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Thread ID: 70036	2006-06-20 01:52:00	OT : How to get rid of petrol/diesel stain on jacket?	sarel (2490)	PC World Chat

Post ID	Timestamp	Content	User
464671	2006-06-21 06:14:00	Next thrilling instalment: How to remove butter stains from an Yves St Laurent jacket? :groan: Exactly what I was thinking. :lol: Out of the frying pan and into the fire. :D	FoxyMX (5)
464672	2006-06-21 06:14:00	Mr . Sarel: Perhaps I could be of some kind of assistance in the case to which youse have referred . My name is not important, but I can be reached in Chicago if youse are so inclined to answer my letter to youse . For a small remuneration, I shall arrive in your neighborhood with a few of my friends, see, and we can stage a kinda "accident" that will unfortunately include the total destruction of the jacket in question . "Unfortunately" is the operative word here . Everything will appear to be an accident even to your local authorities . Here's the plan: Place said jacket in the vehicle of your choice . Park said vehicle in a convenient yet out of common-sigt area . Go to sleep . In the morning all will have been taken care of . Cordially, Big Nick and Little Tony Enterprises PS, We know where you live!	SurferJoe46 (51)
464673	2006-06-21 08:47:00	Get Mrs . Sarel a job at a diesel truck stop as a tire changer or even a lubrication tech . . I bet that in short time she wil wear the jacket with no notice of any diesel smell at all . Now Joe, that's a brilliant idea - how to sell it to her may be a problem . Nothing short of wearing it yourself in the back yard and setting fire to it will ease the pain and suffering that you will now endure on a long term basis . The third degree burns you may suffer will be nothing compared to the alternative, long lasting outcome . Yves St Laurent - ye gods . Perhaps apply for a position as a street cleaner in Iraq . May be safer . Perhaps otherwise just seek a position now as a castrato in a male boys "choir? At last somebody that UNDERSTAND my delicate position - Goddie, I considered Iraq myself . Perhaps Superman might like to give butter a try? Done that - after Googling - I think you've got your Chemistry messed up a bit tehre my dear Sir, because any female garment got forces no male has ever seen or known about . Laura, you're enjoying this a lot, aren't you? (How's the grovelling going, sarel? And do you have a dry cleaner's opinion yet? Or are you just going to get the chequebook out?) As a matter of fact the Drycleaner lady was very sympathetic with my plight and promised to see whether she can actually get it out . Did not guarantee anything though . I like the idea of a label transplant - excellent, quite innovative - but man, can you imagine the effect should She find out I tried to bllsht her - unimaginable pain and suffering, but perhaps I will be blessed and die . Noooooo Laura, the fricken thing will be drycleaned AND she will get another set (nooooooooo, not just a jacket, the top and the new trousers) because "didn't I know this jacket was part of a suit of some kind?" . I've also been told when this will happen (this Saturday, apparently at some Boutiques or something) so I called the bank manager today but the bstrd don't want to listen, he just kept on laughing (!@#$%^&) . Sigh At least there is progress in sight and the pout is starting to relax but I still need shades to protect me from the eyes . Agh Joe, if you think your Friend Tony etc is scary you haven't met Mrs sarel my dear friend - they based movies called Scream 1, 2 and 3 on her personality, she has a specially designed luxury seat reserved next to the Devil for when he needs innovative help . Quite a few Special Forces hit squads had no interest in a contract because their roads crossed previously with me dear wife . No, grovelling is the proper thing to do, but my clothes are getting worn through (on the front) from all the grovelling over the past years and if I have to lick another shoe and kiss another toe I'm going to puke but I'll be brave and do it . If you guys are interested I'll keep you guys updated and perhaps post a few piccies showing all my terrible wounds . sarel	sarel (2490)
464674	2006-06-21 12:19:00	This thread could rival the infamous fridge one yet? Keep up the good work Sarel, we males are with you in spirit. Please keep us posted.	godfather (25)
464675	2006-06-21 14:46:00	As for the suggestion that I'm enjoying this..... I couldn't possibly comment.	Laura (43)
464676	2006-06-21 20:38:00	There is actually more to the story than all the above, but I don't want to bore you guys with my soulless life - suffice to say it involves me (gasp) who is not the world's best handyman (as you may have gathered by now), a lean-to I've been building and the current windy weather. Just say if you want a bit more merriment and entertainment - and Laura, you'll enjoy this even more. sarel	sarel (2490)
464677	2006-06-22 02:11:00	Oh...Yes! Please do tell the ode of married life...as I have fewer year under my belt than you...at least on my current marriage (first wife deceased in '92...no fault of mine might I say). I like the older boys to tell us young'uns the travails and pitfalls to which we are merrily spiraling out of control. Any insights proffered by those of advanced married-to-women years will be gratefully accepted. I particularly want to have the conclusion to this chapter fully disclosed. In other words.....what have I to expect?	SurferJoe46 (51)
464678	2006-06-22 02:32:00	Hmmm A lean-to plus wind could be a disaster-prone combination... So bring it on then. I have my hanky ready.	Laura (43)
464679	2006-06-22 06:18:00	Agh Joe, if you think your Friend Tony etc is scary you haven't met Mrs sarel my dear friend - they based movies called Scream 1, 2 and 3 on her personality, she has a specially designed luxury seat reserved next to the Devil for when he needs innovative help. Quite a few Special Forces hit squads had no interest in a contract because their roads crossed previously with me dear wife. You need protection Sarel? just PM the address and I'll send Mrs T around. She is the reason the Devil needs innovative help, a one-woman hit squad, Dirty Harry and various "Die Hard" characters all rolled into one fiery "make my day" killer. Bush and Blair wanted her to go deal to Iraq & Iran but she turned them down.....said it wasn't a challenge. The only reason I am still alive is because I know where all the bodies are buried, and, of course, she loves me. Cheers Billy 8-{) :xmouth:	Billy T (70)
464680	2006-06-22 08:41:00	Well, it all started a few weeks ago, Mrs sarel wanted me to "cover this wasted space outside" with a see-through roof, and do a bit of paving. With me having some sort of phobia - fear of heights - I thought it would be a bit of a challenge, even more so seeing that I'm not really known as a good chippie. Had my friend - a woodworking teacher - design the "roof"-area, but unfortunately the bstard did not include the various sizes and distances between the various bits of timber he has draughted so nicely. No worry, she'll be right. Started off with a bang, took me drill, put the one 4 x 2 against the one wall of the house and started drilling away - I mean I have to anchor it somewhere. Bloody hell, this was going nicely - zzzzzt - and the bolt or whatever you call it goes in like butter. I've just finished fastening the one long piece of 2 x 4 this way when Mrs sarel said "hey you rshle, I smell gas (not using the same words, but meaning precisely that)" I reluctantly entered her lair, and at first said "no I smell nothing my love" while I was actually starting to see stars from dizziness, etc. She insisted quite strongly - using a bit more forceful methods - that she smells gas. I said OK, went outside to close the gas valve, turned it the wrong way and it snapped. Line stayed open. Mrs sarel kept smelling gas. Something had to be done. I bravely ventured outside, and removed my pride and joy, the 2 x 4 so lovingly fastened, and here I stood, sniffing at every hole I drilled previously. Lo and behold - there is this strong psssssssssssssssss sound at one of them, while another one got some or other drip-drip sound. Sooooooooo, at 9 in the evening, I tried getting a gasfitter - what a joke. No-one answering a phone, the one or two that answered said "yeah, we can do it in about 2 years". Bggers. Bundled Mrs sarel into the car, wanting to have her sleep over at the friends, only to discover that they're gone - off to Welly for the weekend. Had to book Mrs sarel into a motel - and there are no cheap motels in this part of the world. Got hold of a nice young gasfitter the next morning, told him the story - he laughed a bit and said he'll see me that night. Fortunately he ran a bit early, and came at noon. Had this little penlike sniffer and this went "tweet" like crazy near a few of my holes. Asked me what to do, I said fix the damn thing. Tried to isolate the valve - no dice. Had to use some or other tool - and I could not see that well - to isolate the line, and of course he had to fix the valve first. That being done, he ripped out the timber and ceilings - bgger me, frikkin big holes - and when he saw what happened, he started laughing. Had the cheek to say to me "Mr sarel , you are the unluckiest bsrd alive in NZ today". Apparently the gas line, that I did not see running along one wall and then disappearing into the wall where I drilled, was installed far enough from where I worked that I would have missed the damn pipe but at this one spot it had to be bent around a steel girder and there you are - I drilled straight through the pipe - both sides. He fiddled around and after a while said all done - but I'm not fixing the ceilings and timber, sorry. And "you have a water leak down there as well". Apparently I missed a water pipe disappearing into the wall as well. Had to rip more timber, and luckily I could fix the leaks (yeah, straight through). So here I sat, an invoice for $800 for gasfitting, and countless other $$$ for repairs. So I went to AMI and told the young lady there my story. When she stopped laughing, she had to "check with the boss" and you could hear the bstrds laugh like maniacs back there. So when I asked again if they cover stupidity, they said "yes we do sir, it was an accident", but I have to get the chippie myself. A week later they got pssd off at me complaining that no chippies being available and sent one themselves. That being fixed, I could go on happily erecting my lean-to. Back the 2 x4's went, and the other pieces (don't ask me the names of all the different parts - just frikkin timber to me). Lalalalalalalaa. Going quite nicely. Finished the structure and it's beautiful, three fencing poles into holes that big that the friend thought I tried to stabilise NZ (each hole took 3 bags of easycrete or whatever). Just nice. Started on the roof. Now with my phobia I had to work slowly, carefully and with great empathy. Measured out corners like a professional, cut through the corrugated plasticcie stuff easily - lalalalalalaaaaa - until darkness befell me after just one and a half lengths. Thought - hmmm - just two nails to keep this bit in place and she'll be right. Then the frikkin car and diesel problem struck. After coming back from the car, the wife said she's hearing these funny creaking noises coming from my beautiful masterpiece. Wind started to pick up and I went out to check. Saw the nails were long gone, that piece of plastic (the long one) plus the pile of other plastic that were there on the ground gone as well. Saw the piece that I completed starting to rise - slowly - but with part of my structure connected to it. Called for help, the son (just arrived) ran out, and bumped into my paving stones and broke his leg, while I tried to grab the structure and keep it there. No dice. With a sob I released it, just as the wind gust died down - back came the structure, right through the window of Mrs sarel 's lair. By then she was talking in languages - quite biblical I might add - and she couldn't help, she's got two crook knees. Dropped everything, took the son to ED, the bstrds laughed again and I came back to save what could be saved. Nothing left. In my absence another wind gust came around and took the rest. Afterwards we worked it out that I forgot to nail or screw one set of timber onto the next level, and although I had these mighty anchoring pieces, they were of no use because part of the structure was loose. I also managed to get a big part of the structure back - in pieces of course - from the street about 5 houses down, after some boy racers used it as target practice for a while. Total cost - direct costs about $700 (excluding the insurance claim), indirect costs = broken leg, etc. Got the new pieces of timber and roofing and is getting there for the second time but somehow Mrs sarel do not trust me and she's asked my friend (yes, the one with the diesel) to supervise. The shame oh the shame. Soooooooooo, counting this cost, plus motel costs plus medical costs plus the cost for a new Yves whatever suit - no wonder the bank manager started to laugh or cry rather funny. Now all of you would probably want to know how I handle a woman like Mrs sarel . The answer is easy boys - and you can take heart : 1. when she's right she's right, and when she's wrong she's also right. 2. It's always your fault. 3. You're an rshl. Once you realise and ACCEPT these pieces of wisdom you will have no more sht - except now and then like above of course. Over the years one start to get used to the pain and blood, and it is not really that bad, it only hurts when you laugh or shower. And I am the BOSS of this house and I got her permission to say so!!!!!!! Before I forget, I also tried to fix her car about six months ago (or was that longer - hmmmm - no the bones have healed so it is a bit longer) but that's another story. sarel	sarel (2490)
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