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This is a question What's the hardest you've tried to get dumped?

Groovypoodle writes, "My mate once told his girlfriend that he didn't think it was working only for her to laugh and tell him he was hilarious. Saying she was 'too weird' and 'slightly violent' and that he didn't like her was equally hilarious. Ripping off her wing mirror, throwing it through the windscreen
and storming off in a huff merely generated an apology from her a week later..."

Just how hard have you had to work to get someone to take the hint and stay dumped?

(, Thu 5 Jun 2008, 10:33)
Pages: Latest, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, ... 1

This question is now closed.

spimf has reminded me
I once worked with a former drill instructor for the US Army, a black guy in his early 50s or so. Nate was not a large man- I would guess him to be maybe 5' 7" tall at the most- and was invariably cheerful and easygoing. Hard to imagine him as a drill sergeant, really, despite the stories he told from when he was shipped to Viet Nam and how his unit got separated from the rest of the forces while behind enemy lines, and had to live off the land for two weeks surviving on things like jungle roaches. ("You had to eat 'em alive and you had to crunch 'em just right or they'd wiggle on the way down." He grinned at my expression. "Nothin' wrong with 'em- they're pure protein." To which I responded, "Yeah, well, so is jizz, but I'm not eating that either.")

Then one day he got a call from his wife, who had just caught their 17 year old son with a naked girl in his room. I would imagine that the girl, confronted by a devoutly religious black Baptist woman of heroic dimensions, knew that she only had one chance and took it- she jumped out of the bedroom window naked and ran.

Nate stood there listening to this on the phone, and his normal cheery baritone turned into a staccato bark as he told his wife that he would be RIGHT THERE. He hung up the phone and strode past me, and in that moment I saw the drill sergeant he had been, and was extremely glad that I was not the son who was going to have to face him.

I would imagine someone got dumped after that, but I never had the courage to ask him.
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 19:28, 6 replies)
Twice thwarted ...
While at Uni having had the (one-sided) tearful separation on the platform as I went of to East Africa for the entire summer I was most miffed to get the phone call saying "I've spent all the money I have and bought a ticket - see you in a fortnight I'm coming for a month" - feck!

Anyhow on returning to Uni and not having called her for a month she was all over me at a party when I started snogging a much older friend who was at the time a lesbian. She suffered this for 1/2 an hour before running out crying ...

She carried on trying to see me for about a month after that ... I still have no idea why!

Is it a long road to hull? Cos I must be on it!
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 17:24, Reply)
I have always been the dumpee....
.. not the dumper. But I think I can take a hint. After all, I took the following hints.

1. Was seeing a girl at college, came round one night, she'd moved. No forwarding address left.

2. Was seeing a girl at 6th form college. We went away on holiday with a group of friends. She pulled a bloke in the local pub and spent all night snogging him, I spent all night sobbing into my beer.

3. Went round to my nurse girlfriend's flat in the nurses accomodation, she answered the door in her dressing gown, looking shifty. A male nurse appeared behind her, completely naked, kissed her on the neck and asked her to come back to bed for 'some more'. He then smiled at me and walked off.

I'd like to point out that contrary to my usual fabrications, this post is completely true. I had a difficult time in love for the first few years.
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 16:40, 7 replies)
Upper 6th, 1991
New girl joins the school.

I'm single, 17 and desperate.

We fumble, I cherry pop (much like I am doing here actually). I get bored, I get scared to tell her. I get distant.

I apply for Uni, she wants to go to the same one. I lie and pretend I've changed my mind, so she switches her first choice to match mine.

I end up in my original choice. She ends up in Norwich.

She comes to visit. I pull someone else.

I make her sleep on the floor. We do not have sex.

She tells me she loves me. I tell her I don't love her.

She says I will.

I make excuses and avoid her over Christmas.

She invites me to Norwich the next term. She pays for my train ticket.

I don't get my train.

She dumps me at Easter.

I cry. WTF?
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 16:21, 7 replies)
This is going a tad to far in my opinion.
I'll Stand By Wife Who Tried To Kill Me
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 16:20, 11 replies)
toff popic
Bertmonkeysex *tip's hat* reminded me of this.

It’s a bit toff popic but here we go...
When I was a young blade, as much as I was a cheeky wee chap I was often none too clever at approaching girls. Unfortunately my best attempt at signalling my amorous intent was to stare at the object of my desire with the sort of thousand-yard stare psychiatric nurses dread. (I have since realised women don’t like this very much). So there we are down the favourite club, with my best mate, drinking beer and scanning the electric savannah – looking for the weak the young and the vulnerable.

And then I saw her.
Slender, beautiful, short blonde hair, high cheekbones flawless skin and perfect, perky little breasts bobbing around under a loose fitting shiny halter-top affair (late eighties). She also had the FINEST ASS I HAVE EVER SEEN. By now my eyes were swirling like that bloody snake in jungle book as she danced and laughed with her friends (mere fuzzy blobs in my peripheral vision). Smitten is not the word. The psychotic Bush Baby stare must have worked that night as lo and behold, the beautiful slender creature popped up beside me as if from nowhere (the shopkeeper in Mr Ben never looked anywhere near as good). With a lascivious look and sparkling blue eyes she chirped,
“So do you NEVER ask a girl to dance?”

After an evening of snogging, groping, dancing, drinking then repeat, all too soon it was time to leave the club. By this time my confidence was growing as quickly as my pants seemed to be shrinking. I suggested her place; some coyish ‘no I can’t – really I can’t’ protests were quickly swept aside with my new found rakish charm. So we bundle out of a cab still a-gropin an' a-snoggin. Giggling as we get to her front door.

"SHHHH!" She tells me.

Oh, righto! I think, flatmate(s) asleep probably. The house is quiet and in darkness. We head straight to the bedroom, have a long deep kiss (I can make out little in the gloom) then she pops the bedside lamp on.

Fuck. Me.
Walls plastered with pictures of ponies, (apparently horse riding was responsible for the great ass) pictures of boy bands unknown, more ponies, but the clincher – a single bed covered in teddies, pandas, fluffy fucking camels you name it.

"Erm. How old did you say you were?"

“17” she assures me, pawing at my jeans.

At this time I was only 18 or 19 myself so thought, fair enough. It is only now with the benefit of years I regret not asking her to pop the school uniform on that was undoubtedly still in the wardrobe. So we go at it with the vigour gifted only to the young. Then sleep. Very early in the morning we wake and enjoy another blissful shag in a bed too small for two. Breathless, tired and still fuzzy from the previous night’s excesses I start to drift off. Suddenly I was awoken with a deep dig in the ribs.
“Quick! Hide! Get under the duvet" she hissed.
Before I could even ask I hear the bedroom door opening. A voice deeper than Bluto with laryngitis boomed,

“Mornin'! I’m going for the papers and some rolls, you want anything?”

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK! Where are my clothes? Can he see my shoes lying on the floor? Does he have a gun? Then as if it could get no worse comes the fateful line…

“Who’s that?”

So there I am cowering under the duvet, in a single bed with some 17 - year olds father enquiring whom I might be. Cool as a frozen cucumber my hot, naked little minx replied,


“Morning Tracy, you want anything from the shops love?”

(I may have let out a small whimper at this point)

“She’s still asleep Dad – hammered last night."

“Fair enough” and with that Glasgow’s answer to Barry White lumbered off.
Once I got my heart rate back down to mere humming bird levels, frantically I start looking for my clothes.

“What’s the rush – he’ll be at least half an hour?”

She was up for it again! I wish I could tell you my dear B3tards that I was cool and suave enough to attempt another but I think I was dressed and on the street within 60 seconds.

(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 14:43, 11 replies)
I tried pretty hard
to dump my ex wife.

I stole all her money, maxed out all "her" credit cards on ebay and refused to do a stroke of work while she worked 23 hours a day and never had even a single affair at work.

I kept her in the house like a prisoner, beat her regularly and was insanely jealous of her friends and social life (which of course did not exist because.... ummm... I had destroyed them?)

Animal that I am, I even tried to turn her family against her by being really upset when she left and asking them if they knew why she had gone.

Yep, it's amazing. I was completely unaware of any of this! What a monster I was..... who'd have thought a $5 subscription to "Dopewars" could max out 4 credit cards, 2 of which I never knew existed. Or that all those dinners that went uneaten of a weekend..... I had thought she was in the pub getting pissed..... little did I know she was actually laying battered in the cupboard under the stairs while her doppelganger was pissed in the local pub.

Yep, I was a total cunt it turns out. According to what I've heard, like. But it worked! Sure enough, she soon had a very poorly concealed affair and left me. Result.

It's all about perspective, I suppose.

She remarried on saturday. Good luck to her I say..... can't be easy finding love when you're a complete psycho......
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 13:53, 6 replies)
last night
i got ambushed by a weirdo on the tube who wanted to tell me about his gastric band. it had not worked. i got off about 5 stops too early to avoid him, only to find there were no more pissing tubes for about an hour. so i walked. in a strop.

got home at about midnight. it was hot. i was not looking my best. unless you enjoy the flushed, sweaty, unflattering ponytailed look.

next minute, as i was putting my key into the front door of the block, a hand fell on my shoulder. i jumped about a mile and saw a skinny young black lad, maybe 18, standing there. i turned off my ipod and blinked at him.

"can i get your number?" he asked.

what kind of a person asks some total random for their phone number without even having spoken to them?? anyway, i smiled politely, backing in through the front door, and murmured some excuse. at which point he said brightly:

"oh please. i've followed you all the way from sloane square, come on..."

oh yeah, right, THAT's going to change my mind... freeeeak!!!

this isn't even remotely on topic, is it? ah well, it's slow on here today, has everyone defected to /talk??
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 13:47, 15 replies)
Not very hard at all, as it happens
I was just walking back from my local supermarket, all pleased with the healthy lunch decisions I had just made, and a pigeon shat on me.

What does that mean, then? Is God cross with me for buying that fruit salad instead of those doughnuts? Or is it because I haven't done the whole b3tacake thing yet today? *panics*
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 13:29, 23 replies)
Apparently I'm a rapist.
I once went out with a girl we shall call Heather (for that was her name).

It went well - we saw a band, went to the pub, drunk lots of beer, and ended up kissing and cuddling and chatting away.

It got to 10'o'clock. I offered to see her onto her train, so to the railway station we went. We sat, kissing. And then she started to tug at my belt.

Within minutes this girl was quite literally wanking me off in full view of the occupants of the still-busy train station. I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere more private, and she enthusiastically agreed.

We ended up (on her suggestion, I might add) having an cold, uncomfortable shag in a graveyard. Brilliant.

I saw her off. The next day I got a text.

"I'm sorry, I just can't see you any more. It's nothing personal but what happened reminded me of something bad that happened a while ago, I really didn't want to remember it."

Now I'm only guessing here, but I think I'm right in assuming that my delicate touch reminded her of that of her former assailant.

That was that relationship well and truly finished.

I don't hold it against her, and amazingly we still talk to this day - I've never spoken about what happened that night. I can understand that some people might be so severely traumatised that any kind of sex takes them back to what happened. But I felt, inexplicably, like a complete cunt.

I don't seem to have much luck with the opposite sex.
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 13:20, 3 replies)
Mute nympho.
About a year and a half ago I went out with Jo. She seemed nice enough, little bit quiet (practically a mute) but still nice. We got talking on MSN and she soon revealed herself to be filthier than a French Binman.
I gave her my number and we started seeing each other, pretty much every night I was getting the filthiest of texts.

Having an attractive, nymphomaniac girlfriend is ideal right? Not as such.
It's like a threesome, in theory it's a glorious idea. In practice, it's tiring and sticky.

Jo could barely contain herself, I was being woken up at three in morning - college days, with her telling me how wet she was and the various filthy things she wanted to do to me.
(To be fair, she never repeated herself on what she wanted to do - such imagination.)

Naturally I kept texting her back - ladyfriends are rare for me.
But it was taking it's toll.
I was spending loads on keeping my credit topped up, she lived far away so getting her round and back was awkward (I was a student, my mum had to drive us).
The physical exertion as well, jeeesus.
She'd come round for the night and it would be 6 hours straight of action. No rest breaks, no 'lets just cuddle'. Non. Stop. Fumbling.

Eventually I realised I wasn't really into her - well, I was into her (repeatedly), but not *into* her - so I spoke to her about it.

We stayed together for a few more weeks.

I hatched a plan. You see, I always satisfied her, despite her insatiable appetite.


She was coming around one weekend, so I spent the week prior, furiously wanking at any opportunity. My plan was to tire myself so much, that I wouldn't be able to perform.
And, y'know, what use is a broken boyfriend (her words*) to the sexual equivalent of the energiser bunny?

By the end of the week 'red raw' didn't cover it. The preacher was well and truly punished. The purple helmeted warrior had fallen in combat. The poor euphemism was fully wanked out.

She came round and then spent an uncomfortable evening being poked by what could only be described as "the worlds smallest cumberland sausage" (her friend's words).

3 days later she told me it wasn't working out.
5 days later she got drunk and (reportedly) shagged 5 different people at a party.

Take lesson from this, if your soon-to-be-ex-ladyfriend has an insatiable lust that's doing you no good - wank yourself stupid.

*One of the few times she properly spoke to me.

Length, like a small cumberland sausage apparently.
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 12:52, 15 replies)
I know it's not fair for me to post this now, as he's not here, but here's a quick guide on when you know it's time to dump Kaol;

If it gets into the red, head for the hills!
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 12:23, 281 replies)
Not what it said on the tin...
A couple of years ago (just after the Mad Saffa but before the current Mrs. Devil), I was desperately seeking... Well... Anything, really. All I really wanted was someone to curl up with, but failing that I’d have settled for a good old fashioned shag.

Now, I’ve never been very good at walking up to girls in bars or clubs, I don’t have any ‘lines’ or ‘moves’, so the likelihood of me ever meeting anyone was (at least it seemed so at the time) diminishing rapidly. I just knew that I’d end up old and alone. With cats.

One of the guys that I worked with, it turned out, was a Salsa instructor. He suggested that I go down to one of his classes with him – I could meet women and not have to go through the pain of stilted introductions! Bonus! Never one to pass up an opportunity to look like an octopus coming to terms with the hokey-cokey, I signed up.

The lessons were good. I found that I was actually half way decent at it, and welcomed the fact that after the class had finished, the girls came and asked me to dance (I was one of the only guys who didn’t grope them in the close holds... Hey, this is Croydon after all)! Things were going swimmingly.

And then, a new barmaid started working in the bar. She was short, about 5’ 1”, thin, and looked a bit like a pixie. That’s OK with me, I like the Elvin look. There’s a touch of the Kylie Minogue about her. Having found my new confidence, I start talking to her. When I go to the bar I make sure I get served by her, and it gets to the point that she actually starts fighting off other barmaids to serve me. We carried on in this little routine for a few weeks. One night, while handing me my change in the little tray, she grabbed my hand, leaned over the bar, and kissed me.

Well. That’s a first!

We organise to go out the following Monday evening.

As the day came around, I put on a crisp new shirt, had a shave, and made sure all the important bits were washed and ready for action. On with the lucky boxer shorts, a splash of scent, a brush through the hair and I was good to go. Meeting her at Covent Garden tube station, my dream began to become a little frayed at the edges.

Out from behind the bar, she had changed. She was very thin, and had ‘made an effort’. She wore a silver silk dress, a purple wooly cardigan, and a beret. Not a problem, I can live with strange dress sense, in fact, it’s quirky. I like it.

We go for drinks, and within seconds her hand is snaking its way inside my trousers. To cut a long story short, we went back to my place. Falling in to my room, we began to frantically undress each other. At her request, the lights went out. I have my arms around her, and notice that I can feel her bones moving beneath her skin – she really is very very thin. I began to worry that I might break her. I unclasped her bra and, while still kissing her, dropped it to the floor.


Hang on. A lacy bra shouldn’t make that sort of noise. Hands move from a tiny waist, up a flat stomach, up to... Nothing. Not even two peas on an ironing board. I have no problem with small boobs or flat chests - I’m a legs and bum man but I HATE CHICKEN FILLET BRAS! (Ladies, you are all beautiful. Big boobs or small boobs. Long legs or short legs. Flat belly or pot belly. Just don’t lie! Be proud of what you’ve got! I am not Gok Wan.)

No problem. She’s very enthusiastic, so let’s carry on. I remember myself just in time and tell her that I’m really, really not looking for a relationship. She agrees. We hop on the good foot and do the bad thing.

Thus follows a day of 25 text messages, 14 ‘phone calls all telling me that she knew I didn’t want a relationship, but she thought we could work well together. I reaffirmed my point – it was fun hanging out with her, but I wasn’t ready to be in a relationship yet.

The next salsa lesson came around. I’d made a group of friends there, and was dancing with one of the girls. The barmaid came storming over, tore us apart, slapped the girl I was dancing with, slapped me, shouted “HOW DARE YOU? I thought we were SPECIAL!” and ran out.

I didn’t see her again that night. I arrived home to a text message saying “I can’t blieve ud do that in front of evry1. Mayb we shud leave it. C u l8r.”

So I was dumped when I didn’t even know I was in a relationship, and by text speak too.
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 11:39, 6 replies)
A friend
I don't have any relevant personal stories, so I'll tell you all a little tale of a friend of mine.

My friend 'A' was seeing a pleasant little girl for a few months, whom we shall call 'X' if only for the tiresome pun. I was living with 'A' at the time, and also knew 'X' quite well, so I saw her a lot as she came 'round to visit.

Now, 'X' is a bit of a div. She's as ditsy as a Miss Alabama 2008 runner-up smacked up to the eyeballs on helium. She's also completely harmless, so you can't help but think "ahhh, bless" when she says or does something daft.

She once climbed through my bedroom window at 2am (my room was on the bottom floor) because she didn't want to wake anyone up by knocking on the front door. The front door that was always unlocked. The front door she also had a key for.

Anyway, according to my good friend 'A', the relationship was going swimmingly. They'd often be curled up on the sofa in a haze of weed smoke, and I was happy for him. Sadly, it seems she wasn't content.

I remember one morning receiving a text from 'A' saying that he had broken up with 'X'. When I returned home that evening, he told me what happened...

Apparently 'X' had been considering breaking up with 'A' for a while, but was too chicken to, y'know, communicate this. Not only was she too scared, but she'd also forget to break up with him. So, she did what normal people do to remind themselves, she got a pen and wrote "Dump A".

On her hand.

This didn't have the desired effect, she still forgot to have 'the chat'. However, when they were dozing in bed together, her gently curled up, head on his chest, 'A' happened to notice the shopping list of relationship doom on her hand. So, with the grace and patience of a vengeful ninja, he adds the word "Thanks" to her hand, slips out of the bed, and goes for a walk.

She still wants to be friends with him.

Somehow I don't see that happening.
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 10:51, 45 replies)
The Ginger
I wasn't deliberately trying to get dumped, but I should have been.

I was on the rebound when I met Ruth, I was drunk and the pub was dark, she reminded me of my ex, the person I considered at the time to be the love of my life.
So, a date was arranged (hooray!), I put on my finest clothes and went to meet her at a restaurant out of town. But, on seeing her I realised that actually there was very little about her that was like the ex, Ruth was tall and so thin she made Birch saplings look positively overweight, her hair was a dark, scary ginger, not the nice friendly, strawberry-blonde that I was used to. I'm not the greatest catch in the world myself, so I wasn't going to judge based purely on looks, besides, she did have some attractive qualities.

The date was great, the food was good, I thought we made a pretty good connection, there was lots of face eating and over-the-clothes rubbing going on in the car park afterwards.

All was going well, except that the next day she text me to let me know that she thought I was 'mega fit'. Anybody who knows me knows that this simply isn't true, I'm passable at best, but what really worried me was her use of the word 'mega'.
It didn't matter too much though, and a second date was to be arranged, this time I was going to pick her up from her Mother's house.

I arrived at the rather nice house, which was hidden away at the back of a remote cul-de-sac, in a village that can only be described as Royston Vasey with it's own Spar.
Her Mum answered the door, and with each passing second I had the strange, suffocating feeling that I had somehow been sucked into the film Carrie.
Her Mum was creepy, and very off with me, I felt for poor Ruth, her father had passed away when she was little, and the house didn't seem like a very homely environment.

Ruth came down the stairs, and led me back up to her room, I entered... it was a shrine to Westlife.
Every wall was plastered with posters, there were photos stuck to mirrors of Ruth with her arms around each and every member, as they smiled awkwardly and appeared to be doing their best to back away. Feeling freaked out and slightly overwhelmed (she was 21, this isn't really normal for a girl her age), I sat on the bed as she reeled off great long stories about how she would follow her favourite boy group across the country, attend every gig, intercept them backstage and try to chat them up, oh and wasn't Kian dreamy? -and that bitch he was shagging from Hollyoaks was a right minger.
I was starting to get scared, really, really escared.

We went out on our second date, this time to the cinema, we saw The Village, and even though it was crap, it was nothing compared to what was to happen later.
We went back to my place, things were getting frisky, there was alot of fumbling with clothes, snogging and groping, and then the clothes came off.
I insist that I am not a shallow person, her flat chest hardly bothered me at all, the inch long nipples however... and the thick, fluffy white hair that covered her tummy, these things freaked me out slightly, but stranger things were still to come.
Peeling off her panties, I saw... nothing. She appeared to have no genitalia at all, there were no pubic hairs, just nothing.
Not wanting to upset her by stopping or letting her know how freaked out I was, I continued, and after some feeling around, I found an opening. She lay there rigid, as I probed and licked, trying my very best to get any kind of a rise out of her. I teased those inch long nipples with my tongue, stroked her body all over, played with the area where on most girls the clitoris should be, but still nothing.
The sex itself was awkward, but thankfully brief.

My birthday was coming up, so our next date was to be a joint celebration; my friend and I have birthdays around the same time, and another friend had just got engaged, so we clubbed together to hire a village hall and threw a big bash.

The party itself fell on my birthday, all of my friends were there, and many people had come in fancy dress. A good time was had by all, and at the end of the evening, I took Ruth home with me again.

So ladies and gentlemen, if you've been able to bear with me this long, you're still waiting for the point of this story, just how did I get her to dump me...?

Well when we got back to my place, we climbed into bed, and I started to put the moves on her again, hoping that this time, it might be better.

'I can't tonight,' she said, 'it's my time of the month.'

'Can't I at least have a blowjob then?' I asked, earnestly.

'No, I don't really like doing that,' she replied.

'Oh go on,' I persisted, 'it is my birthday.'

'Yes, but it's also Hallowe'en, and you're dressed like Tina Turner,' was her response.

I slept like a log in a beehive wig and mini-skirt that night, and Ruth left the following morning, I never heard from her again.

(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 10:33, 101 replies)
She didn't get the hint...
So I blew up her family.
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 10:05, 23 replies)
Getting drunk....
in a crap nite-club in a crap northern town in the early 90's, and a fairly decent looking bird informs me that it was a fashion faux pas to wear a t-shirt under a shirt in THAT particular club. However, she took pity on me and she obviously agreed to a shag to make me more fashionable. I should have guessed....

We get back to mine, and things are going well... I'm quite enjoying tampering-her-up, and I'm starting to feel things heat up and get very wet, when all of a sudden, she pushes me away and starts some god awful wailing about why she can't and the bad shit that has happened to her previously.

Ok, she might have serious issues that she needs to talk through, but I'm drunk and in possession of a fully-cocked-hard-on, and I'm not in the mood for playing agony aunt.

I get her a taxi home.

Now then, some time during the course of the evening, I must have told her where I worked - I have always been foolishly honest and open - because come Monday, she calls the office and ask reception for me - and the fools put her through.

she gives me a huge apology, and gives me all the crap about wanting to make a go of it, we could be good together, she has been looking for someone like me, etc. etc.

Without being drunk and no longer in possession of a boner, I listen for a while, before telling her to stop there, I'm not really ineterested, that she was effectively just a ten-to-two-face that I'd pulled, and had no intention of taking out joint bank accounts, but thanks for making a semi-effort to get laid.

she hung up. But the calls kept coming... every day. I got a little more and more assertive with each call... but she wouldn't get the picture.

The line that eventually convinced her to look elsewhere, when she asked why I didn't want to continue the "relationship", it was then I told her that "her twat had the scent of rotting death". I never heard from her again, but to the rest of the office who heard ALL of our calls (often on speaker) I was a hero.

Length: About 90 minutes of physical attraction, 6 days of hassle.
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 8:57, 3 replies)
It's all about being subtle.
I looked her straight in the eye, and said "it's over between you and me".
I then carried on giving her fit sister the flesh-hammer colonic. She got the point.
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 8:56, Reply)
Big dump
I was mudskipper's worst-ever turd. I was a Type 2 on the Bristol Scale. It took 15 minutes to get myself dumped, during which I made his haemerrhoids bleed before I broke off halfway, requiring excavation of the stubborn remnant.
Then I floated.
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 7:55, Reply)
How to get rid of a man with style:

You just have to get through the first 15-35 seconds of the video to get to the good stuff
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 3:53, 2 replies)
If you want to get rid of a man that you've had sex with once, let him down gently. Always be sure and say "I had a really good time last night."

That way he'll know his sexual technique is fine and it's just his personality.
(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 0:29, 8 replies)
Cellar Black
i locked her up in the cellar for years and made her give birth to my grandkids, not only did she break up with me, she only went and told the police on me, ex's huh!

(, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 0:10, 2 replies)
this QOTW reminds me of the ex-secretary at ex-work on the phone
[names have been changed to protect me]

'hey, matthew, it's me, lisa. i just wanted to say hi and to tell you how nice it was to meet you last night. i really enjoyed talking to you, especially after everything i've been through recently, you know it's so nice to meet a genuinely, really nice guy for a change. you know, you're a really good listener and i felt so much better for being able to get everything off my chest to you. i'm sorry i couldn't offer you coffee when you came back to mine because the milk had gone off, but first thing this morning, i went out and got a 2 litre bottle, so there'll be plenty the next time you come round. and, look, i'm also sorry if, you know, you got the wrong idea when you came back to mine. i'm just not that kind of girl, it takes someone special for me to be able to ... get close to someone, to open up, you know, because of the way i've been hurt in the past. but something tells me there's something special about you and i know you'll want to wait until the time is right. look, sorry, i've got to go, some bitch wants me to post something somewhere. give me a call when you get this message. bye. it's lisa, by the way, from last night. bye.'

'hey matthew, it's me, lisa. hi, look, sorry about the long rambling message last time, it's just that, i dunno, i guess i just feel like i can really open up to you. anyway, i'm in the mood for cooking tonight and you said last night that you like italian. or was it thai? well, anyway, why don't you come round tonight after work and i'll cook you a nice meal. my parents are out till about 10 or so at least, but, don't worry, i'm sure you'll get on fine, i know they'll really like you. don't worry, you can sleep on the sofa, they're totally cool. you can come round anywhere between 7 and 7.30. oh, shit, look i've got to go, it's that bitch again. ah, i'm really looking forward to seeing you. don't be late! bye. give me a call when you get this message. bye.'

'hey matthew, it's me lisa. hi, i was just wondering how you spell your name. i've got it in my phone with two Ts but then I remembered this guy came into work once, and i spelt his name with two Ts, and he was all like, 'yuh, actually, it's one T' and gave me a really dirty look. so i just thought i'd ask. one T? i mean, that's stupid, i mean, isn't that just spelling it wrong? oh, shit, look, if you spell yours with one T, then I'm reeally sorry. oh man, i'm always fucking up like this. shit! oh, emma! emma! get emma for me, will you? she's gone out the door. EMMA!! emma, are you going to maccy D's? oh great, get me a big mac, large fries, large coke, apple pie, and chocolate and banana milkshake, and don't take any shit if they say they can't mix the shake, i saw them do it yesterday for some tart with her tits hanging out. look, i don't have the money right now, i'll give it to you later, cheers. hurry up, i'm starving! hi, matthew? sorry about that. what was i saying? bollocks, i can't remember. anyway, i'd better go, but give me a call when you get this message. lots of l- shit sorry, i mean, bye, see you later. bye.'

'hi matthew, i know you said to call you matt, but i don't know, i prefer matthew. anyway, look, i hope you didn't get the wrong end of the stick earlier when i said, well it might have sounded like i said something that i didn't actually say, i'm probably saying this for nothing, but i just didn't want you to think that i'm some kind of nutter. i mean, my friends say i'm mad, but, you know, not in a bad way. anyway, give me a call as soon as you can because my mum said she'd get the shopping for dinner tonight i just wanted to double check whether you wanted thai or italian, or was it chinese? well, i don't like chinese, so it'll have to be thai or italian. anyway, she's leaving in 10 minutes, so give me a call. got to go, bye.'

'hi, matthew? it's lisa. can you give me a call please? bye.'

'matthew, it's lisa. call me, i need to speak to you immediately. bye.'

'matthew? it's lisa. i don't know why you didn't return any of my messages yesterday. i think that's basically really rude and immature. and don't bother trying to tell me that your battery's died because i have delivery reports set up on my mobile and i got one for the text i sent you yesterday so i know your phone's been on. if you don't want to talk to me then you could at least be man enough to tell me to my own face, because that's what adults do. i've gone to a lot of trouble for you. my mother went out to get the shopping, even though she only recovered from her hip operation last week and i waited all night, dinner was ruined by the way, but don't bother calling because i'm tired and i just don't need this now. i'll speak to you later. i hope you're feeling happy with yourself. goodbye.'

'matthew. it's over. i never want to see or speak to you again. i can't believe how wrong i was about you. i can't believe i opened up to you, let you get close. as it turns out, you're just like all the rest, you pretend you care but you don't. are you happy now? kicking a girl when she's down? well, i'm too good for you, i deserve better than this. i don't ever want to speak to you again. goodbye. it's lisa, by the way.'

one time, a guy actually did call her back and managed to screw her for tens of hundreds of pounds. i think there's lessons for us all.
(, Mon 9 Jun 2008, 23:57, 11 replies)
I failed...
With my last girlfriend, I decided that it was time to move on. She was really lovely and I didn't want to dump her myself (but it just wasn't working out) so I tried. Well, God loves a trier. I convinced her that I was a Christian extremist (if such a thing exists) by repeatedly texting her things like 'For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' No luck. 'Oh,' she said, 'I asked my grandma about that and she told me the context.'

She stills believes that I'm a devout Christian to this day. And that didn't work so I convinced her that people were watching me. You know? Like in The Truman Show? She dismissed that.

Next step? We were sitting in bed together and I kept replying to imaginary questions. When she asked why I was talking, I said I was just talking back to her. No luck.

And, in the end, she left me when I texted another girl. The simplest things, eh?

Incidentally, I come up with the best reasons for dumping girls when I'm not too bothered about them. Past examples include 'you wore your shoes in my bathroom' and 'you ripped a button off my shirt...yes, I know it was an accident.'

Length? Never more than 6 months.
(, Mon 9 Jun 2008, 22:51, Reply)
She tried and succeeded
I'm not sure if storming out of a house early on a crisp Sunday morning makes me the dumper or the dumpee but I suppose the little details like that are not important.

My second "proper" relationship started out of her infidelity which is not a good sign to begin with. She took a sudden liking to me, ditched the (by all standards, not a brilliant person. For anyone) bf and shacked up with me. The year hasn't long begun at this point and a few months of bliss pass by, with me thinking seriously about settling down with this one as she does appear to be a keeper.

Now to try and get on a tangent that can relate somewhat to the question. Towards the end of the year things changed a lot. It was the typical kind of thing that people tend to pick up on. Lots of time one the phone talking to a single person. Lots of tapping things out on the computer to said person. I had really curbed a lot of my jealous streak after my last relationship ended because of it so this sort of stuff I let slide until the real beginning of the end.

She went out across the country to see him, with me in tow (wasn't allowed to go on her own). We all met up with this guy's mates and stayed at a place with beer and lots of TV/Internet. I didn't really enjoy it apart from the beer (couldn't hold a conversation with them to save my life) and it was at that point I realised that something "Was Not Right".

After returning from the trip, the niggling feeling in that back of my head that I had supressed for so long managed to get some control over me. I'm not proud of what I did ladies and gents - I started snooping.

Seems it was for good reason too, it turns out that a lot of my fears were being confirmed one by one. She was definitely considering playing away with this guy. So a party at her place was pretty much a perfect time to do the deed.

It turns out that they had been talking over MSN, using the L word and talking about being soulmates right under my nose. Literally - I was in the room at the time. I can't remember much more about that night except for scrawling some note about how unhappy I was, going to sleep, waking up, confronting her then grabbing my stuff and leaving sharpish.

The only problem with this is that it is a Sunday and there is no bus service that will get me back to my town for another 3 hours. I was in such a bad state that I decided walking home was a lot better than sticking around. I really, really needed to get away. So begins the 8 mile walk home, across main roads with no pavement with my gear slung over my shoulder.

I came close to being roadkill quite a few times due to me not thinking in my usual straight line and at one point I became lost and had to backtrack a mile. By the time I was in my town, bus services were running again and a very kind driver let me ride the last couple of hundred yards for free. Best bus driver ever in my opinion and my best experience with public transport. So that's two QOTWs out of the way, well, kind of :)

I know I ramble a lot, I just had to get it out of my system.

Mr. B
(, Mon 9 Jun 2008, 21:28, Reply)
fucking loon....
After three years the loon who didn't trust me just wasn't getting the hint. Loyal as I was, he followed me, tapped my computer, insisted I work with him, bought me an exercise bike so I wouldn't go jogging and "get into the public a lot"...I digress.

He was unbearably fussy, a whiner, hated the smell of cooking even so I used to crunch up raw cloves of garlic every time he was due over so kissing me wasn't exactly a pleasure.

He was daft enough to whine about my peculiar habits which resulted in a full scale argument, RESULT!!!

(, Mon 9 Jun 2008, 21:22, 2 replies)
What women want...
I wouldn't claim to have a huge amount of experience with many different women, despite my advanced years, but I have enough to know what women want.

And it's pretty simple: MORE.

Oh yes.

More shoes.
More weekends away.
More attention.
More orgasms.
More space.
More jobs done around the house.
More clothes.
More makeup.

(Getting bored yet?)

More time together.
More time apart.
More in the way of upward social mobility.
More fabulous car.
More horses (my ex-wife, anyway).
More fucking handbags.
More emotional support.
More compliments (on appearance, achievements, sexual prowess etc. because it wouldn't hurt)
More psychic ability to judge her mood.
More chocolate.
More flowers.
More random acts of love / attention.

What this has to do with the QOTW

Tell her she can't have any more. And hey presto, suddenly it's time for her to move on / find herself / go it alone / whatever.

Oh, nearly forgot... they always want more length and more girth as well.
(, Mon 9 Jun 2008, 21:15, 108 replies)
I subscribed to a phone sex line.
I just got a text saying it's not working out.
(, Mon 9 Jun 2008, 20:36, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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