b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Pure Fury » Popular | Search
This is a question Pure Fury

A friend's dad once stormed up to me and threatened to "punch your stupid face in" because I pointed a camera at him. I was 11. Have you ever done something innocent or made a harmless joke that ended in threats to your person? Tell us about it.

Thanks to Skullfunkerry for the suggestion

(, Thu 26 Sep 2013, 12:28)
Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

You never forget the first time

I once had a girlfriend, a girl who has appeared in these annals under the monicker "Batshit Mentalist" on many occasions. Naturally, I didn't think she was a stone-bonker when I first started seeing her; in fact she was perfection personified: warm, kind, articulate, witty, and shagged like a steam train on steroids. I really thought I had it made.

I remember very clearly the first time the other side of her made an appearance. I was standing stunned as she screamed and ranted, veins bulging in her forehead and rabid spittle collecting in the corners of her mouth. Eventually, having redistributed the furniture around the room, and run out of objects and invective to hurl at me, she stormed out and disappeared. I was left, open mouthed, as was her best friend who happened to be there at the time.

My crime, you ask? What heinous misdemeanour had led to this near-meltdown? Had I violated the still-warm corpse of her mother? Boiled the family rabbit and served it in a bernaise sauce? Sold her firstborn on the internet?

No. Apparently, I'd cut the vegetables at the wrong angle.

(, Wed 2 Oct 2013, 13:25, 10 replies)
Answerphone apoplexy
A mate of mine once played me a voicemail he'd received. I can't remember it exactly, but it was along the lines of "Andy you fucker I'm going to kill you I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'D DO THAT TO ME YOU BASTARD I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU PAY YOU'D BETTER WATCH YOUR BACK I FUCKING KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE YOU WANKER YOU'RE GOING TO WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN I'M GOING TO...oh sorry, I've just realised this is the wrong number, sorry".

My mate's name is Andrew, but no-one calls him Andy... and to this day we don't know if it was a mate winding him up or a genuine mistake.
(, Tue 1 Oct 2013, 12:13, 3 replies)
Road Rage
I was crawling along in a queue of traffic, and finally discovered what the problem was: there was a digger with a car mashed into its bucket by the side of the road. As I rubber-necked at this sight, slack-jawed, I was brought rudely out of my reverie as I shunted into the car ahead.

The driver of this car leapt out. Shit, he was a big fucker: like the unholy offspring of Dawn French and Arnold Schwarzeneggar. He leant down - and down - to my window, which I opened reluctantly. His face was mere inches from mine, as he barked:

"Sorry mate, my fault, I was looking at the digger. I'll pay for any damage, naturally."

(, Fri 27 Sep 2013, 13:56, 2 replies)
A few years ago...
...I was visiting the urinal at my local pub. During my beer fueled wee I happened to let out a rather violent sneeze, which sent my glasses flying from my face. My glasses went hurtling slightly to my right and bounced off the penis of the chap standing next to me.

Now, confusingly he assumed not only that I had managed to do that deliberately, but that it was some sort of weird homosexual mating ritual.
I was very angrily informed that if I tried any more of that "bender shit" that he would rip my balls off and feed them to his dog... Confusing visit to the toilet that one!

By the way, I left the glasses in the urinal and got more ordered the next day.
(, Thu 26 Sep 2013, 20:42, 2 replies)
i've seen many a meltdown
from the crazy bitch who slashed her boyfriend's tyres because he forgot to ask for vinegar on her chips, to the pissed-up bloke who started a fight with an entire club full of people because one of them looked at him funny, but the one i remember best is umbrella man. he was the bloke who went into full rage mode when he couldn't control his umbrella. he swore at it, smacked it onto the ground, pleaded with it, the lot. finally he got it open and the wind immediately blew the damn thing inside out. the anguished shriek/wail was wonderful, but not as wonderful as when he decided to stamp on the umbrella and got his foot jammed in it. i watched from my living room window, almost crying with laughter. i'm so, so glad he never saw me!
(, Tue 1 Oct 2013, 15:14, 3 replies)
I was out in a mates boat one day giving hin a hand with his creels.
We were stopped for some food. It was a beautiful still sunny day. The sea was flat calm, a pod of dolphins had passed by 10 minutes earlier, and the usual skuas were sitting in the water just off the stern waiting for tit-bits.
With the sound of an expelled breath a young seal popped it's head out of the water right next to us. It's gaze shifted between the two of us, deep fathomless eyes inspecting us. My mate looked back at the seal for a moment, and then punched it as hard as he could in the face.

It didn't come back.
(, Thu 26 Sep 2013, 19:31, 3 replies)
A lad on the tube
Got very upset with me because apparently I was disrespecting him and treating him like a pussyole. Why did I got to be so harsh to ‘im bruv, innit? He was part of the a rough crew and was well connected, bruv, and I ought to just show him some respect and not be dissing him.

By ‘dissing him’ he meant not giving him my phone. He ‘wanted to make an important call’ and he’d forgotten his, innit? I inquired how he intended to make a call whilst 100m underground on the Piccadilly Line, which he didn’t like.

He was the worst mugger ever. After I told him to fuck off he tried it on two girls in the next carriage who just laughed at him. When he got off he made cutthroat gestures at me as he walked along the platform and I laughed at him. The whole impression of menace could have been better achieved if he hadn’t had his little brother with him, still in school uniform.
(, Thu 26 Sep 2013, 15:47, 5 replies)
About a year ago my aunt was heavily pregnant.
Due to my mother being born many years earlier my aunt is actually younger than me, and is a very attractive lady. She went through boyfriends like there's no tomorrow, and yet whenever she was single I always tried to suppress my feelings for her as I knew it'd just be wrong.

One evening I was visiting her in her fifth floor apartment when she seemed in some discomfort. "The baby's kicking", groaned my aunt. She was wearing a sexy short top that showed the massive bulge of her belly, and I could swear I saw movement. Very gently, I put my hand on the area to feel it.

Just then her most recent partner (DS Robbins) came storming into the room, out of breath and heart hammering after climbing nine flights of stairs, sat down opposite and demanded to know what the hell I thought I was doing. He's never got on with me since he caught me diddling the station's sniffer dog. The sneering Robbins made some comment about my previous kiddie-fiddling convictions, and inferred that I couldn't even wait for my cousin to be born before going to work on her. As a totally reformed character I naturally saw red immediately, and hauled him to his feet. My manly 6'7 physique and rippling, ex-SAS musculature meant that the scrawny 5'4 copper's feet were off the ground.


With that, I hurled him bodily through the penthouse's plate glass window, and he fell screaming to his death, body smashed apart across the roof of his Honda parked on the street twenty floors down.

It all turned out alright though because my aunt was splitting up with him anyway and had caught the whole episode on her iPhone 7 and the judge let me off because ex-nonces have to stick together, right?
(, Tue 1 Oct 2013, 14:14, 1 reply)
Never joke with a woman in labor.
It was in February of 1991, cold and snowy, and her water had broken. We were prepared with the bags and all, so I bundled her into the car and drove her to the hospital uneventfully. It happened to be the hospital where she worked as a nurse, so she knew some of the people on duty that night.

We got to Labor & Delivery, got her all signed in and situated, and she chatted with one of the nurses as we put her into her gown and onto the bed. Once the nurse left she looked a little uncomfortable. "It's Dr. Somenameiveforgotten on duty tonight. He's okay, I guess, but I'm not sure that I want him doing this because I already know him."

The doctor entered a few minutes later to check on her. He was short, balding with a fringe of white hair around the base of his skull, was rather fat and had a snub nose. He also had a big grin and a rather distinctive way of speaking and a distinctive chuckle... in fact, he was Elmer Fudd incarnate.

When he left I finally gave in to the giggles. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Shhhhh! Be vewwy vewwy quiet. She's having a baby! Huhuhuhuhuhuh."

"Now just a-"

"Wook! Contwactions! Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh."


"Oooooh, you wascally baby! Come out of there!"

Her face was deep red with veins popping out by this point. Had she been able to get to her feet she would have ripped my throat out.

She requested a different doctor. And never forgave me.
(, Sun 29 Sep 2013, 17:32, 4 replies)
No violence but.....
When I was at Uni in late 1999 I casually remarked to a friend on my floor in the halls of residence that I thought Robbie Williams acted a bit camp. It didn't seem a very momentous observation at the time.

About an hour later, after I had gone to back to my room, I had a knock at my door. It was one of the girls on the corridor who had overheard my comment and she very solemnly said "I think you had better come with me. We're having a floor meeting and it's about your behaviour".

Confused, I followed her into our shared kitchen where I was barracked by half a dozen of her friends for being homophobic.

This lasted about ten minutes with some of the girls actually in tears until, unable to persuade them that I hadn't made a homophobic comment, one of my mates poked his head into the kitchen and said "Come on, we're heading down to the pub. Fuck these silly cunts!"

Cue months of evil glances and slammed doors.
(, Fri 27 Sep 2013, 16:50, 8 replies)
I once saw two couples walking up the main street of my town
the couple at the front looked uncomfortable as the couple they were with were arguing loudly. As I approached I saw the man grab his partner and slam her up against a shop window. I asked the other couple "Is she ok?" before they got a chance to answer I heard "WHY DON'T YOU MIND YOU OWN FUCKING BUSINESS!?" before turning round to get punched full on in the face.......by the woman who was getting slammed against the glass.

I gave up after that.
(, Wed 2 Oct 2013, 14:07, 8 replies)
I grew up on a cul-de-sac, approximately forty houses of varying ages and style and about fifteen other children around my age. The parents of other children were happy for us to play on the street, and cars seldom disturbed our frolicking.

Boys, of course, all shared the common obsession of football and football related games. Most of us had a ball that had become scuffed by the cheap gravel stuck into tar combination that the council decided to coat the lesser used roads with, which left the plastic panels hanging off, gouged and likely to slice through any flesh that it came in contact with, or damage the paintwork of any car that it happened to hit at pace.

One summer afternoon, when I was eleven, we decided to play Kerby. For those of you unfamiliar with the game, I can't remember the precise rules, so I apologise, but the ultimate aim was to kick the ball from the opposite pavement so that it ricocheted back off of the kerb, allowing you to catch it. I think a points based system was used to keep track of who was winning or losing.

Anyway, enough background.

On one fateful day, I kept missing and consequently losing. This made me frustrated and inevitably my frustration led to anger, anger led to hate, and hate led to the dark side. I kicked the ball as hard as I could. The ball flew into the edge of the pavement, hit the sweet spot that in turn caused it to ricochet directly into my face, leaving me with a slightly wonky bloody nose and a fairly impressive cut under my eye.

In retrospect, it was a fucking stupid game.
(, Tue 1 Oct 2013, 16:43, 2 replies)
I was once sitting in the living room of my friend's parent's house, waiting for him to get ready to go out.
I was making small talk with his Mum while his Dad was going mental with someone on the phone in the kitchen.

I remember the line 'I don't fucking care Terry, I've had enough. If he does it again I'm smashing the cunt's wrists with a hammer!' while he appeared to be slamming every single drawer and cupboard he could find. He then went into the back garden and hurled a white plastic garden chair onto the roof of the shed.

His Mum looked suitably embarrassed.

I brought this up in the pub later and was told that Terry was the guy across the road and they'd been discussing the window cleaner, the cause of frustration being his habit of reaching through the kitchen window to put the now empty cup of tea he'd been offered straight into the sink.

I'd have done his ankles too, the cunt!
(, Mon 30 Sep 2013, 19:37, 1 reply)
Just this afternoon.
One of my neighbors here in UAE is a Russian woman (born in Kazakhstan, but raised in Moscow) who is a classically trained pianist. As she was trained in the old USSR, the stories she tells of those days are kinda scary- but they explain a lot about her.

Not to mince words, she's a control freak.

Don't get me wrong, she's a sweetheart who has all but adopted my wife and me, but things have to follow certain rules or she gets pretty wound up. The other day she and my wife went out to the gym and then went shopping, and when she returned my wife described the back-seat driving in aggrieved tones. (In all fairness to the Russian, driving is scary over here and my wife is a bit careless.) So I decided to have some fun, and invited the Russian to come with me on today's offroad drive through the desert.

Now I've been driving for about a year on the desert, so I have some experience, and this was a trip for people of limited experience so it was pretty easy. I wasn't going to take someone new to this out on the desert for a wild ride doing dangerous stunts, after all. But it's not street driving- we're going over sand dunes. And that requires driving up to the ridge and going down a 45 degree slope, which means that it looks like the land ends and you're dropping into nothingness. You have to trust the caravan leader- after all, if they drove down it, it must be safe enough for you to go as well. But it is still something of a leap of faith.

The Russian started out by pointing out things I needed to avoid, then getting anxious over going up some rises and slewing around a bit in the loose sand. Then we had to climb some spots that were about a meter tall step followed by level ground, and she gasped as we surged over them. She clung tight as we climbed up a ten foot dune, then was silent and rigid until we reached the bottom. I learned several words of Arabic and some new ones in Russian as well. (She kept snarling "Shaytan!" which I thought meant "Shit!" at first.) But what to do? All I could do is keep going and have her hang on.

We did another climb and I could see her tense up, then we did the usual controlled slide down the other side. I swear she left fingerprints in the steel of the roll bar. When we reached the bottom she hissed "I kill you. I KEEEELLL YOU!"

This happened three times over the next hour.

When we finally stopped to re-inflate the tires at the camel farm the leader approached and asked her how she liked it. She gave a harrowing account of the drive, much to the amusement of the group.

But she wants to go with me on the next trip...
(, Fri 27 Sep 2013, 21:46, 2 replies)
Back when I was a teenager and I started going out to nightclubs I used to love dressing up in weird stuff
If you think "punk transvestite" you won't be far off. So there I was aged 16 or 17 with pigtails and heavy eyeliner and all the rest of it, waiting to get in, when one of the bouncers came over and pulled me out of the queue. Apparently my complete lack of dress sense had really upset him and he said in a low growl, "If it was up to me, I'd beat the shit out of you."

Of course I couldn't let that one go, so came back with "So who's it up to? Do you need to ask your mummy first?"
(, Fri 27 Sep 2013, 17:29, 8 replies)
A good way to get a pummelling
Many years ago, I saw a bloke come into the pub I was in carrying a video camera. I happened to notice that it was recording, even though he was carrying it casually (eg not up to his eye), which I thought was a bit odd.

He went through into the other bar, which at that time was the preserve of a local biker gang. A minute or two later he came out again at a high speed, closely pursued by an angry biker girl in a leather miniskirt, and her even more angry boyfriend, both intent on spreading his nose across his face and inserting the camera where the light isn't really bright enough to film.

A few points occurred to me, observing this: if you're going to attempt to surreptitiously film up girls' skirts, you'd better a) not pick a biker bar to try it, b) put some tape over the flashing red light that tells people you're recording, and c) wait until you can get a video camera that is significantly smaller than the one he had - which was about the size of a small family car.
(, Fri 27 Sep 2013, 17:24, 1 reply)
It must have been the mid-1990s.
I'd just been awarded my third dan black belt, the sun was shining, and my two girlfriends at the time had just met, and let's just say they were getting on very well on the back seat ...

We were driving past my old school, and was about to engage in some nostalgia, when who did I see but a lad I was in the same class as me standing by the gates, chatting to some kids!

The lad I remember was one of the bullies at school - he was your typical bone-head - he was so envious when I'd got my 17 GCSEs and six A-levels when I was 15 that he'd quite literally tried to punch me. Being in the school boxing club I was able to dodge the blow easily and simply elbow him in the face, leaving him crying, but due to my tender years I left it at that, being too naive to realise how inevitably he would grow up.

Looking at him through my window, I realised that he wasn't just chatting to some of the kids. He was passing a bag of heroin to one of them, as they handed him some cash.

Having seen what drugs can do to kids, this did not sit well with me. I slammed on the anchors right there and then, and got out.

"Oi, mate!" I called over, "Just what are you doing?!"

"Fuck off Vagabond" he said, "Get yer own market!"

Having had three brothers die of hashish overdoses, I wasn't in the sort of mood for back-chat.

"I suggest you stop that right now, and go and crawl under whatever rock it was that you crawled out from." I hissed.

"Listen Vagabond you div - kids is a good market, this stuff's pure, and it keeps me in bling. Now why don't you just run off and take some photos for your dark graphic comic or whatever" he said - jovially.

He was completely remorseless, and clearly didn't comprehend what a future of dependency, prostitution, and early deaths he was handing to these innocent children.

The red mist descended, and I grabbed him by the throat.

"Get out!" I said, "Or I will break you!"

He spat in my face, and grabbed a nearby iron bar and smashed me round the head with it. Surprised by his audacity, I stepped back, and he came in for another swing with it. A roundhouse kick to the throat sorted out that little endeavour, and he flew against the wall, slumping to the bottom in a stunned heap, sobbing like a little boy.

Now I was pretty angry - he didn't even have the god-damned common courtesy to give me a fight.

I ran back to the car, and slammed it into reverse, then, putting into gear, slammed on the the powerade and smashed him into a bloody pulp.

Needless to say my heart's not really in this but the two girls on the back seat had a great time. Is it time to go to the pub yet?
(, Fri 27 Sep 2013, 14:05, 8 replies)
I once wrote 'I AM A CUNT HORSE' in massive florescent letters on a horse

The farmer was livid
(, Fri 27 Sep 2013, 13:19, 2 replies)
what just happened?
I'm 11 years old and walking down the street. It's a hot Saturday in summer and I'm taking a stroll into town to visit Lewis Measons which currently has a nice selection of Action Force figures that I want to spend my money on.

As I'm walking down the road on my own I'm in a haze of self indulgence, reliving an arguement I had with my brother the day earlier. You know the score, thinking of something really witty and scathing, the ultimate put down....only 36 hours too late. Anyways, I think of something witty and imagine him going red faced and bursting into tears, unable to withstand my superior intellect and comedy genius. So much so that I laughed out loud.

Suddenly I hear, and what I can only describe as, a fucking twat screaming "Oi! Are you laughing at me!"

I shake my head out of my daydream and see across the road is some teenage dickhead wearing baggy purple trousers, a waistcoat that looked like he had handmade it from his nans carpet, round blue sunglasses (like John Lennon only a really shit version) and a small round hat which looked like an upturned cloth ashtray.

To be fair I hadn't even noticed him until that point and, despite his absurd outfit, I was genuinely really scared. He was twice my size, had a mate with him, and I was alone and bewildered. "No" I stammered, "I just thought of a joke".

For some reason this only antagonised the jumble sale happy shopper who started to make threats to me from across the road. Only the passing traffic prevented him from racing across and punching my face in. Luckily, his mate was obviously embarressed by the whole scene and managed to get him in a bear hug saying "He's not worth it Jim. He's not worth it!" before forcibly shoving him down the road to whatever school fayre they were headed to.

It wasn't until the next day that I realised I should have shouted "Nice hat you bellend!" before running off.
(, Fri 27 Sep 2013, 13:08, 1 reply)
Kneel Before Rob
My parents hated me. Hated me so much they packed me off to a provincial boarding school, just so they could live their gin-soaked lives without the headache of raising a child. For a long time I despised them for it - but slowly I came to realise that those long, lonely hours spent away from home made me into the man I am today. In fact, I can point to one particular incident at school which helped forge my character for life. It was the day I finally held my ground, stood up and was counted.

One of my dorm-mates was an intolerable little runt called Gary. A stick thin, weedy streak of piss but possessed of a certain aura that allowed to form a gang of weaker minded boys. Gary and his gang thought they ruled the roost. For some reason I was never asked to join Gary's Gang - despite the fact they charged round the playground chanting, 'Wanna be in my gang, my gang, my gang? Do you wanna be in my gang? My gang!' appropriating the lyrics of one of my favourite popstars.

Gary's Gang had a pretty devious modus operandi. They'd scout ahead for a teacher doing the rounds, then race back to find a victim. The poor sod they'd pick on was then goaded into losing it - right at the moment the teacher arrived, ensuring some innocent little kid was dragged off to see the head, having done nothing to deserve it. One day it was my turn. Gary's crew arrived and the man himself threw a punch. It connected with quite cleanly with my face - but I didn't flinch, I simply looked him square in the eyes and snarled, 'You and me. After school. Tennis Courts.'

Gary backed off and for the rest of the day I built myself up into a boiling, frenzied fury. I would show him. I would teach Gary and his Gang a lesson they'd never forget. They'd wish they'd never crossed me. Lessons ended and I headed over to the courts. The Gang were all there, standing in a perfect circle with King Gary at the centre. Showing no fear I bowled through the crowd and took up my position, legs apart, arms raised, like the prized pugilist I was.

Fight! Fight! Fight! The crowd chanted. And boy were they going to get one. Gary came flailing towards me, I ducked his first blow, neatly stepped aside from his second. And then it happened. Gary tripped on his laces and fell face down in front of me. The red mist descended and I saw my opening. Filled with bitter hatred and venom, I stood over the distraught Gary and pulled my school tie off. Then, I ripped open my shirt, buttons flying everywhere and torso gleaming I bent over him and growled, 'KNEEL.BEFORE.ROB'

My adrenaline levels were flying, I was in the zone. I kicked off my shoes. I hauled down my trousers, hurling them in a fit of fury into the crowd. Then as the red mist descended further, I yanked off my y-fronts and stood over Gary in nothing but my dirty, stained white socks. I could see the fear in his eyes as he looked up at me, silently begging for mercy. Even his acolytes began to back away. Slowly and deliberately I held my greasy cock and began to empty my foul smelling, boiling-piss all over the skinny runt.

Oh how I laughed. Tears of joy ran down my face as streams of urine ran down his. The crowd stared open-mouthed, they could not believe what they were seeing. The mighty was Gary vanquished. Gary managed to scrabble away and he ran screaming to the dorms. I spun round in my majestic nakedness, arms aloft shouting to the heavens. Victory! Victory is mine!

The Gang never bothered me again. In fact, nobody did. I could walk through the playground like a God. Kids avoided me. They'd get up and leave when I sat down to eat. They were too frightened to pick me for their teams. They'd run out the showers when I entered. I can honestly say not one soul came within 10m of me for the rest of my time at school. They were far too afraid.
(, Fri 27 Sep 2013, 12:45, 10 replies)
I once put a load of rabbit skin in a blender.
Needless to say it was a fur purée.
(, Tue 1 Oct 2013, 16:11, 2 replies)
So my wife and I are limping through A&E on a Saturday night, like y'do...
...we're on our way to have our first baby, and I've got The Bag full of snacks, CDs, birthplan and baby clothes. My wife's got the contractions and a vice-like grip on my arm. There's a lift past A&E to the Maternity suite on the 13th floor. We are both working hard at not freaking out since her water's broke about 20 minutes previously (THAT'S when we knew they weren't 'phantom' contractions)

So we make it through the madness of A&E, there's a lift up to 13, we stagger/shuffle towards it, me coaxing all the way.

Press the button. Wait. Wait. Lift comes. Limp inside, press the button, wait, wait, wait, doors slowly close, young bloke and GF appear, catch the doors, get in, and press the button for the next floor up!

I mutter something Victor Meldrew-like to myself like "Ack! Getting a lift for one floor!"

Matey spins around on the spot, gets totally in my face inside this tiny fucking lift and basically commences to threaten me with everything short of murder. I am utterly offered out. I indicate the labouring woman next to me and tell him where we are going and why. He tells me he doesn't give a fuck. I believe him.

The doors open, GF gets out and waits. She looks a bit bored.

I try not to blink. Guy backs out of lift and, staring daggers at me, fucks off forever as the doors slowly close. I try breathing again.

Compared to the following 12 hours, that was a piece of cake. (Dads! Whenever the Midwife turns her back, remember that's your cue to have a quick tug on the Gas & Air!)*

Remember kids, sarcastic mutterings can get you in serious trouble. Leave it the professionals.

* - good idea to ask first if someone else is currently using it
(, Sat 28 Sep 2013, 18:03, 9 replies)

A long time ago in a bar far, far away... well, actually just on the other side of the Sydney Harbour Bridge... [insert wavy lines here.]

I was a wee horny, YDFoC yoof. There was a bar in town called the Jungle Bar. It was a notorious pick-up joint. I went there one evening in search of lurve, or a close short-term approximation thereof, or even a knee-trembler in the parking lot across the laneway.

Sitting at the bar, smoking Gauloises and drinking double vodka on the rocks, thinking myself the ultimate in smoooooth sophistication to be matched only by Bryan Ferry, and enjoying that 'orrid and unfounded delusion, I spied a lass near the jukebox who really caught my attention. There was something about her that was just right tasty. I wanted to know her. I casually wandered over to her and started up a conversation.

It turned out she knew of me through another girl I had worked with as she was in the same line of business. We had a nice chat talking about people we knew and what they were up to. During that chat, she told me about her boyfriend and recommended we should all hang out and even offered to introduce me to some of her single friends later that evening if I was still around. I toddled back to my perch at the bar to continue the night's work of smoking, drinking, leering and lusting.

A hefty bloke and his mates arrived not long after. They joined her and the folks who were with her. She disappeared, I assume, to the loo. Some of her friends who had been there when we spoke were talking to the aforementioned boofhead in a rather animated manner, one pointing at me, and boofhead looking my way briefly. I thought nothing of it, other than hoping that he was not the single friend to be introduced to me!

Soon, after having quietly drunk myself into a minor stupor, I needed to break the seal. The bathrooms at that bar weren't noted for being clean, dry or odour-neutral. If anything, they were noted for being rather uncomfortably wet and unpleasantly fragrant - and that was at opening time!

Venturing into that dubious pissoir, I relieved myself. As I restored myself to my comforts and turned to wash my hands, the boofhead appeared like a mountain, blocking the doorway, foaming at the mouth and a most astonishing shade of red.

"You!" he bellowed, "You stop talking to my girl." His roar filled the tiled room and made me right uncomfortable. I politely explained that we knew one another indirectly, and that she had told me about him and that I was no threat, other than that of perhaps being a friend to him.

"I don't care. I'm going to beat the shit out of you..."

He leaned and began to run towards me like some insane prop forward, enhanced by the red mist of his late teen relationship insecurity. He took one step, another longer and faster step, and kept accelerating. By this stage, I was just about ready to reach behind me to pick up involuntarily released faecal matter to throw at him.

His third step was in a mighty puddle of piss on the slippery tiled floor. He lost his footing, slipped and went flying, arms and legs flailing... and landed face first on the foul wet floor with a heavy thud and a short slide.

Me? Hasty exit? Oh yes.
(, Sat 28 Sep 2013, 14:17, Reply)
Maybe she was having a bad day
A few months ago I was waiting for the tram and had rather a disturbing incident with a mental at the stop. It started with her asking if had let Jesus into my life. I replied I hadn't and had absolutely no plan to do so and could she perhaps leave me alone. This angered her. A lot.

Apparently I was a bitch, a slut and a fag; and I was going to burn in Hell. She practically screamed at me that everyone knew what I am and what I did. I was a dead man. I was stalking her. I was off to Centrelink to wait until it opens (the insinuation to you non-Aussie-living-types being that I'm on benefits. Given my legal status I can only contribute to the economy here). She angrily demanded to know where her money was. When I told her I really couldn't help she told me I thought I was royalty and better than her (due to the English accent).

Thankfully the tram arrived and I escaped. I smiled and waved as we pulled away. She gave me the finger.
(, Sat 28 Sep 2013, 4:32, 4 replies)
And a cheeky repost that *just about* shoehorns in...
Our very own ivesb was in a fight once, sort of. He'd just come out of a shop, with a carrier bag containing his purchases: some beer, to enjoy when he got home. A CD, to listen to while he drank the beer... and a pie, to eat on his way home as he was hungry.

Anyway, someone came up behind him, smashed a bottle over his head and said "give me your money". The "pure fury" bit kicks in now as, in a rage, he refused to give in to the mugger's demand and instead chased him off, dropping his carrier bag in the process.

His lament of "I was looking forward to that pie too, I was really hungry" was interrupted by me, in wide-eyed childish wonder asking him what this amazing emporium of delights was, that sold not only CDs, but also beer! And pies! They certainly didn't have record shops like that round where I live... or maybe it was an off licence with a MUSIC section. Just imagine! How exciting, I couldn't wait to go and peruse it. I had mental images of a little smoky bohemian-looking place, smelling of incense, with loads of obscure music. Probably unusual beers too, imported ones that you can't normally get in this country...

Looking at me incredulously, ivesb replied:

"It was Asda"
(, Fri 27 Sep 2013, 9:21, 3 replies)
When I was a young chap, I went on holiday with some friends and their parents. They were a lovely couple the father was a big jovial chap who smiled alot.

The drive from the airport was a long one, the other kids sat in the back listening to their walkmans while i sat up front. I didnt have a walkman so chose to read a comic (Viz) and chatting to the father.

Later that evening we were called into the living room of the apartment. It turns out that the father likes a drink and is not so jovial.
I walk into the room and am greeted by a 6ft fatman screaming at me;

"And you, you little ungrateful shit, reading this filth"
*Waves comic in my face*
"Look, look at this mother... swearing, sex, filth"
*Waves comic in my face*
"If you ever have anything like this near me again I will ram your head through the nearest fucking wall"

At that point the mother ushers us out of the room to go play in the pool while she calmed father down and liberally dosed him with coffee to sober up.

Suffice to say i was never invited on any more holidays, and i never went round their house again either.
(, Fri 27 Sep 2013, 5:42, Reply)
Strangely angry train man.
I'll be the first (well, maybe after some prompting) that my people skills are occasionally lacking, which results in me being left baffled in a variety of situations. However, one time recently left me confused as to why the man in question thought this was acceptable behaviour.

I was approaching a three-seater bench at the end of a working day in the train station. I was knackered, footsore and just wanted to sit down. On this bench was a rather large gentleman. A rather large gentleman in his mid fifties, wearing thick jam-jar glasses, a suit jacket that had never seen an iron, and teeth that would keep a cosmetic dentist on the gravy train for life. He was occupying one and a half seats, and his bag the second half of the other one.

On the third, and in my way, was an empty bottle of strawberry milkshake. Shifting it out of my way to sit down, he suddenly very aggressively leaned over, and shouted at me "Why did you move that?!" as though I had committed some gross personal offence and insulted his honour. Not liking his tone, I simply said "So I could sit down. And there's no need to be so rude and aggressive." Looking back, I found my tone quite reasonable, given the behaviour of the angry mound of wrinkly blubber sharing the bench with me. Thinking that was the end of it, I slipped on a pair of headphones and ignored him. Sadly it was not to be.

A couple of minutes later, I hear the train being announced over the calming sound of Vaughan Williams. Standing up to go to the edge of the platform, I get a tap on my shoulder. I turned round to see my earlier, and angry, conversational partner standing directly behind me, bellowing at me to move down the platform so he could be first in line. Laughing at him and saying "No", he shouts his request again, and louder this time. Ignoring the request, I advised him to perhaps consider calming down as it wouldn't be doing his blood pressure any good, and hinting at the possibility of a heart attack for good measure. I then turned round again, telling him I was ignoring him.

Another shoulder tap, and another repeated order to move down the platform. "Leave it fella", I said. "It just isn't worth it". "I never leave things, I always finish them" said the man, taking off his glasses, and by now turning a rather unhealthy shade of puce. I turned round again, and looked around. People were staring at this man, transfixed, yet not doing anything. Well, they can hardly be expected to tangle with a clearly mental individual, I suppose.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the train coming in, down the platform. I stepped smartly off, picking a random place on the platform, and the train came to a halt with the doors smartly in front of me. The puce-faced man now turned a rather unhealthy shade of purple, before picking a different set of doors with which to get on the train. Well, he did say to move...

Reflecting on all of this later though, I bear the man no ill-will or wish him to fall off a cliff or whatever. I only pity the man. I mean, who considers starting confrontations in train stations over an empty bottle of strawberry milkshake to be reasonable behaviour? How bad must his life actually be?

TL:DR- Angry man in train station tries to cause a fight over something pointless.
(, Thu 26 Sep 2013, 14:54, 19 replies)
Walking home from the pub one day, in a very cheerful mood, eating chips
saw two other chaps on the street and drunkenly said "evening" and offered them a chip. I was immediately accused of taking the piss and threatened with a pasting so I did what any self respecting internet hard man would do and legged it. I got to my mums house which was on the street I was on, ran into the house and locked the door. They started hammering on the door so I opened the window and said that I had had a lovely evening and I really didn't want any trouble and to please leave me alone. They said I had to come down and shake hands. I refused so they kicked my mums front door down. It was a multi locking point double glazed PVC door and they were in such a rage that they actually kicked the frame out of the wall. My mums place is on the main street of the town so it was all seen on CCTV, the police arrived, they were arrested, it all went to court and they had to pay a fine which covered about half the value of the door. Their defence in court was that they thought I was taking the piss. I haven't offered a stranger a chip since. The worst part of the whole thing was phoning my wife at 2am to explain that I was going to be late home because I had to give a statement to the police because I had ran to mummy when threatened and got her front door kicked in.
(, Thu 26 Sep 2013, 12:52, 9 replies)

I'm at our SoftBall club's season launch and coaches/managers meeting as both a committee member and coach of my daughter's team.

A fellow committee member - I'll call him Reginald sidles up to me. I wouldn't say Reg is a mate per-se but we serve on a couple of committees together (PCYC and SoftBall), we've known each other since both our kids started school and we always have a long natter/argument at the PCYC Grounds Committee meetings (Fri. arvo shout at the pub after work).
He's one of those borderline aspy types who it seems frequently opens his mouth before his brain properly engages and applies a filter to what he's saying and how he's behaving in social situations.
Some of his past exploits include - jokingly calling the PCYC president a cunt during a funny situation at a meeting. When queried by the secretary if he really wanted to say that he affirmed it repeating that said bloke was a cunt and then laughing uproariously. Duly noted in the minutes...
At one of our Grounds Committee meetings I saw a former work-mate Ben, who happens to play prop for an A grade local club. After a bit of to-&-fro I tell Ben to "Get fucked you dumbshit" (a throwback to our days at work when we'd give each other shit at knockoff). Reg jumps in very aggressively and tells Ben "Yeah, FUCK OFF!!". I managed to intercede but not before Ben gave Reg a need to iron his lapels and probably check his undies.

So last night - I'm talking to Reg and he motions over to our (fairly well endowed) club secretary. "I'll never get tired of look at those tits." he says to me. In a voice easily loud enough for her to hear. And Reg's missus whom she happens to be speaking to at the time. And most of the rest of the hall.
I shake my head and Reg almost shouts "What? I'm a married man mate."
"Not for very much longer." I mumble as I wander off to get some more sushi and fresh lemon, lime and soda.
Length? I'd say she's a 33D and isn't afraid to open the buttons on her committee shirt enough to show off a bit of cleavage.
(, Thu 26 Sep 2013, 12:32, 13 replies)
Thursday, is it?
I know a guy who looks a bit Like Mark Anthony from HBO's Rome. Purefoy-y.

My dog went outside. Paw forray.

Adolf Hitler was stripped of his wealth prior to his death. Poor Fuhrer.

I made a hole. Perforate.

My Canadian acquaintance was asked how many beers he would like for himself and three friends. "Pour four, eh?"

I found an igneous rock with large crystals in a fine-grained matrix. Porphyry.

As you were.
(, Thu 3 Oct 2013, 0:30, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1