Fuck saying sorry.
Je ne regrette rien, or however it's spelt.
(Pookie Bear had some very shiny foez, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 21:02, Reply)

Big Sue
Some twenty years ago when I was in my early twenties one of my mates friends was called Sue. We all called her Big Sue because she was unfeasibly large and she had the biggest breast with the largest pencil like nipples I have ever seen. Sue was a friend of one of my mates. She was in her forties or late thirties and they both went to the same church. We all thought it was very odd that Fat Sue wanted to hang around a group of late teens/early twenty something lads - but hang around she did - she used to come drinking with us and she was very handy as she had her own car. Then it came to pass - I went to a party where I knew no one apart from my mate who took me and surprise surprise there was Fat Sue. Me and Fat Sue had never got only we always argued and traded insults. But like moths to a flame we gravitated towards each other and started chatting - mostly because we knew no one else there. My mate who took me to the party had cleared off leaving me miles from home in a house where I knew no one and no transport to get home. Fat Sue offered to drive me home and I willing agreed. However her idea of driving me home was stopping in a dark car park in the middle of no where and forcing her tongue down my mouth while massaging my crotch. Unfortunately the cider had got the better of me and soon we where swapping bodily fluids in various orifices. The memory that sticks in my mind where her extremely large breasts and pencil like nipples.

That weekend I went out with my mates again and along came Fat Sue who then gave a graphic stomach churning blow by blow account of our bodily fluid swapping encounter with graphic descriptions of all her orifices that I had invaded. She also said she wasn't on the pill as she hadn't had a boyfriend for 7 or 8 years and she hoped she wasn't pregnant.

I was very rude to Big Sue telling her she was lying and making it all up. I was also very rude about her weight :( I did not see Sue again and I dreaded Sue turning up on my doorstep 9 months later with our child.

So Dear Sue, If you ever read this my sincere apologies for being so rude and destroying your self esteem, you gave me an extremely good experience and I would like to have become reacquainted with your unfeasibly large breasts but your lack of discretion upset me considerably.

PS I appear to have lost a gold ring somewhere up one of your orifices. If it ever reemerged could you please return it as it has great sentimental value.
(Big Ted, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 20:22, 5 replies)

Teachers Pet
Sorry to...

Mr Watson, for terrorising you and possibly being a cause of your aneurysm the following year, resulting in you dying on the yard, covered in school dinner from the plastic tray you were carrying.

Miss Ramsey, for locking you in the art cupboard for a full 50 minute lesson while we wrecked your class with art supplies

Mr Lowther, for constantly leaving the gas taps on every time we left a lesson and for constantly making makeshift explosives.

I'm sure there are more but they are the ones that have stuck.
( GeordieJay Bummers are deaf, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 19:14, 3 replies)

Sorry to hear that you're all dying of cancer.

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 19:04, 13 replies)

Sorry for making you think your life was over
Some people who deserve an apology: I caused them to believe they were about to die, quite badly. They weren't - and it was unintentional - but must have taken its mental toll.

I grew up in a medium to large town in the Chilterns - a town made entirely of glacial hills and valleys. One day some friends and I noticed that the weird grated outflow into the canal lined up perfectly with several large manholes placed along the route to our school. Much investigation - and recourse to the local reference library - showed that a river once existed along that axis but was no longer to be found.

It had been quite literally buried into a large underground pipe travelling nearly 3 miles across town and directly under our school. Subtle investigation found a few manholes that could be lifted and we used a car jack to widen the grille at the bottom end so we could get out, and began exploring an underground world using skateboards , torches and candles (the later in the chambers under manhole covers). We could travel several miles up and down the tunnel and go down some fairly tight off-cuts to rise up out of the ground in several places including, helpfully, in our own school grounds.

It was very useful as a way of quickly leaving grounds without using the gate or jumping the fence.

One day we were rolling along downhill when we realised beyond the usual gurgles of the water below and insane echoes off the concrete lining from our skateboard wheels, we could hear something ahead. People swearing and scurrying

It was a british waterways maintenance team. From their perspective, having entered through one of the more public manholes then tracked upstream for half a mile to inspect the tunnel (we assume) they thought they were alone. Then we pelted down the tunnel at them on rubber wheels, out of the darkness

They thought we were an oncoming flash flood and were crawling very fast but clearly aware they wouldnt have been able to get to the exit before we got to them.

Their reaction was a mix of shock, anger and relief. we reversed course, retreated up a side route too narrow for them to follow and lifted a manhole to get out. The next time we looked everything had been welded or bolted down.

So, to whoever you were, sorry for the near heart attacks.
(Carpe Cyprinidae, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 18:21, 2 replies)

Teacher
At primary school I had an odd teacher who, if you did something wrong, would make you write a letter of apology to him. If it was really bad, you'd have to write several letters of apology.

I was new to the school and didn't really understand the point of this.(still don't really). Anyway, I did something wrong and was told to write five letters of apology.

So, not understanding, I wrote "S O R R Y"

He went batshit while I stood there wondering what the fuck was going on. 'But you said five letters! There are five letters!'
(inflateable, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 18:00, 1 reply)

Dear Employer,
I'm very sorry for the amount of time I've wasted spent on B3TA when I was supposed to be working.

Yours sincerely,

Amish Information Systems
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 17:41, Reply)

Sorry chthonic but how is that a question?
Sorry
( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 17:26, Reply)

Right then, get this out of the way.
To the waiter.

in the Oriel brasserie, Sloane Square. Circa 1997.

It wasn't me that knocked the bottle of St Emillion over on the table, making you have to move everything off the table, change the linen, put everything back and mop the floor.

It was the girl I was having lunch with. She was one of our brokers, we were meeting to discuss business. I was fingering her under the table, and she knocked the bottle over when she came.

Sorry.


(pearoast from a couple of years ago. You're all going to have to work very hard indeed to beat the guy that posted the cartoons first time round. Very hard indeed.

b3ta.com/questions/confess/post841467
(username failed moderation, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 17:15, 28 replies)

To Josef K
Sorry for laughing.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 17:14, Reply)

I'm sorry to my games teacher he died from a brain tumor, and we cheered, i'm so sorry you didn't die sooner, bastard.
(sidecar_jon, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 16:32, 5 replies)

On an advertising theme
related to the whole Tesco shenanigans, I once had to apologise to an irate telly viewer who thought I had deliberately placed an advert featuring cute animated kittens in an ad break in a documentary on Channel 4 which featured Japanese perverts who got their kicks from watching sexy ladies in high heels crushing cats. She had Googled until she found the agency which bought the media and then got me on the phone. The only credible explanation was that I had a sick mind, apparently. I started off by trying to explain that it was a coincidence but in the end I just said a very humble 'Sorry' to try and placate her, and then received a lecture on why I really wasn't as clever or funny as I thought I was.

I have also had to apologise for spelling someone's name wrong in an obituary in the newspaper, although I will swear to my dying day that she'd spelled it wrong on the email and then failed to point this out when I asked her to check the proof. Still, you can't argue with the bereaved.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 16:05, Reply)

Dear Elton
...
Sorrry
Soorry
Soory
Sorree
Soree

My apologies, you were right.

Best Wishes

Archie
( The Great Architect is still waiting for his account to be deleted on, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:46, 3 replies)

I'd like to apologise to b3ta in general

(Monty's Ex is sorry, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:44, 7 replies)

I like these letters to old teachers that were in the Grauniad last year
Dear Mrs French Teacher,
Sorry for sticking pins on your seat. It must have been painful.
Yours sincerely, Simon Hattenstone

Dear Mr Gadja,
Sorry for saying: "Oy, Nobby, over here," in class. It was disrespectful. I know your real name is Norbert, and I know that even though I know it's Norbert really I should call you Mr Gadja. I understand now that only your best friends call you Nobby, and I'm not one of them.
Simon

Eccles Sixth Form College
Dear Mr Computer Studies teacher,
Sorry for climbing out of the window when I saw you coming into class. At least it was the ground floor. (I'd had a drink.)
Yours faithfully, Simon Hattenstone
(former part-time student)

Dear Miss Denton,
I'd like to apologise, for myself and my whole class, for being generally horrid and playing such a nasty trick on you, 56 years ago in maths lessons. Because you were one of our least horrid teachers. You were young, rather shy, pleasant, blushed easily, and so we attacked. Because it was easy. We couldn't do much about the really horrid old witch teachers who made our lives hell, like Miss Titmuss, the RE teacher, who shook us whenever possible, or Miss Ashley, with her grey sausage curls and outrageous punishments – Latin detention for me, for jumping down three steps into the playground. No, Miss Denton, you were sweet and kind. So you got it in the neck. One day, you had just got to the end of a gigantic sum, which had taken us half the lesson to do, and which you'd written up on the board. You wrote in the answer, and then were suddenly called away to the telephone. One of us, I'm not telling who, because we all egged her on, rubbed out the answer and changed it. Back you came. "Please Miss," we said. "You've got the answer wrong.'"And you had to go through the whole gigantic sum again, until you got the right answer, and then apologised meekly for your silly mistake. We all looked very serious. You probably never knew that it was all a nasty joke. How we laughed when we got out of class. But why? You were never nasty to any of us. So, sorry Miss Denton. We liked you really.
Michele

Dear wood- and metalwork teacher,
I am sorry that we didn't pay attention and ignored the safety briefing in favour of re-enacting the previous night's The Young Ones (the mouse episode). I'm sorry that when you said to me: "You're good at maths, you should be a civil engineer, it's starting to be a fascinating industry for women," I blew out my fringe (grown to cover spots) and tutted and didn't bother to look into it even a tiny little bit, or do my technical drawing homework, and as a consequence got a dreadful report. If the books hadn't worked out, creating roads and bridges and airports would have been vastly more fulfilling and rewarding than the junior public-sector admin role that was my only alternative. And now I've married an engineer, and have a son looking that way and he says: "I'm going to be an engineer like daddy," and I hiss "civil engineer" at him. Then I tell him to go talk to his grandpa. Because as every teacher's child knows, it's bloody awful being taught by your own dad, however much you love them. And when we walk down the streets of my home town, the number of gainfully employed, useful, successful, handy boys who come up and say: "Hello, Mr Colgan" (you never recognise them. Being a retired teacher in a small town is a bit like being a retired rock star), and thank you copiously for everything you did for them makes me feel even more foolish than I undoubtedly was back then.
With love, Jennifer xxxx

Dear Miss Mitchell,
I'm glad to have this opportunity to apologise for having been such an absolute little cow during the years you taught me German, French and Russian. Although you are now at rest in the great staffroom in the sky, I still feel a pang of shame when I recall how badly I behaved during your lessons. I remember your patient sigh when you caught me inking in little black spots on my legs below the holes in my black tights, or painting on pearlised orange nail-polish under the desk. You pretended not to notice my CND badge, banned on school premises, or the whiffs of cigarette smoke that lingered in the girls' toilets. I hope you never read any of the cruel notes my friends and I passed around in class, commenting on your appearance, and speculating on your love life. I felt ashamed when I learned, afterwards, that you'd lost your fiance during the second world war, and teaching us became your life instead. I would like to thank you for your perseverance. As you must have guessed, at heart I was always a little swot, and at home in private I practised those strange gargling sounds you taught us, and memorised the Lorelei song, and long passages of Phèdre and Evgeny Onegin. And thanks to you, even after all these years, I can still pull off a cool subjunctive, which impresses the Frenchies no end.
Do svidanya, auf wiedersehen, adieu,
Marina
.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/education/2012/oct/23/dear-sir-im-sorry-apology-former-teachers
( buffet_the_appetite_slayer ٩(●̮̃•)۶ jacked in to the ICE on, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:42, 4 replies)

Not a word in my vocabulary, sorry.

( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:28, 3 replies)

The best word to follow "Sorry" with is
"but".
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:24, 2 replies)

(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:13, 1 reply)

I'm French
So sorry.
(smellysamlyingcable Seaman on, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:07, 3 replies)

If I say sorry for using a spare account to reserve my username, will you give it back to me?
Or at least acknowledge my emails?
( tangledupinblue hairy badge with moving eyes, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:03, 4 replies)

Dear chthonic,
Sorry I said you were a cunt. You sent me a reasonable reply to my gaz and now I feel bad. Actually, you made me feel bad, you cunt.
( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:03, 2 replies)

Sorry for all the shed stuff. xx

( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:01, Reply)

Sorry QOTW still exists.

( mike woz ere 7442200 & 7696970 getter, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 14:57, 1 reply)

Sorry everyone

( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 14:53, Reply)

Second
Bollocks.
(CasuallyObscene, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 14:52, 1 reply)

FIRST
Sorry
( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 14:52, Reply)