Secondary School Wasn't The Happiest Time Of My Life...
Things at home weren't stable, and I certainly wasn't happy at school - the usual - bullying and such.

However, this being the 80's - Political Correctness, especially in terms of Race was a big deal. A couple of girls decided they would play on this, they did - swearing in front of teachers - because they knew they could - with impunity, that kind of thing.

Now, one such girl in my form group decided she was going to drop me in the shit, for what I cannot remember and decided she'd make a complaint to my Head of House [I went to a cattle-class Comprehensive School with delusions of grandeur.]

Mr Watkins was his name, and being a fat bearded pipe smoking bloke, [not unlike myself, except he was significantly larger than I am today, and I forgo the pipe also], had a habit of bellowing at pupils down the long School corridors...

"CAESCARNA!!!" he bellowed one day, and after I'd re-entered my skin, proceeded to quiz me about my whereabouts on a particular day - in light of the accusations that I'd been shouting racist abuse and throwing stones[*] at the plaintiff in question.

I replied that - no - this wasn't the case, and in fact it couldn't possibly be true, as at the alleged time that the alledged incident took place - I was in the middle of a CSE exam...

[*] I've never shouted racist abuse, nor hurled stones at anyone, before or since.
(caescarna Hell's Roomba, Wed 23 Jun 2010, 17:10, Reply)

Sticking it to the fanboi.
Occasionally, on long train journeys, I'll take my laptop with me. Now, she's not pretty to look at, being a 5-year-old StinkPad, with the plastic cracking round the edges, but she's reliable, and has more new bits bolted onto her courtesy of the glorious 5 year warranty she came with. This in addition to the battery - the one replaced for free as it constituted a 'fire risk', and came with an apology that they only had a big 9-cell version, rather than the 6-cell she originally came with.

So I'm on the train to Norwich from Liverpool Street. This is a 2 and a half hour stretch, which is best lightened with perhaps, a short film or two. The man who sits opposite me also brings out his laptop - a widescreen MacBook pro, and gives me a withering look - you know the sort, the 'oh dear, are you not an acolyte of the Jobs? You know you're worse than a nonce until you know the love of Steve...' And then proceeds to use it like an oversized mp3 player, with his iPhone, iPod and various other Apple-related fetish objects scattered around the table like so many orphaned children. Fine, I think to myself, since we're both on this train together until the terminus having clocked his reservation ticket, we'll have a silent race. I'll pit my baby against your icon. I know I'm good for above an beyond the journey time alone.

After 2 hours, he's looking worried that standard class doesn't have a power socket, and sheepishly puts his expensive tea tray away. I look at my battery monitor - I'm still good for another hour and a half. And so I smiled at him, as he tried to avoid eye contact for remaining half hour of the journey.
(witty_ditty has made multiple miaows since, Wed 23 Jun 2010, 17:07, 7 replies)

I stuck it to work
They let us go early to watch football and i went to sainsburys and pottered about the shop getting bits and bobs whilst checking out the MILFs. There are some HOT ladies out there today!!!
(Beaverman Opulence, I has it., Wed 23 Jun 2010, 17:00, Reply)

woot!!
England 1 Slovenia 0

We stuck it to the world cup man!
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Wed 23 Jun 2010, 16:53, 4 replies)

Not sticking it to the man as such, more like bad management...
As I type, England are playing Slovenia in the World Cup. We're all at work so we're not really supposed to be watching the game (or on b3ta. Oops).

My collegue heard an unanswered phone ringing and diverted it to his phone. Somebody was looking for one of the directors;

"Richard *******? I'm afraid he's not here at the moment, can I take a message?"

"He should be back in about 70 minutes."

"Err.. I mean, an hour and 10 minutes."

"ERR... I mean, soon. He'll be back soon."

I don't think he got away with that one!
(tarbin tarbis, tarbit, tarbamus, tarbimus, tarbant, Wed 23 Jun 2010, 15:43, 3 replies)

British Gas took Dad to court
As a teenager I lived with the parents in a new house which, due to my Mum's demands on the builder, had no gas whatsoever. An all electric house.

So when the gas meter man knocked on the door one day and I answered it he said he was here to read the meter. I pointed to the cupboard outside. "That's the electric meter" he says, "it's the only meter I know of" says I. "It's probably inside, can I come in?" he asks, "No." I say simply because I didn't want some perve with a beard looking around the house for a non-existent meter. "I'll have to estimate it then" was his parting comment.

That got the ball rolling, as some weeks later we got our first estimated gas bill to a house with no gas supply. Dad ignored it.

That bill became a red one, then another red one. Then came the threats of court action etc etc. Dad was clearly enjoying this and kept quiet while all the paperwork arrived.

In time a lady called at the door asking if we were having trouble paying. "I don't think I have to pay it" says Dad. This clearly made up their mind that we were being stubborn and Dad was summonsed to the court to defend his case of why he'd not paid the gas bill.

I gather the court process took less than 10 mins and went along the lines of:

Blah blah blah - you've not paid, taking services without payment, breach of contract etc.
My Dad's defence was a one liner: "I don't have an account with British Gas and the house doesn't have a gas supply".

Red faces on the BG side of things who decided they'd have to check their records.

My Dad was able to claim from them for his time, travel, inconvenience etc etc whilst they also had to pay their own costs simply because they couldn't actually be bothered to check if we actually had a gas supply.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Wed 23 Jun 2010, 12:40, 16 replies)

I'm going to stick it in a woman
Because I am now officially STD free!
(Clerk T Hazarde are all the wine, Wed 23 Jun 2010, 12:33, 6 replies)

I'm sticking it to the man
I'm not going to pay income tax or council tax for another 4 years. Legally!

Gotta love postgraduate study.

P.S. I get my degree results in 3 hours, wish me luck...

EDIT: I got a 2.1!! Thanks for all the, urm, boning? :S
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Wed 23 Jun 2010, 11:50, 18 replies)

RVC Stundents defeat and shame Headmaster
I used to work at the RVC (Royal Vetinary College) as IT support, it was nice.

Now the RVC had 2 sites. One in Camden 5 min walk from Mornington Cresent station and the other up in the middle of nowhere near Potters Bar. The Potters Bar location is relativly new and much bigger than it's Camden location and is generaly used by the older students.

The Camden location is the college's original location and is a grand old building with a rich history and, being in the middle of Camden with easy access into town, quite a draw for prospective students.

The headmaster of the RVC decided that he wanted to sell the Camden location and move everything to Potters Bar. Most the staff and students didn;t think this was a good idea. In fact the students really didn;t want to lose the Camden site they decided to have a demonstration. One day, while the headmaster an important meeting, most the students tuirned up for college wearing a red top of some sort. Them, at a specific time, they all left the college and stood outside protesting loudly that they wouldn;t return to college unless the headmaster promised that he would keep the Camden branch open.

They definetly stuck it to the man.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Wed 23 Jun 2010, 10:57, 5 replies)

Epic one from when I was in primary school.
It was fast approaching the annual school nativity where parents would take time off work to see their little kiddiwinkies wander around the stage wearing a tea towel and forget their lines about Mary speaking to an angel that’s delivered the news that god has got her pregnant.

As the teachers had a few years to get to know the kids all the good ones were given the main parts while the troublemakers and loudmouths were assigned the role of shepherds/ soldiers. I will admit that as I was in the bracket of kid that has the volume stuck at 11 and was therefore assigned to become a soldier hunting for children in the houses for Herod.

The idea of playing a small legionnaire should have been great for a small boy but I was a pissed off due to 2 reasons (1) Teacher had put me with the class mongs and all my good pals were shepherds and (2) Due to costume shortages for the soldiers I was stuck with the crappest outfit of the lot, with a worn out and funny smelling toga and armed with a shabby plastic yellow sheath of one of the other kids swords. Little me was not the happiest bunny and decided to voice my opinion. Naturally this fell on deaf ears due to the fact that the teachers were used to me and my voice so were probably wearing earplugs.

For the next few weeks I sulkily acted my part in rehearsals half heartedly pretending to knock on doors and ask people for their kids. It was only on the night of the performance that I came up with an idea to show the teachers what I could do and upgrade my costume myself. Unfortunately I had a pretty warped idea on how to upgrade my costume and decided that I would upgrade my costume the same way that Murphy was upgraded from a police man into Robocop. Yup I decide to become a cyborg in the nativity.

While all the teachers and carers were distracted dragging the shepherds onto stage I dragged a couple of my fellow legionnaires and made them attach a few pieces of sparkly foil from the craft table to my arms but in my opinion that wasn’t enough. I just looked like a bloke with tinfoil patches, I needed something more machine looking. Then I spotted it, the school computer a BBC one with two external tape drives on for cassettes and the other for disks that were floppy. From what I can remember they were used to play a couple of shitty text adventure games and our class could solve in next to no time after a few weeks of playing it.

I unhooked the keyboard and external cassette tape drive and held them in place while my two helpers used sticky tape to hold it in place on my body (keyboard – too big for me to put anywhere else on my little body) and arms (Tape drive on wrist with cable running up my arm). I looked cool, I imagined going on stage and everyone clapping at the inspired design. I could even press the eject button on the drive and pretend it had some recording device in it.

Sadly my plan was foiled instantly when our teacher came to collect us for our scene and I stuck out like… well like a badly built cyborg in a roman legion. Quite naturally I was given a pretty stern bollocking for nearly breaking valuable school property and my accomplices were also assigned detention for Sticking IT to the Mon. Yup that’s it another longwinded pun from me, flame away.

Dear lord, sorry about the length I tried to cut it down where I could have.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Wed 23 Jun 2010, 10:51, 5 replies)

My Younger Brother...
..is only 5 and like most boys his age is obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine. I was looking after him for a day just before Christmas and I had to go to a supermarket (the name of which is an anagram of 'Tesco')to stock up on food etc.

We ventured down the toy aisle and he spotted the latest toy engine, one that he didn't have,and one that I knew was on his Christmas list. Being the great brother I am, I said that he could have it early as he'd behaved so well.

At the checkout, there were a few issues when it came to scanning the item, and it wasn't registering a cost. A manager was called over who informed me that the particular model was not in fact meant to be on display until a weeks time, and that they would not be able to sell it to me.

Obviously, I kicked up a fuss and my brother was starting to get a bit upset upon hearing he could not have the toy. After a heated discussion, the manager agreed to sell it to us at the price of the other similar trains.

As we left the checkout, my brother turned to the checkout assistant and said, "You should have more respect for children, you should, because we aren't inferior", which had me in fits of giggles. I don't know where he picked such a phrase up from.

The train was on sale the next week, for £10 more than what I paid. Take that, Tesco.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Wed 23 Jun 2010, 10:30, 8 replies)

When I was six
I fell out with my mate, we had a fight, and he won hands-down, so I retreated to a treetop, where I wrote a note saying "Guy Jones is a bloody fucking bastard and I hate him" and pinned it to the trunk.

He didn't try fighting ME again, I can tell you.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 23 Jun 2010, 10:26, Reply)

Had just bought a new motorbike...
A Ducati Sport 1000, and after the run-in period decided to take it for a decent ride.
So I removed the baffles from the tailpipes, pulled on the leathers and headed out to a remote national park, where there are NO side roads, NO pedestrians, utter visibility for ages and only very rare traffic.
After enjoying myself immensly for a while (not really breaking the speed limit, more like shattering the utter fuck out of it*) I slowed right down because I knew I was getting to the part where there are actually a few blind curves. Cruising around one of them, I see a cop on the side of the road aiming a speed camera at me, followed by a frantic wave to pull over.
"You were doing 60 in a 50 zone!" he thundered.
"Was I? I doubt that. This bike's almost brand new and the speedo was reading under 50. Can I see the radar reading?"
Fumble fumble "ummmm..." fumble.
"It's reading 120 now..." Fumble "Ah, the thing's fucked! But I could hear you from miles away, there's no way you were doing the speed limit!"
"But I was, maybe you were hearing someone else?"
"Rubbish? There's nobody else anywhere near us!!"
And just at that point about a dozen other bikes, all members of a local cruising club, motor around the corner at the speed limit and tootle past.
And exceedingly unhappily, off he sent me without a fine.

*Yes, yes, speeding is not clever etc etc, I already know. But I was a lot younger then. It was last year.
( difficultchild, Wed 23 Jun 2010, 1:31, 21 replies)

Pleh....
It's results day tomorrow, and I'm cacking myself over whether I'll get a 2.1 or a 2.2. I have averaged a 2.1 for the past two years, but am now breaking out the Tena Lady because I fear I've fucked it up at the last hurdle. However, everything about tomorrow represents me sticking it to the man, so whatever happens, I'll be proud as fuck.

Here's why:

1. I've done a degree in Law
2. I'm a girl (whatever your opinions, the fact is that 100 years ago, I couldn't have even graduated because of the fact that one of my chromosomes has an extra leg)
3. I'm from a very working class background
4. I've had a 28hr a week job my entire time through college and university just to pay my way
5. My partner (now fiancee) lost his father (and thus became an orphan at the age of 22) when I did my exams last year. I had to help his two brothers find a house. He is still grieving horrendously, as am I
6. I don't want to go into any of the major areas of law, so have had no mentor support


Apologies for the message, but at this point (13.5 hours before finding out), I need everything I can get to make me feel better. And I will let you all know as soon as I find out what my results are...



EDIT: 2.1 mofos! Thanks for all the support guys, you made me feel all fuzzy inside...
(BelladonnaAnodyne Melissa's gonna wet herself, I swear..., Wed 23 Jun 2010, 0:24, 31 replies)

PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP - or how the vuvuzela ruined my weekend
I live in Cape Town. Right opposite the world's biggest toilet seat Cape Town Stadium. For said stadium to be built, seven sports fields and a golf course had to be bulldozed and approximately 50 million homeless had to be coaxed to put down their Crackling* and be moved to a less salubrious area for the duration. Sounds awfully familiar *coughapartheidchoke* but I digress.

When this whole World cup thing kicked off (see what I did there?) there were numerous restrictions placed on residents living around the stadium area. Among these

*No parking in the road before and after games
*No loitering on pavements before and after games (in other words, unless you're going to a match, fuck off back inside you cheap bastards)
*Residents are encouraged to vacate their premises during the tournament in order to facilitate housing (we want your house, and good luck getting anything out of us for it).

My housemates and I duly considered this situation, and decided that we'd comply, whatever, it's just a fucking game, right?

Until the tourists started in on local customs. Namely, the vuvuzela.

From June 11th, we've been subjected to a never-ending cacophony op retards and drunks playing the only note the Devil's FOghorn can play. From 6.30am to Pooflake-knows-when, we hear all the greatest hits:

6.30: PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP
9.30: PA PA PA PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRP
12.00: MEEP (Bafana had a shit game)
14.30: BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAART (Kuduzelas start)
20.30: PARP PARP PARP PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP (WE SCORED!!!!!! LADUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!! PARPARPARPARPARPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP)

Revenge, as they say, is best served loudly.

MY mate Tiaan installs car audio in taxis. As those of you who have come to SA know, our minibus taxis are known for their ability to fit a primary school inside their clapped-out deathtraps and for their sound systems. One can hear these guys' bass (above the screams of his passengers) from about a KM away.

We built a rig consisting of 4 of the biggest fucking bassbins I've ever seen (here) coupled to a truck horn. We aimed this behemoth out of the window of our ground floor flat, pointing at the traffic lights.

Take 1: We have 4 young guys, drinking from cans of Castle and shouting at each other. THey have the horns. Good thing we have the horn for them!

Drunk aggro guy (DAG): Aweh BAFANA!!!! *PAAAAAARP
Us: OK then BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP

That's what it sounded like. Those guys just ran.

10 minutes later, the cops turned up and made us dismantle it. We were fined for disturbing the peace, and warned that next time we would be locked up.

So that's it, really. How the man stuck it (the vuvuzela) to us.

First serious (and vaguely coherent) post - *pop*

EDIT: Linky now fixed. Apologies :)
(Tiktock Beating off flamers with a shitty stick, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 23:44, 8 replies)

Well if the man wants to play it that way, so be it.
Right now, I'm not sure whether I've stuck it to the man or not.

Yesterday, I was made redundant. Again. My entirely dislikable manager conceded that on the scant occasions I'd been able to do the job I was brought in to do, I'd always exceeded expectations but the real requirement for me is at least six months away and frankly I'm an expensive indulgence until then. I'm employed until the end of the month and then,severance in hand I am a free agent again.

And, do you know what? I'm not going to play this game any more. I'm not going back into an office on a promise that I may or may not fufill the role I am supposed to do. As a result of my unemployment last year, I started writing freelance for two magazines. I'm going to beaver away and increase the number of publications I write for and the breadth of material I cover. At the same time, I'm going to look after the house and allow Mrs Hatred to shine in her new job without worrying what happens when she gets home. This isn't a get rich quick scheme- I don't have aspirations of great wealth. I'm simply fed up of being a specialist, subject to too many other people getting their lives in order so I can do what I do. I'm going to have multiple employers and keep the man at arm's length. Yesterday, the man stuck his oar in for the last time and with luck, my dealings with him will be on my terms going forward.

Length? I've got the means to try this until about the end of the year. I'm not in the mood to fail either.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 22:05, 9 replies)

Last week I stole something for the first time ever
I didn't mean to, but the stupid self-service till kept beeping and the assistant clicked his special button to say that we had finished. Little did he know that we were still holding two pints of milk (organic no-less) that had not been scanned. So we popped it in our bag and walked away.

Every little helps!
(Rachel B, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 21:39, 4 replies)

I stick Steve Jobs
I work in Focxonn. It is a big factory in China. It is so not good. We work all day. We have no rest and no pay. We make Steve Jobs Ipod for America. I see an open window. I stick Steve Jobs. I go now. Might not return. LOL! ROTFL!
(chutneyweasel, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 17:36, 2 replies)

The small Scottish isle I come from has quite a rich heritage, and every so often we'll build an effigy in which to sacrifice a human and some livestock in order to please the gods and encourage a good harvest.
I'm in charge of putting the outer layers on using a combination of ties and pitch.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 16:45, 9 replies)

DON'T GRADUATE! You can have a petty victory over your bank.
When I finished uni, I got a pass*. I didn't bother graduating because 1) it was just a pass and 2) someone offered me £100 to play tuba for an hour at the same time. Easy decision.

***wavy hands to indicate passage of a couple of years***

Lloyds tried to remove my interest-free-overdraft graduate account. I had a moment of petty GENIUS. "What if I graduate? Can I have it back?" "You mean you haven't graduated?" "No, you just assumed I did" "Well I suppose yes then"

Quick letter to uni, ceremony in my absence, certificate in the post and job's a good 'un

***wavy hands to indicate passage of a couple of years***

Lloyds tried to remove my interest-free-overdraft graduate account. I had a moment of AWESOME petty GENIUS. "What if I graduate with an MA?" "Well yes, you could extend it".

Owing to quaint Cambridge traditions, (and the fact I hadn't bothered to get that when it was 'due' either), quick letter, ceremony in absence, job's a good 'un.

Students, please take note: you can have a preferential banking account for some years if you spin it out



*This used to be called a special, but apparently that sounded too good.
( prince-igor si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 15:33, 7 replies)

Five Demands and a Cheque
Whilst at University, a young skintagain was "cruising" around in a Rio-Brown Peugeot 309D (an absolute klundge-magnet I am sure you will agree). He had chosen to insure the pimp-mobile with a local insurance broker and had taken the option of monthly installments.

One year, later and he returns for a new term to discover five increasingly threatening letters about an outstanding balance. To this day he is still unsure how, but somewhere along the lines the insurance company had failed to divide the annual premium by the number of months in a year. The final-demand stated that court action was inevitable unless the remaining balance of £0.07 was paid in full within 28 days (yes 7 whole British pence!). After spending the better part of an hour on the phone to a numerically-impaired troglodyte he decided enough was enough....

So he posted them a cheque for £0.08. An then wrote to them demanding his penny back... I still have the cheque they sent me somewhere
(skintagain, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 14:52, 4 replies)

I shoplift
To fund my champagne habit.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 14:09, 7 replies)

I did once...
...fit a Dell laptop to the cab of a lorry.
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 14:03, 22 replies)

I have no interesting stories as I'm still fighting it out with a certain Irish low cost air carrier.
But I absolutely love this one: -

snipurl.com/xndl8
( Muns, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 13:57, 7 replies)

Stuck it to The Man.
A number of years ago, sadly before the days of camera phones there was a common affair, a completely loopy, aged, leatherfaced, old, aussie man who had obviously decided to come to London to teach the sinners the errs of their ways decented on my neighbournood.

This mainly involved him standing if from of Earls Court tube station, bible in hand, preaching and shouting demagogic piffle at passers by. He was there for hours at a time ranting, shouting and casting presumptuous, tenet-based insults at passersby.

After about four days his constant drone started to get on my nerves and I though some sort of retribution was in order. I hummed and harred for a bit and came up with a master plan.
I recruited some friends and aquired supplies; white sheets, flip flops and wigs.
We mustered at the rear station entrance and assembled our costumes, walked through to the front entrance and behind the spittling preacher.

Ah he continued preaching people started to stop, he took this as encouragement and stepped his tyrad up a notch or two. Realisation slowly dawned that something was wrong. He had the wrath of the Almightly at his disposal and these depraived sinners were not meant to be laughing.

It took a further few minutes to realised that behind him there were about ten Jesuses standing in the 'arms-a-kimba' pose.
This sent him balistic and he turned his ire unto us, streams of scriptured abuse punctuated with more and more avid shaking of his leather bound tome.

He finally gave up and stalked off preaching at the top of his voice with an entourage of flip flopping Messiahs on tow.

He never came back. It is a shame it never got videoed as it would have gone down a storm on Pootube.
( riverghost servicing your mum since, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 13:53, 9 replies)

We put a guy in the back of our van when we were on a job, and I told my mate to knock him unconscious
But my mate failed and just bruised his face a bit.

Turns out the guy in the back was a traffic warden.

I fuckin' HATE traffic wardens.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 13:24, 5 replies)

There sure are a lot of high-horse whining tarts this week

(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 13:13, 5 replies)

Sticking it to A Man
So, I'm a TEFL teacher, and I have just finished a 6-month stint in Poland, happily destroying what was left of my mind with the jet fuel they call vodka over here. And so the time to leave came about, and I'm in the process of closing down the utility bills. All good so far.

But.
My landlord has repeatedly said that I will pay him, instead of going to the utility company direct. Odd, thinks I, but agrees to it in principal, so long as a valid and legal water bill is presented to me at the end of the contract. I even present this in writing, as to make it all legit and everything. Bearing in mind my Landord 1. Owns his own decent sized logistics company 2. drives 2 quite new Audis 3. Is generally disliked by his staff for being a bit of a tightarse 4. I have it in writing that a bill will be presented to me.

Now, my bills come to approx. 120 PLN a month, so for 6 months that's about 700 PLN x 2 = 1400 for 6 months of gas and electric. So he rocks up at my flat, is happy with the state of it, and gives me back my damage deposit. Excellent, thinks I, duty free here I come! But wait, he then tells me I owe him 3800 for the water. You what now? I was slightly taken aback, and asked again. 3800. Apparently I like leaving the tap on to stare at the pretty waterfall that comes out for hours on end. Also, he presents no bill, despite previously agreeing to it, and demands the money from me. Long story short, I remind of the written agreement about the bill, and promise to give him my friends address so he can bill me. This is also after I remind him of when the water was cut off several times for no reason, and was told to basically lump it by him.

Not thinking to take a photo of it at the time, here's a text version of what I wrote:
Nazwisko - Peel
Imie - Robert
Nr. Domu - Flat 9
Adres - 99 Letsby Avenue
Miejscowosc - Copson Obbers
Wojewodztwo - Oldham
Kod - 0LD 81LL
(I'm not from Oldham, it just works with the postcode)

So yeah, I stuck to a man who I feel was trying to rob me blind for his own good. Take that Man!

Also, *POP*
(Die FlederMaus Is 24 hours from Tulsa, at, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 12:54, 3 replies)