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» World's Most Hated Food
sweetbreads
are in fact the glands of (usually) little cows. Shouldn't they be called something more honest like throat glands of moolets and not something that actually sounds quite appealing.
Although if they were called throat glands of moolets they's sound like a dodgy glam rock tribute band.
(Mon 12th Jul 2004, 15:58, More)
sweetbreads
are in fact the glands of (usually) little cows. Shouldn't they be called something more honest like throat glands of moolets and not something that actually sounds quite appealing.
Although if they were called throat glands of moolets they's sound like a dodgy glam rock tribute band.
(Mon 12th Jul 2004, 15:58, More)
» Scary Neighbours
Not sure who was worse..
.. us or her. We would play loud music at ungodly hours and due to large a intake of devil's dandruff couldn't possibly have cared less about anyone else.
She, on the other hand, was a alchy psycho. One day she would come round with cake the next day she'd barge in, call everyone "cunts" and try to flash her bits.
She had a fella, who turned up at the door looking for psycho, sporting a gaping wound in his neck which was bleeding "I need to find psycho - we've had a row and I need to tell her that I love her." We suggested he went back to hospital before he bled to death.
Another day she turned up and said "I think there's something wrong with psycho lover..." My boyfriend went round with a stethascope that had conveniently recently been nicked from flat owners GP and discovered the nature of the problem. 40 years of hard drinking had taken its toll on psycho lover's liver and he was dead.
Something wrong with him indeed.
We kept the music down after that, but unfortunately, her love for playing Elvis at 7am and singing along like a wailing banshee on her balcony did not.
(Fri 26th Aug 2005, 13:55, More)
Not sure who was worse..
.. us or her. We would play loud music at ungodly hours and due to large a intake of devil's dandruff couldn't possibly have cared less about anyone else.
She, on the other hand, was a alchy psycho. One day she would come round with cake the next day she'd barge in, call everyone "cunts" and try to flash her bits.
She had a fella, who turned up at the door looking for psycho, sporting a gaping wound in his neck which was bleeding "I need to find psycho - we've had a row and I need to tell her that I love her." We suggested he went back to hospital before he bled to death.
Another day she turned up and said "I think there's something wrong with psycho lover..." My boyfriend went round with a stethascope that had conveniently recently been nicked from flat owners GP and discovered the nature of the problem. 40 years of hard drinking had taken its toll on psycho lover's liver and he was dead.
Something wrong with him indeed.
We kept the music down after that, but unfortunately, her love for playing Elvis at 7am and singing along like a wailing banshee on her balcony did not.
(Fri 26th Aug 2005, 13:55, More)
» Crappy Prizes
Nice Ass.
Our staff conference had followed a similar format every year. The morning is spent focussing on "us, as a department" and the afternoon would be a "jolly" or, more accurately, piss up, usually involving a quiz. The previous year the prizes awarded to the winning team had been DVD players, so when I realised my team were doing quite well in the quiz I thought "I could be in with a chance here, wonder what the prize is?" and dreamt of P45s and Carribean holidays.
So we won! I sidled up the the Ass. Director to collect my prize and was handed an envelope - what did it contain? A £10 M & S voucher.
So I spent it on some nice underwear, got laid, but he was crap too. Where's the justice?
(Thu 4th Aug 2005, 13:38, More)
Nice Ass.
Our staff conference had followed a similar format every year. The morning is spent focussing on "us, as a department" and the afternoon would be a "jolly" or, more accurately, piss up, usually involving a quiz. The previous year the prizes awarded to the winning team had been DVD players, so when I realised my team were doing quite well in the quiz I thought "I could be in with a chance here, wonder what the prize is?" and dreamt of P45s and Carribean holidays.
So we won! I sidled up the the Ass. Director to collect my prize and was handed an envelope - what did it contain? A £10 M & S voucher.
So I spent it on some nice underwear, got laid, but he was crap too. Where's the justice?
(Thu 4th Aug 2005, 13:38, More)
» Jobsworths
Similar to downhill without brakes
and more about systems and processes really, I spent a very irritating afternoon being passed around various spackfest call centres as a standing order (which I had taken a previous morning off work to arrange, specifically to ensure the money WOULD be in the account on the day it was meant to) had in fact, not turned up in my flatmate's account.
But the money had left my account.
After their central call centre couldn't help me as I had "telephone banked 3 times without using my password" (what password??) I called my branch who didn't pick up so I got diverted to my branch's "support centre".
By this point, I'm absolutely livid, I explain my situation and ask quite calmly (considering) where the money is, if it's not in my account and not in the account it's destined for. "Is it earning NatWest a nice bit of interest in the meantime?" I ask disinterested fickwut at the other end of the 'phone line. Cue *click* (your call is being transfered) "Hello, I'm Mrs. Brightandcheery, branch manager, how may I help you?"
(Wed 18th May 2005, 13:07, More)
Similar to downhill without brakes
and more about systems and processes really, I spent a very irritating afternoon being passed around various spackfest call centres as a standing order (which I had taken a previous morning off work to arrange, specifically to ensure the money WOULD be in the account on the day it was meant to) had in fact, not turned up in my flatmate's account.
But the money had left my account.
After their central call centre couldn't help me as I had "telephone banked 3 times without using my password" (what password??) I called my branch who didn't pick up so I got diverted to my branch's "support centre".
By this point, I'm absolutely livid, I explain my situation and ask quite calmly (considering) where the money is, if it's not in my account and not in the account it's destined for. "Is it earning NatWest a nice bit of interest in the meantime?" I ask disinterested fickwut at the other end of the 'phone line. Cue *click* (your call is being transfered) "Hello, I'm Mrs. Brightandcheery, branch manager, how may I help you?"
(Wed 18th May 2005, 13:07, More)