This thread is a stupendously egregious assault upon the vernacular terminology of the modern lay-scientist. Prithee, I beg suggest that once more we conjoin our deepest emotive thoughts, gaze forthwith to the future and speaketh with one voice: "bollocks to the bollocks!"

Methinks someone forgot the decimel at 18.3%

What an absolute bit*h! There's no need for that! Bloody cowardice to wait until you go on fieldwork before she comes in; that is bang out of order!

OH NO! The machine that supplies my caffeine IV line has broken - I CAN FEEL WITHDRAWL SYMPTOMS!! AAAARRRRRGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

"When the going gets tough, the tough run away and cry."

Seems like wine is rapidly becoming part of my staple diet

I'm working still. No weekeknd for me again.

"Mon Dieu!" said the froggy Frenchman.

Food always gets people. No-one can resist a free lunch!

Baz, the Feisty Urban Pirate Ferret, was feeling mildly distressed. Having braved the depths of the North Atlantic, ploughed through torrential monsoons in the Indian Ocean and sailed serenely through the glittering Pacific, all in the vain search for the elemental Ytterbium Pearl Doughnut, he now found himself in a quandry. He was on the menu. Foolishly, he had landed in Battersea, that den of vice and iniquity and, following a bout of drinking Gnat's Piss ale and his favourite Ed-Ake Navy Rum in a random tavern staffed by buxom wenches called George, he had been set upon by rogues as he left. French rougues. Hungry French rogues.

Maybe Baz could be a pirate, who captured the mouth breather Trout, sold him to slavery (to Evil Fuzzy - who was going to have him for tea) and then the trout escaped and went on to world domination?

Evil Fuzzy Part II will follow shortly...
How about we incorporate the tales of Baz the Feisty Urban Ferret?

He had tried to save Owner from it's clutches by walking all over the "kaybord" while they were using it, to no avail. The damn thing didn't even scratch your belly! Because of this THING, Owner had fallen to the Demons and become - Demon Owner. Now he would have his revenge. He slunk onto the table, more mud - never mind - still it had not seen him...
When he was in range he leapt into the air, a magnificent somersault, landing adjacent this evil; raised his tail and pee'd for all he was worth! Sparks erupted from the Demon! He achieved total surprise had scored a fatal blow! A crash sounded from upstairs; feet thundered on the floor - the guards are coming! Noiselessly he made his escape, slipping through the Royal catflap. No-one had seen him, they would never suspect...

"I will have my revenge!" thought Evil Fuzzy. "These perfidious pests, who dare assume their authority exeeds mine, will be brought down." He settled down on the dustbin lid, front paws tucked under his belly for warmth, his bedraggled fur slowly drying; contemplating his next move. By the crack of dawn he had his plan. Moving stealthily, hugging shadow and mist, he creapt toward his palace, usurped by the Demon Owner. "Aha" he thought, "content with soaking me, the fool has left the window open". With a (distinct) lack of grace and leaving a trail of muddy footprints sliding down the crystal clear window, Evil Fuzzy crept through the open window. He landed softly, mud oozing into the expensive deep-pile carpet. His objective in sight: the Demon Owner's "Cumpoota"; some mystical tool obviously important to the Demon cause.