Some Words on the Care and Handling of Spiders
I really, really, really don't like spiders. Unfortunately, having lived in a succession of falling-apart flats and student houses in North London for the last nine years, I've been exposed to the bastards rather more than I'd like, so I've decided to take this opportunity to share some of the tips I've picked up for dealing with them.

1. Textbooks - specifically this one. It's important that you choose an expensive textbook to ensure that it has enough weight when free-flying to thoroughly flatten any spiders it lands on. A durable wipe-clean cover is a good idea, and it is essential (at least in student housing) that you choose a paperback version that is able to mould itself to the uneven contours of your crappy floor.

In a pinch you can use a copy of the Yellow Pages instead, but the drawbacks are manifold - the cheap paper results in a light weight and you will have to leap ontop of it after impact and jump up and down for several minutes to ensure that your target is dead, the spine is weak and can lead to it flapping open mid-flight and thus missing the target and the covers are absorbent enough that you will have to rip handfuls of spider-goo soaked pages off the back for disposal, preventing you from ever being able to find a local Taxi firm, let alone anything later in the alphabet.

2. Cats. Cats like to play with spiders, and are excellent at detecting them. The problem is that (my cat at least) prefers playing with spiders to eating them, and this often results in a wounded spider being chased into a hidey-hole, often distressingly near to your bed. At this point, even should you be able to overcome the mortal terror of knowing that there's a spider somewhere in your room, the cat's wails of frustration/clumsy attempts to wedge itself behind a bookcase will ruin any chances of sleep.

3. Swiffers. I cannot recommend these things highly enough. They will clean the horrible laminate your landlord saw fit to install, and even better they are the ideal spider killing implement, consisting as they do of a flat, pivoting head on a long pole. They even allow you to attach paper or cloths to the head to absorb the spider-goo! Where the textbook fails (walls, ceilings) the Swiffer excels, and the handle is long enough that you can murder a spider on the ceiling without having to stand underneath the bloody thing.

I also recommend that any spider-hunt feature an assistant, as for some reason both I and my housemate find that we can either kill a given spider or dispose of its remains, but not both. The two-person team allows an equitable distribution of these roles and also provides much needed moral support and backup shrieking.

I am a man of 27, and I am not ashamed. Spiders are fucking horrible.
(wellgroomedwookiee is a filthy-minded hobgoblin, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 13:45, 6 replies)

Just because they're fluffeh doesn't mean they're cute.
They're filthy and disturbing too... this is just another of the reasons I fear them:

***************

.. As Tobermory gently edged his fuzzy member deeper in between Orinoco's velvety buttocks he felt the clenched pucker of the young womble's anus dialate and grant him entry. With a deep grunt he thrust home, causing the usually sleepy young one to jump.

The kindly Womble that he was, he then reached around and grasped the base of Orinoco's twitching cock as he started to thrust. "Uncle Bulgaria will want you later" he rasped into his ear... "I'm going to fill you up so you're nice and slippery for him"

The sound of the other Wombles singing the Wombling Song drifted though the turf into the burrow. Unknown to them they changed rhythm; Tobermory thrusting home in time to the verse.

Orinoco's womblehood started to twitch, and, sensing his imminent climax and in anticipation of the rapid clenching of his anus, Tobermoray grabbed him by his ears and started to hammer his young behind for all he was worth...

The trained observer would notice a vague movement in the shadows of the corner of the room as Madame Chaulet watched Tobermory's exposed rear end while menacingly rubbing butter into the shaft of her rolling pin....

*************

Filthy little bastards, they shouldn't be allowed anywhere near public places... let alone encouraged to loiter in the bushes...
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Tue 15 Apr 2008, 13:24, 15 replies)

Babies
Specifically, newly born bundles of helplessness that colleagues seem to feel the need to bring into work and show off.

I instantly start feeling really uncomfortable and wonder if people are looking at me in an odd way because I'm not joining in the cooing and ahhing and isn't he/she adorably cute-ing.

My own nieces and nephew I never had a problem with, but other people's just leave me a bit freaked out. Probably not helped by the complete and utter lack of paternal desire or instinct.

I am completely normal in every other way. Apart from the shaved genitals/eating in public/snorkelling/freaky 70s kids TV/talking to people on the phone/pineapple/can't watch the Exorcist areas.

Honest, guv.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 15 Apr 2008, 13:24, 34 replies)

Two things
Harvestmen. They are like horrific peas on stilts.
Just look at it.
I have no issues with spiders in general, just these freaky pea-bodied ones.

Also I am scared of living in close proximity of human beings I don't know. People are capable of anything and you don't know what they are thinking. They could kill you or something.
Yeuch.
(xendragon changing the bulb since, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 13:20, 5 replies)

Following on from NDayave's...
...whilst sitting on the toilet, penis must not ever EVER touch any part of the toilet or toilet seat. Dirty dirty germs from other mens willies lurk there and will make you gay or make it fall off. But what do you do with it? It's not long enough to wrap over one thigh and it's not short enough to not touch any porcelain whilst seated, making wiping a dilemma. What do you do. WHAT DO YOU DO?!

I'll just go back to reading now.

Smurf.
(Big Smurf Brush me daddy-O, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 13:18, 4 replies)

hmm
I was practising my sword strokes the other day, and had mastered slicing an apple into 15 pieces before it hit the ground. I was indeed an expert and proud of it.
As I finished my exercises my heightened senses detected the hush droning noise, attention pricked I waited silent and still as the buzz got ever so slowly closer and louder until finally

Hah! swish swish swish went my blade and the the sliced insect pattered to the ground, diessected to pure black and pure yellow stripes.

Pleased with my skills I put away my weapon and made for the entrance.

Suddenly a ninja foe sprung from the shadows, undetected until now, coming at me with steel flashing menecingly, but arrogantly as I had nothing to hand.

Executing a perfect roll I snatched up a miniscule item from the dojo floor and launched it into the opponents eye, the small mite pierced his orb and his scream of infinite pain distracted him and allowed me to get in close and slay him with moves Jet Li would marvel at.

I was safe, and proudly I had learned the mystic skill of "throw bees arse"
(Halfy By light alone, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 13:13, Reply)

So, yeah, there was me
blah blah blah, type of alcoholic beverage, etc. Turned out not to be the proper one, blah blah.

Blah blah "Faux beers" ahahahaha!

Edit: Actually I'm really scared of wasps, after trying to pick one up when I was 9 months old.
(sabre-tooth monkey, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 12:58, Reply)

Things in the shape of kidneys
(kidney dishes, kidney beans) false legs, crutches, spiders.
( Lollylegs lite, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 12:56, 1 reply)

As a collector of items from popular culture
I have long been fascinated by the original models of various puppet shows produced during the 1980s and 90s.

As and when I can I dip into auction houses and websites and try and bag myself a little piece of history.

I recently stumbled upon an auction house which is dedicated to the sale of damaged items of television puppetry. I was intrigued. I went along, and saw lot 312 - the auditory portion of one of puppeteer Robin Stevens most famous creations.

I knew I had to have it, I put in a bid right there. The atmosphere was tense, several other people had their eyes on my goodies, and not only that, but they wanted lot 312 as well.

But I wouldn't give up, after selling my car and whoring my Mrs into slavery I finally managed to acquire that which I desired.

I had my very own Pob Ear.
(Bazongaloid, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 12:55, 2 replies)

Tomatoes
Tomatoes. The very though of the hideous things is too much. Can the rest of humanity not taste what I taste? I'm convinced that it's some sort of coordinated joke at my expense by the rest of mankind. Do people REALLY eat the things? They're just so unutterably rancid I can't even think about it without becoming uneasy and (for some reason) indignant that this abomination exists.

You know those documentaries in which some westerner will go to the Amazonian jungle to live with a tribe…? Mr White-Eye always gets suckered into eating something wriggling and unspeakable for the amusement of the locals? I'm that man. Tomatoes are that squirming filth. The rest of the world are the smirking tribesmen.

I've even come up with a laughable "There's-a-chemical-in-them-that-only-some-people-can-taste-which-is-destroyed-by-heat" argument when challenged about the acceptability of tomato sauce, soup etc.

Length? Crikey, I'm new. Calibration is all wrong.
(yearsofpractice, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 12:52, 3 replies)

Alan Hansen
I agree with teacake.

Watching Alan Hansen on MOTD - wearing that slightly shiny silver/grey suit stretched so tight accross his crotch you can see the way he 'dresses'.

He just seems to be thrusting them at me - even now when they sit under a table - I can still feel them staring at me.

BTW I am a girl.

Oh and spiders, fear of being alone, unloved etc etc.
(audreyforbes audreyforbes, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 12:45, 1 reply)

In which Jen the Toilet Queen's parents overcame their phobia of War.
***WARNING***

MAY NOT BE ON TOPIC

MAY ALSO CONTAIN FICTION AND RUDENESS

Due to popular request I've dug out the story of how Jen the Toilet Queen's (remember that? That wasn't pr0n, that was M&S pr0n!)parents got it together at the beginning of WW2.

His mother - Sadie had a fear of being alone at times of great stress. She relieved this by deflowering young boys....





Patrick’s fifteenth birthday was on the 1st of September 1939, two days later war broke out and he was relieved of his virginity by a working girl called Sadie.

She was doing him a favour - no one wanted to die a virgin and she was sure Hitler himself was going to come knocking and kill them all.

Sadie walked through the back door and found Patrick sitting naked in a small tin bath in the kitchen.

“Oh don’t mind me! I’ve seen it all before. I’ll shut my eyes so you can get out and keep decent.”

“Thank you.” Patrick waited until Sadie closed her eyes and then he stood up, looked around and sighed, “Um, you’re sitting on my towel.”

Her large blue eyes opened and she spoke to his hands which were attempting to conceal his embarrassment unsuccessfully, “My, you have grown… up. It only seems like yesterday you were still a little boy.”

He didn’t look fifteen.

In Patrick’s opinion Sadie looked like a Saturday morning in bed; comfortable, warm, dreamy, but unmade. The hem on her dress was always coming unstitched or the lining came away as she took off her coat or she couldn’t remove her heavily darned cardigan because it forced the tiny buttons on her blouse to pop and skitter to the floor.

Patrick was still standing cold and naked in the kitchen, “Erm, Sadie, my towel?”

“Hmm, yes. Here you are Patrick. Shall I close my eyes again? Not really much point is there? I’ll put the kettle on shall I? Nice cup of tea. Or maybe we should have something stronger – seeings what’s happened.”


Patrick stepped out of the tin bath and tugged on the towel that was still firmly wedged between Sadie’s shapely backside and the hard wooden kitchen chair.

“Alright! Alright! You only needed to ask you know.” Finally Sadie lifted herself and let him get to the thin and threadbare cloth masquerading as a white bath towel. “I think I’d better go and get dressed while you’re making a cup of tea Sadie.”

She gave a high-pitched giggle,leaned her elbows on the sink behind her, pulled back her shoulders and shook out her long red hair nervously.

She knows I’m looking at her tits. Knockers. Stop it!
“No, no. I’m not panicking, but I am getting cold, so if you will excuse me for a moment…”


“Patrick, Patrick, have you come over all funny? Are you scared stiff too? What do you think will happen now? Will it be quick and over in a flash? Or will it go on for ages?”

“Will what be quick?” Patrick asked warily.

“The war”

“Ah. Yes. Well, I, um. I don’t know.”

They both stood silently. “Well, I’d better get dressed.” He took a stride towards dignity but was stopped again by Sadie who now threw herself against his bare and hairless chest and began to sob. Patrick stood still, Sadie’s Marcel Waved head barely came to his shoulders. He patted Sadie’s narrow back as if she were a strange overfriendly dog which he needed to placate while his other hand was still clinging to his modesty.

“Oh Patrick, you’re so calm and sensible.” Sadie’s voice was only a little muffled by his almost dry chest. She was whimpering and her chest was heaving, her blouse still gaping with each intake of air. Her hot breath upon his left nipple was not going unnoticed.

Patrick tried to focus on Sadie’s less appealing features like her small, pointed and pronounced teeth, but that made him think about her mouth rimmed with scarlet lipstick. He tried to picture her overlong toenails which scratched the ground as she tottered in her high heeled sandals but that made him imagine her slim ankles, shapely calves, white rounded thighs rising up to her perfectly formed – his breathing was becoming ragged. The towel was now pointless.

“Patrick! You naughty boy!” said Sadie slowly, “Well I never! And all for me…What are we going to do now?” She walked her pink shell fingernails up his chest.

“Sadie, I’m…I do apologise. I must -”

“Come on,” she whispered huskily just like Patrick had seen at the movies, the same movies she had seen, “Into the front parlour. Room doesn’t get used that much, curtains are closed and I’ve heard the settee is quite comfy.”

“But…Sadie”

SHUT UP!! This is a chance to get your leg over you stupid bugger! She might be a few years older than you and she’s done the rounds a bit, well more than a bit, but she’s female and she’s got great knockers. If you're lucky she might even let us have a look at them. So shut up and let her take you.

Sadie took Patrick’s hand and gently led him into the darkened room. His heart was pounding so much he couldn’t hear all the wirelesses in his street tuned to the Home Service, the 9pm bulletin, all talking war with one solemn voice.

Bloody hell. Bloody hell. This is it. She’s going to let me…I’m going to…Bloody hell. Stay calm. Stay calm.

The parlour was cool and quiet, dark heavy Victorian furniture set like a stage waiting for its next scene to be played out in front of the framed audience of long dead relatives reproduced in faded sepia tones.

Sadie’s only concern was with her living audience of one for whom she slowly lifted her pale blue cotton skirt, slipped her cream cami-knickers down over her rounded hips and allowed them to slide to the floor where she elegantly stepped out of them and then threw them over Great Uncle Charlie who remained unperturbed in his mahogany frame.

She turned away from him, bent to remove her strappy sandals and slipped her small feet onto the worn carpet. She quietly laid herself upon the narrow ageing couch, lifting her skirt again and allowing her spectator his first sight of a woman. Her white thighs were luminous against the dull brown swirls that had once been flowers on the upholstery, but Patrick’s eyes could not move from her coppery pubic hair. He stood, towel still in hand.

I’m not quite sure what to do now. I mean, I know what to do, but what does she expect?

“Um, can I um, kiss you?”

Sadie giggled, “Not many want to kiss. I usually charge extra for that you know.”

Patrick frowned.

“Don’t worry Patrick love. This one’s on the house. This is for the war effort.” She gently pulled him on top of her then kissed his lips and whispered, “We need to make an effort to make sure you don’t die a virgin… Don’t look at me like that; I know I’m your first. Drop that bloody old towel!”

He did as he was told. His knees were between hers and his hands held fast onto the couch.

Bloody hell. Oh God.

“You know where to put it, don’t you love?” Sadie was looking at the ceiling.

“Yes, of course. But I … I don’t want to hurt you.”

Sadie’s mouth puckered a little, she let go of her skirt and dropped her hand, but not her eyes, to guide him. Gently she circled his throbbing cock with her small pale hands, he shivered. Then she stopped, brought her hand up to her mouth, sucked on her fingers, and slid her hand back down. Patrick watched as she closed her eyes and slipped her wet fingers into the moist cleft that was bordered by the coppery curls. Sadie took his cock again and now smeared her own juices along the shaft as she pumped. Patrick began to see stars as his groin felt as if it would explode. She slowly rubbed the now glistening and pulsating head of his hard cock against her drenched pussy. Just as Patrick began to lose all sense of reality he plunged into her wet, hot hole and his throbbing member gushed forth with foamy spunk. She did not laugh, smirk, wince or yelp as Patrick thought she might, Sadie was silent.

He kept his eyes trained on the arm of the couch, another grubby patch where the flower pattern had become a brown pattern with darker bits.

Great Uncle Charlie looked on impassively; he was responsible for the stain on the couch; half a pint of stout spilled as he experienced his final heart attack brought on by the discovery of his only niece’s expecting another in the long family line of bastards.

There had been a couple of gentle creaks from the couch and Patrick’s first attempt was over quickly.

He sat back on his towel, “Was that alright?”

“Yes. It was fine.” She drew her knees together and pulled her skirt over them.

Patrick looked down at himself. He grinned.

I’ve done it! I’ve bloody done it! That was…bloody hell.

He looked back at Sadie, “Can I kiss you again?”

Sadie smiled. He tried to kiss her gently with tenderness but he found his hand pushing back her skirt to find that damp moist heaven. “Can I? Again?” She checked her brown wristwatch and nodded. He climbed back into position; she lifted her skirt and dropped her knees out again.

This time he trailed his finger down from the bunched up skirt to the triangle of fox-fur until he found the origin of the world. It was warm, warmer than he had expected, but he did not have time to run his fingers and his tongue over this unexplored land as he wanted because the insistent growing, throbbing hard cock wanted to ram itself into her until she screamed with ecstasy.

Concentrate this time, must concentrate. Trains, the Northern line.


On his second attempt Patrick made it all the way from Morden to the Embankment with changes at Stockwell and Victoria Station. He was keen to try a third attempt, this time going around all of the Circle line but by then she was developing fabric burns on her delicate white rump and needed to return to her paying duties.


Sadie stood up and shook her waved hair out a little as if it were wet, “They’ll all be out and about now. Seeings it’s the war and everything. I ‘spect it’ll be a busy night like, could be busy as Christmas or New Year. Well, that’s you sorted out, sorted out good and proper! Anytime you fancy another go….”

His explorations were over.

Sadie picked up her knickers and began to fold them, “If I’m free, like. But don’t go telling your mum – she might tell me off!” She giggled, put her high-heeled sandals back on and walked into the kitchen.

Patrick followed obediently, towel back in place around his waist, “Thank you Sadie, thank you very much. You’ve been extremely generous to me.”

Is that right? Should I be thanking her? Should I tell her I love her? Should be in love with her now, or her with me? Is that why she did it?


“Oh do give over love! Any of the girls round here would have dropped their knickers if you’d looked their way or followed them down a dark alley. I can think of quite a few who’d love to meet you and your crown jewels in a dark alley! With your posh ways, you’re a proper gentleman you are.” She looked away from Patrick, outside to the darkened sky where the stars had begun to come out.

Sadie raised her eyebrows and returned her concentration to the underwear she held in her small hand, “Sometimes Patrick,” she looked back up at him and smiled a little, “It’s nice to be in charge…Oh look at that clock, it’s almost chucking out time over at the King’s Head, I’ve some regulars there, better get going. Give my love to your mum – tell her I popped round to check on you.”

Sadie scooped up her handbag and shoved in her folded knickers, she caught Patrick’s eye, “Saves time. And washing.”
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 12:44, 21 replies)

Velvet
I have a huge phobia of velvet. I hate the stuff - it feels like it's alive and crawling beneath my skin. Even thinking about it makes me want to ball my fists up to hide my fingertips away from the possibility of velvet, which makes typing this quite difficult. I used to work in the wardrobe department for a big opera company, who do a fair amount of shows with period costumes - this often means velvet dresses, coats and the like. This caused some moments of extreme discomfort, especially the time I was dressing eight women, all of whom had a long velvet evening gown that needed fastening up the back.

It does, however, cause no end of fun for my friends. They delight in seeing me squirm and recoil in horror as they stroke velvet in front of me. Or in one case, chase me around the building wearing a velvet dress, making me look like I'm trying to escape from a swarm of killer bees.
(teacake, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 12:26, 4 replies)

I have
a dislike of many soups particually traditional Vietnamese rice-noodle soup dishes, so when i was
in vietnam and was asked to comment on the local dish i could not be objective due to my inner feelings of disgust.

Thats how i developed my Pho Bias.
( Trollman, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 12:17, 3 replies)

You'll all be doing it...
I have a very real fear of sitting on the toilet wrong.

Allow me to explain; a good while back now, while in a bit of a hurry I very nearly sat on half a bollock and ended up in some pain.

I think an example you can all work with is required:

- Take a grape and a surface edge, preferably one with a bit of a corner on it.

- Place said grape half on the table and half over the edge.

- Apply some downward pressure and watch grape tear along the edge and then essentially explode.

With this near miss always a present fear, no matter how desperate I am, those last few inches on to the toilet seat are veeeeeeeeeeery slow and even more precise.
(NDayave , Hooray For, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 12:15, 6 replies)

Little known Sherwood lore
The evil Sherriff secretly had a black & yellow hooped posterior complete with venomous stinging barb.

In obscure medieval texts, it is sometimes referred to as Robin Hoods 'foe bee arse'

*can't beat*
*joins*
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 12:06, Reply)

Back in Sherwood forest,
We used to steal from the rich and give to the poor. The Enemy's Money was duly dished out, as was the fiend's food...

Very rarely did Friar Tuck join us, but when he did he always put his efforts into capturing ale from the cellars of our enemies...

Oh yes, we used to have many Foe-Beers.

*hides head in shame and points accusingly at pooflake*
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Tue 15 Apr 2008, 11:44, 4 replies)

Toothbrush Eggs
I have an extremely irrational fear of loose toothbrush bristles. If I find a loose one on my tongue then I vomit uncontrollably.

I now have a 'ritual' before I brush my teeth, whereby I have to tug on the bristles of my tooth brush. I get through 3 toothbrushes a week.

That is all.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 11:39, 2 replies)

We should all be being paid by the Guardian
blogs.guardian.co.uk/food/2008/04/milk_of_kindness_hardly.html

Milk rant. Would probably make the best of page.
( kikilookeylikey, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 11:38, 1 reply)

Mouse Chowder
Going back a few years ago I lived in a flat above a pet shop in Ipswich. This was great for me, being bit of an animal lover (not in the "Hold still" "Baahhh" kinda way!) I used to help out on a weekend feeding the animals and generally tidying.

Unfortunately all of the pet foods and grain tended to attract mice that were not contained in cages. It didn't bother me too much. Of a night when lying in bed you could hear them crawling up the walls and scuttling around. I used to find it quite cute and considered them my little unseen friends. I had two cats at the time and so the mice tended not to actually come in to the living area of the flat.

So one day I'm having a shower and I notice that I seem to smell, well, a bit odd. So I have a good scrub and get on with my day. But everyday from then on whenever I showered I seemed to smell a bit funky, no matter how many exotic soaps I used. Weird.

After a couple of weeks I start to think, maybe it's not me, maybe it's the water? ( I was stoned most of the time back then so wasn't the quickest thinker). So I clamber up in to the loft and crawl to the UNCOVERED water tank. Bastard cheap landlord. I peer in the water tank with my torch and what do I see? Two little furry bodies floating belly up, all limbs splayed. With bits hanging off. And a stronger version of the very odd smell that I thought was me.

Obviously not wanting to touch said decaying meeses, I ran down to the pet shop and grabbed one of those little nets aquarium fanciers have. Back in the loft I try to fish out mousey no.1 who promptly disintegrates, little verminous legs and innards dispersing through tank. The smell was unbelievable, leading me, in the words of Scaryduck, to bawk rich, brown vomit in to the water tank. The force of the two liquids meeting managed to break apart mouse no.2, inevitably leading to more chundering. For some reason at that moment, I also noticed the selection of 8 or 9 ground beetles floating around at the bottom of the tank as well.

Yes, I had been washing in decomposing mouse and beetle stew for at least three weeks.

The phobia bit (although I don't consider it an irrational fear): I've been a homeowner now for four years. And once a week, every week, you will find me up in our loft checking the water tank for foreign bodies and ensuring the tank cover is firmly in place. I still cannot drink water directly from the tap (even though I know it comes from the mains) and I find myself smelling the water in the shower on a daily basis before I get under it.

Length? 2 X 2 inches = 25 gallons of Mouse Bisque
(Big Smurf Brush me daddy-O, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 11:35, 6 replies)

Not me but a friend ...
... Feel I need to share this - A friend of mine is absolutely terified of Polystyrene.

Apparently the sound it makes when you twist and break it is the worst thing in the world - a fact which was abused often as teenagers, and led to a very disappointing christmas day when his dad refused to remove the playstation from its box because he was being 'a Pansy'.
(PickledEgg, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 10:49, Reply)

Slugs, wasps and heights
First post of a long time lurker! Wish me luck...

I hate slugs with a passion, eveything about them makes me squirm and feel ill. This is especially helpful as my boyfriend's house seems to be suffering from an infestation of them, so he quite frequently finds me squeaking, petrified, in their kitchen before he removes the offending gastropod. This extends to anything slimy, so snails, worms, and maggots are not in favour either. I had to do a lab with dead maggots as part of my degree a couple of months ago, and that did not go well!

I also hate wasps, evil stinging things, and heights, although oddly I am not afraid of flying.

*Insert joke about length here* *pop*
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 10:45, 8 replies)

Ok, so I have a genuine phobia of flying....
‘Planes are safer than cars!’ I hear you cry… ‘6 gazzilion planes take off a day and hardly ever crash!’ you yell…

Sorry but the point of a phobia, is to have an IRRATIONAL fear and no amount of RATIONAL explanation will convince me to sail upon Richard Branson’s tin can of doom.

So I’ve missed a few holidays or if I’ve really needed to go forced my long suffering fiancé on 30 hour coach trips to Spain laced with dysentery and…erm…the elderly.

Now if people can please just shut the hell up about trying to force me to do something that in my mind will lead to certain death…we can all get on with living!!!111

Bit psycho for a first post? I also don’t like…

-Old people that say ‘wet my whistle’ *shudder*

-Songs from before the 1960’s- Reminds me of working in an old peoples home. Lots of elderly ladies vacantly staring out windows waiting for visitors that never came. I swear you could smell the death……or was that faeces?

-The scratchy bottom of china cups

-Jeremy Kyle….not really a phobia, I just hate his stupid face.

*POP*
(sexual cupcake, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 10:27, 3 replies)

I'm afraid of waking up late
and I don't just mean 20 minutes or an hour late, I'm talking really late. For example, missing a whole day - you go to sleep on monday night, wake up and it's wednesday or thursday.. Or even worse you miss a whole week or month or year without even realising..

I had a series of dreams where this happened, and now practically every time I go to sleep it crosses my mind that it's going to happen for real *shudder* I'm soo not sleeping tonight..
(snow15white wants some lithium, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 10:27, 3 replies)

I had hung outside my watch pocket
a short chain with a decorative seal of a stand on which a corpse was in a coffin.

Yes that was my Fob-Biers.

You started it Pooflake.

/coat
( Trollman, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 10:24, Reply)

Buttons
Ever since I can remember I have been terrified of buttons. In my younger years I once vomited at the sight of one of my mates putting a button in his mouth to chew on. That paticular image still stays with me.

Also - the fashion for big dinner plate sized buttons (usually on BBC weather forcasters - the ladies that is) has me having a mild panic attack. Very helpful first thing on a morning.
(The Neptunian Number is counting on you, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 10:19, Reply)

Crickets, Polar Bears and Police
Welcome to the latest installment of "Kaol's Fears".

Crickets - I've been keeping lizards since I was 8, and lizards eat crickets. Live crickets.
I'm 100% fine with all other insects, centipedes, spiders, anything like that, just bloody crickets that give me the Fear.

The problem with crickets is that they chew stuff. Can you imagine having a small hole chewed in you, fragment by fragment? Well, that never happened to me, but it did happen to my first lizard. Those crickety bastards chewed a hole in her tail.
That isn't as bad as it sounds, because reptiles are fantastic at regenerating damage, they can regrow most of their liver for example, so as you can imagine, a bit of damage to the tail is no problem.

This didn't stop my 10-year-old self from getting some serious twitches every time I saw a cricket, some bad nightmares about being chewed, and never, ever wanting to feed crickets to my animals again. Locusts are far better looking, easier to digest for the lizards, and less evil.

Polar Bears - Polar bears are fucking huge.
They can drag a walrus out of a hole in the ice, and large walruses weigh around two tonnes.
Just because they're white and fluffy, doesn't mean they're cute.

They see you as meat. I for one don't like the idea of a 10-foot beast of pure muscle, bone and evil wanting to eat me.

So, I say bring on "global warming", that'll sort the bastards out.

Oh, and you can't eat them either, as they have some parasite that's fatal to humans. Brilliant.

Police - As in Her Majesty's Police Force.
I don't understand why, but whenever I see police, I get the Fear, so badly, despite the fact that I'm never doing anything wrong.

I seem to be one of those people who "looks dodgy", I always get the full treatment at gigs and airports, and I'm frequently asked what I'm doing by the police.

*shrugs*
( Cawl, Tue 15 Apr 2008, 10:05, 25 replies)