b3ta.com user PsychoApeMan
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» My Worst Date

Nice question. Brings back a host of *wonderful* memories...
Indeedy. And apologies for length.

So, anyways; it's my first year of uni, and there's this fan-fucking-tastic lookin' lady who I've been wanting all year but never quite had the balls to say anything too. And it's about 3 weeks til the end of term, and lo and behold, she's stood next to me at the bar. So, it's now or never- so I put my neck out- and it's fantastic. We're chatting for ages, getting on really well and I'm thinkin' things are gonna go somewhere. Anyways, towards the end of the night, I make my move- and am shot down hideously, in that most contrived, painful, "You're a really nice guy, but I just want to be friends- you're just not my type!" way (which, by the way ladies, is infinitely worse than a slap and a drink in the face). So, I stagger off home, very annoyed indeed. So annoyed, in fact, that upon waking the next morning, I start drinking again to drown my sorrows. And continue to drink all day...

So I'm sat in the bar, It's about 9.30pm now, and I've drunk a ludicrous amount, but am still coherent enough, and pretty much in control- because when I'm miserable I find it very hard indeed to get pissed.
And lo and behold, just outside the bar is my lady friend- and it appears she's being bothered by a cadre of 4 or 5 local chavvy twats. And being miserable, I am most definitely up for some ass- kickin. So I go outside, puff my chest out and tell them to fuck off. And all would have been well, except there wasn't just the 4 of them- there was another 5 round the corner. And while I held my own pretty damn well and eventually beat some sense into them, I am by no means left unscathed- particularly as, as we all know, the chav's attack of choice is a well placed foot in the nads. So I'm feeling somewhat vulnerable in my particulars, when alls of a sudden she grabs a handfull of nads, and before I have a chance to scream "DEAR FUCKING CHRIST, WOMAN!!!" she pulls me in close and whispers in my ear "I've changed my mind" and starts humping my leg. All of a sudden, I'm not feeling quite so achy anymore, so we head off to hers. On the way back, however, it becomes apparent that she's somewhat worse for wear, and she asks if we can take a seat at the bus stop. So we sit down, and start necking ferociously. And my god, I'm so damned happy I can almost ignore the immense pain in my nuts.

I know what your thinking. So far, it really hasn't been all that bad. This is true. Unfortunately, this is where it goes somewhat downhill.

She spews into my mouth. Well, I say, "in my mouth", but it more kinda exploded outwards all over both of our faces. And we pull back, and as soon as my nose registers the puke, I vomit all over her glorious cleavage. So, things aren't going great at this point. I decide that it's probably best to call it a night, and it's time to walk her home. But she can't quite get up, so I'm trying to pick her up, but both of us are slippery as hell what with all the spew, and it's prooving somewhat difficult. So I'm stood there trying to wrestle her to her feet, she's groaning and grunting, and who should turn up but her flatmates. To be honest, this bit's all a little hazy, but to cut a long story short, they take her home, and I stagger back to my place.

Wake up the next day, my head is in agony, my favourite shirt is still soaked through with vomit, and worstest of all, my nuts are the size of coconuts. So, being a logical kind of chap, I stay in bed for three days til the swelling has gone down a tad before I venture back out into the real world, and when I eventually do, I notice a lot of dodgy looks coming in my direction. Turns out, that "APPARENTLY", on the night in question, I had got ludicrously drunk, started a fight, thrown up several times on a girl who had almost passed out, and was then found trying to manhandle her onto a bus!!

When I spoke to her, she told me that she knew this wasn't the case, but was too embarrassed to tell anyone, so she let them go on believing I was some creep intent on abducting her.

My reputation has to this day barely recovered. Incidentally, I did eventually forgive her, but on our second date I broke her ankle, so I kinda figured it wasn't to be.

edit: Oh wait, no, it was a friend. Honest.
(Sat 23rd Oct 2004, 0:55, More)

» Job Interviews

My favourite job interview...
Interviewer: So where do you see yourself in five years?

[Thinking to himself "Don't say doing you wife. Don't say doing your wife."]

Doing your, uh, son...
(Sat 22nd Jan 2005, 1:26, More)

» Obscure Memorabilia

Hmmm.. A few things spring to mind..
For example, my extensive collection of celebrity nipple hair. I tie them end to end, and use them to floss my butt cheeks. I've got about a metre and a half of peter andre's alone. Don't ask how I got it.

two space hoppers up my top and a night of agony in a putney nightclub
(Thu 4th Nov 2004, 19:15, More)

» Job Interviews

What kind of call center *is* this?!
I was interviewed over the phone for a call center job.
The first question was 'How would you deal with old people?' And the first thing to spring to mind was some kind of logan's run esque final solution proposition...

Luckily, some sensible part, deep, deep down inside me said, "I would make an extra effort to speak clearly and concisely, and be as patient as possible." She didn't like it. I was mortified. But then the next question came and *really* threw me.

"How would you deal with someone whose spouse had died of cancer?"

What? WHAT? mard arse bintlet. What the hell was she talking about? Why the hell was that relevant? I'll never know... But the best I could come up with was,

"Try not to mention... death.. and... aaah....

"Right, well, if you've got the job we'll be in touch. Thanks. Bye."

Yeah... Didn't get that one...
(Fri 21st Jan 2005, 0:04, More)

» Evidence that you're getting old

I see kids doing pretty much *exactly* what I was doing 5 years ago..
And say, "Tsk, kids nowadays."

All the fucking time. Damn I'm a hypocrite.

That and the bad back, knees, ankles, neck, and shoulders. I feel like I have arthritis already, it's fucking ludicrous.

My favourite book is 70 years old.

My favourite film star was born not one, but 2 centuries ago.

Oh yeah- I'm 21.

Edit: And of course, the fact that I can seriously remember *nothing*.. Yeah, I'm actually 20. And I frequently ask people the date and feel really embarrassed when they only tell me day and month, and I have to ask them to be more specific...

George Orwell, Down and Out in Paris and London; Bogart
(Sun 31st Oct 2004, 14:25, More)
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