Gary Numan
It's been ages since my last post, and I have just woken up after having a mostly non-sexual dream about a certain Mr Gary Numan. So it reminded me of this:

A few years ago there was this pub in the sprawling metropolis of Reading called Pavlovs Dog. (It still exists it's just degraded more than the surrounding establishments so my friends and I have since moved on). Now this establishment was (and still is as far as I know) frequented by a rather studenty clientele, which I have no problem with having been one up to a few years back.

But this was different.

You see, students are meant to (in most cases) be relied upon for a decent taste in music, but this was not the case here, and as this pub had one of those touchscreen jukeboxes with all the "latest (s)hits" it meant Black Eyed Peas and Rihanna & all that modern toss was played continuously. We didn't like this, but it was the only place to go at the time for us, so we had no choice. Occasionally we'd put a few quid in and choose some Bowie or Led Zeppelin but it would usually take 3 hours or so until they played, by which time we'd be too busy trying to successfully remain standing.

But one day we'd had enough. We arrived at our usual time around 9 and banded together a whole pound sterling for an almighty 7 plays in the jukebox (pre-recession times people). We locked and loaded and then sat in to wait until our choices were made. Now usually we'd be looking around in despair everytime another generic top 40 song fell out of the speakers like a loose shit. But this time we enjoyed our anticipation as we knew what was coming.

Sure enough about an hour and a half in we heard the opening drum roll to "Cars" by the man himself, Gary Numan. Most of the patrons were genuinely bemused but we spotted a couple of veterans with approving grins to themselves nodding away slowly. Then it played again. And again. 7 times to be precise, and each time people got more and more desperate looking up at the TV where the music video was going "Why Gary, why?" (probably) which is how our group felt every other song, so it was a nice little comeuppance.

We never did get found out.

Apologies for length but I make no such apologies for the song choice, Gary Numan is a gent.
(Captain Sensible "I'll be your animal in a yellow plastic bin", Thu 23 Feb 2012, 11:46, 5 replies)

I seems, after perusing this QOTW that Out Of The Blue evil
at the right moment works best :)
(roysin, Thu 23 Feb 2012, 11:34, Reply)

This has just come to me.
Aged about four whilst on a camping holiday, I noticed my Dad took a cod liver oil capsule at breakfast every morning. Not knowing what it was I asked him, 'It is good for your joints' he replied, 'would you like to try one?' Of course I wanted to try one! 'they work best if you bite them' smiles Dad.

I bit a capsule. The most deeply, dirty, oily fishy gunk filled my mouth. It tasted worse than anything I had ever put in my mouth or ever will I suspect.

Dad thought it was hilarious. I got my revenge 'posting' his car keys into the VHS player about a week later.
( Anthropos Was making beer on, Thu 23 Feb 2012, 11:23, Reply)

Evil Mangoes
I have been debating if to add this story. It represents an evil for sure (I am not sure of its randomness). However, it revolves around B3TA to such a degree that I feel compelled to share, even though I would ask you to keep in mind throughout, that it is a memory of extreme physical and moral anguish for me. It is my very own "KAAAAHN!!!" moment

I am in training for the London Marathon. My particular training plan involves waking up at 6 , four times a week and running anything between 5 and 13 miles. Two days ago I was due for an 8 miler

The afternoon before I was popping into the local chemist to simply get new razor blades. Now, to explain my next action, you must know that I am a (idiotic kind of) person who occasionally resolves to get the satisfaction from having a well stocked cabinet of any kind. You know that smug feeling of gazing at a full spice rack, or opening the 'big' cupboard in your kitchen and seeing tins of tomatoes, coconut milk, pasta, etc giving myself the impression that I am a connoisseur of life, ready to whip up a delicious meal & martinis in just a few minutes because some incredibly fashionable friends have popped by (This has NEVER happened, just saying). Well, I got that stupid desire whilst in the chemist and ended up buying bathroom tissues, bandaids, vitamin pills, hand lotion (with aloe vera of course) etc etc and a selection of OTC drugs like aspirin, milk of magnesia and (critical to the plot), pills for constipation called DULCOLAX

At home, whilst putting everything away, I was surprised at how small the pills were, then wondered what they tasted like, and absent mindedly popped one in my mouth. Didn't taste of anything, so I just swallowed

The B3TA element begins a few hours later. I am crashed out on my sofa after dinner and watch the first of 'Whats in Spock's scanner' by BLACKMOONSTUDIOS on youtube (if you haven't seen it, watch all three episodes... brilliant stuff). Chortling to myself and feeling pretty good about life, I felt like dessert and went round the corner to the local immigrant shop that sells everything. Keeping in mind that I wanted to be 'marathon healthy', I asked what they had that was not so bad for you and the shop keeper pipped up that he had a special offer on mangoes. COMPLETELY forgetting about the laxative pill lurking in my system, I ate 4 of them (buy 3 get one free) whilst watching episodes 2&3

Next morning, wake up at 6am, do a number 1 (number 2? no, doesn't work, too early), down a glass of water, get into my running gear and I am out the door with my iPod playing 80's hits & Gerry Anderson soundtracks (I find listening to Thunderbirds, complete with the countdown, does wonders for my pace). The 8 mile route is on a running/walking track that goes around a lake, and I'm jogging along with other runners all enjoying the morning air.

I must have done about three miles when I began to notice a heaviness around the lower stomach area...'Bit odd' I think and try and ignore it...doesn't go away.... 4 miles (and this route is a straight out & back) I stop and realise to my horror (and I mean I was standing there open mouthed), that the mangoes are wanting to make a very urgent reappearance, egged on by their evil partner in crime, the Dulcolax tablet

I had absolutely zero idea what to do. My first thought was from the story 'my left foot' by Pooflake (QOTW: "I should have been arrested"..also highly recommended) and looked around for a bush... no cover at all, and there are runners and early morning dog walkers every where

The panic in me released enough adrenaline that now my anus was at the absolutely edge of exploding, Krakatoa style, into my tight running leggings. I stood with both legs together, my arms rigid at my side and I gritted my teeth and focused my entire psyche on that one crucial muscle, the anal sphincter. The waves passed and I opened my eyes and gasped for air. Several runners ran passed me with mild looks of concern on their face

I still had no idea what to do. Do I run back ? (perhaps making it worse, but getting to a toilet quicker). Walk back? (longer), what?

I decided to jog back slowly and now my memory threw at me every poo story in B3TA that I have read and laughed at. Was this helpful? Please tell me something useful. As I jogged passed a bin, I thought of the scene from Bridesmaids (no, not useful). Every-time I could feel an attack coming on. I would again stand completely still & rigid and clench like my life depended on it. The effort was so grim, that several times I had my face to the sky, giving out a deep groan from deep within my soul. The same runners who by this time were lapping me assumed that I was bravely fighting some painfully pulled muscle and heard quite a few "Keep going mate", "Well done mate" as I stood there

The return home took me about 40 minutes of alternate jogging and stopping/clenching. The worst part was the last 100m... I walked very slowly trying to remain calm, deep breathing (in through the nose, out through the mouth) not wanting to panic and massacre my front door or pavement (never mind moving, I would have immigrated if that had happened)

But the last ten seconds had me opening both the apartment door and dropping my leggings simultaneously and throwing my body backwards onto an open toilet

Dear reader, the relief was orgasmic.

I end this story by posing deep questions about good & evil, Boethius like. Can anyone answer them? Alain de Botton? Brian Cox?

What is it about being a B3TA person that makes you consume drugs absent mindedly, completely forget about them and then get yourself into 'situations'?

Why does you poo-hole give you the feeling it will explode, only to go away, and again come back?

Why does that pressure build up to an intolerable degree even though you are 2 (crucial) seconds and 5 (critical) metres away from the bog?

Anyway, as I sat on the toilet in a 'post-coital' bliss, I did look on the bright side of the experience. It was training of sorts for the marathon. Now, I know I CAN keep going between porta loos, no problemo
(sabre32, Thu 23 Feb 2012, 10:30, 19 replies)

Time for a quick one?
It's not really that random, but a friend of mine maintains that to throw it up a woman over a size 18 would be like having sex with a slowly deflating bouncy castle
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Thu 23 Feb 2012, 10:12, 4 replies)

It was all a big misunderstanding, really.
But now I'm not allowed within 50 yards of any fruit and vegetable stall.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 23 Feb 2012, 9:37, Reply)

Fun with printers
1. Use Google to find network printers not behind a firewall (remarkably easy - Google it *HO HO, SLAPS KNEE IN MIRTH*).
2. Look up default admin creds. Normally admin/access or admin/admin. If the sysadmin is foolish enough to leave a public interface you can guarantee they haven't changed this.
3. Change page copies to 100.
4. Change printer language to Mandarin.
5. Rename printer to 'pwned' or similar.
6. Reset admin password.
7. Use find devices and identify other printers on the network.
8. Repeat until bored.

Literally hours of sniggering joy.

EDIT: For god's sake, use Tor. Unless you WANT Plod turning up at your front door when your ISP grasses you up.
(hangableautobulb is an anagram of the best album ever, on, Thu 23 Feb 2012, 2:52, 8 replies)

Pub toilets in darkness
Switch off light. Remove bulb. Place 1p on contacts of bulb. Refit bulb. Leave, without turning lights on.

That is all.
(gordonjcp, Wed 22 Feb 2012, 23:40, 7 replies)

Tourettes blind date
The hardest 17 minutes of work I have ever done, keeping up the random wordplay whilst touching the table 5 times with each hand "just so they'd be in balance and make 10".

Swearing would have been just too easy.
(magic the cat will someone please think of the kittens, Wed 22 Feb 2012, 21:30, Reply)

I just clicked 'I like this'...
...for each and every response to this question except for those posted by A Vagabond.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Wed 22 Feb 2012, 19:59, 3 replies)