Crappy Prizes
Competitions, raffles, give-aways... sure the prizes look great, but don't they always turn out a bit crap should you happen to win them?
The last raffle I bought tickets for, they'd just given away the all-expenses paid weekend in New York when my number came up. Rushing up to find out what I'd won, I was a little disappointed to be handed a box of "Biscuits for Cheese". Especially as they were busy serving the cheese course (complete with biscuits) as they drew the raffle.
( , Thu 4 Aug 2005, 11:16)
Competitions, raffles, give-aways... sure the prizes look great, but don't they always turn out a bit crap should you happen to win them?
The last raffle I bought tickets for, they'd just given away the all-expenses paid weekend in New York when my number came up. Rushing up to find out what I'd won, I was a little disappointed to be handed a box of "Biscuits for Cheese". Especially as they were busy serving the cheese course (complete with biscuits) as they drew the raffle.
( , Thu 4 Aug 2005, 11:16)
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When I was at Uni, some stupid club was promoting itself by holding an evening firewalk
in the car park of a pub just off campus. Contestants had to walk barefoot down five-metre runway of glowing, white-hot charcoal wearing the society's t-shirt, and have their picture taken halfway along it whilst doing their best not to let the sheer agony of audibly searing flesh make them gurn like a mong on a spacehopper. Those who successfully made it to the end of the carpet of pain were entered into a random mystery prize draw.
Being pissed and at the pub where it was all taking place, my mate and I decided to go for it. Several terrible blisters, a lot of girly screaming, and two photographs of drunk, terrified idiots standing ankle-deep in shimmering flames and gurning like mongs on spacehoppers later, my mate walks away clutching a crate - that's six one-litre bottles, detail fans - of Knob Creek bourbon.
Me?
The Mr Blobby single. On CASSETTE. With a cracked box.
( , Thu 4 Aug 2005, 14:45, Reply)
in the car park of a pub just off campus. Contestants had to walk barefoot down five-metre runway of glowing, white-hot charcoal wearing the society's t-shirt, and have their picture taken halfway along it whilst doing their best not to let the sheer agony of audibly searing flesh make them gurn like a mong on a spacehopper. Those who successfully made it to the end of the carpet of pain were entered into a random mystery prize draw.
Being pissed and at the pub where it was all taking place, my mate and I decided to go for it. Several terrible blisters, a lot of girly screaming, and two photographs of drunk, terrified idiots standing ankle-deep in shimmering flames and gurning like mongs on spacehoppers later, my mate walks away clutching a crate - that's six one-litre bottles, detail fans - of Knob Creek bourbon.
Me?
The Mr Blobby single. On CASSETTE. With a cracked box.
( , Thu 4 Aug 2005, 14:45, Reply)
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