Profile for Bad Monkey:
Hmm, lets see. I'm a 40 year old bloke who has spent the last 20-odd years in the military. Therefore I have the sense of humour of a 5 year old and think that fart jokes are the height of comedy sophistication.
I've trawled around the usual 'fun' sites over the years; 4Chan, FunnyJunk, Newsbiscuit, the cheezburger network, etc, etc. So my brain is full of useless memes and odd references that make normal people grin and back away carefully.
Some pics I had fun making:
Elecopter
Farty Diver #1
Farty Diver #2
Recent front page messages:
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Best answers to questions:
[read all their answers]
- a member for 13 years, 7 months and 22 days
- has posted 306 messages on the main board
- has posted 0 messages on the talk board
- has posted 259 messages on the links board
- (including 19 links)
- has posted 15 stories and 106 replies on question of the week
- They liked 183 pictures, 110 links, 0 talk posts, and 32 qotw answers.
- Ignore this user
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Hmm, lets see. I'm a 40 year old bloke who has spent the last 20-odd years in the military. Therefore I have the sense of humour of a 5 year old and think that fart jokes are the height of comedy sophistication.
I've trawled around the usual 'fun' sites over the years; 4Chan, FunnyJunk, Newsbiscuit, the cheezburger network, etc, etc. So my brain is full of useless memes and odd references that make normal people grin and back away carefully.
Some pics I had fun making:
Elecopter
Farty Diver #1
Farty Diver #2
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Irrational Hatred
Middle Lane Morons
People who blindly trundle along the middle lane of the motorway because they're too lazy (or dumb) to drive properly.
It causes veins to pop out on my forehead whenever I see one and I am tempted to ram the twats off the road.
My mate 'orbits' them by overtaking, moving to the inside lane and slowing down while they pass, then overtaking again. His personal best is 8 loops before the dozy cow took the hint.
(Thu 31st Mar 2011, 14:51, More)
Middle Lane Morons
People who blindly trundle along the middle lane of the motorway because they're too lazy (or dumb) to drive properly.
It causes veins to pop out on my forehead whenever I see one and I am tempted to ram the twats off the road.
My mate 'orbits' them by overtaking, moving to the inside lane and slowing down while they pass, then overtaking again. His personal best is 8 loops before the dozy cow took the hint.
(Thu 31st Mar 2011, 14:51, More)
» Waste of money
Huge waste of cash?
Anything with an Apple logo on it.
(Thu 30th Sep 2010, 20:02, More)
Huge waste of cash?
Anything with an Apple logo on it.
(Thu 30th Sep 2010, 20:02, More)
» Filth!
Old Lady Wax
Rachel was a near blind old woman who used to push a mop around the workshop in a vain attempt to keep the place clean. She was a nice enough old bird, but was a bit 'odd'. As she was 'optically challenged', she had a digital watch that spoke the time in a Stephen Hawking type voice when she pushed a button on the front.
One day she asked me if I would help her out by replacing the battery on the watch as it had run out and Stephen wouldn't tell her the time any more. She lacked the dexterity, knowledge and eyesight to do the job herself and was getting a bit upset about it. Being a nice chap I agreed, after all, how hard could it be?
She took the watch off and handed it to me with a happy smile on her face. Then I looked down and saw what I'd let myself in for...
You know when you've been wearing a watch for a while, some sort of residue builds up on the back and around the screws? Well imagine that, but about 10 years old and 1/4" deep. The whole back of the watch was brown with the stuff. It was caked over the straps and creeping around the edges of the face. I had to scrape the smelly, waxy crap off to find the screws holding the back on. It stuck to everything that came into contact with it and stank of stale sweat and cat piss.
I replaced the battery as quick as I could and resisted the temptation to dunk the watch into the solvents that I'd used to clean my tools. I ended up cleaning the whole watch as it looked odd with chunks of the coating scraped away. The stale odour stayed on my fingers though several OCD-like scrubbing sessions and my lunch made several bids for freedom as I discovered bits of the gunk under my fingernails.
Rachel came back the next day and was delighted to see (or rather hear) her watch working again. She was obviously impressed by my efforts, because she brought her spare talking watch (complete with fresh old lady wax) in for battery replacement a couple of days later.
(Tue 7th Feb 2012, 22:30, More)
Old Lady Wax
Rachel was a near blind old woman who used to push a mop around the workshop in a vain attempt to keep the place clean. She was a nice enough old bird, but was a bit 'odd'. As she was 'optically challenged', she had a digital watch that spoke the time in a Stephen Hawking type voice when she pushed a button on the front.
One day she asked me if I would help her out by replacing the battery on the watch as it had run out and Stephen wouldn't tell her the time any more. She lacked the dexterity, knowledge and eyesight to do the job herself and was getting a bit upset about it. Being a nice chap I agreed, after all, how hard could it be?
She took the watch off and handed it to me with a happy smile on her face. Then I looked down and saw what I'd let myself in for...
You know when you've been wearing a watch for a while, some sort of residue builds up on the back and around the screws? Well imagine that, but about 10 years old and 1/4" deep. The whole back of the watch was brown with the stuff. It was caked over the straps and creeping around the edges of the face. I had to scrape the smelly, waxy crap off to find the screws holding the back on. It stuck to everything that came into contact with it and stank of stale sweat and cat piss.
I replaced the battery as quick as I could and resisted the temptation to dunk the watch into the solvents that I'd used to clean my tools. I ended up cleaning the whole watch as it looked odd with chunks of the coating scraped away. The stale odour stayed on my fingers though several OCD-like scrubbing sessions and my lunch made several bids for freedom as I discovered bits of the gunk under my fingernails.
Rachel came back the next day and was delighted to see (or rather hear) her watch working again. She was obviously impressed by my efforts, because she brought her spare talking watch (complete with fresh old lady wax) in for battery replacement a couple of days later.
(Tue 7th Feb 2012, 22:30, More)
» Drunk Parents
Only ever saw my Dad pissed once...
He came in, plonked himself down on the front room floor and sang me a song about Nelly Cartwright, who apparently couldn't fart right. This was due to a problem with her arse being airtight. A delightful tune accompanied by a chorus of brown noise from his nether regions.
My Mum on the other hand gets ratted on a regular basis and has recently taken to carrying spare knickers in her handbag as she has pissed herself at a number of family get togethers.
The shame of having your Mum barge past the queue for the loo and try to evict the current incumbent, only to return minutes later with piss all down her dress is something I have to put up with quite regularly.
None of the above has mentally scarred me, turned me in to an Alcoholic or made me want to cut myself, but I'm sure that the resident trolls and 'experts' will be along shortly to discredit my ramblings, accuse me of reposting an old story and then circle-jerk themselves into oblivion while I cry softly into my keyboard because of the bad men on the Internet.
(Wed 2nd Mar 2011, 11:35, More)
Only ever saw my Dad pissed once...
He came in, plonked himself down on the front room floor and sang me a song about Nelly Cartwright, who apparently couldn't fart right. This was due to a problem with her arse being airtight. A delightful tune accompanied by a chorus of brown noise from his nether regions.
My Mum on the other hand gets ratted on a regular basis and has recently taken to carrying spare knickers in her handbag as she has pissed herself at a number of family get togethers.
The shame of having your Mum barge past the queue for the loo and try to evict the current incumbent, only to return minutes later with piss all down her dress is something I have to put up with quite regularly.
None of the above has mentally scarred me, turned me in to an Alcoholic or made me want to cut myself, but I'm sure that the resident trolls and 'experts' will be along shortly to discredit my ramblings, accuse me of reposting an old story and then circle-jerk themselves into oblivion while I cry softly into my keyboard because of the bad men on the Internet.
(Wed 2nd Mar 2011, 11:35, More)