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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.

My ex-wife cheated on me with a co-worker.
If this isn't the very meaning of nemesis, it should be. The bastard managed to fuck up my marriage, with the usual disastrous results to the kids. I ended up broke, living in an apartment, paying child support and basically starting over from scratch as though I were twenty again, only with more wrinkles and grey hair.

It's okay though, I got appropriate revenge. I let him keep her.
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 22:23, 6 replies)
I knew a proper bastard once
I was in a club and I smashed this girl's head off a bar (it's ok, she deserved it, she'd spilt my drink), and this snide little wanker has the affront to come up to me and tell me it was ME who was out of order. Well, as you can imagine, I didn't take kindly to such rudeness and glassed him in the face, and the cunt didn't take a telling so he went off and got the bouncers on me! Got me thrown out!

Needless to say, I slashed his tyres and pissed through his letterbox after following him home shouting a few death threats, and he had to fucking over-react as usual and get the police involved. They turned up and just WOULD NOT listen to my side of the story. They arrested me like the twats they are. Now I'm facing a prison term because he couldn't take a fucking hint...

What a bastard.
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 21:27, 3 replies)
Warning: serious problems ahead.
My arch-nemesis is this fucker here. For those who cannot be bothered to click the link a shortened version is: he is a fucking scumbag of a fucking footballer by the name of Archie Thompson.

I can't talk about this easily, but the basics are these. After two years of what I thought was a happy marriage, my wife became pregnant with twins. It was the happiest day of my life, but everything became very strained from then on. My wife became distant with what I thought was stress and understandable worry about the future, but that's not it. Eight months in she tells me, instead, they might not be mine. I nearly die of a number of things but manage to ask whose could they be, if not mine? ARCHIE FUCKING THOMPSON'S. They met while she was at a fucking convention in Belgium where she was out for a night and he was playing football in that city at the time. They had then begun an affair whenever she went over there for business.

I spent a month trying to digest this situation after she left to stay at her mother's, saying she didn't know what she was going to do but couldn't be with me right now. I didn't argue, I had no idea what was going on in the world. I couldn't function. I couldn't eat, work, sleep, do anything.

Then she went into labour.

Even in those circumstances, those incredibly difficult circumstances, there was no way I was going to miss the potential birth of my children. I went to the hospital... and HE WAS THERE.

The reasons I hate him would seem painfully clear by now. But it's not what you think.

It was when she told me whatever the result of the birth was, she was going to be living with Archie from now on. It was when she said the kids were going to call him Daddy. It was when she said they were moving to Australia as he'd gotten a deal with a new club there. And it was when, oh, it was so especially when, after the birth (what turned out to be) MY TWO DAUGHTERS, and naming the first one after her mother, she turned to him and said...

"Arch... name 'er sis."

(disclaimer for legal reasons: this is NOT TRUE IN ANY WAY)
(disclaimer for other reasons: I'm sorry, please don't hit me)
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 21:26, 10 replies)
Do you know what "nemesis" means?
A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent.

Which means that Guy Ritchie had better watch his arse after what he did to Sherlock Holmes.
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 21:03, 24 replies)
But also,
my liver is my arch-cirrhosis
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 20:48, Reply)
Once, when I was in Hartlepool,
I ingested pure zinc OMADINE® bactericide-fungicide (as used in anti-dandruff shampoos) and promptly threw up everywhere.

It was my Arch NE emesis.
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 20:47, 2 replies)
constantly wants me to talk about my experiences in a humorous manner, but he can rarely think of a decent topic to talk about. Every week!!!
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 20:46, Reply)
My arch-nemesis died in a horrible car accident.
It was awesome.

Just kidding. lol.

He died of cancer.
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 19:33, 4 replies)
I used to work with this proper cunt.
Forever taking the piss in an exaggerated and playful manner, he was.

That was my arch enemy.
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 19:05, 2 replies)
Little noisy bastards.
I like a lie-in of a morning, sometimes there is nothing better than muzzily going "mmmhmmff" and throwing the duvet back over yourself, to while away an hour or two in a semi-comatose state. It's especially nice on a weekend, and if you haven't tried it before, I would highly recommend it. A thoroughly agreeable way of spending a morning.

However, of late, I have been denied this by a new family that has moved in next door, just recently. Every morning, roughly around sunrise, they all start making a bloody racket. Children screaming to be fed, the mother making silly cooing noises, and even worse, the noise the parents make when shagging is what can only be described as an unholy racket. Shouting at them is of no help, banging on the wall stops it for a couple of minutes, and reasoning with them doesn't work at all. It's really approaching breaking point. I'm going to have to do something drastic, because the council won't do a damned thing. Something about "not disturbing nesting birds".

Fucking pigeons.
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 13:59, Reply)
My nemeisis;
Whoever it is that keeps suggesting QOTWs that amount to little more than "tell us about people you worked with that you hated" over and over and over again.
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 13:20, Reply)
I was his patent nemesis
There is a laboratory in another city where Professor B. F. X. did research. Prof. B. F. X. developed a method of purifying a particular substance and applied for a patent. His invention mostly consisted of three steps, A, B and C, then applying a measurement of the result. Application was detection of a rare medical condition. Routine.

I ran a search in the usual way and ordered full copies of the scientific papers published earlier. Some of them used steps A and B, others used steps A and C, and others used steps B and C. Nobody used all three, but they did have enough purification to give some details of the substance. Clearly enough Prof. B. F. X.'s invention wasn't really very inventive. There were about ten people in the world working on this and it was clear from the earlier publications that he knew all of them and they knew him.

One of the scientific papers failed to arrive. It had been written by Prof. B. F. X. and published less than a year before the patent application, but more than the six months allowed for "demonstrations before a learned society". There was only one copy of it in the country and can you guess where that copy was supposed to be? The bucking fastard had removed it from the library in his lab. so I could not be sent a copy.

As a patent examiner, I'm pretty easy going. But this bloke got the book thrown at him. I have not done it before or since. I left the final reports to the absolute last minute, and slammed him with everything I could think of. That was just in the preliminary, international stages.

Someone took the case over from me and she did the same. Then after a year or more I got it back. I objected to everything I could see, eventually the case ran out of time and he had to apply again.

By this time almost four years had passed. He had just short of two years from then to get my acceptance. Two days before the time ran out again, his attorney (whom I personally knew) was on the phone to me for about 90 minutes trying to get the thing through. After some time he suggested a form of claim that left Prof. Bucking Fastard X with bugger all and I said OK. In all, almost six years before he got his patent and then it was nearly worthless.

Moral. If you are going to try to snow patent examiners, don't be so bleeding obvious about it. We're a picky and suspicious bunch and you are definitely not the first to try it.
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 12:56, 1 reply)
How arch-nemises are created...
Dear Neighbour,

I realise that Mr Anodyne and I can occasionally listen to music a bit later than you'd like us to, and I'm sorry for that, and we've (almost) put a stop to it. Hell, we haven't had a party in 6 months because we're worried about upsetting you after you complained to us. We even let you get away with telling us to 'get fucked' last summer when we asked you not to burn plastic in your garden (especially when we had the windows open).

However, you have been drilling and hammering at something every day for a VERY LONG TIME now, and it's starting to get on my tits. I'm not sure what on earth could even require that much work, but if I don't see a life-size Optimus Prime or something equally huge and worthwile erected in your garden pretty fucking soon, we might have to go back to partying every weekend. This might seem like petty vengeance, but you are quite literally driving us insane.

Yours with ear-muffs,

Belladonna x
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 12:19, 4 replies)
Sorry my car broke down.
Am I late?
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 10:53, 2 replies)
My arch nemesis,,,,
...was a lad that I first met when I came up to uni, he was less awkward than me, got put in a better flat in University Halls than I did, slept with two girls that I really genuinely liked ruining the thought of them for me. He just always seemed to be doing better than I was and would pop up to unknowingly rub it in my face at the worst possible moment. We lost touch for a year or two when he moved into a better house than me with nicer people...

I say he was my arch nemesis because a few years ago I started gradually getting my own back. I started working for the same Leisure company as him and was soon promoted to his level, which he did not like after being able to make my working life hell for a good few months. Things got better when he got caught giving away stock and I was promoted above him in his place thanks to his misedemeanours.

After eventually gaining his promotion, and being sent on the relevant courses to gain the legal licenses required we were even once more (damn!) and he started gradually doing better than me (double damn!)

He continued to generally piss me off for about a year until last month he got fired for getting drunk and relieving himself in the service yard at work - on CCTV. Most of the staff believe he has resigned and worked a short notice due to family and financial reasons... I know the truth, I also know that he is 26 and back living with his parents with no job!

Muaahahahaahaahaha! Arch Nemesis defeated.

Length: About 6 years, and then probably around 6 inches which got him into trouble!

ps. Click I like this if you think I should tell the staff the real reason he "resigned"
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 1:31, 10 replies)
Nemesis for one day of the year. Warning: Long
For most days out of the full 365, I normally count myself as my own enemy, undermining my esteem and trying to find misery in any joyful event. This has caused me no real end of trouble, and only rarely do I enjoy brief flirtations with confidence, grins and productivity.

However, for the one day, my nemesis takes another form, and each time it has snuck up on me even though I anticipate its presence, and carefully try to avoid it.

Thus we set the scene. It is the university beer festival and, as ever, the weather is grim and grey, occasionally given to bestowing small quantities of rain to the revellers beneath, slightly diluting their various beverages, but ultimately damping no spirits. Many are the ales and ciders on offer, and the mood is generally good.

Typically, there are close to thirty beverages on sale at any given time, most of these skirting around the 3,4 or 5% ABV mark (ciders normally kick in at 6 or 7). However, there are always token big hitters, ales which weigh in at a considerable 10-13% ABV. Naturally, man (and woman) likes a challenge, so these are often drained quick enough. How could I resist?

Well, it just so happens that one of these cruiserweights of the ale world is, to my often abused tastebuds, one of the foulest concoctions ever imbibed. However, as a festival of beer expects (or even demands), I normally end up very far gone after a hard days drinking, which summarily erases all knowledge of my shadowy nemesis save its odour and taste.

By now, I'm sure the few of you who are still reading this are thinking (or mentally screaming in the vague hope i'm psychically sensitive enough to detect it) 'Why doesn't he have little tasters before plunging in?' I would like to say I believe in the spirit of adventure and plunging face first into the unknown, but it's mostly because I'm foolish.

Anyway, I have quaffed and rated a fair few minor ambrosias and so the time has come to tackle the big guns. There were 2 this time, one golden and deceptively light, the other darker than the abyss. The golden wonder bids farwell to the light in good order, and all is well. As I pick up the dark menace and hold it under my nose, something is amiss. The smell is... familiar, but not the friendly familiar, oh no. This is the vapourous equivalent of, "Gotcha!"

I cannot believe I have fallen for this again. Before me was the liquid embodiment of mankinds sins, staring malevolently up at me with a thousand bubbly eyes, belittling this foolish mortal who can never escape its grasp.

"Are you not a man?!" declared my comrade in youthful exuberance, "Will you be forever intimidated by a half-pint hater?" Not keen to let this slur against my pride go unchallenged, I took the first sip.

It is as horrible as I remember, just the wrong kind of fruity that occasionally makes me retch, and it's more than my tongue can bear. I pull through this first assault, but only just.

My friend is not pleased. He summarily demands I down this hateful fluid with the appropriate gusto, lest my rights to my manhood be forever revoked.

My nemesis, whilst lacking a face, muscles or even a form to call its own, is surely smiling, that special kind of triumphant smile which is assured of victory. I wondered how many damned souls were trapped within its murky being. I feel a cold dread within me. It had been, quite literally, years since I have downed any substantial amount of alcoholic beverage, due to a stomach largely fed up with such abuse requiring that I reign myself in. Feeling better now did little comfort me, for my nemesis has triumphed on every occasion we have met.

It was then I decided that today would be my day. You may have been brewed from the corrupted waters of the River Styx, with whole swathes of the damned sacrificed to imbue you with the precise qualities to defeat me, but today I mark you, and I best you.

Rolling up my sleeves, this is serious business after all, I grab the plastic vessel which holds my antithesis before me, and I smell again the contempt it has for me. And so it begins...

The first gulp goes without much issue, although already my body is protesting this invasion.

A couple more and I see the bottom of the cup, the light at the end of this tunnel of horror, my face wants to crease up in revulsion, but this must be finished!

It's getting to the point where the angle of the cup must increase to maintain flow, my nemesis is not looking so smug now, victory is in sight.

And at last it is done. My furious opponent rages against the walls of my stomach, determined that I do not keep it down. I feel a movement up my oesophagus, a fallen soul trying to escape? Or the final counterattack of a determined foe? Ultimately, just a small belch, leaving me with a passing taste of malice completely overshadowed by a feeling of achievement.

This time I did note its name, and, almost appropriately, it lived by the title Paradox. Now I know it, it may never haunt me again.

Tl;dr. Nemesis was an unliked drink that I always somehow ended up drinking at a beer festival. This time, I managed to finish it. Almost certainly embellished for dramatic effect. The end.
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 1:17, 1 reply)
my last landlord and his snivelling daughter
imagine this! you're aged eighteen, living away from home for the first time ever and you don't know much about renting a house for yourself. now imagine that someone has been living in the city for six years, and seems trustworthy, suggests that you rent a house off their dad. apparently, £70 a week is really good money, good houses go really quickly and he'll only ask for £100 deposit.

so the seven of us move into a nice house in the crookesmoor area. we are very trusting... why not? what kind of human being would willingly move into an over priced dump?

the kind of miserable bitch who hardly spends any time at home.

1. three of the rooms were uninhabitable for four months. when we asked the landlord for money off, as promised, he denied all knowledge of this offer (or our basic rights as tenants)

2. when we looked around the house, all the rooms were decently furnished. when we moved in, all of the decent furniture had mysteriously been moved to his daughter's beautifully decorated room. it turned out there was not enough furniture to go around because a sneaky extra bedroom had been fitted in to accommodate us all. i never had curtains and my desk was a cabinet.

3. my house mate broke his bed and got charged for the damage (fair play!) ... but the landlord waited until we had left before he fixed the bed. which meant that my house mate ended up sleeping on the floor for weeks.

4. we got our deposit back six months after we left the house because he decided to go abroad.

5. as it turns out, it was NOT a good price for the area. i know i should have done my own research, but how bad is charming people into an over priced place just because it belongs to your dad? especially a bunch of terrified freshers who think you are their friend.

6. as we quickly found out, we werent the only tenants. RATS AHOY!

7. when it rained, water came down the chimney so we ended up shoving a large plastic box underneath so the kitchen wouldnt flood.

8. another house mate agreed with the landlord that his latest rent would come in a week late (im not sure why but they agreed). a couple of days later, after an argument about the washing up, the daughter threatened this house mate with a lateness charge.

9. our university did a special scheme for really badly off students. im not talking ema / bursary stuff. im talking "you're struggling to eat because you're also supporting a family" kind of thing. obviously, the landlord owned a load of properties so his income must have been pretty high. four holidays a year kind of thing. his daughter was always dragging shopping bags through the house and she owned a car, a boat, a horse etc. but her mother had buggered off somewhere and was living off benefits. so daughter claims she lives with mother and sends a heart wrenching story to the people who run this special scheme. they accept her and publish her letter on the site for next year's students.

this might not sound so bad. people are always claiming stuff like this for ema and bursary. except they only had 30 places... and then that was it. and out of everyone i knew at university, she was the wealthiest. and she had probably robbed this money off someone who really needed it.

better stop... blood pressure riiiiiiiising... so yes, these two would definitely be my archnemisises
(, Mon 3 May 2010, 0:09, 3 replies)
I stab at thee...

(didn't even need to rip my shirt for this one)

James T. Kirk
(, Sun 2 May 2010, 23:06, Reply)
They're arch-nematodes...
(, Sun 2 May 2010, 22:18, Reply)
was my ex-GFs boss, and, (so I thought) a friend. We used to socialise together. Then he stole S**** away from me. And from that point on I hated him; his smugness, his gravelly voice...

Still I got my revenge on him when I bumped into him whilst Paintballing. I shot him in the bollocks.

Tim Bisley.
(, Sun 2 May 2010, 19:48, 1 reply)
The Cuntbag Bitch
I’’m pulling myself out of QOTW retirement to write this tirade. I really don’t know where to begin so I’ll begin by saying this woman is the devil incarnated.

I started my current job back in October 09. I am a lowly Human Resources gimp who has the mentally draining job of telling people why they can’t have a pay rise and why they’re loosing their jobs. Not particularly fulfilling I’m sure you’ll agree, but being a university I naively thought I could avoid the rough and tumble of the ruthless private sector, the last time someone was this wrong they got into a car with a bearded Yorkshire man who claimed the hammer was a tool for work. So, I arrive for training on the Monday morning and this is where we meet our mentors. I can safely assure you all that this was not like the Jedi Council and if it was I would have been fired instantly for the amount of abuse I was thinking. There she stood, her black hair straightened to the point of follicle surrender and a tan that could only be best described as the defecated doodling’s of a mental patient on a blank canvas, but with far less purpose. Then the wardrobe, oh fuck me I smelt the power issues instantly. Stiletto’s that wouldn't have been out of place in a trannies wardrobe and the one-piece suit of an uptight lesbian who had been molested by Bernard Manning while telling suspect racist jokes. Now, I’m not one to judge too soon so I though I would give her the benefit of the doubt. She did seem nice enough if somewhat a bit needy for attention, but being eager to please I just listened and got my head down (oh er misses).

A few weeks roll by and I’m starting to notice a change in myself, I didn’t know what it was so I ignored it (classic male behavior). I had been in the role for 3 months and I was beginning to have feelings of sickness at the thought of going anywhere near the place. In all my previous jobs I have been made to feel like a valued member of the team but in this role I was feeling like the dog muck in the corner that no one wants to deal with. I was afraid to do any work as the bitch jumps over my mistakes with patronising red pen and sends me emails to the effect that I'm a pile of rubbish. She always re-enforces the negative and if I do something well I'm made to feel like a toddler who has just learned not to defecate himself, patronising is too soft a word for it. I’m not usually the sort of man that takes this sort of crap and I did try having a word with her line manager, what a fucking mistake that was. According to them she was an angel who is very professional and efficient, since when did that make anyone good at training? Basically, I was palmed off and told to know my place. It was clear to me that the management team had her lined up for a management job in the near future and did not want their plan jeopardized.

More weeks role by and the atmosphere between her and me is becoming very frosty but information is thrown my way that makes me feel reassured that I’m not imagining the animosity. According to a well-placed source, she was annoyed that her female temptations did not work on me and she was shipped out of another department a few months before I started because “everyone fucking hated her”. This was followed by casual accusations of racism, the accused being the most pc/nervous person I have ever met, and management fudged that one too and sent the accused off to counseling. Things were starting to add up, she was hungry for power and didn’t want anything or anyone to get in her way. To be honest I didn’t care about her aspirations, I just wanted to get my work done and forget about the place when I left at the end of the day. I tried to leave these feelings at work and not bother my partner with them but these constant negative feelings just wouldn’t go away. My confidence was shot to pieces and I felt like a shell of my former self. But the crazy part of it all is when I was ‘up’; the feelings were just as uncontrollable and I tried to stretch this out as long as I could. The stark contrast in emotions made it all the more difficult to accept the demons dragging me back into the negative pit. Everything was becoming a struggle to comprehend in a positive manner and she made it all the more difficult by using my probation meetings as a tool to make me look like an utter prick in front of management. The utter cunt had photocopied my mistakes and drew up correct to incorrect ratio statistics. She brought these out in a probation meeting and explained to all and sundry that I was a fuck up. I just wanted to cry, the old me would have boxed my way out of that corner but I was beaten. I accepted my fuck up status and carried on.

Back in late January of this year I got struck down with a kidney infection and flu. This truly fucked me up for nearly a month and I had to take a fortnight off work for this. I’m pretty sure my mental run down state contributed to my physical state but it was a blessing in disguise. Being ill was rubbish but that was the best two weeks in months. The feeling of an excruciating piss was a walk in the park compared to seeing that cunts face again.

The return to work was awful. I was greeted with an email from that utter cuntbag slagging off my work and basically calling me rubbish. I saved this email and sent it via the office manager. Meetings were held and she got a bollocking. A minor victory was hailed but this seemed to only reinforce her dislike for me and the relationship has been awful ever since. I have tried talking to her about how i feel but she seems oblivious to all my feelings. She has recommended that I do not pass probation and therefore loose my job. She doesn’t care that I will get thrown on the dole cue and basically fuck up my life. My probation has been extended due to the illness I had but I have been told that I have 6 weeks to produce 100% error free work. I would like to point out that the kind of errors that I am making is due to holes in my knowledge, not application. Her training methods are appalling and I have pointed this out but again my words have fallen on deaf ears, even though I have done a lot of training in previous jobs. I feel she does not want to pass me information and get me through this sodding probation. She wants me to fail and I feel the management team is just waiting for me to leave or can my arse. I have come to the end of my tether with this cunt and I’m looking for a new job. Fingers crossed. I have contacted my union rep as I have been told that I have been set unreachable targets to save my job (I have found fuck up’s in her work that I have sneakily photocopied and hidden for a rainy day). Not sure how I feel about this as she is a slippery little cunt who may know how to wriggle out of it. But saying that, she didn’t know where Mexico is and a failed glamor model. Wish me luck peeps.
(, Sun 2 May 2010, 19:03, 17 replies)
was, urm, a larger lady who started work on telesales for a big I T Distributor on the same day as me. She was very, very loud and very, very annoying and used to make up office songs, which we had to sing every morning (fucks sake...) because she was well in with our sales manager and they convinced each other it was good for office morale and team spirit to have us fucking mumbling and muttering this fucking shite to the tune of 'O Sole Mio'..

She was huge. She had one of those bottoms that looked like there were a couple of lads trying to fight their way out of her when she walked. She had her own weather systems and measurable gravity field which meant that if anything remotely digestible got within 2 metres, it was drawn into the trap. At lunchtimes, she'd ask anyone nearby who had the misfortune to have a sandwich 'Can I have a bite?'. The idiots who said 'OK, there you go' were treated to the sight of this fucking creature forcing as much as she could into her mouth before snapping her jaws shut. Frightening...She asked me once, I said 'no' and she called me a 'tight bastard'. I'd seen the damage she could do.

She had a blazing row with one of the team leaders one day. She had a habit of attaching herself to someone (usually female) in the office and then she'd go wherever they went, which was fucking annoying after about 10 minutes, and the TL had totally had enough. The next day the team leader came in to find most of her account record cards missing. They were found in the shredder. Of course, no one could prove anything.

She was doing much better than me on sales though, especially if there was a promotion running. I could never understand it. One morning, about 6 months after we started, they took her to one side and gave her a promotion to team leader. I was fucking gutted, she'd pissed quite a few people off but that didn't seem to matter, her figures were good and she deserved some recognition...

One day, a few months later, a stock check was carried out and it was discovered that there were quite a few more laser printers in the warehouse than there should have been...She'd been putting false orders through, letting them go through the system and then intercepting the paperwork before it got to the warehouse. I wandered into work next morning to be dragged into the boardroom by the sales manager and told that she'd been sacked. YAYYY!!!!

The sales manager (cheeky cow) said something along the lines of 'She's really let me down. You started at the same time and I need to know that I can trust you...'.

I've only seen her once since, working at an estate agents. If I never see her again, it'll be too soon.
(, Sun 2 May 2010, 18:57, Reply)
an alien and we hate each other.


T de Torquemada.
(, Sun 2 May 2010, 16:57, 5 replies)
My nemesis is...
...rather unsurprisingly my boss. Now I know we've had all manner of employment related nemeses (nemesises? nemesisis?) but this guy is a wanknut of the top level.

For those that don't know, I'm employed by a fairly large company. They've been around since the 17th century, and as is the case with these sort of groups they've expanded into several product areas - no I'm not naming names but a quick google should sort you out. I'm employed by the entertainment division, which is alright as nobody minds you doing your own thing every so often.

So the boss man got where he is through family (as these types always do) and quickly managed to get his people installed throughout the company - chums and the like keeping on eye on the rest of us.

Now I'm a fan of my alternate music, but this guy is a total goth, occasionally turning up with black eyeliner on or wearing tight leather trousers. The thing is he's also the most bigoted person around. We have a mental health facility down the road from our offices, and he's always shouting at the patients when he meets them in the street, saying they should be chucked in the asylum (his words). He's even beaten a few of them up, although usually when he's got his cronies along with him. Of course nobody ever believes it's him.

He's notorious for shutting down projects he doesn't like the look of, although he usually waits until the last moment to do it - inevitably leaving you looking like a complete nob end for thinking of the idea in the first place. The worst time was when I came up with this awesome wee TV gizmo (can't say more - NDA) and he shot me down right in front of a load of investors. Apparently it "raised too many questions" which is exactly the sort of nebulous crap he's well known for.

Of course when he fitted a jet engine on the back of his motor and started hanging around with this kid who wore leather that was so tight you could see his nipples we all knew he had gone too far.

(, Sun 2 May 2010, 12:20, 6 replies)
Me. Me. Me.
My arch-nemesis is me. I swear, it must be. I have never feared or hated anyone as much as I fear and hate myself.

I think it's the side of me that wants everything to be perfect. If it doesn't, well, I hate myself. A lot. I mean, Flying Spaghetti Monster forbid that I can't do some Physics homework (which is fucking difficult, really) or that my circuit board isn't perfect or I'm not good at some game or my picture isn't very good or whatever. I end up tearing myself, and my plastic, imaginary version of myself, to pieces.

Luckily I have my as-mentioned-above plastic, imaginary version of myself (a plastic dinosaur with articulated arms and legs, which I decided to call LK) which I can throw around if I particularly hate myself. That poor thing deserves a break.
(, Sun 2 May 2010, 10:51, 1 reply)
dead rat man
I like to work out at the gym, me. And get a bit sweaty. Often in the form of Circuits classes - there's a man shouting, and there are girls watching. So of course you work harder. Oh and the Boxing one means you get to sort of nearly hit people. After either such class I like nothing more than to sit in the jacuzzi and/or steam room to wind down a bit, then have a nice shower. Feeling all refreshed I re-emerge into the changing room to find - the smell of Satan which burns my nasal cilia and ruins the mood rather. So my nemesis is hideously stinky go for a massive shit from Hades in the gym man, he's following me and his timing is impeccable. The bastard.
(, Sun 2 May 2010, 9:02, Reply)
This fucker.

Thinks it's so grate.
(, Sun 2 May 2010, 7:55, 1 reply)
In 1992
the New Musical Express also had a very public dispute with its former hero Morrissey due to allegations of him using racist lyrics and imagery. This erupted after a concert at Finsbury Park where Morrissey was seen to drape himself in a Union Flag. The series of articles which followed in the next edition of New Musical Express soured Morrissey's relationship with the paper and this led to Morrissey not speaking to the paper again for over a decade. It was his arch-NME.
(, Sun 2 May 2010, 7:52, 2 replies)
6th Grade...
I went to a Catholic Grammar school (grades 1 to 8). In the 6th Grade I had a teacher named Mrs. Spiegelman. Rather odd for a Jewish teacher in a Catholic school - but I digress.

She apparently didn't like me much from the beginning. Asking me questions that were clearly beyond the skill level of the average 12/13 year old. No matter, I did the best I could.

Flash forward to one Sunny April day. Somehow, a teacher who is supposed to be teaching us "English" or "Language Arts" was showing us a film. Not just any old film. An old black and white film. Of what you ask? Was it a classic film such Gunga Din or Citizen Kane? Maybe even the adaptation of "Lord of the Flies" (which we did see). No. For some unknown reason, Mrs. Spiegelman decided to show us a film on what? Concentration Camps.


What ended up happening was for some reason, I laughed. Loudly, Snickered something bad. I dont recall if one of my friends told me an off color joke, or a made a funny comment about the film. (At this point the film was showing a row Camp prisoners, all looking starved and dirty (and it was and still is a tragic consequence of a mass murderer) But needless to say, she went white as a ghost, and stared at me like Donald Sutherland did in the remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers and pointed to me and didnt even say a word. I dont think she could even be coherant.

So for the next couple of months, everytime a question was asked and I knew the answer (several times when I was the only one who did), I was not acknowledged. I was ignored - and it seems every test or quiz - I got a 70. (which was the lowest passing grade). I tried to point out a couple of times "Mrs. Spiegelman, I think you made a mis-" cut off by her icy voice - all grades are final. Even a couple of my friends noticed it. How could I fight that? I couldnt. So for the remaining two months, I dealt with it. Finally - in June, getting a "C" in her class and being done with her forever.

Pardon the length, but it is what it is.
(, Sun 2 May 2010, 5:16, Reply)

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