Fuck you Stu
Many years ago I had a small core of friends, and the only thing that kept us all together was the fact that we lived about 10 minutes walk from each other. I still keep in touch with Col (not nearly as much as I should) and a couple of others, but the rest meh, but one of the pack I would be happy to never see again, let's call him Stu.

Stu was unintelligent and had the social charms of a cuckolded bull rhinocerus but was hard. And didn't we know it. He delighted in the misfortune of others and was relentless in his pursuit of even the mildest quirk, condition or mistake. This story centres round the theft of my bike.

My parents aren't rich but they do ok, but I always had inferior things to Stu. One year I had generic-squashy-head action man, he had fucking eagle eyes. Another year his radio controlled car was much better than mine. Of course this was more of an issue for him than myself. I was happy with my lot in life and was content to play my own game.

Then it was bikes. One christmas I got a bike. I loved that bike. It was a sprint harrier and was red. Problem with my Sprint Harrier was that it faded a bit and the crossbar was rubbed by my leg every time I jumped on and off such that the crappy grey raw metal was exposed. Now it was a pink bike apparently. I had to put up with that cunt and his relentless jibes for about a year until, out of the blue Mum and Dad bought me a new bike. It was a blue Emmelle mountain bike and I was chuffed with it. When Stu found out that it 'only' cost my parents 80 quid he was all over it, for his bike cost £250. We are talking 20 years ago, so big money.

Anyway, down to business. We used to cycle to each others' houses, park our bikes on the front lawns and listen to music an' shit. After an evening of high entertainment round Gordon's place we exited his house and my bike isn't there. All of my friends deny all knowledge and after a few minutes it dawns on me that my bike has been stolen. I then had to walk home with that cunt following me and revelling in my misfortune.

We called the coppers and got an incident form while pc plod typed it up on his imaginary typewriter...blahdiblah. Unlikely to see it again blahblah. Next morning I have to walk to school and there's Stu, cycling alongside me gleefully telling anyone that gives a shit about the night's events.

That evening its off to Gordon's house again to play pool on his shitty six foot table and everyone piles round. I am still the butt of some jokes, but the evening goes ok. We all leave at the same time to find that Stu's bike is missing from the lawn.

It didn't take long for us all to realise that it had been nicked and at that point I truly believed that two wrongs can indeed make a right.
(mersault, Wed 23 Dec 2009, 13:12, 1 reply)

I've got a (not so) fantastic image in my head now
of a bathroom with a superb stereo and "His n Hers" lavs, which you two used to mosh on whilst relieving yourselves.

But nice story, glad Stu got his comeuppance...clickity :-)
(MrOli is ugly, but in the morning you will be sober, Wed 23 Dec 2009, 14:28, closed)