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)

Now are you sure
that this isn't some third person style tale? It does involve someone effectively shitting themselves doesn't it.

GO on admit it. You used to be ginger.
(Bazongaloid, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 15:31, closed)

*click*
I can tell one of your stories from the fabulous use insult...
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 15:34, closed)

I am a survivor
I used to wear 'Hi Tech' Trainers.


*breaks down*
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 15:40, closed)

I feel your pain
I had Hi-Tech Silver Shadows.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 15:45, closed)

Me too...

More 'grey' than 'silver in my memory. They were about £20...and with the build quality of them on a kid like me that worked out at about a pound a day.

'Adidas Apollo' were the trainers that popped my proper trendy cherry...

*reminisces*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 10 Oct 2008, 15:49, closed)

Hey that's nothing
I had to wear Woolworth 'Madrid' football boots. Neither comfortable nor practical, but a snip at a mere £9.99 - but the cost of ownership was far higher. :-/

Now my lad wears decent Nike footie boots. Nothing extortionate mind you. And none of these fecking carpet slippers that all these highly paid fancy dans wear and then end up breaking their meta-frigging-tarsals cos the leather on the top of the boot is about a quarter of a micron thick. Ranting continues after the break....
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Fri 10 Oct 2008, 16:40, closed)

Hi-Tec
slammers ftw

in 1988.
(Halfy By light alone, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 16:04, closed)

click
"Bratface McSpackalot" - excellent.
(lkjshaglkasjdhglkhjz lkcvl; g;aodh;owih, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 16:04, closed)

"the trembling tubby twunt and his turd-tarnished T-shirt."




Pooflake for b3ta Poet Laureate.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 16:31, closed)

Ooooh!
I second that, the motion is carried. (but not in a trainer)
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Fri 10 Oct 2008, 19:57, closed)

Spoilt Bastard from the Viz
This must be the best impersonation of all the posts I've read. Bar the ginger hair I could only picture the cartoon whilst reading this.
(muzzvsworld, Sun 12 Oct 2008, 0:24, closed)