Eggs.

( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Thu 4 Apr 2013, 11:01, 1 reply)

Who needs a plan when you're as LOVELY as me?

( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Thu 4 Apr 2013, 10:27, 28 replies)

My other mate also did a philisolophy degree. The question was "What is the definition of bravery?"
He just wrote "This is" and walked out.

He too got a first.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 4 Apr 2013, 9:46, 1 reply)

When I lived in RSA I entered a competition where I could win a gold ingot by telling the most
extraordinary and exiting tale base on a topic chosen by the organisers.

I wrote a tale about my mother. It won. I had to go to a special awards ceremony. The South African compare (in his broad Traansvaal accent) introduced the category and then he proclaimed -
"Thus us where ringofyre wus win ingit."
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Thu 4 Apr 2013, 8:00, 3 replies)

I once had to have a conference call with a Mr Wang in our Hong Kong office
Unfortunately I dialled the Wong number but rather than admit my mistake in front of my colleagues I just decided to Wing it.
( Ghoti Fingers, Thu 4 Apr 2013, 7:23, Reply)

Every once in a while, the only answer is to wing it in my job,
I run a pub, and every now and again, shit goes fucking proper bat shit wrong. The kitchen loses a food ticket, a plate is dropped, the gas runs out mid pint, it's so busy you forget a round of drinks for a table and many other daft problems. Generally, you speak to the customer, they are a reasonable human being, you get them a pint, sorted. And then you get a wanker. You can almost always see them coming. Maybe it's the way they walk, or talk, or look. But every now and again you spot one, and it's his shit that gets fucked up, and you know that the truth is just going to end in him shouting about ineptitude or getting angry about his dinner, or demanding a full refund blah blah blah. So you wing it. You make up some bullshit, maybe the chef has lost a finger, maybe the gas in the kitchen has gone, or whatever. Lies. Because he's not a reasonable human, and it's quicker to wing it than try and tell the truth.
( Windy Pig I'm naturally quite suspicious about the moon., Thu 4 Apr 2013, 1:22, 5 replies)

I actually know a lot of (useful, employable and trivial) stuff in very high detail, and can apply the knowledge in the real world (quite acceptably well in numerous and documented occasions) -or else I'd not still be in a job . Never mind the hobbies.
But due to a Catholic upbringing where you are endlessly guilt-stricken thanks to the Church and the Folks correcting you (verbally or physically)on every tiny little infraction of their code of etiquette
, it's hard to have confidence that what you're doing in everyday life is OK and acceptable- in their standards (which aren't a matter of record, by the way, else you could call them on double standards...) and you won't be smitten by the angry hand of discipline no matter how correct you thought you were.

So, essentially, while I've been mainly right all along, I've been labouring under the phantom childhood malaise that I'm only just barely getting by, short of a thrashing for my shoddy performance.

Then occasionally I remember, hang on... I've made it so far. Surely you can't be shit at everything for this long and still be alive and making money. Managed to keep it going long enough to have a lovely girlfriend, grown up daughter, rewarding dayjob...

Yet sometimes when everyday details bog me down, I forget all of that- and the comfortable familiar (shit, we'll be found out and fired!) feeling comes back.

On the other hand, I look at the alternative-folks who feel no motivating force0 to take the easy money, to do the safe job, to rip the piss out of the system. The day I assume I'm owed it all is the day I become a tosser.

I've been in my industry for 12 years now, we just all move about between departments every couple of years so you don't get prematurely comfortable and therefore lazy. But the edge of fear about losing my job does make me try, even when I think I may be out of my league.

It's the non-tryers who get fired.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Wed 3 Apr 2013, 23:53, 2 replies)

The percentages game
Many, many years ago I did A-level Maths. Our class started off with 27 people in it. The jump from GSCE to A-level maths was too much for most and numbers dropped. To help us understand the concepts our maths teacher decided to go through homework answers in class and we'd mark it ourselves...

Marks suddenly improved - everyone (that is the 15 that remained) suddenly was getting 85-95%. Woo yeah - all we had to do was look intently in the marking session, ask the right questions and then tell her a mark. The only maths we had to do was calculate a percentage. Not too high LSJ, we don't want to arouse supicion.

Only that doesn't help when it comes to exam time. Bam - end of first year only 8 people pass, most scraping through, a couple more continue, the rest drop out.

Realising that we *might* not be doing the homework, our lecturer in the second year starts asking for the homework to be handed in... but not after we have marked it ourselves (read: furiously scribbled down the answers as she goes through them). By the time she twigs onto our game, half way through the second year it's too late. She requests our homework first, our maths marks fall off the cliff, 15-50% becoming the norm apart from the 2 genuinely clever types in the class. She realises that we are screwed and so's her career. We spend the rest of the time just going through past exam papers taught how to get 'easy' marks but in the hope that we might scrape a pass, but it's too little too late, we simply knew fuck all

End result: 3 out of 8 who stuck around for the exam pass (A/B/E - I was the one who got the E) and the teacher goes on LT sick and then takes early retirement.

Sorry Mrs Humphries for ending your career, but you did used to wear pop socks.
(littlestanjunior, Wed 3 Apr 2013, 22:58, 5 replies)

Everybody wing chun tonight.

(sarcastic fringehead feet of clay, buns of steel, head of lettuce, Wed 3 Apr 2013, 22:43, Reply)

winging a test, wing wung wtf anyway
I was bored one day and my lectures had finished early so I went in to a uni lecture with my (then) girlfriend in a religion and theology course, there was a test, I only just passed
( Dont point it at your face up the ass, Wed 3 Apr 2013, 22:08, 1 reply)

A few years back I managed to learn just enough InDesign to get by in a new job in under two days.
Print design software is a piece of piss when you have the internet at hand for help.
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Wed 3 Apr 2013, 19:17, 2 replies)

Personally Speaking......
I think this QoTW is winging it a bit, with only 60 replies so far.
( The Lone Groover has mal des nuts., Wed 3 Apr 2013, 17:46, 1 reply)

Dr. Shambolic is a
whinging git.
(username failed moderation, Wed 3 Apr 2013, 17:29, 12 replies)

Flatnoses
Smart young men in polyester suits, sometimes with a meek, headscarfed wife and sunday-buffed child in tow. They turn up on your door and try to engage you in a conversation about God.

They are masters of winging it; they can turn almost any conversation into one about God. Whatever you say, they can handbrake-turn the flow to their desired direction.

Almost. I did once manage to stump them: I told them I didn't believe in the universe. Left them with very little to work with...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Wed 3 Apr 2013, 16:23, 6 replies)

I wanted it all in Verdana.....
but clicked on the next one down by mistake.
(localboy purveyor of pisspoor puns, Wed 3 Apr 2013, 15:47, 7 replies)

omg my mate did a philisolophy exam an the question was is this a question an he rote if this is an anser!!!! an walked out!!!!!!
He got a first.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 3 Apr 2013, 14:50, 7 replies)

clowning around
if anyone ever asks you to help them out at a kid's party by dressing up as a clown and entertaining the children, DO NOT DO IT.
those little fuckers can smell the fear of a first-timer and their favourite game is Let's Twat The Clown.
started off winging it, ended up legging it.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Wed 3 Apr 2013, 14:42, 3 replies)

A-level Design Technology...
For my A-level DT class our teacher decided to select some of her students and nominate their final projects for design awards, so as to augment the official grade and perhaps put some lacquer on our turds of CVs. In the previous year I'd somehow gotten a silver award, and so my teacher thought I should be able to go for gold this year. The only problem was that to get gold you needed some sort of industrial input to the project. A few people had gotten bespoke parts machined or printed, demonstrating an ability to communicate a design sufficiently to professional. I, on the other hand, being resourceful (read: cheap) managed to put my entire project together myself from offcuts and scrap. Despite this, and despite my teacher knowing I'd had no outside input to my project, I was still entered for the award.

Judgement day arrived, and I set up my project to be grilled. Three professional designers came up to me and asked me to describe my project. I'd built a set for a stop-frame animation, plus characters. The set was a secret lab, and the characters consisted of a professor, a school boy, and a monkey wearing massive boots. A classic concept. So far, my presentation was going well. Predictably, the very first thing they asked after that was, "so, in what way did you work with industry to put this design together?" I did that thing where you say "Well..." in an overly positive way to stall the conversation but trying to sound like you actually have something to say. I then lied and explained how I had been communicating with Aardman Studios with regards to my project, and how I had gotten feedback on the set design, lighting issues and initial stages of the character design. The judges sounded impressed, but they weren't fools. Immediately they asked who I contacted, and how. I replied, "Um, I spoke to a...Steve...who is an...animator at Aardman. We spoke on the phone...and...also e-mail."

'And also e-mail' - the loose thread on my weave of lies. I obviously would have e-mailed had I contacted them, so I had to say it to be believable. I'd created a fake, virtual paper trail. One judge then said, "so you have some printouts of your discussions?"

"Yep...yep! Got a whole load of those e-mails...somewhere. I haven't got them with me though. Did you want to see them?"

Another judge chipped in, "well, it'd be nice, but if you haven't got them printed out then perhaps just the first email or two that you sent and received?"

I smiled sheepishly. "Okey dokey...you want me to print then out now or...?"

Thankfully, those wonderful, merciful bastards didn't need them immediately, and I finished answering their technical questions about the actual build. At the end, they all smiled, shook my hand, and said that if they could just see a quick print out of an e-mail before they left at the end of the day, then they'd recommend me for an award. I was one more lie short of the gold. I scurried off while they judged others, and sat at the computer. Frantically, I wrote an e-mail to 'Steve', and sent it to myself. Then, I stripped the e-mail address and logo from the Aardman website, a picture of Morph and Chas from Google Images, and slapped them into a reply e-mail. I added a whole bunch of text saying 'thanks for the e-mail', and 'yes, we'd love to help your DT project', 'blah blah', and changed my address in the to-from text section to the Aardman one, remembering also to change the date and time to months ago. Flawless. I printed it out low-quality black and white to distract from any remaining flaws in the details, and ran back. The judges were still busy looking over other projects, so I asked my teacher to pass the letter on, and wiped my hands of the whole ordeal.

One month later, who gets sent a Gold Design Award? Not me. It was fecking obvious I'd faked the letter and my tower of lies crumbled like a sand castle in Stompsville. So close. C'est la vie.
( guffguff fuckes your gradeds balls!, Wed 3 Apr 2013, 14:26, 1 reply)

So, basically, I fancied a day off school, to spend doing cool stuff with my girlfriend.
Ya ya ya we borrowed my friend's dad's prized car, and Star Trek.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 3 Apr 2013, 13:28, Reply)