DOS PCAnywhere sometime in the 1990s
One of our business partners based somewhere down south was a bit of an arrogant dick and would revel in flashing off his fancy cars to us underpaid juniors.

When 'their' software needed configuring he would dial up our workshop on the 33k modem and take control of one of the PC's running DOS and would then spend hours installing and configuring it.

Unfortunately he never thought to disable the Host console screen or keyboard.

Whenever we walked past this remotely controlled PC we'd spend a few minutes pressing random keys for him. Good one were the ctrl alt and shift which would then deliver completely the wrong characters or the wrong case.

It was gleeful watching him having re-type the incorrect characters or deleting the extra ones we'd insert.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 16:17, Reply)

Repost: Winding up the younger pupils
One rainy day at school, 5th form I think, I was sitting indoors on my own and noticed a few first-form boys hanging around. Aha, a chance to mess with their heads.

I form two fists, and start striking my knuckles against each other in the manner of someone trying to start a fire with a flint. After a minute or two, one of them notices and says "What are you doing?"

"Trying to strike sparks off my knuckles."

"No, go on. Don't be daft. You can't do that!" Quite right, of course. But I'm the science spod and everyone knows it.

"Yes you can," I say, matter-of-factly. "Small flakes of skin are heated by friction and burn, but you've got to get the right conditions."

After a few more exchanges of plausible bullshit, I have a small circle of half-a-dozen younger boys sitting around striking their knuckles together for no reason.

And then, we hit gold. One of them starts backwards and explains: "I got one!"

I congratulated him and left, leaving them all enthused by this mythical success, and more eager than ever to waste this lunch break, and for all I know many others, learning the harsh lesson that the wages of gullibility is sore knuckles.

Reposted from the "Pathological Liars" challenge, where it was by far the most popular post of all time.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 16:13, Reply)

My Grandad, circa 1962. Sat in the pub, quietly sipping his pint.
Door bangs open and a rather brash cockney chap barged in.
(to my grandad): Aright John?
Grandad: Are yer aright boy?(Grandad is somewhat rural).
Cockney Interloper: Cor, dun't yew lot tawk funny?
Grandad:........
C.I.: So, anyway John(not Grandad's name), woss ver best way to 'artest?(Hartest, is a village a few miles from where my Grandad lives)
Grandad: Are yew gooun' boi car bor?
C.I.: yes John.
Grandad: Then thass the best way.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 16:12, 6 replies)

I learned a special neuropsychology technique to get anyone to do exactly as I want
Firstly, imagine that you are floating in space looking down at the world. Now imagine in your space ship next to you in the cabin there is a beaver. If you are having difficulty imagining a beaver, then imagine another furry woodland creature of approximately similar dimensions. Now, a beaver, if it is a beaver that you're imagining, needs a diet of green leafy vegetables and fishmeal if you're to keep it as a pet. One of the most important things to do is to look around your home and identify areas that the beaver could chew with his well developed incisors, and either paint them with a heavy pine lacquer that the beaver won't feel inclined to bite, or to simply remove those objects from within the beavers reach. Have him checked by a vet regularly, and remember: beavers love water. I wish you many years of enjoyable beaver ownership.
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 16:10, Reply)

On an Internet Forum
I told everyone that I had killed a man and I didn't.
(BiggestNizzy your company name here pm for rates., Thu 12 Jan 2012, 16:08, 5 replies)

Reverse phsycology!
Let's set the scene. At the park, sitting on the big structure which is honest to god 100 feet tall. We're about 20 feet off the ground sitting in this leather cradle thing with a couple other mates.
our hero: hey dan?
Dan: what?
OH: bet you can't jump to the ground from here!
D: what? Don't be stupid, I'll break my neck!
OH: ahh *cluck* *cluck*
D: no I'm no-
Me and other mates: *CLUCK*
D: (standing on the edge) fine ill do iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii...... *THUMP*
OH: oh dear.
We then scramble to the bottom to see if he's alright ( it's a rope structure with a big metal pole in the middle)
Dan was alright, he just had a bruise taking up most of his left side and lots of newfound respect from all of us.
(D.I.pshit solved another case on, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 16:04, 2 replies)

Have a roasted pea. Warning: contains MASSIVE DRUGS.
When this was all fields, and my mates and I were too young for the pub, and had no car, so an E-xciting time in the woods was out, we used to amuse ourselfs by necking micro dots, and wondering the streets for the night.

On one such evening we were round a mates house before the fun had begun, waiting for the last of our group to arrive, and enjoying some of natures finest flatty, when an evil plan was hatched.

The plan: when we're all nicely tripping we'll sit on a bench in the park for a while, then someone should suggest going for a wander, after an hour or so we should end up on the same bench, then the same person should suggest going for a wander again. The idea being that the person we were waiting for, who we shall call The Bear- for that is his name- will understandably say,'but we just got back' at which point we can all try and convince him the last hour of his life was all in his head, and in reality only a few seconds had passed.

It worked a treat. The Bear span right out, and was on a bad one for the rest of the night.

Length- It's all to do with perception.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 15:59, 8 replies)

Fucked *with* - and deservably so
Back in the day, my flatmate came back from a weekend away to find the large, homegrown stock of spuds, apples and pears that his loving mum had given him a few days previously, all mashed together into a large impact smear on the pavement outside our gaff. It was identifiable as his produce, he told me later, because as he examined it another apple flew out of our 2nd story kitchen window and bounced off his head. Upon entering our kitchen he discovered the explanation - myself and a fellow psychic voyager, sitting on the floor tripping our little tits off and carefully examaning his fruit and veg, piece by piece. As he entered I was heard to say 'this one's a human head as well' before flinging yet another potato out of the window. He was, I'm sure you'll agree, absolutely entitled to some payback considering we'd just destroyed his dinner for the next fortnight. Hence his greeting of 'Oh, hi guys! Look! I can swallow my whole arm!' before stuffing his hand in his mouth. Cue 2x acid-crazed food thieves screaming like children and totally losing what little remained of their minds...
(scunnydelight, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 15:45, Reply)

The Standby Burgler
This is going back a while, when I used to do Tech Support for a national ISP. I won't bore you with the "types" of customers you get calling in and merely tell you that a good 90% of them are out and out idiots, but most of them are aware of this, are polite about it and will happily listen when you tell them how they broke something themselves. There are, however, a few that are still complete idiots, but couldn't possibly admit to having done anything wrong.

One day, a man phoned in complaining that his connection had dropped AGAIN. "This happens every month!" he exclaimed down the phone to me. Of course, I have the full history of his account in front of me and I can clearly see that he's only phoned in once in the last 6 months to pay a missed bill. Nevertheless, I diagnosed the problem - his modem was on standby.

Now as stupid as that sounds, it was actually quite a common problem. The Modem in question was coloured black. There was a button on top of it that would put it into standby mode - this button was also jet black, so it blended in seamlessly. Even more annoying, the Modem "remembered" that it was in standby, so if you unplugged it and plugged it back in, it would go straight back into standby. It was incredibly easy (And common) for people to accidentally hit this button while tidying up, or rummaging around behind the PC or whatever, then mysteriously loose all internet access. Most people didn't even know the button existed.

I explained this to the gentleman. It normally gives the customer and I both something to laugh about, we then usually agree on how "stupid" a design it is and the customer goes away happy because it was such a simple thing to fix.

But not this time. "Ohh no, that couldn't possibly have happened", he retorts. "The modem isn't in a position where that could EVER happen". I tried to plead with the gentleman, if it wasn't him accidentally doing it, then it could have easily been someone else - the wife, a wayward child, even the family cat. Alas, it was not to be - "No! I wouldn't do something so stupid! It wouldn't have happened, the problem is from YOUR end!". Eventually, I gave up trying to reason with him - he clearly couldn't have made a really simple mistake, so I had to try a different tactic.

I say "Now hold on, where did you say you lived? Was it *checks customer's account to see exactly where he lives* Leeds?". "Yes, that's right" he replies.
"Ohh, well we have had a couple of people report being broken into and having their electronic devices put into standby"
"What?!"
"Yes, there appears to be an individual breaking into people's houses and putting their equipment into standby. He doesn't seem to take anything, but they still call him the standby burgler"
"Oh my God, do you think he's been in my house?!"
"Well now I couldn't say for sure, but it would explain the Modem going into standby all by itself...".
"I can't believe I've been broken into! I'd best call the police!"

And with that, the man hung up. I never heard from him again, so I can only presume that the police laughed at him so hard, he decided never to pretend to not be stupid ever again.
(Kushan just wants to fit in..to your mum, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 15:35, 2 replies)

I used to get involved in winding up workmates, but now I’m the boss I can’t. What was once a laugh would now be a tribunal case (coloureds can be so overly sensitive)

(Mr la-de-da Gunner Graham, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 15:33, 1 reply)

shiver me timbers
I had previously told my two young nephews that I used to be a pirate, sailing the 7 seas and generally buring treasure as I went.

Even though they weren't 100% sure, as their favourite Uncle they wanted to believe me. They asked their mum if I was telling the truth and not wanting to lie to them she asked "what do you think, do you think that could be true?" They decided that I was telling a fib.

They remained unconvinced for several months until one day I was clearing a load of junk out of my mum's loft and found an old samurai sword I had. I called my nephews over and showed them.

The eldest turned to his younger brother and said " See... it's true, he really did used to be a pirate !"

Kids, you can tell them any old crap and they'll fall for it.
(hippospunk37 domo arigato mr roboto, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 15:16, 1 reply)

Frogs don't poo
Managed to convince the missus that frogs don't poo like other animals. They instead excrete it through their skin, hence many frogs being poisonous.

Managed to keep it going until she started telling her mates, at which point my behind-hand guffawing gave it away.

Any statement I make is now treated with the highest suspicion, and has to be independently verified before it can be used in conversation.
(SimianKid internet faffer, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 15:14, Reply)

Back in the pre-digital days
I would always happily volunteer to take photographs of tourists. And even more happily take a picture or two with all their heads deliberately chopped off.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 15:10, 5 replies)

Most parents do it to their kids, but it's universally accepted
How's this for a mind-fuck for a 6-year old:

Father Christmas will only come to your house if you're sleeping.

Child is a bundle of nervous excitement so obviously can't sleep.

Lack of sleep increases fear that said Mr Christmas won't appear therefore preventing sleep for hours on end.

Child eventually falls asleep through exhaustion but is grumpy the whole of Christmas Day through sleep deprevation.

Next year I'll be telling my kids that Father Christmas comes regardless of whether they're awake or asleep. It's mental torture otherwise.
(BinDipper, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 15:09, 1 reply)

Smell Reading
I once convinced my friend's five year old sister that I could smell words on a page.

I read a few pages ahead of her very basic book; memorise the pages; place blindfold on head; 'read' book by sniffing intently at each page.

Was told to stop repeating trick some time later after little sis had insisted that her teacher do the same thing.

I now have a 2 year old of my own to mess with. I am plotting...
(Gusofnavarone always makes a map of france from sarnies, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 15:06, 2 replies)

One from Warcraft
Every time I was in a capitol city and someone would publicly ask where to farm some random material I always gave the answer as "Siliphus", which is an area of the game miles away from anywhere and takes a good 10-20mins to get to.

If I was still online with that character afterwards I would regularly get a private message sent to me half an hour later...normally just saying "CUNT!"
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 14:54, 4 replies)

An old customer of mine was the king of mindfuckery.
Part of my job many moons ago was to offer 3rd line support for the software I wrote. If 1st and 2nd line had failed it was up to us the programmers to sort out. This usually left us unmolested by the common IT muppets that the particular sector my company supplied software to (Retail).

Except this chap. I'm sure he'd been trained by Derren Brown or Mrs Doyle because without fail his problems would end up filtering through to me which was no mean feat to achieve.

He was Irish and he managed this by questioning absolutely everything that anyone said told him in an increasingly doubting and polite manner.

Me: *explanation about something*
Him: "Are you sure now?"
Me: "Yes."
Him: "But are you sure now?"
Me: "Absolutely"
Him: "Right. But are you sure, because, you know. I'm not so sure."
Me: "I'm almost certain."
Him "So you're not so sure yourself then, so?"
Me: "Erm. Leave it with me. I'll double check..."
Him: "I'll look forward to your confirmation. Thank you."

Every fcuking time he'd do this on me even though I'd 100% know I was right. Lovely chap he was though.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 14:52, Reply)

Once convinced a member of our D of E group
that a flannel was a small woodland creature.
(Buftoon posted this on, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 14:35, Reply)

Used to wind up one guy I used to work with
He'd happily stroll over the road to a newsagents and buy a Mars bar, put it down under the counter and leave it until his lunch break, to find 50p and an empty wrapper in it's place.

"Wha? I asked you to get one for me, I thought it was mine."

Done that for months. No wonder he's a bit mental now.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 14:31, 1 reply)

Ah, back in the mists of time, in glorious Romford...
I'd been convinced by a housemate to go for the weekend, promised a couple of days of heavy drinking. So off I went, with a nice bag of amphetamines in my pocket.

This was probably my first experience of Essex in all its glory, so I decided to take a large dose of the powder to amuse myself.

I then found myself talking a million words a minute to a group of lads, one of which made some comment regarding maps. Quick as a speed-fuelled flash, I interrupted with a load of bollocks about how maps are a conspiracy and nobody can actually prove countries are where they tell us they are - my example was Russia. Over the next hour or so (probably felt like a day to the poor bloke), I'd convinced him that Russia was adjoined to Ireland, and left with my mate for another pub.

Fast forward to Sunday lunchtime, and a group of us are in a quiet pub, sipping pints to kill the hangovers, and this poor bloke comes in, doesn't see me and starts talking to my mate about how his head was fucked up by the guy he was with (me) on Friday. At this point I lean forward so he could see me, he let out a whimper and ran out of the pub (actually, he didn't - he called me a cunt, then asked if I had any speed left).

Shortly after this, my mate did a shit in some random fellow's newspaper so he'd find it when he came out of the loo and opened it up - the look on his face was priceless (now THAT'S a truly awesome headfuck)
( snee held his breath since, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 14:11, 1 reply)

I used to wind-up a rabid Man U. fan...
... by mentioning their star players: "Brian" Giggs and "Derek" Cantona.

:-D
(minimalist ..., Thu 12 Jan 2012, 14:07, Reply)

I'm a cunt sometimes.
My stepfather is (was) an utterly charming man who wouldn't say boo to a goose. He retired about 15 years ago. About 5 years ago he was diagnosed with ailsheimers. Nowadays he is virtually impossible to communicate with, although he remains polite and cheerful.

One of the fist symptoms he showed was a tendency to repeat himself, and to keep asking the same questions.

One day we were all having a family lunch, and he asked me what I did for a living (having been my stepafther for 25 years). So I told him. I work for a trading company in London. Fine.

10 minutes later. Same question. same answer. Fine.

10 minutes later, same question.

"I own a petshop in Glascow, we import parrots from Belgium".

10 minutes later, yeah, you know . . .

"I work for NASA. I bumpstart space shuttles"

All of which is accpeted with a polite smile, and much behind the hand tittering from the rest of the family. Now he's absolutely gaga, he doesn't ask anything anymore. Not sure if what I did was funny or not.
(username failed moderation, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 13:59, 6 replies)

Post Code Lottery Winner
My mam and dad'in law are both very nice and generous people, but they are also complete technophobes (ie a right pair of 12'o clock flashers, as in any electrical device with a timer in their house will have 12'o clock flashing on the fucker). They struggle to use a TV remote, let alone something as scientifically complex as setting the time on a microwave.

Anyhows while a load of the family with me included were visiting them they asked me to register them on the post code lottery update, which sends a text out to an old rubber Nokia pay as you go phone which is as far into the world of Tron as they are willing to venture. I set this up through my Blackberry browser and mum-in-law asks what I have just done.

"You see every week I now get a message to my phone asking me if I've won, Jeccy's just set it up for us."

And just like that that he then received a text message. He checks his phone and then excitedly reads "See love, I got one now. It says "This is your weekly update from the Post Code Lottery. Congratulations! You have won bugger all....you gullible old bastard." Oh."

I put my mobile back in my pocket and laugh like fuck along with the rest of the family.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 13:50, 1 reply)

George
My best friend from primary school, George, was a very nice, gentle, and somewhat shy lad. Desperate never to upset anyone, he once held in a fart in assembly with such great gusto that when it eventually escaped, it actually whistled out, like the sound of a boiled kettle. He also accidentally called the teacher 'Mum' on more than one occasion, and once turned up for PE naked because he'd forgotten his kit and didn't want to admit it.

Anyway, we also happened to be in the same Cub Scout group, and when we were about ten, the adults took some athletic equipment out into the park on a nice day and we had an impromptu sports day. George went for the high jump with such determination that he not only cleared the bar, but indeed missed the mat, coming down in a heap on the grass.

After the cruel laughter you'd expect from adolescent boys had died away, me and a couple of lads walked over to see how he was, and after an adult had picked him up and checked nothing was broken, we walked him off, badly winded, to sit on the sidelines. One of the other lads - a more popular lad than me - seemed to have decided that it would be fun to make George think it could have been really serious; 'You're lucky to be alive!', 'Someone in my brother's year at school died doing the high jump!', etc.

Anyway, I was at that stage of my youth where being popular was really important to me, and I could be a bit of an arsehole if I saw an opportunity to gain an advantage. George was obviously still shocked and struggling to breathe, and if these lads thought it was fun to mess with him, then why not? They were cooler than me, anyway.

So I leant over to George and asked 'Thinking about it - how do you know you're NOT dead? You could have broken your neck and this could be the afterlife. Maybe the afterlife is just where your normal life carries on because you don't know your dead. But you are dead. Eh?'

'Am I dead?'

'Maybe. If you were dead, and we were all in your imagination. Would we tell you?'

'Am I dead?'

'I can't say'.

And we went back to the games.

That weekend, my Mum got a call from George's Mum. Apparently, I had so convincingly persuaded him of the real possibility that he was dead, that he'd sulked for two days before asking his mum. It had taken her an hour, and help of a priest, to persuade him that he wasn't dead.

I wasn't very popular with either his parents or mine for a while after that.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 13:49, 3 replies)

Bird on the phone...
T’was a night in our local about 10 years ago.

Mobile phones had just become common place and were starting to become slimmer and everyone was enjoying ‘Snake’ on their little LCD screens.

This story is pre ’Fraping’. When practical jokes on mobile phones were still in their infancy. This was a good night to be inventive.

My friend Tom was gloating to the group in the pub about meeting a ‘bird’ the night before and how he’d spent the night texting her flirty messages. But he got the impression she wasn’t that keen as he hadn’t heard off her this day. It was getting boring now and no one was really paying that much attention.

Tom toddles off for a piss making that one mistake everyone learnt not to make. Leaving his phone on the table. Quick as a flash we grabbed his phone and got the name of one of the lads in the group (Jim) on his phone and changed his name to the ‘lady’ my mate had been texting.

Jim, then got his phone and sent a tacky flirty text to Tom. Sure enough Tom comes back from the toilet and notices a text on his phone. “Its from her” he cries… “happy days”. “Check this out lads – she’s called me Sexy – what should I send back?”

As a group we offer advice that its best to be cheeky rather than smutty. He compiles his message and hits the send button. Jim’s phone pings into life as the text is received. He has a good read and then (sitting no more than 2 feet away from him) writes a saucy little number in less than 140 characters.. along the lines of ‘Hey there Fancy Pants – why not meet up this week and we’ll see what happens?’

Beep! – “She’s sent a reply” – “She’s called me Fancy Pants – I’m in here!!! Have a look” – Tom passes the phone around and we all read what we already knew had been sent.

This went on until last orders.. Its really hard to keep a straight face when your sat in-between the person who is receiving texts and the person who is sending them. Yet still Tom was so focussed on this new bird, he never even clicked that every time he sent a message, Jim’s phone would ping into life…

It was coming to a head and we had to end it so we did what anyone else would have done. We rang him – whilst facing him. I had the phone to my ear, his phone is ringing with this girl’s name on his display. “Its her, Its her – what should I say?” – ‘Just answer it and find out.’ We say.

He answers – I say ‘Hello Tom’
He looks at me… Cogs ticking away in his head - not quite being able to deal with a male voice.
I say ‘Tom – its Pat’
He pulls the phone away from his ear – with an ‘is that you?’ look on his face….
I look back at him with a slight grin….

At this point the very realisation dawns on him that he has spent the last 4 hours flirting with a table of lads and making sexy small talk.

Hook Line and sinker

He was gutted but at the same time, realised he had been stitched up and took it quite well.

I still have his name on my phone as ‘Fancy Pants’.
(Pat mustard, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 13:48, 1 reply)

the quiet phone gag that went too far...
There is a IT work associate at my work that always winds people up and crows over pretty much everybody else about his aviation related engineering degree and paid for education. So one day whilst the big lord was on holiday myself and two other work folks got together to see what we could do to wind our favourite engineer up. After some deliberation i childishly decided to prize open captain populars desk phone and put a small piece of sellotape over the earpiece speaker. Upon his return to work myself and my work pals were falling about watching our prey shouting into the handset of his phone to his wife to "speak the hell up woman" What then followed was a tirade of complaints to the company that supplied our office phones because of the appauling quality of the phones audio speaker system. Of course each time we knew a representative from the phone company was coming to rectify the issue we opened the handset up and picked the tape off the speaker.
Months this went on for

Cunts trick ? Yes
Did we care ? No
(Cov Boy, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 13:45, 1 reply)

The bears, THE BEARS...
I had quite a serious operation on my ankle a couple of years ago to repair/replace my Achilles tendon that had me on crutches for about six months. Prior to the operation, I was placed in an air-cast for a couple of months (very large, bulky thing that you pump up air-cushions to keep the foot/ankle completely immobile) to see if the tendon would repair itself – it didn’t.

Whilst I was in this air-cast, a very good friend of mine’s sister was married over in Somerset – being a very close friend of the family I was invited along with a couple of other guys from Jersey.

As anybody who has had a very obvious injury knows, many months of people asking how you were injured in the first place and having to repeat a very dull story gets tiresome, quickly. Being (a) cataclysmically drunk; and (b) an arsehole, I decided that instead of being boring, I could have some fun. Cue me (with my Jersey mates backing me up) telling anyone who asked more and more unlikely tales about my injury – I was shot by an American sniper in Afghanistan, being run over by a Ferrari after pushing a mother with child out of its path, a professional sports injury (badminton, lacrosse and jai alai).

The piece de resistance was concocting a preposterous story to particularly gullible sod about having been caught in a bear-trap which had broken the leg and destroyed the surrounding muscle and that I had to wear the ridiculous cast for the foreseeable future. Being of Somerset stock, and not having been to Jersey before (which often retains the reputation of remaining in a bygone age), this was accepted without question.

Cue a few months later, post-surgery, when I was out and about (again, slightly inebriated) in Jersey when who should accost me, but the Somerset local who had believed my bear-trap story, visiting mutual friends in Jersey. He asked me how my leg was, and proceeded to explain to the gents that he was with how I had had my leg caught in a bear-trap. My utterly blank look (steeped in incredulity that he had swallowed this story hook, line and sinker) seemed to make his friends question his sanity somewhat.
( Hunter Stockton was murdered by a bicycle wielding axolotl,.,.,.,., Thu 12 Jan 2012, 13:44, Reply)

Woodwind
When I was in a school orchestra a few years ago, I was made section leader over a group of learners. They ranged from maybe grade 6 down to absolute beginner.

I convinced them that if you belch down a wind instrument the pitch will change, due to the comparitive density of the air or some such bollocks. This, I told them, was why jazz bands are always drinking when they're playing. It's to help them belch on cue for those jazzy pitch-blends.

They tried it for months, to the utter bewilderment of the conductor. I had to 'fess up when one of them accidentally overdid it and vomited into a sax.
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 13:42, Reply)

calendar theft
I once surgically removed and ate all the chocolates from a room-mate's advent calendar, leaving no trace of my actions. Every subsequent day he would open another door and moan that he'd been ripped off while I silently chuckled like the criminal mastermind I was. He never found out, unless he's reading this now, in which case ha ha ha.
(MrGravy, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 13:42, 2 replies)

They say we choose to romance people who look like us...
Someone once asked me if Mr Charles was my younger brother.

Naturally offended by this, I said yes and proceeded to kiss my supposed sibling with full, frenchy-style tongues.
( Yo 'Ho of Charlie mass-market saucetrepreneur, Thu 12 Jan 2012, 13:33, 1 reply)