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http://www.nilid.5u.com for my lovely site.


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» Stupid Dares

Double Donkey Dare
When someone is dared to do something, they have the option of declining, albeit while losing face in the process. As some of you may know, when someone is Double Donkey Dared to so something, they simply must. There is no forfeit or anything, because you simply must do it. This in itself acts as a sort of check, since daring someone to do something too fucked up would inevitably come back to haunt the bastard darer, as they would have to do something even worse as punishment.

This is an awesome rule in school (how I miss that place) or out, since you end up doing a lot of fun things. Moon the teacher? Check. Stroke the leg of the incredibly shy? You must! Draw a large cock at the bottom of your work before handing it in? Diminished responsibility Miss, I was Double Donkey Dared.

We realised that the power was too much for us mere children to wield as soon as the words, 'Kit, I dare you... nay Double Donkey Dare you, to kick Mrs Mullins. Hard. In the arse' had been spilled. It took about two days of waiting, but finally the moment came, standing in the dinner cue. Said teacher pushed her way to the front, (as some of the cuntisher ones often did,) at which point Kit spotted his opportunity, rushed forwards two meters and kicked her. Hard. In the arse.

By the time she was back on her feet, Kit had slotted neatly back into line, and despite her shouting and threatening, no-one cracked (because she was a cunt, seriously, an absolute cunt.) He got away with it, but as one, we knew the time of the Double Donkey Dare had passed. It was over.
(Thu 1st Nov 2007, 15:26, More)

» Stalked

About 4 years ago...
...at a little school called QEHS, Hexham, we had a bit of an experience with a lad we'll call Evil Hell (for that was nearly his name.) He was the sort of chap whose trousers were far too tight and about an inch too high up his leg, who'd run almost everywhere, and who'd say little, except to mutter such classics as 'the mind is a museum without walls' to himself.

Needles to say, there was more than a little something of the night about him, and so we'd always have pity for the ladies he became emphatuated with; never really speaking to them, but following them at close quarters, and every now and then supplying them with perfume or jewlery. We'd also laugh about it quite a lot.

Then one day, he decided to attatch himself to our group of mates. Not by saying anything as such, just by sitting far too close to wherever we were. And following if we moved. He'd toss things into the equasion every now and then, but telling people completely out of context things like 'the chinese used to drug people with opium so as to better use them as assasins' do not ease the tension of a situation. As you can imagine, this situation made simple activities such as talking to the females of the species pretty awkward, as he'd be sitting, or standing, RIGHT THERE.

We were always too nice to just tell him to fuck off though. We discussed just asking him to leave us alone quite alot, but were genuinely scared he might kill himself, or bring some sort of weapon into school if we did. (Oh yeah he's into medieval re-enactment - he really is mental.)

We instead opted to tell our friendly head of year, and ask her what to do about it - can't remember what she used to teach, but chances are if you went to the same school she taught you to put a condom on a broomhandle and showed you pictures of genital warts. She wasn't too helpful, but at least we felt that if he killed himself after this, we had tried our best.

It was later in the week while reading the local paper (god bless the Courant, who will have pissed on Pizza Pizza this week?) that we found out how misjugded our choice of teacher was for our request of 'help stop Evil Hell stalking us.'

There she was on the second page - it turned out that for some time she had been stalking her ex-girlfriend, which had recently culminated in her actually breaking into the womans house! (I can't remember whether she took things or just sniffed knickers, but it came as a suprise either way.)

So there you have it, be wary of who you ask for help, because it may turn out that they are actually mental aswell.
(Wed 6th Feb 2008, 16:56, More)

» Personal Hygiene

I'm not so bad like
I'm a student so I reckon a lot of this is obligatory. Only considered posting this because someone mentioned a bottle of piss, and there is a frosty jacks bottle half full next to me, on the floor but that only happened yesterday because I needed a piss and my housemate was showering. Usually I'd go out the window but it was broad daylight. At least it has the lid on yeh?

To my left, within reaching distance if I lean,is a bottle. It is a 35cl Prince Consort London Gin bottle and it is roughly 40% full of roach ends, ash, spit and phlegm. This has no lid but has a low centre of gravity and a sturdy base so I'm not too worried. There is also a dregs/ash filled can to my left, which I can reach without leaning, hence its replacement of the gin bottle for now.

My bed sheets have been washed since christmas, but I fell asleep with chewing gum behind my ear the other morning so one side of one of the pillows has a bit of a chud stain. Got rid of all the sticky bits though.

I haven't showered since tuesday morning. It's now sunday but I probably will today. I have short hair and this isn't regular practise, I'm usually a once every 2 days kinda guy.

Under my bed lies a santa hat with about 4 shots of spunk inseminated into it. Again this isn't regular practise, its just still there incase I get caught short again. Sensible.

I wear socks for two days on the trot MAX as they smell too bad after that. Boxers should last 4 days (regular, reversed, inside-out regular, inside-out reversed) but in reality it is easy to lose count, as well you know. Jeans, tops and coats need only be washed if something has gone seriously wrong.

Haven't used soap since I was about 4, only wash me hands after a piss if I actually got piss on my hands (c'mon, if blokes had to wash their hands after every time they held their cocks the world economy would crumble.) I use shampoo mind, trim the pubes and armpits and sometimes even use roll-on deodorant, so on balance I'm not really smelly. (Thing is, I understand that maybe I should smell, so I've asked quite a lot of people. Pretty blunt people at that, and I've still got a 100% 'you smell fine/you dont have halitosis' rate.)

My piece de resistance was probably in the first year of uni, when I had a nose-bleed so vile that the resulting blood clot couldn't find its way down the plug hole. Naturally I fished it out with one of those ear-cleaners and put it in a bottle. This was left on my top shelf and forgotten about until the end of the year, when I was tidying up. By now it was no longer thick and red, but was the colour of a guiness-shit and very, very thin. Wanting to save space in the bin bag, I loosened the top a little and squeezed out the excess air. Unfortunately I chose to continue breathing, and was hit full in the face with the stench of my own rotting body. There is no way I could possibly describe this smell, but if you're familiar with anything similar you'll know that I painted my carpet a nice shade of stomach instantly.

Me and some mates went out to spain last summer to work on an eco-farm, all very hippy-esque. There was a toilet outside in the woods, or the toilet inside which was for passing solids ONLY. Neither flushed, and both involved shitting then putting hay on top.

My mate not only disregarded the no pissing rule, but also used the inside toilet for the three days he suffered from chronic dioreah. Because of how gross this toilet was, we left it as long as possible before cleaning it out. Me and mate 2 drew the short straws, and got to work.

Cleaning this toilet out involved opening a cupboard-like door on the front, sliding the bucket of shit out and taking this to a compost heap about 100metres from the house. Due to it being very full, and full of the liquidiest, vilest dihoretic shit known to man, we failed even to slide the flimsy bucket out from its base, and this shit slopped out onto the floor. Now, during a spanish summer, this room already smelled pretty awful. I had as of yet refused to even use it, instead prefering to head outside at all hours of the night to do my business. I lasted about 30 seconds after the initial spillage before vomiting in the sink. Only, typically, this sink wasn't even plumbed in, and the vom just poured through the plughole and out onto the floor. We fled the room, but there was still a job to be done.

T-shirts were tied round our faces and we headed in, picked up the bucket, and steadily this time carted it to the compost heap. When we got it there we didn't know how to empty it without getting covered in shite, so we put it near the heap and levered it over with big sticks.

Ready for the gross bit? As soon as it poured out, Chica, a dumb dog who was living on the farm, ran over and started lapping it up! This made me puke again, this time into the shit, while my mate used his stick to chase the dog off (mainly just because he hated the dog, but partly so it didn't die I guess.)

Dogs have the worst hygiene record ever.
(Sun 25th Mar 2007, 15:24, More)

» Breakin' The Law

Not me, my sisters old best-ish mate (oooh, tenuous.)
A few years back now this bloke called Waspy (most charming and jammiest bloke I've ever met) got pulled for speeding. How does he get away with it?
"There's really no point, I'm speeding because I'm late for court. They're about to take my licence off me anyway."
Being the jammy bastard he is, they let him procceed. Thing is, he actually was on his way to court, where he actually was about to get his licence taken off him for speeding (last 3 points on his licence.)
So the judge asks him his version of events - why was he speeding? Waspy reels off this whole story about how he'd met some blonde Sweedish lass in Berwick (oop norf) and had ended up offering to drive her back to Stocksfield, a good hour+ away. So he's pulled up outside her house, she gives him a kiss on the cheek, gets out, walks to her house and closes the door behind her. He got pulled for speeding on his way back.
"Two bloody hours and all I got was a peck on the cheek your honour."
The git gets let off again! Final words from the judge; "I'm letting you off this once, but in future please be wary of Sweedish girls."
(Thu 8th Jan 2004, 20:22, More)

» Running away

Back when a friend and I were about 5, we discovered that my big sister had left a blank tape in my room near my tape player. Being comic genius's/geniei, we spent a good few minutes recording ourselves saying 'poo,' 'bum,' 'willy' and the like, then playing it back. I don't even think we strung an entire sentence of rude together the entire time.

All was well, until a few months later my sister asked for her tape back. I returned it, then promptly ran away from home, scared to death. I was gone for a good 2 hours, hiding in the woods, shitting myself with fear, and plotting the next step in my new life as a feral child. Turns out there is little to eat in the woods, so I eventually had to go home. No-one had noticed my absence or misdeed, phew. I then spent a good year fearing the inevitable wrath that would unfold upon the release of our swears onto purer ears.

Questioned the sister about this some time last year (we're in our 20's,) and she never even heard them. Ever. Gutted.
(Sat 12th Aug 2006, 17:40, More)
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