» Oldies vs Computers

WOOFIRST! But not, actually. verdammt.
My dad does not have an affinity for computers, or indeed many electrical devices.

We were in a university talk on fees and being an engineering course everyone is quite geeky which extends to parents. So the guy at the front says something that sends everybody for their calculators.

Theres tapping, and then theres a noise unlike any other. A swish-clack, swish-clack noise.

My dad had pulled a slide rule from his pocket.
(Fri 22nd Sep 2006, 14:16, More)

» Putting the Fun in Funeral

Not quite the QOTW, but close.
First, as with my last post, a little backstory.

My school is a head-up-its-own-arse grammar school in Plymouth, that may or may not be titled evenport-day igh-hay chool-say for oys-bay. At the end of GCSEs I was told I couldnt do maths at my school for A level, since I got one mark under the grade boundary for an A. By the by and I find a place at the Girls version of my fine* insitution, and start going in a taxi along with other guys for various lessons to the girls school several times a week.

I fell in with a bunch of very nice girls, with Nice being the main descriptor. Since they often didnt say a lot, I would often breeze in of a morning/lunch hour before my afternoon lesson and say "Bloody hell, you're quiet. Has someone died, or something?"

Of course, you can see where this is going.

I turn up one morning and everyone is, as usual, pretty quiet. I remark my oft-told line, only to get the response:

"Yeah, someone has, actually." Since this comes from my best friend of the group I think its just her taking the piss a little so I play along.

"Yeah? What of?"

"Leukemia."

"No shit. Popular kid?"

"Very," she says, passing me a school notice and invite to all and sundry to attend remberance service, "The funeral's tommorow."

"Ah." I say, with everyone looking at me with daggers for eyes, "FUCK."

...but thats not all. Oh no.

I come in on the lunchtime a day later, and since my afternoon lesson is cancelled due to rememberance service, the first thing out of my mouth is "Great! Whod've thought I owe a dead person a favour!"

Her best friend in the sixth form was sitting not two feet away. We havent spoken for a year and a half.

Was it something I said?

*might be a crock.
(Thu 11th May 2006, 18:16, More)

» Airport Stories

Oh, a few...
Its not often I go on a plane, but the times I have have led to some unforgettable memories.

First trip to Australia,2001. Heathrow-Dubai-Singapore-Melbourne, visiting family. Me and mum have seats right at the very fucking back of the plane, and end up speaking to the air wenches for much of the flight. Get off at Melbourne with two straining carrier bags full of the mini white wine bottles they serve in first class. Score.

Return trip. During the course of the holiday mum's picked up a didgeridoo. Not a small touristy thing, oh no. Six foot black torpedo of wood, and I had to carry the fucking thing round the airport, its getting on for the better part of a stone in weight which on your average 11 year olds shoulder with a needle thin strap is annoying as buggery. Get to the check-in desk.

Check in fool: Im sorry, but that didge needs to go in the cargo.

Me: Really? Whys that?

CiF: It can be used as a hand weapon. You could try and attack people with it.

Me, after looking at him to check hes not joking: Its six foot long, weighs a ton. Im a weak little bugger. Theres no way I could try and swing it in that flying coffin.

CiF: Rules is rules,mate.

The thing went in the hold. WE get home and we find its got a crack for fully halfway along its length.

Second trip to australia, 2005. The brother tags along with me and mum this time. In Dubai we've got a fairly long wait. Mums vanished looking at the big gold counter they've got there. Alex and I spot one of those baggage carts they use for ferrying invalids around with, recently vacated with the keys hanging from the ignition. We share a significant look.

'Lex: How long before they'd catch us?

Me: I dunno. I'd quite like to keep my hands, though.

'Lex: Good point. Well saved, there.

The journey home was quite savage. We got to Dubai, and at that point I hadnt had a shit for about three days. I head straight for the gents to try and put king kong to shame, but theres a queue that stretches nearly completely around the lavs. When I eventually get a cubicle, its one of those things where you have to squat down and shit over the hole. After about ten minutes of straining, nothings happening, and I'm nearly overbalancing on these fucking little platforms. I resolve to wait till I'm on the plane.

Two hours later, I bolt the lav door and sit down, and try again. Five minutes of near-blood-vessel-bursting strain, I finally manage to get this mammoth turd out with a thud that shakes the seat. And other people,apparently. I walked out of the lav to see a hostess trying desperately not to laugh.

Her: Are you alright, sir?

Me: Yeah. Remember, a split ring is not just a car part.

FIRST POST WOOPWOOPWOOP!

Apologies for length and girth, but bloody hell, I didnt half feel good after I got rid of it.
(Wed 8th Mar 2006, 12:55, More)

» Dentists

I was my own dentist.
When I was in year 8/9, and was getting a load of new teeth (very reasonable prices, aha!) I had to endure the annoyance of loose, wobbly teeth.

But no, not I! I'm a grammar school student, I thought, I dont have to put with this shit like the other morons.

So I got an assload of bonjela, shoved it onto my gums around my loose teeth, and got a pair of pliers.

I removed three of my teeth that way.
(Thu 2nd Nov 2006, 15:26, More)

» Best Graffiti Ever

Well, its not quite graffiti...
..but its still pretty fucking hilarious.

Somewhere in Reading/Didcot around there, backing onto the railway is a large warehouse, with a very large, distinctive sign.

It reads, in eight foot letters:

SCATS COUNTRY SUPPLIES

(Think about it phonetically....)
(Fri 4th May 2007, 13:51, More)