The little restaurant down the road from me office,
Run by this haggared little slag from Northern China, once served us the wrong food. My friend and I were the only two people in the establishment and when we complained a large bunch of cleaver weilding chefs ran upstairs and demanded 40RMB from us (less than three quid) for the meal, shouting and spiting out sunflower seeds from their rancid teeth the whole time. I left calmly, my crying girlfriend companion in tow.

Obviously these cunts had never met British people before. I went back there the same night at about three am, armed with a pair of plastic gloves, a big turd in a bag, a D-lock (one of those fuck off huge jobs for locking up Motor Bikes)and a drum of cooking oil. Wearing the rubber gloves, I then proceeded to liberally smear the D-lock with my own feaces before clapping it over the adjoining central door handles of the double door at the front. After that I carefully tipped all of the cooking oil into the crack between the two double doors, where it flowed down onto the restaurant floor, which was set about 12 inches below ground level. Then I threw the key down a nearby drain.

To my sheer delight, they were still closed the next day during the lunch time rush. That ought to have knocked a shade more than 40RMB out of their maggotty little pockets.

Thanks B3TA for providing me another opportunity to relate this charming little anecdote. I'm sure I'll be telling this to my grandchildren in years to come.
(batteryoperatedlettuce Soon to be nine b3ta yrs old, Sat 7 May 2005, 3:48, Reply)