My niece
I have a 12 year old niece who'se parents are basically fucked up beyond belief. The father of the niece is me wife's brother, and he's generally not that bad (except for being a money grabbing tax-dodger con-man he's actually a good laugh). The sis-in-law however is a complete fuckup. She believes that she is higher than everyone else and that with her upbringing and circle of higher-class friends she is above the rest of the family. Which is funny as when she was younger she used to live in a rough part of Swansea and had a violent criminal record, plus her bastard son is in and out of prison like it's a holiday home. It doesn't help that she's a 4 foot Danny Devito lookalike with makeup on either. Think Batman Returns and you're halfway there.
But anyways.
They idolize thier daughter to the point of suffocation and smother her with whatever she wants, ranging from a £1500 laptop for christmas to a complete bedroom refit (including giant mirrored cupboards and a 42" HD telly mounted on a wall). She only goes to the most exclusive private schools and lasts about a term before dropping out either due to bullying or the school "not being good enough for her". She must have the most finniky taste this side of a Masterchef episode as she only eats fresh salmon, will only drink bottled Evian and not tap water (although she funnily enough can't tell the difference up her grandparent's house as they just fill one from the tap and keep it in the fridge in case she visits) and if something has a tesco's label on it it's not edible. She drinks wine with some meals too (lucky cow, I get tescos sugar free lemonade; it doesn't have any artificial colourings though).
Even though there was a recent altercation with the rest of the family in which the niece rung my house up and screamed at my wife under her mother's instructions (see me blog for this, jeccius.blog.com) I still feel very sorry for how fucked up her life is. It's not her fault that she's a spoilt little bastard, it's her parents fault. I know it's not the case for every family, but in this case it's definately due to over-smothering by two fucktards which has warped her perception of life. She's never been allowed to have a proper childhood ffs, I mean last year for example they go over to Ireland to visit some family over there. On a day out they visit a beach and the kids play. The niece turns around to her uncle (me other brother-in-law, cmon, keep up :p) and says "Am I allowed to play like my cousins? I've never played on the beach before." She was 11 at the time. She lives in Swansea too, approxiately 10 minutes walking distance away from the coast. You'd swear they'd done a Fritzl on her.
Ah well, she'll at least get a great job when she's older....in Boots as a patronizing cow in the perfume department.

Oh god I do go on.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 17:30, 6 replies)

Nathan Barley
Good ol' Brooker and Morris.

thegestalt.org/simon/cunt/

Gems such as:

"Worthless upper-middle-class cuntsack Nathan Barley visits the cinema with his friends Susie and Emma to engage in loud, flirtatious banter throughout the film and intermittently scuff the back of your seat with his overpriced trainers.

Are you a loudmouthed little cocksucker with a posh accent who thinks he's some kind of sharp media commentator just because he's sitting in a fucking cinema? Do you and your odious companions consider yourselves faintly superior to everyone else in the building? Can you be heard noisily trading unfunny observations about the film with such relentless frequency that the person in front starts to fantasise about leaping from their seat to knock your fucking head against the wall until it shatters like an egg full of wolf guts? Do you deserve to be kicked about like a rag fucking doll, all the way down the concrete steps of the fire exit and into the alleyway outside, then left to bleed your last into a puddle of lukewarm dog piss? The Kilroy team would like to speak to you: call now on 002 7656 7018."

or

"Nathan Barley stands chatting to a group of giggly female record industry wannabes on an incredibly crowded stretch of pavement outside a famous Clerkenwell bar, wearing a green t-shirt with the number '1972' inexplicably embroidered on it in golden yellow fabric, when his mood is dampened by the arrival of a strikingly attractive up-and-coming dreadlocked musician sporting exactly the same item of clothing."

or

"Nathan Barley strides down Oxford Street in an All Your Base Are Belong To Us t-shirt, sucking his cheeks in and nonchalantly puffing his chest out, a bit like a peacock might if it turned into a human and had its brain replaced with a big ball of shit."
( ma0sm, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 17:25, 3 replies)

i dont expect clicks i just want to get it of my chest
I started a new job 3 months ago out in the crass vulgar dustbowl that is Dubai. I work in the creative industry - which HAS NO PLACE HERE. The way it works is for anyone to have a business you have to have a sponsor. What that means in effect is you have to give some incredibly spoiled petulant imbecile have a good chunk your profits for nothing.

So far I have found it is acceptable for Arabs to:

Promise to send you file CRUCIAL to the progress of project, not bother but still expect you to deliver

Make and take numerous shouty phone calls during meetings

Demand (at least) 9 design routes in 12 variations of colour, font whatever then change their mind but still expect you to hit deadlines and not pay for the 9 other routes they asked for

Approve creative work; ask you to extend it across a campaign – then show the creative to some random clueless fucker who doesn’t like it because say - ‘its blue’ – so they then decide all of the work is in fact dreadful and an insult to their ‘wisdom and vision’.

Expect weeks of work for free because you should be honored to be part of ‘their vision and wisdom’

Suddenly decide to rant at you in meetings because you are not a fucking mind reader and haven’t been able to develop a full understanding of their business after one 10-minute chat.

Expect you to be able to express exactly the nature of their ‘wisdom and vision’ when they have no fucking clue what it is.

Sorry – I miss my wife and little boy. I can put up will all of these arseholes if I could just have my little troupe of Muppets here.

(apologies to my good friend kitty for recycling a gaz)
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 17:23, 7 replies)

Youth Speaks
So, back in my school days the eponymous competition was for all the secondary schools in the area, who would send a team of three kids to speak about something for a few minutes - fair enough.

So it comes to pass that I'm doing the main speech for my school in this competition, so me and my two mates traipse off to the town hall for this thing and meet all the other kids from local schools, including the posh private school that forces the pupils to wear wicker hats at all times. School by school we all do our speeches and it comes to mine - I've chosen to rant about people blasting dance music from their cars and casually mention that my dad refers to it as 'garage' music, because it's made by spotty blokes in their garages. The fact that this is my dad's own term is important...

Speech goes fine, we don't win, naturally that goes to the wicker hat brigade. Afterwards, as the kids are milling around, one of the be-hatted pointy nosed little twunts comes up to me, tuts and announces very loudly in a cut-glass Queen's English accent: "It's not called garage music, it's called house music. EVERYONE knows that."

I wish I'd had a good retort at the time, but I was floored by the presumption. At that moment I was filled with more of an urge to start class-warfare than at any time before or since.

Stupid fucks in their wicker hats.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 9 Oct 2008, 17:15, 4 replies)

Upon arriving two weeks late for the start of uni
Our final housemate arrived that evening with only one bag.

He said 'Hello, where is my room please?'

We told him it was upstairs, first on the left.

He went upstairs and we heard the door open and the very obvious sound of him standing still in the room for some time.

He came back downstairs. 'Where are the duvets kept?'

We asked him why he hadn't brought his own bedding.

A few moments of puzzled silence. The immortal question...

'Then at what time does the maid arrive tomorrow morning?'
(Waspard has your wank bank account details, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 17:14, 2 replies)

This is a good QOTW for me
As I've just come back to work from my little girl's 7th Birthday party.

One little girl there, Maia, is a bossy, spoilt little shitebag. Not only was the vertically challenged gobby little fucker telling my sweet, angelic child what to do, but she also demanded that she 'help' Isabelle unwrap her presents. Then the little fuckbag from hell started demanding food and drink from me as I was preparing it for everyone, and then the cunting little gonk, who's practically just a mouth with legs, demanded that I set up all of Isabelle's new toys for her to play on, all while screeching in the most irritatingly high-pitched, monotone voice that you could imagine, it was worse than nails on a chalkboard.

So, Maia, you cunting fuckbagging little shite from hell, one of these days I'm going to grab you by the hair and launch you, Trunchbull style, out of the nearest window in the hope that you will land somewhere near the prison where they're keeping your Daddy, where I will have already paid off some of the nonces to violently insert you into his twitching rectum. You fucking twat.

Happy Birthday Izzy! Daddy loves you.

xxx
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 17:12, 26 replies)

Spare the rod spoil the child.
On holiday this summer we were in a place with a family we’re vaguely related to, nice people, but Christ on a bike shit parents.

Their kid is a five year old boy and they panicked if he ever showed a sign of not being completely happy with everything all the time. He’d developed this little whingy whining noise, like finger nails on a blackboard, which he uses to get his own way.

It was Pavlovian. They’d tell him to eat his dinner, he’d say he wanted chocolate ice cream, they’d say no and he’d start squeaking. 10 seconds later the Ben & Jerry’s being dished up. And that was half the problem, the poor wee fella would constantly be scarfing down sweets and coke. Come 10pm he’d be whinging and squeaking coz ‘perhaps it’s time for bed sweetie’ , while sucking down the 5th tin of coke for the evening. Eventually they persuade him into his bed, but only by promising a couple of Disney DVDs. Perhaps by around midnight he’d finally pass out.

This little boy constantly got his own way, nothing was too much for him….I’ve never seen such miserable kid, no matter what he got he new he was only a whine away from something more.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Thu 9 Oct 2008, 17:09, Reply)

As a proud parent..
My eldest daughter used to give me all kinds of trouble, so one day I decided enough was enough, and grounded her.

I told her the more she complained, the longer she'd stay grounded.

Now some goverment tossers are trying to tell me how to raise my own children!

Cheeky fuckers!

Yours,
J Fritzl
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:59, 2 replies)

Whilst in first year...
As you know the first year of university is a melting pot of people from many different backgrounds, i was prepared for this. What I hadn't been prepared for was taking the bus into town only to hear a posh public schooled voice pipe up behind me with "A bus! I've never been on a bus before!".
( Slippery Mick ‏, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:59, 6 replies)

Rich bastards
I grew up in a village.

One day I read in the local paper that a child from the same village was due to appear on Jim'll Fix It (yanks, etc: it's a TV show in which a shellsuit wearing weird old bloke makes kiddies dreams come true) (don't ask).

Anyway, this caused much excitement, who could it be? No one at school knew.

Turns out that it's a girl who lived in a great big house who none of us kids had ever met as she went to a private school and her parents were far too posh to mix with the proles in the village.

Her wish was:
"Dear Jim,
please could you fix it for me to wear a Kimono"

So, naturally, the BBC paid for her family to go on a holiday to Japan where she got to try on a Kimono.

How lovely.

My single-parent mum would take me to Clacton for a day on the coach, that was all the holiday we could afford.

Bet I'm more grateful to my mum too.

Grrr.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:58, 19 replies)

Can I just say
That this is the most entertaining QOTW since 'Political Correctness Gone Mad'?
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:55, Reply)

America.
Waa waa waa! - World Trade Centre.

Waa waa waa! - War on terror.

Waa waa waa! - We police the world.

Waa waa waa! - Economic recession.

Waa waa waa! - Everyone hates us.

Yeah, well you fucking caused it you spoilt cunts.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:53, 24 replies)

Shit cunt fuck bollocks wanky poo fart.
Sorry - I really needed to get that out after last weeks QOTW.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:50, 5 replies)

My little sister
My little sister went through a phase of believing that the entire world revolved around her, and the rest of the family should cater to her every whim and dislike.

Once, my father came back from visiting friends in Germany with a generously-sized package of sausages, which of course my sister took an instant dislike to without even trying. Now most little prima donnas would have been happy with managing to be allowed to eat something else after a shameful display of pouting and foot-stamping, but this wasn't good enough for my sister, who decided that this unwanted food was going to make everything else in the fridge condemned, so hid the whole package behind the bookcase full of yarn in my mum's sewing room.

Of course the smell eventually drew attention to the stash, and the sausages were found. I wasn't too bothered about all the franks that had gone off, but I was gutted about the spoilt brats.
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:45, 12 replies)

eBay spoilt me...
since the advent of a well-paying job, meaning I haven't had to struggle to pay the bills, buy food and suchlike, I've been able to indulge my love of old computers and other geekery.

The fact I just bought an Apple Newton for £4 to add to the collection means that I am now truly spoilt in my old age...I've got every machine I lusted after as a younger nerd now!
(Chad, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:45, 2 replies)

I'm not answering this question
until someone buys me a pony.
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:35, 6 replies)

I blame the parents
For they are to blame.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:33, 3 replies)

Nouveau Riche
The worst spoilt bastards are those from the nouveau riche families.

My wife's brother law, who shall be 'B' set up a successful business during the 80's. Although he was a bit of a flash git - big cigars, gold jewellery and a limited edition Mazda MX-3, he seemed reasonably down to Earth.

Unlike my wife's sister, 'C' (Mrs B) who was arguably the most condescending, snootiest old battleaxe this side of Wilmslow.

Fortunately, I am blissfully tactless, combined with a borderline-tasteless wit. Even now, my wife has to warn people before she introduces me.

'C' bought the Old Roses Royal Doulton tea-service and had it displayed on a dresser in the dining room. I suspect she bought it for the simple fact it was expensive. When I first saw it, my first comment was "ooh, pricey", which the faux-snobbish old sow took as a compliment.

However, one day we were invited to her granddaughter's christening. Her granddaughter was about the same age as my eldest son at the time (and I assume still is).

We all met at the church and then went back to her house where she'd put on a spread in their too-big-for-their-house conservatory. However, she'd not closed the blinds properly and the buffet had been dessicating nicely under the glass.

I said "Nice spread C, these sandwiches are a bit curly, were you going for the railway-buffet car experience?"

My wife nearly choked on a vol-au-vent. She then asked me to fetch a couple of sandwiches for my lad. I replied that he won't eat them as they were dry and curly.

Suffice to say, we were never invited there again; a blessing methinks.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:32, 1 reply)

Jo, the 40 year-old teenager
My now-wife's aunt, Jo, is a prime example of the over-protected molly-coddled brat.

Firstly, although she looks good for her age and is rather fit (she rides a lot, so you know it'd be good), she is, after all, 40. Yet, she dresses like a 14-year old girl - either horsey-stuff (jodphurs, boots and tight t-shirt) or tops and jeans that might look good on a teenager, but certainly don't suit her.

Then there's the constant whinging. Nothing's ever right. Yes, she had an ex-husband who was a bit of a womaniser and who gambled, but to be honest, if I'd married her, I'd have gone off the rails, too. She's got a kitchen with a £1000 cooker, yet she never, ever cooks. Ever. She'll drink a bottle of wine, eat a whole cheesecake, then bemoan the world and blame everyone else for her problems.

She moans about being lonely, so when she met a guy we all thought "thank fuck". Then she decided he was too into the idea of a relationship and she wanted to just have some fun and no-strings. He understandably told her to get fucked after she'd put him through the mill (not to mention getting him to build a stable block for her 3, yes 3, horse - only 1 of which can be ridden).

Then she met a guy who was up for jus a bit of bouncy fun and to be a mate. That lasted about a month before she wanted to have a relationship, but he didn't. So she went after the other guy again, saying she loved him. Then did it again.

She's a sales rep for a medical company and, because she's a) usually hungover, b) too busy fart-arsing around with horses (personally, I'd shoot the lot of them and sell them for glue) or c) shagging her fuckbuddy or, d) driving her "boyfriend" mental, she's hardly made a sale in a year. Her company has lent her money to move house, bought her a new Land Rover Freelander to replace the usual company hatchback (so she could tow the horses), pays her phone bill and internet and lets her work from home as and when she pleases.

Finally, her boss said that, given the fact she blew a £3Million deal by not turning up, he'd had enough and was going to fire her. She immediately signed off sick due to "depression" and fired off a load of emails to her boss' boss accussing her boss and her colleagues of bullying her and implying that was the reason she'd not performed well at work.

They gave her three months fully-paid leave to "recover", during which time she's finished the garden, redecorated the house and played at being mummy's girl to get sympathy. She has now made a miraculous recovery (primarily because she still has a job and everyone is now scared to criticise her, no matter how bad her work is) and returns to work this month.

I could slap her silly, I really could.

Admittedly, though, when I was first seeing my missus and was introduced to her, I did think "if it goes tits-up with my girl, I could have a crack at the aunt - she seems easy" - I'm ashamed to admit that she does have a very fine ass.
(Chad, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:32, 6 replies)

Nest Egg
A pretty good mate of mine comes from a wealthy family. While she doesn't have the acidic personality you'd expect from a rich lass, her sister more than compensates for this.

Her parents are pretty sound too. Rather than spoiling the kids rotten, or at least more than the sister already was, every month they'd have money paid into a savings account which would be handed over to them on their 18th birthday.

Said mate promised her parents she'd get into uni, worked hard and on the eve of adulthood got herself a savings account with £18k sitting in it. That's 18,181 and a bit poundsaver cheeseburgers for those who have never heard of that much money. In a smart move, rather than blow it all on drugs and cars she put it in another account and uses the money to help pay her course fees.

Said sister, working out she was going to get £18k when she came of age then proceeded to generate a healthy class-A drug addiction until she was admitted into a private mental hospital. In her whitewashed cell on her 18th birthday her parents handed over the savings account. Inside was the bill from the loonybin, travel expenses and receipt for a removal company to take her stuff away. The remaining balance was £37.

Must've been an awkward point for the family, but I didn't half piss myself when I heard the story.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:31, 4 replies)

I hate starting with "a friend of a friend" but...
... a friend of a friend had his mum and dad buy him a brand new, very expensive laptop when he was about 16.

Not so bad, I hear you say.

Well, they bought it purely because his old top-of-the-range PC had broken (likely his own fault).

Still, you're saying - could be worse.

What was wrong with the PC? What irreparable damage saw them splash out hundreds on a new computer?

The 'H' key had fallen off.
(MJPerry was crude but clickable at, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:25, 5 replies)

Child psychology
About ten years ago I worked on English language summer camps in Spain; basically so the parents who had the money could offload their offspring onto someone else for a couple of weeks during the summer holidays. We took kids as young as 8 or 9, up to about 17. Anyway...

There was a 9 year old called Bruno who was he most obnoxious, foul-mouthed little brats any of us had ever come across. He spent his first morning insulting all the other kids, so by the end of day one, even the most mild mannered, understanding ones would have nothing to do with him.

He also enjoyed putting his hand up the girls' skirts and grabbing their tits if they were old enough to have any, then running to the nearest monitor in tears expecting sympathy when he got hit.

When we finally got to meet his parents and tell them the trouble he'd had (and we didn't tell them the half of it) they just said "Well we think it's important for him to express himself."

They were both child psychologists.
(lolwhites, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:22, 9 replies)

Not exactly a 'Brat' but....
There's a guy i know who basically lives the life that every working person wants. He's got a really famous dad and therefore, never has to work, which to be honest is enough to piss me off right there and then! As if that wasn`t enough, He spends all his time swanning about the place, Having 'Experiences' and meeting 'Strange and interesting' people and everyone seems to pretty much throw themselves at his Immaculate feet!

I've not heard from him in a while...Come to think of it, the last i heard, he was thinking of visiting jerusalem sometime around March or April and i haven`t heard anything since.... Wonder if he's Cross with me crucifying him all the time?
(Billyfindus Shy and retarded since, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:16, 10 replies)

Dont get me started on students
I lecture in a university near Paris, and if the students would just put half the effort into their assignments as they put into whining at me when their work comes back covered in red, they'd breeze through the course.

If you're a student, remember that while you have the right to an education, you don't have the automatic right to a qualification; the latter you have to actually earn.
(lolwhites, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:05, 5 replies)

Pay Per View Porn
Reading some of the back catalogue here has brought back a rather fond memory of mine.

I'd like to say I had a mate called Dave, but that would be a lie. Truth be told, Dave was an insecure fat kid who everyone hated because he never showered.

When Dave's 14th birthday was coming up, he decided he wanted to throw a sleepover beforehand with his mates as a warmup. We kindly reminded him upon invitation that we thought he was a skullfucked tramp and would rather nailgun our penises together than spend time with him. Thus followed the greatest line I've ever heard:

"My mum told me you might say that, and will give us £50 and a weekend subscription to Television X if you come over and be my friends."

And that, my dearest b3tans, is the beginning of 6 months of eating my own extra large Domino's pizza every weekend, widescreen porn around the clock and my savings fund for the newest Playstation games because everybody hated Dave.

He actually turned out to be an okay chap until the drug addiction kicked in and he dropped out of school after hurtling a chair at a girl's face (granted, she was a slag) He's now stoned off his tits for most of the hours God gives him and works in a post office. His parents don't give him money anymore.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Thu 9 Oct 2008, 16:02, 10 replies)

Welcome to the real world. Asshole.
I work at the courts, dealing directly with defendants and their solicitors, families and friends.

Every week there's a Youth court, where, folk knowledge has it, young thugs are sentenced to a rigorous regime of wrist-slapping.

The place fills up with under-18s and their interested parties, which sadly don't always include parents.

Most juvenile offenders are neglected or led astray and will respond well to the Youth Offending Team's (YOT) attentions, and will mend their ways. Many parents, appalled at their sprogs' offences, will co-operate with the YOT, which gives the kids a better chance of changing their behaviour.

However, some kids will refuse to accept the help on offer and continue to offend. The YOT run round after them, giving lifts, getting them up for court, ringing to remind them of appointments and so on, and the little darlings chuck it all back in their faces.

Sometimes the parents collude in this, telling the kids that 'you're under 18, they can't touch you!' - which incidentally isn't true. They can be 'breached' for disobeying a court order and sent back to court and even into detention. But their over-indulgent parents tell them not to believe that.

When they reach 18, of course, this all stops. I saw it recently for myself.

A lad of just 18 had been arrested for the umpteenth time and banged up for a night or two.
He was released with a condition that he report to Probation early on a certain day.

'Fuck off!' said he to the Probation Officer. 'No way! I'm never up at that time!'
The YOT's response might have been negotiation, the offer of a lift, maybe even a different appointment...

The P.O.'s was 'That's the appointment. If you don't turn up you're in breach and we'll issue a warrant, and you'll be arrested and locked up.'

The little thug stared in shock, mouth gaping.

The words hung, unspoken, in the air -

Welcome to the real world. Asshole.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 15:59, 12 replies)

Student Scum
As a university timewaster now enjoying a placement with a fat paycheque (going straight into a savings account for a mortgage. Thank you AS Economics), I'm often disgruntled at the piss-poor excuses for human beings that I refer to as my fellow students.

Despite getting around £3,500 in loans per year, followed by a £1,500 grant, a few hundred quid in bursaries and only being required to attend 10 hours of lectures a week there exists a clique of whiny, insecure brats who never quite had the umbilical chord cut.

Some of the examples I've had to put up with in the past 3 years:

- One housemate threatening to take my landlord to court because a combination of airing wet clothes, constant electric heaters and a closed window led to the development of damp in her room. She wanted the entirity of her rent returned, the room refurnished and assistance moving her bedroom elsewhere in the meantime. Her rent was £40 per week, paid by direct debit by her millionaire parents. The landlord consequently sent two very large blokes over to move her stuff into the front garden and bugger off.

- One (former) student protesting that if she didn't hand in her essay in she should not fail automatically, but the exam board should wait patiently for her to get the time outside of her busy schedule to complete it without deduction. Her logic was that her rich Chinese family gave the university £15,000 a year to be there, so they should be honoured by her presence.

- A current flatmate having no cooking skills whatsoever. A common situation you may claim. Oh no, this guy has his parents drive from Birmingham to Reading every other week with home-cooked food for "his" freezer. His family hasn't realised yet that he's eaten at a takeaway every day since he moved in as food continues to flow into "his" house

- A sexually repressed flatmate forcing the entire commune to watch Hollyoaks/Eastenders/Home and Away etc, including the "first look" episodes, meaning we saw each gruelling episode twice, as the television in the living room was his and if we argued his parents would come over and take it back. After a few weeks I'd had enough, and removed "my" plug which I had purchased and fitted from the end of the television cable and reclaiming "my" tv aerial. That soon sorted that out.

No apologies for length.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Thu 9 Oct 2008, 15:49, 4 replies)

My brother's new wife is nice
His last one was terrible. Always had to have things her way. Daddy's little girl. Criticises people's fashion sense at a funeral.

Her name is shitwife.
(teebie jeebie, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 15:47, 4 replies)

Mum culls friend list.
When I was about 11 yrs old my mom organised a trip to the ice rink for my brother & sister and a friend of ours. It was a good 45 min drive from the house and when we arrived we had to wait in a queue to get in. Then we waited to get skates and finally some time after setting off from the house we were ready to get onto the ice. Except for my cockface friend who was whinging and refused to put on his skates. He demanded to be taken home for no other reason that he had now decided he didn't feel like ice skating. His ranting became a bit much for my mom who had been up until that point explaining nicely to him that she couldn't leave the ice rink because all the kids were there. In any case the session only lasted another hour so he wouldn't have long to wait. He was by this stage literally demanding that we all go home because he didn't feel like ice skating.

Finally my mom had enough of cajoling him into staying. She went all medieval on his ass and gave him the hairdryer treatment that only my mom knows how to do. She gave him some money for the pay phone and told him to piss off and call his mum to fetch him.I was blissfully unaware of the whole situation and by the time I asked after him he was already waiting at the other side of the carpark for his mum to arrive.
On the way home mom gave me a lecture on how not to be wet blanket and a drip otherwise I'd end up as whinging sap like cockface. OUr friendship went downhill after that and even though he lived 100 metres from my house I never saw him. He used to drive past my house and his mum used to blank me. The funniest thing was that the poodle would get the front seat and he always had to sit in the back. After that we just referred to him as dogboy.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 15:31, Reply)

Wahhh!
I want to be first!

DADDDEH!
(Ethelred is watching cheese grow, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 15:30, Reply)