She doesn't drink the vodka...
Me ex-boss/landlady of me old local pub had just moved to Swansea to run the place and was a bit lonely. She was irritated at the amount of shit she had to clear-up for the brewery (the previous landlady got fired due to some Jeccy intervention, but that's another story) and had the womanly-needs that a well charged vibro just couldn't reach. She put out the word, and a blind date was organized.
Basically she'd managed to get a sneak peak of this guy and he was a good 6 foot eco-warrior version of Steve Martin (what the deuce?) and was boring as fuck. She'd already decided to drop him like a brick but couldn't build the courage to cancel the date, as he'd already booked tickets for the cinema.
I'm working the bar downstairs on that night and talking to one of the regulars about her up and coming blind date. We're yapping away, and I suddenly remember that me boss has given us all warnings about giving her drink when she's drunk, which is vodka makes her violent. She turns fucking evil apparently, a bit like feeding a mogwai after midnight. You don't do it. Well it's the same with her and vodka. She'd told us a few stories before about her previous pub and attacking one of the regulars after 4 vodka shorts just because he was reading her paper. Excellent thinks I.
After a quick chat and a fiver bunged to the regular, landlady turns up at the bar. And then the plan went into effect.
Tim (the regular) "Hello babes, pull up a stool, just had a raise in work and am celebrating. Cmon, let me buy you a drink, Jeccy get us 2 vodka-redbulls here please."
Me "Coming right up..."
Landlady "Hang about, I can't drink tha..."
Tim "Why? I'm celebrating here! Don't offend me with that kind of talk, Jeccy, chuck 'em here."
While Tim's trying to convince her to drink it I quickly double them both up and stick some redbull in both.
I stick the drinks in front of them, get the fiver back to pay for them with Tim adding "Buy one for yourself too Jeccy" and I get a bottle of coke to boot. Landlady sees the blind date come in, looks back at the drink and goes "Fuck it" then backs the double-vodka in one. The date introduces himself and they go off. She turns around to me and asks me to ring her if anything happens while she's out, and gets anodd random twitch in her eye before she goes off with the poor sod.
So they went off and after a few hours they turn back up with her barking "Yeah, goodbye now" and walking off to the office. Steve Martin hung about for a few seconds akwardly before pissing off with a bemused look on his face.
I had to question her the next day (as I was afraid to go near her that night). The date went a bit bad.
She apparently didn't speak to him all the way to the cinema; he tried talking to her a few times but she kept barking one-word answers back. Until they passed the bowling alley and he asked if she likes bowling.
"No, got banned. Throwing overarm."
They got to the cinema and she asked for all the extras, which Eco-warrior complied to buy for her. They sat at the front row of the cinema on her request (the neck breaking aisle) and proceeded to munch through her popcorn, giant coke, giant hot-dog and nanchos tray and bitch about the film completely for 2 hours. In fairness to the guy he stuck with her all the way through it (even though apparently she threatened to beat him if the film was shit) and brought her back to us safe from ending up in the cells, before eventually taking the hint and never coming back.
She still laughs about him to this day :D
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 10:19, Reply)

First!
(In the 'Special Needs' category.)
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 10:14, Reply)

Food fun and exploding birds
Coasty parts are blighted with foul stinky seagulls - rats with wings, and much more disgusting and aggressive than the pigeons in Trafalgar Square.

Greed is their thang.

Early adolescent sabbotage attempts included feeding the feathery bastards small mustard sandwiches, then watching them cough and flap about trying to put out the fire.... but later we discovered Steradent tablets. These are the fizzy-when-wet things oldsters use to steralise their false teeth, and can easily be stolen from your grandparents' bedside table.

All you do is put a couple in a bread envelope, and wait for a likely seagull... the unsuspecting victim will eat it's booty whole, in one gulp.

Then you wait.

Typically the gull will puff up like a balloon and fall over comically skwawking and looking like a feathery beach ball... but one did actually explode, blowing a small hole in its crop.

I have yet to combine the mustard (tabasco praps) with Steradent tabs for the ultimate burning-mouth-before-exploding experience.

Seagulls. Bastards. Who needs 'em?
(bastardboy loves his mummeh, but hoo is daddeh?, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 9:28, 11 replies)

Pizza hut buffet + chilli sprinkles = pant wetting laughter
Back in the day when I was a young Spangulum, once a week my friends and I used to ditch school dinners in favour of the pizza hut buffet. We had the same crowd that came along every time to enjoy a gutbusting meal: Joshi, myself, Brett and sometimes a straggler that wanted in on the action.

So one day, myself and Brett are feeling pretty rowdy. I got myself kicked out of my french class for falling asleep and when my teacher woke me up I called her a bitch (maybe if I called her 'le bitch' I would have been allowed to stay, who knows) and Brett was just being a little shite as usual so when we went to pizza hut, poor unsuspecting Joshi bore the brunt.

We all sat down and straight away ordered a coke each (unlimited cokes rule by the way) and then grabbed a plate and stocked up. We really abused their system.. so much pizza - so much pasta - salad.... my arse! We sat back down and Joshi then grabbed the chilli sprinkles and went to town, and I mean REALLY went to town. It was like a sea of chilli flakes with a sunken pizza boat in the middle. Brett and I just looked at each other and knew what the plan was - we just had to wait for the right time to execute it!

We all finished our first plates and Joshi jumped up ready to restock, this was our chance and we took it. Brett and I decided to stay at the table as we "needed a break" in between courses. Joshi left and we unscrewed the hell out of the chilli pot and just placed the lid on carefully. Just for posterity we also poured a shit load of salt into his coke and dropped in a few scabby pennies as well. Why not.

Joshi came back with a mound of food so large that it made me feel full just looking at it. It was massive. At least 6 slices of pizza, two huge scoops of the yummy pasta and a TONNE of garlic bread. It was immense. He made himself comfy in his chair - you could literally see him prepare his innards for the amount it was going to have to expand to encapsulate this mountain of proteins and carbs. The look on his face was a picture too - so proud of his achievement (the fat bastard).

Then he picked up the chilli pot, Brett and I were on the edges of our seats fighting back the laughter. I think a snot bubble even came out of my nose when the laughing pressure diverted without warning. He tipped it over whilst giving a shake and WHOOMPH there was chilli fucking everywhere.

ALL over the plate, the table, the floor, his lap... EVERYWHERE!!! We just creased up as the mess, combined with the look on his face was priceless. It was the look of shock combined with sheer depression as if we had just taken a dump and smeared the offerings onto the Mona Lisa. We ruined his masterpiece and suffice it to say, his lunch.

What was even funnier though was his reaction. He took 3 napkins and very carefully and strategically placed them over his plate then simply pushed it to the side of the table. He got up, got a new plate and rebuilt his food tower. Legend.

The drink sabotage however was a total failure. He didn't even taste the salt as it all sank to the bottom and he didn't find the coins as he didn't finish his drink. Oh well, 1 out of 2 wasn't bad.

Length? - He still doesn't trust me in Pizza Hut to this day (and this was around 11 years ago now!
(Spangulum nailing your mother since 1824, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 8:42, 7 replies)

not so nice toffee
while waiting in the car for my mum so we could go around to her friends place i spied some toffee looking substance in a bowl so not wanting to miss out on some sneaky toffee i broke a chunk off and stuffed it in my gob.... lo and be hold after a few chews found out it wasnt toffee but wax for my mother to wax her and her friends legs!! guess the joke was on me. first post and i like it rough so dont be gentle...
( jakedamusss I understand, and dont care., Wed 24 Sep 2008, 8:32, 2 replies)

my name is suzy
A few years back i used to work as a waitress in a top hotel in cape town , South Africa. It was a very busy time for us as the rugby world cup was on.

It was wonderful i got to meet a few of the all blacks who were staying in our hotel , they were really really nice and friendly.

Then i wiped my arse on all the plates in the kitchen just before their meal. The chef pissed in the soup and the wine waiter spat into the salad dressing.

The fuckers were as sick as dogs the next day and we won the cup !!!

Hurrah for South Africa
(welgar, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 8:24, 3 replies)

Apple Juice?
After a midnight run through the streets when i was 15 me and a couple of mates arrived back to his mum's house after being chased by a group of drunks. Safely inside, one of the mates that didn't reside there opened the fridge with the intent of imbibing a large amount of cold liquid. A tall glass jug of delicious looking apple juice sat wanly on the top shelf, joy thinks he as he necks about a pint's worth of recycled cooking oil his mum was storing. The look on his face as he realized what he had drunk was priceless, but the dog eating eating his oily spew as he produced it on the back porch was a joyous and always remembered occasion.
(neighbour of the beast 668 has watched you in secret on, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 7:23, 2 replies)

If I dont die, kill me tomorrow
Tonight I have been out on the lash.
Yes I know its midweek, but BFs BIL was celebrating a pay rise and his GF saying yes to that question some guys ask.
Get your minds out of the gutter, its the M word!
An evening of come drink with us, leave your purse at home.
My kind of night.
We imbibed until closing hours, then were invited to his house to continue the celebrations.
Im afraid I mixed my drinks and reached that point of wanting to eat something, preferably either deep fried or rotating on a spike in a kebab shop.
Gladly I wasnt the only one, so his GF told us there was some left over stew from teatime.
So we called for it to be heated up.
Bowls were passed round.
We ate as only drunken people can do.
It was lovely, really hit the spot.
Now Im an omnivore, will eat fowl, fish and mammal, but not offal.
Nveer offal, it stinks.
When i held my bowl out for the refill she said oh you like heart?
HEART!!!!
An animals heart!
I dont think Ive ever run for the bathroom that quick before.
They laughed at me, my BF is due a roasting for it later, when i have fully recovered.
And when he gets home, well more likely in the morning.
Im here alone alternating between throwing up and doing web stuff for fear of going to bed and barfing again.
And in the morning Im sure I'll be in a better state than BF as ive emptied my stomach (several times)
Not exactly food sabotage, unless you have a morbid fear of offal.
Apologises for length, but you wanna see what landed in my toilet bowl :(
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 2:29, 5 replies)

Just a couple
No funny story of me wiping my cock anywhere, but I'm definitely a natural at sabotaging it for myself.

Like when I hid some pubes in the head of a mate's pint but had to drink it by forfeit as we couldn't keep from giggling whenever he would bring it to his lips :(

Other disasters include burning garlic bread in the microwave (the smoke was like letting off a can of cs gas) and waking up at a festival (hungover to fuck of course), with the worst dry mouth ever, reaching for a coke bottle and downing a pint Jack Daniels (in a coke bottle)... at least the others found it funny.

Needless to say with the above history I don't get to cook very often!

*post below reminded me of the time I woke up thirsty and drank a can vimto that was left out. I soon stopped when It felt 'lumpy'. Yup, fucking ants! I was six and would check every morning after for spotty poo.
(suicidalducky has too much time on his hands, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 2:28, 2 replies)

not on purpose, but...
i was in thailand last year (which was magnificent) and my friend and i stayed in kanchanaburi, in a guest house on the river kwai.

waking up one day, i opened a small packet of oreo cookies, didn't eat them all, and left them open. went out for a bite to eat, and when returning to the room thought the oreo's needed eating.

picked one up, bit into it,

"hmm, i didn't realise they had these black bits in the chocolate" i thought, then i noticed... the line of ants leading from the packet to the wall, and that the cookies were crawling with them.

moral of the story, finish your food or get rid of it properly.
(stapleface, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 1:09, Reply)

beetroot + ribena - she'll never know it was me
a long, long time ago, back in the day when a little nightbuffalo was just a little bit littler, said family were sitting around the dining table, eating a salad on one of those carefree, hot summer days of my childhood that now seems like a golden age.

I picked up my fork, leant forward and reflected on the feast that lay before me.

I had eaten all the chicken.
Hell, I had consumed ALL the tasty stuff (the chicken).

What's left? My eyes survey the platter of mother's goodness. Some pasta rip-off of potato salad. Eurgh. Celery. FFS. Lettuce, tomatoes. Beetroot. Effing vegetables.

"How much more do I have to eat before I can finish?" I asked.

"Ten more mouthfuls," replied my mum.

"Oh, fuksoxs, you fuknuckle," I most certainly did not think at the time.

"I shall attack the beetroot," is probably what I thought. And I did attack that obstacle between me and my bicycle, or some such toy-related fun.

I stick my fork in to the red beast.

It jumped clean four inches in the air and landed with a satisfying "plop" into my sister's cup of ribena, and no-one noticed.

Damn, my carefree days became a little more carefree-less. Sugar! What to do, what to do?

The options - own up, or sit there, sweat it out and hope she didn't notice.

I sweated it out.
She noticed.

Big sisters can slap surprisingly hard.
Little brothers can cry surprisingly loudly.
( nightbuffalo needs more duct tape, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 1:07, Reply)

Vegan
My friend Henry put beef into my friend Sam's special vegan yoghurt but made very little attempt to disguise it. Whilst very simple it was also rather amusing when Sam returned from the loo and said "Henry is that beef in my yoghurt?" Excellent.
(SpongyMonkey is an honorary East Anglian on, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 23:09, Reply)

not so much food sabotage, more appliance sabotage but...
my oldest brother decided he wanted hot chocolate while holding a party at our house (he was very drunk), so at 5am this urge takes him and his mate offers to make it for him.

He then proceeds to fill the kettle with milk, boil it and make the hot choccy....idiot.

Not only was the kettle fucked but boiling milk that way isnt pleasant...my brother was rather ill for an hour or two.
( Bamboo Steamer, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 23:07, 1 reply)

Derserved
I lived with a few guys who loved to take on drunken challenges, i'm guessing to prove how 'hard' they were.

One night this involved eating/drinking stupid or disguting things. Creative, hmmmm.

I challenged them to eat a tablespoon of salt and wash it down with a shot of vinegar. To be fair to me, I honestly didn't know that replacing the salt with bicarbonate of soda would make them vomit as much as they did. But it wash fucking funny.
(el perro grande, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 23:01, 1 reply)

Sabotage the child, not the food.
When my daughter was about 2, she liked to help with the cooking by sitting on the worktop and passing things. This stopped when she squeezed half a tube of garlic purée into her mouth, and swallowed it with every sign of enjoyment. Six hours later, the garlic began to emerge through her pores. It kept on emerging for six days, by which time her playgroup had shampooed their carpet, our neighbours had washed their dog twice and my MIL had made innumerable remarks about Pakis, the racist old trout.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 22:40, Reply)

Simple, yet so effective.
The next time you attend a house party, wait until the early hours when things/people are getting a bit messy. Fill up a wine glass with cooking oil from the kitchen and offer it as "white wine" to your unsuspecting, gurning victim. Hilarity ensues...

yes, I have been got by this...
and yes, I have done this to another...


EDIT: ZOMGLES I SHOULD HAVE READ THE POST BELOW BEFORE POSTING...pffff :(
( NeeNoo, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 22:30, Reply)

Hangover revenge .
After an extremely heavy night in our Uni bar I retired back to my girlfriends flat and proceeded to pass staight out on her bed. This being any normal weekday I awoke to the cramped conditions of her single bed and room stinking of fags, booze and me.
The usual pillow talk commenced...

Me:arghhhh I'm soooo hungover, can't see straight, sooooo thirsty...get me some juice or water
Her: No way, I already got up in the night to get some...its your turn
Me: Oh go on,please,I drank so much more than you, I Promise to go next time..etc etc...love you(the oldies are the best)
Her: Fine but your getting up next...

SWEET...space to stretch out in bed, with the promise of refreshing liquid to wet the fag induced desert in my mouth...and if I'd played it well enough, she almost always made toast...back to sleep again for the time being.

5 MINS LATER she comes back through the door and I half open my bleary eyes...

Her: We only had apple juice left, but I also made toast.

(Mental high-five to me) No time for pleasantries, I grab the glass and swallow the contents whole...but, oh god, its not apple juice. Its fucking Olive Oil!!

Queue retching and trying to puke back up the horrible grease lining my throat, why simultaneously feeling my head spin from drunken dizziness.

Her ( lying prostrate in doorway crying her eyes with laughter):APRIL FOOLS!

What a bitch..full credit where its due though.




She also put eggs in my shoes on dissertation deadline day, I'm not sure what the reason was there?!?
(seamstress_to_the_band first time writer, long time lurker, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 22:12, 1 reply)

Coeliac
My more attractive other is a coeliac. For those not schooled in the topics of 'diseases that make your starfish bleed', coeliac disease is an allergy to gluten, a protein found primarily in sandwiches, beer, cake and anything else delicious.

The only 'cure', as such, is a strict gluten-free diet. A single molecule can cause painful bum explosions, a larger quantity causes a minor, yet still dangerous, anaphylactic shock. Walking past a bakery gives him the shits.

His sister, Crazy Bitch, didn't believe it to be a genuine medical disorder. A couple of months ago, we had a happy days gathering at his parents' house. All were under strict instruction to keep his boring food well away from the lethal French bread; close proximity caused much shouting and waving of arms. His sister had other plans - she wanted to prove once and for all that he had made the whole thing up for attention!

When our backs were turned, she mixed bread crumbs in with his soup. He finished his soup with aplomb. Barely able to control herself, she stood up and laughed, "Ha! I told you that you aren't allergic, you show-off!"

He wound up in hospital, unable to breathe. I had to deal with two weeks of the toilet bowl aftermath.

Ha, yes, wasn't that a funny gag.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 19:53, 13 replies)

Tenuous? Right this way...
So, I met a girl. More specifically, I was introduced to this girl by "Friend A". The girl expressed some interest in me (i.e. I was in, totally). After a word with Friend A it became apparent that Friend A was heavily besotted with The Girl, and quite right too. Being the gallant chap I am, I stood back, allowing him to pursue his quarry unfettered by myself. Friend B then meets The Girl at another party. Friend B lacks my virtue. Friend B is currently hitting that, and treating her like shit in the mean time. Friend A is moping about without even acknowledging my attempts to ease his passage from Best Friend to Boyfriend. This is what you get for being a decent fucking bloke. So I ask, (and here comes the link), is there any preferred poison that might put Friend B out of the picture? Or at least shrivel his cock to a vestigial growth that would make Jodie Marsh think twice about touching it? That might stop him putting it about behind The Girl's back. Friend A can sod off too, this time she's mine. Screw morals, they get you nowhere.

Bitter, me?
(FurtiveBiscuit, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 19:36, 2 replies)

Peanut Butter Love
I once gave my dog a huge dollop of peanut butter. Little did she know that is was being served on a fully loaded twig-n-berries.

Length? About 3 minutes of spine-tingling pleasure.

RIP Sadie you were a good (but slightly gullible) dog...
(tingtwatter Eating loads of red meat since, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 17:54, 6 replies)

The worst thing you can do to a person?
Last week, I returned home late from work to find that some motiveless maniac had raped and tortured my family with rusty razors before viciously slaughtering them with assorted gardening implements.

As I dropped to my knees to survey the atrocity around me I noticed that this vile, sadistic, soulless killer had left his blood-splattered wallet on the floor, which contained his driving licence, and therefore his full name and address.

I know I should have gone straight to the police, but I wasn't thinking rationally...and my mind was filled only with thoughts of purest revenge and hate.

So that very night, in the pitch blackness, I quietly broke into his house while he slept upstairs...and I'm afraid to say that in a fit of rage.....I went into his kitchen....and .......crushed all of his packets of crisps, whilst making it look like they were fine on the outside.

every.single.packet.

I then left, safe in the knowledge that for the forseeable future, every time he opened a packet he would be presented with nothing but a virtual wispy cloud of powdered crispy hideousness.


I think justice was done.




Before you all have a go at me...I know it was harsh and nobody deserves that...but like I said, I wasn't thinking rationally
(Mr Twisty Cheeky The worst kept secret in B3ta..., Tue 23 Sep 2008, 17:30, 6 replies)

Kind of in keeping...
... but not.

When i was around 15-16yrs old i had a friend named fats and he would eat a packet of fruit pastilles without chewing (it can be done) and then a group of us would take a bet at which colour would come up first after he put his fingers down the back of his throat.

We no longer call him 'fats'
(Reservoir Ducks, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 17:13, Reply)

The unfortunate victim of food sabotage. Sort of.
My dad's a jazz/blues musician and lived through the sixties so it pretty much goes without saying that he's fairly fond of a bit of green, as are most of his old musical-type buddies.

Anyway, the story starts with me joining my dad to see Baj, a bassist friend of his who had unfortunately developed Multiple Sclerosis and it was starting to take it's toll on him - as such he was perscribed medicinal cannabis to help alliviate the symptoms.

It goes without saying that he'd been smoking it on a regular basis for the last thirty years and this medication meant he could use some of his normal supply for something else.

So he baked a cake. Just a simple chocolate sponge, but absolutely laced with weed. An evil plan hatches in his mind and he gives my dad an enormous grin which transmitted the nature of the cake and his intent. My dad, bless him, gives a wry smirk and nods assent.
Baj offers me some cake.

Had I been a little older I might have been suspicious of it. Unfortunately for me, I was seven, and here I was, being presented cake! Chocolate cake no less! I had about half of it, greedy guts that I was.

So obviously in a short space of time you've got a stoned seven-year-old tearing around the house while the two guilty parties silently crack up into their tea. I came down in the car on the way home, and dad got a bollocking for allowing mother's little boy to get higher than a stratospheric kite.

I don't know about length, but it was about ten inches in diameter.
(Sundayturkey has the biggest mug of tea, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 15:50, 4 replies)

Film project
Once when I was on a film shoot I found out my co-star had a rare condition that meant she had no sense of taste or smell. During the shoot I was supposed to poo in her mouth, but I cunningly gave myself an enema beforehand and filled my bottom with peanut butter. Cue the action shot and she was giving it large with all the 'Oh yeah baby, shit in my mouth' and 'Use me as your toilet' stuff. It was so funny cos she was eating peanut butter instead of my poo. Still cracks me up.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 14:59, 1 reply)

I'll remind her of this as I finally throttle her....
Sort of the other way around. Ish.

Back in the ultra-carnivore hunter-gatherer days, come the end of the season I would have a fair selection of God's Creatures nestling in my freezer, and I would hold a mass scoffing session for my nearest and dearest chums to clear it out.

There could be pheasant, partridge, venison, bunny wabbit, pigeon, trespassers, you name it and it was lurking in the icy embrace, sometimes looking rather surprised. Anyway, when you have assorted portions of cute lickle animals, the easiest way to clear the decks is with the famous game casserole.

Now to do this properly, each ingredient has to be treated differently, as they all have different cooking characteristics. Some need marinading in good red wine with juniper berries and peppercorns, some lightly browned in olive oil with a smidge of garlic, some just need a quick rub of sea salt and a light touch of dried herbs to be all ready.

The seasonings must be assembled in their savoury ranks, awaiting their turn in the masterwork. Fresh herbs, exotic spices, pungent and nose-tickling ingredients by the dozen, lovingly collected, and each with it's own special role to play. A bottle of the finest wine was decanted to breath the air, a bottle of Chateau Special Offer was opened to keep the cook interested, and a can of posh catfood to keep the hairy scavengers busy gobbling away at their end of the kitchen. Planning, see?

And the stock. Aah, the stock. The crucial element, where flavours develop over the long, cool cooking process, where the consistency thickens and concentrated the savour,aroma and all-round 'fuck-me-that's-good'ness.

A previous meal had involved a juicy, tender leg of venison, lovingly removed from an unexpectedly deceased Muntjac Deer (unexpected from his point of view, that is). The bone, filled with rich, savoury marrow was reserved as the base for the stock of emperors. A handful of fresh bayleaves, bouquet garni, redcurrants, juniper berries, and other things to esoteric to mention splashed merrily into the pot. Flavoursome veggies, fine full-bodied wine, organic garlic, LBV port to name but a few joined them. And then it was consigned to the flames, for many hours. Cooked, reduced, strained through muslin, re-vitalised with more liquid, reduced again until we had a stock so good that a Michelin Inspector would have taken it home and gone to bed with it. Perfection.
Just let it cool off while I have a refreshing flagon or two, and then it's cooking time. Rubbing my hands with glee, muttering 'this is going to be fan-bloody-tastic', I retired to take the weight off my plates for a few well deserved minutes, before resuming cooking for ten hungry bods.

And then She happened. She who must be ignored, the Domestic Obergruppenfuhrer, the Boss, the Light of My Life.

She decided to help.

Said help involved doing the washing up, so I would have lots of uncluttered space to complete the culinary miracle, while she laid the table, re-decorated the house, laid a tiled floor and all the other little things that are apparently essential when receiving guests into one's abode.

I ambled back into the kitchen, to be greeted by everything clean and shiny, all the tools racked and gleaming, and all the pans clean and......

Wait one second.

ALL the pans clean and shiny?

"WHERE is the stock?"

"You mean that dirty water........."

Steely eyed, I maintained my semi-psychotic, verging on hysterical gaze, as with one hand I reached out for the bottle, and took a steadying slurp. *Gak* Fuck, wine vinegar. This time I looked, and managed to get soothing alcohol aboard.

"That DIRTY WATER, dear was the stock that I have been preparing for, for AAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHH" I Arrrrrrgghed.

My gaze now flickered between my dear, rather worried wife, the handy knife/dismembering tool rack, and the fucking stock cubes.

Stock cubes.

*Weeps*



I no longer kill the Bambis, so she missed out on the one and only, never to be repeated opportunity.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 14:31, 17 replies)

Tadpole / Raisins
Went camping in the New Forest, wanted to do it Ray Meirs style, so went off the beaten track and camped in a swamp. Used some water purifcation tablets to purify the water we collected from the stream / swamp we were camping in and cooked rice over a camping stove. Told my brother I had thrown in some raisins as rice is boring by its self. He ate tadpoles :O)
(TwinkleFuckingToes Has a ingrown toe nail, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 14:00, Reply)

Sabotage the meal, not the food!
I was at my ex-wifes parents house one Sunday for a meal. There was her mum and her boyfriend, her sister and her boyfriend, and me and the wife.

As normally happened I was getting the short end of the stick from the in-laws due to the fact that they were all 'Born Again Christians' and I don't believe in any type of god.

So about half way through the meal the conversation turns to spiritual matters, and I'm keeping my mouth full with food so that I don't start argueing with them about the shit that's sprewing out of their mouths. They were of the type of people who believed every word in the bible ffs!

Finally they decide to have a conversation that I would join in with and started to talk about the food, where they got it, how nice it was and so on. Great I thought, now I can get some revenge for the crap that I've just had to sit and listen to. I then preceded to ecplain to them exactly how the veal we were eating got to the table, and just how the farmer raises it and how it's slaughtered! They all went white and one of them had to rush to the toilet to puke.

I was never ask back for a meal after that, for which I was thankful! I did manage to snaffle the veal all to myself though, which was good.
(Herr Doktor Lemminge Is bored, so cheer me up!, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 13:27, 8 replies)

Exfoliating
Having remebered my previous story, this one came to mind, not really to do with this QOTW but still funny none the less................

One of the sales staff was the most naive person you ever met.

One day he came in an said that his mrs had shaved off all his pubes the night before (he was one of those people who got the P!ss taken out of him all the time as he provided all of the ammunition)

in respnse it was mentioned with concern that he should exfoliate to prevent in growing hairs.

His response "ok i'll put some Swarfega on it later!!"

All blokes in the office winced away in thought of the pain!

We were all made redundant that day so never knew if he actually did it as no one had the heart to tell him!!

Length?

No much after that I guess
(ingus mcfly to heaven for the weather and hell for the company, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 12:10, 2 replies)

A little wine can give your posh grub a bit of a ‘kick’ …
Yonks ago, when all this were fields…I used to host student type parties where the usual type of drunken debauchery would ensue. Good times.

One of the dead-cert invites to this party was a friend of mine called Vlad (don’t ask). He was a carrot chopper by trade but liked to dabble and experiment (with cooking…well, maybe other stuff too – He hasn’t told me).

To be fair, he was (and still is) a fucking good chef and the reason he would always be invited to parties was that he would cook us all something brillo when we were all shitfaced. Result.

One particular time the party went on…and on…and Vlad had long since passed out before the munchies overwhelmed us. When they finally struck, we woke the bugger up and ordered him to step over the puking / copulating / unconscious couples and sort us out with some chow. He went to the fridge and there wasn’t a lot, He went to the freezer..slim pickings. He checked the cupboards…not great.

So he decided to do what any self-respecting resourceful chef would do…he improvised and announced he was going to make ‘something’ with the stuff lying around.

He found some beef chunks, carrots and mushrooms…nothing wrong with that (apart from the sell by date)…but that was just the start…

He then added something like:

Chilli Powder
Mustard
Boiled Rice
Few herbs, spices and wotnot (I don’t know – I’m not a chef)

At this point he decided it wasn’t ‘moist’ enough, so he dropped in a splash of red wine. When we complained about the ‘waste’ of good wine, he explained to us plebs the qualities of ‘infusing’ different tastes and how we philistines could not understand the value alcohol could add to a meal.

So, we took him at his word…he was the expert after all…and as he wandered off looking for extra knives etc (because chef’s use a different knife for every cut apparently), we tiptoed around the sleeping partygoers and relieved them all of their partially finished drinks. Thus went into the mix:

Lager (at least 3 different kinds)
Cider
Bitter
More Wine (red & white)
Guiness
Scotch
Vodka.

Then we added:

Tobasco sauce
HP sauce
A Beef & Tomato Pot Noodle (pre-cooked, half masticated)

It was all swished around and left to simmer for an hour or so.

Then we grabbed Vlad, got him to serve it up...and we all tucked in.

It was absolutely.fucking.beautiful

I can’t explain it. It sounds more foul than drinking strained shit through Mo Mowlam’s gusset liner but the thing just worked. It wasn’t just me…everybody thought so.

Also, because Vlad was incapable of cooking in small quantities we had enough to last us about a fortnight.

If only I could bear to part with the alcohol I might try it again one day.

Food sabotage… sometimes it can surprise you
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 23 Sep 2008, 12:07, 3 replies)

Hashy sabotage
This is the way to piss your younger brother off an absolute treat.

Myself and my brother, who is 1 year younger than me at a meagre 19, enjoy the odd spliff. Every half hour. Of every night. I exaggerate, but not by much. Now as is the bain of most tokers, we both smoke cigarettes as well, seeing as sparking up a phatty in public isn't the 'done thing'. We both enjoy our sedentary lifestyles, he's gone off to uni to toke in a different part of the country for 3 years, and I'm happy enough in my 9-5.

At this point I should introduce brother No.3, who I shall name 'Harry'. 'Harry' is a bit of a bastard, because he is 16, and all 16 year old boys are little bastards, as we know. He's a lazy, rude, obnoxious little git, and as arrogant as anyone I know. I have faith that his ego will shrink to fit his ample frame. A curious thing about Harry, aside from his bizarre hatred of cheese/love of pizza, is his complete rejection of anything smokable. He'll drink for England, but so far as I know has never had a cigarette, let alone a joint. Given that in our house, everyone besides him smokes, you would think he would grow to accept the fact, but no. He remains a 'you filthy smoker, go into the corner and pull your own nicotine-stained teeth out with pliers' type. Despite pickling his liver whenever the mood takes him. Now I've never been one to berate people for NOT smoking, but felt Harry could use taking down a notch or two, or at least let him know why we smoke. But getting him to actually smoke would be more than a little weird, so we decided just to get him baked, without even knowing.

Whilst he's not a fan of cheese, cakes are a definite yes. So a Q of the finest generic cannabis was procured, finely ground, and added to chocolate brownie mix. Baked for 12 minutes, cut into slices and left to cool, Harry was duly offered a slice or 2 of suspiciously herby smelling brownie. Mmmm... there's a good boy, gobble it down.

Long story short, Harry spent the next few hours giggling like a loon and generally being nicer than usual. Once the effects had worn off though, he was just absolutely outraged that he had been 'spiked'. The drug-abusing stoner bastard.
( Rookie You'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 11:59, 4 replies)