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This is a question Well, that taught 'em

Sammi Evil Nice writes "I shared with two students, and it was always the same; whenever it was near to paytime, my milk *and only this* would disappear.

One of them, John, was a lovely bloke but allergic to nuts. John makes tea. Soon after, John starts swelling up.

ME: Runs, administers epi-pen. "You're going into anaphalactic shock."
HIM: "How do you know?"
ME: "I put almond oil in my milk."

What have you done to teach somebody a lesson?

(, Thu 26 Apr 2007, 14:54)
Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, ... 1

This question is now closed.

My Daddy taught me
that I needed a nom de plume.

Have you ever written on a banana skin with a biro? (no this is not a Honda advert)

It's really weird, really oddly nice feeling. The biro just flows smoothly. That's as close as I can get to describing how it felt to 'write' (carve) on an old table at my Dad's house.

I quickly learned that graffiti is best done anonymously. I quickly learned that I could not blame the engraving of my full name in my neatest, newly learned joined up writing, was not something I could blame on my brother.

After that I quickly learned to move my vandalistic ways out of the house and away from fatherly suspicion.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 13:34, Reply)
Skating...
I used to work in a coffee shop in the train station of my old home town, York. Best job ever, the entire staff were extremely entertaining and laid back at the time and much fun was had, we could basically eat and drink all the lovely expensive produce, listen to any music we wanted and just sit and chat because after about 11am our customer count was about 3 business men per hour. But i digress.

We had 2 managers, a woman and a guy, woman, like the rest of the staff was safe as fuck. The guy was an abolute cock.

So comes the summer holiday and I have been accepted into my current uni, so i tell the male manager the date ill be leaving and stuff, now usually I worked quite a bit, giving me lots of cash to be able to live on, and no time did i need it more than during the summer hols when i was enjoying myself and saving for uni.

So what did the twunt do? He cut all my hours down to bare minimum for the last month or 2, i could afford to do sweet fa.

So what did I do? Well as i mentioned we were allowed to play any music we liked, except for when he was in. In which case it had to be music selected from his jealously guarded and much beloved pile of CD's in the cupboard, Frank Sinnatra and such like, this didnt go well with the rest of the metal head staff.

So on my last day I select the CD's i know are his absolute favourite, and proceed to, infront of the female manager and head waiter dude (who were cheering me on) proceed to slide across the floor of the cafe with them under my feet, pour boiling water on them and generally fuck them over.

I talked to the female manager when i was last in York, she said he was extremely pissed and is out for my blood, so i have to time my passings of the shop whenever hes in so he doesnt see me.

First post, woo!

[Insert length here]
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 13:31, Reply)
job satisfaction!
I am a business to business telesales rep, and I am a bloody polite, considerate one if i may say so.
And I am just doing my job, so I see no reason why people should be just damn plain rude.

When they are, I take great pleasure in thanking them for their time, wishing them a lovely day, and generally end up getting an apology from them.

The best ones are the ones that hang up, I call them straight back,
'sorry i think we got cut off'
none of them ever say, 'no i hung up' because their bottle has usually gone, and most of them are genuinely interested in what im offering when i am given the chance to speak.

So thatll teach them not to be rude and make preconceptions about why im calling!


wankers.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 13:22, Reply)
Double lesson
Another car story - wooyay!

My (redneck) mate has/had a Subaru Impreza Turbo (I refuse to call it a Scooby turbo) - and yes, he is slightly chav-ish.

On the way back from the pub one lunchtime he said "who wants to drive my car" - Me! Says I.

And that was the first bad idea.

The car was fully loaded and I proceeded to drive it like a loon (of course). Unfortunately I misjudged a roundabout as I was trying to exit it and 2 cars into 1 exit, as a rule, do NOT go.

So I dropped a gear and floored it - unfortunately it was not a clutch I was used to - so the noise was a combination of engine, gearbox, clutch and wheelspin - coupled with tyre smoke and a bit of "WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE" from everyone.

I made it and my mate moaned all the way back to the office about having left the clutch behind...

The lesson?

He'll never let me drive it again - And I don't want to drive it again....


Off topic - Where's FrankSpencer???
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 13:22, Reply)
Hot hot hot.
I was ironing a while back and the iron fell off the ironing board.

(This is utterly predictable)

I, with the reactions of a gazelle, caught it one handed.

Hot side down.

And screamed like a small girl.

And tossed it into my other hand.

And swore like a sailor.

Now, when I drop the iron, I jump using my still-gazelle like reactions.

There is a lesson there really.

The other lesson is - Don't. Iron. Naked.

I think we're straying towards off topic - ness....
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 13:14, Reply)
Lessons learned?
I think my most painful lesson was to watch where I run. Yep, I stepped on a garden rake once, in proper Beano fashion.

Unlike in the Beano it fucking smarts.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 13:11, Reply)
While you were sleeping
Many a year ago, I was fast asleep in my little dream world when my younger sister (who was about 8 at the time) thought it'd be a great idea to run up the stairs at full pelt and eagerly wake me up to tell me about something exciting.

Being cosily and innocently asleep, my brain was utterly shocked and appauled when it found itself rattling around the inside of my head as little sister shook me awake shouting loudly, and my mind told me I was being attacked.

Cue 8 year old girl in floods of hysterical tears after her big sister punched her with all her strength across the room - sinking into a little ball against the door.

I feel quite bad about it at the time - now I think it's great.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 13:11, Reply)
gory story
I learn not to unscrew lightbulbs straight after they have blown.
as they are fucking hot.

but are we not all straying off topic/twisting the question?
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 13:08, Reply)
Superglue & fingers
Yes, I'm that stupid.

It only hurts for a little while afterwards....
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 13:05, Reply)
If we're talking about lessons learned...
I once stapled my thumbs together.

Lesson learned: don't staple your thumbs together.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 12:55, Reply)
Lesson?
Ok - I've mentioned my car stories here and I have a dilema:

I've come into some money (Yay for endowment compensation!!) :o)

Do I reinvest my money or do I buy a Caterham?

And what lessons can I learn along the way *

*Just to keep it on topic
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 12:44, Reply)
Nissan 200SX 238bhp
Rear wheel drive, pop up headlights; 1990's perfection.

Thrashing it around like a loon, taking it on tracks, getting it up to 145 for fun. Then winter came.

I had never owned a rwd car before. I'd never been stupid enough to enjoy power sliding on ice before. I'd never combined this with a handbrake turn before.

I span twice on a very sharp corner on the way into work and smashed backwards into a wall. That taught me to be more careful.

So I sold the Nissan, bought a Corolla GTI 16, tuned it significantly, bombed about with it then span that too.

To be honest, I like fast little cars, and each track accident or near death experience really makes me feel alive.

However since my son was born I have been driving a Ka. I can't go quite fast enough to kill myself (although I had 105 out of it at the weekend).
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 12:39, Reply)
Stupidity?
Does this fall into the category of idiocy, stupidity or darwinian?

I was trying to hammer a small nail into a piece of wood for reasons that escape me - I'm sure it was important.

Anyway, it was a tight space, it was hot, I was hungover and I just couldn't manage it.

In my infinite wisdom, I thought:

"If I put my thumb over the head of the nail, that'll steady it" - you might see where this is going very quickly

I'm sure you can picture the scene - man on ladder, carefully lining up the nail, thumb and hammer....

I then hit my thumb with that there hammer.

After I stopped screaming like a girl and after I'd removed the nail from my thumb and cleaned up all the blood, I deduced that, perhaps, that wasn't the wisest thing I'd ever done.

That taught me....
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 12:39, Reply)
Iron horse
Top tip for amusement at others expense:

After a night out in Birmingham city centre, provide a means for Mr Abefroman to travel home one. Mr Abefroman is tired and emotional after visiting several pubs and has left his associates to it in the pub (he being a tad old and boring).

We prefer the means to be nice warm train (the last one of the night) and add to this the gentle rocking motion plus the fact he's drunk, you can have a good laugh at him when you wake him up at the end of the line in Lichfield. There's no more trains going back the other way so there's extra humour in knowing he has to pay £30 for a taxi to get back to Erdington. That'll teach him to set the alarm on his mobile phone in the future.

Yours,
Central Trains Ltd.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 12:24, Reply)
It burnsssssss ussss
I went on a stag night with a bunch of rugby lads. (I know, I know). They'd asked me to arrange a nice curry house. But what they actually wanted was not a "nice curry house" but a "deserted wipe-clean soundproofed warzone".

Why do rugby lads feel the need to get naked when they drink? I drink. I drink a lot. I've done many, many regrettable things when drunk but I have never ever feel the need to get my kit off in a public place. And why do drunken rugby lads like playing with each other's genitals? Why?

Anyway, these bladdered yahoos start terrorising the very polite, very efficient restaurant staff. Shouting, swearing, getting naked (why???) and waving their knobs about. Mercifully, we were screened from the rest of the diners by a growing human screen of very serious-looking Asian gentlement. One rugger bugger in particular was having great fun dunking his bollocks in things: beer, water, yoghurt, rice.

He then decided to rub the sensitive flesh of his "his meat and two veg" with his curry. He was eating vindaloo.

Oh my, did he quickly realise the error of his ways! He started shouting for water. But, mysteriously, all the staff had disappeared. His calls became more insistent but still there was not a waiter to be seen. Then he started to become polite, asking "please" for some water - but there was nobody to hear his requests. Even after the sobbing began.It was almost eerie. Having hovered over us for the entire meal, the waiters left us alone for a good 15 minutes so this guy could stew in his own juices.

Length? Dear me no, it was really fiery vindaloo.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 12:22, Reply)
Handbrake
Those of you that are familiar with the new Passat will know that it's got an idiot, moron, arse-ing, shit, wanking button for a handbrake on the dash.

So, what happens if, at 40mph, I press the handbrake button?....

Nothing. Boring!

What happens if I do it at 30mph?

Nothing. Arse...

What happens if I do it at 15mph?

Neck pain. That's what.

Lesson learned.

I've not yet dared try it at 70 yet, but I'm guessing nothing will happen - maybe I'll try it on Friday.....

Just in case there's any doubt, I do NOT like the damned handbrake
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 12:19, Reply)
I wonder what happens when
My normal "I wonder what happens when/if" stories usually involve "what happens if I drive head on into that lorry"...

I'm not suicidal, but it's one of those life (death) experiences that intrigues me - but not enough to actually do it.

** Watches the tumbleweed roll by **

I digress.

Like PJM I was introduced to the driving physics thing...

What happens if I drop into 3rd (at 70) in my Seat Leon in this 90 degree corner and lift off?

Bad things - that's what.

I've not done it since - nor will I. The look of sheer terror in the eyes of the oncoming driver as I come out of this corner sideways convinced that "I've got it, I've got it" and he ducks into a field - will live with me for, hang on, er, no I've forgotten it ...

That lesson, I've learnt.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 12:16, Reply)
Just like Mr Tiger Woods
Same as JTW I guess. 23 years old and let loose with a 16v Golf, which was normally driven with due care and consideration for others.

However, I was driving back to the office in torrential rain and negotiating a large roundabout when a voice in the back of my head said "turn in to the bend and lift off the accelerator". Prior to this point I'd been something of a "Driving Miss Daisy", so in an out of character impulse decided to play silly buggers.

I was quickly introduced to two new friends; Dr Oversteer and Mr Sideways. Normally, lift off oversteer is amusingly catchable, but I hadn't banked on spilled diesel and pissing rain.

"I'm gonna catch it! I'm gonna catch it!" thought I as the arse end slowly overtook the front.

Cue a red faced and chastised me sat facing the armco with (thankfully) superficial damage to the Flog but massive damage done to my ego.

That learned me.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 12:11, Reply)
Follow on
I work in Aberdeen a lot so I fly up from Humberside airport and back.

Yes, Humberside does have an airport and I use Eastern Airways....

Anyway, this is more a lesson learned from my last post. Actually, it's more a lesson not learned.

Ok, it's more a "wake up you dozy sod!!"

Sometimes I go cross-country through a town called Brigg (for one reason and another) instead of using the faster M180 - so I turn off before getting to the big roundabout.

I should mention that I have done this route about 150 million times

This junction is a tight ish left turn and I have to give way to the right - I hope you can picture it.

I always forget about giving way to the right. With some unpopular results.... Actually, I usually forget to brake.....

Anyway, once I've sorted that melee out, the road tightens to the left then snaps right.
maps.google.co.uk/?ie=UTF8&om=1&z=17&ll=53.582353,-0.411311&spn=0.004688,0.011265
It's not totally clear here, but you get the idea.

Goes without saying that just about every time I forget about this and it always catches me unawares and I get much use out of the kerb and traction control....

Thankfully my car has enough power to accelerate out of the havoc that I've just caused.

If I've done it to you, I'm so very sorry.

And no, I'll not learn.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 12:06, Reply)
Karma
Bit similar to james tiger woods's one actually, should've posted earlier.

Anyway, when I first passed my driving test I was, like most 17 year old blokes, driving around like a twunt. I remember going through an incredibly deep puddle to splash some poor fecker who I happened to be driving past. Karma showed me though when about 2 weeks later I wrote off my Corsa (my pride and joy) and had to go on a driving course reminding you that steering is important.

That showed me anyway
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 12:00, Reply)
Taught
Well, this is a sort of "Lesson learnt".

Kindof.

I used to drive like a loon, well, I was 22 and a guy. It's what we do. Cue many "you'll have an accident", etc statements from people.

Well, I'll show them, I thought - right up until the roundabout, oil, Armco, glass, bent metal, damage, tears, £800 insurance, etc.

Lesson learnt there.

So you would think.

6 months later, same car - tried to overtake - the other guy stopped. I didn't.

Great.

That taught me.

Last year - Older and wiser - brimming with the intelligence of age. Driving too fast, corner, field, swearing, bad.

Have I learnt the lesson of physics, speed and the pain that can be involved with driving like an arse?

No.

Why, oh why will I not learn???

Turns out my Passat doesn't handle that well either.....
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 11:29, Reply)
Immac
Reading that post just now reminded me of someone I know called John New. Yes, I'm naming him as he's told everyone in Portsmouth anyway.

He had this GF a few years ago and they were heavily into the sex thing - some of it a bit nasty from what I can gather - whips and stuff - he'd deliberately wind her up before the act and she'd respond whipmering down the phone - they both got off on it but it was a very strange way for him to get it up, so to speak. They were also into massage oils and used to get into bin bags full of the stuff so they could roll around together. I digress........anyway this one particular time I think the whips where out and the cuffs, so he tied her up like a monkey and then did what men do to women like that.....anyway after she was untied she insisted she massage him...you know what's coming ? ha ha anyway she rubbed in an entire tube of Immac (now called Veet I understand) into his complete torso. Next morning he gets into the shower only to find himself completely devoid of any human hair on his chest and his back (he looked very strange - he actually showed us his bareness in the Bridge Tavern later that day). I couldn't stop laughing, we all took the piss big time. Well done Sandra, he's still the arsehole he was when you knew him.

*Cough*
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 11:05, Reply)
Steve
Steve was an arsehole of the biggest kind (a ginger as well to make matters worse). He started to hang around with a bunch of us in the local pub (we all thought he was someone else's mate so went along with it). He regularly used to tell us how well he was doing in college and would be away from us and the shit-hole that we lived in as he was destined for bigger and better things.

I let slip that my Mum & Dad had gone away to him once and that a few of us would be having a few drinks at ours one Sunday afternoon before the pubs opened (before the days of all day Sunday drinking). He invited himself and demanded that we pick him up from his house.

He spent the next 10 minutes telling us what shite cars we had and how he was going to get a better one when he had passed his exams and was better than the rest of us.

We got back to my house and the scene was set for drinking games - 6 glasses lined up with a bottle of Coke and a bottle of Whisky ready.

What we didnt tell him though was we were all just drinking Coke while he was being poured straight whisky with the tiniest bit of Coke to colour it.

20 minutes later and 1/2 bottle of Whisky caned by just him, he was a wreck. Made sure he was out of the house in the garden to minimise damage and prevent him from being sick everywhere.

45 minutes later, nearly pub opening time so we got a taxi down there - he was incapable of walking anywhere, being sick out of the taxi window and was pretty much passed out.

Couldnt take him to the pub in that state so dumped him in his front garden, rang the bell and hopped back in the taxi on to the pub.

From his Mum's point of view, she last saw her darling son an hour ago. Her last words to him, don't get drunk as you have an exam tomorrow. She opens the door to find him passed out in the middle of a rose bush, sick all down his front.

He didn't come out with us again - she told him he wasn't allowed to as we were a bad influence.

Last I heard he had a shitty job working for his Dad as he failed his exams miserably.

Lesson learnt I think.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 10:57, Reply)
Little shit
Said little shit royally fucked up a 'shroom trip in the countryside to transform it into a paranoid hell. Always been spiritually peaceful before and since. My revenge, when a bit pissed, was to nut the cunt and in the process floor him. That taught the fucker, temporarily. He's still a cunt.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 10:39, Reply)
instant revenge!
My little brother once broke my Transformer.

So I punched him in the bollocks!


Lesson Learnt!
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 10:38, Reply)
A woman's scorn
I take no responsibility for this nasty act of revenge - Disclaimer ... blah blah blah ....

Not going to bore you with the story .. one bird mugged over by another bird ... la la you get the picture. Its the actual act of revenge which is the ingenious bit.
Any ladies reading this will know exactly what tools I'm refering to here:

Occasionally us lady types get stuff through the door, - Samples of stuff, make up, detergent ... its not unusual.
Using this, the revenge was such -

Tools needed
1 x Victim & Address
1 x sample of Deep conditioner (type you leave on - such as 3 minute aussie miracle (available in tescos)
1 x Needle & Syringe
1 x hot Glue gun
1 X Immac hair remover

Its simple, take deep conditioner and suck out the contents with the afore mentioned needle and syringe (hey, no need to throw it away, go on! treat yourself!)
replace the contents with a hefty dose of Immac or Veet as its now known. Use the hot glue gun to seal the hole and then you need to fix the ned product to a sheet of card, with your victim's address on, (ideally you need a fake post mark too) and a couple of words to the affect of "your free sample" ...

Hey presto, it might not get used imediatly, but it will get used. Usually before a big date / night out. It wont make her bald (unless she has fine hair, but it will cause substantial damage.)

Revenge no 2

As above, all needed is a simple scan of your local heatlh authority's logo, or just the NHS on, easily found on the interweb, the address of the local clap clinc, you victim's address and a fake reference number, and hey presto off we go!
A nice letter saying that one of their partners has tested positive for x x and x, and can they please make an app.

I did not do any of these things or make them up. From a person I knew as a student and had resources of an artful nature. Far as I know I think they did the Immac thing for real. Nasty eh?!
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 10:30, Reply)
Two stories for the price of one...
First, another 'how we got revenge on a crap teacher' story.

First term of lower-sixth in a boys-only grammar school. The French class I was in has achieved all A-grades at O-level (yes it was that long ago) due to having a truly brilliant teacher. Unfortunately he couldn't take our class any more, so we got this woman who (as she never tired of telling us) had just quit her job as a high-flying, highly-paid Fleet Street journo to 'pursue her true vocation' in teaching.

Short story: she was crap. She didn't know what she was talking about, got no respect, couldn't control the class -- and this was the best-performing, best behaved class in the year. By the end of the first term, our grades were averaging Ds and she basically spent the lessons telling us to read from text books. Anyone who dissented (which was most of us) was immediately sent to the lecture hall to read in private study.

Our revenge? We organised a group to go to the deputy head's office and complain about her. She didn't come back the following term.

What a bunch of girly swots we were!

And now rather less tasteful a story that was related to me by a friend:

As young-ish kids they used to love playing in the local woods. They had a den and everything, and hidden in the den a secret hole in the ground where they would hide 'treasure' -- sweets mostly. It was covered over and disguised so that no-one would be able to find their secret hoard.

Anyway, there was this group of older kids (isn't there always?) that would terrorise them now and again. Of course they found out about the den and one day they came back to find it kicked over and -- horror! -- the secret stash raided. Revenge was required.

So they rebuilt the den back to its former state. Then they opened up the hole, and dropped in a bunch of smashed glass. Then for good measure, took a dump in it, and stirred it all up.

They returned a few days later to find the nearby trees smeared with shit and blood. Ho ho!
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 10:09, Reply)
My dad
used to be a lecturer at a local college. One day, an unruly student was disrupting the class, so my dad went up to him, grabbed his copy of the Sun from him, rolled it up, smacked him over the head with it, then continued the lesson.

"You can't do that!" said the somewhat shocked student.
"I just did", replied my dad.
"Oh, aye, right, OK", he said, and caused no further disruption.

That showed him.

You'd get put in jail for that sort of thing these days though.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 9:38, Reply)
Daughter's revenge
Noto bene: This story has appeared before.

In infant's school, there was a Kid that enjoyed knocking the shit out of children generally younger and smaller than himself. Daughter would come home with toy-car shaped bruises on her forehead. She's two and a half or so. When I complained, I got the usual "Oh, boys will be boys, bla bla" and this town is way too politically correct for anything like punishment or discipline. Well, unless it's unwarranted. (That's another story)

So, Husband and I practiced coping techniques with Daughter and she was ready for the big day. Kid kloons her with a block, she grabs him by the collar, yanks him off his feet and screams in his face, "YOU CAN'T DO THAT TO MEEEEEEEE!" Amazingly enough, Kid never bothers her again.

I did however, receive a call from the principal about how anti-social her behaviour was. Buttwipes.
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 4:13, Reply)
Son's revenge
When Destruct-O Boy was three, he and I got into some barney or other about picking up his toys. I told him if he couldn't pick up his things, I would pick them up and they'd be mine, bwa ha ha ha etc. We went on in this vein until I got mad and hid all his Legos.

Weel, he taught me a lesson, yes sir! He came in the laundry room, triumphantly said, "Oh yeah, well, I broke YOUR fing!" and stomped out. I had no idea what he meant until I went in my room to put away my clean clothes and found it.

He had unscrewed the top to my vibrator and hidden the batteries. My fing was broken.


Please God, don't let him remember that....
(, Tue 1 May 2007, 4:02, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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