Is it just me?
Right, I'm too young to have kids now, but I can imagine being 40-something and having an argument with my son/daughter.
Then, and only then, will I be rewarded for having a kid (this would be the only reason I'd have one)
kid: Fuck you dad, I hate you
Me: Haha I shagged your mum!

So is it just me?
(River of Squid has a variety of lemons in his pocket, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 0:19, Reply)

Try and find the logic in the following story
It was easter and I was 4 years old. My family and I were round my grandparents house, for the occasion and had just finished a Roast Dinner typical of one British families traditionally east to celebrate the death and subsequent resurrection of our lord and saviour Jesus Christ.

Anyway, as the rest of the family retired to the dining room to watch the vicar of dibley and drink more red wine, my father gave me a Cadbury's 'Flake', for twas the season.

As he handed me the yellow wonderfulness he casually remarked

"Oh yea, if you get this on the carpet you'll turn into a pumpkin"

To this day my bastarded father denies this
(Papa Chocolat, Sat 18 Aug 2007, 0:07, Reply)

Well...
my Dad used to hit me quite a lot as a child, which I thought was just cos I had been naughty, but as I got older I realised it was actually quite abusive. When I finally started to argue back and not let him push me around anymore (mid teens) he started using a clenched fist.

It would always start out with an argument until it got aggressive, but if I ended up with a black eye or bruise, he'd just twist the story to my mother so it sounded like I started it.

About a year ago was the worst, just split up with a long-term girlfriend, and as I tried to leave the house, crying and pissed off, we ended up in a fight, only this time he ended up playing bouncy castle with my head.

As always he twisted the story when the police turned up and it turned out it was cos I was drunk and he was doing me a favour by not letting me leave the house because I was going to hurt someone/myself.

A year on and I still can't afford to move out but hopefully not for much longer. Strange thing is, I never felt less alone than at that time, all my friends were there for me when I was going through it all, even work mates or those that I hadn't seen for quite a while, offering me a place to stay, someone to talk to.

Moral of the story is, even if you feel like your friends arn't paying you much attention to you latley, it's probablly because they have problems of their own, but when you need them, they'll be there for you.

Not a very funny story but life's a bitch.
(Checkinguponmeagain?, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 23:31, Reply)

Sprout torture
My Dad's cooking is legendary in my family, and has left me and my three siblings (one sister, two brothers) with various food phobias throughout the years. He was a military man, and very firm - we ate what we were given, and that was *it*.

Unfortunately what we were given was, on occasion, fucking disgusting. I remember when my parents first got one of those new-fangled blenders - my Dad's idea? Blend a metric fuck-ton of sprouts, boil up and serve. Voila! Sprout Soup! My little brother gagged, and eventually had to eat it cold.

He had a taste for hot and spicy food, which he tried to emulate himself. He made some dish called Nazzi Goreene (or something like that, I've never really been inclined to find out what it's *really* meant to taste like), but accidentally made it much hotter than it was meant to be. He stoically munched it down. My other little brother cried his way through the pain. Tomato ketchup sandwiches were also often considered to be an appropriate meal.

He also called my brother stupid for years, until he found out he was actually dyslexic. After that he still did it, just less often.

However, the worst came when I was relatively old (but still young enough to be permanently emotionally scarred). I was about 15, I guess, so that would make my sister 11ish, and my brothers about 9 and 7. My Dad had recently remarried, and my stepmother was a character most unlike most adults I had ever met. I was used to his RAF buddies, his family (all sons of an RAF granny and grandad), and my mum's family (daughters of another RAF grandma and grandad). I dunno how many of you are military brats, but there's a kind of atmosphere, a kind of person you tend to encounter, on average if you like, in the forces. You live on bases, your friends are kids on the base, and your only other real contacts are via another institution - school. Extended family is usually distant. There's definitely a feel to these kinds of communities that's different to civvie street.

My stepmum was very different. I've gotten to know and respect her over the years, but at the time she was something dangerously out of my sphere of knowledge. Small town family, all living in each others' pockets, wildly different... interests. These are the people who vote on reality TV shows, who see each other in town every Saturday morning, who know and care about "local issues" and so on. Lived in the same area their entire lives, back through generations. Add to this terrifyingly new mix the fact that my stepmum adored musical theatre. I think the fact that she was so different was one of the reasons my Dad fell for her.

I couldn't understand it myself, at the time. Nor could I understand why it was so important, when we went camping with one of my Dad's oldest RAF buddies and his wife (so they could get to know the new most important woman in his life), that my stepmum dress us up in home-made yellow corduoroy dungaree shorts - all four of us - and make us sing "Doe, a deer". In front of a camcorder. My siblings were young enough to not be horrified by this, but I was mortified. Especially for having to do this in front of his mate and his wife, whom I'd always got on with really well (his mate was a dude - took me on my first ever driving lesson when I was about 14-15, getting around the age thing by waiting until the base's airstrip had been shut down for the night and letting me loose on the vast expanse of tarmac - non-public!). Their eyes watered in sympathy as they watched us drone our way through our rendition of the Von Trapps.

Funnily enough, they kind of dipped out of my Dad's life (and therefore the lives of me and my siblings) shortly after that incident.

What horrifies me most is that somewhere, that video still exists. Somewhere secret, somewhere safe. I've never been able to find it, and I'm occasionally still threatened with having it carted out (usually for the benefit of my girlfriend, of course). I did look for it once, slinging suspiciously unlabelled videos into the VCR in the hope of coming across it and destroying it forever. Instead, I came across my Dad's porn stash. So not all bad then.

My mum, though. She was ace. She single-handedly turned me on to sci-fi and fantasy by getting excited by cool sci-fi and fantasy, being unable to enthuse (I assume) with my Dad about how cool they were, so showed me key cool scenes from things she'd just watched (Dune and Highlander stand out for me), exclaiming about how good they were, and then telling me I couldn't watch the whole film 'cos I wasn't old enough. Very canny, mom. It worked.
(kithkill, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 23:24, Reply)

well my daddy left home when i was three
and he didn't leave much for ma and me
just this old guitar, and an empty bottle of booze
Now, I don't blame him cos he run and hid
but the meanest thing he ever did
was before he left, he went and named me 'Sue'.
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 23:00, Reply)

The. Worst. Christmas. Ever.
My parents divorced before I could even remember for one reason or another, and as all children can attest to, I remember very little from before I was about 6. This isn't irrelevant, because my earliest memories are NOT of living with my mom, as I had done from birth to 5, but rather of living with my sister and father... and his new wife and their daughter. There is a REASON I haven't talked to the man in years...

All I wanted for Christmas was a Battlestar Galactica toy. Getting my father to get me ANYTHING throughout his life has been like pulling teeth. To this day I feel as though he wouldn't give me a red cent. I honestly don't know why.. but I digress.. Poppa!!!! This Christmas, however, my father was feeling generous and I kind of knew what I was getting from Santa... the coveted Battlestar toy! I couldn't WAIT for Christmas day... SO EXCITED!!!!

I must first explain that I was a small, sickly child. When I was in 6th grade I could barely reach the drinking fountains. The ones that as an adult I can now use as a step. So at 7, you can imagine my size and general health level. We ate something weird for Christmas Eve dinner; as we always did because my stepmother was from Hawaii where they eat like pigs intestines and taro root paste... yuck. I ate it though, then went to bed; very excited about the morning to come.

Around 5am, however, my stomach decided that it was not to be. I woke up with a pretty full tummy and the feeling of needing to fart, at least. I did... but it wasn't gas. No no, far from it. A torrent of poo came out of my bum at a rate and speed that I, as a 7 year old, was unable to deal with it. So I did what any child would do... I went to my "parents". I remember crying a bit and walking down the hall with poo running down my leg, which I'm SURE made a mess. But I was 7. I didn't know about these things.

Now to get to the terrible parenting part. I knock on my parent's door, but there's no reply. I call out "daddy?"... no response. After a while it didn't hurt anymore, so I went back to bed. Around 7, my step mother wakes up and I hear "Oh my God, what the HELL is this?" probably referring to my shit trail from one room to the other. Commotion, questions.. I must have blocked this part out, because the NEXT thing I remember is my father holding me forcibly under the faucet, practically drowning me with my step mother behind him yelling at me. "What a mess! Evverything is ruined!". There were bruises, and I literally remember nothing but the rush of very hot water over my eyes.

The punishment, as I was to find out, wasn't over. Far from it. After we were all cleaned up, and I helped to clean the floor and my bed, it was present opening time. I went straight for what was the right size to be the coveted Battlestar Galactica toy ship with REAL LAUNCHING VIPER PATROL SHIPS.

I open it...

YE, it's what I wanted!!! YES! YES! YES! It's okay that you were mean to me this morning, daddy! I got what I wanted! Yay!

This lasted approximately an hour, for the entire time I was opening things and having Christmas morning, my stepmother was griping about the mess.. and me. She was telling my father that I should be punished somehow, for I don't even know what.

That's when this bad thing happened that made a not so good Christmas morning into a HORRIBLE one. He called me over, I had my toy in my hand. He yelled at me for a bit, the asked for the toy.

Then he broke it in half, told me to throw it away, and have a Merry Christmas.

Fuck you too, dad.
( Scoopzilla http://www.slapwatch.com now get to fuck, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 22:49, Reply)

My dad shot me
The cunt.

Signed,
Marvin Gaye.
(MJPerry was crude but clickable at, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 22:44, Reply)

Lies
My mother told me that the three-legged cat over the road was a Manx cat. I believed her.

My father told me he'd once had an operation on his neck which involved removing his head, putting it on the bedside table and working on his body before finally reattaching his head. For years I wondered why Anne Boleyn's mates didn't just sew her head back on after the execution.
(rogerzilla, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 22:44, Reply)

Fucking hell...
Ok, messing with children aside is bloody funny, but some of the parental figures on here sound like complete and total cunts! Reading some of these stories makes me rather angry and rather disturbing mental pictures involving hammers and smashed in skulls...
( jim_bob can herd cats., Fri 17 Aug 2007, 22:36, Reply)

hand me downs
The youngest of 7, as an infant I was the "beneficiary" of 15 years-worth of baby clothes, an Aladdin's treasure trove of the very worst that the markets of the north 1962-1976 had to offer.

Bad enough in itself, but even worse when you know that I'm a boy, and 5 of the 6 others that make up my siblings are girls. And that when I was around 2 or 3, I looked not dissimilar facially to a few of my elder sisters when they were the same age.

So, rifling through old photos, it's not uncommon to come across a toddler in a dress, and see scrawled on the back "Sandra at home, 1966, (or Phillip, 1980)".
(songsforeveryone, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 22:26, Reply)

Do bad babysitting skills count?
My friend and I used to babysit regularly for a another friend's child.

We used to answer his questions about his mummy's whereabouts with a shrug and say 'Gone!' and we also taight him 'bitty'. Hehe.

Perhaps the worst thing wwas how we used to amuse him by wearing blankets on our heads and shouting 'Allaaaaah!'

It didn't go down well when he started doing it round Asda.
(Medibot, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 22:23, Reply)

Bad Mum
When I was about 6, my Mum was in the bathroom putting red dye in her hair. The red colour was all over her head, and a bit was running down her face.I asked her, "What's that Mum?" To which she replied "Ive cut myself, and I'm bleeding to death!"
Cue long, agonised scream of terror, followed by sniggering.
Thanks Mum.
(hixy, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 22:16, Reply)

I can see the funny side now.
My mum's always told me stories that were, sorta verging on a bit harsh, and being a gullible little kid, I believed them for years. This is the best one though.

Dad's in the Army, so we did a fair bit of travelling about, but mostly to Germany.
In the car once driving from England to Germany, we had a puncture that was making a fairly significant amount of noise. Me, less than 5 at the time, asked my Mum what the noise was, to which she replied 'It's the soldiers shooting at us, keep your head down'. I remember clear as day hiding, terrified, in the rear foot well ALL the fucking way there!

Pretty appalling, but I can understand now how it might've been funny for them at the time! :)
( dub-girl, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 21:50, Reply)

I threten...
...to call childline on a regular basis, because I seem to be the one that everybody in the family likes to make fun of/patronise/talk down to...anyways. My Mum asks me if she can call herself, and even offers to pack my bag.
I mean come on...how cruel is that!?
(Kaytee, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 21:15, Reply)

Geordie mothers. Awesome.
A Geordie Charver mother, with baby in the trolley whizzing around the local Kwik Save, she flees around a corner a little too fast causing the baby to 'over balance' in the seat and catch it's head on the edge of a shelving unit. The baby is screaming in pain, to which the soothing mother barks

"WATCH YA FUCKING HEED, YA DIVI"

i had laugh/cry at the same time - what chance do these kids have?

i can't comment on it's validity mind... my mate told me this story as gospel. but it's can't be true - can it?
(TheManofScience, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 21:07, Reply)

Thought of another one
Also Thomas, from the post below. In 2004, we moved to a new village and wandered down to the local Londis as you do. Thomas decides he's like some crisps (I hasten to point out that they were not staple to his diet; lots of steamed veg, fish, and do on. Didn't have Fast Food until he was four. At all. I digress.)

Crisps in his lexicon were "crunchy crunch", but he couldn't pronounce that, so picture if you will, mother, father and son, in a quiet store, while said 2 year old bellows "CUNTY CUNT!" at the top of his voice.

Perhaps you had to be there.
( Fathter Puddytat Kill Kill dat widdle boid is mine on, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 20:58, Reply)

Dead gerbils and Calpol
My parents on the whole were alright. I did have to see a psychologist when I was 5 though for treatment of a doctor/dentist/hospital/pretty much anything medical-related phobia and being that young you have to wonder what caused it...

Since becoming a bit older though some truths are becoming more apparant. I was told at 16 that to get me and my sister to shut up as kids my mum gave us Calpol because it caused drowsiness.

At 18, my mum confessed that my beloved gerbils Sooty and Sweep did not die of old age. One of them escaped and got behind the sofa. Mum then ran the sofa over it trying to catch it and replaced the slightly squashed gerbil back in it's cage so I could see the furry little corpse and swallow her 'old age' story. Seems the second then died of loneliness.

On my 21st birthday it was revealed to me that I'm Jewish. Not that I have anything against the Jews, but why wait 21 years to tell me? Obviously we are not practising the faith.
(sanity challenged, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 20:55, Reply)

My Dad isn't such a good parent.
'Cos he's dead.
(littlenipple hate's bad grammar, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 20:39, Reply)

In one of the seedier suburbs of Newcastle(Upon-Tyne)...
...a 15 year old girl stabbed a 22 year old girl to death, the 15 year old is now in some form of lock-up and her 10 month old baby is in a foster home. The 3 year old daughter of the (now deceased) 22 year old is with its 19year old father and his parents.

Some damn fine parenting all round then really.

My parents are great, although i was born in Hong Kong and they often found themselves in public places sans-child if they took their eyes off me for a second, as some chinese family had decided to take me round the corner and attempt to take me home as i was blonde haired and blue eyed.

Length, i was never missing for more than a few minutes.
( Mister B is eating an icanhazcheezburger with lmaonaise, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 20:21, Reply)

Useless
I'm a useless parent. I've been shagging my brains out for the last 10 years and I'm still not a parent.
(kickstandrich last had sex with your mum/sister/wife/daughter on, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 20:21, Reply)

cunt rag
I used to work in a local tesco and a 5 or 6 yr old kid was climbing on the freezers in the aisle i was working in at the time time with my mate Mikey. we heard the woman tell the kid "you better stop that or the man will put you out". Mikey plays along and bends down and says "yeah you better behave!"

The kid replies "Fuck off ya cuntrag!"
The mum smiles and walks off. I pissed myself!
(Clashrock is being stalked by his brother on, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 20:11, Reply)

Nursery rhymes
Our nearly 3 year old was singing 'Old McDonald has a farm and on that farm there was a duck. With a fuck fuck here and fuck fuck there...'

So I asked him what did he say? Quack?

His reply 'Yes - fuck'.

I think I'm in trouble here...
(broadhat, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 19:54, Reply)

Bleach!
I remember, when I was,oooh, about six Mum suspected there was some bleach missing from the bottle. My Dad's logical explanation?

AsADie must have drunk it!

Solution?

Make him vomit!

So! I am called to the bathroom and forced to drink a pint of warm, salty water. I manage about half before the entire contents of the stomach ended up in the bowl. Thanks Dad! I didn't drink the bleach.

Funny thing is - modern thinking would have us frowning at inducing vomiting in such a case.

On a plus though! My father would always be there, rubbing the back of a child that got up in the night to be sick - every time. Thing was, when I first left home (joined up), and was sick (alcohol induced 'course :D), he was miles away at home not with me! Sounds silly now - but I really did miss him! He's gone for good now and I still miss him!
(AsADie, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 18:18, Reply)

Babies and Porn
How young is too young for your offspring to watch their first porno? The Littlest Aardvark's first porno extravaganza was at age (approx) three months, as Mrs Aardvark had buggered off for the weekend, leaving me looking after Junior.

The movies in question were, I seem to recall:
* "Strip, Tease & Fuck" -- shite. Utter, utter shite.
* "Coconut holiday" (I think). Rather better.

I cannot recall which of them *he* preferred, however.
( The Blue Aardvark Unavoidably detained by reality, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 18:07, Reply)

I was a reluctant cub scout
My Dad had been a cub scout leader before I was born, and he was so determined that I would join the cubs too that my name was down on the list ages before I was old enough.

When the time came and I was 7 years old he announced we were going to cubs for my first night.

I locked myself in the bathroom. My Dad had me under one arm and I held tight to the door frame. He had to tug so hard that the wooden architrave actually broke and came away in my hands.

Great one Dad, encourage me to go somewhere by manhandling me out of my own house in a flood of tears.

I hated it and suspect the pack leader was a nonce.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 17:19, Reply)

Peterborough
Captain Haddock, you have no idea.

in this fine city i have seen;

A small child bite another child of roughly the same age, and then the parent telling victims parent (in ASDA) 'you need to look after your feckin' kids!'

A parent at parents evening tell the teacher it was 'entirely your fault my child doesn't attend your lessons as he tells me they are boring, and in my house i have taught my kids to fully follow their own decisions' So that would be making maths fun.. hmm right. That would also be why he was smoking pot through every single one of those lessons he missed. Also thats probably why you work in a soup factory.

A 16 year old chav telling her maybe 4 year old son (yes four years old at sixteen) 'your the reason my lifes so shit, and if you don't shut up dad'll kick your fucking head in!' followed by the meanest backhand slap ive ever seen.

And finally a Kid i personally knew who had been bullied for five years catching one of his bullies alone and swearing at him, shortly followed by said bully's parent punching the kid in the face, which broke his jaw, lost him seven teeth, gave him two week concussion and knocked him unconcious for 16 hours. (all this to a 15 year old kid.)

Said parent is now locked up for 15 years and was forced to pay approximately 5k in damages.

Welcome to the jewel of East Anglia.

definite apologies for length, but it needed venting.
(Justforyou love., Fri 17 Aug 2007, 17:16, Reply)

Watch Your Language When You're Driving....
In the local multi storey (two levels woo but above the shopping mall thing), I was waiting for someone elderly in a Micra to finish doing a 4000 point turn to get out of the parking space, when my 5 year old son pipes up "Get out of the way you old twat!"

Ah.

I said "Thomas that's a bad word don't use it again" and fair play he hasn't. But what else have I said that he's waiting to repeat at an inappropriate moment?
( Fathter Puddytat Kill Kill dat widdle boid is mine on, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 17:12, Reply)

New words from skool.
Dad, Dad, I learned a new word today, it starts wiv an EFF!

Uh oh.

It ends with an EMM

Phew.

Yeah, it's FUCKEM!
(beatpig understands subliminalesbianmessagaying., Fri 17 Aug 2007, 17:12, Reply)

It's all my fault....
My mother likes to proudly tell me that she gave up smoking the day I was born. Never mind the previous 9 months, eh?

When I was about 3, my Mum was so busy talking to someone whilst shopping she walked off and left me in a busy city centre. I had those hideous reins to stop me running off as well, she just let go of them to do something and forgot to pick them up again. Luckily the person who found me crying at a kerb because I'd been told not to cross the road alone wasn't a peado and took me to the police station where I was found and severely berated for 'running off' by my mother several hours later.

A few years later she didn't come to collect me from Brownies. After waiting until everyone else had been gone for ages I decided to walk home (it was only about 10 minutes) I was told off for being very naughty and walking on my own, despite the fact my mother had forgotten to collect me and I was scared standing outside the school on my own.

I was shut in the back garden one afternoon and evening when I was about 7 for not wanting to play with my 3 year old cousin who was visiting, thus embarrassing my mother in front of my Auntie. I went back inside the house at one point only to be physically picked up and dropped back on the lawn, and the door locked. I was let back in after everyone else had had tea, and was then smacked and sent to bed for not apologising to my mother for my behaviour.

From the age of about 16, I suffered from vertigo, excessive tiredness, dizzy spells and nausea. I was told it was all in my head and I was attention seeking, and that the doctor would tell me off for wasting his time. Turns out I have Multiple Sclerosis.

My mother is also very manipulative (even for a mother) and her favourite form of punishment when I was a teenager would be to complain that I spent more time with my friends than I did at home, wonder aloud why I treated her so badly, tell me that the way I dressed embarrassed her as I was so unladylike and then cry hysterically for hours after I'd gone to bed at night.

I still love her though, despite the many emotional issues she's lumbered me with. Probably because I never spend more than a few hours at a time with her any more, and recognise her guilt trips and manipulative behaviour for what they are.

My father on the other hand is a well balanced person whom I admire greatly. Pity he spent a lot of my childhood working out of the country. How the hell he's put up with my mother's behaviour all these years still escapes me.
(VestanPance, Fri 17 Aug 2007, 17:10, Reply)