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This is a question No Self-Awareness

I had a boss who had no idea of his body odour problem, and everybody was too tactful to break it to him. Not so a visiting Rev Ian Paisley: "What the blazes is that smell? Is it you?" That sorted it. Stories of people blissfully unaware of their bad smells, bad manners and foghorn voices.

Suggested by Ding Dong Montily on High

(, Thu 29 Nov 2012, 13:31)
Pages: Popular, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

This is well timed
As my story only happened two months ago.

My cash had completely dried up, so six months prior I was forced to take a menial data entry job to make ends meet. It was monstrously simple work, which I did my best to liven up by writing a series of dirty limericks in the "other" field of each entry. I was doing okay, except the only thing that was spoiling my calm was Brad, the occupant of the next cubicle over.

The one thing that really sets me off is people with no self-awareness. I truly cannot understand how you can move through the world with no conception of your impact upon it, especially when so much of that world is asking you to please, please, keep your voice down. Brad was one of these people. No really, he was the full list: he showered once a month tops, talked at the top of his voice, and ate like a particularly dim-witted pig. He would often fart loudly and then giggle, or loudly congratulate himself.

To make matters worse, the people that ran the place had, in a misplaced attempt to boost morale, permitted music to be played, but had failed to require the use of headphones. Brad liked Capital FM, and played it all day, frequently turning it up and declaring, "Awww, TUNE!!!!!!" and often singing along. Adding insult to injury, Brad was one of those witless, unbearable fucks who had no desire to learn the proper lyrics and would just belt out whatever sounded about right and ignore all attempts to at least put him straight.

All this was seriously damaging my calm, but having been written up in the past for yelling at colleagues, I did my best to keep my dealings with Brad measured, and my complaints civil. But when challenged, all he would do is give this excrutiating, bovine look of contrition and then go right back to doing whatever it was that was disturbing the peace. The supervisors didn't care. They were clean on the other side of the office. Why should they lift a finger?

One day it all got too much. His radio was way too loud, he had mooed out "Hopping Gangrene Style!!!" once too often, he was farting like a dying steam engine, and I had a truly rotten hangover. But I kept my cool, leant over and said "Brad, could you keep it down please? And maybe use the toilet? That doesn't sound healthy." He made the fucking face, that appalling fucking "sorry" face, and my innards tightened in frustration. It was getting too much. But I was going to stay in control. I leaned over the partition and reached for his radio.

"Come on mate, let's just turn this down, eh? Some people are trying to woOOOORHHHHHUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I wailed as I inhaled the full force of his latest backside benefaction, causing my full English breakfast to come back for an encore and me to chunder copiously all over Brad and his work area.


And that's how I ended up being summarily dismissed for screaming at a vomit drenched moron.

On the way home a man punched me in a ball for making a pun about a shelf.
(, Mon 3 Dec 2012, 22:15, 12 replies)
I worked with this guy
let's call him Bob. He was a bit - well, hard to say what, really, but if you saw him you'd know straight away 'something' was going on. Is he autistic, had he been dropped on the head when he was a baby, is he some kind of genetic mutation - could have been anything. Let's just say he was - unique. Special.

He was employed only to do the most menial of chores and to his credit he did them well - distributing post, photocopying, filing, etc. and in all the years I knew him he was never late or off sick. So in one sense he was a good worker - reliable, dependable - but only in his comfort zone. Ask him to do anything else and he would spaz out, sometimes spectacularly. He couldn't answer the phone - he was way too nervous, and had a speech impediment that made his mouth fill up with saliva until it dribbled out of his mouth or he swallowed it. He also never - NEVER! - wiped his ass after having a shit.

He would regularly pick his nose with the intensity of a hardcore anal porn performer.

His BO wasn't too bad, but once you smelt it, you didn't want to ever smell it again. Like a pot of coleslaw that's been left out in the sun for three hours.

He had a problem with farting - or rather, WE had a problem with HIM farting - this is where the lack of self-awareness comes in. He would regularly let rip with the most obnoxious chuffers it has ever been my 'pleasure' to experience. The sound would start as a low growl - imagine a very angry cat - then sharply rise to an astounding and very wet-sounding crescendo - MMMMMMPsssssstthhHHHHHHRRRRPPTHTHHTHHSHTHSHHSHTBBRAAAAPPPPPRPRPTSSSSSHHH!
- something that Jonny Fartpants out of Viz would consider a masterpiece.

Whilst in the process of letting this fart, Bob's face would remain as immobile as a waxwork, his eyes intent on the computer screen in front of him, his fingers tapping away, seemingly oblivious to the 'events down below.'

Fart emitted, the smell would then permeate the office. Those in the know would have legged it at the first subsonic growl - those remaining would experience an odour of, fuck, how to describe it? It was definitely beefy, and definitely eggy, due to Bob's diet of pies and pasties and crisps and all manner of shite. But there was something else... as though something had crawled up Bob's arse and died, there to remain, its rotting carcass contributing to the feculent miasma of Bob's anal emissions. But - but there was something else again... the smell of mucus; if you've ever smelt someone's breath when they have a bad cold, that was there as well. All in all, the worst smell I have ever ever smelt ever.

Bob's farts have caused a senior officer to below "What the HELL's that?" They have made a 19 year old temp girl run, sobbing from the office. They have made Post-It notes curl up. They have rendered a cup of tea that I once abandoned in the blast area undrinkable - I COULD ACTUALLY TASTE HIS FART SMELL IN MY TEA. Jesus Pissflaps. Once, he followed through, and, whilst he was in the bog 'cleaning up' (bet he never washed his hands), Facilities Management quickly replaced his chair, and the soiled one had to be burned.

Bob, Bob, fucking farty Bob, I'm so glad I no longer work with you. For this and many other reasons which may well come to light in future QOTWs.

(There you go! A proper story. Anyone looking for a pun can shit off).
(, Sun 2 Dec 2012, 21:06, 30 replies)
Many years ago when I was a lazy uni student, I fell into the habit of doing a bucket bong each morning and passing the day pleasantly stoned
On one particular day I went to get take-away sushi for lunch. The restaurant was in a food court in a nearby multi-storey shopping centre. As I approached the counter I noticed standing in front of it was a man in a tuxedo and a woman seated on a bar stool next to him wearing a black cocktail dress. They were a very beautiful couple, and seemed quite happy as they both had big smiles. I stood next to them and tried to get the attention of the japanese owner to take my order. He was standing off to the side and instead of coming to me started signaling me to come to him with a look of fear in his face. Ignoring his odd behaviour, I yelled out that I'd like the nigiri special, and he gave me a funny look but started to prepare it, which in hindsight showed a certain business acumen. I looked at the couple beside me who were now staring at me, and gave them a friendly smile. There was something strange about them I couldn't quite put my finger on, something too perfect and not quite real. I waited until the owner put together my sushi and took my money and handed me the bag. It was only then that I turned around and noticed the film crew, standing around in a semi-circle all waiting for me to finish, with cameras, sound technicians, and two really bright studio lights focused on the couple. Totally oblivious I'd walked through and onto an active advertising shoot and ordered sushi. And the owner had sold it to me
(, Thu 29 Nov 2012, 15:16, 1 reply)
Snowy's post reminded me of a former work colleague....
She was the type of girl that would, despite sticking to various diet plans, generally treat herself a week full of lunches that would consist of a large portion of chips, mountain of cheese and half bottle of mayo as a treat for doing well at her last weigh in.

She was a big girl with delusions about her size. She seemed to think that she was a stones weight-loss away from having Victoria Beckhams figure, when in reality she was about a stones weight-gain away from looking like Beth Ditto.

For some reason she would often insist on wearing fishnet tights. the lack of self-awareness was down to the fact that her legs looked like someone trying to force a partially rotted pig carcass through a chain link fence as a result.
(, Thu 29 Nov 2012, 16:21, 8 replies)
Born again Tories
Especially those from poorer backgrounds.

'I came from a modest background and I've worked hard to get what I've got. I don't see why I should have to pay all this tax'.

I have several friends who wholly supported the raising of University tuition fees despite the fact it means none of us would actually be able to go to University if we were 18 again today, and they wouldn't have the well-paid jobs they now have as a result. They don't seem to grasp why I think this is hypocritical.
(, Thu 29 Nov 2012, 15:14, 22 replies)
In my job I have one-to-one weekly meetings with everyone in the office
They come to me, we have a serious discussion, they take notes and we reschedule for next week. The company pays, and some of the employees have been having these sessions for years.

And every week, when I get round to one individual, I get a lump in my throat and a queasy feeling on the back of my tongue. My fingernails will itch and it will take a Herculean effort for me to concentrate on maintaining eye contact with the client.

Because every week without fail, he will be sporting a zit on his face. And not just a little whitehead, but a monstrous, oily, pus-filled bubo, so round and firm that it looks like it could erupt at any moment.

This yellowy beast will be nestling in the crease of his nose, or dangling from his poorly-shaven chin, or lurking on his neck like a parasite carried around by an unwitting host. Once, it nuzzled against the edge of his lip, right in the corner of the mouth, and as the guy spoke small specks of spittle collected there, until it looked like his zit was drinking, lapping away at the saliva.

It's properly revolting and it's obvious the guy manages to wake up, get clean and dressed, and leave the house without once looking in the mirror to check for pustulent growths.

So we will spend an hour together; me, him and the zit, with my gaze desperately skittering around the room until drawn inevitably to the greasy mound.

That is, until he picks it in front of me, and wipes it on his trousers.
(, Thu 29 Nov 2012, 14:20, 7 replies)
Just like everyone else's.
I work for a large chemical company that stores the toxic, potential air polluting stuff in a special 'bunker' that you aren't allowed to use electronic devices in lest a spark gets loose and it all goes up in a big bang and half the town disappears.

As part of further safety measures, the Health and Safety guy- a large man with spectacles and BO that could melt diamonds, goes around and checks that everything is where it should be and seems to be putting larger and larger signs up on the walls and shelves to make it even easier to locate and store stuff.

He has excellent knowledge of the wall mounted platform upon which the Nitrous Dioxide is to be stored.
(, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 10:21, 9 replies)
Our MD
He'd been single for many years until 2010, when upon hitting his 50's lost three stone in weight and made a real effort to see more of the world, especially lady parts. He met a woman who he now lives with.

Unfortunately, he's regained the weight and a little more, developed a perfectly circular bald patch, allowed his new beau to cut the rest of his hair, died the grey out and has taken part in Movember.

No-one has the heart to tell him that he looks like a gay paedophile monk.
(, Fri 30 Nov 2012, 16:50, 3 replies)
Smelly urchin
I realise that tales of smelly co-workers are well worn this week so if you don't want to read another then scroll on young reader, scroll on.

It's only recently that my nostrils have begun to recover, in much the the same way as someone begins to taste anew after quitting smoking, my olfactory senses are finally beginning to reawaken now that my former colleague has departed. Personal hygiene was some sort of abstract concept to him, he could barely have showered weekly.

Each Monday he would arrive at the office in a shirt laundered by his mother. The shirt would reappear every day with the addition of more creases gathered by hanging it on the floor, and with the addition of more stains from the array of fast food that comprised his entire diet. His clothing, however, was the only thin and crusty veil that hid the most foul and monstrous body odours being emitted from every nook and cranny.

The all pervading smell of oniony body odour was noticeable within a six foot radius but that was mild in comparison to the fate that befell me one Friday. It was a hot and sunny day and the old office was not air conditioned. My former colleague's aroma had reached heady new levels and he'd developed a visible aura of pong surrounding him. A large plotter was delivered that needed to be moved into the store room and my colleague was despatched and unfortunately reappeared some moments later as he required assistance to position the plotter in a suitable location.

With growing trepidation and nausea I leapt up and strode to the storeroom careful not to get trapped downwind in the corridor. The plotter was stood on its side and needed a two person push to get it into place. I bent down to push the bottom half of the plotter before I realised the stupidity of my actions: I'd unintentionally placed my face within 12 inches of his arse. I resisted the urge to jump up out of politeness, after all despite his horribly offending personal hygiene I didn't want to upset the guy, so I turned my head to the side and to take a deep breath of uncontaminated air that would hopefully last until we'd heaved the plotter forwards. It took a prolonged and almighty shove to move it, a prolonged and almighty shove that used up all my oxygen resources and gasping like fish that had just leapt out of the toilet bowl into the ripest and most shit encrusted public toilet seen outside of trainspotting I inhaled what can only be described as Satan's own breath deep into my lungs.

I cringed back and shrank down as my stomach told me the smell had been insuppressibly horrific and a gag reflex was imminent. As my colleague turned to face me I let rip with a mighty "RALLLLLLLLPHHHHHEEERRRGHHHHHH". He looked at me slightly perplexed for a moment before he remarked "cig break" and wandered off leaving me curled up sweating in a ball on the store room floor fighting the urge to barf uncontrollably. Clammy and grey with a thousand yard stare I made my way back to the office and wept quietly.
(, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 21:13, Reply)

Several years ago I took a few days break to visit Byron Bay on the North Coast of New South Wales. As the sun was setting I was sitting down near the beach when some young, what would described in Britain as Chavs but what we would refer to in Oz as scum bags where playing a game of car jumping in the beach front car park.

For the uninformed this involves someone driving the car at a reasonable pace, around 20 or 30 km/h, in a straight line while someone runs at the car head on, jumps on to the bonnet, then the roof, then the boot and off the back.

I will admit that some of these guys weren't too bad at the pointless game.

There was one young bloke, the loudest, wankiest, pants around his knees, wearing jeans on a 35 degree day, pathetic haircut, young fuck knuckle of the group and he was up for his turn.

Although I can't actually remember it lets say for the sake of the story it was a poo brown Honda Accord, and quite possibly driven by Mr. T and as had happened a dozen or so times before, the aforementioned greatest disappointment possible from an orgasm, started his run towards the car, and as he took his first leap on to the bonnet got tangled in his own pants causing him to stuff up the take off and have his legs swept from under him and subsequently upended by the Honda, bounced off the roof head first and landed in a crumpled heap behind the car.

A complete totach!

Oh, how I laughed. As I trotted over to take a closer look at the fallen dick head, who was bleeding from his face, but, not in the copious amounts one would expect, that I saw his leg. Most legs run up and down from the hip to foot but, this leg now had a 90 degree bend at the knee, sideways. I almost wet my pants from laughter.

I think one of his vacant compatriots summed the situation up best when he said as his mate lay there possibly about to die,

"fuck man, I wish I had videoed that"
(, Fri 30 Nov 2012, 0:21, 13 replies)
I work for a further education provider in one of London’s less salubrious postcodes. In order to get to us, you must first walk though a library. Unlike many libraries this one is well used by the local populace. Unfortunately this also means it is frequented by nuisance types - drunks, petty criminals, teenage hood-rats and their ilk. The library staff have to deal with a fair amount of grief from these arseholes but it’s probably the site-staff, who are a cross between security guard, porter, caretaker and general dogs-body, who take the brunt of the abuse.

Anyway, one of the site staff, whom we will call Clive, spots a young lady walking into the library talking in a loud voice on her mobile phone. That’s right, not walking ‘out’ of the library having just answered a call but walking into the library already speaking on her phone.

“Excuse me madam, you can’t use you mobile phone in here” explains Clive firmly.

The young ‘lady’ deliberately ignores him and carries on walking. Clive gives chase and confronts her in a somewhat more robust fashion.

Enter yours truly - I had just finished a long and tiring day of teaching and was just about to take a well earned break when I was approached by one of the other teachers and asked to mediate between an understandably miffed ‘Clive’ and the young ‘lady’ in questions who was clearly of the ‘talk to the hand’/ ‘am I bovered’ generation and regretably one of our students.

Anyway a certain amount of back and forth conversation takes place as I try to understand what has happened. It appears that Viki Pollard’s sister has taken umbrage and is now accusing Clive of “disrespecting” her and is threatening to make a complaint. It’s at this point that I start to lose me legendry cool.

Her: “He disrespected me. He was rude. He pointed at me”

Me: “Madam, you understand that this is a library. which is supposed to be a place of quiet contemplation. That one of the rules of a library is that you can’t use your mobile phone. In fact one of the reasons people come here is so they don’t have to listen to people on their mobile phones.”

Her: ”Yeah, I know that now. He disrespected me. He was really rude”

Me: “Sorry. No. HE did not disrespect YOU. HE was doing his JOB. YOU were the one not showing any RESPECT. YOU were the one being RUDE. ”

Her: “Yeah, but he…”

Me: “In fact, by using YOUR PHONE in the library, not only were you being RUDE to the site staff. YOU were in fact DISRESPECTING EVERY OTHER LIBRARY USER. IT IS YOU WHO ARE RUDE. IT IS YOU THAT IS NOT SHOWING ANY RESPECT. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Her: “Yeah, well, but…”

Anyway, I was probably foaming at the mouth at the point and she left the building looking somewhat cowed. She dropped out of her course a few days later. On the plus side, I received major kudos from the site staff for standing up to her and telling her like it is.

The most disturbing aspect of this tale is that she was on the phone to her daughter’s school. It’s depressing to think that this individual will be responsible for instilling a value system and shaping the mind of a young child. Perhaps she learned something from the encounter, but I very much doubt it.
(, Sat 1 Dec 2012, 12:13, 80 replies)
It's catching. Like the supposed Mass Hysteria. There is the Spontaneous Family/Friends/Social Gabbing group.
There's probably an analogy in biology for how this happens-and why... (maybe something along the lines of kidney stones forming or thrombosis that ends up causing heart attacks).

Two people bump into each other in town, or in a supermarket. Maybe it's two people, maybe it's four or five. Sod's luck, it might even be eight of 'em. A couple of buggies as well, perhaps some outlying shopping trollies full of 'borrowed' supermarket items. Often as not, even a dog on a string and Granny in a Bath Chair. To top it off, an additional cycle of restless toddlers orbitting the group like snot-ridden hyperactive bees.

Then the core members of the obstruction recognise each other and slam on the anchors.

Stop dead.

Exactly where they were, while other ambling folks behind stack up to avoid walking into them. Everyone is quietly cursing and observing as they exchange shrieky greetings.

Pretty soon, a whole smoothly running walkway/supermarket aisle and/or transit system is backed up and gridlocked because those few people are too engrossed with coffee morning chat of inconsequential importance to give a shit about the rest of the world as it tries to go about its business unimpeded.

Shopping trollies clash, people loudly tut and STILL these gits are forming a human obstruction, an unconscious inconvenience, as regular shopping folks who know WHERE they want to go and exactly HOW they're going to get there, are jammed in because oblivious tarts and dull-witted dickheads are carrying out their social small-talk in public instead of where it should be, in the pub or social club or (for the good of all mankind) on Skype.

The irony of this is that - as I've often seen - if anyone has the temerity to speak up and say 'YOU'RE BLOCKING THE WAY' the riposte is almost always 'WELL YOU'RE IGNORANT'. Ignorant being the new way that dull uneducated folks like to insult people by implying they are dull and uneducated.
(, Thu 29 Nov 2012, 23:38, 2 replies)
I think I've mentioned this before
but I was once told off by my ex girlfriend, when I was a 22 year old graduate working full time in a shitty retail job to pay my rent while I looked for something better.

Apparently she couldn't understand why I was working in a minimum wage job and not doing something with my life. I must be incredibly lazy, otherwise I'd have a nice flat and stuff like her. Why didn't I get a proper job?

All a bit harsh, but maybe understandable, until you take into account that:

1) She didn't have a job
2) Her Dad had bought her flat for her
3) Her boyfriend paid all the bills
4) She owed me £20 at the time

To rub it in, on the 'proper job' bit, her Mum was an alternative therapist.
(, Thu 29 Nov 2012, 13:47, 9 replies)
open plan office
I have moved down to the first floor in my office as the managers on the second floor have no internal volume control.

There's the special one who keeps shouting "I don't know what I'm doing" or "I don't understand" and also the other half of fucking Jedward who rings her up and discusses applications and CVs with her whilst sitting about 15 yards away.

The thing is everybody between them can hear both halves of the conversation as neither of them understand the concept of lowering their voices and thus they might as well just put the fucking phone down and shout.

The aforementioned second half of Jedward is also health and safety guy and recently injured himself falling down a flight of exterior metal steps in the rain whilst wearing those clippy cloppy metal bottomed cycling shoes.

spesh as fuck in my office.
(, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 12:11, 10 replies)
oh my, the smell.....
there is a woman i know who, for various reasons, i will not name. let us overlook the fact that her stomach is so large that it hangs down around her like a fleshy skirt. let us forget that she has taken filing compensation claims to the level of a hobby. these things just make her unpleasant.
no, the thing she seems to have no awareness of is her smell. this woman could give foul ole ron a run for his money. i've never seen her knowingly wash and, even on a good day, her aroma is that of rancid burgers. on a bad day, there are simply no words to describe what she smells like. being within 10 feet of her triggers the most resilient gag reflex. curiously, the worse she smells, the less people want to point it out, even the people she works with would rather invent convoluted means of avoiding her than simply say "you smell, go away."
she is currently trying to sell her house. i doubt it will go well. she is inviting people to view a home that smells as if someone has been boiling a large dog in its own sweat and vomit. even family members don't want to be there.
that's all i can say, i'm making myself feel a bit ill here.
(, Sat 1 Dec 2012, 16:11, 11 replies)
My mates are all absolute flange magnets.
Or so they seem to believe. I'm a gullible sort, so one particular friend of mine had me wondering how he managed to accumulate such a wealth of stories about sordid bonk-fests. I think I was lulled into believing him by the fact he had a horribly unhappy relationship with an absolutely stunning stripper, and also because I once woke up on my friend's couch while he was busily poking the life out of a drunk lassie behind it vigorously enough to shake me awake.

I'm useless with women, so I shrugged and put it down to one of those things I'd never understand. That was until I saw him in action!

I was baffled as to why women found the sight of him and my other mate, stamping about pissed as lords and shouting the words to Gold at the top of their lungs, absolutely irresistible, but there they were, chatting up two women at the end of the night. And they came with us to the kebab shop, so I assumed this intangible attraction they held must be working it's magic. I plonked my arse down on a bench outside the shop and waited for them coming out, and a few moments later one of the "ladies" fell sideways out the door. She looked a bit impatient as her friends were standing chatting just inside. She opened the door and shouted "Come on, before those fuckin wankers get back or we'll never get away!"

The smug grin I had on my face the next day as that regailed me with tales of how gagging for it those lassies had been. Smashing.
(, Fri 30 Nov 2012, 16:53, 1 reply)
and I were in Tesco as she was looking for a cheap top to wear for a night out she wasn't that keen on going to. I picked up a white top with long sleeves trying to be helpful and show a modicum of interest.
"What about this?" I asked impassively.
"Long sleeves? It's piss ugly for a start, and it's July. Why would I wear long sleeves", before turning round and seeing a woman wearing the exact same top not 5 feet away and certainly within earshot.
With a horrified look on her face, my missus dashed off whilst I just burst out laughing.
She had a point though, this other woman did look bloody awful in it.
(, Fri 30 Nov 2012, 16:27, Reply)
New parents
Seem blissfully unaware of others, especially when pushing their new brood through city centres in a three wheeled tank.

(, Thu 29 Nov 2012, 14:08, 16 replies)
Another Boss story
Yesterday I was in a meeting with my Boss, who told us that our wages are going to be late again and in the new year, the whole company may shut-down. I cannot lose my job right before Christmas or after, there's not a lot of work around here. My family was the only thing I could think of, the thought of no pressies was terrible, eviction from my flat even worse.

During this meeting the words 'projection', 'estimates', 'quarterly results' and various other numbers and bullshit that make no sense to a graphic designer, with no intimate knowledge of business matters, flooded the rant, for hours. Eventually A couple of us just told him to shut up and tell us straight "when are we getting paid?" and "do we have to start looking for new jobs right now?" (the latter being quite obvious).

The answer? = 'projection', 'estimates', 'quarterly results' and various other numbers and bullshit that make no sense to a graphic designer, with no intimate knowledge of business matters.

This is after I had said very loudly, "your business is my business, I have a child to pay for, without a job I am fucked"

The answer = "I don't want to play that hand right now"

(, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 14:48, 34 replies)
I have known people who smell bad,
almost too many to think it worth mentioning.
I realize, or presume, that I've grievously insulted someone, but often only after some hours have passed, and they are far away and have already written me off as impossibly gauche.
The few times that I have tried to make amends, they look at me as if far too strange and say "What the fuck are you going on about?"
Imagine a line that goes through the 3 dimensional normal curve of human behaviour; on the right hand end a sociopathic con man, on the left end an obtuse and thoroughly Asperbergic programmer. I'm on the left tenth percentile.
(, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 4:21, 2 replies)
Worked with a bloke.....
Who had a shit around lunch time. When he came out the clagga he had wiped shit all up the back of his white shirt. He kept this shirt on for two days before someone decided to tell him.

He wasn't the most hygienic person at the best of times to be fair. Even less with shit smeared up his Back.
(, Mon 3 Dec 2012, 20:29, Reply)
I had a midnight kebab once, and there must have been some garlic sauce leakage
The next day I wore the same pair of jeans out and about. It wasn't until late afternoon I bothered to look down and noticed I had several large crusy white stains around the fly, standing out like dog's balls.
That's my story, anyway, and I'm sticking to it
(, Mon 3 Dec 2012, 16:30, 6 replies)
I will post on topic too but for the record
I think being overly self-aware is almost worse. People who over analyse every single last thing and have seen one or more therapists for 6 months or more can be much more painful and tedious than the blissfully ignorant, no?
(, Sun 2 Dec 2012, 21:44, 6 replies)

Way back under the Thatcher regime i had the misfortune of being on a "scheme" ,basically a shelter set up to shelter the unemployable, massage the dole figures and milk cash out of the tax payer. As you can imagine. it attracted an eclectic mix of people, and as i took cover on it for quite at time met a lot of them. One was notable above others as she had the power to clear the building at precisely ten o'clock every day.
She was called a rather sweet name of a bird of prey and from gypsy stock she lived with her gnome like brother in a big council house. Both had a rather ripe body odor. Both displayed the sort of wide eyed innocence that let them get away with murder, but i really think neither really understood what the world wanted or required of them to fit in. They complained of the water not working at home and the scheme supervisor arranged for the council to go round to fix it. They found all the floor boards and doors had disappeared,burnt on the fire. "we were cold" was the innocent reaction when quizzed. they got new floor boards and doors which they steadily worked their way through the next winter. The water had not so much stopped flowing as become unreachable when the stairs got burnt, so access to the upstairs loo became impossible. And that lead to the ten o'clock "happening" at the schemes center. She was about 55 and unable to read or write she attended every day and at ten she would excuse herself and retire to the loo...it only took one ten o'clock experience to make you evacuate the room as the incredible stench meandered out the door and round the room. God knows what they eat but maggoty roadkill pan fried in sweat and sewage was a guess...Any one who has ever replaced a toilet pan will remember the feeling that you have opened the gates of sewage hell well multiply that by ten.
(, Sat 1 Dec 2012, 21:18, 1 reply)
DFS have a sale on!
New sofa warehouse.
(, Fri 30 Nov 2012, 14:32, 3 replies)
This young chav was unaware that as soon as you turn your mobile phone on in Tenerife you get a welcome SMS from the foreign Telco.
..as we were approaching the customs guards he was somewhat surprised when his phone bellowed at full volume "YOU'VE GOT A FUCKING MESSAGE!"

"shit shit shit..."
(, Fri 30 Nov 2012, 12:40, Reply)
The longest journey
I was travelling on a long journey by coach with a couple of others, and when we got aboard we discovered that there were just three spaces left. The other two grabbed the one remaining double seat, so I was left with pot luck. As I approached the last seat, I though to myself "Result!" -- the adjacent seat was occupied by a very pretty young girl. Hah, a captive audience for my charm and wit, I thought.

How wrong I was. After initial introductions had broken the ice, she started on a non-stop stream of consciousness verbal deluge, covering her life story, her likes and dislikes, whatever asinine new-age fad had caught her eye this weeek, and in particular, in great and intimate detail, the disasterous relationship she had just come out of. She seemed to have no sense of appropriateness, no concept of the two-way nature of conversation, and no boundaries. My expression must have become glazed, my eyes must have begun darting from side to side seeking escape, but nothing was going to stop her.

In the end I put on my headphones, lay back and closed my eyes. Not even that was a hint, she just carried on with the appalling drivel. She kept it up for hours.

All the time, my mates a few rows behind were pissing themselves laughing, of course.
(, Fri 30 Nov 2012, 11:37, 3 replies)
I used to know a guy who, although quite a nice chap...
...had no sense of personal space.

Chatting to him at a party once, I found myself backing away as he stood closer and closer to me. Once I reached the wall I was trapped; he actually stood so close to me I didn't have room to drink from the glass I was holding. It amazed me at the time (and it still does now) how little people pay attention to stuff around them O_o
(, Thu 29 Nov 2012, 18:15, 7 replies)
ladies of my office and their various 'diets'
atkins, paleo, pranist, etc. a different one every week.

all the while drinking a bottle of white each night and wondering why they dont 'see the weight come off'.

one of them was eating 12 boiled eggs a day and nothing else. the 'lundgren' diet? wtf. she would quite happily polish off a packet of dr kargs thingies. she thought they were like ryvita until someone pointed out that a packet had 1000 calories in it.

(, Thu 29 Nov 2012, 16:31, 4 replies)

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