Search bar or Status bar?
OK the new Facebook. A lot of people are moaning about it. I think its OK except my biggest gripe. Which is probably my own stupidiy. But I keep typing searches into my status bar.

So yes now everyone knows who i'm stalking.

God damnit!
(Miggyman, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 16:47, 4 replies)

Old people and Internet.
My dearest grandmother, at a ripe age of 75 decided to do the "internet thing" and she got herself online. She just wanted to email family and look up history on the interwebs.

Sadly she made a few mistakes. The first mistake she made was she signed up with BT Internet. The second mistake she made, was that she didnt want her name in her email address so just specified an abbriviation of which was just three characters.

Well within a week she started getting spam for Viagra, Calais, Business Deals with Nigerians, Internet banking passwords, links to pics of 14y.o boys etc.

Now the problem is: Old people have no concept of the Internet. Sadly she took this spam email very personally. She thought that it was being specifically sent to her for a reason. She became realy worried that her name was out there and registered to receive copious amounts of viagra advertisement. She half expected nigerians to be knocking on the door with a suitcase of dodgy money.

The third mistake she made was she actually replied to a 419 scam.

Dear Mr Abababu

Thank you for your message containing your business proposal. I do not know who you are and I don't know how you know me.

I am 75 years old and at this time I am not interested in doing further business. I do not need any extra money as I have a good pension already.

Thank you again. I wish you a good day.

--her name--.


Well im sure the afro's were rubbing their hands together after that!

She left the internet for 3 years before giving it another go. Its a sad story really, as it just goes to show that Spam - for some isnt just a nuisance that can be deleted. But unfortunately some people take it quite literally.

Now her email goes via my own server which has about 3 levels of anti-spam on it, after going through my ISPs own spam filter. I also periodically check her inbox to make sure theres nothing got in there.

So yes 419ers don't think you can send your dodgy business schemes to my grandma. She's firewalled! And to those flogging pharmacuticals. Dont bother sending her any offers of viagra. Her husband is now DEAD!!!
Save your stamps, I mean kilobytes.
(Miggyman, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 16:45, 1 reply)

More work stories. It's where I live.
We used to have a part time lad come in, who I hated. He was one of these Asian "player" types who was all mouth and flash, and was convinced he was god's gift to women. I absolutely detested him.

One day me and him are sitting in the staff room with a couple of our female staff who are both very intelligent and unfortunately for them, both absolutely stunning. They are also both very much into wildlife conservation and other Bill Oddie type stuff. So this abrasive young shit decided that an anecdote about animals might get him some fun. Imagine my utter joy when, in a moment of absolute silence, he pipes up with:

"Yeah, so I was watching this program on nature and shit yeah. This man, he shot a lion right through the head. It was well wicked!"

Every so often, something happens in life that makes me take the pistol out my mouth :-)
(GONEism, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 16:39, 2 replies)

I just did done a gaffe, too
A guff gaffe.

I was in the canteen fetching a cuppa and reading the paper a bit when I stepped on a duck.

Looking to beat a hasty retreat I turned and made for the door, when someone passed me on their way in.

I said a polite hello and kept going, thinking there was no way they'd want to speak to me.

"Uh, Gunther, have you got a minute?"

"Fucksocks. Um, I mean yeah..."
( Moey, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 16:34, Reply)

Well, I was on twunternet surfing faces....
and drooling over my sister's daughter's gran's friend's friend's hot holiday pics when I was rudely interupted by banging on the door. I hastily re-zipped (not too hastily!) and opened it - it was my scrounging housemate Stu;

"Gis a cig mate" he whined - "look you've got one in your mouth"

Yes I was busted, but gave the only comeback in this situation - "It's my last one, and it's Berkely menthol".

Undeterred Stu counters with the classic "Save us twos?". I pointed out to him that there was slightly less than half, and the filter was slightly damp due to my earlier salivation.

"Aaaw go on!" whines Stu, "I'll give you 5p"

In desperation and meanness I forced him out whilst shouting

"NO SELL WET SLURPING FAGS!"

_soz!
(jmaxi returned again on, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 16:32, 6 replies)

Warning: Shit pun
During my short spell working for Boeing, I met a few interesting characters. One American lad in particular - Zack, I think he was called.

We would drink together after work, and he would regail me with stories of growing up in L.A. He also loved to talk about his job. We would spend hours chatting about compressors, thrust augmentors and the design of fuel tanks on the latest and greatest planes.

But one day, fate took Zack. He was testing a rebuilt engine on a 747 and due to his unusually long neck managed to get his head in the way. It was over in a flash. Zack's head shot out the back of the jet in a cloud of blood. No-one could have done anything.

R.I.P Zack. You were a So-Cal Jet-Working Giraffe.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 16:30, Reply)

Bebo
I joined Bebo in order to meet like minded paedos. I keep meeting 13 year old girls though.

They're fucking noisy as though. Well. Eventually they go quiet.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 16:28, 1 reply)

I just this second did a gaffe!
I just abandoned my service point to go for a wee. We have 3 staff toilets next to each other - 2 for the ladies and one for men. So I'm in there, peeing away and I hear someone peeing in the toilet next to me. Doing a mental stocktake of who is in today, I figured it must be fellow low level working schlub Laura. Me and Laura are as close as can be and know and share pretty much everything with each other. I decide to dish out some funny.

As I'm weeing I knock on the wall and go "pssssst! I can hear your wee wee! Har har har".

Turns out it was my boss.
(GONEism, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 16:15, 2 replies)

Rate my goldfish
Alas, I signed up onto Facebook when it was a little-known student commune. It was good to catch up with people and stay in the loop about gigs and social events until the applications came

I've a friend on there who is the undisputed king of inbox flooding. We'll refer to him as Luke (it's easier this way since that's his name). After breaking convention and not refreshing my page for a good few days I was greeted by approximately 20 'notifications'

"Bugger me, Foxys gone up on the social ladder." thought I. No sooner have I inflated my ego than I'm greeted with such life changing notices as:

'Luke has taken the What Pokemon Are You test! To find out your Pokemon, click here'
'Luke has sent you a request to rate his goldfish! Claim your very own goldfish here'
'Luke has sent you a message on his SuperWall. To see your message, click here'

"Fuck this" I naturally thought. I've had enough of this pissing around with the internets, we'll meet up and go down the pub and do some proper, traditional social networking.

I arrive on a beautiful starry Friday night intent on pickling my liver and pissing against the most convenient car door possible when the evening was through. As planned, Luke arrives when I get the first round in, and I brace myself for a catch-up discussion of the last 6 months.

First line he spewed out that evening: "So, what did you think of my goldfish?"

I don't use facebook much anymore.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Fri 12 Sep 2008, 15:59, 4 replies)

I signed up to myspace...
pretending to be a young 15 year old boy hoping to snare me a couple of "jailbait" hotties.

I eventually built up the courage to talk to this really pretty 14 year old girl. Once I had seen her picture I knew that I was in love. She was the one!

We corresponded for a while, chatting whilst I subtly suggested we should meet up and "get together". She said yes and I couldnt believe my luck.

Turned out that this 14 year old girl was really another paedofile looking to "meet up" with young boys. After realising our gaff we departed and I went home and masturbated whilst eating 3 rocky bars.

*may not be true
/coat
(Foulkesy123 The one and only..., Fri 12 Sep 2008, 15:46, 8 replies)

Hi Honey!
Just wanted to let you know I've phoned NHS Direct and it turns out that discharge I keep getting isn't catching, but apparently we should avoid oral sex for at least 6 weeks. Oops! That might explain those sores you've been getting, lol!

Also I've bought you the Immodium you asked for, but I can't find anywhere that sells adult nappies.


The new QOTW on B3ta is "Social Networking Gaffes", I've been trying to think of a good story for ages but I can't think of anything suitable, so I thought I'd send you a quick message in the meantime. Anyway, fuck 'em, you keep telling me they're just a bunch of geeks and pretentious loners after all, lol!


Can't wait to see you later, snookiewooks, I fancy a bit of felching tonight, and maybe you could give me a rusty trombone the way you like.

Wuv you

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
(LLPaulJ 's momma said knock you out, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 15:20, 8 replies)

Apple pickin'
I hit on the cunning idea of boosting production at my orchard by hiring giraffes to reach the fruit on the tallest trees.

They're bone idle though, and just natter all day long. I'll have to sack the lot of them.

Bloody social notworking giraffes.

/goes to get some fresh air and apologies profusely
( rofl harris, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 14:57, 1 reply)

Poppadoms
I have no idea why but I confuse the word with poppadoms with condoms.

Yes yes, Indian restaurant, with friends, you get the idea.

My anecdote-cock is now spluffing air.
(GONEism, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 14:57, 1 reply)

One more for now, my pundenda is getting sore
I was planning to go stay in a small settlement in the Shetland Isles. When I say small, I mean the population was pretty much fuck all.

Knowing that there would be no entertainment at all, I decided to go into Dixons and buy a small cheap radio; shop's own brand would suffice as the flight from the mainland to the Shetlands is overpriced at the best of times.

So, I told the sales-guy where I was going and asked him if it'd be able to receive radio stations given how remote I would be. His reply was:

Saisho'll not work in Garth.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 14:42, 5 replies)

an honest, true story!!!
My mate Fred is a plumber. He specializes in kitchens.
Another mate asked him if could help him with some plumbing upstairs, to which Fred replied

“I’ve got too much on, lots of kitchen sinks and washing machines et al. I’m happy with that and I’m earning decent cash so shall not work in baths!!!”



sorry, I still thinking of a proper one for the week
( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 14:41, Reply)

Another...
We had a neighbour called Susan and she often would pop round for a chat and a coffee. After a while she would just wander in without knocking. She had a habit of doing it when my missus wasn't in. To the point where she took umbrage to her constant intrusion and began to suspect we were having an affair.

(This one's quite tenuous, not least because that's not even my real name)

So one day, my missus decreed that:

Sue shall not walk in, Geoff.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 14:33, 5 replies)

Beach 2
I once took my pet pig out on a moonlit stroll by the water's edge. However it got stuck in the fine-grit/coarse-sand on the beach.

That was my sow shale night-walking gaffe.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 14:28, 1 reply)

Beach
Once at the seaside, I saw some limpets stuck to the rock. I started prodding them and my missus told me not to rouse them from their slumber.
But I did anyway and prised it off the rock with a sharp bit of flint which caused the shell to fracture in a spectacular way, spattering me with mollusc excrement and stagnant seawater.

That was my seashell not-waking gaffe.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 14:24, 1 reply)

How not to chat up a girl
A very good friend of mine at uni was drunk one night in the union club. He went up to another of my friends (they didn't know each other, different friendship groups), tapped her on the shoulder and said the immortal words... "Don't I know you off Myspace?"

She laughed in his face, told me, whereupon I laughed in his face. His reply? "But she's well fit though."
(timewarper, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 14:23, Reply)

How To Start Your Own Company (or my idea of how to do networking)
It was a CIMA presentation. Me, my girlfriend and a bunch of accountants with nothing better to do on a Tuesday night. The subject was the pros and cons of self employment. From past experience, I knew to expect pros of free food and drink and cons of an inevitable sales pitch that made the presentation financially plausible. I shouldn’t complain, these are a necessary evil, although I’d be the first scab to sign up to a real life equivalent of Adblock Plus. Think of it like a light hearted time share presentation. Of course I’m basing my idea of what one of those are like on the South Park episode parodying generic Hollywood movie plots in Aspen, but then my frame of references rarely stems further back than the nineties.

Anyway, I arrived early after a nice refreshing day working from home. London is such a nice place when you’re going against the flow of traffic rather than with it. Today was a day for hair like Wayne Coyne, old Spoon t-shirts, shorts with two many zips and soiled flip flops. Today was a day the working from home privilege was made for. The sun was shining, and I was in a positive enough a mood to shower and don my pants before lunchtime.

I turned up to the presentation early, there were free sandwiches after all.

“I’m actually this person’s +1”.

I crossed her name off the guest list anyway. There’s an art to maximising on these sorts of things. I arrive at 18:00, I know the presentation starts at 18:30, give or take 5 minutes. With such a limited time window, none of it can be wasted on anything other than consumption. Eye contact and idle chit chat are distracting vortexes that benefit no-one yet some are lonely enough to push for it even in this most sterile of environments. However, a table full of sandwiches sits before me. I have to take a moment to peruse the selection as it’s far more varied than I’m used to. When you only have so much stomach space, wasting it on trivialities such as egg and cress is a fool’s game.

A fool’s game.

Surprisingly and fantastically, there’s also a selection of reds and white wines on offer. This is the first time there’s been actual alcohol at one of these events, and I have chosen to see this as a sign of fate. Not karma, let’s not continue to abuse that term. This is neither really, but it sounds more romantic to give it a title.

Time to begin round one. A bit of coronation chicken, some avocado, hummus and carrot and some Doritos. Now my plate is full, the art in this is territory. I already stuck out like a sore thumb with my shorts and flip flops amongst a crowd of suits, I needed to reduce any further liability else I may be rumbled as the phoney I am. I need to overcome my disability.

The trick is to keep moving. Take your first round from one section of the platter, eat it somewhere else, then move on. Don’t become synonymous in the casual observers mind with a particular location. Don’t let their minds wander, associating your big head with the big round light fitting behind it. That bunch of cunts just want you to fail, that’s what keeps them entertained whilst they lack the initiative to pillage this situation for what it really is. They recognise you’ve got a tactic whilst they have none and it unsettles them. Eyes on the prize.

Eyes on the pies.

Saunter into the spaces where random people haven’t begun to talk to each other, and face slightly away from them. If there is a group of unfortunate degenerates reluctantly chatting about “what do you do?” and “tell me more” amongst other soul rape, make the most of the space behind them, but not close enough to engage in the conversation. Think of it as a slipstream. The shadow cast by these Awkwards will be enough of a distraction to render you invisible. As they canoodle, you nom nom nom nom nom whole sandwiches in one mouthful, safe in the knowledge that your actions will never rival that of the uncomfortable social pornography in front of you.

These opportunities bring the hibernating instinct out in me. I find more stomach space in an all you can eat opportunity than I ever previously realised I had. It’s as though my mind tricks my body into imagining this as a last supper, a feast before a fast. They intentionally provide small plates at these events, but you’ve got to make do. Bringing your own plate is not an option. Alan Partridge taught us that. You don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to yourself. My attire has already drawn more than enough attention to myself, I need to put extra effort to operate in stealth mode. Despite what Splinter Cell has taught me, this doesn’t just mean lining up with the wall, or standing in areas with no light. If only life were as easy as that computer game. I’d have probably been an entrepreneurial murderer by now.

As I neck my forth glass of wine, I note that my girlfriend still hasn’t arrived and she isn’t answering her phone. Ah well, time to take my seat, it’s 18:25 anyway. I always take a seat as close to the exit as possible in these things. They’re extremely hit and miss, and the last thing I want is to be stuck on the opposite side of the room whilst I’m told I could have a role as chairman in their company for two weeks of the year for significantly less liability and cost. DARSH! Strategic positioning by the door means that no-one sees your face until they hear the thud of the door slamming shut and wonder who it was causing a ruckus. You’re completely anonymous.

The presentation itself turned out to be one of CIMA’s better ones. There was a reminiscence of Anthony Robbins’s over exuberant delivery, but I respect competent presenters, even when I don’t agree with the subject matter. It’s a skill that too often is derided when it should be applauded. They even dedicated some time to crowd interaction and two-way communication. Some people turn their noses up at these sorts of actions as degrading or patronising. I say fuck them. A good presenter knows how to engage their audience, even if it’s to get them thinking about whether that approach was the best or not. At least I didn’t sit there hearing a dry subject matter recounted to me whilst my mind wandered into the familiar territory of mental jukebox usually reserved for meetings.

“I’m not going to go into details about what IR35- The surrealists were just nihilists with good imaginations- sign up for our full weekend course- Physics makes us all its bitches”.

One of the quandaries addressed early in the presentation was whether or not you had the right character traits to start your own company. That’s right, YOU, not a hypothetical you, but you yourself, you worthless piece of shit. This was what prompted the talking-to-strangers exercise and resulted me in standing in front of this room full of people conveniently labelled as “exciting”. Yes, I was an exciting accountant. Who wasn’t an accountant. Or exciting.

Anyway, the net result was the observation of the usefulness of different personal skills in different situations and not allowing the artificial barrier of worrying about whether you have the “right” character traits standing between you and that calculated risk of going it alone. See? When you read it like that it’s just dry. Dry like the inside of my mouth late in the presentation.

My girlfriend ended up having to work late, so despite me fending off latecomers trying to take her empty space, I ended up sitting alone. Like some insane guy who can’t accept the loss of a loved one so creates the physical space to make up for the artificial void in his mind. I may start using this tactic elsewhere, it seems like a good one to stop people invading your personal bubble.

Working from home, working for yourself, losing your mind? Different means to the same ends.
( ma0sm, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 14:23, 6 replies)

I used to try and pick up girls on Myspace...
[My first post as a b3tan - Please be tender!]

...That almost never worked. When I first signed up I forgot to specify my sexual orientation, so the first person to send me a message was a guy. A 22-year old guy from nottingham who had no photos (I'm not gay but it would have been nice to know what type of guy I would attract!) Being 16 at the time though, I politely declined (something like 'fuck off i'm not gay you prick').

My attempts at getting girls would often start with 'hey, i cu liek [generic emo shite]! dey r awsom! u seem lyk a kewl chik lol! xx' It stupid, i'd spend ages deciding how many x's i would leave - too many and it's obvious, not enough and you're in the friend zone or, more often than not, they just ignore you cos they think you're a fucking weirdo stalker.

However, there was this one girl who replied back! She was this georgous girl who was absolutely lovely. We'd chat on myspace for ages with our non-sensical rants and ravings. She found me funny! I couldn't believe it, there was this amazing girl that was actually into me.

This carried on for a few months, until I plucked up the courage to, wait for it, ASK FOR HER MSN. For me, this was huge. I would be able to converse with the girl in real time! I was terrified, what if I don't know what to say to her? Will she still like me? I started my conversation with the great greeting 'hey', to which she replied 'I made biscuits today! Wanna see a pic?' At first I thought this was one of those viruses plaguing MSN in which if you accepted a file transfer your computer would be fucked, but no, there was the biscuit, frosting and all. I knew then that was an awesome girl!

Unlike many other people on my MSN, we actually kept in touch, she broke up with her boyfriend and I was there for her comforting her, making her laugh and being a nice 'friend'. There came a point where we became so comfortable chatting to each other that she suggested that we should meet up (we live 5 train stations from each other). This was too much for me, It's easy enough chatting to someone, you can time when you want to speak to them, but I assumed that if you with someone face to face, that it's probably not acceptable to have long pauses of silence while thinking of something quirky/funny to say! I was in Year 12, and it was getting close to exams when we finally decided to meet up. I went to see her.

I remember it was the weekend of the London marathon and the train was full of people going to it. Throughout the whole journey I had butterflies in my stomach. What was she going to think of me?

We met up, she was lovely in person (albeit quite short, the myspace 'angles' deceived me!) and I was my usual geeky awkward self, but was sweet enough to ignore it and not make the whole thing weird. It was brief, but enjoyable. Suffice to say this was well outside of my comfort zone, but I'm glad I had to chance to meet up with her and not pussied out like I have done with many other things in my life.

3 years on, I have her on my facebook but it's purely decorational, we don't really speak to each other anymore as I'm at Manchester and she is in London.

Oh, and on trying to wordplay this QOTW, I'm afraid the best I can come up with it 'So Shall 'Nette Work In Gaffs?' Can anyone work that into a story?
(pdawg, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 14:20, 1 reply)

I used
the fish knife to butter my roll.
(Halfy By light alone, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 14:03, 2 replies)

My parents
recently signed up for Friends Reunited and Facebook. No big deal really, they stay out in the country so may do them some good to make new friends.

Anyway last time I was down visiting my folks I needed to check my emails (or possibly B3ta) so I excused myself and went to use their computer.

As I sat down at the computer I realised they had left the thing on with the browser open on their last viewed page. Not wanting to be nosey I immediately moved the mouse to shut down the page...it was only then something caught my eye.

Now you know when you're skimming through a magazine or newspaper and something jumps out and grabs you attention. Well it was like that. Kind of. Except the words that jumped out were "Horny Transvestite" and "a girl just wants to have fun".

Turns out, old father dearest had been masquerading as a transsexual on the internet and even posted photographs of himself in drag.

Now it was bad enough when I accidentally saw my mum in her undies when I was 6 but fucking horrific when I saw my dad in my mums undies 15 years later. According to him it was just a bit of fun but I shouldn't tell anyone "just in case".

It only dawned me a few months later somebody must have taken the photos as he was unable to set the timer on the camera...turns out my mum was in on it too.

And that, dear readers, is how I found out my parents are swingers. God bless Social fucking networking.


*Runs away to hide from the memories*
(Holy Cremola Foam Batman will be back on, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 14:00, 4 replies)

Giggaff
Last year our band were asked to perform at a charity gig in Deal, and the proceeds went towards buying a bus for some old folks. We only had to do a couple of songs and we were promised free nosh so we thought we'd come along.

We then found out it was something of a variety act night, so upon turning up to rehearsals we saw dancers, piano players, comedians and whathaveyou. The man running it however, was a moron.

How big a moron?

Well, 3 days before the event he realised (I say realised, he was TOLD) that in order to do a show you need someone to operate the lights and PA. Thankfully I knew a wonderful lady who was a proper stage manager and she agreed to help. We all kind of had a bad feeling about the gig ahead.

We then met one of the other acts. Glenda. The transsexual magician. I shit you not (http://glendadysphoria.blogspot.com/). When I met her, she had the boobs and was "saving up" to get the little fella excommunicated. She was also still attracted to women. There's a boatload of stories about this encounter alone but I'll save them for a more releavnt QOTW.

Anyway, the big night comes along and there's a nice smattering of audience. We were due to go on twice (we did one song each side of intermission), and whilst waiting around in "The Green Room" (the kitchen) we hear shouting. There was a live improv group on stage and we got the feeling something was up.

Now Glenda has something of a cult following, and two of these followers had decided to come along to the show. One was a 60 year old rastafarian with a string vest, completely and utterly bollocked off his face, and the other was a man of similar age who came in wearing a top hat, full length zebra skin coat and pants. They'd volunteered to do the live improv and things were getting a bit ugly.

Eventually they were persuaded to go and sit back down and the show carried on. We did our first song and since we had a couple of hours to kill, me and Ben (drummer) decided to sneak into the audience and watch the show, since Glenda was on next. Her show (no jokes please) was pretty good, but the rastafarian had become properly rowdy by this point. Out of nowhere 3 elderly bouncers dived on him and a fight broke out.

It was one of those profound moments where you think to yourself how all the little choices and actions you make in your life have lead you to be sat watching a transsexual magician whilst a drunken rastafarian gets the shit kicked out of him by some old men.

So we were on straight after. The curtain slides back and I look out at the crowd with a slightly bemused look on my face. I figured a witty one liner might lighten the mood a bit.

"Wow, what with he-she's doing tricks and fighting rastas, I feel like the most normal person in the room for a change!"

...nothing...

...nothing...

...then out of the audience...

"Fuck off, wanker".

Well, I tried.

Length? Length? You can't handle the length!
(GONEism, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 13:51, 2 replies)

Someone out there
is sending me messages claiming that I'm other B3ta users. It's either go along with it or watch Loose Women.
( Captain Tripps is your taxloss lover from Liverpool, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 13:46, 2 replies)

My uncle signed up on Friends Reunited when it was all the rage...
Only he was a bit worried about stalkers and suchlike, so he registered under a false name.

After a few weeks of wondering why none of his old friends had contacted him, he suddenly realised that they wouldn't know who he was, and changed his details so that they'd recognise him =)


As if that didn't make me laugh enough when he told me, once he'd changed his details he did actually get stalked! A woman who he'd vaguely known at school kept emailing and even phoning, telling him how she'd loved him since they were at school together (over 20 years ago), and that they should meet up for a drink. His protestations of "But I'm married and don't want to meet you" fell on deaf ears and eventually he had to block her phone number and change his email address.
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 13:44, 3 replies)

Holidays
A few years ago, I was on holiday down in Devon, when I met a girl on the beach. She was slim, with brown, slightly curly hair, and big, brown eyes. She was beautiful. We got on really well, it transpired that her name was Olivia, and she worked locally in a fishmongers which sold all the local produce from the fishing boats. Luckilly, her personal hygene was excellent, so we entered into a relationship, despite the knowledge that I would be leaving in a few weeks (having already extended my stay).

Unfortunately, it was all too soon time for me to get back to Uni, so we waved goodbye, and promised to keep in touch on Facebook - the warmth from her body and the smoothness of her skin from that final hug being the most treasured memory from that holiday.

On arrival back at Uni, I got back into the swing of things - lots of drinking (and the associated attempting to stop one of my friends from urinating on cash machines) mixed in with the odd bit of work. One night though, I made possibly the stupidest mistake of my life. Whilst very drunk, I pulled a girl named Sophie - she was fairly attractive (not a patch on Olivia though), but had a fantastic personality. We started seeing each other more and more, though I tried my hardest to stay in touch with Olivia, finally being asked to stay with her for a few months. I accepted, with the intention of ending things with Sophie.

When I got down to Devon, it transpired that Olivia had not been able to get time off work, so I went with her most days - helping out with odd bits: filliting fish (I'm rather handy with knives), reparing lobster pots and nets. On fatefull evening, Olivia and I were sat mending one of the nets used to catch the local lobsters in the sunset. It was beautiful, and I got lost in myself. "Sophie..." I started. Stopping immediately after realising what I said, just in time to see the tears well up in Olivia's beautiful brown eyes. "I knew it..." she said, sadly.

I couldn't believe I'd made such a mistake... a So, shell net working gaffe indeed.
(Merrep, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 13:29, 4 replies)

Cuntbook
I made the mistake of accepting a friend request ealy on from a guy who now keeps perstering me to part with £20 to go to a school re-union he and a couple of others have organised. I haven't got the heart to tell him I'd rather just meet up with the people I liked for free.
( darth munki is flipping livid, Fri 12 Sep 2008, 13:15, 2 replies)