Quentin Tarantino shut my butt down.

(Andrew Avetoom, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 18:49, 7 replies)

People who claim to have been abducted by aliens .
Those aliens would not perfect the technology to traverse interstellar space at superluminal velocities just to shove a probe up your arsehole.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Mon 9 Jun 2014, 18:29, 7 replies)

I put my clenched hand up father christmas's bottom.

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 16:58, 13 replies)

Indian Call Centre
These fantasists keep phoning me from what sounds like an Indian Call Centre. They say my computer is running slow. How they know this from the other side of the World I have no idea.
(maggied Riding the Gravy Train on, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 15:17, 7 replies)

Actually a zombie apocalypse could happen actually.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 14:10, 15 replies)

I'm not a fantasist, but...

...if a family of Lord Of The Rings fans moved in next to me, I'd have to sell the house.

Bloody elf-shaggers, coming over here, dragons landing morning noon and night. I mean, they're just not like us, are they?
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 14:00, 3 replies)

i can't see what you lot are complaining about, I mean it says in the Bible, Thou shalt not commit adultery and God destroyed Sodom 'cos of you know what, more power to their elbow I would have though. Say what you like about yer Muslim fundamentalist when it comes to law-n-order they're heart is in the right place.
I mean they must be OK or Mrs T and Reagan wouldn't have sent them those missiles to defeat the Russians, so the Taliban could take over in Afghanistan, now would they?
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 13:30, 2 replies)

England Football Supporters
Topical.
(RebelWithoutApplause My underestimation will almost be the death of me, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 11:56, 19 replies)

I have a vision of us moving forwards as one to establish goal-centric performances based on measurable efficacy.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 11:55, 9 replies)

Green Card
I was once listening to a guy at a party, who was banging on about how he had a Green Card to work in America, but couldn't use it because (I think) his girlfriend (who naturally lived in a different town) was about to give birth. To twins. He was offering the card to anyone who wanted it -- of course, they're not usually transferrable, but apparently his was a special one (because of his contacts in the Government) which he could assign to anyone he liked.

Gleefully I told him that I planning to work in the States for a couple of months, and I'd be really interested in the Green Card, in case I decided to stay.

"Oh, right, yeah," he said, "We'll definitely have to get together before you go, sort it all out."

"Well, how about right now?" I replied, "I'm leaving in two days," and I flashed the plane ticket and stack of dollars that I'd just picked up that afternoon.

His face was a picture. Strangely he never called the next day, as he'd stutteringly arranged, before suddenly remembering he had to be somewhere else.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 11:34, Reply)

fànt a fist - construct long story.
Groan and click.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 11:31, 2 replies)

a couple of years ago, my brother was getting married. one evening he bumped into an old acquaintance from school. let's call him james, for that is his name.
on being asked what he was up to, my brother said that he was heading off for a wedding cake tasting at slatterys (have some gratuitous cake porn, this place is amazing: www.slattery.co.uk/irshop.aspx?section=content&page=159).

"that's amazing," james said. "and what a coincidence - i'm a wedding cake baker! don't make your mind up straightaway, let me send you some samples." my brother was happy to agree, as you would be for more free cake, and sure enough, a day or two later, they got a box of cake.

hard pieces of stale cake. they were all sorts of random, with no pictures of the finished product, just slices wrapped in napkins. utterly disgusting. so my brother told james politely that they would be using slatterys.

the next day, he was in the pub with some mates from school, so he told them the story. one of them said that he had to be mistaken, it couldn't have been james. because he had met james recently in manchester, on his way to a tennis game, and james had said that he was a star tennis coach and spent most of his time in america, coaching the stars of the future.

eventually it turned out that james was still living at home in his parents' basement, working as a shelf stacker in tesco (hence the stale cakes, which he had simply nicked from the unsold rubbish). gah, i feel all sad now.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 10:41, 5 replies)

James Bond comes for an interview (RP)
Once, we had to interview this guy who had a suspiciously good CV. He'd got a First at Oxbridge, fluent in Greek, Japanese and Russian, black belt in karate, in charge of various programming projects, worked for the government, last two projects classified.

Convenient, that. No references.

Even before he came in, we called him "James Bond" (we can't remember his real name). Anyway, he misses the first couple of interview slots - his car is a wreck, apparently - but soft-hearted nicies that we are we invite him back for a third attempt.

The informal, chatty part of the interview goes well, then we inform him that we're going to do a technical test. At this point, he goes very pale and sweaty, and with good reason.

Nothing. He can't declare a variable, can't write a loop in C++ (need I say that this was a programming job) so we let him use any computer language he likes. Absolute blank. In the end, he manages to write a total of 1 line of code, misspelled, illegible.

Now here comes the missed opportunity thing. Had we (innocent twits that we were) twigged at this point that his CV was a complete pile of sun-ripened donkey tripe, we could have grilled him till he squeaked. He'd obviously chosen unlikely languages, but we actually had people in the building fluent in Greek, Russian and Japanese. And the Japanese guy was into karate as well.

But no. Muggins here decides he's having a panic attack and let him off with a "thanks, but no". (*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*s head against table in utter shame.)

The agency rang up the next day to apologize - the next interview he had was even worse, as the interviewer was the one bloke who HAD got a first from Oxbridge in his subject in the year on his CV. THEY grilled him till he squeaked, then shopped him to the agency.

I'm sure he's working in the city now. Probably on a government IT initiative. Maybe air traffic control.

Frightening, isn't it?
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 10:28, 15 replies)

Paul is dead.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 9:55, 2 replies)

Promoted beyond his competence.
Bloke on the team had been passed around from pillar to post by a company who were held to ransom by the union. Apparently he could not be fired, so he was just moved around. Ended up in our team.

Whilst being the cleverest guy to have ever been unfairly denied a promotion (his words) his skills had a highly developed specific application, getting paid for doing no work.

Despite the fact that immediately prior to coming to us he had been milking the elusive 'bad back' for 2 months and 30 days, and coming back to work only 1 day before a medical certificate was due (getting paid to be a professional Sick Person was one of his traits), we thought he might at least be able to find some use about the place.

"Mick, could you go to the other site, take a laptop, plug it into the test bed and take some readings please?"

"Sure, No Problem, be back after lunch."

He returned with 20 minutes until knocking off time, having been gone for the whole day.

"Did you get those readings then?"

"Ah no, I got all the way there and then found I didn't have the comms interface box with me."

"OK, Can you try again tomorrow. And not take so long"

Next day, same farce, returning at the last minute "Sorry, I didn't have the software installed on my laptop."

Next day, "Sorry, the security licence expired on the software."

Next day, "The battery went dead on the laptop and I didn't have the charger with me."

Next day, "The files on the laptop were corrupted."

Next day, I had EVERYTHING going just fine but I forgot my glasses and couldn't read the screen."

And yet, when I accompanied him to make sure the job got done, he swaggered into the office on the other site grinning and saying out loud to the resident team "Don't worry boys, we're here to solve all your problems!"

"We". Yeah.

*EDIT to make it perfectly clear, I have always been and will always be a front line tech. I have no management interests and don't wish to be promoted past MY shortcomings. I was only requesting him to do stuff as I was his technocratic superior, not an outranking bod. Also, Sproutsy has probably correctly divined that bullshitters are not the same as fantasists. Sorry. I hope it was nonetheless an entertaining read.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Mon 9 Jun 2014, 9:55, 2 replies)

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds is about a girl who likes anal
and like 98% of Beatles material is a very shit song
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 9:47, 12 replies)

My mate's six-year-old son told me he was a spaceman, because he had grey pyjamas on and had put a fucking plastic bowl over his head.
The twat.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 9:41, 10 replies)

Ellie Greenwich's song Sunshine After The Rain is about getting off on being pissed on.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 9:26, Reply)

The long-running "You've been Tango'd" series of adverts were offered to Fanta first, but they rejected them as being too small.

(localboy purveyor of pisspoor puns, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 9:04, Reply)

Ivor Bigun played bass on the famous Judge Dredd track - Golden Brown which is about
fucking people up the dirty starfish.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 8:58, Reply)

John Travolta's Mum invented Tippex

( Two Hats I saw someone eating M&M's with a spoon, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 8:57, Reply)

Jon Pertwee played mandolin on 'Strawberry Fields Forever'.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 8:41, 1 reply)

The Rolling Stones' song 'Brown Shergar' is about a horse that loves anal.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 8:41, Reply)

Van Morrison's song 'Brown Eyed Girl' is about a chick that loves anal.

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 8:35, Reply)

Another one...
I worked with a guy of Turkish Cypriot extraction who told us his family had had extensive property holdings in Cyprus when the war forced them to leave and they lost everything. Not at all implausible and we all felt some degree of sympathy for him. But then there was the Northern Irish branch of his family, who were all massacred when masked gunmen burst into their house and shot twenty-odd people dead, the only survivor being a baby in a cradle that was knocked over (again, no media record, despite the fact we all worked for a national newspaper).

He also claimed to have had a personal hand in the invention of several patents (the Sinclair C5 and Amstrad computers being among them, I seem to remember), all of which culminated in him being ripped off for the rights, with no redress.

And to cap it all he was the spitting image of Viz's Aldridge Prior, the Incorrigible Liar - which of course gave us all no end of amusement.

When he was eventually taken to task over the veracity of his stories he complained to management about our 'racist' behaviour. He could have got a 'million-pound settlement for that, you know. It's a good job I'm not vindictive.' Two syllables too many, we thought.

Good job he didn't see the Photoshopping going the rounds at the time - especially the one of him flying the Queen Mother into the twin towers, after he told us he was a qualified pilot ('Are you sure this is the way to Balmoral, driver?').

Treatment of people like him inevitably becomes cruel, since their total lack of self-awareness eventually just produces contempt in others. The line between pathos and bathos might be blurred and indistinct but it's generally obvious when the line's been crossed. Sad, really.

Still fucking funny, though. What a twat.
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Mon 9 Jun 2014, 1:45, 1 reply)

Jackanory
Used to work at Luton Airport, where we had an undermanager we called Jackanory. The guy was unbelievable (no, he really was unbelievable).
Amongst his "life experiences" were tales of climbing Everest (he was incredibly short & fat, got out of breath & sweaty on a short walk). He'd driven a modified Landrover across the seabed between two of the Orkney Islands. He'd shagged pretty much every supermodel/filmstar/popstar you've ever heard of.
At the time I had a Kawasaki GT750 (their first shaft driven 750), well he'd owned the previous model (which clearly had never existed).
The saddest thing was that he clearly either believed it all, or genuinely thought we'd all believe it & love him more.
Of course, being the shallow & uncaring twats we all were, we'd all start singing the Jackanory music whenever he walked in.
(stygof, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 23:35, 9 replies)

I used to retrieve lobsters from Jayne Mansfield's bum
Basically, she suffered from, er, what was known in-, in the medical trade as 'lobsters-up-the-arsehole'
(Sir Tainley Barking Ezekiel 23:20, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 20:04, 12 replies)

I can't be arsed looking, has anyone mentioned Craig Colclough aka Edsmeds yet?

( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 18:56, 2 replies)

My friend's older brother is going out with a complete raving mental fantasist
The wheel is spinning, but that hamster is DEAD. She is in her mid 50's and has been off work sick for about the last 20 years. Consequently she has absolutely no money and lives in a council flat with her 80 year old mother.

The first inkling that all was really not that well came when she started buying my friend's brother expensive presents. But somehow, they never materialised. He had no idea how the royal mail could lose so many items. When she bought him a motorbike and it crashed on the way to his house, even he started to ask questions. So she upped the stakes a bit. A relative she had never heard of before died, and left her a house! In Wales! A big country house! She was going to take him there for the weekend!

On the day, the car wouldn't start. The next weekend, she lost the keys. The weekend after that, the roof leaked. Finally my friend, who can't believe her brother was swallowing this, and who is a mortgage lender, asked to see the deeds. The next day, the woman produces a piece of a4 paper, bearing one line at the top: 123 Crewe road, Wales. And a Cheshire postcode.

Gradually the stories about the cottage in Wales faded. Then something real happened: sadly her mother went into hospital and a routine op went wrong and she died. There was some clinical negligence, and she was genuinely waiting for a payout. But somehow the nhs had agreed to pay out £8,000,000 for the death of a woman in her 80's. Er.... So my friend's brother and the fantasist were eagerly discussing what they were going to spend their cash on. A big house of course. Sports cars. A cruise. And so on.

But after a few months, no sign of the cash. When she was questioned about progress, she said that the judge had telephoned her personally to apologise about how long it was taking and had upped the award to £10M. A month later, the law firm rang and said they were going to pay out of their own client account... Yeah because law firms do that and stay in business.... So the pair of them started going on viewings of multi-million pound houses. Fuck knows what the owners/agents thought when that pair of clowns rocked up. last I heard, the matter was with a higher court, and was at £15m.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 17:09, 7 replies)

zebideedoodah's mate's mum's bullshitting neighbour is like a former mate of mine who made up daft stories.
She told people all sort of yarns and would brag to me about doing it, and then later forget and tell me the same stories as if they were true.

After many years of her bollocks I finally realised how nuts she was when she told me about an Arabic terrorism suspect turned informer who had been given a new identity to protect him and his family.

They were living in a specially done-up council property nearby and received handsome benefits and handouts to keep them happy. They also had 24-hour police protection which must be costing the poor taxpayer THOUSANDS.

She'd heard all this from a council official whom she named to me. I happened to be in a position to discreetly check up, from several directions, and no, Abdul didn't exist.

At that point I decided that enough was enough. I don't see her any more.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sun 8 Jun 2014, 16:00, 1 reply)