Some comedian or other suggested it.
I cooked a vegatarian couple a lasagne with real mince in it, they said it was the best they had tasted and asked how I made it taste so meaty.

Now I know I shouldn't have but I simply said, "with meat" I was drunk by then and thought they'd see the funny side. Jane spewed up there and then like I'd flicked a fucking spew switch.

Mark, a closet meat eater expressed his faux concern and berated me though I though he was gonna crack up laughing any minute.

Mark still talks to me but Jane blanks me everytime we all get together. So it was a good result because I never liked the fucker anyway, hemp wearing fucking hippy.

Which always makes me wonder to what lengths us blokes will go for a regular shag because Mark lies his fucking arse off to her and talks the same shite she does in her presence, but happily sits with us in KFC before a movie either like she never existed or the chickens are quorn... strange.
(Doogie Talons, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 9:41, 15 replies)

Milk
At Uni, in halls, milk thievery was rife. I would buy milk, put it in the fridge and it would be gone before I shut the door.

The only way to prevent this was to use a little psychology. Using a permanent marker, I would label the carton "Milk experiment".

No one ever touched the milk again.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 9:37, 2 replies)

Is it just me?
Or is QOTW mean at the moment?

Food is a thing of joy. Even if you can't cook, you can eat and it's a wonderful thing.

I can cook and very much enjoy doing so.

As an antedote to the meanness of this QOTW I am going to tell you what I would cook if I could go on "Come Dine With Me"

Starter: Scallops with Bacon, with a Spinach and Pinenut salad

Main: Smoked Haddock in Creme Fraiche Sauce, served with potato dauphinoise and asparagus

Dessert: Chocolate Cherry Mousse Surprise

This would be accompanied by some Boujolais Nouveau and some party games.

Let me know what you think of my menu

In the spirit of this QOTW, the worse sabotage I've ever committed is to give someone who's annoyed me the least nicely arranged plate. If they haven't annoyed me, I take it myself.

I do this with the dog as well.
(Jugular, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 9:30, 22 replies)

The Christian Union
During my brief flirtation with Christianity at university (her name was Wendy and she had a heavenly rack), I occasionally visited the Christian Union for one of their non-alcoholic soirees. On one such evening, I was put in charge of the catering and decided to have a bit of fun.

Soft drinks were the only kind available: orange squash, Vimto and diet Coke. But I had smuggled a milk bottle of alcohol from home. Not just any alcohol, but pure alcohol made from potatoes in a copper still by my Ukranian housemate. He'd put a homemade label on the bottle reading "Uwaga! Smierc" - or, "Attention! Death!" This was the brand name. I divided the whole bottle evenly between the soft drinks and retired to a safe distance.

Within about ten minutes, Theobald (the skeletal biology PhD) was humping the lectern and Deborah (the owlish treasurer) waa twirling her voluminous underpants about her head while flashing a (burning) bush of arboreal proportions to all assembled. After about half an hour, the homophobic accountancy student Gerald was vogueing to Belinda Carlisle with his shirt tied off to reveal his midriff.

So far so good, I thought. Then some arrogant tosser (Caleb - the Texan fruitcake) asked me for a milkshake. We didn't have any milk and I would have had to run to the campus supermarket to get some, but he insisted. So I asked myself what Jesus would have done. And the answer was: "Buy the fucking milk and then do a shit in it."

I handed the tall glass to Caleb, who immediately noticed the tapered end of my still-steaming log emerging from the milk. "What's that!?" he yelped.

"It's chocolate. From a tube," I said. "If it smells like last night's biryani, that's only because it's fair trade and made by Christan cocoa workers in Bethlehem."

That was all the promting he needed, and the turd slipped down his gullet without a protest. Never mind that he was later rushed to hospital with a serious bacterial infection and mild brain damage.

Later, I encouraged Wendy to suck 'condensed milk' through a girthy straw while wearing a blindfold. She said it tasted "a bit off", bless her.
(frankspencer, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 9:24, 3 replies)

Not sabotage, but mention of the cup of tea in the question reminded me
My sister used to work part time in a shop to earn money when she was a student. The manager was a decent sort, but he tried it on a bit, and used to ask her to bring him a cup of tea regularly.

He always insisted on having the milk in before the tea, as it tasted better, allegedly. So one day, my sister brought him his cuppa, and he turned to her as usual and said, "Thanks, but I hope you put the milk in first, did you?"

Her reply?

"Drink it and tell me".

He didn't ask again after that.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 9:18, 3 replies)

Would you like pubes with that sir?
There's a small troop of us who go to watch football on a Saturday afternoon, frequently in fancy dress, and often in women's clothing.... There's this strange little bloke who's always in our pub after the games, a little grubby little bloke. He grunts and laughs alot, but we've never heard him speak...

This guy must be in his late 50's and stalks round the bar in his little leather jacket, trying to find someone to stand with. My dad always seems to carry his 'nutter magnet' around with him so it was only natural this guy would find himself trying to infiltrate our little group. He'd try steal your props, knock your hat off, steal your beer, generally anything he could do to try get your attention...

After one particular game where we'd lost quite heavily, this guy decides to lick my face as i'm standing at the bar...naturally i was feeling pissed off because of the result so after this I was ready to break his face. I was persuaded otherwise by my dad that he was just a fruitcake and we'd get him back later....roll on about 15 minutes later when this guy leaves virtually a fresh pint on the bar and heads to the toilet....10 seconds later i watch in utter hysterics as my uncle proceeded to pull hairs (often in agony) from his nether regions and carefully place in the froth of this blokes beer...topped off with the ass hair of my 52year old father for good measure...

Watching this bloke take a couple of swigs before picking a few hairs from his tongue was the best laugh I'd had in ages......

He still drunk the pint
(dangleberries, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 9:17, Reply)

If this QOTW generates a decent post, I'll eat my hat


...unless one of you fuckers has spat or jizzed in it first.









See you next Thursday
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 9:07, Reply)

Military College
Sorry for, once again, drawing on my years of suffering at a Southern *(US) Military College, but frankly, this is a PERFECT QOTW!

So, as a Freshman/Underclassman at a University which PRIDES itself on the "Fourth Class System" (beating up Freshman/Knobs in order to create the 'Whole Man' that the college claimed to create), there comes a point where a young man reaches his breaking point.

I reached mine just shortly after returning from Christmas Break. South Carolina is relatively 'cool' in the winter. Not frigid like Alaska or Boston, but cold enough that we tended to wear our corduroy robes to the bathroom when we had already shed the uniform of the day. We also typically wore 'shower shoes' or 'flip flops' as the civilians call them.

So, after having endured 4 months of Upperclassmen overseeing us opening our 'care packages' from home and helping themselves, I and several of my classmates had had enough. We devised a plan, which not entirely 'unique' was, sadly, unique enough for the Upperclassmen in our company to fall for:

We baked Brownies with a CONSIDERABLE amount of laxative in them. (in case you lot know the brand, it was Ex-Lax)

For those of you 'well read' you may well have read the book "The Lords of Discipline." This was a novel written about MY college...in fact, it was 'suggested reading' for ANY cadet planning on metriculating at this fine institution. So, the story I am about to relate, is, sadly, not 'unique' but IS unique to MY experience.

Upperclassmen, despite their 'advanced years' are NOT particularly bright. And having baked the brownies with enough laxative to make an elephant on a diet of cheese and rice run to the gentleman's room, and THEN, sending them through the MAIL, from the very same city in which the college in question was located made ZERO difference.

We shipped them to a classmate. And he made a big 'to do' about bringing them into the Battalion, where we all lived. Upperclassmen came out of the woodwork to inspect said package and pilfer more than one brownie. Fortunately, we had the foresight to bake enough for about 50 cadets. We even saw to it to include a hand written note saying "We baked enough for your classmates, so make sure you share."

The upperclassmen enjoyed the brownies. It was almost too laughable to report. They gobbled them down as if we were in a combat zone and those were the LAST brownies they would ever eat.

About an hour and a half later, we heard the doors in the Battalion opening and slamming shut as SEVERAL of the supposedly 'more intelligent' Upperclassmen made the mad dash to the bathroom.

However, they didn't realize, us Freshman had taken Herculean steps to make sure their evening was particularly memorable:

In the bathrooms (it was an all-male college) we had taken 'Heel and Sole dye' (a black liquid we used to dye the heels and soles of our shoes to make them VERY black and 'extra' shiney) and colored the toilet seats. We had also added a healthy coating of Saran Wrap or "Cling Film" over the toilets themselves. Then, we un-wound the light bulbs so they wouldn't light up the area in question. (we were devious AND well-read little bastards)

The resulting insanity left several supposedly 'more intelligent' upperclassmen with PITCH BLack arses AND brown stains along their thighs/robes.

I paid for that...as did SEVERAL of my classmates (all of them in fact) but you know what? I would GLADLY do it again with the threat of the resulting beatings as a warning. Those bastards DESERVED trying to take a shit, having the liquid result splattering ALL over their 'kit' and leaving the restroom with a LARGE black circle on their arses.

I do NOT apologize!

Sic Semper Tyrranis!

Citadel
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 8:58, 11 replies)

Steal-a-cup
I used to work front desk at a hotel that catered to business types from out of town. At the beginning of my shift there was nothing more I would like than a nice fresh cup of coffee. The lobby brewer was a "steal-a-cup" style that would allow guests to do just that as it brewed. The problem was this would kill the mix and they would take the first half while it was Strong and leave me with the last bit that less Strong. I must admit I have OCD and it probably didn't help with me wanting to let the Coffee brew all the way but one lady guest always stole a cup when she strolled in from work. Regardless if I asked her to wait. If I waited to brew a pot until after she came home, she would just ask for i right away. I pissed me off, mostly because she was also very annoying. (calling me up to test her light switches and such.)/. One day I brewed a rough brew full of Salt Water, she came in and "stole-a-cup" and got the most taste on her mouth... she just shot me a dirty look and never Stole-a-cup' again. I quickly and quietly made a new pot and it was never an issue again.
(commodified =*, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 8:45, Reply)

Sorry helen (yeah right)
Firstly i must say that compared to a lot of other posts this may seem a bit tame , but there is a certain something about it never the less.

A few years back my brother got some work through an agency doing silver service. This particular evening there was a big event on . The local comerce chambers annual awards or some thing.

He was serving the head table the soup , when he thought " Screw you!" and stuck his thumb in the soup

Whats so bad you say?

It was to the guest of honour.

The PM

Nice

Regrets ................... Only that he didnt get a chance to rub his thumb up and down his greasy arsecrack a few times before sticking it in the soup.
(welgar, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 8:44, Reply)

Legless' post reminds me
I used to take a big 4 pt carton of milk into work as I like a little tipple during the day (odd, I know) but the bastards used to use it for their tea when the company milk ran out.

Now, I don't mind sharing, but I'd get to the end of the week and have none left for my glass of the white stuff. (Fnarr).

So I started putting a little bit of green food colouring in.

Problem solved.

Oh, and one time after finding a rather large amount had been nicked, I made a big show of waiting until the kitchen was quite full, taking out my milk carton and gobbing in it.

That worked too.

Trouble was, after that, I didn't fancy drinking it either,
(Strangechap I look normal on the outside..., Fri 19 Sep 2008, 8:42, Reply)

What we are going to do is go back in time.....
~~~~~ wavy time lines ~~~~~

It's 1979 and for some bizarre reason, my Comprehensive School has decided that all girls should have a go and teh metal-working and teh wood-working, and all boys should turn their hands to needle-working and cookery-cum-cuntery.

I have to say, that those two terms spent cooking and sewing were the happiest of all my happy school days.

Cookery was the best. We were sent a couple of miles away to an annexed area that held the kitchens. And we were let loose with gas, ovens, chemicals and flour - it was superb.

Most afternoons involved waiting for the teacher to disappear into the stock room - and then lock her in, whilst we had flour and and "Handy Andy" (pre-90's CIF look-a-likey) fights. The times we did make something, you could not leave your bowl, tray or whatever, unguarded because you knew someone would gob in it, or worse.

Our stint in the kitchens coincided with the autumn term, so we were there in the run up to Xmas. The school had a "Coffin Dodger's Xmas Party" were someone from each class (usually a girl) selected some local old bastard to attend, and then someone else of the opposite sex from the class to attend as host and hostess to the chosen biddy. And of course, all the party food was made in school kitchens by students. This included our class!

My table of 4 were selected to make Chocloate-Eclairs, others did Sausage Rolls, Mince Pies and the like.

We set about whipping the cream. All you could hear was the sound of loud snifflings and wretchings as the cream was gobbed into. If someone was short of gob, a visiting student would sidle up and help by gobbing in the bowl.

Salt was used where sugar could have been added. Handy-Andy and Fairy Liquid was added to pastry. Nose pickings, small amounts of piss, knob cheese, ajax, vim, where all mixed in.

On the day of the Old Bastard's Party, we spent the day looking through the glass slits in the school hall doors, laughing at all the poor fuckers eating that crap - and especially one of our number who had been selected to attend as host. He was having decline all offers of food placed under his nose.

I know it's childish, but I still laugh at my wonderful school days.....
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 8:21, 2 replies)

Tea-bagging
I used to work for the worst boss in the world. I think I've mentioned him before.

Anyway, one night, after a particularly grating run-in with him, I went off in a huffy fit. Later in the evening, upon spying one of the many cardigans he left in the office frequently, I gobbed a slimy friend into it, and chortled at the thought of him wearing my phlegm.

A couple of weeks later I was on shift with the compulsive lying druid, and admitted my shameful act to him.

He laughed, and agreed I should be embarassed about it. Then asked casually if I drank tea. "No, don't like it or understand it."

To which he responded "Me neither" and stuck his hand down his trousers (this wasn't THAT uncommon behaviour for this guy. Apparently his particular branch of druidity only washed during the full moon or something).

Anyway, while fishing deeply in his gusset, he continued his response.

"Tom (the arse helmet boss) is the only one who drinks tea at work"

And upon completing this sentence he produced from the depths of his trews a decidedly soggy looking handful of tea bags, which he proceeded to drop straight into the tea bag tin that was kept on the desk.
(lessmiserable, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 3:53, Reply)

Watermelon Bomb
Coming home very early in the morning with a mate, after a massive night on the turps, we arrive to see a Watermelon sitting on my kitchen bench.

A note was next to the said fruit letting us know that it is to be eaten by our flatmate at a picnic the next day.

Shrugging his shoulder my mate sits down on the lounge. I on the other hand had better ideas.

I picked the Watermelon up and chucked it at my mate. Due to the large consumption of alcohol, his reaction time was a little slow.

The WM explodes on his knee.

We were still finding WM seeds 3 weeks later.
(Slatts If you cant remember it didnt happen, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 2:48, Reply)

FOOD RELATED JOKE
Question - What is the difference between JAM and MARMALADE?

Answer - You can't MARMALADE your cock up someone's arse.

i go now.
(bacontrout got ska, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 1:53, 3 replies)

Cat food burger?
It started when the customer left a plastic bag on the counter one Saturday night containing 6 cans of cat food. 7 days later it still hadn't been claimed and was therefore deemed unwanted .. .. .. .. at almost exactly the same time that Roger was about to take a break. He'd made himself a burger and left it on a hotplate while he nipped to the offy to get some smokes.

There's 3 of us looking from his food, to the cat food and back again.

Cue scramble to substitute beef for catfood

Roger returns, takes his food, and heads off for his break.

When he re-starts work he complains that he has stomach ache, that his burger tasted strange.

Half an hour later we worriedly confess that he'd eaten catfood.








2 hours after that he confesses that he didn't.
(manwiddicombe is thinking of something witty to add here, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 1:40, Reply)

Does it count if they were never meant to eat it?
I have just started an exchange placement at Louisiana State University. As you probably know, Louisiana was hit by a hurricane recently and although there were very few casualties etc. The power still went out for a few weeks and there was a curfew imposed.

As I am living on campus, I was lucky enough to still have power, due to the Unis huge generator system. Most of the rest of this charming hick town did not. Because of this my flat mate asked if it was ok if a few of his friends stayed round. Being a charitable guy I said yes. Perhaps he took this charity as a weakness, because after one night of two nice quiet ladies on the sofas, he took the piss.

I come back from a shift volunteering (Don't let that fool you, I would never normally lift a finger for my fellow man, let alone volunteer I was just bored)at what had become a soup kitchen. I could smell the weed from the front door. I might add here that I do not judge anyone for their drug habits, I enjoy the very occasional spliff myself. All I expect is some common courtesy and some common sense. Smoking weed in a house of non-smokers...NOT COOL.

Not only was he smoking weed but he had invited all his buddies along. His buddies were not charming Cheech and Chong/Harold and Kumar style stoners. These were south Louisianans yardie Colombian connection.

So here I am in a room full of drug dealers and henchmen and two really dense stereotypical peroxide blondes, who looked and sounded like they were there to take part in some sort of 'Ghetto Gaggers' porno orgy. Fuck me they were retarded. They all invite me to join them in a smoke and seeing as the place is already trashed, I figure I should roll with it (pun intended).

We are all getting fucked and then I see one of the gangstery sorts go through my cupboards. Although I am not about to shout "Oi, *insert racist word here* hands off my Nutra-Grains" to Baton Rouge's answer to Tony Montana I quickly saw that if I was going to sabotage their munchies I had to act quickly.

I reminded my flatmate that he wanted to go pick up some beer. As predicted this starts a flurry of requests for alcohol. In the end half the room leaves for a beer run.

Now I needed to act fast. With the room reduced to more manageable levels, I suggest a smoke outside (to which everyone had no problem with, why didn't they smoke outside in the first place!). A couple of tokes and I say I have reached my limit. I am just a middle class honkey after all. I step inside... Fucking leg it to the kitchen, unload anything that appears steal-able, including cereal, a bottle of wine and of course the glorious Nutra-Grains into a wal-mart bag and stash them in my room.

And that is how is sabotaged the prospective food of a gang of yardies.

I should remind everyone that they did let me smoke lots of their weed with them and looking back, perhaps I am a bit of a cunt for not sharing. Even if they were my emergency hurricane Nutra-Grains.

(Pop! Short time lurker, first time poster)
(Bam Bam McPenis will change all this when he is fuhrer., Fri 19 Sep 2008, 1:35, Reply)

about 17 years ago...
whilst working at a local hotel owned by the son of my parents' old next door neighbours...

there was this guy...

who used to visit us sometimes on a sunday or monday evening...

my 2 favourite tales involve him...

he was (and is probably still) an arrogant twat...

he KNEW that monday night was Chef's night off. on a monday night he would often turn up 10 minutes before close of service, tart on arm, DEMANDING dishes from the full menu despite knowing that only a (slightly) reduced menu was on offer.

one particular monday she ordered the potted shrimp starter and shoulder of lamb with redcurrant sauce entree.
the twat ordered a DOUBLE PRAWN COCKTAIL ie twice the prawns, regular amount of salad. DESPITE there being no prawn cocktail on the menu. what a cock. for main course he WANTED the Tournedos Rossini which is basically a fillet steak on a big crouton topped with a slice of foie grasse with a sauce of demi-glace and madeirra and i can't remember what else.

this was not on the reduced menu.

which he knew.

CUNT

and he wanted it WELL DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

what a troll!

washed down with 3 bottles of cotes du rhone.

all is going well until his main course arrives on a (warm) plate that is not "hot enough". this was 'par for the course' but still annoying.

"terribly sorry sir, will take care of that" says i (wanting to cunt him in the fuck), off to kitchen, transfers rossini to salver and pops under bottom of grill to keep warm. blaireau grabs fresh "dudson steelite tm" dinner plate from hot cupboard,(seeing the red rag he was shaking at my bull!) lights twin gas ring on hob and deposits plate above flames.

fresh pan and madeira and demi-glace produces re-vitalising sauce for the now tired steak.

literally glowing-red plate (I AM NOT FUCKING JOKING, THESE PLATES ARE FORGED BY SATAN HIMSELF TO TAKE THIS HEAT) welcomes rossini with a fizz and a splutter and the fresh sauce literally FROTHS with effervescent boiling energy, cooling the plate by maybe a hundred or so degrees.

even so, as i carried the dish the 15 yards from kitchen to table i could really feel the HEAT forcing its way through the many layers of my linen serving cloth.

as i approached table 5a the twat extended his arm to recieve his plate...

"i really wouldn't recommend touching the plate, sir. it is a little hot"

twat reacts by reaching out even further, almost grasping the still fizzing platter of meaty goodness.

"seriously sir, the plate is RATHER HOT AND I WOULD SUGGEST THAT YOU DON'T TOUCH IT"

i manage to negotiate the plate past his grasping paw and on to the table.

"once again sir, chef (me! cos real chef is off being a dirty shagger) literally took you at your word (ie is a pedantic angry twat) and the plate is RATHER HOT"

guess how many steps i managed from the table before i heard an anguished squeel?

5?

4?

3?

2?

1!

only 1!


hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!


CUNT WITH A BURNT PAW!!!!!!




being the ever professional and ever compassionate blaireau69 i fetched him a wet cloth and some ice for his mitt.

i did manage to point out that he had been warned too, the tart agreed and he could only nod somewhat meekly...








and he left a £25 tip too!









a burning ring of fire!!!





and i also phoned da feds and got him busted for drink driving that night. they picked him up 400 yards from the hotel.



revenge is a dish best served cold?


naah, red hot is best!!



if i get enough replies then i'll post the other (very dodgy) second story about this twat!


length? it was on the gas for a full 3 minutes.
girth? about 270mm of glowing red ceramic.
( blaireau69 , the Cumbrian Travis Bickle., Fri 19 Sep 2008, 1:30, 4 replies)

Food sabotage
Sadly my one instance of food sabotage is quite lame.
But a friend really pulled a sick one.

Mine, back in the days when i regularly cooked for friends, there was one guy who always put loads of salt on his food before he even tasted it.
I seethed about it for ages until one day I asked him why he did that.
He said liked lots of salt and I didnt add enough. Fu*kwit!
After eating my free food once a week for over a year and never once reciprocating I snapped.
Next time he came round for food, i poured a whole salt cellar onto his plate and mushed it in.
He of course proceeded to pour salt onto the plate as soon as I set it down in front of him.
I just gave him a glare and said I have salted that already for you, if you dont finish that I will never feed you again.
And watched him bravely try to eat it all, and fail.
And yes he never got free food from me again.

My friends story, much better.
Her BF liked to drink those poncy herbal teas, like hibiscus and monkey tail with a hint of amazonian dolphin.
Tea bag that sits in you cup with a string dangling over the edge.
After she found out he had cheated on her she made him a cup of something red coloured.
He took a few sips before removing the string to find a used tampon.
Class, I loved that woman :)
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 1:20, 1 reply)

pint o' vom please!!
Ok....Some many years ago a group of friends and i where at a 'rock night'. It was pretty empty, only bout 20 people there and we where bored. So after much drinking and smoking we realised we had spilt a fair bit on the table. Someone got one of the grey, stinking rags from the bar, mopped it up and squeezed it out into a pint glass.

Being silly we bet a mate 'N' to down it for a fiver. It was grey, had ash floating in it... it was foul. But he heartily agreed being the mad bastard he is. So downing the ominous concoction he rushes off and proceeds to throw up in the glass...

Marching back to us with vomit pint in hand he bets us his fiver back he cant make some other pour sap drink it. The Bet Is On.

We wander over to some pour barely 18 kid and manage to convince him that N has a glass of a bit of everything from behind the bar. (please bare in mind the glass was full of thick syrupy, steaming vom, how he didnt see this i dont know!!)... The kid downs a full half a pint befor we all fall over laughing histericly and tell him it was Ns vomit.... he wanders off muttering into the night.


Am i evil?
(Serbitar Has a furry shit canon called Whitey., Fri 19 Sep 2008, 1:16, Reply)

Mayonasty
More of a pre-emptive revenge.

I had "Make 2 gallons of mayonnaise" on my work list. I got all the ingredients together and got to work on the pedestal mixer and just when I thought the time was right I ran off to get a half pint of hot water to "set" the mayo.

I got to the hot water still to find that everyone in the building had just made tea and there was no hot water. I ran back to the mixer to stop it and heard the horrible "slop, slop, slop" noise of a lot of fucked up mayonnaise - yolks and oil split, a nightmare to rectify in that quantity - Unless you tip in half a cup of sugar and an eggcup of lemony fresh washing up liquid. Job's a good'un

I save face and get the satisfaction of knowing that our customers are eating "free range, freshly made mayo" with poundworld washing up liquid. Nice.
(The Fretful Porpentine, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 0:48, Reply)

Cider
So many stories that begin with variations on "When I was at uni...". Ah well, here's another one.

It's probably fair to say that if you fill one floor of a halls of residence with all first year male students, you'll quickly end up with an anarchic testosterone-fuelled environment where the chief priorities of the residents are drinking, avoiding working and almost constant practical jokes.

We conformed to this theory perfectly, and during one particular evening where we were engaged in all three of these activities; Baz, a cider drinker (names have been changed), foolishly decided to leave his drink unattended whist he visited the gents. Seizing this golden opportunity, Rob emptied a bit out of Baz's glass and topped it up with his own golden brew.

Baz returned, and after only a few mouthfuls figured out that something was not right with his drink. Unable to contain his mirth, Rob fessed up.

However, Rob immediately began to regret it - Baz's ingenuity when is came to revenge was well-known, and as the evening progressed so Rob's paranoia grew.

Finally the anxiety was too much - Rob offered Baz his sincere apologies (resulting in much mockery from all those present), but didn't stop there - he insisted that as an act of penance, Baz fill a pint glass with his own piss, which Rob promptly downed.
(Photon wasting your time since, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 0:46, Reply)

I don't do sabotage, but I wish I had...
Back when I was in Halls at university I shared a flat with some girls who were rather evil and inclined to steal my food. I don't have a problem with that, being prone to a bit of judicious pilfering myself.

The problem I had was when they drank my Morgan's Rum then topped up the bottle with water thinking I wouldn't notice and then ruined my Tia Maria by filling up the bottle with lime cordial. What was with the lime? It completely ruined the bottle and they all denied doing it, blaming the stoners from downstairs.

Slightly less annoying, but still rather strange, was finding bits of crisps in my soft cheese where they'd used it as a dip. You'd think they'd either eat it all or not leave crumbs.
(Meya, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 0:33, Reply)

Nobody Steals My Lunch




Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 0:30, 9 replies)

hubris - via much pink c on on the red flowery t's
This tale is spun from the glorious days that were home economics/ food technology/ cooking lessons / whatever name it is the government gives to the double period where children can legally be placed in a room filled with sharp pointy objects, hot things and hormones and left barely supervised.

The being charged with looking after thirty of us in one year nine class was a Mrs. Lovejoy. I don't think sharing this matters as regards identity, she is bound to have left now anyway as what I am going to relate happened many moons ago. Plus it has to be one of the more inappropriate names for a teacher. Anyway, it's probably the fate of most teachers to be singled out for something for which they can easily be mocked, somewhere along the line. But this particular teacher made it very easy.

Tights.

Yep, that simple. Maybe not that funny or clever but effective nonetheless at keeping us entertained amongst ourselves. Maybe we were just that bored, or the heat from all the ovens had a strange effect on us. But every day, come hail or high water she would wear some pair of strange/ novelty / decorated tights. There were the relatively normal black fishnet ones with a flower pattern, but then there were the red chessboard pair, the stripes ... the tights and sandals in the summer... an old spin on a British holiday classic.

So where is the food in all this? Very well placed as it happens. In fact, it wasn't so much the food that was sabotaged, as the food that acted spontaneously on the behalf of some very grateful pupils to do the act itself.

Perhaps another truth about teachers is there is always one thing they will nag you on. Well, Mrs L was very hot(sorry...as you'll see) on the subject of heatproof gloves. Almost to the point of compulsion ... even to carrying things in a cold bowl that had been standing for ages!

Then came the day when we were each making various desserts. Everyone was doing their own thing as second period started and Mrs L was bustling around helping. She came up to the lucky soul who was making custard. This was not just any custard, this was Barbie's finest luminous pink, extra thick, instant custard. And it had been in the microwave for a good few minutes as Miss (plus tights) trotted up.

*Beeeeeep* I am at the table one over at this point, I hear a joking comment about the need for ovengloves made by a class mate, before I hear the immortal and soon to be fatal riposte sound from the lips of Mrs Lovejoy.

"I don't need oven gloves: I have asbestos fingers."

...

And so, flying in the face of all her own advice she removes the chalice of Barbie pink, extra thick custard from the innards of the microwave, bearing it triumphantly to the adjoining work surface. Until, seconds later, the rudely awakened Barbie pink, extra thick custard bestirs itself indigantly and communicates sharply via the old-fashioned but still sound means of the nervous system that yes, yes it is too hot and she might like to do something about it.

She does. Drops it. (Or more accurately, launches it decisively) Bowl flys to the floor and smashes. Love-ing the Joy of its new freedom, the Barbie pink, extra thick custard seeks to drive its lesson home - it heads instinctively for where it knows the damage will be personal, searing, lingering.

Seconds later there is pink custard all over her favourite tights, as well as the floor, work surface, table and, somehow, the microwave by now several feet away. And not only that, but her favourite pair: red and flowery this time. And yes, if anyone needed convincing that red and pink clash, there it was emblazoned in hot custard-searing glory.

There was an instant awestruck silence. She gazed round the room as thirty pairs of eyes shone back the reflection of her own hypocrisy, her pride reduced to the shattered shards of a standard school glass mixing bowl. Sabotage by custard, and literally by her own hands.

And there I shall leave her, standing in the dim mists of my memory ... later having to face the poor pupil whose custard it had been, and as a final insult, having to make a replacement batch. I can't remember what the custard was even supposed to be gracing. But things changed after that day, we never forgot... And yes she still wore tights, but more importantly, she always wore oven gloves.
(treaclebriggs, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 0:24, 1 reply)

If a woman injects poison into an apple for her husband, the husband throws the apple away, a tramp eats the apple and dies...
...did the woman kill the tramp and is she responsible for his death?
( Zuowan, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 0:05, 3 replies)

I've never been shit enough to get asked to make tea at work.
I sometimes wonder, for a second or two, how these people must feel.

Pretty shit I'd say.
( Dave Trouser ; the people's choice - 75% agree, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 0:05, 3 replies)

'nuff said

(UXB you said it man. Nobody fucks with the Jesus, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 0:02, 5 replies)

I've never sabotaged anyone's food.
And never will.
( Spider Fucking Riviera got stiches for a knife wound for the first time, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 23:46, 6 replies)

I used to work in burger king.
Nuff said...

Length? 100% bovine.
(shengus, Thu 18 Sep 2008, 23:43, Reply)