» Shoplifting

ok, so it's not shoplifting.
I've always been a rather easily persuaded sort, and when I've been drinking I don't think I've turned down any proposition put to me.
This is how one of my friends persuaded me to take part in 'Ultimate Steal'.

The game is simple. Go out drinking, try your luck in the various establishments, take stolen items home, and in the morning the winner is declared.
It probably sounds familiar to most people on here.

Well I started off like anyone normal might, taking the flowers from the ladies loo and wearing them in my hair, putting 20 boxes of matches in my bag along with the odd pint glass...until I was waiting at the bar of one establishment and just wasn't getting served.
Bored, I lifted a couple of cocktail shakers from the bar, along with a strainer, and brought them back to the table.
Result!
But imagine the admiration when it turned out that each was full of cocktail!

From that moment on, I was the Queen, I was stealing light bulbs, signs from the wall, and then I got cocky.

The next place we went into, I went behind the bar, helped myself to a pint, and stole...the wet floor sign, and the metal grill that the pint glasses stand on when people poured.

I had a slight problem.
I was out in a mini skirt and small top, I was going to have a job concealing those under my clothes...
then I had a stroke of genius, arranged them down my front, and picked up a chair, to carry in front of me like a shield as I left.

Naturally I got stopped by the bar security:
'what the hell do you think you're doing with that chair?!'
~'What? This thing?'
'yes! Put it back!'
~'But I brought it in with me!'
'You...you what?!'
~'Oh yeah, it's not one of yours. I got this from *insert random name of bar here*. They said I could borrow it for the sponsored scavenger hunt'
'umm, ok then...'

and THAT is how I stole this little lot.

i24.photobucket.com/albums/c26/completely_underwhelmed/DSC00249.jpg


I should probably add that the bar I claimed I'd taken the chair from was a trendy place where the only seating was overpriced looking sofas.
How I got away with that I'm not quite sure.
(Sat 12th Jan 2008, 0:48, More)

» Dumb things you've done

The sun was bright,
the January morning was crisp, and the year was 2006.

Completely Underwhelmed, our intrepid heroine, was waiting at the DVLA test centre in the hope she'd soon have a licence.
She'd taken the morning off school and was resplendent in her uniform, smiling happily at her Test Examiner, excited at the hour ahead.

Standing outside the port-a-cabin the first challenge was put to her:
'Can you read off the numberplate of that red car there for me?'
Young Underwhelmed's smile began to falter.
Her lip started to quiver, and some say a small tear welled up in the corner of her eye.
She could NOT read off the numberplate of the aforementioned car...
for she had forgotten to wear her glasses that day.

'Titwank!' thought our heroine 'I can't afford another test! I'll just have to play the shy schoolgirl card.' and she muttered an incomprehensible number plate reading to the examiner in a hushed tone.

'Good...' he said, 'but what was that third thing you mentioned?'
Little Miss Underwhelmed squinted and strained her eyes to see the numberplate.
'F?' she queried.
'Hrrrm, try that one again' encouraged the examiner.
'H?' she speculated.
'One more go!'
'E?' she wildly stabbed.
'Three! That's RIGHT!' beamed the test examiner. 'Now if you'll just get in the car..?'

Her jubilation at getting past the eyesight obstacle came to an abrupt halt, as the realisation dawned upon our leading lady that she was actually going to have to drive a car with her vision one giant multicoloured blur.

'I'd best flash him some leg while I'm driving' thought the young daredevil as she started the engine...

***

Fifty minutes or so on, and the test was going rather well.
Young Underwhelmed had remembered the difference between right and left, stopped at zebra crossing for some pedestrians and even managed to go clockwise around all the roundabouts she'd encountered.
The final task was ahead of her as the little car slowed to a halt in a housing estate and her test examiner looked over.

'Now,' said he, 'if you'll just reverse around this corner...'

Smiling up at him, our paragon Thwunked the car into gear and started the manoeuvre, making excellent use of her mirrors, when...
'oh! how pretty my eyeliner looks when my eyesight's blurred!' she thought, and started to look a little closer at her own reflection...

...MINGEFLAPS!!!!!
Suddenly our heroine was ON THE CURB!!!!!

'Oh heck!' she panicked, 'that's a Major! I've failed!!'
Flipping her head round to stare behind her in distress she wildly groped for the handbrake and floored the foot brake, bringing the car to a sharp halt.

It was only then she was aware of a slight cough from her examiner.

Then, it suddenly dawned upon her...
her hand was not on the handbrake...
it was in her test instructors crotch.

'Feck!! Feck!!! FEEEEEECKKK!!' she inwardly screamed, and did the only thing that came to mind.

She smiled at him, and winked.

Then died inside.
(Wed 26th Dec 2007, 15:27, More)

» Advice from Old People

The Youth of Today
I was at a bus stop the other day when a couple of homeless looking guys were rolling past drugged up to the eyeballs, and a rather sweet old man who looked about 80 noticed and came over straight away in case I was in any kind of distress.

We had a bit of a chat about what terrible things drugs can do, and isn't it awful how easily available they are, etc, when he came out with one of the greatest things I have ever heard:

'When I was your age, LSD stood for pounds, shillings and pence, and a good trip was when the family went to Blackpool for the day and saw the donkeys!'

God bless you old man, you made my day.
(Thu 19th Jun 2008, 19:36, More)

» Family codes and rituals

Scrabble Squabbles
Every year, when the my sisters and I are at the parents for Christmas, some fool will suggest a family game.
Some bigger fool will always suggest scrabble.

Now, the game Starts amicably enough, but my parents always seem to get terribly competitive.
We'll have a bit of good natured teasing over each others 'concentration face' or how long they're taking to go, then a petty squabble will break out about who's 'got all the letter e tiles!?'.
Before you know it, they're bickering like children.

Us real children know how this is going to end, bored one of us will excuse ourselves to use the loo, or make a drink. But this is forbidden.
We could be about to go and use some kind of online anagram solver!
It won't do!

The irrationality builds, until the point where every year, without fail, my Mother accuses my Father of 'reading the scrabble tiles with his fingers while his hand is in the letter bag'.

Her logic is based on the fact that 'he takes too long to pick letters' and 'he looks smug'.
Whenever my Father suggests that She try such a trick herself, she maintains that she can't, because her fingertips aren't sensitive enough. Last year she accused him of preparing for the game by using more hand cream than usual, and wearing rubber gloves to do the washing up for the previous weeks.

Following this, an argument will always break out. One of my parents will get so irrationally wound up that they storm out, cursing the very idea of marriage and claiming they're going to drive to a hotel and live there forever.
The other person will maintain that they're drunk, and shouldn't get behind the wheel, but the strident one will claim they're not, as the door slams and they head off into the night.

Without fail, a about an hour later there will be a phone call. It'll be stroppy parent saying that maybe they should talk, and telling relatively more responsible parent the name of the hotel.
Off parent number two will drive into the night, and they don't come back for hours...

It was only a short while ago that I realised it's probably an elaborate farce so they can go off and have loud rampant sex without the kids over hearing anything too dodgy :(
(Wed 26th Nov 2008, 9:56, More)

» DIY disasters

A Different kind of DIY disaster
I have to admit, I'm pretty good with my hands, but it had never really occurred to me to invest in any kind of 'powered tool' until last September...when I found myself at an Ann Summers party.

Somehow, somewhat tipsy, and getting far too into the spirit of things, I ended up getting out my debit card.

Among my purchases of things I might use and/or wear was one particular item that I was talked into.
8" length with 5¼" girth. 3 levels of ripple intensity & 3 speed buzzy ears.
The Rampant Rabbit Wave.

I've always been a sensitive sort of girl (sitting on a bus for more than a sort distance is enough to cause extreme embarrassment and I've lost both vision and consciousness during sex before now)so why the hell I thought I'd ever need a vibrator is beyond me.
And so I sobered up, and it languished in a drawer, nestled amongst my underwear like a true cliché.

Until recently.
Well you've got to try everything once haven't you?

After a considerable amount of fun was had working the thing into position, it was time to turn it on.
I reached down, and pressed a button.

'HOLY MOTHERFUCKING JESUS CHRIST ON A STICK!!!!!!' is probably the sort of thing that went through my mind at that point.

I assure you now that it IS possibly to simultaneously fling yourself upwards out of bed, head butt a wall, throw your back out, pull a muscle in your neck, crack an arm into another wall and knock down a picture, let out an ungodly scream and STILL feel like you've just exploded in an entire world of pleasure.

Those things should warn you not to use them unless you're restrained in a padded room!

Maybe not Quite a total disaster, but I couldn't move any part of my body properly for about a week.

For now, it's back in the drawer.
I'm worried that if I ever use it again it could bring about an Apocalypse.
(Fri 4th Apr 2008, 13:10, More)