Posts Tagged ‘QOTW’

Lazy post – have an old B3ta QOTW reply:

Some people shouldn’t be allowed to teach
This was recalled by someone much earlier telling tales of scientists doing stupid things.

For my sins, I am a science teacher in what would be politely referred to as a ‘Comprehensive’ school. Seeing as we’re in the near-vicinity of several grammar schools, we are in fact more of a bottom-feeder. Needless to say, any illusions I once possessed of being a cross between Mr Chips and Robin Williams in Dead Poet’s Society have been crushed under the sheer weight of imbecility I have to deal with while attempting to be inspirational.

Most of the teenage twunts I have to deal with aren’t permitted to go near glass or tweezers, let alone Bunsen burners, because of their incessant need to attempt to burn, lacerate or throw things at each other, rather than carry out the carefully-planned and sterile experiment I had in mind. The aforesaid seem to be very contented with the ‘turn to page 152 and copy this diagram’ style of teaching. It keeps them out of my hair while I sit at my desk and read b3ta and my email under the guise of ‘writing reports’.

But every now and then, I get a fresh intake of wide-eyed youngsters who are pretty well-behaved and I feel inclined to show a bit of practical work to. So the first thing we do is a little Health And Safety exercise. I say ‘little’ – this can often drag on for several lessons. We’re talking here about youngsters who will look straight down into a lit Bunsen to ‘see if it is working properly’, and take a sip of sodium hydroxide because they weren’t sure what it was and thought their gustatory senses would be better able to cope with it than the complicated business of reading a fecking great big label with ‘caustic soda – harmful’ written on in child-friendly 50-point Comic Sans.

So, eventually, we work our way round to ‘safely handling glassware’, for which I have to demonstrate the use of a test tube rack. I make sure to warn the little chitterlings not to put anything containing glass on the edge of the bench and never to put an empty tube straight onto the bench, because it will roll straight off and break. I also deliver a stern lecture on the perils of broken glass, not trying to clear it up themselves, and making sure they don’t have more contact with it than necessary. I tell gruesome, and largely fictional, tales of what happens to people when fragments of glass get into the bloodstream or the digestive system. To be honest, I terrify this bunch of 11-year-olds about as much as amorphous silica ever could do.

And then I lean over to the sink to carefully rinse out the tube I had been showing them. I had neglected to wear my lab coat for this bit of the lesson, as it’s bulky and smells of cats’ piss, for reasons that I’ve never been able to identify.

The corner of my suit jacket catches in a tub of 50 test tubes which I had, against my prudent advice, left on the edge of the bench. 50 test tubes shatter on the floor. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much broken glass. The floor of the lab ceases to be pristinely swept and now more closely resembles the shoot-out scene from The Matrix.

Every pupil in the room instantly flattens themselves against the back wall, terrified in their new knowledge that they might “inhale some and rupture their pulmonary blood vessels” (why did I tell them that? Why?!). The inevitable cynical kid, that even the nicest class always contains, is pissing himself laughing. The words “Oh Cock” have unavoidably escaped my lips and the Teaching Assistant, who is a firm Catholic, is standing there mortified and already composing a letter of complaint to the Head.

As I tell the youngsters not to worry (so much), I shift slightly towards my trusty dustpan-and-brush and realise that a large shard of hitherto test tube has somehow entered the top of my shoe and is burrowing along my instep, apprarently intent on severing any tendons it may encounter. The blood is already oozing out of my tasteful grey sock. Several pupils are then further alarmed by my bellowing like a werewolf with his goolies trapped in a vice.

I bend down to remove the offending glass, headbutt the bench on the way down, and collapse in a heap on the floor. Only the certain knowledge that there will be chaos if I pass out stops me going for a little sleep right there and then.

Trying to regain what’s left of my composure, I lever myself up on the side of the desk, and address the class: “OK. Now you need to open the textbook to page 152 and copy the diagram”.

Length? A full page of your exercise book, and don’t forget to label with a pencil and a ruler.

The full post, along with comments is here.

B3ta QOTW entry…and THIS has to win it:

Beating on the Booming Drum of Self Congratulation
It was a warm, liquid afternoon in summer, showing Bournemouth off at its best. Happy people wandered the beach-front shops, bikini-pretty and giggly – and that was just the guys. I, however, lurched along the pavement like a zombie with one of those nasty little rattling Boots carrier bags: bed-hair, bleary, snotty and a doubtless smelly young man. And in front of me was one of Those Blokes.

You know, one of Those Blokes. Stocky, short type with gorilla-hairy arms. Always over-tanned. Dark hair combed back so hard its got furrows and you can see the scalp, which always glints hair-gel green. And, of course, a thick gold chain around the neck. Yeah, thats right, one of Those Blokes.

I don’t think I’m that judgemental as a person, but if you are one of Those Blokes the 1st thing I think on seeing is ‘You knob. Bet you teach PE’ and I haven’t been proven wrong yet.

Our particular bloke was leant proprietorially against the boot of a grey Ferrari, chatting up two bikini-clad damsels who were at least a decade too young for him. I had to lurch past, so I couldn’t help but over-hear him holding court on the merits of this particular make of Ferrari. Normally I’d have said nothing, but as he expounded fulsome details of all that 0-60 crap, I couldn’t help but mutter sourly:

‘Yeah, but the seats are too low and clutch is an utter bitch.’

Bloke shot me a look of smug contempt, gave the Ferrari’s boot a little fatherly pat and said:

‘Well I think I know more about this kind of car than you do ‘mate’.’

The inverted commas clanged with sarcasm. Right up to the point when I haughtily unlocked the car, threw in the Boots bag and pulled away.

Even better, he kind of froze up in cringe, so he stayed leant on the boot until it turned into empty air. One of Those Blokes, arse first to the tarmac. Lovely.

Been such a busy morning…

I was in early, and have only just stopped (no, really). Sitting here with a coffee, I decided to check out some old QOTW answers on B3ta (I WILL get you all over to the ‘dark side’ at some point)…came across this corker:

Pearoast: chav vs window
So we’d just had a nice Sunday lunch at my Mum and Dad’s and my girlfriend and I set off home. With the girlfriend driving we made our way down the street my folks live on. It is about a minutes drive to a T junction at the end.

About half way down some baseball cap wearing little scrote, faux adidas trainings bottoms hanging round his arse, riding a BMX, screamed out of a side road in front of us causing us to have to brake sharply. He then weaved all over the road, occasionally turning to laugh at us.

Now my girlfriend isn’t the most patient of drivers. An otherwise friendly and loving lady turns into a spitting demon of rage if she deems someone is holding her up on the road in any way (especially a chav). Some choice words were being aired and she accelerated up behind him in an attempt to get round.

By this time the T junction was approaching. The girlfriend put her foot down, whipped round the chav and sped towards it. The Chav didn’t like that too much and attempted to pursue, his little chavvy legs pumping for all they were worth.

Now going quite fast the car brakes were applied fairly hard for the junction.


It seemed the Chav had overestimated his braking ability. I turned around in my seat to see him up against the back window, his cheek nicely flattened against the glass, his arms splayed against the back of the car where he had tried to stop himself.

The junction was clear so to the tune of a muffled “aw fuckinell” we gently accelerated away. I watched with a big grin on my face as the glass peeled away from his cheek, leaving him standing there, with his hands in the air and his bike seat firmly wedged up his arse, where it had levered itself when the bike hit the bumper.

I laughed all the way home.
(stubbledchin, Sat 23 Jan 2010, 12:42, Ignore, closed)

Absolute class…I can’t stop giggling 🙂

Lazy post – 'cos I'm so busy…

It’s Thursday – and that means a new QOTW on 🙂

This week it’s all about flirting – very funny stuff there…and I’ve picked up some tips 😉 for example:

Don’t try this at home – it’s better in a pub, but still don’t
When I was 18 I frequented Nottingham Rock City. For those of you unfamiliar you’ll quickly find that sex in the toilets is not so much a daring act of rebellion as part of the T&C of entry. Whereas in most of the country, the act of mating involves buying someone a drink followed by “sexay” dancing or, if you’re really unlucky, conversation, at Rock City it’s as simple as locking eyes with someone. If they look back, you’re in. It really is that simple.

With this in mind, and much beer in my belly, a friend of mine bet me a drink that I wouldn’t try what remains the most appalling chat-up line I’ve ever heard, on a real person, in real life and everything. It pains me to admit I did this, even so long ago.

Me: *makes come-hither motion at girl*
Girl: *approaches, foolishly*
Me: I made you come with one finger – imagine what I could do with two!
Girl *slaps, really quite fucking hard*

Amazing how quickly alcohol removes the stench of shame when you’re 18. Amazing how long it clings to you once you sober up

Length? 13 years, and I still feel like a dick
(Darth Foxtrot what, exactly, is the point of Derby?, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 14:23,

The length thing at the end of a post is a sorta tradition…

Another great one:

I went to a speed dating thing last week
I was quite fed up after about half an hour, so my chat up line to one girl consisted of raising my eyebrow suggestively and saying “sex?”.

I did not get laid, but she did find it funny.

Flirting has never been my thing.
(I helped save  b3ta! MatJ would rather be skiing, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 13:40,

And back to work…


I know, but it’s a slow week (I was SUPPOSED to have the week off but had to goto Bristol).

Anyway, last week’s QOTW was a cracker 🙂 and the new one has just came out: ‘IT Support’. This has the regulars in 2 camps – the IT geeks who’re rubbing their hands together and typing like maniacs, and the non-IT bods, who’re moaning like the non-IT bods they are…

Of course, the “Did you try turning it off and ono again?” story has already been done to death, but I have some corkers ready to enter…

The whole thing reminds me of the old Yahell days, when it was a challenge to get the n00bs to press ALT + F4 as many times as possible without them realising it was a wind-up (my personal record was 5 times) – a game which was very, very entertaining…

Heh…better do some work I suppose, but first, let me tell you about this morning…

So, there I was – off to pickup Corina for work. Had to stop at a red light by the local school, window was down, music was LOUD (Pendulum), and I was happily bouncing in my seat to it. All these schoolkids were waiting to cross, and, as they did, one called to his mates “Listen – can you hear Pendulum?” and they ALL started dancing across the road…I was in hysterics 🙂

Just got back from Tesco, as I came off the roundabout, I was stuck behind a very slow moving lorry – no problem, sun is out, windows down, music on loud (The Killers this time), and I’m singing along  quite happy in my own little world…right up until I glanced at the traffic (not) moving the other way – 4 or 5 drivers staring open mouthed at me happily warbling away…

Eeew…just eeew…

Quiet moment at work, so I’m re-reading some of B3ta’s QOTW answers. Then I came across this one:

A long, long time ago I was living and working in London. Whilst visiting some friends from home we used to regularly wonder about the mysterious moving duvet that lived in my friends squalid but sunny squat.

Every day when she would leave the house her duvet was on her bed but every night she got home it had moved half way across the floor. All rational explanations for this were ruled out. It being a rather temporary squat for young Irish students not much was really thought about it I suppose. This particular duvets origins were unknown. Nobody knew who bought it or how long it had been there or indeed when or how it had appeared and indeed apart from its rambling nature and some curious staining not much was thought of it – I mean it was a dirty squat anyway.

It came to pass that some overly curious individual decided to investigate further and found out something which nearly 20 years later still makes my stomach flip. The duvet in question was one enormous breeding ground for some type of bug. The bugs used to follow the sun around the room and so the sheer volume of bugs was able to physically move the duvet across the room following the path of the sun.

The poor individual who used to sleep with this fetid blanket of bugs was later to remark that no other duvet would ever be the same as the bugs predilection for warmth meant that whilst sleeping the duvet “used to hug her back” was the way she put it.

And there you have it – women = dirty, dirty creatures (well, you’d never catch me putting a cock in MY mouth).

Oh what a site that is…

If you’ve not already taken a look, go do it now – I’ve been a member now for some 3 months and it NEVER fails to make me giggle uncontrollably over the QOTW (I’ve even managed to add a few of my stories…).

Anyhoo, one of the members decided to host a ‘ Hot or Not‘ competition, so being the shy guy that I am, I decided to enter too…and then post the pic and link on my web page (can I hear y’all say ‘tart’?).

The thing I’m impressed with though is out of 180 entries, I’ve gone to 123rd with a rating of 5.6 (25 votes) 🙂

dot lidé:

Get a free Giffgaff Sim Email me

June 2019
« Apr