/Off Topic drives me nuts!
At one time it was full of fun, positive people who enjoyed each other's company and was very fluffy. Then a handful of cunts came along and decided to make it /talk v2.0 and slag off everyone, so the regulars got tired of it and left.

And now it's shit.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Thu 11 Oct 2012, 9:54, 7 replies)

"Your call is important to us".

(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Thu 11 Oct 2012, 9:41, 1 reply)

People who use self-diagnosed mental issues as an excuse for anti-social behaviour
Been to a psychiatrist or a clinical psychologist? No? Then fuck off until you've learnt some manners.

This applies to all those arseholes who claim to be "a bit Aspergic/ASD/OCD" or to have prosopagnosia or aphasia or whatthefuckever. What, you've done a Facebook questionnaire? Fucking fuck the fucking fuckety fuck off until you've been diagnosed by an appropriate professional mental health-care worker.
( wakeupandsmellthebacon, Thu 11 Oct 2012, 9:37, 3 replies)

"Thank you for your patience"
When I've not been asked to wait or be patient.
No really, it's fine. I've got all day to wait around while you fail to keep to your agreed time scale and then offer no explanation whatsoever.

And don't fucking say sorry either unless you really mean it. Empty words don't excuse incompetence or indifference.
(GingerIrishTosser isn't dead yet., Thu 11 Oct 2012, 9:00, 1 reply)

When fucking celebs & (c)rappers decide to cash in even more…

By allegedly ‘designing’ clothing lines / fragrances / energy drinks / restaurants etc. Wankers.

Take so-called ‘Dr Dre’ for example – (Whom I have serious reservations about his medical qualifications). Have you heard about his latest venture? It appears that he is going into the business of luxury funerals, with ‘blinged up’ caskets made into various shapes and sizes and carved out of some super solid material (the toughest known to man he says) to ensure the corpse inside will never deteriorate. Apparently ‘The Dr’ himself has lined up his own huge death memorial in this fashion, and when he throws a seven he will be placed inside this thing which to me looks just like a crappy old Transit. No thanks.

Anyhoo, I was ranting about this to my cockney mate in the pub only yesterday. I said: “Firstly, what the fuck? But secondly, how the blithering shagmonkeys can this guy attest to having invented the toughest material known to man? I mean what kind of scale is used to even measure that?” My mate then put me in my place when he informed me that to develop these things they had to create a brand new measurement called ‘Dre Van tomb ‘ardness’. It was around that point that I lost the will to live.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 11 Oct 2012, 8:59, 5 replies)

stuj's response to the whistling got me thinking
My daughter and missus constantly hum all sorts of nonsense tunes.
I usually defeat this by either humming in a loud, god-awful tuneless racket (racquet?) or I hum/whistle the worst, most recent horrible pop tune (atm "Call Me Maybe" is the top of my playlist).

Either stops them dead with a whinge & whithering look or gets them inadvertently joining in.
Mmmmmm mmmm mmmm mm mmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmm mm mmmm mmmm.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Thu 11 Oct 2012, 7:56, 8 replies)

I would love to answer Captain Flaccid's question but sadly he's got me on ignore so he won't be able to read it.
So I might as well just not bother and call him a boring fat spastic cunt instead.
( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Thu 11 Oct 2012, 1:07, 3 replies)

I work in the Mental Health sector
I got given the chance to provide a back to work, workshop for people who suffer with mental health via a well known mental health charity. The workshops run every 2 months and repeat, with 1 on 1 support and a drop in group provided on a separate day. The workshop is based around my training in counselling as you can't exactly teach some one with mental health to just get a job you have to work with them to discover what they want and go on from there. The first workshop was extremely successful and everyone who attended it is getting a lot of support in the work they are currently doing.
I only get paid for the hours I teach however I spend most of my time out and about promoting the workshop with charities, organisations and other people in the mental health sector to gain clients to attend the workshops..
The meetings go as follow..
I walk in show them the workshop, what it incorporates, the packs the clients work through, the support that is given and also the extra support they can have if they are experiencing problems along side getting back to work and the support we provide in the workplace.. this is a free service for any one who attends the workshops..etc etc etc
The charities and organisations are falling all over it as no one else is offering this type of person centered care workshop in my area.. and promise me to send me lots of their clients who are in the situation of finding work but are battling with certain mental illnesses but wanting to get back out there and do something...
Do I get any application forms back from these organisations? Do I fudge...I may get one or two application forms back, but then the clients do not turn up, when contacting their care co-ordinaters I find out they have booked them on another course on the same day... for fucks sake.
I even was at a conference the other day promoting this workshop and a women came to talk to me about it and said "I should promote it more as she did not know about it and has lots of client's that could come to the workshop".. I had a fucking meeting with her 4 weeks ago about the service I provide.

I told her the above without the expletives. I sat in an empty room today for 3 hours expecting clients and a charity organisation to turn up today.. no one..

Also people who say the letter H. Its pronounced aitch not fucking Haitch

LLoyds bank, are you just a bunch of silly numb nuts?

Also me for not putting in comers in the sentences I write .. twat.
( The invisible ham Fig rolls are the best, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 23:38, 9 replies)

Facebook vagueness
You know what I mean, the one line status updates such as "shall I, shan't I?", or "decision, decisions!".

Women seem to do this more than men, and they're usually followed by a torrent of replies saying "you alright hun?", or "you know where I am if you need anything" type bollocks.

Fuck off!
(jezzerh what do I put here?.., Wed 10 Oct 2012, 23:18, 8 replies)

Whistling
People who whistle nonsense tunes or even recognisable tunes. It drives me insane when I see someone walking down the street whistling, I want to slap them.

A colleague in my office did it as he worked, until I explained that if he didn't stop I would ram his keyboard and mouse down his throat and stangle him with the remaining cord.
( Bamboo Steamer, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 23:02, 10 replies)

I was one of those people you all hate at the cinema...
Well, I wasn't really. I was merrily enjoying my nachos with cheese sauce and as many jalapenos as they could balance on the tray while I waited for the film to start, when a woman sat down next to me and proceeded to wrinkle her nose in disgust, eye my nachos with barely concealed hatred and lean as far away from me as she could.

My wife (the mentalist of a few posts down) noticed this and told *me* to stop being so inconsiderate. After looking around and confirming that yes, there were indeed many other empty seats available, I continued to eat my nachos.

Nothing to do with this week's QotW really, other than my ex-wife drove me to madness on a daily basis and she features in the "story". It was more the posts about people being twats in cinemas that made me post it. I feel better now, thanks for your support :)
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 22:26, 6 replies)

I'm pondering having to get a doctor to sign a form saying I'm mentally ill.
This is technically true, for the definitions they are using.
It's for a bus pass, which I could really do with, being unable to drive.

Not driving to madness?

Alas not a bad attempt at a pun, just the lack of joined up services for the disabled.
(speedevil, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 21:57, 4 replies)

Non washing-up Bastard
My housemate is a lazy bastard at the best of times, but he does odd things to make it look as if he does something useful occasionally. But the one that really really fucks me the shit off is him piling all his washing up into the sink, Adding washing up liquid then filling it up to the brim with water. Then leaving it. If it was just to give it ten minutes for things to soak then fine, no problem. But the next day i'll go to use the sink and there it is choc full of stuff and cold water full of bits that has to be reached into to pull the plug out :(.
( gardenclaw mac fuckes your gradeds balls!, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 19:40, 1 reply)

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)

Penguins with Malaria

( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Wed 10 Oct 2012, 18:00, 2 replies)

off topic drives me mad cos it's so shit

(quintsy, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 16:33, 26 replies)

lottery machines in shops
Im in a rush, or dont care, or whatever. Have a seperate counter to do the lottery or randomly check your last 15 weeks worth of tickets for winners....
Then fuck right off if you then want a scratchcard and have to walk in front of me, into the queue Im in to pick a numbered card. Hope you get brain AIDS you inbred council freak.
(robneymcplum spiced up his life on, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 15:53, 4 replies)

The three worst words in the English language:
"While you're up..."
( Zoroastermouse thinks therefore he am, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 15:32, 12 replies)

I did warn in my first post that I have a few 'hot buttons'
Here's another.
Communication by hint.
Drives me insane.
A case in point. My late mother was notorious for this. She'd drop a hint or make a statement fully expecting you to then question her about it, just so she could - eventually - tell you the thing she wanted you to know in the first place. What a palaver.
In her later years she got worse and I got impatient. The very last time she did this was probably six months before her death, She'd been alluding to something 'dark and secret', something she 'couldn't talk about openly' but 'ooh , if you knew what I know' bollocks was spewing from her roughly every half-hour for fucking weeks.

I snapped

I gave her the ultimatum through gritted teeth of 'You have exactly 30 seconds to decide whether to tell me this dark secret you've been hinting at for weeks or to shut up about it for the rest of your life. If you decide to shut up about it you will never EVER mention it again, not once, NOT FUCKING ONCE or I will not be responsible for my actions'

She told me. It was utter trivia about some rumour regarding a neighbour. She'd actually been harbouring this as an important secret for weeks and it was irrelevant to anyone in the family.

If you want to tell me something, tell me it. If you expect me to try to wheedle information from you - that YOU want ME to know - you'll find me 'less than helpful'.

Tl;DR
Women should learn that guys don't fucking care about gossip, just state the facts and then fuck off.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 15:29, 6 replies)

People that get all prissy about me talking during a film.
I mean - Christ - if it's any good I wouldn't talk, would I?
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 15:29, 12 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)

Not really driven to madness,
but I'm starting to get really annoyed with people writing 'Thankyou for sharing' as a comment on Facebook. First, 'thank you' is two words, and second, they wrote
'Thankyou for sharing' as a comment. I should unfriend all the Americans.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 15:21, 1 reply)

FIRST!

( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 14:50, Reply)

My wife
If she thinks I'm not listening, and by "not listening", she means "doesn't verbally acknowledge what she's just said", she will tag "y'know" onto the end of every sentence she says.

Her jaw makes a funny clicking noise when she eats.

She's a complete hypocrite. She once went into a screaming rage and threatened divorce because I was first downstairs after putting the baby to bed and didn't turn the baby-monitor on as soon as I got downstairs. A week later, she'd been downstairs for about ten minutes before me, when I got downstairs, the monitor wasn't on. I pointed this out and she said "oh, so? You can hear her anyway"

She went through a phase of halting every arguement we had by punching me in the face as hard as she could. Or try, at least, she telegraphs her punches and makes them easy to block / avoid. Though she once had a massive go at me because she had a bruise on her forearm where I'd blocked the punch aimed at my face.

There are things I simply can not do right. I call these "the butterknife things" because the butterknife is a prime example. We take out daughter swimming every Saturday morning. When we get back, we all have toast and scrambled eggs. Toast is made for the baby first, so there is a knife with toast crumbs on it. if I use this for putting butter in the egg pan, I get shouted at for getting crumbs on the "proper butter". If I get a clean knife out, I get shouted at for not using the one with the crumbs on. Every week.

She puts things down in random places, then blames me for moving them when she can't find them. She also moves my stuff, like tools, and replaces it with her own shit. When I ask where she's put things, she denies ever moving anything.

She complains whenever she gains weight, but will eat a family-sized bar of chocolate after her dinner. She will probably then blame the dinners I've made for her weightgain.

She will stand next to a cloth and complain that a counter hasn't been wiped down for longer than it would take to wipe the counter down.

She's one of those annoying people who waits until she's been told the cost of her shop before starting to look for her purse in supermarkets.

She constantly critisizes my driving, despite me never having had a crash that was my fault and her having written two cars off and dented her current car to fuck.

When she uses the kitchen (to bake, she doesn't cook), it takes me hours to clean up after her.

If I'm sick, she will suddenly come down with something much, much worse.

She's started pronouncing some things weirdly. like she'll pronounce "such" as "sach" and "month" as "mnth".

On the rare occasion she uses the washing machine, she'll put everyting in on a boil-wash.

She hogs the TV, which is why I insisted we bought a house big enough for me to have an "office" that I can escape to when Celebrity Next Top Baking Model Dance Crew Island is on.

Love her to bits, though...
(ScousersPet, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 13:41, 14 replies)

Must.Control.Fist.Of.Death!
This one happened only last week and I’m still fuming/ washing myself with bleach.

A few times a week I like to come in to work on my trusty bike. The place I work at has a shower in the mens toilet and so I get a chance to wash any dirt/dead bugs that ventured into my path off of me before getting dressed and acting like a good little IT salesperson.

To lighten the load I usually try and bring a few items in with me when I have the car and leave them at work. A few others have also taken up the idea of cycling to work and have also started doing the same, one of them is a guy called S.

S is a typical stereotype for our industry, he’s pretty geeky, classes dungeons and dragons figures as friends, would probably marry a server if he could and has certain hygiene issues at times (He used to cycle into work in his shirt and tie before being persuaded by the higher ups that the sight of a guy with sweat patches under his armpits is a surefire way to put off any clients that visit (And fellow workers).

Anywhoo I arrived at work slightly knackered but feeling ok, grabbed my work clothes and headed for the shower room. The place had already been used and S had taken up most of the room with his stuff. I muttered something to myself but was thankful that my towel was still on the radiator where I had left it the night before. One quick shower later and I jump out, grab my towel and commence drying…hang on, my towel seems a little wet thinks I while wrapping it round my waist. I then feel the cogs in my head slowly grind and come up with a solution…see the clothes that S was wearing…..hmm no sign of his usual purple rag that he dries himself with…that’s odd I saw the wet footprints away from the shower when I came into the room…now I think of it I put the towel on a lower part of the radiator last night….*Alarm Bell rings and Mon attempts to back off from the towel wrapped around his waist*

Drying off with a damp towel is one thing but drying off with one that has been used by a bloke that I hardly know is another thing altogether. Not only that what I do know of him does not put him anywhere on my list of people I would actually want to share a towel with.

After realising I had no other option (and making a mental note to go home and scub myself with an industrial sander) I got dried whilst weeping, then dressed and went to confront S. Seeing that the usual happy and chirpy looking Mon was bearing down on him looking like the Incredible Hulks wimpier-but-just-as-angry brother S realised that the best thing to do was to quickly pick up his desk phone and pretend he was on a call.I fumed beside him for a moment, taking it out on the resident toy mascot and then wandered off to complain somewhere else.

I eventually confronted him later that day and was told that he didn’t move my towel but knocked it off and moved it as he got out of the shower while he went to towel himself with the shirt he wore while cycling in. I suggested he should work in sales with that level of bullcrap.

Apologies for length, but yours would be the same if you found out that you were drying off with a towel that someone else had used.

(Shudders)
(mon bison powered by magnets, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 12:11, 11 replies)

Doorstep sellers who start with 'I'm on a youth training scheme'
Slightly greasy-looking lads, possibly from the travelling communit but without the accent, late teens, carrying stock in big holdalls slung over one shoulder. They knock on the door and start with 'sorry to bother you, but I'm on a youth training scheme trying to get a better job' or something like this. Always uses 'youth training scheme', which I'm sure is a term from Maggie's days.

Whatever you say, they come back with 'how about some teatowels, 3 for a fiver, excellent quality', before rummaging around in their holdalls to produce a multipack of cheap pound-shop towels. Decline these and then yellow dusters come out. Then the green scourers... You literally can't say no - they've always got something else to show you. It's like the betterware catalogue on greasy spotty legs.

The curious thing is that over the past 20 years I've lived up and down the country, yet the people coming to the doors all round the country always look the same, say the same thing, and have the same stock.

Who are they, where do they come from, and who teaches them the line of 'I'm on a youth training scheme'. Is it a genuine scheme, have they replied to 'earn £400 a week' posters and there's someone who organises them to do it, or what?
(harrypitta friends with the chilli saucerer, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 12:10, 4 replies)

The only tool in the box
I have a friend, a woman who is 60. So she grew up in the 1960s and 1970s, and was deeply affected by the feminism movement.

Nothing wrong with that, except she insists on seeing *every* debate or argument as a feminist one. No matter what you are discussing, however morally neutral or unconnected with sexual politics, she'll manage to crowbar a feminist analysis in. Every. Single. Time.

My favourite was a light-hearted discussion of the difference between the Celcius and Farenheit temperature scales. Apparently one was a male-dominated misogynistic conspiracy, while the other was a fluffy female moon-scale inspired by the Goddess. Can't remember which was which, though.

Drives me spare. She's a perfectly nice person in all other ways, however.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 11:27, 6 replies)

Check in / Security at airports
There should be an 'I know what I'm doing' lane for those of us who are able to read and follow instructions.

Offenses that get you thrown to the back of the queue:
1. Waiting until you get to the front before searching for passport/tickets
2. Not removing belt/piercing/money/phone before going through the metal detector.

It takes me 30 seconds to check in and another 30 seconds to go through security. It still takes 60 minutes to get through because of the fucktards who are in front.

The exception to this is Changi in Singapore which is not only my favourite airport, but very possibly my favourite place in the whole world. It just works...
(LetsGetDownToIt, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 11:12, 8 replies)

Following on from FootOfTim's post about people who can't take no for an answer
When people ask (yes, when I'm playing guitar) 'Could you play XYZ for me'? and I reply' No, sorry don't know it' There are three probable replies from them:-
1/ 'Ah c'mon, you MUST know it, it's the best song that the clamfurgles (or whoever) did!'.
Really I don't know it!
2/ 'Ah c'mon, you MUST know it, it goes dum dah dah dum...' etc etc.
Nope, still don't know it!
3/ (Puppy eyes and trembling lip) 'Please, please, ah go on, please please please' ad nauseam.
I don't care how many time you say please, I still don't know it!

Listen up fuckwits I DON'T FUCKING KNOW IT, OK!! TAKE FUCKING NO FOR AN ANSWER.

Then there's the dim cunts who ask you to play their 'favourite song' while they sing it. If I know it I'll do it, happy to. However, 99 times out of a hundred they:-
A/ Don't know the song lyrics all the way through
B/ Have no idea what key to sing it in, so they use three or four.
C/ Can't carry a tune in a bucket
D/ Have no idea of tempo
or, the usual scenario
E/ A mixture of all the above.

I'm no great musician, I'm no great singer. But, if I ask someone to play something while I sing it, I at least have the common decency to KNOW the song I'm asking for.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 11:09, 7 replies)

"You're just jealous of our freedoms/you're just a jaffa/you're just doing what the paper tells you"
No I'm fucking not. I'm criticising you, you dick, because I find the situation you have caused objectionable. Take it on the fucking chin.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 10 Oct 2012, 10:40, 7 replies)