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» Personal Hygiene
Clean it up boy...
1st year at uni, 15 years ago (I've mentally aged at least 15 months since then) I lived in a house with 4 other randoms; one of whom turned out to be my best friend, but I digress...
Come the barmy summer months after the first year exams we found ourselves bored, sober, and in a ratty, rented property we didn't give a shit about... cue INDOOR WATER FIGHTS! Ah yes, the return to childish pursuits (drunken puking is excluded from that catergory)..
For a couple of days the war escalated from cups of water and empty washing up liquid bottles (AHHH AAAHHH my eyes you twat... you're supposed to wash it out first!)to pans and buckets of water... indoors... if anyone have had been creative enough to bring in a box of watercress seeds we could have had our own new Wembley within a week... we all took to squishing about in shorts and no shoes.
One chap went home every weekend, and although a decent but chinless type, had never offended or interested the rest of us. During one particularly gibberingly childish spat my best mate took refuge from my pan full of lethal H2O in the fella's room... diving under the bed covers screaming that it wasn't appropriate to soil hit sheets 'you wankers'... how ironic this turned out to be.
When a truce was agreed i.e. he'll get one foot out of the room and three of us, dressed only in shorts, will throw our liquid all over him (it was only later when telling this story in front of a group of blokes Irealised the homo erotic connotations of this whole picture and chose not to tell it again unless only in print) Ade throws the covers back and stands up, ready to leap like a gazelle...
The speed of a gazelle was only matched by the squealing speed of the rest of us leaping back in abject horror. Ade had had is naked sodden skin against something truly horrible... The bloke who owned the room had apparently not washed his sheets all year (which is bad enough, and I empathise with the other story tellers with 'shrouds of Turin' horrors) but this was further sullied with certain.. well... fluids...
Most of us keep the obvious 'I blow my nose with it' toilet role by the bed or keep additional white 'sport socks' for er.. clean ups. Chappie had chosen to lie in his... all year. It was roughly a circle about two foot in diameter and several eigths of an inch thick (it was hard like a paper plate... we investigated in purpose bought rubber gloves and long sleaved attire at a later, and suitably drunken, date... we used sticks too)... and was also matted with random pubes... truly.. truly... TRULY RANK!
Ade washed with bleach (which in all fairness was probably only the second time our bathroom had seen bleach that year as we well all still waiting for our mums to come and clean up after us). He still spent the last few weeks slumbering in his own come and we watched him move out in fascination... the last thing he took out... rolled under his arm.. crunchy sheet... probably asked his mum to clean it too.
I also have to admit that I moved to London last summer and we had a weekend without power... so I sat in my shorts (this isn't a theme it was just that remarkably hot end of June week and my beer belly now negates any homo erotic imagary) and read and drank cider for two days... my flatmate returned and remarked 'dude, you stink1'... it's been a long time since I have been that embarrassed... and I often follow through due to IBS! I'm sure you're all pleased to know that.
(Sat 24th Mar 2007, 22:24, More)
Clean it up boy...
1st year at uni, 15 years ago (I've mentally aged at least 15 months since then) I lived in a house with 4 other randoms; one of whom turned out to be my best friend, but I digress...
Come the barmy summer months after the first year exams we found ourselves bored, sober, and in a ratty, rented property we didn't give a shit about... cue INDOOR WATER FIGHTS! Ah yes, the return to childish pursuits (drunken puking is excluded from that catergory)..
For a couple of days the war escalated from cups of water and empty washing up liquid bottles (AHHH AAAHHH my eyes you twat... you're supposed to wash it out first!)to pans and buckets of water... indoors... if anyone have had been creative enough to bring in a box of watercress seeds we could have had our own new Wembley within a week... we all took to squishing about in shorts and no shoes.
One chap went home every weekend, and although a decent but chinless type, had never offended or interested the rest of us. During one particularly gibberingly childish spat my best mate took refuge from my pan full of lethal H2O in the fella's room... diving under the bed covers screaming that it wasn't appropriate to soil hit sheets 'you wankers'... how ironic this turned out to be.
When a truce was agreed i.e. he'll get one foot out of the room and three of us, dressed only in shorts, will throw our liquid all over him (it was only later when telling this story in front of a group of blokes Irealised the homo erotic connotations of this whole picture and chose not to tell it again unless only in print) Ade throws the covers back and stands up, ready to leap like a gazelle...
The speed of a gazelle was only matched by the squealing speed of the rest of us leaping back in abject horror. Ade had had is naked sodden skin against something truly horrible... The bloke who owned the room had apparently not washed his sheets all year (which is bad enough, and I empathise with the other story tellers with 'shrouds of Turin' horrors) but this was further sullied with certain.. well... fluids...
Most of us keep the obvious 'I blow my nose with it' toilet role by the bed or keep additional white 'sport socks' for er.. clean ups. Chappie had chosen to lie in his... all year. It was roughly a circle about two foot in diameter and several eigths of an inch thick (it was hard like a paper plate... we investigated in purpose bought rubber gloves and long sleaved attire at a later, and suitably drunken, date... we used sticks too)... and was also matted with random pubes... truly.. truly... TRULY RANK!
Ade washed with bleach (which in all fairness was probably only the second time our bathroom had seen bleach that year as we well all still waiting for our mums to come and clean up after us). He still spent the last few weeks slumbering in his own come and we watched him move out in fascination... the last thing he took out... rolled under his arm.. crunchy sheet... probably asked his mum to clean it too.
I also have to admit that I moved to London last summer and we had a weekend without power... so I sat in my shorts (this isn't a theme it was just that remarkably hot end of June week and my beer belly now negates any homo erotic imagary) and read and drank cider for two days... my flatmate returned and remarked 'dude, you stink1'... it's been a long time since I have been that embarrassed... and I often follow through due to IBS! I'm sure you're all pleased to know that.
(Sat 24th Mar 2007, 22:24, More)
» Housemates from hell
Restraining order
I have lived with over 50 people in my time and a good 30% of the population have serious personality disorders in my opinion.
The spunky bed sheet guy (see previous post). Bob the Bullshitter (his given nickname) who never told a true word and never batted an eyelid when confronted on his great fat bilious fib. The chap who was mugged while cruising for prostitutes and when the cops turned up explained in front of us he had just 'gone for a walk' in the red light district we lived in at 4am. The serious porn addict who collected 50 magazines and 30 movies in the 4 months I lived with him - despite his girlfriend being raped the year before he watched them constantly in front of her. The posh, fit, girl who lost her job and within a month called the police (who woke me up by shining a torch in my face) due to intruders rattling at her door (she had the tiniest lock in the world on her door; cause intruders would be foiled by that little puppy, given they've just beaten the dead locks and the alarm). She neglected to make the mental leap of recognition that the cat flap had been removed two days before - 3 cats bored at 3am leads to exploration for alternate places to pee.
But the best was a girl (let's call her Mad Devil Psycho Loon Hag for short) I lived with in Boston in the good old US of A when I lived there for a year. We were skint so my girlfriend, myself and a good girlfriend of ours shared one room (sadly no threesomes were to develop but I did cop a sneaky peak now and then... well it would be rude not to!). We advertised and found a 35 year old lovely lass (never trust drunken girls to approve your new flatmate) to move into the other room. She preceded to walk around the flat in only a t-shirt and no pants, to never clean up after herself when cooking, bring back random mental shags whom we found half naked wandering the flat in the morning, she'd fall asleep most nights in the living room with the TV loud as she passed out on 3 bottles of wine and enough tranquilizers to satify the silver haired matriacs of the Kennedy clan, then began stealing our things and trying to show naked pictures of herself to everyone who entered the flat.
We met one of her 'boyfriends' who was a psychologist (don't ask) who informed us she was totally tonto (no shit!) and to throw her out. When we asked her to leave she went mental and refused. After a day or two we were advised to go to the police station and ask for a restraining order to get her to leave. Unfortunately, when we got there we were informed there was already an order on the three of us that she had placed (she was experienced as she had had several placed on her before). Police turn up at the flat two hours later and state my girlfriend has a warrant in her name for an unpaid fine. Being the British gent I am I protested. I withdrew my opposition when looking down the barrel of a semi automatic pistol.
It all turned out fine after 3000 dollars of legal bills proving that the warrant was a 'adminastrative' mistake and she had indeed paid the fine the warrant was for - the judge wanted to put my Mrs in jail for a few more nights to make a point! The point being he was a twunt!
Basically we weren't allowed near the apartment without a police exscort, which took a week to organise. The three of us and our cat slept on the floor of our friends bedsit roughly 20 feet by 10 (we measured)... did I neglect to mention he had a fully grown Rottweiler! Fortunately my cat (Dune.. fab cat) and the rottweiler (Madison.. tried to protect me by attempting to attack any passer by when I took him for walks) got on like a house on fire.. often at 3 in the morning and I still have a long scar on my arm where Dune used me as a spring board to escape Madisons slavering jaws...
The hiatous from the flat also allowed Pyscho Hag to break into our room and steal everything valuable we owned...
Thankfully she left and an alcholic moved in just before I fled the country when myself and my girlfriend broke up (still close to her 12 years later on an entirely separate continant) which was actually an uncomplicated relief...
The only high point was when we found out she got fired shortly after from the printing and fax business she worked at... for faxing naked pictures of herself to 'friends' at the other branches... Natch!
Length... I feel better for it...
(Fri 6th Apr 2007, 20:29, More)
Restraining order
I have lived with over 50 people in my time and a good 30% of the population have serious personality disorders in my opinion.
The spunky bed sheet guy (see previous post). Bob the Bullshitter (his given nickname) who never told a true word and never batted an eyelid when confronted on his great fat bilious fib. The chap who was mugged while cruising for prostitutes and when the cops turned up explained in front of us he had just 'gone for a walk' in the red light district we lived in at 4am. The serious porn addict who collected 50 magazines and 30 movies in the 4 months I lived with him - despite his girlfriend being raped the year before he watched them constantly in front of her. The posh, fit, girl who lost her job and within a month called the police (who woke me up by shining a torch in my face) due to intruders rattling at her door (she had the tiniest lock in the world on her door; cause intruders would be foiled by that little puppy, given they've just beaten the dead locks and the alarm). She neglected to make the mental leap of recognition that the cat flap had been removed two days before - 3 cats bored at 3am leads to exploration for alternate places to pee.
But the best was a girl (let's call her Mad Devil Psycho Loon Hag for short) I lived with in Boston in the good old US of A when I lived there for a year. We were skint so my girlfriend, myself and a good girlfriend of ours shared one room (sadly no threesomes were to develop but I did cop a sneaky peak now and then... well it would be rude not to!). We advertised and found a 35 year old lovely lass (never trust drunken girls to approve your new flatmate) to move into the other room. She preceded to walk around the flat in only a t-shirt and no pants, to never clean up after herself when cooking, bring back random mental shags whom we found half naked wandering the flat in the morning, she'd fall asleep most nights in the living room with the TV loud as she passed out on 3 bottles of wine and enough tranquilizers to satify the silver haired matriacs of the Kennedy clan, then began stealing our things and trying to show naked pictures of herself to everyone who entered the flat.
We met one of her 'boyfriends' who was a psychologist (don't ask) who informed us she was totally tonto (no shit!) and to throw her out. When we asked her to leave she went mental and refused. After a day or two we were advised to go to the police station and ask for a restraining order to get her to leave. Unfortunately, when we got there we were informed there was already an order on the three of us that she had placed (she was experienced as she had had several placed on her before). Police turn up at the flat two hours later and state my girlfriend has a warrant in her name for an unpaid fine. Being the British gent I am I protested. I withdrew my opposition when looking down the barrel of a semi automatic pistol.
It all turned out fine after 3000 dollars of legal bills proving that the warrant was a 'adminastrative' mistake and she had indeed paid the fine the warrant was for - the judge wanted to put my Mrs in jail for a few more nights to make a point! The point being he was a twunt!
Basically we weren't allowed near the apartment without a police exscort, which took a week to organise. The three of us and our cat slept on the floor of our friends bedsit roughly 20 feet by 10 (we measured)... did I neglect to mention he had a fully grown Rottweiler! Fortunately my cat (Dune.. fab cat) and the rottweiler (Madison.. tried to protect me by attempting to attack any passer by when I took him for walks) got on like a house on fire.. often at 3 in the morning and I still have a long scar on my arm where Dune used me as a spring board to escape Madisons slavering jaws...
The hiatous from the flat also allowed Pyscho Hag to break into our room and steal everything valuable we owned...
Thankfully she left and an alcholic moved in just before I fled the country when myself and my girlfriend broke up (still close to her 12 years later on an entirely separate continant) which was actually an uncomplicated relief...
The only high point was when we found out she got fired shortly after from the printing and fax business she worked at... for faxing naked pictures of herself to 'friends' at the other branches... Natch!
Length... I feel better for it...
(Fri 6th Apr 2007, 20:29, More)
» Spoooky Coincidence
Errrr... I sound like a weird hippy
I'm a working class, straight as a dye bloke but life has taught me that there is a sixth sense. I know this sounds like crap and God does not exist. This is fact. But there is something that humanity and as self awareness creatures we don't understand... of that, I am SURE... weird stuff beyond chance does occur.
Got fired (for the second time) and old best friend phoned on the same day and offered to pay for us to go the Thailand to write novel on his dough. Decided to get a job the next level up no matter where it was (I hate London at this point) and a friend finds a job sooo perfect it's unbelivable in London. On the same day as the closing date for last application. Friend starts new job in London on exactly same day as me in the same company... we share a flat now. Slow down on dry street in car for no reason than feel 'odd'... hit oil and end up 2 inches from wall of death.... these are just a couple... but what really makes me understand that there is some sort of sixth sense is much shallower...
I love women in a very amourous, sensual and artistic way... but I'm also very shallow.
Girls can sense when some of us look at their asses. No mirror or window, no friend looking in our direction.. no indication there is anyone looking at them... yet every day some fit lass turns round and looks me in the eye with NOOOO hesitation when I'm saying to myself 'Oh dear Lord, that is sooo sexy'... HOW DO YOU KNOW???? I have a lot of close female mates and they say 'we just know'. Not good enough! Explain please?
Length... I'm jealous of field mice.
(Thu 8th Feb 2007, 22:41, More)
Errrr... I sound like a weird hippy
I'm a working class, straight as a dye bloke but life has taught me that there is a sixth sense. I know this sounds like crap and God does not exist. This is fact. But there is something that humanity and as self awareness creatures we don't understand... of that, I am SURE... weird stuff beyond chance does occur.
Got fired (for the second time) and old best friend phoned on the same day and offered to pay for us to go the Thailand to write novel on his dough. Decided to get a job the next level up no matter where it was (I hate London at this point) and a friend finds a job sooo perfect it's unbelivable in London. On the same day as the closing date for last application. Friend starts new job in London on exactly same day as me in the same company... we share a flat now. Slow down on dry street in car for no reason than feel 'odd'... hit oil and end up 2 inches from wall of death.... these are just a couple... but what really makes me understand that there is some sort of sixth sense is much shallower...
I love women in a very amourous, sensual and artistic way... but I'm also very shallow.
Girls can sense when some of us look at their asses. No mirror or window, no friend looking in our direction.. no indication there is anyone looking at them... yet every day some fit lass turns round and looks me in the eye with NOOOO hesitation when I'm saying to myself 'Oh dear Lord, that is sooo sexy'... HOW DO YOU KNOW???? I have a lot of close female mates and they say 'we just know'. Not good enough! Explain please?
Length... I'm jealous of field mice.
(Thu 8th Feb 2007, 22:41, More)
» My Collection
Why.. why... just WHHHHYYYYY????
It's not my collection.. it's the collection of bogies that you find wiped on the toilet cubicle wall or bog roll dispenser... Virtually every place I've worked has them.
I mean who are these people?
Is it just one person at each workplace, or is there a group of phantom bogie wipers! I mean there is toilet roll just THERE for Beelzebubs sake!
What shallow joy do they actually get from it? Are they actually thinking.. 'Great, they'll all see my sticky, crispy, nose detrius. That'll learn em!'
Answers on an e-mail post card to 'Why do people eat their bogies, Crispy and Salty town, YOU'RE JUST WRONGville'.
(Mon 15th Jan 2007, 22:40, More)
Why.. why... just WHHHHYYYYY????
It's not my collection.. it's the collection of bogies that you find wiped on the toilet cubicle wall or bog roll dispenser... Virtually every place I've worked has them.
I mean who are these people?
Is it just one person at each workplace, or is there a group of phantom bogie wipers! I mean there is toilet roll just THERE for Beelzebubs sake!
What shallow joy do they actually get from it? Are they actually thinking.. 'Great, they'll all see my sticky, crispy, nose detrius. That'll learn em!'
Answers on an e-mail post card to 'Why do people eat their bogies, Crispy and Salty town, YOU'RE JUST WRONGville'.
(Mon 15th Jan 2007, 22:40, More)
» Failed
Failure counts
I’ve been a massive and constant failure all my life:- On my first driving test I failed to check over my shoulder going onto a busy duel carriageway. On my second I failed to spot the red light. On my third I failed to come off the roundabout for three whole revolutions but the guy still let me pass saying I was nervous… I wasn’t nervous… I was UTTER SHIT. He’d failed also to notice I had a pronounced squint and am basically blind in one eye… I am really good at crashes though, I’m a real success at nearly killing myself.
I’m also a failure at jobs… I have failed to stay awake in a callcentre in my youth while talking to customers.. I’d just started talking dreamlike jibberish until they shouted at me and woke me up (quite rude of them really). I once failed to mention any truth of any kind at all my CV (I got fired).. I once failed to correctly judge the strength of a plate glass display cabinet as I was jumping over it to run over to some stairs, in a vain attempt to see up a girls skirt, which I failed to see up (I got fired but that was alright cause the fuckwit manager replaced it with cheap glass and got sued when a customer foolishly leant on it). I failed not to send e-mails admitting a sickie due to an evening of class A entertainment to my friend (whom was promptly investigated for sending a message ‘reply to all’ while calling the customer ‘syphilitic imbecile’) - We both got fired then!
I failed to get a 2/1 degree by half a percent but they wouldn’t give me the viva meeting to test me cause I’d failed first and second year exams due to successfully learning what alcohol is in my first year.
I mostly fail with beautiful women.. this whole thing about humour and wit pulling your half of the species is bunkum and utter bollocks to boot. Half my mates are girls… mostly really fit ones… ones I have failed for years to shag and merrily succeeded at pointlessly buying them dinner and becoming their personal therapist.
Still… I’ve got a fucking good job and a nice car… you only learn in life from fucking up constantly until you get it right… God loves a trier… shame fit women don’t! Now where’s that book on how to pull women I bought?
(Wed 10th Jan 2007, 20:20, More)
Failure counts
I’ve been a massive and constant failure all my life:- On my first driving test I failed to check over my shoulder going onto a busy duel carriageway. On my second I failed to spot the red light. On my third I failed to come off the roundabout for three whole revolutions but the guy still let me pass saying I was nervous… I wasn’t nervous… I was UTTER SHIT. He’d failed also to notice I had a pronounced squint and am basically blind in one eye… I am really good at crashes though, I’m a real success at nearly killing myself.
I’m also a failure at jobs… I have failed to stay awake in a callcentre in my youth while talking to customers.. I’d just started talking dreamlike jibberish until they shouted at me and woke me up (quite rude of them really). I once failed to mention any truth of any kind at all my CV (I got fired).. I once failed to correctly judge the strength of a plate glass display cabinet as I was jumping over it to run over to some stairs, in a vain attempt to see up a girls skirt, which I failed to see up (I got fired but that was alright cause the fuckwit manager replaced it with cheap glass and got sued when a customer foolishly leant on it). I failed not to send e-mails admitting a sickie due to an evening of class A entertainment to my friend (whom was promptly investigated for sending a message ‘reply to all’ while calling the customer ‘syphilitic imbecile’) - We both got fired then!
I failed to get a 2/1 degree by half a percent but they wouldn’t give me the viva meeting to test me cause I’d failed first and second year exams due to successfully learning what alcohol is in my first year.
I mostly fail with beautiful women.. this whole thing about humour and wit pulling your half of the species is bunkum and utter bollocks to boot. Half my mates are girls… mostly really fit ones… ones I have failed for years to shag and merrily succeeded at pointlessly buying them dinner and becoming their personal therapist.
Still… I’ve got a fucking good job and a nice car… you only learn in life from fucking up constantly until you get it right… God loves a trier… shame fit women don’t! Now where’s that book on how to pull women I bought?
(Wed 10th Jan 2007, 20:20, More)