Well, there was this one time...
My Dad married again. At first, she seemed OK, and I spent quite a lot of time at their new pad. All good.

The only slight problem is that they seemed quite fond of my ex-partner. OK, I put that down to that being how they got to see my little one, their grandchild. Then I met Pink Goddess, and things seemed to... change. There is a big difference between being welcome someplace, and "being made to feel like there's something wrong with you for not feeling welcome around now". I mean, FFS, they even liked Stalker Bird.

Things came to a head one charming afternoon where a small misunderstanding occurred. I thought, stupidly, that me stopping the car and suggesting that little one get back in his seatbelt was, well, responsible parenting. My mistake. Apparently, it's evidence of Child Abuse. With capital letters and everything. Much screaming and shouting followed, the general upshot being that I can't be trusted around vulnerable people, I abuse children, and so on.

We haven't spoken for a while. There's been the occasional pointed comment from my brother about it. Eventually I was badgered into going to meet with my Dad to 'talk this out'. I'm going on the 21st. I'll let you all know how it goes.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 22:49, 1 reply)

Father
Some of you may be aware from past QOTW's that my father chose to stop speaking to me about 18 months ago, just before I graduated from uni. Back then I was just about to sit my finals and had decided that the sleepy Welsh town where the parents live wasn't for me, not only because I didn't know anyone there as they'd moved there when I was living abroad for uni, but also because the job prospects for a graduate were atrocious.

The first thing you would notice about my father is that he is very, very, very Welsh. He learned how to say "Wales" in French when they took me to Paris during my A-levels simply so he could correct anyone who called him English. The fact his father was born in Bexleyheath and he doesn't speak a word of the language is irrelevant: my father is Welsh, and he is proud of it (when Wales won the Grand Slam a few years ago I didn't hear the end of it for weeks and he was lording it over the neighbours). Aside then from the fact he raised his only child - me - in England, so she doesn't have the accent, and doesn't identify with his love of the country beyond it being pretty when it's not raining.

My father is also reasonably easy to get on with unless you disagree with him about anything: his right-wing (he reads the Mail) debates with my socialist grandfather were legendary. In my case, this manifested itself in what I should do at uni, and where: I knew I wanted to do French and I knew that because of his nature I wanted to be as far away from him as possible, and I chose Latin simply because I enjoyed it, was good at it (my teacher told me I should go for it) and knew I'd continue to enjoy it. This was not what Father wanted: once I started applying to places he got extremely annoyed that I wasn't applying to Cardiff, or Swansea, or Aberystwyth, or Bangor, good WELSH universities. I discounted Cardiff straight off the bat because my family live in and around Barry and Cardiff and I didn't want to drink in the same pubs as my cousins and have elderly relatives beating a path to my door when I might be doing something important like having sex or working, and between him and my mother - who's somewhat on the overprotective side - I wanted to learn to be independent. Father did not like this, and he liked even less it that I was going to be studying what I wanted to study, rather than what he wanted me to study: German, so I could teach him German and he didn't have to pay for classes. I was quite sick of German after having been taught by the same incompetent Bavarian pervert for two years at A-level and wanted to concentrate on something else.

Uni goes reasonably well, other than Father cutting snippets out of the newspaper about Abstinence and Silver Ring Thing and all that bullshit and sending them to me periodically (no letter enclosed, just an article in an envelope). He was constantly on my back when I was home about no sex before marriage, and simultaneously wondering why I erupted in teenage style when he asked "so, any news on the romance front, then?". This is a man who told me, when I was ten, that if I ever found myself unmarried and pregnant, like my cousin had just done, he would kick me out. He doesn't even have the excuse of being religious; he's a committed atheist. He made it clear that any man I brought home would be subjected to the kind of rigorous screening you see in sitcoms: "and if he gets you pregnant I'll make sure he won't do it again".

I never told my parents about anyone I was involved with until my final year of uni, when I met my last boyfriend. He had to coerce me into telling my parents I was seeing someone, and when they eventually met (forty questions later) all seemed to go swimmingly, until I went home for Christmas - the last time I have ever done so. My mother went out for the day and he spent the entire day bitching about her and her family - how all of them are spongers and wasters, even the ones with jobs, how pathetic my mother can be for looking after her dying father (of which more later) when he was clearly going to outlive us all. He also spent a long time telling me how proud "your mother and I" were of me, and if I was to move in with my then-boyfriend, this would make me an uneducated tax-dodging sponger and he would be so disappointed in me.

Come the summer, this is exactly what I intend to do, and tell my mother I'm looking for a job so we can get a flat together. Mother says to keep us posted and takes it a lot better than I was expecting, given that I'm having to apply to bottom-end jobs because I have no experience. Father, on the other hand, stays silent till he sends me an essay of an email, which calls me a selfish little bitch, accuses me of not loving my parents and wanting them out of my life, how dare I want to live with a man and a man who is 'beneath' me at that, how he doesn't care if him saying all this will cause a rift between us and again how selfish I am. Naturally I'm not happy about this, and am even less happy that it upsets the boyfriend, who is upset enough to want to run (I managed to talk him round when I explained it wasn't him but the fact he had a penis, with which he had defiled his precious daughter, that was the problem).

At the end of term, the parents come down and Father is still so furious he cannot be in the same room as me for more than five minutes. When I get my degree result on the intranet, mother and I dance and rejoice and he sits on the bed and screams at me "I have come down here to knock some sense into you and make you stop being a silly little girl and come home!" As it is, I already have somewhere to stay to conduct job-hunting from and carry on seeing the boyfriend so we can get the flat together, and eventually Father realises, after much emotional blackmail, that I am not to be persuaded. They go back to Wales and Father does not contact me.

They come down again for my graduation and again Father tries to persuade me to stop looking for a job and "come home". He tells me the boyfriend is a 'waster'. He calls me selfish again. He accuses the boyfriend of not caring about me because, as well as a 10-hour shift on his feet, he did not help me move, and, on the happiest day of my life, he spends the afternoon belittling me in front of people I have respect for as friends and academically, telling them all in a very loud voice that I am being a STUPID LITTLE GIRL who needs to COME HOME because she is MAD to think she can be independent, this is the BIGGEST MISTAKE OF HER LIFE and she should LISTEN TO HER PARENTS, which, being as it was in front of my lecturers, mostly, stung. Gratifyingly, most of them let him finish his rant and then asked me the same thing again when he had exhausted himself. They then went back to the car to go back to their hotel and he says "so, if you get a job, this is goodbye, am I right?". I have not heard a word from him since, and I did get a job a fortnight later, and a flat a month after that.

In the meantime, my mother has been to see me twice, I've sent them both Christmas and birthday cards and presents, and got thank yous from my mother, but never him. I've acknowledged Father's Day both years without so much as a text from him. I've spoken to my mother and never once has he come to the phone - he sits in his armchair and watches John Wayne movies and grunts at her.

My parents' marriage has been going slowly down the pan since I was a young teenager, when he had to give up driving because we thought he had epilepsy, and from then on nothing was his fault - I was pathetic, mother was pathetic, I talked crap, I had no friends and should get out and join a club or something, I was a selfish child who did nothing for anyone, the works. My grandfather did die a couple of months later and I think then he was sorry that he'd been so dismissive. The last time my mother came to see me, she told me he's making her life hell for a similar reason: my grandmother is not long for this world and she lives a 45-minute drive from my parents' house. My father begrudges her the petrol to make this journey once a week to check on her mother and make sure she's okay, when in reality she would like to go much more often, simply because he doesn't believe she's dying when it's apparent to me when I've only seen photos of her lately, that she very much is. My mother has talked to me about separating from him, but I don't think she has the strength to - once my nan dies he's all she's got in the immediate vicinity and she's never been with anyone but him, but I really think the relationship does her more harm than good - he controls everything she does.
( Maladicta, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 22:28, 18 replies)

My eyes lit up when I saw this was QOTW....
Over the years I have always taken a dislike to my Dad's Sister, her daughter and subsequent family with many things that have become petty but the final piss take came 6 years ago, before my Nan died, and came to a head when my Dad's sister got my Nan to change her will whilst on her death bed. Apologies as this is not really much of a funny, but just highlights what a bunch of total cnuts my Dad's family are.

Thus meaning my Dad got nothing, whereas his sister got the family house and all other possessions etc, and her daughter also did very well in getting everything she could get her hands on.

Safe to say we have nothing to do with any of the blood sucking vultures and I am not a bad person but I do hope they all rot in hell or any number of bad things happen to them for being such a bunch of greedy wankers and mugging my Dad off like that.
(Pumba Look for the red flashing light again... no!!!!!, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 20:45, 4 replies)

My parents
They love each other i suppose as they have been together a long time but they argue a lot and its often very entertaining to watch. My mother is a short lady, she also has a short fuse to match her height. She's very easily wound up,and my dad loves to torment her.Whenever she gets wound up she chases him round the house with the wooden spoon and smacks him with it. She's almost foaming at the mouth when she shouts at him. What makes it worse is he'll be laughing hysterically while she's trying to reach up and smack him on the head because she's too short to reach. While all this is going on she'll be shouting about moving out, going on holiday and how he's turning into a nasty old man.

I spose you could look at this as abuse but he seems to like it.
And i do not want to think about the implications of that.

.
(stitched, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 19:30, 1 reply)

Stirring up a feud by a 2 yr old
Cue me, the missus and the 2 year old daughter in our car getting petrol while on the way to drop me off at work yesterday morning. For reasons unbeknown to myself the missus is off on a right ratty moodflip, the way that only you completely irrational women are capable of performing for no good reason. I put in the petrol, she storms off to pay for it after I gave her some money.

I sit back down in the car and quietly mutter to myself. The wife however storms back and starts practically shouting at me the question "Where's my top-up card???" I find it in the glovebox and she marches off back into the station.

"Stupid plonker" mutters I to no-one in particular.

Wife walks back, swings the door open and jumps in the car while looking angry. The Bleedy Beast of the South is here, and she's seething. Just before I start the car however, there's a moment of silence and calm. Which is instantly destroyed by my daughter.

"Daddy called you a plonker mummy..."

How I didn't have my testicles removed is beyond me :)
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 18:47, Reply)

There was a big rift
in my family when I was caught fucking my first cousin.
( The Scrunt Wants a Dozen Pints, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 18:37, Reply)

"We don't need no education....."
When my brother was about 13 he smashed a hole in his bedroom wall with a cricket bat. As you do. Stupidly he enlisted my help in covering up this terrible crime with a cunningly applied poster of the A team. I then proceeded to blackmail the poor sod for the next three years until we moved by whistling Pink Floyd's greatest hit whenever he irritated me.
(Betty Spencer did a whoopsie on the carpet on, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 18:24, Reply)

My aunt
kept saying I'd go to hell, just because I listened to metal. It wasn't even my music, it was my girlfriend's. Admittedly we were having sex outside of marriage. And also we thought we were werewolves. A bit teen-wangst and pretentious maybe, but saying I was going to Hell was a bit much. As I kept telling her, Hell hath no furry likes a woman's Korn.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 15:02, 1 reply)

Mum and her eldest sister...
haven't spoken since the week before my parents got married. My Mum is British and my Dad is Japanese (well only part but still) and Aunt told my Mum that if she went ahead with it then to not expect her to be there to watch her "bring ch*nk blood into the family".

Mum went ahead with it.

Aunt probably supports the BNP now.
(Melody was not PMSing on, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 14:39, 5 replies)

I have a fun family
Apologies in advance, this probably won't be funny but instead is rather cathartic for me.

Due to my family's fucked-up-ness emotionally speaking, (my mum has depression and anger issues, and my step-dad has physical problems and is losing the will to live due to my mum), plus the fact that all of my elder siblings (I have 3 elder brothers and one elder sister), are in fact step-siblings which my mum hates, we tend to have a lot of arguments which lead into massive feuds. Some arguments are mental, such as the ice cream one below, and some just make me want to cut off contact completely. So, without further ado, here we go.

- The Ice Cream Incident.

I was about 11 or 12 when this happened. One of my elder brothers, T, has a son, D, who is about 7 years younger than me. One family gathering (back when we had such things), I had just gone to get one of those boxes of Mars ice-creams for the family because it was a hot summers day, and was just opening the freezer when D popped up beside me and asked if he could have an ice-cream. Being the well-mannered, polite young man that I was back then, I told him to wait his turn, and proceeded to hand out ice-creams to the rest of the family like the well-trained monkey I was. D, having gotten bored of waiting in the space of two minutes, decides to bugger off, as little kids are wont to do, so I leave him an ice-cream on the side and then bugger off outside to join everyone out in the garden.

Five minutes later, D comes racing and shrieking, as only a five year old can, demanding to know where his ice-cream is. At which point, T starts in on me for not giving him an ice-cream, despite my protests that there was an ice-cream on the side and that if either of them would go look, they would find it there. My mum, being some sort of mental vengeful angel, leaps in and starts shouting and swearing at my brother T and slapping him. I would like to point out at this time that none of my family are Italian, or have any Italian blood in them, so we normally don't do public outrage/arguments.

I honestly cannot remember any more, apart from the aftermath. The aftermath being, T and D were banned from family gatherings for five years. Banned by my mum, no less. I would like to say that this was forgiven and forgotten eventually, but my mum is still clinging onto this grudge/feud/thing to this day.

- The Wedding incident

About 3 years back now, my sister got married. It was a lavish do, and as this was when I drank still, I spent the weekend off my tits on Guinness and Leffe, as young men who recently turned 18 are wont to do when those two magical words "Free bar" are in place. As per some sort of unwritten rule, I was dancing like John Travolta crossed with a mong on speed, quite possibly complete with crazy gurning face, with one of the bridesmaids. As were the rest of my brothers apart from my youngest one, who was 15 and being an awkward teenager.

As the night progresses, I am steadily getting even more pissed, to the point where my feet only tangentially connect to the ground whilst dancing and I am now smoking brazenly in front of my parents, much to the delight of my dance partner. We both end up not copping off, as she's sharing a room with her friends, and I'm sharing a room with my 15 year old brother, so we kiss and call it a night eventually.

However, unbeknownst to me, my eldest brother R has decided to cop off with the head bridesmaid. Whilst his girlfriend was there. This upsets her, and upsets my sister when she finds out, thus causing the pair of them to not speak for a year.

On a side note, my mum complained that the wedding photographer that was hired by my sister, for my sisters wedding, said photographer was not taking pictures of her. This also caused a family ruck and caused my mum to stop speaking to my sister for a few months.

- The Hospital incident

Not so long ago, my dad was hospitalised. He'd been complaining of a pain in his leg, and the doctors prescribed painkillers for him, which barely worked, and then a few days later, managed to fall over. This led to some incredible pain, in his words "Like I'd broken my leg and was trying to walk on it", so he was put in hospital. This was around midday, and this will be important soon.

I was unaware of all of this, given that I was at the other end of the country in Chester, when my parents live in Swindon, and rarely rang home because of my mother going mental down the phone at me, so it was easier for me not to ring home. So, the day my dad gets hospitalised, when I ring my dad up on his mobile at half six in the evening, no-one answers. Strange, he always answers his phone around this time thinks I, so I try the house phone. No answer on that either, so I panic a little because my parents never go out, and if they do go out, they usually ring me beforehand to tell me that they're going out for a meal or something.

Eventually, my mum rings back, and the conversation goes like this. "Hi, sorry about not answering earlier, dad's in hospital, I've had an awful day today what with all the housework and walking the dogs and sorting the chickens out blah blah blah" for about ten minutes. She goes on about the awful day she's had, without bothering to explain why dad is in hospital. Eventually, I snap and ask her what's up with dad, and she says "I don't know", and then carries on with her day of woe and how she has to do so much to keep the house tidy etc. I would like to point out that she hasn't had a job in 22 years, so she doesn't have the stress of working on top of the stress of the housework.

I make my excuses and hang up, in shock. I go out for a walk, and then ring my sister about an hour later, who tells me that my brother T, yes, he of the ice-cream incident, has apparently gone off on one at my mum. I'm not entirely surprised by this, as T is volatile at the best of times. So I ring my mum up again and ask what's going on, and she launches into how T launched into an unprovoked attack on her and that I should support her in this argument and that I should join in blah blah blah.

I decide to do something radical. I say that I'm going to support her in her fight against T, but I'm not getting involved because I don't want the hassle of getting involved in a family argument when I have my dissertation to do. She goes absolutely berserk at me, shouting down the phone that I am an unloving son and that if I cared at all for her I should support her no matter what (almost her exact words). I stick to my stance of supporting her but not getting involved, and hang up ASAP.

A few days later, I get a phonecall from my dad explaining the situation. Apparently he had a cyst in his leg which burst when he fell over. He also spoke to T, asking what was going on with him, and apparently my mum had done the exact same thing she had done with me, i.e. saying dad was in hospital and then launching into her tale of woe about how she struggles so much with the house and the animals. T got understandably frustrated, and started shouting over her to try and find out what was up with dad, and my mum decided to start a fight. My dad also adds that I'm apparently really unpopular back home now and my mum has stopped talking to me because of the whole not getting involved thing.

Unfortunately, there's no happy ending to that because my family will tear itself apart when my dad dies. And unfortunately, that could be at any day because my dad has various diseases, including diabetes and Addisons disease amongst other things. So yeah. Happy days.

Apologies for length, that was longer than expected.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 14:32, Reply)

me and my brother
got on pretty well as kids, but as we got older we started to argue more and more. It all came to a head when we fought on opposite sides of the Civil War. Still, he did let me on his horse when I got shot, so that was nice.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 13:21, Reply)

not my real aunty and uncle
one my cousins brithday my real aunty and fake aunty had a nice scrap which all thr other women in the family jumped into leaving me and some poor mate of my cousins picking everyone up and sorting things out


neeee goood leeek
(Agent Dale Pooper k in the p, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 4:11, Reply)

Family Feuds?
Y'all know shit about family feuds.

Yours

Cain.
(Big D, Sat 14 Nov 2009, 1:16, 2 replies)

I'm the youngest of four kids.
I have three older sisters, the youngest of whom is six years older. They're all a year and a half apart- which means that I didn't have three sisters, I had four mothers. The Three Furies, I call them.



Yeah, it was kinda like that.

In particular the youngest of them used to enjoy teasing me, just to see me get angry. The angrier I got, the funnier she thought it was. I can recall one glorious day when I got sick of hearing her, and decided to shut her up. I was about five at the time and had been watching "Superman", and did a running dive from across the room as she lay on the couch. I assumed the full Superman pose, flying through the air, fists outstretched, imaginary cape flapping... and caught her in both eyes. Even fifty pounds was enough to strike a blow for freedom, and she went to school with two black eyes.

Fast forward forty years. You'd think that when we're in middle age things would change, right? We're all adults now. I'm a far cry from the young boy who used to spend his afternoons in the woods to avoid the Three Furies when their menstrual cycles were synchronized.

This summer I went to my parents' place for a long weekend, and as it happened the entire family converged for that time. All of the siblings were present, and all of their kids as well- a massive throng of people. And during that time I noted that the family dynamic is still the same as I remember from deepest childhood- the oldest sister is rather aloof from the mayhem, the middle sister is trying to nanny everyone, and the youngest is still snarky and snippish toward me. I won't bother to detail it, but after that I've had enough- if the youngest one should die tomorrow, no tears would be shed.

The temptation to repeat history was great, especially now that I weigh about four times more than I did...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 13 Nov 2009, 21:06, 6 replies)

The bastard uncle
Every family seems to have one but I've yet to hear of one that is as much of a bastard as mine.
The story begins years before my birth and so I've had to piece it together over the years from various family members as my dad refuses to talk about it.

Hugh (for that is his name, a.k.a bastard uncle) was the eldest of 3 siblings in a fairly well of family. Once leaving school he had decided to start his own business and had asked for a loan from my grandfather. Of course my granddad was only to happy to help out his first born and the money was arranged.

A week later Hugh rolled up in his new Jaguar. Business plans out the window and money now in four wheeled form with no hope of recovery. It was brand new and had lost half of its value as soon as he drove it from the forecourt. This was bad enough but it was the first of many loans, for a house, a business etc. each time the money being squandered on cars or women. My granddad always lent the money in the trusting naivety that parents can have for their children. Hugh was not done though and asked for another loan to buy a pub. Eventually the money was all gone and my granddad told him such. So Hugh looked around and said;

"How much is this house worth? Sell it and come live with me."

He persuaded him and despite my dad and aunt trying to stop him the last of my granddad's money was 'lent'. Granddad moved into the pub with Hugh and this seemed to be the end but it was just the start. My dad got a phone call a week or so later. It was my granddad and he wanted to see him. When my dad arrived my granddad was sat on the doorstep with his meagre number of possessions.

That's right dear readers, my uncle had kicked his own father out on to the street. Now penniless and homeless, he was forced to move into our spare bedroom until we found him rented accommodation. His health degraded and for the last years of his life my father had to care for him for several hours a day. Not once did Hugh visit.

I was 11 when the funeral came, and it was the first time I had seen my uncle. That day I saw my 6'4" dad cry. The single most humbling experience of my life. I looked to my uncle who sat stony faced and uncaring.

To this day my aunt has written in her will that he is to be turned away if he comes to her funeral. I'll be more than happy to do it.
(Ginger_Whinger got in the newsletter!! =D, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 19:25, 13 replies)

So right,
I grew up in a working class area, raised by my mum, who was single since ever since my dad left her shortly after I was born. The area was tough but had a good sense of community. I used to spend most of my time at the local park, mucking about with a ball until, one fateful day these two lads I didn't recognise turned up there.

One of them tried to steal my ball, then they got lippy, one thing led to another and a ruck broke out out.
It wasn't a particularly big fight but it really freaked my mum out, who'd previously gone out of her way to shield me and protect me from the worst excesses of the town.
After I'd gone home and told her what had happened she said 'that's it, you're moving in with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air.'
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 18:48, 6 replies)

I once went for a barbecue
at this place, which was my farmleigh food.
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 17:55, Reply)

"Last Tuesday, down the Fox and Hounds with auntie Jane"



/geek
( MatJ LOOK, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 17:47, 1 reply)

When I was a kid
I ended up moving in with my step ladder. I didn't get on with my real ladder.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 17:28, 2 replies)

GAYNESS AND MY DAD
My future brother-in-law’s as bent as a two bob note. Some would say he’s got more raging homo genes than an oiled down Bruno strapped to a bed made up with a girly pink Hello Kitty duvet cover, with Tom Cruise* straddling him wearing nothing but a flaming hot pink latex gimp mask with half a kilo of anal lube dribbling down between his naked buttocks, oozing slime like the contents of a beached BP tanker onto his mammoth, swollen, closely-shaven love plums.

My future brother-in-law is also a rugby player who’s built bulk and general body shape is reminiscent of Mike Tyson in his glory days. He is – as I would put it – a fucking big hard looking fucker. And then he’ll open his mouth and start speaking and you suddenly realize he’s the Welsh equivalent of Julian Clairy.

And the first time he encountered my father it went something like this:-

Jim (usually prefixed by Big Gay): “I’m studying for my MA in Art History at the moment.”
My Dad (usually prefixed by Oh, Shit Here Comes): “…….”
Jim: “It’s very exhausting.”
Dad: “…….”
Jim: “Thankfully I can fit this in round my job. They’re very understanding.”

Looks round for a bit, feeling a little uncomfortable. Sensing something wasn’t quite right with this conversation, I interjected:

Me: “Jim works for a bank, Dad. He does all that credit control stuff.”
Dad: “……”
Jim: “Yes…. It’s very…. um…. good….”
Dad: “……”

Jim and I share a glance, now my girlfriend senses something isn’t quite right. She’s sauntering over to try and get my dad to stop staring at her brother as if he’d just stepped off an interplanetary spaceship from Alpha-fucking-Centuri.

Me: “You ok, Dad?”
Dad: “Surely a good looking man like you could get a woman if you really tried?”

Time stood still while I tried to figure out how best to prevent a feud between my dear old homophobic bigot of a dad and my future in-laws. Thankfully, I didn’t need to. Jim was used to dealing with ‘the older generation,’ as he tends to call them. He replied:

“You’d think so wouldn’t you? As soon as I find a woman with a fully functioning penis and testicles and no breasts who likes listening to Abba and going to gay bars you’ll be the first to know.”

My Dad’s response was priceless of course, he said:

“…..”

Before he eventually wondered off to have a chat with my future father-in-law about trains, or the war, or how football was better back before the introduction of substitutes when every team had a fella named Chopper or Killer in their starting eleven.

*Not that I’d say Tom Cruise was an aficionado of the cock, of course. Tom Cruise is without doubt the most heterosexual man in the entire universe. I imagine when he’s taking it roughly up the wrong-un by some strapping lad dressed like a member of the Village People he’s trying really hard to think about the latest cover of FHM magazine.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 17:06, 7 replies)

family ties
My Uncle no longer talks to his mother (my grandmother) and my Aunt (said uncle's wife)no longer talks to her father. This is because my grandmother married her daughter in law's father...the weirdest kind of incest story ever in my opinion. My family are from the North East so I'm not sure why i'm surprised!
(pavemental, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 16:56, 3 replies)

To all intents and purposes...
...my former stepmother and her kids don't exist in my family's universe, because of this.

I still try not to think about it much.
(thatblokeoverthere not quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 16:45, 6 replies)

Happy Families
We haven't had an arguement in months. This new found peace all happened shortly after we stopped speaking.

I never have had a disagreement with the extended family, amazing considering from mam's side alone I am one of 14 grandkids. How have I managed it? Well, I haven't been to a family wedding or such like ever, but it might something to do with not speaking or contacting them in over a decade.

Some people say they argue because they care, others say argue because they like it. I say I dont want to argue, I want a quiet life.
(Free pens 100, 101, 102 is still counting on, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 16:30, Reply)

My dads side of the family,
apart from my dad, are all hardcore born-again christians, belonging to a church investigated and closed for such things as brainwashing, cultism, imprisonment, fraud, embezzlement..

My parents both married in their early 20s, and dads family were not best pleased, as anyone less than Jesus is wicked and sinful, and my parents are entirely atheist.

When my mum was pregnant with me, my paternal aunt was also pregnant.
She was, and still is quite frankly, fucking massive. As is plainly obvious, being fucking massive whilst pregnant means that you have a really reduced chance of coming to term.

Fat aunt lost the baby, and I was born.
Unfortunately, laws of nature don't seem to apply to zealous nutcases, and she saw the loss of her unborn child as "God mistakenly striking me rather than that heathen" and REALLY BELIEVED IT.

Anyhow, one day a couple of months after birth, my dad is out, and my mum is downstairs with me in the cot beside her.

*dingdong*, it's hippo-aunt. Mum lets her in, idle pleasantries exchanged, etc. Mum goes upstairs briefly, and a slamming door is heard.

She comes downstairs, and I'm missing from the cot. Aunt is also conspicuous in her absence. Mum runs to the front door, and aunts tyres are screeching as she zooms away.

Mum rings my dad, can't get through.

Phone rings a few minutes later. It's the aunt, telling my mum how evil she is for marrying my dad, how she'll never see me again, and various other horrid shit. Points out that I will be christened, renamed, etc, raised as one of them. Hangs up.

Mum rings my nan (her mum) and picks her up quickly from round the corner. They drive to the mentalist baptist church a few miles away, and see my aunts car parked there..

They burst in to the church to confront my aunt and her mother, and literally end up kicking the shit out of them both in a packed church, and taking me back.

Somehow, they thought that kidnapping a baby with the intention of was what God wanted them to do.

And that is why I will never speak to them again.
(fantomex, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 16:28, 8 replies)

My family has a massive fight every friday
Mainly because Rob waits till late O'clock to publish the newsletter
(NuffMuff fucks shrubbery, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 16:09, 1 reply)

The Final Straw
My family don't really have bust-ups so this is one of my more vivid memories of my younger brother and older sister fighting that is still mentioned by my brother at any given opportunity – enjoy.

My younger brother was an utter utter arse as a kid. I love him very much and he is a lot better now but when we were little I wanted to pelt him with Lego bricks until his face caved in. Because my dad worked shifts he wasn’t usually around to dish out the discipline, so it fell to my mother. But with three kids, a german shepherd and a fulltime job dealing with other peoples bastard children all day, she sort of had her hands full so my older sister also took it upon herself to ‘deal with my brother’.

One particular week over the summer holidays my brother had taken it upon himself to behave like an absolute arseface; the neighbours had been around to complain, he’d stolen sweets from me on three separate occasions, he had hidden all the cartridges for the beloved Sega Master System, he’d broken one of my mums ornaments and had walked mud through the house… he was being a dick and my mother decided that a suitable punishment would be to ground him. Great, so then he was stuck in the house, in a terrible mood, annoying me and my sister all day. Why didn’t you just leave the house? I hear you cry! Well I could have gone out but then that would have given him access to my bedroom and he had a habit of stealing things so in the house I stayed.

That night at dinner my mum had popped around the corner to my grandparents house and my brother kicked off again and started throwing rice around the dinner table. I could see the red mist descend over my sisters face… my brother – didn’t. 'Right' she shouted and jumped up from the table and stormed off up stairs. My brother looked at me, giggled nervously and followed her. We both crept to the bottom of the stairs and nearly got knocked over as my sister stomped back down with my brothers backpack in one hand and a pillowcase in the other, ‘I’ve had enough’ she screamed, ‘you’re leaving’ and she proceeded to march into the kitchen and start filling his backpack with random food from the cupboards which included a packet of crackers and an apple. She then shoved the bag at him, handed him his Iron Eagle video, opened the front door, and pushed him outside ‘you don’t live here anymore’ she cried and slammed the door in his bemused face.

My mother returned home 5 minutes later to find my brother sitting on the driveway with a pillowcase on his head shoving crackers into his face... suffice to say he stayed clear of my sister for the rest of the summer holidays.
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Fri 13 Nov 2009, 16:03, 4 replies)

My middle bother....
is a lying, manipulative, devious, thieving shite, and my mother still defends the bastard to the hilt.

So far the list of his transgressions are as follows:

1)orders an entire room full of furniture on my credit card, refuses to pay it back to this day citing the reason "sure that was ages ago"

2)Moves into a new house, tells my mother he's too poor to buy furniture...she gives him our furniture...yes ours, which him and his ugly girlfriend then sell.

3)Sells my guitar, playstation, stereo, books, DVD's, DVD players, old toys, mobile phone etc etc, the list goes on (all on separate occaisions) claiming them as his own just to make some spare cash.

4) Tried to steal my dad's air rifle and sell that, but he's not the brightest and was stopped by the police as he walked past the police station with it over his shoulder.

5) The lies, I can't go into detail here becasue there is so much of it but the lies...the never ending lies and stories. You could catch him eating the last biscuit, half of it still in his hand and when asked if he is eating the last biscuit he would still say "no, it wasn't me" as he chews.

6) The ultimate transgression and the main reason that our feud has carried on for over a decade, while my parents were on holiday years ago my Grandmother took ill, as she lay in her own bed, with her kidneys and liver failing my brother stole around £500 from her purse in front of her, drove to Belfast an hour later and bought himself a lovely £499 guitar effects pedal............. After he was found out my parents let him keep the fucking thing, didn't call the police and to this day almost deny the whole thing ever happened, so he got away with it.

So as a result there is an ongoing fued between me, my brother, mum and dad that erupts every time i visit.. He's almost 40 now and still living at home, not paying any rent and my mum makes him a packed lunch and dinner in the evening everyday of the week.

My only supporter is my eldest brother. However the fury for my middle brother still boils underneath the the surface of my skin when I see him and sometimes my parents for letting him get away with shit like this to this very day.

Im no angel either I might add, no one is but theres a line that family should never cross.
( Bamboo Steamer, Fri 13 Nov 2009, 15:36, 6 replies)