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» DIY Techno-hacks

I made this
well, actually, I bought the cabinet for fifty quid on ebay, renovated and refurbished it, and made it into this:

It glows in the dark, has over 3000 games, and is a magnet for the array of beer swilling animals who call themselves my friends (the top surface makes an ace pint shelf)

It's my new hobby, and it's great fun.
(Fri 21st Aug 2009, 16:37, More)

» Stupid Dares

Outraged, Lwr Scudless
I bought a pr0n video from a dodgy corner shop one day only to find that it was censored to hell and back, with less flesh on show than a taleban WI outing.

My mate Andy then dared me to take it back and complain if I was that bothered. So I did.

Marched into the (now busy) shop, slapped the video on the counter.

"I'd like my money back please, as this pornography you sold me is shit. There's no oral, no anal, no fannies, and the best part of it is on the floor in some studio."

'Errr, we can give you another one'

"No. I want my money back now please. Your porn is quite frankly sub-standard."

Whisked my tenner back off the cashier, and marched out, head held high.

Do me out of a hand-shandy eh? We'll see
(Thu 1st Nov 2007, 19:12, More)

» Spoilt Brats

Mobile sodding phones
Why do some cretins think that you want to hear what shit music they listen to on their phone? It escapes me, in all honesty. If it plays music, use the headphones - I neither want nor care to hear whatever you think passes for aural fun, ta.

Such it was that I found myself on a Glasgow tube, opposite one such runt. Particularly shitty day, exhausted and in no mood for anyone's pish. This pocket-based Jean Michel Jarre then proceeds to play some mind-numbingly crass tune on his phone, just for the entire carriages listening pleasure. Roughly 30 seconds pass before I lose the plot, and lean forwards, and in a voice like something from Amityville Horror, growl "Are you going to turn that off, or am I going to take it off you and stick it up your arse?"

The look on his face was priceless and worth every second. Stupid little twat. Fall under a train you execrable turd.

(I am very easy going. Stupidity or a lack of manners however just lights my fuse).
(Sun 12th Oct 2008, 22:11, More)

» Bastard Colleagues

No matter the job there's always one
Invariably they're managers, although some of my colleagues deserve a good slap at the best of times. Below is a summary of the idiocy I deal with (I do actually enjoy my job but fcuk me it attracts some proper mongs)

Tea Break: Why for example, slurp your tea and go "ahhhhh" after every mouthful? If it's too hot, blow on it for gods sake, or wait until it's cool, rather than acting like some sort of peasant at a trough?

The Foodie: If you're eating, it's good form to close your mouth when you eat so you dont sound like a particularly dodgy porn film.

Chewing Gum: For christs sakes, close your mouth if you need to use this stuff. Otherwise I just feel like slicing your tongue off.

Grossly uninformed opinions: I dont need to hear them to do my job, so just shut that flapping hole in your face before I do it for you (Classic example: "I don't think pro-lifers who kill doctors are idiots, I just think they're misguided")

Napolean Complex: being short and agressive doesn't make you a better person than me, indeed, were it to come down to physical confrontation (which you so clearly wish to provoke) then you'd be missing some fingers and possibly an eye you short-arsed little twit.

The Persistent Caller: If I dont answer my phone it's because I'm busy. Calling at 2 minute intervals for twenty minutes will not change this situation, nor make me more likely to take your call. Furthermore if you're going to call, leave a message, or I'll simply assume you just want a chat. Additionally, if I deign to answer, and explain that I'm busy and will get back to you, continuing to burble on will just have me reaching for the off button.

The Midas Touch: I'm bursting my pan in on a daily basis, and do not need to be told that I can save £10 per day by picking a shitter hotel than the one I'm currently in, nor do I need to be continually hassled for opting to pick a GPS option for my car (after all , EVERYONE has an in-built map of every foreign city in the world so needing SatNav is of course just a frivolous waste of cash)

The Martyr: I may be working away from home and therefore you may assume I have no life, however I still need time off, so don't assume that due to your piss poor planning and abysmal resource allocation that I'll work the weekend to cover your arse. The product is shit at worst and dysfunctional at best, and no amount of graft on my part will change a hugely entrenched corporate policy of employing fuckwits to develop it for you. Additionally, making me work 24/7 forces me to allocate time during the week for drink and drugs. Customers do not appreciate this.

Mr Party Line: Don't call me then ask to speak a colleague (invariably for a rambling chat or an idiots version of what we're doing) while I collect the whopping roaming charges - call them directly please, or I'll just hang up once we're done.

The Snob: I may be hungover, but as it stands I can do the job with my eyes closed and one hand behind my back, while you struggle to grasp basic concepts such as personal hygiene, common sense and logical analysis.

It wasn't like this in my day: Correct, because when you were on the tools, a bit and brace was the height of technological prowess. Acting like a complete cnut towards the engineers and gaffers who make that cash which keeps you in Mercedes SLR's and trophy girlfriends is the reason why you have slashed tires every weekend.

TPS Sheets: I've already given you the invoice for this months work - don't ask for the same bloody document and figures in a different format every few weeks or I'll just start expensing pornography, drink and drugs to spite you.
(Sat 26th Jan 2008, 17:33, More)

» Mugged

Mugged - fucksticks.
Years ago, walking down a relatively dodgey street in central Glasgow, me and two other guys are stopped and asked for directions by two *utter* scumbags, at which point mugger #1 reaches in his jacket and pulls out what appears (in my drunken state) to be a fully automatic pistol, and sticks it neatly under my mate's chin.

Oh dear.

Swift discussions ensue as to the authenticity of the gun from the guy who has it rammed under his chin - not the brightest thing, given the circumstances, and we eventually just drunkenly relinquish and say "oh for FUCKS sakes just give him your wallet so we can go home".

Ned #1 & #2 run off, then the adrenaline wears off, the threat of sobriety raises its ugly head, and we decide to report the incident to the cops at the station just round the corner - not thinking much could be done, but hey-ho, if they did catch them at least someone else wouldn't have to put up with the same experience.

Still worse the wear, we approach the incident desk and tell the duty copper what happened.

Literally, as soon as a gun was mentioned, the place was galvanized - two fully armed coppers appear in short order, and bundle two of us into a car to go and look for them. I stayed at the cop shop and had tea and bacon rolls. Result.

Apparently they caught up with the guys in under twenty minutes, held them at gunpoint, arrested, custody, etc etc, quite impressive so I'm told.

6-7 months later I pick up a copy of the Evening Times and see neds #1 and #2 on the front cover in a "Rogues Gallery" type banner page - GLASGOW'S CRACKDOWN ON CRIME i think was the headline, and the presiding judge had decided to set an example of our two aquantainces (along with every other unfortunate sod in the dock that day).

10 years each - that'll learn the fuckers.
(Sat 17th Jun 2006, 21:29, More)
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