My Dad
is loaded but whenever he goes to a shop he will ALWAYS argue the price and try to get it lowered which usually leaves whichever of his offspring with him at the time going very red and running away. I wouldn`t mind but you don`t do it with an expensive suit on leather briefcase in one hand and the financial times tucked under the other.
But in his house he is careful and we as children were always taught to only have things on when you were in the room and needed them on when you finished they had to be switched off.
Oh well thats probably not tight fisted just careful.
Also I think everyone will be more careful at the moment with the current financial climate.
OK THE WEE WITCH is this ok!!!!!!!!
(Nahla, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 8:37, 6 replies)

Supermarket daily specials menu
Not tight I don't think, just bright, but maybe that make's me all the tighter (I've said tight too much).

At my old office there was a lovely, big Sainsbury's that I'd go to for my lunch and I would always go to the refrigerated, going out of date section to pick up a delicious bargain.
(babydad, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 8:36, 4 replies)

That'd be me then ...
Got a great tip from a mate who works in the Electricity Industry.

An appliance containing a heating element draws power when it is turned off but switched on at the wall.

This is referred to in the industry as 'hidden revenue'.

I didn't believe him, so he dared me to turn off all appliances at the wall for 3 months and see if I noticed a difference in the power bill.

Couldn't believe it. Bill dropped by 30%.

So my fellow b3tans, turn off your kettle, toaster, fans, heaters and computers at the wall when they are not in use. You will save a packet.
(Que?, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 8:19, 12 replies)

shameless
ok so im being tight with a still warm pearoast from last week , but its still valid.

Ahem


iv just got back from doing some shopping at my local mall. I dont particulary like it as its a bit downmarket but it is the closest so sod it.
Anyway i popped into the branch of "The Warehouse" whilst there. For the Brits its a bit similar to Woolworths but bigger.
As i was looking to see what they had in the way of cheese knifes i passed one of the bargin bins.

Two obese teenage girls were having a rummage through. The following is the conversation as i heard it.
" OOh look some condoms"

"You should get them for you and Wayne " (Yes really Wayne!!)

"Yeah there cheap innit"

"Its cos the box is open and two of "em have been nicked"

"Still its cheap for ten of 'em"

"So?"

"fuckit why not i was going to fuck Wayne tonight anyways"

2 questions here
1 ) Who the hell buys their contraception from a bargin bin ? And an unsealed packet at that!

2) Will Wayne be the real father of little Tiffany chantrel bacardi breezer when she makes an innevitable apperance in nine months time?

Do we have a winner here?
(welgar, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 7:57, 3 replies)

I knew a guy who...
instead of putting the heating on in his flat, he would make up sandwiches and a flask and go and sit all, and I mean all, day in the greenhouse at the local Royal Horticultural Society gardens. To save even more money, he used to buy an annual pass for said gardens.

Imagine his guttedness when he found out after 3 years of doing this that his work's ID pass gained him free entry into the gardens.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 7:50, 3 replies)

Relatives
I've a relative who we will call Richard & Judy. They live in a respectable village in the West Country and have a 3 storey house with a large garden that could pass for a small forest. They're pleasant but my word do they have some hang ups about money. It is not uncommon for them to hint at how little money they have in every conversation.

We're sometimes worried that this is due to their guilt at our side of the family not getting our fair share of past inheritance. For example we were told when a relative passed away that they could give most of the inheritance to us straight away if we needed it. Not long out of my teens I said yes and was rewarded with 200 quid. Weird considering the said relative had a reasonable house in North London.

Anyway this is getting off the subject, point is they have travelled a fair bit across most continents and are always keen to tell you that they aren't rich. Before they could even sense any non-existant jealousy.
But the clincher was when they visited us and planned to see a nearby tourist attraction on the way home. They were keen to see it and weren't up in that area of the country often, say once every 5 years at best. A lot of discussion was made in front of us to decided it was worth it.

The admission was 7 pounds per person (this was only a couple of years back)

To quote "We'll see, I mean 7 pounds is 7 pounds isn't it?"
(muzzvsworld, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 6:44, Reply)

wheelchair sex.
one time i got caught stealing penny candy from a local store. the owner was furious and called the police, so when they got there i shit my pants and the cops all started screaming. they beat the store owner to death and imprisoned his children because they were unattractive.

the candy wasn't very good, it was supposed to taste like root beer but it just reminded me of old bat cunts so i burned down the neighbourhood. then i turned into a stain. that was last week, it was fun.

but hey, free candy.
( postbear has metal knees, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 5:13, 2 replies)

Fathers
My old man was convinced that the tumble dryer he got in the 80s used a lot of electricity. I am honestly convinced he thought it was an industrial model capable of drying mounds of wet clothing so was ultra expensive.
He also removed the electric heater in my room as a teenager as I "used it too much." Although I admit I wasn't paying the bills, 3-4 hours a week wasn't going to hurt surely?

My mate's father was reluctant to allow me to use my phone charger at his house as he was not "made of money."
(muzzvsworld, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 4:54, 2 replies)

Stingy Mingy
A mate of mine introduced to me this guy who we will call Stingy Mingy.
After being in the pub for a few hours he finally bought a round of beer back to everyone (after constant prompts) and used the buy 1 get 1 free offer that we had been enjoying all day. Except that everyone else had bought one lager for each person, hence everyone in the round getting two. Not Stingy Mingy, he thought he could get away with giving them one each in the hope they wouldn't notice!

Apologies for the fickle lenghts Stingy Mingy would go too
(muzzvsworld, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 4:44, Reply)

More necessity than choice...
A few years back I was placed in the Army Glasshouse for going AWOL for a few months. I have never seen such behavior and doubt I will again.

You're weekly budget in there was around £5.16. That would buy you maybe 2 pouches of tobacco, some Rizzla, some matches and maybe a chocolate bar. Smoking was literally the highlight of the day and you can imagine the amount you'd smoke when you're locked up in a room with 7 strangers for 16 hours.
Needless to say, 2 small pouches was not enough to last a week.

I personally drew the line at smoking through monopoly paper when the Rizzla ran out however the other lads took it a bit further.
In there I witnessed people empty and hide the contents of the ashtray so they could extract the remaining shards of tobacco from fag butts to be smoked later on in the week. I saw people go through bins in smoking areas in the rain to salvage more (wet) tobacco and re-roll and smoke them on the spot. The worst one however was...

You know the nicorette inhalators you can get. Like the little plastic cigarettes with a nicotine capsule. Well I saw said capsules smashed open to reveal a hard, nicotine drenched pod which were then rolled up in rizzla and smoked.
I say smoked, however 1 drag was taken each by a few people and they couldn't talk for around 3 hours after. That was rock-bottom.

Another was in Iraq, instead of getting a cake and candles for someones birthday, we melted down some Yorkie bars and Oatmeal blocks from the ration packs, made into a cake shaped block and stuck some lit zippo lighters in there.
...It did the trick.
( Terry_Tibbs Coarse and violent nudity. Occasional language, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 4:26, 2 replies)

Tips
My girlfriends group would regularly head out for a get together at a brilliant little Vietnamese place. The sort of restaurant that would do a vast array of stir fries, noodles and rice dishes all for less that $10 each. The decor wasn't much to look at and the service a little brisk, but everyone would order a main, the food would come all at once and huge feast would be had for very little money.

One hanger on would also attend. At the end of the meal everyone pitched in a tenner and the leftover change was a tip for the staff. Mr hanger on would never contribute the ten dollars with everyone else, instead would count out exact change for the dish ordered, less the amount he'd estimated others had eaten from his plate. He was also keen to be the one to settle the bill. It was a while before they realised he was demanding change at the till and pocketing the tip too. Eight to ten people each tipping a dollar on meals worth an average of nine dollars each. That tight arse ate for free and made a profit every time.
(lazy killer robot found that beer tastes better when your older, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 4:04, 2 replies)

My Father
My parents divorced when I was wee, and by the time I was into puberty my relationship with my father was getting a little strained because of his new wife (who's a whore). One summer I hadn't spoken to him for quite a while, when out of the blue he called to arrange for me and my brother to go on holiday with him. Camping. Not wanting to ruin our last chance to keep him in our lives, we said yes (forced grins all round).

Then he started moving the goalposts. Now his new family was coming along too. Fine; we should give them a chance as well.

Then he advised bringing along some money for us to buy souvenirs. Fair enough, he can't be expected to stump up for everything.

Then he said we needed to bring about £100 or more each, because we'd have to buy our own food and drink. WTF.

Before we could reply to this, he left a further message on our answering machine, revising that and saying we'd have to chip in for the spot in the site, electricity, and so on as well.

We told him to never contact us again. And indeed he didn't.
(bad1dea, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 2:54, 1 reply)

Moors
Briny tears cascaded like greased kittens from the limestone of my jagged cheeks, further moistening the already turgid snout of my deceased canine lover who lay, rug-like on the cold laminate floor alongside my worn moccasins. Were they tears of sadness? Of joy? Was it something to do with my nipples? My glans? Probably. But that did not stop those kitten-tears from bouncing lifelessly, emptily, down, down...

My routine was set. I had to keep up appearances, keep up with the Joneses, keep my pecker up, keep it real, keep on keepin’ awwwwwwwwwwwwn. And that was exactly what I did. I hooked the lead to the putrid hound’s collar, the aged mechanism screeching momentarily into the soggy depths of my downy ear. I tugged lightly. My late quadrapedal sexpiece moved slightly under the strain. With some exertion, I thought, we could still undertake our morning exercise without attracting unwanted attention from the neighbours.

I threw the door open, granting the morning light unrestricted access to my foisty interior for the first time in over three weeks. I yanked on the lead and off we went. The gnarled beast trailed behind, following me sidewise and scuttling over the stones and debris. How long had it been since my sweet’s final breath? Six hours? Three days? How long had I been so entranced by Culkin’s face in a Hello magazine retrospective and abandoned all of my adult duties, my human urges, my basic mammalian twitchings? Too long, it seemed. The sorry creature dragged behind, gathering all of the Earth’s leavings in its useless groin. We went on like this for several miles, myself resolved to adhere to our established path. So, up hill and down dale we shuffled, struggling for the most part.

Sheep observed and ravens swooped.

In a secluded area of the North Yorkshire Moors I was just about spent. I lay spinewise beside my grizzled fuckspaniel and raised my arms heavenward.
“Roy!” I howled (for God had been generous enough to tell me his Christian name during a prior, somewhat flirtatious exchange). “Extend thy divine appendage and guide thy son, I beg thee!”

I screeched like this for some hours, hugging and tearing at the ever-loosening flesh of my once betrothed. No reply came from the sky. I sobbed, I wept and I jostled with my member for sweet, empty comfort on the cold twilight moor, but the agony would not subside. I was almost prepared, spiritually and sexually, to suffocate myself in the now-exposed pancreas of my bedraggled he-dog-lesbian. But then the unexpected happened.

I had been aware of a loitering ewe for some time. It had been sidling hither and thither since my first wail of despair, and now it approached in earnest.
“Is this how it shall end, Roy?” I croaked. “Hast thou no more dignity in store for me in death than thou hadst in life?”
I had barely spat forth the last syllable of this roaring sentence when the full force of an ovine onslaught unexpectedly struck me flankwise. The sidling sheep had turned keen, brave, bold, and it had reckoned without the remnants of my manpride. I threw an uppercut, a left jab, a right hook, a sod of earth and the beast fell to the mossy ground, smote beneath the fierce, unforgiving clouds of the northern sky. It was only then that I noticed the zip running from chin to groin upon the pulseless bleater. Reluctantly, I tugged at the manmade fastening, not daring to believe what I knew would prove to be true. As I unzipped the fleece, the true nature of this beast was revealed.

“COLEMAN!” I hollered into the clouds. “WHYYYYYYYYY?”

When there was no moisture left in my face I looked once again at my pitiful victim. Never again would he ask me what I was talkin’ ‘bout. That was bad enough. But worse was the realisation that I would one day stare into the vengeful eye of Gary Coleman’s lover, Macauley Culkin. For then I would surely know unspeakable pain.

On the way home I passed a tramp. “Big Issue?” he pleaded.
“Fuck off, greedy bastard!” I replied. “You’ve already got a bag full!”
“Tightwad!” he retorted.

I pray for his soul.
(stusut79, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 2:18, 7 replies)

My grandfather
My grandfather was without doubt the tightest person I have ever met.

His expenses were ridiculous, he could live off £15 a month for food quite comfortably, and that would be it. He'd complain that the postman had stolen his premium bonds cheque if one didnt arrive every month.

Christmas times were always fun. I'd buy him a bottle of whiskey, and be given a can of lynx in return.

One year my uncle received a pea-green shirt from Marks and Spencers, which he returned as it didn't fit, to find that the checkout wouldn't even recognise the barcode as they'd stopped making it 10 years previously.

My cousin phoned him for a 5 minute lift when his car broke down, only to find that once they arrived he was charged the petrol money.

We'd often joke about his tightness.

He died a couple of months ago. Really unexpected, an operation that went wrong.

Each of his 11 grandchildren, including me, received £12k. My mother and aunty received £100k each, plus his house to share, worth roughly £220k.

I feel guilty that he spent less on food every month than I would on a night out drinking.

I miss him.
( Regger, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 2:03, 1 reply)

My girlfriend's tight....
Yeah, sorry. I'll go now.
( Zuowan, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 1:47, 2 replies)

Ba-ba-ba, ba-babara
When I was a wee young nipper in year 10, at the tender age of 14, myself and two friends named Petley and Egghead used to be tight bastards.

At the time I didn't think of it like that but a post about scrounging 10p per head for a can of coke (a pretty regular occurance at school) reminded me of it.

Our school canteen had four 'bars', if you will - cold snacks; pasta and potatoes; pizza/chips etc and one for burgers/hot dogs and the like. Jamie Oliver would have done his nut but the pasta was one of the nicest things on there so perhaps not so much.

The pizza part was staffed by Michelle and Barbara, two lovely ladies. Well, Michelle was two-pinter and Barbara was ten breweries; a right warty Jabba. But they were kind-hearted souls and we got on with them in order to stuff our faces with greasy crap.

Once when we were queueing quite late in the lunchbreak, we saw Barbara giving free chips to some Year 11s. Well, get in! We immediately asked for some free stuff and scored a burger and two slices of pizza - since there were only a few minutes until the bell went, this stuff wouldn't sell so they gave it away. Awesome. That was their excuse anyway, but Barb once said that Petley had 'come to bed eyes' so we weren't sure if it was dinnerlady flirtation.

Every lunchtime without fail from Year 10 until the last GCSE exam; Petley, Egghead and I would go to Barbara. The trip was preceded with either one of us softly humming "Ba-ba-ba, ba-babara" to the tune of... well, I doubt I need to tell you. Alternatively, we would look at our watches and announce "Barbara" to the group whereby we would leave silently and as one to head off to scrounge. Rarely, we would simply exchange a meaningful look, one that said simply "you know what to do."

It was a varied experience - you could score hugely, recieving one or two burgers and a packet of chips. You could do alright, perhaps a solitary pack of chips or a manky slice of pizza. There were the no-shows, when they were out of food or simply told the tight cunts that we were to fuck off. Then there were the debatable results - you'd get the remnants of the 'Meal of the Day', often a dubious lasagne or a weird bit of flan.

At the end of Year 11 we bought Barb a box of Milk Tray (because the lady loves and the fat lady loves more) and a card. She was truly touched and actually had watery eyes. The first week of Sixth Form we went back and she barely regarded us and gave us fuck-all, bitch. But we were allowed to go down to the shops now so we never used the canteen again.

Long live Barbara.
(MJPerry was crude but clickable at, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 0:58, 1 reply)

Top Tips...
Reading my nan's "Take a Break" magazine I found the section where readers send in money-saving ideas...

"When out shopping I often pay for various items using gift vouchers I've bought for myself, that way I get a lovely blank card and envelope which are ideal for Birthdays."

Seriously, why bother?
(Ella Mentree, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 0:40, 4 replies)

Sour
I went with a few friends to a pub. Middle of the day, we weren't going to settle in for a session so we bought our own drinks. I bought mine, and then heard my mate, next served, deciding:

Her - "How much is a shot of lime cordial, please?"
Bartender - "40p."
Her - "In that case I'll have a lime cordial and soda, please."
Bartender - "That'll be 45p."
Her - "Um, I'll have to think about that..."

I didn't know whether to giggle or goggle.
(Ozz, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 0:32, 1 reply)

Further to the
Feed the World rant earlier:

Why don't poor people eat their own spunk?
It's very nutritious.

Waste not want not.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 0:28, 9 replies)

Stig of the Dump, a.k.a. Amos E Wolfe
Well, as they were kind enough to use my suggestion I should really get an answer in.

A local pub was closing down for refurbishments - me and some mates were in there drinking beer on the last day. We helped the landlady move some full barrels out of the cellar ready to move to another pub so I was allowed to "help myself" to any surplus bits.

I had a small selection. The A-frame blackboard from outside the pub (all metal, £300 in the catalogue), several small sundry items, plus all the curtains and curtain poles from the entire pub.

I have often been called "Stig of the Dump" from my habit of collecting stuff that other people have thrown away. Recently I "rescued" a load of wood out of a skip. The lads at work laughed as I filled my car. Tomorrow I'm doing a project that requires a load of wood. Who's laughing now?

The chair I'm sitting on now as a type this came out of the same skip. It's a proper office one that goes up and down and everything. £49 from Office World or £FREE from Skips R Us.

My duplex laser printer (HP Laserjet 2300d) which should cost about £500 new came from a skip at one of my old jobs. I also got a dishwasher, 7 empty 45 gallon drums, and nearly 1 litre of "Christmas" fragrance oil which would usually sell in bottles of about 7 millilitres.

I do volunteer work for a local charity, and we recently built a workshop for next to nothing, using mostly donated materials. Old pallet racking welded together for the framework, old double glazed windows from the local tip, sides made of wood we got free from one bloke's work.

The work bench inside is an old kitchen worktop. One guy's missus would have thrown it out but we managed to scrounge it - along with a drill someone else had in their shed.

I even got a free lunch the other day, an evening get-together in the pub the night before had a buffet laid on. A few words with the landlady and I got the leftovers in cling film for the next day.

Hopefully I've saved some money because I just spent £200 on eBay on a machine for folding leaflets.
( Amos E Wolfe makes vinyl signs and things like that, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 0:25, 4 replies)

just lucky, i guess
yesterday was my birthday and, using the old "oh, i forgot and now i'm skint" technique, my aunt gave me a £1 scratchcard.
joke's on her, though, i won a tenner on it!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 0:18, Reply)

My Dad...
...is such a tightwad that when our immersion heater broke about 15 years ago, he refused to replace it, stating that "it's cheaper to build a fire to get hot water" in spite of the fact that it takes about an hour to get a tank of hot water and it's not exactly the kind of thing you want in the middle of summer.

And he prefers to do his shopping when Tesco is not far from closing, "more yellow labels".

I'm sure if he could run a generator off hot air he'd fix one up to my brother.
(Tyburn Finds the name Lauren Muff inexplicably funny, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 0:16, Reply)

It's your round
... only it never was, as this tightwad I knew always buggered off to pee (or masturbate, we have differing theories on what he did) when it was his round.

Also, if you did get him to pay for a round, he'd come back with things like tap water for everyone (cost = nil).

Suffice to say, he didn't last very long in my circle of sycophants friends.
(Mr Bryn, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 0:10, 1 reply)

when I was a young'un
My dad thought me and my siblings were on the computer faarr too much so he installed this program called 'enuff' or something, which has a timer on it or something, so you only have a certain allowance of time a day (I had 1.5 hours) and the computer cut off when the time expired.

it was a cunt, especially when I was working on a school essay, or playing rollercoaster tycoon or something, and im rudely interupted by the box of doom announcing that 'I have 5 minutes remaining'

then we'd rush around like its a life or death situation, thinking 'shit shit shit!! save save save!!'

It was kinda like a drug, my older brother would bribe me or my younger brother for our remaining times

dont remember for shit what happened to it, or how we actually convinced my dad to remove it...
(Lord Chode, Fri 24 Oct 2008, 0:05, Reply)

Don't know who it was
but in a graveyard in Ireland I was struck by a beautiful display of flowers in an container. As I bent closer to admire the blooms, I noticed the trade-name marked on the container - 'Flushmaster'. Yep, they had chosen to mark their love and respect for dead family members by planting out flowers in an old toilet cistern.
(Innogen, Thu 23 Oct 2008, 23:55, 3 replies)

tightwad ex
was very excited about our first* valentine's day together, seems he had got me a special gift.

yeah, really special.

it was a bottle of tweed perfume that he'd bought for his ex, but hadn't had a chance to give her before she dumped him.
this is the same bloke who perfected the art of watching snooker on a black-and-white portable, rather than buying a colour telly, just because the portable was free.

*and last
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 23 Oct 2008, 23:53, Reply)

My Mum, my Nan & meringue
Now, as caerful with money as my Mum is, my Nan was about 10 times worse. Again, this isn't in a bad way.

Once my Nan overheard either me or my sister mention that we liked meringue. So she made herself a baked egg tart one afternoon, and saved my Mum the whites of the egg.

When Mum popped round, nan gave he the whites of the egg so that she could make some meringues herself. This would save Nan the money of buying them for us, and the cost of having her oven on low for hours baking them and of course the cost of the eggs for my Mum.

Bless the pair of them.
(lympicita_ie, Thu 23 Oct 2008, 23:50, Reply)

My graduation a few years ago
was unfortunately booked for the week after my family suffered a horrendous bereavement.

I decided to go through with it anyway and set off with my mother, Mr Quar and two young-adult offspring.

Although the occasion was, for us, naturally rather low-key compared to the scenes of joy all around us, it was still a great day.

The proud Mr Quar had intended to treat us all to a posh lunch, but I didn't really feel like pushing the boat out, in the circs. We were still hungry though.

So we compromised - the Indian all-you-can-eat-for-a-fiver.

We all stuffed ourselves for less than forty quid plus tip. Expensive felt wrong that day - cheapskate was good.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Thu 23 Oct 2008, 23:39, 2 replies)

I had a freind
who when he bought his new car he asked us if we would like to go for a ride in his new shiny car, of course was the answer. when we got back he went now that will be two quid of petrol money from you all. i couldnt believe that he actually wanted us to pay two pound each for a little drive around the town.bizzarly i gave mine over but he pesterd my freind for nearly two weeks asking for it
(yousatonmybiscuits liberty city has the worst cab drivers, Thu 23 Oct 2008, 23:38, Reply)

My Mum
My Mum is a tightwad, not in a bad way. It's just that when she was growing up there wasn't a lot of money so she is used to making do with stuff, and keeping ahold of her money for as long as possible.

You know those toilet freshners that hang over the rim? The ones that dispense a little cleaning liquid every time you flush. Well I know for a fact that when they are empty, rather than throw them away, she takes them and refills them with toilet cleaner.

And my Dad thinks that he is getting one over on Mum by using a load of shower gel every time he washes. In fact, he is using loads of the cheapest bubble bath that Mum can lay her hands on. When he is done with the bottle, Mum fishes the bottle out of the bin and refills that.

Oh and they regularly disagree over who stired the jam. That's nothing to do with being overly careful with money, I just find it amusing.

I will add more when I think of them.
(lympicita_ie, Thu 23 Oct 2008, 23:36, 2 replies)