They MUST know what they’re doing…

My young kids love animals, so a few months ago the present Mrs PF and I finally caved in to their pleas and bought them a couple of guinea pigs. They were overjoyed, and set about naming the hairy buggers. My youngest called his ‘Muffin’ after his favourite breakfast treat. In a similar fashion, my eldest son named his ‘Flapjack’. Ahh, isn’t it all cute?

Well, more recently they were bumbling around ‘Pets-at-Home’ and they asked sweetly if they could also have a hamster. After being satisfied that they were adequately looking after said guinea pigs, we indulged them. This time, my youngest named the creature ‘Sir Cloppington’ (after a Minecraft character or

This continued merrily and I remained completely oblivious to any sort of problem; until the other day when I noticed that the boys have taken to shortening the animal's names for convenience. They are now affectionately known as ‘Muff’, ‘Flaps’, and ‘Clopper’.

Muff is (mostly) ginger, by the way. I reckon it’s a matter of time before they work out some plan to get a rabbit called ‘Beef Curtains’.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 28 May 2013, 9:01, 50 replies)

Even as a very young child, I found the drudgery of Mass soul destroying.
One Sunday morning, my 4 year old self was leaning over the edge of the chapel gallery, chin rested in my hands. I was gazing across the heads of those below and out the window. The sun was tempting me, bursting bright through stained glass with promises of a day playing tig or football. But my young mind knew that a vexatious priest was against me. This particular perpetrator was renowned for ensuring that Mass lasted the entire hour. But today his timing was slightly askew. At fifty minutes the congregation looked at each other, knowing that a final "go in peace to love and serve the Lord." was all that stood between us and freedom. Perhaps today would be the day that he would release his flock onto the world with an extra ten minutes to enjoy God's Glory! The priest glanced at his watch and having seen his predicament announced "We will now sing the processional hymn once more..."

A resigned silence descended on the gathering. From my elevated perch, I piped up.

"Ah, for fuck's sake."

My voice erupted like an angel's clarion, bouncing along the nave and across the chapel, from rafter to rafter. The sheer volume of my utterance caught me entirely off guard. Stunned, I glanced behind me to a boy from my street. His father cuffed him one, mistaking my look of shock for his son's guilt in the matter.

My own dad was not so easily deceived. He grabbed the back of my trousers and wrenched me onto the pew in an attempt to conceal the perpetrator. The priest ignored my blasphemy and tried to start the hymn off. But deep down the congregation knew and the lie of denial hung in the air, shaming them all. It was a long 10 minutes until we went in peace.

My granduncle said it was the greatest thing he'd ever heard said in that chapel. It still gets talked about at family gatherings.
( masakatsu best of all the burger meats, Tue 28 May 2013, 17:11, 2 replies)

A Degree of Intelligence
Back in the dim and distant, I was undertaking the final dissertation for an Advanced Diploma. Handwritten, to be typed once completed, (pre Sinclair times) I was scribbling away at the dining table when the young Groover, aged about two, toddled in with a piece of paper and a bright green felt tipped pen. He kneeled up on the chair, put his paper on the table, took the top off his pen and, with his tongue poking firmly out of the side of his mouth, proceeded to draw a dozen or so green lines across the piece of paper.

"That looks interesting" quoth I "what are you doing?"

"Writing" came the succinct reply.

"Really" I said, "are you going to read it to me?"

I received that kind of askance look that only a two year old can give you, before he replied,

"Don't be silly. I'm not old enough to read!"
( The Lone Groover has mal des nuts., Thu 23 May 2013, 19:57, Reply)

Does this count?
My Down Syndrome brother (older) used to have an imaginary friend and it could be quite frustrating trying to communicate with him as he would often talk in hushed tones to his friend if he didn't like what you were saying. I was about 12 when I had gone to his room to ask him to turn down his music, which he was listening to at full volume, and the usual to and fro began. Me trying to get his attention and him talking to his invisible friend.
Thankfully, being an imaginative boy, I pulled my imaginary pistol and shot at the space my brother was talking to and blowing away the smoke for affect, announced that "I shot your friend so now you can talk to me". My brother didn't miss a beat and triumphantly announced that I had missed.
I couldn't really argue with that as my marksman skills were untested to say the least and imaginary pistols are notoriously inaccurate. So instead I pulled out my imaginary machine gun and sprayed the room with bullets. Picture if you will the scene from The Untouchables; Sean Connery filled with hot lead and crawling slowly towards his final blood soaked resting place.
I then threw a grenade for good measure. Blowing my brother's imaginary friend's corpse to smithereens and coating the room in imaginary entrails.
There was a small pause and I felt a little guilty when my brother fell to his knees with a cry of pure anguish. He cried for quite a while and there were a few days of mourning before a new friend arrived.

Only had to cock the gun to get his attention from then on though.

Tl:dr? arsehole kid shoots his Down Syndrome brother's imaginary friend for megalolz but feels a bit bad.
(Squidlipps Anyway, so how's your sex life on, Tue 28 May 2013, 17:11, 10 replies)

Shameless pearost
My sister and nephew came to visit me when I was a student in the fair city of Stirling. I took them to the obligatory visit to Stirling Castle, and we walked from the town centre to the top of the hill upon which the castle looms. My nephew was only five at the time, and found this rather a trek. My sister and I kept encouraging him saying "We'll soon be there!" and "You'll see the castle soon!" and "It's an amazing castle, you'll love it!"

When we got to the top of the hill, you see the great courtyard and behind that the restored splendour of the castle itself, with its elaborate facade with gargoyles and sinister looking mythical creatures. My nephew burst into tears.

"Oh, oh, what's wrong?" I asked, all concerned.

Sobs, tears. "I THOUGHT IT WAS A BOUNCY CASTLE!"
(McChinaman banned, Sat 25 May 2013, 5:06, Reply)

Single question, double bigotry!
Might be roasting peas here, but it's been so long since I've posted that I can't remember doing it. Or the question. Or where I am. Who are you people?

Anyway, the story. Once upon a time, my aunt worked at a primary school. One day she's supervising the little chitlins when one of them comes up to her and asks:

"Miss... am I a homo or a paki?"

You can imagine the outrage that flashes through my auntie's mind in the moments following. She's already worked out the first half of the interrogation routine and mentally looked up the phone number of the child's parents.

Thankfully, being a Scot in a Scottish school, she translated the local patter into the Queen's and figured out what the child actually meant:

"Begging your pardon, madame, but would you happen to know whether I am marked down as a home lunch or a packed lunch?"

Darndest things, indeed.
( Iki I think my camel is dead., Thu 23 May 2013, 16:34, Reply)

People who say 'pearoast' are cunts.
I watch football at a small local non-league ground with my dad, a number of his mates and various hangers on.
A few years back,one of the lads, Terry, brings along his youngest son who was the tender age of 7.

The boy was carefully briefed as to the fact that as he was big enough to go to football he was big enough to understand that there would quite likely be LOTS of naughty words being shouted at players and, most likely, the referee and linesmen, and would he mind NOT repeating any of these words in mummy's earshot?

Match gets underway and it's evident fairly early on t hat the ref is having a shocker. Fouls are given when there's no foul to be seen, offsides not called when the man is far forward enough to be able to shake hands with the goalie, free kicks awarded nowhere near the offence and throw-ins awarded to the wrong teams. In short, he's fucking shit, but with an even-handedness which is both admirable, yet astonishing.
Unsurprisingly as a result the game is somewhat poor with frequent interruptions to play and both sets of supporters in the ground were getting somewhat fractious with some rather fruity language, mostly directed at the ref, being heard.

Finally, in the second half, the home team managed to string a few passes together without being stopped by the ref, one of the wingers burst through, delivered a cross which was PUNCHED away and off the field via the right touchline by an opposing defender. The ref blows up and awards a throw-in, rather than the expected and so-obvious-you-could-see-it-from-space penalty.

It's still the one and only time I've seen a football ground in stunned silence without there having been a famous person die in the week preceding the game. A very strange moment, for sure.
So, it was even more surreal when the silence was broken by a little voice piping up with a query of 'can I call him a wanker now daddy?'
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Sat 25 May 2013, 22:47, 28 replies)

My 3-year old son went through a period of threatening me
...with such gems as:

-I'm going to call you "beer" and throw you in the bin
-I'm going to send you away
-I'm going to bash you out of the window
-I'm going to put you on a bagel and eat you with salad (a particularly middle class threat)

and, my personal favourite:

-I'm going to threaten you
(InflammableHound may be recorded for training porpoises, Thu 23 May 2013, 21:33, 2 replies)

Shopping hatred - with some MASSIVE RACISM thrown in…
Have this pea.

I’ll begin with a statement on shopping.

Ladies, we understand that you are truly wonderful – phenomenal creatures, but…can’t you get it through your heads that – just as you may not truly understand the timeless beauty of a particularly well taken free-kick, that us men sure as shit could not give the very slightest modicum of a fuck regarding whether or not an item of clothing is ‘too frumpy’, or...god forbid…’makes your arse look big’. In short – blokes generally hate ‘girlie’ shopping. Specifically as we tend to have no real sense of taste or style in that department, therefore we don’t see the point. ‘Women are from Venus’ and all that.

My love for the present Mrs Pooflake is quite unprecedented. As far as I am concerned, she is quite the most staggeringly amazing human being to have ever walked the planet…and I’ve been married for over 14 years now. Perhaps to put it another way – she puts up with me – and that in itself is a task worthy of a veritable sainthood and thusly I worship her relentlessly for it.

But she does have an Achilles heel. And that is the fact that she shops…like a goddamn machine.

Believe it or not, I also have two young sons…'flakelets' if you will, and I have managed through the magical medium of DNA to pass on to them via heredity, the realisation that having to accompany girls as they trundle aimlessly around shitty department stores quite boils our collective piss to an alarming degree.

Ooh, they so hate it too. Bless ‘em. It’s almost like synchronised swimming - the way we all whinge and whine in unison like the deadweights we are as my poor lady drags us round clothes shop after clothes shop….after fucking clothes shop. You get the point.

However, The present Mrs PF has another weakness…and that is camping…you know – as in tents and wotnot...as opposed to wearing a pink neckerchief and saying things such as 'Oooh! don't touch what you can't afford, treacle'.

I have devoted my life in trying to be suitably affluent so that we don’t have to spend our holidays dragging our own faeces across a field every morning, but she happens to love it – so of course I indulge. Crikey I'm spineless.

Anyhoo - to try and drag this back into something remotely relevant for the QotW, one Saturday morning the missus decided to drop the inevitable yet sorrowful bombshell from hell that I and my flakelets dread:

“We’re going shopping today…”

“Oh sweet cunting fuck-stagger clackervalves” I mutter under my breath, and glance over to the flakelets to see them muttering something probably very similar (but hopefully minus the blatant expletives)

The missus then proceeded to insist that we accompany her on a dismal day of bum-biting drudgery, sorry, 'wonderful voyage of discovery' around several supermarkets, then just enough clothes shops for us all to lose the will to live.

A few hours in, my youngest son plucked up the courage to pipe up: “Pleeeeeeeease…..mummy…..can we go home now…? Pleeeeease?...”

…

The pause was just long enough to fill all three of us males with the merest tinge of hope…

…

Mrs PF: “NO!, after this we’re going to the camping shop”

Now, when she said this we were in some posh ladies clothes boutique that was quite busy; and we were surrounded by various people - almost every race, colour and creed was charmingly represented by the women who were knuckle-deep into clothes on the rails, and the smattering of poor blokes who were all in the same boat as we were, as we collectively rolled our eyes and shared glances of dismay.

At this point I should point out that we had all been to ‘the camping shop’ many times before. It’s a place on the outskirts of Coventry called ‘Blacks’…

You can soooooo see where this is going…

In front of a packed shop on a Saturday afternoon, my youngest son decided to man-the-fuck-up and stage a protest at the utter disregard of how his afternoon of playing Minecraft and suchlike had been squandered mercilessly just so he could be dragged around and get asked his frankly redundant opinion as to whether he thought certain handbags ‘looked pretty’.

Unlike his entirely less-brave father...He took a stand. However, in his innocence, he wasn’t quite aware of the implications.

“NOOOOO!......NO MORE!!!” He screamed: “I…HATE...BLACKS!!!!” He yelled at the very top of his little voice, stomping his tiny feet and throwing his very best attempt at a hissy fit.

As I lunged for him he continued: “I HATE BLACKS AND SO DOES DADDY! WE ALL HATE BLACKS!!!!” at this point, with my eyes as wide as dinner plates I tried to smile meekly as I glanced at the massive 6ft 4 black chap nearby who was glaring at me with a rather understandable disgust, and who had the physical capability of squishing me into the ground with a mere flick of his little finger.

”Oh…ho ho ho…what a misunderstanding!...*forced laugh*…It’s a shop, everybody….he’s talking about a shop…please believe me…” I whimpered pathetically. I even considered mumbling the tune of ‘Ebony & Ivory’ in a desperate attempt to placate the surrounding crowd…who thankfully were too busy ‘tutting’ and calling me a ‘cunt’ under their breaths to notice as I dragged both flakelets out of the shop and lectured them on why they must never say that again.

Footnote: Actually, this is more relevant than it was the first time I used it. I could well have been torn a new clay-hole by various well-built onlookers - who if it wasn’t for their admirable ability to not be arsed wasting their time on a ball-sack like me. Lorks,they could have possibly reported me as a member of the Coventry branch of the KKK or something, if such a thing exists. God I hope it doesn't.

BTW: if you wish to check - www.blacks.co.uk - I can recommend the chunky socks.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Sat 25 May 2013, 13:04, 3 replies)

Pearoast from /ot the other week
On espying some burka-clad women in Marks and Spencer, my mate's littlest points and screams "NINJAS!!!"
(localboy purveyor of pisspoor puns, Thu 23 May 2013, 15:48, 2 replies)

ME!
I was a bonza kid, both hilarious and profound.

I remember I was 12 when my old man took to the pub for the first time. I sat at the table while he shuffled to the bar to order his 6 large whiskeys. "What crisps do ya want?" he shouted back to me.

Now, I liked prawn cocktail more then I liked ready salted, and I liked beef more than I liked salt and vinegar, and I liked smoky bacon more than I liked ready salted. Also I liked prawn cocktail less then I liked salt and vinegar and beef less than I liked ready salted and I liked smoky bacon more than I liked salt and vinegar.

So I said "Well as you know father, I like prawn cocktail more then I like ready salted, and I like beef more than I like salt and vinegar, and I like smoky bacon more than I like ready salted. Also I like prawn cocktail less then I like salt and vinegar and beef less than I like ready salted and I like smoky bacon more than I like salt and vinegar, so it should be pretty obvious shouldn't it?!"

The bag of nuts hit me right between the eyes.

Later that day my dad walked out on my mum and was never seen again. I remember him slamming the door and shouting "I can't stand living in the same house as the little bastard anymore!" Which was a strange thing to call my mum as she was such a large lady.
(ringofyre, Mon 27 May 2013, 10:04, 12 replies)

Having lunch with my friend and her two kids the other day...
"I'm a froggy" says three year old Bella
"Oh aye? What animal is your brother then?" asks I
"He's a monkey!" she informs me
"Ha ha, OK, so what animal am I then?"

She ponders this for a minute or two, "Hmmm... you'rreeee, you arreeee.... A FUCKING ELEPHANT!"

I am gobsmacked and unable to even respond, the people around us look equally as shocked until her mother pipes up "AN AFRICAN ELEPHANT! Well, that's your favourite sort of elephant isn't it?!"
(bomb, Thu 23 May 2013, 16:22, 2 replies)

Told
my nephew I'd been to the Paralympics. He asked me if I'd won anything.
(Wong Fei-Hung - now with added flickr.com (see profile), Fri 24 May 2013, 1:19, Reply)

A friend told me their little kid learned some new words at playschool
Things like pooface and ploppyhead, nothing shocking at least but she wanted to know who whose kid it was.

"Who taught you that?" she asked.
"Stupid cunt"
"WHAAAT?" Horrified.
"Stupid cunt"
"WHA? WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO?" Outraged.

Further questioning revealed that it was a kid called Stuart Picante. (Last name spelling unknown, but something very similar anyway)
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Tue 28 May 2013, 15:26, 4 replies)

Butt...
Shopping in Tesco with my daughter who was about 3 years old. The routine was I would pick something, pass it to her seated in the child seat and she would turn and put it into the trolley.

Next on the list was some tampons, in an attractive pink box with bubbles on it. I passed it to my daughter who studied it and asked me what they were for. Rather facetiously I said: "They're for your mums butt."

At the checkout and my daughter waves the box of tampons around and says to the cashier at maximum volume: "These are for my mums butt!"

Cue silence from everyone and then laughter as I wished a hole would open up.
(vikingaero Deilvered To Your Door in 30 mins, Mon 27 May 2013, 17:30, 4 replies)

Expects knock on door from Social Services...
Took my 3 year old to a new play (park when did they stop being playgrounds?) in the grounds of country houseand it had a rope basket-style swing where you could push your little charge quite high without fear of pushing him off.

He seemed to love it. I know this becuase he was giggling uncontrollably and shouting, "Daddy, it makes my willy feel funny." I foolishly laughed which was his cue to repeat the phrase ad infinitum. For the next 30 mins around the playpark and grounds of this estate I was followed by a little voice imploring me: "Daddy, can you make my willy feel funny again"
(Gusofnavarone always makes a map of france from sarnies, Fri 24 May 2013, 10:12, 5 replies)

Outwitted by a five year old
(pearoast)

My Ex's Uncle lives in Blackpool and, one Spring day, we went to stay with his family and check out the Pleasure Beach, the Tower and buy 'Kiss Me Quick' hats. His daughter, Ellie, is five and at that age where conversation is a never ending stream of questions. She walked into the front room just as we were putting our jackets on to go out for the day. And thus the interrogation began.

Ellie: "Where are you going?"
Me: "We're going to the Pleasure Beach, Ellie."
E: "Why?"
M: "To go on all the rides."
E: "Why?"
M: "Because they'll be exciting. We don't have rollercoasters in our town."
E: "Why?"
M: "Umm.... there isn't anywhere to put them I suppose."
E: Why?
M: "Ummm... they built shops and offices instead."
E: "Why?"
M: "Errr... so people could have somewhere to go to by stuff and earn the money to do so."
E: "Why?"

At this point her Uncle walked in and she lost interest. Which was frankly a relief as I'd mentally started writing the letter I planned on sending to the council when we got home. "Dear sir, why *did* you build shops and offices instead of rollercoasters...?".

Anyway, me and the ex went out and had a great day. On returning, Ellie was out in the garden making sandcastles in her sand pit. I decided to take revenge for my earlier grilling and give her a taste of her own medicine.

Me: "What ya up to Ellie?"
Ellie: "Making sandcastles"
M: "Why?"
E: "Because I like them. What are you, stupid?"

Outwitted by a five year old.
(R. Jimlad twitter.com/sirmarkymark, Thu 23 May 2013, 23:44, 1 reply)

Polite

"Mummy, why is your bottom so big?"
"Son, that isn't a very polite thing to ask."
"Sorry mummy, why is your bottom so big please?"
(moogster, Wed 29 May 2013, 13:45, 2 replies)

Queer confession
Whilst shopping in our local Aldi (in a post-modernist, comedically ironic and cool kind of way of course) my ten your old son wandered back to the trolley and mumbled, "Dad, I love man cheese..." I managed to keep my composure and screech, "You bloody what?" where upon he repeated his shockingly frank confession of being enamoured of 'man-cheese'. Thoughts of future football matches, drinking sessions and, eventually, grandchildren evaporated to be replaced by images of pristine bearded men in tight jeans discussing soft furnishings and butt-plugs. I managed to squeak out a pathetic, "but... you're only ten - how do you know?"

He looked at me with a mixture of incomprehension and contempt and said, "What are you on a bout? I love man cheese? NO! Isle of Man Cheese. Cheese from the Isle of Man you weirdo!"

I think I cried.

NB: They also sell Isle of Man milk and Isle of Man butter. Doubtless popular in places like Brighton.
(qbslim, Mon 27 May 2013, 20:22, 6 replies)

Shopping with a 5 year old
My delightful little brother in a shopping trolley as he was still under 5 announced very loudly in the "Feminine Hygiene" section:"Mum, are those the white bog sticks that you stick up your bum"
(Purpledoris I've got afeckin' job, Fri 24 May 2013, 15:24, Reply)

We were going to Mallard's Pike with all my nephews and nieces.
"A mallard's pike, eh kids?" said I, "That's a duck-fish hybrid that used to be common in this area."

"It would be called a, er ... a DISH!" said one.

"Or ... or ... " said another, working it out, before declaring loudly, "A ... a ... a ... FUCK!"

Cue my sister nearly driving into the river.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 24 May 2013, 14:29, 1 reply)

Repost:
For my mum's 60th birthday she insisted on taking the whole family to Alton Towers. The older lads (8-10yo) insisted on going on the ... Giant Headfuck ... or whatever the most mentalistly stupid rollercoaster was. Now - I don't even do Pirate Ships. I've been on bad acid trips, I've been in bad car crashes, I've abseiled, bridge swung, and been shot at, so I'm really quite happy taking the little ones on the poot-poot train around the animal enclosure - I'm really not interested in having my body thrown around repeatedly at 5G by a device specifically designed to strike terror into my very soul, so no - I wasn't going on.

While they were queuing, mum and I took the smaller ones on the train, and returned to the rendezvous via the sweet shop to get a big bag of sugar lollies for all the kids.

The lads came back enormously excited, and mum gave each of them a lolly.

One of them was having trouble unwrapping his - they had a plastic wrap sealed tightly with sellotape, so I offered to help.

"Here you are, lad" I said, "Give that here and I'll unwrap it for you."

This bastard thing was clearly designed by a sociopath - the sellotape was absolutely bound, and even using what nails I have I was having distinct trouble with it.

Observing this, my nephew cried frustratedly, "Uncle Vagabond you're rubbish! You're too wuss to go on the rollercoaster, and now you can't even open a lollipop!"
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 24 May 2013, 10:30, Reply)

When my
eldest was around 2-2 1/2, I was giving her a bath...she looked down at her chest, then at mine and said:
"Daddy?"
"yes?"
"when I get older, will I get boobs like you and mummy?"

I nearly stopped drinking and joined a gym!
(dchurch bah, Thu 23 May 2013, 15:34, Reply)

My girlfriend's niece, just old enough to walk and talk
toddled up to her grandmother, who was doing a spot of weeding in the garden, and said, loudly "Move, bitch!".

I swear I remember the sound of a needle being yanked off a record...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Wed 29 May 2013, 11:30, 1 reply)

my brother has 3 kids
the older two are very alike, brown eyes, dark hair, like their parents. somehow the little one, who is almost 3, looks just like them, but as if the colour came out in the wash - she has white blonde curls and blue eyes. she looks like a rather chubby little angel and she totally knows it.

so the other night my brother was tucking her into bed and she said sweetly that she had a secret to tell him. my brother leaned in so that she could whisper in his ear, and she put her little rosebud lips against his ear, smelling all nice and babylike and innocent, and said....

"daddy, i wish you were DEAD."

(she also farts like a 50 year old, 17 stone builder after a night on the guinness and fried eggs, but that's a different story)
( rachelswipe with a fork, Tue 28 May 2013, 16:07, 3 replies)

Walking up a hill
A previous girlfriend had two absolutely gorgeous kids whom I adored. They all came to visit me, and for something to do on a breezy day I suggested we go for a walk. Specifically, up the Wrekin, a prominent hill just outside Telford that you can see from the M54. There's a gravel road to the top so it's an easy enough walk, with a tea shop half way up. We reached the top and it was WINDY, so we took in the impressive view and quickly sodded off back down the hill. We stopped after a few minutes for a little rest out of the wind, and it was at this point that g/f's boy, aged five, decided he wanted to know something.

"Why did you bring us up this hill?", he asked. Not bad temperedly, just, it seemed, in a spirit of honest curiosity.
"Well, I thought you'd enjoy it.", I replied.

He considered this for a moment, and again without any hint of annoyance, pronounced:
"Well.... you were wrong."
(SonofRojBlake, Tue 28 May 2013, 15:03, Reply)

Aged three, one of my first fully-formed sentences was "the clutch is broken"
I'd been hearing it all week and dutifully repeated it in front of the dealer who was about to pay for our car and somehow hadn't noticed.
( Zuowan, Mon 27 May 2013, 15:10, Reply)

I was on holiday with my parents
somewhere in Britain, and we'd stopped off at one of those tedious open farms so that my little sister could point at some goats.

My brother decided to point and shout, right in front of a group of people, "Look at the size of that horse's cock"
(cs1ca, Mon 27 May 2013, 11:59, 1 reply)

In which grandmasterfluffles isn't too concerned about her grandmother's imminent demise
When I was five years old, my grandmother had to go into hospital to have a massive abscess removed from her lung. She was in her 70s, extremely ill, and about to undergo a major operation. It didn't look as if she was going to make it. My mum had decided it was time to break the news to me, so she gently explained that Granny was very ill, and that there was a good chance she might never wake up from this operation. Everybody had to die sometime, and now might be Granny's time. Confused by how visibly upset my mother was about this, I tried to cheer her up by saying:

"But what's the problem? You don't even like Granny!"

I still don't really understand why she burst into tears.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Mon 27 May 2013, 8:24, 1 reply)

My nipper got dressed up as a robot to go and see Transformers at the cinema when he was 6
Halfway through the film, he stands up and shouts "LOOK DADDY, I'M OCTOPUS PRIME".

The entire audience dun a lol.
(woocfot friends with Sacha Distel, Sat 25 May 2013, 12:04, 2 replies)