Last Christmas eve
I wound up in hospital with my dad (long and VERY amusing story for another post) and while we're waiting for him to get some stitches to his leg (really, it's a long story) he whispers to me with a grin, for such is the way of my dad.
"I really need to fart"
Just then the ambulance guys deliver a morbidly obese guy who had torn a ligament in his arm when he fell to the curtained off bed next to us.
He's in a bit of pain and moaning, so they install him in the bed and walk off to fill out paperwork.
Dad winks at me, lets rip and it's LOUD.
All eyes in the emergency room turn and look straight at the fat guy.
( difficultchild, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 21:52, 4 replies)

On a related note: Little victory utterly ruined.
Most of these stories seem to centre on finding a loophole or way around a system and raking in some money.
And most of the storytellers have enough sense to keep their wins quiet (or just reveal them in a quasi-anonymous forum like this) and smile to themselves over their win.
Which is why this story shits me so utterly.
Some statistician in Toronto recently found there was in fact a pattern with the State-run scratch lottery cards and it was possible to win every time once you know how.
And it's so simple to figure out he even taught his eight-year-old daughter how to do it.
So did he stay quiet and make some nice cash? Did he fuck, he wrote a fucking story about it in Wired to show how clever he was and ruined the whole thing.
What a dickhead.
Here's his gloating ode to poverty:
www.wired.com/magazine/2011/01/ff_lottery/all/1
( difficultchild, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 21:40, 8 replies)

How I claimed victory in a trivial argument
Mrs SLVA was determined to be in a mood with me about something silly and insignifcant. I can't remember what she'd said, but my response involved hooking an ankle sock on to my chin and then declaring "Well I don't care, because I'm Pharaoh".

Try as hard as she might, she could not prevent such unexpected silliness from making her chortle.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 20:30, 8 replies)

To cut a long story short.....
Mrs tess had a brand new kenwood mixer. This has a dust cover for the bowl made out of plastic. Said missus drops cover breaking corner off it. Tells me to order a new one. This I do on credit card. Ten days later, it's still not arrived, so I phone them. They say it must have got lost in the post and will send out another one. Two days later, gets dust cover and all is well. About five days later, I get an email saying the money for the dust cover has been given back to me. they must have had the old one returned to them and they credited me. Result.

Length, About $14.99's worth.
( skullbuggery uh huh! kissed a cow!, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 20:18, Reply)

Working behind the bar.
One night we were hosting a local reward ceremony at our venue. We had loads of types of people in... artists, musicians, theatre folk, local names and such.

We also had the uniformed service in. The wannabe police.

I have no problem with this, but one particular woman, was exceptionally snotty and was downright rude to other patrons and the bar staff who had served her previously. Every drink that was served to her, she moaned about (not enough ice, too much ice, not full enough - despite our shots being measured etc)....

Being the bar manager - I told the other bar staff to not worry, as i'll serve her.

She asked for a drink (rum and coke), I served her the drink and she immediately scolded me for putting too much ice into her drink.

I apologised, removed the offending ice and then placed the drink in front of her.... Then, I gave her a look as if noticing her for the first time and smiled....

'Have you got any ID love? I'm sorry to ask, but it's the law'

The look on her face was golden...

Me 1 - The Law 0
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 19:23, Reply)

Tip top tip, twat
A couple of years ago a pal and I hiked up Slioch. As is traditional on the hills, we greeted other walkers. And they nodded, or grunted, back. (This is Scotland. We don't go in for air kisses and "Right?" is as effusive as it gets.)

But there were a couple of lads who really pissed us all off. They were wearing very new, very expensive and very tight gear, they blanked every walker who spoke to them.

When we bumped into them a second time and again tried to be sociable. Nothing.

The third time we bumped into them (as we came off a fine ridge) we stepped into their way, waved and loudly said: "Hello". They brushed past us without a word.

That was a pity. We wanted to tell them that, while they'd tapped the nearby trig point with their oh-so-shiny walking poles, the actual summit was on a different top a wee bit further on. One they'd missed.

Now, some walkers walk for the joy of it and aren't autistic about touching the very highest point. But these jerks were clearly not in that category.

Their own ignorant behaviour was their undoing. The victory was minor (one metre out of 981) but it kept us in good spirits until we got to the pub and got hammered - another key part of being in the hills.
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 18:17, 3 replies)

Drugs are bad...mmmmkay..
A couple of mates of mine used to run a club in Sheffield. I say club, but by all accounts it was more like a junta. Fending off gangs who on occasion used to help themselves to champagne, dividing rival gangs, etc.

Keeping the police sweet was one of their major tasks, hence the 'drugs box'. This had to be shown as evidence that they were self policing, though, of course, being 'in the thick of it' they sometimes had to top up the box themselves (cough), or search more thoroughly than usual.

Anyhoo.. the drugs box...a motley collection of mixed pharmaceuticals to keep your karma suitable...wraps, pills, herbs, capsules etc.

A rather big name DJ rolled up and, giving it all the 'I am', demanded free coke. The drugs box was 'consulted', and a wrap extracted. He hoovered the lot. Perhaps though, he should have adopted the 'you can always have more, but you can't take less' maxim..

For on that wrap was written one solitary letter...

"K"

He played the worst set of his life.
(Countryslicker, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 16:02, 29 replies)

Voting with our feet
When our first born was young we used to shop at Sainsburys but really struggled to find a trolley with a bady seat that wasn't broken. They also helpfully kept all the ordinary trolleys under cover but the baby trolleys out in the rain. So we wrote and complained. A few days later we got a letter from them saying that all the trolleys were fine and that "We do hope you continue to enjoy shopping at Sainsburys". Given that we'd written to say that we were not enjoying shopping there, the last line was pretty annoying. So we stopped shopping there. Big deal you may think, like Sainsburys care. But let's do the maths. We spend over £100 a week in supermarkets and my son is now 15, so...

£100 x 52 weeks in a year = £5,200 a year that Sainsburys have lost
£5,200 x 15 years that we have boycotted them = £78,000

Yep, Seventy eight thousand pounds and counting. Who says voting with your feet doesn't work.

Fast forward 15 years and Ocado have just written to us following a complaint. Their letter ended, (I kid you not), "We do hope you continue to enjoy shopping with Ocado". Oh dear.
(remoteneeded, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 15:52, 83 replies)

This could have gone in last week's tales of Smugness...
...but is just as appropriate as a 'little victory'. In my 20's, I was unemployed for a good few years, and for a while was feeling very down and depressed about myself. This probably wasn't helped by the fact that I spent much of my time awake smoking enormous amounts of weed. I started to feel like a bit of a loser, especially when compared to my circle of friends, who were all starting to get their acts together and make something of their lives.

One highlight of this period was that fact that one of my mates would regularly throw excellent parties, which were marred only slightly by the fact that some of those he would invite were tossers of the first order -- braying public school types who had grown dreads and were able to maintain an air of smug superiority even while spouting the rhetoric of the right-on.

It was one of these specimens, wearing suspiciously squeaky-new leather trousers beneath his unravelling trustifarian jumper, who decided to park himself next to me one particular night and proceded to badger me about the spliffs I was rolling. His mates were lapping it up, 'yuk-yuk-yuking' as he criticised my technique, the quality of the weed I was using and - more than anything else -- the amount I was putting in it. Now, as rotten as I felt about myself at this stage, there was one thing I knew I did bloody well and that was rolling and smoking spliffs. This had long ceased to be just something I did, and had become more of a dedicated occupation. So as Leather Trousers kept on with his constant goading ("Go on! Put more in it than that! Is that all you're putting in? Homegrown, is it? Weak stuff? yeah, the stuff I get, would blow your head off....") I found myself growing strangely calm.

I finished making my spliff, and, with a look I still fancy resembled that of Danny in 'Withnail and I' when he takes off his shades, took my toke and passed it to the dreadlocked dipstick. I sat back and watched as he pulled hard, held in the smoke and exhalled; I kept on watching as he took another tug, held it in his mouth and started to go a strange shade of greenish-grey; I didn't even crack a smile as he grimaced, clutched his hand to his mouth and stumbled out the room to be copiously sick in the hallway. I just sighed 'Lighweight...' and went back to my rolling. It was nothing short of glorious, made all the better by the round of applause I received from others in the room who, unbeknownst to me, had been clocking every snide comment from the little shit and were rooting for me all the while.

Shortly afterwards I packed up the smoking and got my life back on track (I'm sure the two things are connected...), and although I haven't had as much of a sniff of the dreaded weed since, I still remember this incident with a sneaking and slightly embarrassed sense of pride.... a little victory that went a long way ;)
(MrsP, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 14:52, Reply)

A particularly obnoxious barmaid...
...who we nicknamed "Mrs. Brazen-Hussy" once handed me a pint that was well under-measure. The ensuing conversation went like this:
Minimalist: "Do you think you could fit a couple of large whiskeys in there?"
Mrs B-H: "Yes - do you want me to?"
Minimalist: "No - I want you to fill it with beer."

She meekly topped-up my pint - once she'd picked her chin up off the floor.
(minimalist ..., Sat 12 Feb 2011, 14:44, 3 replies)

Lift magic!
at work I occasionally take the lift down from the fifth floor. The fifth floor lift door has an iffy switch so you have to sort of 'encourage it' shut or it just opens and closes ad infinitum...

I was stuck in there with a woman with the lift doors doing their thing and so I said 'excuse me' and gave the doors 'an assist' she was very impressed with this and with a smile I said 'I didn't always used to be in I.T.' she replied with 'Oh, you used to actually fix things then?'
This pissed me off somewhat and so when I had reached my destination I pretended to fiddle with the lift doors, and when leaving, turned to the lady and said 'These doors will never open again'. I could see this sink in on her face as I was rewarded with a look of rising panic between the slowly closing doors...

Mwah ha ha haaa! ;-)
( JamHamster My eyes, my beautiful eyes!, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 11:19, 4 replies)

I work next to a dodgy council estate
however, being so obviously middle class I tend to stand out a bit (I don't wear a tracksuit to work). This usually means I get a few dodgy stares from the local poor people which is fine, but just occasionally someone goes a little bit further.

I'd popped out for some lunch to the nearby tesco express and was all ready to use the self service bit when I remembered I wanted some cashback and so left to join the back of the long queue for the till. Seeing what I'd done the woman behind the counter shouts "is it broken?". I replied that it wasn't broken I just wanted cashback, to which she responded with a smirk but said nothing further. Eventually getting to the front of the queue and asking for £20 cashback, the woman looked me gleefully in the eye and declared "we don't do cashback". She may as well have just said "now fuck off back to waitrose you posh twat".

Cut to a week later and I'm buying a 2 litre bottle of coke a minute before they close. In my hurry to pay I drop the bottle on the floor. It pierces and the bottle starts spinning like a catherine wheel, spraying brown stcky coke over the floor and shelves. I'm mortified, I look at the counter and its the same woman as last week, double fuck. But then I realise she hasn't seen the coke! She's just looking inanely into the middle distance. I walked calmly out of the shop, making sure I give the woman a big friendly smile on my way out. Glorious.
( Sheriff John Bunnell https://twitter.com/thewonderfulgam, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 10:47, 7 replies)

I just asked lovefilm why they have shit for fingers
so they've sent me two free bonus discs.

Next week imma call them cunts.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 10:24, 2 replies)

Winning an argument by proving that your brother is an idiot? Class!
One day the argumentative ex was pontificating about the quite lax motorcycle test law. At the time, you could ride any size of motorbike up to 250cc without taking a test. After the test you could ride any size bike.

He wittered on about how dangerous this was. I foolishly said 'Yep, but most people start at 16 on a moped, then get a 125 at 17, then save up for a 250. Surely nobody would be stupid enough to go out and buy a new 250 straight off, without ever having even sat on a moped!'

Ex replied triumphantly 'Well, MY BROTHER DID!'

There's no answer to that. I was totally humiliated.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 9:58, Reply)

Oh no you don't...
Since both of my little victories fall are of the same ilk I shall lump them in together for you...

I may be from the UK, so I know how to queue. It seems others don't. Take the other day, for example, I had got to the bank early, (on the way back from taking one of the kids to school, so had the other in a buggy,) and I wasn't the first. In time honoured tradition, an unofficial queue had formed, but both sides of the door, with an unwritten acknowledgement as to who had first dibs. As the doors were about to open, a builder type stood in the middle, disregarding BOTH factions of sweaty palmed would be customers.
The first movements were polite, those who had a legitimate claim to entry were going in order, until I saw builder chappy going for the killer push. 'Not on MY watch you don't' I thought, and pushed the (big) buggy right in his way. I looked at him with my mediocre glare, made sure he couldn't move or jump the line, then, as it was my turn to go in, I ran over his foot with the buggy!
"Sorry, mate" was my best retort for his insolence, as I no doubt caused him NO PAIN WHATSOEVER with my pneumatic tyre! I had won.


Part two requires some of those wavy line things as I take you back into the mists of my youth.


New Years eve, at one of the finest drinking establishments Leatherhead had to offer at the time, and busy it was. I was stood at the corner of the L shaped bar, waving my tenner like everyone else. But I've been a barman, I know to watch your customers and form a mental queue in my head as to who's next. Common sense you might think.
Not this barkeeper, one of many who'd obviously been employed for that one busy night. I had already clocked who was in front of me, as you do when you wait at a bar, you take a metaphorical ticket and wait your turn. He was stood a few yards from me on the short part of the L and getting just as frustrated as I was at the lack of coherence employed by the bartender. As I watched pint after pint served, with no sign of getting served myself, I snapped.
Then a pretty girl sauntered up through the throng to get her drink.
You can see what's coming, barman goes straight to her service, no doubt hoping for some favour in return for his.

"OI!!" I yelled, in a manner that stopped the turntable a la "American Werewolf" style.
"I don't care how pretty she is, you're going to serve THAT gentleman there, then you're going to serve me!"
I'd like to think the bar cheered, that hats were flung high and pats on the back were forthcoming. That's what happened in my head, in reality, the barman was so shocked, he meekly apologised and got our drinks, but the guy who'd been waiting longer than me offered to buy mine as a thanks.

I got served promptly for the rest of the evening.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 9:23, 10 replies)

Win / Win
Immediately after receiving an automated email notice that my connecting flight was going to be 100 minutes late, the gate agent announced that my first leg was overbooked. I volunteered for a later flight, arriving in plenty of time for my connection. Delta paid me $400 (in travel vouchers) for the privilege, and they were as happy as I.
(danalan Pretty good, for an amateur., Sat 12 Feb 2011, 9:18, 1 reply)

An average lovers spat
Well, this is possibly the most pathetic argument ever to arise in the history of mankind and so petty that I only remember what it was about for its pettyness.

It was about if a burger uncooked was called a "patty" or not.

This turned into an insanely intense fight, my husband firmly shouting that it was called a patty when uncooked and me saying it was just a raw burger. This soon brought up kinds of things from the past, money troubles and anything else would could use as ammo. Throw in some cheap insults for good messure and drag on through the entire night with no sleep and you soon get the picture.

So it gets to about 6am and he continues shouting and leaning into my face and I obviously shout back, till we are inches a part and I say "if you dont get out of my face I'm going to hit you!"

He replies with "if you do it will be the last time you ever do!"

to which I retort in a matter-of-factly tone "..... not if I hit you twice."

End of argument, cue laughter.

P.S
I'm still pleased at winning this argument even now :)
If anybody can tell me whether it's a patty or raw burger I will be eternally grateful. And if after you don't see me post again it's probably because one of us is in jail.
(samurai_beth, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 3:27, 45 replies)

Not having the last laugh
Just a little victory, I suppose there is a subtle difference.
About 3 yrs ago a local shop started selling those mini motorbikes.
Suddenly it seemed they were everywhere.
I could go aww at watching some little nipper wobbling its way round the park on one, but some lanky 20 odd yr old with his knees pressed up by his ears, head down and tongue hanging out as he screeched down the pavement at maybe 15 miles an hour, beeping the horn and scattering pedestrians all over the place just made me think 'What a tosser'
In spite of repeated warnings by the local cop that riding one of these along the pavement was apparently illegal, there was one who kept on doing it.
I lost count of the number of times I'd had to sidestep sharpish to avoid him.
So one day I'm on my way home and in the distance I can see people up ahead doing the panicked side step, and then hear the horn beeping.
For reasons long forgotten i was in a bit of foul temper and in no mood for fuckwittery
As the pavement in front of me cleared and this mini bike riding fiend approached arrogantly tooting the horn expecting me to move, I just stopped dead, bang in the middle of the pavement.
The game of Chicken was on.
About 30 seconds before expected impact I wondered what was the worst that could happen by being hit by a mini bike travelling not that fast on a pavement.
Discovered its a slight scrape along the outside of my left leg as he finally swerved to avoid me then fell arse over elbow on contact, scraping the bike sideways along the pavement for a few feet scattering bits of plastic and various swear words along the way.
Turning round I said 'Oh oops' and carried on home.
i'd like to say i sauntered but I actually limped a bit, although with a big grin
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 2:54, 4 replies)

Driving on the M42
If you have ever used this you will know there is an 'Active Traffic Management' system with gantries every 500 meters or so, the gantries display the speed limit for the road according to the volume, apparently this helps with the flow of vehicles, they even put in speed cameras in some of them so people don't take the piss.

On the day in question i'm in the overtaking lane stuck at 60 mph as per the institutions from the sign above, in the rear view mirror i see a BMW right on my arse flashing his headlights, the driver was getting impatient as we passed through more 60 mph signs, eventually he overtakes on the wrong side while giving a middle finger salute, the very next gantry happened to have a camera in that flashed costing him £60 and 3 points, as he slowed down after the flash I gave him a cheery wave.
( Terry Oblong There's nobody here but us chickens on, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 2:43, 7 replies)

Diabetic's Nightmare
The local McDonald's had a contest to see who could guess how many pieces of candy were in a jar. I did a quick calculation - jar is a cube; piece of candy about so big - and guessed 686. Got the number exactly, and took the jar home with all the candy.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 2:03, 3 replies)

A-Level Music Tech
Was taught in a cupboard with a few computers and mics in it, a kettle, and the music teacher's fridge. Since we were pretty much stuck in there while the music class was being taught in the "real" room, we used to buy food in the morning and use the fridge, staying there all day.

One afternoon, last session, music teacher storms in from his already rowdy class, roots through the fridge for a desperate last minute sugar rush. There is no chocolate there. In the confusion of snacking goods that ends up in there, it probably got eaten.

He turns around and his eye lights on one of the quieter techies, a guy with the wonderful surname "Fish". And in a bellow which shuts up his music class, our group and probably the entire wing of the school, he bellows, "FIIIIIIISH! WHERE'S MY FLAKE?!!?!"

Cue a very cowed lot of students, a hasty whip around to get the approximate cost of a flaky chocolate bar, and an utterly crushed Fish. It wasn't so much getting yelled at for one of us eating a chocolate bar, it was the fact he took his anger at the music class out on the shyest member of the group. Anyway...

The small victory came the next day, after the humiliation had faded, when we found out that our techie teacher had managed to record the scream of chocolate withdrawal. It found its way, subtly or not so subtly, into nearly every remix we did that year. A few moderators must have been confused to have disks sent to them with titles like "Scarborough Fair [Flakey Fish Mix]

EDIT: Remix in the replies
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 0:43, 4 replies)

I was a cunt
I still am a cunt, actually. I'm the type of cunt who'd like to lie to you about being an almighty cunt. I revel in my cuntishness like a proper cunt. Only just now I got you to read this shit. Proper cuntishness eh? Little victories for me, the cunt, today; tomorrow I'll own your ass, for I am a cunt. Have fun reading the other qotw entries, they're all shit. XX The cunt.
(Alfonso Bongo BELL AIRE HORSE EXTRAORDINAIRE, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 0:11, 7 replies)

EPIC QUIZ TWAT
A few months ago, me and a couple of mates went for a few cheeky pints of a Sunday night in our local. Lo and behold, there was a quiz on.

We did OK, I think we came second. But, between each round there were spot questions, which were answered individually, rather than as part of your team.

The first question was, "how many calories are burned in half an hour of ice skating?" I hazarded a guess at about 300, and lo and behold, my guess was the closest! The prize was a free pint. Yum.

"What's the length of the River Nile?" I reckoned about 4,000 miles, and lo and behold, I was right! Another free pint!

By this point my mates were lagging behind me and my scrumptious free booze, and I began to feel guilty. So out of my "beer credit" - and the kindness of my own heart - I decided to buy my mates a pint each.

It took me a good day or so to realise that what I'd actually done is just pass my free pints onto them, making them the actual winners. Krang: good at random facts and figures, absolutely useless at maths.
( krang, Fri 11 Feb 2011, 23:40, 2 replies)

Bonk.
You know those people who, when you're wandering along a pavement in town, seem to be doing their utmost to walk into you, so they can enjoy the satisfaction of having a little huff about how you were IN THE WAY, or whatever it is that happens to be the designated winning move in the bizarre game they're playing?

Well, a couple of weeks ago I was wandering through a covered walkway when a youngish bloke speared off from his original direction of travel at a 45 degree angle. Destination: square of pavement I was about to occupy.

Ever helpful, I stepped to one side and stopped. He altered his vector back to intercept. I stood where I was. The other guy approaches, making it as clear as it possibly can be that only one of us is going to be taking avoiding action, and that's going to be me.

At the last minute, I do so. Being forced to stand aside does not make me unhappy, though. In fact, my mood was measurably improved by the encounter, particularly the soft fleshy thump of someone faceplanting the brick pillar I'd been standing in front of.
(Timberwolf, Fri 11 Feb 2011, 23:30, Reply)

I'm near the end of my phone contract
so this morning, a slimy sales dude phoned me to offer me a new one. After a bit of negotiation, he outlined a few options, and I asked him to email them over to me so that I could peruse them at my leisure and make an informed decision. So far so good.

Two hours later, a colleague of his from the same call centre phones me back with a MUCH better offer, which I enthusiastically took him up on. Mwahaha! Bet the first guy is sick as a parrot.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Fri 11 Feb 2011, 22:13, Reply)

Bless Nectar
So this one happened today actually

I usually use my nectar points to get a "free" movie rental or two from blockbuster.

Any way today was extra special. My nectar card crashed the Blockbuster card system. The result where 2 films properly for free since the poor checkout girl couldn't bear trying to go through the telephone book sized system reboot guide. Ta very much Sainsburys!
(moronic50, Fri 11 Feb 2011, 22:04, Reply)

literally ten minutes ago
wanting a pint, i took a scratchcard over to the shop. i'd won £1 on it, so i swapped it for another one. won a fiver and bought 4x1-pint cans of strongbow for £4.50.
GET IN!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 11 Feb 2011, 20:06, 27 replies)

I have been holding the doors open
for the militant looking ones at the lesbian feminist conference.

Nothing like a little courtesy is there?
(lordfredatron lordfredatron, Fri 11 Feb 2011, 19:43, 5 replies)

Fish and Chips.
At work we always go and get fish and chips (only about three of us in the office so usually cheap) and we always take it in turns going.

We always comment on the size portions that we get, aka the lady behind the counter must like me cos she gave us more chips for the price, and usual bullshittery like that. (helps that the lady is good looking)

Anyway, I comment that I can get the best chip ratio, and that if I go. I will get us a shit load for the money, and if I didn't come back with the goods. They'd get to go home early. (and if I brought loads, I could go home early.

So grabbed the money (costs us about a tenner), and I whistle over to the shop. As I walk in I wink at the lady behind the counter. Ordered my stuff. Made small talk (weather, business, crap like that), got my stuff, winked again, and walked off, got back. Put the stuff on the table.

Then, and then I realised something. Smiling up at me, was the mug of HRH!! Shit. I managed to not pay.. Shit!!! (that one I said a loud.) Oh shit! (that too was said a loud.)

"What you done Dante, forgot the curry sauce you twat?" Sneered one of the other guys.

I flashed the tenner at him. Stuck the middle finger up, ate my chips, and fucked off home as happy as a chinaman with all the bacon grease.

Also, the chip shop never twigged. She's pretty so she might get the money back one day.
(Dante licked your nipple on, Fri 11 Feb 2011, 19:08, Reply)