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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, ... 1

This question is now closed.

my friedn and fellow B3tan Peej...... (i'll get you fucker)
once ate a small haggard fish from a rockpool as a dare, whilst on duke of edinburgh's award camp.
he later barfed up an tin of big soup outside the tent without warning me, so my midnight piss excursion was ruined by putting a hand in it while climbing out the tent, slipping, and ending up with my face hovering perilously close to the barfpuddle

interesting fact: on my life, obv only speaking for look smell and consistency not taste, i have to say regurgitated big soup is almost identical to the fresh product. ALARMINGLY close.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 22:50, Reply)
How can we all have died at the same time?
The Salmon Mousse...
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 22:43, 3 replies)
My first post :(
In year 8 i think at school there was a kid in my class who was eating a bag of doritos while walking home.
A seagull flew overhead and managed to aim its faecal matter directly into his bag.
The kid looked at the crisps, shrugged, and continued to eat the entire bag.
Don't know if that counts, but it was pretty funny
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 22:17, Reply)
At uni
I used to be a particular fan of sausages, but some bastard kept stealing my Pork Farms Lincolnshire chive sausages every week. So I painstakingly replaced the meat with Semtex and a pressure-sensitive detonator.

I was woken that very night by the kitchen wing being wiped off the face of the earth, along with the sausage thief, who was utterly vaporised.

But wouldn't you know it? A week later, and with the kitchen replaced with a pre-fab hut, some tosser started stealing my Dairylea cheese triangles. There was nothing for it but to pull up the lino next to the fridge and bury a colossal landmine there.

Well, you can imagine the rest. Or maybe you can't, because what happened next was quite unexpected.

Someone else had been having their food stolen, too, and they had the exact same idea of using a landmine to deter thieves. So when my landmine went off, it exploded their landmine...and a bucket of C4 that someone else had put in the fridge. The subsequent explosion was so massive that the pre-fab kitchen was lifted into orbit and is circling the Earth as you read this.

The crater went right to the molten core of the planet.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 21:59, 9 replies)
I am too poor to be able to buy food just to tamper with it...

And I have no enemies or friends on which to play such an hilarious prank.

But I just HATE missing out on a QotW...so for you, gentle reader, I came up with a plan...

Despite my next door neighbour being a lovely bloke and causing me no harm whatsoever, last night I crept out and cut the brake line of his Mondeo.

How's that for a bit of 'Ford Sabotage'?

(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 20:48, 6 replies)
*Spit*? Pfft! Amateurs...
I would just like to take the opportunity to inform my former manager, Mr. Stephen Borrett, that every cup of tea I ever made him -- for two long, gruelling, painful years -- was 50% hot water and 50% my own stinking urine. And I had to work hard to stifle a gut-busting laugh every time you told me how delicious it was.

And *that*, my friend, is what you get for ordering a colleague of several years seniority, whom you outrank only on a technicality, to make you tea in a manner more befitting the retarded work experience lad (who, it must be noted, shat himself on duty).
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 20:22, 4 replies)
tea? nah coffee
funnily enough in my yoof I was temping at the prison service opposite the Channel 4 headquarters on Horseferry Road

on my first and every day the boss, who was an odious fucker, shook his mug at me and said "temp...coffee"

i spat in his coffee every day for two weeks
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 19:32, 1 reply)
Tobermory, Isle of Mull.
Small Island town in Scotland. Not really a lot to do..
Basically, a Seagull was drugged with Vodka, Painted or dyed bright Green and Pink then released to go about it's business.
Locals named it the Balamory Seagull as Tobermory is where the bastarding thing was filmed. Tourists on the other hand..'Is it a parrot??' Etc etc...It lived what I can only assume is a ripe old age for a seagul.
So there.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 19:18, 1 reply)
My Neighbour is a cunt
One night, as revenge for all the years of hardship we had to endure from him and his vulgar offspring, I emptied the contents of his green wheelie bin (the one into which goes all your garden detritus, food waste and so forth) over his shiny BMW.

The stink was biblical, and to this day, an uncleanable smear still exists on the paintwork where a decomposing lambs carcass slid gracelessly down to rest in a symphony of congealed fat and effluent.

That'll teach him.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 19:10, Reply)
My wife's allergic to tea...
...so I wiped my knob inside my own cup of tea and then asked her for a blowjob.

Mind you, she said no and I scalded my cock.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 18:36, 1 reply)
Dog breath...
...my ageing, but still well loved, Boxer dog always runs up to meet me and jumps up eager to lick my face. I wouldn't mind but he always has a turd-snack first.

Today, I snuck around the yard clearing up all his turds while he had a nap.

That'll fuck him good and proper.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 18:32, Reply)
Fucking Tescos
Ok, so last night I went to the Albert Hall to go and see Jason Mraz. It was a marvellous gig and I learnt that he has some batshit insane fans (which may be fodder for a future QOTW). Anyway, to avoid travelling through the night to get home I decided to book a cheap hotel in Kensington, stop overnight and come back the next morning to work a 2-8 shift (which I am currently on).

Now because I wasn't sure when the gig ended, I decided to pop in Tescos beforehand to get some sandwiches etc to eat when I got back from the concert. I also picked up a 1 litre bottle of Tescos own version of Red Bull, which has a slightly higher caffeine content. I do have rather high blood pressure at the moment but I figured a wee glass in the morning would get me out of bed and off to the coach station without too much harm (caffeine tends to do weird things to me so I have to be careful).

So anyway, I get into my (frankly grotty) little hotel room, crawl into bed and try and sleep. It wasn't going too well since my head was still buzzing slightly from the concert. I came too with a dry funky mouth and as a kneejerk reaction reached to my bedside table for a drink (as I'm sure most of you keep a drink on your bedside table). However, being rather out of it from tiredness I just grabbed the first bottle shaped thing and downed it all in one go. A litre of it, to be precise. I then realised I'd just drunk a litre of this ridiculously high caffeine drink in one go and suddenly realised what was going to happen to me that night.

Now please bear in mind that I don't smoke, do drugs or drink, so caffeine is about the only chemical experience I ever get. Within an hour my left side was tingling and shaking. I spent a solid hour walking round the bedroom. Then I spent another hour playing tetris on my phone, beating my previous high score by a ridiculous margin.

Then I tried to sleep, but for some reason every time I did the number 96 flashed brilliantly in my head. I honestly have no idea how my body is wired up but after 20 minutes of this I was hyper and freaking out at the number 96.

In the end, I sat up and watched all the early morning educational programs. I learnt lots about Skihism and Buddhism last night. I finally got to sleep at 6.45am, only to have to get up again at 8.30.

So I am currently sat here at work, sleep deprived and spinning on my chair to try and stay awake.

Yes, it was my own bastard fault for drinking a 1 litre bottle of a cheap Red Bull knock off. But I'm still blaming the cunts at Tesco for making 1 litre bottles and putting more caffeine in it than Red Bull, AND charging less for it.

On a side note, if there are any Sikhs on b3ta, may I just say you have a most excellent religion. If I wasn't such a cynical, hate filled husk of a human being I'd ask for a membership pack.

No apologies for length or dullness. I'm tired and cranky.

*EDIT* Just to any conspiracy theorists bored enough to doubt the validity of my story - I have next to no taste thanks to growing up with smokers, so I generally just taste "fizzy". The lack of taste also means I own a Deacon Blue tour shirt. Yeah, ok, that bit was a lie.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 17:43, 12 replies)
knob cheese v religion
I work in radio and when i started, i was an employed working cliche. Yes, I was the early morning dog's body who pushed buttons and made the tea.

One particular Sunday morning the religious producer, who we called "Womble", on account of her being a big fat bitch, told me "I'd never make it in this business" and "I should buck my ideas up and never turn up with a (only slight) hangover again".

The only reason she vented her spleen in my direction was because the cunt-faced-christian had fucked up pushing the buttons SHE was in charge of... my fault clearly! Being a nice kind of chap, and too junior and timid to fight my corner, i offered to make some tea to appease the aged fucker.

Now because I'd been on the shandy the night before I was up late, therefore didn't bother to have a shower when I got up at 5am. This meant that certain areas of my body had made a speical type of home made knob produce. As I was pouring the water into the cups I began to want my own sweet (or salty in this case) revenge.

I vividly remember thinking "the bitch will eat my cheese".. So I grabbed the spoon for her cup, whipped out the old fella, scooped up an extra portion of smegma and gleefully stired it in with her sweetex. I sat in the production area outside of the studio and watched her gulp the whole lot down. That was a good day.

I still work in radio and she doesn't. win.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 17:28, 9 replies)
Mild twatty sabotage
While working on the deli counter at a supermarket, the name of which sounds like making a flower not get what it wants, we got up to some shenanigans. We never actively poisoned anything, and by and large people were nice, both sides of the counter. But being 17 and bored, stuff just happened.

We found out that if you stir quite a lot of the jelly off of the top of chicken pate into chicken vindaloo, no one notices. At all.

More often than not, the chickens had been used as horrendous meaty glove puppets before we cooked them.

Me and another guy who worked saturday mornings had an ever escalating, but entirely good natured meat war. We started off throwing little bits of meat at each other. This soon progressed to whole slices of whatever we had been cutting, then ham knuckles were thrown at each other. Strangely, it went down a notch in size, but upped the ante so much when we started cutting the fat off whatever we had and weaponising that. I received a fistfull of ham fat down my back, but I got him back by ambushing him out the back and wedging beef fat into his ear.

Oh, and did you know, girls really don't like it when you peel off a tongue from the roll of pig tongues(yes there was such a thing) and chase them with them.

Length?I still don't get this in-joke, as I am still a new spazz, information appreciated.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 16:55, 3 replies)
When I was a youngun
Around 6 or 7 my neighborhood kids were playing a game of football (Not the girly UK version, but the real american kick ass kind) and I wanted in. The older kids refused to let me play. So I went back to my house and pissed in a bandaid tin, (I think it was the only thing I could find that held liquid) and brought it out to my neighbor, told him I got him some juice cause he looked hot playing football. He said thanks, drank it in one slug and then started to yell at me in disgust. I ran away pretty fast and he couldn't catch me and I made it up to my tree house. He kept taunting me so I throw a Jart at him. It got stuck in his leg.

He never really talked to me after that, but I got to play football when ever he wasn't around from then on.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 16:43, 18 replies)
A note
Apologies for tenuous link to topic, and if it's bindun, but fuck it:

A note to clothes shop designers:

A man walks into a high-street clothes shop (ouch, fnarr). He casts his eye around, finds a t-shirt and some jeans he quite likes, but crucially: he cannot tell if they are clothes for women or men! He cannot simply take the garments to the till and hope, for an innocent comment such as "it's so nice you know your girlfriend's size!" would surely cause a furious blush to erupt on his face and it would be obvious to the cashier, anyone paying at the same time, anyone who happened to be nearby, the security guard and in fact the entire universe that HERE IS A MAN WHO WISHES HE COULD WEAR WOMENS' CLOTHES. PITY HIS UNDOUBTEDLY TINY COCK!

He cannot simply ask an attendant to which sex the togs he has taken a fancy to are appropriate for similar reasons (burning embarrassment, tiny cock etc). Instead, he must find an attendant suitably far away from the clothes he was looking at - so as to allay suspicion - in the Court of the Underwear Queen flanked by Amazonian golems modelling the latest in fashionable ladies' swimwear. The attendent is all smiles and lightness; one cannot help but think of the deep sea Angler fish, which generates a small amount of light in order to lure curious prey on to its arrays of needle-like teeth. Was that a smirk he saw cross the face of one of the mannequins?

In a small voice he asks:

F'coov may, where uh menv clove? (trans: Excuse me, where are the mens' clothes?)

This is a hugely significant moment moment in a young man's life! For there are now two ways the exchange can proceed:

1) The man is informed that the shop only sells womens' clothes. He will blush, beat a swift retreat, be unable to live down the shame and have to become a hermit existing only to further contemplate his embarrassment, and write answers to QOTWs that only he thinks are funny.
2) The attendant points in the right direction. More often than not, this is exactly where our hero has just come from.

It is so much harder to return than he remembers! Ready to dodge a hefty clout from a mannequin (which he feels he surely deserves) and dodging bra straps' strangling grasps our lad makes his way back to the menswear at which point he is more than likely to forget what he came in for and beat a swift retreat - see 1).

So, clothes shop designers: make it obvious where the mens' stuff is.

Otherwise I'll gob in your tea.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 16:42, 8 replies)
last week i moved in with a friend
he has been living alone for a few years, and shall we say his hygiene standards have slipped somewhat - something i am trying to rectify.

Anyway, In return for washing dishes and cooking dinner, he would make the sandwiches for lunch at work the following day.

This went on for abuot a week.

Then last thursday I offered to make them instead. I go to the kitchen, lay the out the bread on the chopping board, then i reach for the butter, and i am astonished. The butter is half Swiped and bright yellow, and half covered in Mold. I nearly borked.

Hed been making butties for me with Mouldy butter.

So i continued to make his, and told him i was gona get something in work instead.

Upon taking this up with hinm the following day, he argued that the non mouldy bits were ok to use...

still makes my mouth cave in at the thought...

It had fur all over it.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 16:28, 4 replies)
My Friend and fellow B3tan Peteloaf
was at a party at my home and was rather pissed. He kept vomiting in to the bath whenever anyone came in to the toilet and tried to piss on his head.

I kept dragging his drunk ass out of the bath and sticking his head back in to the toilet. After about the third time I was pissed off.

He practically begged me to bring him some water. Several people had bought these bottles of really shit vodka. Pavlovs or something like that. I poured him a pint of if and told him that he was losing fluids very quickly and had better down it.

He did

The vomit in the bath was about three inches deep when he finished.

This is his profile www.b3ta.com/users/profile.php?id=41817 point and laugh at him if you like ;)
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 13:43, 6 replies)
Taking the Daz Challenge: A Tale of Feeble Revenge
I have two older brothers, and whilst I was growing up, the younger of the two was a horrid, smelly, bully to me. There was only one instance where I was pushed to the point of revenge...

One day when I was about 7 and he was 10, he politely suggested I test out his DIY zip wire which he had created between trees in our Dad's garden. Since he had tricked me by going up the tree to "check out the amazing view", then pulled away the ladder and ignored my crying and begging for the good part of an hour, I accepted his proposal.
However, as the zip wire's "handle bar" was simply a piece of plastic clothes line, it naturally snapped as soon as it felt the strain of my weight (and I wasn't even a chubby little urchin).
Whilst lying in pain and shock on the ground (and part of the ladder -ouch) I recalled something disturbing... Whilst I was hurtling through the branches I caught sight of my brother's face - which was lit up with a huge deranged grin and demonic gleeful eyes. That, coupled with the fact that he scarpered as soon as I touched ground led me to suspect that he did not hold much regard for his little sister's life...

So I decided that I would lightly poison him.
My Dad had brought me some sweets to console me after I "fell down" and whilst munching on them I hatched my plan...
I emptied the sherbert from a Sherbert Dib Dab and replaced it with Daz washing powder. Then I walked up to my brother and feigned feeling sick from too many sweets and offered him the sugary treat...
Watching his face contort and seeing the congealed bluey-white gunk spew out of his mouth whilst he retched was HIGHLY satisfying! It was his own fault for ignoring the lollypop and tipping the sherbert straight down his gullet...

Looking back I feel it was an inadequate attempt at revenge, but at the time I thought Daz to be fairly toxic - even fatal.

Oh and to get revenge on my revenge he put me in a suitcase and rolled me down the stairs. For some reason he decided to shove a clock into the suitcase with me- not really sure why. Ah well- great days!

We're now good chums but he still likes to bring up my attempt at "murder by poisoning"- pah.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 13:41, 11 replies)
More things in pints...
Back when I used to run a pub I was always looking for new activities to entertain the customers. Someone suggested maggot racing so a suitable 'racetrack' and a large supply of maggots were duly acquired.

On the day of the races all kinds of tactics were tried to liven up the squirmy ones - including putting them in the mouth to warm them up. As the evening progressed things deteriorated as the beer was sunk and most of the remaining maggots ended up in peoples' pints. I suppose its all good protein.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 13:27, 4 replies)
p0zitr0n reminds me of a job i used to do.

Not quite sure if this is on topic but ahwell.

I used to work in a factory making confectionary products, chocolate, dohnuts, fudge.

My dad worked at the same place, and from time to time we would work on the same line.

He had been there for a while longer so he was in charge of production, i was in charge of packing.

so at times, I am afraid to say I packed fudge..... with my dad.... and was paid to do it....

I was packing my dads fudge

100% true - but only in the confectionary sense.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 13:09, Reply)
Things in pints
weve all done it- dropped a penny into your mates pint when he isnt looking. Typically when they went the toilet.

a few years back this went a little too far.

It started off as Pennys, then peanuts then crisps. At which point the object was clearly visible - but the joke was the recipient of the prank would 'ignore' it and drink the pint anyway, gaining many kudo points for finishing the pint off - more so if it was downed in one.

More objects were used as the pranks continued, Mccoys (big crisps) beer mats, £5 notes, pens. credit cards. Bascially the rule was it had to be more outragious than the last one, and the perosn drinking it would have to pretend not to see it, then act surpised once the pint was finished.

One day one lad came back to his pint to find a mobile phone in his pint. (this was a few years back - it was a Motorola. Brick sized phone circa 2000) It barely fitted in the pint, and made most of the lager spill onto the table.

My mate simply shrugged his shoulders as if he didnt see the phone and downed the pint. Then acted surprised when the mobile fone slid out of the pint onto the bridge of his nose.

the game stopped when someone put someones wallet in their pint.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 13:00, 5 replies)
Friend of a friend worked in a bakery supplying supermarkets, injecting doughnuts with jam from a big comedy syringe.

When bored, they'd inject the occaisional doughnut with mustard instead.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 12:57, 4 replies)
I've mentioned this one before, but it's worth another airing, with further details
During the second year at Uni. back in 1997, we had a new addition to our student flat in the form of 'Babs' - and Babs was a little naive about the ways of the west as he hailed from Nigeria, the son of a very rich family out there (where everything was done for him)

Now, before I get on to the act of food sabotage in question, have some background information which led to us exacting some 'revenge'

He arrived in England on a Friday. He then travelled up from London to Bolton where we welcomed him to the flat and did the whole 'if you need anything just shout' speech. Bearing in mind he'd only been in the country for around 24 hours, we thought we'd keep an eye on him to make sure he was ok, can't have been easy for him making such a huge adjustment so quickly.

Sunday morning. 6am. Doors to flat bang and open and then close loudly. Being a Sunday, nobody wants to get up at 6am to see what's going on. Eventually, everyone else is up and milling about in the flat kitchen by 10am... Everyone except Babs that is. We knock on the door, nothing.

'Hmmm', we thnk, 'he must have gone out shopping or something, no harm in that'.

2pm comes and goes, still nothing. 3pm, 4pm, 5pm all pass by. Zip. No sign of him. By 6pm, with no sign of him, and us all realising he doesn't know the area at all, we get cautious and ring the police. He may, after all, be lost somewhere.

11.30pm. That's when Babs rolls through the door, with a grin across his face like a Cheshire Cat. After all the 'where the f*ck have you been???' conversations he looked at us puzzled and replied,

"I've been to Church".

Puzzled, we enquired further. Babs then went on to tell us that he needed to find a Pentecostal Church to go to on the Sunday, so he got up early to go scouting around. This scouting around involved him walking around Bolton, and then somehow out onto and along the various A roads following road signs to Manchester - 16 miles away, where he found a church to visit. Said Church welcomed him, and then invited him to an afternoon picnic they were holding, where he duly went before leaving to walk the 16 miles back to Bolton, getting back at 11.30pm

It was then we told him where the Pentecostal Church was in Bolton.

His naivity often came at the worst possible times as well. Often the Kitchen would be a complete disaster area due to his 'experiments, as back at home, everything was done for him by servants. On one memorable occasion, after 2 failed attempts, he held a potato in front of me, asking "Simon, how do I turn this into chips"?

Also, upon seeing snow for the first time in his life, he decided at 5am one Sunday morning to take all our pots and pans from the kitchen to collect snow and make a huge snowman in the middle of the courtyard at the halls of residence at 6am on a Sunday, with 400 students bearing down on him from surrounding windows, often wondering what the sound of clattering pots and pans was coming from the Courtyard, and a few 'choice' phrases being shouted to him by several students.

Gradually, we were worn down to the point of needing some form of revenge. We had got him out of a few 'near misses' with locals, and his family (sadly) never bothered to ring and check up on him that much, leaving us to do a lot of handholding.

Babs, during our time with him, developed a keen taste and extreme passion for Hot Chocolate. In fact, it would be fair to say that if he could, he would live off it.

However, one cruel evening early in Babs' Hot Chocolate drinking career, we decided to top it up with more than a few hefty spoonfuls of Cayenne Pepper, shook it up and left it. Day after day and night after night Babs continued drinking it, and we continued topping it up with more pepper and further chocolate and he never twigged... For weeks.

Then came the comment which the rest of us couldn't help but fall about laughing at...

"You know, the more of this stuff you drink, the hotter it gets, I can see why they call it HOT Chocolate".

To be honest though, I don't think the sabotage really worked, as he still kept drinking it like it was going out of fashion. I wonder if he's been disppointed by the 'Hotness' of Hot Chocolate ever since leaving us.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 12:51, 10 replies)
Good Ol' Jonesy
You'll never guess what I put in the Kool-Aid
What larks!

Yours etc.
Rev. Jim Jones.

(probably bindun)
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 12:34, 1 reply)
Glazed donuts, now with extra aloe.
I didn't sabotage someone else's food; I sabotaged my own. As it was aimed at the shits 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 personal snacks can be seen. Having been the victim of several "whoa, nice grub" attacks, I quickly 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 almost immediately 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 trace quantities of 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 bait.

I 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.

Had that tactic failed as a deterrent, I would have asked my mother for her favorite "cookies for dogs" recipe, which includes liver and fish paste and looks remarkably like a delicious oatmeal cookie before the first bite is taken. I know of their surprise nastiness after seeing my older brother gobble down a couple from the cooling rack before the taste hit him.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 12:32, 3 replies)
My Social Networking Gaff
is posting replies to QOTW a week too late
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 12:30, 3 replies)
Syrup of Ipecac
I managed to score myself some Ipecac when I was last in the States inspired by an emetic episode of Family Guy.

When I went to visit my parents back in the UK, I decided to finally get my brother back for the time he filled my (manly)bubble bath bottle with vomit. There I was, sitting in the bath, and I plop out a half a bottle of stale and decomposing vomit into the bath and on myself. What a dick towel he is, I thought.

So anyway, at breakfast time, I swapped the label on my brother's bottle of cod liver oil with it, and sat down and waited.

He came downstairs, had a spoon of it, and then started to make some breakfast.

After about a minute and a half, he literally monsooned vomit all over the kitchen.

Brother 1: powervator: 1

Incidentally, the best part of all is that he forgot it made him sick and it happened again about a week later in front of my mother. My mum was convinced that he was on 'ecstasy pipes' she told me on the phone afterwards.

NOTE: Ipecac is a violent vomit inducing medicine
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 11:44, 2 replies)
Frusemide in the punch
works a treat.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 11:11, 1 reply)
Eating at a steak house
..me and the ex sitting on a table-for-2, right next to another couple who are on their own table-for-2. Except they are a pair of butch lesbians. Moustaches, the mono-brow, the lot. They are holding hands in the low lighting right next to our table, and the ex is trying not to stare and laugh.
So, just as the ex is taking a nice bite of steak I say at a nicely audible level in the middle of talking about the food "So which one do you think is the bloke?"
She almost choked to death on her sirloin.
(, Wed 24 Sep 2008, 10:24, 11 replies)

This question is now closed.

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