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)
« Go Back
Shit the bonnet
Last year in my gorgeous student flat, 4 others and I lived with a girl called Kirsten*. First year of Uni with the girl was an absolute breeze, but as second year came around and we all decided to live together, it was clear how much of a twazzock she really was. During our yearlong stay, she decided to 'go off' meat, open her legs for anything, and if no-one was listening to her constant stream of downright LIES, begin shouting. One night her and her new boyfriend were staying at his house, so the rest of us invited a few mates around for a poker night. Green felt, Red Stripe and 97p cards ahoy! Someone got onto the subject of Kirsten, and how we all hated her. Some bright spark had the idea of putting a lovely big steak under her bedsheets, or changing her Quorn for proper sausages, but the conversation soon started to die off. Meanwhile my bowels were rumbling, it was time for a number 2. As left the room, I jokingly remarked, 'this shit would look so much better on Kirstens bonnet'. Quick as a flash my flatmate stood up, dragged me by the arm down the outside steps and pointed at her car. So, without hesitation, and with a few tins running through my bloodstream, i squatted. The next thing I really remember is the next morning. Her boyfriend comes into our flat absolutley livid. It turns out it had snowed overnight. And all that could be seen of my evacuated bowels was a small brown crest at the top of a pile of snow. Apparently, as they came home from the previous night, the boyfriend spotted the mini mountain on her bonnet, and assumed it was a mound made by someone makin snowballs. He then proceded to 'brush' it off her bonnet. What I would have given to see his face, as his bare hand uncovered a perfect coil of my home-made frozen bum-log. Weeks afterwards, Kirsten* continued to tell people that someone was after her, and the police were on the case because she was sure she was a target (for what?). A private lesson that she didn't receive i guess, but nevertheless it made our stay there more pleasurable, as the lie-machine went into overdrive, and we just sniggered to ourselves.
*100% accurate
( , Wed 2 May 2007, 1:24, Reply)
Last year in my gorgeous student flat, 4 others and I lived with a girl called Kirsten*. First year of Uni with the girl was an absolute breeze, but as second year came around and we all decided to live together, it was clear how much of a twazzock she really was. During our yearlong stay, she decided to 'go off' meat, open her legs for anything, and if no-one was listening to her constant stream of downright LIES, begin shouting. One night her and her new boyfriend were staying at his house, so the rest of us invited a few mates around for a poker night. Green felt, Red Stripe and 97p cards ahoy! Someone got onto the subject of Kirsten, and how we all hated her. Some bright spark had the idea of putting a lovely big steak under her bedsheets, or changing her Quorn for proper sausages, but the conversation soon started to die off. Meanwhile my bowels were rumbling, it was time for a number 2. As left the room, I jokingly remarked, 'this shit would look so much better on Kirstens bonnet'. Quick as a flash my flatmate stood up, dragged me by the arm down the outside steps and pointed at her car. So, without hesitation, and with a few tins running through my bloodstream, i squatted. The next thing I really remember is the next morning. Her boyfriend comes into our flat absolutley livid. It turns out it had snowed overnight. And all that could be seen of my evacuated bowels was a small brown crest at the top of a pile of snow. Apparently, as they came home from the previous night, the boyfriend spotted the mini mountain on her bonnet, and assumed it was a mound made by someone makin snowballs. He then proceded to 'brush' it off her bonnet. What I would have given to see his face, as his bare hand uncovered a perfect coil of my home-made frozen bum-log. Weeks afterwards, Kirsten* continued to tell people that someone was after her, and the police were on the case because she was sure she was a target (for what?). A private lesson that she didn't receive i guess, but nevertheless it made our stay there more pleasurable, as the lie-machine went into overdrive, and we just sniggered to ourselves.
*100% accurate
( , Wed 2 May 2007, 1:24, Reply)
« Go Back