A couple of stories
so i'll keep 'em short.
I once worked for an international commercial property consultants. One of our clients owned a lot of property in the centre of London. One of their tenants, a large banking orgaisation, hadn't paid their rent so i advised them I’d send the bailiffs in, as an option. They said, ok. So I called the tenant, and asked them to pay immediately and despite them advertising their disposition for saying the affirmative, they didn't, so I baillifed them the following lunchtime. They weren't happy.

BT = hamster felching fucktards
A few years bank, when I first discovered internet porn, but not broadband, I received a bill from BT demanding stupid amounts of money for internet calls. Now, I like internet porn, but not THAT much. I had been stung with an internet dialer, which was charging silly amounts of money and resulted in a bill in the hundreds of pounds.
I decided, like most people would, that I wasn’t going to pay, so I wrote to BT complaining about the bill. I won’t go into the details of the complaint, as it’s all a bit dull, but anyway BT said bollocks, pay up.
I wrote back to them advising them to go fuck themselves and that I wasn’t going to pay, on the grounds that this scam was clearly organised crime, probably funding terrorism, and that BT were acting illegally by knowingly profiting from crime.
I never paid, they never chased me, but I did read a few days later that BT were going to give all the profits from this scam to charity.

I have another regarding N Power, but it’s long and not too interesting, so I’ll just say: Direct Debit Indemnity. Know your rights and your bank’s legal obligations.
( real i'm not happy 'til you're not happy, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 12:47, 8 replies)

Up yours, copper.
New Year's Eve 1999/2000

My (ex) wife's father has a chauffeur company, and I was working the millennium evening for him. In a Chrysler Voyager of all things.

I'd taken a group to Chelsea Harbour in London, and stayed with the other chuaffeurs while Hooray-Henry and Chums got more and more stocious. At least the organisers ensured that we had food and drink laid on for us.

Come about 2am, my party (of about 5) are ready to leave. The nearest one lived in West Wycombe, so off we set along the A40 out of London to drop hime (or her) off.

Now, bear in mind that this lot are all city types, and pretty much off their trollies, but I'm keeping them in check, and they're not being too rowdy.

As we cross over the M25, I spot a Police Patrol Car pull onto the motorway from the slip road. It's now about 2:30, nothing on the road, so he accelerates to pull past us. As he does so, I see the passenger glance in our direction, say something to his colleague and point at us.

He pulls past us, tucks into the lane in front of me, and slows down. This forces me to overtake him, and, when I tuck back in, he just sits on our tail.

"Oh" thinks me.

My turning is coming up, so I indicate to pull off. He does the same.

"Oh, oh" thinks me.

"Guys, I think we're going to be pulled over" I intone, to the sort of cacophony normally associated with the pub after a rugby match.

Sure enough, as soon as I'm on the sliproad, on come the blue lights.

I drive down to the roundabout at the bottom of the sliproad, turn left, and pull over as soon as it is safe to do.

The Police car pulls up, the passenger gets out, and walks to the car, making a big show of looking around it and searching for something to nick me for.

Finally he approaches the driver's door, and taps on the window. Imagine Reg Holdsworth from the Bill. Very officious.

As I wind it down, the waft of alcohol nearly knocks him over. I can visible see him reel.

"Good evening, sir. Can I ask where you're coming from?" says he.

"London, officer" says I.

"At a party, were we?" says he.

"Well, we were" says I.

"Had anything to drink at all?" says he.

"Errm, I think about three or four pints" says I.

"And do you think you are safe to drive with that in your system?" says he.

"Errm, yes?" I hazard.

"Well, I don't. Please take the keys out of the ignition, and step out of the car" says Officer Pompous. Oooo, he's so excited, he's got me.

So, I do, and he leads me to the Police Car, and gets me to sit in the back seat.

All this time, his colleague, a portly, jolly fellow is sitting behind the wheel smiling gently to himself.

"Right, I'd like you to blow into this" says PC McSquirt, proferring a roadside breathtest kit. "Just keep blowing untill I tell you to stop".

I do so.

Green light.

He looks at the kit as if offended. Gets out a new mouthpiece, and fits it to the machine.

"Let's try again, shall we?" says he.

I comply.

Green light.

"I thought you said you'd had something to drink tonight" says PC Bemused.

"I have" says I. "About three or four pints. Could be more."

"Well, this machine says otherwise" says Pc Copper Plod-Mc-Plod.

"Did you aske him what drink he'd had to drink?" says PC Santa laconically from the front of the car.

Cue colour drain from PC Full-Of-Self's face.

"What did you drink?" he says, spittle at the corner of his mouth.

"Errm, orange juice and apple juice" says I.

"Ahh" says PC Egg-On-Face. "Why didn't you say?"

"You didn't ask" says I.

PC Happy-Chappy now takes over. He admonishes PC Tail-Between-Legs (and myself for "wasting Police time") and sends me on my way.

As we pull away (to cheers from the crowd in my car), I can see PC-My-Bumhole-Is-Now-Tighter-Than-A-Cat's being yelled at by his colleague.

Not so much sticking it to the man, but more not stopping him sticking it to himself.

And it was worth a few substantial tips, as I regaled the passengers with the full details.
(SatchmoR No, mummy, don't put knitting needles in my ears!, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 12:33, 10 replies)

many years ago, temping for a shitty callcentre
agency work, for a big directory company, shout if you can guess who. the office aircon shit the bed in the middle of the biggest heatwave in years. they wouldn't open the windows, in retrospect probably because if you treat your staff like shit, AND are on the 5th floor, it's not a wise option. the boss's desk had a calendar/clock/thermometer on it. the thermometer was reading 33 degrees celsius, i don't even want to think about humidity, it was probably one point away from actually raining in there. i was feeling particularly obnoxious, so i had a quick look at my agency employee handbook, and lo and behold, in the small print of the 'working environment' or somesuch section, was a line stating that if the temperature rose above somethign like 28 degrees for more than two hours, you could walk out and not return until the temp dropped again... ON FULL PAY..
so i got up, turned round to the manager and in a voice designed to carry said 'it's 32 degrees in here, there's no projected repair time, you keep fobbing us off, and in my handbook, from the agency contracting me here, i'm entitled to leave on full pay until the temperature is within limits again. this is standard policy for XXXXXXXXX agency.

and left. and, in dribs and drabs behind me, as word spread so did the other approx 80% of the people on that floor who were ALSO with the agency i was with. and there wasn't a DAMN thing they could do. so we left, and three days of glorious sun and relaxation later, returned to a nice cool office, and NO bollocking, just dirty looks, which amused me greatly.
i also took time to read the rest of the handbook, and made sure i was in a good position to while i was off, shave two big fat mohawks into my head and dye them bright electric blue (which happened to be the colour of the competition)
that was fun when the bigwigs took a stroll through the department. i was due for the end of my 6month stint anyhow and would rather have been gang-raped by rabid porcupines in a vat of malt vinegar than work there any longer. fun times! the moral of this story, sometimes, even for men, it helps to RTFM.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 12:32, Reply)

So, I sell my car...
...a crappy old Beemer. Yay for me and my then fractionally more healthy bank account.

Months roll by, happiness is me...until I got 'the letter'.

The letter explained that 'my' car had been involved in a serious hit and run accident (into a parked vehicle, not a pedestrian) in London. The driver had fled the scene, never to be seen again. They sent a CCTV photo of the aftermath to show this, and by all accounts it was one hell of a crash.

They wanted blood, my blood, it was my car so it had to be me right? Well, no actually. I know full and well that the buyer filled in the log book, I bloody well KNEW I'd posted it. Their reasoning? They assumed, as they couldn't find the new owner, that I had falsified the V5 so that I could use it to run over kittens and nuns while playing death metal and swearing at pre-schoolers or suchlike.

I tried to explain everything to them on the phone, but they were having none of it. I gave up and sent them a letter, along with the copy of their dated photo and something else. I also included a photocopy of my daughters birth certificate, signed by me 45minutes before the accident occurred...in St Michaels Hospital, Bristol, 165 miles away.

I never heard from them, or the snotty bitch on the phone again. Funny that.
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 12:29, 7 replies)

Not paying your council tax.
A couple of years ago I decided not to pay my council tax. "What's the worst that can happen?", I thought, forgetting about the fact that they can throw you in the joint for it.

A year went by, and polite letters from the council turned into red ones, threats of court action, and eventually bailiffs.

One day, another letter turned up demanding full and final payment within 7 days, or the debt would be returned to the courts and a warrant for my arrest would be issued.

Shit, I thought - I'd better pay it. Not a biggie, I thought - I owed them about £1400, and I could clear it in about 6 months. I phoned them offering £230 a month. Fair enough.

Except the woman on the phone was obviously a bit thick and kept repeating the same thing - "You need to pay it in full, today."

Yeah. I'll just pull £1400 out of my arse. Good thinking, fucko. This went on for a couple of weeks - I kept making them ever-higher offers of monthly repayments which would already stretch my finances, and they kept refusing. Eventually I got a bit pissed off, and decided to put it in writing. The letter went something like this.

"This is my final offer. I owe you £1400; I cannot afford to clear the balance in full, so I will give you £200 a month; you can either accept this, or you will not get your money at all. Your choice."

I didn't hear anything for a month. One day I got a phone call. "Due to your circumstances, we can offer to reduce the debt to £900 as long as you can clear the balance today."

"Yeah, but I can't do that. Can I pay you monthly?"
"Yeah, how about £75 a month over 12 months?"

Of course I accepted, and I paid it off.

It still boggles my mind how the council (or the debt collection company working for them) willingly screwed themselves out of £500 AND accepted a lower repayment, just because they were too stubborn to accept my initial offer. How does that work?

*Edited as my figures were wrong. These are all approximate, I can't remember the exact ones. It did happen, honest.

In short - if you ever find yourself in debt, don't be intimidated by debt collectors. If you make them a reasonable offer, they will accept in the end.
(Flap Burger hasn't really got a burger made of flaps, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 12:02, 27 replies)

Every little helps
I paid my speeding fine with my Tesco Credit Card.
So in fact crimes does pay. It pays in clubcard points.
( Weejock, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:06, 15 replies)

Many of these answers contain
I stole sumfink OMGLOL take that the man.

To all those people; You are scum.
(Spaff_Quaffer Wise fwom your gwave., Tue 22 Jun 2010, 10:13, 23 replies)

Criminal justice bill march
I think it was in the late 90's can't remember. Anyhoo being the ravey monster I was back in the day, I had decided to join the crusties, who had much more to lose from this bill than I, who was just going because they had taken away our right to party anywhere we wanted. Not a long story but one thing that will always stick with me is one of the best slapstick moments I have ever seen live. This wasn't so much sticking it to the man but trying to stick it to the man and failing badly. On the march we were just passing a well know burger chain, yes you know the one, stupid demonic clown etc..As we were passing one of the marchers decided that said burger chain needed their windows smashed in, with massive glee on his face, he picks up a dustbin and charges as fast as he can against the window, what happened next was something you would see on Takishi's castle, you know the challenge where they have to run at the door and pick the right one made of paper. Anyway the marcher hits the window with the force of a rhino, the dustbin being his makeshift horn. It made a massive bang as the bin gave way and his head crashed against the window, the bounciness of the bin then sprung him back a good six feet back on to the road, and collapsed having been knocked out by the force of the blow. I don't know what they used in the windows but there wasn't even a mark. We definitely weren't there for violence so the crowd couldn't help laughing.....a lot, at the stupidity of this guy and you'll be happy to know the guy did eventually get up and sheepishly get in line with the rest of the protestors, whilst rubbing his sore head. 1-0 to the man on this occasion,or maybe 2-0 as the bill was passed, taking away another chunk of our civil liberties :(
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 10:10, 1 reply)

Pills - a tale of MASSIVE DRUGS and FAIL
... so I was going to Tribal Gathering with a bunch of friends. My mate J was coming, who was a proper little urban cool-guy - a drum n' bass DJ, and genuinely talked like one, even when ordering fish n' chips.

I'd bought five pills for the duration - we were getting there at about 5pm, and knew we wouldn't be back for ... well - a while.

J, meanwhile, with all the inevitability of a princess with an Egyptian boyfriend having a car accident, had decided to bring a lot of pills, in order to deal some on arrival. Most of these he had stashed up his arse, but he'd kept his personal stash seperarate.

As we approached the gate, I noticed that they weren't just searching randoms, they were searching everyone, and there appeared to be a few dogs around too.

Being naiive, stupid, and not a little ugly, I asked J for his advice, to which he responded by handing me a roll of tape and telling me "Strap 'em to your bollocks - that's what I've done".

Off I toddled behind a hedge, and performed this task, and consequently whizzed through security like a breeze.

That left me in the position of now needing to get said pills, and thus I found a portaloo, and spent an excruciating 10 minutes extracting them.

5 were spent slowly slowly slowly peeling them away from my plums and very nearly crying.

Another 3 were then spent debating with myself as to whether a sudden quick rip would do it, and then a further minute and a half saw me building up the courage, before re-emerging; a changed - and somewhat less hirstute - Vagabond.

On returning to the group, and informing J of my deed, his response was "Nah I said strap 'em to your boxers innit you fuckin' fool ... ", and thus he cemented my position as joke-butt for the rest of the night.

Cracking gig, though.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 9:28, 10 replies)

Obsessive Pheasant
I was once tending some outdoor equipment on a ranch in Arizona; equipment that was apparently claimed by an arrogant local pheasant. Every time I turned my back on the pheasant, the pheasant would peck at my legs, eventually drawing blood. Incensed, I whirled around and kicked the pheasant, but I was never able to land a solid punch on that damned bird. Every time I kicked the pheasant, the bird would jump up on my shoe and ride it up and down. Kicking the bird just made it attack more, which just made me angrier. So, for hours, I stuck it to the "man", and it stuck it right back, with bird-brained obsessiveness. Since I'm writing this from California, I suppose the pheasant won.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 8:08, 2 replies)

Nobody's posting a sadder one than this.
I got drunk friday night and texted AQA(I'm not proud) and asked them which side they believe to be the pride of East Anglia.

"Ipswich Town and Norwich City have a bitter rivalry and both claim to be the 'Pride of Anglia'. Norwich City is the best team."

I got angry and asked them:

"I just texted AQA about which football team is the best in East Anglia and AQA chose Norwich. May I ask AQA to tell me which East Anglian team has won most major trophies."

Reply:

"Ipswich Town has won the most major trophies, with a League title in 1962, an FA Cup in 1978 and a UEFA Cup in 1981. AQA now believes Ipswich Town is the Pride of East Anglia."

TAKE THAT DELIA.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 7:05, 6 replies)

Another quick one
I stuck IT to the man, and that's how I invented Cybermen.
( Trogdos The Raging Cuntmuffin, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 6:33, 2 replies)

And another one...
I have this habit (hopefully broken now) of working for the dodgiest companies you can imagine. The last one was bad- late pay, daily checks of the fuel levels in the generator in case the power was cut again and we needed to keep the servers up for a few days while they got it sorted, but the one before was even worse.

Worse in the 'I'm not going to pay your taxes that I withhold from your wages because I'm special and different and the law doesn't apply to me*', and in the 'When you're here I want to see you working all the time. I don't pay you to sit around and play games' kind of way, but also worse in the demonstrably not a fucking clue what, exactly it was that the programmers did kind of way, so a screen full of code, and some mumblings about 'event-driven models' were enough to keep teh boss satisfied that we were indeed slaving away at his bidding.

Except it was code for a project Legless paid me to do. For the last 3 months I was there...

* It does. As do anti-piracy laws- 3D Studio Max, Adobe CS3 complete, Flex, Windows- pretty much everything... costing about $50k after being dobbed in by a disgruntled ex-employee... You can be a prick of a boss, or run a dodgy shop, but you can't be both...
(pizzaforcat ate some cement and HARDENED the FUCK UP on, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 5:56, 1 reply)

More the man sticking it to himself
I have recently finished working for a dodgy environmental monitoring company ('environmental' in the context of 'pay us enough and we won't find the rare tree frog in your development').

The reasons for leaving are many and varied, ranging from psychotic managers to bizarre interpretations of the words 'Work Safety' and from increasingly convoluted calculations of staff work efficiency to paying their bills with so late we actually had an action plan in place to keep the servers up when the power was cut. And used it.

But the one I put in the resignation letter was that they paid me late. All teh time. Sometimes only a few days, sometimes a fortnight, but never actually when it was due...

As you do, I took my holidays in the notice period. And, also as you do, I didn't go back. They owed me nothing, I was happy to take the pay cut to get into a new place (and new wage) sooner.

Cue nasty letter from the ex-employer, stating that I didn't quit, I was actually fired for 'Gross Misconduct', which will go on my 'permanent employment record'. Meh, said I, it's their way of getting out of the $100 they owe me in entitlements.

Except... the dumb fuckers forgot to take me off the payroll. For a month...

Mixed messages, dudes...
(pizzaforcat ate some cement and HARDENED the FUCK UP on, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 5:38, 2 replies)

Take that MAN
Despite having so many Honda Accords, you wouldn't call it a fleet you would call it an armada and doing really REALLY MASSIVE drugs every minute of everyday and being so hard I once bashed Mr. T. and Hulk Hogan so hard they pooed their pants and cried and then I made them snogg for like fifty one hours and having like a million super model girlfriends and being so awesome they all want to do like four on me at once which is fine by me as I don't need to remember their names, I just call them "oi bitch face" and having a cock that looks like a babies arm holding an apple and can fuck for eleventy seven hours and not premature ejaculate once and my whole life being about sticking it to the man in really awesome ways.

I am not going to tell you any of the awesome ways I stuck it to the man which are really cool true stories that would win QOTW and be so brilliantly awesome no one else could get on the front page at all.

Take that B3TA man, you have been stuck!

Yeah - word.

Click I like this if you want to see stolen photos I pretend is my girlfriend.

Cheers
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 4:31, 2 replies)

Burning the American Flag ...
I'm a big fan of flag burning.

Once upon a time, back in Uni, I hated America. Nothing in particular, it was just the done thing at the time. Bear with me folks, this was the early nineties, Kuwait had just been liberated, much to their relief and the ire of lefty uni students. The sort of students who don't trouble themselves with thoughts like: "Well who else will depose dictators?"

I eventually got over my hatred of America. I realised it was misplaced general Authority Figure bashing. Nowadays, I think we should make a list with Mugabe, King Abdullah bin Abdul Aziz and Kim Jong Il right at the top and set the Americans loose with as much ammo as they can carry.

However, it does amuse me to think of American right wing bigots shouting "How dare you burn my Flag! Freedom of speech be damned! I'm offended! The sheer scale of this insult is making my brain wobble. Jail the bastard! And the fella standing next to him! I'll legislate, just you watch me!"

They fail to realise that the act of flag burning is a godsend to the police. As anyone who's been arsed to go to a demo knows, any peaceful protest is just one well placed half brick away from a riot.

However, if you just burn an American flag, the crowd realises that their 5 seconds of face time on the telly has been achieved and it's time to bugger off down the pub to revel in the mass delusion that they have just stuck it to the Man.
(Que?, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 3:17, 4 replies)

Girlfriend
always thought she wore the trousers in the relationship.
I put my macho foot down and she left me. That showed her.

I am so alone
(British Steel was participating in awesomeness on, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 1:49, 4 replies)

TRAFFIC WARDENS
I FUCKING HATE THEM LOADS.

Despite taking all reasonable precautions I get caught all the time in London by crafty little shits, usually from Africa and with little or no understanding of the English language, who use every trick they know to issue as many tickets as they can.

I've had tickets issued after I've driven off, and even other times when I've clearly displayed a paid parking slip on the window.. when I send said parking ticket they (realising I've stupidly sent in the original slip and not a photocopy) say they never received it; it goes to court and the court unsurprisingly is on their side and I have to pay a whopping fine.

I've also been issued a ticket in Camden at 1am from a CCTV camera whilst waiting on double yellows for five minutes on a quiet street, with hazard lights for a friend to bring out a guitar amp. Utter, utter cunts.

So, when I'm issued a ticket for driving a van and trailer around restricted width barrier posts in a quiet suburban street I decide to consult Google Street View to see if I was adaquately warned about the width restriction. YUZZAH! No warning signs!

I print off the images from google maps and, rather smugly write a letter pointing out the lack of such signage. I receive a letter back, not apologising or pointing out that I was right, but stating that due to 'procedural errors' my ticket has been cancelled.

Utter, utter cunts.
(BeardyMat, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 1:46, 2 replies)

Just happened tonight, actually
Being unemployed, and having nothing to do all day except mess about online is a bit boring. So last year I started a creative writing class on a Monday evening. Meet new people, actually get myself writing and break up the tedium. Perfect.

Now the classes themselves are everything I expected them to be (planning to go back after the summer for another year) but the council, who runs them, seem to be a bit obsessed with forms.

With tonights class being the third to last, my tutor decided it was about time we filled in our personal learning plans. We were supposed to do one for each 10 week block but there was somewhat of a revolt by the teaching staff due to it being a bit, well, pointless.

So I filled it out, got the module objectives (which are supposed to be done with each persons personal objectives in mind, but still had to be submitted by the tutor before the classes started) from my tutor, circled the smiley faces (yes, really) to indicate my skill level before and after the course and then to the last page.

Yup, there's nothing the council likes more than a feedback form. The last one cleverly had a prefer not to say option for your gender. Naturally, I ticked that.

This one started by saying to tick a box if you didn't want to give feedback. Which I promptly ticked. Before filling in the rest of the form.

In the comments box, I put the following:

'I know that this is supposed to be a writing class, but I was under the impression that it was going to be creative writing not form filling. It doesn't help when the forms are poorly written, patronising (smiley faces, really? I mean, really? Are we five years old and living in 1985 now?) and badly designed it doesn't help matters.

Oh, and some sort of accreditation wouldn't hurt either. Surely it wouldn't take too long to knock something up in photoshop.'

I have another evaluation form to fill out. This one is very badly designed and includes the following questions (direct quotes):

'After finishing the course, can you do more?'

'How would you describe the premises which your course was held?'

'Do you have an interesting story to tell about overcoming barriers or gaining your personal achievments?'

This one may need appendices.
(williamthebloody, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 0:09, 1 reply)

I fingered an underage girl at a school disco....
She was 15. I was 16. Cops never knew a thing.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Mon 21 Jun 2010, 23:55, 1 reply)

The (insurance) man is sticking it to us...
Fuck me, every week I have a Jessie-related QotW at the moment...

Jess' mum told me tonight that due to the fact we only have an interim death certificate at the moment, pending the inquest (likely to be 6 months or so down the line), the car insurance company are withholding their payment until they have the full certificate.

Apparently even though the interim certificate states the cause of death and it's clearly trauma-related, they want to make sure that she didn't die of something else first, which then caused the accident.

I can't tell you quite how sick I feel at this. Clearly the money doesn't bring Nina back, but her mum was going to use it to pay for the funeral...

AIG, the company is. That's A for Alpha, I for Indigo, G for Golf.

AIG

Please if you get the chance, boycott them... not that they'll notice, but I for one will feel better.
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Mon 21 Jun 2010, 22:51, 16 replies)

Failing it to a man
There is a London university, dedicated to the study of the 'dark continent' and everything east of France, who, shall we say, has one of the last remaining militant student bodies.

Now, some of you might have heard of the flotilla of little ships that were involved in a ruckus with Israel recently. It took the student body in question quite a lot of persuasion from the union not to go ahead with their plan that:

1. Occupying the University Directorate is not going to help the humanitarian crisis in the Gaza Strip.

2. The Directorate, despite having power over the issuing of degrees and stuff, doesn't have power over Israel, their government or indeed, the USA.

3. The reason of 'sticking it to the man' only works when the 'man' in question is related to the problem, not just the closest position of authority on the way to the pub.
(witty_ditty has made multiple miaows since, Mon 21 Jun 2010, 21:17, 9 replies)

I just gave £12.50 to Amnesty International.
Take that MAN.

Then I used links to post a link to where I did.

Take that Rob the man.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Mon 21 Jun 2010, 19:44, Reply)

Fuckwit barman, I told 'im
"I’ll have a pint of Best please."

"Sir, hello do you mind stepping out of the car and doing a breath test? Look, you had 2 pints, you’re over the limit – that’s a 12 month ban and a criminal record. Hey, it’s company policy I’ve got to let you go. I know there’s only 20,000 on the clock but that’s my final offer.Well, that’s just great man. No licence. No job. Now what? So what’s it going to be?"

"Pint of Best please, you picky cunt."
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Mon 21 Jun 2010, 18:28, 2 replies)

The Man just Stuck It to Me
I was trying to book a train ticket from Cannes to London via Paris (First class, naturally) for the quite reasonable sum of €180 with my shiny new Barclaycard over the Internerweb. Since I will be travelling courtesy of SNCF, the transaction went to France.

Then my card had a bit of a mindfuck and thought it was being frauded, so the lovely computer at Barclays rang me up to check everything was spiffy. I assured the cyborg that everything was indeed spiffy, and followed his instructions to rebook, but the same thing happened, so I rang up a person in India (for 15 minutes!) to encourage him to explain himself. "Don't worry sir, you're all set, just go ahead and book your train". Awfully nice chap.

BUT OH NOES! It was by now 1209 French time, so the prices had changed. To €578. Ack. Happily, I managed to find a travel website that hadn't quite caught up, but having rung Barclols to complain, they said it was my fault, so had it not been for slow agencies I'd have been a lot poorer. Thanks to the place I keep my money, Fucking cock-jockeys and arseclowns the lot of them.
(Omnizor Spooning bits of road for breakfast., Mon 21 Jun 2010, 17:57, 3 replies)

Leeds council are largely twunts
The road that runs next to my flat was re-tarmaced a little while ago and on a section of the road about three cars long the yellow line was obscured by the new tarmac meaning that you were allowed to park there (at least I think that's what it means, surely you can't be done for parking on a single yellow if you aren't actually parked on a single yellow?)

After a while my friend who lives in the same building as me started parking there because we live pretty close to Leeds city centre which means that there's very few free parking spaces for our building and parking at the NCP car park across the road costs more than 200 quid a quarter.

She parked there for ages with no problem until one day she and everyone else parked on the unmarked bit of the road got a ticket saying they were parked on a yellow line. Obviously she wasn't so she wrote to the council saying so, but what was weird was why the traffic wardens had suddenly decided to start ticketing people for parking on a yellow line when they weren't.

We found the answer the next morning, almost every car that had been ticketed had moved and the council had taken the opportunity to try and re-draw the yellow line. The buggers had illegally ticketed people just so they could put their yellow line back again!

Now I'm not saying the council were wrong to try to re-draw their line, just that illegally ticketing people with no warning in order to do so is completely the wrong way to go about it. Fortunately my friend is a trainee barrister and went mental at the council until they agreed to retract her ticket. I'm trying to get her to keep her car parked in the single unlined car space remaining just to inconvenience the council if they try to finish their line, her letter rescinding her ticket is proof that they are wrong to try to ticket anyone parking there!

/dull council based rant
(Lord of Marzipan Fact: Clouds are worse than Hitler, Mon 21 Jun 2010, 17:05, 5 replies)

Sorry, I meant
"I've never done anything wrong in my life ever, because I am the personification of upstanding righteousness, and in my spare time am worthy and serious. I am a superhero, and, while I'm better than everyone else in the whole world ever, I'm also very humble, kind, and sensitive. I write poetry in my spare time, and can often be found helping little old ladies across the road, before going out to fight crime, and then returning to give fun, informative lectures to children telling them not to smoke."
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 21 Jun 2010, 16:58, 12 replies)

My mates beat up some undercover police.
Bunch of guys I used to know where wandering around London late at night when another group of blokes tried to jump them. My mates were actualy a bit nutter like and were used to getting into fights on a regular basis, so they managed to gain the upper hand of the situation. Just as a bunch of uniformed police ran in and seperated everyone.

Turned out the attackers where undercover police trying to take down so drug dealers or some such and had mistaken my mates dodgey appearence as the dealers and co.

Unfortunetly my mates had had some encouters with the police before nad knew enough rights to point out that the attackers hadn't identified themselves as policemen which meant my mates were only defending themselves and not attacking an office of the law. They were reluctantly released with no charges. They also made several claims about the state of the undercovers which I didn;t give much credence to. But their bruises and crossed out police report did give their story some credence.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Mon 21 Jun 2010, 16:08, 2 replies)

newspaper honesty box
A branch of Smith's at Victoria Station used to have an honesty box for newspapers, which I used to take advantage of on a weekly basis to prepare for a five hour coach journey: would pick up three or four from the following mags: Q, Empire, Total Film, Viz and either Bizarre or a magazine for my gf, pick up a copy of the Guardian and pay 2p for the lot.

Any time I felt slightly bad about it I would look at how much they charge for CD's, DVD's and snacks, and feel rather good about it after all.
(clinteastwoodbradfield, Mon 21 Jun 2010, 15:56, 33 replies)