My girfriend dumped me by email ...
...telling me that I am "dyslexic and bigoted".
For fucks sake, even if I did have dyslexia it shouldn't be used as a reason to dump someone.
And I do not have big toes.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Tue 6 Apr 2010, 22:23, 1 reply)

Immigration
So you've read a couple of newspapers and have had a few conversations in a pub...

Hello, kids. I’m an immigrant. I would like to tell the tale of My Immigration.

I arrived in this country on a tourist visa from the United States. This allowed me three months to look at pretty things. Pretty things included a boy who was very nice indeed and, at the end of that three months, I decided to stay.

Well, kids, I wasn’t highly skilled enough (what with advanced degrees, publications, 6 years of experience and expertise in an area of ‘need’ as outlined by the Home Office points-based system for economic migration – see www.ukba.homeoffice.gov.uk/pointscalculator to see if you’re qualified enough to immigrate to your own country!) in the eyes of the angry eyes of the British Government, so my only recourse was to become a student. I received a one year student visa without recourse to public funds or work at a cost of £295. Well, a one year visa isn’t enough to do a degree and to get a boy to make an honest woman of you, so after a year of living in absolute squalor because of that whole not working thing, I re-applied for a two-year student visa so I could finish my course. Lo, that visa was denied because my main bank account did not reside in the United Kingdom. In order to avoid deportation, I slogged my way to Croydon to make an in-person application at the rate of £500. This time, I had recourse to work a maximum of 20 hours per week, all the while paying international fees towards the university.

My course finished and The Boy and I declared undying love to one another. This required me to receive a visa befitting of a fiancée. To do this, I was not allowed to do so within the United Kingdom, as I did not qualify under ‘exceptional circumstances’. To avoid paying the fee to become a registered fiancée with the British Government, the boy and I got married in Las Vegas, which, I might add, as I was no longer a resident of the United States and not allowed under law to get married in the United Kingdom, was the only place I could do so. With plane fares and hotel fees reaching £3000 to merely tie the knot in un-exceptional circumstances, the extra fee of £1030 for the required in-person application for limited two year entry clearance into the United Kingdom was most unwelcome.

I was allowed to work full-time, which was most welcome, but had no recourse to public funds (dole, job-seekers, housing benefits, child benefits, disability). After two years, I was allowed to apply for Indefinite Leave to Remain, which costs £585. This is where I now stand. I still don’t have access to the aforementioned public funds, which would be a right pain in the arse if I broke my back, had a baby or lost my job.

The total cost of visas has been £2705. This, just so I could get married and stay married. This doesn’t include, of course incidental costs which reach into the thousands.

And you say immigration is easy? And you wonder why people try to screw the system to live here illegally? I am a nice middle-class girl with lots of education and a pretty white skin, yet I faced an uphill immigration battle from the moment I arrived.

And this started pre-911 and before Labour’s many immigration reforms, which have made the process even more difficult.

After the difficulty and cost of immigration, I now volunteer with asylum seeker (also, there is no such thing as an ‘illegal’ asylum seeker, as it is a legal status according to the UK Home Office) and refugee organisations. These are the people who are truly in need of our help.

I won’t even get started on the current absurd hurdles and impossibilities of achieving this status; or how the government imprisons children and babies in detention centres; or how I’ve seen families decide to not eat for a week so they can afford the train fare to Cardiff for their hearings; or how you can be denied asylum status because when you knock on that immigration door with an entire family’s worth of death and torture but without a clue of what to do, you don’t claim it within 24 hours; or how the British public hate for lack of integration, yet lash out when they do try to integrate; or how a family can still be legally destitute even after achieving refugee status; or how they are offered the worst available housing as default; or how on a daily basis they are screwed over by unscrupulous people in shops; or the constant fear and desperation they experience even a decade after arriving; or how pretty much everything that has been said in posts here, in the Daily Mail and up and down the land is almost complete bullshit, despite bullshit bleatings about anecdotal evidence.

Yeah, anybody can say I know a pig farmer, but unless you’ve actually worked on a pig farm, you haven’t the bloody slightest clue about what being a pig farmer is all about.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Wed 7 Apr 2010, 18:47, 23 replies)

Delivery
Not me but a mate, she was heading back into her block of student flats at about midnight and saw a chinese guy outside the door. He was standing there in a baseball cap and was holding a bag full of takeaway.

"Oh" she said, "I didn't realise you delived this late!"

"I don't." He said, "This is my dinner, I live here"
(Puddle of Sugar was still wallpapering on, Mon 5 Apr 2010, 18:32, 3 replies)

Not my story
A guy I knew from Bradford went to university in Swansea. He's asian (I think Pakistani but not sure), and was a little wary of the public there, having heard tales of racist attacks and the small-mindedness of the local Welsh. I met him during my second year there. I have no idea when or why the conversation turned towards racism, but it did somehow. I asked him how he'd found it in Swansea. He told me the story of his first Freshers' Week, when he went out to Jumpin' Jaks.

He'd gone up to the bar, got a couple of drinks and his change back. He thanked the barmaid with "Cheers pet, that's lovely" in his broad Yorkshire accent, when one of the dregs of society next to him turned round and hissed in his face "...WHAT did you say?"

Petrified and fearing a massive kicking, he stammered "Er.. er... that's lovely?"

The Welshman shook his head righteously. "No, no, no. Round yere, we say... 'luvleee' ".

"Yeah..sor - wait, what?!" asked my now incredibly confused friend.
"Luvleee! Try it with me!"
"Er... luvleee?"
"Tha's it! Luvleee! See, you're Welsh now mun!"
"Oh, er, right, thanks!"
"No problem butt, enjoy yer night now, y'hear?"

...and his prejudice of Swansea evaporated.
(cypherspace is not a toaster, Fri 2 Apr 2010, 14:11, 2 replies)

In 1981 I owned some music shops and ran the one in Cambridge myself as it was my home town.
It was called Cambridge Musician's Centre and I was sitting in the shop one day with a mate from the same band I was playing in at the time. (see previous reply to this qotw) His name was Murapa and he was a very large muscular black guy from Zimbabwe. He was about 6' 3" and was built like a brick shithouse. His large afro hairdo made him look even bigger. I had planned that Murapa would look after the shop while I went over to one of the other branches to sort out some shit and such. I had told him to lock up and meet me at a pub called the Free Press nearby to hand over the keys and maybe a swift one.

At that time I had more black mates than white ones and I completely forgot about prejudice for a second, which was much worse back then. You only need look at old episodes of 'Love Thy Neighbour' and 'Till Death Us Do Part" to see it was even acceptable on prime time TV back then. The pub was also the the local for the local police station and regularly have half a dozen filth from the Gene Hunt school of etiquette in there drinking halves. I got a bit held up and was late getting back to the pub and by the time I got there, he was nowhere to be seen. I was beginning to wonder how I was going to get into my shop if he had fucked off home so I popped back and I was relieved to see him inside. I went in and started to make my apollogies but before I could speak he stood up and began calling me all the names under the sun. When angry he sometimes reverted to his natural tongue so I'm not sure exactly what he was calling me but part of it went something like this, "....bastard, don't ever ask me to meet you in a place like that, you f..", etc etc.
I found out after he had calmed down that several of the filth had started talking loudly, laughing loudly and generally being racist cunts. I was so sorry and told him so. I just didn't think and I got it a bit wrong. A day or so later he was relating the incident to someone which gave me an idea. We planned that I would go inside the pub first then Murapa would follow. I would act like we were complete strangers and get involved with any racist banter only take it far too far. This is what happened.

As soon as he walked in, I was sat at the bar close to the three old bill who were in there as usual. As he walked through the door I said in a loud voice, "Oh fucking hell. Look what's walked in a facking sooty, there goes the pub down the shitter lads". The three policemen all laughed but then began to look a bit uneasy when Murapa did one of his angry faces which believe me could frighten a fucking police horse let alone let alone a couple of cuntsables. He looked directly at me. "What did you say!", he assertively bellowed. "You heard sooty! Why don't you fack orf back to the jungle?". By now there were only two filth as one had got to the bog. Murapa pointed out to me the worst offender from the previous time with a preplanned gesture. I made sure I got as close to the cunt as possible then Murapa ripped off his shirt and flexed his huge powerful muscles and positioned himself so we could have a slagging match with the racist cop in the middle.
I called him every degrogatory racist term I could muster and this cop was bricking it by now. He looked very uneasy and tried, usuccessfully to calm things down and had now entered the "best shut the fuck up and duck if necessary" state. Oh by the way the landlord was in on it too. I have to make that point as the rozzer who went for a slash had asked the landlord to phone the police station for back up. They were off duty, no radios and this is a good 12 years before the mobile phone. He just pretended to make the call. Meanwhile the argument had reached a point where a. Murapa was running out of threats and b. I was running out of racist insults. Then, as planned, Murapa looked at me and shouted, "What do you want from me?". I simply said in a normal polite voice, "Pint of bitter would be nice." Murapa then faced the landlord who by now was requiring a change of boxers and ordered in a very posh accent, "Two pints of IPA my good man and one for your good self." The copper litterally breathed a huge sigh of relief. He was then told by the landlord that it was a set up and that would teach him a lesson for being racist in his pub. He never came in again, well at least I never saw him again.

Murapa and I walked back to the shop pissing ourselves laughing. We got back to the shop and our singer was there looking after things. He was a Jamaican and was sitting reading the paper unaware of what we had just done. I went over to him and casually said, "Murapa called be a racist cunt bastard and threatened to punch my head off just now". Nev looked a bit puzzled, then Murapa piped up, "Because you called me a shit skin, a coon, a wog, a coon and told me to fuck off back to the jungle". Nev just dropped his paper and looked round and with a frowing puzzled look and asked what the fuck we were on about. We told him about the stunt and as we reminisced were all in so much pain from laughing about it I had to close up early.
_{Dedicated to my very good mate Jon Murapa who often dined out on this story and left this earth two years later.}

( Captn Hood-Butter is not dead yet., Sun 4 Apr 2010, 15:59, Reply)

Prejudice for the gayers
A few years ago, I worked for a large NHS trust in London. Although anyone who knows what I do will work it out, I'm going to keep the specific name of the Trust out of this answer.

Being gay in the NHS is not at all generally frowned upon, and in fact, I have only ever had one or two experiences of homophobic prejudice, and both of those times they have not been directed at me, but at someone else (generally someone extremely camp, but more of that later.)

Anyway, one day I was approached by a member of staff from another part of the trust, who I knew vaguely well. The conversation went thusly:

"Hello Carrot. Just wondering what you are doing on 18th August?"
"Er, not much, why?"
"Well it's Gay Pride, and I've been asked to organise our parade for the Trust."
"Very nice, congratulations. And you're telling me this....why?"
"Well, you're gay aren't you?"
"Yes"
"So you'll come along and march in the parade" [this was not phrased as a question, it was a statement of fact]
"No"
"I'm sorry?"
"No, I wont."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to."
"But...but...you're gay!"

The guy didn't seem to understand that despite the fact I was a lover of Teh Cock, the last thing I wanted to do was prance down Old Compton Street dressed in green. My refusal actually generated a few problems and a few unpleasant moments before I left, as I was seen as some kind of fabulous and well-dressed traitor.

So here's the thing. As a gay man, I am prejudiced against gay men!

If you are an admirer of the male form, there is no need to start speaking like Frankie Howard and Julian Clary's bastard love child.

Sucking cock does not, as far as I am aware, stretch the tendons in your wrist.

Loving it in the marmite cave does not give you the right to dress in lurid colours, take vast quantities of poppers and amphetamines, and dance until 5am to shit music before being dry buttfucked by some rough trade called Bruce in a back alley in Vauxhall.

My point is this: I do not see the point in gay "pride". I am not proud to be gay. Being gay is something you are born with - let's not fuck around here, it's innate not learned. I didn't have to pass any tests to become a raving bender. I am gay. I am also catholic, and have brown hair. I don't take "pride" in either of these things, nor am I ashamed of them, like my sexuality.

The best way to deal with prejudice is to act in a manner that encourages acceptance. The self-exclusion of elements of gay society is putting this process back by years. Until people identify being gay as being part of the normal spectrum of human sexuality, this cause is going to be stopped from progressing.

So, homos, please put down the Julie Andrews biography, step away from the musical theatre DVD collection, put on some old jeans and a scruffy t-shirt and for fuck's sake, stop living up to your own sterotype.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Sun 4 Apr 2010, 10:42, 45 replies)

Job interview, circa 2000
Potential boss: "Because you're Jewish, I'm inclined to think that you might refuse to work on Saturdays."

18-year-old me: "Because you're racist, I'm inclined to think that you're an idiot."

I didn't get the job.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Sat 3 Apr 2010, 14:17, 7 replies)

Happens everywhere

( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Tue 6 Apr 2010, 6:15, 6 replies)

Yes, I am
And I think I know why, but it took a bit of digging to figure it out.

I'm ginger (or was when I had hair...), have needed spectacles since pre-school, and am so white as to be nearly albino. I'm also a nerd, a geek, and I was a major swot at school. I came in for quite a lot of stick for a variety of reasons - gingernut, coppernob, Duracell, specky, four-eyes - the lot. Oddly enough, it all stopped when I hit six foot tall and started studying Shotokan. These days, I'm a skinhead, 6'4" biker and it's amazing how many people decide to go pick on someone else.

But my prejudices are of a different root. I don't like black people.

Worse still, I know that's wrong on a logical and reasonable level - I'm not stupid, a Daily Mail reader or a member of the BNP. I don't think they're coming here and taking our jobs, nor are they out to rape all white women. I know that's all media bollocks.

So where'd it come from? Yeah, it beat the shit out of me too. But I did some mental digging and I think I have it sussed. I grew up in a tiny village in Lincolnshire. No black people around. No ethnics at all. No Chinese, Asian, nothing. Nothing except pure-white Lincolnshire farmers. We didn't have a TV, because it was the 60s, they were expensive and my folks just couldn't afford one. So all I knew was the tiny village world around me, apart from books.

And I didn't think black people were real. I'd read about them in such wonderful tomes as Little Black Sambo, and had kind of grouped them in with Noddy and Big Ears as fictional. The first black person I remember seeing was aged around 8, at a friend's house, and seeing an episode of Star Trek, with Nichelle Nichols as Uhura. I didn't even realise *she* was real, I thought it was just another clever make-up job like the green girl, or the blue man in the end credits!

Then I read a lot of my Dad's pulp fiction - Tarzan, who is one of the least PC characters in C20th fiction - he regards black people as sub-humans (because one of them did kill his mum), target practice, kills them for sport, and on at least one occasion as a potential food source. There were also the Sanders books by Edgar Wallace, featuring the adventures of a brave, stiff-upper-lipped colonial type who spends his time pacifying a bunch of thieving, murdering and fairly amoral tribes. These all formed large parts of my world-view.

Then there were my Dad's war stories - he'd been in the Egyptian police before the war, spoke Arabic like a native, and although he'd had many friends out there, still pretty much classed the lot of them as 'wogs'.

As I grew up, still with no black kids or Indian kids in any of my schools, I saw the riots on TV in South Africa in the '80s - huge lines of scruffy black guys, waving makeshift weapons and chanting something which clearly translated as 'You're going home in an ambulance!' and all I could think of was that apart from swapping the leopard-skin loincloths for dirty t-shirts, these people could have stepped out of a Sanders book, as it all seemed to be tribal warfare. Stupid black people killing other stupid black people for no reason that made any sense to a 15-year-old white boy.

The single incident that finally cemented it in place, though, was an article on TV about how they don't really show the horrors of war, and they showed footage of a cameraman/reporter team, and the reporter walks about 100 yards up the road to talk to a guy with a gun. The cameraman films everything, and sees the reporter be made to kneel down, then lie down, and then get shot in the back of the head, all in the space of about 30 seconds. And I remember thinking, "That's not a soldier, that's not a black man, that's just a fucking monkey with a gun."

Does it affect my daily life - no, not really. The office I work in has a generous sprinkling of all ethnic types - Caribbean, African, Indian, Oriental, and I attempt to treat everyone with the same level of professionalism. My son has black and asian friends, who have always been welcomed in our house, nor was he ever discouraged from going to theirs. I know it's wrong, and I know it's irrational, but I think it's too deeply-rooted for me to do anything about it at this stage of my life. All I can do is make sure that this is one set of memes that do not get passed on.

Because my son's got enough problems being ginger, specky, a geek and left-handed as well.

Apologies for length and lack of teh funny, but it was actually quite cathartic to write it all out.
(Leo Sasquatch hates being the grown-up, Sun 4 Apr 2010, 12:56, 11 replies)

defusing racial tension with the aid of Bono
A while back when visiting the other half's family in Lisburn, Norn Iron, i found myself sitting outside a club in belfast conversing with a friend. soem local skanks overheard, spotted my english accent and came wading in. i was very rapidly proclaimed as, in no particular order, a squaddie, gay, and uneducated.. all of which i laughed off, and they ended up being very friendly. then their fat bearded gimli-alike friend came over and loudly proclaimed 'I don't like oliver cromwell!' and fixed me (and an area a few degrees to either side- he was somewhat inebriated) with his very best withering hard-man stare.

'never met him, little bit before my time mate' replied i. 'while we're on the topic of cunts though, when are you lot going to apologise for Bono? eh?'

he took rather a shine to me after that and insisted on buying me a drink.
never thought i'd say it, but thanks bono!
you cunt.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Thu 1 Apr 2010, 13:32, 2 replies)

Middle Class
I'm quite prejudiced against middle class people as in I don't want to be one. The following took place in a pub.

"I'm not middle class - I'm working class. I grew up in a pit village, I lived in a council house, I went to a comprehensive school. I'm as working class as you can get!" I protested.

"Look mate. Your class isn't where you came from. It's where you are now. Look at you. You've got a degree. You wear a suit to work. You work in London and fly back here on weekends. You even own a boat for fucks sake. Middle class" said flatmate.

"Working class" I said stubbornly. "For Christ's sake - I even used to be a card-carrying member of the Labour party!"

"Used to be my" mate said "You're not now..."

"That's because they turned out to a bunch of thieving, lying cunts!!" I spluttered.

"Legless - just face it. You came from the working classes and now you're middle class. You hold dinner parties. Your favourite drink is wine. You cook with herbs."

"What the fuck have herbs got to do with it? I said. "Everyone cooks with herbs"

"Only the middle class" my mate said "The real working class doesn't even know what herbs are"

"Oh bollocks" I said. "You're talking through your arse"

"OK" my mate said. "Ask the barmaid. Go on - ask her a question about herbs."

The barmaid was a hefty lass from a village down the coast. A bit in-bred but nice enough.

"Debs?" I called "Can you explain to my flatmate what oregano is?"

She looked puzzled

"Isn't he one of the Wombles" she called back.

"Middle class" says mate smugly.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 8 Apr 2010, 1:38, 8 replies)

Prejudice is a funny old thing ...
And even funnier when you challenge one of your own.

Like most bright kids born to working class parents, I have always wanted to shove the silver spoon down the neck of the rounded vowelled, bow-tied, snort laughing Eton types. Not just because I have had to work very hard to enjoy a level of lifestyle which they were born into. But because I genuinely believed that they equally despised me for my accent and stunning lack of table manners.

/wavy lines

Way back in 2001, I was working as an IT contractor. It was a 3 month contract with a well specified tasklist and good cash ... unfortunately, my direct manager was a sexist, racist, boorish (working class Brummie!) bastard. I won't bore you with any of his daily disparagement. It was a short contract, the work was good, and most of the other staff were smashing.

There was one chap in particular ... who barely spoke a word to me and couldn't look me in the eye. He was a graduate from an elite private, boys-only, boarding school. Finished his education at Eton yadda yadda. And I was a Woman ... in IT ... poor chap had no idea how to speak to me. He was so incredibly shy.

So back to the office floor where Bastard Brummie Boss is about a third of the way through his usual daily appalling, unfunny, offensive rant when the Shy Eton Chap stood up. In the open plan office. Took two steps forward with his trembling balled fists at his side. And he bellowed the most immortal words;

"How DARE you Sir! How DARE you use such uncouth language in the presence of a lady! You Sir! Are a CAD! And a BOUNDER Sir!"

He was furious. And those were the worst words that he knew.

What a treasure. Thank you Shy Eton Chap.
(Que?, Thu 8 Apr 2010, 5:12, 6 replies)

The victim complex
Unfortunately, this is a prejudice borne of society.

I think the woman with the face like a bucket of smashed crabs who "slipped over on some spilt water whilst at work" on the injury vultures 4u advert sums things up for me appropriately.

I am prejudiced against people who think that the world owes them a fucking favour all the time. There is no such thing as an accident, it's always somebody's fault. These people would be the same to complain when their council tax rises year-on-year, or Tesco puts up the price of bananas, to pay for insurance and stupid personal injury claims.

Listen up, fucklips:
* Sometimes shit happens. Dust yourself down and chalk it up to experience.
* Taking reasonable steps to prevent yourself from coming to harm, i.e. looking where you are going, not wearing high heels whilst running for the tube, not juggling chainsaws etc is what a reasonable human being would do.
* YOU DO NOT HAVE AN AUTOMATIC RIGHT TO THOUSANDS OF POUNDS OF MONEYS. It is cunts like you that mean that our public liability insurance premium goes through the roof every. fucking. year.
* Sometimes doctors, medical professionals etc miss symptoms, or you don't tell them the right thing. We do not do it on purpose or through incompetence. We are very, very busy and quite simply we cannot afford to run every test on every patient.

The number of times I have been out to RTA's where patients have suddenly developed whipcash is amazing. Simple answer. If you complain of pain in your neck, I WILL cut the roof off your car, I WILL strap you to a long and uncomfortable board for a few hours, and a doc WILL have a fondle inside your chutney cupboard to check your nervous reflex.

So, don't be a twat. Sometimes bad things happen. Live with it.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Sat 3 Apr 2010, 11:04, 6 replies)

Racism
I was a Radiographer in Bridgend. I get a call at 4 in the morning to x-ray a guy in Resus, so off I trundle with my x-ray unit.

I walk in to see a guy, naked from the waist up, who had been given a monumental kicking. His head was like a pumpkin, he had a number of abrasions all over, but what struck me was you could see his Trachea.

Someone had tried to saw his head off, and had managed to do a lovely dissection of his neck, without hitting anything fatal.

What then stuck me was the Nazi tattoos all over this guy. He was a member of the famous Caerau Ku Klux Klan.

He is whining like a bitch though, Fucckin Niggers did this, I hate fucckin Coons etc on and on, so I wander over to him to do a portable chest x-ray, leaned over and whispered in his ear, "mate open your eyes".

He forces one swollen peeper open and sees Ravi. who is a 6 foot 8 inch Sikh, two Filipino Nurses, One Nigerian House Officer, another Indian Surgeon and me, whitey.

We are keeping you alive you cunt, I whisper, so shut the fuck up or we may not bother, OK?

Found out later the South Wales Anti Nazi League had crashed a bit of a cruciform BBQ they were having. The SWANL is a bit more direct it seemed than the rest of the fay hippies that make up the movement.

Should have used a sharper knife though.
(micmac is happy as a pig in shite, Thu 1 Apr 2010, 22:36, 3 replies)

My prejudice is distressing
and very hard to eliminate. It has never been turned into discrimination and I would hope it never is, because it would make me a bad person which is something I don't think I am (or rather hope I'm not.)

It's the full hijab. *Not* Islam or Muslims themselves, but the hijab. It makes me feel uncomfortable not to see someones face, to gauge their facial expressions and this is the worst bit of all:

A hijab is not simply a symbol of religious faith. What it says to me is you are dirty. You are unclean for displaying yourself in front of men, for not concealing yourself from their 'lust.' I dislike everything it stands for- the belief that men only want to rape women, that women are responsible for mens sexual behaviour. I hate the double standard, but I also hate myself for knowing that I could never be good friends with someone who genuinely believes that swathing themselves in black cloth to preserve male sexual purity is the right thing to do.

Part of this is overwhelmingly negative experiences. A woman in a hijab once stopped and spat at my feet (I was wearing a knee length skirt and a blouse with high heels), I was told I was a 'devil whore' for kissing my boyfriend in public, and once in a library I was approached by a woman (in full hijab) who started telling me to read the Koran. I've read the Koran and it is alien to my beliefs especially in sexual equality.

So yes, I am prejudiced. I wouldn't deny a job to a woman in full hijab, but I don't think our mindsets would ever allow us to be friends.

And for those of you who call me a racist, the only thing I can do is point out that people of any colour can wear a hijab. It's a religion not a race, and I have no prejudice against headscarves, or traditional clothing. Just the overwhelmingly concealing hijab
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Mon 5 Apr 2010, 16:24, 20 replies)

Pea-roast
From the spoilt brats qotw a year or so ago....

----------------------------------------------

A tale of two educations....
I've just got back from a jaunt up to Preston doing a role-play / corporate training day with a lovely group of people. Some of you may know the format - actor role-plays difficult individual who you have to deal with / win over.

Anyway, as I said, a lovely little jolly to the North where the pay is better than being a barman or the other crap jobs 'resting' actors take on.

So, coming back this afternoon, my actor colleague and I get on the London train at Preston, and we take two seats opposite a table of lads.

Now, my first instinct of course is 'oh bollocks, here's trouble all the way back to London'.

Yup, I'm ashamed to say I jumped to conclusions pretty quickly - 4 teenagers, hoodies, phone on the table with the speaker playing a rather bizarrely medley of 80s hits and power ballads (Phil Collins and Tina Turner anyone?) and a couple of them were skinning up. I think you get the idea, and many of you would have probably thought the same.

But no, they weren't too much trouble and kept themselves to themselves and didn't leave the music on for very long.

Turned out two of them were from a rough area of Bristol and two from rough parts of London - they'd been on a week's sailing organised by a charity - I don't know which one, but I guess one that dealt with underprivileged kids.

They were charm personified as a group - friendly, warm, happy to engage in conversation, polite & generally good people.

As we approached Crewe, they started to make a move to get bags out, so I immediately asked if I could grab their table as they got off. Turned out the two Bristolians were changing and the other two were staying on, so I assumed that we wouldn't get the table.

The moment we pulled in, the two London lads offered us the table - both saying they didn't need it any more and besides needed some sleep so it didn't make a difference. A nice little gesture I think you'll agree.

So, my colleague and I are enjoying our good fortuned table-topped luxury, when the train stops at a town certain for a famous public school. On get two gentleman who are around the late 50s, early 60s mark, well dressed and who ask to share our table.

Of course, we agree and make room for them. Within 20 seconds of sitting down, they've tried to take over the table. Not only physically, but vocally as well. My colleague and I can barely hear each other over their conversation. (Bit silly trying to take on two classically trained actors in a game of who can project their voice more, but anyway we resisted the temptation for the sake of the others in the carriage).

On the two occaisions that either of us wanted to go to the loo, the act of moving their sextagenerian arses was treated as though we'd asked them to eat razor-laden turds. And, of course the same when we come back from the loo as well. An utter refusal to acknowledge that we were there, and when we had to ask them to move, a tut.

Now, you might at this point be thinking that this really isn't the end of the world, Sugar-Tits. Grow a pair and deal with it, so you met a couple of slightly rude gents on the train.

Big deal.

Normally, I'd agree with you, but in this case the two gentleman had just come back from an old school reunion of some sort (they were discussing their old school and who had been doing what etc), and judging from their later conversations they also had senior jobs in the City.

It was, I thought, just interesting to see the difference between how four underprivileged kids and two wealthy, 'well brought up' men behaved towards other people.

This isn't, believe it or not, an attack on public school boys, since sugar-tits actually did go to a quite well known public school. It's a commentary on the fact that you get arseholes in every level of the social strata. Two privately educated 'gentlemen' had their lack of manners shown up by a bunch of underpriveleged hoodies from rough council estates.

Really made me feel warm inside, that I found some human decency in the place where I least expected it.
(sugar_tits, Fri 2 Apr 2010, 12:27, 4 replies)

Retribution, RN style
I heard this story years ago, God knows if it's true...

~~~~~~~ wavy lines transporting us back to the late 1940s ~~~~~~~

HMS Belfast after the end of the war was stationed out in the Far East, as part of the Royal Navy's Oriental presence. It was a horrible time for the crew - this still being the time of hammocks slung up below decks and no air-conditioning. (Temperatures below decks would regularly be over 100 degrees F in the tropical heat). So, when the ship pulled into Hong Kong for a resupply and some R & R, it was a welcome respite for the entire crew - a real opportunity to let off some steam.

The last night before sailing a small group of the officers were out in the city for a quiet drink and a meal, making the most of their last few hours of freedom before an early evening sailing the next day. They're on their first and last beer, taking it slowly as they realise this'll be the last one for a few months when they hear,

"Are you f***ing limeys? I hate f***ing limeys. Limeys are all fags."

There's an American gentleman standing at the bar who starts to pour out a torrent of abuse at them. They're doing their best to ignore it, but the Yank is having none of it and continues to hurl abuse at them. Then he approaches their table, sits down and proceeds to tell them how and why they were the scum of the earth. They politely tell him they aren't interested and could he leave them alone.

"Leave you alone? Hey, if it wasn't for us you'd be two down on world wars by now. You assholes can't even fight."

This, of course, to some officers who have been stationed aboard the Belfast for a good few years and have experienced the horrors of war in the Atlantic, the Russian convoys and the Far East. Suddenly, it had started to get very personal, and knowing that if they got caught in a brawl they'd be in a lot of trouble, one of them thought of a different approach to the problem.

"Well I bet we could drink your fat Yank arse under the table."

Reg rag to a bull. His face went crimson with rage at the suggestion that a Brit could beat him at anything. Problem was that the Navy officers didn't want to get drunk, it being the day before a sailing. So they started drinking water instead of spirits, and made sure that he became increasingly lubricated. Eventually, he passed out in a stupor incapable of speech or movement. You would have thought the Godawful hangover and the fact that he'd pissed himself would be revenge enough, but when someone has insulted the memory of your dead friends you'd probably be in a slightly less forgiving mood.

They took him to a tattoo parlour instead.

From here on in, I can only speculate as to his side of the story. The navy boys delivered him back to his hotel and headed back to the ship. Sober.

Although, I would have loved to have seen his face the next morning though as he stood in front of the mirror. With an enormous Union Jack permanently etched across his chest.
(sugar_tits, Fri 2 Apr 2010, 10:23, 1 reply)

Gay.
Click "I like this" if you too are getting tired of the gaming population using the word 'gay' as a stand-in for 'stupid.' As in, 'that last fight was gay, I died three times', or 'this game is so gay, my phat lewtz never drops!!!1!'
ugh.
and btw it's not cool to call someone a faggot because you disagree with his/her playing style and/or general in-game chat.
stoppit.
(fai is rocking khaz modan server as of, Fri 2 Apr 2010, 2:50, 12 replies)

Racial Prejudice - Not Always A Good Idea
Last year I was living with a trio of ladies, two Scottish, one Dutch. Our flat was across the hallway from a flat full of (I think) Indians of mixed gender in varying states of employment.

In any case, we saw them occasionally coming and going, but a couple of the girls in the flat started to take a dislike to some of their habits e.g. smoking in the hallway a lot and leaving a key to the block above the front door so those of them without a key could get in (as could burglars, we theorised).

In any case, these feelings grew over time...we had no idea how many people were staying in that flat and we were sure something questionable was going on. The girls seemed to take a lot more exception to them than I did, but eventually it was quietly revealed by one or two of my flatmates that they didn't think much of people from that area of the world (the word Paki was used once before I pointed out that we didn't know if they were from Pakistan, and if they were they'd be Pakistani), and that they didn't feel their belongings were completely safe in such a setting.

A picture was slowly built up of a bunch of chain smoking, insular cutthroats living in a crowded, sweaty, unwashed flat illegally, probably making a living off drugs and plotting to burgle and/or rape anyone they caught alone. I didn't subscribe to this so much, as I'd never seen anything to indict them, but I certainly started to get affected by the incessant talk of how probably awful our neighbours were.

One day, the Scots girls and myself were away and the Dutch one locked herself out overnight. She braced herself for a cold night on our doorstep, until one of our wicked and malicious neighbours walked past on his way home from a late shift. He asked her if she was ok and she explained her situation, precipitating an offer to stay in the drug den for a night.

She accepted, so as not to seem rude, and was taken inside to a flat no worse than any other. Taken into the girls' bedroom, she was given one of the two single beds, while the two girls already in there doubled up without complaint upon having the situation explained by the man (my flatmate's offer to sleep on the floor was met with cheerful refusal). She spent the night comfortably, was not touched up or hit on by any of the men, had nothing of hers stolen, and was offered food in the morning. It was an act of pure altruism - one which, I hastened to realise, we would not have extended to them if the roles were reversed.

Turns out we were just being unreasonable, prejudiced, and very obviously the worse people, despite being white. Who would've guessed?

Length? I think she slept six uniterrupted hours that night. Much easier in a bed than on an unheated concrete floor.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Thu 1 Apr 2010, 20:28, 2 replies)

I hate vegetarians
Especially the preachy ones, piss me right off. Man's evolution has largely been attributed to meat eating. Research has shown that meat eating hominids had larger brains than their vegetarian counterparts because the amount of calories contained in the meat left more time for thinking as they weren't constantly scratching around in bushes for manky berries.

We don't have four stomachs, we have canine teeth, and the fact our appendicies have shrivelled up like a cock in the cold leads me to the conclusion that vegetarians are wrong, wrong, bloody wrong. Nature intended for us to eat a varied diet which includes meat and who the hell are you to tell us otherwise, you nut-loaf scoffing, holier-than-cow fart factories? You are part of nature's great cycle, and it knows more than you and your hairy shirt will ever know.

And don't start with that healthier diet crap. Didn't do Linda McCartney much good now did it?
( Draconacticus Reject shampoo. Demand real poo!, Thu 1 Apr 2010, 16:51, 24 replies)

The danger of accepting everyone equally
I'm awakened at about 1am one morning by a phonecall from my mate Eric (name changed to protect the meek). This is nothing unusual. Normally it'd be to tell me he'd just bumped into a D-list celebrity in the pub, or had climbed a church spire with a bottle of Buckfast in his hand.

But this phonecall started off quite different.

"Subchimp, help! It's 1am, I'm walking home from the club, and some bender is following me home and he's going to spear me in the arse"

Christ, I thought, he's obviously gone overboard with the tequila this time. I asked: " Okay, 1, How do you know he's gay? 2, How do you know he's following you? And 3, if he is gay, what makes you think he's going to shag you?"

Eric: "Cause he told me so."

Me: "Ah . . "

I could hear his quick footsteps down the phone as he trotted at lightspeed, but even then I was sure I could hear a camp voice shouting his name in the background."

Eric gave me a quick recap of the events. He'd come out of a nightclub with a group. While waiting on his kebab he'd noticed his so-called mates had started shouting homophobic abuse at some guy they vaguely knew.

Eric was appalled at his mates' behaviour and went over to the guy to apologise, telling him: "Sorry about that mate. They're just a bunch of pricks. We're not all homophobes though, so don't let them get to you. Have a good night."

At that Eric walked away.

The young gay gent took this as a come-on and started following Eric around. Eric put the guy straight, for want of a better phrase, and told him he wasn't gay. But the guy wasn't listening.

Gay guy: "How about I go home with you?"

Eric: "I told you, I'm straight, now please stop harassing me."

GG: "I don't think that's true. I'm coming back to yours."

Eric told the guy to leave him alone and walked away, only to have the guy keep following him.

This brings us back to the moment Eric had called me.

By now it's clear that he's not just paranoid. there is a gay gentleman following him with every tintention of shagging him against his will.

At this point I can hear another voice down the phone. "Who you talking to?". There's a brief struggle before the gay guy gets a hold of the phone and now starts speaking to me, telling me of his intentions.

Again I told him: "You do know that my friend isn't gay right?"

Gay Guy: "Yeah, but he'll learn."

Me: "Ok then. Well have fun. Say, could you put Eric back on for a minute please?"

GG: "OK"

Eric: "See? Told you?"

Me: "Eric, he's a fucking lunatic he won't take no for an answer. He's seriously got a screw loose There's only one thing for it. Run like fuck!"

Suddenly the phone is filled with the rapid footsteps of a terrified Eric fleeing up one of the steepest hills in town, with the would-be suitor's camp wails in the background: "Eeeeerrrrrrriiiiicccccc!".

Gradually the voice in the background faded and Eric made it home.

He'd dodged a bullet that night, but I later asked him why he'd phoned me. Turns out he'd rang the last person on his phone just to get advice simply because he didn't know how to react.

Had he been female, and followed home by a guy who wouldn't take no for an answer then the options would have been clearer. If a girl hits a guy who won't leave her alone, she's standing up for her rights.

But Eric ran out of options when the gay pursuer wouldn't take no for an answer. Words hadn't worked and had he hit him, Eric could have been up in court for an allegeged homophobic attack.

Makes you think.

With equal rights must come equal responsibility.
(Barry Subchimp, Wed 7 Apr 2010, 12:54, 6 replies)

How to confuse a racist.
"Fucking immigrants! All coming here, stealing our jobs!" raged the racist. This blindsided me- I'd never heard him come out with anything like this before.

"What?"
"You heard me, fucking immigrants and asylum seekers, stealing our jobs and houses, fishing in the rivers!"

This was totally new on me. Usually this occasional drinking buddy was quite placid, a bit mental, and he loved the weed like there was no tomorrow, and not to be trusted at all around Mars Bars, but I'd never heard him go off on one before. So I decided to ask the question- one I never ask, because I'm never sure if I will like the answer or not.

"So... so you vote for the BNP now then?"
"Yes! Course I fucking well do!"

Well that told me then. I asked him why, and got the usual rant from those who make up for what they are lacking in brain cells by having a very large mouth. And his was in full flow, as he covered the usual bits paraphrased from Enoch Powell's speeches. Oswald Mosley would have been proud of this bloke right about now. But as he ranted and raved, with me quietly sipping my pint, something went *click* in my head. And when he stopped for a breather, and before he could start again, I asked him a simple question.

"So do you have a job?"
"N-no! I'm waiting for something more in my skills range!"
"But have you been to the job centre recently?"
"Yes, I have! But all the jobs are fucking shit! Fruit picking, MacDonald's, medical orderlies and all that! I'm not doing all that!"
"So there are jobs available but you don't want to do them?"
"Fucking too right!"
"Right then. So you don't want to do those jobs even though they are available. I'm guessing this is because you consider them beneath you? Thought so. Right then, consider this. You don't want to do those jobs, but some immigrants want to do them. It gives them dignity, and they can earn money to send back home after paying their way here. They do the jobs you and I wouldn't want to do- shit jobs, admittedly, but they keep the economy ticking over. Do you know the reason why America became such an economic giant? Immigration and a cheap labour force. That is what these guys provide. They pick our fruit, clean our shoes and sweep our streets. They build our houses, and repair the potholes. You might not want to do it, but they keep the economy going, and they only take these jobs because people like you are too idiotic to swallow their own pride and actually get off their arse and work for a living."

The pub was starting to take an interest at this point, they could see something interesting was going to happen.

"But... but..."
"No buts. Accept you've been an idiot and get back to the job centre, I'm going to leave you now because I don't spend my valuable time in the company of bigots. Bye now!"

And I left the pub, the pub giggling at the now silent racist idiot, as he wondered what the hell had just happened to him.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Mon 5 Apr 2010, 18:31, 24 replies)

Racists - The Next Generation
I used to play for Harpole FC in the Northamptonshire Youth League. There were ten white kids and one black kid in the team. The black kid was a lad named Maurice who was – to put it eloquently – the dogs bollocks at football.

We played an away game over the other side of town one time. It was a momentous game because my dad actually got his fat arse off the couch and came to watch his son prance about and have ten barrels of shit kicked out of him by more talented footballers.

After the game as I’m trudging towards my dad’s motor with a few more of the beleaguered members of Harpole FC, my dad says: “Any of you boys need a lift? I’m sure I can squeeze five on the backseat and another up front.” As he held the car door open on his shitty Talbot Horizon.

“Sure, dad – that’d be great. But we’re not taking Maurice,” I said.

And my dad went apeshit. “IS IT BECAUSE HE’S BLACK!?! HAVE I BROUGHT A RACIST INTO THIS WORLD?!? IS MY OWN FLESH AND BLOOD A RACIST?!?”

Even before I could remonstrate my dad had Maurice collared and in the back of the Talbot. Even Maurice was protesting, but my dad was having none of it. My dad had suddenly become the modern-day Martin Luther-fucking King of the Midlands.

A few more of us piled in and with the car well and truly rammed with sweaty, muddy teenage boys my dad set off for Northampton town centre.

“Errr... what are you doing here?” said another one of the team.
Maurice, who the question was aimed at, shrugged: “I really don’t know,” he replied moodily.

“Errr... Mr Hanky – why is Maurice here?”

And my dad wasn’t happy. “Just shut up the lot of you! Christ, is this the next generation? Is this Thatchers Britain? God help us.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just that –“ But before another of my team mates could finish Maurice interjected.

Maurice leaned forward and went:

BBBLLLLUUUUUURRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH !!! As a technicolour yawn of Tardis-like proportions spewed out his gob and splashed over the back of my dad’s seat, little chunks of carrot and baked beans pebble dashing the Talbot’s interior.

SCREEECH!!!

“Get out!!! All of you, get out!!!” my dad yelled. And we did. Very fucking quickly indeed. All of us except for Maurice, who sat covered in puke, shaking, and turning a very interesting shade of puce: “Sorry. I’m really sorry. I tried to say something... I get really bad car sickness, Mr Hanky. I'm really sorry,” and then Maurice started to blub.

My dad didn’t bother coming to watch his son play footie anymore after that.

Thank fuck.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 1 Apr 2010, 16:59, 2 replies)

The whole B3ta "Daily Mail" thing
OK - apologies for lack of humour (this has to be one of the least funny QOTWs ever) - but I feel the need to write about this.

Before I start, let me establish some facts:

1) I am not in any way racist (meaning, I do not give a damn about the colour of someone's skin, or their ethnic origin)
2) I do not consider myself a Daily Mail reader - although I will happily read it if it's lying around and I have nothing else to do

I am a born and bred British citizen. I happen to be white - but I consider that totally irrelevant: there are many non-white British citizens who agree with what I am about to say.

In the United Kingdom we have a massive immigration problem. That's a fact: it's not just some "Daily Fail" (oh har har, that's so funny) hate-mongering. Now I'm not talking about all immigrants - no way. I'm talking about the vast numbers of people who come to this country with the intention to take, and not to contribute. The Somali families with ten children, who come here in order to be given free housing and benefits - at the expense of you and me. The so-called "students" from Bangladesh who are supposedly enrolled on an engineering degree, but who can't speak a word of English - and who will be found working cash-in-hand in a restaurant kitchen. The pregnant women from Nigeria, who come to the UK in order to have their babies delivered for free on the National Health Service. The Algerian men who entered the country in the back of a lorry, lived here for several years working illegally, got into fights in nightclubs causing GBH - leading them to be picked up by the police and marked for deportation - but then who magically conjure up a French bride, so that as a family member of a European national, we have to allow them to stay.

It's not exaggerated: it's all true. I myself used to be on a housing waiting list, but I was told that as a single, childless male, I was "lowest priority" because all the asylum seekers came before me. Fact.

There are hundreds of thousands of people in this country who live here, but who do not care one bit for British society. Their purpose is to take as much as they possibly can from the taxpayers' pockets, while taking advantage of our lax laws.

And I - as a British citizen, who has a sizable chunk of his salary taken every month in order to help fund these people - am sick of it. The problem is, however, people in my position feel a great deal of prejudice from the so-called liberal left in this country. And I see quite a bit of evidence of that right here on B3ta. People who do not understand what a big immigration problem this country has, and who think that if anyone speaks out against it, they must be a Daily Heil-reading, BNP nazi.

In fact I have never voted for the BNP, and I do not support them. The reason I do not support them is because their membership is largely made up of racists - and I despise racism. It's a shame that this is the case, however, because they are one of the few parties whose policies actually put British citizens first.

Let me make something else quite clear. I have no problem whatsoever with people who immigrate to this country, and work hard; pay their taxes; contribute to British society; and obey our laws. And to anyone who may have been reading this, and thinking about those lazy and feckless British people who see benefit scrounging as a way of life: yes, I am not saying that all our problems are caused by immigration. I freely admit that there are many immigrants here who do indeed contribute a lot more to society than those British people who scrounge. However, while we may be stuck with the British scroungers - we should not have to be stuck with the non-British scroungers.

So please, people - can we have some common sense here, when writing about Daily Mail readers. It's perfectly possible for someone to be genuinely concerned about the state of our country, but NOT be a racist.
(EuroSong I love horse meat: best of all the animals, Mon 5 Apr 2010, 14:30, 179 replies)

Affluent white kids purporting to be of black ghetto stock.
Pastier than the Pilsbury dough-boy and talking patois. "Ya know wha' I mean, bro, innit?"

Listening to Gangsta Rap and throwing complicated hand gestures at the other white residents in yo 'hood whilst wearing a baseball cap incorrectly and a hooded top that your Mum bought for you.

Pretending to like Ice T and secretly listening to Katy Perry.

Lurking around outside McDonalds with some other nice white middle class boys dressed as Crips desperately wishing to impress equally nice middle class white girls dressed as prostitutes.

Pissing away the most crucial, formative years of your life in your all-out quest to appear dangerous and non-conformist, just like all those other dangerous, non-conformists sitting around you eating their McBurgers and dropping the wrappers to show their dangerous, non-conformist attitude.

Dreaming of the day your parents will buy you that Vauxhall Corsa so that you can add a huge stereo to play with the windows wound down, a ridiculous skirting and body-kit, and the undersill neon strip-lighting which will let you pretend you're Vin Diesel as you hit the redline at forty-seven miles an hour down the Purley Way.

You are the future of this nation and I despise you all.
(Billy The Fish wants to gargle with Lucy Pinder's bath water, Mon 5 Apr 2010, 8:43, 3 replies)

On the rugny field.
Told to me by the minister of my church. Born in the UK he is of black descent and has the skin tone and slightly worryingly is a dead ringer for President Kazi of Afghanistan. A few sunny days do bring the pigment forth.
He used to play rugby and was captain of his team in a previous parish. He had recently returned from a holiday in sunnier climes.
As they lined up for kick off a member of the opposing team was heard to mutter "Nail the fucking nigger." The prop, married to a Chinese lady was away at a speed props do not normally move at and was knocking seven bells out of the player who'd made the comment.

He's dragged off. The referee now gets involved and says "As referee your game is over and I am now going to inform your club committee that you are barred from playing in this league as is the team if there is a recurrence of this behaviour. As Inspector XXXXX I could arrest you for X, Y and Z. Disappear before I decide to." He then turned to the prop. "Striking another player off the ball. Can't let that go unpunished. Sin bin 10 minutes.
(jvz, Fri 2 Apr 2010, 23:06, 4 replies)

Not sure if this counts...
...but the QOTW is nearly over now, so I'm posting it anyway.

When I was 17 I had my first serious boyfriend. During our relationship, I was invited to dinner to meet his parents for the first time. They were really friendly and welcoming, if a bit chavvy. They gave me drink and took me into the living room and we were all doing that polite conversation thing that you do when you meet new people when boyfriend's mother suddenly blurted out;

"Can you eat lasanga? I'm doing one, but I can always freeze it until tomorrow, we can get a takeaway if you prefer, there's a nice one of yours round the corner!" cue boyfriend going bright red and snapping 'Mum!' at her. I politely pointed out that lasanga was fine for me, while wracking my brains wondering what one of 'my' takeaways was. "Okay." She says. "I just thought it might have been a bit English for you." then off she went to the kitchen as if that was a completely normal and reasonable thing to say to her son's girlfriend.

So a little while later we are eating our (english) lasanga and they're asking me about my life and my family and boyfriends Mum asks; "So, where are you from?"
"Oh, not that far from here, I actually live on Blahblah Road."
"Oh, no, I meant where were you born."
"Oxford."
"... Oh." Couple of minutes silence, boyfriend and boyfriend's Dad exchanging looks. "So have you ever visited China?"
"I can't say I have..."
"No? Have you never wanted to go and see where you came from?"
"Um, I come from Oxford."
"But you must have ancestors over there. You're Chinese, aren't you?"
"Um. No."
"Oh." Then she stared at me for about a minute. "No offence luv, but what ARE you?"
"British... but I do have family in Japan."
"Oh, you should have said, I would have done you some rice."

I went out with her son for another six months before we split up and I still bump into her around from time to time. Once she told me to tell "my people" to stop harming dolphins.
(Melody was not PMSing on, Wed 7 Apr 2010, 22:16, 4 replies)

Instant Prejudice
Whenever someone asks me "What star-sign are you" they are instantly filed in the "Fucking Moron" category for humanity.
(theremin put the lotion in the basket on, Thu 1 Apr 2010, 15:45, 11 replies)

Fussy eaters
I fucking hate them. If there's a show about, heh, "selective eating disorder" on television I have to switch it off, or else I start screaming. When I see the face of some thick cunt wrinkle up like an ickle tiny baby's because someone put a plate of not chocolate or not baked beans in front of them, I just want to punch it. It's food you fucking fanny. Food someone has toiled to prepare in the hope of you enjoying it, and your petulent fucking child brain can't cope with it because you're a moron. I hope you get scurvy.
(Slyph, Thu 1 Apr 2010, 14:11, 9 replies)

Today the midwife gave me a leaflet about the benefits of using homeopathy in childbirth.
I am incredibly prejudiced against any medical professional who advocates something so utterly fucktarded.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 1 Apr 2010, 13:59, 18 replies)