I like to remain anonymous
So I have cunningly put my true Christian name through a complex cipher so no one will be able to tell what it is.

Charlietron
(Charlietron Still can't think of anything witty to put here, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 13:14, 2 replies)

Stolen milk
There is a communal kitchen at my work, in it is a shared fridge. In which I put my milk for tea and cereal in the morning. This is often stolen and used by other people. I have come to terms with this fact there is nothing you can do. I've tried signs on the fridge saying buy your own milk, but as you could imagine it has no effect. Now I went to the supermarket at lunch time and they had a pack of 3 Magnum ice creams in a by one get on free offer. So I brought them and stored them in the freezer compartment of the shared fridge at work. I left them for the next two days due to a work course and not going home. I then went to pick them up to take them home and someone had ripped the corner of one of the boxes and stole a magnum. This annoyed me, milk fair enough but a mans magnum that’s a step to far. The next day I put this sign on the fridge: -
"To whom ever it was that stole the Magnum Ice cream out of the fridge. I hope you are happy with yourself. My Son is in hospital with terminal cancer and it was his birthday the other day. He could only have a few friends (5 to be precise) from the ward in his room to celebrate, due to him being very weak and fragile. As a treat I had brought Magnums for him and his friends. Now one was missing and little Timmy (5yrs) missed out, giving his unselfishly to my son, as it was his birthday. Poor little Timmy died that very evening, having never had his last magnum."
( BindiBaji, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 13:11, 14 replies)

September 12
I may have inadvertently notified someone that their webcam on the WTC was currently offline.
(evil_hound last barked at the moon on, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 12:54, 1 reply)

Right now
Im anonymous do you know where I live? what gender am I? what race? take a guess because I will never tell you
(Totach arf, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 12:26, 84 replies)

wave
Next time you're crossing a bridge over a motorway. Wave at the traffic. You'd be suprised as to how many people wave back. Not completely annonymous but i don't know them and they don't know me. And i hope it makes a long journey just a little bit nicer.
(phe, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 12:19, 9 replies)

Cats Protection
One of the more shameful incidents from my past.

A few years ago I worked in a pub not far from where I lived in North London. On my route to work there was a Cat’s Protection center, a organisation which I would presume exists for the protection of cats.

One particular night, after having had a few too many after-work beverages, I was staggering towards my house when I spied a dead cat lying in the middle of the road. Poor thing, must’ve been struck by a car. It was at that point I suddenly realised I was standing no further than 20 yards away from the aforementioned Cats Protection building. A Light went on in my pissed-up head.

For some reason, my booze-addled brain thought it would be hilarious to pick up said dead cat, walk over to the building and anonymously drape it across the windscreen of the ‘Cats Protection’ emblazoned company car parked outside.

I can only imagine the look of disgust from any passers-by the following morning, or indeed from the staff turning up for the Saturday shift.


I know, I'm a terrible cunt.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 11:47, 9 replies)

M Khan is bent.
Wasn't me.
(Galahad is out of his gourd on yellow bentines, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 11:15, 14 replies)

letter to a friends girl
About 12 or so years ago I was single, had a woeful job, and was generally not the happy Badd_Dog I am today.

At the same time a friend of mine "Tom" had been with his girlfriend "Caroline" for about 6 years and had been doing the nasty with her best friend "Lynne" for about a year as well.
The highlight of this affair was one post-pub night when we were all out we went all went back to Lynne's place. Here we all watched a porno that Tom had brought round which heavily featured anal. Caroline was sat between Toms legs, Lynne was sat to his right, and I was sat to his left. During one particularly rough anal scene Caroline looks up at Tom and says: "Don't get any ideas, I'm never doing that!". He turns and looks at Lynne and she nods at him knowingly - the look and nod effectively said "we're doing that later". He often stayed the night at Lynnes and Caroline would go home - she was a "mutual friend".

A week or two later Caroline found out about Lynne and Tom, but thought it was a one off...
This is where the relevent to the QOTW bit comes in: I anonymously sent Caroline a letter saying I was another women Tom had had an affair with (he had had other affairs) and that he'd been messing round for a couple of years. It also detailed some of his affair with Lynne.
Now you may think I did this to try and get with Caroline, but no - my motives were purely to help her. I knew that he was gonna get with Lynne but this would have dragged out for a loooong time. EVERYBODY knew about Tom and Caroline and it was only fair she knew as well. May not seem much like help at the time but it made sure she knew what a bastard Tom was (so no "we can work this out" talks) and it helped her make a clean break.

It worked out well for all parties. A year later we saw Caroline and she looked very fit. When she was with Tom she put on a lot of weight, when we saw the new slim and sexy Caroline one of my mates commented that Tom "must have taken her to Pizza Hut every day".
Tom and Lynne are now married with a sprogg.

I feel that my anonymous letter helped everyone get on with their lives much quicker, though you may all disagree!
(Bad_Dogg, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 10:52, 5 replies)

Nazis Rule
Someone once wrote

"Nazis Rule"

in the gents bogs in the Anne Frank Museum in Amsterdam.

It wasn't me... really.

Dktr S
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 10:35, Reply)

Murder scene & small town mentality.
I arrived at work one morning to be greeted by the news that a terrible murder had occured in the town.
The details of each story I heard were of varying degrees of severity, the whole town was buzzing with the news. Phone calls and texts were exchanged, gossip was rife, this was exciting stuff.

But I knew the truth.

The previous night (after kicking out time) it was blowing a hooly and a pub in the town was losing slates off the roof at an incredible rate.
The police turned up and cordoned off the pavement with their tape in case anyone copped a slate on the bonce.
Now, people going to work in the morning had to go past the scene. They see the tape, "Ooh, what's going on here?". They recognise the pub as not being one of the nicest places to frequent.

And then?

They see the chalk outlines of a man and a dog and a knife lying within the bounds of the police tape.
They conclude in their tiny minds that a man and his dog were stabbed to death.

A classic whodunnit.


Amazing the amount of fun one can have with a piece of chalk.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 10:33, 6 replies)

You've probably met me before.
But you'd know me as hotmandy69.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 10:02, 4 replies)

Rather like Scaryduck...
People may have been surprised when a 20 foot snow cock appeared on the grass outside the Catholic Centre at the University of Chicago, complete with hairy bollocks and a plume of spurting jizz aimed directly at the front door of the bulding.

They may have been more suprised by the sight of a normally serious minded british Research Fellow from the Chemistry Department leaving the scene soon after the cock's appearance, weeping tears of pure joy and brushing the snow off her gloves.

Even though I'm sure no one saw it and it remained only fleetingly before disappearing into a fresh dusting of snow, I remain prouder of that than of almost anything else I achieved during my time in the US.
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 9:46, 3 replies)

Snow
Earlier this week when Cardiff (and most everywhere else) was covered in snow, I walked home in the evening after a fresh lot had fallen and drew big heart shapes in the untrodden spaces between parked cars. I like to think someone smiled the next morning.
( cakelady, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 9:42, 12 replies)

Tonight Matthew, I'm going to be... Joe Scaramanga
I auditioned for the X factor under the name Joe Scaramanga (which, strange as it may seem, is not my real name).
My hope was I would make it through to the last 12 and then the tabloids would expose my B3ta pics on an unsuspecting world, and jokes about Maddie, flids, and making Dan Dare into a sweary cunt would get me thrown out of the competition.

It didn't happen, as I was neither superb, nor outrageously crap to get through the 'pre-audition' (the bit where a faceless producer listens to 50,000 tuneless cunts, to decide which 1,000 will get to sing in front of the judges). Yes, I've looked behind the curtain, folks. Though I did sign a contract saying I wouldn't talk to anyone about the audition process so no doubt I'm going to bum-raped by Cowell's lawyers now.

The highlight though, was being called into the audition by a fetus-aged runner who asked "That's an unusual name, where's it from?", to which I replied "Somerset", and who also had never heard of Opportunity Knocks!
( Joe Scaramanga with a G-double-O-D vibration, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 8:58, 8 replies)

Inspired by this...
I just went and got an ice cream from the canteen and left it in the drawer of a colleague who had been having a rough day.
With any luck it will have melted all over the annoying fucker's notebooks, contact info and personal stuff by the time he gets back to work on Monday.
( difficultchild, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 6:12, 4 replies)

Battle of the Right-Wing Crackpots
I've always had a thing for pretending to be other people. I have a ton of online aliases to use for all occasions, including several fictional men and women, and my North Korean myspace profile ( myspace.com/thekimhyunhee ) who was actually offered military secrets by some American fuckwad who turned out to be schizophrenic ( omg.b3ta.com/questions/personalads/post89689 ).

Back in the early days of being online, I was still getting used to the notion you could pretend to be anyone you want, and you could also contact anyone anywhere in the world.

My best friend was having some confidence problems due to an ex-girlfriend named Kate. I wouldn't exactly call her a skank, but she had dated three friends of mine, and any time you mentioned her to anyone in my city (population about 1 million), they would inevitably reply "I know someone who dated her." Kate came from a Mormon family, but she herself was experimenting with Wicca. This didn't sit right with her father, Bob, who happened to be the local right-wing blowhard radio show host. He also gave a one-minute rant on the evening news every night, always something awful and bigoted. I learned that every time he mentioned "the daughter of my friend," he was referring to his own daughter and was about to disclose something he disapproved of. Anyway, Kate's 18th birthday was approaching and my best friend dreaded having to run into her in bars.

So the pieces are coming together. I had her e-mail, and I registered a Hotmail account using his name. Next, I found several celebrity address directories. I e-mailed every ironic celebrity I could find, explaining to them that my daughter was a huge fan, was turning 12, and could you please send her a birthday greeting?

Naturally, nobody wrote back. And then I got a reply from Rush Limbaugh, the at the time voice of right-wing America. Count yourself lucky if you've never heard of him, but he's the sort who makes fun of cripples, calls Barack Obama a "magic negro," and abuses painkiller medication. He thanked me for my request and CCed me a copy of his letter to my "daughter" Kate. He basically wished her a happy birthday, and told her it's great that young Americans like her (a Canadian) are listening to him. That was all I heard on the subject for months.

Then, maybe a year or two later, I happened to talk to Kate. This sort of fits my modus operandi, so she was suspicious I was responsible. But...

She asked me "Did you e-mail me pretending to be Rush Limbaugh?" Well, no, I was pretending to be her father, Bob. Not that I told her of course. I denied it and asked her what she meant. She told me about the birthday greeting, but said there's no way her dad would've asked Rush to send her that message. She told me she replied to Rush Limbaugh, calling him an impostor and saying that her dad Bob hates him.

So Rush Limbaugh wrote back to her, "If I had known you were such a bitch I wouldn't have written anything at all!"

Oh, I wish I still had the original e-mails, especially the one where the voice of right-wing America calls her a bitch.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 5:55, Reply)

Newspaper Blog Comments
I've done some EXCELLENT blog comments, but modesty forbids me giving further details.
(theremin put the lotion in the basket on, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 5:51, 5 replies)

I don't know what came over me.
When I was at high school in South Africa, our Afrikaans teacher was an ex-athlete who'd been there pretty much forever and was clearly filling his days 'til retirement. His nickname was "Akkedis", Afrikaans for "lizard", for his odd tic of randomly sticking out his tongue and his preternatural ability to sit entirely inert for a whole school day.

His standard lesson plan was to set an exercise from the textbook, and then sit and read a newspaper for the rest of the period. He never checked our work—the answers were in the back of the book—but told us that if we failed it was our own fault. On Friday's he'd disappear before the bell rang and we'd hear his diesel Mercedes flatulating past the window as he raced off to play golf.

Fortunately, Afrikaans is an easy language and if you grew up in the country you were generally able to speak it regardless of your first language. This laissez-faire attitude was a blessing to lazy, invisible pupil such as myself, as Afrikaans periods were an excellent time to copy someone else's homework, read a book or doodle pictures of a sexual or violent nature.

I genuinely liked the guy as he fulfilled all the requirements of a second language Afrikaans teacher in South Africa (i.e. none), wasn't interested in punishment except for the most wilful troublemakers, reliably freed up 35 minutes of my school day—70 on Friday—and was amiable enough despite his permanently bemused expression. I never caused trouble at all, since being an entirely cerebral person I generally got to do what I want without canings anyway.

The rest of the class, however, did everything they could do to needle this soap bubble of scholastic detente without actually bursting it, and for five years, despite actual food fights breaking out when he was out of the room leaving trails on the walls, the membrane held.

For no particular reason, one September Friday afternoon in our final year, it occurred to me it would be funny to pat the board duster under his desk to get chalk on his knees. This was out of character for me. I can't explain it. I had no animosity for the fellow, and was a cowering goody-two-shoes at the best of times. I snickered a bit when I saw him leaving the class furious patting clouds of white calcium carbonate from his trousers, and promptly forgot about it.

On Monday, he entered the room and closed the door very deliberately, and launched a tirade against us and our lack of respect, a rant so extreme that the class was left slack-jawed. He threatened bloody murder against the perpetrator of the stunt, and proceeded to make accusations against the usual suspects.

I was off the hook, I thought, as he didn't even know my name after 5 years teaching me. When he couldn't get a confession out of anyone, and then started drawing up plans to work our fingers to the bone, I thought I was rumbled as someone would find out and rat me out for sure. I wasn't especially popular and the amount of work being heaped on us was terrific.

He stormed out of the room. The harder side of the class started looking around in wide-eyed confusion, and sure enough, the class's most ghastly little bastard pointed me out to them.

I expected death.

"No way! You? He'll never suspect you! Classic!"

I was the class hero for the only time in my entire life.

He finally retired at the end of that year. People who saw him outside of school said he was all smiles. He never knew who gave him the kick in the pants to leave teaching. I like to think I was his anonymous career counsellor.
(Ladyfingers is in your wardrobe,, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 4:28, 2 replies)

Got him right in the nose
I once got fired from my dream job as an architect because "my performance wasn't very good."

so I got drunk and came up with a fool proof plan to exact revenge on my ex-boss. It was about 8:00, i got home a crafted a costume that would definitely protect my identity,it looked like this
so the plan was to go into my ex-boss's office (there aint much security) and then punch him, trouble is, my underwear had my name printed on it (oops) got into a LOT of trouble but at least my ex-boss now fears me :D

(soz for crappy pic :D
(l.verity [Insert witty signature], Fri 15 Jan 2010, 2:31, 4 replies)

Guerilla Art Installations
I used to like making strange art installations in unusual places.
Long before I'd ever even heard of Andy Goldsworthy, I would make patterns with logs, coloured leaves, stones and other found items on woodland pathways.
Then sit hidden away to see how people reacted.
Some would just walk through, deliberately destroying it, and others would stop and look for a few moments and then walk around.
I particularly liked construction sites, would go in late at night and decorate an area, usually with flowers or coins.
Then go back the following night to see how it was.
One place, someone really interacted with it and left things similar for me, this went on for months until the site was nearly finished.
Found a spray painted triangle on the floor with a flower inside it and 'Who are you?"
It made me smile
Once I left a note scratched into a stone left at another scene saying 'Is this art?" and left my mobile number.
Got a message saying yes :)

Banksy and Andy Goldsworthy got rich and famous doing this kind of stuff.
sods!

:)
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 2:17, 5 replies)

Not me, but wish it was...
Bit of a pea roast, but appropriate...
A guy I worked with rode his motorbike to work every day and one day was cut off, intentionally by some guy who forced him off the road, watched him crash and yelled "Sucker!" or somethign similar as he drove away. The motorbike rider got his numberplate though and this being Queensland in the 1980s, called a mate on the force who quite happily gave him the driver's name, address and phone number.
So later that day he phones him up...
"Hello? This is the guy on the black Ducati you cut off today. I'm going to get you. Might not be today, might not be tomorrow, but sooner or later I'm going to get you..."
And this went on for AGES. The driver changed his number, even moved house (coincidental, I'm sure, not becuase of the calls) but every time the friend in uniform would give him the new details and he'd start up again. Years after it all started I ran into my old colleague in a pub and asked what had happened.
"You know what? I haven't called him in about two years! Let's give it a go!"
And off to the payphone...
"Hello mate, its me, the guy on the black Ducati..."
Apparently at this point the guy just started screaming "Leave me alone! Leave me alone!!!" And up he hung.
I like to think that every now and then he still makes a call.
( difficultchild, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 0:05, 11 replies)

Years ago
When the world was younger and more innocent I started what became a regular occurrence in my nights of fun.

There is a road near where I grew up that is one long terrace with those little front gardens that so often have nothing done with them. You know the sort, all sold the same front door by the double glazing man, or stuck with the old one that has been there for years and shares the same fading paint as your neighbour. Walking home one night a little the worse for wear I was struck by the similarity of the garden gates. More importantly, the similarity of the gate hinges (the sit on a peg sort)...

Being somewhat mischievous of mind and understanding the confusion a drunken mind can cast on the tired I did what seemed only natural. I switched gates. Houses would be 'moved' two doors up along with their neighbour, or two doors down, and occasionally the god awful decorations in a garden would be perfectly transplanted to complete the look.

Did I ever stay to watch the shenanigans as drunken people tried to figure out why their key didn't work in their door or how their journey seemed a few steps longer than usual? No. But if I ever saw an opportunity on any road, I would take it, and go to sleep chuckling. Damage was never done as the gates were the easy lift on, lift off type, and it even made the local rag for a while, people seemingly finding it as funny as me, if not a little bemusing.

Length? About 6 months all in all...
( Jimbuktu See? Right here, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 23:36, 3 replies)

I've recently been getting back into Origami
something I used to love doing as a kid. I made a dragon last night. Pretty chuffed with myself.

Anyway whilst practising I've been making simple stuff on the move, and leaving it when I've finished. So if you are on public transport or a cafe in London and see a small crane, lilly or bear folded on coloured paper, I hope you like it.
(photoben, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 23:36, 14 replies)

I oiled
The hinges on the garden gate of the bloke over the road.

Not that bad, but he's blind and the squeeking gate seemed to make him happy as he navigated his way back home with his useless guide dog.
( JeffTheDogFucker Can you dig it?, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 23:08, Reply)

Another one about the Internet not being anonymous:
I have a couple of sites that I go on to chat without my very Christian family reading any of it. Nothing seriously bad- just places to swear, make filthy jokes and so on. (B3ta is one of them.) I felt comfortable knowing that 1. My family aren't internet savvy, and 2. I don't use my real name.

So anyway, this New Year the entire family (all 17 of it) were sitting around the dinner table when my uncle mentions that he's finally connected to the internet. I don't think anything of it until he mentions, in front of my grandmother, "We found Sivvus on there."

A pause.

"You shouldn't swear, you know."

Pause.

"You're really not giving the right impression to your friends."

At this point, my mum chipped in asking about it, and my uncle gives a graphic idea of what I post. Bearing in mind that I'm 21 and have lived away from home for years now, my family still thought it would be best to have a "little chat", which lasted over an hour, about how filthy certain words were while I sink deeper into my seat. After a while, I get annoyed and reply, "Well, you use the word damn, and I think that condemning someone to an eternity of torture is a lot worse than telling them to go fuck themself."

They disagreed. Vehemently.

Probably not too funny, but I resent getting sent away from the table without any pudding.
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 22:37, 9 replies)

Harry Hill
The missus and I went to see Harry Hill on his "Hooves!" tour at the Lowry in Salford, and we had front row seats. At the finale he had a disco on the stage where there were pantomime horses, people in badger costumes etc., and the missus and I were dragged onto the stage by a man dressed as a ball boy to dance with the horse. Sadly I'm a terrible dancer, and I just remember looking to my left and seeing a couple of thousand heads looking at me and feeling mortified. Afterwards we walked back to the car and the missus brained herself on the exit barrier of a car park.
(nasalhair The Twix guy!, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 22:21, 1 reply)

Smitten
What I wanted to do: Buy a drink for the young lady who's alternarock stylee dancing had been keeping me entertained for the last twenty minutes. It seemed like a nice touch to finish off the evening by buying her a pint and leaving it behind the bar. Hopefully she'd be happy.
What actually happened: She got to the bar and had a chat with the barman. Moments later she began worriedly scanning the bar trying to work out who's stalking her.
Oops.
(Big D, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 20:32, Reply)

Nev
At the same college I once turfed Nev's ground floor room and left a sheep grazing in it!
( The Lone Groover has mal des nuts., Thu 14 Jan 2010, 20:26, 2 replies)

I'm a writer.
You should see all the amount of poems and stories i've written.
I even signed them all as Anonymus.
(Zigmund can't think of anything good., Thu 14 Jan 2010, 20:25, 2 replies)