Women's work...
I've always heard these stories about how babysitting is great because you can just put the kids to bed and raid their parents' fridge, watch their TV, shag your boyfriend in the shower, make 5 bucks an hour etc etc. That is a world as alien to me as Gallifrey!
When I was in my early teens, my mum's friends would come round to our house and I would be ordered to babysit their kids while they sat around drinking coffee and talking about house prices. I didn't even get asked nicely or thanked, let alone paid or rewarded, and I'd be in deep shit if I didn't babysit.
These brats would run around my family's house stealing random things and throwing tantrums if I told them stealing was wrong. There was one boy who, on top of stealing anything that wasn't nailed down, used to hit, bite and sexually molest me all the time (he got suspended from school two or three times by the age of 6 for molesting other kids!). This was more than just rough playing - he used to really hurt and upset me. Of course, I couldn't tell him off (mum would say, "it's rude to tell off a guest" and let him get away with stuff I would never have got away with) and if I tried to block his punches he would have one of his big tantrums because I'd spoiled his fun, and I'd get in trouble for making him cry. My dad saw this kid for the stupid brat he was and offered help and sympathy, but my mum always insisted that it was my job to babysit, not his, because "it's women's work and you're becoming a woman now."
The kid's family was slightly messed up at the time, since then they have sorted a lot of their issues out and his behaviour has improved dramatically, but even if you know someone is only young or is from a broken home or has a learning disability or whatever, and "can't help it," it still fucking hurts when they hurt you. Sorry for lack of funnies but just had to rant!
(MC Toffeehammer, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 18:13, 3 replies)

Long story short
When I was a kid, we had an exchange student from Sweden. After her stay with us, we ended up getting a string of Swedish au pairs stay with us from the time I was aged about 7-12. I will admit to this being excellent, for the most part. I remember trying to get one of them to read me my math homework just so I could hear the accent and spend some time with a pretty lady. She wouldn't do it, but she was our au pair, so we spent time with her anyway, of course.

In any case, fast forward to me being 19. The original exchange student now has kids of her own and asks if my sister or I would like to come and live with her family for a year. As my sister was studying at a "serious university" at the time, she couldn't go. I was just attending community college trying to figure out what the hell I even wanted to do, so the choice was pretty clear. Stay home and dick around or go to Sweden and LIVE LIFE.

I spent one year in the Gothenberg area, learned the language, took care of their kids & dog, learned to cook, had my first (and last) gin & tonic (that shit is nasty), traveled all over the country, visited the Ice Hotel, witnessed the aurora borealis, and got to kiss Swedish girls. That year is one of the best, most eye-opening years of my life and I would never, ever take it back.

It's also how I got my name. "Inte svensk" is Swedish for "not Swedish."
( intesvensk can't recall when I last checked the newsletter, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 16:55, 1 reply)

Once upon a time.....
We had a nanny who blew in with the wind one day, started singing bout sugar and medicine pulled a lamp out of her bag and started dancing and singin with some yanky chap with a shockin cockney accent.

Twas so surreal they made a film about it.
(fase69, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 16:41, 4 replies)

I'd never met the parents
and had only agreed to babysit as a favour to someone else and now I was running late , this was long long ago before mobile phones and so running late was more awkward than nowadays . I got off the bus quickly realising I was in one of the less salubrious parts of town , and noticed that most of the houses had no names or numbers on the door .Time was passing so I ventured up to one such door , and my timid knock was answered by a young boy .I first noticed the loud music pumping out in the background , then saw the spliff in one of the boy's hands , then the can of lager in the other.

'Is your mum or dad in ? ' I asked .

' Does it fucking look like it ? ' he said .
( horace wimp needs more than 49 characters to fully express hi, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 16:23, 2 replies)

linda and the butter
my aunt linda was once babysitting me at my granddad's house. it was a great old house, lots of nooks and crnnies to hide in.
i was playing upstairs and decided, foolishly, to poke my leg through the balcony railings. my leg went in fine, but when i bent it to get it out, it stuck. this was due to my knee being fatter when my leg was bent. linda heard my screams and came running, only to find me trapped in the wooden railings.
instead of using her brain and helping me to straighten my leg out, which would have freed me, she decided what was needed was lubrication.
this was why, when my parents got back ten minutes later, it was to see their daughter snivelling and snotting, whilst my crazy aunt rubbed a block of lurpack up and down my leg. mum yanked my leg straight and out it popped. 1 second thinking time, 2 seconds to act and i was free.
who needs a buttery knee anyway?
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 15:52, 4 replies)

In Soviet Russia...
Children look after baby sitter.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 15:29, 5 replies)

Is it Thursday yet....?
I had a babysitter - she had a fanny - I never seen it

New QOTW please.....
(Thebigfella, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 15:21, 1 reply)

Nurses count as babysitters, right?
When I was 14 I was in hospital for a fairly lengthy stretch with idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura (ITP), one of my nurses was a young, pretty and somewhat busty brunette lady whom I’d immediately taken a bit of a shine to.
In between ogling the lovely nurse I spent my time reading my way though football magazines and playing on the wards original Nintendo.
One day whilst reading about Iwan Roberts’ latest heroics for Norwich City the lovely nurse came along, saw my copy of "Shoot" and started up a conversation about football.
It turned out that she was a Crystal Palace fan and from then on whenever she was working on my ward she would always say "hi" and engage me in a spot of friendly football based banter.

I was a 14 year old boy who had been stuck in hospital for three weeks in a group ward so there was no privacy so having a wank was off the cards, as a result I was incredibly horny and having a pretty darn gosh lovely nurse with real boobies paying attention to me made my mind play tricks and fantasise about things.

I became convinced that lovely nurse fancied me, because you know, pretty nurses always fall for spotty young herberts in their care don’t they? I became absolutely positive that the next time she drew my curtain to give me a check-up and a sponging she’d give me blow job or similar. It was obvious to me, she’d been "flirting" with me for ages.

So it came as little surprise when I was gently woken one night by a soft hand pushing me tenderly on the shoulder. I opened my eyes expectantly, and there was the lovely nurse leaning over me, her face inches from mine and looking directly into my eyes.
"I’ve been waiting ages for you to do this" I whispered quietly whilst taking her in my arms and pulling her down into a kiss, my right hand pawing urgently at her fantastic breasts. At which point she pulled sharply away and yelled "what the hell are you doing?" the bedside light quickly flicked on and there was a very angry looking lovely nurse standing above me holding one of those thermometer things they put under sleeping patients armpits to check their temperature during the night.
Realising I’d made a huge fucking error and was about to get in to deep shit for attempting to grope a nurse, I panicked and blurted out "Sorry, I was dreaming about football!" then realizing that made no sense and was a bit weird I added "Er, no, not football. Tits. Pamela Anderson’s tits" and then I burst into tears.

The next morning I was lying in my bed sheepishly when my Mum came in to visit me and asked me if I was okay and that the lovely nurse had told her that she’d unexpectedly woken me during the night whilst I’d been having a nightmare and that I’d become very distressed.

Which was pretty good of lovely nurse really.
( Dervel OTBC, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 14:32, 12 replies)

words fail me
When I was about 12, maybe 13, me and my best friend who lived next door used to frequently pull tricks on my younger sister. We would be at the dinner table and she would nip off to the toilet, at which point me and Nikki used to put all our shepherds pie on her plate, and she would come back and eat it all up without even realising. So you can see she was pretty easy to make do things.

Anyway, my Mum and Dad were upstairs having a bath (together, vom.) one summer evening and me and Nikki were to watch my sister and make sure she didn't lick plug sockets/hit the cat/get run over (please bare in mind she is actually 10 years old at this point) etc etc. We were just sitting about playing Mario Kart on the Snes or something, when sister gets a bit antsy, and starts squirming about. Turns out she needs a poo.

Me and Nikki think it's hilarious that she cant get in the bathroom as Mum and Dad are in there, and wind her up saying she musn't go and knock on the door as she will get MASSIVELY told off, and we tell her to go and poo in the garden, obviously not thinking she would actually do it.

10 minutes pass and we are so involved in the computer game that we don't notice my sister had been a little quiet and disappeared. We realise, and call out, only to at that moment see her, in broad daylight, pants round her ankles and squatting on the garden pavement and doing a poo. Our house was semi detached in a cul-de-saq with no fencing, so it's pretty safe to say at least one family around us saw my little sister curl one out in the back garden.

My parents weren't that pleased about it at the time but now it is one of our favourite stories (although funnily enough not my sister's).

Length? About 5 inches and very firm.
(natakins, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 12:19, 16 replies)

crispy
I used to babysit for a family of 3 fat children - they were all roly poly, and not in a puppy fat sort of way, more in an impending diagnosis of type II diabetes way. (I'm not slim myself, but these 3 were all spectacularly wobbly blubber mounds)

One night, when their parents had gone out, and I had got the youngest child to sleep, I was trying to get the older two to do their teeth, then I would read them a story each, rather than the single story for them both previously promised. They ignored my entreaties, instead running round and round the lounge like lardy duracell bunnies. The oldest, a girl of 8 or 9 years, was shrieking that she wanted some crisps, which I'd been instructed by the parents not to allow under ANY circumstances. I refused, and picked up middle child, buckling slightly under his weight, and marched upstairs with him, leaving the little girl crying crocodile tears at my cruelty. So, I got his teeth brushed, put him in his bedroom, and said I'd be back in a minute, then ran back down to check on the girl. No sign of her anywhere, and I started to worry.

I went back upstairs to see if her brother was OK, and do a quick check of her room before sending out a search party.

On entering her room, I heard a crunching sound, and I saw her lying on her bed looking shifty. "Did you help yourself to the crisps then?" I asked.
"No! I NEVER ATE ANY CRISPS, AND ANYONE WHO SAYS I DID IS A LIAR!" she shouted. "Are you sure?" I replied. "I DIDN'T HAVE THE CRISPS!" she bellowed in my direction.

I would have believed her, but for the floor being covered in monster munch (hence the crunching as I entered the room and trod on them), the bed was hidden under them, there were empty crisp packets littering the carpet, and she had crisps in her hair, and in her hands. When she shouted at me, crisp particles were spraying from her mouth. Even when I was bathing her later on to remove the crisp residue, she was telling me she hadn't seen any crisps that evening - and I must be "dreaming bad dreams like my mummy does when she thinks I've been bad".
( ascorbate, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 11:16, 3 replies)

Regarding the whole Portugal thing - in the McCann's defence:
I am 35, and many of my friends testify that their parents acted similarly to mine - ie - they would put the kids to bed, and pop to a pub nearby (within literally a couple of minutes walk - otherwise they'd bring us and bed us down in the car). The parents would then, on a rotational basis, check on the kids.

When my sister was still young enough to be being cotted in a drawer, my father's friend owned two bloody great big dobermans, and these were instructed to look after her, and let no one upstairs.

What was relatively entertaining was that when it was my father's turn to check on all the kids, the dobermans wouldn't let him past.

Pffft.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 10:48, 13 replies)

Michael the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle
With one light-hearted story comes another Snark special: sad tales from the 45th parallel.

Being a teenage pinko meant that I would often lend my babysitting services to those in need. It is impossible to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and find a job if you can’t even afford childcare. I’m not saying that I was brilliant with kids, just that I could prevent them from sticking their tongues in electrical sockets.

Michael and his parents lived around the corner from me in what was essentially the corner of a tumbledown breezeblock construction. There were three people in this studio, and both the parents were ‘recovering’ drug addicts, but without the recovery. It was no place for a young boy. I was told that he lived with his grandmother in rather better circumstances, but ‘something had happened’ and he was a ‘special boy’.

Alarm bells didn’t go off – the unfortunate aspect of my hometown was that so many kids had tragic tales of abuse.

We’d grab Fruit Roll-ups and grilled cheese sandwiches to head down to the riverside to play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Over the course of several months, Michael and I became good friends. I couldn’t get over the fact that he seemed so damaged by life. He told wild tales, one of which stood out in my mind:

He told me that he was sleeping in bed with his grandmother and that his grandmother didn’t have any legs. Then his grandmother’s friend broke into the house and beat her to death while he hid under the covers. The friend was named xxx, he lived at xxx and was wearing xxx.

Assuming this was a boy fantasist, I nodded my head and ignored what he had to say. He also thought he was a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, so why was I to believe him?

Eventually the family moved away and I forgot about both Michael and his stories. Watching television one night, a programme came on about local cold cases. There was a case of a woman – a grandmother – who had mobility issues and was beaten to death in bed in front of her grandson, Michael. He was telling the truth.

What made this more tragic was that Michael never said a word about the assailant to the police. According to the programme, the police had absolutely nothing. Michael knew who did it; he told me. He told me and I didn’t listen.

I tried to dig deep into my brain in order to remember even a sliver of information, but came up with nothing. Instead I called the police and told them ‘he knows’.

Having just looked up the details - 19 years after the murder, nobody has been arrested. Michael still hasn’t spoken.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 10:40, 6 replies)

Me
When I was young, every now and then my parents would go out for the evening and my grandmother would babysit.

This doesn't really allow me to tell you how cool and sexy and successful and good at fighting I am, especially when I'm on drugs.

What a shit QOTW.
( Goatworrier had your mum and she was shit, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 10:33, 8 replies)

Climbing and underpants
When I was young, I was best behaved when tethered, possibly drugged. I had a propensity for climbing and was once found, barely off my mother’s teet, sitting on the roof of the house.

My parents, having likely grown bored with pulling me out of trees, decided to go out for a romantic meal. They gave the babysitter instructions: only call the restaurant if our wickle baby Snark is bleeding heavily or heavily dead.

And so, the babysitter and I set off for a local park. In the amount of time it took the babysitter to blink, I was up a telegraph pole. Unaccustomed to this method of climbing, I slipped and let go…

…but was saved when the elastic band on my Strawberry Shortcake underpants caught one of the gaffs and left me dangling by my undercarriage about 15 feet off the ground. I was hanging upside-down by my pink underwear.

The babysitter, remembering what my parents had told her, left me there to formulate a plan. That plan came in the form of emergency services.

I had to have a firefighter cut me out of my underpants and rescue me like a cat.

No amount of money and unlimited time on the telephone with her boyfriend could get that babysitter to come back.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 10:08, 3 replies)

Bad babysitter by remote control...
So I burned a kids film onto a disc for a mate whose ten year old son had been wanting to see it, some cartoon thing aimed at juniors.
The next day I get a call.
"So it's after dinner and as a treat I let Henry watch the movie and he's in the spare room laughing and carrying on and all is good, then he goes quiet.
"I call out and he says yeah he's good, but he's still quiet so after a few minutes I went in to check on him and he's sitting back on the couch, arms behind his head, eyes wide open and the biggest smile ever on his face.
"On the screen is some guy blasting the shit out of zombies, hacking them up and generally having a bloodfest."
Ah yes... that's right I'd put a copy of an old horror film the guy (not the son) had wanted to see on the same disc and had forgotten to tell him.
Best part is apparently the kid's been raving about "the best film ever!!!" over and over ever since.
( difficultchild, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 9:59, Reply)

The kid just wouldn't SHUT UP!
I shook it, and shook it, AND SHOOK IT!

It shut up after a while.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 2 Nov 2010, 9:52, 3 replies)

My ex is an Au Pair
and is consequently now living with a family in Brisbane, however when she was living in the UK I would often go round to these 'grand' mansion type places and spend an evening with her while the owners were on an evening out..or worse..still working..which begs the question..If you are so obsessed with work in the first place, why bother having kids, if you continually have to palm them off on other people? (More often than not, they were tighter than a duck's arse with their money too! Here she was..basically doing everything, housemaid, childcare, cook, surrogate mum..and getting an attitude of.."You should be grateful to be in our home")..anyway, I shall get off my high horse now.

Well we used to use their home as a fuck pallace, (Never on the beds) and Felicity often used to walk around as naked as the day she was born, which only got me more horny and I used to fuck her seven ways from Sunday, on the sofa's, over the arms of the sofa's, on the floor, on the kitchen table..absolutely everywhere. She was insatiable..and wasn't quiet either..How the kids stayed asleep I'll never know!

The couple who owned the place, probably had the whole house rigged with cameras..they certainly had the money to do it. But tbh we really didn't care.
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Tue 2 Nov 2010, 9:25, 21 replies)

Staying Up Late
When I was a kid my mum used to go out with her mates on a sunday night and this meant my dad would watch me and my sister.
We used to love it, he'd get us some sweets and let us stay up really late as long as we didn't tell mum we'd stayed up.
Or so we thought.
Turns out he used to change the clock on the tv so it said 11 instead of 7.
(FootOfTim, Mon 1 Nov 2010, 22:47, 5 replies)

The last resort is often the best.
Mum and Dad used to go out at least one night a week, their so-called "Date Night". My sister was often assigned to babysitting duty and complete control of the television remote against my complaints that I was missing Courage The Cowardly Dog.

So imagine my surprise when my sister had arranged to spend the night at her friend's on my parent's night out. Cue the 16 year old grunge girl from down the street, hair dyed green and all.

She was awesome. After her initial success at winning me over, she replaced my sister as supreme babysitter. She let me watch all the cartoons I wanted (at least until ten o clock), smuggled up those little fun-size bags of Haribo in her bra, introduced me to old horror films at the age of 8 (They're coming to get you, Barbara!) and in the later days of her babysitting me before she trundled off to Uni for some sort of physics degree, she started bringing her N64 up with her under the pretence there was homework in that bulging bag and we went tooth and nail at each other on Goldeneye and Mario Party.

She's partly to blame for my taste in films and music, and I try to copy her so much when babysitting my niece and nephew (We're often in a versus match on Left 4 Dead and my 9 year old nephew royally handed me my ass on Perfect Dark last week. I'm so proud.)

They don't make babysitters like that often enough, do they?
( Trogdos The Raging Cuntmuffin, Mon 1 Nov 2010, 20:12, 6 replies)

same crazy auntie as below
took my elder sister shopping with her when sis was 3. not only did she lose my sister in lewis's, she then jumped on the train and came home without my sister, just to tell my parents that she'd lost her. fortunately, my mum has drummed into our heads as early as possible that, if we get lost, we find a policeman or someone who works in a shop, give them our names and tell them we're lost. a quick yet frantic phonecall and sis was soon on her way home, safe and sound.
mum never let my aunt look after any of us again.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Mon 1 Nov 2010, 18:52, Reply)

spots are easily visible
as a teenager, i babysat my 2 young cousins every saturday night, from 7p.m till lunchtime the next day. for this, i got a fiver. not much, but my aunt was so skint, she often went without food so that her kids could eat. before you say "well, she had enough money to go out once a week", she didn't, she usually just went to stay at her boyfriend's house.
that said, she was and still is utterly fucking nuts.
one saturday, i arrived to find the house eerily quiet.
"where are the kids?" i asked.
"oh, they're upstairs. katie* has a headache and david* has a tummy ache. i think they've had too many sweets." with that, she went on her merry way.
after watching telly for a while, i decided to go upstairs to see if the kids needed anything. imagine my surprise when i saw that they were covered from head to foot in itchy red spots. they both had chickenpox and you didn't need to be a doctor to spot it.
i managed to locate a bottle of calamine lotion and used it on their poor itchy spots, before giving them both warm drinks and tucking them into bed.
the next day, when my aunt arrived home, i said "why didn't you tell me the kids had chickenpox?"
"MY CHILDREN DO NOT HAVE CHICKENPOX!" she yelled at me. "um, yes, they do," i replied. "they're covered in red spots and they're both itchy. they need to see a doctor"
this produced a torrent of bizarre ranting from my aunt, along the lines of i'm not a doctor, i don't know what i'm talking about and her children aren't dirty(?).
well used to my aunt's crazy ways, i simply jumped on my bike and went home.
the next day, my aunt was at my mum's house, phoning the doctor. apparently, she'd told my mum the kids were fine when she left, but they had full-blown chickenpox when she got home, so i must have given it to them, despite the fact that it had been 6 years since i'd had chickenpox.
that bitch is crazy.

*names changed to protect the innocent from terminl embarrassment.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Mon 1 Nov 2010, 18:25, 4 replies)

How I Learned to Wank
The house I grew up in had a very comfortably finished basement with its own television but it didn't have its own cable box or VCR, so it only showed what was on the television upstairs in the living room. While this was generally a bit of a pain in the butt, it did have an unintended perk.

My first introduction to pornography was thanks to my babysitter who decided, while I played quietly downstairs, to help herself to my parent's collection of VHS porn. Imagine my surprise when I flipped on the rec room TV and was greeted by a close-up shot of a woman jacking off some guy with a running commentary about said masturbation. Unsurprisingly, this also marked my introduction to self-abuse. The narration was very helpful in learning some real technique. It also clued me in that said stash of video porn existed, a bit of information I put to use at a later date, when I was allowed to be alone in the house.

All-in-all, a useful turning point in my childhood sexual development. Thanks, Christina!

Length? To my young eyes, in close-up, it seemed HUGE!
(bergec is filled with inertia, Mon 1 Nov 2010, 17:16, 4 replies)

When I was 13 or so
I was asked to babysit my baseball coach's two kids while he and his missus went out. They were young parents and she was very beautiful.

After playing baseball in the back yard for a while it was time to put the kids to sleep. We read some bedtime stories and then the kid went to get another book. He came back with "mom and dad's special photo album" full of polaroids. I looked. I looked again. I put the kids to bed and looked again.

I never babysat there again.
( BrokenCoccyx doesn't mind if you grope on, Mon 1 Nov 2010, 16:53, 4 replies)

Babysitting of sorts....
.... I baby-sat our eldest.

By that I mean I sat on a chair. My wife sat on me (nearly breaking me in half with super-womanly strength incidentally). The midwife caught the baby as she popped out. I was a human birthing-stool if you like.

They say you should involve the father in the birth but it is possible to take these things too far!*


* actually I was very chuffed to have been of some minor "support"
( Ugi , it's a game of give and cake, Mon 1 Nov 2010, 14:35, 2 replies)

shameless
EDIT: i do have a 'got caught shagging my girlfriend while she was babysitting' type story but to be honest i just want to see my birthday candle for the first time EVA.

i hope the edit makes that all clear now, otherwise this is becoming quite complicated.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Mon 1 Nov 2010, 13:50, 10 replies)

Caught by a 7 year old.
I babysat for the couple across the street from me for about 2 years as a teen. I also had a boyfriend that would come over and accompany me after I put the little girl to bed. Her parents were cool with this, so nothing was said. One night, after going to bed, he and I got a little amorous and I proceeded to give him a BJ while he was sitting in the fathers easy chair. All of a sudden, he started tugging up his jeans and said "I'm feeling better now!" I looked up at him to find his eyes as big as saucers looking at the upstairs balcony. I turned to see the little girl just staring down at us with a confused look. I stood up and aske her what was wrong to which she replied "I cant sleep. What are you doing?" I explained that "Uncle so and so" had a tummy ache and I was listening to hear if the rumbling was getting worse. He played along with a pained look on his face while trying to discreetly put himself together.

After that, I didn't do so much sitting for them. I wonder if after growing up, she realised exactly what was going on.
(Ass_Goblin, Mon 1 Nov 2010, 13:41, Reply)

I shall never judge again
I was babysitting my missus' neice and nephew. He was 3 and a bit energetic, she was 7 and the daughter of the devil - an awful child.

I've secretly always had the opinion I'd be a great dad. I am well patient and love having fun, so will play with kids til the fall asleep. And I also always thought there's no way I'll be putting my kids in front of the TV all day. I have sat on my DINKy moral high-ground and happily judged anyone I seen doing that.

Well, 15 minutes of the Devil's Daughter kicked that pomposity out of me. The TV was by a mile the most successful babysitter that weekend!
(Thebigfella, Mon 1 Nov 2010, 13:05, 1 reply)

I once had to look after my two little cousins.
My uncle is a a fanatic about toads, and the moment he and my aunt were out the girls had his favourite toad out and asked to play with it. I told them "No" but they responded that if I didn't play with them then they would tell their parents that I touched them and they knew how to make it sound real and soon enough they were throwing this prized toad around and playing with it and then suddenly it ended up on the three-bar electric fire.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 1 Nov 2010, 12:24, 7 replies)