b3ta.com user mmmm curry
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Born in the year of The Terminator.
I have no artistic skill. This is shown by posting crap on the board.
My idiocy retellings have only made the newsletter once. I can only hope that is because the rest of the idiocy isn't really that bad, or at the very least uninteresting.

Recent front page messages:


Best answers to questions:

» Housemates from hell

not quite from hell... but one of my housemates have left this for me to deal with over the 5 weeks of the easter holidays

That *was* white rice a few weeks ago. It's now bright orange with bits of grey. There was a spoon in there, but it has been absorbed by the scary orange cloud mould. Click "I like this" and I'll open the lid...

Edit: You people are sadists. Pot is now safely in shed.

Look at the poor spoon!

(Thu 5th Apr 2007, 23:44, More)

» I Drank Meths (pointless teenage things you did to shock)

Bugs are scary.
My mother pretty much let me do anything. Which meant I was a bit stuck. She was however, a rather tidy and clean person, and the house was always spotless. So I did the only thing I could do and turned my bedroom into some sort of fungi and mould breeding ground.

I walk along. I tread on something. A bug. Can't quite work out what it is. Looks like a cockroach. I'm terrified of bugs in general, let alone cockroaches. I call my mum into the room.


mother: "yes?"

me: "bug. scary. what is it?"

mother: "ahh, that's a cockroach"

me: "AAARRGGHHHHH" lots of mental images of huge swarms of cockroaches climbing up my legs, or over my body at night...

mother: "They get everywhere, they can lay eggs everywhere y'know. I'll have to call the council"

me: (fearing some local paper showing my room) "nooooooooooooo"

Cue cleaning frenzy. I threw out my mattress, all my bedlinen, all my clothing, my bed (one of those stretched fabric over wood things), my carpet. I then spent 3 days pouring bleach in the gap between the skirting board and the floorboards, and on every surface I could find. I then went without a mattress for about 6 months until my brother got a new one and I got his old one, and finally brought a bed a few years later.

One of the odd things was that I kept pouring bleach on my toolbox, then coming back "ARGH eggs" then pour more bleach on. Took me a few weeks to realise it was the dried up bleach I was seeing, not more cockroach eggs.

Last summer, now I am well and truely far away from my parents and have been for over a few years, I bring up the subject. My mother starts laughing.

"It was a water beetle. There's a nest under the house. We only said it so you would tidy up the room."

"so you let me go without a bed for 4 years because you wanted me to tidy my room?"

"well, it worked, didn't it?"

Cow. But fair play.
(Thu 19th Jul 2007, 14:21, More)

» Helicopter Parents

We'll call him Chris as that's fairly easy to follow. This is the man whose stupidity combined with mine on holiday generated 12k hits on a photography site. But he was a well grounded and resourceful fellow, and happened to be a Scout leader.

There was the usual lark that goes with teenage scouting (especially with the girls) and big camping trips with massive marquee-type tents. 20-odd boys, 10-14 years old all on their own for the first time.

12 year old boy comes up to Chris with a packet of crisps. He asks:

Kid: "Can I have a pack of crisps?"
Chris: "Sure, go ahead. You can help yourself to anything in the snacks trunk"
Kid: "er, ok."
Kid hands the crisps to Chris. Chris is a bit confused at this point.

Kid: "Er, can you open the pack?"
"Can't you do it?"
"Er, my mum says I'm not allowed to."
*slightly stunned 19 year old ginger blokey stammers for a bit, then composes self*
*kid looks a bit hurt at not being believed* "Yes!"
"Well, you're allowed to open packets of crisps here."
"Er, ok. Can you do it anyway?"
*smile* "If you want those crisps enough, you'll get them open."

And apparently he managed it.

Scouting 1. Overprotective parenting: 0. Yay!
(Thu 10th Sep 2009, 18:07, More)

» Letters they'll never read

A little rewrite on a topic I've done before somewhere else
Dear Potential Friend that I met at gathering,

I like you. I really do. I really liked your jokes and when you said Jimmy Carr was annoying I was in full agreement. I thought us and the rest of the group had a wonderful evening.

But I'm quiet. That's just who I am. This doesn't mean I'm a stuck up cow, or didn't like you. I just find it hard to talk. In a group like the one we were in yesterday evening I just listen and listen and then it’s apparently time to go home. What? Already? I was warming up to say a lovely anecdote about the dog you mentioned...

I discovered I was quiet during of all things, a LAN event. An incredibly drunk person I know a few years ago pointed at me and says “YOU! You’re so quiet!”

I am? Really? This baffled my sober and tired self, which confused his drunken and hyperactive self.

More eloquent or bitchy types would bounce back with renditions of “well if you just shut up I’d have a chance!” I’m not like that. I’m nice. I want to be liked, and to be seen as nice. So interrupting is to be avoided. So is dominating the conversation, hijacking the topic and various other sins. This then leaves me in a situation of constantly deliberating every future conversation move, pondering what to say, and then by the time I’ve worked something out it’s all changed.

Then someone being socially considerate like you notices and asks me a question. I’ve spent the past few minutes processing the previous topic so I can say something that might be interesting or useful. Unfortunately, that’s not what you’re being asked about seeing as the rest of the group moved on ages ago. So I mumbled something incoherent like “errr, ok, I guess?” and there’s a brief silence and then someone loud and articulate rescues me with “Well, that reminds me of…” OR I plough on and accidentally imply that I like fornicating with goats.

Goats are fine creatures of course, but I think the person in the group who donates to the RSPCA may suddenly have issues with me. Heaven forbid I try to remember a joke… since when could people ever remember a clean joke? I consume b3ta like it's nutella on toast covered in dopamine sprinkles. I blink, think… and all that comes into my head are dead babies and wife beaters. Or I'm with the people you know who like sick jokes? All I can remember is my childhood fascination with Sydney Youngblood.

I love people, really. I love parties, and gatherings despite my silence and soberness. I’m not anti-social - I just don’t want to say I’m humping goats.

(Thu 4th Mar 2010, 15:46, More)

» The Weird Kid In Class

My brother
And no, I'm not going to post some hilarious story about him.

He had at the time what was called "behavioural difficulties" - eventually diagnosed many years later as mild autism. By then it was far too late to actually be able to do anything.

My school were complete twunts to him. They:

- Got him to expose himself to a load of people when he was 13.

- Constantly asked him idiotic questions designed to trip him up and say something that wasn't true, then constantly taunt him about what he'd said. Running jokes seemed to be about the suggestion of incest or that he wore a certain type of pyjamas. Sounds silly, but he really didn't understand so he just got the frustration and hurt and nothing else.

- Egged him on to dance at the school disco on the stage, laughing at him as he did it, jeering.

- Put paint in his bag - wtf?

-Threw all manner of hard objects at him, including pens, pencils, bricks, stones, twigs, anything really.

- Surrounded him in a big group, and proceeded to beat the crap out of him. FOR NO REASON. Quite a few times. He hid that, but I managed to catch them one day :S

- Yell at him and call him fat (he wasn't) during the cross country run.

- Blocked his exit to the schoolbus so he couldn't leave to go home, and wouldn't let him off until he was at least a few miles from home

The doctor took one look at him when he was in year 9, and signed him off school sick for 6 months to give him time to recover (almost all of his hair had fallen out by then). My mother then set about fighting the council and getting him in a proper school.

There is fuckloads more that they did to him. Some of it was just completely bizzare. So he wasn't the weird one. He was a kid with mild autism. The sadistic fuckers at his and my school were the weird ones.

Sorry, you can go back to looking at nerds going "yes I was the weird one lolz"
(Fri 19th Jan 2007, 23:01, More)
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