French exchange.
When I was nought but 11, I went on a French exchange trip with my school. Now whilst the trip itself was excellent, they clearly hadn't put any thought into matching us up with people, it was literally luck of the draw. Hence why all my mates ended up with cool people, and ended up with this spotty little arse called Jean Baptiste. Imagine what Bill Gates must have looked like as a child and you're getting there. His hobbies included, long walks through the forest near to where he lived, watching the Three Musketeers, and that was it. All of my mates exchange partners had playstations, and Sega Saturns (This was 1995), and swimming pools, and motorbikes and such. What did mine have? A fucking master system and an erection over Porthos.

I alleviated my boredom with him by being as obnoxious as I possibly could. This entailed me throwing a rather large pine cone through the window of his school when we finally arrived there, after one of his many long walks through the forest (I bet he was trying to frogbum me...)

anyway the time to leave came, and so we did, after an otherwise awesome holiday.

But it doesn't end there, oh no.

A few months later, he comes to stay with me (in the way that tends to happen with Exchange trips...).

Now I hadn't thought this through properly at the time. Me going to France, all very well and good. No-one over there knew me, I could do what I liked. But him in England? Shit, he was probably going to have to meet all my mates at some point in time. Jesus, they were going to fucking tear him to pieces...

So anyway, the little tosslord turned up, and within 2 days, had killed my hamster, broke my SNES, fucked my bike up, and on top of which, my mother thought he was adorable, and gave me no end of shit for ignoring him the whole time. My Dad thought he was a gimp.

By this point in time I had had enough. Me and my best mate decided to take action. Seeing as he loved walks through the woods so much, we thought we'd take him on one, seeing as I live right on the edge of a fairly large wood. We walkd for about an hour, until we found the spot we were looking for: a wall which, on the side of the path we were on, stood about 4 feet high, but with a 15 foot or so drop on the other side. using elaborate hand signals and gestures we signalled to him that we were going to climb over the wall, and continue on the walk. He nodded in agreement. So we set about lowering him to the floor on the other side of the wall, which took a few minutes because he was essentially the real version of Kyle 2 from South Park (you know what I mean), and he paused every two seconds cause he thought he was going to graze his knee. But eventually we got him all the way down, and...


...just left him there. We fucked off back to my house and watched a few movies. It was approximately 5 hours later, when my mum returned from work (she's a teacher) and enquired "Where's Jean-Baptiste?", to which I replied "I dunno. we lost him in the woods somewhere."

This doesn't go down well with people who work in the teaching profession. What with them being sort of responsible for child welfare and all. And what with us living in one of the roughest areas in the whole of Greater Manchester.

So after a real earaching from my mother, we set out to find him. We thought the best place to look would be the place we left him, and wouldn't you know it, the snivelly little shite was still fucking stood there, looking up at us expectantly. We reached down, and helped him back up, and took him back to the house. And you know what? He never fucking complained once. That's what kind of wet little granny fart he was. Not even a "wanker".

If I'd have done that to me when I was that age, I'd have kicked the living shit out of me the second I returned back to help myself up the wall, and I'd expect any one of you to do the same...
( PMGT -Bacon., Thu 7 Dec 2006, 19:41, Reply)