Ronnie Mouth Organ
This is just going to degenerate into stories about tramps, isn't it?

I nominate the late great Ronnie Mouth Organ, an ex-boxer who hung around the centre of Merthyr Tydfil for years, talking to people. A lovely guy, he had a habit of befriending strangers, and trying to give them his shoes. He also had (as the name suggests) a mouth organ on which he would occasionally busk - well, I say busk, I mean, blow aimlessly, interspersed with Pogues-style yelling. We all thought he was just mad; just after he died, I found out his dad had made him take part in bare knuckle prize fights when he was young, which is why he ended up the way he did. RIP, Ronnie.
(The Moai, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 16:09, Reply)

A guy at my uni
who was a mature-age student, was named Platonet Marx. Rumour had it he'd changed his name in honour of Plato and Karl Marx. I wonder if he had a lowbrow relative called Blade Spiderman?
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 16:08, 2 replies)

My favourite spacker
I think this fella was probably a mong rather than eccentric, but eccentric sounds nicer.

Many years ago I practically lived in Birmingham, and often used the Birmingham to Wolverhampton metro service. Now while I am well aware that public transport, especially in the West Midlands, is a fertile soil in which you can grow prize winning nutters, this man was in a different league.

He sat opposite me and smiled in that man to man, acknowledgement-y hello smile kind of way. So far so good. The tram pulls away and out of nowhere he suddenly plays this little drum riff by clapping and slapping his thighs. He stops and then just goes back to looking totally normal. This happened every 3 or so minutes for the entire journey which lasted about 40 minutes. Next up, the lady on the automated tannoy announced the next stop was Bilston Central. Every time she said Bilston, he would burst into a fit of laughter, suddenly do another drum solo, and then stop, returning back to neutral, dead serious.

Towards the end of the journey this big dragonfly type thing got onto the tram and landed on the window beside me and this crazy man. I was already incredibly uncomfortable sitting there anyway, and having this bug the size of a small vehicle stuck to the glass wasn't helping. He notices the bug, leans forward and says to me:

"...BUG!!"

He then smushes it with his hand, peels it off the window and eats it.

I do miss Brum.
(GONEism, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 16:06, 3 replies)

Doctor Who
is kind of based on the stereotype of the Great British Eccentric isn't he? Maybe the current one less so.

(yes, I know 'Doctor Who' is the show's name and the character is 'the Doctor', I just don't care that much).
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:58, Reply)

We had a teacher at school and I'm not sure whether he was eccentric or just drunk.
Definitely drunk but I suspect the eccentric bit too.

He was only my teacher for about half an hour of Latin once a week. One week I was the only person who bothered turning up for the lesson.

He continued to teach it as if it was a full classroom. when he asked a question, he still expected me to put my hand up and he looked round the classroom before deciding that I should answer the question, even though I was the only one there.

An odd chap but very funny and great for buying you drinks if you bumped into him in the pub.
( Afinkawan Yes I can hear you Clem Fandango, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:57, Reply)

War mentals
I seem to have a knack for attracting insane people. The best are the mentalists who are determined to talk about WWII at any given opportunity. This is usually caused by the fact that I often wear a jacket from WWII (I know, I'm a twat. But I've stopped wearing the flat cap). Here are a few examples:

THE WAR-GUILTER
Have you ever been war-guilted? It's horrible. A few summers ago I was having a BBQ with some friends. The back yard was such a mess we basically used to have BBQs on the front doorstep/wall. It was social. We liked it.
On this occasion I was not wearing the military jacket, but jeans and a tshirt. It was a bright summer's day and the BBQ was in full swing. A smartly dressed old man walked by and said good morning. I love it when old people do that. I returned the greeting happily - it was sunny, everything was perfect! "It's a lovely day isn't it!" said he. "Yes is it, I can hardly believe it!" I replied.
He got about 20 yards down the path, stopped, turned around and walked back toward me a few paces. He looked coldly into my eyes and said "it took me nine years to get this. Nine years", indicating a badge on his jacket. Then he walked off down the street, leaving me and my friends quite in shock,

THE OLD BASTARD
Roger, as I soon learned was his name, was having trouble getting served at the bar because he was wasted. He was asking everyone to buy him a drink but they wouldn't and they were wise not to. He had the face of someone you just avoid instincively, so we all went outside to smoke. Seconds later, he was on his way outside, heading straight for us. Then I remembered that I was wearing my military jacket. What followed was an excrutiating discussion about war and death and how lucky we are nowadays. I couldn't be bothered explaining how I didn't think wearing the jacket was disrespectul to WWII soldiers, so I just lied and said I was wearing it in honour of my grandad (who was actually in the airforce - Roger would never know, hee hee hee!).
He went for the buttons. They all do that. "Do you know what we used to call these in the war?" My friend blurted out "buttons", which everyone found hilarious, except for Roger and myself. I was terrified at this point.
Eventually I managed to sidle away from the old man. He found us again after a short while, but his attention was on my friend, who was having to listen to great stories about pit closures and rations. We moved in slowly to rescue him, at which point Roger stopped speaking, turned to my friend (buttons) and shouted "SIT DOWN WHEN YOU'RE SPOKEN TO!"

THE FAT MAN
The reason I own a military jacket is I'm in a sort of ironic army caberet band, then I fell into wearing it casually as it's quite warm and nice. At one of the gigs for the above band I was casually stood outside smoking when a very, very fat man wearing white (of all colours) approached me, point to one of the buttons and said "may I?" What an offer! Of course you can touch my buttons, you lovely fat man. So he did, before deciding he knew exactly which regiment the jacket was from, and declaring that I'd get 10 years in prison for wearing it in the street. I explained that it was part of the act. I mean, imagine getting arrested for impersonating a WWII soldier while playing piano in a gay bar. It's just silly.
Anyway, I went straight back inside and told my mate - who happened to be dressed in exactly the same uniform - that there was a mental fat man outside and he seems like he might be about to war-guilt. He must have left, because I didn't see him for the rest of the night and you'd notice if that fucker walked in.

There was also the man who grabbed me and gave me a full tour of his bag shop when I was just innocently walking past it. It ended with "I don't want to buy a fucking bag okay?". But I'll save that one for another day.
( valoukh newsgash.wordpress.com, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:56, 2 replies)

Where I'm from...
We have these -
tinyurl.com/5ddgjr - Rollerblader
tinyurl.com/6ogp7f - Crazy Chinese Dancing Man
tinyurl.com/564muq - Bearded Man

On second thought, maybe they've just been driven mad with boredom?
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:54, Reply)

Poetry Corner…

Another attempt at a QotW related poem my dearies…

*puts on cardigan*

*sits in rocking chair*

Uncle Cecil

He spends most of his day in a shed
With a tin-foil hat glued to his head
He thinks pixies are real
He invented the wheel
And the government all want him dead

He’ll insist that the whole world is flat
He is such a notorious twat
He sleeps under a bridge
Has bogroll in the fridge
And has twenty-four dogs all named ‘Cat’

Never caring what people may think
Both his clothes and his breath really stink
He will only eat lard
He is such a spacktard
He thinks he can 'stop time with a blink'

He believes in the Da Vinci Code
He denies Princess Di’s in ‘off’ mode
He says ‘Hitler’s not gone’
‘He lives next door but one’
And that ‘Elvis lives just down the road’

He explains ‘there is only one way
To keep those pesky aliens at bay
Don’t eat anything brown
Wear a stunning ball gown
& then wank yourself blind every day!’

As his thrunging hips shudder and quicken
He makes lurve with a dead female chicken
So as he gets his kicks
With these strange ‘Ex-hen Tricks’
There is nothing he won’t put his dick in.



I might stop poems now…I think you’ve suffered enough
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:52, 2 replies)

Eccentrics, beggars, mad aul wans...
A thing that struck me recently was the diversity of beggars we have in Dublin these days. They are more colourful with a more elaborate schtick than your traditional Irish beggar.

Your traditional Irish beggar generally just sits against a wall or on a bridge somewhere you might just trip over them but not necessarily so. They are a passive bunch and can generally be seen moving on once they have a few quid for drink or the much talked of ‘Hostel’.

Your newer, foreign beggar is a little more ambitious and granted they work harder so one ought not to begrudge it to them. It’s just a shame to see the indigenous population dying out but alas!

I think I may have mentioned the Santa Claus guy in a previous post. He has a huge bushy white beard and has been here about a year or so now. He is striking and comic but I lost faith in him when I saw him begging over Xmas. I mean, seriously, a big burly fella with a bushy white beard can’t get a job at Xmas?

He kneels down in a thoroughfare with his hands presented like he is receiving communion in a Catholic church. He’s probably aged 50 or so with a neatly shaved head and this enormous Santa Claus beard. He used to kneel to one side of the pathway about halfway up O’Connell Street but I think he twigged business is better if you make more of an obstruction of yourself so he moved in a bit and about 50 yards up nearer the traffic lights where people traffic converges. Smart move.

A newer addition is ‘The Old Crone’. She has taken up the spot vacated by Santa Claus guy only recently. She’s about 70 in appearance. She is bent at a 90 degree angle and leans on two walking sticks. She has a pained expression on her chamois leather face and appears to be rambling. A battered paper cup accompanies one of the sticks. This terrifying yoke has nearly put ‘Mad Mary’ out of business.

Mad Mary is an institution in Dublin. She doesn’t beg. She evangelises. I don’t know her origins but I don’t ever recall her not being there in the middle of O’Connell Street where protestors and marchers usually converge and obstruct the nice shoppers from going about their consuming.

She is probably approaching 80 now so you don’t see her as much as you used to. She is always well-dressed in Jackie Kennedy style suits and shoes. Her hair (peroxide blonde) is worn in a neat but quite large bun/bouffant combination and her make-up is thick and caked and pale. Around her neck are usually a combination of pearls and rosary beads and she generally has another set of rosary beads in her hand which she will occasionally endeavour to put around somebody friendly-looking’s neck. She rambles on about Jesus and dances, two and three-stepping in accelerating circles; singing her words in a tuneless falsetto and growing increasingly rapturous until someone removes her. Sometimes the Garda (police), sometimes care workers or maybe family members.

Wooden crutch Ghandi.

This guy has really taken it up a notch. He is bald, Ghandi-esque leathery skin and bone. He is missing one leg and that scraggly bit of superfluous trouser whilst seemingly tucked away, always seems to creep out just enough to ensure you are fully aware of its absent occupant. He sits on two wooden, war-zone triage crutches placed on the ground and slumps. For such a tiny specimen, he is remarkable. He’s relatively new as well and has chosen to sit at the corner of D’Olier street and the quays just beyond O’Connell Bridge against a nightclub wall which is all glass and chrome and glimpses inside at the wonderful time you could be having. The juxtaposition is notable and well-judged as begging locations go.

rafter
baz
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:50, 6 replies)

Amsterdam - its full of 'em
I moved to Amsterdam about 11 years ago and believe me if the world were to breed eccentrics, this is the place they would spawn from - a few regular examples:

Mr Pants - rumoured to be ex-special forces who went barmy he now makes his money hanging from a rope performing acrobatics from a metal pole on a trailer from his bike on the Leidseplein - wearing nothing but a spangly crotch cover that clips up his butt. He must be also in his 50's and is not a pretty sight...

Then there is make your own clothes man - Always to be seen in town wearing very bizarre clothes fashioned from carpet offcuts.

Or there is the onbviously gay roller blader who can be seen rollerblading in an upper body lycra thing which leaves nothing to the imagination - and last seen at 7am on a december morning with very exposed legs - very scary...

There are many more I can tell you - place is full of them, but I wouldn't live anywhere else
(Waynster James Joyce is fucking my sister!, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:38, 2 replies)

Also - a classic eccentric...
While working part time at currys while in uni, I served a very well spoken (think Cholmondly-Walker & Greyson$,) old suited gent who was after a B&W tv. I told them we didn't sell them any more.

He replied with, and this response has stuck with me for 10 years it was so out there....

"I suppose you can't get them anymore... like straight cucumbers... Oh well, never mind, its all Strawberries."

What a legend!
(dampwookie failing to understand everything from birth up to, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:37, Reply)

The Sutton Wizard
If you happen to be in Sutton (London) at all then keep an eye out for the old man dressed as a wizard. He keeps a cat on his shoulder and an old collie dog follows him. He also carries a wizard's staff and just walks around like he isn't eccentric at all...

Apparently there used to be an old man who walked around dressed as Jesus and gave money and sweets to people. I don't know if it's the same old man...
(Dracia flailed on, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:30, 11 replies)

Guitar Man/basketball man...
There was a rather large (6tf10-7ft tall) Afro carribean man who would walk around Birmingham city centre either with an acoustic guitar strapped to his back or bouncing a basket ball (or both), making random comments and laughing loudly in a chillingly deep voice.
Story goes - he was all about to start playing for the Birmingham Bullets (basket ball team) when injury struck and prematurely ended his career, sending him loopy!!!
(dampwookie failing to understand everything from birth up to, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:28, 3 replies)

Mad asian Tesco conspiracy lady
She stands at the bus stop opposite Whitworth Park Tesco near to Manchester University pretty much every morning. She runs up and down to any bus that stops and stands at the door shouting on about how Tesco/students/Tony Blair/whatever are to blame for the credit crunch/Darfur/christ only knows what. Wouldn't be so bad, but she goes at 100MPH to get as much in as possible before the doors close and has a strong accent so it can be hard to make out what she is actually on about! I do wonder if anyone has tried to engage her in conversation. I would but, well, I can't be fucking arsed and it's cold and I don't want to get off the bus.

So here's to you Mad Asian Tesco Conspiracy Lady!

Cheers
(wackywavinginflatablearmflailingtubeman Hi, I'm Al Harrington..., Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:28, 6 replies)

Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, BUS MAN!
On a bus from St Andrews to Glasgow on a dreary Sunday night I met a really odd chap. I'd managed to have the seat to myself all the way to Dunfermline but then more people got on and a gangly old man (over 60 easy) in a thick jacket, tea cosy style hat and a visably runny nose sat next to me. He was really polite "can I sit here? You're sure you don't mind" etc. and I carried on reading a book for class the next week. As the bus left Dunfermline he asked what I was reading. I showed him, he asked about my course, university and Glasgow. All perfectly plesant until he started telling me about his own university experience.

Every club he'd joined had been soured by "jumped up little pricks" who forced him to move on to a different club, even now he said the Dunfermline model railway club had turned on him which was why he'd moved to Cumbernauld. This went on for some time. Then he asked if I wanted to hear one of his short stories. I asked if I could just read it to myself but no, they had to be read out loud. The bus was still packed at this point and despite slight protests from me he went ahead and started reading. I seem to remember the story being about a train and a wind up watch. What I remember most clearly though is reading from the word processed pages as he read aloud and seeing him skip over certain paragraphs.

"Hang on", I said. "You're missing out big chunks of the story". He looked at me straight in the eye.
"You're another one aren't you".
"A what" I said, almost hoping he was going to say 'lizard person'.
"A jumped up little prick. Trying to keep me down."

Then he went back to reading aloud. All the way to Cumbernauld.
(cannonfodder fodder for cannons on, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:26, 3 replies)

Them Crazy Maltese...
My grandmother is Maltese, and if you know anything about the Maltese it'll be that they're all slightly insane. She often comes out with strange statements and opinions out of the blue. She thinks that we should "bring back Hitler" to get rid of all of the poor people in Africa who can't afford to eat, as this means, according to her, that they are stupid. She isn't a Nazi or anything, just quite ignorant and eccentric.
(The Artist Formerly Known As &c You can order curries ONLINE these days., Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:22, 2 replies)

The Measurer
In Sheffield twenty or more years ago there was a man who was always measuring buildings and the like with an invisible tape measure. You would always find him in the city centre.

Now there is a middle-aged afro-caribbean lady who wanders round singing 'Praise Jesus' really loudly, with or without an electric guitar.
(misspiggy In danger of having to get a job, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:22, 4 replies)

my pet chicken
She used to be able to do somersaults, juggle, down a pint in 3 seconds.......she was pretty clever. Unfortuantly she got a bit to big for her boots so I killed her and ate her corpse. my mate still talk about her now while I sit and grumble.

I don't like people talking about my ex hens tricks.
( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:17, 1 reply)

My dad can come out with some irregular gems
He lives in Ontario in Canada now and sends me pictures of his truck quite frequently. He owns two four by fours and once sent me a very long and ranty email expressing his out rage at the price of petrol over there; which given the smallest of his two cars is a 7.2 litre juggernaut I thought was priceless
( Jahled Three shades of black, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:10, Reply)

Local nutters
specifically in Hitchin (some might be dead by now):

Victorian man - big sideburns, three-piece suit made of tweed, pocket watch, mad, disapproving eyes, once said "out of the way young lady" when my bird crossed his path.

Happy Harry - walks down the street saying "hello" and shaking hands with everyone. He even crosses the road back and forth so that he doesn't miss anyone either side.

Nazi woman - old woman with hair died bright red seen arguing with her reflection in shop windows loudly denying that she is a Nazi.

Charlie - bloke who used to cycle all over the country on a bike that was covered in lights and bells. Got put away after trying to kill his parents.

This is turning into mock the mentally ill.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:10, 6 replies)

I used to...
...work for the company that owns British Gas.

But I quit.

I'm ex-Centrica
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:09, 1 reply)

Here in Australia
there are lots of 'tribute bands'. These are cover bands, but a particular type who only cover one band, and dress up like that band, try to mimic their live show etc.

Anyway, my friend is one of these guys. His band was called "Purple Haze", but they didn't get a lot of work so they became "the Australian U2 Show".

Making them ex-Hendrix.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:08, Reply)

McTwat
When I was 15 I was with my friend wandering around the local shopping centre, which for some reason and much to my confusion was our main hobby at the time.

We passed McDonalds; my friend decided to go in. I had no money because I was a miserable teenager but I was starving so I asked him politely if he'd buy me some fries - I'd pay him back later.

What followed was probably the longest chain of complaints and grumbles I've ever heard and will hopefully ever hear about 59p (the price at the time). I wouldn't have minded if he'd just said "no"; it's when people complain about something but go ahead with it anyway that REALLY fucks me off.

Digression: like when I'd ask my dad for a lift home from somewhere. From the moment I posed the question he'd already decided that he was going to do it, but something inside him told him it'd be more efficient to complain for 10 minutes and make me practically beg, than just do it. In a way, it'd be better if we were all robots - if someone asked for a lift home we'd just do a quick calculation e.g. he's 15, stupid, and I'm his dad - I expected this, this very evening, then instantly say "I'll be there in 10 minutes!"

Speaking of lifts home, why the fuck did my dad used to agree to pick me up from a friend's house but always add "and make sure you're ready this time, I don't want to be waiting around for ages!" at the end of the phonecall. The funny (or irritating) thing is that every single time I'd be stood there 5 minutes early by the window with my bag and coat, and he'd be half an hour late every time. And what's even worse is I don't remember which happened first - was it me taking ages to get ready or him arriving late? I'd love to have said "thanks for agreeing to pick me up - and don't be late this time you scallywag!" then hung up the phone, But I suppose as a dependant teenager you don't have any right to complain.

So anyway, he eventually bought me the fries. "Thanks. I owe you 59p, then", I said. He didn't buy any fries, just a cheeseburger or something (stay with me, this was 10 years ago). He then proceeded to help himself to my fries. There's so much wrong with his doing this, I nearly exploded because I was young and couldn't articulate myself. It's not that I'm against sharing - he was doing it because he paid for them. I calmy tried to explain to him that, as I would be returning the money shortly, they were technically my fries, and that it'd be polite to ask.

He didn't understand my logic because he was an idiot, so I said "keep your fucking fries you... gay!" and marched out of the restaurant*.

My dad had arrived to pick me up anyway.






* That's what it says on the sign.




EDIT: This was for "Tightwads", it closed while I was writing it!
( valoukh newsgash.wordpress.com, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:04, 4 replies)

French teacher.
Mr. Milner.He was mad but completely brilliant.He would never look at you or the class,choosing instead to stare up and to the right.He would get us to watch the news in French,always commenting on the newslady´s breasts and how badly she dressed.
But every now and then,he would proclaim that he couldn´t be bothered teaching us and sit us down to watch "La cage aux folles".Bear in mind this was an all-boys grammar school full of rugger buggers and rich twats.The look on our 17 year old,pubescent faces must have been quite something,only to be matched by Mr Milner singing along with the songs and laughing his head off at the fat tranny bloke.He was quite fond of watching the two main characters kissing too.This happened a great many times,and despite his rather unorthodox methods we all got As at Alevel.
Plus he left his wife and shacked up with a lady in a caravan.He told us that with a wry smile on his face....so,mad,a bit filthy,but brilliant.We salute you,sir.........
(shirleytemplesarse, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 15:00, Reply)

Well
Off the top of my head there is the Grey Area, Sleeper Service and Shoot Them Later.






im so sorry.
(Halfy By light alone, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 14:59, 7 replies)

I don’t know if this is actually eccentric…
…but a few weeks ago I went into our little kitchen in the office to make some coffee.

Standing at the sink with her back to me was a petite brunette dancing on her own.

She must have heard me, because she turned round, still dancing and flashed me the prettiest smile I have seen in a long time.

Then she turned back to face the sink and carried on dancing.

I have no idea who she was, I haven’t seen her again since, but she absolutely made my heart smile that day.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 14:58, Reply)

My Dad's warnings
When my two brothers and I were teenagers, he gave us differing advice on the subject of what to look for in a prospective boy/girl friend.. He gave me a long list of things to avoid, including, but not restricted to...
Welsh men, Yorkshire men, men that keep their change in a purse, men that only drink halves, musicians, men that have tinted lenses in their real glasses, men that wear pink,and sales reps..

All he told my two brothers was "Look for a woman with a good sized arse that drinks red wine" reasoning that "They're not any more reliable, they're just more fun!"

He's called me "Plum" since I was a baby,and I'm 42 years old.. (after a character in a 1950s comic, I believe) he also introduces me to people as his effeminate son, apologising that I am a bit "camp", he also collects songs, and pretends to be Dr Ian Paisley when he's drunk, and sings "The Sash My Father Wore" at the top of his voice..We are English, and lapsed catholic, I should point out..

Oh yes, and he told me that Christmas was cancelled when I was 7, because he'd shot Santa, and he pretended to be the BBC on the telephone when a showing of Tom and Jerry was cancelled, and he rang up to complain. He also got me into the Sex Pistols, accoustic blues music, Tom Waits and Tiswas when I was a smaller Sparklet..

He spends a lot of time shouting in shops that "I'm not old you know!"

So on balance, its been grand up to now...
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 14:58, 3 replies)

Working at the courts,
I saw a lot of weirdos, most of whom were there on account of their criminal behaviour rather than their eccentricities.

Railway fare-dodgers were often unusual people. One turned up dressed like Buffalo Bill and attempted to defend himself by reading out letters he had written to his MP, the Prime Minister, the Minister for Transport, the Archbishop of Canterbury and Her Majesty the Queen.

Everyone in court - clerk, beaks, usher, loitering solicitors - was shaking with stifled laughter. We had to adjourn so we could get it out of our systems.

Other defendants appeared with their personal art collections on display. I mean tats, of course. Huge tattoos on neck and even faces made identification by CCTV and eyewitnesses waterproof and punishment consequently inevitable.

One 'collector' had his full name and date of birth tattoed at the nape of his neck. Every single court employee present that day said 'No! No way!' and took a turn in peeping down the back of his shell jacket.

One eccentric whose personal oddness was certainly the cause of prosecution was an elderly horse-farmer. On trial for neglecting her animals, she brought into court various items of evidence, including a full bale of sweet-smelling hay.*
The second time she was charged, after defying a lifetime ban on keeping horses, she brought in a couple of huge bags of rosettes allegedly won by a horse that she'd starved half to death and then left to die of untreated cancer.
She's up for sentence next month and has been advised to bring her toothbrush.

*Having been accused of underfeeding and not 'mucking out' horses, she produced the hay and asked the prosecution's vet, 'Is that like the the hay you saw in my barn?' to which he replied, 'No, yours were all covered in shit.'
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 14:58, Reply)

Could be me
There's nothing I love more than taking little class A tablets and engaging in prolonged sexual activities with the missus.

E-tantrics is great!!!
( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 14:57, Reply)

Cap Streeter
My great-great (…) grandfather owned Chicago. Don’t believe me (this is B3TA, after all)? Hear me out.

I’m descended from his first marriage – my great-great (…) grandmother ran off with a vaudeville troupe, leaving my g-g-grandfather, “Captian” George Wellington Streeter, to remarry in Chicago. Ever the businessman, he and his new wife purchased a ship so they could illegally run guns to Honduras. Unfortunately, the ship wasn’t up to scratch, and when he took it out for its first spin during a gale storm, it ran aground 450 feet from the Chicago shoreline.

But you can’t keep a good man down, can you. Cap Streeter assessed the situation and decided to use his ship as a dumping ground for all rubble and fill resulting from the Great Chicago Fire and the city’s subsequent rebuild. Eventually he had nearly 200 acres of land which, by this point, had connected to the city of Chicago.

The land was his, he said, to do with what he liked. Using a survey from 50 years previous, he found that his new piece of land was outside both Chicago and Illinois and therefore not subject to their laws. As such, he declared it a separate country, The District of Lake Michigan (a survey of which can be seen here: http://www.capstreeter.com/images/map.jpg.) In his country, prostitution and murder was legal, as long as he was the only one doing the murdering.

His new law came in rather handy when his enemies tried to seize his land. He built his governmental seat – a castle – to replace the ship he had continued to live on. The ground floor of his castle was the official war room, staffed by an army of transients and prostitutes who had come to live in his micronation. Several people were killed when they tried to invade The District of Lake Michigan, some of which Cap Streeter was convicted – and later pardoned - for. Fearing further deaths, the city took Cap Streeter to the courts.

And you probably think the story ends here, that Cap Streeter lost and lived out his days in obscurity. No – although the owner of most of Chicago sued Cap Streeter won the lawsuit, Cap Streeter retained rights and ownership over this land. He finally went to jail for violating liquor laws, and eventually died from pneumonia. His heirs (including me) would still retain rightful ownership over this land, but it was found that the woman doing the fighting, the woman he called ‘his wife’, wasn’t at all. In fact, he was still married to my g-g-grandmother, who was long dead by this point, and my relatives long drunk. As such, litigation ended. More sober portions of my family took this to the courts in the 1940s and lost. Throughout the years, various lawyers as well as the Chicago Title and Trust have contacting us claiming that the land was illegally taken away, that we are the rightful owners. Now we just need to find that spare billion dollars to sort out that sticky issue. Had he actually gotten a divorce, Chicago would be a much different place today, and I wouldn’t be sat here in my office, I’d be having diamond implants put in my arse so I could shit sparkles.

The John Hancock Center, one of the world’s most recognizable buildings and home to Jerry Springer, is built on the exact location of my g-g-grandfather’s castle.

And that, kids, is how you do eccentricity in style.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 14:55, 8 replies)