» * PFFT *

What really kills you in your own home..
I graduated from Uni on 2005 and spend the summer madly earning money to go out to America to visit my girlfriend, who dumped me 2 days after i'd arrived, though I still had to spend a month living with her family as I couldn't afford the charge to get an earlier flight. One night, while she was feeling the strain of having to be civil with someone she'd just horribly broken up with, she brought out a big box of assorted sweets. Cola bottles, chewy things I don't know the names of, red tape, the works. So we munched away on these until feeling ill, then decided to call it a night. I went to my room, lay down and instantly had the "whoop! time to get back up!" feeling, ran to the toilet and promptly shat out the entire contents of my large intestine. But it wasn't done yet, oh no. With nothing left to come out, I started farting noisily, until I shat out the contents of my stomach in a stinky liquid stream. But the farting wouldn't stop. With nothing left to come out, I felt safe enough to return to my bed and try to sleep. After continuing to have tremendous farts for another hour I eventually nodded off at about 1am, only to be woken up 2 hours later by a loud, blaring alarm. I looked around frantically thinking "House fire?!" but there was no longer an alarm and no smoke, I turned the lights on and checked the smoke alarm but it seemed ok. So I went back to bed, letting out yet another colossal fart as I did so. 15 minutes later the alarm went off again, and again I looked about, checked the alarm, wondered why noone else had been woken up etc, then sat in bed thinking "what the hell is causing this, both the farts and the alarms?". I turned the lights off and looked around again, noticing this time that there was a flashing light coming from under the wardrobe. I turned the light back on, pulled the wardrobe away and found the culprit. The air content detector, with a big flashing light next to the "WARNING: GAS LEVELS APPROACHING TOXIC - INCREASE VENTILATION" warning.

I was farting myself to death.

I popped it outside my room and opened all the windows so as not to be woken up again, then farted my way back into a slumber.

Makes me think - someone, somewhere, has in fact farted themself to death.
(Sat 14th Jul 2007, 19:11, More)

» Council Cunts

Inbred Fools!
I work for the local council here, temporary staff though, but in my whole month of service i've been surprised at the people and policies of the local council that i've come across.
1. Men must wear shirt and ties, women can wear whatever they want.
"Why do I have to wear a tie?" I ask
"Oh you don't have to, we just make you" they reply.
"It's not on the official dress code, are you saying that I don't have to wear one, and by law you can't make me wear one, but if I don't I'll be fired?" I query.
"Yes" they reply.

2. Initiative. Do not show it under any circumstances.
"See if I put these forms there and these other forms there I can assemble both forms at a rate of about 1 a minute! I'm a raving genius!" Says I to my supervisor.
"Maureen has been here 45 years and has never done it that way" she sternly replies.
"But my way works for me, can't I just do it this way?"
"No! It would upset Maureen"
"I thought you said she was on holiday for 3 months, can't I just put it back when she's back?"
"Don't be stupid!"

3. Hiring Policy.
It seems that the entire of the council is populated with 30-60 year old women with the men up in the heirarchy making the actual decisions about whether or not it's worth spending 2 million on a statue of some guy that fell over drunk in a pub once then wrote a single line of a poem which later became famous that will inevitably end up getting peed on by the local chav population. But for some reason, instead of hiring some young, fast typing kids fresh out of Uni/High school, they only hire relatives or friends of the people currently there, or actually just move people about internally.

I estimate that in about 60 years, Dumfries and Galloway will be run by people who have to eat through a straw and all share the same 2 surnames.
(Sun 29th Jul 2007, 12:10, More)

» Personal Hygiene

Hose down
My last job involved working as a carer for teenagers (aged about 14-17), there was a fairly high turnover of staff and kids, as either the kids moved on or the staff had enough and quit. Or if like me they just got fed up of having to give the kids a "normal life" and yet had to cook every meal from scratch rather than just buy a frozen pizza!

Anyway, about 2 months before I quit, a new kid arrives. He was a smearer and a storer, which means he didn't flush, but kept all his shit and piss in jars for us to find, when he wasn't smearing the shit all over the walls. Admittedly he had deep seated mental issues which caused him to do it, but you never had to help clean it up. He also has a phobia of showers, and apparently washing machines.

This kid stank, and I mean proper permeating fetid stench of a thousand days unwashed stank. Your nose would crinkle involuntarily, your stomach would churn, eyes water. All of which isn't helpful when you're trying to drive. Seriously! Even the air around this kid felt oily.

This probably come from his unwashedness combined with his fetish for spicy food (he only ate things that contain a ton of chili - he even put chili flakes on cornflakes in the morning ala Dave Lister) mean that he had a significant stink factor.

After about 2 weeks we finally convinced him to start having a bath every other day, but have to put *dettol* in the water.

Despite all this he still wouldn't wash, he'd just sit in the water for 10 minutes then come out and announce that he was clean.

So he'd sit around moping in his grungy "leave me alone" way, stinking up the place, and we'd have to drive him places - trust me you do not want to be stuck in a hot car with that boy, even having the windows down doesn't help - and constantly try to steal his clothes to wash them while he was at college etc. Eventually I had enough and told my manager that when he got back I was going to get him to gut his room, wash all his clothes, then the firehose and clean him with that. The other kids thought this was a great idea, but apparently it comes under the child protection act or something daft like that.

So I got the other kids to do it instead mwahahaha.
(Sun 25th Mar 2007, 13:14, More)

» Crazy Relatives

Auntipathy.
My mum has 5 sisters and a brother, they live all over the UK now but apart from our lot they're all down in england/wales.

Thing is, they were all born in Glasgow, so while individually they all have the accents of wherever they're living, put them together and the ol' glasgae starts to emerge.

At that point it's best to retire to a minimum safe distance of the next room, as the pitch and speed of the chatter rises to a constant humming noise known to cause nosebleeds.

I don't know if this is just a glasgow women thing, but whenever they're together they seem to form a collective intelligence that communicated through incredibly high speed speech.
(Fri 6th Jul 2007, 10:41, More)

» Road Rage

Deathbike 9000
Before I got my first car, a smelly old V reg Corsa that has an uncanny resemblance to the car I learned to drive in, my main mode of transport was my pushbike. I'd regularly cycle the 7 miles to my job stacking shelves at ASDA or to school and so on. Unfortunately the main road I travelled on was also the main route for Lorries headed out to Kelty or Dunfermline from Stirling. Oh fun.

One day, having successfully managing to play bicycle frogger with the lorries all the way into town, I begin to relax.

Then some wee shite (funny to say that, back then they were older than me)decides to not check who's coming along as he pulls out of parking by the side of the road and comes straight at me.

I think I uttered something like "Oh holy crapfuck" before going flying over the handlebars and roof of the tin plated A reg Nova with the baked bean can exhaust to make it sound bigger.

My bike was ruined, the front forks were bent back and stripped of paint, the front wheel was in several pieces, many of which were spokes in my legs (ouch btw). I had the satisfaction that in its death throws my bike had wreaked some havok and done a can opener job on the bonnet and windshield of the twunts car. It was like a can of sardines made of Vauxhall.

It turned out this guy (who asked if I wanted him to call an ambulance at least) lived in my village, 3 months later in his brand spanking new Renault 5 with the white spoiler and overrated sound system was driving down the main road of the village when his brakes failed and he went headfirst into a lamppost. He wasn't wearing a seatbelt, so was propelled out through the windshield and hit the lamppost with his head, which exploded.

Seatbelts are there for a reason y'know.
(Wed 18th Oct 2006, 10:23, More)