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This is a question Being told off as an adult

When was the last time you were properly told off? You know: treated as an errant child rather than the sophisticated adult you are.

The sort of thing that dredges up an involuntary teenage mumble of "Sorry, Miss" whilst you stare at the ground.

Go on, tell us what childish thing you were up to when you got caught.

Oh, and can we have more than one-line answers this time? Cheers!

(, Thu 20 Sep 2007, 17:18)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1

This question is now closed.

golf twat
Oh yeah I'd forgotten about this..

I was walking across a golf course once (with public right of way) when a middle aged man screamed at me "get out of the bloody way you bloody idiot, can't you see we're trying to bloody well tee off here? Get lost!".

I marched straight up to him and said "Sir, if I wished to be yelled at by a clown wearing Rupert the Bear trousers I would visit a circus, not a park. Your choice of attire leads me to believe you may be blind, in which case you might be forgiven for not observing the signs indicating this is a public right of way. Otherwise might I suggest that you undergo an anger management course or keep your opinions to yourself, or the next time you will find yourself charged with assault and threatening behaviour. Good afternoon to you". With that I walked away, to the sound of his companions cheering, and my adversery red-faced and downcast in his wretched defeat.

Actually the truth is I called out "oh sorry!" and scurried past, but I had plenty of time to compose the above retort as I replayed the humiliating incident over and over again in my head over the following months.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 16:21, Reply)
Drunk Woman
I used to work in a video rental store, and used to lock up at night so i carried a torch in my rucksack (along with butties and bottles of pop etc.). Well one night after work walking home, i heard lots of banging and clunking coming from a transit van parked down the road and then i heard a window smash.
As i only lived round the corner, i didnt want the local grandnational posse running over cars (happened a lot round our area) all the way towards my house coz they'd get my parents car. So i walked across the road to look at the van and yep, the windscreen was smashed through, and down the street i could hear car alarms all going off in the distance. So i take out the torch from my bag and use it to look more clearly at the van and they havent just smashed the screen, theyve dented the front panels and kicked head lights in etc.

Just as i was looking for more, a woman came out from the house opposite and screeched "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING ?"
I tried to tell her that the kids had been past and theyd damaged the van etc but she was convinced that i was a burgular or something (i guess the rucksack didnt help).

I was left stunned and oddly enough amused at the sight of her walking back into the house as she was absolutely rat-arsed and staggered through the door and dissapeared inside.
I thought it best to go home, although i could still her shreiking around the corner for about an hour later.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 16:07, Reply)
Feel free to tell me off...
As I just realised I lied in my last story. I said that my well behaved dog always comes to heel when called. She doesn't. Well, 99% of the time she does...

I'd taken her out for a walk on the field up by the Royal Birkdale Golf Course. The Royal is one of those unbearably snotty golf clubs where they have major tournaments and seems to exist purely to highlight the yawning social chasm between the haves and the have nots. However the land around it is public and there's a fantastic view through to the sea, so it make a lovely place to take the mutt for a run.

We were about halfway through the walk, doggy had done her usual thing of going and greeting everyone she came to like they were the most exciting thing she'd ever seen and I'd taken my eye off her for 20 seconds, assuming she was fighting with Pip, a psychotic poodle from down the road. I looked around and she's nowhere. I panic, there's a fairly main road running past the field, but there's no way she can have got up there that fast, plus she has pretty good road sense. I look towards the bushes, out towards the dunes. Nada. There's only one place she can be...

My worst fears were confirmed when I heard irate shouting coming from the 14th green. For there, gamboling and skipping like an errant school girl is my dog, right as some bloke is lining up to take a shot. I screamed at her to get back. She hears me, but the sight of these people waving sticks (one of her favourite things) and this little white ball (another thing she loves) is too much for her. She picks up the ball and runs towards me, thinking she's being really clever. But the gap in the fence isn't where she remembers it to be and she's stuck. Panic sets in. She takes off in the oppposite direction with the ball still in her mouth with 2 of the guys chasing her.

Eventually they manage to corral her through a hole in the fence; I prise her jaws open, remove the ball and wipe it clean of doggy dribble.

I then stood there, head hung in shame as these 4 twunts in pringle jumpers berate me for having the audacity to not be able to control my, quite clearly, rabid dog. I believe the words animal control were mentioned. I slipped her back on the lead and went home to tell mum what had happened. Once she'd finished pissing herself laughing she said "well she's never done that to me..." Cheers.

Mind you, the next time my mum took the dog onto the field, it managed to knock over chippy scottish football pundit extrodinare, Mr Alan Hansen, so I guess I got away lightly...
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 15:46, Reply)
fast food manager - lesson one
I've worked in fast food a long long time, I quite like it and I'm pretty good at it.
I've learnt loads from my past managers, theres 2 small phrases i've found that a) shuts people up real quick and b) makes them feel like a raging dickhead.... I know because they were used on me.
First one - when dealing with someone who is unhappy with a decision you've made and is getting a little excited - "Did you just raise your voice to me?"

The second - when someone starts to bitch and badmouth anyone - "That's funny, i have nothing but respect for that person"

I'm the boss these days but in the past when i was a newbie pizza girl, its these two small phrases that made me feel about as big as a lego man. Which worked because being yelled at by a manager thats 2 years older than you just makes me laugh.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 15:38, Reply)
Don't offer blind people your seat on the tube.
They go mental.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 15:35, Reply)
Cyclist cnut!
Long(ish) story so mmost of it paraphrased:

Walking to work. Waiting at 3 lane 1 way street for lights to change. Standing next to woman with her baby in a buggy. Lights change. Green man. Cross road. Just passing past a big lorry when a cyclist speeds past infront narrowly missing me.
Cyclist stops and starts hurling abuse at me for not looking while I was crossing the road.
Cyclist gets drowned out by an extremely abuseive mother and baby/buggy explaining to her at the top of her voice, using a vocabulary that was 75% "fcuking", "cnut" and "siht", that the traffic lights were red. The Man was green and pedestrians had the right of way. Ended this torrent of abuse with: "If you were just a few fckuing sceonds slower you would of fcuking hit my fcuking baby and at that speed you could of fcuking killed him you sihtting cnut. How would like to start your fcuking day by killing my fcuking son you fcuking shit bagging cnut?"

cyclst stood there with mouth open and I swear I saw tears in her eyes as she walked off.

insert generic abusive length joke here.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 15:15, Reply)
re: Freelance Journalists
I was once a freelance journalist, working for a variety of computer magazines but more often than not for one particular games mag. They had several in-house writers who generally split their days between drinking at PR bashes and playing Quake II online, leaving them little time to do any actual writing. This left a lot of work to be done most issues, much to my delight since most of it came my way (my day job was next door to the mag's office, so I was always close-by as deadlines loomed). There were occasions when I wrote, under various pseudonyms, anything up to 80% of the entire mag -- news, features, previews, reviews, reader letters*...you name it I spewed it out and took the cash.

Anyway, while messing about with computer games is a pretty easy way to make a few quid, most of the time it's also quite boring. When you've been doing it for a few years it becomes clear that very few games are even slightly original, and by far the majority are just plain crap. You get so that you can review most games (not the headliners, but the b-list stuff) with just a few minutes' play, using the cheat codes to jump ahead and screenshot later levels to make it look like you've played through.

One time I was so loaded down with work, I wrote a review without playing the game at all -- it was an expansion pack for a game I'd already reviewed, I couldn't find the original disk and the deadline was too short to get another copy sent over. So I read the blurb on the back, took a screenshot from the press pack and wrote the vaguest review I could come up with -- to disguise the fact that I was basically just rehashing what I'd said about the original, with some press-release garbage dotted here and there.

Sadly, the next day the editor decided that he actually wanted to discuss the merits of the game with me (for some reason, he'd never done it before and never did again) and I had to 'fess up that I hadn't actually played it. But instead of a bollocking, he just told me how disappointed he was -- which of course, is ten times worse.

Given how corrupt the industry is (you think these mags get exclusives because they're nice people?) I didn't really feel that bad. And I'd have made an excuse about short deadlines but I didn't want to lose the work, so I just sucked it up, apologised and promised never to do it again.

I did, of course.

[* 99% of genuine reader correspondence is either a) unbearably tedious, b) utterly nonsensical, c) completely illegible or d) all of the above]
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 15:10, Reply)
Finally thought of one....
....amazed that it took me so long to remember it!

When I handed in my notice from my last place of work, I put round a memo announcing my departure, where the leaving do was, my new job benefits, the agency I went through to get the job, plus contact name and phone number of the recruitment consultant. I also may have mentioned that there were other similar vacancies still available.

I was rapidly hauled into the boss' office for a stern bollocking. I stood politely and with head bowed, mumbled 'Yes boss, no boss, what an arse I am boss' when inside my head I was saying something completely different - 'get it right up you boss'.

I'm a coward at heart though.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 15:08, Reply)
You know!
I've been racking my brain trying to remember times I've been told off for grown-up naughtiness.

There's been lots but unfortunatly or fortunatly I've just never been caught.

I feel smug now.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 14:54, Reply)
There's! Some THING! On the wing of the plane!
(Gotta love these Shatner-esque titles...)

On my flight back from LA, I had the wonderful joy of sitting near the rear of the plane, where a middle-aged black woman began going mental over the fact that her seat was in the back of the plane. Apparently she thought that she was entitled to sit up front, despite what it said on her ticket, and began screaming racism. She was eventually escorted out, but stopped to harangue the pilot for a while first.

The mood on the plane went from shock to bemusement to irritation at being delayed by this overentitled hag, so the guy next to me and I started shouting things toward the front of the plane along the lines of "Just get off!" "We have connections to make!" "Let's go!"

We were soon joined by the rest of the passengers, and the woman began to turn to yell back at us. I finally yelled, "Just shut up and get off the plane!" which seemed to crank up the ugliness a bit on the plane, and security dragged her off, still screaming about racism.

Dragged off, I noticed, by two black security guards.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 14:34, Reply)
Supersoakers! Clubs! Police! Fear!
I'd decided to go out. Not many others were willing, but I had some pills named "Supersoakers" and so the usual suspects ended up coming out.

We went to a club in Sheffield. We got twatted, we were dancing like twats, we were having a great time. Our evening was not to last though. There was a bang, lights came on, tunes stopped and there was a tanoy announcement. A flourescent yellow and black wall steamed forwards and suddenly the air was rent by yells, screams and unmentionable oaths. There was the sound of rain as plastic bags and cash dropped to the floor. We were being raided.

As 160 coppers charged in, most people froze. Not me; I dropped to the floor and scrabbled about, shoving pills and wraps into my pants, grateful to have worn briefs, and stuffing cash into my pockets. We were all searched as we left, some thoroughly, some not. I was, but they left between my legs alone and when questioned about cash, I told the truth and was let out.

I fucked off home, quickly, although by a circuitous route and ran through the booty as my heart rate gradually subsided to a normal level. I'd made about £300, plus a few wraps of coke, some speed and a couple of hundred odd pills.

So I went to an after hours club running til midday. THe police turned up again. I was recognised, and was clearly twatted and was dragged outside into the startling Sunday sunshine. I was thrown to the ground and searched. All that was found was a few pounds, some keys and an empty plastic bag.

I was clearly sparkled, they asked some questions and when I couldn't (wouldn't) answer sensibly they tore a strip off me and threatened me with arrest if they saw me again.

I went back indoors; I carried on; I had fun (although I had been told off, and shaken up a bit).
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 14:27, Reply)
Am I that convincing?
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 14:23, Reply)
Lunar Jim
Admitting all that.

Brave or foolish.

Let the B3tans decide.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 14:22, Reply)
I worked as a traffic warden one summer
It was an amazing job. I had a uniform which I have to divulge, makes you feel as commanding and invincible as an SS Stormtrooper, and I had the power to induce fear or furious wrath in drivers which they had no chance of winning, as I was the one carrying the fixed-penalty-notice machine.

One time I slapped a ticket on a car for being one eighth of an inch over the parking space line, (the local councils provide all parking attendants with a micrometer). The owner ran out claiming he was only parked there to get his sick mother out of the house and take her to hospital.

"Not my problem, Sir" I replied officially, "You should've considered that before you parked illegally. Part of your vehicle is on the yellow line".

He didnt believe me, so I got the micrometer out and proved it. From the house I could hear a womans voice calling plaintively for someone called Stanley.
I'll wager he never parked on double yellows again.

The zenith of my career was when I ticketed and then had clamped an invalid carriage for not displaying the disabled badge correctly in the windscreen (It was 20mm too close to the A pillar. Toothless old codgers really have no respect for the law.
The owner plodded up in his walk-frame and remonstrated with me for being pedantic.

Pedantic?? Me??

I gave him a thorough dressing down for not paying correct attention to the rules, but he replied by saying he'd fought for 5 years against the Japanese for people like me.

"Yes" I replied with the coup-de-gras, "but you're not in a bloody bullet filled jungle now are you? You're in Stroud High Street and your buggy is parked illegally."

That told him!
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 14:19, Reply)
Unwaranted telling-off
Not so long ago, I was dragged along to a meal with people I hate (long story, possibly for a QOTW called "pervy old men who spread malicious rumours about girls younger than their daughters"). Obviously, I was not a happy Flutterby - my Mother later described my expression as looking as if something had died under my nose.
So it's nearing the end of the evening, and we are all sitting at one table outside a pub, huddled under a too-small parasol, in the pouring rain. I had carefully place my bag under the table, between my feet, and was looking at something over my shoulder (think I was giving a screaming brat the death-stare) when I suddenly felt very cold liquid pouring down my leg and drenching my feet. I snapped round, only to see the guy sitting next to me quickly move his pint glass away from the gap in the boards directly above my feet/bag.
I went mental (but in a nice way) - what did he think he was playing at, not only was I now soaking wet and freezing, my bag was down there, everything would be ruined and stink of beer.........on and on.
Turns out his diabetes-induced stroke has left him with reduced vision, and he just missed his pint and knocked it over. Oops. I'm still haunted by this 6'3 chunk of man-flesh (I'm 5'3) looking at me with tears in his eyes, saying "Please don't shout at me"...

Still, I later heard that he had been driving, and had knocked a pedestrian flying - so I obviously didn't tell him off enough to make him get glasses!!
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 14:19, Reply)
I used to work at an unmentioned shop and the manager was a complete arse,
he used to line us up before the shift and tell us what we did wrong the last time and how we can improve...

suckup always got the lollipop

pun intended
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 14:14, Reply)
Freelance journalists
As a general rule, in my line of work (largely editorial) you have to do quite a bit of telling off. This is because freelance journalists are mental. Virtually all of them. As evidenced by the guy who we hadn't worked with before who hung up after 'hello' every time you called him, and the woman who called me five times a day until I told her we would not be commissioning her as she was clearly mental.

To be honest, I'm not a big fan of telling people off. Customer services representatives yes, but not people. Unfortunately sometimes it is necessary.

Today, following a brief conversation with my editor, I was asked to 'Call [the freelancer in question], and tell him that I'm very disappointed in him. He is unprofessional and uncommitted and will not be getting any more work from us.'

To be fair, the guy in question is a complete tool and had committed a variety of colourful offences such as demanding advance payment and agreeing to jobs then changing his mind, but I still felt like a right bitch calling him with that news.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 13:48, Reply)
Lightsabers! Drinking! Bouncers!
Every year, our town has a small festival with local bands playing on stages in the street. Alcohol is consumed, and everyone has a good laugh. My mates and I went along to do the above.

Now, around these types of things you get lots of blokes selling various light up novelties, including lightsabers. We purchased two, and much hilarity ensued when we decided to do battle in the middle of the street outside a pub. In a break with tradition, the sith won, and we decided a beverage was in order, so went to go into the pub.

The bouncers stopped us as we were going in.
"Oi, we don't want that kind of childish behaviour in here" they grunted.

Now, we weren't even particularly drunk, or rowdy. Just high spirited and having fun, but apparently they just want moody conversation in their pub. Anyway, after much arguing, and more attempts on their part to patronise us, we were let in. Within 5 minutes of being inside the squalid dump, some of the other patrons had climbed over a fence in the beer garden, started a fight or two and broken at least 10 glasses.

Maturity? nah thanks, I'll stick with being childish.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 13:42, Reply)
Stood up
Many years ago I used to get the train out of Waterloo to good old 'commuterland' after a hard day earning my pittance. Thanks to too many years abusing my body with martial arts, my knees are somewhat knackered, and if I had to stand all the way home I would hobble off the train in agony. I therefore made sure I got to the station in time for the train arriving at the platform, so I could nab a seat.

One day a woman on the train had to stand and was letting everyone around her know, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn't happy about having to do so. Staements such as "and there was a time when a gentleman would let a lady have his seat" were uttered in our general direction. After about 10 minutes of this I decided that I'd had enough of her inane wittering and said "madam, your half of the species wanted equality, now live with the consequences."

I got a round of applause from those within earshot and she shut up.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 13:34, Reply)
Title! With! Exclamation! Marks! (couldn’t resist)
Gileyboy’s post reminded me of this. Sometimes just a disapproving stare can make you feel way more of a errant child than any hardened bollocking.

The other day I was getting pissed with some mates in a pub (surprise sur-bleeding-prise) but we weren’t in the usual kind of dingy scut-hole that we generally frequent. This was one that had been given a ‘makeover’ (in other words, sucking out all the life and atmosphere and replacing it with crappy sofas, shit artwork and loads of shiny wood (oo-er).

Anyway, this attempt at more sophisticated surroundings did not hinder our common-as-a-dog’s-brown-eye conversation levels. We sat in a booth-type-thing and as the beer flowed, loudly put the world to rights with the kind of sweary, laddish, innuendo-based fucktwattery you’d expect from a conversation involving me.

In a matter of minutes we had jovially discussed sex with:

Men / Women
Front / back bottoms
Animals / Children
Each other

There was a direct line to the bar so we were sorted, but as the afternoon went on, I ‘broke the seal’ and was the first to venture towards the piss palace.

This meant I had to walk past the booth next door…and the couple with young, visibly stunned children sat therein, not enjoying a meal very much.

They didn't say anything, I mean they couldn't really, they must have deduced that there were quite a few pissed up nob-rots about and they didn't know how potentially volatile we were (not very as it goes). However, the glare of the mother alone made me wish that a hole would suddenly appear in the ground, bite me in half, chew a bit, then gob me out into a bucket of lukewarm napalm.

(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 13:15, Reply)
The Dog's Bollocks
I think the reason I don't get told off very often is that apparently I have a good line in evil stares. This however, isn't because I have secret Jedi powers and can prevent people from admonishing me, it's because I'm horrendously shortsighted and am usually desperately trying to focus.

Earlier last year when I was between jobs, I was living at home and got to spend some time with my best mate who was pregnant. We used to take the dogs for a walk every afternoon, her with her docile labrador, me with my fat as a barrel, lunatic samoyed. We walked down the path near the beach where you can take the dogs off the lead and no one will mind.

As we were heading back, I saw an old chap with a doberman walking towards us. Now my dog is the most over friendly creature in existence, but she's very well behaved and always comes to heel when called. But she can be a bit much and this old chap looked fairly frail, so I called her back so she wouldn't jump up at him.

However his mutt took this as me calling it and so started galloping towards me. Some altruistic bit of my brain (and there aren't many) kicked in and thought "shit, fast moving large dog, pregnant lady. Could get messy," so I stuck my arm out in front of my friend hoping to block her from the oncoming pooch. The dog took this as a cue to jump up and smack me full in the face with its muzzle, sending my glasses flying and me crashing to the ground.

I struggled to my feet, feeling pretty winded and my friend found my now rather squished specs for me. I put my hand to my face to see if I was okay, bugger, blood pouring out of my nose. The old guy walks over and opens his mouth to speak. I'm expecting apologies, contrition, maybe an offer of getting my glasses fixed...

He starts shouting at me for scaring his dog and for getting blood on it.

And because I think I was in shock, I apologised.

So the moral is, never do anything to help anyone. I try to help an old bloke and protect a pregnant lady and and wind up with broken glasses, a black eye and wounded pride.

It's a wonder I remain so well balanced. What? Oh...
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 12:41, Reply)
i work in the university professional services and am very very unhappy that you 2 are busy dicking about on b3ta about plagiarising when you should be a)researching b)lecturing c)income generation.

you don't know you are born
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 12:40, Reply)
It's raining beer
First-year halls of residence, last night of the bar after the first term. The place was packed solid. The price of beer had been dropping all night -- it started at £1/pint, then 50p, then 20p, 10p and finally, because they wanted to finish the open barrels, free.


Some bright spark yelled 'beer fight' and all hell broke loose. There was beer flying everywhere. Not to be left out I barged my way to the bar, ordered half a dozen pints then wellied them into the crowd. Within minutes everyone was soaked, head-to-foot with cheap, stale lager.

Next thing I knew I was being picked up by the scruff of the neck and manhandled out of the bar, where I was launched onto a growing pile of recently-ejected drunkards. The wardens (some of whom were right evil bastards) were doing their bit to sort things out, and it was clear that retribution would be forthcoming once things had calmed down. So we did the smart thing and legged it.

Next day, we were all summoned into a special meeting with the head warden, who in a very headmasterly way lectured us all on what was and was not appropriate behaviour. He also explained that the damage to the bar was so extensive that all the furniture, carpets, curtains and even the ceiling tiles would have to be replaced, at considerable expense.

There was no way they were going to be able to single out any one person to blame, so we all got off scot-free save for the stern talking-to. That was the last time they ever had a free bar, though...
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 12:38, Reply)
Mild LOL.

I'm still gonna use your style when it suits - but I shall, as I said, footnote it.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 12:18, Reply)
Petulance! Tetchiness! Irony! Piss-taking!
Enzyme... copying is never acceptable, even in a light hearted board, although influence is always good. I'm glad you noticed that, in keeping with the topic, I told you off...

PJM, *round of applause!*
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 12:11, Reply)
Take delight in the fact that whilst you were in your car in the warm and dry, BMW man had bits of his scattered over the carriageway and he was getting soaked to the skin.

AND would have to buy a new Cockmobile too.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 12:06, Reply)
M11! Rain! BMW! Cock!
I kipped at a friends place in Braintree on Sun night and had to brave the M11/M25 for my journey into work yesterday morning. Normally, I'd be looking at 45mins to 1 hour tops, however a rainstorm of biblical proportions ensured that numptyism was commonplace.

Sure enough, just after Stanstead Airport, the traffic ground to a standstill.

"For fuck's sake!" I hissed

Fifteen minutes later and having moved a whopping quarter of a mile (the front line at the Somme was known to move faster) I'm guessing that some tit has fallen off the road and generously decided to create a massive tailback for everyone else. Now what sort of selfish twunt would do something like that?

"You fucking cockworm!"

Sure enough, I see a BMW wheeltrim leaning pathetically against the central reservation. The mangled remains of a 1998 BMW 325i with optional Sports Pack is sat on the side of the carriageway. I know this because having seen so many mangled BMWs on the motorway I can identify the exact model type from the most obscure of angles.

So what pissed me off the most? Was it the rubbernecking? Was it the fact that I was queueing in traffic half the morning?

No. It was the fact that the driver was smugly sat by the side of the road, calmly enjoying a cigarette. For a delay of that length of time I at least expect to see him in a neckbrace. I'm not evil or anything but the thought of the police turning up at his mum's house saying "I'm very sorry Mrs Partrub, but your son was too much of a bell end to drive a car properly" was vaguely satisfying.

The urge to insult the chaos causing little twunt was too much. I found myself pouring out a tirade in my car.

"You fucking stupid little cockwank! Why can't you just drive your pathetic Bavarian overcompensation for a tiny penis in your knobbing lane and not fall off the road like everyone else manages to do, you spoddy, snivelling little piss stain!"

That told him.
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 12:00, Reply)
... was the last person who told me off as if I was an errant child. Ironically enough, he sounded like the kind of petulant child whose parents didn't believe in smacking while he did it.

Ffs - go and have a biscuit or a cup of tea or something.

BTW - I am an academic, too, and I get royally pissed off by plagiarism. But copying someone's headline style in a none-too-serious forum like B3ta is hardly in the same thing, now, is it? Still, I shall footnote you in future...
(, Tue 25 Sep 2007, 11:55, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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