broken homework...
The best lie I ever heard was uttered by a kid at my old school. We could not have been more than 9 or 10 and Richard (for that was his name) used to cycle to school. Now, Richard was a bit of a geek and didn't do well with confrontation, so when he realised he hadn't done his homework and would be in trouble, he hatched a cunning plan...

The teacher asked us to hand our books in at the start of the class for marking (as a number of us used to ignore the teacher and do the homework during the day's lesson at times)as we'd be reading from Flight Of The Phoenix (great book, that) this period. Foiled, Richard decided to act - and cut the centr of his exercise book up with scissors so you could almost put your head through it.

When it came to his turn to hand his work in, he handed the book to the teacher, straight-faced. Oddly enough, the teacher queried the condition of his book, to which Richard replied:

"Well, miss, as you know I cycle to school. It was a very cold morning today and my book was in my bag...it had obviously gotten a bit damp, as it appeared to have frozen solid and when I went over a bump, it flew out of my bag, hit a particularly sharp stone and shattered."

I think we lasted about five seconds before the whole class pissed themselves laughing...
(Chad, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 14:09, 1 reply)

Mr Nutt
Mr Nutt was my English teacher in the first year of secondary school. He was an ex-boxer, and had eyes that could read people like a piece of prose.

He had given us homework; read the book he had assigned us (I forget what it was), then get our parents to sign our homework diary.

A week later, I was sitting in the middle of the class, in a position that lent itself to anonymity. I needed it. I had read the book, but had forgotten to get my diary signed. In desperation, I had faked my mother's signature from another page of the diary.

Mr Nutt went round the class, checking every pupil's diaries. Woe betide the fool, the poor soul, who had forgotten a signature.
A woman scorned? No, the wrath of this English teacher was a far worse fate (especially if you're eleven years old)

He reached my desk. He peered at my diary, at the intricately copied signature.

"Your mother's signature looks like the number 2. Does it always look like this?" his interrogation started

"Yes sir." I replied.

His eyes scanned me. I kept forcing myself to believe this was the real signature, that I hadn't faked it.

After a long pause, he gave me his verdict

"Fine, good work".

I almost cried with relief. I felt like I had cheated death!

Given that this is a story about my English teacher, I'm sure you will take great joy in pointing out any errors in spelling/grammar!
(tarbin tarbis, tarbit, tarbamus, tarbimus, tarbant, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 13:29, 4 replies)

The Pope
.
Is it just me or do other think there's something profoundly wrong about having a Pope who was a member of the Hitler Youth?

Isn't it on the job description or something?

SITUATIONS VACANT:

The Pope.

Axe-murderers, atheists, women and members of The Hitler Youth need not apply.

*Kiddie-fiddlers are OK though


Cheers
(Legless Fuck Victoria's Secret, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 12:30, 48 replies)

career fakery
I'll be honest, 90% of any career path is based on bullsh*t.

I went from Uni into a tech support role, got bored, and (because I'd built a personal website for a hobby) became a web designer. When that bored me, I wrote software (hey, I'd coded as a kid, so I knew roughly what I was doing). The software I wrote is used by 90% of car manufacturers to design their engines - well, I did the user interface, some chinese guys and a russian dude did all the maths. When that got boring, I worked for myself for five years, but because I had a friend who was in the same boat, we set up a limited company. So my CV has got five years as a Company Director on it... that led to me getting employed by a huge ad agency as a digital PM and strategist (easiest job in the world - read Wired and pick up a copy of "Campaign" once in a while and you're sorted) and thus I was head-hunted by the client to project manage a multi-million pound project and to educate the new agencies on the roster on how it all worked.

I earn silly money, get to work from home when I want, go home at 5 every day (well, almost every day) and spend 50% of my day surfing the net doing "research". In the next month or so, I take delivery of a Maserati. Believe me when I say it has bugger all to do with what you know or how hard you work in this life - the harder I worked, the more I got shafted and (believe it or not) I do know my stuff, but the truth is that if I want code, I'd outsource it to India where I can get top-end coding for about £5 a day.

The secret to faking it is to:

a) ignore the office political game - it's designed to keep you in your place.

b) get to know your client and educate them to the reality of how things work - sales staff will promise them the moon and they'll be glad of a realistic "for that budget you can have X, or we can do Y for a bit more - what do you prefer?"

c) if in doubt, ignore the working process, get to know the people you need to get things done and just do it - it's hard for a boss to punish you for delivering the project and keeping the client happy, when the account staff are still having meetings about how to get started. The secret is to make the deadwood dispensible. This makes you look efficient and gives you a reputation for strategic thinking. Put this on your CV.

Once you've done these things a few times, you can then move on to:

d) Make noises about starting out as a consultant with your old buddies from XYZ company - by now you have a reputation as an efficient deliverer of projects who can shape strategy and keep clients happy. The tech staff will love you because you've stopped the sales/account team from driving them nuts and, your boss will pass out when he hears whar you are planning. Let him stew for a month or two (you might even ring old colleagues in a loud voice when he's around - go via reception so you have to ask for the person, too), then ask for a raise. So far I've doubled my income in two years and my friend has tried this and is now moving to a nice new house...

It's not about getting something for nothing, as you are only opening people's eyes to the dead wood in the business (usually it starts with "A" and ends with "ccount Management") and the clients are happy because you're getting stuff to them on time and on budget. Besides, the useless twats you are making redundant had too long ruining businesses as they try to emulate Gordon fucking Gecko - screw 'em.
(Chad, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 12:28, 3 replies)

Is
Pooflake the goot man still alive after his trip to the quackies does anyone know?
(Halfy House house house house house house house house, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 12:18, Reply)

Faking orgasms?
Why? Surely you'd both be better off just saying something and calling it quits. I've admitted defeat, albeit reluctantly, and although one might expect to immediately be shifted into the 'lets just be friends' category this isn't always the case. Granted I did put in a sterling effort at carpet munching which in turn resulted in another crack at her crack at a later date. There are lessons to be learned here me thinks.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 11:27, 2 replies)

Messy head
Today has been a day of faking...

I crawled into the office at about half nine this morning, with the effects of one too many drinks still stinging my brain and deep bags underlining my eyes.

"Sorry I'm late" I mumbled to my boss, then slumped down at my desk hoping he wouldn't question me further.

He did.

So I had to make up an excuse, then pretend to throw myself into my work with enthusiasm.

Since then I've had an almost constant stream of people stopping by my desk to ask me questions, and I have to pretend that I actually give a flying fuck about their issues.

What I really need is to fake some kind of illness and get out of here before I fall asleep at my desk and embellish my face with a keyboard pattern.
(Moey, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 11:13, 7 replies)

trumping
I once had a bad case of the farts during a badminton match.

Each time a played a shot I'd fart violently and somewhat loudly....I told everyone I had squeeky trainers...think I got away with it.
( MonkeyOfCode is your favourite waste of time, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 10:42, Reply)

Work Fakage...
We have all, at some point, had dead time at work - those days when you work your ass off in the morning and come lunchtime you find your meeting has been cancelled, or the project has stalled and you have to wait for someone else to get stuff to you, etc. However, life being what it is, we can't just go "woo-hooo! I'm off to the pub, suckers!". No, we have to stay in the office and look like we're working.

So far today I've booked a meeting from 12-2 with a colleague as it means we can get catering to bring us lunch for free (can't work through lunch and not get fed!) and I've also got my personal laptop sat next to my work PC ("wow, he works so hard he even takes work home with him!"), with a random selection of spreadsheets open on it. In reality, I've got the entire back-catalogue of Dilbert downloaded onto it and I've read the entirety of 1998 and 1999 already today...

Sometimes, I really enjoy my job.

(in fact, if my wife hadn't taken my cash card by mistake this morning, it'd be a perfect day. As it is, I can't get cash out for a post-work beverage. bugger).
(Chad, Thu 17 Jul 2008, 10:28, 4 replies)