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This is a question I should have been arrested

Faced with The Law when I and a bunch of equally idiotic mates set off a load of loud explosions down the local chalk pit, we blamed bigger boys who had run off. Tell us of the times when you got away with something naughty and slightly out of order.

Thanks to MatJ for the suggestion

(, Thu 26 Jan 2012, 13:36)
Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

A big, honey making insect once approached me...

I wafted my hands towards it and it flew away...

I'm lying really, I spent the day in bed.

I 'shoo'ed a bee? Nah, rested

(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:59, 1 reply)
I once put my rather lazy, but polite bottom up for the position of examiner, but was beaten by a more successful candidate.
A ruder, keen arse tested
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:53, 1 reply)
Hmm, let me have a go
I saw that Charlie Sheen made an episode of Arrested Development. It was awful though. When I watched it I booed at Sheen's Arrested.
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:51, 4 replies)
Edward - let me tell you that I once secured a healthy vegetable, in a line with others, using an unguent.
I glued a green abreast, Ed.
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:43, 4 replies)
So I covered my head with a garment I crafted from frozen water…

Turns out it was a really old fashion though, and Prince William’s brother just gawped at me.

Ice hood has-been, Harry stared

*turns gun on self*
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:40, 2 replies)
I once knew an asian girl called Aisha Dabeen, and
...she had a 1950's hairstyle

Aisha Dabeen's hair is "Ted"

...actually, no. Just no.
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:39, Reply)
There was this one time I got away with a crime.
I sho-uld ha-v-e b-ee-n arr-este-d
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:37, 2 replies)
I once kicked a pulse and unfortunately it shot straight into my Jewish friend's throat, and he asphyxiated

I shoed a bean; Ira's dead.

Please stop me
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:34, 2 replies)
When a pirate, I discovered an ancestral home, but failed to express my surprise (lol).
I should have been "Arr! A stead!"
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:32, 1 reply)
Erm…something about shaking uncontrollably…

While a woman who would prostitute herself for various pulses busied herself keeping her barnet held up with loads of spray….

I shudder, Bean-whore hair stood

(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:17, 2 replies)
I wish I judged people based on their ethnic background and the colour of their skin.
I should have been a racist.
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:16, 1 reply)
I once helped out a Blacksmith...

Really pale bloke he was, pink eyes - the lot.

Anyway, one day there was this carthorse with particularly troublesome hooves - that needed new items nailing to them...

The pale guy just had a nap while I did the fucking lot!

I shoe'd, Albino rested
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:12, 5 replies)
When I was a kid I had a paper round, delivering comics.
They were really heavy, so I had to find ways to carry them comfortably. The most relaxing was to hoist the bag onto my shoulders.

Yes, I shoulder-Beano-rested.

(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:10, Reply)
I went to a fancy dress party, but my costume wasn't a big success.

I wish I'd gone with my first idea, which was to go as Lenin's favourite cuddly toy.

I should have been a red's ted.

(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:04, 1 reply)
I bought a suit on the internet, turned out it was made of 100% wool.
should have been Harris Tweed.
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 11:59, Reply)
I got a part in the movie "Flatliners" but they swapped me for Keifer Sutherland at the last minute.

(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 11:31, Reply)
i should have dobbed him in
pootling around, trying to find a new job at the moment because my current one is about to go under. just last month the boss left for pastures greener.

he used to pay his girlfriend for hours she did not work then pocket the money himself and we turned our heads the other way out of misguided loyalty. until HQ started coming down hard on how much of the budget was being spent on wages.

then he used to chronically understaff us during the day so that there were no discrepancies when he claimed that she had worked 40 hour weeks.

then, at the height of madness, he sent me home and, as i found out later, claimed that she'd worked the shift.

they did not pay rent on their property. they're currently on their skiing holiday.
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 0:09, 1 reply)
I nearly got arrested
For taking a photograph of the war memorial on Wetherby Bridge late at night.
It transpired that someone the night before had photographed the Jewellery shops in town.
(, Wed 1 Feb 2012, 23:52, 1 reply)
went to a one-star Michelin restaurant and ran out without paying
from the outset they were out of hors d'oeuvres and by the end there was no tea, so i felt justified
(, Wed 1 Feb 2012, 21:03, 5 replies)
was in a bar in Southport a few years ago, when the DJ played a song I didn't like. So I hit him with me elbow, got one of me mates to hit him with a beer bottle, got arrested, and paid my pals to take the rap even though it was all on video.
And my boss at the time didn't care if it brought the company into disrepute.
(, Wed 1 Feb 2012, 20:50, 2 replies)
I was on a train recently when a large woman came and took the seat next to mine.
In fairly short order, she elbowed me off the arm-rest.
The bloody cheek of it!
I was there first!
I should have been arm-rested!
I know it's a lame pun. Please be chair-itable
I...I'll just go now.
(, Wed 1 Feb 2012, 20:39, 6 replies)
Shopping hatred - with some MASSIVE RACISM thrown in…

Thanks to TheManWithThePlan for (sort of) reminding me of this.

I’ll begin with a statement on shopping.

Ladies, we understand that you are truly wonderful – phenomenal creatures, but…can’t you get it through your heads that – just as you may not truly understand the timeless beauty of a particularly well taken free-kick, that us men sure as shit could not give the very slightest modicum of a fuck regarding whether or not an item of clothing is ‘too frumpy’, or...god forbid…’makes your arse look big’. In short – blokes generally hate ‘girlie’ shopping. Specifically as we tend to have no real sense of taste or style in that department, therefore we don’t see the point. ‘Women are from Venus’ and all that.

My love for the present Mrs Pooflake is quite unprecedented. As far as I am concerned, she is quite the most staggeringly amazing human being to have ever walked the planet…and I’ve been married for over 12 years now. Perhaps to put it another way – she puts up with me – and that in itself is a task worthy of a veritable sainthood and thusly I worship her relentlessly for it.

But she does have an Achilles heel. And that is the fact that she shops…like a goddamn machine.

Believe it or not, I also have two young sons…'flakelets' if you will, and I have managed through the magical medium of DNA to pass on to them via heredity, the realisation that having to accompany girls as they trundle aimlessly around shitty department stores quite boils our collective piss to an alarming degree.

Ooh they so hate it too. Bless ‘em. It’s almost like synchronised swimming - the way we all whinge and whine in unison like the deadweights we are as my poor lady drags us round clothes shop after clothes shop….after fucking clothes shop. You get the point.

However, The present Mrs PF has another weakness…and that is camping…you know – as in tents and wotnot...as opposed to wearing a pink neckerchief and saying things such as 'Oooh! don't touch what you can't afford, treacle'.

I have devoted my life in trying to be suitably affluent so that we don’t have to spend our holidays dragging our own faeces across a field every morning, but she happens to love it – so of course I indulge. Crikey I'm spineless.

Anyhoo - to try and drag this back into something remotely relevant for the QotW, one Saturday morning the missus decided to drop the inevitable yet sorrowful bombshell from hell that I and my flakelets dread:

“We’re going shopping today…”

“Oh sweet cunting fuck-stagger clackervalves” I mutter under my breath, and glance over to the flakelets to see them muttering something probably very similar (but hopefully minus the blatant expletives)

The missus then proceeded to insist that we accompany her on a dismal day of bum-biting drudgery wonderful voyage of discovery around several supermarkets, then just enough clothes shops for us all to lose the will to live.

A few hours in, my youngest son plucked up the courage to pipe up: “Pleeeeeeeease…..mummy…..can we go home now…? Pleeeeease?...”

The pause was just long enough to fill all three of us males with a tinge of hope…

Mrs PF: “NO!, after this we’re going to the camping shop”

Now, when she said this we were in some posh ladies clothes boutique that was quite busy; and we were surrounded by various people - almost every race, colour and creed was represented by the women who were knuckle-deep into clothes on the rails, and the smattering of poor blokes who were all in the same boat as we were as we collectively rolled our eyes and shared glances of dismay.

At this point I should point out that we had all been to ‘the camping shop’ many times before. It’s a place on the outskirts of Coventry called ‘Blacks’…

You can soooooo see where this is going…

In front of a packed shop on a Saturday afternoon, my youngest son decided to man-the-fuck-up and state a protest at the utter disregard of how his afternoon of playing Minecraft and suchlike had been squandered mercilessly just so he could be dragged around and get asked his frankly redundant opinion as to whether he thought certain handbags ‘looked pretty’.

Unlike his entirely less-brave father...He took a stand. However, in his innocence, he wasn’t quite aware of the implications.

“NOOOOO!......NO MORE!!!” He screamed: “I…HATE...BLACKS!!!!” He yelled at the very top of his little voice, stomping his tiny feet and throwing his very best attempt at a hissy fit.

As I lunged for him he continued: “I HATE BLACKS AND SO DOES DADDY! WE ALL HATE BLACKS!!!!” at this point, with my eyes as wide as dinner plates I tried to smile meekly as I glanced at the massive 6ft 4 black guy nearby who was looking at me with a rather understandable disgust, and who had the physical capability of squishing me into the ground with a mere flick of his little finger.

”Oh…ho ho ho…what a misunderstanding!...*forced laugh*…It’s a shop, everybody….he’s talking about a shop…please believe me…” I whimpered pathetically. I even considered mumbling the tune of ‘Ebony & Ivory’ in a desperate attempt to placate the surrounding crowd…who thankfully were too busy ‘tutting’ and calling me a ‘cunt’ under their breaths to notice as I dragged both flakelets out of the shop and lectured them on why they must never say that again.

Yes, perhaps this is a bit tenous in accordance with the QotW, as I probably wouldn’t have been actually arrested, but on the other hand, I was very nearly torn a new clay-hole by various well-built onlookers - who if it wasn’t for their staggering ability to not be arsed wasting their time on a ball-sack like me, could have possibly reported me as a member of the Coventry branch of the KKK or something, if such a thing exists. God I hope it doesn't.

if you wish to check - www.blacks.co.uk - I can recommend the chunky socks.
(, Wed 1 Feb 2012, 16:20, 13 replies)
My Gran (God rest her soul)
Was a very bad driver, not that she was distracted by things more that she would knit at the wheel.

One day a policeman spotted her driving and knitting at the same time. Driving up beside her, he shouts out the window... "Pull over!"

"No," she shouts back, "a pair of socks!"

She got away with it as well.
(, Wed 1 Feb 2012, 15:15, 29 replies)
I didn't believe in sniffer dogs
I read that artice by Ben Goldacre about sniffer dogs being led more by the expectations and reactions of their handlers than actual sniffing. I also read a statistic that claimed sniffer dogs only get correct results 48% of the time - which is, surely, just chance.

Because of this, whenever I was walking past a sniffer dog while carrying weed, in train stations and on nights out and such, I would give the dog a nice big pat on the head and go "aww! what a cute doggy!", totally ignoring eye contact with the police officers and then scoot along.

Recently I read the study that Goldacre was actually talking about, and it turns out, despite what Goldacre said, that the authors of the study explicitly state that handler expectations only contribute to the dog's behaviour, and that actually there was quite a lot of evidence that sniffer dogs can actually do the thing that everyone thinks they can.

That shat me up a bit really, although maybe I've discovered the perfect tactic to evade sniffer dogs, perhaps I was just very lucky. I remember once in Preston train station seeing a guy ahead of me get pulled aside because of the dog. They emptied his rucksack to find an empty grinder. I was carrying a big smelly Q in my inside jacket pocket, I gave the dog a lot fuss and then just walked past.
(, Wed 1 Feb 2012, 15:09, 10 replies)
Trespassing is not big or clever
Unless it includes trespassing upwards!

On the way home from a climbing trip, we hit the centre of Bristol and found a large multistory Car Park, the outside wall was a glorious series of diamond shaped concrete slabs. Hardly pretty to look at, but each one was just about climbable.

My friend set off first and I followed him. A crowd gathered and watch two pillocks go to the top of a car park the hard way! Back at the bottom, sat our kit bags, too heavy to comfortably run away and packed only with boring climbing kit and clothes. We topped out and abseiled back down again, grabbing our kit and running away. Why running? Some bastard had called the Police!
(, Wed 1 Feb 2012, 15:03, 6 replies)
Apparently I've been killing QoTW and I'm still at large.

(, Wed 1 Feb 2012, 14:57, 12 replies)
Car running that nearly went wrong
A few summers ago some friends and I were out enjoying the long evening on Wimbledon Common. We'd been drinking for much of the day and as the sun light faded we decided it was time to move on.

We decided that rather than walk down Wimbledon Hill, we'd take a back street then nip over the railway bridge to take us to Wimbledon Chase for a pint or two. No point going through town if we didn't need to.

So the back road we decided to take was a pretty steep hill and about half way down I hit on the idea that we should go car running. Now, for those unfamiliar with this game, the idea is simple. One person takes each side of the road and lines up behind a parked car, then both people run as fast as they can over the tops of all the cars on their side of the road to the end of the road, the first there is the winner. Simple.

That is until you add a massive hill, a soft top car and a scaredy cat opponent who bails as you speed off running over every car in front of you.

As I neared the bottom of the hill, some 20 cars later and loud shout came from the road behind. Running down the road behind were two incredibly burly guys. In fact they weren't shouting, they were screaming blue murder in our - I mean, my - direction.

Our group started bombing it down the hill and at the bottom where there is a t junction most went right, whilst a friend and I took the left. We thought running left at the bottom of the hill was the smartest idea, we'd still be able to get to the railway bridge and avoid capture.

The plan was being executed perfectly until the amount of alcohol in my system kicked in and my running turned into a jog. The burly men caught up with us in no time, swung me round on my heels and produced black wallets from no-where.

'We're cops, and you've just f*cked up my soft top!'

A bit of poo ran down my leg. We were busted good and proper. All I could think was how I was going to explain this to my girlfriend when she found out, she always finds out.

Then my friend had what can only be called a moment of total clarity and produced the best time reponse possible...

'Can I see those badges again?'

Our assailants went white, they had tried to scam us and get us to go back with them to get a kicking and somehow the tables had been turned.

I was guilty of trashing their car for sure, but they weren't cops, for all they knew we were just two guys running late one evening whilst battered. A small exchange followed in which we protested our innocence, we were just out running.

'These aren't the droids you're looking for...' and all that. They bought it, god knows why. Maybe it was the fact they had tried the old 'we're cops, you're coming with us' routine and it had back fired. Who cares!

As we turned around, neither of us could believe what had just happened. We gingerly walked off and over the railway bridge in search of another pub and beer to calm our beating hearts.
(, Wed 1 Feb 2012, 14:02, 23 replies)
An 'acquaintance' of mine
While carrying 200 ecstasy tablets home after meeting a dealer, turned a corner only to find himself face to face with two police officers out on their beat. Now, instead of simply saying "Excuse me, officers" and carry on walking (they had no reason whatsoever to suspect him of any crime), he decided that the best course of action would be to panic, turn round and sprint off. Got caught a hundred metres down the road. 2 years in the big house.

(yes I'm aware the question is 'should' have never arrested but there's been a few tenuous ones this week so what the hell).
(, Wed 1 Feb 2012, 13:03, 1 reply)
Coppers examine drugs
Another tale from me, this time more a friend avoiding getting his collar felt, inevitably involving massive drugs.

First, some back story. A friend of mine put on a free festival in September. There had been various dry runs conducted throughout the summer, occasionally with bands but usually just some DJs, some woodland and no licence whatsoever. For the finale though it was decided to do a more professional job, and so some land was procured in a fairly rural location and a licence to sell alcohol was also obtained.

A few tents of varying degrees of sturdiness were erected, a stage was made out of pallets, a bar with a bathtub full of cans was installed and the place was decorated with flags and wall hangings. Truth be told it looked as good as your average tent at a legitimate small festival.

Bands played all afternoon, many people took far too many mushrooms, and the revelry continued. Around 11pm the music switched over to DJs and much doofing was heard through to the morning.

It was at about 10am that the boys in blue decided to come and tell us to turn it down. They'd apparently had noise complaints all night but I can only assume that the presence of an alcohol license was enough for them to decide not to act earlier.

As the coppers walked into the tent, my friend T was standing in the middle of the dance floor with a bag of MDMA in his hand. The coppers were perfectly pleasant in every way, but they understandably insisted that T come with them for a chat in their jam jar.

In a display of presence of mind that I consider almost superhuman, T explained how he had just at that moment noticed the bag on the floor and had picked it up because he was intrigued by the pattern printed on it.

“What do you think that is, it sort of looks like a spiderweb, doesn't it?” he reportedly said to the police.

Having skilfully distracted the peelers from the reason he was in there, the coppers evidently joined his train of thought and discussed with him their thoughts on the bag's design.

Naturally the police also wanted to search him, and they found a small amber bottle of liquid on his person. The police asked him if it was poppers, and he said that it was, so “well that's legal, you can keep that”. It was LSD.

So to my friend T I can only offer my respect at getting away with it so elegantly and effortlessly.
(, Wed 1 Feb 2012, 12:53, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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