Profile for TheChicken:
TheChicken is a uni strudent and wannabe writer from Brisbane, Orstraya.
She has a literary genius of a blog right here.
TheChicken likes failing uni by procrastinating on QOTW because it is more interesting than media law.
TheChicken likes collecting photoshopped pictures of Mr Bean off google image search.
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TheChicken is a uni strudent and wannabe writer from Brisbane, Orstraya.
She has a literary genius of a blog right here.
TheChicken likes failing uni by procrastinating on QOTW because it is more interesting than media law.
TheChicken likes collecting photoshopped pictures of Mr Bean off google image search.
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Pubs
A pub love story
This isn't a very funny story, but it's a nice one at least.
I met Mr Chicken at the pub I used to work at.
I was cleaning glasses and the like when a tall, dark, handsome stranger walked in.
He ordered a pint of beer. I suddenly noticed his deep blue eyes, set with dark eyelashes. Dark stubble peppered his jawline. The thin singlet he was wearing showed off intricate tattoos on his shoulders and a slightly muscular body.
Wow. He was drop dead, shake in your boots, call Emergency Services gorgeous.
I poured his pint and was aware that he was intently watching my every movement. He was very still, but his lips moved as though he was trying to say something.
Finally, he asked, "How are you?"
"Good thanks," I said politely, handing over his beer and being extra careful to make sure there was the correct amount of head and that I didn't spill it on him and suddenly being very precious about this beer I was about to give to a very good looking stranger.
He went quiet again and sipped his beer. I caught his eye a few times as I cleaned the bar. I hoped, for one fleeting instant, that I had caught him looking at me.
Eventually, he spoke again.
"I like your shirt," he said shyly.
I was wearing a shirt with various characters from Gumby on it.
"Thankyou," I said.
We both smiled at each other. He had a gorgeous smile. I turned around, embarassed.
Many pints later, me and (the future) Mr Chicken were singing along to Rage Against the Machine, talking about music and his burgeoning musical career (he plays drums in a band...hot), bitching about hospitality (turns out Mr Chicken was a bartender as well) and sneakily perving on each other when our backs were turned.
As we finally closed the bar for the night, Mr Chicken got up to leave. "Much love," he slurred, and waved as he stumbled out the door.
I hoped I'd see him again.
And I did. Nearly every weekend.
If his pint was empty, I looked past the line of customers and got his beer first. I made excuses to go pick up glasses when I'd actually go out into the beer garden and talk to him. We talked shyly over the bar, occasionally getting a bit flirty after Mr Chicken downed a few pints. I discovered that as well as being insanely good looking, he was one of the sweetest guys I’d ever met. My heart melted when I saw Mr Chicken comforting some poor old drunk guy he'd probably never seen in his life.
I thought I caught Mr Chicken having an intense perve on me a few times, but I convinced myself that it was just wishful thinking.
The flirting was getting a bit blatant too.
eg.
Mr Chicken: I play a lot of video games... I'm a bit of a nerd.
Me: That's okay, I have a nerd fetish.
Mr Chicken: :O...
Me: *runs away*
... but I didn't think I would really have a chance with this amazing guy, and tried to treat it all as a fun game.
Finally, I plucked up the courage to ask for his phone number (at a very drunken lock-in). After a long time, I plucked up the courage again to casually ask, "Sooo, wanna catch up for a drink sometime?"
After a few jugs of beer, we sat quietly in the beer garden. As things like that progress, confessions were made. Mr Chicken, bless his heart, had been visiting the same crappy pub for the last five months just so he could see me.
We kissed.
A week or so later I gave him a lift home after closing the bar and, er, celebrated the fact that we were going out at last. For three hours.
We live together now. I don't work at that pub anymore, but we certainly enjoy going to other ones. It's nice to be on the other side of the bar with him.
Don’t tell him I said it, but I want to marry that man one day.
(Wed 11th Feb 2009, 3:52, More)
A pub love story
This isn't a very funny story, but it's a nice one at least.
I met Mr Chicken at the pub I used to work at.
I was cleaning glasses and the like when a tall, dark, handsome stranger walked in.
He ordered a pint of beer. I suddenly noticed his deep blue eyes, set with dark eyelashes. Dark stubble peppered his jawline. The thin singlet he was wearing showed off intricate tattoos on his shoulders and a slightly muscular body.
Wow. He was drop dead, shake in your boots, call Emergency Services gorgeous.
I poured his pint and was aware that he was intently watching my every movement. He was very still, but his lips moved as though he was trying to say something.
Finally, he asked, "How are you?"
"Good thanks," I said politely, handing over his beer and being extra careful to make sure there was the correct amount of head and that I didn't spill it on him and suddenly being very precious about this beer I was about to give to a very good looking stranger.
He went quiet again and sipped his beer. I caught his eye a few times as I cleaned the bar. I hoped, for one fleeting instant, that I had caught him looking at me.
Eventually, he spoke again.
"I like your shirt," he said shyly.
I was wearing a shirt with various characters from Gumby on it.
"Thankyou," I said.
We both smiled at each other. He had a gorgeous smile. I turned around, embarassed.
Many pints later, me and (the future) Mr Chicken were singing along to Rage Against the Machine, talking about music and his burgeoning musical career (he plays drums in a band...hot), bitching about hospitality (turns out Mr Chicken was a bartender as well) and sneakily perving on each other when our backs were turned.
As we finally closed the bar for the night, Mr Chicken got up to leave. "Much love," he slurred, and waved as he stumbled out the door.
I hoped I'd see him again.
And I did. Nearly every weekend.
If his pint was empty, I looked past the line of customers and got his beer first. I made excuses to go pick up glasses when I'd actually go out into the beer garden and talk to him. We talked shyly over the bar, occasionally getting a bit flirty after Mr Chicken downed a few pints. I discovered that as well as being insanely good looking, he was one of the sweetest guys I’d ever met. My heart melted when I saw Mr Chicken comforting some poor old drunk guy he'd probably never seen in his life.
I thought I caught Mr Chicken having an intense perve on me a few times, but I convinced myself that it was just wishful thinking.
The flirting was getting a bit blatant too.
eg.
Mr Chicken: I play a lot of video games... I'm a bit of a nerd.
Me: That's okay, I have a nerd fetish.
Mr Chicken: :O...
Me: *runs away*
... but I didn't think I would really have a chance with this amazing guy, and tried to treat it all as a fun game.
Finally, I plucked up the courage to ask for his phone number (at a very drunken lock-in). After a long time, I plucked up the courage again to casually ask, "Sooo, wanna catch up for a drink sometime?"
After a few jugs of beer, we sat quietly in the beer garden. As things like that progress, confessions were made. Mr Chicken, bless his heart, had been visiting the same crappy pub for the last five months just so he could see me.
We kissed.
A week or so later I gave him a lift home after closing the bar and, er, celebrated the fact that we were going out at last. For three hours.
We live together now. I don't work at that pub anymore, but we certainly enjoy going to other ones. It's nice to be on the other side of the bar with him.
Don’t tell him I said it, but I want to marry that man one day.
(Wed 11th Feb 2009, 3:52, More)
» Too much information
Close friends
My best friend, Poo (as that is the name i call her), are very close. Close enough to talk about intimate details with each other. We had farting competitions when we went away on holiday. We've discussed the intricacies of our favourite sexual positions (complete with crotch movements). Back when Poo and I were school mates, she left a large, brightly coloured note pinned to my locker. "Hey Chicken, I've gone home for the day because my ovaries exploded."
Unfortunately we have a habit of having such conversations in public and not realising until it's too late.
Once in McDonalds, our conversation turned to our bowel movements, like it often does. We are both lactose intolerant.
Me: It's so embarrassing when it happens at my boyfriend's house. His house has really thin walls and I'm afraid his whle family will hear my trumpeting bum.
Poo: That reminds me of when I was at Alexis's house once. I drank a lovely glass of milk, right, and half an hour later I had to run to their bathroom. I was so embarassed, it was right next to their kitchen! So I tried not to be noisy, but you know how the more you try not to let it out, the worse it is? It was one of those crying poos, you know.
Me: Crying poos?
Poo: You know when your poos actually hurt? And you're like "Boo hoo hoo... *splurt*...wahh, wahhh *plop*"...
At this point, we heard a chair scrape loudly as the woman behind us stood up and walked away briskly, pissing herself laughing. TMI? Maybe for her, but not for us!
Apologies for length, but it IS my first post.
(Thu 6th Sep 2007, 12:07, More)
Close friends
My best friend, Poo (as that is the name i call her), are very close. Close enough to talk about intimate details with each other. We had farting competitions when we went away on holiday. We've discussed the intricacies of our favourite sexual positions (complete with crotch movements). Back when Poo and I were school mates, she left a large, brightly coloured note pinned to my locker. "Hey Chicken, I've gone home for the day because my ovaries exploded."
Unfortunately we have a habit of having such conversations in public and not realising until it's too late.
Once in McDonalds, our conversation turned to our bowel movements, like it often does. We are both lactose intolerant.
Me: It's so embarrassing when it happens at my boyfriend's house. His house has really thin walls and I'm afraid his whle family will hear my trumpeting bum.
Poo: That reminds me of when I was at Alexis's house once. I drank a lovely glass of milk, right, and half an hour later I had to run to their bathroom. I was so embarassed, it was right next to their kitchen! So I tried not to be noisy, but you know how the more you try not to let it out, the worse it is? It was one of those crying poos, you know.
Me: Crying poos?
Poo: You know when your poos actually hurt? And you're like "Boo hoo hoo... *splurt*...wahh, wahhh *plop*"...
At this point, we heard a chair scrape loudly as the woman behind us stood up and walked away briskly, pissing herself laughing. TMI? Maybe for her, but not for us!
Apologies for length, but it IS my first post.
(Thu 6th Sep 2007, 12:07, More)
» Stalked
tim, the asian fetishist
You know when someone tells you a story about someone scary, and there's a point where they say "alarm bells should have rung"? Well, I'm an idiot, and I can honestly say that the alarm bells rung the entire time when I knew this person, and I was - ashamed too say - too starved for friendship to hear them.
Let's call him Tim, for that was his name.
Tim found me via myspace on my university's mini-site. I'm really not fussed with meeting people off the internet, so it didn't worry me. He mentioned that he'd seen me at a particular building at a particular time and went searching for me by trawling through the journalism students on myspace. Hmm... kinda weird. But I don't have many friends at uni, so I welcomed the company. BIG MISTAKE.
Tim and I then struck up a sort of friendship. He was a funny, smart chap, but also a bit clingy, had a very self-depreciating personality and was completely pussy-whipped. Now, I'm pretty socially retarded myself, so I didn't worry too much about it. I'm also an idiot.
After a while, I realised that most of Tim's "best friends" were female. They also all happened to be Asian. At some point, he had confessed his undying love to all of them, only to be spurned. I myself am an Asian female who was fast becoming a good friend. I smelt a creepy, anime loving, Asian-fetishist rat.
What was that about alarm bells again?
Poor old Tim had many girl problems. He was hopelessly in love with his best lady friend, who most certainly did not love him back. She sounded like a complete and utter bitch, but you gotta hand it to her for taking advantage of the situation - Tim gave her lifts, footed her bar tabs, and was willing to sit alone in a club and watch her hook up with random men on the dancefloor.
Like I said, utterly pussywhipped. I was beginning to lose a lot of respect for him. But still... alarm bells?
Tim and I would hang out in between classes to eat lunch and the like. In second semester, I had a four hour gap between classes. Like a dribbling basset hound, Tim would wait for me then follow me around. First to lunch, then to the computer lab where I would attempt to study, but fail because Tim was too busy whinging to me about how no girls wanted to bonk him. FOR FOUR HOURS. Then when i'd say "well, goodbye now, Im off to my next class" he'd lovingly escort me.
Alarm bells? Anybody?
Finally, the alarm bells rang during this conversation:
Me: Aw, my friend Cam dropped out of one of my classes. Now I don't have anybody to sit next to in my lecture.
Tim: I'll come and sit next to you next time, if you like.
Me: I thought Thursday was your day off?
Tim: It is. I want it to be my duty to make you happy
Me: o_O Erm, I'll be right thanks.
(I should mention that Tim lives an hour and a half away from uni...)
DING! DING!
When I got a boyfriend, I informed Tim of him. He either went silent, changed the subject, or gave me a lecture on how it wouldn't last.
DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDING!!!
Then came the clincher.
"What would you do if I said I was attracted to you?" asked Tim.
"Well, Tim," I said, "I'd tell you that I'm not attracted to you in the slightest and I don't like you any more than a friend."
"Oh. Because..." The obvious 'I LIKE YOU' confession followed. Yawn.
But it didn't stop there. Oh no. I thought we could do the mature thing and stay friends. WRONG. Now I was the source of all of Tim's girl troubles. Henceforth, he bemoaned how unlucky it was that I wasn't single (oddly enough, not taking into account that I just plain didn't like him anyway) and how we would have been good together.
I told him to fuck off and blocked him on every corner of the internet. This is quite a milestone really - I rarely lose my temper with people and I'm nice as pie most of the time. It takes a LOT for me to get that angry at someone. Like when someone just does NOT get the hint.
He still sent me messages on myspace. One simply said "Snootchie bootchies".
Unfortunately, I bumped into him at uni, as you do. But i found out that he got a girlfriend! And you guessed it - this lass was a young Asian female. She was also in one of our classes.
"Hoorah!" thought I. "I can now resume a normal friendship without that weird sexual tension."
After excitedly asking him about her, he had this to say:
"You know, I told her that I once liked you, and she said that she can see why I was attracted to you."
I still had my boyfriend at this time. Tim had finally found a poor little clueless Asian chick who was actually attracted to him.
Remember what I said about never losing my temper with people?
"Fuck off, and never talk to me again," I hissed, grabbed my stuff, and left.
Apologies for ignoring all the alarm bells.
No apologies for length - I know you like it long.
(Mon 4th Feb 2008, 6:09, More)
tim, the asian fetishist
You know when someone tells you a story about someone scary, and there's a point where they say "alarm bells should have rung"? Well, I'm an idiot, and I can honestly say that the alarm bells rung the entire time when I knew this person, and I was - ashamed too say - too starved for friendship to hear them.
Let's call him Tim, for that was his name.
Tim found me via myspace on my university's mini-site. I'm really not fussed with meeting people off the internet, so it didn't worry me. He mentioned that he'd seen me at a particular building at a particular time and went searching for me by trawling through the journalism students on myspace. Hmm... kinda weird. But I don't have many friends at uni, so I welcomed the company. BIG MISTAKE.
Tim and I then struck up a sort of friendship. He was a funny, smart chap, but also a bit clingy, had a very self-depreciating personality and was completely pussy-whipped. Now, I'm pretty socially retarded myself, so I didn't worry too much about it. I'm also an idiot.
After a while, I realised that most of Tim's "best friends" were female. They also all happened to be Asian. At some point, he had confessed his undying love to all of them, only to be spurned. I myself am an Asian female who was fast becoming a good friend. I smelt a creepy, anime loving, Asian-fetishist rat.
What was that about alarm bells again?
Poor old Tim had many girl problems. He was hopelessly in love with his best lady friend, who most certainly did not love him back. She sounded like a complete and utter bitch, but you gotta hand it to her for taking advantage of the situation - Tim gave her lifts, footed her bar tabs, and was willing to sit alone in a club and watch her hook up with random men on the dancefloor.
Like I said, utterly pussywhipped. I was beginning to lose a lot of respect for him. But still... alarm bells?
Tim and I would hang out in between classes to eat lunch and the like. In second semester, I had a four hour gap between classes. Like a dribbling basset hound, Tim would wait for me then follow me around. First to lunch, then to the computer lab where I would attempt to study, but fail because Tim was too busy whinging to me about how no girls wanted to bonk him. FOR FOUR HOURS. Then when i'd say "well, goodbye now, Im off to my next class" he'd lovingly escort me.
Alarm bells? Anybody?
Finally, the alarm bells rang during this conversation:
Me: Aw, my friend Cam dropped out of one of my classes. Now I don't have anybody to sit next to in my lecture.
Tim: I'll come and sit next to you next time, if you like.
Me: I thought Thursday was your day off?
Tim: It is. I want it to be my duty to make you happy
Me: o_O Erm, I'll be right thanks.
(I should mention that Tim lives an hour and a half away from uni...)
DING! DING!
When I got a boyfriend, I informed Tim of him. He either went silent, changed the subject, or gave me a lecture on how it wouldn't last.
DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDING!!!
Then came the clincher.
"What would you do if I said I was attracted to you?" asked Tim.
"Well, Tim," I said, "I'd tell you that I'm not attracted to you in the slightest and I don't like you any more than a friend."
"Oh. Because..." The obvious 'I LIKE YOU' confession followed. Yawn.
But it didn't stop there. Oh no. I thought we could do the mature thing and stay friends. WRONG. Now I was the source of all of Tim's girl troubles. Henceforth, he bemoaned how unlucky it was that I wasn't single (oddly enough, not taking into account that I just plain didn't like him anyway) and how we would have been good together.
I told him to fuck off and blocked him on every corner of the internet. This is quite a milestone really - I rarely lose my temper with people and I'm nice as pie most of the time. It takes a LOT for me to get that angry at someone. Like when someone just does NOT get the hint.
He still sent me messages on myspace. One simply said "Snootchie bootchies".
Unfortunately, I bumped into him at uni, as you do. But i found out that he got a girlfriend! And you guessed it - this lass was a young Asian female. She was also in one of our classes.
"Hoorah!" thought I. "I can now resume a normal friendship without that weird sexual tension."
After excitedly asking him about her, he had this to say:
"You know, I told her that I once liked you, and she said that she can see why I was attracted to you."
I still had my boyfriend at this time. Tim had finally found a poor little clueless Asian chick who was actually attracted to him.
Remember what I said about never losing my temper with people?
"Fuck off, and never talk to me again," I hissed, grabbed my stuff, and left.
Apologies for ignoring all the alarm bells.
No apologies for length - I know you like it long.
(Mon 4th Feb 2008, 6:09, More)
» God
and while everyone's on their soapbox...
Hardcore atheists are just as annoying, if not more annoying, than hardcore religious types.
I'm an atheist too but seriously, telling your tales of conquest and pwnage over someone because they believe in something different is exactly the same as the preachy types who try and convert you.
Preachy, pushy, arsehole atheists make me ashamed to believe what I do - just like I'm sure preachy, pushy, arsehole Christians make normal Christians ashamed to believe in God.
(Mon 23rd Mar 2009, 14:56, More)
and while everyone's on their soapbox...
Hardcore atheists are just as annoying, if not more annoying, than hardcore religious types.
I'm an atheist too but seriously, telling your tales of conquest and pwnage over someone because they believe in something different is exactly the same as the preachy types who try and convert you.
Preachy, pushy, arsehole atheists make me ashamed to believe what I do - just like I'm sure preachy, pushy, arsehole Christians make normal Christians ashamed to believe in God.
(Mon 23rd Mar 2009, 14:56, More)
» Bastard Colleagues
Dirty Pirate Hooker
The main bar manager at the pub I work at, Jane* is an uberbitch. A skinny brunette who can do no wrong, she communicates through a series of snarking, sarcasm and general barking. Like an eagle with a corked rammed up its bum, she will swoop and shriek at you if you do the slightest thing wrong.
At first I thought all this rudeness was directed towards me. Convinced that she hated me, I shared my woes with my nicer co-workers. This is when I started hearing a bit more about her...
"Jane hates me," I whimpered at another bar manager.
"Jane is a motherfucking mole," she replied. "Don't listen to her. She's only got a job here because she's shagging the manager."
I found it through a few other girls that this somewhat attractive young girl was getting it on with a hairy fellow who looked nearly 40 and was a few centimeteres away from having a mullet. NO WAY. I suppose it's handy to do it with the fellow who draws up the rosters, though.
"Jane hates me," I whinged at another fellow manager.
"Jane is a dirty pirate hooker," he replied. "No, not really. But she did shag seven people at Big Day Out last weekend."
"WHAT?! But isn't she going out with...?"
"Yeah, she is, but she doesn't care."
GROSS.
"Hey, did you hear about Jane's abortion?" asked another co-worker.
NO I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT. WHAT THE FUCK.
Well, if anything, hearing about how my bitchy bar manager is not so perfect makes me feel less afraid of her now. Although I might make a cocktail wrong every now and again, at least I didn't sleep my way into a job, shag 7 people and get knocked up.
I don't want to know if she has to apologise for her boyfriend's length.
*Oh yeah, not real name.
(Thu 24th Jan 2008, 10:35, More)
Dirty Pirate Hooker
The main bar manager at the pub I work at, Jane* is an uberbitch. A skinny brunette who can do no wrong, she communicates through a series of snarking, sarcasm and general barking. Like an eagle with a corked rammed up its bum, she will swoop and shriek at you if you do the slightest thing wrong.
At first I thought all this rudeness was directed towards me. Convinced that she hated me, I shared my woes with my nicer co-workers. This is when I started hearing a bit more about her...
"Jane hates me," I whimpered at another bar manager.
"Jane is a motherfucking mole," she replied. "Don't listen to her. She's only got a job here because she's shagging the manager."
I found it through a few other girls that this somewhat attractive young girl was getting it on with a hairy fellow who looked nearly 40 and was a few centimeteres away from having a mullet. NO WAY. I suppose it's handy to do it with the fellow who draws up the rosters, though.
"Jane hates me," I whinged at another fellow manager.
"Jane is a dirty pirate hooker," he replied. "No, not really. But she did shag seven people at Big Day Out last weekend."
"WHAT?! But isn't she going out with...?"
"Yeah, she is, but she doesn't care."
GROSS.
"Hey, did you hear about Jane's abortion?" asked another co-worker.
NO I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT. WHAT THE FUCK.
Well, if anything, hearing about how my bitchy bar manager is not so perfect makes me feel less afraid of her now. Although I might make a cocktail wrong every now and again, at least I didn't sleep my way into a job, shag 7 people and get knocked up.
I don't want to know if she has to apologise for her boyfriend's length.
*Oh yeah, not real name.
(Thu 24th Jan 2008, 10:35, More)