An American friend
who lives in North Carolina once had a job just over the state line, in Tennessee, at a cowboy show for tourists. It was pretty gaudy, and in remarkably bad taste: the end of the show featured three bandits, of which my friend was one, being hanged.
It was all done as safely as possible; each bandit wore a harness that clipped onto the rope, so when the trapdoor opened they would fall but be caught by something other than the rope around their neck.
My friend (lets call him Luke, for that was his name) had long, luxuriant locks that he was far too proud of. when his boss insisted he had to cut it short to save it getting tangled he refused, saying they weren't long enough to be a risk.
He was wrong.
Sure enough, on his first day of being 'hanged', a tuft got caught, and was torn out, to much swearing and blaspheming. Apparently the sight of a bandit corpse springing to life shouting "fuck fuck fuck!" is hilarious, but not suitable for children.
His boss eventually gave him a book on safe stunts, since there is a kind of harness you can get that protects your head and hair from mechanisms, and after reading his book on noose health awareness he bought a new safety harness.
I'll be here all week.
(Paolo Nutini's Bikini Better than Frederick Fleet's optometrist, Thu 6 Dec 2012, 11:59, Reply)

I had no idea how big a penis I really had
Until, one day, when my supermodel girlfriend was sucking me off as I was driving my Ferrari through northern France, she briefly pulled my cock out of her mouth to simply remark “My, you do have a very large penis”.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 6 Dec 2012, 10:32, 7 replies)

*flounce*

(McChinaman banned, Thu 6 Dec 2012, 9:28, 1 reply)

It took a bolt of lightning
to help out Johnny 5.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Thu 6 Dec 2012, 8:57, Reply)

People who whine about comedy forums not being funny anymore. rather than attempting to tell amusing stories or make jokes..
...thus perpetuating the cycle of whining, misery and tragedy.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Thu 6 Dec 2012, 0:42, 27 replies)

Is it just me or does BlondeBombshell
delete "her" threads after starting and then losing an internet argument in almost exactly the same way that Shambo does?
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Wed 5 Dec 2012, 22:41, 6 replies)

Americans
I've recently left the cozy walls of education and am trying to do something about being unemployed. So I'm applying all over the place including in the delightful USA. In TWO interviews I was told that I spelt quite a few words wrong. It's obvious I'm from the UK. Firstly it says so, secondly my accent is a dead give away, thirdly everything I have done in my life is based in the UK. The entire world is aware that American English is different from all other Englishes SO WHY AREN'T YOU??

I was told by a friend to change it to American English as most people would assume I can't spell and am therefore a complete retard and then throw my CV away. :(
(Smysha Tra la la!, Wed 5 Dec 2012, 21:47, 36 replies)

People
who walk into the shop 10 minutes before we close, ignore you when you tell them the shop is closing, then grab a trolley and slowly wander around.
When you ask them to make their way to the till because the shop is closing they ignore you again and carry on, eventually leaving without buying anything.
(FootOfTim, Wed 5 Dec 2012, 21:08, 7 replies)

/talk posters.
They have created for themselves a hostile and unpleasant environment, where every post is either a direct swat at someone, or is a hammy overtheatrical sarcastic quip, only understood by a few other posters.

They are like a bunch of mediaeval dandies, standing around trying to impress each other.

Then what happened is they all realised they've shit all over that board. A few of them noticed that QOTW was more friendly, so they crept over here.

Now it has descended into the same cunt-infested swamp.
(username failed moderation, Wed 5 Dec 2012, 17:18, 74 replies)

My computer had no self awareness, all it did was parse and process commands I typed into the input device
then one day I spilled champagne on the keyboard, and there was electric fizzling and smoke. And then the most amazing thing happened. I still had a computer that wasn't self aware, but my keyboard was completely fucked.
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Wed 5 Dec 2012, 14:07, 3 replies)

Often when I go to the toilets at work
There's someone in one of the cubicles having a crap!

Occasionally, while standing having a slash, I'll hear them fart, or plop, and sometimes it really STINKS in there!

LOL!
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 5 Dec 2012, 12:29, 7 replies)

Plumdozer...
Delights in portraying himself as B3ta's "moral guardian" and replying to QOTW answers with a "holier than thou" attitude.

Been a member for 5 years and 7 days. A staggering 13335 replies on QOTW - which implies he's a heavy user of B3ta.

Yet he's too cheap to donate a couple of quid to support B3ta and get himself an icon..

Just saying....

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Wed 5 Dec 2012, 11:43, 67 replies)

Food shopping in some areas of London (and probably other places)
I live way out East near Barking, food shopping is a nightmare. Not sure what it's like for the rest of you. Parents just letting their kids run amok, knocking into other people, baskets, displays etc. Also since moving here other customers seem to have lost the ability to drive trolleys, or be aware of other people when shopping. Driving me slowly insane. One day I might just walk around swinging an empty basket and God forbid any child who is not standing obediently near a guardian who gets in my way!
(David Fishwick Minibus Sales - notmad.co.uk, Wed 5 Dec 2012, 1:32, 27 replies)

spoiler alerts
a beast of an ex-housemate with relentless and brow tensing consistency would on our weekly communal "let's watch a film none of us have seen" night would crash into the room and smugly announce the title of the film, what he thought of it out of 10 and how it ends.

if he had not seen the film before, he would quiz us all on main plot points, characters, cast, director, subtext, etc etc.

if we were occasionally kind enough to agree to start the film over, or indeed invite him to join us in the first place he would a) start banging on about his day at work and life in general or b) fall asleep and start snoring like a traction engine was trapped in his obnoxious cunt larynx.
(injektilo smoking the weed that killed elvis, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 22:57, Reply)

Yet more smelly colleagues
One gentleman I worked with had hardly any teeth left. He was in his late twenties I think. His excuse was that he couldn't find an NHS dentist.
Every day for lunch, he'd get a sandwich in a triangular box, and bottle of coke, and a packet of extra stinky beef flavoured crisps. He'd then eat this at his desk. Having done so, his fingers would therefore be covered in a beefy slime that would stay on anything he touched.

I would have to go on business trips with this character, and sit opposite him at breakfast in a hotel whilst he ate a baked bean sandwich. Ever such a nice bloke, just a bit slimy.

Second colleague used to sit opposite me. The pikey chav king, as hairy as a badger's arse and about four foot tall. This crappy office didn't have aircon, so everyone had a stupidly noisy fan on their desk that blew papers around.

When this troglodyte came back from having a fag, I'd have to turn my fan to blow into his face so that I didn't have to breathe his stinky breath. He asked why I did that, and I forget my exact words, but he said "Are you saying I smell?" "Er, yeah, that's what I'm saying."

(It turned out he was working nights as a welder in order to feed his drugs habit. He then pretended to be ill, sold his company laptop on ebay, and went on a spending spree with the company fuel card. But that's another story as they say.)
(Bob the Builder killed Captain Alex, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 22:55, Reply)

Smelly urchin
I realise that tales of smelly co-workers are well worn this week so if you don't want to read another then scroll on young reader, scroll on.

It's only recently that my nostrils have begun to recover, in much the the same way as someone begins to taste anew after quitting smoking, my olfactory senses are finally beginning to reawaken now that my former colleague has departed. Personal hygiene was some sort of abstract concept to him, he could barely have showered weekly.

Each Monday he would arrive at the office in a shirt laundered by his mother. The shirt would reappear every day with the addition of more creases gathered by hanging it on the floor, and with the addition of more stains from the array of fast food that comprised his entire diet. His clothing, however, was the only thin and crusty veil that hid the most foul and monstrous body odours being emitted from every nook and cranny.

The all pervading smell of oniony body odour was noticeable within a six foot radius but that was mild in comparison to the fate that befell me one Friday. It was a hot and sunny day and the old office was not air conditioned. My former colleague's aroma had reached heady new levels and he'd developed a visible aura of pong surrounding him. A large plotter was delivered that needed to be moved into the store room and my colleague was despatched and unfortunately reappeared some moments later as he required assistance to position the plotter in a suitable location.

With growing trepidation and nausea I leapt up and strode to the storeroom careful not to get trapped downwind in the corridor. The plotter was stood on its side and needed a two person push to get it into place. I bent down to push the bottom half of the plotter before I realised the stupidity of my actions: I'd unintentionally placed my face within 12 inches of his arse. I resisted the urge to jump up out of politeness, after all despite his horribly offending personal hygiene I didn't want to upset the guy, so I turned my head to the side and to take a deep breath of uncontaminated air that would hopefully last until we'd heaved the plotter forwards. It took a prolonged and almighty shove to move it, a prolonged and almighty shove that used up all my oxygen resources and gasping like fish that had just leapt out of the toilet bowl into the ripest and most shit encrusted public toilet seen outside of trainspotting I inhaled what can only be described as Satan's own breath deep into my lungs.

I cringed back and shrank down as my stomach told me the smell had been insuppressibly horrific and a gag reflex was imminent. As my colleague turned to face me I let rip with a mighty "RALLLLLLLLPHHHHHEEERRRGHHHHHH". He looked at me slightly perplexed for a moment before he remarked "cig break" and wandered off leaving me curled up sweating in a ball on the store room floor fighting the urge to barf uncontrollably. Clammy and grey with a thousand yard stare I made my way back to the office and wept quietly.
(Fireyfox is prepared to change, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 21:13, Reply)

I suppose this counts, but it's not a lack of self awareness.
My boss sits at his desk farting like a Clydesdale.

He has no shame whatsoever. We have 3 women in this office, he doesn't give a stuff, just lets go whenever he feels like it.

It also stinks. His secretary put one of those pushbutton airfresheners on the shelf over his desk, and gets up and blasts him with it whenever he farts. He totally ignores her.

Not a self awareness porblem, but no manners. He was brought up by very very rich parents, as the oldest son, was groomed to take over the family biz from a young age, and obviously has never been taught to respect other people.
(username failed moderation, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 17:33, 6 replies)

Another Boss story
Yesterday I was in a meeting with my Boss, who told us that our wages are going to be late again and in the new year, the whole company may shut-down. I cannot lose my job right before Christmas or after, there's not a lot of work around here. My family was the only thing I could think of, the thought of no pressies was terrible, eviction from my flat even worse.

During this meeting the words 'projection', 'estimates', 'quarterly results' and various other numbers and bullshit that make no sense to a graphic designer, with no intimate knowledge of business matters, flooded the rant, for hours. Eventually A couple of us just told him to shut up and tell us straight "when are we getting paid?" and "do we have to start looking for new jobs right now?" (the latter being quite obvious).

The answer? = 'projection', 'estimates', 'quarterly results' and various other numbers and bullshit that make no sense to a graphic designer, with no intimate knowledge of business matters.

This is after I had said very loudly, "your business is my business, I have a child to pay for, without a job I am fucked"

The answer = "I don't want to play that hand right now"

GAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
( SauronWibble I'll hold it, you lick it..., Tue 4 Dec 2012, 14:48, 34 replies)

Noel Edmonds has had several solid silver models of his cock made.
NOELS SILVER WIENERS
( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 13:22, 3 replies)

open plan office
I have moved down to the first floor in my office as the managers on the second floor have no internal volume control.

There's the special one who keeps shouting "I don't know what I'm doing" or "I don't understand" and also the other half of fucking Jedward who rings her up and discusses applications and CVs with her whilst sitting about 15 yards away.

The thing is everybody between them can hear both halves of the conversation as neither of them understand the concept of lowering their voices and thus they might as well just put the fucking phone down and shout.

The aforementioned second half of Jedward is also health and safety guy and recently injured himself falling down a flight of exterior metal steps in the rain whilst wearing those clippy cloppy metal bottomed cycling shoes.

spesh as fuck in my office.
(magic the cat will someone please think of the kittens, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 12:11, 10 replies)

Just like everyone else's.
I work for a large chemical company that stores the toxic, potential air polluting stuff in a special 'bunker' that you aren't allowed to use electronic devices in lest a spark gets loose and it all goes up in a big bang and half the town disappears.

As part of further safety measures, the Health and Safety guy- a large man with spectacles and BO that could melt diamonds, goes around and checks that everything is where it should be and seems to be putting larger and larger signs up on the walls and shelves to make it even easier to locate and store stuff.

He has excellent knowledge of the wall mounted platform upon which the Nitrous Dioxide is to be stored.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 10:21, 9 replies)

I have known people who smell bad,
almost too many to think it worth mentioning.
I realize, or presume, that I've grievously insulted someone, but often only after some hours have passed, and they are far away and have already written me off as impossibly gauche.
The few times that I have tried to make amends, they look at me as if far too strange and say "What the fuck are you going on about?"
Imagine a line that goes through the 3 dimensional normal curve of human behaviour; on the right hand end a sociopathic con man, on the left end an obtuse and thoroughly Asperbergic programmer. I'm on the left tenth percentile.
(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Tue 4 Dec 2012, 4:21, 2 replies)

This is well timed
As my story only happened two months ago.

My cash had completely dried up, so six months prior I was forced to take a menial data entry job to make ends meet. It was monstrously simple work, which I did my best to liven up by writing a series of dirty limericks in the "other" field of each entry. I was doing okay, except the only thing that was spoiling my calm was Brad, the occupant of the next cubicle over.

The one thing that really sets me off is people with no self-awareness. I truly cannot understand how you can move through the world with no conception of your impact upon it, especially when so much of that world is asking you to please, please, keep your voice down. Brad was one of these people. No really, he was the full list: he showered once a month tops, talked at the top of his voice, and ate like a particularly dim-witted pig. He would often fart loudly and then giggle, or loudly congratulate himself.

To make matters worse, the people that ran the place had, in a misplaced attempt to boost morale, permitted music to be played, but had failed to require the use of headphones. Brad liked Capital FM, and played it all day, frequently turning it up and declaring, "Awww, TUNE!!!!!!" and often singing along. Adding insult to injury, Brad was one of those witless, unbearable fucks who had no desire to learn the proper lyrics and would just belt out whatever sounded about right and ignore all attempts to at least put him straight.

All this was seriously damaging my calm, but having been written up in the past for yelling at colleagues, I did my best to keep my dealings with Brad measured, and my complaints civil. But when challenged, all he would do is give this excrutiating, bovine look of contrition and then go right back to doing whatever it was that was disturbing the peace. The supervisors didn't care. They were clean on the other side of the office. Why should they lift a finger?

One day it all got too much. His radio was way too loud, he had mooed out "Hopping Gangrene Style!!!" once too often, he was farting like a dying steam engine, and I had a truly rotten hangover. But I kept my cool, leant over and said "Brad, could you keep it down please? And maybe use the toilet? That doesn't sound healthy." He made the fucking face, that appalling fucking "sorry" face, and my innards tightened in frustration. It was getting too much. But I was going to stay in control. I leaned over the partition and reached for his radio.

"Come on mate, let's just turn this down, eh? Some people are trying to woOOOORHHHHHUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I wailed as I inhaled the full force of his latest backside benefaction, causing my full English breakfast to come back for an encore and me to chunder copiously all over Brad and his work area.

"YOU RANCID BASTARD! YOU APPALLING, STINK SOAKED FUOARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHH!" I continued, emptying myself further over the poor young lady in the corner cubicle.

And that's how I ended up being summarily dismissed for screaming at a vomit drenched moron.

On the way home a man punched me in a ball for making a pun about a shelf.
(Frank Snow, Mon 3 Dec 2012, 22:15, 12 replies)

Squawk I live from moment to moment on instinct alone squawk.
SQUAWK FRANK! FRANK! FRANK! FRANK! FRANK! FRANK! FRANK! THAT CUNT BIRD IN THAT MIRROR IS LOOKING AT ME AGAIN! FRANK! FRANK! FRANK! FRANK! FRANK! FRANK! FRANK! SQUAWK.
(bollocks parrot squawk squawk squawk, Mon 3 Dec 2012, 21:29, 4 replies)

Ah god these puns...
It's sheds all over again.

A girl at my school who's not the fastest hard disk in the RAID constantly keeps her mouth open. She closes it for talking (hard sounds like "p") and that's it.

She's not retarded or anything, just dumb.
(D.I.pshit solved another case on, Mon 3 Dec 2012, 20:55, 4 replies)

You fucking, fucking, *FUCKING CUNTS* have driven me to this.
Flibble flobble influential baldie musician and producer plip plop a cryptozoological inhabitant of a certain body of water in Scotland nanoo nanoo the former sometimes changes into the latter, but not fully, only to 50% -

- KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME -

Eno's half a Were-Ness

CUNTS
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 3 Dec 2012, 20:31, 3 replies)

Worked with a bloke.....
Who had a shit around lunch time. When he came out the clagga he had wiped shit all up the back of his white shirt. He kept this shirt on for two days before someone decided to tell him.

He wasn't the most hygienic person at the best of times to be fair. Even less with shit smeared up his Back.
(Sir_Digby_Chicken_Caeser [email protected], Mon 3 Dec 2012, 20:29, Reply)