You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Profile for ivor_the_injun:
Profile Info:

none

Recent front page messages:

who's running who?
Hamsters are more integral to the running of the world than they'd have you believe.

(800k-ish, hence now in clicky form)
(Sat 19th Oct 2002, 16:58, More)

a steady hand and an iron grip, or it's curtains

(Fri 13th Sep 2002, 23:43, More)

great couples of our time
Morrissey and Carr:


(Sun 1st Sep 2002, 1:31, More)

Best answers to questions:

» Lies Your Parents Told You

Five-legged horse
"Why's that horse got five legs?"

This is of course because some horses mummys and daddys are magic, and so the baby horses have a special extra leg which it can use when one of the others gets tired. Not at all because it's got a frighteningly large cock dragging along the floor.
(Thu 15th Jan 2004, 12:38, More)

» Mini Cabs From Hell

Rookie mistake
About 7 years ago, while living in North London. About 2am, so the tube was closed, and me, my then-girlfriend and a mate of mine were getting shedded in my flat while waiting for a minicab from a local firm to go to a crappy club. It turns up half an hour late, by which time me and the girlf are asleep, but my mate says the cab'll be her shout so we sidle in and proceed to sleep on the back seat most of the way into London.

I wake up as we're approaching King's Cross, to the sound of my mate giving the driver the chummy "so what's the worst thing that's happened in your cab?"-style 20 questions routine. This continues to the club, where suddenly my mate throws the driver a fiver (the fare was 30), gets out and starts giving the driver shit through the window about his lack of punctuality and appalling BO before legging it down Charing X Road. The driver charges out after her. Meanwhile, I'm locked in the back of the cab with my still asleep girlfriend. He'd taken the keys with him, so we both had to climb out of the only partially-open sunroof.

So that was it, or so we thought. However, we get back to mine later that morning to find an alarmingly yellow human shit hanging out of the letterbox and dripping down the door.

Moral: if you're going to get a minicab and subsequently run off without paying, don't phone it to your actual address.
(Thu 27th May 2004, 16:07, More)

» Job Interviews

More reasons to shop at...
Having had to go through a three-day-long group interview process (all this for a 1.94 floor monkey job at a newly built Morrison's), it eventually culminated in a one-to-one interview.

"I see here that you did Social & Economic History at school - can you tell me one interesting fact about your local area's past?"

Mind numb after three days of sitting through half a million videos which all basically said "don't steal from us or you're dead", I could only think of one thing.

"The date on the planning application for the site you've just built on is BEFORE the date that the factory that used to occupy the site burned to the ground in suspicious circumstances."

Veh, veh awkward silence.
(Thu 27th Jan 2005, 4:13, More)

» Lies Your Parents Told You

continuing the "(x) is poisonous" theme...
My mum told me that the middle of a Ferrero Rocher was poisonous if you ate it too quickly. Every Christmas there'd be a token box from an unofficial auntie, and I'd be there spending 3/4 of an hour slowly licking mine into a gooey mush while fearing for the lives of my brothers and sisters, who between them were polishing off the remainder of the box without a care.
(Thu 15th Jan 2004, 12:25, More)

» Lies Your Parents Told You

"you don't know what they're called? I'll tell you..."
Somewhere along the line when I was v young, I was told that scones were called pickled onions and vice versa. You wouldn't think there'd be too much scope for this confusion to be embarrassing, but after a couple of choice getting it wrongs when I was about 3 or 4, I still get shit about it to this day. Suffice to say that every buffet I've ever been to has a jar of pickled onions in the middle of the table, as well as someone's poor, rock-hard attempt at fashioning a plate of scones, often specifically made so that my family can relay the tale to strangers.

Similarly my mum telling me that eyebrows were called "feathers", which every girl I've ever met has found completely precious, and every bloke that's been told has used as evidence that I'm secretly gay.
(Thu 15th Jan 2004, 12:30, More)
[read all their answers]