» Road Rage

Taxi incident
Being driven home in a taxi one night after many pints. 3 mates in the back and I'm in the front. Having a chat with them in the back not really paying attention when suddenly we brake hard. I look up (or round...) and we've hit the anchors because another taxi has pulled out in front of us.

Me, on Autopilot: "Fucking taxi driving cunts, they're all the same...."

Taxi driver next to me: "Get out."
(Fri 13th Oct 2006, 10:42, More)

» Pointless Experiments

Petrol... How flammable *is* it?
Being 12 or so, and being the summer holidays when parents left you to you own devices way before knife crime or pedophiles were invented, I took heed of the advice from the popular kids tv program "Why don't you?".
I set up my experiment in the garage. Was a large garage, double doors one end, up-and-over at the 'car' end. No cars inside.
Found the petrol can and put a small amount on the floor. Made a very small puddle of about 2 inches on the concrete floor. Standing about a metre or so away, lit a match. Happily tossed it forwards to the puddle.
*WHUMPH*
About a metre round pool of very fucking hot fire, with a thick, black cone of smoke rising began to burn very furiously indeed. A little more fire there than I expected.... Time methinks to extinguish. Water. Where is the hosepipe? Out the double door, across the garden, grab the hose. On the way actually think about it and realise oil floats on water and this may cause 'issues'. So I abandon the idea in favour of some sand - which I find behind the garage. See, the young 'Stuntman was a clever sod. Only a handful was needed and the fire was brought under control.
*Whew*, that was lucky.
And it was at this exact moment, studying the scene of the blackened concrete and sand mixed into the centre of the garage and the thick, black plumes of smoke now billowing from the door when I noticed something which may have adversely affected the results of my experiment. A 200 gallon heating oil tank, half full with kerosene. Conveniently located inside the garage. Next to the blackened floor.

Dad never knew what turned the floor a little black. Or my pants a little brown.
(Thu 24th Jul 2008, 16:53, More)

» Accidental innuendo

Being a teenager.....
...long ago, I and all my mates used to perform pseudo-spoonerisms to a sentence to 'add inflection' and make it much more interesting than it was. An example of this would be 'Barbehoop queue of *much* bula-heef-ness'. Obviously, this translates to 'barbeque beef Hulahoops'. And before some spartypants informs me, I know it's not actually correct, it's just one of many things we said, as schoolpersons of limited wit. The formula for this hilarious twist of the great English language was 'something something of *much* something-ness'. No matter what, we could not stop ourselves saying it and it became part of out vocabulary.

Anyhoo, one particular evening while at a mates' place his parents (dad's a God-bothering minister, mum's a vicar's wife, picture it...) decided we all needed to play a board game. So out comes Cluedo.

If you can, imagine the silence that followed the announcement of 'Mrs Cock of *much* Pea-ness'.

No apology for length. Being a woman it was mostly on the inside, I'd guess.
(Tue 17th Jun 2008, 17:30, More)

» Faking it

First job in IT...
...First day.

Meet the team, the boss said. Where upon I met all of my soon-to-be mates, and one odd chap who I shall call Neil, for that was his name. All the lads were in the 'IT Helpdesk' on one side of the building, Neil sat alone among stacks of unwashed coffee cups in a small cupboard full of hoovers. Well maybe they were important servers, who knows.... Anyhoo, I mentioned to Neil about my apprehension about this job, and that this was my first in IT. I'd never had any experience of most of the issues the guys were expected to fix, and it worried me a little.

Then the alarm bells started tolling in my mind when he said the immortal phrase:

"You've just gotta fake it 'till you make it." Accompanied by a moonfaced smug smile.

All at once, I realised several things. One, Neil was a cunt. Two, Neil was happy lying about knowing stuff to all the team. Three, Neil now knew I knew nothing. Four, Neil knows *I* know he's a lying cockend. Five, I need to keep my CV handy.

But over the years, I grew to adapt to things and my honesty and non-fakery actually got me more respect. Neil The Cunt managed to piss me off almost daily, with stories and really unhelpful nonsense, and in fact tried to get me sacked once. But I had the last laugh, because his undoing was down to him mouthing off at a head of department - no amount of faking could get the fat fucker outta that one.... HARDY HAR HAR...

Length? Was the width of that fat redneck that most people hated.
(Mon 14th Jul 2008, 11:43, More)