Technically child abuse…

I was about 12 years old...when, due to the shockingly shitewad facilities at our school, we had to go on a weekly coach excursion to the local sports centre for our P.E lessons.

During these tortuous attempts to get my hulking mass of blubbering wobble-bottom-ness into shape, we would occasionally mingle with kids from other schools and sometimes, people from ‘out in the world’.

Actually…before I go on…I’ll get this next bit over with…

I didn’t have much as a kid, but I was the last of three children and as my parents got increasingly more secure I was the most spoiled of the three…and therefore I know what it’s like to be both poor and privileged at the same time…

However, I still know the value of things…and bloody kids today don’t know they’re born…and I’ll tell ya something else...…(rant cut short for humanitarian reasons)

Anyhoo…one torrid afternoon, I was sat in the changing rooms putting on my ‘Dweebok’ shorts and ‘Adidas-with-an-extra-stripe’ trainers, when I heard an obnoxious little jizzgargler launch into a ‘double-barrelled’ hissy fit of pseudo-cosmic proportions.

The lad was about 10 years old and not with our school. He was short, portly, ginger, and dripping with every designer label imaginable to anyone (except possibly Rachelswipe). His school bag alone was worth more than my dad’s car.

As his mother led him into the changing rooms he had suddenly gone off like a pre-pubescent petrol bomb with a side order of Semtex and shrapnel.

But what was the heinous crime that had been commited against him?

Apparently, his mother had bought him the latest £125 Nike ‘Air’ trainers (that I would happily have donated a testicle for), but they were not in the precise colour he had specifically requested. Christ-on-a-cunting-cockblister!

Now, as many of you rational people are thinking, this was obviously an unequivocal act of selfish treachery and heartless betrayal, and the vindictive harpy blatantly deserved whatever was coming to her…

…Oh, by jingo’s sainted haemorrhoid cream…she got it.

“These are FACKIN’ WANK!” he yelped at her as she smiled meekly at him and attempted to calm him down (to no avail). “You stupid BITCH!” he continued, his face contorted with anger.

My mouth agape, I was embarrassed for him as he spat, jabbed his finger and threw the trainers in her face. His mother (who looked like a throwback from ‘Dynasty’) just scuttled off and left him to his monumental eye-popping stroppage.

I then watched him grab the trainers with a strange look of pure unadulterated evil swept across his freckled mush…

…

At this point I decided I’d seen enough…and briefly left the changing area as I went to spread some gossip discuss my feelings of outrage regarding the spoilt little twat-bat’s behaviour with my friends.

When I returned just a few moments later, the pint-sized ginger piss-biscuit approached me…with the trainers held in his outstretched hand.

I had seen his previous outburst. This was obviously a spoilt cock-blister of the highest order…with no understanding of cost and expense…thoughts raced through my head…

Was he going to give the trainers to me in an act of charity? Was he going to throw them at me in some spoilt rage against the downtrodden? Was he going to break down and cry in shame at his previous performance?

Was.he.fuck.

“Look at this” he spluttered, his face flushed with pride. As I got nearer to him I spotted a perfectly formed, still-steaming turd poking out from the top of one of the trainers.

The little bollock had decided to profess his personal disgust with his mother by squatting down in the changing room and gurning a gargantuan brown trout into an almost priceless piece of sports footwear.

Well, what could I do?

I proceeded to gag and screamed “EEEeeeuuuuww – You filthy fucker!” as manfully as I could for a 12 year old. As he got to within 6 inches of me, I put my arm out to keep him at bay; and inadvertently pushed the trainers back towards him. As they flipped in mid-air with him still holding on to them, the tapered end of this whopping walnut-whip squidged all the way down his designer outfit before splatting on the changing room floor.

“Uuuurgh!” screeched Bratface McSpackalot, and his cheeks puffed out as he started to turn a subtle and fruity shade of aubergine.

At this point, I would like to say that everybody howled with laughter at him and that it taught him a lesson he sorely deserved…but it wasn’t like that…in fact, everyone just stood around in stoney silence, the odd gasp of utter disbelief resonating round the room…before a teacher strode in, sent us all off to the badminton hall, and called for some unfortunate staff member to help clean up the trembling tubby twunt and his turd-tarnished T-shirt.

I never saw him again.

Thinking back, I never even found out the kid’s name…or why his mum was taking him to the gym on his own…perhaps there might have been some tragic and lonely reason for his situation…but that’s still no excuse for being an prize-winning cunt.

In fact…wherever he is now…I bet he’s still one.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 10 Oct 2008, 15:27, 11 replies)

Children in restaurants
I went for a bite to eat one sunday in the Marriott near where the clan live with some of the aforementioned clan. Top scran for a Sunday lunch. Wine list was taking the piss though.

Upon arriving we were greeted by a packed restaurant. It was, expectedly, a little noisy, but one sound stood out above all - an infant banging the top of a knife repeatedly on the table – as in, half-machine gun speed BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG!!!

We endeavoured to persevere.

Eventually its parent took the knife away but only after some lunatic the other side of the restaurant started banging his knife on the table too in what could have been an exchange of Morse code.

Most effective, I must say.

Other children were running about and screaming at each other so the same mad genius of the aforementioned Morse code incident spoke quite loudly that it was the duty of all adults when confronted with unruly, unsupervised children in public places to ensure that said orphaned scallywags should not escape the day without having been introduced to the word. ‘Fuck’.

Again, so efficacious was our hero’s means that not another sugar-propelled snot machine passed the table for the duration of the
sojourn.

I am a spoilt brat.

rafter
baz
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 15:18, 3 replies)

Victoria Bitchbury
I lived with a frog sluttin’ brat from Hades at university for three months that seemed to last for a glacial ice age period (at least as long as the current Holocene, glacier fans).

Her name was Vicky (I will post her surname as well when I remember it) and she was a posh talking mummy’s girl who had gone to Cheltenham Ladies College (and never let anyone forget it). Her harpy-like face was at odds with her admittedly hot body. She actually looked like one of those witches from the end of ‘Army of Darkness’ and was a living embodiment of a BOBFOC.

She used to regularly get mummy to come down (from Surrey) down to Exeter to go shopping. Mummy used to love it as well and bought her all sorts of treats and furniture for her room. One occasion she ordered mummy to bring a computer and a computer desk as she needed them. Mummy and a handyman arrived to put the desk together, and I was asked to ‘sort out the computer’. I told the smirking harridan that I was currently suffering from ‘statics’ and could literally blow the computer inside out if I touched it. Fearfully, they then called up for a ‘computer expert’ to help them.

She was studying classics but found studying at university to be ‘trying’. This was the reason she failed all three years and later I found out that she actually spent six years doing a three years course.

She carefully and studiously ignored all cleaning rotas and on one occasion when the rest of my housemates and I had totally deep cleaned the entire house including doing all her washing up (we had taken a stand and not done it but the smell got to be too much), she came down to the kitchen where I was drying some glasses, took a knife out the drawer and some cheese out of the fridge, cut a slice directly on the counter, ate it, and left the knife, cheese, and cheese crumbs where they were and wandered off. With my face aghast, I promptly put the remaining cheese carefully into the pocket of one of her pairs of jeans that was on top of her laundry.

Other highlights include:

- Asked for an extra pizza to be ordered when we were ordering and refused to pay for it because she ‘only had a little pizza and we could sort it out’. This led to a big argument and we ended up sending the little pizza back and got us blacklisted from perfect pizza.

- Initially refused to pay for fairly split gas and electricity bills as ‘she didn’t use any’. We switched off her radiator and disconnected her room from the electricity. She did end up paying.

- One of our housemates had a car and we all used to go shopping on a Sunday. We would then get a list from her of the stuff she wanted while she went a coffee shop with her horsy friends. No money was provided and it proved to be a nightmare to recover the money as apparently ‘we had deliberately chosen sub-standard vegetables and fruit’. Needless to say we never got her any food again.

- She used to be absolutely obsessed with calling up the mega premium numbers that come with those guaranteed win scratchcards that come in shitty magazines and would invariably win a holiday for one to Norfolk on the 29th February departing from the Isle of Skye. Of course when we got the phone bill she denied that she had called anybody anywhere until we managed to prove that only she was in the house when the calls got made.

- Got her dad to buy her a Mercedes EVEN THOUGH SHE COULDN’T DRIVE. It was for learning in apparently.

- Tried to get us to agree to have one of her horses in our back garden living out of a trailer. We said no but she had the horse brought down anyway. She soon had him taken back to her stables when we called the RSPCA to come and inspect our property and they threatened to prosecute her.

In the end we kicked her out.

Then we had a party.

Then we were sick

Then we went to McDonalds.

Then we were sick again.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 15:11, 13 replies)

Situation Vacant: "Trainee Accountant" - Must be daddy’s little princess
Accountancy is one of the few professions that doesn’t require a university degree to get into. If you walk into any accountancy practice, the chances are you will find that at the top the partners are fat middle-aged men and at the bottom the trainees are 18-year-old willowy blonds with mobile phones attached to their heads. The first rule of statistics is that a correlation does not prove cause and effect, but I think you can all deduce why time and time again I have seen attractive teenage girls with a sports science A-Level hired by the directors instead of the more suitable Maths and Physics graduates.

At a previous employment the partners called me into a meeting. They wanted my input on why we had a high turnover of trainees. What I wanted to say was “You sad old fuckers, perhaps if you employed trainees on their potential to become accountants rather than the ability of their tits to defy gravity we might not spend a fortune training incompetent airheads who fuck off to study "Tourism & Leisure" at university”. What I actually said was “Perhaps I should sit in on the interviews and ask some technical questions”. They agreed.

It wasn’t long until we had to replace a couple of blonds who had decided they were "too creative" for accountancy and wanted to study cock "Human Resources" at university. So I had a day of sitting in on interviews, listening to the partners prattle on about bollocks until the end of the interview when I got the chance to ask my technical questions. Most of the candidates could have done the job and they answered my technical questions with ease.

Then we got to Olivia. To cut a long story short she was absolutely stunning and the partners were dribbling down their ties at the sight of her. Even though the qualifications on her CV read like a list of the worlds most pointless subjects the interview lasted an hour longer than any of the other candidates. The partners lapped up her self-important monologue about how she had been head girl at school, captain of the hockey team, had a pony and had completed a WHOLE week of work experience at daddy’s company. We heard a lot about daddy and his company.

Then it was my turn to ask my technical questions. Lets see if you can answer them, but be warned, they are a bit technical.

Me: “Hello Olivia”.
Olivia: “Hello” *Eyelashes flutter*
Me: “How did you get here today?”
Olivia: “Pardon?…”
Me: “How. Did. You. Get. Here. Today?” (Already suspecting the answer)
Olivia: “Umm, daddy gave me a lift”
Me: “How will you be getting home?”
Olivia: “Daddy is waiting for me outside”
Me: “If we were to offer you the role, how would you get to work every day”
Olivia: “I….I don’t know”

The moronic fuckers still wanted to hire her, saying that she seemed keen. I managed to convince them that the 18-year-old lad with A-Levels in accountancy & law might just be a more suitable candidate. He had also passed my technical questions with flying colours, having driven to the park and ride and caught the bus into town…without the aid of his daddy.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 14:44, 8 replies)

Janet - Old-Age Brat Extraordinare!
My step-father currently employs his ex-wife to 'work' part-time at his shop.

He does this purely because he believes his also very bratty son will sulk if he sacks her (he's another story).

She turns up when she pleases, insisting on being chauffered to & from the office by members of staff.

Once at work her daily routine involves playing solitaire for the majority of the day, taking a well-deserved break in order to smoke, be rude to the customers & slag off all other members of staff, including my step-father.

She is unashamedly rude to people's faces, then whinges she is being bullied if anyone says anything back.

She had a pop at one of the staff last week, because he's in a spot of bother & may lose his license: 'that means you won't be able to work here no more then, if you can't even get yourself to work!' Then threw a hissy fit when she was told in return that she could start getting the fucking bus.

There's currently a big sign by the back (shared) computer that says 'JANETS DESK NO UNAUTHORISED USE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' (lack of apostrophe her choice, not mine). This was placed there after someone else had the nerve to be using it, when she had a hard day's soltaire playing to do.

Getting off her fat arse to sign for parcels the postman brings is also a major hardship, as is making a cup of tea. Apparently, she is 'not the fucking secretary'. Which is news to us, seeing as that's her job title.

Although she was busted the other day sending a shitty letter to a client, listing herself as 'Managing Director'. Most days, I'm surprised she can manage to direct herself to the shitter & back without damaging her braincell.

Her over-protectiveness of the biscuit tin is fast becoming legendary. Dare to eat a biscuit & she will start to bitch about how everyone is always nicking 'her' biscuits. Despite the fact they are paid for out of the petty cash tin for the business.

She purposefully tries to cause arguments for her own entertainment by spreading vast quanities of bullshit. This has made her universally hated by the enitre staff, who have made frequent complaints, but cannot get rid of her due to her 'unsackable' status. Even though she's way past retirement age. And claiming full unemployment benefits, naturally...
( Sylia Stingray is pilfering the biscuits on, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 14:17, 13 replies)

Another one from my school days
A girl in my year at school parents paid £20,000 for her to sit in the background of Central Perk in one scene of Friends simply because she liked them. £20,000 for fucks sake. You couldn't even see the dozy bint, Ross's big face blocked her out.
(Holy Cremola Foam Batman will be back on, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 14:16, 18 replies)

They're everywhere, these days.
2 girls talking in a corridor behind me, en route to a German lesson-

Girl 1: "But won't that [brand new car] cost a lot of money?"
Girl 2: "Yeah, but fuck it: daddy's paying, and he should have got me the pony I was after anyway."

Both girls in this conversation are 18, incidentally. Having always hated Girl 2 anyway, I wheeled round and called her a vacuous, repulsive, disgusting slag, with an emphasis on slag (sadly she was one of those girls blessed with incredible looks and a rich father, which means she dressed like a Versace sponsored hooker and expected people to treat her like royalty*).

Also, I've just moved into halls at uni. 3 days ago I discovered one of the guys from the floor below me won't drink the tapwater here. We're living in a highly urbanised area in [the UK]. He chose to cough until he could taste blood when he ran out of bottles of water after the shops had shut.

Cunt.

*I'd treat her like royalty if I could get away with it. Shame I'm a republican**.

**no, not the political party. VOTE OBAMA!
(bad1dea, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 14:02, 7 replies)

My attempt to act spoilt:
"Mum, I want that." *points to some toy or other*

"That's how you ask for things now is it?"

"Ok, can I have that then?"

"I still didn't hear a please."

*tuts* "Please can I have that?"

"Yes, you can have it for your birthday."

"Buuuuut, that's not for aaaages, I want it now."

"Well, Christmas is before your birthday, you can wait till then."

"Only just. I don't want to wait."

"Then buy it yourself."

"Pffft, I can't afford it."

"Then you'll have to wait."

"I don't want to wait. Buy it for me. Now."

"Talk to me like that again and you'll get nothing but a slap."

*talks to her like that again*

*gets nothing but a slap*

*doesn't talk to her like that again*
( Moey, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 14:01, 9 replies)

Living in Orange County, California
I've seen my fair shair of spoiled brats. The majority are "daddy's little princesses" who will never have to lift a finger in their life, and daddy buys them cars, gives them credit cards etc etc.

My friend (the one from last weeks QOTW) is spoiled. Family of 4 kids, she's the youngest and the only girl. She was spoiled rotten as a child.
To be fair, she works her ass off and pays her own rent and bills, but........she won't cook as she doesn't know how - never had to. She wanted to cook a nice meal for her boyfriend once and actually asked me to go over and cook it! I gave her the recipe. She got takeout.
She won't eat steak unless it's filet mignon, and when boyf and I have had them over for dinner, she insists on her boyfriend making up her plate and cutting up her steak and cutting the corn of the cob.

Boring one this week. Maybe I'll post about boyfs daughter once I determine she doesn't come on here.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 14:00, 2 replies)

Pizza Hut
A fair few years ago whilst taking full advantage of the "eat as much as you can" in Pizza Hut with my then new girlfriend (Pizza Hut, I was trying to impress her!) a small child was drawing far too much attention to himself.. yelling, screaming, throwing food - his mother, let him get down from their table, and he then started doing a circuit round and round the restaurant screaming at the top of his voice.

On his fourth or fifth lap, whilst taking a bite of a slice of Ham & Pineapple, I thought I'd give the little bastard something to really scream about, so I stuck out my leg and decked the annoying little shit - he went flying.. he was quiet at first, either in shock or due to a large intake of air - I didn't look, I just kept eating - but he let everyone know, and stomped off back to his Mother, and eventually shut up.

My actions surprised the new girlfriend - she couldn't believe I'd do such a thing, but couldn't stop laughing. We're married now.
(Pesky Young Scamp, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 13:56, 4 replies)

Youth work & spoiled kids
You would have thought that working with kids who need a youth worker have had a bad upbringing and the like right?

Complete opposite in some of the cases I have seen. The family is poor, literally dirt poor. Can't eat or pay rent but they have plenty of cash for "Smirnoff" or "Chadony" (real names) to go out and get hammered for their 12th birthday.

Or enough money to buy two wet teabags (a dress kinda thing)or even enough money to smoke till the weekend is over.

One of the best situations, or worst, is when we had this little shit come in and give it the "you can't touch me, you're teachers you've got to do as I say as my dad pays your bills".

Cue myself and the other duty worker looking at each other with looks of viciousness.

We very politely, firmly and loudly told him that:

A. We're an indepedent youth group and since his dad doesn't go to church he doesn't pay us anything.
B. We are NOT teachers and we are allowed to pick disruptive young people up and throw them out (on their faces may I add) if they misbehave.
C. If he wants to talk to us like we're dirt then he will be treated as dirt himself, as in no service, no Wii and no support from the workers.
finally D. If he didn't stop misbehaving and throwing his food/drink/console around then we would turn a blind eye to the kids playing the wii and as it was put previously in this thread:

"See how he likes picking up his broken teeth with broken fingers".

It wasn't exactly 100% professional but you can be sure that not a single prima donna that evening gave us trouble.

**EDIT** I am actually normally a very calm person and wouldn't even consider saying this to one of our regulars, but there are limits to misbehaviour and if the parents and teachers are unwilling to disclipline the children, they shouldn't stop those who have to work with them from disclipling them.
(Helo, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 13:28, 2 replies)

My sister.
About 18 years ago my mum and step-father adopted a little baby girl from Sri Lanka. She has brought joy and happiness into our lives from the day she arrived and she's been spoilt silly. However.....

You could not find a more amiable, cheerful, (apart from time-of-the-month tears), hard-working girl. She's never demanded anything and thus we've always been happy to give her what we want. My step-dad bought her a brand new shiny soft top fancy car for when she passed her test, although not fully realising the cost the insurance would be, (even though we kept telling him).He got rid of it when he got the insurance quotes in and bought a small Citroen and she didn't complain even though she had her heart set on the fancy car.

She's just started University and is loving it and as she is not naturally clever, she's had to work hard to get a place. All her University bills are paid and she gets an allowance each week.

It would have been so easy for her to turn into one of those spoilt brats who think they should get what they want and it would have been our fault for making her that way.

So a bit Huzza for my sister who had a hell of a lot more than I ever did as a child and I don't begrudge her any of it.
( girlinthehole, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 13:16, 8 replies)

How to meet spoilt brats...
A couple of years ago, I was looking for work and a friend tipped me off about Tutors International. This organisation provides private tutoring for the fruit of plutocrats' loins.

The terms of the vacancies ads have to be seen to be believed: pay in the region of £40k and upwards, plus accommodation, a car, and international travel isn't unheard of. In fact, it's reasonably common.

They're updated ad hoc - but for the latest batch, have a look at www.tutors-international.net/for_tutors/adverts.php. I've kept the page bookmarked because, on occasion, I like to be able to stare at my screen in utter disbelief.

Really. As far as I can tell, they're all serious.



EDIT: the link doesn't seem to work. Try clicking the adverts tab via www.tutors-international.net/ LINK FIXED. Cheers, Dr Ceilidhband.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 12:28, 32 replies)

I used to work for a family...
... who were a bunch of tossers. They lived the life of the 'upper classes' with family money and thought they were something special, when in fact they were broke.

They had two sons who were spoilt little wankers. One of them (he was about 9 at the time) threatened to sack me when I refused to scan something for him (We worked out of a converted barn in their 'grounds').

The best though was when they climbed onto the roof of the barn and started shooting the gardener with one of those high powered BB guns. The parents did nothing.

A few years after I left, I read this article, and wasn't surprised.

www.thisislondon.co.uk/news/article-5016838-details/Three+suspended+over+school+porn+video+/article.do

I can just imagine his mother's face when the headmaster called...

Spoiled little posh twats.
(Strangechap I look normal on the outside..., Fri 10 Oct 2008, 12:10, 6 replies)

A moment of horror
I generally try to treat people as they deserve and not judge by background like a good little liberal.

My folks came from working class backgrounds but did well for themselves and I've been blessed that I've never been found wanting, but certainly havent been spoilt.

One teenage horror moment sticks out in my mind that I still feel ashamed about (I'm 27).

When i was younger (about 14) I got some work experience at my dad's work, and by work experience I had to shred an entire room of paper over the course of two weeks.

The cleaner had said something to me that I objected to and have since forgotten and being an incorrigible shit I left her a note saying "Don't you know who my father is- I refuse to do this. I'm not a cleaner".

The next day one of my dad's colleagues read it out at their senior board meeting- much to my dad's red-face embarassment.

Absolute horror I'm cringing right now. Never have teenagers.
(chimpo2k, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 11:50, 3 replies)

I went to a private school...
so I've met quite a few of these brats. Now I was there on a scholarship, a Rugby scholarship in fact; on account of me being not so bright and fond of running face first in to things, so 75% of my fees were paid for me. This meant I was treated as "working class" (their words) by most of the arseholes there, including the teachers.

I was never bullied as I was always quite big for my age but my mate, also there on a scholarship but for Art, had the shit kicked out of him a regular basis. Not because he was your stereotypical bully fodder but because he was poor (by poor I mean his parents couldn't afford £6000 a year on school fees but could still live comfortably).

The worst thing about this was during one of our weekly trips to the head masters office to explain why I'd been in a fight with a bunch of other kids. In we stroll looking forward to getting it over with and heading of down the park for some illicit drinking. Standing in the office was the main protagonist, Graeme, flanked by two very rich and extremely pompous looking people. Turns out Graemes mummy and daddy were very big benefactors of the school and couldn't have their son getting bullied by, as they put it ,"common lower class scum who didn't belong there". I was suspended for 1 week and told if it happened again I would get kicked out for good. Anyway I spent the next 6 months until I turned 16 watching my mate getting the shit kicked out of him on a weekly basis. As soon as I reached legal cherry popping age I walked out of school with fuck all qualifications and haven't looked back since.

Anyway a few months back I was advertising for some staff for my shop and who should hand in his C.V. but Greame. The tosser is still exactly the same as he was, even demanding I give him the job now. I told him to fuck off in no uncertain terms obviously. I had to find out why such a rich little prick felt compelled to work in a shop seeing as mummy and daddy would normally pay for these kind of things.

Turns out my old artist buddy had dropped out shortly after me and has forged a pretty decent living as a painter and decorator. I got in touch with him to found out if he knew anything about Graeme and why he was scrounging for part-time work in a shop.

Through a rather bizarre twist it turns out my mate had been commissioned to do some work in Graemes parents home. That's not a big deal, good money, usually a couple of hot females to stare at whilst doing the work. Good times. Whilst doing this work my mate got speaking to Graemes mum, who in turn recognised him. They got chatting, she asked him to stay back for some drinks after he had finished, he agreed, they fucked. On Graemes bed.

The dad opened the door only to be greeted by the sight of a skinny wee chap with nothing on but a dirty flat cap and a fag dangling from his mouth going at his wife like adultery was gong out of fashion. He even gave him a cheeky wee wave and carried on going.

In the end it turned out the mum had been having several flings behind the dads back and promptly left him. Leaving him enough money to look after himself but not enough to give the kids the lives leisure they'd been used too.

I got Graeme in for an interview after I found this out. The only question I was able to ask before bursting out laughing was "So I heard your mum is single again...?"

He left in tears. God bless Karma.
(Holy Cremola Foam Batman will be back on, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 11:47, 20 replies)

me
I once put 50p in one of those machines where the egg comes out.

I opened the egg and it had a plastic ring inside! My mum suggested that, as a boy, maybe my sister would have more use for it than me.

I agreed, and quickly stamped on it.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 11:44, 11 replies)

For a short time I did some paid work whilst at colege as a learning support chappy,
I did alsorts of everything from maintenance to cleaning, but occasionally did actually do some proper teaching.

There was a girl in one class who had blossomed a little excessively in the breast department and would have been a very attractive lass had she not decided she was Britney, and came dressed as such and adopted an appropriate prima donna attitude to go with the image.

Rather than knuckle down and do her work I noticed she had an alternative way of getting thru which basically involved acting dumb, talking like she was fecking 5, and pushing her breasts into the tutors, and annoyingly this seemed to work.

SO one day when she was doing her thing with me and I wasn't impressed, I told her I would show her again how to do it, but A: She should have been listening the first time and B: She would STILL be doing it herself, I would merely explain how (rather than do it for her as most of the others did).

Cue the worlds fastest personality change ever, a huge strop, many accusations and name calling, everything bar the full on floor slap basically, but the bitch did her own work that day.

Also I was happy to note after viewing that, one of the other tutors (out of 3) started doing the same, so at least she had to do some of her work to achieve her grade.
( ..wil, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 11:28, Reply)

Some people don't grow out of it.
My ex boss, upon hearing that her friends son had terminal cancer:

'Why do these things always happen to me?'
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 11:08, Reply)

Bloody Hell
I have to say that compared to both mine and my wifes childhood my kids are a bunch of spoilt buggers that don't even know that they were born. I have worked my ass off to get to where I am today (A head of department in the governmet) and the kids can have anything they want. The wife was part of a big family that never had any decent money and I lived in near poverty as a kid that lived on nothing but hand me downs until I was about the age of 11.

Nowadays, every time I come home from work I'm never two feet from the front door before I'm hit with a a barrage of whining about the latest toys the kids want or how some other little sod down the road has something better than what they have. I can't wait to send them to boarding school (Coincidentally the same one I went to so I know they are going to have a hard time).

My missuis says that I will probably miss them when they're gone but to be honest I'm probably going to be glad to have a moments peace without the mention of how much the latest quidditch kit is going to set me back or how little james needs a better wand (A bad workman blames their tools you lazy little shit). When I was young I was just happy with a bit of space to fly my owl- then again living under the stairs for over 10 years does that to you.

Sorry for the rant

Love

Harry
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 11:02, 8 replies)

A turn up
I went on a foreign holiday to Africa and while there, I met another young English lad called James. We got along like a forest fire, he was just like me (love of beer, tall tales and more beer).

They say when women meet, perhaps at a bus stop, that within three minutes they know everything about each other: their sister's names, where their shoes are from, where they work...but men....well I spent a week with James and despite sharing the holiday of a lifetime, never really found out much about him, other than we were both 19.

When we met up weeks after we returned from Africa, he gave me his address. It was a mooring on the Thames. Where he lived on his own, on a half a million quid's worth of house boat in Chelsea.

When I popped round, I couldn't believe it. He had a Mercedes sports convertible parked up by the boat. His old man was in that Sunday Times rich list.

And you know what, he is the nicest bloody young man I have ever encountered in my life. I started to think back to the sharing of bills in Africa, him giving hairbands and pencils out to kids (its wrong to give money, it fucks up the economy- imagine little Kwanga, 5, returning home with her parents yearly income in her hand). I thought about his normal Adidas shoes.

You may have met him yourself. And you'd never have guessed what his old man, or him, have in the bank.

Which makes me smile.

(Because I'd be an utter twat if I won the lottery. Think Lotto Lout with imagination.)
(whitehorse, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 10:58, 2 replies)

I hate to say this, but I think I'm the stereotypical doting Dad.
All my children have ponies.

And they act like they own the world.

Mind you, I am Genghis Khan.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 10:56, 3 replies)

This guy I knew...
His dad made furniture, you'd think he'd show some humility, but oh no, he was just a bloody show off.

He had people following him everwhere.

I remember that he threw a picnic. People said there wasn't going to be enough food for everyone.

We should have known better.

Smug bastard made sure no one went hungry that day with his clever portion control.

The thing was, everyone else loved him, they all though he was so good. I tagged along with him, not wanting to be left out, but really, he got my goat.

The worst day was when he threw this big party, he sat us all at a big long table, him taking centre stage of course, got this big picture of it made up he did.

I hate that picture. Him standing there, arms spread wide, giving it the 'big I am' while the twelve of us look like fawning idiots around him.

Couldn't stand the fucker.

Still, I did feel a bit sorry for him when I saw him nailed to that cross.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 10:53, 5 replies)

Yes, I am the Golden Child
My mum, it has to be said, dotes on me. She'd do pretty much anything to help me out, which is why I in turn try to be as little of a burden on her as possible. I left home at 18 to go to university and although she would help me out occasionally, I still took three part-time jobs during the holidays (Pharmacy retail 8am-12pm, Plumbers' warehouse carrying radiators 1pm-6pm, Barman 7pm-11pm, lather, rinse, repeat) *and* sold weed during term time to cover my rent. After university I moved back home and got my first job, so I paid half of my wages back to my mom for board. After a year, I moved to London and I've pretty much stood on my own two feet for the past ten years, and though my mom still offers to give me money if I'm in a bit of a hole, I've no need of it. I'd rather she enjoy her impending retirement and not have to worry about me.

My younger sibling, by contrast, dropped out of university after a year and a bit (but apparently my mom had to pay her rent and fees for the rest of the year) and moved back into the family house rent-free. She then started a four-year course at a local university, during which she, yep, lived at home. When my mom would make noises about selling the house (as house prices were up, and she would have got a tidy sum) she would throw a tantrum - "You want to take away my childhood home!"

Eventually my mom got engaged and moved in with her new fella. Sibling remains in the three-bedroom house, still paying no rent. Sibling invites friends to move into the house - the sort of friends who eat all her food (that mom used to bring round), borrow her car (that mom gave her, of course) without asking and never pay any rent. After a couple of years of this, sibling kicks out these friends (amongst much recrimination) and brings in a fiance of her own who, in the two years I've known him, has not held down a job for more than three weeks, and hasn't been paid once. (He also told her that his dad had died and he'd inherited a £500,000 house...18 months later, his dad is apparently alive, but I suspect that's a story for another time.) Anyway, apart from the aborted attempt at university, sibling has never lived outside the old family home, never paid rent in her life (she's now in her late 20s) and mom is still paying for the mortgage and the majority of the bills.

Yet every time I visit, all I hear is "EMVEE'S THE GOLDEN CHILD! HE GETS ANYTHING HE WANTS! YOU SPOIL HIM!" after my mom, say, cooks me a meal when she hasn't seen me for a month. (The sort of meal, I am reliably informed, that sibling gets cooked for her twice a week.) Yep, according to sibling, I had everything handed to me on a plate (er, when?) and she got nothing. She can say this while actually standing in the house and keep a straight face.

I'm spoilt all right. Spoilt rotten.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 10:48, 4 replies)

Well....
When I look at my meagre 13k/year wage (and the jobs stressful D: ) and see what all my rich electrician buddies are earning - I like to say to myself...

You can't put a price on memories...



Which thanks to alcohol I also lack severely!

*Shakes fist at world
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 10:36, Reply)

Greek kids
Must be some of the most spoilt in the world. I have taught around 500 of them and there were only a handful that were well balanced and normal. The rest had been brought up to understand that the whole world revolved around them, that they were all deeply special and individual, and that any kind of authority figure was the enemy. Among many examples, these two stand out.

1) I asked a pimply little prick to move seats because he was talking all the time. He replied: "I pay your wages - I'll sit where I like."

2) Some other gobby little slag I asked to stop talking told me: "My father has a gold Rolex. I don't have to do what you say."

I'd like to say that most failed their exams, but they either cheated, were aided in cheating by friends of their parents, or paid off the invigilators.
(frankspencer, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 10:08, 6 replies)

"He's got twatitude".
I once knew a kid in school who was an awful little shit. A real lavatory induced horror. He was arrogant, conceited, supercilious, dishonest, untrustworthy, treacherous, uncouth, shifty, and also a dick.

He didn’t used to be like this and in fact was a little considerate angel full of humility but then puberty struck and he felt like the world was shit and owed him.

He tried (and succeeded) to steal money from other people including his parents and dripped poison about people behind their back. He was a pornographer, an abuser of substances, an alcoholic as well as being generally nefarious. I could go on.

In his heart of hearts, he knew that he had twatitude but he thought that this was because of his parents. He blamed them completely. Now I don’t want to get into any debate about nature and nurture but in reality he would have been a total wankspleen if his parents were Mother Theresa and the Pope (he might have other ‘issues’ though) and I don’t think that his parents exacerbated his spoiled condition. Although in the interests of probity, they did spare the rod on some occasions.

Luckily though, after a brief overnight stay in the local clink due for trashing a girl’s car because she wouldn’t go out with him (the gall! How could she not want to go out with him!), he had a slop bucket induced epiphany and realised that his egregious and reprehensible ways would not get him anywhere in life.

He went and apologised to the girl, and went around to say sorry to all his ‘friends’ (they weren’t really friends). He spoke to his parents and told them he was sorry and generally regressed to his less heinous pre-pubescent behaviour. He cut out all (most) of his bad habits, and started studying for his A-levels. He managed to catch up on a years worth of work over the summer, and just made it to university where he left behind his awful ways completely and started a new life. Hopefully he is still on the right track.

I know for a fact that this dude repented for his churlish ways because…

DRUMROLL

The dude was me.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 9:58, 9 replies)

Orphanage
Last year i was working at an orphanage in Nepal. it's cliche but the kids seemed happy despite the fact they had very little. well despite one kid. He was only about 5 or 6 years old but i knew there was something different about him. He literally marched around the place like he owned it and would steal the other children's toys, hit them. the other staff working there didn't really seem to do much about this. they let him get away with everything that the other kids of his age were not allowed to do (i.e. staying up late to watch tv.)

He was that awful sort of person. the kind who can give it but can't take it. any attempt to take back the toys he would steal would be met by floods of crying (which he would stop as soon as he got his way). i know he was only 6 years old. but i really couldn't stand him. I also found out that he wasn't an orphan but the boss's son, so no wonder he acted like a brat.

One day me and some others had climbed a hill and were throwing paper airplanes off. this little brat had decided to follow us and was as usual being a twat (he was pulling up vegetables from someone's garden) anyway we ran out of paper. And as we stood looking over the hill i suggested we throw the brat off. he immediatly burst into tears. It was a bit of a mean thing to say. I felt bad, well a little bit.
(ewe, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 9:40, 2 replies)