Me! (me me me me me me me)
I used to be a right spoiled brat when I was a kid. I wasn't spoiled in that my parents spent loads of money on me, as times was hard in the Strangechap household.

No, my parents 'spoiled me with love'.

Now don't get me wrong, they were great parents, and still are, but I grew up to be a right whiney little shit. I had no confidence or guts to do anything myself. I didn't like playing with other kids, as they were too rough, I would never do anything on my own. My dad would always come in to the playground with me as I was too scared to go without him.

I would only drink milk when we were out, so if we went to a pub for lunch (rare occurrence, and only when on holiday) I wouldn't drink coke, I had to have milk. (try getting milk in a pub FFS!)

My mum did everything for me. Cooked, cleaned, did my washing. I never had to do any chores. And I repaid her my being a messy little shit and taking her for granted.

When my little brother arrived, I used to bully him no end as I was 5 years older. It's easy to bully a toddler when you are so much bigger. I feel really bad now that I used to treat him like that. (Especially as he's now bigger than me and quite hard due to all the abuse I gave him when he was a kid.) We get on now, most of the time.

So in all, I was an odious little wanker when I was a kid. I'm not proud of that, but that's just the way it was.

When I was about 10, J moved into my street. I come from a middle class area in the south of england, and J and his family didn't fit with the stereotypical middle class family I was used to.

J was black, streetwise, hard and a real character. He was the total opposite to me, the spoiled little white boy. His family had moved from one of the shittier parts of the local town into the suburbs and were the only black family around.

On the day he moved in, he rode down our road on his bike, introduced himself and we just clicked. From that day on we were inseparable. We were true best friends. We were good for each other. He taught me how to skateboard, fight, talk to girls, show off, have a laugh. I learned what racism was, how things weren't as easy for him sometimes as they were for me, simply because he was a different colour. I kept him on the straight and narrow, as he tended to go the "wrong way" every so often. We were a perfect foil for each other.

I stopped being a shy, spoiled little kid and grew up. All thanks to J.

We went our separate ways when we were about 19-20. He got into drugs and went a bit funny and we got in a fight. We didn't see each other for about 15 years. Then, somehow this year, we got back in contact and are now good mates again. He's sorted himself out and has a family and so have I. We don't raise hell like we used to, but I've realised out of all the people I know. He's the best friend I've ever had, or will have.

I'm not spoiled anymore. Although I do have the occasional tantrum. And I suppose it shows that a spoiled kid doesn't have to be a spoiled adult too.

Apologies for length, but I wanted it to be that long. And what I want, I get. (stamps feet).
(Strangechap I look normal on the outside..., Fri 10 Oct 2008, 9:25, 2 replies)

It's not only rich kids who are spoilt though.
I've run arts workshops, at a bloody good rate, (Arts' Council suggest £190 a day), for the "disadvantaged".
One which springs to mind is for disadvantaged young ladies of a certain Manchester borough; we were teaching them to draw comics to show their problems in life. Basically, they got knocked up at 14, and were sponging off the state for the rest of their lifes. They had the latest mobile phones, their brood of snotty brats sported the latest trainers and they expected it to be thrown them on a silver platter.
All for not keeping their knickers on, not even using protection. FFS kids get prescribed the pill here, how stupid do you have to be to get banged up at that age?
I class spoilt as expecting things to be done for you, and not taking any responsibility for yourself. Whether old money, new money or screwing off the taxpayer, tis all the same.
Right, I'll just go and buy my Daily Mail now.

Edit: just noticed my posting time, 9:11. Don't get me started on spoilt Americans.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Fri 10 Oct 2008, 9:11, 2 replies)

working class pride
When I was a mere lad, my mum ran a creche. It was no ordinary creche, but one at a private hospital specialising in discreet plastic surgery for rich people. All the kids were children of doctors, apart from me and my sister.

The most obnoxious were the five sons of the hospital owners - all unspeakably haughty little shits attending the best private educational establishments of Sheffield. Three of them went on to Eton, and the other two to Rugby. I remember one of them walking round the hospital with a football and, on being challenged, saying: "Do you know who I am? I can have you sacked!" He was nine.

Funny thing though. A couple of decades later, my dad met up with their parents and discovered that despite the tens of thousands spent on their education, none of the kids had done as well at school as I had. Indeed, my qualifications made them look like a bunch of retards.

My first novel is published in May 2009, and it's all the sweeter coming from a background of state-comprehensive glue-sniffing teenage pregnancy.
(frankspencer, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 9:09, 8 replies)

Hah!

Call this a recession? Call this an unfriendly government? You lot don't know you're born! Back in the 80s we KNEW how to do a recession properly, dole queues that stretched round the block, homeless people in proper cardboard cities, real heavy industry being brought down by a proper un-caring Tory administration - not like these namby-pamby call centres being "off-shored"...and where are the strikes? Where's the un-rest?

Kids today...
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 9:04, 23 replies)

i am a primary school teacher
A while ago it was the 5th birthday of a child in nursery. He had a party after school.
Rather than his friends walk from school to his house, he had a stretch limo take them.

A stretch limo at 5. What is going o happen when his 18?
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Fri 10 Oct 2008, 8:30, 7 replies)

well
at least half of my extended family I would classify under the notion of spoiled brats, houses in Florida wherein one is not allowed to touch the walls, and cousins who get themselves diagnosed with mental disorders and proceed to use said disorders to justify everything negative they do.
I could go on, but I hate them
There is one story though... I was about 10-ish and my parents being overprotective and apt to working on Fridays, sent me and my siblings to a day care type place. I was the oldest there save for the day-care owner's daughter, who was, and is, the epitome of the spoiled brat. Steeling money from her mom, telling her mom off for no reason, and inviting boys over against her mother's permission. Granted I didn't like this woman, but I decided no one deserved this, regardless of how boring they were. My first attempt at justice was a letter from Santa that was never delivered detailing exactly why she wouldn't be getting any presents this year from him. My second attempt was a bit creepy in retrospect, I figured out how to work the answering machine and left a semi-threatening message detailing exactly what kind of brat she was...the look on her face was priceless, as was mine most likely when they realized that I had done it. At last I sat down this 40 something year old woman, and my 10 year old self explained to her, in lecture format, exactly what was wrong with her daughter, surprisingly she agreed to all of it...Every time I look back on that I feel so embarrassed though, the woman had 30 years on me, what right did I have?
Anyway, I haven't seen heads or tails of either of them for ages, I hope my ex day-care person is doing well, and I hope her daughter is living on a trailer park somewhere.
Bitch
( Arsonade is saving up for a new box of hummus, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 8:17, 1 reply)

I wiped a smug grin quite fast
I was working as a teacher in a school back home, there was one real little spoilt shite. Let's call him Kevin, for that was his name. Kevin loved to think that he was above everyone, and threw all sorts of hissy fits when asked to do anything. "Kevin, write your name on the answer sheet", "not doing it", "why not?", "coz you can't make me, etc."
The little shit must have heard about his "rights" and how little power teachers these days actually have. So one day he pipes up with this..
kevin: "You know, if you even brushed off me by accident, I can report you and you'll never work again, in fact, all I have to do is say that you did even if you didn't and you'll get fired"
me: "You're right about that Kevin, I'll give you that"
A big thick shit smug grin spreads across his face. I pause for a minute or two, he thinks I'm rattled.
me: "slight correction actually, I'll never work in this country again"
Kevin: "same thing 'innit"
me: "Kevin, any idea where Japan is?"
Kevin: "'course, I'm not stupid"
me: "well, in 2 months I'll be going there, for the rest of my life. Despite my fears of you getting me fired over a phantom brushing off you, they are totaly outweighed by the pleasure I'll get from beating some manners into you."
His bluff had been called, went pale and started back pedaling.
Kevin: "I was only saying, that's all"
me: "Unless you want to practice picking up teeth with broken fingers boyo, I'd think twice about annoying me in the future"
The next 2 months were a pleasure.
(knackerz is skinning up, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 7:29, 5 replies)

Spoilt bastards
My mate spends billions on her kids - do they appreciate it? No way....
So everytime my mates not looking, I pinch the kiddies really hard....
No real life lesson there but who cares?!
Great times....
(catflap I went out with Nicholas Parsons, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 5:40, 1 reply)

This might have the most responses of any QOTW ever...
The b3tans do love their schadenfreude and sour grapes.

I wish I had a good story, but our current president pretty much takes win place and show in the Spoilt Brat competition. Luckily he'll be retired to Crawford, TX in a couple of months, and with any luck our new president will be the capable young guy, not the cantankerous old guy.
(not here, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 4:31, 11 replies)

another cousin
she's a year older than me(35), but you'd swear to listen to her talk that she was 6.

when we were kids, she'd get £40 a week "clothing allowance", despite the fact that all her clothes were bought for her. she'd take me shopping with her, just to rub in my face the fact that she had money and i didn't. her father worked every hour god sent to provide for his family, but it was never enough for her.

in her teenage years, something strange happened: she became temporarily nice. she would treat me to days out, meals, nights on the town, the lot. of course, they all had to be where and when she wanted to go, i had no say in the matter.

scroll forward about ten years and she's become a raving loon. she works for a temp agency, mainly because she can't hold down a full-time job. she's left every job due to "bullying". basically, she goes in there on the first day and expects everyone to instantly idolise her. she will pick on the quietest, most hard-working person there and decide that they've got something against her(i.e they didn't fall at her feet in wonderment the second they met her). she will then sneakily talk to everyone else in the office, slagging this poor person off and spreading malicious lies.
inevitably, word gets back to her victim, who then has a genuine reason not to like her. however, if they confront her about her behaviour, she will go to her supervisor(who she has done her best to befriend) and make a formal complaint. when the supervisor tells her she doesn't have a genuine grievance, she goes straight to the boss and whinges about how her supervisor and the other poor sod she's got it in for have been ganging up on her. she invents insults and fictitious nasty e-mails, then demands that disciplinary action be taken. of course, after talking to the rest of the staff, the boss realises what a grade-A loony she is and she's asked to leave. she then spends 2 weeks sobbing because "it's all their fault, i did nothing wrong!" yeah, except using their phones to talk to your mates all day, take at least one fag break every half hour, talk to clients like shit and alienate the entire office.
stupid bitch.

this same prime example of fuckwittery has just had a huge flaming row with her mum.
why?
because, after being in hospital with a severe chest infection for a week, her mum feels that she's not quite got the strength yet to care for my cousin's 2-year-old son every day. for free. with not a word of thanks. while her fella sits at home and pretends he's too busy to look after his own son.

i didn't realise just how much i hate her.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 3:02, 9 replies)

When spoilt brats get dumped
If you didn't already know, Asian families are heavily patriarchal. That means the boys are treated with all reverence due their gender (*snort*) and can generally act as they please without fear of retribution.

So it's no surprise that the eldest son of one of my very rich aunts is more than a little spoiled.

Long story short, he had supposedly been in a "relationship" (read: was friends with) with some Japanese girl when it was very suddenly terminated. I didn't ask how or why because I didn't give a flying fuck - besides I figured it'd do him good to be taken down a notch.

I happened to be on vacation and was staying in one of his parents' homes at the time. He took to venting his displeasure in the wee hours of the morning, including crying and wailing very loudly (his room was right next to mine and the walls were, how do you say, not soundproof), getting horribly drunk off cheap beer and wine and carrying on sobbing in the hallway right outside my door, going into the courtyard surrounding the house and continuing his tirades, etc.

When we confronted him about it the next morning he sullenly uttered a completely unrepentant 'sorry' and sloped off, not to be seen or heard until the next evening when his yowls of displeasure carried on where he'd previously left off.

I was kept up for quite a few nights running, though I did make good use of the time playing computer games for most of 'em.

Honestly, it wasn't the length as much as the duration.
(Rem Sir, why are you thrashing about on the floor?, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 2:43, Reply)

my dads kids....
are cunts.

I should feel bad typing this word in association with a 9 and a 6 year old.










I don't.

Between their Dr. Who magazine subscriptions and karate lessons, who can fault them for not saying thank you when they never have the time!

I was looked after growing up undeniably. But I find it far easier to say thank you to my parents than I do to forget that fact.

The older of the two recently came home and demanded to know who had moved "his" playstation 3. It amazes me how this child can claim ownership over other people's personal possessions, and my Dad just said "Supersam, let him have a go. I promised him"

Makes my blood boil.

My other two brothers who are of similar age but raised by my far less fortunate, landlady, chain smoking, swearing, funny as fuck when drunk mother are the two nicest kids I have met probably ever. So I guess it balances out.
( Supersam11 Can I go on the slides please?, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 1:54, 2 replies)

On learning that my best friend (and his ex) had just been removed from her home due to very serious abuse by her parents
J's synopsis as we sat round the pond behind the school was profound and sensitive:

"But...this kind of thing doesn't happen here, I mean, this is a PRIVATE school!

What?....no really, what?"
( Hampster Squared has stuff at www.tilla.co.uk, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 1:21, Reply)

B3ta readers - plz help!
My lovely people, listen up.

I have a spoilt child related problem that you may be able to help me with.

My boyfriends niece - she's 5 in November and spoilt to shit. The thing is - she doesn't demand, she doesn't strop, doesn't have pissy fits. Lovely girl she is really. But her parents buy her stuff. Loads and loads of stuff. Its one thing to want your child well presented, but completely another to never have her appear in the same outfit twice. And toys - they get played with for a month and then put away and replaced with new ones - not because shes bored with them, just so they're always new.

Anyway - at Christmas and Birthdays it seems to me that the custom for everyone to do the 'lets all put in for this' thing. This is the point of botheration for me, I'd like to get her something that some year or so down the line she can look at it and go 'my lovely Auntie spent.fish got me this'.

So my dears, what are your suggestions - appropriate gift for a soon to be 5 year old that already has more stuff than any child needs. Expense isnt a big deal, but dont lose your minds.
(spent.fish flipping and gasping, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 0:57, 24 replies)

My housemate through 3 years of Uni
What a twat. Dave, his name was. The friend of a friend put it best when they referred to him as a 'flak magnet': someone who gets - and deserves - so much shit from others that anyone nearby is immune to criticism.

This guy was a little rich boy from down south. He was quite fond of proclaiming how totally not middle class his family was, and attempting to prove this by giving everyone a rough estimate of how many acres they had in their paddock.

The worst part was when he was given a new car as a gift by his parents, whom he did everything to try and distance himself from. He constantly criticised his folks, telling us over and over again how annoying and idiotic they were.

"Yeah Dave, but you still accepted a car from them, didn't you?" we said.
"What's your point?" was the answer.
(Fuiru Sting, where is thy death?, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 0:47, 1 reply)

“Be very careful with this one. I don’t want to hear that your weird sense of humour has upset her and that I’m going to be facing some sort of tribunal!”

I re-read the words in the email from one of the firm’s partners. I’d been lobbying for an assistant for some time but the partner didn’t trust me to oversee the selection process, so he took care of it himself.

I thought I was going to be mentoring Doris Day judging by the way my trainee was described to me as sixteen years old and this was her very first job.

Sure enough she turns up the following Monday and seems polite, if possessed of an estuary accent, which she seemed to be attempting to soften, something like Kathy Burke’s “Yess Missus Patter-sahn” when playing “Perry” the teenager. I had to balance her training with trying to do a two person job single-handedly, but she was quick to learn and seems enthusiastic. Initial impressions were good.

The hierarchy in practice means that trainees often end up making the drinks, doing the filing and most of the simple but time consuming work. I did my best to lead by example and not unload all the drudgery, but at the same time explaining that she needed to learn the firm from the bottom up. Her Dad was a well to do builder who decided that his youngest daughter was going to get a job in return for a generous allowance. So she appeared to be cool with an initial low wage and the crappy jobs and for three few weeks she didn’t put a foot wrong, so the partner decided to take her on full time and paid her a decent wage.

Which was when my problems started.

“I ain’t farkin doin’ that!” she wailed

What? The suddenness and venom in her tone startled me. I’d asked her to use the telephone on her desk to call a client and verify the instructions on a smudged fax one Monday morning.

“I don’t wanna talk to no farkin client on the phone!”

I politely attempted to get to the bottom of her issue, given that she’d used the phone before without any problems when she dropped the bombshell.

“I told yer I ain’t using the farkin phone, yer farkin khant!”

I was gobsmacked. Seething, I tersely replied “Boardroom. Right now”

The office was open plan and the best way to tell her in no uncertain terms not to speak to me like that in this office was to frogmarch her to the boardroom and let rip there.

“I didn’t wanna get no farkin job! Mi Dahd told me I had tah! I’m gonna look fur summing else, but don’t tell no farkah yet till I’m ready. Waaah…”

I wasn’t sure how to react; I explained that such outbursts weren’t acceptable, but that if she had a problem she was welcome to calmly explain the issue to me and I’d be sympathetic. I gave her a second chance, not least of all because I knew I'd be dropped in the proverbial if she went ape - Doris Day doesn't go ape, not according to the partners of the firm, anyway.

For a week or so, she meekly toed the line but it wasn’t to last. Over the weeks, the polite professional façade crumbled just like a bit of dodgy plasterboard supported by some shoddy scaffolding that her dad had let the apprentices put up in their tea breaks. Her fag breaks became frequent, as did hissy fits whenever she was asked to do some work. I explained that the firm’s bonus scheme was paid out according to attitude and productivity.

“I dun wahnt no ‘I got nuffink for ya’ or nuffink, gimme some farkin decent work to do” she demanded.

Within days she was telling me how to run the department. Another boardroom meeting was arranged.

“I know I’m being a fahkin spoiled bitch an’ a pain in the harse, but I’m used to gettin what I ask for at ‘ome” she defended, as the sobbing started once again. “It’s not easy, I kno I’m a difficul’ caah sometimes an’ll, I kno I’m farkin this job right up”.

She sobbed about how difficult her life was and how no-one understood her etc, etc.

I’m usually a sucker for damsels in distress and a young lady in tears generally pushes all the right buttons for me. However, I knew that this particular damsel was less in distress and more crocodile than her fake handbag. How did I know? She’d pulled this stunt at least three times with different members of the firm in order to get her own way. If it worked on Daddy surely it would work with the old gits here too.


One of the other partners worked in the office next to mine. I stopped by one Thursday evening to talk the issue through with him.

“Put it this way mate, she’s sixteen years old. You aren’t looked upon kindly each and every time she throws a hissy fit” he exclaimed, which translated as “we know the score, but we’re testing you pal”.

“Starting tomorrow, I want you to give her more work to do. Let’s put her to the test. You have my full support”. He avoided looking me in the eye as he delivered the last sentence. I was pretty much persona non-grata and was being manoeuvred into a no win situation. The term “Kobayashi Maru” sprung to mind.

The next day I explained that I’d be giving her some additional responsibilities to see how she got on. Sure enough, the new regime lasted roughly half a day before another hissy fit.

“Every farkin Friday this ‘appens. Every farkin Friday you gimme some farkin work to do that I don’t like!”.

I’d got a bloody cheek really – I mean, why on earth should I ask her to do some work when she had plans to make for the weekend?

Yet again I seethed – in fact I seemed to spend a good deal of my time seething when she was working there – not that I felt impotent with rage or anything.

My hands were around her throat, I was shaking some sense into her... and every time reality interrupted me.


The next week was the same – her - sullen all week then hissy fit on a Friday, me – seething quietly all week and murderous by Friday.

The following week? Sullen, hissy. Seethe, murderous.

The week after? Ditto.

Ditto. Ditto. Ad nauseum. Ad infinitum. Ad three fucking months.


Eventually came salvation.

A new guy was moved into the vacant desk in my office and took an immediate dislike to her – I was obviously rather surprised at this turn of events.

Within a week he’d pulled some strings and she was moved elsewhere – I could no longer seethe – have you ever tried seething when your mouth is open in stunned amazement that some smooth git manages to achieve what you’ve been attempting to do for fucking months in a matter of days.


She was thank goodness out of my life and my seething days were over – albeit temporarily as I am considering putting forward competitive seething as the 2012 London Olympics demonstration event instead of morris dancing or happy slapping.

Her story doesn’t end there. Oh no. Her new line manager had carte blanche to fire her if she put a foot wrong and she knew it.

For a few weeks she’d toed the line and been pleasant. She’d even managed to pass the milestones of her seventeenth birthday and her driving test without incident.
She was a reformed character, a roughly hewn diamond. Her father rewarded her with a car.

And a couple of weeks later, three times over the drink drive limit she span off the road and stuffed the car into someone's lounge, narrowly missing the startled occupants of the house who had been quietly watching ‘Who Wants To Be A Millionaire’ and were seconds away from winning £16,000 if only they could guess which one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles painted the Mona Lisa.


What did she get out of this mishap?

An eighteen month driving ban.

Then she discovered to her horror that it wasn’t just Fridays that caused her problems at work. Post traumatic stress is a bitch.

Mondays were bad, Tuesdays weren’t too good, neither were Wednesdays or Thursdays.

There was only one remedy – she had to give up work for good and let Daddy pay for all the shoes.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 9 Oct 2008, 23:34, 8 replies)

I was gonna post this as a reply...
The vast majority of people at my school were rich flasy gits, they always had the latest clothes/shoes/gadets whatver.

But there was this one guy who started the same time I did (about 10yrs at school together)

They live on an large old estate in Kent (his house has an elevator!?), theres a cricket pitch and everything!

Anywhooooo

The point is, he NEVER let on that he was minted, unlike the vast majority of idiots there, and his car of choice after he left uni, got a job and saved up? A beaten up Nova.

Think he has a new car now, but nothing fancy.

He is probably the only most down to earth, easy going, top-notch, genourous, humble, hard-working, complete legend of a bloke that comes from a wealthy background that I know of!

Ahem, so it might be the opposite of the QOTW...oh well, hes a great bloke!
( P, Benny P, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 23:31, 3 replies)

I worry...
...That the spoiled people being discussed here today are the same folk who were thanking their parents or whoever else was nice to them in the last QOTW.

Just a thought.
(Just_Mister, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 23:18, 2 replies)

My Ex
well my ex was a pain in the hole for this paris hilton wanna be shit, she used to complain because she got everything she wanted all the time off everyone she knew, except me. so one day she was wrecking my head with demands and i just told her to fuck off and she kicked up loads of shit, so i dumped her, and then she cried cause i was the only one that kept her on the straight and narrow, and could give her something no-one else could, but she was a classic case of paris-hilton-itus and still wrecks my head when i even think about it
(macsniffanugget is having his head wrecked, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 23:16, 3 replies)

People
Theres some other people who have stuff I don't. They seem to find it important and often fear it's loss. Occasionally I'll wish I had some of their stuff. But its just stuff. No one needs much stuff. I feel no malice toward them.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 22:55, 7 replies)

Interesting that this topic came up today....
...as I find myself needing to make a serious decision about my future.

Im in love with a Carol. She is 5 years older than me and lives quite far away. We get on very well indeed, and if I were to take the plunge, she would be happy for me to move in with her. She is beautifull, smart, fun, witty...we really enjoy each others company.
Sounds perfect?
The problem is that she has 2 kids from her first marriage.
Her first husband died a few years back after a long, nasty, shitty illnes, which seemingly turned him into a bit of a cunt towards the end. (what Im told from her friends, I never met him.
Her oldest daughter is 15 and after a bumpy start and the old "im not trying to replace your father" talk, we now get on ok.
The youngest....well, Im not a fan of young kids anyway, but this thing is the devil incarnate.
Carol and her first husband tried for a long time to have a second child, and after several miscarriages, serious illnesses, an infant death and more miscarriages, she finally had Chloe, not long before her husband died, so the child is very precious to her.
Sadly, Carol has let this child have her own way all the time and she is now completely insufferable. Yeah, most kids have tantrums every now and then, but chloe has them several times a day, at ear-splitting levels. I would never have thought a child could produce such noises. NOTHING will appease the tantrum except her getting what she wants, whether its sweets from the shop, or sitting up all night watching dvd`s, or being allowed to write on the living room walls with a marker pen etc etc.
If chloe does this when I am there, I just dont know what to do... in the middle of a supermarket, she will throw herself on the floor, thrash about and scream loud enough to bring security guards running.... I cant stand it, and Carol lets her get away with it.
The child is comepletely undiciplined, throws food at mealtimes, scatters stuff all over the house and never tidies, expects her mum to jump whenever she shouts for something, she lacks basic manners, will never say please or thankyou but DEMANDS and if the demand isnt met, a screaming tantrum is certain to follow.

If it wasnt for the child, I would leave everything I have here tomorrow to be with Carol, but I detest the child. I know that carol is to blame for the way she has been brought up, and I just dont want anything to do with the child. Sadly, this brats upbringing is going to kill my relationship with Carol.

:(
(dave likes cheese, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 22:53, 24 replies)

There's a girl at work
Because she's pretty* she thinks she can get away with demanding things done straight away.

She earned more than me, and when she was living with her parents, she didn't pay rent.

One day, one of the other women there made sandwiches for SpoiledGirl, as she didn't know how to make them.

She has a kid now. I worry for the child.

*Well, she was at one time, but I wouldn't call her pretty now. Too much time in tanning booths. Her skin would be like leather now.
(stapleface, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 22:38, 3 replies)

ooo i like this one
when i was at uni i met this girl who i had a lot in common with. we didnt know eachother well in first year but in 2nd year we somehow both split up with our boyfriends around the same time and we clicked. so i spent about a year going on nights out, shopping etc. we got on great. i left uni in the summer after everything went TU but we had planned a backpacking trip with a couple of guys we knew around thailand and malaysia. good idea on the onset but when we finally got there her true colours came out.

i was well up for roughing it a bit. we found a lodge in the middle of the mountains/jungle and the main dorm was in the attic which i thought was pretty cool but she kicked up such a fuss about her stuff getting nicked we had to shell out for a private room which mugginz here had to keep her company in. so i missed a good night chatting to random people. when we got to thailand she never once got in the pool by our beach huts and when she got pushed in by our mate she stormed off because her mascara ran and when i didnt come back to our hut because i wanted to make sure the boys had found their keys she fell out with me and locked me out the room.

generally these small things just built up during the trip and i exploded with anger and i couldnt bare talk to her when we got back and havent met up with her since. ive never met anyone so high maintenence.

karma did finally get her right in the hoop the night we went to a beach party. we got pretty hammered and on the way home we stopped at the trusty 7/11 for some post drinking snacks. she did moan that she needed the loo but the beach huts were only up the road. so i grabbed some stuff, went to the counter and paid. turned around and she was nowhere to be seen so i looked around the shop, she still wasnt there. went outside and she was standing half way up the road. i walked up to her and she was crying. trying to be sympathetic i asked whats wrong but she pushed me and tried to slap me about the face. screaming that she'd just pissed herself and how could i be so selfish when i know she had IBS! now correct me if i'm wrong but isnt IBS to do with your bowels not your bladder?

however, the good friend that i am i calmed her down and took her back and i never said a word to anyone. of course i was laughing heartily on the inside tho. i may have let as little wee escape out myself it was that funny.
(fernbrittonsexcessskin will give a shit later, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 22:29, Reply)

Bless 'im
My youngest cousin is eighteen years of age. That's right -- a legal adult, able to vote, enter into contracts and all kinds of other grown-up things.

And what do we, the older ones, call this youngest cousin of ours? 'MooooooomIwannasandwich'. Because at the glorious age of eighteen years, he is incapable of cooking for himself, or even preparing the most simple of meals on his own. He also cannot do laundry or any of the other helpful skills in life that lead to one being a functioning, capable adult. He has no mental or physical issues that have kept him from advancing, unless of course one counts his mother, our dear aunt, who has spoiled the child since he was born. We also lay blame upon his being lazy and having his face constantly turned toward a video game.

He is a clever boy and a good one at heart, and though we all love him we also fear he will never amount to anything because he's never been given any reason whatsoever to take initiative and start caring for himself instead of being coddled by him mother. We're expecting her to start ruining the cat once he goes off to uni, assuming he does.
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 22:25, 6 replies)

Spimf's story reminds me
of a particularly awful visit to Bahrain - not because of the country (it's actually quite nice - if building sites, whores, US troops, shady drinking dens and hookah pipes are your thing) but because of the client. On my life - I watched two grown men throw a hissy fit during what may rank as one of the most surreal meetings I've ever had the misfortune of being drawn into.

Spoilt twat #1 (our client unfortunately) then throws a total eppy when he returns to our offices, demanding to know why we haven't done any analysis work in the past 24 hours - "That'll be because the governing body here threatened legal action if we did, which you heard and agreed with in the presence of their solicitor."

Plenty of other moments arose where nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to firmly plant a steel-plated boot firmly in his puckered little hoop with a considerable degree of violent force.

He's 25, he's had the company bought for him, and when it all comes crashing down around him (which, given that he's running it on an oily rag, it will), daddy will likely just buy him a new one. After all, he owns one of the local banks.

Abhorrent little shit-poke.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 22:13, 3 replies)

I knew this guy in high school...
...who was a violinist. We'll call him Fred. We went to the same orchestra. And when everyone else was struggling with the cost of sheet music, he was bragging about the beautiful, professional bow his dad had bought him for his beautiful, professional violin.

Now I should say that he's a good player, but at this point he wasn't as good as he thought he was. But he wouldn't SHUT UP. His dad said he was great, so everyone else should think so too! So he didn't make many friends in the orchestra...

Anyway, at one point we had a guest conductor, who was used to directing a wind band. Upon listening to the string section butcher a phrase, he snatches Fred's lovely violin and bow, and starts miming dragging the bow up and down the strings.

"The bowing is down, up, up, DOWN!" He yells, dragging the bow with amazing force on the last downbow. Unfortunately, he had never played a violin before.

The lovely bow hair got caught in the violin's fine tuning pegs, ripping both the hair out of the bow and the strings out of tune. Cue Fred staring aghast at the remains of his lovely bow as the orchestra erupts with laughter...

It's a horrible thing to happen to any instrument, but it was great poetic justice!
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 22:10, 1 reply)

not spoilt but
i went to primary school with a kid who got a merc and driver for his 10th birthday...

oddly, he was a really nice guy!
(imallamallama looking forward to llamageddon on, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 21:59, 1 reply)

Not spoilt any more, oh no!
Our child is now the nicest person you could hope to meet, but 7 years ago it was VERY different.

Ever wondered why spoilt brats get like that? I'll tell you. Have kid late after years of trying, then Dad proceeds not to rock the boat while Mum is spoiling child because he likes living under a roof, then let it all get really out of hand by working insane hours to keep up with demands for unnecessary crap.

It all came to a head on a holiday abroad. After Mum spent 2 HOURS to get child out of bed, offering her food from a kneeling position, having it spat back at her, I'd had enough.

"I'm going for a shave. When I get back, she will be up, dressed, and eating at the table. You will not help her. You will instruct her. I married a woman, not a slave to a fucking little bitch. Yes, LittleScars, I mean you. (Howls) If it doesn't happen, I will cycle to the nearest station, get to Paris, take the Eurostar home, and the first one there changes the locks. Ten minutes, starting now."

I've been scared before and since, but never like that. Still, I got back, LittleScars was eating nicely, MrsScars was pale but calm, I nodded at both of them and we started our new life.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 21:45, 7 replies)

A friend of my dad's awarded me a large sum of money for my birthday.
Not being spoiled I promptly refused and said, "No, no. I can't take that. It's too much!"

He and my parents yelled at me for being too humble.

Surprise ending: Two weeks after accepting the money, the economy crashed and he lost everything. He won't take it back and called me spoiled for not wanting the gift.

This man might die. IMAGINE HOW I FUCKING FEEL.
( Digeridude Lord Wellington's Beef Trapeze, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 21:26, Reply)