guessed that it was me. Apart from one time when it went wrong. I gave a girl a bar of Galaxy, and she rather bizarrely thought that it must be a love token from her crush. It was nowhere near February, there was no name, nothing, but she was pretty hung up on him. Most awkward moment ever having to tell her the truth
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 13:53, 7 replies)
The 8:51 to the Little Red House.
I'd just come off a night shift, knackered as hell, and wanted nothing more than to get into bed and shun the sunlight for another day, before getting up at sundown, donning my cape... sorry, that's my imaginary double life. I really work in IT and it was just another night of movies and X Box. Not a bad life, but you can get a little bored after 6 months.

Anyways, back to the train. I'd had a Subway the night before, and I was feeling bloated. Very bloated. And the train was packed full of the usual morning commuters- schoolkids, businessmen, the odd squaddie. All looking dead-eyed with anticipation of the day ahead. However, it was about to become worse. Much, much worse. The Subway had had a severely deleterious effect on my guts. And the pressure was building- nothing for it but to silently release Satan's breath from my by now tighly puckered brown barking spider. And fuck me, it was bad. It was like all hell had broken loose- people clambering over each other to avoid the stench of my fetid arse. Well, what's a man to do?

Fain abject disgust and clamber with them. Whilst merrily farting away, of course.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 13:49, 3 replies)
Office Fun..
Mainly involves:

1)Using cable ties on chair levers so they drop when sat on.
2)covering the laser on the mice so they dont work
3)Moving the keys around on the keyboard
4)sending emails from peoples pc's declaring their love to other colleagues when they leave their desk.
5)taking screenshots of their desktops and using them in a continuous looped powerpoint presentation.
6)Painting shoes with Tip-ex when doing cabling
7)cutting laces on work boots
8)continuous call back on phones
9)using the contents of the paper shredder to fill peoples jacket pockets/work boots
10)writing the work 'Cock' on paper in the printer tray

still undetected as yet! excluding number 6 where i did get caught once...
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 13:45, 4 replies)
I've posted all kinds of stories, anecdotes and images on the boards of a puerile digital arts community.

But I'm not actually called Enzyme.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 13:42, 4 replies)
mugged Pluto at EuroDismal
he has bodyguards don't ya know.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 13:38, 1 reply)
I once carried a life size see-through wire cow I'd made
through the streets of the Old City of Jerusalem at 2 am with my friend, barefoot, both of us dressed as 1st century BC Israelites.

The Police stopped us at the checkpoint to get to the Western Wall. We pretended to be Russian and tried to stuff the cow through the metal detector. The police were mostly drunk and bored, so instead of taking our actual names they posed for photos with us then let us through.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 13:23, Reply)
Lift Fart
Yeah, it was me. Sorry about that.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 13:01, 10 replies)
Office shenanigans
I am thrilled to say I am no longer office based. After 3 years with my previous employer I was running the risk of going postal. I had already composed a mental list of those who should die first, the guy who used to eat as his desk every day and sprayed food around him in a 6ft radius was top of the list. So, office pranks became a way of alleviating the boredom just enough to prevent the slaughter.

For some reason Tom Baker was the voice of the BT text message reader service at that time, so we sent a message to the slightly odd guy who worked at the other end of the office and was VERY into his sci-fi. I can't remember precisely, but it said something along the lines of: "Steve, this is the Doctor. The daleks are coming for you. If you want to save yourself, turn off your computer and leave the building calmly."

We were expecting a bit of a chuckle and the accusations to start flying - if he'd stayed on the phone it would even have read him my mobile number - but instead he put the phone down, looking slightly alarmed and carried on working, without saying a word to anyone for the rest of the day. I almost feel guilty. Almost.

I work from home a lot now and have to resort to tormenting the cats with laser pointers. Although I'd like to think they don't know it's me, I'm certain they just humour me now.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:57, Reply)
Not mine, but it comes to mind
Way back when, I went to a university that uses a turkey for its mascot. There's a costumed figure and everything, and "he" appears at football games, other sporting events, and generally anything that benefits the university and would benefit from having a five-foot, vaguely human turkey walking around.

Thing is, most of the students who work in the marketing department are female, and so the person who's usually in the costume is a woman. For various reasons, they're not allowed to say who wears the costume -- there are a few people who do it, and it's always a student.

A friend of mine was dating a girl he really liked, and as he tells the story, they went out drinking and ended up back at her place, as you do. Their clothes disappear and they get down to business. As he's doing what you normally do in bed with a (pretty good looking, IMHO) opinion, he happens to glance up into her open closet and see the disembodied head of the mascot suit staring out of the open door.

Now, he couldn't have gotten too far, because as he said, he immediately jumped up and pleaded for her to put the head on before they went back at it. She apparently took three seconds to think about this before throwing him out of the apartment.

The relationship didn't last.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:55, Reply)
back in the days when the london astoria was still there and G.A.Y. was still there (with its VIP section) I once drank too much vodka and threw up on Geri Haliwell's shoes and the bottom of her jeans. she then took me to the ladies toilets and held my hair whilst throwing up.

this is my only claim to my anonymous fame.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:50, Reply)
Anonymous underpants donation
A few years ago I decided to anonymously donate my underpants to a local pub.

Well, when I say donate, it was actually more of a covert disposal mission that I was forced to undertake after managing to shit myself as I got off the tube at the end of a heavy night out. Said pub was the nearest place to me with a toilet and luckily the boozer was still open. I had no option but to go inside, find the toilets then lock myself in a cubicle before initiating the tricky operation of removing my trainers and jeans before carefully stripping the shit-strewn garment from my body and hiding it inside the toilet cistern (Well where else was I going to put it, on the window cill?). As it was quite runny there was a fair bit of poo inside my jeans, but I just had to live with that as I put them back on, grimaces a plenty, before setting off on the 25min walk home to get myself cleaned up.

I’ve often wondered what the reaction from the pub staff must have been like when the source of the inhumane stench in the gents was finally discovered. And I can assure you I am not in the least bit proud of any of this.

I still go back there occasionally; they do a fantastic Sunday roast.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:45, 4 replies)
I posted a comment on the "have your say" section of the BBC website under the pseudonym "Robert"
They phoned me up and asked if they could interview me. I was at work and the woman was really freaking me out by saying Robert all the time (I wonder if it's a reporters trick to get you to open up?), "Is that Robert?...Hello Robert, thank you for your comment Robert, I was wondering, Robert, if you would like to be interviewed as you, Robert, have first hand experience of the situation".

I declined.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:45, 4 replies)
Remembered a homeless man.
First QOTW post. Be nice.

Crossing over the bridge on my way into town for lunch one grey Tuesday afternoon, I walked past a load of police cars, tape, and a forensics van with people in those white onesies milling around. Getting the horrible scared sinking feeling in my gut, I was too afraid to approach the policemen and women who were standing by the tape. But I knew something bad had happened.

A colleague's girlfriend was working for the police at the time and had access to a police radio, so along with local news and her text updates, we found out that some of the homeless guys I'd seen many times by the river had had a fight, and one had ended up in the river. Another colleague had driven past police, fire and ambulance gathered further down the Wey. Dribs and drabs of news came through, and via the police radio we heard he'd been pulled out and taken to hospital, still alive but not doing well.

On Thursday we found out he'd died the night before. That sick feeling hit me again. I'm not sure why I felt so strongly about it, but I couldn't get it out of my head; feeling so sad, yet simultaneously numb.

Thursday's lunchbreak was horrible; walking past where before, there had been commotion and lots of police, there was now no-one - and nothing to indicate any incident had even happened there.

All I did was buy some flowers and put them on a bench where I'd seen them hanging around before. I didn't know this guy and I didn't know what had happened to cause the fight that lead to his death, but I just wanted something there. Nobody saw me, and there was no point in writing anything as I had nothing to say.

The flowers were gone by lunchtime on Friday. Now there's a sign on the bridge asking for information, as there's a murder enquiry.

I don't know if they did anything, drew anyone's attention or let somebody know that respect was being paid. But something inside me demanded that it had to be done.

(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:42, 13 replies)

I used to be Mr Wimpy at kids parties in the restaurant.
Generally involved scaring the under 6's or being beaten up by the over 6's.
At one 7th birthday party, a couple of kids decided to find out if mr wimpy had shins and promptly kicked the living bejeesus out of me.
I had the last laughs though, I was responsible for their party bags so gave all the little horrors who kicked the hell out of me tartare sauce sachets instead of sweets. I'd like to think I put those wrong uns on the straight and narrow
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:41, 3 replies)
Brixton Academy Rabbit.
was he partaking in 'pelt the rabbit in his stupid white face' by any chance? resulting in attempting to rape noel fielding?

or are enormous white rabbits a regular occurence there.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:41, 7 replies)
Tentatively linked to the topic...
In the days before mobile phones and the like, shortly after the world had turned colour, a young snee was just getting into the whole deal about women - how great they were to touch, smell, and sometimes even let you do the dirty with...

As such, I was enjoying the odd bit of sexytime with willing women, and had developed the technique where, when asked for my number, automatically gave the number for the Cambs. Constabulary Headquarters just up the road. I did this for years, and every now and then was tempted to call them up and say, "Hi, this is snee - do you have any messages for me?"

Well, it's kind of anonymous...
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:38, Reply)
dressed as a fairy
and got my norks out in a bar. it was all in good fun and i got many, many drinks bought for me
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:34, 12 replies)
I dressed up in a monkey suit and entertained youngsters at Fruitstock a couple of years back
The best part was making small children cry, then passing them back to their parents.

The worst part was having children hanging off my tail...
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:34, Reply)
Road Accident
I provided first-aid at a road accident scene when I was 27 (not a few years ago) and waited around until the ambulances had arrived to take the passengers off to the local A&E... not realising that they'd be taken to the same hospital I was working at. No-one asked for my name and address, not even the police when they came to deal with the aftermath. I just got back in my car and drove off.

When I got to my ward that night and one of the patients had been admitted the poor sod thought he was having an hallucination of having seen me before and then seeing me again in the hospital.

(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:31, Reply)
I once tripped up
The Archbishop of Canterbury.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:30, 6 replies)
Worst anon thing for me methinks
is giving fake advice on an internet forum for epileptics. A few kids on there were talking about wanting to play their favourite games, but were being set off by the strobing effects of their monitors.

So....I...um...left an anonymous post saying how scientists had discovered that the main trigger for seizures is too much information being passed to the visual cortex in the frontal lobe while staring at the fluctuating light source. 1 way to combat this flood of information though is to wear an eye-patch, which limits the amount of visual stimulation thus preventing the cortex from overloading the brain.

After a few excited responces, I went back onto the forum thread later on to see the results. A few kids had replied back with "Didn't work mate, still had a seizure" and one kid asked what I would've expected as a result from getting kids to wear an eye-patch testing this?

My answer was simple; "YARRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!"

I never went on that forum again.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:25, 18 replies)
I have nothing to add to this QOTW, so shall merely click on things. Good luck making people laugh, cry, cringe and spit coffee/tea all over their keyboards, B3tans! The winner will probably make all these happen.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:21, Reply)
horace wimp
isn't my real name
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:16, 5 replies)
Clifford the big red dog
In high school, I worked at the local library. Since I'm a massive nerd, it seemed like the best job -- I like reading, and library = books, last time I checked.

Of course, I didn't think about the fact that library work = shelving books != reading them. But there was one time when it all worked out.

The library was putting on a kids' reading presentation, and they'd chosen a few Clifford books. They'd even gone so far as to get a big costume -- two of them, actually -- one for Clifford, and the other for his owner.

Problem was, neither "actor" had shown up on time. With ten minutes left to go before the show, I did the stupidest thing I could've done -- I volunteered. I put on the big Clifford suit, the gloves, and an enormous plastic and wool head that weighed about 20 pounds. Needless to say, it was like wearing a snowsuit in August. I was sweating so badly it felt like I was taking a bath. And the smell ... evidently I hadn't been the first person to sweat that badly in the costume.

In the end, me and the other person got ourselves comfortable in the reading room about five seconds before a horde of five-year-olds poured through the doors like someone had left the gate open in the monkey exhibit. I stewed in the suit for what felt like eons, waving maniacally as the kids got settled.

Another twenty minutes followed as I nodding in apparent sincerity at everything Clifford did in the books. I wasn't allowed to speak, fortunately, so we didn't scar too many kids for life -- only the ones close enough to see through Clifford's mesh-covered "eyes", and I can only imagine their terror at seeing the demon inhabiting Clifford's red fur.

As miserable as I was, however, it was all worth it when at the end of the show I stood up and all fifty five-year-olds, in unison, let out a whoaaaaaaa of awe as the six-foot-plus Clifford loomed over them sitting on the ground.

Now I know what Godzilla feels like.
(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:11, 6 replies)

(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:11, 5 replies)

This question is now closed.

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