Well, that taught 'em
Sammi Evil Nice writes "I shared with two students, and it was always the same; whenever it was near to paytime, my milk *and only this* would disappear.
One of them, John, was a lovely bloke but allergic to nuts. John makes tea. Soon after, John starts swelling up.
ME: Runs, administers epi-pen. "You're going into anaphalactic shock."
HIM: "How do you know?"
ME: "I put almond oil in my milk."
What have you done to teach somebody a lesson?
( , Thu 26 Apr 2007, 14:54)
Sammi Evil Nice writes "I shared with two students, and it was always the same; whenever it was near to paytime, my milk *and only this* would disappear.
One of them, John, was a lovely bloke but allergic to nuts. John makes tea. Soon after, John starts swelling up.
ME: Runs, administers epi-pen. "You're going into anaphalactic shock."
HIM: "How do you know?"
ME: "I put almond oil in my milk."
What have you done to teach somebody a lesson?
( , Thu 26 Apr 2007, 14:54)
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Lame story, but made me feel better at the time.
I used to be a cook at a particular pizza chain that may or may not rhyme with "Meets A Slut". We had one regular customer who was a real twat. When ordering his pizza on the phone, he would list what toppings he wanted, and when you repeated the list back to him verbatim, he would become irate wondering why you were trying to poison him by putting (insert random topping) on his pizza (even though he'd just ASKED for it). Every time he came in to pick up his order, he would open the box, stare at the pizza for several minutes, and then complain about what incompetent fools we were, could never make a pizza right, etc. He would never accept our offers to replace his pizza, though. So one evening, after a particularly difficult phone conversation with him, I went over to the pizza-making line, and meticulously scraped out every single piece of crud I could find trapped in the treads of my boots. All of this nasty gunk went, of course, on his pizza. Before I put on the cheese, I reached down and gave my sweaty balls a good rub, then used my clean hand to put a handful of cheese into my sweaty ball hand, then dumped it on the pizza. A little extra cheese to cover the crud, and into the oven it went.
20 minutes later, customer opens his pizza box, looks at it with pleasant surprise, pulls out a slice and takes a huge bite of it. "Mmm, you guys finally got one right."
( , Sat 28 Apr 2007, 3:47, Reply)
I used to be a cook at a particular pizza chain that may or may not rhyme with "Meets A Slut". We had one regular customer who was a real twat. When ordering his pizza on the phone, he would list what toppings he wanted, and when you repeated the list back to him verbatim, he would become irate wondering why you were trying to poison him by putting (insert random topping) on his pizza (even though he'd just ASKED for it). Every time he came in to pick up his order, he would open the box, stare at the pizza for several minutes, and then complain about what incompetent fools we were, could never make a pizza right, etc. He would never accept our offers to replace his pizza, though. So one evening, after a particularly difficult phone conversation with him, I went over to the pizza-making line, and meticulously scraped out every single piece of crud I could find trapped in the treads of my boots. All of this nasty gunk went, of course, on his pizza. Before I put on the cheese, I reached down and gave my sweaty balls a good rub, then used my clean hand to put a handful of cheese into my sweaty ball hand, then dumped it on the pizza. A little extra cheese to cover the crud, and into the oven it went.
20 minutes later, customer opens his pizza box, looks at it with pleasant surprise, pulls out a slice and takes a huge bite of it. "Mmm, you guys finally got one right."
( , Sat 28 Apr 2007, 3:47, Reply)
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