don't mug yourself
I work in Hackney. This place is where good muggers go when they die. Too many stories.

The best was when I was waiting for a bus on Maire Street. A 17 year old wigger bad boy sucks his teeth in (doubtlessly reflecting his wannabe Caribbean cultural heritage).

'Giz your wallet'

There are about twelve people waiting at the bus stop with me who all heard and saw this.

'No.' I reply.

Sucks his teeth again.

'Giz yo wallet or I is gonna get my people on you.'

A Caribbean pensioner laughed out loud and said:

'Yo peepil? Who is yo peepil? Dey is Mary poppins 'an scooby doo! Now you missed da school bus ten minute ago, get ya walkin!'

He skulked/ exaggeratedly limped off towards the Empire.

'Thanks' I said sheepishly, wondering at the bizarre combination of Mary Poppins and Scooby doo as his choice of derision.

'No problem fella' said the old man, 'I sin him every day walkin' down here, only normally tis with an au pair you see.'

'Oh' I said, 'Mary Poppins, I get it.'

'Right.'

'And what about scooby doo?' I ask

'His par sister look like a dog.'
(sadler, Fri 16 Jun 2006, 11:01, Reply)

This isn't a very funny story really,
but it only happened today, and I am feeling sorry for myself.
In broad daylight some nasty wanker Spanish chav types drove up behind me on a moped and tried to take my bag from my arm.
I didn't put up a fight, I just didn't exactly realise what was happening, and so didn't let go of it. This meant I got dragged along a bit till they let go, and the force of that sent me flying across the dusty gravel.

Police were called, and I got taken to the hospital and had to have x-rays in case I had broken my ribs.
Luckily all I got were lots of grazes, a bump on the head, and a nasty pulled muscle in my back. But my god it smarts.
Pictures here.

But on the bright side, the fuckers didn't get my bag, I got to go in the back of a police car and have people look at me like I was the most unlikely criminal they'd ever seen, and I got to go in a wheelchair. A wheelchair!! That bit was quite fun really.
( rosie posie tingly bongly, Mon 19 Jun 2006, 4:45, Reply)

Not me but a friend at uni...
Used to knit chain mail for the local Society for Creative Anachronism (people who like to get together at weekends and pretend they are knights errant or something). It's gotten late at the jousts, and he doesn't have time to strip off the mail or the sword, so he just puts on his cloak and heads for the subways.

Little mugger comes up to him on the platform (in the days before CCTV), and says, "I've got six inches of steel here that says you'll give me all your money."

Friend leans into the knife (chainmail, remember?) then opens the cloak to show a hand on the sword hilt, says, "I'll see your 6 and raise you 20."

Little mugger turns much paler and quietly vanishes.
(chazz, Fri 16 Jun 2006, 8:23, Reply)

In The Latin Quarter of Paris...
Even the bloody muggers in Paris are more cultured than their English counterparts. I was heading down St Germain when these two skinny French blokes bashed into me and demanded some cash.

Being outnumbered, and not being able to leg it past them, I feigned incomprehension, saying, "Sorry. I don't speak French".

Not realising that these were upmarket euro-thieves, I didn't anticipate that one of the guys would then say in his best Antoine de Caunes accent, "Oh. I am zo zorry. In Engleesh then. 'Pleeze give me your Euros or my friend will 'urt you wiz hiz knife'".
( String Theory sometimes feeds the sparrows too, Mon 19 Jun 2006, 13:34, Reply)

Last one
A street in Havana, Cuba. Me and three friends, walking along quite leisurely on the pavement. One friend is holding her shoulder bag by the straps in her hand instead of, er, over her shoulder. I'm walking at the back of the group, my bag friend at the front. La la, walking along, all's fine.

A quite elderly man is walking very slowly towards us on the same pavement. La dee da, lovely day.

The elderly man veeeerrryyy slowly begins to bend over as he shuffles forwards. Maybe he has cramp. Laa, shiny sun, lovely.

Elderly man is starting to bend his knees as he walks. Crikey, maybe he's having some kind of seizure. I don't know the spanish for 'defribullator', so on with the laalaa doodaa, sunshine good.

Elderly man is now shuffling along, bent over, bent knees, and is slowly putting his arm out. Now that's plain odd, I think, we should just move round him. The other's will see, la dee da, never mind, ooh look, nice retro sign over there.

Elderly man shuffles forwards a little further and reaches for my friend's bag straps.

Huh?

My friend, busy until now herself with sunshine, retro signs and the lovely day, looks down and sees and elderly man shuffling and holding her bag straps. Confused, she pulls her bag away. He tugs back, still shuffling along. She pulls a bit harder. He tugs again.

He's still shuffling along, holding the bag straps, only in the opposite direction from us now. My friend, still very confused about the speed, or lack of, that this is happening, pulls once more and frees her bag from his grip.

The elderly man scowls, shuffles along at the same excruciatingly slow speed, and begins to unfold himself once more.

My friend later described the 'attack' as having a vague nightmarish quality, a creepy slowness of time etc..

The rest of us though, back at the bar, later toasted the "World's Slowest Mugging".
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Thu 15 Jun 2006, 18:24, Reply)

Having grown up in rural Suffolk...
..I have never been mugged.

However, I have seen swans stealing bread off of ducks though.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Thu 15 Jun 2006, 20:00, Reply)

My true story...
Bit of a long one but hopefully worth the effort (I have previously posted this on my LJ in a slightly different form):

Ever since I can remember I always wanted a real sword. I think a few parenting mistakes when I was at an early age gave me an obsession with all things sharp and pointy that continues to this day.

My interest in swords either combined with, or contributed to, my interest in history, so starting to learn to swordfight seemed a likely option, despite this though, I only took it up a few years back.

I bought my first real sword in Prague in 1995 (I don't count the crappy katana knock-off that I bought at Camden Market in the early nineties as real), hadn't planned on it, just noticed a stall in the Old Town Square when I had just finished the Beer Tour and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

It just sat in the corner of the various flats and bedsits I lived in for a few years (and storage places when I had nowhere to live). I wasn't all that well off for ages and couldn't afford another holiday until 2000 but when I did, I went back to Prague and bought more stuff. I kept doing this for a few years until I ended up with my current tally of chain mail, some plate armour, a few helmets, five swords, long dagger, axe, shield, gauntlets, wooden wasters (practice swords) and a few throwing needles (as used in Knifey-Swordey, a version of cricket using swords as bats and throwing needles as 'balls').

My mate Andy started coming on the Prague trips with me and buying up kit and we started to learn the basics of swordfighting, really just to justify the purchase of all this kit (that neither of us could really afford).

We already knew a few basic attacks and blocks from a friend called Phil (known as Bilbo in Viking re-enactment circles and very skilled). Since then we've used Fecht Buchs to learn more. These are basically late medieval/early renaissance sword manuals and help you understand how some of the stuff was used.

We're still a bit rubbish but it's a good excuse to meet up at the weekend, have a few beers and work off a bit of aggression. It also incidentally may have saved my life a while ago.

Successfully performing a martial art of any kind involves repetitious training and sword fighting is no different to this. Continued practice of the same moves helps build up 'muscle-memory' where you react correctly to attacks and attack in turn, without having to think through all the details. This helped me when two guys tried to mug me at knifepoint on a London Common a while back.

I was walking across an open space (which shall remain nameless) really late at night to buy some fags from a garage on the other side. Really dumb I know, but I don't believe in living in fear and periodically challenge myself to do stuff like this, things that should be perfectly safe, if not for idiots and crazy people. I also took an extendable baton with me inside my jacket, just in case (again a bit dumb as that's an arrestable offence but turned out to be the only smart thing I did that night).
I used to work for the Underground and during the years I worked there suffered four serious assaults, two of these were from trying to stop blokes beating the shit out of their girlfriends, one of whom was carrying his knife for him. Nice. Anyway, that general experience didn’t do much for my relaxation and for a while I found I only had the confidence to go out late if I had something to ‘defend myself’ with. I’m not sure I agree with that sort of thing 100% anymore but then, I’m a bit better off and live somewhere an awful lot nicer.

It also made me somewhat paranoid hence the seemingly over cautious methods described below.

I walked over to the garage, no problem - didn't walk on the path, walked parallel to it by about 20 metres, crouching down every now and then to try and skyline people who might be on the common. Bought the fags, smoked one, then waited for my night vision to restore before walking back across. yes, I'm paranoid but this one time it all helped. I was also aware that my landlord had been mugged on the common the previous year so it wasn't unrealistic to expect there to be muggers out there.

I did the same parallel-walk, skylining thing, didn't see anyone, until, three quarters of the way across, caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my left eye - turned my head and saw big guy (they're *always* big in the dark) coming right for me at speed, knife in hand, with another guy behind him.

The guy was a few metres off and although I can put on a terrific burst of speed (“I’m very dangerous over short distances, we dwarves are natural sprinters!”), I instinctively knew I wasn't going to have time to start running (and anyway, that puts an armed man behind me, who can do what he likes with impunity). Without having to think about it, I reached into my inside jacket pocket where I had the baton, then with one swift, fluid motion drew it out and extended it instantly - the guy stopped dead and then ran away, with his friend following rapidly - although there was a tremendous impulse to follow them and attack - I did the sensible thing and legged it home while I had the opportunity.

Thinking back you kind of think you could have thought of something cool or ‘witty’ to say instead I think I squeaked “Fuck off, fuck off!” in a weirdly gruff high pitched way

Here's the thing, I think what scared the guy off wasn't simply the baton, it was the fact that I was ready instantly and appeared to know what I was doing. I was also holding it in my left hand - as he was right-handed and I had reach advantage (longer weapon) that puts him at an instinctive disadvantage - I can attack and block his right arm, while any attack on his part would have left him exposed - I didn't think about any of this at the time, I reasoned it out later.

At the time these were all instinctive moves for me because Andy and I were doing a lot of practice back then; even the motions I had to do to take out the baton were identical to drawing a sword, and the attacks I would have needed if the guy kept coming are attacks we were practicing all the time (upper arm, shoulder, head). Fortunately I didn't have to do anything more than brandish the thing and squeak. That’s when I really understood why soldiers, firemen sportspeople etc train so much, it really does make action instinctive when you don’t have time to think through your reactions – I always knew that but analysing those events after the fact I really *understood* it for the first time.

Just in case anyone reading this thinks I'm some sort of combat monster, let me tell you what happened next. I got home and emptied out my pockets, I had 19 cigarettes and £1.47 on me. That was it. Some guys were going to rob, maybe stab and potentially kill me for £1.47. When the shock of it all hit me I cried like I haven't done since I was six.

I gave up smoking a few weeks later.
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Thu 15 Jun 2006, 16:48, Reply)

Can't remember where i heard it...
But it was a story about a lass in New York. Her dog had pissed on it's last car tyre, and died at home durnig the night...

In order to get rid of the stiff Hound she opted to take it to the vet's and use thier big wheelie-bin marked "Pets only". The nearest Vet' was a good way away, so, lacking her own wheels, she opted to pack Lassie into an old suitcase, and cart pooch around NY on the subway.

Dogs usually carry themsleves, therefore weight is not really a consideration for most owners. This one wasn't small, and post-mortem, this dog was following the generally standard trend of being immobile. The lass was seen struggling with the dead weight when a passer-by asked if she required help, and she thankfully accepted.

"Wow, this is heavy... what've you got in here?"

Thinking fast, she responds "Erm, My computer and a few books"

Thinking with similar speed, the oppertunistic arse punches the lass, and makes off with the "computer".

Instant Karma.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Thu 15 Jun 2006, 16:34, Reply)

WWII vet vs 3 chavs
My Grandad has just turned 80.

he was walking down the road in london and he was surrounded by 3 16 year old chavs.

they shouted at him to hand over his wallet and his watch or they would kick the crap out of him. this didn't seem to phase his partly because he is nearly deaf and partly because he used to be part of the Pathfinder regiment in the parratroopers in WWII. cue him telling them to do one then breaking the first chavs arm and pinning the other to the wall by his neck an inch of the ground and the other running away. apparently when the police turned up they had to restrain my grandad as he was still trying to turn the 2nd chavs face into part of the wall.
(THE_TRUFFLE_PIG, Fri 16 Jun 2006, 12:21, Reply)

Ouch
Walking back home from the 192 stop in Stockport (avoiding getting mugged on the 192 is a result in itself...) I notice some no-neck mouthbreather was weaving his way towards me, muttering. I cross the road, he crosses as well. I was going to run but i was a little bit toasted and couldn't guarantee my legs would work in the right order.

I keep walking fast, hoping i can get past him before it gets edgy. He walks up to me, cracks the beer bottle he was carying on a wall and staggers a bit "need your money for a cab - give it me..."

So i pull myself up to my full height, and in my best and clearest voice say 'you better watch yourself'. "Why's that you student ponce, i'm going to fucking sl*.?"

That was the sound of him being winged by the taxi i was trying to warn him about, as he'd staggered into the road whilst trying to relieve me of my cash.

So I made sure he was ok, called an ambulance, and helped myself to his wallet as he was lying by the side of the road. And you know what? He didn't need my money for a cab, he had £50 on him, cnut. Paid for mine though.
(jeed, Tue 20 Jun 2006, 10:43, Reply)

Arrested for being mugged
1991. November. I'm still doing the whole military thing. Just coming off a six-week course with the Royal Marines in being thrown against a wall (officially called "Self-Defence" or "Unarmed Combat" or (less officially) "Ow! Fuck! That hurt!").

Was studying in Scotland at the time, the course finished on a Friday so decided to get off the train in Birmingham to visit some friends at university there.

Picture, if you will, yours truly - no hair, dressed in bottom half of my uniform (green trousers, black boots) with a Royal Marines sweatshirt on and a green bergen (rucksack).

Walks out of the station, along taxi rank and up and alley way on the way to visit said friends. Young member of the local criminal community jumps out at me and pulls knife demanding my wallet.

I put up my hands and, looking him in the eye tell him I'm moving my hand to my back pocket to get it, and please will he put out his non-knife holding hand palm-up so that I can put my wallet thereon.

Young chap complies with request.

I place wallet gently in his hand, grab both of his wrists simultaneously and head butt him as hard as I could muster. When he crumbled before me I started hitting him and, when the Police arrived a few minutes later, I was still hitting him.

For obvious reasons, I'm arrested and taken to the local station. Explain my story to them and take out my ID card to prove that I'm a kosher military officer (and not a local skinhead). No action taken against me.

Moral of the story, folks : if you're going to mug someone, pick your target carefully.
(Seismologist Have patience. In time even grass becomes milk., Thu 15 Jun 2006, 15:28, Reply)

Something that my mate witnessed
Many years ago in sunny Newton (don't worry if you've never heard of it - it's got the highest incest rate in europe by all accounts)

My good friend was waiting at a bus stop late at night. He then noticed two local fellah's who had a bit of a reputation for being complete psycho's... they were walking towards the bus station obviously looking for trouble. Now, my mate has had trouble with these guys before and did all he could to keep his head down to not be seen.

Luckily for him, they didn't see him and proceeded towards two young lads who were also waiting at the bus station. The bigger of the two psycho's walks up to the two lads and drags him from his seat and proceeds to beat the crap out of him. The second psycho turns to the other boy and says 'don't even f*cking think about helping your mate or you're next!'. Now, this lad carries on drinking from his can of coke as his mate gets a solid kicking from the psycho's. After a few seconds the lad gulps the rest of the drink down, tears the metal can into two sharp pieces, stands up and walks behind the bigger of the two fellah's. He then plunges both sides of the metal can straight into the man's ears, dropping him like the cowardly shit he is. The other nutter is still leaning over the victim, pummeling him in the face, unaware that the screaming coming from behind him is coming from his mate.

Now the lad cooly takes a few steps back before running forward and kicking the psycho as hard as he could in the testicles. By all accounts this guy lifted about three feet from the floor with a big girly scream. The boy then calmly kicks him in the face, helps his bleeding friend up and walks away.... leaving the two muggers with perforated ear drums (hopefully) and damaged testicles.

How good is that?
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Wed 21 Jun 2006, 13:26, Reply)

Truest Story Ever
I was walking around in Los Angeles one night having drunk eighty-seven bottles of beer and eaten a whole bowlful of acid, so I was very slightly tipsy. I had a million dollars stored in my crotch but as I am nine foot eight and weight over seven hundred pounds I wasn't that concerned. Lo and behold these twenty guys appear out of an alleyway and demand that I hand over my money "or else!" I was all like "ssshyeah, right!" and I just kept walking and one of them shot me in the head with a gun. I guess it was the adrenaline or something because I didn't feel it, and just kept walking with my brains hanging out the front of my face like the stuffing from your daughter's favourite teddy bear because you ripped a hole in it because your wife left you. Then I flew backwards through time and killed all those guys before they were even born.
(The Turgid Dahlia, Mon 19 Jun 2006, 5:21, Reply)

Moss Side, Manchester

Xmas Eve, early 90's and I was heading home to a flat in Moss Side. I'd been working all day in a mate's shop to give him a hand over the Xmas period and I was carrying the days takings in an envelope in my inside pocket - about 2 grand. In my other hand was my mates Xmas present concealed in a bin bag as I hadn't had time to wrap it.

When I got off the bus it was about 50 yards to my flat - mainly well lit except for the last few yards where I had to turn down an alley next to a church. As I turned down the alley I heard running steps behind me and, just as I tried to turn to see what was happening, an arm snaked around my throat from behind and this big black head appeared over my left shoulder.

Without thinking, I swung my mates Xmas present across my body and towards the head on my shoulder.

BOING!!!

There was a ringing sound and the guy behind me lost his grip on my throat and staggered backwards holding his face. I ran forward a couple of steps and spun to face my attacker. Grabbing the Xmas present with both hands I stepped in and swung at his head again.

BOING!!!

This time he staggered a step backwards and fell backwards onto his arse, blood streaming from a cut in his head. Job done, I turned and sauntered off up the stairs and into my flat where I gave my mate his Xmas present and told him what had just happened. He pissed himself laughing and the present is still one of his favorite possessions.

And the present? A cast-iron wok.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 16 Jun 2006, 11:12, Reply)

Many many moons ago.....
....when i was a yoof, i went out for a night on the town. All went well, good beer, company, pub etc.

Sure enough home time rolled around and it dawned on me i had no cash left for el taxi, having spent it all on dirty, cheap cider. Needless to say, not only was i cashless....i was also wankered.

So, off i trudged to the cash point to get some redies. Beep-beep, cash out, et voila...taxi time.

Not quite...

I turn around to be faced with what can only be described as a Nike-clad oompah lumpah. I shit you not, he was no taller than 4ft8. Bless him.

He pointed out that he had seen me enter my pin and would like to relieve me of both my card and my phone. Should i fail to comply he would summon his gang of heavies from around the corner to, as he so eliquently put it "smash my fucking skull in". Nice.

Now, bearing in mind that i'm 6"3, 17st and drunk, i thought i'd point something out to him....

"Right....you thieving cunt. If. And this is a big fucking IF. You had a gang around the corner surely they would have got someone a bit bigger than my Jack-fucking-russel to mug me. Cock."

A wave of chav-based confusion swept over his face. He thought everything through. I could see he was thinking everything through. So i leapt at him in a drunken state and screamed...

"FUCKOFFYOUROBBINGCUNTINGSCUMBAGDWARFANDGOANDFUCKYOURSELFAAARARRRRRRGGGHHHHH"

...or something to that effect. I was very drunk.

He ran off like a girl, and i got my taxi home. Yay.

Length? Girth? Gotta have both, my mugger certainly didn't. Click "i like this" because you know you do.
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Fri 16 Jun 2006, 10:19, Reply)

Outside Halifax Bus Station
I was surrounded at the age of 14 by and I quote:
'The Gibbet Street Massive'
who asked, and again I quote:
'Can we see your wallet?'

I took out my Jurassic Park wallet and instead of stealing it they just laughed at me, so I punched one of them in the face and ran away.

I've still got that wallet, it has a raptor on it.
( WormuIus, Fri 16 Jun 2006, 10:07, Reply)

This wasn't me
but I don't fucking care, it made me wee.

I used to work up in Cheadle with a transexual by the name of Laura. Not the smallest, or feminine trannie I've ever met - she was ex army, with shoulders as wide as the doorway and hands the size of dinnerplates and certainly not the most convincing (think Bab's Cabs from League of Gentlemen), but she dressed, and lived as a woman. From behind, she looked quite girly in an old fashioned kind of way - shealways wore flowery skirts and she had a bleached blond perm.

She was out in Cheadle village one lunch time, and a passing chav on his bicycle thought 'Oooh an easy target innit, I'll tax 'er handbag'

He made a grab for it as he went past, only to be stopped by the muscles that 16 years squaddie training gives a man. He fell off his bike and landed on the pavement. Laura squealed in fright and looked down at the poor chav lying on the floor, who was by now utterly confused by the fact that his intended victim had five o'clock shadow and a voice deeper than Barry White.

I don't think I've ever seen a chav run as fast as that since.
( Wicca'd Witch needs ideas for a new sig on..., Thu 15 Jun 2006, 19:36, Reply)

Picture the scene
Two young lads, skipping through their local park, minding thier own business, as 8 year olds do.

At this point a large, acne covered, branded tracksuit covered teenbeast advances on them and goes straight for a demand.

Fearfully, the two kids reach for their meager pocket money and one for a phone.

"Quickly, Quickly!" Bellows the Mugger.
"Excuse me?" I asked, tapping the man on the shoulder.

He span round, fists ready for the fool who'd interupted his easy pickings.

And then the branch thumped him in the face. I'd never actually knocked someone of their feet before, and I must say, I enjoyed the feeling. I wish people would try to mug my little brother more while I'm nearby.
(Lofn and Idun, Thu 15 Jun 2006, 17:33, Reply)

My sister
got mugged not so long ago. She had nothing on her except her phone. Her phone's knackered, she broke the screen within six months of having it, and then tried to take the cover off to fix it. It's pretty much hanging off.
They took one look at it, handed it back and walked off without a word.
(and now for someone completely different, Thu 15 Jun 2006, 15:45, Reply)

Re-Mugged
Recently I was having lunch at my friend Jay's restaurant. He came out of the back and was fuming after discovering that his car was broken into, and 50 CDs and $60 were taken. In broad daylight - and probably no less than a half an hour ago. Now myself and another friend (Matt) who was also present, we're what you might call vigilantes - we solve problems.

Immediately I got on the horn and called up a lady-friend who had just left the restaurant ten minutes prior, and told her the situation. I asked her to give descriptions of everybody she noticed in the back lane where Jay's car was parked. With a handful of possible suspects, Matt and I quickly made for my car and went for a drive to see if we can find anybody matching those descriptions.

We were in luck. A few blocks up I noticed two young boys, maybe 12 or 13 years old crossing the street and stopping at a bus stop. I pulled the car into a nearby lot, and I told Matt to go north while I go around and catch them from the south, and we confronted them. After a quick exchange, Matt notices that the taller kid had an odd looking wrinkle in his shirt, and quickly reached forward and extracted a CD wallet. After a quick flip through, we confirmed that it was Jay's. I promptly ordered the plump one to produce his wallet, and found the missing cash. Having recovered the pilfered goods, we decided to scare the boys straight, so I began to slap the dough-boy on the forehead with his wallet while grilling him on why it wasn't a good idea to steal from cars - and especially to do so in broad daylight. The other one was becoming extremely anxious and pulled a package of cigarettes out and began to light one, which Matt quickly snatched away while explaining the evils of smoking in such a way that had Health Canada been watching, they'd have hired him on the spot. We kept this up until their bus (the last one of the day) had passed on by, leaving them with a long walk home all teary-eyed.

So, items returned to their rightful owner, two young criminals scared straight and left to walk home, and free smokes for the good guys. Unfortunately, they were crappy American discount menthol smokes, but they were still smokes. And free.

I'm sure the casual observer may have seen it as a pair of 25-year old men in expensive suits robbing two innocent young boys...
( Hosehead, Thu 15 Jun 2006, 18:26, Reply)

Abra Kababra...
Now you see it, now your picking your teeth off the floor.

5 weeks ago, i went out into Plymouth city centre for my mate stu's stag do... good night had by all from landrake and me being left vaguely responsable for the well being of the group bundled every body but myself into cornwall bound taxis.

with there being no more room for me i decide to get a kebab and get a taxi back on my own. i have never (until this fateful night) had any trouble in town as a large metalhead with an eight inch goatee (not goatse) and leather trenchcoat tends not to have many people argue with him.

i have however consumed during the day my own body wieght in guinness and again in Jack Daniel's and this has left me some what groggy. As I munch on my tasty kebab and waiting for my cab, i notice that the world has taken a most unusual move and come up to meet me in the jaw. picking my self off the floor i recieve a bloody hard kick in the side of my face and crumble back to earth with a few loose dentures.

now i shall point out that my coat is fairly new and cost £500, my New Rock boots come in at a modest £300. I have a brand new Sony Walkman Mobile Phone, a £150 watch, so what do you think the two chav cnuts stole from me?


That's right - My fucking kebab!


Bastards, i was fucking hungry!

*insert huge cock gag here*
( Druss_The_Legend Splurge!, Thu 15 Jun 2006, 15:41, Reply)

Mugged - fucksticks.
Years ago, walking down a relatively dodgey street in central Glasgow, me and two other guys are stopped and asked for directions by two *utter* scumbags, at which point mugger #1 reaches in his jacket and pulls out what appears (in my drunken state) to be a fully automatic pistol, and sticks it neatly under my mate's chin.

Oh dear.

Swift discussions ensue as to the authenticity of the gun from the guy who has it rammed under his chin - not the brightest thing, given the circumstances, and we eventually just drunkenly relinquish and say "oh for FUCKS sakes just give him your wallet so we can go home".

Ned #1 & #2 run off, then the adrenaline wears off, the threat of sobriety raises its ugly head, and we decide to report the incident to the cops at the station just round the corner - not thinking much could be done, but hey-ho, if they did catch them at least someone else wouldn't have to put up with the same experience.

Still worse the wear, we approach the incident desk and tell the duty copper what happened.

Literally, as soon as a gun was mentioned, the place was galvanized - two fully armed coppers appear in short order, and bundle two of us into a car to go and look for them. I stayed at the cop shop and had tea and bacon rolls. Result.

Apparently they caught up with the guys in under twenty minutes, held them at gunpoint, arrested, custody, etc etc, quite impressive so I'm told.

6-7 months later I pick up a copy of the Evening Times and see neds #1 and #2 on the front cover in a "Rogues Gallery" type banner page - GLASGOW'S CRACKDOWN ON CRIME i think was the headline, and the presiding judge had decided to set an example of our two aquantainces (along with every other unfortunate sod in the dock that day).

10 years each - that'll learn the fuckers.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Sat 17 Jun 2006, 21:29, Reply)

A mate of mine
-Phil- got mugged in the apartment block where I lived in central manc on his way to see me. Phil was escorted back outside by the guy (with a knife) and had all money taken etc. Then the guy started talking to him as he had time to kill before getting a bus (!). It turns out they knew some of the same people, and the guy took Phil for a pint round the corner. At the end he gave Phil his money back too - therefore being the only victim of a mugging I know that made a profit.

*Insert length, gag*
(dahogga is exiting stage left, pursued by a bear, Fri 16 Jun 2006, 10:47, Reply)

Way back in January 1982
My mate Larry and I were attending a meeting in London and had just arrived at Liverpool Street station. As we got off the train we were greeted by the sight and sound of hundreds of football fans, Tottenham Hotspurs supporters if you're interested, and they were running riot. There were only a handful of police about as I think it must have only just kicked off. We decided to turn around and cross the bridge to get away from them. About six supporters had spotted us and had decided to come after us and give us a good kicking and the names they were calling us. Well, how rude. What they didn't know was Larry and I had recently completed our Royal Marrines training and had been transfered to the Special Boat Service where we had undergone further extreme training and had both come through with over 90%. Larry was and still is a huge and powerful bloke and I was and still am relatively tiny at 6 foot and 15 stone. We were both dressed in suits and I think we we more worried about getting them torn than anything else. After all we had gone through, a handful of silly skinheads were not going to get in the way.

I told Larry to turn into the ally near the staircase as we had both sussed out the situation. Within just a few seconds the supporters turned into the ally and came face to face with Larry and a fire extinguisher which came to a sudden DONK! as it bounced off one of their heads. [INSERT FRACAS HERE] Anyway, the outcome was 6-0 to us with suits intact. One of these knobheads ended up on the track, another was crying like a baby, rolling around on the ground with a compound fracture of his arm and the others manAged to fuck off. Oh I nearly forgot, the retard that got hit with the fire extinguisher was laying spread-eagled on the floor unconcious and either the extinguisher had discharged a little, or he had pissed in his pants. We made our retreat across the bridge and left the shit for someone else to clear up. Well, we were running a little late now. We are both 53 now and I work in the music business. Larry, on the other hand works as a bouncer at some of Glasgow's hardest pubs and if you are the chav who thought it would be a good idea to stick one on him, then now you know why you ended up, upside down in a fish shop's biffa bin.
( Captn Hood-Butter is not dead yet., Thu 15 Jun 2006, 17:30, Reply)

Bricks!
A few years back, my mother saw someone grab one of those collection jar thingies for cancer/etc and run with it..straight towards her.

So she hit him in the face with her purse.

She collects old bricks, and happened to have a couple with her at the time, and so it knocked him out with a broken nose.
(Fodqou, Thu 15 Jun 2006, 16:44, Reply)

A mugging with a twist...
Coming out of a local water-ing hole in my uni days, on the way to my place.

A guy steps out (10 foot tall at least, honest) and says "give me your money", apparently I'd drunk enough to become rather brave, but not enough to find myself able to laugh at having my money taken with such a cliché. Anyway, all I had on me was £20, which had to pay for my food for the next 3 weeks, as well as the phone bill which was £30 on its own.

I told him this and said he could go to the effort of beating the shit out of me for the sake of £20, or he could piss off and mug someone who could afford it. With that, I turned around and strolled (ok..walked as fast as I could) away. "Wait a second, mate", he shouted. "Mate?", I thought.

He only proceeds to tell me his name, point to his house, and tells me to return the £10 to him when I can afford it, yes, the £10 he's just slipped into my top pocket. This mugger not only let me keep my money, but gave me some of his own.

Ok, probably not that funny, but it was the easiest £10 I ever made, I called it mugger's tax. ;)

*pop* My b3ta virginity is gone.
(Darrage, Tue 20 Jun 2006, 12:54, Reply)

Not really a mugging...more of a polystyrene cupping.
hmm.

Last year at T in the park I bought along my dads really big expensive looking 5 man tent to share with a few friends. The Sunday morning and we'd heard about a few of our neighbours' tents had been broken into and emptied of anything remotely valuble the day before while everyone was inside the main compound.

Fearfull of our many valuble items such as moist socks and sleeping bags we fashioned an ingenious lock on the tent zippers using menthol dental floss. "Safe as houses that are made of flimsy poles and nylon sheets!" we procliamed as we set off for a day of fun and music.

That night we came back to see a light inside our tent and someone moving around inside. As we raced towards it, a figure emerged and at the sight of 4 rather angry, possibly drunk, looking guys speeding towards him shouting, he took off. We lost him as he dissapeared into a large crowd of other festival goers.

We returned to our defouled tent only to discover he'd neatly tidied our sleeping bags and clothes and left a pack of 100 polysyrene cups in the corner.

Jolly decent of him.

(apologies for lenght girth etc. and for having nothing to do with the question)
( Brims Spurts., Sun 18 Jun 2006, 15:51, Reply)

Sort of Heroic
An Ex of mine returned to her car after work (in a Bar as 3am) to find that someone had broken into her car and turned the glove box over. She called the police etc and they said it was all by the same 3 people but nobody ever saw them do it, this happened every week.

Obviously we asked why if it was every week they didn't sit there and wait for them to do it again, but they were' too busy'.

Friday night 2am, in a work transit van with 5 mates parked in the same car park, we are waiting.
2:30 3 chav scumbags walk over and break into the van through the back doors. The chavs were more than supprised to find 6 angry bastards waiting for them, even more supprised when they were dragged into the van, beaten up, clothes nicked and then burnt in a nearby bin. Then sent free to walk home through Streatham.

We're like the A team, of sorts.

Note: we left them with the Jewlery they were caked in, it was crap anyway because they all had green marks from the cheap gold. haha
(wifebeater Funkier than a BinBag of Affro's, Fri 16 Jun 2006, 16:05, Reply)

Genius
It was a sunny afternoon and I was standing in a doorway in Birmingham (this isn't the genius part). A rather aggressive hoodie type approached me and put a knife to my throat. He took my bag and the packet of cigarettes from my pocket. As he walked back out into the throng of daytime shoppers he started shouting "stop shouting, I just don't love you anymore" "I DONT LOVE YOU ANYMORE".

As much as I was gutted by being mugged, I just had to think... Genius...
(pipipiper I miss my pond, Fri 16 Jun 2006, 0:36, Reply)

The local scumbags
From around where I live once tried to mug me. I was 8, on a rusty old bike from my grandads house and being 8 years old, had only fluff in my pockets.

They picked me up by the ankles and shook me upside down, like you see on cartoons. I started giggling because I quite enjoyed this game. Anyway I farted in glee and as my arse was quite close to their horrible acne infested faces they got a full whiff of the foul pong from my arse.

It must have been pungent as they dropped me as soon as I guffed and ran away saying 'aww that stinks' or something along those lines.

I was going over to my mates house, and the two muggers were his cousins who waited outside his backdoor for me. Brilliant.

Both now live at Her Majesty's pleasure.
(PieEater, Fri 16 Jun 2006, 0:20, Reply)