While ranting like a small child appears to be order of the day
Allow me to add my humourless tirade to the mix.

I wasn’t prepared for the ticking biological clock. I spent from the age of about 14 until around 30 convinced that I didn’t like, didn’t want and would never have children. I rather arrogantly assumed that the sudden inexplicable rush of hormones that accompanies the transition into one’s 30s wouldn’t happen to me as, frankly, I was above all that. I would pull faces at my friends when they tried to hand me their wriggling offspring, complain vociferously about any slightly misbehaving child within a 2 mile radius and generally swan through life without really contemplating what “having a family” meant. I guess it’s partly a product of being an only child, from a very small and fast dwindling family. It’s also partly that for the last 15 years I have been in desperate need for someone to tell me to get over myself. A tendency towards self pity is unattractive, if excusable as a teenager. It’s unforgivable and downright ugly in a 30 something.

And now. Now I find myself realizing, maybe too late that I wasn’t immune after all and that the prospect of being entrusted with a fat, squaling, stinking responsibility for the next 18 years is actually something that I want. I don’t know what I’ll do if I get to my late thirties and I’ve not had the opportunity to have a family. I could be fine, I might be devastated (I suspect the latter). Ask me in a couple of years and I can give you a more accurate answer, if I haven’t been imprisoned for smuggling orphans in from China by then.

So if you don’t like kids, fine. It’s allowed, no one is forcing you to like them and true, some are a pain in the ass, but be prepared that you can change your mind about it, god knows I have. If you have kids, that’s great, but remember not everyone wants them, can have them and not everyone is interested in yours. Not everyone who wants children gets to have them, some people have kids when they didn’t really want them, shit happens. Try to have a bit of respect for either side of the fence.

Fuck me, that was a bit much, sorry. On a lighter note, when I was four, a lady in the dentist’s waiting room asked me why I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. I replied “because Daddy didn’t have any seeds left”. Hilarity ensued.
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 18:53, 5 replies)

My nephew used to switch letters around when he was learning to speak
...for instance, he would pronounce K's as T's, and H's as P's. One day he and his parents came round our house, and my cat hissed at him. He attempted to say "The kitty hissed at me!"...
(chase, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 18:47, Reply)

Jesus Christ Alfeckinmighty
Talk about kids!

Davros' Granddad has just come home with a huge box (oo-er).

"What's in the box dear?"

"Well, I had a really shitty morning at work, so went to the Metrocentre at lunchtime."

"What's in the box Davros?"

"I did remember to get the hair clippers..."

"What's in the fucking box Davs?"

"Wasn't so successful with the fish tank light though..."

"WHAT IS IN THE CUNTING BOX DG?????"




He's only gone and bought *another* fucking dalek. Only had 27 before.

"But, darling, it was a bargain! £20 off..."


*sighs and shakes head, simultaneously*

At least he brought wine home too. Otherwise I'd have cunted him in the fuck. Bless him.
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 18:39, 13 replies)

Kids of today, eh?
They are human, not a sub-species FFS!
I've read so many comments regarding "badly behaved children in public" already on this week's qotw. OK, we're all entitled to our opinions - so here's mine.

People - of any age, race, political/religious/sexual persuasion - can be rude, antagonistic, lack social skills, be totally devoid of humour, need assistance with toiletting; the list goes on ad infinitum.

Today's children / youth don't have it easy. They aren't allowed to simply be children and enjoy childhood. Cunting SATS FFS - too much time is spent in school coaching kids with tests, rather than actually teaching the relevant subjects. Targets *must* be met. And Ofsted inspections? A total piss-take. The run-up to most inspections is spent rapidly back-dating / creating lesson plans, updating displays etc. rather than *educating children*. Why, call me an old fuddy-duddy, but isn't that the whole idea of having an education system? The pressure and stress of being constantly tested cunts our kids in the fuck.

I distinctly remember at the age of 6 or 7 asking my mother, "What happens when you leave school?" to which her reply was, "Well, you can go to college or university, then you get a job." Simple as that.

Now, I am old fashioned in my morals and values. Apart from the basics of food, clothing and shelter, all any child needs to thrive is love, respect and stability. How many of todays children have the concept of these qualities? I blame the fucking parents. For children are the products of their upbringing. It is our responsibility as parents to mould and nurture our younglings into respectful, compassionate adults. And to shun Burberry.

*deep breaths, rant over*

I'm not normally this tetchy, but carrot sticks are not a fucking substitute for Marlboro. Is it wine o'clock yet? :o/




(See also Enzyme's post: www.b3ta.com/questions/kids/post144003)

^ I agree totally with everything he said too.

I like Enzyme and kittens and beer and wine. Not necessarily in that order.
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 18:18, 7 replies)

Tesco story
For the last 10 years or so, until earlier this week in fact, I sported a rather fetching ring through my septum. I'd become accustomed to looks and comments, but the wisdom of children never fails to amaze me.

One Sunday, while doing the weekly shop with Mrs Dozer, we passed a young family. Their young son piped up "Daddy! Look! That man's a bull!".

The parents were mortified. I, on the other hand, found the whole episode rather funny.
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 18:13, Reply)

Mrs woodbines neice....
Made me titter the other day. Two years old and already a comedian. We took round some photo's of a family get together and while the missus and her sister were nattering I took to showing Gracie the pictures.

"Who's that?" I asked pointing at a person.

"Mummy," came the reply.

"And who's that?"

"Daddy," she say's and so on until I got to her.

"Who's this?"

"It's you" a tiny voice replied.

"No Gracie that's not me, it's you"!

Oh right. Of course. When teaching a child which one she is in a photo, or a mirror or on a family video "it's you" is not the correct way to describe them.

Also evil uncle Mike has taught her how to say "Oh bum" whenever she falls over or gets frustrated trying to get the circular peg in the square hole. It's hard to tell her off with a big grin on your face.
( Lazlo Woodbine Panowie!, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 17:57, Reply)

My nephew ...
age about 8, one snowy winter those many years ago, was chucking snowballs at passing buses. He and his little brother were having so much fun building up supplies of "ammo" that they failed to notice the police car pulling up.

Officer exits car, informs lads they are in big trouble, and demands to know where they live. Not the brightest kids, they're about twenty feet from their own front door.

Two wee boys, heads hanging in shame (or fear more like) are marched home.

Brother-in-law opens the door, is confronted by his wee lads apparently under arrest, and before he can say a word, the copper launches into a full blown lecture on the subject of parental control/discipline. B-I-L recognises him, but can't get a word in edgeways.

Finally, he runs out of steam. The boys are hauled indoors, knowing they're grounded - at the very least.

B-I-L closes the door, but not before reminding the cop that boys will be boys, with the question,

"Don't you remember me from last summer when your lads broke my windscreen throwing stones? At least it was only snowballs mine chucked!"
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Fri 18 Apr 2008, 17:49, Reply)

A paedo's wet dream
fuck that sounds wrong....

Anyhoo little girls seem to fall in love with me in an instant. Many family parties/weddings have been spent with a small cousin staring at me from 2 feet away grinning like a mad fool. This is even worse when it's a stranger's daughter.

Big girls do not pay me the slightest bit of attention.

Needless to say I crave the attention of the adult variety.

fucksocks
(Mookystink is living on stolen toast, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 17:42, 2 replies)

Children
You should have to get a licence to breed, means and intelligence tested.

Anyone found breeding without a licence should have their offspring culled for the good of humanity.

See previous posts regarding chavs, chavvy kids and the absolute fucking nightmare they are.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 17:37, 2 replies)

Not me or mine, but a friend of a friend of a friend of a...
An aunt was driving her young niece to the pool with the niece strapped into her carseat in the back. Forgetting herself, the aunt yelled "Are you fucking stupid?!?!" to a car that had cut her off. Remembering her niece in the back she seized up in terror, trying to decide how to cover for herself, when the little niece piped up in that scolding know-it-all tone that all little girls have, saying, "Mommy says 'stupid' is a bad word".

*pop* (Be gentle, its my first time)
(Poutiful, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 17:31, 2 replies)

I love kids- (in a non Gary Glitter kind of way)
I am a father of 3 and I can say that I really enjoy it. There are a number of reasons why:

1. You can watch kids TV and not be classed as a wierdo. Its classed as watching TV with the kids.

2. Kids Parties- Since my kids are aged 6, 3 and 1 I usually have to go into the kids play area to fetch them as they've got stuck somewhere, the fact that I'm still in the ball pool throwing balls at the older chavvy kids when all my own kids have been left the play area on their own accord is never questioned.*

3. I'm allowed to buy and play with my 6 year old sons toys (The new Transformers are crap but still worth playing with).

4. My kids love Weebl and Bob so everytime my missuis logs onto the internet shes swarmed by the ankle biters asking for Magical Trevor/ Catface/ The Badgers, therefore I get to view what pages I want to see first.

5. After a good year of subliminal messaging, I could write my sons Christmas present list for him.

6. I am allowed to run up and down the street at top speed yelling car noises as its entertaining the one in the pram (Even if he's asleep in it).

7. Any damage done to the house then I have someone else to blame.

8. Playing on the Wii instead of helping the missuis clear out the house is accepted.

9. Walking round my home with the Optimus Prime/ Cyberman voice changing mask on is ok as I'm playing dress up to entertain them.

10. I have an excuse as to why the interior of my car is such a mess- yes they were in it this weekend and left fag packets all over the floor, not me.

I realise now why my wife tells her friends that she has four kids to look after.

I know that having kids is not always a chuckle, what with the broken sleep / temper tantrums and kids attempting to drag me into a play area when I'm hung over but I will say that every weekend is different for me, unlike my kiddie- less mates who seem to do the same sodding things every weekend (Went out, got drunk, slept with lass who may have an STD, etc). I may be sounding like an old fart but I've done that and got really bored of doing this every weekend (Or it may be the fact that my mates are dull and think that going out around somewhere out of Yorkshire is unheard of- probably both actually).

Also to the people that take their kiddies shopping and the ones that complain about the brats crying for chocolate etc in the supermarket- do your shopping online, its a hell of a lot easier for both parties. Sorry about that mini-rant but I felt it had to be said.

* I also found out that a lot of ball pools for the really young kids are full of spare change that drop out of parents pockets when they decide to sit down in the ball pool with their little tyke- one time I came out with £15.00 and a half chewed toffee- Yum
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 17:12, 7 replies)

Oh dear Lord
The children I encounter are almost exclusively sullen teenagers who've been thieving, or are in other miscellaneous troubles.


Appropriately, I'm now on a train next to a disaster-zone of a mother is saying to her two kids (different fathers, natch), over and over again : "that was your last chance, if you do it again, NO FOOD FOR DINNER!"



Bloody hell, if her cooking's half as lousy as her parenting skills, they're dodging a bullet. Why can't she see how ineffective this is as discipline? Why, oh why, isn't there some sort of test for being a parent that extends beyond getting it in the right hole?


EDIT: she's just bought them crisps from the snack trolley. BAH!
(Exiled Youth [witty comment], Fri 18 Apr 2008, 17:08, 1 reply)

Genius of my dad
I've spoken about my dad before - he of DIY slipper-sock-floor glue fame, but occasionally he has flashes of sheer brilliance.

Like the "levitation" trick. Me and a friend (actually the guy who was best man at my recent wedding) were about 4 at the time, I guess, no more than 6 anyway. We were tearing round the garden like idiots and generally getting in my dad's way (he was re-felting the shed roof, I believe). In an attempt to occupy us and keep us out of his hair for five minutes (where was mum when he needed her?), he had a wave of sheer inspiration.

He calls us over and says "can you stand on one leg?"

Yerrrrs, we think and demonstrate.

"Ok, can you stand on the other one?"

Of course, we're not fazed by this feat.

"Ok, you've got one leg off the ground, now lift the other one".

We switch legs.

"No, I meant while you already had one off the ground".

We were 4, but we weren't stupid. We knew we'd fall over. We pointed this out.

Here's the genius part - he goes into the shed and gets two buckets.

"If you stand in these and, if you concentrate really hard, you'll be able to pick yourself up by the handle and levitate"

We must have been there for two hours, convinced we could see clear space under each other's buckets at times.

The man's a marvel and I will sure as hell do that to my kids...I know my best mate is already doing it to his.
(Chance, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 17:01, 1 reply)

Davro's Just Remined Me
Of a poem I wrote way back.....

I was kid when I wrote this, so it counts...

The dogs, they held a meeting one night
they came from near and far
Some by motor-boat
some by motor car.
As each dog past the entrance
As each dog signed the book
They unshipped their areseholes
And hung them on a hook.


One dog was not invited
It sorely raised his ire
So he galloped into the meeting hall
And loudly bellowed "FIRE"
It threw them in confusion
And without a second look
Each grabbed anothers arsehole
From anothers' hook.


And thats the reason why
When walking down the street
And thats the reason why
When dogs they chance to meet
And thats the reason why
On land or sea or foam
It'll sniff anothers areshole
To see if it's his own....


Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 16:58, 7 replies)

Couple Of Ones Here
You know when your at that just awake stage still partially asleep and about to open your eyes and gave a stretch before venturing into the world well as I was going through that stage one morning I opened my eyes to see a set of legs bearing the old rusty sheriff's pointing directly at me. Now in my half awake half asleep state I was wondering if I was dreaming or not then it happened my little brother dropped his guts mere inches from my face and ran away laughing to hard that he look like he was having some sort of fit. Went from asleep to fully awake and in killing mode in less than a second and beat the snot out of him for it.

Also when I was a wee nipper I was put to a nice catholic nursery run by nuns. However all I was interested in was playing with the toys and didn't care for the lovely stories about Jesus and all that other tripe (come on there was toys to be played with I wasn't going to pass that up) so when asked nicely to come over and listen to the nice stories I responded by saying no f**k off you bunch of penguins.

Strangely enough mother was told under no uncertain terms not to take me back i was the devil's spawn etc

Cheers uncle Nicky lol quality words you learned me there
(Scoobiedoo79, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 16:53, Reply)

random child-related things...
In response to skitllemcfluff's post - I once was so enraged by our local newspaper that I actually wrote a letter of comaplaint and, thus, spawned a generational war on the letters peage.

The short version is that, since the Barracks and the Mental Hospital (hell, call it a loony bin, as we all did) closed, most of the bigger houses in the area were sold off to become nursing homes, with the result that the town became full of whining old bastards and the piss-smelling haiirdans they married.

So, now that we are CodgerVille, we start to get the obligatory flower baskets, lowered curbs and, of course, complaints. Like the old bitch who bought a private flat opposite a pub, then complained about the noise. The pub had been there 100+ years and, you know what, it always tended to get rowdy at closing time on a friday night.

But the big rants usually come along at hallowe'en, which is where this tale begins. Basically, there was a Daily Mail-esque piece in the local chip-wrapper that covered pages 1, 2, 3, 4 and a couple in the middle going on about this "Reign of Terror" that had happened on hallowe'en. Things smashed, old farts intimidated and gangs of marauding hoodies roaming the streets looking for pensioners to happy-slap. You get the idea.

Here's the thing, though. I was out on the streets they were talking about, at the time it was supposed to be a riot zone. I was, at it happens, walking home from a quiet evening watching horror films with a mate to mark the event. I decided that, as I hadn't been raped, murdered or pillaged, I might share the truth of the matter with the general populace:

1) "Vandals cause chaos and damage on main road". Actually, three kids wlaking home from a party played football with a pumpkin. Thier pumpkin, as the candle in it had burned out.

2) "I was terrified for my life by thugs". Actually, the miserable old bastard used to swear at me when I was a kid and I have no doubt that, when some kids Trick or Treated him, he swore and threatened them, so they (like all good kids) replied with "fuck off, grandad, you don't scare us"

3) "Vandals destroyed property" Contrary to popular opinion, knocking a branch off a dead shrub as you walk back up the driveway after being sworn at is not an act of war, it's an act of bad gardening.

I also pointed out that, whilst obviously all kids nowadays are hoodie-asbo-chav-scum who happyslap nuns, the generation of whingers were perfectly within thier rights to go scrumping for apples on private property during a time of NATIONAL FOOD RATIONING. I pointed out that either what they did was burglary, or having your TV nicked is "urban scrumping". Needless to say, it stirred to old bastards up. I hope it gave a few of them strokes, too. Serves them right - kids are just kids - if you're scared of them, they'll get lairy, but they also have a right to have some fun, laugh and be young.

*rant over*

Apologies for length
(Chance, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 16:31, 5 replies)

#6 Playgroups
This one is partly a pearoast as I've mentioned a bit of it before…but here's the full story this time….




Back in the mists of time when there was a policeman on every corner, milkmen in every housewives bed, dog turds were white and summers lasted for decades…

I was at pre-school.

Except back in those days only posh children went to pre-school. I went to the local Playgroup which was held on a daily basis in the local village hall.

My mum was very pleased to get me off her hands for a couple of hours each day as I was mostly an irritating little madam.
I was very pleased to go off to Playgroup because I liked to explain to the other children just how they should play their games properly.

I've always been very helpful.

So helpful in fact that the Playgroup leader asked my mother to bring me only once a week as they had enough help on the other days.


Now I was blissfully unaware of this turn of events and fortunately my parents never ever made any move to stamp out my natural leadership and organisational abilities thus enabling me to become the rounded individual I am now.


However, ones genetic coding does tend to get the better of you sooner or later particularly if you decide to pop a couple of babies….

Mine went off to Playgroup (sorry, I'm still neither posh or wealthy enough to afford the local Pre-schools or Pre-Preps ) at three for a couple of mornings a week.

Wonderful! Childcare (respite!) at last.

All went well for a good few months, they both began to go for four mornings and I began to regain my life and my coffee addiction.

Then disaster struck.

I was called in one morning when I went to pick them up…the youngest (the now budding entrepreneur) was experiencing difficulties…

Well, more than 'difficulties'….

The Playgroup Leader asked if I could speak to him and make him refrain from organising the morning's events.

Apparently if the Leader asked the children to come and sit down for a story my little darling would encourage them to start playing trains or singing 'Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes' or running around the hall while screaming out "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" which when you're three years old is fantastic fun.

In other words, my offspring had better leadership capabilities than the woman in charge and she didn't like it.

I was shocked. I promised to speak to him.

I did speak to him - I told him that some people in this world are useless at organising things, some are brilliant. He's brilliant but sometimes sadly you need to let the grown-ups think they're in charge.

When I told my own mother she laughed. A lot. Then she told me about my own Playgroup time.

Oh.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 16:17, 6 replies)

An evening of culture.....
My sister, bless her little cotton socks, wanted to be a ballerina more than anything else in the world. After much industrial strength pestering from the pursuasive one, a six year old I-M found himself washed, brushed and in his best clothes in row five or six of the theatre watching be-tulle'ed tools flounce about on stage to the warbling wails of the orchestra.

Now I-M and ickle sis of I-M were in a constant state of warfare, as is right and proper with children of that age. As such the United Parents enforced a physical separation policy at pretty much all times. They were on high alert, a clean and well-presented Monkey was a bomb on a hair trigger - opposable toes do not like being in shoes!

So it was with a growing sense of schadenfreude that I watched the expression of horror slowly march across my vociferous sister's face as it dawned on her that ballerinas don't speak, sing or even get to grunt like a woman at wimbledon.

'Why...why don't they say anything?!' her shocked little voice piped - clearly audible over the scratching of the string section.

'Because they've forgotten the words, stupid!' I sneered with all the volume and authority I could muster.

PostScript: Many years later, the Parents hosted a dinner party, to which was invited a musician and his wife. He regaled the gathering with the tale of a disembodied voice, thick with the frustration of minutes wasted, who'd managed to reduce the whole ensemble to giggles in the middle of a performance.
I've never had anyone star-struck to meet me before.

PPS. Apparently it's hard to laugh through a trumpet.

Length - Way, way too fucking long. Have you ever BEEN to the ballet? Jesus, what crap.
(InfiniteMonkey, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 16:11, 3 replies)

Kids Like Me
And I've no idea why. I'm evil.

Ok, I can do cool things (as far as a kid's concerned) like juggle, fire breathe, throw knives, ride a unicycle etc, but that still doesn't explain why they like me.

I tell them all sorts of outrageous things, things that should upset them, but, coming from me, they just don't believe it.

Case in point. The son of my last flatmate and I where on the balcony and it was raining.

"Why's it raining Legless" asked rugrat (he was about 5 at the time)

"'Cos you've done something wrong and made God cry" I answered....

Same kid, a few months later, and he was excited about Christmas and Santa coming.

"Sorry, not happening this year" I told kid.

"Why not?" he asked looking puzzled.

"'Cos Rudolph went mad and gored Santa to death with his antlers. That's why his nose is all red - it's covered in blood."

Kid giggled and kicked me and told me I was being silly.

If it had stopped there all would have been well. Unfortunately, a few weeks later I was round at his mothers house, sorting out a computer problem. His mother is....interesting. 6 stone of pure malevolence. A kind of really skinny shark with permanent toothache and PMT .

"Hi Legless" she snarled.... "What's this about Santa being killed by Rudolph so Xmas is cancelled..."

"Err.. You know me, just having laugh with the boy..." I stammered weakly...


"Well *he's* not upset - he knows you talk shite - but the school is really pissed off with you right now...."

Turned out the little monster had only gone and proudly told his classmates that Rudolph had killed Santa, hence the red nose....Cue hysteria.


Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 16:08, 7 replies)

can't rmeber when or where...
Probably looking afte a couple of kids on a school trip..

One boy to another..

"Yeaah? Well you're Gay with Annabelle"

That really made my day =)
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Fri 18 Apr 2008, 16:06, Reply)

eww
fuckin hate the little bastards! hope i never accidentally fall pregnant because they'll be goin to my sister or my mum to look after!
(brotagaia, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 15:56, 10 replies)

A long time ago...
When I was only a baby bunny, my dad taught me how to wink. Winking is quite an achievement for a baby bunny and I thought that I was the bees knees and winked at all and sundry that would wink at me.

Now, one day a friend of my daddy's came to the house and he is an absolute gentleman, lovey dude but unfortunately suffered from a nervous facial tic. This tic caused him to wink quite often along with a kind of jerking head movement.

I was delighted thinking that I had someone playing the winking game with me and winked back with all my might as a baby bunny. My mam didnt think is was as funny and I had to be removed from the burrow. The story is still told to this day at all the family occasions....mortified babs bunny.
(babsbunny, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 15:50, Reply)

My other little brother.
My youngest brother, K, is a gem. He was born when I was 15 so I've always looked out for him more than just in the big brother sense - I've always felt responsible for him, showing him right from wrong, etc.

Anyway, I remember deciding to take K to the corner shop (proprietors of an Asian persuasion) with his first pocket money, so that he could buy Match, Shoot or whatever the latest epilepsy-through-multiple-luminous-capital-letters-and-exclamation-marks-inducing rag was out that week.

So, I made a big deal of letting him get the magazine himself, and after a bit of hesitancy from the wee sprite, he headed off to the counter and parted with his well-earned pocket money.

Chuffed with his new found independence, we moved to leave the shop when, in a moment of hubris, my young sibling, in front of the whole shop and it's staff proclaimed...

"I was a bit worried coming in because of all these dark people Scentless, but I'm not scared of this paki shop anymore, thanks!"

I don't know what was more violent - the expression on the shop owner's face or my tug on my brother's arm as we bolted out of the shop.

It took me a good few weeks to pluck up the courage to go back for my monthly porn/lad mag fix...

He wants to be a policeman now.

He'll fit right in!
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 15:46, Reply)

Aaaahhhh...
A couple of weeks ago I got a phone call from my wife when I was away on business -

"MiniSteamedCleaner has just written his name without any help whatsoever for the first time..."
"That's great!"
"...on the dining table..."
"Ah."
"...with a permanent marker."

Normally these phone calls start with "Guess what *your* son has just done" (he's never ours or hers when he's done something bad) but she lulled me into a false sense of security by missing out on the normal "shit has just happened" signal.
( SteamedCleaner, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 15:43, Reply)

When I was born
I was purple, covered in thick black hair AND.....

It was Hallowe'en.

I'm surprised they didn't chuck me out with the medical waste there and then.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 15:40, 14 replies)

I was a perfect child...
... as I'm so frequently reminded by my mum when I'm home for a visit. I always went to sleep and slept through the night, was never sick, always smiling and singing to myself and generally a happy little bunny.

Then I had a month of rebellion for three years of perfection. I swallowed silica gel, toilet duck, bleach, ate a poisonous plant and shat myself in the Ice Cream aisle in Iceland.

Bloody brilliant month I tell you.
(thants, Fri 18 Apr 2008, 15:35, 1 reply)