LAAAAAAAAAST!!!!!!!!
Grr!
( stevierar, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 11:00, Reply)

It is a tradition
for me to complain about boring QOTWs. No exception here. Lets have one about scrummy ponies.
(dukefukem, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 11:00, Reply)

laster
:P

its my tradition, on a thurs, to read the first 20 posts on qotw, cos they're often the best. and read the best-of from last week, in case i didnt read them ALL thru the previous week :)
(5lab, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 10:59, Reply)

waiting on a thursday....
for the new qotw to be posted, thinking that being first means something other than:

a)i clearly dont have enough work to do
b)i need to get out more
c)all of the above
(inspoken, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 10:55, Reply)

Who ate them all??
Further to the Sausage posts below.... I live in West Yorkshire, near a village called Denby Dale.

This tiny village is world famous for it's 'Denby Dale Pie' festival. An annual celebration featuring pies of record breaking size and weight. In 2000 it was 12 tonnes and 40ft long!!!

Anyway, now THAT'S a tradition that brings a gravy stained smile to the faces of many a fat bastard!!..... rumour is that Rick Waller and Michelle McManus are fighting over who gets to open next years event!!!

Learn more about this tradition and our nations obesity problems at www.denbydalepie.co.uk
(thROB, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 10:27, Reply)

Shouting at train stations
When we were kids and we went to Cornwall on holiday, everytime we drove through the town/village/place Penryn and went past the train station we would have to shout "Penryn, Self drive, drive youself". Something to do with what the train people used to shout...in the olden days...when my dad was a kid...and used to go trainspotting there...twat.
(nattyplatypus Is flippin eck, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 9:51, Reply)

Shadbolt
On the North Circular is Shadbolts who make veneers. Shadbolts is great, because they have a veneer of the week - a large panel on the side of the building, say American Oak or Minty Pine. It is a tradition when driving past to say ooooooh East India Satinwood lovely!
(littlebear, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 9:47, Reply)

Sex Panther
That's genious, mate! May I carry on this grand tradition up here in Manchester?
(Banky fucking Edwards, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 9:38, Reply)

what the hell?
i live in a village near sheffield. the tradition of this particular village was that a 6ft "fake sausage" be carried through the streets on a yearly basis, eventually arriving at it's destination... a castle :S why?

i'll get photo's next time it comes around...
(lightie, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 9:33, Reply)

Everytime I go into a new hotel room
1. Eat the free biscuits
2. Check for porn on the TV
3. Got for a huge dump
4. Go to the bar

All in that order and straight away without packing
( Dugs - The artist formerly known as Dugsybaws, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 9:33, Reply)

Invented my own tradition
Back story: bought two melons for the price of one from a supermarket. Ate one - yum, didn't fancy the other and the best before was fast approaching.

Mate of mine moves into new house, I go to visit but I have no gift.

Brainwave! Give him the melon.

Walk in, hand it over, he looks confused and I say
'It's a tradition'

And he seemed quite happy with that. Hope it catches on.
(Sex Panther, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 9:15, Reply)

I re-write the songs
During first year at uni I started a tradition/competition of changing the words to crap songs so they included the phrase "Fisting" wherever possible

my favourite was probably "I Will Survive" with its new: "I've got all my life to live, and I've got both my fists to give, and I will fist...yes I will FIST"

Holly Valence's "Kiss" became "Fist" with appropriate hand actions at the chorus "tonight you're gona get my *fist fist* "

the Divinyls probably cracked me up most though..."I don't want anybody else, when I think about you I FIST MYSELF ooh ohh"


try it out yourself next time you hear a cheesy/crap songs at a club/pub/wedding reception
(barrythief, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 8:33, Reply)

weird traditions
every time a boy is born they cut of his penis in church. it is normal.
(Dr Slurkie Slurkie, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 7:52, Reply)

knife just reminded me
of when i was a small child how every time we used to drive past Latton Creamery on the road between Cirencester and Swindon i would point at the chimney (now demolished) and shout BOING!!! at the top of my voice.

no i don't know why either.
(squirrelysquirrel, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 2:07, Reply)

The Green Towel
When you drive past the station in Shrewsbury, and turn right, you will notice that on the left of the road above the hairdressers "block", is a large ventilation opening, covered by a green cloth.

In about 1980 (when I first moved to Shrewsbury aged 3), this was the first thing I noticed and would routinely scream "The Green Towel!!!!" whenever we passed it.... and I still do this..... even to myself.... even though it's a lot smaller than it used to be.... yes, I am a lunatic....

I also go into Wilkinsons sometimes, because I remember when it used to be a play area, and I try to work out which double doors were the same ones I went "exploring" through all those years ago, and got lost....
(knife_of_justice, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 1:31, Reply)

The Game
Bugger
(Geoff Leopard, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 0:39, Reply)

Dunno if anyone's said this
But in the Czech republic instead of giving out chocolate eggs at Easter you have to go round the town, beat women's arses with a wicker cane, then they give you alcohol or money.
Britain is so far behind.
( Zuowan, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 0:06, Reply)

It's a tradition
to brutally kill the first person I see every New Years Day, and then rape their corpse.

It's also a tradition to lie on the QOTW.
( Lightguy hail satan, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 22:42, Reply)

At Edinburgh uni
When you graduate, you get hit gently over the head with a very old, solid pair of John Knox's trousers (if you don't know, he's a 16th century Scottish church reformer).

Why? Who knows.
(silencer, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 21:28, Reply)

Potty training my 2 yr old
My daughter's new tradition is to shit her pants daily and then reach around to the back and shout "I SQUISHED it!!!" and run away laughing hysterically.

It actually was funny the 1st time...

Note to self: remind her of this during wedding speech, preferably with video evidence.
(Peelmytangerines, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 21:04, Reply)

cattlegrids
Whenever I drive over a cattlegrid, I have to hold a hand on my head. Or else it will fall off.

Everyone in the car with me must also do this. Or their heads will fall off and it will be an awful mess to clean up.
( shavedchimp something something oranges something, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 17:39, Reply)

Whenever I go on holiday
I unload me shite into the room, whack on a pair of shorts and say to whoever i'm with

"Lets go and find the lay of the land.... And see if the rumors are true"
( nnnndave, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 17:30, Reply)

Carry on Up the Charts - The Best of the Beautiful South
Every time I am in car with a certain group of friends we sing Carry on Up the Charts - The Best of the Beautiful South (COUTCTBOTBS) we used to have a tape (yes tapes remember them) but one day that got lost or broken or something so now we sing ACAPELLA. The whole album in order ACAPELLA.

I sing the Brianna Corrigan parts. Despite being a boy. We each have our own allocated verses and woe betide anyone that forgets when they are meant to sing.

When other people are in the car with us they are not allowed to join in.

We also do Woodface by Crowded House, though not as much as we do COUTCTBOTBS

We have been doing this for about 10 years now so are very good at it. I should link to an mp3

(pop - a member for almost two years and my first post)
(ivebeenhigh i've climbed so high, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 16:39, Reply)

School
Background (fast-forward past italics for the real stuff):

In my disgustingly middle class masons' club of a public school I was in the 'gay' house. Everyone knew our reputation was just a mud-slinging campaign encouraged by the unimaginative 'sports/ned' house (St. Dai's - we were better than them at sport, as well as music and academia, and they knew it) and much to their consternation we played up to this and my year in particular became renowned for being total queens. We even had a song which the aforementioned cretins 'made up': 'School-House Gays, la la laa' (repeat ad infinitum. If you're musical, and just to give you an idea of how fucking boring these people were, it had a straight 2/4 feel, starting on the mediant for the first syllable, descending to the super tonic for the second half of the first beat, and then down a further tone to the tonic for the third syllable which was held for the second beat; repeat for the 'laas') They gleefully chanted this at us for about a week, and then I added my own flair to it, and we sung it in five part harmony back at them whenever they started up, with the two topmost voices in a screeching falsetto. They soon stopped.

This amongst many other things led to our reputation.


Probably the best tradition we had was the 'Radox Game'. A highly competitive competition, it involved suspending a shower-gel (originally of the 'Radox' brand, hence the name) bottle in mid air on your genitals, either by hanging it on an erect penis, unscrewing the top and stuffing the bell inside, or actually pulling the foreskin around and over the end, and swinging it to and fro 'twixed bandy legs until such time as it flies off. The aim was to get it to go the furthest. We even marked the wall of the communal showers with dates and names of various champions. The trick was to achieve a balance between the predictability of a light (empty) bottle and the travelling distance and knob-stretching properties (you get more swing) of a heavy bottle.

Also our Head of House, who had a rather too familiar relationship with the new third-formers coming in, glued a £1 coin to the floor of the communal showers where it stayed for years until some tight bastard chipped it off with a hockey stick and spent it.

This did not go down too well with a vehemently homophobic headmaster (he refused a well-known historian from London and his partner a bed for the night in his house after they had travelled all the way to mid-Wales as a special favour for the school) and he loathed us for the 'image we brought to the school'.

We gave it a better image than he did, the stupid fuck-stick that he was (he liked rugby).
(digestive, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 16:37, Reply)

another...
everytime that annoying song that goes "i like the way you move" in the chorus, me and my friends just can't help singing "i like your turquoise car!!" over the top.

long story, but it's been a tradition ever since my birthday and an encounter with a 'rude boi's' car...go on, try it next time that stupid wanky song's on - it's always fucking on!!!

you'll never look back
(Nos coeurs cocaine Montparnasse Le mix de gelée vodka et le beat, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 16:36, Reply)

should have gone....
Every time I walk past a police officer, I immediately scream the word 'CARGANTUA!' and vomit searing hot bile into my cupped hands. I drop to my knees and hold my breath and squeeze my face muscles until my eyes are protruding from their sockets and my tongue hangs out limp, like an old man's old man.
Both my arms grow up to several feet in length and my knees snap back inverting themselves so I begin to resemble a kind of long armed bile spewing dog-man!
My ears take on a 'hybrid wolf-face' shape and begin to spew dark blood all over the Tarmac in front of me. By now the officer of the law is either looking at me sheepishly or cowering on the ground, hands clutched to his heart, gasping for breath.
My head is twice its normal size and much more 'angular', My eyes are protruding on their stalks and my groin is a mass of writhing bore-worm.
The smell of burning faeces makes the officer's eyes water. He can feel something burrowing deep into his neck, My tentacles have speared him and my spindly fingers are now firmly clasped onto his ankles.
There is a look of shear panic in his eyes as my foul breath beats heavy onto his quivering face.
I clasp the scruff of his muscular neck and move his head so that his petrified eyes look deep into mine and I cant hold it anymore....
We kiss passionately and make love then and there, him squirming with ecstasy and me heaving with delight. I take his full manhood deep inside my gaping wound, puss oozes from both of our fat fucking faces and i begin to weep with pleasure.
My clown tears drip down my face and onto the melting corpse now lay in front of me and I begin to vomit with fury at my actions. Both the stillness and I share a vacant glance at one and other and my need for fresh flesh begins to take over. My wobbling legs are now so unsteady and misshapen that they can hardly hold my massive bulk and they begin to buckle under the weight as I bob up and down like a demented jack-in-a-box.
Jacques 'O Box.
Alas we forget.


Every blooody time!

but then again i was

Legless

p.s i will havee 2 of whatever jindod had!
( MagicallyInept Bored Sig., Wed 3 Aug 2005, 16:30, Reply)

my own tradition involves
never ever being early for a train, necessitating running with luggage and rarely getting a seat. I don't know why I always do this but it would feel treacherous if I was to forsake the tradition now.

Oh and whenever anyone says "Keep your hair on!" I always add "...Moses".

And whenever I hear a wolf-whistle in a public place, I bow and say "thank you".
(HectorProtector, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 15:55, Reply)

My weekly tradition
I must admit to wanking every thursday
( awallafashagba Da da da da da Dah dah, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 15:48, Reply)

Strange bit true
Every time I walk past a police officer, I immediately scream the word 'CARGANTUA!' and vomit searing hot bile into my cupped hands. I drop to my knees and hold my breath and squeeze my face muscles until my eyes are protruding from their sockets and my tongue hangs out limp, like an old man's old man.
Both my arms grow up to several feet in length and my knees snap back inverting themselves so I begin to resemble a kind of long armed bile spewing dog-man!
My ears take on a 'hybrid wolf-face' shape and begin to spew dark blood all over the Tarmac in front of me. By now the officer of the law is either looking at me sheepishly or cowering on the ground, hands clutched to his heart, gasping for breath.
My head is twice its normal size and much more 'angular', My eyes are protruding on their stalks and my groin is a mass of writhing bore-worm.
The smell of burning faeces makes the officer's eyes water. He can feel something burrowing deep into his neck, My tentacles have speared him and my spindly fingers are now firmly clasped onto his ankles.
There is a look of shear panic in his eyes as my foul breath beats heavy onto his quivering face.
I clasp the scruff of his muscular neck and move his head so that his petrified eyes look deep into mine and I cant hold it anymore....
We kiss passionately and make love then and there, him squirming with ecstasy and me heaving with delight. I take his full manhood deep inside my gaping wound, puss oozes from both of our fat fucking faces and i begin to weep with pleasure.
My clown tears drip down my face and onto the melting corpse now lay in front of me and I begin to vomit with fury at my actions. Both the stillness and I share a vacant glance at one and other and my need for fresh flesh begins to take over. My wobbling legs are now so unsteady and misshapen that they can hardly hold my massive bulk and they begin to buckle under the weight as I bob up and down like a demented jack-in-a-box.
Jacques 'O Box.
Alas we forget.


Every blooody time!
(JinDod, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 15:38, Reply)

3pm coffee break...
with biscuits
( charlieroker, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 15:04, Reply)