Profile for Fanta Menace:
none
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
[read all their answers]
- a member for 17 years, 3 months and 23 days
- has posted 0 messages on the main board
- has posted 0 messages on the talk board
- has posted 0 messages on the links board
- has posted 70 stories and 37 replies on question of the week
- They liked 6 pictures, 0 links, 0 talk posts, and 291 qotw answers.
- Ignore this user
- Add this user as a friend
- send me a message
none
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Too much information
I tend to take conversations a little too far at times.
A few years ago now during a slow day at work.
I was on the phone sorting out a problem with my (home) broadband by calling the company's helpline. I had a manager who was one of those sarky, 'I have no life outside of work' types who have to have the last word on anything.
Me: "Grand stuff. They said they'll have the problem sorted by this evening."
Her: "(Sneers) So you can continue downloading your porn then? (Basks in sycophantic titters from the usual suspects)
Me: "Of course. Why else do you think I got it in the first place? I can't do it at work can I?
All: (Awkward silence)
Me: "Not to worry, I don't denigrate women or anything...... It's child porn"
All: "Eeew."
(Thu 6th Sep 2007, 11:54, More)
I tend to take conversations a little too far at times.
A few years ago now during a slow day at work.
I was on the phone sorting out a problem with my (home) broadband by calling the company's helpline. I had a manager who was one of those sarky, 'I have no life outside of work' types who have to have the last word on anything.
Me: "Grand stuff. They said they'll have the problem sorted by this evening."
Her: "(Sneers) So you can continue downloading your porn then? (Basks in sycophantic titters from the usual suspects)
Me: "Of course. Why else do you think I got it in the first place? I can't do it at work can I?
All: (Awkward silence)
Me: "Not to worry, I don't denigrate women or anything...... It's child porn"
All: "Eeew."
(Thu 6th Sep 2007, 11:54, More)
» Conned
Not me I swear...
(I don't smoke dope for one thing)
A mate of mine is the type who'll drive 20 miles out of his way in an attempt to save a couple of pence on a loaf of bread and usually comes a cropper whenever there's 'bargains' to be had.
He was in a pub one night when he was approached by a hoodie-wearing scumbag.
"Want any dope?" he was asked. He answered in the affirmative and then thought of a plan. If he could get a kilo or more, he could then flog it on to his workmates at a huge profit margin as, being nice middleclass IT geeks, they hadn't a clue as to buying dope.
So he agreed a time and place for the transaction, chuckling away to himself at the sight of the scumbag nearly wetting himself at the thought of all that cash. He came up with a plan, he'd insist on seeing the dope first and only then get the money only he'd claim that he couldn't get all of it as agreed so it would have to be X minus a few quid or more or no deal.
The following day he arrived at the meeting place. He was to enter a phonebox, part of a pair, in the middle of a sinkhole estate. He stepped inside the booth and the phone rang. Picking up the receiver, it was the scumbag on the other end.
"I'm in the other phonebox and I'll slide a sample under the partition." A lump of dope, wrapped in tinfoil duly appeared. My mate checked it and it's good stuff. "I'm off to get the money so" he said and drove away.
within the hour he was back and, as planned, explained that he could only withdraw a certain amount. The scumbag wasn't having any of this so they started to haggle. My mate felt that he was getting the upper hand when the scumbag's mobile rang.
"Christ! That's my mate who's keeping watch. He said the cops are on to us and they're heading this way!"
My mate was about to split when the scumbag said "Look, it's now or never. Give me the money you have on you and I'll give you the dope." So my mate handed over the cash and got a large block of dope wrapped in tinfoil. With that they both left the scene.
My mate got home and decided that a celebratory joint was in order. So, he opened up his prize package and realised he'd spent umpteen hundreds on a kilo of turf.
(Thu 18th Oct 2007, 13:51, More)
Not me I swear...
(I don't smoke dope for one thing)
A mate of mine is the type who'll drive 20 miles out of his way in an attempt to save a couple of pence on a loaf of bread and usually comes a cropper whenever there's 'bargains' to be had.
He was in a pub one night when he was approached by a hoodie-wearing scumbag.
"Want any dope?" he was asked. He answered in the affirmative and then thought of a plan. If he could get a kilo or more, he could then flog it on to his workmates at a huge profit margin as, being nice middleclass IT geeks, they hadn't a clue as to buying dope.
So he agreed a time and place for the transaction, chuckling away to himself at the sight of the scumbag nearly wetting himself at the thought of all that cash. He came up with a plan, he'd insist on seeing the dope first and only then get the money only he'd claim that he couldn't get all of it as agreed so it would have to be X minus a few quid or more or no deal.
The following day he arrived at the meeting place. He was to enter a phonebox, part of a pair, in the middle of a sinkhole estate. He stepped inside the booth and the phone rang. Picking up the receiver, it was the scumbag on the other end.
"I'm in the other phonebox and I'll slide a sample under the partition." A lump of dope, wrapped in tinfoil duly appeared. My mate checked it and it's good stuff. "I'm off to get the money so" he said and drove away.
within the hour he was back and, as planned, explained that he could only withdraw a certain amount. The scumbag wasn't having any of this so they started to haggle. My mate felt that he was getting the upper hand when the scumbag's mobile rang.
"Christ! That's my mate who's keeping watch. He said the cops are on to us and they're heading this way!"
My mate was about to split when the scumbag said "Look, it's now or never. Give me the money you have on you and I'll give you the dope." So my mate handed over the cash and got a large block of dope wrapped in tinfoil. With that they both left the scene.
My mate got home and decided that a celebratory joint was in order. So, he opened up his prize package and realised he'd spent umpteen hundreds on a kilo of turf.
(Thu 18th Oct 2007, 13:51, More)
» Terrible Parenting
Pramtastic
My mother has never liked Jenny, the girl from nextdoor.
We always put it down to just one of her many, many irrational grudges.
A few years ago and the topic cropped up in conversation.
Me: What *do* you have against her then?
Mum: Well, when you were a baby, you'd cry and cry all day long so I used to put you in your pram and dump you at the bottom of the garden so I wouldn't have to listen to you.
Me: That explains a lot, what about Jenny?
Mum: well, the little bitch would climb over the fence, bring the pram up to the house and then knock on the backdoor to tell me that you were crying.
A 42 years and counting grudge, well done mum.
(Thu 16th Aug 2007, 11:40, More)
Pramtastic
My mother has never liked Jenny, the girl from nextdoor.
We always put it down to just one of her many, many irrational grudges.
A few years ago and the topic cropped up in conversation.
Me: What *do* you have against her then?
Mum: Well, when you were a baby, you'd cry and cry all day long so I used to put you in your pram and dump you at the bottom of the garden so I wouldn't have to listen to you.
Me: That explains a lot, what about Jenny?
Mum: well, the little bitch would climb over the fence, bring the pram up to the house and then knock on the backdoor to tell me that you were crying.
A 42 years and counting grudge, well done mum.
(Thu 16th Aug 2007, 11:40, More)
» Why should you be fired from your job?
Why sir, I do believe you're a rotten bastard
My first ever employment disaster.
When I'd just left school, back in the early 1980's, I'd my heart set on a career as an unemployable dope fiend.
Unfortunately, my mother had other ideas and, unbeknownst to me, sent off an application to catering college. I was furious and determined to fail the entrance exam. I sat the exam, which consisted of multiple choice answers to questions about bar tending. For every question, Every. Single. Question mark you, I chose the 'Nuclear Option'.
To wit.
(Q) A customer claims you've short-changed him, what do you do?
(A) Challenge him to a fist fight
(Q) A customer claims their meal is inedible, what do you do?
(A) Call the police
Etc.
Off home I went, happy in the knowledge that young Fanta could safely resume his lethargic ways. How wrong I was. Out of thousands, thousands I tell you, of applicants I was in the final shortlist of 250. Me, with the "Beat up toddlers" answers, I ask you.
So, I got called for an interview in a city centre hotel. I was sent off with a suit but, without my parents knowing, got changed in a mate's bedsit and turned up for the interview in jeans and a combat jacket. I was first in the queue so in I went.
There was a MILF sitting behind the desk who looked daggers at me. She berated me for not having dressed for the occasion so we were off to a flying start. I did my best sullen insolence act ever and she got angrier by the minute. Eventually she stopped the interview and, in a school-marm fashion, asked me what I was going to do with the rest of my life. "Why live on the dole off of your taxes of course" was my reply. This was it, I'd really done it now. She shoved the desk towards me screaming at the top of her lungs to get out. I got up and opened the door turned with a smirk and said "You have a nice day now, as for me, I'm off to the pub" She let out another screech and flung her notepad at me which sailed over my head and bounced off the wall opposite. It was while watching it slide to the floor that I realised that the corridor was crowded with around a dozen or so other applicants waiting their turn. I smiled at them and said "You'll be grand, she's in great form."
Needless to say, I wasn't offered a place but I did get a very nice letter informing me of this.
(Thu 9th Aug 2007, 17:09, More)
Why sir, I do believe you're a rotten bastard
My first ever employment disaster.
When I'd just left school, back in the early 1980's, I'd my heart set on a career as an unemployable dope fiend.
Unfortunately, my mother had other ideas and, unbeknownst to me, sent off an application to catering college. I was furious and determined to fail the entrance exam. I sat the exam, which consisted of multiple choice answers to questions about bar tending. For every question, Every. Single. Question mark you, I chose the 'Nuclear Option'.
To wit.
(Q) A customer claims you've short-changed him, what do you do?
(A) Challenge him to a fist fight
(Q) A customer claims their meal is inedible, what do you do?
(A) Call the police
Etc.
Off home I went, happy in the knowledge that young Fanta could safely resume his lethargic ways. How wrong I was. Out of thousands, thousands I tell you, of applicants I was in the final shortlist of 250. Me, with the "Beat up toddlers" answers, I ask you.
So, I got called for an interview in a city centre hotel. I was sent off with a suit but, without my parents knowing, got changed in a mate's bedsit and turned up for the interview in jeans and a combat jacket. I was first in the queue so in I went.
There was a MILF sitting behind the desk who looked daggers at me. She berated me for not having dressed for the occasion so we were off to a flying start. I did my best sullen insolence act ever and she got angrier by the minute. Eventually she stopped the interview and, in a school-marm fashion, asked me what I was going to do with the rest of my life. "Why live on the dole off of your taxes of course" was my reply. This was it, I'd really done it now. She shoved the desk towards me screaming at the top of her lungs to get out. I got up and opened the door turned with a smirk and said "You have a nice day now, as for me, I'm off to the pub" She let out another screech and flung her notepad at me which sailed over my head and bounced off the wall opposite. It was while watching it slide to the floor that I realised that the corridor was crowded with around a dozen or so other applicants waiting their turn. I smiled at them and said "You'll be grand, she's in great form."
Needless to say, I wasn't offered a place but I did get a very nice letter informing me of this.
(Thu 9th Aug 2007, 17:09, More)
» Guilty Secrets
Re: Lies leading to bogus investigations.
Apologies in advance for the length.
When I was a humble labourer on the building sites I was working on an office block renovation project.
I turned up at 7.30 am on a damp Autumn morning, nursing a hangover and cursing my lot in life. There was a delivery lorry outside with two blokes standing by the cab. "Here mate" said one, "We've got a delivery for you lot and it's to go on the roof (8 storeys up)" while I was wondering what this had to do with me and why the fuck I should care he said "I was told we'd have a man on the roof so here you are." I tried to weasel out of it but they weren't having it so off upstairs I went.
I got out onto the roof to be greeted by a pre-dawn gloom - then with a bang the rooftop arc lights came on and I was bathed in bright white light. "Fuck me" I thought "I don't know the first thing about crane signals and what have you". Before I could gather my wits a giant load of concrete lintel beams came up over the roof edge and soared about 50 feet into the air. My legs turned to jelly as it came lower and lower and then stopped, swaying in the breeze. "Oh Jesus, Oh Christ, Oh fuck, the rest is down to me and me alone" I sobbed. I made some vague limp-wristed apology of a hand signal and the payload came swinging towards me. "Shiiiiiiiiiit!" Err, "Back, Back" I signalled as if Barbara Woodhouse was trying to get a boisterous St Bernard to sit down instead of slobbering all over her boobs. The payload swung away from me but now was gathering a dangerous pace in a pendulum fashion. "Fuck it all to buggery now!" I cried and made "Down, down, down" motions in a frantic manner.
The load came down, down, down.... at an almighty rate of knots and WAHOOOM! straight onto several hundred bags of cement which exploded under force of the impact sending a mushroom cloud of dust into the air. As I stood there, transfixed in horror, the crane driver lifted the chain. Unfortunately, two of the concrete beams were caught up in the tangled mess and swung against a pile of internal party wall blocks which are very light so they exploded all over the place. One beam stood stuck at an angle in the middle of the blocks. The other slid over the edge of the roof and crashed into the inner courtyard below where it mangled a pile of wheelbarrows, shovels and the like.
Silence reigned as I got my legs back under my own control and decided that now would be a good time to get out of there. I raced for the main stairwell but could hear, what can only be described as an angry mob, coming up. "Fuuuuuuck" So I ran out onto the scaffolding that surrounded the building and made my way round to the far side, entered the building and down the other stairway a couple of floors, back up the original stairway and rejoined the tailend of the angry mob.
"Where did you come from?" I was asked "Were you on the roof earlier?" Every eye turned on me. "Ehm, well, err, you see it was like this, I *was* on my way up here but this bloke said he'd take care of the crane delivery." They mulled this fact over "What did he look like?" "Big bloke blonde hair with a Geordie accent" I made up on the spot, err I mean told them truthfully. "Good work Fanta, come on lads let's get the bastard!" and off they ran.
Turns out that the cunt of a Geordie had caused several thousand quids worth of damage and made us all go on light work for three days until more deliveries arrived. As a labourer, I was fucking delighted with the easy pace but, as all the brickies were on piece-work, they were understandably not delighted with the easy pace.
If that wasn't bad enough, a couple of months later and Fanta is sent up on the roof at a minute to quitting time on a Friday of a long weekend to secure the waterproof coverings on the pile of cement bags. Unfortunately, in his hurry to fuck off home, he didn't do a good enough job so, a day's worth of rain soon made shit of the cement. Luckily, for our brave Fanta, an unknown Scouser took over the job from him so Fanta was in the clear and the Scouser joined the Geordie in the Bermuda Triangle as he was never seen again.
(Sun 2nd Sep 2007, 16:20, More)
Re: Lies leading to bogus investigations.
Apologies in advance for the length.
When I was a humble labourer on the building sites I was working on an office block renovation project.
I turned up at 7.30 am on a damp Autumn morning, nursing a hangover and cursing my lot in life. There was a delivery lorry outside with two blokes standing by the cab. "Here mate" said one, "We've got a delivery for you lot and it's to go on the roof (8 storeys up)" while I was wondering what this had to do with me and why the fuck I should care he said "I was told we'd have a man on the roof so here you are." I tried to weasel out of it but they weren't having it so off upstairs I went.
I got out onto the roof to be greeted by a pre-dawn gloom - then with a bang the rooftop arc lights came on and I was bathed in bright white light. "Fuck me" I thought "I don't know the first thing about crane signals and what have you". Before I could gather my wits a giant load of concrete lintel beams came up over the roof edge and soared about 50 feet into the air. My legs turned to jelly as it came lower and lower and then stopped, swaying in the breeze. "Oh Jesus, Oh Christ, Oh fuck, the rest is down to me and me alone" I sobbed. I made some vague limp-wristed apology of a hand signal and the payload came swinging towards me. "Shiiiiiiiiiit!" Err, "Back, Back" I signalled as if Barbara Woodhouse was trying to get a boisterous St Bernard to sit down instead of slobbering all over her boobs. The payload swung away from me but now was gathering a dangerous pace in a pendulum fashion. "Fuck it all to buggery now!" I cried and made "Down, down, down" motions in a frantic manner.
The load came down, down, down.... at an almighty rate of knots and WAHOOOM! straight onto several hundred bags of cement which exploded under force of the impact sending a mushroom cloud of dust into the air. As I stood there, transfixed in horror, the crane driver lifted the chain. Unfortunately, two of the concrete beams were caught up in the tangled mess and swung against a pile of internal party wall blocks which are very light so they exploded all over the place. One beam stood stuck at an angle in the middle of the blocks. The other slid over the edge of the roof and crashed into the inner courtyard below where it mangled a pile of wheelbarrows, shovels and the like.
Silence reigned as I got my legs back under my own control and decided that now would be a good time to get out of there. I raced for the main stairwell but could hear, what can only be described as an angry mob, coming up. "Fuuuuuuck" So I ran out onto the scaffolding that surrounded the building and made my way round to the far side, entered the building and down the other stairway a couple of floors, back up the original stairway and rejoined the tailend of the angry mob.
"Where did you come from?" I was asked "Were you on the roof earlier?" Every eye turned on me. "Ehm, well, err, you see it was like this, I *was* on my way up here but this bloke said he'd take care of the crane delivery." They mulled this fact over "What did he look like?" "Big bloke blonde hair with a Geordie accent" I made up on the spot, err I mean told them truthfully. "Good work Fanta, come on lads let's get the bastard!" and off they ran.
Turns out that the cunt of a Geordie had caused several thousand quids worth of damage and made us all go on light work for three days until more deliveries arrived. As a labourer, I was fucking delighted with the easy pace but, as all the brickies were on piece-work, they were understandably not delighted with the easy pace.
If that wasn't bad enough, a couple of months later and Fanta is sent up on the roof at a minute to quitting time on a Friday of a long weekend to secure the waterproof coverings on the pile of cement bags. Unfortunately, in his hurry to fuck off home, he didn't do a good enough job so, a day's worth of rain soon made shit of the cement. Luckily, for our brave Fanta, an unknown Scouser took over the job from him so Fanta was in the clear and the Scouser joined the Geordie in the Bermuda Triangle as he was never seen again.
(Sun 2nd Sep 2007, 16:20, More)