honesty - that's the best way to teach children.
It also keeps them very quiet.


(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 2:56, Reply)

Of Dogs' Arses....
One night, my 2 girls and I were watching a movie in bed. Meg sleeps in the middle, Mandy on the right and I am on the left. (they were 4 and 6 at the time)

I looked over at Mandy and saw that she was holding her favorite dog in the air. I asked her if her dog was watching the movie. She said "yes". I told her that if her dog wanted to watch, she needed to turn him around where he was actually facing the tv and, by the way, "Meg and I really aren't enjoying looking at the dog's butt."

Mandy said ok and turned the dog around.

A few seconds later she casually turned the dog back around, arse facing Meg, and lifted his tail.

Then she grinned an evil little grin.

Meg noticed and screamed "oh gross!!" while Mandy started laughing like crazy.

For the next half hour or so, every so often, when no one was paying attention, Mandy would put the dog in the air with it's arse in Meg's face until Meg would say "oh gross! I don't want to look at a dog's butt!!"

Then Mandy would laugh and put the dog down.

For the last year, Mandy occassionally holds her favorite dog in this mannar toward her sister. It always garners the response: "Oh Gross! I don't want to look at a dog's butt!"
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Fri 18 Apr 2008, 2:51, 2 replies)

I've always been a bit of a cunt-fucking sweary-mouthed bastard
And have been from a very young age.

Let's set the scene - I was in my third year of state-approved infant incarceration (or 'Primary School', to give it it's proper name). I was in the corridor outside our classroom, looking for something in my schoolbag when something fell out and rolled under the benches. Feeling understandably peeved, I let out a loud, "Oh bugger."

Unfortunately for me, my exclamation was heard by the most uptight, god-bothering, snivelling little tattle-tale shit of a kid you could ever have the misfortune to meet. Douglas Creighton. 'Brown-nose' Douglas. The kind of cretin who loves telling the teacher whenever someone's doing something they shouldn't be. The slimy little bastard who grassed me in for putting a live worm in Susanah's schoolbag without her noticing. The kind of fucker who's probably became a traffic policeman, pulling you over for going 3 miles above the speed limit and says, "It's the law" with a big fucking grin on his face like he's enjoying it. A massive twat, in other words.

On hearing my exclamation, Douglas' eyes grew wide, and, looking at me like he'd just walked in on me fucking his disabled grandmother, said, "Owaah! You just swore!"

"What? No I didn't!" I shot back in indignation.

"Yes you did!" said Douglas triumphantly, as though performing a brilliant manouver at chess. "You said 'Bugger' and that's a swearword!"

"No it isn't," I countered. And, like a poker player laying down a royal flush, I said, "Swearwords are words like 'Fuck!' "

If it were possible for an eight year old child to have a heart attack, then Douglas would have done so. He went as white as a KKK rally, and could only point and stutter. He was looking at me like I was Garry Glitter (nemesis to children everywhere). I don't know how long he stood like that, in total shock, but he eventually recovered his senses enough to scream "MISS!!!" at the top of his lungs.

Needless to say, the teacher was soon filled in, and in no time at all I was hauled before the headmaster, who had called in my Mum. She told me later that she had to bite her lip to keep a straight face as the situation was explained. After she had forced down the laughter, she advised the headmaster that she really couldn't see what the problem was - after all, I was merely pointing out what a swearword was, and not actually swearing. However, she agreed to talk to me about it at home.

After school, I made my way cautiously through the front door, vaguely aware I was in big trouble but not entirely sure why. My Mum came to see me with a very serious face, helped me out of my coat, then led me down our long hall. With each step, I felt more and more anxious. How much trouble was I in? Would I get the belt? Would she stop my pocket money? Was I _(gulp) grounded?

She led me into the living room, sat me down on the couch. She then sat opposite, and turned to face me, with a severe look on her face. She leand forward, looked me in the eye, and said...

"I don't want you to ever hang around with that Creighton boy. He's a nasty little telltale."





One of the many reasons my mother is fucking ace





Nice one Mum
(Pavlov's Frog figures no-one really reads sigs anyway, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 2:30, Reply)

Fetch, Sit up, Beg, Roll over, Stay
(this may be a bit of a pearoast as I think I have mentioned this before)

When my youngest was 3 she decided that when she grew up, she wanted to be a dog. Specifically a dalmation. Naturally, her older sister made fun of her for this, as you do.

The baby then asked me, "Mommie, can I be a dalmation when I grow up if I *really* want to?"

I patted her on the head and calmly replied, "If you can manage to grow a tail and spots, then you can be a dalmation."

The poor child then spent the next year or so only answering to the name 'Puppy', took to barking instead of talking, and refused to act like a human. It got to the point where when someone asked the girls if they had a pet, the oldest would always reply, "yes, we have a dog. This is her." and pet her sister on the head. (with little sister happily barking and trying to wag her tail)

I think the low point was when she asked her grandfather for a bowl of water, not a glass, a bowl. He had given up on her being human by that point so gave her the bowl. However, he insisted she drink from the bowl in the garage so she wouldn't spill on the carpet.

The best bit was when he closed the garage door so the neighbors wouldn't see her in the garage, on her hands and knees, lapping up water out of a bowl and think she was being abused.

After a while, she started noticing that she had failed to grow spots or a tail and decided that what she really wanted to be was a cat.

That's right, she is now our family pet. Her new name is "Kitty".
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Fri 18 Apr 2008, 2:23, 2 replies)

I'd just like to take this opportunity to embarrass my son Jed...
... Cos I know he'll be reading this....
He was around 3 or 4 at the time,and I'd put him to bed as normal and was downstairs hoping to get a bit of peace and quiet when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye out of the window. So I went outside to investigate and there on the lawn was half a dozen or so sanitary towels...
Eeeeek I thought, ran upstairs, and there was Jed, standing on the bed, shit eating grin on his face throwing Always Ultra out of the window....
"And what do you think you're doing" I asked....
"Well it says on the telly they have wings... I was just seeing if they fly" was the cheeky little gits response
(Four_Fox_Ache Malingering Tart and Longtime Lurker...., Fri 18 Apr 2008, 0:55, 1 reply)

You know some people can't stand the noise of finger nails down chalk boards (or black boards as they are correctly known as)?
well children have that same affect on me
even when I was a small child myself
Strange but true
but the cartoons are great :D
( SkUG >_O i got a couple of stitches in my eyeball... ow, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 0:38, Reply)

It was my third birthday,
so naturally my mum had the video camera out, like she had on many events when I was a child. I was going to blow the candles out on my caterpillar birthday cake whilst standing on a high bench, when I fell off the bench backwards onto the floor, head first.

Made good television.
(lickmyballsandscrotum, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 0:07, Reply)

Little cousin
My (now not so little) cousin, was, of course, read to frequently as a small child. Which lead to a phase of her narrating her life in the third person. For example, she'd drop a toy from her hi-chair, and say: "Oh No! She cried".

Unfortunately she's grown out of it now.
(Merrep, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 23:29, 3 replies)

Children are hideous because
they're so fucking conservative ... this runs from "try this sprout you've never tasted before", "no it's green" to "look a new thing" "oh that's sssstoopid" [because i have no reference point for that hence don't understand it, hence it makes me feel insecure and uncomfortable hence i'll denounce it] [also see the Daily Mail and the BNP] ... in order to get kids interested in something it seems you have to operate by stealth and double bluff - which is fine if you get fucking paid to do that (hi teachers) but not otherwise ... when the answer is "oh come back when you've failed at life in 20 years and want some advice from an old gadgee"
( writerblock ... embedding disabled by request on, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 23:13, Reply)

How to shut up a small child

At the age of approximately 5, I was the typical rabbity kid, who would never shut up, which got on my dads nerves to some extent (he's a great dad really, always was and still is). So he told me that people were born with only a certain number of words to use, and that if I wasn't careful, I'd run out of them. I was somewhat sceptical until he mentioned that that was the reason why old people were so quiet.... the sod.

(He also tried to screw up my vocabulary when I was learning to talk by pointing at, say, a table, and saying 'that's a greenhouse' etc)
(Chevron71 is oscillating wildly...., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 22:52, Reply)

My Brother
was about 8 or so when he floored my Mum by asking out of nowhere,

"Am I a virgin?"

While she grappled for an answer the cogs were obviously still whirring round in his head and he answered his own question with

"Oh no, I'm a catholic, aren't I."
(Innogen, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 22:42, Reply)

I love kids
and I would never do anything to harm them or hurt them, or ever use my position in the field of medicine to do anything like drug them to quieten them down, accidentally give them an overdose thus resulting in their death and then hide the body in an elaborate cover-up. I am not saying this because I have something to hide.

Signed,
Kate McCann
(ratthingbazzterd, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 22:39, Reply)

Nudity
When I was younger - like many other kids (I hope) - I quite liked being naked.

There is a memorable photo in the family album of me, absolutely bollock naked in the garden, wearing only a pair of bright red wellies. Of course, at my 18th birthday, dear old Mum is there showing all my pissed friends this picture, to general mirth.

Another time, I am reliably informed, I absolutely insisted on going into town with my mum, dressed as batman. Full on cape, mask, grey suit etc... Either she is lying, or is the best mum in the world for putting up with that. I suspect it's the latter.
(Merrep, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 22:38, 5 replies)

#3 Skin colour
Mr Wicksy's post reminded me of this one...

When I was a very small Chickenlady my mum used to be friends with a local foster mother. One of her charges (whom she eventually adopted) was a lovely lad called Nigel.

Nigel's parents had come from Jamaica and for various reasons he had now ended up being cared for by Doreen - my mum's friend. Doreen and her husband were both Irish Catholics living in deepest Kent. Down here in deepest Kent back in the 70s and 80s everyone was white.

Nigel and I became great friends and playmates - I was about three or four and he would have been around seven or eight.

One day during the summer Nigel and I were playing in the backgarden in shorts and t-shirts, but he got hot so he removed his shirt.

I was shocked and ran into the house asking my mum why Nigel had a 'brown belly'.

Mum still laughs about that one.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 22:34, 3 replies)

A Bit of a Rant
I was in the waiting room at Stoke station not so long ago; also there was a group of three chavettes. As is the way with these situations, I inevitably overheard, and listened into, their conversation. The topic that concerned them was whether they should get pregnant before or after doing their GCSEs.

The thing is, though, that they were asking themselves exactly the right question. Not because having a kid at 15 is a good idea in itself, but because, in fairness, it was possibly their best opportunity for a house and a tolerable income. (OK – welfare isn’t theirs: it’s paid to the mother on behalf of the child, but that doesn’t bother me for the moment.)

Here’s the deal: a working class kid at a bog standard comprehensive can make something of him or herself, but the chances are stacked against that happening. Instead, poverty, poverty of education and poverty of aspiration mean that, if you’re unlucky in birth, the chances are that you aren’t going to change your position any time soon. Why should the chav or chavette stay in school, when it won’t make the blindest bit of difference to their long-term prospects? Better to get a council flat and an income as soon as possible: you’re going to end up in a council flat with a welfare income either way, so why go to the effort of staying in school? And if that means having a kid, then so be it. It’d be dumb to do anything else.

That’s why the girls were asking the right question. But the fact that they were asking it indicates that they were bright: they were exactly the people who could make something of themselves, given the chance and a sufficiently broad horizon. Such a horizon is lacking in an education system that’s given up, though – that, at most, aims at training, which isn’t the same by a long shot. Useful is a virtue in Black and Decker tools. It’s not a virtue in people.

I spend a significant part of my time trying to convince working class kids to go to university – specifically, to do so to study things like philosophy, maths, physics, French, classics or whatever not because it’ll help get a job, but because it’ll make them better people. Sometimes it works. But there’s a devil on my shoulder that points out my bad faith: they’re not from wealthy backgrounds; there’s no grant; they’ll end up worse off, financially, unless they’re extraordinarily lucky or staggeringly determined. I’m lying to these kids. I’m widening their horizons in the knowledge that they’ll likely as not be unable to capitalise on that, because three decades of governments have given up on the idea of education and replaced it with gradgrindian utility calculi. In doing so, they’ve fucked the brightest and the best of the working class – like those girls at the station - and ceded their entitlement to the dumbest of the middle-class.

The kids are all right. Talk to them. They’re clever. They’re interested in the world. They want to be treated like mature human beings, they respond if that’s how you treat them, and they’re capable of amazing insight and engagement. Of course they break into your car and spray-paint your wall. Of course they’re twitchy and dope-jittery. What the hell else is there? Fuck it. They might as well be. I would. We’ve screwed them royally – they owe us nothing except contempt in equal measure to the contempt that we’ve shown them.

Apologies for lack of funny. I’m drunk, y’see.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 21:32, 26 replies)

revenge, but...
I work in a secondary school - it's mostly pretty decent.

However, one of the kids in my class, Darren, is a total pain in the arse. Sharp little bngger, but thick. Not well loved by the other kids as he's so bloody unpredictable. Probably earn double my salary in 10 years.

End of one lunchtime I run into him in the 'Language Corridor' and he's fannying about as usual.

Except this time he doesn't have an audience. Weirdly, all the other kids have ended up in the classes where they should be.

Darren's so intent on not getting to Ms. G*r*ld's French Class that he doesn't clock me until I (fairly gently I must admit) boot him up the arse.

Darren: "Eh!? You carn't do that!"

Me: "Aye, and who they gonna believe? Me? Or you?"

We get on fine now.
(36poison, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 21:29, 1 reply)

I made my Dad very proud of his parenting.
Mum and Dad decided between them that when teaching their offspring about the world (in that way that parents do) they would make no comment about skin tone and the like and would leave us to notice it for ourselves, on the basis that all people are equal and that sort of thing doesn't matter and so on and so forth.

A policy that bore fruit one day when i was about 4. I was with Dad and we were out at a museum, one of the RAF ones I think (possibly Hendon). He tells me we were sat in a cafe at lunch time, when I looked around me with an earnest expression. With a frown, I said:

"There are a lot of them here aren't there, Dad."

Dad knew precisely what I meant, and braced himself for it.

"A lot of what, Ben?"

"Browns".

He broke into a broad grin.

"And what are Browns, Ben?"

"People with brown skin".

I of course meant people of Afro-Caribbean extraction. It's now one of my Dad's favorite stories about my childhood. He's very pleased with how I'd worked it out myself and invented my own term for it, untainted by other's input.


On the same subject, one of my oldest friends apparently announced his knowledge of such things when on the Tube with his mum. He pointed and bellowed "Look Mummy! Chocolate Man!" She was mortified.
( mr_wicksy is.... old., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 21:26, 5 replies)

Not mine....
At the moment I live in a child free world, although my l'il bro's girlfriend is now carrying, and will be unleashing the next generation on the world in september, when I will get to be the 'cool' Uncle, and teach it lots of bad things which my l'il bro will have to explain to it.I can't wait.


Anyway back to the point, my mate has two little girls and whilst he's no longer with their Mother, he is a brill dad to both of them, looking after them better than their mother does.
Shortly after they split up he took the eldest girl Beth, who was about 5 or 6 at the time round the Deep at Hull, where they saw sharks, and other sorts of fishy type things, and had a great afternoon of Father/Daughter quality time, they'd been taken round the exhibition by a young tour guide, and at the end she asked all the parents and kids if they had any questions, unsurprisingly Beth being an inquisitive little devil put her hand up.
'Yes?' the nice tour lady asked,
'Why don't my Mummy and Daddy love each other any more and why doesn't my Daddy live with us any more?'
apparently the poor girl didn't know where to look.
(Lord Monkey of Yorkshire,OBE killed a gipsy on...., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 21:22, 1 reply)

When my kids were quite a bit younger
my mom came through the area with two of my sisters and various nieces and nephews on their way to Myrtle Beach. Mom wanted to take everyone to Busch Gardens, so we all piled into various vehicles and went.

At the end of the day the boys were still going strong, but my daughter was starting to get tired and whiny. We were trying to get in one last ride on one of the big rollercoasters and were all but running across the park, and my daughter started lagging and complaining of being tired. So, being the dutiful dad, I put her on my shoulders (I think she was about seven at the time) and started carrying her, my legs turning to rubber with the added weight as I tried to catch up to the others.

I struggled along the path, grimly soldiering up the hill, when from above my head I heard a voice say, "Daddy's getting old and grey, doo-dah, doo-dah."

"See those rose bushes next to the path?" I said to her. "Want a really close look at them? Keep it up, kid."

She took the hint.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 21:21, Reply)

All Doctors can be trusted
Just a hint to anyone not wanting children:

When your doctor tells you she thinks it would be a good idea to change your birth control pills to a different kind, you might want to think twice.

That is how I ended up with 2 kids. Because my new birth control wasn't strong enough to do it's damn job.
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 21:17, 5 replies)

Let's be honest.
The majority of little kids are, by nature, abhorrent little cunts. They are not so much raised as tamed, hopefully, and broken of anti-social behavior. Sometimes this can be done gently, but occasionally a bit of a bitchslap is in order.

Which is why I could never be a teacher or a sports coach- I'd teach them the rudiments of civilized behavior that their parents neglected, and not always in a gentle or kindly way. I would be quite effective and would help mold them into human beings, but in this age I would likely be arrested and have lawsuits coming out my ears.

I feel a major rant coming on. I may come back to this post later and edit it.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 21:12, 6 replies)

I don't remember this, but apparently when I was in primary school
my teacher said "James, there's a thin line between genius and insanity, and you've just crossed it.", and I replied "from which direction?"
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 21:10, 2 replies)

I hate kids
I work (but only for 10 more days) in a secondary school and get to see the worst of kids who's mummy and daddy think they can do nothing wrong.

I've had kids accuse me of assault mainly after they tried to push their way through me, one tripped over his own feet while trying to run from me (which i found quite funny).

I'm sworn at on a daily basis, threatened occasionally (doesn't help that by the time they are 14 most of the sods are bigger than little old me) and even had one square up against me - I had had a foul day up to that point, so the look in my eyes as I growled come on then, must have registered as he swiftly backed off.

I've had parents coming up to me and moaning/shouting that I have stopped their little angel from disobeying school rules and how petty I am for doing so.

So I hate kids, little spoiled miserable wigger bastards that they mainly are.

But... last week I helped a Year 11 get some work back and convert some music he needed to a usable format. He came to see me the next day to say thank you for helping. I was actually stuck for words and had my faith in humanity restored for a while.

So after over 11 years working in a school, I'm finally leaving and going to work as a prison officer. I must be a fucking masochist.

and a little unrelatedish aside - last week two so called hard men chavs decided to pick on a small emo kid, taunting him about having no parents and other such shit. This kid is a lovely lad, quiet and well behaved. He told them that he had enough shit going on in his life without any from them. They took this as an excuse to start swinging for him. He floored both of the fuckers in quick succession much to all the staff's delight :o)
(Tyrion, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 21:00, 5 replies)

'See? No Spiderman!'
My father, who obviously won't be left with any little grandchildren after this, decided to start telling to my little cousin, who was three years old then, that his greatest hero at the time, Spiderman, was a sissy and so would he be if he kept wearing his favourite underwear (featuring Spiderman, of course). All the family laughed seeing how the little boy became all angry. Kept doing so for the next two years, until my cousin (who's five now) had a trauma so ingrained that he doesn't only refuses to wear spiderman underwear but needs to prove it to any of us everytime he sees us, removing his trousers and running at full speed towards us shouting: 'See? No Spiderman!' Makes for interesting conversation when it happens on the street, that's for sure, and my aunt has banned Spiderman jokes from now on...
(noe_me is attacked by zombie kittens on, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 20:36, Reply)

I like to show my daughter I can't be easily fooled
By saying what's almost certainly going through her mind. What she doesn't realise is that I was her age once.

Example 1 - Standing in a queue at the supermarket till, if I see her fixed gaze over towards the magazine rack followed by that questioning tone of voice -you know the one that goes up in pitch, then down low, then recovers to the original note- 'Da-aaaa-ad' I usually reply with 'No, I'm not buying you another horse magazine'. Cue look of 'Get out of my mind!'.

Example 2 - From the kitchen- "Do I have to finish all my tea?"
Me in lounge "Yes, if you want a viennese whirl (or something) after.
Her- "OK". 2 seconds later and almost subsonic sound of bin lid being moved. "Finished! Can I have one now?"
Me- "once you've eaten the leftover food out of the bin, yes" at which point she comes in and gives me a folded-arm scowl like I'm being unfair.

Example 3:- "Dad, Can I have the door slightly open? I don't like it dark when I go to sleep."
Me-"OK. I'll just turn off the landing light so it's not bright enough to read by".
Her- "DAD!I wouldn't!"
Me- "Then it doesn't matter will it".
Her- (sulky) "OK then"
Me- (thinks- a quick surrender eh? suspicious...)- "So if I look under your pillow there I won't find a torch then?"
Her- "NO!".
Me- "Ok, hand over the Gameboy".
She does the cute equivalent of Mutley 'Saas'n frass'n rassn'' under her breath as she hands over the offending device.

The problem with example 3 is that as she's getting older (shite, going to be 12 next birthday) I'm having to adapt my stance, i.e. do I really want her to be lying awake listening to what me and my ex discuss after she's supposedly gone to bed?

At least once already it's been modified to "Here's your gameboy and you won't be able to turn the volume up cos I'll hear it so best use headphones, eh? "

God help me when she gets old enough to look up all my b3ta contributions...
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 20:29, 2 replies)

The Tran Game
Our neighbours have an adopted son originally from SE Asia. His name is Tran and he's 7.

I invented a silly little game called 'The Tran Game'. Some of my friends love it, and email me new examples all the time, but Mrs Spankengine has never, ever thought it even remotely funny.

It started like this:
One day I spotted Tran playing out in the snow. I called Mrs Spankengine over and said to her: "Oh look! The little boy over the road is playing in the snow. He's all wrapped up, but do you think that jacket he's got on is too small for him?"
"No, I don't think so" says Mrs Spankengine after a quick look.
"Yes It is" I insist. "Look again".
So she does. "No, it seems OK to me?"

Me (feigning exasperation this time): "Look again - isn't his jacket too small? Is Tran's Vest Tight?"

It took some explaining until she got it but to this day she doesn't think it's funny at all.

Click 'I like this' if you get it and you think it's funny.
(Thomas_The_Spankengine, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 20:29, 10 replies)

Mind your language
My twin daughters are 2 and a half and at that age when they repeat everything they hear.
Their little friend Jack (aged 2) has started saying FUCK very loudly (wonder where he heard that) and the funny thing is he only uses it where it's appropriate (something falls on the floor, he slips over etc). You kind of have to admire that.

With mine, though, innuendo brings (me) hours of amusement:

Pointing to a picture of a camel: "OK, where's the camel's head?... GOOD! Now, where's the camel's leg?... YES!! GREAT!! OK, now, where's the camel's toe?"
Extra points if they repeat it back to me.
Turtle and Head, and Moose and Knuckles also work well, but I can't think of any more.
(Thomas_The_Spankengine, Thu 17 Apr 2008, 20:22, Reply)

Remember "gloves on a string"?
.
Good idea in its way, stopped me losing gloves every other day.

Remember the coat pegs at school? The mad rush to grab your coat and vacate the building at home-time?

Anyone else ever manage to get the glove-string looped round that peg while putting their coat on? Ended up on my tiptoes, hooked to the peg, and laughing so hard I couldn't free myself. The teacher had to come out of the classroom to help, giggling the whole time.

Nobody else did that, did they? Just me, then.

*shrugs*
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 17 Apr 2008, 20:13, 4 replies)