not me, honest guv'nor
My girlfriend always thought that you put metal skewers through baked potatoes so you could take them out of the oven easier.

She discovered it helped them cook faster last week.

She was marking a child's book. She is a physics teacher.
(The Kwyjibo A big, dumb, balding North American ape., Mon 17 Oct 2011, 18:59, 7 replies)

Hot girls in your area now
Where, exactly? I've never fucking seen any.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 17:35, 7 replies)

Speaking of biscuits:
- some biscuits, if left out, go soft and soggy;
- others go harder than they should be;

How? And, if you got the mixture just right, could you make one that oscillates from soft to soggy every day?
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 17:00, 11 replies)

I love my biscuits
and one time I was eating my discuits, bipping them in my tea like, and half of one suddenly disappeared!

I done a full investigo, interrligated all the main suspects, my nan, mum and the dog, then I found the errant bou8rbon at the bottom of my mug!

I looked a right proper numty didn't I? Also there was some strippers, a honda accord and a ketamine there too as welliboos
(Quintno EXPERIMENT RUINED CANCELLED, LEFT 4EVER, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 16:39, 5 replies)

The Mystery of the Perennial Scud.
Hooray! Got a QOTW suggestion accepted! Today, I am a man.

Now, gentle reader, this happened when I was a mere lad of fifteen or sixteen. Back in them days, modems were 56.6k and broadband was but the fevered dream of a madman. So if you wanted some covert scud, you had to wait, pixel by agonizing pixel.

Until, walking to school one day, my cohorts and I found that something WONDERFUL had happened overnight! The streets were paved with porn! Page after torn-out page of it, covering the long, leafy path up to the school! Unfortunately, some knob-jockey from the CU reported it, the school cleaners were called in and the filth was cleared away. Bags were searched, folders opened and away the lovely porno went.

But the next day, it happened again. It was as though God, in his infinite wisdom, had finally seen fit to make a porno tree that shed its leaves in the presence of testosterone and frustration. It was far harder for the authorities to find this time. Some hid it up their jumpers. Others wrapped their lunches in it. Others still simply stashed it somewhere secure before walking into the school.

An assembly was called. Someone, for their own nefarious ends was littering the school grounds with this... this...filth, and anyone found in possession thereof would be punished. The police had been called in. Meanwhile, don't talk to strangers, don't accept lifts, etc.

I resolved to try and get to the bottom of this mystery, rather unwisely, because I didn't want our mystery benefactor to get into trouble. I went full-on Nancy Drew. Reasoning the school was a natural wind-break, I checked wind direction over the previous two nights. And I found my way to Mr. Arif's* shop. He was legendary for his surliness, his refusal to sell cigarettes to anyone even slightly young-looking and his strict 'no-school uniforms' policy. He was also legendary for not having porno in his shop.

For whatever reason, some must have been delivered to him. And, not wanting to have it on his Allah-fearing premises, he'd destroyed it, and put it in the wheelie bins outside. One of which had no lid, and some of the muck still in.

I mulled over telling the miserable old fucker what was going on. But then, I reasoned, I was still in uniform. He wouldn't have let me in, see?



*Name changed to protect the innocent
(universalpsykopath loves what you've done with your hair., Mon 17 Oct 2011, 16:14, 1 reply)

Not really a mystery, but a solution to a problem of which I am inordinately proud.
I am not remotely scientifically minded: I tend to count on my fingers, am baffled by technology, wave broken things in the direction of people I think might be able to fix them, that sort of thing. So despite whatever successes I’ve had in other areas of my life, when I had to write on a form recently about my proudest moment, I went with this. You may snigger but I am not ashamed.

I was alone in my flat when the smoke alarm started doing that beeping it does when you have to replace the battery. One beep every thirty seconds, beyond annoying (but then that would be the point). So I got a chair, climbed up, gripped the cover and attempted to open it. It turned out it didn’t have a nice easy hinged pull-down cover, it had a twist-to-unscrew cover that was a) unfeasibly tight and b) painted shut (there’s health and safety for you).

It would not budge. And I’m not that much of a wimp, I can fairly reliably open jars of pickled onions that have eluded others, but this mofo would not give. So having slightly injured both hands in futile aggression, I sat down for a minute when suddenly this tiny voice in my head came up with the word “leverage”. I somehow had the vague notion that it would be easier if I could wangle my efforts on the smoke alarm from a greater distance. Five minutes later I had fashioned a bespoke smoke-alarm-opener from some barbecue tongs with coasters parcel-taped to the grippy bits and inside-out parcel-tape wrapped round for extra friction (leverage AND friction! I was in the zone by this point). I scaled the wobbly chair once more, applied the smoke-alarm-opener and within twenty seconds I had the cover off.

The joy at having applied some dormant knowledge acquired in a stuffy classroom twenty years before was overwhelming and only vaguely equalled a few months later when I fixed the droopy showerhead with the simple application of a spoon. But that, as they say, is another story.
( thecrapgatsby isn't listening LALALALALALA, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 16:05, 1 reply)

Gentleman's establishments are a mystery to me
They are (so I'm told) filled with plain-looking ladies who need a damned good wash, and whom seem to have gotten the gig by virtue of being willing to show as much of their internals as possible.

To add to this, there's a general sense of menace in such establishments where you always feel as though you're seconds away from getting beaten to a pulp in the alley by the over-enthusiastic bouncers.

You can go from £0 to -£500 in less than half an hour by drinking some of the foulest 'champagne' ever concocted while chatting to east European women who barely have a grasp of the English language.

To top it all off, you leave frustrated.

Yep, it a mystery.
(BinDipper, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 15:54, 5 replies)

How does
Richard Littlejohn get work?
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 14:46, 15 replies)

Mystery of the Santa Cat
Many years ago when I was as at school i returned home to find nobody was in, so, i sat myself down on the doorstep and awaited the return of a keyholder.

After about 10 minutes or so a cat turned the corner, a cat that I was familiar with, although I had no idea who it belonged to. I would stop and pet said cat whenever I saw it and it would generally run over to me when beckoned.

Sure enough, it runs over for a clap, but when i put my hand down it hits my hand as if to scratch it, but uses no claws. It then runs to the corner of the houses and stands waiting. It paces about, meowing and walking up the up the path and back again. As I am doing nothing better i decide to go down and see what the fuss is.

As i approached, the cat would walk off ahead, always keeping a distance, always looking back to see if i was still there. It's still making lots of noise and generally acting really weird. I continue to follow it up the path and round the side of a large rhodendrum. This bush was large enough that we kids could play inside it and it had an entrance as such. As I turned round the side of the bush it was in this entrance that the cat was sitting, proud as could be beside a stack of board games. They were in amazing condition, yet not brand new. There must have been about 7 different games, including Electronic Battleships. I could scarcely believe it. The cat was purring away happily beside this haul of goodies. I gave the cat and my head a scratch then made off with my treasure.

I had a reasonably hard time convincing my parents on how exactly i found all these games, but they didn't protest too much and i was allowed to keep them, and for the record Electronic Battleships was a convoluted piece of shit.
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 14:37, 2 replies)

I can never tell if I'm going to remember something or not.
I've been to some amazing gigs, and can recall seeing the band play that particular song, or when they did it in that particular way or whatever, but my stand-out memory will be the guy in the bugs who was cleaning his glasses on the towel holder or something.

I've been on day-long demos and really only remember how my mate was wearing her purple docs.

Sometimes I'll be doing something - experiencing something amazing, and will tell myself that I really must remember this - to remember what this feels like - to take a moment and allow it all to sink in, and all I'll remember is that I tried to remind myself to remember it.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 14:17, 5 replies)

I'm mystified that anybody...
in England can think that the England football team has the faintest hope of ever winning anything ever again. With or without the ugly Scouse baby.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 13:35, 10 replies)

I still don't get how, when looking at a catalogue, if I hold it end-on and peer at the end of the page
I can't see up the ladies' skirts. To this day I don't understand this.

If someone would like to explain, that would be great, or alternatively, just let me know how I can get to see up their skirts - that would be preferable.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 12:46, 6 replies)

Where do they find them?
It's not possible to use the internet without noticing that the world seems to be entirely populated by gorgeous 18-year-old girls who like nothing better than getting naked and doing rude stuff in front of a camera.

So how is it possible that I spent my entire youth not meeting any of them?
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 11:56, 19 replies)

I cannot fathom out
why I always fart after sex. The better the sex, the louder, more prolonged and baritone the farts. The other night's shenanigans were particularly pleasurable and (in my opinion anyway) spectacular. Afterwards, I laid down, satisfied and then it happened. It must have gone on for almost 5 seconds, with the timbre of a double bassoon and could be heard in the next post code.

It's the only time my emissions are of such a high calibre. Someone suggested it was the agitation and vigorous movement of the body, which creates something similar to shaking up a fizzy drink, but the surely that would occur if I went jogging, but it doesn't.

Anybody else experience this phenomenon and/or can provide an explanation?
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 11:51, 18 replies)

Fanny farts
I do not find the sound of a snoring manatee emanating from my partner's vagina stimulating. Is it evolution's way of keeping the population down?
(roysin, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 11:04, 3 replies)

A mystery to me - QOTW navigation
Ashamed though i am to say it, i just don't understand what the 'latest' link does, that isn't the same as the number to the right of it. i am confused every time. It's like looking into Chaos.

I invite your pointing and laughing.
(CADmonkey rollllllllled another one, just like the other one, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 10:47, 3 replies)

When did
Jack Killian get any sleep?
(andythepieman Is surfing the waves of indifference on, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 10:47, Reply)

I was riding the trusty Z400 twin back one Autumn evening along Gallery Road* in Dulwich...
...when I saw a pedestrian up ahead, walking slowly along the pavement on my side of the road. As I got closer, something wasn't triangulating correctly. My brain suddenly realised that the figure was walking on the spot. Chills crept up and down my spine. Panic nibbled at my toes.

As I drew alongside, I finally realised that I was observing the mist rising out of a storm drain. Mystery solved, and my underpants kept me warm all the way home. Win!


* Gallery Road runs between the roundabout in Dulwich Village, and the South Circular. Most traffic takes a different, more efficient, route. Out of all the roads in London that I've ever ridden (and that's a lot), Gallery Road, for some inexplicable reason, always felt odd, somehow magical even, to me. It doesn't feel like a road in the middle of busy South London, it feels like a country road from about 100 years ago. Try it. Even better, try it on a throbby old motorbike.
(CADmonkey rollllllllled another one, just like the other one, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 9:59, 1 reply)

Who decided
that, out of all the super heroes, Robin should wear sheer tights?
(CADmonkey rollllllllled another one, just like the other one, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 9:45, 2 replies)

I always wondered
why the people of Metropolis couldn't tell that Clark Kent and Superman were the same person just because he put on a pair of glasses. Then I realised that they had no hope, not if they are so stupid they can't tell the difference between a bird a plane.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 8:46, 3 replies)

Dog Farts
Id long wondered why, as a human, Mrs Kite can produce loud, ripping botty burps, but dogs just produce a face melting stink with minimal noise. Then one day it came to me; buttocks! Dogs have no buttocks to be parted and slapped back together when the gas escapes, whereas humans do!

And they say I waste my time.
(kitescreech still here, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 7:21, 15 replies)

Detective Get Your Own Shit Back - Part II.
So my Honda Accord is really a DeLorean and I didn’t just call that secondhand shop, no, I drove my Honda Accord DeLorean up the way up that junkie’s arse in some mind-bending, time/arse quantum that shrunk me up small enough that I raced past the horse in his veins and stole, YES STOLE, the weed in his jockey’s pockets (‘cos my drugs ain’t all that massif) and then casually reversed out his goatsee.
(boozehound is drinking your bar dry, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 5:45, 2 replies)

Campsite Electricians
I stayed on a lovely farm in Cornwall in my camper van. It had 8 electrical hookups, each with two sockets, fed by separate incoming circuits , to supply mains electricity. One hookup was faulty, and would constantly trip the circuit breaker when anyone connected to either socket. Cue local electrical contractors spending eight hours (two men, 50 quid an hour) trying unsuccessfully to diagnose the fault, and telling the poor farmer they would have to dig up the supply cable and relay it, would cost thousands. As I was paying the rent, she told me the tale of woe. 30 minutes of tracing the circuits with my multimeter showed that incoming supply 1 positive was connected OK to socket 1 positive, but also (wrongly) supply 1 negative was connected to socket 2 negative. So although both sockets showed 240 volts available, any load made the circuit fail. Five minutes swapping the wrong connections, job done. The electricians (??) never got paid, I got cheap rent for the rest of my stay. Sorry for slight technical geekiness.
(Classic Ray, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 5:14, 5 replies)

Back in the day
I was in the Scouts. The Scout hall was not far from the fire station. So, one evening I was walking back home with some of my Scout chums, when a man cycled past us extremely quickly. You could practically see his straining neck tendons from fifty yards.

"Hey," I said. "I bet you in thirty seconds, a man will run past us."

"Aye right!" said my woggle-necked chums sarcastically.

Aaah, ye of little faith! Sure enough, about ten seconds later a man ran past us, full steam ahead.

"How the FUCK did you know that?" my friends begged. I never let on - how hard could it be to figure out? But they never did.
(McChinaman banned, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 3:38, 8 replies)

How do you get it in your mouth
without pulling a muscle in your back?
(shake'n'bake Tally Ho, Biatch!, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 2:13, 5 replies)

The superman mystery.
Closely related to I have to think about the shape of a moon crater before the b/w photos make sense and don`t look like blowup dome things rather than craters

Grew up with DC comics from very young, learned to read at 3, read whole words as patterns. learned to write whole words as items to get round letter blindness. That chest emblem was a red and yellow rune in some alien script.
My best mate Glen read superman and batman comics too. I was 8 or 9 when I casually made the mistake of saying I couldn`t work out what that thing was " it`s an S you dinkle" suddenly I saw it for the first time. DOH!
(tootired Is searching for a funny sig, nothing good so far, Mon 17 Oct 2011, 0:49, 3 replies)

How is babby formed?

(The Luggage is haunted..., Sun 16 Oct 2011, 23:30, 3 replies)

Why book so rubbish?

( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 22:47, Reply)

How do you manage not to cry
when having a wank?
(Vigilante Man weeps because you're stupid., Sun 16 Oct 2011, 22:46, 9 replies)

I never can define the point when I fall asleep
It's 'eyes heavy, lights out, eyes closed, drifting thoughts, ??????, unconscious.'
(roysin, Sun 16 Oct 2011, 22:15, 4 replies)