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This is a question Well, that taught 'em

Sammi Evil Nice writes "I shared with two students, and it was always the same; whenever it was near to paytime, my milk *and only this* would disappear.

One of them, John, was a lovely bloke but allergic to nuts. John makes tea. Soon after, John starts swelling up.

ME: Runs, administers epi-pen. "You're going into anaphalactic shock."
HIM: "How do you know?"
ME: "I put almond oil in my milk."

What have you done to teach somebody a lesson?

(, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 14:54)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, ... 1

This question is now closed.

I Do a Performance course at University
And there's this one girl who is possibly the laziest little bugger on the planet. She never pays attention in class, nor does she do any of the work. One time, we had to do a summative assessment of a play that we had all seen. We all worked hard; except this one girl.

So, it's 3am the night before we have to hand in this essay. Lazy Girl rings the doorbell of my flat, waking everybody up. She's stark drunk. She knocks on my bedroom door, and confesses that she's screwed for the following day. She wants to know if she can get my help. I look at the situation: she's desperate, teary and seems genuinely at the end of her tether. So, I decide to be the good samaritan and lend her some notes I made. She's grateful, then she leaves to write up an essay.

Fuck that.

The following day, she's back to being a lazy bitch and doesn't even seem grateful for what I did. Not only this, but when we get out marks back, she yells at me for giving her rubbish notes. [What the stupid idiot did was copy the notes up WORD FOR WORD, so she ended up handing in bulletins and abbreviations.]

Not really appreciating this, I decided I would have my revenge.

Next time an essay was due in, I composed a series of fake notes about the play that we'd seen; especially a series of paragraphs I wrote about a fake characters I had invented called Richard Stockwell, and how 'his performance in the play showed arrogance and evident small masculinity".

The night before the essay came. Lazy Bitch pulled the exact same stunt. I gave her my notes, and told her to write them into an essay this time to prevent what happened last time. She agrees. She writes the essay the day before handing it in, hands in in, and goes back to being an ingrateful bitch.

Oh, did I mention that our course lecturer was called Richard Stockwell? Oh, I'm pretty sure I did.

She's not on the course anymore.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 16:03, Reply)
It was way back when.
Some time in the late 70s. Down the lane to the woods where my friends and I would go and play Star Wars lived the nastiest bunch of bullies you can imagine. My friends and I are about 8 or 9, they were all of 14 or 15. But they were bastards. For example, they used to chase us on their bikes and punch us as they rode past. Think 'Human Polo' but with them on bikes and us as the balls.

They were horrid. Really unpleasant. We had to do something.

I should mention at this point that the biggest and nastiest bully was a bit of a Heather Mills. Not that he was pretty and earned a mint from divorcing a legendary pop star modelling, more along the lines of the fact he had a false leg.

Yep, a 14 year old bully with a wooden leg. He probably felt bitter or something. And it wasn't even a cool false leg with wires and tubes and shiny metal bits. It was shit. there was no knee, it was too long for him and it probably chaffed his ball sack or something. It was a fucking tree attached to his hip.

Dear reader, you can probably guess where I'm going with this...

One summer afternoon it was hot as hell and my friends and I just had to go to the woods and fight the Imperial Stormtroopers in our heads. But we could see the 4 bullies of the apocalypse on their bikes at the end of the lane (yep, I'll give him his due, Death could pedal his bike with one leg. Impressive, if a bit lopsided).

I decided that I'd be oppressed no longer and made off down the lane, Alex and Louise - for we had our own Princess Leia - were frantically shouting for me to come back, to turn around, to not throw my life away so needlessly at such a young age. But I continued on.

Their shouting had alerted the 4 bullies to my approach. They blocked my path and the leader hobbled over to me. Slightly Piratically I might add. He stood a good foot higher than me (it would have been just 6 inches if his false leg had only fitted him properly) and I was close to weeing myself with fear.

"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to The Valley of the Dinosaurs to play Star Wars"
"No, No you're not."
"Bloody well AM!"

* K I C K *

I kicked his false leg as hard as I fucking well could. Putting every ounce of effort and weight behind it. Needless to say he went down like a cheap whore.

He couldn't get up. He looked up at me like a Beetle on it's back and... cried. He begged me to leave him alone. He pleaded for me not to 'beat up a cripple' (his words, I remember them clearly). I looked at his mates, defying them to come to his aid. I needn't have bothered with the grimace, The didn't notice they were laughing so hard! We were given a wide berth from then on and managed to defeat the Imperial Stormtroopers in the woods every time we fought them!

Bullies 0 - Rebel Alliance 1

Length? It went all the way from his hip to the ground.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 18:10, Reply)
Worse than BMW drivers
One evening I was driving anticlockwise round the M25 at 5ish in "lane 3" as the authorities call it when the car in front of me stopped rather suddenly. I braked for all I was worth but still hit it, albeit gently. Luckily there was just enough room between the armco and the aforementioned lane 3 to pull both cars to the centre of the extremely busy M25.
The porsche driver that had been behind me decided to lower his window and hurl abuse at me for stopping, just before showing how fast his car could accelerate, all the while looking in my direction and gesticulating wildly. Shame he didn't see the 8 foot long 1 foot square baulk of oak that had fallen from a lorry across the carriageway (the reason that the guy in front of me had stopped in the first place).
Even more of a shame when the front of his tossmobile caved in, as did the back when the white van that had tailed him crashed into him.
Damage to my car? 400.
Damage to the guy I hit? 750.
Damage to 3 month old Porsche 911? TOTAL WRITEOFF.
Maybe he learned something, maybe he didn't but the sight of a grown man sobbing like a girl when the police turned up and told him they'd "seen everything on cctv" and they considered his damage to be "entirely his fault" will cheer me up to my dying day.
(, Mon 30 Apr 2007, 8:59, Reply)
Got one back at the banks!!
In mid 2005 I changed jobs and went to a crappy little place that never paid wages on time and was a dingy crap-hole.
The first time I was due to be paid it was about 7 days late, meaning that all my direct debits etc... bounced. The bank charged me about 400 quid that month.
This continued for about the next 13 months, until I read a few books about contract law and discovered that to penalise a party to a contract for a breach was unlawful. I wrote to the bank and told them this and demanded the dosh back (about 6k by this point). They refused, and ultimately I sued them in the county court.
Their solicitors wrote to me and demanded that I withdraw. I refused. They paid up in full, but part of the settlement was that I agree to confidentiality.
I told them that if they wanted to keep their dirty little secret that it would cost their client 50k.
They refused (and just paid up) on the grounds that their client didn't believe I could cause them 50k's worth of damage.

So I set up a website (consumer action group if anyone's interested), letting people know about how to get their dosh back from banks if they'd been charged.

I advertised it, phoned newspapers, wrote to the CAB, MP's etc...

I now have 140,000 members and have cost the banks at least 100 million quid in the last 2 years.

That'll learn the f*ckers!

(sadly I don't think it will - 100 million is bugger all to these money grabbing capitalist scum - still I like to think it at least hurts a little)
(, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 8:58, Reply)
Not one for the ladies
I just went down the pub with a friend of mine from way back. Turns out his lass was seeing some bloke on the side... for 3 years or so.
Now, as you can imagine, he was in quite a state, but kept himself together long enough for one last piece of genius.

He went round to hers the day they broke up looking for a good time, and brought a gift to spice up their bed times together.
The gift was one of those all metal vibrators.

She loved the idea, and was even more pleased when he said that it 'heats up' so it's not too cold for her to use by herself.

Did I mention that this friend of mine is an Electronics student?
He'd set up a nice little system to charge several capacitors inside the vibrator, hence the warming effect, and then discharge a certain voltage through the metal casing of the thing about five minutes after it was turned on.

He said he tried it out on his arm and it had felt funny for days after, so if you see a lass in Sheffield walking like John Wayne you know why.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 21:47, Reply)
Son's revenge
When Destruct-O Boy was three, he and I got into some barney or other about picking up his toys. I told him if he couldn't pick up his things, I would pick them up and they'd be mine, bwa ha ha ha etc. We went on in this vein until I got mad and hid all his Legos.

Weel, he taught me a lesson, yes sir! He came in the laundry room, triumphantly said, "Oh yeah, well, I broke YOUR fing!" and stomped out. I had no idea what he meant until I went in my room to put away my clean clothes and found it.

He had unscrewed the top to my vibrator and hidden the batteries. My fing was broken.


Please God, don't let him remember that....
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 4:02, Reply)
Meeting Scheduled.....
Last place I worked at, one of the blokes there was arrested and later sentenced for having child porn on his home computer. The fact that in between his arrest and the court appearance he was in work every day sitting about 3 desks away from me turned my stomach (especially as I had photos of my kids on my desk at the time).

Not many people in the office knew about it, his boss obviously knew but didn't want to tell anyone as it may jeopardise business with clients. I knew about it as I was the one working in IT at the time who CID interviewed to ask me to check the servers and his folders for any indecent images or passwords to get on to websites.

I was threatened by this guy's boss that if I breathed a word of it to anyone, I would be sacked.

Court case arrives and the peado is sent down for 6 months, he thought that he would get a suspended sentence and be back in work the next day.

Does the truth then come out? No. Said boss issues an email saying that the guy was off due to personal circumstances and may return to work in the future. Threat of sack to me still stands if I say anything.

I realise that saying anything, doesn't extend to having a newspaper open on my desk with the full story (the guy was also a scout leader so it made front page) open to everyone.

Over the next few days everyone found out about it (not all because of me) then I got a phone call from HR saying that someone had reported me for sticking the news report up against the window of my office and leaving copies in the meeting room.

That was all bullshit and lies. HR were actually understanding and believed my side of the story. I knew where it had come from so decided to bide my time.

Working in IT meant I knew most peoples passwords. Knowing that this manager wasn't the cleverest and would never click on,I set his password to never expire.

6 months after leaving there, I can still access his emails through webmail. I've deleted a load, moved a load to different folders and put spelling mistakes in all his contacts email and phone details. Mildly annoying but not great.

My greatest feat yet - setting up a meeting in his calendar to "See how I look wearing ladies clothes and underwear", scheduled for the meeting room, invited to everyone in the orgainsation in the UK (approx 500 people).

Apparantly the shit hit the fan, I remain undiscovered and he has no idea. His password is still the same so let me know for any other ideas I can use to make his life a misery.

That'll learn him.

Cheers
(, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 13:47, Reply)
I'm a bad, bad man.
Thank god for the relative anonymity of the internet, because what I'm about to confess is both dangerous, illegal and vindictive in a manner far in excess of the dirty deeds done by the hapless victim.

I know a girl who hated me for no readily apparent reason. I was nice to her, ribbed her in the same gentle manner as I do everyone, attempted to make conversation about topics such as lesbianism, absinthe, Dadaist art etc. which I couldn't give a tinker's damn about, but which she took great interest in. In short, I made quite an effort.

Not that she cared. Pouring poison into the ear of all our mutual friends, spitting in my pint, dropping ash on my carseats... this and many more acts of petty irritation wore away my patience until one day, not too long ago, I snapped.

I'm not a violent chap, so I didn't lash out physically in any way. Anyway, that would be but a momentary release of the my pent-up vexation and I wanted more of a long-term drip-dry, much like the annoyance she subjected me to.

This young lady has a voracious appetite for various Class A's, so in my corkscrew mind a plan was formed. I informed her I had obtained a contact who was able to get me some 'top-drawer snort', and would she be at all interested in purchasing some? Never have I seen someone carry out an attitude 180 so fast. Bought me a drink, fawned over me like a lapdog, offered me a smoke etc etc. Almost pathetic to watch.

Next week I turn up with two bags of crushed Pro-Plus pills and baking soda which I sold her for 40 apiece. I've been doing this for a few months, and the poor dear seems to be developing quite the coke habit, and I have absolutely no intent of telling her. Now my real friends are asking for some and I'm genuinely considering doing the same with them.

Let me just reiterate: I'm a bad, bad man.
(, Sat 28 Apr 2007, 13:31, Reply)
thought long and hard before posting this...
because i'm still not sure how i feel about what i did...

and i apologise in advance for the length...

many moons ago, whilst betrothed to the 1st mrs blaireau (we eventually got divorced, i'm married again and totally happy with 2nd mrs blaireau and 5 month old wee baby blaireau), she and i took it upon ouselves, whilst visiting her mother for christmas, to meet her estranged father (neil) and his whore (carol) for a "bridge building pint"...

what a fucking mistake that turned out to be!!!

leaving the pub in jolly mood we accepted their invite for a nightcap chez slapper. and things deteriorated rapidly from there...

once back in her own territory she turned feral and mental in equal measure, instigating a barney of large proportions which resulted in neil (a 40 year old hard-working, hard-drinking, hard-fighting brick shit-house of a farmer) using my body as a battering-ram on the back door. quite literally!

so we left. duh.

and as we slunk off down the road i silently vowed revenge. well not so silently actually. i screamed "i'm gonna get you, you psycho cunt".
and believe me, dear reader when i tell you that i did...

6 or so months later the future 1st mrs blaireau's mother had got her divorce through and we went to help her move out of the family home to make way for the happy couple to play at families, giving blaireau (a plumber and hero of this tale) the opportunity to exact his revenge.

a wee bit of house sabotage was carried out, specifically...

1) a bag of bones and offal in the loft (courtesy of the workers at the slaughterhouse where i did my meat-inspection training when i was a student eho years ago).

2) took all the lightbulbs into the garage and smashed them against the inside of the door. also took all of the fuses out of all the appliances (including the alarm system).

3) pissed (6 times in total over 1 1/2 days) all over 3 or 4 boxes of business and personal papers.

4) loosened the electrical connections in the 2 electric showers. this would cause arcing and possibly fire!! or at least premature unit failure.

5) closed all the radiator valves so tightly that most of the spindles sheared off. none of these valves would ever be opened again. also removed the bleed-valve screws from all the rads. also sheared off the spindle of the mains stop-tap under the sink and the one in the street outside before filling the hole in the pavement with neat cement.

6) drained the hot water and central heating system before loosening all the check-nuts i could find, so when refilled a million leaks would magically appear.

7) removed screws from door hinges before carefully shutting the door. a wee present for the next person to open the door...

8) sprinkled salt inside the expensive recessed light fittings in the 2 bathrooms. salt is hydroscopic and ionic i.e. it draws water from the air leading to lots of corrosion.

9) took the washers out of all the taps.

10) super-glued all the locks (including the alarm system, again) (5 tubes!!)

and the one that clinched the deal...

11) pulled the sky dish cable through the wall about 4 inches, cut it with pliers and glued it all back in place with a nice blob of mastic, ensuring the cable ends were pushed hard up against each other so there was at least some signal, but not a whole lot.

as it turned out neil "bit the big one" a few months later, from a heart attack, whilst watchin tv.

from the day he moved back into the house he had apparently complained about the shitty reception. i'm sure there was a connection...

that fooking well tought him, aye???

length? more than he could handle, it would appear...

if you think i went too far then click "i like this!"...
(, Wed 2 May 2007, 0:28, Reply)
Never piss off the guy who looks after your server
a few years back I was the IT bod for a company in a little backwater town that imported cheap tat. The manager was a very shifty bloke who was a failed accountant with a haircut verging on a combover.
One day a lady in a suit came along and told us that the company was bankrupt and we were all being laid off. A few hours later a few of us were called into the managers office and told that he had set up another company and we were being re-hired. Now I'm pretty sure this was rather illegal but I was still getting paid and the new office was closer to home so wasn't too fussed.
Now this new comapny is on very rocky ground, lots of hush hush meetings and don't tell so and so and paychecks being rather late and one day we turned up to find the door nailed shut due to the landlord not being paid. But it was an easy job and I got to spend most of the day photoshopping for b3ta so I persevered.
I went on a few days holiday and when I got back found a letter telling me I had been fired, a letter? how dare he!
Actually it was rather astute on his part as if he had of told me in person I would have been sure to wreak havoc on the server on my way out and no I had no such opportunity for revenge.

or did I?

about a week or so after I was fired, shifty manager sacked a bunch more people (including a lady with a baby on the way) and as we had been working for an illegal company there was no comeback and signing on wouldn't be possible for a couple of months. complete bastardaroonie

Now the particular database program used in this office was a very delicate old thing and if something went wrong, nothing short of a complete restoration of the drive would fix it. Luckily there was an automatic tape backup system in place. Unluckily this system hadn't been working properly since we moved offices. Luckily I had been making backups by ghosting the drive and saving the copy to another part of the server. but about a month before I was sacked I had installed a little program called "dead mans switch" on the server, running under a super admin account. This was a little program that required me to click a button about every three weeks, otherwise it would do this.




and that's what it did.

a couple of weeks after I was fired my final paycheck arrived in the post and the very next day I recived a phonecall from shifty manager asking me to come and fix the server. I told him I'd consult my diary and get back to him.

length? I'm reliably informed he did six months for embezzelment
(, Mon 30 Apr 2007, 14:55, Reply)
I knew a guy
who used to be one of Siamese/conjoined twins, fused at the spine. Eventually they were successfully separated in an operation.

And that's how he got his own back.
(, Sat 28 Apr 2007, 17:58, Reply)
Well they both taught each other really...
When I was a mere slip of an undergrad lad I used to live with a group of highly respectable young gentlemen, in a house of such mind blowing elegance it could only be referred to by it's full name of "Le Chateux Vingt Sept" (alright it was a shithole with a mental bus driving landlord, filled with the cream of the drinking/slacking establishment of our university but fuck it). Anyway, annoyed at a rare morning wake up to go in to uni, one of these fine young gentleman, who we shall call Alex, (for that was his name) stoned off his gourd after another Jamaican breakfast, thought it would be funny to hide another, somewhat more anal housemate's, (who shall be known as Guy), shoes. On waking up and not being able to find said shoes and seeing a note from Alex mocking him about this, I feel you are left with a few options. 1) Put on some other shoes, go into uni and forget about it. 2) Maybe hide Alex's shoes as some kind of revenge. Guy however came up with hidden option 3.

He took the day off uni and tried to fuck up Alex's life as much as possible before he came back. And that is why Guy is a genius. First he soaked all Alex's towels in cold water (this was Winter), dumped them on the bed and opened the windows (I should also point out that Alex's room was basically an outhouse, and frankly freezing at the best of times). He then removed the radiator knobs (after turning the radiators off of course), wrapped them in tin foil and deposited them deep in the freezer. The first I heard of any of this was when he came to me to say he was turning the power off. I asked him why, he said to fuck with Alex. Naturally I agreed and followed him. He then proceeded to take all the fuses out of all the plug sockets and electrical equipment in Alex's room, then again wrap them in tin foil and hide them in the freezer. As a final piece de la resistance he took the hinges off Alex's door, so that if he tried to open it hard it would just fall onto his laptop smashing it. Nice.

Pretty soon after this Alex arrived home. Now when you've hidden someone's shoes you don't really expect this level of retaliation and was mildly peeved (albeit admiring of the sheer level of detail that had gone into screwing with him). The problem for Guy was that he had a big piece of work to do for the next day (which of course had to be done from scratch - we were proper students). This is what is known as a tactical error.

When Guy was trying to work that evening and nipped out for a piss, Alex, like the stealthy 16 stone cat he is got in and locked himself in briefly. He then proceeded to rearrange everything in the room so that it was all slightly crooked (posters upside down, things at weird angles etc.) and then let Guy back in. Now for most people this wouldn't have been a problem, but as I mentioned before, Guy (who I love dearly btw) is a tad OCD and anal and thus had to spend about an hour sorting everything out. He also quickly nipped into Alex's (now bastard cold) room and threw one of his drawers full of clothes on the floor. Again a tactical error. Aside from the fact that in Alex's room that almost counts as tidying, Alex had nothing to do that evening and a strong willingness to get even.

By now Guy has locked himself in to prevent futher distractions and the only sound we can hear is a sawing noise from outside. (We had recently rebuilt a table and had some wood left over and saws out). Alex then re-enters with an evil grin, a hammer, nails and a piece of wood just long enough to wedge under the handle of Guy's door and nail to the floor, thus preventing Guy leaving his room. While attempting to perform this operation Guy gets suspicious of the noise outside his room and uses a Lynx can and a lighter under the door as a flamethrower to try to stop Alex! It didn't work, but Guy had an ace up his sleeve. If you can't go out the door what do you do? Of course, jump out the window! He goes back upstairs and kicks the makeshift blockade out of the way then goes for the piss that he wanted to leave his room for in the first place. Alex, never one to realise that something may have gone too far then locks himself in Guy's room and messes up everything (NB Guy folds his socks. He does not like things messed up). He then realises (as Guy is standing outside with a hammer sounding seriously pissed off) that he may have gone too far. After 45 minutes of peace negotiations held by yours truly (and Guy completely fucking up Alex's room) the stand-off was ended. Guy got his work done, Alex got his fuses back and we all lived happily ever after.

The moral? Never try and fuck with a student, they've got so little to do they'll spend their time coming up with bizarre and stupid ways to get revenge.

*pop* Wow that felt good. Apologies for the length, I'll try and only give you half of it next time.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 12:51, Reply)
Catpain of industry
When I was at school there was a twunt (lets call him Deano, everyone else did) who annoyed the fsck out of me at school. He along with half the school, never missed a chance to annoy or bully me in some way.

Years passed. I moved on, got a family, and a job, eventually getting to middle managment in a reasonably sized engineering company in the midlands.

About 5 years ago, I ended up at the NEC for an exhibition, and as you do, got chatting to the team on the stand opposite. One of leaflet distributing girls there came from Sheffield ... a bit more chatting over a drink one lunchtime about where she lived etc her family etc turned out Deano was her dad! Well, blow me! what a coincidence .. of course I kept totally schtum and worked out a cunning plan. It needed a decent restaurant and some seriously decent wine ... but ... to the victor the spoils!

I tried to remember all the times he made my life hell, but I smiled, because I now had one piece of knowledge he'd never have ... I know his daughter takes it up the arse.

length? pretty much all of it.
(, Mon 30 Apr 2007, 21:04, Reply)
Oooh Shiny!
I work in the graphics dept of a print works. One of our directors has 2 faults - he is one of the most vain people i know, constantly combing his hair, and he is also a bit of a clueless nobber.

His first crime was on Comic Relief day earlier this year when 2 minging old women came in dressed as nuns from the front, but the back of their habits were cut away to reveal stockings and thongs. Most people gave them a quid or so (to get them out of their eyeline before they heaved), but if anyone was a bit slow, he would pipe up ' Come on you tight git, I've put 20 quid in'.
Nothing wrong there you may think........except he later put it in as an expenses claim!

Secondly, I personally have helped a client set up a monthly magazine, giving them loads of advice and technical help with software etc, and they recently celebrated their 50th issue and had a party at a local restaurant. I found out when they phoned up and during the conversation casually mentioned it was a shame i couldn't make it, and he had filled in for me.

Utter Cnut! He hadn't said a word to me! What makes it worse for me is that he has absolutely nothing to do with them work wise.

When the magazine artwork next came in, there he was, on the 'party pics' page, queuing up for his free feast. This displeased me somewhat, and unluckily for him i did something i shouldn't have.

As i work in graphics i am fairly comfortable with photoshop. 5 minutes later there he was, all his hair missing, and a nice shiny 'Right Said Fred' style in its place. I printed it out, with the intention of pinning it up on a notice board while he was out. However, just as i did, another Director came up, saw it, pissed himself and ORDERED me to sneak it in the magazine. It was duly printed, and over 15,000 have just been sent for distribution.

The best thing about the deed, is that he lives in the area where it is distributed free to every door, and if he does go bonkers, i have a written statement from Director2 saying it was all his idea.

Never piss off a 'shopper who has access to your image!

I reckon he will actually cry!
(, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 18:23, Reply)
and another
Just remembered one more. We used to play one up on eachother at work all the time. I used to work in email and it started by faking eachothers email addresses and inviting the whole team out for drinks or spamming eachother with fake subsriptions to gay prawn sites or NAMBLA etc.
There were several of us and it seemed a good way to keep up morale (I was boss - and a bloody great one!).
One guy and myself would occasionally get into a bit of a war with it, but all in good humour.
Here's a few I can remember.

Sello taping over the mouse ball (so it doesn't work) and the earpeice of the phone.
Changing your caller ID (that only the outgoing number see's - you don't) to various things - Gandalf, Tom Cruise, Gaylord Fokker, Shirley and shaggy are only a few of hundreds that I can rememeber.
Everyone had two PC's, so we'd swap the keyboard and mouse cables over.
Putting weightlifting weights into someones rucksack. We added one a day for three days before he realised. The guy lived near Brighton and worked in London and had been carrying it there and back every day. After he went nuts over that we started adding tech manuals (you could beat an ox to death with some of them). After he started checking the main pocket of the bag each day before leaving, we stared filling up all the other pockets with paperclips, nuts and bolts etc. He left soon after that.
Setting Windows to play that bloody awful frog thing on start up, then with every window activation, every application startup and every notification.
Taking a screenshot of the windows desktop, setting it to be the desktop picture and then deleting all the real icons. Took ages to figure out the first time!
Taking a screenshot of the windows desktop, then printing it out in colour and taping it to the glass behind the anti-glare screen.
Whilst the victim was on holiday, spending a casual two weeks creating a sculpture with their chair danging over the desk using about 600 elastic bands, creating a web-like effect all round the desk. The overall effect was like a web that dangled from the ceiling and engulfed the entire desk and it's contents. It was a work of art.
One guy (who wasn't on our team) received an anonymous package every few weeks containing all sorts of crap that had been lying around our desks. Screws, bits off of broken pda, cables, all manner of crap. We used to keep an internal envelope for anything we didn't think we needed anymore and, when it was full, send it to him. We could see his desk from ours and would get great joy out of seeing him go slowly mad over who was doing this.
We did this for eight years. They still do it now in my honour (I'm not there anymore).

One time, late on a Friday before going away for two weeks I was there on my own waiting for a call. I was bored, so taped over this guys phone and mouse, then changed his keyboard settings to be French etc.
I forgot all about this when I got back, cos of the superb holiday I'd had. When I returned, he was away for two weeks - so by the time I saw him again I'd totally forgotten all about it.
Anyway, about a week later we're down the pub and he tells me.
He'd seen my umbrella lying on the desk, so had opened it up and filled the inside with the contents of several hole punchers and as much ripped up tissue paper as he could fit. Then he'd wrapped it back up and put it back on my desk. He'd assumed that whilst he was on holiday, I'd been out in the rain and been had by the trick. Except I hadn't.
The day before, he'd worked late and it was pissing down as he wanted to leave. Not having his own umbrella with him, he grabbed mine ran outside and opened it up.
Yep, had by his own trick. It took him ten minutes to explain this to me as he was laughing so hard that snot was coming out of his nose.
(, Wed 2 May 2007, 1:29, Reply)
My ex, of course.
My ex wife used to be (and I believe still is) highly paranoid whenever she leaves for a weekend that she's left something switched on- the oven, the iron, the stove, anything that might burn the house down. We would get a half hour down the road and she would make me turn around to make sure that she had turned everything in the house off.

So before we went anywhere I would make a great show of unplugging the iron, checking the kitchen appliances and all that- not in a mocking way, just in a "hey, everything is definitely off" way. But even that wasn't good enough, and we had two instances in a row of her making us turn around and go back because she was certain that she'd left her curling iron plugged in. (I don't know if it's called something else in England- I'm referring here to the thing that women plug in to curl their hair, with a long part and a clip on the side.)

So we were headed out of town one weekend and she started in about whether or not she had unplugged the iron after pressing her shirt, and whether or not she had unplugged the curling iron. We were a good 45 minutes away from the house by this point. I made things worse by asking her questions about it until she was utterly convinced that she had left them on and the house was going to burn, and she insisted that we turn around right then and there to go back and unplug them.

"Nah, I don't think so. I don't want to blow a couple of hours for nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?!?" she screeched.

I reached into the paper bag behind her seat and handed her the iron and her curling iron.

She was still mad at me an hour later for getting her so wound up.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 18:26, Reply)
people on my computer course
constantly made fun of me.

The lecturer told the whole class "Patrick can't even send a simple email" and everyone laughed at me.

I showed them. I showed all of them.

Signed,
Solicitor Patrick Obasanjo,
Lagos, Nigeria.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 17:22, Reply)
The Student Halls Lift.... OF DOOM!
When I was living in halls, the management company there were real arseholes. Crap kitchens (only hobs, no ovens or grills), naff showers (alternated between scalding hot and ice cold every few seconds) and extortionate rent (my rent halved when I moved into a bedsit twice the size of my halls room)

Anyway, a few days before we were due to leave, myself and a few friends had drank a few student priced beers... and we decided to get our own back (without resorting to outright vandalism)

The layout of the halls was a square donut building with a light well in the middle and five floors. My room was situated on the third floor looking out into the light well... across at the lift (I could see the lift exit for all floors)

So the four of us got into the lift with my handy toolkit. The control panel was easily removed and the wires to all the buttons were connected using spade connectors. These connectors were quickly (and haphazardly) rearranged so that the wires for various floors all went to the wrong buttons.

We then retreated to my room and proceeded to drink more cheap beer whilst laughing maniacally at all the poor fools getting out of the lift on what looked like their floor (all the floors were identical). Eventually they all figured out that they were on the wrong floor... Some were smart enough to take the stairs... some weren't.

Childish? Yes
Pointless? Yes
Funny to a bunch of beered up students? Damn right!
(, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 12:12, Reply)
The girl I liked...
and had been seeing had recently decided she wanted some muff action and had started seeing a fellow woman.

Due to me still liking her, this information was kept from me as apparently I would freak out and smash things up or something...

Now, I pride myself on being particularly observant and also pretty good at telling what people are thinking/feeling.

Using these skills I deduced that something odd was going on, and what it was and confronted my mate Dan with my suspicions which he confirmed.

I didn't mind that she had started indulging in a spot of cunning linguism; frankly, I'd rather I was defeated by another woman in this respect. what I did object to was that all my mates had such little regard for my powers of observation and my formidable intellect.

I ran through a few schemes for revenge and the best of these went a bit like this:

during one of the usual congregations of people in our house I offered to make drinks.

Whipping out a pre-prepared prop that I had created by sticking some furry material around the rim I said to the now-rug-muncher, "here, you can drink from the furry cup"

looks on faces etc. were priceless.

I suppose that didn't really teach 'em as it were, but it made me feel good without alienating my close friends.

A small triumph.

that is all
(, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 15:09, Reply)
Ear twister
Many years ago, whilst attending year nine at a posh Grammer school we were occasionally forced to endure a semi retired, semi senile relief teacher when other teachers got sick. His main form of punishment consisted of ear twisting, and it bloody hurt too.

Our class room was on a second story and had a small ledge outside the window. We were also lucky enough to have a set of twins in our class that day.

A heavy school bag was placed on the ledge before class, and one of the twins avoided class, and we easily fooled the old twunt with the role call. The class attending twin then provided the teacher with an obvious ear twisting offence. Ear got twisted, twin announces suicide attempt, jumps out of window onto lower ledge, knocks bag off ledge and hides against wall. Non class attending twin removes bag into bushes and adopts "dead pose" beneath window.

Releif teacher runs downstairs to assess damage. Ground level twin returns to class via alternate stairwell, Twin on ledge climbs back in window. Teacher arrives at the scene of the suicide to find nothing. Looks up to a class of 20 or so 12/13 years old kids pissing themselves. The incident was never reported.
(, Sun 29 Apr 2007, 9:32, Reply)
Yeah......
I don't do confrontation, so when someone needs teaching a lesson, I do mong face behind their backs.

Sometimes I do swear finger whilst "pushing" my glasses on

The worse one is that if I've cooked for them, I give them the plate with the disorderly food, instead of the neatly arranged one.

I make a dreadful enemy, don't cross me!
(, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 14:14, Reply)
I am a horrible person
I can't believe I'm typing these words and about to reveal a source of secret shame I've harboured for over 10 years. Only 4 people in the world know this story - me, the then boyfriend, the current boyfriend and a little person (dwarf/midget/vertically challenged - you know what I mean).

I was 16 and in love for the very first time with a wonderful 24 year old who didn't mind that I was a ridiculously fucked up, melodramatic loon who came from an insanely dysfunctional family.

We were out in a club and he was involved in a long and animated discussion with his mates about something related to music that was boring me rotten.

I felt he wasn't paying me enough attention and resolved to teach him a lesson.

When you're 16 and more used to discos than bars, and tweeny relationships vs adult ones that involve concepts like patience, accountability and respect - you think that the best way to get your man's attention is to flirt with someone else.

So out to the beer garden I headed where I bumped into (not literally!) a little person. He was very little. About 3 and a half foot. Late 30s, wearing a little leather biker jacket, ear-rings, a Guns and Roses T-Shirt and some little biker boots.

I sat down beside him at a bench and we fell to talking.

Actually, when I look back, he was a bit sleazy but he started to tell me how sad he was because he was a little person who had never kissed anyone as beautiful as me. (Remember, I was 16, a sucker for compliments and naive as fuck).

Anyway, I felt all sorry for him and self-righteous about being ignored by boyfriend so started kissing for him.

A minute later, I hear the voice of my then boyfriend yelling: "What the FUCK are you DOING?"

At that point, I realised the error of my ways.

Horrified, I stood up, groping in my drunken mind for a way to make things right.

The little person stood up between us and in consequence, was out of my eyeline so I promptly forgot about him.

I drunkenly stammered: "This doesn't count."

To which he replied: "What the FUCK do you mean it doesn't COUNT? You're KISSING ANOTHER MAN!!!!!"

I defensively slurred back at a ridiculously high volume: "It doesn't count. IT'S ONLY A FUCKING MIDGET!!!!!!"

He argued but I felt, best to stick to my guns, so I repeatedly screamed this over and over.

He eventually forgave me, by which time dear readers, alack, the little person had vanished without either of us noticing.

I am terribly ashamed of this incident and if you're reading, little man, it's a memory that will haunt me until I shuffle off this mortal coil. I am sorry. You were the best kiss I ever had.*

Little man - stop reading now.

Everybody else - * May or may not be true - I can't remember the kissing of the little person in any great detail. I just wanted to make up in a very small way and give him a bit of a lift.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 10:44, Reply)
That taught her to get smart with me!
I used to work in a SPAR-type convenience shop.

I had a queue of customers that I was serving when a woman walked in smoking a cigarette.

This was 5 years ago - I would have thought that it was fairly obvious that it was no longer acceptable to smoke in shops, but no; in she came, puffing away.

"Could you put that out, or take it outside please?" Said I.

"Why? Doesn't say I can't smoke in here on the door." Says Chavella.

"..." Says I, stumped, as I realised we actually _didn't_ have a no smoking sign on the door anymore.

"Besides, you sell cigarettes don't you?" She said.

"That may well be the case, madam," I said,

"But I should point out we also sell condoms."
(, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 17:10, Reply)
I used to get the piss taken a lot at primary school
As I was a bit of a spastic child with no coordination (and they also thought I was autistic). So I used to get bullied, beaten up, teased, etc and never really fought back.

Until my parents found out one day. My dad gave me the 'be a man, son' talk.

The next day, the school bully (Jason, I think his name was, at Ashmead Primary School in New Cross, London, in about '94) decided to have a go.

Except somehow, 7-year-old me managed to get him down on the floor, and kick him in the head.

And kick him again. And again. And again.

He was missing most of his teeth and his head was an odd shape, he also couldn't speak properly. He had to be taken away in an ambulance. He never came back to school.

And they never found out it was me.

That fucking showed the cunt. You wouldn't believe the amount of abuse I had to put up with from him and his mates.

I still hate him, 13 years later. I hope he's still sat in a wheelchair with his dribbling mong-face oozing spit. Fuck with the weird kid and that's what you get, let that be a lesson.

(Oh, and I turned out to be perfectly normal. Mostly...)
(, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 16:16, Reply)
Not me but a mate
He got so tired of his then partner dragging him around clothes shops to watch her spending *entire afternoons* trying on stuff she was never going to buy "just in case she found something", that he decided to get his own back.

As the were walking past their local Waterstone's, he asked if they could "just pop in to see if there was anything he wanted". He then went around randombly picking books up, flicking through them, moving on to another, going back to a previous one. Within a few minutes, she was hanging around on the ends of the aisles, kicking her heels, sighing, asking how much longer he'd be, was he going to buy anything etc....i.e. all the things he got into trouble for doing when she was doing her "shopping".

Yet she never made the connection.
(, Sat 28 Apr 2007, 22:00, Reply)
they said I couldn't control
my addiction to indecent exposure.

I showed them.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 17:41, Reply)
Vengeful rodents
Ex-Mrs PJM owned a veritable menagerie of furry (and scaly) animals from the time we started dating onward.

Now, although she took pet ownership to extremes of battyness I do have a soft spot for most furry creatures. However, her resident rodents were apparently extremely put out that I was depriving them of their owners attention and conspired against me.

Firstly, there was the cage biting. Two sodding gerbils sharpening their teeth all night long was enough to drive me crackers, I tried everything to get them to do it quietly but to no avail. They took more direct action when I was invited to handle the deceptive little critters, who seemed harmless enough until one climbed into my shirt pocket, looked up at me evilly and peed.

However it was the hamster who caused the most anguish. Fluffy and dopey, he'd sit in his cage and watch me, waiting for me to reward him with a treat or the innards of a bog roll to chew. Again, he seemed perfectly harmless but he was quietly scheming and waiting to make his move...

Cue one particularly warm afternoon, further livened up by lots of horizontal passing of time which required me to dispense with my clothing. Lying there post nooky, the silence was wrecked when the gerbils started their incessent nibbling which prompted me to get up and walk toward the cages in a vain attempt to bribe them to be quiet with pumpkin seeds. I hadn't banked on them formulating the most cunning and downright dastardly of plans however, as while I reached up to the taller cages to feed the gerbils, Hamster was ready to pounce.

"Aaaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhhhhhh! YoufurrylittleCUNT!"

The vicious little fecker leaned through the bars and plunged his half inch long fangs right into the end of my knob.

Sure as hell showed me, I wish I'd taken the hint.
(, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 16:35, Reply)
Yay! Repost 1
One Nissan Micra less...
Long story cut short....

Fact: only arseholes/infirm/aged drive Nissan Micras. This has little bearing on anything but I feel better telling you.

A little man decides to pull out of a junction and turn right without noticing I'm travelling on the road he's just turned into. Result: weighed anchor narrowly missing him.

Generally I'm cool with idiots however, he makes that 'cheery wave after looking in his rear view like his just been let out of a junction through me being courteous and just wanting to test my brakes'. Gets to the queue at the light sand I'm at his door giving him my considered opinion.

He decides to lock his door and make rude gestures (brave and stupid - always a fun combo) so I grab his door handle which comes off in my hand. I then throw the broken handle at the window somewhat de-stressed and amused that this pathetic piece of Jap Crap has come apart with minimal effort.

Fast forward three weeks and there's a phone call from PC Plod. The half wit has taken my reg and called the Rozzers. Cue suitably apologetic conversation with an 'old school' copper who suggests I make amends by posting this numb nuts a cheque for the door handle and then he won't have to pay me a visit and fill in forms. I agree and the filth gives me his address!!!! (Data Protection - whats that?)

I dutifully sent off a cheque to the supplied address, waited 'til it cleared thus verifying the pillocks whereabouts and then in the still of the night paid his Micra a visit with iron filings. For those not of a destructive persuasion - sprinkling iron filings onto paintwork in a pattern (or words of your choice) overnight sees them a) become rusty with the condensation / dew / wet and b) eat into the paint / attach itself to the bodywork so that the only thing that can be done is the panel needs to be sanded flat and repainted. Not something an insurance firm will be doing on a ten year old car.....write off.

So - until the pay out (approx three weeks) and the long last drive to the knackers yard this one handled blue pile of sh*te drove around with 'wanker' in rust on the bonnet and sex pest on the roof.

Do I win a prize?
(Tue 17th Oct 2006, 15:28, More)
(, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 10:48, Reply)
Repost, but very fitting I think
One of my mates occasionally has too many when we go to the pub, and rather than leave his car there, has the nasty habit of driving home trolleyed. One night he did it when I was staying at his, and to this day he swears he'll never do it again.

You see, the next morning after a heavy session at the local he was still in bed nursing the mother of all hangovers. I'd got up a few hours before him due to my not being totally wankered the night before, and happened to catch the local news. It turned out that some old duffer had been knocked over and killed by a hit and run driver the night before. Well...the opportunity was just too tempting.

So with a spring in my step I almost ran down to the town center. I had three stops on my list:
The butchers (Pigs hearts a free if you ask nicely)
The hairdressers (They look at you funny but they'll give you a bit of hair if you ask)
The Off-Licence (You still have to buy a local paper)

So back I go to his house. The coast is clear. Good. No going back now. After little more than 2 minutes my master piece is ready for action. The corner of his car looks like an Iraqi. Its doused in pig blood and little bits of flesh and hair, and the headlight is smashed. I paused a bit before smashing it, but decided that it would make it look more real, and wouldn't cost too much to replace.

An hour later up he gets, still half asleep. He glances at the perfectly placed paper but thinks nothing of it. Then about half-an-hour later he goes out to his car. The look of slow realisation dawning on his face has he realised what must have happened was absolutely priceless, and worth any amount that the headlight would cost.

Then it reached a new height of funny for me. He started almost crying saying that he'd have to turn himself in. At this point most people would have stopped, but not me...no way.
I offered to go with him, and let him get all the way to the front door of the police station before I told him the truth.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 16:55, Reply)
Teaching -the hard way
Shortly after university, when I had been fired from a selection of retail jobs, I decided to try my hand at TEFL teaching and went off to Greece with no qualification or experience to teach some of the most spoilt little bastards in the world.

One class of 11 year-olds contained pretty much every kind of anti-social, sociopathic and behaviourally-disordered creatures you could imagine. They saw their lessons with me as an opportunity to take the piss and insult me in Greek. But there was one fat little shit who thought it hilarious to sing in a falsetto whine every time I spoke, much to the amusement of his followers. Even when I was screaming at them, he would start his faux-operatics.

I asked the other teachers how they controlled him and their advice was somewhat unexpected: "Hit him. Hard. His parents are Cretan and they beat him all the time - it's the only thing he respects."

Much against my instincts, I started the next lesson with an expectation of violence. Sure enough, during a test, the rotund tosser started to play the drums with some pencils, distracting the others. So, approaching from behind, I swung a hardback dictionary at the top of his head.

I was aiming to skim it off his crown as a surprise, but he moved back at the critical moment and I cracked him with something like a golf drive square on the back of the head. He bounced off the book and hit the desk face first with a resounding crack.

Funny thing, though - he was quiet for the rest of the lesson. Or rather, he lay face down snuffling pitifully and not showing his snot and tear-streaked face. It was a very pleasant lesson thereafter.
(, Mon 30 Apr 2007, 11:01, Reply)

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