I've done that.....
.... but mine is a Litespeed Ocoee. If you had to see it, you would want to too :-)
( Ramsay Tupper, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 8:26, Reply)

I was chatting to a fit bird
at a party when I felt the need for a piss. She was in the middle of a long story and I didn't want to be rude and cut her off so I sat there patiently listening to her as the pressure on my bladder increased.

She wouldn't shut up and I was getting to the point where I was in danger of pissing muself so eventually I had to apologise and leg it to the toilet.

I got into the toilet with the piss equivaqlent of a turtles head - a snakes tongue, if you will - but I couldn't find the light switch anywhere. I was desperatly groping the walls for a switch or a cord but, alas, this toilet clearly didn't have a light and I had run out of time.

In pitch blackness I made my way over to where I assumed the toilet was, felt around with my hands and feet until I located it and proceeded to let forth a raging torrent. I was quite sure my aim was right but the noise that was emanating from the toilet was not the usual tinkling, splashing - more a dull thudding noise. Meh. I didn't care, I was just grateful to be relieving myself.

Once finished, I had all the time in the world to find the light and when I eventually managed to turn it on, well....

Turns out the lid was down. I had just unleashed about a litre of warm stinking piss on and around the toilet, but not actually in it. To make matters worse, it had one of those stupid furry covers which had absorbed the lions share of my effluence.

I ripped the cover off, washed it in the sink and then stuffed it behind the toilet. I did my best in cleaning up the rest of the mess and made my way back to the party and the bird that I was talking to earlier. We were getting along famously when, half an hour later, the host of the party turned down the music and asked if anyone knew why the toilet cover was soaking wet and stuffed behind the toilet. I just turned to me new friend, shaking my head, and muttered something along the lines of how people have no respect anymore.
(Creamy Discharge Freeze Motherstickers, this is a fuck up, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 4:13, 1 reply)

Processed Meat
As an undergrad, I was rather short of money mainly because the rents and bills here were stupidly high. Nothing was safe in the communal fridge, so I bought tinned stuff that kept for months, so I'd always have food.

And so, one dark and stormy night at around 2am... I was hungry. Seriously fecking hungry. The all-night garage was closed for some bizarre reason. My bike was broken, so I couldn't cycle the 6 miles to the 24-hour Tescos. I'd had no breakfast, no lunch, and the dinner I'd planned to have got missed because I was so caught up in work.

I looked in the cupboard for food. There was a little bit of rice (about half a portion). There was a jar of curry sauce. And there was a tin.

I opened everything up, cooked the rice, and mixed up the tin into the curry sauce, and ate the result.

It was a tin of SPAM. I was so desperate to eat something that I had a SPAM Tikka Masala that night.

You cannot imagine the greasiness and overwhelming processed meat flavour. Not unpleasant for the first few bites, but after that it was a different story.

The communal toilet the next morning resembled Hiroshima. I swear that the gargantuan creation that came forth *steamed*, and still had pink lumps in. And so, I did the only thing I could. I left it there as an unpleasant surprise for the complete prick down the corridor whom I heard getting out of bed a few moments before.

Do. Not. Eat. Spam. Curry.
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 2:47, 4 replies)

dead granny
Crikey. Who thought this was a good idea! a week of wanking stories! ah well.

My story for today comes from way back when i was in first year of high school. Back when it all seemed very serious and dire. Before i realised high school was of little consequence in the grand scheme. I had lined up for English in fear. I hadn't completed my first ever English essay. It was my own fault. I had been too lazy, I had put it off, I'd had been too scared to ask for help. What would become of me i did not know. As the lesson progressed the ball in the pit of my stomach tightened, any moment the teacher would ask. what would i do? time drags and i couldn't concentrate through dread of having nothing to submit. But a tiny ray of hope had come across me, end of the lesson was upon us, Maybe he'd forgotten. but no, it came.... the teacher had held out to the last second. It felt as if i had been hit from behind "your essays before you go please" he called across the class. Then came the fateful words, spoken to a classmate. "accept for you Matt, I'm sorry for the death of your grandmother. you may hand yours in next week". it happened before i could think and I cringed the words as they were spoken. "my gran died too!" i chipped in. Teacher eyed me suspiciously. "when?" he asked. "yesterday" i replied. he challenged me, but could see i want lying and he faltered. I was home free! cleared! a stay of execution! The teacher appraised me for what seemed like an eternity as a deep shame began to creep over me. then he rallied well. "you've had plenty of time, robot. I'm terribly sorry for your loss, but the work should have been completed before yesterday". in truth my grandmother had passed away the night before, and in my desperation and panic I had used her death as an excuse to save me from a perceived bollocking for lack of homework. As it turned out, there was no penalty. My fear and panic was for nothing. For weeks afterward, and even to this day i feel ashamed for having used her death as a tool for such a feeble and useless escape from a predicament I had created through my own lack of effort. I'd like to say it taught me to get my work done on time, sadly not. Though it did teach me not to proffer excuses when things do go pear shaped and I'm left with the bag..
(lazy killer robot found that beer tastes better when your older, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 2:44, Reply)

Ted's Not Here Anymore
In college, I had a roommate named Ted, but he soon got an off-campus apartment with some friends and moved out, leaving a bare bed.

One random evening, I went out in the evening and eventually returned. I lay down on my bed and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Unaccountably, I had failed to lock the door of my dorm room.

About twenty minutes after I fell asleep, the door opened. Fluorescent light from the hallway spilled in. Confused, and struggling to wake up, I said, "Is that you, Ted?" The stranger said, "What?" Squinting against the light, I could see the stranger was thin and had curly hair, much like one of Ted's friends. I addressed the stranger as if he was Ted's friend, even though, at some sleepy level, I KNEW he couldn't be the same person:

"Ted's not here anymore. He's gone, he moved out."

Startled, the stranger said "What?" So, I repeated myself: "Ted's not here anymore."

The stranger responded: "I'll be Ted if you want me to."

Becoming alarmed, I sat up and struggled to awaken. The stranger closed the door and walked decisively over to my bed and sat beside me. I could smell alcohol on his breath.

The stranger grabbed the covers on my lap and with a single motion, swooped the covers down to my ankles. I reached to my ankles and pulled the covers back to my lap. Again, the stranger grabbed the covers on my lap and swooped them down to my ankles, and again I reached down to my ankles and pulled the covers back to my lap. I asked the stranger, "OK, what do you want?" He said, "What if I told you I was a flaming faggot looking to get fucked?" I said, "Then I'd say you are in the wrong place."

What to do? I was worried about a hunting knife I had left out on Ted's bed. Did the stranger see the knife? Apparently not: darkness was restored when he closed the door. Could I get to the knife first? Very risky. Not only would I have to jump over the stranger, from sitting in bed, but there was no reason he couldn't get to the knife first, or wrestle it away from me even if I managed the feat. Violence wasn't the answer for this problem. The fellow was clearly living out a fantasy of some sort. I desperately had to pop his fantasy bubble, and fast. But how?

So, I began talking to the fellow in a dull, drab monotone, about all manners of tedious things - the importance of well-written car repair manuals, the spread of standardized testing, economies of scale - you get the picture.

After a while, I noticed the stranger's shoulders slump in drunken fatigue, his stubbly jaw slacken, the tension slowly disappear. Suddenly, the stranger stood up, went to the door, and left.

Maybe I should have pressed my luck, and invited him to be my special pal. We could have recited the telephone book to each other.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 2:24, 3 replies)

Squatting
Many years ago I used to squat in a house that overlooked Highbury stadium. There were four of us who broke the squat but many more who took advantage of it. There were usually about 10 ne'er do wells sitting around getting fucked on whatever was being passed around at the time. One night, however, we didn't have any credible class A's to consume and were all desperate to alter out states in one way or another.

Now, how this squat came about was some old dear died and had no family left so there was just a vacant house with no one to take ownership of it. This old biddy must have been in quite a state before she died as when we first broke in we found, amongst other things, a prosthetic nose and a cammode. But best of all was the huge shopping bag full of perscription drugs.

I was only 18 at the time and whilst I had consumed my fair share of common or garden variety drugs, I knew little about the wonders of legal flavoured drugs. Or granny-friendly drugs as they came to be known.

One of the guys, dead now (in fact most of the people in the room that night are dead now) knew his benzobalkamakesyourfacegonumbchloride from his hydroxidewhysmydickgonegreyium and started sifting the wheat from the chaff.

"This one's shit, it makes your head feel likes it's going to explode for about a minute but makes your arse muscles restrict until you start shitting coal. This one's great, you feel like an elephants just fucked your nose but then you get a warm feeling in your legs as though you've just pissed yourself."

This guy knew his shit and soon had racked up monster lines of all the choicest cuts. Now, I'll be honest. I was a novice in this world compared to my brethren but I didn't want them to know this so I dived in and snorted up the poodles leg that had been presented to me.

Ow. Owowowoowowow. Oh my fucking god did that hurt. It felt like the doozers from fraggle rock had gone to work in my nose, constructing a new hypermall. And then it all went a little bit weird. I can't even begin to describe what was going on in my poor little brain. It was like the Cat in the Hat had Mr Benn in a headlock while the Chuckle Brothers played soggy biscuit with his hat. There was some weird shit going on.

The gathering soon disentegrated into matter, convulsing and writhing on the floor. Everyone was dealing with their own private hell until as one we banded together and kicked down one of the partition walls and threw it, piece by piece, out the window.

I miss my youth.
(Creamy Discharge Freeze Motherstickers, this is a fuck up, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 2:05, 2 replies)

Bad transition to high school
I went to a rough junior high. It had a behavioural disorder program with kids who were criminally insane, psychotically violent, etc, and tried to integrate them into a normal classroom setting. That meant they'd stuff one of these nutjobs into my classroom. At least until they went berserk and sent someone to the hospital. And of course this was junior high so these guys were the epitome of cool.

There was one guy named Mike who stood out. He was one of the most popular kids in my class, because every so often he'd just lose it and attack someone. Girls loved it, don't know why. Once he threw a rock at my best friend's face point blank. He told the teacher he was aiming for a bird, but I remember the look in his face as he was throwing.

We all graduated and were sent to high school. It was a big school with 2000 students spread across three grades, so it was impossible for everyone to know everyone else. We were separated into different tiers according to our grade level, and I was put in the top class far away from the likes of Mike and the other Behavioural Disorder kids. This meant there was not one consensus across the entire grade about who were the cool kids and who were the losers. Suddenly I had more friends than I knew what to do with, all nerds like me, and Mike found himself friendless.

Next time I saw Mike was in my second year. He caught up to me outside the front doors and I could tell he was desperate to talk to anyone. Suddenly this was a lonely kid with no friends because his social skills may have been learned from A Clockwork Orange.

He picked up a cigarette butt off the cold ground, still smouldering, and had a puff on it. I pushed the door open to escape him, and he said "No, just kidding." Just kidding? You inhaled the thing. What part are you kidding about? Because you did it.

Anyway, that was probably the lowest I've seen a guy get.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 1:57, Reply)

Whisky + Head Problems
Buenos Aires 2006 - I was there to do research for my degree. All was going relatively well until something clicked in my somewhat fractious brain and I went a little crazy. For one week I have no clear recollection of what happened, but I remember stumbling around the streets until late at night, living off incredibly bad argentine whisky, hearing voices and not eating. Fortunately at the end of the week I found myself in the apartment I was renting, desperately hungry with only a bag of flour in the kitchen.

Ever tried to make flour soup because you are desperately hungry and too paranoid to go outside and buy food? Its simple:

1kg of flour
A pan
Water

Add flour to water, boil, try to eat. Throw up.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 1:32, 3 replies)

NACHOS...
Towards the end of a drunken evening with some mates I had the urge for some nachos. A big urge, but very little energy to do the necessary preparation required to fulfill said urge. And no salsa.

So 12 seconds later, there I lay, on the couch with a bag of corn-chips. Into which I had poured tomato sauce, cheese bits and sour cream. I didn't even heat them in any way. My rationale being that actual nachos that had gone cold could still be quite good, ignoring the fact that these were not nachos, and were not, and would never be, warm.

It tasted like... something not nachos at all, and very very bad. But the urge remained, and I kept eating.

In the end I begged a friend to move them out of arms reach. Finally they acquiesced and I gazed forlornly at the object of my desires, knowing that even if I could find the energy to reach out and grab them, they would still taste like something not nachos.
(lessmiserable, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 1:27, Reply)

Douts of Douts
When I was on the dole for an extended period of time, I made roll ups from the fag ends in the ashtray. I then made rollups from the roll ups I'd made from the fag ends. I done it one more time before all i was putting into the fag papers was black ashy grains of tobacco.

Now i just stick to the 1st stage.
(jones, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 1:11, Reply)

Lego
The lowest I sunk during my early teenage years was an attempt to build a wanking machine out of lego.

This was long before I had the slightest chance of experiencing a woman's touch, yet I was desperate to fulfil that need.

It was an ultimately unsuccessful, but nonetheless interesting, engineering challenge. A number of years later I achieved a noble B in GCSE design and technology for a poorly realised carrying case. I should think that a working wanking machine would have been well worth an A.

Fortunately, in hindsight, I didn't have any Meccano...
(Dr. Scambolic, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 1:10, 3 replies)

Smokin the herb
Years ago, myself and a mate of mine were sitting in his house smoking soapbar hash. As time passed we ran out of cigarettes for the joints, but there was no way to get any more, as this was suburbia after 11pm.

After much racking of brains, we thought it would be an excellent idea to substitute tobacco for oregano.

We tried so hard to smoke it but it was so foul even my mate gave up on it. And his parents living room now smelled of hash AND burnt oregano.

I dont smoke weed anymore. Maybe thats why.
(jones, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 1:04, Reply)

One day in Spain...
As a young 17-year-old I found myself on a 3-week summer holiday trawling around Spain in a camper van with my folks and a buddy. Fearing the worst, he and I had brought enough hash and skins to go the distance. The penultimate day finds us sat in the blazing noonday sun power-drinking red wine until I passed out and threw up on our last skins, turning them Vino de Mesa red and washing all the glue off. We'd run out of money and hash the day before but as a precaution we'd been saving the blims from the old joint-ends in a tin. The baccy was all gone too, so huddled in a tent in a remote campsite we made the horridest joint ever. Recycled hash, baccy picked out of the larger of the Ducados dog-ends filched from bar ashtrays and sicked-on skins stuck down with honey instead of their usual gum. We were both wheezing for a whole week after we got home. Beat THAT!!!
(Whizzer, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 0:39, Reply)

Pooing in a public toilet.
One rule I have is no matter how desperate I am, I will NEVER poo in a public toilet, instead I'll hold it in until I get home. This day however this just wasn't possible.

I was hungover and shopping for a birthday card in the shitty shopping centre near me when I started getting horrible stomach cramps. There was no way out of this one, I had no choice but to clench desperately and shuffle towards the escalators to get to the toilets upstairs.

I made sure the bogs were empty and quickly ran into one of them. My plan was to get in, drop some friends off at the pool and quickly exit. After executing the first two parts of my plan I realised how badly it stunk and to my horror I heard the main door open.

Then I heard the voices. Old lady voices, talking about their grandchildren, zimmer frames and the usual bollocks those old bags talk about. I was screwed, there was more than one of them and only two toilets. The one I was in smelt like a slaughterhouse.

In my panic I did the only thing I could think of. I flushed, opened the door and ran out just as one of the old dears headed in. I was afraid to check the news for a week in case there was a story about an old lady dying of methane poisoning or vomiting herself to death.

I think I'll just go with my first instinct and shit myself next time.
(chakaflange, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 0:23, Reply)

Desperate times
And desperate measures. Being from Sheffield, I'm used to a bit of privation from time to time. Especially growing up around Mosborough. But I digress.

I've smoked my tab ends, I've emptied my keyboard, I even smoked the thing in the bathroom that was lying round for months (it was a spliff- a very dry one at that!). I've even gone without for a few days, even though I ended up climbing the walls as a result.

But that desperation was ended one day, as I put on a pair of trousers to find... my god! Money! I nipped straight off to the newsagents, to buy the only thing I could afford- cheap arse cigars. And by God they were awful- never again. Irony is I got paid the next day too.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 15 Nov 2007, 23:40, Reply)

Every time...
... I break out the nail scissors and start surgically dissecting the contents of my ashtrays for new smokes, a little part of me dies...

:(

I think it's the ex-student in me trying to get out. I mean, I earn 26k a year, ffs...
(hangableautobulb is an anagram of the best album ever, on, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 23:28, Reply)

Here, have a pea
Desperate to lose our virginities, Apeloverage, Frank Spencer and I made a pact that we would get laid by prom night. All manner of hilarious whacky adventures ensued, that included one of us being embarrassed on the internet.

Fortunately, it all worked out for the best - while it didn't work out as we'd planned, we all learned valuable life lessons and emerged as better, more mature, more fully-rounded people.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 23:16, 8 replies)

Trip to Hamburg
I went for an interview in Hamburg for reasons I won't go into cos they're boring. Anyway, after the interview i got changed at the Youth Hostel (man i was splashing out on accomm) and went out to the Reeperbahn (Hamburg's red-light district for those not in the know) to meet some friends and get leathered. So, after numerous drinks, peepshows, lapdances and nearly getting killed in a 'private bar' i ended up having to get a cab back to the hostel at about 2 in the morning. Knew the name of the place, amazingly enough, and saw the cabbie right for his money. What i hadn't expected was to be locked out of the hostel. Then i remembered it locked up at 11pm and opened again at 6am. Hmm. It was very cold. So having found no entry through any open windows I lay down in a storm gutter and covered myself with leaves and slept. So pissed i didn't care. Managed to get in at 6am when some swots were leaving to go to a museum or something. Never been so close to freezing to death. Thank you German leaves.
( Fray Brentos *mega-belms*, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 23:15, Reply)

I was once so desperate...
...i shagged an apple pie my mom made. Then, in a completely unpredictible turn of events,my dad walked in on me and so a hilariously uncomfortable conversation unfolded between us.
(Foulkesy123 The one and only..., Thu 15 Nov 2007, 23:07, 1 reply)

When I changed to Abisinthe as my regular tipple.
Really, the next step on from that was drinking brake fluid or Drambuie.
(Vic Flange, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 22:51, 2 replies)

Mmm... necrobestiality
Or even stolen calf's liver, for paedonecrokleptzoophila!
( Labmonkey last thought about having another coffee on, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 22:44, Reply)

Er, it's MORE alcoholic than vodka.
Or... water as a mixer? Angostura Bitters is around 50% alcohol, so it's really the OPPOSITE of a mixer! O.o
( Labmonkey last thought about having another coffee on, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 22:41, Reply)

Bollocks.
Nah, Wray & Nephew is the desperation choice. It's the Tennent's Super of rum. super strng, tastes rough. Mount Gay is freaking awesome. Good rum AND innuendo. :)
( Labmonkey last thought about having another coffee on, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 22:38, 2 replies)

Liverpudlian gangsters
Back when I was a student, I went on a charity hitchhike from York to Dublin (well, Holyhead, as the ferry was paid for). My gf (now fiancée) and I were picked up by a golf course designer (!) and left at a service station near Leeds. We waited hours and no-one picked us up. We were getting pretty desperate.

Until...

Two scallies drew up next to us and offered us a lift. Something didn't seem quite right, but I let it pass. We got chatting with them:
* The car we were in had been bought for a quid, apparently.
* When asked (somewhat ill-advisedly) by my gf as to what they did for a living, they said they were "self employed".
* Rather than furry dice, they had a miniature kalashnikov and a miniature berreta hanging from the rear-view mirror.

Amazingly, they dropped us off near Liverpool and didn't nick a thing off us.
( Parmesan Quality b4 Quantity, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 22:31, Reply)

Another hard-up student tale (though not as colourful as some)
It's the second year of Uni, I've just lost my admittedly awful supermarket job (I still maintain it technically wasn't my fault/I shouldn't have), and I repeatedly, month on month, end up with about £5 to last at least two weeks.

Now, having been quite trusted in my Saturday job previous to moving away, I knew that Switch transactions under £25 automatically went through, no questions asked, no real check as to whether there was actually cash available. So I'd spend approximately £24, manage to survive, and ignore the bank's calls.

This has meant I'm still paying off the subsequent loan (unsurprisingly they cancelled my overdraft), but at least I didn't die.
(heartofglass, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 22:17, Reply)

This one from just a few minutes ago
I have a neat little plugin for Emacs called "Dr Fill". You talk to it and it attempts to psychoanalyze you, with predictable results.

the following is the result of a combination of puerile infantilism and cold logic (the program talks, then the Ninja, and so forth):

I am the psychotherapist. Please, describe your problems. Each time
you are finished talking, type RET twice.

-hi. my bumhole hurts

Maybe you should consult a medical doctor; I am a psychotherapist. .

-no, the bumhole in my forehead

Why do you say the bumhole in your forehead?

-cos it hurts

Perhaps you should consult a medical doctor; I am a psychotherapist.

-ok, changing the subject: im emo

Is it because of your plans that you say you are emo?

-what plans

Maybe your life have something to do with this.

-check your grammar

What makes you believe check my grammar?

-your balls, is what

Can you elaborate on that?

-testicles

I would appreciate it if you would continue.

-my testicles are swinging

Is it because of the people you hang around with that you say your
testicles are swinging?

-yes. they jiggle my balls and make them swing

Is it because of problems at school that you are going through all
this?

-yes. my friends at school also used to thump my balls around. it made
fapping a bit difficult

Tell me about your school.

-we used to fap a lot. oh, and jiggle each others' testicles

Are you sure that that?

-yes, i am sure that that

Go on, don't be afraid.

-i am thinking that you are a dirty old man and need to be sterilised

Is it because I am a dirty old man and need to be sterilised that you
came to me?

-yes. i want you to stroke my bumhole and stop it from hurting because
you are a dirty old man

Does it bother you that I am a dirty old man?

-not at all. i love it. it means that you will jiggle my balls and
stroke my bumhole

When did you first know that I will jiggle your balls and stroke your
bumhole?

-when you pooed on my forehead. that's normally a good indicator

What do you think?

-it was tasty

Earlier you said I am a dirty old man and need to be sterilised?

-yes. the argument stands

How do you reconcile any hobbies you have?

-by sticking my cock in them. normally, cake is involved

Are you afraid of sex?

-no. only sex with chips. the oil makes my shlong blister

Talk about something about your sexual history.

-this one time, i fucked a plate of chips and got blisters on my wang,
it made screwing the rubber giraffe impossible for a few days

Perhaps you could discuss your sex life...

-i take my pleasure from foodstuffs, rubber animals and pictures of
janet jackson with a dong photoshopped onto her forehead. also, i love
it when dirty old men poo on me

What happened when dirty old men poo on you?

-i jizzed on their faces

Do you really think you jizzed on their faces?

-yes. the white streaks of spaff were fairly telling evidence

You mentioned that I am a dirty old man?

-yes. you are.

Perhaps this has something to do with your sex life?

-we've already covered this...

Is it because of hangups you have that you say we've already covered
this?

-yes

I see... Well, what makes you think this is so?

-goodbye. you've been supremely unhelpful

My secretary will send you a bill.

-fuck her. i pooed on her face.

Apologies for length, it was trimmed by an old man's false chompers.
(Tiktock Beating off flamers with a shitty stick, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 22:09, 4 replies)

Radiator and lettuce
Not me, but a story from my father, already immortalised for his obsessive lawn mowing.

Upon returning from an evenings drinking and feeling peckish, he and his friends decided to cook up some chips in Alec's kitchen. My father was despatched to steal some potatoes from my grandfathers garden and frying commenced.

In the absence of anything better to go with their chips, they decided to throw some lettuce into the fat. Lettuce is mainly water, and the chip pan duly erupted in a fountain of hot grease, covering the kitchen floor, walls, and ceiling. Someone then had the idea of tipping the pan of fat down the sink before it could do any more damage, where it promptly solidified, blocking the sink.

My father and his friends were thereafter banned from Alec's house by Alec's long-suffering wife. Alec and said wife divorced shortly afterwards. There's probably a moral in there somewhere.

Only vaguely linked to the topic but it amuses me and my length is beyond reproach.

EDIT: Forgot about the radiator in the excitement of posting the lettuce story.

In an unrelated incident, a friends car overheated on the way back from a day out (to Cheltenham, I believe). In the absence of water, lager was used to top up the radiator. Frothy, but effective.
(theweapon never ever bloody anything ever, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 22:04, 2 replies)