Two gays arose

( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 16 Oct 2014, 11:28, 2 replies)

O, sweary goats?

( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 16 Oct 2014, 11:16, Reply)

Wat goor essay
sums it all up really
( CharlesDexterWard no rush eh, Thu 16 Oct 2014, 10:44, 2 replies)

Was too greasy

( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 16 Oct 2014, 9:58, 3 replies)

A Warty Gooses

( Locus213 Slightly to the left of Bakunin, Thu 16 Oct 2014, 9:27, Reply)

Aw, rosy goatse!

( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 16 Oct 2014, 9:21, Reply)

Gays wear soot
Oo! Wastes Gary
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 16 Oct 2014, 9:00, 1 reply)

Aye, grass. Woot!

(The Magic Number is neither magic nor a number, Thu 16 Oct 2014, 8:43, 1 reply)

Saws a gory toe

(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 16 Oct 2014, 8:31, Reply)

Tosser, go away
Gateways, or so, Roy goes Wasta
(Carpe Cyprinidae, Wed 15 Oct 2014, 23:45, Reply)

Tosser, go away
Gateways, or so
( idonthaveafunnynickname Drink-Aware? Sure. I'm aware I want another drink., Wed 15 Oct 2014, 18:53, Reply)

It's that vanilla, strawberry and chocolate ice cream in one tub right?

( Pig Bodine., Wed 15 Oct 2014, 16:32, 5 replies)

alright

(McChinaman banned, Wed 15 Oct 2014, 15:10, Reply)

I never realised that nepotism was one of the bad isms. Unless of course you are a nepot.

( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Wed 15 Oct 2014, 14:38, 11 replies)

Turns out, if you're nice to the mods you can get away with posting NSFW images.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Wed 15 Oct 2014, 12:08, 11 replies)

When things go sour.
Nick was a fellow welder turned mate I met whilst working at a wheelchair factory many, many moons ago.

Nick was fucking the bosses daughter. He got his job through the boss-man. Unbeknownst to all of us. He started at the bottom - putting the frames through the chrome bath. That meant wiring them up, dunking them in phosphoric acid and turning on the switch. Then rinsing them afterwards with minimum of mess. Shit work. I knew - I'd done it a couple of years earlier. Fortunately for Nick he showed a modicum of intelligence and just a sparkle of ingenuity. Enough that he started to move up the "ranks" of the factory floor. Until he landed in the cubicle next to me. I'd done up to Cert.8 Mig with the company but got bored of the daily grind, so having a bit of engineering background (a couple of years getting pissed at uni) they teamed me up with the design dept. and I was to build the jigs out of 1/4 inch plate steel for newly designed frames for the rest of the workadays to weld up. Nick joined me within a couple of months of him being there.

One day the bosses princess (who I have to admit was very pleasant to look at - apparently she was a haircut model for haircut magazines amongst other things) came to slum it with the calloused hand mob after she had finished her school day (YES! YOU HEARD ME RIGHT. She was 17 he was 22) and needed to meet daddy before he finished for the day. Normally this involved some friendly banter, maybe a few winks and very rarely a catcall. Not this time. Some of us spied Nick giving her a sly/shy peck on the cheek in the carpark. Within moments of her leaving we had swooped on Nick and got all the relevant details. Been fucking her for a couple of years, her dad gave him the job. Some of us reacted more than others - I remember our foreman John deciding he "never liked the fucking little cunt!" and was "gonna make his life a fucking misery". Me I tried to cast my mind back to some of the after-work drunken pub conversations about "chicks" and whether I had said anything offensive and came up drawing a blank. As it turned out: no.

Nick used to whinge that she was dud root. According to him intercourse consisted of him performing cunnilingus on her for up to 1/2 an hour at which point after her long overdue panting orgasm he was allowed to stick his dick in her vagina for a few minutes until he achieved his own relief. Nick's solution for this unsatisfactory sex life was to eventually decide to go out and fuck some other pretty young thing and break up with the bosses daughter. Now I know mentioned she was a princess, did I also mention she was a fucking psycho bitch?

This story ends; dear reader with a very messy breakup. Following that a few months of weird stalking on the girlfriends behalf and eventually culminating in Nicks's termination from the company due to him being the only person to be chosen for a "random drug test" and failing. That is despite the fact that about 1/3 of us were smokers. And there were at least 2 guys that regularly dealt to everyone (from management to the shop-floor).
(Mr Pleasant, Wed 15 Oct 2014, 8:55, 20 replies)

Cheers.

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Tue 14 Oct 2014, 19:36, 1 reply)

I worked for a firm that recruited solely 'by word of mouth', i.e. 'ask round your mates if anyone wants a job.'
Each department was staffed by a couple of core employees who were related/shagging and their hangers-on.

This caused problems such as large-scale pilfering, on-site shagging, staff turning up drunk and sleeping through shifts, very little actual work being done and the odd brawl. Staff turnover was high. Everyone was compromised so nothing changed.

I was always an outsider, having been offered the job when I visited as a customer. I didn't have mates or relations working there and was careful NOT to recommend the place to anyone!

I eventually moved on. Could've made a career there, if I'd only mastered reeling in late, filling my car with company property and spending the rest of the shift drinking complimentary coffee. Curses.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Tue 14 Oct 2014, 9:35, 1 reply)

haha King Lear yeah

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Mon 13 Oct 2014, 17:36, 10 replies)

Severn Trent Sewage Works
Prior to starting work as a teacher in the 70's, my aunt got me a job at Unigate, where she worked in the offices. My job was to sit in the milk disposal plant at the adjacent Severn Trent Sewage works and watch two dials. Apparently it would have cost a fortune to train and populate the plant in those Unionised days, so the Management solution was to stick two students per shift, 12 hours at a time, six days on two days off, in front of the dials, which were ph meters.

The job, such that it was, entailed turning on a carboy filled with acid into a stone trough when the dairy jettisoned the milk products, which could happen at any time during a 24 hour period. Once the acid was turned on, we had to swill it around with two wooden paddles and check that the ph reading at the end of the trough had returned to a normal reading. (7? is that a neutral ph reading? I can't recall)

This whole process used to last a maximum of 45 minutes. Some days we sat and did absolutely nothing at all, some days we had to work for a living for 45 minutes. We learned to play backgammon, and were sitting ducks for the local chavs with air rifles. We had drag races down the private drive, We got so bored we designed and made a crude Archimedian screw to slot into the stone trough so that we didn't have to do all that terrible slushing around with the paddles.

I worked there from finishing college to starting work in the autumn. My weekly wages were equivalent to my first month as a teacher, a massive £150 per week after full stoppages. That would be the equivalent of around £1500 now I guess.

It may be sh*t to you, but it was bread and butter to me. The tomatoes that grew there were the sweetest you'll ever taste!
( The Lone Groover has mal des nuts., Mon 13 Oct 2014, 17:35, 4 replies)

Not an anecdote, but an observation on nepotism.
In my work, I deal quite frequently with factories and mills. These typically will be set up by someone a few years back, prospered for many years and are by and large solid businesses.

They are (or will be ) invariably destroyed by a kind of nepotism.

What happens is grandfather is very smart, builds a successful business, then brings in his 4 sons and daughters. They aren't necessarily capable of running things, but Grandfather is around to watch them.

They all inherit 25% of the business.

Then they have kids. You've now got 4 2nd generation owners, and a dozen kids. Grandfather retires / dies, the business is split 16 ways, and the bickering starts. 6 of them don't want to work there, but they want their dividend each year. The rest all want big salaries too.

Then they breed. Now you've got a boardroom with 40 chairs in it, all occupied by people with 2.5% of the business. It never works, they end up driving it into the ground, because none of them have a clue how to run a business, or selling it to a mega corp.
(username failed moderation, Mon 13 Oct 2014, 16:48, 25 replies)

No hope
I work for a company which is owned by a Mormon family. The chairman has 9 children. The sons (except one) and sons-in-law occupy all the senior officer positions in the company. Each son/daughter also has a large family, and several of these children are now old enough (i.e. over 21) to hold senior positions in the company. Each one has been parachuted into a VP or President role, and then promoted from there. One the one hand it's not a bad company to work for. On the other hand I know that no matter how hard I work I will never get to be a senior officer as neither my father nor grandfather is the chairman, and I'm not married to the right person. Of course none of the the women in the family works in the company; this is a Mormon company after all.
(Smale is stuffed, Mon 13 Oct 2014, 15:58, 18 replies)

maybe you didn't get the promotion because you're shit at what you do?

( The Doveston haunted by the memory of his own amnesia, Mon 13 Oct 2014, 14:02, 3 replies)

worked in a family owned pub...
Owner was an ex copper and had the judge dredd complex
Son thought he was hard and could get away with talking to people (namely me) like shite because daddy owned the pub.
I had sex with owners daughter and told manager as i handed in my immediate leave.

I even had to pay for my own sunday lunch on 9 hour sunday shift on apprentice wages (£95 at the time dinner cost £10)
(Pennisons Revenge All this trouble over squealing meat, Mon 13 Oct 2014, 13:11, 14 replies)

It even happens in the NHS
No funnies, can't even be bothered going into too much detail.

Worked in a hospital a few years ago. Did my best to climb the ladder, did all the management courses and all that bollocks, ended up as department deputy manager. Manager takes on lad as a temp as favour to his mum, who was a director at said hospital. Lad routinely fails to turn up to work and frequently turns up drunk. Manager gets another job. Lad gets mysteriously managers job, despite not being qualified and not having the first clue how to do it. Lad expects me to do manager's job to cover for him.

I leave.

Lad is, evidently, still unable to do said job, but is still getting £40K a year of taxpayers' money to fail to do so.

Like the Murphys...
(ScousersPet, Mon 13 Oct 2014, 12:50, 1 reply)

nothing wrong with a bit of nepotism, so long as you keep it in the family

( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 13 Oct 2014, 11:25, 8 replies)

I got a job as a graphic designer at a little printing company
The first thing I was told by the other graphic designer was that out of the eight people in the company, four were the family - mum, dad, daughter and her fiancé - and the other four - me, him and the two lads who worked in the print room were basically treated as second-class employees. On the whole it wasn't too bad as I recall - because the parents both smoked I had an ashtray on my desk, we received our pay in cash in brown paper envelopes every week and they didn't mind that the non-family employees spent every Friday lunchtime in the local.

What finished it for me in the end though, was when the daughter came upstairs to the little room where I worked and said that she'd decided that we were to wear uniforms. Now I wasn't averse to this and I had a collection of name-tags and branded polo shirts from working in all manner of retail positions and the like, but when she handed my my "uniform" I initially thought she was joking. She'd found a bunch of old sweatshirts printed with the company's logo in a cupboard that looked like they'd been there since the mid-eighties and she proudly presented me with mine. It was originally yellow but filthy, with stained tide marks around the neck and cuffs - which were so tight they nearly cut off my circulation and finished just below my elbow in any case - and it was too short in the body, presumably because the previous occupant had a magnificent rack as the indentations of two breasts were still clearly embedded into the fabric.

I tried it on and I looked ridiculous. I said I wasn't wearing that. She said I had to wear a uniform, so I said I'd wear anything that fit and didn't already have someone else's tits moulded into it. She went to her father, who told me I had to wear the shirt if I still wanted a job. I told him I didn't want the job that much and quit.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Mon 13 Oct 2014, 10:50, 13 replies)

My old man's a steel man.
During the school holidays my dad employed me and my older brother - voluntarily - at his steel processing works. Pre-health and safety, pre- European directives about workplace hours. We wanted to earn some dorrar? We worked same as the regular workforce.

Operating heavy equipment? Steel banding gear? Gas-powered fork-lifts? Lift-and-winch gear for 10-tonne (metric) coils of steel sheet? You betcha. Getting close to the precision equipment like the slitters/decoilers/Millgravs? No way. You're menial.

Grumble Grumble 'Gaffer's son can do what 'e loikes', grumble grumble from the workforce. But that was at the beginning. Once they realised we had no special treatment, no privelidge, no perks, and we weren't there to spy on them, there became a bit of grudging respect. It also thickened my Black Country accent a bunch, working with those Stourbridge sods. Plus after a particularly tiring 60-hour week I bought my first bass guitar with the proceeds of my pay packet- despite the emergency tax rate nicking almost half of my gross income.

So. Dad taught us the meaning of hard work. Work got done. Me and my bro got valuable life experience. Didn't nobody die. I also jury-rigged a phone to trigger a strobe light in a noisy work environment (where the sound of a ring was swamped amid industrial noise) which meant folks at the coal face knew when guys up in the office were changing the work schedule, so I like to think I gave a little back.

Nepotism, yes. But done right?
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Mon 13 Oct 2014, 9:50, 2 replies)

My company has a kind of nepotism.
The two guys who own it have brought cousins, brothers, nephews, in-laws and any other relationship there is to work here. Of about 40 people in the office I work in, there are at least 20 members of their family.

Every one of them gets treated like shit. It's obvious the owners have been pressured into giving the family jobs, but that's all they do.

I get plenty of perks, from a cheap mortgage to lunch delivered every day. The family get fuck all.

Anyway, to answer the question properly, I once paid my cousin to decorate my flat, and he got paint on the carpet.
(username failed moderation, Mon 13 Oct 2014, 9:07, Reply)

Cricket
Apologies for the length in advance, been waiting for an opportunity to get this out there.

Cricket: There is no sport in England where nepotism causes a bigger problem.

In my more athletic days (yes - Athletic and Cricket in the same sentence) I was a good leg spin bowler. Having watched Shane Warne destroy England, I saw what a job a "leggy" could do and became pretty good at it.

Now, my local village team had a season of joy. We played 32 times in total, and won 29 matches. We won the league (albeit the 9th of 10 divisions) and made it to the local cup final. And this was with Pete in our team. Pete, the son of the teams captain, club chairman and the person who had paid for the new clubhouse.

Pete was fucking woeful. He thought he could bowl, but in the first 10 matches he set a seasons record for runs conceded, wides bowled and didn't take a wicket. He couldn't catch, but his dad, the team captain, put him in at slip. As a bowler, I counted 13 chances he'd dropped from my bowling. He wanted to bat No.3. He got to double figures once. He averaged 7 for the season in question; shows how well the rest of us were playing.

Come the local cup final, a rumour spreads around the village that Pete was injured. He was; he'd pulled a muscle in his back. But his dad still puts him in the team. So the rest of the team have a plan; put him at Deep Fine Leg (yes - I know, non-cricketers; these words mean nothing to you) and hope no one hits it there.

Now we bat first, Pete gets 3 and out, but we manages to get to 229. A decent 40 over total. We begin to bowl, and after 32 overs, we are owning them. They needed 14 an over to win. Then Father puts Pete on.

1st over, he goes for 25. I bowl from the other end, and go for 2 runs. Next over, Pete goes for 22; next, I go for a maiden. He bowls 2 more overs and brings the opposition back into the game. Bowlers are swapped around and it comes to over 40 with the other team needing 31 runs.

I have one over of my allotted 8 left, as does our best fast bowler, Andy. He's an ex-Nottinghamshire player who, although 48, still bowls tight. He gives me the nod to say "mine" and walks to the middle to bowl his last over, and we all think "That's it, we've won". More than 30 from an over; 5 sixes and more, fuck off...

"Andy, take a rest, Pete can bowl this" shouts the captain.

Utter cuntfuckwankbastard.

His final over went 6, 3 (no ball), 2, 4, 4, 6, 3 (no ball), 6. Fucking 34. 30 fucking 4.

The opposition had their last batsmen in and he gave away 34 runs. Their captain came and asked "what the fuck happened there- if he'd put the ball on the track you would have won."

Pete came in the dressing room afterwards, and just said, "you could have given me more runs to play with..."
(The Kitchen Sink, Sun 12 Oct 2014, 21:10, 3 replies)