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This is a question Anonymous

One of the B3ta team danced on stage at the Brixton Academy dressed as an enormous white rabbit, and lived to tell the tale. Confess the stuff – good or bad - you've done anonymously.

(, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 12:10)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

anonymous shitter
one drunken night, i confessed to an abomination. i told my housemate that the year previous, at download festival, i, being of unsound mind and colon, and being encamped some half mile from the toilet block from hell, awoke with a powerful need to shit, and snuck into my mates tent on the grounds it had headroom and was empty, to shit in a plastic bag. i then binned it.

the following year, at sonisphere festival, my housemate beckoned me over, and in a conspiratorial tone said 'pete, i've done something.. something horrible'

as it transpired he'd been inspired by my shitting prowess, and in a similar fashion, woken with a persistent turtle's head, and unleashed a few fathoms of knotty arse-rope inot a carrier bag. only he'd thenn left it, knotted in his tent all day in the heat. upon returning, he found the bag somewhat inflated, and decided for reasons we may never know, to toss it into the open doorway of a nearby tent, which was at the time unoccupied.
i can only imagine, having lived ith this guy as a housemate for several years, the horror that one of his turds in a warm bag would cause if someone say, crawled drunken into their tent and popped the bag.

i can also, despite having as mentioned knwon this man for some time, hardly comprehend the level of laziness required for this entire act in light of the fact we were camped a mere twenty metres from the toilet, and ten metres from the bins. i can only conclude despite his protestations of inocence, that he gets some kind of pervy kick out of his poop-sharing antics.
(, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 11:43, 4 replies)
Pearoast
While I live in the arse end of Cheshire now (it's all shit except for Spike, who is awesome, etc), I'm actually from a shithole town called Skelmersdale, no doubt some of you will have heard of it. It's a very easy place to get round, as long as you're looking for a landmark, as it's all very well signposted. Signs point to Asda, the Concourse, the Swimming Pool, etc etc. It's the final one that this story refers to.

When we were younger, the sign saying "Swimming Pool -" was often changed a little, so it would say "Swim in Poo -", which is quite clearly genius. The sign would be fixed every month or so, and would usually last around 3-4 months before being changed again. Sadly, this stopped occuring after a while, maybe the vandals decided there was more fun activities, such as drinking on street corners, or fighting.

Earlier this year, a pretty pissed Agnostic is travelling on the bus back to his friends house, when he discovers he'll have to walk the final mile home. Unimpressed, and unable to call for a lift (due to dead phone), I started to walk. I had barely gone 5 minutes from the bus, when I noticed the old sign standing proud at the side of the road. I was rather disappointed to discover it was also still spelt correctly, just not funny!

So what did I do? Keys out of pocket, start scratching away the letters. Cars pass by, undaunted I continue.

Barely 5 minutes went by before I stood back to proudly observe my creation, and laugh at the sign, inviting you to "Swim in Po -".

Fuck, went too far.
(, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 11:31, 1 reply)
I once totally punched this random in the face because he looked like a div.
Aren't I a bastard? I'm totally unrepentent, though, 'cos I just don't care what people think of me because I really am that cool and hard and I just do what I want because I've just got to be me and I don't care because I just don't care.

I'm also really quite zany. Also whacky. And mad - 100% LOOONY!!!! That's me!
(, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 11:14, 7 replies)
This.


I may or may not have been involved with the building of the pictured snow sculpture on a roundabout in Basingstoke (for there are many), late one night last week.

It was the greatest achievment of my life.

I'm 35. : /
(, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 1:35, 13 replies)
I did
;|!3b~;5*v&o
(, Wed 20 Jan 2010, 1:24, Reply)
We had a French friend who used to knock about with our wee clan many years back
Many a happy and spazzed out BBQ was had at weekends where we'd all bring meat, beer, deserts or snacks. Chaps like myself would be satisfied having many several beers but others would indulge in a phamaceutical adventure only rivalled by shamen - Alain fell in to the latter camp, however, on the night in question was abstaining due to a day out planned for the next day. That evening we'd drunk & eaten our fill and Alain was nose down in a bowl of a desert which I'd bought but mischiveously added a special ingredient. The greedy fucker troughed the lot down and a short while later was smashed out of his gourd, hugging every one there and dancing like a loon.

After he'd come down and zonked out we popped him on the sofa confident that the day out with his bird was a sure fire washout. True to our prediction he surfaced about 3pm looking like he belonged in Resident Evil, "Alright Alain?" chirped a knowing soul. "Merde!" he replied in washed out tones "Fucking MDMA or shit in that Angel Delight".

I shrugged in a faux Gallic gesture and quoth "Ah, non. E Mousse."
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 22:15, 3 replies)
Pay and Display
Whenever I return to my car when I've parked at a Pay and Display car park and find I still have a couple of hours left on the ticket I go and stick it to the machine so somebody else can find it and then not have to buy a ticket. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to think this anonymous act may have saved someone a couple of quid and brightened their day a bit.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 21:53, 11 replies)
The guns, the police and me
May be a 'roast, can't remember...

Some years ago I found myself the designated driver on New Year's Eve, the only sober guest at an impromptu post-pub house party.

The bladdered host, whom nobody present had met before (his loner status becomes significant later) suddenly decided to show us his gun collection. He had every type of firearm I'd ever seen, including, in his back bedroom, a machine gun mounted on a tripod with ammunition stacked in boxes all around the walls.

A couple of my fellow guests, whom I knew to be persistent criminals, began discussing how easy it would be to break in and remove some of the weaponry for their personal gain. The barrels of most had been blocked up to inactivate them but apparently they could be adapted to shoot again.

When I got home in the early hours, I was so worried about what might go on that I rang the police about it. I was on work at 7am so I then got my head down for a couple of hours.

Outside work, I noticed a car with two men in it, watching me...
Yes, it was CID, checking that I wasn't a hoaxer.

So at 8am the bloke's house was raided - megaphone, dogs, helicopter, the lot - and the guns were 'recovered'.

By the time the operation was over I was back in bed. Later that day I had a grateful telephone call from the fuzz, who were relieved that the guns had not been 'liberated' by the local scum.

I'd asked them not to let on who'd tipped them off and they kept their word. Even though the press were present at the raid, and the story was all over the local papers the next week, my name was kept out of it.

I kept MY mouth WELL shut about it for the next 12 years or so, too!
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 20:42, 8 replies)
smackhead bait
i used to live on the first floor of a high-rise block, which meant that i had a great view of the street from my living room window.
one day, i was sitting with my friend, when she commented that yet another smackhead had moved into the block. they were the bane of our lives. you never felt safe, as flats would often be burgled, after which the smackheads would start knocking, trying to sell us obviously stolen stuff. they stopped knocking to see if i'd "lend" them a quid after i told one to get the fuck away from my door before i slapped him. i wouldn't have, but he didn't know that.
we decided to have a bit of fun with our not-so-nice neighbours. armed with a tube of superglue and a pound coin, we sneaked out to the front of the building, just below my window. we quickly glued the coin to the pavement, then scuttled back upstairs, made a cuppa and waited.
we didn't need to wait long. within 10 minutes, 3 smackheads had each tried - and failed - to prise the pound coin up. seriously, they were using sticks to try to get it off the floor!
over the next 2 days, we watched at least 20 of the fuckers attempting to collect our little reward, much to our amusement. finally, about suppertime on the second day, one of them finally managed to lever it off the floor with a tin lid.
we almost cheered! it was totally worth losing the pound, just for the pure entertainment factor.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 19:42, 18 replies)
I used to make customised items for people.
It was only little things, like monogramming things, maybe painting a mug how they wanted, or making a bookmark with their name on. Little things. I mostly worked craft fairs, antiques fairs, things like that.
Eventually, I worked at sewing, and got good enough that I could whip out a tapestry in half an hour- not a large one, but just large enough that it'd have a name, maybe a face. About A4 size.
So, I started working at those medieval fairs you get at old castles (I think they're known as renaissance fairs in America, or something). British people should know what I mean- the ones you get at castles when everyone dresses up like they're from a certain period, and there's all sorts of stalls and tents and things.
So, I had my own little stall, tucked away, where I basically did the equivalent of an olde worlde caricature, in tapestry.

Now, on this particular day, I'd had several customers come and go. One, in particular, was Eric; Eric came to everything I did, and had a chat with me. He was European- Dutch or German or something- and a really decent guy. He kept trying to talk to me in the style I had to, even though he kept messing it up.
After a while, when it was quiet, I asked him if he wanted a tapestry of his own- he assented that he did, and sat down.
I began working, as fast as I could, but every time I did, he'd fidget, and ask me when it would be done.
I would, naturally, give him the same answer every time.

"Anon, E. Maus"
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 18:07, 6 replies)
Orchestral auditions I have done
anonymously, this being a prerequisite, of course; performed behind a screen. Nothing particularly funny to bring to qotw, only to inform that American orchestras do not permit any perfume, coughing, jangly jewellery or high-heeled shoes to pre-empt any post-competition accusations of sex-discrim.

How would they be able to hold saxophone auditions in a racially-discriminatory-free-ma-boobly-way? Bit of a bloody give-away there, maestro. (I am referring to a funny scene in a movie where a black saxophonist plays "white-man-jazz" on a street, all warbly vibrato. Anyone remember the name?)

But just for the record, doing many anonymous orchestra auditions is a real test of one's mettle. It's the musical equivalent of having a quick knee-trembler in a back-alley, where your partner is wearing a paper bag on their head, and there are twenty more waiting to have a go after you. Naturally, you wish them luck.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 17:46, Reply)
Seeing bad-advice's post below
I've also got some shameful shit to admit to.

I was out in the hills and glens and came across a little fwuffy bunny wabbit. But it was strangely subdued, because of course most flee within a flash.

So the natural reaction was to stamp the stupid little bastard to the earth. I squished and squoshed like a kid jumping in a puddle. But upon closer inspection there were babies in there as well! I'm going to hell.

But I was addicted - I started progressing to bigger and more exotic animals. There's a huge Llama farm out in the sticks, and being a keen walker I used to dip in and out the grounds. It also acted as a sanctuary to other exotic animals, like Alpacas, Capybaras, Ostriches, etc. One night, I found a box of adders and stamped those little cunt-faces to mush before they had a chance to poison the local wildlife.

The night where I went too far - last winter I was stalking through the lands of the farm, and came across a shed. I skipped a fence and jumped over one of those crazy farm doors that are in half? You know the ones. Upon entering the room all I could make out was a high pitched clucking and tiny beady eyes. Somehow I recall a scythe being in my hands and I was swinging violently. I was scared and the noise was just incredible but at the same time it was cathartic, thrilling. I think they were some kind of large bird type creatures.

Once the noise stopped I ran for dear life, I was soaking with blood or something and waded through a freezing brook to clean myself. I was so tired when I got home I fell into a deep sleep.

When I woke up, showered and had my breakfast, I wandered into town to do my shopping. But when I popped into the Co-op for my lottery ticket a newspaper headline caught my eye. UNKNOWN EMU MESS.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 16:41, 1 reply)
TOAST
Just remembered... me and Stu Fishcake were taking some stupid photos for our website. Part of this involved looping shoelaces thorough holes in toast with theatre masks on them... oh sod it, how to explain... just click here. (Loosely based on our old Things I've Pushed Through Toast article)

Anyway, we posted those pieces of shoelaced and masked toast through the letter box of a local small town newspaper, hoping that something would appear in newsprint. Sadly not; our bread-based japery was obviously not considered newsworthy, even for a local paper.

Still, I like to think that the first person in to the office next day had a "what the f..............." moment as they saw our gift.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 16:33, Reply)
Why I hate Chad Vader
I've always been a bit arty so when I was in school I took a few art classes. That was a mistake. My school's attitude was that art was a useless distraction from more important things like sports.
So they put the worst students in the classes: students who couldn't be bothered to take enough credits, and mongs who couldn't do anything else.

My class had a boy with Down's Syndrome. He couldn't help it and I'm sure he was a nice person. However, I wanted to strangle him. Why? The teachers gave up on asking him to do anything other than eat snow (which he did obsessively and with joyous abandon) and just let him play with the computer in the room.
Whereupon some fool showed him how to find Youtube and he proceeded to watch the same 10 second Chad Vader clip OVER AND OVER AGAIN, repeating the one line of dialogue and howling with laughter every. single. time.
He did this every single day of the class.

By this time I was feeling distinctly homicidal. So I snuck into the room before class, opened up the computer, and disconnected the hard drive. I figured that would give me an hour or two of blessed relief before they called in somebody to fix it.
I didn't consider that when a computer refuses to boot up the last thing you're going to think is "Oh, maybe somebody disconnected the hard drive in a fit of pique." The guy sent to fix it tried everything he could think of and then decided that since he couldn't find anything wrong, the computer must be a total loss. He threw out the computer. And it was new.

If you're out there, Down's Syndrome kid, I'd like to say I'm sorry, but it would be an utter lie. You were driving me potty and I regret nothing.
As for the school who owned the computer--drop dead. You suck, and you deserve anything you get.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 16:12, 2 replies)
Huntingdon Life Sciences eat your heart out
Back when I was a second year student (and hence broke), I tried earning a bit of money in the summer holiday by working in a lab. I had to go through a number of interviews with funny questions, which seemed odd for what I thought would be a couple of months of just scribbling things down on clipboards, but it became clear when I realised I'd inadvertently entered the world of animal testing. It turned out that I wasn't actually expected to force feed beagles or sellotape rabbits' eyes open though (just scribble things down on clipboards), so was just happy to have a source of income, and happily embarked on a summer of walking round a non-descript building in Aylesbury with a white coat and an attitude. I should also point out that I wasn't involved in the production of cosmetics or beauty products, but just looking at the effects of various narcotics on rodents, which is where my misdemeanour comes in.

About a week and a half before my employment was due to end, I was tasked with dosing our test subjects with MDMA. Being of low scruples at the time, but not inclined to major pilferage, I reasoned that a single vial of what I knew was 100% pure (and therefore "safe") ecstasy probably wouldn't be missed, and managed to swipe one for myself, substituting an empty from an old experiment so the number in the rack was correct. As it turned out, I was nearly rumbled when the stupid animals all decided to spazz out from the tiny dose they were given, apart from the poor bugger I'd deprived of his hit. Luckily it was written off as a statistical anomaly, and my supervisor never realised he was actually a non-E mouse.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 15:11, 12 replies)
Crouch in yer float
Short, not sure if you will find it funny or wrong:

In our pre-teens, my mate Ross earnt the sobriquet "the phantom shitter" (not the most imaginative I grant you, but we were 11 and 12).

He always need to shit when we were out playing Just William style games (turned up to 11).

The 2 that had us crying with painful laughter were:

Shitting on our Spanish friend Pedros dad's (real name!)Seat Toledo roof, and using his socks (which he threw away) to shape it into a police light.

Also, getting caught short near the local dairy, and curling one out on the driver's seat of a milk float. I hope the poor driver didn't jump straight in the next morning in the dark.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 15:08, 3 replies)
You've got shit shoes on - you shitty shoe bastard
I attempted to dispose of my shitty shoes with some degree of anonymity, but how I failed.....

When I were a wee lad in them there eighties, us sterotypical short trouser wearing boys used to while away balmy, endless summer eves in the local recreation ground, kicking around a football (which eventually progressed to solvent abuse and attempts at deflowering the local beauties).

Anyway, I had recently had a new pair of gleaming white adidas trainers to replace my somewhat worn out Hi Tec Squash.

I didn't want to scuff these babies up (as I used them to dazzle the chicks at the local youthclub, they glowed like a mother fucker under the UV lights - we used to love those UV pens and drawing daisies and cocks on each other) playing football, so I took my trusty, but worn Hi Tecs.

Having dicked about like 11 year old boys do, the evening was wearing to a close, and we were twatting around on the fringe of the playing fields where they back on to gardens in the longer grass, next to the cricket shed where the ride on mower - amongst others - was housed. We all said our goodbyes until only 3 of us were left.

I somehow managed to sliding tackle right through one of the ripest, richest, steaming dog shits I have ever seen - I managed to streak it along the side of my trainers, and even some inside.

After my mates calling me "dirty lurgy shit feet" or some such derogatory put down, and me chasing them with a betrainered hand - the antics culminated in me chucking the trainers on the roof of the shed (the other trainer's sole was worn right through in a layered circle at the pad of the foot).

I made my friends vow not to tell anyone - and being slightly cooler, and slighty (and I mean slightly) more revered, they agreed.

That was fine, until the next day at school. The local smelly kid whom we shall call Tony (for that was his.. blah blah) turned up looking somewhat cooler than normal.

Was he sporting a new mod haircut - no..... Did he have a Nike wind cheater.....no. He was wearing a pair of Hi Tec Squash trainers that looked a touch too tight.

Queue my freshly sworn in, brothers of the secret shit shoe union, decking him and checking for the worn patch on the pad. They hit paydirt, and immediately started laughing and pointing - shouting "Tony scavved the squitty witty hi tecs from the Rec Roof", "Did you lick them clean shit breath" - etc etc.

I then also came in for (what I felt at the time) far worse ribbing, for not only had I been the original shit shoe monger, but also the local grit kid had my shoes, so clearly I must be gay, and bumming him. No way could I have thrown them away, I must lick his greasy bum crease and give him love gifts.

Looking back, the poor bastard just wanted to try and find further annonymity with all the "cool" kids that gave him shit by fitting in with the right footwear - he just succeeded in bringing the spotlight a few feet closer.

If you are out there Tony - I hope fortune has smiled on you and you have all the Hi Tecs your heart could desire.

3 year lurker with cherry popped - length left wanting.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 15:02, 9 replies)
Chocolate coins
Sometimes, normally in January as there's some left over from Christmas, I leave the smaller gold coloured £1-coin-size chocolate coins in the "returned coins" trays of vending machines (ticket machines, drinks machines etc)

Makes me wonder if the person who just grabs his change and pockets it, ever wonders how the hell a chocolate coin got into his pocket.

I also wonder if they ever try to spend it without realising.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 14:57, 4 replies)
As an antithesis to Bad Advice's funeral cuntiness below,
When we go to the cemetery where Mrs SLVA's parents are buried, I see several children’s graves (of which there are a surprising amount of), especially of pre-school age kids. I'll pick one at random, clear away any dead flowers, get fresh water and leave a couple of fresh ones, seeing as we always take far too big a bunch of flowers ourselves.

I got caught once, just as I was putting a couple of flowers in the little pot thing, the parents arrived and asked me who I was.

"No one you know" I said
"What are you doing then?" the mother asked. So I told her. She looked at me for a couple of seconds and then threw her arms around me.
"Thank you" she said and I felt a tear against my cheek. She let go and the dad came over and shook my hand just as Mrs SLVA came over.
"He does it every time we come here. He picks a child and leaves a couple of flowers. This time it just happened to be your turn." she explained. Then we said 'bye' and left them to it. Knowing that my actions were being appreciated really made my day.

A couple of days later my missus showed me something in the local rag. There was an entry in the classifieds section. "A heartfelt thank you to the kind stranger at the cemetery". She cut it out and kept it.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 13:57, 27 replies)
over Christmas, i kicked a 2 year old in the face!
my own 2 year old was wearing so much padding to keep out the cold she couldn't climb the steps to the slide at the local playground so i helped her up. another toddler followed me and the heel of my shoe smacked her in the chops leaving a nice big muddy splat all over her crying face.

happy christmas!
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 13:33, 3 replies)
Anonymous poll
Who are you?
Mini poll bar
Mini poll bar
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 13:15, 5 replies)
My tale of hijinks and anonymity.
Jesus, that's a hard word to spell- anonymity.

A long ,long time ago, around eighteen months or so, I found myself with nothing to do, and not a lot of time to do it in. I ended up on the internet a lot more than I should have, and started frequenting message boards, chat rooms, that sort of thing. I talked to lots of people, and had many good times, as you do. After a while, though, I discovered I was growing bored with the mundane talking, with the fact I had to be me on these sites, so I decided to do something about it.
At first, I did the staple of any bored internet user- I created a seperate identity for myself. I made myself older, or younger. I even, on a couple of places, made myself a girl- and a lesbian, too, just to make sure I had that extra bit of diversity. Eventually, this too became stale and boring.
So, I looked for new ways to amuse myself, and discovered that, on certain sites, l and I look exactly the same (small 'l', big 'i'), and set about using usernames- pre-existing usernames- of people who had those letters in. That's where it became fun- I was assuming identities of people who were already known, who already had reputations. Not only was I becoming someone else, I was becoming someone else who already existed. Each came with new friends, enemies, lovers. Soon I spent more time as other people, and less time as myself.
Eventually, though, I realised I was enjoying being other people more than I wanted to be me, and I stopped, just in time to stop myself going completely insane.
I realise this isn't a funny story, and perhaps not even relevant, but I just wanted to share it.
Anonymity, the idea that you can be anyone you want to be, is intoxicating, and powerful, and very dangerous. I almost lost myself to it, and it was only thanks to some very good friends that I didn't.

EDIT (does it count as an edit if I'm altering this before anyone's read it?)
Anyway, I also had- and still have- problems with creating identities on instant messengers. In fact, I've got a couple I've worked on so much, I could reel off their entire backstory, and talk about them like they're real people. I've gone so far as to research minute details about medical conditions, about supposed places they've been, people they've known, things they've done. I've created social networking sites, I've set up blogs, I've done all kinds of things, and all because I like the idea of escaping and being someone else.
One identity I had, I used for two years straight with a girl; she fell in love with the guy I was meant to be, and she dated 'me', and we were on the verge of being engaged(she asked 'me'), when I told her we couldn't do it. I never told her the truth, instead coming up with some reason why it would never work; better to hurt her with a lie than destroy her with the truth.
I can't help myself with these things, although I wish I could; I feel it's some sort of mental condition, and I would do anything, anything at all, to stop, but i'm addicted.
So, if you see anything on a Lucifer Deveaux, a Roxbury Kendrick, a Raphael Douquet, or a Liliana Newbury, they could possibly be me.

Thanks for letting me share.

Oh, and on the off chance she happens to be reading: Katie Lettering, I'm sorry.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 13:08, 13 replies)
Went to hospital last night
Nurse there was helping me sort myself out..I don't even remember her name....but thank you if you're reading this.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 12:56, 3 replies)
My wife reminded me about a habit of mine I perform anonymously
When driving along or going somewhere and I happen to pass a funeral I just can't help winding the window down and yelling at the top of my voice,


LOOK ALIVE YOU BASTARDS
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 12:31, 18 replies)
GOURANGA GOURANGA
Yes I'll be happy
When you've been arrested for defacing the bridge
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 12:25, 5 replies)
I once ran around Portsmouth
Dressed like a character from the Matrix with my partner in crime Dave, who attaches a fox tail to the back of his jeans (he likes to cause a bit of confusion).

We wander around the main pub areas, concerning bouncers and guards, who follow us down the road to make sure we aren't any trouble.

We drew satanic-esque symbols on the ground in various locations, and Dave lay in the middle of the road to provide a chalk body outline.

We then left a few happier messages on a wall and went home for some tea.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 10:26, 8 replies)
Facebook Lynch Mob
A few years back I wrote to facebook, because I kept getting friend requests from some dodgy hooker ensnarement ring that operates in Japan. I've known about it on another site called Mixi - where it's been a big problem with thousands of fake profiles. I thought I was doing them a favour.

Facebook promptly deleted the profiles of my entire friends list - about 400 people - with no warning.

No one could log in or re-register under the same names / email addresses. Their profiles and anything in them, were wiped clean. Because of the nature of the friends I have on there (tech journos, bloggers etc), this made it into the news. Much anger ensued and people questioned why it was only Japanese they were targeting. Most swore never to use Facebook again. To this day no one knows why they were deleted, as facebook wouldn't admit their mistake. Only one person figured it out, to which I swore I had no idea what they were on about.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 8:29, 6 replies)
The Indians, coming to a street near you!
My first attempt at anonymous pranks is actually one of my earliest memories, and believe it or not, I was behaving a like a cunt (must have been no more than 3).

The old bloke down the street kept some turps and metho or something in a similar style bottle in a box near his letter box. I opened it up one day and chucked the bottles into a ditch.

The next day he asked my if I knew anything about it and I told him,

"The Indians did it" (I meant red Indians).

He looked at me sort of side ways and then replied,

"That would be right, you can't trust those curry eating bastards"

note: he was 80 it was the early 70's racist comments weren't what they are today.
(, Tue 19 Jan 2010, 8:26, Reply)

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