b3ta.com user SausageWarrior
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Living on the sunny and glorious, if sometimes damp, Isle of Man. Originally from South East England, now living the high life on a rock and waiting for the TT....

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» Waste of money

Mental Van Rental
My brother-in-law - we shall call him Andrew, because that is his name - used to work with another brother-in-law, John, in a blacksmiths forge.

Andrew decided he needed a van to run around in, chuck stuff in the back and not care too much about. He rang around, and his mates at the local scrap yard informed him of a Bedford Van that had just been brought in. It was a bit bent & rusty, but still road legal and with 8 months MOT & 4 months tax - yours for £80 - bargain. Oh, it doesn't start because the fanbelt snapped....

John & Andrew set off in the works transit van to said scrapyard which is deep in the Sussex countryside. On arrival at the scrapyard, £80 changes grubby hands, and the Bedford is tied to to the rear of the Transit for the long tow home through the lanes. All is going well, until a long sweeping bend. Turning into the bend, Andrew realises his rookie mistake of not putting the keys in the ignition, as the steering lock suddenly clicks on. With the steering locked, he frantically pumps at the brakes which fail to respond due to the engine not running.

Cut to scene of John in the Transit looking bemused out of the side window as Andrew overtakes him on this beautiful countryside bend, snapping the tow rope and crashing spectacularly into a very solid, ancient stone wall surrounding a church.

The dust & rust cloud settles. The impact was so bad that the van is now a write-off, and Andrew has to open the rear doors to retrieve his bobble hat.

A call is made to the same scrapyard who come and pick up the van and give Andrew £30 scrap value, pissing themselves loudly at the same time. Net result, £50 spent on renting a van for half an hour, a ride of terror and making yourself look like a complete bell-end.
(Tue 5th Oct 2010, 5:37, More)

» The B3TA Detective Agency

Sir Clement Freud and the Physics Genius...
Story from Big Clem:

"I was for six years rector of the University of Dundee. As rector, one would chair the court of the University. There was one occasion when a physics student came to us with a complaint. He had, in the course of his final year physics exam been asked a question. He had been asked ‘How would you gauge the height of a skyscraper, using a barometer?’

He had answered that he would take the barometer to the top of the skyscraper. He would tie a piece of string to it, and lower it to the ground. He would then measure the elapsed string, add the length of the barometer, and that would be the height of the skyscraper. He was failed for showing a total ignorance of physics. He appealed to us on the grounds that he had given a correct answer and received no credit for it. And the marks were important to the quality of his degree.

We considered, and then accepted he had a point and so appointed an external examiner to ask the question again. When the examiner met him, he said to the student ‘You’ve had plenty of time to answer it, so come on what is your answer?’

The student said, ‘It isn’t as simple as that. I could of course go to the top of the skyscraper, and drop the barometer. And then with an accurate stop watch record the length of time taken for it to hit the ground and then, bearing in mind the falling speed of the object, I could give you a pretty good idea of what the height of the skycraper is. Or, and this is I imagine what you had in mind, I could measure the barometric pressure at the top of the building, and then again at the bottom. But on consideration, what I think I would do, would be to go to the janitor and say to him, “If you tell me the height of this skyscraper, I will give you a barometer.”‘
(Fri 14th Oct 2011, 12:26, More)

» Twattery

People who step off the end of an escalator and stop, blissfully unaware of the 100 people moving inexorably behind them.
(Fri 13th Apr 2012, 8:26, More)

» More Pet Stories

Amish Cat
We had a cat, called Max, that we bought from the local Hutterian Brethren. They are a religious community near our village, somewhat akin to the Amish, although far less strict. They are great people who keep their religion to themselves, but do so much to help others.

Anyway, they had an open day, and we ended up buying a little kitten from them, and we called him Max. Max inherited the peace loving ways of his former home and was constantly walked all over by the local chav cats. His hunting skills were limited to worms. Yes, worms.

I came home from work one day to see Max sitting at one end of the windowsill of the lounge window. At the other end, sitting in similar tacky ornament fashion, was another random cat that Max had let come in through the cat flap.

"Oh great, Max, you useless bastard" I cursed as I unlocked and walked in through the front door, resolving to hoof the aforementioned interloper over the back hedge. I opened the doorway from the hall to the lounge, only to see an enormous smear of cat shit arcing away from me across our recently laid & very expensive beige carpet. Interloper had taken a dump right behind the door, so that when I opened it, I smeared the steaming pile across the carpet like a professional turd plasterer.

Deep rage ensues, hissing cat grabbed and hoofed over the back hedge at great altitude. I spend the next several hours retching over & scrubbing a big pile from our deep pile, and had to remove the door to scrub the underside of that too.

Max, just sat and watched the whole thing from his vantage point on the windowsill. I fucking hate cats.
(Fri 1st Feb 2013, 14:23, More)

» Twattery

Excuse me, I'm very important
After filling up my car at the petrol station, I walked in to the shop to pay. There are two rows of shelves lining the route to the till. I can see a man at the till paying, so I stand approximately 3 feet behind him and wait. I make sure I stand over to one side of the 4 foot-ish corridor formed by these shelves, so that when he turns round, he can get out easily.

He finishes paying and turns round and glares at me. "EXCUSE ME!" he says glaring at the centimetre gap between my right shoulder and the shelves. I meet his glare and slowly swivel my eyes to look at the three foot gap between my left shoulder and the opposite shelving.

I look back at him...more glaring...eyes swivel back to the huge gap I've left...look back at him again...penny drops that I don't subscribe to his own sense of self importance.

This bag-lady's-sex-squirt-gargling genius huffed off, and judging by the increasing pinkness of his chubby neck, not appreciating my "There, that wasn't tricky now, was it?" comment....
(Fri 13th Apr 2012, 8:19, More)
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