it hurt
I once popped a peice of bubble wrap in my left ear to see what it felt like

It hurt like hell and gave me tinutus for 3 days
(shug, Mon 28 Jul 2008, 0:25, Reply)

Ambidextryst
I am left-handed, and round about the age of 15 became convinced that improving my right-handed handwriting would unlock that 90% of the brain that nobody can apparently use. That and I could forge signatures or somesuch babble. I devised a rigorous schedule of exercises for the summer, and set to work. When I saw no improvement to my right-handed scratching after 8 weeks, I complained to a friend, who said I should practice other typically left-handed activities with the right hand. I thought about this for a while, then spent the weekend right-handed wanking. My handwriting never improved beyond retarded, but I can still have a solo threesome.
(ZugZwang refuses to update his profile., Sun 27 Jul 2008, 23:56, 6 replies)

Cd covering ..no,no,no
Not long after aquiring my first computer,i thought it would be nice to make some cd,s.
After burning then making the covers ,i thought why not cover the disc as well.Too tight to buy the sticky discs I printed out the disc.
How do I stick it on the disc? I used liquid glue,stuck it on looked ok,why not play it in the computer?Chucked it in the cd-writer and...Oh dear ,the glue wasn,t dry and fucked my writer up,when the glue spun out the sides.Pissed off was I going to Pc world the next day.
(andycrass loves two hats on, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 23:12, Reply)

Capillary action.
After being told by an older relative that my ginger cousin, bane of my 13 year old existence, had been conceived on the hand-me-down water bed in my room, my best friend and I decided it had to go. We were smart enough to know that two eighth-graders couldn't pick up a half ton king size water bed and tote it out to the curb before my parents got back from the store. So we decided to empty out all that heavy water first. Calling on something we'd seen in some science class, we thought that once we got the water flowing it would continue up and out the window as long as the stream wasn't broken. It made sense at the time and I also blame that jumping water fountain thing at Epcot.
Of course we read the warning sticker near the nozzle on the corner of the bag, but couldn't find the tube to attach and drain it properly. Cut to a half hour's worth of coordinated jumping and pulling to get that corner flopped over a low windowsill over some bushes in the backyard.
The nozzle wouldn't open. After looking over our shoulders we let out the dreaded F word and had a great idea. She went outside and viciously stabbed the bag with a steak knife while I stood in the middle of my bedroom watching in horror as the bag slithered back inside and 180 gallons of fetid water tsunamied everything.

My grandmother found us ten minutes later, frantically pulling the carpet up; every sheet, towel, blanket and rug we could find in the house lying in a soaking wet pile in the hallway. It was such a monumental disaster that she, fearing we would be murdered, took the heat. She told my parents she dropped a lit cigarette on the bed. And she stuck with that story in the face of my Dad's perfectly reasonable doubt, not once in seven years telling him the truth.
Conclusion? No matter how much it squicks you out to think of adults having sex in your bed, science and knives are not the answer.
(Finleigh is as happy as if she had good sense., Sun 27 Jul 2008, 21:49, 6 replies)

Lying on the bed, one day I thought
"If I stand on my head while on the bed I wonder if my feet touch the ceiling?"

So I tried a few times, unfortunately the springiness of the bed meant that I fell sideways, repeatedly.

I stopped once I fell OFF the bed and gave myself a few bruises.

After a few moments thought, I realised that I was the same height whichever way up I was, so I just stood on the bed - my head didn't reach the ceiling.
( Thrill_My_Chinchilla is old and unimproved, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 21:29, 1 reply)

College theft.
A friend and I decided to see how many obscure items we could steal from our college.
We experimented with different excuses as to why we had those items if we ever got caught.
The best one was when we stole a fairly long pole (I can't remember where we got it from) and when asked what we were doing with it we simply stated "We're art students."
For some reason that sentence seemed to explain everything...
( Mellicious is made of candy, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 20:59, 8 replies)

right on
Back when I was a student, I was exceptionally liberal and 'right on' - always defending the rights of women, immigrants and spackers (I believe 'retards' was the correct term at the time). So militant was I, in fact, that I decided to spend a week living as a spacker to get a real sense of how it was.

I borrowed a wheelchair from a local cripple and I was away, wheeling down the street and affecting a kind of deranged, gibbering expression with some swinging strands of drool around my chin. First stop was the post office, where I was unable to see the teller and order a stamp due to my 'disability'. I gurned and moaned, dribbled and tossed myself inert from the chair to the floor - but they still didn't guess I needed a first class stamp to the Channel Islands (as was my intent). It was a flagrant abuse of the rights of a retard and I was quick to point this out to them as they helped me back into the chair. Unfortunately, as they realised my idiocy was fake, they took me in the back and did me over with heavy cardboard tubes until I was black and blue. Would they have done that to a cripple or a gyppo, I wonder? Blatant discrimination!

Undeterred, my next stop was the local youth centre, which had a mong evening every Thursday where they could play basketball or do jigsaws or something. I rolled up there in best invertebrate manner and enrolled myself in a basketball game.

The other athletes were at a distinct disadvantage and I whipped their asses, at one point leaping from my chair for a dunk and then doing a lap of victory shouting 'Loo-sers!' to the other players. It was at that point I realised my mistake and began an impromptu speech about how it was all an experiment. But the youth centre administrators beat the living shit out of me and allowed the other players to crap on my unconscious body. Had I been nip or a coon, they wouldn't have behaved so. Quod erat demonstrandum!

But I proved one thing: whether you're a spacker, a retard or a cretin or whatever, there's always someone more unfortunate than yourself.
(frankspencer, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 20:32, 1 reply)

How to make gold!
Forget alchemy and smelly chemicals. Everyone knows that the best way of making gold is by passing coffee beans through the intestines of a civet and selling the result to yuppies. (Source)

I like Dave Barry's commentary on this as well...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Sun 27 Jul 2008, 20:31, 3 replies)

I'm so bored.
I experimented by sending myself a gaz message.

I haven't replied because that would just be sad.

Apparently I'm not as friendly as I thought I was.
( girlinthehole, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 18:18, 2 replies)

How strange..
seeing as i was doing an experiment of my own.
I was trying the experiment of turing copper coins into gold, you know, the usual.
Just make some hydrochloric acid (caustic soda) and zinc (a couple of galvanised nails) and heat it all up in some water. The coins turn silver and heat them up to make them gold... or so I thought.

Result in me almost passing out due to the fumes, who knew that heating austic soda to boiling point produces noxious fumes?

Well after almost killing the cat and making the kitchen unusable for a few hours, I have obtained half of one side of a penny nice and shiny gold :D
(Procrastinate now! It's not opposite day!, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 17:16, 2 replies)

Some from my youth...
Aged 7-ish: "What happens if you short the live terminal of a plug to earth?"

Now, I do not know what part of this seemed like a good idea or even why I did it. But after learning to wire a plug I must have wanted to know what happens if you fuck it up. The tales of shit flying across the room and embedding in walls etc seem to me, exaggerated at best. My experience involved simply a fucking great spark and a shower of smaller ones from the now nicely fucked up screwdriver, a fairly stern bollocking, and not nearly as big a shock as I imagine I deserved.

Aged 13: "That silver stuff in French bangers... it's not gunpowder. What is it, and how do I make it?"

Those in the know, will know I am referring to flash powder. As it's name would suggest, it doesn't fuck about and is used to make some truly loud, frightening salutes. In sufficient quantities you can blow a hole in the moon with it. There are many variations on the ways you can make it but the simplest involves potassium chlorate and aluminium powder. Not too hard to get your hands on if you know where to look, so I got myself a shitload and let the experiments begin.

Hands trembling with excitement, powders were mixed by rolling them around on newspaper, poured into film cannisters, bound and taped and fused... and pretty soon I had an arsenal of almighty uber-bangers. The experiment was a resounding success as I have lost neither my fingers or my hide, and they were fucking great fun to play with at the old quarry. I was a god to my friends for a little while. Many other formulas were tested over the next few years.

Aged 18: "What would happen... if we tried to make a POT noodle? Geddit? POT?"

You already know where this is going. Waste of a good filthy noodle slag-snack, waste of a henry of block, and tasted fuck-awful. Although it probably wouldn't have improved had we left the hashish out of the fucker. It failed to get us wasted. We failed.

Aged 23: "How many chlorphenamine tablets does it take to make you hallucinate?"

Studying side effects of various meds while briefly working in pharmacy, I used to "test the limits" of certain drugs that I knew would not poison/kill me, just for the curiosity. And partly so I could say to patients "don't take too many or you'll go out of your fucking box!"

A pack of piriton was all I had. And it was more than I needed. For some reason they don't make me very drowsy but they do make me go loop-shit in sufficient quantities. I felt like I was watching myself from outside my own head, hearing odd noises like broken fragments of conversation, and a noticable time lag between doing something and realising what I'd done. All this accompanied by a general feeling of silliness and confusion. You know when you go in a room and you're like "why the FUCK am I here?" well it was like that for about 6 hours.

I did not feel very clever afterwards, but at least curiosity was satisfied. It's probably a good way to commit suicide, because after enough you'll probably accidentally fall over arse over tip down the stairs and die, without any nasty liver failure if you just nod off instead! Win.
(keyboardman, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 16:57, Reply)

how many licks?
remember the commercial with the line drawing of the quite-unfortunately drawn little kid who asks first the turtle and then the owl how many licks it takes to get to the tootsie-roll center of a tootsie pop? when i was about 11 i decided it was about time to find out for sure, cause that poor kid got totally screwed over by the owl. after about a minute of licking i started just holding out my tongue and running the lollipop down the length of my tongue, figuring (and quite rightly) that it still counted as a sort of reverse-lick.

conclusion #1: 1341 licks in one spot to dissolve the candy coating enough to where the tootsie-roll center has been breached.

conclusion #2: if you guys would just use your fingers while going down on us gals your tongues won't get tired so quickly.
(fai is rocking khaz modan server as of, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 16:39, 1 reply)

Mushies
This only really counts as a pointless experiment as I was already well on the way to drunk. I was at a friend's in Harrogate one Friday evening drinking merrily with a group of like-minded chaps, watching movies and sorting out a game of poker.

An aquaintance of mine, Big Ed appeared with his fabled 'Big Bag of Drugs^TM'. My friend Matt encouraged me to indulge in some magic mushrooms which Ed grows on his farm. Never having taken them before I decided I was intrigued.
Tea suitably brewed and sipped I sat and waited for the effects. I noticed a rumbling and heavy sensation in my stomach. I was assured this was normal.

I don't know if anyone is familiar with the work of Jan Svankmajer, Czech (I think) surrealist animator and director, but during my imbibing of the tea, a few of his short movies had been playing on the DVD player, making full use of stop-motion effects with plasticene. I decided to roll a cigarette and was incredibly perturbed to find that my hands moved and rippled like the plasticene used in the films and it subsequently took me twenty minutes until I placed completed cigarette in my mouth.

Later, I attempted a hand of poker, and while I was fascinated and delighted by the symbols on the cards I had know idea what they were supposed to represent, or in fact why my friend's seemed to be throwing perfectly good ones away before picking up replacements. Needless to say, I didn't win.

Later still I decided I was hungry and attempted a sausage roll. I took one bite and chewed, and chewed....and chewed...and chewed. My salivary glands were clearly malfunctioning. I could generate no spit whatsoever. I was in a neat-and-tidy state of being by this stage of the evening. Scanning under the table I came across a poly pocket. Pulling this out I decided it would be orderly and efficient to file the sausage roll for further reference. I then placed this back under the table and sat back down, looking smug, to my friends' incredulity.
"Did you just file a fucking sausage roll?"
*prouds* "Yep!" *grin*

Later on I woke up in the recovery position approximately two minutes after sparking out halfway to the loo. Apparently I hit the deck, "like a sack of shit" according to the sage-like Big Ed.

I felt fine in the morning and did enjoy it but that has been (so far) my only experiment with hallucinogens.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 15:20, 7 replies)

improvised flamethrower
I fear this may be a little toff popic, although I’m quite sure any rational bloke would insist when it comes to desirable gadgets an improvised flamethrower is right up there with a Jessica Alba Android and TeleportationTrousers, therefore not technically a pointless experiment. However, whilst pyrotechnical experimentation should always be nurtured in the young and reckless, the choice of firing range in this instance may be at best filed as ill advised.

Many moons ago I worked for a fairly rubbish ‘New Media’ company with a lot of bored, disillusioned staff. Jinks were always high. We had a set of steak knives in the kitchen, not sure why but they were perfectly balanced for my burgeoning knife-throwing act – until that is the semi-psychotic boss (same bloated buffoon as in my ‘Only 14 Hours to Bristol’ post) raged into the studio during an all staff meeting demanding to know who had been using his office door for 'bloody knife throwing practice'. Cue blank looks all round. I did find it indicative of our work ethic that he immediately (and rightly) assumed knife throwing had occurred. Other experiments included creeping up behind people on the phone and liberally wrapping parcel tape round their head – securing the phone to their noggin (this works best when they are also resting their chin on their free hand so you can cocoon that too) thus ensuring they must continue an (albeit muffled) conversation with Mr Self Important Client Tosser. Other japes involved cutting the corners off large boxes then arranging the boxes as crumple zones for stunt man ‘death’ leaps from filing cabinets. Using the wet & dry vac to hoover up peoples coffee from their mugs in one greedy slurrrrp always got a response too - usually ‘for fucks sake Spimf, fuck off will you, you fucking idiot’. Shooting out the bulbs on the desk lamps across the room with an air pistol tended to unsettle/enrage the occupant of the workstation a fair bit as well. So you get the picture – a committed and focused bunch of highly trained imbeciles.

One particularly slow day I spotted some large heavy-duty cardboard tubes lying innocently, yet temptingly in a quiet corner. Like any right minded person I immediately thought: Hmmm… Big Arnie-style RPG launcher! I chose a fine sturdy tube about 4 foot long with a plastic end cap then selected a slightly thinner tube that would fit inside. A great big wodge of bog roll was taped around one end to make a sung and effective plunger for my makeshift munitions. Initially, this was simply ‘plunged’ to make the plastic end cap fly off with a satisfyingly low frequency ‘THHHONK’. Put simply i had fashioned the worlds biggest pop gun.

Soon my bodged bazooka sprouted a shoulder strap, side handle, plunger grip and nicely weighted cardboard ‘RPG’. Menacingly, I strutted around the studio attempting to shoot large things off high shelves and generally breaking stuff. With it's Kappa board fins and conical nose my ‘RPG’ flew surprisingly well. Boredom however, is a relentless staggering zombie that never lags far behind dear Spimfy. It was then I spotted the lighter fluid we used to clean Spraymount off stuff. I think I may have heard a small internal ‘ping’ as a little light bulb fluoresced in my head. A fist sized ball of bog roll was given a liberal soaking, lit to a near invisible Sambuca style blue flame by a willing assistant then rammed down the barrel with a broom handle, the plastic end cap was then popped on to provide a bit of back pressure. Clearly the restricted amount of air inside would only last so long, so launch had to be hasty. This however meant aim was a secondary consideration. I plunged the fucker with aplomb.

Fuck. Me.

It would be no exaggeration to say ‘a fucking great big fireball’ streaked from the end of my cardboard contraption with quite spectacular results. The pressure combined with a sudden rush of nice oxygen rich air produced angry red and yellow flames. It made a fantastic roaring noise as it soared across the studio trailing acrid black smoke and a deep thud as it slammed into the window recess resulting in an even bigger ball of flames. HOORAY! Everyone whooped and cheered - the few sensible ones (developers mainly) standing well back, shaking their heads and muttering about inadequate fire exits. The flames rapidly subsided to a little smouldering clump of blackened bog roll - the hilarity waned in harmony. Then, quite unexpectedly... Whoosh! The fabric window blinds went up in flames – big style, eagerly assisted by the dust and cobwebs around the ancient window frame (did I mention our office was a converted mill in a World Heritage site? Probably best not to). Dust and cobwebs and dead spiders burn like a motherfucker by the way, which I discovered while trying to ‘clean’ my garage with a blowtorch once.

In a blind panic I belted across the room and (with some difficulty) yanked the burning blinds down and proceeded to stamp on them with some considerable urgency. This had an immediate effect; being that it set fire to my shoes. I can honestly say the spectacle of me rain dancing with flaming feet did seem to lift the mood for a while.

A couple of days later the (increasingly psychotic) boss was eyeing the scorched, melted patch of fuzzy office flooring and looking for answers. Blank faces again. Good job he didn’t turn round to see the hastily installed non-matching window blinds stolen from another department.

length? fully extended about 5 foot mate.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 12:06, 11 replies)

Can you drive a car without a starter motor/alternator/battery?
Not all at the same time, that wouldn't work. But I can testify that the following is possible.

1. No starter motor. Not a problem, simply always park the car on a slight incline. After a week you become the master of jump starts, able to jump the car in a 3 foot space with the car barely moving.

2. No alternator. Problematic. Car runs out of juice after less than 10 mins. Cars need battery power to make a spark to ignite the engine. Not recommended.

3. No battery, works surprisingly well. You must have mastered the jump start techniques as detailed in section 1. However, you will need more room for the jump as you have to engage the clutch to make the alternator work.
(SillyMoo, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 11:03, Reply)

"Can you drive a car with a snapped clutch cable?"
One day, me and my friend were faced with a dilemma. Either we could drive a knackered car from Glasgow to Manchester, or call the AA. Except that neither of us had AA membership.

So began the experiment.

There is a trick to it. Shifting gears whilst on the move is easy. The hardest part is stopping, and setting off.

Because you are effectively confined to setting off in gear, every time you stop, so does the engine.

We came to the conclusion that this can quickly lead to a flat battery, as in order to get going again you have to use the starter to drive the car fowards until the engine catches. And of course, a rolling jump-start is out of the question.

Luckily, when we finally did run out of juice, we were facing downhill. Thus began the second part of our experiment: "Can you force an Astravan gearbox into second gear, without the clutch, with a stopped engine, at 30mph".

Yes, you can, but it makes a horrible noise.

Surprisingly, we made it. So the conclusion of this experiment is that yes, it is indeed possible to drive a car 250 miles without using the clutch once.

That car went to the scrapyard the next day.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 10:08, 1 reply)

Ballistics - An Idiot Writes
Was a bit bored one rainy afternoon in the squat, decided to see whether found objects could be used to make an effective projectile weapon.

Luckily the toybox contained a broken .22 air rifle, a hammer, some blank cartridges, masonry nails, pvc insulated wire a plank of wood and some felt tips.

Masonry nail sheathed in insulation stripped from wire until it fitted snugly in barrel, blank cartridge inserted behind it. Whole thing aimed at camo'd soldier sketched on plank in felt tip by resident artist propped against back of a chair. Gunner (wearing full face crash helmet and wrapped in army surplus sleeping bag for "safety") whacked base of blank cartridge with hammer, fucking loud bang ensues and drunken exerimenters rush to examine target.

Nail has hit plank, sideways. Completely penetrated at least an inch of wood, passed through back of chair into washing hung on airer behind target. Whoops. Has then gone through about four separate items (shirts, tee-shirt, and tea-towel) finally coming to rest in some pants, the absolute last line of defence before the antique mirror sitting squarely in line of fire, thus proving that it is really stupid to fire guns indoors and fate smiles on pissed up twats occasionally.
(Ronnie Spleen MMMMNEURRGH I AM A GAY SPAZ AND I LOVE IT UP MY BU, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 3:12, 1 reply)

Binbag - of FIRE!
Filled up a black sack with gas from a gas tap in science, smuggled it out to the bogs, ripped a hole in one corner and had a mate ignite gas expelled from hole. Managed to keep sufficient pressure up by compressing binbag to produce a fairly impressive jet of flame and avoid blowback, but it did get a bit squeaky bum toward the end.

Pinching off the flow was tricky but a good move.
(Ronnie Spleen MMMMNEURRGH I AM A GAY SPAZ AND I LOVE IT UP MY BU, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 2:39, Reply)

The Great Guiness Experiment
Thankfully, I was not the experimenter in this case, merely the documentor of evidence, but it's a story that deserves to be told.

A few years ago now I was one of a number of first year university students living in halls, doing no work, essentially on summer camp for a year. Next door lived a guy named Jezz, known for his hare-brained schemes. One day he comes round all excited.

"Hey, you know the other night, we were rinking Guiness, and you told me you heard somewhere it's possible to survive on a desert island with no other food?"

It was true. I had told him this. In my defence, I was drunk, fairly confident of the facts, and in actuality only slightly wrong (later investigation revealed that a pint of guiness and a vitamin c tablet per day contains your RDA of everything vital). It was unlucky for Jezz that students have that peculiar combination of limitless trivia, poor research skills, and limitless free time that can mean that such a misunderstanding could be pursued so much further.

He outlined to me his idea. One week, no food, only guiness and water. And we were to catch it all on camera. My housemate still has all the tapes of that week somewhere, one day soon I'm going to have to compile them. Unusually for one of Jezz's plans, we were all quite supportive, another friend, Tom, even offering to try the all-guiness diet as well. After some consultation, it was decreed that marmite would be allowed as well, being a by-product of guiness.

On day one, the fridge was stocked and the first cans were cracked open. Having had no breakfast, the boys needed a couple of pints to feel properly full, but one of the bonuses of the guiness diet is the heaviness of the stout, a factor which at least makes it feel as if you've eaten a tolerable amount. By mid afternoon, we were all a bit pissed, and the day passed in a pleasant enough haze, the only low point being the guys' inability to get stoned for fear of forfeiting the diet in a moment of munchie-related weakness.

It was on the morning of day two that the trouble started. Firstly, I'm sure the factor that has been playing on your mind since reading the first paragraph has been the infamous 'guiness shits'. Well, on the morning of day 2, they hit, and when they hit, they hit hard.

From this point onwards, both men must have spent at least a third of their time engaged in ejecting a viscous black gruel from their bowels into the toilets both next door and in my house. The stench was unbearable, so much so, that on more than one occasion I would head round the corner to the student union to do my business rather than contend with it.

However, the fine Irish stout kept pouring down, and by the end of the afternoon, a Friday, we were suitably tanked up to entertain the notion of heading out clubbing. "But I'm too depressed", protested Tom. Nonsense, we argued, going out would distract him from the monotony of his diet, cheer him up. In fact, in an environment where there was nothing to do but drink, they might stop seeing it as a chore, and return to seeing it as a pleasure.

Unfortunately, we did not plan on Brighton's stringent ID policy, which left us unable to get into any club apart from the horrific West Street slagheaps that we always avoided like the plague. Unable to face the prospect of having an even worse time in a club that we all hated, we elected to go to a late-night cinema screening instead.

The only movie showing that late was the godawful Paris Hilton vehicle House of Wax, which we paid up and saw anyway, drunk as we were, we thought we might enjoy it. By this point, Jezz and Tom couldn't even last through the trailers without having to rush out of the room to evacuate bowels once more.

The film was terrible, and did nothing to lighten the mood. At one point I forgot myself, and offered my popcorn round, garnering cold looks and an invitation to go fuck myself from Tom.

When we got home there was nothing for it but to drink until the sweet embrace of sleep came to save them from their nightmare. Unfortunately, the worst was yet to come.

When I came round the next morning, Jezz answered the door, a peculiar shade of grey. He looked drawn and pale, a combination of hangover, rampant diarreah, and the promise of nothing but more of the black stuff for a further 5 days. We spent the morning trying everything to vary the diet. First, the boys ate marmite with their fingers. Then came the real low; a hot, frothy brown mess that was optimistically named 'Guiness soup'. I tried a mouthful and could do nothing more encoraging than proclaim it 'not completely evil'.

In the afternoon we went to the pub, and over a few pints (orange juice for me, a couple more liquid tars for them), we watched England play the USA at football, one of the most dire games of football it's ever been my misfortune to see. After the first half, Tom, being Welsh, could stand the horror no more and left. Me and Jezz stuck it out and were rewarded with a ground-out victory, but he was hardly in celebratory spirits. We trudged back up the hill to our houses.

When we got there Tom was sitting in the kitchen, looking quietly ill. When we asked him what he had been up to, he cracked.

"I'm sorry...I couldn't take it any more..."
"What did you do?"
"I...I...had a lion bar."
"You bastard!"

What followed was one of the worst attempts at fighting I have ever seen. Both contestants weakened from poor nutrition, managed to get each other in half hearted headlocks before Jezz got out his mobile phone from his pocket.

"What are you doing?"
"Fuck this, I'm calling for a Chinese."

And so the Great Guiness Experiment ended acrimoniously after only 60 hours, proving that
a) man cannot live by guiness alone, and,
b) to attempt to do so is among the most depressing activities man may ever endure.
(jabboy, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 1:54, 6 replies)

A dumb experiment, but was the point?
Kids do stupid things... I put a mothball up my left nostril and couldn't get it out. Had the brainwave to press my finger on the other nostril and blow hard.
(Riza that's not my real name, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 1:24, Reply)

As a young child...
...most comedy is either cartoon or slapstick based. This obviously includes the classic 'stepping on a rake' gag.

I must have been around 6 or 7 and was alone in the garden. There was also a rake on the ground. Now I wasn't a stupid child, I knew I didn't want to be cracked in the face by a metal pole, but I still wanted to test this theory.

I figured that if I trod on it lightly I could control it's rise and stop it short of my face. Of course, it didn't pan out as I had planned and upon standing on the rake, managed to thrust the metal pole, directly onto my forehead, perfectly between my eyes. Messrs Hanna and Barbera would have been pround. I was down like a lead balloon and cried excessively.

Length? From the ground to my head in half a second.
(Martin1337 was trying and failing to be funny at, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 0:46, 4 replies)

Club foot
I tried this in my local shopping mall thing, and I'm surprised it worked.

If there is a crowd of people coming towards me I pretend I have a club foot as it always makes the people move aside, as though they don't want to take the chance that it could be contagious etc. suffice to say Disabled people (aside stairs) have an easy life **


**realises how horrible it was to actually say that.
(Mongoose1770 is a bag of balls, Sun 27 Jul 2008, 0:08, 2 replies)

big mistake
I decided to see what would happen, if i recruited all my old employees to my new job, trying to use the same magic formula, which had worked so well previously.

With things being diffrent, my previous tactics did not work.
No worries , i thought.

It's that bastard regulation commitee which are ruining things for me, and things would soon turn around. But they didnt. Eventually, even the customers got pissed off, and i was sacked.

I then thought it would be a good idea to unsettle the new guy, just when do or die time approached at the end of the business season.
The business survived , and now i can't get a job anywhere.

Yours, Lawrie Sanchez.
(papa bouba slap your face, Sat 26 Jul 2008, 23:02, Reply)

Microwave antics - part 2
Again, me as a somewhat younger howling_mad, was round at a friend's house and for some reason we decided to make marshmallow crackers, and given that neither of us had tried to cook marshmallows on anything other than a campfire, we decided to microwave them. Interesting results there, they would just swell and swell and swell, and once the microwave was done they would slowly shrink back, so we kept adding more and more time to em, and eventually they exploded, can't quite remember how badly, but we never tried to make microwave marshmallow crackers again.
(Howling_Mad Gave God the finger on:, Sat 26 Jul 2008, 22:21, Reply)

Oh, and on the subject of hair....
If you haven't got that perfect 'babies bottom' smoothness after shaving gents, don't for gods sake try putting Immac on your face and leaving it five minutes before shaving again.

Edit:
Okay, have you seen those photo's of volcanic activity on Venus?
Lots of red ground surrounding deep pits oozing liquid?
NASA could have saved a fortune if they'd just used Immac.
(paof2 Nude might not be rude, but rude could be nude..., Sat 26 Jul 2008, 22:16, 1 reply)

fizzy tea
my brother tried to make this years ago with a freshly brewed cuppa and a soda stream. he was studying chemistry at the time.
(rollerdisco, Sat 26 Jul 2008, 22:05, 3 replies)

"Once your balls get hairy...
... you need to wash them regularly to make sure you don't smell down there", my friend said.
He didn't mention the effect some anti-perspirant would have if sprayed on.
BASTARD!!!
(paof2 Nude might not be rude, but rude could be nude..., Sat 26 Jul 2008, 21:53, Reply)

Bum sledding
This fun new sport was invented on an otherwise pointless field trip.
(is there any other kind? Lets frogmarch you up a giant mountain, through peatbogs and mosquitoes, to go peer at a scratched rock near the top.. ooh look glacial striations! If you say so )


Setting: Lake district, mountain, summit of. Descending.

Equipment: Non-regulation footwear. I was not forking out precious beer-money on hiking boots, Doc Martens would have to do.

Observations: DMs have no traction whatsoever on wet slippery grass. Slope consisted of wet slippery grass. Beaten flat by relentless rain. At approx 45deg angle. (The slope not the grass)

Result: Sliding all over the place like a flailing drunk stick insect, and falling splat on my arse every 30 seconds or so.

Observation: Ow. This is annoying. And painful.

Hypothesis: Why not stay on my arse? This is a slope, an exceedingly slippery slope. If I just push along its just like a soggy summer version of tobogganning.

Vocalisation: WeeeeeeeeeaaaAARGHHhhhh....!!!!!

It worked a little too well, as I skidded past most of the group and built up speed.. Cap'n I cannae stoooOOOOOOOppppp.......

It ended with ungracefully ploughing into a patch of dead bracken, which my lecturer helpfully informed us was prob full of ticks.

Nice.

I ruined the DMs btw. *cries*


It DID get me down most of the slope though so prob not very pointless. Ah well twas fun ^(^_^)^
(Hikikomori** watching cartoons on, Sat 26 Jul 2008, 21:38, Reply)