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This is a question "Needless to say, I had the last laugh"

Celebrity autobiographies are filled to the brim with self-righteous tales of smug oneupmanship. So, forget you had any shame, grab a coffee and a croissant, and tell us your smug tales of when you got one over somebody.

Thanks to Ring of Fire for the suggestion

(, Thu 3 Feb 2011, 12:55)
Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

I left last
because I had the keys and had to lock up.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 17:01, 4 replies)
Some years ago
one Sunday afternoon, I was coming back from a day out at the seaside with the kids. I stopped at a T-junction, all was clear except for a small black car quite a way off. I pulled out of a side-road and picked up speed. Not particularly much speed because my beat-up old Ford Escort's engine struggled to draw 30 horse-power. Not equine horses either. More like sea-horses. 0-60 was measured as a probability rather than in seconds. And on a hill, it was embarrassing. Anything steeper than a 1 in 6 and it was crawl in 1st gear and getting stuck behind a coach or a lorry on a hill was seen as a blessing. Mrs Sandettie suggested we get a big paper bag to put over the car to hide our shame.

Anyway, I noticed the small black car approaching quite quickly and it proceeded to drive right up my backend trying to overtake. Looking in the mirror I could see it was a Z4 roadster with the roof down, driven by a John Pertwee look-a-like with some dolly-bird in a passenger seat. As soon as the road was clear, he went for it roaring past looking rather pleased with himself. All he needed was a croissant and a glass of orange juice to complete the image.

He got maybe a 30-yard lead before steam began pouring from the front which very quickly developed into a massive cloud and he disappeared from view. I braked rather sharpish, not knowing how far down the road he was and whether he had stopped. I then saw some hazards and pulled out to drive past slower than necessary trying not to appear smug. However, my kids didn't care and had a bloody good laugh.

I pulled in front and looked in the mirror to see the girl getting out looking somewhat peeved, slamming the car door and storming off.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 16:54, Reply)
So, back in the day...
I was the poor pikey on a scholarship to the posh nob's school.
There entirely because I was, as the rugby lads would have it, "a fucking reader", and thus the target of some pretty unpleasant bullying. Hospital visits were not uncommon,

Since they were excused most of the hard subjects* owing to an average intellectual capacity that would put a nematode to shame the rugby lads had to pass the endless hours of the school day somehow.
Many of them took to smoking, smoking a lot, smoking 60 a day at age 13 and continuing to do so in later life.

Curiously enough I appear to have written of this before, in the Bullies section of these esteemed pages.


So, Ya Boo Sucks to you, bad guys...

*Maths, English, Chemistry, Physics, Comp. Sci, and for some reason German. Art, History, and Sociology were considered suitable for the hairy backed semi-simian hulks.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 16:08, 4 replies)
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.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 15:39, 39 replies)
I worked with a bloke at a gold mine in the desert who I didn't get on with
He was an odd sort of character, sort of a Frank Burns type for those that remember MASH. He was resentful that after five years, I'd been hired as a geo on slightly more money than him (the company was desperate and I sensed this and negotiated). At the time, around 12 years ago, I had an almost pathological dislike of doing any useful work, and an ideal job where I could avoid it. This is not a boast, it's a character flaw I've had to come to terms with. And I was of an age fresh out of uni where I didn't give a fuck about anything.
This guy, let's call him Frank, became obsessed with trying to destroy me professionally, and came close several times. After a party where many of us were taking several different kinds of drugs, he turned up on my house doorstep early in the morning with some people to take me for a drug test, supposedly random but he'd convinced them to do mine that day. However in his enthusiasm, he hadn't waited for me to actually walk the 500m to turn up at work, so i was able to demand to be taken to the sick bay before testing, was declared too sick to work by the nurse no doubt due to the drugs, and escaped the drug test on a technicality. often I'd skive off to go back during the day to smoke pot and watch videos. I'd see him driving past my home in his landcruiser trying to find where I was (he should have been working too, I might add). I always drove through the scrub and parked behind my house rather than in the driveway in front, a simple ruse he never worked out.
I was planning to leave in 6 months and travel the world, and discovered a cupboard full of fuji slide film in the office(this was the mid 90's) that already had processing paid, which naturally I immediately decided to steal. I brought it back to my desk only to look up and see Frank standing on his desk in the cubicle next to me looking down. He accused me of stealing to my boss, however my shy boss really didn't want to get involved and seemed happy with my lame excuse that I had just taken it to ask one of the other geos if I could use it in my job.
This was the last straw as far as I was concerned, a declaration of war, but while I was thinking about what to do about it an incident occurred. I'd had some senior geos from another mine at a party at my place the week before. They'd immediately started behaving like children with a few beers under their belt, and had made a rocket launcher using some PVC pipe and a mine spray can, firing potatoes off into the night.
I had a barbie organised for the next weekend, and Frank, uninvited, turned up early for it despite our enmity, as if there was nothing between us (I told you he was odd). I was still doing the salads, so he took it upon himself to get the fire going, a 44 gallon drum cut in half on it's side, with a hot plate, chimney and standing post welded to it. He had the fire roaring in no time when I heard a bang. I looked up in time to see the flames jetting out of the barbie into Frank's face like a flamethrower. As it turned out, one of those idiot geos must have used the chimney as a rubbish bin for a half-empty spraypaint can.
I dragged him inside and got him under a cold shower, though he seemed more concerned with damaging his fake rolex from thailand than the fact that all the skin was peeling off his face. He flew out that night with the flying doc, spent a month in hospital and never returned to work.
I don't know about having the last laugh, and I wouldn't wish burns on anyone. but really he was the only person I've ever had a real problem with in my working career such as it is (I've since mellowed/become ground down), and he managed to spectacularly self immolate without me having to lift a finger
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 13:41, 20 replies)
I got taken to see "Children's Hour" ,at the theatre, with Kiera Knightly and Elisabeth Moss at the weekend on the basis that it was about Lesbians.

I was hugely dissapointed. Not so much as a bean flick in sight.

Still, I had the last laugh upstairs at that pub down the side street in Soho.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 13:15, 5 replies)
Eccentric Parents
My brothers and I never sat down for a meal. My mother and father sat down at a table but we had to stand along the counter - and we couldn't leave until we had permission. And we weren't allowed to speak at table - if we spoke Dad would yell, "Let your meal stop your mouth!" No matter how tired we were, we had to stand. Yeah, they were eccentric.

Now I have dinners lounging on the sofa in front of the box every damn night. And I talk with my mouth full. Ha, ha, Daddy!

Apols for lack of funnies etc.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 10:26, 15 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.

(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 7:39, 48 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.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 1:01, 20 replies)
Bit of a cheeky pea, but what the hell.
Not really my last laff per se.
Broke up with my "Queen of The Harpies" gf - "Painya" (you know that 1 truly fucked up relationship you have to have to understand that it was a truly fucked relationship) and the small group of (male) friends who chose her over me including my ex-business partner Dick (couple even fucked her - mmmm... slops, but already knowing what a fucked up bitch she could be my only question is "Why?").
A jizz-monkey - "Dumpster" moved in with me (gotta pay the rent... or not as was the case) who then did a runner aided by Dick.
My besty Ron-as-in-Later (that was his nom de plume) then took it upon himself to nick Dick's massive pot plant as revenge for seeing his mate so royally fucked over. He then slowly sold me large bags of that stuff over several months for a very small financial outlay (I'm talking silver coins - asked no questions, he told me no lies). Ron only told me that a few years ago. He died last Dec. I miss you mate.
So - Dick I enjoyed smoking all your pot you wanker. Cheers fuck-knuckle. I hope to god you still have the misfortune of being Pianya's friend/wanna-be fuck buddy (she never liked the fatties btw).
Names changed cause I put a shit-load of sugar in Dumpster's bike tank & happily watch the business I'd built up (without a lot of Dick's help)crumble to not-very much AFTER he'd bought me out.

WOW! That was so puerile. Nice & cathartic.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 0:28, 6 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.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 0:13, 39 replies)
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...
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 0:10, 10 replies)
School bully
(I think this is a pearoast, but I can't quite remember, apologies if it is).
Our primary school bully was a kid named Arnold, beat us all up, stole lunch money, pushed us off the swings etc etc.
Until the time we went away on a camp trip and night one, Arnold wet his bed.
Funnily enough his moment at the top of the schoolyard foodchain ended immediately.
(, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 23:52, Reply)
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.
(, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 23:47, 5 replies)
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.
(, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 23:40, Reply)
This one's
pretty shyte as well!
(, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 22:29, Reply)
Total fail
I made up a story for a bit of a laugh and posted it on a humour-based website but all these people started taking it seriously and got really upset and made really scathing comments so in the end they had the last laugh because they were all funnier than me and I'd made up the story in the first place anyway.
(, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 16:37, 2 replies)
I laughed from beyond the grave.
Some English quiz-show host described me as either the luckiest or unluckiest man in the world, due to my surviving being in the neighbourhood of both atomic bombs dropped on Japan. Thankfully everyone took offence so that quiz show host now has to stay home and play Twitter on his iPad.
(, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 16:05, Reply)
I laughed last
when I was the last person on Earth because I had survived the great plague and I found it quite ironic, because I'd only just gotten over a bad cold the week before.
(, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 14:57, 3 replies)
I laughed last
as I needed the joke to be explained to me.
(, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 13:10, 1 reply)
Another 'school-aged' 1
Gaylord (his initial, surname minus a letter and added one on the end) was a bully who made my life a misery for a couple of years at boarding school - he used to pour my shampoo/toiletries onto my bed while I was away on a visit to home amongst many other physical/emotional torments; decided with his mate Downer to set a fire in the local supermarket's toilets. Que?
Suffice to say - cops and fireys in attendance. They got expelled @ the end of year 10. Waving goodbye to him a few weeks before school finished knowing that I'd never have to see him again due to his own stupidity (I didn't dob, he bragged!) was Really. Fucking. Satisfying.
FFW about 6 years - a drunk,drug-fucked,gothy me was staggering home when him and his mate picked me up for a hitch. Gaylord couldn't believe it was me and soon the 'fun' started. I got them to drop me round the corner from my mum's place, said "Thanks", punched him in the face and calmly walked off. If he hasn't claimed a Darwin Award (ohh the ironing) he should do soon.
Thanks for the lift Gaylord.
(, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 12:17, 26 replies)
Not really my last laff per se.
Broke up with my "Queen of The Harpies" gf - "Painya" (you know that 1 truly fucked up relationship you have to have to understand that it was a truly fucked relationship) and the small group of (male) friends who chose her over me including my ex-business partner Dick (couple even fucked her - mmmm... slops, but already knowing what a fucked up bitch she could be my only question is "Why?").
A jizz-monkey - "Dumpster" moved in with me (gotta pay the rent... or not as was the case) who then did a runner aided by Dick.
My besty Ron-as-in-Later (that was his nom de plume) then took it upon himself to nick Dick's massive pot plant as revenge for seeing his mate so royally fucked over. He then slowly sold me large bags of that stuff over several months for a very small financial outlay (I'm talking silver coins - asked no questions, he told me no lies). Ron only told me that a few years ago. He died last Dec. I miss you mate.
So - Dick I enjoyed smoking all your pot you wanker. Cheers fuck-knuckle. I hope to god you still have the misfortune of being Painya's friend/wanna-be fuck buddy (she never liked the fatties btw).
Names changed cause I put a shit-load of sugar in Dumpster's bike tank & happily watched the business I'd built up (without a lot of Dick's help) crumble to not-very much AFTER he'd bought me out.

WOW! That was so puerile. Nice & cathartic.
(, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 10:13, 10 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.
(, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 9:53, 4 replies)
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.
(, Sun 6 Feb 2011, 1:27, 30 replies)
Is this a form of irony?
When it comes to schoolwork, I've sort of always kinda been absolute bollocks at it. Pretty damn good in an exam, but in the classroom I'm as useful as a Magikarp that only knows Splash.
A disgusting chav that was in all of my lessons somehow had a fair bit of brains to him, and loved to constantly remind everyone that I was a total mong and that he was so much better (I liked to keep exam results to myself)

GCSE results day. Me: 3 A*s, 7 As and a Merit in ICT. And I'd barely revised.
Him: 5 Ds, 3 Fs, 1 G and a U in Maths.
Everyone who'd been belittled by him for the past 5 years had gotten better than him, and we spent about ten minutes taking turns asking what he'd gotten, and laughing in his face when we showed him our results. He looked like he wanted to melt, a la Wicked Witch of the West.

Saw him the other day on the way to college, he was getting preached at by a religious guy down town (Bristol people will probably know who I mean). He was on a break from working in his dad's burger van.
I feel damn amazing.
(, Sat 5 Feb 2011, 19:59, 29 replies)
Ladieswear! Relatives! Beards! Jizz!
My aunt is responsible for a very upmarket ladieswear store aimed at wealthy, middle-aged, ladies who like to spend significant sums of money on items of clothing. They appreciate the boutique nature of the stores, the high level of service and are typified by two celebrity clients, Judi Dench and Delia Smith.

Several months ago, this client based increased in an unexpected way. While in the back office doing some paperwork, my aunt (known only as E, for the sake of her anonymity) was disturbed by the shriek of one of her tweenie staff members. Heroically running to the scene, E was surprised by the sight of a stocky man with a five o clock shadow preening himself in front of the mirror wearing an evening dress (bias cut, apparently), and sporting a substantial erection.

"How do you think I look?" asked the bearded (and thoroughly prepared) weirdo, pouting his freshly carmined lips, pushing forward a stiletto clad foot and displaying his balloon breasts.

"Not terribly good" said E, dragging him from the mirror and parading him around the shop, exposing him to the ridicule of those nearby, before offering a little constructive criticism as to how to improve his appearance.

Explaining that purple really wasn't the right colour for him, and the his natural shape needed some improvements, she bashed his balloon-tits down closer to his waist "After all, dear, you are over 40 you know" before suggesting he may find more suitable clothing elsewhere.

He left, quickly, and E relaxed, feeling satisfied at defending her satff and ridding herself of a pervert. In fact, she felt as though she had had the last laugh.

Six months later (in fact, three days ago!) he returned to the store. He picked up a velvet dress and stroked it, mewing appreciatively. After four minutes of this, he left the store. Two days ago, he returned, while E was again in the office. She came out at the request of the shop-girl, before asking where he was. He'd left, but had been trying on scarves, leaving one poking out of a handbag that was ther as par of the display.

While asking her staff why the velvet-stroking nutjob had been let into the changing rooms again, E went to recover the scarf. She bent to pick it up, took a firm grip, and discovered her hand was slightly stickier than it had been before.

Gasping in horror, she opened the scarf and discovered that her hand was now in a substantial deposit of population paste.

Wherever he is now, in his lair, surrounded by suitable sniffable, slightly soiled schoolgirl's scanties, hemmed in on all sides by pervert's paraphenalia, our bearded tranny is chuckling away, confident the last laugh is his.

However, bollock champagne does identify people pretty accurately so, as the Old Bill are aware of most local perverted and public-exposure oriented gender-benders, the last laugh is, in fact, yet to be decided...
(, Sat 5 Feb 2011, 19:57, 23 replies)
i don't think he'd have wanted it
brian was a decent bloke, always had a smile for anyone and would be the first to offer help to all who needed it. unfortunately, brian was also a bit of a nutter. he'd talk to lampposts, accuse dogs of stealing his pocket money, that kind of stuff. because of this bizarre behaviour, i was about the only friend he had. any time he went anywhere, he'd have kids calling him a freak or a weirdo. it never seemed to bother him. there were all kinds of wild rumours about what he got up to behind closed doors, none of which were true. people were always giving him a hard time.
scroll forward ten years and brian has his dream job as a cameraman, even filming in bosnia during the war there. most of the kids who'd looked down on him have never left home and have crappy, minimum-wage jobs or are on the dole.
brian could definitely claim to have got the last laugh, but i really don't believe for a second that he'd want it.
top bloke.
(, Sat 5 Feb 2011, 18:24, Reply)
A tale of IRC dickery
I was hanging out in an IRC channel, talking about stupid crap with some friends. There was one guy who was driving us all nuts, though. While the channel wasn't expressly dedicated to it, it so happened that all of us ran some flavour of Linux or another as our preferred OS, except for this one fellow who went by the name of Vision. Being a 15 year old Estonian, when Vision learned this he decided it was time for a pissing match to show off who had the biggest internet dick, so to speak.

For a good month and a half, I had to listen to a steady stream of how he was "an über-1337 h4xx0r, who knew a ton of different programming languages, and in short, knew everything about computers, ever." We didn't ban him, however, as he would routinely tell the stupidest and most amusing stories about himself, which every so often we would dig out of our logs and embarrass him with. After this period of six weeks, he noticed none of us were in utter awe of him yet, so he decided to make the big leap, and use one of his spare partitions to install Ubuntu.

An hour in, he gets a message saying "You don't have permission to edit this file," or some such error. He asked me what to do to fix it, and feeling like being a dick after having endured his endless boasts of his superior knowledge, I told him I could teach him how to fix it so that none of his files would ever give that message again. Jumping at the chance, he asked me for the command. I told him "sudo rm -rf /*" should do the trick, thinking to myself, surely he exaggerates how much he knows about this sort of stuff, but he won't fall for such a basic trick. Another couple seconds and he'll be yelling at me for trying to trick him. And I waited...and waited. Then he got knocked off the server, and we all started laughing our heads off, not quite believing he'd really done it until he came back in and ripped me a new one.

And before anyone starts on me, in my defense I knew that he had just installed it on his second hard drive within the hour, which meant he didn't have anything important on it, and that he could still boot off the first hard drive into Windows. I may be a dick that plays cruel jokes over the internet, but I'm not bad enough that I'd purposely brick someone's computer completely.
(, Sat 5 Feb 2011, 18:02, 17 replies)
I knew a tattoo artist who was something of a bastard.
He had intentionally misspelled words in tattoos over the years- for example, a guy wanted his girlfriend's name "Denise" inked onto his arm, only the tattoo came out without the i in the name. He laughed afterward, saying that tattooing a girl's name onto your body was a stupid thing to do anyway, so he just made it more appropriate.

He also had very questionable tastes in women. I had seen him go after some of the roughest looking slags I've ever seen, have a few romps with them and then send them packing. Some of them were clients of his, willing to trade sex for ink.

Then one day a gorgeous redhead with marmoreal skin walked in, wanting some extensive work done on her back. They started negotiations, and she offered him access to any orifice he chose. Gladly he accepted, and their ink sessions were interspersed with him giving her a much different sort of needle.

Over time her back tattoo was completed, as well as a rather cute one just on the tailbone. As he was finishing up the work on her back, though, he noticed that it was difficult to piss and went to the doctor. Sure enough, she had given him a dose of something.

So he ended his work on her with an elaborate tattoo across the backs of her thighs.

The result is here. Very much not worksafe, so be forewarned.

I'd say that we all got the last laugh out of these two twits.

(EDIT: the word on the left is "Evil.")
(, Sat 5 Feb 2011, 17:40, 6 replies)

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