the comment below is so true. Always carry a spare bra,
and several pairs of spare panties. Especially when you're going to see your stupid parole officer who'll probably make you give back the ones you're wearing.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 16 Aug 2008, 6:51, Reply)

I have to say...
...God bless my mum, but she's generally quite good at not throwing things away. Mainly because of the OCD and (previosly mentioned) kiwi frugality. I swear she'd have been a nun if she hadn't loved teh cock so much (6 kids, work it out...)

Anyway - I'm digressing in the first paragraph, which is uncommon for me. Back in the early 90's when I was a callow and impressionable youth, there was a fad for pogs, which for those of you who don't know, are sort of card discs that you played an incredibly convoluted game involving throwing plastic circular things called slammers. Now, these cards and slammers were covered in captivating images and so on to attract young lads with pocket money to burn. So anyhoo, one day I opened a packet of pogs, which came in sealed packets a bit like football stickers. These contained about 10 pogs and one slammer. I pulled out a slammer that was painted silver. Now these were rare. So rare, that I had never seen one, and only heard of their fabled poggy fame. Let's face it - this was the closest I was ever going to get to winning the lottery. These slammers could go to a collector for a few hundred quid. I knew this thanks to the POG comic that did the rounds.

I treasured my slammer. I never did somewthing as foolish as to take it to school, apart from one day to show my mates. Otherwise it lived in my room, on my desk, just waiting for the day when someone would want to buy it.

A few days later I came home from school. Now, I should advise due to an unfortunate incident involving a tennis ball* I had broken my bedside light. Nothing severe - the base needed fixing, and my dad being a handy man with araldite and stuff had agreed to fix it.

"Oh Undercover," he said. "I've fixed your lamp. Hope you don't mind, but I used that plastic thing on your desk to mix the glues on. Didn't look important."

My heart stopped. He must have meant another plastic thing on my desk. Yeah. Yeah. I have loads of plastic things on my desk. Ahahahaha....

Nope

Bollocks.

One thing that I learn't about araldite is that it strips the extremely rare silver paint off a pog slammer like white spirit.

_{*and me being a cock.}
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Sat 16 Aug 2008, 5:58, 1 reply)

I lost my bra
It was my favourite sports bra and I lost it on the second night of a five day trek in Patagonia. I don't think it was thrown out, i think someone took a fancy to my lovely stretchy nike bra and pinched it. As I was travelling light I didn't have a replacement and therefore had to go braless until I got back to civilization and replacement underwear. I hate not wearing a bra. My nipples hate not wearing a bra.

Wherever you are bra, I hope you are giving the support I so sorely missed during that otherwise delightful experience. And if you are going on a trek in the wilderness, always always carry a replacement bra.
(Lady of leisure, Sat 16 Aug 2008, 4:58, Reply)

swatch watch
when i was at school, they were all the rage. everyone had one. and because it was a private school, some wore 2 on one wrist and one on the other, so they could set them for the different time zones in the east, west and south wings of their mansions. of course, i had to have one. and i knew where to get one. i'd known before anyone else. i'd seen them first. underwoods the chemist.

underwoods the chemist was the best chemist ever. back then, children used to walk to school on their own without carrying knives and guns, and my journeys home always went past underwoods. not only did it stock all the lotions, potions and pills you usually get at a chemist, it had three floors filled with all my heart's desires. i'd do the top floor first, then the second, saving the bottom floor, where it was all really at, till last. there, they had all the toys and games in the world and the best teddy bear ever (i'd write about him now, but it's not relevant, he's sat just over there).

but what made my heart beat fastest was the swatch watch display. the shelves were made of the finest crystal, and the spotlights were hand held by angels. there was a sense of hush around the display as mothers stopped their children from crying and girlfriends stop shouting at their boyfriends out of sheer respect, awed into silence by the best shop display ever seen by mere mortals (or floor standing display unit as they're called these days).

the watches were laid out in rows, like mermaids on a beach, gleaming and glittering with every colour from every rainbow from every planet and every sun. whenever i stood next to that display, time stood still. i may even have stopped breathing as i gazed at it all with a passion and longing that physically ached. which one would i choose. which one would i choose. if my only wish ever came true, which one would i choose.

and then i saw it. The One. it was easy not to notice at first, but at that first sight, everything fell into place. everything i had ever thought i wanted was engulfed by everything i suddenly saw before me. the most beautiful watch in the world. it was safe to assume that civilisations in outer space would have evolved past our primitive conception of time light years before, so probably the finest watch in the galaxy (in its class).

it was made to exactly the same design and specification as its compatriots (lady fit), with the same, distinctive band end pieces but, unlike any of the other designs, this one was completely clear with clear straps and a clear body. best of all, the face had been cut away to reveal the watch's inner workings. its heart and soul. i now believe that when the designer decided to finish his masterpiece off with a splash of each primary colour to each of the finely crafted hands, that he must have had an orgasm.

after several months of whining and looking on the verge of tears, my folks eventually relented and we all went together to our local underwoods chemist to buy me the best birthday present i would ever have. after months of painful anticipation and longing, the time had come. i walked solemnly into the store, my parents behind me, trying to string together the words that i had longed to say for so long.

'excuse me, could i see the [how could i ever have forgotten its name?] please?'

the lady behind the counter went off to the cupboard of secrets and dreams and came back with it, caressing it lightly in the palm of her hand, holding it out to me. as i reached out to drape my hand with perfection, my heart sang and my soul roared. i looked at it. its face reflected mine. i was complete.

that was over twenty years ago. wish i could remember where i left it.
(threadkiller, Sat 16 Aug 2008, 2:54, 2 replies)

Collection worth thousands.
Now... many of you have claimed to own something that was worth a lot of money. Classic Star Wars toys, comic books etc.

But how many of you would actually have sold it off? How many of you would have kept it for the sentimental reasons and suchlike, or just the smugness of having one of the best Star Wars/Transformers/He-Man/whatever collection?

I'm curious to know :)
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Sat 16 Aug 2008, 2:12, 3 replies)

Pokemon Cards and Pogs
My mum threw away both.

I had managed to collect a Roses tin full of Pogs (little cardboard disk things) and was really proud of my collection until one day my mum threw them away (possibly in a PMT induced rage?!) when i had done something 'naughty'.

Pokemon cards - I had a large stack of them that i had lovingly collected and even put some of my better cards into a little folder to keep them pristine. They got thrown away when my mum was cleaning out my room about six years ago.
(Foulkesy123 The one and only..., Sat 16 Aug 2008, 1:42, Reply)

Of all the things I've lost....
I miss my mind the most.
(Dante licked your nipple on, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 23:08, 2 replies)

Thunderbirds Island Majiggy
Had some huge playset thing from the thunderbirds when I was a lad, mysteriously disappeared several years ago. I assume nobody used it, seems to be the general remark.
(annhialus hasn't had an accident since, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 22:22, Reply)

My Megadrive
Bah, when I was younger I was an avid gamer, I played on my Megadrive for hours on end, had around 30 or so games for it, one day I came home from school, my mum had thrown it out. Apparently nobody used it. Bah.

(Humbug)
Also I met someone recently who was looking to get one for ~£500, so that kind of sweetens the deal of it getting chucked.
(annhialus hasn't had an accident since, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 22:21, 2 replies)

My parents
The threw away my Beanos and Power Ranger action figures.

Value: Fuck all. Only saying this to make a change from fucking star wars and 2000AD.
(General_Manchego, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 22:02, Reply)

I had these Star Wars figures...
....all boxed and everything.

Nah, not really, but I have lost the will to live though.

It was taken from me by all the fucking 'I've lost my star wars figures' posts.

Big.fucking.deal.

All they did was make George Ilooklikeabear Lucus very,very, very rich.

EDIT: Sorry, it's just starting to annoy a little now. Every other post is about 2000AD or Star Wars and it's hard to differentiate between the dros and the interesting ones.
(dchurch bah, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 22:00, 5 replies)

I used to
own a Biker mice from mars action figure (I think it was Vinnie)

anyway, took it into reception at primary school and misplaced it. I loved it so. I sometimes wish the school had found it for me.


bastards.
(Mongoose1770 is a bag of balls, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 21:52, 2 replies)

I STILL HAVE.......
The first 100 or so editions of....


Just 17 Magazine, including the one that was issued with Smash Hits back in the 80s.


They're in my parents' loft.


I bet they're worth...ooh...


Probably the best part of £3.50, if I'm lucky.

Must chuck them out sometime. Pile of crap.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 21:48, 2 replies)

musical youth
firstly, let me say yay! you picked my idea!

ok, now for the story.

when i was but a little smash, i would take my pocket money to the charity shop around the corner, usually to spend it on books.
one day, however, something else caught my eye: a guitar. it was battered, tatty, scratched and had only 3 strings but, to my young eyes, it was a thing of near-ethereal beauty. i purchased it immediately, before running home, clutching my bounty to my chest. this was my first musical instrument that didn't have brightly-coloured keys and a plinky-plonky sound. i caressed it lovingly, imagining the beautiful music we would make together.

i arrived home, breathless and red in the face, to be greeted by my mother.
"what is THAT?" she demanded, pointing to my new pride and joy.
"'s a guitar. 's mine. i bought it." i replied, feeling a little apprehensive at her less than rapturous reaction.
"if you think you're playing that thing in here, you're wrong! get it out of here!" she bellowed.
this may seem a tad harsh, but i was notorious for filling the house with useless shite, so it was hardly surprising that she wasn't keen to house another of my bargains.
undeterred, i took my guitar to the shed, where i spent three ecstatically happy hours strumming out a strangled-cat concerto on its three badly-tuned strings. it was just me and my guitar, together in the fight against parental tyranny.
soon, however, it was time for bath and bed. i locked the shed door, leaving my beloved inside and headed into the house.
bed time wasn't a fight that night, i was far too happy. i clambered beneath the sheets and drifted off, dreaming of future performances in front of adoring fans.

next morning, i bolted my breakfast and raced out to the shed, impatient to be near my 3-stringed love again.
i opened the door of the shed.
it was gone.
my guitar was gone.
i'm sure my howls could be heard at least 5 miles away. who could have done this to me? obviously, i was the victim of international musical instrument thieves. they would pay, oh yes, they would pay!
my sobs brought my mother racing from the house. "what's wrong? you're not crying over that ratty old guitar, are you?" i sniffed and nodded my head. "well, there's no point crying," she told me, "i gave it to the bin men this morning."
i was shocked. how could she be so callous, so heartless? did she not realise that my guitar meant everything to me? "don't look at me like that!" she snapped. "you only got it yesterday and you couldn't even play it!"
what a bitch!

i got my own back, though. i "accidentally" lost her favourite butterfly brooch.
don't fuck with me, mother, i hold a grudge for YEARS.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 21:35, 2 replies)

When I was little my doggy ran away
I missed him very dearly for years.

About 5 years later I overhear my dad telling a mate that he had been adopted by some coffin dodger who lived round the corner from us at the time, but didn't have the heart to nick him back off her.

Bastards.

Lack of funny, I know - fleshes out the QOTW,though.

/minge
( Derpasaurus DOG FARTS, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 21:29, Reply)

not loved but bloody essential
I split up from my ex and moved to my parents. I didn't want to, but lack of cash and the prospect of commiting suicide if I stayed with the selfish tnuc forced me to.

All my possessions were in black bin bags in the spare room; clothes, books, bedding etc. My work clothes and pyjamas were the only items I kept in my room. One day the bags had disappeared. I asked my father where they had gone, and during the ad break for coronation street I got a 'shhh now, go and ask your mother, I'm watching tv'. My mother told me the truth; she had put some old clothes in some carrier bags and also put them in the spare room. She had asked my father the day before to take the old clothes to the recycling depot. When he asked were the clothes were, she replied they are all in bags in the spare room. My father took her at her word. All bags were removed, put into the car and driven three miles away to the depot. Her rags, my coats, my suits, my dresses, my shoes, my bags, my books in fact 99% of everything I had. All I had left the clothes I had on, two skirts for work, a few bits of underwear and a blouse.

All I ever had as an apology from my father was a £10 M&S gift voucher. He asked me when my birthday was, I said it was the next day, so he told me he'd bought a voucher for me. My mother said that I should be pleased as he had remembered my birthday and had gone all the way into the town centre to buy it.
( pottybeaver is neither a potty nor a beaver, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 21:28, 2 replies)

Ashamed as I am
To agree with a Fenian (sorry CHCB but us Effnicks are officially allowed to beat each other up about how many of our ancestors were starved by the English), I have to say , and it will make me few friends (but bollox to it)....


You had a bunch of overpriced plastic shit, whose whole purpose was to make George Lucas or some Nipponese marketing cock-snot a frigging fortune. If you played with it as intended, it'll be worth shag all, not the £££££ on ebay everyone witters on about. Trust me, dribbled on Hans Solo fucking toys will never be on the Antiques Roadshow with some Bowtied toff blethering on about how it would be worth ten squillion quid 'if it had the original box'.

As for bods with complete collections of whatever, I detect either my billy-bullshit meter going into meltdown, or parents with too much money and too little time to tell the little teen-vulture to fuck off and get a life.

For Yellow Rubbery Fucks sake, there are millions starving in the world, the Cold War is kicking off again, we're in two wars, the useless bunch off arsefelching scum in power are effectively bum-raping you every second of the day and you're worried about a few plastic toys?

Grow.The.Fuck.Up.

And take Vipros' advice. If you have something "that would be worth ten billion squid on ebay", don't leave it in the coffin dodger's attic. Or your old room, that they were planning to turn into a study as soon as the surly adolescent had finally fucked off and stopped emptying the fridge and whining...


Awaits flameing and ignore. Yarrr...
(osok Rebel without a clue, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 20:41, 8 replies)

OK IT IS FUCKING STUPID THIS STUFF COSTS MONEY BUT IT DOES
Err I sell for a living really rare and somewhat obscure and rubbishy looking art.

A few years ago I sold the following item to a collector who was obsessed- here it is described in its Sunday Best clothes albeit - a slightly academic dry language

Brouwn, Stanley
BROUWN lemonspot.
Frankfurt : Gallery Patio , 1963.
37 x 30 cm sheet of paper, with a brownish stain where lemon juice has been applied by Brouwn (thus the 'lemon spot'). Very fine copy (no fading, no damage etc) of this scarce artwork of Brouwn, which is relatively unknown. It is likely that only very few copies have survived. Not in Ruhe, H., Stanley Brouwn; A chronology, 2001

In more simple language a bit of paper that once had had some lemon squeezed on it by the artist.

Now as all we big kid spies know lemon juice disappears after a while to await being revealed by a little heat from, say, a candle - so effectively this bit of paper was to all intents and purposes blank to the human eye,

My assistant of the time did not know that i had sold this piece of paper that very afternoon for 1,750 quid and had it on my desk to get it ready for a tender, loving session of wrapping and packing that only another piece of expensive sold art can get from me as I ponder the delights of spending the future income on hedonistic persuits. In fact my assistant (take a bow, Lewis) thought it was just another bit of paper and took it from my desk and put it in a large pile of waste paper of roughly the same size and texture awaiting for recycling and then added other paper for good measure.

It is amazing how hard one has to look at single bits of paper in a big pile to see if there are any invisible marks there. Mind you for seventeen hundred smaceroonies and a bit more I bet everyone of you would have joined me and him in the thankless task of peering closely at the sheets. Little fucker didn't even stay after his shift ended either - I had to find it an hour or so later!
(beaverwastemanagement a real company. I want to work for them!, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 19:29, Reply)

My mum
My mum wasn't really the best person to have custody of a small child. She's much better now, but *really* couldn't understand how the littluns worked, and has passed down her fear and hatred of them to me.

I used to have a childminder during the day, as both my parents worked long hours. She in turn had her own brat one year younger than me, for whom the sun shone out of her arse. She. Was. Evil.

This kid used to absolutely torment me, threw dog shit at me, gave me at least one black eye a month by hitting me in the face with whatever toys she had, and absolutely refused to let me play on her gameboy. But due to my one year advantage, everything was my fault as "I was old enough to know better".

Sooo, seeing as my mum was a teacher, I was shipped off to day camps so that she could have a bit of peace and quiet during the holidays. One holiday, I turned up, and there was Damien herself, in my group. So I did what any self respecting child would do, and screamed my head off demanding that I be taken home. Which was duly done.

But obviously this disturbage could not go unpunished. I loved my soft toys. I was an only child, and I used to have conversations with them late into the night. I really thought they were real people. So my mum went into my room, bagged *everything* up, locked me in my room, and took them all to the charity shop.

You should see the size of her guilt complex these days.
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 19:21, 6 replies)

Right, proper fucking interesting story here...
I had these Star Wars toys that I could have got loads of money for because people like Star Wars, but my mother lost them, then I had some 2000 comics or something, really rare, loads of the cunts, then my mother lost them and now I don't have them and I am really gutted, but you will appreciate me recounting this is as this is what the question of the week asked me to do, so here you are, you are welcome, lover my story.
(Purple Jessop Jessoping Purple all over your father, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 19:12, 2 replies)

LOST - my fucking temper.
THROWN - a fucking tantrum.

GET OVER THE LOSS OF YOUR PLASTIC STAR WARS TOYS BY POSTING SOMETHING INTERESTING.

Yeah, we get it. A lot of you had Star Wars toys, now you don't.

I once had a life, now I barely have the will to live.

In reality, you probably wouldn't have made any money on the frickin' toys. In fact, if you'd kept 'em, they'd probably be trashed to fuck by now.

Same goes for 2000AD comics. Seriously, how many of those damn things did they print? Every motherfucker on here seems to have lost the first 500 of them.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 18:14, 19 replies)

Loss...
I had t-shirt bearing the legend, 'Cheer Up - Here comes Mr. Milk.' This dizzy bitch robbed it. C*nt.

Bitterness exceeds length by some margin.
(lemonymillenniumbaboon, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 17:53, Reply)

Sold by my Dad in the school car-boot sale, 1995
- 20 original Star Wars figurines (net value now, at least £100), for the sum total of £4

- Original Beatles White Album LP with gatefold sleeve, mint condition (value now, £150), for £1.50

Needless to say, I'm pissed off about the Star Wars toys, cos they were mine, and they could have helped me out of a spot of financial difficulty on several occasions since. But I guess I should have spoken up at the time, rather than going off to buy a fucking useless marble game for a pound.

But the real kicker was the album, which I didn't appreciate at all for what it was when I was a nine-year-old, but a few years ago, when I flourished into adulthood and music-geekdom, I felt a horrible pang when I rummaged through his record box looking for things I could steal and came up with nothing but Cat Stevens EPs. I wanted that White Album, dammit.

Still, for some reason he still had Parallel Lines by Blondie, which is nice, if not really the same.
(jabboy, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 17:52, Reply)

When I was a little child
My mum told me and my little brother we were too old for all of our teddies and stuffed toys, and that she was going to give them to our even littler sister.

(Seriously, she was a fucking dwarf. She got better though)

One or two of them did make their way to her room, but the rest of them (between us there must have been about 20) mysteriously disappeared.

A few months later my brother's bear, Big Ted, appeared, without explanation, in the corner of our room.

Evidently our mother had sent the toys off to some sort of work camp, and Big Ted was the only one to escape.

Fuckermother.
(teebie jeebie, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 17:36, Reply)

Not quite thrown away, more just dropped
I was only about 4 or five and my Nan had come over to visit.
She was my favouritist relative, nice, kind always had time for me (thinking about it, would have been more fitting to mourn her loss here, but what am I gonna do). Anyway, the new fangled one pound coin had just been issued and my Nan thought the first thing she would do after getting out of the car was to treat each of her three Grandsons to a brand new, never seen before by my specky four eyes, real life ONE POUND COIN. It was soooooo shiny. It was worth a fucking whole pound. In a coin. That was like magic to a small child.
So, there I was holding this thing of wonder up to the light when, being the cack handed fuck I am, I drop it. It rolls under the car. My face is a picture of shock, it's as if Santa Claus has just raped and killed the Easter Bunny in front of me. I fall to the floor to see this golden nugget of joy rolling away.
Now, bearing in mind my Nan has just been in the Austin Maestro from hell for the last four and a half hours, I demand she moves the car so I can retrieve my pound, and she, the utterly lovely lady, obliges the small, teary eyed nugget dropper. But I can't find the fucking thing. I'm on my hands and knees searching wildly, little face collapsing with every passing second. So shitty must I have looked my Nan says she'll get me another pound coin, but my bitch whore of a mother says "No! Little Monkeyboy must learn to look after his property, he shall have no more money!"
I'm in tears, snot streaming down my little face when my brother, sweet as you like, says he's found my coin. I rush over to him and see my pound, wedged deep down a gap in the concrete drive way. I grab a stick and try to prize this thing out. No, it's not coming. No matter what I do, no matter what is used, this thing ain't budging, and I'm left outside, all on my own, staring at this thing. Two-fucking-hundred halfpenny sweets. Right there. Centimeters away.
That bastard coin stayed there, haunting me for most of the 18 years I lived in that house, until, after drunkenly recounting this story to a friend the red mist descended. I found my dads sledge hammer, and I got that fucking pound back. Unfortunately I had to pay a lot more than that to my parents when they found a fuck off big hole in the middle of their drive.




But I got my pound back.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 17:16, 1 reply)

People I've loved, what I've tried to lose...
A confession:

I'm a nice, well-adjusted (-ish, I do like b3ta after all) quite pretty young lady, but despite this I am also a virgin. As I'm now in the second half of my twenties, I am getting concerned about this.

It's not that I'm 'saving myself' or think it's that big a deal in general - I've done 'other stuff' - it's just that circumstance has worked against me.

I used to be quite shy. Now not so much. However, given my shyness in my teens 'it' didn't happen then.

At uni - still shy - I got chatted up a lot but always either gave out the wrong number or never called when they gave them mine. I realise this was pretty shitty of me, but I really didn't have the courage to meet someone in the harsh light of day that I'd drunkenly snogged in the uni nightclub, not because I was being intentionally mean.

Anyway, I finally found someone - a friend of a friend - that I liked. Nothing as official as a date, but we used to hang out around one of our houses, get slightly stoned or very drunk, and flirt outrageously (the weird thing is I've always been fantastic at flirting but scared stiff of going beyond that) so I decided, at a party of a mutual friend, that I would sleep with him. I've never wanted to lose my virginity to a one night stand (too seedy), just to someone I liked who liked me. Found out that night that he was also seeing another friend, who was sleeping with him. When confronted he gentlemanly said that he liked me better, but I wasn't interested.

Many drunken snogs, fumblings and flirting later, I find another guy a like. The short version is he 'respected me too much to sleep with me' after I stupidly admitted I was a virgin. Maybe that was just his excuse.

Kind of off topic, and not funny. Not even much of a story. Only a few of my closest friends know this, so goodness knows why I'm posting it here, but I guess as it is only a couple of my female friends that know and they've tried to reassure me that I'm not a freak, I was wondering - are they just being kind because they're my mates? Do they see it differently because they are female as well? I think when I do actually sleep with someone, I might try to keep it a secret that I am a virgin if I can - should I? Will a guy think I'm weird if I am a virgin in my twenties?

EDIT: Just wanted to say thanks for all the replies - they've helped to get my head straight and not be so stressed about the whole thing!
( hanabanana, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 16:50, 12 replies)