Family Gathering
In the pub with my lovely children. The subject turns to having children and I pipe up "well at least none of you have made me a grandfather yet." Son blurts out " we are waiting until you snuff it ! " Nice..
(fire_exit, Wed 29 May 2013, 14:52, 1 reply)

From across the hedge
I observed in my neighbour's garden a small child propped up in the manner of one of Geppetto's trial runs, glancing skywards and babbling insouciantly an uninterrupted steam of bebop sea shanties so melodious that it seemed inevitable they would attract more people to the yard than my very own milkshake.

Concerned for the child's safety, I scaled the hedge and seized him softly but firmly about the shoulders. Imagine my surprise when he turned and revealed himself to be a wizened, steam-powered automaton in the likeness of a fun-sized Donald Trump. Bewildered but determined in my desire to protect and serve, I watered him thoroughly and made a mental note to make a donation to Guide Dogs for the Drunk.
( .Yeti., Wed 29 May 2013, 14:17, 3 replies)

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)

How about something fluffy? Well - spiky.
When my cousin was about 3, my sister and I took her to see their neighbour, Mrs Hodges.

The reason we took her, was too see some baby hedgehogs.

The baby hedgehogs lived (somewhat obviously) in the hedge.

Her excitedly reporting to this back to the rest of the family later that day was nothing short of wonderful.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 29 May 2013, 13:34, 7 replies)

Unintentional casual racism from a six year old.
A new boy started at my nephew's school on day. to provide a little essential information, the little boy was from a mixed-race parentage, Indian and English to be precise.

The conversation that my nephew held with my sister-in-law (referred to as such to ensure that no-one accidentally thinks that I'm referring to the little boys mother) upon leaving school went as follows: -

Mother: How has your day been?
Nephew: We had a new boy start today!
Mother: Really? What is his name?
Nephew: Curry.
Mother: (Knowing the boys true name.) Don't you mean Corey?
Nephew: I don't think so, he did smell of curry....

I'm sure that, one day in the future, his grandchildren will be posting that one on B3ta for the Racist Grandparents IV QOTW.
( Muns, Wed 29 May 2013, 13:01, Reply)

I said this earlier today -
"Yet you guys throw all sorts of stuff at me about my marriage, how my wife looks and really inappropriate stuff about my daughter.
Here I am, mostly happily married for 15 odd years, a fairly well adjusted, smart and active kid, financially secure no matter what I chose to do.
Cheers"

And Rory chose to post this -
thats what your fat retarded kid said when she was sucking me off for a bag of haribo.
I really need to get some standards at some point
I've done /mailus
Anyone else who feels like getting rory/Fu Manchu/ what-ever-other-name's he's chosen getting their comeuppance now's your chance.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Wed 29 May 2013, 12:57, 38 replies)

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)

pearoast
My mam loves reminding me about a little boy with cancer or possibly just nits that was in the same hotel as us on a family holiday to Rhyll when I was about five. His hair looked a bit like Jason's in the first Friday 13th film. I spent the best part of the week shouting "OI! COCONUT HEAD!" at him.
( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Wed 29 May 2013, 10:41, 7 replies)

My mum occasionally brings this one up
When I was very young, perhaps 5 or even younger, the gas man turned up one morning to read the meter. The gas meter happened to be located in a cupboard in the living room, the same living room that I had been watching cartoons intently in all morning. My mum tells, still with much embarrassment after all these years, of this very polite, slightly elderly gentleman attempting to make the standard adult-to-child "and how are you young man?" chit-chat, only to be met with a sudden and very vicious verbal barrage during which I called him all sorts of rude words that a child of my age really shouldn’t have known. His only crime, I presume, was interrupting my cartoon viewing time. Apparently he went white as a sheet and my mum as red as a, well as a red sheet. I wouldn’t know however, having absolutely no memory of this.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Wed 29 May 2013, 10:36, 1 reply)

Comedy timing
At a friend's wedding, just as the transvestite at the front says the bit about "Does anyone here know of any reason why these two should not be joined in matrimony?", a small child ran down the aisle toward the couple and shouted out "Daddy!"
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Wed 29 May 2013, 10:09, 2 replies)

With grandparents from oop north
I spent a lot of my childhood pointing out that I wasn't a duck
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Wed 29 May 2013, 9:57, 12 replies)

arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
one of the problem with Bristolians (and Christ there's many) is that they add unnecessary R's on the end of words that don't have them. For example the thing kids slide down in the park is the slider.

My daughters name ends in an a and her uncle Steve (strong Bristolian accent) always adds an rrrr on the end when he addresses her. She doesn't like it, she doesn't like it one bit, she corrects him but uncle Steve being a bit of a wind up merchant just does it even more. So she came to me for advice

"why don't you call uncle Steve a name back to show him how it feels" was my excellent parenting advice
so at the next family do, it was a packed boat trip down the river lovely time being had by all

"all-right ***rrrrrrr" said uncle Steve to my little duckling
"bog off you fat bald git"
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Wed 29 May 2013, 9:33, 6 replies)

Oh, Anne!
I'm not your father!
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 29 May 2013, 9:15, 3 replies)

stay about from my bins lol

(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Wed 29 May 2013, 8:52, Reply)

Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy
They were interviewing a guy on TV a few years ago who had a mobile cattle foot trimming service. This is not half as gruesome as it sounds, it involves trimming the hooves of cows back if they become overgrown,totally painless, it is just like cutting your own toenails or fingernails but of course on a somewhat larger scale. Anyhow, he related one story about when during the B.S.E. crisis he asked one farmer client if he had ever had any cases of it on his farm. Now if a farmer had suspected that he had any cattle showing any symptoms of this truly awful disease (Which , by the way seems all but extinct now here in The UK, thank god) His first duty by law was to report it to his vet, who then informed the Ministry of Ag. who would then kill the animal then do a test on it's brain. if indeed the case proved to be positive, all his cloven hoofed animals on the farm( cattle, sheep, goats, pigs etc.) would have to be destroyed. I seem to remember that if the poor animal had not got BSE after all, and in fact it had just got say sunstroke (The symptoms are uncannily alike) The farmer would not be compensated for his loss. Anyway the farmer said to Mr. Foottrimmer "Oh no not at all, we have had no cases here, no problems!" Just then the farmer's little boy who had been ear-wigging the conversation between Farmer and Foot trimmer piped up "But Daddy, what about that one you shot and buried?" whooops!
(Mackeson_drinker, Wed 29 May 2013, 8:26, Reply)

Some pals and I were discussing the various ways of women
that were a mystery to the teenage male. At that time there was a product called Feminine Deodorant Spray that we presumed was for masking the odour of rancid pussy.
Someone's younger brother wanders in and wants to know what we are talking about. "FDS" we tell him.
"Oh" he says, "that stuff tastes terrible."
We made him an honourable member of the club.
(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Tue 28 May 2013, 23:47, 2 replies)

At the Sainsbury's checkout
My daughter suddenly asks in a very loud voice, "Daddy, what's that rude magazine under your bed?".

I have to explain to the checkout assistant that it was, in fact, Viz and not something like BBW Anal Fantasy or Barely Legal (In Spain). And I don't think she believed me.
(rogerzilla, Tue 28 May 2013, 18:31, 8 replies)

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)

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)

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)

Sons and synonyms
As a slightly cheeky young'un of 6 or 7 I was busy hurling abuse at my younger brother to pass the time when it occurred to me that calling him a twit really wasn't hitting the mark. I mean, it just didn't have that real bite to it that says "I really fucking mean this...".

So, in an endeavour that lasted roughly all of 5 seconds I put to use my knowledge of vowels and how they can be used to replace other vowels in words (proper bright spark me!). You'll not be surprised to hear that it was during these few seconds that I, for the first time ever in the world, invented the word "twat". It certainly had a ring to it that made it much more menacing than twit but I was safe in the knowledge that it couldn't be a naughty word cos it was so close to twit. If Roald Dahl wrote books about twits then this new word of mine must definitely be above board. I'd been warned about the "S-word" or the "F-word" in the past but never the "T-word". Definitely all good and proper! Game on!

Or at least it was above board until mammy dearest arrived to hear son #1 balling out son #2 for being a twat at the top of his little lungs. Unsurprisingly she didn't believe that I'd just invented my new favourite word and demanded to know who'd told me it. "Which naughty little fecker from school has been teaching you a word like that?"
Obviously I was visibly affronted at the accusations for not only was I not lying, I'd now had my new favourite word banished forever and was under strict instruction never to mention that word to anyone else.

I've managed to keep my promise until just now so I'm sure you'll all be ecstatic to have this brand new insult to throw at each other day after day!

tl:dr twat
(Band of Rain, Tue 28 May 2013, 16:02, 5 replies)

Walked downstairs the other day
My three year old daughter was standing next to a huge pile of books she'd pulled off the shelves. I asked what she was doing.

She looked up and said "Now we have to burn them."
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Tue 28 May 2013, 15:55, 2 replies)

A few years back and fairly fresh from an operation
it was a sunny day and my daughter (aged about 3 at the time) is off for a dental appointment and to spend time with me; the father who just had a pilonidal sinus removed (read here). I was feeling rather poorly and worse for wear mainly due to having an extra hole up my ass and rattling full of tablets but my daughter needed to get out of the house and to be honest so did I, so along with the wife we ventured to Swansea's infamous "Blackpill".
Blackpill, a lower class blister on the ass of Mumbles overlooking the beach (actually been done up recently and isn't that bad); this is an open paddling pool which has a little cafe and seems to attract lots of people every hot day mainly because the kids love it and it's free. Normally there is a massive amount of dobbers with screaming snot-nose kids there but as it's a school day there's only a handful of people about so my daughter has free reign of the paddling pool.

"Cmon in daddy, paddle dad!" etc etc. Eventually the nagging gets to me and I hop in with her, just upto below knee height as to not soak my shorts and my arse wound. Hell it's a nice day (not overly hot), I cooling down with my sunglasses on, daughter's enjoying and oh, what's this? Some Uni students have taken some time out and have come for a paddle too, christ, they got some respectable jugs going on too. They strip off down to their bikinis and hop in too, having a laugh. Even with 2 arseholes this day is perking up.

That was until one of them accidentally splashed my daughter. They obviously say sorry and then she starts talking to them. "I got a bad leg" she says pointing at a bruise she picked up from school.
"Awww, you ok?" they ask.
"Yeah. Daddy's got a bad bum."

You little bastard. "Thanks...." is about all I can mutter while they all start making arse jokes and pissing themselves laughing. Defeated and deflated without having to say anything I stumble back to my place of rest out of the pool and call her all the bastards going under my breath.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Tue 28 May 2013, 15:51, 9 replies)

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)

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)

I have a clear memory from when I was about three or four, and my sister was dressing up her teddy bear.
I asked if my teddy bear could have the clothes when her teddy bear grew out of them.

She laughed me out of the room.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 28 May 2013, 14:12, 1 reply)

My daughter shouted "I wish I had a better Daddy!" at me yesterday
Because I wouldn't let her have sweets for breakfast. It shouldn't have hurt but it did.
( Peej, Tue 28 May 2013, 13:10, 27 replies)

What this QOTW needs is a healthy dose of Bollocks Parrot.

( .Yeti., Tue 28 May 2013, 13:10, 5 replies)

I posted a totally unfunny story about my daughter repeating some racist bollocks I spouted
but then I got called out for being a racist so I deleted the thread because I've got no balls

yours

I can't remember the usernameshitcunt
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Tue 28 May 2013, 12:22, 4 replies)