Shopping diversions...
If I'm bored and shopping with the missus (hate shopping) I like to wait until she's paying attention to an item and talking to me, oblivious to the fact that I've sneaked off out of the way and she's still talking her head off.

Extra kudos are awarded if you can get her to carry on a conversation to a complete stranger.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 11:05, Reply)

Home-made alarm clock
One saturday morning me dad had to wake mam up for an early breakfast. The alarm clock was knackered so he improvised. He woke himself up with his watch alarm and quietly sneaked downstairs about 20 minutes before me mum was meant to wake. He made her some breakfast ready, then went upstairs to wake her. With a metal tray and a wooden spoon beside her ear.
BANG BANG BANG "WAKEY WAKEY RISE AND SHINE DEAR" BANG BANG.
After she got up off the floor (after falling out of bed that is) he gave her breakfast and run like feck.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 10:59, Reply)

Not really that evil I guess..
..But back in the day my friend and I would take regular trips to Southend on the train with his Mum and her strange friend.

On the way back one trip, we reached our stop and upon exiting the train onto the platform I quickly pressed the door close button.

My friend panicked thinking he was going onto the next stattion without us - crying and banging on the door.

His Mum just pressed Open and we walked home in silence.


Sorry mate.
(Shifty Bloke, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 10:48, 1 reply)

I was a cruel child
When I was but a wee hypnoticme of about six or seven, I ran screaming and crying into my parents' bedroom, my hand resembling a scene from the director's cut of Saw III. Cue usual early morning "fuck off" from father, and copious shrill screams from my mother as she dragged me downstairs, tearing through cupboards as she searched for a towel to stem the rather profuse bleeding from my deathly digit damage.

It was a good couple of minutes of frantic, panicking parent before she noticed the tomato ketchup five feet to her left where I had (in a weird junior homage to my future stoned self) forgetfully left it on the worktop. Cue hypnoticmum grabbing the stumps of my ring and little fingers, only to find them intact and in fact curled into my hand.

I still bear the scars of that punishment to this day.

No apologies for length or width of hypnoticdad's belt marks on my arse.
(hypnoticme is an anarcho-syndicalist commune, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 10:46, Reply)

Not mine but still a worthy yarn...
An old mate of mine used to be a labourer type for a developer (buildings not software). As he was the new boy, he was ripe for the taking.

First fix of plumbing had been done in one house and the easiest way to establish which is hot and which is cold at a particular point was to get someone to blow down the hot pipe at the boiler end. Wherever the rush of air came out was the hot tap...(you can guess where this is going).

"Oi new boy! Can you blow down the hot pipe for us please?"

Sure enough, new boy thinks nothing of it and blows down the copper pipe. Couldn't work out why everyone else was rolling around the floor laughing.

Turns out, the biggest, fatest bastard on site had dropped his pants and liberally wiped his arse around the hot pipe that new boy had so obediently blown through.

From then on, new boy carried a small length of copper pipe in his pocket...:O)
(McVitie, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 10:45, 1 reply)

Just remembered another one.
Not particularly evil, but it did nearly end with tragic results, so here it is.

When I worked in sales, I had a colleague, Jimbo, who was a fully paid-up member of the Kill All Gays Society. Any kind of hint of homosexuality in anything you said to him was rebuffed brutally (he'd probably 'splode if he ever saw the stuff we say to each other on the board).

Anyway, one of the customers he had to deal with was a chap called Dave, who was most definitely gay - not camp, but very much out.

Anyway, one day Dave asked Jimbo to accompany him to a works party - nothing too sinister, just a bit of a drinks and bite to eat to thank various suppliers for their help through the year. Jimbo had no real option but to say yes to this, as the guy was a good customer and didn't want to upset him.

Come the day of the party, I phoned the customer and told him that sadly Jimbo had phoned in sick, but he had an appointment with Dave in the diary - I feigned ignorance of what the appointment was, and just apologised that he wouldn't be able to make it.

So far so good.

The next day though, we organised a single red rose and a card that said "Sorry to miss you last night, hope to see you soon. Dave xx" and got it delivered to work by courier.

Jimbo went through the fucking roof and stormed out of the office in an absolute fury. For some reason, everyone turned to me and said "Stop him Ken!" so I nipped out the other door and caught up with Jimbo in the car park just before he got into his car. He was white with rage, and although when I told him it was a joke he said he knew, he was tucking a claw hammer into his jacket.

If I hadn't stopped him I really think he might have been on the way to go and smash Dave's skull...

I'm still waiting for the retribution to this O_o
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 10:30, 8 replies)

Ok. this is going to be a bit long, but I need to get it right...
I used to work with a guy called Glaston, and along with another colleague we were in a band.

Glaston booked a rehearsal studio round the corner from work, but before we had a chance to use it found a better one and booked that too.

We told him to cancel the first one but he didn't... so one morning I concocted a letter from the first studio on their headed paper (which was actually just their logo downloaded from the net) explaining that since he'd failed to cancel, he owed the £43 for the studio, plus late cancellation fee, legal charges, interest etc. The total bill came to about £225 I think. There was also a paragraph saying "DO NOT contact the studio about this; the matter has been passed to our legal department and the studio staff are not allowed to discuss the case with you". He had to contact a lady called Helen, and a phone number was provided (my mobile number).

Glaston walked into the office a few minutes later and I handed him the letter, saying it had been delivered by courier and I'd just signed for it. Reading it, as you can imagine he went ballistic, and stormed around the place shouting about how it was bollocks and £200 was taking the piss.

Everyone convinced him in the end that he couldn't leave it as it was a legal matter and the letter had been signed for, so he'd have to ring them and see if he could do a deal.

At lunchtime, he disappeared upstairs in the warehouse, and shortly afterwards my mobile rang. Sure enough it was Glaston so, putting on the most ridiculous Australian accent you've ever heard I answered, giving the name of the "Legal Firm". In a tiny voice, Glaston asked to speak to Helen whereupon I told him she was at lunch, so could I take his number and I'd get her to call him back. I was struggling so hard not to laugh, I can't believe he hadn't twigged it was me.

Anyway, a couple of minutes later we all piled upstairs to where Glaston was sitting with his head in his hands, presumably thinking about how skint he'd be without that £200.

Amongst a chorus of "What happened?" and "Have you got to pay it?" I gently enquired "What did the Australian guy say?".

Glaston looked at me and slowly, oh so slowly, realisation dawned in his eyes as he thought it through and realised that I shouldn't know it had been an Australian guy...

"You cunt" was all he said, but he did actually take it really well (and see the funny side) once he'd thought it through. That moment though of the light switching on his eyes as he realised will always stay with me as one of those perfect moments =)
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 10:00, Reply)

combining
last week's animal sagas and this week's pranks into a hideous experience which, quite literally, saw me being the butt of it.

my friends wanted a puppy. a specific puppy that they had found online. problem was, he was a welsh puppy, from the darkest part of rural wales. they live in london and neither of them drive.

so for much bribery (well, a free dinner), i agreed to drive them all the way there and back. if you take the middle of nowhere and go 5 miles east, 3 miles south, 2 miles north and turn around five times before walking west for a bit, that's where this damn place was. no phone reception. no road names. no names on the farms. no telephone boxes. nightmare.

plus my car is only a 2 seater so we'd had to hire one. they had thoughtfully upgraded us and given us a brand new one, so i was utterly terrified about scratching it. not good when you're slithering around dirt tracks, ditches, fields etc.

eventually we found it, and they must have had 40 dogs, including 20 puppies of all breeds, all happy and running around enormous fields and it was lovely. and lo the infant puppy was produced, and verily he was divine.

until we got halfway back down the m4. we stopped at a roadchef, and my friends went inside for a mcpiss and a burger. i didn't want anything, so volunteered to stay in the car and snuggle with the puppy.

biggest mistake of my life (bar the bedshitter, but this has a verrrrry similar theme).

it was all cute and grunty and snuffly. then it wriggled up my chest. when it was level with my ear, it suddenly stiffened, lifted its tail, farted audibly (serves me right for asking last week) and sprayed liquid stinking brown shit all over me.

i did not know what to do. i was holding this tiny wriggling barking puppy, which was still spewing shit from its arse, and trying to make sure the shit didn't go all over the brand new hire car, and the putrid stench was indescribable. i wrapped the puppy in its blanket, which it promptly shat in, and called my friends.

both mobiles rang out cheerily from the back seat. i had to sit, dripping in shit and retching uncontrollably, for another 137 years until they came out munching happily on their damn burgers.

then i had to have my tits sponged down by my friend whilst her husband cleaned the puppy. the worst thing was the couple in the car next to us, who sat there staring at the drama and solidly munching away at their sandwiches without being peturbed or amused or horrified in the least.

once i was a bit cleaner they went in to buy me a new t-shirt. we must have picked the only service station in the world not to have a lame shop selling them. i had to drive the whole way back to london in a bra and jeans, coated in chanel (didn't help. made it worse, in fact, in manner of pot pourri spray in the bathroom) and shit. well, the shit was by this time rolled up in the boot, but it still felt like it was all over my top.

i don't care what they call him, his name is scatdog.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 9:48, 20 replies)

National lottery shenanigans
Back in 1995, a few months after the launch of the UK National Lottery, I was sharing my flat with a mate, Paolo.

He worked in a factory, and as was the custom at the time, they had all clubbed together and set up a lottery syndicate in the hopes of untold riches. Every week they would buy about 90 tickets between them, which Paolo would painstakingly check every Saturday night before we "were allowed" to go out to the pub.

Getting bored of waiting for this every week and realising there must be a better way, I wrote a DOS program that would check the numbers for him in a matter of seconds and flag up any wins in different coloured fonts.

As the numbers were the same every week, I stored the syndicate's entries in a 90 line text file and used this as input to the checker program.

The rest was easy. I recorded the lottery results one week, cued up the tape to where the balls started dropping (quiet at the back...) and then made an excuse to send him out of the room briefly so I could press "Play" at the right moment (after having changed the ticket input file accordingly).

Wary of a potential stabbing, I hadn't made anything match a jackpot win but there were plenty of other smaller wins that would have given the syndicate members, including Paolo, about 20 grand each.

Oh, his little face when he looked at the computer screen all lit up with various wins picked out in different colours according to the numbers of balls matched.

I had to stop him just as he was running for his car to race up to the ticket holder's house to double check the results.

Oh, how I laughed. Oh, how he hated me.

Length? About 2 flights of stairs.
(potatan, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 9:03, Reply)

Gotta love the wife...
Just after I got married, thought I'd play a joke on the missus.

I hid a small digital clock in the bookcase in our front room, set it to beep on the hour...

That's it!

For weeks, she'd hear a faint 'beep' noise and couldn't find where it was coming from. On numerous occasions it would beep whilst I was in the room, she'd then mention it and I would swear blind I'd not heard anything.

This went on for about 2 months...

Came home from work and met triumphant wifey on the step, she had figured out the source of the beeping, we had a labradour called Sam who had been 'chipped'. She reckoned that the battery in the chip was running low and had started to beep, so we had to take him to the vet for a new one...

I lead her wordlessly to the bookcase, removed the clock from the bookcase, put it on the dining room table, it beeped (5pm) I then went upstairs and got changed.

Needless to say, I made my own tea that night..

Length? the chips are about as wide as your thumb...
(Skeksis 2nd place is 1st loser....., Mon 17 Dec 2007, 8:59, Reply)

Muff Diver
I were a wee young sailor in the RN and I had a best mate who we'll call Andy Goode (cos thats what fate & his mum called him) Andy was a good mate-he'd share his last fag, drink and he didn't get huffy when I shagged his ex-I digress.
Andy was always short of cash so I suggested that he put in for a 'Muff diving course' & that muffs were dangerous little things that attached themselves to ships, so muff divers were needed to de-muff a ship before it left port...and so Andy dutifully put in a chit (=request) to be a muff diver & began making plans for the extra cash this would bring him, plus as I assured him there was a demand for any muffs he could bring aboard...
it seemed like a great gag, but then in their own twisted way that R.N. officers have: they took his request seriously...it got passed from the Chief Petty officer, to the sub lieutenant, to the lieutenant, commander, officer of the day and (during this of course everybody on board was busy congratulating Andy on his good fortune in being a possible muff diver and were promising their own tips on a good muff hunt, promising that if he found any good muffs that they'd take them off his hands etc.) eventually reached the Captain.
i was called before the Old Man. he kindly suggested that there were two choices; either he told Andy or I did. and that though he appreciated the gag he would prefer that i kept them 'below decks'
I told Andy. who didn't talk to me for a week or two.
tho' i did later sign him up for splash target coxswain: a splash target being a big white painted raft towed behind a ship for gunners to play shooty gunny at, he declined the invite.
(mickturate if i could be arsed i'd be bored, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 8:44, Reply)

My friend Jeff used to always tell me that he rubbed his cock on all my stuff when I wasn't around
The thing that made it particularly unnerving was that it was Jeff's cock - it was newly pierced, with a new gauge every month or so (we actually wrote and recorded a song about his penis and I put it on b3ta, a year and a half ago), so there was potential for wound seepage and other unfun things I won't discuss.

also he did his girlfriend in the rear quite often and made sure everyone knew it.

So I'm not sure if he actually did it, but like most worrisome things, it's scarier when you don't know for sure. And when I went to the bathroom to clean off my shot glasses that he'd told me he'd 'tampered' with, I'd come back and he'd tell me he'd just rubbed his cock on my mouse and keyboard.
( AgentMuu hentai coordination, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 6:51, Reply)

Blurry Vision
For no good reason, I used to put Vaseline on the lenses of my sister's eyeglasses. I'd rub it around pretty well so it wasn't obvious until she put them on.

I also put soap on her toothbrush once, but didn't care for the retaliation.
( Syncubus Yarr! Ye'll be walking Planck's Constant! [GMT-5], Mon 17 Dec 2007, 3:50, Reply)

Breast Support for those who don't need it.
A friend of mine has small breasts. I don't mean like a small handful, I mean like bee stings. We dreamed up some 'support group' for women with this condition and printed out some fliers and a membership card. We also printed out some 'welcome to the club' letters and sent the to postmasters in various states, asking them to be sealed and re-mailed with a postmark from that location. (We left them open so they could see it was a harmless prank and included a postage paid envelope).
( Syncubus Yarr! Ye'll be walking Planck's Constant! [GMT-5], Mon 17 Dec 2007, 3:49, Reply)

Red Light District
A mate once went on vacation. Another mate and I picked his lock and let ourselves in. We tidied up, vacuumed, rearranged his furniture, and changed out all of his light bulbs for red ones.
( Syncubus Yarr! Ye'll be walking Planck's Constant! [GMT-5], Mon 17 Dec 2007, 3:49, Reply)

Sundry software stuff
Too many to remember. Here are some decent ones.

We hex-edited the Microsoft BASIC interpreter (DOS 3.3 days) to read "Bad Ass BASIC". Changed the 'OK!' prompt to "YO!", and changed 'subscript out of range' to "SUBSCRIPT TOO DAMN BIG".

We added a menu to the boot process (AUTOEXEC.BAT) asking whether you were a good student or a bad student. If you answered 'Good', it dumped you to a DOS prompt. If you answered 'Bad', it printed a page of ASCII art pron on the dot matrix printer and started SpaceQuest.

My manager somehow got a screen-flipper program (turns the screen 180°) added to his startup group.

A mate used to complain about how he never read the "Risk Management" daily recap e-mails, so I set an Outlook rule to forward mine to him.

You'd be surprised how many people aren't all that interested in messenger messages from the command: "for %v in (C:\Windows\System32\*.*) do net send //computername %v"
it sends a messenger message for each file in the system32 directory, which can easily be several hundred, just stating the name of the file.

I once reset a user's password to "twentyfivecharacterstring" (which happens to be one) and checked 'user cannot change password'.
( Syncubus Yarr! Ye'll be walking Planck's Constant! [GMT-5], Mon 17 Dec 2007, 3:48, 1 reply)

Sluggish but 'smart' old computers
During a class break, a mate and I copied diskettes and swapped keyboards with a girl in the computer lab who used to sit across from us. (this was back in the 8086 processor/dual floppy days)

I don't mean we traded keyboards. We just swapped the plugs and rebooted so she was typing on our screen and we echoed her commands to her screen using our keyboard. Since we had a copy of her disks, we had all of her documents so we could 'load' them for her, etc.

Ever seen an XT with 'sluggish' response that makes typos and corrects them and does random stuff for you, etc? She was well puzzled, as was the instructor, until we got to laughing too hard they realized something was up.
( Syncubus Yarr! Ye'll be walking Planck's Constant! [GMT-5], Mon 17 Dec 2007, 3:48, Reply)

Driller killer
I'd recently moved away from my parents and had borrowed an electric drill to put up a shelf at my new place.
A few days later, I was going to be in their area as I was meeting some mates in the local pub, so I took the drill with me to drop back.
The parents were away on holiday, but my younger brother, who was about 16 then, was at home on his own.
By the time I got round to the house, it was late, and in darkness. My brotyher had gone to bed.
I had a mate with me.
So we sneaked in, and went upstairs. We plugged in the drill on the landing, I hid, and my mate turned it on and stood there.
Eventually my brother's bedroom door opened. He took one look at the stranger on the landing, cradling the whining electric drill, and fled back to his room, and hid under the duvet.
Length? I think it was a 0.5cm drill bit.
(Pop!)
(Bowens, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 0:30, 3 replies)

Junk Mail Backlash
I love junk mail. Especially if they have Freepost coupons, or reply-paid envelopes. Learned this one a few years ago from some friends in Leeds, and it's never really got boring.

Played with a friend, this can lead to almost endless early morning entertainment. Simply put, you send in a coupon with your chosen address, but a fake name. Now nobody's going to write to Mr F**k, or Miss C**t, so it has to be a bit cleverer than that. These things are almost always processed by temp workers and/or copy typists, who aren't really reading what you put down, just sending it straight from brain to fingers. Maybe one in a hundred didn't get through, because someone was paying attention, but we reckon that 99% of the time, the people processing this stuff either don't spot it, or get a giggle out of it themselves and pass it on through.

So for several years, my friend and I have sent each other an assortment of wondrous names. A hearing aid company wrote to Mr D Eafazfuk. The Royal Marines sent a letter to Mr I Shootcivvies. A company offering treatment for impotence sent their brochure to Mr S Pooge. Some plumbing company wrote to Mr A Nuss-Finger-Browner, and that envelope was hand-written! There are so many wonderful synonyms and slightly obscure terms for so many activities, parts of the body, sexual escapades, that it's possible not to repeat yourselves for ages.

Possibly my favourite was one that I'm convinced only got to my door because by then the postie was enjoying the game too.

Mr R Sole-Fullacombe
Felching Suction Pumps Ltd.
Frotters Mount
(rest of real address)

Evil - hell yeah - some mornings I've read Alastair's latest effort and laughed so hard I've pulled a muscle. Of course, that only makes the challenge of responding in kind all the more intense.

Length - a few years and counting.
(Leo Sasquatch hates being the grown-up, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 0:22, 2 replies)

And another one about my mate Simon.
At the same company as the post below, one day we were all having a cup of tea and a handful of ginger nut biscuits (I say, how jolly!).

Simon went off to the toilet so I grabbed his biscuits and rubbed them on the floor, sanding them into pretty shapes - a triangle, a square and a hexagon if I remember rightly.

I then left them by his tea, with a pair of scissors, and retreated to my desk.

He returned a couple of minutes later, by which time I was on the phone. By the time I'd finished and hung up, the biscuits were gone. My protestations of "But I rubbed them on the floor!" were greeted with "Haha, you can't trick me, you cut them with scissors" until I demonstrated that you can't in fact cut a biscuit cleanly* with scissors. He wasn't pleased =)


*Not a ginger nut, anyway
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 0:17, 1 reply)

Simple but effective...
A few months back my housemate was asleep in his room and I was in a rather mischeivous mood. Our other housemate had been decorating his room and had taken his door off its hinges and left it leaning against the wall in the hall. Anyway, said housemate's door was identical to sleeping housemate's bedroom door. It was all too easy. I simply moved the spare door so that it covered sleeping housemate's doorway.
Now, I'm not at my sharpest when I've just woken up - I have been known to walk down the hall literally bumping into the walls in search of my first coffee of the day. My housemate has a similarly slow start time.
Imagine the confusion in my poor half-alseep friend's mind when he opened his door only to find the door he thought he'd just opened.
Only took him a few seconds to work it out but he said those few seconds fucked his brain something terrible....
(ComplexStuff Was confused by life on, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 0:14, Reply)

never-right's stories have reminded me...
My best mate, Simon, worked at the same company as me for a while, in the machine shop.

One day I took him a cup of tea, but I'd put 20 sweeteners in it.

He looked really surprised and pleased that I'd taken him a cup of tea, took a big mouthful and then just leant forward and let it run out of his mouth, it tasted so vile.

Luckily, I'd made him a real cup which I then gave him - I felt terrible though, he looked at me with such a hurt expression in his eyes \o/
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 0:13, Reply)

A Mate of Mine
When he had just left school went to work in a local factory.(patternmaking)

As the new boy he naturally had to make the tea.

He didn't mind this but there was 1 guy there who he just didnt get on with.

Every day for about 6 months he would serve this blokes tea LAST.

Only because once it was made he would microwave it, until the milky water mixture was BOILING in the cup.

And every morning this bloke would take the tiniest of sips and proclaim, "fuck me, I dunno how you get it so hot!"

/length
(never-right -getting it wrong since '78, Mon 17 Dec 2007, 0:04, 3 replies)

Work
1 lad HATED sugar in his tea.

We were working on a small site and only our company was there at the time installing data/electrics and stuff.

We were all staying in local digs and he was the only one that took a flask with him.

Every morning he would fill said flask in hotel room and take it to site.

Every mid-morning we would fill it with sugar and end up drinking the rest.

By the third day we started taking the kettle out the hotel room with us.

On the last day he took (another?) sip from his sugary tea and went all flipmode on us.

He unleashed a whole week of pent up sugary anger on our asses.

We offered to appease him by making him a nice fresh one.

First we took the plastic cup and screwed it with a self tapper to the false floor. Then we made his tea. We managed to convince him it was only weak glue holding it down. He gave it a big pull, it came free but left a screw head shape hole in the bottom, which leaked red hot tea down his trousers.

Thats three pranks in one.

I'm laughing now just thinking about it.
(never-right -getting it wrong since '78, Sun 16 Dec 2007, 23:50, Reply)

Probably bindun...
... in some shape or form, But...
My mates and I were sitting down after a big night out all pilled up and smokin' a few spliffs. One of my mates had just got together with the girl of his dreams and wouldn't stop talking about her - he was getting all worked up and decided he was going to text her to see if he could come round for an early morning shag.

Before he got the chance he went to the bog to drop the kids off at the beach (for some reason he always seemed to leave skid marks all over the side of the toilet) and whislt he was gone we swapped his girlfriends number with his mum's.

We struggled to conceal our mirth as he sent out the first text. The look of confusion on his face when he recieved a text saying something along the lines of "I'm so ashamed of you right now, wait until your father hears about this" sent us over the edge.
(Creamy Discharge Freeze Motherstickers, this is a fuck up, Sun 16 Dec 2007, 23:46, 1 reply)

Martial or Marital?
I'm not generally much of a prankster, but there is one situation I'm proud of - my first internet troll, which turned into a prank.

On an IRC channel, discussing various martial arts, I was still doing karate at that point (never got beyond red belt)... and for no reason at all, I decided to try to convince a friend that I was a novice of the japanese arts of hentai and bukkake.

Cue several people surpressing their laughter (plus quite a few amused pms sent my way) as this discussion was so delicately strung out, with such great lines as

"Bukkake's great - lots of fluid movements"
"Nah, you've got to be very flexible for hentai."

Several other people chipped in with helpful questions and comments, to make it more convincing too. The game was finally up when he googled the terms. Sadly, he didn't do an image search, but I think he learned his lesson about not blindly trusting.

I just wish I'd thought of trying to convince him that "Hentai" meant "The way of the striking octopus".
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Sun 16 Dec 2007, 23:45, Reply)

My return to the ice
This season when I got back down here to the Ice, I headed up to my room, with one of my good friends who had been here through the winter, and was right next to my old room.

His room had been one of the bigger party rooms the previous season, and also housed the Library for the floor. This of course being the pr0n library. Random people would drop by on their way to the toilet to choose a selection from three very large drawers with everything from playboy to midgets (little people?.

Back to my return, room mate is off at work, and I open the door to a pitch black room... as I feel for the light switches i feel paper on the walls and assume he added some new posters over the winter...see where this is going?

I find the switches and turn them on...and there was pr0n.... everywhere. Every square inch of walls, ceiling, on and all around all the furniture, liquor bottles, the phone...even the inside of the microwave. So after a cursury glance of all the men and women..and occasional animal... who were obviously deeply in love with each other I litterally fell to the ground laughing...making a nice thud as my bags hit the floor in the hall.

Soon other winter-overs appeared...and once I calmed down they asked what I thought

"Well i should be kind of mad... but really...im just impressed"

It had taken an average of 9 people six hours to complete, and still only used about 1/8th of the library.

It took me and said room mate about of 5 minutes to tear it all down several days later when HR said "it would be in our best employment interest to remove".

Length? Combined...from pole to pole.
(I_Live_In_Antarctica No...really...I do.www.travbuddy.com/mtfd528/blogs, Sun 16 Dec 2007, 23:16, 2 replies)