PhD: No guarantee of intelligence
Was doing some research over the summer with a PhD student to do with boiling of propane.

We were doing a preliminary experiment, boiling a column of water and staring at bubbles. (this story is getting exciting already...)

We decided that the quickest way to demonstrate a certain type of boiling was to heat a pocket of water using a hot wire. But how to heat the wire?

Bare, uninsulated wire, straight into the mains, then into a column of water.

Bye bye health & safety. Fortunately, glad to see my eyebrows are still around.
(tarbin tarbis, tarbit, tarbamus, tarbimus, tarbant, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 16:00, Reply)

Park Life
Probably the stupidest thing I have done to myself, or at least that I can remember...

back in the day when terrorism was something that only existed in Tom Clancy Novels and Christmas wasn't an offensive word I would spend my days after school (or before school, or even during school) in a little park not far from where I lived, it was a fairly basic park, a swing set, a climbing frame, a slide, that sort of thing. Being the age of 16 and so not old enough to do the normal thing and get drunk on white lightning (my family didn't leave that stuff hanging around sadly) the only thing to really do was life risking stunts on the various bits of playground equiptment. The favourite by far was the swing acrobatics, we would go full swing and backflip off (from a seated possition, basicly imagine falling off the swing backwards and going all the way round landing on your feet), pretty impressive at first but once we got that hang of it we needed to step things up, so began backflips standing up where we would hold onto the chain and flip in full swing and land on the seat, but soon even this bored us and the next level was introduced.

standing on the swing holding onto the top bar we attempted to kick the swing over the crossbar and at the same time backflip away from the swing. in theory it was good, so being the pioneer of swing acrobatics I attempt it, stand on swing, hold onto crossbar, start swinging, kick swing back, leg go of crossbar, backflip land safely on my feet... no wait rewind a step... let go of crossbar as i am about horizontal to said crossbar, fall 8 feet to the concrete ground... break arm...

ouch... and you may be thinking, well thats a bit stupid... but the stupidness has yet to even begin, you see not learning from fast mistakes (and infact not knowing my arm was broken and dealing with the pain like a man) a week later I was back in the park and explaining to cohorts why the stunt went wrong and demonstrating how to do it properly... stand on swing, hold onto crossbar, realise left arm hurts too much to hold onto crossbar with, hold onto crossbar with only right arm, start swinging, kick swing back, let go of crossbar backflip and land perfectly... no you guessed it, let go... horizontal. 8 foot fall, floor. ouch... and now I had 2 broken arms...

my mother who had been absent during this time had come back from holiday and dragged me to the hospital to find out that both my wrists were shattered... cue 8 weeks of being unable to wank...

sorry for length, i think it grew in them 8 weeks though
(That Random Guy, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 16:00, Reply)

roidin thur traaaactor
As a 14 year old I used to work on a farm at the weekends, doing (literally) shitty jobs and helping out in the slaughterhouse sorting out piles of still-warm and twitching cow guts.

This particular story is out on the fields though, so some pubescent slaughterhouse stories some other time perhaps.

The farm was a very small holding and the equipment was pretty damn old. They had one tractor which looked like it was built in the 50's and looks pretty much like this:

www.hpj.com/wsdocs/ffa/images/News/shane_blaes_old_tractor.jpg

Imagine it with inflated tyres, painted grey and with a sack instead of a seat and you're there.

The farmer was a smug cunt who I hated, but he also paid my wages (50p an hour in 1984 CUUUUUUUNT). He said he had a job for me to do and would I like to drive the tractor?

OH YES PLEASE, SIR!

So he drove this heap of shit into the yard, attached a scary-looking trailer to it and pulled up outside the cowshed. He handed me a shovel, pointed first to the floor then to the trailer and said, "this shit - in there". 2 hours later, the trailer was full of shit (much like the farmer) and I went to fetch him.

"Grand job lad" he said. "Now you get to drive the tractor".

So he drove it out into the entrance to the field and parked up. He then explained that my job would be to drive the tractor up and down the field, muck-spreading - for the scary-looking tractor was a mechanical muckspreader.

Now I don't know if anyone is familiar with these things, but it is basically a huge conveyor belt that moves the shit slowly towards the rear of the trailer, where scary-looking rotating prongs flick the crap out to the rear. The whole contraption works through the movement of the wheels.

As I had never driven a combustion-engine driven vehicle before, he showed me what to do.

"See that pedal there lad? Press that if you want to go faster. That pedal there? Press that down if you want to stop."

Seemed pretty straightforward and I did a 100 yard test run to check I understood the concept. He seemed happy, opened the gate and sent me on my merry way, me beaming from ear to ear on my very own tractor, flicking cow shit to the four winds.

The field was on the side of a hill and the first part was up, so I ascended the incline, pressing the "GO" pedal. The ancient old engine roared and I headed up the hill, looking back at my bovine dung fountain. As I reached the top, I hit the "STOP" pedal and slowed down, to do a U turn and head back down the hill.

Off I went again, little smiling Dixon shit flicker.

As I descended the hill, the tractor started picking up speed and I noticed this was causing the shit to flick higher and higher, so I hit the "STOP" pedal. This however caused the tractor to speed up further - so in a panic I tried the other pedal, which made the engine roar and gave more speed. At this point the tractor was going so fast it was causing the shit to be flicked violently and was going over my head, up my back, in my hair, behind my ears, with me all the while pushing pedals and pulling levers like the first chimp in space having a panic attack. I reached the bottom of the hill and it levelled off and the "STOP" pedal worked again.

I had to go through this "Up the hill, engine roaring, down the hill 'jester in the stocks being pelted by dung'" process another 5 times until the trailer was empty.

When I got back to the gate, the farmer was waiting for me with a bright red face and tears in his eyes from laughing. I got off the tractor and I looked like fucking yin and yang.

Later when I started to learn to drive properly and was slightly wiser, I realised the "STOP" pedal which he had showed me was in fact, the clutch.
( Dixipoos Bye Bye Blackbird, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:55, 6 replies)

I was about 6 at the time
My Gran left me in the car all by myself. Always wondered how the cigarette lighter worked so pushed it in and waited, couple seconds later it popped and was all ready. I pulled the lighter bit out and it was glowing red, "wonder if its hot" I thought to myself while putting my finger on it. The answer was yes.

It wasnt a gentle tap either, it was a full on lets push this hard. I now have a very strange fingerprint on that finger
(Long time lurker, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:55, 8 replies)

The stupidest thing I ever did..?
But it turned out all right (so that's spoiled the suspense for you).

A few years ago, I quit my job and decided to go backpacking around central America. I booked a flight with Lufthansa and then bought of copy of the Lonely Planet guide, which is obviously all you need to traverse the globe when you're young and optimistic. Come the day, I hopped on my flight to Frankfurt (to transfer to Mexico City), only for delays to mean I missed by conection and was given the option of flying that day (viz Chicago) or staying in Frankfurt overnight. I flew straight away.
After yet more delays in Chicago, I finally arrived in Mexico City at about 2am only to find that my luggage was all still in Frankfurt. Moreover, the entire airport was shut down for the night and I had no way of converting my travellers cheques to money to get a hotel.
There I was - 7000 miles from home, lost, with no money. I wanted my mummy.
As I stood looking forlord, the mexican bloke I'd been sitting next to on the flight from Chicago walked over. "Are you okay?", he said.
I told him what was wrong and he shrugged. "That's okay. I have a spare room. Come and sleep at my house."

I'd got into his car with him and his friend and we'd driven off into the night before I realised what I'd just done. As we left the lit central areas of Mexico City and vanished into the darkness of the barrio, it struck me that I could well never be seen again. I wasn't just 7000 miles from home and pennliess. I was 7000 miles from home, penniless, in a complete stranger's car speeding into the back streets of one of the most dangerous cities on earth. I nearly shat myself right there and then.
We eventually stopped and got out. The two flanked me into a house and showed me to a little room with a small bed in it. "You can sleep here!", they said. Was there an evil leer as they said it? I thought so, so I wedged a chair under the doorhandle.
Fearful, I slept badly. As the sun was rising at about 6am I realised that someone was trying to get into my room. The handle was rattling but the door wouldn't open as I'd wedged it. Like the coward I am, I hid under my bedsheets until it stopped.

Eventually I got up the courage to get up and peek outside.

Sitting outside the room, neatly piled, was all my luggage. My host had got up at the crack of dawn and driven back to the airport and collected my bags for me off the next flight.

I felt like such a shit. I'd been obviously scared and mistrustful, and this bloke was indeed a genuinely kind and generous man. I took him to breakfast and he showed me his city. I got his address and promised to keep in touch. I'd send him Christmas cards and gifts, such was my gratitude (and embarrassment at being an untrusting jerk). We'd be friends forever.

I kept all my papers and stuff in a bag inside my clothes for the duration of my stay in Mexico so I wouldn't be robbed.
Then, on the way home, when I thought it was safe, I had my pocket picked in Frankfurt airport and lost the lot.
And somewhere, in the back streets of Mexico City, there's a bloke who I not only offended by not trusting him but who presumably also now thinks I'm a twat because he never got the cards and gifts I promised.
(davywavy, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:49, Reply)

Today.
Today I am meant to be flying back to birmingham for christmas. I've been sleeping quite late the past week because I haven't had much to do. Last night I went down the pub for some farewell drinks, nothing heavy just a few pints. I awoke and looked at my clock and saw that It was 4. Better get packing I thought. I rammed all my clothes into a bag and packed my laptop and proceeded on my way, even remembering to empty the flat bin on my way out. Walking to the bus stop I found something was amiss. Aberdeen Isn't usually this quiet at 5 in the afternoon. Where's the cars? the people? Why was the woman outside m&s smoking a cig looking at me strangely? I get to the bus stop and realise something is definitely wrong the pubs are shut, so is the bus depot. I look at the time on the matrix board in the bus stop 05:10, a wave of confusion goes through me. I look at my phone and the time is the same. I rattle through my phone menus to make sure it's set to 24 hour mode. It is. I grumpily saunter back home and back to bed cursing myself for being a craven imbecile.
( Slippery Mick ‏, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:45, 1 reply)

I'm a junkie.................
I had two finance exams the other week (3 hours a-piece) and due to recent time constraints had to cram like buggery to get up to speed in a few days.

To relieve the tension, I decided it would be OK to have a nice relaxing spliff the night before each exam. That turned into getting reasonably stoned every night that week.

How did it turn out? Not too bad (I think), we'll find out in February when the results come out......
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:45, 1 reply)

Hoovering the fire
I was in a hurry to get all the housework done last night, as my wife goes bananas if she comes in late and everything isnt done.

I'd already lit the woodburner, and was hoovering the ashes from the hearth. I opened the burner door and hoovered some ashes from the edge that were about to drop.

Some red hot embersw whoosed up the tube, but I thought nothing of it and carried on blithely.

A minute later I smelt a nasty burning smell - of course! hot embers on a bed of dry dust with a strong air flow over them. A sort of miniature blast furnace!

Oh dear, red sparks flying out the air vents, and a nasty nasty lingering smell.

I havent checked the hoover yet, I think its OK.
I had a cigar to cover the smell, the gruppenfuhrer is none the wiser.

Oops
(Christopher Martin-Jenkins, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:43, 4 replies)

Fun with electricity
One day I decided it would be a good idea to dismantle my sister's beloved tape deck in order to nick the motor. Why? Because my parents were too hard up to buy me a proper Lego motor to go with all the Lego Technic kit I'd accumulated by collecting cereal box tokens (true story...*sniff*).

With some ingenuity, I then managed to build this into an amazing battery-powered Lego car-type-thing of my own design, complete with adjustable gears. Top stuff.

The dumb part?

"Hmm...I wonder if I can make the car faster by connecting it directly to the mains?"

wires + mains cable = BANG

I was sat there for what seemed like an age afterwards, looking at my soot-blackened fingers and trembling slightly. Partly from shock, but also partly from the dawning realisation that I now had to explain to my sister why the motor from her tape recorder was fried, and its cable melted...
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:40, Reply)

oww
I broke my right hand this weekend, doing something stupid.

I am a computer programmer and a close up magician. (Cant do any magic for the next month, and it's painful to type)

EDIT TO EXPLAIN
Been going through a bit of a bad time at the moment, and I can be a drink sozzled idiot at the best of times. Bumped into my ex about 3 am after having a pretty good night out for a change. An argument started and I struck a wall in frustration as I walked home afterwards.

Like I said, stupid and not brag-worthy anyway. I have felt like a moron all week. Time to snap out of this methinks.
(oeb, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:37, 5 replies)

Shirley Bindun?
When planning to decorate our bedroom, we'd decided to get nice new sockets and light-switches to finish the 'look'. Being home-alone, I couldn't shout at the missus to turn the leccy on and off as I swapped and tested all the new bits & pieces.

Not being an electrician, I was up & down the stairs a silly number of times. Leccy off, change switch, leccy on, test light etc etc. it can get a bit confusing....

I applied my trusty screwdriver to the back of the socket in firm belief that I'd just turned off the electricity at the mains. I hadn't.

I awoke (thankfully) on the opposite side of the room some undetermined period of time later, whereupon the tip of my trusty 'driver was melted into a blob and the arm holding it felt all tingly for a good ten minutes.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:36, 1 reply)

Wasps and Beetroot...
I used to live in the Wilds of Herefordshire and its no exaggeration when they used to say (proudly) 'Herefordshire born and bred, strong in the arm, thick in the head'

One of the guys who played crib with my ex husband had issues with a growing wasp nest outside his front door.

Inspired by my then husband's tale of how I ridded the house of pesky flies (they used to hibernate in the thick walls in the winter, and hundreds used to reappear on warm spring days) by hoovering up the filthy little buggers with my hoover (it gave me a perverse sense of satisfaction, and made me giggle a bit madly - look, life can be pretty boring being married to a sheep farmer!!) SO, his mate took his own hoover to the wasps nest early one evening (when they start bedding down for the night) and hoovered the bloody lot up!!

Ok, so that sounds a pretty good idea so far - I may would have attempted that myself...

But not even Mr Stupid of number 1, Stupid Street, Idiot Town, would then take the hoover INSIDE, and remove the "now filled to the brim with a thousand angry stinging things" hoover bag - and open it in his front room!

OBVIOUSLY, he got stung hundreds of times, and eventually the stinging frenzy subsided and he managed to escape, desperately looking for some vinegar to neutralise the stings - but all he could find was a jar of beetroot - which he tipped over himself - and then, somehow, managed to get himself to hospital.

I can't imagine what A&E staff thought when they saw THAT coming through their doors!!
( curvylittlegoth heard the voices in your head on, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:28, 1 reply)

Could have been stupid
But actually turned out OK in the end.

Me and Tourettes stop off at the pub on the way back from a long walk in the hills. The bar is exceptionally busy that afternoon as a load of folk musicians are in (the 'dum diddleys' as we affectionately call them). There are no empty tables, no standing space, so we excuse ourselves and ask if the couple at the first table mind if we join them. "Not at all" says he, and we duly sit down. Soon we get chatting.

After a couple of hours of good humoured banter, the couple ask if we fancy joining them at his place for dinner the following weekend? Yeah, why not, sounds good and could be fun. Phone numbers and email addresses are exchanged, and we bid our temporary farewells.

However, next day Tourettes is wondering if this is a good idea. After all we only just met them in the pub, they could turn out to be vampires, or wife swappers or something. She watches way too much Buffy and Angel..

Anyway, the next Saturday we take the drive up the coast, and are relieved to find that there are no car keys in the ash tray, or blood in the fridge. A good night is had by all, and several times since.

And that's how we met Legless. A random act of friendliness in a pub.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:27, 11 replies)

Glub Glub Glub
Got viciously stoned and pissed while visiting Sun City, so we all sat down to have a break and roll another bifter before pressing on. My seat backs onto a nice lagoon.

I lean backwards to appreciate the break in proceedings and proceed to drop backwards like a scuba diver 18ft into pitch-black, stone-cold water down a nasty rock face. Mates dive in, duly rescue me when it becomes clear I'm in severe difficulty (being pissed as a newt and fully clothed).

I've also sliced through live mains cabling with a stanley knife intentionally (was going to pare it off for termination). Sheer dumb luck meant I was using a plastic handled knife on that occaisson (which was handy, seeing as how the blade was vaporised)

Equally dangerous was having a punching competition with a mate who is ex french foreign legion. Needless to say, he won, and I looked like Quagmire after being sparked out cold with one punch. He did however fracture his wrist and three bones in his hand while knacking me.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:24, Reply)

Not Big. Not Clever
One sunny spring day a few year's ago I decided to burn lots of garden rubbish.

After making a nice big bonfire at the back of the garden I try to get it to light.

However I had a little bit of a problem getting it started, it was damp! So I decide to get a little help from a 1/2 gallon container of white spirit.

Result: whoosh, and we have it all burning nicely, if not a little smokily.

I put the top back onto the plastic container and for the next two hours I grab and burn anything not tied down or living.

Eventually however all good things come to an end and I find myself with practically nowt else left to burn.

Casting my eye round I eventually settled on the empty???? 1/2 gallon white spirit container, "it's plastic" thinks I, "it will burn".

So without another thought I duly drop the 4 pint pot into the glowing embers.........

First thing it does is blow up like sodding space hopper.

Clearly I did a god job when I screwed the cap back on thinks I, however I realise that all the compressed "and" flammable gas stuck inside the container is trying desperately to get out, and not in a good way. .

So I step up to the fire and swat it out of the embers, thinking result, no mini Hiroshima's here, don't want to annoy the nuns again (another fire another day).......

I then think how do I get all that gas out of there? At this point I looks at left hand and see the broken broom handle I've been using as a poker for most of the afternoon.

"That's do the trick", so I and promptly spear my baby space hopper, (even the hamster is starting to slow down at his wheel around about now)..

At this point that my brain clearly went into stand-by (the hamster must have seen what was coming and was no doubt trying to kiss it's arse goodbye) because instead of simply walking away I turned and put the "now" punctured container back into the fire.

There is the biggest fcuking bang I have ever heard in my life.

When I eventually open my eyes I see not only is the fire out but it's actually no longer there along with all the hairs on my left arm up to around elbow level, (use bigger stick next time).

Mrs Matter then got to spend about 30 mins picking little melted bits of plastic from my face, arm and hair...........

She wont let me play with matches anymore.
(Dark Matter All The Wonders In The World & We Invent Boredom, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:21, 1 reply)

I don’t mean to touch any nerves with this…

This is pretty dumb now (considering)…but at the time…I mean, what were the odds???

In 1999 the current Mrs Pooflake and I went on a trip to New York. It was an incredible, wonderful experience…we had the time of our lives and I honestly can’t understand why anybody bad-mouths the place or it’s people – I didn’t meet one ‘surly New Yorker’ the whole time I was there. It was brilliant.

London, on the other hand (in my opinion…and I do realise that 99% of the time, my opinions are wrong), is a boil on the dog’s arse of the world filled with cretinous mutants and I would rather pour liquid Nitrogen down my undercrackers than visit there…

…and we’re back.

So we were travelling round NYC and as you can imagine (those that have read my previous posts), I was more bothered about touring the great city’s fine drinking establishments. Time (and money) was relatively tight and I didn’t want to waste too much time or too much of my hard saved drinking wad visiting life enriching, fulfilling worldwide landmarks, museums and historical wotnot. I wanted to get pissed.

So we approached the World Trade Centre…Mrs PF says ‘Shall we go in?’

I put my hand on the side of the building and said….and I quote……:

”Nah, let’s go to that Irish bar across the road instead. We’ll have plenty of time to visit this place…It’s not like it’s going anywhere is it?”

We never visited.

Regrets?....I’ve had a few…
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:16, 2 replies)

Acetylene Cylinder
A few years ago I was changing acetylene cylinders on a welding set (the big industrial 5 foot tall ones). Dragged the new one over and stood it next to the old one, unchained the empty cylinder and dragged it out knocking over the full one in the process. (golden rule with high pressure cylinders is don't leave them standing up unsecured).
As it hit the floor the valve snapped off and the cylinder took off horizontally like a Saturn 5 rocket, punched holes through TWO breezeblock walls into a neighbouring industrial unit and ended up spinning round and round in their workshop venting highly inflammable acetylene everywhere as everyone ran for cover.
Fire brigade where not impressed when they were called out to make sure it was safe.
(Alf N. Safety - refusing you planning permission on, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:13, 5 replies)

My brother the C*nt!!!
sorry for the immediate double post but this is pure dumb gold!

My brother, 5 years older than me, a proper bastard because he loved torturing me and making me look stupid as a kid and i never learned, after all he was my big brother and i idolised him and most of my free time was spent trying to be like him and follow him and his friends around, (basically i was an annoying little shit). It was on my seventh birthday and he must have been 11 about to turn 12 and as it was my day he had been secretly beating me up and bullying me and my friends all day. My mum and decide suggest playing a game of blinds man bluff after lunch to try and tire us out, obviously being birthday boy i got to be the chaser first so i was blindfolded and all my little friends darted off to get the game going.

Now let me set the scene a little, there was only about 15 of us plus my brother and the garden wasnt exactly massive but had a large feild immediately tagged onto the back of it seperated by steel wire and concrete posts.......... if you can see whats coming here already i salute you!

My bastard, evil, sadistic, twunt of a brother stood directly behind said concrete post and hollered. His being the nearest voice i start pegging it off towards the sound laughing and skipping all the way. CRUNCH, SPLAT, MMMMMUUUUUMMMMMMYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!! i had run teeth first into the post and managed to swallow no fewer than seven of my baby teeth, the impact actually caused so much damage to my teeth that i still have a dead baby tooth inside my bottom front tooth today! 18 years later.

To make it even worse we were at our holiday home in ireland and the nearest dentist was a 2 hour drive away in cork!

And it was that holiday my brother told me i was adopted too! pretty shitty all round.

no apologies for the lenght he deserves to be shamed!
(drew pea great minds like a think!, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:12, 1 reply)

"The way of the foot and fist"
When I was a student at The Most Boring University In The World (tm), I found myself rather partial to the occasional drink, which would sometimes lead to the kind of chemically-induced stupidity that I'm sure this QOTW will abound with.


One night in a campus pub I got into an argument with another gentleman, over something or the other. As the argument got more and more heated, he suggested that we settle it outside.

With a good number of measures of false courage inside me, I accepted...


He warned me that he was a brown belt in Taekwondo, and that I should back down.

My stupid mistake at this point was to laugh in his face and exclaim
"What are you going to do? Move slowly and wave your arms at me?"

He burst out laughing, grinned at me and said
"You've got mixed up mate, that's Tai chi you're thinking of!"

Yes, dear reader, I had confused "the way of the foot and fist" with "the way of the wave-y arm exercise thing".


We both had a good laugh about it, went back inside, another situation diffused by The Way Of The Moron.
( Cawl, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:10, 1 reply)

yum yum teim
"I feel like a jacket potato" says I.

Wrap potatos in tin foil (after washing etc), chuck them in oven...

"Gah, this is taking too long"

Take out potatos, chuck 'em in the microwave, 8 mins that'll do, bugger off to do something else.

"What's that funny sound" says I, about 30 seconds later...

"Oh balls"

Come back to kitchen, microwave is having some sort of orgasm, sparks everywhere.

"Ah yes, the foil. Oops."
(tarbin tarbis, tarbit, tarbamus, tarbimus, tarbant, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:09, 1 reply)

I'll never be an electrician.
Standing on top of a step ladder changing a light fitting (not just the bulb), had forgotten to turn off electricity. Touched wires, got electrocuted, fell of ladder and bruised my coxix.

Felt real clever afterwards.
( Statler&Waldorf I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK., Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:07, 2 replies)

Take that seagull!

Was snorkelling / spearfishing in Torquay back when I was a lad.
Caught a couple of fish, and put them on top of a handy rock, and went down to look for some more.
Came back up about 10 metres away, to find a seagull pecking away at my dinner.
Shouting didn't bother the gull in the slightest, and it started to make strenuous efforts to get more of MY dinner down it neck.
..so in my outraged state, I tried to shoot it with my speargun.

Got close but missed, unsurprisingly.

Much more surprising was the highly elastic nature of the string attached to the spear - which reached its extremity before reaching the gull, and then caused the spear to return whence it came, whistling past my head, missing it my millimetres.

Closest I've managed to get to the Darwin Awards..so far.
(BeatsWork, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:07, Reply)

More scuba diving escapades
Not exactly stupid, but certainly ill-considered.

Summer 1998. I’m on my qualifying dive in the North Sea to get my Club Diver status. Looking forward to being able to dive in the Florida Keys in 6 weeks time. I’d had a mild cold, but thought I was better – certainly didn’t have any noticeable lingering side effects, so I figured it was safe to dive.

Unfortunately, I must have still had a slight blockage, as 10 metres into my descent I was have difficulty in equalising the pressure in one ear. I had just signalled to my instructor that something was amiss, and was about to suggest aborting, when felt a pop, followed by a sudden loss of equilibrium as everything started spinning. I pumped air into my suit and jacket and shot to the surface in a cloud of bubbles.

Back on dry land, it transpired that I’d perforated an ear drum as I was unable to equalise the pressure on my descent. The after effects were quite unpleasant – my ear would randomly fill up with liquid pus. I was back at work on Monday with a client sat in front of me, when I had to excuse myself mid-interview to ‘go and empty my ear’. Lovely.

Needless to say I’m extremely cautious when I dive these days, especially on descents.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:04, 1 reply)

OK: Let's get it out of the way
I'm not writing this in earnest - please don't flame me, and certainly don't click - but I'm willing to act as a lightning conductor, because I'm as bored as most other people by the inevitable. So:

Holiday, Portugal, restaurant, Maddie, life ruined, blah blah blah.

Right. It's been done now. Noone else has to. So you've no excuse.

/public service.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:03, 2 replies)

monumentally stupid, but cute too!
When i was in reception class (Aged 4-5 for my non brit pals) i was constantly told horror stories about the infant1 teacher mrs davies, this woman was a heinous bitch and derived great pleasure from bullying and torturing small children so come the last week of summer term when i would be leaving the sanctity and safety of play people, stickle bricks and big lego i was shitting it!

Now i was a cunning little bugger always thinking ahead and realised early on lying usually got me out of trouble and gave me a pretty easy ride, seeing my opportunity I confidently strolled up to Mrs davies in the playground that lunch and proceeded to tell her that i wouldnt be joining her class next term as my father had secured a new job in australia (no idea where i got that shit from), cue a puzzled look on Mrs Davies face and me feeling very satisfied, until about ten minutes after lunch when Mrs Davies popped her head around the reception door and asked for a word with the teacher. Thirty seconds later im standing there crying my eyes out after my poor little bottom got a hiding like none id experienced before, Being 5 i hadnt thought my plan out thoroughly the reception teacher was my mother and she didnt take kindly to me lying to her colleagues!

she tells that story today to my friends!

mega dumb
(drew pea great minds like a think!, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 15:01, Reply)

Look out! A spoon!
Too many of my own dumb incidents to think about right now, so here's one of my mother's friends. Like everyone ever she forgot to get the ice cream out of the freezer before she sat down for her meal so when she wanted to portion it out for dessert it was still rock hard. She got a good hold on the tub (the ice cream world's equivalent of a headlock) and started trying to hammer into it with a spoon. Getting nowhere fast she put all her might into one final attempt. The spoon skidded across the top of the ice cream and kept on going. Such was the angle she was holding it at and the force she was putting into it the spoon arced upwards and she managed to stab herself in the eye with it, gouging her cornea quite badly.

She had to wear an eyepatch for two months while it healed and for the entire time, every five seconds, she was asked by someone why she was wearing it. By the end she just used to sigh wearily and start gently sobbing rather than getting the piss taken out of her again.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Thu 20 Dec 2007, 14:56, 2 replies)

Maths
Not looking where you are running + Lamp post = Bad concussion + 8 stiches.
(mmm...crunchy, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 14:51, Reply)

The area where I live has a bad reputation.
For the sake of context, my house is in Gorton, in East Manchester. For those who aren't familiar with the area, I live about a mile away from where they filmed Shameless.

Stupid things I have done since moving there in July include forgetting to lock my car overnight, leaving my wallet on the dashboard of the car overnight, and - only this Monday - going out for the evening and forgetting to shut the front door behind me.

On a related note, I went away for a few days last autumn and left my phone on the passenger seat of my car - which was on a public car-park near Manchester city centre.

Nothing has been stolen. The locals must have realised that theft is no fun when there's no challenge.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 14:47, 5 replies)

Got hauled into a random lecturer's office..
"So, you seem to have no idea of what topic to do your PhD on" said he.

"no", said I

"Why don't you do it on XYZ" said he.

"Hmm, thanks but no thanks" said I.

XYZ is now worth $500 million.

I'm writing up something that, at present is worth exactly $0.00
(zero.coke, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 14:41, 1 reply)