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This is a question My most treasured possession

What's your most treasured possession? What would you rescue from a fire (be it for sentimental or purely financial reasons)?

My Great-Uncle left me his visitors book which along with boring people like the Queen and Harold Wilson has Spike Milligan's signature in it. It's all loopy.

Either that or my Grandfather's swords.

(, Thu 8 May 2008, 12:38)
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i too used to have snakes
my african rock python could happily submerse herself in water for 45mins or more - so they can certainly slow their metabolisim

heres my snake pearoast

ยป When Animals Attack

non existent snake attack
when i was a nipper i wasn't allowed any pets, my mum was a bit of a Hyacinth Bucket type. We were the only people on our council estate that had a 'cloak room' everyone else had a a 'loaby press' or hall cupboard to you.

So when i trotted off to college I shared a flat with two other long suffering blokes who were at best 'indifferent' to pets. i quickly turned into a veritable jonny morris - greatly encouraged by the future Mrs Spimf who bought me two kittens, then an aquarium then one fine day...

an Argentinean red tailed boa constrictor quickly followed by a Burmese python. i should stress that these creatures were docile to the point of dull and more importantly entirely NON venomous

in my final year Mrs Spimf and i were spending more time together and one of the flat-mates was getting on my tits so i got my own place (see my post : annoying spotty prick )

As i was moving in to my new flat this guy approached me, now allow me a moment to describe this bloke: dull green velour tight fitting long-sleeved top, black jogging pants tucked into boots. sideburns cut to a v shaped point. it took me all of two seconds to realise this bloke was dressed as captain kirk.

he shook my hand and proclaimed with great pride "hello, my names Chris and I'm an artist" for that my internal babel fish translated "hello. I'm your neighbor and I'm as mad as a fucking battenburg"

we got to know the chris 'the artist' a bit better and realized 'delusional piss artist' might have been a better moniker - but he seemed harmless enough. I should add the only time i ever saw him paint was when he had become a bit maudlin about his ex - got pissed and wrote in 8 foot high letters along our street (NAME OF EX BINT) I STILL LOVE YOU! he would come up for a beer and a chat now and then and was most interested in my snakes, who had got quite large by now - Coco the burmese python being around 7 feet long by now and as thick as your forearm, Basil the Boa a fair bit smaller. so not exactly 'monster snake man-eating size' we discussed at length that they were NON venomous which seemed to satisfy chris the artist particularly when i showed him some defrosted rats bought from the pet suppliers being fed to them.

Anyhoo one fine summers evening i was enjoying more than a few beers at home and mrs spimf decided to retire to bed. pissed and bored i decided to mist some water using a plant sprayer into the snake vivarium - which i had built myself, was as large as a chest freezer and had some nice smoked glass sliding doors.

next thing i know I'm coming round with this Chris 'the artist' standing over me with a huge fuck off hunting knife clutching an SAS Survival Handbook

"what the fuck are you doing in here and what the FUCK are you doing with that knife"

"looking for puncture wounds" he said quite calmly. I should point out i was also only wearing a pair of boxer shorts (warm summer evening) and was beginning to feel quite perturbed by events.

"WHAT!!!" what fucking puncture wounds?

then mrs spimf intervened

she had heard a loud thud and came in to find me out cold with the snakes nosing their slithery way out of the tank and over me. she gave me a shake and couldn't wake me so had panicked somewhat and decided to go and get "Chris the artists help".

I turns out somehow in my pissed up state i managed to get some water on the lighting or heating electrics and got a slight belt. however when i recoiled i must have battered my noggin on the edge of the vivarium and knocked myself out. (big bruise on forehead and shorted out lights in tank - sherlock)

so our self styled bohemian star trekking survivalist nutter of a neighbour - presumably who had long been prepared for such an emergency had sprung into action with a bloody rambo knife and some camouflage fetishists handbook open at the page on dealing with venomous snake bites.

like i say mad as a fucking battenburg
(, Tue 13 May 2008, 11:22, Reply)

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