I have absolutely never...
...driven a car at 120mph on a motorway. And I certainly didn't do it again in a different car on a different motorway.
(delta was very bored on, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 21:58, 5 replies)

I never made a pun.
And if I did, I've repunted.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 21:51, 4 replies)

I most certainly did not
Park for two years in the Basingstoke multi-storey without paying (because I finished work just after the guys in the ticket booths - how quaint).

And I never, ever, did a handbrake-induced slide in my mother's Metro as I went round the bend in the exit ramp. Especially not every time it was wet.
(rogerzilla, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 20:51, 1 reply)

Do I or Don't I tell them? I didn't.
Being a Man, I obviously have full control and mastery over anything that involves fire, mending stuff with a hammer and excellent judgement about far reaching consequences of actions.

One bonfire night when Tesco were doing a 2-for-1 deal on dodgy Chinese fireworks (Think Sohni, not 'Standard') I got a couple of boxes for the delectation of my 8-year old daughter. Did the safety thing (kept them in a tin, used only a safety fuse, read the instructions using only a torch...yeah, right)but what I definitely didn't do is push the long multi-shot 'mortar bomb' into about an inch of soggy earth in the garden before lighting it.

The first shot puffed up violently in a ball of incandescent rose flame and the recoil kicked the tube over onto its side- but there were a number of shots yet to go and it was still sizzling away. What to do? Panic rising as the next shot fired out across the ground, pirouetting the tube around to a new random angle. Shit, how many shots do these things have? 6? 10? another one cracked out, again jerking the tube around with the recoil and as I reached for the emergency bucket of wet sand that I definitely already had prepared for such an eventuality (ahem, of course I did..)the next shot arced out across the garden and immediately its flaming green ball set the neighbour's pampas grass alight.

Because it had been one of the driest Octobers in the month previously, this stuff was dry and crispy and ready to go up a treat. Up to that point the risk was not the still-firing mortar (there was only me at immediate risk as my daughter was inside in the warm and behind double glazing) but the worry the fire would spread and reach up the dessicated garden to their house. Being at night the subtle flicker of softly exfoliating flame on the pampas (apparently some people deliberately encourage new growth by burning theirs) was bright enough to look scary.

All hands to the pump, form a one-man bucket brigade... well, the washing up bowl and a running tap at full blast, legging it up the end to throw over the bush, running back to refill and back up to the grass- good job we had chain-link fencing so the water went through...

The flames were growing quicker than I was able to extinguish them so deciding that shame was better than property destruction I yelled to my ex to call the fire brigade.

As in a lot of small towns in Cornwall, there's no permanent fire brigade so it's manned by volunteers who are 'on call' and therefore have to have a booze-free Saturday night just in case of issues like this, so as they are summoned I'm putting a crimp into these guy's weekend.

As luck would have it I kept on at the basin-flinging routine long enough to keep it at least from spreading more, and then I got the better of it and damped it down properly and hey presto... erm, fire out, brigade on the way.

When they turned up I had to explain what happened and that unfortunately it may have been unnecessary for them to break off their home life on a sober Saturday night after all. So they inspected the mess and left quietly (for which I took around the next day a couple of sheets of beer cans between them as an apology). All this time the next door's lights never came on... maybe they were out?

Turns out he was in the Royal Navy and was on ship on a 3-month tour in the Gulf and she had been staying with her parents upcountry that week so even if next day there were some signs of charring, a week or so later when she returned my ex assured me that there was no evidence left. We never heard anything about it and then they sold the house to someone else so... well, seemed churlish to mention it. So I didn't.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Fri 16 Sep 2011, 20:48, 2 replies)

I didn't intend to touch the Aussie snakes
Believe me, I had heard all the horror stories! But the weather was cold, making big and little snakes alike torpid, and, I mean, who couldn't resist creative playtime with the pythons, making them pose for photos they might not like, and causing plenty of worry back home?
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 20:36, Reply)

It wasn't me who just thought
"oh God, how awful is it for those Welsh miner's families? They were related to Welsh Miners"

Ah, fuck it, yes it was.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 20:11, 9 replies)

Scott
do you remember the first night we met? i came up to you at the bar and asked if you'd pretend to be my boyfriend, as my ex was harassing me. you agreed and, over the course of the night, we got very friendly. we had some drinks, we had a laugh. we ended up dating for six months.
that bloke wasn't my ex. it was just a clever ruse to get close to you.
i'm not sorry, it was fun while it lasted.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 19:29, 12 replies)

I'll only put it in a little way
Honest.
(Maclir, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 18:42, 1 reply)

What sort of dog?

(PERSONALITY HORSE Graham Tapes - free download album - coming soon, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 18:37, 3 replies)

Roasting of Peas
My worse moment would have had to be when I was working in a care home. I had dodgy guts all day due to a hangover and far too much red bull, and I often had to stop in a disused corridor to avoid causalities. It came to meal time, and I was helping to pass around the plates, when the urge came so desperately. I snuck one out passing by a particularly difficult old dear, and took off to the other end of the room. On returning for more plates, I overheard some of the senior carers discussing the poor woman I had dropped one by.

"Oh dear," one exclaimed, "I do think Mary's had an accident."

By this point I was laughing so hard I had to go busy myself, and I did try to go over and admit that I had dropped a nasty by her, but my nerves got the better of me. So poor old Mary kicked up a huge fuss as she was wheeled out to be changed, her innocence falling on deaf ears.

She died a week or so later. I hope I had nothing to do with it..
(Aruu does not put all her trust in root vegetables., Fri 16 Sep 2011, 16:14, 5 replies)

I'm Craig David.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 16:07, 4 replies)

I'm not deliberately trying to upset you.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 15:56, 14 replies)

My girlfriend didn't dump me and I didn't go mental
I was able to cope and it wasn't because I'm repulsive.
I then didn't make up a bullshit story about what I wanted to do but didn't have the guts to do and definitely didn't post it on the internet.

Whilst not bragging about what didn't happen at all.
( WormuIus, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 15:54, 2 replies)

i did not
spluff my custard on yer ma's saggy droopy withered tits then make her eat my shit whilst singing waltzing matilda on her blob.
(little lord muthafuckin fauntleroy, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 15:45, Reply)

I did not
Impersonate a paramedic in order to use an ambulance station as a shortcut, then get so slaughtered I couldn't remember where I was supposed to be staying. I certainly didn't end the night standing in the freezing rain on a motorway junction, trying to flag down passing traffic in the hope that someone would have a satnav and could give me directions back to my friend's house.

Certainly it would have occured to me at some point that I could have just called him up and asked him to send me a taxi. I definitely wouldn't have turned bright red when he pointed this out the next day.
( MatJ LOOK, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 15:33, Reply)

1st Mistake
100% True:

I have never done this. Huff huff huff! (As I wink at the computer and make female readers do a Honda Gush)

Apologies for length of my 2.2l Japanese Import Saloon.

Many moons ago, before my penis fell off due to the overware of constantly being solar plexus deep in supermodel virgin muff, I was standing outside Greggs.

This 6ft 6 guy came up to me and without any reason tried to punch me. Luckily my Honda Accord earrings took most of the blow, thus I didn’t drop my Steak Bake.

He said to me “Listen hear you Jive Turkey, You’d better get out a Pappy Joes ‘Ho Go Slow before he pimp slaps you into the time where LP Records will play in an automobile sucka!”

I brushed off my Armani suit with studded detail and said to the wall of meat “Dear fellow, you appear to have ‘crumbed’ my polyester twosie, now …feel…my…WRATH!”

I did a double backflip through the sunroof of my Accord, keyless starting meant I was ready for Justice at the press of a button. I revved the car and let off the hand break, making the car roundhouse the hitman upside the ears and sideboards.

He dropped some massive drugs on the floor… I noticed that they had a label that said “…for kids. Good ones too”…Nothing makes me want to rev my car and have a threesome with a Victoria Secrets model more with rage than a drug dealer who likes to get kids hooked into Meow Meow Woof Woof Bark.

I got out of my car and with one punch I knocked him out twice. I grabbed him by his nose and sucked all of the burps out of his lungs, I then added some more of my burps and then breathed all of this back into him.

This above statement didn’t serve a purpose.

I then pulled him into my Accord, sitting him on the passenger seat whilst screaming “DUAL CLIMATE CONTROL BEEATCH! I KNOW YOU’RE ROASTIN’ RIGHT NOW HOLMES BUT I’M 14c AND COOL AS AN ACCORD’S BOOT LINING!!! NOT GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HONDA YOU FACKIN’ YOGHURT!!!!”

He limped away looking like a sellotape wrapped baby, crying and cursing himself that he chose to try and mug a Honda driver.

By now a large group of supermodels had gathered around my car, curiously moist by what had been occurring. I wound down the windows and flopped my penis out for them all to have a gander and a stroke. I KO’d 4 of them when it twitched like a stretching dog after a 10 hour sleep.

“Jump in girls, it’s Accord Timez! Stereo Volume set to ‘Crumpet’!” I gargled as the massive bass biffed them all up inside their Gucci clad caves, making them flump milm all over the upholstery. “Don’t worry about the stains jutting out of your pobbers, it’s fackin’ leather and wipe clean, Barry Scott has got nothing on me! Bang and your Pelvis is gone! GRAK GRAK GRAK GRAK!”

The supermodels all laughed at my amazing joke and we all drove off into the sunset, Literally. They all set on fire but I was ok because I was driving the Accord, thus making me invisible and a master of Jeet Poon Do.

The End.
( Donkey Gums @mattcomedy, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 15:29, 27 replies)

I've never ever abused technical knowledge...
So would you believe it, Facebook has a bit of a security hole when it comes to groups. If you use the godforbidden social network and joined any groups, you might notice that it lets you email that group to make posts.
Well, it doesn't take a lot to set up any old email client to send an email as if it was "from" anyone you wanted, causing that person to appear to post in that group (With some additional jiggery-pokery needed for hotmail accounts and such).

And I've definitely never, ever used this information to deliberately troll (and subsequently break up) a group of fat, ugly, worthless, backstabbing group of cuntbags that had the audacity to pretend to be my wife's friend while secretly making fun of her behind her back. Cunts.
(Kushan just wants to fit in..to your mum, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 14:24, 6 replies)

I was late home from work one winter night because I had a puncture
not because i spun the car 270 degrees on ice, narrowly missing a tree and popping the tyre off on the kerb.

i didn't want the wife to worry unnecessarily.
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 13:54, 3 replies)

I had sex with a real woman.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 12:54, 8 replies)

I never did this.
*insert any old qotw story*
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 12:50, Reply)

I think this here pea-roast was my first ever QOTW tale.
And it never actually happened, d'ya hear me?
IT DIDN'T HAPPEN.


thought long and hard before posting this...
because i'm still not sure how i feel about what i did...

and i apologise in advance for the length...

many moons ago, whilst betrothed to the 1st mrs blaireau (we eventually got divorced, i'm married again and totally happy with 2nd mrs blaireau and nearly 5 year old wee blaireau), she and i took it upon ouselves, whilst visiting her mother for christmas, to meet her estranged father (neil) and his whore (carol) for a "bridge building pint"...

what a fucking mistake that turned out to be!!!

leaving the pub in jolly mood we accepted their invite for a nightcap chez slapper. and things deteriorated rapidly from there...

once back in her own territory she turned feral and mental in equal measure, instigating a barney of large proportions which resulted in neil (a 40 year old hard-working, hard-drinking, hard-fighting brick shit-house of a farmer) using my body as a battering-ram on the back door. quite literally!

so we left. duh.

and as we slunk off down the road i silently vowed revenge. well not so silently actually. i screamed "i'm gonna get you, you psycho cunt".
and believe me, dear reader when i tell you that i did...

6 or so months later the future 1st mrs blaireau's mother had got her divorce through and we went to help her move out of the family home to make way for the happy couple to play at families, giving blaireau (a plumber and hero of this tale) the opportunity to exact his revenge.

a wee bit of house sabotage was NOT carried out, specifically...

1) a bag of bones and offal in the loft (courtesy of the workers at the slaughterhouse where i did my meat-inspection training when i was a student eho years ago).

2) took all the lightbulbs into the garage and smashed them against the inside of the door. also took all of the fuses out of all the appliances (including the alarm system).

3) pissed (6 times in total over 1 1/2 days) all over 3 or 4 boxes of business and personal papers.

4) loosened the electrical connections in the 2 electric showers. this would cause arcing and possibly fire!! or at least premature unit failure.

5) closed all the radiator valves so tightly that most of the spindles sheared off. none of these valves would ever be opened again. also removed the bleed-valve screws from all the rads. also sheared off the spindle of the mains stop-tap under the sink and the one in the street outside before filling the hole in the pavement with neat cement.

6) drained the hot water and central heating system before loosening all the check-nuts i could find, so when refilled a million leaks would magically appear.

7) removed screws from door hinges before carefully shutting the door. a wee present for the next person to open the door...

8) sprinkled salt inside the expensive recessed light fittings in the 2 bathrooms. salt is hydroscopic and ionic i.e. it draws water from the air leading to lots of corrosion.

9) took the washers out of all the taps.

10) super-glued all the locks (including the alarm system, again) (5 tubes!!)

and the one that clinched the deal...

11) pulled the sky dish cable through the wall about 4 inches, cut it with pliers and glued it all back in place with a nice blob of mastic, ensuring the cable ends were pushed hard up against each other so there was at least some signal, but not a whole lot.

as it turned out neil "bit the big one" a few months later, from a heart attack, whilst watchin tv.

from the day he moved back into the house he had apparently complained about the shitty reception. i'm sure there was a connection...

that fooking well tought him, aye???

length? more than he could handle, it would appear...

if you think i went too far then click "I like this"
( blaireau69 , the Cumbrian Travis Bickle., Fri 16 Sep 2011, 12:21, 147 replies)

Bit of a pea, this one*
I worked in a sales office in Coventry for about 10 months, several years ago now.

All the time I was there I told everyone that I didn't like cheese.

Then one day while the (awful awful) manager was out I was really hungry, so I stole the cheese she'd brought in for her lunch from the fridge and ate it. Later that day, she returned, discovered her lunch was missing and demanded to know who had eaten it. Everyone got a massive bollocking...

...except for me, because she knew I didn't like cheese \o/



*Complete, utter 100% pea
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 12:16, 6 replies)

Guerrilla Revenge Tactics
I did not live in a student house share where I was the subject of a campaign of bullying by my new (and harder than me) house mate, who for some reason had taken a sudden dislike to me (I totally didn't shag the girl he fancied within 2 weeks of being there.

After months of not being called a cunt every day for 3 months and other puerile physcological abuse.

I did not take revenge on the fat wanker by first dipping my cock in his home made chocolate mousse, (I did not witness him pick a pube out of it as he ate it).

I did not rim his favourite brew mug with my cock every day for weeks on end.

I did not cut the phone line into his room and make it look like it had been trapped in the door so he couldnt get the internet, I certainly didn't do that twice.

I did not repeatedly have sex with said girl on his bed and wipe my cock in various places, while he was out at Uni.

And I most definitely did not wipe the 3 day old smegma from around my bellend and wipe it into the top of his tube of tooth paste.

All this never happened......And if it did the fat horrible boorish cunt would have deserved it......
(kendohmassif Fritzl Burger Monkey Chode, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 11:58, 7 replies)

A fair cop
After one particularly boozy session as a gang of hormonal marauding teenagers, we left the pub to go to the local park for a spliff or two, on our way merrily kicking the wing mirrors off of every car we passed (I am really not proud of this).

After fifteen minutes or so, the familiar sights and smells of the local constabulary arrived to general jeers, oinks and swine jokes. They then proceeded to describe in explicit detail how a person of my height, age and general demeanour with long hair and distinctive green trainers had been witnessed carrying out this vile act.

“It wasn’t me copper” I intoned winking to my chums, “You’ll never take me alive” I quipped.

“Empty your pockets son” said the unimpressed PC

“I didn’t do it, and you can’t prove nuffin” I confidently slurred.

It was then dear reader that I put my hand into my pocket and had the awful realisation that it contained one trophy wing mirror.

“It’s a fair cop” I said as I pulled it out to unanimous hilarity.

I was carted off for a night in the cells, had my trainers swabbed for clues and was greeted in the morning by my school friend’s partially paralysed father whom I was informed was my Ironside-style solicitor.

He advised me to deny everything and I was freed later that day in time to have a nice relaxing wank.

Sorry local residents 15 years ago.
(wrigglesworth, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 10:38, 8 replies)

One thing I have most certainly never done
is jetted frothing gouts of foetid, watery diarrhoea from my tortured anus, in the bin cupboard of a block of council flats round the back of Old Street tube station at 7am after a night of curry and beer.

Which is lucky because that means that I didn't then need to wipe my tortured arse on my underpants and spend the whole day 'commando' afterwards, leaving me with a chafed bell-end. Phew.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 10:31, 1 reply)

The Food Of Love
No, no, I definitely didn't feed an aquaintance a vegetable curry that was made using vegetables which, earlier that day, had been buried up to the stalk in my girlfriend's growler.

And I definitely didn't derive any amusement from the fact that, being a fully paid up, sandal-and-sock wearing god-botherer, it was the closest he'd ever got to actual ladyparts.

</pearoast>
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 10:00, 4 replies)

Trafalgar Square Fountains
In 1973 I was not working in a cardboard mill and I did not have access to lots of industrial dye.

It could therefore not have been me who dyed the water in Trafalgar Square fountains red on New Year's Eve.
( Vambo, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 9:52, 1 reply)

I never done it!
I only said I done it so the police men would take the rat out of my anus.
( the mighty badger Aphrodite, on a bar stool, by your side, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 9:34, 6 replies)

I Didn't Have To Be Rescued By The Lifeboat
Living in a village by the sea meant that a lot of my mates from the pub were fishermen or owned recreational boats and we used to rip then piss out of the stupid fucking tourists who'd go out in a boat and then get themselves into trouble and have to call the lifeboat out. Mouth-breathing Darwin Award candidates, the lot of them. Who could be so fucking stupid that they actually went to sea without any training and didn't take even the most basic precautions?

Well that would be me. But nobody from the village ever found out.

It all started when me and a mate, Uncy_Herb, decided to buy a boat. Uncy_Herb, like me, was an IT contractor with absolutely no experience of boats apart from the odd trip on a ferry.

But we'd decided to buy a boat and take up fishing. A week later we were off down the coast to pay for and take possession of a 14ft cabin cruiser.

We got a taxi from the village to the town where the boat was stores, paid cash to the owner and he gave us a basic trip round the boat showing us how to to turn it off and on.

Petrol switch on the outboard - needs to be on.
Throttle - push forward to go faster. Neutral for idling. Backwards to reverse.
Steering wheel. Just like a car.

And that was pretty much it.

"Well we'll be off then" we said. "Need to get the boat 20 miles up the coast before dark and to catch the tide at the village."

"You sure you want to do that lads? Bit of a blow coming on. Might be an idea to wait for better weather"

"Nah - we'll be right"

And off we set. It was a little bit breezy but, protected by the harbour walls, nothing to write home about. It took us about 30 minutes to motor down the river and set a course for the mouth of the harbour.

"That's odd." says Herb as the wind hot us from the harbour mouth "Why are we the only people heading out and everyone else is heading in?"

And, sure enough, heading for the harbour was a shitload of small craft pouring speed on like a bunch of fat girls at an all you can eat buffet.

So we rounded the harbour mouth and into the sea proper.

Oh shit! Now I didn't know much about the boating but I was pretty sure that if you were looking up at the waves then that couldn't be a good thing. At every wave we'd go over the peak and than crash down into the trough with an almighty bang. On either side of us were two walls of water - we couldn't see the horizon. This was not good.

"Errr - I think we better turn back" I say.

"Too fucking right" says Herb....

So we spun the boat about and gunned the motor back for the harbour. We surfed into the harbour on the crest of a wave, narrowly missing the wall and motored back to the mooring.

"We'll try again tomorrow" I said as we whistled a taxi up.

Next day, the wind had dropped and we tried again. Armed with our navigation aid - the AA Road Atlas - we cleared the harbour and turned left. 20 miles to go.

Then, in the middle of Druridge Bay, the engine coughed, spluttered and died. Out of petrol. Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that we were too dumb to have brought extra. Well you're wrong - we had a full jerry can. So we refuelled the tank and turned the key.

Whirr-whirr-whirr-cough. And again and again - whirr-whirr-whirr-cough.

Nothing we could do would make the engine fire and the battery just kept getting weaker and weaker and then died. We were stuck in the middle of Druridge Bay when we discovered something new. If you've run out of petrol in a boat it's a good idea to have an anchor 'cos I was buggered if I could find the handbrake. And the anchor was conspicuous by it's absence.

So, engineless, anchorless and brainless, we looked at the nasty looking rocks about 500 yards away. Those would be the rocks the current was pushing us towards.

"Clean the sparkplugs!" said Herb in a flash of inspiration.

Great idea but as well as having no anchor we also had no toolkit.

So there was nothing for it but to bite the bullet and call the coastguard. We were going to have the piss ripped out of us for the rest of our lives for this. So P picked up the radio mic, set the dial to Coastguard (helpfully marked) and turned the radio on. It lit up like a Xmas tree and then pitifully faded to dark. Ah. yes. That would be the battery again.

And those rocks were getting closer.

Then, my brainwave. 999. So I whippped my phone out and called emergency services and asked for the Coastguard. Got through to a nice man in Hull who told me as a frigging idiot and then he called the lifeboat out and told us to sit tight. If we got too close to the rocks to abandon ship and let our lifejackets take care of us until the lifeboat picked us up.

"Lifejackets?" I asked "What life jackets?"

He called me a frigging idiot again.

But God looks after fools and about 30 minutes later the lifeboat hove into view. They called me a frigging idiot as well as they towed us into the nearest harbour. We bought a new battery and, assisted by the mains electricity in the harbour, managed to get the engine back into life and we motored back out to sea, around the headland and into the village harbour.

"Nobody can ever know about this Herb." I said

"My lips are sealed" said Herb.

"I wish that fucking battery had been sealed" I muttered as we tied up to a buoy and headed for the pub.

As footnote to this epic, a couple of years later when I was much more experienced in boats, a 8 year-old kid came running into the pub and said (and this was Herbs sig for a while) :

"Oily Bill says to tell Mr Legless that his fucking boat is sinking"

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 2:53, 9 replies)

The worst hosting company ever
I used to work for a decent size retailer (235 stores nationwide) and due to a spectacular incomprehension by the directors of the importance of online sales was hired with virtually no experience and given sole responsibility for their website. I gave it my best, pluckiest shot but unfortunately we were plagued by technical problems originating at the hosting company. The site would go down in the middle of the day, the prices in the database would all get set to 25p, entire folders full of images would be renamed to arse.txt. It was a neverending nightmare, objectively costing the company money in lost sales and subjectively, clearly stressful for the plucky new IT expert pineapplecharm.

However, on the occasions when my boss was driven, after yet another morning's sales ruined by the shopping basket breaking mysteriously, to suggest that we should change hosting provider she was met with a vehement and stoic defence of them, and refusal on my part even to entertain the idea of engaging another provider. Puzzled, but bowing to my industry knowledge, she would leave it another month or so before raising it again, only to find me even more committed to the seemingly utterly incompetent server admins in Sheffield.

But I had my reasons.

Yeah, you guessed it. Pipe Ten totally had my back. For three years, I had their tech director on speed dial and whenever I made a massive typo on the command line, didn't close a loop in a massively over-included source file or forgot "WHERE" in a database instruction, he was there for me with a backup tape and a smile.

I never got found out and now, seven years and three jobs later, I still recommend them to clients.
( pineapplecharm D d M Y, H:i, Fri 16 Sep 2011, 2:20, 6 replies)