b3ta.com user powervator
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Hey there,

I am a dude in my extremely early 30s. I just changed this from late 20s and now I feel depressed.

You have caught me at my most drab...

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» Gyms

The Breaking of Farting Strings.
When I was in my mega fit phase a few years ago (sadly I am now a bit of a fatty) I would try to push my body quite far in terms of exercise. I used to go in my lunchtime so I basically had 2 hours (lucky me eh?) to do my stuff. The gym was great because it used to provide all the clothes and stuff to wear so I didn’t need to bring anything with me.

I was doing some bench presses (on my own which is bad but tyg) and I strained so much that I did a poo. A half solid poo. Unfortunately, as I wasn’t wearing underwear cos I would sweat too much and then need to change them, my poo flew straight out of the gap in my shorts and onto the floor. Worse, this was accompanied by a very loud raspberry. People who didn’t have headphones turned to look at me. Some people came over to stare and be disgusted. I honestly thought I had snapped my farting strings.

My entire body was incandescently red with embarrassment. What was even worse is that I couldn’t lift the weights back onto the hook due to being shit-fit weakened. So I was trying very hard to get the weight from my neck and onto the hook so I could run away in shame, loads of people watching, no one wanting to help because, let’s be honest, I was a public shitter. Then it happened again. This was more diarrhoea now, and I had managed to pump my slurry even further. It hit the closest girl watching in the eye.

I put the weight back on the hook. Cringed my way into a standing position, then pushed my way past the crowd, and ran away. As I left, I glanced back to the bench. There was a good half metre trail of excrement from ground zero where I was lying down, to where the poo finally landed. Some less than stout hearted people were crying. No one said a word.

I left my stuff there, ran home, and never went back.
(Sat 11th Jul 2009, 16:14, More)

» The nicest thing someone's ever done for me

When I was a poor student, I was extremely hard up. I wasn’t able to get a full loan because my mum and dad earned just over the means tested threshold. It didn’t really bother me that much but as a consequence I had to count my pennies, drink at home before I went out, make sandwiches if I went on a trip somewhere (like the city centre) etc.

Anyway, not rich, but no real money for luxuries.

I was using the library computers late at night talking to some people I had met on a chat room. It was what I did sometimes to pass the time when I had finished studying in the library.

So I was chatting with this one girl and we were swapping life stories as you do. She was from somewhere in America, and she was a journalism major but her parents were quite well off so she was cruising through college. She was in her room with her laptop (1996!) surfing around.

She asked me where I was and stuff and I told her I was in this grotty library on campus, starving away. She asked me to hold on for a few minutes, and then she was back and chatting and asking me how long I was gonna be on for, and I said I don’t know, an hour or so.

A little while later, a security guard comes up to me and asks if I am Mr. Powervator (not my nick then but you know). I say yeah, and he asks me to go to the foyer of the library. BRB, I write on the chat room.

Two family size pizzas, one ‘meatatarian’, and one vegetarian are waiting for me.

“I didn’t order these” I say to the pizza dude.

“S’alright mate, they are already paid for, enjoy”.

I walked back to my computer with the steaming bundles of joy, sat down, and saw that she has left me a message asking me if I was enjoying my pizza?

It was obvious what had happened now but back then I still couldn’t make the connection between the computer and real life.

“How do you know I have pizza?” I foolishly asked.

“Cos I ordered it for you dummy!” She wrote back.

We have now lived together for five years.
(Thu 2nd Oct 2008, 17:18, More)

» Social Networking Gaffes

I am more of the email generation and wasn’t really down with the Facebook and Bebo thing until my mates pestered me to join Bebo.

So I join, and I hunt for people that I know etc. A few days later surfing around I thought I would look for some cousins and my sister.

I find a cousin, and I find my sister.

Now my sister is called ‘Jo’, and my cousin is called ‘Joe’. Both are obviously shortened versions of their real names of Joanne and Joseph. They have the same surnames as my cousin was from the paternal side.

So I click on ‘Jo’ and it is someone else, not my sister. Fine.

Then I click on ‘Joe’ and find my sisters face on the page. My brain didn’t process it for a minute, until I looked at the picture again. It was my sister, but she was wearing a suit and tie and some sort of wig or had done her hair up with an uncharacteristic side parting.

How very odd I think, but I reasoned that it must be some sort of fancy dress thing. Student japery. I request that we be friends and leave it at that. I also send a text message to her jokingly referring to her as ‘Joe’.

Five minutes later I get a phone call from my hysterical weeping sister begging me not to tell our parents.

“Eh? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Please don’t tell them I want to be a man!”


Christmas 2007 was interesting.
(Thu 11th Sep 2008, 14:59, More)

» Spoilt Brats

Victoria Bitchbury
I lived with a frog sluttin’ brat from Hades at university for three months that seemed to last for a glacial ice age period (at least as long as the current Holocene, glacier fans).

Her name was Vicky (I will post her surname as well when I remember it) and she was a posh talking mummy’s girl who had gone to Cheltenham Ladies College (and never let anyone forget it). Her harpy-like face was at odds with her admittedly hot body. She actually looked like one of those witches from the end of ‘Army of Darkness’ and was a living embodiment of a BOBFOC.

She used to regularly get mummy to come down (from Surrey) down to Exeter to go shopping. Mummy used to love it as well and bought her all sorts of treats and furniture for her room. One occasion she ordered mummy to bring a computer and a computer desk as she needed them. Mummy and a handyman arrived to put the desk together, and I was asked to ‘sort out the computer’. I told the smirking harridan that I was currently suffering from ‘statics’ and could literally blow the computer inside out if I touched it. Fearfully, they then called up for a ‘computer expert’ to help them.

She was studying classics but found studying at university to be ‘trying’. This was the reason she failed all three years and later I found out that she actually spent six years doing a three years course.

She carefully and studiously ignored all cleaning rotas and on one occasion when the rest of my housemates and I had totally deep cleaned the entire house including doing all her washing up (we had taken a stand and not done it but the smell got to be too much), she came down to the kitchen where I was drying some glasses, took a knife out the drawer and some cheese out of the fridge, cut a slice directly on the counter, ate it, and left the knife, cheese, and cheese crumbs where they were and wandered off. With my face aghast, I promptly put the remaining cheese carefully into the pocket of one of her pairs of jeans that was on top of her laundry.

Other highlights include:

- Asked for an extra pizza to be ordered when we were ordering and refused to pay for it because she ‘only had a little pizza and we could sort it out’. This led to a big argument and we ended up sending the little pizza back and got us blacklisted from perfect pizza.

- Initially refused to pay for fairly split gas and electricity bills as ‘she didn’t use any’. We switched off her radiator and disconnected her room from the electricity. She did end up paying.

- One of our housemates had a car and we all used to go shopping on a Sunday. We would then get a list from her of the stuff she wanted while she went a coffee shop with her horsy friends. No money was provided and it proved to be a nightmare to recover the money as apparently ‘we had deliberately chosen sub-standard vegetables and fruit’. Needless to say we never got her any food again.

- She used to be absolutely obsessed with calling up the mega premium numbers that come with those guaranteed win scratchcards that come in shitty magazines and would invariably win a holiday for one to Norfolk on the 29th February departing from the Isle of Skye. Of course when we got the phone bill she denied that she had called anybody anywhere until we managed to prove that only she was in the house when the calls got made.

- Got her dad to buy her a Mercedes EVEN THOUGH SHE COULDN’T DRIVE. It was for learning in apparently.

- Tried to get us to agree to have one of her horses in our back garden living out of a trailer. We said no but she had the horse brought down anyway. She soon had him taken back to her stables when we called the RSPCA to come and inspect our property and they threatened to prosecute her.

In the end we kicked her out.

Then we had a party.

Then we were sick

Then we went to McDonalds.

Then we were sick again.
(Fri 10th Oct 2008, 15:11, More)

» The Dark

Children of the Sun
I don’t mind the dark. Ever since I was a kid I had no problem wandering around the house at night wearing my jim jams with teddy in tow.

So with this in mind, coupled with the fact that I don’t sleep very well and never have, often meant that I walked around the house at night, watched telly very low, read books, drank milk etc. My parents knew I did this but obviously couldn’t really do anything about it if they were asleep and as long as I were quiet they didn’t mind.

One Sunday evening, I couldn’t really sleep. I went downstairs with Teddy, and got some milk from the kitchen. Being a clumsy little twad, I spilt some milk onto the floor. Quite a lot actually.

So I got a mop and started mopping away, singing under my breath, as you do. “Enfant du soleil, tu parcours la terre le ciel, cherche ton chemin, c'est ta vie, c'est ton destin, et le jour, la nuit, avec tes deux meilleurs amis, a bord du Grand Condor, tu recherches les Cites d'Or”. (Having lived in France, I only knew the French lyrics to the Cities of Gold and I typed that from memory so it’s probably wrong)

I then saw a large shape loom out of the darkness and I screamed and tried to use the mop on it.

From my somewhat nervous dad’s perspective, he had awoken to a low swishing noise, and someone whispering. Terror struck him, but he faced his fear and went to the kitchen. It wasn’t too far as we lived in a bungalow and the sound had carried rather too well.

He saw a small hunched figure wielding some sort of ‘axe or hammer’ and muttering about children of the sun. He thought, perhaps irrationally, that this was an escaped mental patient who had broken in, instead of his naughty insomniac son. He moved closer to apprehend this peril but the escaped mental patient shouted ‘kill you!’ at him (that’s what he thinks I said, and still maintains to this day) and lunged directly at his eyes with the hammer. He recoiled backwards in bowel clamping terror and muttered about Jesus preserving him.

I just turned on the light and continued mopping. Dads eh? Tchoh.
(Thu 23rd Jul 2009, 21:15, More)
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