» DIY Techno-hacks

Wank alarm
When I was 11, I was into electronics. My best ever project was to install Maplin type pressure pads around the house under the carpet, and wire them all up to little light bulbs, attach all the bulbs to a wooden board, and label them with their locations. I did all of this when my parents were out, and for years, I could tell where people were in the house - roughly. As I became a teenager, this actually proved fantastically useful as a rudimentary wank alert, and allow me enough time to hide my tadger should anyone head toward my bedroom door.

I moved out of there 20 years ago, but bought the house off my parents about 5 years ago.

Funnily enough, the system is still there, and god bless, it mostly still works. As my old childrens bedroom is now my grown up office, it still performs the exact job it did all those years ago. Only it now warns me of my missus' approach. I'm never going to reveal it to her but I shall pass it on to my son one day.

Boys never change do they?
(Thu 20th Aug 2009, 16:15, More)

» Terrible Parenting

Dont fuck with lawyers
My dad is a partner in a smallish law firm. He loves nothing better than annoying people and suppliers who piss him off, nothing bad, just minor spats. He loves doing really pointless but perfectly legal things. This is my absolute favourite petty revenge story of all time.

Dad has queried an outstanding payment to an office supplier, its about £3800. He contested it and basically dragged out payment for months. Eventually, he agreed that if they sent someone round he'd pay them cash.

In the mean time, he went to the bank and after discussion with the bank manager, worked out what the legal minimum denomination of notes and coins could be used.

He also went to the garden centre and purchased a cheap, yet sturdy black dustbin.

As it turns out, you can pay in coins. the resulting amount pretty much filled the dustbin - well 3/4 full. It was almost impossible to move. 4 guys from the office got it upstairs and hid it in Dad's office. They spent half an hour emptying all the coins from their bags.

The debt collectors arrived. Dad made them wait an hour or so for the hell of it. He came out and spoke to them argued the toss some more. Eventually dad 'caved' and pointed them in the direction of the money. Upon seeing it they groaned and muttered that theres no way they're going to take that. Prepared, Dad immediately hands them a piece of paper and says, fine, sign this. They ask what it is, "its to confirm that I offered you full payment and you refused to accept".

They sigh and give in. Dad asks for a reciept. They start counting. Dad has previously removed a pound or so earlier on.

A couple of hours later, they point out that its a pound down. Dad denies thats possible, maybe they should recount? They relent and fill out a reciept. They fill the bin back up and start dragging it to the lift. My dad watches on.

The lift arrives and they struggle to get it over the floor divider but panting, they finally get the thing in the lift. As the doors begin to close, my dad sticks his hand between the doors, forcing them to open again.

"Erm lads? Where are you going with my bin?"

My dads ace really.
(Thu 16th Aug 2007, 16:30, More)

» Eccentrics

My friends mum
Ste's mum was mental. Everyone knew it. We used to call round for Ste - waving to him as he saw us coming up the drive from his bedroom window. We'd knock on the back door and she'd answer. "Ooh sorry Coke, Steve's not in. He's gone horseback riding" in all seriousness, she at that instant believed it. Ste would normally come down and gently tell her he was in, we'd look a bit embarrassed and come inside.

We'd go up to Ste's room, and his mum would knock on and look round the door - "boys, I've popped a pizza in the oven for you. I'm nipping out to the post office, go and help yourselves in 15 minutes".

We'd go downstairs when the time was up and open the oven door. Sometimes it would be a right mess. She would often put the pizza directly on to the oven shelves. Upside down.

One day she came home with a new pair of shoes for Ste to go to school in. Ste, being a 17 year old boy, usually had difficulty in wearing bright pink ballet shoes, best suited to an 8 year old girl. When this sort of thing happened, he normally quietly took them back and got a refund, replacing the money in his mums purse when she wasn't watching.

Ste's dad died when Ste was 22 and it was quietly devastating. His mum wasnt just a bit mental, she had early onset alzheimers and deteriorated quickly. She was eventually put in a home - Ste couldnt bring himself to clean her after she went to the toilet any more and realised he couldnt cope. The woman who ran the home said she had never seen a case quite as bad.

We went to visit her sometimes, and we'd walk her down the country lanes round the home, it was a lovely place. Most of the time she had no idea who Ste, or we were but sometimes she was more lucid. We always took carrots, because she liked to give them to horses in the field next door. They'd come over and she would stand, gobsmacked as the horses literally took the carrots from the palm of her hand. She wouldnt stop until all the carrots had gone.

One day whilst this was happening, a van pulled up, and the driver asked me for some directions. As I was explaining, Ste's mum came over and stood next to me staring at the driver. She watched him intently, then reached in her little bag and held out her palm, with a carrot resting on top, right under the van drivers nose. He looked confused. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

Ste's mum got annoyed and shoved the carrot forcefully right into his mouth.

We've never laughed so hard in our lives. Terrible really, but if you don't laugh, you'll go mental.
(Thu 30th Oct 2008, 22:46, More)

» Bastard Colleagues

Reuben
There was a management position in one company i worked at that was repeatedly filled by a series of incompentent fuckwits. From the one guy who made 6 discplinary claims against his own staff of 10 in one week, to the guy who actually said to us "you know, if you'd seen my CV, you'd never have given me this job" and to the guy who on his first day said "I want you to know that I take this job seriously, and will give it my full attention 24/7 with the exception of one thing - nothing will take priority in my life over my first love - my love for our lord and saviour, Jesus Christ".

That last bit was jaw dropping. Trying not laugh in that meeting was so difficult. One guy snorted so loudly stuff came out of his nose.

Then they hired Reuben. We fucking loved Reuben, not because he did the job well or even slightly compentently but because he was the single worst person to ever be in any kind of job. But he did it with a child-like innocence that we couldnt help but love. Reuben was obsessed with food and could sniff out a free snack a mile off. He wasnt a fatty, just loved a nice sandwich.

The job was service delivery manager, and he didnt really know what it meant. But for his first assignment, he was due to join our sales director for our annual begging meeting at Barclays. With the board.

The Sales manager is in full flow, presenting to the old boys in Barclaycard's boardroom in Northampton somewhere. Even some of the US board have joined in. Its serious shit, these guys mostly know their banking. Reuben is late. He strolls in unannounced to the boardroom causing everyone to stop and stare. He is wearing chinos, loafers and an untucked polo shirt, carrying no briefcase, phone or anything.

The sales manager is mortified but makes a big show of introducing our new, but brilliant (hinting at eccentric to cover up Reubens astonishing business faux-pas) SDM. Reuben takes his time shaking the hands of everyone at the table, all 16 of them and making everything just awkward. He sits down and the Sales guy gets on with the presentation.

About 11.45, 2 of the admin girls sneak in and arrange some clingfilm covered platters of sandwiches at the back of the room, you know the sort of thing, usually includes some bowls of crisps, little sausage rolls and some cans of drink. Only one person in the room has noticed this.

Reubens eyes havent left the food arrangement in 15 minutes, and he's fidgetting, putting off our sales manager who is becoming increasingly maddened.

Suddenly, in the middle of the talking, Reuben stands, coughing slightly to 'cover' his intrusion, and he walks over to the food. Sales man is gobsmacked, as is everyone else who now are utterly transfixed on Reuben,

Oblivious, Reuben starts peeling off the clingfilm from all the food, and picking at some of the sandwiches. seemingly not finding a filling to his liking, he dismantles a few sandwiches, flicking bits of lettuce around and freeing up some little bread triangles. Now having about 6 or 8 of the bits, he grabs a huge handful of crisps and assembles 3 or 4 little crisp sandwiches.

He returns to the table and looks confused as its all gone quiet. Sits down, eyeing up his little plate, (think Mr Bean eyes), picks up a sandwich and CRUNCH.

The salesman telling this story usually peels off about now, having not the words to describe the reaction. Somehow we renewed with Barclays and life went on. Reuben lasted a couple of weeks after that. He even did something better later on which i might type up later.
(Thu 24th Jan 2008, 12:19, More)

» Blood

My balls came off!
My friend, lets call him Mike, for that is blah blah. His girlfriend Jane tells this story quite nicely. I shall recall.

Mike liked a puff. Not the Elton John variety, but the weed variety. Quite often, with the missus fast asleep, Mike liked nothing more than to settle down on the sofa and smoke a few fatties watching late night telly (joints, not cocks) wearing just his boxers. (Lets be honest, this is a great thing to do occasionally).

Often he would get peckish, and nip to the fridge in order to sample the delights from within. On the evening of this story, the delights were in the form of the little babybel cheeses, the ones in the thick red waxy stuff that feels ace when you peel off.

Lying back on the sofa, babybels arranged on his chest, mike had a good munch (on the cheese, not on a cock, stop thinking gay things) and at somepoint passed out in a cheesy smokey blur, chest covered in ash, babybel wrappers and the waxy shells. A beautiful sight you'll agree.

In the morning, Mike woke in a bit of a stupor. Still pretty stoned, he stumbled in to the bathroom, and the shower not really very awake. As he stood in the hot water, steam rising, lathering up, he started to wash his balls (god this is really not a gay story) only to find they came off in his hand. Literally.

Looking down through the lather, in the steam and with soapy blurry stoned eyes, Mike stared at the bloody red mess in his hands, his balls had literally melted and come off and now he was holding them, quite separate from his groin, in his hand. An unusual event, and quite a scary one.

Jane recalls a bloodcurling scream from the bathroom, one with a tone and volume usually reserved for very serious events, like running out of weed, and she ran into the bathroom. Mike had flung the door open and was standing, hand outreached, showing her the big red bloody mess that was his testicles and screamed "my balls! my balls have come off!".

Jane of course was now pissing herself laughing. It took Mike a few minutes to work out that he was clutching a soft pile of waxy red babybel 'shell'. Whilst on the sofa all night, they had obviously worked their way down his front, and ended up in the crotch of his boxers. His body heat warmed them, and they formed a nice cup around his bollocks which survived until he inadvertently washed them off in the shower.
(Fri 8th Aug 2008, 12:18, More)