Building site ineptitude
Alright, so this is a pearost, and the building site scenario is a tenuous link, but bugger it - I still laugh when I cast my mind back to Reg telling the tale in an Edinburgh pub (Greyfriars Bobby's Bar, to be exact).

The silly sod.

**********************************************

I have a friend who is a self employed builder. At the moment he's about half way through a massive renovation of a building in the wilds of Northumberland - the owner is a millionaire who wants some stables converting into a home. Nice.

Now, Reg is a lovely bloke, and gave another friend a labouring job, paying way above the going rate. All Brad had to do was help out, fetching and carrying, tidying up and assisting the other tradesmen, for which he received over a grand a month. Not bad at all, really.

Did I mention that this was in the wilds of Northumberland? I did? Good.

So anyway, one day Brad is asked to dispose of a bag full of spent shotgun cartridges - there's a lot of shooting goes on on the estate, and you don't really want spent shells lying all over the place. Especially as some of them might have been duds that hadn't gone off for some reason... Health & Safety and all that. No, no, you want to get rid of them in a safe and controlled manner, like burying them for example.

Brad, though, didn't. No, being the type of person who educated himself through watching TV, and the Open University in particular, he thought he knew everything about the disposal of ballistics, and wasn't going to listen to anyone regarding the proper and safe way to render them harmless. No, his way was best (honestly, if you ever met this bloke you'd know what I meant - decent feller, but you can't tell him anything).

So he emptied the bag full of shotgun cartridges onto an open fire...

When Reg heard the explosion, he wondered if there was some shooting going on, then realised that the noise was too close for that. Investigating, he saw Brad, still peering into the fire and wondering what the fuck has just happened. His eyebrows were totally singed off, nasal hair was gone and his fringe was just a tad on the crispy side.

The fact that he was still stood peering into the fire after this had happened tells you all you need to know about him really.

On another occasion he was asked to dispose of a door. Which he did, by throwing it onto a skip. A skip that was piled high with other assorted rubbish...

Apparently he watched, rooted to the spot as he threw the door onto the top of the pile, and continued to watch as it slid gracefully back towards him, before connecting heavily with his forehead and knocking him flat on his arse...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 7 Apr 2008, 12:33, 2 replies)

A bloke I know
goes shooting a lot. In fact, he told me the other day he'd spent £16k on shooting this season! Anyhow, one day a few years back (pre 9/11) he was flying out of Edinburgh airport and put his hand into the pocket of his jacket to find half a dozen live shotgun cartridges. Having already checked in by this point, he did the logical thing.

He dumped them in the nearest bin.

I can only imagine what would happen if he were to try that today!
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 7 Apr 2008, 13:31, closed)

Poor poor Brad...
A fountain of shite, bless him.
Now I have a really vivid picture of a chocolate fountain in my head, only it's not chocolate....
That's wrong.
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Tue 8 Apr 2008, 11:17, closed)