» Evil Pranks

rag week
not mine, my gf's uncle - he's a good laugh, is Alan.

So anyway.

It's rag week. At a University in a large town. Kingston-upon-Thames, as it goes.

What you do is, inform the workmen digging up the road that a bunch of students dressed as coppers are going to try to stop you digging up the road. Then go round the police station and inform the duty chap that a bunch of students dressed as workmen are going to dig the road up...

Retreat to safe distance and watch. Coppers and workmen *hate* students...

PS apologies if bindun, and that.
(Mon 17th Dec 2007, 20:41, More)

» Family Feuds

I smacked my brother in the face. Hard.
And holy *fuck* he deserved it.

OK so... my brother Huw works as a doctor. Not that you can tell by the smug fuckeryness he brings to any given party. Oh no. With that and the two small kids, he's a bit too used to being in charge, no matter what. I'd love to say this doesn't spill over to his non-work life. But I'd be lying.

~~backstory~~

Huw was a superior, lordly little cunt when we were kids. Never missing the opportunity to give it the Charlie Big-Potatoes it over his little brother (that's me. Hi.), when to be honest the answer was simply "er, that's because you're nine, and I'm six, you daft bastard. Hence you can do long division or whatever." But, you know, whatever gets you through...

~~/backstory~~

Fast forward a few years - I'm 34 at that point - and I'm quite good at DIY. Basically because my mate's Dad showed me most of it, it's not a big deal in and of itself. I now work doing project management for an audio-visual company... data networks, a/v, whatever it might be. Tellies, projectors, that sort of thing.

So when Huw's wife asks me how to fix a big heavy mirror to the wall, I give her the advice about wall fixings, rawlpugs, several screws versus two coachbolts, the usual. Any builder or old boy anywhere knows this stuff. Plus a bit of over-engineering just in case.

However.

My mistake was to casually enquire as to the weight of the mirror. 35kg apparently. "Oh, right, so about the same as a big telly." This being last year when plasma TVs weighed about that, in the 42"-50" range. LCD tellies weigh less, but tbqfh at the big sizes they are wank. Sorry for dulls; it's my job.

This is the point where Doctor Smugtwat has to weigh in. "I don't think a telly weighs *quite* that much..." While doing these mincy iron-pumping actions, which is funny; he hasn't taken any exercise in ten years or so.

"Er, the weights are written on the boxes, dear boy. I can read, actually."

To cut a too-long-already story short, Doctor Smugtwat takes a swing. Misses. Gets a smack in the mouth, goes down. Bleeds a bit. Bit of a mistake when only one brother takes any exercise (and the boxing classes were good fun, never planned to use them but it's all a bit needs-must-when-the-devil-drives). I think it was a sort of a right hook with a bit of uppercut. Got toothy marks on my knuckles and everything. Score.

Huw, if you're reading this, you're a smug cunt, you deserved it, and I'm amused to picture you bleeding on the floor every time I think about it. I miss your kids and your missus, but you? You can fuck off and die. Remember the time I had to take you away from the house party for nearly-getting-a-shoeing from the host? I do. And you say *he's* a psycho? Mirrors are available, dear boy.

Lack of funnies? Sorry everyone.
(Thu 12th Nov 2009, 22:06, More)

» Accidental innuendo

it needs a service
In another life I would trawl the hi-fi shops of the UK and try to sell them stuff. I don't do that anymore.

So one day I'm in mid-patter to the bored hi-fi bods when a large West Indian lady walks in and says...

(imagine patois a la the Lilt ladies)
"Hello. I've got an old Bush and it needs attention. It's not working like it used to."

Calm and polite as you like, the shop manager was a star - "just bring it in and we'll take a look at it dear", then as soon as she left, we all pissed ourselves.

PS if you are reading this and it was your shop, hi Andrew and/or Paul.
(Fri 13th Jun 2008, 20:02, More)

» Irrational Hatred

People who stop at the top of escalators to attend to text messaging
Specifically, the one headed down towards the tubes at Waterloo, yesterday. Yes you, you corduroy-jacketed open-neck-shirted fortysomething floppyhaired fucknugget. Old enough to know better, as well.

See also them groups of the kids having a chat right in front of the shop doorway. I like a chat too, but six feet thataway would be just fine. Now get out of the way.
(Thu 31st Mar 2011, 20:10, More)

» My Arch-nemesis

dead rat man
I like to work out at the gym, me. And get a bit sweaty. Often in the form of Circuits classes - there's a man shouting, and there are girls watching. So of course you work harder. Oh and the Boxing one means you get to sort of nearly hit people. After either such class I like nothing more than to sit in the jacuzzi and/or steam room to wind down a bit, then have a nice shower. Feeling all refreshed I re-emerge into the changing room to find - the smell of Satan which burns my nasal cilia and ruins the mood rather. So my nemesis is hideously stinky go for a massive shit from Hades in the gym man, he's following me and his timing is impeccable. The bastard.
(Sun 2nd May 2010, 9:02, More)