b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Shoplifting » Page 13 | Search
This is a question Shoplifting

When I was young and impressionable and on holiday in France, I followed some friends into a sweet shop and we each stole something. I was so mortified by this, I returned them.

My lack of French hampered this somewhat - they had no idea why the small English boy wanted to add some chews to the open box, and saw it as an attempt by a nasty foreigner oik to contaminate their stock. Not my best day.

What have you lifted?

(, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 11:13)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Educating the nation
When I was around 12 or so, my best friend and I went through a phase of shoplifting pocket dictionaries (or other improving literature) and then planting them in stupid-looking people's bags and pockets on the tube home.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 14:52, Reply)
These feckless tales of petty pilfering make me physically wretch with sheer contempt.

You want to see shoplifting?

You really want to see first-class shoplifting?

I cased this joint for a couple of weeks, making sure I had all of the exits covered and the technicalities worked out. This was to be a shoplifting expedition of magnificent scale.


Length? I got blue-lighted 3 miles from the job and just couldn't outrun the feds.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 14:44, Reply)
Security blanket

Funny really: I've little compunction about nicking things from work, and exaggerating an insurance claim is just getting value for money (isn't it?) but I draw the line at shop-lifting; I wonder why that should be...probably to do with the fear of being caught rather than excessive morality.

Still, I did once steal something from a hotel. "Big deal" you say, "Hang on a minute," I reply...

It was exactly 23 years ago this week that it happened. January 1985; for those of you not old enough to remember it, it was one of the coldest Januarys on record; people were dying in the streets of Paris, snow lay thickly, but dirtily on the streets of London and where was Che? He was in Chania in northern Crete. This was the end of my young, free and single wanderings. I'd left the UK in May of 1984, spent a few months in Nice (see: 'beautiful but bonkers'), briefly touched base back in London in September before heading off to pick grapes in the Languedoc Rousillon and then Pfalz region. Back to Nice to visit friends, over to Austria (for Thanksgiving of all things), then Grenoble to work in the ski resorts but found nothing, hence to Crete, where an old school friend was setting up a restaurant with her new husband.

I've touched on some of the characters that were hanging out there when I pitched up - the happy-go-lucky, mis-fitting, easily pleased, hard drinking, young and not-so-young detritus of the World in an earlier post so I won't give too much detail now. Suffice to say that in my small group of friends were British, Australian, Swedish, Danish, Canadian, Brazilian, Colombian, Iranian, German etc. etc. We needed work - some more than others - and found it most of the time: picking olives was the staple, with oranges and satsumas too (if you've never tasted an orange straight from the tree, put it on your 'things to do before I die' list). But then the rain started and the work dried up for a bit, so three of us decided to move south for a bit as someone said there was work there. We got a bus to (I think it was called) Paleochora, a small town on the south coast.

There was Andrea - a 19 yr old, 6' 2", lanky, laid back Swedish burglar, Kerry - a 28 yr old, 5' 5", plump, laid back Aussie chic and Che - 21 yr old, 5' 7", skinny laid back English bloke. We found a very reasonable apartment: three beds, 2-ring electric stove, bathroom, for a couple of quid per person per night and it was only two doors down from a pool hall. It was good to get away from the claustrophobic atmosphere in Chania for a bit and although there was no work to be had, I did meet and fall headlong in love with a lovely Danish girl called Malene. I think the feeling was mutual, but her boyfriend was flying out to be with her in a couple of days.

I decided to go back up north, Andreas and Kerry were going to explore the south for a bit; we checked out of our apartment, and I nicked a blanket. It was a great blanket, made of some synthetic material it was thick and warm but light. It was brown coloured with some sort of a pattern on it so that on one side it was dark brown with a lighter brown pattern with the reverse on the other side. It rolled up fairly small and I was able to squeeze it into my trusty rucksack as well as my knackered cheap sleeping bag. That was the reason I nicked it, my sleeping bag, although fine in the summer in the south of France was proving to be less than adaquate for mid-winter, even in Crete.

When I got back to Chania, things were falling apart. My old school mate left her husband, things had been rough for a while; their restaurant should have opened before Christmas but was destined never to get finished. She had been sleeping with the bricklayer and he had been drinking to forget. The night after I got back I met him (the hubby) and we went for a meal after meeting up with Malene. We had a good night though much drink was drunk; I declared my undying affection for Malene and fell on the floor. Later, a drunken hubby had introduced Malene to his wife, explaining that she would be one of their waitresses once the restaurant opened, she went home, packed her bags and moved out.

We all drank a lot because drink was so cheap and measures were so big. An ouzo cost very little and the standard measure was about the same as a triple back in the UK. My favourite cocktail was the Vodzou - one large measure of vodka and the same of ouzo - the vodka took some of the aniseed flavour off the ouzo and the ouzo masked the nastiness of the cheap vodka. I'd have a couple of these early evening, we'd normally eat at one of the cheap eateries (we called one of them Pigs Balls - as that was one of the dishes on offer) with a couple of large pitchers of local Retsina to wash it down. Afterwards, back to a bar for coffee and Metaxa brandy - the whole evening costing about £3.00 which was about half a day's pay [don't quote me on those, they are rough guesses].

Without realising it, I was drinking heavily and a couple of times when we went on to some night spot or other, I lost a few hours. It may seem amusing but for me it was not. Especially one time when it turns out I'd been very nasty about one of my friends to another one. We were going to travel to Barcelona together, I'd said I was going to dump her when I got to Nice. The next day she told me what I'd said and I realised it was time to go home. I'd gone to bed early and had a particularly disturbing dream - waking suddenly thinking that my Grandma had just died. I spent the rest of the night wrapped in my blanket, chain smoking Karelia Lights and sipping retsina which I'd taken from Reiner's bedside. Reiner, though a friend of ours was a true alcoholic and this was his carefully stashed breakfast drink, put aside before embarking on the night's drinking. He woke up in morning shaking so badly we had to scour the place for some booze for him, but I think I probably felt worse than him. A couple of days later I was heading back home.

We've still got that blanket. I've taken it from rucksack to bedroom, to bedsits, to flats, to houses. When one of us is ill, we bring it downstairs and wrap the poorly one in it while they languish on the sofa. On very cold nights we put it on top of the duvet. It's getting a bit threadbare now but I think it'll last a good few more years yet.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 13:45, 6 replies)
Porn, porn, porn!
Me and some mates used to swipe all kinds from a newsagents not far from our school. Airfix models, sweets, cans of pop were favourite. One day, not long before I left school I started a trend. When we got on the bus to view our booty I pulled out the first porn mag we had ever stolen!

From then on that was our target. We did a couple of local shops using stealth and even hit and run tactics. We went to a well known newsagent in the town where my most enjoyable hit and run took place. We'd all been the store a couple of times already getting psyched up and trying to figure out the best method of getting to the door. The shopkeeper had obviously had enough of the four of us hanging around so she said, 'Look boys, you must know this shop inside and out by now what do you want?' to which I replied 'These!' and we all grabbed a handful of porn mags and legged it out the door scattering in all directions once outside. I swear, she even shouted 'Stop, thieves!'.

My mother eventually found my stash (hidden under the carpet in my room) but that's a nother tale.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 13:23, Reply)
Gratuitious chair theft.
I once bet a mate that he wouldn't steal a chair from a Taco Bell on the outskirts of Denver. He picked it up, walked out and we then left in the carpark with a chair that neither of us wanted.

We left it in the carpark.

I had lost that bet and had to lick all the flies off the front numberplate holder of the car. Bugger.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 13:16, Reply)
Seeing the Story about Tesco
reminded me of the same thing. Went to local Asda, they had some nice stuff that had been written down to use that day, chilli prawns, smoked salmon on a stick, that sort of stuff. Normally 3 for £6 but these were down to 35p. RESULT and collect loads. Then through the checkout wondered what the multibuy was. Examined the receipt and couldnt work it out when it suddenly dawned.. we had purchased £2 worth of stuff and then because it was on a multibuy got a credit of £4. so £2 up and lots of free food. Supermarkets are sometimes super!
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 13:08, 9 replies)
There's a bookshop about 20 minutes' walk from my work. So I walk there each lunchtime, select a book, sit in a comfy chair and read for twenty minutes or so. I get though about a book a week this way and have saved untold pounds by reading books I'd never fork out for.

On a vaguely related theme, last time I travelled from Doncaster airport, I noticed that there is only one seat for the entire airport to share. But there are numerous wheelchairs. So I wheeled myself one into a nice space and sat there reading my newspaper until the check-in desk opened. The security people were eying me up but none of them wanted to be the first to ask me if I was really a cripple.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 12:59, Reply)
Humiliation for all my family!
I have so many stories of theft i should be really ashamed. Many moons ago I was on holiday at a caravan park with my parents, younger brother and sister. My parents were watching a show with my sister and I was in the arcade with my brother - we discovered you could role a penny into the return slot of Green Beret and get a game for 1p instead of 10p. After getting sick of Green Beret we turned our attention to a fruit machine. An hour or so later we were about £20 up. I think continually going back to the change kiosk for pennies raised suspicion. Next thing you know we're being marched to our parents who were still sitting in the middle of the big hall watching the show. The cashier made a really big deal out of the whole thing in front of everybody in the hall. We went home the next day as my folks couldn't stand the embarrassment.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 12:51, Reply)
alternative library
I read a lot. have done since I was very young, and I also read fast.

When I was about 10, we had a local library, but I was only allowed to take out 6 books a week, and I had normally read them, and the books my sister had withdrawn, well before the following week. Consequently, I was always on the lookout for more books to read.

By this age, my parents were allowing me a bit of freedom, so I used to amble along the road to see the local charity shop every now and then. Quite dull, but the only distraction in a small village. Until they started to sell 2nd hand books.

I was in heaven! I collected my pocket money, and bought a few books, which I took home and read.
then I was penniless, and still bookless. what to do?

Yup, I started nicking books from the charity shop. Reading them. then putting them back on the shelves. I also put some books there which i had read and didn't want to read again from my parent's book shelves.

so although i was stealing, i actually ended up enhancing the stock of the second hand shelves over time. tragic really.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 12:26, Reply)
Is it shoplifting if they aren't for sale?
My step-daughter recently pocketed 27 pencils on a recent visit to Ikea
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 12:17, 1 reply)
Not shoplifting but...
There's hours of fun to be had by dropping magnetic anti-theft tags into baby buggies or old people's shopping bags, and then watching as they try to leave.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 12:10, Reply)
Reverse stealing
Slaughter's story reminded me.

During secondary school, the textiles technology department was staffed by a herd of vicious screeching harridans (aren't they all?) who used their sense of authority to dish out punishments for the most minor of indiscretions.

One thing that they were particularly neurotic about was ensuring that the number of needles they collected at the end of a class matched the number of needles that they handed out at the beginning. Failure to achieve this would result in the whole class being held for the entirety of a breaktime/lunchtime/hour after school 'looking' for the missing needles.

As the school didn't group technology classes by ability, young rubberduck happened to share a textiles class with some of the 'low achievers'. Seeing as this was Stoke on Trent, for 'low achievers' you can read 'light-fingered pikey scum', who literally would palm anything that wasn't nailed down. Predictably, my class would always be half a dozen needles short at the end of a lesson. Now, being a lardy little fellow, young rubberduck happened to be quite fond of his lunch break, and as he lived several miles from the school he also didn't take kindly to be made to miss his bus home.

The solution? Every week, without fail, rubberduck would bring a handful of sewing needles to make up the required numbers at the end of class. All was fine and dandy and rubberduck got to eat properly and to catch the bus home.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 10:49, Reply)
Smack Gee's
Round where I'm from (Edinburgh) they have gona a step further and made these shit knockoff stalls into fully operating shops, called Cash Generator, but more commonly known as Smack Generator or even Smack Gee's for obvious reasons.

A whole shop done up like they don't sell knocked off shit, but anyone can see the likes of the feckers that sell shit to these shops, and well, they don't look like they need the money to do some simple house repairs or buy clothes for their kids.

Thats a thievery corporation if their ever was one.

(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 10:45, 2 replies)
Forecourt den of thieves
It's the summer after my second year at Uni, and I've got a job working in the local garage - selling fuel, not fixing cars. As this was in the late 80s, and in Surrey (generally, an expensive part of the world to live in - but I was staying with the parents), they couldn't get many staff of calibre in to do low-paid monkey work. So the place was run by:

(a) an Essex girl 'manager', who read magazines all day and otherwise did f*ck all;
(b) a storeman who was illiterate. Seriously. They put someone in charge of the stock who couldn't read - when a delivery came in he'd ask the nearest member of staff to sign for it, as he could neither read the stock list nor sign the form
(c) an area manager, who also ran his own chain of convenience stores.
(d) student scum like myself.

The whole place was a license to thieve. Working there I developed a 40 fags and 5 Mars Bars a day habit - and I was the least light-fingered. Memorable occasions:

(i) one night, working late (alone), had closed the garage but stayed inside watching the end of a TV programme. Car pulls up, people get out. "Shit, this place is going to get turned over" I think, hiding beneath the counter. No, it's a member of staff, with his mates, stocking up on free fags and chocolate after the pub.

(ii)Working a Sunday shift with a colleague, who does the old "don't ring up the cash transactions" dodge to buy us both, from the pub next door, a Sunday lunch and a pint which we consume whilst working

(iii) The area manager would always arrive with a car-full of goods the day before a stock take. The day after, the same goods would disappear to whence they had came - his chain of shops, which was basically being stocked with stuff from the garage.

Eventually, I got sacked from the garage for allegedly stealing money, which in honest truth I hadn't; I knew who did do it but couldn't finger them for it.

Only time I've ever stolen stuff in my life. I blame the others. No wonder prison doesn't work - morality, like intelligence, seems to hit the lowest common denominator in groups of people.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 10:38, Reply)
Not me but...
I remember once walking into Borders in Bournemouth; just as I was walking through the front door I saw one woman grab another and throw her to the floor - bashing the poor girl's head against the "New Releases" table as she went down.

I was a bit shocked by this random act of violence so strolled over to see if I could help. At that moment the aggressor took a radio from her back pocket, and mumbled something unintelligible into it. At this two more people came streaming towards this little scene, one from outside, another from downstairs, at which point all 3 of them picked the girl up off the floor and carried her outside the shop leaving her frantic cries of "Help me mate, help me" ringing in my ears.

The weird thing was that all of these people were wearing plain clothes and one of them came from outside the shop. Presumably their victim was a shoplifter, but in that case why the "sting operation" rather than the usual Benny Hill style dash down the High Street? And where the hell did they take her?

Not entirely sure why I shared that, however I make no apologies for length and at least it wasn't a terrible pun.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 10:11, 1 reply)
i once
pocketed one of those little pens from Argos

im a bad person
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 9:55, 4 replies)
I also stole
A torch from primary school once. I'm not sure why - it wasn't even a very good one.

The teacher noticed it was missing and made everyone stand there until someone owned up. Did I own up? Did I fuck.

Eventually they had to let everyone go.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 9:39, Reply)
Snow peas
Heard this yarn on the radio once. Who cares if its a porky because the theory is nice.

The story goes that some clever chap went to the supermarket checkout with a bag of snow peas - big tray of them for sale, fill your own bag etc. Protocol in these parts is for the honourable checkout person to put said goods on the scale, key in the per kilo price, and a charge is assigned accordingly.

Thing is though, now that the lowest value coin around here is 5 cents, there is this practice of rounding either up or down to the closest 5 cents depending on the value of the item.

Apparently snow peas, when put through this process individually, weigh so little they are rounded down... to zero cents.

Yay, free snow peas. Button mushrooms might work too.

Or, it might be bullshit :) Give it a shot and let me know how you go...
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 8:27, 1 reply)
I'm quite a law-abiding person, and the only time I ever stole was when I was in a pet store. Sitting on the desk next to the cash register, they had a little bowl of those shiny, decorative marbles that you put on the bottom of your aquarium. For some reason, I grabbed two of these and hid them in my clothes. Later, in the supermarket, I reached for a bottle of milk and they tumbled out and my mom spotted them. Of course she made me return them.

This was the same year I tried cheating on a test the first and only time. Naturally, I was caught--I was only six years old! Teenage rebellion hit me a little early.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 8:00, Reply)
I Stole A Tree Once.
Well, twice actually but you don't want to hear the story of me turning up for a date, 5 hours late,drunk and clutching a tree. With blood running down it.

So I'll tell you about the great poplar tree theft.

When I was growing up it was point of pride to have the biggest bonfire in the town on November the 5th. Whoever had the biggest bonny, got the best fireworks as the adults, who had cash to buy the fireworks, would only turn up to the biggest fire. And, of course, the biggest bonny had to have the biggest center-pole. So we decided to steal a tree from the local school.

Our school was surrounded by poplar trees. They marked the boundary of the school grounds and this year we'd decided that we needed one for our center pole. It was a masterly operation. About 20 kids from all over the town snuck out in the dead of night and congregated in an alley near the school. We'd brought ropes, axes and a fuck-off two handed saw. For once some of the bigger lads from my older brothers age-group had joined us - they normally wouldn't have been seen dead with us littler kids - but this wheeze was just too good to miss out on.

When we were all gathered, we headed for the school and a well-oiled operation sprang into life. Two of the bigger lads boosted me up our chosen tree and I scampered up the trunk like monkey trailing two ropes behind me. I tied these around the trunk, about half way up, and then climbed back to the ground.

Two hefty youths took hold of the big saw, one at each end and started to cut. Us smaller lads took up the ends of the ropes and maintained tension on them.

"Why we pulling on these ropes" whispered Danny

"So the fucking tree will fall where we want it to you cunt. If we let it fall by itself, it might end up in someone's house" came the hissed reply.

In the end, it all came together incredibly quickly. From the first cut to "TIMBERRRRRR!!" was about ten minutes. And the tree fell right where we wanted it.

Once down, a swarm of grubby kids with axes and hatchets moved in and started chopping off the branches. In a short while the tree lay there denuded and ready for transport. Lifting the thinner end first kid after kid slotted themselves under the tree with the trunk resting on their shoulders until we had it off the ground. Smaller kids at the thin end, big kids at the back. And off we went, heading for the safety of Robson's Fields where we would stash the tree until bonfire night.

Next day at school, the police were everywhere but mainly standing by the stump and looking at the discarded branches scratching their heads. They didn't have a clue what had happened or why. I mean, who the hell would steal a tree?

"Bet they have to call in Special Branch" I quipped to my mates.

Aye. You had to make your own entertainment back then.

(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 1:48, 11 replies)
I say 'Deal'
Last week, I was enjoying a pint in my local with my mate and decide to spice up the evening with a go on the Deal or No Deal game on the itbox. In the middle of the game (I was doing rather poorly, may I add) the machine suddenly decides to pay out £50 in pound coins. "Why's it done this?" I think, closely followed by "who cares?" as I shovel the mound of coins into my pocket and my mate and I are away into the night before anyone asks questions. Technically it wasn't mine, I didn't win it, I just happened to be the closest to the machine at the time.

Never again shall I stick two fingers up to Mr. Edmonds as he's robbed me of 50p.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 1:19, Reply)
Tesco con
For a while Tesco had some stuff in the bakery as buy one get one free. If you went late they reduced the price of this stuff as well.
So the recipt would look like this if you bought two originally £1 cakes:
CAKE £0.10
CAKE £0.10
**Multibuy! (or something like that) -£1.00 **

80p saved and two free cakes!

Of course you'd have to get loads of other stuff to pad it out as they'd probably notice if your total was negative.
Shoplifting in a way, more like fraud really but it was their mistake.
PS. Haven't tried it in ages (don't go shopping much anymore and I always forget), I don't know if it works or not anymore.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 0:17, 1 reply)
fingered... but... never again...
It started with the cunnung plan to buy a bottle of wine, fine, that bit was easy.

Nip into Tescos scuttle along to the offee section, grab head for the checkout, doddle.

Thinks, no way of opening it, what to do??? I know! Further cunning plan, knick an opener from Woolies.
(Put on invisibility cloak here would have been a real life saver) There they are, pick one up,scoot, but wait, pounding footsteps, a sense of being followed, faster! Too late!

Collared by store security. Wait in dingy basement room for what seems eternity.

Feds arrive, they are with jolly store tec, who's especially happy cos it wasn't one opener, two got lifted virtually simulaneously. There was me; spotty, longhaired student, and a gentleman of indeterminate age, who looked like his address was a piss filled doorway.
Off to the cop shop. No Nee Naw Nee Naw though.
The feds comiserate, "If it weren't for him, they gesture, we'd a' let you off".
Stand behind the line, searched, however, not searched are my footware, monstrously uncool leather sandles- no socks at least. While riding in the cop car I had taken the itsy bitsy perspex dope box out of my pocket and bunged in my instep.
Off to the cells, brought a whole new meaning to clink, as the hidden article sounded as we made our way to "MY CELL". An opportunity to consider the implications and consequences of my foul deed.

However, when the jailer turned his key to incarserate me he found it didn't work. "No bars will hold me!" thinks I.
Eventually after a "cooling off" or "lets see what we can find out about this person" session I was allowed to leave the police station (Choo-Choo)with the wine I had been given back,that evening did the wine and blow.
Neither really did it for me, nothing soothed my pain, sorrow and despair.
Court was not a cheery experience, it was miserable and I felt a right twat.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 0:07, Reply)
Good wine in cheap bottles
If you like a good wine:

1) Go to supermarket and buy two bottles. A very very good one, and the cheapest one of the same colour.

2) Drink the lovely Bordeaux / Burgundy etc. Keep cork.

3) Open the cheap wine and decant into expensive bottle

4) Return bottle to shop saying confidently "It's corked" and ask for a refund.

You can't do it too often, but its good for a treat.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 0:05, Reply)
when i was younger i stole pens.....


But i did steal stuff from school. I stole headphones once.
(, Sun 13 Jan 2008, 23:54, Reply)
inspired by below
I also used to steal pens, not from stationary shops but any pen that wasnt on sale had to be mine. In one meeting at my renting agents office I pocketed about 8 pens in a row by repeatedly reaching for one of his pens everytime I was prompted to sign anything.

I stopped this practice after the guilt of causing mental distress... I stole a pen from a customer service desk at a garden centre, only to witness a middle aged worker have a micro-breakdown about always losing everything she put down, frantically searching for her lost pen even as it was grasped guiltily in my sweaty palms.

I felt awful.
(, Sun 13 Jan 2008, 23:32, Reply)
not aktully shopliftin
But in my early teens, this was probably due to wast amounts of sexual tension bottled up inside me, I stole pens.
Pens. From everywhere. The bookies, the postoffice, the bank. Everyplace there was a pen that you could borrow. I took it.
Dont feel to bad about it, they where usually comercial pens. But I admit I feel a bit confused as to why I did it.
(, Sun 13 Jan 2008, 22:59, Reply)
shoplifting expert
while im not quite a top shoplifter,being a poor student and working in a chain store thats "well worth it" i tend to know all of the scams and tricks of the trade ranging from the genius (stealing a security tag,keeping it in your bag so that the next day it beeps WHILE YOU WALK INTO THE STORE, security guard then assumes its "just your mobile phone or somethin") the dumb (grabbing a microwave and struggling to kick open the fire exit) to the downright insane (stealing SIX tins of celebrations and trying to run away from mall security)

still doesnt compare to mrs pirate who managed to accidently steal a pair of pants from primark.....i mean of all the places why there!
(, Sun 13 Jan 2008, 22:24, 1 reply)
not shoplifting
whilst in a jewelery shop my girlfriend took a couple of earings off the back of the card they were on (which has the security tag on it) to hold them up to see how they looked on her. She was immediately approached by a security guard and asked was she planning to steal them. in her surprise at being asked this and with a sudden wave of uncharacteristic stupidity she answered "yes".

I dont think I know anybody else whos actually done anything that stupid. good thing I love her in spite of her common sense regurlarly abandoning her.

(they were cheap couple of quid things so its not like she was even considering it).
(, Sun 13 Jan 2008, 19:59, Reply)
Oh father B3ta, hear my confession
Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been many years since my last confession. Mainly because I find it pretty hypocritical - telling your sins to someone who fucks young boys.

But anyway, father, I have been led astray, tempted by the twin demons of alcohol and no money. You see father, when I was a penniless student, I would go out drinking with my heathen friends, with hardly enough for a pint between us. We were desperate, father, desperate for the alcoholic devil juice, desperate enough to wait until someone had put a drink down and turned away, and, I'm sorry to say father, desperate enough to swoop in when no-one was looking and liberate said devil juice from it's resting place. We were even cocky enough to lift drinks straight from the bar, if someone was getting a large round in, and had to make several trips to their table.

It was wrong father, I know, but we were young, reckless and skint, and it was a cheap way to get bladdered. After all, it's not like it's possible to turn water into wine, now, is it? And yes, father, I realise we could have had our heads kicked in for stealing drinks. But the good lord must have been watching over us, like a piss-stained alcoholic shepherd, for we emerged from those salubrious drinking dens unscathed, just like what's-his-face emerged from the lion's den.

Oh, and I should probably point out that I'm not even catholic, father. I was just bored, and thought I'd tell someone my story. Incidentally, that plate full of money you've got by the door is a fucking great idea - very christian. I've got at least a fiver out of it - that'll do for a few pints.

5 Hail Mary's, you say? Is that the same as a Bloody Mary? No? Shame...

Hey, you got any of that communion wine on you, father? I'm dying for a drink...
(, Sun 13 Jan 2008, 19:10, 3 replies)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1