Cereal Killer
Upon returning from a holiday to japan a friend at work brought back the obligatory bags of dried fish and other unidentifiable nastiness that is inedible by us westerners.

They sat there untouched for months until one day, when extra bored, I hatched a cunning plan to boost moral. This was to insert a handful of the tiny stinky fish things into one of the miniature boxes of cereal another member of the team used to eat in the mornings.

It was masterful, whilst he was in a meeting one afternoon I went in though the bottom of the little carboard box, prised open the inner bag without damaging it and inserted the piscine suprises. Whatever sealed it in the first place was moist enough to reseal without any visual indication of tampering, and then I simply prit sticked the bottom of the box back together. You really couldn't tell that anything had been done to it. Of course by now everyone was in on it and we all waited for the next morning in anticipation of the great merrment.

Cue him going off cereal.

Six months later and in a different office we'd pretty much given up hope of him every eating the box of cereal sitting on his desk. Then one day he stands up and publicly announces "Hmm I really fancy some cereal".

He actually screamed when they came out.

I have never seen an entire office laugh so hard.
(Bert Wimple, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 13:02, Reply)

The Snot Rocket Salad
Before I knew what I wanted to do with my life I ended up at catering college.

The lecturer was a complete and utter arsehole (Alan Jenkins, Hereford College of Technology) A stereotypical angry shouty chef but with an extra portion of sarcasm and spite.

Not exactly helpful when you are meant to be teaching people how to do stuff but hey ho, he hust expected us to be able to do everything already "what do you mean you have never made pate before?".

Alan if you are by some miracle you are reading this ... you have eaten quite a lot of my snot and phlegm. In soups, Beef Wellington, Hot Cross Buns (that I taught YOU how to make)
And I think you are a cunt, but thank you, if it wasn't for you I would have ended up being a miserable chef bastard like you.

Also my Missus fed Marzipan fruits to her ex who claimed to have a nut allergy "to see what would happen" but I don't know if that counts
(Barry Chuckle has gone out in the thong to feed the pigeons, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:59, Reply)

David Winter
.
When I was a young sprog there was 9 day wonder by some bloke called David Winter.

David was a kind of faith-healer and he'd been contacted by this *HUGE* fat lass called Gloria. Gloria wanted David to make her lose weight. The way he did it was quite ingenious.

He had a the local slaughterhouse dump a ton of pig outside Gloria's house and, too make sure that she didn't eat it (or it might have been to stop to rotting) doused it in formaldehyde. Then Mr Winter made Gloria meditate while looking at the pork.

"Every time you're tempted to overeat, just think of this fatty meat. That's what you'll look like if you don't stop eating"

And bugger me if it didn't work. The weight just fell off Gloria and she ended up almost slyph-like.

Of course this story took the imagination of Fleet Street and David Winter became a minor celebrity. He wrote articles, put out a book and started making personal appearances which is where I met him. He'd been invited to open our local Summer Fete and, not only open the Fete, he was going to be the DJ for the Fete Dance.

So there I was in the crowd looking at Mr Winter along with the now famous pile of pig meat. The Vicar came to the microphone and I'll never forget the words he used to introduce him.

"This is D Winter of our disco-tent, who made Gloria slimmer with this ton of pork....."

Cheers

Shoot me, just shoot me now..
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:48, 3 replies)

It might be an urban myth but...
...I heard some bastard was putting meat on the shit in Big Macs.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:44, 1 reply)

Never annoy a barman
Firstly- big sis if you read this.. sorry!

So I used to work in a Firkin in High Wycombe. Shithole town, even shitter pub.

One day some suits came in (massive knotted ties, cnts basically) and were lording it over everyone, being quite rude to yours truly.

Seeing I was annoyed when serving them, the guy next to me said, don't worry I'll get the Guinness and gave me a wink.

After pouring the Guiness he then dropped the pint to waist height so they couldnt see it (and thought it was settling).

He then got old his old fella and wiped it several times round the rim of the glass, before finishing the drink and serving it with a cheeky smile.

The rest of the evening wasn't so bad after that!
(chimpo2k, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:42, Reply)

protein fix
Many years ago, I worked at a large amusement park in Surrey that the late HRH Diana used to frequent (she loved that log flume).

Whilst working in one of the many burger bars, a large, rude chav returned her burger to the counter, claiming it was cold. Rather than politely asking for it to be heated up, she shouted and spat, demanding a new one 'instead of this old shit'.

The supervisor, who was only aged about 17, took it from her, went into the store cupboard, cracked one off onto her burger, then placed it under the grill to warm through. After slapping another bit on cheese and mayo on it, he gave it back and laughed heartly as the fat cow scoffed the lot.

We also used to drop flies and spiders into the veggie burger frier.

I now only eat food I've prepared myself.
(avonlady, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:41, 5 replies)

sick tub
Tenuous and disgusting, but it involves food and the sabotage of people's day.

At Uni I lived with an incredibly skanky scratter named Phil. He was a born again Christian, incredibly thick but, most importantly was under the delusion that nothing could kill him, or harm him unless god willed it. He was, in short, a total fruitcake.

Given his beliefs he found it unnecessary to wash, had a "bath in a can" (a once over spray of deodorant) once a month and never, ever, did any washing up.

On the kitchen counter he had a washing up bowl full of water in which he'd leave his dirty pots and pans to "soak" in about six inches of water. The purpose of this procedure was to ensure that last nights dinner was removed from his pots, pans and plates ready for use the next day. On top of this he'd placed a firm lid so that over the course of the year an entire ecosystem had developed in the tub - he 'd never once cleaned it out or changed the water.

9 months in and this tub had started to smell extremely bad. It could be smelt from outside the flat, and visitors had started to retch and gag on entering the kitchen. Something had to be done.

Paul drew the short straw, and it was his task to make the initial foray - open the lid, and assess the contents. When the lid was prised off the smell was so bad he instantly projectile vomited inside the bowl, adding to the 12 inches of brown, green, orange and red gunk inside (examination showed it be comprised of layers similar to the dust rings of Jupiter, but with the consistency of jam). The lid was quickly replaced. Later on, thinking I was made of sterner stuff I had a go and added my own vomit.

Our kitchen window overlooked the main path into our halls of residence, so the obvious solution was to remove the tub (with lid firmly attached) to the corner of the path, place a sign on top with the words "Do not look inside me", and settle down with some smokes at the kitchen window. Over the course of a single afternoon around 15 different people opened the tub, and roughly half were sick inside. Each one got a resounding cheer from the crowd that had by now gathered in our kitchen to watch.

The tub was later removed by environment health officers. It was fucking disgusting.
( rofl harris, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:29, 2 replies)

The few times
I've ever had to resort to food sabotage, (mostly due to food stealage in a shared house) I've always used Dave's insanity sauce. A teaspoon full of this stuff is enough to take a hot curry to somewhere else entirely. Used sensibly it's a fantastic and very nescescary addition to any curry fans spice cupboard.

However just a tip of a teaspoons worth hidden inside a couple of delicious ham and pickle sandwiches is enough to give anyone second thoughts about snaffling your packed lunch again.
Apparentley the perpetrator "bellowed like a bull" and made for the watercooler at a high rate of knots.

Revenge is best not served cold, it's best served in a stolen sandwhich.
(uk_viper stopped lurking on, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:17, 5 replies)

Sugar, sugar.
I get a bit fed up with people moaning about how shit the QOTW is every week.

But, this one really is, isn't it?

Oh well.

I will try.

During holidays from Uni, I worked in a very posh hotel in Essex (yes, such things do exist in Essex, I promise).

And I nearly choked Alan Sugar to death.


It's OK though, because he is a right canute.


The Amstrad head offices are just 5 or so miles away from said hotel, and during my first week of working there, in bowled ol' canutey bollards giving it 'the big I am' in front of his staff (I have no idea if Nick & Margaret were among them, they weren't famous way back when) Which is ironic, given he is such a squat assed bar steward.

He demanded (not asked for, not requested, but demanded) expensive wines and drinks for his table. So off I trot like a good little waiter.bar gimp and provide him with the tip top most reds and whites from the list. Then gin & tonics, beers, cocktails, soft drinks etc. All dutifully delivered to his table.

I get grunts and demands to 'put that there, no NOT there' and so on, but nary a hint of a thank you.

Finally having given him everything he wanted, I trot off back to the bar and pour myself a stiff drink, fuming at the rude old codger.

When suddenly he steams up to the bar, holding his wine glass towards me with one hand and what looked rather like a shrivelled, dripping foreskin in the other.

And slowly it dawns on me...earlier I had cut my hand on a broken glass. I was new to the job, no body had told me about the blue plastic plasters that you are supposed to use in food environments, so I'd slapped a band aid on it and carried on.


I looked at my hand. The gaping, still bloody wound across my knuckle was visible, not hidden behind the plaster.

Of course it wasn't.

Because now, my bloody, dirty band aid was being waved in my face by a furious Alan Sugar, claiming that he had just pulled it out of his beardy twat mouth after taking a swig from his glass of red wine without looking.

I did what any sane person would do. Hid my hand behind my back, Apologised profusely through barely stifled giggles.

Then blamed a waiter.

OK, so its not technically sabotage, but its as close as I've got.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 12:05, 1 reply)

Rabbit pie
Steve, a diving colleague of mine had a mate that took a cuddly rabbit everywhere as a mascot. Why I don’t know – he was in his thirties. Obviously, it was the subject of many pranks. Someone would swipe it before they went on holiday and torment its owner with photographs of it on the beach and send them home as a postcard. Once, as they were travelling back convoy-style from a dive, rabbit had again gone missing. As the poor bloke looked in his rear view mirror, he saw Steve approaching at speed behind him – with rabbit tied firmly to the grill of the car.

He wasn’t very happy.

However, on a night out in a restaurant, they decided to really push the boat out. Managing to obtain the rabbit again, they went into the kitchen for a word with the chef. A short while later, the waiter came out with what appeared to be a deep-dish pie, topped with a delicious-looking crust.

Complete with fluffeh rabbit ears poking out of the top…

Apparently he went ballistic and left the club not long afterwards.

I did have another acquaintance who decided to go camping with a bunch of mates and be at one with nature. Really at one with nature - they would hunt their own food and everything.

They managed to catch a rabbit, skin it and cook it. Unfortunately for them it transpired that the bunny was a bit manky and they spent the next 24 hours shitting through the eye of a needle before deciding to go home.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 19 Sep 2008, 11:56, Reply)

Unexpected Horse!
“Tak, Oldemor!” I said, as I arrived in Struer, Denmark, and my Great Grandmother presented me with my birthday present. I had turned Eighteen, and was abroad (and yet at home) on my own for the first time in my life.

I was there to celebrate my Great Grandmother’s upcoming Eighty-Seventh birthday. The big day came around, and the house, nestled deep within Struer’s cobbled streets, was a hive of activity. Cold meats of all descriptions were laid out. Frikadellen were being fried off in the biggest pan I’ve ever seen while røde pølser boiled gently on the stove. It was a true Det kolde bord, and we surrounded the family with lashings of Tuborg and Faxe. The scene was set.

People started arriving from all over the country. Within an hour, the house was full to the rafters, and so it was that we sat down to eat. I piled my plate high and, just as I was about to tuck in to the feast, I noticed a small plate with grated cheese on it, that no-one else seemed to be interested in. Praising my thoughtful family for providing a little something to go with the cured ham, I stuck my fork in.

Taking a good piece of rye bread, I spread a generous helping of Lurpak across it (is there anything nicer than Lurpak on Danish rye?). I put down a thick layer of grated cheese, and topped it with a slice of peppered Danish Salami, and a nice slice of cured ham. It was the king of all Pålæg.

I opened my mouth wide, as wide as it would go, and felt the cool sensation as it began to water. I raised the sandwich to the cavernous opening, and must have pushed around half of it in to my great, fat mouth.

I chewed, my face painted with the dumb expression of one who is being gluttonous and is damned proud of it. I chewed. But it was rapidly becoming clear that something was very, very wrong. Instead of the lovely creamy sensation of cheese, my mouth was becoming hotter and hotter. The colour change that ran up my neck and in to my cheeks and forehead is now part of family folklore. I wouldn’t be surprised if steam had started flowing out of my ears. I felt the bile rising, and rushed to the toilet.

I shall omit what happened in that room, for the purposes of decency. That, and you fine people have been told enough of my vomit in the last few weeks.

I returned to the table, pale of face and shaky of leg, to be met by raucous laughter. I opined that the cheese must be off.

“Not cheese!” said my Great-Grandmother, “Radish of Horse!” Another peal of laughter burst around the table.

“For fanden!” I cried. I had stuffed my greedy face with a thick layer of grated, fresh, horseradish. From that day to this, I have not been able to eat it.

And that is how I was made to vomit by an unexpected Horse!
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 11:49, 7 replies)

Michael Winner again.
So, smart-arsed cunt director and food ‘critic’ Michael Winner came into the restaurant the other evening. I decided to pay him back for a lifetime of generally being a twat by wanking into his crème brulee.

Unfortunately the patrons of the establishment didn’t take kindly to me standing in the middle of his table, frantically pulling myself off and grinning like a wanking Jap. So the management threw me onto the street, lad still in hand, before I could give him his ‘just desserts’.

To cap it all, I got spunk on my suede shoes as I was forcibly ejected.

Never one to give up easily, I was able to sneak into the kitchen the next day when no one was looking, with the intention of adding my own 'chef's special sauce' into his spaghetti carbonara. Due to an unfortunate and frankly unlikely bout of myopia, I misjudged the distance between groin and pan, and burned my cock.

Sometimes life ain’t fair. Etc.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 19 Sep 2008, 11:36, 7 replies)

Ah, wee Neily
He is a meek fellow, of sleight frame and character.

I am known for my ability to tolerate alcohol with ferocity - i have Irish and Scots heritage, and a liver of steel. My friends who have similarly grown up with me are also of this kin.

Wee Neily, however, is not.

One raucous night at my house, we had a cocktail evening. Now, i like my Martini dry with a twist. But tonight we went OTT. Mixing Balkan Vodka (88% proof) with Tanqueray 10 Gin (55.7%) and vermouth. To add to the concoction, we slipped a lick of Czech absinthe in (50-60%? Who knows).

Me and my hearty fellows were drinking maybe one or two of these bad boys. That was our limit. We dared Neily to drink one.

He'd had a few bevvies already, and we knew he'd be game. But he had cricket the next day, and declined. We upped the wager.

£15 from all of us if he does.

...

He accepts.

We pour the same mixture, except we added more than a lick of absinthe. In fact, one could call it an entire shot. Or two.

Up in the air, down his gullet and then he went pale. Very, very pale.

"Neily, out the back to vom!"

And so he did. He returned a few minutes later not quite compos mentis. It seems that alcohol takes exactly 30 seconds to reach the brain after consumption. He went out staggering, he came back in... unable to walk. We had to hold him up, he was gibbering gibberish. I mean, it was like biblical "talking in tongues" stuff.

And that is the story of how we sabotaged Neily's weekend. He was quite ill.
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Fri 19 Sep 2008, 11:23, 2 replies)

Vege-sabotage
My ex girlfriend's flatmate was an annoying shit. She came from Kensington and was what I call a fashion vegetarian, in that she'll only not eat the cute animals. Chicken and fish are fine but not lamb and pork because they're adorable.

On top of this half arsed attempt to appear "cool" and "liberal", she was a lazy arse who never did her share of the washing up, often leaving pots out for so long I'm pretty sure they could be classified as living organisms, judging by the gunk that was growing on them. And she once left a snotty note asking us not to cook bacon as "the smell offended her".

Anyway, it just so happened that one day I became the possessor of a large quantity of bacon (long story). We had loads and loads of the stuff and me and the exgirlf had no idea what to do with it all since we'd not be able to eat it all before it went nasty.

So we decided to wash up all her flatmate's stuff and put it all away as a goodwill gesture.

Oh, and we rubbed bacon on everything. Seriously, every piece of cutlery, crockery, even her stupid jars of pesto. They all got a bacon rub.

I got dumped before she found out about it unfortunately, darn it.
(GONEism, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 11:20, 2 replies)

When food tampering gets out of hand
Working in the building trade, things tended to happen to food every now and again.

One chap pulled his rolls out one day and bit into one and someone had put a teabag in it, cue face pulling and loose tea spilling from his open mouth. Thinking it was me, I got a surprise the next day when I bit into my lovingly prepared sandwiches and chomped through a dozen matchsticks one of which stuck in the roof of my mouth.

Following day he gets a small circle of carpet in one of his rolls (again not me) at this point we realise who the culprit is. We were trying to hatch a plot, when upon removing an old radiator we found a very flat, dessicated dead mouse. We couldn't, could we? Of course we did, the look on his face, cheeks stuffed with sarnie peeling apart those 2 slices of hovis and peeking in at the dead rodent still makes me chuckle.
(clowns_pocket, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 11:13, Reply)

Theres a hair in my pie
My 'friends' once offered to make pudding for the 1st Christmas dinner we made in our student flat. I suppose we should have been suspicious when they turned up with a pizza box but when we opened it there was a delicious looking 'apple' pie complete with homemade pastry and sugar on top so we though no more about it and proceeded to get majestically pissed and stuff ourselves with turkey etc. The pie was then brought to the table along with brandy butter and ice cream. Yum! We thought. This would be the perfect end to a lovely evening. Imagine our horror when discovering whilst cutting into delicious pie that it was filled with hair. Human hair. Collected by the so called 'friends' from the local hairdressers and baked fresh that day. Oh how they laughed at the notion of bringing a hair pie to our ladies only flat. One of their girlfriends was so incensed that she didn't speak to him for a week. I laughed. A lot. They managed to sneak it out of the bin and into our freezer which we didn't discover for a few days which was nice. Beware of pies in pizza boxes!
(Happycow - 2% pure beef, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 11:12, 3 replies)

I could have a sabotage story on the way...
We get lots of stuff delivered to where I work that has those little sachets of silica gel in them. It occured to me the other day how remarkably like packets of sugar they are, so I've nestled a few amongst the sugar packets.

That stuff isn't lethal to ingest is it?
(GONEism, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 11:05, 6 replies)

Sometimes it's just the thought that counts.
First up, I'm a wee bit of a food snob. Nothing over the top and nothing I shove up other peoples's noses - its just that I have principles re: food; and fast food is very much against those principals. That said....
Sometimes, maybe 3 or 4 times a year, nothing else will *do* but some hideously delicious KFC. I know it will make me feel sick afterwards and make my whole throat feel like I deep-throated a grease-trap...but, dammit! That crunchy salty chookiness is, well, I'm sure the majority of you know what I'm talking about.
Anyhoo, given my obvious conflicts regarding my guilty pleasure, it would follow that my mood is somewhat ~combustive~ when I climb down from my ivory tower and duck into the chicken joint.
One such memorable occasion, I pull into a drive-thru' on my way home from uni. And the queue is loooong. I'm already having second thoghts about sitting there and sucking exhaust fumes when this utter fucknuckle in an earth-hating ford F250 complete with cnuting CARAVAN (Australia is littered with these twats. 'Grey Nomads' they call themselves, cruising the beauty spots of the country, towing their dreary cliches with bumper stickers that proclaim 'I'm driving my children's inheritance!' Baby Boomers are selfish cocks.) decides that he has to absolutely join the queue IN FRONT OF ME.
Seriously.
Queue jumping in a freaking drive-thru lane! I briefly toyed with brazening it out and trying to out-manouver him..but he was possessed with a large fuck-off roo bar on his front end and I drive a wee small 2 door mitsubishi. Eyeballing me and sneering with his overfed, over-made up, smug slapperwifey laughing beside him while I helplessly (but rudely!) gestured and beeped my squeaky little horn he just kept nudging in...
Right.
Fuck this and fuck HIM.
So I peeled out of the queue, parked up, and actually entered the store. What a weird experience! The queue of cars outside in the drive-thru' had to be at least 15 cars(and one cnuting caravan)long, but the store itself was empty. Hah! I win! I place my order, get my grease and am out the door *just* as CaravanPig has pulled past the little box where you are required to scream over the static and place your order. Where the the lane closes in as it passes the neighbouring building. Where escape is no longer an option. Where there are still a good 7 cars in line before you.
I knew what needed to be done.
Swinging my bag of goodies in a carefree manner, I smiled and waved to the person in the the drive-thru' window. I didn't know them and they didn't know me, mind, we'd had no interaction at all, but hey, Perth is a friendly city and they politely waved and smiled back. so it looked like I knew them. It looked like we might be in cahoots...perhaps sharing a joke :D
Sauntering down beside the cars in the drive-thru' I stop at CaravanKnobEnd's petrol wasting penis extension and, smiling gently, tap on his window. He lowers it about 10 cms or so and snarls "Yair? Whawt?"('coz he is an arrogant arse) I grin sweetly ('coz I'm made of fucking sugar and spice) and say "WE didn't spit in your food. Honest!" And then i got into my wee car, waved and smiled once more and drove away.
I hope he enjoyed his repast. I certainly enjoyed mine, but felt a bit ill after. As usual.
(St Sepulchre's Belle tolled for thee on, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 10:52, 1 reply)

I use mince
as a soya substitute.
(Halfy By light alone, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 10:50, Reply)

Mrs Thatcher
I rubbed my cock on Mrs T's new spectacles, which I had just made. Not food or tea, but I just need to tell everyone.
My life-long socialist Father cried with pride when I told him.

She wore them for years too
(BigAndyBee, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 10:49, 5 replies)

Whilst a biochemistry student
I was required to to a bizarre practical which involved measuring the speed of passage of vitamin C through the digestive system. I had to take a massive dose of the vitamin and then collect samples of my piss hourly for the next twelve hours.

I also had to store them in the fridge to ensure the vitamins wouldn't degrade. I was a first year in halls at the time and my co-residents were not at all happy about these vials of piss turning up in the communal refrigerator.

After the first couple of samples, I went to the fridge and got a horrible shock - the earliest sample had turned blood red! At the following hour the next earliest had also gone red and the original had gone black! At this point I started to think there must be something seriously wrong with me ... and moreso when I opened the fridge a third time and found a third sample had also become bright red.

The next time I went the next sample in line had turned green. After a moment of abject horror I suddenly rumbled what had been going on - one of the other students in the hall had been carefully sneaking food dye into the samples in order to freak me out ....
(MattDP (Squiggle), Fri 19 Sep 2008, 10:47, 1 reply)

Food Sabotage it is then
I have a way of sabotaging food for you lot.




Watch 2girls1cup, I'll wait.........






Done?

Who wants a big chocolate ice cream sundae?

No-one?
(UncleChuckles "Cthulhu fhtagn", Fri 19 Sep 2008, 10:31, 1 reply)

accidental kebabotage
Me mate told be about this once; he got home from a night out and had to be quiet as he was living with his gran at the time. He sneaks into the house in the early hours carrying his prize; a full size kebab with all the trimmings. After stumbling about aimlessly, he decides to stash the kebab somewhere and have it the next morning.
He wakes up early the next day and cleans himself up. Goes downstairs and suddenly remembers about the kebab. Shit, where'd I leave it? Runs upstairs, nope not in the bedroom. Quick glance in the bathroom, not there. Goes downstairs, checks in the living room, nope. Goes to the kitchen, looks in the microwave, breadbin, a few cupboards, nout.
Wtf? Checks the bin, that's clean too.
Ah well, lets have some cornflakes thinks he. Gets a bowl ready, opens the fridge...there's the kebab on the top shelf. It stank the entire fridge out. Every item of food in the fridge was infected by the smell; the butter, the veg, ham etc all stank of it.
He threw the kebab in the bin and ate his cornflakes with kebab-flavoured milk. His gran had to re-fill the fridge later on.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 10:24, Reply)

Didn't even disguise it
My cousins 12 year old came to stay for a few days. He loves money. So we usually get him to "perform" for his pocket money.

"Drink this cap full of Tabasco and I'll give you a fiver"

And he did, poor little buggers eyes were watering.

Well, it was a catering sized bottle.
(Yellow Car is now red, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 10:16, 1 reply)

Not technically sabotage...
...but it could have been done on purpose. I'd arranged to meet a friend at Victoria station, and as I'm waiting I happen to notice possibly the world's worst transvestite sitting down to eat outside Burger King. Honestly, he had a beard. I decided not to snigger because he was around 9 feet tall and he could probably beat me to a pulp whilst still in stilettos.

Anyway, much like myself he performed "burger surgery" before he ate (opening it up and removing the tomatoes and anything else that may wind up down the front of your shirt/dress). As he opened it up a pigeon swooped in from nowhere and shat all over his exposed burger.

I have honestly never seen anyone look so sad as that 9 foot man-lady did as he stared at his shit-covered burger.
(GONEism, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 10:16, 12 replies)

Elastic Sandwidge
There was a guy we used to work with who we shall refer to as Steve, for that was his name....

Steve used to bring sandwiches to work every day and after a time we found that these were lovingly made by his mother. He always had tuna sandwiches (because he was in "training") which used to make him feel sick when he ate them, so we used to sit round his desk burping at him whilst he ate them. This made him REALLY want to gip and was really funny at the time, but I digress.

The best jape we pulled was when we put elastic bands in his tuna sarnies and he sat there chewing for absolutely ages before he uttered the immortal words...

"These sarnies are a bit rubbery today"

He didn't swallow.

I suppose you had to be there...
(SillyMoo, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 10:10, 2 replies)

Bogies
This was waaay back when I was at school, and it was against our Latin teacher, so if memory serves, our reasons for doing it was because he was...well, a Latin teacher.

He had a habit of leaving the room quite a lot, which is really not a good idea when it's an all boys secondry school full of some utter scallywags. Anyway, my best mate of the time thought it would be amusing to put a bogie in the teacher's coffee. We all sniggered as he downed his cup of tea without even noticing it (which raises a question of physics. For him to not have noticed, the bogie must have sunk. I always thought bogies floated. Oh well).

Anyway, he decided to up the ante every day, adding another bogie every day. He got up to 9 bogies before he noticed. He actually cried a bit when he worked it out, poor thing.
(GONEism, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 10:05, Reply)

Sorry Mum...
Some time last month, I arrived home very drunk and made my way to the kitchen for some water. It was here that I noticed my mum had made a huge chocolate cake, it looked lovely and she'd obviously spent a lot of time and effort on it.
In my drunken state I thought it was funny to sabotage it.I got a tin of pineapple rings from the cupboard and placed it on top of the cake so I could score a circle around it. Once I'd done this, I cut down and removed the inside of the cake, filled it back up with the pineapple rings, and placed about an inch of the cake back on top, to cover my tracks. Then I stuck a cocktail stick in it, with a small flag which read 'Turd Mountain'.

My mum was not happy the next day.....
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 9:44, 3 replies)

So a few years ago, in my travels,
I came across a bald man that wanted a battle of wits. There were two goblets of drink before us, and I took a packet of powder from my pocket, and emptied it into one of the goblets, whilst his back was turned.
The man said, “It's so simple. All I have to do is divine from what I know of you: are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or his enemy's? Now, a clever man would put the poison into his own goblet, because he would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given. I am not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But you must have known I was not a great fool, you would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”
“You've made your decision then?” I replied.
“Not remotely,” he said. “Because iocane comes from Australia, as everyone knows, and Australia is entirely peopled with criminals, and criminals are used to having people not trust them, as you are not trusted by me, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.”
“Truly, you have a dizzying intellect,” I returned.
“Wait til I get going! Now, where was I?”
“Australia.”
“Yes, Australia. And you must have suspected I would have known the powder's origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”
“You're just stalling now.”
“You'd like to think that, wouldn't you? You've beaten my giant, which means you're exceptionally strong, so you could've put the poison in your own goblet, trusting on your strength to save you, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But, you've also bested my Spaniard, which means you must have studied, and in studying you must have learned that man is mortal, so you would have put the poison as far from yourself as possible, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”
“You're trying to trick me into giving away something. It won't work,” I said.
“IT HAS WORKED!” he yelled. “YOU'VE GIVEN EVERYTHING AWAY! I KNOW WHERE THE POISON IS!”
“Then make your choice.”
“I will, and I choose - What in the world can that be?” He pointed behind me, distracted me and switched the goblets, the slimy bastard!
“What? Where? I don't see anything,” pretending his ruse was had worked.
“Well, I- I could have sworn I saw something. No matter. First, let's drink. Me from my glass, and you from yours.”
We both picked up our goblets of wine, and drank our fill.
I said to the man, “You guessed wrong.”
Clearly overjoyed at my apparent gaff, he jumped up, shouting “You only think I guessed wrong! That's what's so funny! I switched glasses when your back was turned! Ha ha! You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well-known is this: never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha..."
The man fell over and died. For you see, they were both poisoned. I spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocane powder. And that was how I survived the food sabotage.
Sincerely,
Westley
(w4I4q1O1 was hard at work on, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 9:43, 10 replies)