My brother is a food hoover.
If you put anything even remotely nice in the fridge, it's gone in minutes, made into a sandwich.
If, god help you, you buy beer, all you'll see of it is a single empty tin spinning on its rim, looney-tunes style.

This Christmas, when I was back at the family manse, it turned out the only reason the parma ham lasted as long as it did was because he didn't know what it was.
So I told him it was thin slices of halibut, cooked in celery oil and then air-dried.

Him: "But it's called ham!"
Me: "Nah, it's like turkey ham, you know? Not really ham at all."
Him: "But it's pink! Fish is white."
Me: "It's the essence of beetroot does that. That's the thing about air-drying; if you don't add beetroot, there's just this oily sheen."

And he fell for it!
He's twenty.
(universalpsykopath loves what you've done with your hair., Fri 13 Jan 2012, 22:27, Reply)

Simples
"You'll see!"
(Starrboy, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 21:42, 4 replies)

WINE & CHOCKY...
I used to stop and buy a bottle of wine for my wife most nights. One night I also bought a bar of chocolate. I don't know why but when I gave both to my wife I said that the chocolate was free with the wine.

I kept doing this for another four days, then on the fifth day I asked her to buy the wine and 'don't forget the free chocolate'.

She went into the shop while I was peeping around the corner, she paid for the wine and then picked up a bar of chocolate and started to walk out... ooops! This prompted a fifteen minute argument ending with the shopkeeper threatening to call the Police and my wife leaving while shouting at him.

As soon as she saw me she just KNEW it was me! She swore at me all the way home but I couldn't keep the smile off my face for hours.
(Arcazule, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 21:41, 4 replies)

Dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick. How many dicks is that? A lot.
In the weeks leading up to the most recent election day, I began receiving phone calls attempting to solicit my vote for various candidates running for local offices. Inevitably, these phone calls seemed to be most common when I was trying to cook or eat dinner. Rather than be annoyed, I decided I would entertain myself at the expense of the next person who called, and I was not disappointed. While I don't recall the candidate's surname, his given name was the unfortunately phallic shorthand for Richard and the conversation went something like this:

“Good evening sir, I'm calling on behalf of Dick Whatshisname, and we'd like to know if we can count on your vote in this upcoming election.”

(Me, pretending to be hard of hearing) “You're calling for Dick?”

“Yes sir, I'm calling to see if we can count on your vote for Dick Whatshisname.”

“Dick?”

“Yes, sir. Dick.”

“Well, I don't really know much about Dick. Do you know a lot about Dick?”

“Yes, he stands for things our community needs.”

“So, Dick is a stand-up guy?”

“Yes sir, I believe he is.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about Dick.”

“Yes, I've been volunteering for Dick's campaign for several months now.”

“So you'll work for Dick? You'll work hard for Dick?”

“Yes, I think he's a candidate worth fighting for.”

“So you like Dick?”

“I think Dick is great!”

At this point I just hung up the phone – I couldn't hold in the laughter anymore, and my wife was laughing loud enough in the background that I could hear through the phone.
(WillF http://www.flickr.com/photos/silverfischdotnet/, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 20:50, 1 reply)

This is probably old
or been mentioned already, used in a comedy sketch, or all of the above.

But what I like doing on a busy street is stopping dead and looking above to the sky, or maybe up a building. Maybe start pointing, looking concerned and perplexed.

99.99% of people will look up too. It's oh so hilarious.
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 20:44, 3 replies)

Does my bum look big in this?

( Infidel , shit and wrong, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 20:40, 2 replies)

Belgian Call Centre Prank
Obviously, this is not my own story but this is seriously worth a watch if you've ever suffered the pain of being messed around by call centres.

youtu.be/mxXlDyTD7wo
(ruud, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 19:58, Reply)

Really. I'm not doing ANYTHING.
Just carry on.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 18:19, 3 replies)

And this is one reason some people don't get drunk around me and my associates any more..
Some years back a reasonable number of us had gathered in a basement retreat to consume a few alcoholic beverages. One girl amongst our number became severly more inebriated than the rest of us. It was at this point that someone sparked on the genius idea to convince her that we could all speak Chinese....

One of our number would begin barking random nonsense as "orders"- and the rest of us would do...something...anything and our "leader" would make random gibberish noises of approval. When it came to her turn, she became convinced that he wanted her to walk in a straight line along the edge of some floor tiles, one front in front of the other , like some sobriety tests.. Suffice to say she was far from sober and failed repeatedly.every time she did, our magnificent leader would point at the tiles and screech "Hang tang wo! Hang tang wo!" in the most ridiculous, angry, mock Chinese accent you can imagine and She would try again..and trip.."Hang tang wo! Hang tang wo!".. this went on for several minutes, with encouragement from the rest of us to egg her on, untill she tripped for the last time "Hang tang wo! Hang tang wo!Hang tang wo! Hang tang wo!" accompanied by furious pointing. At this point she collapsed sobbing on the floor "i'm trying......"

Ah...good times...
( mooglemania Please disregard this sig., Fri 13 Jan 2012, 18:14, Reply)

Here's a good one to try
Text one of your mates with the phrase:

"Stop that at once!"

I tried it on one of my friends once and he texted back with:

"I was just looking for change in my pocket, Honest!"
(Nitrous Nitrous, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 18:12, 6 replies)

It's all Greek to me
My mate never wore shoes. Not even in winter and that should have been enough of a clue for me to realise that he was a grade one nutter. A nutter indeed but I came to realise he was a nice nutter nonetheless.
He also looked like a tramp and most people thought he was really dirty as he wore the same clothes everyday - but they did not know that he actually owned 7 pairs of the same trousers (beige corduroy), seven shirts (small check lumberjack) and allied underwear (but no socks) in the same quantity and changed daily with a fastidious washing regime. His long white beard did give him an air of chaos but he did comb it daily - and I never once saw him eat any of the nits or bird's eggs he presumably found in it.
Anyway he invited me round for dinner one night and I was pleased to go - usually I had to feed him... and it was a sumptuous delight - a large dish of potatoes, some mixed in sausage meat, gravy with some added grated cheese. I was impressed and I scoffed all of my portion before asking what it was.
"Potato stavornus" he told me. "I learnt to make it while I was busking in the Greek islands. I got taught it by a buxom local wife."
I lost track of Ian after university - he went off abroad armed only with his flamenco guitar to find a wife - a woman who could keep *him* rather than he keep her and years later I did hear he had hooked up with someone in Hamburg who was happy to pay for both of them to go through life together with him not working - perhaps with Ian still cultivating small amounts of lichen on the top half of his shoeless toes to the horrow of more traditional people.
I thought of him often over the years - especially the night when I was looking for something nice to eat in a cookbook of Scottish recipies and found the picture of the potato stovies he had served me that night so long ago in a book with his name neatly inscribed on the first blank page to denote ownership.
Greek delicacy my ass: for years I realised I'd been telling people intending to go off exploring to those parts to look out for the wonderful sausage and mash based delights that they could sample and how they should eat such a traditional dish before it disappeared thanks to the globalisation of fast food.
I miss you Ian. You were a lying cunt though.
(beaverwastemanagement a real company. I want to work for them!, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 17:53, Reply)

I didn't eat a Ferrero Rocher until I was 14...
My oldest sister told me (in front of my other sister and parents) that they were mint. I didn't like mint. No-one revealed the truth until I was offered one by a friend, who looked decidely confused when I replied with 'Thanks, but I don't like mint'.
(errrggghhhh should be doing something else, but what was it?!, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 17:26, 2 replies)

Eating dogshit - yum!
I was crossing the main concourse at Victoria Station, pushing a luggage trolley, when a jar of peanut butter toppled out of my bag and smashed. I picked it up, and only then realised that I had trodden in it and smeared it across the floor. It looked EXACTLY as if I had trodden in dogshit. So, with many onlookers, I removed my shoe and sniffed the sole, recoiling in the way you do. Then, slowly, tentatively, I scooped some from my shoe onto my finger, tasted it with the tip of my tongue, and then licked the whole lot greedily. I looked around - a few people had noticed and were truly horrified. I just shrugged nonchalantly, replaced my shoe and trolleyed onwards...
(Hurple Pelmet, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 16:57, 8 replies)

not me
but my Dad, three days before he died of cancer.

My brother, elder sister, mum and step dad were all round his beside at Trinity hospice. Bearing in mind his horrible condition and the amount of morphine and other drugs in his system, Dad was being surprisingly coherent.

He gestures over to my mum to come closer, she leans in and he says; "I have many beautiful memories". He pauses, her eyes light up a little, maybe reminiscing, maybe wanting to share a moment with the father of her children, she leans in a little closer.

"...and none of them include you!"

Now that is a way to fuck with someones head, on your death bed after 30 or so years of history together.
( sutit only the crumbliest, flakiest posts, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 16:55, 5 replies)

One night at Glastonbury...
I guy is wandering around the camp-fires, asking people in worried tones if they'd seen his rabbit, which has escaped. No? He wanders off into the darkness.

A few minutes later, an accomplice in a rabbit suit bounds joyfully through the camp...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 16:45, 4 replies)

Gullable friends are the best.
Back in College I had a male friend who, even though only have a few persistant spots really wanted a way to get rid of them. Me and my other friends being devious decided to tell him to go on the Pill explaining women take them for contraception but men can have them to fight spots, the whole class carried the sharade on for about 2 months until one day he came bursting into the room going "I ASKED MY GP ABOUT THE PILL, HIM AND MY DAD BOTH LAUGHED AT ME! MY DAD EVEN KEEPS CALLING ME GIRL'S NAMES! NEVER BEEN SO SHAMED IN MY LIFE!"

Never met someone so gullable in my life, luckily he was a light hearted soul and found all of this and the other things we did very funny!
(rayrayrawr, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 16:39, 2 replies)

injury
I had a summer job at uni - wading throgh meter mail in the Ipswich sorting office.

At the end of one of my shifts (8.30 pm - not really that arduous) we were told by the manager we had to stay late as some other sorting office had broken, or something, and was sending the lot to us to shuffle around the floor/ lose.

i was off to the pub so i had a bit of quick thinking to do.

the subsequent coversation went like this;

"magictorch, you need to stay to sort this mail. itll only take another hour."

"im sorry, i cant - ive got a bone in my foot."

"oh. oh, i see." (confused look) "i er... ok. see you on monday then."

"yes, bye bye."
(magictorch, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 16:35, 1 reply)

I make "stuff" for part of my living
Yesterday I got a request from a chap on the other side of the pond asking if I would build him one of these.

www.google.com/patents/US20060071122?printsec=description#v=onepage&q&f=true
(short story, it's a teleporter)

Having read through the patent I'm pretty sure the originator is messing with the heads of the entire US patent service.
He's certainly making my brain hurt.
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 16:10, 11 replies)

I posted this on /links the other day. It's actually what made me think the question might be a good idea.
On the day of my wedding the minister asked me if I'd write a message in the guest book, so I wandered away from the others when I had a spare moment and, before writing anything, yelled across to my new wife: "WHAT'S THE DATE TODAY!?"
Her reply was "the 16th of are you serious?"
(Paolo Nutini's Bikini Better than Frederick Fleet's optometrist, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 15:26, 2 replies)

The one where I got rid of awful neighbours (pearoast)
My neighbours weren't actually from hell, but there was something about them I didn't like. They were nosey gets whenever I went in my garden, even if just to hang the washing out. They listened to music quite late, shouted at their kids a lot, well bellowed anyway (had they never seen Dr Tanya Byron?), the shouting would start their dog off which would then get shouted at.

The man of the house, we shall call Gary, would go out of an evening, and not get in until about 1am, when he demonstrated that he had no concept of taking a key with him as he used to hammer on the door until his wife got up and let him in. I got a card through the door once saying that I wasn't in and my parcel had been left with a neighbour. I went round and was given the parcel, which had clearly been tampered with as one of them had been curious about what I'd received.

Nothing seriously anti-social, just a nuisance.

They had a daughter, Amy who used to treat my daughter as a fair-weather friend. If none of Amy's other friends weren't available, she would come knocking. My daughter twigged and would say no only to get a bit of verbal off Amy if she didn't play out with her. One day, my daughter had been invited over as it was Amy's birthday. My daughter came home early because she was bored and Amy and her friends weren't talking to her. My daughter had left her jacket there so I said I'd go get it. Then I had an idea.

I dug out an old typewriter, fed a piece of paper in and halfway down and in the middle typed two words. I folded the paper up, stuffed it in an anonymous Xmas card envelope and went round. I fed it quietly through their letterbox and knocked on the door. Gary came to the door and behind the glass I saw him bend down and pick up the envelope and then open the door.

"She left her jacket, it's the blue one" I said.
Gary shouted through, "Bring next door's jacket, it's the blue one." He then opened the envelope and read what I'd put, under his breath but audible all the same. Two words.

"They know"

He stuffed it in his back pocket, I was given the jacket and he shut the door.

I heard a heated conversation, but in low voices between him and his wife. Amy's friends were sent home and I saw Gary carry something into the garden so I ran upstairs and peeked out of the bedroom window to see what was going on.

He had a laptop, and was smashing it open with a big hammer. He then went back in the house and came out a few moments later with a power-drill and drilled several large holes in the hard drive.
He went back in and came out with two more drives and drilled holes in them. Then he got a metal dustbin out from behind his shed, filled it with grass-clippings that had been going brown at the side of the garden followed by a liberal amount of lighter fluid and a match. He went back in the house.

He came back out with a load of paper and some CDs and the lot went in the dustbin, followed by the hard-drives and the remains of the laptop. He went back inside again and slammed the door. I heard a lot of shouting for about 30 minutes which died down.

Two days later, there was a lot of commotion again and I saw Gary and his wife loading boxes and furniture into a removal lorry. This drove off, Gary locked up his house and he and his family got in his beat up old Mondeo and drove off.

I never saw them again.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 15:07, 3 replies)

Should I take the blue pill...
or the red pill?
(King Nightmare, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 15:03, 8 replies)

I have just eaten a biscuit. TRUE STORY!...

...and a bit just broke off and wedged underneath the keyboard. Under one key in particular. As a result of this I cannot type that letter…but which one?
(Mr Twisty Cheeky The worst kept secret in B3ta..., Fri 13 Jan 2012, 14:57, 11 replies)

Zombies, paranoia and dogs on wheels.
I used to share a flat with a very good friend of mine, who we shall refer to as JP, for they were his initials. It was mid 90s so the playstation was our main source of entertainment. Now JP loved playing the "Resident Evil" games, but I could never fathom out why, as he was (and still is) one of the jumpiest, twitchiest mo-fos I've ever met. Many an evening I'd have retired to my room to hear JP's weeping from the living room as yet another zombie dog had leapt through plate glass and ate his face. In the game that is.

So, being the kind, warm-hearted kind of guy I am, one particular evening as JP was popping to the loo mid-zombie hunting, I wished him a good night as I was going off to bed. BUT. I did not go to bed. I instead hid behind the sofa. And waited. And he came back, sat on the sofa, and continued playing the game. And I waited. And about twenty minutes later, as the game was becoming particularly tense, I slowly rose from the behind the sofa with that low zombie moan sound that means they want braaaaaiiiinnnssssss.

He jumped, in fact, I swear to this day he actually rose two feet clear above the chair, hovered briefly, before diving across the room, controller flying and leads tangling, screaming like a girl.

This reaction set me off on a course of making him jumpy and paranoid at every available opportunity throughput the years, much to my amusement: lots and lots of sneaking up on him unawares; leaving him wrapped around various items whilst sleeping (e.g. one of those push along toy dogs on wheels you'd get in the 70s); helpful answer phone messages such as "Behind you!" and "Did you leave the iron on?"; patiently waiting inches from his face so he'd wake up to me staring at him; whispering his name via a baby monitor whilst he slept to freak him the fuck out. You know, the usual.

For the rest of our time sharing that flat he would always check behind the sofa before sitting down. I suspect he still does it now despite me living 200 miles away.
( paulieg La, la, la, not listening, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 14:34, 5 replies)

When I met up with the Amorous Badger

I thought he would be a self-assured, dominant type of fella, given his ruthless persuit of all that is rubbish and self-agandising on this site. In fact we only started communicating when he ‘outed’ me as a relentlessly self-obsessed attention-whore of the first water.

What really surprised me was that back at his place, when he went to ‘slip into something more comfy’, he came back into the living room on all fours, wearing nothing but a dog collar and leash around his neck and a pair of ladies brief knickers, which, nevertheless, managed to fully hide his miniscule manhood.

‘Oh Kay, I’m not worthy of you,’ he began as he lunged towards my shoes and started to lick them.

‘Badger, what are you doing?’ I asked.

‘Have I been bad?’ he asked, twisting his head to look at me.

‘Oh I see your game, you naughty Badger, trying to look up my skirt are you?’ He clearly was, and as it was summer, and a warm evening, I wasn’t wearing any tights.

‘Oh no Miss, I wasn’t. Honest!’ he lied, cringing and prostrating himself further. I grabbed hold of the leash and pulled him across the room to the dining table.

‘Sit on the floor with your back to the table.’ I told him, ‘Put your hands behind your back, I’m going to tie you up.’ I took the leash from the collar and tied his hands securely with it while he sat quiety with his legs out in front of him. The tying had clearly made him aroused, ‘Badger, what are we going to do with you, you horrible creature.’

‘Wank me off perhaps?’

‘What a good idea,’ I said. I left him tied up and explored the other rooms, letting him stew in his own juice for a while. When I found a riding crop, I returned and used it to gently rub his swollen cock through the material of the knickers, but as soon as his breathing quickened, I’d give him a whack in the balls and let him calm down for a bit. I don’t know how long this went on but eventually I could see he was very close to cumming, so I went to the kitchen, fetched a big jug of water and threw it over him. This I followed with a litre bottle of corn oil, which I poured all over him and a bag of plain flour.

‘Right, I’m off now you despicable Badger. I suggest you get yourself free and clear up this horrible mess quickly. I’m going to ring 999 to report a burlary and leave the front door wide open.

I’ve no idea what happened next, but maybe he can fill in the details?











And that’s how you fuck with someone’s head.
(K.W.A. Knickers With Attitude, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 14:18, 28 replies)

Logmein...
Relatives and friends, that despite having watched you install it cannot tell whether or not you are actually controlling their machine.

Hours of fun to be had....but a word of warning, you might find out a few things you'd rather not.
( repooc, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 14:09, Reply)

My stupid ex wife!
A few years ago, when the BBC were doing the station idents with all the people flying kites, my ex wife, myself, and a couple of my mates were sitting watching TV and having a few drinks before we ventured out for a night on the town.

One of my mates piped up when the ident came on that he knew where they had filmed that bit of footage, when my ex asked him where it where it was, he responded with ‘The Kite Islands’! Now my other mate and myself knew e was taking the piss so we said nothing, but it was kind of hard not laughing at the look on her face, she took it seriously.

For months afterwards she would pipe up every time that it came on asking for more information about the ‘Kite Islands’. In the end we had compiled a huge amount of information for her about this non-existent island, and she would happily tell anybody she met about them! What a twit!
(Herr Doktor Lemminge Is bored, so cheer me up!, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 13:48, 1 reply)

if you run [equation] by aphex twin through a spectrograph
you either have too much time on your hands. or will possibly have nightmares. or both.
( Ya What Skiddlyboop, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 13:41, Reply)

Suffolk 'n good.
AB's story of his grandad messing with a cockney reminded me of one from the same area of East Anglia. My grandparents came from there and I lived and worked in Norfolk and Suffolk for many years.

Let me start by saying that these stories nearly always feature a rural type and a cockney so are possibly apocryphal in nature. My take on the origins of this kind of tale is that as Norfolk and Suffolkers were increasingly exposed to people from London they labeled them all as "cockney", as you would. However this was told to me first hand by an old boy I worked with who hung out in the pub all weekend, every week, for most of his working life with these characters. I believe him.

They do say that everyone has one book in them, I believe this often applies to jokes too, you may think one up and have to wait, perhaps years, until the perfect moment presents itself and you can strike like a cobra.

This is the story of Walter's moment.

This brief exchange took place in a rural pub not a stone's throw from the location of ABs story and features Walter, a merry, wrinkly old rustic who always had a pint and a pipe on the go.
A stranger entered the bar red faced and somewhat flustered and asked loudly "Excuse me mate, I'm really late for a wedding, can anyone tell me the quickest way to Cockfield?"
Without missing a beat Walter removes his pipe from his mouth and asks " Oim a bit deaf bor, did yew ask the quickest way t'get tew Cockfield?"
The stranger nods his affirmation.
"Well", says Walter slowly, savouring his moment and nodding towards the barmaid, "Usually I finds the quickest way is to buy Chloe here a double brandy"
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Fri 13 Jan 2012, 13:09, 4 replies)