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This is a question Spoilt Brats

Mr Newton sighs, "ever known anyone so spoilt you would love to strangle? I lived with a Paris Hilton-a-like who complained about everything, stomped her feet and whinged till she got her way. There was a happy ending though: she had to drop out of uni due to becoming pregnant after a one night stand..."

Who's the spoiltest person you've met? Has karma come to bite them yet? Or did you in fact end up strangling them? Uncle B3ta (and the serious crimes squad) wants to know.

(, Thu 9 Oct 2008, 14:11)
Pages: Latest, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Sorry, not a rendition of the Tom Waits classic, but rather The Self-Serving Thatcherite Whore who I stopped speaking to quite a while ago.

I don't feel ashamed of using her name because (a) she'll never read this, (b) it's not her real name, as she was Chinese and this was just her English alias. (Actually she was Taiwanese, but since she was such a snob and detested being called 'Chinese,' I shall continue to refer to her as 'Chinese' out of

I apologise to any friends and loved ones who have had to hear this story umpteen times before.

At the end of my first year at uni, I was worn out following exams and still just as socially inept as I had been when I arrived. So everyone was very surprised when The Hottest Girl in My Hall of Residence took a shine to me...yes, me, the weird one who drank far too much real ale and thought crows were really funny.

Perhaps I should have been a little suspicious that Alice forced herself upon me with so little subtlety. I should have been wary because we were all well aware how bitchy she had been about the previous boyfriend (who had been dumped the week before). But this was my first experience of a serious relationship - how was I to know any better?

And things started out promisingly. For the first 6 months, all seemed great. Then she started to fall out with her flatmate.

Said flatmate, C, had been a good friend of mine in halls, and she had a sort of on-off relationship with D, with whom I became very close during that first year. I don't know how it started, but Alice gradually became convinced that C was flirting with me.

Admittedly, I'd initially had a crush on C, but that had been a long time ago, and I'd been over it since I realised she fancied D. Besides, now that I was otherwise distracted with a supply of Chinese nookie, why should the stupid cow have felt threatened? I certainly never noticed C "flirting" with me - this was conversation between two friends, it was certainly nothing sinister.

Somehow, partly because I had no spine at the time, Alice managed to convince me that C was trying to drive us apart, and if she denies it, "she's just manipulating you."

Well, can I still talk to D? He is a good friend?...No, apparently not, because he's involved with C, and they've been known to smoke weed together - heaven forfend - so they can't be trusted.

And so I was forced to give up two really good friends following a hissy fit of Paris Hilton proportions.

I should have walked out right in the middle of said hissy fit. Because it soon came full circle. One of Alice's friends - some posh ponce - claimed that he'd "fallen in love with her." And, I'm told, openly asked "won't you leave Crow and get together with me?"

Not subtle, I'm sure you'll agree. And yet, for some reason, it is decided that Alice will still be allowed to talk to this ponce, who is openly trying to steal her away from me, whilst I must sever all connection with two of my friends because she (and she alone) thinks one of them is flirting with me.

I wouldn't be surprised if she was letting the ponce fuck her up the arse on the nights I wasn't around.

I should point out that Alice came from a very well-to-do family. She'd been packed off to and English boarding school at an early age to swan around with other smug, overly wealthy bitches and hence had no idea what it was like to be a normal undergraduate - her ex had worked for some consultancy company, so he wasn't strapped for cash. I actually met him once - he was a really nice bloke (and apparently knew the Ginger Fuhrer). I could never understand why she was so horrible to him until she did the same to me...

So, I am her first "impoverished" boyfriend. Obviously, she's used to the good life, but I can't afford to pay for all these things. She therefore pays for a lot of it herself and then berates me for never paying for anything.
"I can't afford to. Can we split the bill?" I plea.
"No, 'cause you've no money and then I'll feel bad." She replies.
Make your fucking mind up. Either split the bill or pay for it yourself, but don't say I didn't fucking offer.

She just had no idea - I remember earning something like £20 for a gig with my jazz band. Before I can even start thinking about what to do with it, I'm suddenly whisked off to use it all to buy her dinner and some drinks in the pub down the road.

I took jobs in pubs. I dipped into savings. I tried fucking hard so that I could take her out, treat her occasionally and even go on holiday. Anything to stop the stupid bitch telling me what a crap boyfriend I was.

And then began the mind control. Ever been told what to think? It's annoying, isn't it? Ever been told what to feel?
"If you really loved me, you should never be embarrassed by me."
What? How exactly does that work? Come on, my parents and sister have made me feel self-conscious or embarrassed in the past, and I love them unconditionally. And hey - here's a radical idea: maybe if you stop causing such a fucking scene, I won't feel embarrassed by the scores of people walking past trying not to look at you in the middle of another fucking strop.

And this went on - times when she'd upset me and then say "Oh, but surely you should be happy about it, because... [insert crap, irrational reason]"
Well, quite clearly I'm not happy about it, am I, you stupid cow? Perhaps I'd be happy about it if I was you. But I'm not. And I'm fucking glad about that.

For example, about the time she finally chose to tell me about her former tendency to bring strangers back from nightclubs.
"We've been going out for about 12 months and you never thought to tell me this before?"
"I did tell you before."
"No you didn't. You said you'd had 3 boyfriends previously." (So you, in fact, lied to me.)
"No, I said I'd had 3 boyfriends and done some things I regretted."
Oh, so I'm somehow supposed to magically guess from that, am I? Fucking hell, I've done "things I regret," but these amount to maybe drinking too much, cutting my leg on that fence, having not been more sociable at school. I'm sorry, but "things I regret" does not necessarily translate to "I used to be a promiscuous little slapper."
"Oh, you should be happy that I don't do it anymore..."
"You should have told me this 12 months ago." (At the very least, it would have been nice to know before I agreed to have unprotected sex with you. But of course saying that would have prompted another bloody tantrum...)

And so it went on - soon I was no longer allowed to talk politics, because she was an economics student who thought Margaret Fucking Thatcher was a demi-god, whilst I was just a physics student who dared to have mildly left-wing views, so obviously I couldn't possibly know anything.

Then my band practices were taking up "too much of my time." Admittedly, playing in two bands does necessitate two practices a week (no shit, Sherlock?) but I happen to want to keep both bands up. Is it really the end of the world if there are four hours of my free time that I don't spend with you?

This may seem fairly trivial, but when combined with the constant swipes at whatever I did or said, punctuated with the random hissy fits, it quickly wore me down to the point of having no self-esteem.

Then her student visa was going to run out. And of course, she couldn't possibly be expected to look for a job that would offer her a work visa, so I almost got bullied into an engagement. When my parents helped to me to think clearly and remind me that I was barely 20, still an undergraduate and various other things short of actually telling me "she's a mentalist bitch," she started to talking about getting married in secret. I don't know why the fuck I didn't run even then. It's not as if I was enjoying the "relationship." I just kept sidestepping the issue, or finding diplomatic ways to say "no," and every time I did, the tantrums got worse and worse.

And then one morning I woke up and just couldn't move. She was up and alert as usual and kept prodding me to get out of bed. And I curled up in a little ball and did nothing.

I didn't even cry. She'd made me cry before, but this morning I just felt too pathetic even to shift myself out of this weary foetal position. I must have lay there for a good ten or fifteen minutes before she realised I hadn't followed her into the kitchen.

Finally she came back and positively shepherded me into the kitchen. It took all the strength I could summon to tell her that she was a bully and was just making me miserable.
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
Because you'd have a fit? Because you'd tell me I shouldn't feel like that? For fuck's sake woman, is that all the sympathy I get?

We spent that day wandering round some festival or other in Trafalgar Square. I don't actually remember what went on, I just followed her around like a zombie, feeling increasingly pathetic.

That evening, I went back to my own flat. I even took a detour, just to prolong the walk. I love my flatmates, but I just knew if I went straight in, I'd have to talk to them, and I couldn't face talking to anybody.

But eventually it got cold, and I ran out of side streets to wander around forlornly. So I went back to my front door...

Right into the middle of a party. It was a friend's birthday, and a bunch of them had come round to ours. I don't think I've ever tried so hard to put a brave face on things and be sociable. It obviously didn't work, because I grabbed my vodka out of the freezer and started swigging from that. (People have since commented - "yeah, you weren't happy that night, were you?")

The following day, Alice dumped me over the phone. I felt like crap, but at least I didn't feel any more crap than I had for the previous few months.

Christ, this one goes on forever, doesn't it?

EDIT: I have posted The Epilogue -
www.b3ta.com/questions/spoiltbrats/post270902 - if you've got another hour to kill, of course...

I feel I should thank my friends (particularly Nettlesteed*) and family for putting up with me for the duration of this ordeal, for Ms Crow for being wonderful and demonstrating that women are not, in fact, innately evil, and any b3tans who have been patient enough to read this far. And finally Kaol, for encouraging me to post this one.

Apologies for length. I'm sure it's become longer since I learned to stand up for myself.

*Not a b3tan, not really much of an interweb type, but he'll know who he is if he ever stumbles across this
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 13:38, 18 replies)
Anyone for polo?
Said to me by an exceptionally posh girl I used to go to University with;

"We didn't have a TV when I was growing up...

...I had 5 ponies though."
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 13:27, 2 replies)
Backfired spoiltness :D
This happened this morning and suited this QOTW quite well (much to my satisfaction).

A spoilt brat gets his dad to call up our IT department due to not having any emails.

"Hi you're through to Jeccy, how can I help?" asks I.
"You better had. My 9 year old son apparently can't get his emails, keeps asking for his username and password."
"Sorry to hear that sir, can I take your details please?"
So we go through the standard rigmaroll of confirming security etc, then it becomes apparent that it's all in the wife's name. The wife comes on the line, passes Data Protection and passes it back to the husband all while this whiney twat of a kid is screaming "HAVEN'T THEY FIXED IT YET??!??" in the background.
I bite my tongue and bring up the email account, just as the dad asks "I don't normally deal with this myself, can I take his email address and password to sort it out myself?"
"Errr, ok...you got a pen?"
"Yeah, I'm ready."
"Ok, the main address is "dan".."
"Ok, Dan.."
"Then a dot..."
(a small sound of stifled laughter from the dad) "Ok errr, terminator..."
(a large bout of stifled laughter from the dad this time)"um....lord...go on"
"HAHAHAHAHA YOU LITTLE TWAT HAHAHAHA" shouts the dad while laughing like a viking at the now quiet child in the background.
(me trying not to laugh now)"....@*******.com"
"HAHAHAHA, he's only 9, who do you think you are, Schwartzenegger???? HAHAHAHA!!!!" which was accompanied with the sound of the 9 year old running out of the room.

Yup, looks like we fixed it alright :D
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 13:19, 3 replies)
My son is in the least chavvy of the primary schools in our area, the problem is that the school has a high number of spoilt little sods who have well off parents. There also seems to be some form of competition between the well off mothers in my sons class to see who can buy the most expensive items for their kid.

A few weeks before my son was due to finish his second year of school I was on my way to pick him up when I saw G, a parent of one of my sons friends dragging a mini battery powered 4 x 4 ride on through the school gates. G is around 5 foot tall and in my opinion could have drove it to school herself and saved a lot of hassle (I believe she decided against it as the Mario Kart look wouldn't have gone down well with the other well off wives she hangs around with).

Anywhoo, her little demon spawn comes out of class and jumps into the 4 x 4 (without even uttering a word of thanks to his mother) and attempts to run over a few other schoolkids while G brags about the car and the extras they had paid for. Turns out that the car had to be bought for spoiltbrat a few weeks ago as he was upset that the teacher had banned him from playtime for some misdemeanour that G believed her little precious would never do. Before I could start a rant about the fact that G should have punished him and not given him a present or even ask her why the hell would anyone spend money on a CD player for a ride on toy car my kid finally appears from the class and we decide to go get an ice cream and walk home.

Now heres where Karma turns up, on the way back home from the ice cream van me and son spy the little brat sat in his 4 x 4 in the middle of the pavement a few yards away from the school gates and screaming his lungs out (We heard him yelling earlier but thought nothing of it- every day he finds something to bitch about). It turns out that his mum had forgot to charge the battery for the 4 x 4 up and it had run flat on his way out of school. His mother was trying to placate the little bugger but it was falling on deaf ears. He was just sat in the drivers seat refusing to move.

The situation was eventually calmed after his mum walked to the end of the street (a good 10 - 15 yards away from the spot where spoiltbrat was parked) and reversed the family people carrier G had driven down to school. Why she thought it would be necessary to bring this electric monstrosity for such a small walk is a mystery to me (The people carrier is also a mystery as spoiltbrat is an only child).

I then sat and watched as G loaded the 4 x 4 into the back of the people carrier and drive off while finishing off my 99.
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 13:15, 4 replies)
The world's not fair. Some people have a lot more money than others. Some people get everything in life handed to them on a plate. Some of them aren't appreciative. Some people are spoilt. It happens irrespective of social class. Karmic retribution is not guaranteed. They will never learn what it's like "in the real world" because they'll never have to - with their mindset, they'll always find a way out and somehow people will magically enable this behaviour for no good reason.

As for the idea that people should feel guilty for having things that you don't have - why? I don't get it. Why be so damn resentful of the folks who drive the 4x4s or spend a grand on a handbag or go to the posh schools? Is it sour grapes? What mystical sense of indignant righteousness has decreed that because you don't have something, no one else can have it?

And why try to level out society so we all suffer the same amount of misery? Why the hell should we all minimise our spending and consumption so it fits with your ethical approval? Communist.

Why do some people buy into this Steinbeckian notion that through poverty comes nobility? Being poor sucks. Show me someone poor who actually wants to stay poor.

If spoilt = richer and has more things, then I snort indignantly.
If spoilt = unappreciative and lacking in manners, then yeah, absolutely, cunt them in the fuck.

Life's hard. Quit whining and buy a helmet.
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 12:47, 30 replies)
£20 notes
I went to primary school with a little turd called Tom. The sort of kid who chewed with his mouth open and wiped his nose on his hand. He and his brother Rupert (yes, really) were about as spoiled as they come. He used to pick on my friend Lucy (who has beautiful red hair) for being ginger, despite him and his whole family being as ginger as the f'ing Weasleys, only he would claim it was 'strawberry blond'.
As the school bully once pointed out, "There's no such thing as 'strawberry blond', only gingers who won't admit it"

Anyway, one day his Mum comes in to school to help out with something and I over-hear her say, quite proudly, "Well, I came here armed with a £20 note, but it was soon whisked away from me".
This was c. 1996 FFS. She'd given them a TWENTY to spend on sweets at the Post Office.
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 12:47, 9 replies)
The Tale of Kaol and the Spoilt Rich Kids
Just a short one this week.

I was at university in a small, expensive town in Surrey.
I met some good people while I was there, but there were a lot of cunts there too.
Most of them, for some reason, seemed to do Management.

I was sitting on the uni-bus from town back to campus, behind a couple of annoying rich-kid management students.

Now, I'm not really one to judge people on how they look (pot/kettle syndrome), but is wearing your old school blazer really scoring you cool-points?

Anyway, one of them started to talk in a fist-clenchingly posh and nasal voice, moaning about how "Father has cut my allowance down. Instead of the £1000 a week for clothes and going out, I'm only getting £750. I don't know what I'm going to do."

I looked at my £10 weekly food shop on the seat next to me, and briefly, sadly considered bashing his skull in with a tin of Value Chopped Tomatoes.
I decided against it, swallowed hard against the bile and turned my music up to drown him out.

I did get a tiny glimmer of happiness a few weeks later, when I was DJing a Classic Rock night and he came up to request The Libertines.
He got all shouty when I told him to piss off, and was dragged away by one of my mates.
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 12:19, 10 replies)
Well, I may have previously told you about my schoolmate Barry.
He's as thick as a poorly schooled house brick, and has no discernible talent, besides sucking up to people.
He managed to blag his way all through our arts education, seemingly effortlessly, just by "being friends" with the right teachers,
producing nothing but poorly produced, clichéd work, even winning a competition which landed him a free-lance job at a high-profile company which dabbled in similar clichés (and rejected truly creative entries as being "too deviant").

His final project was skewered quite horrendously by the jury (who was none too soft on any of us), but his project mentors, whom he relentlessly sucked up to, managed to get him a narrow passing grade by giving him an artificially high grade on the theoretical thesis (he has the literacy of a ten year old).

I should note he fashions himself an advertising genius, and a gifted artiste, who has "innotative concepts" worth their weight in gold, at one point even claiming to have invented the bio-dome. No, seriously.

Recently, we heard a prospective employer finally had the guts to tell him how crap his work was to his face, something we never dared to do.
High fives were passed around vigorously.

*rant over*
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 12:02, 6 replies)
There was this rich kid at school.
He was a complete and utter wanker. Endless stories about his wealth abounded from the trips of the chosen few to his families country estate. I recall he was mocked one day because he wore a seiko watch to school. He made a point of wearing a rolex the next day and pointed it out to everyone one who cared to listen.

One day it came to pass that he didn't arrive at school on a Monday due to an unfortunate accident.

"Karma?", I said.
"Naa mate. He was hit by a bus." came the swift reply.
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 11:53, Reply)
Lets go antiquing...
The kid next door to me when I was growing up used to get everything he ever asked for.

A new mountain bike on weekend, a radio controlled car the next.

He had all the newest star wars toys.

He had a gorgeus puppy dog one day.

His skateboard was the best I'd ever seen.

He'd get to go to Disneyland. His parents showered him with love.

He had a video and tv of his own in his room.

One day he came over to play and bought a top of the range walkman with him. One of those flashy ones where you didn't have to take the tape out to turn it over.

His tree house was nearly as big as my bedroom.

You wouldn't believe the amount of stuff he had.

I wish I had luekimia too...
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 11:53, 2 replies)
My Mothers father was good at spoiling kids
Apparently, he used to touch them in inappropriate ways and was even sent to Prison for Statuary Rape. It has been suggested by some of his own children that he interfered with them too, but one of them is claimed to have liked it...

As for Grandfather's kids, they all grew up totally fucked in the head, my own Mother was very damaged by her abusive childhood of being repeatedly beaten, told that she was hated and just being unwanted. Her slightly younger sister though was the Golden Child, given many gifts, loved beyond belief and treated very differently to her five other sisters and single brother.

In later years, it was claimed by her angry siblings that this was the Sister who enjoyed her Fathers touch.

As an Adult now in her mid fifties, the woman is hated by her siblings and even disowned by her own children, who she emotionally and physically abused.

She tried to contact me via Facebook recently, but my only memory of her is that she took my Father away from me when I was ten, which led to my being adopted by my Step father when I was fourteen. (If you ever read this Dad, I love you so much for adopting me and my sister, you never spoilt us because you did everything with love and care.)

Spoilt children can be understood and something can be done about it, but spoilt adults are cunts and they cause irreparable harm. Funny to think that after twenty five years I still feel angry towards to my Aunt for all of the harm she caused to the people I love.
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 11:24, Reply)
My dad told me a tale....
of his past.

My Dad was about 8 or 9 at the time, and rationing was still in full swing - this must be about 1947-1948. His friend's parents owned some kind of local shop (as many did) that had access to cakes and confectionery.

This one lad was sat on the local wall, showing off with his newly acquired Chocolate Eclair cream cake. He was teasing my dad and the other kids with its creamy chocolatey goodliness.

He was slowly and gently licking the cream from the choux pastry, with an extended tongue. He then turned it 90 degrees and started the lick the gooey chocolate on top... and the other kids looked on, all with watering mouths, wanting that eclair, but this kid was not for sharing.

My dad, who had never had even a taste of a chocolate eclair, said he could stand it no more. He grabbed the kids wrist, forcing the lad's hand upwards.. He then made him press that eclair in his own face, and rubbed it around until it was destroyed beyond repair. Letting go of the kid's hand, my dad clocked him with a single punch that bust his nose, his face a mix of pastry, cream, chocolate and claret.

The kid ran home. The other kids cheered. When my granddad found out, my dad got the beating of his life.

I eat chocolate eclairs in a single bite when my dad's around.
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 11:17, Reply)
The Spoilt Brat
Some of you may have read my post earlier in this QOTW, it was about my daughter’s birthday party, and how it was pretty much ruined by a snot-nosed little bile demon called Maia. Some of you may even have read some of my replies, in which I mentioned that I was going to be throwing her a second party, to make up for the slightly disappointing first one.

Isabelle turned seven on Thursday, and the worst part of it was that I hadn’t been able to get her a single present. Worse still, I only spent around an hour with her on her birthday. You see, I’ve just started a new job, and my first pay cheque didn’t clear in time for me to buy her anything, I was totally skint. The new job also meant that I had to work a long day, I’d given my new employers notice that it was my daughter’s birthday, but they couldn’t find (or couldn’t be arsed to find) cover for me, so I was only allowed a couple of hours off in the afternoon.
I had to make her a birthday card the night before, by cutting out pictures of Troy from High School Musical, Barbie and Tinkerbell from magazines that she’s collected, and sticking them to a sheet of coloured card.
I doubt whether she even noticed that I didn’t bring her any presents. She was too busy with her friends and the many toys that she had got from other people, but I hardly got to spend any time with her. The party was at her Mum’s house, and I had to spend the afternoon preparing the food and putting things together, like the Kiddizoom digital camera that needed batteries, and the High School Musical DVD dancemat that needed to be assembled. …and then I had to rush back to work, because the girl who was covering for me ‘had to go on her tea break at 5’, which is obviously much more important than my daughter’s birthday.
After the party, before she went to bed, my little girl told her Mum that it hadn’t felt like it was her birthday, and that she really wished I’d been there.

The next day my pay cheque finally cleared. I bought a big card, Barbie Airplane, a Piranha Panic board game, and a small acoustic guitar, then I set about organising the second party. I only invited my nine year old brother, and my niece and nephew, Isabelle always gets on really well with all of them.

That night I picked the little ‘un up from her Mum’s, and put her to bed at home, then I set phase one of my plan into action.
I wrapped her presents, which was no easy task, that aeroplane and the guitar were bloody huge, and I cut out more pictures of Tinkerbell and her little friends from the Disney ‘Fairies’ magazines Isabelle had left over. Then, and not for the first time, I wrote Isabelle a letter from the Fairies themselves.
I placed the letter and the presents at the foot of her bed, and left them there for her to find in the morning.

The next day I woke her up early, and it took her a whole minute after getting out of bed to actually notice the bloody massive pink wrapped boxes in her room, but it was like Christmas from that moment on, in fact, it was better than Christmas; Santa Claus has got nothing on those Fairies.
I packed Isabelle off to her friend’s house, where she was taken to a local Reptile room and she got to stroke a Tarantula, some Scorpions and a nine foot Python (no pun intended, you dirty-minded bastards), while I went to Sainsbury’s to fill a trolley with Party Rings, jelly and ice cream, cakes, sausage rolls, Pringles, dips, breadsticks carrots, cucumbers, cream soda and coke, not even to mention the pass the parcel prizes.

The party at my place was brilliant, everybody had a great time, the kids ran riot, and I had dozens of games out for them to play with. Everybody won something at pass the parcel, and we had a massive dance-off competition on our other dancemats, in which I soundly beat my sister-in-law (the only other adult who stayed for the day) 57,425 points to 19,026, to ‘Who Do you Think You Are?’ by the Spice Girls. I FUCKING ROCK.

So, my little girl is spoiled completely rotten, and deservedly so. She’s inherited the shyness that I found totally crippling when I was little, and has a very meek, mild-mannered nature, but luckily for her she has a Dad who understands what that’s like and has been through it, so she’s gained more confidence than I ever had at that age, and she will never, ever be a brat.
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 10:41, 17 replies)
My step-sister-in-law
My father-in-law got married recently (my actual mother-in-law died about 10 years ago, having one now is a novel expereince for me). The woman he married is absolutely lovely. Her kids, however, are the classic product of a divorce.

Especially the eldest.

She's 19. When she was 16, she got knocked up by a Kurdish asylum seeker.Mother took her for a termination (despite it being against her beliefs) 6 months later, she was knocked up again, but decided to keep it this time. Father gets throw out of the country.

Didn't let a silly little thing like being pregnant get in the way of smoking and drinking WKD in the park.

Kid is born (as is suspiciously blonde-haired and blue-eyed, considering who she claims the father is). Stupid little girl decides it shouldn't get in the way of her smnoking and blue WKD drinking. The grandmother (my new mother in law) looks after the kid.

Stupid girl has a night out in Rhyl and decides she likes it. So she wants to move there. "mum, I need money for a flat". So mum pays deposit on a flat and rent long enough for the peperwork to go through and the DSS to take over paying. Idiot girl won't get a job, since the taxpayer can keep her in fags and blue WKD.

Every friday, the mother picks up her daughter's mates from various locations around Liverpool, drives them down to Rhyl and picks up the baby. Then reverses the process on the Sunday. This is the only time the baby gets new clothes, toys etc, since it's mother spends all of her money on fags and blue WKD.

Spoilt twat snags a boyfried (I assume she bullied him into going out with her, he was that wet). Boyfriend's grandmother dies and leaves him £10K. Girl takes said £10K off him. Now, given the slum she lived in and the way her mum had to run around after her, you would have thought she would have spent the money on somewhere nicer to live, clothes for the kid or diving lessons so she wasn't so dependant on her mum (she refused to get public transport anywhere), right?

Nope, she spend £10K on a boob job. Not only that, she expects her mum to drive her down to London to get the boob job done, then stay in a hotel nearby while she is in hospital, so she can drive her back again afterwards.

Classic moment as all this was going on was one Sunday, over lunch, she said "I can't wait to get my boobs done so I can get a better boyfriend". He was sat next to her. My wife said that I couldn't point out that she should do something about her ugly face or size 22 waistline before dropping all that cash on boobs.

Not long after, she meets a new bloke and moves to Birmingham. "Mum, I need £1000 for a deposit on a flat". And so it starts again.

Oh yeah, and she had a go at my new mum-in-law, on my mum-in-law's wedding day, because the happy couple where coming up to Manchester for a couple of nights but she wanted to go out on the piss and "who will look after the baby when I've got a hangover?"
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 10:33, 6 replies)
Not me.....
Well.... Yes me but my mate is much much worse.

My mum does all my washing and ironing.
My mum cooks every meal for me (apart from Lunch as I'm at work)
If I sleep in for work my mum wakes me up..
I pay £100 / month rent
(worst of all) I'll be 24 next week.

Sad. Fucking. Days.

Oh but my mate is worse ;) When he dropped out of Uni he lived his his parents rent free, NOT WORKING FOR A YEAR. And lazed about playing computer games all day. He also got his parents to pay for his weekends binge drinking and nearly everything else like clothes, CD's, DVD's and Driving Lessons.

We are both sad bastards it seems
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 9:28, 6 replies)
A little more than ADHD
I remembered this over the weekend, I think I'd blocked it out, its pretty horrific.

I knew this insane kid who had the dumbest parents ever. How no one saw what he was like was beyond me.

He was the biggest attention seeker I have ever known. He'd always wear his Sunday best for dinner, and, once, when this didn't get him enough attention, I actually remember him grabbing handfuls of food and rubbing it all over himself.

Honestly, he'd do anything to avoid being ignored. I heard that he once bit a cinema usherette for no reason at all. Yet still his parents were oblivious. Or in denial I guess.

Sadly, things took a nasty turn later in life, he raped and killed a girl called Susie. Horrible time that was. He actually took the body home with him, if you can believe that.

Yet, even after 10 years in prison, his parents still refused to admit there was anything majorly wrong. I swear, when he eventually got out, they found him sitting by Susies grave, surrounded by her bones.

And still, they said he was just an excitable boy.

(If you see what I did there, I love your taste)
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 9:11, 7 replies)
after reading all of this weeks' stories
i have to say that i have never been so glad that i don't have kids. my sisters and brother all wanted kids, they've got them. i've never wanted any, i can't have any. worked out nicely, i think. :)
(, Mon 13 Oct 2008, 3:40, 2 replies)
My Preciousssssssss
My cousin is a self-confessed wannabe Footballer's Wife. She actually has a first class degree in Maths and is by no means dumb. She also has a very well paid job in the City. She's in her early 30s. Precious bought a house last year and it took her 6 months to move in while she continued living with my aunt and uncle for minimal rent, no council tax, no utilities bills, use of car, no road tax, MOT or petrol bills (which she had done on and off for about 10 years). My uncle arranged everything for her new flat, made all the phone calls, got the plumber in, painted the walls, waited in for the furniture to be delivered, made endless trips to B&Q etc. Once when I enquired, nearing the 6 month mark, why Precious hadn't moved in, I was told there were no INTERNAL door handles and she couldn't possibly move in without them being fitted incase she got trapped. Drip by drip Precious moved her things to the new place, taking her time as she went.

Despite this well paid job Precious still borrows my aunt and uncle's car and takes it whenever she can't be bothered to walk to the station in the morning for work. So she picks up the car in the evening, drives herself home, and then drives back again in the morning to walk the much quicker 5 mins to the station. She also does this whenever she has grocery shopping to do, or just fancies a night out spinning around in a Kia Picanto blasting out Hed Kandi. When she was younger my cousin was a grumpy, moody teenager who barely lifted a finger to help round the house and blamed her parents for all her teenage woes. No karma yet, instead she did wage a hate campaign against my other cousin, lying to their parents and claiming that her brother had done big injustices against her and was slowly pushing all the family members away. This isn't true but I wouldn't blame him if he was anyway.

Actually, there is karma - her life is an ambitionless slop viewed through rose tinted glasses, no doubt polished by her parents every morning before they wipe her arse, and she has to listen to the fat chav upstairs decant his horse piss ever morning into his toilet.
(, Sun 12 Oct 2008, 23:17, 2 replies)
Mobile sodding phones
Why do some cretins think that you want to hear what shit music they listen to on their phone? It escapes me, in all honesty. If it plays music, use the headphones - I neither want nor care to hear whatever you think passes for aural fun, ta.

Such it was that I found myself on a Glasgow tube, opposite one such runt. Particularly shitty day, exhausted and in no mood for anyone's pish. This pocket-based Jean Michel Jarre then proceeds to play some mind-numbingly crass tune on his phone, just for the entire carriages listening pleasure. Roughly 30 seconds pass before I lose the plot, and lean forwards, and in a voice like something from Amityville Horror, growl "Are you going to turn that off, or am I going to take it off you and stick it up your arse?"

The look on his face was priceless and worth every second. Stupid little twat. Fall under a train you execrable turd.

(I am very easy going. Stupidity or a lack of manners however just lights my fuse).
(, Sun 12 Oct 2008, 22:11, 15 replies)
repost from Kids QTOW :
I gave up on swimming lessons as a child after the pool had to be evacuated for the third consecutive day because of floating turds.

I cant spark a fag in the pub, but I get to be surrounded by sprogs every sunday in 'spoons.

I have to carry around pointless forms of ID. It is my right as a UK citizen to never have to have a means of Identity on my person. Yet I am forced to as the teenager on the checkout cant be trusted to use common sense to differentiate between a purchase of WKD with pocket money change and a purchase of a single malt with a visa card. This all because the mollycoddles of today cant handle their drink.

They have hours of inane shit devoted to them on tv while all the good stuff gets pushed up to late for me to watch (I have an early start most days) as it might corrupt them.

I have to verify my age evry fucking time I want to veiw a youtube link from /links

They are getting so fat, so all the good bus seats are taken and the goverment is trying to tax chips now.

they hang around the library and pester you for fags.

they turn your mates into simpering idiots.

They have parents who think that the 'miracle of birth' gives them the right to barge in front of ANY queue and tut-tut anytime you say fuck/shit/bugger even if you are amongst a group of adults.

Child tax credits. mr darling can keep the income tax high for low income people as long as the breeders get a discount. Meanwhile the well off are paying less tax.

Well off peoples kids. There is nothing like the toffee nosed bastard spawn of the rich to aid the spread of communism. the next time I see a 'yummy mummy' pull her planet fucking SUV , paid for by a weekly newspaper article about organic hummus, tear into the mother and child section of a car park I will personally melt it down and turn it into tractors and lada's.

Roads. The school run brings traffic to a standstill In Hull. This is made worse by the council turning about 60% of the city into a 20mph zone with fucking speed bumps every 2m

The whole world is being changed for 'the kids' no wonder the little shits think the sun shines out of their arse.
(, Sun 12 Oct 2008, 22:06, 14 replies)
This subject
Reminds me of that Max Gogarty article ages ago in the Gaurdian that got completely flamed.
(, Sun 12 Oct 2008, 21:58, 1 reply)
A rather bizarre child....
On a train freighting me to my mighty mister I was sat in front of a child. They did the usual things: singing annoying songs, bumping the seats and moaning.

Occasionally a little hand with poking out finger crept though the gap between the window and my chair to poke me on the arm. I shoved my elbow into them when they tried it next. So a cheeky child, but not one worth throttling.

Then they went on to looking out the window. Suddenly they yelled, "Agh! There are PEOPLE in that street!" I looked and there were indeed people walking about outside their houses doing the usual things. "There are people walking about down there! I HATE WHEN PEOPLE WALK ABOUT OUT THERE!"

His mother carried on reading her book and he carried on ranting about the idiocity of these people daring to walk about the streets in front of their own homes, when he so clearly hated it.
(, Sun 12 Oct 2008, 21:57, 1 reply)
Haha - I've just remembered this one...
And I don't know why I've failed to remember it until now, my mum was talking about it this morning.


I was a very hyperactive child. ANY colourings or additives would send me super-crazy and wild. As such, my mum had a bit of a job keeping me entertained with sweeties whilst making sure they weren't going to turn me into the Tasmanian Devil.

However, one day, she made a slip.

She'd let me have a packet of Skittles (other fruit-flavoured confectionery is available) before a shopping sojourn round Sheffield.

I was 5 at the time, and my brother was three, so to keep us in check, mum held my hand and had our kid in those reins things that are surely banned in Western society by now.

During the journey plodding up the hill from the bus station to the shops, I'd apparently whipped myself into such a forment that my mum had already took me to one side for a smacked bum - something she was particularly adept at - and warned that there'd be no more sweeties for a week if I kept this game up.

Later, my mum decided to treat herself with a fancy top from TopShop (well posh in Sheffield during the 1980s) and so we were dragged down Fargate.

On our way to TopShop, we passed a toy shop, which had got some new Matchbox cars in the window. Being clever even then I knew that despite us being skint, my mum would occasionally keep me and our kid pacified with such items to quell the longing for more expensive items like a bike or ZX Spectrum.

Anyway... upon seeing a Matchbox Ferrari, I went on my quest for model car wonderment:

Me: "Mum, please can I have that Matchbox car?"
Mum: "No Scentless, mum's got to buy some clothes today..."
Me: "Please"
Mum: "No"
Mum: "NO."
Mum: "Scentless, that's it, you get no more treats for a month..."

Cue tears and screaming from me. Which carry on all the way up to and into TopShop.

Mum's walking round a rather busy bit when I say


And try to leg it across the shop.

My mum in a mix of rage and embarrassment, promptly grabs my arm to stop said escape plan. However, I'm going in the opposite direction with such skittled-powered force, that something in my arm goes 'pop'.

In the melee, my arm had managed to dislocate itself from my shoulder.

My mum, bless her, in a panic, exclaimed to a now captivated audience: "It's OK, this always happens" and bolted out of the door, me under one arm, wailing like a banshee and our kid wrenched into the open air in his reins, straight onto the bus for the hospital, all the while crying her eyes out.

Anyway, my arm was relocated into my shoulder, we all went home happy as larry like a good one parent family should.

And then once inside the door, my mum gave me the slippering of all slipperings, I was sent straight to bed ('FOR YOUR OWN BLOODY GOOD' as my mum put it), and my whole Matchbox toy car collection was sent to Mozambique via Oxfam because 'they appreciate their treats better', to teach me a lesson once and for all.

Serves me right.
(, Sun 12 Oct 2008, 21:25, 6 replies)
as i'm stuck at work
i might as well mention my colleague lisa, whose daddy is minted and whose husband is even more so.

she has diamond earrings the size of hazelnuts and a ring the size of a brazilnut. she gets 24 yellow roses every. single. monday. morning. despite being 34 years old, she is NOT ALLOWED to walk around london in the dark - she can never come out from october onwards. unless her husband drives in to collect her, as they live in wapping and otherwise she might have to walk for 2 mins in the dark down st kats docks.

but what really annoys me is... we all know the redundancy axe is hovering over all of us. and she is whinging louder than anyone else about it, whereas the rest of us are just getting on with the job until the inevitable announcement is made. er, hello, try being single and supporting yourself (and your mulberry handbag habit), then let's see how you sleep at night.
(, Sun 12 Oct 2008, 20:53, 3 replies)
My mate Neil...
...point blank REFUSES to eat any other brand of baked beans other than Heinz's.

Posh bastard.
(, Sun 12 Oct 2008, 20:46, 10 replies)
A few christmases ago...
My littlest brother - well, my half-brother, but let's not nit-pick - got a Gameboy Advance.

He complained that he didn't like the games, that all his other mates were getting Playstation 2s, and that it was all very unfair.

Without so much as a thought, my mum reminded him that when I was his age (fifteen years earlier) we didn't have carpets, our clothes were from charity and that for Christmas me and my brother were given a £2.99 Woolworths chess and draughts set to share between us.

Point, I feel, proven.
(, Sun 12 Oct 2008, 20:31, 1 reply)
University of Not London
I go to a northern university whos name shall not pass my lips just for shits and giggles. Anyway, this university is mainly attended by well off southern-types who seem to occupy themselves by spending money at Harvey Nicks, Cafe Rouge and moaning about how this place is 'Not London though is it?'.

What particularly gets my goat is the wankers (usually women) in their Ford KAs with personalised numberplates - STUDENTS FOR CHRISSAKE with LV69 BEX and such like!

*vents spleen*
(, Sun 12 Oct 2008, 19:23, 9 replies)

This question is now closed.

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