I once wanked into my Grandfather's Wellington boots
and he never even noticed.

N. Pye
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 11:54, Reply)

When I travel abroad
I've been known to choose an address from the phone book at random, and send a postcard.

I've no idea why, beyond spreading a little mischief and a little happiness. Actually, isn't that enough? I think more people should do it.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 11:42, 5 replies)

Camera fun!
Maybe not anonymous, but it was some covert sneakiness and the 'victims' wouldn't know any better until the photos were developed.

Me and my mates went for a lads holiday in Kavos in our youngers years. There were these three Irish birds staying at the same appartments as us, who we pathetically tried to talk to every so often. One of them we actually really got on with and so one night we kinda invited ourselves into their apartment when we were pissed (they were on the ground floor). They were in there with two other guys who'd they'd met on holiday and so our presence at the time wasn't actually welcomed (but we were drunk and didn't give a shit and spent our time talking to the one that DID like us). After a while we were rudely asked to 'fuck off' by the other two, who were a bit up their own arses tbh. So round about midnight we left and making our way back to our room when we spied some bikinis hanging off their balcony railings and a disposable camera on the balcony patio table(easily accessible given that it was ground floor). So we jumped onto the balcony and nicked the bikinis and camera.

Back at our room we modelled the bikinis, balls out and all in some very provocative poses. Took a few happy snaps and then put all the evidence back where we found it. Oh the hilarity when they got their holidays snaps developed.


Same holiday, I found myself doing a drunker runner from a bar (wanker barman) and ended up lost somewhere off the main strip and ended up stumbling onto the other 18-30s appartment complex where I saw a light on and a lot of drunken rowdy guys. Under normal circumstances I would avoid a potential random decking by some drunken thugs, but I was shit faced and fancied a chat. So I walked over, introduced myself and that I was a crim on the run (my doing a runner from the bar story was enough for credibility points). So inside the guys were drunk and one of them was passed out on his bed, gone to the world. They were all fucking about with him, prodding him and putting stuff on him to mess with him. So I suggested 'tea bagging' him. Well needless to say there is now a picture out there.. somewhere... of me and some random guy with our balls rested on another random guys sleeping forhead.

Ahhh Kavos... Good times.
(yospeck, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 10:54, Reply)

I hitchiked around europe in 1995
in every car and in every lorry cab I was a different person. I was a history book salesman on holiday, I was greek, I was a student, I was homeless, I lived just over there, and I was happy.

The exhileration was more than a breeze, it was a joyous turbulence. If you're ever at a loose end, I'd recommend it if you are confident in your ability to fight off rapists, which is what I had to do, too.
(sirolimus, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 10:20, 3 replies)

Anonymously, I told her fiance
about her affairs.
( Bamboo Steamer, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 9:29, 10 replies)

Pizza Surprise for the cadets.
Back in my younger and sillier days, I was a member of the Boy Scouts. We had recently had an Eagle Scout leave the troop to go to School at West Point, the big US military academy in New York. Because of this, the rest of the troop got invited to go to a several day long camp out at West Point for the next several years. Imagine if you will, being surrounded by large Army men, big guns and fire, along with an awesome obstacle course to boot. Naturally, this was a great deal of fun for my thirteen year-old self, but I felt the need to go and do something mean and silly.

I had decided I was going to play some sort of prank on the cadets, and it suddenly hit me one night when the entire groups of scouts and cadets were all gathered for the night in the same field, and I spied a discarded pizza box. I stole away to the portajohns with my pizza box, and unleashed a mammoth, steaming smelly shit into it. The sort where you stand up after and feel as if your anus had become an inch or two wider. I was positively gleeful when I saw that it had all come out in one piece. After the requisite wiping and washing of hands, I went out in search of an appropriate target.

Finally, I placed it on the ground in a patch of light and retreated to the dark area on the top of the hill to watch it unfold. Within five minutes, two young cadets came over and saw a pizza box in the middle of the field. They crouched down, and I remember one of them rubbed his hands together getting excited about his scavenged pizza. Then he opened it and they both fell over on their ass. I remember watching as they fought over who had to deal with it and what they had to do, all while silently laughing like a total loon.

Sadly, all true.
( Ithyphallophobia, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 3:46, 2 replies)

I did it!
I put the screw in the tuna
(billyh, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 2:56, 6 replies)

The post below reminded me
of a story I heard. Apparently some people were working in a video shop (back in pre-DVD days), and every so often people would accidentally return a home video in the store's video case. A couple of these turned out to be home-made pornography. The workers would leave the images as-is, but record a new soundtrack of themselves doing silly voices etc, for the owners to discover when they realised their mistake and came to collect the tape.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 2:50, Reply)

Years ago, when VHS was king...
I was sitting with some mates drinking a lot and watching a particularly terrible video from the local video store.
It finished and we discussed the general shiteness of it all.
"There should be a warning on the front of the tape about how crap it was," someone said.
And a lighbulb went off over my head.
I owned a video camera, one of those huge JVC devices that took a full size HVS cassette, so we got a sheet, spray painted a skull and crossbones and "Video Pirates" on it and hung it off a wall.
Then I sat on a chair in front of the banner, pulled on a balaklava, my mate put some tape over the little hole that prevents you taping over the movie, slipped it in the camera, cued it up to an appropriate place near the beginning and hit record.
"Right," I said, "This is the point where the story goes downhill. His sex doll just got killed, so he breaks into the big guy's palace to rescue the missing girls, there's a pathetic laser gun fight, they get away and the red-haired kid just gets more annoying*. It's a crap film and we've just saved you a lot of time. Long live the video pirates!!!"
Then we rewound, checked it was there, giggled like schoolgirls, rewound the film all the way, put it back in the case and walked back to the video store and slipped it through the slot.
I'd like to say this became a regular event and we became local heroes and people stopped sitting in front of the gogglebox, but went out and started community gardens instead, but no.
The next day we woke up, remembered what we'd done and shat ourselves. We were convinced the video store would just look up who had last rented the movie and phone the cops, so the banner came down and we spent the next paranoid week jumping every time the phone rang or someone came to the door.
Still it would have been nice to think at least one person was saved from the hell that was Spacehunter, Adventures Across The Forbidden Zone.
( difficultchild, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 1:27, Reply)

My brave and daring anarchist friend and myself
were drunk one night (which is shameful, as I know b3ta started out as a temperance forum)and decided we'd be really clever and funny and ring someone's doorbell in the middle of the night. We went up to the door, and in a stunning moment of clarity realised how petty and irritating we would be being, so instead we hovered our fingers over their buzzer giggling like schoolgirls about the fact that they'd never know just how close they came to being woken up by a pair of drunk prats that night.

And they still don't.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 21:29, 1 reply)

I must thank the unknown person at the Heckmondwike bus depot
who altered one of the buses so instead of just listing the calling points, the scrolling text under the destination now displays an assortment of Yorkshire talk like "Well ah'll go to t'foot of ahr stairs", "See all, 'ear all, say nowt. Eat all, sup all, pay nowt" and "if tha' does owt for nowt, allus do it for thissen". The one on the back says "Ey up it's t'283". It never fails to make me grin, especially if I'm stuck in heavy traffic and see it inching down the other carriageway.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 21:21, Reply)

I used to enjoy
writing messages in black marker on rocks and then leaving them on beaches. Stuff like "made in china", "this is not a floatation device", or maybe some laundry instructions.

Hope they brought a smile to someones face.
(Roopy all is not what it seams, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 19:56, 2 replies)

Work feckers..
Having been hired to complete a endless task involving teletext and betting, I completed the project having done exactly what was asked and a bit more. I sit back and think of the 2 months left on my contract I have to write a wonderful instruction manual.

Next day, called into the managers office, the head of the firm deem than as I have finished the job before the end of the contract, that I am no longer needed. I ask "what about my money and the instruction manual?". "No need, we'll sort it out". I am asked to leave the building (they still have my Thunderbirds mug.)

Now, having been in the internet department, I was privy to the master passwords to put the feeds into our adverts on thousands of web pages like, skysports.com, uefa.com, etc. I just happen to pull into the local McD's (free Wi-Fi) and try out the passwords. Still working (usually they change them within 20 minutes of an employee leaving the job). hee hee hee.

Now, let us say that the old password was changed to one that only I had, and more importantly, every feed that was supposed to show our betting prices was linked to hardcore porn. I mean the stuff that on Google you feel kinda sick looking at.

Imagine if you will. A gambler, seeing that we have liverpool to win at 2/1, clicks the lnk to the website of said firm and all of a sudden up pops spitroasts, squirters and all kinds of filth.

I managed to keep this up for nearly 3 weeks. Everyday changing the password. I then received a nice text from Miss. A Non. "stop now. they know". My work there was done.

Happy happy.
(gjb006, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 19:54, 2 replies)

Anonymous naughtiness
Remember those green and white signs from a few years back that read: 'KEEP BRITAIN FARMING' ?

Some naughty bugger with toilet humour and tip-ex went round changing one of the letters...
(IHateSprouts is baking a huge pie shaped like an enormous pie, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 19:37, 6 replies)

Get rich quick scheme
Without wanting to be unkind, folks round these 'ere parts (/end stereotypical bumpkin voice) can be a touch... slack-jawed. So it occured me a few years ago that I might be able to fleece these lesser beings for some ill-gotten gains with my knowledge of engineering and pyrotechnics.

The thing about Norfolk is, gossip spreads fast and people will believe anything if they hear it often enough. The castle in the centre of Norwich is a big money-spinner for the council but, it being a castle, it's easy to believe it might be haunted. So I "borrowed" (I did give them back, honest) a few gears and levers from my Uni department and spent an afternoon sightseeing. And rigging. And contrapting. Is that a word?

The first time a suit of armour fell over it just scared the fuck out of a little old lady. Felt a bit bad when I read that in the local rag. So I decided to get a bit more inventive. I figured that if I could rig the same kit to have the arms raise up before it fell over, it'd look more like it was haunted.

It didn't work. So I bet one of my stoner mates from Uni that he couldn't hide in a suit of armour all day, until a large crowd gathered. He couldn't, as it turned out. Back to the drawing board. Eventually I was going to convince the city, a) that the castle was haunted, b) that I was Quint from Jaws and Egon Spengler's badass lovechild and that c) if they wanted their precious tourist trade to survive, they should give me a lot of money.

And I would've got away with it too, if it weren't for those pesky kids...
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 16:44, 4 replies)

Back in 1985 when I was ten years old I was absolutely convinced I was gay.
Two reasons for this – one, while all my mates were literally jacking off over photos of cars in Top Gear magazine, I didn’t see the attraction or interest. This meant, in the eyes of my peers, I was a bona fide, grade A, dyed in the wool full on fairy brown-nugget mining shirtlifter. And two, Marianne Jones (a girl who got pregnant by the time she was fourteen to a lorry driver from Stoke with a fuck off big tattoo of an anchor sprawled across his butcher-sized forearm and a weird squint), led me round the back of the swings and showed me the contents of her underpants. I was aghast. It looked like a punctured fleshy rugby ball and I ran off crying.

This event had me doubting my own sexuality.

Oh, and I also quite liked Frankie Goes to Hollywood and would dance round the playground singing ‘Relax’ while doing an incredibly gay dance.

So, in my own ten year old way, I decided I had to sort myself out and start acting like a real man. I had to get in with a lady. I had to show my mates that I did, indeed, have an unrelenting love of the quim.

And the only lady I sort of knew at that stage was my PE teacher. A stern woman in her early twenties named Miss Knight who looked like a masculine version of Simon Le Bon and literally scared the shit out of everyone in the school. But, hey, she had tits therefore she was worthy of my affections.

So I set about over the next few days making sure all my mates knew I intended to *ahem* woo this amazing bronzed valkyrie with the Dudley accent and incredibly severe haircut. But I had to play it cool. Miss Knight was not to be toyed with. I had to make her mine through cunning, through all my manly powers. She was like a preying mantis – one false move and she’d probably chew my head off.

Then it came to me – an absolute cert to make her interested, or at least make her aware someone was interested in pulling down the proverbial walls and tackling the deflated fleshy rugby ball within.

I would send Miss Knight a note. An anonymous note.

But I wasn’t going to just write it on a card or a page ripped out of my exercise book, God no – that would just be a bit lame. I decided to write it on her car (obviously showcasing to my mates my complete and utter heterosexuality by the simple fact that I knew what a car looked like), in shaving foam (yet again, something utterly manly) that I’d knicked from my dad that morning.

At dinnertime I gathered a few of my mates so they could witness this act of utter Rambo-esque manliness, and we all sneaked round to the school car park where I singled out Miss Knight’s motor, a dilapidated sick yellow VW beetle, and set about writing my note of love on the bonnet. A simple message.

SOMEONE LOVES U

I stood back, admired my handiwork.

It looked good, the foam expanding in the air to make big crunchy letters. I turned to explain to my mates that I was, indeed, a fucking superstud, and noticed they’d all fucked off.

Then my eyes trailed across the car park and settled...

... on the windows of the school staffroom, where every single fucking teacher in the school stood, sipping tea, wondering what that fucking weird kid with the bowl haircut from class 4D was doing now.

Two weeks detention, my parents in to speak to the headmaster, no pocket money for a six months while I paid for the damages, and a ban from ever being allowed out of the sight of a teacher at break time ever again – how the fuck was I to know my dad’s cheapo shaving foam would strip paint at twenty paces?
( SpankyHanky, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 16:31, 4 replies)

mugshits
while working for a rather large telecomms corporation, i experienced this amazing feat of rectal tomfoolery.

after a GRUELLING year of poor management, more shitty motivational speaking, teamwork ethos-inspiring, middle management bullshit than you can shake a stick at, the engineers were to a man, sick and tired of the endless targets, and crap.
one day, we were informed our coffee mugs, resplendent as they were in all their chipped, handle-less, inappropriately themed and sediment-encrusted glory, were now persona non grata, and would be replaced with new, corporate mugs all looking the same.

the first day they were out, as i was leaving i stopped off in the little boys room, to once more shit on company time, and there in front of me, sitting in the bowl like some kind of tracey emin exhibit, was a perfectly formed fudge weasel, curled like a sleeping python, inside one of the new mugs. perfectly inside, as if the proud father had meticulously calculated his dietary intake in the hours preceding the event to ensure a turd of the perfect size to coil into a mug and fill it, poking cheekily out the top like an inquisitive mole.
fantastic.


i also have a pea to roast, same company and time frame, and again in keeping, and again shit-themed (i'm sorry, b3ta brings out the worst in me)

while working for the same telco, i was in my first month and looking to make a good impression.

one fine night i got in slightly ahead of the shift handover, and feeling the egress of a hearty and fulsome Richard was imminent, i stopped off at the gents.
it was a cold night, and i was still wearing my large snowboard jacket.
i dropped trow, and fired off a deuce.. all normal here. after wiping, i stood to pull up my trousers, and this dear reader, is where it all went HORRIBLY wrong.
as i stood, semi-crouched with hands gripping my waistband, my sleeve caught on the toilet roll holder. as i was in an odd position, and heavily be-trousered of ankle, i teetered, then collapsed back onto the rather low toilet.
there was an almighty cracking sound, and the toilet slumped. (i am a rather tall and heavy fellow)
Alarmed, i leapt once more to my feet, trousers up, and spun round to see the last dregs of water draining from the bowl to god knows where, leaving my majestic turd standing proud, decorated with soggy toilet paper for all the world like a tiny mountain range bedecked with snow.
FUCKKKKK! this will get me fired for sure! what to do, what to do.... in my cunning mind, a plan was forming

and thus, my escape was confirmed.
i pulled the flush, closed the door, and fucked off to the coffee room, denying all knowledge and feigning innocence when the evil deed came to light.
cunning eh?
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 16:20, Reply)

Cuddly Mascot snaps in leeds...
Once, many years ago, I dressed as Yogi Bear as part of a charity collection - I managed to get in to watch Jesus Christ Superstar for free (albeit sitting on the steps in costume, but the view was great) as I had collected in the Foyer, which was a bonus (the guy playing Jesus had the best voice I have ever heard).

However, being stuck outside the Merrion Centre (where single mothers take their brats to slap) was hell - I was stuck on the lower entrance, surrounded by alcoholics and crackheads, dressed as a teddy bear, getting punched randomly in the lower back and testicles by passing chav-spawn. After a couple of hours trying to stop the crackheads stealing the bucket, collecting about £3.50 (when I'd got £200+ at the theatre the previous evening), with no fags and no beer, things were starting to wear thin.

I was approached by a waddling dole-scrounger and her four snot-nosed shreiking bastards. I use the word advisedly as none of them had the same combination of skin tone. I was silently amazed that anyone would be insane enough to have sex with her, let alone what evidence would show to be at least four. She stank of poor hygeine, cheap cigarettes, cider and something like out-of-date cheese.

After sizing me up, she began to berate me for trying to get money for nothing - becoming more and more irate at the fact I said nothing other than "I'm collecting for XXXXX* and I'm allowed to be here, as I have a permit". Whilst doing so, her little shits were kicking my shins and stamping on my feet. Not only that, but her obscenities and general appearance were driving away the few people I might actually have got some donations from.

Eventually, I snapped. I swung around as if to look behind me to see what one o her sprogs was up to and caught the closets two a resounding thwack upside the head as the bucket flew around in an arc. I paused to let this sink in and then turned round again, said "I'm terribly sorry but I can't see very well in this costume and the other children were happy just to wave, not attempt to mug me" and stepped to the side (standing hard on crotch-fruit number 3's foot), making an elaborate gesture to let her pass. Even the tramps laughed and she stalked off. Presumably to batter her mini-scum round Morrisons.

My only regret is that I didn't manage to get the 4th brat, too...
(Chad, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 16:20, 1 reply)

A mate of mine
Took a girl he was very keen on to a restaurant during the early days of their courtship. We were at Uni at the time, as had she been for a year longer than us, so this was a grand gesture indeed. He was talking about this date non-stop for a week in advance.

Thing is, the reason he was looking forward to it so much is because he booked the table under the name of Galvatron. He didn't tell her this until they got to the restaurant and, when prompted for his name, he apparently puffed out his purple-shirted chest and said in his best Leonard Nimoy voice, "Gal-va-tron!"

To his credit, the concierge simply consulted the list and said "Right this way, Mr Galvatron". This mental image cracks me up to this day.

She's still with him
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 16:09, 11 replies)

Ignorance must be bliss
A friend of Mrs SLVA asked us if we wanted to go to pub to see a band.
"Yeah sure" we replied, "who are they?"
"They're called 'TBA'. I've seen their name a few times on the board outside the pub, but I've never been to see them yet"

I almost chewed my tongue off trying not to say something, especially when my missus gave me the 'don't say a fucking word' look.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 15:28, 11 replies)

Ant & Dec? Nah Anton Piller!
Back in the mists of time when pre-recorded music came mainly in the form of 7” & 12” black discs, I was Quality Control Manager at a record pressing plant.

After working a week of night shift, I found that my wages were rather less than expected as the management had decided to stop the time and a half night shift rate without telling us! A bitter dispute ensued. I was so pissed off at this that I joined a union and recruited the majority of the workforce in a matter of days.

The management dug their heels in and refused to recognise the union and through a process of sackings and intimidation managed to reduce the numbers of union members to a handful!

We were powerless and the remaining core of members were subjected to more bullying by the management. The only good thing was that the managment had realised that they should have given us written notice of the changes to terms and conditions and promptly paid us the balance of wages that we were owed.

An uneasy truce remained for 18 months or so – another guy was taken on and promoted above me despite his knowledge being considerably less than mine. I was persona non-grata and make to feel uncomfortable, but I wasn’t a quitter! No! I was a hanger on! And hang on I did!

Suddenly strange things began to happen at the plant. Records destined for EMI and other large companies were being collected by dodgy geezers in a shabby van. Records were also appearing on market stalls. Hmm something was up!

One day I arrived at work and there were several official looking guys in suits hanging around the gates.The Mechanical Copyright Protection Society together with EMI and several others served an Anton Piller order on the plant!
Anton_Piller_order

Vast quantities of records were seized and eventually an out of court settlement was reached.

Apparently the Mechanical Copyright Protection Society were acting on information received after a series of anonymous phone calls!

Revenge is sweet and is mine!
( Vambo, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 15:22, 4 replies)

When I was a little girl
I had one of those "My first poetry" books. One day me and mum were talking about our favourite poems from this book, in particular how Spike Milligan had written a lot of them. At which point I excitedly exclaimed, "And Anon! He's written loads of them too!". It took my mum years to stop giggling over that one.
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 15:11, 1 reply)