b3ta.com user dandelionburdock
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» Jobsworths

Thameslink turds
Had the worst sh*ts I've ever had one day after a dodgy chicken and mint yoghurt sarnie.

As a rule, I can't bear to be in the same carriage as a train toilet, let alone use one, but this time I just had no option short of filling my boxers with thin black gruel. Cue a knock on the door 2 mins after I'd boarded.

"Tickets please"

"Do you mind? I'm a bit preoccupied"

"Tickets please - I'll need to see a ticket"

"What? You want to come in?"

"I'll need to see a ticket"

All of this punctuated with gravy bubbles and the occasional backfire. So, I reach over to my bag to get my travelcard out, and push it meekly under the door.

"Can you come out please?"

"You're really going to have to wait"

So, now with the added inconvenience of an audience, I spend the next 25 mins curling a painful pile of the most noxious filth that's ever left my body.

Having washed my hands extra, extra carefully, I leave the cubicle to be handed my travelcard back by this blank, expressionless grey old man. The f*cker had waited nearly half an hour listening to me sh*t fire for the sake of verifying that I was indeed the person pictured on my photocard.

Length entirely appropriate, under the circumstances.
(Fri 13th May 2005, 3:38, More)

» Now, there was no need for that...

Hot lamp
Had a cyst in my inner right thigh, sufficiently high enough to make me wonder if it was going to give my balls some of its cyst germs every time I moved.

Went in for minor op to have it whipped out under a local anaesthetic. Cue humorous Dr person with the "I'll try not to slip" line of gaggery. Already very, very nervous of his shaky grip on the scalpel after he'd made his initial incision, the attending nurse then proceeded to walk away from the angle-poise lamp she was holding upright, allowing it to sag downwards and scorch my balls.
(Thu 16th Jun 2005, 23:42, More)

» Now, there was no need for that...

Fully microwaveable pants
My then-girlf stayed over at my then-digs. And then stayed over again. By the second night, she'd already been wearing the same set of clothes for 2 days, and frankly her pants were in a shocking state. As I was a launderette fiend at this stage without washing facilities of my own, I let her get to work with a scrubbing brush and some soap flakes.

"I'm having a bath", she says. "Can you wring them out and put them on a hot radiator so they'll be dry for the morning?" I wring them out, I put them on a radiator, I go to bed.

Morning comes, radiators are stone cold, pants are still piss wet through. I'd forgotten to turn the heating on. Then girlf had vicious temper, so I figured anything I could do to improve matters would be a wise cause of action. With her just getting up, and only 10 mins before we had to leave for uni, I flung the pants in the microwave, figuring a half minute blast on the lowest setting would do the trick.

Got a bit distracted by a Pop Tart, and a minute later the microwave pings to reveal a pair of smoking, crispy, black (formerly purple) La Senza knickers.
(Thu 16th Jun 2005, 23:33, More)

» God

Altar puddles
For reasons I've never completely understood, me and a few of my mates ended up as altar boys when we were at primary school.

I have no tales of being molested by any priest, but one day me and my mate Dave had been enlisted to help "train up" another lad. Midway through we're sat there on the altar during some groany, mumbled god shit. Bored shitless, Dave started humming. Dead quiet at first, but progressively louder and louder. Encouraged by the lack of reaction to this, I joined in.

Such were the acoustics of the church, it wasn't immediately obvious to anyone where the sound was coming from, but the priest was on to us, and although we remained straightfaced and closed-mouthed, he kept shooting us shitty looks. The lad we were showing the ropes to, Phil, was sat in between us, sitting back so no-one in the congregation could see his face, doing that quiet rocking laugh that some people do when they're starting to lose it. He was so quiet it took me a while to notice he was laughing at all, but by the time I did, his face was purple.

That was it, then - game on. Dave started making weird chirping noises, and I parped up with a sneeze that sounded like a high pitched "Pheeeeeeeeeeellll". He was in serious trouble, and was hitting us both in the side under his cassock trying to get us to stop, but by now he was so crippled with laughter that it just made us do it more.

The clincher was when Dave slyly turned and quietly said in his best demonic voice "GOD GOD GODDY GODDY GOD GOD".


And then there was water. He'd been laughing so hard he pissed himself. Straight through his clothes, straight through his cassock, huge puddle on the floor of the altar.

By now some of the people at the front could tell something was going on, and me and Dave just went completely. I laughed so hard I nearly fell in the puddle of piss. He was absolutely mortified, but unfortunately for him, he had to sit in pissy kecks for another half hour.

Take it from me though, bollockings are so much more surreal coming from a man in a dress waving a bible for emphasis.
(Thu 19th Mar 2009, 23:54, More)

» Heckles

Wolfie! Show us yer arse!
At some point in the 90s, Sky decided to jazz up the game of rugby league in this country, and suddenly my beloved, plain old "Warrington" were given a wash and a brush to become the infinitely more Hollywood "Warrington Wolves".

With the new name came a previously unhad mascot - Wolfie. A man dressed as a big blue wolf, if you will. Yer man Wolfie has a party piece that he'll do at least 2 or 3 times a game. For instance, if things flagged a bit, the crowd would chant "Wolfie! Show us yer arse! Wolfie, Wolfie show us yer arse!", and occasionally he'd rise to the bait, pull his big wolf shorts down to reveal a second, white pair, with "LET'S ALL HAVE A DISCO!" daubed on them in huge letters. The crowd would then sing "Let's all have a disco, let's all have a disco, la la la la....(etc)" and dance around manically for a minute or so.

Unfortunately In one pre-season game a few years back, Wolfie's big plush mascot-hands failed to get hold of the outer short, and he instead inadvertantly pulled down both pairs of shorts and his boxers to reveal his decidedly underwhelming Wolf cock.

Cue the one-time only chant of "Wolfie's got an 'ard on...Wolfie's got an 'ard on...la la la la..."
(Fri 7th Apr 2006, 21:02, More)
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