Apologies in advance
but it's relevant in a tenuous sort of way. You'll see.

I was at a Burns supper a few weeks back, and one of the speakers (we'll call him AG, for these are his initials) said that he'd been invited the previous week to give a speech for the DNA, which as we all know is the National Association of Dyslexics (that's not the joke, btw).

Anyway, on entering the place, he was accosted by a bloke who came up to him and said, "Hello, are you AG, the comedian?"

"Er, well, aye, I'm AG, but what's this about a comedian?"

"It says so here on the programme, look. AG - comedian".

"Ah, right, OK. Well, that's me", said AG.

"Well, go on then", said the bloke.

"Go on what?"

"Do it", he insisted.

"Do what?"

"It says here you're a comedian", the bloke said, frustratedly, "so change colour!"

_{I've been whistling that bloody Culture Club song all day, which is what reminded me, hence the highly tenuous link.}
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 13:33, 1 reply)

Karma pixies please!
I've been in finland for the last week.
I'm sure it's a nice place under the right circumstances but by all the gods the Finns are a glum people. Perhaps there's a smile tax that doesn't apply to us foreign types or something.

Not strictly relevent but it all serves to set the scene for my mood when boarding a picaddily line train last night after finally being vomited forth from the foetid guts of heathrow airport.

Nothing unusual there, you might say, and that would be so until another chap wearily dragged himself onto the train, looked around at all the other long faces, and with a faint smile assembled a flute.
For the next few stops the tube was filled with music, beautifully played and with each piece obviously chosen to lift the mood and spirits of anyone listening.

He then hopped off the tube, and moved along to the next car.

Sensless acts of beauty and random kindness...
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 13:24, 9 replies)

Oh yeah, karma ... As usual, too long and not very interesting ...

Had a bloke back in my younger years ... Told me all the usual stuff - loves me, wants to be with me forever, let's get married etc.
Once I fell for it, however, he turned into a complete bastard.

There were rumours of cheating, I lost my friends, was treated like crap, was told constantly that I should give up teaching 'coz it's a doss of a job, and I'd be crap at it, he broke every promise he ever made - but he always managed to talk his way out of it, and/or convince me that it was my fault.

After 5 years of not having the confidence to get rid of him (he'd convinced me nobody else would want me), he breaks up with me. Leaving me a shell of a person, who took years to become "myself" again.
Found out from a mate that he'd shacked-up with another bloke's fiancee. Two weeks after dumping me. Nice.

Less than a year later, they marry. He'd lost his friends, and alienated his family. But he was with someone he deemed Perfect For Him.
They built a house on the block of land that we had picked for our own house, and live happily ever after...

Or so I assumed, but two years later, I was talking to a friend of mine, who he'd poured his woes out to.
His missus had a baby, and got severe post-natal depression. She got fat (one reason he preferred her was that she was thinner than I). She stopped playing cricket (one of his criteria for the Perfect woman). She lost her job (she had a bit of money, he's a gold-digger).

He has to give up work and sport (he was obsessed with cricket, to the point that if the sport could make sweet love to him down by the fire, he'd date it) to look after her and the kid.

Last I heard, he's miserable, trying to cheat on her with all manner of skanks, has no mates, kinda skint, and obsessively asks my friends and mum about me whenever he sees them.
I'd say he deserved it.

I've done a lot better without him, have had a good life, done reasonably well with the teaching, have actually found out what good sex is, and have the confidence to give the arse to any bloke who acts like a turd...
Will karma bite me on the arse if I'm a little too smug about that?
(Celerydemon, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 13:23, 2 replies)

Harsh?
My ex-girlfriend was a total bitch to me. She cheated on me on countless occasions, and she had a horrible split personality.

One minute she would openly admit that she didn't love me and she was only staying with me because I had a job, a house, a car, etc. The next she would say she couldn't live without me.

One day I got sick of it. After she spent several hours telling me how much she hated me, I told her to FUCK OFF.

Her: "OK, I will. But you'll never see me again!"
Me: "Yeah, good fucking riddance. Get your stuff, there's the door."

So off she fucked, to be with some complete cunt of a bloke who plasters her around the house daily, has a smack habbit and got her pregnant with a baby she didn't want.

Even now she phones me every few weeks asking if she can come and stay with me and telling me she still loves me. No fucking chance, love. You wanted this, you can deal with the consequences.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 13:11, 5 replies)

Never mix drunken divers and coffee
I know this was posted not that long ago, during the 'Evil Pranks' QOTW, but I kind of think it fits the bill... A tale from my diving club. One that has passed into the an(n)als of legend.

***********************************************

Years ago some of the club went on a week's diving holiday in Scotland and stayed in a caravan park.

One of the lads (we'll call him Davey) could be a bit obnoxious, and was always taking the piss, especially after a skinful. One evening, after a heavy post-dive debriefing, i.e. piss up, the lads had decamped back to their caravan. Davey, somehat the worse for wear, declined the 'one for the road' and slunk off to bed, pausing only to undress himself before slumping bollock naked into bed. The others were still up for a bit more drinking and were by now very, very drunk.

One of them decides that Davey needs to be taught a lesson, having been particularly offensive to everyone that night. In his drunken wisdom, he grabs the coffee jar and a teaspoon, stumbles to where Davey is by now comatose, and pulls back the duvet to reveal Davey's naked arse, which was quivering rythmically as he snored.

Opening the coffee jar, he kneels down next to the bed, dips the spoon in, and proceeds to ever-so-gently part Davey's buttocks. He then inserts several spoonfuls of coffee in Davey's sweaty arse crack. However, while he's doing this, another of the lads spots what he's doing and is less than impressed.

"What the fuck are you doing"? he asks, swaying unsteadily in the doorway. "give us that bloody spoon you idiot, coffee costs a fucking fortune". And with that he grabs the teaspoon, and proceeds to scoop the coffee granuals (by now a bit damp) out from Davey's arse cheeks and back into the jar.

At this point, everyone has been hit mightily by the effects of a day's diving and excess alcohol, and all stumble into their beds where they spark out instantly.

Can you see what's coming?

Next day, as they are all nursing stonking hangovers, Davey arises and apologises for being such an obnoxious cunt the night before. By way of amends, he offers to make everyone a cup of coffee. Having been totally pissed to the point of oblivion the night before, no one remembers what happened and accept his caffeine-tinged apology.

One by one they are all sitting enjoying their brew, when Davey exclaims, "I don't know what I ate last night, but my arsehole is absolutely burning this morning. Don't think I'll be diving today".

It was at this point that collective memories started coming back, and four divers, in pefect synchronicity, pushed their by now half empty coffee mugs away from them in horrified realisation...

Karma? You bet - dry roasted, full aroma karma. With sugar.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 25 Feb 2008, 12:43, 3 replies)

...
I'm tired today because someone spent last night joyriding up and down the road outside my bedroom. My sleep was car-marred.



Not being a pusillanimous, vindictive, gloating bastard, I've not got any stories this week. A poor pun is all I can offer.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 12:38, 11 replies)

Karma? This takes some beating
It was comin' back, from the island of Tinian Delady, just delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in twelve minutes. Didn't see the first shark for about a half an hour. Tiger. Thirteen footer. You know, you know that when you're in the water, chief? You tell by lookin' from the dorsal to the tail. Well, we didn't know. `Cause our bomb mission had been so secret, no distress signal had been sent. Huh huh. They didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, chief. The sharks come cruisin'. So we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know it's... kinda like `ol squares in battle like a, you see on a calendar, like the battle of Waterloo. And the idea was, the shark would go for nearest man and then he'd start poundin' and hollerin' and screamin' and sometimes the shark would go away. Sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you. Right into your eyes. You know the thing about a shark, he's got...lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eye. When he comes at ya, doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites ya and those black eyes roll over white. And then, ah then you hear that terrible high pitch screamin' and the ocean turns red and spite of all the poundin' and the hollerin' they all come in and rip you to pieces.
Y'know by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men! I don't know how many sharks, maybe a thousand! I don't know how many men, they averaged six an hour. On Thursday mornin' chief, I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player, boson's mate. I thought he was asleep, reached over to wake him up. Bobbed up and down in the water, just like a kinda top. Up ended. Well... he'd been bitten in half below the waist. Noon the fifth day, Mr. Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura saw us, he swung in low and he saw us. He'd a young pilot, a lot younger than Mr. Hooper, anyway he saw us and come in low. And three hours later a big fat PBY comes down and start to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened? Waitin' for my turn. I'll never put on a lifejacket again. So, eleven hundred men went in the water, three hundred and sixteen men come out, the sharks ttook the rest, June the 29, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.
(frankspencer, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 11:50, 5 replies)

Just wondered
Has Karma bitten anyone on the arse due to their entry for the b3ta 'sick joke' compo?
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 11:43, 4 replies)

Aged 12
My friend Ben, who was incredibly competetive, had performed significantly worse than I in a test. Time for some gloatage!

So, as we walk out the classroom and into the courtyard, I turn to him and say
"Just admit it Ben, when compared to me, you're just so stupi-"
And smacked face-first into a pillar cos I wasn't looking.

Bah.
(Adamish Time of death, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 11:28, 2 replies)

Campsite Karma
Last year, when I used to work on a campsite for the Summer (excellent pay and you get to watch all the talent while "working"), they were a bit short for the night shift, so I volunteered to do it.

It was one of those long Summer nights when the sky never gets that dark, and it was warm too. At around 3am I heard a car pulling up at the main gate (which is closed to traffic after 11pm), so I went down there to investigate.

There were three 20-something males and a stupid boy-racer car making a lot of noise, talking loudly and playing their music quite loud. I walked up and asked them what they were doing, the "leader" said that they had just arrived and were wanting to stay the night.

I don't think so.

So I asked them to pack up and head off, as they weren't getting onto the site at 3am. They had told me that they weren't planning on sneaking onto the site, but they had already thrown their rucksacks over the hedge. No problem, I thought. I went round and retrieved them and threw them back over the hedge.

I went back to the gate to make sure they left. Which they did, after about ten minutes. It was not long after they left, that I realised there was something in the car park near where their car had been. So I went to take a look.

It seems that my noisy visitors had forgotten something to help them sleep. A full bottle of Jack Daniels and a 2 litre bottle of Coke. I took them both back to the office, with all intentions of handing them over to the boss in the morning.

The only thing I handed over was a note of the vehicle's registration number, so they couldn't book in if they tried. The coke was finished over the course of a few days at work and the Jack Daniels remains unopened in my kitchen cupboard. I don't drink it and no one I know does either.
(Spicy McHaggis Should have been doing work on, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 11:25, 9 replies)

Pride before a fall
At 9 years old my twin brother (I'm the evil one, he's the good one) suffered some instant Karma.

He were mucking around in some trees and my brother found a rope strung between two branches, about 20 feet above the ground.

I heard rather than saw what happened next.

My brother gave a triumphant shout "LOOK I'M TIGHTROPE WALKING!" very closely followed by the sound of 'something' hitting the ground.

It took my a minute to find him below the tree unconscious with a very nasty compound fracture to his right wrist. To this day he still throws like a girl.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Mon 25 Feb 2008, 11:24, 2 replies)

I'd do anything for love... But I won't buy that (again)
Karma. I have serious issues with the idea that a bad person will get their dues (Pete Waterman and the producers of Endomol TV are NOT serving time in a Hague jail for human rights offences), but a recent story involving myself and a lady deserves a repost:


A few months ago I'd been seeing a lady who has been the subject of a previous post when I was left short changed after an extended journey south of the Thames.

Anyway, said lady was given a second (and indeed a third, fourth and fifth) chance on the basis that she was one of the most stunning looking women I have ever seen, let alone dated. Any accusations of shallowness and moral capitualtion in the face of aesthetics are probably justified to some extent, but it's also fair to say that she wasn't exactly a one trick pony and possessed a fair degree of brains and humour. All good then? Not quite.

If "taking the rip" was ever offered as a course, said lass would be a grade A+ student. More than once I found myself in a situation where I was regularly running to her aid at the expense of both my wallet and my own needs. Even though she was a stunningly beautiful and oft funny creature, the flip side of her character was proving to be more and more damaging to my self esteem, with her opinion on my apparently numerous character flaws being expressed often.

Finger pointing, recriminations and criticisms aside, ultimately I didn't like the type of person she was, nor did I like the person I became when I was around her. I felt used, resentful and my self confidence had taken a battering.

However, morale boosting salvation came one evening when she looked me in the eye and wispered "I need you to do me a big favour..."

She outlined the nature of the favour to me, which even if I say so myself I handled with a reasonable amount of sensitivity and tact, after all she trusted me to help with the most awkward of issues that she wasn't quite brave enough to deal with herself. The gauntlet was thrown down and I took on the challenge.

So the next afternoon I marched up to the counter at Boots with my proxy purchase. I don't embarrass easily and was somewhat amused when the nonplussed till-jockette addressed me as "darlin" as the plastic bag and my change was handed to me. I didn't bother to attempt to stifle a wry grin.

Lady in question was hanging around looking at hair dye while I did my gentlemanly duty and she was very relieved to be handed the contents of the plastic bag which was summarily applied at an opportune moment.

No doubt her Rockford Files must have been causing her some embarrassment and distress, which is why The incident was never discussed again other than the wholly understandable "don't you dare tell anyone about this" speech. However, at no point was there even a "thank you for doing that for me" or offer of £3.49 to cover my expenses (which would have been refused anyway, but it's the principle).

Whoopsy ;-)
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Mon 25 Feb 2008, 11:18, 2 replies)

Serves him right
Back in May last year, I met a bloke who I thought could be the one. He was charming, good looking, tall, muscular and insisted on paying his way. Things were looking up.

He broke up with me very early one Saturday morning by sending me a text whilst I was upstairs in his house in his bed and he was downstairs making himself a coffee. Told me he'd not had any feelings for me since I'd come back from a 2 week holiday in July and that he was staying with me out of pity.

He then proceeded to text me every day after this apologising and begging me to give him another chance - to which he got told to go away (though not nearly so politely). After a month or so of this, he sent me a text telling me he'd met someone else and how wonderful things were.

Now, I'm not normally one to believe in karma, but what happened next amused me no end. It turns out that the bird he'd got involved with was a smack addict, and that her idea of a good time was shoplifting and pinching money from his wallet. He'd got a black eye from where she'd hit him one night in an argument when I last saw him, and I wouldn't be surprised if she was pregnant by now.
(Prawn, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 11:08, 1 reply)

Another, that involves me only sparingly.
Before getting together with me, Mr Maladicta had a mad ex, who he lived with. The kind that lied and went out with random guys and didn't tell him where she was, and would regularly roll home drunk and lie through her teeth about where she'd been.

Eventually, he kicked her out (woo) and went on with his life, content in the knowledge he didn't have to deal with her any more. Not so. Even to this day she periodically texts him, and has introduced herself to me when I've been on my own (referring to herself as his 'psycho ex' - no shit, love). Certain elements of her could have gone in the Stalked QOTW too, as one day when we'd both been out into town, we returned home to where the other half had left his phone to a text saying "nice girlfriend!". She occasionally feels the need to inform him she got "raped" the previous night, too.

In spite of all this, she has apparently shacked up with an ex of her own, who she claims used to knock her about, and on and off he has given my other half grief, saying "leave her alone", and so forth, not scaring him much, more making him laugh, but all the same an annoyance especially when somehow she won't take a hint to leave him be.

Therefore, imagine the boyfriend's delight to be walking down the street one day and see that his ex's guard dog is now a hobo.
( Maladicta, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 11:04, 1 reply)

Cuckolded
After a three year relationship my first serious girlfriend dumped me for one of my mates.

Was I bitter ? Five years later he lost half his foot in an industrial accident. Then another ten years after that they split up. I knew it'd never last !
( Ramsay Tupper, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 10:20, 1 reply)

Koh..birds eh?
Decided to dump me. Felt she could "do better" the chap she left me for cheated on her and dumped her after 3 months.Leaving her broken hearted as she had done to me. After that, single for 6 years.

Ahhhh....karma. My one true friend.
(Hendrix73, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 9:08, Reply)

repost
This story happened to my sister, who was driving back down the mountains from andorra-la-vella (everyone in the toulouse goes up there now and again on a sunday to stock up on cheap booze and fags)

The road down is obviously windy and narrow, so you have to be pretty careful, it can get slippery with ice and stuff... anyway, she's driving down and some prat in a 205 GTI comes up behind her, driving real close, after a while trying to overtake, driving like a twat, flashing his headlights, beeping his horn and generally behaving like a berk.

Eventually after a while he manages to overtake and disappears past the cars in front.

Then a few kilometres down the mountain, she turns a corner and there's the same guy, his car up against a large rock, water and stuff spewing out of the front, a complete write off, and the bloke standing next to it, looking at what's left of his car... so my sister slows down, opens the window, looks at him and goes "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA", which made the bloke go all red and start shouting "GROSSE PUTE" (which i'll let you translate for yourself) and other lovely french expletives.

Result! Karma wins!
(Alaning, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 7:34, 3 replies)

Argh!
I missed my 3rd b3ta birthday yesterday. Perhaps this was karmic payback for going out the night before, having scantilly clad lady dancers pour raw drinks into my beaming face, becoming incredibly drunk and spending my entire b3taday in bed, attempting to keep what little liquid was left in my body from escaping through one end or another.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 3:43, Reply)

Pre-emptive strike...
After a rather shaky six months (caused mainly by my getting drunk and getting randy with other girls) me and my reunited lover are lying in postcoital bliss when she turns to me and says, "Mofo, I want to have a sex change. Please don't tell anyone".

I proceed to tell everyone, of course. Cue ugly ugly breakup, and deservedly so.

I'm now backpedalling furiously and have just forked out £1,500 for a trip to Thailand (for me) to buy him some testosterone. Small price to pay to cover my ass?
(jothemofo, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 3:14, Reply)

OOOH this one's fun
Recently I moved out of a house, which helped my esteem a bit. Let me tell you the story.

It was a shared house that my partner and I lived in, in sunny old Portsmouth. He and I were at uni, and working part time too.
The housemate went from nice to steadily shit. She'd hide my cutlery, pots, pans and other stuff in her room/the bin. She nicked things out of my room and then complained to the landlord that she'd had stuff nicked when I pulled her up about it.

She played music for 48 hours straight once, the same chavvy chipmunks on crack tune on repeat. She stomped, stamped and scowled everywhere she went and took it upon herself to send me threatening texts.

She mocked my job (bar work) when she'd been thrown out of hers after a week for stealing, she mocked my fella's job when she was currently not working and claiming every benefit she could, and she mouthed off something rotten.

One night, she started squalking off at me and hit me. So, after the last straw was out of sight, I beat seven shades of shit out of her and went to my room.

I moved out, then got a cop coming to my door, arresting me for assault! The solicitor told me they get these 'attack, lose, claim assault' cases a lot. I couldn't believe it! I was in the cell for 10 hours and the police eventually let me off, after her statement of events (fella holding her down shouting 'hit her' and me hitting her, 'blood everywhere and hair pulling) didn't match the evidence (black eyes, cut on nose, no blood, hair intact) and I walked out. Not before discovering my fella had been arrested, this being A DAY after an operation he'd had, with no access to painkillers.

So, a complaint was made to the IPCC and my fella's suing the police for unlawful arrest.

When I went to get the rest of my stuff from the house, she texted the landlord saying I'd now nicked some stuff and she was going to call the cops. So I did first, and she has been arrested for harassment.

Not only that, but I've also discovered that she's gone to court over theft and benefit fraud and is now homeless.

And I'm still in my 'shitty' job in a fucking good pub, and I smiled and waved as she was on her way into court.
( Methylene Blue - electrohead, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 1:46, 2 replies)

Err
This has just struck me.

One of the things I hate most in life is fucking Karaoke. I despise it. It makes me cringe. I'd happily wipe every Karaoke Bar of the face of the planet if I was God.

But guess what I'm doing now?

I'm coding a fucking Karaoke Web Site.

Someone up there has a really fucked-up sense of humour.

But while I'm on about Karaoke I better tell you about the one time I did enjoy it.

It was my old local, The Sun Inn in Alnmouth (which I once owned but that's a completely different story), and they had a Karaoke session one night. And the village idiot decided to enter.

Some rotten bastard (I'm looking at you BarBitch) persuaded him to sing Bohemian Rhapsody and, by God, he murdered it.

He was so out of tune, just hitting the notes in passing, that it was one of the funniest things I've seen, ever.

The bloke next to me at the bar was a tourist and he was banging his head off the bar with tears streaming down his face crying:

"Make him stop,make him stop - he's killing me..."

Andrew, the idiot, didn't entirely get the idea of Karaoke as when the words "GUITAR SOLO or DRUM SOLO" he'd gleefully shout these out as well.


Seriously, if you're ever in that part of the world, drop into the Sun on the off-chance that there'll be Karaoke and Andrew will be singing. You won't regret it.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 1:36, 12 replies)

Karma
A few years back I was getting off the train in Newcastle Central Station when I spied a rather drunk bloke a few yards away. He was swaying backwards and forwards and swigging from a bottle of Newcastle Brown when disaster struck.

He dropped his bottle of brown.

Horror-struck, he watched as the bottle fell to the concrete floor and...Bounced.

It bounced twice and then landed, upright, on the cold floor. OK, it was fizzing beer a bit but his lovely bottle of brown was OK.

With a beaming smile on his face the drunk bent down to pick it up and...

A full bottle of whiskey fell from his inside pocket and smashed all over the floor.

He must have done something really bad in a past life....

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 1:24, 3 replies)

Karma, indeed
I often used to twock and regale my friends with tales that I had first read on here. That was until i'd just proudly finished telling a story i'd read in a QOTW not a week or two before only to be asked by one of my friends "So you read b3ta too?"

I just keep my fucking mouth shut now
(Peter Sutcliffe's Right Bollock, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 0:55, 2 replies)

I may deserve it
but it's not fair!

A couple of months ago a mysterious fucked up patch appeared at the bottom of my laptop screen. It was fairly obvious that some kind of liquid had seeped under it, god knows how, but I managed to save myself the extortionate repair price by blagging it as a random manufacturing defect and thereby claiming warranty on it.

I just accidentally stabbed the new one with a compass (don't ask how, it was an accident). It still works but the mark is screamingly obvious.

Damn.
( greedyostrich Cheese is evil! Cheddar is VOODOO!, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 0:42, Reply)

Salad Cream
Mrs Legless has inspired me to share this 'tale'. All my love goes to my mate Legless and his lovely warm good Greek woman :o)

During the early to mid 90's I did my Shirley Valentine bit and went to live on a Greek island. Fell for the people / lifestyle / philosophy / kultcha / kooysine / language / customs / nuances / the whole kit & kaboodle. My heart truly belonged there, and more importantly, so did my soul. I decided to settle there permanently. Found the most charming apartment by the sea (with it's very own amusing tales - not relevant to this week's Q). One aspect of living there never ceased to amaze me, and not one morning went by when I didn't marvel at the view from my sweary bedroom window. I could open the sun shutters, lie back down on my scratcher, and look out over the Agean Sea to Turkey beyond. Turkey was so close that on a a clear day I could even see the traffic moving along its coast.

So as not to bibble on too much, life was a bow(e)l of cherries! I shared the apartment with my bestest and only English friend (who is now Vice Consul for the island - I remember asking how the hell she'd got that job, to which her reply was, "I applied for the fucker, didn't I?!")

Puppies ensued - again another story in itself - ah, my beloved Gorby....
*sniff*
*bigger sniff*
*fuckin this sleeve just doesn't have enough surface area for the absorbancy required*

During the next chapter, I met my Dream Man, to match the dream life. (Apart from living hand-to-mouth & struggling to buy new underwear.) Stelios was from the mainland, not at all in-bred, oh no, he was bringing new blood to the island.

We fell in love and all that shit & shebang. Come winter time, it was easy enough for me to find / continue work but not so for him. So we moved to his home city on t'mainland, Thessaloniki. By then, he'd proposed and I was up the duff.

Twas a rocky-and-a-half pregnancy, touch and go from one hour to the next if I might have a miscarriage. Had to take hormone tablets to keep my blit -sorry, I mean cervix - closed. Cue hormones, stress, arranging a wedding. decorating & furnishing new apartment.

Then, for no apparent reason, one night I was torn from our bed by the hair, thrown semi-naked into the street and had 27 colours of shit kicked out of me. Where the fuck did that come from? What in spunky bell-end's name had I done to provoke that? Having my head mashed into a brick wall etc.

The embryo/foetus/baby Tourettes had by then been incubating in the proverbial oven for 3 months. Methinks, "If daddy-darling can do this to me in our current state, it is tantamount to beating the baby/child."
Like the Harp lager advertisement, I was off. Time for a sharp exit. Fucked off in quicksticks, belly & I did.

And here follows The Happy Ending....
I'm not sure about karma, but I am a true believer in Fate. I believe everything in a person's life happens for a reason. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger and all that.

If Stelios hadn't pulverised me when he did (2 weeks before our wedding) I wouldn't have left him. Therefore I would never have returned to Blighty. And regained a smidgeon of sanity. And met Davros' Granddad who restored my faith in human nature. Taught me to love and how to be loved, right through to the bone, warts 'n' all. This man really is my true love, my soul-mate in this life. I have never loved anyone, apart from my son (which is a love in a category of its own) so much as I do DG. I love him from the nucleus of every cell in my body. He warms the darkest cockle recesses of my wizened heart like Crabbie's Green Ginger wine on the frostiest of winter's days. I melt when he snuggles up for a snog... just before I close me eyes I see the creases outside his and the loving twinkle within. Makes me wilt fizzingly within his embrase...*

Like so many others, I am the product of a highly disfunctional / fucked up childhood. I remember watching the advertisement for Heinz salad cream in my late teens / early 20's. The one with the Nice Non-dysfunctional family co-operating nicely over a barbeque. Twas always my dream to be part of such a family...

And now I am living that salad cream dream - with my bestest-beloved Davros, the most fab son and the dog with the mostest specialistist needs...

Have just spent the smashingest Sunday and birthday with my very own salad cream family :o)

*should I apologise for being so smushy? Promise to soon resume to my 3.5 tattoo sweary posts?......?

Should I soapy-tit-wank fuckstick!!!
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 0:41, 10 replies)

never help the afflicted
it only leads to bad things happening.

I honestly thought i was doing a good deed when i rang the number in the old duffers bus pass. I was on my ay up to halfords to get a puncture sorted on my 2 wheeled wonder machine (a push bike to most humans) and i found a bus pass. with an old duffers picture on it. not that unusual you might say, and you'd be right.

instead of mooching across the road from halfords and handing it in at the cop shop, i decided to have a quick peak at the contents. Turns out the bloke had alzheimers (spelling?) so i thought i would ing te number of the helper on the card inside

(for those who dont know if you get alzheimers you get a little card which tells people this so if you are alone and dribbly you can show it to them and the help you out. Well, if you did know coz you have got one you may have forgotten already.

((that reminds me of a little skit i saw once. an alzheimers protest rally - "what do we want???? we don't know! when do we want it??? what?!!???!!?"))

anyway, i phone the number and have a chat with the nice lady at the other end and agree to drop the bus pass off, as my bike has been fixed and its only a 10min ride away.

all goes well, i find the house and am rewarded £5 for my efforts. On the way back, my phone falls out of my pocket and is run over, costing me a £25 excess on the insurance.

Karma eh? i think the chemical brothers had it right in "the golden path"

"but I did not believe in a
Heaven and hell world of opposite’s kind of reality
and I gained control of myself
and I decided to press on"

and so here we are - no such thing as karma, just a series of random events that we have to deal with
(harestylenumber1 loves weiner, Mon 25 Feb 2008, 0:22, 1 reply)

Oh Ho Ho Ho and how we laughed..
Somebody un-nameable posted a reply to my earlier 4 part saga stating that it wasn't really karma because all the things I wrote about showed karma working for me. Given that part 4 of my (mini) saga explained how after being a twunt for some years I crashed a motorbike and ended up paralyzed for life (which some people would argue clearly shows karma working against me) I decided that some truly top drawer kosmic karmic retribution was in order. So I sent them a message that pointed out they where, in fact, a grade A twat. And then went to bed.
***that pointed out** or **which pointed out** Anyone?
(godisdove I like cheese, Sun 24 Feb 2008, 23:51, 5 replies)

Pernod and yak...
And this is why I don't steal things.

Reading Festival, 1992. Walking from the car park to my tent, the guy in front of me drops a bottle from his rucksack. On closer inspection, it's a full, unopened, still perfectly intact bottle of Pernod. Did I run after him and hand him his aniseedy booze back?

Did I fuck. I took it back to the campsite, mixed it with some Ribena and drank the lot.

Two hours later I did a big purple sick. All over myself.

Own worst enemy really...
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Sun 24 Feb 2008, 22:59, 6 replies)

Carma & Howden
As mentioned in a previous post (on mixtapes etc) me,my bro and friends would pile in my late lamented Vectra (if there's ever a QOTW on car write off's then I'll talk about the Vectra's death) and scoot off to the East Coast where we would surfr, badly and have fish 'n' chips.

One day on the way back we decided to stop off at a pub in Howden and have a proper Sunday dinner,which was delightful, and like most pubs they bring out the condiments in a little wicker basket.

I don't like Tommy Ketchup, and never have any in at home, but if peeps come round and want the dreaded red stuff, then I usually have a copla sachets stolen from aforementioned wicker baskets in my fridge.

As dinner ended I stole the obligatory packs of ketchup and as I'm getting the cash out of my wallet to pay for my tea my pal notices the condoms in my wallet...which have run past their best before date.

So for a giggle we put the condoms in the wicker basket with all the sauces, so the next unsuspecting diner would find some unused durex. My how we laughed.

A couple of weeks later I drive through Howden as usual nto the way for the surfing, and Monday morning Humberside constabulary have kindly informed me that I have the privelige to pay them £60 and get three points, from allegedly speeding through Howden.

Next week just to rub salt into the wounds outside the petrol station a big sign pronounces Get Points Here!

Karma must have pissing itself.... and no it hadn't finished with my poor Vectra either.... but like I said any QOTW on Car write offs and I'll talk about my several write offs including the death of the Vectra.
(Lord Monkey of Yorkshire,OBE killed a gipsy on...., Sun 24 Feb 2008, 22:38, Reply)