running with the beers
many years ago as a teenager I used to hitchhike to get to the shore in the summer. I was picked up once by two chaps and as I entered the back seat of the car and noticed about 100 empty beer cans on the floor of the back seat. As usual, I paid no attention to this and got happily in the back seat of the car. The fellows were obviously drunk. When the gentlemen drove through a toll booth without stopping to pay, I suddenly had a flash that perhaps this was not a good idea. I said "excuse me, you can let me out here", and they said, "why, we're not at the shore yet" and I said, "uh, I forgot something, let me out and yelled out a mightly scream. They stopped the car and I ran out, with my hitchiking career now over.
(bunchesup, Thu 3 Jan 2008, 4:31, Reply)

Crazy stunt!
You will hardly believe this but I once put butter on my toast. After the marmalade!!!

God! I am dangerously mad, me!
( Neffer Vossent rues the day, Thu 3 Jan 2008, 3:57, Reply)

almost forgot this one
a few years ago, me and my best friend went out for a quiet drink. we went to the local, where we ran into a couple of lads we know. all is going fine and we are having a good time.
come chucking-out time, we decide we haven't had enough to drink just yet, so we get a carry-out from the pub and head back to my mate's bedsit.
gloss over the next 6 hours, the fight and hearing 2 of my mates going at it like rabbits, and we reach 8 a.m the next morning.
it's now time for us to leave, so we head for the front door.
which is locked and bolted.
my friend's neighbour leo had the key but, as we'd had a disagreement* with him a few hours earlier, he'd decided to lock himself in his room and refuse to answer us. we checked all the windows, which were likewise locked. the small panes of glass meant that breaking the windows wouldn't do us much good.
that's when i had my great idea: we'd kick the back door open and climb over the garden wall! brilliant!
we got the door open o.k, but the wall was a different matter. my mates, who were all wearing trainers, had no trouble getting over the wall. i, on the other hand, was wearing 2-inch heeled court shoes and a skirt, not to mention the fact that i'm a fair bit plumper than my mate.
after 5 minutes i was lying flat on top of the wall, clinging on for dear life.
"swing your legs round, i'll catch you" says one of the lads. this sounded like a fine idea, so i swung my legs around and kicked him in the side of the head. this left him dizzy and me hanging off the wall.
i did the only thing i could do: i let go.
my chin hit the top of the wall, skinning itself instantly. both my arms sustained deep scratches all the way down them, due to being used as temporary airbrakes. my knees gouged themselves into the wall, one turning red as it left its skin behind, the other turning green as it picked up a coating of wall moss. i landed cross-legged in the alleyway behind the house, like a seriously injured and dazed buddha.
strange thing is, it didn't hurt until we got to the cafe round the corner and i tried to clean myself up. then it stung like fuck.

*massive fight

length? about 2 weeks to heal and i still haven't lived it down.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 3 Jan 2008, 2:56, Reply)

Zen and the Art of Vista Eating My Nokia
Hello All, sad techie tale of doom..

Lost my phone over xmas so treated myself to a nokia n95 8gb at lunchtime.

Installed the software (which IS vista compatible)

Ran the updater, like you do.

Downloaded the updated software for the fone and it proceeds to munch my nice new phone to death with it. Yey!

Cue grumpy Bolivar at shop tommorow.

BTW Thought "Ah" will install said software on my XP install and save the day coz obviously it dosnt REALLY like vista.

Cue installation of said software munching my xp install to death...

Im starting to think this is on a par with me almost killing myself hang gliding...
Ive always taken this piss out of danger sports much as ive taken the piss out of ppl with silly expensive toys in their pockets and yet again when I fall into these ways Disaster Awaits!!

Pretty sure that the sale of goods act allows me to cancel said agreement from yesterday and Im off to get a 10 quid fone from tescos on pay-as-you-talk...God Im a twat.
(Bolivar, Thu 3 Jan 2008, 0:37, 3 replies)

Well, it's not a dumb thing I've done...
more a dumb thing my parents have said, repeatedly.

I'm English, from England, but for this year I am studying in Oklahoma, USA. Not one, not twice, but indeed thrice I have been asked by my dear, dim parents whether summer in Oklahoma happens at the same time as summer in England (and likewise with winter).

The first time, I patiently explained that since the USA and England are both in the northern hemisphere, the seasons are the same.

The second time, I was incredulous and once again explained the venerable relationship between hemisphere and season. I also made a point of saying 'I told you this a couple of weeks ago'.

The third time, exasperated, I resorted to the Simpsons classic: '...and hot snow falls up'.
(Stu Moo winner of five nobble piece prizes, Thu 3 Jan 2008, 0:35, Reply)

My eating is horribly dodgy.
I seem to do this every time and I never learn...

Being always hungry can be rather expensive (But I stay thin due to my wonderfully great body =D).

However, I always seem to go into the kitchen in the morning after a large meal, in which a chicken has been left out on the counter.

EVERY SINGLE TIME:

Get knife.

Get bread

Get butter

Slice chicken that's been left out over night.

Place on buttered bread.

Eat.

Wait for a few hours, "ooh, I feel kinda sick."

Go to the bathroom, do not pass go, do not collect £200.

Hurl.

Hurl again, repeat for about 2 days.

Yea... I keep poisoning myself, but the sandwiches taste great.
(Maccy Divided by 0 on, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 23:44, 4 replies)

cuts n bruises
As a four year old I once climbed up onto a high windowsill, slipped and cut my chin open. Not to worry, I was visiting my ill grandfather in hospital at the time.

When I was about seven I was looking out of the window into the garden one night when I was called for tea. I had gone up inside the curtains, so I ducked back down and smacked my eye on the radiator. Tiny cut, much blood, multi coloured bruise.

Kids can be daft, or was it just me?
(randomstupidname would really like this signature field to be bigge, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 23:38, Reply)

Emergency services abused
Many years ago, I wasn't at school so I'd have been four or so, the house across the road was ablaze quite badly. A few days prior to this, the lad down the road from the pikey family had taught me and the lad next door a few words.

Cue me, hanging out of the upstairs sash window, shouting at full volume, telling the fucking bastard ambulances to fuck off, and the fucking bastard fire engines, and the fucking bastard policemen. Cue mother running in, dragging me away from the window, asking me what on earth I was doing. I replied, through tears and sniffles in genuine innocence that I was "only telling the fucking bastard ambulances to fuck off". Wallop.

One of my most vivid early memories. And no, they stayed, despite my insistance that they left.
(randomstupidname would really like this signature field to be bigge, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 23:37, 1 reply)

in my younger years...
necked a huge rap of what i believed to be finest 'phet, which turned out to be phet and ket that some fool had mixed together to see 'how fucked up a 16 year old can get'. With a stomach full of just lager.

The resulting vomiting, dry heaves, visions and inability to sleep any of it off still makes me wonder why i did those kinds of things back then.
(shamen Geekius Maximus, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 23:14, Reply)

Caffeine
Eating 18 pro-plus in one go was probably a bad idea. Queue a night of teh fear, panic, shakes, and very little sleep.
(ramrod_newell had his hair brushed at, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 22:23, Reply)

Falling over with high heels on
#1 Chickenlady at 13
Dressed up in my finest New Romantic clothes I was walking into town with my mother. This involved going through an underpass which, being an underpass, had a sloping floor.

Me, being a 13 year old style conscious New Romantic (ha! that's an oxymoron if ever I heard it!) was wearing my beloved burgundy red pixie boots which had very, very smooth soles.

I slipped over, no surprise there. I was surprised however when I managed to successfully wind myself and was unable to move or breathe at all.

My mother stood by and laughed, people walked past and sniggered.

I however remained on the ground, heaving desperately for air whilst my white cotton schoolgirl knickers were on show to all and sundry.

#2 Chickenlady the young mother
As many of you know I have twin boys who are now 10 years old. When they were tiny chicks I was a very active member of my local Twins and Multiples club - handy for discounts in local shops - sadly not Off Licenses.

I was invited by the local radio station to go on air to do an interview all about having twins because the club was celebrating its tenth birthday.

So I left the babies with grandparents and trekked off to the studios. And me, being me, was running late.

I had trouble finding a car park nearby, but finally succeeded in locating an NCP right next to the studios. I jumped out, locked the car up and began to run across the tarmac in the direction of the local radio station....

while wearing high heeled sandals...and a long tight skirt....

Did I mention the tarmac was cracked and had large potholes in it?

I tripped, put my hand out to save myself and it made contact with someone's car. I had my car keys still in my hand at the time. I keyed the car rather badly. I also twisted my foot rather badly.

I limped to the studios all the time cursing myself for setting out late.
I was nearly in tears - from pain? Oh no.
I was nearly in tears because I was missing my moment of glory - the moment when the wonderful Barbara Sturgeon would recognise my radio talent and insist I take over from her. She would step down from her position as the leading light of Radio Kent and hand over the show to me, Chickenlady.

I reached the studios...they were on the first floor. There didn't appear to be any lift. I limped and hopped up twenty-odd stairs every step a step closer to fame and more pain.

I announced myself and was ushered in to the studio, given headphones and had the interview.

Somewhere a recording of this interview exists - I've never heard it myself, but apparently I sounded a little "odd".

I don't remember any of it.

I had to be taken to hospital afterwards.

I'd broken three bones in my foot and was in plaster for the next six weeks.

#3 Chickenlady and the Geese
Two years ago I received two pet geese for Christmas from the now ex Mr Chickenlady. I loved my geese and they're still going strong, but sadly they live with him and not me.

Anyway, Boxing Day saw us visiting my parents for lunch, presents and rather a lot of mulled wine, Champagne, whiskey and of course plenty of chocolate liqueurs.

At around 6 o'clock it was dark and I was slightly 'tired and emotional' (okay, I was pissed) but the geese still had to be put to bed.

*Agricultural Note*
Chickens roost and therefore will put themselves into their house as soon as dusk falls - they still need to have the door of their house closed behind them to stop the local fox, but they do go to bed without bother.

Geese don't.

Geese, like most animals, won't go in anywhere if it's dark, so a torch has to be shone on the open door of their house so they know where to go and that it's safe.

(This has nothing to do with the story).

Anyway...

As I'd only just got the geese their enclosure was a quickly erected chickenwire fence which linked up to a wooden picket type fence - no gate, so it required climbing over.

No stile.

No...in true rustic style two upturned plastic buckets were used as steps up to get over the fence.

As it was Boxing Day I was wearing a lovely new pair of very high heeled boots and a smart mini skirt.

Usually I would have at least put on wellies to go shut up the animals...but I was pissed.

Oh, and another thing...goose poo is has all the viscosity of axle grease.

Can you see where this is going?

I didn't.



Picket fence posts are very pointy.

The bruise started just above the back of my knee and went all the way up to my backside.

An inch or so to the left and I would have been forced to marry the fence.

Couldn't walk properly for a few days and sitting down was agony.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 22:22, 3 replies)

wondered...
...What do my feet look like when i run really fast?

Answer:

Looking down + running fast + Lampost

= Hospital
( Supersam11 Can I go on the slides please?, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 21:59, 2 replies)

smelt a fart...
...underwater!
( Supersam11 Can I go on the slides please?, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 21:56, Reply)

Me.
Aged about 3.

Plate glass window door into kitchen.

In my mind - what happens if you push the glass REALLY hard.

Answer. Huge scary fuckoff BANG and the door shatters into a million pieces.
(this was the '70s, so the door was ordinary glass, not nice safe glass like now)

One of my earliest memories is standing, naked, surrounded by seemingly endless shards of glass and crying for my mum cos I'm scared by the bang, and also scared of my mum who is shouting at me 'DON'T MOVE!!!!' and just generally wondering what the fuck was happening.

Not a scratch on me by some incredible miracle - but surrounded by glass no-one could quickly get to me, hence my mum screaming at me to stay still in my oasis of safety in an ocean made of glass.

My mum told me when I was all growed-up that she was equally scared shitless at what had happened and amazed I was ok.
(inflateable, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 21:47, Reply)

Stupidest thing I've done
was to come back to work for Zee Germans.

I've just been informed that next Friday is my last day here. I'm being laid off again.

FUCKSOCKS.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 2 Jan 2008, 21:26, 4 replies)

Ran into a brick wall playing indoor football in PE.
Destroyed my knee.
Got top marks out of pity. RESULT!

But for two months I had to waddle about with my leg splinted from thigh to ankle, wearing long skirts because my leg wouldn't fit into trousers. Wrecked the other knee compensating because the hospital didn't give me crutches. Plus, I was asked five times a day, "You're in highest maths, yet you ran into a brick wall?" YES THANKS FOR REMINDING ME I HAVE NO MOTOR SKILLS.

Still have to wrap up my knees when I play football :(

LOL, girl playing football
( KersaI Missive Free Michael Shields! with Monday's Liverpool Echo, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 21:10, 1 reply)

I'm Blonde so I guess it's expected
I generally do fairly stupid stuff anyway.
Nothing major sticks out, simply because I can't remeber anything since I'm too busy thinking about bright colours
A few include:

1) Wondering what would happen if you overdosed on laxatives
2) Saying I want to get a motorbike as we tell my grandmother my uncle just died in a motorcycle accident (Immediately regretted it must be said)
3) Mopping up my drunken sickness with my favorite top
4) Almost killing my boyfriend with a concuction of out of date archers and cheap champagne.
5) Hitting myself with a necklace and being incredibly suprised when I discovered it hurt.
6) Climbing over a live electric fence... which resulted in me flying across a pig sty into a pile of mud.
7) Still have that slight belief that my toys are alive.
8) Cycling along a beach path, heading towards the pebbles....flew straight over the handle bar.

And generally acting very slow, not learning from my mistakes and all that hoo hah.

I like to think I amuse people none the less.
(Ellytots Last thought of chocolate on, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 21:01, 1 reply)

Hmmmm pizza!
I once let myself get really fat - didn't get a shag for ages.
( girlinthehole, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 20:13, 11 replies)

Testicle stories?
I got one for ya.

A guy who worked in the surveying department of one of my former companies had a second job as a bartender at one of the local restaurants. As it should be, there was a rule that only the bartender was allowed behind the bar, as the space is rather crowded.

So one busy night Scott goes back to the kitchen to get a rack of clean glasses and comes racing through behind the bar, holding the rack in front of him, unfortunately- for had he been able to see past it he would have noticed the waitress crouched down getting something from the small refrigerator under the bar.

The top of the refrigerator door was about three feet off the floor.

Scott woke up in the hospital, having been catapulted over the top of the waitress from the impact and having to have the crushed testicle removed. It was a few days before he returned to work.

When he did he found a note that I left beneath an unwrapped Atomic Fireball that denoted said piece of candy as "Spare parts".

Funny, he never said anything to me about that...

(picture of said candy is here.)
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 2 Jan 2008, 19:44, 1 reply)

New Year's Eve
At a mate's house, amongst the burly men that were present, (okay, geeky chaps with no girls around) it was decided that my mate and I were the most sober. Therefore the fireworks should be our responsibility.

We ripped open the packaging, scoffing at the instructions in favour of using our 'common sense'.

So we plonk the long wooden part of the rockets in the wet grass, light the first rocket, then leg it.

As the fuse burns away, the host of the soiree turns to us and enquires:
"Hey, did you put the cylinder in the ground?"

"What cylin-"

KABOOOOOOOOOM

"-Cough- Oh, that cylinder"
(tarbin tarbis, tarbit, tarbamus, tarbimus, tarbant, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 19:26, 1 reply)

Not dumb, very funny but not me - though I was there
The testicle story reminded me.

In my late teens a friend had the unfortunate operation of having a testicle removed.

The group of close mates went to see him in hospital, not because we were concerned but more we were curious - how do you balance now?

Thankfully one of the gang had foresight, took a pool ball along to offer a replacement.

Was very funny when the the aforementioned potential replacement bounced off the head of the donor.

Brief but to the point - or to the rounded bit!
(ElGatodeBarco, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 19:24, 3 replies)

Oh, fucksticks.
I did it _again_.
( gone, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 19:00, 2 replies)

Not mine...
however, I am sat here once again my with noggin perspiring lost memories.

Twas a while back that we were sat in Geography GCSE, back of the class. Now this being the 90's it was mixed abilities, well I say mixed but really there was some what of a chasm - this included a chap called Warren, nice pleasant chap, looked about 30 and tended to communicate by grunting or body odour.

Now this unfortunate soul had what is known as a twisted ball sack (I looked it up - that is the technical term) I think he did it on the field playing football or falling over trying to eat grass, one or the other...

Anyway he was too embarassed to tell anyone, so he ignored it... for 3 days. Not he, but his mate Nigel told us, that eventually he plucked up the courage to tell an elder - as it had got to the size of a decent grapefruit - and purple.

He was rushed to A&E, where they did a relativly simple operation, and removed his left testical!!!

Yep, waiting and being embarassed lost him a ball - although actually, not a great deal shall be lost from the gene pool if he should be left infertile, infact I hope so....

(My cousin had the same thing happen - told his mum - quick flick of the surgeons knife and all was dandy!)

Dumb - rather helpful though!
(feedingtimeatthezoo day 1 of his bikini diet started, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 18:41, 1 reply)

Corridor rugby
Corridor rugby has been a big hit with us at school. Being very silly sixteen-year-old boys, the frantic tumble and the huge bloody pile-ups in a corridor not much more than a yard and a half wide really were our idea of an evening well spent (mostly those evenings when our resident overlords spent engaging in activities other than faithful supervision of their charges). School knew about our proclivities but never particularly bothered as nobody really ever got hurt and quite obviously there are things you just can't police effectively. It was, in other words, a time of bliss.

Fast forward to New Year's Eve of a not-so-recent year. As a sort of coming-of-age thing, I was left to organise a new year's party in our countryside house, sans parents of course. Cue bouts of music I'd be embarrassed for these days, drinking habits we'd certainly be ashamed of (for some reason, we thought that the two-per-person limits on Don the Beachcomber style Zombies was basically there for those of weaker dispositions - never mind that in terms of alcohol at least, most of us still had considerable parts of their virginity) and lots of general nonsense. In a moment of exuberant intoxication, someone beheld the Harbinger of Doom on the lawn outside: manifesting itself as a football, apparently.

Cue the six of us all falling into the eerie silence and eyes catching. Cue the ladies realising that in a minute, there will be bloodshed as sure as anything, and deciding to stay away from it if at all possible. Cue one of us - really, no-one can remember specifics of this kind anymore, and even if we would, we wouldn't intentionally entertain reminiscences of that sort for long - fetching the ball. Cue scrummage in the nearest corridor. Cue suddenly several things happening at one time: first, the 'ball, though whatever twist of fate, flying all over the place, knocking down a painting or two on its way. Second, our side breaking loose. Third, me flying hands-first into the window at the end of the corridor and shattering it into a million little pieces.

Result? As the surgeon said, I was a lucky bastard. The piece of glass lodged in my left wrist stopped millimetres from a major blood vessel and some nerves. My parents were less happy about the whole story. And none of the girls ever went to a party with any of us again. Which is a shame, some of them were fairly sweet.

Length? A bit short of an inch.
(adelie discovered the joys of a board sig on, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 17:56, 4 replies)

cheese: the natural enemy of the throat
At the age of fifteen like most lads I was severely lacking in maturity, one of the infinite ways this manifested itself was school lunch eating competition.

the challenge: how few bites can you eat a cheese sandwich in? for weeks the record stood at two, held by me of course. When I was tied for first place I had to do one better (oh fuck off I'm a man I cant help it) and tried to finish a sandwich in one bite.

I slooooooowly pushed a whole sandwich into my mouth, pausing halfway through to allow my saliva to soak in. Mistaking this for failure a member of my audience shouted "he needs some encouragement!!" and punched me in the face forcing the entire sandwich into my mouth and a large slice of cheese into my windpipe.


"nnngh" I couldn't breathe. I ran to the toilets and threw up but it was no good, the offending lump was stuck fast. Are you ok my friends did ask , but i could only clutch my throat and make feeble wheezing sounds.

they ran for the most qualified medical professional available, a dinnerlady. She was apprehensive about going in the boys toilets "he'd better be really ill" i herd her though the door. At the same time my lungs were on fire and with every gasp i felt more and more lightheaded, with nothing left to lose i poked a finger down my throat and hoped for the best.

In my mind all i could think about was that I would die on the floor of the toilets a virgin in dirty pants The local news headlines "local teen dies in horrific sandwich accident"

"boy, 15 charged with manslaughter by dairy, consoled only by 1st place ranking in school eating contest"

"local man fails to heed warning about waring clean pants in case of death "

With one desperate heave I spat out the lethal cheddar chunk and collapsed. My mates burst in and found me lying on the floor surrounded by cheesy sick, wighter than casper gasping for breath like 120 a day fag hound.

I survived.

the next day I came in with very finely grated cheese sandwiches and won the contestby taking the one bite record. Woo me.
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 17:34, 1 reply)

Cracked head at school
So it was morning break time at my school and I had arranged to meet a friend for some reason I cannot quite remember. I was 17 at the time. Anyway, instead of going to meet this friend straight away I got bogged down playing cards with some other people in the classroom that I had my pre-break class in. I then remember I had to meet this friend and realised that I had hardly any time left. So I got up and sprinted out of the classroom and into the corridor. I was going at full speed because there wasn't much time left. This corridor was quite a short one and at the end I had to turn right though a set of doors to get to the stairwell. However, due to my speed there was no way I could make the corner so instead of doing the smart thing and slowing down I decided to keep my speed up and wall jump round the corner. This would have worked perfectly except I'm about 6ft and the height of the door was about 7ft and I can jump well above 1ft normally not to mention using a wall. So, of course, I smash my head into the corner of the door frame. One of the most painful things that has ever happened to me. Everyone around me starts staring at me in shock but me being me I decide to play it cool. I stand up, give the onlookers a grin and set of walking to locate my friend. What I didn't realise is that the impact split my scalp and blood was pouring profusely out of my head. This however came to light as I walked out into the main courtyard of my school. First a few little kids spotted me and started screaming. So then everyone in the courtyard (about 200 people) turns to see what the fuss was about. Well normally I look pretty damn intimidating (relatively long black hair, black trench coat, scowl) but the sight of me with blood pouring down my face caused a little mass hysteria. On hindsight it was rather funny. The good news was that I found the friend I was meant to be meeting, he was the one that took me to hospital.
(Deibido, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 17:04, Reply)

I fixed an electric fence.
When I was out walking one day I found a rusted old electric fence unit hanging on an old post, obviously abandoned. Being the freak that I am, I took the thing home with me.

Upon opening the thing I noted a wire that was loose. Inspection showed a blob of solder that had no wire, so I stripped off the insulation and re-soldered it.

As it was the sort that runs on a 6V battery, I looked around my room and noticed a 6V transformer and did a quick ghetto-rig on it. I flicked the switch on the unit and this little wheel thingy started rotating and bouncing against a small contact.* Puzzled, I picked up the unit to take a closer look, and turned it over in my hands as I did so.

And no, I didn't notice the little terminal sticking out from the bottom until I had my hand on it. Full dose of zap from one hand to the other, causing my pulse to go WHOOMP.

My arms hurt for days.

*for the technical geeks out there: the wheel thingy was interrupting the current from the battery to power the transformer that makes the zap. You have to have a collapsing magnetic field to make a transformer work, which is fine with alternating current- but that trick doesn't work with direct current, so you have to break the current by means of a buzzer or some other device. The wheel thingy was the other device. I worked all of this out after I stopped screaming.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 2 Jan 2008, 16:58, 4 replies)

New shower Gel
As per usual I got some new shower gel from mother for xmas.
I thought I'd give it a try out a few days ago.
Whilst lathering up I thought Hmm this smells a bit minty....
Next thing I know..
MY BALLS ARE ON FIRE WITH THE BURNING PAIN OF A THOUSAND RED HOT PINS!
Always read the lable first kids and if it says envigorating shower gel the don't get it on your danglies!
( M o D, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 16:43, 10 replies)

Just a few minutes ago
I almost set fire to my girlfriend's office.

Sitting in a leather chair, trying to discover a paper jam in the printer, I moved the fleible part of my light so it shone directly into the printer...and forgot about it.

Leather chairs do not like direct contact with hot light bulbs
(bamboozled Can hear you getting fatter, Wed 2 Jan 2008, 16:40, Reply)