From my dear old dad
A few words of advice from my father have stuck with me, he's still with us, so I imagine there will be some more...

"If it's got tits or an engine, it'll be trouble"
"try everything once, except for incest and line-dancing. If you kinda like something, try it a second time"
"six words will get you through married life: 'yes dear', 'no dear' and 'sorry dear'"
"getting married eh? You may as well put your dick in the loft, coz you'll never use it again"
"if it floats, fucks or flies, rent it, don't buy it"
(ScousersPet, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 14:39, 4 replies)

Advice from a priest
When we were about 10, one of the priests in our school gathered all us lads together and said "now then boys, when ye're in the shower after football practice, don't be washin one part of ye body more than others, for it'd be a sin in God's eyes".

On reflection, he was probably trying to warn us of the mortal dangers of onanism, but it just meant that all us wide-eye'd kiddies had constantly dirty knees.
(ScousersPet, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 14:34, 3 replies)

sound advice
I grew up a few miles south of Edinburgh in a border town on the river Tweed, and let me tell you some crazy fucking people lived in that place, and my dad gave me a piece of advice once down the pub that i never forgot.

"See that 50's looking biker dude in the corner son? names Vincent, and whatever you do don't fuck with him, or you will be carrying your kneecaps to hospital in a bag"

It was something I took to heart and avoided him at all costs, because not two years later he twunted 4 lads in the middle of the Beltane Festival just for looking at him funny like.

He was proper 'ard, Vince from old Peebles.



edit: this weeks Qotw is very un-punny!
(Halfy By light alone, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 14:32, Reply)

The answer to social problems
is obeying the sentiment of the old Scots saying:

If ye flee wi the craws, ye'll get shot wi the craws.

To paraphrase in English - get in with a bad crowd and you will suffer the consequences.

One of my grandad's favourites, that one.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 14:32, Reply)

Bindun yet?

Tom Waits said:

"Never let a kiss fool ya' - never let a fool kiss ya' "
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 14:23, 4 replies)

in last weeks local news
ad: Vice,(inherited) from old pupil, own handle, still grips as tight as a 9 year olds arsehole, FSH, GSOH, VTOL, pipe smokers only, £50 ono, no pisstakers.

Call 0898 505050
(Halfy By light alone, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 14:17, 5 replies)

Taste
A beautiful victrian house near me was bought by a builder. Not long after it had white plastic cladding, statues in the garden and two bay windows containing huge plasma tellies.

As I waslked past with my Dad he shook his head and mumbled "You can't BUY taste"
(monkeys in underpants, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 14:11, 1 reply)

My Gran
My gran is a wonderful old woman, currently in hospital and not expected to last too much longer. I remember all the fun times we had with her when my brother an I were little kids, but I cannot think of one piece of useful advise she ever gave. Or any advise at all. She's supposed to do that - didn't she get the memo?
( gareth_alien will be human again at, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 13:52, 1 reply)

Short and to the point...
"Don't apologise unless you've done something wrong".

Mums old boss told me that, as I was a shy and reticent youth who would constantly apologise for anything and everything.

Of course though, the very best advice anyone could ever receive can be purloined from 'Mr Jolly Lives Next Door':

"Never, ever, bloody anything, ever".
(mcnelson, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 13:42, Reply)

A couple from my old nan...
"'Hvis og hvis min røv er spids og fyldt med marmelade'"

Or:

If my ass is pointy and full of marmalade. Literally, if there are too many unknowns in a statement, then the chance of it being true is the same as the chance of my ass being pointy and full of marmalade.

Usually works – except for the time that my ass was actually full of marmalade.

"Børst ikke tænder før du har åbnet munden."

Or:

Don’t brush your teeth before you’ve opened your mouth.

Gah! The times that I’ve tried to brush my teeth with my mouth closed, staring at the mirror blindly trying to work out why my teeth won’t clean. Presumably there’s some deeper meaning here.

The wisdom of the Danes. Best in the World. :)
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 13:16, 33 replies)

These things are sent to try us
My grandfather - my father's father - was a cantankerous ould bollix. We rarely saw him, and when we did he usually couldn't be arsed remembering our names. He considered himself to be extremely pious and religious because he'd trained to become a priest before giving it up for an equally boring life with my now-dead grandmother. Still, he was incredibly religious and liked to remind us of that fact on a regular basis.

I remember him summoning us to where he sat, pope-like in his armchair, pontificating about the trials of life.

"If you have an itch," he'd solemnly waffle, "never scratch it! It's God's way of testing you."

As a seven year old I always wondered, but never dared ask, if the same principle applied to his rampant alcoholism that destroyed much of my dad's family.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 13:04, 3 replies)

nobody ever died
wishing they'd spent more time at the office.

Unless they work in a brothel.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 13:01, 2 replies)

Old wisdom...
My grandad once told my dad not to drink from a can of pop, "because the metal will rust inside."

30 decades later, and we're still drinking from cans of pop with no ill-effects.

Edit: regarding the QOTW description, who are smooth-skinned youngsters? Most youngsters have spots, no?
(Roll Fizzlebeef enjoys a good Cleveland Steamer, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 12:53, 3 replies)

Great Grandma Cowley
The best advice I've ever heard from anyone of any age is from Great Grandma Cowley:

"Wherever you be
Let the wind blow free"

An adage I strive to live up to every day of my life.

(Though I would add: except in India, where if you're going to fart, make sure you're sitting on a toilet).

Dktr S
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 12:38, Reply)

Not comedy gold but it stayed with me.
Shauny, the old man of the village was "helping" me fit an new outboard motor to a boat. I was marking up the transom when he stood up and, holding his fore-arm vertically in-front of him, pumping his arm in time with the syllables he said

"It's crit-i-cal that the motor is ab-so-lutly hori-zon-tal"

20 years later and he's long dead, but every time I've a plumb line or spirit level in my hand marking up a vertical line I hear his voice demanding I make sure it's "ab-so-lutly hori-zon-tal"
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Mon 23 Jun 2008, 12:38, Reply)

Life-Saving Information
My mum used to work in an old folks' home, and during the summer holidays I would be dragged to work with her, as I clearly wasn't old or responsible enough to be left home alone.

This wasn't as depressing as you might think. It was a massive Victorian building with rooms and corridors all over the place and huge grounds to mess about in. Plus there were lots of wheelchairs, although I could rarely find anyone willing to race me.

But of course the people were the most interesing thing about it, varying between normal, cracked and totally bat-shit. I talked to lots of them, but the one that I've never forgotten is the guy who taught me how to hypnotise chickens.

He said, "You pick the bird up by its sides and tuck its head under its wing. Then you just sway it gently from side to side, just like that, and it's totally hypnotised."

Why you would want to hypnotise a chicken, what you would do with it once hypnotised and how to bring it out of its trance he never explained, but 20 years later I'm still in awe of this fascinatingly useless advice. I'd love to try it though.

P.S. Sorry for everything really - I'm a failed de-lurker...
(Brumie, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 12:12, 4 replies)

When I got my first period
I don't know if my father counts as an old person, but this was one of the "best" pieces of advice I ever got.

When I got my first period I got quite scared and depressed, thinking "Perfect, I'm going to be bleeding every single month until I'm so old that I won't care anymore"

That day my father called me to his room and made me sit next to him in the bed:

He: So, I've heard you're a woman now
Me: mmmmm (slight nod)
He: Don't leave any visible mark anywhere.

...as if I was planning to...
(Aberracion Life's getting very complicated, but a lot of fun., Mon 23 Jun 2008, 12:10, 1 reply)

Sheltered Gran
I love my old Gran to bits, but she cannot be considered worldly-wise in any way, shape or form. The woman hasn't ventured further than the 5 miles between the little village where she lives and my home town.

This doesn't, of course, prevent her from imparting nuggets of advice/ bigotry/ hysteria as she sees fit.

My favourite goes back to 1995.

*swirly flashback effect*

Having told her I was off to Italy on a youth club trip she asked how we were getting there.
"Well, we take the minibus down to Hull, and then the ferry to Zeebrugge...."
"ZEEBRUGGE?!" she interrupted, "It'll sink!"

Queue ten minutes explaining that that was one ferry out of surely thousands that make the same crossing ever year, and that they hadn't dredged up the Herald of Free Enterprise solely to ferry us into the jaws of death.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 12:03, 2 replies)

You can't change the world, baz!
When I was an angry and frustrated youth all bent out of shape over stupid people banging their heads against a brick wall when the solution was right there in front of their eyes and I used to want to have them all murdered in the name of progress and evolution and such, my Da used to placate me by telling me that I can not change the world but I could try to make it a little better for the people I love by acts of kindness, care and consideration etc.

Now as a youth, the notion of changing the world for the better (or to suit your
nefarious desires) seems a right rather than a privilege and this offers little solace.

As an older, wiser, more rotund and placable individual however, these are words, indeed principles by which I live. Most people are arseholes. Some clan are arseholes too but my clan are generally alright and deserving of a little baz in their life.

One's friends too; It's a much more efficient approach to life too when one works out to whom one ought to be magnanimous.

That said, it would be ace to figure out a away to change the world and prove the fecker wrong.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 11:52, Reply)

Grandad on Football
My dad and grandad were once talking about the introduction of perimeter fencing to football grounds around the country, when my grandad came out with this gem -

"They're a detergent... they'll clean up the game".

To this day we can't work out if it was a genuine mistake or if he was a comedy genius.
(brain_blessed, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 11:44, Reply)

Driving
I've mentioned before that my paternal grandparents had a large garden. Their driveway was - I guess - about 100 metres or thereabouts long, and when I was in my early teens I was allowed to drive along it. There was just enough space to allow me to change gear once.
"Lift your foot from the clutch," advised Dad, "and, as you do, press on the accelerator."
I did. We kangaroo'ed a bit. Time to try again. Dad was a patient teacher.
"Easy on the clutch... now, more on the accelerator. Go on... more..." he advised as we headed towards the house.


"BRAKE!" he advised as I ran the car into my brother, who was crossing the drive at the time.


Ooops.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 11:33, 1 reply)

beckyjsbx's post has reminded me tha t George Carlin once said...
that "God is so powerful.....that he can throw a boat - over a hedge!"
(dadadali has hybrid vigour, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 11:17, Reply)

Can I just point out
That the last month+ worth of QOTWs have been absolutely fantastic: original, fun to read, varied and with plenty of scope for hilarity and poignancy. The Best of Week pages have been Best of the Internets.

Since we always complain about the bad ones, I just thought I'd take this chance to bow to our overlords.

I'm not old (honest guv) but I can advise you guys to keep it up!

Apologies for length, I just REALLY like the QOTW...
(Adamish Time of death, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 11:07, 17 replies)

Hotlips..
you don't get owt for nowt

Mother. Chapter 1 verse 20
(misshotlips, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 11:06, Reply)

Fitting for this week sadly
The great George Carlin has passed.

Hi, I'm the new man from Shinola, (laughter) Hi, how are ya? Nice to see ya. (laughter) How are ya? (laughter) Boy, I don't know whether to shit or wind my watch. (laughter) Guess, I'll shit on my watch. (laughter) Oh, the shit is going to hit de fan. (laughter). Built like a brick shit-house. (laughter) Up, he's up shit's creek. (laughter) He's had it. (laughter) He hit me, I'm sorry. (laughter) Hot shit, holy shit, tough shit, eat shit. (laughter) shit-eating grin. Uh, whoever thought of that was ill. (murmur laughter) He had a shit - eating grin! He had a what? (laughter) Shit on a stick. (laughter) Shit in a handbag. I always like that. He ain't worth shit in a handbag. (laughter) Shitty. He acted real shitty. (laughter) You know what I mean? (laughter) I got the money back, but a real shitty attitude. Heh, he had a shit-fit. (laughter) Wow! Shit-fit. Whew! Glad I wasn't there. (murmur, laughter) All the animals--Bull shit, horseshit, cow shit, rat shit, bat shit. (laughter) First time I heard bat shit, I really came apart. A guy in Oklahoma, Boggs, said it, man. Aw! Bat shit. (laughter) Vera reminded me of that last night, ah (murmur). Snake shit, slicker than owl shit. (laughter) Get your shit together. Shit or get off the pot. (laughter) I got a shit - load full of them. (laughter) I got a shit-pot full, all right. Shit-head, shit-heel, shit in your heart, shit for brains, (laughter) shit-face, heh (laughter) I always try to think how that could have originated; the first guy that said that. Somebody got drunk and fell in some shit, you know. (laughter) Hey, I'm shit-face. (laughter) Shit-face, today. (laughter) Anyway, enough of that shit. (laughter) The big one, the word fuck that's the one that hangs them up the most. [']Cause in a lot of cases that's the very act that hangs them up the most. So, it's natural that the word would, uh, have the same effect. It's a great word, fuck, nice word, easy word, cute word, kind of. Easy word to say. One syllable, short u. (laughter) Fuck. (Murmur) You know, it's easy. Starts with a nice soft sound fuh ends with akuh. Right? (laughter) A little something for everyone. Fuck (laughter) Good word. Kind of a proud word, too. Who are you? I am FUCK, (laughter) FUCK OF THE MOUNTAIN. (laughter) Tune in again next week to FUCK OF THE MOUNTAIN. (laughter) It's an interesting word too, [']cause it's got a double kind of a life--personality--dual, you know, whatever the right phrase is. It leads a double life, the word fuck. First of all, it means, sometimes, most of the time, fuck. What does it mean? It means to make love. Right? We're going to make love, yeh, we're going to fuck, yeh, we're going to fuck, yeh, we're going to make love. (laughter) we're really going to fuck, yeh, we're going to make love. Right? And it also means the beginning of life, it's the act that begins life, so there's the word hanging around with words like love, and life, and yet on the other hand, it's also a word that we really use to hurt each other with, man. It's a heavy. It's one that you have toward the end of the argument. (laughter) Right? (laughter) You finally can't make out. Oh, fuck you man. I said, fuck you. (laughter, murmur) Stupid fuck. (laughter) Fuck you and everybody that looks like you. (laughter) man. It would be nice to change the movies that we already have and substitute the word fuck for the word kill, wherever we could, and some of those movie cliches would change a little bit. Madfuckers still on the loose. Stop me before I fuck again. Fuck the ump, fuck the ump, fuck the ump, fuck the ump, fuck the ump. Easy on the clutch Bill, you'll fuck that engine again. (laughter) The other shit one was, I don't give a shit. Like it's worth something, you know? (laughter) I don't give a shit. Hey, well, I don't take no shit, (laughter) you know what I mean? You know why I don't take no shit? (laughter) [']Cause I don't give a shit. (laughter) If I give a shit, I would have to pack shit. (laughter) But I don't pack no shit cause I don't give a shit. (laughter) You wouldn't shit me, would you? (laughter) That's a joke when you're a kid with a worm looking out the bird's ass. You wouldn't shit me, would you? (laughter) It's an eight-year-old joke but a good one. (laughter) The additions to the list. I found three more words that had to be put on the list of words you could never say on television, and they were fart, turd and twat, those three. (laughter) Fart, we talked about, it's harmless. It's like tits, it's a cutie word, no problem. Turd, you can't say but who wants to, you know? (laughter) The subject never comes up on the panel so I'm not worried about that one. Now the word twat is an interesting word. Twat! Yeh, right in the twat. (laughter) Twat is an interesting word because it's the only one I know of, the only slang word applying to the, a part of the sexual anatomy that doesn't have another meaning to it. Like, ah, snatch, box and pussy all have other meanings, man. Even in a Walt Disney movie, you can say, We're going to snatch that pussy and put him in a box and bring him on the airplane. (murmer, laughter) Everybody loves it. The twat stands alone, man, as it should. And two-way words. Ah, ass is okay providing you're riding into town on a religious feast day. (laughter) You can't say, up your ass. (laughter) You can say, stuff it! (murmur) There are certain things you can say its weird but you can just come so close. Before I cut, I, uh, want to, ah, thank you for listening to my words, man, fellow, uh space travelers. Thank you man for tonight and thank you also. (clapping whistling)
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 11:01, 6 replies)

Not quite advice, but funny nonetheless
I phone my mum every night to check that she's keeping ok.

I usually call her at about 10pm, but I was a bit later last night as I was watching the Spain v Italy game which went to penalties.

She had been watching the game as well. She was disappointed that Italy had lost as she "really likes that chap that they showed in the crowd just after the game - he's president of FIFA or something, isn't he?"

"Who? Michel Platini?"

"Yes, that's him."

"You mean Michel Platini, the former French midfielder?"

"Er....but he played for Italy as well, didn't he?"

"Yes mum, he was the only person in the history of international football to play for 2 different countries."

"Are you taking the mickey?"

"Yes mum, sorry."

So there you have it. My mum supported Italy because she likes a man who is actually French.

Blood pressure and vertigo tablets are a heady mix by the looks of it....just say no kids.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Mon 23 Jun 2008, 9:52, 7 replies)

.....Sigh
Dont listen to every bit of advice old people give you.

I once believed what this old guy told me but it turns out he was lying: They WERE the droids we were looking for.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 9:13, 1 reply)

The Friday Night Saga
(This is a big 'un)

I was once given a piece of advice, a morsel of wisdom passed down from generation to generation, something so potent, so right in itself that it could correct many wrong caused by any man. As anybody knows, human beings are flawed, and the nugget of eternal truth slipped from my mind like yesterday’s shopping list, and this caused the following epic journey to take place, a true Friday Night Saga, that I’m sure has changed my life forever.

The following events took place last Friday, the night after my meet-up with the other B3tans in Covent Garden;

I’d survived the night before with little sleep, and had gone to work far too early, my brain was yet to engage and several litres of alcohol were still yet to leave my system. The day itself passed uneventfully, but little did I know the tremendous struggle that I would face later that same day.
I left work, as usual, at 5.30, this was going to be one of the few Friday nights off I very rarely get (my Daughter had been on holiday with her Mum, and they were resting for the night at their house to recover). I was looking forward to putting my feet up, having some quality pants time and knocking out the odd hand-shandy over the thirty second long shampoo adverts that come on during the ad breaks of Richard and Judy. I was wrong, so very, very wrong.
My bastard car had broken down a few nights before, so I was making my way home by train, and finally reached the front door of my flat at about 6.15, I reached into my pocket, and, shit… I’d left my fucking keys at work. Fuck, cock, shit, bollocks and damn. The first thought to enter my head was that I could call a colleague, and ask them to get the boss to keep the office open as I made my way back. I pulled out my phone, double-fuck, the battery is dead. I really shouldn’t have stayed out the whole night before. If I knew anybody’s phone number off the top of my head I’d have used a payphone, but nobody remembers numbers anymore these days do they? They’re all just stored in their phones, sure some women keep address books or diaries with contact details in their handbags, but I’m a bloke, all I had in my pocket was lint and three-week old chewing gum.
I decided to make my way back to the office, there was a chance somebody could still be there, they could be working, maybe there was a cleaner or a security guard, maybe I wasn’t totally fucked after all.
I got back to the office around seven, all the lights were off, the doors were locked, even the little entrance area with the double doors were closed. I could just make out the little white plaque next to the buzzer for our floor, the one which has all of the out of hours emergency numbers on it, the numbers that were illegible from that distance. Fuck.
So I made my way back home again, I was going to try to break in. I have skinny little wrists. I was sure I could reach through my letterbox and unlock the door. Of course I couldn’t, my hand wouldn’t even fit through the damned thing. I thought about unscrewing it, but it seemed to have little square catches on both sides to prevent anybody trying to break in. I tried to kick the door down, from this I not only gained a deep respect for the structural integrity and security of my front door, but also a very sore shoulder and a slightly twisted ankle. The bloody cunt.

I had no choice now, I didn’t really have anywhere to go. I’ve got no real friends, especially not around here, so I made my way to the tiny village where my Daughter and my ex live.
I know that because I had no phone, and didn’t have a clue what her phone number was I was just going to turn up out of the blue, and there is no way I was going to be a particularly welcome guest. It was getting late, and I was tired, so I got a taxi for part of the journey. I turned up at about 10.30, tired, cold and very unhappy, the ex opened the door and I explained the situation to her. …sympathy? Pah! –why in God’s name had I hoped that she would start to at least show me a little shred of humanity for the first time ever? After all, I’d only supported her, and her carefree lifestyle, for the last eight years.
I was turned away, sad, cold and dejected. I walked the half hour journey to the nearest train station, and made my way home. I arrived at around midnight, knowing that now there would be no trains for me to catch if I failed again, I’d be buggered if I couldn’t help myself now. I tried breaking in again, but damn that door it just stood there in front of me. It was an impenetrable barrier that seemed to smirk a devilish smile at me with it’s shiny letterbox mouth, and it barricaded the way between me and my pants time.
Now it really was getting late, too late to ask my neighbours for help as they all have young children of their own and I didn’t want to wake them. I even asked some passing policemen if there was any way they could possibly help me, but they simply shrugged and turned me away, a fine example of Surrey’s boys in blue. There was one course of action left open to me, find a payphone, any payphone, call a directory services number and ask for a 24hr locksmith.
In today’s modern world though, particularly around here, payphones no longer exist. They’re incredibly rare, and it’s all because of the useless, lifeless lump of plastic that sat in my pocket, in it’s memory it contains every phone number, every contact I would ever need, the details of the few friends I have, the people I know would be able to get me out of this situation in minutes, if only I knew their numbers.

After a lot of searching around I had found an old red phonebox, shining like a beacon in a dark side-street of my hometown, one that I’d never been to before. Suddenly my luck was changing, I didn’t care that it stank of piss, or that drunken passers-by were giving me really funny looks and happily fighting among themselves.
A stroke of luck would have it that the night before when I had been out, I did the typical drinkers’ thing. -I’d paid for all my drinks with notes and had pockets full of change. It was now 2am, but I didn’t care, this piss-soaked cubicle of communication was to be my saviour. £10 worth of change later (phonebooths cost about 10p a second these days) and a nice young man told me to wait by the phonebox, one of his ‘agents’ was going to give me a call when he was on his way, I was going to be saved!
An hour passed, and still I hadn’t heard anything. So I called again, and ten more pounds of change later it’d been confirmed that he was on his way and would be outside my flat in half an hour. I ran home, ran with the joyous enthusiasm of a kid on the last day of school, and five minutes later the most handsome young man I have ever seen in my life appeared in his bright orange van. I had my very own knight in shining armour.
I didn’t catch his name, but by God I wish I had, I will be thanking that man in my dreams every night for the rest of my life. He whipped out a massive tool, and a power drill that oozed sex appeal, I wanted that handsome boy-child to penetrate my lock alright, I wanted him to penetrate it HARD.
Unfortunately he didn’t use his mighty weapon, the whole process took less than two minutes, and he didn’t even have to install a new lock. I was overjoyed, shocked, surprised and impressed by just how quickly he’d managed to force his way into my private area. I did a little dance and clapped and ‘yay’-ed inside.

Then my dark-haired, noble rescuer said, in his gruff and manly workman’s voice, ‘The agency ain’t expecting me here for anuvver twenty minutes,’ I looked into his warm brown eyes inquisitively, ‘if we don’t fill out this form, you can give me a hundred quid cash in hand, we’ll say no more about it, and all you have to do is call the agency again to cancel the job.’ My phone was already on charge. ‘Or,’ he continued, ‘we fill out the form, you pay me two hundred quid for a minute’s work and I’ll have to add VAT and install new locks.’
He got his £100 cash, and a very grateful handshake before he left, and I retired to my bed for a very lovely, warm, cosy night’s sleep.

So, what was the piece of advice that I’d forgotten from all those years ago? –it could be ‘carry around a list of emergency contact numbers with you, everywhere’, or ‘don’t rely on the police, they’re useless bastards’, but it’s not, it’s something I’ll never forget again, and neither should any of you, it’s;

DON’T FORGET YOUR FUCKING KEYS

Or at the very least have a friend with a spare set, and always, always charge your phone.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 9:11, 181 replies)

Best advice I got
was from my mum about 3 hours ago...

Never call your parents at 5am unless it's a real emergency.

In my defence I've been puking my gut up since around half past two and had rather ost track of time, so wanted to call and get reassurance that I wasn't going to die as it came out black. After she reminded me of the last time that happened I hung up and have vowed to drink far less coca cola.
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 8:40, 82 replies)