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Profile for sp3ccylad:
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I live in Montrose these days.



The drugs stopped the voices in his head OK, but...


You've been warned.


Stop it! That tickles!


Big Dog's Cock:


Away goals count double, eh?


The Zebramation


Don't have nightmares.


Recent front page messages:

It's been a while, but I'm back

(Mon 24th Nov 2003, 22:02, More)

He just wants to be your friend.

(Wed 1st Oct 2003, 21:20, More)

Mornin', yer bunch of fuggin' baztards

You got some change for a cuppa tea?
(Sun 14th Sep 2003, 8:15, More)

A film trailer for you all

Cracking effects, considering the equipment.
(Fri 5th Sep 2003, 0:03, More)

Quick and dirty

Edit: heehaw, ker-ping! Blessings, MD. Now enjoy your dancing.
(Wed 3rd Sep 2003, 19:46, More)

Kill it before it kills you.

It's tiny. It's cute.
It will peck your spleen out and steal your kittens.
Clikbig for full horror.
(Wed 27th Aug 2003, 5:52, More)

Mr Chippecker


Click that underlined bit for bigger.
Edit: Front page? *faints*
City top of the Premiership? *faints again*

(Mon 25th Aug 2003, 21:27, More)

Best answers to questions:

» Have you ever started a fire?

Oh, dear god.
When I was a student, I was at a party coming down from something or other when I muttered "what this place needs is a bit of mindless terrorism". Hey: this was 1988. It was a different world then. Anyway: little did I know what I had started.

Within a few days I had a steady stream of art students coming to me with recipes for gunpowder and a kind of eager look on their faces. To cut a long preamble short, me and a fellow student went on a several-week long comedy reign of terror, letting off bombs that (although causing no damage) could be heard a mile and a half away. We'd let them off by the cellar doors of the student bar, under the windows of anti-social twunts playing overly loud music on a Sunday. It became quite the sport to get maximum impact with minimum chance of detection. Then...

I went to my mate's room to check on production of the next batch of comedy bombs. He handed me a mortar and pestle and said "I've been grinding this all day". He didn't tell me he'd mixed the powder and then ground it - that's a total no-no. He'd also substituted potassium chlorate for the saltpetre in the mixture. In theory, this should go off when you breathe on it, and he'd been grinding a complete mixture ALL DAY with no ill-effects. I ground it ONCE and was engulfed in a 5ft fireball that sucked most of the oxygen from the ground floor and caused the smoke pall from hell. My hair was sticking up and smoking like something out of a cartoon. I had 2nd degree burns on my face and hands, and was rushed to hospital in Wakefield, 6 miles away.

To celebrate my heroics/idiocy, my friends decided to get rid of the evidence by conducting a series of experiments "in my memory". They concluded that

a) throwing a lit bomb into a lake will not stop it going off. On the contrary, it makes the explosion more exciting.

and

b) if you put a lit bomb in a drainpipe, it will blow out the bathplug from two floors away. I believe the victim of the drainpipe bathplug ejection is now the Executive Producer of Fame Academy. Oh, did she look surprised.

I spent the next week bandaged like the invisible man. Quite hilarious.

Kids: don't try this at home. Get your A-Levels and go and do it at Uni.
(Tue 2nd Mar 2004, 18:40, More)

» Old People Talk Bollocks

My Grandmother. Mother's side. Barmy.
1) Favourite song?

"Makes no sense/Sitting on a fence/All by yourself in the moonlight.../Aint it a farce/Sittin' on yer---"
My grandad would permit no further progress.
No, I've never seen a commercial release for that song either. Shame.

She would also break into a chorus of "Ever seen a bird shit a turd/and he can't get his traaaaahsers daaahn" for no apparent reason.

2) Favourite maxim?

"You don't look at the mantlepiece when you're poking the fire"

3) Best odd moment...

Grandma: You courting yet?
Little Sister: No.
Grandma: I'm not surprised: you ain't got very big tits.
Little Sister went into catatonic trance for several minutes.

4) Grandma's wisdom.

On noting that my mother was trying to learn French:
"Can't beat your own language, can you?"
Actually, she had a point there.

5) I shouldn't laugh, but...

She once spent several weeks mistaking plastic stapled for extra insulation onto the inside of the wooden window frame for fog. She remarked how quickly it had cleared up when she got downstairs. Every day. For a month.

6) Just puzzling.

In her later years, she used to introduce me to her friends in Bourne as "Doug. Brian's son." For the record, I'm neither, although there's an element of truth there. Bless.

7) Grandma's greatest achievement

She told ghost stories to my sister when she went to stay with her and scared her half to death. That woman grew up and raised a b3tan. I feel there is a connection.

Ajtag, we salute you.
(Thu 11th Mar 2004, 22:32, More)

» Clients Are Stupid

Eep. This one was just odd
This happened in February 1998 and I'm trying to get this as verbatim as possible. Answered the phone at work one day with my standard greeting and got this.

Caller: I've just bought a telephone for my sister, you see, and she's in a wheelchair...

Me: Right...

Caller: It's a very good phone, but I'm having trouble programming my phone number into the memory. It's a BT Model.

Me: Well, we're not really set up to give that sort of advice. Is there a number in the instruction pamphlet in the phone?

Caller: [Indignantly] Well, there might be. I didn't think to look. [Pauses] It's just that...

Me: Sir?

Caller: I am through to the National Disabled Telephone Helpline, aren't I?

Me: [Long silence caused by me cutting the mic on the phone off to hide the fact that I'm unsuccessfully stifling giggles]

Caller: Hello?

Me: [composing myself again] Sorry, sir; yes you are through to the National Disabled Telephone Helpline. It's just that we give out disability advice. Not telephone advice.

Caller: I see. [Pause] Oh, I think I have a number here. It's in the pamphlet, like you said. [Pause] Thank you, you've been very helpful.

Me: No, thank you. Goodbye now.

Caller: Goodbye.

What I loved is that he was determined to thank me for something in spite of having rang up and made a complete arse of himself. Bless.
(Mon 29th Dec 2003, 11:17, More)

» Dad Jokes

What do you mean, doing this stuff later?
I'm already a repository of bollocksy, repetitive-catchphrase Dad style jokes - and I was long before parent/step-parenthood. It's as shite as my photoshopping. Believe it.

When anyone in my family (workplace or vicinity) expresses a dislike for a famous person they've never met, I usually reply with a slightly disappointed and reproving tone "Oh, he speaks well of you", regardless of how famous said person is and what the improbability is that I'd move in their circles. In fact, the more improbable the better the effect. Well, that's the theory, anyway. There's a serious point about the nature of celebrity in there somewhere, but it got lost in the mists of time at some point in the late 20th century.

At work, one particularly sharp colleague has got to the point where she either avoids expressing a dislike in my presence, or follows it up with a tired-sounding "Yes, I'm sure Meg White speaks well of me" before I can blurt out my stock reply. Bless.

Changing conversational culture one crap joke at a time. That's me.
(Wed 10th Dec 2003, 7:53, More)

» Weird Traditions

The EastEnders trumpet
I find it impossible to listen to the EastEnders theme tune without providing a trumpet flourish at strategic moments: but I don't play the trumpet so I use my mouth instead, like this.

If I don't do it, I fear the moths will get me. Fluttery, powdery tradition-upholding bastards.
(Sat 30th Jul 2005, 15:26, More)
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