during a walk on a beach
This happend last week It was mid afternoon and i decided that beach walk was needed. Got to the beach and in the car park a mum was not hitting but Tapping her son on the bum" don't do that again etc etc" But she was hitting at the same time as saying the the words. Then at the end she said " DO U WANT SOME MORE". I had to walk away as i was in tears with laughter. I just remember my parents doing the very same thing I always thought it was a very funny thing to ask" DO U WANT SOME MORE???". I mean hes not going to say YES is he?

I DID THE VERY SAME THING TODAY


DOH

Guess iam like my rents( Parents)
(Bermuda_import Beach party this weekend, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 20:32, Reply)

I am not so quietly proud of the fact
that despite being in my 50s and with children myself who are older than half the b3tans I speak to on a regular basis, I still get told by them to "turn the bloody music down, we're trying to watch TV up here" on a regular basis

(and for the record we're talking mostly post-rock, psych, experimental noise and stoner rock, and not stuff I'm allegedly supposed to be listening to as a parent going on grandparent....)
( Ptolemy the man with the silent pea, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 20:15, 2 replies)

The things my father does that I am starting to do are
1. Work at the same office
2. Wear brightly coloured socks with dark suits to piss off dour clients.
3. Buy ties from the same shop.
4. Buy suits from the same places (although I don't actually own a replica of my Dad's suit yet...)
5. Sing WAY too loudly at Church.
6. Sing WAY too loudly with the radio in the car.
7. Read The Times.
8. Part my hair on the right.
9. Have a prediliction for beer brewed in Dorset.
10. Be chatted-up by the ravishing yet crashingly dull French receptionist at the office at the same time. In the same conversation.
(Omnizor Spooning bits of road for breakfast., Thu 30 Apr 2009, 20:06, Reply)

Sweary Jr is turning into me (poor soul!)
My mother is the undisputed, long-standing queen of Scrabble in our family. Being extremely well read and having an extensive, pedantic vocabulary, for years she has whooped the ass off any potential rivals.

About a month ago, Sweary Jr whooped her ass. He had the obligatory "shit", "wank" and "arse" on the board. His winning word was "quim" - landing on a triple word score with the "Q" on a triple letter square.*

That's my boy.

She gave him £5 for his tactics.

*EDIT/
I stand corrected - triple word score with Q on a double letter square - I'm crap at Scrabble. Good at beer though....
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 19:46, 12 replies)

My mother told me that if she ever starts acting like her mother then I have to shoot her.
Poor love is living on borrowed time.
( girlinthehole, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 19:37, Reply)

I dust my doors
and hoover my skirting boards.

It's not even OCD.

*sigh*
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 19:34, 2 replies)

Inevitably
I'm going bald - at 21!


WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!


Curse your wicked genes father!
(megaskank, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 19:32, 5 replies)

Photographic Evidence
Some of you whom I have met at various bashes may have been 'treated' to a glimpse of the photograph on my rail card taken a couple of years ago.

For some reason I had decided to have an attempt at a goatee but couldn't grow the bits at the side linking 'tache to beard. In the photo the beard bit is in shadow, giving the effect of just having a rather luxuriant eyebrow that had slipped. The unfortunate effect is exacerbated by me glowering from the pic like a psychotic village person.

At the time though, I thought it looked the business, the fact that it coincided with a monumental lady drought went completely over my head.

A few years down the line and I pull the pic out for comedy value and it does usually raise a giggle.

The last time I was home to visit the folks we were looking through old photo albums and I started pissing myself laughing at a photo of my Dad in the early 80s with ludicrous face fuzz.

"Haha, how ludicrous does he look there. He must have been about 26! Hahahahaooooooo FUCK!"

It's true. I've even started commenting on the interior design during sex scenes in films:S
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 19:28, 2 replies)

He dead and I can't get away from him!
I fucking breathe like my dad.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 19:19, 5 replies)

Repeating himself
My dad tells the same stories over and over and over again. He forgets he's already told it to you and thinks he's imparting something witty and new.
Lately I think I've been doing it - by the glazed look of despair in people's eyes when I start telling them a joke.
( Peregr1n @peregr1n, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 19:16, 5 replies)

I chanced upon this QOTW when I was feeling a bit down.
I've just been to the local Mobility shop to browse their (admittedly fine, and extensive) range of 'low range scooters' (they only go 12 miles before needing plugging in).

Not for me, for my dad. I'm 26 and he is 66. After his stroke two years ago, he has become almost totally dependent on me. I go shopping for him, cut his hair, help wash him, clean for him, and the rest. And I'm no martyr - he's done the same for me, and then some.

I never thought that at my age (or his) that I'd be caring for him as if he was my child, not my dad. He's 'all there' (ie, still a cynical awkward old Northern sod ;) ) and I've had to teach him to speak, read and write. He's come so far. And yet him wanting this scooter is brilliant to me, because he can nip to the shops, buy milk and bread, and go for a walk. Well, a scoot, anyhow.

I turned into a parent, somehow, and now I think like a parent, despite not having children of my own yet. I buy him treats, worry about him when he goes somewhere in a taxi, and I phone him to make sure he's had a healthy dinner. As a result I've become a lot more pragmatic and patient in the rest of my life, which has meant I very rarely get stressed, as nothing fazes me now.

In a few weeks I'm getting married. Dads are supposed to be proud of their daughters on their wedding day. But watching my dad take those few difficult steps down the aisle with me, and listening to him speak, will make me the proudest daughter in the world.

I will probably cry!
(Northern Lovely, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 19:03, 26 replies)

I'm turning into my Dad,
except when he set Vietnamese children on fire there was a war.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 19:02, Reply)

You know you've arrived, part 2
My daughter was a cashier at the grocery store last summer, and her register kept breaking down. Being my daughter she figured out how to work around it. (Geeks produce geeks- sorry, kid, but it's true.)

After it broke down for the umpteenth time she snarled aloud, "If this thing breaks one more time I'm gonna castrate the nearest person with a spoon!"

The boy at the next register moved back slightly, and someone else asked, "What if it's a girl?"

"I'll do it anyway, it'll just hurt more!"

The funny part of this? That's the exact threat I used on her brothers when I told them that I am not to become a grandfather before the age of fifty five.

I don't think I need to worry about her getting pregnant anytime soon. I think she probably scares the testosterone right out of them.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 30 Apr 2009, 18:59, 1 reply)

Something my dad does
is tell the same stories again and again, forgetting that he's already told them. Same with jokes. It drives me nuts! I'm worried that I'll start doing it too - my memory is as shite as his.
( Peregr1n @peregr1n, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 18:58, 1 reply)

The price of bread
Bumbling around Asda last week at two miles a fortnight, leaning heavily on the trolly - inwardly moaning about the state of my back and arthritic hips - I shrieked aloud at the price of a loaf. Real Mrs Bradys dissipated from my vicinity, rippling away in time with the foul anal emmision that had simultaneously accompanied my verbal outburst and leaving me in splendid isolation, contained in a circle of my own stench. Hirsute eyebrows furrowed in my direction as the old dears tutted and shook their heads in disgust. Cataracts bore into me from all angles.

"Well????" I implored at several decibels, "Since when the sugary fuck* did a standard loaf cost £1.31????? I remember when Hovis was four shillings!!!!"

One or two nodded in agreement, the rest made fast their escape from the stinky loony as I vowed aloud to make my own bastard bread.

*copyright Pooflake 2008
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 18:56, 3 replies)

well not quite my parents... my parents aren't as morbid.
my 3 year old cousin was sat in the back of the car the other day and he was refusing to put his seat belt on.

me: you have to put your seat belt on because if you don't something bad might happen
him: why?
me: because if mum crashes the car you might fall out and really hurt yourself
him: but i get better
me *losing patience with him*: well you might not if something really bad happens you might die.
him: might die?
me: yeah so put your seat belt on.

anyway after that the kid put his seat belt on but telling him he might die had a strange effect on him.

a few days ago my mum told me to take some boxes upstairs and i said i'd do it later. she said she'd rather i did it then and my little cousin piped up "yeah or you might die"

he's going to scare a lot of kids when he starts school.
(stitched, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 18:51, 2 replies)

You know that you've arrived
when you hear your words coming from your child.

My son was working at the video store and listening to some woman rant on the phone about how she shouldn't have late fees because she had dropped off her DVDs before the deadline.

"What time did you drop them off?"

"It was just at eleven."

"We close at eleven. They wouldn't have been scanned in until the next day. Why didn't you drop them off earlier?"

"I had other things to do and didn't get to them until just before eleven."

My son took a deep breath. "Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part. Sorry, but the late fees still apply-"

There was a click as she hung up.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 30 Apr 2009, 18:49, Reply)

They say you are what you eat...
Sorry.
(Ejaculantern was caught desecrating pumpkins on, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 18:49, 3 replies)

Stories and jokes
One of my pet peeves about my dad was that he ALWAYS tells the same jokes and stories. He forgets really quickly which ones he's told and repeats himself constantly. AARGH! And worst of all, I've started doing it too.
( Peregr1n @peregr1n, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 18:41, Reply)

Peachy globes
I don't see too much of my dad these days. In fact, I don't see much of anybody in my family.

We've all gone our seperate ways, and we're more-or-less comfortable with the four of us living in opposite corners of the British Isles. We can do less damage that way.

So, on a rare visit to the old bloke's place in Cornwall, I accompany him on a visit to his local Asda to get a few things for lunch.

And there, in the frozen meats aisle, is a lady certain sections of society might refer to as a MILF, who possessed the biggest pair of bazongas I'd ever seen on any woman, anywhere.

My Christ, they were massive. And being with my dad, I pretended not to notice those heavenly globes as they swung gently, unfettered as they were by any means of support.

"Son," said my old Dad, "You know what?"

"What?"

In a voice that could be heard at the other end of Falmouth Docks: "I could park my bike between that pair."

Oh Lord. My dad's turning into ME
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 18:36, 1 reply)

my Dad
My Dads cool, and seems to be living some of his ambitions through me.

Ed senior always, always wanted to have his own business and be master of his own destiny. He didn't manage it, but I did when I was 32.

He gets very excited by numerical measures such as how much he earns. When I was 34 he rang me one night wonderfully excited that he had got a pay raise taking him up to 20K a year. I didn't have the heart to tell him that my income was some multiple of his.
(Eds Meds Mathskillz=1,Socialskillz=0, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 18:31, 2 replies)

The Inevitable Future...

When more hair's up my nose than on top of my head
I need winches and pullies to climb out of bed
When I say that the internet's only a‘fad’...
That’s when I'll know I've turned into my Dad

When I'm ‘tutting’ at young whippersnappers in town
And my clothes are all beige or a light shade of brown
When the Daily Mail doesn’t seem hate-filled or mad…
That’s when I'll know I've turned into my Dad

When the tools in my shed are a sight to behold
And with nine layers of clothing I still feel the cold
When my only 'hip' thing is the replacement I had…
That’s when I'll know I've turned into my Dad

When my cock is an item I use just to pee
And I drive like a twat even though I can't see
When police look like kids and it makes me feel sad…
That’s when I'll know I've turned into my Dad

When I'm sexist and racist, intolerant and rude
And I take out my teeth to eat liquidised food
When the price of a loaf makes me declare a 'jihad'...
That’s when I'll know I've turned into my Dad

When I call all men 'sonny' and all women 'birds'
And could stink out the Midlands with one of my turds
When l start every phrase with: 'When I were a lad...'
That’s when I'll know I've turned into my Dad

When my bollocks are dangling down by my knees
And I shout 'It's Swine Flu!' every time that I sneeze*
When I whinge like a bitch about stuff that's not bad...
That’s when I'll know I've turned into my Dad

I'll refuse to admit that I've ever been wrong
And I'll treat my own son like a big spakka mong
When I go batshit mental, and sing when I poo...
Then I'll know I've turned into my fucking mum, too!



*edited for topicality
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:54, 21 replies)

Just like spimf
Hummn, my mother was / is an alcoholic, and I find myself enjoying the comforts in booze a little too much of late... still better than turning out like my father... he killed himself years go...

oh such a happy childhood...
(CornishStanley can't post hyperlinks, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:51, Reply)

I'm turning into my parents
I've started having sex in public.


Too much?
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:50, Reply)

Turning into Dad vs Getting Old
I'm 50 and my Dad's 80.

He plays either tennis, badminton or table tennis every day (mind you, he's retired and has the time) and then quite often goes out to the flicks, theatre or to play bridge for the evening.

I, on the other hand, spend 10 hrs a day in front of a PC, get home, microwave some slop, consume it, and fall asleep in front of the TV.

He's just been dumped by his 68-year old 'girlfriend' because he's 'too active' (and I really do not want to know what that exactly refers to).

I haven't had a 'proper' girlfriend for almost a year.

He's just had a full medical check-up and been told that he's in incredible shape for his age.

I had one last year and was told to stop smoking, eat and drink less and take regular excercise.

So in some ways I wouldn't mind turning into my Dad.

The downside would be the borderline racism, having to listen to Elaine Paige and Sarah Brightman all the time and committing driving faux pas such as (a) stopping at green lights, (b) not stopping at red lights, (c) slowing down to 25 mph in the outside lane of the M8 because I'm distracted by thinking about what to have for supper or (d) stopping on a roundabout to let someone get on.

Oh, and I wouldn't know the difference between a hard drive, a folder or a document on the PC. I'd have to be shown how to get the pictures off my digital camera and onto my PC each and every time I wanted to do so. I'd spend 4 hours writing an important letter in Word, save it, and then not remember what I called it or where I saved it the next day. I'd forget all about ShutDown and just turn everything off at the wall socket.

I'd drive 5 miles out of my way to get petrol 0.5p a litre cheaper and I'd have time to hop around between Lidl, Aldi, Tesco and Asda to get stuff at the lowest possible price. Then I'd spend a fortune on useless fucking homeopathy 'cures' for any real or imagined ailment because 'it works, you know'.

Anyway, thank fuck I'm not turning into my Mum, or I'd be dead by now. I'll settle for aging gracefully.
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:43, Reply)

Are You Sitting Comfortably???
Last summer I spent a weekend of discovery up in Chestyfield, where my parents live for half the year before they fuck off to Italy to piss about in the sun, the lucky fuckers.

It was the first time my parents met my current girlfriend, the woman who has agreed to be Mrs Hanky one day, the delectable and incredibly edible Liz.

We clambered off the train; my old man was waiting for us. The first thing he said to Liz was:

"My! Aren't you pretty!" in such a surprised tone that he may as well have said: What the fuck's an attractive woman like you doing with my mong-twat elephant man wanker of an ugly cunt son?

Fast-forward to my parents house.

Tea. Biscuits. Smalltalk. Baby photos. The fucking works.

Thankfully my parents got on with Liz like the veritable house on fire. Everything was going swimmingly. It was a fucking hot day, so Liz and I slink off to the guest bedroom to get a bit of kip before the old dears take us out for a slap up meal.

Lying on the bed in the mid afternoon heat, I start feeling a little frisky and move in for my patent pending spooning with additional clandestine five-fingered fanny grope. Liz was having none of it:

"Not in your parents house!" she said, slapping my sweaty mitts away.

Fuck...

So she goes to sleep. I get bored and go back downstairs. Watch a bit of TV, catch up with my mum, get fed more sandwiches with the crusts cut off than any man can handle without suffering a serious internal injury.

About an hour later I realise my dad's fucked off into the garden.

"Has he started smoking again?" I ask my mum.

She shakes her head 'no', so I amble out back and find my old man sitting in the shed with the door open, gazing intently up...

... I go and stand next to him, he glances at me and says:

"You alright, Spanky?" then he returns his attention to the side of the house.

I follow his gaze...

"Errr... Dad... stoppit, ehh?" I say.

"What? Oh, sorry..." and he stands up - he'd even set up a camping chair so he could watch in comfort - and moves off. "She's a very nice girl," he says over his shoulder. "Very nice... like your mother when she was her age..." he says whimsically.

And I look back up at the guest bedroom window where Liz is stood, topless, her perky norks on full show like a prossie in an Amsterdam window, as she rubs aftersun on herself; her usual ritual after a summers day snooze.

I actually felt violated...

I recall spending the evening at the restaurant surreptitiously comparing Liz's tits with my mums, hoping and praying to the sweet baby Jesus that gravity wouldn't reap the same terrible fucking revenge on my girlfriend's knockers as it had done on dear ol' mum's...

"What are you looking at, Spanky?" asked Liz.

"Oh, nothing..."

And then I shared a silent Wonder Years moment with my dad when he caught my eye. We came close to hugging. It was intense, I can tell you...
( SpankyHanky, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:35, 11 replies)

When I grew up
my mom used to bake bread every couple of days, so the smell of homemade bread is ingrained in my skull as being a part of home.

Now that I'm an adult, on weekends I'll sometimes bake a loaf or two of bread, especially if I'm going to someone's house for dinner and wish to bring something.

One of my kids will walk in and say "Hey, it smells like bread in here!" and I'll look at the cooling loaves on the wire rack- and half expect Mom to be standing behind me.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:31, 5 replies)

I can see some similarities with my father.
I have gotten progressively more impatient. I have coffee jars full of nuts and bolts in the shed. I need to plan a journey to the minutest detail. I like football gambling. Lots of things.

I will never buy a string vest, mind. Whats the fucking point of them? And where the blithering clusterfuck do you buy one?
(Spaff_Quaffer Wise fwom your gwave., Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:31, 1 reply)

My daughter asks me
"Dad, how do you spell 'marmoreal'?"

I respond: "Correctly" in my dad's voice.

/facepalm
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 30 Apr 2009, 17:25, 2 replies)