Caught by the fuzz
The summer following my first year of university, we moved out of hall into shabby student digs. Two of us moved in immediately, and as the new term approached a third housemate arrived. Time for a celebration! So we stocked up on beer and whiskey, got in some rubbish videos (e.g. Bad Taste) and settled in to drink ourselves unconscious.

We had the TV on as loud as it would go, then of course had to shout to communicate. We argued, we sang, we even danced (well, staggered around in a drunken stupor). A fine and raucous time was had by all.

It was nearing 2am when all of a sudden, one housemate -- B -- announced that he needed a piss, so disappeared downstairs. Then another -- S -- decided he also needed one so off he went. Time passed. Eventually, I noticed that they hadn't come back. I turned down the TV, shouted. No answer.

I staggered downstairs to find the house empty, and the bikes missing from the hallway. I was just pondering the mystery when there came a knock at the door. Opening the door, I was all ready to hurl a mouthful of expletives at the dozy wankers for locking themselves out of the house. Fortunately, I was able to contain my torrent of abuse when I was greeted by a couple of rather tired-looking police officers.

Apparently the house next door had rung them to complain about the noise. Marshalling what little remained of my wits, I invited them in to demonstrate that I was the only one in the house, that the TV was at a reasonable volume and that I'd simply been having a quiet night in. I tried to distract their attention from the pile of empty beer cans and whiskey bottles, and suggested that perhaps the neighbours were over-sensitive to noise. They seemed to accept all this at face value and after politely suggesting that I try to keep my late-night video watching to a minimum, they left.

With impeccable timing, just as I was watching the police car disappear up the street one way, from the other direction came drunken yelling and cursing. 'Round the corner came S and B, wobbling along on bikes and shouting at each other.

"I crashed into a church!" said B with a grin a mile wide. S fell off his bike into the gutter, stood up, and threw up into next door's garden. B then disppeared up the road on foot, returning the following lunchtime after falling asleep on a park bench.

Good times.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 9:49, Reply)

My boss is not in today...
So I'm going to spend the whole day twatting about and lookng for another job, safe in the knowledge that there is not even the slightest possiblity of being told off.

Ha
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 24 Sep 2007, 9:32, Reply)

Not me but I really enjoyed dishing this one out
As I am a salesman (what's the difference between a salesman and a rep I hear you ask? About £20k/yr) I use the road system a LOT. One day a few years ago I was stopped on the slip from the M69 on to the M1 by the police. There were about 8-10 cars all stopped with 3 police cars at the front. I noticed while waiting that all of the cars were newish mondeo/vectra/passat types with single occupants all in suits. Sales types.
So! When the noddy PC arrived at my car I wound down the window. He stuck his head in and asked, very politely "Good morning sir, sorry for the inconvenience but, can I ask where you're going?" To which I replied, equally politely "no officer".
He appeared taken aback somewhat and said "pardon?".
The conversation went like this from then on
"No I won't tell you where I'm going"
"Sir I must ask you again, where are you going?"
"I'm not going to tell you"
After several rounds like this the Johnny-no-stars PC (I still have his collar number) went to get reinforcements.
Over waddled a Sergeant. Sergeant says "Sir, we require to know where you're going"
I replied "Unless you tell me why, I'm not going to tell you".
By this time quite a queue had formed behind me and something of an audience was earwigging.
Sergeant spoke on his taking brooch for a little while. A higher-ranking policeman turned up, somewhat younger than both coppers (and myself!)
"Be reasonable sir, we only want to know where you're going" said the young officer "and, if you'd take my advice and answer you'll get to your destination a lot quicker".
I calculated that enough of a crowd had formed by this time and, as I was out of the car by now, it was time to let them have it.
"RIGHT! You may ask my name and address. You may ask to see the documents for the car. You may ask to see my driving licence. However, as a freeborn Englishman on the Queen's highway going about my lawful business YOU MAY NOT ASK WHERE I'M GOING".
They appeared a tad crestfallen by this time. To add insult to injury I then said "Now are you going to tell me why I and all of these motorists have been stopped? Or am I going to call your Chief Constable?"
The three were standing like naughty schoolboys at this point.
One piped up (to glares from the others) "We're checking that you've budgeted enough time for your journey"
THAT. WAS. IT.
I replied very icily and loudly enough so that the other drivers could hear
"You mean to say that I and these other drivers are being held on suspicion of "driving with intent to speed"!?" "As far as I am aware there is no such offence officers and, unless you are going to arrest me, get out of my way". After scrutinising my documents and the car (4 days old)and finding nothing untoward they obviously decided that discretion was the better part of valour and were about to wave me on (I had all their collar numbers by now) As they trudged defeated to their cars, I wound down the window and as a final remark I said to the young ranking officer "by the way, as to taking your advice? I own shoes older than you!".
I could see him in the rear view mirror, shoulders slumped, with his two cronies giggling behind him as I drove away.
Cheered me up no end!







Hope they all die slowly of a lingering disfiguring and agonising disease. Twunts.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 9:31, Reply)

Told off by 18 year old daughter
She works part time in a pub, last night she was on until midnight and was home after we went to bed.

Came downstairs this morning at 5.00 to go to work and saw in the kitchen a broken glass, and a note saying 'Will people stop putting glasses away, inside each other, while they are still warm from the dishwasher. They won't separate easily'

We have just been told off by someone who doesn't even pay board, who broke a glass we bought, in our own house!!!!

hangs head in shame and promises her not to do it again
(turtles head is touching cloth poked a dwarf on the forehead at, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 8:23, Reply)

Getting a cab in Sydney
on a Friday night is pretty fucking hard. After waiting for over an hour and a half I finally got one. By way of conversation I said to the driver that there weren’t enough taxi’s in Australia. Bad move. He went fucking nuts telling me that there were too many taxi’s in Sydney and that his livelihood was affected by this. I couldn’t believe how angry this guy was getting and being a bit pissed, rather than try and assuage him I decided to wind him up a bit more.

Cunt kicked me out on Sydney harbour bridge. Halfway across it!
(Creamy Discharge Freeze Motherstickers, this is a fuck up, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 8:05, Reply)

The joys of Halloween.
Not told off face to face as such, but in print, by a lot of people. In explanation, one of our local newspapers has a weekly column whereby people are invited to write in voicing an opinion on whatever topic they choose. I (dare I say) naively wrote in voicing an opinion about Halloween, and about how its slow but steady emergence in the country I call home, Australia, was in my opinion, getting out of hand and that we were becoming way too Americanised. I waffled on about how the parents were unwittingly contributing to this bit of nonsense, by encouraging their children to go around the neighbourhood at dusk, trick or treating to a generally unenthusiastic public. It galled me to no end that the little blighters were ringing doorbells expecting a handout of confectionary, and for what may I ask, because their mothers had dressed them up in some brainless costume and that it was Halloween? Give me a break.

Unexpectedly it seems, I struck a nerve …. not in favour of my opinion mind you, but against it. Oh so against it. In the newspaper column for a few weeks leading up to, during and after Halloween, my opinion was criticised and attacked from sun up to sun down. I was abused within an inch of my life and told I was a halfwit and that I should pull my head in. I was described as a moron, a mental defective, you name it, I was called it. My character was sarcastically ridiculed and mocked. Suffice to say my spirit was in tatters when the dust finally settled. In looking back now on that whole sorry episode though, all I can say is that thank Christ I had the foresight to chose to remain anonymous by requesting the newspaper to withhold publicising my name and suburb, otherwise I might have received a little more trick or treating than I had bargained for. So much for freedom of speech though.
(Cogitator, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 3:52, Reply)

Roberto the Cnut
Some years ago, I did the thankless job of IT help-desk and training. I provided support to a whole bunch of 3rd party companies, and it sucked.

One day, I got an 'urgent callout' so I dropped everything, and raced across town to this office see what 'Roberto' wanted. When I got here, the PA told me Roberto was 'out getting lunch' and would be back in 10 minutes. 50 minutes later, his mobile not answering, I left telling the PA I was too damn busy to wait around. I duly wrote up the report in the online job-tracker, saying things like "this stupid cnut didn't show up", "he has trouble doing even basic operations, like turning the PC on". That was true - he had wasted my time on numerous occasions (callouts to discover power cord unplugged, etc). However, no-one told me the job-tracker sends a copy to the client!

Roberto went balistic and threatened to sue, and demanded that I personally apologise to him, in front of his whole office; about 80 people.

I was made to do it, and had to sound sincere too; it was made even harder by the fact that very clearly the rest of his office shared my opinions of him, and were not helping by pulling faces, and holding up signs with some of the stuff I typed, all while his back was turned.
(corinoco is waiting for the revolution., Mon 24 Sep 2007, 1:55, Reply)

I ddin't see the problem
I once posted this picture on a website, it has a talk area, a picture area and a link area and is great for killing time.. It was fairly simple as I lacked the skills of some others who frequented it. Basically it was a bunny being held in the air with some text I had added under it...going in line with the lolcat craze which had exploded.

"Fine and dandy" I thought "made a wee contribution, something I rarely do."

But oh no...because of that I was a cunt, some guy claimed he had my mum, apparently I touched ham or some kind of meat and I should have been aborted in a home made manner.

Felt like I was back in school and being bullied by the taller, thinner, more talented, smarter pupiles for my shite lack of anything!

Can't remember the site though!




;-)
(puggs, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 22:41, Reply)

Polite road rage
There's something about the phlegmatic Englishman that turns into a bullying cunt when he's behind the wheel of a motor vehicle. As someone who spends an inordinately long time trying to avoid getting killed by witless twats driving silver Ford Mondeos on the M4, I fear this type of cuntery is on the increase.

Now, I hate middle-lane-hogging fucktards as much as the next man. They're a shower of cunts. They pootle along at 71mph not overtaking anyone. And yes, they're a pain in the arse.

BUT... Just because you're in an Audi and you have a spectacularly tiny penis, don't fucking well flash your full beams at me for overtaking a lorry and then not swinging back into the first lane if there's another lorry 2 yards further along the road that I have to overtake as well. What the fuck gives you the right to tell me off for that? Less lane-changing, fewer accidents. It's not fucking rocket science, you Phil-Collins-listening cockwife.

Another classic telling-off bastard, who will have a throbbing haemorrhoid of their very own on Satan's anal ring when they get to hell, is when someone sees you pulling out of a side-road / walking out to cross the road and SPEEDS UP just so they can PRETEND they nearly crashed into you, hammering on the brakes, flashing their lights and headbutting the horn. What the fucking hell is your major malfunction? You don't like someone else being on the same cunting road on you, so you've got to try and warn them off by revving your company Vauxhall Astra like it's a fucking AK47. You big babies!

I'm pleased to report, though, that there's a much more polite form of telling-off in the motor vehicle. After a decidedly pisspoor escapade at a mini-roundabout the other week, where I nearly crashed into an old gent in a Nissan Micra, he pulled up alongside me and wound down the window. I was expecting the usual volley of abuse and threats of violence with a tyre-iron, but no.

"You should focus a little bit more on the road ahead," he said, and drove off with a cheery wave.

That's more like it, isn't it?
(budddwyer This thing will hurt someone, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 22:40, Reply)

Waltzing Junior Certs...
Not quite an adult yet, but last week our fuckwit English teacher launched into one of her numerous rants against us.

"...disgraceful...would you act like that at home...what would your parents think...you can't just come waltzing in here..."

So, the next day, we all took partners, and casually waltzed into her English class.
(bad touch, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 21:44, Reply)

Re: Oi!
Case in point.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Sun 23 Sep 2007, 21:43, Reply)

Oi
This isn't a fucking blog. The idea is to post a funny story - preferably one that's related to the actual question.

And stop using it for personal chat. There's a bloody warning at the top of the page while you're posting. It's there for a reason, so don't ignore it!

You should be ashamed of yourself - you're old enough to know better.

Your mother and I are very disappointed in you.
( Beve The Spaniard broke off his horse's head, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 21:33, Reply)

From Adult to Child in 5 Mins Flat!
Being the youngest in a large family means you're the baby...even when you're adult, married, have kids of your own etc, you're still the baby.
I guess i'm a bit rebelious because of this and i'm often being told off, i'm used to it and almost expect it but nothing prepared me for the bollocking i got from my sons teacher. He was in primary 2 and had been given a row about mis-behaving in class so i went up to her when collecting him to speak about it and dared to try to make an excuse for his behaviour.
She then proceeded to tear strips off me and verbally abused me! By the time she'd finished with me i felt knee high to a grass-hopper and found myself wanting to say 'yes miss, no miss,sorry miss'!!!

Never try to take on a Primary teacher as they win every time....they get loads of practise at it!!
('O' She's my rolemodel!, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 20:58, Reply)

A well-deserved bollocking!
I just got back from the grocery store.

On a Sunday afternoon, you expect a bit of idiocy at the grocery store- for some reason the idiots and the rather senile elderly like to do their shopping then. So I was expecting some twatbadgery from the start. Due to a number of things going on in my life this week, my temper is a bit short anyway, so I was not looking forward to this.

Now, when I go to the store (being a guy) I tend to go in there, figure out what I need, move quickly to it and get it, then get the fuck out. I really lack patience with people who tend to dawdle in the place, especially when they leave their cart blocking the aisle while they poke through a full shelf looking at expiration dates, as though somewhere in the back is a gallon of milk that won't go bad within the next decade.

So I get to the back of the store to get a package of chicken, and find myself behind a woman in her 80s or so, in one of those electric carts with the basket on the front. She Can't seem to figure out what she's after, and is moving at about the same speed as your average turtle, peering myopically at the shelves. Ordinarily I would simply go around her and keep going- but no, a woman in her 70s has the aisle blocked as she pokes through the hamburger. I feel my temper rising.

The woman in the electric cart stops, then leans over toward the little plastic tubs of ready-made salads, Only thing is, she's stopped about two feet too far away and can't reach.

How the fuck do you get to be that age and be incapable of managing a cart? For that matter, how did the other woman reach her age without figuring out how to keep from blocking the entire goddam aisle?

Something snapped inside me at that moment. Stepping out from behind my cart, I got between the electric cart and the salads and picked up the tub she had been reaching for. "Is this the one you were after?"

She looked up at me in shock and stammered out, "Chicken salad."

I glanced at the tub to be sure, then smiled and handed it to her. "Here you go, then."

She smiled gratefully. "I just stopped a little too far from the case." I smiled back and nodded.

The other old woman heard this exchange and exclaimed, "Oh! I'm blocking the aisle, aren't I?" and moved her cart, and we exchanged smiles as I thanked her.

Result.

The lesson to be learned? Sometimes a proper bollocking is not the best approach. A quick, decisive action and a gentle word has much better effect.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Sun 23 Sep 2007, 19:53, Reply)

Me AND my dad
this happened some years back...i know better now

went to a friends house who wasnt home...(and on a sunday too)

met my dad on the way back and he said "want to come for a quick pint?" "sure" i said

WORST MISTAKE OF MY LIFE!

5 hours and god knows how many drinks later we stagger home...

cue my mum cussing us both out, give my dad his due he did try to defend us..

i quote..."but..."

we both just slunk off to bed....had to call in sick to work next day while my dad was bright as a button like he hadnt ever touched a drop....my mother didnt speak to either of us for about a week (which was nice)

length? my dad tells me she loves it
(Paul1574 dont mind me im just lurking...., Sun 23 Sep 2007, 18:32, Reply)

Another girl's name
Shouting out 'Rachel' when you're bumping uglies with someone not called Rachel is a pretty sure way to get a mouthful of abuse.

Ooops. To be fair, she was just a fuck buddy but then she goes and makes a big deal out of it. Why oh why is there no such thing as no strings sex?
(quantum raspberry quizzically quashing Quebecans, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 18:21, Reply)

angrymanxman
In fairness, we didn't elect him into power... Doesn't make us any better later, but get a little perspective!

When I was still doing military service I got a good telling off when I left a packet of cookies in my locker during an alert drill (where you have to empty your room completely in 20 minutes and be packed to go, I couldn't fit the cookies into my bag). Me and my entire dorm had to do it AGAIN after work hours when everyone else was going home for the weekend... As you can imagine, I wasn't the most popular fellow that evening!
( morrybyte made a subtle namechange at, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 18:10, Reply)

An addition to the petty jobsworth bastard list...
Fucking Transport for London staff. Every single bloody one of them, in every position.

The tube station I exited from to get to work before I moved to within walking distance was a prime example of this. Instead of staffing both exits, they choose to have one with 'touch in, touch out' machines and no barriers, and employ their most miserable cunts to police it during rush hour.

Upon touching out and walking through one day, I was accosted by one of these tossers. 'YOU didn't touch out!' he said gleefully. 'Yes, I did,' I responded, handing over my card for him to check. He duly checked, and saw that I had indeed touched out. He then proceeded to scroll through every journey I had ever taken on it, presumably hoping to prove that there had been an occasion in the past on which I had not touched out. He did not find one.

Considering the frequency with which TFL claim that Oyster cards and their storage of information do not constitute an invasion of privacy, I thought this was a bit of a pisstake.

He then grabbed the next woman to go through, who, to be fair, had not touched out, quite aggressively by the arm. I would like to think she reported him, but I doubt it. Most Londoners are far too used to being treated like dirt by the transport nazis to care any more.
(clumsyeloquence is a girl, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 18:00, Reply)

It's ironic
that people on this QOTW refer to others who are obsessed with obedience to the rules as "Little Hitlers". By all accounts Hitler was fairly laid back when it came to expected adherence to administative proceedures.

He just hated the Jews was all. Gotta love Austria and the marvellous way they have managed to convince the world that Hitler was German and thus divert the blame. Clever.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 16:19, Reply)

I was told this story at work last night...
about our "Health and Safety Manager" (a job that exists solely to suck as much joy out of life as possible). Anyway, Bill, as we shall call him as that's his name, has a morbid fear of non-existent bacteria (he circulated a memo recently forbidding the eating of biscuits at our desks as it "left bacteria for the next person to sit at the desk" - personally, I've never heard of anyone contracting any form of infection by sitting at a desk at which someone has previously eaten a biscuit).

Anyway, on the day in question Bill had been in a particularly Obsessive Compulsive humour and had been ranting about greasey finger prints on one particular desk (there weren't any). No one was paying him any attention. He spotted a small scrap of paper near the floor and that sent him over the edge.

He strode across the office, picked it up and, red faced with bulging eyes yelled "WHOSE IS THIS!?!" (yes, he said it in capitals too). No one replied. He repeated himself, sounding more and more like Basil Fawltey. Eventually he calmed down enough to spot one of the girls, a small inoffencive creature by nature, giggling to herself. He strode up to her and yelled "IS THIS YOURS!?" (again, in capitals). In her defence, she did try to keep a straight face, but just couldn't help laughing.

Marvellous.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 15:19, Reply)

A quick one...
Started off with me recieving the bollocking, ended up turning it onto someone else.

Long story short, a friend and i had worked out how to get into the Remote Access type application on the school computers (age of 18, legally an adult... for all you 30'somethings on the board).

We were in for some serious bollocking (threatened to throw us out of 6th form etc etc.) as my friend had managed to access a computer connected to an interactive whiteboard in a classroom full of children (mwuahahaha!)

As we stood in front of our head of year, the head of the IT Dept, the teacher who's whiteboard we had messed with (all smirking) and recieved the bollocking to end all bollockings from the headmaster i had the flash of inspiration to offer to show them how we'd managed to pull off this amazing feat of computer hacking. Our high-end hacking and sabotage of the netowrk was actually a discovery of chance...by simply right clicking on a media file we could choose to open it with the Remote Access program, which some IT Technician oik had left wide open!

The bollocking then turned from us (we got a slap on the wrist for mucking about rather than expelled for violating the school intranet) to the 2 IT Techs and their Head of Department.

We got to wait while the techs were called into the office, and then sat back and enjoyed watching two university leavers and their boss, who had for so long denied us the pleasure of full unrestrained access to the net, reduced to whimpering apologetic excuses for people!

Length: About 45 mins including the reconstruction of the alleged "hacking" and the 10mins we were waiting for the IT techs.
( Mister B is eating an icanhazcheezburger with lmaonaise, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 15:17, Reply)

You're a bit old for this kind of thing, aren't you?
One fine sunny morning, the parks department poured some fresh concrete slabs for mounting picnic tables and park benches.

I looked at the one nearest the kiddie playground and thought of the possibilities. I plunked my 2 year old's foot into the wet cement, leaving a mark for the ages.

"Thanks. Thanks a lot, sir", calls a man with a trowel. He charges over and spends five minutes obsessively troweling, eradicating any evidence of my childish prank, refinishing an area of the pad about 20 times larger than the size of my daughter's foot.

"Sorry, I thought it would be cute. I didn't think it was that serious", I said.

"Yeah, you and everybody else thinks it's fun to leave marks in the cement. My boss doesn't think so", grumbled the tradesman.

Shamed, I slunk away with my daughter back to the swings and slides and then went home, across the street from the park.

I looked out my window from time to time and the guy stayed on a bench the entire day, monitoring the fresh concrete. As far as I could tell, nobody else tried to sully his handiwork, so he got paid to spend a nice summer day in the park doing nothing. Must have gotten boring after the first hour or three.

At least my vandalism had given him something to do.

There is a nice new picnic bench anchored to the concrete pad, which is pristine except for a square of mismatched cement in one corner where the guy erased my daughter's footprint.
(cox2inhibitor, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 15:02, Reply)

I just remembered this, it was years ago
at the supermarket on King Street in Aberdeen. It was a Fine Fare then, and the car park had those barrier things that swing up and down - to prevent unauthorised parking by local office drones, I assume. Automatic on the way in, but to get out there was a wee man who'd check your receipt and then press a button to raise the barrier. All very inefficient and the cause of pointless queues to get out at busy times.

So one busy Friday afternoon I'd done a mega-shop and absent-mindedly shoved the receipt into one of the dozen or so Fine Fare bags now occupying the back seats of my car. After queueing for a few minutes it's my turn at the barrier, which is when I realised I didn't have the receipt to hand. I wound my window down and said, "sorry, it's in one of these bags". Translation: I've obviously just been shopping here.

But oh no. "Aye, but I need to see your receipt," says wee man.

"Oh, come on!"

"Ah cannae let ye beat the system, pal," he informs me crossly, and then starts to lecture me for being inconsiderate and holding everything up, during which I get out of the car intending to start wading through the bags on the back seat. Wee man stands impatiently in his wee booth, droning on about my utter worthlessness or something, until I crack.

"Fuck this," I tell him, and lock the car and walk off. I feel a bit guilty when horns start going and there's shouting and a lot of swearing. But I walk round the side of the supermarket, go back in and ask to see the duty manager, to whom I explain what's going on. He says, "oh shit, not again," and we both go back out to the car park. Duty Manager has words with the wee man, the barrier is raised, and off I go.

Epilogue: a friend of mine phones me that evening to tell me that he was stuck well back in the mayhem, and thought I'd lost my mind. But apparently the wee man was ordered away from his wee booth and the barrier stayed up, presumably to avoid a riot / lynching of wee man.

Epi-epilogue: within two weeks of this incident, the barriers were removed permanently, to everyone's benefit. I like to think that my bold, uncompromising and frankly courageous actions had a positive effect on the quality of the lives of the citizens of the fair City of Aberdeen.

Moral: don't let jumped up little twats get away with it. Call their bluff. Lovely things will happen if you do. Or you might get a good kicking.

Apologies for length of time spent queueing to everyone involved.
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 14:47, Reply)

Treated like a child? Behave like one in return :D
A couple of months ago at my place of employment I somehow ended up taking a phonecall from some irate lady, can't even remember what she was complaining about but she wanted to talk to one of my 'higher ups', none of whom were in the office at that time.

So I tell her this and inform her that I will get someone to call her back as soon as is possible, blah blah blah. She's not happy about this and starts ripping into me over the phone, whilst I politely repeat that all I can do is get someone to get back to her.

I reckon she was actually crazy as she kept going off at me even though the original complaint was nothing to do with me at all, and I was trying to keep my cool (our calls are recorded so we have to play nice) when she came out with 'I am finding your attitude quite appalling' (wtf?)

What did I reply with?

'Well... I find YOUR attitude appalling!' (Well it's true, I did ;P))

I think that kinda threw her, surprised I didn't get pulled up for that actually! She was a biiiitch.
(kadee may or may not be a nymphomaniac, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 14:43, Reply)

It's true.

( moohalaa, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 14:32, Reply)

I can not contribute
to this qotw because I have run my own companies for all my adult life.

But I have had to deal with hundreds of fucking stupid customers, and we need a Fucking Stupid Customers qotw so I can get it out of my system.
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 13:53, Reply)

My parents never told us off.
They used to kill our pets instead.
Often times, we didn't even know what we had done.
And my mum used to grow hair from her feet.
And moohalaa used to come round and I'd put a finger up his bottom.
( baldmonkey a frothy foul-smelling vaginal discharge, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 13:35, Reply)

Are you fick or somefink?
My first job was working in a delicatessen in a Somerfield store when it first opened. I had a boss there who was proper fucking chimp. He was 'fick had no command of the queens english, a red face and wait for it, big glasses with bright blue plastic frames, the kind Su Pollard wears (is she dead yet?) coupled with my intelligence and hatred of such parents of the Chav, for now he must have bred with a similiarly deficient being and produced some poor quality 'fick human brats made him telling me ("Are you fick or somefink? I told you to put vat vere, veres one born every minute!") while getting angry and trying to humiliate me in order to cement his authority. All this in front of a vaste array of huge knifes, carving forks, skewers, cheese wires....
He soon quietened down when I impaled him through the shoulder with a huge skewer, and then clamped his head in a big industrial slicer, gently rocked him back and forth slicing his now silent mug into neat luncheon meat like portions. If any of his meat found its way onto the counter I can never know but I have seen worse........
(booionic, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 12:31, Reply)

Threesomes....
Oh god, I suppose this one deserves a write up.

After getting with a new boyfriend (strangely, the one I'm still with now) within a few weeks I found out he'd still been 'secretly' seeing his ex. Now, being female, scorned, and evil, me and the ex teamed up to meet him at his place of work, to surprise him. It worked. He tried to bolt. However... nobody anticipated what would happen later that evening. Cue us trotting off back to his place, bottle of wine in hand, - he was 20-something and still living at home, and having three in a bed fun and games in his bedroom. And then his rather overweight, scary Christian mother walking in. And screaming at us. A lot. And then standing there as we all got dressed, still shouting at us, along the lines of "what do you think you're doing?" and then ushered us out of the house and ordered us to make our way home. We never did find out what kind of a bollocking he got once we left, except he was then banned from having girls in the house after 10pm, and I have never been able to look his mother in the eye since. But the ex is now off the scene, and he has moved out and we now have our own house... with no scary old crazy Christian mothers to watch over us and tell us off for having a threesome. Now, if I were his mother, and he'd bedded two girls, I'd be bloody proud of him, not angry!
( Bathory, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 11:35, Reply)

Dressing downs are great when you're not the recipient.



I was waiting on Tottenham Court Road to meet a mate of mine for lunch.

This white Ford Escort van came up the road, heading northwards, swerved onto the wrong side of the road, swung about the pedestrian island and attempted to head down the side road where I was standing. Unfortunately, some OAP in a Mini Metro was blocking the way. White Van Man started up with the "Facking caahnt!" routine while slapping his sovereign-ringed hand on the bonnet of the Mini and giving the poor old bloke a right bollocking.

As an aficionado of free street entertainment of this ilk, I was in my element and chuckled away to myself. Matey van driver spotted me and started giving me abuse of the "Watchoo laughing at caaahnt?" variety. This only amused me even more so he got more irate. What he couldn't see but I could from my vantage point was a police van heading southwards which had stopped behind him.

I helpfully pointed behind him, he looked, went white as a sheet and attempted to squeeze through the tiny gap between the Metro and the railings but to no avail as the PC bore down upon him with a "Yet another twat to be dealing with" look on his face. White Van Man was all "Yes officer, no officer, I'm very sorry full officer" The copper made him reverse back and continue northwards, so missing his turning.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Sun 23 Sep 2007, 11:20, Reply)