Desperate TimesStranded in a hotel in an African war zone with no internet access for two weeks, I was forced to resort to desperate measures. Possessing only my passport and the clothes I stood up in; and the warning "You can catch it shaking hands with a vicar out there" ringing in my ears, I had to draw my own porn in order to preserve my sanity.
Alas, it all came out looking like Coronation Street's Audrey Roberts, but, as they say, any port in a storm.
What have you done in times of great desperation?
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Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 15 Nov 2007, 10:10)
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PrankeryAs this is a second hand story, I can't say 100% that it's true. But having heard stories from my friend about this bloke before, I'm inclined to believe her.
Let's call the bloke David (not his real name) for the sake of the story. David and his mates were engaged in a prank war. They'd even agreed on the various rules - that the prank must not be financially damaging, and should only affect the victim, civilians in this grand military campaign were right out.
As you'd expect, the classics were all used - bucket of water above the door, laxatives in food, fake phonecalls to places to work and so on. And David was losing. No matter what David did, he couldn't seem to catch any of them, dupe any of them, or affect any of them. And he was getting desperate, for the princely sum of a twenty pounds was to go to the winner. Being a poor starving student, a free twenty is nothing to sneeze at. That's up to 20 pints, if you go to the right crappy student places!
And so it came to pass that at 10pm on a cold Tuesday night, David was hanging around outside the dwellings of one of the other girls participating. She wasn't a student, she just happened to know loads of them. It was dark, the pubs hadn't turned out yet, and thus no-one was home. He pried open one of the ground floor windows, climbed inside and went to work, leaving the house about half an hour later, and despite being a fat bastard with about as much grace as an epileptic hippo, managed not to be seen or overheard.
He hung around, waiting for the girl to return from the pub. And she did, around 11, slightly drunk. She went inside, and his little cup of joy runneth over at the sounds of "Hello! Who's my little... WHAT THE FUCK?"
He'd only gone and given her dog (big friendly golden retriever type) a haircut. Trimmed all the hair he could on its left side, and left the right side alone. Unsurprisingly, he was declared the winner, and won the twenty pounds.
Poetic justice was served when he passed out from too much booze. You can guess the haircut he was given when unconscious.
(, Mon 19 Nov 2007, 3:37, Reply)
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