I Did The Funny Walk
You know, the one from the Fawlty Towers episode "The Germans" where John Cleese goes apeshit? I did it in the lounge, nice and safe inside the house, to try and get a laugh from the other half.

Her toddler was watching from the garden and proceeds to copy it...

For the next half an hour.

This is a Sunday afternoon!

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
(Jamie and his magic bat You can bump n' grind, it is good for your mind, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 16:03, 2 replies)

More fun with the disabled...
A few years ago, my housemate and I were awake at silly in the morning, smoking far too much in the way of illegal things. I don't know if you've ever been stoned at three in the morning, but it can often seem like a really good idea to watch whatever the late night TV is showing.

We came across one of those educational shows. It was about a special needs class who were using music computer programmes to express themselves. The finale was a whole massive song they had written, and some of them played live instruments too.

Now, it was actually a very interesting documentary. However, at the end they chose to accompany the song with a montage of not only the kids grinning, bobbing about, playing along and singing (I think I might just have been able to cope with that), but it was interspersed with clips of fields, bunny rabbits, flowers, that sort of thing.

We couldn't cope. It was the sort of laughter that actually hurts after a while. It was made all the worse when another housemate came down to see what all the hilarity was about. The look of disgust he gave us was a wonder to behold, as all he saw was us laughing like lunatics at kids with downs, palsy etc.

Thing is, I still have to force myself not to laugh when I think about it.
(HarryTheMole whatever's on my finger is going in your mouth, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 15:49, 3 replies)

Just remembered this...
I was waiting in Cambs to get on the train down to London, with my mother. I was about 21 at the time. Just as the train arrived, this little old-ish lady (probably mid-60s) tried to barge in front of us, and then gave us evils when we held our ground and refused to let her force her way onto the train before us.

Anyway, she sat down near us in the (otherwise completely empty) carriage, and stared at us, all the while muttering under her breath (I've no idea what about, but am guessing it concerned the lack of moral fibre and politeness of young people these days, they've got no respect, oooh my hip's playing up again, look at her, sitting there all young and carefree, what's the world coming to).

This pissed my mother and I off, so I randomly started swearing ("fuck! cunt! shitty spunkbung!"), and twitching. The woman stopped looking narked, and started looking slightly worried.
My mother, bless her, played along, leaning forward with a look of concern and saying "oh dear, is it playing up again? Did you take your medication? Shall I call the police?
At this, the woman abruptly stood up and left, casting fearsome glances over her shoulder at me.

I'm not going to hell for impersonating a mentalist, but for the warm self-righteous glow it gave me to see her looking so scared of me.


(Please excuse spelling mistakes. Been for long and boozy lunch, yay!)
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 15:19, 12 replies)

In Memory of Baby P
(To the tune of Fresh Prince of Bel Air)

Now this is the story all about how
My spine got snapped, turned upside down
And I’d like to take a minute so just listen to me
I’ll tell you how I became a corpse known as Baby P

In North London born and raised
In the hospital is where I spent most of my days
Bruised and beaten to within an inch of my life
Had my fingertips sliced off with a Stanley knife
Because a couple of guys liked to choke me till I’m blue
Pull out my fingernails, set the dog on me too
The council investigated and my mum got angry
She said “We’ll break your back and you’ll die in Haringey.”

Over her boyfriend’s knee, my spine went crack
Then I lay there paralysed with a broken back
If anything I could say that this shit was gay
I was dying in a filthy cot for two days

Then I got punched in the face about once or twice
I swallowed a tooth and thought, “Yo, that ain’t nice!”
That’s the end of my story, it was the end for me
That’s how I became known as the Baby P




An express elevator to Hell! GOING DOWN!
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 15:13, 5 replies)

The post about Kate McCann reminded me
A mate of mine (honestly!), whenever a story is in the paper about a teenage girl going missing, getting kidnapped, or murdered, will look at the picture, suck his teeth and make one of the two following reponses:

'Shame, she was hot! I'd have nailed that in a few years'

or

'She was a bit of a dog anyway, no great loss is it?'

He'll have a first class ticket to Hull, please...
(Son of Sam-i-am We're all as mad as hatters here, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 14:55, 8 replies)

When arriving in hell...
..I do hope that you are treated to a review (on a big telly)of all the reasons you've been sent there. If only for this particular one, which I don't think exactly guarantees a place at Little Horn's dining table but I'm sure adds to my likely fate....

On arriving back in the UK after two weeks in the sun, myself and the girlfriend stepped off the plane into the miles of arrivals corridors at Manchester Airport. Peering out the window, I could see that a much larger plane had parked up next to ours and many people were flowing from it to join us at passport control.

We joined the winding queues at passport control just behind a family of roughly 8 or 9 people, all jostling for position and generally making a racket (as families do) most notably, a small boy who was no older than three.

The father of the family has the bright idea of leaning over the rope barrier and dropping his luggage on the other side, so he could walk up the queue (a good 30ish yards) and collect the luggage as he came down the next isle of queue, repeating the process. Obviously, airport security went potty and started demanding to know who's the unattended bag was, at one end of this queue. By this point, the father was half way down the other end of the queue so the people stood near his luggage quite rightly said it was not their's. Airport security begin to get a bit jumpy and voices are raised as they peer down the lines, looking for the owner of this bag. I got the attention of the father and told him that it was his bag causing all this and after shooting me a look as if he'd just scraped me off the bottom of his sandal, he raised his hand and smiled like a goon at the security guy who returned the bag and asked him NOT to do that again, please. A request he promptly disregarded. Someone has his back, obviously.

So after this incident, I was suitably seething somewhat as the child I mentioned before (small boy, about three years) noticed that he could run, full pelt, underneath the dividing ropes of the queues without having to duck or slow down. The little guy reveled in this as he ran up and down the queues as his mother and elder sisters tried in vain to hurdle / duck under the ropes fast enough to catch him. Enjoying watching his siblings frustration a little too much, he was unaware of the big metal sign he was heading towards. The sign was held up by two posts and he was heading right in between them. The sign's bottom edge, unfortunately, was about an inch lower than the ropes. He hit it so hard that if it was not for his feet flipping up and hitting the sign as he rotated, he would have done a full backflip.

Well......that was me done. I was crying, literally crying with laughter all the way through passport control, into baggage claim and out to the taxi, all of the time being glared at by the father.

Seeing a small child injure themselves shouldn't really be very amusing, but given the circumstances it was the funniest thing of 2008 for me. I don't care if I got to hell for thinking so.
(smithe-ingelby-smithe, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 14:15, 2 replies)

I'm going to hell for poetry
www.b3ta.com/questions/offtopic/post331328







*pimps shamelessly*
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 14:11, 1 reply)

Email to the Israeli Embassy
You might remember this incident in the news a few months ago here.

For those who can't be bothered to check the link, it was a news report that the ex-Prime Minister's jet was tracked by an armed Israeli warplane which had failed to obtain a positive Friend or Foe signal and was apparently seconds away from unleashing deadly sidewinder missiles.

Disgusted after reading the report, I decided to email the Israeli Embassy to register my protest in the strongest possible terms (see below):

Dear Mr Ambassador

It is with utter dismay and disbelief that I read a news report stating that an armed Israeli F-16 narrowly averted shooting down a passenger jet carrying the ex-Prime Minister of the United Kingdom; the Right Hon Tony Blair.

I'm sure you will agree that the disgraceful occurrence was much more than a mere blunder. The British public will not look kindly upon Israel in the future. I sincerely hope that the Israeli security forces learn the hard lessons from this incident.

Next time, please order your pilot to shoot first and ask questions later.

Tally Ho!

Yours faithfully



etc
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Wed 17 Dec 2008, 14:05, 13 replies)

I've just remembered
As a politically aware member of the SWP (if that's not a contradiction) 15 year old, I used to go on marches regularly; Troops Out Now, Down with the Shah of Iran, End Apartheid, Maggie Maggie Maggie - Out Out Out, etc. etc.

I've just realised that I marched for Freedom for Zimbabwe - "Down with Smith, Up with Mugabe".

Nuff said I think.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 13:42, 5 replies)

Knew I was going there at an early age..
Picture this, I grew up in a small Cornish Village at the heart of which was a Methodist church where I was forced to go to Sunday School. I was 11 and had long ago decided that the whole religion thing was not for me.

I think it was about 1983 and I had just began to develop an interest in Heavy Metal and Iron Maiden in particular.

It was just before Christmas and the church had decided that the older members of Sunday School would each read a passage of their choosing from the Bible at one of the services leading up to Christmas.

I chose a passage and duly practiced it for the few weeks preceeding the big day. However, on the day an 11 year old Vauxhall Burgundy approached the pulpit, placed a hand firmly on each side and fixed the congregation with a manic glare and proceeded to deliver the opening spoken lines from 'Number of the Beast'.

Nobody stopped me and when I had finished a sea of horrified faces stared at me. I stood back, took and bow and left - never went back to Sunday school, the Minister had a word with my parents and suggested that my attitude wasn't quite right!

So not only am I going straight to Hell but I also got expelled from Sunday School!
(Vauxhall Burgundy, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 13:37, 1 reply)

‘In da house’, ‘pop a cap in yo’ ass’, and suchlike…

The other day, I noticed a disgusting pus-like ooze dripping from around my shoulder area. It was foul, and no matter how I tried to mop up the sludge, it kept pissing out and hardening around my bicep.

The next thing I knew it had contorted into a strange, mutated ‘mouth’ shape…just above the elbow. It formed rapidly and twitched like it had a mind of it’s own!

Then, just when my flabber couldn’t be more gasted, after a couple of days it started to talk! Even more bizarrely, it seemed to have developed a strange sort of ‘Gangsta’ personality.

“Yo Pooflake” it spoke to me “I wanna be a rapper on the street, kickin’ it with my homies etc”

I was understandably dubious, but after forceful persuasion, my arm dragged me to a Record company to show them what it could do.

Due to the ‘uniqueness’ of the act I got signed up for a 4 album deal! Fucking hell! I was instantly passed to their image consultants for a radical revamp of my current style.

After being ‘blinged to the max’, given some ‘biatches’ and having my baseball cap turned round the wrong way, they informed me: “We’ve got to give you more ‘cred’”. They then asked me my real name… I told them I was called Lawrence Leyton.

“Hmm…” one considered. “How about calling him: ‘Cool Daddy LL-Elbow?’”

Everyone decided (quite rightly) that this was shit name. It’s too much like ‘LL Cool J’, and besides…nobody say’s ‘Cool’ anymore. Even I know that.

“What if we put a number in the name…like 2-Pac does?”...Somebody suggested. We all agreed that was not too shabby.

But the biggest problem was the elbow / bicep area itself…how can you give that a glamorous name? Then someone came up with the perfect idea: ‘Why not call it a ‘wing’?

It was decided…and thus my career was launched.

So that’s it, from now on the hideous seepage that raps from beneath my shoulder is to be known as…..Arm goo ‘Wing-2L’

I know it’s early…and if I don’t have a personal seat next to Beelzebub for this then there is no justice in the world.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 17 Dec 2008, 12:54, 5 replies)

I was on the internet and I made unfair jokes about QOTW people.

( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 12:51, 4 replies)

Hull for this very reason
Back when I was 10 and he was 7, Me and my brother Richard were sat on the back seats of my Mum's Granada at a set of traffic lights in Milton Keynes.

We hatched a cracking wheeze where we'd both pretend to be mongs and spack it up towards the car next to us. Cue much cocked hand pawing at the window, drooling and slack jawed mongishness, The woman driving the neighbouring car nudged her husband noticing the two drooling cabbages in the back of the Granada with a look of pity upon her face.

That's not the reason I'm off to Hell though. When my Mum caught sight of us she started to give us both a good hiding through the front seats much to the distress of the watching woman.

We made my Mum look like an utter monster who randomly leathered the shit out of poor defenceless retard kids.
(SpunkyMcSpunkbubble Diddled your nubbin on, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 12:49, 6 replies)

obviously off to hell for looking at this
news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7786533.stm

and thinking "well that clearly explains the the 'oh and just one more thing . . ' line for the last 30 years"

Forgetful old bastard.
(Halfy By light alone, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 12:41, Reply)

I have
a special place. Its a sink hole. The one I use is about 8000 ft down, and if you drop something down there, it takes ages before it gets to the bottom. It isnt straight down, but its quite smooth - theres a small stream that flows in there which has over the millenia, turned it into what is probably a very scary, almost vertical water slide. I dont think anything that goes down there is ever coming back up.

At least I hope not. There are 3 people I know down there. I like to think they're at least closer to hell. I never liked them anyway, and the guy who was rude to me at the train station this morning might be joining them soon.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 11:14, 3 replies)

I'm not !!!!!!
Since yesterday, when I stopped committing adultery!!

Length? 10 years too long but it is all over now!
(Biff..., Wed 17 Dec 2008, 11:11, 3 replies)

For still thinking this is the funniest thing I've ever seen
www.b3ta.com/search/board?q=sniffermongs

Coat please !
(Elnicko Nearly pub O'Clock, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 11:05, 1 reply)

Not just me
But my entire halls of residence floor plus girlfriends and other hangers on who were with us in the pub that day.
We'd just got back from the summer holidays and were all in the pub in sunny Stoke when a coach stopped at the lights outside. A large coach. A large coach full of mentally disabled individuals. One of who was rocking slowly.
We tried to hold it in. We really did. I made the mistake of looking at my mate who had gone bright red and making a sound like a kettle.
That was it.
We laughed. And we couldn't stop.

Length? About an hours before I could breathe properly.
(Cylon Bum Raider already knows how this will end, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 10:47, 6 replies)

I've been there
Bit tenuous, I know, but it's getting late in the week...

A couple of years ago I had to have an MRI scan of my head.

Didn't realise you could take your own CDs in for them to play, so the nice nurse says she'll just stick something on.

I spent 25+ minutes physically strapped down, couldn't move a thing, in an MRI scanner (nasty experience in itself) with headphones blasting out the Sugababes latest album.

I still have nightmares.
(Penguins_Made_Me_Do_It is a dolt ... and she don't care, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 10:35, 3 replies)

Oh no! Pooflake has infiltrated reuters...
Spot the punnage..
( Axai is in Montréal, Canada O.o, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 10:14, 4 replies)

R.E. Lesson
Doddery old god-botherer teacher asked us all to prepare presentations on belief systems of our choice. Didn't specify it had to be christian tho, so I did Shamanisn and my friend did Devil worship.

I'm sure she was muttering the lords prayer throughout both presentations.
(Dionysian Aut viam inveniam aut faciam, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 10:13, Reply)

Emma
There was a bit of an odd girl at school who was super intelligent but came from a somewhat deprived background. He father had passed away, and her mother was on benefits. On school ‘mufti’ day she used to wear her school blouse with a curtain as a skirt. I asked her in music lesson if it was a skirt or a curtain. She said it used to be a curtain, but now it was a skirt. It would be a curtain sometime later that night though.

She used to wander around the school on her own on breaktimes and lunchtimes or sometime read books in the library. We all used to make fun of her but I also kind of liked her (in a platonic sense) because she was highly individual. After GCSEs she moved away and sometimes she used to call me on the telephone. She had moved to the Scottish Highlands with her mother but her mother was sick so she had to give up college as she had to look after her mum.

After her mum had died, she kind of mentally twanged and went to go and live in an unheated bothy and go on walks around the highlands. I didn’t even know what the hell a bothy was until she explained. She called me once asking me to go up and see her, but I was in the middle of my first year uni exams in Exeter.

I didn’t go even though I probably could have.

A few weeks later in the summer when I called the number that she usually called on, it just rang and rang. It was a callbox I found out later. Then I found out from someone else that she had hanged herself earlier in the summer in her beloved bothy.

Fuck my excuses, I could have stopped her. Maybe I will see her when I die.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 10:07, 16 replies)

I'm going to Hell because:
One bloke, who has been a decent fellow all his life, suddenly dies. So he wakes up in Heaven with St, Peter near him saying:
"You've been a good man all your life so you are allowed to stay here. As you can see it is a nice, quiet place. Enjoy."
Off he goes around the place. Beautiful harp music pour through his ears, the place was full of little clouds on which angels are sitting and listening to the music. The sky was so blue that his eyes almost hurt. He wonders around the place for a few days, but he is getting tired of all that peace and harp music. Thus he went off searching for St. Peter.
"Good day St. Peter, it is all very nice and quiet here, but I'm wondering, can I take a look on the other side?" St. Peter is quiet for a few moments then says "Ok, I will grant you a pass for a 48 hours visit downstairs"
So our man is very excited and he take the fast rejection elevator downstairs. There he came upon a huge party, numerous women dancing almost naked, recreational drug being served on huge plates by waiters who were attentive at all your possible needs. The flow of alcohol was of biblical proportion, participants in that enormous orgy being practically on the verge of drowning in unaccountable bottles of the fines spirits known to man. All this, being followed by friendly, but often, sexual encounters among the participants. Indeed a night to remember. So our man wakes up the next day, late in the evening. Wondering around, he follows a crowd that seem to know where they're going. He ends up on a vast place full of people, with the most unbelievable music being played by a band in the center stage. He's listening for the whole concert and is amazed that such music can be played. It rightfully considers the best part of his downstairs experience. But the 48 hours pass is coming to an end, so he begins climbing the stairs to the top. There, at the top, St. Peter is waiting for him:"tell me, how it was?"
"Oh, our man say, it was interesting, but I'm left with one question."
"Speak."
It is understandable that alcohol, and drugs and free sex is not allowed here, but the band that played there, was unbelievable. Why can't they play here?"
"What was their name?"
"I don't remember."
"Hum something."
"huummm…"
"You idiot, do you really believe that Pink Floyd will perform a concert here, for 30 persons?"

So, this is why I'm going to hell!
(rhatanu, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 10:02, 3 replies)

Anybody else think Kate McCann is actually pretty fit?
If so, I'll see you there.

PS. I'll get Mrs. billybobbean to tell us why shes going to hell later tonight. She's got thousands of reasons.
(billybobbean is still trying to make it QOTW's best of the week, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 9:35, 11 replies)

Wacky Wheelchairs
A couple of kids at school suffered from advanced Cerebral Palsy and had electric wheelchairs to get about. Despite the best efforts of the other students, they used their disabilities to justify treating everyone else like shit (think two Andies from Little Britain) so nobody liked them. At all.

The wheelchairs had little joysticks for control. On those occasions when they were both in the same corridor, their aggrieved classmates would exact superb revenge. A 'rider' would jump on the back of each chair, slam the joystick forwards, then weave left and right through the corridors, racing them like a pair of screaming, disabled roman chariots.

I used to love it. Fuck the disability factor, they were both a pair of intolerable cunts. They died years ago so with luck they're roasting away in Hell right now. I'm hopeful that my attitude to their treatment will grant me a ticket too. I'd love to see their vile, screwed-up faces skidding round those corners again and again and again... magic.
( chart cat has an itch, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 8:58, 9 replies)

well... not me but
my friend became "dangerously bored" on a caravan holiday and decided to eat a bible, old and new testament...

he also got half way through psalms on his next excursion :D



but why will i burn in hell? i guess from all the experiments, the usual: toast lands buttered side down, cat lands on feet.... hmmmmm
(lightie, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 8:42, 1 reply)

I heard the news today, Oh boy…

Regarding controversy surrounding the ‘Blind Ashes’

Aparrently, during this ‘wonderful’ cricket tournament, blind folk play cricket using a ball with a bell in it.

It has kicked off big style because the Australian team have lost, and lodged a complaint, claiming that England’s spinbowler can actually ‘see’

…


Either way…I don’t have to say anything do I…?

Sometimes, the punchlines just write themselves.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 17 Dec 2008, 8:34, 8 replies)