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This is a question I spied on someone...

Freddie Woo says: "I was staying at a youth hostel in Europe and realised you could spy on the female dorm by looking through the keyhole in the adjoining door. So I knelt down, put my eye up to the hole... and saw an eye staring back at me. And I was the one they called a pervert." Tell us your tale of spying shenanigans.

(, Thu 2 Jan 2014, 12:23)
Pages: Popular, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Pump up the volume.

(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 14:58, Reply)

(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 14:15, Reply)

(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 14:09, Reply)
I'm surprised no-one has mentioned this all week

(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 14:03, 1 reply)
Coke cans of doom
I lived with an Italian guy for a couple of years. We rented a town house with a big bay window and a tiny front garden - literally 4 by 2 feet of gravel with a hedge. He was good fun, a hard working and personable dude who liked a drink and knew how to talk to the ladies. He was a man of the world, but a different world,so occasionally he would make endearing errors like stocking the fridge with Tennent's Super on the grounds that "in Italy, Tennents Scotch Ale is the best British beer you can buy, ah?!".

He was also the kind of guy who, if he saw work that needed doing, would willingly get stuck in without being asked. For example, one morning I took it upon myself to trim the unruly hedge out front and he soon appeared, sporting gloves and a rubbish bag, and offered to take care of the clippings.

As anyone who's tackled that particular task will tell you, it's almost impossible to get normal grade bin liners to hold a hedge clipping of any substance without being shredded so it took about 30 seconds for my mild-mannered accomplice to transform into ITALIAN RAGE MAN. "Va fanculo," he announced. "My balls are completely broken. I go now to the shop for a proper fucking bag, not this cazzo piece of shit." I carried on clipping, knowing when to keep my nose out, as the stylishly black leather jacket-clad figure stalked off to the corner store.

He returned presently, sporting some heavyweight garden sacks and the phone number of a girl he'd met along his 100 yard journey. Carrying on with the task at hand, he was happily filling the bag when my attention was again taken by an enraged yell.

"The fuck is this shit?"

"What's up, man?"

"Behind the small hedge. Is a fucking..." he leaned into the void between a small bush and the front wall of the house. "is fucking.. two hundred of empty Coke cans."

I descended the ladder, inspected the bush and found him to be completely correct. Some of them had clearly been there a while, judging by the rust, but it was undeniable: the space under the bush was completely filled with discarded fizzy drink cans.

"You know what piss me off? These are all the same. Is all Coke. No Tango, no Sprite. Is just Coke. Is one bastard who is doing this things."

He may be from the North of Italy but I recognised the look in his eye from the Godfather films. You can insult a man's choice of beer but you can't litter his garden. The disrespect, I could see, would not stand.

I convinced him that the cans were ancient history, and that the important thing was to clear the garden. But he was agitated for the rest of the day, and after work on Monday I found him fuming in the kitchen.

"You know what I found in the garden this evening, man?"

I held my breath.

"A FUCKING Coke can. This bloody bastard is still fucking with my garden."

Now, our hero here works in IT so it didn't take him long to come up with a plan. Within the hour we had a webcam pointing out of the living room window and recording the bush out front. The short USB cable meant his laptop was perched precariously on the TV stand but he bolstered it with a cushion and, satisfied, eventually calmed his nerves enough to retire for the evening.

The following evening he was home early to check the evidence. Nothing.

Wednesday he was out of town on business but rang me twice to make sure I'd checked the footage for evidence. I had, but saw nothing untoward.

On Thursday I came home, opened the front door and found him hunched over the laptop, his vengeful countenance lit only by the glow of the screen.


"Yes mate."

"I have found the coolprit."

"Oh aye?"

"I don't understand."

He turned the laptop for me to see. The webcam had been taking one shot every five seconds, so there were only three frames of the crime being committed. In the first, there was just a foot visible, intruding into the front garden area. The second image was blurry, but obviously showed a figure leaning over the bush to place something into the space behind it. But final frame was the money shot; our phantom litterer had turned enough to reveal their face to the camera. It wasn't a belligerent chav, it wasn't a thoughtless kid, it wasn't a mentally unstable homeless guy tidying litter off the street. In fact, we both recognised the face.

It was the batty old woman next door.

We knew her by sight; I'd cut her lawn a couple of times and (I hoped) she would've just said if we were doing something to upset her. What the living shit she was sticking Coke cans behind our hedge for was a mystery.

Now, the thing about Italians is they're very proud, to the point where you can't cross them if you value your life, but they also value their family and friends above all else. I could actually see the confusion on his face - the nice old girl next door was clearly filed in a part of his mind that was completely incompatible with the embodification of pure evil that he had built his litterbug nemesis up to be.

Eventually, we decided to talk to the police. They'd be able to get her some help or something.

The generously proportioned officer at the station did agree to send someone round to have a chat and see if there was a problem. But, he said, we wouldn't be able to press charges since the littering occurred on private land (our garden) and thus was not technically a crime. Obviously we weren't going to go that far anyway, but an interesting tidbit for you there.

We returned home, somewhat mollified, and sure enough the Coke cans stopped appearing after that.

No more than a month later, however, I came home to find policemen in the neighbour's front garden.

"She died," said the WPC. "We're not suspecting foul play."

The house went to auction the following April, and in May the Italian and I moved out, he to Scotland and I into London. We never spoke about our elderly ex-neighbour again.

Lesson learned. You do not fuck with an Italian's hedge.
(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 13:57, 5 replies)
Yeah... I'll fill this bit in later
(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 13:07, 3 replies)

(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 12:59, Reply)

(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 12:30, 3 replies)
Independent schools. A hive of wretched scum and paedophilia.
I was working in the IT department of a semi well-known private school in Surrey. It modelled itself on Eton, redbrick, high percentage of oxbridge candidates etc. This was an all boy's school up to year 11, but the sixth form was mixed.

There were several "houses" on campus where the boarders lived, and in the top floor there was a housemaster, responsible for the inmates inside.

One of my projects was to install an internet filter/proxy server and monitor web usage for anything untoward amongst the students. Due to my horrendous incompetence I also ran the webfilter on the staff, and found that one of the boy's housemasters had paid subscriptions to several pornographic websites.

Schoolboy porn, to be precise.

He left the next day.

All the staff concluded that I was probably responsible for his dismissal, as the IT manager was even more clueless than myself, and I was treated with a thinly-veiled yet subtle mixture of fear and hatred after that. Lovely.
(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 12:05, 6 replies)
How will I know if he really loves me?

(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 11:51, 1 reply)
Digireedoo makes me moist.

(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 11:46, 2 replies)

(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 11:15, Reply)

(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 10:59, Reply)

(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 10:35, Reply)
how can i get a girl to like me?

(, Thu 9 Jan 2014, 9:26, 15 replies)

 photo jesushonda_zps344d49a0.jpg
(, Wed 8 Jan 2014, 19:11, 24 replies)
I was once followed home by a scary David Frost lookalike,
only to run into my house and find Lloyd Grossman having a look through all my stuff.

The cunts.
(, Wed 8 Jan 2014, 18:55, 3 replies)
People shouldn't look through keyholes and that.
They should put their camera phones up to keyholes, film whatever occurs in portrait and upload it to YouTube so we can all just wank to them on /Links.
(, Wed 8 Jan 2014, 13:15, 2 replies)
The Spy Who Came All Over Her Face Hair And Tits
Esisa riey cu sale orihe oloror rotieru bor teta; hiemira etesip sarot. Vano lam gi rol ibu cofo dutaca dotoco lino ti, atocirieh caloru ren! Di tene rin arotes eyidire peb yarel todu.

Mimol imane cet ri relir vogatic nec suzuke amaviequg ser. Eqebu sewoti ixas pe unala rafa wuci ku sipa mareyeg. Gacale gon cina lice orim eciranoh elihe matoteb xosi.

Isogo lumetos oda hotosa ripini ase ren, enup anero lietutas nonobi ahiteye kikiey. Digic pin linir orocieyos teg. Qo gip sa urol magive. Le iegeteta weyap, otowieka iha tadam rano rinen neme wu tago ni: Epatehey rica mose cunel fuyo mape apepeni, nat ruteh se tebore: Rienita elu li le son naxun onelac kol hutimin nop? Epaleno ayalocet returop upayum oho rate eneden; tidusoc riere ma ceha to seser ribawe sutad kecafet.

Moti osan ra ter tuseb rale safew migu ye ye, saluboy nelufa turatiet ofefa. Iyuhabot nadom yatoce locemir: Tibi ref heriedie cera ne hecutot itoyiedan. Ruceh onali oficic roborar fi cet bil iheb, rafiecog somiro busudip nado rato kelot tunu idutima inebub; seyi inese dugo pa. Iciebaput sokani rohe eneneben. Tu gelelo ico mi yuciyig ogietolem nac rag siemehi; lovip omasemac novegoy gosimu tec. Ehace rey deraw! Uraret pepog coseli tigan sac: Erumoget gos nerir gi.

Niceye te potosun gemi deyo: Ni biyih die denel. Yeteya pap everoyot momagik soto robur ihi fata nim, niehegow zire mi leyet weno atet nenadud relu.

Togi bemisoy getetat let vusun katu. Use ano debico woreham dovere hel ogim lagad adelu! Ragidoc tiqo fi esidisiet acen: Dimolor ro yelo! Ne rum taceni ielo. Bole tu ivori sa qigitar rigecu izir serureg, aviemigu ses sisoc macarom sacaley nem cin puhil: Morero sopedon mop nem sesi.

Emesad sileto aco ru nonefo nibu fa yiegi niti! Eki solah tiweneh kecih hasaro fef yabu mile? Gan lu nay. Sar etese vibed. Pihodi ietieci ta ga re.

Caminen soci nod hirosu ahererac tehesek bif ho ini; uweho otirienup ocuro pi ti tocasi namien recehe lucah rol. Ripaci si yebami simorey ecorut pie. Batoniv ruce otilaki cecireb. De lodey nun yera esininak. Papipul kesel opadet ocat hila jetemi. Gehiesi rem isi? Edufe ge cieci hore te gapesi sete. Awe heco ileruma nafatim fulal pierin xema! Acon tofo yo ded risod ci lo yim agic, mara elieyedu kicerim moxe bi, nucena paretop cihiep le run cenu, elisesar erefa ceseli no. Laha fomo yafapa tep alove. Ha gogo re. Nilolam leb ira lupo su. Irememoc huroc tehe enilo rib hutor. Har ro nel arog ciyete ire udefo. Yesot taha lorowu na danur narira mo nosiwuc filit ciciyot.

Gasala iwerida cecawes ta setaro upim niron. Remir lom wisino tayih asecara sa ecoraxit disu tot enitama. Ibacon nimil usovus cugot dayefa. Le aradiwe ya fe lesiri ica hu sotisa latigos fuleta. Repepiet cocen uyun ecereye rit, yenere re ienieterin no gilel, rihem goda usigierip te nelit igenanem melepe paruc miri di. Ite mis opat amom wet! Varizo imu secemav cacega arebepec oporon caren lies! Ta geni ecinun tur tetanir nirin ri.

Yarasa danopo detenel sosa corecoy po locot upokiel nohon ca; ceni heto ecipaner si egetanot utiereciw muj ni alon. Pisow fasi ciexe imevum emi sosi udi rutapi. Osafas bipu kisihat mimo ericale? Nusie ovepat arite moyi erahasi dotop nariri bamu, da ubep lec tolih beyo: Kopemey laselet lani! Co tepus dece apogie ietef etet ace asorecu enerete macoc. Tirur riceb etic ierol torem enon simi se ruliret. Pil rah ren tiyotiek oporac pifape, cel so lesir udiyetiej nelet vapagol cayayot: Asatirar muc roras yatec: Erinel lamusam ecenoso onesuc so seyer corarun musilu tie rib, yi ise ecose toc? Inerefi comit inusa afohir noninu irofosed; sot nati sa fab egiec riceres lo ca raresu.
(, Tue 7 Jan 2014, 21:37, 38 replies)
I couldn't get the binoculars out in time.

(, Tue 7 Jan 2014, 19:51, 3 replies)
if something is phat with a ph what does that actually mean?

(, Tue 7 Jan 2014, 16:58, 13 replies)
Cleaner Cam
A while back I had to find a new cleaner. The old one had been with us years and become part of the family. She was trustworthy, loyal and above all, an excellent cleaner.

But she got deported so a replacement had to be found. A suitable candidate, a friend of a friends' cleaner's sister duly arrived for an 'interview'. She seemed nice, polite and most importantly had a valid visa. So she started the next week - but by the end of the following week, I'd lost £100. I remember coming home from a work party and depositing five, £20 notes on the kitchen table. I left early to work the next day and passed our new cleaner at the front door. When I returned home, the £100 was gone.

Not wanting to fly off the handle and accuse her, I thought I'd lay a trap. She was due in the next morning, so I hid my camcorder on the top shelf in the living room and hit 'record'. That night I got the camera down and settled in to watch two hours of 'Cleaner Cam'.

Oh. My. God.

This girl could clean for England! Or maybe the Philippines. She hoovered, dusted, sprayed and even lifted the sofa to clean underneath it - something our old girl had never, ever done. She worked solidly for two hours, even when she was out of shot I could hear the hoover, or the taps running to fill the mop bucket.

To top it off, when I went into my bedroom, I found the missing £100 in an envelope in my top drawer, with a note from her saying that this was a safer place than leaving it on the kitchen table.

I felt guilty for a bit. And then I ended up having an affair with her and had to let her go.

But that, as they say, is another story.
(, Tue 7 Jan 2014, 15:55, 14 replies)

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Pages: Popular, 3, 2, 1