» Join us... come join the cult

What a question...
Yes I've been part of a cult. I may as well tell you the story from the top.

Cast your minds back to a time when you were 18, just out of A levels (or just finishing them), and looking forward to dealing with life. Like many of my peers, I got it into my head that I wanted to go abroad and do development work. I found an organisation via a newspaper advert, signed up at the recruitment weekend in Hull, and then straight after my last exam I jetted off to Denmark to train to do what I wanted to do for six months. The basic idea was that I would train in Denmark, then head out to Africa to do stuff like building toilets, educating people about AIDS, general well meaning stuff. You get the idea.

Well, the first mistake happened when I arrived- that is, because they forgot I was arriving. I was sat in the bloody airport for three hours before thinking "screw it" and got a taxi to where I was staying, making sure I charged it to the company.

Anyways, about a month in, we were all put to work to clean up the school where we went to train. Myself and a friend were working on the library, and I happened on a book with a very interesting title- The History of North Korea. I read it, and had a laugh at was essentially some very weak propaganda from our friends in Asia. And then I threw it out, thinking nothing of it.

Another interesting occurrence was when the school decided to have a sing-along session. Fine and dandy, but we decided not to go because we had plans of our own, mainly involving lounging around and doing nothing. One of the teachers basically busted in, and ordered us out. She seemed most put out when I stayed where I was... I don't think she was equipped to deal with a narky English teenager who wasn't in a mood to put up with bullshit.

The final straw came when I found a website called tvindalert (have a look around, I think it's still out there) and noticed several odd things about this supposed "charity" I had signed up with. First of all, there had recently been a police raid at their headquarters. Secondly, there were allegations of money laundering, tax evasion, false accounting, brainwashing, and best of all... gun running. Not forgetting wage slavery and shoddy treatment of its' workers. So, not liking what I was reading, I emailed the link to my Dad who was a journalist at the time. He emailed back saying "it's real... get out of there!". Oh crap.

Anyways, I started to email the creator of the website in order to formulate an escape plan. The only problem was, what was meant to be a private email was posted on the website, which was monitored by the lovely people I was working with. Here's where the story gets interesting: we were just about to go on an outward bound weekend, when I was pulled off the bus, regarding the email that had been sent. I was put in an office, on my own, with a large pissed off Danish man, oddly enough called Rene. He couldn't understand why I was afraid of him- could have been something to do with the lock knife which I had on my person should he try anything.

So, after an hour or so of him trying to intimidate me, and me making a fool out of him, he tells me to leave the office. Here's the fun part. I get in contact with my Mum over msn- and she actually phoned up this guy and threatened him with coming over there herself with a presspack and making life *very* difficult if he didn't pay for a flight home and put me on the plane. Suffice it to say I got the plane on the tacit understanding I wouldn't contact the media. Which I did the very next day.

As a postscript to this, the leader of this cult is now on trial, the place where I was staying has closed, and the whole organisation seems thoroughly tits up.

And that's the story of how I managed to screw over a Danish cult.
(Thu 26th Jan 2006, 18:53, More)

» Helicopter Parents

Hell hath no fury...
My Mum was a most unusual parent. Evidence of this can be seen by all who have met me. She was liberal-minded to a fault, in fact so liberal the only option I had for teenage rebellion was organised religion. Weird how that one works out. But still, by and large she did alright in raising such a sensitive soul as myself. In short, she was an incredibly laid-back parent. But by fuck did she have a temper. Somewhat worse than a pissed-off female rancor when they've got the painters in. I've seen it a few times, and it's an awesome sight. Here's the story of one of those times.

It was the end of school day, and I would have been about 12 years old. And back then I was a bit wet behind the ears. In fact, that doesn't quite cover it. Try "so moist it's boggy". Which of course attracted the pirahna-like attentions of one of the more physically communicative young ne'er do-wells in my year. Although when I say physically communicative, he'd be as likely to nut you in the face as say "Hi".

So, I'm walking to the school gate, and I spot my Mum, ice-cream in hand, and she'd come to pick me up from school, meaning I didn't have to deal with the cerebrally-deficient plebs I was usually forced to spend my time with on my way home. Result. Of course, these things never quite work out like that. The antagonist of our story, unbeknownst to me, was running up behind me, and had leapt in the air, and was descending with fists drawn aiming at the back of my neck. In short, the bastard dropped me with a flying donkey punch. It's not surprising I fell to the ground like a freshly-shot antelope. Not the most pleasant of endings to a school day.

However, Mr Idiot hadn't counted on Mum seeing the whole thing. And she had. And saw red. And the temper manifested itself like the wrath of an angry God. Odin, Zeus and Amun-Ra would have been quaking in their boots. She had set off at a run across the school field, and caught up with Mr Donkey-Puncher, and had chased him round the field, swearing like a trooper, and had eventually picked him up by his jacket, and was shaking him. Quite roughly, in fact.

And then, she came to. And noticed herself surrounded by a bunch of grinning, slightly scared teenagers. And holding up a now very scared former bully. Who had developed a mysterious damp patch on his trousers.

Go Mum!
(Thu 10th Sep 2009, 16:53, More)

» Workplace Boredom

I've been thinking long and hard about this one
Alright, it just popped into my mind without any mental pummelling at all, but it frankly sounded better in my mind. So, apart from procrastinating on these *ahem* "hallowed" pages, I like to gross out my work colleagues with some frankly disgusting stories. One of which I have just told to a frankly astounded colleague of mine.

It was late one night, and I was still living with my fiancee of the time. Now an ex-fiancee- very much so. And I am very grateful for that fact, but I digress. Now, it was three months before we were due to go back to university, but her seriously deranged mother got it into her head that perhaps it might be a good idea to buy us both a kitten. She just rocked up with it one evening, to my eternal confusion. I mean, who buys a kitten out of the blue? But once again, I digress. This seems to be a frequent activity of mine.

Anyway. At the end of the same day, in that activity common to all humans, we went to bed, placing the kitten (now named Sweetcorn after she got her head stuck in a used cup of chicken and sweetcorn soup- we'd just had Chinese that night) on a little cushion on the bedside table so we wouldn't squash her in the night, but still giving her company at the same time. And off to sleep she went, and then off to sleep we went. And I thought that would be the end of the matter.

Alas, no. I woke up with a rather curious feeling on my chest. Specifically, my nipple. It was being sucked on, and padded. I checked on my fiancee, she was fast asleep. The kitten however, was not on her bed, she was in front of me, padding my chest attempting to draw milk from a nipple that was, is, and will remain forever dry, as I don't suffer from an extreme case of gynaecomastea. Naturally, I was a little freaked out by this occurrence. It is not every day you are woken up by a small fluffy animal attempting to draw sustenance from your chest. That is, unless you happen to be a lady of the breadfeeding variety, and last I checked, babies are rarely furry, unless suffering from hypertrichinosis (a genetic condition rendering the sufferer to resemble Chewbacca). So, back to the sadly deluded kitten.

I calmly detached her from my chest, ignoring her quietly meowed protests, and then a thought hit me- a rather evil thought. I can be a bit of a bastard sometimes, and then was no exception. Lifting the covers, and leaning over my fiancee, I attached the cat to her, and leaned back to watch the show. My fiancee woke up, smiling at first, and then opened her eyes, and looked at me. And then puzzled, she looked down. And then, dear reader, I did my best impression of Jesse Owens and legged it out of the room as the shouting began.

So, how do I spend my time at work? Shoe-horning frankly bizarre, yet utterly true stories into an otherwise unrelated question of the week.

Cheers
(Fri 9th Jan 2009, 17:22, More)

» I witnessed a crime

"Sorry, wrong house mate!"
I've never been a witness to a crime, unless you count a girl band covering a Smith's song. However, a person I used to work with has.

He was sat in his kitchen, when he saw his previously locked door open. In walked a chav, who very quickly ran out yelling "Sorry, wrong house mate!".

The reason? Said ex-colleague was sat at his kitchen table with a sharpening kit and katana... happily honing the edge on his blade. From what I hear a sum of money was later posted through his letterbox in recompense for the back door.
(Thu 14th Feb 2008, 12:20, More)

» I don't understand the attraction

Figured it out at last!
That is, how to combine this QOTW with kittens. Ladies, gentlemen and /talkers, feast your eyes below:


(Wed 21st Oct 2009, 12:19, More)