» My Saviour

This was about ten years ago now
I had gone down to the Reading festival - it was generally a fantastic time, and I don't want to do the event a disservice, but stuff like this can happen. As is par for the course for these things, I was looking to experiment a bit with some illicit substances, and one of my mates who I was with said he knew someone that was there who we could buy some stuff from.

Well, we met the guy and I immediately wanted to get out of there. You know when the atmosphere around someone is wrong, sort of tense? It was like that. I don't know if he'd been dipping in his own supply or something but he looked ready for a fight at any moment. I'm not good with conflict so this guy scared me. I don't remember much of what set him off - I think he took offence to my friend taking a closer look at one of his toby jugs - but something did, and he pulled a knife on us - naturally we ran, and he gave chase.

Unfortunately it had been raining that year, and almost instantly I slipped in some mud. The guy was on top of me, and I genuinely though that this was it - I'm going to be stabbed to death. But someone pulled him off. When I saw who it was, I was amazed.

It was Sir Trevor McDonald.

I found this out afterwards, but Sir Trevor is a huge festival fan, and as quickly became apparent - he is fucking RIPPED. The two got into an intense fight - the drug dealer swinging his knife, and Sir Trevor dodging it every time. At one point he caught the blade with his BARE HANDS. Blood flowed down his wrist but he just squeezed tighter, looking right into the looney's eyes with the cold stare of a predator. It was clear to me that Sir Trevor was done playing defence - it was time to move into attack mode.

He immediately head-butted the druggie, breaking his nose, but not to be outdone the nutter managed to get in a few swipes at Sir Trevor in response, cutting off his neon green tank top and exposing his beautiful chiselled body to the sunlight. The gathered crowd gasped in awe, and Sir Trevor, bouyed by the attention, swung a perfect punch at the belligerent's face. "BONG" he boomed as it connected. "BONG" another one, this time a gut punch. "BONG" a kick to the chest, and the monged up abuser fell to the floor. Sir Trevor stood with his combat boot on the idiot's neck. "Today's top story," he announced, before bellowing, "I WIN!". He stamped down, instantly killing the scum. The crowd erupted into polite applause, as Sir Trevor walked over to me, and tenderly, lovingly, picked me up as we kissed a kiss to end all kisses. He carried me back to his tent, where we made beautiful love for the remainder of the festival.

True story.
(Tue 14th May 2013, 0:10, More)

» B3ta Person of the Year 2010

IT WAS 1996
I had taken a job for the summer holidays at a campsite, generally looking after the place, sorting stuff out for the campers and fixing any problems that came up. It was a lot of responsibility for a teenager but I got on alright, if something major came up I'd phone the camp manager and he'd take over.

People brought their own camping stuff and we had a sort of grid, which for convenience we named after alphabetical female names, so for instance if someone's tent pegs had been nicked, I'd check the grid and write down something like "12th July - 2:15pm - tent pegs nicked Laura tent".

It was towards the end of my employ there that the defining moment of my summer occurred; some middle class hippie types came along in a rather unusual structure, a central asian yurt. Some bollocks about how they live better or something. They were towards the back of the campsite and within a couple of days had really wound everyone up, including the beekeepers who worked in the fields adjacent to us. They were absolutely furious with them, as they kept trying to break in and free the bees, I called the manager over this one, and he seemed to have placated both parties. Unfortunately this turned out not to be the case.

I was woken up that night in my on-site accommodation by a fair bit of shouting and screaming. I could see straight away that there was a fire at the back of the site, so I called the fire-brigade and went to see what I could do to help. As I got closer I could see that it was the hippie's camp that was on fire (they were all out fortunately), and not only that, there were bees EVERYWHERE, with the beekeepers pointing and laughing from the field nearby.

I only learnt this later, but it turns out you can attatch a valve and funnel to a beehive, add some sort of chemical to get the bees really going, and they'll race through at such incredible speeds that they cause a hell of a lot of heat via friction. Add this to a dry combustible dwelling like theirs and you have a fire waiting to happen. The beekeepers had done just this, wheeling over their hives on some pallets or something , putting the tubes into their tent as they slept and turning on the valve.

The hippies left the next morning, threatening to press charges and so on, but nothing ever came of it, I expect because it clashed with their ideals. It was a night I'll always remember to my dying day. Bees, my god.

And that was my bee tap arson of the yurt wendy-tent.

no YOU fuck off
(Sat 18th Dec 2010, 19:40, More)

» Encounters with Royalty

[mention of never meeting royalty]
[joke about knowing a homosexual who is therefore a 'queen']

[poor length/penis pun]
(Sat 5th Aug 2006, 18:41, More)

» The Onosecond

Well bugger
I was writing a report about the military dangers of a certain country, which I had to email off to 'the boss'. No sooner than I had pressed send than I realised that I had written 45 minutes instead of 45 days! Well, it was too late to sort it out so I had to sit and wait.

Needless to say a big cock up ensued and a lot of money was spent on something which was ultimatley pointless.
(Fri 27th May 2005, 12:41, More)

» Absolute Power

I work as a teacher by trade.
The school where I work is quite old, and as such has one of those coal cellar things. It's basically a tiny room no larger than 10x10 feet, accessible through a trap door and with a small air vent just big enough for someone to crawl through leading out into what is now the cemetery of a local church. We try and keep the students in the dark about this thing, but it's a school and rumours spread, and we often have to warn the little shits away from playing in there and getting trapped or something.

Anyway, one day I began plotting about some of the fun I could have with this pit (apart from getting off with the well fit history and french teachers in there), and I told a few friends about it, and they were more than up for it. So we chose a day, and decided "let's go for it".

It was a Friday, and chances were that at least one kid would be near the cellar after school, and lo and behold there was one, a monstrous little turd called Wayne. Picking him up by the scruff of his neck I screamed "RIGHT! YOU WANT TO SEE THE CELLAR? SEE IT ALL YOU LIKE!". I carried him over to the trap door and threw him in. He started screaming for me to let him out but I put the bar across and smoked a jazz cigarette and started listening to an audiobook about clouds. After an hour or so of this (and by the time most of the kids had gone home) I took out the hose I had brought with me, attached it to the school septic tank and sprayed him down with shit. His fault for not climbing out of the vent and legging it home. I repeated this cycle a couple of times (phatty, audiobook, shit hose) before his lump of a brain caught on and decided to make an exit through the hole.

Cue phase 2 of my plan! Using a leaf blower I had filled the vent with rusty nails, razorblades, used syringes and glass powder! The little toad faced an agonising crawl through this tunnel of hell, covered in shit and bits of sick. Halfway through I had set up some strobe lights that went off at random intervals, and war sound effects cranked up to deafening levels. He was in the tunnel for a good couple of hours, scared out of his wits and physically and mentally exhausted, and then to top it all off, he came out in a graveyard! It was about midnight at this time, and I was crying and shaking with laughter!

This is where my friends came in. They came up to him and pretended to help him, asking what had happened and who his parents were. They pretended to call his mum, and claimed that they were going to take him to the hospital and meet her there! And like a wazzock he went with them! He got into their Honda Accord and they drove off into the middle of nowhere and raped him in the back! OH YEAH DID I MENTION MY FRIENDS WERE PEDOS! WHAT A LAUGH RIOT!! THEY LEFT HIM BLEEDING IN THE WOODS!!

Anyway, after all that all the students think I'm well wicked now and do whatever I want, the Monday after I ran around the town giving everyone high fives. My lessons often involve me beating all of the kids at street fighter, people applaud me in the halls, I have threesomes with the history and french teachers, I can do 300mph wheelies on my motorbike, my grip is strong enough to crush an apple and that 6 year old hasn't been the same since.
Cheers,
(Mon 12th Jul 2010, 20:10, More)