uncle ian
he's the youngest of my mother's 11 siblings, so often had to babysit. we loved it when he did, he's not right in the head, which we found amusing. if you spoke to him, he'd just say "oh, you bloody thing, you!" and he always greeted us* by saying "alright, mings?"
his favourite game was to sit us in a cardboard box, one at a time, then grab the end of the box and spin it around. this was huge fun for us.
that is, until the box ripped in half, sending me flying like a ragdoll across the room to bounce off the back of the couch and finally land, upside down, against the wall.
good times, good times...


*he still does this
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 15:54, 5 replies)

I didnt have a baysitter....
if I did then the bad man wouldnt have taken me away!

love

Maddie
(Lip Up Fatty Fatty Reggae still loves BBQ food on, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 15:35, 7 replies)

Has the word babysitter in.
A policeman patrolling a seedy part of town finds a 9 year old boy wandering around at 3am. The boy tells him he is looking for a whore.

Policeman: Why are you looking for a whore?
Boy: So I can get a sexually transmitted disease
P: Why do you want a sexually transmitted disease?
B: Because I'm going to go home and fuck the babysitter and give it to her.
P: Why would you give her a disease?
B: Because she will fuck my dad, and give it to him. He'll fuck my mum and give it to her and she'll fuck the gardener and give it to him. Thats who I'm really after.
P: Why are you after the gardener?
B: He squashed my frog.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 15:27, 3 replies)

When I was four a sixteen year old Kate Winslett
Used to baby sit me, I once got a little frisky and tried to touch her wimsy. She took it in good humour and said

"will you stop that Broken, I'm nearly old enough to be your mother"

to which i replied

"can i suck your tits then"
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 15:26, 8 replies)

i feel i shall have many tales this week
i suffer from a terrible affliction, a curse, if you will: i look RESPECTABLE.
not just respectable, but RESPECTABLE. i could easily pass as a librarian, that's how respectable i look.
this must be the reason people feel so comfortable leaving me with their children, the fools. i'm constantly being told i should start a family of my own(not a fucking chance), as i'm so good with kids. if only these parents knew the kind of shit i've got up to in their houses.

a few things i've got up to with their kids are:
ruining a stair carpet by sliding down the stairs on the lid from the twin-tub.
dressing my cousin in a pink lampshade. he's turned out fairly normal.
getting another cousin shitfaced on port and lemon on new year's eve.
teaching kids how to play cat buckaroo.
teaching kids how to stretch clingfilm over the toilet so it looks like there's nothing there.
teaching kids how to make baking powder bombs.
feeding kids a crapload of sugar when their parents got in 3 hours late. don't piss off the babysitter.
showing a little girl how to "accidentally" ruin her bedroom wallpaper, so she could get it redecorated to her tastes.

there are many more, but i can't think of any just yet.
i will, though.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 15:25, 12 replies)

A babysitter when I was five
was a gent from down the road by the name of Tim. Tim swore like a trooper, probably on account of being a trooper (well, officer-in-training as I understood it), told me the details of some 18-rated films like Se7en ("there's a bit where a guy puts a knife on his cock then shags a woman and cuts her up") and some bizarre film about a cloud which went door-to-door and murdered people with a baseball bat which I've never heard of since, and generally treated me like a teenage boy. He taught me about half of all the swear words I now know and described what firing a gun was REALLY like.

At the same time, he never went into anything truly inappropriate and carried out all the duties a babysitter should. He seemed to have some magic system for knowing what was dangerous and rude enough to make a young boy feel cool and grown-up and what was legitimately too far, not just too far according to paranoid and oversensitive guidelines.

I tried to apply his teachings when I worked in an American summer camp this year, with the exceptions that no American is impressed that you've fired a gun, so I left out my shotgun story*. This is helped by the fact that in the USA you don't get accused of being a paedophile for doing anything more personal than running away in the presence of a child, so one can talk to them properly.

Everyone should have a babysitter like Tim.

*I've fired a single-barreled shotgun twice in my life, and missed a target about ten feet away both times.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 15:21, 4 replies)

When I was 14 or so
I went out with a girl for about a month. One day she said to me, "Do you want to come babysitting with me?"
An odd request, and my naive mind didn't join the dots, but I said "Sure, why not?"

"I need to go see if it's ok". So I went with her to the house to meet her employers so she could ask if I was allowed to babysit with her. Now, either they were as naive as I was, saw me as a nice innocent sort of a guy, or didn't care that we might play hide the purple parsnip providing their daughter didn't see.

Later that week, I met her near the house and we went to sit on babies. As we arrived and the parents were going out of the door it suddenly dawned on me the possibilities of (technically) being alone in a house with each other. This was a gazillion times more appealing than just wandering the streets of the estate of an evening in November. I told myself that I was going to go home that evening with a massive smile on my face.

Five minutes after the parents had left, I'm practically rubbing my hands in anticipation when there was a voice from upstairs.
"Can I come downstairs now mum and dad have gone out?" it said
"Yeah ok," said my girlfriend.
"You're going to let her get out of bed and come downstairs???" I ejaculated.
"Yeah, I always put her back in bed before the parents get home anyway" she completely misinterpreted, absolutely oblivious to the abject disappointment on my face.

So absolutely fuck all happened, the little girl fell asleep on the sofa behind my girlfriend who was lying down watching Moonlighting or some other such garbage that was less important to me than what was in her knickers.

I finally left at about 9:15pm and moped all the way home. That night, I did conjure a rather explicit 'what if' scenario which kept me going every night afterwards for a good few weeks at least, so every cloud and that.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 15:18, 7 replies)

Just going to put something down on paper.
So, one of my very good friends is the middle child of three. His brother, R is a few years older than him (perhaps 3), and his parents are pretty laid back, and enjoy an active social life. Thusly he and his younger sister would often be left at the mercy of R.

Since my friend is a fair bit larger than R, standard levels of older brother physical aggression died out pretty quickly after he realised he could no longer guarantee inflicting pain with no response. His solution? Well, I could scarcely believe this when my mate told me.

Walking into the kitchen to fix himself a chocolate milk, he spies his brother, head poking out of the toilet door, grinning like a madman.

'What do you want, idiothead*'

'Got something for ya!'

Emitting a kind of low-pitched monotone monkey-laugh, R emerges holding a piece of toilet paper covered in his own** shit, and proceeds to chase his younger brother around the house (their downstairs forms a 'loop' through the living room and dining room, so I can only imagine some kind of Benny Hill scenario) with deadly purpose, shouting 'i'm going to put it on you'.

As worrying as this undoubtedly is (and R is the 'normal' one of the 3), upon further questioning, it reveals deeper layers of perverse malice. It's almost more understandable to write this off as some kind of temporary insanity, however, at some point during his shit, R must have thought, 'I know. I'll fucking put this shit on him.' and set aside a piece of toilet paper on the side, covered in shit, then finished wiping his arse, then picked it up again. This was a Minority Report 'Brown Ball' as it were.

He escaped unsullied, you'll be glad to hear, by running out of the house and most of the way down the street.

*Poetic license

**I assume
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 15:11, 2 replies)

"My name's Scars, and I'm a babysitter"
When I was 16, I used to babysit for some of the other service families on our married patch.

Usual deal, a bit of dosh and the odd tin of lager.

Then one night I went to the XXXs. Mr XXX had left out some Fosters. Quite a lot of Fosters.

They returned home at midnight to find the custodian of their precious infants passed out on the living carpet, with a neatly stacked pyramid of empties in the fireplace. Ten of 'em IIRC.

Not only did I never get another job from anyone, but Mrs. XXX kept asking my Mum if she thought I should "get help".
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 15:06, Reply)

Mark the lovefail and my narrow escape at being branded a nonce.
After a night on the lash at the tender age of 18. A mate convinced me to join him round some scummy council house lived in by some bird he'd just pulled. Her boyfriend was currently in prison so the coast was clear.

When we arrived the babysitter was there and I was left with her whilst my mate went up for some hot loving. He'd actually convinced me to sleep on the sofa as he was probably going to be busy all night. In my addled state I agreed but beforehand thought I'd have a go on the babysitter and started putting on my charms.

No more than 5 minutes later and my mate came jogging down stairs and announced we were leaving followed by a very irate looking conquest.

"An you can fack off an'all, sheez only facking 14." She blarts out at me, motioning to the target of my drunken advances.

As we headed back to my mates house I had to ask what the hell happened and why he wasn't balls deep in this council bird.

"When I got into bed with her I just told her,'Teach me.' and she kicked me out of bed right there.

Turns out old Mark still had his cherry and chose some council scrote who clearly just wanted a good seeing to to relieve him of it.

Think we both got off lightly there.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 15:06, Reply)

Grandparents - an upstanding example of once removed parenting ...
My mum and dad used to go out to the pub every Saturday night when I was about seven or so. This carried on for some years well into my teens (when i was fourteen or so they took me with them. I always looked older than I was and they didn't seem bothered by taking a teenage girl into pubs.) My mum would have never allowed anyone outside the family to talk to me, let alone baby sit, so my grandparents ended up with the job.

Sometimes they would come over to our house, where they would watch Tales of the Unexpected (which scared the bejeesus out of me) or Hammer horror films (even scarier when you are seven, well, they were for me anyway as i would often come downstairs for a glass of water when still half asleep, to hear shrieking or maniacal laughter from the front room and glimpse blood and weird happening on the tv screen). Then my grandad would go through my parents' bureau where all their paperwork was kept. When I innocently mentioned this to my mum, she went mental. My Nan would read me a bed time story at some point and invariably fall asleep before I did.
Sometimes I would go over to my nanna's flat and she would make us cheese on toast on their gas fire. We'd hold it in front of the stinky gassy council flat fume emitter on long forks. The toast got pretty burned to a crisp and the cheese was some sort of chemically coloured red orange stuff more akin to molten plastic than cheese, but I loved it !
Then my grandad would either put on his "records" (he was a huge Shirley Bassey fan) or give me one of his books to read. These were horror stories about swarms of man eating insects or chemical spills in small American towns that turned the inhabitants into zombies. Brilliant reading for a seven year old...
Good times !
(womanwhocanonlylivewithdogs, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 15:02, 2 replies)

I never had a babysitter or babysat
but my boyfriend and his sister were regularly babysat by Stephen Moyer from True Blood
(Nanny Pat vote for me, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:56, 1 reply)

I was a bad babysitter
I had my boyfriend in the shower, Woo! I was making 6 bucks an hour.
( Mr Nerdy-Speccy-FuckNuts Ouchy ouchy wa wa!, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:53, 2 replies)

Back when I lived in Pommieland as a kid
The parents went out one night and the bloke from the couple across the road came over to babysit me and my brothers (one older, one younger). He spent the entire night sitting on the couch reading a book while we ran amok in scenes reminiscent of Lord Of The Flies.

After the ritual exchange of insults, things really kicked off when my younger brother, goaded beyond human patience by the taunts of my older brother, hurled a pot of strawberry yogurt. It hit OB on the chest, whereupon he seized YB by the ankle, dragged him screaming and clawing at the carpet upstairs to the bathroom, and proceeded to hold his head in the toilet and flush it repeatedly. This was followed by a free-for-all brawl around the house, older brother vs younger, with me fulfilling my role as the middle child by indiscriminately fighting both at once.

Upon my parents' return home, they asked the babysitter how the night had been. He closed his book and replied "Not too bad, they spent the entire night playing quietly". The next day my younger brother told them of the truth of the night and his toilet torture.

To his dismay, they found it hilarious.


Another time when my parents went out, they left my older brother to look after me on his own (I think YB was staying over at a friend's house), presumably since he had shown how mature and reasonable he was on the previous occasion. He decided that we should watch Cronenberg's "The Fly", which was showing on TV that night. Unfortunately for me, he fell asleep halfway through, leaving my 8-year-old self to watch it to the end alone. The parents returned home to find my brother in front of the TV snoring gently, and me cowering in a corner, brandishing a potato masher and wearing a saucepan on my head, gibbering about insectoid horrors.

Good times.
(oball needs Satan more than he needs me, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:49, Reply)

Not really babysitting, but...
...as a stude in Brighton, one sunny day at the beach I was trying desperately to flirt with the studentess I'd been trying to get together with for six months, to no avail.

A couple of small kids were playing nearby, with no sign of any parents around. Studentess and I went from keeping a quiet eye on them to playing various beach games, about half of which involved the little boy and girl taking it in turns to ride around on me while I pretended to be a horse and my lovely sloe-eyed paramour giggled indulgently. (The other half of the time both of the little tinkers sat on me.)

Talking to them, it turned out they'd snuck away while their mum wasn't looking and come about three miles by themselves. We cajoled a phone number out of the older of the two and phoned their mum, who'd been out of their mind with worry, and arranged to come down to pick them up. Which she later did.

It was only as the little boy - who'd been riding on my shoulders on the way back up to street level (Marine Parade, if you know it), while the little girl walked hand-in-hand with my gal-pal - got into his mum's car that I noticed the frankly enormous and suspiciously fresh-looking skidmarks on the back of his swimming trunks.

I washed my neck for about an hour after that.
( shinyshinyscalp less a man, more a way of life, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:49, 2 replies)

When me and my sister were mere kiddies
We used to be left with a family until my mum got in from work. It was a pleasant house with a good garden and friendly children, and the family were perfectly nice people. Except for one oddity: the mother had this weird thing where we had to ask permission to go to the toilet. And, bizarrely, sometimes she'd say no.

One day, I'd survived her evil eye and been granted permission for a slash. But a few minutes later I realised I needed a dump too. Asking again was out of the question; her stare would probably burn me to a crisp. So, I decide to find a secluded spot, and with child-like logic picked a spot in the front garden.

Unfortunately, I was looking at things from a height of about 80cm, and as I curled out a steamer in the undergrowth, thinking I was hidden from view, I was blissfully unaware that from the windows of all the houses in the street, I was entirely visible.

It was years before I worked out why we never went back to that nice house again...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:48, 2 replies)

I sat on a baby once.
Couldn't see what all the fuss is about.
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:47, 1 reply)

A young lass was supposed to look after me, once, when I was but a nipper...
I chased her off with one of my A-Team action figures. BA beset 'er.
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:39, 3 replies)

We hired someone once
and they tried converting our child to the dark side.

That's the last time we hired a baby sither.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:39, 1 reply)

I was baby sat as a small child by Linda Henry
she went on to be a (semi) famous actress .I went on to be an un-famous electrician.
( bane, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:37, 1 reply)

Young Master number5 ...
...decided that walking into the room to meet his new babysitter would be best received if he were trouserless with a significant erection and speaking the words : "Look, I can make it go all stiff!"

Downhill all the way from there.

He is older now and won't recall the above but I am saving this story for his wedding day.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:26, 7 replies)

I was the world's laziest babysitter
Got paid £30 to spend an evening watching MTV (this was 1995) and stuffing my face with crisps, while the two kids (6 and 8): played quietly in their room for an hour, before dressed themselves for bed, brushed their own teeth, and read each other stories, before and putting themselves to bed at 7 on the dot.

Quite why I didn't carry on babysitting for a living I'll never know. I suspect the kids are probably a bit old for it now, mind.
(SimianKid internet faffer, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:20, Reply)

I'm going to have to
ask the old dear about this one, I am almost certain that I have some gems in the archive.

In the meantime, a monkey babysitter!!! It's quite fascinating actually...

www.youtube.com/watch?v=fsaEvyHNZGs
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:18, Reply)

I threw silly putty in my babysitter's hair
she had nice brown shoulder length hair, but ended up having to cut it so short she looked like a lesbian for her last year of highschool. Oops.
(Turtlenuts, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:13, Reply)

This works best when you don't have children...
For a bit of fun, hire a babysitter and simply tell them that your child (that doesn't exist) is upstairs sleeping and should not be woken. Then when you get home later that evening, go mental and ask where the child has gone.
( Mr Nerdy-Speccy-FuckNuts Ouchy ouchy wa wa!, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:11, 11 replies)

The Shitestains (edit, name changed to protect the innocent)
My brother and I used to get left with a family who we shall call "the shite-stains", a family who are rated as the third smelliest set of scruffy, filthy scum-bags in my home-town.

Far as I could tell, although the father worked, what he earned was pissed away down the club on booze, fags and racing pigeons. He would water down the milk, refuse to let us have more than one drink a day, and would steal and share with his five-strong brood any food our parents had given to us for lunch.

The mother was a hideously skinny woman, who always seemed to smell of shit, piss and filth, far as we could tell, she never bathed existed on a diet of crisps and tea. She never moved from the sofa for anything other than to request payment from my mother for 'looking after' my brother and I.

The family-home had all of the sensory value of a well frequented crack-den, with patchy stained wallpaper covering parts of each wall, ceilings stained yellow with what you hope to be nicotene, dried moldy food could be found in every dark corner of the house, and piss-stained mattresses could be found where you would expect a bed to be.

The main 'benefit' of leaving us with the "shite-stains" was that, despite their squalid living conditions, despise of one-another and limited means, Mr and Mrs Shite-Stain had managed to find their sexual organs underneath the thick layer of grime, and spawn five malnourished kids of varying ages.

Unfortunately, their is only so much fun to be had from racing pigeons, dried food and peeling wallpaper, and so the Shite-Stains children had grown-up with literally fuck-all to do. The would entertain themselves by sticking their fingers in live light sockets, setting fire to things in the back garden and effectively acting like little sods, can't really blame them, their were disadvantaged by genetics and environment!

Their boredom would break briefly whenever we were there, at which point the eldest of the five, Mark (pimpled, greasy, fuckwit with an IQ that most pets would laugh at) and Joanne (a buck-yellow-toothed fat-arsed bitch that grew up to be all she could be, her mother), They would delight in nipping, slapping, punching and biting my brother and I and then delightedly eat the lunches we brought from home in front of us.

Despite repeated pleas from me and my brother (who is 4 years younger than me, and so was easier for them to pick on), my parents continued to leave us in this wretched shithole right up until the shit-stained family asked for it to stop.

So why did it stop? Although I'm the quiet bookish one of our family, I grew up surrounded by cousins who are squaddy-brats, like to play fight. I already knew how to look after myself, but I also would also be restrained enough to not react unless provoked.

The last session of physical abuse from the brood, involving whipping my legs with a skipping rope and a pretend plastic sword, pushed me to my limit, I smacked Joanne in her mishapen and yellow mouth (the one and only time I have ever hit a woman), and I slammed Mark's pimpled, greasy head into the brick fire-place.

My brother and I were blissfully unwelcome from that day forward. I'm still mates with their youngest though, he has fond memories of using his friendship with me to ward his elder siblings off from that day forward

insert witty message about length here
( BulldogUgly Visit my profile to see what's between my legs, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:08, Reply)

Right.
That woman that plays Joan in Mad Men used to babysit me when I was 12, and she fancied me, and we shagged, all the time, right, in all six holes, and she gave me a blow job, and she touched my willy, and I felt her boobies, and EVERYTHING. AND THAT'S TRUE, THAT IS.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 14:05, 8 replies)

I used to have to sit for my younger brother
one night my parents had been out to the pub and having been persuaded to look after my little bruv, I invited my then boyfriend round to listen to The Cure and stuff - we were both 16.......no shenanigans but mum didn't know he was coming round so when the door opened and she let out the most buttock-flappery fart ever, she was most disconcerted when Pete popped his head round the kitchen door to say hello......I think even Roy and Maureen across the street were woken up by that almighty guff too. This still reduces me to tears even after 24 years!
(Purpledoris I've got afeckin' job, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 13:55, Reply)

First QOTW I have an answer for, for a while.
Andrea Corr babysat me a few times. She used to know my cousins (for they all attended the same school) and as my house is just up the road from said school, my cousins (and sometimes Andrea too) would come up to the house after, leaving my ma to fob me off on them for a bit of peace.
( Spider Fucking Riviera got stiches for a knife wound for the first time, Thu 28 Oct 2010, 13:44, 5 replies)