Whatever it is Richard Littlejohn calls himself
"boo to immigrants" he chants, whilst living in Florida

"boo to fat cat managers" whilst getting paid a small fucking fortune for maintaining that the phrases "yuman rites" and "elf n safety" are still witty after 2.8 femtoseconds.

I hope someone puts ebola in his tea bags the shoe-faced cunt.

Edit: The same goes for Jan Moir
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 27 May 2010, 14:32, 8 replies)

pole dancers/lap dancers/any type of exotic dancers
yes i would look shit in one of those glittery thongs and nothing else. yes i would fall flat on my arse if i tried that. yes people would pay me to get off the stage.

yes i am totally bitter.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 27 May 2010, 14:26, 15 replies)

I went for an interview with a lying shitbag company
The job advert on the Local job website said "Media Sales Executives" wanted. I have been unemployed for two months and am slowly going under, I need a fucking job and fast before I lose everything I own to pay the blood sucking local council's extortionate Council Tax bill. (Yes, I hate those utter cunts too. "Sorry Miss Flakes, you earn too much as a couple and so we are going to bleed you dry, take all of your possessions and fuck you over to pay for the Mayer to sit in the park and get blown by the Work experience girl!" Utter, utter bastards!)

Anyway, thinking that I had nothing else to lose, I applied. I can sit at a phone and sell advertising to companies... Or so I thought.

I got a phone call, "We were very excited by your CV, you seem perfect, can you come in for an interview tomorrow?" I should have known better, it was too good to be true. I dash off shopping. They said I need a business suit, thankfully the Employment service can help for a change, once they establish that yes I have an interview, no I do not have any boots other than my motorbike boots, I used to be a fucking mechanic for a living!

I got up at six AM and got ready, I even put on some make up to make myself look a little presentable, I then pulled on my bike gear and rode off into the morning. I was actually excited about this.

The Bristol rush hour was horrible and filtering through was nightmare, even allowing two hours to do a forty minute journey was pushing it. I was still super keen.

I got there, changed in the street out of my leathers, thankfully the nice stuff was underneath, so no actual nakedness, I put on my interview shoes and walking across the street and into the building. I started to worry, the people I was about to see shared an office with a Krishna Group.

The girl who met me was a fucking predator, all sparkly teeth and blond hair, too much make up and heels so high she was almost in stilts. I was shown to a seat and told to wait my turn. Twenty other "Just perfects" sat with me, some looked like they had been dressed by their Mum or their Carer.

After an hour, I finally ask to use the loo, being made to wait after that ride is not a good feeling. The loo was some what run down, the toilet role is a cheap Happy Shopper one and left on a ledge. The sink has no soap, the hand drier is broken, the wall has damp, the paint is peeling and I start to sense doom.

Finally I am asked in. This is not a fucking job interview, this is a sales pitch. Do I want to be a Private Contractor selling Door to fucking Door on a commission only basis?

No! I hate those fucking bastards who hassle you on your own front door to swap power supplier, phone company or dish washing powder.

I hate filthy lying well dressed shitebags who imply that you can actually earn a descent wage, but are lying so badly, you can see the cracks in their make up. No wonder the hollow eyed predator looked so fucking evil.

Mantra Marketing, The Cobra Group, I did some research, it seems I am not alone in hating them. Be careful out there folks, these scum want you to sell them your soul and then for you to intimidate and rip off the poor and the ill-informed!

Man I hate those who prey on those too desperate to have a choice. I also hate the Council and I hate the banks that put this country in sucha fucked up state. I have never had problems finding work since leaving University in 1998, but now I am stuck on the dole, facing a future that is rapidly going down the toilet. Utter uter bastards all of them.

Sorry for length, but my god they were pricks, also for ranting, but you did ask... Grrrrrrr
( Rev. Jayneflakes Buy my book, I need the cash for drugs and hookers, Thu 27 May 2010, 14:19, 10 replies)

Telesales - The Ones Who Hang Up On YOU!
Those cunts that call you up and ask for you by your FIRST name, like they're one of your friends... over familiar bastards
Then when they explain ( in their best " i'm not reading from a fucking script mister, honest" broken English ) and you say your not interested they just hang up like the little cowardly motherfuckers they are..... Or they tell you your boring or annoying or sometimes just swear at you down the phone... then you 1471 it and its a witheld number so they know you can't ever get back to them.... TO ALL THOSE CUNTS I HAVE THIS TO SAY & I QUOTE " WHAT I DO HAVE IS A VERY PARTICULAR SET OF SKILLS......" ... " I WILL FIND YOU, AND I WILL KILL YOU"......Too far? sorry :-(
(phils1969, Thu 27 May 2010, 14:19, 9 replies)

Estate Agents are going to get a lot of stick this week
So before it becomes tiresome, Scaryduck's entertaining exchange of letters has reminded me of the last time I moved house. The old place wasn't even rented from one of the bigger and notoriously cunty agencies, but they tried it on all the same when it came to returning the deposit. If I may crave your indulgence, I'm quite proud of the angry email I concocted, so I'd like to share it with y'all...

In which CROW gets all 'Honda Accord' on his old estate agents
October. CROW checks his bank statement online to find a large sum of money has been transferred electronically to his account. It has the Estate Agent's name attached to it, but is somewhat smaller than the total deposit he and his housemates had originally paid two years ago. Trying to be as non-confrontational as possible, he sends the following.
Dear Arsehole-Estate-Agent, (name changed to protect the not-so-innocent)
I've received a payment from Arsehole Estates for £2640 - I presume this is the returned deposit?

Best regards, Crow

Later that afternoon, AEA replies...
Yes indeed,
Arsehole-Estate-Agent

CROW tries to give them the benefit of the doubt - though he suspects otherwise, perhaps this is no more than a simple mistake.
Ok, many thanks for that. However, according to the paperwork, the total deposit should be £3000.
Crow

AEA replies soon afterwards
Absolutely right Crow but we had to get the place cleaned, which cost £360. It took 4 of them 6 hours, including cleaning the carpets. I can send you a copy of the invoice if you'd like.

CROW is, to say the least, not impressed, having spent all of the previous weekend with his housemates cleaning the place. CROW leaves his computer and goes for a walk to calm down. He knocks on the door of a friend's office and they go for a cup of tea. Calmed, but still sufficiently indignant, CROW pens the following reply.
Dear Arsehole-Estate-Agent,

Whilst I appreciate the need for the property to be in a suitably clean state for incoming tenants, I do not agree that it is our responsibility to pay for it be cleaned professionally. We were only contractually obliged to clean the property to the extent that it was left in the same state as we found it. When we first moved into , the condition in which it had been left by the previous tenants was entirely unacceptable and it was only after some weeks that Arsehole Estates arranged for the property to be cleaned. At the end of our own tenure, we made sure to clean the property to the best extent we could, and I would argue that, some standard wear and tear notwithstanding, it was left in as good a state as, if not better than, that in which we found it.

Furthermore, you have deducted the sum of £360 from our deposit without any prior notice. Proposed deductions should be identified to all parties involved before they are effected.

Whilst the following are perhaps less relevant to the matter, I feel this is a pertinent time to raise them. I would remind you that, during the course of our tenancy, part of the kitchen ceiling collapsed and had to be replaced, due to a problem with the insulation of the upstairs bathroom. It took several months for Arsehole Estates to arrange for this be repaired, during which time we were unable to make use of the upstairs bathroom and had to use the kitchen without any guarantee that the remainder of the ceiling was secure. Following the repair, there was some concern when another prominent damp patch appeared on the new kitchen ceiling. Later, water from the bath/shower was observed to leak through this damp patch into the kitchen. Whilst this, fortunately, did not culminate in a repeat collapse, the response from Arsehole Estates was again slow, and we were again forced to annexe the upstairs bathroom for several weeks.

In February, it was bought to your attention that the main heating element in the oven had failed. Obviously, this severely restricted our ability to cook within the property and, despite repeated emails and telephone calls to your office on Rectum Street, the problem was not fixed until the end of June. A problem with the back gate was also raised around the same time, and it was again some time before a repair was carried out, preventing a potential safety hazard to anybody requiring access to the garden or shed during this time.

Such incidents put us in a very strong position to demand at least a partial refund of the rent we paid for certain months. The agreed rent was for a house with 5 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, with a fully fitted kitchen. For several months over the last two years, we found ourselves with only one safe bathroom and only a partially functional kitchen, which itself presented a possible safety risk before the ceiling was repaired. In spite of this, we waited patiently for the problems to be rectified, making no such demands, let alone withholding any rent. It would be greatly appreciated if you were to show us a similar courtesy with respect to our deposit.

Yours sincerely,
Crow

An hour later, CROW receives a reply. Simply reads:
Crow,
I think your comments are fair. We will reimburse the rest tomorrow.
AEA.

Smugly, CROW parallel-parks his Honda Accord whilst casually lighting a cigar before inviting some passing supermodels to have sex with him on the back seat.
(LongJohnBaldry, Thu 27 May 2010, 14:14, 5 replies)

Architects
I work in the construction industry and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that the profession that I hate more than any other is that of Architect. My experiences with this profession can mostly be summarised under the following headings:

The Skyhook

This well used expression could not be more applicable to the Architect, while drafting their fabulous schemes of award winning design there is often a shocking failure to consider how such structures are to be physically constructed, commonly used phrases are “we’ll just get the builder to sort that out on site” or the ever popular “If I can draw it, then you should be able to build it.” We have to spend a disproportionate amount of time taking architects designs and making changes until they can actually be built.

The Persona

In order to demonstrate this point I shall be using a case study, you may or may not be familiar with Mr. George Clark, presenter of Channel 4 programmes The Home Show and The Restoration Man and of course, architect extraordinaire. Anyone who has actually seen these programmes can simply skip to the next section as they surely can not be in any doubt as to the point which I am about to discuss. The man is a complete bell end. He rocks up to people’s houses and paints the whole thing white in order to waste money and demonstrate his amazing architectural visions and then upon receiving a cheque of the property owner’s life savings with which to carry out the works, he subsequently complains about he won’t be able to achieve his amazing architectural visions with such a pittance. He also drives a Range Rover.

Don’t get me started on Kevin McCloud, someone who isn’t an architect but pretends to be one?!!

The Fees

Perhaps the most annoying thing about the breed is of course the money, they get paid a lot. Astonishingly they also seem to have somehow wangled it that they often get paid before the building has been built, what’s that all about?

Length? Well it takes 8 years to complete an Architectural degree, one can only assume most of this time is spent learning how to drink heavily and brownnose with clients.

(They might be annoying but I watch every episode of Grand Designs, The Home show and The Restoration man religiously)
(Psymon_Spark Jesus Saves! The rest of you take 4d6 damage, Thu 27 May 2010, 14:14, 13 replies)

Bouncers
Not all of them, some are polite & friendly. I am talking about the steroid filled black clad morons who enjoy enforcing petty rules.
I once seen a man in Dublin told to take off his socks if he wanted to come into a pub, when he asked why the answer was "no white socks" he queried what the problem was with the color of his hosiery, the answer shouted at him "NO WHITE SOCKS!". So he removed his socks and was allowed in with them in his pocket. BTW he was wearing cowboy boots at the time.
(cname, Thu 27 May 2010, 14:10, 6 replies)

I work in business to business phone sales
In advertising (for business profile magazines)...

I love it, I make a very good living, my magazine is tip-top and I have a laugh each day.

However, if you missed it, I work on the phone, cold-calling businesses and selling advertising. My office is very similar in many ways to The Boiler Room (although my product is good quality, and legit).

Let the flaming begin...

(I shall enjoy reading it later, after I get home in my fully paid for new car (a Focus, not an Accord or anything flash), to my nice house and comfortable life, and my good looking and intelligent family)
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 27 May 2010, 14:08, 10 replies)

Catholic Priests
Fucking pain in the arse.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 27 May 2010, 14:08, 3 replies)

Prostitutes.
And now police men. How the hell am I going to finish my PhD now?
Bastards.
( Zak McFlimby Twibbling @McFlimby, Thu 27 May 2010, 14:08, 2 replies)

Not my story, but these people are cunts
news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/birmingham/10165899.stm
(Slipper I'm going for a smoke, Thu 27 May 2010, 14:01, Reply)

I'm sure there
will be lots of posts saying "Estate Agents", but it's true.

How can someone who looks down their nose at you, and puts adverts in newspapers be seen in the same light as Teachers or Solicitors - i.e. people who spent years learning their trade?

When I sold my house, I thought I'd let the bastards earn their money, and made sure I was out so they could let themselves in and actually sell the house.

Out of the 5 people that came round, I had two offers - both from people I had shown around, yet the Estate Agent still took 1.25% of the sale.

He wanted 2% - which I pulled him up on, stating that it was 1% when I sold a house many years before.

His answer was, "well, everything goes up."

That's.why.it's.a.fucking.percentage.you.money.grasping.dunce.
(dchurch bah, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:58, 1 reply)

The fucking Stephen Hawkin or however you spell it
with his robot voice and wheelchair. I bet he can walk really. Cunt

Edit: Sorry, read the question wrong. I thought it said "professors I hate"
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:56, 4 replies)

People who work in golf clubs
I'm not a golf club member, never have been, I occassionally like to play a round at any club that lets non-members do so.

Why is it that the spotty fifteen year old Saturday jobbers at the counter always talk to my friends and I as though we had just crawled naked out of a great big bowl of shit and puke? I get the impression that they think we're not good enough to stand amongst the estate agents and salesmen posing with their £300 drivers which they are still paying for.

My handicap is "fucking awful at golf" by the way.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:53, 3 replies)

Psychics
I don't get why anyone believes in the twats. They prey on a sad deluded subsection of the population, grieving for a lost love one, lonely and upset, grasping at straws looking for answers. They need help not to be played with by showmen. (the exception I make was those idiots in the Michael Jackson séance they need to be neutered thereby making the future average IQ rise considerably)

Derek Ogilvie was the absolute cunt who used to "read babies minds" cold reading the mums and usually making them cry and feel like terrible mothers. Shouting in their faces under his "trance", I'm amazed he can sleep at night. There was a program when he went up against James Randy's $1000000 dollar prize and failed miserably which I enjoyed immensely. He of course blamed it on the pressure.

"I'm quite hardcore on this. I think every psychic and medium in this country belongs in prison. Even the ones demented enough to believe in what they're doing. In fact, especially them. Give them windowless cells and make them crap in buckets. They can spend the rest of their days sewing mailbags in the dark." - Charlie Brooker
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:52, 10 replies)

McDonalds' employees
because they have it far easier than I ever did when I worked there 20 years ago for beer tokens as a student.

When I was there, you put 12 burgers on the grill, when you had to turn them after a minute, you put another 12 on. When they needed turning, the first 12 were ready, put on the toasted and dressed buns and served up. 12 cheeseburgers or 6 Big Macs every 60 seconds, with a team of three, this could be kept up all day if needed.

All that for £1.80 per hour.

Nowadays, they have clamshell grills. Put burgers on, shut lid. Put buns in toaster. Both have alarms. When the grill's done, it opens itself for christ's sake.

Pah
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:51, 12 replies)

the God Squad.
I don't know if it's a profession, but they don't seem to do anything else so here's my input.

There's a guy in town (Bristol, some people may know) who spends his days shouting about the coming of christ and how we will all die for our sins. There's normally someone else handing out leaflets telling us how to redeem ourselves and such rubbish.

Now, I haven't got too much of a problem with believers (i'm atheist) but I get enough opinion forced down my throat as it is and quite frankly, if I'm a sinner and destined for hell, then I don't care. No do the rest of the people walking past wishing that he would shut the hell up.
(tb2571989 dies at precisely, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:47, 12 replies)

Lecturers
I'm supposed to be on their side because they're all getting laid off at the minute but really, they are such a bunch of bitches... if you don't turn up to their lectures, they seem to want you to fail. The Internet's been around for bloody ages, the university has Adobe CS5 so if you can't put handouts online that at least are as informational as Wikipedia, what exactly are you for?

Lets see how this exam goes...
(bagpuss606, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:46, 9 replies)

Tradesmen in general
Don't bother calling me to cancel - I know you've got so many other gullible twats that have read your reviews on MyBuilder that have offered you more than the £300 job I did, so it's not surprising you decided not to turn up without telling me.

5 different traders for 5 different jobs so far.

You utter fucking cunts.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:46, Reply)

Parking Attendants
This might only be applicable to Edinburgh but...I've found Traffic Wardens (employed by the Police) to be reasonable people who will let you off with a chat or give you a chance to explain yourself.


Parking attendants (employed by the council) are utter filthy cunts. The worst kind, there's a layer of hell Dante doesnt even know abuot reserved for them!
(Clashrock is being stalked by his brother on, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:41, 4 replies)

Best advice I ever had:
"Don't answer the QotW a week late."
(LongJohnBaldry, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:32, 1 reply)

Mine.
Ever heard the phrase,
"If you need something done ask a busy man."?
Yeah, so's every other fucker. Just because I show a bit of aptitude, have a common sense detailed approach and can be nice to customers, does not mean I can do anything/everything.

I work in an environment where the buck stops with me. Doesn't matter if I've done more than can be reasonably expected, gone out of my way (to the detriment of my other duties) to ensure whatever lies you may have spun to your customer may be fulfilled.
It's not worth saying MTFU, I do my job. I won't find another which will feed me and my family to the same extent. But I'm still entitled to loath my job yes?

Wow, rant most definately over. Until you land some other shit on my desk at least.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:31, 4 replies)

Nightclub doormen in small towns.
Musclebound Imbeciles with power to ruin someone's perfectly good night by refusing entry to a shitty bar over any arbitrary dress code or other infraction. Any attempts at reason are futile.

I was walking into a crappy bar in Middlesbrough (which must have had a tacit no-trainers policy) wearing a pair of shoes which were cut like trainers but made completely of leather and suede. The two doormen were transfixed, mouths open agog, looking down whilst they tried to figure out whether my shoes were indeed trainers and whether or not they should let me in to buy low quality over-priced piss. They couldn't decide and so with a polite smile I simply walked in without giving them enough time to refuse. As the door closed behind me I heard one of them say to the other..

'Neither one thing nor the other like, were they?'
'Naw'

Cretins, I could have been carrying a knife...

Having said that, now they have to be licensed things are a great improvement, I just can't get over the fact they used to ruin many a good night over the simplest of things and rarely prevent trouble from kicking off in the first place.
( TheFinch is getting to grips with the complex plane on, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:26, 13 replies)

Any purveyor of mystical mumbo jumbo nonsense.
Crystal healing? Magnets? Astrology? Psychics? Homeopaths? The list goes on and on.
As far as I'm concerned, they should be all shut down until they can rigorously prove their claims.
(theremin put the lotion in the basket on, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:22, 9 replies)

"Professional" Jobless twunts
Benefits where created as a net to support people when they fell. Too many people use it as a trampoline and it's these that I loath.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:19, 3 replies)

Pikeys
Ok, perhaps not a profession but certainly a way of live and they do make a living off it.

I hate pikeys for a number of reasons. There's the obvious stuff like huge cost on my council tax for cleaning up the fly tipped rubbish and repairing the damage when they vacate the nearby car park/field that became home for a few weeks.

However the personal side of it stems from a mistake of youthful stupidity....

Back at the age of 16 a friend and I were hard up over the school summer holiday, so along comes a "builder" with a large truck* driving down his road, see's the 2 of us and offers us a days labour for £30 cash each.

Naively we accepted. We hopped up into the cab with "Paddy" and his bastard son and set off. My suspicions began when I saw the state of the truck*. It didn't take long before we worked out he was a pikey and made a mental note to be cautious. The drive to the work site was long... too long. In fact it took about an hour. When a girl waved at me through the window son of pikey seemed concerned and asked how I knew her... almost like he wanted no witnesses to future events.

We arrived in a posh neighbourhood and in what can only be described now as stereotypical we began stripping the drive of a big detached house ready to be tarmac'd the next day. I kid you not me and my mate were worked like dogs on a hot hot day, cutting and clearing overgrown bushes and pickaxing up the old drive and shovelling it onto the back of the truck*. "Fire it up there" the Paddy wanker would shout over and over.

We must have looked in a bad way as the home owner looked concerned and brought us out drinks asking if we were ok etc. Paddy made sure he intervened and pretty much kept us separated from the customer after that.

By the end of the day we were mere shells of the lads we'd been that morning. Mentally and physically drained I'd had enough. We set off on the stupidly long drive back home and then the questionning began. All sorts. Everytime a posh looking caravan went past Paddy & son would get a bit excited and coo over the plush looking lines of it.

Eventually the fateful question. "What do you think of gypsies then?" I was asked. I didn't think. I just spoke. "I fucking hate Pikeys. Absolute scum of the earth." I said. The atmosphere in the truck changed in that instance. It fell silent. After a minute Paddy spoke. "Why?".

So I told him. I layed it out about the crime, vandalism, fly tipping etc etc etc. I was still venting my disgust as we turned off the road.... into the biggest fucking gypsy camp I've ever seen.

We drove for what seemed like miles into the middle of this field. Astonishingly the tipper mechanism of the truck* didn't work and me and my mate were forced to offload about 5 tonnes of hardcore and cut down trees using 2 shovels. Obviously this was just onto the fly tipped pile of other rubbish, not some skip or anything helpful. Meanwhile Paddy had gone to "chat to his mates".

Me and my mate knew we were fucked. We could see the only gate, which we'd come through, about 500m away. Between us and the gate were about 200 angry looking Pikeys. If was wasn't already so knackered I'd have crapped myself but the fear had already stepped in and plugged my arse tight shut.

As we finished off loading the truck Paddy came over to pay us. And so started the talk. Apparantly working yourself to near death isn't working hard enough. Also we hadn't done a full days work as it was gone 9 when we were picked up and it was only 4:30 now. So we weren't getting the promised £60 between us. We were offered £20. Just £10 each. My mate took it and we were pointed toward the gate which now seemed a long long way off. We began walking and started to hear a few loud comments from some of the roughest looking teenagers I've ever seen. Considering some of the shitty North London areas I grew up in that's saying something.

After about 100m my mate says, "when I say so we're running over there and just keep up". "Go!".

We ran about 50m to the closest perimeter fence and were swiftly over it into the dense undergrowth beyond. I could hear voices beginning to give chase. I had visions of being a body found in the undergrowth 6 months down the line. Adrenaline kicked in and I put more effort into the next 5 mins than 5 years of PE lessons at school.

After a min or so we emerged scratched and dirty onto the grass verge of the A41. We legged it across the lanes of traffic fearing not for the 70mph traffic but the pikeys behind us. After a few mins we found a phone box in a residential street and decided it was first safe point. We got in and picked up the handset, just then we saw the first of the Pikey teens come into view. They stopped. We stared. What was going on? Then I realise, they don't know who we're talking to. The fact we'd not even dialled didn't matter. We could be calling the police, or local nutters, anyone.

We called a taxi. A taxi that had the very specific instructions to pick us up directly outside the phone box, only 2 of us were getting in, and not to hang about as we went. After the call we kept holding the handset and pretended to be talking, safest choice we thought.

Once the taxi arrived we were in and gone in seconds. That's when my mate checks the money we'd been paid with. He elbows me in the ribs and passes me the note. We exchange glances. It's fake.
Not sure if it was genius or luck, but my mate asks the cabby to stop at a corner shop, he legs it in and a minute later is back out with a 2 litre bottle of drink and a load of change.

We get a few miles down the road and decide we're safe enough now so the taxi drops us off. After paying him we've got about £12 left but are alive and in one piece. So we start the long walk home which took another 2 hours.

Like I said, I fucking hate Pikeys.

* a stolen tipper truck, with smashed windscreen, hotwired ignitiona and the motorway maintenance signs still on the back.



To try and settle the argument over whether Pikey is or is not the appropriate term for the persons in the story above I give you this reference:

"According to the Oxford Dictionary of Slang, pikey dates back to 1847 and means gypsy or traveller.

The word is believed to be a contraction of "turnpike" - a reference to a feature of the travelling life in years gone by."


From the English "turnpike", the place where itinerant travellers and thieves would camp near a settlement. Pikey is not a racial group, the term is used to describe anyone who lives in a caravan or shares the same values and "culture" of "the travelling community", and whose main sources of income are as follows: Stealing cars, flogging roses in pubs for "childrens' charities", nicking lead off roofs, burgling garden sheds, blagging entry to old peoples house to rob them, doing dodgy tarmac jobs ("we've got some black stuff left over from a job up the road"), sometimes with mint imperials used as a substitute for white chippings, or, reportedly, using snow to lay slabs on when the sand ran out, stealing your bollocks if they weren't in a bag and anything else that's not nailed down and anything that is nailed down but will fit in the back of an untaxed Transit when nobody's looking. Characterised by lurchers on a string, a unintelligible language that "isn't English, it isn't Irish, it's just Pikey" (source: Film: Snatch), a penchant for harecoursing, ketamine, lighter fuel, fighting in pubs and shopping at Lidl. Best avoided.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:18, 6 replies)

Cockstons Estate Agents
...or something that rhymes with that.

Specifically an apparently pre-pubescent employee of the Woking branch who I had the misfortune to speak to this weekend.

When we told you our very specific budget, we didn't need you to insist that you could easily arrange a much bigger mortgage for us and ignore our budget completely.

When we told you that we were merely investigating to see whether our budget was realistic and whether there was anything on the market for us, we didn't need you to get some shitty IFA to call us "about our finances" a couple of days later - despite us insisting we didn't want them to call.

And there was certainly no need for you to refer to our baby daughter (who was wearing a pink dress - pretty obvious I thought) as "it".
(secretsquirrel, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:17, 4 replies)

Managers who are brought into a company as a Manager who never actually train to do the job of the other people who they manage
Does that make sense? The guy who comes in to tell you how to do your job but has never done your job, so you end up not only showing them how to do your job but covering them when they can't do their job either.
( The only Dave is pushing things forward, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:15, 2 replies)

Traffic wardens
already been mentioned once. But is there anything more soul-destroying than a smug traffic warden/traffic cop. The lazy saunter, the grin that they're struggling to contain, the small piggy eyes alight with glee, the grating note to the voice as they point out that 'ahem! I believe you are at least fifteen seconds over this timelimit.' Or the traffic cop who stops you on your way to the airport and insists on checking every single thing (all perfectly legal) to such an extent that you miss your check in. There is something so relentlessly petty and small minded about these people that I struggle to believe that it's just a job.

I think people who genuinely are like this before, are the people who choose to specialise in that area. The sort of people who'd happily ticket their family because hey! It's a number isn't it. And what sort of petty small-minded bastard would put humanity against a quota? Well not this brave warden. Good on you sir. You make this country and this life a better place to be.

If they read this, they'd probably take it as their due. Sarcasm doesn't sit well with them
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:15, 1 reply)

Door to Door Watchtower Sellers
Pious tossers come knocking to see if I'm interested in buying a copy of the Watchtower and joining their cult. I'm happy for people to follow whichever faith they choose, but what really, really fucks me off is that they usually have their kids with them and it's them I feel sorry for. Being brain washed from such an early age, let them have a childhood FFS.

and I don't like Insurance Bookies either...thanks for your money, but you can't make a claim for that, it's not covered...see section 38, article f, subsection jh3......conning bastards!
(RTFM May your god go with you, Thu 27 May 2010, 13:14, 4 replies)