I heard that Pingu burnt down Username Failed Moderation's house.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Fri 23 Jan 2015, 10:50, Reply)

Simon Weston, artillery barrage, fire, melty face

( $$ ✅, Fri 23 Jan 2015, 10:45, 12 replies)

Lentil weavers
I run a pub in a lovely little town, that over the last decade or so has become a mecca for people wishing to leave the big smoke and lead alternative lives (because they've made a pile of money already so can afford to pursue vanity projects).
A group of these people have banded together to save the world and educate the hoi polloi in matters such as vegetarianism, buying local and, most importantly, releasing us from our addiction to energy.
Mostly they do this by trying to use my function room (for free, because that's how you support local businesses) for their meetings.
Without a shadow of doubt they are the most ignorant bunch of people I have come across; rude, condescending and with very little idea how the world works.
They are probably the only group that leaves all the lights on, doors open and electric fires on after they leave. I mean are they trying to use up all the energy in the world so there's none left for us to pollute the planet with?
The last straw came when they asked if they could have a log fire for one of their story telling event. I told them that I needed to check when the chimney was swept and was told, "Oh, it's fine. We brought in some logs last time and lit a fire to see if the chimney worked".
Obviously, if the 200 year old building had burned down in a chimney fire they would have known that they couldn't have a log fire for their story time, but they could have danced widdershins around my burning home.
Sorry, not exactly some pyro's wet dream but vaguely involved fire and my rage.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Fri 23 Jan 2015, 10:38, 12 replies)

'God looks after babes and drunkards'
One summer when I was about 7 or 8, my sister taught me and my friend Guy how to smoke keck ...

In a den we'd made ...

Out of hay bales.



Amazingly, we didn't set fire to it and die burning.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 23 Jan 2015, 10:23, 9 replies)

Many years ago in a high school not so far away
One chap in my science class decided to see how big a flame would be produced from one of the gas taps that we would normally connect our bunsen burners too.

He was shocked to find that it had a reach of about 2 feet and his singed eyebrows were testament to that little fact.

The rest of the class found this to be highly amusing.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Fri 23 Jan 2015, 8:59, 2 replies)

Fire.
I'm gonna burn your house down.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Fri 23 Jan 2015, 8:47, Reply)

Thanks sweetieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!
But it'll take more than fire to do for me!

LAIIIIGHTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERZSZSZSZSZSZS



XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Thu 22 Jan 2015, 21:55, 5 replies)

idiot v sodium (spoiler - sodium wins)
This lad in my school was a bit of an unpleasant lad, and also a fuckwit. He shall henceforth be knows as fuckwit.

We had that chemistry leson that's not allowed anymore, where you put a blob of sodium in a big dish of water and watch it whizz about. Fuckwit sees a chance and nicks a bit while clearing up at the end of the lesson. Fuckwit puts it in his pocket. As we leave, Fuckwit's pocket is getting rather warm, funnily enough (the oil was soaking off it into his pocket lining) so he legs it to the bathroom, puts it in the sink and turns the tap on to cool it down.

oops.

I don't remember if he was damaged but I snuck into the cordoned off bathroom afterwards. Several sinks in a row were totalled. I don't remember much else because I'm old.
(teasus likes tea, Thu 22 Jan 2015, 20:57, 17 replies)

Wasp Nest Disposal
Back in the 1970s childhood.... Wasp nest was located in the garden. Actually in the ground. Mum came up with a clever idea for disposing of it. This involved a can of petrol tipped down into the nest.

Well, they say you learn a lot from your parents. I learnt that day how not to dispose of a wasp nest as I watched her throw a match onto the nest and then saw the flames chase back towards her.

She was fine, few less eyebrows, looking a little pale.

The main lesson being - if you are going to tip petrol onto something to dispose of it, make sure you let someone else light it...
( Batter Pudding Hurler is a figment of your imagination, Thu 22 Jan 2015, 19:05, 4 replies)

After I'm finished with them I stuff petrol-soaked rags into the arseholes of the child corpses, then set them on fire.
I don't want a DNA profile to be created from the traces of my semen.
(Good evening Good evening, Thu 22 Jan 2015, 16:06, 4 replies)

Actually, I keep my money in a battered metal Lucky Strike box holder that I got in Serbia.
It's the coolest wallet in the world.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Thu 22 Jan 2015, 13:24, Reply)

my older brother went to university in ireland
in his third year, he and his friends got a house overlooking the beach, real open fireplace, more than one toilet between the four of them, all very nice and civilised. however, shortly after they moved in, two things happened.

1 - my brother got a new girlfriend and spent nearly all his time at her house, which wasn't full of skanky student boys
2 - his housemate got a new dealer and spent nearly all his time at their house, taking drugs

one day my brother came home from a lecture to find a big smoking black wreck where the house used to be. when he found his housemates, his relief that they were unharmed turned to utter rage. it turned out that they'd had the dealer round and they'd been having a bit of a party, when someone had decided to "move the fire" because "it'll look better in the middle of the floor". needless to say, this had ended well.

but my brother's rage was nothing to my father's when he found out about the incident via a solicitor's letter a few days later. apparently my brother was the only one who'd bothered to sign the lease, so the landlord was holding him solely responsible. as guarantor, could my father now cough up for all the damage...

i was too young to be told all the details, so i don't know what happened. i do know my dad didn't pay, so i assume the insurer did. and that i learned a lot of new swearwords during the breakfast when he opened that letter. and no, i have no idea what sort of drugs they were taking.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 22 Jan 2015, 8:09, 6 replies)

Some friends of mine own a farm
and will host massive parties. Generally speaking it's a gathering of rednecks eating great food and drinking whatever is at hand- they usually switch from beer to whiskey at about 10pm- and everyone finds a corner to sleep in until somewhere around noon. Great fun.

Their son is about the biggest redneck I've ever met, all about going out driving his truck through the mud and blasting around on motorboats and whatnot. So they leave the making of the bonfire to him, and he goes out and clears a chunk of land and piles the brush into one huge heap.

Two years ago he built his bonfire next to the creek at the edge of their property. At some point he decided that the wood was too wet and needed some help getting going, so he soaked it with kerosene. Then he felt that that wasn't enough so he added about a gallon of petrol. He thought he would let that soak in for a bit, so he went and got a beer. He came back and used the last of the petrol to lay a trail away from the heap of brush, then lit the match.

The vapors from the petrol are heavier than air, of course, and had flooded the area downhill from the heap. So when they flashed it went twenty yards upstream and twenty yards downstream and set the other side of the creek on fire as well.

They don't let him build the bonfires anymore.
( Wanderer, Thu 22 Jan 2015, 6:03, Reply)

Flaming Snowman
Back in high school, a few of us were sitting around trying to think up oxymorons. One guy suggested "flaming snowman," and in a moment of inspiration, another one exclaimed "It! Could! Work!"

One night we went to a wide open field, built a snowman, acquired some gasoline (which required us putting down a sizeable deposit for a gascan; this was before any of us were old enough to drive), then dousing the snowman and setting it on fire. It takes a lot of heat to melt snow, so it held shape and burned a very long time.

Next year, we tried it again in a different location, building a God snowman and a Satan snowman and letting them battle it out. Satan burned longer and it's up for debate whether that means he won or lost. During the epic battle of snowgods, someone was coming, so we all hid in the bushes and watched as they walked by, keeping a hand over their eye so they wouldn't have to look at and contemplate the bizarre sight going on right next to the path.

I think we've since burned three more snowmen. The last one was February 2013, which I did by myself in a 22ha abandoned lot in Korea. In case you want to see what an immolating snowman looks like, follow this link:
www.daehanmindecline.com/2013/20130204.html
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Thu 22 Jan 2015, 1:16, 3 replies)

Where did the dildo gif go?
That was proper funny my boss loved me looking at that in work he even gave me a promotion from employee to sacked employee
( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Thu 22 Jan 2015, 0:47, 9 replies)

If anyone tells you they've been to Burning Man
Set the cunt on fire.
(McChinaman banned, Thu 22 Jan 2015, 0:42, 2 replies)

My name is monster munch and i don't live in Bristol.
For all I know, Bristol is a complete shit-hole. I don't sound like Barnaby bear. I like Barnaby bear. I don't know if he's ever been to a chemistry lesson. I went to a chemistry lesson, but some kid set fire to my hair. I didn't like it.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Wed 21 Jan 2015, 20:28, 4 replies)

My year 7 art teacher was a bit odd.
At the front of the room he kept this old record player which had supposedly been geared down, and he often used it to show a sculpture slowly turning so people could see it from all angles. One week he set us this bizarre homework: "Right class, next lesson I want you to bring in an unwanted item from home, and we'll make each one into a character for the animation module."

I searched all over the house for a worthless object and eventually settled on an ancient hair grooming tool belonging to my dad - over the years he'd gone bald so didn't have much use for it. Come the following lesson the teacher tipped out this massive box of accessories and parts that had been pulled off old toys, and we got stuck in. Most of the good pieces had gone by the time I got to the front of the queue, all the eyes and noses got swiped first. I had to settle with the ears from a Mister Potato Head and a miniature pair of plastic breasts, fuck knows what they were off. I guess that someone had taken a hacksaw to their Barbie.

After sticking this together it looked a bit odd, as the ears were bright pink, the breasts flesh colour and the comb beige, so I decided to give the Potato Head pieces a few coats of light brown poster paint so they didn't stand out as much. It looked pretty good afterwards (i.e. marginally less shit than other kids' works), and at the end the teacher collected the three best models from the class to show to everyone else on the turntable. This time however he must have put it on at the wrong speed and the models went whizzing round, too fast for anyone to see, before eventually flying off and hitting someone in the face. And that was my spun tan ears comb busty 'un.
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Wed 21 Jan 2015, 20:24, 6 replies)

Don't set fire to people's hair when you're stood behind them in the lunch queue.
Reality will not meet expectations.
(eViLegion Chief Commissioner of the Scottish Lunacy Board, Wed 21 Jan 2015, 17:22, 4 replies)

Let's go build a fire down on the empty beach where the waves are crashing high
White heat; purify as the sparks fly up into the great black sky,
Sacrifice these crutches to the crackling flames; stand in silhouette against the dawn.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 21 Jan 2015, 15:45, 5 replies)

On Being Six Years Old....
July, hot summer holidays, 1962.

When I were a lad, I conned my granny into giving me a threepenny piece to go to the shops to buy myself some sweets. When I got to the Co-op I bought a box of matches ("for me dad's fags"), quoted our Co-op Number (184 - can you remember yours?) and took the matches back to my mates in the local playing fields. There we spent the morning lighting little fires in the grass and stamping them out, burning cornstalks, small twigs and each other, as only small boys can.

When the factory hooter went, it meant time to get home for dinner, so we stamped out the last little fire, hid the rest of the matches in a tree trunk and skedaddled off to meet my dad, walking home from the factory, agreeing to meet up after dinner.

When we got back to the playing fields an hour later we stood and marvelled at the three fire engines and attendant firefighters beating out a series of fires sweeping across the dried grass, not connecting the two. It was fun to watch. We must have stood for a couple of hours watching them put out the fires

It became apparent that this most definitely wasn't fun when two policemen turned up chez Groover with Groover's best mate in tow, bawling his eyes out, pointing at me, telling them all about my lies and pyromanic tendencies.

Dad was summoned from work.

I didn't play out much more that summer.
( The Lone Groover has mal des nuts., Wed 21 Jan 2015, 15:43, 1 reply)

We yearn to swim for home
But our only home is bone
How sleepless is the egg
Knowing that which throws the stone
Foresees the bone, the bone
Our only home is bone
Our only home is bone

And so I'm goin' down to cowtown
The cow's a friend to me
Lives beneath the ocean and that's where I will be
Beneath the waves, the waves
And that's where I will be
I'm gonna see the cow beneath the sea
(Synchromesh gearbox, overhead cam, Wed 21 Jan 2015, 14:43, 4 replies)

It's warm by the river; the weir keeps us clean
The wood-smoke and cigarettes are all that we need
Marking the dirt with twigs, and simple words spoke
Kicking the dust so that we can just

Dance the dance that plays with the fire
We play guitar and we played it inspired
You said you would leave not ever
Underneath the sky forever.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 21 Jan 2015, 12:44, 5 replies)

Contrary to everything I learnt from those safety videos shown in school, and films like Die Hard,
starting a fire can be remarkably difficult.
National Geographic magazines, for example, are pretty much fire-proof.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Wed 21 Jan 2015, 9:35, 6 replies)

"Cleanliness is next to Godliness, Richard," quipped Hyacinth as she wet wiped Richard's muck off her fanny.
"Now, let's get moving. We said we would meet Sheridan at the airport."
"Hang on a minute. I need a cold flannel for my bobbin."
"Oh, really. Must you lower the tone to the level of your genitals?"
"I thought my old boy was on fire at one point. You certainly like to slide up and down fast for an old women who has no enjoyment in carnal relations. A bag of spuds comes to mind."
"Come along Richard. Stop talking filth before I have to wet wipe it off my fanny again."

THE END.
( $$ ✅, Wed 21 Jan 2015, 9:01, 4 replies)

NSFW


Don't post NSFW images, kids.
( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Tue 20 Jan 2015, 23:05, 19 replies)

Dr Skagra...
Ah I can't be arsed...
( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Tue 20 Jan 2015, 23:03, 3 replies)

( broadsword w⚓, Tue 20 Jan 2015, 22:36, 4 replies)

Some kid burnt my neck.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Tue 20 Jan 2015, 22:15, 1 reply)

First?

(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Tue 20 Jan 2015, 22:01, Reply)