Permit to travel
At my local station, the village youth* have, with the judicious scratching out of letters, and scratching on an extra letter at the start, made the PERMIT TO TRAVEL machine dispense SPERM TO RAVE.

*I assume
( le brian, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:45, Reply)

When I were a lad
We lived in a place that was a famous WWII fighter base, about 20 miles south of London. This is going back to to around 1973, I reckon.

There was a road in the town that had a lot of derelict, but mostly intact houses in it. We used to go at weekends and basically smash these places up.

This casual vandalism became an increasingly organised (and dangerous) enterprise. Having trashed the inside of the places as far as we could with sticks or stones/bricks etc, we moved on to removing swathes of roof tiles, and general structural parts of the houses.

Sometimes there would be several 'gangs' working on the same house. You'd turn up, and there would be a bunch of kids you'd never met working away at it. You'd just say a casual 'Hi' to them, and set about a different part of the house.

Fond memories include me and my brother senselessly smashing a stud wall down, and shortly afterwards being slightly surprised by the top 1/3 of the chimney stack (I'd guess probably 2 tons of bricks) coming crashing through the ceiling and passing through where we had been standing 5 minutes before, on it's way to the cellar. The kids that had pulled it down had come with hammers, chisels and a block and tackle to effect this operation.

Bear in mind that we were all around 8 - 9 years old.

The last I remember is someone pulling the whole gable end down on one of the houses, which made such a terrific noise that the nearest neighbours, who were a good 1/4 of a mile away, called the police. The whole area was shortly afterwards fenced off, and not long after the houses were all pulled down by grownups. Bastards.

Man, that was fun. But thank Christ the world has changed, and my kids won't be able to get up to shit like that now. lol
( Not Pineapple anymore, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:43, Reply)

Pea for your delectation.
Many moons ago, when young and far more daring, and of course after one or two light ales we found ourselves at two or so in the morning stood outside our mate's garage. We endeavoured to extract his Toppa sailing dinghy which we proceeded to mount atop his car and despite the gale force winds even erected the mast all without waking him up.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:39, Reply)

If you're going to graffiti...
at least check your spelling. In a certain multi-storey car park near me someone scrawled the immortal line:

"Satin rules"

What this person had against cotton, linen and silk is beyond me.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:33, 4 replies)

I had a bit of a smelly anti-social housemate when a student.
Who generally annoyed the rest of the clean, hygenic members of the household by various antics, including stinking the joint up something rotten by leaving rotting old pans of food in his bedroom - and then sodding off for a week whilst the smell got generally worse. Stealing food, never doing any housework, or seemingly washing his mouth or cock*, and generally being a tight bastard even though he was by far the best off financially - we bought him drinks whilst we sank deeper into our overdrafts and he stayed quiet about his fortune until the end of the 3rd year, the tight fucker.

After a year of living together, and general levels of frustration rising - after a good few beers/wines/ciders and a nice evening in, without the pleasure of his company we somehow ended up spray painting his locked bedroom door (That was just about holding back the stench) using some - apparently - non-permanent hair colour spray with the legend:

'Cock Piss Partridge**'

In an obvious Alan Partridge reference, we were students after all.

And this remained for the 7 days he was away. When we attempted to wipe it off for his return (as much as he annoyed us, we didn't think he'd probably approve the decor, so for the best), it was clear that a white wooden door is more pourous than hair.

We wiped away frantically and did our level best, but there was always a feint marking spelling out the words if you caught it in the right light, for the rest of our time in that house.

*His girlfriend made him shower pre-sex when she visited.

**But with the stinkers surname, obviously..

Sometimes I wonder if we were a bit harsh branding him as a 'cock piss', but then I remember what a genuine fucker he was.
(Pat_Gash, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:24, 1 reply)

I once added an "I" to a "TO LET" sign to make it read TOILET
lololololol lmao good times oh my word yes
( Michael Ellis contributes nothing, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:20, 4 replies)

The 1980s. Aberdeen.
More specifically, the delightful suburb of Torry (aka Seagull Island).

There was a local gang who named themselves "The Nob Men" and they sprayed, scrawled and etched NOBMEN onto every available surface.

If they ventured outwith their home turf the graffiti would read NOBMEN (fae Torry).

Advertising posters were a favourite target; the one that sticks in my mind had the legend "Tia Maria - Nice Idea!" which had been amended to read:

Tia Maria - Tastes Rotten
Nice Idea! I'm Stottin!
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:16, Reply)

MY FRIEND
Once drunkenly scrawled "I AM THE FLY" with a marker pen, on the wall of the Australian High Commission in London.

MY FRIEND
Also wrote "Winslet + Dahl = Posh Girl Rufty" in the male toilets of the Foundry.
(theremin put the lotion in the basket on, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:16, 1 reply)

The Windmill in Coventry
If you've ever sat in the back room of the The Windmill pub in Coventry and seen the word MINGE in black marker pen on one or a few of the tables, that totally wasn't me.
( Blue Star was working part time at the 5 and Dime, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:12, 4 replies)

Just the Oxfam bin that I Eubanked.



More Eubank related vandalism here - www.haroldbishopslovechild.com/2009/01/pointless-attempt-to-fool-redruth.html
( Harold Bishop's Love Child some sort of terrifying sex magician., Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:09, 3 replies)

It was a friend's 18th
A few of us had driven over so we could stay the night at her house, but a gang of lads had taken it upon themselves to go out on a rampage during the wee hours. I'd lent my car keys to my sister's boyfriend so he could sleep in my car, in the morning I went outside to find it not only contained him but:
The tops off two Belisha beacons
The 9th hole of Bloxwich golf course
Two traffic cones
The sign reading "Beechwood Close" from...Beechwood Close, Bloxwich
And god alone knows whatever other crap I had to dispose of before driving home.

Though my sister's garden remains to this day "1 Beechwood Close"
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:09, 3 replies)

M Khan is bent

(weaselinajetengine, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:06, 7 replies)

Home made shuriken.
When I was a young teen taking metal shop class, someone got the idea of using the notcher to cut chunks of scrap steel plate into little jagged sunbursts that could then be thrown to stick into the ceilings, high on the walls, and other places where they would be deemed obnoxious. I saw one made by someone else, then made my own little supply of them.

If you make them fairly small and light, when they hit they won't penetrate very far and will come out pretty easily. And if you tape a firecracker to them, the explosion will be enough to knock them free.

Imagine being asleep in bed when an explosion goes off just outside your bedroom window, and the next day you can't find any evidence of what caused it...
( Wanderer, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:06, 1 reply)

I was never much for truly destructive stunts.
That doesn't mean that I didn't terrorize some areas, though.

In the 70s circuit breakers had finally replaced fuses, so overloading a circuit in a house was a minor inconvenience rather than a hassle involving finding a fuse and replacing it. My favorite little trick involved a plug that I had cut off of an old appliance with the two wires stripped and twisted together, covered with a wire nut and electrical tape.

I would sneak up to the house and locate the outside receptacle, quietly open it, put one prong of the plug in, then a quick poke with the other and ZAP! part of the house would go dark. If I was feeling especially annoying I would hit the same place a couple of times in an evening.

This lasted until I told a friend about it and gave him the plug. He and a friend went out one night to try it and immediately got caught.

Numpty.
( Wanderer, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:51, 1 reply)

Notice Trolling
Not exactly vandalism, but still leaving messages with a mischievous intention.

When I lived in Halls at university, we had lots of shared facilities (kitchens, toilets, showers, etc.), and lots of passive aggressive notes ended up being sellotaped all over the place castigating people for various ills - not doing washing up, not cleaning toilets, using showers in the middle of the night, etc.

I discovered that lots of fun could be had by leaving replies. Initially, these took the form of simple rebuttals or counter allegations

e.g. 'I am disappointed to see you complain about my conduct when you yourself cooked a dinner party for 35 people on Tuesday using my cheese. That cheese was given to me by my mother, who in fact died last weekend, and was a treasured souvenir. how can you sleep at night you hypocritical bastard?'

These were normally signed-off spuriously from another student and, if successful, led to a reply. It was a bit like throwing a bone to a pack of wolves and watching the ensuing mayhem,. Albeit mayhem conducted in overly polite notices typed in comic-sans.

The best ones though, were my official-looking notes with the college crest appended at the top and purporting to be from the cleaners/the Dean/the Master.

My personal favourite being in one of the kitchens where arguments about washing up had been conducted through the medium of post-it notes for quite some time.

'Dear all. Please think of the difficult times you are giving us. I am 60 and have arthritis. I am doing this cleaning job alongside three other jobs. I do not expect it to be easy, as you leave a mess, but it is so unfair that everyday I have to try to clean around so many notices and post-it notes. Please - think of me and do not clutter the kitchens. Thankyou.

- The Cleaner'

Result - no more notices for a whole term.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:46, Reply)

Free Bill Posters
On the hoarding around a building site in Sydney I saw the official notice to try and prevent messy advertising which read "Bill Posters will be prosecuted".
On the next board over someone had written in BIG letters:
BILL POSTERS IS INNOCENT!
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:45, 6 replies)

Thirteen years ago
When I started driving, some friends and I used to swap stop signs with yield signs. Two are still up at the intersections.

It was a public service imo.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:38, Reply)

RIGHTS FOR GNOMES!
One night, in my younger years, after a couple a group of us decided to go out for a late night walk. This was back in the days before late licencing and the streets were generally completely deserted after midnight and it was now about 2am.

We took with us, a large ball of blue tack, a pair of scissors, a pot of cocktail sticks, pens and a big stack of post-it notes.

We headed for an out of the way area called Roseland Park where people have nice gardens and all try hard to keep them that way. They are also a tasteless bunch who adorn there front lawns with many a garden ornament, Using all the ninja skills we had acquired in our GCSE ninja skills lesson earlier that week we snuck in to the first garden, picked up a garden gnome and placed it carefully on the doorstep and using our art skills that we had also acquired in the ninja skills lesson crafted a fine mini banner that read “I hate fishing!” We removed the wooden fishing rod and replaced it with the banner taking care to not cause any permanent damage to the gnome.

In the second garden the gnomes banners angrily protested the silly hats they had been forced to wear by their human overlords. We went house to house getting a little braver each time until we were going to houses with large numbers of gnomes in the garden and creating a protest march up the pathway. One house had two huge stone lions on the gate posts. We placed them outside the front door with a note that read “Can we come in please? It’s cold out here.” We went house to house in this close nit area and must have found about 20-30 gardens with gnomes ready to be moved.

We returned home when it started to get light and went to bed which meant we never got to see the faces of the confused homeowners that opened the doors in the morning to find their gnomes protesting but I like to think that they still talk about it 14 years later.
( Peej, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:33, 7 replies)

Ice
In the toilets of the student union building at my university, they regularly put up public service announcement posters to warn the students of all the terrible things that can befall us - depression, gambling addiction, prostate cancer, etc. A few years ago, one poster appeared warning us of the perils of methamphetamine abuse. As can be seen from the link, it featured a haggard looking businessman staring across his desk and wringing his hands, accompanied by the caption "ICE WILL RUIN HIS CAREER, THEN HIS LIFE".

Of course, this poster could hardly go a day without some wag editing it:

MICE WILL RUIN HIS CAREER, THEN HIS LIFE

RICE WILL RUIN HIS CAREER, THEN HIS LIFE

LICE WILL RUIN HIS CAREER, THEN HIS LIFE

These came and went fairly quickly, as I guess the cleaners were scrubbing the graffiti off with alcohol wipes or something. One day, I ducked in for a slash, and the poster had been recently cleaned. As I happened to have a Sharpie in my bag, this was the perfect opportunity to add my own contribution. But what? I racked my brain, and then hit upon the perfect edit. A quick addition to the text and a scrawled on pair of 80s sunglasses later:

MIAMI VICE WILL RUIN HIS CAREER, THEN HIS LIFE


They gave up cleaning it and replaced it with a poster of a depressed footballer instead.
(oball needs Satan more than he needs me, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:32, 7 replies)

Who can forget Chav v Laws of Physics


www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1XKNT5SfT0

Epic.
(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:26, 1 reply)

Seen in The Miller, Southwark
On the condom machine in the gents' toilets, someone had written "For refund, please insert baby".

Genius.
(anvil, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:14, 5 replies)

"I FUCK ARSES"
Who fucks arses? Maybe HE fucks arses! Maybe he's scrawled this here in some moment of drunken sincerity!
( Victor Meldrew, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:11, 8 replies)

Dairylea Dunkers poster
- or some similar cheesy dipping product - which I saw while attending my mate's wedding in Weymouth, had the tag line "Struggling to get your kids to eat more veg?"

Seized with the anonymity of being a grockel at the seaside, I made a quick marker pen edit:

Struggling to get your kids to eat more vag?


( Invisible Wizard - 9th Level Pissant, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:09, 1 reply)

Pearoast
I assume my school was not particularly unusual in the fact that everyone always spent hours talking about what jokes they were going to pull on the last day, but the plans never seemed to materialise. All previous ones that had been done, had occurred years ago, masterminded by a friend of a friend of a guy who someone had once met.

During one of these conversations the idea came up that was just too good to not do. While we still had a year before we left, we decided that this could be used to our advantage: we would both get to see the full effects as they unfolded, and would evade punishment as it would be blamed on the students that were leaving. The dastardly plan was to create a piece of artwork on the front lawn. Being highly sensible, mature students of an all boys school, the subject of the art piece was never in any doubt.

One maths lesson later (the actual work being cast aside in an unusual show of enthusiasm for geometry) we managed to calculate the appropriate dimensions and therefore the surface area of grass that would need to be killed. Sainsbury's was visited and enough weed killer to kill 50 times the calculated area of grass was procured. The mission was all set and ready to go.

We returned that night. While a few of us mixed the weedkiller with water, someone scaled the security fencing, climbed up the side of the tech block and turned the PIR on the security light to face the wall. By this time the rest of us were ready. Some took up watch positions, whilst others created the actual artwork. Nails and string were used to mark out the outline and the weed killer was applied. We went home happy in the knowledge that the mission had been accomplished without a hitch.

The library happened to be on the first floor and had windows overlooking the front lawn. Over the course of the next week or so, it was periodically invaded by a dozen or so teenagers running in, laughing at a slightly yellowing patch on the lawn then running back out. After a while the reason for this became slowly more obvious.

The caretakers first plan to return the lawn to its former glory was to simply get some blokes from the council to mow a rectangle around it to the mud, then replant it and let it all grow back. He had not accounted for the amount of weed killer used. The artwork slowly reappeared, this time a bare dirt cdc where before there had been a yellowed grass cdc. His plan B was brought into action- dig up the grass and re-turf aforementioned rectangle. Lets just say that pathclear applied at 50 times the recommended concentration doesn't give up that easily.

After a few months of making it more and more obvious, he finally succeeded. This was managed by digging up and replacing not only the turf, but also the mud underneath.

We thought that it was all over, but little did we know of the Microsoft plane flying silently overhead.

A couple of years later a story suddenly appeared in the local paper. Being a teenager, I was of course invincible and keen to get my 15 minutes of fame; I decided that I might as well phone them up and give them an interview. The next day I was on page three of the local rag, with a picture of my massive cock.

The police did eventually phone me up and arrange a convenient time to arrest me. After a few hours, that consisted mainly of the police and my legal aid solicitor cracking knob gag after knob gag, I was officially reprimanded- a stern looking sergeant sat me down and told what I had done was very naughty and I was not to do it again.

The thing that still makes it for me is that it got into one of the most distant newspapers possible: the Sydney Morning Herald
(madsporkmurderer, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:09, 1 reply)

Stupidity
It was my last my night at university. I was living in halls during my fourth year (this is at a Scottish uni) and had my stuff packed up ready for my folks to pick me up in a mini-van the day after. However, my brother and a mate of mine came to stay on this final night for a night of maximum beer, pot and general self-indulgence.

So we three of us got toked away in my tiny room (using some ingenuity in constructing bongs, bagpipes, tulips and Camberwell carrots), and got completely trollied at the student union, cheap pint after cheap pint flowing. Then we went off to visit an acquaintance, the campus dealer, to get some spliffage and generally act out the entire fucking stereotype. The campus dealer was a dry, relentlessly cynical guy, him and his friends looking like the stoner guys in the Streets video "The Irony Of It All". But once we got to their halls, out a bunch of them dashed, one of them clutching a baseball bat, with evil intent bristling from their eyes.

This was unusual. "What's going on?" I dribbled semi-sentiently.

"We're going to smash up this car!" one of Cheech and Chong said, indicating a car in a patch of unkempt grass. "It's been here for ages, it's abandoned."

So SMASH! CRASH! BANG! we took turns into laying into the Fiat Uno. It madee the car smashing episode out of "Porky's" look totally half-assed: the windsheild, headlights, windows, bonnet, wing mirrors, back lights, back windshield, door panels, boot - every conceivable part of the car got a baseball-batting. I felt like one of the mobsters taking out Joe Pesci at the end of "Casino".

But of course we were making a hell of a racket, lights were coming on and it felt like a good time to beat a hasty retreat. We were just away to head back in when we got intercepted by the campus security who asked for my ID card.

"There you go," I said, like a polite fucking moron.

"RUN!" my brother suddenly said, dashing away. For no good reason, I followed him, and my mate too, leaving the guy standing there looking at my ID card and laughing to hmself. I led us behind the halls to a wooded area where no-one could see us but I could see the comings and goings. Eventually the area cleared, and we went back for some spliffage. Things got fine and mellow for a while and we sniggered at our tomfoolery. What japes!

Until the door swang open and two police marched in, followed by the security guy. "Get that fucking shit away NOW!" one barked. Spliffs and quarters disappeared fast.

"Who's Chinaman?" they said, holding a card. My fucking card. "You!" they said, noticing me. My cunning disguise of taking off my classes had not succeeded. "Get up! This way!"

Off to the cells I got taken. Turned out the car hadn't been abandoned. Its Road Tax had expired, and it had been left there until the owner could afford to get some more.

Oooops. Got a 200 quid fine a few month later, which I thoroughly deserved for being a stupid cunt. And that was my one night of vandalism.
(McChinaman banned, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:02, Reply)

Probably quite a common one
but on the left hand wall in one of the cubicles it says "In an emergency look right" then of course you look right and read on the other wall "OI! I said in an emergency!"
( Peej, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:01, Reply)

When I was a young lad (as is traditional to start these tales)
...there was an old, derelict plastics factory that we used to play in. Then, one day, the JCBs arrived and they started to tear it down. On evening we were pottering by, and noticed that a large chunk of masonry, although broken off, was still sitting on the top of the half-demolished wall that it came from. With that inspiration that only kids seem to have, we decided it would be fun to push it off and hear the crash.

So, we started to rock a lump of brick wall, about a metre wide by maybe 60cm high, back and forward. With hindsight, I can see that it could just as easily have fallen backwards, ending our innocent (cough) lives with a damp squishing noise. But it didn't, it teetered on the edge then toppled over, falling off the wall and out of sight.

We braced ourselves for the crash, hoping it would be a good one. Well, it was. Much louder than I expected, and more worryingly, it kept going -- an enormous roar that built to stunning intensity, before finally fading away with the occasional "plink" of a final, falling brick.

We nervously peered around the end of the wall. Unbeknown to us, the wall we were working at was one side of an old stairwell, so there was another wall about a metre behind it. Beyond that was a sheer drop of about 10 metres, into what was once the cellar of the factory but had now been cleared. The lump that we'd dislodged had caused the entire second wall - about 3m by 20m of thick, Victorian brickwork - to collapse into the cellar...

I always smile when I think of the workmen arriving the next day to find a good proportion of their work already done for them!
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 14:01, Reply)

I was immortalised for a few months* in a pub called The King's Head in Chinatown, Landan.
Where my friend wrote "Vagabond You Cunt" in large letters on the cistern of the urinals.

Sadly the pub was taken over and is now a nondescript (Chinese) restaurant.

*Yes.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 13:58, Reply)