Mordorians will know that on older tube carriages the seats are made of one continous piece of padding and cloth.
Mrs Vagabond is petite, and when a 20-stone lump of lesbian lard sat down next to her, Mrs Vagabond nearly actually hit the ceiling.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 21 Apr 2011, 11:27, Reply)

I used to work in the United States of America, where they have an entirely different class of fatty
Being a trendy high-tech company in silicon valley, the office had its own gym, bikes you could borrow to go riding, squash and badminton courts - you name it, they had it. One day the fellow in the cubicle next to me (who must have weighed thirty stone if he weighed a pound) came back from a break, sweating buckets. "Been to the gym?" I asked. "Nah," he said. "Two games of pool."
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 21 Apr 2011, 11:03, 4 replies)

I used to work with a guy...
...who was 20-stone. He used to say that he was bulimic but forgot to throw up.
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Thu 21 Apr 2011, 10:40, Reply)

Just over a month ago ...
... I dragged my wife and 5 month old daughter halfway across the world (5500 miles in fact) in order to take a job in California.

It's terrible: the company provides free food amongst loads of other free stuff and piles of cool prototype applications to play around with long before they get released to the public. Oh and money. Did I forget the money? They're paying me shed-loads of it.

Ahhhh, life is good.

Mr T smugly sits back to contemplate his croissant and wine.
(Mr T, Thu 21 Apr 2011, 3:50, 21 replies)

Had a group lunch today in fatclass
the one bulimic among us ate 3 helpings of shrimp pasta. She had to be escorted to the bathroom to make sure she didn't vom.

I ate 2 helpings, then went home and ate 2 slices of pizza before making 14lbs of lasagna for 3 different people.
(nolongernuts, Thu 21 Apr 2011, 2:25, 4 replies)

fags
When I was about 18 a group of us congregated at the local pub. With us was Gary Bricknell, who was a famous tightarse amoungst our group.
It happened to be his birthday, so we did not mind too much that yet again he had forgotten his wallet.
So we all had a whip round, and offered him all the cahnge we had between us (probably about 20 quid (back in good 'ole '87 that was still not much cash)
All Gary had to do was eat a cigarette. Always game for any dare he consumed the cigarette, then ran to the bogs to chuck up.
Unfortunatly he did not eat the butt so we all took our cash back.
Payback time for Gary :)
(CUNextTuesday, Thu 21 Apr 2011, 1:22, 2 replies)

Worse thing I've done for money? I should be doing it right now
Right now I should be working on a website designed to tell parents the birthsign, moonsign and name numerology of their baby. Bloody hell what a load of new age bollocks!

But they're not paying me to tell them that it's all a huge steaming pile of rancid weasel droppings, which appeals only to the kind of credulous fucktards who would have difficulty winning a battle of wits with plankton, so sod it.

At least my name won't appear anywhere on it.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 22:18, 9 replies)

nuts
i have a bag of dry-roasted peanuts. i can't stop eating the damn things. i know they will give me stomach cramps, i know they'll make me constipated, i know i will not now be able to eat my delicious hot and spicy thai vegetable soup, but can i leave the tasty little fuckers alone?
no. no i can't.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 21:48, 18 replies)

Bacon
I've just had a bacon sandwich, made with lovely lovely mmmmmmnomnom streaky bacon. Followed by another. And another.

I have only stopped as I have run out of bacon.

I love bacon.

I am not a fat cunt.
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Wed 20 Apr 2011, 21:45, 5 replies)

Steak
On holiday once, we chanced upon a steakhouse that did 32oz steaks. Never one to turn down a challenge, I duly ate the steak and received a certificate upon the wall for my achievement...as well as a voucher for a free 16oz steak.

The only problem was we were leaving the next day.

So I did what any glutton would do, and presented my voucher to the waiter and told him I'd have it now.

The flight home was most uncomfortable.
( doctordoctor I feel like a pair of curtains, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 21:34, 3 replies)

Oh well,
I might as well repost his :

( Matth knows what yellow snow tastes like, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 20:23, Reply)

The very definition.

( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 20 Apr 2011, 18:47, 13 replies)

Biting the inside of your cheek repeatedly
is God's way of telling you to stop eating those Tesco Value mint imperials.

But I don't believe in god, so I'm going to finish the bag. Probably with a massive hole in my cheek.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 16:16, 1 reply)

Do bets count?
Worst thing I did to win a bet was to gain intimate carnal knowledge of the woman of my mate's choice from the selection in the club we'd found ourselves in. I was about 20 at the time.

He picked a 40+ hippocrocopig who was 20 stone if she was a piound. i bought her a few drinks, laid on the charm, delivered the ultimate line of "what are my chances of seeing you naked tonight?", blew the cobwebs off her fanny and did the deed.

A hard-earned £20 there. Not only did I have to close my eyes and imagine she was someone else, I had to imagine I was someone else...
(ScousersPet, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 16:01, 10 replies)

On topic...
worst thing I've done for money?

Medical research test subject.

It was a trial for an anti scarring drug - they gave me six scars on my arms (three on each side) and injected one side with said drug (or a placebo). I then had to go back once a month for a year to have pictures taken of the scars to see which ones were healing better.

I got about £1200 over the 12 months for that. Easy money, in my book.
(ScousersPet, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 15:56, 2 replies)

Last week whilst home alone
I made some lunch, and then rooted through the cupboards looking for dessert of any sort. There was nothing. No cakes, buns, ice-cream. Not even any biscuits. 'Arse' I thought. Then I hit upon a brainwave. I dug out a cookbook checked what we had in the cupboards and found that I had the ingredients to make a lemon meringue pie. So I did. I did intend to just eat a slice and save the rest for the family, but it was rather yummy so I polished off the lot - about 12" across and a good few inches high. It was a somewhat generous pie.

Then set about washing up all the pots so the only evidence was that I was stuffed to the gills with lemony goodness, so stuffed that I actually had a bit of a sweat on. I was at that level of fullness where you make an involuntary groaning noise when you move.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 15:14, 12 replies)

Blackberry Greed
Before blackberries meant a phone they were a fruit (kids take note), a tasty fruit made better with a sprinkle of sugar. So as it was I had spent a sunday morning with the parents picking these tasty little fuckers.

We drove home and I was clutching my little bucket of them in the back of the car, agreeing with my mam that I should wash them before I ate them (as I munched through several).

I was about 8 and it was nice and sunny so I got my little plastic chair and mosey'd into the front garden. Everyone was playing out and soon their attention turned to me, swinging on the back legs of my little blue seat, feeding myself.

"whats that?"
"can we have some?"
"aw please?"

The remonstrations rained down on me, but I remained steadfast, and kept them to myself.

It was when my friends had given up and gone to play baseball misfortune struck. Literally, in the chops. A stray ball was sent my way, knocking me backwards and emptying the contents of my little bucket all over my bart simpson "dont have a cow man" t-shirt and face.

I was stained by the juice and my t-shirt was never the same, I only had to go to school the next day slightly purple.

Im not sure what I cried more over, the pain or the loss
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 14:30, Reply)

My greed for beer was my downfall
I was in the pub with my then-girlfriend, who asked if I'd like to go and fuck her in the toilets.

"Yes," I replied. "Just let me finish my pint first."

She lost all interest after that. In hindsight, I made a mistake. I should have taken my pint with me and balanced it on her back.
( CaptainCrackerjack live trout, slow motion, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 14:22, 27 replies)

Never go shopping at the supermarket when you're hungry.
Eat first, otherwise you'll end up buying all manner of crap.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 13:48, 9 replies)

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 13:19, 5 replies)

Muchie box anyone?
For those greedy Scots!

More info: blog.23x.net/5/what-is-a-munchy-box.html


(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 12:55, 23 replies)

A lesson not learned...
It's surprising how I can remember this so well after all this time...

Many years ago, when I was only about four years old, my Nan was babysitting me on a particularly nice summer's day. I had spend most of my time running around the small back-garden, and not causing any trouble.

As a treat, my Nan decided to get me a chocolate dessert pot out of the 'fridge. It would have been the size of any regular yoghurt pot that you find in the supermarkets these days, but to a four-year-old me, it looked huge. Being a sensible Nan, she was only going to let me have about half of the pot, as it was a rich dessert. I was never the sort of child who screams and stamps their feet "I WANT! I WANT! I WANT!" ad infinitum when they don't get what they want - quite the contrary, in fact, but on this occasion my eyes were bigger than my stomach. I just had to have the rest of that delicious, smooth, chocolaty pot of heaven...

Soon, I went into full tantrum mode, stamping my feet and so on.

"No, Stevie, you'll get an upset tummy."

"I WANT IT! I WON'T BE SICK! I PROMISE!"

This went on for a little while, and soon enough, my Nan decided to let me have it. She knew it would make me feel sick, and I get the feeling she wanted to teach me a valuable lesson.

My little hands clamped around that pot as tight as I could manage, I was like Indiana Jones grasping that golden idol in Raiders of the Lost Ark - I beamed a grin so wide as I fumbled for the spoon and proceeded to shovel spoonful’s of that sickly-sweet chocolate dessert onto my maw.

It didn't take long for me to realise that Nan was right. I didn't want to say anything, but my gut had decided it didn't like me. It was very angry, indeed.

My Nan learnt more of a lesson that day than I did, having now spent twenty minutes frantically scrubbing chocolaty vomit out of the carpet. I know I certainly haven't learn a jot, and have since bitten off more than I can chew on more occasions than I can remember...
( theoriginalsteve <this space intentionally left blank>, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 11:35, 1 reply)

No, Mr Snake, my hand is not dinner.


Ouch.


(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 11:33, 21 replies)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY
I’ve always been a lover of food. Taste, texture and presentation rather than mounds of greasy product. Don’t get me wrong, if there’s a pile of pizza to be eaten I’ll help out, but it’s not really my thing. So my second date with the lovely to be Mrs ring of Fire, at one of those factory outlets for food wasn’t destined for success. Can’t remember which…FattyTGIBucketHouse or something. I forgave her because as a life long veggie she couldn’t be expected to know the difference between good food and slop, and I wanted inside her knickers.

I chowed down on my plate of brown food, the deep fried breaded mushrooms were a particular crime, and despite myself cleaned my plate like a good boy. Then the lights went low, Happy Birthday started blaring from the speakers and an appalling mound of machine created ‘Pavlova’ decorated with sparklers was carried into the eating area. I watched with increasing alarm and surprise as this thing was brought to our table and plonked in front of me. “Happy Birthday darling” said my shiny new girlfriend with a big grin on her face.
At least they’d provided two spoons I thought, as the as the apple of my eye took one dainty mouthful before she dropped her spoon onto the plate, declared herself full and sat back in the chair. My every attempt to do the same was blocked by faux coquettish “but I got it for you darling, for your birthday”, “this pudding shows how much I love you” type comments.

I left that place with the top button of my jeans undone and plans for revenge. I guess the Mrs was left with the knowledge she could play me like a cheap violin.

And no, it wasn’t my birthday
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Wed 20 Apr 2011, 11:15, 7 replies)

Pringles
If the slogan 'Once you pop, you can't stop' is true, how comes they have a resealable lid?

It is true, mind. Especially the Texas BBQ ones.
( CaptainCrackerjack live trout, slow motion, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 10:40, 13 replies)

Cereal killer
Between the ages of 12 and 16, I just couldn't eat enough. Living in Aberdeen, there was fuck all to do, since the only form of entertainment is going to the pub. So I rode up hill and down mountain on my trusty bike – all day, every day – working up quite an appetite.

Returning from a day's riding, I felt a bit peckish. The kitchen offered little but cereal (I'd probably eaten all the food the previous day), so I sat down for a bowl of weetabix.

Four of the lovely crunchy devils passed my lips in mere moments, so I retuned to the packet and popped another four into the bowl, along with the last half of the pint of milk I'd opened to lube those wheaty temptresses. I was still starving, so I whacked the last six from the packet into a mixing bowl and sloshed another half a pint of milk over their crunchy, curvaceous forms.

Only when I tried to move from the table did I realise that I'd just put pay to 14 weetabix in less than 20 mins. I don't recall the rest of the evening, but I do remember that the next morning, the resultant poo filled the bowl completely, and the last inch stuck up above the waterline.

Length? Ooh, I'd say at least a foot and a half.
(SimianKid internet faffer, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 10:09, 8 replies)

It is scientifically proven to be impossible to open a packet of Jammy Dodgers
and not finish them.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 20 Apr 2011, 9:31, 16 replies)