My Dad, Twat Flat Top, and the Big Bag of Mulha
My dad’s your typical Italian fella – doesn’t trust anyone with his cash. When I was a kid he was sent, under pain of death from my mother, down to the local branch of Barclays with a Tesco carrier bag stuffed full of used notes; his life savings. Some snotty little oik in a shiny Mos Bros suit and a flat top haircut sat us down. Now, my dad’s a bit of a scruffy bloke. Think Lieutanant Columbo’s scruffier brother with an older, shabbier coat and you’re just about there. The twat behind the desk looked at us with utter contempt. Just a wop and his demon spawn.

Then my dad produced the carrier bag and plonked it down on the table with a loud THUD. I thought the twat was going to cum in his pants. Suddenly he was all sweetness and light, offered my old man a cup of coffee, offered me some sweeties. My dad just sat opposite him and scowled – he was a foundry man, hard as nails, and could smell a shister a mile off.

After a few minutes of this twat cooing and talking over what sort of account my dad wanted, it came time to sign the paperwork. My dad reached for the pen on the desk – one of those jobbies attached by a length of chain so no fucker could nick it. As my dad went to sign, he felt his arm jerk back, the chain was too short to sit comfortably in the chair and write anything, even an 'X' (which, thinking about my dad, may have been how he signs his signature). He was not happy. Not at all. He placed the pen down on the desk, reached for the bag of loot, stood up, and we went to leave. Twat flat top, seeing a bonus or the kudos of opening a new account with several grand in it (probably a rarity in Coventry in the recession of the eighties), chased after us: “What appears to be the matter, Mr Hanky?” He asked my dad.

Who stopped long enough to retort: “If you don’t trust me with a 10p biro why should I trust you with this?” And he waved the carrier bag infront of twat’s face like a great big, juicy, plump, lovely carrot.

Then we left. The look on twat flat top’s face was priceless – he looked like he’d just found out the woman he was shagging had herpes, used to be a man, and was – in point of fact – his long lost father.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 16 Jul 2009, 16:44, 7 replies)

From now on
I shall pronounce "SpankyHanky" like Bella out of Fireman Sam would.
(Toucan - http://www.titmonday.com, Thu 16 Jul 2009, 16:47, closed)

"he looked like he’d just found out the woman he was shagging had herpes, used to be a man, and was – in point of fact – his long lost father."
And, this being a SpankyHanky tale, could well have also been the case.

Well done to your dad!
( uberdeity Wondered why Owen Lars knew of the term "hell" on, Thu 16 Jul 2009, 17:13, closed)

..
ikea have taken away their pencils too...

these days people are tighter than a camels ass in a sandstorm

kudos to your old man

click
(Cov Boy, Thu 16 Jul 2009, 17:45, closed)

They must have learned their lesson
I bank with Barclay's for my business and they have a pen stand on the counter saying "please take me" (not the stand, the pens... They're like the ones you get in the bookies but better than nothing)
(Kip, Thu 16 Jul 2009, 18:49, closed)

Your dad
is my new hero.
(EasilyRecognisable I’m back baby, Fri 17 Jul 2009, 6:49, closed)

Free, branded biros
Are a really fucking effective way to keep brand name awareness up. Twatty, tightarsed businesses who aren't bright enough to take advantage of that don't get anywhere near my cash.
(Scritty Bakerman., Fri 17 Jul 2009, 7:35, closed)

Barclays v Argos
After reading Scaryduck's exploits with Ikea and Argos - I now swap the pens from Barclays and Argos :)

Well, I did until my friend who works there (Argos - I'm not THAT much of a twat to have banker friends...I said BANKER). Now she sees me coming in with suspiciously bulging pockets (OMG, I'm turning into Spanky...) and immediately I'm under scrutiny...

Some people have no sense of fun...
( snee held his breath since, Fri 17 Jul 2009, 11:36, closed)