I think it's best you don't tell your mum.


One miserable autumn day I had been invited to go round my mate Tim's house. As he lived on a farm he was allowed to bomb around these two clapped out Subaru pick-ups and his dads old Land rover discovery, as long as we stayed on 'is laaaaand. Being eager to show off he drove us up to a field that you couldn't see from the farmhouse. I had a go swerving round the big round bales rally style and all was well as he decided to show me how it was done, skillfully power-sliding the thing round a few times narrowly missing the hulking hay-masses all the while laughing at my white-knuckle wincing from the passenger seat. Great fun! we'd had our fill so he turned the thing around to come back, as we were driving down the hill on the wet stubble the cars grip gave out and we started drifting sideways (passenger seat first, I might add) at an increasing speed, whence there was no traction came forth traction. The car dug in and rolled, I remember vividly the sight of hay stubble pressed into the window, all the while Tim and the dog flying around the inside of the car as he wasn't wearing a seatbelt (neither was the dog). After a full rotation the car came to a stop on its side, Tim was now lying on the passenger door sort of sitting on my lap moaning about how during his washing machine travels around the car the gearstick had torn him a new one. The dog was going batshit crazy from the fright and I was just wondering what the fuck had just gone on!
The walk back to the farmhouse was a silent one, Tims dad was a big scary man and we'd just re-modeled his work vehicle with a new concave look. We got the bollocking of our lives, all the while I was looking at Tim's dad's just-about-the-right-size-to-kill-someone hands. We were banished to the bedroom, we decided to play a board game, you know, to keep ourselves out of trouble.

This is where I found the air rifle. we'd used it earlier that day to shoot some targets and stuff lying around the farm and I knew for a fact Tim was a crap shot, he literally couldn't hit a barn door (we'd tried).

Tim's farm was in a particularly beautiful area of the Sussex countryside with footpath running by the house, as a result there were a lot of walkers and cyclists around the farm. About 25 meters away I saw a rambler with a particularly hideous hat on, I dared Tim to shoot him knowing full well that it was an impossibility for him to hit anything let alone a head-sized partially-obscured moving target.
The rambler went behind a hedge, Tim took a blind shot. CRACK! it sounded like a full-palm slap to a leather sofa, he got him square in the neck, we could hear the poor mans moans from inside the house. DOUBLE FUCK! we were in for it now, the gun went under the bed and we ran for it, I was running across the yard when I was accosted by our hapless victim.
An irate bearded man clutching a bloodied wound on his neck asked me whether I'd shot him, I denied and ran away. after hiding in a pheasant coup for about an hour, Tim's dad found us and drove us back to the house. One humungous bollocking later and Tim being carted down the local police station, I was sat in the kitchen waiting to be picked up, "I think it's best you don't tell your mum about this" said Tim's mum.
My mum shows up and on the way home asks how my day was, "yeah, not bad" says I.





Apologies for length and general lack of wit.
(Rambunction, Fri 25 May 2012, 11:34, 2 replies)

Were Tim's parents
hoping he'd kill himself, and thus relieve them of his burden?
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Fri 25 May 2012, 13:22, closed)

Fuck me, I think we've found the new Roald Dahl

( Ghoti Fingers, Fri 25 May 2012, 21:29, closed)