Beating on the Booming Drum of Self Congratulation
It was a warm, liquid afternoon in summer, showing Bournemouth off at its best. Happy people wandered the beach-front shops, bikini-pretty and giggly - and that was just the guys. I, however, lurched along the pavement like a zombie with one of those nasty little rattling Boots carrier bags: bed-hair, bleary, snotty and a doubtless smelly young man. And in front of me was one of Those Blokes.

You know, one of Those Blokes. Stocky, short type with gorilla-hairy arms. Always over-tanned. Dark hair combed back so hard its got furrows and you can see the scalp, which always glints hair-gel green. And, of course, a thick gold chain around the neck. Yeah, thats right, one of Those Blokes.

I don't think I'm that judgemental as a person, but if you are one of Those Blokes the 1st thing I think on seeing is ‘You knob. Bet you teach PE’ and I haven’t been proven wrong yet.

Our particular bloke was leant proprietorially against the boot of a grey Ferrari, chatting up two bikini-clad damsels who were at least a decade too young for him. I had to lurch past, so I couldn't help but over-hear him holding court on the merits of this particular make of Ferrari. Normally I'd have said nothing, but as he expounded fulsome details of all that 0-60 crap, I couldn't help but mutter sourly:

'Yeah, but the seats are too low and clutch is an utter bitch.'

Bloke shot me a look of smug contempt, gave the Ferrari's boot a little fatherly pat and said:

'Well I think I know more about this kind of car than you do 'mate'.'

The inverted commas clanged with sarcasm. Right up to the point when I haughtily unlocked the car, threw in the Boots bag and pulled away.

Even better, he kind of froze up in cringe, so he stayed leant on the boot until it turned into empty air. One of Those Blokes, arse first to the tarmac. Lovely.
(IChewCandlewax, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 13:11, 21 replies)

Le sange et dans l'arbre
So there I was, in Kenya, on my honeymoon. We were staying in a standard all-inclusive beach resort and we were looking forward to some time on our own. In order to guarantee that solitude, we'd deliberately booked into a hotel that catered almost entirely to French and German tourists. Neither of us spoke a word of either language, and we were left to our own devices as a result.

We'd already made our biggest decision of the honeymoon; which side of the pool to lounge on. One half of the pool was surrounded by sons and daughters of France, whilst Germany's finest occupied the other. We sided with the Germans, possibly due to our shared belief that if Hitler had gassed the French rather than the Jews, no one would have said a fucking word in complaint.

Anyway, one of the evenings entertainment centred around a bunch of zoologists bringing various native flora and fauna for us to coo over. Think "show and tell" but for drunk holidaymakers and you're pretty much there.

I was, is, and always will be an enormous fan of ickle kee-yute creatures, and my definition of "cute" for those purposes extends to "literally any animal ever". So I set about trying to spend some time holding and/or stroking everything I could (every animal that is. And not like that either. Behave.)

By the end of the evening, only one species of snake had escaped my attentions. And it was currently being held by a French chap who was holding court with his friend and 2 women I assume were their partners.

"Excuse moi. Uhh...parlez vouz anglais?"
'Yes, of course, what do you want?'
"Well, I was wondering if I could have a look at that snake you're holding please?"
~gallic shrug of supreme gallicness~
'Sure.'

And he held out the snake to me. Which promptly shrank back into his hands. Bugger. Feeling a little awkward at being snubbed by a cold blooded being, I nervously blurted out:

"Gosh; that snake really likes you."
'Of COURSE it does!'

Cue polite laughs of appreciation from his companions.

~joining in the polite laughter~
"Well, it must be a snake of good taste then."

There followed a pause. There then followed the gentleman saying something to his companions. As I have mentioned, I speak no French. But I do understand tone, posture, and body language. And every one of those aspects screamed "This man has just called you a cunt for the amusement of his friends and his own self-aggrandisement."

Hmmm. Awkward. I'm not one of those tiresome chaps who feels every slur must be met with fists, but neither did I want to let this sorry little fuck get one over on me.

A thought occured.

Smiling sweetly, I nodded and very casually said:
"J'ai comprende francais.

At this point, his face froze into a rictus grin. His companions however started laughing uproariously.

They did not stop laughing for the course of the next 2 minutes. One of them high fived me. I feel I should stress at this point that I am not making this up.

He said something else to me in French which, I assume by the sheepish tone, was an apology. I waved him away, smiling pleasantly as I did so. He gave me the snake. I nodded to him, and walked away with the mocking laughter of his friends ringing in my ears, safe in the knowledge that I had notched up another point in the endless, pointless Anglo-French "fuck you" competition.

And do you what else? I make no apologies for length.
(Light, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 19:05, 180 replies)

Dicks in Dixons
When I was a poor student I always tried to fill every holiday with a job of some kind in order to keep the wolves from the door during term time. The choice back home in Cheltenham was a bit limited as temp agencies always saved the cushy office jobs for the ladies and us blokes were left with the crap jobs.

I managed to get a job one Christmas working at Dixons thinking this would be a pretty decent job for the holiday. The pay was pretty awful, but it was working in the warehouse and stocking shelves which didn't seem like it was going to be too taxing. Totally wrong. The manager, and his young deputy were little hitlers. The exact type of executive wannabes that I just can't stand.

They gave the guy I was working with so much shit that he stormed out on my second day, leaving me as the only person in the warehouse trying to frantically keep up with the Christmas rush - shoving orders in the elevator, stocking shelves, wrapping up display model TVs (we're talking enormous CRT ones here that recommend a two man lift on the boxes) in their original packaging, trying to find all the missing bits from boxes that the sales staff had flung to the four winds... hated it. At one point I had deputy weasel in chief calling me on the radio literally every ten seconds asking if I had found a box for a display item yet as he massaged his own ego in front of a customer by balling out the lad in stores.

One particularly stessful day I was on the shop floor trying to restock the joysticks and trying not to be trampled to death by the Christmas stampede. Whilst I was sticking the price labels and security tags on boxes a wall of fur coat descended on me and started a tirade about something she had bought that wasn't working. I started to give her my speech about how I was not shop floor staff but I would find someone who could help her but I only got half way through explaining it until she went red, started shouting and gnashing her teeth (she had posh person teeth - the type that could eat an apple through a letterbox) and bits of spittle were dropping in a fine mist onto my face.

The manager saw an angry customer and took this as a great opportunity to exert his authority and rushed over, gave me a dressing down and started to try and calm poshtits down.

She had her back to me at that point, but she kept lifting her heel up and down, banging it on the floor as she stated her demands. In a rare moment of inspiration, I peeled off one of the security tags and slid it under her foot when she next lifted her heel. She stamped it down, it stuck. Victory.

As she had been returning an item, and didn't want a replacement she left the store without any Dixons bags, only her handbag. Off went the dulcit tones of the alarm accompanied by cheery red Christmas disco lighting.

The security guard was a really nice bloke. Also a temp, he'd taken enough shit off the cock weasels that worked in that place to spot an opportunity to restore the karmic balance. I really enjoyed watching poshtits being taken aside so they could search her bags and coat like a common tea leaf, trembling with rage and embarassment as my comrade took his sweet as time explaining he had reason to believe she had been shop lifting in front of a very full store.

They found the tag eventually. The manager just thought it had fallen off something and she'd trod on it. A small achievement though it was, it was a little ray of joy in an otherwise miserable Christmas surrounded by some of the most poisonous, self aggrandising people I have ever met.
( Draconacticus Reject shampoo. Demand real poo!, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:59, 17 replies)

Many years ago a friend and I were discussing the source of a foul odour that had permeated the classroom.
My friend sniffed and furrowed his brow... "Have you farted?"

"Whoever smelt it, dealt it." I answered, accusingly.

"Whoever did the rhyme did the crime." Said he, until I pointed out that that too rhymed and he had therefore unwittingly incriminated himself.

Needless to say, I had the last laugh because I had in fact shat my pants.
(Mr Eraserhead Why aren't you a lemon?, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 15:14, 6 replies)

that bloke that used to post here who got shafted in Dubai...
here's the story should you wish to read it... www.b3ta.com/questions/theboss/post460435

We've been back over 18 months now. This isn't crowing, its just perspective. I have a job i love in the same industry, by far the best I've ever had. My little boy is in a good school and we live in a lovely home. I earn great money, the same as I did over there but I'm now content to pay large chunks in tax. Having seen the alternative I can contest it's worth every penny. We are happy, relaxed, a lot more worldly wise and most importantly, safe.

I stay in touch with people I worked with over there, they hate it. Each and every one of them. The economy is fucked, the ruling class are becoming increasingly twitchy, everyone is circling round each other like wolves. Quite literally their world is rapidly sinking back into the sands.

But the best bit is, the cunt who owns the company is so consumed with greed that even though he has had skin cancer twice, he's decided to move there full time because his tax free status in Jersey is no longer viable. That's right, a man with a history of skin cancer moving to one of the most relentlessly sun baked, dry-as-a-witches-crack, miserable dust bowls on Earth. His wife and family refuse to move there. Clearly his money is more alluring than him.

But I'm home, happy, with my wonderful wife, my beautiful son and my family. We live in fantastic country where I can say what I like, do whatever I care, get pissed if I choose, fall over on my daft arse, end up in casualty (I don't do this) but be treated with care, compassion and respect from health professionals who are interested in my welfare, not my wallet.

But the sad greedy man, who very nearly wrecked our lives and tried to leave us with nothing, has effectively signed his own death sentence - living in a gaudy sandy hellhole, thousands of miles from sense or humility.

All for a few quid. I can't help but laugh.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 1:01, 20 replies)

I'm very, very ashamed that I am posting this...
...but when I was thirteen, I used to play street fighter 2 in the kebab shop near the top of my road. Until one day this kid came in and took great pleasure in grabbing the controls as I was playing so I would deliberately lose. I told him to fuck off, and he punched me, I punched him back, and that should have been it.
It turned out though, that he went to my school, and he managed to find me when he was with people, and I was alone on several occasions, when he would try to rob money off me, or just make me feel like i was going to get my head kicked in. Once even got spat at in the face by him as his mates laughed.

Didn't give him any thought after I left school until a few years later, I saw in the news that he had been killed in prison by a neo nazi cell mate (yes, the fairly famous story of the guy who was due to be released, and was put in with a known racist) Now, the bigger part of me thinks what everyone else thought about the story: it was disgraceful that he was put at risk in the way he was, and he didn't deserve to die, and he shouldn't have been anywhere near the mental racist he was with. But there is a tiny, tiny part of me that thinks "that's what happens when you ruin my streetfighter 2 game"
(clinteastwoodbradfield, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 21:42, 6 replies)

The Spanish Balloon
My family (my mother, my sister and myself) all travel to Spain for a family holiday. I'm 5 at the time, my sister 11, just coming up to her 12th birthday. At one point during an afternoon outing my sister grabs my shoulder and tells me we're going to sit by a fountain. As most 5-year-olds do, I asked why. Sister tells me that mum actually hates me and we were waiting for someone to come along and adopt me, and this is the spot my new family told us to wait at.

I took this in for a minute... where did mum go? Did she really hate me? It was all too much and I began to cry.

Even worse, sis had a camera. Photos were taken. She told me that I should cheer up and smile, else nobody would take me and I'd have to live on the streets. As I wailed louder at the tragedy of it all, she just kept snapping away.

Five minutes later, mum shows up. She'd gone to use a bathroom in a local restaurant. She laughs at me and calls me a silly plonker. She takes me to a tatty souvenir store so I can buy some junk and so she can stop my crying.

For a reason I don't understand, I chose what can be described as a primitive stress ball - a purple balloon filled with some squishy powder inside it to make it malleable, with a face drawn on it with a silver pen. Tacky, cheap and nasty - but it was heaven for a kid - I had fun warping its face and shape and punching it in the face and seeing my fist indentations. My sister was pissed off that I got a treat and she didn't.

Spring forwards a few weeks, to my sister's 12th birthday party. She'd managed to round up most of the cool kids from senior school, including one guy she had a massive crush on. Anyway, they eventually get to the presents. Remembering how sad she was that I got one and she didn't, I try to give her my malleable balloon-faced Spanish toy. The group heard the tale from my mother of how this toy came to be mine and she got a few looks of scorn for her mean trick, one from cool crush-guy. Sis was kinda livid at me, especially after the group d'awwwed at my attempt to make my sister happy. I was gatecrashing her party.

She screams out loud to the group to get the attention off of me, "This is ugly and stupid and a baby toy!" She grabs it and twists it firmly with both hands in anger, as if she were trying to snap it.

But it didn't just snap. It exploded with a delightful noise, like the sound of a cushion hitting the floor. And whatever that powdery stuff was inside the balloon, it hit her flush in the face. Party was abandoned as she flew into a rage and had to take a shower to get the mess off of her.

But not before mum took a picture of her like that to go next to my crying pictures in the family album.
(rzeki, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 9:53, 4 replies)

I knew I'd have an appropriate pearoast!
Careful who you bar.....
I was out in a town that shall be nameless as I was staying overnight because I had been invited to be on the grading panel at a martial arts club in the aforementioned town the next day.
Having been separated from my compatriots I tried to look in a noisy pub doorway to see if they were in, only to be told by a shaven headed little snot to"F$ck off grandad". I politely asked him if I could go in and see if my friends were in there only to be told "If you try and go in there pal I'll cripple ya!". Perhaps my knowing smirk may have aggravated the truncated cnut, or the fact that I was a foot taller than him and a foot wider.
He then proceeded to get the manager and take a picture of me to show the staff that I was barred! I found my friends in a bar down the road and a good night was had by all.
It came to pass that, the very next day,I was getting changed into my Gi and Hakama in the "instructors only" changing rooms set up for the occasion when I was asked to give a half-hour Aikido demonstration to the class as a warmup before the gradings proper.
I went onto the mat, was welcomed by the club's chief instructor and introduced to the members on the mat. Who should be there, wearing a YELLOW belt no less. Yep it was the stumpy, bad-tempered cnut from the night before. Chose him as my uke for the whole demonstration.
Yea, verily I did smite him. Give him his due, he didnt scream too badly when I cranked on some very painful wristlocks and his ukemi skills got a real workout for the full half-hour. He was congratulated by his fellow members for being picked as uke by the visiting instructor but his pointy ratlike face was a picture when I called him onto the mat.
I still failed him on his grading for "bad attitude".
Does that make me shallow?
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 11:31, 15 replies)

Pea roast tiem.
I used to work in a SPAR-type convenience shop.
I had a queue of customers that I was serving when a woman walked in smoking a cigarette.
This was 7 10 years ago - I would have thought that it was fairly obvious that it was no longer acceptable to smoke in shops, but no; in she came, puffing away.
"Could you put that out, or take it outside please?" Said I.
"Why? Doesn't say I can't smoke in here on the door." Says Chavella.
"..." I said, stumped, as I realised we actually didn't have a no smoking sign on the door anymore.
"Besides, you sell cigarettes don't you?" She said.
"That may well be the case, madam," I said,
"But I should point out we also sell condoms."
( IHaveABadFeelingAboutThis most likely working from home on, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:08, Reply)

I get all the birds
I was hanging about at a bus-stop one day(waiting for a bus, ofcourse) munching on a big bag of greasy chips drenched in vinegar when this fuckhuge seagull comes crashing down onto the bag of chips and grabs them off of me. I manage to make sense of what happened just in time to see the bugger slap right into a passing car.

Serves the cunt right, I still have a feather from it as a keepsake.


_{yes stealing my chips is worthy of death.}
(Stumour, Sat 5 Feb 2011, 11:20, Reply)

i used to work late
nights at a call in the city centre of manchester. because of where i lived, if it was a friday night, i'd get a taxi back home, instead instead of the danger-bus.

On a cold miserable, winters friday night at about 11ish, i was knackered and in foul form but I was the only person waiting at the taxi rank so i cheered myself with thought of being home soon

I had been waiting about 10 minutes when the taxi pulled up.
At exactly the same moment a drunken girly "woo taxi" from the other side of the street. she pulled her harassed boyfriend, dashed across the road and jumped in.

I unpolitely suggested they get out of my taxi but the boyfriend gave me a sheepish grin and said "girls, tsk"
My years of education bubbled forth "go fuck yourself" i spat

so I had resigned myself to a cold wait, when from stage left entered
the hardest looking man i have ever seen. Not big and burly, but short, wirey, scarred and mean, but looking very smart in his luminous green Taxi Marshall coat.

"was that your taxi, Sir" he asked
"yes, it was" i said, sounding like someone being rescued from a mugging by superman.
"taxi driver. Don't pull out" he commanded and the taxi didnt move
"you two out now" he said to the passengers. it had that calm tone that suggested if they didnt there'd be years of orthodontic bills to be paid.

the girl protested loudly but her boyfriend valued his teeth and dragged her out.


I felt like Royalty getting in that taxi. I thanked the Taxi Marshall profusely and went home in a warm glow. laughing last.
( parsley, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 12:47, 2 replies)

At The Moment
I think it's God who's having the last laugh.

It's been an interesting start to the year down here in Convictland. First Brisbane and most of South Queensland are flooded. Then Victoria has the worst floods for 50 years, then Cyclone Yasi roars ashore with 300k/h winds and now the outer suburbs of Perth are in flames due to a series of bushfires.

So this morning, I got up, made coffee and opened the back door to have a cigarette. Looked down and saw a 2 foot long Tiger Snake, one of the most venomous snakes in Australia, stretched out in the sun at my feet. He looked at me, I looked at him and I could see what was going through his tiny mind.

"Just how much do you want that cigarette, mother-fucker?"

Yup - definitely God.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 7:39, 48 replies)

I was just a spectator to this...
...but it was too beautiful not to tell. I lived, to a year or two, on Holloway Road in London. Those that know it well enough will confirm that, while it is busy, there is bugger all space to park. On an especially busy day, I saw two cars pulling into a large space on a regular street, and they were just lining up their cars when a daft bleach-blond bint in a pink smart car decided she was going to squeeze in VERTICALLY between the two cars. That is to say that she actually thought it was OK to pull into a parallel parking spot so the boot of the car was pointing into the road.

In a brief millisecond of psychic genius, both of the drivers of the well-parked cars pulled up to the doors of the smart car so there was no way the woman could get out, turned off the engines, got out, shook hands, and fucked off for what I HOPE was the night.
(bobman500 enjoys a grope as much as the next fella, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 7:27, 15 replies)

Over a decade in the making
At primary school I was bullied by a stuck-up little shit we shall call Eric. He was slightly bigger than the rest of us, which apparently gave him license to bullshit and push everyone else around. Point in case: at the age of 11 he claimed he had played for the England under 16's rugby team. A few years later I'd face him on the rugby pitch, as I played for my school. He was a linesman.

Over a few years of him pretending to be my friend in public and shoving me off my chair whenever nobody was looking, he managed to convince all my friends I was a weirdo because I was interested in girls, and I spent the last year of primary school, a time when I should have been cultivating confidence and personality before the reality-altering effects of puberty hit, completely alone and miserable.

Many years later, working in a club, my hugely attractive colleague Jane took a shine to me. Frankly, the flirting was embarrassing, and it only got worse when my girlfriend of the time was in for a drink. At our 2009 staff Christmas do, the flirting went over the top and into full-blown "you should probably shag me in the toilets" territory. As I looked on pleadingly at my friends, she tipsily sat on my lap, playing with my hair and shoving her breasts into my face while cooing... something. I don't remember the words, as there was no blood in my ears at the time. I'm not even sure I responded beyond grunting.

But I kept myself in check, right up until the moment her boyfriend arrived. Who should it be but Eric, all grown up to the lofty heights of 5'8" in a decent sized hat, who pulled her off me and sent her to the car. Having bumped into one another a few times during our school careers, he recognised me, and I recognised him.

"Stay away from her, Gun." he growled.
"Bit late for that..." I replied, silently stunned at the fact that I'd produced such a wonderfully enigmatic line under pressure.

He looked like he was about to straight-up ask if I'd shagged her, but didn't, which is good because to this day I can't decide if lying ("she said I was better than you") or slagging him off ("I wouldn't touch her after you've had your paws on her") would have been more fun. Instead he just scowled and stomped off.

Next month, I asked for all my shifts to overlap with Jane's.

They broke up 3 weeks later, when his paranoia sent him a bit (more) mental. Maximum result, no infidelity, total pwnership. Score.

Length? About 2 hours of stroking and buying me drinks.
(a gun that fires other, smaller guns full of jizz, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:46, 1 reply)

Audi driving twunt
The other day, I was on the motorway in my adopted home in France, overtaking a lorry at the national speed limit of 130kmh. I’m about half way past the big diesel chugging, Paella slurping, shit-stained y-front-toting, crumpled porn mag grasping driver when I notice the prince of all cunt cars zooming up behind me - an Audi TT. If you’ve ever driven here you may notice a mildly irritating habit the people have of leaving their indicators on “left” when overtaking, even if they are in the fast lane and there is no “left” other than the barrier. This guy was doing this, thus letting me know that he intended basically to overtake everything in his path, and that I should hurry up and get the fuck out of his way. Not content with the indicator alone, he also decided to start flashing his headlights and gesticulating wildly with his hands in a wannabe proper mediterranean diego fashion. The thing is, as a new driver I’m only supposed to do 110kmh, which is not realistic, but it’s not worth the risk going over 130 as I would be on shit street proper if I got flashed. So I maintained my speed. In fact I may even have slowed down a bit, as the rage and indignation leapt through my synapses. Another example of mindless aggression from the security of an expensively engineered locked steel box.

For some reason, when I do get past the lorry, the guy insists on pulling up alongside me and waving his hands at me wildly. I’m sure there was actually spit hitting the inside of his passenger side window. Now, I’m normally a fairly careful driver, preferring to keep both hands on the wheel at all times, but I broke a rule and gave this guy a nice frank middle finger and blew him a kiss. Not sure what inspired the kiss, but it really seemed to enrage him. The nutter overtook me, then stayed at my speed, pointing at the next “aire de répos”, which was just 500m away, and implying that we should meet there to discuss our differences.

I really do not go in for this sort of thing, I mean you never know who is in the car do you? But on this occasion the rage caused by him cutting me up as he overtook carried enough momentum to guide my car onto the slip road and into the small car park where I pulled up along side him and got out of the car. I was surprised when he didn’t do the same.

After a time, a custom built sliding door began to open slowly on the Audi, to the background of quiet siren and a flashing light. As the interior of the car was revealed, a wheelchair bound figure came into view. In time a ramp slid out and a smiling head and torso in a wheelchair rolled down on to the tarmac. The motorised chair moved to face me almost silently and its owner made a classic “what are you gonna do?” shrug with his two good arms outstretched, ripe to embrace the prize of my impotent outrage. I jabbed him once hard in the face and drove off wondering whether I had done the right thing or not. Probably.
(impossibly witty twat No, YOUR Mum etc etc, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 15:39, 39 replies)

The scene is a dingy basement club in Edinburgh.
A while ago, I tried to chat up a lovely-looking Turkish girl on a sticky and murky dancefloor, a task made at once easier and infinitely more difficult by the fact that I was pissed as a bastard and in no fit state to be out in public. To her credit she dealt my drunken advances fairly patiently, up until I pulled my trump card: an absolutely ripe one that smelled like the aftermath of a mighty battle between cabbages and eggs.

I couldn't really hide that I had just stenched the house down, but by God my alcohol-raddled brain thought it had just the plan. She provided me with the perfect opening when she asked "did you just fart?". Aha! thought I. There's room for doubt! It all depends on my next line!

"I thought that was you."

Needless to say, she didn't go near me for the rest of the night. I had the last laugh though, as I cracked one out when I got home that night and managed to avoid weeping.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Sat 5 Feb 2011, 15:34, 5 replies)

Neanderthal versus Door
Compared to some of the last laugh stories on here, this is pretty lame.
But true and all i can offer.
While working at a drop in centre for the unemployed, you sometimes had to deal with some unsavoury types who walked in through the door.
One afternoon 3 men wandered in and were disruptive from the first moment.
The obvious leader, a big flat headed fellow with arms the size of my thighs took great delight in belittling everyone, knocking over peoples cups of tea and generally being a right pain in the arse, making lewd comments to the women and bigging himself up in front of his fawning cronies.
It being lunchtime and the other 2 supervisors being out , it was up to me to ask them to leave.
Of course he kicked off, stood by the door calling me all the names under the sun.
Puffing himself up and looming over me , he sneered
'Yeah what you going to do about it woman?'
I pointed to the door and he just laughed, until behind me appeared a small group of guys who had wandered in from the back workshop to see what the hassle was.
Feeling safe with the silent backup behind me I pointed to the door again.
He scowled and with a parting sarcastic comment pushed at the door.
Nothing happened, he pushed again, the door didnt budge
I heard a snigger behind me.
He let loose a tirade at us for locking him in, while the other 2 men looked a bit embarrased.
Then he grabbed the door handle again and began yelling and swearing as he pushed and pushed,
Keeping as straight a face as I could ,I walked over, swatted his hand away, took hold of the door handle and pulled it towards me, the door opened.
With another sickly smile I bowed and gestured him and his mates out.
They left to much whooping and catcalls at him being such a dumbass
We fell about laughing

Although i do admit to checking my back when I left late work for a several weeks after
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Wed 9 Feb 2011, 1:23, 4 replies)

A Watery Revenge
A few years ago I worked in an American summer camp as a lifeguard.

Most of the kids I encountered were OK but one of them, Clinton, was an evil, 16 year-old, waste of chromosomes who took great pleasure in bitching, moaning, and winding up members of staff about anything that didn’t go his way.

Every couple of days, we’d take the kids swimming at the nearby lake. Two lifeguards would stand up to their chests/ necks in the water. This was obviously pretty boring and cold and our job was only made even more boring and cold by arsehole kids (like Clinton) swimming around us under the water and ‘accidentally’ splashing our faces by kicking hard as they swam by.

One day, I snapped and could no longer take Clinton’s incessant tomfoolery. As Clinton swam around me for the umpteenth time under the water, I waiting until he was directly in front of me and let go of the contents of my bladder, jetting out a warming piss-cloud of revenge all around the little ball bag. I'm sure that most normal people would have noticed, but so full was he of spiteful malevolence that he missed the tell-tale temperature change.

From then on Clinton couldn't touch me: whenever he tried to provoke a reaction from me, I could smile serenely in the knowledge that I’d had the last laugh with him none the wiser.

P.S. when I told the other camp lifeguards of what I'd done their first reaction was disgust. Their second was to get their own 'watery' revenge on whoever had the audacity to push them too far when swimming.
(jimmy spankhands, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 0:13, 39 replies)

Cops
I'm a competition shooter (yes, yes guns are bad, don't bother I've heard it all before) and as a consequence have a gun safe at home which is of the required type and bolted to the floor and to the wall.
Basically it's exactly what it should be and utterly immovable.
Even better, there's rarely anything in it, it's just in case there's a comp coming up and I have to leave early and can't be arsed going to the club first to pick up a gun.
So... a couple of weeks back the police arrive to do one of their semi-regular spot checks and this smug constable says:
"How thick is the metal on this safe, it has to be six mm. It doesn't look six mm. I may not be able to pass this."
"It's 8mm, it's from the police approved list, purchased from an approved supplier and it's already been inspected and passed before," I replied.
"Oh yeah, by who? I bet they didn't even check it properly," he says, already putting his clipboard away, clearly more than halfway to not issuing the approved notice.
So I rummage through the paperwork, pull out the last inspection notice and guess what? It was passed by the same guy who was standing there arguing.
So he passed it and went off grumbling.
( difficultchild, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 23:40, Reply)

After my ex fiancée left me for another man EDIT: Now with added pictures. I don't have a honda Accord.
Scroll down for photos.

Edit: Didn't think people would get so Honda accord about this, anyhoo so pre story. She left me, I was toying with the idea of modeling and what not at the time after being approached by an agent at a party. I thought at first it might be one of those "Get your clothes off in my flat and I'll take pictures" kinda offers. But I decided to persue it on my own, my fiancée at the time told me that I'd never be able to make a living from it and it was a silly idea as I clearly wasn't attractive enough to do it.

I now work as a self employed stripper and male model, I have worked for such big names and Harley Davidson and the impressive Dominos pizza chain. I also have women throwing them selves at me at a regualar interval.
It was quite lonely sometimes though, but I have also recently started seeing someone who gets me entirely, doesn't question my past and just lets me be me.
So everyday I laugh and am filled with that self-righteous smugness.

No knob joke, I'm just awesome.
( Laird Dave Draws Now charges to take off his clothes., Sun 6 Feb 2011, 1:27, 30 replies)

Hungover pea roast as my brain can't work out something new to type
Working in a pub you meet lots of nice people, unfortunately you also have to suffer more than your fair share of cockends.

Now, I have a large number of footy style knobbers who drink in my establishment and one week a particularly loud, mono-brain celled chap fucked me off and I vowed to get him back. The next week he struts in, not bothering to appologise for last weeks penistry and orders a bottle of Becks, and so it starts. I take an ice cold bottle out of the fridge, open it and plonk it in front of him.

Now he proceeds to drink another 8 odd bottles, getting louder and more obnoxious with each one.

Once again he's getting on my nerves. His loud and grating voice letting everyone in the postcode know his small and worthless opinion on every subject. So, I go over to tell him to wind his neck in and stop being so obnoxious.

"Well, you shouldn't have served me so much beer," he tells me. To which, with a big shit eating grin, I can only reply by picking up one of his empty bottles off the table and pointing at it. "It's no alcohol Becks, you idiot. That's all I've been serving you today".

His mates start pissing themselves and taking the piss out of their "friend", who it transpires has managed to get "drunk" of 9 bottles of 0.05% lager. To make matters even better, he ran out of money, couldn't afford to buy another drink, his mates wouldn't buy him one and he got the appropriate response from me when he asked for a tab.

Yes, sometimes I like the power I have in my job.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Sat 5 Feb 2011, 9:40, 7 replies)

Don't fuck with me.
So, I was happily sitting on my train home, minding my own business, when we got...what's the word? You know when a huge gang just enter the carriage and mug everyone? Steamed? Steam=rollered? Something like that. All I know is there were aroudn 40 of them.

Anyway, I am not one for violence, so I handed over my wallet, thinking that the loss of a few quid and the inconvemience of cancelling a few cards was less of a hassle than risking hospitalisation or death.

Then they turned to the young girl next to me. i could she she was terrified, and I knew I should step in, but as I say, I didn't want to risk hosiptalisation or worse, death, did I?

I realised her parents were sat opposite, but could see they were not able to protect her so I felt the overwhelming pressure to do something...anything...but...

Then they forced my hand.

They made her strip naked. They threatened to rape her. There. On the train. In front of her helpless parents.

That was it, hospitalisation or death it was, because this could not stand.

A few minutes later, 3 dead, 8 hospitalised and one not raped 18 year old.

Don't fuck with a Ghurka.





Wait...maybe I just read this.












www.logiccool.com/blog/591281-lone-nepali-soldier-defends-potential-rape-victim-against-40-men/

(Or Hoogie is alive and well)
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 11:17, 13 replies)

bouncer fail
many moons ago, on a normal friday night, i headed out to the local nightclub with some friends. i was slightly underage, being a couple of months away from my 18th birthday, but i'd already been there several times previously and been admitted with no problem.
on this particular night, however, the bouncers had an extra little helper. it was the girlfriend of one of the bouncers, a nasty little piece of work. we had had a mutual hatred of each other since school and she decided to cause me a bit of trouble.
"don't let her in!" she shrieked in a haglike voice. "she's only seventeen!"
"i am not!" i hotly replied, "i'm 20! i've been coming here for months!" the bouncer gave me a beady-eyed stare. "if she says you're only 17, i believe her." "i don't care what she says, i know how fucking old i am!" i yelled, more than a little pissed off by now, as my then-boyfriend was already inside waiting for me.
bitch then proceded to trip herself right up. "i know she's only 17, she was in my class at school!" i mentally rubbed my hands with glee. "well, if i'm too young to get in here, that means your girlfriend is, too." the bouncer glared at the little witch, then growled "shut your stupid fucking mouth" at her. he turned his glare towards me. "get in, then," he said. i practically skipped past them both, beaming my brightest smile at them.
i was never questioned about my age there again!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 17:59, 2 replies)

I hated my job
I was routinely bored stiff all day, every day. Typically my packed lunch was gone by 10:30 as eating that at least used up some of the morning. Going for a dump was a daily highlight and something to look forward to.

I decided to take action rather than just talk about it and finally did my CV, check the job adverts and got an interview lined up for a promising job.

You can imagine my astonishment when having actually worked my ass off for a few days and done some work I was actually proud of the boss called me into a meeting room. Sat there he went through the cushioning lecture of how they had decided to make me an offer to leave. Offer nothing, I was being fired.

He went through the talk and then the numbers. I'm not sure whether I looked upset, shocked or what but I was escorted to my desk to collect a few odds and ends and that was the last time I went to work.

I got outside, phoned my other half and the conversation went a bit like this...

"Hi, Are you sitting down?"
"Yes, why? What's wrong?"
"You know I wanted to leave my job? Well they've just paid me to leave!"
"What do you mean? You've lost your job?"
"Yeah, but I'm a bit confused. They're giving me severance and I don't have to go back there ever again."

Last laugh? Well I've got the 2nd interview for a job I really want in the morning. In the mean time I've just banked several months salary for not going to work. You should see the croissant sized grin on my face. :)

EDIT: Got offered the job during the interview! I start in 2 weeks! :)
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 16:14, 3 replies)

Remember, he who laughs last,
thinks slowest.
(MrOli is ugly, but in the morning you will be sober, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:42, Reply)

Scruffy bastard
There was this guy I used to work with, he was a nice enough chap, but he always seemed to get my back up. You know the type, roguish good looks, utterly charming and a bit of a rebel streak in him. The fucking cockstain.

Anyway, I was out of the office one day doing a bit of field work, and I ran into some bother. Everyone back at base pretty much left me to deal with it, except for Captain Magnificent, who felt the need to take matters into his own hands and come out to help me.

Ulitmately, I'm glad he did, I'd have been completely knackered if he didn't, but when we got back to work, he couldn't have been a bigger dick about it. We were sat around with a few of our mates, and this one really hot bird we were both trying to get into. He kept going on about how great he was, and took every opportunity to put me down and tell me I'm useless. I felt like I was 2 feet tall. Our lady friend saw what he was doing though, and pretty much called him a bellend before giving me a really passionate kiss. You should have seen the look on the cunt's face!

Anyway, turns out he had the last laugh. The girl turned out to be my sister, and my dad cut my hand off. Fucking nerf herder.
(Keiths Dad, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 14:00, 9 replies)

Stoopid Magpie
I've always been superstitious over mapgpies, one for sorrow, two for joy etc and having to salute the lone miste magpie if i see him on my way to work, asking him how the wife and kids are.

Driving down our local duel carriage way a while ago, a lone magpie took off from the central reservation just in front of me. Damn, I thought, there goes my lucky day...

BLAM!

It flew straight into the windscreen of a passing lorry.
(imanaturalblonde, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 22:58, Reply)

Ah yes...
Two friends I shall call Brian and Tony (for that is their names), were arguing over the worth of Tony's new iphone.
"It's got wifi and games and touch screen and ipod and camera and laser pointer and invisibilty cloak and..." etc etc Tony says.
"Yeah but can yours do this?" Brian asks, picking up his old Nokia and holding down the "voice-call" button until the phone went "beep!"
"Cunt" James says.
And Tony's phone started to ring...
( difficultchild, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 0:10, 10 replies)

Last laugh?
Yeah I got the last laugh but it wasn't mine.
I am proud to say I told my mate the last joke he heard before he died. And he laughed.
More like a coughing whisper actually but the thought was there.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Sun 6 Feb 2011, 23:47, 5 replies)

When I was in high school
There was this guy who found it hilarious to take the piss out of me. I wasn't the only one (he also picked on some guy who came to our school for a while was REALLY short), but he seemed to get a particular kick out of winding me up. Whenever I saw him, he'd try and trip me up, take the mick or whatever. Needless to say he was built like a brick shithouses and had the mind to match. And like all such flaming dickheads, he had a group of goons who hung around him lapping up every word/action like he was the school's answer to Richard Pryor and Bill Hicks combined. Being a skinny nerdy type, there wasn't much I could do except keep my head down, try to avoid the hulking mongface and try to humour him. Ideas of revenge didn't even cross my mind, I was just sick to death of the moronic bastard and couldn't wait to see the back of him. And what could I do to him anyway? I weighed about 100lbs dripping wet and carrying a bag of library books, while he was over 6 feet and looked like he ate puppies for breakfast.

But one time he went too far, twisting my arm so far up my back I thought he was going to break it. I lost it and, in a blinding red mist, decked him. Thirty years later he was waxing my car. Needless to say, I had the last laugh.
(McChinaman banned, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 0:58, 3 replies)