b3ta.com user Sir Jester
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» Awesome Sickies

Reverse Sickies
Last time I wanted a sickie, I was actually SICK...! Start of a bad headache and I tells wifey - "Shit, don't feel good. Head is pounding".

I wasn't expecting nor hoping for the sympathetic, "Awww poor thing, you go back to bed and sleep it off, then I'll come in later to wake you up with a nice, soothing head compress and snuggle in bed with you then.."

Nor was I expecting yet GOT the so very much more unsympathetic, "yeah, and what are you going to do all day - lounge around and surf on the computer all day.."

So what would any hen-pecked and beaten husband do but drag myself off to work only to have to explain to her a week later when the paycheck came in a little short - a full day in fact - that seeing I am on contract and get paid for every hour I actually work and also seeing that I managed ZERO hours of work that day suffering the effects of a full-blown migraine and that I couldn't claim any hours for work: In fact I had to sit at my desk all day and surf the net whilst the meds kicked in as I had nowhere to lie down.

So now... when I want to slack off and surf the net all day, I just tell her "I have to work" on the Saturday and come into the office in a "taking a sickie from home" kind of way.

She loves me though.... even with all the extra hard work I put in at the office.

And to cover the paycheck increase whilst not actually doing any extra work....? I just didn't tell her of the last payrise or two.

Now, whatever you do, DO NOT "I like This", 'cos the only B3TA QOTW posts she reads (on the very odd occasions that she desicdes to snoop in on what I am doing) are the BEST ones.

Length... It's never enough for her, is it..!?
(Fri 9th Jun 2006, 8:23, More)

» My sex misconceptions

Don't think it was a misconception....
.. more of a misguidance. Or maybe misconceptions after the fact.

A number of years ago a friends (then) 11 year old son was telling his mother of their sex education classes. Ash was grade six in primary school. The class was run by a lady doctor from the state education department.

I remember my own Sex Ed classes were held in year 9 at high school. When I was 14.

Ash went on to tell his mother that the first period started with the teacher talking of the female side of the equation, breaking the ice with a question, "Can anyone tell me another name for a Vagina". The first shy hands wet up and answered along the lines of Pussy, Quim, Cooch, Chuff, Minge etc (bearing in mind these were all relatively innocent 11 year olds) and then the shyest of shy timidly calls out "Cunt, miss" and amidst all the laughter the teacher held her composure in check and repied, "Yes, that's the most common you usually hear. Now any more..?" The lesson ended shortly after having the basics of female anatomy and development explained and questions answered.

At this point in having the story related to me, I was saying how rather impressed I was at the teacher’s ability to get the kids to be comfortable and open about the topic.

The second period began in a similar vein, this time with “another name for a penis”. Apparently the boys in the class outdid themselves this time and had a ball. Figuratively speaking. Again the period ended with the basics of male anatomy and development and ended in a Q&A session.

Now, at the time, I had a 7 year old son and knew that one day I would have to broach the birds and the bees subject at some time and was rather impressed at this approach to sex education. But wait, I was told, there was more…!

The final session was all about the actual mechanics of sex. Its why’s and wherefore’s…..The ins and outs you may say.

Ash had explained that after the initial discomfort on the subject the whole class was enjoying the Sex Ed periods. He had learned the truth behind a lot of his own sexual misconceptions at the time. Seeing that most of that came from South Park, I could understand why – although I never had the heart (or balls) to correct him in his usage of Cartmans mother’s misheard expression “Rim Jaw”.

However, even MY jaw dropped on the answer to one of the final Sex Ed questions. One kid in Ash’s class asked the teacher, “What’s BUTTFUCKING”…. To which, the teacher’s straight faced reply was, “Well, that is something that South Africans do..”. And from that day on, the only South African kid in the class was nicknamed “Eddie the Buttfucker”.

Poor Kid.
(Tue 30th Sep 2008, 11:45, More)

» Darwin Awards

I always look forwards to the weekend...
..... to have the sunday potatoes, pumpkin, carrots and a PEAROAST..!!


And then there's the part two:

Decoking 2 stroke expansion chambers with a drill and a length of old brake cable.

Attaching a 3ft length of flexible cable to a hand drill, inserting the cable down the exhaust and pulling the trigger really won't budge the soot, as I found out - it's just like trying to use a 3ft long 4mm drill bit. Straight as a die. So I grabbed the cable and kinked it into half a dozen bends so it looked like a zig-zag.

Now we have some action - a LOT of clanging and rattling inside the exhaust as the bent cable spins wildly at somewhere around the drill's 2000RPM. Stop. Bang pipe and dislodge a handfull of soot. Nice. And repeat.

I really could not believe how much crap was coming out... even after half a dozen sorties of clanging and cleaning. So, to speed up the process I start to "drill" the cable in and out of the pipe hoping to get the kinks into bends that may have been missed.

It was all going swimmingly until I pulled the spinning drill out just a little too far out of the exhaust and am now faced, literally, with a madly flailing 3ft long, 4mm thick "whipper snipper".

Bear in mind that I was sitting and holding the exhaust between my legs, so when the helicoptering wire broke loose I managed to let go of the exhaust and cover my face with one free hand as I released the trigger of the drill in the other. The exhaust, now free to fall to the ground and in doing so exposes the one place I should have protected FIRST.

And that is when I remembered about momentum - the wire swung another couple of revolutions throuh the air and cut a terrifying arc in a whipping fashion, missing BOTH my legs. But the pain I felt from what it DID hit was tremendous.

That was over 20 years ago and I think my voice is only now starting to return to the lower registers.

So true to the Darwin Awards nomination criteria, Ladies and Gentlemen, that is how I very nearly did wipe away all possibilities of my adding to the gene pool. Thankfully I didn't receive enough votes for the win and was allowed to father the two children I now have.
(Fri 13th Feb 2009, 5:14, More)

» Eccentrics

Hello Man.
Not like, "Hey Dude, how's it going".. but more literally "the man who would say hello." To five, 3-8 year olds siblings in my family the most ingenious name we could give him was "The Hello Man".

This was 30-35 years ago.

Just like all young kids would run outside to greet the icecream van as it played its Greensleeves tune and wave it by, wishing that one day it would stop and for once not be empty, we would watch the world go by from the front verandah waiting for the Hello Man to pass. Without fail, every Saturday and Sunday of every weekend of every month of the year at around 5pm he would appear - walking down our side of the street with the daily paper under one arm and a bag of groceries in the other hand.

His age would have been anyone's guess but to my 5 year old mind at the time he was ancient. Not the 30-40 years that kids typically believe to be "ancient", but proper old. Greyed hair, time-lined face, an aged but ever-clean suit and a hat that nowadays I am reminded of in the old 50's movies. Even at my age then I knew he had lived a long life. I wished a contented life. Back then I always felt him to be in his 80's. I still do.

I always considered him to maybe have lived alone. Maybe he didnt have any grand kids. Maybe his wife had passed and his weekend ritual was something that helped fill his final days.

The Hello Man would shuffle down the street toward our house and any of the five us home would rush to the veranda with cries of, "The Hello Man's coming. The Hello Man's coming," and wait. As he passed the halfway point of the property, directly at the end of the path that led to our front door, we would call out "Hello" in unison and wave frantically, with big smiles on our faces. He would *always* turn to look at us as he continued his passage and offer a kindly and sweet, "Hello" reply along with a slow and meaningful wave of his hand.

We then watched til he continued down the road then rushed back in to continue our play. This was like a routine for us and I'd like to think, for him also.

I looked back years later, many years ago to realise that this man was the closest I had ever been to any elderly person that my childhood mind had known - my family emigrated to Australia before I was 12 months old and all my grandparents had passed many years beforehand. So you could say that one of my own Eccentricities here was to see the Hello Man as my own version of my grandparents - You watch them come and go and are always excited to see them.

Now, here I could go on and say how one day I watched him pass and somehow I knew that was the last I would ever see of him. But I won't. I really can't recall either when he stopped passing by or if I simply stopped looking for him to come.

Time came to pass and all I know is that I never got to say Goodbye to the Hello man.
(Mon 3rd Nov 2008, 2:17, More)

» Being told off as an adult

My mate Mal....
.... was in the lounge watching sport on TV with his 18 year old son one afternoon. His wife enters the room from the door behind his chair and asks them both to get and do something constructive instead of watching TV all day, seeing that she's in the laundry doing the wash.

Without taking his eyes of the match he replies, "Yes dear."

A few moments pass and Mal asks his son, "What was it your mother wanted...? All I heard was Blah.. Blah.. Blah.. Blah", moving his hand like a sock-puppet without the sock.

He looks over to his son who's now turned a bettroor-red and from behind him, Mal hears, "I. Am. Still. In. The. Room."

The funeral was yesterday...

Heh - he lost all his "rights" for the week. And had to wash and iron his own clothes.

He also now knows it is not EVER worth talking back to his wife when has something in her hand - especially a steaming hot iron..!
(Fri 21st Sep 2007, 10:57, More)
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