b3ta.com user spiderslut
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Profile for spiderslut:
Profile Info:


Recent front page messages:


Best answers to questions:

» Narrow Escapes

I think I must've been about six or seven. You know, that age where you do silly things that could potentially kill you but it never really sinks in until much later on in life.

Anyhoo. I was on one of those fancy sleeper train things hurtling across the south of France, upto my armpits in x-men comics and warm coca-cola. The only kind of coca-cola you have on any kind of extended journey.

So yes, the family was all there about to hit the proverbial hay and all that, when I felt that all to familiar tingling in my bladder. Too much warm coke, felt like a balloon was filling up inside of me. So yes, I dragged my sorry behind out of bed and blearily made my way to the loo.

After relieving myself, I was caught in one of those weird inter-section like parts of train, the bits between the carriages and there was no obvious indication as to how I'd made my way there. I went upto one door and it was locked and had a blacked out window. I went to the other and it similarly had a blacked out window. I tried the door on this and WHOOOOOOSH!!!

There was the French countryside in all it's 100mph glory. Ah yes, and my life flashing before my eyes. That didn't take very long as I recall. I was only 8. Only so many memories of birthday parties and power rangers episodes to go around really.

But yes, I was clinging onto the door for dear life, feeling my grip slip away, knowing that my brief life was coming to an end. Then my mum grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and pulled me back inside. "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST SPIDERSLUT, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!" I was jabbering whilst my father went completely ballistic at the train guards. "LE FUCKING DOOR-PORT, WHAT LE FUCK?!" etc etc. French was never his strong suit.

So yes, we were moved to first class and all was well. But yeah, it beat alton towers.

Apologies for the length.
(Thu 19th Aug 2010, 14:22, More)

» "You're doing it wrong"

Sham Pain.
A group of friends and myself were celebrating the end of exams (being the tax dodging wankery student twunts we are) and it fell upon me to open the bottle of bubbly I'd bought as a token of celebration. It was a bottle of cheap tescos own brand and all of that kind of lark, but it was more the fact that we were drinking champagne like real people must do to celebrate stuff. So anyway, I'd never actually opened a bottle of champagne before. I'd never paid much attention to it being opened at family do's and whathaveyou, more concerned with getting at the booze itself. I was rather trolleyed and simply saw a corked bottle. A cork. Obvious thing to do, Cork screw. Sorted. I pierced the cork and the bottle started to fizz. Rapidly.

What ensued was chaos reminiscent of basra. I'd drenched myself in champagne as the cork (and corkscrew) pinged out of the bottle and clobbered me in the face. I don't think my friends minded the loss of champagne just to see me come in with a bloody nose and covered in champers. Good times.

I finished the bottle by myself.
(Thu 15th Jul 2010, 17:30, More)

» Letters they'll never read

for future spiderslut.
Don't. Whatever you're thinking of. Just don't. Do the opposite of that.
(Tue 9th Mar 2010, 22:49, More)

» Caught!

a quick nap.
Well, yes, as with most of these stories, there was a certain degree of alcohol involved. I'd recently turned twenty one and was back with my rents for the weekend, all fun and games and lovely jubbly. So yes, meandering over, I decided to get utterly sloshed with some friends of mine. We were sitting in the park getting merrily pissed when I got a text from a rather tasty dish I'd been working on for some time now, saying that she was coming over. "Holy duckfuckery!" I shouted as I ploughed through the undergrowth to go and buy some pimms. Girls love pimms. And I love drunk girls. Simple see? So yes, I'd bought a big bottle of pimms, some lemonade, fruit, the whole shabang. It was turning out to be rather fantastic.

We got back to my house and continued the festivities, myself getting changed into a suit (I think I must've been on a bit of James Bond high or something) and I'd mixed the pimms up and everything was lovely. Then comes another text "Sorry, can't make it, shattered and have to be up at six tomorrow, have fun though x". Gosh Darnit. Well, that was plan a) out the window. It wasn't much of a plan. Get her as drunk as me and then bump uglies if the situation arose. Ah well. Good to have a plan b). I drank the entire jug of pimms to myself and continued with lager thereafter.

Suitably hammered I stumbled my way to the toilet and dropped trousers, after making a quick detour to my brothers room to drop a bed on him (he was sleeping on his sofa, but that's another story). Pissing everywhere I thought it would prudent to sit down to have a wee rather than stand up and ruin most of the bathroom furnishings.

So yes, I had a sit down and a lovely wee and we all know how drunk pissing is, needless to say the sense of relief was overwhelming. So in my drunken euphoria, I thought what could be nicer than a quick nap, just to recharge my batteries.

So I fell off the toilet with my trousers round my ankles and a fresh new purple bruise on my face. Pain and confusion, I staggered to my feet to be greeted by camera phones clicking away behind the glass panel above my bathroom door.

Sigh. So yes, that's me there on facebook with my dick hanging out, vomit down my front and pissy trousers. Form an orderly queue please ladies.
(Tue 8th Jun 2010, 13:02, More)

» The B3TA Confessional

Dear Ex-girlfriend
Okay. So yes, I said I'd never cheat on you.

That was a lie. I had sex with a grand total of eight other women during our relationship. What can I say? Sorry? I'm not. You were a terrible girlfriend and even worse in bed. And that's saying something.

I also said I quit smoking.

I didn't.

And I also said that I'd stopped getting so hammered that so I'd pass out.

I didn't. I'd simply make up a ludicrous excuse that you'd invariably believe because they were too outlandish not to be a lie. (i.e. "Yeah, my flatmate went ballistic and smashed all the crockery over her head and I had to take her to hospital and you know how they get about mobiles in A&E" when in reality I was upto my armpits in gin getting utterly hammered).

Yes I was a bad boyfriend. So yeah, sorry I guess.
(Fri 27th Aug 2010, 1:11, More)
[read all their answers]