Dad
My dad, although in Her Majesty's special forces at the time, and a dab hand at the actual aggression thingy, was also quietly a master at passive/aggressive guilt trippery too.

This usually manifested itself after the delegation of some menial and/or unpleasant domestic task to one of his offspring.

After he would catch us a while later, unenthusiastically and quite poorly carrying out whatever job he had assigned, he would storm in and say: "Right, go inside, I'll do it myself, I don't know why I bother to ask you to do anything, I might as well do it all myself, mumble, moan etc"

This resulted in us feeling bad and then begging to be allowed to complete the job, while he buggered off back inside to watch the footy, can of Export in hand (no doubt congratulating himself on having successfully completed his Dad Skill Number 7 exam with flying colours).

Just so you don't think we were being overly petulant, dad delegated tasks included:

1. Clearing the dogshit off the tiny patch of grass in front of our hedge.
2. Cleaning his car (in winter and at an age when I was too small to actually reach the top of the car to clean it properly - spend 50p at the car wash? Not when you've got 6 year olds and a step ladder).
3. Holding the nails for him to hammer in to whatever half arsed piece of DIY he had chosen to undertake.
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Thu 13 Oct 2005, 13:45, Reply)