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This is a question Cunning Plans

I once devised a totally foolproof cunning plan to attract the attention of bikini-clad women, which - as you might imagine - failed miserably. Ever come up with a cunning plan for something? Did it work? What went wrong? Do you look back through the filter of the years with a burning sense of shame?

Suggested by Ring of Fire

(, Thu 5 Jul 2012, 11:57)
Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

When
I was a child I found a lot of money lying around the house in a box at home. There was so much money there that I thought nobody would miss one of the crisp twenties that festooned this vessel, so I took one and ran out of the house……This was 1982, so £20 seemed like a fortune in those days, especially as a six year old. Now how to spend my new found wealth….hmm I have a cunning plan I thought, I’ll go to the shops at the top of the road and spend it all on sweets. In reality this was a terrible idea but I didn’t let logic get in the way of this genius plan. So I put on my boots and hat, grabbed my pet dog and made the short journey to the nearest shop.

The shop at the top of the hill I lived on was a big red building and on entering I was greeted by the shopkeeper who looked a bit taken a back at how young I was, never the less he asked how he could help. I asked the shopkeeper for twenty quids worth of cough candy and other different assortments of sugary goodness. He looked a little concerned that one so young had twenty pounds in the first place and enquired whether I had the money to pay for all this stuff. Quick as a flash I proudly whipped at the crisp twenty and placed it on the counter, rather than accept the note he slowly walked up to the phone and this is what he said –

‘Is that Mr. Arrow, great because your son has raided your monopoly set again, could you come and pick him up please!?’

Old man wasn’t best pleased, didn’t get to pass go, didn’t collect 200 pounds and went straight to jail/bed. :(
(, Wed 11 Jul 2012, 13:41, 8 replies)
Dishing the dirt
A cunning plan to minimise washing up & related chores

1) Have 2 dishwashers installed into your kitchen
2) Own exactly enough crockery & cutlery to fill one of them, and no more
3) Keep them all in one dishwasher. As you use them, place them back in the other one.
4) When that's full, simply run the cycle, then begin moving things in the other direction.

Hey presto: no need to ever empty the dishwasher and put stuff away.
(, Thu 5 Jul 2012, 12:07, 17 replies)
A Whole 10 Pounds!
At the age of 7 it was like god had pissed liquid gold into my cupped hands, being given that 10 pound note - and possibly as sticky. Not having reached an age of any form of fiscal responsibility, I was like Paris Hilton - as soon as I had any money, I spent it on tacky crap; preferably in bright, primary colours. I had no notion of saving or reticence - just like Hilton again - so £10 of my very own 'to spend as I wanted' seemed like an unbelievable sum. A vast pot of gold; unbridled riches! I've no doubt I squealed and shrieked in an appalling high-pitched, ear-burning manner when I was given my prize.

Depressingly, I've just realised that I was probably being just like her again, but my bollocks to her ugly face, I'm not saying another word about that screeching ferret in a bimbo-blond wig. On with the story!

My sister had - I was convinced - eyed up my £10 pound prize with covetous eyes. I was immediately carried away by paranoia (look, I was that type of kid, ok? An emotional yo-yo) so resolved to hide my vast monies in the most devious and cunning place I could find.

First, I scouted out a superb hiding place - the garage crawl space! The deepest, darkest pit of terror a 7 year old was allowed to go near, the endless plunge into its inky black depths (it was 6ft deep) was the stuff of nightmares. It was covered up with planks of wood so oil stained that the RSPB would try to rescue them, but my tiny hands could still lever them up with some effort.

Next, I secreted my £10 in an old After Eight tin. After, of course, folding it lovingly in an envelope marked 'Bog Off, Poo-Face!'.

Then, even if the thieves were successful, at least I'd get the last word in. Hah!

After that, I encased the tin in a box of Lego; prospective thieves would have to smash their way through it! A somewhat arduous undertaking, this - but enjoyable for a Lego-minded boy. And, my god, did it make the finished product one mother of a heavy box! The Legos of elder days was made of sturdier stuff, I swear.

An elaborate cats-cradle of string was then engineered - the hefty box containing the world-shattering sum of ten whole pounds – my gods, ten whole pounds! - would nestle within, anchored over the void of the crawl space by ingenious string mechanisms. Success! A hiding place fit to fox Lara Croft!

Sadly, I had not factored in the role 'vibration' would play in my scheme - my dad reversed the car into the garage that night, and the thrumming engine dislodging the delicate ‘key’ string of my edifice, plunging the hefty box of Lego and tin down onto the concrete below.

Failure: ignominious.

I got a thick ear for having thrown more than £10 worth of Lego down a hole, just to try and protect a tenner. Furthermore, I'd engineered a god-awful racket in the middle of the night, and made my dad sweep up a pile of Lego in a pitch-black hole at silly o'clock in the morning.

But I still don't believe anything was wrong with the idea in principle.

Other cunning plans of my childhood days involve:

1. Trying to sleep in my school-clothes all night, in order to 'save time in the morning'. Plan rudely dashed by being discovered asleep fully dressed by my mum (she ran nightly ‘isn’t the brat dead yet?' checks). In a no-nonsense voice I was command not to be so damn silly, and the plan was rendered to naught. Failure: brisk and uncompromising.

2. Attempting to get a late-night drink of juice at the age of 5 without having to go through the strain of getting out of bed, I instead elected to head-butt the wall and make myself cry. Mother would then come, and could be made to get me a drink. Failure: painful - the crying part worked, but then my desire for liquid mysteriously vanished in subsequent flood of tears. Go figure.

3. Attempting to get my bed moved abutting the sink, so I could be even lazier about cleaning my teeth. Failure: 100% and comprising of a simple and decisive 'no'. I tried to move the bed myself in exploratory fashion, but it was a heavy wooden object without wheels: I only succeeded in giving my unshod, bare feet a healthy dose of carpet-burn; a memory that still burns bright and painful even today.

4. Trying a new novel way of breathing - I'd breathe in, hold it for a split second, and then let the breath rush out. It was strangely, incredibly addictive - go on, give it a try! ……. Trying it? Realise you sound like you are indulging in some undisclosed, dubious sexual activity? I didn't - was too young. Failure: humiliating. My parents didn't tell me until years later what my young self had sounded like -thanks folks.

5. Spinning around really, really hard on the shed roof, then jumping off with my arms outstretched. Naturally, I’d be spinning so fast that I turn into a human helicopter – an alluring theory, I think we’d all agree. Failure: Newtonian. That bastard and his theories; it’s a far less enchanting world for a child when you learn that gravity cannot be persuaded to look the other way. I actually landed on my feet, which was a bit of a fluke, but I was so dizzy from the spinning that I fell over and hit my head anyway.

Ah, the memories of what a brainless, crazed little shit I was... And my parents wonder why I loathe kids and point-blank refuse to spawn.
(, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 13:20, 16 replies)
My Cunning Plan for making Serious Car Accidents more Fun
Car air bags are all the same boring white colour.

My cunning plan is to paint the multiple airbags in my car all different bright colours, and pack them back down, but with streamers and glitter packed inside, too.

Then, if I'm in a car accident and the airbag goes off and I bleed to death, it will feel like I'm at my own death party.

I'll also keep some Jelly and Icecream in the glove box to have as a final meal.
(, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 4:55, 10 replies)
I have a great plan.
Everyone 'like' this post and get it to the top of the front page for no other reason then for shits and giggles.
(, Tue 10 Jul 2012, 11:24, 8 replies)
Trade show win
A few years back I was asked to accompany my boss to a trade show. Being a R&D man I was asked to remove my pasty, nerdy visage from the lab and explain some technology to potential investors/customers.

If you have never been to a trade show before, its like a cross between a church jumble sale and the apprentice. A big building rents out a large indoor space where stalls are to be set up. Meanwhile anyone interested in what we have to offer can come along and browse. There is a huge pressure to get results from trade fairs as you have sometimes shelled out thousands of pounds to set up your little stall there.

Huge amounts of time and effort go into preparing your little booth, with large display models, glossy handouts, attractive actors paid to hand out business cards, plasma screen TVs showing custom films of your product etc. All of this is basic corporate flair, shiny things to attract the suited magpies of venture capital. Being from a small company we were pretty screwed when it came to competing with the big boys.

After buying the booth, what amounts to the right to set up a couple of tables in a large room, we were left with about two hundred quid to make up a good show. Most of the two hundred going on train tickets to that London, where the trade show was taking place. With the change from that we had to compete against the big league of people like BP, KPMG, TESCO, Microsoft, DuPont, EDF energy and the like. It was like if your five aside team in the park had to qualify for euro 2012.

Thanks to my bosses cunning plan though we 'won'. We got more interested parties attending our booth than any other. How did we compete against the titans of industry we were up against?

Simple, the day before the show I was sent out to buy a goldfish bowl and enough quality street to fill it. This was kept on our table in prominent view, forcing people to talk to us if the wanted some chocolate.
(, Sat 7 Jul 2012, 10:58, 9 replies)
I've had cunning plan for a sci-fi movie like Terminator only cheaper special effects
In the future, geek Pope Shax IX is going to stop an alien invasion of the earth; he invents the special MacGuffin weapon playing with stuff in his shed at the weekends, and has superfast reflexes from playing computer games, and wins the war against the aliens but they have a cunning plan and send one alien back in time to change the course of his life.

Instead of being a mad killer robot, the alien disguises itself as a sexy woman who seduces him, has kids and reels him into a life of mediocrity.

Instead of lettng him have time for inventing laser death rays and honing his reflexes on Call of Duty, she keeps him busy with boring shit like taking the kids to doctors appointments, swimming lessons and football lessons; interminable weekends of traipsing around all the shops in town to pick a never ending carousel of furniture, paints, wallpapers, carpets and curtains, only to change her mind and start all over again.

In the final scene, on his deathbed, she reveals her alien self, drains his remaining life force, and the alien invasion begins.

Fuck My Life.
(, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 3:17, 6 replies)
Oh dear AA deleted his ode to chavvy shoplifting, here it is again kids
There's a really really easy method of conning at the Pic n Mix counters, if you're as cunning as a cunning fox who went to cunning university like me.

Choose a cinema where the pic n mix has something blocking it from the till's line-of-sight.

Go in with your friend in a polyester tracksuit, and slightly fill a bag, go for about £1.50 worth of sweets. Go to the till (alone!) and pay. Then, walk back to your friend (with your hand down your pants) and fill a much larger bag (i've got away with probably about £9 worth of chavvy shoplifting before) before depositing a couple of large items into the small bag, just enough for about 50g worth.

At this point, your chavvy friend should approach the counter, with the SMALL bag (that has already been paid for) and pay again. The difference should be enough to allay suspicion, as long as the large bag stays by the sweets.

And, voila! Mucho SHOPLIFTED free sweets!

Got me through transformers, and I still sweets left at the end! My mums still dead though :(
(, Tue 10 Jul 2012, 9:51, 63 replies)
taking the artworld
I was once a poor student.
This was partially my fault. I don't like working. Never have, never will. I find it undignified. I was living off a small student benefit, this was in the days where the government paid you to go to Uni, but after rent and sundries I was constantly skint. Unwisely, I organised a ski trip which my friends all agreed to go on, then quickly realised there was no way I could ever afford the 3 grand it cost to participate.
As fate would have it, I noticed an ad in a magazine offering an art grant prize of up to 5 grand. I knew I would be competing for it against actual artists wanting to do real arty things, so I needed both a convincing proposal that would use materials up to 5 grand, and a believable artisitic persona to adopt. I settled on sculpture, firstly as i had no talent for painting, but mainly because I thought I could steal the materials I could cost in my proposal, and also a friend of my dad had an arc welder he could lend me (how hard could it be?).
I wrote a proposal and did some preliminary sketches, basically a 13 foot tall robot man tearing at the sky, with a television for a head (I already had the broken tv). I can't recall the exact words I used, but there were references in there similar to "a reaction against the isolating mediated experience of broadcast consumerism" and "juxtoposition of the modern waste culture with the negation of the self". I didn't need to dress differently, there is little difference between the clothes of a tortured artisitic recluse and the indifferent slob I was. I did intentionally treat all my interactions with the board who were making the decision with utmost seriousness: no humour, jokes or ambivalence about my work. It was IMPORTANT that this statement be made. I calculated that if I appeared to utterly believe it, they would to. And this is the way it played out. (this is an important tip I would give any artist, whether sincere or full of shit like I was). I went through a few rounds of judging, with some very earnest and surreal conversations. It was a curious mix of greed and guilt for me. I could almost feel the snow of my ski trip, but part of me was thinking, "these people are so sincere and positive about what you are doing, and it's all complete tosh".
I won the prize, and blew all the money away skiing within two months. this wasn't the end of it. They started gently pressuring me to produce the artwork, and this became more insistent as the months and deadlines went by. I started getting formal letters asking me to account for the money, and their tone changed from hopeful, to disappointed, to as assertive as those arty types can be. They were under pressure themselves, they'd awarded a prize and had nothing in return. I figured If I gave them something, anything, they would call it even, as it was becoming a hassle always trying to avoid them. After about 8 months I commenced builiding it the alley next to my flat. Having no money, I stole what I could. A mate and I walked out of my Uni with a huge xerox photocopier which become the base. People opened doors for us, unaware of the theft. Lecture room chairs ripped off their sockets, chemistry equipment, aircon ducting, it all went in there. Welding is actually a lot of fun and suprisingly easy, at least to a certain low standard. When it was done, I didn't want to meet with the board in case they asked me for an accounting of what I spent the money on. With the help of some friends, we moved it in the middle of the night to the place it should have gone a year ago. Later, the commitee put a plaque on it with my name and "untitled", and there it stood for years, on the corner of a busy intersection in central Melbourne. The threatening calls stopped. I ran into one of board judges a couple of years later, we'd made eye contact so it was too late to scarper. Suprisingly, she said they all liked the finished piece, though I suspect this was more from relief after a long time believing they'd been scammed.
(, Thu 5 Jul 2012, 21:24, 7 replies)
serious backfire
i once had a cunning plan to seduce a bloke i rather fancied. it was party time at my parents' house and i knew this bloke had been invited. during the night, i had nabbed an empty lemonade bottle and poured into it bits of alcohol from various bottles and topped it up with cola.
here comes the cunning part.
he was a smoker and he didn't know the area so, while he wasn't looking, i hid his fags. noticing they were gone and knowing the shops were shut, he asked if anyone knew somewhere he could buy smokes. i volunteered to go with him to the nearest garage and took my bottle of "cocktail mix" with me.
i made sure i took him to a garage a mile away, giving us plenty of time to drink my little potion. we walked, we talked, we bought fags. we also sat off on the field on the way back for a smoke and to drink more.
sitting in the moonlight, my head suddenly started to spin. i looked over at blokey and he smiled at me. i smiled back, albeit somewhat greenly.
he leant in for a kiss. i puked on his shirt.
needless to say, he was a bit miffed and i never got a snog.
(, Thu 5 Jul 2012, 17:23, 6 replies)
My family often makes jokes based on wordplay
In fact, you could say we are a ...

wait for it ...

do you know what it is yet?

That's right, a bunch of tedious wankers who should just fuck off right now.
(, Thu 5 Jul 2012, 16:44, 6 replies)
Go On Dragons Den
Promote an antidote to the poison you sneaked into all their glasses of water... Which they have already drunk.

Watch the ever increasing offers come flying in.
(, Mon 9 Jul 2012, 13:21, 3 replies)
How to attract women
It started down the swimming pool. As I pootled around the shallow end, I clapped eyes on her for the first time - a vision of older blonde loveliness in a tiny yellow bikini - and I was in love. Over the following weeks, my passion for mature blondes in postage-stamp bikinis grew, and I decided that I must - somehow - have one of my own. Acutely aware of my own immaturity, I knew from the outset that actually speaking to one of these angels was out of the question, so I opted for another, more drastic cunning plan.

Kidnap.

My cunning plan was cunning in the extreme: I would sit on my bike at the top of the hill on our 70s concrete housing estate until a blonde goddess appeared. Then, I would swoop down, gather her up, take her behind the communal bins and force her to wear a yellow postage stamp bikini while I stutted up and down. Foolproof, I am sure you will agree.

It was as I swooped down the hill on a trial run (the target being an unfortunate cat which had sidled out of a hedge), that I realised I was doomed to failure, mainly due to a number of factors which are now utterly obvious:

1. The target is unwilling to be scooped up and will run away, causing you to fall off your bike and end up covered in blood, snot and sick

2. My bike had three wheels

3. I was six years old

I look back through the filter of the years with a burning sense of shame
(, Thu 5 Jul 2012, 12:21, 6 replies)
FIRST
pricks
(, Thu 5 Jul 2012, 15:04, 5 replies)
.
Yesterday I sat down to eat a bramley apple pie, when suddenly it looked backwards over its little flakey shoulder and said "I should warn you, i'm a little tart!"

And that was my punning flan.

Edit: Sexed up a bit. Fifty Shades of Fray Bentos.
(, Sat 7 Jul 2012, 22:41, 4 replies)
I had planned to simply walk into Mordor.
Turns out, they have a really good Park & Ride service. Which was nice.
(, Wed 11 Jul 2012, 14:57, 10 replies)
Flavoured juice...
Gentleman juice, that is.

I had an entertaining conversation with my g/f and one of her mates regarding the taste of a certain fluid that had recently been exchanged. G/f observed that when I'd had a full English with lots of bacon, she could tell because it was saltier than usual, and when I'd been eaten pineapples she could also tell because it had a flavour she could recognise but not describe and which I had no intention of finding out about first hand.

Her mate then observed that if I could find some way of making it taste like Bacardi and coke, she for one would be more than willing to arrange it so that I'd walking round with wobbly knees all day, every day. (G/f was somewhat put out by this, but given that I couldn't find any way of making it taste like Bacardi and coke and probably never would, it seemed reasonably safe).

Conversation moved on to the fact that not all women like Bacardi and coke, so whatever method you used to affect the flavour would need to be available in different varieties (vodka and orange, Diamond white and Malibu were all mentioned, just to give you an idea of the level of lady we're on about (I'm from an age before Bacardi Breezers, can you tell?)). I suggested that whatever it was - a drink, a foodstuff or even an injection - that achieved this effect could be sold with a sticker or badge that you could wear advertising to your targets what flavour you were packing.

It's a couple of decades on from that conversation now, and I'm disappointed that the medical profession has so far apparently been wasting its time sequencing the human genome, developing anti-retroviral drugs to control the spread of AIDS and researching cancer, and STILL hasn't come up with a way to produce flavoured spunk that women actively want to swallow. Wasters.
(, Wed 11 Jul 2012, 8:57, 19 replies)
I know! I'll roast a pea!
As a 10 year old lad in the middle of Somerset, much of my summer holiday was spent in the woods: we'd fish for sticklebacks, we'd make bows and arrows, we'd build dens, rope swings, rafts, dams, and, of course, spent a significant portion of our time climbing trees.

Consequently, a friend and I developed a magnificent device to enable the quickest access to the higher branches of a tree - this device was a long length of strong rope, with a stout stick tied to the bottom. You throw the stick over the high branch and lower it down. Then, sitting astride the stick, you pull yourself up, and, when you get to the branch, grab it, and hey presto - you're already in the middle of the tree.

Now, early one morning in the late spring, I was walking through one of the higher fields on my way to the woods. The field is about a mile long, with grass about waist-high to my 10 year old self, and it being early morning, the grass was still covered in dew.

The field is uphill in the direction I was travelling, and muddy, and by the time I was two thirds through, I was absolutely knackered, and wanted to sit down. Of course I couldn't sit down, as the ground was muddy, and the grass was wet.

I was so tired.

Suddenly, a rather dull, 20-Watt lightbulb went off in my head. I had my rope and stick ... which I sit on when climbing trees ... it supports me ...

I placed the stick between my legs under my bum, held on to the rope, and sat down - SPLASH - heavily into the puddle in which I was standing.
(, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 13:15, 2 replies)
I'm going to adjust the spacing on some text.

(, Thu 5 Jul 2012, 17:05, 14 replies)
Am I jumping the gun Baldrick
or are the words "I have a cunning plan" marching with ill-deserved confidence in the direction of this conversation?
(, Thu 5 Jul 2012, 14:31, Reply)
Instafruitonline
I have a plan to install a computer-targeted, hydraulic fruit-launching catapault on the top of BT tower in central London.
You could go online, put in your postcode then purchase the fruit of your choice. My fruit-launching catapault would calibrate your co-ordinates and deliver fresh fruit right to your doorstep in under 15 seconds of clicking the submit button, anywhere in central London. There's no way the big chains like Tesco could compete with our rapid customer service.
(, Wed 11 Jul 2012, 22:15, 5 replies)
This one happened to a couple of idiots my dad once knew
So, a couple of my dad’s mates (I use the term loosely, he knew of them), were on the beat in a shitty part of town about 30 years back.

They’d been given a tip-off by a local informant about a group of lads who had caused some nasty trouble with some of the locals in the town and were trying to make their way out of the area. It’s important to note that this was quite a remote area too and transport links weren’t what they are now. So, thinking they had all the time in the world, they though they’d start in the local market area of all places.

Not being the sharpest of tools, their plan was to conduct market-to-market stall and door-to-door enquiries about the group in the hope that someone else would blab. Cunning plan indeed.

The idiots were so convinced of their plan to locate the group, the brazenly strolled about in full uniform while conducting their force-full duty.

Five days later, the absconders were widespread across the news, having caused major havoc in another part of the area, even causing massive damage to a newly-built police station in the process.

During a de-brief it actually turns out that these two idiots had even interviewed the group and had let them get off without even such as a double take.

Both lost their jobs and they regularly blamed each other for the fiasco, one recalling during a drunken pub rant that the other had told him flatly to his face, just after talking to them that…
(, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 16:11, 6 replies)
Spunk'd
Sharing the first load of hot (washing) with hubby, I cleverly came up with a plan to never do the (washing) again while he was on shore. Black and white are welcome together in a steamy mix of (washing)- no aparthied in our home! - but Navy sailor whites don't mix well with fast colours. I purposely ignored that rule for the pleasure of knowing that our dirty, tumbling (washing) session would be better for me than him.

He was so disgusted by my slovenly (washing) that I was never EVER allowed to touch his (washing) or mine while he was around. Sixteen lovely years of having my (washing) needs taken care of.

Pure fuckin' gold.
(, Fri 6 Jul 2012, 10:13, 9 replies)
It's nice watching others formulate what they consider to be a cunning plan, without the wits to realise how transparent they are.
I'll start with the slyness of those children who think they might just be able to manipulate the stupid grownups.

In a supermarket when I was still living down in the South West, a little kid stuck in the queue at a supermarket till had obviously been schooled to STOP ASKING FOR CHOCOLATE and yet there it was all laid out, enticing and shiny. Instead of the direct approach, the mum (and all within a 10 foot radius) could hear a voice couched in guile as it piped up- "Oooh. Look mum!" While pointing at the rack of Galaxy bars and Maltesers. A few seconds passed as the kid waited to see if the mum would react to the bait. Alas, only silence.

After the tension grew to unbelievable levels for everyone overhearing this mini-drama, a smaller voice issued forth- not whiny, not insistent, but quietly reflective... '...I LIKE chocolate'. Zero response from mum (for which I congratulate her). They leave the scene without a massive fuss, which is the complete opposite of what would have been expected.
(, Thu 5 Jul 2012, 23:35, 2 replies)
I wanted to earn a shitload of cash
……and saw the amount of cash the authors of Harry Potter were making but didn’t have the ability to think up anything creative and wanted to make something more adult than a kid that goes to school to learn magic.

It was then that I had my cunning idea and popped down the shops copied a couple of the readers fantasy letters from Razzle, Penthouse etc and then added some weak Twilight style plot stolen from a fan fiction site as filler (with my copy of MS Word auto replacing character names for me). For good measure I also went through it with a thesaurus and changed a few words to ones that I knew most of the audience would not bother to look into (main target I was aiming for were bored housewives/ Teenagers/ Anyone who has the sex life that’s as exciting as a trip to a local industrial estate so they wouldn’t be looking into this book for the filler). Result is I’ve made a killing and 3 badly written books that everyone seems to want to read.

Love


E.L. James
Tilts head to side and runs finger over lips
(, Thu 5 Jul 2012, 14:47, 4 replies)
Go on, then.
Next time a bunch of overpaid, incompetent wankers (bankers, local council chief executives, right-wing entertainers, I'm looking at you) tell us they'll leave the country if we cease to lavish them with public money and affection, I suggest we all agree just to smile quietly at them and say nothing.
(, Wed 11 Jul 2012, 22:39, 2 replies)
I once attempted to stop my friend being ejected from a pub
by telling the staff that he wasn't droolingly collapsingly drunk but rather that he had severe cerebral palsy.
(, Tue 10 Jul 2012, 18:52, 7 replies)
Seriously?!?
You guys call yourselfs the masterminds of the internet, the schemers of the world, and you can't come up with enough cunning plans to fill 2 pages? You'll gab 10 pages of recipes, blather for 13 pages on getting old? Have you seriously turned into a bunch of pussies?

I really used to look up to you guys...
(, Mon 9 Jul 2012, 11:18, 9 replies)
Laundry? Hah!
I am an incredibly routine-bound sort of person. I have always preferred plain black clothing, being one of nature's goths. I am also lazy. And cheap. So I found a place that stocked T-shirts that fitted me from their kids' section (I'm 6' but thin, non-baggy clothing is hard to find) where clothes happen to generally be half-price compared to their adult counterparts and if you ask for a deal buying a lot at once, you'll get one.

I have 30 plain black T-shirts (and quite a few plain black longer tops for winter). 30 pairs of socks. 30 pairs of underpants. I have a very large washing machine. Guess how often I do laundry? No separation of colours required, either. Shirts get a cold, dark-friendly-detergent wash and generally only have 12 washes a year, so they've lasted practically forever (although I'm scouting out replacements at the moment).

I do draw some comments from colleagues for the first few days at any given workplace, but I'm perfectly okay with that, and if I were to change my style, I'd draw even more comments anyway.
(, Sun 8 Jul 2012, 7:19, 34 replies)
So, basically, we wait until nightfall, and then climb out of the rabbit.
Thus taking them all by suprise, and totally unarmed!
(, Thu 5 Jul 2012, 12:53, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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