All american southerners are inbred.
This is a well known fact.

So while all of you are complaining that you are turning into your mum or dad, I already am my own mother.

Oh, and my father is also my cousin.

Thanks to inbreeding, my family tree doesn't fork. Family reunions don't require a lot of space or even a large table.

*hangs head in shame*
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Sat 2 May 2009, 7:09, 1 reply)

not sure it's turning into my parents
but I remember being 6, starting primary school, and thinking that the 12 year olds were very old indeed. Then I got into my first year of highschool (aged thirteen), and thought the people who were 17 and 18 were terribly old.

Now I'm 17, and feeling like I fit in better on here with people who I can have a coherent discussion with, rather then the people my own age. The girls at my school are, quite frankly, tarts with absolutely no idea of the outside world, and are so wrapped up in their own lame lives they don't notice anything going on around them. The boys well... lets just say it's a fairly rough crowd here.

I shake my head when I see girls walking down the street in singlets and tiny shorts and thongs (mostly unattractive in the first place) in the middle of winter, wondering why they would do this in the first place.
I watch the boys getting so drunk all they want to do is fight each other.

Also - I tut and sigh.
a lot.
(Poppet some assembly required., Sat 2 May 2009, 5:43, 4 replies)

Two words
Antiques

Roadshow.

God help me.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Sat 2 May 2009, 2:44, 6 replies)

My dad
My dad came back from Viet Nam in '71 and decided that he was going to kill himself. He didn't actually succeed until '88. His liver couldn't stand having anymore gin poured on it and his lungs had had enough of the Pall Mall filterless.

He'd left my mother and me in '72. I last saw him the following year. They wouldn't let me open the coffin - his Army benefit covered a minimal embalming.

I promised my first son that I'd always be there for him. He was too young to remember and hopefully also too young to remember that his mother kicked me out (we were overseas and I was the dependant 'stay-at-home-dad') so she could the alcoholic loser she later married and divorced. When they finally returned to the US, I was there and have been there for him ever since.

I remarried - the missus, our son & daughter still live in the same house. I never had to convince myself that I wasn't going to leave them - I'm not my father.
(thanatos, Sat 2 May 2009, 2:43, Reply)

Not sure if it's my dad... but a sure sign I'm getting older...
Last Christmas - away on holiday I set my Tivo to record a selection of goodies while I was gone. One of which : "The Victoria's Secret Fashion Show"

I get home and a few days later settle down to give it a bit of a watch... half way through I'm getting a little bored of the same attractive, but skinny little things wobbling up and down the catwalk so I take a quick look at the online guide to discover that "Modern Marvels" on The History Channel was showing.... "The Shovel"

I changed channels...
( gp_guineapig, Sat 2 May 2009, 0:39, Reply)

When you get old you suddenly find things dull that you enjoyed before
I must be getting old because QOTW was great up until they asked this dull, dreay, incredibly boring question. *Yawns*
(Grrrrr Tigers, Fri 1 May 2009, 23:41, 2 replies)

growing old
I appreciate the chance to have a nice sit down and when i do i sigh to myself and think - ahh thats nice.

Also enjoy an afternoon nap
(shug, Fri 1 May 2009, 23:34, Reply)

Some mornings...
I see my mother in the mirror

and others

I see my father.

To be honest I am not sure which is worst
.
(whiskas loved by 8 out of 10 cats, Fri 1 May 2009, 22:21, 2 replies)

It's inevitable that I shall turn into my dad
He used to say constantly that I look just like he did at his age and I will be like him in 30 years. Naturally I used to regard this as bollocks that dads usually say to piss off their kids, until I found a photo of him at my age. I'm the spit, down to the long stupid hair and scrawny build.

And he looks just like his dad but 30 years younger as well. When we are in the same room together it's like some kind of timewarp family reunion. But at least I can look at them and see what's going to happen in the future.

Thankfully I'll still have my hair, but also a gut and no teeth. Fuck
(Stu in the hat is frothing at the gash, Fri 1 May 2009, 22:19, 1 reply)

My Dad
is 80 today. He spent the day having a walk round the village where he was born, and tomorrow is meeting up with his (surviving) brothers and sisters, as well as some of his kids (I can't make it because of work) for a good old meal. He's cracking for his age. Still mentally completely there, and apart from bionic knees is in good health.

My Dad has been in the RAF and the army. He was in Korea when things were not very pretty as a new recruit. He's been to Ireland during the troubles and stood stag on the day after Bloody Sunday. He's gone to several houses and had to deliver the worst news in the world - that their husband/partner/son will never walk through that front door again.

My Dad is a clever man. He never went to university, but could read and write aged 4. He has always been employed, except in the late 80's, when he was made redundant for 2 weeks. After he retired, he still did consultancy work for little/no money in order to help people out.

My Dad is a fucking superb gardener. Anything he plants will grow. He can't cook very well - but can survive if Mum is away or ill - he eats what he's given and does it gratefully.

My Dad taught me:
How to read and write
How to look after my money
The meaning of humility, but not by humiliating me.
The meaning of respect.
How to change the oil on a 1982 Lada
How to paint a wall
How to make dovetail joints
How to write a CV
How to do algebra (when I was so frustrated with it that I was in tears - he never raised his voice and had eternal patience with me.)
How to do a cryptic crossword
To be proud and accept what I am.

I am aware that my Dad might not be around much longer - he's in good shape, but who knows what might happen? So when I see him on Tuesday, I'm going to give him a huge hug and tell him that I love him, to which he'll probably blush hugely and grin. Then buy me a pint.

You see, if I turn into even half the man my Dad is, then I will be extremely happy indeed.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Fri 1 May 2009, 21:11, 9 replies)

it's a car thing...
when i was a lad, my dad was in the throes of buying a new car. As a bit of a car fan at that age, i was deeply interested, browsing the catalogues, and trying to influence the choice. Finally, it was narrowed down to a Renault Fuego, or a VW Passat estate. Me, i thought the fuego was the epitome of cool, all coupe lines and vents; the passat was a total dadwagon. Naturally, he bought the passat, in green.


fast forward to last august, when i decided that the little soft top renault that i had was in fact responsible for me developing sciatica...

i love my green passat estate.
(micky2shoes has more shoes than feet, Fri 1 May 2009, 20:20, Reply)

I will never
ever turn into my parents.

Both of my parents are good with hands, Dad is a DIY ace, car mechanic and gardener. Mum makes quilts, handbags, baby clothes and also an ace gardener.
I struggle to do up buttons most days im such a cackhanded mong.

They are both short and fat, im taller and fair to middling size wise. The only thing I have in common with them is the Family anger and stroppy face!


However I am getting old at the grand old age of 34.


I tut

I sigh

I tut and sigh.

The other week I bent down to pick something up off the floor and made a little "gnng" noise, realised what I had just done and sighed, then tutted at my sigh.

Oh, and the grey hair I found growing out of my ear can just get to fuck as well
(Halfy By light alone, Fri 1 May 2009, 20:20, 8 replies)

Troosers
Two words: Elasticated. Waistband. 'Nuff said.
(13thfloor, Fri 1 May 2009, 20:00, Reply)

I think I'm turning into my mum
Because the first thing that goes through my mind upon seeing a scantily clad young nubile female, tottering along on high heels, is "Eeeh, she'll catch her death".

Mind you the second thing is "I wonder if she's wearing any knickers"?

Which means I'm turning into my dad.

I'm screwed either way.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Fri 1 May 2009, 19:41, Reply)

Turn into my parents....
I bloody hope not.

Wheras I have the utmost respect for my mum (she has put up with me for all these years and never once demanded a refund), my Dad is an arsehole.

My dads qualities....

Run off to Ireland when I was 13, not seen again until I was 25.
Manic Depressive.
Celtic Fan.
Unemployed.
Addicted to Marriage and the inevitable Divorce.
Likes dogs.
Catholic Atheist (its not the catholicism that annoys me, but the fact he does it while being an atheist).
Complete and utter disinterest in the world around him, politics and family.
Seems to think he can still tell me what to do.
Spawned two other offspring (my supposed brother and sister), who are nothing but a drain on society.

On the other hand, he does live quite far away, so thats always a redeeming quality.

If I ever start to attain any of those attributes, feel free to turn me in to the nearest Secret Police station as a thoughtcriminal.
(badbob82 actually has mates called Rex and Wendy, Fri 1 May 2009, 19:29, Reply)

Never work for the same place as your dad.
I work for a very large organisation, the same organisation my dear pa did for about twenty years (up until his retirement, about ten years ago).

At least once a week, someone says something along the lines of "didn't I work with you in th 80's?" (I'm 27).

The thing is, its not just that. I grow vegetables in my back garden. I have a curious addiction to red wine. I call people "duff" and speak of TV shows I disapprove of as "twaddle"

I am my dad. Ah well, at least it gives the poor old duffer an extra 50 years of life.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Fri 1 May 2009, 18:59, Reply)

I've never turned into my parents...
I'm a pretty bad driver, but thankfully all I've ever turned into was a telephone pole.
(mariam67, Fri 1 May 2009, 18:56, Reply)

I'm turning into my gf's dad
She comments on many of my jokes and mannerisims and so on, saying "that;s just like my dad"

Wish she wouldn't keep saying it in bed though.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Fri 1 May 2009, 18:50, Reply)

My dad
is a singer. He goes around local pubs and clubs, entertaining with his guitar and keyboard. He's been at it since the early 60s, and is well known in these parts. He's still going strong at 63, but now only plays for an older audience because modern music is 'shite'.

So, growing up I got to hear all the greats of yesteryear.... while Haddaway and Black Box were crashing through the charts, young bag was listening to the Kinks, the Stones, the Eagles and, God help me, the occasional bit of Cliff. As a result, my musical taste was less stunted than many of my peers, who thought anything more than a month old was saa-aa-aaad, and I gained a healthy appreciation for music old and new.

I remember it well, that night as I left a club, having spent the night listening to all the best the turn-of-the-millenia popular music scene could offer. I'll never be like my dad, thought I, no matter where music goes, I'll approve. With such an eclectic taste in music, surely there was no way I would ever despair at the state of the charts?

You live and learn, don't you. Pass me slippers.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Fri 1 May 2009, 17:34, 1 reply)

To Whom It May Concern
I was disgusted, shocked and alarmed when I received my purchase this morning.

Firstly, I was woken by the delivery man at 6 am - he rang the bell THREE TIMES! I am NOT deaf and did not appreciate the inference that I am in anyway deficient in the hearing department. I may be getting on in years, but I have the hearing of a twenty year old.

Secondly, when I opened the door the delivery man dared to OFFER TO CARRY THE CRATE UP THE STAIRS! Was I stooped over? Was I walking with the aid of a stick? No, Sir - I was not.

After I stuggled for the best part of an hour dragging the crate up the stairs I was peeved and utterly appalled to discover the delivery note was written in LARGE BOLD PRINT! I am not blind, I wear glasses, yes - but I have twenty-twenty eyesight when I'm wearing them.

I would appreciate being treated like the upstanding, fully functioning member of the community that I am in future, thank you so VERY VERY MUCH!

Yours,

Mr S. Hanky
Tufnell Park
London

PS - By the way, when I opened the crate I discovered she'd suffocated. I had to chuck her in the skip round the back of my flat - please could you send me a fresh one and remember to drill breathing holes in the crate this time? I mean, I wanted a Thai bride, but I'd be willing to settle for a Russian one, if you know what I mean...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 1 May 2009, 17:12, Reply)

Music-wise I shall NEVER turn into my mum, bless her
My brother and I had a very easy musical barometer at home, growing up: if mother liked it, it was shit. This formula is to this day 100% infallible. As a useful counterpoint our old boy was pretty good at identifying the good stuff, Booker T & the MGs etc.

Our mother's technique for assessing musical quality was simple : DID THEY LOOK LIKE THEY'D WASHED?

Buck's Fizz - clearly regular bathers = good. Reggae singer Boris Gardner, sweating a bit under the old TOTP lights = bad.

Good work, mother dear.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 1 May 2009, 17:05, Reply)

When you tell your kids
... that when the ice cream van plays that tune it means they have run out of ice cream.

And I'm Luke and Darth Vader is my father.
(Rich T has a clever and witty sig, Fri 1 May 2009, 17:04, 2 replies)

Thankfully, not yet
I'm thrilled to report that I have not yet turned into my parents despite reaching the grand old age of 45, which gives me hope it'll never happen. Mom had serious psychiatric problems, and dad developed some of his own from years of living with her, so you can understand my relief. I can't help but be surprised that my siblings and I turned out to be fairly normal, and I would even venture to say some of us are slightly more functional than average. Now that I think about it, my parents obviously got a lot of it right despite being certifiably insane, so I would be proud to take after my parents in those respects.
(bunnybutt, Fri 1 May 2009, 16:11, Reply)

I'm a mother fucker
Just like my dear old dad...



*edit to make it read better
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Fri 1 May 2009, 15:41, Reply)

TALKING IN BED
I was in bed with a sweet, lithe, athletic young girl the other night. We'd been fucking for hours and the bedroom reaked of musty, dank, dirty sex.

We had the TV on in the background. A documentary was playing about the fall of the Berlin Wall. I like to fuck and brush up on my pub trivia at the same time.

The girl had her head laying on my stomach, leisurely nibbling at the tip of my cock. We were both pretty spent after an afternoon of intense shagging, we were coming to the end of our marathon session and we both knew it. She stops, regards the screen quizzically. Then she says:

"I wasn't even born when that happened."

And my God, did I feel old...

I stroke her hair and apply just enough force to return her interest to my dick - there's life in the old boy yet - she sucks him down with a little gag like a python swallowing a frisky lamb, I feel my bell end tickle her tonsils, my balls rest against her chin.

I watch the TV, the East Germans dancing about like twats with the West Germans. The terrible, dreadful, awful fucking haircuts...

"I was fourteen back in 1989," I say, whimsically, patting the girl on the back of her head. "Strange to think you wern't even born then..."

There's a messy sluuuurrrrpppp as the girl slides my cock out from where its lodged in the back of her throat.

"Not really," she says. "I mean - I am only eight..."
( SpankyHanky, Fri 1 May 2009, 15:40, 4 replies)

The ‘Not turning into your parents' survival guide…

I am officially an old fucker. I have long since given up trying to have any attachment to, or understanding of, the culture of the next generation.

In short, I am my parents.

Here is a list of several regularly used phrases etc that I use to compound this fact. If you use them too…you’re in trouble. Hopefully this post could be the ‘wake up call’ to pull you from the precipice of becoming your oldies too.

Phrase: Who d’you think I am? Rockerfeller?

Nobody knows (or cares) who Rockerfeller was anymore. Even I’m not entirely sure…I believe he was rich, but there are millions more relevant and modern comparisons which you can make…

Alternative action that gets to the point better and doesn’t make you look like an old fart: Shout: “You’re not having any of my money. Please fuck off.”

Phrase: ”He / She looks like the wreck of the Hesperus”

(I mean, what the wallowing cock?!? I’ve said that phrase a million times and I still had to google it just now to find out not only what it was and what is meant, but how it was spelled. And now I do know what it actually refers to, it makes even less sense – what the arse has it got to do with a person’s dishevelled appearance? I’ll tell you…FUCK ALL!)

Alternative action: Point at the offending person and state clearly: “What a trampy twat!”

Phrase: “More haste, less speed”

I insist on regularly dusting off this ‘wise’ old adage, which must be said in a smarmy, patronising manner whilst simultaneously looking down your nose at someone.

Alternative action: I’ve found that bellowing: “Stop fucking rushing, cunt-pie!” suffices just as adequately.


(And, paradoxically):

Phrase: ”They won’t get there any quicker! ”

Yes.they.will. It’s been proven on many an occasion.

Alternative action: Just don’t say anything. ‘Tut’ if you must when someone razzes past your car at Mach 3.5, but for fuck’s sake don’t speak.

Phrase: “What are you like?”

This is usually spoken with a fake laugh following being subjected to someone’s dull-as-whale-shit anecdote of how ‘Keerrraayyzzeee’ they are, when in actual fact they’re about as ‘crazy’ as a flask of Ovaltine. I'm not Irish. There is no excuse.

Alternative action: Just punch them stoutly in the face and bellow: “DULLARD!”

(In my defence, I have managed to turn this phrase around somewhat. If peopIe who know me hear me say ‘What are you like?” they know to start running.)

Phrase: “That’s not music, it’s just a bloody noise?”

Possibly the worst and most blatant ‘I’ve turned into my parents’ crime you can commit. Nothing displays how out-of-touch with modern life you are like not knowing or understanding today’s music. Also, If you follow the phrase up with ‘I can’t make out the lyrics’, then shoot yourself. Now. It’s for the best.

Alternative action: Just say: “Meh, it’s alright, but it’s not my cup of tea". In fact, scatch that. Don’t say ‘cup of tea’, say….erm…..’bucket of drugs’.

Phrase: “She’ll catch her death with that short skirt…”

Although there’s a very slight chance that she might indeed get raped and murdered for dressing like a slag, it’s her choice, and should that situation occur, then the external temperature will surely be the last thing on her mind.

Besides, we all like a good ogle.

Alternative action: Simply mutter “Phwooar!” under your breath, or possibly, as an acceptable ethnic variant 'Grrrr' quietly to yourself a la Sid James, whilst rummaging around in your pockets pretending to look for spare change.

(If you’re female by the way, then shout “Slapper!”, and glare ferociously)

Last and by all means least…the waistband. For the love of pastel-shade fuck, it’s called a ‘waist’ band because it goes around your WAIST – not under your armpits…you might have already relegated yourself to the ‘wearing jogging bottoms around the house’ stage but in the name of all that produces jizz, wear them properly..

I feel like I’m providing a public service here. It’s too late for me, people…but please…if you can...save yourselves.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 1 May 2009, 15:35, 13 replies)

Ohhhhh....
I'm starting to smell of piss. A definite give away.
(Billy Blue Wind Some say I do this for fun., Fri 1 May 2009, 14:54, Reply)

Dear QOTW
I would just like to write to express my displeasure at the choice of QOTW. After last weeks great subject involving many acts of carnal delights, some genuine lol jems, and an overall high quality of posts, we are now subjected to a question about people wearing slippers, tutting at any young person they see wearing a hoodie, and writing letters of complain-

-oh.

Yours,

Mr L. King
(Lizard King, Fri 1 May 2009, 14:49, Reply)

Although my parents were divorced when I was young,
and my father was murdered a few years later so I never knew him as well as I would have liked, I find myself becoming more and more like what I have been told he was like and even more scary, I am becoming more like my maternal grandfather too.

As with my grandfather, my sense of humor is pretty much under-developed so that most of my jokes don't work. Once I get a joke that actually works however, I never stop using it (although this is partially due to the perverse pleasure I get from watching my daughters squirm when they hear the joke for the 500th time and see what is coming). Plus I take too long to tell anything, hence the length of my posts. On the good side, I try to treat everyone fairly, honestly, nicely, and generously as he did.

As with my father I like fine dining and will also try pretty much anything edible at least once. I also like good scotch, good wine, and real ale a great deal (far too much probably).

Unlike my father and grandfathers (both) however, I didn't go to the US Military Academy and am not an officer in the army (my brother and I broke that five generation tradition) but I have this stange fascination with knee high leather boots and whips order although I am completely disorganized.

Once my daughters were teenagers I would find myself thinking that their music sucked and kids these days..... When this would happen, I would go into deep depressions.
(MichaelS wasn't picked again, Fri 1 May 2009, 14:19, 6 replies)

This
does seem very familiar to this www.b3ta.com/questions/gettingold/

*Writes strong letter of complaint to the authorities
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Fri 1 May 2009, 14:09, 1 reply)