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» School Days
It never happened like this to Frank Spencer
By the age of 16 me and my friends were interested in the same type of things that most boys of that age were- namely rampant self-abuse while thinking of the women that would never sleep with us and growing inadvisable attempts at facial hair in the hope that we would look old enough to be served alcohol.
So it was that on final week before the Easter break none of us shaved in anticipation of hitting the town after the last day of school. We trailed around the local pubs that were known to turn a blind-eye to underagers, getting rather squiffy, all the while stroking our under-developed bum fluff goatees in order to look more sophisticated to the ladies that would never sleep with us.
We were having fantastic fun until we entered one hostelry to be faced with the Maths department from our school. Unbeknownst to us we had arrived at the pub that they regularly used for their end of term piss ups. There was something of a stand-off while we eyed them nervously, discussing whether we should head to another pub and they sniggered into their pints at our nascent facial hair.
"Sod it" we decided- we were full of Dutch courage at this point and any fear we had towards our teachers had long since departed. A good choice as it turned out. After some ribbing to begin they were incredibly good value- even Mr McLean, the scary bear-like head of department.
The real focus of attention of the evening though was the young and incredibly attractive Miss Johnstone. A heaving bosom and penchant for low cut, floaty silk blouses made her a favourite of all the boys. The side of school bore the spray-painted legend 'Miss Johnstone has nips you could dial a telephone with' in her honour. She was a fearsome beast too- a quick temper and was nicknamed 'G.I. Jo' because of her Territorial Army membership.
We all wanted to have a go at chatting her up*- success would ensure that we were spoken of in awe at our school for generations to come. Alas, she spent the night being chatted up by some guy closer to her own age. I spied my chance when he had to go and break the seal. I knew he wouldn't be gone for long, this was my one chance and I had to make it good. I ambled across the room, raking my mind for a great opening line. I gave her a knowing look as I sidled up, alcohol and hormones racing through my veins. About to seal my immortality by shedding my virginity to the hottest teacher in the school, I unleashed my smoothest line:
"Sho who ish that shlimey cunt that yer chatting too?"
"My fiance", came the icy cold reply.
I returned to school after the holidays to two weeks worth of detention.
*Laughable, I know...
(Mon 2nd Feb 2009, 15:25, More)
It never happened like this to Frank Spencer
By the age of 16 me and my friends were interested in the same type of things that most boys of that age were- namely rampant self-abuse while thinking of the women that would never sleep with us and growing inadvisable attempts at facial hair in the hope that we would look old enough to be served alcohol.
So it was that on final week before the Easter break none of us shaved in anticipation of hitting the town after the last day of school. We trailed around the local pubs that were known to turn a blind-eye to underagers, getting rather squiffy, all the while stroking our under-developed bum fluff goatees in order to look more sophisticated to the ladies that would never sleep with us.
We were having fantastic fun until we entered one hostelry to be faced with the Maths department from our school. Unbeknownst to us we had arrived at the pub that they regularly used for their end of term piss ups. There was something of a stand-off while we eyed them nervously, discussing whether we should head to another pub and they sniggered into their pints at our nascent facial hair.
"Sod it" we decided- we were full of Dutch courage at this point and any fear we had towards our teachers had long since departed. A good choice as it turned out. After some ribbing to begin they were incredibly good value- even Mr McLean, the scary bear-like head of department.
The real focus of attention of the evening though was the young and incredibly attractive Miss Johnstone. A heaving bosom and penchant for low cut, floaty silk blouses made her a favourite of all the boys. The side of school bore the spray-painted legend 'Miss Johnstone has nips you could dial a telephone with' in her honour. She was a fearsome beast too- a quick temper and was nicknamed 'G.I. Jo' because of her Territorial Army membership.
We all wanted to have a go at chatting her up*- success would ensure that we were spoken of in awe at our school for generations to come. Alas, she spent the night being chatted up by some guy closer to her own age. I spied my chance when he had to go and break the seal. I knew he wouldn't be gone for long, this was my one chance and I had to make it good. I ambled across the room, raking my mind for a great opening line. I gave her a knowing look as I sidled up, alcohol and hormones racing through my veins. About to seal my immortality by shedding my virginity to the hottest teacher in the school, I unleashed my smoothest line:
"Sho who ish that shlimey cunt that yer chatting too?"
"My fiance", came the icy cold reply.
I returned to school after the holidays to two weeks worth of detention.
*Laughable, I know...
(Mon 2nd Feb 2009, 15:25, More)
» School Days
Advance apologies for lack of funnies...
...I know the question specifies funnies, but fuck it, it's still damn sight closer to being on-topic than a lot of other posts will be.
It was the dawn of the 90s- the first full calendar decade I would exist for- and I was seeing out the final years of my primary school career at a nondescript Aberdeen school.
The day in question was a Friday, and as is Aberdeen's wont, it was a particularly cold and wet Friday. But a Friday all the same! Come the bell at the end of the day I was all a quiver- two whole days of sleeping late, watching cartoons, trying to teach the dog to skateboard and ignoring my maths homework until bedtime on Sunday night.
One of my friends had been held back for a bit of a talking to by the teacher so I waited outside at the gates for. I was idly minding my own business when *BANG* I was struck by something. I took a second to compose myself before searching for the source of the blow.
I did not need to look far.
On the ground in front of me was a small girl. She had ran straight out of the gates and straight into me. And promptly fallen into the biggest mud puddle I have ever seen, and I've had my share of sodden Glastonbury's. Then came the crying. My lord, that girl could wail. Pensioners that have lived through the blitz would have fled to their coal cellars in terror.
The girl picked herself off the ground and it became very apparent that she was head to toe in mud. I doubt she could have been covered in more mud had she dived onto mud pool and done the 500m breaststroke in it. It was only as she began to wipe the mud from her face- still bawling- that I recognised her as the younger sister of on my of classmates, Josh.
At this point my attention is distracted by some shouting from down the road. Ah, it's her father- a well known businessman in our community. He seems to be awfully angry about something, thinks I...
The exchange is still vivid in my memory.
Father: You boy, you!
Dick: *puzzled silence*
Father: What's you're name, boy?
Dick: *whimpers* D..D..D..Dick
"Dick what?" he thundered in return.
"Dick North".
"Well, Dick North" he sneered. "I just saw you push my daughter into that muddy puddle. I should punch your lights out..."
I think I may have wee myself at this point.
"..you should thank your lucky stars that I'm not going to". And with that he stormed off, muddy daughter in tow.
Now that really ruined my weekend. I was terrified that he would contact my parents and that I would get grounded and have to pay for the cleaning bills out of my pocket money. It didn't matter that I didn't actually do it. I mean, he was an adult so surely they would believe him over me? I was so terrified of the trouble I would be in that I didn't breath a word of it to my parents. I was terrified of going back to school on Monday as well. Surely Josh would want to beat me up for what had happened to his sister? What if I saw their Father again? Maybe he would have changed his mind about punching my lights out...
As it was, none of these things happened. What did happen was that about a week later I went around to my friend Daniel's house, where we wrote a song about how much of a big poopyhead Josh's dad was. We sang it with much gusto, backed by the tinny bleeping of one of the demo songs on Daniel's Casio keyboard. And recorded it on a blank cassette. And put it an envelope addressed to Josh's dad. And posted it.
(Thu 29th Jan 2009, 14:50, More)
Advance apologies for lack of funnies...
...I know the question specifies funnies, but fuck it, it's still damn sight closer to being on-topic than a lot of other posts will be.
It was the dawn of the 90s- the first full calendar decade I would exist for- and I was seeing out the final years of my primary school career at a nondescript Aberdeen school.
The day in question was a Friday, and as is Aberdeen's wont, it was a particularly cold and wet Friday. But a Friday all the same! Come the bell at the end of the day I was all a quiver- two whole days of sleeping late, watching cartoons, trying to teach the dog to skateboard and ignoring my maths homework until bedtime on Sunday night.
One of my friends had been held back for a bit of a talking to by the teacher so I waited outside at the gates for. I was idly minding my own business when *BANG* I was struck by something. I took a second to compose myself before searching for the source of the blow.
I did not need to look far.
On the ground in front of me was a small girl. She had ran straight out of the gates and straight into me. And promptly fallen into the biggest mud puddle I have ever seen, and I've had my share of sodden Glastonbury's. Then came the crying. My lord, that girl could wail. Pensioners that have lived through the blitz would have fled to their coal cellars in terror.
The girl picked herself off the ground and it became very apparent that she was head to toe in mud. I doubt she could have been covered in more mud had she dived onto mud pool and done the 500m breaststroke in it. It was only as she began to wipe the mud from her face- still bawling- that I recognised her as the younger sister of on my of classmates, Josh.
At this point my attention is distracted by some shouting from down the road. Ah, it's her father- a well known businessman in our community. He seems to be awfully angry about something, thinks I...
The exchange is still vivid in my memory.
Father: You boy, you!
Dick: *puzzled silence*
Father: What's you're name, boy?
Dick: *whimpers* D..D..D..Dick
"Dick what?" he thundered in return.
"Dick North".
"Well, Dick North" he sneered. "I just saw you push my daughter into that muddy puddle. I should punch your lights out..."
I think I may have wee myself at this point.
"..you should thank your lucky stars that I'm not going to". And with that he stormed off, muddy daughter in tow.
Now that really ruined my weekend. I was terrified that he would contact my parents and that I would get grounded and have to pay for the cleaning bills out of my pocket money. It didn't matter that I didn't actually do it. I mean, he was an adult so surely they would believe him over me? I was so terrified of the trouble I would be in that I didn't breath a word of it to my parents. I was terrified of going back to school on Monday as well. Surely Josh would want to beat me up for what had happened to his sister? What if I saw their Father again? Maybe he would have changed his mind about punching my lights out...
As it was, none of these things happened. What did happen was that about a week later I went around to my friend Daniel's house, where we wrote a song about how much of a big poopyhead Josh's dad was. We sang it with much gusto, backed by the tinny bleeping of one of the demo songs on Daniel's Casio keyboard. And recorded it on a blank cassette. And put it an envelope addressed to Josh's dad. And posted it.
(Thu 29th Jan 2009, 14:50, More)
» Stupid Colleagues
X Marks the Spot
As a dashing young undergraduate during the heady days of Britpop, one of my coursemates (let's call him Dan, for that is not his name) and I went on a placement to a major US-based tech company that had two sets offices in our town. I was based in one office, Dan the other. Dan was a well-meaning chap, but a bit dim, and it's fair to say that the team was assigned to never really warmed to him.
One day a person in the team I was in got an email from Dan.
"Oi, Spaceship. What's Dan's middle name?".
I had no idea and told her as much, but was to curious to know why she wanted to know.
"Well, it's just that his email address is [email protected], and I was wondering what the 'X' stood for."
A quick survey of all the people in the team revealed that the only name we could think of beginning with 'X' was Xavier, which seemed unlikely given the prosaic nature of the rest of his name. Everybody was curious, so it was decided that I, as the person that knew him best, would be the person to call him up and ask, while the others listened in on speaker phone.
"Hi, Dan, it's Spaceship. This is a bit of an odd question, but what's your middlename?"
"Erm... I don't have one." I figure he's maybe a bit embarrassed, so I press on as gently as I can...
"But your email address has an 'X' for the inital?"
"Yeah, when I was filling out the personal details form when I joined, I put a cross in the section for middlename because I don't have one..."
That's as far as the conversation went before we all dissolved into laughter and he hung-up.
(Tue 8th Mar 2011, 16:23, More)
X Marks the Spot
As a dashing young undergraduate during the heady days of Britpop, one of my coursemates (let's call him Dan, for that is not his name) and I went on a placement to a major US-based tech company that had two sets offices in our town. I was based in one office, Dan the other. Dan was a well-meaning chap, but a bit dim, and it's fair to say that the team was assigned to never really warmed to him.
One day a person in the team I was in got an email from Dan.
"Oi, Spaceship. What's Dan's middle name?".
I had no idea and told her as much, but was to curious to know why she wanted to know.
"Well, it's just that his email address is [email protected], and I was wondering what the 'X' stood for."
A quick survey of all the people in the team revealed that the only name we could think of beginning with 'X' was Xavier, which seemed unlikely given the prosaic nature of the rest of his name. Everybody was curious, so it was decided that I, as the person that knew him best, would be the person to call him up and ask, while the others listened in on speaker phone.
"Hi, Dan, it's Spaceship. This is a bit of an odd question, but what's your middlename?"
"Erm... I don't have one." I figure he's maybe a bit embarrassed, so I press on as gently as I can...
"But your email address has an 'X' for the inital?"
"Yeah, when I was filling out the personal details form when I joined, I put a cross in the section for middlename because I don't have one..."
That's as far as the conversation went before we all dissolved into laughter and he hung-up.
(Tue 8th Mar 2011, 16:23, More)
» My Biggest Disappointment
B3ta
Having been a long-term lurker (especially on QOTW) I have finally registered for B3ta, only to be disappointed.
What made me sign-up was the fantastic array of people you found on the site- genuine, funny, thought-provoking people and a refreshing lack of keyboard warriors. Pick any QOTW and you will find a dazzling array of touching and/or funny personal stories, entertaining tall tales, some seriously groan-inducing puns, sheer filth (I'm looking at you, Frank Spencer) and some interesting opinions and debate. And it's all great.
However, now that I've arrived there seems to be a small but persistent band of people that are determined to snipe, put other people down and be downright nasty. I'm thinking particularly of some the responses to the Asperger's related posts this week. Some the responses are malicious- there's no other way to describe it.
I'm sure most of the people here are fluffy and lovely, but I'm disappointed to find that B3ta isn't free of the kind of twats that populate most other message boards.
(Mon 30th Jun 2008, 15:54, More)
B3ta
Having been a long-term lurker (especially on QOTW) I have finally registered for B3ta, only to be disappointed.
What made me sign-up was the fantastic array of people you found on the site- genuine, funny, thought-provoking people and a refreshing lack of keyboard warriors. Pick any QOTW and you will find a dazzling array of touching and/or funny personal stories, entertaining tall tales, some seriously groan-inducing puns, sheer filth (I'm looking at you, Frank Spencer) and some interesting opinions and debate. And it's all great.
However, now that I've arrived there seems to be a small but persistent band of people that are determined to snipe, put other people down and be downright nasty. I'm thinking particularly of some the responses to the Asperger's related posts this week. Some the responses are malicious- there's no other way to describe it.
I'm sure most of the people here are fluffy and lovely, but I'm disappointed to find that B3ta isn't free of the kind of twats that populate most other message boards.
(Mon 30th Jun 2008, 15:54, More)
» Puns
Easter
Easter is fast approaching and it makes me nostalgic for years gone by, when as I child I would receive numerous chocolate eggs from relatives and family friends. I would gorge on chocolate until I was ill.
However, these feelings are always accompanied by a tinge of pity for my French cousin Jean, who never knew such pleasure. He only received a single, solitary chocolate treat.
For as the French say: 'One egg is un oeuf'.
(Thu 5th Mar 2009, 15:50, More)
Easter
Easter is fast approaching and it makes me nostalgic for years gone by, when as I child I would receive numerous chocolate eggs from relatives and family friends. I would gorge on chocolate until I was ill.
However, these feelings are always accompanied by a tinge of pity for my French cousin Jean, who never knew such pleasure. He only received a single, solitary chocolate treat.
For as the French say: 'One egg is un oeuf'.
(Thu 5th Mar 2009, 15:50, More)