broken promise
yes I will give you all 3 of my votes if you play s friendly match in Trinidad and send Beckham to a training camp........ doh..
(wobbler, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 21:12, Reply)

I promised myself
that I'd never do it again.


Always did.
(Oops....did I say that out loud cos I really bloody want to., Fri 3 Dec 2010, 21:05, 1 reply)

betrayal within betrayal
when i was 16, my family went on holiday to turkey. having a serious dislike of flying, coupled with a tendency to burn in even mild sun and an intolerance of temperatures over 25 degrees celsius, it was decided that i would stay behind to guard the family fortress for 2 weeks. i promised my parents faithfully that i wouldn't have any parties.
that promise lasted a whole 6 hours.
a bunch of my mates arrived as soon as they were stocked up with booze and we proceeded to trash the place. for 9 days, my house was party central. people i didn't even know were turning up with booze and weed, looking for somewhere to cut loose. i knew things were getting out of control, but it was awesome.
on day 10, i fell ill with the 'flu. my sister's friend had been invited by my parents to stay with me and promised to take care of me while i was ill.
now, i only get the 'flu about once every 10 years but, when i do, i get a fever so high that i hallucinate. i'm totally out of it for 3 days. i was relying on my sister's mate to keep things together for me.
day 14, 6 hours before the family were due home, i woke up fully dressed in a bath full of cold water, clutching the taps. i had no idea how i'd got there and my sister's mate was nowhere to be found. the house was a complete wreck and all my so-called friends had scarpered, leaving me to set things to rights myself.
dear readers, i cleaned like i've never cleaned before. beds were stripped and remade, floors were swept, hoovered, mopped and scrubbed, the kitchen was attacked with martha stewart-like zeal. i even managed to get the stains off the couch. i still felt like death, but at least the place was clean.
half an hour before my family got back, sister's friend turned up, full of apologies. supposedly, she'd been to sort a few things out with her father. she told me she hadn't let anyone in whilst i'd been ill, but hadn't been able to clean as she was ill herself.
funny, she didn't look ill to me.
when the family got home, it took mum almost 5 minutes to find something to yell at me for. it took her 5 hours to stop, though. as the house was still standing, i was let off pretty lightly.

2 days later, i was facing a furious mother, who accused me of running a brothel in her absence. it seems that, when i was sick, sister's friend had been screwing my brother's friends all over the house, including in my parents' bed. despite my protestations of innocence, mum didn't believe a word i said.
it took 10 years for them to trust me to look after the house alone again.
still, it was worth it.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 18:53, 4 replies)

I promised
I wouldn't let male pattern baldness get to me. Now I always wear a hat.
(Sadarse works like Mist condensing mud flaps, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 18:30, 2 replies)

A Christmas True Story
Nothing causes more broken promises than an addiction to alcohol. Work, family, friends, they all bear the brunt and eventually stop calling, visiting and finally, stop caring.

This is a true story.

In Glasgow, most of the high rise blocks have a concierge office … basically one of the flats in the building has one or two guys who look after the place, letting in workmen, monitoring the CCTV, making minor repairs and helping out where possible. Some are better than others, but let me tell you about John (for that is his name). Now he has actually been recognised for his work in organising charity football matches, and he also runs trips to places like the Science Centre for local kids and runs things like OAP meals and trips to the bingo, but forget about that, let me tell you something that happened last Christmas.

One of the residents he looked after was an alcoholic (let’s call him ‘the man’). An alcoholic who was in such a bad way that although he was only mid forties, he had problems leaving the house, and no amount of talking and persuading would stop him drinking. He was killing himself slowly. What John did was to talk to every other person around his flat, saying ‘Look I know you think you’re doing this guy a favour by getting him drink. Don’t. Get him milk, tea, toilet roll, food. If he wants booze he’ll bloody well have to get it for himself.’

This resulted in a few sober days where John managed to have a few talks with him, discover things about his old job, his estranged mother and family, and helped him start to tidy up the flat he lived in, which through years of neglect was in a very bad way.

He still drank, a lot. No-one would help him get drink, but if he wanted it badly enough no-one could really stop him. There’s no overnight cure, especially if the person looking after you is just essentially an employee of the landlords of the building you live in, but over the months, the flat became tidier, the man started looking after himself a bit more and occasionally got out the house for things other than a trip to the pub.

John was working on Christmas morning last year. The two concierges who were on duty called at the man’s flat early, bundled in and John said, ‘Right, it’s time.’ He was handed a razor, made to have a long wash and dressed in some ‘new’ smarter clothes. He was bundled into a car and taken across Glasgow, destination unknown.

They pulled up at a non-descript house, the man was marched up the drive, the bell was rang and the door answered by an older lady.

“Mrs, here’s your son.”


He didn’t stick around for the reaction. His second job that morning was to return to the block he looked after and make sure every child, children of asylum seekers who didn’t celebrate Christmas, children with parents who couldn’t afford it, every single child who lived there, got a present. Paid for from his own pocket. I can imagine he felt a bit tired but happy that evening as he and the other concierge sat with their feet up in their little office when there was a knock on the door.

The man, his mum, his sisters and their husbands came in with some foil covered plates, a big Christmas dinner for John and whoever was on shift with him (and a surreptitious can of beer or two for them to take home). Not much, but all they could afford, and they’d travelled across Glasgow with it.

The man’s family had welcomed him with open arms, and that day the man had discovered for the first time that he was an uncle … and his mum had got her son back for Christmas.

Apologies for length, and the wee bit of shoehorning needed to get this into the QOTW this week. This is a completely true story told to me by someone who knows him and knows of his work. As I say he has been recognized in a small way for what he does, but John is simply one of the good guys in this world. He makes a huge difference for those that need it and in doing so makes everything just a wee bit better for us all.

Cheers, Cheeses
( Cheeses of Nazareth Where's Captain Kirk? www.whereiskirk.com, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 18:01, 24 replies)

A Life Lesson, With Tragic Consequences
I learned a valuable lesson on betrayal in primary school, as well as a deep insight into the inner workings of democracy (sort of). I ask you to cast your wavy lines back to the summer of 1995. I was a sprightly, naive 10 year old, and for the first time in my life, I was winning 'sports'.

I was a scrawny child. I combined a lack of confidence with a lack of stamina, strength, endurance and technique to be one of the kids who got picked last for everything. However, this sports day, everything was going to change. I would be racing against fatties, and I was going to fucking win.

We had a ‘houses’ system at primary school, and ours was Saxons. And we were shit. The Normans, appropriately*, would trounce us every year. Each house was split between boys and girls. The Romans had half a dozen of the finest sportsmen available. We had 2 fat kids and me. I don’t know why the teachers would do this to us.

However, the upside, as I alluded to earlier, was that the qualifying phase for each race was purely ‘in-house’. The top 2 finishers then went through to the inter-house final. I ran my approval-seeking little heart out in every single event to embarrass those fatties, and it felt fucking great. I’d burst triumphantly through the tape, hardly out of breath, and turn around to see them barely past 10 metres, panting, red-faced and jiggling along, each desperate to beat the other.

The crux of this story is that before sports day, a vote would take place between the houses. This was to decide who the Captain, and Vice-Captain of the respective teams would be. Once again, bewilderingly, this was divided between boys and girls, so our vote was once again between me and the fatties, again with only one loser. The winners got badges. Not plastic, round ‘Happy Birthday’ badges. Real fucking metal badges, colour-coded to your house, with actual metal pins and everything. The only other way of getting one of these badges was to have ‘Librarian’ written on it, and fuck that for a game of soldiers. Needless to say, I wanted that Captain’s badge.

We only had 1 vote to cast between the 3 of us. If we all voted for a different person, it would be a tie and a re-vote. In the pre-vote planning session (break time) one of the fat kids approached me with a golden proposition. If I voted for him, he would in turn, guarantee me his vote. As you couldn’t vote for yourself, that would ensure that the final kid’s vote would make one of us Captain, the other Vice-Captain. Sure, it wasn’t a guaranteed Captain’s badge, (which for some reason I felt I deserved), but it was a guaranteed mother fucking badge, and that was better than nothing. So, I agreed. He would get my vote.

Results day finally came in, after all the votes had been counted, and re-counted. I could barely contain my excitement. Was it to be Captain, or Vice-Captain? Which side of my chest would I pin it to?

‘And the Captain of the Saxon team is..... Fatty#1!’

Shit. Oh well. I knew this was a possibility. Life goes on.

‘And the Vice-Captain is..... Fatty #2!’

You fucking what.

He told me to my face, that vote was mine. But.. what if he told fatty #2 the same thing? Oh my God... I’ve been done like a fucking kipper. How could I not have seen this coming? How could I be so naive? I trusted him, and now my life was effectively, over.

And that’s how I became a librarian.

*I've changed the name of that house to hopefully make it seem like I know what i'm talking about historically, according to a quick google search, which might be wrong. It was actually the Romans. I can't be arsed to look it up.
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 15:29, 13 replies)

I Promise that I only use the internet responsibly in work
and that I don't sit on b3ta for most of the day.
(Ace McAce Where we're going, we don't need roads, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 15:17, 2 replies)

The whole i love you thing
without the actual loving part
well the part blokes are interested in anyway

to have and to hold......whatever
(Cov Boy, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 14:56, Reply)

Where...
the fuck are all the flying cars and automatic shit we wuz promised yonks ago?

WELL????

Popular Science, you got some 'splaining to do...
( HairyTwatter certified eel and sodium salesman, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 14:45, 1 reply)

"I'm not cheating on you"
"Especially not with my redhaired friend in London that I keep finding excuses for you to not meet."

"I promise I won't have to 'work' this weekend."

"I can't get signal, that's the only reason I don't call or text when I'm 'working'."

"I won't ever lie to you."

"I won't be late again."

"Those knickers that don't belong to you are only a friend's, nothing happened."

"I'm anal about my sexual health." (His words, not mine!)

"That chlamydia test must be wrong."

Yeah right.

I've made a promise to myself now - I am definitely not going to be that naive again!
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 14:42, 9 replies)

Simply
I'm too tired, tomorrow night
(Pesky Young Scamp, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 13:56, Reply)

Possible top 3?
The cheque's in the post.
I'll do the washing up later.
I won't come in your mouth.
(Hairy Bob, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 11:42, Reply)

Don't worry,
I'm not a rapist.
(stonersmurf stuckin' foned, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 11:01, Reply)

The goverment of South Africa
They campaigned and beat apartheid on the basis of the Freedom charter. One choice bit that they have pissed all over is:

1 Our country will never be prosperous or free until all our people live in brotherhood, enjoying equal rights and opportunities.

How is this bullshit? Well for one we have Black Economic Empowerment. A very noble idea that would allow blacks to get a foothold in the economy. It basically states that employers must give blacks preference over whites when employing any staff. If you count creating a rich Black elite from the upper echelons of government then this has been an unmitigated success. The fact that the presidents son, who is in his low 20's, is just about to become a Billionaire is testament to how this policy is being used to line the pockets of our "leaders" and their families. The policy has been severely criticized by non other than old Arch des. That's Desmond Tutu to you. It's a dismal failure at creating a multicultural and fair society.

Oh,and for those of you of Indian or Chinese persuasion you may be interested to know that in South Africa you are for all intents and purposes classed as Black. The reason being that they were initially excluded from any of the BEE benefits. So they went to court and successfully lobbied to have themselves reclassified as black. Perhaps another indication of just how absurd racial policies are becoming in SA.

You may think it's justly fair that these policies favour blacks because of Apartheid, however that is taking a simplistic view. They aren't doing anything other than create a mega-wealthy elite and for the vast majority of black South Africans life hasn't improved much since 1990. Unemployment still stands at around 35%. We have the highest aids infection rate in the world, there were over 17 000 murders last year and the rape stats are appalling. So where is all this crime? About 95% of it is in traditionally black neighborhoods.

I'd like to go and live there one day, but it looks like it's slowly going the way of every other african despot ruled state. The system of getting to the top and filling your pockets with money is alive and well in good old South Africa.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 10:59, 3 replies)

When all this were fields,
I was very much the worse for wear after a hand full of liberty caps. As I lay curled up in ball with a snotty face and tears streaming down my cheeks, I remember promising God- for I had quite a bit of faith at the time- that if He would make it stop, I would be nice to my parents, always do my homework, and go to church every Sunday.

Sorry about that big fella.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 10:27, 2 replies)

Yes, you can has cheezeburger....
Silly kittehs lolwtf!!!!11
(Mmmmminty all the beatles are aliens except for George, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 10:03, Reply)

I once promised not to be a cunt
I think it lasted all of an hour
(Anne Frank started to build a loft conversion on, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 9:37, Reply)

Massive drugs
1. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness.
2. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.
3. We will comprehend the word serenity.
4. We will know peace.
5. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others.
6. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear.
7. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows.
8. Self-seeking will slip away.
9. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change.
10. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us.
11. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us.
12. We will suddenly realize that GodMassive Drugs are doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.
( buffet_the_appetite_slayer ٩(●̮̃•)۶ jacked in to the ICE on, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 8:46, 12 replies)

Adverts make such promises
I remember as a nipper - must have been three or four. There was an advert for Rice Crispies on the TV at the time, with transfers of "Snap", "Crackle" and Pop" which you rubbed into some flat surface. Once the kid in the advert had done it (him with his blonde hair and milk teeth - sickening little bastard), the characters in the transfers magically started flying through the air much to TV Boy's delight and wonder.

Normally we were a Cornflakes family, but seeing this advert made me pester my mum to get some Rice Crispies. I was all for magical cartoon characters flying through my living room! Hell yes! Eventually my mum yielded to my petted-lip and foot-stamping and bought a packet. As soon as she got them home I snatched them from the bag, found the tranfers and got a 50 piece (one of the LARGE ones) to rub away like an avid masturbator with a copy of Razzle Dazzle.

One transfer down - nothing. The picture was there, but no flying or magic. Two down... then three... nothing!! No magic flying cartoon characters at all. WHAT A SWIZ!

Never been so disappinted.
(McChinaman banned, Fri 3 Dec 2010, 3:04, 2 replies)

I made a hell of a promise once. I promised a young dame I'd never die.
You might be thinkin' what kind a foolhardy sonovabitch says something like that. I'll tell you what kind - the kind who finds himself in love with a sweet little pixie with legs that reach all the way to the ground. A street-hardened farmboy-turned-cop with stars in his eyes who longs to know the touch of a real woman.

Jane was her name, and what she needed was a man. She'd loved and lost more times than an adult film star with a fear of success. I leaned forward across the table in the smoke filled bar, head buzzing from one too many Shirley Temples.

"I may not be a young man or a rich man, but I can promise I'll be there for you, Jane. When the going gets tough I'm the kinda guy who sees it though."

She started to sob like an inverted hyena. If tears were words, her eyes were a German dictionary, "You're a good man, but--"

"Jane, baby, tell me what's wrong."

"I can't lose you. I've lost so much."

"I've lost something too, baby. My mind. Because of you I can't think straight anymore. I try to work, but you keep barging into my thoughts like a sex-crazed Kool Aid man and I'm the only glass in town."

She welled up, "Oh Frank--"

"I'll be with you forever, sweetheart. I promise you I'll never die."

She looked at me with eyes like headlights, and headlights like two bald men fighting over a chicken wing, "Surely, you can't promise that."

"I can, toots, and don't call me Shirley."

Regrettably, it was a promise I couldn't keep.


We'll miss you, Les.
( Digeridude Lord Wellington's Beef Trapeze, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 23:51, 3 replies)

One of my wife's friends
is one of those people who things happen to. She constantly has these crazy stories that she hardly things worth commenting on; she assumes everyone's lives must be like hers.
Recently she told me that she was on a train from Chicago to Los Angeles. She was having a drink in the bar carriage (or whatever its called) and she could hear a group of blokes rating women marks out of 10. She turned around, hoping that the loudest most anoying one would be really ugly. Unfortunately he wasn't.
He was young, and was on his way to Los Angeles for a casting. He was a bit drunk and was trying endlessly to chat up my friend. She was literally double his age though, and told him to give up 'cos he was a child. When he found out that she had a compartment on the train all to herself, he asked if he could share with her, because he was sharing with three other boys and "wouldn't be able to get any sleep".
He promised that he "wouldn't do anything weird" and she reluctantly agreed. He took the bottom bunk.
The reason this fits in with the qotw is that he wasn't entirely true to his word as, as soon as he thought she had fallen asleep, he masturbated furiously for the best part of 3 hours, the bunk squeaking, while my friend lay there dejectedly staring at the ceiling.
When she got home she googled him and realised why he looked familiar. I'm not saying who he was, but he was off Neighbours and wasn't Harold Bishop.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 23:22, 11 replies)

"We can't afford to pay you overtime anymore
but we'll change the way our company has treated its employees for the past decade, just so you won't have work any."

Shower of cunts.
( argyleblanket The man on the roof works for me, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 22:40, 2 replies)

Nick Clegg

When people meet a comedian, they often say "Well say something funny". Likewise, when they meet a politician, the first thing that springs to mind is "Tell me a lie then..."

But we thought Nick was going to be different.

In the Liberal manifesto, at the last election, they pledged to resist and vote against any increase in the tuition fees. Further more, over 500 Liberal candidates at the last election signed the following:

"I pledge to vote against any increase in fees in the next parliament and to pressure the government to introduce a fairer alternative"

Take note of the part where they said they would pressure the government - implying that they knew they weren't going to BE the government but would use their votes to resist.

All through the campaign, in speech after speech Clegg promised that tuition fees were his line in the sand. Something he wouldn't compromise on. He gave his word, he signed a pledge, he crossed his heart and hoped to die......

Then, at the first whiff of power, Deputy Prime Minister in fact, he abandoned his principles, betrayed those that voted for him and his party, and showed the world what a lying, two-faced, corruptible cunt he really is.

There's promises and there's promises - especially in politics - but there are some things that you have to stand up for. And giving your word, signing a pledge and making that pledge a core part of your manifesto, is one of them.

Nick Clegg - you're a contemptible, lying, oath-breaking, untrustworthy, piece of shit. I wouldn't even give you the cheese under my foreskin if you were starving. Enjoy your year or so in the spotlight because, when the next election comes, you're going to be destroyed and wiped from the face of British politics. A taste of what's to come will be in the Council elections in May.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 22:33, 49 replies)

This sort of rolls along from last weeks QOTW.

When dad died we had him cremated. He had always been a really tight old bugger and he hadn't wanted a fancy urn or anything, so we just had his ashes in a simple porcelain jar. We had promised to distribute his remains near his favourite fishing spot. After the ceremony mum takes us there and opens the jar and shakes some ashes into her hand and says a few words. Dads frugality was always a family joke so mum says 'Hon, you know the new car and the new kitchen you always promised me? I'm going to buy it out of the insurance money. And you know the blowjob I always promised you? Well here it is....'
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 22:26, 7 replies)

yeh right
I love you

Repeated over every lass i dated

Now retired

Length ?- irrellevant
(shug, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 21:40, 1 reply)

he's my cousin, i promise!
we were just talking, honestly!
i spilt coffee on my dress, i had to put my nightie on, i promise i'm telling the truth!
of course i'd never cheat on you!
yes, i'll marry you.
i swear, i'm just going out with the girls, i promise i won't even look at another man!
i'll wait for you to get out of prison!

yeah, right.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 21:19, 3 replies)