» Body Horror

I had a small lump in my neck,
It wasn't painful, or anything. Just a lump. Then one morning, it was gone, and all I found was a little lump of poo in my bed.
I can only assume I had a neck poo.
I was not happy.
(Sun 14th Jul 2013, 2:43, More)

» Destruction, Demolition and Deconstruction

We're rockstars right?
So we find ourselves, a bit drunk, with an old tv. We gotta smash this thing up right?
"we totally have to throw it out a window!"
Now, when I say an old TV, it was a large early widescreen, I forget the size, but it wasn't your fancy flat screen, it weighed a ton. So we drag it up the stairs, open the window, and quickly realise there is no way this tv is fitting out of that window.
"fuck, alright, well, we must have a hammer somewhere."
Cue long search for any sort of blunt instrument to kill this TV. We find, in the bottom of a cupboard, a lump hammer. Perfect. Right, step one, smash the screen. Pow. Bang. Pop. Perfect, quite a satisfying moment.
Step 2, DECIMATE.
Hammer raised high, Dan brings the weighty head down in a strong arc and connects solidly with the well moulded Japanese (i think) plastic. Pang, thud...and then the world seems to stop, he's let go of the hammer, it spins effortlessly in the air, straight towards me, and cracks me right between the eyes. Making a fucking good mess of my nose, and a small dent in the TV.
Rock and roll destruction 0, TV plastic 1.
(Tue 13th Nov 2012, 2:15, More)

» Shit Claims to Fame II

I worked in a Restaurant attached to a little posh deli,
all cheese and posh meat and that. Good old Jeremy Paxman was a regular in the Deli for his cheese and would occasionally pop in to the Restaurant bar, and have a glass of wine before wandering off to go and interrogate some ingrate or other.
One afternoon, I was on a split shift, and sat at the bar having a coffee and doing the crossword. In strolls Paxman, sits down, gets a glass of wine and pulls out the same paper, and cracks on with the crossword. It's clear from where I'm sat that he's struggling a little (a surprise to me) and, after thinking it over a few times, proffer some help. I don't remember my exact words, but I think it was something along the lines of "Alright, how you getting on?" while waving the offending cryptic word puzzle in his direction. There was a long pause, combined with a stare that was almost like he was trying to decide whether to eat my eyeballs or my ears first, and then he just said; "What the fuck is 4 down?" I wish I remembered what it was, but I don't, but I had the answer then, and there began a jolly hour battering through the crossword with one of the most intimidating interviewers on the TV.
(Sun 23rd Sep 2012, 3:13, More)

» Utterly Drunk

Got stuck in the sunroof of a car.
I was trying to have a poo on the windscreen and the glass gave way.
(Thu 14th Feb 2013, 14:13, More)

» I Hurt My Rude Bits, Again

Panic sets in,
We'd climbed the scaffolding on the front of the Sheldonian in Oxford to claim another new roof joint (oxford university roofs are surprisingly accessible, and garner great views) and had smoked a couple of spliffs and finished the bottles of beer we'd brought. Perfect, just time to climb down, run across to the Purple Turtle for a quick drink, and head home. We peer over the top to make sure of our route, and at the bottom of our climb, university security and a cop car. Bollocks. Don't really want to have to deal with this. Must be another way down. So we go exploring.
Perfect, one side of the building has a fire escape ladder stair thing. That'll do, once we're on the ground we'll sort the next stage, if it's a fire escape it must have a way out.
We clamber over a couple of bits of nice architecture and drop on the the stairs. Well, I drop on to the stairs, T drops one leg on to the stairs, and one not. Right on the rail. Right on his man undercarriage. The sort of screech that sends birds flying from their nests in films comes from his throat. And I panic. They must have heard that round the front. We've gotta run. But, after easing his errant leg on to the right side of the rail, all T can muster is a stumbling gate.
So we run/stumble down the stairs, towards a gate that I have convinced myself is open as, who locks the exit from a fire escape? The University of Oxford apparently.
It's not a huge fence, so I give the slowly recovering T a leg up, and scramble after him. I don't know what happenrd next, maybe I lost my grip, or it was wet, or whatever, but just as I am about to make it over, BOOM, balls meet gate. It's white hot agony. But somewhere, in the back of my mind I remember we're escaping. And I panic, adrenaline kicks in, and we're suddenly lead actors in a ballache - great escape. We sort of painfully run back round to the front, past the security van, and make our way up the broad and to Boozey victory at the PT. We make it at about 2, waved in by the bouncer who knows us, grab 2 bottles of beer each, and sit, drinking one, and cradling the ice cold second beer next to our slightly throbbing balls.
Victory.
(Tue 12th Mar 2013, 2:18, More)