Bloody game, always knew there was something evil about it.
(Fri 23rd Mar 2007, 16:17, More)

» Best Graffiti Ever

Written on the inside side of a toilet cubicle at university...
I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess. I must not obsess...
(Thu 3rd May 2007, 23:58, More)

» Impromptu Games You Play

The Game Of Hair
Much like The Game Of Life, only with much more hair. Actually, it's best if you pretend you never heard that.
Anyway, during the last week, myself and my friends have made up this brilliant game where we take turns picking a single hair from the head of any girl that might be sitting in front of us in the bus. Each person participating must try to pull a loose hair from her head without her noticing. Bonus points are awarded for split-ends. If somebody fails to grab the hair, or if she notices, you miss a go. The game goes on for 10 hilarity-filled turns. At the end, we tally up the hairs, and the person with the most hairs wins! Then we count all of the hairs we've plucked, for great justice, naturally. Unfortunately, said girl may hate you because of this, but it's genuinely funny.
(Tue 30th Mar 2004, 17:23, More)

» My Wanking Disasters

Masturbatory Mishaps
This isn't actually a story of getting caught doing a bit of self-gratification, but it has the same result. Last summer, I went on holidays with my parents. We stayed at B&Bs most of the time. Well, there was this one B&B that had an impressive collection of magazines for the guests to read. They were stacked on a table in the middle of the corridor outside the entrances to all of the guest rooms. While we were standing outside our rooms waiting for the owner to give us the keys to the rooms, my Dad was having a look through the magazines, probably looking for Practical Boat Owner. Suddenly, I noticed that he stopped flicking through the magazines, so I had a look, and I spotted what looked suspiciously like the cover of a men's mag. I kept that in mind until late that night. Later that night, I crept out of bed to have a peek at the magazines. Sure enough, it was a copy of FHM. Unfortunately, my brother had a bed in the same room as me, so I had a fair amount of trouble getting the magazine home. I had cleverly (Or so I thought) hidden it curled up inside a fleece. Not long after leaving on the journey home, we stopped to visit some public gardens, and the wind was blowing. Er, my Mum was a bit cold, and miraculously asked me if she could wear the exact fleece that I had been using to hide the magazine. "Buggeration on it all!", I thought to myself, panicking and very quickly turning red. I quickly made something up about me not wanting her wearing my clothing. The narrowest of escapes, and if I had been caught, I'd have never heard the end of it. I was a bit paranoid for the rest of the trip home.

That was a bit drawn-out, I'll make this one short. About a fortnight of deprival, Miss World Competition, empty room, 14. Brother enters room. Quick use of hoodie to cover offending article followed by folded-arms used to hide any hints of what was going on. Embarrassment, but avoided catastrophe.
(Wed 2nd Jun 2004, 13:52, More)

» Crappy Prizes

I'm not quite sure where I'm taking this, but permit me to ramble on for some while. Thank you.
Less than a year ago, I had returned to school to face the educational equivalent of a (comically timed) slap around the face with a large fish, that being the 5th year. An important school year, being the one before you have to sit the ridiculously necessary exam that is the Leaving Cert, but one that largely nobody really could be arsed with.

And as such, you can imagine my slight glee when a teacher (who so happens to be incredibly attractive, to an almost OMGWTF HAWTNESS degree) asked me to take part in some series of debates. Grand. Minimal effort, time to be lazy with, and er, rousing company.

Unfortunately, it turned out I was horribly wrong. It actually took a vast amount of work to prepare the speeches, and instead of taking time off during pointless, rubbish classes such as Religion (which usually consists of our senile old bat of a teacher putting on a relaxation tape with such amusing lines as "clench your buttocks" and "turn your head around fully, once, twice"), I ended up missing out on some actual important classes. So, not quite as great as I thought it'd be.

Anyway, three successfully win'd debates, nervously executed speeches, and bouts of frantic speech rewrites later, we've managed to make it onto the knock-out rounds. But I can't be at the next one, so we get a stand in, who's single task is to read the bloody speech I've written for him. It might 'work' for Bush, but unfortunately this failed miserably with him. Ah, well. So, we're out.

But not all is in vain! Though there was an incredible sense of loss, and sheer pointlessness of the past three months worth of effort, we managed to win... or rather to have the teacher that forced us into doing this charade get us... a bag of sausage rolls. Didn't quite see that one coming, really.
(Tue 9th Aug 2005, 12:45, More)

» Singing the wrong words

I've recorded this one.
Psycho Pat, Psycho Pat,
Psycho Pat and his baseball bat.
Early in the morning,
Pat he comes calling,
Carrying his big old bat.

Everybody knows his bloody rusty mace,
As he slaughters all in Greendale.
Maybe, you can never be sure -
There'll be knock, swing; blood all over the floor!

Psycho Pat, Psycho Pat,
Psycho Pat and his baseball bat.
Late when you are sleeping,
Pat he comes creeping,
Carrying his big old bat.

Pat's a very crazy old man.
Pat's a very crazy old man.

*sound of gunfire and blades jarring off one another amidst maniacal laughter*
(Sun 30th Jan 2005, 21:40, More)