She walked into my office like smoke , drifting across the floor incadesant and silent.The light from her cigerette lit up her face with an orange glow illuminating her blood red lipstick, thick dark hair and pale masacra stained face.
I knew this dame was trouble. The running masacara was clearly a way of gaining my attention , you don't work this long in the buisness without knowing when a girl has faked crying.
Her long red dress skirted along the floor casting long black shadows across my desk and into the street beyond the window behind me. The silence was deafening, my heart rose to my throat as i tried to control my disire to comfort this obvious fake.
She looked me in the eyes , those green jewels embedded in the perfect gaze seemed to look into my very soul as they reflected the pale moonlight that shone in from the window.
She pulled the chair out of its hiding place under the desk and sat down.
I looked away avioding her eyes ,a woman like that could give you a look full of promise and eventual heartache.A look that usually brought so much trouble my way , the kind of trouble that could get a man killed or worse a long stretch in sing sing.
She breathed a long sigh before speaking , annoucing she was about to change my life, literally signing the death warrent.
"I know it was you" She said her voice heavy and laced with malice.
I had to admit i was taken aback having no idea what she talking about, i waved my hand silently indicating for her to carry on talking.
"You've been spying on me , i've seen you outside my house looking in with those dirty cloths and that lustful look in your eye. I'm was going to call the police but i thought I might be able to get some hard cash out of you first"
My jaw dropped ,the darkness of the office reflected my anger at such an accusation.I clenched my fists and fought back the will to strike this insult from her with violence. I replied calmly and as professional as i could muster.
"Listen love , i'm a window cleaner "
(shake'n'bake Tally Ho, Biatch!, Fri 14 Oct 2011, 5:39, 2 replies)

HDMI Cables
The signal still comes through the same coaxial cable that it always has whether you had an antenna, cable or satellite telly connection. So what is the point of HDMI cables? The coaxial cable is clearly capable of relaying the HD signal to your house but from there apparently *MAGIC* happens and you need a special (and pricey) cable to make it appear on your telly. Also since its digital data there is no difference between a cheap cable and an expensive one in terms of quality, since you either get the data or you dont.

Its a fucking swindle I tell you.
(Spackles Made sexual advances in your general direction on, Fri 14 Oct 2011, 5:30, 10 replies)

Women.
Simple everyday things that mystify me. I just cannot win when it comes to women. I've tried the nice guy approach, the bad guy approach, the I-dont-give-a-fuck approach and I've even tried to be myself (Which always ends in tears). Its not like I'm a social retard, I know how to navigate interactions. Who knows...
Guess I should just give up and go and buy a cat, they're much less mysterious.
(technocore, Fri 14 Oct 2011, 3:45, 13 replies)

Thank fuck for that, so glad iffy crushes is over.

( skeltonator Needs some new daps., Fri 14 Oct 2011, 2:44, 1 reply)

It turns out:
The vehicle lost control but started decelerating before impact, mitigating the force of the collision to survivable levels; and they wouldn't have got away with it if it wasn't for those skids.
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Fri 14 Oct 2011, 2:02, Reply)

It turns out:
Their new wonder-drug's (S) enantiomer caused birth defects, and they would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for those pesky flids.
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Fri 14 Oct 2011, 1:59, Reply)

It turns out:
It was the amusement parks old caretaker wearing a sheet; and they would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for those pesky kids.
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Fri 14 Oct 2011, 1:53, Reply)

who farted.
The phrase "who smelt it delt it", never rung so true the other night. I pumped in bed...alone. I still laughed...
(cornforth31, Fri 14 Oct 2011, 1:53, 3 replies)

Just one more thing....
That witness sketch of the dodgy looking bearded man spotted outside the McCanns apartment in Portugal.

That's Kate that is.

With Gerry's pubes glued onto her face.

Case closed.
(Helmut McBucket invites you to pull his finger on, Fri 14 Oct 2011, 1:26, 2 replies)

"The Promise" by Girls Aloud has a very cryptic message hidden in it.
This revelation came to me when the song was in the charts, I worked 12-hour shifts and the local radio station was apparently playing it every hour 24/7. My reasoning ran something like this:

* The chorus has a train-like rhythm, "pro-mise-to-me pro-mise-to-me / pro-mise-to-me pro-mise-to-me".
* In Morse code, this is .... / .... / .... / .... (H H H H).
* HHH in World War I era radio signals means "halt".
* The rhythm and the Morse code translation suggest a train moving forward but halting as well. Reversing?
* Where on the rail network, apart from the end of a line, does every incoming train reverse to leave?
* Castleford.

Therefore, "The Promise" has a hidden message related to Castleford. Buggered if I know what that message is though.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Fri 14 Oct 2011, 1:02, 11 replies)

The classic
You are standing in front of two doors, with a guard in front of each. One door leads to safety and one to certain death - one guard always tells the truth, and one guard always lies. You do not know which guard is which. You can ask one question. What do you ask in order to work out which door is safe to go through, regardless of which guard you ask?

(I'm sure some smartarse will put the answer in the replies soon enough)
( MatJ LOOK, Fri 14 Oct 2011, 1:01, 10 replies)

Pub quiz question
"Who wears the fisherman's ring?"

It must be someone famous

Who would wear a ring associated with a fisherman?

Who was a famous fisherman?

Peter (Jesus' disciple)

So, a religious leader

Pope, or archbishop?

Probably pope

We (I) got the question right, and won the quiz.
( MatJ LOOK, Fri 14 Oct 2011, 0:31, 2 replies)

It's a mystery to me
The game commences
For the usual fee
Plus expenses
Confidential information
It's in a diary
This is my investigation
It's not a public inquiry

I go checking out the report
Digging up the dirt
You get to meet all sorts
In this line of work
Treachery and treason
There's always an excuse for it
And when I find the reason
I still can't get used to it

And what have you got at the end of the day ?
What have you got to take away ?
A bottle of whisky and a new set of lies
blinds on the window and a pain behind the eyes

Scarred for life
No compensation
Private investigations
(Vigilante Man weeps because you're stupid., Thu 13 Oct 2011, 23:34, Reply)

Jeccius and his future career prospects (v close to deceased)
I work in a very large and bizarre I.T. office, where actually being able to provide tech support means jack-shit unless you can actually sound like the company machine that they want to be programmed like (that's not an exaggeration, people have lost bonuses because even though they fix customer's issues if they don't sound a certain calibre it's classed as "brand damage").

So as you can imagine certain staff get their kicks where they can find them. With myself, it's normally trying to work out who is having the office affair. Not the nice "Oh we'll meet up after work and hold hands" type, but the highly romantic "I'm married but I'm sneaking off to the disabled toilets for a quicky" variety. Sounds pathetic when reading it back lol, but I've managed to confirm at least 5 separate couples which have happened to bump the uglies on hallowed ground. The two best ones of these though were close to getting me fired lol

The first of the two were an ex-manager turned caterer and an on-site Hungarian Shot-putter of a woman who deals with maintaining facilities in the building. One late Xmas shift night a few of us were working the dead shift and as we were within the last hour both manager and brick-layer casually walked past our desks and headed to the corner storeroom. This is situated right up the top-corner of the work-floor away from everyone except my desk. They quietly walked past, unlocked the door and both went in, locking the door behind them. There were only about 12 of us left in the office, so immediately I set up emailing every fucker about it and we all watched with baited breath as they got it on. Now she's a monster by herself, but he's not skinny by any standards; we're talking Barney sodomizing a plate of blancmange in terms of the mental pictures we were all thinking, and trying not to puke on our keyboards at the same time.
About 10 minutes before the end of the shift they both come out of the room, both with slightly red faces and her breathing like she'd just had an asthma attack (at that size they come with a 2 pump minimum requirement, it's entirely possible). I assured the rest of the staff that it's most probably something innocent like they were having a sly pizza each and just didn't want to share, but they wouldn't buy it. Thankfully neither of them saw my emails (thank fuck), although they were most probs too tired to read after "going the distance on the pig-rodeo". A few days later they were caught by another manager and told rather politely to knock it off or fuck off.

The other one was my old direct manager (we'll call her "R"), pretty much caught on camera by security out the back of the building sucking off one of the higher up managers (found out by randomly cross-examining an ex-member of the security team I bumped into in Tescos one day). Both were married but it was something they happened to do rather often, much to the dismay of our uppermost management having to ban either of them having keys to various "unoccupied" training rooms and other sticky corners of the office. We'd spied them sneaking off on numerous occasions, and on one random spying mission in the office happen to catch them getting comfy. She's now in the uppermost tier of the tribe so to speak and he's gone off to pastures new. Unfortunately for her as her next boss up is a woman, unless she's into rug munching that isn't going to be a good option for her.
So why's this a problem for me? I accidentally told every manager I knew at a staff do when I was slightly half-cut. Plus it most probs don't help that when my current manager asked me where he was requested I answered "Don't worry if you don't see "R" when you go into the meeting, she'll be under the table waiting for you". Oh well, keeps work fun I suppose.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 22:47, 2 replies)

Boats
I don't understand it. They're made of metal, right? Lots and lots of metal, generally quite heavy.

The thing is, metal isn't naturally buoyant! Try it yourself, drop some money in a glass of water and it'll sink to the bottom. (Probably best to use coins for this, paper doesn't illustrate it as well and gets all soggy and wet.) And that's just one coin (or more, depending on how many you've used).

So how is it that a big sodding great ferry thing* can manage to stay afloat, despite being much heavier than a 2p coin? Completely mystery.

*except the Herald of Free Enterprise of course
(jamesthegill opens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 21:46, 8 replies)

the speed of light
I was very interested in science as a kid. (a chance encounter with some post grad students at the age of 5 left me telling my primary school teacher I wanted to be a microbiologist)

I read with great interest about the speed of light and how at that speed something could travel round the earth 7.5 times a second.

I got thinking about this at bedtime when my mum turned the light off. Despite it being the fastest thing in the universe I was somehow able to see light receding from the room towards its source. I was amazed. I was gifted. I had some sort of super vision. I was thick. I was about ten before I realised that it was just the wolfram coil in the bulb cooling down.
(OTT, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 21:30, 4 replies)

Just this morning I solved the mystery of why a package hadn't shown up
Turns out the poor dear had put down the wrong address, and I'm fair exhausted after cracking that difficult nut.
(ElGranto, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 21:27, Reply)

Any excuse to post this
www.youtube.com/watch?v=__DrJI7mTHQ

/coat
(ElGranto, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 21:25, Reply)

Haha, you dont really fuck with that thing do you?
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 20:54, 1 reply)

Many many years ago in my youth in my local boozer.
There was a stuffed duckling that Sammy, one of the regulars, had bought for Reg, the landlord. Frogmorton, it was called. Anyway, some rotter nicked it one summer. Everyone was very upset, but totally perplexed as well as it was in plain sight when the pub was open and Reg kept the place locked up tight at night. The Fuzz were of no use, and the locals were nice people, but essentially dribbling, saddle-sniffing fools, so as the only remotely intelligent person in town I took it upon myself to solve the crime and recover Frogmorton.

I installed myself in the corner with my pint of Tribute and did my best to be inconspicuous as I listened to everyone around me. I pride myself on being observant and I learned a great deal that day. None of it, however, was pursuant to Frogmorton's disappearance, so I soon became bored and returned to my current project of the day, which was jacking up the vibration of my phone to tectonic levels for use as a sex aid in one of my many trysts.

An hour before closing, I spotted Horace, a drooling straggly fellow. He was as shifty-looking fellow, and would cringe visibly whenever the topic of Frogmorton was brought back to the fore.

"There's your man," thought I, and resolved to follow him.

Two hours later, after closing time and after tailing him on a frankly unpleasant and unnecessary course through the surrounding fields and villages, I found myself back where we started, peering over a post at Horace as he deftly broke into my local boozer. I followed him in. I realised at that moment that whatever happened now, if I was discovered here I'd be tarred with the same brush as Horace. I would have to be at my most crafty. For some reason I found the sense of danger arousing and, completely unbidden, I found myself cultivating a massive lob-on in my shorts. I tried to put it out of my mind and focus on the mission.

I turned the corner into the saloon bar and there was Horace, resplendent on the bar, fucking the hell out of the stuffed duckling that he'd been hiding behind the freezer.

"GOT YOU!" bellowed eight regulars plus Reg as they burst through the kitchen door.

"AHA!" I joined in, "the game's up you rotter! Put down the OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!" I squealed, spurting out rope after rope of gentleman's relish as I orgasmed violently.

As it happened, my tricked-out phone had been pressed snugly against my now-engorged bellend, and my mate Flobbo had chosen that precise moment to call me up with the go-karting scores.

Semen EVERYWHERE.

So I solved the crime, but was mercilessly ribbed for ages as the guy who spunks when men fuck stuffed ducks.

But it didn't matter so much as I was fired soon after for breaking the nose of some poor chap who was bad at maths and couldn't work out the right money to give me for his pint.
(Frank Snow, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 20:12, 15 replies)

I was in the pub with some mates when my brother realised that his wallet had been knicked out his coat on the back of his chair
I told him I'd noticed a 'weasely looking guy' that might of done it, and I thought he'd just left the pub. My brother jumped up and ran out. Me and a mate followed to watch the fun. My brother performed a citizens arrest on the guy by sneaking up behind him, kicking him really hard up the arse and bellowing "give me back my wallet you thieving cunt". Despite much protestation of innocence a rough frisk was performed, no wallet, and the scrote was sent away with dire warnings of what would happen if he was seen again.

My brother's wallet was sitting on the sofa when we got home.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Thu 13 Oct 2011, 20:08, 16 replies)

Psychedelic Science
I remember as a wee nipper seeing an exhibit in the Science Museum. It consisted of a white tiled piece of wall with black raised lines that resembled the stained glass window of a church, showing the Madonna and child, but completely colourless.

There was then a small round window in front of it that you could look through, and you'd see the image in startling, brilliant colour. There was also a knob below it that you could turn, and make the colours change.

This had stuck in my head for years as some sort of magic window into another dimension. And it was only decades later that I figured out how it was done. And I'd love to see it done again.

You project two bright colour images, one the exact colour inversion of the other, onto the same screen so that when combined, they appear white. The thick black lines, already on the screen, mask any fringing at the edges. One projector has vertical, the other horizontal, polarisation. You then look at it through a polarising filter, which you can rotate to alternate the colours.
( joefish It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 19:51, 3 replies)

I must have been around the age of 6
I went to bed and placed my X wing pilot Luke Skywalker figure under the pillow, i got up the next morning and it had vanished, never ever to be seen again?!

One can only assume that a star wars geek must have sexually abused me during the night and then stole the figure.
(serge, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 19:43, 2 replies)

All very dodgy all around.
Actually I recently solved an art theft because my coke dealer saw the stolen artwork in the toilet of another one of his clients.
Now if I go and steal it off him in turn then do you think morally I should be allowed to keep it? Not that I would, like. Honest.
(beaverwastemanagement a real company. I want to work for them!, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 19:31, 3 replies)

didn'r exactly tax my brain
many years ago, my brother was going out with a girl called alex, who had moved into my parents' house with him. she was always a sneaky cow and, not long after she moved in, stuff started to go missing. just little things at first, like smokes or the odd quid here and there.
then my purse went missing. it had been on the kitchen counter, because i'd just been sorting out my bills and hadn't left the house since, so i knew it should still be inside. alex was the only other person in the house. i asked her if she'd seen it and she turned on the waterworks, saying i was calling her a thief. i had called her no such thing, but her overreaction definitely made me suspicious.
2 days later, alex "found" my purse, outside the church on the corner. everything was still inside, except my money. the purse was also amazingly dry, considering we'd had 2 days of torrential rain. i knew she'd taken it, but couldn't prove it.
the following week, i had again been paid and had left my money on my bed, whilst i went to make a cuppa. again, alex was the only other person in the house. i heard her sneaking across the upstairs landing, so i headed upstairs. she must have heard me coming, because she scurried back to my brother's room and, as soon as i entered my room, she shot downstairs and out of the front door.
i counted my money. there was £10 missing.
i didn't mention to anyone how much had been taken.
when alex got back an hour later with the new skirt she'd just bought(which, coincidentally, cost £10), i confronted her.
where's my money, alex?" i asked.
"what money?" she asked.
"the money you stole from my room earlier."
"i didn't steal no £10", she whined.
she failed to understand how she'd just blown herself sky-high, the stupid cunt.
she finally got kicked out a few months later, after emptying my brother's bank account whilst he was at work and trying to pin the blame on my sister.
like i say, hardly taxing of the little grey cells.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 19:24, 9 replies)

Hollywood thrillers
A good rule of thumb when watching hollywood thrillers/whodunnits is if you see an actors name that you recognise at the start of the film (normally the third or forth star name), and they don't appear in the film very often, then they will turn out to be the murderer/villain.
( Joe Scaramanga with a G-double-O-D vibration, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 18:49, 1 reply)

That the sticky strip on pantie liners ...
was for sticking them to the panties. I had been married several years before spotting a discarded pair and having this particular damascean revelation. Previously I had wondered about the hair problem but simply figured that it was just one of those things that women put up with for the sake of a 'good seal'.
(karnuvap, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 18:37, 5 replies)

Why is it,
if I do something in my girlfriend's dream that upsets her, she takes it out on me in real life?
( Funkenschlag still likes dogs more than cats, Thu 13 Oct 2011, 18:20, 8 replies)