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This is a question Getting other people into trouble

Ever dropped somebody in the shit? Ever been the one in the shit? Whether by accident for through being a terrible snitchy grass, tell us all.

(, Thu 18 Oct 2012, 13:08)
Pages: Popular, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

It was my birthday
and two friends took my girlfriend and me out to dinner at a fairly posh restaurant. It looked to be a very pleasant evening, with food and wine and good company.

I had my cell phone with me- an admittedly crappy bit of work which had no vibrate mode that I ever found, and no way of silencing it when someone called. Unfortunately this was during the Bad Times in the divorce process, so I had to keep it on in case the kids called with an emergency. But if it started to ring, I had a folded napkin handy to muffle the sound to a whisper if it was a non-emergency call.

As luck would have it, of course, everyone I knew was trying to call me that night.

After the fourth or fifth call that I immediately muffled under the napkin, a guy at the table across the aisle and down one snarled "Answer your goddam phone!"

"I'm sorry," I said in my gentlest voice, "I have to keep in on in case my kids need me. I'll try to keep it quiet."

"Well then call your kids!"

"Ummm... look, I'm only keeping it on in case of an emergency. If they call I'll answer them; otherwise I'm covering it with this napkin-"

"Just answer your fucking phone!" he yelled.

The woman next to him and the couple across from them were looking increasingly uncomfortable through this. I tried again to apologize and explain, but he kept getting louder and angrier. His friends looked like they were ready to crawl away under the tables, and his woman was telling him loudly to shut up. My friends tried to intervene, but he started in on them as well.

Finally I used my most stentorian Brian Blessed voice, the drill sergeant tone that makes people jump, and announced, "Sir, you are drunk. Please take your friends' advice and quiet down." I said this with the most scorn I could muster.

The result was immediate, of course. He surged to his feet and his friends grabbed him and dragged him out the door, bellowing as he went.

The waitress approached with a look of terror in her eyes. "Sir, I'm so sorry! We could hear it all the way up at the front!"

I smiled up at her. "No worries. You had nothing to do with it. We're all fine."

She looked after the vanished group. "They were out at the bar for a couple of hours before their table was ready. And they had just opened a $270 bottle of wine, too."

I sat up. "They did? Well, it shouldn't be wasted, should it? Pass it on over!"

She glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then grabbed the bottle and handed it to me. She then got me a fresh glass and scurried off.

My friends were still buzzing with adrenaline. "I'm so sorry that this happened on your birthday!" she exclaimed, her cheeks red.

I laughed. "Why? Are you kidding? That was great! Look- he was a drunken blustering bully, right? Not only did I publicly tell him off and get his friends to drag him out of here, but I also made sure that he's not gonna get laid for about a month. And now I'm drinking his wine besides!"

And at the end of the meal the manager came and apologized, and comped us our meal. Result, mothafukka.
(, Thu 18 Oct 2012, 16:16, 38 replies)
White Van Man
I was driving out of Bristol on the M32 some years ago when a prat in a white van came up behind me and flashed. I ignore him. He flashed again. I ignored him. He cut the gap to a couple of feet and flashed vigorously. I ignored him, and continued to pootle along at 50mph in the middle lane.

At this point he decided to be a clever clogs and overtake me on the inside. If he had been a little less hasty and a little more observant, he might have noticed the road markings showing that it was about to diverge, which is why I was in the middle lane.

If he had been even more observant he might have noticed that the trailer I was towing had a glider in it, and was just over thirty feet long. Add the length of the VW Camper Van I was driving and he was now in a diverging lane, next to a wall of metal. He tried to speed up, but there were other cars ahead of him and he couldn't get past me. He tried to slow down and I, looking carefully straight ahead, slowed down to match him. White van next to me? Really? Can't say I noticed.

I considered waving as he headed off down the slip road to gawd knows where, but thought he might get cross.

TL;DR: Prat tried to undertake long vehicle, gets forced off motorway by other prat.
(, Thu 18 Oct 2012, 19:40, 6 replies)
An "annoyatron" is a small circuitboard with a magnet on it that makes random beeping noises like a digital watch.

I didnt know I needed one of these things until I spotted them for sale on a site in the US. I clearly did need them so I bought a batch.

The first one I stuck onto the back of a work colleagues (and good friend) desk, after everyone had left for the evening and promptly forgot about it.

3 weeks later I happen to be in that part of the office to find my friend literally shouting at the guy on the desk next to him, "its your fucking phone man, get rid of it or Ill get rid of you !!", "fuck off its not me!", situation had clearly got to a boiling point and violence was about to occur between these 2 large men.

I ask them whats going on and am told there is a random beeping noise getting on everyones nerves.

they have already swapped out 2 of the PCs and had the smoke detector replaced..

lol, oops.

At this point I admitted it was me and showed them the circuit board - they were actually more thankful that the mystery was resolved than anything else.

Am still good friends with him.

The second went home with another work colleague on his last day, slipped into the bag he used to take his stuff home with him.

I expected him to take it home and wonder wtf is that sound and eventually find it so I wrote my name on the back of it, thinking we could have a good laugh about it when he found it

but no. The bag got left in his car for a week, then got quickly emptied and was used to take his stuff to glastonbury (yes the big festival).

So the bag was in his tent in a field beeping away. there were a few pissed off people - eventually ending up with a gang shaking his tent telling him to stop it or he will be set fire to. In words that are not that nice.

he did find it after a thorough search , not having realised it was him.

We dont talk anymore.

I still have some left though, just waiting for the right time.
(, Mon 22 Oct 2012, 14:51, 15 replies)
I have two friends who are just LOVELY.
He is a big bloke, tall, bald, thick specs, not the prettiest of fellas.
She is a tiny lady, very girly and innocent looking.
They went out for drinks one night and the bar was packed to the rafters. After finally fighting their way to the bar, they were served just as she let out a rather large guff, one of those ones that are hot as it comes out, and you just KNOW it's going to stink like rotten corpses.
As they sipped their drinks he looked at her and whispered 'Have you just fucking farted, it STINKS'
As she moved away, she looked at him laughing, and mouthed 'Yep. But everyone here is going to think that it's YOU'
(, Mon 22 Oct 2012, 21:25, 6 replies)
A scream
The street, shiny with slippery rain, was watched over by a thousand cyclopic cameras, silently observing the wretched scenes that played out every day. The rain eroded more than the concrete facades. People shrank, horrified, at that most perverse terror of all: the destruction of the human spirit.

Night and day had little to distinguish them. The continual deluge from a sky bruised with thunderheads that never broke kept the sun out; neon signs, blinking, reflected from every surface like a disco ball in a fairground hall of mirrors. Distorted, debased, advertisements shone and re-shone, the message becoming both fainter and more pronounced with each reflection.

Shuffling like cattle, people trudged, heads down, silent. Cars drove past in a constant stream, pausing only to acknowledge red lights and allow the flow of humanity to move from one capillary to another. And still the rain came.

Rising like a belch, a single man lifted his head and lifted his fists, shaking them in fury against the flickering neon. He screamed for eight full seconds, his throat becoming raw and his breathing ragged. Somewhere, a silent alarm sounded, and men employed to protect the property of the state began to assemble.

The screamer sunk back into the crowd as the police cars arrived. With an almost imperceptible gesture, he told the gathered officers that the man standing next to him was guilty of the disturbance. A policeman placed his gloved hand on the accused, gripping tightly, making escape impossible. The crowd dispersed, their trudging slightly faster than before. Gloved hands wrought with the might of justice pulled the man away as he screamed in terror. The screams convinced the police that they had their man; a swift dig to the abdomen soon stopped his noise. The screamer was, by now, long gone. The rain continued as the police cars disappeared as quickly as they came.
(, Wed 24 Oct 2012, 15:38, 4 replies)
We were all smoking quite a lot of cannabis in those days. A group of about 8 of us, and he wanted to become a naval officer. He was keen, but he also liked smoking cannabis, which, as eny fule no, does not mix with a career in the military.

So when he finally got his offer of an interview for six months hence, he vowed to us all that he was going to get his shit together.

After this smoke.

And maybe another toke.

Who's hungry?

One more toke, then that's it - the straight and narrow for him from then on.

On the day of the interview, we put him onto the train stoned off his gourd, where, we assured him, he'd straighten out during the three-hour journey.

He walked in to a panel of 10 officers featuring various amounts of fruit salad on their tits, and was invited to sit in the small seat in the middle of the room.

The first question was "What do you think the Prime Minister should do to increase relations with the president of (whatever bumblefuck country it was)?"

He stood up, apologized in the vague manner of the stoner he was, instructed them that he was wasting their time and his, and walked out.


He's now done two tours of Iraq as a commissioned officer in the army, and I believe is about to be promoted to Colonel.
(, Tue 23 Oct 2012, 17:32, 5 replies)
I once shot a Deputy Sheriff
and some black lad who had previously shot the Sheriff got done for both murders.
(, Thu 25 Oct 2012, 10:00, 1 reply)
(, Mon 22 Oct 2012, 14:18, 12 replies)
probably came closer to dropping a shit rather than someone in it
after leaving uni i worked in a factory packing towbars for about 6 months. most days i would end up walking through the welding shop to fetch boxes or jigs or to look for someone. to make things interesting as i was walking past everyone beavering away welding towbars i would often push out the biggest farts possible safe in the knowledge that nobody could hear me over the sound of welding and that everyone was too engrossed in their work to see the strained look on my face.

i would then return back the way i came just in time to see 2 or 3 men arguing over who dropped one and to register my own disgust and inquire "which of you fucking gypos did that?"

back then i had a range of one end of a warehouse to the other with a single trouser eruption after a night at the local brewery
(, Thu 18 Oct 2012, 18:40, Reply)
Last week I was conducting some research on the attitudes of people within a small municipality in the Schleswig-Holstein region of Germany towards the urine of animals within the sub-family Lutrinae when an almost biblical type event occured.

A man in front of me blew as hard as he could on a child's Fisher Price trumpet causing the building in from of him to fall to the ground in large chunks of stone plaster and dust.

Bugger me I thought

This is what you could call

Gelting Otter Pee Polling toot rubble
(, Tue 23 Oct 2012, 15:08, 3 replies)
as I may have mentioned before...
I work as a fridge engineer. The company I used to work for had trackers on all the company vehicles, so big brother could make sure you weren't sat in a cafe / pub / at home watching TV. I can understand why because most of the people there were workshy numpties who spend more time trying to get as much as possible for the least amount of effort. One of said 'numpties' was John...

John was a real obnoxious bastard. And often mistook being a downright cunt as 'banter'. Such gems as "your daughter is going to be fit when she's older..." Said daughter is in primary school.

John always boasted that he could disable his vehicle tracker so he could use the van for personal use when he wasn't working. We all know how to do it, but choose not to as its not worth the hastle if we got caught. Anyway, John did... And he was keen to let us all know that he was doing work on the side, using the companys van and tools and how much money he was making from doing it.

One weekend, he had finished fitting a unit in a butchers and drove off in his usual style (like a maniac). However one of the countless people he had pissed off had decided to exercise their own justice for Johns relentless cuntiness and attached a one side or a chain to his axle and the other side to a lampost. As it pulled tight it swung his van into a parked car. I'm sure he would have drove away had he not been padlocked to the post.

Whoever did it has never fessed (to me anyway). I'd have loved to have seen his fat face when it happened.
(, Mon 22 Oct 2012, 21:11, 4 replies)

When I was a courier long ago my controller once got me into loads of shit by sending me out to the darkest depths of west London, where my bike attracted the unwelcome attention of a couple of wankers. I only noticed they were after me once I got back into Fitzrovia, when the chase really began. It resulted in me going for it through all the roads and ally ways I could think of, and at one point weaving in and out of on coming cars the wrong way on Harley street. Dramatic stuff, and they really must have wanted my bike.

Fortunately for me, when I pulled them out of Duchess Street onto Portland Place, I spotted one of my colleagues at the end of the road waiting to pull out.

This was 'Croc' an Aussie biker, over here for some reason, who was both huge and a bit mental. Talk about a 'and breathe moment.' My two potential robbers suddenly stood down at the other end of the street.

The oddest, and ironic bit to this memory, is the two fuckers actually still bothered to follow us back to the office in Foley Street, and my controller, Rob, went ballistic when I told him of my close encounter, and the fact they were outside. He was a small guy, but hard as nails; and old school when it comes to looking after your own; such as me. When I pointed out one of the wankers he calmly removed his watch, got up and went outside and beat the living shit out of one them, with such sudden violence his mate recoiled in terror. I watched that bit from where Rob should have been sat out the window, and remember seeing Croc laughing his head off as Rob punched the living shit out of this bloke. And that was a beating you seldom see. At no point did he give the cunt any opportunity to disengage, the bombardment was simply breathtaking.

Nice one Rob :)
(, Sun 21 Oct 2012, 23:44, 1 reply)
as I write this I realise how bad it is...
When I was 17, I started going to raves and during my 'honeymoon period' of ecstatic appreciation, I would do anything i could to get down to the local rave pit, and get amongst it.

One weekend, I really wanted to go and see this certain DJ, but had little to no money to fund my evening of entertainment. I started looking around the house for things to sell, this being my mum's house... I found a mobile phone with a Winnie the Pooh cover on it. My little sisters phone (she was 10, so I somehow managed to convince myself that this was just). I took her phone down to the local crack converters, and got £22 for it. Then spent that money on drugs.

After a few days, my mum asked me if I had seen it, and I said that I hadn't. So she developed a theory that this guy (a known rogue) who had been doing some manual work in the house had stolen it. Obviously I didn't disagree with her. Needless to say, he wasn't invited back to do any work.

One day I will confess to this. But, maybe when I'm older.
(, Sun 21 Oct 2012, 0:26, 16 replies)
I don't have a story to relay on this subject, more an allegory.
A baby bird was sat by the side of the road one sunny day and was enjoying the feel of the sun warming its wings. Unfortunately a passing carriage went by and the horses drawing it chose that moment to unload their bowels. The baby bird found itself buried in horse shit and just about managed to shake its head free and get enough height to breathe easy above the surface of the horse crap.

After a while the sun hardened the poo and the bird realised it would probably just have to wait until the sun dried up the manure and cracked open, letting it escape. So, apart from the actual inconvenience of being immobilised, it was still a nice sunny day with a fresh breeze carrying away the smell of the ordure, and thanking his lucky stars, the baby bird began to sing.

The tweeting from a low level attracted the attention of a passing hungry fox. The fox wandered up and enquired of the bird "What makes you so happy, my fine feathered friend, what with you being buried in horse crap?"

The naive bird replied "Oh, but Mr Fox, the day is lovely, the breeze is refreshing and I shall soon be free of this scatological prison, why be anything other than grateful?"

The fox thought about this and asked the baby bird "But what if I set you free from your unfortunate trap right now?"

Considering the offer for a moment, the innocent bird exclaimed "Oh Mr Fox, that would be simply wonderful! Please, yes, I would love for you to help me escape!".

So the fox pawed at the muck until he had broken the crust and the baby bird was able to struggle free.

"Oh Mr Fox," the baby bird twittered, "You have done me such a service, how ever can I repay you?" in earnest.

"Well," said the fox grinning evilly, "This is where you find out" and gobbled him up in an instant.

So there are morals to the story:-

1. Not everyone who shits on you from a great height is your enemy
2. Not everyone who gets you out of the shit is your friend.
3. If you're up to your neck in shit, shut the fuck up.
(, Thu 18 Oct 2012, 20:37, 10 replies)
Dear Daily Mail Editor

Everyone here told nasty jokes about are princess of harts and Maddy and Jade and they made me cry.
(, Thu 18 Oct 2012, 16:12, Reply)
Fire alarm
What kind of bloody idiot puts a fire alarm button INSIDE the boys' toilet at a secondary school, anyway?

There I was, washing my hands are a pretty satisfying mid-morning shit, when a couple of the school hardcases strode in, smashed the glass on the alarm button and ran off laughing at the success of their prank.

Naturally, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder and the words "Got you, you dreadful scrote", and I was frogmarched out in front of the school as the boy who set off the fire alarm.

Having never been in trouble ever before, I squealed like a little pig, so not only did I get the rap for the false alarm, but also for trying to pin it on a couple of poor, sweet innocent hardcases who would rip your bollocks off given half the chance, such as if you had accused them of setting off a fire alarm.

I don't mind admitting that I actually soiled myself when they cornered me later that day, only to have them thank me for doing their weeks' worth of after school detention for them. A bit of an escape, I thought, as the school caretaker set me to mucking out the toilets.
(, Thu 18 Oct 2012, 14:46, 1 reply)
Sorry Paul
As a student, I had a job in Uncle Sam's Hamburger Express in West Street, Brighton. I worked for a while with another guy, Paul, who was from Haywards Heath, and had been transferred down to Brighton for the busy Christmas/New Year period.

I was constantly short of time and cash, trying to work full time there and study full time at (what was then) Brighton Poly (Pharmacy, which was 35 hours a week at college, plus study time). I shared in a grotty, woodlouse-infested shithole of a ground floor flat in Whitehawk Road, and could barely afford that.

My dad died that January, so I had to go home for the funeral etc., for about three weeks in the end. Three weeks of not working. I was already overdrawn, and poor old Paul took pity on my sob story and lent me £50 so I could make that month's rent; this was 1989 so that was a lot more than one night's beer money, even for Brighton.

Paul got transferred back to his home store in HH in about March, and I struggled through the rest of the year, flunked my degree and went home permanently with what was at the time a ludicrously high overdraft (about £1500 - barely a term's student loan by the standards or not very much later, and bugger all these days). By the time I was in a position to be able to pay Paul back, I had completely lost touch with him.

Then last year I got back in touch with another ex-Sammer on Facebook, who worked with Paul at the time. Apparently, lending me £50 put him on the breadline himself, and about six months later he lost his flat because he'd fallen behind on his own rent, and slept on the streets for a while. Neither of us knew what happened to him after that.

It could have been a wind-up on FB, but I have the horrible sense that my Good Samaritan put himself on the streets so I wouldn't have to be there. Thanks Paul. If you ever read this, get in touch; I wouldn't say I'm flush, but I can certainly afford to pay you back with interest.
(, Thu 18 Oct 2012, 13:41, 6 replies)
when i was at school
we had a neo-nazi PE teacher. You know the type...

Anyway, he decided that our double PE would be spent swimming or playing water polo. Those of us without costumes that day, 3 of s, were to spend the time running around the field. Whoever finished last would have to do 20 pushups/50 squats etc and then catch up while running with a tyre - continue for 2 hours.

Quickly on I came up with a plan. If we all took turns and synced our run up then we could all do the punishment without anyone unduly suffering. We'd all take turns coming last.

So, the first run went to plan, but when it came to my turn to take the punishment I sped up slighty and didn't come last. The guys were not amused, but I said I was nervous and would do it properly next time. For 2 hours I sped up just at the end while the other 2 guys got hammered.

They were not happy when they caught up with me after the class.

Aah school days...
(, Wed 24 Oct 2012, 15:50, 2 replies)
In the late 1960s I worked for Paramount as an intern
between school and college. I was lucky enough to help out on the costume side of the original Star Trek series, although I didn't get to do the costumes for the stars (I said "Hi" to Leonard Nimoy once or twice, though) I did work with a lot of the supporting cast. This included the ones dressed as aliens and so on, and occasionally the puppeteers who worked some of the less "humanoid " characters. Some of their costumes or puppets were so tight - fitting that it took two of us to help/zip/sew them into them, and it could be a bit of a rush on a tight filming schedule, too.

Yes, I used to get people into Tribbles.
(, Wed 24 Oct 2012, 8:50, 10 replies)
Getting other people in trouble, eh?

One of these links is for a now deleted wank fantasy a certain married b3tan (battered), posted about a female b3tan (P*ppet - name changed to protect the innocent).

More lurid details of his filthy dirty perviness can be found here; www.b3ta.com/talk/7584660
(, Tue 23 Oct 2012, 10:43, 23 replies)
Amiga 500
Many years back my brother got an Amiga 500 which was his pride and joy I was told I was not allowed near it. I used to get home earlier from school than him and would sneak into his room and play on it, he caught me once and as a result was subjected to an evening of torture, continous wedgies (or melvins), held over the top floor bannister etc etc.

At the time there was a lad who I didn't really like who was always trying to hang around with me, so being a crafty bastard I invited him over after school, put him in front of the Amiga and left the room when I heard my brother arrive home.

Unfortunately the plan back fired as my brother wasn't about to start bullying someone else's child, as a result I took the full punishment while my victim sat and laughed at me.

The End
(, Mon 22 Oct 2012, 10:07, 1 reply)
I don't like salad
No particular reason, I'm just not very fond of it. So when me and a group of classmates were eating lunch in the canteen of Essex University (we were on a school trip there) I had eaten my panini and left the side salad alone. As Mr D our physics teacher strolled up I, quick as a flash, shovelled the spare salad from my plate onto my friend Dan's (clean) plate while his back was turned.

Mr D: "Dan, you should really learn to eat your salad like MatJ has".

Dan: "But... but... but..."

(Mr D strolls off again)

Dan: "You bastard"

To my shame, we were both 18 at the time.
(, Sun 21 Oct 2012, 20:17, 1 reply)
The last flight of the Highfields Stuka Squadron
I spent most of my school career blending in with the crowd. If naughtiness happened I was usually the idiot who got the blame rather than the instigator.
Except once. Let me tell you about it.
One lunchbreak, during the early years of the Thatcher administration a group of bored young boys -6 or 7 of us - were lurking at one end of the playgound - and somehow I came up with the idea of playing Stukas.
The iconic WW2 divebomber is famous for two things. The crooked wings and the bowel-loosening howl that came from the underwing sirens every time it went into an attack dive.
(And being hacked out of the sky by Spitfires, obviously)
Over on the other side of the playground a small group of girls were minding their own business unaware that the next few minutes were about to get very, very unpleasant.
Suddenly a small boy sprinted past, arms outstretched - but slightly bent - and on his way past he let out an unearthly howl at the top of his lungs.
Before the startled young ladies could react the next had started his attack run. EEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIOOOOOWWWWW
And the next.
And the next, and the next, each one screaming as he went past.
We may have gone back and done a bit of strafing, memory is unclear. The point is, when the last Stuka trotted off round the bikesheds we left a gaggle of slightly deafened girls having a hysterical sobbing fit.
Retribution came as soon as we arrived back at the classroom. As our homeroom teacher looked on with harsh, icy eyes, our victims picked out their tormentors and they joined the shamefaced parade at the front of the class.
"Was anybody else involved in this affair." thundered the teacher, a man reputed to have put pupils in hospital.
The girls took one long look around the classroom, but utterly failed to notice the specky kid sat right at the front desperately trying to look innocent.
My fellow Stukas were led away to punishment and humiliation, and I watched them go thinking "Thank fuck for that."
The Stuka Squadron flew no more after that and I spent the rest of my school career carefully avoiding any more bloody stupid ideas.
(, Fri 19 Oct 2012, 18:51, 3 replies)
I'd have gotten away with it if it wasn't for that pesky kid.
One summer my mates and I decided to build a den in a haystack. We totally aced this one. It had secret rooms, tunnels and all the mod-cons that a hay-den can have. Proud of our achievements we invited a few of the outsiders to have a look at our handiwork but they weren't skilled in the stealthy ways of den building and we soon got rumbled by a farmhand. I watched from the safety of one of the secret rooms as my friends were lined up against a wall and given a good talking-to.

Something was muttered, one of my 'friends' pointed at the barn.

"And you can come out too you little shit. If you don't come out immediately this will end badly." Said the farmhand looking directly at my hidey-hole. I held firm for at least 5 seconds before shamefully joining the ass-kicking line.

I'm not proud of the next bit but she told us that we'd have to wait until the farmer came back for a proper kicking as we'd caused a lot of money's worth of damage to the bales.
This would be very bad news as the farmer knew my dad. There was only one thing for it. I cried, begged and pleaded - tears so convincing that the farmhand took pity and let us scarper.

"Nice one Airman Gabber! Great acting."
"It was easy. I'm good at drama lessons."

I wasn't acting.
(, Fri 19 Oct 2012, 11:57, 2 replies)
This one time, right
I went on Jim'll Fix It and was invited backstage.
(, Fri 19 Oct 2012, 10:50, 3 replies)
Not me but my Uncle.
While driving back to his house few christmas's ago with family in the car with him a prat in his done up shopping cart starts tailgating him down the road.

Now my uncle was doing the speed limit (well maybe a bit above) and it was near on impossible to overtake at this stretch of road. My uncle (still young at heart) knew this road pretty well and knew there was s straight coming up where the road widened that cops would always be at with their speed cameras. So just after coming on to that section he waves prat ahead and they floor it.

2 minutes later my uncle sees the blue flashing lights of a cop car with the prat looking exceptionally sheepish as he sails past.

I know its not really his fault for the prat getting caught but i'm bored at work.

It did kinda backfire though as my young cousin (his daughter) burst into tears that her daddy would allow something like that to happen to the poor man.

Length? 5 or 6km of a staright and 200 or so of a blubbering kid
(, Fri 19 Oct 2012, 10:16, Reply)
Diplomatic Immunity, Detective Riggs....
Years ago in my very first proper office job, I was pottering along happily and ineffectively working for catalogue that sold 'innovative' products, with another young lad called Kerry who had even less idea than me. He had got the job by virtue of being the son of the owner's best mate, and to give nepotism its due, was the only way he would ever have got a job of any description. Pleasant, but thick. He was also South African, which spawns an even more special kind of thick.
We used to have all sorts of fun making prank phone calls to him as he would believe pretty much anything, until one day I called to tell him I was from UK Immigration and that I was aware that he was working without a permit and liable for deportation.

I swear I had no idea that he really was working without a permit and liable for deportation. When I came back from the payphone, the place was in lockdown, office doors shut, and people looking very serious. He had rushed and told the big boss man, who had immediately mobilised his very expensive lawyers. Oops.

Kerry eventually reappeared looking ashen and muttering 'ohgodbru, thisisbadmun' over and over. I dragged him into the stairwell and explained that it was a wind up and begged him not to grass.

He didn't. Good lad. That was the second closest I have come to shitting myself at work.
(, Thu 18 Oct 2012, 14:35, 3 replies)
The former England cricketer Mike Gatting
Had relatives living in the same village as my brother and sister-and-law. Gatting as you might remember is a typical, if not exemplary, Essex Boy, and his family were the same. They would all sit in their ample back garden in the summer evenings getting loudly drunk, even the Gatting matriarch, a feisty old crone who liked her tipple.

One time I was just walking past when I saw the mother stand up, clutching a glass of a double gin and tonic. The silly old biddy was so drunk that she slipped, knocking her spectacles into her brimming glass.

It was Gatting Mother's peepers into doubles.
(, Tue 23 Oct 2012, 12:58, 3 replies)
I reckon I've got about 60 people criminal records over the last ten years
Fare evasion, giving false details, abusive language, criminal damage, trespass. All sorts of stuff. Hang on, no. That's people being stupid and me helping them to a natural conclusion. Fuck em. I get overtime for being a witness in prosecutions and I'm a massive cunt.
(, Sat 20 Oct 2012, 14:06, 7 replies)

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