b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Bad Management » Page 6 | Search
This is a question Bad Management

Tb2571989 says Bad Management isn't just a great name for a heavy metal band - what kind of rubbish work practices have you had to put up with?

(, Thu 10 Jun 2010, 10:53)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

What not to send to the ALL STAFF alias
A decade back, I worked for a big publishing company. They got a new wunderkind VP of HR, touted as being the force that would turn the company around. Since the company had gone from signing the biggest-selling (I didn't say good ...) English writer in the 1980s, to turning down a certain book about a certain young wizard, to signing the memoirs of a former city official for one of the biggest advances in history (it sold six copies in hardback), change was needed.

Well, you know those tiresome office gossip e-mails, laden with bad nicknames and innuendo about senior management? Wunderkind sent one of those to the entire company within days of starting. They then went on leave due to "stress" for four months, and were quietly replaced shortly thereafter.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 16:25, Reply)
Any more fares
I worked at a branch of the now-defunct - thank fuck - National Bus Company many years ago. The "management" got very close to implementing a bonus scheme which meant, essentially, that if passengers were waiting along a route and a bus went along and picked them up, there was no driver's bonus. If, however, two buses went out and picked them up, bonus time! I can't work out how they always managed to run at a loss, can you?
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 15:04, 2 replies)
My boss. The lazy twat.
Sleeps in all the time. Comes in late to work. Spends days when he should be working looking at porn on the net. And to top it off keeps touching me in my "special area".

He makes me fucking sick.

Click "I like this" if you think I really shouldn't be self-employed.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 14:29, 1 reply)
High Altitude Fuckwit.
A few years ago my brother was made redundant and chanced upon a job working for a local company that does 'working at height'. This mainly consists of cleaning shit out of silos and stuff while dangling from a rope. My brother had been set on as a health & safety trainer / quality manager but quickly found that the owner (henceforth referred to as "Fuckwit") was, to use the vernacular, a world-class cunt. Some examples:

1. Fuckwit often employed ex-cons as labour, publicly claiming he was giving them a second chance, but privately knowing it was the only way of getting anyone British to accept the shit pay & conditions he was offering. (Yes, he was a racist too)

2. Kept taking my brother off his proper job to work on ridiculous and pointless projects, then berating him for not bringing in training revenue.

3. When one of the workers lost his footing in a silo and ended up with the end of the steam lance going down his boot and boiling the flesh off his foot, Fuckwit made the guy come into work the following day to do office tasks. The reason was that if the guy didn't take time off as a result of the injury, Fuckwit wouldn't have to report the accident to the HSE.

4. Employed his father-in-law as a business development manager despite the guy having no experience in the industry, just in selling double glazing, and then paying him over £40k + a car + bonus. Unfortunately, the guy couldn't sell altar boys to priests.

5. Telling everyone times were tough and implementing a pay freeze, then swapping his Range Rover for a new Porsche and bragging about how much it cost.

6. One of the ex-cons was a good lad but prone to getting into trouble when he'd had a drink. Consequently, a few Monday mornings found him warming the cells in the local nick, meaning he was late or unavailable altogether for work.

After letting it slide a few times, Fuckwit decided that some remedial management activity was necessary. At this point, I should say that Fuckwit is/was a steroid user: no neck, massive build and prone to irrational rage. The unfortunate employee was a streak of piss who would blow over in a breeze. So Fuckwit threw him a pair of boxing gloves and invited him down to the company gym for a fight, with the words,"If you beat me, you can keep your job."

And so, in full sight of everyone else on the industrial estate - because the gym was in an adjacent unit and the roller shutter door was open - Fuckwit proceeded to beat seven shades of good-for-the-roses out of the poor employee.

7. Having gone to a mate's house to look at the erection (oo-er) of a marquee ahead of a family wedding, Fuckwit recognised one of the tent fitters as someone with whom his family had an outstanding dispute. He promptly attacked the bloke and, in the process of assaulting him, bit part of the guy's ear off.

My brother left the company soon after.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 14:18, 3 replies)
I locummed a few years ago and was warned by the nurses to not say anything to irritate the vet during or just after surgery.
I asked if normal questions were ok since he was doing interesting out of the norm surgery, apparently this was fine, but just be careful.

So we're all scrubbed in in theatre, he's pointing out the retinal vessels to me since I've not seen them from that angle before, when the anaesthetist nurse asked him if dogs can wear coloured contact lenses - he was going to fit a protective lens to the dog's eye due to the surgery meaning that a lot of dust and crap would get in there.

Vet draws himself up to his full - somewhat miniscule, portly - height, picks up the scalpel and flings it at the nurse, lacerating her shoulder. She in turn rummages through the kickbin under the operating table, locates a sizeable testicle and throws it back at him. I'm waiting for all out war to begin at this point...WILL SOMEONE PLEASE THINK OF THE STERILITY? When they begin laughing and just go back to work again after he's changed his gown and gloves.

Apparently that was a pretty regular occurrence there, one nurse almost lost a finger when she asked him a similar question.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 13:02, 2 replies)
He never recovered
My manager, last week, just a month or so after I started at my new job:

"We had to sack the guy in London after he lost his head a little. I don't think he ever recovered from a customer putting a gun to his head, but don't worry, that doesn't happen too often."

It was a worrying enough sentence even without implying that it's happened more than once.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 12:36, 1 reply)
My old company didn't understand the term 'manager'.
Everybody's job titled contained the word 'manager', no matter what their job description was. The only people exempt from this rule were the actual managers, who were referred to as 'executives'.

Is this a Merkin thing?
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 12:26, 5 replies)
I work for the NHS in IT
You can sum up the management like this:

"We want you to come and work on this new project. It's cutting edge, no other hospital is doing it, it'll be a real feather in our cap and look great on your CV.

...only thing is, you need 10 people really, but we can only give you 8.

...but that's okay coz we've only got room for 8 desks anyway.

...but we can only afford 7 computers, so you'll have to be creative there.

Oh, and by the way, the minimum spec for the software is slightly higher than our standard build, and we can't afford to upgrade the computers. It should work, but it might be a bit slow sometimes...

But it'll be really great, I'm really excited about it and I hope you are too.

Oh, one more thing: we can't recruit at the moment so there's no-one to take over your current role; if you could just keep an eye on that as well that would be fab"

And they wonder why none of the new computer systems ever work properly...
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 11:50, 13 replies)
Nothing for me to post here this week.
And I am too lazy to find a kitten.
Still you all can click 'cause this post has the word kitten in it.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 11:41, Reply)
air con
Our office has air con. It doesn't work properly, it's either freezing cold or boiling hot.

Our manager jealously guards the key to the cupboard where the controls are, even though he's hardly ever in the office and will cheerfully bugger off somewhere more comfortable with his laptop if it gets too hot/cold.

'Can we have access to the control panel please?' us engineers ask.
'No, its very complicated and you'll bugger it up.'

We pointedly look out on to the shop floor and the several hundred millions pounds worth of top-end multi-axis CNC machines that we program to thousands of a millimietre tolerances for critical oil and gas oil rig safety systems.*

He pretends not to notice.

*(including BP. ooops, wasn't me. I hope.)
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 11:37, 4 replies)
Becoming a manager without a pay rise?
Its quite amusing that this weeks QOTW is about management. As I've had to face a somewhat difficult decision to make. I got the offer of a promotion to IT Manager. Career wise this is amazing. I've just been sys admin for the last ten years. Current manager left, and they offered me the place. Im going to be heavily involved in some high level projects, such as integrating two IT Teams together, moving support from one of our offices to another company and also taking control of the team and running it how it should be. (Last manager was useless). Opportunity is great.
But.. no pay rise. Due to mergers, take overs and major change of the company, recession etc there is a huge pay freeze at the moment. If i dont take the job they can just split and push it out to other departmental managers. They wouldnt be employing anyone else.

My friends say I'm an utter mug for considering taking the position and that they're walking all over me. Making me feel like an idiot and used. I'm going to get a load of sh*t from upper management and im not getting anything for it.

Theyre going to be sending me on management training courses and going to be putting me through for their employee of the month award thing which is a cash bonus.

What do you guys think? Should I do it? Or should I tell them to go stuff themselves and if they want someone to manage, they can bloody well pay for it!
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 11:35, 23 replies)
2 managers, both called John
whom I have christened 'Johnny Useful' and Johnny Useless', thus.

Funnily enough, Useless gets a considerably handsomer salary than Useful.

Job description: co-ordinator, yes-man, obstructionist, spy, apologist, numpty.

Purpose: none whatsoever.

Moral: Want more money? Have your conscience removed.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 11:33, Reply)
I work as an engineer in a factory. We're well into lean, we are.

For those who don't care, lean engineering is basically 'get rid of everything you don't need, and everything you do need gets labelled.' There's more to it than that, but that's the basics - it's the system Toyota uses to keep up it's great quality, and ...well, that worked out well.

Anyway, part of all these lean stuff is something called visual management. In theory, this is a great idea that anyone can see how well any part of the factory is doing by glancing at a chart. If that part of the factory is getting behind, then people can be passed on to help from areas that are getting ahead, or it shows that something has gone wrong, and it's just a quick way of keeping track of what's happening.

It involves lots of charts. Charts that the shop floor people have to keep up to date. The problem is, each manager wants his own chart. Everytime there is a minor problem, the want to keep track of it by issuing another chart.

It's now at the point where the shop is getting behind in making stuff, cos they are spending 40mins a day filling in bloody charts. They have a catchphrase, 'charts not parts' hoping someone will pick up it's getting stupid.

Managers solution?

I'll give you three guesses.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 11:12, 5 replies)
Jason. Manager and pillock
Way back in time when I was starting out in working life I had the experience of being an apprentice in a security firm. Although this was only 15 years ago, the world was slightly less PC than it is now and all of the apprentices were generally treated poorly. In some ways it's a good thing, and certainly helped define my character and sharpen my wit when it came to verbal battles.

One of the managers there was a guy called Jason. Only in his mid-20s, he had a breath-taking self-confidence, backed in no small term by his cocaine addiction.

Despite his young age, Jason was old-school all the way. All three of us apprentices got a rough ride from him, from verbal bullying to being punched for wrong doing. I was fortunate in so much that Jason and I got on so badly - and publicly so - that for him to step over the line with me would probably have been viewed as taking things too far. That's my reasoning, at least, for getting less physical punishment than anyone else by far, though our verbal jousts were often quite scathing.

Ross was Jason’s apprentice, working with him every day. Ross was a couple of years older than me, and had been working with Jason for about two years. The stories he told were far-fetched at best, with the highlights being the separate times he was forced to run naked down Pall Mall for a deemed wrongdoing on his part, being made to drink cold cups of coffee that had been laced with WD40 (which Jason would happily tell Ross before making him drink it), and on several occasions being made to lay face down on the floor, in front of others, while Jason jumped on his back, yelled "cowabunga!" or some other 90s throwback catchphrase and proceeded to surf on the wriggling body of his colleague.

At least I THOUGHT these stories were farfetched, until one day I saw Jason make Ross drink a cup of coffee that had sat on the desk since the previous day. Ross, for his part, put up little resistance. He looked a broken man. And no wonder. He'd put up with Jason’s crap for years, and even though he tried to take things in good humour (such as when alopecia-suffering Ross had been sent a Gillette shaving kit as a gift by Jason), his life was Hell.

I'd like to be able to end this tale with something positive. Unfortunately I was never brave enough to stand up for Ross. I had enough trouble keeping Jason away from myself, and I knew that being employed in a small family-owned company, going down a HR route just wasn't feasible.

There were the occasional small wins. Such as the time that I picked up the office phone to hear one sentence: "It's Jason. Make sure there's a coffee there for me, I'm five minutes away." being having the phone slammed down. Those five minutes were spent stirring a full cup of coffee that had sat on the table untouched since the previous day, and holding the handle with one hand, and rotating the rest of the cup against a hot radiator, making sure that the cup felt warm, before handing it to Jason as he walked through the door. He took the biggest gulp of cold coffee before spitting most of it back out and throwing the cup across the room in temper.

But it's the simplest ones that amuse me most. The stand out one of which is from "S", who had come through the ranks with Jason at the company and hated him with a venom - a feeling that was mutual as soon as Jason realised that "S" was gay.

Jason turned up at work one day with his first tattoo - a horse’s head, with a horseshoe around it. He proudly showed it off to everyone, detailing how much is had cost, how long it had taken and how great it was. Everyone ummed and ahhhed, agreeing that it really was a fantastic piece of ink. Anything for a quiet life, it seems. Then as "S" passed by the group of employees, he said to one standing slightly away from the crowd, loudly enough for everyone to hear "Have you seen Jason’s new tattoo? He's got a My Little Pony on his arm!" before flouncing out with a massive grin on his face, the mocking laughter from everyone left in the room ringing in his ears, and several profanities coming from Jason’s mouth.

Ross, in the end, decided enough was enough, and quit before he was pushed too far. I never saw him again after that.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 10:29, 2 replies)
You gotta love lawyers...
the law firm I worked at had two receptionists as the management didn't like clients getting an automated phone message when they rang in.
Fair enough.
Problem was it had more than two incoming phone lines, but only two incoming slots on the switchboard, so if the girls had one person on hold and were talking to another, the rest of the clients HAD to get the automated message... shimples.
The managing partner used to obsessively go over the phone stats and berate the two girls if more than 5% of clients' calls went to auto. THERE WAS NO WAY OF IMPROVING THE STATS AS THEY WERE BASED PURELY ON THE COINCIDENTAL NUMBER OF CLIENTS WHO HAPPENED TO RING IN AT THE SAME TIME.
so if the phone didn't ring all morning and then twenty clients decide to phone in at 12.02 (which happens a lot given that a lot of people ring in their lunchhour) then 18 of them would get the auto message.
Cue the receptionists getting a right old bollocking. Nothing worse than getting reamed over something you can't control, is there?
(I used to hear them bitch and whinge in the tea room, in case you were wondering)
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 9:39, Reply)
One of my old housemates
was a bit of an idiot- always seemed to get the wrong idea, head in the clouds, whatever saying you want to use. He was usually a cheerful face around the house, so we didn't mind if he didn't always pick up after himself- after all, he was nowhere near as bad as one of the other guys in the house, who just left beer bottles everywhere.

Anyway, we were having problems with our milk delivery for the longest time. It'd be delivered late, or we'd get far too many bottles and still be expected to pay for them because "I delivered them, didn't I?" After a few months of this the upper management fired him (there was some hint of a scandal) And they advertised for a new milkman.

Up steps my friend, thinking it'll be a cakewalk, and not bad pay either.

He lasted one day.

Afterwards, he said he felt like he was going around in circles and not getting anywhere at all. The work load just exploded.

(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 9:20, 14 replies)
The company I work for has fairly recently taken over from the NHS care for service users with Learning disabilities. I don't realy think what they do can realy be classed as management as such.

Managers seem to change every three months, with few staying longer than 6. Often managers are "asked to leave" including the one they hired who may or may not have had previous for fraud. Guess what they got "asked to leave" over? Often these disgruntled ex managers take a "fuck you" attitude, misplacing vital paperwork or just not doing it. Head office is in chaos more or less constantly. Current management is geared to making the few remaining NHS staff look as bad as possible, right down to outright lying at training days/meetings ect. The company maintains a "no hands on" policy to potentaly violent or challenging behavior, and this certainly appears to lead to employees covering up any such behavior and pretending it just does not exist. Pay levels are so low that even in the current job climate they cannot fill half the positions they advertise and they recently decided that extra pay for nightshifts (about the only way to earn a decent amount of cash) needs to be cut, so it was. Without informing anyone. If this company operated truly in the private sector, and wasn't financed through local government I swear they'd have gone under long ago. The real tragedy is that there are plenty of people in the company, at all levels to be fair who realy do want to do a good job, realy want to provide the best standard of living possible but the mechanics and general built in incompetance and petty vindictiveness of the management hampers them considerably. These guys are going to wind up getting someone killed or badly hurt one of these days through their incompetance, though no doubt they'll find a way to shift the blame onto someone else. I'd love to have it explained to me how this is more efficient and a better standard of care than the public sector.

Anyway, apologies for the lack of humour, this job is getting to me. And remember, I haven't named the company I work for in this - so if someone reading this does work for them, recognises it and has a go at me about it - then clearly I've given you a very accurate description of your company.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 8:55, 7 replies)
Slightly unbalanced HR Manager
who used to work in our department. She looked like Nanny from Count Duckula in glasses and a suit, and always politely said hello to everyone when she come in. But that's where the politeness ended. Anyone do anything she didn't agree with and she was a screaming bitch.

It most probably didn't help that the stuff she agreed with wasn't necessarily justified either.

One day another member of the HR team requested for me to come into the office on my day off and attend a photo shoot for some internal company promotion. I reply via email with a small message just saying literally "Oh nice one, I'm not in that day sorry, cannot attend :(" I received an email back which said "Sorry about that; we choose a time when most people were rota'd in that's all." I replied with something very basic like "No probs, just to let you know I have prior arrangements that day and cannot attend, hope it goes well for the others" and that was that.

Except that it wasn't. The HR manager saw my first reply and immediately summoned me to a meeting at her desk. Her desk is right beside about 3 desks full of workers who are all minding their own business getting on with the job at hand. I walk over, sit down opposite her and ask why I've been called over. If she did;
"YOU KNOW WHAT THE HELL I'M ON ABOUT! "OH NICE ONE", HOW DARE YOU EMAIL THAT TO ONE OF MY STAFF..." and she proceeded to reel off while shouting and turning purple about 2 minutes of acting professionally in the workplace, which she currently wasn't while screaming at me for this apparent "abuse" that I had put one of her team members through. Finally she stopped for breath, and I did a quick glance around the office to see about 50 members of staff all gob-smacked looking over to us. Time for a wind-up methinks....

I slowly turn around to her and say very calmly..."Don't you think you are blowing this all out of proportion?"

"I'M NOT BLOWING IT OUT OF PROPORTION!!!!! HOW DARE YOU!!!!" The veins on her head nearly left her skull as she turned almost violet screaming at me. I actually struggle not to smile and looked on intently as she professionally self-destructed in front of the entire office.

Finally after another 2 minutes I asked politely "Can I go back to my desk now?", thanked her then went back to work. The other managers in fairness came over to me to check if I was ok, which was funny as I felt fucking great :D

It turned out that Nanny was a few weeks preggers, and not soon after she found out she handed her notice in as her hormones were funnily enough making her a bit unbalanced. No fucking shit.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 8:41, Reply)
Email received whilst working at an internet bank
Please note:

Due to unforseen circumstances, the planning team will not be available tomorrow morning.


Bob Smith,

Head of planning.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 2:34, 1 reply)
Boss: "Oh, the project is running late, would you mind doing some overtime?"

Me: "I will if I get paid for it"

Boss: "Oh, well if that's your attitude then DON'T BOTHER"

Me: "Suits me"
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 1:41, 1 reply)
Pretty good, actually
When I was in high school the local riding school used to give massive discount rates to the schools for activities week, so they got lots of high school kids riding. Fantastic deal for the kids, even better deal for the stables...

...because all of these kids who aren't old enough to work, but really, really love horses, would come along for the week and have their pony assigned to them. Would learn the pony's name, and how to curry them etc. At the end of the week they'd invariably ask if they could "visit" said pony, to which the stable said, "Yes, you can help out if you like and see Pony as much as you like!"

I think that every time I saw that place there were never less than about 10 kids running around doing all the work (cleaning stalls etc) for a chance to give their pet pony a few sugar lumps.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 0:19, 4 replies)
He really didn't deserve this.
I've worked worked for some terrible cunts. And in the assistance I've given to unions I've come across worse bastards, between employers and unions officials.
The worst guy I ever worked for is someone who I'm, incapable of speaking well of. Any Dublin readers will know of the pub owner who lost a leg in a robbery.
It took me a long time to feel sorry for him.
(, Sat 12 Jun 2010, 0:18, 2 replies)
Times were hard and the job came up
so I became a 'locker room attendant' at a gym whose title sounded like Local Shitness.

Morale among staff was usually rock-bottom, with job descriptions altered at short notice, random bollockings from the often-absent boss and frequent summary sackings. Staff turnover was high, with perfectly good trainers, office staff and cleaners being taken on and given the push like clockwork.

There were some minor compensations, such as the thousands of free sample tins of baked beans and sundry toiletries which we were expected to get rid of ASAP as the boss hated 'clutter'. As we couldn't give them away fast enough to satisfy the daft bastard most of them went home with staff.

I personally sent most of the rest home with members who were university students or their parents. Everyone knows students love deodorants and beans!

One of the boss's tricks was to change staff rotas without notice. One day I came back after a week's leave to find my shifts completely arse-about-tit, to the extent that it was only good luck that I'd even come in on the right day.

I complained bitterly and was told that if I didn't like it, I could sling my 'ook. Which I did.

But being a team player, I did clean the drains first.
(, Fri 11 Jun 2010, 23:21, 2 replies)
Mr Fright - Tales of a modern day twat-Part 4
After leaving hospital with minor anus burns and penis abrasions, Paul decides to have a change of appearance due to the fact that everyone wants to either kill him or have him hung, draw and quartered in public. Upon realising he has no cash he goes off to the cash point to withdraw some wonga. After spending twenty minutes at one machine organising his savings, mortgage and loans he had irritated one old pensioner to the point where she threatened to stick her walking stick where the sun doesn't shine and kick seven shades of shite out of him.

Leaving the cash point with only a tenner, Paul could her the words "fuck off you tight-fisted malingering cunt" being loudly and violently screamed at him by a gang of valium and HRT addicted pensioners. Being an ignorant and misinformed arrogant knob, Paul thinks they are shouting at a bunch of school kids who where laughing there heads off across the street. What Paul did not realise is that the teenagers were gut laughing at the incredibly noticeable shit stain of the back of his "cheap as shit", white, drainpipe trousers.

However, after spending some time out of the country waiting for the "heat to die down", Paul is blissfully unaware of what style is going down with the kids. He decides that a certain level of research is in order and makes his merry way along to the local bowling alley to pucker up on his fashion knowledge. Being tighter than a ducks arse, Paul uses his crumpled up bus ticket to get a cheaper lane. He purposely asks for the lane next to a group of girls who are celebrating there friends fifteenth birthday, but what caught Paul's eye was the distinct lack of adult supervision.

When it comes to these sorts of things Paul is quicker than a rat up a hippies flairs with cheese tied to his knob. But just before he went to his lane Paul buys a drink, with his arms crossed and I his usual cockfesting sarcastic voice he asks for a "yard of your finest ale please innkeeper", in an equally ironic sarcastic tone the spotty faced teenager behind the counter replies "not before I've seen your finest rectangular ID please, TWAT". Being the though fledged dick that he is, Paul digs out old uni card and invariantly dropped a shit load of pictures out of his wallet that look like a rather ugly man shoving a oversized, shit stained black dildo up the rectum of a man in a dress. After some hefty conversation that went along the lines of:

"your a twat"
"what was that prey just said?"
"your a twat, now get fucked and die"
"excuse me my good man"
"I'm not your good man, What part of fuck off don't you understand?"
"pardon comrade"
"just fuck off and take your cunting drink"

Paul was walked away thinking that the service is nothing to what his Iceland days were like, Paul made his way to his lane holding his piss warm carling that has been blatantly spat in by the barman. While looking for his right size ball he was standing next to some blokes and Paul happened to make his usual off the cuff nosey, cuntish comment. "selecting your weapon are you gentleman" to which was swiftly replied "piss off you nonce".

Paul knew he had a real skill at bowling due a miss spent youth hanging round bowling alleys with church groups and work outings EVERY FUCKING Friday night and in later life as a male prostitute looking for business from rich sweedish business men. He knew this was his chance to impress the young ladies on the adjacent lane with his three finger skill. upon bowling a strike on his first go he was expected a certain level off accolade from the girls but he was greeted with laughter and looks of disgust from the girls. Because Paul is a monumental tramp of the highest order, he was wearing the same clothes he was wearing in hospital and was completely unaware that all the stagnant cum stains that the dirty tranny had left on his black trousers were standing out under the neon lights like a "Black man in a Klan rally".

Realising that he cool factor was at minus one million Paul promptly finished his game and left for the arcade............

I have never seen him since he got fired for sexual harassment, i hope i never do.
(, Fri 11 Jun 2010, 22:48, 8 replies)
Mr Fright - Tales of a modern day twat-Part 3
During his trial he decides to represent himself in court as no self-respecting lawyer would touch him with a fifty-foot shit stick. After many hours of endless monotony and court attendees subtly and repeatedly coughing the word "cunt", the jury turns in a verdict of not guilty. When the judge said "what the Fuck" the Forman of jury replied "releasing a man like this back into the community can only serve in the aid of social evolution of our nation. Upon meeting him everyone will be aware of what a complete and utter cunt he actually is and will turn there life around on the spot". With these words resonating around his ears he stands up, folds his arms and laughs like chimpanzee with his balls caught in a metal vice.

With justice served Paul wonders merrily down to the nearest Starbucks for a coffee still wearing the same shit and piss stained clothes. In a sarcastic and moronic tone while playing with his glasses with one hand and fluttering his eyes in a way that suggests a stroke is imminent, he orders a double grande,moccachino,frappechino,espresso with Soya milk and fair trade sugar. Blissfully Unaware of the persistent giggling and hushed name calling that is going on behind the counter he sits down to read is copy of "modern railway collector".

To relieve himself of the stress of relentless court appearances and arrests, Paul decides his best option is to take a short holiday in Beirut. He orders his tickets for an Easy-Jet extra-economy seat (due to his chronic tight-fistedness) and proceeds to board the plane. On finding his extremely small seat (with hay instead of cushions, and a pocket fan with shit smeared on it instead of air-conditioning) he found himself sitting squeezing in between two tramps. Both tramps appear confused due to excessive quantities of alcohol and meth-amphetamines in their system and proceed to drill Paul with random conversation. Unfortunately for the tramps they touch upon the subject of child-molestation on which Paul is an expert. After 3 and half hours of lurid details involving Paul and St Josephs-Boys-Under-12 choir group, the tramps decide to move seats, leaving Paul to stare out of the plane window over the war-torn capital of Lebanon. As the plane touches down Paul decides to go for a jaunt around the city but is instantly pulled up by immigration for numerous sexual offences committed in Britain. However after explaining it was all an accident, the officials let him go into town.

Paul, being a monumental wanker, heads straight for the porno theatre for some continental thrills. 10 minutes into the sex show, Paul manages to entice one of the ladies into a secluded booth, and attempt a bit of 'romance'. Upon finishing his liaison the lady reveals herself to be an old man, and the numerous photographs he had just taken of them together could only be bought for a high price. Paul, being a legendary skin-flint, refuses to pay up and a fight breaks out, with the transvestite old-man beating Paul with a foot-long shit-encrusted dildo whilst Paul attempts to pull his trousers up. The cheap-as-shit trousers Paul has on falls to bits, and he is left running through the Lebanon streets in only a pair of Postman Pat boxers and white socks, with two different sets of cum and shit pasted all over his body.
The ensuing riot that kicks off as a result of the grievous act of heresy of Paul's running through the street leads to an international incident, with Paul at the front line. After pleading ignorance and crying to the judge he is let off with a fine.

Paul then beats a hasty exit back to England, whereupon he is flogged by the public for being such a knob. In the melee at Luton airport Paul's glasses are broken leaving him as blind as teenage boy who has just discovered the internet. His disorientation and latent stupidity leads him to a meeting for right-wing extremists at the local church. His inappropriate laughter during one of the fascist leader's emphatic speeches draws attention to the 100-strong band of skin-head thugs. When someone asked "What the fuck was that garish sniggering?" Paul shouted, hilariously to his own mind, "Your Mum." As Paul was unable to see where he was or the company he was sitting with, he was equally unaware of the impending violence that was coming his way in the form of hammers to the knees, Dr Marten's boots to the testicles, and bolt-cutters to his tongue.

Strangely, Paul survived this onslaught and woke up in hospital the next morning in a full-body cast. He tried to ask one of the nurses if she could cut a hole in the cast so he could use the toilet, which she duly did. She accidentally slipped her scissors right up his bell-end when cutting the hole, after Paul made a woeful attempt at chatting her up. When the nurse bandaged his puny dick up she revealed someone had come to meet him. His eyes pricked up when he was told he had a visitor. After a few minutes a familiar lady entered the room and threw a couple of photos onto his bed. Unable to move and having difficulty breathing, Paul began to fear for his life when he realized it was the old man from his trip. Luckily for Paul he hadn't visited to kill him, but felt concern as the old man gradually lifted a smile from his lips as he unzipped his trousers. "Convenient hole you've made for yourself there." The old man said as he pulled the bed curtains around Paul's bed.
(, Fri 11 Jun 2010, 22:45, 1 reply)
Mr Fright - Tales of a modern day twat-Part 2
On finishing his 89-hour shift at work, Paul then swings past the local orphanage to laugh at the children. He starts to take his spying a little too seriously when he is caught hanging from the 3rd floor window with his trousers round his ankles, cackling manically, with his glasses all wonky.
In the police-cell Paul meets a charming man called Dave, who is 7ft tall, built like oil tanker and has the word "Dave" tattooed backwards on his head. After several minutes of silence, Dave stands up and bangs his head on an overhanging pipe. The resultant roaring laughter from Paul infuriates Dave to the point where he threatens to turn his entire body inside-out and bugger him in the face if he doesn't shut his stupid horse-mouth. Paul, in a moment of weakness retorts that Dave "looks like he's been through a hedge backwards, and is gay." But Before Dave is able to tear Paul's DNA out a policeman enters to take Paul away for processing.

Once bailed from the cells Paul takes a long walk home, mincing along like a right pranny and notices a dying sheep in a field, mewing intermittently with its eyes rolling back in its head and all maggots and flies penetrating the already decaying flesh.
After contracting genital warts and the plague off the dead sheep Paul decides his best plan of action, rather than going to a doctor for antibiotics, is to burn off the warts with some lighter fluid and a match. Inevitably, he sets fire to his entire crotch and runs panic-stricken into the local Nuns-Against-Arson meeting at the school hall. He is chased by a gang of pissed-off nuns who corner him and begin to bat at his bollocks with lead-piping to put the fire out and to release his tiny dick from the hands of the devil. Unfortunately Paul flies into a fit of rage upon hearing one of the nuns whisper something to the effect of "Look at the size of that tosser's willy. You couldn't plug a pin-hole leak with that." And savagely beats 3 nuns to death.

His actions alert the police and he tries to hide from them by dressing as a baby but this only creates further problems as he finally found by the SWAT team, in a nursery, wearing only a toddler's nappy, crying and defecating wildly. His embarrassing attire is made all the worse when he is kept wearing it all night before being thrown into a cell. With Dave.

Upon realising his unbelievable good fortune Dave, who by now has the has the sexual frustration and anger of a bachelor rhino on Viagra who has lost the use of his limbs, grins from ear to ear as the odly dressed and shit smelling Paul Fright is dragged into Dave's cavernous layer. The resulting hours of endless violence, torture, nasal buggery and humiliation towards young fright do not dent that thick skinned outer layer that surrounds his socially unaware soul. He lays in bed that night thinking that this kind of abuse does not hold a candle compared to what he gets at home. As a fait tear drips down his cheek, the slight flicker of an erection from his penis, what can only be medically described as "pathetic", gently arouses him as he plots his future.
(, Fri 11 Jun 2010, 22:42, Reply)
Mr Fright - Tales of a modern day twat
This is some loosely based facts and stories about a guy who claimed to be my boss.......... He is called Paul Fright and is, was, and always will be a complete turd.

Paul would take great pleasure in seeing someone else make a mistake (drop something, trip over, soil yourself etc) by standing near the person, arms folded, shaking his head with a huge shit-eating grin on his face before unleashing some frighteningly cutting and witty remark along the lines of "I don't think you wanted to do that!" Before bowling off and tell all and sundry what a prat you were for fucking up.

He droned on and on about "Uni" and how wacky it is to be a student, have no money, get blitzed on booze every night of the week and have an abundance of sexually active ladies running around him, while at the same time looking like a complete penis with ill-fitting trousers, thick glasses and a laugh that sounds more like a sedated hyena than a human being; working every day God sends, then going out for a night on the town in work uniform, having 4 pints of piss-weak beer and then go of his nut puking over his only work-clothes and then getting blasted by every single girl he comes into contact with, eventually getting raped by two burly overweight men in an alleyway before stumbling home to get a bollocking off his Mum for getting in late.

Sunday afternoons in the Fright household consist of hefty religious gangbang sessions where the family all sit around admiring how great they are while pondering how far his dad can get his fist up his old dears Gary glitter. This is swiftly followed by some hairy-handed adolescent activity in his darkened bedroom with nothing more than a torch and his dad's second hand copy of scouts monthly. After many seconds of vigorous hand shuffling he spills his "Cuntridden" spunk over his hand and then lets the family dog lick it off.

After appearing in court on charges of sexual deviance and pissing off the judge so much that he thinks twice about the use of capital punishment, he swans into work with a swagger that suggest pre teen buggery has taken place in the last few minutes, on his day off. Wearing the most god awful attire (usually consisting of the shittest market stall trainers, the tightest drain pipe stonewash jeans that look like something bon jovi would wear while laxing round the gaff and a t-shirt that would probably say something along the lines of "look busy, Jesus is coming") to tell one and all that they are doing everything wrong no matter what their boss has told them and then proclaim that things you are doing are never going to be as good as the things he has achieved in other places.

He leaves work after an hour of pissing everyone off to the point of bloody murder and strolls gentry down to the nearest church group to offer his mundane drivel to nearest poor sap who is willing to lend a misplaced ear. After a fragrant attempt at luring a young boy into the toilets he leaves with his tail between his legs and off to fight another court order.

The story continues.......
(, Fri 11 Jun 2010, 22:39, Reply)
By old boss was a genuine wanker
I worked for a very brief stint in a 'new media' start up. Basially, a dance music internet radio station with a poncy name. Because I had the ability to google "how to internet radio" and the guy who got the venture capital was a friend of a friend, I became a "head of technology" with basically fuck all by way of experience or qualifications. Learnt a lot on the go, and it was pretty relaxed and fun.

Once, when fixing a problem in one of the 'studios' (a cupboard with a PC, a couple of cheap mics and an even cheaper mixing desk), I noticed that the internet history was full of porn. Hmmm, someone is wanking in the studio. Nasty, but whatever. I don't really care. I forgot about it soon after wiping the desk, keyboard and chair down with wet wipes.

Fast forward a couple of weeks, at one of our "tech reviews", basically all the DJs and the owner give me a list of features that they want and I make up reasons why it's too expensive/impossible to save me from actually doing anything. The boss asks if we can set up a webcam (having just overturned a more or less unanimous demand to be able to take callers on air because the kit costs about £1000, and I can't be arsed finding it and getting it to work with the dodgy panasonic telephone system we have in the 'office') I decide to throw him a bone and do some work.

About three weeks after I'd installed the webcam the boss realised that paying 40 odd DJs, and half a dozen heads of department (friends of friends with less experience in their field than me) was unsustainable on internet radio advertising money. So he decided that he can stop paying everyone if he turns it into a 'community radio' station. All the DJs were told they would be sacked as soon as someone could be found who would do their show for free (wierdos and kids from a couple of local colleges, who were usually better than the proffessional DJs they replaced).

Cheeky fucker tells me that I would have to take a pay cut, but it would be fine because I was now "giving something back" (note, he is taking home shitloads more now, not having to pay anyone). I promptly tell him to shove it up his arse.

Fast forward a couple of months, and all the college kids he had doing the shows for free were removed by their school, due to the place being "an unsuitable enviroment for minors". I get asked back, on my old rate. I had no intention of going back, but I did ask why all the kids wern't allowed to go any more. I found out from one of the old department heads who stayed on that the dumb fucker had forgotten that there were webcams in both studios, and was caught furiously bashing one out by the head teacher of one of the schools who had decided to check up on what her students were doing in the next room.
(, Fri 11 Jun 2010, 21:57, Reply)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1