Me and My Cousin
My Dads side of the family are all Essex boys and gals while i am a northern monkey so i rarely get too see them but when I do it is normally in the form of a big family piss up and it's a beautiful thing. My Dad is sort of the black sheep of the family, he doesn't drink a lot and is not too fond of the whole social get togethers so when him, my mother and my little brother pissed off back to my nans on the last do, Me, my sister, my cousin Tom and his friend headed over back to My cousins Ben and Katie's house with them and her boyfriend, to indulge in some post do ring of fire.

I love my cousin Ben, two years younger than me but a helluva lot bigger, a stereotypical cheeky Essex boy but he does have shall we say undesirable personality traits as do we all, however after everyone started becoming to pissed and my little cousin Tom threw up a little, Ben, me and Kate started cleaning up the house in preparation for his dads return which i found very surprising as the boy can be a bit of a cunt to his dad.

Anyway me and him ended up some how having a little play fight and i ended up on the floor holding his legs with my eyes shut. "Matt if you don't get off my legs after 5 i'm going to punch you in the face." I thought this to be a slight over reaction so wouldn't let him off the hook in what i thought was some harmless drunk "Who's dick is bigger" "1,2,3,4,5" SMACK!!!!! The fucking cunt landed a shot full fucking throttle to my fucking face. Hurt and Stinging my initial drunk knee jerk reaction was this wanker has got to pay. Got up and tried to smack him in his bollocks, missed completely and tried to land a blow of my own to the face and by now all the young uns (19 & 16x4) were trying to separate there older and apparently more wiser siblings and cousins. I caught up to the cunt grabbed his face and slammed it into a table, his little sister getting in the way of my intoxicated self and having to be rescued by her b.f. The next thing i remember is being on the sofa and the cunt got out the kitchen knives and seemed to be heading towards me as my sister got in the way and stopped him. I ran outside followed by my sister who proceeded to call me "crazy" (I have previous of being an absolute fucking tool when i abuse alcohol) Fucking hell! He had hit me in the face over nothing and tried to cut me up and i was the crazy one!!!! I told her to fuck off. Next thing i remember is my cousin Kate (Ben's sister) and her B.F calming me down and getting me in. They were fucking rocks throughout, i had never really spoke to Kate before as she had been very quiet until recently and i was expecting the worse when i heard she had a guy, but these two young people had managed to hold things together and calm a situation down between a 22 year old and 20 year old with ample maturity that we two cunts lacked.

I got inside and Ben came over, trying to say something i didn't know this at the time but apparently he had been outside beating himself. When he reached me I proceeded to tell him "hit me in the face your a cunt but getting knives and holding them to my sister and your fucking dead to me! Me and you are through!" He treaded off upstairs as my cousin Tom who had taken the whole incident quite badly, pleaded with me to make amends in tears telling us how much he loved us. Ben's dad arrived a few minutes later. I told him what had happened and the sorted geezer he is he stated that we should keep all things in house.

Of course after he trod down in his vomit soaked hoodie in the morning,we forgave each other. You've got too, life's too short and my family mean the world to me and i love them to bits. It has now been dubbed "The night we do not talk about" by Ben and although we haven't seen each other since i can't wait too hook up with him again! Alcohol hey, really does have a knack of bringing out the inner prick sometimes.

Oh and back in the day, i once killed a cousin from the other side of the family's cyber pet on Christmas day by disciplining the shit out of it. He proceeded by trying to kill me! Hands around the neck full on strangulation until he was dragged away. Again Boxing day we agreed to let bygones be bygones!
(joeystall, Wed 18 Nov 2009, 11:17, 12 replies)

My family
are normal. We're not a close knit family, myself and my 4 (used to be 5) elder brothers, but we're all on speaking terms. We don't have get togethers or anything. We all visit our parents regularly, and occasionally we see each other there but on the whole we're not at each other's houses all the time. The eldest helped me fit my kitchen and tile my bathroom, I help him with computer problems. Everything's tickety-boo.

Mrs SLVA's family however is a different matter. Seeing as she's not interested in opening an account on here, it leaves it up to me to give you an idea of what a dysfunctional group they are.

She's the youngest of eight, and there's a sizeable age gap between her and the rest of them. They were all a bit iffy anyway and petty squabbles were common, but when my mother / father -in-law passed away 11 / 16 years ago respectively, the family have never congregated in the same place since; as predicted by Mrs SLVA shortly beforehand. In fact, if one of them dies, we doubt they'd all turn up to the funeral.

As is a common cause of family feuds, money was involved. In the late 70s one of them, we'll call Christine, won the football pools. Quite a big win by all accounts, but they never let on how much and shortly afterwards they set up a successful business. One sister was like a cojoined twin afterwards, and her spouse was given a job, along with a younger brother. Christine and family perceived themselves as being superior to the rest of the family, with their big new-build (and frankly quite gaudy) house and flash cars, which as you can imagine caused a bit of tension to say the least as they seemed to revel in rubbing everyone's nose in it.

By the time I came along in 1990, I could smell nouveau riche a mile off and I was having none of this. As I can be utterly tactless when the situation calls for it, she was not best part pleased when I commented on her 'Old Country Roses' Royal Doulton tea-service as being chintzy and somewhat tacky. I wouldn't be surprised if she bought it solely to show off, because frankly it's a hideous design.

Then there was Mrs SLVA's grandad's war medals from WW1 (Gallipoli service medal and a few others), which he'd promised my eldest brother-in-law when he was a small child. When my father-in-law passed away, (who'd been custodian) they ended up in Christine's hands.

Shortly afterwards, my mother-in-law moved into a bungalow, and not surprisingly, some of her stuff 'went missing' in the move. A very old tea-set that she got as wedding present, and some really old hand-carved nest of tables from France.

Christine and husband retired from the business and their half was bought by the business partner, causing a ruck with her eldest son who thought he would be getting it. Afterwards, the cojoined twin of a sister and her husband set up a similar business. Not a rival becaue it was a good 40 miles away so the customer base wouldn't overlap. But they don't speak anymore regardless.

Then there are two brother-in-laws who happen to have the same first initial. The younger brother bought a big plasma TV from Comet, but it was delivered to the wrong house, probably because Comet lost the details and looked in the phonebook. So he phoned his brother up and said there's a big telly here, when you picking it up? The younger brother shows up, kicking off and accusing him of trying keep it for himself. So that's another couple that aren't talking.

The only ones we keep in touch with are the two eldest. The one who received the plasma TV (Terry) and his older sister Sheila. Though, not surprisingly they don't speak either for some reason. They are genuinely nice people, just not to each other. Terry's wife has a genetic kidney disorder and was on dialysis a good few times a week, and Terry said he'd donate her a kidney. Miraculously, it was a perfect match, and they were most grateful with the concern we showed them, unlike the rest of the family who couldn't care less.

Earlier this year, Sheila's husband was found to have lung cancer and has had 3/4 of a lung removed. He's still in hospital after 4 months. Again, we were the only ones that made the effort to help out.

We have no time for the rest of the family. Their attitude to each other is not worth us getting dragged into as we'd be getting everyone's side of the stories and be expected to take sides, and be labelled turncoats if we didn't.

It's like a fucking soap opera. A rather shit, far-fetched one too.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 18 Nov 2009, 10:31, Reply)

My Nanna
Is a lovely woman, mother to 8 kids, grandmother to 18 and great gran to about 10 (so far). Everyone loves her, she's a regular at the baptist church and at 82 still does charity work for, as she puts it, "the old folk".

But I harbour a secret grudge. She has a big hallway and stairway lined with big pictures of each granchild on their graduation day. Thing is I am the ONLY person in the whole family that didn't do the Phd/BSc/BA/HND/apprenticeship thing. And my mug is the only one of 18 gran-kids not on the wall.

My Dad winds me up about it and says that I shouldn't feel excluded from the 'Hall of Fame' and that in fact she does have a piccy of me in the broom cupboard, or the 'Hall of shame' as he puts it.

I do hope it's just an oversight and she doesn't secretly hate me.

*whimper*
(prescottsflu infected you at, Wed 18 Nov 2009, 8:08, 3 replies)

I no longer talk to my dad
I found out he traveled forward in time to pretended to be me to my friends and it ended with a horrific scene when my friends went through a 30 foot high plate glass window smashing the town hall to pieces, I'll never forgive him.
( tim1701 I have no board signature!!!!!, Wed 18 Nov 2009, 2:52, Reply)

Brother is
A complete idiot.

Start off with section 1;

Starts laying into a mates girlfriend, which as you know is against the rule book, so mate confronts him about it and asks him to stop. Duely noted, he stops for ... 10 minutes, by then he kicks off again. So now my mate of 15 years, is no longer talking to him.

Section 2;

Word of this encounter has now spread to the mates girlfriends mates, and now they're confronting him about it, well what's the best thing to do? That's right, pin it on me and say it was me. Now all he does is moan when things don't go his way and i end up with a torrent of shit from his mates.

Sorry if it sounds Emo, but he truely is a complete and total arse moose for dragging me into his shitty problems.
(Looneytwuns, Wed 18 Nov 2009, 0:13, 6 replies)

Boxing day will be just that
My mongrel drug f*cked family are a bunch of theiving lieing c*nts. I live in a relativly small town, and now as an adult, people still say "ohh look, it the good one"

That would normally cheer someone else up, except all my family members are still alive. Wankers.
(how did I make it past childhood, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 23:45, 7 replies)

A real shaft of wit.
My aunt once observed at a family gathering: "Look at them, no wonder it's called a get together. All the gets together.."
I agreed.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Tue 17 Nov 2009, 22:50, Reply)

Soooo not going to be funny.
Not my family, thank fuck, mine are predictably normal and we all pretty much get on. I even like some of them.

Nah it is my late fiance's family who hate me. I mean really despise me. Sometimes when the black dog of depression is following me around I make them right....
My fiance was very ill. Brain tumour. I did my best for him, but after years of them deciding they loved their next drink more than they loved him, his parents wanted to take over the caring. At one point he looked like he might be getting better, until, seemingly overnight, the tumour returned as big as it had ever been before the surgery and radiotherapy. Long story short, more surgery and some chemo later we found out it was curtains. His parents, against my better judgment, decided it was verboten to tell him he was dying. They also decided on one last course of chemo that was particularly poisonous as it would delay the inevitable by a little while.
By this stage he was blind, the tumour had displaced his optic nerves, see? He couldn't walk as his balance centre was similarly fucked, and his personality had gone from being the best bloke in the world to the sort of moody, rude and ignorant bastard that makes Victor Meldrew look like John Barrowman. None of it his fault, I know.
At the very end he went into a Hospice. I couldn't stand to visit him there. He didn't know, he wasn't lucid. See, the man I loved was already gone. We'd wanted kids. I remember him standing on the embankment outside St Thomas' crying like a baby after they told him the chemo would leave him sterile and they daren't delay long enough to freeze some of his best swimmers. So I'd been grieving for a year already.
The day he died I got a call telling me I was persona non grata at the funeral. In fact, if I turned up there would probably be violence against me. I was 24. So I never went. Never seen his grave.

Nice people, eh? I probably did behave badly a bit at the end. In my defense, m'lud, I was young and I'd not a year earlier lost my Dad, too. But I don't think I deserved that. On balance I'm glad we never got married. I'd hate to be tied, even in name only, to that shower of shit.
( Sallyrsm, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 21:37, 5 replies)

My dad disowned me for posting shit Star Wars jokes on an internet messageboard

( MatJ LOOK, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 17:13, 4 replies)

The day I met my dad for the first time.
Just before I was born, me dad abandoned us to piss about working abroad. My mum had just died having me, and he couldn't handle the pressure so he basically left us to fend for ourselves.

Rather annoyingly I was left with my aunty and uncle who had this shithole pit of a place out in the sticks. Seriously, I would've picked the army if I had a choice but considering as I hadn't learned the skills of walking yet I didn't have many options. As I was in the middle of nowhere I only had very few friends, plus my "dad" was busy tending to his land all the time so I was pretty much left to my own devices.

Fast forward a few years and after some bizarre events and me eventually leaving the family behind I ended up getting a job with a security firm. They had a decent wage plus there was alot of travelling, plus as a hobby one of me work colleagues started teaching me some small magic tricks. Kinda still of hobby of mine, I might work on it more if I get the chance. This particular week though we had a job involving protecting some people who were being threatened with eviction. It was quite a public case with alot of press involved, so we were on best behavior for the cameras so to speak :)

While we were there though the evictors turned up in this massive people carrier and started getting heavy handed (even threatening to smash the place up), so we had to stand in. After alot of fighting, it ended up with me and 3 of these evictors losing their rag and attacking me from behind. Just as that was happening, one of me workmates piled in knocking the crap out of two of them and leaving the 3rd reeling. What I didn't realize at the time though, was this 3rd guy was actually my dad!

Then I blew up the Death Star and picked up my medals. Hell of a day in retrospect.

runs
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 13:13, 11 replies)

Feuding Bretons
My estranged wife is the daughter of a father who is one of nine, seven of whom live within half an hour of where they were born. These sexagenarians and septuagenarians do an A1 job of falling out over the most pitifully small issues, and will shun a relative who is literally a next door neighbour. And what's more, the kids (20-40 somethings) get embroiled too.

The last big blow up involved the inheritance from the estate of the mater familias. This tiny house sold for maybe £30,000, probably to a naive Briton. Anyway, ex F-in-l argued that under some obscure piece of French inheritance law he was entitled to a larger share on the basis that as the eldest son he had worked the land - these being farming folk. This might have resulted in him pulling in an extra £500 or so, so the other siblings would have been down comparatively little. Not that either side would condede the point.

The estranged wife does not really care one way or the other, but is rather hurt that two cousins to whom she had played big sister to for years - both of whom are extensively educated - were not interested in being non-partisan and refuse to answer phone calls, e-mails and what have you. As for the rest of the nine, it is her father plus his little brother versus the rest.

And I won't even get started on said F-in-L having to be tranquilised on the day after his daughter's wedding as he feared lasting loss of face in front of siblings because the Anglo contingent did not turn up on the dot of 3 for a barbecue. He was intercepted with a rope just short of the nearest tree.

First /substantial/ post - be gentle.
(Jack of Diamonds, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 13:02, 8 replies)

My dad invented this game where he said I'd been for a balloon ride.
I told this nice man about it and now daddy and mummy are going to jail :(
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 12:12, 6 replies)

Accidental Outburst causes family tension
Last night was a typical dull night at casa Bison. The sprogs had been fed, washed and were burning off what little time they had before I dragged them upstairs to bed, Mrs B was ironing tomorrows clothes and I was filling up the washing machine. During my trip to the machine with the pile of dirty clothes youngest of the three kids collides with me and starts bawling. Mrs B did not see the incident but came over to comfort her little boy while I wandered off to finish my job (Its not that I would have left him to cry he just always wants his mum when he’s upset).

Anywhoo I return to the room and the youngest immediately tells his mother that I hurt him and deserve a smacked bum for being a bad boy ( I will admit that I will give my kids a little tap when they are being little sods, nothing serious I just don’t believe in the newfangled give the kids a cuddle when they’ve done wrong). Anywhoo Mrs B sighs, says she will smack me later, hoping to calm the situation and get them off to bed.

What we didn’t realise was that my eldest was about to include his own ideas

“ I know what you’re going to do mum” says my eldest “ When we are going to bed you’re going to get Dad, bend him over and give him a good whipping with your whip”
(Parents go bug eyed while eldest son starts laughing)
After picking my jaw up off the floor I asked my son where he got such an idea from, his reply was a simple dunno and then he went off to bed.

The night continued with my missuis blaming me for projecting such a thought into the kids while I’m wondering whether I should watch my eldest a bit more closely, if he has been awake when me and my wife have been having sexytime or if my other half is a practicing dominatrix while I’m at work (For the best of my knowledge we don’t have a whup anywhere in the house).

Whatever way he got it I don't think I will be getting any naughtiness from the wife anytime soon thanks to him.

Bloody kids
(mon bison powered by magnets, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 12:09, 1 reply)

Accidental Personality change
My memories of my dad before I was10 are quite good. He wasn't the most demonstrative of parents but he was funny, a big Goons & Python fan he used to say "he fallen in da water" in a bluebottle voice when someone fell in water on the telly and do other silly voices all the time. He played hockey for a local team so we used to play hockey in the garden and go to his matches. I remember holidays going to see steam trains all warm nice memories, all a bit hazy as childhood memories of a 40 year old are but good memories.

He cycled to work and on his journey to work he had to negotiate a huge and very busy roundabout (long since converted to a traffic light complex) As he was turning right at this roundabout someone knocked him off his bike and he hit his head on the kerb. Apparently he lay unconscious there without anyone stopping for some time eventually an ambulance was called and he was taken to A&E. I remember being picked up from school by mum (me & my sister normally walked home as this was the 70's paedophiles weren't invented yet) and thinking he was dead because of how upset my mum looked.

In hospital he was in a coma for 2 weeks and hospital for over a month and then onto a convalescing home. Then finally he came home. Except that he hadn't come home, my dad actually died on that roundabout, because the man that came home was an utter cunt. To everyone but especially to me, never physically but he would lash out with words when ever he could. I tried my best to please him and he tried his best to make me cry. Eventually by about 13 he was drinking quite heavily I could manage to spend some time in the front room watching telly without him telling what a worthless pile of shit I was because he was pissed and a bit jolly. I'd keep an eye on how much he had so I could bail before he got nasty drunk. Also by this time I could honestly say I couldn't care less about him, and when my parents divorced I was glad to see the back of him. I'd still go and see him in Derby but only very occasionally he wasn’t abusive anymore but it was like talking to a robot. So soon those visits stopped too. Years passed I moved on with my life, Mrs Duck & our daughter were important now not some old drunk bastard

That all changed about a year ago, I received a phone call from a social worker from Derby who had tracked me down on account of our unusual surname. Apparently he had been found in a confused state and taken into hospital. He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease which caused dementia. Me & my sister dropped everything to go and visit him. It’s funny if you had asked me hypothetically would you drop everything to go and help your dad I’d have said an emphatic no. But as soon as I took that call I was there.

When he saw us he cried tears of relief (something he would never have done post accident) he also told us he loved us and that we were good kids, words I’d have killed, or at least maimed for, when I was 11. We moved him, as soon as we could, to a nursing home near us and now I go to se him twice a week.

The Parkinson’s is killing him but the dementia has fucked with what ever bit of the brain was making him act like a cunt. We do puzzles and have some amazingly surreal conversations due to his dementia but essentially it’s Dad.
I don’t know how long we have got before he becomes so demented there’s no Dad left or the Parkinson’s shuts down his body and he dies. Whatever at lest I got my dad back for a bit.

Life is too short to feud

Apologies for length and lack of chuckles but it was quite cathartic to type it all out
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 10:59, 12 replies)

Abandonment Issues
-Me and my two older brothers were horrible hyperactive children who Mum had the challenging delight of bringing up by herself. A trip pretty much anywhere would lead to chaos and result in tears… actually just a Sunday afternoon as well. Showing off and winding up dear old Ma was what we exceeded in.

One weekend she decided she wanted to visit an old school friend in Bedford, and she took us with her. Naturally we all played up and embarrassed her, I can’t even remember what we were specifically doing. But. Mum. Snapped. She made her excuses to her friend and packed us all into the car. My brothers thought it was hilarious so were giggling like loons at Mum’s gritted teeth and pulsing vein in her forehead. After we’d been driving about 5 minutes, she calmly pulled over and announced, “right awayfromthenumbers, since you find this so funny you can get out first”. I wasn’t sure how to react so I nervously laughed, until I was shoved out of the car by my shrieking traitor siblings.

I tried to run after the car but it soon disappeared from sight. Stunned, I sat on the kerb and cried in the strange foreign town, as scary groups of teenagers walked past shouting and laughing (not at me, but, still…). After about 10 minutes my middle brother came around the corner, he’d managed to re-trace the road and find me. As he was a bit older, he knew the house number and street so we asked a nice old man in a trenchcoat directions back to Mum’s friend’s house. When we got back Mum looked a little sheepish but relieved we were back. However my eldest brother still hadn’t turned up after an hour- no surprise really given that he’d been dropped off at a petrol station on some main road on the outskirts of town. Mum felt a pang of guilt and went to find him and bring him back… happy days.

Did I mention I was a 5 year old girl at the time of abandonment? We’ve never really spoke of it since.


-Also, my brothers took a dislike to my Dad’s partner on their (my brothers’) first visit, so shot down her prize winning garden with bb rifles. They were wordlessly driven 200 miles back home.

- My eldest brother called me a Spaz. I said no wonder he’d never had a girlfriend. He threw a plate at the wall. We didn’t speak for 4 years.
( awayfromthenumbers, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 10:49, 8 replies)

Fresh from the oven
Family feud? I reckon I might well have just started one.

Last weekend my sister decided to visit me at uni. Nothing that out of the ordinary, except that my girlfriend's family also decided it was about time they found out if the rest of my family are as screwed up as myself. The only reason I agreed is because my sister's the only one who's remotely sane - myself included. So there's 6 of us going around Sheffield, having a pretty decent time all round - me, my girlfriend, my sister, the parents ... and *her* 17 year old sister. This girl (let's call her R) and me have always had a bit of friendly arguing going on. She's been more than happy to give me everything ranging from dirty looks to attempts at dead legs, and I've been content in treating her like a bratty little sister. However, this time round she goes a little too far and starts getting on my nerves. So, I decide to get a little payback.

Two things before I carry on with this - first, R is ridiculously paranoid, and easy to wind up with it. I can get her to panic by just staring at the back of her neck and giggling slightly. Secondly, I have a really nasty sense of humour, *particularly* when it comes to practical jokes. I once 'shopped a tattoo onto my girlfriend's facebook photo as an April Fool's, just to watch her parents' reaction. Now, a particular favourite of mine is to leave an apparently used condom in a bag - relax, it's only milk, I'm not a total bastard. I even rinse them off to make sure it doesn't leave any lube around. My sister's already encountered this one before, but luckily (for her, at least) she found it while she was at home. R, on the other hand, was not so lucky...

Having put up with her most of Saturday, I get a chance to leave my calling card in her bag while she's out of the room. Me, my girlfriend and sister watch her folks leave while sniggering to ourselves and taking bets on how long it'll be there for. Personally, I'd reckon it be found the next day, but come Sunday, no mention of it. Yesterday, I got home from lectures to find a particularly harsh facebook message from R. It turns out she'd finally found the condom. In her geography class. Stuck to her folder. In front of her mates and her teacher. Did I mention she goes to a Catholic school?

Needless to say, I found this absolutely bloody hilarious. But I seriously doubt she'll forgive me for this one, and the parent's might have a few strong words for me too. I've also just realised that I'm going with her to the Motorhead gig in Manchester this weekend, so any b3tans in the area keep an eye on the sky for a pair of speeding objects - it'll probably be my lovespuds being knocked into orbit.

Apologies for length - it was an extra-large brand
(Nykrus, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 10:47, 2 replies)

Another Street War (after being reminded of this by Bad_Advice's post below)
When I was a young teen I used to hang around with about 15-20 kids in a place called Treboeth in Swansea. We were all fairly quiet and nice kids, but because of the sheer number of us we were feared by the neighbours and regularly harrased by the local bobbies. The simple fact was that we had nowhere to go, so we ended up just playing football in the streets and keeping ourselves to ourselves.

Well, most of us did. One kid, who I'll just refer to as "Twat" (as he most certainly was one) used to follow us about and annoy the fuck out of everyone. To make matters worse, he started doing petty vandalism which got to the attention of the bobbies again after he damaged a roof of a local primary school entrance (costing the school over £2k in repairs it said in the local paper). We had a guts full of the twat, and one day it happened.

Twat lived in a house with his parents and an older sister, along with a quiet younger brother who was stone cock-eyed. The dad and youngest son were in fairness great, as the youngest didn't know any different as opposed to the dad who knew enough to be laid back in any situation. The Twat, his sis and his mum however were complete fuckwits and were always involving themselves in other people's business.

One evening, outside Twat's house, the aforementioned Twat was standing outside his house and shouting abuse at us across the road with his mum and sister present. We'd taken a disliking to him a while before this but since the roof incident we'd ousted him from our group and didn't want to know the little cunt anymore. He's shouting abuse at me and a few friends, and I was gradually getting more and more angry. He shouted something ridiculous to me which I repled with "Oh fuck up you undeveloped sperm."

"Come and say that to my face you prick!" says he.

I can take 'im thinks I, so I start walking upto his house. In front of his house was a hedge however, and sneaking behind it was another of our friends who'd taken enough abuse as he could handle and was just out of sight of Twat. Just as Twat walked passed the hedge to confront me it happened. One out of nowhere body punch had Twat collapsed on the floor gasping for air, then all hell broke loose. The mum and sis rushed forward, lamping all of us kids out as they were built like brick shithouses and they target one poor kid called Chris. The mum held him fast as the sister drilled him. One rather excited lad called "Blaena" (as he originated from a particularly rough area called Blaen-y-Maes) run in with half a bush he just ripped out of their garden and started twatting the mum with it while screaming "LEAVE MY FRIEND ALONE!!!!"

The dad and younger brother in fairness literally just sat by their front door smiling and watching his wife fight us kids, some of which stopped fighting and walked over to have a chat with them mid-fight. "Sorry we're fighting your wife and kids sir" we said to him, and he genuinely smiled and said "As long as no-one gets seriously hurt, get it out of your system kids". The guy's a legend :)

5 minutes into this fight and the bobbies turn up, with 2 police cars and a riot van. We all scarper into a friends house on the edge of the estate and pretend to watch Brookside with his mum. A bobby knocks on the door to ask us if we'd seen anything, to which his mum says "Nah, they've been watching Brooky with me while waiting for my son to get ready to go out. Bye officer." Turn's out she hated the Twat too :)

Apols for length, but LEAVE MY FRIEND ALONE!!!!!
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 9:28, 2 replies)

Street War..... or .......Why You Should Keep Your Little Brother On Side.
This is not a tale of a feud with in the family it is the tale of a feud our family had with a neighbouring family.

A few doors down the street lived the Suttcliffes. A reasonably average family but, with one right cock knuckle of a son, who was the oldest kids in the street at the time. He was the type of kid who liked to push small girls off their bikes, bash kids half his age and size and generally bully any kid or animal who he was bigger than. No matter the crime his parents would make excuses for him and the explanation was always that it was just play and accidents happen. I remember one time clearly when he had my arms pinned behind my back, kicked my feet out from under me causing me fall and land on my chin and nearly bite my tongue off. He went into puberty early and with the added strength and the growth spurt lifted his intensity of being a fucktard 150%.

He decided that I had slighted him in some way some how and set out to make my life a misery. He used to wait until I got off the train each afternoon, and walk home with me punching, kicking, tripping etc for the 20 or so minutes the walk took. For some reason, I never told my parents what was going on, probably was feeling ashamed at not being able to look after myself but, I did tell my little brother.

Before I get to the dramatic part of the story, at the time this was happening I was 11 or 12 years old, the cock jockey was 14 and my brother was 9.

As had been the standard for a couple of weeks, I was walking home getting harassed and hurt. Part of the walk from the station was up a narrow bush track of about 70 meters long and less than 1 meter wide. He had decided to block the track and have a piss in the middle of the track and make a fair attempt to piss on me, so there he was with cock in hand, waving it around, pointing the stream in my direction when my little brother stepped out of the bush on the side of the track behind him and with wide swing with all of his strength, smacked him in the back of the head with the flat side of a short handled shovel sending him crashing to the deck like a sack of shit into the puddle of piss he had just made, his old fella still hanging out of his trousers.

I couldn’t believe what had happen, but, fuck me I was pleased about it. I grinned at my brother, silently worshipping the little bastards audacity, stepped over the fallen waste of sperm and walked the rest of the way home bully free with my brother.

Of course that wasn’t the end of it, he showed up at our place that night with his father who wanted my old man to take action against my brother and I over the unprovoked heinous attack on his son. During the discussion the whole story came out and his old man made the usual excuses he had been making for the past 5 years about a bit of fun between the lads and his son being an angel, accidents can happen etc etc . After 15 minutes my Dad lost it a bit, looking back I see he was suffering from a split emotional response, one side was upset that his kid had been putting up with the abuse unknown to him and the other side proud and pleased that his boys had banded together, stuck up for each other and settled the problem. He told Mr. Suttcliffe that as far as he was concerned the issue was on his side and that his son had brought it on him self, and maybe now he would lay off the kids who where smaller than him. Mr. Sutcliffe’s response was to threaten to involve the coppers. Then my old man dropped the classic line,

“Listen Harry” (for that was his name) “your sons an arsehole and a coward, he has been picking on every kid in the street for years while you make excuses for him, as far as I’m concerned he’s a fuckwit, and talking to you now I can see where he gets it from” deep breath, “and if you aren’t out of my house and off my property with in the next 15 seconds your going find out what a shovel in the back of the head feels like also”.

And with that they left, and our families never really spoke again. When we would see them in the street or around the place it was like we had on invisibility cloaks and they would look right through us. Not that it bothered any of my family, and the violence towards me, my brother and even younger sister stopped.

As time passed, as it is want to do, I also went into puberty and finished up a good half foot taller and 20 kg heavier than the toad fucker. My brother had a similar growth spurt a few years after me, and the toughest guy in the street finished up the weedy bloke from down the road.

So I guess you are expecting me to regale you now with how we then turned the tables and beat him up on a regular basis? Sorry, that didn’t happen. He wasn’t worth it, and as everyone knows, you don’t hit shit, it splatters.

Sure, I wasn’t very sad when his mother shot through with a carpet salesman, and I didn’t feel any sympathy when his old man tried to top himself not long after, and yes I did fuck his first girlfriend (twice) who he met at church when he turned all born again Christian while they where dating and saving them selves for marriage and was not very discrete about it and maybe we did break into his house and steal most of their grog, including a special bottle of port he was saving for his 21st birthday, his Donkey Kong game and a tin of chicken noodle soup and I am pretty sure it was my brother who took a monster dump in his new (new to him) car, possibly a Honda Accord, not long after he got it and shoved it under the passenger seat but, I never took revenge on him by becoming the bully.

So there you go, not a family feud but, a feud between families.
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Tue 17 Nov 2009, 3:44, 14 replies)

My sister and I
I’m three years older than my next sister down, and growing up we were very close even if my dad did play us off against each other in an effort to vie for his attention. It didn’t help matters much that she was Dad’s favourite by far (read, she got much less beatings than I ever did), or that he forced me to always have her tag along when I visited my friends making me rather resentful towards her. So I would blackmail her given the smallest opportunity / naughtiness on her part – eg. I won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on me for this. Having a spectacularly violent father as our example (which is another page worth but I’m not going there today besides to say he’d broken some of my mother’s limbs, he’d thrash me at least once a week with one of his boots or belts (I got to choose the weapon), and towards the end of it all he’d regularly rape my mum – not to mention the other wives with their children he had living with us in a true (illegal) polygamous situation), when sis and I fought it would often degenerate into some kiddy violence (and don’t be fooled because we’re girls) – mostly me on her because I was, after all, three years older with a grudge.

I’m about 13 when my mum finally gets the nerve to leave my dad. He insists on displaying his true bastard colours and chase us across the country - we do eventually escape by all of us changing our names and going underground (of course, we kids were under 18 so couldn’t legally do it – we were going to school for years and I even started uni with aliases).

Come the teenage years and the tables are turned – sis is now my size and I’m the one who’s getting the black eyes / pretty bruising. Surprisingly I find myself unwilling to fight back now that we’re older (maybe I figured it’s her turn to have a go)… so instead of putting up with her uncontrolled violence and ‘rolling with the punches’, I move out at 15 and refuse to speak to her for just over three years.

Roll forward to when I’ve just turned 19, sis is 16, and we’re starting to slowly make amends. We’re finally talking again but with heaps of arguments about boundaries – guess we were finally dealing with the issues of the last few years.

Then one night that February I was driving home, past the local fish ‘n chippie, and I see an ambulance parked there. Remembering my sister lives just around the corner, I think “hope that’s not there for her. And if it is, I hope she’s okay”. WTF? Why would I think that? Turns out she was coming out of the shopdoor with her tea, getting into the car on the sidewalk side, when a car crossed the medianstrip, hit the car she was getting into… which impact threw her against a concrete electricity pole, she hit her head against it and died on impact.
It’s now 14 years later and I am still extremely thankful we at least started talking again before that happened. I have so many regrets now because looking back, I reckon the reason we argued so much was because we were so very close but my dad effectively ruined our relationship with each other.

I was the one to have to tell my dad about my sister’s death – my mum was way too scared, sure he’d blame it on her somehow and kill her – the first time I’d spoken to him in about 10 years. Flash forward to today, I’ve only spoken to him once since then – and he was playing the same old games. That last time I left in tears, quite inconsolable, because we fell back into our original roles so easily – him the dominating, violent man and me the child who would always be too afraid to speak up for fear of my safety.

So it’s now been 20 years since we left him, and I’ve only spoken to him twice – he has had five new families since, all the women end up fleeing him with their children. His current family consists of my three half-brothers and a half-sister all under 10 still, and I’ve seen him play the oldest and next oldest off against each other in just the same way as he did me and my sister – and dad’s well into his 60s by now. Nothing’s changed. His latest wife has also confided in me that he beats the crap out of her regularly - but it seems she can take it?! The first and last time I saw the older half-brother, he was begging me to take him with me, away from his/my dad.

So even though I would always tell friends to talk to their family because you never know whether you won’t have that chance again… I doubt I’ll speak to my dad soon. He wasn’t invited to my wedding and he’ll probably never see his grandchildren. I’m currently waiting for his latest set of sons to grow up, have enough of it and finally kill him (they’re already big boys – half Samoan).
( Tiffany Aching 's bowl of oatmeal tried to stare her down and won, Mon 16 Nov 2009, 22:49, 3 replies)

The eventual Inlaw
MrFlee still lives at home with his mum, my parents are great... but his.. well! His mum regularly...
1) Cleans his room
2) Opens his post
3) Reads personal letters
4) Forces him to go to the Doctors
5) Screams about his spending
6) Has a breakdown when dinners not on the table for when she's home.
7) Wakes him up to make HER a cup of tea.
8) Won't let him eat KFC, chicken off the bone, unwashed potatoes etc
9) Makes him go to the shop for her because she's far too lazy
10) Has no appriciation for everything he does for her...

& his dads Irish, but lovely.
This isn't a family feud yet... but trust me, when sprogFlee's come along.. It really will be.
We're moving away Or I am.

length? Well the list could have been much much longer
(MissFlee tried again on, Mon 16 Nov 2009, 19:27, 14 replies)

This one isn't moving or sad, but it is true none the less
Back in the 60s and 70s my Grandad and his brother in law - Elbert ( i shit you not - he was my great uncle Elbert and his Wife was called Glad) were cheeky theives. They were both working at an engineering firm outside London, up Enfield way as they were Essex London types. Me gran is an Islington girl.

Well the point of this is they managed - as a team - to steal 2 large metal work lathes. They lay unused and covered at the bottom of the factory and carefully, a-la the great escape, they stole them both component by component and had one each. Good wheeze, not for profit and useful too. So on the #cough# inside of being morally illegal. Like it or not it happened. The Feud comes last.

A few years passed, and genuine guilt or fear crept into his nightlies and he convinced himself the long arm of the law would knock his door down. He was moving house, and decided rather than move the contraband he would bury it in a new concrete base for his greenhouse and be done with it. By this time, my grandad had moved to Essex and took his with him.

flashforward another 10 years and the comments start "you never paid me for your lathe" .... all genuinely lost amongst the family as we all knew the story, and knew it was all settled. Then it started happening more regularly. Then it was the mid nineties, and still we got comments. Glad was hitting 80 and not looking a day over 100 and Elberts health was faling. Then they stopped calling. For nearly 5 years Glad and my grandad didn't speak even as brother and sister having been through the tough war years.

Me grandad died about 1998 - and lo and behold Glad turned up at the funeral. In a wheeelchair, looking really old and decrepit - a cross between the Emporer from Star Wars and Davros. We were pleased to see her, we always were pleased to see them all. Considering some of us hadn't seen her in years and a lot of us assumed the worst and no-0ne had told us it was a right old do. My grandad would have been proud of us. First, and last thing out of Glads mouth " Still, we could have been a happy family if we hadn't all had to starve because he didn't hand over his share of the lathe".....

Nice to see a good feud is both ridiculous and serious in measure, emotionally charged and able to transcend death.

Tis a shame they didn't steal 2 honda accords.
( bazza van der trance , ooh baby baby, baby baby. Get up on this., Mon 16 Nov 2009, 16:25, Reply)

I haven't spoken to my dad for ages
But he telephoned me just now to say- "This QOTW is the worst ever isn't it son?"

With a tear in my eye I said - "Dad, you're absolutely right. And you're still a cunt. Fuck off!"
(Errin C, Mon 16 Nov 2009, 16:02, 4 replies)

How loud can they go?
I get on fairly well with both my brothers... most days. However they will most nights do something that just gets right on my tits. They start banging their girlfriends. I'm single and I respect them for having a good time (lucky bastards) however it's the screaming and moaning that keeps me awake that's the problem! I have a sleep problem on the best of nights but when bedroom sports are hitting 5 on the Richter scale and there's more screaming going on than a death metal concert (not the same context screaming obviously!).

My older brothers bird is the worst, mainly because his room is right under mine. I don't know whether they have a competition to see who can make their girl orgasm the loudest or what, but what I know is that a 5.1 surround sound system and red tube will always win.
(Dr.Spack Dr. Lepper! What's the worst that can happen?, Mon 16 Nov 2009, 15:54, 1 reply)

“Faye received your birthday gift this morning… It isn’t appropriate…”
said my brother-in-law on the phone this lunchtime.

“What?” I respond, somewhat hurt. “She loves these movies!”

Kevin, my brother-in-law, puts on his best secondary school teacher voice (because that’s what he does for a living), “No. I mean, yes… She may like the movies but… The Alien Quadrilogy?”

“Yeah…”

“Have you forgotten that she’s eight months pregnant with our first child!” -CLICK!!!-

(I can feel a family feud brewing between me and that boy, I really can).
( SpankyHanky, Mon 16 Nov 2009, 13:15, 10 replies)

I am
in no way moaning, but reading through some (most?) of these is predictably depressing/upsetting.

Sorry for lack of funnies, and/or lack of story - I get on well with all of my family and they too get on well with all of theirs in return.

I really need to leave work and go and see my kids now.
(dchurch bah, Mon 16 Nov 2009, 12:57, 1 reply)

The squared circle
My older brother and his mates used to arrange the lounge furniture into a square and organise a WWF style royal rumble with his mates. The thing is, it was all of them, against me.

Body slams, atomic leg drops, the peoples elbow from the top of the sofa, I endured them all.

Thanks bro. you cunt.
(Corbo, Mon 16 Nov 2009, 11:45, 3 replies)

I wouldn't spit on my maternal grandmother if she was on fire.
My mother and my sisters don't have anything to do with her and only my step-father tries to be nice to her.

She came round this weekend weeping and moaning to my mother after a long period when my mother has stood up to her and she didn't like it. She's a racist bitch and won't accept my adopted Sri-lankan sister or mixed race nephew as family. Her and my grandfather barely speak to each other, (he's crap but no-where as bad as she is).

She has very few friends and they are only really on the periphery of her life. The only close relative is another nephew who she helped to bring up and spoilt him rotten. Now he's finished Uni and living in London and she rarely sees him anymore.

She's caused so much trouble in our lives, and my mother's young life was shit because of her causing her to marry the first guy that asked, my father.

The saddest thing of all is that she'll die thinking she's done nothing wrong and that we're all awful for ignoring her.

I can't wait.
( girlinthehole, Mon 16 Nov 2009, 11:38, 5 replies)