I may as well get this one under the line before it closes.
A few years ago I was the Assistant Manager of a moderatley large superstore, crap hole that it was, but that's besides the point.

One day, during the school holidays, we had some kids hanging around outside, not total yobs, just the little twats that had more money than sense and Mumsy and Dadsy pander to their every need. One of these little twunts decides to come into the store, every few minutes, on his rollerskates, scaring old ladies, knocking over displays, and swearing and such, and, more importantly, pissing off me.

And then he goaded me by saying something to the effect of "Ha Ha! You never catch me!".

Really?

The store had automatic sliding doors as they are wont to do, and you can pop a key in and set them in various ways to open and close. I set them to open from the outside, but remain closed if someone tried to exit. The said twunt came careering in, cocky as fuck, and i started walking towards him which made him bolt for the door.

But it didn't open.

Result, one bloody nosed little twat, possibly concussed, who never came in the store again.
( Monty Propps, Thu 3 May 2007, 0:44, Reply)

John Crhistophe Nvoelli ( all the post is deliberately spelt incorrectly) the supposed Frech Gorgeous Chef with the black curly hair
He's on TV at the moment inputting some crap into alan Sgugar's crap TV program which I've just turned off.

I remember John. Oh yes do I..........

Few years ago I went with a mate* to an all day foodie do at the Hotel du Ven in Winchester where we had a flower arranging show, then a gorge 4 course meal, lots of wine, and then after, John demostrating his wares in a room with a few cookers and hobs. Jamei Oliver was just starting on TV, it was about that time. anyway he started to melt some sugar (no relative to the bloke) to make some caramel and then demonstrate said caramel as a fine strand around a knife steel. Most of us were pissed from the wine tasting, me included, and things were said in hush hush voices about how absolutely crap he was talking about caramel. So - I was making the most noise, so he said "Madame, si'l vous plait, viene ici avec moi et faire la meme" which means "please come up here and do the same"

So not wanting to let the side down, and pissed as a fart, got up and went to the bowl of steaming sugar caramel. Got the steel, got the spoon and wrapped it around the thing like a TV pro. A VERY loud clapping ensued and I got asked to continue the cooking demonstration by demand.

Talk about spoiling his show.

He fucked off after that........

*the mate isn't a mate any more, she married HB's son and they owe me lots of money
( Tiggy the diver, Wed 2 May 2007, 22:35, Reply)

The Bitch
Not done anything yet ... but getting close to telling husbands bitches husband all about them
(waterbabe, Wed 2 May 2007, 21:13, Reply)

Another rugby story
when i was a wee lad playing for my local team in an away cup match, one lad kept hitting me in the stomach and trying to wind me, this got on my nerves, a lot.

when he ran at me when he had the ball, i thought i would get my own back. as i went shoulder first to wind him, i went about an inch too high and fractured one of his ribs.

the hardest part about this was having to apologise to the lads parents for putting their son in hospial. hardest way to open a conversation, "hi, i'm the lad that bloke your sons rib cage"

funnily enough when we played them the next year, he stayed away from me.
(Big Ginge putting the laughter into manslaughter, Wed 2 May 2007, 20:57, Reply)

Smoking
I've just rememberd something.

I had the unfortunate experience to live with my mother and horrid stepfather on the Isle of wight for a year after flunking college. Mother went away to visit her sister, so I had to make the dinner for everyone. So I had to live with this control freak of a stepfather for one night, and his 3 kids. One of the kids had a problem with wetting the bed and if he did it stepfather (his own father) would go mad and put him in the outhouse to sleep in the freezing cold. I was very aware of this and was sympathetic to his poor son, he needed help and they refused to address it properly. The Stepfather's coupe de grace was farting on the sofa in his underwear after eating a meal. So who's the twunt ? Luckily I had an excuse to vacate the lounge where he watched crap TV and smoked. I had to cook him and the others dinner, so whilst he was in said lounge I made 2 spag bol dinners, one for him and the rest for me and the 3 kids. I looked after the kid and put a special sheet on his bed. The meal had all the same ingredients, except his, I emptied the ashtrays (minus the stubs) in his spag bol. He never noticed. so he was eating his own ash. I now wish I'd emptied the piss from his son's bed. Ha !

He's a porn photographer in Tanzania now and my Mum got shot of him soon after, but I can't tell her. She's too straight !
( Tiggy the diver, Wed 2 May 2007, 20:31, Reply)

Two lessons taught
First one was at a new years party when I was younger, and I was talking about something I had done. My older cousin says, "What is it? You name it, I've done it." Sensing an opportunity, I said it was buggering Dubya. He mumbled a few words in disgust and shut up.

Now the more recent one. There's a kid at school who just had surgery, so he can't lift things.

Kid: *is rolling backpack into classroom*
Asshole: You're so lazy you're rolling it in, etc....
Me: He got his gallbladder removed.
Asshole: *oops* I'm a jackass!
(SpiffyBalak, Wed 2 May 2007, 20:10, Reply)

Thing
I was going to do a 774 to the EDP but decided to do a 554 to the EDD instead.

Hoo-whee how we laughed.

I'm so very sorry
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 2 May 2007, 19:27, Reply)

nearly forgot this gem
bunch of chaps i used to know shared a house.

for the life of me, i can't remember what this one chap did wrong. i think he was just being a lousy housemate. anyway, one weekend he went off to visit a friend, and his housemates began their plan.

by the time he got back, their plan was complete, and a cctv camera installed in his room.

he walked in to find everything covered in wrapping paper. *everything*. but beyond that, everything else.

so, he unwraps the bed and finds the pillows, mattress, duvet and bed itself also wrapped underneath. also, the wrapped boxes under the bed, which unwrapped contain wrapped folders containing wrapped documents and, of course, wrapped porn.

he unwraps the desk, and unwraps the computer, to unwrap the monitor, the keyboard, the cpu and the mouse. in each drawer, his pens, pads, stapler, EVERYTHING is individually wrapped.

it was a work of genius, and probably required some class A drugs to keep the momentum, but they managed it. and the other lads got to see the whole trauma unfolding on live tv.

marvellous.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Wed 2 May 2007, 19:26, Reply)

condom in bin
Way back in my skanky student days, we lived in this house where you had to go through my bedroom to get to the washing machine.

My housemate was forever whinging on at me for not doing the washing up and have never forgiven me for giving her scabies. Some people just hold a grudge. So anyway, my room was really messy to the point where you couldn't see the floor. One time she was picking her way through the rubbish when she accidently stepped in my bin... and got a shitty condom stuck to her foot. Apparently she didn't stop screaming for a good twenty minutes.

That taught her.
(badfox1 wonders who he's played by this episode on, Wed 2 May 2007, 19:08, Reply)

girl a college
similar to the actual question, found her food kept going missing in halls.

so, one day, she dyed everything blue.

milk, cheese, eggs, ham, bread (baked herself), and any leftovers. BLUE.

of course, the benefit to this was she could tell who (if they dared) was eating her food from the blue tongues, and then get her 6'5" boyfriend to 'have a word'.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Wed 2 May 2007, 18:48, Reply)

Sex at work revenge
I used to work in a hotel and was close to quitting because my bosses had failed to deliver over the position they promised me and instead I was treated like Dobby the house elf from Harry Potter.

So in revenge, I buggered my mate in every single room of the hotel (it was empty at the time due to refurb), the kitchens, the office and the dining room and which loosened one of the tables. I got pleasure knowing the sheets were all soiled with bits of me before the guests arrived.
(badfox1 wonders who he's played by this episode on, Wed 2 May 2007, 18:31, Reply)

My brother
My bro didnt really like school, was possibly dyslexic before dyslexia was invented and whilst bright, struggled academically.

I did pretty well, and occasionally would help him out where I could.

I cant quite remember why, but we would have had had a barney at some recent point, but I decided to give him the 'secret' to Algebra that you weren't supposed to know until you got to 5th year (old school numbering).

I told him in his maths exam, that whenever there was a question with letters instead of numbers, that a=1, b=2, c=3...z=26 etc. That was it, the only thing he would ever need to know.

He took my advice 100% and failed with something approaching a zero score.

I should probably take some of the blame for him spending the subsequent 14 years of life working in jobs you wouldnt outsource to Polish people.

Length? About F and a half.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Wed 2 May 2007, 16:26, Reply)

Trying to keep a lid on something
Someone posts a random string of numbers, which are used to make the conned-sumer pay over and over again for something they've already bought.

09 F9 11 02 9D 74 E3 5B D8 41 56 C5 63 56 88 C0

That taught them.
( shadyron, Wed 2 May 2007, 16:20, Reply)

Yeah cars n'all that jazz
I'll try and keep this breif.
Driving along dual carriage way, pull out to overtake slow moving traffic in left lane. Car up my arse all of a sudden. I stick to the 70mph speed limit with this little prick trying to bully me over into the slow lane. I remain, undetered. I pass the last car I figure a reasonable manouvre before my slip road steadily approaches on the left. I have pulled into a gap following an artic' lorry and being followed by the last car I overtook. The prick driving like a twunt that was just touching my bumper with his decides it's do-able to continue past me, and overtake the artic' in front of me before swinging into the same slip road I'm now indicating for. The laws of physics decided that it's not as do-able as shitforbrains thinks. He must have hit about 90mph before he decides to try to swerve in front of this lorry, causing the rear of his car to fall into a spin sliding accross the slip road(directly in my oncoming road - I could practically wave at him and his passingers while he did this) and back into the centre of the dual carriageway inevitably taking a SMACK from the artic' lorry.
It was actually quite a horrific crash, and definately not something you would say " I bet that taught him! " to due to it's nastiness. - the car was mangled caused by bouncing off various objects.
But as he sat there in the centre of the dual carriage way facing the wrong way, and all oncoming traffic ground to a halt staring him in the face, I did however think "I bet you feel like a right cunt, don't you?"
(HairyBaldy, Wed 2 May 2007, 16:01, Reply)

I bet it was the German kids
As a little kiddie, and a big one now, I bloody making sand castles me. Really big ones of all shapes and architectural genres (my latest is Mordor style one where you drizzle wet sand between your fingers for scary effect).

So anyway, one holiday I would amuse myself for hours building these masterpieces, only to return later to fing them kicked in and trampled to the ground. Convenientlty, as well as lots of lovely sand, there were these heavy, breeze block sized things scattered about to serve as moorings for the occaisional boat. Moorings and the perfect foundation for a sandcastle.

I never saw what happened, but it's safe to assume that they did more than chip a toe nail. Bastards.
(Hampton St.Roker (has probably had your mum), Wed 2 May 2007, 16:00, Reply)

HAHAHA
my boss moved my desk to the far corner of the room.

I have been able to get away with doing eff all, all day!

that'll teach him!


I have created a blog!
On work time!
(UnstableDan Bah, Humbug! ooooh, humbugs, nyom!, Wed 2 May 2007, 15:56, Reply)

More car shenanigans
Not quite road rage but car-based lesson teaching (or just plain wankerishness...).

I used to drive a rather knackered old-model (mid-90s) Astra. It was crap: heavy, underpowered, clumsy -- and ugly too. Anyway at the time I was living in Slough (yeah, yeah) and one day I was driving said car around a large, multi-lane roundabout which had traffic lights on it (it's the one you see in the opening credits of The Office). I was stopped at one of the sets of lights waiting for them to change, when some young chav in his pimped-up hatchback pulled alongside me on my left, looked over and revved his engine, grinning.

For fuck's sake.

Basically we were both aiming for the same exit: it has two lanes but one immediately filters off to go down the high street while the other carries on out of town. He wanted to jump ahead of me to go straight on, a fairly common manoeuvre on this roundabout.

All the time he was edging forward bit by bit, still looking over and revving like this is going to be race of the century. So I waited patiently for the lights, and when they turned I floored it, so that I was alongside him as we pull away. Somehow -- I must have caught the gear changes just right -- the poor abused Astra managed to stay alongside (and upright during the sharp-ish turn off the roundabout) all the way, forcing him to pull off onto the pedestrianised high street while I carried on.

Childish, me? Fuck yeah. I hope his ego was fatally wounded.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Wed 2 May 2007, 15:11, Reply)

Everybody has a road rage story
I drive a 17 year old Golf GTi. I'm fixing it up, but to be fair it does still look a bit bandjaxed.

Last October, I'm driving back up to Guildford along the A303. Southerners will know this road, it's smooth, straight and fast. As you head north towards Stonehenge, there is a lovely long section that runs downhill, goes into a gentle left hander at the bottom and climbs up the following hill.

At the bottom of the road, a BMW (isn't it always a BMW) 525 turns across in front of me. He knew I was coming, he knew I was going pretty fast, there was nobody on the road for miles behind me. So he pulls out and cuts me up. I, quite, quite literally, had to stand on my brakes. The girl in the car with me nearly shat herself and I was fucking furious. Livid. I have never been so angry in my entire life and this fucking cunt had done it on purpose.

I knew he had done it on purpose because he immediately floored it and one of his passengers turned around and looked at me with a big smile on her ugly, geriatric, dog's arse mouth. Evidentally, they thought they had the legs of me and were having a good laugh at their jolly jape of winding up the young lad in his hot hatch.

Well, much to their dismay, my little shed of a GTi is perfectly capable of keeping up with a 525. I was right on their bumper the entire way up the following hill, flashing my lights and throwing signs at them. I am not normally a road rager, but they had seriously scared me and my passenger and I wasn't going to let it go.

Well hanging off someone's bumper at 90mph isn't the cleverest thing you can be doing so i needed a different approach. As we came up to a dual carriageway section, I took out my SLR, switched the flash on and took a photo of their number plate. Immediately the old fool driving slows right down to 65, evidentally hoping that I was going to pass him and leave them in peace. No.

I slow down with them. I flash my lights and indicate. They slow down more and pull into the hard shoulder. I slow down to a crawl and myself and the lady passenger both look across, give them a big cheery smile and a wave and drive on by.

Bastards. Revenge taken. I hope those octogenerian japesters filled their colostomy bags.
( Kroney, Wed 2 May 2007, 14:03, Reply)

Ha!
I'm known for pulling the odd practical joke - nothing major or anything like that, just daft things - and only on someone who can take it....

Anyhoo

I had a font that had everything upside-down (I've since lost it so if anyone has it, please pass it on??) - I did the predictable and changed my mate's fonts (Let's call him Bob). Cue much giggling on my and everyone else's part.

He came back and announced that he was leaving - effective immediately. He turned on his heel and was gone - didn't even check his PC or anything. All that effort for nothing.

My manager comes over and says "Right, JTW, I'm taking your PC and you can have Bob's"

"But, but, but...."

It took me 2 hours to unset it - gave my colleagues a proper laugh.

That'll teach me.

On the plus side, I later changed my manager's laptop fonts to the same a week later :o)
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 2 May 2007, 13:54, Reply)

dole fiddling bar steward .....
After a few sucessful years signing on during the mid 90's I decided to go travelling for a couple of months and get a mate of mine to sign on for me whilst i was away (it had to be paid for somehow....)It would only have been a couple of visits because of all the bank holidays this time of year (i signed on every 2 mondays).
Whilst I was away the cnut accepted a restart interview on my behalf and arranged a job interview for the day i returned.(oh how he laughed!)
In order to keep my money coming in I attended the interview. Rather liked what I saw and ten years later here i am getting paid even more money than then to do bugger all except p*ss about on the internet all day.(we're still mates)

First post .....and still no chance of promotion
(John Elton, Wed 2 May 2007, 13:50, Reply)

Been caught stealing
cmpod's story reminded me of one of my own.
So back in the day I'm managing the Our Price in Clapham and we're having a lot of trouble with shoplifters. Now these are no ordinary shoplifters, these are crack-addicted, drink-soused, South London council estate shoplifters. We had one of those barrier things but all that did was beep noisily to tell you someone had just nicked something. The toerags generally picked saturday afternoon for their most audacious crimes (50+ dvds at a time) so we used to post a member of staff on the door to dissuade them, but given that most of my staff were shortarses and/or girls they didn't dissuade anyone. Then on particular saturday we snapped. We'd actually caught one and handed him over to the coppers in the morning and he was back (on Police bail) less than 2 hours later sporting a huge grin that said he'd just had a little toke on the crack pipe.
The blatant little sod tried it again, legging it out of the door with a dozen cds and dvds. Three of us gave chase, and after about ten minutes of hot footing it through the backstreets of Clapham we caught him. We called the cops and settled down to wait, knowing they would take at least twenty minutes to turn up. Cigarettes were smoked and we wondered how long until he got out again and started nicking. No More we thought, let's draw a line in the sand now. So the three of us kicked seven bells out of the shite, and broke a few of his fingers for good measure. Then we explained things to him very carefully:
"Steal from Superdrug in Future, the little old ladies won't chase you, won't catch you, and wont beat the crap out of you. Get it."

He did, we never saw him again. Result.
(Mr Steve is jobless and fancyfree!, Wed 2 May 2007, 13:19, Reply)

Harsh but fair
A few years back on holiday in France with the family, we visited the beach. Out in the sea they had a floating platform for people to dive off. Me and my brother swam out and began diving in, but much to my annoyance some little French twunt kept on diving in every time I surfaced with the intent of splashing me. Wisened up to this, I simply sat down on the platform and waited, in some sort of stand-off with French kid. Eventually, he gave up and dived in, so seeing my chance I jumped after him... and hit him full on as he resurfaced, breaking one of his ribs. Cue lots of screaming, and me making a hasty exit.
(Angry Pierre likes his Guinness, Wed 2 May 2007, 13:07, Reply)

Fucking fisherman
I was on a lake in Paris with my girlfriend in a little rowing boat. It was my first time trying to row and so I wasn't too good at straight lines. Despite my best efforts I started splashing my way towards a group of fisherman who started to hurl a multitude of obscenities at me, chastising me for my lack of boating prowess. I (being a fluent French speaker) explain why I'm having trouble but the miserable sods keep yelling. I get pissed off and hurl my own obscenities back.

That wasn't enough. In fact, they really pissed me off.

My girlfriend and I get out on the bank a bit further round the lake to have lunch. The most incessantly noisy bastard scary crow I have ever seen in my life turned up to bug us for food during lunch. Then another arrived. Then another. Bloody loads of the things making a huge sodding noise.

I then proceeded to lure a crowd of about 50 irritating crows closer and closer to the fisherman with the baguette that we had for lunch... finishing with a huge handful of crumbs right over their quiet fishing spot. How I laughed as the enormous plague of cawing birds descended on the humourless bastards to disturb them more than my crappy rowing ever could.

Ah well, it taught them.
(PsychoticSock, Wed 2 May 2007, 12:37, Reply)

Dolphin watching & Captain Cunt
While on honeymoon in lovely St Lucia, ex-Mrs PJM and I signed up to go whale watching as the idea of lounging around on the deck of a boat in the sunshine watching Flipper and his clicking pals playing silly buggers was frankly too good an opportunity to pass up.

The night before the trip we'd got talking to a couple from Newcastle in the bar (our only visit to the sodding bar, ex-Mrs PJM denied me even the welcome respite of getting drunk to avoid her regular whining for thirteen of the fourteen days). Anyway, we were both much the worse for wear when we staggered back to our room to sleep.

Next morning was Hangovers-R-Us. I shuffled onto the coach with all the enthusiasm of someone about to turn up for an amputation, but hoped for at least the opportunity of a hair of the dog on the boat.

Oh God... The polite term for the boat was "bijou". It can't have been more than twenty five feet in length and was clearly designed to travel at speed, posessing all the stability of a newborn giraffe on rollerblades. The Captain stood proudly in the wheelhouse, wearing a Hawaiian shirt a-la Magnum PI and dark glasses while sipping bottled beer retrieved from a cool box.

We pulled out of the harbour at Castries at minimal knots and I began to take note of the incessent bucking motion of the boat which jarred my tender stomach. I gritted my teeth and pretended I was fine, as hopefully my body would get used to the jarring.

After half an hour I was at the limit of my endurance. The boat was going so slowly that it was bucking like a mule with a firecracker in its arse despite the relative calm of the sea. Just a few more knots would have smoothed out the ride immeasurably.

Having taken on a hue somewhere between "Ghost Grey" and "Bile Green" on the Humbrol scale, both my self and ex-missus were decidedly ill. I took matters into my own hands and wandered up to the boat's captain-cum-pilot.

"Can we please go just a little bit faster? A few of us aren't feeling well"

The cunt just turned away and ignored me.

"Please?"

Again, no reaction.

I staggered to the back of the boat and proceeded to spew over the side, as did three other people upon witnessing my infirmary. I positively detest being sick, especially in front of other people. I felt like an animal and did not like it one bit.

"Help yourself to beer!" announced Captain Cunt over the tannoy, clearly beer was as much use to me in this condition as chocolate ironing board. I swear that the hawaiian shirted fool found this amusing.

Meanwhile, Flipper and his pals were on strike. Scanning the horizon carefully with binoculars in between industrial strength retching, it was obvious that there were no cetaceans of any description whatsoever to be seen.

Within five minutes, ex-missus had to physically restrain me from making a swim for it. I figured we were less than a mile from shore and being a gifted swimmer I reckoned I could do it in 30 minutes making allowances for my weakened state and sea currents. Plus the hike back to the hotel, I'd be home before dark. Even though the caribbean is shark territory I felt so ill that I would willingly take my chances. I kid you not, I very nearly jumped.

Still the boat continued bucking, even though other passengers complained.

Something in my tortured innards screamed in protest and I simply could not stand puking in front of people any longer so I staggered below to preserve what little dignity I had, making a final futile attempt at begging Captain Cunt to do something about the rocking boat en route.

Oh God... The head was the size of a broom cupboard and contained a small shower unit. Once I shut the door the sensation was akin to being locked in a hot phone box and shaken about and my stomach couldn't hold on any longer. The boat rolled in the water and I fell backwards and started to projectile vomit uncontrollably, missing the toilet by three feet. I'd lost control of my body at this point, which began to convulse and twitch in a manner familiar to anyone who's seen me dance, but as I flopped around like a rag doll, I was spraying what remained of my breakfast in Exorcist fashion. I had reached the point where I would have welcomed the Grim Reaper like a long lost brother.

Two minutes later I emerged from the head having painted a Jackson Pollack of epic proportions. Captain Cunt grinned evilly as I waddled to the side of the boat and dry retched once again.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Captain Cunt take a sip from his bottle of Piton Beer and then climb into the head to relieve himself.

Within seconds, he emerged ashen faced and his swaggering demeanour was somewhat humbled. Our speed picked up and the boat mercifully stopped bucking around. By the time we eventually found some dolphins, my colour had returned but Captain Cunt didn't dare subject us to a turbulent ride for the remainder of the day.

I like to think he spent the remainder of the day scrubbing my handiwork away. That'll learn him.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Wed 2 May 2007, 11:56, Reply)

My sister once bit me
So I bit her so hard on the the arse that my tooth came out and remained lodged in her trousers

I guess it served both of us right
( WormuIus, Wed 2 May 2007, 11:29, Reply)

Ah, student days...
First year at Uni, in halls. We thought it'd be funny to fake up an "official" announcement telling everyone to take down their curtains for washing -- a stupid job that took bloody ages to do. Only three or four people fell for it, but we then made the mistake of posting another, obviously fake message crowing about our jape -- and got caught in the act. Anyway one particularly humourless cow got her revenge by filling a milk carton with ketchup, brown sauce, vinegar, salt etc., poking the pointy end under my mate's door and stamping on it. Jebus, the smell! And the stain never came out of the carpet, either.

That didn't learn us at all, we carried on being smart-arse wankers for years after.

Then there was this guy who had no friends and kept trying to hang around with us. He was a very heavy sleeper, who never locked his door. So one night we went into his room after he was asleep and took everything, including the duvet he was sleeping under. Funniest was when he stormed into my room the next day to demand his stuff back, stood there ranting and raving as I professed my innocence and then he stomped off -- all the while he was oblivious to the pile of his belongings stacked up right behind the door. So we went back the next night and turned everything in his room upside-down.

OK so that wasn't really revenge, more victimisation. He did stop bothering us eventually, so lesson learned for him I suppose.

Oh yeah, and also there was the pompous, arrogant arse down the hall who made a point of walking into your room without knocking first. So we waited until we could hear the sounds of rumpo between him and his stuck-up tart of a girlfriend coming from his room, and walked in -- five of us -- and just stood there watching. Stone me, the look on their faces was priceless.

Happy days!
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Wed 2 May 2007, 10:20, Reply)

Does the news follow B3ta QOW?!?
Very fitting with the QOW news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/glasgow_and_west/6612529.stm , now that taught him!
(Studentken is looking for motivation on, Wed 2 May 2007, 10:15, Reply)

Headshot!

There we were, three teenage kids hanging out in our beautiful home town (Croydon) doing what teenage kids do – throwing shit at each other. And this was Lloyds Park so it was dirty great chunks of chalk that were getting hurled around.

I remember it clearly, like it was yesterday (and not 10 years) – there I stood, projectile in hand. I spied my target, Adam, begging for some chalk to the face. I took aim and swung! But what’s this? Adam has seen my attack and is trying to dodge! The chalk curved majestically through the air missing his head by nanometres and carried on its way… towards Dan! But Dan is oblivious and takes a full chalk impact right to the head!

Dan: ARRRRgggghhhhHHHHHH!!
Me: …
Adam: …
Dan: UuuuurrrggghhHHH!
Me: …
Adam: …
Dan: YOU!
Me: oh shit
Adam: !!!
Dan: (charging angrily towards us)
Me: oh fuck
Adam: !!!
Dan: (grabs ADAM by face)
Dan: WHY? WHY DID YOU DUCK!? (*SMACK!*)
Me: ……wtf?
Adam:!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, that taught him!!
(Phelpsy Bollocks trapped behind radiator since, Wed 2 May 2007, 9:36, Reply)

I used to work in GAME.
Not exaclty the type of job that makes for a thrilling CV, but hey i was only 17.

Anyway. I was working away one busy saturday, minding my own business serving the customers, when all of a sudden a spotty street urchin grabbed the copy of Driver out of my hands (that i was bagging up for the customer) and proceeded to leg it.

Bastard.

What the street urchin failed to notice was what my co-worker was doing. He had been assigned the task of changing the posters in the windows. And at the exact point that urchin-features stole the game the window was empty of Lara Croft and Command and Conquer parifinalia......

....i can still hear the reverberations of that 6ft by 10ft pain of glass after the little twunt ran into it full pelt.

That taught him.

Length, girth? 6ft by 10ft, like i just said, do you not read?
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Wed 2 May 2007, 9:16, Reply)

Fuckin' 'ell!
Have reminded me how I used to teach my older brother lessons and one in particular stands out. It was the winter of '84 I think, when there was a shed load of snow, and where I come from was briefly in the news for having bread drops due to being even more cut off and isolated from the outside world, having said that it was fuckin' tops. Now I have to explain that my next older brother has glasses and had saved up to get himself those expensive photochromic lenses that reacted to sunlight (fuckin' expensive and a big deal back then)Anyways we were pissing about with me mates, a couple of brothers mentioned in an earlier post, and ended up in the inevitable snowball fight. My bro scored a damn fine shot to the back of my neck and it somehow slid directly down the inside of my T-shirt. I was fucked off and storming over punched him in the face. His glasses flew off (which he wore all the time- his eyesight is shite) and run off to bury them ( the snow was several feet deep everywhere). I then fuck off home in my self righteous indignation and my bro was left, after I'd given him the mercy of telling him the general area, on his hands and knees gently parting the snow with his hands to find them before dark. Our mates stayed to help him. He came home dead quiet about three and a half hours later. I never apologised, said nowt.
Didn't really teach him a lesson, was just an utter cunt, fuckin' terrible really. Do owt for him now though- he's a star.
(Dellamorte Dellamore Fuck it all, fuck it up, fuck it., Wed 2 May 2007, 7:47, Reply)