Goosey Goosey Gander
Many years ago when we were in our mid-late teens (late 70s), me and about 10 others rented a bungalow (meant for about 4-6) for a week for one of our first holidays at the local coastal town.

All was going well until about day 3 when we'd run out of food and money - having wisely spent all our money on essentials - beer.

A plan was hatched. One of our lot had a car - we would wait until the dead of night and go out into the countryside "rustling"!

Four of us (dressed in black of course) went out in the car, stopping at numerous allotments to collect plenty of Veg. (Sorry Allotment Holders!) All we needed now was meat to go with it.

All sorts of animals were considered but no-one was willing to kill and butcher a cow or sheep so we decided we could maybe handle a chicken.

We drove around a bit until we found a suitable farm. Off we wandered looking for our prey.
No chickens.
We did however find a Goose Hut. One of my mates said he'd kept chickens and his Dad used to break their necks with a quick "twist" - quite humane. He was then volunteered to do the deed.

We opened the Hut door and an inquisitive Goose came for a look. It was coaxed outside whereupon my mate grabbed it and "twisted" it's neck. All went as well as could be expected. (if you can overlook the fact that we'd stolen someone's livestock and killed it)

When we got in the car, my mate in the front seat said that it's bowels could "empty", so he held it over the gap between the two front seats, with a small piece of paper on the floor below. I was sat in one of the back seats.

After a few minutes I thought I saw it twitch. I informed my mates but they just said I was imagining it and that it had been expertly dispatched.

Two minutes later all hell broke loose as the Goose regained consciousness - it flapped its wings, squawked like fcuk and shit for England as my mate let go and it flapped round the inside of the Morris 1100 - the driver shouting for us to catch it while frantically trying to stop the car.

No-one had told us that apparently you don't kill Geese my twisting their necks.

I'd like to say that this earned the Goose a reprieve, a couple of us thought it should be let go. However, one of my murdering friend bashed it's head in with a large spanner he had in the boot :-(

I'm even sorrier to say it wasn't worth it. One of our friends was a trainee chef and he made it into a large Goose Casserole. Chewy? We'd have made better use of it if we'd re-soled our shoes.

Sorry Mr.Goose, Mr.Farmer and Mr. & Mrs. Allotment-Holders.

.
(MichaelLinge (ywc), Fri 23 Dec 2011, 13:19, 1 reply)

When I was a wee scrote
I was tasked with taking out the garbage. It was a fairly thankless task and in my eyes akin to slavery. I lived in a hot country and it wasn't uncommon to lift the lid of the wheelie bin and discover it teeming with wriggling white maggots. My usual reaction was to just shove the old bag on top. However, on one occasion I spotted a glass jar at the top of the bag I was throwing out. So in a divine moment of inspiration I decided to collect the crawling creatures by using the lid of the jar to flick them inside. I must have collected about 30 of these slimy writhing creatures all told.

Now I would be the first to admit I wasn't an expert on maggots, but I was bright enough to know they probably needed to oxygen. So using my pen knife I carefully punched some holes in the lid making sure that they were just large enough to let some air in, but no maggots could escape. Then I set the jar atop the window sill and began to dream about the day when my pets would metamorphose into a beautiful squadron of loyal flies.

It soon became apparent that being a maggot farmer was more difficult than I had realised. They became lethargic and barely moved after one day. I surmised that they were probably hungry so I dropped random bits of food into their enclosure. At first I tried a bit of bacon, because after all who doesn't like bacon. They acted disinterested and became more comatose. This was in the pre-internet days so my attempts at salvation were guided only by my logical thought process. What would I want to eat if I was a maggot? In my increasing desperation to see my project to fruition I then went through all the various food groups with little success. Fruits, vegetables, assorted meats and finally sweets, which aren't an actual food group as such, but at this stage I was desperate.

Finally after a week of feeding, the occasional jar shake to make them wake up, and many motivational speeches I had to concede defeat. I also gave up on the notion that perhaps they would eat each other if hungry enough. I ended up with a jar of what looked like soggy rice crispies. With a heavy heart I trudged out to the garden to dispose of my minions. I opened the jar and for some reason I thought to myself, "mmm...I wonder what a jar of maggots smells like". I put the jar up to my nose and took a great big sniff and almost instantly I realised the error of my ways. The smell hit me so hard I went into a mini spasm and lost control of the jar spilling it's contents onto the lawn in front of me. Then I felt my stomach contract and with little debate the lunch in my stomach decided to part ways and make it's way to freedom. Hunched over double I lurched and puked all over the maggot grave yard. Thankfully I was able to contain the second and third convulsions better, but the memory of the putrid smell left a bitter taste in my mouth for some time afterwards.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 13:15, Reply)

Yet another mouse story.
My Dad tells the story of his Mum, my Nan, cooking at home many years ago. I only ever remember Nan as a lovely old woman who doted on her grandsons, who spent every spare penny of her pension on buying sweets for my brother and me and who let us run absolutely riot. In her day however, she was a formidable woman. Standing a shade over six foot tall she was known in her block of flats as “The Bismarck” – not that she was German, just as formidable as a battleship.

She was in the kitchen of her apartment many moons ago, pots & pans on the hob, meat in the oven and generally a lot of clutter around the place. She had to hand a large pot, about to be filled with water and vegetables of some type when a mouse, rather foolishly, appeared and started running across the worktop. Cue my Nan’s automatic reaction.

You would, apparently, be amazed about the area of a small kitchen that can be covered by essence/innards of mouse when flattened by a saucepan. Needless to say, my grandparents having lived through the occupation in WWII, the food didn’t go to waste (being cooked, not exploded mousey that is).
( Hunter Stockton was murdered by a bicycle wielding axolotl,.,.,.,., Fri 23 Dec 2011, 12:51, Reply)

Jud, ye bastid
Ye killed mi kestrel
(McChinaman banned, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 12:48, 2 replies)

I shot and killed a sparrow with my air rifle as a teenager
I felt very guilty about it for some time, imagining it had a load of chicks back at its nest, who would all starve. The first one would die and the rest would gradually turn to cannibalism at the age of a few days, because of me.
( 100% Cock Raw like carrots., Fri 23 Dec 2011, 12:38, Reply)

A guy
It was the 1997 I had been out on a night out with some friends and had pulled the short straw, I was the designated driver. Leaving a club at 3am we walked to the car when a couple of drunk guys approached weilding bottles. They started going on about stealing someones girlfriend or something and broke the bottle over my mates head. Now I am not a fighter I avoid fights and this incident was my first and last fight. Atthe time I was 11 stone and 6' tall I was a big lanky streak of pish to be honest but I hit the bloke. I punched him on the face and he went down like a sack of tatties. He hit his head and the noise didn't sound good.

He died 2 days later in Hospital.

At the trial even though their was CCTV and plenty of witnesses I was sure I would goto jail. But I didn't I didn't I was not guilty even though I killed him.

Not a week goes by without me thinking about.
(BiggestNizzy your company name here pm for rates., Fri 23 Dec 2011, 12:13, 23 replies)

Fore!
A few years ago me and a few friends thought we would go for a game of golf, now being horrendously bad at golf combined with a full on morning session spent with mary jane we should have seen this day not turning out how we originally planned,
Anyway cut a long story short, mate tee's off 1st hole and shanks his ball straight into a load off bullrushes at the side of a small lake, when we finally stopped laughing at his poor attempt to hit a ball we went over to look for it only to find a duck on the floor waggling is broken neck, golf ball at its side, now the soft lad too distraught to do anything about it stood there with a tear in his eye, so my brother proceeded to put the poor thing out of its misery and take care of business by taking a 9 iron to its head which done the job pretty well although a little bloody, we then turned to the lake only to see about 8 motherless ducklings swimming around in a circle and two ashen face old boys on the other side of the lake shouting you should be ashamed of yourself at us....good laugh tho, never played golf since
(enemjay, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 12:00, Reply)

Wokring on it
They're still screaming in the pit, I'm getting worried that the neighbours might hear.
Not sure there's room down there for all of them.
(SpangleDangle >->)))'>, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 11:31, 2 replies)

The radio star.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 10:49, 5 replies)

Yeah like I'd admit to doing that.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 10:43, 3 replies)

Badger culling
MrsPitta was driving me home from a nice italian restaurant at dusk one summer's evening, along a road that we often travel, when a mahoosive fat badger waddled out from behind a bush. It crawled across the road with not a rush in the world, and intersected perfectly with the front of my car.

Doing a good 60mph, my little Polo whacked the badger side on, and actually lifted up and went over the top of it. We saw the steering wheel jolt, and the car dropped back down.

After the 'oh shiiit' and 'do you think I killed it' from MrsP, the burst into tears, and we crawled my car along into the next town and pulled over under a streetlamp to survey the damage. I was thinking that the grill might be cracked, maybe a headlight.... when we got out, the whole front end was demolished!

Total repair bill was £2300, including a new radiator, A/C system, bonnet, bumper, lights, trim etc etc.

I'm now an ardent supporter of badger culling - as it cost me my insurance excess. Now when we go to this restaurant, I always have to drive home too...
(harrypitta friends with the chilli saucerer, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 10:42, 4 replies)

freeze, sucka!
At school we were using liquid nitrogen or some other very cold product. A fly was in the lab so mate swatted it with a revision guide.

After being very dazed, this fly slowly spiralled down into this below zero liquid, where it flash froze. Another of my (wimpy) friends said that was horrible and we need to grieve for this fly we killed.

So i promptly threw the fly right in the middle of his safety goggles, where it shattered.

Nice.
(D.I.pshit solved another case on, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 10:02, 5 replies)

I have two cats
Well normally when my cats hunt stuff they eat it and maybe leave the back legs somewhere around for me to step on, barefoot, and squelch-squirt blood up the wall.

But on one occasion, the dopier cat dropped the live mouse at my feet and ran indoors for her biscuits. I looked down to see a rodent scrabbling with its forelegs as its hindquarters tumbled over and around, limp and useless. Not a chance, small mouse.

So I got my wooden “Slag Basher” mallet (labelled by drunk teenage boys many years ago), wrapped it in a plastic bag, and dispatched the creature with a mighty thump that flattened it. A quick inversion of the bag left me with a tidy bag of squished mouse, and a clean mallet. Slag Basher wins again.
( sleepybinky, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 9:59, 2 replies)

Not quite death by chilli
One lovely day in October I was enjoying a fairly quiet shift behind the bar in the company of the nice regulars when, to my horror, the rugby club pub crawl reared it's ugly head.
Suddenly I'm surrounded by pissed up, braying, testosterone fuelled idiots. One particular young man seems to be trying for the coveted knob of the year award.
After a round of chilli vodka, the chief penis starts berating the drink, asking where the chilli was and demanding a refund as it wasn't hot enough.
Having been to the Southease chilli festival a couple of weeks before I decided to offer him something a little hotter and tell him I will refund the round and buy a new one if he eats one of my new chillis.
He proceeds to chomp down on a recently acquired bhut jolokia.
Quite quickly his shit-eating grin disappears. Colour drains from his face and he runs outside and proceed to double over and retch, sounding a little like something from the Exorcist. After a minute or so everything has gone quiet out there, so I decide to check on him. There he is, kneeling with his head between his knees, shaking with tears streaming down his eyes.
4 pints of milk later he manages to get shakily get back up and sit quietly in the corner, nursing a pint. He informed me that he thought he was going to die, his heart was racing so much.
I did feel a bit bad, but found out that the next week he was sent off for dragging someone out of a maul and breaking their jaw.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 9:47, 4 replies)

I tried to kill my television.
It didn't die, but I think I gave it brain damage.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 9:33, Reply)

Not me, but
Someone's killed the image challenge
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 9:32, Reply)

Not me, but
Video killed the radio star.
(yourmumonastickwithmintsauce, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 9:20, Reply)

Several years ago my computer began acting up
Weird crackling when listening to music, playing games etc. Nothing too bad. Reinstalling drivers did nothing.

I cracked open the case to have a poke around inside, and found a partially decomposed mouse, electrocuted and attached to my soundcard. Nice. Clearly looking for somewhere warm and snug to setup a nest, he adopted my computer as a, brief, home.
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 9:05, 1 reply)

I was living in a house with friends and the state of the house had got a bit filthy.
So we had a family of mice move in. I set up some human traps and one old school snap shut style trap. All loaded with some cheese. One night whilst all of us were in the lounge having a gaming session. One cheeky/foolish mouse decided to run about on the top of the sofa right infront of us all. I picked up a metal fosters tray, the type you get in a pub and in one swift move hit the mouse instantly killing it. Then threw him in the bin. The rest of the mice where caught in the human traps and released in the local woods. They didn't go near the oldschool trap, they'd obviously watched to much Tom & Jerry.
( BindiBaji, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 8:46, 2 replies)

Pigeon Torture
One day I was driving home early from work, and I get a phone call. It was my wife.

She was absolutely distraught and was sobbing down the phone at me, and I couldn't understand a word she was saying. I pulled over and thought "Oh shit, who's dead?" Tried to get her to calm down, and finally after about 5 minutes she began to tell me, through racking sobs what had happened.

Turns out the cat hat brought in a big pigeon through the cat flap. Problem was, that the cat hadn't done enough to slot the bastard and it was screeching and honking it's head off and half flapping around the room. My missus, obviously concerned about the pigeon's welfare elected to put the flapping blood soaked wobble headed twat out of it's misery.

My missus, however, had never had to do such a thing, and she didn't know the best way to do it. Luckily, something in her head told her to put on a pair of rubber gloves, pick the bluntest knife out of the drawer, and attempt to saw it's head off.

She chased the cat away, managed to grab the pigeon, and proceeded to go at it like 'Handy Andy' with a bit of MDF and a handsaw.

Once the blunt knife met with the winged rat's head, the bloody thing went mental as if to say "What the FUCK are you doing woman?!" and made my missus recoil for long enough for the pigeon to think "Fuck this off, HELP! Somebody!!" So there is my missus chasing a fucked pigeon round the kitchen trying to pin it down and cut it's squarking head off, all the while feathers are flying everywhere, as if Starsky and Hutch, Smokey and the Bandit, and the A-Team had just driven through stacked boxes of chickens during a rally.

Eventually she got it down and did the deed after a long struggle, and a long drawn out session of decapitation, the pigeon finally brown bread and lifeless on the kitchen floor. She then took it outside, crying, and lobbed it into the field behind.

She then spent the next hour cleaning the blood and feather murder scene in the kitchen whilst sobbing her heart out.

The cat looked on, emotionless, eyeing up the tin of Kit-E-Kat on the sideboard.

While she was telling me all this, I was doing that thing where you laugh silently on the other end of the phone, tears rolling down my face, and trying to keep it together to make the occasional "mmm" noise and tutting. After I told her she should have just picked it up and twatted it's head hard against the wall, she really started wailing and asked "Do you think I made it suffer?"

I burst out laughing, and when I got home, a cold shoulder was forthcoming, and there was no sex to be had.
(Spaff_Quaffer Wise fwom your gwave., Fri 23 Dec 2011, 8:17, 6 replies)

Last thing I killed
was a female Redback Spider we found hiding under the shoulder straps of my kid's rucksack. Carefully lifted the bag out into the garden and turned the poor thing into crunchy jam. Killed a few White-tailed Spiders as well. Only seen one Sydney Funnel-web, but steered well clear of that fucker. That's the only one likely to actually make you cark it.

/Steve Irwin wannabe
( Colonel Boris "...a desperate Buzzfeed imitation...", Fri 23 Dec 2011, 7:08, 10 replies)

The mood
As I held her hands to the bed she smiled at me and said "take me you beast"
I looked at her in the eyes and replied " this is so sexy I feel like some sort of rapist......."
(shake'n'bake Tally Ho, Biatch!, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 3:47, 1 reply)

Still no idea... oh deer
I was biking along a country road one summers day and came across half a deer with all its inners as outers. Unfortunately It must have recently been hit as it was still opening and closing its mouth with a look of terror in its eyes.

So i decided to put it out of its misery and remembered my dad saying to hit roadkill over the head with a something heavy. So there i was on the side of the road pumping my front tire of my bike on the deers neck.

What i learned from that experience is that having soft front suspension on a bike is not great for dispatching deers and that people wont stop when they see a young boy struggling to kill a deer.

Length... as long as the intestines
(Whistling Whistler, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 3:31, Reply)

Usually only flies, spiders and wasps etc..
but I was once startled to see a mouse in the bath, looking like it was wondering how to get back out. First reaction was to put the plug in, turn on the tap and drown it. Failure! Who knew that mice can do breast stroke?! The bugger swam round in circles, hell, now what?

The nearest weapon to hand, happened to be a saucepan, ever tried to batter a mouse while it's busy training for the Olympics? It took some doing I can tell you, and I don't relish the idea of ever doing it again, just that I couldn't figure out what else I could have done to get rid of it.

Suggestions invited
(Victor Mildew going apeshit again, (aka, nightprowleroftheweb), Fri 23 Dec 2011, 2:58, 9 replies)

Mice!
I used to work for a guy who was raised in the backwoods of North Carolina on a farm. Redneck in the extreme, but not a bad guy overall.

One day we found that we had mice in the office. He chuckled. "We used to have mice in our barn. I used to get rid of them with a five gallon bucket and a sheet of newspaper."

I thought about that, but my imagination failed me. "Okay, how?"

"You fill the bucket halfway with water, then you stretch the paper tight across the top and tape it into place. In the middle of it you cut an X with a razor blade. Then you hang a piece of cheese from a long string right over the X. The mouse runs across the paper, then bloop!" He chuckled again. "You just have to remember to empty the bucket every few days..."

I can well imagine.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 23 Dec 2011, 2:18, Reply)

Not mine
But this is so funny it needs to be retold

A friend of mine worked for the gas board, and one night was called out to a suspected gas explosion.
On arrival at the house he found a smashed through and slightly burnt front door and a burned out vacuum cleaner on the front lawn.
A test showed there was no actual gas leak.
Further investigation revealed the following.
Lady houseowner while vacuuming had seen a mouse run across the floor and get sucked up right under the vacuum cleaner.
She got a bit worried that it may not be dead just mangled and suffering and wanted to put it out of its misery.
So she decided that getting a camping stove gas cannister and emptying it into the hoover bag would humanely kill the trapped mouse.
Waited a while for the gas to take effect then continued to vacuum the carpet
Vacuum bag full of camping gas, vacuum cleaner switched on, spark and boom.
Vacuum cleaner exploded, shot along the hallway and through the front door to end up a smouldering wreck in the front garden.
I think the mouse was definitely dead by then :|
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 2:15, Reply)

Mice
I live out in the sticks, and mice make their way into the house. The lease said "no pets" but come on, it's on a farm. We need a cat, surely. Nope, no pets. Damn.

So, my gf and I set some spring traps. At one point they were catching three or four mice a night, and quite often I would be prodded awake because herself had been woken by the thwack of a trap springing.

One night, there was the now-all-too-familiar thwack, followed by an ominous scrape. Scrape, scrape. Scufflescuffle. Scrape, scrape. Aw no...

Oh yes, this mouse was caught by its back legs. Letting it go wasn't really on, because it was too mangled to survive and obviously in a lot of pain. Shit, how do you kill mice with the minimum of suffering? Shit shit shit, what am I going to do...?

Oh I know, car exhaust, carbon monoxide will kill it really quickly and in theory won't trigger the "can't breathe" reflex that carbon *dioxide* does if you just seal it in a jar and let the air run out. Great. Car keys. Nope, battery is flat. Can't find the keys for gf's car, don't fancy rummaging around the bedroom. Van? No, it's diesel, no significant CO in the exhaust. Bike? Yeah that'll do.

So, gentle reader, if you found yourself wandering around the farm on a beautiful summer morning you might have seen the most entertaining sight of me, in my boxers and a t-shirt, trying to kickstart a recalcitrant Honda without dropping the jar with the mashed mouse in it so I could fill it with petrolly, carbon monoxidey fumes. Would it start? Would it buggery. Eventually once it was running I filled up the jar, gassed the poor wee mouse, and disposed of it (lobbed it into the trees and long grass up the back).

A day or two later, I got a cat. We still get the odd mouse but they get dispatched fairly quickly.

Length? Only about five seconds before the poor wee rodent was as dead as a doornail, without it looking too distressed.
(gordonjcp, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 1:52, Reply)

Accidental murder of a pet
Aged 12, I used to have pet mice, shedloads of them. In spite of pet shop assurance that I had 3 females, every now and then I would find a nest full of pinkies.
Not really a problem as the pet shop would buy all the excess meeces to sell on and it supplemented my pocket money.
But until they were old enough I had a cage that seemed too small for so many mice.
So I built an enclased run in the back garden, cage was in the conservatory with a plastic tunnel leading to it.
I made a veritable mouse assault course within the run, tunnels, rocks to clamber over, little ponds, rope bridges etc.
One afternoon while sitting watching my mice running around in their playground, I noticed that one mouse had vanished under a rock and hadnt come out for ages.
I lifted up the rock and saw a spider that was almost as big as the mouse sitting next to it.
I screamed, dropped the rock and ran away shreiking .
Later that afternoon my mum scraped the squished mouse from under the rock and into a matchbox and prised me from my guilt ridden tear soaked bed and we had a mouse funeral, complete with a little mouse ornament as a headstone.
First of many.
Couple of years ago I helped my mum clear an overgrown area of the garden and we found the remains of many old pet mouse graves
That was weird
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 1:36, Reply)

mackerel
suicidal little buggers ... were nearly jumping into the boat ... if Kim Jong-Il had said he went mackerel fishing and caught several hundred i would have believed him .. .anyway, pull in line, remove mackerel from hooks, hold mackerel by tail, whack heads quickly against side of boat, kill as quickly and efficiently as possible
( writerblock ... embedding disabled by request on, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 1:35, 1 reply)