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Pooster says: "When we were younger my little brother had a tantrum which ended when he threw a fork and it stuck in my other brother's cheek for a bit." Tell us your tales of screaming kids, and adults acting like children.

(, Thu 19 Jul 2012, 12:48)
Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

It took me 2 days to put i na new shower the other weekend.
The main reason being was that I was on a low streak and whenever something went wrong/not 100% right it would annoy me, to the point that I had keep stopping, sit down infront of my computer and kill things for a bit until I calmed down. I came so close to having a tantrum and smashing the crap out of the bloody thing so many times I lost count.
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 19:30, 5 replies)

(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 18:54, 8 replies)
Mr Efemy and Mr Welch
...friends of my brother, both working in the music industry and had done their share of hard graft and roadie-tasks as well as later on becoming respected sound engineers an producers.

At some time during the 90s they were interviewed by Q magazine for the 'roadie' experience, debunking myths and injecting a note of reality into life on the road.

When asked how times had changed from when they first started to how it was then, they mentioned that certain (unnamed) guitarists would get very upset with the least tiny knock of their precious gear, to the point that during a Meth-induced paddy they would scream, shout, spit and punch the ones doing the fetching an carrying. Where it had changed, in the mid 90s was when the recreational drug of choice became Ecstasy.

Apparently it was almost as unsettling when the same kind of twerps would bubble up to you while you were doing your job an keep on exclaiming "Wow, you're so talented, how can I ever thank you?' while hovering around and giving hugs.

Where getting rightfully pissed off can end up with you in heaps of trouble, however- a concert in Springfield when Skid Row were opening for Aerosmith, someone tossed a bottle which hit the frontman, Sebastian Bach, in the head. He grabbed a bottle and threw it back at the person who had lobbed it, completely missing and hitting a girl in the face- then proceeded to jump, boots-first into the audience to have at the original bottle tosser. Was then later charged by the Police for 'Incitement to Riot' which carried a rather hefty prison sentence of (potentially up to) 100 years....
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 17:46, Reply)
Before my sister was born...
...life was grand, I ruled the roost, there was nothing my parents wouldn't do for me, I was their one and only, the twinkle in their eyes, life was good.

Then my mum got pregnant and as any toddler will attest, to me, this just wasn't on, in fact it was crushing.

Suddenly the days of unparalleled love started to wane, my parents time was taken up with painting MY play room pink, moving my toys into my room, rubbing my mum's tummy more than mine, mum not having the energy to chase me around the house as I squealed with joy, basically they stop loving me and caring that I existed.

I knew the good days were up, but I wasn't prepared to let my now neglecting parents off the hook so easily, so one day whilst out doing the weekly shop with my very pregnant mum (she says that my sister was born a couple of weeks after this incident, so she must have been very pregnant - an also very negligent) I made sure she started making time for me again and that others would help fight my cause.

As we queued up to pay I put my plan into action. I threw myself to the floor making sure I slide a good few feet, slid onto my back, reached one arm into the air and pointed my finger at my mum. Mum says that at that moment the world slowed down and just as it sped up again I uttered the words that would be the fatal blow of my plan:

"She pushed me..."

The horror on people's faces I can only imagine, but it worked, a little old lady spun on her heels and said to my mum:

"Just because you're having another one, doesn't mean you should forget about the other"

Win, win, win, win - don't mess with me!
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 17:22, Reply)
Perhaps not exactly a tantrum
When I was about fifteen my mum was passing thoroughly through the menopause, and wasn't always easy to live with.


Me: "Mum, I am".


Me: "I am, mum".


Me: "Mum, you have my breakfast in your hand and I'm standing right behind you".*



*I had been walking down the stairs during the previous parts of the conversation
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 15:46, 2 replies)
I have tantrums online
chavs chavs chavs chavs chavs chavs chavs

I wasn't gonna write this one, but I should probably get it out of my system as it will be cathartic and my limited edition hasbro super Optimus Prime commanded me to. Please bear with me - it's not particularly funny, but I need to vent. It'll probably be a long one, and may contain elements of repostiness, as I probably talked about some of this stuff before.

For a long time I lived on a street in London - the same one as Dr. Crippen, if you can be arsed to check - which was ideally situated (handy for the tube, great pubs, quick walk to Camden, my neighbours were fantastic) except for one thing. As the street had been extensively revitalised by the Luftwaffe's urban regeneration programme during the forties, in the fifties and sixties a lot of council blocks sprung up to fill the gaps. On the whole, this wasn't a problem - my flat was an ex-council place and lovely, it even had a garden, and like I said, fantastic neighbours - but there's always a couple of bad apples that spoil the whole orchard, and they lived in a block just behind mine. So over the four years I lived there I got to witness all kinds of crimes, mostly directed at me, my housemates or the flat itself, as these little scrotes (none older than 15) tried to make our lives a misery. Herein I shall try to document the ways.

It started off innocuously enough, when the morning after I stumbled down to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. Filling the kettle and staring out of the window, I spotted a young chav in my garden collecting tea-lights. Those little candles that I had bought 200 for 99p at the 99p shop - these things cost less than half a penny each. Surely the very definition of petty crime. I banged on the window, shouting "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" and the little bugger scarpered over the back fence. I made a mental note to grow brambles up the back fence, and left it at that.

Other things went missing from the garden over the next few weeks - small items often not worth stealing, like a trowel (also from the 99p shop), a gnome (whatever) and so on. In the meantime our sheds were done over and both of my housemates got their bikes nicked. My housemate Claudia had all the windows smashed in her Audi, which cost her a fortune. Things began to escalate.

The gang of chavs would now often hang out in the street and shout abuse at us. When my housemate Kirsten left her keys in the door while bringing in her shopping, they stole them. When Claudia did the same thing a week later while bringing in her bike (it must have taken about 20 seconds) they did the same thing again. We went through three new locks in three weeks, and the guy at the keycutters was becoming a close friend.

Over the years there were times of uneasy truce - they would pass a spliff through the fence, or I'd sort them out with some serious firewood for the Wicker Man-style bonfires that they held on the greenspace behind my garden, but most often the mood between us was one of mutual and barely-disguised loathing.

I credit them with the inspiration for my getting more right-wing as I get older, because while I was once a fully paid-up lefty, I'd quite happily see these parasites and their dolescum parents marched into a concentration camp after being forced to put up with their shit. A case in point - everyone who lived in my flat had a full-time, well-paid job. We paid £400+ per month rent, plus council tax, plus income tax etc. etc. for the privilege of living in the street. Said chavs are all in council places, subsidised or free. Lo and behold, the council comes round and fits all the flats in the street with new extra-tough double-glazed windows - except for ours and the flat next door, because we were the only private tenants. So basically, our council tax paid for the chavs to get new windows while we were left with old-fashioned huge single-pane-of-thin-glass type windows, which their kids used to come round and break for their amusement. I've lost count of the times we had to board them up - the hammer, nails and wood were always kept handy - and sometimes at night when there were 40+ teenage hoodies outside the flat it was like living through the dawn of the dead.

One bonfire night in particular, I had invited over a couple of my Canadian friends - one who had just married an Englishman - to do a proper bonfire night. I cooked dinner, we had sparklers and we let off a few fireworks in the garden. One of our rockets went up and went bang, and suddenly a chav starts screaming at us from the previously-mentioned Wicker Man inferno across the way. "We've got a baby over here! How dare you let off fireworks!"

Now I was perhaps a little naïve here, I was like, "What? It went up, went bang. Unless your baby is on the roof of that block of flats, there's no problem." Also, from where I was standing I could see toddlers carrying lit fireworks, even a dog running around with a fizzing roman candle in his mouth. I shit you not, this kind of thing was incredibly common in the run-up to bonfire night; even the very smallest chavs would be launching fireworks at each other, or us if we happened to be passing. Anyway, I couldn't understand why our small display had caused this proud father to become so protective of his offspring, considering he was standing in what looked to be a warzone.

Anyway, the mood turned nasty and every single fucking chav on the estate started hurling bricks and fireworks at our flat, putting through Claudia's window and throwing fireworks into her room (she was in bed with her boyfriend at the time). Said boyfriend (ex-army) proceeded to the kitchen to arm himself with every big knife he could find and stormed out to get himself some vigilante justice, but was miraculously prevented from earning himself a 20-year stretch by a passing skinhead with a pitbull who said he'd lived in the street for 15 years and it wouldn't do any good, basically talked him down.

We also had our windows put through by other people's garden furniture and fences - just smashed into bits and thrown. We had fruit, 2p coins, bits of wood, stones, cans, bottles, fireworks, obviously, and even on one occasion a housebrick thrown at us in the street. We've had them sneak into the kitchen and steal stuff while we popped upstairs to get something - twice. We've also had the door kicked in twice, both times I was away for the night else I would have been standing there with a cricket bat, ready to welcome the first chav into our house. On the first occasion my housemate threatened to kill them if they came near the house again so they went and put my car window through instead.

A bit later, and after I'd paid the £50 premium, I bought a "new" car (see below), thankfully still had the old one but was going to retire it. The new car had all its windows put through and then was stolen, apparently by someone else, some time after the original vandalism. I mean, who steals a boxy red 1983 VW Polo with the exhaust hanging off *after* it's had all its glass smashed?

They also managed to infiltrate a house party where they managed to fuck up a set of decks and two stereos and nick a bunch of phones and stuff (discovered later) before refusing to leave, upon being persuaded to leave they tipped over our (gargantuan, shared between four flats) bin all over the front garden. On that occasion we had the last laugh though, as present at the party were the entire staff of both the Good Mixer and the Dublin Castle, who are well-versed in dealing with arseholes, and had been watching from the upstairs window. Fifteen or so burly Aussies and Kiwis burst out of the house and made them pick every piece of rubbish back up again.

There is loads of stuff that I haven't even mentioned yet - stealing a stack of SFX magazines from my car and leaving them torn up all over the street, setting fire to a gazebo and bunting we had for a wedding reception (and which was attached to the flat at the time), smashing up my flowerpots and hanging baskets, stealing a £10 Argos drill (but not the battery pack, the bit that makes it work, as it was plugged in at the time), smashing my neighbour's windows with lemons (wtf?) while she was sitting at home alone, putting shit through the letterbox, stealing post, smashing my coldframe, killing my tomato plants, pulling the drainpipes off the building, crap graffiti, untold verbal abuse and threats, the list just goes on and on and on...oh and they tore down the side of my fence (which I'd had spraypainted by an absolute master of his craft with a massive Batman mural) and burnt it last bonfire night.

And where were the police in all this, you may ask. Well, I got to know all the neighbourhood officers quite well during this time, as well as my equally-harassed neighbours, and every time they said the same thing - "Yeah, we know who they are. We know where they live. There's nothing we can do about it." As they were all under 16 they were still classed as minors, and the police were always quick to remind me that assault on a minor carries a sentence. I asked them if a paintball gun could legitimately be used in self-defence against fireworks, and after laughing they said "No sir, I can appreciate it is tempting, but if they are under 16, you'll still be in the shit." So basically there was nothing I could do except try to photograph the little buggers in the act and email the pictures to the police. The best line I think they came out with was after my car window got broken. They said "You know we have a camera on the street now."
I replied: "Great, where is it?"
They said: "It points down the road there."
I'm like: "Great, that's exactly where my car is parked. You should have it all, can we see the tapes from last night?"
They said: "Er, it's not actually a camera. It's just a metal box on a stick. We can't afford a real camera. But it looks like a camera."
Me: "..."
I installed my own CCTV after that.

So, the moral of the story? I've now been living in Buenos Aires for three months and so far I've not been threatened, robbed or assaulted once. Perhaps it has something to do with the armed policeman who stands on the corner by my house, I don't know. All I know is that despite warnings from my Porteño friends that it's a poor area (many, many times poorer than the place I lived in London) and that crime is high, the only actual crime I've seen here is when my friend got his bag snatched from under a table in a pub in Palermo - one of the most touristy areas of the city. I think I'll come back to London at some point, but the proverbial wild horses couldn't persuade me to live in that area again, I'd rather move in with Pete Doherty.

Length speaks for itself.
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 14:35, 118 replies)
My sister was a typical teenager - ie - horrible.
One day when she wouldn't get into line, my father threatened to come and pick her up from school wearing a silly hat.
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 14:08, 7 replies)
I have a few tantrum related stories that will come up later this week (If I get the time). Thought I would start with how I deal with tantrums.

Child related tantrums at casa Bison are usually sorted in a variety of ways, the usual ones where they are put on one of the many naughty steps in the house or sent to bed to cool down are the preferred method but there are a number of alternative options that will only be used when dad (me) is in a mood to really wind up said tantrum thrower and (In my opinion anyway) diffuses the situation a lot quicker.

My favorite one is the penguin button. I first get the attention of the child in question and then make a thumbs up gesture, and every time said tantrum throwing sprog does something they shouldn’t (i.e screams/flaps arms/stomps) I push my thumb down onto my balled up fingers (as if the hand contains a button) and make the noise of a penguin/duck (I will admit that I’m crap at animal noises). I also cannot keep a straight face while I’m doing this as the stupidity of it and the fact that the tantrum thrower seems to get more and more pissed off/confused just makes me laugh.

Example: Daughter is kicking off due to her brother refusing to let her use Batman and the Batmobile as a suitable date for her Hello Kitty* and has gone from 0 to volcano

Daughter: Grahhh ITS NOT FAIR!!!!!!
Mon: Quack
Daughter: RAGGGGHH (Flaps Arms)
Mon: Quack
Daughter: STOP IT!!!
Mon: Quack
Daughter: Mehh LEAVE ME ALONE, stops off upstairs
Mon (With every stomp): Quack, Quack, Quack
(Daughter goes to her bed by herself to cool down and dad plus siblings not involved all laugh out loud at stupidity of situation)

After a few times the kids see me making the gesture and automatically bugger off out of the way as they know what’s going to happen. I love being a dad.

*Actual argument that did happen- I walked in to see daughter screaming that she didn’t want to take hello kitty to fight the Joker and that J (My son) was being nasty as Batman would not batarang the waiter because he brought poisoned bread to the table.
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 13:30, 3 replies)
I once got so angry that I beat up an Irishman.
It was a black and tantrum.
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 13:19, 5 replies)
When I was younger
I was a very angry kid. One day I was playing Skooldaze 2 on my spectrum, using an old atari joystick (the square one with one red button on the side). I was further in the game than I had ever been, when the joystick started to fuck up. Eric was firing his catapult randomly and sitting down etc. so I was getting told off and ended up getting too many lines and losing the game. I was livid. Absolutely fuming. I ripped the joystick out and started smashing it on the floor. It was however, unyielding as it had a rather thick plastic case. So i took the fucker outside onto the patio and tried to release all my rage by swinging it over my head as hard as I could and hopefully smashing it to tiny pieces. It hit the patio and bounced straight back and hit me square in the forehead. I nearly passed out. So did my brothers who were watching, but that was through laughter.
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 13:01, 5 replies)
Tantrum twins
When I was in middle school there were two male identical twins in the year above.

I don’t think they came out of the mould properly or perhaps their grandfather was their father…

As well as looking a bit like a rough sketch done by a masturbating lab chimp, if you touched one of them, they would BOTH scream at the tops of their voices – louder than a fleeting ambulance siren.

Weirdest pyschotic episode (eppie?)/tantrum I’ve ever seen.
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 12:56, Reply)
north / south divide
As a northern dweller im used to the gentle kindness of fellow northerners and their "in your face
but totally honest" insults but was shocked to find that people from london are very closed of to people and goings on around them.

I was absolutely hammered on the tube coming back from a party when i was sat opposite two polish guys looking at me and laughing their heads off.

I looked at them and said .' Where i come from if we take the piss we do it to someones face, instead of giggling to your bloody boyfriend about how if somehow i entertain you in my pissed state at least have the courtesy to let me in on the joke you pricks!"

In a thick eastern european accent," hey man, your flies are down".

At the next stop i promptly left, tail between my legs ( thankfully now zipped up )
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 11:24, 8 replies)
I don't know what he's saying, but this man seems VERY cross about something
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 11:14, 2 replies)
Just went to see Batman in Denver
They ran outta popcorn, to say i wasn't happy is an understatement but I showed them.
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 10:05, 6 replies)
This took far too much effort to do on my phone.

(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 10:05, 31 replies)
A repost
A few years ago, I worked in the same building as someone I'll call James. For the most part, he was the most mild-mannered, friendly guy you could ever wish to meet. But, boy oh boy, did he take his job seriously. And there were times when he had a very short fuse.

All was going well one day when suddenly, from the other end of the building, there was a noise. It was James.
He was shouting.
"Bastard! Fucking shitting bastard! Cunt! Jeezus Christ! FUCKING BASTARD CUNTING ARESEHOLE FUCKING BOLLOCKS SHIT!"

Since James' job involved heavy and expensive equipment, there was naturally a fair degree of concern raised by this outburst. There was also no small curiosity about the carnage that must have prompted it.
"James! Are you OK?"
"What's wrong?"
"I've dropped my FUCKING PENCIL! AGAIN!"

In fairness to him, retrieving it meant negotiating a couple of flights of stairs. But, all the same...
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 9:52, 2 replies)
The crew were surly, and there were whisperings of mutiny.
The officers gathered at the rough oak table in the captain's quarters. "If we don't raise morale, the crew will revolt," the First Mate said. "We've been lost at sea for too long already, and they're losing faith in us."
"Whip 'em again!" menaced the Captain.
"We can't use the cat on them any more sir," came the reply. "Last time there was a lashing the Flog Master got his arm broken; the men are at breaking point as it is."
"Fuck 'em!" grumbled the Captain.
"We can't sir, we haven't caught a dolphin for weeks, and the blowhole on the last one is torn ragged."
"Get 'em drunk!" growled the Captain.
"Would that we could, and us too sir! But we've no spirits, no ale, no grog left, not a drop to bring that sweet, sweet oblivion."
"Well fookin' THINK OF SOMETHING!" the Captain bellowed. "I'm going for a piss!"

The Captain stormed off to his gaderobe, where the delicate tinkle of urine splashing into the chamberpot rang loudly over the silence around the table.

"BOY, empty that pot!" the Captain thundered as he re-entered the room, buttoning his breeches.

"WAIT!" Shouted the First Mate, rising to his feet. His eyes shone with the mischief of a devious plan. "Bring the pot in here, unemptied. And be quick about it!"

Five minutes later, multiple tinklings could be heard from the Captain's Quarters.


"DRINK UP, ME HEARTIES!" guffawed the Captain, cracking open the wooden barrel. "This is me Special Reserve! I was saving it for a special occasion, but now it goes to you, my beautiful boat-born boys. Drink your fill!"

The crew cheered and descended on the barrel, dipping battered pewter mugs into the frothy brew. "Hurrah for the Captain!" yelled one brave soul as the men clanked their mugs together and quaffed their fill.

Then the vomiting started.

"Wot der fuck is dis?" drawled a thick-set crewman, barrel-chested with arms thick as the mast. "This tastes like piss".

"Piss and paraffin", his weasel-faced deckmate sneered. "Or naptha. These bleedin' officers are trying to fob us off with gutrot while they drink brandy in the mess! Them filthy fucking rotters!" The slow scraping of a steel blade screeched across the suddenly silent ship as a seaman unsheathed his sword.

"Stand back, you brutes, stand BACK!" shouted the First Mate, hand reaching down for his lash. "You got your drink, you drink it. Drink it, I tell you!"

"Shan't", roared the crew as one, as they lunged towards the officers. "'T'ain't Rum! 't'ain't Rum! 't'ain't Rum!"
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 8:21, 6 replies)
Wait. When did we stop calling tantrums 'eppies'?
It's political correctness gone mad. Or at least having a grand mal seizure.
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 6:39, 9 replies)
My three-year-old often has tantrums.
That's about it really.
Oh, did you want to read something interesting? Sorry.
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 6:22, 4 replies)
My last glass-lined thermos
broke when I braked hard to avoid a driver who cut me off. This happened directly before a traffic stop and I had time to run to his window and show him my thermos, bleeding beautiful, steaming coffee into the brisk air.

He glanced at my horrible visage and took off to get away. I launched the thermos in a high arc and hit his car. My thermos broke apart into many tiny glittery pieces therein. As I picked up the shards, I apologized continuously to bystanders, for my unseemly display of anger. Repeatedly bending over and standing up, I well played the part of the contrite peasant in a feudal-era Japanese movie.

That happened 30-years ago and I'm glad to this day that I got my anger all out my system with one very nice toss.
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 6:15, 3 replies)
i got so angry as a child i purposely threw all of my brothers toys into the toilet and had a wee on them.
(, Fri 20 Jul 2012, 3:38, Reply)
Years ago (well, 3 years ago) a uni flatmate needed to borrow my laptop because his had broken due to a horrific accident mainly involving his clumsy nature, a glass of cider and the previous dozen glasses of cider.
Hungover, he asked to borrow my device the following day and duly I obliged, thinking he was going to be working on a probably overdue project. Upon the return of my device I was surfing the net and happened to notice a proliferation of smut, I confronted the wanker (see what I did there?!) to find that he had used my device mainly for auto erotic practices and not at all for his looming deadline.

And this is how (wait for it...) I ended up with a 'Tainted ROM'
(, Thu 19 Jul 2012, 22:51, 7 replies)

Tantrum wank = spoff in eye..
(, Thu 19 Jul 2012, 22:44, Reply)
I fell off my skateboard
Went to snap it in anger and it bounced back and hit me in the face.
(, Thu 19 Jul 2012, 22:26, Reply)

(, Thu 19 Jul 2012, 21:08, Reply)
I lost it completely when I saw that people weren't allowed to talk about me here.

(, Thu 19 Jul 2012, 19:38, 7 replies)
"Don't worry!" called out Shedulus, young MMPS alien bad guy blaster shedformer chum.
"Shit! Hurry up big man!" MMPS exclaimed with rising panic. "This bastard cunt greenhouseicon is fucking well tooled up."

The battle for the allotment raged on as alien sheds had at each other with awe inspiring weapons. MMPS watched as shedulus grapled with an evil greenhouseicon, his huge arm slamming into an oil can and spraying the two combatants with sticky liquid. The young companion was instantly excited. Holy fucking cunting shit, he thought, I'm going to jizz in my replica 1994 blackburn rovers shorts!

As the battle raged on so did his erection. When the battle was over he would sneak inside the sleeping robotic alien shed and wipe his glistening hood over the flymo.
(, Thu 19 Jul 2012, 19:08, 6 replies)
that i had a cup of tea until it all blew over.
(, Thu 19 Jul 2012, 18:15, 3 replies)
My wife announced, mid flounce,
that she refused to argue with me if I was "going to be logical about it".

She didn't talk to me for about a day, result!
(, Thu 19 Jul 2012, 16:39, 9 replies)

This question is now closed.

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