Way waaaayyy back.....
Many many years ago, before the wonderful world of alcoholic beverages had become a mundane and oft-visited place, the lure of it's bright lights and crazy sounds were all but too much for the budding bag that was me.

My parents, like most other people, had a little stash of booze hidden away in a "safe" place where neither myself of my little cohorts could get to it. Or so they thought.

Our plan was almost genius in it's simplicity:

A:- Wait until my parents were out.
B:- Drink all their vodka.

We awaited the optimum moment then struck. Unfortunately, this is where the plan backfired. Perhaps vodka was a little ambitious for a beginner drink, and we could only manage one each before giving up and feeling ill. This was perhaps more understandable on my friend L's part however, as when I prepared all the rest of us a lovely strong vodka and coke, I had given him a glass of cola with half a tin of air freshener sprayed into it.

My face was too screwed up to laugh as he finished it off in one gulp.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 19:00, Reply)

Unintentional one.
I'm going to keep this one short as it's not particularly funny.

Basically, either it had got into the drying cups or into the kettle - how, I do not know.

But I _accidentally_ brewed a cup of coffee with a spider in it for my ex.

She only realised as she was drinking it.

Coffee and boiled arachnid went everywhere and I got the sulks for a couple of weeks afterwards.


Oh and we once had a vegetarian couple visiting for a meal. Well that's not accurate. She was one of those overbearing bunny-cuddlers who tried to insist that we used no cutlery / crockery that had ever been involved in preparing a meat dish. Good look with that.

In case anyone thinks I'm being too harsh, she holidayed in America a couple of times - where she was born - and was quite happy eating steak over there because "that was the done thing". A strident, moralising hypocritical cunt of the first order.

Well, preparatory to serving the meal we'd rubbed bacon all over her plate. Twunt.
(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_ =o.o=, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 18:54, Reply)

I've been on the recieving end a few times
Firstly: Years ago me, my brother and sisters were making ice lollies. Being kids we had left a mess on the bench. My father being the family loving chap he is decided that he would teach us a lesson by mixing washing up liquid in them when we had gone to bed. I only hope my parenting skills equal his.

Secondly: My girlfriend once phoned and asked if i would go round as she'd baked a cake for me. Great I thought, what a sweet girlfriend I have. Not so. Her and her friends had decided to spend the day making a coffee chocolate cake with heaps of other awful ingredients in it. It was a while ago but i'm sure it tasted fine until the tomato sauce flavour leaped out.
(bangorip fears all is not well, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 18:48, Reply)

Not my finest hour.
My varied and chequered work life has involved me serving food to large amounts of people.

Now one of these was an inordinate cunt - I hated him, my colleagues hated him and in all probability at the moment his nasty little head crowned from his Mother's stretched vagina she hated the cunt as well.

Every Saturday we'd serve gammon steaks as a choice for lunch and events transpired that this cunt's meal had to be taken to him. It was then that I took my revenge ... I wiped his gammon repeatedly on the floor before brushing it off to make it presentable, I took the plate into a supply cupboard, dropped my trousers to half mast and farted on the plate and then wiped my knob on the cutlery.

That day I served with a big, beaming smile.
(SpunkyMcSpunkbubble Diddled your nubbin on, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 18:47, 3 replies)

Not entirely sabotaging food, but using food to sabotage other things
There was a long running game of "hide the mobile phone" while we were at Uni. Leave your phone unattended for even a second, and your loved ones has all been sent messages informing them of your desires to rim them, or how much you hate them and their fat arses etc... You would be lucky to get it back within a couple of hours.

One evening, my house mate was particularly drunk and had passed out, leaving his phone in the kitchen. So I wrapped it in cling film and sat it in a bowl of jelly. The idea was to watch him hunt high and low for it until he asked one of us to call it, and then laugh til we cried when he realised that the fridge was ringing.

Basically, jelly seems to have little respect for cling film and its attempts to keep liquids away. We returned the following day to find him sat eating his jelly, clutching his very sticky, extremely dead mobile.

The moral of the story: use zip lock bags next time
( Devon Dan without geometry, there would be no point, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 18:45, Reply)

You want to do real food sabotage?

Use strychnine.
( Gerbilinafishtank Gerbil in a fish tank...TURTLE POWER!, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 18:41, 4 replies)

I like the subtle approach.
When I was at uni as an adult, we had a dean retire and another take his place. The old dean was a nice fellow, one with progressive ideas on how to run an engineering school and an attitude of cooperation and compromise with his professors. The new dean was a gladhander, but extremely conservative in his views and rather dictatorial.

As you can imagine, he was not well liked.

This new dean had a beer stein from his alma mater that he used as a coffee mug, and I for one found it rather grating to see him strutting about with the logo from our main academic rival clutched in his hand- but he was arrogant enough to believe that we should be emulating that school, so this was lost on him.

One day as I went to the vending machine for some chocolate I noticed a familiar stein on top of the machine. I quickly grabbed it and hid it in my bag.

Did I damage it? Did I wipe something foul inside it? Of course not- after all, I'm a mature adult.

Instead I put a little water in the bottom of it and left it standing beneath a urinal in the most heavily used bathroom in the building.

I don't think I saw him carrying it around ever again...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 18 Sep 2008, 18:13, Reply)

I can't believe it's not butter!
This is one of those friend of a friend stories, I don't think I'd be able to come up with something like this.

It concerns two roommates who were having a feud. Not sure how it started, but I do know that after a while shit got involved. Roommate A shat in a tub, hid it under Roommate B's bed. B shat in a saucepan and put it in A's food cupboard.

Then, nothing happened. It had been a few weeks and A never retaliated. B had won. Then he went to have some toast and made the discovery: A had taken B's butter tub, and scraped some off the bottom, lined the bottom with shit and put the butter back in.

And A had been eating it for weeks, only finding it once he scraped down to the bottom.

*Edit* Shit, just read the same story a little bit down the page. Only it was a game of hide the turd.
(cH3$h7846J#7, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 18:09, 5 replies)

When my grandad was still alive
mum was his primary caregiver although she was working full time.
He had bone cancer and was in a lot of pain in his last year, to the extent that he'd wake up screaming in the middle of the night.

So, mum did what all good children do.

She put weed in his food a couple of times a week - pain reduced and grandad got a good nights sleep.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:54, 9 replies)

Last year I lived in halls
One horrid, loud woman living on my floor with an orange face used to write 'FUCK OFF' all over her milk cartons and food containers. I knew they were hers, so I used to nick a bit of her milk for a cup of tea once in a while :D
( its_hatorah_bitch is b3ta the devil you know on, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:50, 1 reply)

Anyone for tea?
I realise that reading this, coupled with my previous 'office fun' related post, may make me look a bit of a bastard.

Oh well...

One company I worked for, I worked closely with two other blokes - one of them was one of the nicest and most inofensive people you could hope to meet. Our working days were filled with the usual office humour and piss-taking, all very good natured and spread around us evenly.

Apart from the tea.

Cliffy, for that is one of his nicknames, was very polite - he found it nigh-impossible to say no to things. We used to take it in turns between us to use the little kitchen on our floor to get the drinks in. It was all free tea/coffee with all the sugar/milk/creamer/whatever supplied - plus a little fridge to keep cans of drink etc.

One day, Cliffy made a vague comment about how there was no sugar in his tea - but it was ok, he'd drink it anyways. He prefered it with one sugar, but he didn't mind drinking it however it came, thankyouverymuch.

It was like he had opened the gates of Gehenna...
From that day on, normally at least once a day, we would make sure that one of his teas was a 'special' one.
From memory he had:-

Black tea - no milk
Strong tea - 5 teabags and very little milk
Salty tea - salt instead of sugar
Cold tea - cold water
Coffee tea - tea with added spoonfulls of coffee
Fruit juice tea - fruit juice instead of water
Biscuit tea - tea with 3 digestives disolved in it
Butter tea - tea with butter smeared around the inside of the cup first
Marmite tea - a healthy dollop of marmite at the bottom of the cup
Vodka tea - a miniature bottle of vodka topped off with tea
Sugary tea - filled the cup with sugar and just barely topped it up with tea
Raisin tea - filled the cup with raisins and just barely topped it up with tea
Milk tea - filled the cup with milk and just barely topped it up with strong tea

and my personal favourites

Solid tea - tea with an entire packet of gelatin in it, which I left to set in the fridge overnight

Explosive tea - an lively little brew which used a cut-down polystyrene cup as a false bottom to the cup, with a tiny hole pierced in it. A normal cup of tea was poured into the cup, which contained baking soda underneath the false bottom. The tea was carefully and quickly carried to his desk, and just as he went to pick it up - litterally foamed all over the place.

To his credit, and my everlasting admiration, he drank each and every one of them - apart from the explosive tea. He even had two spoonfulls of the solid tea, before we let him off.
(Nogin the Nog is the good one! Beware Nogbad the Bad!, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:28, 4 replies)

Yuk.
Not exactly sabotage but when moving back into a flat with new room mates we were having a bit of a clean out. As the place had been unused for the summer the fridge had been turned off with a carton of milk still in it.

Knowing better than to open it I put it on top of the table ready to throw out.

(You can see where this is going eh?)

Yep - cue room mate Mark, opens carton and takes a massive gulp. I freeze, mouth open unable to speak. He freezes as the colour drains from his face before doing the most spectacular display of projectile vomiting it has been my priviledge to witness. It was like Liberace's dancing waters - gravity defying, and ended up in every room as he ran around like a headless chicken trying hard to think of a way to rid himself of the taste.

Because of the stench of rancid milk, the smell of vomit and the thought of what he had done my other room mate and I soon ended up joining in on the yak fest and puked our rings up.

To be honest I still feel sick just thinking about it.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:28, Reply)

For the past week,
Every time i made my dad a cup of tea, i wiped the rim of the cup in the frying pan, which is full of old grease and fat.

He hasn't noticed.


Why did i do it?
For fun.
(Zigmund can't think of anything good., Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:24, Reply)

My mother sabotaged me.
I was 12.
I was very thirsty.
I saw a glass of 'water' on the table.

Me - "Is this water?"
Mother - "*snigger* yes"

So down I gulped, 3 mouthfuls of straight gin.

I now detest gin. Maybe she was trying to teach me some twisted, cruel life lesson.
Or, maybe she is simply evil.
(Dramamine, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:24, 1 reply)

At uni
People kept eating my food, so I put some poison in it and four people in my halls of residence were found dead around the fridge next morning.

They didn't do that again.
(frankspencer, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:20, 4 replies)

Mind Bleach
When I was a wee nipper I filled the kettle up with bleach one day. I thought it was a nifty trick and would fool whoever made the next cuppa into drinking a mouthful of foul tasting liquid. I waited patiently in the tv room while my mom made a cup of tea. I expected to hear her choking on her revolting beverage which would in turn make me cackle in delight. I had however not allowed for the fact that the kettle actually required heat to boil the water. Bleach and kettles, as I soon found out, don't really go well together.
The kitchen bloody stank, the kettle was ruined and I ended up with a smacked bottom. I never did it again so perhaps there is a message in corporal punishment after all...
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:17, Reply)

Food Sabotage to help my job
I used to hate my job as my boss was a total arsehole.

He wouldn't appear until late and when he did he used to really wind up the locals. Personally, I was left alone as he thought I was a pretty stupid person (which I would probably say is true but sometimes I actually played dumb to avoid being given more work).

Anyway, back to the sabotage.

One day when my boss was incapacitated and his right hand man was running about the place I saw a chance to get my own back on him for everything he has done and switched a bottle the lacky was due to use with a bottle of tomato sauce. Thanks to that bottle the incantation to bring my boss back did not go to plan.

Now instead of spending my mornings disposing of the bodies of blood drained peasents I'm looking after a bloke who sounds like David Jason and enjoys the vegetarian meals I cook for him.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:15, 5 replies)

Do you take sugar?
Back in the days of my checkout-swiping youth we'd take it in turns to pull a minor tea run for one another from the company's dodgy value brand restaurant. Sure, it tasted like crap and even the instant coffee had dregs left in the bottom, but hell, when you're stuck in the same spot for 6 hours before you get a break you'll be desperate for anything someone brings back for you.

We had a dear old biddy called Lesle in our shops who we'd provide caffeine for. She was about 4"8, 600 years old and kept calling me Craig (nobody on checkouts was called Craig, especially me). Leslie is your fully-fledged hypochondriac nutter. She'd take reduced to clear high-end food home to feed her cats while she lived on cheap junk food and wine, and take a barrage of days off with feigned illnesses, including phoning in once to say she'd gone deaf before sprinting to the hospital. Calling your boss to tell them you've gone deaf and come in the next day fully healed would raise a few alarms for the most common of intellectuals, but I'm sure most of you have seen a supermarket manager. They ain't too smart (I abused this bit of knowledge for a full 3 years and have a textbook of tales for it).

Anyway, back to the story. Among Leslie's list of problems was what she referred to as 'mild diabetes'. Leslie claimed she was not allowed sugar. Ever. Sure, she required no insulin and could scoff as much wine, big macs, microwave food and sugary sweets as she wanted whilst smoking like a chimney, but she wasn't allowed sugar. Never ever.

Putting two and two together, we executed a subtle strategic game called "Let's see how much bloody sugar we can feed Leslie". Teas came back with tablespoons of the stuff, ketchup was tampered with until the crystals ruined the texture. We even took the salt out of the salt shaker and emptied a bag of caster sugar into it especially for her. You name it, we sabotaged it somehow.

Of course, nothing happened medically. She didn't explode or die (but she did go deaf again if that's a symptom), but what we'd created was a 600 year old checkout tart so tweaked she won the fastest-employee award for our store 4 months running as she threw barcodes through the system and rushed to help people pack bags. Before I left our store was ranked in the Top 10 for the country and number one in the region. I'd like to think I sweetened the figures a bit.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:09, Reply)

Milk at Uni
In my first year at university and like many people i had to share a flat in halls of residence with people i didn't like, because they are rubbish at life.

As i expected my milk start to get pinched on a regular basis.

So in a vain attempt to stop this petty theft, i went out and bought a big red marker and proceeded to write all over each fresh new bottle of cow sap.
Now to deter the culprits, i would write on quite elaborate slogans such as;

WILLY WATER,
AIDS MEDICINE,
PLEASE DRINK MY SALTY SYRUP,
I HAVE SHAT IN THIS MILK

and so on....
( Peach Motorbike I hate the cut of your jib, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:09, 1 reply)

Poker
My housemates and I had some friends over for a game of poker. I had cooked dinner that evening, and as it was the end of term, we were very low on ingredients. Two packets of cheese sauce, and some rice. Fine. Cheesy rice! Unfortunately, it turns out to be absolutely minging, although most people manage 2/3 of a plate.

After we ad eaten. other friends arrived, and the game commenced. Of course, we weren't playing for money: it was drinking poker, as in: I raise you two shots of absinthe. Generally results in everyone becoming roundly cunted within an hour or so. Aside from John, the militant Christian, who did not drink.

When it's getting to the stage where we're just about ready to go out (people are starting to fall off their chairs), Chris, another one of my friends raises John 'a pint of urine'. After a bit of bartering, they agree that the looser has to drink as much as the other can piss. Everyone else folds, aside from Chris and John.

Chris: "Okay, what've you got"
John: "Royal flush"
Chris: "Shit... nine high"
John: "Hahahahahah"

John departs to the toilet, and brings back a (completely full) pint of his finest. Chris decides the only way he can make it drinkable is to put some ice, tabasco, and Robinson's fruit juice in it. It does not go down well, and results in a lot of vomit, which is all lovingly videoed, and added to facebook.

Three questions were raised that evening:
Why John the militant Christian thinks swigging urine is okay, but alcohol not?

What kind of mongo raises someone a pint of piss with a nine high?

Why the fuck was Chris willing to drink a pint of piss, but not to have a spoonful of the dinner I had lovingly prepared?

I felt so hurt.
(Merrep, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:07, 3 replies)

Spicey minge
I hated my old flatmate with a passion that came from 9 months of her moaning non-stop about everything from lack of boys to my supposed bad washing-up, stealing my food as she had bulimia (so I couldn't have a go at her), stinking the house out with burnt cauliflower, threatening me with the police if I ever let anyone smoke weed in her house again (we were 1st year students) amongst many other crimes I've long forgotten, so I got her back by putting extra hot chilli powder:

In her flour

In her vanilla essence (this bulimic likes baking)

In her butter

In her pasta sauce

In her tomato puree

In her sugar (caster and demerera)

And my favourite- cramming some into the nozzle of her vaginal deodorant.

I wish I'd been there when she spiced up her minge- she was one of those weird Christian types who doesn't believe in touching it, always washed with a flannel etc so in my mind's eye it would have been a Laurel and Hardy-esque job to coordinate things to clean the burning hot snatch.
(octopuspie, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:03, 3 replies)

Excellent timing!
Just a few days ago, the spouse came home from work and told me how the contents of a co-worker's sandwich had gone missing, though the bread was left undisturbed.

The suspected culprit is a girl named, oddly enough, Charity. A stingier, greedier bitch you will not meet, which should be yet another warning to parents who want to name their kids things like 'Chastity', 'Joy' or similar. She was caught a few weeks ago wolfing down yet another co-worker's lunch and didn't even have the decency to so much as pause when seen doing the deed, and she's believed to be responsible for several other missing meals as well.

The spouse and a friend of ours who works with him have hatched a plan. The next time food goes missing, they're going to make a sign reading 'To the person who stole my food: I spit all over it just in case you took it. Hope you liked it.'

She'll never know they didn't do it. . .assuming they don't actually do it, of course. I wouldn't put it past our friend.
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:01, Reply)

Uncle Bastard
My uncle bastard once acquiesced to my surly demands for a drink of cola when I was a little aroe_M0rre by handing me a glass of dark liquid all the while apologising that it was a bit flat.

Little did I know that the glass of cola was in fact cold black coffee which I happily glugged at for about a split second.

I have been saying please and thankyou ever since!
(aroe_m0rre, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 17:00, Reply)

Falling out with the wife...
We went through a bad patch about ten years ago, and we both seriously thought of splitting up, mainly because I was a total, TOTAL git to her.

One morning, after the usual row and filled with righteous vengeance, I spat in her tea.

No matter how much I stirred, it wouldn't go away, and a large greenie kept floating to the surface.

"Did you gob in my tea?" she asked pointedly.

"Er... no," I lied "I sneezed making it though. Is there something wrong?"

She got her revenge by collecting all my toenail clippings from the bedroom carpet, grinding them up and putting them in my mashed potato. Which I ate and asked for more.

We're over it now, thanks.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 16:57, 4 replies)

My old Dad
is getting really annoying in his (now pretty advanced) old age, and of course I do not sabotage his food. He manages that himself.

I imagine the thought processes that led to his latest abomination went something like:

"I'm hungry. I'll have some haggis" (Opens tin of Grant's Haggis, puts in saucepan to warm up).

"That doesn't look like much... tastes a bit bland..." (opens tin of crabmeat, adds to gunk in saucepan)

"Now then, I can't be bothered with neeps and tatties... I'll just have it on some toast" (roots around in breadbin).

"Damn, no bread! I'll use these teacakes instead!"

So, haggis+crab served on a toasted teacake. I visited him 4 hours after this and his flat still smelt unbelievably horrible.

He told me later that it gave him terrible wind.
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 16:57, 1 reply)

This is why I avoid fast food.
I've long been aware of the FDA's mandatory maximums for certain substances in mass-processed foods, but I never thought much of it. It's probably impossible to juice five thousand tons of oranges daily without getting a few fruit flies in the mix - up to seven per serving, by federal law. And they allow exactly one-point-seven maggots per four-ounce serving of tomato juice. It's an interesting factoid that's acutely fun to bring up over breakfast, especially if you've the misfortune of dining with a snobby vegetarian (and who can be one and not the other?) who gives you a heavy dose of attitude about eating bacon.

... like pigs are good for anything else?

Thing is, government-imposed limits tend to become standards. Minimum wage is set so that even a mop jockey can make at least enough to give his wife and fifteen kids a subsistence-level living - but most end up making exactly that much. Likewise, the maximum amount of fecal matter in hamburger is meant to ensure that a quarter-pound hamburger (notice I didn't say "Quarter Pounder," so you can just go McSue somebody else) contains no more than 1.5 grams of bovine fecal matter, but - as you've probably guessed - they contain exactly that much. Giant meat-packing operations employ a team of engineers to test and tweak every batch of ground beef to ensure it contains exactly the right amount of excrement, no more and no less than federal standards.

... like biology majors are good for anything else?

It makes sense in only the kind of way an accountant, or perhaps a vegetarian, could understand: If the cost of beef is $1.89/lb, and if Americans consume thirty billion pounds of fast-food hamburger each year, then the corporate burger industry can collectively save $204 million by meeting federal guidelines. And so, while the good government intention (ha!) behind all of that was to make sure that the meat-packing industry went to great lengths to ensure cleanliness, what it really turned out to be was a license to feed the American public about 180,000 metric tons of fecal matter every year.

And that's a lot of shit if you ask me!
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 18 Sep 2008, 16:56, 3 replies)

Up until very recently,
I worked in a large chain coffee shop. I loved it. It was a brilliant, brilliant job. The only problem was the calibur of customers we received in the town I lived in. It was a very middle class, gentrified, old fashioned town - full of women who were desperate to be Desperate Houswives. They'd saunter in around eleven, and order, "A skinny latte darling, and make it quick. I've got a nail appointment in half an hour and I can't face the rabble they employ without my caffeine." I despised them. From their must-have Gucci sun glasses to their Jimmy Choo shoes they could only wear once before having the hired help despose of them. The girls that worked there idolised them and being the only male working in the shop, I was in the minority. I used to sabotage their drinks any way I could think of. Not one of them ever got skimmed milk when I made their drinks. A few them got dairy when they asked for soya (only if they were taking away; I didn't want to clean up after them). The ultra skinny bitches would get whipping cream in the bottom of their lattes. I would also make the drinks really slowly if they made a point of mentioning that they were in a hurry. I realise these are pretty minor things, but they made a big difference to me and reduced the only con to an otherwise fantastic job.
( the_rhyme_minister has a little bit of gold and a pager, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 16:55, 2 replies)

And another!
I've never had an answer to QOTW, now I've got loads.

We were having some teas after a rather heavy night, and had a few packets of biscuits to go with them.

Unfortunately for my mate (funnily enough, one of the two who was involved in the cat food incident) his mug was the same circumference as a digestive biscuit.

Everytime he was distracted (often: he's that sort of bloke) I dropped a biscuit into his cuppa. He didn't take many sips from it, so I managed to get (IIRC) six biscuits into it without him noticing.

He soon remembered his tea, now cool enough to neck, and downed it. Or, more specifically, attempted to down it. It turned out that there was a thin layer of tea over a thick sludge.

Some of the nasty paste went down his throat, some on his face, some down his front.

Tea/Digestive paste + rotten hangover = puking. Funny stuff.
(MrKipling43, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 16:54, 1 reply)

I do believe that's not butter!
The problem with restaurants in college towns is that they're staffed by people who are struggling to get through school, working 60 hours a week at three different part-time jobs just trying to get by. Meanwhile, the customers are all people who can afford to eat in restaurants - the kind who only take the silver spoons out of their mouths to tell you how much better than you they are. This leads to some rather unnatural natural consequences.

If you're partial to pizza ...
... you should probably skip the rest

Spitting on food is one thing - well, one of the things that happens all the time - but we could get pretty inventive, especially this Cuban named "Toker." (We assumed it was a nickname - but a few years later, working as a bouncer, I got to see his ID.) Toker used to carry several sticks of pepperoni into the lavatory - it was one of those "don't ask" situations, but he went ahead and told us anyway. He claimed he could accommodate an entire onion ...

... though none of us was willing to bet.

There was one time when I lost five dollars to Toker when he bet me that Rugby players couldn't tell the difference between anchovies and semen, and I had the giggles for almost two weeks after we got a delivery order from the Kappa Alpha house asking for our "special salty sauce." There are days when I almost miss the time I spent in that sub-minimum-wage job - not many, but a few - and it certainly was an education.

Now, I'm well aware why Feta cheese smells that way.

Note: may not be my story
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 18 Sep 2008, 16:53, 2 replies)