Ann Widdecombe
At some point last year Ann Widdecombe and some other atrociously dislikable types turned up at my University's Union to engage in a debate about the ethics of abortion and stem-cell research. I say debate because the terms "farce" and "risible apology for the death of open discussion" might be seen as partisan by some.

A demonstration was organised by the socialists, feminists, and those other rare student types who believe in something, to protest against what were seen as the unacceptable views of a pompous, prejudiced out-of-touch crone. I was part of this as I have no problem admitting I'm a feminist (a man who believes equality is right, not one of those weedy, self-castrating male feminists who grovel apologetically for having a Y-chromosome, assume any women are right in all matters, hang around girls with dreadlocks all day being sensitive and angry at men, and remain inexplicably single) and as such think women should probably have a say in whether they go through the life-changing experience of dropping a sprog.

Anyway, it became obvious from as soon as the proceedings started that no-one's mind was going to be changed that day. If you were there for Ann Widdecombe you were there to get a congratulatory pat on the back and rim job for holding Christian values dear and opposing the evils of science. If you were there with the protest you were there to have your rage justified, knowing that people who disagreed with you still infuriatingly drew breath.

The evening took the form of a quartet of speeches from "experts" (Ann herself, a doctor and two loudmouths) about how abortion was eugenics by the back door, and how stem cell research was essentially taking the edge of a shovel to sweet little newborns. These were interrupted every few minutes by some of the smellier protesters chanting pointless slogans from the back of the room e.g. "No uterus - no say!" (way to alienate all your male supporters) or "Women's bodies - women's rights!", as if people in the audience would say "wow, I was against abortion before, but these people are REALLY loud!".

The panel argued against abortion with a speech that appeared to assume the pro-abortionists were arguing for enforced termination of pregnancies by way of booting each woman in the belly every three months, and finished with a Questions and Answers session. I had a couple of questions prepared, like "if abortion was criminalised, what would be done to prevent desperate women from seeking unsafe backstreet abortions?", but it turned out they had some questions prepared which they drew randomly from a box. I scarcely need to tell you that the questions were along the lines of "why are your ideas so sensible?" and "aren't women who get abortions just worthless working-class sluts anyway?".

Eventually most the protesters left in disgust, and the only debate of the night was immediately afterwards when a young mother approached one of the girls I was with and pointed out that women almost universally grew to love their children and that abortion is often regretted in the long run, which led to an actual exchange of statistics and philosophies, but still changed no-one's mind.

I'm still pro-choice, but I left that room deeply disillusioned, realising that rational debate was not a reality as long as anger and ignorance take a front seat, which they always will.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 14:10, 11 replies)

Head under water
My own purile version of waterboarding myself. In protest at mum not letting me play with my Lego in he hall I locked myself in the bathroom, loudly shouted that I was running water into the sink, before trying to 'drown' myself...

It didn't work. So I put my stuffed toys in a bag and went next door (we lived next to my grandparents), for two hours and had a roast dinner.

I got to play Lego in the end and eat a roast. What a sniveling little shit I must have been.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 14:05, 4 replies)

I reserve my right to protest by going off-topic...
In Cairo, I sat on the floor in a market smoking shisha and drinking sweet tea. In Kent I sat on the floor and cooked my lunch over an open fire. At university I sat on the floor, because when everyone in the class turned up to lectures there weren't enough seats. I sat on the floor in Trafalgar square at a protest. In the Indian Himalayas everyone seemed to sit cross-legged on the floor, and I got very used to it. I have sat on the floor many times, intentionally and unintentionally.
But you expect me to sit on the floor before you and explain all my secrets, and I am not that impressed. I suppose it is just self-consciousness, vanity, even; but I do feel somewhat like a cheap confidante in the confessions booth.
(IdlePeAcEsign if trouble were my mistress, i'd send her to them, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 13:46, 8 replies)

I put forward this protest
That nobody posts all week. That'll show them.

Who's in?
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 13:44, 6 replies)

Fuck the students, fund apprenticeships!
Little sister is at UCL, starting medicine. she was at those student demos, and watched as masked chaps from the socialist workers party turned up and proceeded to cause violence at Millbank.
It once again made me think of one of my pet annoyances, at which point I may sound a bit old and crusty. I'm actually 21.

I'm just coming to the end of a machinist apprenticeship. I've always loved engineering, so after doing A levels I decided I'd rather do this than go to uni. I was utterly fed up of learning, and didn't fancy the debts. Probably the best decision I ever made-I have a tidy sum saved up, a few old bikes to play with and regularly sit on my balcony eating a croissant.

Being in employment, I see a fair chunk of my salary disappear in tax. When you see it on your payslip, you tend to take more interest in how it is spent. Which is where the students come in...
Our education system is geared toward putting people through uni. Problem is, a lot of people aren't really uni material. They might not know what they want to do yet, or not have the academic ability. (The latter is by no means an insult, I work with loads of people who could never learn advanced maths/another language/ancient history, but give them some metal and a lathe, a file, a welder-practical ability like you wouldn't believe). Anyway, there are now a massive amount of former polytechnics catering for such people-courses with laughably low entry requirements, silly subjects or poor job prospects (I believe media studies graduates have a dreadful time getting a job, even with a decent degree). Added to this, uni is often seen as one massive party, learning being a minor inconvenience. Such as the girl I knew from school I met a few months back. "I'm going to study blah blah blah, whatever that is!"
Do I want to fund those students? Do I fuck! I don't mind funding engineers, doctors and people who, whatever their subject, have a genuine ability and love of it. I understand that helping such people means they get better jobs, and hence pay more tax etc, which is great. Unfortunately they seem to be treated the same as those who just want 3 years of alcohol and little to worry about. Don't even try and tell me a minimum pass in english studies will help anyone do anything.
( Greenbat, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 13:43, 28 replies)

The Duke
Tenuous sort of semi-pearoast from pubs...

In the third year of Uni, two of my mates got barred from the college bar for being sick on the jukebox, so all my other drinking buddies decided we were going to boycott the bar too until they were allowed back in - I wasn't too fussed myself, it seemed a fair punishment...

Anyway. We had to find a substitute so we decamped to a weird pub that seemed to be left from another era, and now had a car park built around it, leaving it looking like a sort of boozy lighthouse in a sea of concrete. No one ever went there - it just didn't look like a studenty place. Plus, it was a pub in the middle of a car park.

First couple of visits were Sunday football or early afternoon in the week (hey, we were students), and apart from the fact the landlord was the dirtiest man you'd ever seen and kept his dog in the kitchen, it was welcoming and comfy. Then came karaoke night...

I don't want to sounds like a snob, but even for someone with a familiarity and affection for scummy pubs, this was a rough-looking crowd. I think we were the only young blokes in the room without tattoos and shit eyebrow piercings. The old guys mostly had limbs missing (I'm not exaggerating, I counted). The women don't bear thinking about. We found ourselves a table in the corner and settled in. It was actually a brilliant evening. Some terrible singers, some great singers, but a good atmosphere and lots of friendly banter. We relaxed and started clapping the singers and getting a few rounds in.

There was another table next to ours who also didn't quite fit in. A couple. We have since christened the guy Pissed Ian, because he was pissed and we heard his girlfriend call him Ian. 

From their demeanour we reckoned they hadn't been together too long and this was an early venture out. They weren't a natural couple - he dressed like a teacher, she was a bit Goth. He was a small man, and weighed about half as much as her and clearly couldn't keep pace. She was jolly, but he was legless. As the drinks kept coming, he developed a demonic gleam in his eye, and we could hear the tone of conversation change from relaxed chat to her desperate pleading.

Looking as determined as only the terribly drunk can, Ian pulls himself to his feet and makes his way to the karaoke set-up. He has words with the operator, who looks like he's not sure whether to laugh or worry, and takes the mic.

Prince: 'When Doves Cry'

It was the most rapt audience I've ever seen. Some people were puzzled. Many were just looking around to see how others reacted. After a few moments, everyone just sat there and listened. He was great. Absolutely fantastic. Could barely stand but he belted it out like a true showman. When he finished, there was a standing ovation.

Ian lopes back across the room to his girl, with a look on his face that says ‘Oh yeah – I told you I was a performer’. At which point she rises from her chair and punches him so hard he goes down like a sack of shit, and has to be woken by the landlord with the water from the ice-bucket.

This got a bigger standing ovation than the karaoke.

Anyway, soon afterwards, I was the one who volunteered to go back to the college bar and basically beg them to let my friends back in so we could stop hanging out in the Duke. Thankfully, it was arranged, and our boycott was lifted. I never went to the Duke again, but the fond memories of our protest will live on forever.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 13:41, 3 replies)

I am getting paid
while not paying any tax, therefore not contributing to Mr Cameron getting paid.

Win.
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 13:33, 8 replies)

Are we that short on questions that we are now re-doing ones from 5 months ago?
I'm gonna stick it to QOTW by sticking to /talk only!
(Unstable-Dan looks like that bloke out of Scream, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 13:24, 6 replies)

Legalize it!
Me and my friend went on the "legalise cannabis" march, back in whenever it was. It was sponsored by the Independent (please don't die on us Indy!) and the lion in Trafalgar Square had a big joint sticking out of its fearsome jaws.
The fat one out of friends was cheering on the parade from his hotel window, and there was no chance of a riot, everyone was too stoned.
When the march got to Trafalgar Square everyone sat down and listened to the speakers. I can't remember who they were but one of them was Irish and urged us to "fock the police".
We had brought sandwiches and had everything we needed for a cannabis protest on a hot summer's day, apart from some cannabis. So we asked a couple of teenage girls if we could buy some. We were in our mid 20s and the girls were about 14, so this was shameful in itself. But then we started having a bit of a smoke, and one of the girls said "thank God there are people here making a difference". My friend and I looked at each other and started laughing, and laughing, and laughing. The girl and her friend were just staring at us in bewilderment. We laughed so much we were crying and had to lie down, but still didn't stop. We only stopped when my friend suddenly choked, and puked on himself. The girls went off on their way and we made our way home.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 13:20, 1 reply)

Oh yeah, here's an alright one
Way back in spring 2009 (or 2008), massive protests broke out in South Korea. It started originally because the wildly unpopular president prioritised pandering to the US more than his own people. Shit boiled over when he allowed the import of US beef, previously banned due to mad cow scares. The focus slowly shifted over to the president (he really is a shitbag), and also onto the police, who were accused of brutality. It was also the holiday of a massive pro-democracy protest from the '80s, so a lot of people came out for that.

My wife had been going out every night she could, leaving me to worry about her. I'm not Korean so I didn't feel comfortable protesting. Anyway, I rode my scooter out a few times looking for her, once setting the record for number of laws simultaneously broken. I had a good time weaving my scooter through lines of riot police, who really didn't seem all that bad, having been comprised mostly of conscripts who'd probably have been at the protest anyway. It was great and it made every other traffic violation less fun in comparison.

Later in the protests, things were starting to get even more violent, and my wife was arrested once. She was loaded onto a bus and taken to a holding cell along with several other protesters. They all kept quiet, not wanting to leak any personal information, and they refused to show ID, so apparently the police had no right to hold them.

I've since used that tactic to get out of traffic violations. I don't have insurance, and I refuse to show ID, so the cops just let me go.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 13:01, Reply)

Reclaim The Streets, early 1990s
The police had cordoned us all off in Trafalgar Square.

Suddenly an HGV lorry came through the police cordon, and pulled up right in front of the National Gallery.

The 3000-strong crowd gathered 'round it - we knew what was going on - and the canvas side was pulled back.

Inside, the DJ was all set up and ready to roll, and as the crowd's cheers got louder, he raised his hand in salute, and let the beat ...

oh...

Oh!

DROP.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 13:00, 3 replies)

Hasn't this been done in June this year?
Ah, well, fuck all has happened since so I'll just repost something from June this year, when we had this topic five months ago, in June this year.
~~~~~~

So anyway, my boss was a right cunt. Always taking liberties and I was getting no praise. He once asked me to do a report on which customers had a website or not and the feasibility of flogging them one. So I basically went through the yellow pages, finding all the entries that included a url in the ad. After all of these were put into a spreadsheet, I did a bit of SWOT analysis (strategic business planning thing) and presented him with and A-grade white-paper.

Later that day, I overheard him discussing it with his manager about all the work he'd put into it. Bastard had taken all the credit.

Anyway, that gives you a rough idea of the cuntery.

One day he asked me if I'd sort out his home computer.
"What's wrong with it and when do you want it doing? I'll do it on my dinner hour if you bring it in but you let me leave 90 mins early" I said.
"It's not printing properly and it takes ages to start up. I can't bring it in because I can't let you leave early. You can do it on Saturday instead" he replied.
"Ok, but it'll cost you." foolishly forgetting to name my price. It sounded like his cartridge has run out or just needs the drivers reinstalling and thus I would only need to spend 30 mins in the invidious cunt's company.

So on the Saturday I went round there, and sure enough the printer was out of ink. I set about downloading stuff. I also ran a Windows Update, which showed that he was two service packs behind on Office 2003.

"Can you go get a printer cartridge or two?" I asked him. I wrote the name down on a scrap of paper. He agreed and went out to PC World.
A couple of minutes after he went out, his wife brought me a coffee. She had 10 years on me, but had certainly aged well. She sat beside me.
"Where's he gone?" she asked
"Just gone to shop to fetch an ink cartridge"
"Will he be gone long?" she asked and began stroking my leg.
I was surprised at first, but then I thought 'Fuck him, he's a twat' and took the bait and let her slide her hand higher.

I was beginning to get a semi and she rubbed it. I then had an idea and I called him on his mobile and sent him on a wild goosechase; giving him a shopping list of various parts from different shops. He'd be gone an hour at least.

She unzipped my trousers and took out of my cock, lent over and took it into her mouth. I couldn't believe my luck.

She gave me a blow job in the whilst installing Office*. After ten minutes of her going at it like a dog eating a hot chip, I then bent her over the desk and shagged her so hard she was going to be walking like John Wayne for a week.

I pulled out and dumped my filthy porridge all over her tits and she licked the dribbles from the end of my still twitching cock.

She got up and left and I heard her upstairs getting a shower just as he returned with the shopping list.

I finished sorting his computer out, including running various security utilities to remove the porn dialers he had installed. He gave me a tenner for my troubles the tight cunt, but I didn't care. I was satisfied and I left with a big smile on my face.

How is this relevant to the question I hear you ask. That very same day, I'd been down the post office and bought a new tax disc. However, I didn't change it until about a week later on the 3rd of the month.

Ha! Take that DVLA, That'll teach you for robbing me of £120.

* potentially a fledgeling meme
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:59, 5 replies)

Bindun surely?
Isn't this question a repeat of:

b3ta.com/questions/theman/


I PROTEST!!!

*chains self to PC*
(Erasmusmicroman is inside your T.V., Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:53, 2 replies)

Brightlingsea
Getting elbowed in the face by one of Britain's finest (cough) coppers (luckily it was the eye I could already not see out of, but unfortunately this didn't mean it didn't hurt like a bastard). Not sure if he meant to or it was accidental, or he was aiming for someone else, but it certainly took me by surprise as everything was quiet one minute then people who were just standing around were being manhandled the next. Not for chanting, shouting, hurling abuse, blocking the routes of transporters, chaining myself to lorries or otherwise causing a disturbance or disruption, but for standing around quietly in the lee of a building with a friend. Had I have reacted badly to the unprovoked smack in the face by a guardian of the law, I would have doubtless been arrested (as it was, people who had been merely passing by had been arrested too.)
So I didn't stick it to the Man at the end of the day - he stuck it to me. In the eye.
(womanwhocanonlylivewithdogs, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:52, Reply)

It's the G20!
But it's raining, so I don't think anything's going on here.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:52, Reply)

Christ, was that way back in June?
How time flies.
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:49, Reply)

Everyone should have the right to be first.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:49, Reply)

I was one of the first years to have to pay
Tuition fees. I went on one protest march. About 40 of us marched round town for 30 minutes whilst a couple of local journalists took photos, then we went to the pub and spent the rest of the afternoon getting absolutely twatted.

In retrospect, there may have been more effective channels of protest I might have pursued.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:48, Reply)

I wish I could form a union...
Unfortunately, working in a small local pub with a nice landlord means most problems are resolved this way:

Me: Uhm, is there any way we can get a new kettle? This one's got a crack in the handle and it's getting quite scald-y.
Boss: Yeah, sure. I'll bob down Tesco now.

Goddammit, I want to go on strike!
(BelladonnaAnodyne Melissa's gonna wet herself, I swear..., Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:47, 3 replies)

Bar Boycott
Because they wanted to sell Nestle products.

But it was a hot day and they tempted us with cold lager.

Length - about 30 minutes.
(Biff..., Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:47, 3 replies)

What do you mean I'm not first?
I demand a recount.
Free Nelson Mandela!
( Sextant goes to him is emotionally erect, on this day, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:39, 1 reply)

As A Child
I went 3 days without eating because I wanted a chocolate biscuit and mother wouldn't give me one.

3 days later I won and got my chocolate biscuit.

The lesson: Always stand up for what you believe in, success will come your way eventually
(TheDream In need of signature to impress clunge owners, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:33, 3 replies)

The Education System
I'm all for examinations.

I'm Pro-Test.
(rhyswynne - on every social network mullarkey known to man, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:32, 1 reply)

fivety
yay
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:31, Reply)

Had a poo once
at Googles local office in my city. Didn't use the can of air-freshener provided or anything.
(Rebooted Frazer Smoothly scrolling since, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:27, 5 replies)

A pearoasted tale of WRONGNESS
I once went on an organised political protest, my motivation being solely to impress a young lady who was obsessed with the cause, and to get inside her knickers at the earliest convenience.

We piled into coaches, all went up to London, and stood outside the South African Embassy in Trafalgar Square. Once there, and in the face of a baying mob and ranks of policemen, we chanted:

"Jail Nelson Mandela!"

Not my finest hour.

And Evelyn copped off with a smug-looking Tory Boy.

Nelson: I'm really, really sorry.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:27, 5 replies)

second?

(Lord Chode, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:26, Reply)

First.

( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:25, 6 replies)