the ol' two birds with one prank trick.....
I was doing some business dealings with a friend-of-a-friend's-father once; one of those guys who at heart was actually a very good bloke, but just had this pathological need to tell all the world what a successfully good top bloke he was all the time. Wanker, I mean to say. Let's call him Les.

He had an office on a fairly busy road, and just outside the town planners had created one of the most stupidly-placed crosswalks ever, right in the middle of a lovely, straight, flat, otherwise fast bit of road. To prove how important he was, Les would just walk out without seeming to look. This day I was with him and I waited, as a little beaten-up red car was rapidly approaching. At this point, readers, it will help to imagine Les as a slightly shorter, more gristly version of Brian Blessed, as he theatrically stops in the path of said vehicle and slowly, slowly lifts his head up and towards it. Cue young male driver smoking the little car's bags and furiously hoping to push himself backwards through his seat....and just stopping in time. Ever so calm, Les takes out a wee notebook from his shirt pocket, mid-road, and writes down the number plate before proceeding across the road to the pub where we were headed for lunch. At least, that was his plan. You see, I've witnessed this little performance a few times before, and I swear he gets a semi-on each time because he's a JP with a few mates who are coppers and the poor unfortunate driver will shortly expect a ticket in the mail, and Les just loves the power. This time, however, all did not go to plan.

Here's Les, enjoying himself immensely scribbling and smirking away, when two things happen nearly simultaneously; Firstly, a big black Mercedes 500 or something flys by on the other side with a grinning suit leaning out the driver's window shouting "better look where you're going next time eh, Les??hahahahaha or maybe get a walking stick!" and secondly the young fella driver decides he's had enough of being intimidated and that there's room between Les and the footpath, squeals the wheels under power this time, and lurches the car around Les, just missing his arse and shouting "what are you gonna do about it you fat git?" as he goes.

Les is now reddened, and he has not yet had a drink today. Turns out the suit is a neighbouring lawyer with whom Les has had several petty but nasty to-dos with about office parking and the like. Small thing, but important if you are as lacking in confidence in your penis as Les. He is silent for the first few moments in the pub, pinting and cigaring. Then the light bulb goes on; truly, you can see things like this through the screen of this man's fragile ego.

Les sends me to the bar for more drinks and a scrap of paper, and asks me to take a small dictation *snigger*. After a goodly lunch we repair back to the parking lot behind the offices (no crosswalk incidents this time) where Les quickly retrieves his large jack-handle from his luxury 4WD, glances around once and takes a running swipe at the rear corner of the big black aforementioned lawyermobile (now parked in one of Les's office's spots) and creams the taillight and a bit of panel too. Grabs the note in my hand, sticks it under the windshield wiper and we scarper.

As you have by now correctly guessed, it reads "sorry I didn't get his name but the young fella that hit your car was driving a red blahblah number plate xxx123; good luck!"

Lawyers, pricks, and speeding nonchalant drivers. The only person I like in this story is me.
(dadadali has hybrid vigour, Sat 15 Dec 2007, 8:57, 1 reply)

What a wanker..
...and yet I still admire him.
(Big D, Sat 15 Dec 2007, 10:01, closed)