b3ta.com user Ping_Pang_Piddley_Dee
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a bit older than the average b3tan but no less bored with life.

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» Sticking it to The Man

Cider Scam.
About a year or so ago, I discovered the delights of Koppaberg Pear Cider but it was quite hard to get hold of back then. However, it turned out that my local supermarket (which may or may not be advertised by a fat-tongued chef, and for the purposes of this answer, qualifies as "The Man") had a supply. The first time I bought some, I grabbed two boxes of four cans each, among some other shopping. When I got home I looked at the receipt and found that I had been charged £5.49 for one of the boxes and £1.45 for the other box. I thought about this for a while and realised that somehow the barcode reader must have read the barcode on one of the cans, rather than the one on the box, and that the till operator hadn't noticed. I idly wondered if maybe there was a way to influence the processing of the shopping through the till, so that this could happen more often. I came to the conclusion that maybe if I placed the box on the conveyor belt in such a way that the scanner would be more likely to read the barcode on one of the cans, I might be able to save a few quid on the price of the delicious fruit based brew.

On my next trip I tried it out. I did a normal-ish shop and grabbed 3 boxes of Koppaberg. When I was putting the shopping on the conveyor belt, I made sure that the barcode on the box was furthest away from the scanner, and that the barcodes on the scanner were facing the side that the scanner would read. To my surprise it worked almost perfectly, and two of the three boxes were priced up at £1.45. Result. Next time, I tried it again. Unfortunately, on this trip, the cider was all that I was buying, and the till operator was on the case and noticed that £4.35 was a little on the low side for twelve cans of premium brand cider. She fiddled about with the boxes and the scanner until the right prices came up. This meant that I had to rethink my strategy somewhat. After some further experimentation, it dawned on me that the supermarket had two broad categories of till operators - middle-aged women, who had been doing it for years and didn't miss a trick, and young men who had been promoted from pushing trolleys around the carpark, who did miss tricks. Therefore, it became a simple matter of picking the right till operator, and arranging the shopping in a certain way, and, bingo, cheap, cheap Kopparberg. I also decided to always pay cash, and not use my loyalty card, so they wouldn't be able to trace me. I must have got away with this for about three months before they worked it out and changed their pricing so that the tills would only charge for sets of 4 cans.

I did wonder about the morality of this but figured that they probably lose more in kids eating the pick n mix than they did to me, so screw them if they couldn't get their operating processes right. Apologies for length, but it's such a lovely drink that I would have been more than happy to pay full price for it
(Fri 18th Jun 2010, 10:21, More)

» PE Lessons

You only need three,
Fight The Power, Don't Believe The Hype, and Get The Fuck Outta Dodge.

Yeah Boiiiyyyyyyyyy!
(Fri 20th Nov 2009, 9:39, More)

» Family codes and rituals

My little boy.
I appear to be in the early stage of being the ritual initiator for my family. My youngest son is 4 and his name is Dylan but for some reason I am completely unable to call him this. Instead I keep going off on meaningless mumbo-jumbo type rants when I am talking to him. It started when I called him "ding-dong" one day - I have no idea why but it stuck and has developed into some sort of weird game whereby the stranger the name I give him the better. He has been called “tiddly tiddly whacker” “knobby knobby knob knob" “scarecrow billy pants” and “diddly diddly doo dah” – all by me. The rest of the family are joining in now and the poor kid is cottoning-on to the fact that if he hears a random set of words it usually means that someone is trying to get his attention. (This may or may not be where my username comes from).

While typing this I have been reminded of some of the strange things my mum used to say when I was a kid that I and my siblings still use today.

If any part of the sky is predominantly dark clouds – “It’s a bit black over Bill’s mother’s”.

If one of us was just sitting about doing nothing – “Look at you sitting there like Piffy on a rock bun”.

When someone was trying to get one over on her – “They must think I just came down the river on my mother’s piano”.

I wonder if my insanity is hereditary.

First post – be nice!
(Fri 21st Nov 2008, 11:21, More)

» Rubbish Towns

I live in Gravesend.
Therefore I win this QOTW.
(Thu 29th Oct 2009, 11:14, More)

» Food sex

Dream On
My first wife and I were very unadventurous in the bedroom – I was always a bit of an ingénue when it came to sex and she, frankly, couldn’t be bothered. However, on occasions, which invariably involved alcohol, we would sometimes try something different.

Alcohol use was mainly restricted to the weekends and one Friday night we were at home and partaking of a drink or several. Now, some of you may remember a very funny American comedy show called “Dream On” which was shown on Friday evenings by Channel 4 in the early nineties. “Dream On” was an early HBO programme and, as such, was rather adult at times.

On the evening in question, the lead character, Martin Tupper, was involved in some sexual shenanigans with a very fetching young lady. Amongst their activities, was the use of aerosol cream to make circles around the lady’s nipples. “We should try that some time” says a mildly inebriated Ping Pang – “Well we’ve got some of that squirty cream in the fridge” says the former Mrs Ping Pang, and off I went.

Having procured the cream we set about getting naked and the ex suggested that I apply it to her in the same way as Martin Tupper had to his paramour. I, however, had other ideas and decided to apply the dairy-based foodstuff to her lady garden. We both giggled for a bit and I then announced my intention to remove the cream using my mouth.

After a couple of mouthfuls, I began having serious regrets. A combination of a bit too much alcohol, squirty cream that had possibly been in the fridge a couple of days too long, and my ex’s propensity to have slightly pungent curtains led to me feeling rather strange. I lifted my head to tell her that maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, and promptly threw up all over her.

After that we returned to strictly vanilla-style, off with the lights and up with the nightie sex, although I should point out that since meeting the current Mrs Ping Pang I have become a sexual thundergod and will try anything (but only once).
(Fri 7th Aug 2009, 21:41, More)
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