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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 didn't see this one, but I wish I had
Seeing Smales tale reminded me on one my dear old dad told me a long while ago.

Coming home from work one day he pulled up at the lights behind one of the old supercharged Bentley's, driven by an old boy and his wife. He was admiring the car when some lads in an XR3i (new at the time) pulled alongside the Bentley. The lights changed and the XR3i shot off, the Bentley slowing moving off a few seconds later.

At the next two sets of lights, the XR3i is there again, and the same thing happens. The Ford screeches away whereas the Bentley takes a much more sedate pace, catching up at the red lights.

At the fourth set (the A12 is a bugger for these) he said he saw the old boy mention something to his wife, who put her hand on her hat and sunk down into the chair.

The lights promptly changed and a green Bentley-shaped blur pissed well-and-truly over the XR3i, which, frankly, never stood a chance.

It was my dad that had the last laugh, when he finally drove past the chavs, who were not only looking rather sheepish, but had somehow also managed to sink down into their chairs.
(, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 11:16, Reply)
I'll never forget the look on his face
As a young garage apprentice I was dropped into town to collect a customers Brand new 7 series BMW with all the bells and whistles. As it was late in the evening I was to bring it home and in to the garage first thing in the morning.
That evening our scout troop were meeting with a foreign visitor who was helping us plan our foreign summer camp. Foreign visitor was obviously some important bod and a friend of his who was a pillar of the National business community showed up and invited us to a dinner in the Posh hotel where foreign visitor (FV) was staying. When I arrived in my monster car at the hotel, the car park was jammed full so I wound down the window and asked the porter if he had "a little spot where I could squeeze this thing in" and he proceeded to move some cones from right out side the entrance porch and in a rare moment of generosity i gave him £5.
When about twelve of us sat down to dinner i ended up across from pillar of the business community(PBC). Being full of his own importance he spouted on about how great a bloke he was and all the great things he had done. He frequently shouted to FV at the far end of the table with "hey FV i'm just telling the lads here about the time we were in Geneva" and similar antics. PBC then spent the entire desert course regaling us with the story of the recent delivery of his brand new 3 series BMW. I pretended to be impressed and encouraged him to tell us more. His best line being "the ABS has saved my life already" explaining how it was so powerful you didn't notice when you were going fast and how a tractor had come out of a gate and he had to brake and steer at the same time.
With the meal ( and the party political broadcast on behalf of PBC) over people were going there separate ways. It had started to lash rain and as people were going to have to make a run for it to avoid getting soaked, goodbyes were being said in the shelter of the Hotel porch when the porter recognised me from earlier and offered to escort me to my car with his umbrella when I was ready.
I accepted his offer and as he removed the cones to allow me reverse back across the entrance I wound down my window and gestured farewell to my comrades. I will never forget the look of realisation on PBC's face for as long as I live.
(, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 11:03, Reply)
Really hoping my kids don't see this, but as they're b3tans I'm scuppered.
I divorced their father on the legal grounds that he's a prat.

Long story short, a couple of years after a miserable divorce during which most of my friends and family told me I was a fool and a bitch for letting such a catch slip through my fingers (he can read and write an' everything) the ex was imprisoned for sex offences.

No matter what sort of a mess I go on to make of my life, his being a nonce trumps it all. I am and definitely always will be the parent they're less ashamed of. Winner!
(, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 9:28, 10 replies)
My mother had the last laugh
Some time in the distant past my father bought an awful Rover 2200 'as an investment'. Although it was known to be a fast, powerful car, it drove like a boat, consumed petrol faster than you could buy it and was mustard yellow. He let my mother drive it a lot.

So mum was at the traffic lights in the yellow monster, waiting for the lights to change. A young man pulled up alongside in his sporty open-top number and looked across to see this middle-aged woman driving an enormous car with a huge engine which at the time (late '70s I guess) was reputed to have one of the fastest accelerations of British cars.

The youth makes some sarcastic comment about the car and starts to rev his engine, obviously intending to show that he can get away faster. My mum, playing up to him, revs too (in the process contributing significantly to global warming). The lights change and the young bloke goes shooting off, crashing into the back of the car in front of him, which hadn't reacted as fast.

Mum laughed before pootling off to the next petrol station to fill up for the 3rd time since leaving home.
(, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 8:25, 5 replies)
A shameless pearoast...
A few months ago I was happily driving my ladyfriend home after a trip to Kent. We had to drive through a rough part of town and as I trundled along a short stretch of road I had to pull in to allow a car coming from the opposite direction to pass. All quite normal until I spied an especially scummy teenage chav on a trailbike with a couple of L plates dangling from the handlebars and some form of sound-meatifier on the exhaust. He wasn't looking where he was going so I decided to wait and let him ride by before pulling out myself.

Taking stock of the situation, the chav saw my moderately-priced, second-hand convertible waiting for him to pass. He shot me the most scornful 'I'm scum and therefore better than you' look he could and revved his little engine to produce that awful duck-strangling noise we all associate with teenage motorcyclists. The motorcycle picked up speed and the chav decided to pull a fairly weak wheelie clearly designed to show me that he truly was the king of the concrete jungle.

Which caused the exhaust-sound-meatifier to slide neatly from the exhaust pipe and clatter loudly to a stop in the road next to my car.

Giggling like a loon, I pulled out and was treated to the sign of a now very sour-faced chav picking up his exhaust thingy in my rear-view mirror when I reached the junction.
(, Wed 9 Feb 2011, 22:28, 1 reply)
The tale of two houses
EDIT: On reflection this is long and rather boring but I have nothing else to add to this week's question and haven't posted for a while. Read only if bored at work :p

As I have mentioned before (in fact most of my posts start with it nowadays, mainly because it's taking over my life) I started a PhD at Cambridge in October. As I'm sure many of you know, Cambridge university is a bit of a weird entity (understatement of the year!) and will try and house all of its students, depending on the college you end up in. And when I say house, I mean baby and cocoon and suffocate and remove all traces of adulthood just like the mothers most of us have left behind. For goodness' sake, they change your bedsheets, clean your room and kick you out of bed if you sleep in too long and this is in the *graduate* accomodation. *Shudders* Anyway, understandably, I decided that at 22 years of age I am perfectly capable of changing my own sheets and making it into the lab on time and for that reason I turned down the offer of graduate accomodation and decided to find a random house of preferably other grads or young professionals to live with.

And so began the grand househunt, at the start of August. Yes, August! Remember this, it's important. I decided to go the rather risky route of posting my details on Gumtree and seeing what happened. I had a couple of miss-spelled and one downright unhelpful reply, and then I found my the girl who is now my housemate. She sounded very much on the same wavelength as me and ideal to live with but there was one catch - she also hadn't found a house yet. So we set out together to try and find somewhere either with 2 bedrooms or 2 bedrooms free in a larger house. To cut a long story short, we finally found a large 2 bedroom house in Trumpington (just outside Cambridge for those not in the locality) which wasn't furnished and not the best condition but certainly liveable in and worth it for the extra space (we saw some TINY 2 bed flats on our hunt). We rushed off to the letting agents (rhymes with BRussels) and filled in all their forms, paid all their fees. This was the start of August. By the end of August we'd paid the holding fee with a moving date at the start of October.

Then disaster struck. On 19th September, only 11 days before my course was due to start on October 1st, the letting agents rang to say that the current tenants of the house we were supposed to be moving into had decided they weren't going to move out after all. What the fucking hell we'd paid them an £80 "legal fee" to hold the house for us had been spent on only the good lord himself knows as it certainly wasn't on issuing them with their 28 days notice 28 days before the tenancy was supposed to end. I'd also paid another £300 in deposit and various other fees, a hell of a lot of money when you're between your undergrad degree and PhD and the only job I'd managed to get over the summer was 8 hours a week.

One of the most stressful weeks of my life followed. I couldn't get hold of my housemate for a few days as for some reason her phone was off and I was forced to view a totally unsuitable property with the same agents in a hurry on my own as I couldn't get hold of her to discuss plan B and besides, I needed somewhere to live, FAST. Finally she picked up my frantic emails and it turned out she was in Italy for she sister's wedding which is why her phone was off. In a moment of genius she phoned the university accomodation office who were AMAZING and found us a 2 bedroom flat only 15 minutes away from the centre of Cambridge to view and let us know about it the day before it was advertised so we could get in first. My housemate was still abroad so I had view it on my own again, and luckily, we got it.

So, cunty tenants of the house we were supposed to be moving into who decided it would be a good idea to decide not to move less than 2 weeks before the end of your tenancy when you *knew* the letting agents would have someone lined up to move in and putting me through a week of not eating and not sleeping because of the worry when I should have been packing and sorting out getting our internet connected and looking forward to moving out of mum and dad's again, I laugh. I laugh when I'm in my £900 king size bed (my boyfriend looked it up) and remember that you were sleeping on airbeds because you were too stingy to buy furniture. I laugh when I'm having a bath in my perfectly white, sparkling bath in my beautiful pristine bathroom, because I remember the broken tiles and damaged bath enamel in your house. I laugh in my (admittedly orange, but you can't have it all) completely stocked with every appliance you could ever wish for kitchen and remember your dirty worksurfaces and peeling linoleum. I laugh when I skip up the road and am in the centre of Cambridge in a twinkling and remember that you have a long bus ride or long cycle, either way. I laugh when our fantastic landlady goes out of her way to help us out and fix even the tiniest problems with the flat immediately and remember that you have to deal with a letting agent. I laugh, and it feels good.

And "BRussels", I laugh at you. I laugh because you had to refund us every penny of your extortionate charges without fuss because you weren't competent enough to draft one standard document and post it on time. I laugh becaue I didn't pay a penny in fees to rent this flat. I laugh because I'm telling all my friends how shit you are and not to go with you and you know *just* how many students there are in Cambridge and quite how fast word of mouth spreads.

Laughs? Lots. I definitely got the win this time!
(, Wed 9 Feb 2011, 21:27, 7 replies)
The crazy shit I pull every day
The place I work for refuses to give me a permanent contract, despite over a year of my services. This means I don't get sick pay, my wage is lower then people doing the exact same wage (many of them do a worse job that I have to sort out) and I don't get use of email, despite it being essential for many parts of my job.

How do I deal with this? I take stationary from the cupboard that I don't need and then fiddle with it untill it is broken or unusable. Take that shitty work place!
(, Wed 9 Feb 2011, 19:07, 16 replies)
Fascist pig-baiting......or is it?
Back in the late 80's, when George Michael was 'straight', Thatcher had told us there was no such thing as society and mobile phones weren't actually very mobile at all, I was married, living in London and worked as a motorcycle dispatch rider.

In those days I wasn't quite the chilled-out, easy-going person I am today, so any opportunity to wind up a figure of authority was to be grabbed with both hands. Of course, my job helped fan the flames of my anti-establishment ways of thinking, as a day would rarely go by without some gob-shite traffic warden or copper trying to give me a ticket for being on a yellow line for 37 seconds.

Me and the slag bitch cum-bucket then wife would go out on sunny Sundays for a ride to meet up with other bikers at a caff on the A10. Once there, we would gorge on the finest Sunday roast and apple pie with custard, and afterwards some of us would go for a thrash into the countryside.

On one particular occasion, for some reason nobody else fancied the after-dinner entertainment of pissing off as many sports car drivers as possible, so it was just me and the trollop who ventured out.

Before too long we had left Hertfordshire and entered Essex. There's a joke somewhere there about females from that area, but as time is short, I'll not bother. The moo-sus was pillion, we'd both been fed and watered, I was enjoying the ride and all was well in the world.
We were riding a Yamaha XT600 Tenere, which was a big old machine with a massive petrol tank, like you see on the Paris-Dakar. Great bike for dispatching on, in fact I'm getting a bit teary-eyed just thinking about it, but I digress. All you need to know is this bike was not designed for going round a racetrack.

Any-hoo, we end up riding past Stansted airport, and pulled over onto the grass verge to take a look at the planes taking off and landing. Where I was born, we still point at them when they go overhead, so being quite close to an actual airfield was living la vida loca! As we're only going to be there a minute or two, we don't bother getting off the bike. Within about fifteen seconds of us stopping, an airport police Landrover pulls up just behind us. Out jumps a copper, face like thunder, and shouts, ''Can't you fucking read?'' He points at a sign, about three or four metres away. On it is printed the warning, ''NO STOPPING. EMERGENCY VEHICLES ONLY. KEEP GATES CLEAR'' I must have been in a particularly good mood, or more likely I sensed that this guy could be trouble, so I tell him that I'm not by the sign so I didn't see it. Anyway, I'm not blocking the gate and if I was and there was an emergency, then seeing as I'm still on the bike with the engine running, I could get out of the way pretty sharpish.

He didn't take kindly to my answer. Maybe he expected me to retort with some type or sarcastic reply, or even better, lose my rag and he could call for help and hit me with a ticket. It was tough keeping cool, but I was enjoying watching his face get redder and redder. He was obviously still cut up about not being clever enough to pass the entrance test to get into the real police force.

''Just fuck off'', he shouts. At this point I think to myself it's probably wise to leave, as soon he won't need an excuse to book me, he'll be quite happy to make something up. So I put my bike in gear, let out the clutch and wished him a good day....Well, I actually mouthed the word 'wanker' as i pulled away, but if I hadn't there wouldn't be a story to tell here.

He must recently have finished a lip-reading course, or he'd been called this many times before, as now his face was contorted in anger. As I ride away, I take a look in my mirror to see him jumping into his Landy and giving chase. Now, bearing in mind my bike wasn't the fastest and I had a shed-load of extra ballast as pillion, I had to think quickly. Am I quicker? How far is he allowed to chase me? Why didn't I buy a faster bike? Who'd be the best shag? Debbie Gibson or Belinda Carlisle? Is there traffic ahead he'll get stuck in?

A few seconds later and he's right up behind. There's nothing in front of me, so I decide to give it the berries. Spending your working day on a bike and keeping yourself alive means you're going to be a pretty good rider, so I didn't find it that difficult to get away. He probably had a crappy diesel and not a V8....luckily. After half a minute or so of thrashing and concentrating on what's happening ahead, I look in my mirrors and what do I see? Joy of joys, a police Landrover pulling over to the side of the road, closely tailed by a huge plume of blue-grey smoke. Blown engine for him! I just wish he'd been a little closer to me when it blew so I could have seen his face in my mirrors!

So, after a gentle ride home I spend the next month waiting for a court appearance letter to land on my doormat. It never happened, which makes my victory even sweeter. Maybe he was just too embarrassed to tell his plastic-policemen buddies what had happened to blow his motor. Maybe, with hindsight, he realised what a twat he'd been. If he'd pulled up and said, 'Sorry fella, you can't stop there'', I would have moved on, and he could have gone about his day with his engine in one piece, happily persecuting some other minority.

Needless to say..........
(, Wed 9 Feb 2011, 16:38, 7 replies)
This raspberry laughed at my T-shirt
So I beat him up with his own wheelchair
(, Wed 9 Feb 2011, 14:15, 16 replies)
One just happened yesterday
To set the scene: I live in the countryside, in a house set into the bottom of a hill. The yard I keep my bikes is to one side, with trees, wildlife, tigers etc overhanging. There's also an electric cable connecting our neighbours house to the grid via our wall.
I've just bought a new toy (1979 BMW R100RS if you're interested), which I'm slowly working through a full service on. This particular day I had the top of the engine off to set valve clearances. Wonderfully easy bike to work on compared to japanese stuff, the boxer engine means everything is accessible and lots of room, no scrabbling down tiny holes under bits of frame.
No sooner than I had got properly stuck in to the job, Dad decided to start cutting branches off a tree above me, to prevent the whole lot falling on the cable. After half an hour of me getting a bit cross about boughs landing on my head and filling my engine with twigs, he came to the last branch...which fell awkwardly and ripped the very cable he was trying to save from next doors wall.

Serves the silly bugger right for filling my engine with twigs.
(, Wed 9 Feb 2011, 10:12, 4 replies)
How do you make God laugh?
Tell him your plans.

And when I get the last laugh in any situation I'll let you know.
(, Wed 9 Feb 2011, 9:58, 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
(, Wed 9 Feb 2011, 1:23, 4 replies)
They might have given me a gobful.
BUT I'M IN THE PAPERS NOT YOU, YOU FILTHY ANTISEMITES.


(, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 21:58, 39 replies)
In the words of my good friend
"Don't you just hate it when you say something dickish trying to be funny, and people miss it and just think you're a dick?"

I am at work, and I am tired. So just now I went to use the coffee machine, and followed a guy into the kitchen, to do so.

He got to and operated the machine, so I leaned against the wall, and put my foot against it, and my hands in my pockets. Doing so caught his eye.

"That's a very casual pose" he said smiling, trying to be friendly and pass the time while the machine did it's work.

"Yeah, well - " I said, "I used to be a model."

He looked astonished (as anyone would be at such a claim from a munter like me), then bemused. "Right ... " he said, and off he went.

Needless to say I had the last laugh, as I spat in his coffee as he went past.
(, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 15:46, 3 replies)
keeping sane
Pearoast from a couple of years ago...

and another
Just remembered one more. We used to play one up on eachother at work all the time. I used to work in email and it started by faking eachothers email addresses and inviting the whole team out for drinks or spamming eachother with fake subsriptions to gay prawn sites or NAMBLA etc.
There were several of us and it seemed a good way to keep up morale (I was boss - and a bloody great one!).
One guy and myself would occasionally get into a bit of a war with it, but all in good humour.
Here's a few I can remember.

Sello taping over the mouse ball (so it doesn't work) and the earpeice of the phone.
Changing your caller ID (that only the outgoing number see's - you don't) to various things - Gandalf, Tom Cruise, Gaylord Fokker, Shirley and shaggy are only a few of hundreds that I can rememeber.
Everyone had two PC's, so we'd swap the keyboard and mouse cables over.
Putting weightlifting weights into someones rucksack. We added one a day for three days before he realised. The guy lived near Brighton and worked in London and had been carrying it there and back every day. After he went nuts over that we started adding tech manuals (you could beat an ox to death with some of them). After he started checking the main pocket of the bag each day before leaving, we stared filling up all the other pockets with paperclips, nuts and bolts etc. He left soon after that.
Setting Windows to play that bloody awful frog thing on start up, then with every window activation, every application startup and every notification.
Taking a screenshot of the windows desktop, setting it to be the desktop picture and then deleting all the real icons. Took ages to figure out the first time!
Taking a screenshot of the windows desktop, then printing it out in colour and taping it to the glass behind the anti-glare screen.
Whilst the victim was on holiday, spending a casual two weeks creating a sculpture with their chair danging over the desk using about 600 elastic bands, creating a web-like effect all round the desk. The overall effect was like a web that dangled from the ceiling and engulfed the entire desk and it's contents. It was a work of art.
One guy (who wasn't on our team) received an anonymous package every few weeks containing all sorts of crap that had been lying around our desks. Screws, bits off of broken pda, cables, all manner of crap. We used to keep an internal envelope for anything we didn't think we needed anymore and, when it was full, send it to him. We could see his desk from ours and would get great joy out of seeing him go slowly mad over who was doing this.
We did this for eight years. They still do it now in my honour (I'm not there anymore).

One time, late on a Friday before going away for two weeks I was there on my own waiting for a call. I was bored, so taped over this guys phone and mouse, then changed his keyboard settings to be French etc.
I forgot all about this when I got back, cos of the superb holiday I'd had. When I returned, he was away for two weeks - so by the time I saw him again I'd totally forgotten all about it.
Anyway, about a week later we're down the pub and he tells me.
He'd seen my umbrella lying on the desk, so had opened it up and filled the inside with the contents of several hole punchers and as much ripped up tissue paper as he could fit. Then he'd wrapped it back up and put it back on my desk. He'd assumed that whilst he was on holiday, I'd been out in the rain and been had by the trick. Except I hadn't.
The day before, he'd worked late and it was pissing down as he wanted to leave. Not having his own umbrella with him, he grabbed mine ran outside and opened it up.
Yep, had by his own trick. It took him ten minutes to explain this to me as he was laughing so hard that snot was coming out of his nose.
(, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 14:25, 6 replies)
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.
(, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 14:00, 9 replies)
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.
(, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 13:11, 21 replies)
Waiting for the inevitable rush....
...of people going "ha-ha" on Thursday trying to actually get "the last laugh" before next weeks QOTW.........I'm tying my sides together in preparation for the mirth-fest that will undoubtedly ensue.

*sigh*
(, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 11:58, 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?
(, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 11:31, 15 replies)
Deathwish VI
When I lived in a flat the guy below me, Paul, was a bit of an arse. A non-working chav in his 30’s who played appalling music at all hours. Not stupidly loud, but loud enough to stop me going to sleep if I was awake when it started.

One night, about three months after I moved in, the music started at 1am just as I went to bed. I decided it was time to knock this on the head. Got dressed in clothes I wouldn’t mind getting fucked up in a fight, went down stairs, took a deep breath and knocked on his door.

He opened the door and looked impassive, shaved head, bare chested in tracksuit bottoms. I gave my spiel about having to get up for work, respect for neighbours etc. He just stood there staring then, with a wobble in his voice, said "But it’s my birthday".

I suppose I could have given it "I don’t give a fuck turn it the fuck down fucko" but he seemed so hangdog I didn’t. I wished him a happy birthday and shook his hand. He invited me in for a beer…this was not going to plan at all. It was a pretty grim affair, too few people not enough booze. I popped upstairs and broke open the ‘emergency booze’ stash, a slab of tinnies and a couple of bottles of whiskey.

The effect of the whiskey in particular was dramatic. Within 30 minutes everything had been turned up to 11 and there was much shouting and whooping. Before long I headed back to bed, work in the morning, the whiskey making the wall shaking racket of the party below seem not so bad. Smiling to myself at the shiteness of my vigilantism I dozed fitfully.

I woke to the sound of shouting and screaming and no music. Someone had called the Police to Paul’s out of control party. Paul being Paul had gobbed off to the cops and ended his evening on the pavement outside his flat, bloodied and handcuffed. And I didn’t hear a peep from downstairs for the rest of the night.
(, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 10:58, 2 replies)
The other night
I was giving my missus a good stuffing, when she suddenly says, "It's making me need a wee, hang on." and she wandered off to the bathroom.
She came back, got back in bed and began a bit of handywork. However, after 30 seconds she said she was tired and 'had to be up for work in 6 hours and didn't want to arse about getting up even earlier to have another bath'.

So the next morning when she went out the door, I had a wank into her knickers drawer.
(, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 8:57, 18 replies)
Regardless of what everyone else is doing...
...I hope that, however I go, the last thing I do is laugh.
(, Tue 8 Feb 2011, 0:06, 10 replies)
man with a handbag
a girl i was at school with was very butch. i mean, seriously butch. she looked like Biffa Bacon's mum. you wouldn't want to mess with her, though, she was hard as fucking nails.
now, before you all start thinking she bullied me, she didn't. don't get me wrong, we absolutely loathed each other, it just never really got beyond a bit of verbal mudslinging.
the last week of school, she obviously decided that she wanted to get me good and proper while she still had the chance.
so, she pushed me in front of a moving bus.
yes, it was only doing about 5 m.p.h at the time, yes, i was more shocked than hurt, but SHE PUSHED ME IN FRONT OF A FUCKING BUS! now, i've seen what a person in a rage can do and i really didn't want to do that, so i simply told the headmaster the next day. as i was uninjured and she had friends who were willing to say i'd tripped(my friends were shit scare of her and wouldn't back me up), nothing was done. i chalked it up to experience and forgot about it.
ten years later, i ran into her in a local nightclub. she was drunk and aggressive and, upon seeing me, came over to gloat about the time she'd nearly killed me(her words, not mine). i told her i didn't want to talk to her and asked to take her trouser-suited self away from me. gobby as ever, she started yelling in my face, posturing and threatening.
at that point, one of the bouncers, who i knew, came over to see what was going on. "hey, Smash," he says to me, "is this man bothering you?"
the look on her face was utterly priceless. i know it's a bit petty, but seeing her mates sniggering at her for being mistaken for a bloke was enough for me.

weirdly, we ran into each other in the same pub five years later. we talked, we laughed, she even bought me a drink.
as the hatchet is now buried, i think we can share the last laugh at our younger, pettier, more stupid selves.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 23:29, 4 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.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 22:58, Reply)
Few years ago
After a particular night of inebriating liquids entering my bloodstream at a friends house I awoke to find myself covered in drawings of penises and some shiny glitter stuff and lacking an eyebrow, turns out I had been the first to pass out and my friends had taken advantage.
A few days later with vengeance still in my mind I saw one of their cars parked up outside a pub we frequented, deciding the best course of action was a bit of petty vandalism... http://www.flickr.com/photos/[email protected]/2549509156
(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 20:52, 14 replies)
I don't really have a story this week....
... So here's a picture of Mrs Humpty suggestively fingering a turkey's clunge.


(, Mon 7 Feb 2011, 20:44, 23 replies)

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