Judges haaaaate mobile phones going off in their court
In my division there was one particular judge who would go completely MENTAL if a phone went off in his court subjecting the poor unfortunate to a barrage of abuse/ threats of summary conviction for contempt etc. He retired a few years ago and was presiding in what was to be his last day in motion court.

Halfway through the roll - a phone goes off (that really annoying nokia tone on ascend) - there is a collective intake of breath and EVERYONE get's this "who farted?" look on their faces... the look of fury on his face was intense until he realised that it was coming from his own pocket - one of the other judges, a noted practical joker, had slipped it into his pocket just before he went into court... oh the fun we have...
(MostlySunny, Wed 5 Aug 2009, 11:34, 2 replies)

I once used a Nokia
for a couple of minutes. I still get nightmares.
( wheelybird mreee!, Wed 5 Aug 2009, 11:25, 1 reply)

I used to work for T-Mobile
And mostly, I had a right old laugh. The stalker for example who used to like calling up and hanging up if he heard a bloke's voice, or if he stayed on the line, would start getting extremely freaky. Or the massively angry Scot who always rang to query 20p on his bill. Or any of the other variety of callers who otherwise brightened a dull day.

However, one of these was not so bright. A lady called up, sounding quite distraught. It seemed she had deleted a voicemail from her father. Her sadly departed father. Looking back, you'd think now there would be a backup system in place to retrieve these. Unfortunately, there wasn't. Having to explain that final piece she had of her father was gone forever was one of the most difficult things I have had to do in this job.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Wed 5 Aug 2009, 11:25, 4 replies)

It helps if you bollock yourself first
As I was on call at work, I was given a mobile. This was back in the days of analogue mobile phones ... having a mobile was a bit cool. And expensive.

A week later, I somehow lost it in the pub (the phone, not my temper) and I had to fez up to work that I'd lost it.

My manager said 'OK, we'll have a "chat" about it Monday'

Joy.

Monday comes round and he asks "So, what do you have to say about it?"

I replied "Well, it's a priviledge to have a phone, I should look after company property better, be less careless etc etc"

Having, in effect, bollocked myself and used up all the lines he could have said, all he could say was

"Err .. yes, well, be more careful in the future"
(fatboybubba, Wed 5 Aug 2009, 10:41, Reply)

sex text
duck my aunt...
which has led to a whole load of obcenities being added to the phones dictionary =]


length? A lot shorter than it was before he received the text me thinks!
(MissFlee tried again on, Wed 5 Aug 2009, 10:17, 4 replies)

messages from beyond
My father passed away on Monday.

I was away at a festival all weekend, he'd left me a voicemail, which I only found out about yesterday. I listened to it, and he was his usual self, despite the illness. I didn't want to lose this, so I called Orange, and the lovely chap on their end talked me through how to record the voicemail from my phone, and then called me back later on to make sure everything had worked out.

He also left some on my mothers phone.

Her phone isn't as high spec as mine, and doesn't have call recording. I rang tesco mobile, and the tech support spent some time trying to work out whether her phone would do it, whether my old phone might, and which phones should do it. In the end he called someone else to ask whether they could put a block on them being deleted, and then put me through to a young lady who promised that she would try to find a way to record them for us.

They phoned back today, they're setting up recording equipment at their end, they're going record them and send us a minidisc with the two mails on.

Now whenever my mum and I start to miss him too much, we can listen to his voice and just think about him.

(If anyone knows of a fairly cheap Minidisc player with pc connections and all that stuff that would be awesomes.)

Edit: Miss Mookroolz has kindly offered us a minidisc player. Thank you all for your assistance and kind wishes. You're all lovely.
(stapleface, Wed 5 Aug 2009, 10:14, 11 replies)

predictive text
The biggest disaster with my phone, which I surf the net on during the day, is the predictive text. It can be a right aunt!
( SeasonTicketless is too often the statue, and rarely the pigeon., Wed 5 Aug 2009, 9:55, Reply)

Another disaster story
Not a pearoast, but along the same lines as one of my "The Dark" stories. A local hospital also used cell phones as their 'disaster' communications link. As the cell towers weren't on the hospital, this seemed like a good plan.

Except when they had an actual disaster: all was well, communication-wise, until the news trucks showed up. Suddenly no-one could get a cell line. Turns out each news truck had a dozen cell phones in a rack, all dialed into lines at the station. Tied up all the outgoing circuits, and it was back to pen, paper, and walkie-talkies for the critical hospital workers.
(danalan Pretty good, for an amateur., Wed 5 Aug 2009, 9:16, 2 replies)

Not me but ex-colleagues...
V. had been going on all week about that shiny new phone she had ordered after the last one had been 'nicked', i.e. she had drunkenly left it in some pub.

Phone arrived at her desk while she was on lunch break. A couple of colleagues opened the bag carefully and replaced the new phone in the box with the oldest brick you can imagine.

She returned, got all excited - and the actual phone she found in the box was an... anticlimax.

They revealed their mischief while she was shouting at some poor bugger at the Orange support line.

Best part was her apologising to that poor person.
( bierbelly, Wed 5 Aug 2009, 8:27, Reply)

unfortunate rollover
After breaking up with my 5-year girlfriend, I moved into my own apartment. We got back together, but did not move back in together. In a raucous romp with the other woman one morning before work, my phone, which was in the bed, rang. In the throws of it (very loudly), I thought I silenced it, but actually pressed the "answer" button. I did not realize what had happened until after we were through with it when I heard from the phone phrases such a "bitch," "cunt," "I'll kill you," etc. from girlfriend on the other end of the line.

She took me back again once after that. Still feel bad about that one.
(ez_e, Wed 5 Aug 2009, 4:42, 8 replies)

xmas joy (in August)
coal = cock = anal
(British Steel was participating in awesomeness on, Wed 5 Aug 2009, 3:29, Reply)

Short of time this week...
Predictive text fail:

Man to girlfriend: "Do you want to get food in The Crown? Apparently it's really nice in there"

food = done
Crown = Brown

/possible urban myth
( TheMagicDwarf is back like ballroom dancing, Wed 5 Aug 2009, 2:19, 2 replies)

text messaging is destroying the pub quiz as we know it*
a crowd of us went to see Daft Punk in Paris a couple of years ago, and as you may or may not know, the intro to the gig was a electronic voice alternating back and forth the words 'human' and 'robot' at nosebleed volumes.
well, after we returned to Glasgow it became a habit between us to send voice messages of ourselves imitating the vocoder style intro. this went on for months. anywhere, anytime, everywhere, all the time, sending and recieving imitations of french pretend androids saying those words.
my mate, sweenie, was the one that ruined it for us all. knowing that regardless of where we were or what we were doing we would play the messages thru the loudspeaker on our phones for added amusement he sent a voice message to us all of him shouting "its kids I fuck"
I recieved and unwittingly played mine in a cancer research charity shop standing right next to my mum and two random grannies. i dropped my phone in horror and issued apologies all round.
The worst off from sweenie's clusterfuck maneuver was Keef. Keef was at a cousins wedding in the middle of the organisation of a formal family photograph stood next to two of his child relatives. according to him people thought he had said it and he had to make some exceptional explaining amidst panic.

*i realise this title has nothing to do with the story, but when I was trying to think of a witty title to do with mobiles I recalled reading an interview with the super furry animals, just as mobiles were becoming a big thing, and they claimed the were releasing a techno album with that title. sadly never happened.
(Raol Duke, Wed 5 Aug 2009, 1:38, 2 replies)

As instructed...
I worked for an IT company of national renown, and I was pretty good at my job. In fact, the highly influential outgoing operations manager (basically the guy who ran the company) had become a good friend of mine, and I was seen as his natural succesor.

So I got my promotion, and was very soon invited to attend my first Senior Management meeting in the boardroom. It was all going well; I was holding my own amongst the MD, FD, Technical Director, Group Chairman, and various Executive Directors.

Then I felt a familiar rumble in my pocket. My initial thoughts of 'Oh shit, I forgot to turn my phone off!' quickly turned to 'Oh shit, I changed my ring tone at the weekend!!!' The boardroom echoed to the sounds of a small child shouting 'SHUT THE FUCK UP!' repeatedly at the assembled suits.

Naturally, my hands turned to jelly at this point and somehow expanded massively, and as such refused to fit in my pocket to grab the offending device. After plenty of fumbling I eventually extracted it and in a vague attempt to look cool and unflustered, quickly pressed the buttons without looking what I was doing.

'Many apologies, it's off now' I said confidently.

The managing director fixed me with a glare that made me assume I was just one more fuck-up from ending my career whilst politely but insincerely saying to the board : 'Let's not dwell on it. As I was saying - the next quarter...'

'SHUT THE FUCK UP!'

Apparently I can't turn a phone off without looking.

Within two weeks somebody had been brought in to 'help me', then 'share my workload', then 'help me concentrate on my core strengths' (i.e. my prevous role in the company) before I was finally invited to 'Relocate to the Northern Office'.

'But we don't have a Northern Office?'

'Yes, we want you to set it up for us.'

'OK, what's the package?'

'It's commission only.'

'Oh. OK then'

I've never been fired in such a roundabout way.

No apologies for line spacing.
(mongothemagnificent knows where you live, Wed 5 Aug 2009, 0:06, 1 reply)

It's a repost, apologies, but the category fits
Went to a funeral about a year ago - the old lady that lived next door had died, age 102.

We sat in church (the first time in three years) listening to the vicar talk about her life. He asked us to close our eyes for a moment whilst we remembered her.

"Small and feisty" he said, was how she'd been described to him.

During this moment of silence, Vodafone thought it a good idea to send me a text message thereby causing my mobile to play this.

I remember thinking I should have turned it off...
(Mucky has squinted at the screen with one eye shut since, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 23:36, 2 replies)

By request....
It was 1998, I'd had my Yellow-Covered Nokia 5110 for a couple of weeks and I was as proud as Punch of it's cute yellow cover, even though it looked like this

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Nokia_5110.jpg

Three people knew about it. My Mum and two of my mates. Then it rang suddenly, at a time when everyone was at work, I didn't recognise the caller's number but I like meeting people so..

"Hello?"
"Hello there, just wanted to ask, do you do extras?"
"I'm not sure what you mean"
They hung up immediately.

"Hmm.." I thought, "Bet that's one of my horrid brothers, or my boss having a laugh" and left it at that. Until the next day, when the same thing happened. It was a different male voice, calling from a different area code, asking if I did "Extras". The same thing happened the day after that, particularly sticking in my mind, because he didn't sound frightened, or creepy like the others, he sounded, well, normal. Even though he spent the time it takes to cook Fish Fingers, new potatoes and salad for 3 people, trying to persuade me that I should meet up with him anyway. He lived in Manchester, roughly 100 miles away. This continued for days..

Then the breakthrough came, unexpectedly. I was walking to work, when my 'phone rang again.
"Hello there, I saw your ad in the back of the Sport, and I wondered, do you do Extras?"
"I'm sorry love, you've got the wrong number" I said (I never saw any point getting upset with the mystery callers, even though they worried me) but now I knew where to look. So I stopped in at the little news kiosk opposite work, and grabbed a copy of the comic/gent's relaxing sales brochure, turned to the back, and there it was, the reason why I'd had dozens of odd calls over three days..

Classy Lady,
visiting masseuse/escort,
Preston.
tel.. here it gave her mobile tel no. which was the same as mine, apart from having less of one digit, and one more of another.Close enough if your hands are shaking I suppose.
She must have been busy as hell, given how many calls I got for her.
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 22:50, 3 replies)

Mobile internet
Shortly after Christmas a couple of years back, I got my first ever phone with internet. This was exciting. Sadly, the screen was tiny, and the keyboard non-existent, so actually using it was a massive pain in the behind. Regardless, as it was a cool new toy, I used it fairly frequently, including on one day using it to look up some cooking stuff.

One of the articles was 'Better baked potatoes'. The advice given was twofold - first of all, rub oil and salt into the skin for extra crispyness. Secondly, don't slice it open with a knife when it is cooked - punch or karate chop it for extra fluffiness.

Obviously I was excited by these new cookery techniques, and hastened to try them out, even inviting one of my housemates to witness my new ninja potato skills. With a theatrical backswing, and full kung-fu film sound effects, I took a swing at the potato, with a perfect karate chop. The potato exploded, one half of it splattering up the window, the other half firing itself across the room like a beautiful starchy missile. The (admittedly very fluffy) potato centre stuck to the edge of my hand causing some fairly massive burning resulting in me hopping round the kitchen like an angry chimp, whilst my housemate lay on the floor, paralysed with laughter at my utter stupidity.

On later wondering why I'd been given such terrible instructions, I looked them up on my PC. 'MAKE SURE TO COVER THE POTATO WITH A TEA TOWEL!' was indeed written at the bottom of the article, but a combination of the tiny screen on my phone, and my desperate desire for better Irish juice meant I had neglected to read this fairly crucial piece of information.

The enormous blisters on the side of my hand somewhat put me off mobile internet...
(Merrep, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 22:08, 3 replies)

not so much a mobile disaster, as a 'had no mobile...should have spotted the disaster..'
it was the mid 90's, and unlike his best mate Loz, my fiance David didn't have a mobile phone. One night he'd gone out with his work colleagues and come home to an unholy row in the early hours as he "couldn't have phoned home, didn't remember his phone number". I was about as accepting as the non-Nazis were with the 'obeying orders' defence at Nuremberg. I cunted him off something chronic.
Two months later, and he's in hospital, having 'gone into one' after friends were over, and started talking utter nonsenes (despite only one can of Guinness) diagnosed with a massive brain tumour, the early symptoms of which were the apparent early-onset Alzheimer's he was displaying.
He fought. He fought hard. Two lots of brain surgery, radiotherapy and chemotherapy, the chemo he endured having been told there wasn't time to save his sperm but he'd be infertile, sorry.
So not a mobile phone disaster, but if he'd had a phone, I'd maybe have noticed something other than the "forgot your own number to get out of a bollocking" ruse he tried.
It's fourteen years now. I've never forgiven myself for not noticing the early signs. Maybe he'd still be alive.
( Sallyrsm, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 21:19, 10 replies)

Not exactly ruining my life, but EPIC fail nonetheless
When I first got a mobile phone, I did that thing that everyone used to do, ie: go through all the ring tones and choose the one I liked the best (this is before the days of setting anything as your ring tone).

Then I set the ring volume, and chose the "ascending volume" setting, so that the ringing started quietly and got louder.

In B&Q a couple of days later, and someone a couple of aisles away's phone rang.

"Ooh", thought I "that chap's got the same ringtone as me!"
"Wonder why he's not answering"
"He's coming this way..."
*looks round*
*sees no-one*
"But where is he?!"

Then I realised, and pulled my phone out of my pocket, just in time to see "1 missed call" appear on the screen.

*spangs self*
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 20:46, 1 reply)

Long one, in which murder is on the cards.
No polite way to put this – I used to enjoy cocaine. That’s not quite right. As an alarming amount of people will say, I used to fucking LOVE cocaine.

Due to my insatiable desire for this fucking glorious, devilish shit, me and a remarkably friendly dealer (read: fella that really enjoyed getting me hooked on his product so that I spunked all my money on it) became quite pally, and I’d often go round his gaff and spend a rather jolly 24 hours completely fucking myself up at the cost of just a few hundred pounds. Bargain.

After such a session, I retired back to my own place in the morning sun bracing myself for a pleasant day of mild ales, light comedy DVDs and the occasional pathetic failure of a wank (main reason I stopped the stuff), when I got a text from a chap I knew. I hesitate to call him a friend. He was a bloke who largely I spent my time subtly avoiding, because he was an unpredictable fucking psychopath of the highest, knife-wielding order, but I’d sometimes drop in for a pint with him then make my excuses quick sharp. Think Begby, but with a long beard and a penchant for uninvited buggery when he felt slighted. Unfortunately, that’s true.

“Alright m8, how the fuks it going?”

Civilised enough, and pretty much par for the course for him. “Not bad,” I sent back, “Only just got to bed!”.

“Well dont get 2 comfy, I’m poppin round in a min”

Oh for fucks sake. This got me on edge. You know in Sexy Beast when they find out Ben Kingsley’s coming round ‘just to have a chat’ … yeah, like that. I really didn’t want this, especially in my ravaged, paranoid state. I figured a charm offensive would be the best bet – just make my excuses, and pray he understands.

“Aw man, bad timing. I’m only getting half an hour’s kip then I’ve got to drive my sister to the airport.”

I thought that combined everything – family obligations, unavoidable deadlines, incredible self-sacrifice and effort on my part. But the text I got back was:

“Fuk u ya fuking cunt Im on my fukin way uve been fuking me off 2 much lately an Im gnna fuckin show you what fuckin happens to cunts like u”

Eep.

I took this seriously. You just did not fuck about with this guy – the kind of bloke you either killed, or run away from as fast as your out-of-your-depth legs can carry you. I’m not really into the whole ‘murder and prison’ thing, so I had to choose the latter. I jumped in my car, still wired to hell, and just drove like fuck pouring with sweat and shitting myself, straight to the only hard guy I knew that might be able to help – the aforementioned dealer.

Burst through his door and almost collapsed in his arms, whimpering “Man, fuck man, fuck, fucking [absolute raging lunatic I’m still too scared to name] is after me and I don’t know why, you’ve got to fucking help me.”

My mate was none too pleased. I believe his response was along the lines of “You dozy cunt, what the fuck have you come round here for? If he finds you …”

Then, rather inevitably in retrospect, he was cut off by the sound of a car screeching to a halt outside his house.

Psycho got out and kicked the front door in in one go.

Me and matey tried to leg it up the stairs. Psycho grabbed my legs, threw me into the hallway, then weirdly, I thought, completely ignored me and carried on running. He got to my mate, rabbit punched him like a fucking bulldozer, then sat on his chest and began smashing his face over and over again, shouting “You ain’t going to the fucking airport now you cunt!”

Need I carry on?

When I’d left that morning, I’d picked up my mate’s (identical) phone. And had consequently told a very dangerous man we both knew, much higher up the ‘selling pyramid’, that I wasn’t available to pay him a considerable amount of money cos I was “going to the airport.” Apparently that doesn’t sit well with maniacs that want cash.

Thank fuck I figured this out before my mate got beaten to death. Simple shout of “Psycho, he’s got your money, I texted you from his phone by mistake” worked a lot better than I could ever have hoped. Especially cos I had no idea whether he had his money or not. Turns out he did, and we all lived happily every after.*

*Old dealer is in prison, psycho is very much no longer of this earth.

Length? Shrivelled as you like.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 20:13, 3 replies)

The old hole
Next to the old office in London, there's a pub called "The Coal Hole". Affectionately known by a few of us as "The old coal".

After a long day in the office one summers evening, I texted a few colleagues to see if they would be stopping there. However, I was blissfully unaware that the word "COAL" shares a few other spellings in the T9 Predictive Text dictionary.

What I meant to text was "Anyone fancy a bit of the old coal later?"

What I actually ended up texting was "Anyone fancy a bit of the old cock later?"

Unfortunately, it got even worse. A (very female, very beautiful, very breast-endowed) colleage texted me back asking me whether I was serious. Realising my mistake, I replied.

What I meant to reply was "Oh, sorry! Predictive text! I meant COAL!"

What I actually ended up texting was "Oh, sorry! Predictive text! I meant ANAL!"


I'm surprised I still have that job, to be honest...
(Ant Marching And for my next trick... GWARGGHHGWWGGGH!, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 19:11, 5 replies)

Pocket Monster
Early dart, get home, it's friday, girlfriend away, empty house: Perfect.
Shower, quick wank then pub.

After my ablutions and ten or twelve minutes of what can only be described furious self abuse I lie back on the bed exhausted. Then I hear it: "Doo Doo Doooooo.... Please replace the handset and try again."

What? Try again? Now? Oh cock, my phone was in my pocket and I've gone and wank-phoned someone! I look at the last dialed number. Fucksticks! Its that po-faced cow of a freelancer who sucks the bosses arse. The one who rushes to him to report every little mistake I make like some horrible little classroom snyde. Its her landline, at home. What can I do? If this was to be reported I'd be up in front of the board, lose my job, never again work in the sector I've spent my ten years training for. In that single moment my life was fucked.

I make the decision - I've got to phone her back and explain away the fact I've just made an inadvertent perv-call. I press send. Her boyfriend answers. "Hello, err, did you just get a funny call off me mate? Its just that I was erm dancing, yes dancing, erm and I hit my phone, I might have been muttering.... erm I was dancing you see..."

"You havin' a good time there Pongo?" came the reply. A great bloke, he never mentioned it to anyone. A few months later he was rewarded with a much nicer girlfriend.
(pongobeanz almost completely drained the wine box, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 19:00, Reply)

The Old Passage
My friend was going to dinner at a resturant called The Old Passage so I texted her husband to say "I hear you're taking your missus up the passage tonight. Enjoy".

Turned out he'd left his company and passed that phone on to his old boss - Oops!
(Dairy Air, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 15:41, 2 replies)

Disaster!
Every time I try and use a mobile it ends in disaster....mainly due to the fact that I was born without any thumbs.

(Goes back to play with my etch a sketch using my teeth)

(May contain lies)
(mon bison powered by magnets, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 15:11, 1 reply)

Double pranked due to a lack of long term memory
During my university placement year, I lived and worked in a nowhere between Winchester and Southampton. It was a relatively new build house in the middle of a soulless housing estate that existed only to house the thousands of people who worked in the large IBM site nearby and their regulated families.

One of my housemates was called Pete. He was a funny Brummy who seemed to spend most of his time laughing uncontrollably, most often at the most inappropriate of things. He even laughed when in front of his mother he opened a plain envelope addressed to him only to pull out a smut brochure. I'd known him just two weeks and thought it a great way to break the ice.

One depressing night in the local less-than-a-year-old "Ye Olde Country Pub", we were all having a few drinks and enjoying the usual conversations about how much we hated our jobs. As the depressing conversation continued and the drinks continued to flow, Pete offered to get a round in order to continue. Whilst he was at the bar, I noticed he'd left his mobile phone on the table. Such is the way in these situations, I grabbed the phone and swapped his number with that of our other housemate, Chris. As he returned all it took was a quick message from Chris's phone saying "YOU WERE FUCKING ADOPTED! LOL! I POOD IN YOUR MOUTH WHEN YOU WERE A BABY. MUM x" for instant merriment. Much laughter was had by all as the penny dropped the moment Pete read the message. The silence when his phone beeped was more than enough to arouse his suspicion that horse play was afoot.

Fast forward a few months to another boring evening in the house of gloom. Chris sat in front of the TV whilst Pete was reading his Harry fucking Potter book upstairs like the child he is. Meanwhile I'm pottering about, bored. As I looked in the fridge again for something to drink, I notice Pete's phone was resting on the microwave with Pete nowhere in sight. Never one to miss an opportunity, I grabbed it, then wrote and sent a message to Chris. I stood there for a good two minutes awaiting the incredible hilarity that was supposed to ensue. However after it became apparent that nothing had happened, I asked Chris if he had any phone signal. “Full signal” confirmed Chris. I decided to go find Pete to find out if there was something wrong with his phone. Always the detective, Pete was concerned when he faced with me asking questions like this so instantly goes to retrieve his phone and find out what I’ve done. As he fiddled with the buttons, his posture froze as he evidently found something he didn't like the look of, his face turning a little white in the process.

"What's going on?" asked Chris interested in the commotion.

"You cock, you absolute fucking cock!" Pete shouted at me. Turns out he never bothered to change the names of Chris & his mum back to their correct corresponding values in the phone, being epically lazy as he was. Having a somewhat traditional relationship with his mother, he wasn't best pleased to find out that she would be receiving a text message from him saying "I am a big gayer, I love the cock.". Despite this, and still whilst shouting “I HATE YOU”, Pete couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Pete never mentioned the message to his mother and she never asked. I wonder if she knew.
( ma0sm, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 14:37, Reply)

I don't have a witty subject line
I just got a text with this message:

The first woman ever to take her seat in the House of Commons was a miserable failure in her role, stupid, and ugly as a boot.

Was this a mobile phone diss Astor?
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 14:35, 2 replies)

The mysterious case of the crusty mobile
Some things are just so wrong you feel like ripping out your own eyes, reaching inside the bloody sockets, and tearing out your own brain in an attempt to rid the terrible vision from your memory...

“I don’t know what that girl’s doing with these damn things,” complained my mate Sully as we walked to the pub, he examined the latest in a long line of mobiles his daughter, nine-year-old Marie had managed to fuck up. “Look at the state of this thing!” Sully proceeded to clean the crud and filth off the unit, attempting to get the damn thing to switch on but with no luck. He licked his finger and rubbed spit on the foggy screen. Then he returned the finger to his gob and repeated the process until the cheap Samsung sparkled a little. Still didn’t work though. “This is her third mobile this fucking year!” Sully lamented. “I only let her have one so when she’s playing out she can get in touch with me, you know, if somethings up – kiddie fiddlers are everywhere, you know.”

And Sully started scraping the gunk off the keypad with a nail. “Wouldn’t believe this was only two months old – look at the fucking state of it!” And he proceeded to use the lick and spit approach to cleaning the unit – it was a little like watching a particularly large and hairy cat with tattoos and a stupid hat indulge in a spot of grooming.

After the pub we went back to Sully’s for a Sunday afternoon meal. Marie met us at the door: “Uncle Spanky!” said Marie, as she attempted to punch me squarly in the nuts – her way of saying hello. We settled in the living room, pissing about, when Marie started telling me that her phone had broken – I explained I knew, her dad had told me. Marie then asked if I had a phone as she wanted to show me a trick. Intrigued, I offered her my brand spanking new, shit hot, amazingly fucking expensive mobile telecommunications device.

Marie then fucked off with it, thudding up the stairs with an evil laugh like the bride of fucking Chucky. I followed. Marie beckoned me into her bedroom. “Make it vibrate, Uncle Spanky!”

Now, this was obviously starting to feel a little bit wrong... Sully was down stairs preparing a meal, and I had a horrible feeling his daughter was about to demonstrate how she enjoyed sitting on vibrating mobile phones because it made her feel all tingly. With growing trepidation, I set off the vibrate function thing and handed over the phone, then Marie ran over to Binky’s cage and dropped the mobile inside so it landed softly on the hay. Phewww!!! I should explain that Binky was Marie’s pet rat – ugly little fucker, Binky – half a tail missing and walked with a bit of a limp, but Marie, bizzarely, loved the mutant rodent.

“Watch this!” said Marie.

And I watched. And Binky rustled in his hay bed and leapt onto the mobile, and then proceeded to violently and with great fucking effort, shag the arse off my pride and joy. Marie proclaimed with glee: "Binky's dancing! Binky's dancing!" It was fucking odd watching the furry arsed little shitbag shag the bollocks out of my Samsung – the unholy coupling of rodent and machine. And Binky was nipping and biting at his latest conquest while he grabbed hold. Then, before I could have a chance to react, Binky was spent and had scurried off to a corner. Jesus, I thought, give that fucker a cigarette and order him a pizza – he cums quicker than I fucking do!

Marie, giggling innocently, returned my phone. It was wet. I said: “Thanks,” and rushed to the bathroom to wash off the rat cum and spit, feeling rather ill. Then I went downstairs where I found Sully in the kitchen, as he waited for some potatoes to boil, he occupied himself attempting to get Marie’s mobile to work. Licking his finger to wipe away the crusty stuff, then returning it to his mouth. Over and over...

I didn’t have the heart to ask him what dessicated rat cum tasted like...
( SpankyHanky, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 14:04, 7 replies)

Stretching the term "mobile phone" a bit
but if by mobile phone as in "a phone you don't have to be at home to use", then I might be able to lever 'telephone box' into the qotw.

During the first year of college, part of our clique was Tracey, the Australian exchange student who was over her for a full year. Anyway, after she went home, we kept in touch. My mate phoned a couple of times, but it was expensive.

This was back in the days when phones still went clickity-clickity when you dialed, and only a few landline customers had phones that beeped. So, my mate bought a tone-dialer, just for the novelty rather than for a genuine purpose. It was an address book that would beep phone numbers. You held it to the phone, got a dialing tone and it would dial the number for you.

Anyway, I managed to glean a scrap of information restricted to the use of telephone engineers. It allowed an engineer to make a call from a phonebox without having to insert a cash. You used a tone-dialer and after it beeped the number, you keyed in '66' on the keypad.

I mentioned this to my mates and we trooped off the a phonebox to test it out. My mate whips out his tone-dialer, beeps out the number, keys in 66 and waits. There's some clicking and then it starts ringing. Bugger me it worked.

We chatted to Tracey for almost an hour, before she said it was getting late and had to go to bed. It never occurred to us to consider the time difference when calling Australia.

It only worked the once though. I assume when someone came to empty the cashbox and didn't find it full of pound-coins, checked the logs and realised what had happened, the '66' code was either removed or changed.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 13:36, 2 replies)

Top up?
This isn't so much how a Nokia wrecked my life as how it utterly changed the existence of one young lady I used to know for ever.

In days long since passed I was responsible for organising the university ski trips.

The positives:
Free holiday
Free drinks
A large amount of a grade pharmaceuticals, again, gratis
and a lot more action than I would have got otherwise.

The negatives:
Dealing with 300 battered, permanently horny students and rescuing them from, in no particular order, hospital, a public toilet, prison, a crevasse, the very top of a mountain, an extremely league of gentlemen-esque locals bar and a drainage pipe.

Now, one of the responsibilities that was a distinct pleasure was prize giving at the end of the week. The usual antics received recognition - inappropriate nakedness, ill-advised decisions involving alcohol and people of the opposite sex, peculiar injuries, etc, etc. There was also a Darwin award. For the uninitiated this is an award for an act of singular stupidity. We had some truly hysterical submissions, including the chap who recreated a scene from Dumb and Dumber and left the tip of his tongue on the ice-cold safety bar of a chairlift; and the young lady who managed to knock herself out while running from one room to another to engage in a game of hide the slipper and was found in the hallway by the Harlequin and other organisers in nothing but her delightful French knickers. These however pale in comparison to the tale of a charming young fresher called Elle that was imparted to us by a friend of hers.

Elle had a top-up phone and a new boyfriend who was not on the ski trip. She was full of the joys of spring and enjoying this burgeoning relationship. This situation led to her going through her credit halfway through the week and a plaintiff cry to daddy to buy some more for her and top up her mobile.

Doting daddy dutifully did this and informed the apple of his eye that he'd enabled her to continue her long distance courtship with the new beau. After a perfunctory thanks to her papa Elle then recommenced communication with the aforementioned fella. This was not in the form of a shy flirtatious text that one might expect but possibly the most graphic description of carnal activities the Harlequin has ever heard of. This innocent little blonde was describing things that would give the marquis de Sade a heart attack. And all this was going to be done to the recipient of the text as soon as she returned from the trip.

Tragically for Elle "Dad" and "Dan" are rather close in a contacts list. And so, perhaps partly due to her excited state having just informed her gentleman lover of what precisely she was going to do to him with hands, lips, tongue and various other parts of her anatomy, it was probably a turning point in Elle's life when she received a delivery report a few minutes later saying "Received. Dad Mob."

I, being a sensitive soul, related this tale to the entire trip on an extremely inebriated last night dinner and young Elle took it like a trooper, even standing on a table to be acknowledged by the crowd while going the most peculiar shade of red I think I've ever seen. The line that bought the house down was the last line of the text. I can't, for decencies sake, quote in full, but the following words featured: "love it", "your rock hard cock", "thrust into" and "my hot little arsehole".

I bet the first family dinner was all sorts of fun...

Length? Dunno. How long is a Nokia 6210?
(DarkHarlequin putting babies on spikes since, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 12:07, 1 reply)