"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)
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)
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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)
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)
if that had been planned
To play out that way, then it would be utter genius.
( , Tue 8 Feb 2011, 11:06, closed)
To play out that way, then it would be utter genius.
( , Tue 8 Feb 2011, 11:06, closed)
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