Profile for Evil|berT:
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Best answers to questions:
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- a member for 21 years, 9 months and 24 days
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Gallery here simplyspiffing.com
Recent front page messages:
The lesser spotted flightless parrotato
clicky biggy
EDIT: First evar FP! Thank-ee Magic Donkey!
(Sun 17th Aug 2003, 12:56, More)
clicky biggy
EDIT: First evar FP! Thank-ee Magic Donkey!
(Sun 17th Aug 2003, 12:56, More)
Best answers to questions:
» The Worst Journey in the World
The last bus ...
late one night, staggering home from the pub, I hopped onto what I assumed was the correct bus for my house. It set off in the general direction of my home, then suddenly, without warning, turned around.
I was a little nervous at this point, not so much about the direction change, but about the guy sat across from me fiddling with razor blades. Oh, and the group of chavs at the back with a broken stella bottle each. And the strange smell. We started heading out into the less savoury parts of Sheffield, and soon were in housing estates that I didn't recognise at all.
Now, normally, if I get on the wrong bus, I hop off and walk home. This was now not possible. First, there was the fact that I had no idea where I was, and second was the insane murderous types I was sharing the bus with. I figured if I didn't sit tight, I might not be sitting at all any more.
After about 45 minutes of sitting in deathly silence, with only the sniggering chavs and the occassional *snick* sound of another piece of seat being cut open by the guy with the razor blades, I spotted something I recognised. I couldn't tell what it was, as it was too far away for my drunken, spazzy eyes to make out but it seemed really familiar.
Imagine my joy when I discovered it was ... the petrol station near my house. We had managed to go full circle through all the roughest, scariest areas of the city, and back home. I got off the bus and legged it before anybody could give chase and arrived home out of breath, legs aching and stone cold sober. I put the deadbolt on that night.
(Thu 7th Sep 2006, 13:00, More)
The last bus ...
late one night, staggering home from the pub, I hopped onto what I assumed was the correct bus for my house. It set off in the general direction of my home, then suddenly, without warning, turned around.
I was a little nervous at this point, not so much about the direction change, but about the guy sat across from me fiddling with razor blades. Oh, and the group of chavs at the back with a broken stella bottle each. And the strange smell. We started heading out into the less savoury parts of Sheffield, and soon were in housing estates that I didn't recognise at all.
Now, normally, if I get on the wrong bus, I hop off and walk home. This was now not possible. First, there was the fact that I had no idea where I was, and second was the insane murderous types I was sharing the bus with. I figured if I didn't sit tight, I might not be sitting at all any more.
After about 45 minutes of sitting in deathly silence, with only the sniggering chavs and the occassional *snick* sound of another piece of seat being cut open by the guy with the razor blades, I spotted something I recognised. I couldn't tell what it was, as it was too far away for my drunken, spazzy eyes to make out but it seemed really familiar.
Imagine my joy when I discovered it was ... the petrol station near my house. We had managed to go full circle through all the roughest, scariest areas of the city, and back home. I got off the bus and legged it before anybody could give chase and arrived home out of breath, legs aching and stone cold sober. I put the deadbolt on that night.
(Thu 7th Sep 2006, 13:00, More)
» Missing body parts
Gooey lumps
On one particular occassion when I was about 9 or 10, I had occassion to be swinging about on a rope in the cellar. It was all great fun, with my brother and me taking it in turns to swing about like so many little monkeys.
My little sister (then aged about 5) soon tired of this little game, and decided instead to play with a pole from a wardrobe. Where it came from is still a mystery, but what happened next is certainly not.
It was my turn on the bit of rope, and I pulled myself up with my arms. At this exact moment, my little sister decided to charge me with the pole and jabbed me in the leg. This caused me to let go, and be impaled in the pole.
She pulled the pole away quickly, and an inch wide, inch and a bit deep lump of flesh flopped out of the back of my leg and stuck to my skin.
I couldn't actually feel anything wrong, so everyone screaming made me a little curious, so I felt the back of my leg. I put my finger in the hole, thought "hmm, that's not right", and promptly set off upstairs.
My mum's friend, a little on the squeamish side, had popped round for a cuppa at some point during this commotion.
"I think I've cut myself" says I, really not bothered because my nerves were either in tatters or in shock. I turned round to demonstrate, and said friend promptly fainted.
Turns out that just plopping the lump back in and holding it in place with sticking plaster was sufficient, and I now sport a lovely horseshoe shaped scar on the back of my left leg. It has stretched as I have grown, so it is a respectable 2 inches across now, and provides a great talking point every time I take my trousers off in front of complete strangers.
No apologies for length. You love it, you filthy minx.
(Fri 2nd Jun 2006, 13:36, More)
Gooey lumps
On one particular occassion when I was about 9 or 10, I had occassion to be swinging about on a rope in the cellar. It was all great fun, with my brother and me taking it in turns to swing about like so many little monkeys.
My little sister (then aged about 5) soon tired of this little game, and decided instead to play with a pole from a wardrobe. Where it came from is still a mystery, but what happened next is certainly not.
It was my turn on the bit of rope, and I pulled myself up with my arms. At this exact moment, my little sister decided to charge me with the pole and jabbed me in the leg. This caused me to let go, and be impaled in the pole.
She pulled the pole away quickly, and an inch wide, inch and a bit deep lump of flesh flopped out of the back of my leg and stuck to my skin.
I couldn't actually feel anything wrong, so everyone screaming made me a little curious, so I felt the back of my leg. I put my finger in the hole, thought "hmm, that's not right", and promptly set off upstairs.
My mum's friend, a little on the squeamish side, had popped round for a cuppa at some point during this commotion.
"I think I've cut myself" says I, really not bothered because my nerves were either in tatters or in shock. I turned round to demonstrate, and said friend promptly fainted.
Turns out that just plopping the lump back in and holding it in place with sticking plaster was sufficient, and I now sport a lovely horseshoe shaped scar on the back of my left leg. It has stretched as I have grown, so it is a respectable 2 inches across now, and provides a great talking point every time I take my trousers off in front of complete strangers.
No apologies for length. You love it, you filthy minx.
(Fri 2nd Jun 2006, 13:36, More)
» Lies Your Parents Told You
When I was little
the bread man came round in his van, and it had a little chime jingle much like an ice cream van. Whenever the ice cream van came on our road my mum would tell me that it was the bread man and he was just playing a different tune today. I always wondered why the other kids on the street were so excited about the bread man.
(Sun 18th Jan 2004, 15:41, More)
When I was little
the bread man came round in his van, and it had a little chime jingle much like an ice cream van. Whenever the ice cream van came on our road my mum would tell me that it was the bread man and he was just playing a different tune today. I always wondered why the other kids on the street were so excited about the bread man.
(Sun 18th Jan 2004, 15:41, More)
» Pure Ignorance
My grandma
a minefield of bizarreness. One in particular though...
I was about to get a new cousin. I was only about 3 or 4, so I don't remember it, but my dad will tell the tale forever more. My aunt, who is a midwife, asked my other aunt whether it was a boy or a girl.
"Don't be silly" says grandma
"When the baby comes out, it either pops out or stays in. That's when you tell if it's a boy or a girl"
She raised three kids earnestly thinking that that's how the sexes were determined. Lord only knows how she thought they got in their in the first place...
(Fri 7th Jan 2005, 22:35, More)
My grandma
a minefield of bizarreness. One in particular though...
I was about to get a new cousin. I was only about 3 or 4, so I don't remember it, but my dad will tell the tale forever more. My aunt, who is a midwife, asked my other aunt whether it was a boy or a girl.
"Don't be silly" says grandma
"When the baby comes out, it either pops out or stays in. That's when you tell if it's a boy or a girl"
She raised three kids earnestly thinking that that's how the sexes were determined. Lord only knows how she thought they got in their in the first place...
(Fri 7th Jan 2005, 22:35, More)
» On the stage
Not much in the way of anecdotes ...
In fact, I can only remember being on stage once (although I was up there several times during junior school - I've blanked my mind of the rest). It was a musical about the plight of the Yanomamo, a native Brazilian tribe.
Anyway ... I was fortunate enough to be the only percussionist. And singing in the choir. And a lumberjack. A dancing lumberjack, in fact. This little set of parts meant that I had three different outfits to wear, and had to get changed approximately every 10 minutes throughout the performance. I also got to wear yellow trousers ... mmm. I thought they were ace at the time. I was about 8.
I was bloody knackered by the end of it, but there were very good comments made about the quality of the percussion. Nobody mentioned the lumberjacks.
Interesting note, though; in one of the rehearsals, not one, but two different choir members fainted and plummeted from the top row of the stand. There were 2 ambulances called, and bleach required to get the blood stains out of the stage and set. That particular rehearsal was cancelled.
edit: Balue, I too play the double bass. Or rather, I used to. I quit when the school made me play classical stuff instead of jazz and blues :( I really ought to take it up again ...
(Sun 4th Dec 2005, 19:32, More)
Not much in the way of anecdotes ...
In fact, I can only remember being on stage once (although I was up there several times during junior school - I've blanked my mind of the rest). It was a musical about the plight of the Yanomamo, a native Brazilian tribe.
Anyway ... I was fortunate enough to be the only percussionist. And singing in the choir. And a lumberjack. A dancing lumberjack, in fact. This little set of parts meant that I had three different outfits to wear, and had to get changed approximately every 10 minutes throughout the performance. I also got to wear yellow trousers ... mmm. I thought they were ace at the time. I was about 8.
I was bloody knackered by the end of it, but there were very good comments made about the quality of the percussion. Nobody mentioned the lumberjacks.
Interesting note, though; in one of the rehearsals, not one, but two different choir members fainted and plummeted from the top row of the stand. There were 2 ambulances called, and bleach required to get the blood stains out of the stage and set. That particular rehearsal was cancelled.
edit: Balue, I too play the double bass. Or rather, I used to. I quit when the school made me play classical stuff instead of jazz and blues :( I really ought to take it up again ...
(Sun 4th Dec 2005, 19:32, More)