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This is a question Theft

Ever stolen something? Own up to the B3ta Police. Ever been the victim of theft? Grass somebody up.

Thanks to fucksocks for the suggestion

(, Thu 7 Nov 2013, 12:51)
Pages: Popular, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Customs & Excise
Bored on an october weekend, I got a last minute return ticket for the channel tunnel and went for a drive around Normandy.

Didnt do much - found a few pretty seaside towns and stopped for a meal, had a passing look at some war damage, picked up a few cheap packs of tobacco and headed back

My mistake was only being in France for about 4 hours - made the (British) customs officers at Coquelles suspicious and after questioning me they proceeded to strip and search my car.

after 2 hours of them looking inside door panels, inside the air filter and pollen filter, they finally admitted I had done nothing wrong and could continue on my journey home. The roller-shutter on their inspection building slid up, I chucked my coat onto the passenger seat, jumped in, fired up the choky old diesel engine, filling the inspection building with soot and smoke, and rolled out toward the train home

As I drove out, I heard one of the customs guys ask, between coughs, "where did you put the toolbox?"

It was under my coat on the passenger seat. Still got it.
(, Thu 7 Nov 2013, 13:37, 5 replies)
When I was about 8
I was wandering around some DIY store with my parents. They were looking at the paints, so I wandered up the aisle and down the next one looking at hardware and the like. That's when I saw the rack with the adhesive numbers and letters on. The smaller ones were only about 12p and I thought I could get one and stick it on my bedroom door and pretend I had an address.
I ran and told my parents who said something along the lines of "What for? You don't want to be wasting your pocket money on that." Or words to that effect.
I sloped off a bit disheartened and went and looked at the numbers and letters again. I reached up to push one to the side just to see if they were all the same behind it when the front one pinged off my finger tip and skittered off across the floor. I looked about but nobody had seen. So I sidled over and put my foot over it. Looking around to see if anybody was about I then began to lurch along the aisle dragging it along under my foot before bending down, picking it up and sticking it in my pocket.

Nobody had seen me.

I then wandered over to my parents again, probably with a massively guilty expression on my face. About 10 mins later, we left with a couple of those sample paint tins.

For the next 24 hours I was petrified in case the police turned up to arrest me for theft. I looked at my number, a 7, and it laid there in my hand. The haul from my shoplifting. I could just stick it on my door and if my parents asked, I could just say I went and bought one anyway. But then when the police arrived they would see the evidence on display in plain view and I would be in borstal by the end of the day.

The next day, my parents went back to the DIY store to buy the paint they wanted and I went along with them. I had the number 7 in my pocket and when it seemed safe, I wandered back to the display to return it. But there was somebody there! I then had an idea. I went near the tills and secretly dropped it out of my pocket on to the floor, picked it up in the most hammed up fashion possible and marched over to the lady behind the till.
"Miss, I found this on the floor." I said, and handed her it. She patted me on the head and said thank you and so I ran back to my parents, a great weight lifted off my shoulders.
(, Fri 8 Nov 2013, 17:13, 1 reply)
I have a feeling I'm not the only one. I steal from myself. Tomorrow-self.
When I could go to bed at a reasonable hour, I think- no, I'll stay up another hour. Reasoning with myself that 6 hours' sleep is enough to get by with. Only tomorrow I wake to find up that Yesterday me has nicked an hour of sleep off me and I feel grotty and awful. But I can't go back and take it off yesterday me so I'm fucked.

I do this at least once a week, every week, and I still don't care about nicking sleep off tomorrow-me.
(, Tue 12 Nov 2013, 17:33, 6 replies)
I once ordered a lemonade at a cafe in an Ikea
They gave me the cup at the check-out, and I had to fill it up myself from the dispenser. I put some ice from the ice machine in the bottom, then filled my plastic 500ml cup with soft drink mix. Unfortunately, I had filled it too close to the brim for easy transportation. I took a couple of refreshing sips to lower the level in the cup. At this point I could have just walked away. Some nights when I am laying in my bed, racked with remorse, I ask myself again and again: "Why? Why didn't I just walk away?".
But I didn't walk away. A horrible plan formed in my mind, driven by an all-consuming greed. I didn't care whose life I destroyed, how many laws I broke. I didn't even think about the consequences.
I checked the ladies at the register. They were dealing with customers. They had completely forgotten about me and the fulfillment of my purchase. I looked up, trying not to be too obvious. No cctv. There was a mother near me, but she was putting sauce on her children's hotdogs, she wouldn't suspect a thing.
Trying to look casual while my heart was pounding, I returned to the drinks dispenser. As nonchalantly as I could, like I was just any normal customer, I TOPPED UP MY DRINK AGAIN WITH MORE LEMONADE THAN I HAD PAID FOR.
Suddenly fearing the hand of a store detective on my shoulder, I walked a little too quickly to the exit, and my drink spilled a little. I probably lost more than I had gained by illegal means. Even when I got to my car I knew I wouldn't be in the clear until I was at least a few miles away. The drinks holder in my car was too small for the cup, so I drank the whole thing quickly and so didn't really enjoy it. It is a crime I've had to live with for the rest of my days. I never went back to that Ikea again. I can't, the risk is too great. I gambled and won, but if I returned and they recognised me, I could lose everything.
(, Tue 12 Nov 2013, 1:17, 1 reply)
Storage Company goes bust!
And keeps all my old Star Wars toys.

My mum died in 2000, I was living in a small flat in Newcastle and had to empty the family home in a short period of time. So, I picked a local storage company and put everything I couldn't fit into my flat into a 8'x 8' crate. There was everything a family of 4 had accumulated over the years but mainly toys - my Action Man collection, Hot Wheels Garages, Matchbox car collection, my mums' 60's record collection, my boxed Star Wars collection, 6 Million Dollar man rocket and loads more.

Fast Forward 5 years, I'm in a position now to sort it and shift into my own loft to hoard for more years.

Their phone number doesn't work. Weird. Their website has closed. Odd. I'll drive up there. Oh, the old factory they were using to store everyone's crates is abandoned. Next door is a small cash and carry so I ask the owner whats going on. "I've had people coming in here for weeks mate" he says. "They packed up and left 2 months ago taking loads of crates with them. I have keys, you want to see inside? There's loads of open crates strewn all over". My heart sinks.

Inside the old factory it was heart breaking, about 20 or so 8' x 8' crates ripped open the contents scattered around the place, ransacked for anything of value. Peoples stuff they'd trusted to a company thrown around and in heaps.

I went to Trading Standards "Oh yes, we know all about him. He's done it before. Starts a storage company, it goes bust, peoples stuff disappears. There's nothing we can do, it's with the liquidators". So I contact the liquidators, there's no record of me or my crate (even though I have documents) so they can't help me. Back to Trading Standards who suggests getting together with other people and take him to the Small Claims courts. So, I go to the Police "well, it's not theft as you gave them to him to look after, have you tried Trading Standards or a solicitor?". Fucking great.

What for? So we'd win, he'd have to pay us back a quid a week or something. Whats the point. It's not the value of the items (maybe £2000), it's the items themselves. Items my Mum and Dad bought like the talking Action Man I got for my 7th Birthday or the Ewok Village me and my bro played with for ages one Christmas Day. My parents are both no longer with me (hence the emptying of the family home) and my brother is now in long-term care due to mental illness so it was always reassuring knowing I had those 'things', a link to my past when I was innocent and happy.

If only I'd gone a few months earlier.... Still makes my stomach hurt now that I was such a fool.

I hope he enjoyed the few quid he made at a carboot sale selling my family items. Cunt.
(, Mon 11 Nov 2013, 10:41, 40 replies)
Holiday money bonanza
Some friends of the family went on holiday to some shitty ex-pat infested spanish island. Early into their two weeks away they were having dinner at a local eatery. For some reason or other she looks down at the floor, only to spot a huge wad of money on the ground by her foot. The husband was alerted to the presence of the money and they then discussed what to do with it.

I don't know whether they considered doing the honest thing like handing it in to the authorities or asking around if any of their fellow holidaymakers had lost anything. No. They decided they were going to keep it, and spunk it up the wall as soon as possible.

The money lasted two days of excursions, expensive meals and a shitload of booze and when it ran out they simply went to locate their money pile in their hotel room. Which they couldn't find.

They couldn't find their money because it turns out the large wad of cash that they found and pissed up the wall was actually their own money. They then spent the next week living off the remains of what little food they had left and the generosity of their fellow travellers (who they were previously happy to rip off).

It mystifies me how they didn't recognise their own cash; this story is so full of fail that it always raises a laugh when my dad retells it. The couple in question are one of those sorts that used to visit unannounced on Sunday afternoon, blag a tea off us (which Mum always struggled to put together, this was the early eighties - shops open on Sundays, are you having a laugh?), leave fag ash all over the lounge floor and shout "bllaaaahhhhddy 'ellll!" at Antiques Roadshow every five minutes.

Was this theft? Not really sure...length? Not too long, he died of skin cancer about ten years ago. One quackish 'cure' that he had heard of was to rub WD40 all over himself, honestly you could smell then before you saw them.
(, Fri 8 Nov 2013, 13:08, 4 replies)
I stole the stars from the night sky just to put them in her eyes.
Not much of her left after the 6,000 degrees Centigrade chromosphere incinerated her head, body, house, country and planet.
(, Sun 10 Nov 2013, 21:13, Reply)
We wants it. We needs it. Must have the precious. They stole it from us. Sneaky little hobbitses. Wicked, tricksy, false!
Star Wars.
(, Fri 8 Nov 2013, 14:26, 2 replies)
I once purchased a copy of the financial times.
The FT.
(, Thu 7 Nov 2013, 14:01, Reply)
My mum works for Ann Summers.
Some years ago, she had parked her company car while visiting an employee in a rather undesirable area. When she returned after her meeting, she noticed that the back window had been broken, and the bag that was left on the back seat was missing.

Either way, it being a company car, it had to be reported to the police and a rather pleasant police woman arrived to take the details. As part of the formalities, the following came up.

Police: "So, was anything taken?"
Mum: "Yes, one bag, but before I tell you the contents, I should explain that I do work for Ann Summers, and what they've taken is a sales sample from a new line."
Police: "And the content of the bag?"
Mum: "A Penis extension."

Apparently it took the police woman about twenty minutes to stop laughing.
(, Wed 13 Nov 2013, 12:11, 3 replies)
No better than the rest of us
A guy I know was the manager of a petrol station. Early one christmas morning, he was called out of bed by the police on the phone, telling him that someone had smashed the window of the station shop, and he needed to come down to tell them what had been stolen.

Staggering blearily back to work - on the one day that it wasn't open, of course - he surveyed the shelves. "Looks like three bottles of whiskey have been taken, and maybe four large boxes of cigarettes."

"OK," said the police officer, reaching for a couple of the remaining whiskey bottles, "So that was five bottles of whiskey, wasn't it sir, and I believe you said six boxes of cigarettes?"
(, Wed 13 Nov 2013, 10:24, 6 replies)
Ante up
The bloke at the off licence once gave me change for a twenty instead of a tenner. Trying not to look suspicious, I sauntered casually to the exit, with my hands in my pockets, whistling a jaunty tune. Initially unable to believe the scale of the blag I had pulled off, upon leaving the shop, I was wracked with guilt. I immediately went back in, put my ill-gotten Bruce Jenner down on the counter and confessed. The boozemonger, however, didn’t believe me and was still convinced I’d given him a twenty. Things got a bit heated. Quite a queue built up as we went back and forth through the CCTV, trying to freeze the frame that would prove my case. Turns out he was right – I had given him a twenty. The queue’s knowing smirks turned to giant suspended cartoon question marks over their heads as I sheepishly picked up my tenner, apologised to the cashier and slunk out.
(, Tue 12 Nov 2013, 13:43, Reply)
Once upon a time . . .
. . . I crept into the b3ta lair and stole the weekly newsletter.

If you want issue 606 I have it tied up in my basement. Get me £10 in used notes and a helicopter to Cuba and the newsletter doesn't get harmed.
(, Fri 8 Nov 2013, 23:06, 2 replies)

I ate all your bees.
(, Fri 8 Nov 2013, 13:49, 3 replies)
It was a long time ago
and i had just moved into my first flat with the now ex Mrs Pie. This was above a shop but with a seperate access door so you didn't have to go through the shop to get to the flat. The shop itself specialised in selling top end designer trainers and because the owner had fallen foul of the local scallys kicking the front door in to get to the Chav gold behind it he had recently installed state of the art security shutters over the doors and windows.

Now you have the background our (crap) story starts one Saturday morning. I had dragged myself out of my pit after a heavy night on the beer and was feeling the worse for wear to say the least. After gathering the empties from the previous nights alcohol fest i staggered downstairs with it all in a carrier bag wearing nothing but my many holed and semen shattered dressing gown. I got to the front door, unlocked it and went to open it......
Nothing! It didn't move. Have I made a mistake and not unlocked the door? No its definitely unlocked. I could just make out a vague shape in front of the door through the frosted glass so i put my shoulder to it and gave an almigthy hung over heave.
There was a grating noise and the door opened enough for me to squeeze through the resulting small gap. Outside I could see the cause of the obstruction. Someone had neatly stacked a large pile of house bricks in front of the door. Apparently the local Neds having found their attempt to get a free fix of Adidas crack foiled by the very expensive shutters had simply made their own entrance through the back wall of the shop by chiselling out the bricks in the night and we, being so heavily sedated with alcohol, had failed to hear a thing.

Worse the bastards had stolen our wheelie bin to presumably use it to make getting away with their ill gotten gains easier, even going as far as to pick the day after bin day to plan their robbery so they knew that the bin would be empty! I did the only thing i could do and dumped the dripping bag in the neighbours bin before going back to bed
(, Fri 8 Nov 2013, 12:06, Reply)
So many things and I'm still at it... this one was a washing machine
Over the years there have been so many things, from silly petty fun like the newspapers at the chinese takeaway - which escalated each week until they caught me with about 15 papers stuffed into my bomber jacket! (I was of course very very drunk!)

On occasion something a little more determined, possibly even for profit or greed, given that I am still prone to such opportunism I'd best keep quiet about those.

Anyway, this take is about the time I stole a washing machine. I didn't mean to, it just happened to turn out that way...

I'd moved into a new home, and after a couple of months of using the launderette 15 mins down the road I'd got enough funds for a top class machine of my own. One of those Samsung direct drive, large drum silver ones that was new on the market.

They weren't too easy to get hold of so when I spotted an online retailer with a great price and promising delivery within 3 days I paid up nearly £700.

On day 3 I'd neither heard nor received anything so I picked up the phone to chase things up. "We don't have any stock of that item, it will be 6-8 weeks" I was informed by the nonchalant phone monkey.

This simply wouldn't do. 6-8 weeks!? Sod that, I'll shop elsewhere. (Apparantly they don't carry any stock and the item actually comes straight from the manufacturer). So I asked for a refund of my money so I could order elsewhere. "We need 5 days to issue a refund", "WHAT!?!" How could that be. I wasn't having that, I worked in online retail at the time and knew 2 important facts:
1 - The distance selling regulations say you must not draw payment, only secure the credit card charge, until you are ready to despatch the goods.
2 - It doesn't take 5 days to refund a card. Using either the PDQ or the online terminal you can cancel and reverse a charge immediately making the funds available to the card holder.

SO I dug my heels in and eventually spoke to a manager who agreed to refund my purchase straight away.

Happy with my victory we ended the call and I sat down with a sigh, where was I going to get my washing machine from now.

Then the phone rang... "Hello, this is Samsung domestic, we'd like to arrange the delivery of your washing machine. Is tomorrow morning any good for you?"..... "Errr, ok".

SO the following morning my shiny new machine arrived, I made tea and provided biscuits while they even plumbed it in for me. 8 years later I've never been billed for it. :-)
(, Fri 8 Nov 2013, 10:58, 2 replies)
Gone in sixty second time
A mate of mine convinced a friend to lend him her brand new bike, as he had pressing business and no transport. Amazingly, given his reputation for flakery, she agreed, and off he wobbled.

True to form, since he'd forgotten to borrow the lock too, he then left it outside a shop and came out to find it gone. Arse! Thinking quickly, he legged it across town to the flat of the dodgiest bloke he knew, and sure enough about an hour later some scally turned up looking to sell the bike. He'd actually managed to get it back!

Whereupon he resumed his errands, left it outside another shop, and lost it again.

*facepalm*
(, Thu 7 Nov 2013, 13:54, Reply)
Donkey Kong's Eyes of Shame
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Wavey lines get it?

Years ago when I was but a wee nipper waiting in the magazine section of the fine establishment that is ASDA I discovered something, a Calendar for the new year that was coming up featuring various Nintendo character's with the large neck-tie wearing ape that is Donkey Kong on the cover along with an "Official Nintendo Magazine" logo.

Now being the bright lad I was, I realised this meant the calendar was supposed to come free with this "official" magazine and indeed I did spot it in the rack sans calendar. Burning with determination to have Mario and his uncanny crew stare at me all year long, I stuffed the calendar in a near-by Playstation magazine (Blasphemy!), for I could not convince my parents to purchase an Nintendo Magazine for we had no Nintendo machine at home but, we had recently just purchased a Playstation.

The plot was a foot, swallowing my pride at the heinous act that I was about to commit I sheepishly walked towards the Parental units brandishing the Trojan Magazine that hid the true prize. Request for the Magazine was asked and accepted and onto the Asda conveyor belt it went.

Sat in the car on the way home, I thought to myself that I had become a criminal mastermind, I had conned a large shopping chain out of a free promotional item, I could be rival Indiana Jones for the cunningness of my slight of hand, maybe even be his new Shortround!

Once we got home guilt had overcome me when I pulled my sordid prize from it's trojan sheath whilst in the solitude of my bedroom, there was Donkey Kong on the cover staring intently at me, he knew I had acquired this calendar through foul play, his round beady, souless eyes piercing my soul.

As any child would do, I place the calendar in between books on my book shelve never to bee seen again, to guilty to hang it up there it stayed for years, my own personal tell-tale heart and never spoke of it again.

Eventually the Calendar disappeared naturally one day (still trying to figure that one out, I'm just glad to be rid of it!) but, the effects of this event were lasting as it has lead me to this sordid, despicable life of buying Wiis, Gameboys and controlling ever-so slightly italian stereotypes into committing mass genecodie against rather innocent bi-pedal tortoises.

Truly it was a crime worst than even Hitler himself could commit and he is reet jealous.

TL/DR: I stole a free calendar from one magazine by placing it inside another. Hardcore.
(, Thu 7 Nov 2013, 13:40, 2 replies)
I'm not saying that all scousers are thieving dicks,
but Liverpool used to be called Kidneypuddle, and was located in Somerset. Some scousers nicked it after Glastonbury '92.
(, Wed 13 Nov 2013, 20:32, Reply)













(, Sat 9 Nov 2013, 9:01, Reply)
Ca plane pour moi
While out and about, I spotted an electric plane on sale for a very good price. Now an electric plane is not a tool you need every day, but when you do need it - for trimming a door, for example - it saves a great deal of hard, backbreaking work. So I decided to invest in it for the future.

As I expected, it was some time before I actually needed it. In fact it was probably more than a year. The door of my shed had broken, so I needed to replace it. With a sense of mounting excitement I opened the cupboard to get the shiny plane from its pristine box.

At which point I discovered that, while the shed door had been faulty, some scrote had stolen a number of power tools, including the unused plane.

I swore with every bastard stroke of the cunting hand plane that I now had to use to fit the goatfelching new door.
(, Fri 8 Nov 2013, 13:29, 3 replies)
Curse my slow witted honesty!
It would've been the perfect crime.

On Sep 11 2001, about an hour before it all kicked off in the States, I was working away at my ordinary little old desk job in Durham when the receptionist calls to tell me that my car is here.

Oh dear, thinks I. I descend the stairs to Reception panicking madly thinking I had forgotten a major client meeting. Only to find, a car dealership delivery chap. He addressed me by surname and handed me the keys to a brand new Discovery sitting in the car park.

It was for another chap, by the same surname, no relation, in the next building.

Instead of taking the keys with a smile and driving off to the south of France to fence a car worth two years salary, I sweetly said I didn't know anything about it and handed the keys back.

Shmuck.
(, Fri 8 Nov 2013, 3:24, 1 reply)
Paddy the Just
In defiance of all conventional racial stereotypes, Paddy was an Australian, who found himself working for one of London's myriad "direct sales" companies in the mid-2000's. Despite being a direct colleague of mine, I never got to know him that well, although he gave me the basic lowdown on his background - spent the first 20 years of his life surfing (and had the body to match), didn't own a suit before he was hired as a salesman, found British terminology quaint and bizarre at the same time, and so on.

The shop ran according to the following principle: you went out into the field every day and knocked on doors to try to sell whichever charity was the flavour of the month. You also tried perpetually to recruit members for your team, in order to boost your income with the commission from their sales as well.

One evening Paddy came back to the office after a day in the field looking like he'd just had to sacrifice his first-born. In contrast to every other evening, he went straight into the back office, talked to no-one and stared into the middle distance. Polite enquiries as to his well-being were met with barely-contained enjoinders to get fucked. The full story was not to emerge until the following day.

Paddy had recruited a local chav who'd concealed his true colours during the interview process. The previous afternoon, Paddy and the rest of his crew had come across a team of builders having their tea break on the wall surrounding a building site, and Paddy, being the gregarious type, had struck up a conversation with them. After chatting for a while, they both went their separate ways and Paddy was mentally formulating his pep talk to boost his sales team for the rest of the afternoon. At this point, the chav sidled up to him and said "Hey, look: I nicked this phone off one of the blokes on the building site. Hardcore innit!". Paddy apparently lasted about an eighth of a second before grabbing the chav by the scruff of his neck, frogmarching him back to the building site and saying "This guy's got something to say to you." Forced the chav to return the phone on the spot, fired him on the spot, and spent the rest of the day being thoroughly disgusted with humanity. One of the few people with any morals in the office, to be honest.
(, Thu 7 Nov 2013, 21:49, Reply)
Have a pea. Turns out well, but started out with tea leafery...
I was out for a beer fuelled weekend of fun and frolics down in Newquay for a friend's stag night.

Now I'm a bit of a geek at times, and as such I don't really have a camera that fits handily into the pocket. As a result I had a bag with me that night. All good. The next morning I woke up to find... Gasp!... My bag was right next to me - Yes! I had managed to remember to pick up my bag at al the the bars, clubs and wherever the hell else I ended up that night.

Magic!

So I was rooting through it looking for something or other, when I found something a bit odd in the front pocket. A wallet.

A wallet I didn't recognise.

Someone else's wallet.

Fantastico. So I'd remembered by bag, w00t; but in the process I'd also become a tea-leaf. What the hell was I doing with someone else's wallet? I hunted through to see if there was some ID in there, but no. Cashcard (with a name I didn't recognise) but that was about it.

I asked around a couple of the guys rather sheepishly, wondering how the hell I was going to gexplain this one, and nobody recognised the name either.

It should be noted at this point that in typical boy fashion, we didn't really know each other's real names, it was always nosher, monkey and stuff like that.

AFter a few minutes getting more and more het-up about this whole thievery business, one of the guys I hadn't met before that weekend, came out of ihs tent bemoaning not only his hangover, but also his lack of wallet.

As soon as I saw him, it all came flooding back (well, trickling, anyway). I'd been at the bar next to him, him being rather more pissed than me, and I'd noticed him leave his wallet on the bar and walk off. So I picked it up and went to hand it back to him, but he was gone. So I did what every self-respecting good samaritan would do in the situation: put it in my bag and instantly forgot about it.

So I went, in one fell swoop, from being thieving bastard to saviour of the guy's wallet. I didn't really think anything of it, but he seemed to be way happy to be reunited with it.

Meh. Turned out alright, but scared the crap out of me at the time!
(, Thu 7 Nov 2013, 21:19, Reply)
my dad used to travel a lot with work
and once, when our telly remote had broken he found himself in a hotel with exactly the same telly, but the remote worked fine. Not wanting to steal it only for them to inventory the room after he left and charge him for the missing remote, he phoned down to reception to complain that it was already missing.
A dude pops up with a 'replacement', which the old man swiftly pops into his suitcase.
(, Thu 7 Nov 2013, 21:12, 1 reply)
Most
people will know Gareth Bale, as the squeeky clean Welsh football wonderkid who makes millions kicking a ball around but I know his despicable secret, he's a thief and a murderer. He killed a chimpanze and stole its face.
(, Thu 7 Nov 2013, 16:19, 10 replies)
I was cruelly deprived of my cake
It was stollen.
(, Wed 13 Nov 2013, 21:52, 3 replies)
Petty, Attempted and Big
I've had some thieving bastards around here over the years.

The car has been done several times. There was a red petrol can, never used, behind the passenger seat that some twat smashed a window to get at. £50 excess for a five quid lump of empty plastic. Someone else cut the fuel line in order to try and drain some petrol off (they failed), and then there was another smashed window as the idiot concerned decided to rummage around in my valuable stash of carrier bags in the glovebox (again, nothing stolen, but a bill for fixing the window).

The (dare I mention it) shed had its lock cut several times. Nothing taken as there was generally nothing of value in there, but I eventually gave up locking it.

A couple of burglaries, the first where they got in through the window by breaking the lock and got nothing. The second time, the locks on the window had been upgraded, so they crowbarred the front door. The loot... a lampshade (although that was new and still in its wrapping).

This particular theft had a knock on effect to the most recent attempt to get into the house. I was sitting listening to music with headphones on when there was a thud. I took the headphones off and went for a wander expecting it just to have been the neighbours being careless again. There was a guy hanging around outside on the pavement looking like he was making notes. "Oh great!" I thought, "another door-to-door seller." He steps onto my path, still taking notes. I figure I don't want to talk to him, so I watch. The fucker only takes a run at the front door. Now it's a good job he didn't get in and didn't push his luck by trying again because I was down the stairs and behind the door with a metre long F clamp in my hands pretty damned sharpish.

And the knock on effect? There's a socking great lump of angle iron embedded in the door to which the strike is bolted, so hopefully this fuckwitt went way bruised when the door didn't budge!

From the petty to the big. There are a couple of tales I've heard over the years of big stuff going missing (I'm not involved in these).

The first I heard from the head of security at a place I'd just started working at. Apparently, someone had nicked an emergency backup generator off the top of a four storey building. The odd thing is, this was a joint military/civilian establishment, so whoever did it got away with something the size of a shipping container under the noses of squaddies and coppers with guns.

The second is rather older and involves a brand new mainframe computer back in the day when they were absolutely huge. The day arrived when the new machine was delivered but the lift to the top floor of the building was too small to take it, and the building was too high for them to crane it up there, so they had to fly it to the roof by helicopter. A while after it was all plumbed in and working, the operators arrived one morning and found the console was not responding. Thinking the system was down, someone got in the lift to go up to the top floor to find out what was up. They found a tuft of cables sticking out of the floor where the brand new mainframe used to be. Quite how they got it out of the building, nobody could work out.
(, Wed 13 Nov 2013, 19:49, 4 replies)
Thieving cunts? Not on my watch...
www.b3ta.com/questions/theft/post2143656

Alright drongos?

Been a while, I know - but internet access in my 'secure facility' is only given out to those lags who've earned their privileges. Last few weeks have been tough, I'd almost gone a month without an 'incident' (which is what me docs call it when I piss all over some bastard), until some cunt in the mess hall only gave me three scoops of mash, not four. I showed the idiot though - popped me greasy cock into the soup tureen and pissed away! Ha! No one had soup that day! The burns took the skin clean off me greasy pipe and I had 2 weeks in the san...but worth it eh?!

Anyhoo...going back a few years now, before I became a state-sanctioned imbecile, I used to live with ma out in the sticks. On my 49th birthday I got a bit blotto and was staggering down the long, dusty road home when I saw one of those yellow SLOW DOWN signs. Now I've always wanted one of them and considering ma's contribution to my big day was $10 and a gallon of homebrew, I decided to take the bastard back with me.

Trouble was, those signs are pretty much cemented into the ground. But being a plus-sized gent, I knew I could use me extra weight to my advantage. I jumped up and pulled down on it with all my 41 stone and slowly and surely the sign started to bend over. I pulled and pulled and after considerable effort the thing snapped! It wasn't a clean break and the end was very jagged and rusty - but now I had myself the bestest birthday present ever!

Thing is. Those bastard yellow cunts are heavier than they look. I was dragging it down the highway but me hands were being shredded by the razor-sharp metal rusty bits. Bugger, I thought. I'd have to get me ute.

But then, as if by magic, a truck-load of me mates came driving down the road. 'Alright, Fatty Fatholme!' they called. Always joking around my mates are - a right laugh! 'What the fuck are you doing with that sign?'

I told em I needed a lift back to me trailer (we had a big house - but ma only let me sleep in the bashed-up old trailer in the yard). Sure thing! They said, and lifted my road sign onto the back of the truck. But then the cunts started to drive away! With MY ROAD SIGN! No chance! Mates or not, you don't steal a man's SLOW DOWN sign. Never!

So I charged the truck and managed to haul myself onto front. Me mates stopped the truck and started to shit themselves. 'OK!' they screamed, 'You can have your flaming sign back!' But it was too late. No one steals MY road sign. Quick as a flash I was buck-naked and warming up the old greasy cock. 'Oh SHIT!' they screamed, 'He's doing it! He's doing it! Someone grab the camera! This shit is going on Youtube!'

Trouble was, I couldn't get enough height with me todger to clear the truck and piss on the thieving cunts. I was waving the greasy bastard around but ended up pissing more on meself than anyone else. And soon I'd clean run out of pissing piss. I was drenched, covered in head to toe of MY OWN FOUL-SMELLING URINE!

What could I do? Well, I thought, if I can't have the sign, no one can! So I grabbed it and lay down on me back. Then I got the sharp, rusty end and started shoving it into my greasy back passage. It hurt a bit - but once the fucker was in, it got easier. I shoved that pole deep inside by arse, watching happily as me mate's faces turned from shock to horror! They'd lost the sign for sure, no chance they'd want it now, covered in all the blood and shit that was pouring out me greasy hole!

Two of me mates were so angry they'd lost the sign, that they actually threw up! Ha! I NEVER LOSE! ROB NEVER LOSES! But to be sure, I kept on fucking that dirty, rusty, jagged metal pole. It was tearing my insides out, and man, the smell...oh my god the smell. I must have ruptured something good and proper as filthy, brown gunk was flooding around me legs. Did I care? No! Cos I knew they'd be too scared to touch it now! And I was right. LOSERS!

I guess one of the cunts called the cops, as after fucking myself senseless for a good two hours I passed out and woke up not in the trailer but in this goddam place. BUT THEY NEVER CHARGED ME FOR THE SIGN. I've got a photo of it me comfy cell (even the walls are like a mattress!), they wouldn't let me have the real thing, as me room is too small. But everyday I look at that SLOW DOWN sign in the photo and I swell with pride.

I'm a winner, drongos. A fucking winner.
(, Tue 12 Nov 2013, 15:42, 17 replies)
Co-axed
The stolen modem below reminded me of a similar, though less understandable theft.

At uni we had a film club - this was in 1981, when VCRs were still really new, so students didn't have them (or laptops of course!). So we'd get together in a room and watch a tape that we'd clubbed together to rent. The actual VCR was in a media suite a couple of floors above, since it was too expensive to let grubby first-years get near; only the third-years who ran the AV suite were allowed to touch it.

One night, in the middle of the show, the TV trolley suddenly jerked, and the picture disappeared. As the lights came on it became apparent that someone had yanked the co-ax cable out from outside, where it entered the room through a hole in the windowsill, and cut off a few metres.

I've never quite been able to imagine why someone would have a sudden, pressing, late-night need for three metres of coax, with no connectors on it.
(, Mon 11 Nov 2013, 10:23, Reply)

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