» Missing body parts

My frontal lobe
No not that one you filthy minded cretins, the rather important part of your brain.

Back when I still lived with my mum, I was sitting watching TV whilst furiously snaffling down my dinner, I had a bit of a cold at the time and I let rip with an almighty sneeze that loosened my eyeballs in their sockets.

As you do, I inspected the fruit of my nose that had come to rest in my snotrag, to discover an inch long quivering, lumpy red mass.
Somewhat disconcerted, I poked at it a bit and concluded that I had just SNEEZED MY OWN BRAIN OUT.

Cue me running, eyes goggled in terror, to my mum convinced I'd snotted out a chunk of my brain, never once stopping to think that the product of my nosesplosion might have been one of the chunks of beetroot I had been greedily stuffing inside me.

I was 18 at the time.
(Tue 6th Jun 2006, 10:49, More)

» Rock and Roll Stories

David and Goliath
Slightly off topic but involving rock, and a sock. Names changed to protect the
involved, and because I can't remember them.

Once upon a time in Nottingham Rock City there was a drunken punter named David
and a surly bouncer named Goliath. Now David must have looked at Goliath in the
wrong way or made comments about his mother or been wearing the wrong shoes or
something, because Goliath decided to knock David unconcious, totally ruining
his night.

When he recovered from his ordeal, David planned his revenge.
A week or so later Goliath was again guarding the doors to rock city, jostling
gig-goers and grabbing meaty handfulls of underage girl's girly bits. So our
hero cooly walked into the scream bar on the corner, removed a sock and filled
it with 2 pool balls then secreted the sock sling in his pocket and marched off
to confront Goliath.

"Oi Goliath! Remember me?" David demanded, jabbing the bouncer in the chest.
"Yeah. You're that little cnut I sparked out last week." came Goliath's
response.
"Yeah? Well remember this!"
Faster than greased lightning David grabbed his pool ball sock sling and swung
with all his might at the bouncer's head and...

Gently patted the giant bouncer's cheek with a wooly sock.
David had held
the wrong end of his cosh and the balls had fallen out into his pocket.

Now I'm sure most of you have experienced that moment of panic when your pupils
dilate, you exhale and inhale at the same time and you freeze just after you've
done something incredibly stupid and dangerous and your brain is frantically
trying to figure out a solution to your stupidity. Then all of a sudden there is
that moment of clarity when you calm down and realise exactly what to do, well
this was one of those moments. David knew exactly what he had to do, it was...

Hit Goliath again with the sock! Hit the giant violent bouncer again and again
with the woolen sock until he was dead.
David withdrew his sock from Goliath's growling mug and pulled his arm back for
another wallop and....

Woke up in hospital for the 2nd weekend running.
(Mon 3rd Jul 2006, 9:12, More)

» Never Meet Your Heroes

David Bellamy
Thinks I control birds minds by radio signals.
I work for a company that makes silent alarm networks for caravan parks, and it's my job to ring up these parks and see if everything is working fine.
So earlier this year I made my usual call to a park in Wales, the salesman on the other end said everything was fine but they had David Bellamy down there kicking up a fuss because of me. "THE David Bellamy? What watches birds and that? What have I done to him?" I asked "Hold on, I'll put him on" said the salesman. So he did.

"Hello, David Bellamy here. Yes I want you to come here and meet me so we can discuss the distress your alarms are causing the birds in Wales."

"But they're silent alarms."

"Yes I know that, it's the radio frequency y'see? It's affecting their heads and distressing them. I want you to meet me when I'm here again on monday next week."

So slightly starstruck, I agreed and arranged a time and date to meet him. I came back down to earth though when I told the story to my boss and he reminded me that I am a lowly office worker and that what I just told him made no sense. So I took the advice of this week's QOTW and never met him.
I can imagine old Bellers now, sitting in a caravan in a muddy field somewhere in Wales waiting for me, not knowing I would never arrive. Wearing a tin-foil hat to protect him from the deadly radio waves from the alarms and conversing with the sparrows and seagulls. But not the blackbirds, he's a bit like that you know.
(Tue 30th May 2006, 14:40, More)

» Useless advice

All credit to my friend Richard for this...
Signs on pub doors or shops that read

"No dogs allowed, except guide dogs"

Now who reads that, the blind man or the guide dog?
(Fri 20th Oct 2006, 18:48, More)

» Running away

I ran away from running away.
Last year I was working for a sales company named Cobra, which was pretty much an evil cult. People disappeared and were never spoken of again, I worked 10am til 11pm on the streets selling gas and electricity to Alzheimer's sufferers, non-anglophones and cripples and finished the day with a happy clappy dance and ringing a bell with all the other cultists.

Anyway, one day my leader (yes, 'leader') called me to say that the office was closing the next day and I'd have to move to Coventry if I wanted a shot at the big time.
So, being the moron that I am, I loaded my suit and packets of cheesy wotsits into my car, on being asked by my Mum where I was going I just said
"Coventry"
"Why? For how long?"
"Forever, seeya"
She cried and I ran away from home.

For 2 weeks I lived in a Formule 1 hotel with a Mexican named Edgar, a big black dude called Nathan and a dog called JJ, we had to share a double bed but we were working all day so we didn't care.

Eventually I came to my senses (after a near bum raping by a Coventry native) and refused to go to work one day. I went back to my hotel, packed my cases, threw the dog out the window (ground floor) and left my team to it (I had 2 people working for me that I'd recruited from the streets, one called Dicky Henrys and another who couldn't speak a word of english). I ran away again.

I started driving, not knowing why or where I was going so using my retarded sense of geography I called my friend Rob who lived in Bristol to see what he was up to. He had just graduated, a full on rock session was called for.

I arrived in Bristol still wearing my suit and tie and explained the situation to Rob, we went out and got conclusively drunk.
I decided we were going to France, we booked the Ferry tickets and a few days later set off in my car.

We began a week of drunken lunacy involving escaping from a camp site, drunk driving, shitting on the Eiffel Tower, wearing berets and being kicked out of youth hostels.

At the end of the week we were burnt out and my Mum kept ringing me but I just put the phone down as answering it would cost me money.

So, a month after running away from home I returned and my Mum asks

"Where have you been? I've been ringing you I thought you'd been mugged or killed or something! Nobody knew where you were!"

"Yeah I went to France, I've quit my job by the way."

Then I went to bed. I run away the hardest.


i13.photobucket.com/albums/a276/stevemotron/bigwhiskey.jpg
I can't think of a better reason to run away than a bottle of whiskey almost as big as a man, can you?
(Fri 11th Aug 2006, 14:58, More)