Prayer
I ripped the cover off one of my poetry school book because my desk drawer was over full.

Mrs Timms was the stricted teacher in the world and I was scared.

Thankfully we hardly ever used our poetry notebooks so I had plenty of time to seek help from the one guy who could do ANYTHING! God himself.

So I prayed every night before I went to bed and every morning before I opened my desk and I truely believed that God had the power to help me, to fix my book and one morning I would open my desk and it would be like new.

About a month later Mrs Timms uttered the words I had been dreading "Ok children, take out your poetry books" I prayed one last time before opening my drawer and there before me lay my poetry book, and would you believe it, God in his awesome, infinite power, had done NOTHING!

Mrs Timms saw the book and I sheepishly told her "The cover is ripped off miss" She walked to her desk, was she going to write me a report card? Tell my parents? Cane me? she reached in to her desk, pulled out a roll of tape and said "Fix it then"

And that was it. Months of panicing and prayer to God I truely believed in and she just told me to fix it.

Still I thought for a while after that God had made her nice for one day so she wouldn't get mad but by the time I was 9 I was pretty much an unbeliever.
( Peej, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 12:48, Reply)

glue gun
In the early eighties, my Dad got a glue gun which intrigued me. He then set about the house finding items that needed fixing to be repaired. 'How does the glue gun work Dad?' I asked and he proceeded to regail me with details of how a solid stick of glue goes in the top and gets melted and comes out the bottom as sticky molten glue.

Fine.

So I watch for a while and during a toilet break, when Dad was off crimping some cable, I decide to conduct an experiment; was the sticky molten run-off from the glue gun particularly hot? What did I use for the test - the cat's paw? my brother's finger? Nope, my very own index finger on my right hand. So I gingerly touch the stuff and sweet jesus it was hot. I was in pain the likes of which I had never before encountered. The rest of the family was in the lounge watching telly and could see me so I had to hide the pain as best I could, so I calmly walk through to the hall and sprint up the stairs... to the bathroom.... and Dad hasn't finished yet.
Eventually he exits the bathroom so I find myself rinsing my finger with cold water in an atmosphere of mixed effluent gases from Dad that you could barely see through.

And the glue won't come off.

I then switched to soothing warm water and tried furiously to rub off the glue from my fingertip. I eventually had to wrench the glue off, along with about three layers of skin in silent torment with my younger brother knocking on the bathroom door repeatedly asking if I had finished yet.... I looked down at my finger and there was an evil bloody crater in the tip which took six weeks to heal, giving a scar which finally disappeared a decade later.

I look back on this time with a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment, but my friends liked the story and aftermath a couple of days later.
(mersault, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 12:45, 1 reply)

rewired a plug
so of course I wanted to test I'd done it properly, but to save time I didn't bother screwing the back cover back onto the plug. Using the palm of my hand to give it a good solid push into the socket, I came to on the kitchen floor with an incredibly sore hand and arm. No burns though!
(shanvishnu, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 12:40, 3 replies)

There was an explosion...
Not sure this counts as an experiment but;

Me and a mate stole the schools entire sodium store, built a little fire from news paper and watched excitedly for a bright orange conflagration. But there was none.

The heat melted the sodium into a shining pool, but the flames kept the oxygen at bay. My mate then did something to up the excitement. He scooped a handful of water from the drainage ditch we were hiding in and threw it on the fire. I got as far as the 'N' of NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! before the water hit the molten sodium.

The result was immediate a painful. There was a big bang, and instant cloak of white smoke punctuated by thousands of orange points of light traveling very quickly.

Each of the burning balls of sodium went straight through our school uniforms an into our skin. We looked like we'd contracted instant Chicken Pox. Happy days.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Fri 25 Jul 2008, 12:37, 5 replies)

Double Glazing...
This is also my earliest memory.

When i was a young lad, i think about 5 or 6, i used to live in a big old house. Now this is about, 15 years ago. We had that old style of clip-on double glazing.
Anyway, one time my mum was in the shower, and i took this opportunity to go into my room, climb onto my bed and unclip the double glazing.
Nevertheless, it started to fall slightly. Fortunately, i caught the pane of glass and just about managed to hold it in place while screaming for my mum.

As mentioned before, she was in the shower and unable to help me. So i thought that if i timed it well enough, i could let go of the pane of glass, and jump off my bed and be out the way before it collapsed on me.

I couldn't.

Ended up in A&E with severe lacerations all over my body. Haha, idiot.

Not in any way pointless , but an experiment all the same.
(MackAttack, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 12:35, Reply)

Talking to tramps
I've been in several situations where a drunken tramp has approached and engaged me in conversation. I've discovered that quite often you can play along with their spiel by acting like you know exactly what they are talking about and are actually an old friend of the tramp. You can enquire as to how Mavis is doing, talk about how you did over that bastard who's been bothering him, ask how his arse is baring up after the poodle incident, enquire whether he's had his doritos today etc. and the tramp will play along too. You can almost make it as outlandish as possible and still get a conversation. After five minutes of this I usually walk off quickly with a "catch you around Leonard!" and a cheery wave.

I haven't done this for a few years mind. It's very funny but borders on exploitation of the mentally ill..
(lost, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 12:34, Reply)

Home-brew
I brew things. In the past I reckon there is very little me and dave (shameless plug for dmonbeer) haven't tried fermenting:
Coca cola (not the good stuff - cheap asda rip-off. Bloody awful)
Marrow (don't believe the hype. Goddam awful)
Pea pod (despite the promises, this actually tastes worse than it sounds).
Chilli beer. This was in the days where chilli beer first hit the market in the UK. Many mistakes were made here:
1. Thinking chilli beer might actually be a good idea (it isn't);
2. Thinking for 1 chilli per litre of beer "should be about right" (it isn't)
3. Ensuring that the maximum heat from the chilli enters the beer by cutting the infernal fruit open to expose the delicious seeds
4. Not trying it out on 1 litre before contaminating the whole batch (23 litres).

Imagine the hottest kebab you've ever tasted, dissolved in nitric acid and carefully blended with beer by someone who really shouldn't have.

I managed to drink a quarter of a pint.
A friend of mine took some for a forfeit pint in some bizarre drinking game/ritual.

Just before I saw sense and through it down the sink, I decided to make gravy with it. I hadn't thought it was possible to make it taste worse.
That quickly followed the beer down the sink too.

Learned my lesson since then.
(markthebrewer doesn't know if he's coming or going or coming, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 12:34, 2 replies)

When I was in a pub
I used to experiment with the drunken punters. The ones who constantly give you 'advice'.

There was one night where there was a bloke giving me boring advice all the time, pretty mundane stuff about life, telling me how to live it.

So everytime he bought a drink, I'd put £1 of the change into a glass. He didn't notice at all, could give a shit. Just put his change back into his pocket.

At the end of the night, he was just about to go home, and I said 'look mate, I have one piece of advice'.

'Oh yeah?'. says he.

I hand him a glass with approximately £40 in pound coins in it, count it out and converted it into £20 notes so he could see the amount.

'Count your change, mate'
( Methylene Blue - electrohead, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 12:32, 3 replies)

not a good idea
www.news24.com/News24/South_Africa/News/0,,2-7-1442_1707234,00.html

Visser said: "Like a human, a cat's body is about 80 percent water. This means the nervous system would boil before death occurred."
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 12:29, 3 replies)

Snails in Spaaaaace
When I was a kid, I used to make small firework rockets. (This was before they somehow found a way to make sodium chlorate weedkiller non-oxidising - spoilsports.)

Anyway, after doing small, large, parachute-enabled and multi-stage efforts (surprisingly successful), I decided the time was right for manned spaceflight.

Well, snailed rocketflight anyway.

So I taped a matchbox to the top of my latest creation, found an unsuspecting snail, and put it in. Whoosh! Whee! Thump.

Result: Slightly smoky snail, a bit shaken up, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

Conclusion: The g-forces of a small firefork are survivable, if you are a snail.

Practical application: None. Fun though.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 12:07, 1 reply)

After 10 years working as medical researcher
and testing thousands of various drugs and pharaceutrical concoptions on rats, mice and chicken i have reached a conclusion...

Compared with other animals, Animals that live in labs are 277,000 times more likely to die of cancer.
( Mr Nerdy-Speccy-FuckNuts Ouchy ouchy wa wa!, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 12:05, 1 reply)

On my 30th Birthday...
I was 30 last weekend and obviously now very mature... so we had a competition to see who could fit the most (unchewed) jaffa cakes in their mouth and close their mouth and then eat said jaffa cakes without spitting them out or dying.

I won with 8 Jaffa Cakes.
On a previous (similar) experiment I discovered I could do the same thing with 4 Cream Eggs.

Turns out I have a pretty big mouth!
( Sunburnt Tiger Herbie goes Piranhas!, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 11:48, 8 replies)

Can I survive on the air intake of a cat?
My old cat loved me to bits and would take every opportunity to lie on me, especially if I was led on my back reading or watching TV. I used to try and match her breathing by synchronising the rise and fall of her chest with my own. Every sodding time she would cotton on and breath shallower and shallower until I had to do a large catch-up breath, at which point she would open her eyes a little bit, shoot me a gloating look and go back to breathing normally.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 11:43, 4 replies)

The Social Experiment…

I have spent virtually my whole life in the laboratory. As a consequence, I have never experienced the very fabric of ‘real life’ that you people take for granted. Recently, I decided to remedy this and go out ‘into the world’.

Of course beforehand, I decided to research the process through the medium of affirmative practical testing, to ensure that my integration in common society would be seamless.

I have recently become particularly fascinated with studying the human effects when a certain hydroxyl group (-OH) is bound to a carbon atom of an alkyl or substituted alkyl group. The general acyclic formula is CnH2n+1OH.

As you are no doubt aware, I’m talking about alcohol.

Now I have never experienced the effects of this substance, either first or second hand, but I have always been curious after reading such wondrous volumes on the subject.

Therefore last Saturday I decided (after preliminary research) to venture out and conduct this controlled conditions social experiment by covertly overseeing activities at the nearby drinking establishment called The ‘Stiff and Mimsy’ Public House.

I was indeed fortunate as I had appeared to choose the very night when some individuals from the local rugby team were holding their weekly meeting.

I had cleverly disguised myself as a normal member of the public by covering my 5ft 2 slender build with my finest purple crushed velvet flares, diamond checked tank-top and my grandfather’s ‘Enola Gay’ kipper tie. I was confident of effortlessly intermingling with the public and, despite some initial looks of bewilderment from the surrounding patrons, I soon settled down to monitor the surrounding environment.

Here are my notes from the experiment:

7:15pm: Some 3 pints each with ‘whisky chasers’ have been consumed by the group. No noticeable differences evident on the subjects other than a slight reddening of faces, an apparent general muttering and complaints. Conversation seems to focus on the following issues: the cost of their beverages, their overall spousal displeasure and a collective willingness to give the barmaid a unit of a certain denomination that I could not quite quantify.

7:25pm: Upon gaining a closer vantage point, it appears that I am in the presence of some wise sages indeed. I overhear stories exchanged of such profits made & female conquests that I begin to realise that I was indeed fortunate to be in the company of such supremely intelligent, successful and sensitive fellows. I make a personal note to consult them in the future on any possible financial or sexual situations that I might encumber.

7:45pm: Conversation is interspersed with bouts of loud, unmelodic singing. Unfortunately I am unable to recognise the composer, or adequately translate the lyrics in their entirety. However, I am impressed not only by the group’s exuberance, but also by their collective knowledge of the activities of a certain ‘Fishmonger’s daughter’. At this juncture I approached Subject ‘A’ (a sweaty, 20st buck-toothed hairy gentleman, height approximately 6ft 4) and asked if he could provide me with the address of the individual in the song. I am promptly instructed to ‘Fuck off, twat-nappy’.

8:00pm: Conversation volume and levels of general profanity have taken a decided increase. Subject ‘A’ now seems incapable of contributing to a conversation without pointing his finger in an aggressive manner and insisting that his fellow protagonists know ‘cock all’

8:15pm: Upon attempting closer inspection on the pupil dilation of subject ‘B’ (a particularly large, heavily tattooed man in an extremely reclined position at the bar), I am asked if I ‘Want some’. When I ask him to clarify exactly what goods or services he is offering, he proceeds to punch me in the face.

8:30pm: Subject ‘C’, a rather burly chap in the gent’s toilets appears to not take too kindly to participating in my peripheral experiment in the affects of alcohol on penis size. When I attempt to enlighten him on my actions and assure him that I only wish to measure his phallus for scientific research, he rebuts my request by knocking my clipboard out of my hand before placing my head into a lavatory bowl and repeatedly slamming the seat onto it.

9:00pm: A stumbling, dribbling Subject ‘D’ puts his arm around me and informs me that I am not only ‘alright’ but I have indeed become his ‘pal’. I decide to capitalise on this new found bond and request an opportunity to get an even closer assessment of the group’s activities.

I subsequently ask the man if I would be 'permitted to penetrate his intimate inner circle’…

9:30pm: I regain consciousness to find myself being flung into various items of furniture by several cheering individuals. From behind the bar, a serving lady wearing heavy make-up advises the group to ‘Leave it, he’s not worth it’, and I am thrown in her general direction. Upon greeting the female, I ask her if her charitable act was with ‘possible amorous intent’. The female then proceeds to grab my hair and force a broken bottle into my eye socket.

9:45pm: I make my way beside two individuals who appear to be competitively engaged to see who can consume the highest volume of something called ‘Ouzo shots’. My request to join their activities is taken quite positively; as it is explained to me that the ‘rules’ of such a competition denote that as a newcomer, I am required to ‘pay for all the drinks’. I am relieved of my Spiderman purse and I am given a seat next to the gentlemen.

9:46pm: My two companions and I are each handed a small glass containing a colourless liquid. They quickly drink their quantities in one mouthful before slamming the empty glasses onto the table. The surrounding group then advise me on my next course of action by collectively and loudly encouraging me to ‘Down it!…Down it!…’

Monday, 4:30 am: I awake to find myself naked, covered in what after closer inspection appears to be someone else’s vomit, and handcuffed to an orang-utan on a cargo plane which is halfway to Jakarta.

No further testing is planned.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 25 Jul 2008, 11:33, 9 replies)

This was really pointless.
When I last went on holiday with my girlfriend, we were having a great time until she decided to become ill with a dodgy mussel that she had had for lunch. In the evening, I was shooed out of the hotel room as she didn’t want me present when she…well… I am sure you get the idea.

I had read all my books, but I happened to have my laptop with me and access to the internet. I was idly reading Digital Spy when I came across an article about the program ‘Two pints of lager, and a packet of crisps’. With this in mind, I decided to conduct an experiment.

Hypothesis:

“Do only stupid people watch ‘Two pints of lager and a packet of crisps?’?”

Testing and data collection phase:

An informal email survey of friends to see how many watch TPOLAAPOC throughout the evening. There were different levels of viewing, ranging from ‘what’s that’? to ‘the odd episode’ to ‘all the time, and I sky+ it to watch it again and again’.

This was added to general intelligence rating amongst my friends using a bespoke points based system. This was based on how clever I thought they were.

Random test control subjects were also used in the form of a German tourist, a Greek barman, a couple from Kettering, and a small boy who kept on trying to look on my screen. This was a sample of some of the people in the hotel bar where I was.

Test note: There was a great deal of confusion from the Greek barman who kept on serving me two pints of lager and a packet of crisps when asked – his results were excluded from the overall data set.

Data Analysis:

There was an overall breakdown in the quality of analysis. Much of this was derived from the confusion with the aforementioned barman.

The data I had seemed to be inconclusive. Access to BBC3 also seemed to be a sticking point. The graphed results were scattered with not much conviction either way.

Conclusion.

Half my friends watch it. The other half don’t. I watch it. I must be half stupid. As I knew this fact already, I deemed the experiment to be pointless.

I then spilt a pint of beer on my laptop. Fucksocks.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 11:32, 1 reply)

Killing a cold with Whiskey
Had a cold for ages, tried everything. At a friends for a cool weekend away when I decide to try and kill off my cold with various whiskeys at the local pub.

Cold was worse and lasted another week... Fail.
(Mmm Zebalicious is wondering..., Fri 25 Jul 2008, 11:25, 1 reply)

What a wonderful stew this had become.
My grandfather (http://www.b3ta.com/questions/oldpeoplespeaktruths/post178460) invented a cure for the common cold. A simple mixture of whisky, iodine and salt is enough to put a person on the path of idiot-faced vigour. Quick as a whistle, he said, and you’ll be back out wrastlin’ greased hogs.

I should mention, one must inhale it through their nose.

A few years ago, I was on my deathbed. My outlook was bleak, my present was full of phlem, serious brain fug and The DeathLurg. Lemsips didn’t work, and whining about my imminent and painful death didn’t elicit enough sympathy and slave labour to make my cold worthwhile.

Remembering my grandfather’s miracle cure, I crawled into my kitchen, a duvet slug leaving a trail of snot and LurgSpores. It was time for me to experiment, to see if granddad was telling porkies all along.

Whisky. Check. Salt – will ground sea salt do (I am thoroughly middle class after all)? Suuuure it will. Check. Now for the iodine. Hm. I haven’t got any of that. Diluted TCP? It can’t be that deadly, it only kills bad, nasty germs. I’ll throw a glug of that in, too. Check.

I hovered over the countertop, straw in nose. A quick sniff in this nostril. Hey, that burns a bit. Time for the other nostril. Eh, this isn’t so bad, though I.

And then my face exploded.

Blood spewed everywhere. I was fairly certain that my witch’s brew was boring its way into my brain via my eyes and spine. I fell to the ground in the foetal position, whoop whoop whooping around in circles on the floor like The Three Stooges. The pain was abiding and agonising, the blood had managed to cover both every surface of me and the kitchen. What a wonderful stew this had become.

My partner came home to find the carnage. I had managed to crawl away in the general direction of a bath and some soap, leaving a mess of blood. I’d have helped him clean it up, but you guessed it, I was still ill.

It was a pointless experiment – something which was going to so clearly end in horror, did.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 11:20, 4 replies)

It was just after the movie Backdraft came out
...and we were in the back garden on a lovely summer's day, having a barbecue. Naturally we'd lit it with the help of some BBQ lighter fluid, of which we had a really quite large bottle.

Somebody came up with the genius idea of transplanting the spray nozzle head off one of these:



...onto the lighter fluid bottle. Set the nozzle to 'fine mist', hold up a lighter and presto! Spectacular fireballs à la fire-eater, without the associated risk of self-immolation.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 11:17, Reply)

Flying maggots
When I was in year 9 we were doing a biology experiment about respiration.

You had some maggots in a test tube connected to another test tube full of water. A vacuum pump gently sucked air through the two test tubes and you had to count the air bubbles in the water to see how quickly the maggots were breathing.

For some reason the teacher had to leave the classroom for a bit and I decided to see what would happen if the vacuum pump was reversed and turned up to 11.

Results were as follows:
1. Maggots shot across the room at about 60 mph.
2. Wall 1 Maggots 0
3. Maggots hitting said wall at about 60 mph make a 'Phluk' sound.
4. Stains of squished maggots are quite hard to clean off a white wall if you only have a damp kitchen towel.
5. The classroom Omerta is surprisingly easy to maintain when everybody's laughing so hard it hurts.
(Milo Minderbinder, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 11:13, 1 reply)

Never ever put tippex on your bell end.
Really - don't.
( sm.pl.crt.rs I don't fucking know, do I?, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 11:07, 6 replies)

Crushing an egg in your hand by squeezing
This one time, when some eggs had gone past their sell-by date, I attempted to prove or disprove the theory that it is not possible to crush an egg length-ways in your hand by squeezing alone.

After much exertion this appeared to be the case; I could not crush the egg like this, so I then wondered if it was actually possible to crush it width-ways.

For a time it appeared that this wasn't possible either, but then I squeezed just that little bit more, and that extra pressure on the shell must have caused it to crack, and it broke.

Well I say broke, it actually exploded because of the pressure I was exerting on it, and it sprayed all the eggy goodness about 6 feet into the air, all over myself, and all over my good lady wife who was acting the part of an impartial observer to the proceedings.

I was quite unpopular for the rest of the evening.
( Barbarossa is not my real name, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 11:07, Reply)

Does anyone remember the Jolly Rodger cook book?
im sure its already been mentioned, but i saw a post before about the matchstick heads in a tennis ball.

Surely a good portion of the experiments mentioned on this weeks QOTW relate to this most Sought after of childhood rumours..

which begs another question... Where did you actually get it from? it was stored on computer - wasnt it?
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 11:06, 6 replies)

A couple...
Mint Strips
Remember a few years ago Wrigleys were selling Mint Strips, the ones that just dissolved on your tongue. (see www.sweetiebag.com/product_images/details/Extra%20Thin%20Ice%20SP.jpg)

As is often the case, I got dared to put one up my nose one afternoon at school. Cue 2 hours of my nose having blue watery snot dripping out, the only way I was able to stop it in the end was to put a tissue up my nose, and that still had to be replaced every half hour!


Toxic Waste
To those of you unfamiliar with this sweet, it's incredibly sour, to the point where it acually contains a warning on the pack not to eat too many, or risk tongue damage.

Cue a 15 year old me saying "May damage tongue? Haha, I bet it won't damage mine!"
It did.

After eating a pack of about 18, I couldn't taste anything for 3 days, and my tongue went an unhealthy shade of white. I ended up peeling that layer off my tongue, very painful.


Stiletto Heel
This is one I'm still fairly ashamed/amused about. Back when I was 15, on my brothers 18th birthday, we had a party at our old house.

Partway through I'm sat chatting to a couple of girls I used to go to school with, when one of them gets sick of her shoes, and throws them on the floor. I look at them, and the heel looks like a dagger. This was made worse by the fact she'd worn half the padding on the bottom down by wearing them so much.

I remember wondering how much it would hurt if I hit myself with it. So I did. It hurt.

I will search for a photo taken in the aftermath, and try to post it this week!

Length? This looks pretty similar - tinyurl.com/5abqyl
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 10:58, 1 reply)

Hire car shenanigans
Over the years I have driven numerous cars not belonging to me, whether hired for holidays or business, or loaned to me when my car was in the garage. I have learned some interesting facts:

A Ford Ka will do an indicated 55mph in second gear.

A Rover 416i will rev to 7200 rpm before the limiter cuts in. It is also a very easy car to drive without using the clutch, except when moving off from a standing start.

The air conditioning on a Ford Mondeo smells (as my mate described it) 'like the cupboard under the stairs where you hang wet jackets' after not having been used for a while.

A Chevrolet Malibu makes a grinding noise when it has very little oil left in the sump (this wasn't deliberate - I heard the noise and decided to check the oil - the dipstick wasn't even reaching it!)

A Buick Regal's low fuel indicator gives four audible warnings before it is necessary to fill up. It is also quite a difficult car to remove from a ditch (oops).

It is seemingly impossible to get more than 17mpg from a Ford Windstar.

All American cars are crap. Except for the Dodge Magnum, (sold here as the Chrysler 300C tourer) which is quite good except for its endless thirst.

Edit - It is possible, and indeed remarkably easy, to select reverse gear instead of 4th at 30mph in an LDV van.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 10:48, 4 replies)

I haven't tried it yet but
I know this is pointless but I think it would be pretty cool.

The image that your eyes take in is upside down and your brain sorts it all out to make it the right way up.
Get some glasses with lenses that makes everything upside down and wear them constantly for a week or so.
Your brain will eventually correct the image so that everything is the right way up again.
This is all well and good if you intend to continue wearing the glasses but now take them off..........

I really want to try this, I think I would have to take a couple of weeks off work though.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 10:46, 3 replies)

Lemsip vs Whiskey
Which is better for combating the common cold; Lemsip or a bottle of Famous Grouse?

I don't do "ill". I'm rarely if ever under the weather, possessing a very good immune system and an enviable metabolism. However, on occasion when I do fall victim to any kind of viral malaise, I tend to be well and truly knocked for six.

"I'b godda [sniff] fuggin cold! Atchoo!" I complained, noting the fact that the medicine cabinet was lacking any kind of flu powders.

"Don't bother with Lempsip mate" replied Phil, my then housemate, "What you need is a bottle of cheap, slugging scotch and ginger wine".

"Thad soundbs a fuggin [snuffle] goob idea".

So instead of my usual Friday night aperitif of beer, I dragged myself to the local offy.

Method

"A boddle of [sniff] scodch and some gingeb wine pleade"

Now, the plan was to increase the alcohol level of my bloodstream to such a point that any invading bacteria or virii would be instantly embalmed. Could such a radical idea work?

To find out, I obtained a medium sized tall glass and poured equal measures of Famous Grouse and Stones Ginger Wine, with a twist of lemon and honey for good measure.

The resulting mixture was scarcely palatable, being somewhat bitter-sweet with an overpowering taste of ginger. I held my nose and drank it anyway, convincing myself I felt better after draining the glass.

So I repeated the dose, substituting the ginger wine for more whisky.

What happened next was utterly beyond my frame of previous experience. I had some very vivid dreams and felt myself sweating and shaking like Gordon Brown during a confidence vote. The blackness of sleep beckoned once again and I found myself falling into a dark pit, tormented by utterly outrageous dreams.

Eight hours later I'm awakened by gentle purring and the tap of a cold, damp nose on my cheek. I correctly guessed that my cat, Leonard had paid me a visit to check on my welfare. However, I appear to be lying on my back, fully clothed except for one missing sock. My head is the subject of a bizarre temporal anomaly and exists in a time roughly two seconds distant from the rest of my body. I plan to write to Professor Stephen Hawking for an explanation for that particular phenomena.

As I try and move, I feel like my body is floating in liquid. I really don't feel well, for I appear to have provoked the mother and father of all hangovers.

Fucking hell...

It was a further six hours before the giddiness subsided. It was then that I realised that I had no sign whatsoever of a cold.

I also realised that nuking this cold had cost me a grand total of £23.74, the cost including the Scotch, the ginger wine, two lemons, some honey and finally some backup Lemsip just in case.

Conclusion

1) The resulting hangover was far worse than the cold itself.

2) Cats don't make satisfactory alarm clocks as they lack the required "snooze" button.

3) In terms of cost benefit, I could have purchased 7.667 boxes of Lemsip instead. Or five boxes of Lemsip and a tub of multivitamins.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 25 Jul 2008, 10:45, 5 replies)

Banger + dog turd + insufficient time to get far enough away
...try explaining that one to your mum when you get home.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Fri 25 Jul 2008, 10:40, Reply)