Carrying a scalpel means one can always have the last laugh.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 10:28, Reply)

Facebook
I finally got around to joining Facebook last year and did the usual thing of saying hi to all my friends and regular email contacts. A couple of people used a function to recommend other people they thought I might know, including a guy I was at university with who recommended several other old university chums. I graduated back in the mid-1990s so it's been a good 15 years since I saw some of these people and I thought it'd be interesting to see what they'd been up to so I sent requests to them too.

Most accepted and sent 'how are you' messages. All except one person, who friended me back just long enough to write 'TWAT!' on my wall and unfriending me.

I don't remember much about the guy. I haven't a clue what I might have done, fifteen years ago, to upset him. But given that he bore a grudge for fifteen years for whatever it was and I barely remember him in return, I reckon I got the last laugh.
(davywavy, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 10:28, 2 replies)

Speccy four-eyes
My parents had some friends call Howard and Sylvia, or something like that. This was back in the old days, when middle-aged men had huge sideburns, eccentric hair, 'Eric Morecambe' glasses, smoked pipes indoors and wore cable-knit brown cardigans with leather patches on the elbows. That was Howard. He also had a habit of mooing when he listened to you: he would ask me a question and then while I replied he would go 'Mmmmm, mmmm-oooo' in a disconcerting fashion. But I digress.

Howard and Sylvia had a son the same age as me - about 8 at the time I think. I forget his name, so let's call him Jim. I was spotty and wore thick National Health specs. Jim was captain of his under-tens football team and a prick. He called me a speccy-four eyes and said I was weedy, in front of all the adults. I was upset, and my parents were shocked when Howard and Sylvia laughed (and mooed) and said how funny Jim was.

They came to visit us every few months, and each time Howard would remind us all how Jim had called me a speccy-four-eyes, and laugh, while Jim pulled faces at me from behind his back. At my tender age this hurt me, more so that my parents didn't do anything.

Eventually we got to the age where Jim was no longer forced to come along when the elders visited, and I forgot about it. My parents clearly didn't forget though, and a few years later when I got sparkling A-level results and into a good university, they delighted in telling me that Jim had completely cocked up his education, didn't have a job, and his parents had more or less disowned him. He wasn't even captain of a football team any more. So needless to say I (and my parents) had the last laugh. But Howard had the last moo.
(Smale is stuffed, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 10:21, 3 replies)

Got a cat called Pepper
who likes to play-attack me when I'm sitting there watching the telly...means well but he's scratched me hands to fuckery with his claws.

Got the cunt neutered. Sorted.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 10:16, 5 replies)

Needless to say
Hoogie had the last laugh as people keep linking to his posts and his Honda Accord becomes internet legend.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 10:09, 4 replies)

I always get the last laugh because I really am that obsessed with winning the point
So needless to say, I have developed an incredibly arch and deeply ironic sense of humour that allows me to look down upon everything cynically as pathetic and worthy of contempt, and therefore of amusement only.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 9:43, 2 replies)

And another. He's last laugh-tastic
www.b3ta.com/questions/sacked/post49360
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 4 Feb 2011, 9:42, 5 replies)

CUNTHORSE. YOU FUCKING CUNTHORSES.
Hoogie had a lot of last laughs.
And seems to know a lot of bag heads.
Idiot.

www.b3ta.com/questions/barred/post60639
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 4 Feb 2011, 9:40, 7 replies)

My dad was a right cunt.
Needless to say HE CHOPPED MY HAND OFF BECAUSE HE WAS DARTH VADER!
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 8:35, 6 replies)

In keeping with Amorous Badger's habit of posting links to former posts
Please accept, from the mighty Hoogie, creator of the Honda Accord JusticeMobile, this offering.

www.b3ta.com/questions/conned/post94756
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 4 Feb 2011, 8:22, Reply)

This guy called me a gay...
...so I killed him.

And 5,999,999 of his mates.

Needless to say, I had the last laugh.

Cheers,

A. Hitler
(Flap Burger hasn't really got a burger made of flaps, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 8:12, 2 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)

Call centres....
...are where the soul goes to die. Having spent a miserable summer trying to sell Chelsea TV to anyone but Chelsea fans thanks to "advanced data mining techniques" I finally managed to get round quitting, not so much in a blaze glory, more a whimpering admission of defeat.

2 weeks after I left, an unexpected payslip landed on my doormat. Despite being owed nothing, the call centre had decided to pay me for 1.014 hours work, at my not-so-usual hourly rate of £879.35234 an hour. Did a happy dance and spent it as fast as I could.

5 months later they phoned up asking me to pay it back, and I told them to fuck off. Never heard from them again.
(he-pigeon, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 5:39, Reply)

At a friend's house
And he was telling me how whenever he won an argument with his mum (they didn't get along), he'd lick his finger and make a tally mark on an imaginary chalkboard in the air, as if chalking up another victory. This would infuriate her to no end. As he was talking, he got some leftover steak out of the fridge and put it in the microwave to reheat. For several minutes. When it dinged, he reached in to grab it.

"Careful," I said, "That plate's going to be really hot."

"No way, it wasn't in for that long."

"Really, you should use an oven glove."

"Nah, I'll be finAAAAARGGGHH!"

He dropped the (very hot) plate on the floor, where it shattered, then ran his scorched hand under the cold tap.

I licked my finger, and made a tally mark in the air.
(oball needs Satan more than he needs me, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 3:24, 6 replies)

It was a few years ago.
At the time of this story I was driving an old battered VW diesel that I had bought for a pittance. It had an engine that had been badly abused, and had absolutely no power to it at all.*

One Thanksgiving holiday my children and I went to visit my parents as they were in South Carolina. My girlfriend of the time drove her car with my two sons, and my daughter rode with me in the Weedeater.

As we were right around the North Carolina border on I-95, we hit some heavy traffic. We were all going the speed limit, but the cars and trucks were densely packed. The Weedeater being as wimpy as it was, I tried to stay in the slow lane as much as I could, but every now and then passed a large truck that was going slower than most.

I went to pass one such truck and was making some progress when we started up a long shallow incline. I watched the speedometer as our speed dropped, feeling a little ashamed as I went slightly below the speed limit, but the truck was laboring worse than the Weedeater was and was slowly falling behind. I was having a turtle race with a lorry.

As this was happening, a large SUV driven by a man in his fifties was hovering less than ten feet behind me. I could see his florid face in my rear-view, his mustache bristling with rage as he beat on the steering wheel while our speed dropped lower. In truth I would gladly have gone to the slower lane, except for this humungous truck that was right where I would need to go. But I was still a tiny bit faster than the truck anyway, so I just kept going, ignoring the beefy red face twisting in apoplexy behind me.

Finally we crested the hill, after maybe thirty seconds of this, and I began to outrun the lorry again. I got a decent distance past it, then got into the slower lane to let the cars pass me. As I did so the big SUV swerved toward me with its horn blasting as Mr. Beefy Face extended his middle finger at me, road rage ripping through him, then he jammed on the accelerator and roared down the expressway.

Only thing was, directly behind him was a fully marked police car that he had overlooked in his rage. As he roared off down the highway, so did the cop with his lights flashing.

My daughter and I passed them less than a mile later on the side of the road. I resisted the temptation to honk the horn and wave, though perhaps in retrospect I should have.

We were still laughing when we arrived at my parents' place.

(Technical explanation: a teenage driver was involved. The turbo was messed up and one of the hoses was munted in a way that would have required replacing, which was not cheap, and it turned out that a sensor had gone bad so it always assumed it was idling and didn't have sufficient fuel feed to get out of its own way. But it was amazingly efficient, at least.)
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 4 Feb 2011, 3:17, 2 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)

An old friend
When I was about 14-15 I started to hang with a nice, pretty girl who actually seemed to like me. Thing is, one of the group of local bullys had his eyes on her as well. Anyway, one day out of the blue he jumps me and gives me a good hiding in front of a fair group of my friends. I didn’t even see it coming as I really didn’t even know who this guy was. I went home, licked my wounds and tried to avoid this guy at all costs. I should note that this bully was much older, bigger, meaner and had waaay more tough nut friends than me.

Fast forward about 10 years at a party and who should be there but the bully that gave me a working over earlier in life. Now, I’d put on about 30kgs since then and was no longer the skinny 15 year old kid. I’d had a couple of amateur boxing fights and was a lot more confident. As soon as I entered the room the now ex-bully knew who I was and I saw the same look in his eyes that I probably gave him when he beat me down.
It was my turn to be bigger and stronger and it was very satisfying to see him make his goodbyes and leave with his eyes fixed firmly to the ground.
Satisfying, yes, but it would’ve been more satisfying to give him back what he gave me…But I refrained.

So needless to say I think I really did have the last laugh (or smirk at least).
(technocore, Fri 4 Feb 2011, 0:29, 1 reply)

Slap me with a sheet of paper will you.
At work on Tuesday a co worked walked past my desk and slapped me on the head with with a sheet of paper for a joke. Yesterday I crept behind him and snapped a little bulldog clip to the top of his ear. He didn't find it very funny, claiming it "really fucking hurt".

I tried it on myself and it turns out he was right. I apologised. Needless to say I had the last laugh!
(Mong goose, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 23:46, Reply)

Needles to say
I took drugs
( Sculpture of Man Putting a banging donk on it since, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 23:37, Reply)

Might as well get this in nice and quick
Of course I could have the last laugh by shamelessly reposting from the "when did you stick it to the man" but I never did get around to posting in that QOTW. If it wasn't for those pesky kids.......
(willydoc, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 22:24, Reply)

I'm still waiting for the last laugh
after years of being fucked over by various people.

Still waiting...
( PMGT -Bacon., Thu 3 Feb 2011, 22:03, Reply)

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)

Party favours
It was nearing my birthday and as is the tradition my parents were going to throw me a party, so after dishing out invitations to my friends and all the fit girls, I was left with a conundrum, should I invite the school bully? Nah, fuck him thinks I.

Anyhoo, the following morning in French, just before the teacher decided to show up, the bully, Sean being his name, announced to the rest of the class that my party was going to be shit, and that if I only my real friends turned up, they'd only be 2 people there, including me, which the class found very amusing, leaving Sean smiling his sparkling wit.

To which I replied, "it'd still be more than you Sean", needless to say I had the last laugh as the class cracked up at this, making Sean go red faced, up until the point when the cunt came over and punched me.
( flapmeister knows where your mum lives, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 21:27, Reply)

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)

Anyone remember the Afghans who were killed in Folkestone the other week?
Well, once upon a time, one of them tried to mug me.

Guess who's laughing now.
(Maccy Divided by 0 on, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 19:02, 3 replies)

To a bitch
I have a friend of a friend who seems to go out of her way to be mean to and make fun of me, which I usualy bare with a dignified chuckle and half hearted barb back. Im far to nice to be mean you see. Despite her constant attempts to humiliate me, I am ever the gentleman, making sure she gets home ok when drunk, helping her get down icy paths in silly shoes and outher general gentlemanly acts.

A man however, has a limit. I was at a friends house to celebrate mine and anouther guys joint birthday, and she popped in to wish him (but not me) a happy birthday. She was heading into town later, so leaving her car at the house over night. After a couple of hours attempting to belittle me she headed off, soon followed by the majority of guests leaving just a small number of us behind. I live next door to the guy, and pooped round to pick up the rest of my booze. As I stumbled back with half a creat of bud (the only beer in the house sadly) I walked past the bitches car, wishing I could get revenge some how. I went to hurry on as I suddenly needed a piss.

Queue shifty eyes and sinister music. I pooled the beers down slightly uphill and unzipped. As I emptied my bladder of a truly king sized piss I made sure to aim at the driver side handle, drenching it in low quality beer piss. I smile everytime I remember.
(Mong goose, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 18:47, 11 replies)

How DARE she, the cow
On designated driver duty one weekend in the city centre some years back, I spotted a sweet parking space after driving about one way streets for ages. Awesome, I'm having that, I think. I stop beyond the space and chuck my indicator on with the intention of parallel parking. Literally as I'm starting to reverse, a peroxide blonde cow in a fucking poncey convertible rollerskate pulls straight into the space. MY fucking space; I'd staked my claim by indicating. That's the rule, isn't it?

The titted idiot mumbled some pish excuse and hurried off as I leapt out of my car screaming sweary words.

So, I snuck out of the pub later in the evening and let all four of her tyres down.
(square go, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 18:46, Reply)

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)

This one's for Britney!
Many summers ago, I think my second after moving to South Korea, I was among foreigners at a punk show. It was July 3, the day before some big holiday Americans have, so they were out in full force. I should add quickly that I'm Canadian, so a lot of them (all friends) were eager to take their frustration out on me. Second side-note: every single Canadian musician who makes it big in the US is a total knob; we keep the good stuff for ourselves.

My American friend Paul came up to me and said “This is for Celine
Dion,” and punched me in the arm.

Then another guy came over and said “This is for Avril Lavigne,” and gave me a punch too.

Then Josh, a big American skinhead, hit me harder than the first two and said “That’s for Bryan Adams.”

At that point, me in front of this big group of Americans, I
decided to wind them up. I was taking each of these shots as penance for my country unleashing some godawful musicians on the world, and I wanted to make sure they were thorough. “There’s one other you forgot about. Please, somebody punch me for Shania Twain. I beg you.”

So Josh gave me a gut shot, and I took it obediently...

Of course, the Americans aren't known for putting out that much high-quality popular music themselves (try naming a single Canadian boy band), so I'd already been setting up for the next one.

I said “This is for Britney!” and elbowed Josh in the solar plexus, sending him right onto his ass and making his beer spray all over a couple more of his Commonwealthily-challenged friends.

Anyway, it’s too bad Molson Canadian was bought out by an American company, because I could’ve made some money selling this tale as a beer commercial.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 17:49, 5 replies)

I laugh
But on the inside I'm crying.

Ha!
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 17:12, 4 replies)