Eternally disappointed...
My trouble is that I've always had high hopes for my life, my career (well, other people had that), etc. When I was at school I thought I'd just do the normal- college, uni, meet someone, get married, work a couple of years then give up and have babies. Ultimate goal: to have babies and stay at home and look after them in similar fashion to my mum (yes, I don't mind cooking and cleaning, yes, I did get top marks in my year at school, no that's not a reason why I am letting down all womankind with my ambition).

What has actually happened: much depression, some horrible men, two degrees and lots of debt, a fairly ok career but with no motivation to progress, and am as single as it is possible to get. Pfft. I am not hideous and am not horrible. Maybe I still have some shred of standards, that might be my trouble... either that or I am still a bit scary.
(Clarabelle is reverting to type on, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 21:54, 8 replies)

Sorry to rant
But I thought Yahoo! Answers was going to be really cool.

It isn't. It's slow as molasses in January. My three serious questions got two replies between them, while "Do I look fat in this (pic included)?" get thirty something replies, most of which are either "nope :/" or "yes, you cow."

The purpose of the points thing is beyond my comprehension, and most of the replies as stated above are just people trying to get their points up. What do you win if you get more points? Who cares if you're the King of the Answers board?

For inane, ridiculous conversation, I'll stick with /talk.
( setimret likes his metaphors mixed, not stirred, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 21:33, 1 reply)

Once again, my response to a QOTW has spawned a board-wide debate.
Since posting my story, I've had several gazzes from kind-hearted supporters and sympathetic fellow autists, or those who know or are related to them. Far too many to realistically respond to individually, so I'd like to say collectively: thank you all, your respect is very much appreciated.

For the sake of clarity, I would like to point out that the intention behind my post was not to garner sympathy, but simply to tell the story of how the NHS let me down by not even knowing the symptoms of the disorder for which I was trying to get a diagnosis.

I'm not all "wah wah wah nobody loves me"; I'm simply trying to draw attention to the fact that:

a) autistic spectrum disorders are one of the most common psychiatric complaints in the world - one in 150 children is now diagnosed with one - and yet the NHS seems not to know the first thing about them, or to even care.

b) the general public is just as ill-informed. Did any of you know that April was Autism Awareness Month? Most forms of cancer, MS, ME, et cetera, et cetara, and all other types of disability or debilitating illness, are in some way recognised by the public. There's a general outpouring of sympathy for them, which is great. ASDs, however, are not recognised at all by most people. We're the last of the disabilities which are generally treated with contempt.

I can't properly control my body language, facial expressions, or social interactions, because that part of my brain hasn't developed right. Particularly because awareness about autism was absolutely appalling when I was still in school. Most people hadn't even heard of it.

I still get treated like a monster by people I bump into, even some people whom I know quite well, because I'm "creepy". I work my balls off to learn how body language and social interaction work, I don't let it get me down or beat me, and I don't have a defeatist attitude about it. The fact that I get treated this way is other people's problem, not mine. It's morally equivalent to racism or gender-based prejudice, particularly with people who know I'm autistic.

In fact, I know a girl who works with autistic children. She knows how autism works, and yet she still decides to treat me like a freak. I know that I come across as a weirdo, and I try so hard to fight it that I'm constantly - CONSTANTLY - concentrating on every single element of my speech and body language just to try to fit in properly. But it's not enough for people in general to understand. I'm pretty certain that I'll never be allowed to experience the world the way other people do, and that hurts like a bastard.

As far as I'm concerned, it's a testament to my own inner strength and willpower that I carry on living, and don't treat myself like a victim. Occasionally I vent, some days I cry into an empty room. Sometimes I wonder what the point is in owning a double bed when I only ever use one side of it.

But I haven't given up. Sure, I spend a lot of time ranting about how people need to learn to understand autism the way they understand other differences that turn people into minorities. I complain a lot about the way people treat me because I'm just "weird" in a way they can't put their finger on. But I don't feel bad about it. Just like people who are gay, or black, or paraplegic don't think it's their fault. It's not. It's their DNA, and it makes them different, not worse.

You want somebody who knows the English language inside out? Or who can learn any skill in half the time it takes somebody else? Or whose ability to comprehend philosophy and theology is preternatural? I'm your fucking man. Ask me about chaos magic some day, I'll change your world view. I promise.

Just don't treat me like a monster because I don't know I'm staring too much. Or because my tone of voice is off. Or because I appear to be frowning. It's a physical thing between brain and body, and if you actually take the time to get to know me . . . really, I'm pretty awesome.

Edited to remove dickery. See here: www.b3ta.com/questions/disappointment/post188249
(The Ghost of Stephen Foster, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 21:16, 22 replies)

Andrew WK
Wank! Absolute wank! Well, the Party Hard track was good, I loved it, I thought "hell yeah, here's some good new music, this guy is going to be big! (he was on the front cover of NME after all!).

Album was released, I rushed out, spent my hard earned money on a horrendously overpriced album and......it was, and still is, wank!

So disappointed by him and that album it's unbelievable. Turned me against the music industry that album did!
(Laxly, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 20:55, 2 replies)

Being at work
as I miss all the fun on here during the day and only get to read about it in the evenings when everyone else has buggered off home.

*woe is me I know*
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 20:53, 143 replies)

Birthdays
Mine are always crap!

18th Birthday

No friends, stayed at home in a small seaside town in Somerset doing nothing.

21st Birthday

Attempted to organise going out with friends, 1 was on holiday, nobody else wanted to go out. Stayed in.

30th birthday

This is just over 3 weeks time. I expect to be severely disappointed!
(Laxly, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 20:47, 9 replies)

Moving On
My biggest disappointment is that I have to leave my current job to advance in my career.

I like my job and I'm pretty good at it, but I'm also ambitious. However, I work for a local Council, and its very much a case of dead man's shoes, with those immediately above me giving no signs of carping it just yet. So earlier in the year, I accepted a post at a different, and well respected, Council to inch myself up the greasy pole.

So, I hear you guys say, what's the problem?

I am going to miss my colleagues so much. They are the best bunch of people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting and we're all firm friends.

For example (names changed to protect the innocent):-

Michael - one of the nicest, kindest blokes I know. He would bend over backwards to help a friend in need and has done for me on many occasions. Unfortunately, this pleasant nature means he keeps getting fucked over by every single girl he meets. He keeps me massively entertained by his internet dating exploits, seeing as they are either (a) stalkers, (b) scallies with fake noses/boobies/legs, (c) incapable of independent thought or (d) just plain wrong. Also likes to discuss his poo.

Veronica - despite being a couple of years younger than me, plays the big sister role of sorting me out when I start to be pathetic, usually with some kind of lurgy or minor crisis. Also kind, considerate, helpful and generally ace. Amusement gained from hearing her hen pecking her hugely patient fiancé on the phone.

Violet - the 'mum' of the group. Makes us behave ourselves and dispenses advice on growing and eating vegetables and general domestic goddessery. Our mantra:'no sex please, we're married'.

Graham - has an absolute heart of gold, but a brain full of cotton wool. Numptiness includes being caught coming out of the women's toilets in a restaurant, having thought that the door of the ladies was always the first you got to so the men's must be the second (it wasn't). Then wondered where the urinals were and why there was a full length mirror on the wall.

The Boss - he's great. Let me have the afternoon off last week when I was ill so that I wouldn't get so bad I would have to phone in sick the next day and not be able to go to my leaving do in the evening. Knowledgeable without being patronising and bloody good at his job.

My big leaving do was last Friday. Much food and wine was consumed and all were pleasantly sated. In the wee hours of the morning the entertainment came to an end to the sight of me throwing my arms indiscriminately around any of my colleagues who happened to get in my way and telling them drunkenly that I loved them and they were my best friends and they weren't ever ever ever to lose touch. Despite the alcohol loosening my tongue, it's absolutely true.

I'll be walking out of the office for the last time on Friday and I'm going to cry like a baby. Such, unfortunately is life.
(grandmaswhiskers, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 20:16, 4 replies)

Football
I'm a bloke and football disappoints me on several levels:

1. The players fall over at the slightest provocation even when, if they stayed on their feet, they'd get a chance on goal instead of hoofing the ball into row Z.

2. It's boring. There aren't enough goals - in most other sports there's a consistent rate of scoring to keep me interested or at least some real effort going on.

3. (And this is my main gripe) most blokes use it as a topic to talk about when they don't have anything interesting to say. I have to pay attention to this crappy sport so that when I'm in the company of other males I can join in with "Oh wasn't it striking how Russia folded against Spain considering how well they played against Holland?" instead of topics not covered by The Sun.
Most of my friends are female in part, I think, because there's none of this talking about crap that blokes do. Even when talking to colleagues in IT you find that they've just swapped football for some weird fanatasism for brands of technology or operating systems.

Maybe it's male friendships I'm disappointed in.
(vicarius, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 19:55, 6 replies)

Giving birth.
After being regaled with horror birth stories throughout my pregnancy, when the day finally came for the birth of my first child I was looking forward to days of pain and suffering which would be all "worth it in the end" - highly disappointed when it was all over in 6 hours - didn't even have the time for any pain relief. The second was even worse! 2 hours! Totally impossible now for me to tell my own horror stories to expectant mothers, I feel cheated.

Made an effort to suck on a bit of gas and air the second time, however, after being told how fantastic this stuff was - made me feel sick, so I gave it up after one puff.

*sigh*
(Freakmandu, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 19:53, 2 replies)

Daily
I'm always dissapointed to wake up and find out I'm still fat, poor and single. Does that count?
(Just a girl., Mon 30 Jun 2008, 19:53, 2 replies)

My own level of intelligence
Greatest disappointment?

I am constantly disappointed on a daily basis by the level of my own intellect.

I know I am not stupid and although IQ tests are a fairly poor measure of intelligence I generally score pretty well above average.

It is just in my daily working life a constantly feel stupid even though to others in the company I work at would appear to have some level of magic intellect.

Really to me it is just reading a manual and pushing the buttons.

Some of my friends are smarter than me and some less but seeing as we all do different things that does not really matter.

Maybe all the teenage drug abuse fried my neurons and I have only myself to blame but Godddamn it I just wanted to be smarter than "this".
(Fluke feels bitter as well as thick, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 19:22, 2 replies)

Real Ale
I'll admit to it. I like Lager. Stella, Carlsberg, Hoegaarden. But I wish I didnt. I want to like Real Ale and Guiness. But they just taste like burnt sugary crap. On my (infrequent) pub trips I watch my mate drinking his "Bishops Olde Scrote" and envy him. I end up drinking "fizzy chemical yellow water". I want to like Real ale. Really I do.
(kitescreech still here, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 19:19, 15 replies)

No swimming
I with some mates have been planning a weeks holiday in cornwall for a surfing/swimming kind of time. This was all planned months ago and i've been swimming a bit recently, getting a bit of practising in.

Unfortunatly a couple of nights ago i got hit in the ear and have been diagnosed with a perforated ear drum. Meaning no swimming for two to three weeks. So now ive got a weeks swimming when i cant swim.

I think instead i will find some good motorbiking roads instead, any recommendations?
(Masterb3ta, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 18:34, 1 reply)

i wish i'd done this eariler...
i have had a look back at some of the bile thrown at the few souls who chose to discuss their, autism, aspergers or similar.

so i read read Rathen's 'profile' and some of his 'best answers'

christ on a fucking christmas tree - what a shimmering pile of monkeywank this person is

do your self a favour click *ignore*

no honestly, that bad.



!
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 17:30, 19 replies)

An Internet Dating experience (a long one)
This is a story that was a fully-fledged sub-plot to my epic winter adventure in North America I made on my own 5½ years ago. I had done the Internet Dating thing for some time. I'd already met some truly wonderful women this way, but this was the first time I was meeting someone in the USA.

I apologise in advance for the length. It’s a long one and split into 4 parts. The first part is the answer and the other three are the first replies. There's also an epilogue. It was originally written many years ago, but I've changed it a bit to keep identities secret.


Part 1

Lisa (not her real name) was her name. It was a year and a half since she made initial contact. The e-mail correspondence was going well for a month, but then suddenly disappeared. A month later, I e-mailed her again, and got a reply (she referred to an e-mail she sent that must have got lost). That was the last I heard of her for a year. By then, I had decided I'd be visiting the USA at some time. One day (several months after my account on the Internet dating service had expired), I decided to mail her to say I was going to the USA on the off chance she might reply. It had been nearly a year and it seemed a long shot, but decided to go for it. Then a few weeks later, whilst in a cyber cafe, I got my first e-mail from her for a year where she said she would like to meet me when I come over to Los Angeles (LA, or ‘Lala-Land’ as she called it). This was the day when everyone decided to e-mail me all at once, so I spent ages there answering e-mail and as there were only two PCs there I was contributing to a queue and running up huge Internet costs. I also got another short e-mail from her a month later where she said she had to go to the hospital (didn't say what for), and she'd write more in the weekend. I never did get any more e-mail from her before the trip. It was only once I'd been on my trip to America for 3 weeks when I checked the e-mail at a friend's place in Vancouver that I got an e-mail from her (first since I set off). It just asked me to confirm if I had been getting her other e-mails (which I hadn't).

We both had our Birthdays on the same day (we were both Sagittarians), and I wanted to be in LA for that date just on the off chance she'd all of a sudden respond to me. Now I knew for certain her e-mails to me were getting lost, I became determined to meet her, so I opened the spam-floodgates and kept on mailing her whenever I could find access to the Internet. Up until that point, I hadn't thought about it much, but I realised I was running out of time and between Vancouver and LA, I only stopped off at Portland for half a day (thankfully, I had already done Seattle before Vancouver).

When I was in Portland, I made a pit stop at a cyber cafe. She hadn't responded to any of my e-mails. I told her by e-mail when my train would be arriving at the station in LA, what I was wearing (my latest psychedelic t-shirt and my colourful shoes just to stand out) and where I'd be staying in LA. I used the high-priority setting on my e-mail - something that I do very sparingly. I'd never know if she'd get it, or if she was even available to meet me then, but just in case she could, this was where I'd be. It was a long shot, but it might just work. It was a journey into the unknown. I wouldn't know what to expect when I arrived at LA's Union Station...

On the train to LA (the Coast Starlight), I met a few people going to LA who I shared my story with and hoped they might tell me where to look for someone who was trying to look for me in Union Station. I was thinking that I was telling so many people on the train about it that if we did meet, a huge cheer would erupt from the station in LA. I was getting anxious and a cheer would have been a great accompaniment to having my anxiousness flower into something a lot nicer. This was a train-journey that went on during the night so I had to sleep on the train. I was so much in need of answers that I tried to carefully analyse the dream I had during the night in case it contained any clues (I couldn't find any - I just ended up dreaming about online-banking that night). My anxiousness was growing, but thankfully, I met a few people on the train who kept my mind off things by talking about what it was like being a cow, and what it was like being a farmer (the same as being a cow, but you get to drive a tractor). The train was going through mid-California, which although wasn't as lush as Oregon/Washington - was a lot greener and rainier than I had imagined it to be (I had slept all through Northern California). The train didn't get to the Pacific Ocean until after dark, and apparently, we passed some place where they launched stuff into space (it might have been the Vandenberg base), but my mind was even further away than 'space' at the time...

When I got to LA's Union Station, the train was 40 minutes late (It took me 31 hours to get from Portland, OR to LA, CA). I was getting that nervousness I get when meeting a girl I met off the Internet for the first time, and with a heavy rucksack on your person while wearing a coat in a hot place after having been used to cold places, and in an area who’s 'safe-ness' I didn't trust, it's not a nice feeling! I looked around the station for about half an hour ... no sign of a girl who looked like she was looking for someone (I've only seen one poorly-lit photo of her from a long time ago), so I gave up and got the subway to the hostel.

At the hostel, I asked at reception if anyone had tried to look for me or leave me a message. No. I also asked where people usually go to on their birthdays and was given the names of some nightclubs. I thought about asking where people would go on their birthdays if they were hoping to meet someone who has their birthday on the same day as themselves but doesn't know where they are so is trying to go somewhere where they might guess that they'll end up there. This seemed too confusing a question to ask so I didn’t ask it.

I soon established that this particular hostel didn't have many means for passing messages on to guests, but thankfully they had Internet-access there. I logged on to my Freeserve account still feeling anxious, and - YES, there was an e-mail from Lisa! I immediately clicked on it ... and for the first time she gave me her phone-number - not one, but two phone numbers! At that moment, my anxiousness quickly morphed into a great rush. She also said she couldn't meet me at the station because her car had broken down. Like the last one from earlier that week, it was a short e-mail, but it contained what I needed - phone numbers...


To be continued...
the rest of the story is in the replies
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 16:30, 22 replies)

Easter eggs
The large Cadbury's Cream Egg you get at Easter isn't full of sugary albumen like the regular (tiny) cream eggs, it's empty, like my soul after I bought one.
(sparks , oh, I don't know., Mon 30 Jun 2008, 16:22, 4 replies)

Not my biggest,
but still fairly hefty.

After the highs more highs of playing Lego Star Wars: the original trilogy on the PS2, I was pant-wettingly excited about Indiana Jones Lego for the PS3.

It's good, but just not quite...there... . There's something missing from it: perhaps the levels are all a bit too easy and short. Maybe it's the lack of "force". But it's just not as good as I'd anticipated.

And don't even get me started on Indiana Jones 4: I was so angry at how shit it was that I cried.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 16:21, 1 reply)

My biggest disappointment
is that I have high expectations, which leads to bigger disappointments because I'm disappointed with the failure of reality to live up to my high expectations; Which disappoints me, as I have high expectations of myself, leading to even bigger disappointments with myself...

*holds head in neurosis loop*
( FeralCatMan Unusual disease collector., Mon 30 Jun 2008, 16:20, Reply)

The Beach
Thanks Kitty O'hara, you have just reminded me how rubbishly disappointing the end of The Beach is, its like he builds it up and up then goes

"oooh dear, not sure how to end it now, ah well lets have it wrapped up in 20 pages anyway, meh!"

That book still makes me angry, it was a really good read until the lst 50 odd pages damn you!
(Halfy By light alone, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 16:18, 1 reply)

Public Enemy (Live)
No 'Terminator X', just some dude in a bandana and unfeasibly large trousers the likes of which would drive Hugh Lauries 'Prince Regent' to distraction so no mad turntablist skeeeeeeeelz.

Chuck D was alright but was overshadowed by the shit DJ and Flavor Flav who did nothing only shout the whole time about his new album being for sale at the door. It was awful. I bailed. Only time I ever walked out of a gig.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 16:16, 4 replies)

The end bit of Cloverfield
Now don't get me wrong, I thought the film was great; it had me on the edge of my seat! I felt the dizzying highs, the terrifying lows and the creamy middles of all the main characters and thought it was really well made. However, a friend who had seen it already said she was annoyed she hadn't known about the bit of dialogue after the credits as she would have stayed.

As a woman with a very short attention span, from Aladdin: Return of Jafar right through to the Professor rising from the grave or whatever at the end of X-Men 3, I have missed every exciting end-of-credits twist/epilogue/pointlessness.

Not this time!! I was pre-armed with teh knowledge!! I would wait until the credits were over and joyfully experience the final piece of the film to gloat smugly at the people who were ignorant as I used to be! Anyway, come the end of the film...

Longest. Credits. Ever.

I made my boyfriend and my three friends stay with me through every single recognition, from the Director right through to the Guy Who Makes Tea. We passed the eons speculating about what would happen, would the monster reappear, would the characters have survived, would it turn out to all be a dream as a result of an unfortunate mishap in the shower?

As the 11th minute of credits rolled onto the screen I got annoyed and muttered expletives and suggestions of IMDBing it later. The volume of my irritated voice just managed to drown out the precious words from the screen we had so eagerly (read involuntarily for my friends) awaited.

I was highly disappointed. My friends were mostly just angry.

And due to controversy over the actual dialogue, we still don't know what the fuckers said!!!
( Kitty v1.0 desperately naive, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 16:14, 4 replies)

‘Stick’ with me on this…

Right then, now this might exactly blow the ‘cool-o-meter’ of the scale, but in my spare time I am a collector of different types of tree sap. It’s fantastic stuff, and can be used to make maple syrup, herbal remedies, air fresheners etc- it has many more uses than just entombing fossilised mosquitoes for Jurassic Park purposes you know. I have shitloads of the stuff and keep it in jars, stored alphabetically in my garage. Oh, yes, I am ALL MAN I tell you.

Anyhoo, Although I don’t even know the proper name for a tree sap collector, my hobby has led me to having an interest in all things to do with nature and wildlife…and it was in this capacity that I recently went to watch ‘Bee Movie’ starring Jerry Seinfeld (amongst others).

Upon leaving the cinema I was approached by a rather attractive young lady who asked me if I would mind answering some questions on my opinions of the film, and as a thank-you I was to be entered into a prize draw whereby one of the stars of the movie would come to my house and be my guest, he or she would sign autographs etc, before escorting me in a chauffer-driven limousine to the Ivy restaurant in London whereby I would be treated to a slap-up dinner before going to see a West End show.

Suffice to say – I didn’t think I stood a cunt’s chance of winning, so you can imagine my surprise when I was called and informed that I was one of 6 people that had won! Woo etc! I was then placed in another draw to find out which movie star would be my guest etc. The list was…

Bee Guest:
A. Jerry Seinfeld
B. Renée Zellweger
C. John Goodman
D. Matthew Broderick
E. Chris Rock
F. Patrick Warburton

I could hardly breathe with excitement as the draw was made… (It was a conference call thing with the other 5 winners on the line). I wasn’t really bothered who I got so was overjoyed when it was revealed that I was going to see Guest D - Matthew Broderick.

As the big day approached, I thought of all the questions I would ask him…’What was it like filming Ferris Beuller?’, ‘Did you have creative input in Godzilla, and if so, why was it such utter armpit?’, and ‘What’s it like being married to a horse faced moomin-momma?’ (Actually, they were the only 3 questions I could think of!)

The day finally arrived and all my family were round my house waiting to catch a glimpse of Matthew. I was in my best suit and although I’m not normally star struck, the moment I heard the knock on my door I thought I was going to faint.

But of course, as these pages have shown, the anticipation never matches the experience. As I opened the door, there he was, dressed like a mong and looking miserable ‘Let’s get this thing fucking over with’ he said.

I introduced him to my family who politely asked for his autograph and were promptly told to cock off. He stayed for about 3 minutes before saying to me, ‘Right, let’s get to the restaurant you cuntbag’

I was crushed, I was desperate to show him my tree sap collection and impress him yet here he was...acting like a proper wankbasket. I wasn’t going to give up though; I filled my suit pockets with a couple of my favourite jars, just in case the conversation cropped up later.

The trip in the limousine was awful. Matthew didn’t even acknowledge me; he just sat sniffing lines of coke and downing scotch like it was water. I couldn’t believe that this was ‘night of my life’ I had looked forward to so much.

When we arrived at the restaurant, He went straight to the bar and didn’t wait for me to catch up with him. As we were informed our table was ready, he mooched over, spilling his drink before demanding that some other people give up their tables for him, because he said he was ‘worth more than these useless fuckers’. I was so embarrassed…and seething with anger.

As he sat down we were each presented with a massive steak and two razor sharp knives. As I fantasised about ramming my blade into the shortarsed cumsponge’s eyesocket, Matthew slipped with his knife, slicing through his arm and severing his arteries!

Everybody screamed, and Matthew slumped over the table unconscious as his bodyguard uselessly shat bricks.

‘Somebody call an ambulance’ I cried, in secret shame as I had wished for this to happen. As guilt overtook me, I thought about doing something to help him – any kind of first aid must be useful – the man was dying!

Suddenly remembering my knowledge on tree-sap and its possible healing properties, I reached into my pocket, pulled out a jar and smeared the gloop over his gaping wound as it pumped blood like piss from the veins.

Miraculously, before my very eyes, the wound began to heal. The bleeding stopped, the flesh began to re-appear and the skin began growing to accommodate where there had previously been just a hideous gory mess.

In just a few moments, it was as if the accident had never taken place and Matthew was fully healed and conscious. Not only that, he was sober and clean.

Fair play to him, he was quick to be thankful and apologise.

“I’m so sorry, I was such an asshole to you, and you saved my life!” He said, “How can I ever repay you?”

“Don’t worry about it”, I said, being humbly heroic.

We finished our meals and went to the show, but Matthew was a changed man. Keen to hear about my sap collection, bright, cheerful and generous, we had a fantastic time and became close friends. He has even paid to fly me in Hollywood, where I stayed at his and Sarah’s house where he took me out to see his A-list buddies and introduced me as his ‘saviour’.

The other day, I received a call from Matthew.

“Pooflake ol’ buddy” he said, “I can’t get over how great that stuff was that saved my life that day. You should bottle it and sell it as a miracle healer”

He was on to something…I had stumbled across something that could change mankind forever…and make me a fortune in the process! All that was missing was the name. I wanted to Include ‘Matthew Broderick’ in the naming of the creation but was advised against it by his lawyers. So I thought long and hard. What could I call it that somehow honoured my friend but didn’t name him?

…and then it came to me.

…

I called it ‘My Bee Guest ‘D’ Sap ointment’
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 30 Jun 2008, 15:56, 14 replies)

B3ta
Having been a long-term lurker (especially on QOTW) I have finally registered for B3ta, only to be disappointed.

What made me sign-up was the fantastic array of people you found on the site- genuine, funny, thought-provoking people and a refreshing lack of keyboard warriors. Pick any QOTW and you will find a dazzling array of touching and/or funny personal stories, entertaining tall tales, some seriously groan-inducing puns, sheer filth (I'm looking at you, Frank Spencer) and some interesting opinions and debate. And it's all great.

However, now that I've arrived there seems to be a small but persistent band of people that are determined to snipe, put other people down and be downright nasty. I'm thinking particularly of some the responses to the Asperger's related posts this week. Some the responses are malicious- there's no other way to describe it.

I'm sure most of the people here are fluffy and lovely, but I'm disappointed to find that B3ta isn't free of the kind of twats that populate most other message boards.
(I Was a Teenage Spaceship, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 15:54, 16 replies)

Oh Lord, won't you buy me...
...a Mercedes Benz.

No, actually, don't bother, because they are grossly overrated and drive exactly like every other car.

Granted, the seats are so comfortable that you run a serious risk of actually melting into them (especially with the 20 gigawatt seat heater burning your arse off), but to drive? It really was nothing special.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 15:52, 3 replies)

Vegetable camoflage
Out for a meal with a group of friends in Yates Wine Lodge in Bristol city centre prior to seeing Jasper Carrott in the Hippodrome.
I can't remember what I ordered but it included roast potatoes which I really like. Put them to one side of the plate to eat at the end. Down to the last one and as I bit into it found that it was a parsnip. I hate parsnips. My whole meal was ruined by one root vegetable.
(jvz, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 15:52, Reply)