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This is a question Food sabotage

Some arse at work commands that you make them tea. How do you get revenge? You gob in it, of course...

How have you creatively sabotaged other people's food to get you own back? Just how petty were your reasons for doing it? Did they swallow?

(, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 15:31)
Pages: Latest, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Projectile Coleslaw
Being treated as a bitch whilst an apprentice mechanic, mate's one job each week was to go to takeaway and get everyone's orders, usually without being given the full amount and making up the difference himself. The chief bully kicked off the one week as his beloved KFC coleslaw was not in the bag as ordered, and gave mate a slap about and general humiliation. Two weeks later, he fetches the KFC again but finds the lost coleslaw in his car footwell en route. A little swap out and then the pure delight of seeing the vile bastard take a mouthful of rancid bubbly creamy goo and proceed to empty his guts at length over the rest of the increasingly angry panel beaters. The job didn't last long after that.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 17:15, Reply)
Bit of a shit story (!)
And not really a sabotage either. . Well my auntie made the worlds best banoffee pie, and the wife being a bloater lol, tried stealing the last half of it. Time to put her off. . I went upstairs and curled out the longest cable possible, i took a picture and sent it to the mrs, who in the end completely went off the pie, and was sick everywhere. . . More pie for me. . See. . I told you it was shit. .

Length . . A good foot long
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 16:58, Reply)
nothing to do with food
but on a residential art trip with secondary school, one girl was astoundingly up herself and beeyatchy. After spending a very difficult day paired with her on a project, where she had done very little of note and been pretty rude about everything he'd done, my friend stole her blusher brush and gave his bumhole a thorough tickling wih it, finishing off with a ripper of a trump, and then replaced it in her make-up bag. She couldn't understand why we were all crying with laughter as she did her make up the next morning, gently brushing microscopic flecks of poo over her lovely cheeks.

I now share a house with her ex, on whom she bestowed a particularly un-lovely STD. I might tell him this story to make him feel a bit better about facing a life-time without a blowy.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 16:54, Reply)
My mother is evil.
But on two occasions, it's been entirely deserved.

The first time she sabotaged food, it was my brother's: he was only about 6 years old, and had just finished reading "Green Eggs and Ham" by Dr Seuss. He was obsessed. He would demand green eggs and ham for every meal, throwing tantrums when it wasn't presented to him, and generally getting up my mother's nose.

So one day, she used a bottle of green food dye and served my brother with a plateful of bright green ham, and two bright green fried eggs. Apparently he took one look at them, screamed his head off, and never demanded them again. 1-0 to mother.

The second time, I was the victim. Again, I was quite young (7 or 8 methinks), and being a complete brat about food. Aubergines and sprouts were "yukky", I'd refuse to look a tomato in the eye, and I was convinced that lettuce was a weapon of an evil child-killer. A shame, then, that my mother's favorite food was ratatouille...

Again, she was sick and tired of me being a picky eater, so thought that if she could make food interesting a daring for me, then I'd be more likely to eat it. She was very nearly right, but just went that little bit too far to make it look "authentic".

You see, she'd told me ratatouille was made out of real rats, and was utterly delicious. Unbeknownst to her (but knownst to me) this scared me. A lot. But I couldn't let her know that. If she'd been aware of just how terrifying I found the idea of rat stew, she might not have gone ahead with the rest of the plan:
She lovingly ladelled me a bowl of the stuff, then carefully cut up some brown rubber bands and arranged them so they were dangling over the lip of the bowl. She then called me into supper, and said: "here you are darling, ratatouille made from real rats, just like I promised! And I've even left the tails in!"

I took one look at this foul concoction, clocked the "tails", and promptly vomited all over the cream carpet. Oops. Mind you, I was never as picky about food again, so I guess that ended up as 1-1 to both of us...
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 16:50, 2 replies)
Sabotage with food (with appoplogies to fuckarma)
My friend Long Tall Harry got himself banned from his mates house for this.

During a drunken house party LTH found his friends' chilli plants, including his rather poky Dorset Naga. Now, in his drunken state he decided it would be the funnest thing in the world to try out something he'd read on the internet and started to pick all the lovely little berries he could.
After he'd gathered enough he poked holes in them and put them in the microwave. Now, as soon as they were done enough he opened the microwave door and ran. Ran like fuck. 'cause very soon after the kitchen was filled with homemade tear gas.
Apparently the resulting cloud was enough to reduce grown men to tears and much worse. "Agony" was the phrase used by quite a few, it gets in your eyes and down your throat and burns like a lava mouthwash.
Harry was persona non grata for some time after that, and he is still not allowed near the house.
Please, do not try this at home.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 16:44, 5 replies)
Shitty Job
As a weekend job I was employed by a luxurious, highly star'd hotel up in the Lake District. I was a cleaner, it was the worst job Iv ever had, slave labour for shite all money. I would merrily harp on about my plight all day if I could.

Anywho, the chefs that were employed at this gaff could only be discribed as absoloutely fucking disgusting. There were two main ones

A girl/woman/fuck knows what. She never washed and she had nits. We had to get a special bus to the hotel, and this thing was sat in front of myself and a fellow collegue. The smell from this person was so bad the girl I was with was sick in the bus.

The other one was a guy who was morbidly obese, the bus sunk to one side when he got on.. He used to sweat into the food.

The first few times I saw them preparing the food in the kitchen I felt pity for the guests. Then as time went on I realised that the majority of people that stayed there were stuck up cunts and they deserved to be dining on headlice and bodily juices.

In the end I saw it as a form of revenge for me having to get up at 6.30 every sat/sun and manhandle semen stained sheets for nearly a year.

That and myself hoovering up the odd bit of underwear every now and then. Bastards.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 16:43, 2 replies)
Anyone for ice-cream?
This one is from the book of mrs sarcasmo, not me I'm afraid. Her mum revealed that she was a terror when a child.

The event occured in the 80's when your local shop was the centre of any small village. Anyways.. On the day in question, her parents were out in the garden chatting to the neighbours, meanwhile little mrs sarcasmo was indoors raiding freezer for some ice-cream. Yum!

But rather than take a sneaky bite, she decided it needed some more flavour. So she went into the presses and took out the salt and proceeded to a perfect layer on top of the icecream. Then put it back into the freezer and went on her merry way.
later on her folks invited the neighbours in for a cuppa and it was deemed time for some ice-cream. Yumyum.
You can imagine the tone in the room changed once the saltyness kicked in. mrs sarcasmo's mother was furious and upped and made a beeline for the local shop, where she proceeded to let rip into the shopkeeper! Poor chap didn't know what hit him! (They should have sent her into into iraq to sort things out)
It took the now mrs sarcasmo about 10 years to 'fess up to that one.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 16:41, Reply)
Probably the best chicken white wine sauce, ever.........
One of my friends is a high up something or other in a packaging firm (huge international contracts). On a visit to New Zealand he was given a rather good bottle of Cloudy Bay. He brought it home and put it away, saving it for Christmas Day to impress the guests.

At this point his good lady joins the fray. She is a lovely woman and a really good cook. Unfortunately she is teetotal and as such has no interest in wine. "Why learn about something you can't enjoy?" is her rationalisation.This led to her using the said bottle of Cloudy Bay to make the sauce. My mate swears he ate the meal through a veil of tears and mopped up every drop of sauce.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 16:38, 7 replies)
Must be the water...
I had a 'friend' once who was confrontational, desperately after the girl I was interested in at the time and a tad slow. Very gullable in fact, so here's his story...

At the time we lived in Derbyshire and said friend had just found out about the difference between hard water and soft water and that they occur in different areas. We are at our shared eyecandy interest's house when I offer to make a cup of tea, in line with the Derbyshire upbringing, so lady and myself venture into the kitchen leaving friend in the living room.

The kettle is turned on and the question of sugar is raised. His reply of "yes" turns me on to an idea both evil and hilarious, put some sugar in his tea yes, but add some salt and somehow trick him. Lady and I share a giggle about this and so some salt is added to the brew.

Friend takes a sip of his tea and instantly questions the integrity of my tea-making skills, at which point I say to him, "yes, it is a funny taste, we're in a hard-water area down here you see."

We were quite literally half a mile away from his house where he presumably drank normal, non-hard water tea...

He's currently your friendly stock-control monkey at a rather large supermarket in the area that rhymes with Bainsbury's.

Apologies for length, it usually only hurts the first few times.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 16:36, Reply)
The book has a number of scenes that didn't make the movie. A notable one was where Kelly the waitress gets her revenge by soaking her used Tampon in a customers soup. The other was where she served a profiterole where the sauce was made with human excrement. In true Irvine Welsh style the scenes are marvellously descriptive and leave you with a vivid mental image. Good book if you can get to grips with the dialect it's written in.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 16:27, 4 replies)
Unintentional sabotage
Whenever the subject of food or cooking comes up, my girlfriend always delights in recalling the same batch of stories to anyone and everyone who hasn't heard them before (and some who have), so I figure it's probably best that I compile them in written form in an attempt to over expose them until they lose all power. Much like the Moby album Play.

I'm not a fussy man when it comes to food or drink. Sure I can appreciate a well made meal or a fine wine, but as a speed-eating consumption monster whose digestion system often performs the task most people leave for the teeth, I can also happily eat food others would probably turn their nose up at. Tinned curry? Sign me up! Microwaved burgers? Let me at 'em! Four day old soup that gave me food poisoning so bad that I can no longer look at butternut squash the same way, I really should have suspected something from the smell when I microwaved it? Ding ding ding! So without further ado here are the albatrosses.

The curry

It was my second year at university, and my diet was unhealthily balanced towards slap-it-in-the-oven type meals. I had not bothered spending the time learning to cook properly and until the point where I had to cook something for my girlfriend it hadn't been a problem. I found myself to be a lenient judge of my culinary prowess. That was the night I discovered why people don't make minced beef kormas.

The garlic

It was Valentine's Day and I'd spent most of the day tidying the flat (fucking student housemates) for a great romantic evening with my girlfriend. I'd found some fancy asparagus related dish online and had bought every one of the composite ingredients to ensure it tasted fantastic. Not even skimping on the touch of whatever herb which I so inevitably didn't already own. I wanted to ensure the evening was a good one. A bottle of white wine beyond my budget was chilling in the fridge. Flowers and petals et al adorned the dining room. The Gotan Project's La Revancha del Tango set the aural ambience. Scented candles disguised the cocktail of odours an all male student flat creates. All that was left to do was to scrub myself up and get cooking, though I'd not left myself much time to do so. After a manic preparation following the cooking instructions to the letter, all was well and when my girlfriend arrived she was most impressed by the efforts I'd made. The ground work was done and now I could relax and enjoy my fine lady's company. Everything was going well, but as talked and enjoyed the wine, there was a bell ringing in my head that had bothered me whilst I was doing the cooking. Normally I'd have contacted someone to put my mind at rest, but I was rushed for time and couldn't contact my usual source (my girlfriend) as I wanted it all to be a surprise. Eventually I could wait no more and had to ask.

"Is a clove of garlic one of the little bits or the whole thing?"

Well, turns out it was just one of the little bits. Who'd have thought it? The big thing is called a bulb, which kind of makes sense when you consider the shape. Huh. To make matters worse, I'd found peeling the garlic and chopping it into pieces had taken so long, that I needed to take shortcuts to get the dish ready in time. The result of this was little bits of garlic skin and huge chunks of garlic floating in the cream sauce. We ate it anyway, my girlfriend probably out of sympathy for the efforts that I'd gone to and me because, well, see above.

The bolognese

I don't put the effort into cooking all that often so when I do, I see it as an excuse to get experimental. My girlfriend has gotten to the point where she fears leaving the room while cooking these days as often something has changed in the time when she's gone*. The most frequent addition to dishes tends to be wine, chili and/or tarragon. Mainly because I like all three, but anything in the cupboard is worth a try as long as it's not going to curdle.

The bolognese incident was a result of one of these experiments where I discovered that when you run out of onions, pickled onions are not an acceptable equivalent.

* I'd like to point out that this isn't some fifties, sexist relationship, I do my fair share of keeping the flat tidy and clean, particularly when it comes to living with a human hurricane.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 15:47, 6 replies)
I haven't but my brother has
When he was younger, I would say around 13 there was a little twunt that lived across the road, he would tease my brother, beat him up and steal any sweets he was carrying. This didn't last very long mind you as my brother got a crafty idea.

Back then you could buy big bars of laxative chocolate having very distinct packaging. He bought one of these, along with a 200g bar of dairy milk. He carefully opened both bars (one being chocolate deliciousness, the other chocolate-like ring destroying awfulness) and swapped the packaging before sealing them up again.

Needless to say the twunt across the road saw my brother later that day, roughed him up a bit and stole the dairy milk, leaving behind the laxative wrapped bar.

After a trip to the hospital the twunt’s parents were banging on our door, screaming and shouting about how my brother had tried to kill their darling son by giving him laxative chocolate. It turns out he ate the whole bar before his mother got home and chastised him for ruining his dinner, 3 hours and many ruined pairs of underwear later he owned up to eating a bar of laxative chocolate, saying that my brother gave it to him.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 15:43, 2 replies)
I went to a boarding school and for a few years lived in a dorm with 17 morons. I wasnt that popular. We used to pass snacks around at night and as my bed was at one end, I used to get the dregs, you know, the really salty, damp digestive biscuits that no one else seemed to like.

Anyway, I was sick of getting the rubbish biscuits so I bought some boiled sweets and added a load of fluff from under my bed. I'd then pretend to open one in bed, someone would hear the rustling of the wrapper and demand I pass the bag on. Which I did. That showed them.

They never suspected and never got me back!!
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 15:37, 3 replies)
Not mine, but AA Gill from yesterday's Sunday Times

"It was with a heavy bowel, and empty expectations, that I went to Andaman at the St James’s Hotel, over-cheffed by a German with a troika of astral projections. This used to be a weirdly louche and secretive club, called Le Petit Club Français, run by an incontinent, drunk old lesbian, who sat snoozing over a large ham, happily relieving herself into the carpet. The members were minor, penurious aristocracy and discreet, plummy homosexuals, at a time when all homosexuals were more or less discreet. I was a plongeur and commis chef here, and learnt the full Orwellian squalor of a pre-Conran West End kitchen. I regularly took salad out of the bin when we ran out. I remember that the whole kitchen gobbed into the vichyssoise of a pair of arch pooves who’d been rude to the waitress. I was a teenager with a bona eke and fit lallies, and regularly had beige door johnnies waiting to ply me with a little drinky-winky. I’d have to slip down the fire escape, which isn’t a euphemism. Happy days."
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 15:34, Reply)
No story...
...but a link to hundreds more on-topic:

(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 15:24, Reply)
A couple of friends and I were at a mutal mate's house.
For no reason other than hilarity, Chris decided to wank into the margarine.

He then worked the spooge in with a knife.

True story that.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 15:12, 4 replies)
Noodle Doodle
There was a boy at school. Rumour had it that he had consumed a Pot Noodle at scout camp after several other scouts had added their own special sticky white sauce to it. He denied this and never did like that nickname which, of course, stuck.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 15:04, Reply)
Making a bit of a hash of things...
This is a tale of accidental and very mild sabotage.

It occurred long ago. So long in fact that not only was I consuming THC with alarming regularity, but the THC was more often than not contained within solid brown lumps.

Already stoned, but in pursuit of a greater high, I sat at the coffee table beside my flatmate, and proceeded to build a spliff, as I believe the modern vernacular would described such an activity.

The papers sat splayed, cushioning a nest of tobacco into which I crumbled lightly toasted lumps of soapbar, or so I thought.

Being that I was already heady from the effect of previous reefers, I failed spectacularly to pay sufficient attention to the task at hand.

It was only the drawled "hey, man. Why are you putting hash on my dinner?" that alerted me to my error.

The act itself that wasn't wholly unwelcome; stoners being content to take the drug however it may be delivered, but my fumbling around his dinner plate, scraping chips clean of their unusual condiment before returning them wasn't so warmly accepted.

It was quite a greasy spliff by the time I'd finished.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 14:44, Reply)
Not exactly deliberate sabotage, but it might of well have been.
A few years ago in shared student lodgings I lived with a guy who thought he could cook. He could not. Raw spaghetti is not ‘al dente’, it just wastes a meal. But he was pleased with skills and we were friends so we let him live with his foolish dreams. His name was the Trout.

One of our friends was going to have a quiet birthday staying in and having never tasted any of the trout’s cooking gave him a quarter to put into a chocolate cake, which we could then enjoy over an evening of N64ing.

It was by far the worst thing I have ever eaten. It was like heaving down black sand and cat litter. But there was a quarter in it, which was a king’s ransom in dope in those days, so we duly struggled through this insult to puddings, with light criticisms towards the trout. Well he admitted it was a bit dry.

Next day I was in the kitchen and discovered the reason why my guts were filled with chocolate soil. In our poorly equipped kitchen we had no scales. This enterprising young man had made his own ‘weighing scoop’ by cutting the bottom third off a Pringles tube. Voila; an all round 50g scoop. He had even written 50g on it so we could all use it for cooking.

He was an art student and had not heard of density.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 14:38, 1 reply)
Ive always thought
Gobbing in people burgers, peeing is soups, is just the pussy's way of retaliating.

If you dont like someone, tell them. Dont hide away and silently punish them, otherwise they'll keep being an arse.

edit: before anyone tries to pickup on the post below. It was a prank and not retaliation.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 14:33, Reply)
i refer your eyes to a post from many yarns ago.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 14:09, Reply)
Food Sabotage
Spitting in tea is too much like hard work, you have to stir the gob until it goes. I find it best to wipe my arse with a teabag and then use it.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 13:52, Reply)
Tea-bag hilarity
2002, working in an office in London. Trendy media types etc. Sandwich guy turns up every day at 11am with a tray of goodies. One particular guy always had the same thing so I thought it would be hilarious to insert a tea bag in his sandwich and reseal it. Come lunchtime and he bites into it, tea leaves cascading from his mouth. The whole team in hysterics at the site. Before we can do anything he's on the phone kicking off at the sandwich company. Everyone goes quiet. Next day he's offered free sandwichs for the week. We didn't say anything.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 13:49, Reply)
Oh Ben, What a mess.
I'm in a little known, highly talented ska band which recently got off tour from around the UK. Naturally, with a bunch of 18 year olds on their first real road trip, there was tomfoolery aplenty.

For many of us, having come from private school with very little life experience, living on a budget was proving to be quite a task. But we soon learned how to feed 7 starving mouths with next to no cash, with the help of our little friend Asda "Smart Price", whose aisles were full of wondrously cheap delights, none of which were quite as they first appeared.

It soon became our ritual to locate our closest miracle factory with the aid of our tomtom, troop in with no more than £20 between us, and buy just enough food to survive the next day or so. A favourite of ours was to buy 4 large unsliced loaves of bread, along with 4 whole cooked chickens and then whatever we could manage in terms of cheese or mayo, totalling around £20.

Outside, we'd set up by our van, hollow out the loaves of bread, pull the chickens apart and stuff them in. And there you would have a mass of food at least several times the size of your stomach, which would hopefully last a full day.

Naturally, a meal this size would not be consumed in a single sitting, especially taking into account our shrunken stomachs, so a sizable remainder was always wrapped up and saved for later. I can tell you there were few things on tour nicer than discovering your left over sandwich, when you are cold and hungry, facing another night under the stars.

So one evening, having played a good show at a small venue somewhere in the northern reaches of England, we retired to our van to formulate a plan for the night. Ben [I intend to use his real name as I know he reads b3ta] felt the urge to go back inside for a shit. While he was gone we discovered our left over sandwiches and began to happily munch away. His, in his absence was left untouched, and it was felt an unmissable opportunity to single him out and make him feel stupid.

To first make clear exactly how bad the following really is, I’ll ask you to take into account that on tour, we did not have the luxury of frequent showers. We had the odd opportunity, but they were few and far between. Consequently, we smelled pretty fuckin’ awful.

It was decided that the appropriate course of action was to pass Ben’s sandwich around the group, each touch our arse with it, and pass it on. After one circuit there were six arses effectively IN the sandwich, but this was not enough. When it found its way back to the hands of the original instigator of the sabotage, a questionable character by the name of PM, a challenge was issued from the group for PM to “touch it with his knob”. PM Went one better and fully penetrated the sandwich, with a moan.

When Ben immerged from the building, post-shite, he suspected nothing. The sandwich had been neatly repackaged, and we did our best not to piss ourselves with stifled sniggers as it was offered to him. He took it, and walked slowly about the van as he ate. By the last few bites, we were no longer doing a good job of covering up the hilarity of the situation, and even as we fell about laughing right in front of him, Ben would not be deterred from his delicious sandwich.

With the damage done, there was nothing for it but to tell poor Ben what had been so funny.
There does in fact exist a poorly filmed, dimly lit video in which Ben can be seen still holding the plastic bag from whence the sandwich had come, being informed of his misfortune. The dialogue is something to this effect:

[PM]: [out of shot] So, Ben. You’ve just had a shit. How was it?
[Ben]: Mm, satisfying.
[PM]: And you also just had your sandwich. How was that?
[Ben]: Mm, also satisfying.
[PM]: It tasted good then?
[Ben]: Mm, yes.
[PM]: It didn’t taste at all of cock?
[Ben] *Spaks out and runs about in road*

When he’d finished almost being killed by cars, Ben returns to the still running camera and says something along the lines of:

[Ben]: So what you’re telling me is I’ve practically sucked your cock?
[PM]: That’s right Ben.
[Ben]: Mm. Third base – Score!
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 13:09, 4 replies)
fish = chicken?
My dad, is a rather outstanding chef. When i was a kid and i decided that i would not eat seafood of any kind he could cook a whiting fillet in some kind of magical way that i would swear black and blue that it was in fact chicken.

Tricking a little kid is easy though.

He told me about a time when he cooked up a used chux cloth, battered and deep fried as I recall and served it up to a waiter at his work. Waiter scoffed the lot, with no ill effects or complaints.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 13:06, Reply)
I was at a stag night with a friend of mine who I knew (and the rest of his friends didn't) was on the list for a kidney transplant.

In the interests of preventing him from getting too wasted and making a fool of himself (and his kidneys) I took the booze from him all night.

Good for my karma, bad for my head.

(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 13:04, Reply)
Brown Sauce
Back when I was nothing more than a mere 7 year old I was far from being the most popular kid at school. Something about genuinely enjoying learning and wanting to do something with your life when you're at the local council estate primary gives you a license to be killed.

Council children, as you know, are evil gits. While most people don't take pranks beyond a certain level, the kids at my school would have happily killed for a Ryan Giggs football sticker and a cheap laugh (I'll save that for another QotW).

So I was the brunt of many insults. The chief source of this was a guy called Michael. He was ginger and didn't know his Daddy, so this guy was practically leaking macho insecurity on me on a daily basis. His specialism was screwing around with my lunchbox. It didn't help that we had the same lunchboxes, so he typically got away with stealing my sweets.

One day tensions were getting high. After solving a couple of Maths problems in class which had the rest of the kids rocking back and forth in their chairs I was targetted to have my food ruined for being a smartass.

Michael, in an act of youth terrorism which got him expelled for 4 weeks, decided to replace the contents of my chicken sandwiches with the toilet dregs left over from strong bout of diarrohea (wipe the bread on the bowl; use your imagination). Much giggling was had as everyone waited for me to munch a turd sandwich.

I swapped lunchboxes with Michael that day in a prank of my own, oblivious to the consequences. When the rest of the class hailed me as some sort of evil genius I was amazed at how easily impressed they were. Took me a good few weeks to realise what had happened.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 13:01, 1 reply)
Wine: It's all bullshit
Have you seen that episode of 'Black Books' where Bernard and Manny drink a bottle of very expensive wine by accident?

Well, my then-girlfriend and I did that once. We were having a party at her mum's place, and I had a rummage through the kitchen cupboards to find some booze. Ahh! Wine!

I cracked it open and we drunk the lot. It was only the next day, as we cleaned up the carnage, that I happened to glance at the label.

It was from 1985. Oops.

What did we do? Well, I went to Tesco, got a bottle of cheap plonk for £2.25, and decanted it into the bottle through a funnel.

Her mum drunk that wine a few months later, when her and her boyfriend got married. Apparently it was 'delicious'.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 12:54, 3 replies)
More boozy fun, then I'll stop posting. Promise
It seemed a good way of getting people back when they're being annoying in the pub.

If they are drinking shots, make them a flatliner: tequila and sambucca with tobasco sauce floating between.

Make sure there's a lot of sauce in there, it needs to make their eyes water for the next fun bit. Ahh, I forgot to mention the magic ingredient, boot loads of tobasco on the outside of the glass.

When they drink the shot, eyes start watering then they rub with their spicy fingers.

It's actually horrible to watch, I have only pulled this trick once, as the whole pub was shocked to see one bloke drop to his knees screaming in agony as his eyes burned. Even though he deserved some form of punishment, even I had to consider that I had over stepped the mark somewhat. (Didn't tell anyone I'd done it on purpose, made out that it'd been an accident and bought him a drink next time he was in)
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 12:51, 3 replies)
Poppers in the smoke machine
used to help the party along.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 12:44, 35 replies)

This question is now closed.

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