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This is a question My Arch-nemesis

I lived in fear of a Darth Vader-esque school dinner lady who stood me perpetually at the naughty table for refusing to eat mushy peas. An ordeal made worse after I was caught spooning the accursed veg into her wellies. Who, we ask, has wrecked your life?

Thanks to Philly G for the suggestion

(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 12:01)
Pages: Popular, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Identity Anxiety
Like many American school children, I was introduced to school through a program called Head Start. With my rudimentary reading and writing skills, I was slightly-ahead of the pack.

"Tell us, dear, how do you spell your name?" two Head Start teachers asked. I smiled and recited "M-A-R-C!"

Suddenly I was plunged into a Kafkaesque nightmare. "No, dear," they replied, "it's M-A-R-K!" I began to panic. "My mom says it's M-A-R-C!" They replied "She's wrong, dear: it's M-A-R-K!"

The power of bureaucracy has haunted me ever since.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 21:29, 18 replies)
mrs allen
this bitch from hell started off as my brother's nemesis, but became mine. make a cuppa and grab snacks, i think this is going to be a long one.

my brother and i went to different schools. when he was in second year juniors(about 8), he got a new teacher, mrs. allen. she took an instant dislike to my brother, which i can sort of understand as he's a cunt. he never mentioned it at first, but over the course of about 2 months, we noticed a change in him. he became nervous, quick-tempered and utterly obsessed with personal hygiene. he would spend his pocket money on deodorant and body spray, which is more than a bit odd for an 8-year-old.
finally, after catching him scrubbing his hands with wire wool, my mother demanded to know what was wrong. my brother told her that, every morning, his teacher would make him show her his hands. she would then shout, in front of the entire class, that his hands were filthy and he was a dirty boy. she would then make him stand on his chair and tell the other children to blow raspberries at him. he had started scrubbing his hands before school and wearing gloves until he got there, to no avail. there were lots of other little things she did to make his life a misery, but i can't remember them right now.
needless to say, my mum went completely tonto. she stormed up to the school the next morning, dragging my brother behind her and demanded to see both the headmistress and the bitch teacher. after lies, denials and threats of legal action, bitch teacher was told that she was no longer wanted at the school and, after finishing the term, she left.

when the next term started, i began first year juniors in my own school. i, too, got a new teacher. can you guess who it was? of course it was her. the first day, she called the register. as she got to my name, she stopped and asked me if i had a brother. i said i did. i told her his name. i watched the expression on her face change to something quite scary.
now, i'd never met bitch teacher before, so i didn't put two and two together. she, on the other hand, decided that i must suffer. over the next six months, she tore up my homework and told me to do it again because it "looked wrong", gave me detentions for crimes such as having a cough or dropping my pencil, marked my work as wrong when it clearly wasn't, called me a retard(i passed the 16+ exam at the age of 9) on an almost daily basis, told the other children they should call me a retard as "it might motivate her to do something right", accused me of stealing her purse, then refused to apologise when she "found" it in her handbag
and so the list goes on. i never told my mum, as i thought i might get into trouble.
one day, i'd reached my breaking point. after once again calling me up to the front of the class to berate me for spelling something wrong, bitch was most annoyed to be told by a nervous and quavering little smash that it was in fact she that was wrong. "WHAT DID YOU SAY!?" she demanded. i repeated that she was wrong, not my spelling. i told her i'd checked the word in the dictionary, so i knew i was right. this proved too much for her and she slapped me, hard, right across the face.
big mistake, bitch.
within 2 minutes of the slap, the bell rang to signal the end of the school day. i ran outside to where i knew my mother would be waiting. when she saw the angry red handprint across my face, the midden well and truly hit the windmill. she imediately took me inside to see the headmaster, who sent for my teacher. as she walked into the office, my mother took one look at her and yelled "YOU!"
apparently, my headmaster hadn't been told why she'd left her last teaching position, an oversight my mother quickly rectified. when he heard what my mother had to say, despite all the bitch's protestations that we were actually great friends, he told her her days were numbered. he asked my mother if she wanted to press charges, a pretty rare occurence back then. "just get that woman away from my kids," she replied.
the bitch was finally sent packing and all was, once again, right in my little world.
sorry for the length but, if you've stuck around to read this lot, thanks :)
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 21:10, 9 replies)
Mrs Davis aka megabitch
She was my art teacher, and Bod only knows how I kept a passion for art and design after having her as an art teacher.

So I'm 10 years old, and today in art class kiddies, we'll be doing clay modelling. Sweet. Megabitch tells the class to take some clay, and that we'll be modelling people. To start with, we should model a cylinder shape for the body.

Arseholes to that, I have a spattering of ability, I can bypass the basics and get down to the fun stuff. So I decide I'm going to model Hulk Hogan (gimme a break, I was only 10). It's going well, and, even if I do say so myself, was looking quite splendiferous. Everyone on my table thought it was most excellent.

Along comes megabitch, picks up my work of art and squashes it into a lump. "Now make a cylinder shape for the body like I told you to"

Fuck you Megabitch, and the 3-headed horse you rode in on. It's no wonder you were divorced 4 times.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 18:30, 3 replies)
I don't have a nemesis, really. I just don't really give enough of a fuck about anyone or anything else to get worked up about, I suppose.
However, my kitteh has one.
She is a fluffy wee thing, grey and white with long hair and is lovely to everyone. I leave a window open in the house so she comes and goes as she pleases. Now though, some utter cunt of a cat has turned up. Its a big fat black short-haired thing and it pisses her off something rotten. It beats her up, it wanders into my(Her) house and steals her food, shits in her tray and is generally a mean bastard to her.
The other day, it sneaked into the house and was stalking her across the dining room floor. Unknown to it, the window had blown shut behind it, so when I jumped up and shouted at it, it bolted. The repeated, loud BOINK noise it made as it bounced off the closed window trying to get out pleased me mightily. If cats could smirk, I'm sure mine would have done so.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 17:41, 7 replies)
On my word, unleash hell...
It started off so well. When we met I thought that we'd be friends forever. We spent ages together and always had a good time. He took me new places and introduced me to new things (including b3ta), it was like seeing a whole new world.

But then it went wrong, he had an evil side. He demanded more and more from me. My work suffered, relationships fell by the wayside, my social skills and spelling reverted back to primary school level. By the time I realised, it was too late. My life is no longer my own, I had become his slave.

But like all slaves through time I dream of breaking free. So I say this to you Emperor INTERNET.

My name is Bo Nidle,
Casual internet surfer.
Loyal servant of real life.
Husband to a neglected wife,
owner of a rapidly growing gut
And I will have my vengence,
in this life or the next.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 17:40, 1 reply)
I had to write a story about a storm
As a 7 year old lad at primary school along with the rest of my table. Although I overheard my testoserone pumped 20 someting teacher, Mr. kendrick, explaining to the next table that they were make a story about ROBOTS!

I obviously liked the idea of crushing metal and laser beams more than rain and clouds . . . but I understood my task and so worte about storm MADE by a massive robot

aha I was ecstatic about my lightning eyed titanium monster, whose tears of pain caused a horrific downpour,and creaking plates echoed fierce thunder rumbles and untold destruction, so headed over the my teacher to show him my masterpiece.

This is how I met my nemisis. Mr. Kendrick read through it.
"This isn't about a storm! This is about Robots! That wasn't your task! Why cant you just do what your told!" big black marker pen on both sheets, ripped it out of my exercise book, screwed up and chucked it in the bin. "Now go and do what I TOLD YOU!

Many years have passed, but I still class him a grade A twat.

(Futher reading)More reason to make him my nemisis, at sports day Mr.K. promised the fastest 100m runner a mars bar. I won. There was no mars bar. CUNT.

I feel much better now.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 17:25, 6 replies)
My ex-wife
For being a bitter, twisted, spiteful, vindictive cunt of a woman who's dragged on this divorce for 2 sodding years....not that I'm bitter or wish cunt cancer on her, oh no sir!!

There, feel much better after that rant! :o)
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 17:14, 6 replies)
My wife
The autobot to my decepticon, the ambien/oxycontin to my Heath Ledger.

Every time I make plans, she thwarts them. Wanna go play d&d one day every other week? Foiled.
Can I go to the gym? Can I fuck. Forget world domination, I can't even master domestic domination.
Oooh! I can go back to school! No, she needs money for a boob job (ok, that's better than school any day, I shouldn't complain about that).
Peter Mayhew's at a convention less than 20 minutes away, may I go? May I fuck.
I wanna open our pool up, it's too early I'm told.
Look! Metroplex on ebay for less than 500 dollars, no! We need diapers for the kids. Metroplex is a city for Christ sake! She won't even let me convert to Islam so I can make her shut up.

Some(all) of this may be considered petty.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 17:07, 15 replies)

My ex landlord wanted us to continue paying rent despite giving us the ok to move out because his new tenants wisely realised he was a cockmunch and decided not to move in.

He comunicated his wish for us not to move out via regular and abusive phonecalls and letters highlighting points in his badly drafted contract.

Anyway lovely Mr GOTW is a lawyer and wrote for me the sort of letter that probably (hopefully) made him soil himself involuntarily.

The week before the tenancy ended we all moved out and left the place neat as a pin. I went round the day before I returned the keys to collect any post and discovered that the landlord had illegally accessed what was still legally our abode, to turn on all the plugs (????)and hike the heating to subtropical levels causing some old carrots that had been acidentally left in the cupboard to turn utterly rancid, anyone who has ever enountered that aroma will know they really are rather barftastic.

According to our ex neighbours the house lay vacant for some time.....Mwah ha ha ha.

The best part is, we efficiently switched the services back over to his name the day we all moved out.

(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 16:41, 6 replies)
How to get barred from a sandwich shop
Someone else's Nemesis, not mine.

There's a guy at work, Dan, who was trying to lose weight a while back, but still wanted to have his favourite lunch of a jacket potato a few times a week. A simple solution was found: Instead of cheese and beans, just have beans, giving you a fairly nutritious and non-fatty meal.

Anyway. The Greek guy who works in the sandwich shop kept getting this wrong, and just giving him both cheese and beans, so he decided to be extra clear about it.

'Look, mate, you keep giving me cheese AND beans and I just want beans. Just beans. Alright?'
'Yeah, yeah - no problem mate. Don't you worry. Just beans...'

He gets back to the office, and sure enough, there's a nice big pile of grated cheese on top of the beans. So he heads back round the corner.

'Look, I just want beans, it should be simple enough - just beans...'

The guy gives him one with beans.

Next day, he goes back, reassured that the chap now understands this strange and exotic food order.

'Can I have a jacket please, with beans and NO cheese. No cheese. OK?'
'No problem mate.'
'OK, I'm going to check this now, before I leave... OK, well this has cheese in it. I don't think you're really listening to me. No cheese.'
'Oh, sorry mate. I'll have another go.'

Another potato is duly served up. Again, he decides to check before he leaves the shop. Again, there's a great big pile of cheese.

I'm not quite sure how I'd deal with the situation, and I can understand that it was extremely frustrating, but throwing the potato at the guy then dragging him over the counter whilst screaming 'NO CHEESE MOTHERFUCKER! NO CHEESE!' didn't go down too well, and Dan now does his own jacket potato and beans in the microwave.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 16:38, 7 replies)
I was someones Arch-nemesis...
Down the pub on new years eve a few years ago, I spot an old mate of mine - a bird I used to sit next to at work at some shit call centre years ago. As we were chatting, she mentioned that she was with her husband and wanted to introduce him to me. She eventually tracked him down and dragged him over to meet me. Turns out its a guy I used to go to school with, a dude called Peter.

"Alright Peter, long time no see! Hows things, haven't seen you since school etc, etc.." I started, along with all the usual pleasantries reserved for seeing an old aquaintance who you had pretty much forgotten about.

"Yeah, alright" said Peter, rather frostily, before mumbling something to his wife and shuffling off to the rest of his group.

I weren't too bothered about it, the bloke was only ever a casual aquaintance when we went to school - I didn't really give a fuck about him. His Mrs, Dawn, was a bit pissed off about his rudeness, but I said "Don't worry about it, I'll see you a bit later, yeah?" and joined the rest of my mates and pretty much forgot about it all.

A few hours later, Peter approached me and said "Look, it's gonna be a new year in a few hours, lets say we bury the hatchet and let bygones be bygones. Im prepared to forget everything thats gone on if you are etc, etc" or words to that effect.

"What you talking about, Pete?" I said.

"You know, all the history, we're both adults now, lets say we put it all in the past now?" was his reply.

I'm confused now, I'm sure he has me mixed up with someone else.

"Seriously Pete, what are you banging on about?" I said.

Now Peter looked confused and said "But we have aways been rivals, all the way through school, college, theres always been that tension between us!"

This truly was a revelation to me, as I said before, Peter and I had only ever been aquaintances, neither friend nor enemy. Or so I thought!

It turns out that way back in the day, when we were in a year 8 English class or something, I said something that made him look like a bit of a tit in front of the class. I don't even remember saying it, it was just a throw away comment. Apparantly, Peter hadn't forgot, 15 years on!

For most of our time a school together , he had considered me his arch nemesis, his main rival, all because I said something that upset him when he was 12!. I had no idea that he felt this way about me, I alway thought things were cool between us, his attempts at revenge must have been pretty lame 'cos I never even noticed them. Apparantly, this just wound him up further.

While we had been having this conversation, Dawn had come to join us and was listening in and seemed to find it all a bit amusing.

"You know, at the school I went to" she chipped in, "if any of they guys had a problem with someone else, they would just have a word or a scrap and deal with it there and then. It was only the girls who would let things fester like that!"

This was too much for Peter, he made his excuses and re-joined his mates and avoided me for the rest of the evening. I guess the one sided rivalry will continue...not that I give a shit!
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 16:25, 2 replies)
Step Dad
He's not exactly a nemesis, but he's the type of chap who will remind me many months later that i still owe him 55p for a twix i took from the fridge many moons ago.

He votes Liberal (always has done) but totally frowns at smoking, hippies, immigrants etc.

He threw away my COMPLETE collection of the original Toxic comics and my rather vast pile of 2000AD comics too because they were 'too childish' - yet he is the man who spends all his spare time painting miniature figures to recreate battles and makes little smoke explosions out of cotton fucking wool.

Oh and he once threatened to give my Christmas presents to the Orphans because i was being a bit naughty. I was seven years old and absolutely terrified that needy-children would place their filthy claws on my well earned ghostbuster action figures.

(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 16:18, 5 replies)
Not me, but a mate Will
did well for himself. Good on him I say, a combination of good fortune and hard graft got him where he was. He got himself a nice car and a vast house. In my opinion, too big just for him on his own.

Well, I say on his own. At his house, he had a live-in cleaner sort of person. 100 years ago, she would've been a 'domestic servant' I suppose. I'll call her Maria for that was her name. A right battleaxe she was too. Apparently she did a fine job of running a tight ship but would often get noticeably ticked off if my mate took liberties.

After moving in, he decided to throw a large house-warming party. More people turned up than he'd expected and the celebration went right through the night. By the time the last guest shuffled out the door and cleared off, it was just coming up to 7am.

That's when he realised what a fucking tip his house had been left in. It was going to take some serious tidying up. He knew his cleaner, although a very thorough worker would not clear up the mess on her own and he thought they should tackle it together.

But he had gone almost 24 hours without any sleep and was dead on his feet by then. So he decided to go to bed, catch up on his sleep, and then tidy up when he got up again that afternoon.

However, the battleaxe cleaner intercepted him on the landing. She went ballistic and wouldn't let him into his bedroom.
"If you think I'm going to clean up this pigsty, you're very much mistaken"
"We'll do it together later." he replied.
"Fuck right off, you can do it yourself now. You've got a fucking nerve, taking me for a mug."
My mate knew better than to try his luck. He had an inkling that if he tried it on she could quite easily push his head through the wall.

He sloped off to make a token effort, leaving her standing guard at the bedroom door. He wandered about the house collecting the empties, the food, misplaced items and so on. The usual party aftermath.

He told me it took him absolutely ages. He said the Banyan Tree was the hardest to tidy up and after performing a quirkafleeg headed back to his bedroom to find the old trout had cleared off. He got into bed, but the room was spinning and immediately jumped up, ran to the bathroom to shout soup into the porcelain telephone.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 15:59, 4 replies)
Maggie fucking Twatcher
wrecked many lives.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 15:54, 8 replies)
Rap Attack
There was an unspoken comraderie at university that was equal parts heart-warming and blood-curdlingly infuriating. The 'Indian Massive'. As a mixed-race (or 'dual-heritage' to be ultra PC) English-Indian I straight away acquired a large group of friends through one of my Indian housemates, who all seemed to refer to me as 'blood'. It was rather difficult, in fact to know who anyone actually was, largely because everyone called everyone else 'blood' or 'bruv'. Confusing monikers aside, it was nice to be accepted into a group of people based purely on your heritage (I grew up in a very white area, so seeing so many brown people in one place anywhere outside of my house was a revelation), kind of like reverse racism.

I digress. It was through this group of respectable pharmacy and medical students (what else?) that I met Sav's brother. Sav has informed us that his brother was a 'baaaaaaad martial artist bruv' (in this case, 'baaaaaaad' meaning very, very good) as well as an established 'rap battler'. In the stlye of eminem in the green-filtered and seemingly gramatically incorrectly-titled 8 mile, this gentleman would participate in verbal bouts of musical melee on stage.

Immediately, I disliked him.

When I actually met him one night, Sav came over to me and 2 friends and gestured to the white shell-suited, fully-blinged skinny Indian wearing sunglasses at 10 in the evening standing 10 feet away, resolutely not looking in our direction. "This is my bruv, bruvs'.

I wish, I WISH, that there was some way that I could get down in writing here what happened next. Sav's brother approached my friend Steve, and proceeded to introduce himself via the medium of rap. However, it was less of an introduction, and more of a verbal tirade, waving his gold-ringed fingers in Steve's face with his hands in a 'West-side' position, it was simply staggering to see. The only line I can remember is 'You're a child molester, from Leicester'. Steve is not a peadophile, and he is from Hertfordshire, but there was no way this man could have known anything about any of us. He just rapped insults at us for a good 2 or 3 minutes while we stared on in stunned silence. When he was done, he turned his back and continued to stare at a nearby bush or something.

What manner of human would do such a thing? Everything about him is offensive, I hope a rival wordsman raps him into a humble life of polite greetings and low self-esteem.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 15:24, 14 replies)
Never had an arch-nemesis
Came across many twats in my life but wouldn't want to award them the recognition of having had a major affect on me.

Wise man say: "If you step in dogshit, clean your shoes".
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 15:15, Reply)
Primary School Shitbag
My story will probably be similar to many this week in that my arch nemesis was a fellow class mate at primary school. His name was, and probably still is, Russell Giles, and I loathed him with a passion. In fact, I still do. Thinking about him makes me angry. Year 7 (we were 11/12 years old) was when I finally snapped. He would spend most of the day trying to outdo me in one way or another, and weeks and weeks of his constant one-upmanship culminated in an petty acts of revenge on my part, and nearly saw me kicked out of the school.

Part of me thinks it was jealousy; I wasn’t unpopular by any means, I got on with most of the people at my school and did well in class, even the girls didn’t mind me (they would often steal my pencil case). I like to think that Russell didn’t like this, in fact, he probably saw me as his arch nemeses at the time. However, looking back, the rest of me realises that he was just a cunt of the highest order. If I only needed 30 stickers to complete my Panini album, he’d say he needed 29, but would he swap any stickers he had as swopsies with me that I needed? Would he fuck – even if I offered him 5 shinies for his normal Barry Venison sticker. This was just one example of how he tried to make my young life difficult. I was always the person he’d chase when he found a spider, much to the delight of the rest of the class. It was always me that got a snowball aimed at my face, or my head pushed under the water fountain at break time. My PE trainers would get thrown up onto the roof at least once a week and I would be his main target when playing Cops and Robbers during lunch. A few other kids in our class started commenting on how Russell was always trying to outdo me. One joked that he thought class fitty, Emma, was going off me and had started to fancy Russell. Whatever I did, or wherever I was, he would be there, stealing my amazing jokes and trying to make the girls laugh. I was beginning to crack…

It was during a Friday afternoon free study period that my plan to gain revenge on my arch nemesis came to fruition. I remember it vividly. It was a hot Summer’s afternoon, and a gentle breeze came in from the open windows. The time was normally used to catch up with any work you were behind on. I used this particular period to form my plan, with the help of my best friend at the time, Daniel. I’d vented my frustrations to him on a number of occasions, and this Friday afternoon was no different.

“He’s a tosser, Dan. I hate him. I wish he’d just die”, I whispered.

“Do something about it then”. Dan looked at me in the eye. “He loves making your life a misery, get him back. I’ll help you”.

“Phew, I thought you were telling me to kill him for a moment! I need to do this, I need to wipe that smile of his face. Get me some lined paper, I’ll write down our plan.”

And so for the next hour, we discussed various ways to get Russell back. The plan was to start off lightly and progress from there. Being young and naïve, the ways to get Russell back got more ingenious and impossible to achieve, although they would result in ultimate humiliation. Two I remember in particular were ‘After school, get Russell to look away from the road by shouting his name, and Dan will push him into the fat lollipop lady so that they both fall over’ and ‘Fill a sausage roll with dog poo and give it to Russell to eat and make him go blind’.
The bell sounded to signal the end of the lesson.

“It starts Monday”, I told Dan.

The weekend came and went without incident, and come Monday morning I was eager to get started. During registration, Russell whispered ‘gay’ when my name was called out. There was stifled laughter from some kids, but I just looked at Russell and stared. He smirked back at me and I carried on staring until he looked away. ‘One-niI’ thought I, and I knew I was going to make sure he got his comeuppance. I realise this story is dragging on a bit, and if I went into great detail about what I actually did to Russell during the week, it would turn into an essay. So in list form, he are some of the things I remember doing:

-Dan and I hid every pritt stick in the class in Russell’s draw. When our teacher questioned their whereabouts, we hinted that Russell had them. She opened his draw and he was left red faced, as he had 15 sticks of glue stuffed in the back. His protests to the teacher fell on deaf ears
-We rolled up a piece of meatloaf and stuck it on top his rucksack. All the girls thought he had a piece of poo on his bag. Russell looked annoyed.
-I told Emma that Russell had a plastic blanket on his bed because he was always wetting it. The rumour spread like wildfire.
-There were numerous attempts to put drawing pins on his seat
-Dan farted in his draw one lunch time and closed in quickly shut
-We hid worms and ladybirds in his lunch box.
-We named Russell as the culprit after someone had left skid-marks in the boys toilets. I knew it was Simon Ramsden really, but didn’t care.
-Dan, being quite a fast runner, would target Russell during ‘It’ and make him ‘It’. We would then stay in the safe zone for the remainder of break.
-We told Sandra, a girl who struggled with her weight somewhat, that Russell fancied her.
-We hid a ballet shoe in his PE bag (I don’t know why)

Looking back, it looks as though I turned into a bully for a week. But after 2 years of him being a wanker, I felt it necessary to do what I did. Russell was getting more and more agitated as the week went on, and on Thursday lunch time, it all came to a head.

“Stop being a fanny and leave me alone”, shouted Russell. The playground went silent.

“Oooh, egg-gy”, I remarked. “I don’t know what you’re on about, Russell”, I replied.

With that, Russell launched himself at me, pushing me in the chest. I fell backwards, but grabbed his shirt as I fell backwards, and pulled him down with me. We hit the ground and rolled around, trying to Chinese burn each other. Russell got me in a headlock and started to rub his knuckles frantically across the top of my head. It hurt like a bitch, but I summoned up the strength to wriggle free. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the sand pit. I made a dash for it and picked up a fistful of sand. As Russell sprinted at me once more, I flung the sand in his eyes and he went down easier than Stephen Hawking after a few beers. Kneeling over him, I pressed my thumb into his eye. My frustrations were all coming out, in a very aggressive manner. Russell begged me to stop. I did momentarily but then started kicking his shins.

“I hate you, you prick”. I pulled off his shoes and chucked them into the hedge. A large circle had formed round us now, with kids shouting ‘Fight, fight, fight’. I was eventually pulled off of Russell by a teacher, and to shorten a long story ever so slightly, I was nearly suspended over my actions. I had to get my mum to explain to situation I had found myself in. One thing though, Russell soon backed off after that incident.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 15:08, 3 replies)
Look at it, the cocky cunt.

It hates me you know.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 15:04, 2 replies)
My old boss..
Let's call her Diane.

She was my nemesis for a number of reasons, mainly because she did her best to drive me mental, and tried to fuck up my career, but also because she was convinced that her constant attempts to undermine absolutely everyone were perfectly reasonable behaviour.

Some examples...

- She completely ignored my advice and started a totally pointless argument with another Department, which blew up into an almighty barney which needed to be resolved by senior management, who decided that she was in the wrong and needed to drop it. She then blamed me (to our boss) because I hadn't been convincing enough to make her listen to my advice NOT to do it... she was entirely serious

- She delayed me getting promoted. When I challenged her on this, she said she thought I was ready, but she wanted to wait as she didn't want people to think she was an easy touch. This set me back a year in terms of pay and promotion.

- When we had to do an appraisal for the graduate in the team, we had a chat and agreed on a couple of areas of criticism. She then did the appraisal on her own and basically told the girl that I was the one who'd said all the negative stuff, and she was the one who'd said the positive stuff. This resulted in a week or two of the cold shoulder until I found out what had happened and explained...

- When a client said they didn't get on with HER in their annual feedback, she responded by telling ME that I needed to make more of an effort to ensure they understood how good SHE was... from then on, every time I came back from a meeting with them, she would check to make sure I had made positive comments about her during the meeting.

- When going over a presentation before a big meeting, me and her boss both reckoned she was wrong about some research she was quoting. She disagreed, so we went and checked, and she was wrong. She said our understanding of it must be wrong. So we actually went and tracked down the guy who'd done the original research (who luckily worked for our company). He also told her she was wrong. She then claimed that his research must be wrong, and even though she was supposed to be quoting his work, the way she was using it was better anyhow.. despite everyone saying it was wrong

- She got into an argument with a client in a meeting and ended up telling him that he was ignorant and didn't understand. He was understandably a bit put out and complained. She defended herself by saying that it was said in the heat of the moment, and she was under a lot of pressure because the meeting hadn't gone well, which was my fault because the presentation wasn't very good. Therefore, yet again, it was basically my fault...

- She was so intransigent, she once made her own boss cry at his desk. He was a well-balanced, fairly bloke-ish, middle aged man. He just broke down because he couldn't take any more of her arguments. Ashamed as I am to say it, I also ended up crying in the toilet on one occasion as I just couldn't believe how difficult she was. I think that's the only time someone else has made me cry since I was about 10.

I was later asked to work with her again. I said I'd rather boil my own head. Several others apparently said pretty much the same thing when asked, and she got passed over for promotion as a result. She left and went to another job elsewhere, with a promotion, on a massive salary. Sometimes you don't need skills, just a brass neck... the worst thing about it is I'm still really nice to her in person, as she's so frightening that I'm convinced she could make my life hell even from a different company.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 15:03, 11 replies)
Ex workmate
The only thing worse than harbouring a deep, festering hatred for someone is having to work with them, and present a vaguely united front to your bosses, the buying public etc. Even though both of you are so fucking sick of the sight of each other that the urge to kick them in the bollocks and violate them with cacti is overwhelming.

For a few years I worked with this lumbering idiot of a Scotch, name withheld for medical reasons (seeing it in print makes me sick). I was immediately superior to him and it wound him up something fearsome; he was a bit older, thought he could do a better job than me, the usual bollocks. I never thought he was much cop at the job he was supposed to be doing and felt he'd be better off keeping an eye on his responsibilities instead of on my office. But, and here's the bastard part, whenever anyone asked if there was any tension, any disagreements, we both had to adopt this ridiculous rictus-like grin and say that all was positively dandy. The idea that all was not well did not fly with those to whom we were answerable.

With hindsight, I probably did let my judgement slip because I was watching my back. I made some bad decisions and the pressure grew for a new pair of hands to take the wheel (love mixing my metaphors, me) and guess who was first in line with a massive, shiny knife to plunge into my back? I saw the signs and left him with no chance of doing a good job. I realise now that I see the full extent of my actions that I shouldn't have been such a twat in my last few months, but I wanted to see the bastard suffer, and suffer he has. I've thoroughly enjoyed watching him fail where I mostly succeeded, and according to most sources the street's the place to go he'll be out of a job inside a week. Ha ha fucking ha Gordon, you mumbling one-eyed prick.


T. Blair
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 15:00, 4 replies)
The man
Always getting me down...
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 14:57, Reply)
The Vindictive boss.
For the past 4.5 years my boss has made my working life miserable after I dared to challenge him over an untruth he told shortly after I started the job.

A prolonged attempt to get me sacked and to rubbish me to my colleagues behind my back resulted in failure but drove me to taking medication for a while due to the stress I was under.

Last week our company had to make cutbacks and I'm 99% sure he recommended me for redundancy along with a few of my colleagues.

Unfortunately the Group Managing Director disagreed and sacked him instead.

It was painful shaking his hand as he cleared his desk in a company he's been working for for 16 years. Painful for him, that is.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 14:55, 5 replies)
Well obviously it was my first university girlfriend.

(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 14:47, 1 reply)
Pea roast, and actually relevant this time...
So, every morning, I head out, bleary-eyed, and far from bushy tailed, to catch the little bus that runs from my village, through a couple of others, then into the gleaming metropolis of Oxford.

I get on at about halfway through the bus’s total journey, and there are generally only a few on before me. We head off, and get to the next village along, which is where the bus fills up.

This is where the hatred begins…

In this village, there is a guy who gets on most days, and is also on the bus on the way home with me, most days. He is about my age, shaved head, office trousers, sometimes jeans, typical brown loafers/shoes, black jacket, and often a black beany.

He sometimes has to sit next to me, when the bus is full, and he splays his legs so I end up squished into the corner and listens to loud music. Loud enough for me to be able to tell what the song is, but not loud enough for me to be able to sing along.

This, whilst being irritating, just means I turn my music up, or read my book to avoid him.

But for some strange reason, I loathe this guy. I imagine his name is Rick, or Rich, or something like that, and every time I see him at the bus stop, I grimace a little, as he has become my arch-nemesis. It is completely irrational, but I hate his little baldy head, and his stupid attire, straight from the shop window of Next. And the way he sits. And the music he listens to (he has made me reconsider my like of The Libertines). And absolutely everything about him. Writing this now, I am slowly stewing and hope I don’t see him on the bus, as I am likely to want to knock is head off!

Since writing this story, I have started cycling on a regular basis, so rarely see him, but I am sure he is plotting on a way to annoy me more in future.

And there is absolutely no reason for this. I am sure he is probably a nice guy, but I can’t see this through the red mist that descends every time I see him.

I know that if at some point in my life, I end up in a fight to the death, or have to save my family from some heinous overlord, he will be the aggressor, and I will have to fight for all that is right in the world…

Does anyone else hate random people in the street, for no reason other than you do?

Length, about half an hour every morning and night…
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 14:33, 4 replies)
My Ex Wife
This is a woman who I should have put under the patio years ago...

We've been divorced over 15 years now but because of her venom and seemingly infinite capacity to hate, I've not seen my son for over 13 years. He's 19 in two weeks and every time he sees me, he looks at me with something approaching hate. Seemingly, she's programmed him that way over the intervening years.

When he was five, he was diagnosed with asthma, and the ex asked me when I went to pick him up for a two hour access visit if I could refrain from smoking in his general vicinity. "Naturally" say's I, "does he have an inhaler?" "Yes" say's she..."Can I have it in case he has an asthma attack?" says I. "If he has an attack, you bring him straight home!" says she. Ex wife needed to be in control to such an extent, she risked our son's health.

This is just one anecdote in a whole series of nightmares that stopped when I just gave up contact when he was five and a half. It was either that or I'd have leapt from the nearest railway bridge in front of a speeding train, such was my state of mind.

I've since moved on, remarried and have two wonderful daughters, who I treat like my absent son in some ways..season tickets to the football and barbecues on the patio etc etc.

Quite simply, that woman has ruined my life and my son's life all for her own selfish, vindictive benefit. There's very few people that I wish dead on this earth but she is top of my list.

and "CJ" If you ever read this, you may understand a flavour of why I had to stop seeing you. The next time you see me in the pub, please don't ignore me mate, I miss you terribly and always will do...cheers


Sorry for the lack of amusement here..

EDIT: I have actually attempted contact three times over the intervening years, all ignored. He's at university now, ironically doing a Law degree where they probably teach you to look at both sides of an argument an look for the facts (this info attained third hand, as is the case in these situations). Given the encouragement from you, fair posters, I think I might have another go via his Facebook profile...In the event I get a positive response, I'll personally mail my thanks to each and every one of you!
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 14:09, 15 replies)
My arch nemesis lives with us.
When he first moved in he used to just sit around all day sleeping and demanding I get him food when he woke, like I was his fucking servant. I put up with it because my wife thought he was the bees knees. He was ok, some of the time, I guess.

He seemed to have some kind of post traumatic syndrome too. I don’t think he’s been in any wars or anything as he seems too young, but anyway, this manifested with him waking in the middle of the night screaming for no apprarent reason.

The thing that bothers me most about him is that he’s sleeping with my wife. I woke one night to find my wife was out of bed, I thought she had gone to the toilet, as she seems to have pee (‘scuse pun) sized bladder, but alas no. I went to the spare room and found her lying there, the two of them embraced.

She never mentioned it the next morning.

I thought it was a one off, but I’ve come to realise it happens on a fairly regular basis.

(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 13:43, 7 replies)
My brother
He's three years older than me. When I was about nine we each got a pair of boxing gloves. Our bouts would begin in the proper "guard up, jab and move" manner but gradually descend into rough brawling, and as I inevetiably became frustrated at the beating I was taking, would generally end with me launching the "full windmill" attack, as popularised by 1970s comic books. However I still always came off worse but it never stopped me from taking on the next bout, clinging to the belief that in just another week/month/year, I'd be able to take him.

However, I will get my revenge. My brother does a physically demanding job and will be fucked by the time he's seventy. I, of course, will be a sprightly sixty seven year old.
Yeah, then he'll get what's coming to him.

Now I just need to make sure that I don't get Alzheimer's in the meantime.
(, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 13:38, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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