My mum and dad are great, you lot are just shit at having parents.

( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Sat 11 Jun 2016, 9:47, 7 replies)

My Dad the legend? Try tosspot
I've never really gotten on with my dad. He liked Football, I liked reading. He liked going out on the lash and shagging his secretary, I liked going out with guys my own age and shagging them.

The straw which broke the camels back however was something so trivial that I'm amazed it's come to no contact with him, his wife and my three siblings...

It was my youngest (at the time) sister Christening, I'd been asked to be the God-parent which naturally was no problem, so I packed up some clothing and took the two hour journey to Amersham and settled in for a night. I got there, "hello! hello! hello!" from my step-mum, my dad? "What clothes you wearing", ah cheers, thanks.

I bring out my clothes, some Khaki's and a white shirt, as I've mentioned in another post those horrible black work trousers bring me out in a rash and wearing them for any period of time is literally torture. He takes one look at my clothes, walks upstairs and literally *throws* some of his old clothes at me saying "wear them", and then walks off leaving me and his wife in stunned disbelief.

Rest of the night passes awkwardly as I struggle to figure out am I a 12y/o child being told what to do or a 26y/o man who actually can wear what the fuck I want? So in the morning, I wake up and put on my clothes to both my SM's and Dad's horror. My dad refuses to look at me and just walks off, my SM asks me "why won't you consider wearing them?" to which I reply with the last thing I've said to my dad and SM for a year and a half:

"If the clothes are so important to you then why don't you make the clothes the God-parent instead of me? If you want me to the God-parent then let me wear my own God damn clothes".

My SM looks like I'd hit her with a shovel after digging up her (hopefully) dead grand parents and sodomizing them both with a giraffe. Yes I felt guilty but my dad? Wouldn't even look at me.

We go to the Christening and the rest of my family does the same, lots of whispers about "lack of respect" and "who does he think he is" while I'm pointing out the glaringly obvious fact that all the men there are also wearing Khaki trousers due to the cold weather but apparently, what's good for the goose isn't good for the gander. It's only right that the God parent should freeze his arse off for the sake of a few photos.

We do the Christening, I get the next train home and all due to a pair of trousers my dad no longer refuses to speak to me nor allow any official photos of me with my God-son as apparently I "didn't look the part", which he could only tell me through my older sisters. As a result, this was the last time I saw my brother Liam who is now 18 months old, my sisters Jenny and Anna who are 3 & 4 and another one on the way.

Apologies for the lack of funniez, rather cathartic reading this back. Normally family schisms are caused by men not being able to keep their trousers on at the right time, my schism was caused by keeping mine on...
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Sat 11 Jun 2016, 1:33, 17 replies)

One of my favourite memories of my mum.
The missus and I had just moved into our shiny new (decrepit and old) first home with our what-was-to-become-eldest. Along with the mortgage came a little bit of discretionary funds and disposable income. So since mum and bub were toddling about in the family wagon it was decided that I needed to get myself a car for work.
A noice '86 FJ60 Landcruiser with lots of trimmings (full barwork, radio, snorkel and drawers in the back) was found and a reasonable price agreed upon.
The following Sat. morning while mum and bub were snoozing I decided to go and show The Beast off to my mum. So I rock up to her place with a cup of tea in Styrofoam from the local cafe (those were the days when you just bought petrol at your local service station and McDonald's just sold burgers). On went her dressing gown and..
"Wanna take it for a spin? I'll drive." she says with a twinkle in her eyes.

I should at this point give a small amount of background into my mum. A woman who raised me on my own, she never let anything stop her doing what she wanted. She'd met my dad at a rally event in Africa, as his navigator and then driver. Suffice to say she knew her way around a motor vehicle.

There is nothing quite as heart-warming, funny and yet terrifying as sitting in the passenger seat of a large old 4wd tank, holding scaldingly hot tea and coffee (a bench seat and pre-cupholders) as a small, petite middle-aged woman who is barely able to see over the dashboard whoops loudly as she drops the clutch in an empty carpark and manages to get some smoke off the back tyres. Repeatedly.
(shitposter from the anals of posteriority on, Sat 11 Jun 2016, 0:22, 3 replies)

Peapearoast
Not funny
My late father died of "A left occiputal astrocytoma" according to his death certificate.
It may be alleged that he actually died of a Diamorphine sulphate and Haloperidol overdose, administeredby person or persons unknown, at his written request.
The only people who, in the course of a hypothetical conversation, would (and have) condemned the aforementioned "person or persons unknown" for the alleged administering of said overdose have been Christians.
It would have been illegal to allow a dog to carry on in such unrelenting agony, yet it's right to allow it to happen to a human?

Whoever "person or persons unknown" are, they're going to Hell. I'd give them a pat on the back while shaking their hand.*


*If it wasn't anatomically impossible.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Fri 10 Jun 2016, 23:04, 7 replies)

My parents used to argue
One day, when I was 13, they divorced. My mum had been seeing another man, someone from her work, and they moved in together. But then they argued, worse than my parents ever did. And each Wednesday and every second weekend I'd have to sit through it, a teenage witness to their relationship dysfunction.
As an adult I don't know what lessons it's taught me. I've sustained a 16 year marriage in mulitple countries and starting a family, but I don't attribute it to any lessons I learned in my childhood. Perhaps I'm more quick to seek resolution with my wife, reluctant to simply score points in an arguement for it's own sake. But if so it's a lesson I could have done without, save only to illustrate the depressing reality that we humans are capable of being fucked up in a myriad of different ways. And any adult should know this by now
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Fri 10 Jun 2016, 17:18, 3 replies)

repost that explains why people think i'm weird
after a christmas party one year, my parents went upstairs to, presumably, go to bed.
ten minutes later, i could hear thumps and muffled giggling coming from the upstairs landing.
unsure what i was about to see, i went upstairs to investigate.
there, on the landing, were my parents, draped in a bedsheet and bumping into walls.
"what the fuck are you two doing?" i asked. after a bit more giggling, mum's voice came floating out from under the sheet. "we're being a horse!" she said.
i left them to it and went back downstairs.

now you know where i get it from.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 10 Jun 2016, 16:25, 4 replies)

My Dad
Dad was a real gentleman of the old school. A veteran of the Burma campaign, he had a wicked sense of humour but would never hurt anyone. A colleague once came into his office and stated, "Doug, I'm so fed up I'm thinking of resigning from the human race." Dad replied, "Well, Jim, I always thought that in order to resign form something, one first had to belong to it." He rather unwisely enlisted my aid in building a railing around our sundeck when I was about 12. After watching me hammering nails for a while, he said thoughtfully, "I think we should call you 'Lightning"when you work." Flattered, I asked, "Because I work so hard and fast?". He said, "No, because you never strike the same place twice". He has been gone over 20 years now and I still miss him.
(Smudge the Demon, Thu 9 Jun 2016, 0:10, Reply)

My old mum and dad, RIP - a repost.
My old mum and dad are sadly no longer with us, but this is one of my favourite stories involving them.

I used to live in a tenament flat in Edinburgh. A big solid looking building, but sadly the walls between flats could have done with an awful lot more insulation - especially between the bedrooms, if you get my drift.

My next door neighbour seemed a pleasant enough girl. I didn't see too much of her, but she always said hello on the stairs. However, she started seeing a guy who was a bit of a prick. He'd double park his car if he couldn't park within 5 yards (literally) of the front door, played loud music at all hours of the night, slammed the front door as he went in and out of the flat - you get the idea. The loud humping, initially anyway, was slightly entertaining. Every night for a fortnight was getting a bit much - especially as he seemed to work shifts and 5:45am on a Tuesday morning seemed a popular time for making my lightshade swing with their energetic pummelling.

My mum and dad were coming up to see me one weekend. They were going to have my bed for the night, and I was going to kip on my living room floor. I'm sure you can see where this is heading.

I hoped to Christ that she'd have the painters in that weekend, but I had to prepare for the worst.

Sunday morning arrived, and my mum came through to the living room.

[important point: my mum was always quite naive regarding 'downstairs' business]

'Sleep ok mum?' I enquired.

'Not bad son, but I was woken up by a heck of a racket at one point.'

'Oh, really?', I enquired, cacking it slightly.

'Yes, I heard a baby crying really loudly, and lots of banging - like someone running up and down the stairs. I haven't a clue what was going on.'

At that point, my old man appears.

'Hi dad, sleep ok?' I ventured.

'Not really, that pair next door were at it like a pair of friggin rabbits all night. Does the girl ever sleep? She must walk like a cowboy.'

A mouthful of coffee squirted up my nose.

Mum didn't have a clue what he was on about. To the day she died, I don't think she ever twigged what the 'crying baby' noises really were.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Wed 8 Jun 2016, 14:48, 15 replies)

My parents and their temporary hatred of Dog.
We were an active family and often went to help our friends whenever a hand was needed. The fun job this time was clearing about half an acre of bracken - brambles and all things wood to make a horsey paddock. The whole family went, along a chainsaw, matches and our Labrador. Anyone who has owned one of these dogs will know that they will eat, eat - be sick - and eat again. Lunchtime was upon us and Ma was making doorstep peanut butter slices, yummy. Dog had been fed so was not hungry but curiously had positioned itself between Ma and Pa. Ma handed Pa a peanut butter slice without looking and Dog opened its wide jaws and scarfed the slice. Queue a minute of rage toward the Dog.

Another time of gross offence was when we went to the Cinema. Ma had popped the evening meal into the oven and prepared some 'Angel Delight' *† for dessert, leaving it on a kitchen top to set. The kitchen door was securely closed and off we went. Returning two hours later we found the kitchen door open and all the bowls of Angel Dirt completely empty. Yes, Dog had opened the kitchen door and eaten all contents of the bowls - without even knocking any off the kitchen top. Needless to say, Dog was punished severely by Ma, there being no family friends present to chide her.

*† I don't know if anyone remembers this bizarre product or even if it is sold now, but I cant imagine this by-product of the Petrochemical Industry being remotely healthy.
(luckylife , 0 guests and 3 bots are online, Wed 8 Jun 2016, 13:52, 9 replies)

More about my dad
Stories about my dad seem to frequently revolve around booze and his diabetes combining to create a shambling idiot and this is no exception.

One festive period a rather large man took offence at me trying to eject him from my pub and gave me a sound battering; cuts on my face & shattered wrist.

The lovely paramedics bandage me up and take me for the long wait in A&E.

My dad hears about my predicament and decides to come and see how I am (as he's only a few minutes away from the hospital).

In rolls father. Having been plied with booze by contractors at their staff party he almost literally rolls in.

Shock spreads across his face as he sees his middle child bloodied and bruised, covered in bandages slowly leaking red. Then he realises he's the parent here and must comfort me in the time honoured way dad's do with a pat and tussle of my head which as I've pointed out is in a pretty bad way.

"Fuck off dad!" I utter in a whispered shout at the pain of this drunk 6 footer bashing my bruised bonce in what he thinks is a sign of paternal care.

His face falls a little as his first attempt at comfort has failed so goes to his next arsenal in familial love and starts what can only be called a poor mans attempt at a death grip. Massaging my shoulders and shaking me back and forth rattles the 13 little bits my wrist has been broken into and elicits a squeak of pain and a command for him to piss off and stop touching me.

Now in a bit of a huff he sits opposite and pointedly gets his paper out to create a barrier between us. Unfortunately he doesn't seem to notice that his paper is upside down (a look that is compounded my the paper being Le Monde)

This is a man who got a scholarship to Oxford, speaks about 5 languages and is generally a very intelligent.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Wed 8 Jun 2016, 11:04, 3 replies)

Shameless repost
I love my dad. Infact when I grow up I want to be just like him, but not with the diabetes.

Anyho....one evening my dad had been out on the fizzy pop and had got himself a little worse for wear before coming home. Just before bed he's meant to inject himself with 10mg of slow acting insulin. However, being a little merry, he picks up the fast acting insulin (which you are meant to use 2mgs of) and jacks himself up with 10mg of daytime juice.

An hour later my mum gets worried, she can hear a knocking in the bathroom. Assuming it's my dad pottering around in his drunken state she shouts at him to come to bed. No answer, so she gets up to give him a piece of her mind, only to find him sat on the toilet, pyjamas round his ankles thrashing his hand in a bin. She calls him, prods him, waves a hand in front of his eyes but, but to all intents and purposes he's unconscious.

In a panic, my brother is got out of bed, the paramedics are called while my mum and brother try to get some sugar into dad. They don't know where he's put his glucose gel, they're shitting it knowing that he's getting worse by the minute, so grab a banana and mash it up into his mouth, trying to rub it onto his gums so that he'll get some sugar in his system.

The paramedics arrive and test for blood sugar whilst trying to communicate with dad. They cannot find a trace sugar reading, which is bad. Luckily they have the right kit, inject him and slowly he comes round. If they hadn't have turned up dad would have been in a coma most likely with permanent consequences. However, this is not the only lucky escape, as the paramedics said if that happened again, the quickest way to get sugar in his system would be to shove a Mars bar up his arse.

My Dad, horrified at this prospect, says "It's bad enough coming round on the toilet with your pants round your ankles, your mother rubbing banana all over my face and 2 green men staring into my eyes shouting "MonkeyDaddy! MonkeyDaddy!", without having a banana shoved in my fundament"

To which my mum replies, "You do that again and it'll be a bloody toblerone!"
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Wed 8 Jun 2016, 10:49, 9 replies)

Scaffold
My dad would never admit that he got anything wrong and always wanted to do everything himself. One day he hired a scaffold tower to fix something on the chimney. I offered to help him but he wouldn't hear of it.

Then I heard my mother calling me from the kitchen, saying that my dad was asking for me to go out and help him, and could I go and see what was up.

I sauntered outside to see the scaffold tower leaning over at 45 degrees, staying upright only because of a safety rope, and my dad dangling off the top, about 20 feet off the ground. Of course rather than yell for help, and admit that he was in trouble, he'd just called quietly for my assistance, via my mother. I managed to bring the tower back to vertical. We never spoke of it again.
(Smale is stuffed, Wed 8 Jun 2016, 8:59, 1 reply)

Was at my parents house the other week
After enjoying a cup of tea and a chat, I asked what they were doing for tea, to which my mum (who, bless her - is a modern day Julie Andrews from sound of music) responds they were having a chinese takeaway - or as she put it "we're having a tiddly wink"

Curious, I ask - but as I do - i see the link. My dad starts giggling to himself... he can see it unfolding.

"Mum - thats a bit racist - dont you think?"

She disagreed, shes always called it that, but never made the connection. She just thought it was a quirky name my dad ( who for the majority of his life worked as a plumber on building sites) had told her to use.

I had to literally spell it out to her the racist tone of the name she gave the chippy.

Her face went from confused, to happy, to mortified in an instant. She had been using this phrase for years.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 7 Jun 2016, 23:34, 14 replies)

That "Cheryl Prudham", jesus, you probably wouldn't even touch the sides now.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Tue 7 Jun 2016, 22:01, 5 replies)

Who is Jeorge97?

(Set your faces to Stunned Bigly, Tue 7 Jun 2016, 15:58, 8 replies)

my dad doesn't give a fuck what people think and says what he likes
this is mostly great, but sometimes annoying or even embarrassing.

one of his more annoying habits is this: if you call out to him from across the house or even the next room, he refuses to answer. you have to go and find him and talk in a "nice quiet voice". but if he wants you, he can shout from the bottom of the garden, of course. however, on very rare occasions, he would shout for us and offer us a choice of left or right hand, both of which would contain a note of some denomination or other. so it was worth going every time, because sometimes the rewards would be rich.

this particular day, I was in my ensuite bathroom (this is relevant) colouring my hair, and my brother was blowing up something on his snes. dad shouted us from the kitchen, so down we padded. he said, "i am going to show you both something." great, this sounded promising. so promising.

to me, he said, "look out of the window for a moment." to my brother, he said, "look at that." silence. exciting, tantalising silence.

then he reversed it, and told my brother to look out of the window, and told me to look at... my brother. wtf.

finally he said, "right. now, you've both had a good look at a disgusting arse, one of which has broken the toilet seat in the family bathroom. which one of you was it?"

I HAD AN ENSUITE TOILET, YOU TRAUMATISING BUGGER!!! WHICH ONE OF US DID YOU REALLY THINK IT WAS?!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Tue 7 Jun 2016, 15:42, 8 replies)

I blame my mild intolerance of the fossil fuel industry on my mother's cravings for coal whilst she was pregnant with me.

( A Rory Borealis here under duress, Tue 7 Jun 2016, 12:37, 2 replies)

Not my story
b3ta.com/questions/childishthings/post522823

but this sticks in my mind from a while ago
( insignificantsnivellinglittleturd I Like Peas, Tue 7 Jun 2016, 11:13, Reply)

My mum's dream was that she would turn her brood into a chamber music quartet.
She was bloody minded and absolutely determined.

My dad was tone deaf and really didn't care what we did as long as we were happy.

He won, more from genetics than initiative.
(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Tue 7 Jun 2016, 1:51, Reply)

My mother? Let me tell you about my mother.

( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Mon 6 Jun 2016, 21:16, 1 reply)

I blame my mild intolerance of raw egg whites on my mother's cravings for soft boiled eggs whilst she was pregnant with me.
I'm really of meringue, too, but it makes my lips swell up.
Gosh, what a shocking family drama this is!
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Mon 6 Jun 2016, 18:54, 10 replies)

here is my tribute to Mr Larkin's famous work, which I wrote back in the dense mists of 2011, it was a different age then wasn't it
www.b3ta.com/talk/7394500
( vladimir, Mon 6 Jun 2016, 17:41, 2 replies)

Huh?

( Two Hats 🎩🎩, Mon 6 Jun 2016, 16:44, 3 replies)

TURD

( GeordieJay Bummers are deaf, Mon 6 Jun 2016, 16:14, 6 replies)

Obligatory "your mum" joke
I have fucked up your mum. And dad.

Before anyone else does.
(localboy purveyor of pisspoor puns, Mon 6 Jun 2016, 15:53, 2 replies)

First

( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Mon 6 Jun 2016, 15:47, 2 replies)