» Your Weirdest Teacher

wales v england
it's not wierd, but it deserves an honourable mention...

Two English teachers, one specialising in Language, the other Literature. One Welsh, one English.

They would send first years across to each others lessons and have them read a note out loud to their opposite. Thus:

Miniscule 1st-year walks in, trembling. Big Welsh teacher shouts "YES?" in Brian Blessed voice.

1st-year uncurls note and reads:
"Mr Literature (*) would like the fat Welsh sheep-shagging git to know that there is a department meeting before the next period."

Mr Language (*) smiles, writes another note, and tells him to read this one out loud and sends him on his way, back to Mr Literature for the next round.

In one or Mr Literature's classes, we had a 1st year come in who read out:
"Mr Language would like to inform the stuffy colonial English wanker there are no more copies of Macbeth left in the cupboard, so he can go shove his cocking literature notes up his tight stiff upper rectum"

oh, the fun. The Welshman always came up with the better insults, we found.

(* I cannot, for the life of me, remember their names. But they retired before my 3rd year, which is a damn shame)
(Wed 9th Nov 2005, 17:38, More)

» Mugged

Last one
A street in Havana, Cuba. Me and three friends, walking along quite leisurely on the pavement. One friend is holding her shoulder bag by the straps in her hand instead of, er, over her shoulder. I'm walking at the back of the group, my bag friend at the front. La la, walking along, all's fine.

A quite elderly man is walking very slowly towards us on the same pavement. La dee da, lovely day.

The elderly man veeeerrryyy slowly begins to bend over as he shuffles forwards. Maybe he has cramp. Laa, shiny sun, lovely.

Elderly man is starting to bend his knees as he walks. Crikey, maybe he's having some kind of seizure. I don't know the spanish for 'defribullator', so on with the laalaa doodaa, sunshine good.

Elderly man is now shuffling along, bent over, bent knees, and is slowly putting his arm out. Now that's plain odd, I think, we should just move round him. The other's will see, la dee da, never mind, ooh look, nice retro sign over there.

Elderly man shuffles forwards a little further and reaches for my friend's bag straps.

Huh?

My friend, busy until now herself with sunshine, retro signs and the lovely day, looks down and sees and elderly man shuffling and holding her bag straps. Confused, she pulls her bag away. He tugs back, still shuffling along. She pulls a bit harder. He tugs again.

He's still shuffling along, holding the bag straps, only in the opposite direction from us now. My friend, still very confused about the speed, or lack of, that this is happening, pulls once more and frees her bag from his grip.

The elderly man scowls, shuffles along at the same excruciatingly slow speed, and begins to unfold himself once more.

My friend later described the 'attack' as having a vague nightmarish quality, a creepy slowness of time etc..

The rest of us though, back at the bar, later toasted the "World's Slowest Mugging".
(Thu 15th Jun 2006, 18:24, More)

» Putting the Fun in Funeral

Malfunctioning service
At the crematorium, the words had been spoken and a sombre organ tune played in the background, as my godfather's dad's remains began moving towards the curtains to their fiery end.

However, the moving surface beneath the coffin got slightly stuck, and it began randomly shuddering towards the curtains. The music then started wawing as the tape it was being played from started to chew itself up. Then the curtains suddenly flew open, and the coffin jerked - nay, threw- itself inside, when before the curtains could shut a metal door clanged closed behind it.

The curtains slid elegantly closed again.

My godfather's mum could hardly stand by the end of it from a crippling giggle fit.

On a more sombre note, I'd also like to add that my school wouldn't permit me to attend the funeral of a family friend who had commited suicide. I was a bit miffed by that, as I was very upset by it. However, the widow told me this: after the funeral and the wake, she'd gone home to start sorting through cupboards, and found under some towels a random joint. Knowing it was probably one of the kids', the idea suddenly struck her to smoke it. So she did, and not having had any in her system for a good 20 years, was completely smashed by the end of it. This was fine, but then the doorbell rang, and she was faced with the officer who had been investigating the death. He stayed with her for half an hour, clearly aware she was off her tits, made her a cup of tea then left. After a munchies attack and a giggling fit, she realised just how kind the copper had been, and on ringing to make some kind of believable excuse, he said "don't worry love, it's not the first time - just have yourself some more tea and watch some telly". A lovely act of understanding at a very hard time. Sweet, really.
(Sun 14th May 2006, 14:18, More)

» Other people's diaries

too wise to write one...
as having an evil little brother meant it was only a matter of time before he'd have a go at it.

but at uni, i started keeping a dream diary, as a friend had told me that when you do it, your dreams slowly get more and more vivid and random. he wasn't wrong.

my roomie sadly suffered from clinical depression, and with her being a great friend, i would regularly allow her to read it, as it always made her piss herself laughing, which was a welcome respite for her.

her favourite ones were 1) everything was normal, except the floor was made out of meat, and 2) there was a small tadpole-like creature called a mender, that when you tickled it would raise a fin and hum the first few bars of 'smells like teen spirit'.

was glad for my subconcious to be of assistance.
(Fri 2nd Feb 2007, 9:26, More)

» Crap meals out

I'm a bit cursed like this
I went into a different noodle chain (since defunct, thank god). I ordered a phad thai. (Yes, alright, I live in west London. It shows.)

What I got was a plate of overcooked rice noodles, covered in egg and drowned in lime juice. It was like eating rancid vomit.

I ate two mouthfuls, nearly threw up, then called the waitress over. She got the chef out - always good for a laugh, I guess most people chicken out at this point - who told me it's an authentic Thai recipe. Um, no. It's not. So how would you know?, he says.

"I'm Thai."

This, of course, is a blatant lie. I'm Anglo-Saxon top to toe. But the look of confusion was great, and being in a very PC-type area, he didn't have the balls to question why a little white girl was claiming to be from there, and I walked out without paying for my starter, main or drink.

A mate of mine who bought a burrito in Mexico City. She thought something tasted funny, and looked into the burrito. And realised she was eating COLD RAW CHICKEN. It hadn't even been so much as near a radiator. She had food poisoning for three days.

As a child, I was once sold a cheeseburger in Burger King with no burger in it. A 'cheese', if you will.

I have many more.
(Thu 27th Apr 2006, 15:20, More)