Lil Twat..
Desperate, after I wasn't able to finish reading all the pages of the 'cock midget of pop' photoshop competiton, I had to draw my own images and chuckle heartily at the pictures containing the little brown fartknocker symbol....
(Hugh.G.Rection Brother to Clendrix......., Thu 15 Nov 2007, 21:57, Reply)

Last orders
I used to run a pub that was struggling financially. To save money I'd serve watered down supermarket spirits from brand name bottles.

I'm not proud but desperate times call for desperate measures.



What?
( abefroman skating on the thin life of modern life on, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 21:56, 2 replies)

Desperate?! Don't talk to me about desperate!
So the other day daddy came and told me that I can't have both jag and the merc! How is a girl to live without even 2 cars?!

He's also telling me that I might have to give up Precious the horse because he can't afford to keep 5 of them at once. The arse, he just doesn't get me or my music.



The length chafes but the girth leaves a minty freshness.
(River of Squid has a variety of lemons in his pocket, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 21:56, Reply)

Rostrum of 'desperate for weed' stories.
When I've not had any, I have, in increasing order of desperation ...

1. Scraped out my weed tin atom for atom
2. Taken butts and recycled them into a new joint. Very harsh smoke but often gives results
3. Taken apart my keyboard and tapped it out. This gives a fine yield 2-3 times a year
4. Taped a wad of toilet tissue to a vacuum cleaner and run it around near the table where I skin up. The high is often lost in your own shame
5. Cruised round a neighbourhood where I've heard 'there are a lot of dealers.' I lost my nerve after about twenty minutes
6. Smoked ground nutmeg.

In case you're wondering, ground nutmeg did give me a slight buzz, but the horrible acrid smoke was too much of a penalty.
(CerberaSpeedTwelve, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 21:08, 4 replies)

Love is blind
Not long after me and the ex wife had split, and even after I'd discovered through judicious hacking of her email account that she'd been shagging another bloke for the past six months, I was still deeply in love with her.

I wanted to put things behind us, and get our marriage back on track. Hell, I'd invested 13 fucking years in us, and I didn't treat my wedding vows lightly. For better, for worse. All that. I was desperate.

So I asked her, nay, begged, for her to consider upping sticks and moving to France, to put everything behind us and start afresh; to give love a chance to blossom and bloom again.

What the hell was I thinking?

I mean, fucking FRANCE????
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 15 Nov 2007, 20:18, Reply)

P45
no?
(kris kringle I only posted this message to find out the date on, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 20:17, Reply)

I used to sing professionally
I got quite successful, nice little earner, but it went to my head a bit and I started acting like a bit of an arse.

Ten years on and I've got a bit desperate for cash; I can't get any bookings any more. Probably because everyone's found out I can't sing for shit - I put a new album together and when I realised nobody would pay good money for it, I gave away thousands of copies for free.

So instead, I've resorted to browsing the web 16 hours a day in my dressing gown, obsessively searching for copyright infringements of my material - songs, videos, lyrics, hell, photos, hell, even cartoons will do. I've hired some cheap-ass lawyers who fire off DMCA notices to them. I'm pretty sure it'll fund my retirement - even if I have to close down every fan site!
( Peregr1n @peregr1n, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 20:07, 1 reply)

A work's Do
Taken up North, put in a nice hotel with a coach coming to pick us up to take us to Leeds Armories for a night of free booze and gambling. Nice. So a few of us chaps had a few bevvies in the bar whilst waiting for said coach. Now I have a half pint bladder, but no fear thought I, the journey is only 20 mins away and there's a toilet on the bus.

Bus driver got lost, and refused to open the toilets or pull over. So a battle of wills ensued between about 4 of us. The first man to break managed to fill 2 500ml cans with piss. I managed one myself, could have done more but saved that for later. Between the 4 of us we filled 6 cans. Hour and a bit later we got to the venue where we deposited said cans by the side of the road and went in.

Several hours later we staggered out to witness a tramp sat near said spot supping out of one of said cans and lining up the others for a sesh.

Mind you, he probably got quite pissed off them. Ah ha.
(RickGrimes Quite frankly, disappointed on, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 19:36, Reply)

Touched myself
to Frankspencer's back catalogue.
(clumsyeloquence is a girl, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 19:06, 2 replies)

I only wanted to breathe..
Back in my teens (looooong time ago) and still at Mum's. Choked with the cold. Haven't been sleeping much, can't taste my food. I love my food. I'm desperate for some relief (oo-er Mrs).

"Mum, I can't breathe - help."
"There's some menthol crystals in the bathroom cabinet - drop a bit in boiling water and inhale the steam. I'm off out - bye." Such maternal concern.


So, I go to the bathroom, find the little jar, check for instructions - none. Open the jar, and find little sprinkle-like things inside. Poked with finger, thought "They're not very big". Sniffed at them, and thought "Can't really smell them either". Boiled the kettle, filled the bowl, and chucked in a crystal. Looked at the size of the bowl and chucked in another couple.

Proceeded to lower head and took a deeeeeep breath in through the nose.

Oh. My. God.

I swear I felt the top of my head lift off and the heat seared all the way down into my lungs. My eyes were streaming, my throat was on fire and I could almost taste the stuff. I picked up the bowl and tipped the lot down the sink. Still couldn't breathe but I wasn't trying that again.

I have used them since, but with much, much caution.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 15 Nov 2007, 18:55, Reply)

Apparently
there's a recognized medical condition (a yeast infection) that can only be contracted by shagging a freshly baked loaf of bread. I have never been desperate enough to try this.

Any takers?

PS: Prince, why not try this variation - stick a stale crusty old baguette up your arse, you miserable midget.
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 18:44, Reply)

Coal Scutter..............
I used to stay at my Grandmother´s house for a few weeks during summer,and of course being in my teens,needed to fwap it on a regular basis (ah,those were the days...............)Granny didn´t have much hardcore porn in her house (surprised?)so I used to wait until she threw out the "newspaper" into the garage to look for rudey pictures.
Being of the pink persuasion,"Emma" from "Stoke" and her 36C jugs didn´t really do anything for me,so I religiously searched for the "Page 7 Fella" (often ugly but nonetheless muscly bloke in speedos).Sadly they didn´t print one every day so i would wait until she was in bed,Sneak down to the garage,shuffle through HUNDREDS of copies of the paper,arrange my dastardly treasure in a semi circle and spaff into the coal scuttle.
It was only when she mentioned the she thought birds were getting into the garage and shitting in the coal that I stopped,and happily found out that quite a lot of 16/17 year old boys in the area were .........ahem,.....curious,and I could get blowjobs off most of them no questions asked.

Desperation often precedes revelation,my friends...
(shirleytemplesarse, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 18:35, 1 reply)

Lula: The Sexy Empire...For the C64!
Not just me, but a bunch of my rather geeky mates.

The mid 90's was a time for controversy in the video games world. Mortal Kombat, Carmageddon and the original Grand Theft Auto all caused Manhunt 2 esque levels of outrage. However, another game kind of took myself and my 15 year old's hormones right by the short & curlies.

Lula: The Sexy Empire.

It was a PC game, where the purpose of the game was - as Lula's agent - build her into the world's greatest porn star. To begin with, you send her stripping in bars/blackmail people, and then shoot your own porno films, you choose the positions, you buy lighting, camera and girls. You even chose your storyline. But, despite all this, for us 15 year olds, it featured tits.

We knew, when we read about the game, we had to play it. Unfortunately, none of us were rich enough to afford a £1200 PC at the time.

So we hatched a plan.

We were all pretty decent programmers - except for Aled, he was good at English and had quite a dirty mouth on him and Ian, he had actually slept with a girl. So what we did was we took the best computer we had at the time - a Commodore 64 - and made an unofficial port of the game.

It was all there! The blackmail, the purchasing over goods, even the preciding over a porn shoot, which - whilst none of us were good at graphics or the Karma Sutra - didn't matter, as we had this on our screen:

"PORN MENU
Press the key for what you want for scene number.....3
-----------
1. MISSIONARY
2. 69
3. DOGGY STYLE
4. CUNNILINGUS
5. CUMSHOT (ends movie)"

Instead of being a mass orgy of cartoon sprites, it was bits and blocks roughly positioned in 2 animation frames to kind of looked like porn. If you squinted.

Sadly, Ian left us half way through production, as he had a girlfriend (he batted WAY above his average), so we had to make up sex positions and what they look like. Needless to say, if anybody asks for a "Drowing Spider" from their girlfriend, be afraid.

Now we're all a lot more respectible, and have actually got girlfriends and the like, we're in the process of porting it to the PC, so it's playable on C64 emulators. Click "I like this!" for us to work faster, you perverts.
(rhyswynne - on every social network mullarkey known to man, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 18:18, 1 reply)

Fags
When I used to smoke and was skint Id sometimes resort to Mayfair - ugh.

Also...

Had a patient (basically think Sid James but as a tramp) who when he was out of 'bacca would get a strip of NHS Green Paper Towel and put in it the contents of a tea bag and smoke it. God it stank like you wouldnt believe.
(kitescreech still here, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 18:18, Reply)

evil weed..
At 17, just moved out of home, sitting in my ragga flat, high as a kite, gagging for a cigarette but no chance of any money to by some unti my smack addicted prostitute housemate came home and paid me my nightly wage of £50 for babysitting her little boy. Managed to scrape together enough tobbacco from the ashtrays for a tiny tiny cigarette. But no rizlas and not even 17p in the house to buy any. I made my own by sellotaping a piece of paper ripped from a magazine (Forum, as I recall) into a tube. Harsh as fuck. And yet still way better than nothing. Oddly didn't ever got to any such desperate measures to accomodate the smack and crack habits I developed within about four weeks of living there. Ah, happy days!
(mookroolz, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 17:55, 2 replies)

Peeing with an audience
When I worked for the DSS we entered a football team in the national cup competition or such like, and had to play a team in Falkirk...roughly 50 miles from where I was based.

After the game we went for a couple of pints before heading home, now I was approx 18/19 at that time (about 9 years ago), and had only started drinking when I was 17 and hadn't quite mastered the fine art of 'bladder management' yet, so didn't go to the toilet before we left for home.

That was bad. I've never needed the toilet so bad in my life, before or after. And that was only about half way through the journey, and for some reason the driver refused to stop...possibly lack of places to stop that wasn't the hard shoulder. Anyhoo, we get to our first passenger drop off point - about 45 miles into the journey - and I can't take it anymore, I'm insistent I need to use his toilet. Ok he says.

So we race up the stairs to his tenement flat and as we go in he shouts to his wife that I was there and I was going to use the toilet. She says "that's fine, although you'll need to check with Jack".

Ah.

Jack was my colleague's 3 year old son, who at this moment was having a bath. (Now my colleague and his wife were both deeply religious so I was surprised I was allowed) My colleague asks Jack if I could use the toilet while he was in the bath, who answers "I've got a boat!". "Seems fine with it", my colleague says..."Pee away". (i'm not sure why they didn't take him out so I could pee then put him back in when I'd finished, but hey it's their child).

Man that was a satisfying pee. Took a little while to get going, what with holding it in so long and Jack talking to me about boats ("do you have a boat!?") but I got there eventually.

So I guess my story is "I was so desperate for a pee I did it in front of a naked child", which is weird. Sorry!

EDIT: Oh yeah, I forgot...Fuck off Prince!
(Zutroy started without you, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 17:50, 1 reply)

Back during the world cup....
....i foolishly offered to be the designated driver for one of our outings to the pub. This was not a wise move on my part as the venue was some 50 miles from my house (so we could see some ex-uni mates at the same time).

So, we go. I drive. We arrive. We set foot in the pub....

....now maybe it was because i knew i couldn't drink, maybe it was beause it was forbidden, or maybe it just WAS. The atmosphere in that place was electric, no muppets, just happy, cheery, beered up football fans.

Not. Bloody. Good.

The night would be unbearable if i had to stay sober, but i also had to get home. A taxi was financially out of the question, as were the logistics of getting my car in the morning.

Hmmmm.

I wanted beer, that was all there was to it. I wasn't going to drive drunk though.

So, after much thought i went to my car, unbolted the earth strap from the inner wing, inserted a bespoke cardboard gasket crudely made from a beer mat. Re attached the lead and got pissed.

I then called the AA later that night. They couldn;t figure out why my car wouldn't start (thankfully my mechanic wasn't the sharpest, it would have been embarrasing had i got a 'time served' mechanic) so in a bid to avaid doing any work he simply lifted my car onto his truck and took me and my mates home and upon questioning my stae i simply replied...."It took you 50 minutes to get here, i'm at a pub, what did you think i'd do"

Still, it was a good night.

Fourth emergency service? You betcha.
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 17:17, 1 reply)

Desperate times?
I'm currently so bored at work that I'm posting this from my phone.
Does that count?
(CaptnJack isn't really called Jack!, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 16:50, 4 replies)

Hungry Dog
My friend Martin was visiting his girlfriend in Warrington (the dresden of the north), and was left alone with her in the house.

He boned her on the living room floor a couple of times, on the final occasion after withdrawing, shot a rope onto the floor.

Before either of them could react the family dog bounded in and hungrily lapped up the rapidly cooling ejaculate.

Man, that dog had to be desperate.
(Vic Flange, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 16:40, 6 replies)

Tequila.
Christmas before last, as my companions and I drank our way into the realms of boxing day, and as the third bottle of José was opened, we noticed an quite alarming lack of salt. Somehow my drink fuelled logic engine touched on parmesan as an adequate substitute. Indeed, at the time, it seemed to be doing the trick, and was commended as an excellent stand-in.

...until I woke up with a mouth tasting like an unwashed foot. There was still bits of parmesan stuck to my gums, which, combined with the usual dog breath associated with a cracking hangover, had distilled a miasma normally attendant on a 3 week old corpse.

Basically; really not a good idea, unless you hate your dentist with a fiery passion.
(wing_cmdr I mean not real, but almost a real hologram, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 16:35, Reply)

rp for teh comp - Pete's got needs!
Legend of Abberystwyth Uni; I never went to that Uni but the story was heard far and wide, and now it will be told on here also.

Pete, drunk at one of the pubs in Abba (they have many MANY pubs for such a small place) annouced this story to some guys from his lecture and the barman, and rightfully earned his nickname.

The story goes as follows;

1- Spotty teenager Pete gets to housesit all alone (except for his little dog).
2- Spotty teenager Pete flicks channels on telly and discovers Baywatch.
3- Spotty teenager Pete finds some hankies and "gets busy fwapping Mr Jiggy".
4- Spotty teenager Pete's dog comes in. "What's going on 'ere?" thinks innocent doggy. "Me eyesight's not that great; lets have a sniff" thinks the dog.
5- Spotty teenager Pete is well into mid-fwap, but the dog is trying to sniff Mr Jiggy. So Pete, instead of stopping and removing the dog from the room, decides to continue while holding doggy's collar just out of reach of Mr Jiggy.
6- Spotty teenager Pete get's a surprise; his parents have come back early and walk in with him, pants around his ankles holding doggy at arms length in one hand, and Mr Jiggy's length in the other.
7- Spotty teenager Pete's mum quietly grabs the dog off him and walks out to the kitchen. Pete's dad walks his son upstairs to Pete's room and tells him about the "Birds and the Bees (tm)".

Thus the nickname of "Dog Leg Pete" was born. This is a memory that no amount of alcohol would allow me to mutter in a pub full of students, oh no.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 16:27, 1 reply)

Moving House
A mate of mine helped me move into my flat years ago and sort of forgot to leave for 4 months. We were both skint and while I escaped hunger by popping into the parents house down the road (where my dear mother would 'force' me to join them for dinner), Ish didn't have a backup supplier of nutrition. So he would raid my cupboards to eat whatever he could find when it got close to the end of the month.

I can only imagine what a large tin of sweetcorn, topped with margarine and a single sachets worth of brown sauce tasted like... he reckoned the next day it was like shooting a machinegun out of his arse.
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 16:24, Reply)

no substitute for the real thing
mentioned way back in 'Terrible Food' but worth posting I think...


picture the scene if you will...

a fairly inebriated (possibly slightly high, I forget now) beanojam returns from an evening well spent in the pursuit of good times but the consumption of much beer has opened up a vacuum in his stomach that requires filling with food.

having not passed any of the local late night purloiners of heart-attack inducing grease (read: the kebab shop) on the way home, young beanojam suddenly recalls the box of yummy Kellogg's Crunchy Nut Clusters cereal lurking in his cupboard. Hoorah! he thinks. However, this is where it all starts to go wrong...

there is no milk. there is no MILK. THERE IS NO MILK! DAMN! Hmmm, he still could really do with a bowl right now. What to use, what to use?

a brainwave strikes our reluctant hero; the sort of idea you can only have at this time of the evening: squirty cream! That's basically milk isn't it? Problem solved.

Nope. I may be desperate for cereal again in the future but there is no way I'm ever trying that again.


Worst. Idea. Ever.

Apologies for length but i'm on my coffee break trying to skive.
(beanojam isn't really Ricardo Flange, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 16:10, 2 replies)

Best Holiday Ever
My day job is as a cardiologist, so I'm nothing more than a glorified GP and I spend most of the day getting visited by aging dodders with dicky tickers. My wife is actually a GP so she's even more miserable than I am.

We had to get out of this rut, it was mind-numbingly depressing. Then my wife and I had an amazing idea, a masterstroke -- we'll go on holiday to Spain, kill our daughter and hide her body. We'd both likely get paid leave from work, and if we got a fund set-up to find her we could leech off of it to pay our mortgage and other bills! Genius!

It went swimmingly - you might have even seen us on the news? What you don't know is that before I buried Maddie in a ditch, I had my way with her corpse! Infanto-necrophilia FTW!

Length? There weren't many big parts left after I chopped her into little pieces.
(mmmkay, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 16:06, 5 replies)

The need to eat vs BEER!
Back in the late 1980’s, when I was a graphic design student, I lived in a shared house with 2 other lads. I would never have described myself as a penniless student at the time – I was lucky in that I got a full grant, plus had a weekend and holiday job that covered my weekly expenses pretty much (i.e. beer and the odd kebab). However, after a full year of living in halls, with everything paid for, the sudden shock of paying rent, rates and bills diminished the amount of disposable income I had at the time. I soon learned to budget, and budget well. Shopping at Winners (a long-gone chain of discount stores that made Lidl look like Harrods in comparison) became a weekly occurrence, to allow the beer money to go further. Not everything was bought there, but some tins and basics could be purchased very cheaply, and allow for some luxuries like fresh veg from the grocers.

However, there was one week where I didn’t go home at the weekend, and therefore didn’t work and so didn't get paid. Having had a fairly debauched weekend (including a mate’s flatwarming party and an all-nighter at the sadly-missed Mayfair in Newcastle) and spending about 3 times as much in the space of 2 days as I would in a fortnight, resources got a little bit tight for the next week. Panic and desperation began to set in – how the hell are we going to eat, pay the rent and have enough beer money for the week? Have no fear, Winners to the rescue. With a shopping budget of about £2.50, off we went to buy several jumbo-sized tins of beans (which were officially the most disgusting baked beans on the planet – the ‘tomato’ sauce was a sort of creamy, off-white colour), a loaf of bread, some milk, and a couple of tins of ready-made spaghetti bolognaise.

It was absolutely bloody foul. My guts were like an explosion in a fertiliser factory by the end of the week, and I had never been more glad to return to the bosom of my slightly dysfunctional family the following weekend.

I suppose we could have refrained from going to the pub that week, but another luxury item we convinced ourselves that we couldn’t afford was toilet paper, and so going to the local hostelry was used as an excuse to nick some from the gents. Man-logic is brilliant.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 15 Nov 2007, 16:03, 2 replies)

I was living in a shropshire market town...
.. all the women of my age were fat. BBWs but without being terribly beautiful.

I dipped my wick in a few of them, as my uncle wilberforce used to say "Any old port in a storm".

I'd draw the line at gay sex, though.
(Vic Flange, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 15:59, 1 reply)

NOT ME
But back when I was in college, we had a tradition: if you were caught, um, tugging the third leg, you had to wear a single white glove in parade. Now we ALL wore white gloves in parade, but in a sea of cadets, its not hard at all to notice one hand, swinging freely with no white glove as you march.

One of my classmates had reached a point where I guess he had to seek release and he did so and used toothpaste (gel) as a lubricant. Apparently he had a minty scent about him for weeks...

SO one evening, I am on guard detail and the OG (Officer of the Guard and a Senior or Fourth Year) comes running in, face flushed and suppressing his laughter. It was 3am. Apparently, he was doing a bed check and he walked in on this kid, tube of toothpaste in one hand and the one-eyed trouser snake in the other.

It was Thursday night. Parade is on Friday. He had one glove removed before going out on parade and then and there, in front of the entire battalion, he was nicknamed: "Cadet Recruit Colgate"

[for purposes of clarification, I am not sure if you lot have Colgate, but it is a major brand of toothpaste over here]

Cheers!
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 15:47, 5 replies)