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Probably the best B3TAN in my house....
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Human male
Probably the best B3TAN in my house....
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Housemates
(Not) another when I was at uni story.......
The first rule in my old student house was that if you fell asleep with your shoes on, you were fair game for a few pranks.
One of my housemates, Dan (A gentleman and a scholar to boot) had a habit of getting drunk, falling asleep on the sofa and snoring so loud the window panes would rattle.
We did the usual: shaving foam, permanent marker etc, we even had the occasional game of human buck-a-roo. It all became a bit of a routine and started to wear thin.
One night Dan came home around 11pm. He collapsed on the sofa, a bit worse for wear, and promptly fell asleep accompanied by the foghorn snoring. I managed to partially rouse him a couple of times and enquire if he would get his arse in bed so that I could continue watching TV in peace, but he was not for moving.
Then I had a lightbulb moment, Our 2 female housemates were out on the lash and would be back with some of their freinds later on. I changed the channel on the sky box (posh student house, original wooden floors and all that shit) to one of those soft-porn-premium-phoneline-chat-to-a-silicone-filled-umpalumpa-for-£15/min efforts, I made sure it was a particularly ropey looking specimen. I then proceeed to pull his trousers and boxers down a bit, put the TV remote in one of his hands and put the other one on his old chap and fucked off to bed.
The girls (about 6 of them I was told) came back and found him, and then woke him up.....once he realised where he was and what was happening he turned a funny shade of red and legged it up to his room.
My only regret is that I did not capture the perfect kodak moment.
I have never revealed to Dan that I set the whole thing up, he will never live it down, getting 'caught' pulling his pud over a wrinkly ronseal slapper.
Length, well the girls got an eyefull.....
(Sun 1st Mar 2009, 19:29, More)
(Not) another when I was at uni story.......
The first rule in my old student house was that if you fell asleep with your shoes on, you were fair game for a few pranks.
One of my housemates, Dan (A gentleman and a scholar to boot) had a habit of getting drunk, falling asleep on the sofa and snoring so loud the window panes would rattle.
We did the usual: shaving foam, permanent marker etc, we even had the occasional game of human buck-a-roo. It all became a bit of a routine and started to wear thin.
One night Dan came home around 11pm. He collapsed on the sofa, a bit worse for wear, and promptly fell asleep accompanied by the foghorn snoring. I managed to partially rouse him a couple of times and enquire if he would get his arse in bed so that I could continue watching TV in peace, but he was not for moving.
Then I had a lightbulb moment, Our 2 female housemates were out on the lash and would be back with some of their freinds later on. I changed the channel on the sky box (posh student house, original wooden floors and all that shit) to one of those soft-porn-premium-phoneline-chat-to-a-silicone-filled-umpalumpa-for-£15/min efforts, I made sure it was a particularly ropey looking specimen. I then proceeed to pull his trousers and boxers down a bit, put the TV remote in one of his hands and put the other one on his old chap and fucked off to bed.
The girls (about 6 of them I was told) came back and found him, and then woke him up.....once he realised where he was and what was happening he turned a funny shade of red and legged it up to his room.
My only regret is that I did not capture the perfect kodak moment.
I have never revealed to Dan that I set the whole thing up, he will never live it down, getting 'caught' pulling his pud over a wrinkly ronseal slapper.
Length, well the girls got an eyefull.....
(Sun 1st Mar 2009, 19:29, More)
» Pubs
Guiness is not a suitable boatrace beverage....how I lost two whole days to the black death....
Long time lurkage....first time posting....
It’s long so bear with me...
From the age of 16 or so my merry bunch of friends and I patronised a popular local pub down the road. Twas a blissful place... staff that were easy on the eye, honest decent clientele and a landlord with a relaxed attitude to the prevailing licensing laws of the time. (Sadly, tis no longer the aforementioned happy place as the landlord has moved on and the notrights, chavs and assorted scumbags have slowly taken over). Over time we were accepted into the inner circle of the pub's regulars and were invited to join in Dave the landlord's extra curricular activities.
The usual modus operandi after 11pm would be for the chosen few to move into the tap room whilst the riff raff were herded out of the exits, the doors were bolted, blackout curtains drawn and the jukebox and pool table set to free play and the drinks would flow. The bar operated on a serve yourself policy, noting down what you had in the little black book and you settled your tab once a week. If we were feeling peckish, the fryers would be lit and chip butties prepared. The system worked as everyone respected Dave and his hospitality.
Often we would drink through the night and wander home whilst the milkman was doing his thing....good times.
One such night, between Christmas and New Year as I recall, my mate Greg had been nominated to serve all present in lieu of punishment for a previous school boy error which escapes my memory. He took his punishment graciously and performed his duties as bar keep in good spirit. We were on the the Guinness and a jolly good time was being had by all present. The challenge of a boatrace was laid down by one of the old boys. Not wanting to shy away from a bit of banter and also being fairly sure of ourselves after a skinful, we obliged and 2 teams of 4 were formed and 8 pints of the black gold lined up on the bar.
Dave started the proceedings and we won the first heat by a considerable margin (I can down a Guinness without coming up for air).
The old boys understandably wanted a rematch, yet more Guinness was poured whilst I frequented the gents. On my return I was handed a pint of the black stuff and took my place as tail end charlie in the 'boat' and the race commenced. The progress was notably slower this time, the previous pint laying heavy in our stomachs. As it came to me it was neck and neck, I chugged for England but alas it was a dead heat.
I set my empty vessel on the bar, and took a seat; something wasn't right, I had a funny taste in my mouth and could feel a low grumble from the pit of my stomach. I put it down to the brain fog descending after a few too many and decided to 'man up' and join my companions at the bar. Greg handed me another pint and the score had to be settled.
Once again I took my place and did what needed to be done... I don’t know who won or lost, nor did I care.
It turns out that Greg and Dave had been doctoring my pints with a not insignificant quantity of paint stripper masquerading as cheapest of the cheap white rum.
I passed out and I’m told by Greg that he bundled me in a taxi to his house, and manhandled me on to his sofa.
I have no recollection of coming to slightly as Greg’s dog licked my face, nor do I remember getting up ranting and then running out of the house into to the December darkness in t shirt and running as fast and as far as I could whilst Greg was in pursuit to see I came to no harm. When he caught me I got him in a headlock and threw him into a bush, that’s what friends are for right? I don't remember any of this.
Fuck knows how I got home, must have been the beer scooter, when I did I left the front door not only unlocked, but wide open.
My mother, bless her cotton socks, tried to rouse me well into the following afternoon when several family members turned up for obligatory seasonal pleasantries. I'm told that when informed of their imminent arrival, I enquired if they had made an appointment to see me. Needless to say I was not for getting up and slept right through until the next day.
I woke up sometime in the early evening the following day, in the same clothes that I ventured out to the pub in 2 days previously. I was sharing my bed with what I later deduced to be the contents of my stomach and the sensation similar to what I imagine having your head slowly crushed in a vice. I got the all too familiar feeling that the big bad beer bear had been and stole my money and shit in my mouth. This was low....definitely not my finest hour.
I had a rinse, sorted myself and my sheets out and decided to get back on the horse, what makes you bad makes you better and all that jazz....
I called Greg and he seemed genuinely worried about me, we met in the pub later, his face was covered in scratches from the head/bush interface that I subjected him to. He gave me the evil concoction in the first place, so we were even. All sins forgiven, he filled in what I did and the ribbing ensued....
Apologies for length, but I don’t hear your mother complaining....
(Sun 8th Feb 2009, 20:33, More)
Guiness is not a suitable boatrace beverage....how I lost two whole days to the black death....
Long time lurkage....first time posting....
It’s long so bear with me...
From the age of 16 or so my merry bunch of friends and I patronised a popular local pub down the road. Twas a blissful place... staff that were easy on the eye, honest decent clientele and a landlord with a relaxed attitude to the prevailing licensing laws of the time. (Sadly, tis no longer the aforementioned happy place as the landlord has moved on and the notrights, chavs and assorted scumbags have slowly taken over). Over time we were accepted into the inner circle of the pub's regulars and were invited to join in Dave the landlord's extra curricular activities.
The usual modus operandi after 11pm would be for the chosen few to move into the tap room whilst the riff raff were herded out of the exits, the doors were bolted, blackout curtains drawn and the jukebox and pool table set to free play and the drinks would flow. The bar operated on a serve yourself policy, noting down what you had in the little black book and you settled your tab once a week. If we were feeling peckish, the fryers would be lit and chip butties prepared. The system worked as everyone respected Dave and his hospitality.
Often we would drink through the night and wander home whilst the milkman was doing his thing....good times.
One such night, between Christmas and New Year as I recall, my mate Greg had been nominated to serve all present in lieu of punishment for a previous school boy error which escapes my memory. He took his punishment graciously and performed his duties as bar keep in good spirit. We were on the the Guinness and a jolly good time was being had by all present. The challenge of a boatrace was laid down by one of the old boys. Not wanting to shy away from a bit of banter and also being fairly sure of ourselves after a skinful, we obliged and 2 teams of 4 were formed and 8 pints of the black gold lined up on the bar.
Dave started the proceedings and we won the first heat by a considerable margin (I can down a Guinness without coming up for air).
The old boys understandably wanted a rematch, yet more Guinness was poured whilst I frequented the gents. On my return I was handed a pint of the black stuff and took my place as tail end charlie in the 'boat' and the race commenced. The progress was notably slower this time, the previous pint laying heavy in our stomachs. As it came to me it was neck and neck, I chugged for England but alas it was a dead heat.
I set my empty vessel on the bar, and took a seat; something wasn't right, I had a funny taste in my mouth and could feel a low grumble from the pit of my stomach. I put it down to the brain fog descending after a few too many and decided to 'man up' and join my companions at the bar. Greg handed me another pint and the score had to be settled.
Once again I took my place and did what needed to be done... I don’t know who won or lost, nor did I care.
It turns out that Greg and Dave had been doctoring my pints with a not insignificant quantity of paint stripper masquerading as cheapest of the cheap white rum.
I passed out and I’m told by Greg that he bundled me in a taxi to his house, and manhandled me on to his sofa.
I have no recollection of coming to slightly as Greg’s dog licked my face, nor do I remember getting up ranting and then running out of the house into to the December darkness in t shirt and running as fast and as far as I could whilst Greg was in pursuit to see I came to no harm. When he caught me I got him in a headlock and threw him into a bush, that’s what friends are for right? I don't remember any of this.
Fuck knows how I got home, must have been the beer scooter, when I did I left the front door not only unlocked, but wide open.
My mother, bless her cotton socks, tried to rouse me well into the following afternoon when several family members turned up for obligatory seasonal pleasantries. I'm told that when informed of their imminent arrival, I enquired if they had made an appointment to see me. Needless to say I was not for getting up and slept right through until the next day.
I woke up sometime in the early evening the following day, in the same clothes that I ventured out to the pub in 2 days previously. I was sharing my bed with what I later deduced to be the contents of my stomach and the sensation similar to what I imagine having your head slowly crushed in a vice. I got the all too familiar feeling that the big bad beer bear had been and stole my money and shit in my mouth. This was low....definitely not my finest hour.
I had a rinse, sorted myself and my sheets out and decided to get back on the horse, what makes you bad makes you better and all that jazz....
I called Greg and he seemed genuinely worried about me, we met in the pub later, his face was covered in scratches from the head/bush interface that I subjected him to. He gave me the evil concoction in the first place, so we were even. All sins forgiven, he filled in what I did and the ribbing ensued....
Apologies for length, but I don’t hear your mother complaining....
(Sun 8th Feb 2009, 20:33, More)
» Schadenfreude
I now believe in the bastard that is karma.....
I have experienced instant karma in its rawest form after guffawing at one unfortunate individual....
I had been dragged round the shops by the now ex (thank shuddering fuck) mrs on a saturday afternoon as penance for an earlier indiscretion, the nature of which slips my mind.....probably eating crisps too loudly or some such triviality.....
She had arranged to meet her frankly quite stunning mate for few drinks and something to eat in a nameless 'trendy' bar chain (read lifeless shithole). I'm sat there, bored shitless oggling her mates tits whilst they pap on about shite. I have a few pints to take the edge off, food gets ordered and the bar starts getting busier.
The rather petite and blonde (thats the way I like 'em!) waitress caught my eye as she ambitiously carried a rake of plates loaded with food....our food to be precise. As she rounds the end of the bar, something unsettles her balance and several of the plates connect with the hard tiled floor...... a brief moment of silence ensued.....then some kind of instinctive force took hold of my vocal chords as I belted out a solo WHEYYYYY!!!!!! Grinning like a mong, I noticed that several fellow patrons were staring at me; the mrs and her mate had shuffled round to put some distance between us. She shot me a look that I knew was code for denial of entry into her special place. I felt bad...the waitress was very apologetic and I felt such a twat because she was a definite 9 out of 10'er.
The food was quickly replaced and the waitress apologised (again). As she turned to leave I asked her for some ketchup; she swiftly returned with a small glass vial containing the saucy goodness.
Now dear reader, this is where the tale takes its violent and shocking twist; as a person of experience with condiments, I know that ketchup by its viscous nature is difficult to pour from these ill thought out and badly designed vessels. As such I employed the tried and tested 'flick of the wrist' technique to get the sauce to the correct end of the bottle. What I had not banked on was the fact that the lid had not been screwed on. A sizeable arc rose though the air before reaching its apogee....as any physicist will relate to you....what goes up must come down....perfectly down my front as it happened. I looked like something out of a Tarrentino flick. All eyes were on me, for the second time and for all the wrong reasons again. 'Serves you right' cackled the mrs, the waitress looked over and gave me a knowing look.....
(Thu 17th Dec 2009, 21:32, More)
I now believe in the bastard that is karma.....
I have experienced instant karma in its rawest form after guffawing at one unfortunate individual....
I had been dragged round the shops by the now ex (thank shuddering fuck) mrs on a saturday afternoon as penance for an earlier indiscretion, the nature of which slips my mind.....probably eating crisps too loudly or some such triviality.....
She had arranged to meet her frankly quite stunning mate for few drinks and something to eat in a nameless 'trendy' bar chain (read lifeless shithole). I'm sat there, bored shitless oggling her mates tits whilst they pap on about shite. I have a few pints to take the edge off, food gets ordered and the bar starts getting busier.
The rather petite and blonde (thats the way I like 'em!) waitress caught my eye as she ambitiously carried a rake of plates loaded with food....our food to be precise. As she rounds the end of the bar, something unsettles her balance and several of the plates connect with the hard tiled floor...... a brief moment of silence ensued.....then some kind of instinctive force took hold of my vocal chords as I belted out a solo WHEYYYYY!!!!!! Grinning like a mong, I noticed that several fellow patrons were staring at me; the mrs and her mate had shuffled round to put some distance between us. She shot me a look that I knew was code for denial of entry into her special place. I felt bad...the waitress was very apologetic and I felt such a twat because she was a definite 9 out of 10'er.
The food was quickly replaced and the waitress apologised (again). As she turned to leave I asked her for some ketchup; she swiftly returned with a small glass vial containing the saucy goodness.
Now dear reader, this is where the tale takes its violent and shocking twist; as a person of experience with condiments, I know that ketchup by its viscous nature is difficult to pour from these ill thought out and badly designed vessels. As such I employed the tried and tested 'flick of the wrist' technique to get the sauce to the correct end of the bottle. What I had not banked on was the fact that the lid had not been screwed on. A sizeable arc rose though the air before reaching its apogee....as any physicist will relate to you....what goes up must come down....perfectly down my front as it happened. I looked like something out of a Tarrentino flick. All eyes were on me, for the second time and for all the wrong reasons again. 'Serves you right' cackled the mrs, the waitress looked over and gave me a knowing look.....
(Thu 17th Dec 2009, 21:32, More)
» The Soundtrack of your Life
I'm normally a cold hearted pragmatic bastard.....
Just recently I met a person of the female persuasion who ticks an unprecedented number of my boxes and makes my body do funny things when I see her.
We were lying in bed one morning a few weeks ago with iTunes on shuffle for a bit of background music when 'Sewn' by The Feeling came on:
'Cos you got my heart in a headlock
You stopped the blood and made my head soft
And god knows
You got me sewn'
Now i'm not normally a sentimental fella, but we both looked at each other and knew that it summed us up pretty good.
What a soppy bastard I've turned into.....
Length? she might make my head soft, but everything else is rigid.....
(Thu 4th Feb 2010, 1:26, More)
I'm normally a cold hearted pragmatic bastard.....
Just recently I met a person of the female persuasion who ticks an unprecedented number of my boxes and makes my body do funny things when I see her.
We were lying in bed one morning a few weeks ago with iTunes on shuffle for a bit of background music when 'Sewn' by The Feeling came on:
'Cos you got my heart in a headlock
You stopped the blood and made my head soft
And god knows
You got me sewn'
Now i'm not normally a sentimental fella, but we both looked at each other and knew that it summed us up pretty good.
What a soppy bastard I've turned into.....
Length? she might make my head soft, but everything else is rigid.....
(Thu 4th Feb 2010, 1:26, More)