b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Anonymous » Page 6 | Search
This is a question Anonymous

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.

On one ship I was on we had a communal fridge in the "day room" where we could store our day necessities without having to go to our cabins to our own fridges.It was usually stocked with soft drinks, sandwiches purloined from the galley and treats bought onshore (cakes, sweets,frozen dinners- that type of thing). I never had a problem with theft until this ship where soft drinks disappeared at an alarming rate. The arse definitely loved my Dr Pepper.

We all tried to catch the arse but he was good, very good. We didn't even have a suspect and all the little things that made ship board life a little more comfortable were being stolen from right under our noses. We started leaving stuff in our own cabin fridges but that was a real hassle, having to change dirty clothes for clean ones before going into our accommodation to our cabins.

So I hit upon the idea of injecting some corrosive substance into my Dr Peppers.... and leaving it in the fridge. I gently froze a can to minus 20, drilled a hole in the base, drilled more to remove some of the frozen contents, filled up the hole with a generous amount of concentrated laxative from the sick bay and silver soldered the hole in the aluminium can.

Over two days I defrosted the can and left it with another couple in the day fridge.It didn't stand out too much even though it had a slight ripple in the casing.

Two days later the third officer(manned the sick bay) had a visit from the bo'sun who complained that he couldn't stop shitting and that every time he stood up from the toilet he filled his kegs with brown water. :)

For 4 days he was confined to the sick bay, insatiable thirst and continuous splatter and with the prognosis of extreme food poisoning. At the next port (Tripoi from memory) he was hospitalised ashore and eventually repatriated to some hospital in the UK to have a giant plug inserted in his rectum. Well I don't know about the plug but I do know the arse lost his contract and my Dr Pepper didn't disappear anymore.

And he doesn't know who did it!!!!

Length- long but necessary
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 8:06, 7 replies)
I can't
otherwise I wouldn't be anonymous anymore
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 22:06, 1 reply)
Back in the day
When pagers were all the rage - you could take a scanner, tune it to the frequency you were after (depending on the cellco), tie the audio feed to a PC and some clever-arse software.

What you then had was all the messages being broadcast over that particular frequency - up and down the country - so naturally you had _shitloads_ of messages scrolling in every second.

Grab a message with a phone number, cue hours of fun posing as the pagee in various scenarios. Repeat as neccesary.
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 21:50, 1 reply)
James! Abduction! Mutilation! Karate!
One of my former colleagues was the proud owner of a two foot tall James Brown model which he kept perched upon the edge of his desk. Unfortunately he was in the habit of pressing a little button that would cause James to scream, then launch into a colossally loud rendition of 'I Feel Good'. This was irritating, particularly as it was something that cost me money. I work selling ad space to directors of major companies across the globe. It is vital to come across on the phone as professional and knowledgeable, while being persuasive and approachable. This requires concentration. Neither the appearance of professionalism nor concentration is aided by a loud toy being activated behind you. The issue was raised, requests for James to remain silent during sales hours were ignored, and his singing became more regular, just to annoy everyone.

Clearly something needed to be done. As much as I wanted to throw James from a window, I didn't. I nicked him instead.

I had planned to hide James for a day or two before returning him to his owner with a note requesting future silence. However, I went to the pub in the meantime and as so often happens, things got a little out of hand.

A livejournal account was set up (As this is 5+ years back the exact name used escapes me, something like where's james, I think). A hotmail account was set up, and an email was sent to his owner, from James, explaining that he was fed up of being disliked by his owner's colleagues and he was going away for a while. This was reproduced online and was accompanied by a photo of James with a suitcase, standing at a taxi rank. The owner hit the roof, and over the next three weeks went straight through it. This was because James kept posting pictures and blogs detailing his adventures. By this point the whole company was reading the blogs and were thoroughly enjoying the owner's discomfort. Whilst very angry, however, James' owner was also suppressing his amusement. Had someone else been the victim he would have been enjoying it immensely.during these few weeks, James was photographed in bars and clubs, with drinks, cigarettes and the odd line in the toilet. He had kisses from girls documented, and then we got ambitious. Postcards arrived from across Europe and images of him at customs and on a plane were posted, as my friends got involved.

Then I ran out of ideas for adventures. However, I was enjoying the peace and quiet and wasn't ready to return him. So things took a turn for the sinister as James was kidnapped..

A letter arrived with James' owner a few days later, with each letter cut from a newspaper or magazine in the time-honoured style. Ransom demands were made (assorted foolish tasks, for instance, wearing his shirt inside out, odd shoes etc). These ransom demands were not met, so I was left with no alternative but to carry out my threats of mutilating James. I bought a duplicate doll (£40!!!!!) and every couple of days a hand, or limb, or nose would arrive with the owner, all sent by recorded delivery. His anger and frustration boiled over. Threats of violent retribution were made, complaints to the MD were made, and laughed out of the office, and finally the owner promised that if he got him back, he'd keep James quiet.

Another recorded delivery letter arrived the next day, containing a cryptic clue; the first of several in a treasure hunt leading to James, the whole, undamaged, unblemished James. His owner shed a tear upon finding him. Despite his best efforts he still has no idea who was behind James' absence.

As a post-script, James died soon afterwards. I left the company about a month after returning James. A week after this, the owner returned to his old ways and another colleague karate kicked James into oblivion.

RIP James
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 20:40, 8 replies)
Dinner time...
I once secretly put a chilli in the dogs food and then filled his water bowl up with vodka. Stupid dog didn't suspect a thing.
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 19:05, 1 reply)
Last night of Reading Festival
a few years ago. Having accepted an offer of a ticket from my ex girlfriend the weekend had been an exercise in smoking too much gear with her friends and avoiding her late nights advances... I was kept on my toes mentally and physically - I was in the Zone...

So, having enjoyed the last nights bands, I came back to our campsite to find that the power had died and the floodlighting was down. The scene was reminiscent of pre battle night during a medieval war... thick smoke hung all round, the clashing of drunken warriors and wailing of women, the flying baked bean cans and burning tents fuelling the atmosphere...

On finding my tent intact I wandered down the way and found about 50 people crowded around one of the telegraph poles, with a half naked youth trying his damnedest to reach the top. An fail. Another... failed.

I approached and was grabbed by the arms and led to the totem. Cries of derision rang in my ears as I was tarred with the brush of previous failures. And then I started to climb.

Now. I was 35 at the time and to be honest, haven't stopped climbing trees for more than a winter since I was about 5 years old. So I promptly got halfway up before the chants started...

"Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve", the cries rang out over the campsite like I was a prima gladiator having slain the latest victim. I reached the top and victoriously slapped my hand on the top of the pole before I descended at a rate of knots, and left the pole behind at about 10 ft.

I threw myself backwards and the crowd caught me, and started throwing me up and down - I was finally hoisted onto the shoulders of the nearest giant and paraded around my new circles of admirers, cries of "Steve" still filling the heady nightime air...

I didn't have the heart to tell them my name is not Steve.
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 18:54, 3 replies)
anonymous - how apt...
a lot of you read my tale of the nightmare that is dubai


many of you were also very helpful and encouraging, particularly legless the king of the googlebomb! im delighted to be able to tell you all i have just today been offered a fantastic job with a great company.

my family and i can now start again after the worst year of our lives.

and best of all my kid gets his toys back soon.

thanks again for all the support
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 18:14, 19 replies)
sometimes, when i'm drunk, i like to fill my coat pockets with leaves, which i then redistribute by the simple method of shoving handfuls through random peoples' letterboxes.

no, i don't know why either.
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 17:36, 10 replies)
Cat flap antics....

The next door neighbours went on holiday,
They had milk delivered,
I poured it through the cat flap,
The milk man kept delivering,
every day
for 2 weeks


(i was only 10)
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 17:21, 3 replies)
Mr Busypants and the Blase Lady Cyclist
A few years ago whilst out cycling I was having a cuppa in Cafe Ghoosko at Clifton Down with Mr Busypants. Our bikes were safely locked to the stands outside.

Idly we watched a charming young maiden ride up to the stands and lean her bike against them, then walk off to Sainsbury's WITHOUT LOCKING IT UP!

Something had to be done. I advocated taking her bike and hiding it, and returning it when she came back from her shoppy, so as to teach her a lesson, like; but Mr Busypants (who is a wimp) forbad this.

So I whipped out my notebook, scrawled the following and placed it in her basket (ooer):


Dear Young Lady Cyclist

Just so you know, I could have nicked your bike, as you didn't lock it up.

But, I didn't. I thought I'd let you off.

Next time, howewer, you won't be so lucky.

Lock it or lose it, sweetcakes.




Mr Busypants and I ordered more tea and waited eagerly with bated breath and mounting excitement for her return. She was bloody ages - we had to have more tea, and a bun each as well.

Eventually she came back swinging a Sainsbury's bag full of groceries, which she went to put in her basket (ooer). She saw the note, and read it, before our boggling, fizzling eyeballs. And then she smiled, folded up the note, put it in her pocket and cycled serenely away.

I had hoped for at least glimmer of recognition of her folly, at most a terrified grimace of horror, but - nope, nowt. A smile. As though to say, "silly man, my bike is invincible to thieves!"

I hope she got it nicked next time she left it unlocked, soppy twit.

Dr S
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 15:03, 4 replies)
Mincer! Bargains! Free-ads! Dresses!
Some time ago I worked for a company that employed a right mincer. He spent virtually all day on ebay, or posting pictures of himself on amateur modelling sites (until I found it and showed the rest of the company), or trying to promote his "cool credentials" by promoting bongo drumming. Or trying to write terrible poetry about his daughter in an attempt to show himself as sensitive, and therefore pullable.

I won't name him on here as last time I started an anonymous wind up he sussed it and called the police. The gayer.

Anyway, I got him good before I took it too far and he sussed me.

He was selling his Alfa Romeo. via the free ads. For 8k. So I phoned up and placed an ad for the same car, with his phone number, advertising it for 2k. He got a call in the first five minutes, looked smug and left work to arrange it. Got all the way through and the potential buyer offered him the money. 6k short.

My colleague came back into the office, called the free ads and began jumping about like a twat; calling the free ads and abusing them, and so on. Keeping a straight face was very hard work. Not as hard, however, as not reacting to the coup de grace.

I entered the following items in the paper...

Ladies dresses, sizes 12-14.
4 Terracotta Pots.
A Mincing Machine. (he was a mincer)
A dog house. Would suit large dog.
2 chickens, 1 cock.
42" Plasma TV
X-Box 360 and 9 games
Motorola Phone (latest model)
Signed Arsenal Shirt (he's a Chelsea "fan")
Original Star Wars toys

and a couple of other things. All marked with an absurd price, and the caveat "Move abroad forces sale"

He got over 1000 calls, to his cellphone and to his direct office phone. It disrupted his home and office life significantly.

He went fucking nuts. But it served him right for being a ponce, and being shit at his job.

Incidentally, Terracotta Pots are surprisingly popular...
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 14:53, 26 replies)
One year ago
For any of you that don’t know I work for a software development company, we are a pretty decent sized firm and as well as assisting with a few games for the latest consoles and we also have a separate division (Same building different name) for social networking games that make revenue from people that spend way too much time and real money on software addons for Facebook. Anywhoo I am a budding developer but was hired by the firm to work in the sales division so any work that I do on the games (in my spare time or at times when we are stretched to the limit) my name will not be added to the credits.

I was eventually pulled up by the sales director a bloke who always tries to get the best out of us. He mentioned that he had heard what I was doing and would I like to start a little project he had thought of but didn’t really want to spend any of our current resources on. His idea was to create a new pet simulator that would be used as an app on social websites and I was to start creating the sodding thing from scratch, the only one thing he wanted was that I base the animal on his old pet rat called kissey.

I took the opportunity and did nothing but work on the software for the next few months, I lost a shedload of weight due to the amount of times I would skip meals (and sleep) just to work on the game.

To cut a long story short the games beta design was finished and we were going to test it on a saturated market of subscribers to our companies email list (This was after a period of debugging and playtesting where the only major change was that the central pet character was downgraded for a more loveable looking member of the rodent family).

The plan was to send a direct link to our test site via email with some sort of tag line to ensnare the potential gamer. I will admit that I was a little pissed about my earlier assistance on other games that went unnamed and tried to get my name everywherefor this one, and after applying a little charm with the girls in marketing I also got a chance to add my name to the email that went out saying that they had received “a mon e-mouse”

(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 14:46, 3 replies)
Brown Alert
This is not my story. Thank fuck.

My best mate went to university in Middlesbrough (see a good portion of the responses to Rubbish Towns). Hopefully not many of you will know much about Teesside University, but most of the people who go there are either studying a Computer Games Develeopment/Design/Animation course, or PE. Not a great mix, leading to some extreme Geek vs Jock violence against a stunning backdrop of chav-infested poverty.

In the first year, he stayed in a house with about 8 other Games design students. A quick note about my friend, as lovely as he is, he can be a complete retard, and lacks the ability to make conversation/socialise properly, and as such has always been regarded as a bit 'special'. In Teesside however, he quickly found himself propelled to the top of the social ladder with his dazzling linguistic skills and average weight and complexion.

I never found the time to visit him in Middlesbrough (I was washing my hair for 3 years), but one of the guys he told me about was a first year housemate called Keith. Keith was apparently an insufferable git, I can't remember what he actually did, but I doubt he deserved to have shit stuck to his door (anonymously) by my friend.

I did inquire as to how he had gone about such a task, he nonchalantly replied that he had carefully placed the turd into a folded piece of paper like a parcel, and used a drawing pin to attach it to Keith's door (I can only imagine him removing the pin to have it gracefully roll out onto him). I think he cried when he saw it. I still find this story hard to fathom.
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 14:14, 2 replies)
Edith Bowman Racist Slur

This was me, I honestly thought it was just a bit of fun. Didnt really take in that it might offend Japanesers. Sorry to any who might be reading but Im not sorry Edith read it out, she shoulda screened it if it was a bit dodgy. And i didnt email it in, it was a text! she didnt read out the other part about when its hot we say its "George Micheal" (warm - wham...do it in a geordie accent you'll get it)

monkey 1 - 0 radio 1
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 12:26, 19 replies)
Your Country Needs You
Back during my college days and a couple of years before I got online with the magic of dial-up Internet, I used to buy a few lad mags a month; Loaded, FHM, Maxim, etc.
Each month without fail there would be adverts for joining the Army or the Navy where you could post off your name and address and they would send you an info pack.

One of Bad_Doggs better friends was (and still is to a degree) a 'fuller figured' gent and lazy as fuck. His number one catchphrase was "I can't be bothered".
So, for a bit of a giraffe I took it upon myself to fill in these coupons with my mates details... about six months in a row!
Several times he complained to me that "the fucking Army keep posting me shit". Got to the point that the Army telephoned him a few times trying to arrange a meeting as he'd "shown so much interest"

He never did join and never found out it was me, and I had six months of laughing maniacally to myself
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 12:20, 5 replies)
Spooking the neighbours
It's 650 words so as usual, it's in the reply.
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 11:49, 11 replies)
When I was younger, by which I mean pre-school, not when I was in my early twenties or anything, my mum used to describe a runny nose as having a "nonny".

I've no idea what this means, or where it came from, but it's a phrase that she uses to this day with her grandkids and something that I find myself muttering too.

What this means though is that I grew up thinking that when I blew my nose, the resulting gloop in the tissue was a nonny mess. Confused me for years, when people referred to something as "anonymous", I tell you.

True story too.
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 10:21, Reply)
Aside from all the "username" posts we've been seeing this week
Our attitude towards forum posting is alot more open than being able to voice our thoughts, memories and concerns to another person directly. The added anonymousness (if that is actually a word I'd be fucking amazed) gives us a sense that we can say the things we'd been wanting to tell others without fear of comeback from someone direct who you care about.

I used to think this as well, posting on this board with the safe knowledge that no-one on here knew me outside of the boards. Until me sister found my username and started reading it in work. Oh dear.

So because of this you will never be able to find out about that time I was a drunken slut with a gran; that incident involving drugs and spiking plus that story of me almost winning a 6 foot-plastic-cock-bucking-bronco competition as I would definitely not want me family knowing about them thankyouvmuchlike:D
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 10:03, 9 replies)
My username...
...says it all.
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 9:53, Reply)
Anonymous Cunt or Why NOT To Talk to the Ladies on Dating Sites
For those who have not yet blocked me and have read some of the inane stuff I post here you have probably figured out that I by nature am a bit of a cunt. It's OK, since my mum pointed it out to me over Christmas lunch a few years back I have learned to live with it.

This tale of cuntery was born from a good mate who was just a bit thick when it came to the ways of women. Having been single for a few years he was trying his hand at internet dating and lamented his lack of success. I wanted to help him out and asked him to show me the girls he was targeting and the messages he was sending. Turned out he was using the dating site where all the nice girls go, adultmatchmaker.com.

He, the over 30, not exactly blessed in the looks department (head like a pumpkin that had been thrown out at a pumpkin fuckers convention due to its battered appearance) was hitting up on the young fit things (in the 18 to 21 year old bracket) for which their criteria was mainly - fit, handsome, rich, under 25 and NOT unemployed, poor, pot smoking, stick insects (the latter being my mates true description).

His replies would not have been considered poetry it is fair to say and where not overly detailed in their response. Most where along the lines of,


I tried to explain that these girls probably got 100's of replies and most wanted relationships and he would have to standout if he wanted to have a chance. A quick look at his profile, which included the line, "ALL CHICKS ON THIS SITE ARE FUCKED IN THE HEAD" led to the suggestion that it too could use a little polishing.

That seemed like too much hard work for him and lead down the path of him advising me I was wrong and, "BITCHES JUST WANA ROOT TOO".

Being the good friend I am, I decided this was the perfect opportunity to fuck with his head. The following day I joined the said site and created a profile that I hoped would attract him. I described myself as a 19 year old girl in a relationship who just wanted to experience the discreet no strings attached touch of a real man (aged 29 - 40) other than my boy friend before I settled down. I added a few photo's of what looked like a 19 year old brunet with her tits out pilfered from one of those sites where angry men post pic's of their ex girlfriends.

Unfortunately my buddy never replied to my profile, or perhaps it was too blatantly fake even for him but, around 150 desperado's a day didn't pick up on its ungenuineness and I was inundated with messages.

I should have left it at that but, I just couldn't help myself. So I started replying to the blokes. Those that spelt out their fantasies I told them they were sick, those who sent me soppy emails I told them they where soft, for those who sent me tough guy emails I told they where bastards, those that sent me pushy messages I told them they weren't forward enough and most of them replied and replied and kept on sending. At one point I even sent them messages in the character of my nonexistent girl’s nonexistent boy friend to let the online line Romeo's know I had found the profile my girl had posted and was destroyed and heartbroken, considering suicide or beating my girl as my only options and swearing bloody and painful murder if I ever caught up with the bastards who where leading her astray on line.

The pricks who wanted to fuck my nonexistent on line persona even replied to those messages with lines such as,

"I wish I was a fly on the wall at your place tonight"


"You obviously don't know what you're doing hand her over to a man who does"

and of course

"yeah come on you soft cock name the place I'll fucking have you"

None of the wankers suggested not beating her or suggested suicide was the wrong thing to do or told me/him they hadn't met up with her.

After a few weeks I got sick of it but, it did open my eyes to on line dating and why it was a piss poor option for anyone except those in the shallow end of the gene pool (well that adultmatchmaker site anyway).

One of the things I found surprising was that about 40% of the respondents listed themselves as married or in a relationship. Not that I am so naive to not realize this would be the case just more that they were so open about it. I won't lie (this week), plans of blackmailing these cunts did cross my mind, perhaps using an army of hookers to meet them and have their way with them while secretly filming it and then threatening to send the tapes to their partners unless copious amounts of cash where placed in my bank account but, thoughts of police action or possibly harm against my person stopped my heading down this path.

I did show the profile to the mate I was trying to make a cock of with it to show him how many guys replied to each woman and his only comment was,

"Bad advice you fucking cunt, I would have replied to that".

The sad thing (apart from everything listed above) is that when I anonymously created a fake profile on a dating site was the time in my life that I have had the greatest amount of communication with strangers.
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 8:20, 6 replies)
The mouth moves faster than the mind
I was 15... at a summer camp for people that had it rough in school and home. The kind of place where you got lots of hugs and 'you're so great's because we never got that for the other 50 weeks of the year.

Her name was Stephanie and she had a huge crush on one of the counselors- Ted. He was a fox... and she was bit of a troll (with a heart of gold...it was that sort of place).

Final night there was Awards Night. I'd scooped up a couple due to my precocious Dowager's hump and keen attitude.

Ted's turn to give awards... and he gave one to Stephanie. She did her best to control her emotions as she went to accept the award of swell-est fat girl or something.... and when she finally had the chance to get a hug from her paramour

I- for some twisted reason- shouted out "You should've grabbed him while you had him!"

The place erupted.

People were dying to get back to our usual routine of laughing at (not with) each other. It was a real release.

To me... just silence.
I knew what I'd done.

She came back to the seat with a white(r) face. Horrified.
She asked me- her nice. understanding, bloated teenage friend- if anyone had heard what was shouted.

I apologized. And then realized that she'd had no idea that it was me.

I think she fucked three dozen dudes by the time I'd finally properly been kissed.. so maybe she was the victor in the end.

Twenty years later I still feel like the biggest douche in New England.
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 4:20, Reply)
On the back of a public toilet door, those advert posters that give you something to read while you're shitting/changing your tampon? A weightwatchers one. With the legend "MY HUSBAND LEFT ME FOR YOUR LATEST 'SUCCESS STORY'" scribbled across it.
I want to meet you anonymous lady so I can LOL at you in person instead of while having a poo and have a little shake of your hand.
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 3:30, Reply)
You know all that stuff you hear about?

That was me!!!
(, Mon 18 Jan 2010, 2:19, 2 replies)
A couple of years ago, one of my friends was a total fuckwit.
He was drinking from 6am until 11pm on a weekend, every weekend, without fail. But he was also driving home every night from the bar. He got into a few accidents, hit and run sorts, but everyone was too ambivelant to bother calling the cops on him when he was leaving the bar.

Don't get me wrong, I've gotten a DUI myself which I'm not proud of, but as has been proved many a time I learned my lesson from that one to the extent my car has been towed from the bar parking lot as I chose to get a cab home instead of driving. That kind of thing. And I choose to be designated driver on girls nights out so I know that we're all safe.

One night, this friend was totally fucked up. Couldn't walk straight, couldn't stand straight. Turns out he'd been on a 3 day bender and not even bothered going into work or calling in sick.
That night in the bar, as he's getting ready to leave, I called the cops with his license plate number and the direction I knew he'd be going. His tags (registration) were also expired, giving the cops the reason to pull him over (in California, you cannot get pulled over on suspicion of drunk driving unless it's at a checkpoint). He got pulled over for expired tags, charged with DUI and then resisted arrest and swung at the officer. He got the choice of 30 days in jail, or 90 days in an alcohol rehab program. He took the rehab and has now just celebrated two years of sobriety.

Nobody knows it was me, and the friend was FURIOUS when a few of us visited him in rehab and wanting to know who it was (the cops told him there'd been a phone call, but they're obligated to keep it anonymous). I'm still never going to tell him it was me, nowadays he says it was his guardian angel.
And since then, a few friends from the bar no longer drink and drive, just in case.
(, Sun 17 Jan 2010, 23:34, 10 replies)
Printer fun
during our last year at highschool a few chums and I used to hang about in an IT room at break times. once there was a couple of year 8's looking very sneaky, turned out they were looking at and printing porn, those pesky kids. we could've just let them carry on, but being an upstanding member of the school council it would've stuck to my conscience.
they quickly scampered away and we put print-outs back in the printer no point in wasting paper! Turns out in our next lesson we're in said IT room and some guy ends up printing some of his food coursework with the said porn. subsequently he gets banned from the crucial trip to warburtons factory (our GCSE paper was on bread for some reason)
I would have felt guilty if he wasn't such a knobhead, the teacher already hated him.
(, Sun 17 Jan 2010, 22:21, 2 replies)
Do you ever use up shampoo left in showers?
Having a shower at the gym, think, hey someone has left some proper shampoo here, I don't have to use the free skanky stuff. Poor on head and may notice slightly off smell.

It's ok, piss is not bad for your hair.

Thing is , don't be tight, buy your own, or live with the fact that someone may have pissed in the bottle that's been left behind.
(, Sun 17 Jan 2010, 22:11, 2 replies)
peer reviewing ...
... in certain physics journals.

Not a very exciting story, though.
(, Sun 17 Jan 2010, 21:08, 4 replies)
Filth! Shiny black plastic! More filth!
Let me set the scene. Mr Anodyne and I live with our mate Ineffectual Dave in a back-to-back terrace house. We live at the back, and there is a ginnel for us and Mr and Mrs Next Door to reach our houses. This is where we, Mr and Mrs Next Door, and Mr Number 4 and Miss Number 10 store our bins.

When we moved in a year ago, I woke up a bit late on our first Bin Day and ran out to put our bin by the kerb, only to find some mysterious benefactor had already put it out. 'Fair enough,' thinks I 'they've been putting stuff in before we moved in.' So next week, I got up bright and early and went to put the bin out. It was already out. I asked Mr Anodyne and Ineffectual Dave if they had put it out after their night on the piss. Nope (although frankly if one of them had ever had the foresight to do anything so useful as put the bin out, especially after a night on the piss, I would have called the Vatican and had our ginnel deemed a Holy Site of Miracles). So there you have it. Every week since then, without fail, our bin has been put out for us. Not much - but none of us have ever seen our benefactor in the act, and part of me is curious as to who it actually is. The other part of me is glad that I don't have to leave the land of nod to put my bins out.

I was going to leave a box of chocolates on top of the bin with a note to say cheers at Christmas, but didn't because a) I spent the entirety of December shitfaced, b) I am not sure if my intended recipient would actually get the chocolate or whether one of the local scallywags would pinch it as a handy present for Aunt Maude and c) I am not sure how hygenic it is to put food on a bin lid, even if it is in packaging.

I can only assume that the neighbours took one look at us and realised that we are really not the responsible types (we aren't).

So, to whomever it is that has been putting my bin out for the past year, you have made me a Happy Belladonna. Cheers.
(, Sun 17 Jan 2010, 20:34, 12 replies)
Being nameless
helps me stay anonymous.
(, Sun 17 Jan 2010, 18:18, 2 replies)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1