people who discuss x-factor
like it has any kind of value at all on any level whatsoever.

it's a bunch of mongs mong stood on stage pleading with that utter cunt cowell to sign me to a contract that an indentured slave in the 1800s would have looked down on and crying 'aw, but it's me life' when they almost inevitably get told by another talent vacuum they arent going any further and it's back to the fryers at Mickey D's for them.

it's a show conceived by twats, for twats, and watched by twats. it bears about as much relation to a genuine talent contest as a packet of mixed nuts does to Broadmoor.
(tjn whizzing on the electric fence of life, Sun 7 Oct 2012, 22:38, 9 replies)

This is going to be truly cathartic
Mr GOTW has never had to do anything himself, when he was at home his mother did everything, and when he lived with his best friend, he used to fold Mt GOTW’s washing and I am (annoyingly) perpetuating this cycle because it is quicker to do it myself. RAAAAAH!

I shall list his daily offences:

He runs around in a blind panic shouting: Where are my keys/wallet/oyster?
He leaves his bag and shoes in the middle of the hall for me to trip over and then tidy away.
He always managed to leave his wet towels on my side of the bed.
He uses a new cup every time he makes a brew because he has left the other one somewhere.
He uses half a bog roll to wipe down the mirror in our bathroom after he’s showered so he can preen.
He never cleans up any of his spills various spills, there are more rings on my kitchen surfaces than the Elizabeth duke display counter!
At the weekend he changes his clothes about 4 times a day and leaves them on the floor, over a chair, on the newel post at the top of our stairs
He steals my socks and sometimes my pyjamas

Things that are probably genetic:

His feet smell like they are rotting most of the time and his socks, when I go to wash them, are rigid *barf*
He spills stuff all the time, down himself, on our couch and always on the bed sheets particularly when they are clean on.
When he thinks I am out of earshot, he farts, cups it in his hand, and sniffs it.
After a night out he barfed in the drain outside our house (and then panicked when a week or so later, mushrooms started growing out of the drain). When he finally made it indoors that night, he crashed into a bookcase and it fell on top of him, I found him asleep under it when I got up for a glass of water.

Things at the realms of stupidity that he has recently done:

He decided the dishwasher was a bit grubby and decided to clean it by emptying half a bottle of fairly liquid into it and switching it on. Once the Ibiza foam party was underway, he panicked used all of the bath towels to clean up the mess and then hid the towels in a bin bag in our spare room.

The first day back at work after we moved in to our flat, Mr GOTW left the door open, not ajar, no, OPEN and ON THE LATCH!

He put my massive steam generator iron on the wrong end of the ironing board and when it toppled off the board and broke, he switched off the power leaving the iron to burn a bloody great hole in the carpet, I found him hiding down the side of the bed on the phone to the iron manufacturer, credit card in hand, whisperingly ordering a replacement part and when I asked him what he was doing he screamed like a girl. Ha.

In spite of all of these annoying and ridiculous things he does, I love him to bits and couldn’t wish for a better boyfriend and I am sure that he finds my obsessive cleaning habits just as irksome.
(GirlOfTheWorld, Fri 5 Oct 2012, 11:26, 11 replies)

LIST TIME!!!!!
Misuse of reflexive pronouns
Misuse of apostrophes
People who call all electronic music 'techno'
People that call hip hop 'rap'
Those fucking sofa adverts where instead of saying 'now only five hundred and ninety-nine pounds' they say 'now only five nine nine'
Homophobes
Other commuters
Whisky bores
Gingers
Metallers
Hip hop heads
Wearing scarves indoors
Wearing scarves indoors while wearing a t shirt. If you're that cold, put a fucking coat on you flid.
When faces are superimposed on apples
Tourists
Lager top
Lager louts
Little and Large
Grown ups reading kids books
Grown ups reading books aimed at teenagers. You fucking nonces.
'Comedy' accounts on B3ta
People who don't understand the word 'troll' and are in fact trolls themselves OH THE IRONING!
People who deliberately use 'teh' on the internet as an affectation
People who can't use the correct form of 'its'
People who stand on the left hand side of escalators
Pendulum
Amorous Fucking Badger
Referring to Rob Manuel as 'the ginger fuhrer'
Rob Manuel
Anyone that likes mass market, lowest common denominator cultural output and derides those who like more serious output as 'pretentious'
The fact that I'm an autistic virgin
Wankers
Tossers
Shits
Shites
The Irish
Monty fucking Boyce and his fucking gang of acolytes over on Off Topic. The prick.
Anyone who's ever posted on /talk
Iain Duncan Smith
Christopher shitting Biggins. The cunt.
B3ta user 'number5'
Battered off of Off Topic. He's a prick who sexually assaulted me in a McDonalds. 'McFlurry' my fucking arsepipe.
People that use the term 'ninja edit'
Wankers that edit their posts after the fact.
Larpers. The autistic dicks.
Sci fi fans. The smegging titfaces.
QOTW.
White wine.
Windy Pig. Yeah, and Two Hats as well. Couple of bent flids. And I mean 'couple'.
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Thu 4 Oct 2012, 19:15, 16 replies)

"Chick lit".
Confessions Of A Shopaholic - shopaholism doesn't exist, you're simply shallow, vain, vacuous and stupid.

Mini Shopaholic - kill yourself. Seriously. Do it.

The Wives Of Bath - "A tale of yummy mummies with flat brown tummies"

Also, "oholic". It's "ic". An alcoholic is an alcoholic because they are addicted to alcohol. If you are a cocaine addict, you are not a cocainaholic.

And you are not addicted to chocolate. You are just a fat pig with no self control. You are not addicted to shopping, either, you're simply shallow.

And anyone who says "You can't judge a book by it's cover" - in which case, why do publishers put so much work into the cover illustrations then, you dick? Of course I can - I know I am not going to enjoy "Confessions of a shopaholic".

And "If you liked XXXXX then you'll love YYYY" on adverts. You are just reminding us normal people that there are people that stupid, that fucking unquestioning, that pathetic-minded, that they will do exactly what they're told. This is depressing - stop it.

Anyone who thinks "celebrity" is worth a fucking toss.

People who say "ikkle", or - worse "ikkew".

Women who put on a little-girl voice when they want something.

Men that tell you what women like.

Men that talk about being "alpha".

People with kids.

People who take their kids to the pub.

Humans, generally - worthless, shallow, egotistical arseholes.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 12:33, 11 replies)

You're at the cinema. Shut the fuck up.
When exactly did it become acceptable for people to talk during the film? I don't mean leaning over to whisper to your mate who's struggling to follow the plot, I mean having a full blown conversation, possibly while texting.
I should have the legal right to beat people like this to death.
(Big D, Fri 5 Oct 2012, 19:13, 4 replies)

Women shrieking
Why greet each other with a simple hello when you can run at each other from twenty yards screaming like you've a red hot soldering iron stuck up your cunt.

Mouth breathing cave witches, the lot of them.
(SwampyBob, Sat 6 Oct 2012, 14:10, Reply)

Just one really.....
anyone who thinks just because some cunt on TOWIE or somewhere 'invents' a word like 'amazeballs' or 'reem' or says someone is 'well jell' that that word/phrase is somehow admittable into the English language.
If a cunt said it first, it's a cunty word. And does not belong. Unless you're speaking English for Cunts.
( Sallyrsm, Fri 5 Oct 2012, 19:07, 4 replies)

These things drive me mad:
There are two Londons.

On the one hand it is a fun, attraction-filled paradise for tourists who visit for a few days at a time. On the other hand it is a grey, oppressive, inhuman monster that consumes the souls and health of those who work there every single day. Depending on what you get up to in a single day, you may see both sides of it.

I spend most of my time in the grey one, rushing between various customer sites using the excellent public transport system. Excellent, that is, apart from one thing... it is clogged up with wonder-filled lollygagging backpack-bearing tourists.

Tourists, you need to learn some rules if you want to share daytime London with us workers. It's our city.

These rules may also explain why you are so bruised at the end of a hard day of clogging up sightseeing in the Big Smoke.

1. No stopping dead at the top of the tube station stairs to look at your map. There is a continuous flow of comprised of 8 million people still trying to get off the stairs behind you. You are like a cork in a bottle. That's why we are all trying to shoulder barge you and your stupid girlfriend out the way.
2. No stopping dead at the top of the escalator to look at your map, either. Like number 1, only with a far more relentless flow of people being propelled towards you.
3. No holding hands. There is not enough room on the pavements/station platform for people to pass you. No-one ever called London the "City of Love". If you want romance, piss off to St Pancreas and catch the Eurostar to Paris.
4. No stopping dead in the middle of the pavement on Oxford Street to take a stupid bloody photo of some stupid bloody shops. See 1 for details of why. But really? Are you really from such a backward country, that the sight of some shops and lights fills you with awe and a compulsion to take a shit photo that won't come out anyway because it's dark and you mobile phone camera doesn't have a flash? Or are you just inconsiderate and thick? I hate you all, regardless.
5. Don't crowd around the doors when a tube train arrives at the platform. Leave a gap so that the people on the train can get off first. Hint: this makes more space for you to get on the train, albeit two seconds later, and stops me swinging my backpack into your stupid foreign face as I have to fight my way off the train.
6. "Stand on the right." That's what the sign says on the escalators, and implied in that statement is "leave space on the left for people to walk past". Do not dawdle, stand in a wide-bodied fashion, or obstruct the step with luggage. You may not care about catching the next train because there will be another one in 2 minutes, but you don't understand that the commuter train I get from Waterloo only runs every 30 minutes, and that 2 minutes could be the difference between a scrummy hot dinner and a microwave reheat.
7. When approaching the ticket barrier that is in place in EVERY SINGLE TUBE STATION IN LONDON AND IS NOT A SURPRISE, get your ticket ready before you get to the barrier. Don't arrive at the barrier, look confused, and then unpack your entire 65L rucksack looking for your ticket. This is especially frustrating to watch, as there is nowhere dangerous for us to barge you to.
8. You are allowed to congregate and dawdle in Trafalgar Square. Only place in London where it is acceptable. And with any luck a pigeon will shit on you.
9. These rules only apply from 0600 to 1900, Monday to Friday - for the rest of the week, the city is yours - ENJOY!

If I had my way, there would be watchtowers erected on all busy streets and at the top of tube station exits, and snipers would enforce severe penalties on anyone breaking these rules.
( Pope Shax XIII uses Visio for picture editing, does it show?, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 0:19, 24 replies)

I spend all my time around this twat
My own fault for living with someone I work with, I suppose. This guy is a total klutz and so disorganised he makes rush hour central London look a German traffic warden's paperclip collection. Did he drop paint in the food cupboard and splatter it all over the place because he was too lazy to put the lid on the can properly? Yes. Did he run the dishwasher with Fairy Liquid and turn the kitchen into a 90's era Ibiza foam party? Yes. Did he shut the front door before leaving at 1am the other night, meaning my female flatmate didn't have to come home to a frankly terrifying dark and abandoned house with door flapping in the breeze? Of course not.

This tool is the kind of guy who loads 50% of the stock for a trade show into his car, takes it home, unloads it into the living room for everyone to trip over, then loads it back into the car, RETURNS TO THE SAME WAREHOUSE and loads up the other 50%. He's the guy who stresses out that he's going to be late for said show, leaves late, then completely forgets this fact and decides there's time to stop for a burger en route.

The coup de grace was yesterday when he put my phone down on a table in a public place, said out loud, "hey I should move that before somebody lifts it" and then ... well, put it this way: I'm posting from my laptop.

The worst part is, this dipshit has the audacity to be myself, so I can't even yell at him without looking like a total mental.
( pineapplecharm D d M Y, H:i, Sun 7 Oct 2012, 15:50, 1 reply)

I once got
some cheap tickets to go and see a well known London ska-pop band playing a super-secret gig.

Trouble was the venue was some pissy little pub in a godforsaken suburb where the hand of London Underground had never set foot and it would take me three buses to get there, meaning I would have had to leave for home after approximately the first song.

Worse still, this was at a point in my life a few years ago where due to certain stupidities on my part I'd lost my driving licence, and had sold my car as a consequence (to keep me out of temptation to drive anyway on 'special occasions' -- just like this one in fact).

So I called up a mate of mine who did have a car, explained the position, and asked if he wouldn't mind giving me a lift to the gig in return for the other ticket to see the Nutty Boys.

To which his response was "Fuck off, you're just trying to set up an atrocious pun for a b3ta QOTW, aren't you?"
(Rise and Fall of the Atomic Cabbage Haven't you heard of suspension of disbelief?, Sat 6 Oct 2012, 1:14, Reply)

Wheelie luggage twats
People with wheelie luggage with extendible handles on escalators (particularly on the Tube in That London). Most drop the handle when getting on, carry it, then as soon as they step off the escalator, stop and fumble about trying to extend the handle again as they can't be arsed carrying it a few yards clear of the end. What they don't seem to realise is that there are other people behind them who are being spat off the escalator, and they are blocking it, with a serious pile-up being a real possibility. I've found the best way of avoiding this scenario happening is to treat them to a flying shoulder-charge in the back. Not only is seeing them face-planting deeply satisfying, but you also have the get-out card of 'sorry, you were blocking the escalator and I couldn't stop'. I commend this course of action to the board.
(redexile, Fri 5 Oct 2012, 17:56, 4 replies)

OK, here it comes - the one about driving
In no particular order, apart from the first one which is THE most dangerous:

-Tailgating. Even if intimidating people like an utter cunt did work, how can driving closer to the car in front make it go faster for you WHEN IT HAS NOWHERE ELSE TO GO?? Funnily enough it isn't generally possible to drive over the car in front, unless you're in a tank. Shooting's too good for'em, guv.
- Lane hogs. The inside lane is nearly always empty. Use it. You may even go faster than the queue of 40 Audis nose to tail in lane 3.
- Indicators are called that for a reason - to INDICATE IN ADVANCE to others what you are about to do.
- If you must pull out in front of me even though there is no traffic behind me and waiting 10 seconds longer would mean you had all the time in the world to do so, for fuck's sake GET A BLOODY MOVE ON. If I have to brake, you should not have pulled out.
- Get that phone away from your ear! All modern phones have a speakerphone. Use it.
- If your music is audible at a distance of more than 10 yards from the car, you should have to pay PRS/public performance/licensing fees just like any other concert.
- Sorry, but putting a fat exhaust on a 4 cylinder car will never make it sound like a V8.
(localboy purveyor of pisspoor puns, Fri 5 Oct 2012, 8:43, 13 replies)

Multiplex hell
I've just paid the not-insignificant sum of £38 for my wife, 2 kids and I to go and see Paranorman at the cinema (excellent film btw, just the right mix of darkness and laughs that reminds me of classic kids movies from the 80's).

In the row behind is a group of unsupervised kids who proceed to kick the living shit out of all of our seats for the entire running time. We take issue with this, and raise our grievance to no avail. Strangely the parents of said children are nowhere to be seen.

In front of me, a woman spends the first half an hour merrily texting on her phone with the brightness on full. Again I take issue with this and complain. She apologises, but instead of switching her phone off, she cups one hand over the screen in an attempt to hide the glare. Oddly (in a dark room) this doesn't work and is maddeningly distracting.

I'm a calm man, in fact colleagues and friends often comment on how unflappable I seem. This type of behaviour in the cinema though makes me feel violent like nothing else on earth.
(BinDipper, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 10:19, 9 replies)

Dear Females…

When in a nightclub, bar or party and somebody points a camera at you. Please...for the love of shuddering fuck, PLEASE try to fight the urge to do that preposterous ‘pout’ thing where you protrude your gob out half a mile like some grizzled old haddock that is having a slackie thumbed up it’s poo-pipe .

Facebook is full to the gizzards with haggish scrubbers ruining a perfectly good group photo by leaning forward, flicking ‘peace’ signs and morphing into fucking slaggish looking, sour-faced pseudo-model-wannabes with what looks like bulging piss flaps under their noses. Fucking hell. Stop it. I beg you.

You girls are wonderful creatures. A lot of you are very attractive and have beautiful smiles. Why does the sniff of a lens make some of you feel the need to launch into resembling some half-witted emo lovechild of Posh Spice and Daffy Duck?

What’s wrong with just saying ’cheese’ instead?
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 10 Oct 2012, 15:23, 10 replies)

The Return of the Los Palmas 7
It was a Grey Day in NW5 and I had just waved My Girl off on the Night Boat to Cairo. She was The Sweetest Girl and frankly I was so Lovestruck it was an Embarrassment. One Better Day, I hoped she would make me The Prince to her princess but for today, I was one of Yesterday's Men.

It was early and going back was like riding The Ghost Train so for some company I gave my mate Jon a call. I thought he might understand how she was The Sun and the Rain to me because, that summer, the vicar had just got to the "I Pronounce You" when Jon's wife-to-be, Frederica, had a sudden Cardiac Arrest. "Shut up!" he said in his voice like Michael Cain "You won't be Forever Young and you won't get carried to happiness on the Wings of a Dove. What you need is a nice easy Girl. Why Don't You meet me in an hour."

"The House of Fun" proclaimed the sign, with the somewhat unsubtle strapline "The bigger they are The Harder they Come". "Sounds like my kind of Sugar and Spice" chimed up Jon (well, they didn't call him "Johnny the Horse" for nothing). Personally, I could hardly take One Step Beyond the boundary. I thought of the Shame & Scandal, but then I thought of Drip Fed Fred and what Jon was doing to her. "Tomorrow's Just Another Day, as my Uncle Sam used to say" piped up Jon. I stood there for a moment. Jon was obviously ready for action (hint: don't wear Baggy Trousers to a place like that) but I was frozen. I watched a little Dust Devil skitter past the peeling door, mesmerised. Then I ran. "Sorry!" was all I could say to Jon in that moment.

As I was Driving in My Car back to Our House, I thought to myself: "It's Madness. But It Must be Love".


I'm very very sorry.
( Ugi , it's a game of give and cake, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 15:53, 4 replies)

god botherers
So, no one knows what happens when we snuff it. The overwhelming likelihood is not very much. Ever been unconscious?

But no – when offered an incomprehensible, inconceivable jumble of superstitions, fairy tales and bogeyman stories rewritten recycled and Chinese whispered down the ages by control freaks and charlatans - you are CERTAIN beyond all doubt that despite all the vast wonder of all existence there is a creator, who (while having a universe to run) is obsessed with your every move thought and action. Oh and you can wish for stuff too.

An all powerful intangible invisible friend and protector – sounds pretty cool. You must be immune to all illness, earthquakes and injury then. No?

Our essential natural urges are shameful and evil?

Your creator is jealous, intolerant, violent, vindictive, spiteful, pernicious and vengeful – but he loves you?

I should terrify my tiny innocent child with assurances this invisible character is waiting in the shadows to punish him for questioning any of this whilst conversely insisting he only deals in truth and that ghosts and goblins are just camp fire tales?

You insist you require no proof for this but continually strive to find bolt-on bits and bobs of science that support your crackpot ideas - the same science that you continually deny.

If my crackpot jumble of superstitions varies even slightly from yours we should devote all our energies to annihilation in a manner that contradicts the few worthwhile parts of your crazy code of divine conduct?

We have the technology to split the atom and unravel DNA but your preference is to split humanity into one half who believe dinosaurs were a prank and another half who believes women should be bundled up and passed around like parcels by men who think it’s a splendid idea to chop off rather crucial bits of anatomy.

We see ourselves as an advanced civilisation yet it was twenty or so years after landing a man on the moon before we realised wheels on a suitcase might be helpful.

Doesn’t bode well does it?
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 12:14, 6 replies)

white people with dreads

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Sat 6 Oct 2012, 23:58, 6 replies)

Litter
"I'm givin' someone a job, innit'

Well excuse me! There was me thinking that you were a thoughtless, selfish, lazy, ignorant, fat slob who couldn't be arsed to walk an additional two feet to place your Kentucky Fried Shit Family Bargain Bucket For One in a waste receptacle. Where as, you are in fact, a humanitarian and altruist on a par with Ghandi, Nelson Mandela and Sir Bob Geldof all rolled into one!

Clearly, I am the one with the fucking problem!
(Nitrous Nitrous, Sat 6 Oct 2012, 16:32, 3 replies)

right then, here we go...
HKLP (holds knife like pen) scum.

Eating takeaway food on public transport

Chewing gum (admittedly I have chewed gum from time to time ergo – I am a peasant)

ASDA

Children with pierced ears

Eating crisps (see chewing gum)

Stella Artois

Restaurants with pictures of the food on their menu

Three quarter length trousers on blokes

IKEA - just let me go to the fucking wardrobes!

Showing too much cleavage/thigh/leg or wandering around the town centre on a sunny day with no shirt

Hair ‘scrunchies’ worn around the wrist

‘Leisurewear’

Spitting

Sniffing

Lambrini

Driving around in a tarted up Nova playing drum and bass and saying ‘innit’ a lot

Football shirts

Love bites

Wearing your slippers to the shops

Asking people to remove their shoes in your house FUCK OFF this is not the 1700’s I do not have clods of fucking manure stuck to me

Smacking children

Smoking in public places (awaits flaming) and yes I used to smoke

Tracksuit bottoms tucked into socks just what is is that about

Hen nights – pissed up braying tarts, lovely

Eating in supermarket ‘canteens’

Rolling up the end of the toothpaste tubes – gladly this is a dying practice due to plastic tubes

Musical doorbells

Plastic fucking butterflies on the outside of your chavvy bastard house

Gold jewelry

Covers for phones iPods etc

Excessive Christmas decorations

Eating a donner kebab in the street

People who put harnesses on bull terriers

Eating at a Harvester ‘Pub’ - what's with the fucking wooden spoon nonsense. And i'll pay AFTER i've eaten thank you.

People who crunch ice cubes

Artex

Laminate flooring

‘settee’ it’s a sofa you fucking pleb

‘Spag Bol’

Monobloc where you used to have a lawn and now you park your Vauxhall on it

Vauxhalls

The Welsh

Fat people (see ASDA/ supermarket ‘canteens’)

Drinking from a can of lager on a train

Fluffy toys on the parcel shelf/dashboard

The vast majority of frozen food (except peas obviously)

Marrowfat peas

Americans

People who don’t like seafood – invariably scum

Bingo

carrying keys with excessive key fobs and widgets on them

wearing a shirt darker than your tie

women dancing in their bare feet

women walking home after a night at some cattlemarket in their bare feet

arguing in public

wearing a black tie to anything other than a funeral or formal occasion

pre-tied bow ties at black tie do's

put your fucking flabby midriff away woman

excessively styled hair

'popped' collars

"i aint done nuffink" and other such double negatives, split infinitives and so on

car plates with an unusual font - zapf chancery all in caps - classy

getting married in a novelty setting or costume
(unless of course its a vegas elvis wedding chapel - but only if you are not american)

wearing tights with peep toe shoes

not being able to use chopsticks

... i really do have to stop
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Fri 5 Oct 2012, 16:23, 41 replies)

Those bastards that put coffee in the sugar.
You know who you are.
You get a spoonful of coffee then you dip the spoon in the sugar leaving fucking coffee in it.
I hate having my tea poisoned with your cat piss smelling fucking coffee.
(Captain Spacker I lick windows, Fri 5 Oct 2012, 8:23, 3 replies)

Other peoples' children.
I've seen this in at least three countries, so I can't complain that it's peculiar to any one group. But...

Look, it's a restaurant, not a playground. Letting your kids race around the restaurant, even if it's a crappy diner somewhere, is worse than irritating to the other people there- it's teaching them to be self-centered little twats who can get away with about anything as long as the parents are otherwise distracted.

If a child is standing there chanting "MommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommy" nonstop, ANSWER THEM. Tell them that you have to finish what you're doing first (and then make sure that you do get back to them when you're done) rather than just ignoring them, as eventually it will escalate to an ear-shattering shriek.

I get that you're proud of your child and want to give them the thrill of making their own choices, but a three year old should not be telling the woman at the counter what kind of bagel he wants, what kind of cream cheese, toasted or not, when there's a line of twenty people behind you. Ask them BEFORE you get to the front of the line.

Similarly, I get that your kid wants to walk on his own and that it's a pain to carry a struggling child. But there are times when it's the best thing, really- such as in a parking lot, in a hardware store where there are sharp things being wheeled about on carts, that sort of thing. Unless, of course, you're fine with said child being squashed, impaled, kicked, stepped on and so forth. Why not? You can always make another one, right?

I don't hate kids, I really don't. When my fist clenches to keep from delivering a mighty Dope Slap, it isn't to smite a bratty child- it's to resist beating the shit out of the so-called parents.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 4 Oct 2012, 16:32, 16 replies)

My ex-wife questioned just about *everything* I did...
Cooking? "That'll be ready too soon", "That needs turning up a bit", "Aren't you doing any vegetables?", "Why are there only three pieces of chicken?", "That's far too many potatoes!" - in the end I banned her from the kitchen when I was cooking. The last straw was when I pretended that I wasn't going to do any vegetables, just meat and gravy coz her daughters never ate the veg anyway. She started getting vegetables out of the fridge and was just about to start preparing them when I pointed out the vegetables I'd already done. Apparently she really *did* think I was that stupid... O_o

Driving? "Ooh, I don't know why you've gone this way, this is the long way", "This is a strange way to get to [insert destination here]"... for fuck's sake woman, I managed to survive for thirty years before I met you, I can manage on my own*!!
We went to a weekly thing a few times over a couple of months. I made a point of going a different way each week, only to be told each week that I "...shouldn't have gone this way, this is the long way".

The one that used to really grill my goat though was the when she'd ask me to check something, which I would dutifully do. Then when I reported back to her she'd declare "Well that can't be right", and go and investigate it herself. Didn't matter what it was; "Did you find out what time Eastenders is on tonight?"
"Eight o'clock"
"That can't be right, it's usually eight-thirty"
"It's early tonight because of the football"
"No, you're wrong" *goes and checks to find I was right after all*

"Hot today"
"Yep, thirty two degrees according to the thermometer in the car"
"No, it can't have been that hot"
"Well, that's what the thermometer said"
"Yeah, but it's near the engine isn't it? It'll be wrong"
"Eh? No, why would they bother putting in thermometers that they know will be wrong?!"
"Well it definitely wasn't thirty two degrees"

Even now, years later, it still winds me up. Still, she's some other bloke's problem now. I hope he loves her to bits and doesn't even notice it...


*Just...
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 19:12, 15 replies)

supermarket vultures
As a supermarket employee who has the dubious joy of reducing goods on the days date, you have to develop a skin thicker than that on a rhino's arse. For the biggest peril of the job are the hard core yellow label specialists a.k.a. vultures.

I know money is tight and people are on the lookout for a cut price meal where they can, but it is the greedy ones who are usually the most offensive and deserving of a good kicking.

Vultures are the customers who are only happy to buy something once it is as cheap as they can get it and have a tendency to fill a basket or trolley with reduced price goods. With some of them it's play spot the full price item.

It is common to refer to applying the final reductions as feeding time at the zoo, especially in the chilled food aisle, as this is their preferred area to pounce on unwary staff.

whilst they are helping us by taking otherwise unwanted stock, there are a few who have mastered the art of being a first class asshole.
Some will hold on to their chosen item and give it to you to reduce, with the most ignorant just thrusting it at you.
Others will pester until a specific product is reduced, with the most determined hanging around like a bad smell. You quickly learn to not carry out requests unless you love being harassed.

They always like to test the resolve of a newbie.

The true arseholes though will try and grab it out of your hand as soon as it has been reduced and you're about to put it in the reduced area. It's not much fun being caught between 2 people trying to grab the same item as you put it down.
They're also great at acting like kids - we've once had 2 vultures argue over access to a reduction area and ask a member of staff to resolve the dispute FFS.

In our attempt to keep our sanity, we start giving some of them nicknames such as Joseph Fritzl to a middle aged polish gent; cancer man and his pal to 2 guys who would shop together(one of them had cancer), and an old dear who looks like an extra from the original 'the hills have eyes', as we're not allowed to tell them to GTF, as 1)reductions are a company policy not a legal requirement
2) they are not our superiors and can't boss us about.

\rant
(trainee mad doctor is currently trying to build a secret laboratory, Tue 9 Oct 2012, 20:58, 9 replies)

Chopped and blended pearoast re The female expectation of male telepathy
I have found that ALL the women I have spent time with CANNOT WAIT FOR INFORMATION.
If a situation arises that necessitates waiting for information they won't shut up about it. For instance, when I was married, my (now ex) wife's car went wrong. I booked it into a garage (warranty claim) for the next day.
As soon as I got home she started.
"What do you think is wrong"?
"I have no idea, that's why the garage is doing the work"
"What will they do to the car"?
"I don't know, that's why the garage is doing the work, utilising their specific knowledge of the marque".
"How long will they take"?
"I don't know, that's why you've got a courtesy car all day".
"What do you think is wrong"?
FOR FUCK'S SAKE WOMAN, I'VE ANSWERED EVERY INANE FUCKING QUESTION YOU'VE ASKED WITH "I DON'T KNOW" GET THE HINT!!!!!!
And while I'm at it, how do women think men get information? I mean, I've been sitting in front of you all the time while you asked the questions, I had no idea 5 minutes ago, I've not seen another human being or used any communication device in those 5 minutes because you've been badgering me for answers to questions that I can't answer, so where do you think I've got the information from, fucking telepathy?
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 10:37, 10 replies)

Commuting
Excellent thinks I, I have a seat. So here I neatly sit, trying not to stray into neighbouring territory, headphones at an acceptable level.

The man to my right however is sitting, as one might sit on the toilet, legs akimbo, broadsheet unfolded to maximum capacity, as he digs his elbow into my side, flapping the stupid pages of his paper, my blood starts to boil and then he lets out a huge yawn, unfiltered by a polite hand, and wafted by his broadsheet I get the full olfactory hit of warm stale breath. GAH shitty death to you sir.

Also when sitting, where else is it acceptable to fart into the face of another commuter other than on London Blunderground.

And those people who think it’s ok to push their way onto the train. Usually wearing a massive backpack which knocks me sideways every time they move.

And to add final insult to injury; once, I was holding on for dear life as the central line hurtled along towards home and this suited, bespectacled chap leaned his paper on my head. Yes, on my head, I am a little on the short side but there was no need for that, so I pointed out that I was actually there under his paper much to the amusement of the other commuters.
(GirlOfTheWorld, Fri 5 Oct 2012, 12:29, 2 replies)

Those little mouse-pad things on the front of laptops
find that it's moved the cursor to a totally different part of the screen. They're placed exactly where you'll catch them with your wrist or palm and set so that the lightest accidental touch works like a click, so all of a sudden when you're typing you
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 5 Oct 2012, 11:25, 8 replies)

People who refer to football teams they support
As "we" and "us".
(McChinaman banned, Fri 5 Oct 2012, 1:29, 8 replies)

You.
Every fucking thing you do irritates me you ill mannered worthless cunt.
(Vigilante Man weeps because you're stupid., Thu 4 Oct 2012, 23:27, 6 replies)

Followers
You know. The ones who follow you to continue the conversation even as you're backing away from them. The ones who have no sense of personal space or indeed, of your aversion to the conversation, who cannot read faces or hear a tone of voice.

I work with a few of them, and as a science teacher with a chatty technician, I have to be intensely rude to him just to get him to understand that I really do need to get back to the class of 30 sub-hominid howling hormone bags that I've left while I do some emergency photocopying, and don't have time to talk about the solar panel system on his leaky houseboat.

I used to live with a guy who had the same problem. He once followed me into the toilet to continue his conversation. Into the toilet. I had to push him out of the door and shut it in his face before he stopped talking. And he still got the last word THROUGH the door after I'd shut it.

Sometimes this happens with a random person in a pub. You have a short conversation at the bar, based around your lack of quick service, or the barman's difficulty with the correct change, or the recommended pint of beer. Before you know it they've sat down at your table and are regaling you with tales of their latest hobby or their new pet, or both, or sometimes their kids. In which case my question is how did they ever retain the self-awareness to shut up long enough to have sex with someone? Or did they just follow someone into the bedroom and bore them to a state of unhappy resignation?

I hasten to add these are perfectly intelligent people. They just have no concept of shutting the goddamn fuck up.
(cypherspace is not a toaster, Thu 4 Oct 2012, 22:49, 4 replies)

Recently divorced: My war against the House Rules
Her House Rules drove me up the wall. On the other hand, I'd be the first to admit that I drove her up the wall across the ceiling and down the other side, but I'm the one on B3TA, so...

- There are no rules, except for the ones I make up, arbitrarily and on the spot
- No pissing in the shower
- All beetroot must be crinkle cut
- Obey all the rules

I actually wrote most of the House Rules down (essentially for taking the piss purposes), and I swear on my dog's life that these are all true:

- Don't fart while you're asleep
- Don't wipe your feet on the doormats, I've just cleaned them
- Don't wake up, walk to the bathroom, fart, and come back to bed, because you might bring the smell back with you
- Don’t mix your smelly laundry with mine – you’ll make it dirty.
- The Spoon Laws

And, most importantly of all:

- Don't play that game where you try to beat the slow closing toilet seat when you have a wee.

She had a point with that one, to be honest.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 4 Oct 2012, 12:52, 3 replies)