Great Yarmouth and Super Models
When I was sixteen three of us were allowed to go on a cheap holiday to Great Yarmouth in Stu's Dad's caravan. Imagine the scenario: three spotty social inadequates with pods like bin bags being allowed free reign to spang their batter up all those easy east coast girls' clunges. Looking back it really did start and finish as one big Inbetweeners episode (with less kissing, less groping and less sex).

Anyway, Stu was the least inhibited out of the three of us and he managed to get friendly with a blonde girl from Yorkshire (Keighley if I recall). His parting line to us as he left the caravan was 'consider her fucked'. Oh yeah. Stu knew how to charm them. (We found out, months afterwards, that she wouldn't put out for the wholly unreasonable reason that she was three months preggers.)

We all rendezvous back at the caravan and it is immediately apparent that Stu did not get lucky. The reason was due to the fact that his target had a friend in tow the whole night. Of course this was bad news, except she revealed to them both that she had the hots for me, so now I was expected to go on a double date them them.

Fine and dandy I hear you say. There was a problem however. This girl was ugly. Don't get me wrong, I'm not god's gift, but I have my limit. This girl could effortlessly out-gurn those little Cornish fishermen you used to see on those old Pathe news reels.

Then it started. For the next three days I was hounded by my two supposed friends to go on a date with her. It was incessant. Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner and even at the arcades, I was badgered constantly. You could almost hear Stu's kiwis groan with resentment at my stoic denial. She was ugly. Even if this girl had an amazing personality, even if she would let me do her up the wrong-un she still had a face like a bag of broken china.

The problem was, there were no other dates for Stu until I was prepared to be on the scene. I left it until the penultimate night and I was steeling myself to be Stu's wing man. I was going to take one for the team. I was going to do it.

Early that evening, Stu's intended knocked on our door and she was informed that I was prepared to make up the numbers. At this point I calmly greeted her and let her know when we would be over. Behind the door and completely out of her sight was Col who was silently pissing himself and throwing me some v's. This hilarity was not to last though as Col could hear the whole conversation and I could see his reaction when it transpired that the two girls had got our names mixed up. It was Col she fancied and not me.

Oh sweet lord. Col's face had turned ashen and I have to say I laughed. I laughed harder than ever before. This obviously upset the girl from Yorkshire to the extent that she slammed the door and pissed off back to her caravan. The boot was well and truly on the other foot now as the pressure was now on Col to do the right thing. Col was not for moving however so Stu never got his second date.

After the initial surge of relief it was quite sobering to realise that not even a biffer of such magnitude would fancy me. But my having the last laugh that week was eclipsed by having an even more impressive last laugh as Stu and Col spent nearly a year ignoring phone calls, letters and even an offer to Stu to settle down and live with the initial girl from Yorkshire and her ill-gotten progeny.
(mersault, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 17:04, 2 replies)

My brother took out loans and hire purchased items in my name a few years ago
Running up about £300-400 debt in my name, never paid it back of course and when asked would simply state "sure that was ages ago".

So I waited for my day to come, and it arrived about 6 years later when his tramp of a girlfriend got a massive payout of £17,000 in the courts over some minor injury she got when some guy damaged the rear bumper of her car. Over the next few weeks I engaged him in chat of guitars (he can play pretty well to be fair to him) and playing to his ego and managed to get him to loan me the money to buy a beautiful Gibson guitar.

How did I have the last laugh? Well I never did pay him back or play the damn thing. I maintain it as best I can but it's still sitting there gathering dust on full display in my room just to annoy him every time he walks through the door.
( Bamboo Steamer, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 16:57, Reply)

Train
RIGHT - I'll tell you an anecdote.

In 1975 I was catching the London train from Crewe station. It was VERY CROWDED. I found myself in a last-minute rush for the one remaining seat with a tall, good-looking man with colour length hair. It was the seventies - buckaroo!

When I sat down on the chair, I looked up and realised it was none other than Peter Purves, who was at the height of his Blue Peter fame! He said, "You jammy bastard," and quick as a flash, I replied, "Don't be blue, Peter!"

Needless to say, I had the last laugh, now FUCK OFF.
(ratthingbazzterd, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 16:44, 4 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)

Throughout my school years,
right from being 5 years old all the way up to 16 I was endlessly bullied by a huge nasty brute.

He called me names such as;
- Pepperami willy
- Bogeyface
- Badger toucher
- Gay face
- George Michaels cubicle neighbour
- Speccy fuck fake
and worst of all The cranberry kid.

Last week I sneaked around to his street at night and as the clock struck 3, I through a snail at his house.

Needless to say, I had the last laugh.
( Mr Nerdy-Speccy-FuckNuts Ouchy ouchy wa wa!, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 16:05, 16 replies)

Carpets! Reversing! Jugement! Maturity!
I have many stories about how "I got the last laugh".

From the time I get angry with Curry's for not collecting the old carpet they ruined, reversed my car (a Fiesta, fact fans) into the store's lobby and lobbed the remnants around the store to the time I stitched someone up with phone pranks in petty revenge, to the time I fucked an enemy's girlfriend, just because I could.

In almost all instances, I was simply exhibiting poor judgement.

I've grown up a bit now, and realise that having the last laugh simply entails being happy and cheerful and relaxed.

A bit of scaudenfraude never hurts though...
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 3 Feb 2011, 15:58, 4 replies)

I once trolled a messageboard for being full of unoriginal bullshitters
and now the themes of their questions are references to the boring cliches that punctuate their lies.
( WormuIus, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 15:56, 8 replies)

I once waited until 2 minutes before the question closed to make a sarcastic remark about their tale.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 15:42, Reply)

With Complements
I once wrote EAT PUSSY on a complement slip on my last day of work for a very large financial company and put it back in the pile to be sent.

Yes, I stole the idea from Clerks 2. Yes, it's pathetic and yes, I still smile when I think about it.
(RJWEcology is just sharpening his axe on, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 15:24, Reply)

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)

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)

The angry, angry man
I think this is a pearoast, but never mind...

Working behind the bar in a quiet little pub when I was a student, the monotony was broken one day when a red-faced, very loud bloke came in and grunted 'Stella!' at me.

'Sorry mate - no Stella. We've got Carlsberg Export.'

He looked at me like I'd just pissed on his leg.

'Fuckin' Carlsberg Export. Fuckin' 'ell! You call this a pub, eh?'
'Er... Yeah. Do you want a pint?'
'Yeah - go on...'

Just as I was pouring his pint, the explanation for his anger became clear - a very, very angry woman barrelled through the front door of the pub, a whirling vision of peroxide hair, make up, and flailing limbs, and started screaming at him. Deciding to face the barrage outside, he turned and walked straight out of the front door, followed by the very, very angry woman, who was now beating him with her bag, and me and half the pub who wanted to see what happened next.

Reaching the street, the angry, angry man took his anger out by lashing out with a hefty kick at our free-standing pub sign on the pavement. What he didn't realise was that the landlady was fed up of our signs getting nicked/damaged, and so this one was made out of heavy wood and metal and had about 10 stone of sand in the base.

The angry, angry man squealed and then hopped off down the pavement holding one foot, still being beaten by his girlfriend. We all had a good laugh, and then I headed back inside and drank his pint.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:44, 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)

Especially nasty flatmate
Moved in, lasted a week before deciding she didn't like it, and then tried to stitch us up by moving out of the flat in the middle of the day when we were all at work in order to avoid paying any rent/bills to cover the period she'd been there (we had been chasing her to pay in advance but kept getting excuses).

All in all, a foolproof plan, except that she left her laptop in the lounge and posted her keys back through the door having forgotten that she'd left the keys to her bike lock on the peg in the kitchen.

We got the rent...

Mwahhahahahahahaha!
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:18, Reply)

I was the last person out of the comedy club...

( riverghost servicing your mum since, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:09, 2 replies)

That was his first mistake.
Whatever happens, Amorous Badger will win this QOTW.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 14:06, 1 reply)

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)

Cars, and pink things inside.
A mate felt all smug and for a while kept going on about "Does your car have pink floor matts and pink dice?"

But then, i remembered that it was he that drove his girlfriends car, with pink floor matts and pink dice.

So i called him up on it.

Did i feel like a king for a fraction of a second? Yep.
(Looneytwuns, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:39, Reply)

Not yet...
...but this year, maybe, this year:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4BCUWopQQ4
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:38, 1 reply)

First.
I have just claimed the first post for next weeks qotw.

Har har har haaaaaar.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:32, Reply)

Skiffing, early and often.
That is all.
(The Cunt of Monte Cristo, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:28, 2 replies)

I'm not saying a thing on this
Oh no.

So I'm just going to say...

YOU LOST THE GAME!!
( jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:19, 10 replies)

'twas the summer
Of last year. Lady Deskbound and myself were returning from a weekend break in St Ives.

At the time, she hadn't passed her driving test (re-taking it many years after failing it previously), so I suggested she drive some of the way back to get some practice in.

Coming back through some single lane A roads in Dorset, we were tail-gated by some Neanderthal, Stella-chugging, lamp-jawed, oxygen thieves for around five miles. They were literally bumper-to-bumper in their (I jest not), modified Volvo Estate.

Their patience, no doubt shortened by the onset of weed psychosis, finally caved in and they overtook on a blind corner before racing off into the distance.

A few miles later, approaching a roundabout, we saw our new three BFF, sitting on a grass verge. Steam and smoke clouds billowing from the engine, which had given up the goose.

Needless to say, we doth chortle ourselves all the way back to our middle-class abode.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:19, Reply)

338th.
Boo ya.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:09, Reply)

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)

Honda accord
etc
( parttimedogfish is a Born-Again Reincarnationist, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:03, Reply)

*groan*

(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:02, Reply)

woop
third.....
(Captain Benzo Panda fighting, live on tuesdays., Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:02, Reply)

2nd YAY

(Nahla, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 13:00, Reply)

Spang!
First.
Seriously Smug

(until next week)
(SpangoTheWonderBadger is brewing beer, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 12:58, 2 replies)