Go On Dragons Den
Promote an antidote to the poison you sneaked into all their glasses of water... Which they have already drunk.

Watch the ever increasing offers come flying in.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Mon 9 Jul 2012, 13:21, 3 replies)

I... have a cunning plan
I will randomly type rubbish about nothing in particular in the vague hope that something might be worth getting onto the front page.

My chances are slim and my hope even less so.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Mon 9 Jul 2012, 12:50, Reply)

I can count to 'Hand over the f*cking money!'
I've had this idea bumping around my bonce for several years and can find no reason why it would not work.

The plan? Create a Down's Syndrome criminal gang.

On Crimewatch a while back, a low-level crook used a DS accomplice to doorstep an old lady out of her pension. As crimes involving DS persons are so rare, so says Nick Ross, Photofit technology apparently doesn't contain images of their facial features. Even if it did, they all look and sound pretty similar (come on, they do) so good luck picking them out of a line-up. Add in their physical strength and low mental age and you're set.

All I need is access to a number of chromosomal criminal wannabes and I'm in business.
Any volunteers?
(mark schmark, Mon 9 Jul 2012, 12:27, 1 reply)

I encountered a tribe of Scots who enjoyed jokes that played on words.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 9 Jul 2012, 12:22, 3 replies)

I'm currently listening to AnimeNfo radio
and Country Road is being sung by Honna Youko.

Those crazy Japs.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Mon 9 Jul 2012, 12:20, Reply)

Seriously?!?
You guys call yourselfs the masterminds of the internet, the schemers of the world, and you can't come up with enough cunning plans to fill 2 pages? You'll gab 10 pages of recipes, blather for 13 pages on getting old? Have you seriously turned into a bunch of pussies?

I really used to look up to you guys...
(Rumbling Bear rumbled on, Mon 9 Jul 2012, 11:18, 9 replies)

Laundry? Hah!
I am an incredibly routine-bound sort of person. I have always preferred plain black clothing, being one of nature's goths. I am also lazy. And cheap. So I found a place that stocked T-shirts that fitted me from their kids' section (I'm 6' but thin, non-baggy clothing is hard to find) where clothes happen to generally be half-price compared to their adult counterparts and if you ask for a deal buying a lot at once, you'll get one.

I have 30 plain black T-shirts (and quite a few plain black longer tops for winter). 30 pairs of socks. 30 pairs of underpants. I have a very large washing machine. Guess how often I do laundry? No separation of colours required, either. Shirts get a cold, dark-friendly-detergent wash and generally only have 12 washes a year, so they've lasted practically forever (although I'm scouting out replacements at the moment).

I do draw some comments from colleagues for the first few days at any given workplace, but I'm perfectly okay with that, and if I were to change my style, I'd draw even more comments anyway.
(Ladyfingers is in your wardrobe,, Sun 8 Jul 2012, 7:19, 34 replies)

I'm planning to pearoast this one day
Some years ago there was a tragic story in my hometown that made national headlines; some poor chap had apparently jumped to his death. Police found the walls of his home plastered with pages from a bible and enough Devil Rides Out kind of evidence to suggest a frail and fatally paranoid state of mind. Case closed, but it precipitated a bit of a media frenzy over the threat of Satanic ritualism sweeping the nation. Tragic as the story was it was it was the inspiration I needed for a cheap and decorative strategy to liven up the small corridor between my loo and lounge. It was also, I thought, a testament to my atheism, a powerful demonstration of my lack of respect for the holy tome. My closest friends would also see the funny side.

I didn't have to search many charity shops to find a suitably foxed and ancient bible, and with a packet of B&Q paste mix I'd spent about 15 quid and was on my way.

I carefully centered the pages, starting at ceiling level and worked my way around, then another course progressing down the walls, stopping occasionally to reflect how much better it was looking than I imagined.

Alas, I ran out of pages about a foot below the door heads. There was no way I'd find another bible in the same print run, which was what I'd need to continue the theme without a glaring break in the pattern.

Easy enough mistake, you might think, could happen to anybody, all part of the creative process - but then you probably haven't spent more than twenty years on this planet as a Quantity Surveyor.

That story was funnier when I first remembered it so I'll slip this in as a sop to the disappointed;

As a teenager, one of my friends found himself having to wait at home to let his mum in, she had phoned to say she had left her key behind. Bored with waiting and due to meet me at the pub, he came up with a plan to leave a key under the doormat - a common enough plan but not something his family had a culture of doing.

A couple of hours later, his mum stormed into the pub, grabbed him by the ear and dragged him out yelling "If you're going to fucking leave a fucking key under the fucking doormat, don't leave a fucking note on the fucking door saying 'mum - I've hidden your key under the doormat' you fucking moron!!"
(J H Christ began in Afrika ka ka ka ka, Sun 8 Jul 2012, 5:37, 5 replies)

I was going to say hello to this b3ta user (http://b3ta.com/users/profile.php?id=43875) this morning
So I gazzed him -
"C u 'ning Plan"
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Sun 8 Jul 2012, 0:09, 1 reply)

.
Yesterday I sat down to eat a bramley apple pie, when suddenly it looked backwards over its little flakey shoulder and said "I should warn you, i'm a little tart!"

And that was my punning flan.

Edit: Sexed up a bit. Fifty Shades of Fray Bentos.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Sat 7 Jul 2012, 22:41, 4 replies)

Monkey tennis?
Cooking in prison? A Partridge Among the Pigeons?

Smell my cheese!
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Sat 7 Jul 2012, 21:21, 1 reply)

My housemates' cunning plan:
I'm naturally quite clumsy, and in the past few months haven't been getting enough sleep, which has an inevitable side effect: I have dropped so much crockery in the past few weeks that I've had to replace an entire set.

Now this isn't so much of a problem since I buy dirt cheap stuff from charity shops and Wilkos, but my housemates have been getting a bit annoyed with having to step over me and my dustpan when they want to use the kitchen. So they came up with a plan...

When I went into Wilkos this week to replace a bowl which had met an untimely death the night before, I was informed that my housemates had travelled down there and suggested that if I was spotted making my way towards the household section, I might instead be directed to the picnic section where all the plastic crockery is housed. The amused shop assistant agreed, and kept an eye open.

So now I have plastic crockery. If this breaks I may get demoted to paper plates...
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Sat 7 Jul 2012, 20:40, 2 replies)

I'm on a pub crawl.
Alone and with a hangover.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Sat 7 Jul 2012, 16:43, 3 replies)

Trade show win
A few years back I was asked to accompany my boss to a trade show. Being a R&D man I was asked to remove my pasty, nerdy visage from the lab and explain some technology to potential investors/customers.

If you have never been to a trade show before, its like a cross between a church jumble sale and the apprentice. A big building rents out a large indoor space where stalls are to be set up. Meanwhile anyone interested in what we have to offer can come along and browse. There is a huge pressure to get results from trade fairs as you have sometimes shelled out thousands of pounds to set up your little stall there.

Huge amounts of time and effort go into preparing your little booth, with large display models, glossy handouts, attractive actors paid to hand out business cards, plasma screen TVs showing custom films of your product etc. All of this is basic corporate flair, shiny things to attract the suited magpies of venture capital. Being from a small company we were pretty screwed when it came to competing with the big boys.

After buying the booth, what amounts to the right to set up a couple of tables in a large room, we were left with about two hundred quid to make up a good show. Most of the two hundred going on train tickets to that London, where the trade show was taking place. With the change from that we had to compete against the big league of people like BP, KPMG, TESCO, Microsoft, DuPont, EDF energy and the like. It was like if your five aside team in the park had to qualify for euro 2012.

Thanks to my bosses cunning plan though we 'won'. We got more interested parties attending our booth than any other. How did we compete against the titans of industry we were up against?

Simple, the day before the show I was sent out to buy a goldfish bowl and enough quality street to fill it. This was kept on our table in prominent view, forcing people to talk to us if the wanted some chocolate.
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Sat 7 Jul 2012, 10:58, 9 replies)

The not so well laid plans of my mother and myself.
Alt: Bilking the Australian Taxation Office often doesn't work to your benefit.
Not mine.
My mum was a smart lady - she was a pilot instructor, teacher, worked in IT from the 50's including heading many dept. in her time and got her beloved PhD (something about using the Internet as a teaching tool) 6 months before she died - having spent almost half her life in academia.

She was also (like myself) as tight as a nun's nasty when it came to money.
She owned everything she had (including a nice house in a very affluent suburb and a fancy sportscar), earnt a tidy sum and had large amounts of money squirreled away in various trust and off-shore accounts aside from her "official" superannuation.

Despite the fact that she had all these means & assets she somehow manged to wrangle herself a govt. pension and pension card (which are apparently both means & asset tested). Did I mention she had comprehensive private health insurance despite qualifying for the full Medicare rebate?

It was only after the probate from her (very carefully & expensively crafted) Will came thru that I discovered most of these things.
Having had to live on the unfriendly side of welfare I can only say - in no way did I condone, agree with or accept how my mum conducted her finances and what a self-serving bitch.
My newly-found financial advisor, mum's lawyer and my accountant all said pretty much the same thing - I could continue her method of dodging paying towards the public purse or I could cough up and pay the ferry-man. If I didn't pay up I would only be prolonging the inevitable and a with a lot of interest.
So eventually the ATO sent me a "pay up or else" letter to cover my mum's estates tax debt.
I got a bank cheque for AUD$26000 odd and took it into the head office of the ATO to pay it.
Trust me. Nothing & I mean nothing is more annoying, demeaning, frustrating or "financially soul-destroying" than having to pay the taxman like that. Absolutely nothing.

I have have always paid my taxes (even when we had welfare payments), I hate the idea of taxes even tho I understand the need for them. But to have to cover someone elses tax dodges really fucking sucked. Big time.

Moral of the story: if you're going to leave them anything, don't leave your kids a tax debt.
And yes this probably was a 1st world problem - if someone could've found me a recipe to avoid it last week I would've been happier.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Sat 7 Jul 2012, 8:51, 7 replies)

I dun made a p2p file-sharing network thingy
in between getting stoned /drunk at uni.
But apparently the recording industry and the movie industry didn't like that and threatened me with taking lots of my ill-gotten gains off me and some.
I folded like a sheet of steel being forged by a master Japanese sword maker. Or a lump of pasta dough going thru the rollers for the umpteenth time. Whatevs.
You can now pay to download music from my site if you want or you can fill up your folksy psycho-billy repertoire for free if that's your ken.
& then some cunt managed to find a way to de-centralise it all AND encrypt it. Bastards!
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Sat 7 Jul 2012, 7:22, 1 reply)

sleep
I was going to try and sleep tonight- but as I am visiting my folks place and sharing a room with my brother.. That's not gonna happen.. Snoring dickhead. I'm gonna suffocate him with my sweaty sock.
(bangthedrum, Sat 7 Jul 2012, 3:31, 2 replies)

I have a cunning plan
I am going to beat the work experience kid to death with a laptop for having a hundred different nervous ticks.

The little* shit.



*he's bigger then me, this isn't hard mind.
(Shamelesspendant Better dead then smeg., Fri 6 Jul 2012, 16:24, 5 replies)

This one happened to a couple of idiots my dad once knew
So, a couple of my dad’s mates (I use the term loosely, he knew of them), were on the beat in a shitty part of town about 30 years back.

They’d been given a tip-off by a local informant about a group of lads who had caused some nasty trouble with some of the locals in the town and were trying to make their way out of the area. It’s important to note that this was quite a remote area too and transport links weren’t what they are now. So, thinking they had all the time in the world, they though they’d start in the local market area of all places.

Not being the sharpest of tools, their plan was to conduct market-to-market stall and door-to-door enquiries about the group in the hope that someone else would blab. Cunning plan indeed.

The idiots were so convinced of their plan to locate the group, the brazenly strolled about in full uniform while conducting their force-full duty.

Five days later, the absconders were widespread across the news, having caused major havoc in another part of the area, even causing massive damage to a newly-built police station in the process.

During a de-brief it actually turns out that these two idiots had even interviewed the group and had let them get off without even such as a double take.

Both lost their jobs and they regularly blamed each other for the fiasco, one recalling during a drunken pub rant that the other had told him flatly to his face, just after talking to them that…
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 16:11, 6 replies)

My 5 year old daughter last week
come up with a suggestion to introduce safety with added nutrient supplements within the professional sporting community. She randomly blurted this one out;

"Im going to throw this to London-Paris; cucumber gumshields."

Throwin' it to da man.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 16:04, 4 replies)

I went to visit a friend last week, only to find him quite upset that his shower had stopped working.
I had a quick look to see what the problem was, and it turned out that part of the water supply pipe had gone missing. We didn't have any spare pipes, but I managed to improvise a solution using an empty beer can.

So that was my plumbing can. Oh shit, I misread the question.
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 15:50, 1 reply)

My Plan
My plan was to see if my Action Man space capsule would survive re-entry by dropping it out of our 3rd floor living room window.

It survived.

The second floor flat swing window didn't.

I was 5 at the time.
(fire_exit, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 14:20, Reply)

A Whole 10 Pounds!
At the age of 7 it was like god had pissed liquid gold into my cupped hands, being given that 10 pound note - and possibly as sticky. Not having reached an age of any form of fiscal responsibility, I was like Paris Hilton - as soon as I had any money, I spent it on tacky crap; preferably in bright, primary colours. I had no notion of saving or reticence - just like Hilton again - so £10 of my very own 'to spend as I wanted' seemed like an unbelievable sum. A vast pot of gold; unbridled riches! I've no doubt I squealed and shrieked in an appalling high-pitched, ear-burning manner when I was given my prize.

Depressingly, I've just realised that I was probably being just like her again, but my bollocks to her ugly face, I'm not saying another word about that screeching ferret in a bimbo-blond wig. On with the story!

My sister had - I was convinced - eyed up my £10 pound prize with covetous eyes. I was immediately carried away by paranoia (look, I was that type of kid, ok? An emotional yo-yo) so resolved to hide my vast monies in the most devious and cunning place I could find.

First, I scouted out a superb hiding place - the garage crawl space! The deepest, darkest pit of terror a 7 year old was allowed to go near, the endless plunge into its inky black depths (it was 6ft deep) was the stuff of nightmares. It was covered up with planks of wood so oil stained that the RSPB would try to rescue them, but my tiny hands could still lever them up with some effort.

Next, I secreted my £10 in an old After Eight tin. After, of course, folding it lovingly in an envelope marked 'Bog Off, Poo-Face!'.

Then, even if the thieves were successful, at least I'd get the last word in. Hah!

After that, I encased the tin in a box of Lego; prospective thieves would have to smash their way through it! A somewhat arduous undertaking, this - but enjoyable for a Lego-minded boy. And, my god, did it make the finished product one mother of a heavy box! The Legos of elder days was made of sturdier stuff, I swear.

An elaborate cats-cradle of string was then engineered - the hefty box containing the world-shattering sum of ten whole pounds – my gods, ten whole pounds! - would nestle within, anchored over the void of the crawl space by ingenious string mechanisms. Success! A hiding place fit to fox Lara Croft!

Sadly, I had not factored in the role 'vibration' would play in my scheme - my dad reversed the car into the garage that night, and the thrumming engine dislodging the delicate ‘key’ string of my edifice, plunging the hefty box of Lego and tin down onto the concrete below.

Failure: ignominious.

I got a thick ear for having thrown more than £10 worth of Lego down a hole, just to try and protect a tenner. Furthermore, I'd engineered a god-awful racket in the middle of the night, and made my dad sweep up a pile of Lego in a pitch-black hole at silly o'clock in the morning.

But I still don't believe anything was wrong with the idea in principle.

Other cunning plans of my childhood days involve:

1. Trying to sleep in my school-clothes all night, in order to 'save time in the morning'. Plan rudely dashed by being discovered asleep fully dressed by my mum (she ran nightly ‘isn’t the brat dead yet?' checks). In a no-nonsense voice I was command not to be so damn silly, and the plan was rendered to naught. Failure: brisk and uncompromising.

2. Attempting to get a late-night drink of juice at the age of 5 without having to go through the strain of getting out of bed, I instead elected to head-butt the wall and make myself cry. Mother would then come, and could be made to get me a drink. Failure: painful - the crying part worked, but then my desire for liquid mysteriously vanished in subsequent flood of tears. Go figure.

3. Attempting to get my bed moved abutting the sink, so I could be even lazier about cleaning my teeth. Failure: 100% and comprising of a simple and decisive 'no'. I tried to move the bed myself in exploratory fashion, but it was a heavy wooden object without wheels: I only succeeded in giving my unshod, bare feet a healthy dose of carpet-burn; a memory that still burns bright and painful even today.

4. Trying a new novel way of breathing - I'd breathe in, hold it for a split second, and then let the breath rush out. It was strangely, incredibly addictive - go on, give it a try! ……. Trying it? Realise you sound like you are indulging in some undisclosed, dubious sexual activity? I didn't - was too young. Failure: humiliating. My parents didn't tell me until years later what my young self had sounded like -thanks folks.

5. Spinning around really, really hard on the shed roof, then jumping off with my arms outstretched. Naturally, I’d be spinning so fast that I turn into a human helicopter – an alluring theory, I think we’d all agree. Failure: Newtonian. That bastard and his theories; it’s a far less enchanting world for a child when you learn that gravity cannot be persuaded to look the other way. I actually landed on my feet, which was a bit of a fluke, but I was so dizzy from the spinning that I fell over and hit my head anyway.

Ah, the memories of what a brainless, crazed little shit I was... And my parents wonder why I loathe kids and point-blank refuse to spawn.
(IChewCandlewax, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 13:20, 16 replies)

I know! I'll roast a pea!
As a 10 year old lad in the middle of Somerset, much of my summer holiday was spent in the woods: we'd fish for sticklebacks, we'd make bows and arrows, we'd build dens, rope swings, rafts, dams, and, of course, spent a significant portion of our time climbing trees.

Consequently, a friend and I developed a magnificent device to enable the quickest access to the higher branches of a tree - this device was a long length of strong rope, with a stout stick tied to the bottom. You throw the stick over the high branch and lower it down. Then, sitting astride the stick, you pull yourself up, and, when you get to the branch, grab it, and hey presto - you're already in the middle of the tree.

Now, early one morning in the late spring, I was walking through one of the higher fields on my way to the woods. The field is about a mile long, with grass about waist-high to my 10 year old self, and it being early morning, the grass was still covered in dew.

The field is uphill in the direction I was travelling, and muddy, and by the time I was two thirds through, I was absolutely knackered, and wanted to sit down. Of course I couldn't sit down, as the ground was muddy, and the grass was wet.

I was so tired.

Suddenly, a rather dull, 20-Watt lightbulb went off in my head. I had my rope and stick ... which I sit on when climbing trees ... it supports me ...

I placed the stick between my legs under my bum, held on to the rope, and sat down - SPLASH - heavily into the puddle in which I was standing.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 13:15, 2 replies)

I have one

(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 13:13, Reply)

Spunk'd
Sharing the first load of hot (washing) with hubby, I cleverly came up with a plan to never do the (washing) again while he was on shore. Black and white are welcome together in a steamy mix of (washing)- no aparthied in our home! - but Navy sailor whites don't mix well with fast colours. I purposely ignored that rule for the pleasure of knowing that our dirty, tumbling (washing) session would be better for me than him.

He was so disgusted by my slovenly (washing) that I was never EVER allowed to touch his (washing) or mine while he was around. Sixteen lovely years of having my (washing) needs taken care of.

Pure fuckin' gold.
(boozehound is drinking your bar dry, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 10:13, 9 replies)

Thought I'd spike the guys at the bachelor party with ecstasy.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 10:03, 5 replies)

My cunning plan involves a stolen small nuclear device and the island of La Palma
First I need to obtain a small nuclear device, briefcase sized preferably, but a suitcase will suffice. I then take it deep into the cave system under La Palma. There I will sit, finger on button, and make my list of outrageous demands. If they are not met, well...
"the western flank of the Cumbre Vieja, with a mass of approximately 1.5 x1015 kg, could slide into the ocean. This could then potentially generate a giant wave which they termed a "megatsunami" around 650–900 m high in the region of the islands. The wave would radiate out across the Atlantic and inundate the eastern seaboard of North America including the American, the Caribbean and northern coasts of South America some six to eight hours later. They estimate that the tsunami will have waves possibly 160 ft (49 m) or higher causing massive devastation along the coastlines. Modelling suggests that the tsunami could inundate up to 25 km (16 mi) inland - depending upon topography."

Therefore I would become an international supervillian, with my own island fortress.
(Ol' Ginger Bastard a role model for the children, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 5:47, 15 replies)

My Cunning Plan for making Serious Car Accidents more Fun
Car air bags are all the same boring white colour.

My cunning plan is to paint the multiple airbags in my car all different bright colours, and pack them back down, but with streamers and glitter packed inside, too.

Then, if I'm in a car accident and the airbag goes off and I bleed to death, it will feel like I'm at my own death party.

I'll also keep some Jelly and Icecream in the glove box to have as a final meal.
( Pope Shax XIII uses Visio for picture editing, does it show?, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 4:55, 10 replies)

I've had cunning plan for a sci-fi movie like Terminator only cheaper special effects
In the future, geek Pope Shax IX is going to stop an alien invasion of the earth; he invents the special MacGuffin weapon playing with stuff in his shed at the weekends, and has superfast reflexes from playing computer games, and wins the war against the aliens but they have a cunning plan and send one alien back in time to change the course of his life.

Instead of being a mad killer robot, the alien disguises itself as a sexy woman who seduces him, has kids and reels him into a life of mediocrity.

Instead of lettng him have time for inventing laser death rays and honing his reflexes on Call of Duty, she keeps him busy with boring shit like taking the kids to doctors appointments, swimming lessons and football lessons; interminable weekends of traipsing around all the shops in town to pick a never ending carousel of furniture, paints, wallpapers, carpets and curtains, only to change her mind and start all over again.

In the final scene, on his deathbed, she reveals her alien self, drains his remaining life force, and the alien invasion begins.

Fuck My Life.
( Pope Shax XIII uses Visio for picture editing, does it show?, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 3:17, 6 replies)