Mmm... free pick n' mix.
When I was about 5 I lifted a miniature cake from my local branch of Woolies (can't remember what it had on it, or anything about it other than it was resting on one of the pick n' mix counters and looked lonely... and tasty). The guilt got me later though and I waited till my parents weren't looking before I binned it. Before that I think I made off with one spog the week before, before realising I didn't like them. Bah. Horrible little things.

Haven't had the guts to nick anything since, other than free bus rides for six months in Pervland last summer.

And Tescos just robbed me of my hard earned loan for some mince that tasted like pestilence with a side of the bad AIDS. Bastards. Fortunately for me, though, Mr Maladicta works in Tescos and while he's not allowed to serve people he knows, he does let me use his privilege card for my shoppings so I regularly do Tescos out of money and help my other half stick it to the Man he hates so. We got a free chicken last night though, so not all bad.
( Maladicta, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 15:17, 4 replies)

Pervland?
Just for future reference, and likely avoidance, where on earth is "Pervland"?
( Cawl, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 15:23, closed)

Siena, Italy.
I lived there for six months and have never been chatted up so many times by so many persistent sleazy men in my life. Even now the word "bellissima" is enough for me to raise my knee to nad-level, Pavlovian style.
( Maladicta, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 16:35, closed)

That is truely
a mighty level of shite-ness.
I'll avoid words like "pizza" in your proximity for the duration then...
( Cawl, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 17:09, closed)

No, it's only the
chatting-up words in Italian that make me a little murderous ;)
( Maladicta, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 18:30, closed)