Profile for Imp of destruction:
Blah blah dee blah. I am indeed an imp of destruction. I have the magical ability to destroy everything I touch. Imagine Midas without the plus side of many new friends.
I am also just a little bit bored. But tomorrow I'll probably be happy. Or drunk. Ah yes, alcohol.
No more alcohol for me, too much drunkness and illness, I need to save myself for my final fresher's week (sob).
Can't wait till I finish uni and can afford, well, ANYTHING!
If someone would like to sponsor my existence, I'm fully house trained and not allergic to pets of any kind!
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
[read all their answers]
- a member for 20 years, 6 months and 15 days
- has posted 0 messages on the main board
- has posted 0 messages on the talk board
- has posted 0 messages on the links board
- has posted 14 stories and 0 replies on question of the week
- They liked 0 pictures, 0 links, 0 talk posts, and 0 qotw answers.
- Ignore this user
- Add this user as a friend
- send me a message
Blah blah dee blah. I am indeed an imp of destruction. I have the magical ability to destroy everything I touch. Imagine Midas without the plus side of many new friends.
I am also just a little bit bored. But tomorrow I'll probably be happy. Or drunk. Ah yes, alcohol.
No more alcohol for me, too much drunkness and illness, I need to save myself for my final fresher's week (sob).
Can't wait till I finish uni and can afford, well, ANYTHING!
If someone would like to sponsor my existence, I'm fully house trained and not allergic to pets of any kind!
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Pure Ignorance
Ah the blonde gene...
A friend of ours, at our neighbour's cattle farm, was gazing at a newborn calf taking its first drink. Her eyes seemed to glaze over momentarily as we watched the idyllic scene, then in wistful tones she uttered the immortal words...
"I wonder what cow's milk tastes like..."
(Mon 10th Jan 2005, 3:06, More)
Ah the blonde gene...
A friend of ours, at our neighbour's cattle farm, was gazing at a newborn calf taking its first drink. Her eyes seemed to glaze over momentarily as we watched the idyllic scene, then in wistful tones she uttered the immortal words...
"I wonder what cow's milk tastes like..."
(Mon 10th Jan 2005, 3:06, More)
» Out of my depth
"I am a fish and fish can't do science"
Once upon a time the Imp was actually fairly intelligent. this would have been 3rd yr of secondary school (yr 9?). And, as a result, for the SATS science test I, along with a few others were given the chance to do an extension paper to take us up to level 8.
Piece of cake. I'd breezed the Maths one, so figured this would be similar.
I have not been so wrong for a very long time (excluding maths A Level, that actually made me cry...got my A tho but that's a different story).
So anyway, bright spark enters exam room fairly chilled, I can bollocks this up and all will be ok. I've not revised, and never do. Open exam paper. WTF??? Did I have a bloody clue what they were on about? None. So I panicked for a while. Then got bored.
Boredom is a dangerous thing to a 14 year old. I decided I would write down, instead of the correct answers, an amalgamation of ALL the scientific knowledge I possessed. This, as far as I remember, included me drawing a diagram of a horse's leg bones (I'm a girl, I still hadn't got into boys). In fact, that was it. I then proceeded to answer questions with the line
"I am a fish"
For the final question I had decided to write a lovely letter to the poor person who'd had to sift through the paper for any sensible answers. In an attempt to get my (now extremely hyper and giggling) self out of trouble I apologised and then gave the explanation for my crapness as, as I had said previously "I am a fish and fish can't do science".
All this would have been wonderful enough, but as a parting gesture I'd decided to quote a friend of mine saying "Fish like to fly high in the sky at night". And other such meaningful proverbs, on any blank paper within the exam booklet. They must have been pissing themselves when they marked that.
Result? Well, I didn't pass, thank God it was externally marked! But I managed to just miss out on the level 8, which was a f*ck of a lot better than all my other mates did. Plus I was laughing all day while they were stressing. Yay!! One up for silliness. And, I have used this technique to good effect during my degree. Talk bollocks and confuse the lecturers. Think it's gonna backfire at some point?
(Tue 19th Oct 2004, 22:12, More)
"I am a fish and fish can't do science"
Once upon a time the Imp was actually fairly intelligent. this would have been 3rd yr of secondary school (yr 9?). And, as a result, for the SATS science test I, along with a few others were given the chance to do an extension paper to take us up to level 8.
Piece of cake. I'd breezed the Maths one, so figured this would be similar.
I have not been so wrong for a very long time (excluding maths A Level, that actually made me cry...got my A tho but that's a different story).
So anyway, bright spark enters exam room fairly chilled, I can bollocks this up and all will be ok. I've not revised, and never do. Open exam paper. WTF??? Did I have a bloody clue what they were on about? None. So I panicked for a while. Then got bored.
Boredom is a dangerous thing to a 14 year old. I decided I would write down, instead of the correct answers, an amalgamation of ALL the scientific knowledge I possessed. This, as far as I remember, included me drawing a diagram of a horse's leg bones (I'm a girl, I still hadn't got into boys). In fact, that was it. I then proceeded to answer questions with the line
"I am a fish"
For the final question I had decided to write a lovely letter to the poor person who'd had to sift through the paper for any sensible answers. In an attempt to get my (now extremely hyper and giggling) self out of trouble I apologised and then gave the explanation for my crapness as, as I had said previously "I am a fish and fish can't do science".
All this would have been wonderful enough, but as a parting gesture I'd decided to quote a friend of mine saying "Fish like to fly high in the sky at night". And other such meaningful proverbs, on any blank paper within the exam booklet. They must have been pissing themselves when they marked that.
Result? Well, I didn't pass, thank God it was externally marked! But I managed to just miss out on the level 8, which was a f*ck of a lot better than all my other mates did. Plus I was laughing all day while they were stressing. Yay!! One up for silliness. And, I have used this technique to good effect during my degree. Talk bollocks and confuse the lecturers. Think it's gonna backfire at some point?
(Tue 19th Oct 2004, 22:12, More)
» World's Sickest Joke
Nursery rhymes...
I got emailed these and laughed muchness. Not totally grim, juste un peu amusant, et a bit wrong...
I guess you have to tell them to a 5 yr old for full effect.
Mary had a little skirt with splits right up the sides
and every time that Mary walked the boys could see her Thighs.
Mary had another skirt that was split right up the front
and every time that Mary walked the boys could see her....
..well, she didn't wear that one very often
Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet,
her knickers all tattered and torn.
It wasn't the spider that sat down beside her,
But Little Boy Blue with the horn.
Mary had a little lamb
It ran into a pylon.
10,000 volts went up it's arse
and turned it's wool to nylon
Georgie Porgy pudding and pie.
Kissed the girls and made them cry.
When the boys came out to play,
He kissed them too, cause he was gay.
Little Boy Blew.
Hey. He needed the money.
(Mon 13th Sep 2004, 17:20, More)
Nursery rhymes...
I got emailed these and laughed muchness. Not totally grim, juste un peu amusant, et a bit wrong...
I guess you have to tell them to a 5 yr old for full effect.
Mary had a little skirt with splits right up the sides
and every time that Mary walked the boys could see her Thighs.
Mary had another skirt that was split right up the front
and every time that Mary walked the boys could see her....
..well, she didn't wear that one very often
Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet,
her knickers all tattered and torn.
It wasn't the spider that sat down beside her,
But Little Boy Blue with the horn.
Mary had a little lamb
It ran into a pylon.
10,000 volts went up it's arse
and turned it's wool to nylon
Georgie Porgy pudding and pie.
Kissed the girls and made them cry.
When the boys came out to play,
He kissed them too, cause he was gay.
Little Boy Blew.
Hey. He needed the money.
(Mon 13th Sep 2004, 17:20, More)
» My Worst Vomit
I've confessed for me, now my family...
I have the great honour of being in part the cause of 4 out of 5 of my sister's drunken vomiting sessions. The most memorable of which starts as an innocuous drinking and herbal ingesting session. A little later on, after returning from clubbing, she'd invited a few of her male friends round and we were dressing up in wrapping paper. No, just me and her, at least I had the sense to keep my underwear on though... Long and short of it, verrrrr drunk at end of night. At grandmother's house as she's away for a bit, sister feels the need to be cleansed internally, but knows she won't make it to the loo, so calmly opens grannie's bottom bedside drawer, empties contents, and refills. Closes bottom drawer. She did clean it, but the whole thing struck me as so sweet!
My dad, well, step-dad... All during my teenage years the bloke was teetotal and refused to let me deviate from his enforced weirdness (so I did it all in secret, obviously), but come the time when I've been at uni a while and been drunk at him enough, he suddenly has a change of heart!!!
Cue friends of the family inviting my parents out for a meal...
Mum, who was driving, said that dad had clearly drunk a fair amount, but it was only when he made a quick exit to the toilet (adjacent to the room everyone else was in), and started calling out to Huey. The family dog was obviously struck by empathy, and stood outside said bathroom door, howling in time to my dad's hurling.
They packaged him into the car, wrapped in a wallace and grommit duvet, and clutching a teddy bear shaped hot water bottle, where he lasted all the way home, bless, before spewing out of the car door.
His "food poisoning" lasted all the next day, and kept him rough for a little while after that. My mum called me up at uni to gloat while he was sick in bed. Got to love her!
(Wed 25th Aug 2004, 17:27, More)
I've confessed for me, now my family...
I have the great honour of being in part the cause of 4 out of 5 of my sister's drunken vomiting sessions. The most memorable of which starts as an innocuous drinking and herbal ingesting session. A little later on, after returning from clubbing, she'd invited a few of her male friends round and we were dressing up in wrapping paper. No, just me and her, at least I had the sense to keep my underwear on though... Long and short of it, verrrrr drunk at end of night. At grandmother's house as she's away for a bit, sister feels the need to be cleansed internally, but knows she won't make it to the loo, so calmly opens grannie's bottom bedside drawer, empties contents, and refills. Closes bottom drawer. She did clean it, but the whole thing struck me as so sweet!
My dad, well, step-dad... All during my teenage years the bloke was teetotal and refused to let me deviate from his enforced weirdness (so I did it all in secret, obviously), but come the time when I've been at uni a while and been drunk at him enough, he suddenly has a change of heart!!!
Cue friends of the family inviting my parents out for a meal...
Mum, who was driving, said that dad had clearly drunk a fair amount, but it was only when he made a quick exit to the toilet (adjacent to the room everyone else was in), and started calling out to Huey. The family dog was obviously struck by empathy, and stood outside said bathroom door, howling in time to my dad's hurling.
They packaged him into the car, wrapped in a wallace and grommit duvet, and clutching a teddy bear shaped hot water bottle, where he lasted all the way home, bless, before spewing out of the car door.
His "food poisoning" lasted all the next day, and kept him rough for a little while after that. My mum called me up at uni to gloat while he was sick in bed. Got to love her!
(Wed 25th Aug 2004, 17:27, More)
» Local Nutters
Madness abroad...
Firstly, and I apologise if this has already been mentioned, the mad lady on the central reservation in O'Connell street, Dublin.
She thoroughly entranced our rugby team when we went on tour there, wearing a faded purple velvet jacket and dancing like a ballet dancer to the patriotic irish music blasting from the tourist shops.
According to a friend of mine she's there in all seasons and is a bit of a hero to the locals.
Back in Bolton we have just had a spate of *Drunk Tramp Busking";
Ingredients:
1 Drunk tramp
1 guitar with a few strings
a handful of queen lyrics;
"we will we will rock you"
"all we need is radio *mumble mumble mumble*"
"blood on his plaice, stupid face" (or words to that effect)
For at least an hour (from the beginning to the end of my lunch) he will sit, shouting out random words from queen songs. Repeatedly. In no order. The better bits were his occasional improvised verses. Bless the effort though!
And finally, in a little suburb of Toulouse (France) called Purpan, a lady in her late 40s stands on one of the main roundabouts orchestrating the traffic as if it were the philharmonic. You can see the joy on her face, and if you smile or wave, she happily waves back. Nice to know madness has no linguistic boundaries.
To be perfectly honest, I'm actually quite jealous of the mad ladies, they must be so contained in their own worlds. I aspire to be like that. Think I'm going to have to go out and buy a big purple velvet jacket!
(Fri 17th Sep 2004, 16:01, More)
Madness abroad...
Firstly, and I apologise if this has already been mentioned, the mad lady on the central reservation in O'Connell street, Dublin.
She thoroughly entranced our rugby team when we went on tour there, wearing a faded purple velvet jacket and dancing like a ballet dancer to the patriotic irish music blasting from the tourist shops.
According to a friend of mine she's there in all seasons and is a bit of a hero to the locals.
Back in Bolton we have just had a spate of *Drunk Tramp Busking";
Ingredients:
1 Drunk tramp
1 guitar with a few strings
a handful of queen lyrics;
"we will we will rock you"
"all we need is radio *mumble mumble mumble*"
"blood on his plaice, stupid face" (or words to that effect)
For at least an hour (from the beginning to the end of my lunch) he will sit, shouting out random words from queen songs. Repeatedly. In no order. The better bits were his occasional improvised verses. Bless the effort though!
And finally, in a little suburb of Toulouse (France) called Purpan, a lady in her late 40s stands on one of the main roundabouts orchestrating the traffic as if it were the philharmonic. You can see the joy on her face, and if you smile or wave, she happily waves back. Nice to know madness has no linguistic boundaries.
To be perfectly honest, I'm actually quite jealous of the mad ladies, they must be so contained in their own worlds. I aspire to be like that. Think I'm going to have to go out and buy a big purple velvet jacket!
(Fri 17th Sep 2004, 16:01, More)