French Accent
French Accent

5:30 this morning, some one buzzes my door entry. Which is unusual as it usually turned off. I ignore it. It buzzes again I ignore it again. Again it buzzes so I stumble out of bed pick up the hand set and in a fake French accent say Hello, why in French I have no idea I was half asleep at the time. All I hear is a hehehehe, the voice sounded just like Mutley from wacky races. Friggin Dutch twat was faking it as well. 5:35 I go back to sleep.
(nee22 NL ExPat, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 9:20, 3 replies)

I faked an orgasm.
Still didn't get the job. Mind you, moaning "I am experienced in all aspects of database management!" did distract the wife that night.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 7:51, Reply)

I could say
that I pretended to know the singer of these guys, but it'd be a lie, I really did know him.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 7:46, Reply)

Intelligent Design
.
This isn't about me faking anything, it's about how the proponents of Intelligent Design are faking a pseudo-science while all the while they're really Creationists. Christian Creationists. All other religions, and their stories of the Creation Myth, are wrong.

It's a knocking certainty that some of you reading this will be believers in Intelligent Design. But how otherwise bright people can believe that nonsense just flabbergasts me. A couple of friends of mine, both really bright people, just won't accept Darwin's Theory Of Evolution. They think that Humans are just too special to have come about by accident and they can't accept that we're descended from Apes.

That's because we aren't descended from apes. Darwin never claimed that and students of evolution never claimed that. Ever. But this is one of the arguments you'll hear time and time again from Creationists - they'll claim that Evolutionists believe that we're all descended from apes.

Let me clear this one up for you. What Darwin said is that Apes and Humans shared a common ancestor. Sometime in the dim and distant past, the ancestors of the current-day apes and our ancestors were one and the same species. Then we gradually split over eons. They went down one evolutionary route and we went down another until you have what we have today. Humans and apes, both totally separate species.

But you'll still here the Creationists cry:

"They say we're descended from apes!!"

Lying bastards.

Cheers

This short public information announcement was brought to you by Legless who's stuck trying to do something whizzy while coding.

( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 7:34, 61 replies)

I feel like I'm faking being a teacher in my new job, because all I do is check homework and assign new homework.

I was told that the lessons the students have with the foreign teachers are "their only opportunity to speak out in English", so, in between the homework crap, I have to think of 10 to 15 minutes worth of chat topics that relate to the story book they're reading.
(Rather than getting them to work on their hideous pronunciation and explaining what the words they're reading actually mean ...)

One class is reading "Amelia Bedelia" (if you haven't read it, it's about a dumb-arse housekeeper).
We've already exhausted the only two, tenuously-linked topics from the book (Housework and Things you shouldn't do in the house). We have to spend a MONTH with this text.

Ten minutes of discussion on, "What can you do with a lightbulb?" yesterday finally convinced me that, if I stay in Korea another year, I'll have to switch to a public school in order to actually do some proper teaching.

(I may be under an illusion with this assumption, however!)

Also, I'm faking actually giving a shit about the job. They're not really learning anything, but I can't skive because every classroom has CCTV (I'm faking that this doesn't PISS ME OFF and make me self-conscious), and the boss and teacher supervisor can watch the lessons on their computers.
(Celerydemon, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 6:11, 3 replies)

Okay...
I have always had a propensity toward impostordom. If I was around in the Victorian Era I would've been one of those guys claiming to be obscure royalty and reaping the benefits. Instead, I make up complex personas online and use them to trick people. Often, I think that I am doing something good for the world, even if my tactics are pure evil, such as the time I posed as a North Korean girl on MySpace and was contacted by an American who seemed to work for the army who offered to sell me state secrets.

Anyway, I've had one brewing for a few months that you'll enjoy. I've been taking it very slowly so they'll get used to me before figuring out I'm a total fraud.

Quite a few months ago, a bunch of us found this particularly dumb website for white supremacists somewhere in the US (I'm going to be fuzzy on details for now). These were particularly dumb white supremacists, the kind that wouldn't be welcomed on normal WP sites.

A whole bunch of us registered at once, with the intent to bring the group IQ down a few more notches, basically making a mess of the board.

My masterplan was to do some image-swapping. I stole some of their smileys and rehosted them on my own site, and got all the invaders to use one in every post. The intention was later to replace the image files with a collage of interracial pornography, thus glutting the board with the stuff. Unfortunately, the admins registered on our own site and saw us discussing the plan, and we were all banned and the images were removed.

And I had a lovely image picked out. It was something like 3000 pixels wide so it would mess with their browsers, and they'd have to scroll right to erase it. Plus, I copy-and-pasted their own edit and delete buttons in, so they would likely click on the wrong button several times. Plus, as they scrolled right, I had planted images in the upper right corner, so they would unwittingly scroll over to it. Basically, I made a pattern from three pornographic images, each one featuring a white woman being double-penetrated by two black gentlemen, with the speech bubble saying "I changed my mind! White power!" It really was an ergonomic masterpiece.

Well, I did get it into their site, where it still remains, thanks to one idiot (actually a British bonehead if I remember correctly) whose password was just his username. Ask me in comments and I will point you to where you can see my artwork.

Well, our main invasion was complete, but I had a sleeper agent in there. I'd registered one more "legitimate" user in an attempt to worm my way deeper. I was a 19-year-old single mother of three children who was very interested in white nationalism. Rather than try to sound like an idiot, I tried to be the voice of reason. In one thread about some kids carving a swastika on the door of a synagogue, I wrote:

"Agree or disagree with the message, dumb kids who go around defacing property in an attempt to spread are message are just making us all look like troubled preteens."

Good advice that the white power movement could stand to listen to (if only I weren't a...well, see my username).

They actually did agree with my point of view that time, but it didn't take long before everyone was suspecting me of being some kind of lefty. I got major shit in one thread about a neo-Nazi getting out of jail. The guy had stabbed two black guys in a Denny's, simply because they were with white girls.

"Congratulations, boys, you defended Denny's from a couple black guys. Was it worth the prison time?"

They didn't like that so much.

Meanwhile, a friend of mine got an account verified on there (let's call him Rob because that's part of the username), and I came up with an insidious plan. I posted a personal ad looking for a date on the site, and he replied. We later made a few mentions to meeting up and being in a relationship.

Unfortunately, I was banned from the site for a reason that still makes me actually fume (after all the other stupidity I'd read on there). A few senior members had mentioned they had Native American roots in their ancestry, so I started a thread mentioning I too was something like 1/16 Native, and it was good that people like us were involved in racial supremacy. And then the admin banned me, as well as the other impure members. I hope those other ones who were banned saw what a bunch of crap this was and changed their ways.

Well, there was a problem with the site and it was down for a month, and when the dust settled, the memberslist had been wiped out and a lot of the old posts were gone.

So, I signed up again under a similar username and said my fictional boyfriend Rob had disappeared, and asked him to contact me, because I had something important to say. My friend hasn't been online in months, so I also created a new account under his own name.

Because this QOTW will close soon, I decided to speed up the end game. Last night, under my Rob account, I posted:
"Ya dam right, I had to find out the girl Id been shtupping had mud in her vains on the internet! Do me a favor and keep your mixed genes the hell away from me."

Just a few moments ago, I logged in as my female character, and dropped this bombshell:
"FINE. Then I guess it doesnt matter to you that im PREGNANT and its too late for an ABORTION."

Anyway, I have only one move left until I reach the endgame I'd been planning on since we started "dating." I'll leave it to your imagination how I can blow this little racist soap opera up even further between Rob and his pregnant mud blood ex-girlfriend. Sorry for length, but after giving birth three times and expecting the fourth soon, I don't feel much down there.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 4:34, 5 replies)

I got an iPod and now all the cool kids think I'm hip...
...they will, anyway, until they discover that it's full of classical music...
(BrainSurgerysFun, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 1:30, Reply)

I am naughty and I faked
many things today - mostly experience of what I was doing in my unpaid career. Well, not faked, more embellished, and I now can't remember who my references are on my CV that the interview panel would have received.

Oh noes :(
( Maladicta, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 21:42, 9 replies)

Oh, the shame!
Not me - promise - But a friend at Edinburgh Uni. You know who you are! He pulled one boozy night then couldn't get the old chap to carry out his duties. Drunken logic kicked in and he retrieved a loo-brush from the bathroom, which he proceeded to thrust in and out of his pullee whilst moaning in ersatz pleasure. She rumbled him half way through and was very, very far from thrilled...
(RayPugh So, what are you wearing?, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 20:08, 6 replies)

pretending to be
mute to avoid talking to anyone at my uncles wedding, works wonders until they get drunk and you have to listen and can't tell them to leave...
(this_is_an_outrage saboo! you slag!, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 19:38, 3 replies)

The Mum and Gran...
If I were to paint a little picture for you of my early life it would be trips to South Wales to see my Great Aunt and her extended brood who still inhabited 'The Valleys'.

It was during these trips that I inquired as to my Great Aunt's life, to be told she was quite a larrikin in her youth, and had married into fame.

"Fame? Really?" "Oh, yes little one..." they said, 'she was married to a famous singer."

"A singer? Really?" "Oh yes, little one, even you may have heard of him, he is called Tom Jones, however they divorced before your birth!"

I was as proud as punch. And for years I would tell all and sundry that I was related, by marriage, to Tom Jones.

However, as I hit puberty, Tom Jones had fallen into disrepute, no-one had heard of post-ironic support for his ilk and I denied him. Yes, dear reader, I denied him like Doubting Thomas would have done to Jesus Christ our Paviour.

Luckily, in my twenties, he played Glasto, snogged Kylie, had pants galore thrown at him and even Justin Lee Collins snuffling his arse. I could embrace my Great-Uncle-By-Marriage, now divorced, once again...

Until, a few years ago, someone told me he'd been married to the same woman for fuck-knows-how-many years and had never been divorced.

Drat you Mummy and Nana, drat your lies.
(Chickenwire social lubricator extraordinaire, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 18:32, 4 replies)

Faker?! Me?!
Um, yeah, you could say that! LOL Of course, I've only done it in an effort of self preservation. In elementary school, I KNEW I was diff when I went to the communal play area (when you did something extra well, the teacher would let you go play there for a bit, all kindsa clothes, and toys...it was first grade) so I stroll over after teacher was pleased with me and I decide: lets put on a dress and grab a purse.

Which was all well and good until some bitchy little finger-pointer walked over and said "I'm telling teacher!"

So, cue my folks coming to school to meet with the Principal. Yay. Your 'son' is transgender (though the word he used was, I think, 'Freaky').

So the irony is that 'today' some elements of society look at me and say 'oh, that was a man? He is faking being a woman.' when in reality, my entire life, I've always KNOWN I am a woman, I just faked being a man for the rest of them.

We all get to a point where doing things because others expect you to is just no longer an excuse.

And the real kick in the soon to be non-existant bollocks? Lesbians seem to HATE me! lol Despite my being only really interested in women, 90% of the lesbian population thinks of me as an aberration.

You just cant please some people! lol

Perhaps if I faked being a butch woman I might find acceptance in that community?!
(ThatGirl The Girl Formerly Known as A-man-duh, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 18:27, 29 replies)

I've been
faking an interest in work for over 20 years
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 17:47, Reply)

Not me but a friend of mine...
A friend of mine has recently 'acquired' a 6-year old boy along with his Polish mother as a girlfriend. Needless to say, all the wonders of England are a real eye-opener for the little chap. He was in my garden the other day, and turned over a piece of wood to find lots of woodlice.

"What are they?" asks the little chap.

"Woodlice", I say.

"Yeah, you can eat them", says my friend.

"You can't say things like to him!" I explode.

"Oh, that's nothing", he says nonchalantly, then turns to the little boy and asks "What's that great English delicacy I told you about?"

...

"Mousebiscuits"
(JohabMorelli is spenging merrily away, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 17:19, Reply)

Control
I'd always meet them at their hotel bars, more for my own safety than anything else. Every time I met someone new I'd be filled with that familiar nervous energy. A glass of wine would usually help calm me down, just the one and maybe a shot. I didn't want to be drunk, being drunk isn't attractive, it also clouds your judgement and leaves you vulnerable. Being vulnerable and showing fear were not acceptable.

I'd worry about being watched, or being spotted by someone I knew. I'd get the occasional knowing look from hotel staff, or women would glance over at me and whisper to their friends.
It didn't surprise me, I knew what they were thinking, a young woman barely in her early 20s with a much older man in a hotel bar. She must be a prostitute.

They were wrong though, I wasn't being paid to have sex with these men. They were paying to be my slaves.

Sometimes it would be tame. We'd go up to their room and I'd tell them to strip. I'd start messing up the room while they changed into the little apron I had for such occasions, then I'd get them to clean up. All the while I'd be calling them worthless, barking orders, never asking, always telling.

Other times gags, whips and paddles would be involved. I disliked the whipping. Inflicting pain on anyone, regardless of if they were paying for it is something I've always struggled to do. I don't like hurting people. I couldn't let them know that though. I had to be the authority figure. If they knew how awkward and self conscious I felt. It would ruin the illusion.
You know that feeling you get when you're at a club and not quite drunk enough to stop caring what people think so you do that awkward sideways shuffle on the dance floor, have a sip of your drink and try and look as nonchalant as possible? Well, that's what I felt like most of the time.

I found it easier when I was dressed up. Every client had their own personal preference though usually nothing out of the ordinary, sometimes I'd be a head mistress, or a bossy nurse, one client had a thing for ninjas. All of the characters I played were strong disciplinarians. My favourite was the classic dominatrix look. It was the one so far removed from myself I found it was the one I could really exaggerate . Also, there's just something about wearing thigh high boots that makes you feel powerful.

I thought about their wives, did they know that their husbands were paying to be humiliated? Did they think their husbands were having affairs? I'm pretty sure none of them ever noticed that their husband was spending a lot of money on his business trip to London. I was always paid in cash and some of these men were disgustingly rich.
Every now and then they'd talk about their families. Most of them were happy generally, they just had needs their wives couldn't fulfil. This was usually due to the fact that they hadn't told their spouses about their desires to be dominated as they were apprehensive about being branded a pervert. I often wondered what would happen if they just communicated with them. Would their fears be justified? Or sometimes, is it just easier to pretend you don't like young women in hotels to put their high heels in places they shouldn't be, whilst you call them mistress and wank yourself into a gormless frenzy, for the sake of saving face?

The majority of my clients were actually pretty decent men. They worked extremely hard in very high pressure jobs. I'm sure they were perceived as control freaks and they spent a huge amount of time away from their home and loved ones. That's possibly why they came to me. I was an escape from the loneliness. They didn't have to pretend to be able to cope with me, they didn't have someone sucking up to them, they didn't have to be the one in control of the situation. But most importantly, they got a bit of escapism by living out a fantasy.

Eventually my double life took its toll. As far as friends and family were concerned I was working in a pub and just happened to like going out a lot. I had to lie about where I was going and who I'd be seeing, I had to cover my lies with more lies. I found maintaining my "mistress" person drained me. Having to act like a heartless bitch when all I really wanted to do was sit down and have a cup of tea became tiresome.

So there you have it, I was a complete fake. From the outfits, to the shouting, to the spanking. Although the praise I received was flattering, being treated like a queen a few times a week made me feel special and I knew I was making these men happy. It wasn't me.
I just don't like being mean.
( wanderlust, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 16:58, 12 replies)

my life is one big sham...
Well, not quite - I am really married, I really do enjoy my home and, oddly enough, my CV isn't a pack of lies, but I've done my fair share of wind-ups, porkies, white lies and outright shame-faced falsehoods. Highlights include:

1) A schoolfriend and I pretending to be German at the Channel Tunnel exhibit in Kent on a tortuously dull school trip. We'd wander up to random strangers and bark random phrases at them. Result? One girl burst into tears (she must have been 15...) and one boy who tried to talk to us in schoolboy German with us faking finding it hard to spake Englischer - eventually he asked if we were brothers and we responded with a "fuck, no!" and wandered off - the look on his face was priceless.

2) Telling a girl I wanted to be with her when actually what I enjoyed was the regular threesomes with her blonde housemate. Oh, and the fact she took it up the poo-chute. As did her housemate. It was easier than dump her, but try to be civil whilst shagging her mate...

3) Pretended to be depressed and tearful to get the Goth girl I fancied to follow me out of the Student Union to console me. It was the only way to get her away from the gimp who was following her like a puppy from freshers' week until the time he walked into her communal kitchen to find her bent over the table and me hammering away at her...we didn't stop though. lol

4) Told my dad I didn't know how the wing mirror of his car got broken ("must have been some bastard in the car park") when I borrowed it to get to work (my motor was in the garage) - the truth is, I removed it when I clipped a chav's Nova as he veered into my lane and I wasn't stopping (hey, i was running late already). Then again, a new one cost £20 from the scrappie and it was the Chav's fault anyway...

and, the biggie

5)telling MI5 that I'd never touched drugs on an application form. Good thing I didn't get that job, really...lol
(Chad, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 16:00, 8 replies)

Not really in tune with the "faking it" bit but still
An old joke (i think) could be real i haven't a clue:

An elderly English gentleman of 83 arrived in Paris in the Cheesefilled Froglands of northwest europe by plane.

At the immigration desk, the man took a few minutes to locate his passport in his carry-on bag.

"Yoo 'ave been to France befor', monsieur?" the Immigration officer asked, sarcastically.

"Aye that I have" replied the old man.

"Zen you should know well enuf to 'ave your passpor' ready eef yoo cum* to zis cuntry**."

The English gentleman says, "The last time I was here, I didn't have to show it."

"Sacrebleu zutalors and other froggy obscenities!" said the slimeball, "All Englishmen 'ave to show their passports en arrival in France!"

The elderly gentleman gave the French Immigration Officer a long hard look.

Then he quietly explained.

"Well, the last time I was here, I came ashore on Sword beach on in June 1944, and I couldn't find any fucking Frenchmen to show it to"

*Hehe
**Hehehe

Click "I like this" if you carry a slight racism towards the french
(Freddles, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 15:08, 26 replies)

Let's pretend I'm still at Uni
I have a fake student ID. My old work had a card printer and being pretty nifty on the old photoshop results in one very convincing stoodent ID. It's not even the university i actually went to.

It's not for buying booze or fags. I'm 27. It's to continue to get stuff for cheap.

I know i should give it up but it's valid till 2010 and i hate paying full price at the cinema!
(phe, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 15:05, 1 reply)

faking class
I am currently living in a self contained flat in a very rich family's 5 story geoegian town house in the poshest part of the city. I swindled my way into this position by me and gf pretending to be of good breeding and having class. I managed this by feigning a knowledge of wine, the south of france and having a fine collection of cashmere cardigans.

Little do they know I slob out in my grubby shreddies farting alot and using foul language to amuse myself.

I also actively encourage my cat to shit in their flower beds.

And to top it all off, due to my gf depositing/retreiving their spoilt little offspring from the local massively expensive private school eachday, we live here rent free!

yay for me!

Stupid upper-middle class cunts....
(Duke Fucknuts ate toast and fanny batter on, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 14:35, Reply)

Magic biscuit
I pretended to eat a magic biscuit I was given by a weird religious cult, but smuggled it home instead. Now they're claiming it's actually a part of this dead guy they used to know, and are basically accusing me of kidnapping and hate crimes and generally being abusive.
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 14:24, 3 replies)

right then!
that'll be yer uncle spimfy comin at cha from Dubai!

YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE WEB NARKS!

mwwaaaa hahahaha MWA HAHHAHHHH

*contemplates shagging on beach*
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 14:03, 13 replies)

A Poem
Fey Kin! Git!

Clitus was a homo
Way down in Tennessee
He liked to suck on dicks
But couldn’t tell his family

Clitus was my cousin
My names Bill from Arkansas
One day walking through the farmyard
this here's what I saw

Cousin Clitus and his buddy
lying in the chicken coop
buck nekkid but for an ol straw hat
their chaps meat all a-droop

Little pools of semen
deposited about
I nearly slipped but instead quipped
them boys done best git out

See, Clitus he was kin
but that ol sumbitch was fey
and in Tennessee and Arkansas
You best not be that way

I fired my gun into the air
to stir 'em up a bit
And so to save their lives from Pa
I roared, "Gwan now! Fey kin! Git!"


rafter!
baz
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 13:23, 5 replies)

Surrounded by them
Persistent workplace fakers are the very essence of what makes work hell, esp. in tech / comms.

One particulary egregious shitbin I have had the pleasure of dealing with is, at this very moment, employed to do nothing but sit and tell everyone he's really busy - he's not actually, which I know for a fact, but as his direct manager is also a bone-idle shirker who would sooner eat a spoonful of cat-shit than let a single word of truth pass his lips, he goes largely undetected.

Truth be told, this paradigm extends all the way to the top of the organisation.

Hooray for contracting, if I worked here full time I'd be in a mind to stab them all in the face.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 13:01, 4 replies)

Fake language genius
When I was at University, I used to hang around in the pub with a bunch of mates. One of these was a guy called Steve who was pretty smart, but a bit of a cocky so-and-so.

One day, he went on about how many languages he could speak, and I raised a sceptical eyebrow. "OK then," he said, "I bet I know more than you."

I know nothing about languages, seulement mon O-level obligatoire de Francais, but we went through a couple of obvious ones where I would say "Ya" in a German accent, or "Si" in a Spanish accent to whatever he was saying, and managed to get it right.

Finally, he smiled and said "Right, you'll never get this one" and rattled off a load of stuff at me. Damn. No idea, but it sounded kind of eastern european. As I had just been watching 2010, with Helen Mirren talking in a nice Russian accent, I remembered two words: "Da, Tovarisch". Bingo!

He went and sat in a sulk for the rest of the evening.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 12:51, Reply)

I hate to let people down...
I'm the type who really enjoys telling stories and relating to people; so I always feel terrible preventing someone from doing the same by saying "Yeah, I already know this".

It wastes a lot of time in tutorials and I've got friends from whom I've heard the same stories about ten times but more often than not I'm just happier keeping quiet about it.

So, I fake interest and ignorance all the time.
(Junathan testing..., Wed 16 Jul 2008, 12:30, 4 replies)

Da, Comrade.
I was feeling under the weather a few weeks ago and ended up skiving off on Friday in order to sit around the house, coughing in a decorously consumptive fashion like a Victorian orphan and generally feeling sorry for myself. After a while of this I got bored and fired up Mediaeval II: Total war, in which I quickly got engrossed in conquering Europe as the Scots; a challenging but ultimately possible pastime.
Eventually, after invading Mexico and Jerusalem I looked at the clock and realised it was the early hours of Saturday - I'd played for almost a full 12 hours without really noticing the passage of time and it struck me what a futile way I'd spent my time; rather than making the best of my enforced confinement, I'd done little but clicketty on the mouse for more than half a full day.

As a result of this, on Saturday I got up and headed out into the great wilds of London intending to find something worthwhile to do. Naturally this involved a trip to Forbidden Planet, but walking past St Giles-in-the-fields church round the corner from Tottenham Court Road tube station I noticed a sign on the door saying something along the lines of "Russian Poetry competition today - Admission free" and thought to myself Russian Poetry, eh? That sounds great! and went in there instead.
It turned out that this was part of an International Festival of general Russianess organised by an organisation called "Pushkin in Britain" and the church was full of Babushkas and the like.
Curious to know more and not put off by the babble of Russian that filled the building (there were surprisingly many people about) I snuck in, not wanting to draw attention to myself, and sat at the back in a row of dour-looking types who wouldn't have been out of place in the 1950's politburo. As I sat, an astonishingly pretty in that high-cheekboned-Slavic-way girl came up and jabbered something incomprehensible to me. I nodded and smiled and she jabbered some more and I, not wishing to seem impolite, nodded and smiled again so she thrust a sheet of paper into my hands and walked off. Looking at the piece of paper, it turned out to be a judges voting form for the poetry competition.
So it was that, despite my knowledge of things Cyrillic being limited to Krushchev's "Nyet! Nyet! Nyet!" speech and having no real idea what was going on, I ended up being a judge in a live-reading Russian Language poetry competition.
I don't know what the form is for judging poetry competitions. Perhaps it's like a job rating pornography and you're supposed to sit there saying things like "Phwor, I wouldn't mind some of her internal rhyming structure!" and "Look at the iambic pentameter on that!". I don't know. At least things were helped along by some of the poems being partially in English, which allowed me to infer that the competition seemed to be about the experience of being Russian in London but when it came down it the only way I could do my judging job at all was to base my marking on the overall Russianness of the entrants.
I tried my best. I tried to take it seriously. But I'm not sure that the broad grin of absurdist glee slapped across my face was the expression I was supposed to have.
Nobody else in there looked very happy, I can tell you. It was one of the things I was looking for in my marking. I was looking for: Dour? Check. Passionate? Check. References to Potatoes, Roman Abramovitch and polonium? Check. Astonishingly sexy Russian accents? Boy oh boy, yes. Hoody Hoo.
My overall winner was a woman whose poem appeared to be called "Do not forget the motherland!" and was delivered in the manner of an enthusiastic newscaster talking about the tractor production figues in about 1962.

It was, without a doubt, the coolest thing I did all weekend.
(davywavy, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 12:17, 10 replies)

Germans in the Dock
Not exactly faking it - more bluffing.

The story about the translator reminds me of the other Scottish Court story (no doubt apocryphal) about the old fella who was up before the sheriff for careless driving.

He was banged to rights - caught driving the wrong way down the motorway and lets face it there's not much of a defence to that. His solicitor had done a good plea in mitigation - no previous convictions etc. The usual stuff. He also mentioned that the old guy had a fantastic war record and had received medals for gallantry.

The sheriff, apparently became interested and asked the accused "Really - I was in the war myself. Which regiment were you with?"

"9th SS Panzer Division" comes the reply.

No idea what the sentence was...
(Rammer, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 12:16, 3 replies)