Gmail Invites

A few days ago I noticed something new when I logged into my Gmail account to check my email, bright red text which said…

“Invite a friend to join Gmail”

‘Fantastic’ I thought, and quickly set up a few accounts for friends and family that I had promised invites to for ages. Then I started to think about who I could give the remaining ones to.

I could eBay them, they are going for a bit on eBay and they still seem to be in demand, maybe I could give them out randomly – “Hey you, want Gmail?” – and there’s always Gmail Swap – I’d love a time machine or a trip to the center of the earth – but I didn’t really want any money for them and I’m not sure the time machine would be safe, I’d hate to get stuck in the 1800’s.

I’ve decided to have a bit of a contest. The prize is Gmail invites, full of Gmaily goodness, and I have three invites to give away. To win, all you have to do is tell me a funny story in the comments and I’ll pick three winners in a few days. It can be something that happened to a friend, of a friend, but personal stories are always much more fun.

So go comment, I don’t want to regret passing up that trip to the center of the earth you know.

And the winners are…

Thank you all for the great stories, it was hard to pick only three, but I have. Maybe if I receive some more Gmail invites we can have a round two. Ok, now for the winners stories…

Oz

After a day of double physics, economics and a study period, followed by a debate-team practice (I’m so cool). Needless to say I was pretty beat. This was compounded by the fact that I had been up all the previous night finishing an assignment worth 25% of my course.

The day turned even crappier when, come 6pm I finally got outside school to find I had lost all my money and so couldn’t get the bus home. It’s only a 20minute walk but after 6/7 hours of school stuff and with a bag full of textbooks it took me about 40minutes. I dragged myself through the front door and straight to the living room where I flicked on the telly and flopped on the sofa.

The next thing I know there are loud noises coming from next-door. I think to myself, “For heaven’s sake, why are they having a party now? It’s the middle of the night!”. A few minutes later… more noise. I wake up, upstairs in my bed…”bizarre” I say. I walked over to my window to see what the noise was and watched, bleary eyed as two men bashed-in the back door. “oh.” is my reaction and I just stood there a little confused.

Shouts of, “Oscar? Oscar! Are you okay? Where are you?” came from a voice I did not recognise and so grabbing the nearest sharp implement (a pencil in this case) I headed out onto the landing when much to my amazement two police officers wearing full everything were standing there. One of them took me downstairs whilst the other re-assured my mother that I was okay. The officer asked me loads of questions about who I was and where I went to school and my date of birth and then whether anything was upsetting me. I answered all his questions satisfactorily and they left…. with the back door all broken.

I later pieced together the rest of the story. It turns out I must have fallen asleep on the sofa, managed to walk upstairs and get into bed without waking up. Then 2 hours later (8:30pm not the middle of the night) my Mum arrived home from her meeting, but it turned out she’d left her key in the house. Knocking on the door and ringing the bell elicited no response from me and neither did ringing the phone or shouting through the letterbox. My mum got kinda worried and rang the police, who decided to treat it as if I had committed suicide (hence the asking me if anything was upsetting me). They bashed the door in and lo and behold I was fine.

Best alarm clock, ever, trust me. After telling my friends this story whenever I then tried to go to sleep someone would ring me up and make police siren noises… Not funny after a week or so.

Hexley

Sometime ago I decided that it’s boring to tell people that I work with computers all day long, it doesn’t make for interesting conversation piece, thus I decide to came up with a non-standard response when asked what I do for a living:

Someone: So what do you do for a living?
Me: I paint.
Someone: Wow, that’s so cool. I never met anybody who is an working artist. So what kind of stuff do you paint?
Me: You know that double yellow line in the middle of the road? That’s what I paint. I prevent cars from hitting each other on the roads. I save lives.
Someone: Are you serious? You don’t look like a construction worker at all.
Me: Hey! I prefer to be called a painter, not construction worker!!!
Someone: You must be joking right?
Me: Yeah, I am just a computer programmer.

Dave

My ex-girlfriend. Scary at the time, hilarious now. To saw she was slightly mad would be to insult those sweet 80 year olds who are starting to turn senile.

The reason we broke up? Well, I started to see the light when she starting using a coat hanger to see whether my mother was the person causing the ‘ghostly disturbances’ in the house and then asked me to do it. She then, a couple of days later, told me she was going to have me exorcised due to me being possessed by my mother’s spirit, and my mum was trying to push her down the stairs, drown her in the shower, etc., because she didn’t like her. Whether you believe in this or not, my mother is still alive.

Cut to a month after we break up, I decide I really need to go and have a really, really good night out. Book myself into the beautiful, 5 star Renaissance Chancery Court hotel in London, fabulous room, amazing service, etc etc. Call up two of my good friends and start drinking at approximately 2 in the afternoon. Don’t stop until 3 in the morning. Fell out of the taxi, can’t remember getting into the hotel. What I do remember is that because I was staying on a ‘special’ floor, I had to put my key in the slot in the lift. I kept missing. (Very difficult having good motor skills when very, very drunk). I decide, in a fit of pique, to walk up the stairs instead. Except I walk up too many flights. I walk down. Too many flights. Back up. Too many flights. And down. Again up, again down. Not being able to figure out where my floor is. And so, I get back into the lift.

Seven hours later I wake up in bed. My knee is killing me, and I lower the sheets to discover a fairly sizeable wound. My clothes are hung up, and all the scatter cushions that were spread on my bed are neatly store in a bedside cabinet. Most disturbingly of all, there is a half-empty bottle of body lotion to my right-hand side on the table.

I later discover that I had indeed given up on finding my room and made myself comfortable in the lift and promptly fell asleep. The staff was unsurprisingly, none too happy with this and woke me up after several attempts, taking me to my room, and opened the door using my key. They left me just inside my room, and I got undressed, hanging my clothes up neatly (it transpires I do this in hotels all the time when I’m drunk, most recently at my oldest brother’s wedding), and applied body lotion to the wound on my knee, which was caused by my falling out of the taxi, thinking ‘this will help with the clotting process!’. (Perfectly infallible drunken logic and I’m so pleased I didn’t realise how painful it would have been putting that on a gash.) I am now not welcome at the Renaissance Chancery Court hotel in London.

A few months after we broke up, I get an SMS from her wishing me a happy Christmas. I end one back saying, ‘I thought I said I didn’t ever want to hear from you again’. To which she replies ‘You’re still bitter about us breaking up, all I wanted to do was say something nice!’ Aggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

56 Comments on “Gmail Invites

  1. One time me and my brother were messing around with katanas in his back yard, I got into a little speach about how it is sad how many people accidentally cut themselves doing something stupid. It went something like this

    Me: You know, it really is dumb how many people accidentally cut themselves

    Him: Yeah.

    Me: Seriously, how dumb do you have to beOOOOWWWWW, CRAP!

    Him: You just cut yourself didn’t you?

    Me: ………….Yeah….

    To this day I still hear about that one…..

  2. I was in Sweden and going shopping for some videos. So when i was in the shop,I saw this magazin and starting to read it. I was walking around and reading the magazin (in the movie shop) when I suddenly got this weird feeling. I looked down on my shoes ,and then took my look up and saw that I had walked in to the PORN section in the shop. I got totally panic and tried to get out ,and after 15 mins of going around and around in that PORN section ,I was out. My face was red and my dad was just:
    Dad: what happend to you?
    me: uhm….. nothing….*tries to hide her face*
    dad: Allright *gives me that “what have you done now – look*
    me: I HAVENT DONE ANYTHING!!!!!!! *looks at my dad with my big red face*
    dad: suuuuuuuure….ohh the man behind the counter said you did go into the PORN section!!!!!
    me: …..shut up……

    And I still hear my father kidding about that

  3. I think I’ll stay with my Yahoo šŸ™‚ They just today upgraded to 100MB, and I can’t imagine myself needing anymore than that anyway.

  4. About a year ago three friends and I were driving to Las Vegas, Nevada which is about a 6.5 to 7 hour trip.
    We were getting hungry about 2 hours into the trip so we decided to stop at Taco Bell. We all quickly ate various crap and got back into the car since we were on a schedule.
    The driver of the car started to get sick to his stomach, and soon enough he was pulling off of the Highway at 70mph. The car started to fish tail and stopped just short of hitting a tree. He jumped out of the car and ran into the desert on a pitch black night.
    We had no toilet paper so he had to use a pair of socks and a hair rag to clean himself. So after he was all done we got back into the car and stopped at the nearest gas station.
    The driver was pumping gas when my friend Dave noticed that the driver Joe had stepped in some mudd and had also gotten some on his pants… After a few seconds we quickly figured out it was not mudd, the poor guy had stepped in his own crap =) Joe looked down at his pants and all he could say was “awwwww” .
    After he tried to clean it off his shoes with some Mountain Dew, we all got back into the car and on our way. The smell did not go away however, and we had to suffer the smell for 4 more hours untill we finally got to Vegas.
    The End.

  5. Since there are going to be many comments to get a GMail account I have to probability at all to get one, but I’ll try anyway.

    My story isn’t a funny story, it’s kinda sad in fact…
    Four years ago I fell in love with a girl in my class (first class in college) but I always hesitated to tell her, or even try to get any nearer to her, I was just too afraid to lose her. After all I never had a girlfriend before…
    The year went by and all I knew about her (apart from her name and school-marks) was that she had had a boyfriend, for over a year by then.
    On the dinner we made with the whole class i thought I would get my opportunity to tell her, or at least speak to her, but since I brought a bottle of Whiskey with me, we were soon too drunk to do anything (after all we’ve never drunken any alcohol) and the fact that her boyfriend turned up didn’t help…
    The next day I had a terrible headache and was a bit scared since some of my colleaques went home with their scooters, so I called all of them and told them that I was terribly sorry for that bad idea, the only one I didn’t call was her.
    That’s three years ago now and things didn’t improve in any way, I still like her but she didn’t yet notice that I even exist.
    All the four years I had sent her a small gift (a letter, a rose, …) at valentines day, anonymously (because I’m afraid, remember?), but the only times she’d talked to me was due to some Math-Lessons I gave her (the happiest moments during the last few years by the way).
    Well this spring I started asking how this will go on, since this is our last year at the college, and, in a really strange way, I found out that she would go to china in the late summer, to take a break from school and to learn more about the chinese culture.
    I’m therefore with my back to a wall, and the only way to escape is to tell her.
    You might ask why I didn’t tell her anything… it’s not that easy.
    As long as you don’t have the certainty about something, you can hope, but as soon as you know it for sure, hope dies and is replaced with something that is often painfull. That means that as long as I don’t tell her, I still have the hope that there might be something, but in reality I know exactly that there is nothing but mere lonelyness.
    Now that I know that she will go to china I have no other choice: I have to tell her, it’s not an attack to conquer her heart… it’s merely a surrender, just to tell her what I feel, nothing more.
    Next thursday is the last day of school and we’re going to have a big party… I will tell her there or never!

    I’m sorry that this is not as funny as you might have expected it to be, but live isn’t funny, believe me.
    Kitta if you don’t like it, just delete it and I won’t be upset, ok?

    Snyke

  6. Yay for GmailSwap. I actually got some pretty sweet stuff there with 4 or 5 of my 8 invites. I think I still have one left, but I’ll save it just in case I come across another time machine up for grabs. I’ll visit Mrs. Abraham Lincoln and ask, “Well aside from that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?”

  7. Now this isn’t somthing that happened to me, my friend ashley parker ( who has a morbid obsession with african-americans ) got online one day and had me tell her a story. I was in a good mood so I did. Here’s the story.

    Once apon there was a beautiful princess named Princess Ashley. She was a beautiful princess that lived atop the rolling hills of Monaco with her royal parents Queen Jennifer and King Victor. She had wonderful pale skin and was loved by all. Since Princess Ashley was the only child she was the heiress to the royal throne and fortune. But like in all fairytails…there was a tragic flaw. In order to reep the benefits of her familys royal position, she had to marry a (white) prince. But Princess Ashley loved black people. Her parents had arranged for her to marry Prince Chris of Canada. But Ashlet’s heart belonged to someone else, for months she had been secretly seeing Sir Ludacirs. On the day of her planned wedding Princess Ashley was very sad. Her queen mother questioned her mood. She couldn’t lie any longer.
    “Mother, I love black people”
    Her mother was shocked, although it was painfully obvious. Her mother went on to remind her that if she did not marry Prince Chris that she would not reep any benefits of her famillies royal stature…
    ” I don’t care, Ludacris is rich, and black…what more could one ask for?”
    The princess then walked out onto her balcony where Sir Ludacirs had been ironically waiting for her. He swept her off her feet and they shared a fairytail kiss. They then got married and moved to Miami where they lived happily ever after in their crib with their beautiful mixed children.
    The End

    I hope you like it!
    *bribes kitta with cookies and little red monkey food*

  8. I arrived home, made myself a quick snack, and hung out waiting for Justin who was soon to arrive. He no sooner walked in the door and half took off his jacket before Nato demanded that Justin pick him up from campus. This was a fair demand, as Nato and I were spotting Justin gas for the trip. The purpose of Justin coming up was to provide healing with the boys as we’ve all been messed over by women lately, although Justin the unfortunate worst. The goal was alcohol, a nostalgic walk, and more alcohol. That didn’t quite happen, but I think some healing took place.

    We hung out at my place for a while, catching up, etc. Eventually hunger hit, so we went to the Asian buffet place on Stillwater. It’s a little ghetto, but cheap and buffet. We’re big boys. We like buffet. We drove in Justin’s 1979 Cougar. This is impressive in and of itself, as the thing is an old school land rocket, but this particular Cougar has it’s own quirks. On any sharp turn or sudden stop, the engine stalls. This adds a bit of excitement, I assure you. It has a vintage 8-Track, which Justin has rigged up through a system of conversions to play cd’s. Very impressive. So, here we were, bumping along in the old school pimpmobile, bumping J.Lo on the radio. Yeah. Wow. Yeah.

    At the buffet we did the appropriate chowing down. For desert Justin and I had coconut tapioca pudding, which I enjoy a great deal. It apparently upsets Nato to watch me consume it as it makes him think of a bukkake video. I tell him it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

    A quick trip to the Bangor Mall provided me with combs, gym shirts, Zinc, and Magnesium. We were hoping to catch Jose, but he wasn’t working. Hopefully this means he’s at the hospital and the baby is being born 100% ok.

    So back to Orono we head to our awaited night of drinking. A quick stop at the grocery store was made, where we picked up some 40’s. For those of you who know me, you know what happens when I start a night with 40’s. You can decide now if you want to keep reading.

    In addition to my 40 (Schlitz Bull Ice, baby), I picked up some Visine for Contacts, candy corn (‘tis the season), and hand soap/sanitizer.

    Finally we began drinking, quite heavily. The beer was flowing, various topics were discussed (poker, women, music, etc), and 40 Days and 40 Nights was playing in the background. At a later point in the evening Matty showed up with his usual jump in entrance. After taking his mandatory haul from the 40, he was allowed to speak. What words did he have? “Let’s go find a strip club!”

    Sha-Bam.

    After a bit of hoo-hawing and more drinking, we pile into Matt’s car, The Ghetto Blastah, which is a fairly small vehicle. I’m 6’1”, ~240 lbs. Nato’s 5’7” or so, and well above 250, Justin’s 6’2”, 220 or so, and Matt’s the smallest of the bunch, but he had the most room as the driver. Yeah. It was a bit of a tight fit.

    So after a few debacles in getting gas for the trip, we decide to head north to La Casa de Fiesta, a somewhat sketch club in the Unorganized Territory in northern Maine. La Casa has a reputation, but they import all of their girls so we thought it might be a good thing. None of us had been there before, so it stood to reason that there might be adventure ahead.

    At breakneck speed we flew north on I-95, with exits 20 miles apart or more. Past Howland, past Lincoln, on to Millinocket we traveled. On the way we had our healing discussion on what was happening in our respective lives. Matters of love, school, work, and family were discussed, rehashed, and advice was administered. At one point I suggested jacking yourself off while engaged in sex (vaginal fisting combined with anal sex). I’m not sure what that discussion was, but I’m sure it was a valid point. Matt at this point said that he was continually amazed with my ability to push the envelope and had given up trying to match me with disturbing thought. G’s up, ‘Hoes down.

    Upon our exit, we took a right. This was not the way to go. 20 minutes later we realized this, mostly while standing outside our parked car in the middle of the road pissing in unison. Beer is not your friend on road trips.

    TURN around. Damn it, boys! Hurry up, it’s almost closing time!

    We finally got there. The doorman was 160 pounds of mixed teeth fearsomeness, taking our money and directing us to the bar for change. The boys took seats while I went to grab myself a beer and some Georges (Mr. Washington if you’re nasty). I joined the boys and started watching the fun. Surveying the scene, the bar is sketchy, dark, and small. The clients are roughneck old hicks at best. But the girls are decent. After a decent floor dance, an attractive black girl wanders over to Justin to invite him to the back room. Justin refuses. She leaves. I slap Justin. Justin had never been to a strip club. This boy was in need of healing, damn it! I told him that he was getting a private dance that night, and I was paying for it.

    In the meantime, Nato had jumped on the girl that Justin turned down, and disappeared into the back room. The three of us continued to enjoy the show, doing the dollar bill thing and talking about whatever. Matt was enjoying the best $3.00 Coke of his life. Justin was approached for a dance by a Britney Spears looking girl (very cute) and took that opportunity with my $20 and blessing.

    At some point I went to the can, which was as pleasant as can be imagined, I assure you. On the way back to the table, a girl abruptly broke off from the guys she was talking to so as to get in front of me. Pierced, tattooed, and looking good in that way that I like: Scary. I can attract them, apparently. Shy, as she was called, was anything but. We chilled for a bit then I went to get my private dance, which was excellent. Shy suggested that we bring friends up there and spread the word that the girls are decent (they are). She’s like: “I’m not saying it to have them bring all their money and stuff –“ I was like “Yeah, you’d rather work for young attractive college guys than sketch old hicks, I’ve no problem with that”. Her response was an “enthusiastic” affirmative. We talked a fair bit, and the subject of me working security there came up. It’s a good possibility that I might soon be a part-time bouncer up there. The drive would be a little much, but the experience should be worth something. We talked a bit after the club closed. We’ll see, I’m thinking about it.

    Well, after closing and much fun, it was back home for us. We didn’t make it all that far before being pulled over for 75 in a 45. Whoops. Amazingly enough, once the officer decided Matt was sober, there was much joking around and we were told to have a good nigh. Wow. So this night is finally over. Right? Wrong.

    Into the 24-hour Mobil convenience store we pull to get something to drink and hit the head. I buy some honey-roasted peanuts (Planters) and a Diet Lemon Twist Pepsi, Matt gets one of those big-ass KitKats. Break me off a piece of that, yo. So the disturbingly unattractive 40-something clerk (female, I think) starts talking to us, with the very disturbingly unattractive older guy talking to her joining in. “So what are you doing up here”, etc. They’re bored. Fair enough, it is 1:45am in Millinocket, ME. After a bit of chatting, it comes out that we were at La Casa. The clerk informs us that “We boys don’t need to be shy, the human body is a beautiful thing”. *shudder* We finally skate away, and on our way out, the trollish guy follows us. In a voice that sounds like those artificial voice-box things that people with their larynx removed use he says: “Hey, you boys want to buy some pot?”

    Nah, man, we’re good.

    His response: “Ok, you wouldn’t happen to have any pills you want to sell, would you?”

    Jesus. Shit, no, I didn’t bring any with me. Sorry bro.

    The only other car in the lot must have been his: A beat up BMW with a pit sitting in the driver’s seat looking unhappy.

    Just get in the fucking car and drive, guys.

    At this point the rest of the ride was fairly uneventful, and home we ended to do our respective sleep things. This morning Justin and I hit a poorly served but mediocre-cooked breakfast at Pat’s with Matty. Nato slept in, he didn’t miss much.

  9. After a day of double physics, economics and a study period, followed by a debate-team practice (I’m so cool….). needless to say I was pretty beat. This was compounded by the fact that I had been up all the previous night finisihng an assignment worth 25% of my course.

    The day turned even crappier when, come 6pm I finally got outside school to find I had lost all my money and so couldn’t get the bus home. It’s only a 20minute walk but after 6/7 hours of school stuff and with a bag full of textbooks it took me about 40minutes. I dragged myself through the front door and straight to the living room where I flicked on the telly and flopped on the sofa.

    The next thing I knoe there are loud noises coming from next-door. I think to myself, “For heaven’s sake, why are they having a party now? It’s the middle of the night!”. A few minutes later… more noise. I wake up, upstairs in my bed…”bizarre” I say. I walked over to my window to see what the noise was and watched, bleary eyed as two men bashed-in the back door. “oh.” is my reaction and I just stood there a little confused.

    Shouts of, “Oscar? Oscar! Are you okay? Where are you?” came from a voice I did not recognise and so grabbing the nearest sharp implement (a pencil in this case) I headed out onto the landing when much to my amazement two police officers wearing full evrything were standing there. One of them took me downstairs whilst the other re-assured my mother that I was okay. The officer asked me loads of questions about who I was and where I went to school and my date of birth and then whether anything was upsetting me. I answered all his questions satisfactorily and they left…. withthe back door all broken.

    I later pieced together the rest of the story. It turns out I must have fallen asleep on the sofa, managed to walk upstairs and get into bed without waking up. Then 2 hours later (8:30pm not the middle of the night) my Mum arrived home from her meeting, but it turned out she’d left her key in the house. Knocking on the door and ringing the bell elicited no reponse from me and neither did ringing the phone or shouting through the letterbox. My mum got kinda worried and rang the police, who decided to treat it as if I had committed suicide (hence the asking me if anything was upsetting me). They bashed the door in and lo and behold I was fine.

    Best alarm clock ever, trust me. After telling my friends this story whenever I then tried to go to sleep someone would ring me up and make police siren noises….. not funny after a week or so.

  10. Too many goofy things to list. Thats what my life is about. My Birthday is June 19th. Being a Gemini , I would be greatfull for a g-mail account so both of my twin selfs could swap more in depth stories with you. Anyway I have a nice email right now, so I can wait for another.(I could use a Happy B-Day wish though) Thanks a bunch! šŸ™‚

    Minnesota Dan

  11. Well I been in and out of Bands most of my life. It was 1983 and we was playing in Boston, MA Most of the time by the second set or third set of the gig we was stoned out of our minds and /or drunk( you know guys in rock bands never do that!!) well it was the 3 set of our gig and we was playing Traveling band by CCR, I was lead and vocals also. and we was all pretty reb up by that time.

    well we was all playing like mad made and I swung around hit the drums cymbal’s and base drum, then knock the drummer over and then tripping over the light/ Mic cables and fell in to the base player. The only one that say what was happening was the led singer / rhythm guitar play, who got out of the way laughing his ass off at the rest of us!! The only bad thing not really funny that happen that a light boom stunt fall into th first row and hit two of the table but no one was hurt, thank god!!! you can say we was a traveling band that not.

    I felt i want to hide under the stage after that but we took a break and got ever one onto there feet and put ever-thing back up and went on.

    its funny now but then NOT AT All. I thing of that night and we all have a good laugh about it. we kept in contact all these use. we all drank more then we usely do and was up there.

    true, life story of a night of a rock band.

    Dan.
    the falling lead gaiter player

  12. When I was in first grade I was in the bathroom at school, and this kid comes up to the urinal. He drops his pants to his ankles and proceeds to attempt to pee in the urinal. He failed. Instead, this kid pisses on himself. On his pants maybe? Maybe his arm? Nah fuck that, this kid went for the gold. This kid aims up, and pees right in his own face. Poor stupid six year old bastard.

    Plus I need a new decent email account because yahoo sucks and we’re cancelling aol.

    Plus its me…c’mon Kitta. I deserve some reward for my hard work and service to the forum.

  13. There were about thirty of us standing outside of a theater at about 3a.m. after a long, late movie. It was commonplace for us to stand outside of the theater after a movie. These weren’t your usual early twenties individuals. These were the sort of people that would drink maple syrup so they could throw it up and cause a chain reaction of vomiting. These were the sort of people that would steal your keys when you passed out at a party and drive your car onto your front lawn and leave you asleep at the wheel. These were the sort of people who would start a international hacker organization, recruit thousands of people worldwide, plaster their own website with racist propaganda and report themselves to the anti-defamation league. They did these things all in the name of fun. These weren’t normal people. They were straight up hooligans.
    I was standing in the middle of this rabble getting colder and colder. It was the dead of winter but we all still insisted on standing there trying to figure out what we were going to do knowing full well there was nothing to do at 3a.m. I leaned over to my girlfriend and whispered into her ear something that every girl longs to hear from her boyfriend. “Drive-by?”
    “Race you to the car,” she whispered back as she started to sprint through the empty parking lot toward my beat up old Chevy. My car was fondly referred to by my friends as the “animul” (Lumina backwards). The things we had done to that car would turn my mothers face white if she knew, luckily she wasn’t there.
    We arrived at the car and jumped in. As I started the engine, she pulled my semi-automatic paintball gun out from under my front seat. I jammed the car into reverse and chirped out of my parking spot. My friends looked up at me as I slammed the car into drive and they scattered. They knew what was about to happen. By the time I pulled up to where they had been standing just seconds before they were already jumping into their cars and replaying the scene that Trish and I had perform. I rolled up next to my friend Ricky and he dove in the back seat of the car. He pulled his paint-ball gun out from beneath his seat and we sped off into the direction of the other cars in the upper part of the parking lot.
    There were five other cars with us that night. They all had at least four people in them. Most of these people had paintball guns with them as well. We passed them traveling at about 75 mph. They were still climbing into the cars and as we passed Ricky and Trish sprayed their windshields with paintballs. When we had pulled about fifty yards past them I ripped my wheel around and the back end of my car spun out and we zoomed in the other direction, heading back to where they were sitting.
    While I spun my car around they started to pull out of their spots. They were already firing on each other from close range. They went in five different directions and started pulling maneuvers like I had. Dodging light posts, narrowly missing head-on collisions and spinning donuts in the parking lot, we toyed with death like it was a flame on a match. My car was hit with about 300 paintballs and we all decided we would meet at the local diner for coffee before we went in. Four of the cars pulled away and I remained behind and talked to my friend Code who was driving the sixth car.
    We weren’t paying attention as we talked because two security trucks pulled up to our cars. One pulled in front of our cars. The other pulled behind us. We couldn’t drive anywhere. My arm was still hanging out of the window with a gun in my hand. One of the guards walked up and took the gun out of my hand.
    “We’ve called the police,” he said. “They should be here any minute.” Then he walked away and waited about fifteen feet from our cars.
    “I’m screwed,” Code said with a terrified look on his face. Code was in the Air Force and wasn’t supposed to be so far from his base, let alone speeding around shooting paintballs at other cars at high speeds.
    When the police arrived the first officer took the gun from the security guard and walked over to me and handed it right back to me. He took our ID’s and the ID’s of everyone in the car. Then he walked over to one of seven cruisers that had surrounded us.
    About twenty minutes later he walked back to my car and gave our ID’s back. “You’re lucky your buddy is in the Air Force, cause I don’t really feel like doing the paperwork involved in arresting him. I don’t think the chief is going be too happy when he finds out what you are doing while you’re out with his daughter. ” He looked over at my girlfriend and handed her ID back. “Hi Trish,” he said. She smiled and waved at him as she smiled sheepishly.
    We got off scott free that night. Its just too bad it wasn’t so easy the next time I visited her house.

  14. My niece “Haru” is four and speaks only English.
    My ma, who is grandma of Haru, is almost 60 and speaks only Japanese.

    One day, suddenly my ma asked to me (in Japanese) “What does “too much” mean?”.
    I told her the meaning and asked the reason why she wanted to know it.
    She said “While I was putting on my lipstick, Haru said too much”.

  15. Sometime ago I decided that it’s boring to tell people that I work with computers all day long, it doesn’t make for interesting conversation piece, thus I decide to came up with a non-standard response when asked what I do for a living:

    Someone: So what do you do for a living?

    Me: I paint.

    Someone: Wow, that’s so cool. I never met anybody who is an working artist. So what kind of stuff do you paint?

    Me: You know that double yellow line in the middle of the road? That’s what I paint. I prevent cars from hitting each other on the roads. I save lives.

    Someone: Are you serious? You don’t look like a construction worker at all.

    Me: Hey! I prefer to be called a painter, not construction worker!!!

    Someone: You must be joking right?

    Me: Yeah, I am just a computer programmer.

  16. how do did you get a Gmail
    any seeing as i cant log on to bash.org i thought i mgiht keep it alive by posting somthing from it

    docsigma2000: jesus christ man
    docsigma2000: my son is sooooooo dead
    c8info: Why?
    docsigma2000: hes been looking at internet web sites in fucking EUROPE
    docsigma2000: HE IS SURFING LONG DISTANCE
    docsigma2000: our fucking phone bill is gonna be nuts
    c8info: Ooh, this is bad. Surfing long distance adds an extra $69.99 to your bill per hour.
    docsigma2000: …!!!!!! FUCK FUCK FUCK
    docsigma2000: is there some plan we can sign up for???
    docsigma2000: cuz theres some cool stuff in europe, but i dun wanna pauy that much
    c8info: Sorry, no. There is no plan. you’ll have to live with it.
    docsigma2000: o well, i ccan live without europe intenet sites.
    docsigma2000: but till i figure out how to block it hes sooooo dead
    c8info: By the way, I’m from Europe, your chatting long distance.
    ** docsigma2000 has quit (Connection reset by peer)

  17. My ex-girlfriend. Scary at the time, hilarious now.

    To see she was slightly mad would be to insult those sweet 80 year olds who are starting to turn senile.

    The reason we broke up? Well, I started to see the light when she starting using a coathanger to see whether my mother was the person causing the ‘ghostly disturbances’ in the house. And then asked me to do it.
    She then, a couple of days later, told me she was going to have me exorcised due to me being possessed by my mother’s spirit, and my mum was trying to push her down the stairs, drown her in the shower, etc., because she didn’t like her.
    Whether you believe in this or not, my mother is still alive.

    Cut to a month after we break up, and I decide I really need to go and have a really, really good night out. Book myself into the beautiful, 5* Rennaissance Chancery Court hotel in London, fabulous room, amazing service, etc etc. Call up two of my good friends and start drinking at approximately 2 in the afternoon. Don’t stop until 3 in the morning. Fell out of the taxi, can’t remember getting into the hotel. What I do remember is that because I was staying on a ‘special’ floor, I had to put my key in the slot in the lift. I kept missing. (Very difficult having good motor skills when very, very drunk). I decide, in a fit of pique, to walk up the stairs instead. Except I walk up too many flights. I walk down. Too many flights. Back up. Too many flights. And down. Again up, again down. Not being able to figure out where my floor is. And so, I get back into the lift.

    Seven hours later I wake up in bed. My knee is killing me, and I lower the sheets to discover a fairly sizeable wound. My clothes are hung up, and all the scatter cushions that were spread on my bed are neatly store in a bedside cabinet. Most disturbingly of all, there is a half-empty bottle of body lotion to my right-hand side on the table. …….

    I later discover that I had indeed given up on finding my room and made myself comfortable in the lift, and promptly fell asleep. The staff were, unsurprisingly, none too happy with this and woke me up after several attempts, taking me to my room, and opened the door using my key. They left me just inside my room, and I got undressed, hanging my clothes up neatly (it transpires I do this in hotels all the time when I’m drunk, most recently at my oldest brother’s wedding), and applied body lotion to the wound on my knee, which was caused by my falling out of the taxi, thinking ‘this will help with the clotting process!’. (Perfectly infallible drunken logic, and I’m so pleased I didn’t realise how painful it would have been putting that on a gash.) I am now not welcome at the Rennaissance Chancery Court hotel in London.

    A few months after we broke up, I get an SMS from her wishing me a happy Christmas. I end one back saying, ‘I thought I said I didn’t ever want to hear from you again’. To which she replies ‘You’re still bitter about us breaking up, all I wanted to do was say something nice!’. Aggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

    Addendum – I am now happily in a relationship with someone I am quite sure is sane)

  18. Ok Kitta, This one happened to my best friend Trey…

    One day when we were about 21 he was out swimming in Lake Erie with our friend John. They were goofing around throwing seaweed and crap at each other. Trey dives under the surface of the water to avoid the projectiles. John had a devious plan — He had found an old bloated dead catfish floating by and waiting until Trey surfaced to release his dead-fish-of-mass-disgusting upon Trey. Trey comes up, John throws and WHAM!! Dead catfish smacks Trey across the top of his head. Well, unfortunately for Trey the fish was boney and pointy, not to mention rotting. Trey gets fish bones and spines stuck in his head. He and John swim back to shore and spend a while pulling bones out of Trey’s bleeding head.

    A few weeks later everyone notices Trey’s cats are OBSESSED with Trey’s hair. They wont leave him alone. They follow him around the house, and constantly paw and bite at his hair. Trey is all like “What the hell? Why wont they leave my head alone? Stop biting my head!” “Stop it cats, stop it!!”

    This goes on for a few days. Finally, Trey can’t take it anymore and he investigates his head with a hand-mirror in the bathroom. Apparently, he and John hadn’t done such a good job at the fish spine removal this first time. Some of the spines were like really tiny splinters and had just started to work themselves out of his skull. His cats were going mad from the smell of dead fish coming from his head and were certain he was hiding it in his hair.

    We no longer throw fish at each other.

  19. Are you kidding me?

    Around 2pm, my officemate asked me if I could acompany her to the nearby SM to pay her cell phone bill. I said okay since everybody’s kinda tired to work and my boss won’t mind anyway.

    So when we get to Globe, the place was packed with people. Since I have no patience for standing so long, i scoured for a seat. I let my friend do her business.

    I tried looking for a seat, but seemingly with no avail.

    ‘What the eff is wrong with these people,’ I said to myself.

    Indeed, everyone was happily sitting on the aisle seat. Did anyone care that a stupid bored girl like me doesn’t want to go pass their knees to get a decent seat? No, of course not.

    I walked on.

    AHA! A SEAT! Can you believe it?! An empty seat beside this scrawny middle aged guy.

    Not wanting to disturb his serene demeanour (he had this I-am-going-to-achieve-nirvana-do-not-speak-one-word look), I sat and patiently waited for my friend.

    Just as I was about to sink into the comfort of my seat, I heard a bungisngis.

    Then more snigger. It was a girly high pitched tone.

    WHO CLD BE SNIGGERING BEHIND MY BACK?

    I wanted to turn around and poke the person with my mascara wand, but because of society’s norms and freedom (no mental institute for me), I decided to let it go. Let it go, let it go.

    And she sniggered again.

    I listened hard. Oh oh!! She started to speak.

    “Mommy mommy…” the sniggerer said in an amazingly annoying voice for someone who says ‘mommy mommy’. “tignan mo sya!” she said.

    I imagine, if I had a face behind my head, her fat fingers must be pointing directly in between my eyes.

    BITCH. What about me, speak!

    And she did.

    “Katabi nya si daddy,” she chirped very matter-of-factly, as if her mother must be blind, her dad has never sat with anyone else on a public place, and I chose, of all the NUMEROUS empty seats, to sit with her nirvana dad. Oh yeah little girl, I don’t think I had a bloody choice! That was the only seat!

    Dad did not stir.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sinister finger advancing towards me!!!!!!

    POKE!

    Everyone on the Globe service shop gasped!! She reached for her father’s shoulder, and in one poke of hers, broke the enlightenment he was trying to achieve.

    “Yes?” the dad said gently, apparently in mock patience. I believe, he is deeply regretting having sex that fruitful 6 years or so ago. “WHY!!! WHY DID I EJACULATE!” he must be thinking.

    For that shrieky voice is more than anyone can bear.

    She poked him again. And again.

    “Dyan sya sayo tumabi daddy!” she exclaimed,

    “Hmmm…” said the ever-patient father.

    She kept repeating herself for like 1224 times. I had the urge to whack her but this is a child. i shall forgive.:)

    The mother spoke:

    “Yeah, pretty girl sitting with daddy! Maganda sya diba??”

    Ahhh, I smiled. This is better! ALTHOUGH! I didn’t CHOOSE to sit beside her scrawny husband. There were no more seats!

    Just as I was grinning in self-delight, the mother asked the little girl : “She pretty or not?”

    I listened.

    I listened hard.

    No response. I can imagine her shaking her stupid head like it’s really cute and everyone loves her.

    SCREW YOU! I am pretty ok!!
    Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t find the back of my head very captivating. If so, I forgive her young ignorance.

    Like mother, like daughter. The mother is not as nice as I assumed!

    “Pretty what,” she said loudly enough for the place to hear (and also confirming that the girl said I am not pretty). “I ask you girl, mummy pretty or she pretty?”
    DUH!!!

    “YOU PRETTIER!” came the swift reply.

    (Author’s note: This part onwards is fiction)

    I could STAND IT NO LONGER! I stood up, turned around, and got even more furious! For the mum is fugly!

    I stood up slapped the mum twice and pinched the kid thrice.
    I knocked off the tulalang daddy.

    “That will teach you,” I said vehemently. “To never allow your children to lie again.”
    I walked out of the store feeling oh so triumphant…

    Note: 3 slices of Yellow cab pizza later, I was okayÜ

    Talk about getting pissed off:
    I think that when I get angry, I’m a very scary person. I am capable of deep cruelty. If you hurt me, I will, stopping at no expense, make sure you suffer the same trauma – or more.

    After I get rid of my anger, I will be thoroughly regretful and go all-nice again. In other words, I have very fluctuating mood swings.

    When people did me wrong, I SHALL CONSIDER THE GOOD THEY DID FOR ME AND FORGIVE THEM

    I.e.: Mum makes me very angry. I feel like scolding mum. Think: Mum had to use her mouth to suck out my mucus for me when I had flu when I was a baby. Yuck gross. So Aina shall forgive mum.
    HAhaha kidding.

    But I shall, I shall, I shall.

    Now, propaganda is a very dangerous tool.

    It takes A LOT OF SELF-CONTROL not to abuse it, believe me. Whenever I am angry with a person, I just feel like humiliating him/her on my blog.

    THAT IS NOT RIGHT! Media power is not meant to be abused this way.

    I believe, if I try hard enough, I can surely do it. I can curb my anger.

    I couldn’t play Nokia’s snake at first, and now I can complete the game. I did badly for my photoshop module in school before, and now my lecturer can kiss my ass. I couldn’t whistle, I couldn’t cycle, I couldn’t write well etc etc.

    If I try hard enough, I can do ANYTHING. Except a few things, eg growing taller or …….

    She does not deserve me hurting her. She is merely insecure. I am magnanimous. I shall be nice, even if she isn’t. I don’t think she is more beautiful or intelligent. It’s only herself who thinks so. Why bother?

    Meanwhile, I shall improve my tenses. Do I really get them wrong all the time? How come microsoft word doesn’t tell me?!

  20. Well my humerous stor starts at a party. My special lady friend and i were on the couch all snuggled and she sees the time and has to go. So i wal her to her car and we talk for some time. Then the subject of my inability to to get laid for ten months comes up. She then takes it apon herself to end this streak. She moves in and kisses my neck. Me obliviuse to what has just happened does nothing and i bew the one chance to end my sexless streak.

  21. Snyke Dude good luck but let me tell ya something bro. I totally know how you feel believe me. but what you’re doing ain’t healthy bro. As wonderful and as great as this girl is don’t go overboard and don’t put her on a pedestal that just seperates you from her. Girls are people. just talk to them. you are too concerned with what will happen is she doesn’t like you. I’m can tell you with 100% you will not die, the sun will still come up. best of all if she likes you or not it’s a HUGE weight of your chest. just keep it real and take it easy. don’t overwhelm her with your affections. try meeting new people, talk to girls go on dates and find out what Snyke likes before you commit. ya dig? Sorry this isn’t funny or anything, but when I see a bro in distress I gotta speak up. Good luck Snyke. keep it real.

  22. Hey Kitta,

    How you doin? Busy I guess, anyhoos here’s my story.

    I was camping with a whole bunch of mates one summer, the camp site had these big green army type tents… Anyhow one morning my mate and me got up early one morning and were chatting away when I noticed the keys in the ignition of one the other campers cars… (light bulb!!!) My mate said “let’s take the car door key off the key ring and leave the rest in the car and make him think he’s locked them all in there!”

    But I had spotted something else… (yet another, much brighter light bulb!!!)
    There was one GLORIOUSLY empty tent at the end of the field… Yes yes… So we woke up some other guys and proceeded to remove the ground sheet from the tent, and roll the volkswagon polo right on in there, snug as a bug in this empty tent and toggled the front flaps shut!

    It took “Tim” THREE WHOLE HOURS to work out his car was missing! lol… And a further 15 minutes to find it!

    And yes yes… I have photos to prove it… šŸ™‚

  23. Trip to Prague:
    This year, being the last year in college, we decided we’d make a long trip to Prague. Since we’re in switzerland that’s really far away (for european standards anyway). We had a sleeping car, and would arrive at about 10 am at the central railway station.
    At about 01:00 am I was woken up by a colleaque of mine (Hussain) who is Iraqi, but lives in switzerland as a refugee for about 20 years: the problem is that we had to cross the frontier to Austria.
    Hussain had indeed checked that he doesn’t need a visa to get into Czech Republic, and also checked for visa to cross germany, what he had actually forgotten was that we would pass the austrian frontier…
    Since I’m the only one in my class that speaks decently german, I had to go with Hussain to the office to check the stuff.
    The officer told us that Hussain couldn’t enter Austria, and that he would have to leave us there.
    After some telephone calls and a really long discussion I convinced the officer to let him continue the trip… with one condition: Hussain was not allowed to leave the compartment and a police officer (quite a beafy man) would have to guard his door and reassure that he didn’t leave it.

    Once in Prague we had another problem: they had let us continue only if we provided a valid visa on the way back.
    So one morning we Andrea (italian), Hussain (iraqi) and I (german) went to the consulate. After about 2 hours waiting in line, we could speak to some really annoyed secretary, that for havens sake didn’t believe us that we were from a college class from switzerland (after all we hadn’t any swiss representant).
    To all this crap came another issue: when we had crossed the frontier between Austria and Czech Republic, they hadn’t stamped his passport, so officially he wasn’t even in Prague…

    To cut a long story short: we had to come back the next morning with one of the responsible teachers that could prove that we actually were a college-class (by faxing hussains certificate from last year šŸ™‚ ) and that hussain WAS in Prague…

    The best thing in the whole story was Hussains panicked face everytime another problem was found šŸ™‚ but at the end we all returned from that trip, and nobody got arrested.

    I’d never laughed so much in my entire live šŸ˜€

  24. This JUST happened.

    I’m going to the Lollapaloza concert tomorrow. I decided I need a richeous haircut for the show. I decide on a mowhawk. I’m thinking that I’ll get a mowhawk, go to the show, and then shave it off after the show. I can’t go to work with a mowhawk, and the shaved head thing is acceptable now.

    I call my friend and say, “YOU READY!!” He says “ready for what?”
    me >”Lollapaloza tomorrow!!??”
    him>”Ummm, that’s JULY 18th” not june.

    I’m sitting here with a fucking mowhawk, with major gel standing it straight up.

    I’m such a Lollapa-loser.

    Cheers.
    ddewy.

  25. A study at Latrobe University has shown that the kind of male face that a woman finds attractive can differ, depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle.
    For instance, if she is ovulating she is attracted to men with rugged
    and masculine features.
    If she is menstruating, she prefers a man with scissors shoved
    in his temple and a cricket bat jammed down his throat while he is on
    fire.

    Amen šŸ˜‰

  26. I want a gmail coz they said gmail doesn’t include annoying taglines when you send e-mails… But that’s because they still aren’t offering it to the general public on the web. What if they start putting taglines on your e-mail messages when they start offering it to everyone? That’d be sad.

  27. I was taking an online quiz when it asked for the sex of the person.
    The answers were, “Male;Female;Not sure;and Yes, please.”
    ~Bekah~

  28. Pingback: mathibus.com

  29. I’ve mentioned this before several times but I think it’s time I make it official by making it Kittafied ( the act of posting something ala Kitta). I think all those who have a Gmail account during its Beta Testing Phase should be given a Gmail Beta Tester icon to display on their site and or lapel. I nominate Jon Hicks to create the mutha and think he better make with it pretty quickish.

  30. please help me to get few Gmail invites
    PLEASE HELP ME PLEASE
    THanks
    Saya
    PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

    PLEASE PLEASE

  31. Sorry i have nothing to give you
    Beaucse iam poor and new user
    But please help me to get few Gmail invites

    BE FRIENDS AND SOME DAY something good will back to
    you
    PLEASE HELP ME PLEASE
    I WILL give you my heart
    THanks
    LOve with love
    PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

    PLEASE PLEASE

  32. Okay, sure a gmail invitation would be nice, but regardless, I just wanted to comment that I looked at your posted pics, and you are a very attractive woman! Seriously, I am not trying to butter you up for a gmail, I just wanted to say that. Thanks, that’s my bit.

    J

  33. Britney sure turned into trailer trash after the baby. I miss the old cute Britney with the skirt! šŸ™‚

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