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I'm Bart, who are you? by NoHomers.net
how jedi are you? :: by lawrie malen
Visit The Junky Underground
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Anonymous
James! Abduction! Mutilation! Karate!
One of my former colleagues was the proud owner of a two foot tall James Brown model which he kept perched upon the edge of his desk. Unfortunately he was in the habit of pressing a little button that would cause James to scream, then launch into a colossally loud rendition of 'I Feel Good'. This was irritating, particularly as it was something that cost me money. I work selling ad space to directors of major companies across the globe. It is vital to come across on the phone as professional and knowledgeable, while being persuasive and approachable. This requires concentration. Neither the appearance of professionalism nor concentration is aided by a loud toy being activated behind you. The issue was raised, requests for James to remain silent during sales hours were ignored, and his singing became more regular, just to annoy everyone.
Clearly something needed to be done. As much as I wanted to throw James from a window, I didn't. I nicked him instead.
I had planned to hide James for a day or two before returning him to his owner with a note requesting future silence. However, I went to the pub in the meantime and as so often happens, things got a little out of hand.
A livejournal account was set up (As this is 5+ years back the exact name used escapes me, something like where's james, I think). A hotmail account was set up, and an email was sent to his owner, from James, explaining that he was fed up of being disliked by his owner's colleagues and he was going away for a while. This was reproduced online and was accompanied by a photo of James with a suitcase, standing at a taxi rank. The owner hit the roof, and over the next three weeks went straight through it. This was because James kept posting pictures and blogs detailing his adventures. By this point the whole company was reading the blogs and were thoroughly enjoying the owner's discomfort. Whilst very angry, however, James' owner was also suppressing his amusement. Had someone else been the victim he would have been enjoying it immensely.during these few weeks, James was photographed in bars and clubs, with drinks, cigarettes and the odd line in the toilet. He had kisses from girls documented, and then we got ambitious. Postcards arrived from across Europe and images of him at customs and on a plane were posted, as my friends got involved.
Then I ran out of ideas for adventures. However, I was enjoying the peace and quiet and wasn't ready to return him. So things took a turn for the sinister as James was kidnapped..
A letter arrived with James' owner a few days later, with each letter cut from a newspaper or magazine in the time-honoured style. Ransom demands were made (assorted foolish tasks, for instance, wearing his shirt inside out, odd shoes etc). These ransom demands were not met, so I was left with no alternative but to carry out my threats of mutilating James. I bought a duplicate doll (£40!!!!!) and every couple of days a hand, or limb, or nose would arrive with the owner, all sent by recorded delivery. His anger and frustration boiled over. Threats of violent retribution were made, complaints to the MD were made, and laughed out of the office, and finally the owner promised that if he got him back, he'd keep James quiet.
Another recorded delivery letter arrived the next day, containing a cryptic clue; the first of several in a treasure hunt leading to James, the whole, undamaged, unblemished James. His owner shed a tear upon finding him. Despite his best efforts he still has no idea who was behind James' absence.
As a post-script, James died soon afterwards. I left the company about a month after returning James. A week after this, the owner returned to his old ways and another colleague karate kicked James into oblivion.
RIP James
(Mon 18th Jan 2010, 20:40, More)
James! Abduction! Mutilation! Karate!
One of my former colleagues was the proud owner of a two foot tall James Brown model which he kept perched upon the edge of his desk. Unfortunately he was in the habit of pressing a little button that would cause James to scream, then launch into a colossally loud rendition of 'I Feel Good'. This was irritating, particularly as it was something that cost me money. I work selling ad space to directors of major companies across the globe. It is vital to come across on the phone as professional and knowledgeable, while being persuasive and approachable. This requires concentration. Neither the appearance of professionalism nor concentration is aided by a loud toy being activated behind you. The issue was raised, requests for James to remain silent during sales hours were ignored, and his singing became more regular, just to annoy everyone.
Clearly something needed to be done. As much as I wanted to throw James from a window, I didn't. I nicked him instead.
I had planned to hide James for a day or two before returning him to his owner with a note requesting future silence. However, I went to the pub in the meantime and as so often happens, things got a little out of hand.
A livejournal account was set up (As this is 5+ years back the exact name used escapes me, something like where's james, I think). A hotmail account was set up, and an email was sent to his owner, from James, explaining that he was fed up of being disliked by his owner's colleagues and he was going away for a while. This was reproduced online and was accompanied by a photo of James with a suitcase, standing at a taxi rank. The owner hit the roof, and over the next three weeks went straight through it. This was because James kept posting pictures and blogs detailing his adventures. By this point the whole company was reading the blogs and were thoroughly enjoying the owner's discomfort. Whilst very angry, however, James' owner was also suppressing his amusement. Had someone else been the victim he would have been enjoying it immensely.during these few weeks, James was photographed in bars and clubs, with drinks, cigarettes and the odd line in the toilet. He had kisses from girls documented, and then we got ambitious. Postcards arrived from across Europe and images of him at customs and on a plane were posted, as my friends got involved.
Then I ran out of ideas for adventures. However, I was enjoying the peace and quiet and wasn't ready to return him. So things took a turn for the sinister as James was kidnapped..
A letter arrived with James' owner a few days later, with each letter cut from a newspaper or magazine in the time-honoured style. Ransom demands were made (assorted foolish tasks, for instance, wearing his shirt inside out, odd shoes etc). These ransom demands were not met, so I was left with no alternative but to carry out my threats of mutilating James. I bought a duplicate doll (£40!!!!!) and every couple of days a hand, or limb, or nose would arrive with the owner, all sent by recorded delivery. His anger and frustration boiled over. Threats of violent retribution were made, complaints to the MD were made, and laughed out of the office, and finally the owner promised that if he got him back, he'd keep James quiet.
Another recorded delivery letter arrived the next day, containing a cryptic clue; the first of several in a treasure hunt leading to James, the whole, undamaged, unblemished James. His owner shed a tear upon finding him. Despite his best efforts he still has no idea who was behind James' absence.
As a post-script, James died soon afterwards. I left the company about a month after returning James. A week after this, the owner returned to his old ways and another colleague karate kicked James into oblivion.
RIP James
(Mon 18th Jan 2010, 20:40, More)
» Voyeurism
Slapper! Bets! Doggy Style! Cowboy Hats!
When I was at Uni, there were 7 of us in a house. We'd been friends for years, and had no secrets from one another (except the lad who hid the fact he was gay until he was sectioned some years later).
One guy had been seeing a girl who would do pretty much anything with anyone. He was pleased as she was ace in bed, but her constant infidelity upset him a bit.
As it was a casual thing, he shared some details and a bet was eventually made. We offered him a tenner each if he could get her from behind and convince her to bark like a dog. Further bonus money was available if he could wear his cowboy hat at the same time.
Naturally we had to witness this in order to pay out so we drilled a hole in his door, suitable for peeking through.
A few nights hence he was out with her, and brought her back. We waited for him to get down to business and began a-peeking. She was dirty (and we were surprised to see he hadn't been lying when he said he had a big knob, the bastard!) and gradually things hotted up.
Unaware that there was a group of lads taking turns to watch through the viewing hole, Nick turned her round, then gave us a wink and thumbs up. He whispered in her ear, and all of a sudden the barking began. He reached round to his chair, put on his hat, and even exceeded expectations by making full on rodeo motions.
We collapsed laughing and made our way from the door to the living room and began counting out money, and opening some cans.
When she left we cornered Nick, and presented him with the dough. He accepted gratefully and said he was trying so hard not to laugh he nearly fell off.
One of the funniest things I've ever seen.
(Mon 15th Oct 2007, 11:09, More)
Slapper! Bets! Doggy Style! Cowboy Hats!
When I was at Uni, there were 7 of us in a house. We'd been friends for years, and had no secrets from one another (except the lad who hid the fact he was gay until he was sectioned some years later).
One guy had been seeing a girl who would do pretty much anything with anyone. He was pleased as she was ace in bed, but her constant infidelity upset him a bit.
As it was a casual thing, he shared some details and a bet was eventually made. We offered him a tenner each if he could get her from behind and convince her to bark like a dog. Further bonus money was available if he could wear his cowboy hat at the same time.
Naturally we had to witness this in order to pay out so we drilled a hole in his door, suitable for peeking through.
A few nights hence he was out with her, and brought her back. We waited for him to get down to business and began a-peeking. She was dirty (and we were surprised to see he hadn't been lying when he said he had a big knob, the bastard!) and gradually things hotted up.
Unaware that there was a group of lads taking turns to watch through the viewing hole, Nick turned her round, then gave us a wink and thumbs up. He whispered in her ear, and all of a sudden the barking began. He reached round to his chair, put on his hat, and even exceeded expectations by making full on rodeo motions.
We collapsed laughing and made our way from the door to the living room and began counting out money, and opening some cans.
When she left we cornered Nick, and presented him with the dough. He accepted gratefully and said he was trying so hard not to laugh he nearly fell off.
One of the funniest things I've ever seen.
(Mon 15th Oct 2007, 11:09, More)
» It's not me, it's the drugs talking
It's hard to pick a winner
These sort of stories are very hard to write about without sounding like a boasty twat. Still that's exactly what I am so here goes.
One of the most memorable was when I travelled to Birmingham to pick up a batch of Hoffmans, some high strength blotter acid. We got home, and from then on the night is a blur. I awoke the next afternoon in the airing cupboard, clutching a flowerpot with a telephone taped to my chest.
I clambered out of my cupboard to survey a scene of devastation. Every door handle in the house had a carton of orange juice pushed on to it, with large puddles on the floor. Raising my eyes heavenwards I saw, instead of God, a variety of pizza packaging and canned food and drink gaffer taped to the ceiling.
Cursing, I made my way downstairs, and opened the balcony windows to let some fresh air in. As I did so I looked down, and there, twelve stories below, was the tv out of my bedroom, along with the contents of my freezer (mainly belonging to my housemate).
Sighing, I took a stella out of the fridge, rummaged through the kitchen ashtray to make a butt spliff, chuckled ruefully, and made an adult decision to clean up later, after a bit of shuteye.
I entered my bedroom, and all thoughts of a nice sleep left my head. Lying atop my bed, snoring manfully, was my friend Pete, with whom I'd gone out.
He had become a home made mutant hero turtle.
With the shock arrived some flashbacks - the gaffer tape fun had continued and with the aid of glowsticks had made him some nunchucks, a gaffer tape eye-band (which later removed his eyebrows), a wok as a shell (it was never the same afterwards) and some t-shirts as knee pads.
(Thu 15th Dec 2005, 12:45, More)
It's hard to pick a winner
These sort of stories are very hard to write about without sounding like a boasty twat. Still that's exactly what I am so here goes.
One of the most memorable was when I travelled to Birmingham to pick up a batch of Hoffmans, some high strength blotter acid. We got home, and from then on the night is a blur. I awoke the next afternoon in the airing cupboard, clutching a flowerpot with a telephone taped to my chest.
I clambered out of my cupboard to survey a scene of devastation. Every door handle in the house had a carton of orange juice pushed on to it, with large puddles on the floor. Raising my eyes heavenwards I saw, instead of God, a variety of pizza packaging and canned food and drink gaffer taped to the ceiling.
Cursing, I made my way downstairs, and opened the balcony windows to let some fresh air in. As I did so I looked down, and there, twelve stories below, was the tv out of my bedroom, along with the contents of my freezer (mainly belonging to my housemate).
Sighing, I took a stella out of the fridge, rummaged through the kitchen ashtray to make a butt spliff, chuckled ruefully, and made an adult decision to clean up later, after a bit of shuteye.
I entered my bedroom, and all thoughts of a nice sleep left my head. Lying atop my bed, snoring manfully, was my friend Pete, with whom I'd gone out.
He had become a home made mutant hero turtle.
With the shock arrived some flashbacks - the gaffer tape fun had continued and with the aid of glowsticks had made him some nunchucks, a gaffer tape eye-band (which later removed his eyebrows), a wok as a shell (it was never the same afterwards) and some t-shirts as knee pads.
(Thu 15th Dec 2005, 12:45, More)
» Stupid Colleagues
Karate! James! Kidnap! Oblivion!
One of my former colleagues was the proud owner of a two foot tall James Brown model which he kept perched upon the edge of his desk. Unfortunately he was in the habit of pressing a little button that would cause James to scream, then launch into a colossally loud rendition of 'I Feel Good'. This was irritating, particularly as it was something that cost me money. I work selling ad space to directors of major companies across the globe. It is vital to come across on the phone as professional and knowledgeable, while being persuasive and approachable. This requires concentration. Neither the appearance of professionalism nor concentration is aided by a loud toy being activated behind you. The issue was raised, requests for James to remain silent during sales hours were ignored, and his singing became more regular, just to annoy everyone.
Clearly something needed to be done. As much as I wanted to throw James from a window, I didn't. I nicked him instead.
I had planned to hide James for a day or two before returning him to his owner with a note requesting future silence. However, I went to the pub in the meantime and as so often happens, things got a little out of hand.
A livejournal account was set up (As this is 5+ years back the exact name used escapes me, something like where's james, I think). A hotmail account was set up, and an email was sent to his owner, from James, explaining that he was fed up of being disliked by his owner's colleagues and he was going away for a while. This was reproduced online and was accompanied by a photo of James with a suitcase, standing at a taxi rank. The owner hit the roof, and over the next three weeks went straight through it. This was because James kept posting pictures and blogs detailing his adventures. By this point the whole company was reading the blogs and were thoroughly enjoying the owner's discomfort. Whilst very angry, however, James' owner was also suppressing his amusement. Had someone else been the victim he would have been enjoying it immensely.during these few weeks, James was photographed in bars and clubs, with drinks, cigarettes and the odd line in the toilet. He had kisses from girls documented, and then we got ambitious. Postcards arrived from across Europe and images of him at customs and on a plane were posted, as my friends got involved.
Then I ran out of ideas for adventures. However, I was enjoying the peace and quiet and wasn't ready to return him. So things took a turn for the sinister as James was kidnapped..
A letter arrived with James' owner a few days later, with each letter cut from a newspaper or magazine in the time-honoured style. Ransom demands were made (assorted foolish tasks, for instance, wearing his shirt inside out, odd shoes etc). These ransom demands were not met, so I was left with no alternative but to carry out my threats of mutilating James. I bought a duplicate doll (£40!!!!!) and every couple of days a hand, or limb, or nose would arrive with the owner, all sent by recorded delivery. His anger and frustration boiled over. Threats of violent retribution were made, complaints to the MD were made, and laughed out of the office, and finally the owner promised that if he got him back, he'd keep James quiet.
Another recorded delivery letter arrived the next day, containing a cryptic clue; the first of several in a treasure hunt leading to James, the whole, undamaged, unblemished James. On finding him, his owner shed a little tear of joy, placed him back on the desk and kept him mercifully silent during working hours.
As a post-script, James died soon afterwards. I left the company about a month after returning James. A week after this, the owner returned to his old ways and another colleague karate kicked James into oblivion.
RIP James
(Thu 3rd Mar 2011, 15:46, More)
Karate! James! Kidnap! Oblivion!
One of my former colleagues was the proud owner of a two foot tall James Brown model which he kept perched upon the edge of his desk. Unfortunately he was in the habit of pressing a little button that would cause James to scream, then launch into a colossally loud rendition of 'I Feel Good'. This was irritating, particularly as it was something that cost me money. I work selling ad space to directors of major companies across the globe. It is vital to come across on the phone as professional and knowledgeable, while being persuasive and approachable. This requires concentration. Neither the appearance of professionalism nor concentration is aided by a loud toy being activated behind you. The issue was raised, requests for James to remain silent during sales hours were ignored, and his singing became more regular, just to annoy everyone.
Clearly something needed to be done. As much as I wanted to throw James from a window, I didn't. I nicked him instead.
I had planned to hide James for a day or two before returning him to his owner with a note requesting future silence. However, I went to the pub in the meantime and as so often happens, things got a little out of hand.
A livejournal account was set up (As this is 5+ years back the exact name used escapes me, something like where's james, I think). A hotmail account was set up, and an email was sent to his owner, from James, explaining that he was fed up of being disliked by his owner's colleagues and he was going away for a while. This was reproduced online and was accompanied by a photo of James with a suitcase, standing at a taxi rank. The owner hit the roof, and over the next three weeks went straight through it. This was because James kept posting pictures and blogs detailing his adventures. By this point the whole company was reading the blogs and were thoroughly enjoying the owner's discomfort. Whilst very angry, however, James' owner was also suppressing his amusement. Had someone else been the victim he would have been enjoying it immensely.during these few weeks, James was photographed in bars and clubs, with drinks, cigarettes and the odd line in the toilet. He had kisses from girls documented, and then we got ambitious. Postcards arrived from across Europe and images of him at customs and on a plane were posted, as my friends got involved.
Then I ran out of ideas for adventures. However, I was enjoying the peace and quiet and wasn't ready to return him. So things took a turn for the sinister as James was kidnapped..
A letter arrived with James' owner a few days later, with each letter cut from a newspaper or magazine in the time-honoured style. Ransom demands were made (assorted foolish tasks, for instance, wearing his shirt inside out, odd shoes etc). These ransom demands were not met, so I was left with no alternative but to carry out my threats of mutilating James. I bought a duplicate doll (£40!!!!!) and every couple of days a hand, or limb, or nose would arrive with the owner, all sent by recorded delivery. His anger and frustration boiled over. Threats of violent retribution were made, complaints to the MD were made, and laughed out of the office, and finally the owner promised that if he got him back, he'd keep James quiet.
Another recorded delivery letter arrived the next day, containing a cryptic clue; the first of several in a treasure hunt leading to James, the whole, undamaged, unblemished James. On finding him, his owner shed a little tear of joy, placed him back on the desk and kept him mercifully silent during working hours.
As a post-script, James died soon afterwards. I left the company about a month after returning James. A week after this, the owner returned to his old ways and another colleague karate kicked James into oblivion.
RIP James
(Thu 3rd Mar 2011, 15:46, More)
» The worst sex I ever had
Eve...
When I was a student, there was a house in which 7 girls lived. I had great sex with 2 of them and disastrous experiences with 2 of them. I hasten to add that this was in my first year, and I was still not terribly experienced or indeed competent.
One night I had turned up there, pissed, with my mate. I was covered in mud, following doing a runner from a cab, and was trying to impress. About midnight Eve came home. I'd never met her before, but was impressed by her general appearance. An argument started, and she punched me in the face. I picked her up, ran the bath, and dumped her in it. We grappled for a bit and ended up kissing and fondling before legging it off to bed.
It was a shocking performance. It lasted barely minutes, and was amateurish in the extreme. The crowning moment was a loud fanny fart... "That wasn't me!" I said, crassly. I topped this a moment later when I let rip with a loud beer fart and said "That was!"
(Sat 16th Jun 2007, 22:39, More)
Eve...
When I was a student, there was a house in which 7 girls lived. I had great sex with 2 of them and disastrous experiences with 2 of them. I hasten to add that this was in my first year, and I was still not terribly experienced or indeed competent.
One night I had turned up there, pissed, with my mate. I was covered in mud, following doing a runner from a cab, and was trying to impress. About midnight Eve came home. I'd never met her before, but was impressed by her general appearance. An argument started, and she punched me in the face. I picked her up, ran the bath, and dumped her in it. We grappled for a bit and ended up kissing and fondling before legging it off to bed.
It was a shocking performance. It lasted barely minutes, and was amateurish in the extreme. The crowning moment was a loud fanny fart... "That wasn't me!" I said, crassly. I topped this a moment later when I let rip with a loud beer fart and said "That was!"
(Sat 16th Jun 2007, 22:39, More)