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"Here in my car", said 80s pop hero Gary Numan, "I feel safest of all". He obviously never shared the same stretch of road as me, then. Automotive tales of mirth and woe, please.

(, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 12:34)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, ... 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, ... 1

This question is now closed.

I gave Carcraft a big SLAP!
I was a man on a mission. I bought a car from Carcraft back in 2003 with the Peace of Mind Promise of "if anything goes wrong, our warranty covers it!" How wrong I was!

6000 miles later as required on their guarantee, I took the car for a service. A wrath of hell was uncovered. I found out my new shiny pride and joy was actually an over priced wreck! But no problem! Can get her all fixed up and back on the wrong. The dealer told me not to drive the vehicle due to the turbo leaking oil all over the engine and problems with the breaks. So no problem. Told them to liase with Carcraft get it me fixed and I'd be sorted.

Except Carcraft said nooo! "We only cover sudden mechanical breakdowns" They don't cover stuff that is about to break. "But the turbo is leaking all over the engine" "Yes but its still working, so we dont cover it" "So what am I supposed to do? Carry on driving it, until it explodes and then you'll cover it?" "No, because you know about the problem and that would be driver neglect, so we don't cover that"

And so there we had it! MyCarcraftExperience.co.uk was born. And the blog of my events were put up there. Nothing slanderous, just an account of what was going on in my fight to get my car repaired. Carcraft had the audacity to write to my internet service provider to have the site taken down. They wimped out and pulled the site. So I relaunched the site on a norweigan host. So Carcraft wrote to them, who said "Sod off!" which was funny! The site was doing well and drawing in a lot of hits. Some SEO had it high in the list of a "carcraft" search in google. People were writing to me sharing their experiences which I put up on the site. I also did an Interview with my local BBC about my story who aired it on the day they opened their new Leeds branch.

I then get a phone call from the guy who's just under their top guy saying "Right, I've reviewed your claim and we will cover it. I want to get that car back on the road!" And then after 2 months of having no car, a courtesey car turned up. A month later, my car was repaired at no cost to me!

But of course the site still exists, and 7 years later, I am still getting emails from people asking for my help in sorting out various problems with this company. I've also had emails from people who used to work at Carcraft telling me some great secrets from within. I've also heard about people who were sacked for viewing my site at their work. The best thing though, I still get emails from people thanking me for the site being there. They read about my ordeal and others, and decided not to buy a car from there.

I would love to know for the sake of £2,000 repairs my car needed, how many cars they did not sell thanks to me.

Carcraft, You were sh*t, you tried to get out of covering the warranty on my car. You failed. And I gave you a big SLAP! You deserved it!
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 13:07, 13 replies)
My brother was driving back from a training conference along the delightful M25 when - not much of a surprise - the cars in front started to slow and a traffic jam formed. Apparently this was not seen by a young American bint driving a large 4x4 who ploughed into the back of him at high speed causing a large pile up and the closure of the road.

Meanwhile, myself and my mum were waiting in a beer garden for him as it was nice and sunny and we'd all decided to meet up for a pub lunch. My brother's never been particularly talkative on the phone so when I got a call on my mobile from him saying "been held up, be there in about an hour" we were not too stressed.

He finally stumbled into the beer garden two hours later with his face covered in bruises from the airbag and dried blood down his shirt. He was fine luckily but still a little (understandably) shocked as all we could get out of him was:

"They made me go to hospital and the doctor put his finger up my bum"

It took a while to convince him that it was a proper medical test and it wasn't that the male doctor 'really, really liked him.'
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 13:04, 2 replies)
My mum's car does this every time I (or indeed anyone) drive the car over 75mph. I was giving my dad a lift to Luton airport, and the bloody thing gave away that I was speeding.

"Funny thing dad, it doesn't beep again when you get to 100!" I said. That didn't calm him down.

I then managed to follow it up with
"Yeah, and it stays quiet even when you go over 130."

It was fascinating watching my Dad's facial expression turn from "OH-DEAR-GOD-MY-SON-DOES-130MPH-HES-GOING-TO-DIE" to "I wonder how he managed to do that in a Fiat Punto?" to "That's mildly impressive" to "THAT-LITTLE-TWAT-BETTER-NOT-DO-THAT-WHILE-IM-NOT-AROUND".

Fortunately he didn't ban me from driving cos I needed the car for work. Should take an hour to get there, takes me 30 mins! Huzzah.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 13:02, Reply)
Some kind of superbird???
Disembarking from a train, getting through the ticket barriers, shouldering a backpack and standing round waiting for your girlfriend (who you haven’t seen for three weeks) and her father (who you haven’t met before) is pretty straightfoward.

Unless you have a weeping hard on.

Then it becomes a challenge. For a start even taking the smallest of steps means your peice is rubbing on the inside of your zipper which could either lead to sever friction burns on your purple headed-love-lance or, very possibly, an ejaculation with such percussive force you’d end up falling over backwards as if someone had just shot you in the bollocks with a twelve bore shotgun.

I was twenty. I was horny. And I was visiting my first ever proper bona fide girlfriend on her home turf (someone I had convinced somehow to have full blown sexual intercourse with me on a regular basis without having to pay her afterwards) for the first time. Her name was Nikki and she lived in the depraved, puke-stained Vegas of the North, Blackpool. We’d hooked up towards the end of the last semster at Uni and spent our time alternating between shagging and eating tubes of pringles in bed. Then term ended. She fucked off to Blackpool, I fucked off back to the Midlands dragging my engorged blue balls behind me on a sled.

Three weeks later, comming up to dusk, I find myself waiting in Blackpool train station for my cum recepticle and her dad. And they turn up. And my cock goes even harder as I see Nikki jiggle and bounce toward me.

Moments later Nikki and I are holding hands on the backseat of her dad’s Rover. (It was red, that’s about as technical as I get about cars). It was a warm summer’s evening, the door on myside was wound down. But as the night was setting in it became a little chilly, so I absently pressed the little switch at my side and the window slid effortlessly closed with a satisfying little buzz. I was happy. And to show my happiness I manouvered Nikki’s hand over my crotch and got her to practice changing gears on my stick while her dad, oblivious, talked about footie in the drivers seat.

Nikki’s dad explained he had to pop into Sainsbury’s for some groceries, so he pulled up, unbuckled and said: “Won’t be long. You can come if you want.”

We didn’t ‘want’. We stayed in the car and necked a bit. Nikki smelt good. Her exposed thighs were smooth and tanned and I felt my hand sliding up her firm upper legs, my fingers playing over her plump moist gash through the thin cotton of her knickers. And then ziiiipppp. In one fluid motion I found myself staring at the back of Nikki’s dirty blonde (and she was) head as she bobbed up and down on my meat oboe, trying with all her might to get a fucking tune out of it.

“What about your dad?” I whimpered.

Nikki stopped breifly, smiled up and said: “He won’t be back for ages.” And then she continued her job in hand (and mouth), as I sat in the summer darkness of a Sainsbury’s carpark, in a Rover (a nice red one), and had my cock sucked by a girl who could tie a peice of string into a knot using only her tongue.

Fourty-five seconds later (hell, I hadn’t seen her for three weeks), I felt the sperm in my balls take the express elevator up my flesh fun tower and make a sudden appearence, en masse, at the single slanty exit on the observation level.

Nikki gagged but – always the trooper – clamped down with her lips until I’d stopped jerking and twitching like a body popper with Parkinsons. But Nikki had a strange trait. One that some girls have and others don’t. One that meant that usually, back in our halls, we’d have an empty glass waiting on the bedside cabinet. Nikki was a spitter. She looked up at me, smiling (as well as you can with a mouthful of premium testicle tadpoles) and for one brief moment I though she was going to gulp it down. But instead she leaned over me and spat it out my window and onto the tarmak outside. Then Nikki came up for a kiss (fucking hate it when that happens). And then, having a post blowjob hug, we waited for her old man to reappear.
He came back with a bit of shopping and we made our way leisurly toward home, Nikki and I all cuddled up. Great weather. Young love. I’d just had my tadger gobbled. Serene.

When we arrived at Nikki’s parent’s house the girlfriend and I went inside, Nikki’s dad explained he needed to park the motor in the garage. Nikki and I went in and met her mum. She had tea waiting for us. Perfect. Nikki’s old man made an appearence: “Seagulls! Loads of ‘um round here, unfortunately – always leaving their muck on the car.” He disappeared into the kitchen, came out with a cup of water and a cloth, then went back outside.

It was a great evening – going through old photo’s of Nikki as a nipper, having a slap up meal, then disappearing to the spare room (wasn’t allowed to sleep with Nikki, good God no) for a bit of a cheeky groap before bedtime.

And as I was getting to sleep I realised Nikki’s dad had become somewhat withdrawn through the evening. Initially he was pretty chatty, nice, quite ok with the fact that I was almost certainly fucking his little girl. But that’d changed. And I thought back to the moment that’d changed. I was feeling pretty uncomfortable now, lying in bed, wide awake. It was when he went out to clean the seagull shit off the car. He’d come back, given me an odd look, and pretty much done the mean and moody thing from then on.

And then – with my stomach sinking – it dawned on me and hit me in the balls like a jack hammer.

I recalled - with absolute dread – that I’d wound the window up on my side on the way to the supermarket without Nikki noticing.... ....and I don’t think for one minute Nikki’s dad would actually beleive some kind of super seagull had managed to shit, leaving a long trail of milky, sticky, clammy goodness, on the inside of the rear passenger side window...
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:58, 14 replies)
It's all about being creative
I had a biology teacher at my secondary school 6th form that drove a reliant robin. Whilst he was actually a fairly decent teacher his choice of car singled him out to be ridiculed. One day a group of 12 including myself decided that something needed to be done about the car. We hatched a plan to move it, but we didn't want to drive it. We wondered if we could bounce it down the road a bit and when we tried we found it to be incredibly light, testament to the production values.

We had a new plan. We picked the car up and carried it onto the school yard, at one point lifting it over some medium height railings. We then looked up at the biology lab knowing the teacher would gaze out of the window. To our delight we saw him walk past the window, give a casual glance outside and carried on walking. In less than a second he appeared back at the window, looking totally puzzled as to how his car had ended up in the yard when there was no obvious way it could have been driven there. My lip-reading was basic, but I could make out one or two, shall we say, biological swear words.

We were laughing so hard one of my friends had to go to the nurse as he banged his head on the ground. If you're out there Sir, I'm sorry.. a bit.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:50, Reply)
Austin 1300 gee tee saves Bedford furniture truck!
My brother once [1979] had a Bedford TK furniture truck. Piece of shit, petrol engine, dodgy starter motor, park it on a slope,etc. Got to the bottom of the hill one day, still not started. I foolishly agreed to try and tow start it with my Austin 1300. No probs, it's got GT badges, it can do anything.10mph, drop the clutch, broke the rope several times, longstoryshort,got out the chain.Bad idea.Brother is getting pissy,20mph or die trying. Screaming along in first, I hit 25mph before he slips the truck clutch. Slips? Took his foot straight off. The first BANG I heard was the rear subframe heading out from under the car at 25mph, taking the rear axle with it. Second Bang was the stern of the car hitting the road. The biggest bang came when the TK lurched into life and tried to have sex with the back of my stricken Austin Shitbox 1300 GT. My big brother did exactly what I would have done... unhitched the chain, and waved as he buggered off to work,leaving me with an Austin 2 wheeler.

Length? Considerably shorter, thanks bro.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:49, 2 replies)
Beware of cheap projects
Last winter, I bought a bike. It cost me £120, and it was bought as a non runner (well, that's not strictly true - it did run, but it sounded like a trio of epeleptic monkeys banging spanners against a bundle of sewer pipes).

"Aha! A cheap project!", I thought. Foolishly.

Since then I've rebuilt the engine, replaced most of the suspension, got rid of loads of corrosion, resprayed it and repaired a whole herd of electrical gremlins.

Last night, I went through my receipts. Turns out to get it to its current state (good enough to go on the road) it's cost me over £400. Excluding the bike itself.

Could have just bought a working bike in the first place for that.

Worst thing is, I'm already bored of it...

Nontheless, would I do it again? Absolutely. I've learnt LOADS. Namely how to take an engine to bits AND still be able to put it back together again.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:43, 5 replies)
Like many young and foolish people, when young and foolish I made a habit of driving around whilst very stoned. It's a stupid idea and one I look back on with great shame, but it did result in a couple of funny stories.

After one late night session, I was both very tired and - having got the munchies - very hungry. So as I decided to go home and went out to the car, passengers in tow, our host kindly came out to the car and offered me a large slice of chocolate cake.

I wanted to drive home. I also wanted to eat the cake.

The result? I drove the entire journey across Bristol in first gear, so I'd have a hand free to manage cake. But of course, being in a hurry, I didn't let the gear thing slow me down.

I suspect the sound of the engine screaming must have woken the inhabitants of every house we passed.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:39, Reply)
Chain collisions
I passed my test first time. Which is as good an indicator as any that the number of attempts taken is zero indicator of driving ability.

One day I took the family car for a drive to Norwich with some friends, a trip of about an hour each way. The journey out was uneventful. When I came to leave I managed to manoeuvre the car into a pillar and dented the boot.

Shortly afterwards I tried to get through too small a gap in the traffic and tore off both wing mirrors.

Shortly after that I stopped to inspect the damage, and whilst manoeuvring to get back on the road I hit a bollard and dented the bonnet.

I'm a lot better driver now than I was. But after that, frankly, I'm amazed my parents ever let me near a car again for long enough to improve.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:34, Reply)
My Auntie
Auntie Dot and my Mum are twins. One of their shared characteristics is an incredible inability to pronounce various words. LOL moments apently during my childhood, especially hearing them trying to say 'fire' which comes out like 'far', 'eyegue' instead of 'argue'.

Anyway, I digress, imagine a social gathering where three generations of the extended family are all assembled, and the women get down to talking about cars. Auntie Dot, in reference to Uncle Pete's antiquated old Swedish jallopy, waits for everyone else's conversations to dry up before announcing thusly:

'Of course Pete will be gutted when he has to give up his old Vulva'.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:32, 1 reply)
Overtaking + ice = sandwiches.
Along the Beverley bypass, there's a section half way along where it becomes a dual carriageway. Because the traffic is always stuck behind a small box-lorry doing 40mph with a learner-driver in it, the dual carriageway bit is something to look forward to.

Just after Xmas, Mrs SLVA and I were going down said road as we'd fancied a pub-meal in some small village or other. The snow had cleared except at the sides and the road was wet from snowmelt.

After being stuck behind a lorry learner-driver for a good couple of miles, we approached the dual carriageway I overtook the lorry. As I got past, I noticed it going down a slip-road towards Beverley.
"Bugger, I might as well have waited, damn my impatience"

I decided to pull back into the left-hand lane but I hadn't anticipated the large ridge of slush that seperated the lanes and the larger patch of slush in the centre of each lane, which hadn't melted as it was in the shadow of the bridge across the road.

The slush kicked the front wheels hard enough to put me in a spin. Mrs SLVA screamed and how I didn't fill my pants is a mystery as the car span just over a full rotation before the wheels gripped the slush-free tarmac again and we were pointing in the right direction again. This unplanned manouvre including hitting the bare tarmac again had slowed the car to about 20mph.
"Jesusfuckingchrist!!" gasped my missus gripping the door handle and the edge of her seat, her eyes wide in fright. Now the car was rolling fine again I actually laughed.
"Oops" I said, dropped it into second gear and began to speed up again.
"Oops?? Fucking oops!!??" is that all you can say? Fucking oops?"
"That was thrilling" I replied surprised at my own calmness.
"Can we go back home?" she asked, "I'm not hungry anymore"
"Tschoh! I suppose so." and that's how I ended up having to make do with a bacon sandwich back home.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:22, 3 replies)

4 wheels move the body. 2 wheels move the soul.

That is all.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:09, 8 replies)
Not me but my brother
Selling his trusty aincient volvo, needed it to look nice (well, a bit better at least). So he filled some of the worst holes in the wing with, well he'd run out of body filler but it had been raining, mud. He said it didn't look too bad after it had been smoothed off and sprayed.

Got a call from the purchaser a couple of weeks later.

It had sprouted!
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:09, 3 replies)
It's neither big nor clever.
First off, I would like to say that I in no way condone drink driving. I would happily use people convicted of it as live crash test dummies. Where the seriousness of the offence is inversly proportional to the safety of the car used. Oh you have been bad... sorry its a 2CV "Dolly" at 70mph into this concrete wall for you sir!

However, as a friend of mine recently found out in Cyprus, the police there are a little less concerned. The conversation went as follows:

Police Officer: Sir, I have stopped you tonight as I think you may have had too many Mythos this evening.
Drunken Friend: Thank Feck for that! I thought there was something wrong with the car!
Police Officer: Can I have your address?
Drunken Friend: Sure, its xxxxxx
Police Office: OK please follow me and I will make sure you get home safe
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:08, 2 replies)
my first ever car was a really old J reg nissan micra, who I named "Carzilla" just because of its fearlessness of everything! it had proper charactor and i loved him. that car never broke down for the whole 5 years i had him until its cambelt broke and killed him off proper!

the story is about my next banger/car "nissalini frankenmicra" (T reg). It had been "bad boyed up" with alloys and all extra surprises that i would find after i had bought it, like the rear windwiper not working, the inside lights not working, and tons of screws missing everywhere, including what held the gearbox thingy down (it came away while changing gear one day! - very scary!) also the clutch recently went and i have called out breakdown 3 times in the last year for this death-mobile!

but what really makes me wonder is why men feel the need to abuse this car!! (ive had it 1 year!)

its had its windscreen broken (news years eve), its been bled on, its had cling film wrapped around it and i dont know why, but it has been pee'd on twice! once in a tesco carback and the 2nd in a club carpark! GROSS!!!! why men why?

im saving for hopefully a nice car no. 3. - not a nissan!
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:08, 4 replies)
I don't see the appeal of having a fancy car
I do an average 12,000 a year and I have had my licence since 1977.... and I have always felt the same.
A car is a box for sitting in while you go somewhere. they are all basically comfortable... all of them come with some sort of sound system.
as long as it's comfortable and reliable, and doesn't drink petrol like a scottish alcoholic, then great.

In my opinion there's no difference between a 'petrol head' and a stamp collector
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 12:02, 6 replies)
My dad's got the new Ford Pubic.
It's made out of old Corsairs.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 11:45, 1 reply)
A snowy tale
550 words, in the reply.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 11:44, 9 replies)
My friend Kat
When she's running late (almost always) and she's on the motorway she likes to drive at 88mph.

Just. In. Case.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 11:34, 3 replies)
Salesman Karma
I work for a large company that has an equally large fleet of company and pool cars. For those that have to travel a lot as part of their job (not me), they obviously get their own company car and, especially as we've let people go in the recession and don't want to be seen to be flash with money around customers in a competitive industry, we have very strict lists as to what is allowed as a company car.

The arrogant office twat ignored this list and went and bought with the company money a giant shiny Audi - his pride and joy. Every day he drove it proudly into the staff car park, parking across two parking spaces and demanding the maintenance staff forgo their actual duties to polish and clean the car. The company cars are supposed to be cleaned every two weeks on rotation with a quick wipe over but office twat has the poor guys out there most days using some fancy car shampoo and wax he's bought on the internet using the company credit card. He refuses to give anyone a lift, nearly ran over another employee's foot as 'they didn't move fast enough' and actually told one of the PAs that she couldn't come in the car with him to an awards night (there were a few of us going but the other car was full) as she 'would squash the seat down too much and damage it.' (she was a few pounds overweight but hardly a heifer!)

Therefore, I could only assume it was karma in action when he came into the office a few months ago in a Corsa courtsey car as the Audi was in the garage and would be for quite some time for substantial body repairs. He had gone to visit a customer who was based in Yorkshire in quite a rural area and parked his car up, where it had been discovered by a rather agressive ram. Upon seeing it's reflection in the freshly waxed door panels, the ram had spent a large part of it's afternoon head butting the crap out of the Audi. Happy days!
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 11:20, Reply)
Car Buying (a pearoast of my very first B3ta post)
(This was originally from the Impulse Buys question; I've cut the irrelevant bits hence the intro)

My latest stupid buy came a couple of months back...

Now a bit of back story.
I spend a massive amount of time driving (30-40'000 miles a year) and need to carry a boot full of equipment, so what I drive is pretty important to me. I'm probably in my car more than anywhere else except my bed, so when my last steed ticked past the 200'000 mile mark (yes really!), I decided it was about time to blow what little savings I had on a new chariot...

Hours turned to days then to weeks as I trawled the internet for second hand vehicles. I read reviews, checked common faults, and became an expert in the sub £5000 used car market.

'How big is the boot?'
'How much tax am I going to have to pay to the corrupt cunts that run our fair isle?'
'How many miles can I travel before suckling at the teat of texaco'
'Is it going to explode in a fireball leaving me a charred shell of flesh and bone gripping the mangled steering wheel?'
'Can it get Radio 2?'

Are just some of the myriad of questions I asked of the cheap suited 'salesmen' I met on my travels...

...So I bought a fucking Land Rover...

I saw a Freelander, decided I liked it, bought it.


Shit MPG
Shit handling
Shit reliability
Expensive to run

(Big boot though)

And turned out absolutely awesome in the snow...
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 11:18, Reply)
Postman vs Monkey
I Lived in Japan for a couple of years teaching and was lucky enough to teach in a school that was in the Japanese mountains for two days a week - the scenery was beautiful and the work very easy.

I could often be found sitting in the staff room messing about on the internet or reading - the school seemed to have a philosophy that if you were actually at work they were happy - the longer you were sat there the more happy they were, but they didn't particularly care what you did whilst you were there (one ancient maths teacher did nothing but sit upright at his desk sound asleep - he was the star employee.) Therefore, I was sat reading in the staff room when the postman came in to drop off the mail sporting a rather large bump on his forehead and a rather fetching bruise, carrying an umbrella even though it was August and around 38 outside. Clearly, as sleepy guy wasn't going to do it and everyone else was too polite to ask, I was going to have to enquire, in awful broken Japanese, exactly what was going on...

It transpired that a few days before he had been driving through the next village to drop off a parcel when he turned a corner to see a little monkey sitting in the middle of road. Obviously he wasn't heartless enough to squash the tiny primate, but he was in a bit of a rush, so he beeped his horn hoping the monkey would get the hint. He did not and continued to sit defiantly in the middle of the road like a mini hairy bastard. The postman got out and tried to shoo him away. He didn't move, so the postman picked up a small rock and threw it at the monkey, aiming it not to hit it but close enough to scare him off and it worked. Off went the postman to deliver the parcel...

...around three hours later after finishing the remote rounds he comes back along the same road and finds the evil little monkey is sat in the same spot, looking the opposite way this time down the road, almost like he was waiting for the post van to come round the corner. The postman is not amused but tries tooting again and driving up slowly very close to where the monkey is sat but the stubborn bugger still won't move. Still not wanting to squish the monkey, he gets out of the van to try throwing a rock at it again as it worked last time. He steps out of the van, closes the door and is a few paces away when suddenly a whole gang of monkeys appear from the trees on both sides of the road and start pelting him with stones, twigs and fresh monkey poo. The lump and bruise the result of a well aimed stone, the umbrella to protect against flying shit. He'd driven through the same area that morning and even though there were no monkeys in the road, he was convinced that there were monkeys spying on him through the trees just waiting for him to stop so they could pelt him with projectiles. Evil ninja monkeys...
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 10:59, 4 replies)
Top TIp
If you suffer a blowout which causes you to veer into a ditch at 50 miles per hour, resulting in your car flipping over and landing in a field, no matter how shaken up you may be you should sit and wait for the police to arrive.

Under no circumstances should you open the boot to retrieve the alcohol you purchased earlier in the day and consume four cans of premium lager. They will breathalise you and regardless of what you tell them, you will be banned.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 10:39, 4 replies)
Why Karma can suck my balls
A few years ago two friends and I were driving along a leafy lane somewhere near Swindon. We were thoroughly enjoying finding the only leafy lane near Swindon when we passed what looked like a thieving pikey bastard dragging two bikes along the road by himself (why would one person have two bikes if they weren't a thieving pikey bastard?). The bikes were steadfastly refusing to be kidnapped and kept getting tangled up, much to our amusement. Being keen supporters of intelligent social comment, Cheggers, our driver, slowed the car to allow me to open the window and yell, 'Stop knicking bikes you thieving pikey bastard' as he tripped over them once again.
At that moment, another youth (who later turned out to be an Uninsured Pikey Bastard) came out of a junction at a hell of a clip without looking, nevermind slowing, and ploughed into the side of our car, just around the front near side wheel, tearing it completely away. Both cars were a complete mess, and had we not slowed briefly to insult and laugh at Pikey #1, he would have come straight through the passenger door where I was sitting. The Police noted that his gearstick was stuck resolutely in 4th, and reckoned he was doing at least 60. It shits me up just thinking about it now.

So fuck you Karma, unless I picked up MRSA at the hospital later on.

So, always laugh at others' misfortune, always stop to insult a stranger, and don't go to Swindon. Or even near it. Ever.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 10:31, Reply)
Cleared for take off...
I'd always imagined I'd be shamed by a wild, sobbing panic, screeching that I'm too young to die and clawing manically at the windows 'til blood ran clear from my fingertips. As it happened, with the corner sliding away to my side and my friend dabbing uselessly at the brakes while turning the wheel left and right in an utterly futile attempt to regain even a modicum of control, I simply sat back and enjoyed the ride.

The roadside bank gave itself gently to our advances and allowed the wheels to run smoothly over its crest, giving us clearance for take off and safe passage towards the small stream that skirted the field. Our flight was brief and uneventful and upon landing I let out a small guff and giggled happily to myself, while the pilot looked pleased with what was a relatively soft return to earth and the front wheels span uselessly above the bank of the stream.

We disembarked and were in the process of pushing the car back towards the road when the next flight trundled along the runway just as we had only moments earlier. Tire noise ceased as the Landrover's wheels hit black ice and I saw the passenger watch the corner slide away from his window; they were cleared for take off and we hadn't yet vacated the runway, leaving us little choice but to run away... my passage took me along the bank, but my pilot had opted only to leap backwards without a thought as to what was behind him.

And so it was, when the passengers of the belatedly aborted flight clambered out of their Landrover, they were greeted by the most unusual scene ever to be found in that dark and quiet country lane: for I was bent double, tears streaming down my cheeks and laughter pouring from my face, while the world's rudest stream splashed profanities and demanded that I stop fucking laughing and just fucking help it.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 10:21, 3 replies)
I have been in two car crashes so far in my life
Both as a front passenger. I survived both of them.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 10:20, Reply)
My friend's bright orange mini
Rebuilt by him and his father, he finally got it on the road, and was as pleased as punch. Rightly so, it was a sweet motor. We lived in Bedford at the time, and one night he called me in a state of some distress.

Seems he'd been looking for a cassette, or fiddling with the radio (this was 1985 - my mental facilities are failing at my advanced age), and not paying attention to the direction of the car. He strayed too close to the side of the road, and his front wheels went either side of a drive-way cut out. With the low-slung gearbox, the mini didn't stand a chance against the sharply-rising kerb, and the orange mini stopped dead.

I was there as the low-loader took it away. The AA man was quite a wag - when putting down on the form the reason for the call-out, he suggested "terminal oil leak." My friend went from crestfallen to heartbroken.

If by any chance you're reading this, Johnnie P, WTF happened to you? And are you still a dick?
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 10:16, Reply)
Accidental motorway experience
I'd only recently passed my driving test, and buoyed by my new wheeled freedom, had been applying for jobs a bit further afield.

An interview came up, working for an NHS IT outsourcing company 25 miles away. No problem thinks I, I have car and satnav; piece of piss! Suited and booted, I set off, instructing my satnav to avoid motorways as I was still a bit nervous having not driven on them.

I make it to the town ok, and am navigating roundabouts and junctions getting closer to my interview destination, when I get onto a particularly large roundabout. 'Take the 7th exit' my satnav informs me, and reminds me again when the exit appears. I indicate, take the exit and realise I'm on the slip road for the M40.


Knowing I can't do much about this, I gun it and prepare for brown trousers. Just as I'm reaching the bottom of the slip road and nervously looking over my shoulder to find a break in the traffic, my satnav beams out 'You have now reached your destination'. Looking to my left, I can see the large shiny building, where my interview was due to take place, sail past me.


I was so nervous about being on the motorway, I didn't dare get off until I was back home again, then phoned up and said my car had broken down. Never heard back from them. Good thing too, as they've since been in the paper for all sorts of dodgy backhand deals and financial irregularities.
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 10:09, Reply)
A guy I used to know*
used ms-paint to illustrate driving through moose country:

*Axel, on the off chance you've discovered me posting your work, PM me!
(, Fri 23 Apr 2010, 9:21, 3 replies)

This question is now closed.

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