Super Dad
My mum had to go on a training course for a few days, over my birthday. Meaning my Dad would have to handle my birthday.
No big deal i though, since my Dad runs his own company, sorting out my birthday won't be that hard.
Wake up at 7am, rush down to see presents that Stephen Hawking would have wrapped better. Think nothing of it, as it's only wrapping paper.
Open the presents, an Action Man. BRILLIANT! It's what i asked for, except oh wait, it's one i've already got. My Dad obviously didn't realise there were more than one Action Man. A twinge of disappointment streaked through me now.
Move onto the cards, all's good. A little bit of money of grandparents and the likes, until i finally reach the last card. It reads 'Darly'. My names Daryl. Hmmm, its probably off a senile relative i think. But nope, inside "To Darly, Happy Birthday, Love Mum & Dad".

Mass tears thanks to my dad not only getting me the wrong present, but also spelling my name wrong.


Although he made up for it a few months later, when he removed the spindles on the bannister for the stairs, and left my 3 year old sister playing upstairs. Yes she did fall straight off the stairs. Yes she hurt herself. Yes i was waiting at the bottom watching her, hoping she'd fall. And yes i was absolutely laughing my tits off.


And there's the time he left an open full can of RED paint, perched ontop of the NAVY armchair, whilst me and my brother where chasing each other. And my mum was not too pleased to come home, to see a NAVY armchair, and a NAVY carpet now complete with red paint streaks all over it.
And he actually tried to blame it on me. He said "It was the kids, they were playing drums with them, and they must have hit it too hard and the lid flew off, and the paint went everywhere."

Oh yes dad, brilliant excuse, a 7yr old can hit a paint tin so hard it explodes.

I am dreading growing older, knowing i may possibly turn out like that.
(TinyDinosaur, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 9:52, Reply)

Freddy Krueger is real!!!!!
After reading a harrowing tale on here yesterday concerning that poltergeist film it brought back the most horrendous experience of my childhood and which gave me a sleepless night last night just thinking about it. Once again this concerns my childish, prankster, twat and all round cunt of a father. While being only the tender age of thirteen I was aloud to stay up late one night to watch Friday night TV. My parents were going through a period of not talking to each other at the time and so my mum had fucked off to bed early and my dad was working in his shed. So channel 4 it was then.....

Remember how good Friday night TV was on channel 4 back in the 90's, eurotrash, who's line is it anyway, roseanne and not forgetting the obligatory French grot/art film. I digress. Nightmare on elm street was on that night and I decided that I wanted to see what all the fuss was about concerning this film. Playground gossip had put it in high stead. So there I was kicking back in the recliner chair (dad's chair) with my coke and crisps and the lights off (btw i hate the dark now). The film was pretty unimpressive for the first hour or so but this lead me into a false sense of security. During this period of relaxed viewing my father was busy in the shed working but little to my knowledge he was making a Freddy Krueger glove and plotting my demise.

At this point I must point out that I was fully kicked back in the recliner chair to the point I was nearly horizontal. Then the scene where Johnny depp was in his room watching TV on his bed came on, we all know the one. Just before the penultimate moment in the scene where Freddie's hand cuts through the bed and drags poor Johnny down my cuntish father had slipped into the room with the stealthy skills of an SAS soilder and creped behind the chair. I was unaware at the time that it was possible to get your hand through the chair from behind. I think you know whats coming next and the absolute cunt timed it to perfection.

As soon as Freddie's hand came through so did my dads. I jumped up higher than a kangeroo on a pogo stick, wetting myself with fear ( probably due to 2 litres of coke in my bladder) and run up the stairs to the sanctity of my mum while screaming like a girl. My mum came running down the stairs to find my father sitting in the recliner chair, laughing his arse off and grinning like a maniac while wearing the Freddy glove he had made. This is real cuntish bit though..... expecting my mother who was already annoyed with him to lay into him, she then started pissing herself with laughter too. Remember I was soaking wet with piss and looking like a frightened cat. A night I will never forget and brought many a sleepless night my way for years to come.

There's a moral to this tale but i really can' be arsed to find it.

Lenght... Just ask your mum!!!!
(CaptainCuntyBollocks the man who can with a frying pan full of lamb, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 9:38, Reply)

Many, many reasons...
1:When I was a baby, my dad managed to stick a safety pin in my belly button whilst changing my nappy, resulting (or at least contributing) in me having a bizarre phobia of people touching my belly button which isn't even listed on any phobia websites or anything (even though belly button fetishes are listed)

2:At the age of about two, my presumably stoned ma and pa left their bedroom window open, along with what must have been an easy climbing route - my mother has described it to me like this "I came in wondering where you were, and saw you dangling out of the window - to this day I don't remember how I got you down".
(oh, and that story has been told to me in an attempt to describe how troublesome I was)

3:In the council estate in which I grew up, me and friends put up a tent one summer's day on a miniscule patch of grass, whilst my mum was at work and my dad was indoors. As we played football, my dad came down pissed on pernod, passed out in the tent, and woke up to have a screaming row with my mum resulting in him throwing something at her, and my sister, my mum and me having to spend the night at my grandmothers.
(with everything being forgotten about afterwards, with no explanatin, and it being completely taboo to ever mention that anything was ever wrong)

4: looking back, I probably didn't eat a single healthy meal until I was about 17 - beans, chips and microwaveable ready meals were the order of the day (a notable exception being the occasional sunday roast, in which they would both get as drunk as possible before noon, my dad - either Kestrel lager or a crate of tiny bottle of cheap lager, my mum - large bottle of Lambrini, and spend the best part of 10 hours staggering round the kitchen, talking inanely with a vaguely racist slant, before emerging with what would actually be a rather nice roast, if it wasn't for the fact that your sesne of smell and taste was so overpowered by marijuana and tobacco smoke)


5:(I actually tried to join the board in an attempt to get this one in on the family holidays question) Camping. I've done my best so far in adult life to be able to associate camping with live music, the company of friends, being away from London. Even the smell of Glastonbury toilets would be a more welcome thing to associate with camping than my family holidys.
This is what would happen, completely at random, at anytime between the end of January and the end of October when I was between the ages of 8-13:
I would arrive home from school to a wall of extremely loud noise, blaring distortedly from my father's ancient stereo (usually it'd be something quite good, but rendered annoying by how all-encompasssing it was) as well as the usual fog of pot smoke.
I'd tend to make my way upstairs to either play with transformers, or do something geeky like that, and be called down "'ERE A MINUTE!"
I'd venture downstairs to find that both parents were "merry", and looking rather pleased with themselves
"we're going camping - get your stuff together"
We would then all pile in to my dad's work van and start the journey to the campsite.
"that's outrageous!", I'm sure you're thinking,
"how could someone drive a family on a long journey while inebriated?"
Well, it's not quite so bad - it wasn't exactly a long journey.
We would drive all the way from East London to...Debden.
Debden being, for those that don't know, a particularly horrible area of essex, completely nondescript, and certainly with no natural beauty. We would pitch up tent on a campsite that was apparently free to people that were unemployed (though my parents were'nt unemployed at the time) and then my dad would excitedly say "we're on holiday", repeatedly,or would start singing holiday themed songs, then laughing at how funny he was. I can only guess that this was because otherwise we would have no way of telling that we were on holiday and not on the run from the police or something.
we would then eat those sausage and beans in a tin type things as meals for the next few days, and me and my sister would be taken to the local woolworths and pound shop for a treat.
The days would be separated not by sleep, but by the sound of my father snoring in a drunken stupor, louder than you can possibly imagine.
(not even in a separate compartment of the tent - all four of us in the same small tent, lying next to each other in seperate sleeping bags)

That Father Ted episode? I would have LOVED the luxury of a holilday like that.
(clinteastwoodbradfield, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 9:37, Reply)

Hmmm
Only a couple spring to mind, both my mum. She dislocated my older sister's elbow when playing with her as a toddler, resulting in a lovely trip to hospital.

Secondly, we had an Aga when we first moved in to our current house. I watched her hold my then three-year-old brother kind of in the manner of holding a newborn (i.e. on his back, arms under neck and knee), lowering him repeatedly over the hotplate cover (a sort of dome shape) and saying "i'm gonna burn your bum! I'm gonna burn your bum!" Little bro was laughing like crazy, so she did it some more. And some more. Then she caught his bare arse on the red-hot cover.

I don't think I've ever heard anyone scream so loudly since.

Mad as a hatter.
( mr_wicksy is.... old., Fri 17 Aug 2007, 9:18, Reply)

Mental scars
My parents had sex. With each other. How do they expect me to function normally knowing that?
(acerola70 clichedvoice.blogspot.com, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 8:29, Reply)

I was a mistake....
Just 3 years ago (I'm 22 now) I overheard my dearest mother talking to my youngest cousin about my birth, whilst we were on holiday in Majorca....

"Well, me and your Uncle used to do a lot of drugs in the 80's, and when Sean was conceived, we were off our heads on magic mushroom and LSD"

So, after hearing this revelation, I quickly piped up "WHAT?! YOU DID DRUGS! Wait, so was I like..... an accident??"

"Well... yes, sort of.... It was bonfire night and we went to Skegness for a few days, and you know, one thing led to an another. But it's ok, I always wanted to have a child"

"Er, so what about Dad?" I asked

"Well, he likes you now"

ARRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
(silkysean pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 8:23, Reply)

The best intentions
My older brother, aged ten, fell and scraped his knee. With mother our, it was up to my dad to tend to this mishap. In a stupendous display of backwards logic, my father surmised that if Dettol can clean both wounds and toilets, surely toilet cleaner (containing bleach) must be able to clean both toilets and wounds. It took my brother several minutes to convince him that it was NOT a good idea to apply toilet duck to his injury.
(schnuff, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 7:13, Reply)

Ice cream
When I was very young my mom picked me up from school in the middle of the day telling me that we were going to go get ice cream. She then drove me to the doctor's office and said I needed to go in for a checkup before we get any ice cream. Before I would leave the car I made her promise that she wouldn't let the doctor give me a shot. He didn't give me A shot, he gave me THREE shots. Afterwards I asked her if we were going to get ice cream now. She said all the ice cream shops were closed because I took to long getting my shots.
(cnidaria0 Cnidaria, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 6:50, Reply)

Chav Fashion Statement
Worked a train to the coast a while back. Got to Folkestone Central {fast becoming the Chav capital of the UK} and looked back to watch everyone unload - when I spotted a young couple, dressed entirely in identical Burberry outfits {caps, jackets, trousers.etc} getting off the train - with a small child clad in a similar chav-tastic outfit... sitting in a Burberry pushchair...

...some people shouldn't be allowed to spawn.
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 6:46, Reply)

Moral High Ground
Mrs Coops is a teacher, and over the years has seen many examples of 'wonderful' parenting - but my favourite has to be the story of the kid caught dealing weed in school.
Aparently you're not allowed to expell the little sh#ts for drug offences - nowadays schools suspend kids and have to offer them 'support' and 'action plans' and 'positive assessments' all of which are worked out at a meeting between the school staff, parents of the dealing scumbag, local council education department and some shrinks.
So everyone in one such rather large meeting, including the headteacher was shocked when the mother piped up and said:
"Mr Headteacher, I assure you I don't 'ave drugs in my house... if I want a spliff I'll go out in the garden."

Well thats O.K then...
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 6:25, Reply)

Not so sure that this is 'Bad Parenting'
Bloody made me laugh at the time...

Centuries ago, when we were kids, my sister (K) pestered my mother for porridge.

"I'm not getting porridge, you won't eat it!" Mum would cry.

"I will!" promised K.

This exchange was carried on for several days until Mum relented.

So! One fine morning, porridge was cooked for breakfast. It was presented to K with a warning. "You had better eat this, or I'll tip it up on your head!"

I waited - eagerly.

Yep! K did not like the porridge and Mum, true to her word, emptied the lot over K's head.

Of course, this meant that a bath and hair wash were in order before school. So I was dispatched off to school having been instructed to take the message to K's teacher that she would be late.

This I did (always try to be reliable, me!), with great enjoyment. I informed her teacher in front of K's entire class - loudly! I described every little detail, much to the amusement of all K's classmates. What a TWAT! Eh?

Ribbed for weeks the poor girl!
(AsADie, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 5:50, Reply)

SERIAL CHILD KILLER (ALMOST)
My old man was not only a fence for the local criminal classes of Birmingham (his front for this activity being a big fuck-off pub which went from one side of the street to the other and had effectively a front saloon bar on each side) but a gambler and a local hard man. All of that did not make him the brainiest person in the city however - but he did have a big car - a Zephyr much beloved of TV programmes of the time.
Now I played centre forward for my primary school team and as a result one Saturday my old man offered to take us all to the match in his big car. That is 11 players, 2 subs and a teacher who was the coach.
Zephyrs were big cars but even a big car isn't big enough for 13 seven year olds and 2 adults - my old man's idea: 4 of us head to tail like sardines in the boot.
I volunteered thinking it would be fun. It wasn't. It so fucking wasn't - not only was the turning back and forth of the car and the bouncing on the 60s soft suspension vomit-inducing some of the exhaust fumes leaked back into the boot. It was bloody horible.
I remember heaving pretty quickly soon after the journey began onto someone's World Cup Willie soccer boots. The others joined me and my sock soon felt a bit soggy and gooey and the floor of the boot got slimier and sslippery making us all slosh back and forth in kiddie puke. The sounds of retching were well covered by the noisy engine but in the boot it was all we could hear.
Thankfully the match ground wasn't too far away - the car stopped after a final bounce or two over the grasssy entrance to the pitch and cue four sick covered kids emerging from the dark - still puking in part from the smell of the sick from the enclosed space. One of us had shit himself too for good measure. It was fucking scary in there.
We lost 6-nil I think but one good result was that when I got onto the ball no one dared come near me to tackle me in case the crap on my shoulders got onto them.
Looking back I now know that he could have killed us all the useless sod - not a single sensible idea he had about childrearing nor team transport. Another time he enrolled me at a school telling them I was twelve when I was nine - I ended up at High School at 10 before they found out he'd screwed up and by then it was too late. My expected teenage sexual years were ruined by him thanks to that lack of memory of how long I had been around his life! My mates were getting it while I still ran around collecting lego and action men.
Now he's a broken man who sits around doing a small garden doing little thanks to a stroke he had a few years back. Think I care? Not one whit - he was a cruel and fucked up guy when young and certainly hurt a lot of people around him - you get back what you pay in to life.
(beaverwastemanagement a real company. I want to work for them!, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 5:01, Reply)

Qotw
In my fourth year of secondary school i had the misfortune of doing standard grade computing in a class of utter fuckwits who could barely turn the things on, thus class was mostly spent ignoring the Neanderthals at the back of the class grunting and {probably} fornicating with themselves, thats when they bothered to turn up.

anyway, this class was taught by a RELIGOUS EDUCATION teacher who confessed she knew nothing about computers and would learn the coursework the week beforehand at a college evening class.

so, said teacher is VERY naive, even for an RE teacher.

Now, 1 boy in the class' name was William Cumming {can u see where this is going}. One day William is not present in class, he is skipping, scoffing, skiving, playing hookie, etc.

Teacher "has any1 seen William Cumming in the toilets?"

Class: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" {general pee ur pants laffing}

Teacher "y exactly ru all laffing?"

She GENUINELY had no clue. I still dont think she got it to this very day.
( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 2:45, Reply)

One Skin Bombers...
My Dad spacked university. He lasted three months...I suppose Nepalese temple balls got the better of his ambition. Once he'd got his head together (ie had a child), he became a forester. Hours of relentless rain coupled with sticking up high tensile fences must have taken its toll...he signed on to the Open University. I clearly remember the sweet smell of weed smoke eminating from his room, when he was busy "writing essays"...."Dad's just having his one skin bomber"... Funnily enough, he's now an analyst in that City, and I'm doing Open University...
( wotofco pissing in your swimming pool, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 2:29, Reply)

Not too terrible, but...
When I was about four or five years old, my parents sent me to what passed as a preschool at the local private school. I already knew most of what was being taught ("this is blue", "this letter is called y", blah), so I'd often get bored and camp out beneath the table.

In my teacher's mind, this was absolute and undeniable proof that I had ADHD and needed to be put on medication immediately. My parents, being young and stupid (emphasis on stupid), believed this had to be the case and promptly put me on three different medications.

One of them was Adderall.

A side effect of Adderall is severely decreased appetite.

One 20-pound first grader later, my parents considered taking me off the shit.
(Fnooklemop, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 2:27, Reply)

Qotw
Years back while "working" as a slave for the co-op at the tender age of 17. I spotted a little knee-high terrorist on a jihad against the store. Running around, grabbing stuff, screaming at the top of her lungs and other general little shit behavior.

The mum: "LIBYA!!! COME HERE"

now... honestly. IF u call your child after one of the most war-torn countries in the world... WOT DO U EXPECT?!

ME: "oh fuck me..." {walks off to laff at the stupid fucking junkie mother, who heard "such a pretty name" on the tv and decided to name her progeny after it, in the warehouse chiller for 5 minutes.}

Length? the poor girls WHOLE FUCKING LIFE. unless she changed it. which she prob did.
( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 2:07, Reply)

My Uncle
He fed me dog biscuits when my mom wasn't looking.
(evil_penguin_17 Robots of Doom... Attack!, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 1:34, Reply)

I cant be arsed re-typing the thing so have a link to one of last nights posts.
www.b3ta.com/board/7517006
( Sir Pigeon Nipples Did you sit in some sugar?, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 1:17, Reply)

Smart now but...
Years ago when I was real young around 4 I seen my dad smoking and was fascinated by it. I asked him for one and of course he said no.

Fast foward a week, my dad was out at work and I was at home with my mam when I found a pack of ciggies. I then proceeded to put one in my mouth.

I walked around with thinking I was the bees knees until my mam seen me, she hates my dad smoking and when she seen me she probably felt worried.

So what does she do? well she nips it in the bud. She asked me do you want to smoke? and of couse I said yes. So then she went and lit it.

As soon as I inhaled I started blowing chunks and extingushed the cigarette with my own vomit. Then she asked me again if I wanted another one and of course I said no.

To this day I have not tried a cigarette since why lung cancer, stained teeth or bad breath? nope because I am afraid if I inhale that I will get sick and look like a proper tit.
(Monoball, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 0:28, Reply)

Just a crick in the neck
...Oh yes, and then there was the time my pet mouse 'Fudge' (I wasn't allowed to name him) got ill with some nasty red hairless patch on the back of his neck. My dad, not wanting to pay the vets to dispose of a small rodent, told me he'd "put it down himself with some chemicals in the back room"


*SNAP!*

me: WAAAAAAGH!
(Epizootic, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 23:53, Reply)

Poor drainage
As a small child aged 5ish, my mum had to go and do some business-thing in this small industrial complex. "I'll just be a minute" she said. I was left in the back seat with my Sega Game Gear and two spare sets of batteries. After an hour I crossed my legs as the golden fluid in my bladder started to build. After the second hour, I was desperately looking at the door, waiting for mummy to return and take me to the toilet...
I unlocked the car and went looked around. No obvious sign saying loo...but there was a drain in the centre of the tarmack...

She returned very quickly after she got a call from reception about the toddler pissing in the car park!
(Epizootic, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 23:46, Reply)

loaded .38
...on the other hand my Dad was so loaded at that moment he was seeing double so if he had pulled the trigger I still would have had a fifty-fifty chance of getting away undamaged.
(wkiernan, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 23:19, Reply)

Not So much bad parenting but...
...its a terrible trick to play on your children.

Imagine this, your car is filthy, coated in mud and you need it cleaned for free, what do you do?

Get 2 of your children to clean each side of the car and say there is a prize waiting for the person who does the best job (finishing with the cleanest side) . Then when they have done washing the car, just say there is no prize.

Oh dear, my lads went into a terrible mood after that, I promised them sweets but never bought them, Oh Well.
(poolcue123, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 23:13, Reply)

Mobility
My parents have always encouraged me.

Having spent several months unemployed and struggling for interviews, I was offered a well-paid position acting as a sales consultant for Stanna the stairlift people.

"You don't want to waste your life on spackers."

Cheers Dad.
(Waspard has your wank bank account details, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 23:12, Reply)

Questionable parenting
I've been baby-sitting for several years now, and fortunately the horror stories have kept to a minimum. It's still going to take a lot to make me forget when the youngest of two was still getting potty-trained.

"I have to use the bathroom."
"Okay, go nuts."

He dances out of the room and I return to whatever I was reading, probably Irvine Welsh. (Great example I'm setting for the sprogs, yes?) He dances back into the room, hands firmly clamped in his crotch and doing the poopy-dance.

"I have to poop."
"Okay, go poop."
"I need you to open the door."
"What?"

His older brother detaches from the TV long enough to tell me,

"He's still being potty-trained, so we're letting him use the lawn."
"WHAT?!"

This still remains the one and only time I've had to call a parent. Their mom was very patient in explaining to me that yes, he can pee or poop in the backyard. It didn't help that I could hear their older cousin laughing herself sick in the background. My parents almost collapsed a collective lung when I shared the story with them. Fortunately, I was spared the task and asked the younger to hold it in until his parents got home, which he duly obeyed.

These are the same kids who would later say Ms. Scarlet of 'Clue' was ugly because she looked like a Japanese woman, and later that night we're watching a TV version of 'Alice in Wonderland' and the same lawn-crapper declares Mr. Caterpillar (Sammy Davis Jr) to be a bad man.

"Why's that?"
"Because he has grey skin."

Once again, my parents come dangerously close to impairing their health from how hard they're laughing when I tell them about this, and I have to restrain myself from the same thing when I lecture the wee one about how that's not nice.

Despite these little incidents, I adore the lil buggers and they're two of the sweetest kids in the world. (They also got me into Harry Potter.) I don't think I ever raised these incidents with their parents, mostly cos I just didn't want to know where it came from. I blame television. (Please God, let it be television?)

Apologies for length. I told him to hold it in.
(DeadCats, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 23:11, Reply)

Terrible, Horrible Parenting
My Mom is crazy and not with us in this dimension ,

My mother apparently had a hard life as a young girl... my sister and I used to have our story time start as a fairy book reading, but ended with mom weeping on how her brother teased her at 15, and me and my sister cowering in a corner...

Some well loved quotes:
"How do you like them chickens" (when she was winning at chess)
(when my boyfriend broke up with me for a blond) - "Get a blond wig - or dye your hair"
(when my sister had a morning flight after 9/11) - "I'm worried about your sister after all the terrorism, but she does have an early flight" (so terrorists only terrorise in the afternoon...)

A rule on life:
Don't pinch your pimples - it damages your brain.

Lice is a fact when you have kids:
Mom insisted the school nurse check us for lice one day - nothing like having the nurse call you out of class for lice check at 7yrs old. There was no scare for lice in the school, she just read an article and got worried.

The highlight was when I was reprimanded for eating an entire can of tunafish - "That could have made 2 sandwiches! Apologise to your Father!". (we weren't that poor).

God love Mom.
(potted plant, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 23:08, Reply)

On holiday in Portugal...
my parents had the opportunity for free babysitting but instead went and got pissed on the other side of the complex. Lo and behold I was kidnapped, raped and murdered horribly by some local paedo....

xx
Maddy....
(archstanton The gold is next to me....leave me be, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 22:58, Reply)

I shall have my revenge
When I was little, I rode in the trolley while we did the grocery shopping, as small children tend to do. On our way out of the shop, my mother used to push me down the slight incline to the car park while pretending that the trolley had gone out of control. Apparently, she mistook my screams of fear for screams of entertainment.

Now, having survived polio as a little girl, she needs to use a wheelchair to get around.

Payback's a bitch isn't it, Mum?
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 22:54, Reply)

Bindun but once more can't hurt
Mine weren't very good.

Signed,
Madeleine McCann
(ratthingbazzterd, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 22:51, Reply)

Today I was left locked in the car
For over an hour, with only a slightly open window and some water for company.

I'm nearly 20.
( Spazzcat jam out with your clam out, Thu 16 Aug 2007, 22:42, Reply)