Profile for baltax:
none
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
- a member for 19 years, 7 months and 1 day
- 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 4 stories and 0 replies on question of the week
- They liked 0 pictures, 0 links, 0 talk posts, and 3 qotw answers.
- Ignore this user
- Add this user as a friend
- send me a message
none
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Mugged
Junior Mafia
Lovely summer's afternoon, wandering along a busy street in a heat-filled stupor, when a charming young gentleman and his equally pleasant chum take the time to engage me in some light fingered pilfering, using that old standby, the knife.
After I'd duly handed over the £7 or so of shrapnel weighing down my pocket, I was quite taken aback to hear that this wasn't sufficient for the combined needs of, most likely, two rocks of finest crack'd cocaine.
"Where are the fucken notes?"
"My dear fellow, I simply have no need of such high levels of currency. See for yourself." And with a deft flourish I open my wallet and demonstrate my lack of 'fucken notes'.
"Are those cash cards?" as he points at my cash cards.
"No."
"Oh, alright." I gave a visible start and cocked an eye-brow at the unexpected success of my ruse.
They then subject me to some sort of pat-down and upon feeling my phone in my pocket ask what it is. Buoyed by my previous success, I venture forth with another untruth.
"'Tis merely a pen."
"Oh, OK. Now don't tell anyone about this, because we're the Junior Mafia round here and we'll break your kneecaps."
Unless it's after 9pm, from whence they must be accompanied by an appropriate Mafia adult.
(Sat 17th Jun 2006, 11:13, More)
Junior Mafia
Lovely summer's afternoon, wandering along a busy street in a heat-filled stupor, when a charming young gentleman and his equally pleasant chum take the time to engage me in some light fingered pilfering, using that old standby, the knife.
After I'd duly handed over the £7 or so of shrapnel weighing down my pocket, I was quite taken aback to hear that this wasn't sufficient for the combined needs of, most likely, two rocks of finest crack'd cocaine.
"Where are the fucken notes?"
"My dear fellow, I simply have no need of such high levels of currency. See for yourself." And with a deft flourish I open my wallet and demonstrate my lack of 'fucken notes'.
"Are those cash cards?" as he points at my cash cards.
"No."
"Oh, alright." I gave a visible start and cocked an eye-brow at the unexpected success of my ruse.
They then subject me to some sort of pat-down and upon feeling my phone in my pocket ask what it is. Buoyed by my previous success, I venture forth with another untruth.
"'Tis merely a pen."
"Oh, OK. Now don't tell anyone about this, because we're the Junior Mafia round here and we'll break your kneecaps."
Unless it's after 9pm, from whence they must be accompanied by an appropriate Mafia adult.
(Sat 17th Jun 2006, 11:13, More)
» Rock and Roll Stories
Punk and Rednecks
Aged 15 me and a mate decide we're going to see the Buzzcocks. In Cinderford (Don't mention the bear). A one-horse town in the depths of the Forest of Dean.
I have never been more scared in my life. The two of us, dressed in teen-goth, alone in redneck country, with an audience consisting entirely of men who may have been punks, a long time ago. Now they all had spikey hair, moustaches and were all wearing white shirts, black trousers, white socks and black shiny shoes. Like a load of clones of the pianist from Sparks.
Egged on by Pete Shelley, it was '77 again. Pogoing like crazy, headbutting each other with looks of joy, blood pouring everywhere, all to a backdrop of piles of old tellys all playing 70's softcore German porn.
Lucky. To. Get. Out. Alive.
(Sat 1st Jul 2006, 12:30, More)
Punk and Rednecks
Aged 15 me and a mate decide we're going to see the Buzzcocks. In Cinderford (Don't mention the bear). A one-horse town in the depths of the Forest of Dean.
I have never been more scared in my life. The two of us, dressed in teen-goth, alone in redneck country, with an audience consisting entirely of men who may have been punks, a long time ago. Now they all had spikey hair, moustaches and were all wearing white shirts, black trousers, white socks and black shiny shoes. Like a load of clones of the pianist from Sparks.
Egged on by Pete Shelley, it was '77 again. Pogoing like crazy, headbutting each other with looks of joy, blood pouring everywhere, all to a backdrop of piles of old tellys all playing 70's softcore German porn.
Lucky. To. Get. Out. Alive.
(Sat 1st Jul 2006, 12:30, More)
» Urban Legends
Chris Packham and other celebs
Following the invention of the Chris Packham needs anasthetic to have his hair cut story in the 90's and fooling my mate's sister (though she now earns at least 4 times as much as I do; bugger), we then continued with celebrity-based rumour-mongering:
Going for Gold, as hosted by Henry Kelly, switched from pan-European contestants to English only in the late 90's. The reason: a smug Swede who kept winning - Mr Kelly punched him and put him in a coma. What am I? A violent racist...
Allegations that Roy Walker of Catchphrase had been implicated in a kiddy fiddling ring...
Darren Day: Fully paid up member of the Khmer Rouge.
Nothing topped Packham though.
(Fri 6th Jan 2006, 18:58, More)
Chris Packham and other celebs
Following the invention of the Chris Packham needs anasthetic to have his hair cut story in the 90's and fooling my mate's sister (though she now earns at least 4 times as much as I do; bugger), we then continued with celebrity-based rumour-mongering:
Going for Gold, as hosted by Henry Kelly, switched from pan-European contestants to English only in the late 90's. The reason: a smug Swede who kept winning - Mr Kelly punched him and put him in a coma. What am I? A violent racist...
Allegations that Roy Walker of Catchphrase had been implicated in a kiddy fiddling ring...
Darren Day: Fully paid up member of the Khmer Rouge.
Nothing topped Packham though.
(Fri 6th Jan 2006, 18:58, More)
» You're a moviestar baby
The Bristol Pact
I spent six weeks filming this 'regional thriller', playing the heroic lead... Colin. Got to do my own stunts (jumping in rivers, fights, stunt driving) and we nearly broke the Clifton Suspension Bridge by stopping the traffic. The bridgemaster ran on and told us to "Fucking get off my bridge."
4 years on... rough cut 5 is allegedly 'nearly ready'. Being the seasoned pro, I refused to watch any of the rushes when it was being filmed. So I've never seen any of the footage, and probably never will. Arse.
(Mon 15th Nov 2004, 10:03, More)
The Bristol Pact
I spent six weeks filming this 'regional thriller', playing the heroic lead... Colin. Got to do my own stunts (jumping in rivers, fights, stunt driving) and we nearly broke the Clifton Suspension Bridge by stopping the traffic. The bridgemaster ran on and told us to "Fucking get off my bridge."
4 years on... rough cut 5 is allegedly 'nearly ready'. Being the seasoned pro, I refused to watch any of the rushes when it was being filmed. So I've never seen any of the footage, and probably never will. Arse.
(Mon 15th Nov 2004, 10:03, More)