Annoyed Aussie Sports Fan Sounds Off About Brits And Yanks
In 2006, I took a trip to Brisbane, Australia. I had read that Aussies liked sports, but as an American who didn't follow sports, I hadn't explored this dimension. For example, I was aware there was some kind of distinction between cricket and rugby, but what that distinction might be was of absolutely no interest.

Coincidentally, I flew into Brisbane from Sydney on the same plane as the championship rugby team from Great Britain. There was supposed to be some big game soon. They seemed like a fun crew. My interest was piqued.

A week later, late at night, I was riding a local train. On the train, a fellow in a colorful yellow-and-green rugby jacket, and his girl friend, both dozed. I wondered who had won the big rugby game, which had occurred that evening. I moved closer, hoping to ask the question, if circumstances allowed.

Suddenly the train stopped. An accident had occurred on the tracks ahead. We were to disembark and get on buses instead. (In 2005, a well-known local man had committed suicide by throwing himself under a train, starting a rash of suicide copycats. This suicide was part of that fad.) The rugby fellow and his girl friend both awoke.

I approached and asked "did Great Britain or Brisbane win today's game?" The girl friend corrected: "Australia defeated Great Britain" (I later learned, by the score 33 - 10). The fellow, somewhat sarcastically, asked "do you know where you are?" I cheerily answered "Barely!" He asked, with voice dropping in extreme disappointment, "you're an American, aren't you?" I cheerily replied "Yes!" With diplomatic unction his girl friend said, "oh, we've seen many international folks today - Germans, Czechs, etc." I continued: "You see, when I flew into Brisbane on Wednesday, I flew in with the Great Britain rugby team!" Rugby guy answered with heavy sarcasm: "Then you must have felt right at home." I said, "no, rather...."

He interrupted: "Listen! I hate Poms and I hate Yanks, the two most loser nations in the world!" Girl friend tried to smooth over the discord and said "hush, don't be rude."

I had read in the tourist guidebooks that the Australian in his native habitat can be breathtakingly frank when provoked - a trait that can be very refreshing, or very alarming, depending on circumstance. I broke off the conversation, and began considering what might lay at hand for possible use as weapons.

The fellow then began muttering all kinds of venomous anti-American things to the girl friend, among which I heard the name George Bush mentioned frequently.

When I left the train, the conductor asked him how he was. "I've been better," he replied.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 21:36, 11 replies)

The opposite to grounding
As an uber computer geek back in the early 90s. Unlike most kids at the time, I wanted to do nothing but sit inside and program games on my ZX Spectrum. So when I was naughty, I would get grounded. Except for me, grounded meant the opposite. I wasn't allowed in my room, and had to go out to play.
(Miggyman, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 21:35, 10 replies)

As an apprentice...
I was working with PVC pipe, and using solvent weld 'glue' to join the various fittings. One of the fittings required a reducing bush to be fitted inside. like this:

parkland-eng.co.uk/application/css/images/P20623492.jpg

You may notice the ridge inside. This is what the pipe is pushed up against.

HOWEVER if the bush is glued in the wrong way round, the pipe won't go in.

I made this mistake and was given a file and told to remove the ridge so the pipe would fit inside. I spent about 2 hours doing this, after which my boss examined it and then threw it in the bin.

Handing me a fresh set of fittings he said "you won't make that mistake again will ya?"

And I never have.
(Frample Tromwibbler climbs an obstacle like old people fuck, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 20:41, 12 replies)

alright

(woocfot friends with Sacha Distel, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 20:21, 11 replies)

You should have seen what my dad did when I refused to wear smart trousers to a formal family occasion.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 19:59, 14 replies)

Oh man, you should see whether I'm ever gonna give you up never gonna let you down never gonna run around and blah blah
Rick Astley.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 19:42, Reply)

Oh man, you should see what MY dad did when our daughter was hospitalized and the suspicious staff alerted the police which led to my eventual release from my cellar prison.
He pleaded insane and blah blah

Fritzl
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 19:41, Reply)

Oh man, you should see what MY dad did when he found out the Jews and Romans were going to torture me to death.
Absolutely fuck all.

The Gospels.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 19:39, Reply)

Oh man, you should see what MY dad did when he found out I was the incestuous offspring of that time he accidentally had sex with his sister.
He killed all the children in the kingdom but I blah blah blah

Le Morte d’Arthur
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 19:38, Reply)

Oh man, you should see what MY dad did when he found out I'd been hanging out with the wrong crowd.
He blah blah blah

Star Wars
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 19:34, Reply)

I'm not afraid to die...
My story begins with the police coming and dragging me out of my house. The trial was fast, and I was soon on Death Row. However, I'm not guilty. Not at all. But still... I'm not afraid to die.

So while I'm in there, I started to go a bit crazy; things had auras around them and I mentally put them into 'good' or 'ungood' categories. I even saw the face of Jesus in my soup, one day. I interpreted thee signs, and wrote them down, there within the four black walls, whilst reading and hearing about Jesus - how he was born in a manger amd then died on a cross. It seemed fitting in a way; he was a carpenter by trade or at least that's what I'm told.

So next thing I'm tattooing the letters E V I L across my hand. The dichotomy of life, the struggle of good vs bad was playing out in my mind, made all the more real by the stark contrast of my wedding ring that spells G O O D.

Finally the day comes, and I climb into the electric chair. My head has been shaved and I'm tense and nervous, like a moth trying to enter the bright eye. So I go shuffling out of life, and I know that the mercy seat is waiting, and I think my head is burning, and in a way I'm yearning to be done with all this measuring of truth. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, and anyway I told the truth, but I'm afraid I told a lie.
( CaptainCrackerjack live trout, slow motion, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 19:07, 3 replies)

I have a very regimented life.
I live by lists.

I get up at 5:38AM.
Have a shower till 5:48.
Put on one egg and two pieces of toast, which are just right by 5:59.
Then I put on radio 4.
(speedevil, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 19:01, 1 reply)

Before anyone else
Apologies in advance, completely off-topic, but brilliance knows no boundaries.
Can anyone confirm that the Tesco burgers/ Findus meals withdrawn from sale were all flashed on the package "Shergar Kidnapping 30th Anniversary Recipe"?

I'll go and sit on the naughty step. Younger viewers may have to Google Shergar for relevance.
Length? Dunno but many hands tall.
(Classic Ray, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 17:22, 3 replies)

my dad used to bum me and now im doin a cry

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 15:52, 1 reply)

I redecorated and my lad drew on a newly painted wall a few days later.
When his gran sees it I expect i'll be told off as I've given him more pens.
I expect he'll be arrested for graffiti when he's a teen. I look forward to picking him up from the station.
Fuck the system.
(waxdart hello., Fri 8 Feb 2013, 14:47, 6 replies)

Not really a punishment then, is it?
My sister and I have that particular sibling relationship where we love each other, but don't actually like each other very much, to the extent that any car journey we took in our teenage years would rapidly degenerate into petty bickering. As this coincided with mum reaching "a certain age", this sometimes led to mini temper explosions from her.

We were on holiday in Scotland* when we decided to go to the beach*. We all piled into the car and, sure enough, my sister and I started arguing. After twenty minutes or so, mum had had enough. "IF YOU TWO DON'T STOP BICKERING RIGHT THIS MINUTE" she bellowed "YOU CAN GET OUT OF THE BLOODY CAR AND WALK TO THE BEACH!"


After pausing a moment, I opened the car door and stepped out.

Into the beach carpark.

Where we had just parked.




*I know, I know.
( MatJ LOOK, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 13:56, 2 replies)

I went to a catholic primary school
The headmistress was a fierce nun called Sister Margaret Mary. She had a pinched up mean face and cold hard eyes.

I was about 8 and my mate John-Paul (very catholic name in the 70's that) dared me to call Sister Margaret Mary a cunt. I didn't know what it meant. I knew it was bad obviously calling any teacher a name is going to be bad but I had no idea of the sheer explosive power of the C bomb.

We were on a school trip at the time and I forget the exact details that lead up to me dropping the bomb. But as soon as it had passed my lips I knew I was in serious trouble. Sister Margaret Mary's face flashed utter shock quickly going into livid fury. I felt sick I was staring into the angriest face I have ever seen.

"what did you say?" she almost whispered through clenched teeth
"nothing"
"yes you did say it again"
"you cunt"
"I can't hear you"
"you cunt"
JP was nearly pissing himself laughing but trying not to show it.

She then dragged me off by an ear and thrashed the backs of my legs (I was wearing shorts) with a ruler till nearly bleeding(this was her normal M.O. punishment wise) She then made me sit out of the rest the activities on the trip and told my parents when we got back who also punished me ( a thrashing off my dad and a grounding off my mum)

In retrospect TOTALLY worth it for the look on that nuns face the sadistic old battleaxe.
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 13:48, 2 replies)

Punishment backfire
There seem to be a lot of stories about the cane or in our school the dap across the arse.

But this particular case involved a ruler, you may still be able to get those clear 12 inch ones that had 'shatter proof' across them, anyway I had one and was quite happily twanging it on the table one bored maths lesson taken by a Canadian teacher who we all gave a hard time to.

She clearly had enough of little hamster being irritating and decided to punish me, I was duly told to put my hands on the table and I would receive the inevitable whack. I received my punishment not like a man but a crying snivelling baby, the reason for my tears became apparent as I stood and accused the teacher of breaking my ruler. They aren't shatter proof evidently and as the rest of the class pissed themselves she lost all control for the rest of the year.
(bluehamster, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 12:31, 5 replies)

Back in the day when I was a wee young thing of only twelve
I was a forces brat and my Dad was serving in the Tank Regiment in Germany. My friend Carl and I discovered this great place to play in the woods, exploring and just having fun. In the middle of the wood was a big red and white painted metal pylon. When I later questioned my Dad as to what this was, he became furious. Six miles from home, close to the tank ranges I had found the American base. I was grounded for two weeks.

As soon as I was ungrounded, Carl and I took his cheap inflatable dinghy and went for a paddle on the local lake. Being the mid 80s, we had no buoyancy jackets added to which I could not swim. We had a great time, but one of my mothers friends ratted me out to her. Upon my return home, I was yelled at for an hour for my stupidity, told I was not allowed to play with Carl anymore and grounded for another two weeks.

When I grew up I became a Mountaineer, Mountain Biker and Outdoor education teacher. No one ever told me off again for being adventurous. Well until I was doing a Freelance job in Avon Gorge (Sea Walls for those who know the area) and during my lunch break soloed a 90 foot route called Jasper. The guy who hired me was horrified and I got told that I was a maniac.

People just don't like it if you are adventurous.
( Rev. Jayneflakes Buy my book, I need the cash for drugs and hookers, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 12:08, 5 replies)

Might as well take the opportunity to drag this one out again:
Fans will remember that I was educated at a minor public school.

In my first term of A-Levels, the class aged 16/17, one of the bigger lads at the back thought he'd cheek up the new physics teacher:

"Oi!" cried the lad, in his posh voice, to the teacher, "Why don't you fuck off back to South Africa?!"

His sycophants laughed and beamed their approval.

The teacher - a stocky man in his early 30s, walked over slowly to the lad.

The lad - as I said, was one of the bigger ones - a stereotype of the public schoolboy: an over-privileged, arrogant shit, who's probably now in parliamentary office, MD of several failing companies, and taking back-handers from banks in exchange for signing off deals on brown-field sites. He stood up, equal to the teacher.

The teacher stood in front of him, eyeballing him, and the lad stared back defiantly.

"When I started teaching, my first lesson was in a school in Durban. I walked into the classroom, where there were two boys bigger than you beating a girl with sticks for refusing to be their whore. As I walked in one of them pulled out a gun, pointed it at me, and shouted 'OI! TEACHER! FUCK OFF!". I taught both those boys and that girl to both read and to write.

YOU smell of talcum powder, get pocket money sent to you each week from your daddy in Dubai, and think that smoking cigarettes is cool. You've already got a car waiting for you for your birthday, you'll have a job as soon as you leave school, but I know your dad will thrash you if you get a bad grade, so if you want to take your chance, be my guest, but I'M staying here."

With that he put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and pushed him down hard into his seat.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 12:04, 10 replies)

Whoosh - splat!
I remember a teacher at school who was a committed cricket fan - and player. He was a demon bowler, and used his mad skillz in the classroom: talking, not paying attention or dozing off were likely to be met by a heavy wooden board rubber whistling past at hypersonic velocity, missing your head by a heart-stoppingly low number of angstroms, then crashing deafeningly against the back wall. The wall was covered with chalk-splats, giving testimony to the number of intercontinental ballistic board-rubbers that were launched, but I never once saw him misjudge it and actually make contact with a trangressor's cranium.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 11:51, 13 replies)

She wouldn't listen.
She just wouldn't listen.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 11:42, Reply)

Which is more humane?
A short, sharp smack or a lifetime on behaviour-modifying drugs?
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 10:37, 134 replies)

If you can't tell the difference between a light slap across a child's arse when they're acting up, and beating them up
You shouldn't have kids.

Besides which, hitting children is fun.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 9:54, 3 replies)

I got told off last week
for saying Stay Away From My Bins! on QOTW.

With hindsight, they had a point.
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 9:23, 7 replies)

Sports coaching.
I coach my daughter's tee-ball and soccer teams.
I've done it for about 3 years now for a couple of different clubs. We have 3 more games of Tee Ball, I'm taking a week "off" then soccer training starts. It's much the same at the end of the soccer season.

We train for an hour once a week and a game on the weekend.

In both teams I have (had) a couple of hard-cases. Read: Annoying little scrotes whose parents drop them off, pay little attention at training or games other than to say "How come we lost and little Jonquil didn't get Man of the Match?". I make it very clear at the start of the season that at training & games if the kids muck up I'll deal with it and if anyone is unhappy with my methods they're welcome to take it up with me &/or the club. Never had a complaint.

Mostly it usually involves the mouthiest and most competitive kids not paying attention, being disruptive or basically fighting. After the first few times I realised I needed to get creative.

1st off they get a warning, then they have to sit on opposite sidelines for 5 min. (that usually works because they hate being left out).
Then it gets interesting.
If they've been fighting (usually the biggest 1) I get both boys (as is often the case) to skip around the oval, hand-in-hand singing "I'm a little teapot" (with the actions) or "Skip To My Lou". If they refuse to do it then they aren't welcome to train or play on that day. This is usually when the parents start to take notice. And laugh and tell their kids off.
If they continue to fight (after that humiliation) I take them out of training and in front of everyone they have to apologise to each other and the team (for being disruptive) and then they have to give each other a big, strong, manly hug.

It's only happened a couple of times for me. And each time the kids got over whatever shit they had with each other and all of the parents had a lot of problems containing their mirth. Including the parents of the kids involved.
Me I was tough as nuts, stone cold impassive.
Honestly.

Trust me when I tell you - shouting at a bunch of kids a couple of times a week is an excellent stress relief.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Fri 8 Feb 2013, 8:56, 9 replies)

Two-step x 20 and minus a bit
Lurked for 10 years - finally need to SHED my wisdom. I wasn't ruSHED or puSHED into posting before.

Many other first posters have been huSHED by the trolls, quaSHED by the /talkers, smaSHED by the /otters, baSHED by a man with no leg to stand on, laSHED by the pedants, traSHED by a vaj, splaSHED on by ringonfyre (Cupid's still ok,) pebble-daSHED by Pooflake, fluSHED by a doctor, copubliSHED by an Ape (Though never PRINT publiSHED ofc,) astoniSHED by everything, demoliSHED by Rory unlogic, squaSHED by AB's missus and anguiSHED by a Marshmallow.

Many stories seem embelliSHED, impoveriSHED, ruSHED, guSHED, tarniSHED, unmeSHED, even overembelliSHED sometimes. Some seem unfiniSHED, unvarniSHED, using unestabliSHED facts, unfurniSHED by detail. Others are unabaSHED, unleaSHED, ungarneSHED filth fantasies diSHED out to an audience of undistinguiSHED wankers.

The worst stories are the ones that work on preestabliSHED jokes.

People suggest QOTW should be aboliSHED, they should be admoniSHED, maybe even baniSHED.

I'm finiSHED

tl;dr - the 39 steps -or- I can make google find words ending -shed.
(Howland C. Pousiccat sailed away, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 7:33, 14 replies)

If my daughter plays up, I say 'ah, don't do that'. Then she stops. I really don't know what all the fuss is about.

( 4Q just lurking, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 4:17, 1 reply)

My Mum would tell you she didn't hit her kids very often
we would tell you she was like Cool Hand Luke, fire first, ask questions second.

When my younger sister made a kitchen utensil holder that had a wooden spoon in it (the utensil being held)in her first year at school, there was considerable discussion amongst the three of us (me and my two siblings) as to if we should give her such an offensive weapon. It was determined that we would give it to her but, would insert a note in the wrapping paper that specified "NOT FOR HITTING CHILDREN".
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 3:10, 3 replies)

My mother could never quite forgive me
for not being the daughter she had wanted.
I made it up to her when I was sixteen by telling her I was gay. As it was I wasn't but it was worth getting beat up every day after school to tell her, that once, that she could never be satisfied.
(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Fri 8 Feb 2013, 2:10, 4 replies)