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This is a question Evil Pranks

As a student Joel Veitch attached a hose from the sink into my bed. I slowly woke thinking I'd pissed myself. I had the last laugh though. He had to pay for my ruined mattress.

What's the most evil prank you've ever played on someone?

(, Thu 13 Dec 2007, 14:01)
Pages: Latest, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Rusty Nail
I was just a young kid, hanging out with some friends at my house while my dad was off at work. During those days, we'd often be left alone for hours and would tire of the usual entertainments and begin terrorizing each other for fun. Mild stuff, really. Childish pranks usually involving water guns and fake vomit.

One day, my friend's brother, Chris, took off his sneakers and began rubbing his stinky feet all over my new Nintendo 64. I howled at him to stop, convinced that real damage would actually be incurred due to the stink fumes. He wouldn't relent. I picked up his sneakers and tossed them out the front door and into the street. He then forcibly took my own shoes off. A shoving match ensued, wherein he managed to push me out the door demanding that I retrieve the precious shoes. I got them but found that the door had been bolted behind me. I pounded on the door for a while, listening to the giggles of my friend and his brother on the other side. I tried everything: breaking down the door, profanity, threatening. Finally I remembered that my bedroom window was unlocked, so I crept around the house to climb through it. I aimed to sneak in and then ambush the pranksters, catching them off guard. What actually happened, though, was that while attempting to climb through the window, I stepped on a rusty nail that was jutting out from a board near the ground. The nail nearly went through my foot, piercing the skin with a rather loud POP! I was horrified.

I tore around the house screaming for help. I made it to the front door, a trail of blood showing the path I had taken. I pounded on the door with renewed energy, frantic. "Let me in!!!" I screamed. "I STEPPED ON A GODDAMN RUSTY NAIL!!!"

What did they do then? They laughed harder, assuming I was putting them on. I lost a half hour and a substantial amount of blood before I was finally able to convince them to open the door. When they opened the door to see my pale face and a pool of blood, I'd say that the joke was really on them. You should have seen the look on their faces.

Length? Well, I told you, it almost went through my foot!
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 20:57, Reply)
Dropping my other half off at her Greek night class has reminded me of this
Years ago, Tourettes lived on the Greek island of Kos. Decided to do a Shirley Valentine and upped and buggered off. Also decided that if she hadn't found a job and a place to live before her return flight, she'd come back to Blighty.

Needless to say, she found a job and a place to live.

Seeing as she was intending on staying, she threw herself into the Greek way of life, adapting to the customs of the island. Which also meant learning the lingo. After mastering the basics of hello, good evening, can I have a beer please, she set herself a task of learning the language proper, and decided that the best way to do that would be to learn the alphabet first, progress to reading Greek, translating it, and learning new phrases everyday. Most Hollywood films are shown with Greek subtitles, so that was a good place to start.

However, the everyday stuff was something that could only really be picked up by talking to the locals and asking them how to say stuff. She knew the basic nuances of the language, for instance (and I apologise as this is probably not the correct spelling, you'll just have to bear with me and read it phonetically), if a word has 'aki' at the end, it means it's small, and if it has the suffix 'ara' it means big.

Fantastic. Tourettes writes all this down in the little phrasebook she has made and learns from it.

One evening there is a particularly large bright full moon in the sky. Realising that she doesn't know the word for moon, she asks one of the Greek lads she works with, to be told that it is 'Mooni'. Fairly easy to remember really. As it's a full moon, she drops the 'i' and adds the correct suffix to make it 'moonara'. After her shift, and on her way to meet some friends at a bar, she decides to engage in social niceities with the lovely old Greek women sitting outside their homes.

'Good evening ladies' she says (in Greek, obviously), smiling at them as she passes, 'what a beautiful big moon(ara) we have this evening'. She is puzzled by the somewhat disbelieving stares she receives in return, but thinks that it might be surprise that a Brit has learned the language.

Meeting her friend, she explains excitedly to her about the new phrase she has learned. After her friend has stopped pissing herself laughing, she regains enough composure to point out Tourette's huge social faux pas.

Mooni, in Greek, means cunt.

So in fact she had really been going around telling these lovely old Greek women that they had beautiful big cunts this evening.

The irony of this is that a couple of years ago while we were holidaying on the island, there was a full moon, so she took a photo of it with her new digital camera. Except that her hand slipped ever so slightly and it came out looking like a huge cock and balls...

EDIT: and here it is (with thanks to the Resident Loon).
Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 20:31, 2 replies)
I work as a PR manager
for The Pogues.
Recently I enlisted the help of the BBC in order to create an enormous furore which would increase the download status and therefore "sales" of an old tune called "Fairytale in New York"

I predict a surprise Xmas Number 1
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 19:51, 1 reply)
Some years ago, I used to work in the City of London...
...which meant that going out for a drink in the evening often ended up with me and my colleagues being surrounded by braying yahoos in pinstripe.

One evening, we unaccountably found ourselves in Skinker's wine bar near London Bridge, making a fair job of several bottles of Pinot. It was a reasonably busy evening for such a small place, with perhaps 50 people in the main bar area and nearby alcoves.

I like my wine. But I'm no connoiseur and I'm not a snob about it. I'll find something I like and stick with it for a while, then move on. I was thinking this very thing as my round approached and I pored over Skinker's wine list . And that's when the aged wooden door with the dirty panes of leaded glass opened.

In strode a man whose bearing said "Alpha Male" with every step. I expected him to lift the flap of his £1000 suit and spray the doorframe. He was closely followed by a mixed entourage, all of whom had the look of people who were drinking someone else's company Barclaycard.

Alpha quietened them, and announced loudly that he would - blindfolded - take a sip of any person's glass and proclaim not only the grape, but also the vinyard. If he was wrong, he would buy the challenger a bottle of what they were drinking. If he was correct, he would receive the same from them.

Surprisingly, there were a few takers. He applied the blindfold and a glass was handed to him. He raised it. He swilled it. He breathed it. He drank deeply.

"Ahh, he said. A Chateau de Fremulence Burgundy. Marvellous."

The gathering crowd clapped delightedly at this, and the vinter opened a fresh bottle, which was presented to his party.

The second glass;

"Ah - a saucy little Chateau Neuf du Pape from the vinyard of M. LeBeauregard!"

Again the debt was paid.

And then he raised the glass that a member of my group proferred to him. He sipped. He sputtered and spat everywhere and the blindfold flew off.

"My God! This is PISS!"

"Yes", I replied. "But whose?"
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 18:51, 6 replies)
college cock drawing debacle.
Years ago when I was doing my A Levels in College, I used to love playing pranks on my mate Jaime. Most of the colege day was spent hanging out in the common room, but Jaime, being a smoker was often outside having a fag. While he was out there I would often fill his bag up with detrius from the tables, banana skins, sandwich packets, coffee cups etc. The lads would follow him up to his next lecture to see him pull this stuff out in the middle of the class when looking for his books.

Anyway, the best prank involved his art folder. Like all A level artists he would walk around with one of those giant art cases, and of course would leave it behind when he went out for a fag. Inside the case was an A4 sketch pad which he had to plan and sketch his 'works in progress' and give it in once a week. So if he was doing a large painting or sculpture the tutor would keep tabs on it from the more practical sketch book rather than the actual thing. Fair play, he was pretty talented and took great pride in his work. So one time he was out smoking and I drew a huge schoolboyesque cock with pubes and the prerequisite spurting spunk and labelled it "My big cock by Jaime". Then , underneath in disgusied handwriting and red pen I wrote "This is not up to A Level standard Jaime". I replaced the book and said nothing.

The next day Jaime came up to me and confronted me about the cock having come across it in the pad - obviously it was me. "You twat," he said "I have to give that book in and my lecturer has seen it!"
"Oh no !" I laughed in faked surprise "Did he say anything?"
"No, but he wrote in it!". He showed me the page, and more laughter from me between spluttering apologies.
I told him I didn't know his lecturer would see it and to smooth things out I told him to explain to his lecturer that I had done it for a joke and was very sorry etc and that I would take the total blame.
Cue Jaime approaching his lecturer with the cock picture: "about this picture..."
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 18:50, 1 reply)
Hello, I'm from the BBC..
Back when I was in sixth form, my friend and I decided to play a prank on the guy who lived just down the road from her.

The house he owned wasn't so much of a house, but an old cotton mill and from what I can recall he was generally a bit of a pompous ass.

Fresh from my work experience at a local BBC radio station, we devised an ingenious prank whereby I would ring up pretending to be a researcher from the BBC. My cover story was that the BBC were doing a show about the industrial revolution and old factories in the county, and would he be interested in taking part.

To be honest it was so long ago I can't remember whether we took his details and promised to call back, or left some fake details for him to call back - I'm pretty sure it was the former, but some weeks later we heard (via the friend's parents) that he'd been going round boasting to all his chums that he was going to be featured on the BBC.

Which of course he wasn't.

And whilst I'm confessing, I always used to put damp flannels on my brother's forehead when he was asleep to try to make him piss himself. Don't think it ever worked though..
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 18:39, Reply)
This makes me want to do something like that. Great story!
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 18:39, 3 replies)
The Game
About 5 years ago, I was entrusted with the task of looking after my sister's cats over the new year while she and her boyfriend spent a month in Australia. As I was still living at home at the time, I jumped at the chance.

In the run-up to their holiday, my sister's boyfriend (Johnny) started hinting that he would be leaving a not-inconsiderable amount of booze somewhere in their flat, but that this would have to be earned. It was all a bit cloak and dagger and when I tried to enquire further all I would get was an enigmatic smile and shrug.

Cue mid-December and my sis and Johnny are heading off to the airport. My sister hands me the keys and her boyfriend hands me a video tape that he says I'm not allowed to watch until I've got friends round (which, jakey student that I was, I had planned for that very evening). The tape was a blank VHS simply marked "The Game". 30 seconds after they leave, I pop it into the video player, feeling the need to check that I'm not going to be showing my friends a scat film. It turns out to be a cloe-up of Johnny's face. His first words are something to the effect of "Don't worry. This is not a scat film, but the start of a wonderful adventure." He then goes on to say that if my friends haven't arrived yet (which they haven't) I should turn of and wait for them.

The man's a psychic.

Time passes and 4 of my friends turn up. We crack open some beers and I tell them that the evening's entertainment appears to be some sort of treasure hunt dreamt up by my sister's other half.

To cut a long story short, Johnny had hidden 4 video tapes in various locations around Govanhill (one of Glasgow's less salubrious areas) and each of these tapes gave the location of the next one. Over the course of about two hours, all the while drinking ourselves silly, we collect 3 of these 4 tapes and traipse back to base feeling both silly and invigorated to watch the penultimate tape.

This one's a bit different from the others. Instead of the usual talking head, it has Johnny's face half-lit, something akin to a Scottish Colonel Kurtz. He stares at the camera for what feels like an eternity before slowly and deliberately starting to speak:

"You think you've got all the answers, don't you. Well it's going to get a little bit more tricky from here on in. Your final mission is a tough one, but my mother used to tell me that if something's not worth doing right, it's not doing at all. There is a shop about 5 minutes along the road from here called Vivo's. Mr Vivo is a very close personal friend of mine and he's holding an item that you'll need to complete your task. One of you must go into Vivo's, tell him that Johnny sent you and ask for the latest copy of "Asian Babes". Mr Vivo is holding this for you behind the counter. Contained in this magazine is a map to where your reward has been hidden. Once you have selected one of your party to get this item and he has left the flat, the rest of you must wait for three minutes before resuming this tape. I will then issue my final orders. Press stop NOW."

Since we'd got that far, we figured we might as well go along with this too, so we stopped the tape and, after much deliberation (read: arguing) we decided that my friend Stephen would be the one to go to Vivo's for said pornographic publication. He cantered off at pace and the rest of us waited for the longest three minutes of our lives before pressing play again. Johnny's face spooled back into view:

"Have you waited your three minutes? You'd better have, you slimy wee shites. Here we go:
You've just sent your friend to an Asian-owned shop to ask for a copy of Asian Babes. There's only two outcomes from that. Mr Vivo (who I have never met, having never been into his shop) will either laugh your friend out of there or beat him into a pulp for his insolence. The booze is in the cupboard under the sink. Now, the real question is whether you care enough about your friend to stop him getting a kicking. I suggest you run. FUDS!"

From the line "who I have never met", I had been pulling on my trainers and getting ready to go running from the flat to try and catch up with Stephen. He won't mind me saying that he was a 20-a-day man and I fancied my chances of catching him before he made a twat of himself, or worse.

I pelted off through the heaving throng of junkies and neds that make up most of Govanhill. It's a straight road to Vivo's from my sister's and after about 30 seconds I caught sight of Stephen. But he seemed to be going the wrong way. Why was he coming towards me? And why was his face so red?

It would seem that I'd underestimated Stephen's athletic prowess and overestimted my own. Rather than taking a leisurely stroll to Vivo's, he'd ran all the way there too. What Mr Vivo thought of this panting, sweating man coming rushing in to request Asian Babes, we'll never know. Maybe he got it all the time, grown men scurrying into his shop because they'd run out of porn and were approaching the vinegar strokes. To my amusement and my friend's relief, Mr. Vivo wasn't phased at all. He advised my friend that he didn't have that particular publication, but directed him to the myriad other top-shelf publications that he stocked. Stephen declined, thanked him and bought a packet of Orbit before commencing his walk of shame. I explained what had happened on the way home.

The prize for these shenanigans was better than expected. A bottle of Jack, a bottle of Aftershock and 24 cans of Tennents. Okay, so the hiding place was obvious, but that only added to the hilarity.

Well played, Johnny. Well played.

A man can only apologise for length so much.
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 18:07, 5 replies)
Evil Pranks
Poor fellow at my high school that nobody liked proudly arrived one day in his Mini 1000.

By the end of the day, it was wedged lengthways between two parallel wings of the building. It took eight of us to place it there, but the results were well worth it.

The next week it appeared on a landing in one of the larger stairwells.

Can't recall whether he was smart enough to trade it for an Oldsmobile.
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 18:06, Reply)
Roadtrip of love
I shall set the scene,

T's girlfriend was being chatted up by an acquaintance who we shall call "G" , who was/probably still is a virgin... he basically asked the girlfriend for sex advice, which then progressed into him asking her for sex to which she made a multitude of excuses to avoid including the fact she had a boyfriend! he then progressed to asking T for permission to get it on with her, he of course said no, and was far from amused

T then started planning revenge with my friend 'X'

The plan:

A google image supermodel would find G through msn randomly, and become rather interested, and convince him to come loose his virginity with her, and thus Viki was born.

Fast forward around 2 weeks later

I get a msn conversation fully advising me of this entire situation, and also that G has traveled for around 2 hours or so from near Birmingham all the way down to reading, where T was at uni, and was currently stuck in horrific traffic on the M25 to go see the amazing viki.

T waits until G has pulled into the street he lived on, before sending a frantic text of "G you cant come, my parents have come back early from holiday"

G then mortified, loiters around the area for a little time including knocking on a random door of a house.. obviously desperate to see his lover.

sadly rejected. he returns to his car and instead of traveling back home, and explaining to his parents his weekend at a mates has been cancelled, he then decided to travel from London, down to a city in Exeter, to try it on with a girl called R whom he knew because i was with her for a little while, and still was at the time.

note: he had also asked her for sex advice.. not a wise idea, he was told "when the alien pops out, punch it in the face" - God help any girl he gets it on with...........

Back to the story.

He turns up a good few hours later.. and is basically sniffing around her, she is of course entirely wise to the current situation and basically humors him for the entire time of the weekend, before getting him to drive her all the way to reading to visit a mate..

G is still completely clueless to this windup, I've not worked out how best to release this gem of a story into the social circle as of yet... any ideas?

Length, about 450 Miles, duration, at least 10 hours!

First post!
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 17:22, 3 replies)
An old one from the days of text MUDs
Anyone who could get priveleges to write stuff to the room without having their name prepended (so instead of "Dave BLAH BLAH BLAH" you just get "BLAH BLAH BLAH") used to have play "spot the modem user" by echoing:


(or something very similar) which looked like what they get when their modem falls over. You could tell who had fallen for it because they would immediately disconnect and log back in a few moments later.
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 17:13, Reply)
Cat turds, laxative antibiotics
Story no. 1 comes from the days of my yoof when myself and the Mrs were more playful and care-free.. A mate of mine used to be bit of a scrapper, he'd fight anybody without fear until he'd either won or was unconscious - by all accounts hes still like that today only a little more mellow. He got into a fight with his brother one time (one of many times!) who is 3 yrs older and a few stone heavier. despite the steep odds it was more or less a draw, with my mate coming away with a nasty bite on his hairy bean bag (yeah I know!). From the resulting infection he had to go to the docs and get some antibiotics. He then came around to mine and made the mistake of leaving them unguarded for an hour.. The Mrs managed to crack open all the individual capsules, pour out the antibiotic and replace it with a potent laxative and leave no evidence. We thought no more of it until days later when he moaned about "These tablets are nee good, me infections still there and they give me the F**king shits!" He was self medicating laxative four times daily hehe! Looking back on it now his nuts might have dropped off. But it was a spiffing wheeze!

Story no 2 comes from just a few yrs ago. I impulse purchased one of those "Kitty Crap" fake cat turds from the joke shop - not a particularly funny joke by itself but at least looked convincing. Went round to Hally's house (for that is his name.) and proceeded to get drunk with him and his Mrs. I waited for an opportunity to plant, did so and was rewarded with the usual reaction of embarrassment, anger at the innocent cat etc - what made it was when I offered to clean it up, I grabbed some kitchen roll and made big show of gingerly picking it up - then without warning stuffed it into my mouth! I don't think I'll ever forget the look of horror on their faces - with one of them nearly barfing at the sight, they had no clue it was a 90p "kitty crap" hehe!

I regret nothing.

Length? about 2-3 inches, dark and repulsive.

(Edit) - I only just read bigmeuprudeboy's post I guess we have similar brain patterns. Obviously my mates are just as easy to fool as his little bro.. That doesn't exactly say a lot for them..
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 16:23, 2 replies)
Fuzz fun
One day I was lucky enough to come across some poorly erected scaffolding, which the police had helpfully cordoned off with crime scene tape and then abandoned. The cops had been rather lavish with the stuff, and there were spare meters of it flapping around in the breeze, so it was the work of a moment to snap off a length and pocket it.

The next day I managed to tie it across my colleague's office door, making sure to place a masking tape outline of a body on the floor, with a kitchen knife liberally smeared with ketchup lying alongside.

We work in a school.
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 16:21, Reply)
Not really the greatest prank ever but..
Am I the only person in the world that farts on their hand and then holds said hand out to people and asks them to 'smell my aftershave' ?
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 16:03, 7 replies)
My charming mother
When invited to the wedding of my uncle, conspired with my cousin to create the "best" honeymoon suite they could think of for the loved up newlyweds.

This included the clingfilmed toilet seat, the tv set at loud and then turned off, lipstick drawings on the mirror and (the best I thought) the sheet under the duvet turned half up so when they climbed into bed, they couldn't reach the bottom.

She then conspired with my uncle to do this at the cousin's wedding, but knowing no doubt what would happen, she banned them from going near her room and settled for chocolates on the pillow.

I am so thankful I never want to get married, but gods help my little sister....
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 15:56, 1 reply)
Grand Prix drivers of the 60s
These guys took the biscuit... Grand Prix drivers of the Graham Hill / Jim Clark era had a life expectancy of about eighteen races. Virtually every race was marred by Senna-esque tragedy of the most horrific kind as safety standards were non existent. Most drivers didn't bother with seat belts as it was better to be thrown from a crashing car than die in the inevitable fire.

Not surprisingly, they knew a thing or two about bad behaviour. The urge to party like it's going to be your last day on Earth is helped by the fact that that you're getting a tour of some of the most glamorous places in Europe.

A bunch of drivers spent the Saturday after qualifying at Monaco wearing their best drinking trousers around the pool of an expensive hotel. An argument ensues as to whether headlights work underwater. This is solved when one of the pissed drivers obtains a Hertz hire car and promptly drives it into the hotel pool with the lights on.

During the Nurburgring race, a particularly efficient German hotel manager was reduced to tears when he discovered that several drivers had conspired to smuggle a Volkswagen Beetle unseen into the five star establishment in bits and had reassembled it at the top of the main staircase prior to checking out.

Suitcases have been thrown out of helicopters, expensive car parts have either gone missing or been sabotaged, drivers have even admitted to turning up for races still under the influence.

Funniest has to be the team manager of Lotus, who was entrusted with the entry fee for the Monaco race. All went well until he was distracted by a casino and spunked the lot in one evening. There was said to be a very embarrassed hush when said team manager was trying to explain where he had lost £25k.

[edited for typo at the behest of pedants. Bastards]
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 15:33, 12 replies)
In my defence it began by accident...
Bizarrely I was at the Henley festival and after a can or two of Hooch, you know you miss it, I let out a rather potent albeit silent arse burp.

Luckily for me I was standing right in front of a small child who was promptly accused by it's mother of doing "poopy pants"! I nearly did poopy pants laughing and to this day I have enjoyed farting on small children and letting them take the blame.

A word of warning for anyone hoping to imitate this wonderful fragrent game; if you get caught parents get angry, the secruity guards get angry and the person whose bonnet you roll over trying escape the screams of farting paedophile will also get angry.
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 15:21, 3 replies)
stubby the lonely thumb
a mate of mine does close up magic for corporate team building events - one of his props are realistic looking plastic thumb tips that slip over your own (you can make silk hankies vanish etc). he dishes these out to clients. one evening while making dinner i came across a 'thumb' at the back of a cupboard. i am somewhat renowned for my proper chefs knives that are razor sharp and i can chop with at a furious rate. you can see where this is going - i packed the end of the thumb with a chicken bone and some stringy bits then a quick blob ketchup and layed it on the chopping block. another generous blob on the my 'servered thumb' (top of thumb folded over into fist completed the scene). a burst of my familar loud rapid chopping with my biggest cleaver then some horrible screaming had my poor missus in like a shot - fair play to her she kept her head and went into first aid mode - elevating the arm, looking for frozen peas. the look on her face when she turned round from the freezer and gave her a big cheesy grin and did the macartney thumbs aloft pose was priceless.
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 15:19, 2 replies)
A story my old bass teacher told me
about Led Zepplin.

This is supposed to be true I have no proof but it's a very amusing tale never the less.

Led Zepplin hire out a hotel. 6 rooms, 3 on 1 floor and 3 on the floor above, rooms ontop of each other.

They then hire a pneumatic lift and a industrial circular saw. They raise the lift in the middle lower room so it is holding up the ceiling of the room above, positioned where the beds are. They then cut a hole through the ceiling/floor aorund the bed and preceed to check out of the top 3 rooms.

The top middle room is taken by a couple, in the middle of the night LZ lower the lift so that when the couple wake up in the morning they're in the wrong hotel room and there's a massive hole in the ceiling.

Long enough to rock!
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 15:13, 3 replies)
How to get into Mike's room while he was away for half term? After numerous pranks he was getting clever to our ways and had double bolted the doors and windows. Shame! All we had access to was the gap of a few milimetres at the bottom of the door. Simon told us about sprinkling cress seeds on a baking tray, adding water, freezing the tray and once frozen, sliding the ice and seeds under the door. Et voila, a carpet of cress on his return.
Wilkinsons was shut so we had no cress seeds. After the pub shut we went home, poured piss on the tray and froze that instead.
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 15:11, Reply)
Clingfilm Over Their Toilet Bowl
Nuff said ...
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 15:04, 1 reply)
In my office at home...
I have a dry-wipe notice board / calendar. Due to my being a forgetful twuntstick (in other words…a man) I need it to remind me of appointments, meetings, gigs, birthdays…you get the idea.

When a mate of mine (whom we shall call Furious ‘D’, for ‘tis the name the cock-itch answers to) pops round my house, he inspects my office for general gadgettery that he can steal, and then always makes an effort to write an additional defamatory entry to my notice board.

I usually laugh it off…then wipe it off…if you know what I mean.

One time, however, he really outdid himself. It went something like this (edited version):

Monday: Finally realise that I am a gayer
Tuesday: Come out of the closet to world
Wednesday: Attempt to hack off own tadger with rusty kitchen knife after realising that I no longer need my own cock.
Thursday: Book sex-change op.
Friday (night): Go out cottaging / cruising for other gayers
Saturday: Arrange date to get fucked up the arse by a huge Jamaican man called Delroy
Sunday: Book into hospital to sew up severe anal damage
Monday: Come to the conclusion that life is not worth living and change will to give all decent stuff to Furious ‘D’
Tuesday: Kill self.

Now I thought this was quite funny and left it on the board, acknowledging his efforts.

Unfortunately, I forgot about it, and when I finally needed to use the board again it occurred to me that as the time had passed by, the calendar had been seen by pretty much everyone who had visited my house over that period…and that means quite a few people…from family to friends to regular guests.

Nobody said anything.
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 14:44, 4 replies)
Our flat had gone out on the piss, as it was approaching Christmas and tradition demanded we got wankered. For whatever reason, one of our flatmates wasn't out with us at our particular drinking hole.

We arrived home, and flatmate was nowhere to be seen. The recently broken bathroom door, however, was. It had been drunkenly punched off its hinges by a different flatmate in a moment of rage.

So, one door, one missing flatmate. The door looked so lonely and cold... I put it in his bed. With a couple of pillows stacked up underneath it, and a small paper speech bubble with "ZZZZZzzzzzz" scribbled in it.

Harmless, yes?

5 AM rolls around, and I'm rudely awoken by "YOU CUNTS, YOU FUCKING CUNTS."

Then a loud crash. More swearing, "COME OUT HERE YOU FUCKING CUNTS, WHO FUCKING DID THIS?"

I wisely stayed in my room.

The morning rolled by. I warily emerged to find the door lying on the landing, wedged firmly into the railings, many of which were splintered.

His door was firmly closed, with an angry note pinned to it with a kitchen knife, accusing us of being spineless cowards for not owning up.

I was heading home that day, so I quietly packed my stuff up and headed downstairs, making very sure to lock my door.

I wasn't to know that his cousin had just died, was I?

As an aside, as soon as I got downstairs the police knocked on my door. Apparently a few cars had been smashed up in the car dealership next door to us that night. Thankfully it was unrelated, but hey...
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 14:05, 3 replies)
I think I was a bit of a cunt at uni... My flat mate Jon was a bit wet behind the ears when we were in Halls of residence, so we all used to play little jokes on him. I hid his shoes once, so he went and forked out 40 quid on a new pair without even mentioning it to anyone. Also, he used to love those Mr. Kipling mini bramley apple pies which he'd eat with custard all the time. One evening I carefully opened the box, took out a pie, scraped the apple from within and cracked an egg into the pastry case which I microwaved, replace the lid using a jam adhesive and put back in the box, sealing again with glue.

A few days later we all went out on the lash and got pretty innebriated and got the inevitable drunken-hunger when we got back to the flat. Jon went straight for the pies, took out the egg-pie with a couple of others and threw them in a bowl with some custard and scoffed the lot.

He thought it tasted a bit funny, maybe it was going off. But he still ate the whole damn thing. It was all I could do not piss myself.

I used to do things like this quite a lot to poor old Jon, and he got more and more wild as the year went on. At the end of the first year, we came back from a night out to find him eating anti-depressants and paracetamol from the bottles, washing them down with vodka wearing just his pants while sitting on the window ledge. He really had flipped - he chinned me, pulled some trousers on jumped in his car to go off to Tesco for more pills, pissed as a fart. When he came back it took three coppers to break the window and drag him out while he still had his foot ion the accelerator...

I was wracked with guilt for the whole summer, thinking I was responsible for his mental episode. I spoke to him when we came back in the second year and he told me it was our other flatmate Rick who had been bullying him really badly all year, and no one else had noticed. He thought my pranks were funny and had actually been putting small bits of paper cut from the bible in my cereal for the whole year. I have eaten all of Genesis apparently.

So we all got Rick when he left halfway through the year. His very prim and conservative Mother came to pick him up, so we helped pack his stuff into the car. Including the 5 record bags PACKED with really nasty porn that we all 'accidentally' dropped, spilling their contents into the street.

His mum didn't know where to look, but to his embarrassment started picking them up and putting them all away coz we couldn't stand up anymore and the neighbours were all watching....
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 13:42, 6 replies)
At lunchtime today
I bade a cheery au revoir to my boss, informing him I was off for a swim.

Leaving him in our (small) office as a recently deposited fart outgassed from the fibres of the soft fabric on my chair cushion.

He's too polite to mention it, but I'm sure it would have reached him 20 seconds after I was out the door.

40 lengths - no apologies.
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 13:28, 1 reply)
Cat Poo Toffee
You know the big round gold shiny quality Street toffee pennys?
well when you chew them for a bit and then roll them up in your hand -they look a bit like cat poo...to test my theory I placed a recently created quality street feline stool into my brother's bed. Upon getting into bed he proved my theory correct by exclaiming that "one of mum's cats has pooed in my bed"
Just when he thought his evening couldnt get anymore unpleasant; I picked up the offending 'shit', put it into my mouth and then chewed and swallowed it all the while saying 'yum yum' and rubbing my tummy for effect.
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 13:24, 1 reply)
shitty hair
There was this rocker god knows what 80/90's metal band he was from (maybe someone could help me out) but apart from trashing hotel rooms he would unscrew the hotel hair dryers take a little shit in it then screw it back together. You can just image someone fresh from the shower wanting to dry their hair. Classic, evil and funny.
(, Tue 18 Dec 2007, 13:19, 3 replies)

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