My uncle
believes that he came up with the idea for Windows. That while he was working in Currys in Bournmouth many years ago he came up with this concept and somehow this idea was stolen by those Microsoft scoundrels.

He consequently believes they are now on a mission to shut him up and cheat him out of claiming the billions he feels he is owed, and now carries around a backpack of papers with him constantly, and even when in his or any other family members home, he has to be able to see this at all times. No one can touch it and none of us have ever seen what is in it.
( TheGirlWithNoName, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 22:46, 4 replies)

Eye
Mother was a real eccentric. Her japseye was a constant source of pride for one half of the family, yet a well of unquenchable embarrassment for the other. Her winking aperture tore our family straight down the middle. I, as the middle child, tended to sit upon the fence. Father used to shout, nay, warble in his goatlike childvoice, for me to descend.

“Descend ye, fence perchin’ urchin, from that very fence!” but I was incensed by his pensive tones. His moans, they grated my bones and I, barely able to stay stable lashed out harshly yet sparsely, and struck him, sweet as parsley on a length of wet cod. He smarted though I’d barely started, and wished he’d long departed, but I brought out my slender member.
“Remember,” I wailed, “the sight of this slight and snow-white, delightful vestige, here only for prestige since thou rendered it unmended after pilfering Wilfred for Mother.

Our eyes met. The anger in mine melted. The fear in Father’s warmed. Soon our eyes were indistinguishable, such was the similarity of their temperatures and states of solidity. The only thing to tell them apart was the three foot gap between them as he licked my scrotum and I craned my ropy neck to suckle his anus.

Mother would never feel this kind of love, japseye or not, from either of us, and her eccentricities counted for nought on nights like this.

In your face, Mother!
(stusut79, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 22:39, 8 replies)

The Mad Artist, Part 4.
I suppose I should give something of a physical description of the Mad Artist. He's 6' 4" tall, weighs maybe 190 lbs at the most (probably a lot less), has deepset grey eyes and sharp features, and looks like a cross between a young Tom Waits and Jim Morrison. His hair is extremely curly and by now is probably about to his belt. Normally he wears it in a braid or in a twist on the back of his head, but when he lets it loose it's a flowing mane. Clean him up and shave him and he could easily be a male model- he really is that good looking. He's also fearsomely strong- I've witnessed him doing things that I would have thought damn near impossible to be done by a lone man. This is due to him spending most of his life cutting down trees and doing masonry for his rather erratic existence.

For reasons of his own that I've never managed to get out of him, he prefers to be incredibly filthy at all times. His stench is the stuff of legends around that part of town- you can literally smell him a block away when you're downwind.

His apartment is heated in the winter by a bank of six cathode ray monitors stacked three across and two high, and a computer that he keeps running so hard that it has actually caught on fire twice- and afterward he rebuilt it using bits from cast-off computers he's scrounged. He spends much of his waking hours curled in a ball on his chair in front of the monitors, wreathed in smoke and surrounded by old wrappers and cigarette butts.

I might add that if anyone has a computer problem, he's the first one they go looking for. He'll grab the thing from you, boot it up, tell you exactly what's wrong with it and fix it for the price of two packs of Camel Lights and some Diet Coke.

One day I ran into him on a job site where he was laying out a brick sidewalk. It was a raw January day with cold rain falling, just one or two degrees above freezing, with a steady wind. He was putting in bricks and scooping sand into place bare handed and audibly shivering.

Finally I could stand it no more. "Dude, why the hell are you doing this?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know more about computers than any other three people I know combined. You could get a job at a company in IT and be working indoors and making big money. Why the fuck are you out here?"

"Fuck that! I hate computers!" he shouted. "No way! I'd rather be out here doing this than working on them!"

And he packed in more sand in the freezing rain.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 30 Oct 2008, 21:59, 4 replies)

my friend the librarian
i have a friend who only listens to motown and 60's music (apart from placebo) oh and shes 21 by the way. she wears tartan 9 times out of 10. will not go near the colour green because thats celtics strip colour. Hates and i mean hates english people and has some serious issue with social class i'd try and divulge but every time she talks about it i switch off. actually the more i write this the more i think she's less eccentric more pain in the arse oh well.
(fernbrittonsexcessskin will give a shit later, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 21:52, 3 replies)

My old technology teacher
I went to a private boys' school. There were many weird and wonderful teachers whom I encountered during my seven years there, but there is one I shall always remember before the rest. I shall call him Mr H.

Mr H - an almost completely bald man in his 40s - took Technology classes. For those who did not have such subjects at school, this was basically D.I.Y, with some electronics introduced in later years. All boys were required to sit on stools placed around workbenches, while wearing white aprons, and to have their plastic safety goggles close at hand while Mr H instructed us in the finer points of sawing wood, etc.

Looking back now, it's hard to see how Mr H got away with behaving the way he did: but when we were 11, we just took it all in our strides. Let me try to begin to paint a picture.

Mr H would never refer to any boy by his name. When wanting to quiz students, he would whirl round and point his finger, and ask "That boy there". Most of the time, everyone was That Boy There. The rest of the time, they were "Percy Scroggins". This was his generic name for people, as an alternative to "Fred Bloggs", for example. He referred to his pointing finger as "The Flying Fickle Finger of Fate".

If the hapless boy could not answer the question, he would be labelled a "thickie doughnut". This is a phrase which Mr H would use 10-15 times per lesson, and every pupil was very familiar with it.

Mr H constantly alluded to punishment for misdemeanours. His favourite form of mock-justice would be to tell a boy to "have a Saturday" - referring to a Saturday detention. If he were in a slightly saucy mood - which he was all the time - he would tell a boy to "go and have a cold shower at LEH" (LEH being the name of the nearby girls' school). As the boy in question would hesitate in the face of the inappropriate line, Mr H would add: "You can keep your socks on if you're shy!"

The room in which Technology was taught was festooned with workshop machinery: pillar drills, vices, band saws, lathes etc. Mr H would never refer to any of these by name however. Every single one of them was an "Oscillating Swivel Gromit".

Oh yes - and he drove a hearse.

Good times!
(EuroSong I love horse meat: best of all the animals, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 21:46, 5 replies)

The Mad Artist, Part 3.
One day I was hanging around with the Mad Artist and we were drinking, and he invited me to his birthday party. I eagerly agreed, as I knew that it would be anything but boring.

"So what do you want for your birthday?" I asked him as I opened a new beer.

"There are three things I've always wanted," he replied. "The Library of Congress in a suitcase, a monkey suit and a four foot long tuning fork."

I choked on beer. "What?!?"

"The Library of Congress I've already got- I have a laptop with an Internet connection. And I've kinda got the monkey suit-" he pulled out a carved wooden mask and put it on, then pulled his hair loose into something that looked like Yahoo Serious after pissing on a transformer. "Now I just need the tuning fork."

I considered for a moment, then gave up. "Why the tuning fork?"

"So I can go to Manhattan and stand in the middle of the road and wear my monkey suit, smack the tuning fork on a tree and break every window for a block radius."

Everyone needs ambitions, I suppose...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 30 Oct 2008, 21:26, 9 replies)

Apparently I'm eccentric.
Because I prefer to cycle to work than drive.

Because I cook all my meals (never have a ready meal).

Because I like to grow my veg where I can.

Because I prefer a fine red wine to beer.

Maybe they're right. However the most eccentric person I've met was that guy on the bus... yes, we all know the one. He's the guy who hums along to the sound of the gear changes.

When I met him, he was eating a sandwich. Someone behind him sneezed, so he put the sandwich down on the floor as he berated them for spreading germs... before picking it up and finishing his meal.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 21:11, 1 reply)

Spanners the chemistry teacher
Now I've come to the conclusion that all chemistry teachers are a bit odd, and encouraging eccentrics into the profession is a good way to keep them out of harm's way.

Take Mr "Spanners" Spandrel, our 'O' level chemistry teacher. Mad as a sack of badgers, but great fun with it. He lost an eardrum after an attempt to make the school fireworks really exciting, an incident that saw an oil drum fired about 100 feet into the air before embedding itself a foot deep in the rugby pitch.

Other highlights include blowing out the front of a fume cabinet after an experiment with sodium went badly wrong, a detailed ten minutes on the production of LSD that was only stopped when the bell sounded (wish I could remember the details) and a slightly sweaty recounting of the sexual proclivities of Marie Curie.

As a man he just screamed eccentric. Imagine the hair of Einstein after a severe electric shock, the dress sense of a man who'd been dipped in glue and dragged backwards through a Salvation Army reject bag and fingers that both trembled and were stained with more obscure chemicals than you could shake a stick at.

However, like Bagpuss, he was loved by all and a lot of us turned up for his funeral (sadly a boring old heart attack - we'd all envisioned him dying of something more exotic like developing a new toxin or opening a gate to the nether regions of hell). Many of us then spent a happy afternoon/evening in the pub swapping stories about sundry weird lessons. Spanners, I salute you.
(paxvobiscum, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 21:10, 6 replies)

The Mad Artist, Part 2
The Mad Artist is notorious for his... how best to put it? His funk, his odor, his general mankiness. Brilliant man, fascinating to talk to, but his reek causes dogs to run and bury their noses in cat turds. His apartment is always a few levels beyond mere squalor, as he never throws anything out and never cleans.

Once, years ago, he had a pair of docksiders that he wore, as he does with all shoes, without socks. As he's in the habit of just tromping around through everything without thought to how mucky he gets, his shoes took on a life of their own.

One day he decided that they were getting a bit too squidgy. He sat at the kitchen table in the apartment he shared, took off his shoe, and used a butter knife to scrape a layer of dark brown smelly goo out of his shoes. And instead of doing what you or I would do and scraping it into the garbage can, he left a pile of foot goo on the table. And then left.

When he came home that night one of his roommates said, "Hey! You've been holding out on us!"

"What are you talking about?"

"That hash you left on the kitchen table! You've been holding out! I took it to Ron's and a bunch of us smoked it all! Don't hold out on us!"

He looked at the roommate for a moment, then went to get the butter knife. He sat down in front of the roommate and scraped out his shoe again, producing another wad of goo. "It looked like that, didn't it? And smelled like that?"

His roommate went silent and green.

He threw the wad of goo to the floor, where the dog sniffed it before eating it in one gulp. "Ha ha ha! Now you've shared some 'hash' with the dog!"

He's truly a legend, my friend is...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 30 Oct 2008, 21:08, 4 replies)

It seems that my entire life is full of eccentrics.
Let me tell you (again) of the Mad Stripper.

Enter the Mad Stripper!

it was through match.com about two years ago. I had put up my profile again after the Travel Agent moved out, and was trawling the waters to see what sort of nibbles I might get. What the hell, said I to myself- I had had good luck in the past with it, after all.

One of the women who contacted me was a dental hygienist who ran her own school to train dental hygienists, the divorced wife of a local (and quite successful) dentist. Her emails were nice, and when we exchanged phone numbers she sounded quite pleasant- very cheerful and bouncy, talking almost nonstop as though she had just had four shots of espresso, and rather funny. So I did what one does in those circumstances and suggested getting together for coffee.

"Coffee? Well, I guess... but I'd really rather have a drink."

Hmmmm, we got a live one here, I thought. "Sure, I'm good with that. Where would you like to meet?"

"Well, could you come and pick me up at my house?"

A bit unusual, but what the hell... "Sure. When would you like me there?"

"Just come on over." And she gives me directions to her house.

So I drove over there and found her to be in a rather large house in a new subdivision. I ring the doorbell and am greeted by a six foot woman with very long frizzy black hair, deep brown eyes and a lighthouse smile. She gave me a hug- actually, quite nice as she was wearing a tank shirt and snug shorts- and followed me to my car. She suggested a Mexican restaurant not far away and I agreed.

We had gone maybe five minutes down the road before she started telling me about how she had had a bikini wax that afternoon, and went into detail. Lots of detail.

We got to the restaurant and she ordered food and tequila. Okay, I thought, she's not driving, she's hungry, and at least she's eating while she's drinking. I got food and a beer and sat back to listen. The conversation went from dental hygienist training to her former career as a stripper, and as the tequila vanished the details came out faster. She told me all about what it was like, and how one of the most erotic experiences she ever had was when she went to another club and a young blonde gave her a lap dance and kissed her.

By now I was really trying very hard not to either laugh or scream, but I could tell it was only a matter of time. After several more rounds and a lot of animated talk, we paid the bill and I drove her home. She asked me in and I went along, mainly out of a sort of horrid fascination to see what was coming next. She poured us another couple of drinks, and the conversation again turned to stripping and how she had gotten implants to make her boobs match the rest of her proportions.

"Implants?" I repeated, a bit taken aback.

"Yeah, take a look!" And the shirt was pulled up. They popped out, unhindered by a bra. "See, they don't feel quite right, though." And she took my hands and put them on her boobs and pressed them firmly into her.

"Umm... yeah, I guess you're right..." I gasped somewhat weakly. By now my mind was thoroughly blown and my head was spinning. I finally made my excuses- I was far too flipped out by her to shag, and besides she was pretty well drunk- and stood to go. But as we stood by the door I gave in to an impulse and gave her a long, powerful kiss as I leaned back with my arms around her, lifting her slightly off the floor. (A great trick- it takes their breath away and makes them feel light, and makes it very intense.) As expected, she got extremely aroused and responded rather urgently- but I broke away and headed home before anything further could happen.

As I drove home I tried to sort out the evening, got the giggles, then gave in and screamed a few times and went belming down the road. Okay, I thought, that was the most surreal first date I've ever had. Must have been a one-off, though- she must have had a couple before I got there. I can't imagine that this is something that would happen again...

I was wrong.

I won't go into details, but suffice it to say that when she had a couple of drinks in her she became quite the handful. We went out a few times more, and on one date she had enough vodka and cranberry to be weaving a bit, and was not playing pool very well by then. She was wearing a lace shirt with a red bra- the only time I've seen her wearing one- and said something joking to a couple of guys at the bar. They laughed and joked back with her, and she leaned in and said something else- and suddenly they scattered from her as though she had turned into Beelzebub. I still don't know what she said, but it was about as close as that black dude will ever come to being white...

That was when I swore off dating.

Exit the Mad Stripper...

Late in January I decided that since my kids all had Myspace pages I should get on there as well to keep an eye on them, so I constructed a page with a picture of me with a cat on my shoulders, and about a day later was contacted by the woman who turned out to be the one who ended up living with me... so we started hanging out and started sharing a bed, and I had her stay here whenever we could manage it (at the time she lived an hour north of me).

Now I'm not enough of an asshole to be shagging two women at the same time behind each others' backs, so I let things trail off with the Mad Stripper. If she called I would answer and would chat with her, but I really didn't have the time to hang out anymore, sorry... and so it went. As some of these calls happened while I was with the Lunatic Artist, she was quite aware of the situation and found it somewhat amusing.

Then one Sunday afternoon as the Lunatic Artist was here hanging out with me, I saw a very familiar car pull into my driveway. She heard me mutter "Oh shit" and go out the door, and my sons immediately crowded around the window as I headed off the occupant of the car. I gently explained that I had company, and she looked crestfallen but accepted it gracefully and drove off.

I came in the door expecting to find and enraged Lunatic Artist packing her things into her bag, but instead found her cracking up with my sons as they laughed at my discomfort. When she could speak again, she said, "So that's the Mad Stripper?"

Seldom have I been more confused or more grateful.

Even though she does still tease me about that.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 30 Oct 2008, 21:04, 5 replies)

My cousin Dan
shaved his head...and got all his friends to shave their heads as well. Actually my Aunt got quite worried, and asked whether he was 'one of them Hare Krishnas'. He got really offended.

Him and his best friend had a big idea about going on a road trip, and apparently it was very important that they wear a white top hat and tails for the whole journey. Kind of making fun of him I asked 'so, you couldn't wear black top hat and tails instead?' and oh God, it was apparently vitally important that they weren't wearing black...like the whole journey wouldn't make any sense if they were wearing black.

Oh, and he's really into numerology - he was on the phone telling one of his friends "14-88 man! It has to be 14 and 88! Then we'll go see Obama!" OK Dan, I really don't know what you're talking about, and I'm pretty sure Barack Obama isn't going to take time out to hear it! Although maybe Obama will be like 'wait...they have white top hats and tails. Let them in.'

Honestly, we don't know what he's going to do next!
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 20:55, 8 replies)

In my family
there's someone who likes to obfuscate even the most simple things. That person is my mother's only son.

Length? -x²+2x+6 centigibbles.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 20:53, Reply)

My Granny
picks up invisible crumbs from the carpet and calls me dipshit.

And also,

"Fuck you" are terms of affection in my family.

Oh oh oh, one more thing:

my mother refuses to let me date black guys from New Jersey, as they are gay colored Yankees therefore not "our" people. I'm looking forward to Christmas!
(yourworldwontcollapse reminds you, it isn't incest after second cousins!, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 20:48, 2 replies)

his name is nile
he has a paedophile style
a sicko with a dick
thick like a baby's arm
holdin an apple
do ya like this rapple?
it don't do no harm
ladies love the charm
well i say ladies
technicalities
you'd best beleez
their immaturities
when they haven't got a bush
on their Vs


we dont invite him round for christmas anymore...
(quibble, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 20:37, Reply)

I know the perfect subject for this one- the Mad Artist.
(No, not the Lunatic Artist- she's not that eccentric.)

A pearoast from a long while back:

A very good friend of mine is a fellow I affectionately refer to as my mad artist friend, as that sums him up quite well. He's very talented- I've seen his sculpture and his paintings- as well as phenomenally intelligent. He can play chess like no one else I've seen, knows more about computers than anyone else I know, and has a memory that's truly frightening in its depth and accuracy- he can tell you, off the top of his head, the serial number of a copy of Windows 2000 he got as a bootleg, and can list the minor characters in Norse mythology in the next breath.

He's also madder than a box of frogs, lives in a basement apartment, chain smokes and lives on frozen pizza, Doritos and Diet Coke.

I've witnessed him telling the most outrageous bullshit to people, and because he's so brilliant he can almost always get people to believe him. He talks at machine gun speed, and always reminds me of Tom Waits' character in "Mystery Men", the mad inventor living in the abandoned carnival, because of his ability to weave in a lot of technical speak until you have no idea what the fuck he's talking about.

Anyway, he had a girlfriend who was also an artist of sorts, although her talents were considerably lesser than his. Apparently one day she showed him the painting she had just completed, and he was complimenting her on it profusely. So when she asked him to frame it for her, he agreed readily.

"Yeah, just go to Lowe's [a national hardware and lumber chain in the US] and get some wood for it. But don't get pine or some other crap wood like that- we need something special to make the frame. Go to the lumber department and ask the guys there if they have morning wood."

She returned a half hour later and started beating him.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 30 Oct 2008, 20:28, 7 replies)

I often drink at the Exchange Ale House in Bradford
It's jam-packed with eccentrics!
The age range is from 16 to 80-odd. There's an amazing old guy called Stan who must be in his mid eighties. He out rocks and out eccentics (or is that eccentrifies or eccentriates?!) all of us weirdo's.
It's full of mad-heads, professor types and down right loonies and I love it!
Everytime I go in there I'm never with out an eccentric bastatd to talk to. I love talking to interesting people that have lived life and have something to say and I'm never disappointed. Some of the tales and characters that I have met in there have been amazing...
Anyone that has ever been there will know what I mean
( DUMBLONDE is a rubber lover girl, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 20:21, 2 replies)

Oh, I'm quite mad.
You see, I'm not rich enough to qualify as eccentric.
( flake has nothing against your right leg, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:54, Reply)

Was it him or was it me?
I'm still not quite sure who was the nuttier person in this situation, you decide.

Wiggly lines to simulate going back in time.

It was a Summer evening and I was traveling in a train, having just completed my 3rd year exams in University. You know what it's like when you've just gone through months of exams, your head is a bit wrecked. So there I was sitting at a table on a train with 4 other people. There was a teenage girl opposite me, next to her was "the nutter," and next to me was an older woman. The nutter starts to talk to the girl, wants to show her what he bought in the shops that day and starts to offer her chocolate. I have to say, that I felt for her. She was being very polite to the nutter as he rambled on, and all I could think was "thank God it's not me sitting next to him."

The evening sun was shining in through the train window, so I took out my sunglasses and put them on to stop the glare. Eventually, as the journey went on the other two women got off the train, so all that was left was me and the nutter. Well, as I was wearing sunglasses, I felt that I was quite safe to have a really good stare at the nutter without being detected. And in turn, he stared at me.

Time passed and it was nearing my stop, so I got myself together to exit the train. I pulled out my sunglasses case to put my sunglasses away and as I opened the case, there sitting in the case was one of the lenses.

Yes, I had been sitting there staring at a nutter with only one lens in my sunglasses.

To this day, I don't know why my brain didn't register that I only had one lens in. All I can think, is that I was tired, and that the sun was only hitting the eye with the lens in. I have to wonder though, is there a nutter out there telling the same story...only I'm the nutter.
(Woofie, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:51, 12 replies)

I have an uncle
who's a bit odd. While growing up, it was always a mixed blessing to be the one to ride with Uncle Ernie, because it was amusing and stressful at the same time.

He believed that cartoons were demons sent to corrupt children. Why? Because the only time animals talk is when they are possessed.

Once he gave me a ride to meet a friend of mine who happened to be blind. Over the friend's protests, my uncle laid hands on him to try to exorcise out the "demons of blindness". He's still blind.

He bought a fifty acre hay farm out in the boonies, with a house on it roughly the size of my first car. He was really looking forward to Y2K, because he was sure this was going to correspond with the apocalypse and while all the sinners were being wiped out, he could be righteously safe living off the land. Granted, I'm not sure what he thought he could eat on a hay farm, but he had faith. His wife and daughter told him to enjoy himself out there, they were staying in the city in the good house.

He listened (probably still does) to oddball shortwave radio programs out of the US and believes them. He told me that the US conducts test runs of flying saucers over Australia, for instance. Good to know.

Didn't like me studying quantum physics because Einstein says "God does not play dice".

Feels that evolution is ridiculous because "if we came about because monkeys changed, why didn't they ALL change?" and sits smugly back.

When he and my aunt took their daughter along with my brother and I to see a movie (Harry and the Hendersons), didn't care for the bad language in the film. "There's nothing holy about shit," he said.

We're only related by marriage, thankfully.
(Ejaculantern was caught desecrating pumpkins on, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:48, Reply)

I bought my nephew this t-shirt
Google cache - they've stopped selling it, the buggers.
( flake has nothing against your right leg, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:43, 5 replies)

News Reporting Magician
I used to know this guy, quite an eccentric. Used to work on the Cambridge Evening News (CEN - this should be jarringly important). He also worked part time as a conjuror: wore the sparkly waistcoats and all that, and insisted everyone called him the "Great Mysterio". His party piece was making a copy of the newspaper he worked for disappear in a colossal hail of smoke.

That was his ex-CEN-trick




I feel hollow inside
(donuts saw Gordon Gekko raking through the bins on, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:38, Reply)

Im Excentric!
Im probably the geekiest person in existence, I like Electronics, and computer programming. My social skills are really terrible, and I like trains.
( Squiggy Alloria makes theme parks., Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:33, 6 replies)

sis
My dad was an alchoholic wife beating pikey. Mum ended up
with a few broken bones/hospital visits over the years.
My elder sister saw all this and what do you think she did?
She married an alchoholic wife beating pikey.
Thing is she has a brain on her shoulders. She is not a fucking idiot. ergo eccentric.
(smalldickedandproud, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:31, 2 replies)

Now I've nabbed this spot
I might as well tell you a story. The tales of my eccentricity are well known on the /talk board, but some of the things I have seen... the C-Beams at the Tannhauser Gate, attack ships... sorry, got carried away there. Right, to the story. Ladies and gentlemen, and those who have yet to decide, I hope you are sitting comfortably, for here I shall introduce Billy.

Billy is one of the drinkers in my local, and it's fair to say he's a few pints short of a round. In fact he's a stark raving loony, but a clever bastard with it as well.

One of Billy's favourite things is to wander around the pub with his arms outstretched, feeling his way ahead. Billy is severely partially sighted you see, but can perceive shapes in the light. He uses his Blinky-Bill sight as an excuse to go and grope the lady-folk in our pub, which to be fair has made him about as popular as a suicide bomber in a Tube station.

But like I say, Billy can only perceive shapes, and only to a certain degree. One Hallowe'en one of the longer-haired gentlemen in the pub came in dressed as a lady, and a fairly convincing one at that. Even I admired them from the back, due to a really good figure. But then again, I swiftly realised my mistake, but decided to keep quiet as Billy rocked up, groping his way ahead.

And then, Billy fixed on his target, like some myopic titty seeking missile. The hands went round the chest, and then a stentorian, Brian Blessed-esque voice boomed out "Billy! What the FUCK do you think you're doing?!". Billy stammered his apologies, and left as swiftly as he was able, falling over a couple of bar stools on the way out.

We didn't see him for a couple of months after that.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:30, Reply)

I knew this guy
he was a scientist, PhD and everything. He really fulfilled all the stereotypes, crazy hair, wild eyes, labcoat, real Einstein type guy.

I used to hang around with him when I was a teenager because he was fun and always had these cool gadgets. Seriously, he had this one sort of Rube Goldberg contraption that fed his dog. Plus, I didn't know that many people (I had a girlfriend and everything, but I wasn't that socially connected).

So anyway, I'd skateboard over to his house before school (yeah, I know, a bit lame, but I didn't have the money for a bus fare, or a car, and bikes were for nerds back then, so skateboard it was). We'd chill out, talk, he'd be confused by my modern slang, but we got on ok. This one time in fact, I got there and he wasn't in, but there in the middle of his living room was the biggest speaker I'd ever seen. But that's another story altogether.

The point when I realised that he was truly eccentric was when he called me up, really worried, telling me to meet him in a car park. I was a bit confused, but I trusted the old guy, and I turned up. He hands me a video camera. At this point, I'm worried I'm going to turn into one of the crew for Dogging Diaries Vol 14, but it turns out he just wants me to record the unveiling of his latest invention.

So he opens up the back of his lorry, and, in a cloud of unnecessary dry ice, emerges, a DeLorean.

Fucking thing broke down after five minutes. Stopped hanging out with him, got into weed.
(LickOutTheJamsMotherfuckers!, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:20, 5 replies)

f
5th
(suboftheday, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:16, Reply)

damn
it
(haroweld, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:16, Reply)

Leaky
Whilst at a (barking mad) relatives house a few years back, I spotted that one of the electric sockets seemed to have a plug with no wire coming out. Which was odd. Looking around and all of the sockets were the same - if there wasn't anything actually plugged in, there was a plug with no wire. Eventually, curiosity got the better of me and I had to ask.

"If you don't put the plugs in", says nutty uncle, "the electricity will leak out all over the carpet".

Hatstand.
( Linbox has a serious dunk habit, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:15, 5 replies)

This space for rent.

( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:12, 3 replies)

THERE
YOU FUCKERS

HA.

NO "FIRSTS" FROM ANYONE TODAY.

I JUST SPOILT YOUR CUNTING FUN.

HAHAHAHAHA.
( __, Thu 30 Oct 2008, 19:11, 3 replies)