uncanny
What a coincidence that this QOTW should arrive today of all days. The day in which I found out I'm going to be a daddy.

So love em or hate em? Dunno, mines only the size of a lemon pip.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 17:18, 14 replies)

Pearoast No. 5
A story on my daughter.

There is a girl she dislikes intensely (as one would expect with 13-year-old girls), and at school they do their best to make each other miserable.

So one day my daughter pays a friend five dollars to steal the other girl's clothes while she's in gym class, and hides the clothes in an obscure corner of the locker room. Result: the enemy girl had to wear her gym clothes for the rest of the day.

The next day there's an announcement over the loudspeakers that a ten dollar reward is being offered for information as to where the girl's clothes are. My daughter marches to the office and reports that she saw some clothes in an obscure corner of the locker room. She's given the reward, and goes back to her class.

In other words, she humiliated the girl and made five dollars profit in the process. And made her enemy pay it to her. Devious and vicious, and I pity whoever else she decides to take a disliking to.

I know I shouldn't be as proud of her for that as I am, but what can I say? She takes after her dad...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 17:13, 4 replies)

Sweary Sweary
4 year olds have extremely sensitive hearing.

In fact, I could rent the little bugger out to Fylingdales to listen for the Russian bombers and save the MoD a mint.

I have a tendency to extreme sweariness, which has rubbed off over the years on to my God-Fearing Mutton-Molesting Go-To-Church-On-Sundays Wife. So much so that she now sounds like a pissed up and pissed off Marine when annoyed. And then the sprogs arrived.

Pulling into the supermarket to find that the car park was, as usual, full, my angelic blonde blue eyed son made his contribution:

"Typical. No fucking spaces"

Cue two alleged adults going purple with suppressed mixed laughter and 'oh shit' emotions. Before either of us could recover, or even draw breath, a small voice piped up:

"D'oh" (Yes I exposed him to the Simpsons too early)

"Sorry MummyDaddy"

"No BLOODY spaces"
(osok Rebel without a clue, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 17:06, 1 reply)

Car crash
When the Captain's sprogs were much younger I decided that I'd explain things to them in a more grown-up way than most adults would when talking to kids.
It came to pass that, as a family, we were on holiday in Wales. At the time, in the fair city of Bangor there must have been a Jewish prayer school going on, lots of long coats, homburg hats and magnificent ringlets in evidence. My kids were naturally curious and asked why "those men are wearing those clothes". I explained they were orthodox Jews, very religious people. I even spoke to one of the guys who was great with the kids and answered all their questions. Later that day we were driving back to our digs, my youngest shouted "Look daddy ,there's that orthopaedic Jew"!!


I nearly crashed the car. Couldn't move for laughing for about 5 minutes.

Yeah, I'm a breeder.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 17:05, Reply)

Pearoast No. 4
'Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house
was the laughter of the father-
because he's a louse!

When my sons were about four and five years old, they still believed in Santa, so I would sometimes do fake phonecalls with the cordless phone to Santa, telling him to skip our house that year because they were refusing to go to bed or otherwise misbehaving. Since I had gone to forestry school in the northern Adirondacks and they had seen pictures of me in the snow there, they didn't question too closely that I was on personal terms with Santa- after all, that's pretty far north in their minds. The call that had the biggest impact on them was the one I made where Santa told me that he was going to be going to the reindeer stalls to fill up their stockings that year.

So what did I do? I went out and got a box of chocolate covered raisins and poured them into the stockings.

The following morning they come downstairs and grab their stocking and start taking things out when the older one stops and says, "Hey, what's this?... EEEEWWWWW! Reindeer poop!"

Some chaos ensued.

Best part? As I was getting coffee he comes running into the kitchen in a panic because his brother's eating the reindeer poop.

The next Christmas when they found their own underwear in the tops of their stockings they knew who to blame...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 17:04, 1 reply)

When my sister was potty-training
A bat flew into her room, and somehow - somehow - ended up in her potty.

She reported to mum and dad "There's a poo in my potty ... and it's moving!"
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 17:03, 3 replies)

When the fuck did kids lose any respect for elders
seriously!
Im only 20 and I remember when you used to be nice and curtious to people,
not happy slapping, mugging, etc...

The state of kids today kind of makes me feel I dont want them
( epiphany coming live from sweden, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 17:03, 1 reply)

little twat
When i started doing reading volunteering at an inner city school, I was introduced to my "partner".

The first thing he said to me was "Wow! Short and ginger. You lucked out, didn't you".

He's 9.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 17:02, 2 replies)

Childhood shits
A quick one.

My ex wife’s family are mostly good Catholic children. Consequently her cousins have spawned numerous offspring. One day the youngest burst into the room in floods of tears, obviously in great distress.

“What’s wrong”? asked sprog’s mother, “Why the tears”?

“I” *sniff* “went to the toilet for a poo” *sniff, hauurgh, sniff* “and I was” *haaurgh sniff hauurgh* “sick out of my bottom” *sniff*.

Of course, she meant she had diahorrea and didn’t know what it was.

How we laughed. Etc.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 17:01, 3 replies)

Pearoast No. 3
When he was about 12 or so, my oldest son used to be very fond of falling asleep on the couch after school in front of the TV. It usually took a bit of effort to wake him up for dinner, so I wasn't too fond of this habit of his- I mean, if I can get up at 5:00 and stay awake until 10:00, he should be able to as well, right?

So I used to wake him in odd and memorable ways. Once I held a strange looking Burger King toy about three inches from his face and grabbed his shoulder with a shrill howl and screamed "It's the end of the world!" Another time I put on a weird pair of goggles and this wild headdress from a Halloween costume and shook him awake while whooping in his face. He used to wake up screaming and disoriented as his father seemed to be some strange monster in front of him, much to the amusement of his siblings.

So one weekend when I had been up far too late the night before I lay down for an afternoon nap, and he decided to take his revenge. Using leftover Halloween paint and costumes, he painted his face green and tried to look as weird as he could, then snuck into my bedroom and howled as he shook me by the shoulders.

I opened my eyes groggily and said, "What time is it? Do I need to be making dinner yet?" and yawned.

He stood staring at me for a moment, then said "Yeah. And I guess I'd better go wash my face," and stomped grumpily down the hall.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 17:00, Reply)

Pearoast No. 2
Imagine that you're a boy, nine years old.

Imagine that you're spending the night at a friend's house, but don't have a change of clothes or toothbrush, so you call Dad and ask him to bring them to you.

Imagine being upstairs with your friend and his older sister when Dad arrives with a paper bag and is brought upstairs by the friend's mother.

Now imagine Dad saying "I wasn't sure what underwear to bring- these are yours, right?" and producing a pair of briefs with the Red Power Ranger striking a dramatic pose on the seat.

I wonder if he remembers throwing them at me and trying to beat me...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:59, 1 reply)

Help for Women who don't want children
Being of the female-persuasion, and having reached a certain age without having any children, I get asked more than once a week how many children I want, when I want them and so on.

I loathe children, I don't really see the point of them, and there's far too many people in the world as it is. So, long story short, I'm not going to have any.

For those of you who are in the same position as me, here are the answers for those comments from smug parents to which you normally give an embarrassed smile to:

SMUG PARENT: You were a child yourself you know
ME: Nope, came out this size

SMUG PARENT: You'll change your mind one day
ME: And by that time, age will have brought the senility required to do it

SMUG PARENT: It's different when they're yours
ANSWER 1: Yeah, you get less time for killing your own
ANSWER 2: My kids would be to other people what your kids are to me

SMUG PARENT: Who'll look after you when you're old?
ANSWER 1: You look after your mum and dad now do you?
ANSWER 2: Your kids taxes
ANSWER 3: I'm flattered you think I'll live that long.

I have fielded these questions for most of my life, it never ceases to amaze me that people think you've never heard these arguments before.

Nice thing being, of course, they've usually never heard the answers before.

As I write this I do have to question what is worse, parents or kids?

EDIT: I got awfully philosophical after writing this answer whilst waiting for the train. I realised that after a while, you get bored of both stock answers to these questions and b3ta answers as demonstrated above (not dismissing them though, they're massively affective at killing the "smug").

I realised, if I was honest with myself, I mostly say "I'm too selfish to have children." Thinking on, I realised that the amount of thought I have put into to matter means that actually I am not selfish.

I'm actually just thoughtful. I want to have a life that doesn't revolve around a person you're forced to love, I want to like a person I like because I ACTUALLY like them for who they are, not just because of a genetic need to love. And finally, the world needs more people like it needs a nuclear war, why contribute to the destruction of world when you can just enjoy it for all the wonderfulness it has to offer?

Your kids are going to go through puberty, get drunk, they're going to try drugs, they're going to have sex with inappropriate people, just like you did. None of the fun, all of the worry

Having children? The answer to a boring relationship? The demands of society? The need to be loved or to love?

Looking at it logically, I can't understand why anyone bothers, I really can't
(Jugular, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:58, 14 replies)

I was thinking of becoming a sperm donor
as you get paid for wanking. Only to realize that

1. you don't get paid. Its considered an honor to help overpopulate the planet, on behalf of people who wont adopt.

2. No more confidentiality. Who the fuck thought that one up? Not only do you not get paid anymore but your details are held forever.
Now I for one cannot think of a more awkward conversation than having to explain to the 18 year old on your doorstep that the reason for their entire life is that you needed money for class B substances/ a new carburettor/ a night on the piss. Or that the whole thing was down to you loosing a drunken bet.
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:51, 3 replies)

...also whilst working at Beavers...
One night they got their uncontrollable little hands on proper scissors, unlike those plastic ones that can barely cut paper.

One small ginger kid decides he will experiment into what sort of different things this new tool can cut, hacking his way through every bit of stationary he could find.

Once he ran out of objects to snip at, he turned them on himself (as we all did when we were 6) and snipped off a tiny bit of his hair.

Seeing the laugh this got from everyone, the hell-raiser at the time, not wanting to be outdone, gets everyone's attention and proceeds to chop off the entire fringe, from his large mop of hair.

The Beaver leader had a fit. By the time I finished my service at Beavers, it hadn't grown back, despite the parents attempt to disguise it.
( Butters and his titanium codsocket, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:50, 2 replies)

Train Station Head-crunch
Picture the scene, I'm standing in London Liverpool Street station, looking up at the Board-O-Cancellations (TM) to find out what train I've missed.

The night before I'd been DJing and drinking heavily, so I was left with a filthy absinthe hangover and a large metal box of my precious CDs on my shoulder.

There was at the same time, a bunch of screaming children running about, getting under the feet of harassed commuters and so on.

I felt a massive *crunch*, looked down, and some stupid child had run headlong into the corner of my CD box, and was sprawled on the floor, howling.

I almost felt bad about it, but then remembered that I was standing still, so i guess it's natural selection in action.
( Cawl, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:50, 3 replies)

Nod to spimf
Here are my favourite "kids believe the funniest things"

Goals for:
I told my nieces that their granny makes bread sauce by chewing up a loaf of bread and spitting it into the bowl. (They now both won't touch bread sauce ever)

Goals against:
My older brother when he was a teenager and I was but 5 told me the draught excluder (which was basically a teddy snake) was there because the house used to be haunted, and he caught a ghost inside it. If I removed the eyes the ghost would escape and haunt me!?!?! He would chase me with it.

Shit scared of that draught excluder for ages.
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:48, 2 replies)

"You Disrespecting Me?"
.
Is the new "you calling my pint a puff?"

Or, in other words "I fancy a fight and I think I can take you.."

I could take being attacked by kids, but not when they murder the English language. It hasn't happened yet but I can see myself with my hand 'round a wiggers throat saying:

There's*bang*no*bang*such*fucking*bang*word*bang*as *bang*DISRESPECTING*!!!

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:47, 5 replies)

A tale of Young Davros and the floppy clown
Since I don’t have kids of my own, I might be a bit restricted for material this week. (What do you mean, thank fuck for that)?

I do have nieces and a nephew, but see them rarely, so will have to wrack my brains to think of anything amusing to write about them. And sweary junior is Tourette’s territory.

So, for the moment I offer up this tragedy from my past, which also incorporates a common phobia for many and another childhood fear of my own that I completely forgot about. I still remember this vividly, and the scars run deep.

Way back in the mists of time (oh, alright, 1973), when I was still part of a traditional nuclear family and Jon Pertwee was driving around on the telly in a funny yellow car, my Dad was in the RAF. Consequently we moved around a bit, but would return every so often to the hometown whenever my Dad was on leave. This would involve travelling by train, as neither parent drove. On one particular trip back home, my nan presented me with a gift.

A hand-knitted, floppy clown.

I loved that clown, and carried it everywhere from that point on. There I’d be, dragging this clown around with me (think Linus and his security blanket) everywhere I went. Clown didn’t mind. Clown was busy counting the days down to the time when he would be regarded as really scary by children, and was merely biding his time, content to be dragged around by his leg by a snotty child until the time came when he could induce nightmares.

Until one day, when we were heading back to the hometown. I had resisted all gentle pleas from my Mum to pack clown in a suitcase, and had insisted in my 3 year old wisdom that clown was happy being dragged around by his foot. And so clown accompanied me into the railway station, head bouncing along the platform, and we headed for our train which was waiting to be boarded.

Unfortunately, climbing on board trains in those days was a bit of a tall order for small children as the gap between the step and the platform looked unfeasibly huge. This is where my forgotton about phobia kicked in – as a kid I was always terrified that I was going to fall down between the gap, and usually had to be lifted into the carriage. By both hands. One of which was dragging clown behind me, and which instinctively let go of clown in order to be safely hoisted onto the train. All I remember was seeing clown disappearing between the gap and down onto the track below…

Apparently I was inconsolable for the whole journey, my tear ducts unleashing a torrent that would have rivalled High Force waterfall. Even the nice man that offered me a chocolate bar couldn’t stem the flow of tears. The train guards tried to reach down with a long stick, but it was no good.

Clown was gone forever, and a little bit of me died with him on that train track…
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:44, 6 replies)

Kids Say the Funniest Things.
I used to do some volunteer work at the beaver Scouts in order to pass my Duke of Edinburgh's award. It was a good excuse to act like a big kid, whilst observing how differently raised children interact.

One amazing conversation happened over making Mother's Day cards.

Child 1: I have to make a card for my mum, but she has to make a card for her mum... and her mum has to make a card for her mum... oh wait no, because she's dead.
(Awkward silence)
Child 2: Yes, that's right, because everyone has a mum.
Disgustingly Christian Child: Oh, except Adam and Eve.
(More awkward silence than the first.)
( Butters and his titanium codsocket, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:42, Reply)

Phobia's
I'm scared of children.
(Lord Monkey of Yorkshire,OBE killed a gipsy on...., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:40, Reply)

Keep an eye out for this one
A friends niece (about seven, but I try not to think of their ages) was arguing with her friend when she was called a dickhead. Her retort?

'shut up, if I had a dick on my head you'd be the first one to sit on it'.

Genius.
(The_Greyhound wrote www.luckymcdanger.blog.co.uk on, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:40, 1 reply)

Pearoast No. 1
I had an old garden sprinkler that I found at my house, left behind by the previous owner. It had spent god knows how long under the porch and was clogged with dirt.

Most people would have thrown it out and gotten a new one. But most people aren't stubborn engineering geeks. So I proceeded to clean the mud out of it and poked a wire through the holes to clear them.

I got it fairly clean and attached it to the hose to test it, and turned it on. I noted which holes were apparently still clogged, and picked up the hose and kinked it in my hand so I could do a quick clearing of the holes in question and test it again.

As I did so my sons and a friend of theirs appeared and my oldest son asked, "What are you doing, Dad?"

"Fixing the sprinkler," I replied. "Go take a closer look and see if I got it right."

Three small boys trooped over and bent close to look at the sprinkler.

You can imagine the rest.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:37, 3 replies)

Art
and also,
children are crap at art
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:33, 3 replies)

Parental rules
Any responsible parent sets down rules for their kids, right? No playing with matches, stay away from knives, no you can't put the cat in the dryer to watch her stagger around when she comes out...

Well, one of the rules I've set down in my house is "No food outside of the kitchen or dining room." Simply put, I got tired of dealing with dirty dishes all over the house and ambiguous stains on everything, so I set down this rule and didn't allow anyone to violate it.

One day my oldest son was laughing about the stuff the kids have gotten away with over the years that I knew nothing about, and he told me how they used to violate that rule all the time when I wasn't around. "This one time we had chips and salsa in the living room and spilled some on the couch, but by the time you got home we had it cleaned up and you never even knew!"

I smiled sweetly at him. "Well, since I put that rule in place because I didn't want stains all over and wanted to keep my house clean, I'd say it worked out just right."

He went from gloating about putting one over on dumb ol' Dad to looking like he'd just been conned in less than a second.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:33, Reply)

bullshit (not the question)
the best thing about very young kids is the spectacular lies you can quite casually tell them.

i have so far convinced small children:

when you sleep your brain picks up television from other countries - thats why dreams are so weird.

when i was a wee boy everything was in black and white but people could move a lot quicker

the prime minister makes old ladies wear special scratchy coats and thats why they are so grumpy

if you sit in a wood and stay VERY QUIET AND STILL the trees will eventually relax and move about and talk to each other

bees go on holiday in winter to bee hives that are like tiny Centre Parcs inside but they don't let wasps in - which is why they are so horrible all the time

you can take a 'frogman' up in a helicopter and they can swim around inside clouds on a rope

in australia everyone wears special magnet shoes to stop them falling off

americans are bigger than normal people because america is bigger - the average american is 18 feet tall and their cars are the size of our trains (this might possibly be true)

if you put a sock in a paper bag under your bed it will soon breed and there will be two when you look again in the morning (easy to fake loads of fun)

when i was a boy i had a pet dinosaur

you have to chew nuts properly because if you don't a tree will grow out of your bottom

when dogs go to kennels they make them work down sherbert mines

licorice tastes exactly the same as licking a dogs bottom

if you jump too high on a trampoline gravity doesn't work anymore and you can fly away

and of course the classic... run to the shops and get me X and i'll time you to see if you are the fastest child in the world

quite sure i will remember more as the week goes on.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:29, 9 replies)

I suggested this QOTW, it is my child
And you are abusing it by posting stories about 'cute'* happenings. I believe I speak for the majority of people when I say enough; post about how every time you run into oxygen thieving proto chav midget gobshites you want to be strelised.

I gave up on swimming lessons as a child after the pool had to be evacuated for the third consecutive day because of floating turds.

I cant spark a fag in the pub, but I get to be surrounded by sprogs every sunday in 'spoons.

I have to carry around pointless forms of ID. It is my right as a UK citizen to never have to have a means of Identity on my person. Yet I am forced to as the teenager on the checkout cant be trusted to use common sense to differentiate between a purchase of WKD with pocket money change and a purchase of a single malt with a visa card. This all because the mollycoddles of today cant handle their drink.

They have hours of inane shit devoted to them on tv while all the good stuff gets pushed up to late for me to watch (I have an early start most days) as it might corrupt them.

I have to verify my age evry fucking time I want to veiw a youtube link from /links

They are getting so fat, so all the good bus seats are taken and the goverment is trying to tax chips now.

they hang around the library and pester you for fags.

they turn your mates into simpering idiots.

They have parents who think that the 'miracle of birth' gives them the right to barge in front of ANY queue and tut-tut anytime you say fuck/shit/bugger even if you are amongst a group of adults.

Child tax credits. mr darling can keep the income tax high for low income people as long as the breeders get a discount. Meanwhile the well off are paying less tax.

Well off peoples kids. There is nothing like the toffee nosed bastard spawn of the rich to aid the spread of communism. the next time I see a 'yummy mummy' pull her planet fucking SUV , paid for by a weekly newspaper article about organic hummus, tear into the mother and child section of a car park I will personally melt it down and turn it into tractors and lada's.

Roads. The school run brings traffic to a standstill In Hull. This is made worse by the council turning about 60% of the city into a 20mph zone with fucking speed bumps every 2m.

In conclusion my mate who thinks I would make "a great dad" is really wrong



*note invertedness of commas
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:29, 6 replies)

I love kids, me.

(SexyTits lol, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:27, 4 replies)

Kids on trains
ARGH!!!!

Now it would be fair to say that I like very few people who happen to be using a train at the same time as me, but kids on a train are one of the most infuriating breeds possible on a train journey.

A prime example would be my last train journey home, in which I spied a family with a dog and 5 kids waiting to get on the train.

5?!? Idiots.

Bad enough that while waiting for the train doors to open, the kids couldn't be controlled, and were attempting to kick any and all pigeons in sight. (Not to mention one nearly kicked me at one point).

So anyway, once on the train, I made sure to be in a different carriage from said Luddites. This method seemed to be paying dividends for the first half of the journey.

Then me hears a noise, over ridiculously loud mp3's too, so I investigated. As I turned round, 3 of said kids sprinted up the train to the far end.

Then back.

Then up again.

Then back.

Then up AGAIN!

This fun routine was interspersed with climbing on things, bumping into people, and screaming. For 30 minutes.

Eventually, when on their millionth* sprint, the man in the seats opposite me stuck out his arm to stop them.

They did not see said arm, and thusly ended up spread eagled on the floor.


Seldom have I laughed quite as hard as when that happened.

*slight exaggeration
(PenguinOfDeath is Scottish, and most likely angry, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:23, 5 replies)

aahhh.
my mates little boy was 2 sunday. His nanna bought him a bicycle and he loves it.

So much, he now cannot not be riding it. He had sunday dinner on it, and every meal until yesterday when his mum tried to get him to be a bit more rational (?) and it all went off.

The compromise is that he sits at the table, but he can wear his helmet.

He looks like Toad from SuperMario.
( bazza van der trance , ooh baby baby, baby baby. Get up on this., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:22, 3 replies)

Even kids are feeling the pressure
A friend of mine collected her two year old son from nursery a couple of weeks ago to be greeted with the weariest sigh ever emitted by someone so small and the statement, 'oh mummy, I'm so tired, it's been a very stressful day. '
(Princessbadger, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 16:22, Reply)