StalkedHave you been stalked? Or have you done the stalking? Is that you in the bushes outside with the nightvision goggles?
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chthonic, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 15:40)
This question is now closed.
Make your own stalkerMany years ago when i was young and naive and young, I was sitting at the bar downing many a pint when the girl i was to be suddenly and madly in love with tapped me on the shoulder. Wheels turned and it wasnt long before i was hers and she was mine. Joy. When we first started going out, she shared her dark and terrible secret: she was being stalked by her previous beau, a and strange and dangerous man. The signs were there, it all made sense. He was violent, a freak and a weirdo. She couldnt explain why shed ever dated him, but now she had me and the world was almost perfect. So I gave him the hard time he rightly deserved. I was hard and tough and manly but without being too forceful, at her insistence. "please, he means no harm" she pleaded. And so it was that i protected my new found love from this terrible menace.
Time moved on, as time likes to do and after much of the usual anguish that goes with these things it all came to a slow and ugly end. There was of course one last emotion charged meeting which saw me vow that she would never hear from me again and that I would very much like to receive the same. She had cut me to the soul and i meant my words. I never did go near her again.
More time passes. Sun rises and flowers grow. A couple of years later i became good friends with the brother of the now ex's stalker ex. from here I learned many things. First on the list was that the new freinds brother was not the unhinged maniac I had been sold. He was in fact a shy, gentle and affable bloke, and it turns out when we first started going out he was at the time the current boyfriend of my now distant ex . He'd never been told he was sacked, she'd just chosen and moved on to me, promoting him to the role of mad killer stalker #1 in the process. It also comes out that shed also given me the sack some time before I finally cracked, my efforts to straighten out our relationship being sold to bloke #3 as the deranged actions of a mad stalker #2, a promotion for me! So to this bloke the poor girl had two loons after her. Fortunately, I never met him. The last and best piece is that I found out at a gathering of mutual acquaintances that it seems I continued to stalk her some time after id said my last good byes. Despite the fact I never saw/spoke or heard from her again. Not a bad effort on my behalf id say.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 2:40, 1 reply)
i've just remembered..i also have been stalked by the mystery ice-cream van,but in a more twilight-zone-esque way.where my folks live in the suburbs,a creepy high-pitched version of 'greensleeves' starts up on every odd day,when the clouds are lwering in the sky and the wind is worrying the leaves around the Co-op...there is a squeal of breaks,i rush to the window to catch a glimpse of the mystery ice-cream van,and it fades into the distance.
it's gotten very worrying since i heard it at my uni,some seventy miles distant.
it was in november.who the fuck buys ice-cream in november??
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 2:32, 5 replies)
I still have no ideahow Yowl managed to get into ANY university, even one as lax and mediocre as the median of my three alma matae. He was not a bless-ed boy, neither in brains, wit, nor common sense, and he was so exceptionally gullible that he believed just about anything (and I mean ANYTHING) he was told. He jostles with a scant few others for the title of "the biggest numpty I have ever met".
I knew him through two of my friends, Geordie and Joizi, who were members of the pool club - of which Yowl was captain - and they had been playing against him for a few months. Living in one of the smallest university towns in britain, with almost no amenities, was a drain on all our spirits, and in an attempt to alleviate the mind-numbing tedium of life in said town, said brace of acquaintances decided to victimise said gullible ϝυcκτard.
Their method was neither complex, nor sophisticated - one day, Geordie went to Yowl's room in the halls block adjacent to our own, and pushed a note reading something along the lines of "This is Joizi/ I am gay/ Let's commit acts of man-love. PS I love you" under the door.
Yowl, not being too bright, responded to this, not by talking to Joizi himself, but instead by talking to one of his close friends. As they played pool together, he chose Geordie, who promptly confirmed the whole story as true, with the result that Yowl now backed against the wall whenever Joizi entered the same room.
As with all japes, Geordie gave it a couple of days and then circulated it amongst our circle of friends, telling all (including Joizi), and as a result we had a jolly old gaffaw. Joizi, wanting some form of revenge, returned the favour, slipping his own note under Yowl's door, which read along the lines of "This is Geordie/ I am gay / I love you/ I wrote the last note, to drive us together".
I will freely concede this is all very puerile, but we were puerile folk, bored beyond belief with only cruelty to keep us sane. Each of the protagonists continued to send notes purporting to be from the other, and declaring undying love, in a roughly alternating sequence. Eventually, Yowl became convinced all the notes originated with Joizi, despite being in two distinct hands, as Geordie didn't have the habit of jokingly touching up other men when drunk, while Joizi did. Subsequently, Geordie built Yowl's paranoia to a fever pitch, the gullible bastard swallowing every last bogus word.
One night at the end of the year, we had been out for a few drinks. Once the pub had closed, some of us advocated a return home with cans, while others favoured a journey to the town's one late bar. As we could not reach concord, we split into two groups, and while Joizi and Trotter went to the late bar, the remaining half-a-dozen or so of us (including myself and Geordie) strolled home, spar lager in hand. Somewhere, somehow en route to our place, we 'acquired' Yowl.
It started off jovially enough, swigging our budget piss-water while various members of our company exchanged 'exotic cigarettes'. The conversation between Geordie and Yowl inevitably turned to the notes 'Joizi' had been sending. Suddenly, another of my housemates, Dod, intervened.
"Notes? Under the door? He sent them to you too?", Dod asked.
Yowl nodded. Dod immediately launched into an entirely fictitious five minute, off-the-cuff monologue, cataloguing the entirely made-up details of a non-existent three month campaign of "sexual harassment" that Dod claimed Joizi had waged upon him. There had been attempts to "watch him in the shower", he had "picked the lock on his door and got in his bed naked", undertaken episodes of "drunken, crying pleading", "pushed notes under the door", and the net result was that "Dod only dated his girlfriend to let Joizi know he was unavailable and straight".
The Dod let out the 'big secret'.
"You know Joizi's american? His cousin's in the CIA..."
"Really?", gawped Yowl.
"Yeah - he's sent him all these gadgets, classified stuff. I mean, the CIA can do what they like. *looks over each shoulder* He sent him a set of goggles that can see through walls...."
Yowl sat in appalled silence.
"You know those bushes out the front of your block?", continued Dod, "Have you ever seen them move?"
Yowl nodded slowly.
"That's him. He can see through the curtains, through the wall. That's when he's watching you....."
Yowl visibly blanched, began to tremble. All that time, he thought, he had watched him. He had watched him eat, sleep, undress and masturbate. He hadn't realised, thought there was another cause. How stupid he felt now. After a minute or so of shocked disbelief he stammeringly blurted his 'folly'.
"I....I.... I THOUGHT THAT WAS THE WIND!"
Which was, of course, correct.
Three of us where, by this point, visibly biting our own fists, so as not to laugh, and I sincerely expected him to wet himself. When I thought I could hold my chuckles no more and would give the game up, my salvation came in the form of the uncannily well timed return of Joizi and Trotter, drunk as lords.
Bursting into the kitchen, Trotter pointed at Joizi and bellowed,
"THAT DIRTY BASTARD TRIED TOUCHING ME UP ALL THE WAY HOME!"
Joizi strolled in just behind him.
Yowl stared at him.
Joizi noticed, and flashed back a camp, almost dainty wave.
I have never seen anyone run as fast as Yowl did at that moment before or since.
He didn't visit us again....
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 2:32, 8 replies)
Quite a while back,A few mates of mine where planning to go out to the forest for the night, for a bit of a camping trip (there isn't much else to do in the countryside), and they had asked me, and another few guys if we wanted to go along. We agreed at first, but then had a better idea...
We told them that none of us could make it that night, and they went without us, or so they thought ;)
We decided to go up to the forest, all in dark camouflaged clothing, and set up a camp near theirs, and as we knew they would be more than a little bit stoned, scare the crap out of the lot of them!
So once it was properly dark, we set off sneaking through the trees towards their camp, and to our delight, they where absolutely baked! We managed to get right up close, and started making creepy noises, and throwing little pebbles at them. They where terrified! And even as our tauntings bacame more obvious, they still didn't figure what was going on. The best part was listening to them attempt to rationalise all the strange occurences - "erm..oh its probably urm ..a squirrel dropping acorns on us, or something..." etc.
Trying to keep a straight face while listening to them tell the story in the morning was very hard indeed :)
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 1:47, Reply)
Fatto's lame attempt at stalkingI mentioned Fatto, my demon housemate, in a former QotW. It's time to elaborate on her fantastically bizarre attempt at stalking.
One thing you should know about Fatto is that she loved horror movies. Another thing you should know is that she liked to steal things. Talk reached the ears of the normal housemate faction (the four of us weighing approximately the same amount as Fatto) that she had stolen a mobile phone.
It was perhaps unsurprising, therefore, when E. received a text message, written in Fatto's idiotic prose style though from an unknown number. I cannot remember the wording, but it was somewhat venomous.
Then I got one, detailing my intense ugliness and how annoying my laugh was. And poor old S. received a stream of vitriol concerning her ginger hair. Which was a fair point I suppose.
Then a series of messages began to arrive on our mobiles, from the same telephone number: these were from somebody who was watching the house and planning upon murdering us all! Shock! Horror!
And Fatto, the poor dear was getting them too. She would reach her hand into her pocket, then moments later a murderous threat would appear upon her "official" mobile phone. Curious.
It is perhaps strange that this psychopath who was intently surveying our comings and goings would send text messages to E., S., and I about how monstrously obese we were. Yet Fatto did not receive these problems. Maybe said psychopath thought, "Hmm, can't mock Fatto over her weight, it's bound to be a bit of a sore point."
Fatto attempted to whip up a good degree of fear. "zOMGz!" quoth the whale, "we shall all surely be murdered in our beds."
"Worry not," replied I, "for the police have been notified. With their marvellous technology they can trace a text message to its exact point of origin and then sentence the vile perpatrator to eight years in prison."
"Oh," said Fatto.
Her sausagey fingers dipped back into the pocket of her tent-like hoodie. My phone beeps... I have a new message.
It is from our evil stalker.
"Sory [sic]," it says.
A few weeks later, Fatto gave out the number as her new telephone number. Mental, yes. Clever, no. Thank God.
(
Queen of Cheesecake, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 0:55,
1 reply)
Christ, I'm being turned into Maladicta's QOTW bitchHonestly!
Right, next story. And my final one for this week, as it stands. In Captain Wow's answer, she mentioned how her Dad dealt with her stalker, by holding him up against a wardrobe and strangling him. Now my story is in a similar vein, that is how I dealt with one, for a friend of mine.
Back when I was 17, and far more naive than I am now, I had a friend who was in a relationship with a Turkish bloke that hadn't ended well. It started off fine enough, as all these things do. Then she ended it, because "He was too fucking weird". He kept on pressuring her to marry him, for one. This was a person who was 15 at the time, I might add. Whilst I'm not sure of the legalities surrounding this, it's still bloody weird, either way you look at it.
So, as already mentioned, she broke up with him. Only this wasn't the kind of bloke who took no for an answer. At all. Like me, first of all, it was just texts. Then it moved onto phone calls. And then when she started just ignoring them, the love letters started, and they were truly freaky. They were rather innocuous at first, but as is the way with such things, they became twisted. I remarked at the time he had a mind like a corkscrew. Then she asked for my help.
Help? How? She lived in London, and I lived in Sheffield! How on Earth was I going to solve this one? Quite easily, as it turned out. She passed on his number, and I called him. The conversation, although short, went something along the lines of:
"Listen you Turkish fuck, if you ever contact my daughter again, I will hunt you down and make sure your body is never found"
I was quite surprised to find out that it worked. He only sent one more letter, apologising for ever bothering her.
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jim_bob can herd cats., Fri 1 Feb 2008, 0:40,
Reply)
the couch will never be the same againsorry for the length but trust me,this is the short version
i dont know why but i seem to attract the crazy ones,maybe its something im putting out ther who knows but the fact is the ones with the "stalker gene" tend to go for me.
we start our story in a fine little place called "lounge lava" (name re-arranged to protect the innocent) when she cornered me,unforunately i was highlly drunk,trapped in a booth,she was too large to get by and my friends,quite frankly,found it hilarious.
im glad to say i didnt do anything too bad (no amount of alcohol could make me) but i did talk with her and discovered we actually got on and she had quite a few vaguley hot friends so i thought "what the hell rocknroll_pirate,let her get to the friend-zone and play the set me up game" and so we do the texting thing,she tries to flirt with me,i leave it two days before replying etc generally playing the arrogant player (which im not,honest) unforunately for me she LOVES this,she steps up her game,keeps inviting me to her house,parties,the pub,ANYWHERE!
she waits a few weeks,probably thinks i want her to play hard to get,i didnt,i wanted her to leave me the hell alone,during my short lived reprieve me and my friends come to the conclusion that she is the exact double of princess fiona in ogre-form.....no exageration!
she tricks me with her plan,starts talking about horror films,tells me how shes never really watched any and what ones should she start with etc unfortunately im a horror junkie and fall for her trap hook line and bloody sinker
i end up in a big conversation about them and somehow drunkenly tell her to come to my house to watch some,i then forgot about this until she texted me when she be up
"fair enough" i thought,i had expressed to her many times how i had no romantic feelings about her,never have and bar some incredible breakthrough in plastic surery that makes a girl look like a sarah michelle gellar,never will, so i thought she understood completely and would keep her hands herself.
i forget which film we were watching,id rather not know as it would ruin it for me and put me off watching it ever again, i tell her im goin to the bathroom,she smiles and says "ok"
i return to what can only be described as a "retina-destroying" experience, she was lying on my couch,my LEATHER couch,bare-ass naked,you could see evrything,where she had shaved (and where she hadnt,bleaurgh!) except for one minor detail,she had left her black socks on!?! i still wonder about this fact actually,did she not have time to remove them or did she think i had some sort of wierd sock fetish,i guess il never know
i ask what she thinks shes doing,she looks at me with a genuine expression of both hurt and psychosis and says "i thought you would want me" i knew then i had to remove her,she had become terminal
i began to phase her out,she told all her friends i slept with her to which i yelled at her for,apparently she cried after i left the pub
i met mrs pirate not too long after that and have had a brilliant relationship with her,however,i do get a bit annoyed that she finds this story a tad too funny,to the point wher she tells EVERYONE she meets about it,i made the mistake of pointing princess fiona out to her and she openly pointed at her and laughed,i would feel bad if i hadnt seen her naked
theres lots more to tell about this very psychotic girl but that will have to wait for another qotw
p.s i now have a stalker who works in a shop near to mine,she always acts all cheerful to me but a total bitch to my mrs pirate and my friend....she also has a very flat face and looks like the cat from over the hedge,oh well
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 0:23, 1 reply)
Forgot this one.Back in the dim dark days of the interweb, when everyone had dialup and blogs were barely heard of, when all I really used the internet for was to endlessly search for David Duchovny fansites (I was 14) and to faff about on AOL messageboards, I had a little Diaryland space of my very own, where I wrote all my teen angst and unrequited crushes and longing for some wonderful boy to notice me and love me.
One day, I made the fateful mistake of mentioning that I was currently enjoying the musical stylings of one Kirsty MacColl. This was true, and still is, but I wasn't prepared for the tidal wave of scariness I was about to unleash. Not long after this, I was added as a friend by a random user, with this being the only thing we had in common. Then the emails started: would I join his Yahoo group, would I come to their meetups in London, and all the time comforting me about my apparent singleness, as he was 32 and hadn't had a girlfriend in about 14 years. Considering the content of my blog (usually how lonely, and horny, I was), and the fact I was underage, this freaked me out a bit, not to mention his other obsessions with young nubile TV presenters and being a member of a ring called wejerkoff or something like that. I hadn't learned the capabilities of the block button at this stage, either.
He played a sizeable part in me shutting down my diary a few years later and starting up elsewhere, whereupon he promptly found me again and carried on like nothing had happened (we had mutual online friends and seemingly he followed the breadcrumb trail). This was made more bizarre by his decision to randomly change his username in order to "avoid being Googled" or something, and he carried on posting inane comments on my blog, such as "have you seen Viggo's new film?" (at the time I was fansqueeing over Lord of the Rings) and continuing to try and either get me to come to the meetups, or to get my home address out of me. I dodged all of these rather smoothly, but was beyond scared about six months ago when I logged into Facebook one day to find I had a friend request: him. Complete with photo, obviously taken in a photobooth somewhere (or else a mugshot). The overall impression I got was sex-offender glasses, bald as a coot and shiftiness. Considering he thought my real name was Loretta, this was a bit of a jump. Figuring I could stick him on my limited profile (as in, no phone numbers, no address, and making sure he could see "In a Relationship", however, I didn't think too much of adding him.
These days, he ignores my blog in favour of stalking me through the medium of pointless Facebook applications, the occasional wall post (which gets deleted) and insisting our friend details mention how he knows me. I'm sorely tempted to log in as my other half and tell him to fuck off.
(
Maladicta, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 0:20,
8 replies)
Back at secondary school in WalesI was friends with another guy, Dan, who took the same bus as me.
One day, Dan gets on the bus looking a little nervous. He's been getting some pretty weird texts on his new phone. It started with things like:
"you're running out of time."
"Don't forget what's at stake"
And other such cryptically threatening statements. He was a bit shaken but decided to ignore them. Then after a few days they began to get more worrying.
"this is your last warning. don't make me angry"
"Wheres my fucking money? I'm not happy"
and finally
"I'm going to break your legs if I see you around"
We decided it had gone far too far when a very angry and scary voice message was left by a random welsh man, and texted suggesting he might have a wrong number... and heres the surprise; he got a very polite voice message back apologising at length and laughing about the "little misunderstanding".
As far as I know, Dan never heard back from him again, but was too scared to think about going to the police.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 0:17, 1 reply)
I been stalked, with a chamois.The wife and I moved 220 miles back to Manchester and bought a new house.
Within a fortnight we had the same window cleaner as the previous 7 yrs.
Think he likes my arse.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 0:09, Reply)
Stalked at a work party.Although this episode of stalking was brief I feel it needs to be told.
My company threw a big party at a country house to celebrate how well we had done in the last year. Amongst the people there was a guy who I shall call Brian. He loved my knockers and not really caring as I'd had several pints I let him stare at them. Sadly I didn't realise what I'd let myself in for.
Everytime I went out to the portaloos I had to look around nervously in case he appeared as he was doing everything in his power to cop a feel. I could sense his presence, I knew he was watching me waiting to strike.
A few drinks later and I let my guard down. Brian leapt out from behind a group of people in the style of a ninja assassin, stuck his face down my top and made a noise I can only describe as "BRRRRRRBLLLBBB-BLLLLBBBLLRRRRRRRR!" then leapt off back into the crowd.
I still hear that sound in my nightmares.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 0:02, 5 replies)
Scary Scary Kent LadyAs this QOTW is rapidly turning into a psycho ex's competition, I reckon I ought to wade in with my own tale of love-turned-to-fucking-batshit-mentalism. Twas the spring of '05, I think, and Melissa (because that is a close enough approximation of her name) was 16 and I was just a month short of the same, we used to frequent the same forum, I didn't talk to her that often but when we did we got on pretty well, she dated some other guy on the board who I was pretty good mates with and got to know her better through him, all was well and I didn't really have any interest in her 'that way'. Everything was going quite swimmingly in Shegetz's life.
Then, one day, she pops up on my MSN crying and weeping that my mate has dumped her and he's such an evil bastard and how could anyone do this to her and life was so terrible for her and I'm such a good listener and she's always liked me and oh look what happened we're in some sort of internet relationship. Whoops. A couple of weeks later my mate comes back on the boards - fuck knows where he'd gone, I hadn't seen him on or offline for the previous fortnight, but I digress - and I give him a proper bollocking for being such a twat to Melissa, and he promptly gives me one back for nicking his girlfriend, as he never dumped her at all and as far as he knew everything was going swimmingly between them. Alarm bells started to ring, but were drowned out by the possibility of some real actual fanny, so I go ahead and book the train tickets down to Kent anyway, but the earliest I can get away - school commitments, etc - is in a month's time. Oh well.
In the intervening month, I get the sob story. Apparently a member of her family molested her when she was a little girl and her dad and brother used to repeatedly beat the shit out of her until her mum threw them out. OK, that's pretty messed up, says I. She also says that her best mate was run over by a drunk driver, who she then stabbed, and was thus placed under house arrest, amongst other slightly outlandish stories, all of which I accepted, blinded to her nutterage by the sacred glowing fanny looming on my mind's horizon.
Fast forward to getting down there, we meet up, we hold hands everywhere, take walks in the park, and apart from her having a blazing row with one of her friends for 'trying to chat me up' (she wasn't - alarm bells VERY FUCKING LOUD now), everything's wonderful. Young Shegetz gets his first taste of fanny and decides he's completely in love. She evidently feels the same way, as she begs and pleads with Young Shegetz to stay for another week, over 16th birthday. What better way to celebrate one of the milestones to proper manhood than with your new-found love, thinks I?
A lot of ways, as it turns out.
Turns out, in case she didn't like Young Shegetz as much as she does, Melissa has arranged for another man from a different forum on which she is a regular to meet her the week after Young Shegetz goes home. Yes, readers, the same week she has just begged Young Shegetz to stay for. Did I mention she wasn't particularly bright? Anyway, she panics, and tries to explain away that this man is her mother's 'friend', not hers, despite not knowing her mother's name or phone number - he texted Melissa to announce his arrival - and spending all his time talking to Melissa and being surprisingly ignorant of his supposed girlfriend, Melissa's mother. Who resembled a walrus and was about 30 years older than this bloke. Young Shegetz had it sussed out, and contained himself well enough not to punch the geeky little cunthorse in his face - it wasn't his fault she was a slag, after all.
Huge row, recriminations, Young Shegetz takes to sleeping on the sofa, other bloke - who for the first night at least had the decency to take the other sofa - gives in after about five seconds of the second day and takes to Melissa's room. Sexy sexy time for them yay. Shegetz gets a ticket home and fucks off back to the Smog with his 16th birthday in tatters.
That, dear readers, was only the start of it.
As any big, tough, manly man would do in this situation, I spent a good ten days or so crying into my Hooch (I was 16 remember) and generally avoiding all human contact because I could not be with my gaping-fannied love. After a while, I decided that was enough self pity, and it was time to get on with my life by... going back on the internet. I was wild, me. Anyway, back I go, to find everyone I knew shouting at me for being such a bastard, telling me I tried to force myself on her and beat her up, which is apparently what she's been telling everyone - not just my mutual friends, she's searched my nicknames on Google and told everyone on every forum I knew that I was some sort of sadistic rapist, as well as getting into my MSN account and telling all my real-life friends the same thing. What followed was two years of every time I talked to anyone new on any of the forums she knew I went on, particuarly the one where I met her, her telling them that I was a sadistic rapist freak, her sending me letters to my home address telling me that she was going to get her new boyfriend to come and 'do me over' (he was a skinny wannabe Goth with a drape coat and a dangly earring, I'm a 6' 3" metalhead who used to play rugby for his school, and not a very happy one - I was looking forward to a bit of violence and he never turned up. Shame).
She repeatedly added me on MSN under differently named accounts, and quite openly stalked me across the internet for nigh on two years. My mate Paul, who I'd known since school, got it as well, with her always adding him under different aliases and asking about me, what I was up to, if I was with anyone, etc. Nobody would believe a word of it as they all believed the sun shone out of her arse - amazing the head start two weeks of bitching with no response can get you - and the only reason I ever got a shred of my reputation back was when she dated some other bloke from the same place and accused him of raping her and beating her up as well. Nobody's that unlucky.
The amusing ending to this story was that, after the end of my last relationship, which went tits up for an entirely different reason, I ventured back to all my old haunts under a different name, not wishing to start the whole cycle up again. She tried chatting me up again, not knowing who I was, and I had the great pleasure of telling her to fuck off and stop being such a fucking nutter.
Anyone else dated this loony? I think she's been raped and beaten by about half the internet now. Someone I know once made a list of all the people from that one forum that she's slept with, and the total came out at something like 13. I like to think that all this time she's been looking for someone to match up to my length, but I doubt it - she told everyone it was 3".
Happy endings and all that.
(
Shegetz Chris Kamara's comedy moustache, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 23:52,
3 replies)
An arab friend of mine......through some quirk of genetics, has blonde hair and blue eyes. She blames Alexander the Great, or one of his soldiers at least. I like to think she's Lawrence of Arabia's secret love-grandchild.
Anyway, she went to study at a big mosque in Cairo (she lives normally in Abu Dhabi) and discovered that egyptian men are not exactly PC when it comes to the comments they make about western women. Yes ladies, you really don't want to know what they are actually saying in arabic when they try to chat you up on those holidays to the pyramids.
Spotting my rather devout muslim friend, blond hair, blue eyes and all, they tend to jump to conclusion that she's not an arab and, warped by the apparently easy virtues displayed by the leading ladies of hollywood films, they think they are well in there.
Although, after being given a mouthful of arabic insults and being asked if they'd speak about their sisters that way, quite a few egyptian men might now be thinking twice before doing it next time.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 23:38, Reply)
I had a WoW stalker.Admittedly, he was a very young teenage boy, so you can't blame him. But WoW became a constant stream of questions that made long long walks become even longer walks. Instances became very difficult, cos I'd be healing people and answering the poor kid at the same time.
He brought me to a lake and fished for some deviate fish, and made me savoury deviate delights, which go for a lot of money. It was truly a romantic event in World of Warcraft... While my boyfriend hid behind a tree and ran from cover to jump up and down and run to the next tree.
One moment in particular was hilarious in retrospect. I was in my hometown of Thunderbluff, when here comes a PM:
B: Feanor, I have something to tell you.
F: What's up?
[at this point I must note that English wasn't his first language]
B: My hearth is broken.
F: Your hearthstone? Logging out and back in should fix that.
B: No, my hearth... You know... In my body.
F: Oh, your heart?
BAM. Shit. I'm in the middle of the most excruciating conversation ever. My lack of course was pissing himself laughing upon hearing this.
A big conversation of "no, don't say you love me, you're a kid and I'm a female tauren - who likes them?" I go on to learn that he loves my RL name - my name, not me - and dreams about my name - not me. It was one of the weirder moments in my WoW career that I won't forget.
Length? Months. That's as condensed as you're getting it, buddy.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 23:38, 3 replies)
It's all in my head reallyBut disturbing all the same. I'm being mentally stalked right now by Father Jack Hackett! Have a job interview in a Catholic school tomorrow and the more I worry about doing a Father Jack tick, the surer it is to happen :o/
Stuck to orange squash tonight, just in case. Will have thorough bath & shave 1st thing so as not to reek of piss. Might even go the whole hog & wax me 'tache too - that'll impress them. So long as Bishop Brennan isn't on the board of governors!? Feckin CRAGGY ISLAND!!!
(
Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 23:35,
2 replies)
Considering Maladicta's just told me to post this...Here we are then. Much like a lot of the stories I have read so far, mine happened in uni.
I was at the end of my second year, and had started going to church again, thanks to a friend of mine. Now I bear my friend no ill will over what happened, despite the fact he put me in this situation. I forget the name of the sad individual involved, but that isn't really important.
So, in Church, was this woman, who was your typical soul in pain. Alarm bells would normally ring for all of you at this point, however mine didn't. In fact, I thought the opposite, and decided to be friends with her. And so it was- there we were, just chatting away, as friends do. Looking back, I realise things were getting rather odd. Her body language completely changed round me, not that I noticed. She used to walk closer to me, and try and sit next to me whenever possible. I just figured she was lonely.
Oh boy, was I wrong. So, so, wrong. George Bush would have had a hard time keeping up with me on this one. Anyway. I left university for the summer holidays, went home, and then the texts started. Daily. They were, as has already been established this week, on quite the regular theme of "I love you" etc. One thing I haven't mentioned though. This woman was two things. One, she was old enough to be my mother, and two, she had enough personal problems to give Gag Halfrunt a very profitable career indeed. She had mental problems beyond the wet dreams of psychotherapists that charge by the hour.
But I digress. Back to the texts. The response, as I'm sure any of you reading will guess, was that I told her she had the wrong idea. This went back and forth several times, until the phone calls started, which were naturally on the same lines. This came to a head when the phone calls and messages started cutting in on family time. My Grandad in his own inimitable way solved the problem, by simply telling her to get lost.
Just my luck to befriend a sodding rape victim.
Incidentally, if you would like to hear the story of how I managed to solve the problem of a stalker, you know which button to click...
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jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 31 Jan 2008, 23:29,
3 replies)
I have a predilection for doing things in completely ass-backwards ways......which lead to a highly involved and complicated method of stalking my roommate in college.
I got him as a roommate by random pairing during my sophomore year and didn’t know a thing about him except his name. No one else in my dorm did either, not even what year he was, and I was getting pumped for information on the Mystery Man. Time went on and he remained enigmatic, but as others started to lose interest, I became increasingly intrigued.
In our dorm, a communal area connected to my room, which connected to his, so we effectively had separate but adjoined rooms, and so contact was absolutely minimal and was only in passing. I could have taken 10 paces and looked through his things, or followed him around, or probably even have asked him, but that would have violated the solemn barrier he had maintained. These methods seemed crass and intrusive, like Sherlock Holmes waterboarding a suspect. No, this would require finesse and ingenuity.
My goal was to determine his area of study by using only the information he made available to me. I was going to play by his rules, on his terms, and I was going to break him. Indeed, he was wily, but he had underestimated me as an opponent and had made one crucial mistake. Instead of entering and exiting his room via the secrecy of his window, he carelessly used the door, thereby walking past me in plain sight whenever he entered or exited his room.
For several weeks, I rigorously documented these crucial moments. Patterns developed, and soon I knew when all of his classes were. That narrowed things down somewhat, but any amateur could have done the same and I was still far from what I set out for.
The size of our campus made my grand achievement possible. I had accumulated a large and precise sample size of comings and going, which enabled me to determine not just when he was on the move, but how far he was traveling as well—an average return time of 7 after the hour meant drama, English, chemistry, or physics, while 10 after put him at math, economics, or the closer parts of the foreign language buildings. I mapped out all potential classes on the time schedule by biking distance, and then compiled my data by logical scheduling choices to put together a coherent picture (i.e. no Physics 101 and Physics 301 together).
This procedure ended up spanning two quarters since I needed help from sequential classes to narrow it down all the way, but I eventually managed to peg him as a philosophy guy with more than a passing interest in biology, probably looking at bioethics down the line.
I didn’t confront him directly about this, but as he packed to leave at the end of the year, presumably smug about the impenetrable enigma he had woven, I printed off a good 40 pages of notes and charts and stuck them into one of his bags.
I never saw him again.
Click “I liked this” if you liked this.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 23:21, 3 replies)
James PurnellHe is following me. Seriously, he gets into photos just to get closer. It is getting creepy.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 23:18, Reply)
well...There was once a girl that came to school with a shirt saying,
"Marry me fisherOfApples123"
...
Right
Needless to say, we are good friends now.
length? 2 years.
(this question seems off)
(, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 23:17, Reply)
shiteas per subject - this QOTW is shite.
sort it out b3ta else I'll stalk rob until a decent one is forthcoming - yes rob, that was the bushes rustling...
(, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 22:30, 1 reply)
What goes around comes around....Well, it all started with getting into one of those things called a relationship.
This man...his idea of a relationship didn't even register on the healthy scale. First the 'buying me a phone' then the controlling...and so on and so on.....How the the 'relationship' ended would make your jaw hit the floor...Anyways, when we split up, he phoned me for months on end, would call up my work and wait at my bus stops. In the the end, i had to get his number blocked from reaching my phone.
Cue about 6 Years later, a random e-mail out of the blue (mustve found my e-mail somehow). Being all crackers and bananas as he was...kept sending them. Freaked me out. I had to phone around to get hold of his mum to get it to stop.
Could be my just desserts, when I was 10, I was so jealous of my mate with her horses that I would stand in my garden and watch her riding round the field.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 21:38, 3 replies)
In which Maladicta gets all her QOTW answers out of the way in one go.While I was incarcerated in Pervland (otherwise known as the quaint medieval city of Siena, in Tuscany), I had the misfortune to experience the full brunt of the archetypal Italian stallion. Having only been taught by a guy from Turin before this, who was like the mad old uncle you only see once a year at Christmas (ciao Carmine), and who believed women were sacred (and so referred to us in the polite form "Lei" while being down with the boys and calling them "tu"), I was not prepared for the sheer level of perviness that can be inflicted on a girl for being young, of long hair (foolishly home-streaked with blonde) and generous proportions, and who has English skin and struggles to speak Italian in the correct accent.
This all began after a night on the couchette train from Lausanne to Florence (Che, as much as I'd like to be able to compete with your travels, I cannot), which was the most uncomfortable of my entire life, I arrived in Florence at about 6am, rudely awoken by my passport being thrown at me and a conductor yelling "Firenze! Firenze!" over and over (the train was continuing to Rome).
I grab all my stuff, haul it off the train and, badly in need of a shower and a decent night's sleep, book myself the first available ticket to Siena, about 45 minutes later.
Two hours later, I am on a slow train plodding through Tuscany, a huge wheely case at my feet and a lappy bag in my arms, struggling to remember any kind of Italian beyond the bits from that Python sketch, and trying to stay awake. I am also beginning to think Siena doesn't exist as I have been on this train forever. Very stupidly, I inquire of the man opposite me who is reading La Stampa and is about seventy, how much further it is to Siena. He tells me half an hour, and then engages me in conversation about who I am and where I'm from and where I'm going.
About halfway into this conversation, alarm bells start to ring in my sleepy brain, around the time he asks for my phone number. As luck would have it, he is also heading to Siena for the Saturday football match, and would I care to join him for an aperitivo on Piazza del Campo that evening? Truthfully I say I don't have an Italian phone number, and that my English phone doesn't work in Europe, but this doesn't daunt him. He plods off, and just as the train is slowing for what turns out to be Siena, he returns, clutching a scrap of paper in his wizened paw and telling me to call him that evening. Muttering "si si, grazie tanto," I use all my adrenaline-fuelled strength to pull my stuff off the train (no mean feat; when I flew home eventually I was 50kg over the limit and had to pay €100 for EasyJet to let me on the plane), down the stairs to the underpass all Italian stations have, and up the other side, before throwing his number into the first bin I came to and leaping in a taxi to take me to my halls of residence. I am beginning to hear banjos being plucked.
The story doesn't end there. For the next six months without fail, every Saturday I would be walking the narrow streets of my reluctant hometown (I don't mind admitting I hated the place, and not just because all the shoe shops were too expensive), and would walk past the same old man on his way to see AC Siena playing, and he would mutter something along the lines of "che bomba", before continuing, and every week he would get a look of puzzlement from me, until I realised - too late - who he was.
--
Second story: my halls in Pervland had in-room phones, which took incoming and international calls, and also we were able to dial internally. This was extremely useful to talk to my mum, and for my roommate to do the same, but it was also a pain in the arse. Not long after I moved in, the crank calls started. Some of them were the usual "you ordered a pizza? It's ready..." which appears to be transcendant of all nations, but the others were slightly more worrying.
*pling pling*
Me: (in English) Hello?
Other end: (in Italian) Hello, this is Marco, we met at the party the other night. Did I wake you?
Me: (quickly switching to Italian) No, it's 9.30 and I didn't go to a party the other night.
OE: Are you not Giulia then?
Me: No...
OE: So who are you then? What's your name?
Me: (sarcastic, and following my mum's advice to take the piss, which also applies to flashers) Dave.
OE: No no, what's your name, pretty girl?
Me: Oh, FUCK OFF! *slam*
(repeat x5)
When you don't know where these calls are coming from, and who's making them, it can make you feel like you're in a schlocky horror film about to be chopped to bits. My roommate got a few of them too, and as she used the phone more than I did to call the other girls she was friends with, occasionally she would get them too. As soon as Xenia started answering the phone more - just as I used to answer in English, she would in Greek - the calls got more and more frequent, and it wasn't till one night (at about 3am, not unusual) we realised that as soon as we hung up the phone next door would ring (the walls were that thin), we realised they were scoping the halls for victims. Further investigation with the rest of the Greek girls proved that they were trawling for Greeks to wind up, as they were in fact Albanians, for some political reason I don't quite understand (Frankspencer might know).
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Maladicta, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 21:36,
6 replies)
Any StoneJennifer Aniston (ex Friends) is a bit of a psycho. I was on holiday in Los Angeles when all of a sudden the mad cow starts following me around the place for at least three hours. I had to throw the handbag I had stolen from her at her head just to get rid of her. Its true what the say, fame turns you mad.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 21:15, 1 reply)
Anyone who knows me offline, or gazzed me for the And That Was The Thanks I Got QOTWwill know the ins and outs of this already, as this is something I refused to post last year. Now that it seems it's all done and dusted, and we are indeed no longer even pretending to be friends, I have no qualms about sharing it.
So, I give you:
The Tale of Stalker Girl
This particular scariness originates from a girl in a seminar I took in my first year of uni, who I initially got chatting to about something random; she added me to her MSN, and introduced me to her crazy love life, which, as it turned out, featured a guy from her corridor who, apparently, treated her terribly - he would sleep with her, then ignore her till he wanted to sleep with her again.
In between these events she would whine, cry, stress, listen to depressing music and send him bitchy emails demanding an explanation as to why he was ignoring her. The part I couldn't understand at first was why she *kept* going back to him when she knew what was going to happen. I now realise that she just likes to be miserable, and likes to cause as much drama as possible. And Gods help you if you're happy in her presence when she's "upset"...
Anyway, one by one her friends got rather sick of mopping her up because he was ignoring her, and so they told her that in future it was her funeral and if she wouldn't listen to good advice then they never wanted to hear another word about the whole thing. Eventually this number came down to one person... me, and I was too polite to say no.
Unfortunately because of the size of our campus, I have a few friends who know him, or know someone who does. Naturally some of my friends were a bit perturbed by the random girl crying over someone who clearly didn't care about her, and some of them have as a result stopped speaking to me because they think I must be the same. A friend of a friend was around, saw she was with me and said "Oh, I know you, you were on *****'s corridor last year!" "Oh yes, I know him! He does drama! We're friends... more than friends!" "Ah - that's not what he says. He's told everyone he knows you're stalking him."
What followed was more drama than a Myspace flame war, and this went on for the next year. She confronted him about the rumours, and ... slept with him. The cycle of the previous year continued, until... OH NOES! He got a proper girlfriend after telling her he didn't want a relationship (who, incidentally, he is still with, and while I don't know the guy other than by sight, good on him). The people she's whining to tell her "aren't you over that yet?" and tell her to shut up, she gets more upset and continues threatening to drop out, and saying she'll never talk to any of those people ever again, especially as more and more of them tell her they believe his side of the story. Again, leaving just me (she kept trying to get me to glare at him and shout at him "I hope you're satisfied!" and things like that if I saw him when the poor guy clearly didn't know me from Adam and cared less). Needless to say, I never did.
Anyway, she was sent to the same university as me for the first half of my Erasmus year. There were six or so of us there from our uni, as well as lots of Americans and some Aussies, and generally all the English-speakers kind of clumped together and talked. Not her, though. Oh no. In between telling me stories about how she knew they didn't want "us" around as there was no room made for us, and how we could only trust one another (remind you of anyone?), and telling anyone who invited us to come and sit them "no, we have things to talk about". She would start conversations like "I get randomly jealous..." "of what?" "Oh, forget I said anything..." "oh FFS..." and then never continue them until the next day, when she would come marching up to me "YOU IGNORED ME YESTERDAY!" and then stamp off.
She refused to go on all the nights out that were organised and the moment there was even a sniff of one "Oh I'm so tired, I feel so ill, I think I'll give this one a miss..." and then expect me to either do the same, or she would come out anyway but whine all evening about how "unfair" it was that she had to socialise and how if she didn't come everyone would bitch about her and say how she was faking it and being boring and ultimately would expect me to accompany her home when she got bored after an hour "in case she got raped" (a rather worrying obsession of hers), meaning that to all intents and purposes I wasn't able to have a life of my own. It got to the point where some people would be surprised to see me on my own and ask me where she was.
EDIT EDIT EDIT: There's more to this, that I completely forgot about. For starters, one day during lunch we were sitting with some twin girls from Iran, and discussing the relative merits of siblinghood (stalker girl and I are both only children). Stalker girl pipes up "I don't need a sister, I have Maladicta... she follows me like a shadow!" and grinned psychotically. This was one of the few times I told her she was being a nutcase, and said quietly "Would you mind going back to where Mariam and Zahra are sitting and telling them you just made that up?" to be confronted with the mother of all shitfits: "OH COME ON! IT WAS A JOKE!" and then stamping off in her usual manner, one reminiscent of a pissed off duck.
Also, in keeping with her "not-sharing-Maladicta-with-anyone-they-might-steal-her" policy, another time we were assigned to do some sort of presentation with two girls from India. Stalker girl takes an immediate dislike to one of them, claiming she thinks the girl fancies her (for someone who was bi one minute and not the next, this is a little hypocritical), and makes a fuss about working with them. As it happened, they lived in the same halls as us, and so we arranged to meet up one Saturday night to go over what we had. After knocking and waiting for about five seconds, stalker girl says "Oh, they're not in" and insists we return to her lair to carry on watching Red Dwarf or something. Three hours later, I am still sat on her bed and feeling incredibly fidgety (she also tried to take my keys off me so I couldn't go back to my own room by pretending to be interested in the keyring I was using, despite thinking having one shaped like handcuffs would "give people the wrong idea" for the same reason she was allowed to wear short skirts (and she was not what anyone would call suited to them) because I would "get a reputation as a slut"*). I digress. There's a knock at the door and on opening it, the two girls are there apologising for not being in as they'd been to Germany for the day. Stalker girl says "fair enough, don't worry about it, we've done our part" and shuts the door. She scowls and what she said next will haunt me for the rest of my life:
"You know what I should have done?"
"No."
"I should have got into my underwear, put my dressing gown on, opened the door a crack with my vibrator** in my hand and said 'do you mind? Me and Maladicta are shagging.'" That was the day I mentally ran screaming out of her room, but in reality I simply got up and said I needed to go home (and even then she'd walk me halfway back to my corridor in case I went visiting someone else).
The worst thing I can think of that she did was completely ruin my 21st birthday. The night before she came round claiming to be "pissing blood" (she regularly fakes being ill, she's had warts, chlamydia and various other ladies' problems according to her, and it's always something that isn't immediately obvious so you can't be 100% sure she's faking, so you can understand why I just said "well okay, see how you are tomorrow.").
True to her word she dragged me out of my last lecture of the day the next day "it's happening again..." (after no mention of it all day) and straight to A&E, where we stayed for three hours (I opened my birthday cards there), where she was examined (I wasn't in the room, so I don't know for sure if the doctor really did say she had the kidney stone she claimed to have), and she constantly whining "I've ruined your birthday, you should just go..." so in the end I said "Bye, then" and went home to have fun with the friends she'd been trying to prevent me from having a party with. We have wine and pizza and generally have fun till about 11pm, when she returns from the hospital, claiming to have absolutely nothing visibly wrong with her. And the next day, having been in agony yesterday with the most painful thing known to man, is able to stamp about in my kitchen like a spoilt duckling with pigtails when she is unable to make the perfect pancake, yelling "I'm so stupid!" over and over before running off in tears.
What did she get me for my birthday, I hear you cry? A set of admittedly very pretty underwear from La Senza I had mentioned liking in passing, plus as we'd been clothes shopping together a few times she knew my sizes. I pretend to this day they were from my then boyfriend.
Speaking of whom, around this time I met him through QOTW (we're still friends), and made the mistake of telling her (well, she saw me type "I love you" on MSN, I had no choice but to tell her). She spent the whole day calling me a "selfish cow" and how she "liked having a single friend", and how she was going to "go home and play with knives" and "would it kill me to spend some time with her", and all the usual empty threats. For once I argued back and told her it was my business and I would continue to see him for as long as I wanted, not as long as she wanted. This led to endless needling about how "internet relationships aren't real" (she had had one not too long before this, which ended when he "tried to rape her" in some random layby near to the pikey hell she lives in) and comments about "if I find out you're having an evening in with him I'll interrupt you pretending to be upset". She also pretended to be "worried" about me and hoped this would incite me to dump the poor bloke, but I'm pleased to say this failed miserably.
This eventually led to me feeling like I was being constantly watched: as well as doing everything in her power to keep me away from MSN and my emails, so I wouldn't talk to him, and constantly telling me he was "a rapist", she threatened to kill herself when I told her I wanted to cook on my own of an evening and spend time with people who weren't her "I nearly SLIT MY WRISTS LAST NIGHT and you JUST DON'T CARE!", telling me it was "unfair" to see mutual friends without her, and generally behaving like a spoilt brat.
Relieved I was finally seeing the real Brian (for that blatantly is not her name), I finally snapped (this is quite hard to make me do, and is reserved only for people who really, really cross the line). Looking back, it was only because so many others believed me and understood why exactly she was driving me so nuts that I survived it all, although knowing I had support made me a lot more gung-ho about telling her to shut the fuck up when it was needed and finally gave me the backbone to tell her where to stick her clinginess. I repeatedly told her to fuck off and leave me alone, and acted as I do to Stalker Boy, to no avail as she denied all knowledge of her behaviour "Why are you snapping at me? All I'm doing is being friendly..." and would complain to anyone who'd listen that "the girl I thought was my best friend doesn't want to spend time with me, we never do anything together any more" (please note, I'd not even been able to go to the toilet without her coming before this, in case I bitched about her to the toilet roll dispenser).
As a result of this, she uninvited me to her own birthday, as I was "constantly snapping at me, and I don't want you spoiling my day", then seemed to have forgotten about it the next day and reinvited me, then was surprised when I'd made other arrangements. Fortunately, a week later she went home for the holidays and I left Switzerland a week after that. And I have had minimal contact with her since, as it seems that 10 months of ignoring someone is enough for anyone to get the message. She does periodically read b3ta, so if she didn't know before she will now, I think.
Click "I like this" if you think I've had more than my fair share of stalkers.
And length? I had to hear about that, and the girth, and what he did with it, far too many times. It's a wonder I don't like girls.
* Meanwhile, I have to hear all the details of her fucked-up sex life (rape fantasies, anyone?) and how she is simply dying for a full bondage kit to play with. OH GOD THE IMAGES.
** Not to mention regularly hear about how many vibrators she had, and know exactly where she kept them and how often she used them.
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Maladicta, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 21:14,
8 replies)
This question is now closed.