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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, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Hard Cakes!!!!
I used to work for a certain (no longer existing) car credit company with the annoying advert with a rather fit looking young lady dressed in yellow and green.

As you can imagine it was not the busiest of offices due to the reputation (thanks to the BBC). So it was pranks ahoy in there.

One Saturday afternoon it dorned on us that pretty much everyone in the office was suffering from paranoia, checking their phones for boot polich or hair gel, making sure we had not filled the heater fans in their cars with the contents of all whole punchers in the office and switched them to "on" so that when they started the car up the whole car was filled with this ever lasting white covering.

So it was decisded that we were to target the "other staff", by this we meant the valleters. As you can imagine these were not the sharpest tools in the box, but we knoew they were up for a laff and would not take things too personally.

However we decided to up the anti with this plan.

One of us (he did not tell us the reason why he had this) had a stash of Viagra gel in his car. So we decided to (as normal on a saturday) get the cakes in for the afternoon. One of which we decided was to be an exceedingly good apple pie. This was great to disguise the viagra gel.

So we got hold of one of those mix your own colour paint syringes and pumped the pie full of vigra gel, knowing that only half was enough to keep you "up" all night.

passed the cakes round like usualand there were of course 2 left for the valeters, knowing one of them was a little bit weird and sleazy at times we made sure that he ate the apple pie.

A little over an hour later this valeter came into the office wearing the longest duffle coat he could find and he was beetroot red and looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

Trying to hold our faces straght we asked if was ok, it turned out that in the vlet office there was a stash of selected top shelf mags that were "read" during lunch and the vlaeter thought that it was gods way of punnishing him for being filthy as he was looking at the mags that lunch and the consequences were still around for all to see the next morning when he came in to open up.

I don't think he ever went near a fiesta or an escort ever again.


I could not bear to look but the girls in the office said was nothing to shout about!!
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 11:44, 9 replies)
Manked camping
One weekend camping at a festival, my friend rather kindly offered to make tea - as everyone was still suffering from the night before, this was a most welcome offer from her.

As the tea was supped, someone commented that it really didn't taste good.

A bit of investigation, sniffing the kettle, and checking the various bottles of liquid around, it was discovered she had mistaken the bottle of Bacardi for the bottle of water.

Everyone was drinking boiled rum with sugar, milk and teabag.
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 10:58, Reply)
When Gordon Ramsay ‘cum’ to dinner…

A while ago I used to work in a local restaurant that was struggling to make ends meet. I would wash dishes, chop carrots and occasionally knock up the odd starter or sweet etc when the poor chef was rushed off his rancid, overworked feet.

I was enthusiastic and ambitious, but lacking the ‘special something’ that separates the great culinary masters from...well…people like me. At the time I could knock up a mean tapioca pudding but little else...all I had was a dream...

Nonetheless, I was happy, and was bumbling through my daily duties one (particularly busy) day when my hero, the legendary Gordon Ramsay cockily strutted through the doors!

He was researching the place as a potential venue for his ‘Kitchen Nightmares’ programme and had popped by to check out our food and service etc before deciding whether or not to work his particular magic on the flagging business.

Well, as a budding cuisine-concocting connoisseur, meeting the prestigious GR in the flesh was like a dream come true for me, and I begged the head chef to let me cook the great man something…anything. I felt that it would be my ultimate ‘claim to fame’, and my life would therefore become complete.

With a wry smile the chef replied: “Alright then, you can do the starter. But don’t knack it up, or I’ll cut your bollocks off, you little shag-stain”.

You can imagine the orgasmic glee shuddering through my nadsack as I was given charge of banging together a prawn cocktail for the greatest and most famous chef in the world.

However, that unbridled joy soon turned to despair as I went out into the restaurant and, with arm trembling, reached out to shake his hand. “Mr Ramsay” I stammered, “I just want to say how privileged I am to meet you, and I will try my very best to make you a fine starter course of which I hope you will be proud”

“FUCKING FUCK YOU!” spat the scarred-chinned, Scottish-by-birth ball breaker. “I don’t give a fuck, and I don’t want to waste my fucking valuable time talking to a fucking little wanker like you, so FUCK RIGHT OFF!” He pushed away my outstretched hand and turned his head away in disgust.

So with my dreams dashed and my eyes filling up with tears, I ran back to the kitchen to prepare the ingredients for him. In my defence, it was only when I heard “...and hurry up with my fucking prawn cocktail, you fucking little cumsponge” yelled from the restaurant that something inside my head ‘snapped’.

‘Wanker’ eh?...‘Cumsponge’ is it?...’I’ll show him’, I mumbled to myself as I sneakily sloped off with his dish full of prawns into the pantry cupboard. I made sure I couldn't be interrupted before I unzipped my ridiculously patterned chef’s trollies and whopped my charlie out of my dunghampers.

Then, with my tongue poking out with concentration, I bashed my bulging bishop at a frantic pace, and it wasn’t long before oodles of salty electric rope splurged from my putrid purple pulsating prit-stick all over the prawns of the foul-mouthed arse-biscuit. I then zipped up, and mixed the still-warm junior-juice with a globule of salad cream, Worcester sauce and ketchup before taking it out and banging the dish down on his table.

“Enjoy” I sneered at him before striding back to the kitchen and emptying my locker - preparing for the inevitable sacking I would receive once my crime was discovered.

A few minutes later, I was going round the staff saying my goodbyes, when suddenly the kitchen double doors were kicked open – and there stood Ramsay.

He had a face like a smacked arse – then I realised he always looked like that.

I was expecting it to 'kick off' big style – but as he approached me he smiled broadly, shook my hand and complimented me! – He said that although the rest of the meal was an ‘utter sack of crap’, my starter was ‘divinely delicious!’ He added that it showed I had a ’fucking remarkable’ talent and a ‘very special fucking sauce’ (little did he know how 'spot on' he was). He advised the restaurant owner to build the entire business around my ‘gift’.

I was a success!

The restaurant owner was overjoyed. He immediately hoofed the old head chef out on his arse and offered me the top job…insisting that I treat every meal with the exact same level of ‘hard commitment’ that I had given to Gordon.

I realised I was only an average chef at best…so I knew that there was only one secret ingredient that made my cooking ‘special’ compared to everyone else’s.

Thusly, my career as a professional wanker was born.

I chucked my rocket-powered rice pudding with gusto over every single dish I prepared – eccentrically explaining away any stonk-on-related delays with "You can’t stifle my art with your gluttonous wanton impatience...philistines!"

Where I managed to summon up the superhuman shaft-shuffling energy time after time I’ll never know, but soon I understood that I would need additional ‘spermalicious' supplies…and every night, when the doors were locked after closing time, I got busy...

Through careful experimentation I discovered that I could control the level of potency, strength, and flavour of the ‘seminal semolina’ I produced. I mastered this simply by thinking about different things, and adopting different rhythmic grooves and speeds whilst pitilessly pummelling my pork sword.

For example, over my ‘Cream of button mushroom soup’ I would gently stroke my coughing custard cannon whilst fantasising about Barbara Cartland in a barbed wire thong; however if I wanted a full-on, extreme curry spice mixture I would tug hard and frantically whilst conjuring up images of Eva Longoria wearing nothing but instant whip and a gold ankle chain.

Every dish was gobbled down by the gorging, grateful customers at a veritable rate of knots. Soon my culinary masterpieces were the talk of the town and we were doing a roaring trade – but I was becoming increasingly aware of a fast approaching problem…

My ‘gunge tanks’ were running seriously low on jitler and my heavily bruised hog’s eye just couldn’t produce enough man-fat to cope with demand.

Every waking moment, my mind was occupied on obtaining as much splooge as I possibly could. After an evening of sweet lovin’, I would roll off my spent girlfriend before insisting that she squeeze her beefcurtains and strain every last drop of the precious man-muck from inside her choc-full clopper into a Tupperware container. Thankfully, she thought this was quite kinky, so didn’t ask any questions and was happy to oblige. She also kindly volunteered to go out and obtain additional samples of filthy fish juice for me to do with as I wished. Result!

As supplies grew ever shorter I spent days trawling the town looking for anything that could pass for baby paste. I remember not being able to mask my delight when I saw two Staffordshire bull terriers going at it like the clappers by a lamp-post; and I managed to crawl underneath them to collect the resulting splatter of dog yogurt with my trusty miniature thermos flask. Fortunately, it only required a modicum of testicular massage from me to make the male spurt, but unfortunately I was then noticed by the heat-ridden bitch ‘mid-hump’, and she proceeded to bite part of my nose off with some ferocity. I still managed to make it away with the precious bounty though, and it went straight into a Steak Diane sauce that very evening.

But it still wasn’t enough…I even volunteered to help the local farmer with menial tasks, and in my spare time I spent countless hours following the animals round with an oversized bucket, weapons grade safety goggles and a pair of ultra thick rubber gloves over my wanking spanners. Before long I had gallons of purest cock custard.

But as my talent (and ego) expanded, the demand became insatiable…and so did the pressure.

It should have been my finest hour when the judge from Michelin arrived to sample my famous 'Flayed Swordfish with Guava Millefeuille'…but no matter how hard I sorrowfully spanked my spluff-shooter, I remained completely cack out of tallywaggle torpedos. I was about to bleakly admit that the game was up.

Then…thinking fast, I remembered that I had one last sample in the fridge from my ‘Finest’ collection – The special test-tube where I would deposit my super-gloop after thinking about Girls Aloud whilst feverishly fwapping to ‘Caught in a Mosh’ by Anthrax.

I served the dish with a smile (and a limp), but I had nothing to worry about…the Michelin star was mine.

Yet as is so often the way, my success was short lived.

I must admit that it was quite a relief when the health inspector finally caught me…I was stood on a chair strangling my slackening spam javelin into a bowl of lobster bisque. Despite all I had done for him, the restaurant manager took no pity on me and sacked me on the spot…but the joke was on him, for within 2 months of me being given my marching orders, the restaurant closed down as their menu seemed to suddenly lose it’s ‘personal touch’ and the customers stayed away in droves.

As for me, I tried to cash in on my new found fame and invested all my money opening a swanky coffee shop in town. Attempting to eclipse the previous success in my own ‘unique’ way, I decided to substitute the coffee beans for little winnetts of dried rabbit turd (I thought if it caught on it would be easier to get a regular supply).

To my lasting regret, the market for coffee that tastes like shit had already been cornered by Starbucks and I was soon made bankrupt.

But, unlike my signature 'Bernaise sauce', I wasn't bitter, and nowadays life is much simpler. I currently work at the soup kitchens run by the local homeless charity...where nobody seems to give a flying toss what I do to the food. This has led to my losing the thrill of adding my special 'tang' to the punter's unsuspecting stomachs.

In fact, I’m already thinking of moving on and ‘experimenting’ again…maybe someday soon I can reclaim my former glories…

So you never know…the next 'chef' employed at your favourite pub / restaurant / works canteen…it could be me...if you’re lucky...;)

Bon appétit
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 10:32, 12 replies)
First Post
A good few years ago me and my best mate used to kick about with a total arsehole. To give an example he was caught firing about my ex fiance a week after we broke up. Scum. Well, a wee while before that me and said mate were at arseholes house after a night on the razz. Right on time he had buggered upstairs with some tart (read: the only tart there) and left me and mate on our own in his living room.
Drunkenly miffed at the lack of host skills and generally pissed off at his recent behaviour, we decided to abandon the "party" and leave. But not before i had my revenge.
On the way out i took every grain of sugar out of every recepticle in his house and swapped it into every salt recepticle in his house. And i mean every single one. Quite mild you may think, but by Christ did it seriously mess with his head. Days after My mate was visiting and found him still wondering what the fuck was going on. Sweet fish and chips and coffee that gave him the boke. Such a simple thing can totally mess with someones life, you just gotta mess with the routine!
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 10:27, Reply)
only just on topic
and actually not sabotage, more self inflcted, and actually not food but wine.


Quiet night in last saturday, me and my girlfriend went to bed quiet early and spent most of the evening chatting and reading in bed. (I know, I know, I am a party animal)
I had taken a glass on wine with me. Sometime in the early hours I fall asleep, book still in hand. I wake up about 3.00 am and nip to the loo trying not to disturb girlfriend. I noticed that the glass of wine is still on bedside cabinet.
"Waste not, want not!" I thought to myself as I necked the half glass in one gulp.
Something wasn't quite right,.... should wine wriggle, ... should it tickle the tongue..... Still with the wine in my mouth I looked at the dregs in the glass and it was dancing with fruit flies. Apparently during my slumber every single fruit fly in the nieghbourhood had descended into my glass to have a party. I wish i could say I daintily spat the mouthful of wine back into the glass and not all over the wall and girlfriend.

as I said not really on topic.
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 10:21, Reply)
someone did it to me.....
I recently bought a tin of mexcian beans and made a really nice chilli beef nachos thing. When we all sat down to eat it my step daughter noticed something on her plate resembling a herb or something, if only. It turned out to be a lovely 6 legged arachnid! So 2 questions:

a) Who has it in for me?
b) Where did the other 2 legs go?

and yes I did carry on eating it (minus the spider)
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 9:51, 1 reply)
Actual food sabotage? Only once...
...when I worked for a popular pizza place that delivers.

One bloke had been a rude arsehole to me on several occasions before, so I gobbed on his pizza.

Right or wrong? Not sure.
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 9:42, 3 replies)
Spider tea.
My sister inadvertently made me and my friends a lovely steaming mug of spider tea. As there was a few of us she decided to use the big tea pot that had been standing around in the cupboard for years. We were all none the wiser until my friend mark suddenly made a noise like "Garrrkkkkk" and then spat something back into his cup.

There, floating in all its huge Garden Spideryness, was a nice plump brown arachnid. Then as one we all looked at our individual cups and experienced the same gut churning thought. "I've just drunk spider tea."
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 9:37, Reply)
Can't see it posted again this week
And apologies as I can't remember who originally wrote it. But one of my favourite ever QOTW answers involved this poor bloke who came back from a night out absolutely off his tits.

He then attempted to make a fry up but in the dark and the drunkeness mistook the washing up liquid for cooking oil.

It also reminds me of the time at uni when my flatmate came home and decided he wanted some pasta and pesto. Unfortunately he didn't have any pasta left so he just ate the full jar of pesto with a spoon. In the morning his breath could have cut through metal and the memory still makes me snort coffee out of my nose!
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 9:36, 3 replies)
Oh the joy!
First post, after 6 years of reading I am finally posting, woo!

A couple of years ago I was living with a fella who was quite frankly a complete prick! He was a bully and very controlling.

Anyway I was pretty much trapped in the relationship and had to endure verbal and physical absue whether he was drunk or sober. The only little bit of joy I held on to was cooking dinner. I would "accidentally" drop his food on the floor and walk on it (with shoes on, often wellies with extra mud). A cup of tea also came with a side of dirty dish cloth which i would swill around with great delight!

The worst thing I ever did though was when things got particularly bad I took to wiping his toothbroush around the toilet bowl (his own toilet as well, so it was particularly nasty)! I imagine that brushing your teeth with your own faeces is not very good for you, but in my opinion he absolutely deserved it.

You will be pleased to know I now have a lovely fella and I have never since done anything unspeakable to any food stuffs I have served or toothbrushes left unattended!!!
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 9:18, 1 reply)
a hearty lunch
In biology class, we were experimenting with fruit flies (which basically involved killing them all, as far as I could tell) on slabs of agar jelly (to keep them alive).

An hour later, eating my packed lunch, my chesse sandwiches tasted decidedly odd. I persevered, much to the amusement of my 'friends' at the table. In a moment of great comedy, Fred had put agar in my sandwiches. And chucked the cheese, which was worse.

Revenge was sweet when the next day he was sitting at a different table in the dining room and opened his lunchbox to find not the delicious ham sandwiches his mother had prepared, but instead a sheep's heart between two slices of bread.

No one fucked with my lunch again.
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 9:10, 3 replies)
Hot Choccy
Make it every day with extra sugar, and cream in lieu of milk, then top it off with more (whipped) cream and marshmallows (toasted) and few mundreds-and-thousands and serve garnished with a fluffeh kitteh. Add warm bath / scented candles / soft music etc.

shagtastic deffo
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 8:50, Reply)
swedish lemon biscuits
A bit off topic but a friend of mine passed on this recipie. These are spectacular. They are a bit fiddly to make but worth it.
try them and let me know how you get on

1 egg
1/2 cup buttermilk (or 1/4 c miil & 1/4 c vinegar)
5ts baking soda
1/2 ts vanilla
1 cup lenom juice (fresh is best)
1 1/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup flour
8tb butter or marge melted

1. preheat oven to 375f

2. beat egg in a bowl untill foamy

3. add buttermilk and vanilla and blend well.

4. add baking soda one teaspoon at a time, sprinkle in while blending untill the mixture is smooth and the consistancy of light cream.

5. add lemon juice stir but do not beat (it needs to be creamy but without a lot of air)

6. mixture will congeal into a lump. remove from bowl onto a floured surface.

7. sift flour and 3/4 cup of sugar together and using fingers mix into the egg-lemon mix.

8. roll out pastry aprox 2mm thick and cut into desired shapes.

9 . "pinch" up the edges to form a bowl. sprinkle over the remaining sugar.

10.brush with the melted butter.

11. place on ungreased baking tray . Bake for 12 mins or untill golden brown


Makes a change from all the " I spat in my flatmates orange juice" stories
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 8:07, 11 replies)
Had a housemate who drank milk straight from the carton
if it was HIS milk, I wouldn't have minded, but NO. IT was MY milk, the filty, backwashing bastard.

So in goes vinegar, lemon juice, shampoo, basically any liquid milk-curling condiment sauce I could find. Back in the fridge it goes.

Only took about half hour after he woke up that morning to hear gagging hack from the kitchen, and running to see him standing there with millky puke half way up the cupboard and sink.

"this milk is off! I'm just ducking out to get some more"

Fuckin' oath, you are!
(, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 2:52, Reply)
Bread sauce?
Work Christmas dinner, about three years ago. They used to hold it in a local hotel, and although the canteen-style serving was perhaps not the classiest, everything was cooked to perfection (plus you could leave out the bits you didn't like, and have more of the bits you did).

They always had beef, turkey or a veggie option - personally I don't think it would be Christmas dinner without turkey, so the beef wasn't an option.

Now when I was a young 'un, we always had bread sauce with Christmas dinner - a lot of people have never heard of this, but look it up and try it - it's basically milk, flavoured with an onion, bay, cloves and pepper, thickened with breadcrumbs.

Imagine my delight then, when I spotted a huge pan of bread sauce. Grabbing the ladle, I poured the stuff all over my plate, making sure every bit of dinner was soaked in clovey bready goodness.

Yup, it was horseradish - I sabotaged my own Christmas dinner.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 23:49, 5 replies)
sorry for the irrelevance
but i got a shiny new fluffeh kitteh today :)
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 23:15, 10 replies)
first post, be gentle
this happened tonight, about half an hour ago. backstory - i've just started fresher's week at uni, and i've been living in my new flat for a week already. there was another party in my flat tonight, third or fourth night in a row. one of my flatmates is pretty much jesus, i think, so everyone flocks to him. every party is exactly the same though - drink warm, flat beer, listen to shitty music, force tequila down ugly girls' throats with a beer bong and finally go out somewhere with expensive drinks and ex-bb contestants doing karaoke. tonight, i couldn't be arsed.

occasionally i join in, but it's not that much fun due to the fact that i don't really like anyone in my building, apart from my new flatmate who seems alright. he's not particularly cool or outgoing, but just seems like a normal person. a kindred spirit. a rare thing indeed in this harsh new world.

i resisted the temptation to go for a depressing walk to nowhere away from town, and cooped myself up in my room instead, reading in the dark and sipping from a cool can of beer. shakira, kanye west and pink blaring through the wall. i got absorbed in my own music, which at least i had the common decency to listen to through earphones. eventually i got sick of it and went into the kitchen - my kitchen - to get some cheese on toast. i couldn't get to the grill because the dozen or so people had all congregated specifically in that corner. so i pawed among the meagre contents of my fridge shelf before leaving. i thought someone made a passing comment or greeting to me as i left. i turned around - of course they hadn't. back to my room. i locked the door.

several minutes later, everyone eventually filed out of the flat. everyone was gone. awesome. i stepped out of my room. the light in the hall was off. only one man stood there. my flatmate; the nice one.

"they're gone now, mate" he said, and winked. i nearly melted on the spot. he'd been just as sick of everyone out there as me...he'd just tolerated those pricks in a way i couldn't anymore. what a man.

i choked out a single syllable of gratitude and headed for the kitchen. i'd run out of bread so i stole a stale slice from the prick. burnt it. stole another, what the hell. i could steal his food all night. i flipped it over, piled on the sliced cheese. back under the grill. done. i found one of the samplers of worcestershire sauce and poured it on top - then, as an afterthought, poured the remainder into the pricks vodka and coke that he'd left behind. i hope he tries to drink it when he gets back. i cackled with glee and ate my meal, my reward.

i've never been so happy.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 23:05, 5 replies)
never use sauces or condiments without paying attention
or you may sabotage your own food, as i did, by squirting moisturiser onto chicken instead of the yummy salad cream from the squeezy bottle next to the moisturiser.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 22:50, 7 replies)
It happened to me
There I was, in my first year of Uni. I'd just bought myself three litres of Frosty Jack's (£2.50 from iceland - bargin!), cracked it open, and nipped off to the loo, stupidly leaving my room open.

When I got back, and started drinking, it was abundantly clear that someone had urinated in my cider!

Of course, I drank it anyway.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 22:39, 2 replies)
Stone's Ginger Wine
I didn't sabotage it, I just offered someone some of mine.

It was most amusing. They took a sip, made a face, and ran outside where their drink was, then gulped it down to get the taste out of their mouth.

I think they would have liked it more if I had pissed in it.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 22:10, 7 replies)
Time for a confessional (sp)(dgaf) looks right to me
I was once married to a harpie. An evil,vitriolic ball of hatred. Night after night I endured such a belittling torrent of abuse and scorn that, quite frankly, I'm amazed thet I'm still here.
On more than one occasion I got the means to end it all, and I thank zob, I never plucked up the courage. And eventually managed to get my head around the notion that the kids would be ok and escape.
In retrospect the one thing that kept me going was her drinking habit. Not that she was any more pleasant after her nightly 2/3 bottles of white wine. That made no difference.
It was the fact that a urine top goes unnoticed in a glass of cheap white plonk.
A barrage of abuse would issue from her lips, whether or not the kids were in earshot, and then she'd take her fill of my piss, and for a split second life was worth living.
I haven't had the chance to browse, and if my story is repeated, good on ya mate.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 21:15, 2 replies)
The Mystery Of The Sneeze Chalice

Once upon a time I had a boss who was a very bad man. He was ignorant and unintelligent but attempted to disguise these facts by bullying all of the staff under him. During the short time that he was boss (he would later develop a debilitating stomach ulcer) he reduced two of my colleagues to tears and actually reprimanded me for trying to console one of them.
Clearly this fellow needed to be taught a lesson and I felt that I should be the teacher. The first lesson involved rubbing a clove of garlic around his keyboard, mouse and contact-lense case which would have been unpleasant even if he HADN’T been allergic to the stuff.
When he was able to return to work two weeks later I enacted my second revenge upon him, the revenge of…The Sneeze Chalice.
See, I have a very sensitive nose and as our workplace was a tad dusty, I used to have a bit of a sneezing fit every morning at my desk (yes I’m one of those people who can’t sneeze without following it up with nine or so more sneezes). The Sneeze Chalice itself was a simple cup and every morning I would sneeze into it until a month’s worth of sneezes had collected in it (perhaps as many as 150 individual sneezes). The inside of the cup looked a bit manky but it wasn’t encrusted with snot or anything like. The smell though…ye Gods the smell!
Have you ever smelled a cat’s sneeze? They’re quite disgusting, musty rotten smelling things if you haven’t had the experience. Well, that smell to the power of five hundred was an accurate description of the disease-laden stink which emanated from The Sneeze Chalice.

Well, one day I made him a cup of tea in…yep…the Sneeze Chalice. I gave the contents a sniff and although you could tell that something wasn’t quite right, the tea smell masked it well. Nervously I presented him with the tea as my in-the-know colleagues retched at the thought of what was about to transpire. He took a sip and…pulled a face like he’d just had a mouthful of piss!
He looked straight at me and said (I kid ye not) “You haven’t put any sugar in this!”

One sugar later and he was gulping down hot sweet tea, seasoned with over a hundred congealed sneezes.

That wasn’t the first or last horrible thing I did to him, but it was certainly the most vile.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 20:40, 4 replies)
The bittersweet taste of lemon and sugar on pancakes has never appealed to me – I’m more of a Golden Syrup type of man – but I have a friend that I used to work with called Jem, and she tells a story that is now the stuff of legends, and would put you off your pancakes for life.

The story goes that Jem was around a friend’s house last pancake day. Her group of friends is fairly close, and as such Jem was there with her then ex-boyfriend Alex as well as a couple of her female friends.

Jem and Alex had recently split, and as most of us guys can be when coming out of a relationship, Alex was being a bit of an arse.

Jem’s never one to be backward in coming forward, and as Alex was out of the room, Jem decided to take her own form of revenge.

Seeing that pancakes had been made for everyone except Alex, whose batch was due to be made next, Jem spotted her chance. In front of her girlfriends, Jem took the pancake batter mixture, put the bowl on the floor and squatted over it. Pulling her underwear to one side, she pissed into the mixture before picking the bowl up again and giving it a quick stir and chucking the contents into a hot frying pan.

Serving up the pancakes a few minutes later, everyone watched as Alex wolfed down his entire serving, not one of them telling him what had happened.

Apparently, the girls never told him as they felt that he “deserved it.”

Remind me never to piss off a woman again!
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 20:28, 1 reply)
Gone fishin'
I went for a photo-taking trip with two friends on their fishing boat. They were busy pulling and shooting prawn creels and in between taking pictures, I decided to make myself useful by brewing a coffee. The only light in the tiny galley was what fell down the companionway from the wheelhouse but I soldiered on, boiled the kettle, dropped in the coffee bags and waited for it to brew. By this time we were steaming to a fresh string of creels so we had a few minutes in which to relish our fresh brew. As one, we took a sip, thought about it then spat it over the side. Come on, shipmates, don't blame me. If there'd been a light in the galley I would have noticed that the coffee bags were various shades of black and green . . .
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 20:20, 3 replies)
A mouthful of aloe.
I didn't sabotage someone else's food; I sabotaged my own. As it was aimed at the shit I was intending, I am quite pleased it hit its mark squarely.

One good way to destroy a casual college dormitory environment (doors open, visitors welcome, stop by and chat or collaborate in study) is to be a stoner who abuses the open door policy to snatch and scarf whatever food can be seen. Having been the victim of several "whoa, nice grub" attacks, I devised a counter to the practice of a few inconsiderate shits with deaf ears. Picking up a box of cake donuts from a local bakery, I turned them into glazed donuts using the sap from wild aloe plants growing around the verdant campus. Having warned the most frequent legitimate visitors to my room of my intentions, I left the box open on the usual snack spot and buried my face in a book with back turned to the door. It took about an hour for the first victim, but I knew the trap had been sprung as I heard the simple cry, "alright!" followed by a stream of choking and retching sounds. Raw aloe sap is exceptionally nasty on the palate and tends to stick around for a long while. I have unfortunately been subject to its foul taste after mishandling the spiky fronds and, even after washing my hands, was still contaminated by the stuff. I can't imagine just how bad an entire spoonful's worth all at once would be, as that was the general amount I had slathered over each piece of donut bait. I actually managed to catch another pothead with the poisoned donuts that afternoon, after which I assume word got out I was spiking my food. Fortunately, both jerks had the decency to toss up the foul concoction outside my room.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 19:50, Reply)
Always trust Delia
Since I started my job in IT support, I've found myself becoming more and more...Manish. As the only girl in my team, I've found I can now hold my own in conversations abound porn, reflect on why Lewis Hamilton/Ronaldo/that hunky man in the perfume ad is an utter twat-head, and watch with apt attention as a rare specimen of woman wonders through the office.

Anyhoo.. I decided I needed to woman-the-f*ck-up, so randomly I made some super girly Nigella-esque cakes for the office - complete with pink icing and little silver balls for maximum clunge-clout.

I wanted to make them really fluffy so when I put the baking powder in I thought the more the better. Delia Smith said 1 tsp would be sufficient.. but I figured I would forsake the spoon and just shake a whole load in.. Baaaad idea.

Brought the really rather beautiful cakes in, and everybody stood in awed silence at the sheer beauty of my little flour (and butter and sugar) babies.. Until Neil the Tier 3 guy took a bite out of one and promptly spat in out, "Tastes like Megatrons bum".. Indeed after sampling the cakes for myself they did just taste like metal :-(
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 19:44, 8 replies)
Self Sabotage
I hosted a dinner party for some friends I'd met at the Rotary Club

I planned a menu of such exquisiteness and culture that Noel Coward himself would've left a small splatter of pre-cum in the crotch of his underpants, such would've been his excitement.

- Pan Seared quails livers on a bed of red cabbage.

- Chicken Marengo with Dauphinoise Potatoes and a port jús.

- A luxury Sherry Trifle with fresh summer fruits.

- Cheese and Biscuits.

Sadly as I am exceptionally badly organised, (I am as we speak only just completing 1994's tax return), I realised at the 11th hour that my kitchen was devoid of the necessary ingredients to conjour up this culinary festival.

I had no quails livers, and had to make do with a packet of Lambs liver which I found at the back of the freezer.
To compound my error, I also discovered that Chicken Marengo requires Crayfish tails....
... and chicken.

It was to this end that I served the following amended menu to my slightly bemused dinner guests.

- Lambs Liver on a bed of pickled lettuce.

- Turkey Twizzlers in tomato and onion with a fish finger garnish.

- Happy Shopper Vodka jelly (which smelt for the world like Petrol) with dried apricots.

- Copies of Razzle salvaged from the bin store.

Two of my guests suffered accentuated attacks of dysentry after the lambs liver, and claimed to have spent the following 24 hours with (to quote one of my peers) "The sluices well and truly open at both ends". They lost 3 stone between them.

The Vodka jelly bought on a riotous bout of flatulence in the rest of us, which caused one of my neighbours to call Transco. A semi-literate simeon dragged his knuckles to my front door and nearly passed out when the fug hit him.
I think the dried apricots must've been a bit off, perhaps I shouldnt have put them in the jelly when I noticed they had been fizzing in the bottom of the bag.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 18:53, 3 replies)
I opened one and replaced the flavouring packet with one of those silica gel packs you get in new laptop bags.

There were no survivors.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 18:01, Reply)
we baked our housemate a birthday cake with "TWAT" written in blue icing on top.
Turns out he was, in fact, an utter twat.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 17:53, 1 reply)
jews and bacon
we lived with a jewish guy at uni who was not only opinionated and obnoxious, but crazy secretive like a rat. he used to double lock his room at all times even when he was in it, he'd peer round the door at you with great suspicion if you DARED to knock, and was continually screaming at people for leaving dirty dishes in the kitchen (which he did himself.. we'll gloss over the rancid milk smell from his room for now)

well, one time, he went berserk because a housemate was sick into his massive (and dusty therefore unused) casserole dish, rather than sully the carpet and lose our deposit.... see? a jew with poor financial awareness... exception to prove the rule perhaps.
we'd all basically had enough of being called cunts on a daily basis by this hypocritical little shit.. he thought we were all uneducated and common because daddy drove a merc and wor armani suits..

he was less than impressed the next morning to see that i'd baconed up various assorted items, like his butter, his ice cream (double whammy, milk and meat AND evil porkyness) and was merrily frying bacon in his milk pan he used for his warm milk (yes, warm milk before bedtime)

oddly, he was less than relieved when i 'fessed up.

it was vegetarian bacon aka fakon.
well, i'm not a freakin monster!

i'd never waste REAL bacon!! that right there IS a sin.
(, Mon 22 Sep 2008, 17:52, 4 replies)

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