Ikea
After being grudgingly dragged to ikea i was in charge of the large flatbed trolley whilst in the big warehouse area where you collect said bauhaus-influenced swedish furniture which turns out to be too big to fit into your house or falls apart within a week. Anyway i started whizzing about the polished concrete floors on the trolley with amazing grace, creating my own 'tricks' and spinning about etc. Also damaging alot of the stock when i fucked up. Got a long list of tellings off, disregarded them all, ate the rubbery hot dogs and ice cream at the checkout, YAYS! :3

I'm 18 and 6 foot 3. I must have looked a tit. Bothered
(Pimp my Clown is going back to the future on, Sat 22 Sep 2007, 5:17, Reply)

As a bellringer
I used to tie the rope around my knob!

Got tolled off regularly!

Sorry for the lack of length
( fagilliD Fuck I'm good!, Sat 22 Sep 2007, 4:11, Reply)

last night.
i was dressed, incidentally, as a mime*, and rather drunk. i believe i had taken a girls seat, or stepped on her foot, or something similar, but she yelled about killing me for five minutes whilst i looked at my shoes.
it's ok, because i then got to look at her, very seriously, and say 'but a mime is a terrible thing to waste'
ahhh. sweet victory was mine.

*i was at a circus-themed party, i don't do that everyday**
**not that there's anything wrong with that, i suppose.
(charlottebronte stalking through the moors, Sat 22 Sep 2007, 3:24, Reply)

Many years ago.
The company I was working for was paying for me and a friend- who also worked for said company- to live in a hotel.

Their mistake was giving us an expense account for meals and drinks in the evenings. What could we do but get hammered every night.

So one morning as we stumbled into the morning meeting, late again, and reeking of booze, as we had done for every morning meeting that month, the boss was understandably a bit upset.

As we took our seats, he jumped up shaking with rage and shouted " I've had enough of you two, you're alcholics".

This is obviously not a good thing, but did we look chastised, and mumble our apologies, and promise to change our ways. Did we fuck.

I calmly turned to the boss and said " Brian, we're not alcoholics, we're drunks, alcoholics attend meetings".

The whole room promptly pissed themselves laughing while Brian sat down again muttering about being on time, and sober tomorrow.

I don't think we would have got away with it if it weren't for the fact the two of us made more money for the company than the rest of the room put together.

Yes, I've answered a QOTW without a story of seedy goings on with hookers. HUZZAH.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Sat 22 Sep 2007, 3:03, Reply)

Mummy always tells me off for zooming round the supermarket on the trolley and the other kids always get away with it.

Jus coz I'm 40 and they're my kids.
(halfcut, Sat 22 Sep 2007, 3:00, Reply)

its a mans life
what was i up to? i was 5 mins late one morning last month. i was confined to my room for 10 days and forced to write a 2000 word essay on timekeeping, then read it out in front of the seniors. not much interesting about that, but the surprising thing is that i am a 25 year old corporal in the british army, and not a small child. the army really is THAT shit.
(furey, Sat 22 Sep 2007, 0:47, Reply)

I don't remember having been told off as an adult myself, but...
I've got quite a few other adults told off in my time.

Most recently, I was running for a bus when, as I approached the doors, the driver closed them in my face. I knocked on the window, but the driver just gave a smirk and drove off. It is important to note that when I knocked, the bus was not actually moving: the driver could have let me on, but the smug twunt forced me to wait for the next one.

I shall not be treated like this.

Boiling with rage as the bus drove away, I noted down the registration number. Later that day, I looked up the address of the operator and wrote a letter to them detailing what happened.

A couple of weeks later, I received a reply saying that they had managed to identify the driver in question, and taken disciplinary action against him.

Result!

I took great karmic pleasure in picturing this bus driver being admonished in the office like a naughty schoolchild.
(EuroSong I love horse meat: best of all the animals, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 23:56, Reply)

My only encounter with the police
Was when I was about 15 and just getting into the joys of alcohol, when bored with drinking in each others bedrooms and the local fields, we went to central London and relieved the 7-eleven on New Oxford Street of its stash of 20-20 and vodka and trundled around Picadilly circus and trafalgar square getting rapidly more trashed as the day went on.

An impromptu waterfight was stopped before it even really started at Trafalgar - I managed to swipe an armful of water at a mate before the boys in blue showed up and we scarpered. So we started the eternal walk back to Tottenham Court Road station all the while feeling most indignant that we didn't get to play in the water fountain when younger kids were and they weren't being told off...when we spied the Centre point fountain. Sadly it was out of commission, but we didn't care. For the uninitiated, centre point fountain is around 2 foot deep and has these curvy Y shaped structures protruding from it at several points. Just right for lying down and having a nap in. Those same policemen had blatently followed us from Trafalgar to centre point with the intention of scaring the shit out of us as they loomed up demanding names and phone numbers of our parents so they can come pick us up from the station as we're a public nuisance and we have rubbish taste in alcohol. We all stared at the floor and mumbled sorries and we'll never do it agains and were let go feeling rather embarrassed by the crowd of tourists we managed to draw by the police van and my mate screaming about her rights.

Oh wait, you said told off as an adult? That's pretty much every day for me as I'm a trainee vet nurse, so in certain vets eyes, everything I do is wrong and must be corrected in as patronising a tone as possible. Cunt.
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 22:21, Reply)

I got my mate told off
In my mid twenties I had to go on some tedious and insufferably dull youth worker training about how to recognise if kids are being abused. At some point, after a hugely annoying extended question and answer session, we all had to do an exercise where we circle three words from a couple of dozen on a piece of paper that describe how we feel at that moment.

God alone knows why, but one of the words was "Turned on" so I lent over to my mate and circled it on his sheet. This caused him to break into a loud snort followed by a badly stifled snigger.

Then the woman leading barks across the room "Are you laughing at the back? Thats outrageous, Child abuse is a serious subject and shouldn't be treated at all lightly, you should be ashamed of yourself" Everyone turns to look at my mate, who's gone the colour of a lobster, convinced we've got some sicko kiddie fiddler chuckling with glee in the room.

I was lucky to get out with just a dead arm.
(Baggypants - The Trousered Avenger, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 21:43, Reply)

Late articles (again)
I do some writing for an arts and entertainment magazine. My editor is a really, really nice guy, and we get along very well. Apart from when I don't hand in my articles on time, that is. Then, he gets a little cranky.

This past Canada Day (July 1) my sister and I went to her cottage for a bit of a weekend break. I had her laptop, and was finishing up my article, which was due on the Monday. Unfortunately, she couldn't connect to the Internet because she'd forgotten the password. The ISP was some tiny little business in the nearby town, and it being a holiday weekend, they were closed. Ergo, no Internet connection, no e-mail, no article to the mag. I sent it off when I got home on the Monday night, but my editor wasn't impressed, as I found out the next day.

I went into the office, made normal chitchat, had a bit of a laugh with said editor. Finally, he gets down to it.
Editor:"BlackArmadillo, you do realize your article was late this week, again?"
BlackArmadillo: "Well, yes..."
E: "And why was that?"
BA: Err...yes...sorry about that..." explanation follows regarding ISP issue.
E:"So there was a telephone at this cottage, then?"
BA: "Yes." (and two cellphones, but I thought it would be a bad time to mention that additional detail).
E: "Well, then, would you like to explain why you didn't call to let me know that the article was going to be late?"
BA: "Sorry, didn't really think of it at the time."
E: "Well, the next time that happens, make sure that you do. Is that understood?"
BA: "Er...yes..." *cries*

Okay, I didn't really cry. But he must be taking lessons from his kids' headmaster, or something. I felt about 10.

And I've certainly learned my lesson: I haven't handed in anything late since.*





*May not be the truth. Check out my long-standing signature for more accuracy.
(BlackArmadillo Avoided writing that article on, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 21:29, Reply)

Piss poor answer to a QOTW but.....
....no. No, that has never happened to me.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 21:18, Reply)

Hangover
The last time I had a hangover I didn't go into work. I work in a laboratory, and all my cells died and a week long experiment failed. My boss kept trying to call me all day, but I refused to answer...

The next day, I went in, trying to look ill whenever my boss was around, but told everyone else what a good weekend I'd had, and how I was still a bit hungover. And my boss heard me.

"Look, Rotten_Cointreau, this is a JOB. I PAY you to do it."

I stand looking at my feet, mumbling, "Yes, boss, sorry boss, won't happen again boss". I went very red, and started sweating like a whore in church...

It was just like being in nursery school, when I ate all the chocolates in the class advent calendar...
(Rotten_Cointreau is a proper scientician, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 21:16, Reply)

I got to...
Tell someone else off as an adult today. For the first time in my life I feel all grown up, and yet smaller than I've ever been.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 21:00, Reply)

Constantly
I get talked to like crap quite often.
My mother moaning about me not being clean.
Smoking in uniform, piercings e.c.t all the while the b*ll*cking is going on, I stare at the floor trying not laugh.
But back on track in year 11, I was giving cr*ap to a supply teacher which had a beard (she was female) however as I was giving her mouth, she shouted back (inc spit)! I felt so guilty I mumbled sorry then nearly cried laughing.
(shellziimoo89, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 20:43, Reply)

I needed to renew my passport in a hurry
I dashed into Boots, and there was a photo machine free.

I hopped in, dropped my money in the slot and waited for the flash.

At that moment I heard a voice like a maiden aunt out of PG Wodehouse say:

"I prefer to think he didn't *see* that there was a queue."

My passport photo for the next ten years looked unbelievably guilty.

And it was one of those oldfashioned machines where you have to wait 5 minutes for the thing to be developed. With everybody in Boots staring at you. Including the 6 people in the orderly line behind the Photo-Me booth.
( littlebean, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 20:41, Reply)

A team meeting we once had
....the manager at the time, called R for short, was taking us through the monthly agendas of new targets etc. She was doing rather well, until from the other side of the room one of the guys (for whom we'll name "B") musters an enormous fart. After a brief apology and a warning to keep control of his functions the meeting resumed.
That was until 2 minutes later where R spied B pulling the most forceful fart inducing face possible, leaning forward and letting go of one of the Devil's Foul Creations. R jumped up and shouts "You did that deliberate you stinking bastard!". B goes all serious-faced and answers with "But if I didn't do that it would go back up me and I would die." B gets thrown out of the meeting and told to get back to work while we're all laughing in the meeting room.

Did stink though....
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 19:50, Reply)

Yes Mistress, please may I have another?
I get told off all the time - for being early, being late, being on time.
For not lapping up all my water like a good puppy, for not crawling fast enough, for being too eager.
For getting a hard-on, for obviously not finding Mistress attractive enough to get aroused.
For wanking, for not wanking hard enough, for not blowing my beans when she reaches 0 in her countdown.
For not counting strokes, for being a big wuss and yelping too loudly.
For not anticipating exactly which paddle She was thinking about when I'm asked to choose.
For asking for too few strokes when asked how many I deserve, for being over-confident and asking for too many.
For daring to stop licking to draw breath, for daring to say "You ain't putting that thing up my aaaaaaaaaaaaaa.....".
For not being responsive when gagged and wrapped up in clingfilm, for waking up the 85 yr old nearly deaf bloke who lives next-door by screaming too loudly.

For being a nasty, perverted dirty grubby little bastard.

And you know what? I FUCKING LOVE IT!

Childish thing? Writing "Teecher is a twat" on the blackboard when Headmistress stepped out of the room for a moment, then blaming it on the saucy little minx doing her lines at the next desk. (We both got thrashed then for arguing, and then had to "perform" for an audience). Ah yes, private play parties, I luuuuuurve em.

Righto, back to my holidays, sorry if some other deviant has posted something similar, I KNOW I'm not the only one out here....


PS Currently partnerless, love to Switch, am housetrained (mostly). Anyone interested? Come on, it was worth a try....
(Rsoles, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 19:42, Reply)

Cycling up a long road on the way to work
When I was in my early twenties a car passed quite slowly and my father shouted through the open passenger window "Use yer bloody hands, you'll fall off otherwise"

One slight wobble later, and my hands were firmly clasped around the foamy grips of a road racing bike


Oh, and once I was admonished by a rather large Italian wiatress/chef/restaurant owner in Bardolino for daring to ask for some rose wine to go with some fresh fish caught from Lago Di Garda, (I really dislike white wine) I mumbled some sort of incoherent apology in my bestest Italian and hung my head in shame, when she produced the best white I have ever drank, with the most succulent fish I have ever eaten. Gurerri Rizzardi (sp?) wine is an absolute corker.
(lordy lordy, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 19:20, Reply)

stop farting!
my partners always telling me off for farting , one day she said you will do it and you will be sry ! as all storys go she was soooo correct , in the middle of (game-shop) I farted sneakely she screamed at me (for gods sake you will shit yourself in a minuite)she was slightly wrong as the enevitable had already happened, I had to rush off to the toilets, upon my return I wanted to crawl in a space as the shop assistants knew what I had done (templeton) is my partner even said the old I told you so, I had never been so embarassed
(mr sheep is down stairs with empty maple syrup jar, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 19:04, Reply)

Within the past minute, as it happens!
I responded to an email from my girlfriend, and said (in part) "I've been bad- I wrote another story out for the b3ta QOTW, rather than doing CAD work... but at least I did most of it on my lunch hour, so I suppose I shouldn't feel too bad..."

Her response? "Get to work damned you - work I say, work. You have to get into the groove of maybe working an extra 10 hours a week, so writing poetry won't help. Work, you fool, work!"

I'm honestly not sure if she was joking or not...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 21 Sep 2007, 19:01, Reply)

Festivals
I work at most of the big UK festivals. Lucky me huh.

I've found that my Dad voice comes out at these events, maybe its the power the walkie talkie gives a normal shy retiring b3tard like myself.

I've told off some very well known bands over the years for being dicks - using phrases such as "look if you can't sit on the chairs, sit on the floor" to one headliner who was smashing up the plastic chairs at Reading. It worked.

Oh and and to another who complained that we'd mis-spelt their name on their dressing room door "well if you don't want to play, don't, take your things and go home". That was the Von Bondies. Heard of them? The poor girl doing the dressing rooms had written "The Von Blondies" - they were the first on, on the final day. I'd had enough by then, and this band started kicking up an almighty fuss about this little "l" typo. Anyway, I won, the sign stayed and they played.

Hold on - its being told off as an adult, not telling off other adults. Oops. Coat? Ah, there it is....
(Pesky Young Scamp, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 18:27, Reply)

You can bl**dy walk!
My mum has never been one for looking after cars. Combining her boot fair addiction and interest in plants the car normally looks like a rag and bone van. Think moss on the dashboard (I kid thee not).

As a driver myself (and not a particularly good passenger) its quite rare for me to ever travel with her. However one unforftunate day I was forced to accept a lift in the Red-Death-Mobile as my car had broken down. Thats when the fun started:

1.) Every time she braked the oil-light would come on.
2.) The steering wheel visibly shook side to side from a "coming-together" with a kurb.
3.) Speed bumps were taken at 40mph+ (think dukes of hazard stylee).
4.) She was not happy about going out of her way to collect me.

Being a male (read petrolhead) I decided it was only reasonable for me to let her know the dangerous faults with her car (and some of her creative driving habits). Oh boy... NOT a good idea.

Full-on hystrionics about how her driving was always good enough when I was a kid and wanted to go to a friends. The more irate she got the more faults I mentioned. After 2 minutes of throwing the car (even more) around she screeches to a halt in a side road screaming "GET OUT...IF ALL YOU ARE GOING TO DO IS INSULT MY CAR YOU CAN WALK!". We werent that far from home anyway so I decided it was probably safer.

The following memory will live with me forever:

I climb out and close the car door looking at a betroot-faced mum still fuming with rage. Tapping on the window she lowers it expecting an apology. With a smile on my face I then handed her back the door handle from the car.

Both of us cried with laughter and had to sit in the car for 10minutes to calm down before I drove the red-shed back home.
(skintagain, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 18:08, Reply)

Less bitter, more cute
The bus stop near my house is near a rather sharp turn, making for pratfall hijinx when attempting to walk down from the top floor.

One evening, there was a small boy (around 6 or 7) sitting upstairs, behaving himself, and, when it came time to get off at my stop, he also made to leave.

He stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down.

"Excuse me," I said politely, hanging on to the railings as it hit the curve.

"No!" he said firmly. "We have to wait for it to stop!"

And so we did.
( Sydney Bintstow, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 18:06, Reply)

The Dad Voice
Okay then, those of you who have seen my picture can tell: I'm not really a frightening looking person. I'm of about average size, not particularly muscular, and not of unusual appearance- just another unremarkable guy.

However, there is one thing that sets me apart a bit: the Dad Voice, coupled with the Whammy.

See, if I get annoyed by someone, I (apparently) get a very stern and disgusted glare to my eyes. And if I'm really pissed off, that glare is enough to make children spontaneously burst into tears. I inherited this gift from my father, who calls it the Whammy.

And if I'm irritated, my voice gets lower in pitch and I project (all unconsciously, by the way) so that I get a deep stentorian rumble remeniscent of Brian Blessed. I get the same tone that one would associate with an old fashioned Headmaster- authoritarian, commanding, and colder than Ann Coulter's fanny. I rarely have to raise my voice to anyone, as that usually does the trick.

But if I get really angry and raise my voice, it comes out with a steel edge to it that a drill sargeant would envy. It's been known to cause an entire group of children who I wasn't even addressing to flee and hide behind their parents' legs, as though I had turned into Darth Vader and skewered Obi-Wan before their eyes. My kids refer to this as the Dad Voice.

One summer's evening I was in the Adirondacks with my kids, visiting the family as I do every summer around July 4. My parents' house is at the end of a little road, and down the road from there is an old sand quarry that my father owns, referred to as the Sand Pit. My kids and I always went there to build a bonfire, roast hot dogs and marshmallows and set off sparklers, and that was the plan for this evening. I went down there and build a good sized fire- about three feet across, I would guess- in the little fire pit we kept there, and got it going quite well. I then went back to the house to get the kids- I think they were finishing dinner by then, as it was dark, so I guess the hot dogs must not have been in the plan- and got the marshmallows and sparklers and whatnot and returned up the road to the Sand Pit to get everything set up before they got there. But on my arrival, I found that someone had poured a bucket of water over my fire.

To say the least, I was furious. But as the cunt hadn't done a thorough job, within ten minutes I had it going again, and when the kids arrived there with their cousins and my sister, there was a proper blaze going again. I quietly told my sister what had happened, but otherwise just played the cheerful Dad. Marshmallows were toasted and eaten, sparklers were had by all, and I set off a couple of small rockets besides.

Suddenly a bright flashlight came from the road about fifty feet away, and a voice spoke. "Are there any grown-ups here?"

"Sure!" I called back. "Come on over- we still have marshmallows!"

The light settled on me now, but drew no closer. "Do you think that it's a good idea to be setting off fireworks when there are woods around us?"

I realized in that instant that here stood the cunt with the water bucket. "As it happens, I do," I replied in my coldest voice.

"Who are you?" the cunt demanded.

I drew myself up and spoke in my best Headmaster voice. "I am the Resident Loon*, son of Doctor Loon, who owns this land."

"Well, I'm coming back there with a bucket of water to put that fire out!"

I used the drill sargeant voice and roared, "You will do no such thing! But thank you for your concern!" And in the following silence, in the distance I heard my voice echoing back from the mountains.

The light wavered at this blast and the murderous glare from my eyes, and the cunt mumbled something I couldn't hear and retreated down the road. My sister stood to one side, a little frightened to approach me, and I heard my son excitedly whisper to his cousin, "That was my Dad!"

I turned to my sister and quietly chuckled and said, "Well, that should give him cause for pause."

I never heard from the cunt again, and in fact I believe that his house is now up for sale.

You can try to be a bullying cunt with others, but when it comes to me? Yeah, bring it on, cheese dick.

*Real name was used, of course.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 21 Sep 2007, 17:43, Reply)

Middle aged madness
Racing home from work I had to drop the post into the post office. I decided to do drive by drop, by pulling in on the pavement next to the box and parking directly alongside a parked car in a parking space, leapt out at top speed deposited letters in box, only to be told by some conventional middle aged woman, in red faced anger, if I had seen her there. Replied yes but told her not to worry as I hadnt hit her car..

(Give me strength, everyone lived)
(just juice I like trifle for breakfast, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 17:29, Reply)

these answers are incredibly depressing.

I'm trying to find a woman to treat me like the naughty boy I am, no one will.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 17:21, Reply)

oh dear oh dear: teachers as students....
we were 15 in all of the good sort of wannabe teachers: we used to fight to sit in the back row...
Then we had a weekend teaching session: (we each turned with a beer slab, a bottle & mixers)when;
1) 'can i have the balls for the pool table please?'
no, somebody keeps fiddling the machine for free games
'I promise i'll look after them'
No, you're the one diddling the table...
oops.
2) Compo = lets see how far we can chuck the bog roll (it was 2.30am)(& refreshment had been taken)
3) the plumbing letcherer took the rads off the wall
4) we had a water fight-with the red fire extinguishers (we know our H&S)
5)we hacked the phones to simultaneously call EVERYONE in the building at 4am with the giggle box
6) X was found fellating Y in the lift
7) underwear was found clogging the pool table pockets-er, that was earlier. i think
8) there was a long slow mo fight over S who had drunkenly promised shags/blow jobs to all present-inc. females-you're my best mate etc.
9) shaving foam messages were found-apparently they don't disintegrate-as promised...and there are no possible speling mishtakes with the word Cunt, is there?
theres more but I'm a bit ashamed of some of it....
anyways QOTW, we had to stand in a line, bleary eyed, a little wobbly and apologise
'we don't expect this kind of behaviour, in all my years teaching etc, would you allow this kind of behaviour from your students blah blah, I've a good mind to sack you all etc'
the old fecker blethered on and we? we stood there smirking like 6 yr olds who'd won the pissing up the wall compo because S had guffed; a huge SBD: beer, tequila & cheese tortilla wet monster that made all eyes water...

we weren't sacked btw, but we did have to tone down our antics-and now there are NO weekend sessions on that course.
(mickturate if i could be arsed i'd be bored, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 16:57, Reply)

One of my teachers tried to tell my father off..
... at a parents evening.
He got on well for the first 10 words, then Dad leaned towards him and fixed him with a stare he normally reserved for me when I'd been REALLY bad.

"Now listen..." he then launched into a diatribe about how poor he thought the teachers standard of teaching was, how he wanted me to learn real stuff and not this "Crappy Social and Personal Education".

After a full 10 minutes (I watched the clock getting ever more embarrassed), he stopped. The teacher looked crushed. Several of my friends in the room noticed this and took great delight in it.
(Vic Flange, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 16:56, Reply)

Well following my post on the last QOTW.....
b3ta.com/questions/personalads/post89655/

I had a few of my friends find it....

Turns out a few people disagreed with my situation.

I've been told off by one of my best friends for apparently slagging off my ex
I've been told off by another of my best friends for even thinking of doing a personal add
I've even had my very best friend tell me off on the phone for being so hard on myself.

All of my friends are teachers... all of them told me off as if I was an 8 year old and one even threatened me with detention (kinky :) )

But the worst was the first response to my personal ad... I was told off by a stranger who replied to my add because I'd apparently lied and wasn't a failed teacher yet
wonder if they did actually know me.

So there...because of the QOTW I've been told off by 4 different people, 3 of which treated me as a child.

No- not gonna say sorry for length, will probably get told off for that too
(bignutter, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 16:49, Reply)

nazi
Not too long ago my eldest lad was playing football in the street. The nearest park is too far away for him to go on his own in the current paedo epidemic.

The ball lands in old german bastards front garden so my lad walks in the garden and picks it up.

Cue the old fascist ,who had probably been waiting for this all day, to storm out of his house as though the football was some kind of jew egg and take the ball back into his house.

My lad knocks the door and politely asks for it back.

"you can have it back after i have put a knife through it" he screams as though he was asking for his papers at a checkpoint.

My lad is in tears and reports back to me with what has happened.

I do what any father would do and go round there to sort him out.

"if you are going to put a knife through that ball because it lands in your garden, I am will put a knife through your cat and nail it to your door the next time it shits in my garden"

That told him. Fucking german cunt. And we got the ball back.
(SPLUFFMYPANTS, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 16:44, Reply)