Profile for The Kwyjibo:
Hello, i like reading B3ta, it makes work more interesting. I have never tried photoshop though cos i looks complicated. I may one day enter a paint drawing that I have done for something, but that remains to be seen.
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Hello, i like reading B3ta, it makes work more interesting. I have never tried photoshop though cos i looks complicated. I may one day enter a paint drawing that I have done for something, but that remains to be seen.
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» What's the hardest you've tried to get dumped?
I told a girl I didn't want to go out with her...
At uni, a girl who I had the misfortune of being drunk with and pulling, big mistake, asked me out in the kebab shop later that evening. I told her no. She asked again. I told her no. This went on for a while until I eventually caved, thinking, "well it's about to be the Easter holidays, I'll dump her without ever having seen her."
This was all well and good, and I got on the train the next morning home. A week of her texting, and me replying sporadically and ignoring her phone calls, I was thinking I was doing an ace job of putting her off me.
One evening, I did happen to answer her call, the conversation went something like this:
Her “What are you up to?"
Me “nothing much, working tonight, got tomorrow off, working the day after."
Her “That’s good; I've booked a train to see you tomorrow!"
Me"..."
Her ”hello?"
me"...Err, that sounds... nice..."
Hang up.
Me "Fuckbeans..."
The next day, she arrived, and I showed her round my home city (Oxford), doing my best to not give off 'I fancy you' vibes. These consisted of:
Not touching her
Answering her very abruptly
Buying a drink and not offering her one
This list is by no means exhaustive!
Anyway, come the evening, I take her to my place of work, in the hope that if we were surrounded by friends, then she wouldn't be able to get her lady claws into me. This worked, and I eventually had to take her to her train.
"Yay!" I think, "I have finally gotten rid of her"
Until I get a phone call ten minutes later, "The train you put me on is delayed, and I have to come back, which will be too late for the last train. Can I stay at yours?"
Of course, being a gent, I say this is fine, I don't want to leave a girl stranded in an unfamiliar city, no matter how little I want to go out with her. So I go and pick her up, and take her back to my house, where a couple of friends are waiting to laugh at me. The plan was to get her drunk so she passed out, and I didn't have to talk to her anymore. The plan worked a charm, and the next day I carted her off to the train station and got her on the correct train.
A few texts about how she enjoyed herself later, and I feel pretty pissed off, she should have hated it!
Then, one night I get a text.
Her “this isn't really working as well as it used to, is it?"
Me “not really, although, I never really thought it was working"
Her “well you could have said something earlier; anyway, it means I can make it official with someone here at home."
I left it at that. But it did make me feel slightly aggrieved, that while I was doing my best chauvinist pig routine, to get myself dumped, she was cheating on me!
The Bitch!
Length? About two weeks, sadly, at the time my longest ever relationship, even though I spent the whole time trying to get dumped...
(Thu 5th Jun 2008, 11:09, More)
I told a girl I didn't want to go out with her...
At uni, a girl who I had the misfortune of being drunk with and pulling, big mistake, asked me out in the kebab shop later that evening. I told her no. She asked again. I told her no. This went on for a while until I eventually caved, thinking, "well it's about to be the Easter holidays, I'll dump her without ever having seen her."
This was all well and good, and I got on the train the next morning home. A week of her texting, and me replying sporadically and ignoring her phone calls, I was thinking I was doing an ace job of putting her off me.
One evening, I did happen to answer her call, the conversation went something like this:
Her “What are you up to?"
Me “nothing much, working tonight, got tomorrow off, working the day after."
Her “That’s good; I've booked a train to see you tomorrow!"
Me"..."
Her ”hello?"
me"...Err, that sounds... nice..."
Hang up.
Me "Fuckbeans..."
The next day, she arrived, and I showed her round my home city (Oxford), doing my best to not give off 'I fancy you' vibes. These consisted of:
Not touching her
Answering her very abruptly
Buying a drink and not offering her one
This list is by no means exhaustive!
Anyway, come the evening, I take her to my place of work, in the hope that if we were surrounded by friends, then she wouldn't be able to get her lady claws into me. This worked, and I eventually had to take her to her train.
"Yay!" I think, "I have finally gotten rid of her"
Until I get a phone call ten minutes later, "The train you put me on is delayed, and I have to come back, which will be too late for the last train. Can I stay at yours?"
Of course, being a gent, I say this is fine, I don't want to leave a girl stranded in an unfamiliar city, no matter how little I want to go out with her. So I go and pick her up, and take her back to my house, where a couple of friends are waiting to laugh at me. The plan was to get her drunk so she passed out, and I didn't have to talk to her anymore. The plan worked a charm, and the next day I carted her off to the train station and got her on the correct train.
A few texts about how she enjoyed herself later, and I feel pretty pissed off, she should have hated it!
Then, one night I get a text.
Her “this isn't really working as well as it used to, is it?"
Me “not really, although, I never really thought it was working"
Her “well you could have said something earlier; anyway, it means I can make it official with someone here at home."
I left it at that. But it did make me feel slightly aggrieved, that while I was doing my best chauvinist pig routine, to get myself dumped, she was cheating on me!
The Bitch!
Length? About two weeks, sadly, at the time my longest ever relationship, even though I spent the whole time trying to get dumped...
(Thu 5th Jun 2008, 11:09, More)
» Shops and Supermarkets
in spasda recently
The Guy was checking through my goods whilst I bagged them. Then he got to some of the exotic fruit and vegetables that I was buying.
He picked something up to scan it, but looked confused. What was this rare and exotic item? Was it a dragon fruit, a physallis, a star fruit, a mooli?
No.
He asked me what it was.
"A leek," I told him.
(Sun 13th May 2012, 11:04, More)
in spasda recently
The Guy was checking through my goods whilst I bagged them. Then he got to some of the exotic fruit and vegetables that I was buying.
He picked something up to scan it, but looked confused. What was this rare and exotic item? Was it a dragon fruit, a physallis, a star fruit, a mooli?
No.
He asked me what it was.
"A leek," I told him.
(Sun 13th May 2012, 11:04, More)
» Failed Projects
When I was a nipper
My cousins and I were playing in their garden. We were jumping off the climbing frame, maybe 5 feet high, and, with the aid of an umbrella, we were floating happily down to earth.
Having been scientifically proved a success, the method of parachuting with an umbrella needed to go through some more clinical trials before we could go about releasing this information on the unsuspecting world, and making our millions.
The one fly in the ointment, was when we were caught on our way up to the fourth floor, umbrellas in hand, by my aunt.
She probably was in league with the parachute manufacturers, and the big multinational companies were able to pay her off, to suppress our findings.
Not so much a failed project, as a sabotaged project...
(Mon 7th Dec 2009, 12:31, More)
When I was a nipper
My cousins and I were playing in their garden. We were jumping off the climbing frame, maybe 5 feet high, and, with the aid of an umbrella, we were floating happily down to earth.
Having been scientifically proved a success, the method of parachuting with an umbrella needed to go through some more clinical trials before we could go about releasing this information on the unsuspecting world, and making our millions.
The one fly in the ointment, was when we were caught on our way up to the fourth floor, umbrellas in hand, by my aunt.
She probably was in league with the parachute manufacturers, and the big multinational companies were able to pay her off, to suppress our findings.
Not so much a failed project, as a sabotaged project...
(Mon 7th Dec 2009, 12:31, More)
» Famous people I hate
I am know he has already been mentioned, but my reasons for Piers Morgan are thus...
Way back, at the height of the Iraq war, the Mirror published a story, along with accompanying photos, on British soldiers’ abuse of Iraqi prisoners in Abu Ghraib.
These were, apparently obvious fakes, but Piers Morgan spent hours agonising over whether to publish the photos. He decided against asking an expert for their opinion on the matter, and decided to publish them regardless.
This caused huge problems for the army, as at a time when this sort of abuse was rife in American troops, the Brits had so far been clean. He managed to tarnish our army’s image for the sake of selling a few papers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to ask someone what sort of boots British soldiers actually wore.
Fast forward 6 years, and somehow he has become some sort of champion of the people. He has come across as an honest, straight talking, nice guy. A host on Britain’s got Talent, he hasn’t even got any discernible fucking talent, the odious little gobshite (although granted, he has more talent than Amanda Holden).
He is a true cunt, if ever I knew one.
I would like him to be smooshed between a car and a bus, then as he lays bleeding on the floor, a gritting lorry covers him in salt, so he dies a slow painful death. I am sure I am not the only one…
(Fri 5th Feb 2010, 17:28, More)
I am know he has already been mentioned, but my reasons for Piers Morgan are thus...
Way back, at the height of the Iraq war, the Mirror published a story, along with accompanying photos, on British soldiers’ abuse of Iraqi prisoners in Abu Ghraib.
These were, apparently obvious fakes, but Piers Morgan spent hours agonising over whether to publish the photos. He decided against asking an expert for their opinion on the matter, and decided to publish them regardless.
This caused huge problems for the army, as at a time when this sort of abuse was rife in American troops, the Brits had so far been clean. He managed to tarnish our army’s image for the sake of selling a few papers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to ask someone what sort of boots British soldiers actually wore.
Fast forward 6 years, and somehow he has become some sort of champion of the people. He has come across as an honest, straight talking, nice guy. A host on Britain’s got Talent, he hasn’t even got any discernible fucking talent, the odious little gobshite (although granted, he has more talent than Amanda Holden).
He is a true cunt, if ever I knew one.
I would like him to be smooshed between a car and a bus, then as he lays bleeding on the floor, a gritting lorry covers him in salt, so he dies a slow painful death. I am sure I am not the only one…
(Fri 5th Feb 2010, 17:28, More)
» Winning
Cast your mind back a few months...
I am friends with a fastfood place on Facebook. There, I’ve said it, judge away…
One day, they suggested that, in return for a free burrito, all you had to do was come and have your photo taken with one. I thought that sounded like a great idea, and so hopped on my bike to claim my winnings.
Turns out, that it was not just a cheerful photo with my burrito, it was a full on photo shoot. I hadn’t prepared for that, and was wearing my cycling gear, and hadn’t done my hair, so I was a touch shocked. Shock turned to amazement, when I was informed that if they used my photo in their marketing material, I would receive free burritos, for a month.
A month of free food! That’s a dream come true!
As only seven people turned up, I felt my chances of getting in there were quite good, even though I did not look my greatest on the day. I chomped down on my free burrito, holding it the way that the photographer suggested, looking longingly into the camera, or ponderous into the background. After a few shots, I was moved on, and someone else had their turn.
I was told that they would let us know in a few weeks if we had been selected, but after a few weeks, there was still silence. After a few months, I realised I had not won, so wrote to them asking for them to put me out of my misery.
A few hours later, I got a reply…
“Thanks for your message, but don’t assume anything, I will email you details shortly…”
I had won! I had become the pin up boy of my favourite local eatery! The deal was 2 free burritos a day, for an entire month!
In that month, which ended last Friday, I managed 22 burritos (they are ample enough for you to have one at lunch, and not really need dinner… that’s not to say I didn’t eat dinner, just that I didn’t need to) in a month. I had every combination of burritos. It was one of the best months, ever. Every afternoon, walking up for my lunch, chatting to the Burritodors (burrito+matador=burritodor - I made that up), wandering off with my prize in hand.
What a great month…
(Thu 28th Apr 2011, 14:47, More)
Cast your mind back a few months...
I am friends with a fastfood place on Facebook. There, I’ve said it, judge away…
One day, they suggested that, in return for a free burrito, all you had to do was come and have your photo taken with one. I thought that sounded like a great idea, and so hopped on my bike to claim my winnings.
Turns out, that it was not just a cheerful photo with my burrito, it was a full on photo shoot. I hadn’t prepared for that, and was wearing my cycling gear, and hadn’t done my hair, so I was a touch shocked. Shock turned to amazement, when I was informed that if they used my photo in their marketing material, I would receive free burritos, for a month.
A month of free food! That’s a dream come true!
As only seven people turned up, I felt my chances of getting in there were quite good, even though I did not look my greatest on the day. I chomped down on my free burrito, holding it the way that the photographer suggested, looking longingly into the camera, or ponderous into the background. After a few shots, I was moved on, and someone else had their turn.
I was told that they would let us know in a few weeks if we had been selected, but after a few weeks, there was still silence. After a few months, I realised I had not won, so wrote to them asking for them to put me out of my misery.
A few hours later, I got a reply…
“Thanks for your message, but don’t assume anything, I will email you details shortly…”
I had won! I had become the pin up boy of my favourite local eatery! The deal was 2 free burritos a day, for an entire month!
In that month, which ended last Friday, I managed 22 burritos (they are ample enough for you to have one at lunch, and not really need dinner… that’s not to say I didn’t eat dinner, just that I didn’t need to) in a month. I had every combination of burritos. It was one of the best months, ever. Every afternoon, walking up for my lunch, chatting to the Burritodors (burrito+matador=burritodor - I made that up), wandering off with my prize in hand.
What a great month…
(Thu 28th Apr 2011, 14:47, More)