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This is a question Protest!

Sit-ins. Walk-outs. Smashing up the headquarters of a major political party. Chaining yourself to the railings outside your local sweet shop because they changed Marathons to Snickers. How have you stuck it to The Man?

(, Thu 11 Nov 2010, 12:24)
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My family go to protests and the like, if we're interstate we'll meet up, and sometimes camp together if it's that sort of gig.
When I was 19 I hitched 'back home' (from Sydney) to Melbourne to go to a Uni protest... me and my mates sporting the usual "punk" attire, and got tired of being stalked by a photographer (thought it was the stink press) so, naughty me, chewed my cashews up nice and crunchy, did a dance, and for a finale, sprayed my nuts at the poor chap.

Spring forward a couple of years, and my younger (primary school student) sister brings home this school magazine with an article about denim. OK, a coupla pics of model types wearing jeans... and an entire column of around 5 shots of me - the bald girl leaping about in a pair-of-patches, the last one showing me pouting....
I felt like a cad.
(And, at the time we DID happen to get on the front page of the paper Mum reads, so I got busted for being around and not dropping by)
(, Mon 15 Nov 2010, 13:06, 3 replies)
I protest
I always make a point of voting. Men and women have fought for our right to govern ourselves as a democracy and i think everyone should vote. Lately i have found myself unable to choose between a suitable candidate.
Having grown up in South Yorkshire under the rulership of Thatcher and seen what a bunch of corrupt, lying, thieving scumbags the Tories were (and, on the evidence offered by the latest bunch of numpties actions in government so far, are) i could never vote for them.

I was then still young enough to be so naive as to think that when labour got in things would be different. errmmm no just the lying tories rebranded under the name of New Labour with a leader who was about as socialist as Ghengis Khan with a gastric ulcer. They like the tories before them couldn't wait to get their snouts into the public trough and guzzle for all they were worth. With the added bonus of course of further cementing our world status as Americas favourite cum slurpers.

So what about the Liberal Democrats then? Ok since they have had a toehold on power they have turned into lying Tory light. They abandoned their principals and have broken outright most of their pre election promises in U turns so quick i'm surprised there underpants didn't turn inside out. Most recently for example the raising of university tuition fees a move which cuddly Clegg said they were vehemently opposed to and indeed the entire party had signed a petition against.

So who does that leave? UKIP ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Get out!
The BNP? No thanks i'm not a fascist. The greens nope unelectable under the current climate. The official monster raving looney party don't field a candidate in my constituency....

So even if i do protest and the people in power are ousted who do we put in their place? The last succesful protest in my opinion was the fuel protests (remember them?) The price of fuel was lowered as a direct result of the protests. Then what happened? The picketing of fuel despots to block supplies was quickly made illegal and we are back at £1.20 a litre around 20p a litre more than at the time of the protests....

Perhaps its time to restore the queen to effective executive ruler and have her make the decisions. At least she wouldn't have to pretend to do whatever she pleases in my name.
(, Mon 15 Nov 2010, 12:52, 36 replies)
Hang on a minute
I've only ever protested once in my life and ended up publicly announcing a group pledge to want to kill myself. Honestly.

About three years ago funding was being taken from a theatre I worked at in Exeter. Not war. Not University. Not healthcare. The Arts - the one area you haven't a leg to stand on.

We all had placards with one fiesty woman leading up the shouting in classic call and response format. All was going well. 'EXETER NEEDS A THEATRE" - "Exeter Needs a Theatre" / "THE ARTS ARE IMPORTANT..." - "The arts are important..." / "...IN OUR COMMUNITY" etc.

Great. Until she shouted....

"WE DON"T WANT TO LIVE..." and we dutifully replied .... "WE DON'T WANT TO....wait...what?"


"Ah ok..."

I thought she was about to pass around the poisoned broth and create a suicide pact...
(, Mon 15 Nov 2010, 12:37, 1 reply)

I was having a lovely lie in yesterday morning. Got woken up by the cats clattering their food bowl around the kitchen floor. Bastards.
(, Mon 15 Nov 2010, 11:40, Reply)
I'm protesting against the internet
by refusing to let cats have cheeseburgers.
(, Mon 15 Nov 2010, 11:37, 1 reply)
(Pearoast) Criminal justice bill march
I think it was in the late 90's can't remember. Anyhoo being the ravey monster I was back in the day, I had decided to join the crusties, who had much more to lose from this bill than I, who was just going because they had taken away our right to party anywhere we wanted. Not a long story but one thing that will always stick with me is one of the best slapstick moments I have ever seen live. This wasn't so much sticking it to the man but trying to stick it to the man and failing badly. On the march we were just passing a well know burger chain, yes you know the one, stupid demonic clown etc..As we were passing one of the marchers decided that said burger chain needed their windows smashed in, with massive glee on his face, he picks up a dustbin and charges as fast as he can against the window, what happened next was something you would see on Takishi's castle, you know the challenge where they have to run at the door and pick the right one made of paper. Anyway the marcher hits the window with the force of a rhino, the dustbin being his makeshift horn. It made a massive bang as the bin gave way and his head crashed against the window, the bounciness of the bin then sprung him back a good six feet back on to the road, and collapsed having been knocked out by the force of the blow. I don't know what they used in the windows but there wasn't even a mark. We definitely weren't there for violence so the crowd couldn't help laughing.....a lot, at the stupidity of this guy and you'll be happy to know the guy did eventually get up and sheepishly get in line with the rest of the protestors, whilst rubbing his sore head. 1-0 to the man on this occasion,or maybe 2-0 as the bill was passed, taking away another chunk of our civil liberties :(
(, Mon 15 Nov 2010, 10:44, 4 replies)
It's not fucking Grange Hill
This was in the Hull Daily Fail earlier this month.


It did originally feature this pic, but was replaced, but it still appeared on the front page ofthe newspaper


which led to this

(, Mon 15 Nov 2010, 10:39, 2 replies)
I never thought I'd achieve this level of web-based fame thanks to a very hastily knocked-together placard

...but more people emailed me about this than pretty much anything else I've done. I'm the one in the red T-shirt, incidentally.
(, Mon 15 Nov 2010, 10:27, 15 replies)
A protest against Gypsies of Honda Accord magnificence
I just found this as a contribution to a travel blog of a major Australian newspaper.


My 81-year-old dad and I were on the Paris Metro in October, 2010, when a group of three gypsies surrounded us and managed to get dad's wallet that was in his front pocket. They got off the train before it left the platform. I realized what the little $#%^@#@ had done and managed to force the train doors back open before they could be fully closed. The gypsies were still on the platform thinking they had got away with it. I took one leap out of the carriage and grabbed one and quickly frisked her. She yelled out down the platform and I thought she was telling the others to run but, remarkably, they came back. The 13-year-old gypsy boy dropped dad's wallet on the ground and I grabbed the kid, dragged him across the platform and almost threw him through a wall then threatened some serious violence that involved ripping his throat out and some swear words for good measure. The look on his face was of shear terror and even if he didn't understand a word I was saying he got the point. I threw him down the platform and then turned to dad and apologized for my swearing. We then got on the next train and left. Great travel story for my dad to tell. No doubt the gypsies just found their next victim. It probably is a numbers game for them.

Richie | Melbourne - November 15, 2010, 4:30PM


I realize that this may look too good to be true and just so you can be sure I have not made it up for your amusement, here is the link to the said article;


Length, at least two Honda's end to end.
(, Mon 15 Nov 2010, 8:30, 1 reply)
Good point...
Watching a documentary on feminism on BBC4 earlier this year. Germaine Greer was asked about organising/attending demonstrations back in the day. Her response? "Oh no. Never did that. Why show them how few people actually support you enough to turn up to one of those things?"
(, Mon 15 Nov 2010, 0:35, Reply)
Should have put this in the great graffiti QOTW
But I once read, scrawled on the side of a bus in Dublin, the legend:

'Heteros Go Homo'

I wonder how many did?
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 23:44, 2 replies)
was banned at my school. totally, utterly and completely banned, apart from a patronising edict that those girls who suffered from particularly bad acne could wear a bit of concealer.

needless to say, i ignored this. i had a (gay) history teacher to impress. so every morning i would get tarted up to the nines. and every lunchtime the evil witch who headed up the latin department would spot me and put me in detention.

finally one day i was threatened with suspension. i knew my parents would butcher me if i got suspended. but i couldn't possibly meet the eyes of the divine history teacher without at least one coat of mascara. so i thought about it - ten times harder than my lessons - and came up with a genius plan. i dyed my eyelashes a deep, dark, indigo blue-black, then coated them with layers of clear mascara. the result was not quite as good as my lovely volumising black mascara, but it was bloody close.

sure enough, the following day, the witch dragged me into her lair before latin and handed me a tissue and some make-up remover. the smirk rapidly faded as she watched me wipe my laden eyes... but nothing came off. eventually she had to concede defeat. this is where i snapped and threw caution to the wind.

"i'll have you know that i don't need this stress when i am trying to do my a-levels," i said haughtily. undaunted by her frozen response, i foolishly continued, "i mean, i am 18 years old. i can drink. i can get married. i can drive. i can have children. i can vote. i can have a job. i can get a mortgage. and i can't wear mascara on my own eyelashes?"

"rswipe," the witch said heavily, breathing through her teeth. "go and wash your face again. then when you have done that, you can spend your lunchtime working out how to say [insert something shit that i have forgotten here] in latin. and if you get it wrong, you'll spend the next two weeks in detention." needless to say, i spent the next two weeks in detention. my latin sucked.

yes, ok, fine, clear mascara is as close as i've got to any form of protest. i can't help being stiflingly middle-class, ok?!
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 23:29, 4 replies)
I'm engaging in a dirty protest
or I'm senile.
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 22:40, Reply)
Dogshit strewn in the path of an Orange Walk
Have that you parochial fucktards
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 22:39, 1 reply)
Book Request
Our school librarian is a bit of a pill, so I made it such that a student named "James Bond", with a random student ID number filled out an electronic book request form for a volume entitled "LIBRARIAN'S NAME can suck my cock" by Random House.
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 22:23, Reply)
Writing it to the man
[Long time reader, first time poster]

Last November, mates of mine who have kept sticking it to the Man long after I gave up trying, hosted a gig in the basement of a building they had squatted. They were using the building as a social centre with a library of donated books, a cafe operating on a donations basis. From time to time they would get evicted from one building and would just set up in another (with the previous building always returning to disuse).
They're still at it and I wish them well (and even more wish I shared their optimism and determination).

This is a picture of the facilities.
Image and video hosting by TinyPic
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 20:08, 2 replies)
not exactly a dirty protest, more a protest about dirt
i come from a long line of OCD-suffering clean freak women, of whom my mother is the worst. it's quite normal for her to be mopping the floors at 11p.m, for at least the third time that day. she has no pets and there is no need to mop, but she still does it. if you want to relax after a meal to let your food settle, forget it. as soon as the last forkful is in your mouth, you're expected to take your plate out, was and dry it and put it away.
christmas day was always the worst. we were not allowed to play with our toys until EVERY scrap of wrapping paper and tape had been put in the bin and our gifts sorted into piles to be taken upstairs. my mum has the cleanest house i've ever seen.
as you can guess, growing up in that house could be a right pain in the arse at times.
as a daughter, i'm fully expected to carry the Hyacinth Bucket gene, too. i do, sort of, but my OCD is more numerically based. i love to count things. if i'm in a building i've never been in before i will ALWAYS count the stairs. a jar of coins is like a magnet to me, i just have to sort and count them.
but where is the protest, you ask. well, if i'm tired, i see nothing wrong with leaving the supper dishes till morning. my bedroom floor doubles as a wardrobe. i tend to buy clothes that don't need to be ironed. my shelves will sometimes get dusty. because of this, my family have labelled me as dirty, my mother has been to my house 3 times in 4 years, as she knows she can't keep her mouth shut if the place isn't up to her ridiculously high standards and we'll have a massive row. my home isn't dirty, just untidy.
don't get me wrong, i do clean up. i've spent most of today blitzing the place from top to bottom. last night, i even had a stepladder in the shower, so i could scrub the tiles closest to the ceiling. i've just always believed that an obsessively clean house is a sign of a wasted life.

sorry mum.
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 20:05, 7 replies)
A Very British Protest
Tony Blair, erstwhile Prime Mover in this here country of ours, did a big pamphlet all by himself. And some other people. But mainly him. His macabre, gormless look of repressed sexual longing is staring out at everyone from the cover and so we can assume he put most of the work in. And it's about the job he had before he wrote the book about the job.

People started hiding it. These were the twee-er types of protester, who presumably had to fill the void left in the lives by the cancellation of Last of the Summer Wine by coming up with other attempts at almost offensively gentle comedy. Some people wanted it banned, because apparently Freedom of Speech doesn't apply to people that you really don't like. Hiding it is also a form of censorship of course, though not a very good one. But it was done en masse as an act of protest, accelerated by a Facebook group.

Now, I'm not massively keen on Tony Blair. I think he's convinced himself of the benevolence of his actions, but then I think that anyone who wants the job of Prime Minister is dangerously insane anyway. Who wants to have all those deaths on their hands? Because being an MP is likely enough to give you direct responsibility for having to lie, and cheat, and occasionally cause a death. You have to OD on idealism to get anywhere near Number 10 or else you'd have a breakdown. However I think that the idea to move his book, far from being a 'wonderfully British protest' (which must be why we're such a dominant world power these days) is a pathetic indication of how little ability the average citizen has to influence anything. Some people seemed to acknowledge this, and said 'At least it'll be a bit of fun for us!' Which seems to be paraphrasing Nietzsche to saying 'I stared into the Abyss, and the Abyss stared back...so I mooned the Abyss, and people were like "Yeah, you totally pwned that Abyss!" and the Abyss was like "Dude, I have literally no idea who you are."'

There was also the argument that satire and humour are the best weapons to bring down the political classes. Except that this seemed to presume that the message was going to filter through to Tony Blair, and also to people visiting the bookshop.

NO-ONE, absolutely NO-ONE is going to go into a bookshop looking for the new Mark Billingham and say 'Why, but this is Tony Blair's book! In the Crime Section! Surely some mistake? But wait, NO! I see it all now! This means he's a criminal! Oh the wool has been pulled from my eyes and no mistake! Thank heavens that some responsible citizen has taken the book and put it here so that I can see that, rather than being the Prime Minister whose decisions I wasn't entirely comfortable with but I kept voting in anyway, the man is a mass murdering zealot! I shall now go forth and devote my life to putting him behind bars!'

But on the other hand, Tony Blair came into the bookshop I work at the other day. He was skipping merrily, as is his wont. 'Hullo boys and girls, ladies and germs! Isn't it a wunnerful day! he cried, beaming his mesmeric smile across the entire bookshop despite this being a physical and mental impossibility. He radiated sunbeams from his anal cleft, and came Factor 50 Suntan Lotion into the face of a small child so he would not burn his soft body by farting UV rays on him. 'Thank you Tony Blair!' chirruped the small child, who ran straight to the embrace of his adoring mother's hip. Tony saluted the mother, who waves her lace handkerchief at him in celebration at this people's champion. But then the smile disappeared from Tony's face, and disappeared forever.

There was a copy of his book in the Crime section.


Tony Blair's upper lip was not stiff. His eyes lost their lustre.

'But...unless I wrote a Crime Fiction book starring myself as the main character hunting down the terrible Sadsama B'Insania and his Cudgels of Massively Traumatising A Series of Prostitutes About the Head and Arms...unless all of that...then that means...'

At this point Tony Blair let out a terrible bellow. No words. Just the raw and horrible sounds of a wounded animal. He bellowed so loud that he woke up Keir Hardie. He bellowed so terribly that God shed a single tear. Looking down from Heaven, Diana immediately cried out in empathy.

Tony Blair bellowed. He continued bellowing for around seven to eight minutes.

Then, when he had finally stopped, bloody saliva flecking the floor around him, he curled up into the foetal position around the Non-Fiction 3 for 2 browser, and never got up.

Security Camera footage showed his body turning into ash at around 3.47 am.

Strangely enough, this happened in every single shop people moved his book in.

Actually I'm lying. It happened in none of them. If someone told Tony Blair that several thousand people moved his book, I doubt it'd peturb him more than the many thousands more who went on anti-war protests. Anyone who saw the book in the Crime section and agreed with the sentiment laughed once, possibly saying 'LOL' out loud, and then got on with their lives. The end result was some severely irked booksellers and people who may have been neutral coming to Tony Blair's defence. No-one who was meant to be annoyed was even slightly bothered by this protest. Not that it was much of a protest, just a load of people sharing an in-joke that wasn't sufficiently funny to bear repeating. At best it was a political statement that would entertain people who did not need to be convinced of the sentiment it represented. At worst it was a colossal waste of fucking time and effort that could have been better spent coming up with an actual protest that didn't compromise anyone's values.

But then I am biased. I work in a bookshop. We sell Mein Kampf. Twilight. Harry Potter. The Chopper books. A 'Painful Lives' section. A whole section devoted to religion and Mind, Body and Soul books. I don't think a bookshop's job is to pick what people should read, but to stock what people want to read, even if it's controversial and even if it's utter crap.

So if 25% of the population think that Tony Blair is a war criminal, perhaps it is time for one of them to write a book about it? There's a market after all, and compiling a list of the evidence could hardly hurt. And hey, it'd give you a chance to show how tolerant you are when Cherie hires people to go around and put it in the Conspiracy Theories section.

Which is, oddly, shelved in between Mind, Body and Spirit and Religion as the filling in some sort of bullshit sandwich.
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 19:18, 3 replies)
British protest?
Let's face it - we're a nation for whom returning something to a shop is traumatic. We can't even look at each other on Tube trains and we only speak up in public if we're utterly wankered.

That's why the French set fire to themselves while we just sit at home and grumble. If communism had been introduced here, it would have flourished because we love nothing better than forming an orderly queue or maintaining the Blitz spirit while the lights go out and the politicians lie to us again.

I don't know why more people haven't invaded us. The last lot were the Normans and they made such a great job of it that 1066 is the only date most of us can remember.
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 19:05, 7 replies)
I was under orders, but I still relished it
Some cheeky twat walked out in front of my tank.
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 18:51, Reply)
I have never stuck it to the man
because, frankly, whats the fucking point?

They reckon around 1 million people protested against the war in Iraq, and we went anyway.

1 million people.

Nothing you do has any impact whatsoever, regardless of how much you want it to. Music didn't feed the hungry of Africa. Protesting didn't stop us going to war. Complaining to Ofcom didn't result in Cheryl Cole being fired from the X Factor. So whats the fucking point?

1 million people protested the war in Iraq.

The population of this country is around 61,500,000 people.

That means that 60,500,000 people either wanted to go to war, didn't give a fuck or didn't feel strongly enough about it to leave the house.

Nothing you do will ever make a difference because your opinions (and mine) are insignificant on a massive scale.

And 99.9% of the time the people who make the decisions, i.e, the man, are going to do whatever the fuck they want, because they're the ones making the decisions not you.

Sad but true.
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 17:16, 33 replies)
protest against modern culture #1
There's currently some kind of promotional trailer in the centre of Leeds where you can play with one of those computer games like the Wii. I've passed it a few times and seen adults - grown-up people, mind - jumping about and watching the effect on a large screen that mimics their actions as graphics.

And do you know what it reminded me of?

Chimps looking at themselves in a mirror at the zoo.

But chimps soon get bored of that and stop noticing themselves when they realise that's all the mirror does. Humans, however, never seem to get bored of the idiotic novelty of it.

Is this what we have come to?

If I were a socialist, I'd argue that it's exactly this kind of moronic leisure activity that pacifies us and makes us apathetic so that any kind of real protest seems like too much hard work.

But I'm not. I'm just a whinger.
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 12:29, 7 replies)
reclaim the streets party , old bullring in birmingham
i was told off for throwing broccoli at the police
(, Sun 14 Nov 2010, 3:50, Reply)
"why's that, then?"
"you'll wake mr. whitaker at number 32"
(, Sat 13 Nov 2010, 21:53, 2 replies)
I once attended a dirty protest.
It was shit.
(, Sat 13 Nov 2010, 20:56, Reply)
My ex once promised our four kids, then aged about 4-10, cake and custard after tea.
He shamefully reneged. The footy was on, or something, and he slunk off to watch TV.

The kids complained to me. I quickly made them four little protest signs, out of cardboard rectangles taped to rulers, which said 'Cake and custard NOW!' and 'Cake! Custard!' and so on.

They paraded them in front of their father, chanting 'We want cake and custard! We want cake and custard!' and totally disrupting his telly viewing.

Sighing like a true martyr, he dragged himself off into the kitchen to whip up the promised dessert. Pester power, eh!
(, Sat 13 Nov 2010, 20:14, 7 replies)
The worst i've seen to date...
For a man of not particularly advanced years I’ve seen more than my fair share of conflict, especially during the last decade or so. When you have attended as many as I, eventually you realise a pattern tends to emerge with struggles of this kind; it will start off with the best of intentions and be fairly well behaved, but tension will build the longer it goes on without a definitive result one way or the other. More often than not all it takes is an act of selfishness and stupidity from one trouble-making individual to throw the whole affair into chaos, and the higher the stakes, the more vigorous the reaction.

One particular occasion stands out, however. I had been invited by a friend to attend what was being advertised as an ‘event’ (though we all knew what it really was and understood that this wording had been employed to put police off the scent). The area was fairly rural, and the venue chosen for this most potentially violent of gatherings was outside an old castle that had now been converted to a house for some self aggrandising ponse, but still appeared regal enough to act as a landmark that could be seen from afar, and thus was more than suitable to attract the attention we were after.

Surprisingly few had actually turned up meaning that I had been able to position myself quite near the front – which was all very well and good until the Neanderthals toward the back started to throw things, at which point (despite the relatively small number) it turned into a frenzy. I personally had done nothing to antagonise these morons yet they still hurled anything and everything they could find at whoever was in proximity – inevitably I was hit by something from behind. It felt like Hulk Hogan had sledgehammered the back of my head and my surroundings started to spin as I went into a sort of daze, unable to move for what seemed like an eternity. No sooner had I pulled myself together and tried to move away than I was hit again from behind by some un-evolved ape. It was at this point that Toad and DK came speeding past me... so I switched the fucking thing off and stormed out of the room.
(, Sat 13 Nov 2010, 18:25, 6 replies)
Im a Nurse
In "Unison"; the worlds most spineless, government brown-nosing organisation. Despite all the pay freezes, imminent NHS cuts (jobs and service cuts etc) are they planning a protest? Are they fuck. They wouldnt protest if all staff were to be arse raped by Mike Tyson.

And RCN are as weak.
(, Sat 13 Nov 2010, 17:38, 10 replies)
Five words...

Football Club United of Manchester
(, Sat 13 Nov 2010, 17:28, 1 reply)
4 those of u hu thnk protests rnt efective your rong i cn tel u bout a gd 1,,,,,,ive bin campaning against propper speling grammer n punctation on tha internet 4 lyk 10 yrs now!!!1

i no its th rite coarse of action bcos iv got 10s of 1000s of suporters.

mi campane 2 bring dwn logik is gng rly wel 2.
(, Sat 13 Nov 2010, 17:01, 3 replies)

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