b3ta.com user Jimtastic
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Ooh, an online profile. Anyone would think I was some sort of Internet geek...


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» Why will you burn in hell?

Highway to hell
The sun was blazing off the windscreens of passing cars, the sky was clear, the recycled air was awash with upbeat rock from the stereo - it was a good day to be driving on our fair nation's motorway system. Ahead of me was a coach, the large kind often used to ferry airport-goers and the elderly, in the middle lane. I was to its right in a gradual overtaking position, and looking ahead did spy what is I suppose a fairly familiar sight - a bunch of school kids leering out the back window and exercising their wrists in a vigorous manner designed to imply - quite correctly - that I was a wanker.
I'm an easy-going, devil-may-care kind of guy, but that glorious day I was having none of it. So, as I approached in my overtaking manoeuvre I extended my left arm - still keeping my eyes of the road of course - and delivered a steady and determined middle finger that Johnny Cash would have been proud of.
As I came up alongside the bus, I glanced upward at its steamed windows, to see a group of smiling children with Down's syndrome waving excitedly at me...

My attempt to morph my bird into a reciprocated wave was the epitome of pathetic-ness. Funny how wrong you can be with the sun in your eyes.
(Thu 12th Jul 2012, 18:00, More)

» World's Sickest Joke

Hitler's last words:
I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those pesky yids.
(Mon 12th Dec 2005, 10:05, More)

» Your Weirdest Teacher

They had it coming
This isn't really about strange teachers, but it is about strange things happening to them...

I once had a history teacher, let’s call him Mr B. He was a twat who taught us exactly the same lessons every year in spite of our advancing age and growing ability. He also played the guitar, which he thought made him ‘cool’.

One day, a friend and I hit upon a smashing idea. I drew a piss-poor likeness of Mr B on a sheet of A4 paper (complete with guitar), and myself and said friend proceeded to stick drawing pins in it.

That was a Friday. The next Monday, we returned to school to see that Mr B was not in attendance. As the day progressed, we learned that he had in fact been beaten up in pub car park on the Friday night! Result!

The delight of this tale passed into legend in the coming years (ie everyone forgot about it), until my A Level days, when I and my fellow classmates had the misfortune of being stuck with a retarded Chemistry teacher, Miss N, who we all knew had scraped through her chemistry degree with a 3rd. She spent every lesson chatting to a small clique at the front of the class, was unable to answer any questions relating to ‘chemistry’ (which I seriously suspect she knew nothing about) and as a result myself and many others failed her class. She was also a liar who kept pretending to have left the marked copies of our mock exam papers behind in her locker, before eventually casually telling us that she hadn’t marked them at all. Something had to be done.

So, in the A Level common room, over a fine school lunch of burgers and chips, I drew on an A4 sheet a shockingly bad visage of Miss N. Then I put pins in it. And so did everyone else. Then I tore bits of the face out, crumpled it up and we threw it around playing catch (and stamping it underfoot). Then I took it to the urinals in the gents, and several of us took it in turn to relieve our bladders over it.

The result? A week later she was sacked! Hurrah!

Of course, this was all due to my immense magical powers, and not the fact that all her students were failing and all the other teachers knew she thought ‘chemistry’ is where you go to get thrush treatments. The End.

Ah, as the smoker said of the ball of phlegm, I’m glad I got that off my chest.

PS I do occasionally feel pangs of voodoo guilt for Mr B – being beaten up is truly horrible and no laughing matter. I don’t feel guilt over Miss N, however. She was a cunt.
(Thu 10th Nov 2005, 13:05, More)