Oh! OH!
I have a good one.
You know the turnstiles eg at Waterloo station to get into the toilets, where you have to pay 20p?

If you pull the turnstile back towards you a bit, you can just walk through it. Its hard to explain. But try pulling a turnstile in the wrong direction and all will become clear, and you will save a fortune in unfair toilet duties.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 14:24, 3 replies)

Dad Con 1
When I started college I wasn't getting on well with my dad, since he and my mum had just been through a messy divorce.

The college bus was free, but I told my dad it was £60 and got him to make a cheque out. He was too clever to leave it blank, but still not that clever so I got him to make it out to one of my friends he'd never met, who cashed it for me and gave me the money.
(hurleymurley, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 13:32, Reply)

Cinema...
There's a really really easy method of conning at the Pic n Mix counters.

Choose a cinema where the pic n mix has something blocking it from the till's line-of-sight.

Go in with your friend, and slightly fill a bag, go for about £1.50 worth of sweets. Go to the till (alone!) and pay. Then, walk back to your friend and fill a much larger bag (i've got away with probably about £9 worth before) before depositing a couple of large items into the small bag, just enough for about 50g worth.

At this point, your friend should approach the counter, with the SMALL bag (that has already been paid for) and pay again. The difference should be enough to allay suspicion, as long as the large bag stays by the sweets.

And, voila! Mucho free sweets!

Got me through transformers, and I still sweets left at the end!
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 13:16, 2 replies)

the biggest mother academic fraud
Perpetrated on thousands of mother naive students every year: the mother fraud of Freudianism.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 13:07, 3 replies)

Not me but...
...actually, I could lie and say it was me, and not my girlfriend's brother and his mad motor racing mates.

So there I was, me and my mates after a good night's drinking, in the middle of a big city and we needed to get home. So we pile into a taxi and go our merry way. Halfway through the journey, and in the middle of nowhere, a mate of mine pipes up "Stop the car!" Thinking he was going to hurl we told him to keep it in, even though he's shaking his head and trying to tell us why he wanted the car to stop by creative staring.
Eventually, the guy the stops the cab and lets us out in the middle of countryside. Just as a kicking was about to be administered towards this friend for dropping us ten miles from anywhere in the middle of winter, he produced a big wad of rolled up notes. All used tenners and twenties totalling about two grand. It was obviously a drug-related drop and this mate had found the cash stuffed down the back of the car seat. He wanted the car stopped in the middle of nowhere so the naughty boys wouldn't trace us and "ask" for the money back. Split four (or five, I can't remember) ways, it made for a very profitable night!
We try to not to think about what happened to the taxi driver...
(Ghostlight, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 12:43, 1 reply)

Tesco's beer money scam
A "mate" of mine had a wicked wheeze for bolstering his meagre earnings at Tesco's when he was about 17.
I, sorry he, used to work all day Saturday till 10pm. Bloody irritating if you want to go to the pub. In an effort to compensate himself he would short change everyone a £1 at a time. Everyone was always so busy no one ever checked their change. If they did, you can just mutter something about a mistake and let them on their way. Almost victimless crime.
You would be an idiot to walk away from the tills with a pocket full of shrapnel so take the equivalent notes out the till and stuff them down your socks.
And ta-da! Beer money for the night!
(kintore_homeboy tenuous links since 1986!, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 12:32, 7 replies)

Glasgow black cabs
OK, so probably black cabs anywhere.

There were 5 of us in need of a taxi in Glasgow city centre. 4 of us were going to Cambuslang, and another one further on to East Kilbride.

As we had 5 in the party, a black cab seemed sensible - particularly as it was pissing with rain and a free black cab was standing in front of us.

We piled in, and explained where we wanted to go. The driver, a fat, balding, miserable old b'stard - undoubtedly a Rangers supporter - launched into a volley of "Well I'll tell you all right now that it'll cost you 30 quid minimum for that!"

Now as I recalled, I had gone from Cambuslang into town just a few hours earlier (by minicab) for the princely sum of just £7, this seemed somewhat ludicrous. And we told him that, although perhaps "ludicrous" wasn't the word. "Thieving Weedgie cnut" was probably closer to it.

We piled out of the cab, and phoned the minicab company and requested 2 taxis. The taxis showed up within 5 minutes. Each charged £7 to get back to Cambuslang, and we sent one on to East Kilbride with the final drop off for another £7. So all in all we spent £21 for 2 taxis, instead of £30 for one. WTF?

I've never let a black cab out in front of me since then. Feckers.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Tue 23 Oct 2007, 12:11, 3 replies)

It's been sixteen years that are gone forever and I'll never have again
I arrived in Manchester to study at a pretend University in mid-1990. On (I think) my second day in town I was strolling down the main road (Oxford Road) when I was approached by a well-dressed man of early middle years.
"'scuse me, son?" He asked politely, so I 'scused him. "I wonder if you can help me. God forgive me, I'm trying to get to the men's hostel in Wythenshawe and I've not got my fare for the bus and, God forgive me, I was wondering if..."
Well, undoubtedly you can see where this was going. The upshot was that I was pretty callow and naive at the time so he got some cash out of me. I wised up pretty sharply when two days later, I was walking down Oxford Road again when he came up to me: "'Scuse me son, God forgive me, I'm trying..."

As time went by I realised that this man and a compatriot would walk down opposite sides of Oxford Road, accosting everyone who passed with the tale that, God forgive them, they'd lost their fare to the men's hostel in Wythenshawe and could they be spared some change? This went on for the entire five years I lived in Manchester. A couple of times a week, "'scuse me son..."
You know how it goes. Sometimes they got some money out of me if I was feeling flush, sometimes not. I learned the location of a Mens Hostel which was literally a hundred yards from Oxford Road and went through a period of directing them to it with all appearence of helpful cheer and goodwill, saving them the trouble of getting to Wythenshawe. They didn't like that much, because apparently the central Manchester hostel didn't have the right facilities. Perhaps the pool wasn't of the right quality, or the central Manchester hostel didn't give complimentary chocolates in the rooms and Wythenshawe did. I don't know.
The most striking thing about this bloke was that he didn't give any appearence of being your average homeless man. Whilst not smart, he certainly wasn't a bum, either. He plainly took care of himself; shirt and tie, personal hygeine, he made an effort, which was enough to at least predispose me to listen and sympathise and occasionally cough up.
I did wish he'd occasionally use a different story, though.

Eventually I left Manchester. A couple of weeks before I left, I had been walking through town in a pretty poor mood for lady-related reasons when: "'scuse me, son, God forgive me, but...". I turned to him and replied:
"Look, you've been trying to get to the mens hostel in Wythenshawe for five years. I really think you could have walked it by now."
And then I left town. I thought that was that.

A couple of weeks ago I was staying in a central Manchester hotel whilst up there to see chums and on Saturday morning I took a walk down Oxford Road to the Manchester Museum, one of my favourite places. As I was walking, a familiar figure approached me.
"'scuse me, mate? God forgive me, but I'm trying to get to the mens hostel in Wythenshawe..."
I was so shocked I put my hand in my pocket gave him a quid.
Subsequent to this, though, I've been thinking. I'm now fascinated by this man, and what his story must be. He's spent the last sixteen years walking up and down Oxford Road in Manchester, asking people for money to get to Wythenshawe. What could make someone think that this is a good way to spend all that time? I stop and think about the thimgs I've done since 1990. I've got a degree. I've started my own company. I've seen the view from the top of the Pyramid of the Sun, the Temple of the Jaguar and the Space needle. I've seen attack ships in flames off the shoulder of Orion and T-beams glitter at the Tannhauser gate...
In the same period this guy, come all weathers, has been hanging around outside Whitworth Park pretending he wants to go to Wythenshawe. Is there a good living to be made on Oxford Road panhandling from students? Or is he on day-release from a local Sanitorium and knows nothing else? Or is he a tragic figure like King Pellinore or Sisyphus, doomed by the gods ever to quest for the mens hostel in Wythenshawe but never to find it?
I think the next time he collars me, probably in 2022 the way things are going, I'm going to offer to buy him a drink and ask him his story.
(davywavy, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 12:05, 17 replies)

Environmentalism
I used to do my bit for the environment by reusing the return portion of train tickets if they hadn't been stamped: most are valid for a month after issue. I squared this with my being an ethicist by constructing an elaborate Kantian argument (cf 3lijah's post below) for the permissibility of fare-dodging.

Sadly, (a) ticket inspectors tend not to be imporessed by feats of transcendental practical reasoning, and, anyway, (b) the argument didn't work.* It was only when I realised (b) that I actually started paying more consistently.

* The argument does work, though, in respect of letting yourself into theatres/ concerts with empty seats. Message me for a lesson in moral philosophy and an explanation of why.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 11:15, 2 replies)

Free Laptop
At the last company I worked for, one of the directors decided that he didn't want to come into work anymore, and being the entire marketing division of the company, he left us with no money in the bank and no work coming in, so the company had to shut down, still owing me the best part of 3 grand. Well, the director who walked out had previously lent me a laptop which I started getting lots of emails about, since the fucker owed me 3 grand that I wasn't going to see (the company went insolvent) I wasn't exactly happy about returning the laptop.

After a few weeks I receive a letter that at first glance looks like it's from a solicitor's office, worded in that convoluted language that the legal profession favours. But as I read through I get more suspicious, my old boss is threatening to get his solicitors on me if I don't send his laptop back to him. I get to thinking - He only owns this laptop because it was a temporary replacement that he never returned to PC World. He's in illegal posession of the damn thing anyway! So I send an email back telling him not to threaten me, that I'll keep the laptop as severance pay. I also threw away my keys for the office which he needed me to send back otherwise the landlord wouldn't release to him the cheque for the office furniture which had been sold in his absence.

Fat cunt, I can just see the look on his face now as he realised his pathetic attempts failed...
( BlueHaze Chutney. All good., Tue 23 Oct 2007, 10:59, 1 reply)

Back in the day
when the Tay Road Bridge cost 30p each way (rather than the 80p for a return trip that it is today, although it's about to be abolished - yay!) I used to keep a stash of miscellaneous coinage in the tray in the centre console of my orange Mk II Cavalier to pay for it. So as often happens, once all the higher denomination stuff was used up, I was left with a pile of coppers. I would count out 28 or 29p in coppers, hand it to the toll collector and drive off before he had a chance to count it.

I must have saved myself, oh, 35p by doing this on repeated occasions.

Tight? Who, me?
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 10:58, 4 replies)

once stole five quid of james nesbitt.
saw him in a club and went over to insult him, he offered me a drink and gave me a fiver to get them in, so i just went back to my seat five pounds up.
( Sunshine Elephant, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 10:38, 2 replies)

I can`t believe i`ve only just remembered!
This is one of my many tales of woe, but here goes:

About three years ago when i was all but 15 i`d managed to obtain a fair amount of cash (100 pounds i believe it was). I desperately wanted one of those new fangled iPod things (Yes, i know. I can`t stand them now). Would you believe it, i found this "Auction" Advertisement in the newspaper and lo and behold it was about 10 minutes walk from where i lived. It stated that it was selling over stocked iPods, hurrah thought i. I shall go and obtain one for myself and girlfriend at the time.

Oh how very wrong i was...

We arrived at the "Auction House" (read: Local Pub) to find alot of old, tattered boxes with "iPod" written on them and unfortunately this didn`t set off any warning bells. The auction starts, it`s so fast pace i can hardly keep up but by the end of it i was conned out of my 100 pounds, and my girlfriend too.

All we managed to get were some knives, a pen and a camera (Shitty.). Oh the shame...

Whats the lesson here folks? If it looks too good to be true, it usually is! Its just a shame it took that long for me to find out

Length? By the type of car he was driving, probably very small.
( Axai is in Montréal, Canada O.o, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 10:28, Reply)

Glove box trick
Every time my friend picks up his brother from the airport, he asks him to look in the glove box for a CD. He then slams on the brakes.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 10:16, Reply)

Women
When I was at school, I considered myself a canny lad and decided that the best way to get into girls' pants was to know my enemy and discover how they worked. I talked to them about their problems, I read Jackie and Just 17 etc. to discover how they thought and what they looked for in a man. I learned that 'a sense of humour is more important than good looks', or a that giant schlong was no substitute for a ready smile and a warm hug.

And do you know, I was a virgin until I was 21.

Turned out women are total liars about what they want.
(frankspencer, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 9:09, 4 replies)

Hoof Hearted
When I was younger I had an arguement with my brother about a nasty smell that was lingering in the air.

"wasn't me!" I said
"wasn't me either" said my brother
"Was too!"
"Was not. I can prove it. Smell my bottom."

I lent forward towards his bent over arse and inhaled deeply. At which point the complete bastard farted a wet sloppy one.

I'll never fall for that one again ( I was 27)
(plant rolls out of bed like a fat wobbly tub of lard, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 8:53, 1 reply)

so close to setimret's story it's scary
My father told me of a guy asking for money for petrol as his car was stuck round the corner and he needed to get back to Umhlanga (which is a very very very well off area). Next day he asks again. My dad told him, "hey, you asked me yesterday, now bugger off!"
couple days later, I am heading the opposite direction and true as OJ, this same doos gives me the line.
Naturally I told him to fuck off. Even poor old me has a petrol card for back up...
(Bluffboy South Africa! World Champions!!!, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 8:03, 1 reply)

Morality
"Act that your principle of action might safely be made a law for the whole world."
-Immanuel Kant

I hate to be moral on b3ta, but reading stories about 'how to rip people off', then in turn reading stories about people BEING ripped off spurs me to use this forum for some kind of enlightenment.
(3lijah Oh, Jokes! I Get Jokes..., Tue 23 Oct 2007, 7:08, 1 reply)

Leave it to the new mom to be the bouncer
Back eons ago, ok, 16 years, I was recuperating at home after having my first baby. It had been a terrible delivery, I had been fucking hallucinating for crap's sake during pushing her out and now was was home with a 48 hour old infant who cried all night, wouldn't nurse and my good friend's funeral was the next day. Plus my mother was staying with us and she and my spare were useless as far as I was concerned. I had to take care of them.

I was ultra-dimensionally cranky. I would have happily slit someone's throat for the change of pace.

The baby had finally, finally let me drift off to sleep when my mother creeps up the stairs like a mouse and hisses 'there's a woman at the door and she won't go away.'

"Why the hell won't she go away? It's after midnight. What's she doing in the house? Tell her to go away! Let me sleep!"

My soft hearted kinfolk can't bring themselves to toss this woman out, who by the way is only inside my damn house because MY MOTHER OPENED THE DOOR AND LET A STRANGER IN AT MIDNIGHT! The two of them stand in my bedroom and wring their hands ineffectually like mongs until I leap out of bed in rage and stomp downstairs.

This woman had the balls to knock on my door at 12 o'clock at night and tell my stupid mother she needed money for the bus to Holland (across the state, 150 miles away) and a ride to the station! We live nowhere near the bus station, they don't run at night and there isn't any direct service from my town to Holland. In fact, I don't think there IS bus service from Ann Arbor to Holland. What kind of wimpy con is this?

I can't believe these people are so wishy-washy and dumb as to let an obvious beggar into the house, late at night, with a brand-new baby* in the house, believe this story that's absolutley lacy with holes, then are unable to summon the balls to tell her to leave and get my ass up out of bed the first time in 4 or 5 days I'd had any restful sleep to deal with the mess of their making. Oh, somebody was going to pay and I didn't care who.

I whipped around to the doorway and screamed all in one breath in my best fishwife screech, "Who the fuck do you think you are? It's past midnight! You can't have any money, we aren't taking you to the bus station, get out of my house in the next 20 seconds or I call the cops and you should get your story straight because you pulled this shit on me last year!"

She has done the exact same thing last year-knocked on the door late at night with some preposterous story about money for bus fare to some outlandish place. Cnut. She started in with I-don't-know-what and I took one step closer, put on my best psycho-mommy face and shouted, "I have a newborn baby!" and she left.

Later I found out my mother rewarded this performance with a 20 dollar bill for the grifter on the front porch. Way to go, mom. Back me up, there.

*We are the home town of the Michigan Murders and have one of the highest sexual crime rates in Michigan. At the time, there was also a guy running up behind women, knocking them unconcious and raping them. I could see one vic's house from my front porch and another woman was raped on the street two blocks from my house. He had killed someone the year before. So, I was a little nervous about letting strangers in at midnight.


Why, oh why is this so long?
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 4:18, 3 replies)

I've looked...
and I can't see any reference to those people who come up to you on the street and try and get you to sign up for charity.

Someone famous referred to them as chuggers (charity muggers).

I prefer Cunts.

Shirley the worst?
(Lannes, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 4:03, Reply)

Paedo and the wolf
Trecking through the welsh countryside summer 2006, 7 young, naive 16 year olds on our Duke of Edinburgh award decide to have a rest in the middle of a small hamlet called Isengrug or something along those lines.

Across from where we sat was a guy with a large dog. He asked if we wanted to stroke it and so we obliged. Conversation started and it turned out we were stoking the guys wolf (nt his "wolf"(nudge,nudge,wink,wink)...his real life one as he bred them.

he then took photos of us, with said wolf and then took my e-mail address and said he'd send me the photos.

a year and a half later and still no photos. No doubt the dirty bastard is fwapping over them to this day. And that is the story of how i was conned into stroking some guys "beast"

length? insert "wolf" related joke here
(Foulkesy123 The one and only..., Tue 23 Oct 2007, 2:29, 1 reply)

Oh, also
Flatmate of mine was getting the train back from home to the city of uni and flat, when a bloke at the station asked him if he could help him as he didn't have enough for his train....
his reassurance....
"I'm not a bum mate, I'm Australian!"
He gave him a quid for saying that, I would have done too.
He deserved it.
(Robbish is twitching & salivating like with myxomatosis, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 1:30, Reply)

When I was just a little boy (well, a few weeks ago)...
...being skint and just before starting the uni year, decided to do a bit more work at the almost-local big soulless supermarket than usual, however it started at 6 in the morning, thus requiring me to be out the door at half 5. Problem was, I was working the night before and as such got about 3 hours sleep and was absolutely fugging knackered.
The way I have to walk is through a not-terribly-nice area, and as I was making my (freezing, ill-advised) way down there in pretty-much-zombie mode, a lady climbed out of the window of a flat I was passing. Brain does not register this as unusual. She runs after me.
Her: "Where are you going?"
Me: "Uh? To work...early shift...tills."
Her: "You want some business?"
I figured - oh, she's going to the shop to buy something, and will come to my till to give me something to do, how lovely.
Me: "Yeah, go on then."
Her: "You got any money on you?"
Me: "No, I'm working, I don't need any, I'll be at work, I'm going to work, early shift."
Her: "So you want some business?"
Again thinking she meant she was going shopping...
Me: "Sure, why not."
She then insisted that I'd need money and being the sleep-deprived/freezing little being I was, let her lead me to a cashpoint. I got out a tenner while she looked on and I wondered if she was going to just leg it with my money and card (she saw my PIN) and started walking up a side road which was obscured from all view and it finally twigged.
Me: "Sorry, I've really got to go to work, I'll be late..." [half-running away]
Her: "Oh, go on, you'll enjoy yourself!"
Me: "I'm sure I would!"
It took my poor sleep/warmth-deprived brain that long to figure out she wasnm't going shopping.
She was a prostitute!
Thinking about it when I got to work, I couldn't believe how naive I had been with what she had been saying.

Apologies for length, it was freezing and there wouldn't have been anything enough for her to use anyway.
(Robbish is twitching & salivating like with myxomatosis, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 1:26, Reply)

My fat friend Ben....
works part time at the local Tesco's. Many a time he's let my mum have a £70 food shop for about £40 by not scanning items, which I always buy him a couple of pints for.

However, he actually conned me the other day.

He was working on the Express Checkout (10 items max) so I got into the queue with my can of coke and my dairylea dunker, not so I could get them on the cheap, I just wanted to say hello, etc.

Anyway, the combined cost of these items was 87p, Ben puts them through as miscellaneous items, so doesn't scan them and says, "There you go mate, £1."

"But..but, that's more expensive than what it actually comes to", says I.

"Erm, just give me the £1, the queues too big".

So my fat mate Ben stole 13p from me, and still hasn't given it back.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 0:20, Reply)

Mowbli fun
A couple of interesting ones:

With my current mobile contract I get 1250 tx's 1000 free minutes, free gprs, and free calls sat-sun-mon - with a free nokia n95, and £180 cash back all for £20 a month. to get something like this, you have to ring the cancellations department when you want to renew- and tell them you want to go elsewhere, make up some obsurd deal that orange/vodafone/o2 etc have offered you and the one your current provider is offering is abit poo. 9 times out of 10 they will do anything to keep you on board!

another scam that me and a few friends tried was to invoice really huge companies (Shell, BT, Enron... well ok, not enron, they have no money). Not for particularly large amounts, but just make up a company name, and invoice them for "service charge" or something for £56.38 or relatively obscure, and if you choose the REALLY large companies they will pay no questions asked because they receive THOUSANDS of invoices.... It worked on about 4 companies if i remember.

And also, about the car-park 1... u will generally find that you will need 2 pay no matter what, so if you;ve been in town all day and you should be paying 80p an hour then go to the entrance get a new ticket, pay for just 1 hour and leave with that one. therefore saving you about £5 a day!
(nikwood28, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 0:04, Reply)

30 quid and the taxi fare home
I'm not gullible ... honestly

I've had my fair share of pavement dwelling pikeys (with palatial abodes to go home to) conning me out of my post-tax earnings due to their dog-on-a-rope partners with their big brown eyes and waggy tails. I'd never fall for such a scam.


There was this one guy who I found out was doing the con. He'd sit there outside the club with his lovely Jack Russell, his 2 sleeping bags and his smell of piss. Before I knew of his nefarious ways I'd bung him a couple of quid on my way home and feel guilty that I didn't do more. This all changed when I realised he was getting the last bus home from town every night and getting off a couple of stops before me (my wages would not pay the mortgage on the houses in his street. Grrrrr....)

After that I was less loose with my spare change. He still kept his pitch near the club and raked in his mortgage payments, but I never gave him one more penny. Instead I concentrated on the little bloke down the road who never got a red cent. He was skinny (lets call him Mr Skinny)to the point of being malnourished. He really did stink of piss and it was obvious to me and everyone else that this was a soul in need of help but because Mr Mortgage had the best pitch no-one had any loose change left by the time they got to him.

Here's the con. Mr Skinny had a friend, lets call him Mr Mortgage. Mr Mortgage knew by letting himself be seen by all and sundry on the last bus home and getting off in the posh neighbourhood all the people on the bus would feel pissed off and guilty for not having enough spare mulah to give to Mr Skinny. The next week they would go out of their way to ignore Mr Mortgage and give loads of money to Mr Skinny. When they passed Mr Mortgage and his dog-on-a-rope they could feel superior to the numptys who were throwing their money at Mr Mortgage, because they knew of the scam and felt so much superior, in fact, here's a fiver Mr Skinny.

Mr Mortgage and Mr Skinny have been doing this routine for about 6 years now. The house they share is lovely and was bought with cash. Now I just walk past the both of them and laugh my rocks off at all the tourists / pissheads / people like me 5 years ago who fall for their scam
( no longer a user, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 0:01, Reply)

Arbitrage betting
To rip bookies off:
For this use the European odds sytem, it makes so much more sense than the UK or US ones. It's a number like 1.8 or 2.15 and its the amount of £/$/€ you get paid for winning that bet with a stake of £1/€1/$1. So 2.15 means you get 2.15 for betting 1, a profit of 1.

If you inverse these numbers (ie. divide 1 by it) and add them together, they will always add up to more than 1 from the same bookies. In a system that truly represented the risks they'd add up to exactly one, but they have to make profit. A typical two-outcome event might be 1.8 and 2.15 so (1/1.8) + (1/2.15) = ~1.02, giving them roughly 2% profit (probably be more than that though).

But different bookies sometimes have different opinions as to the odds of different outcomes, particuarly as punters might bet differently on them, which of course changes them. So it might be possible that you can find 2.15 at one bookie and 2.15 for the OTHER outcome at another bookie. (1/2.15 + 1/2.15) = ~0.93, which is equivilant to saying that the chance of either outcome happening is 93%, so that 7% that's disappeared gives you a guarenteed profit for either event.

That's all fine in theory, but actually finding these bets is the hard bit. There are websites that collate them but unless you pay them £150 a month or some other ridiculous amount then you get out of date odds which by the time you find them on the respective bookie's website have changed.

So I could con bookies, but the tools that would allow me to are a massive con.
(Cuthbert Annihilator, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 23:33, Reply)

Cardiff NCP
3 hours - 12 quid. Bastards.
(hirsute, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 23:20, Reply)

Obviously...
... WONDERBRA!!!

If that ain't a con, then what is???

Luckily, Missus Apatao don't need one *grins & drools*
(apatao, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 22:49, 2 replies)