Walking home drunk
Late one night on from a local club... ~ 3am.

Me and a few friends we larking about - and embarked on a bit of one-up-manship.

It started tame but quickly got out of hand.

- Traffic cones being worn as hats was replaced by

- Traffic signs being moved and turned around beaten by

- Lifting a Fence from a particularly large house with a sporty looking Mercedes, carrying it down the road leaving it in someone else’s garden was out done by

- Removing the Bus Timetables from bus stops was outdone by

- Emptying a skip of its contents ( entire front room furniture and placing it on the road. Carpet rolled out, Rug, 2 seater sofa, lamp stand, Cabinet and TV ... was out done by

- Traffic cones in the middle of the road At which point a friend found a rather large sandstone rock in the gutter and tried to play football with it... our game then quickly finished as he hurt his foot.

We walked on along the road for another 10 minutes(it was about 1 mile - straight) Then - off in the distance, I heard a car revving loudly, we all turned to see what it was - we then noticed it was racing towards us... off in the distance I saw a set of headlights...

Quickly sobering up, we realised the stupidity of our actions. The headlights swerved around all the objects we had placed... then we heard rev and speed towards us... then BANG, and sparks... it had hit the rock in the road that my friend had forgotten to pick back up...

Shit


We scarpered - quickly. The car (which was now clearly a sporty looking Mercedes) was only a couple of hundred yards away now. I ran one way - my 2 friends ran the other. I ran down a side roads took my coat off and rolled under a parked car on a drive.

I didnt see where my friends went.

After 15 minutes of regretful thoughts and sh!tting myself, I rolled back away from the car, and draped my coat over my arm. As I was walking home, I heard the same car approach from behind me and slow down... I realised if I ran - they would follow, instead I carried on walking and didnt turn around.

They must have bought it because they revved and the Mercedes sped on down the road.

Scary times
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 10:16, Reply)

I don't know why they did this.
Primary school, one of the first days of Year 3. For some reason the cunt next to me thought it'd be a good idea to sharpen a pencil over my head. I was fucking livid and gave the spastic such an epic kicking that their memory was permanently damaged...
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 9:46, 18 replies)

There's something about... Clare
A few years ago, I somehow ended up involved with an older woman called Clare. After "going out" with her for a few months, I agreed to move in with her.

It was this point that I discovered that she was actually a controlling psycho bitch who was determined to make my life a misery.

After a couple of months of being belittled, abused and occasionally beaten (and not in a fun, spanky way either) I decided to move out.

Now, one of the things she had screamed at me for a few hours about was she once caught me using her expensive, £20 a bottle shampoo, instead of the Tesco Value stuff she'd bought for me. So, as I was moving my stuff out, I locked myself in the bathroom for a few minutes and cracked one out into her shampoo.

The bottle was nearly full at this point, so she must have spent months washing her hair in my baby-batter.
(ScousersPet, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 9:45, 3 replies)

Not me...
... but my brother.

We went to a Catholic primary school, so had to go to a church on a regular basis. My brother really didn't like this, so one day after school, he got a pile of dried leaves from the playground, took them into the church, stacked them up under a kneeler and used a candle to set fire to them.

My mum wondered why she spotted him coming out of the church when he wasn't supposed to be and put the fire out with some holy water.
(ScousersPet, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 9:37, Reply)

A few months ago.
I'd pulled in at a the hardware store, it was a windy day and as I opened my door the wind caught it and it dinged the car next to me's door. Not hugely but badly enough.
I wrote them a note leaving my name and number explaining what I had done, did my shopping and waited a few minutes after I came out in case they had finished theirs then I made sure the note was still safely tucked under their wiper & then left.
They rang me that night. Even tho we were both insured we decided not to claim as the excess would probably be about the same as if not more than the cost to fix it. They got a quote and I spoke to a panel beater mate describing the damage - we agreed on a price.
I posted them a postal order for the money and since I had caused them some trouble dinging their new car with my old bomb I put a $1 lottery scratchie ticket in with the money order. I got a phone call back a couple of days later thanking me as they had fixed the ding and won $50 on the scratchie.

Random evil bastards never once offered me a cut of the prize money. I want my $25, the cost of the lottery ticket and the postal order back now thanks.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Tue 21 Feb 2012, 7:56, 18 replies)

Mad man in a car park had a full-on mentalist rant at my wife, accusing her of scratching his new Mercedes, even though
the height of the scratch made it impossible to be her little car. After several minutes of insane anger she managed to get the number plate as he drove off.

Since almost all Mercedes' drivers are aspirational upper-middle class cunts, I guessed at which few streets in town he would probably live in, and soon found his car parked on the street outside his house.

Since I was working shifts at the time, over the next few months I drove past his car at strange times of night, spraying it with various liquids such as milk and undiluted orange squash; stuff that wouldn't wipe off easily with windscreen wipers, or would make the door handles sticky. Nothing intended to cause permanent damage, but to make his life a little bit more unpleasant. I believe that good things should happen to good people, but also bad things should happen to bad people.

Hopefully, he has no idea why it happened to him and thinks it was random.

I know it's an over-reaction for the original slight. But, the only reason I stopped is because I emigrated. If I'm ever back in town, I'll be looking out for his pretentious car again.
( Pope Shax XIII uses Visio for picture editing, does it show?, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 7:38, 12 replies)

Not to mention
all that twisted, vicious, sadistic, innovative and downright vulgar murdering what I done.
( Sea Tramp the thinking woman's 8 Ace, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 7:07, 1 reply)

This was on the beach at Barmouth a couple of years ago.
Nick and his daughter went for a swim in the sea, Ian had his dog with him and went walkabout, so I was guarding the heap of beach stuff.
I decided to make a sandcastle to while away the time in pointless activity, and realised as its boundaries grew that some of the boulders nearby would fit very nicely into the bucket, with a bit of room all round for sand.
So once we'd left it behind, the first nasty little sod who ran past, barefoot, and took a good, hefty kick at my sandcastle, would find themselves with broken toes. Heh heh heh.
Ian and dog were back by then. I revealed what I'd done, and such was Ian's approval he took the bag of fresh dogshit he'd been carrying, dug a hole not far from the castle, buried the turds, marked the spot with an X, and wrote 'BURIED TREASURE' in the sand with an arrow pointing to it.

Were were both in our mid-30s and, obviously, without children of our own.
( Sea Tramp the thinking woman's 8 Ace, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 6:43, 1 reply)

I don't know why I did this.
Primary school, one of the first days of Year 3. For some reason I thought it'd be a good idea to sharpen a pencil over the head of the person sitting next to me. I don't think it went over very well, though I can't remember exactly what happened anymore...
(Treeki, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 4:27, 58 replies)

Humble Apologies.
As kids cycling around the streets and dirt trails of the Makawao/Pukalani towns, we didn't get much chance to interact with the occasional tourists lost on their way up the mountain to Haleakala or very lost on the way to the Lahaina/Kaanapali or Kihei resort areas. However, those occasions when we were hanging out by the roadside and asked for directions to a distant city were our opportunity to redirect them to the road to Hana, which tends to be a 3 hour one way trip at best and can turn into a soggy nightmare of a journey if it happens to be raining on that side of the island, which occurs with almost daily frequency.

I immediately stopped that behavior and began to actively correct my friends' further attempts after my first personal drive to Hana, realizing just how much fun it could be when you intended to visit and how infuriatingly inconvenient it was otherwise.

Sorry about that.
( Felis Concolor, Tue 21 Feb 2012, 2:34, Reply)

It was summer, and dad was busy in the garage,
probably greasing his bike chain, or wiring a plug. He was topless, and had his back to the door. For whatever reason, he'd left a pair of pliers within easy reach of young me (aged 5-ish), so I picked up the pliers, observed my father's naked back, and attemted to pinch his spine.
He roared with pain and whirled round. He's always been a loving father, but I think he was pretty close to belting me one, at that particular moment.

My kids have since tried the same trick on me, but they've only ever had access to toy, plastic pliers, which don't have quite the same bite!
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 18:54, 2 replies)

I stopped an old man along the way
Hoping to find some long forgotten words or ancient melodies
( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 18:40, 8 replies)

I shot a man in Reno
just to watch him die.
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 18:34, 1 reply)

I am a twat.
I wrote a dull, unfunny story about anally inserting bottles of Tabasco sauce. My random act of evil is to inflict an unfunny meme on myself.

Oops.
(The Luggage is haunted..., Mon 20 Feb 2012, 18:12, 5 replies)

My mate is a twat
He tries to sell people tabasco sauce at premium prices, not realising it's available for cheap in a variety of stores. One of these days I'm going to spill a drink in his car.
(sabre-tooth monkey, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 17:19, Reply)

My mates mate is a twat
one of these days i am going to sell him a bottle of tabasco sauce so he can shove it up his mates arse
( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 17:09, Reply)

The wind of change…

This is happening right now - no need for wavey lines…

Ok, so I’m at work…and everything is fine. However, you’d be quite staggered to hear that last night, after an evening of public strumming / singing / drinking heavily / general twatting about, I ended up dining preposterously hugely on a Chinese takeaway – and it was one so utterly capacious that my only requirement when I ordered it for delivery, was that it be so phenomenally gargantuan it could be visible from Saturn. They delivered - It was proper lully, and all was well.

Hmm – yet fast forwarding to surviving the experience and waking up this morning. Something is now not right in my guts…and I confess my rotting innards are hardly the most reliable of body parts…I realise that I must begin to brace myself for the worst.

Three (frankly exhaustive) trips to ‘trap one’ later, and my repetitive belly gurgling upset is still not resolved. Further action seems to be constantly required.

Somewhat unfortunately, I have recently been relocated into an ‘open’ office, and am now thrust belly-button deep into a predicament that I used to take for granted…

I can no longer fart merrily without fear of reprisal… I mean previously, my fruits of flabby woof-woofs could veritably peel the wallpaper from the place. When I had my own office, things were cool – as long as I didn’t have any meetings I could trouser trumpet to my heart’s content – nobody cared…but now I have the hideousness of ‘decorum’ to consider… and society needs to be saved.

But what can I do? Heroically, I decide to consider the wellbeing of others, and although I have no other ablution requirements, I decide to wander over to the nearest chod bin…just for a fart…nowt else.

However, just by the way this green foggy monster is brewing in my crap factory, I suspect some potential that the sheer megatonnage that could blast from my quivering cack passage could make that apocalyptic scene in Terminator 2 (where Sarah Conner ends up like a skeleton hanging on to a fence)…look like a day out in Disneyland.

I fair sprint to the shitters…and result! Nobody is in there! I walk up to a urinal (just for authenticity) and wait for my intestines to empty…which by now are positively straining under the pressure of containing such a large reserve of natural gas that it could put half of Russia out of business.

But what happens? Nothing. Fuck.diddley.all. I just can’t fart. My sphincter muscles seem to go on strike to such a degree that I half expect some placards to come out of my dishevelled ringpiece with ‘fight the power!’ written on it.

I give my stomach a prod to try and ‘help things along’, but no joy. As time passes I realise it’s just all getting rather awkward as I am stood in a gent’s toilet…doing nothing…with a big grimace on my face, and my legs slightly bent, waiting for this dirty bomb to deploy.

Eventually, people start to come in to use the facilities. ‘Alright Pooflake?’ they enquire. ‘Mmmmmf’ I reply, waving frantically with one arm pressed to the wall as I am now desperately trying to eradicate this foulness that is still stubbornly refusing to budge from my insides.

I have no choice. Nothing is happening. I need to give up.

I step out to the corridor, and try to maintain some resolve as I stroll past the other people in their cubicles….and what happens?

The fart comes back. Honestly, I could have laid waste to the whole Human resources department with one blast. So I curse my arse, run back to the bogs…and…...and…….....…nothing…again.

Time has passed now - I’m back at my desk. As I type this I could easily let off a guff so magnificent that it could topple the very foundations of the surrounding buildings…but it appears quite painfully clear that if I go somewhere where my trumpage is not embarrassing, the feeling seems to subside.

So there you have it. My own shite socket seems to be randomly committing acts of evil against me. Why is this happening?

Does this happen to anyone else?
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 20 Feb 2012, 17:07, 16 replies)

My mate is a twat
He enjoys dipping the throttle when I'm having a drink, and tries to soak me. One of these days I'll shove a bottle of tabasco sauce up his arse.
(The Luggage is haunted..., Mon 20 Feb 2012, 16:02, 2 replies)

Sometimes.
If I have a passenger who is drinking something while I'm driving, I'll gently blip the throttle a few times to cause their drink to form waves in the bottle and soak them in the face.

Quite how I haven't ended up wearing my passengers' drink of choice is nothing short of a miracle.
( Slippery Mick ‏, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 15:53, 7 replies)

Expelled at the age of 3
As a chubby cheeked child, I used to take a hammer from the little plastic DIY sets, or the Whack Attack game, and whack baldy children & babies until I was suitably chastised. It got so bad in the Mother and Toddlers group that they had to hide any Whacking implement away from me before I came in. Anyways day in question WHACK WHACK WHACK, little baldy child crying, expelled at the age of 3.

Pure unadultered evil. My Dad has since gone bald and I can feel myself lingering over the hammers in the toolbox in the shed for a little too long...
(ihaveab3tanamenow, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 15:33, Reply)

Little Brother
Back when I was about 10 I used to play on the landing with my brother (5 years my junior). Pillowcases were used as sleds on the stairs, the handrail was a slide for lego men...it was a good place for lads with active imaginations.

Dad had loads of boxes in the garage so we took one up to play with. It became a tank! A fully functioning tank as well, hand flap pushed out with a kitchen roll tube became a turret, turned upside down it was even mobile. Elastic bands fired through the turret took out the enemy with ease, Rommel himself would have shed a tear at our total dominance of the landing.

It became my brothers turn to drive, so i helped it over his head, checked he was ok and secure....and pushed it over. Sealed up what had been the base, turned it back over onto the now closed lid and slip the whole thing to the edge of the stairs.

The box slammed into the cabinet at the bottom of the stairs and it fell over the box, further trapping young Montgomery. He still claims its the reason why he fears enclosed spaces
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 15:25, 8 replies)

Quick Pea... The most evil fucker I've ever met
b3ta.com/questions/police2/post1195887
( SauronWibble I'll hold it, you lick it..., Mon 20 Feb 2012, 15:18, 2 replies)

Perhaps this counts.
Aged maybe 10, if not a year or two younger.

Along with 3 friends, I spent the morning digging a rather large hole in the middle of a public footpath going through some woods near my house. It was probably only a foot deep in the end, and maybe 3' x 3' wide/long.

Having accomplished this without being caught, we placed fine branches across it in a criss cross pattern, covered those with leaves and left it looking much the same as the rest of the footpath.

Unfortunately, and anticlimactically, we didn't hang around to see the results. I'm farily sure whoever got caught by it would have ended up on their knees in the hole, at best.
(username failed moderation, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 15:14, 4 replies)

Bugs
I have to confess a truly evil and regretable act ...

First year Uni, student halls, having ticked off all the usual glass cock undergrad japes involving fire extinguishers, water fights, planting cress seeds on carpets, midnight SAS style abductions, wrapping the SU building entirely in toilet paper and planting rude words in Crocus bulbs on the college lawn, fresh random acts of puerile evil were required.

Cue the Bug incident.

There was a very pretty girl in halls the stair above me, who got right up our noses with her constant vacuous preening, inane chatter, girly cliquism and attention to fashion. She also had beautiful flowing curly locks of hair, and was always flouncing around poncing it up with tongs and hairspray and things.

Our halls were lit with strip-lighting, the plastic box casings of which attracted all manner of bugs to their deaths; spiders, Daddy-Long-Legs, moths, wasps and other unmentionable insectoids.

To my eternal shame I instigated a mass collection of said bugs into a veritable charnel lucky-bag, and along with a couple of other evil monsters, tipped the whole lot over her head and into her hair while she was getting ready to go out one evening.

There was perhaps a half a second of silence, while it still seemed funny, before (and I will never forget this) the most horrific and ear piercing wail of utter abject horror, terror and distress from the poor girl as she frantically fought to scrabble the blackened crispy shower of legs and wings and eyes and probosci from her curly locks.

It was immediately not funny at all, not in the slightest, and it remains so to this day.

I was evil. I regret it. I dearly hope she recovered from our awful bullying, didn't have to spend too much on therapy, and doesn't have any lasting phobia of bugs, or twuntcakes like me.
(p0zitr0n - phunarmically charged particle, detected at, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 15:13, 4 replies)

Re-post, Selecta
I'm not the sort of person who usually plays tricks on people. One, I don't have a particularly devious mind and two, I generally can't be arsed. However, when the opportunity presents itself I just can't resist.

I used to work with a guy called James. Nice guy but a bit uptight. Would easlily fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. One day James came into work and decided he couldn't be arsed to park correctly and just dumped his car across three spaces. I sensed an opportunity for merrymaking.

On the pretext of going out for a fag I snuck into the car park and took a picture of the front of James' car on my phone, thusly:



Later, when James popped out of the office I quickly photoshopped a wheel clamp onto his car, thusly:



I then tranferred the image back to my phone.

When I got back to the office after my next fag break, I looked stony faced. James asked me what was wrong - and for once I managed not to give the game away by laughing. I played it deadly serious.

"Mate, I think you need to go and look at your car."

"Why?"

"You'll never believe me. Here, I took a photo." And I showed him the shopped picture of his car on my phone.

"Is this a wind-up?"

My poker face would have put a Vegas hustler to shame. "No mate, I swear it's not a wind-up. Go and see for yourself."

And with a cry of "motherfuckers!" he was out the door, as I basked in the warm glow of a job well done.
(MrC. Having the most boring username on b3ta since 2004, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 14:34, 1 reply)

For a bit of a laugh I like to set fire to the neighbourhood cats.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 14:32, 4 replies)

boosh
I can't believe some of the things people are posting as "Acts of Evil"

Most of them are just silly kiddie pranks?! And as for the ones about jumping out on people and making them scared. Are they serious?

I was going to post about how i got arrested for finding a dead pigeon by the fryers at one of my teenage restaurant jobs, battered it, deep fried it and put it in with the chicken kievs and then had it served to a customer.

Or the time i made a ramp on a 40mph road on a foggy night and covered it with black cloth so you couldn't see it, cars were getting genuine air and then smashing their front ends to pieces upon landing..

But i'll probably get lynched judging by the gentle tales of silly tomfoolery on here, and lack of genuinely evil acts! ;)
(boosh, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 14:15, 34 replies)

Not hugely evil but, amusing as a spotty teeneager.
Smuggling embarrassing things like condoms, lube, jazz mags, laxatives and the like into unsuspecting people's shopping baskets. The real trick was to hide the offending items under other items so they aren't unpacked until the checkout. You then position yourself directly behind them at the checkout to see them squirm.

Particular highlights include doing this to a vicar who flustered, bought the items, paying red cheeked and tight lipped.
( Anthropos Was making beer on, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 14:05, Reply)

Sometimes, for a bit of a laugh, and as a cutting satirical statement against the ruling hegemony of capitalism that feeds from causing chaos in other countries and results in the death of Iraqi babies
I will do a "pre-emptive strike" on old ladies, punching them in the face with my sex cock.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 20 Feb 2012, 14:03, 4 replies)