» My most gullible moment

Guillablility backfiring
When I was small (6ish, I suppose) I asked a pointlessly advanced question about space*. I was told (by people who, with good reason, didn't have a fucking clue) to "write to NASA and ask them."

So I did. Not knowing their address I simply marked my envelope: 'NASA, USA', and happily sent it off, with most people probably sniggering away at my belif it would a) get there and b) NASA would give enough of a shit to read it and reply.

However, it did get there, and NASA did reply. Not only with an answer, but also with a bloody massive pack of goodies and information on space. I was proper chuffed, and I like to think that those who thought I was being stupid falling for their "write to NASA" trick felt a bit silly.

Go NASA!







* "If you hang a string out of a spaceship going round Earth, does it hang towards Earth or trail out behind the spaceship?"
And about twelve years later I started a Physics degree. Can you see a pattern, children?
(Thu 21st Aug 2008, 21:07, More)

» Bastard Colleagues

T-junction: go left or right, yes? Well...
While temping at the council's street cleaning department, met a bloke called Dave. Nice and freindly, not the sharpest tool in the drawer, so the same as a fair few other people mentioned in this question then.

Dave was allowed to drive the small vans, but not the large transit vans. This was because he'd tried once, and got things slightly wrong.

While approaching a T-junction, he had a bit of a panic moment. And I do sypathise from when I was learning to drive, sometimes the mind just goes blank. Poor Dave decides the best thing to do is just keep going, an admirable course in some situations, but alas not here.

Thus he is the only person I've ever heard of to go straight ahead at a T-junction, steaming across both lanes, over the curb, and through a hedge.

I asked him about it later: "I didn't know what else to do." Bless.
(Fri 25th Jan 2008, 11:37, More)

» Guilty Secrets

Not directly me but...
Two of my mates were returning to one of them's flat after a night on the piss, carrying a 2-litre bottle of cheap cider (as we all know, you don't need a reason, it just magically happens).
As they wandered, they passed a tramp, who said "Can ah have sip of ya drink, gents?"

They look at each other, then one of them says:

"You can have the whole bottle if you dance for us."

So the tramp gets up, and does a dance for them (a sort of sea shanty jig type thing quite good apparently). And then they parted, with all parties well pleased, the tramp with his alcohol and my friends having got a tramp to dance for them.





Why is this my guilty secret? Since I was told this story I have on occasions while returning from a night out obtained some cheap alcohol in the hope I will be approached* by a tramp and get him to dance.
So far no luck...

*asking the tramp would be cheating.
(Wed 5th Sep 2007, 11:31, More)

» Hotel Splendido

Suprise bitch, unexpected sheep!
My dad has a number of mates who, like him, like to hurl heavy objects as far as they can. Some of these guys can be slightly mad. Our hero today is called Hamish (as I recall. He's definately scottish, so it'll do.)

Hamish turns up for a competition, drops his stuff off in a room, and goes for some practice. When he gets back, he discovers that some official has stolen his room. Hamish is unimpressed.
"Ya took ma fookin' room."
"I am an official, this is my room now."
"We'll fookin' see about that."

So Hamish wanders outside, picks up a sheep (remember, he's a big lad) and hurls it through the window of said room.

Official scarpers, Hamish wanders back inside, throws the somewhat bewildered sheep back out of the window, and lies down for a kip.


He was not charged for the window.

With apologies to whoever did that rather brilliant christmas card for stealing the title.
(Wed 23rd Jan 2008, 10:12, More)

» Will you go out with me?

Once again, sort of off topic
but see if I care.

My now-ex-girlfriend was remarkably tolerant of me wandering off to the pub to watch the footy. No, I don't know why. Often on the way back, slightly plastered*
(*actual level of plasteredness may sometimes be really quite plastered indeed), I would get lured in by the rack of dying flowers outside Tesco, or equivalent, and grab a bunch, like the awesomely romantic soul that I am. Don't tut, you've all done it.

Anyway, on one occasion at the end of the match a rather interesting brainstorm occurred, and remembering that she liked proper plants too I staggered off to the ASDA near the pub to obtain a pot plant. Why, I have no idea. I wandered around ASDA for a short while looking ever so pleased with myself, and probably worrying a fair few customers.
Eventually I remembered that shops like you to give them money and then fuck off and stop looking like a random twat with a plant, and did so.

And so I staggered happily up the road with my plant ("It's a really good plant" I told a tramp) ready to present it to my young lady.
She was quite pleased, but some some reason a tiny bit confused.

However, she was nowhere near as confused as the owners of the kebab shop I wandered into on the way back for a nice dose of greasy salmonella. They didn't have a fucking clue why I had brought in this plant. Marvellous.
(Mon 1st Sep 2008, 19:11, More)