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This is a question Helicopter Parents

Back when young ScaryDuck worked in the Dole office rather than simply queuing in it, he had to deal with a claimant brought in by his mum. She did all the talking. He was 40 years old.

Have you had to deal with over-protective parents? Get your Dad to tell us all about it.

(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 15:13)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Not mine
My friend's Mum got Power Rangers taken off TV.

I live in New Zealand, where most people are fairly liberal (even though homosexuality only stopped being illegal in the 80s), but quite a stink was kicked up when I was a young'un and these teenagers in outlandish costumes were kicking seven shades of shit out of an endless line of poorly dressed bad guys on everyone's telly five afternoons a week. In a bitchkrieg to rival the actions of Kyle's mum in the South Park movie, Ben's mum got petitions together, gathered support, campaigned heavily to get this filth off the air and away from our children and bloody won, ending lunchtime re-enactments forever.

This all happened a long time before I met Ben but that didn't stop me giving him shit for it. He also told me once that his mum bought him and his two brothers a Ninja Turtles weapon set that consisted of the four different weapons, with each one allocated to a certain brother (Ben got the kitana) and Donatello's bo held by Mum. The tales of getting beaten with that thing for fucking around are pretty legendary.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 23:18, 2 replies)
you cant be too careful...
my parents once dragged me along with them when they went on holiday with their best mates, who also had a son my age so wasnt all bad.

end of the two weeks and we were delayed going home, so much so that they put us up in a hotel for 24 hours. As the hotel was fully booked, we were all squeezed into the entertainments room. whilst there, the lad I was with spied a group 3 girls. being 14, and walking hard on's, we made our move and started chatting to them.

after a couple of hours or so, remarkably we seemed to be making some progress until, my mates mum chose to shout across the dance floor
"simon? SIMON? DO YOU NEED A WEE?"

never have you seen a human being turn so red, the promise of some horizontal jogging disappearing in a flash.

of no relevance to the story but Simon was also a doppelganger for Reg out of the bill, so much so that the whole pub stills calls him Reg to this day.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 22:46, 4 replies)
I live in a house.
long, long time lurker, first time poster.

back in the day when I wasnt a fat, lazy bastard, i used to play a lot of football. One particular game we were playing our local rivals in a derby game that matched celtic rangers for hate.
Playing left back I modelled myself on stuart "psycho" pearce, hence I set about kicking seven shades out of the oppositions right midfielder for the whole of the first half. Aside from the fact it was our local rivals, me and this lad had a bit of history, so everytime he got the ball, SMASH, I'd clatter into him (so much so that I'd even cracked one of his shin pads). oooh, I was hard.

Second half starts, and I carry on my assaulting of this player. Only this time, we're playing the other way. (as you change half's at half time for non football fans). The side where our parents are stood.
The ball is played out wide, in the air, towards my opponent. Eager to piss him off, I did the old trick of jumping for the ball, but 'accidentally' launching myself off his foot. He is naturally pissed off and turns round and calls me a twat.

at which point, my mother decides to shout " he doesnt live in a flat".
Hard man image ruined in an instant. my opponent didnt stop laughing for at least five minutes.

I didnt speak to her for two weeks.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 22:30, 2 replies)
My dad was the dictionary definition of 'Helicopter Parent'...
When I was sixteen or so he still treated me like I was a little kid that needed to be protected. I guess being his youngest daughter brought out his paternal insticnts, but it got annoying fast.

I put up with it most of the time, but enough was enough when he totally rejected the guy I'd fallen for. You see, I had my first crush when I was in my mid teens. I think it might have been because I was so overprotected. I don't know. But anyway, Dad flipped and forbade me from seeing him because he was of the 'wrong sort'. He wanted me to end up with one of the local boys, who were perfectly nice but a little fishy, to be honest.

We fought constantly. My sisters were no help, they just sided with Dad. Finally I had it. I ran away. Looking back, it was stupid and immature, but at that time I was a hormone crazed kid. I found myself at the house of a local woman who apparently had pulled some shit previously and now the entire community had outcasted her. I knew of her, we'd talked before, and I knew she wouldn't tell Dad where I was.

I was shocked when she told me she could help me attract my crush. I was totally in! Turns out she was just a backstabbing bitch, but hey, I got my man in the end, and now I'm a princess with loads of shitty overpriced merchandise of me!

Yours truly,
Ariel



...I'm so, so sorry.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 22:30, 8 replies)
In my Job
it befalls to me to wade through the CVs sent in by hopeful young people looking for apprenticeships with our company.At least two a week have a covering letter from a parent,which is a bit odd,but a corker arrived this week with a covering letter from this blokes father in law telling us how conscientious and hard working his son in law is.The son in law is 34.
So not that hard working then, that the cock can't write his own letter.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 22:29, 2 replies)
Rubbers
When I was around 16 or so my Mum would come home every Wednesday having done the weekly shop and often she'd start unloading bags of groceries whilst I was sat there watching Star Trek getting annoyed with all the rustling.

This went on for months. Each time she'd start unloading one particular carrier bag and nonchalently reach in, rummage around and then casually toss a pack of condoms onto my lap as though it was bag of Monster Munch. I'd be sat there frozen stiff staring at them in near horror.

"I don't really want to know whether or not you're using them, but at least I've done my good parenting bit."

And she'd just carry on unpacking the groceries. Wasn't all bad, though. Decades later and I still can't look at Deanna Troy without getting the urge to have a posh wank.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 22:04, 3 replies)
At the tender age of 20...
I still had parental controls on my computer.
Of course, it took me about five seconds to hack them beyond repair, but the emotional damage has lasted my entire life.
*sniffle*
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 21:58, 1 reply)
I work in a clothes shop.
Today I served a young man who appeared to be about 19. He tried to return some pance (in vain, as we don't do returns on underwear), as his mum had told him they were the wrong size. I'll repeat that: his mum told him that he takes a different size. How do you get to be that age without being able to buy the right size pance of your own accord?

I also once had a less extreme version of Scaryduck's - 17-ish year-old lad comes in with dad, dad hands in lad's CV and does all the talking. True, cashiering in a TK Maxx-wannabe shop isn't the hardest job in the world, but how do you expect to get a job in customer services if you can't handle talking to strangers?
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 21:35, 11 replies)
When I was 18
I went on a date with a girl.

The long and short of it was, she was a bit of a slag.

We had a couple of drinks, she then dragged me over a field.

She gave me a blow job - I came.

She insisted on giving me another blow job straight away - I came.

She tried it again, but even I couldn't hack the third.

We didn't date again.

The last I heard, she was brain washed by a muslim fellow and had been whisked away to pakistan to wed him.

I don't have a daughter, or any children for that matter. But, if I did, the above reasons are exactly why I would be protective.

She was 16 on that date.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 21:31, 9 replies)
About turn ! Keep up at the back, there.
No funnies here, and quite long so feel free to pass on by if you want.

My Dad was an overprotective nightmare. My mum was an unsociable clean freak who wouldn't let my friends into the house. So as a child -

I had one bedroom for sleeping in - done out to my mum's whims which looked like a princess's bedroom with all the things she couldn't have as a child herself, which was locked during the day so I couldn't mess it up.
Had one room for playing in, which was done out like a workshop with horrible scratchy industrial tiles on the floor, because apparently I was too messy to be allowed proper carpet. This was locked during the night.
Never had a sleep over. Never went to one either. Wasn't allowed fast food or fizzy drinks or peanut butter (don't know why I remember that especially) til I was sixteen.
My Dad would go to the end of our road and whistle - if I was out of range and didn't come running at this I would be grounded.
Grounded at fourteen for six months for going out one morning at nine and not returning until lunchtime. Mum panicked because she knew I was with a boyfriend (who she had met and knew) and thought he'd raped me and left me in a bush or some such nonsense.
Not allowed to go on dates, for example to the cinema, unless my dad took me there and picked me up after until I was seventeen.
Not allowed to get into my boyfriend's car at sixteen in case he crashed and killed us both - which became awkward when I started to work as a dj with him I can tell you.
Passed my driving test at eighteen but not allowed to drive in the snow - ever - in case I crashed.
And so on and so forth.

Left home at twenty and moved three hundred miles away. Dad told me if I left I was never to darken their door again. Cheers. Although he relents within two days and has me call him every day, or he calls me.
When I am twenty one, I don't answer the phone for three days because I am in bed with flu. Dad calls the local police and sends them around in case I'd been murdered or something. Didn't think to call my boyfriend, who I lived with, at his place of work and ask him if I was alright.

Fast forward to some years later. Dad leaves mum for someone else. Mum becomes dependent on me. Dad's daily phonecalls suddenly stop.

These days, twelve years later:
Mum wants me to pay all her bills because she won't get a debit card. She pays me back but often it takes a while !
Mum wants me to go and look at houses and flats with her, and sort paperwork out for her move.
Mum wants me to get grants to get work done on her house and fill in the relevant forms for her.
Mum wants me to do her food shopping online - she can't and won't use a computer.
Mum wants me to somehow magically make everything all right for her and gets pretty narky if I can't.
And never says thankyou for anything I do, and some of the things I do involve really going out of my way for her.

I've been registered blind for nine years due to a sudden severe sight loss which happened when I was living a hundred miles from home, and neither Mum nor Dad have ever asked me if I might need any help with anything to this day. They just assume its situation normal - they're not around enough to see any different. It has taken my fiance, who is totally blind, to actually set it out to my Mum that she can't hope for me to read her post and sort out cheques and bills, for example, as I actually have to have someone sighted read my own !

Dad hardly speaks to me - too busy with his new family - a daughter who he is in the process of smothering as he did me.

Over protective parents do an about turn in the end. I have no kids. I wouldn't want to turn into my parents !

Sorry for lack of funnies and whining and length. I love 'em and appreciate all the things they did do for me when I was growing up, but sometimes I could slap them.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 20:56, 7 replies)
Your carriage awaits.
In my teens I belonged to St.John Ambulance Cadets and a Church Youth Club that both met on a Thursday night in halls about 2 miles apart. From the age of 11 till I was 14 I would walk between the two. At the age of 15 my parents suddenly decided I needed chauffering and I still don't know why.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 20:42, 7 replies)
C'mon Smudge..
*delurks*

I could tell stories that'd make you weep for my poor lost childhood about my parents' strict, protective nature, but I save them for "it's not fair" whingeing over Xmas dinner - they had a mid-life liberal renaissance and raised my younger siblings in a fashion so laid back they were practically horizontal.

Hell hath no fury like an oldest daughter watching her 15 year old sister skip in at 8am, straight from her boyfriend's house, having suffered years of being locked in her room for being one minute over the 11pm curfew. While my life was akin to Saffy from AbFab, she's living the rock-n-roll, fags-n-glamour existence of Patsy. Bitch.

But anyway. This is more a tale of dramatically unconcerned parenting, because it's more interesting. At the tender age of 14, being of sound mind (read: a raging hormonal mess) and unusually fast development, I found myself a wholly unsuitable boy - 17 (ooh, dangerous) and a school dropout. All the better to rebel against my sensible-shoes and 9pm-bedtimes upbringing.

Of course, within all of a week we were spending every spare minute in bed. Which was fine, because I'd convinced my mother I was doing "extra homework classes" to ensure I "followed her into Oxbridge". His parents never spoke a word to us in the house, and couldn't have given a fuck who I was. So one sunny afternoon we're at it like rabbits on Viagra in his bedroom, and being too hot for covers (oh those balmy Yorkshire summers.. erm..) we're naked on top of his sheets.

Then comes the knock at the door.

Christ, we think, we'd better grab some kind of covering material before someone sees us as god intended (and, potentially, phones the police given the age gap). We spend a futile couple of seconds pulling the same bit of blanket, that's wedged under his back, in different directions. Making odd eek-like noises. Perhaps we can rescue this with the aid of a few more seconds and a Argos Man United duvet cover.

But no. Not being a sensitive or particularly engaged mother, and so never realising why we're holed up in his room for hours a day making squeaky noises, his mother simply walks in. With their Jack Russell, whose yap would put Katie Price in a cat fight to shame. Curtains for us? As I'm trying to dissolve my chest into him in the clear hope his mother won't see my tits and realising it's way too late for my arse (yes, we'd for the first time decided to "give that weird girl on top thing a go".. bless), his mother reaches over the bed. To make it worse, said dog is barking like a car alarm and doing something that felt suspiciously like humping my boyfriend's naked, half-off-the-bed leg.


I'm literally scarlet, wondering what the fuck she's doing and when she's going to scream when she pipes up.

"Ooh Daz (for that was his name), where've you put them choccy biccies?"

Yes, after walking in on her only son heartily boffing his underage girlfriend, her only concern is her mission - find the biscuits.

Scrabbling round and finally finding the half empty packet of dark chocolate HobNobs on the windowsill whilst *reaching over our writhing naked sweaty flesh*, she turns on her heel and walks out. Saying loudly to the dog "Come on Smudge, let's leave these two lovers at it".

My first boyfriend's mum saw me naked. And shagging her son. Then, I wanted to die. Now, I love her, and aspire to be her (well, at least in her attitude to teenage sex). Click "I like this" if you want to hear what happened when my (then) Christian Conservative ma found out about all this...

No apologies for length, you should see what I have in my top drawer.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 20:38, 15 replies)
Highly trained fighting machines but incapable of making basic travel arrangements
When I worked on National Rail Enquiries not a Sunday would go by without a mother ringing up for times to get her son back to the army, usually with the cream of our military stood next to her and everything said twice so it took forever. The entertaining part was due to the bases being awkward to get to and they usually rang up fairly late on Sunday afternoon it was often too late to get them back. One chap who had actually managed to make the call himself but with mum prompting at this point handed the phone over to his mother who seemed to think that telling me he would be put on a charge if I didn't magic another train out of somewhere to get him back would make any difference.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 20:36, 1 reply)
why me?
i have an older brother, an older sister and a younger sister. i'm by no means a child(i'm 34), yet my mother refuses to believe this. she phones me(not the others, just me) every day, just to see if i'm alright. if i don't answer the phone, she panicks and calls my mobile, demanding to know where i am and if i'm safe. if i go to her house, even in the daytime, she insists on giving me bus fare as she doesn't like me walking the 3/4 of a mile home alone. i'm the only one of the four of us that isn't in debt, yet she still tries to give me money and food. i haven't lived with my parents for 10 years, but that doesn't stop her from trying to get me to move back in with them. she often phones my friends to see if i've discussed with them any problems i might have that have been kept from her. my aunt lives roughly 1 minutes' walk from me, so mum will phone her at least twice a week to come round and check up on me. she will often phone me before she goes to bed, just to say goodnight.
still, it's not all bad. i went to asda with her before and she bought me 2 new pairs of pants and a t-shirt!
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 20:26, 1 reply)
Before my daughter tells you herself...
When the Sparklets were little tiny ones, I had some basic rules, which I detail here..

1) I don't hold with kids having toy guns, so my two never had them
My elder Sparklet Joined the Air Cadets at 13, and can, amongst other things, strip an SA80 down, clean it, re-assemble and fire in less time than it takes me to send a text. Her brother is a mad keen online first person shoot-em-up fan.

2) I don't hold with those nasty cheap TV programmes-cum-toy adverts that litter kids TV.
Herself, with her first term's student loan spent untold money on a huge Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers snap together killing machine thingy whilst drunk, from Ebay..

So I tried to be a helicopter parent, but I was a bit half arsed at it...
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 20:23, 8 replies)
Don't f**k with my mother
Once, back in the mists of time before adulthood, I was a very small six year-old boy. I had moved schools about a year earlier and, frankly, was having a bit of a miserable time. I missed my old friends, was lacking in any kind of social skills and, as I had switched midway through the primary school process almost everyone knew each other and decided, quite quickly, that they didn't like me.

There was one particular boy called Michael who made my life a misery. On top of being pretty evil to me when given the chance he told everyone that I had germs (this was primary school and presumably "Rectum Ranger" had not yet entered common vocabulary) and this led to widespread mockery and refusal to sit next to me in class, reducing me to the lowest point of my young life (cue muffled sobs).

Eventually, after much crying and refusing to go to school, my mum wheedled out of me that I was being pretty severely bullied and that Michael was the culprit. She, in her inimitable way, decided to take her own form of direct action.

The next day she took me into school and had me point young Michael out. She then walked over to him and, in a sweet parental kind of way, asked if she could sit down and talk to him. He agreed and she started by saying that she had heard that we had been having problems and that he was being mean to me and she wanted resolve this. She then proceeded to explain that my dad was a dentist and that, unless he stopped being mean to me this very second, he would "come into school tomorrow and slowly rip all his fucking teeth out".

I have never seen in my whole life seen such a look of pure fear and terror even on an adult, let alone on the face of a six-year old boy. All this was within full view of my teacher and delivered in soft soothing parental tones.

I feared the backlash but Michael took this warning to heart and made it his personal mission to be my very best friend for the rest of my time at that school. We never discussed it so I never learnt if he had a change of heart or whether he was just terrified of getting on the wrong side of me. I bet he's still got a phobia of dentists though.

Somehow I don't think you'd be able to get away with that these days...

My mum was pretty scary when she wanted to be though. She once physically threatened an NYPD officer who tried to stop her getting Brooke Shields' autograph for me, and made him back down too. I didn't even know who she was.

No apologies for length - I was six so I'm guessing a cocktail sausage had one over me
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 19:52, Reply)
I Was Going To Post A Funny Story About My Parents...
But my mother won't let me. She thinks this site is corrupting my innocence.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 19:39, 1 reply)
Just when you think your parents where alright.
Theres me laughing at you lot when this memory comes back to haunt me :-/

When I was about 14, I went on holiday to the west country somewhere with my family. I wish I could remember more details but I spent most of the holiday in a bored and numbed haze.
Until one day we ended up at a market.
Mooching around and being utterly bored I happened upon a wizened old country type fella selling a mixture of belts, wallets and a rather smart collection of pocket knives.
They were probably mostly for show, but they looked kinda cool and were only about five pounds (well within my budget). I thought I could have all sorts of jolly fun carving sharp sticks and throwing it at trees.
I picked out one that looked a bit like a hunting knife in a leather pouch, paid the man and went on my merry way.
I met up with my family and we all drove back to the holiday home, where I pulled out my knife to show everyone.
No sooner had I done that, when my (normally calm, artistic) father snatched it out of my hand and went completely ballistic.
Screaming off the top of his head and shouting at me for being "so fucking stupid" he grabbed me and my brothers and drove us back to the market.
Ranting all the way he made me show him where the market stall owner was, then proceeded to get into an angry debate with the guy, all the while pointing at me as an example of "a boy too young to be sold a knife". All the shouting had drawn a huge crowd who all stared at me while I wished for the tarmac to rise up and draw me in.
The market trader tried to be nice, but refused to refund the money and soon ended up telling my dad to piss off.
So.... My dad dragged me and my (amused) brothers to the police station where he recanted the whole thing whilst shouting into the face of the local bobby.
By this time I refused to meet anyones eyes and was trying to zone into my happy place.
An hour later we are still there and the bobby has managed to calm my dad down enough to make him understand its not illegal to sell a small pocket knife to a teenager.
Having lost his temper with everyone, my dad spent the journey back to the holiday home ranting to himself and, when we got there, threw the knife onto the floor with a muttered "cut yourself with it, see if I care".
I crept up to my room and stayed there for the rest of the day.

The next day I took the knife out into the woods to throw it at tree's and the first time I did, the cunt snapped in half >.<
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 19:05, Reply)
My son has worked very hard for this QOTW
And if you don't click 'I like this', I'm going to sue Rob Manuel.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 18:55, 3 replies)
Ode to a teaching assistant
Many, many moons ago, I was given a job by my school teaching kids life skills as part of the school's partnership scheme with other local schools of lower performance rating. In other words, good school sent pupils to work at bad school to make bad pupils good pupils like me.

Now, I was the poorest lad in my class and had all the self confidence of a computer programmer headling the main stage of Glastonbury. The way I saw it, going to teach kids skills like cooking and revision technique would be a walk in the park since I had the same upbringing and intentions as them.

While that was true, what I hadn't expected was the batshit insane mother of one neverending wave of Zerglings, named Kayleigh.

Kayleigh had popped out 5 kids in 3 years. That's 2 sets of twins and another future frontrunner at the dole office in the time it takes for my Mum to send an email. Their names? Barry and Harry, Shelly and Kelly, and Chardonnay-Divine. I wish I was shitting you with that last one.

Now, in an attempt to be 'urban' and 'hip', alongside the arts, crafts and life skills classes was a course from a professional club dj (he was black and everything) to teach children how to 'scratch'. While I can't say I approve of the class (I keep all my CDs in their cases, thank you), the kids soon went to it like a fly to hot shit and I was drafted in to assist.

Knowing fuck all on the subject myself, the 5 kids soon took an opportunity to mutiny against the class. Records were taken out of the box and the ones deemed unworthy were smashed against desks, and then burnt in a pile. The microphone was used for some sort of 8-Mile slagging off match between two of the brothers, while Chardonnay-Divine proceeded to try and knick two mixing desks. While strangling the runts was off-limits, I used my cunning to subdue them while reinforcements were called.

Yes readers, I gave them all a Twix each and called their Mum. 10 minutes later, Kayleigh is seen storming towards the door, fists clenched, ready to pounce. Grabbing the handle with her mighty claw, she lets out an echoing:

'YER LIL SHITE!' - Christ, was I glad not to be the one on the receiving end of this bollocking.

'HOW DARE YE TELL MY KIDS WHATS RIGHT AND WRONG YE CUNT! KIDS, GET IN THE CAR WHILE I SORT THIS TWAT OUT' - Spoke too soon there.

Attempting to defuse the situation, I try and explain in the most calming words I can how one kid has just tried to walk off with 300 of recording equipment, 2 of her boys have just beatboxed solely using the word 'cunt' to most of the school, and a large, invaluable record collection spanning 15 years is now in a pile of viynl under some wooden desks, leaving a 6ft tall black man curdled in a ball of tears.

'Now you listen, kid. My little angels aint done nothing wrong all their lives and love their mother. You can't prove shit, and I aint paying shit all for your shitty class, so I'm fucking off now and I hope you do the same, cos if I see you again, my boyfriend will do you in a driveby.'

'I'm sorry you feel that way, madam, but that's not feasible now.' I replied.

'YOU'RE GONNA TELL ME WHAT TO DO NOW, YOU CUNT?'

'No madam, it's just your children are setting fire to the car you arrived in.'
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 18:52, 3 replies)
Indian parenting rocks.
T'other half and a mate of his were driving along one day, and heard a *thud*

They're shitting themselves: they'd hit a little boy! Got out, somehow the kid was unharmed but with a few grazes, and was about to skip off. So they decided to step over and take the boy to his parents just to make sure everything was ok.

So they arrived on the doorstep of his house, to be greeted with his mother. Fearing the wrath of this not small and meek looking Indian lady, they start to describe what happened apologise a lot, offer to take the kid to hospital. The mother grabs the kid and slaps him:

"You STUPID STUPID boy! What have I told you about running out in front of traffic! You've already broken your arm, are you trying to shock your mother into an early grave? Is that it?"

The lady then thanked them for bringing her son back home, and apologised for the trouble he'd caused.

Turns out it was the 5th time he'd done it that week.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 18:36, 3 replies)
My mum's fucking brilliant
She seems to think that if she speaks to anybody - regardless who it is - they'll shit themselves and comply. Her most often exclamation is 'Well tell them to phone ME!'

- Student loans company saying I have to pay them back when I wasn't earning

- College decided that a hearing aid battery replacement is not an acceptable excuse for missing 20 seconds of a discussion - whereas I'd miss more if I didn't!

- Boyfriends dad not liking me, thinking I'm scum (changed now)


I'm not sure what she thinks people will do, to be honest :/
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 18:28, 1 reply)
This one time I was bullied at school
and I told my Mum about it.
She put me in the car and then we drove out to find the bully.

she pinned him against the wall with her HONDA ACCORD and then beat him to death.

He was a drug-addict bully and was harder than Mr T.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 18:25, 10 replies)
HELLO.
MY SON ALEX WANTED TO POST A LITTLE STORY FOR YOU HERE BUT I WANTED TO CHECK OUT THIS "B3TA" InTERNETSITE FIRST TO MAKE SURE IT'S ALRIGHT FOR HIM is THAT OK???? HES SUCH A GOOD BOY. IVE NOTICED SOME NAUGHTY THINGS AND I'D LIKE YOU TO REMOVE THEM FIRST - IF YOU COULD TAKE AWAY THE SWEARS AND SEX STORIES ID APPRECIATE THAT AS MY BOY'S NOT READY FOR THAT YET THANKS!!!!!!!!

DO BE GOOD!!

ADDENDUM: SORRY IVE JUST 'CLICKED' EDIT TO SEE THAT ITS TYPED SOMETHING ABOUT BEEF AND A PICTURE OF A RABBIT DONT KNOW WHAT THATS ABOUT AS I DIDN't TYPE IT SO PLEASE DISREGARD

KINdest regards,
sUSAN
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 18:18, 1 reply)
Snacktime
We'll call him Chris as that's fairly easy to follow. This is the man whose stupidity combined with mine on holiday generated 12k hits on a photography site. But he was a well grounded and resourceful fellow, and happened to be a Scout leader.

There was the usual lark that goes with teenage scouting (especially with the girls) and big camping trips with massive marquee-type tents. 20-odd boys, 10-14 years old all on their own for the first time.

12 year old boy comes up to Chris with a packet of crisps. He asks:

Kid: "Can I have a pack of crisps?"
Chris: "Sure, go ahead. You can help yourself to anything in the snacks trunk"
Kid: "er, ok."
Kid hands the crisps to Chris. Chris is a bit confused at this point.

Kid: "Er, can you open the pack?"
"Can't you do it?"
"Er, my mum says I'm not allowed to."
*slightly stunned 19 year old ginger blokey stammers for a bit, then composes self*
"Really?"
*kid looks a bit hurt at not being believed* "Yes!"
"Well, you're allowed to open packets of crisps here."
"Er, ok. Can you do it anyway?"
*smile* "If you want those crisps enough, you'll get them open."

And apparently he managed it.

Scouting 1. Overprotective parenting: 0. Yay!
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 18:07, 8 replies)
Taxi!
When I was at Uni, there was one girl in my year who was totally mollycoddled by her Dad, and to be fair, she had him wrapped round her little finger. He used to drive up from London to Oxford to see her most weeks anyway, but she would occasionally pull one on him and get him to come up other times too.

Reasons to call her dad and tell him to get in the car included: Having no food in the house and not wanting to carry her stuff back form the supermarket on foot (lazy as fuck - but surely you can still order a pizza?), having to go to a party out of town and not wanting to walk there and back (apparently he and her mum came down for the night and went for a meal to pass the time while she went to the party, then picked her up, dropped her home, and went back to London), and -famously- having an argument with one of her housemates and wanting her mum to come down and talk to the other girls in the house to sort things out!

The problem with this, of course, was that she was incapable of operating independently - she was just so used to Mummy and Daddy sorting everything out that she was useless left to her own devices.

This all lead to one of the most ridiculous stories...

On one occasion, she'd come to a party at someone's house, and decided she wasn't walking the 45 minutes back home, so she'd get a taxi. Being used to Dad picking her up and dropping her off everywhere, she hadn't thought about the fact that you need to have money to pay the taxi driver when he drops you off, hence an awkward moment when they got back and she had to confess she hadn't thought to bring any money.

She told her housemates this story the next day and they all, naturally, took the piss.

'So what happened then, Jenny? Did he have to take you to a cashpoint?'
'No... I just sucked him off.'

Mummy and Daddy would not have been impressed....
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 17:54, 4 replies)
Next Door Neighbours
Had a 17 year old kid who had *never* been on a train before.

Just, what?

Edit: This is near Wokingham, Berkshire. Not the middle of nowhere.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 17:51, 7 replies)
Tmi dad,
Out at a restaurant with the parents, me a young grinning hippy type back then, parents had just found my stash.
Mum; "So, you and this stuff, what's it like then?"
Me; Somewhat taken aback, and knowing my dad was a bit of a lad in the army, "Well, it's alright. Why don't you ask dad? He's probably more of an expert!"
Dad; "Nah, I've never smoked cannabis. Opium, heroin, cocaine, but never cannabis"
Me; "eek"
Dad; "Do you know what we used to do with cocaine in the Egyptian brothels? Put it on the end of your..."
Me; "Stop right there dad"

So I guess I've not been mollycoddled quite so bad as some.
In fact, now I come to think about it, I've probably been more protective over them then they were over me.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 17:50, Reply)
First girlfriend
Eleven years old and my first girlfriend had come to my house for the first time. We went into the kitchen to say hello to my mum who, after a bit of chat, came out with "I don't mind if you kiss each other as long as you don't use tongues". Still got the mental scars.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 17:40, 2 replies)
Absentee Parents
A mate of mine in university was from Saudi Arabia, and had fairly wealthy parents. They were not too hot at understanding English, so he sent them his monthly account from Oddbins (a liquor store to you 'Merkins), and told them it was a book shop account. Free alcohol for us, courtesy of his non-drinking parents, who thought him SO dedicated for spending so much on books.....
(, Thu 10 Sep 2009, 17:28, Reply)

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