I've got this mate called Davros
but he isn't a twat; more of a cunt. And he's not really a friend.

So, much as I'd love to, I cannot tell you all about him as it wouldn't fit in with this week's question.

Try not to feel too disappointed, fans!
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 20:02, 6 replies)

Off topic and not so much a Twat but....
There are a couple of people on here who know me IRL. WE have a mate called Gerry. A lovely man, but the kind of guy where the eyes don't quite line up with the holes - Y'know, the kind of guy where reality and normality are just things that happen to other people.
Gerry is known as 'The late Gerry'. He's not dead, just late. For FUCKING EVERYTHING. There is a concept in the Hitchhikers guide to the galaxy books of the 'reciprinverexcluson' a number or thing which is everything other than itself. THAT's Gerry's idea of time. If he tells you he'll 'be there at two' that's the only time he WILL NOT be there, the universe would implode if Gerry was actually on time. At his last milestone birthday he got, as presents, fifteen alarm clocks and twelve wristwatches (three of them from me).
He didn't get the hint.
Just last week he arranged (at about 11 a:m) to meet Pooflake at the pub to get his laptop sorted out. Pooflake informed him that he HAD TO BE GONE BY 4 - not a nanosecond later. What time did Gerry turn up?
10 to 4.
And then proceeded to get the hump that Pooflake wouldn't stay after 4.

I love the guy but how much of a bellend do you have to be to have no concept of time and no respect for other people's commitments at over 50 years of age?

I know it's not in the spirit or even the letter of the question, but I just had to get it off my chest.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 18:52, 1 reply)

Taking it too far.
I imagine most groups of friends have one. The one who doesn't get the difference between gentle (or even not so gentle) pisstaking and being just generally oikishly offensive. The one where, after they tell a joke, there's always a gentle pause and a "...for fuck's sake" from someone in the assembled masses. I'm not even necessarily talking about foot in mouth syndrome, which can afflict even the best of us on occasion, as as soon as you say it, you want to quietly pop into a corner, and gently mutilate yourself until the sheer horror of your spazzy tongue subsides. I'm talking about the kind of person who would make a dead baby joke at the Stillbirth Trust and then say "what? You lot have no fucking sense of humour" as the room attained the temperature of liquid nitrogen.

At uni, ours was Damon. Damon grew up in Cornwall and was one of those people who should never have been allowed to reach puberty, let alone a higher education institution. Like many of these friendships, he joined our group by a process of osmosis, in that there were only 8 blokes on our course, and once you ruled out the born again Christians, there were few of us who could go and drink beer, order pizza and throw gherkins at the foreign students from our halls kitchen.

One evening, we had all gathered in Dave's kitchen. Dave was the linchpin of our group, as he had a big kitchen, accepting flatmates who would always exchange a bit of weed for alcohol and pizza, and an unerring ability to find women to join the party.

Sadly, one of our mates, Mark, had just lost his dad due to a very sudden and aggressive case of cancer. Mark is one of the loveliest guys you would ever meet, so we were all gutted for him and decided to get him drunk to help him feel better.

Whiskey and consolations were in full flow, when Damon turned up.
"Hello Mark. Hear your Dad's dead. Cancer's just God's way of telling you that you've been annoying him, innit?"

Now, to this day we didn't know whether he was trying to make a joke and it came out wrong, or he was just a dick, but the room went silent. Mark politely excused himself and walked outside for some quiet time. Dave opted for "Christ Damon, you are a senseless cunt sometimes" to which the reply "What?" was gained from Damon. Anyway, the party started again. I went out to have a chat with Mark and a smoke and a beer later, all was well.

About 30 minutes later I get a text from Dave. It simply said "watch for my signal". By the fact that a few other people got their phones out, it was clearly a group text. Suddenly, Dave stood up, grabbed Damon by the shoulders and removed him from the kitchen more rapidly than a Tory MP removes a dead prostitute from his bathtub. We followed Dave and a loudly protesting Damon down the corridor to the cleaner's cupboard. With our assistance and a roll of gaffer tape, Damon's hands and feet were bound with many a loud protest.

"Right dickcheese, this'll teach you to think before you open your mouth." muttered Dave. He thrust some balled up fabric into Damon's open mouth, taped it closed with some gaffer tape and closed him in the cupboard. We went back to the kitchen for more beer and pizza.

Before we went out to the union, we decided to relent and release Damon. After ripping off the gaffer tape and removing the fabric from his mouth, Dave airily asked Damon if he'd enjoyed the set of his used underpants, the gusset of which had been pressed to the roof of his mouth for the last 2 hours.

There was a bit of vomit then.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Thu 19 Sep 2013, 17:36, 2 replies)

I have two.
One's a good friend but quite infuriating, the other one's a bellend.

Number one is just ridiculously incapable of understanding anyone else's position. I think it's some sort of autism.

He will arrange to meet you and then turn up hours late because he was busy doing something. And not text to let you know. He once organised a night out in London with a few friends, then didn't turn up. We phoned him and it turned out he'd decided to stay home and watch TV instead. He'd not thought to tell us. Two of us had got the train down from Birmingham for it.

He also gets upset about ridiculous stuff wherever you go. He has complained in a restaurant before because they wouldn't give us a table. We hadn't got a reservation, had never been there before, and it was a busy Saturday night. He also once got us thrown out of a pub because he genuinely thought the landlord was being ridiculous for asking him not to eat his own sandwiches in the bar. He had a job at one point where he threatened to quit because they wanted him to go to a meeting in Germany one week, with about two months notice. He didn't fancy it. His job involved European sales and it was the first trip they'd asked him to go on. The most terrifying thing is that he now has a wife who's exactly the same. The last time I went for a pint with them, I was sat on my own with a book for two hours. Then they turned up and complained to the manager because the bar had stopped taking food orders. It was 10:30.

And then there's our mutual friend Simon, who I haven't seen for about 18 months now. Simon and I used to live together. He's alright in some ways, but he has similar problems with understanding other people's position. To the point where when we lived together, and I had a job, he brought a dozen randoms back from the pub for a party after chucking-out on a Wednesday night, and then drank all my booze from my cupboard, and thought I was totally unreasonable for asking them to keep it down. We got over that, and then he moved his girlfriend in without a word of consultation. I asked if she was going to pay any rent or bills, and he said it was fine because she was giving him money for it.

Oh, and the other thing about Simon is that he's a prick when he's drunk, and gets into fights, then gets upset when you don't back him up. He weighs about 8 stone and is soft.

The weirdest thing about Simon, though, is that he's a massive racist, and has Daily Mail style views on immigrants, 'ghetto' black people, and Asians. Which is odd considering he's black and the child of immigrants....
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 17:35, Reply)

"Pin it to her pissflaps!" - said an acquitance to a WWII veteran and his wife. The veteran was
placing a poppy onto her lapel.

Other than that, it is me. I am the twat. But then all my friends at some point have also been twats. Of course, some friends would feel it not okay to use the word twat as it is really, really. really degrading language aimed at humiliating women.

'bit o gender politics, eh!'
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 17:05, 2 replies)

Not mates...
...family. Cousins, to be precise. Gradually, over the course of years and years, wound me up with their continuous drama, drugged up, drunk, irresponsible nonsense. Yes, living in your mum's house but calling her a cnut every time you're not giving her the silent treatment, getting wasted every single weekend and most weekdays, getting into fights, growing ten grand's worth of pot in your attic, etc. is very funny (to an outside observer) when you're seventeen. When you're thirty, not so much. The family soap opera was starting to get seriously boring.

I'd still mostly do pretty much anything for them, though, until the last time I arranged to go down and see them all. By this point, one had managed to secure a girlfriend to live with, and one of the others also lived away from their mum. So, having spoken on the phone with four of them (three of the cousins and the aunt) that day and arranged where I'd be and when, I knocked off work early and spent three hours driving to their home town, looking forward to a weekend socialising with family and hoping they weren't too annoying.

I arrived at the house bang on the time I'd said I'd be there, and knocked. Nothing. No answer. They knew I was coming. If they'd been coming to visit me I'd have been waiting by the door with a cold one. What was up? I rang the mobile - answerphone, with, natch, stupid answerphone message. I knocked again. After about ten minutes, I gave up and went to the aunt's house. All dark. Nobody home. Rang various mobiles. From four cousins and an aunt, not one of these people who knew I was coming to see them had their phone switched on. Nobody was in anywhere.

Eventually, I realised that the twat in this story was me, and drove for another three hours to get home. I've never seen any of them since. (Later, I was told that at the first house there had been someone in - he'd had a little lie down and gone to sleep, and hadn't heard me knocking. I arrived at about 19:00...)

I kept in touch with them on Facebook for a couple of months, until the aunt started a website to promote her new business and asked me to proofread it. I did so, and pointed out a spelling mistake on the front page, where she'd got a typo in the name of the service she was offering. Not a big thing, but makes a poor first impression but very, very easy and quick to correct.

She ignored me, and then proceeded to spam my timeline four times a day every day with links to her lovely new website (this on top of her near-hourly Farmville updates). Eventually I pointed out that people were unlikely to pay for a service from someone unable to spell the service they were offering. That was, apparently, "rude", and brought threats of violence from her offspring, so now I'm not in touch with them in any way at all.

And do you know what? I don't miss them.
(SonofRojBlake, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 15:06, 3 replies)

Fun in the Snow!
First term of university was interesting. I guess like many others in those first few weeks, I made friendship choices that I was later to regret.

I’d come fresh from the Home Counties to some godforsaken Northern hell-hole, dumped unceremoniously into halls of residence, surrounded by every type of regional weirdo imaginable. As luck would have, one such weirdo – a tall, thin scouser called Dan, was in my halls, on my course and had exactly the same timetable as me. This led to him calling for me each morning to get the bus to campus, reserving me seats in the lecture theatre and generally (in his mind), being a ‘mate’.

Not having met any real life scousers before, he unfortunately didn’t adhere to the Harry Enfield stereotype I’d been expecting. Rather than permed hair and a tache, he sported a horrid short haircut that he gelled forward and then parted revoltingly in the middle. But the accent was spot on – proper Liverpool scum. All his conversations surrounded the fucking Charlatans, Cream and amphetamines. He could never look you in the eye, a real shifty, borderline psychotic oddball - which earned him the nickname Scary Dan (pronounced with an OTT scouse accent).

Despite my best intentions I couldn’t drop the cunt. Every morning he’d appear at my window, ‘Eh Albert, you ready like?’ - and I’d be forced to hide my face as we walked to the bus stop together. Luckily I met other, more balanced individuals and began to form a circle of friends. Trouble was, this moron Dan forced himself into this group too. ‘You’re not bringing Scary Dan’, my new friends would ask when planning a night out. ‘No fucking way!’ I’d reply, only to see him appear minutes later in a Tranmere Rovers top, carrying two litres of cider, demanding to know where we were going.

When second term rolled around, my New Year’s resolution was to have a chat with Scary Dan and gently de-friend him. But then something happened that allowed me to dump him, guilt free and forever grateful. Our halls were brand spanking new. Four squat buildings arranged on four around a central courtyard. A decent courtyard too – large enough for a proper game of footie and sensitive guitar-strumming picnics in the sun. The blocks were all named after some Northern nobodies but to us they were simply Blocks A, B, C & D.

Towards the end of January it snowed. Not the kind of light southern dusting I was used to – but a proper, filthy northern blizzard, at least a foot of snow was dumped in one night. This did wonders to the courtyard. The art students created arresting snow-sculptures. The Rugby cunts stripped naked and with full blown hard-ons, dived into the snow – then with rulers in hand, measured the depths of their penile penetrations. And some wag made the biggest snow-cock and balls anyone had ever seen, perfectly placed, dead centre of the courtyard.

Then we got organised. Word went round that at midday, residents of all four blocks were to assemble outside their buildings and prepare for the world’s biggest snowball fight. Hurriedly we prepared our ammunition, creating dumps of 100’s of snowballs, each placed strategically within reach of the battle. Someone blew a whistle and we were off, charging forward, throwing, tripping and bundling people into the snow. The mayhem continued for about 10 minutes when suddenly, for some reason, it stopped. One by one we all heard a blood-curdling scream, a scream that was getting louder and louder. It was Scary Dan tearing down the stairs of D Block to join the fight! As over 100 students prepared to obliterate him with snowballs, the people nearest the entrance of D Block began to step backwards and soon a clear path opened for him as he came careering out of the building. Looking up to see why he hadn’t been the first person to have ‘Death by Snowballs’ printed on his coroner’s report, I saw the reason why everyone had backed off. High above his head he was wielding the largest, sharpest looking machete we’d ever laid eyes on.

Still screaming he ran into the middle of the courtyard and stopped. He then set about performing ninja-esque moves on imaginary foes. Red in the face and with spit drooling out his mouth, he chopped, slashed and thrust the machete into the air – all the while screeching like a demented demon.

‘Come aaaan!’ He yelled. ‘I’ll take the fookin lot of youse aan! Aaarrgh!’

‘What the fuck is your mate Dan doing?’ Someone asked me. I shrunk back in embarrassment as I realised everyone was looking from him, to me, to him – obviously expecting me to do something. Back in the centre of the yard Scary Dan was living up to his name. Bored of fighting invisible enemies, he began to charge round the courtyard attacking things. He destroyed the arty sculptures in two or three swings of gleaming steel. He ran at the crowd, slashing at anything that moved. Girls screamed, guys shrank back in fear. Then, finding himself back in the centre of the courtyard, he performed a final, perfectly choreographed move. Pivoting on one foot, machete gripped in two hands, he span round 180 degrees and with one, clear, clean swing he decapitated the giant snow-cock.

This was too much for the rugger buggers. They charged forward and took him out. Tackled from behind he was thrown head-first into the ground. Then, machete finally wrested from his grip, they proceeded to hold his head down in the snow, with four of five of the cunts sitting on him. When they finally let him up for air, he coughed, spluttered and ran off into the road, I wish I could add, ‘never to be seen again’ – but sadly he re-appeared that evening. He never came knocking for me again though and we all got a memo about ‘mental health issues on campus’. Turns out he was proper, bona-fide nutter and had forgotten to take his meds or something.

Twat.
( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 15:01, 34 replies)

I consider each and every one of you to be a friend.

( Infidel , shit and wrong, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 14:59, 7 replies)

Keezie
more a friend of a friend, keezie was someone who sort of attached herself to our little group when we were teenagers. she was always the one who never had any smokes, unless you told her you didn't either, then she'd miraculously find some. she'd bum drinks off us, then start arguments with strangers after a few swigs. she'd make up stories to try to cause trouble between the rest of us, then cry when confronted and deny it. i couldn't stand the little fucker, but she'd been a friend of michelle's(one of my good friends) since infant school, so we put up with her.
one night, i was already pissed off with her after she pulled the "hot finger" trick* and wasn't too keen on spending any more time with her, when all of a sudden, she let out a yell and ran around the corner. curious, we went after her to see what was wrong with her.
"that bloke round there! he tried to molest me in the park!" she sobbed, or words to that effect. infuriated by this, we confronted the man, who was completely stunned to hear these allegations. michelle was all set to call the police, when we heard keezie laughing her arse off.
seems it was all a lie and she'd only said it because she thought it'd be funny. stupid, malicious little bitch.
we apologized to the poor man and left keezie on her own. we never hung around with her again and i found out later that michelle had given her an arse-kicking for that little stunt.
i dread to think what that man could have been put through if she'd kept up with her lies.


* when you've been saved half a ciggy by someone who holds it tightly as you try to take it, so your fingers slide down to the end and get burnt.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 14:44, 4 replies)

This is really getting annoying.
I have a friend... well, maybe that's too strong a word, someone that I know and sometimes help out. Fuck, let's be honest, I help him out more than he deserves.

He considers himself a real hard man, an alpha male, someone to be respected. To make himself feel that way he really abuses weaker people- his family, his employees, basically anyone he comes into contact with who can't strike back very effectively at him.

I know what he's trying to do with this. In some strange way he's trying to imitate me. On some level I suppose that's flattering, but he's not really pulling it off. I mean, I made my own way up in the world, where he's the son of a rich guy who handed him a career and doesn't really know how to handle it. He's gotten power mad and doesn't know when to use restraint.

I put up with the silly bastard because it's in my best interests, as he has associates that I find useful at times, but it's really getting tiresome to come to his rescue all the time. He knows that he can drop my name and get results, which is starting to make me look like a twit.

Recently, however, he's pushed it to new heights. He's broken the law pretty seriously, may have in fact killed some innocent people, got caught and is now on trial. The prosecuting attorney has called for the harshest penalties he can, though the jury has not been terribly sympathetic. It looked like he was going to get pretty harsh treatment, so I reluctantly stepped in and tried to convince the prosecuting attorney that this was a bad idea, that the jury would be against him and he would merely damage his reputation. He didn't want to listen to me, so I made my case before the jury loud and clear in his presence. The prosecuting attorney saw the way the wind was blowing and backed down a bit, but my friend still isn't out of the woods yet. The judge has yet to reach a verdict, and is calling for more evidence.

I'm getting to my wit's end with this ass clown. I've probably done all I can legally to help him, so now I have to sit back and see what happens. If the evidence turns out against him I may have to address the judge myself, maybe even represent the twat despite his being a reprehensible human being. I'm trying my best to make a deal with the prosecution as they know damn well that this could get ugly and really cost them, but they've put their asses on the line this time and don't want to face the embarrassment of backing down and letting me deal with this idiot. Given a choice I'd probably send him up the river, but I don't think I can really afford that at this point as his associates are not really that stable either.

I really wish I could wash my hands of the entire ugly affair, but I'm stuck with it. I'll keep casting doubts before the judge and jury, but it's not looking too good for the twat at the moment...

Yours,
Vlad P.
( Wanderer, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 14:40, 2 replies)

Graham
The fat balding twat regularly gets drunk and rolls out the following tale.

Graham killed a guy and got away with it. He got in to a street fight and threw the other guy through a window. The guy's throat was slit and he bled to death. Graham took out his knife and put it in the guys hand and told the police that the guy had pulled a knife on him so he reacted in self defence by throwing him. He told them he had no intention of throwing him at a window and that he had just panicked. The police decided he acted in self defence and he got away with it.

This of course never happened.
( Peej, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 14:35, Reply)

It's usually me.
Either being made a twat of, or doing it quite nicely on my own. I've lost count the number of times I've been at a house party, get completely blotto voce, and wake up in the morning to looks so frosty they could double up as a freeze ray. Luckily, that hasn't happened in recent years, probably because I stopped going to those sort of parties.

One that springs immediately to mind, apart from severely offending birthday girls, accidentally insulting the party hosts, or generally pissing off all and sundry would be a b3ta bash held in Cambridgeshire. I had come into possession of a green, dusty substance popular with the students, which I smoke with great gusto. And then got so hungry I got the munchies, only to be told the morning after that they'd been loaded.

So all of this lead to me losing my little baggy, loudly going round the garden, shouting to all and sundry if anyone had seen it. What a twat. Drugs are bad, mmmkay?
(piston_broke Actually thinks Supermatt is a decent bloke., Thu 19 Sep 2013, 14:20, 9 replies)

When I suggested this question I did in fact include the "if you haven't got one, it's you" clause.
Just saying, like.
( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 13:04, 7 replies)

I used to work with a guy who was, to be fair to him, a little racist prick
Given that we were in a company with a very diverse workforce and our boss was a black guy, he kept his views under wraps most of the time but after a couple of beers they'd all come flooding out - apparently his family had been in the East End of London since the great fire but within his lifetime they'd all been driven out to Essex by "the blacks", that sort of thing. Anyway, one night it was just me and him left at a pub near Liverpool Street station and he'd started on some sort of tirade or other when a youngish American chap came over and started chatting to us. Grateful for the distraction and the chance to widen the scope of conversation, we started talking about the States and so on and I thought I might actually have a reasonably racism-free night. However, in the interim, a guy who was obviously homeless had come into the pub and started minesweeping unfinished drinks people had left behind. Upon seeing this, our new buddy jumped up and berated him, calling him a filthy fucking hobo and so on. He was joined by the bartender, who defused the situation a bit, but still kicked the tramp out.

As it turned out the American guy was a fully signed up white supremacist, so soon him and my colleague were in full flow, complaining about how black people had ruined their respective countries. The other thing I noticed before I made my excuses and left them to it was presumably the reason that the American had been so upset with the tramp earlier - he was minesweeping his drinks as well, he was just more subtle about it.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 13:00, 1 reply)

If you can't think of any...
the chances are it's you

(/old stand up joke)
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 12:59, Reply)

Guy I worked with, whenever we all went out on the piss he started acting like a right prick after, ooh, about two pints.
And then when we'd walk from pub to club through the town centre he would start bellowing his racist, twattish opinions and verbally abusing and trying to goad into a fight any of the homeless people he encountered along the way. What a cunt he was.
He's not dead now or anything, it's just that after having a kid he doesn't have nights out any more.
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 12:45, 1 reply)

My Ex.
She was a BIT completely mentally unhinged normally. But if we went anywhere, as either a couple or with friends, she only REALLY turned into a mad, raging tsunami of jealous energy if there was another female within a few miles radius. Think of an angry Irish version of Bugs Bunny's mate The Tazmanian Devil, only with tits.
From the first time we went out with her friends, where my introducing myself was considered an act of massive flirting, to her birthday down a club (on drugs traditionally associated with being "loved up") when me hugging my own sister caused her to scream "I MAY AS WELL NOT EVEN BE HERE!!" and storm off, she was a source of perpetual "Oh For Fucks Sake"s from everyone whenever they learned she was coming out too. I was pretty much had a 50/50 chance of a screaming violent argument with her whenever we went out...
But as a Catholic she was fucking filthy in bed.
Swings and roundabouts, eh?
(SigourneysBeaver took off and nuked the entire site from orbit on, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 12:20, 11 replies)

has anyone said [name modded], the whining scourge of western australia, yet?

( janet aylia y'all motherfuckers need jesus, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 12:16, 16 replies)

Bit of an oxymoron this question,
since most people tend not to be friends with twats. Unless they themselves are twats, in which case they tend to clump together into social haemorrhoids via the forces of twat gravity.

One guy I knew at university, who had assumed the status of default mate by dint of living in the same halls of residence as the rest of us, was a maths genius but ball-boilingly Asperger-y. One day we were faffing aimlessly in someone's room, as students are wont to do, and our genuine mate Matt was wearing a knitted jumper. Thoroughly inoffensive in itself. Default mate blurted out "I'd like a jumper like yours, Matt. Like yours, but nice."
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 12:10, 3 replies)

once, many years ago
I was in the bath, with an erection, busting for a piss.
long story short, I accidentally pissed into my own mouth
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 12:01, 1 reply)

Surely if anyone was that much of a twat you would get rid?
I aint got time for that.
( GeordieJay Bummers are deaf, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 11:48, 1 reply)

i've got plenty of friends with twats

( The Doveston haunted by the memory of his own amnesia, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 11:42, 1 reply)

My old pal Yeti is a prize knob.
He’s just shy of forty, fat and ginger and a drug dealer. But he’s a rubbish drug dealer. Ignores business he desperately needs when he can’t be arsed with it, owes vast sums to all and sundry and has had more lines of credit cut off due to his bungling that you could imagine. He’s never had a proper job for longer than a day (he got a job in a herb production greenhouse operation in Essex and flooded it by 2pm on his first day). He should be seriously rich by his age but hasn’t a penny and lives on people’s sofas until they kick him out. He also stinks of BO and mildew.

All these dreadful things pale into insignificance though, when you hear of his delusional bullshitting ways. Behind his back he’s called ‘The King of Romania’ due to a series of ever-less-believable yarns he spins ad nauseum about the 5000-people parties he used to throw in Romanian castles etc etc. He’s told me exaggerated bullshit versions OF MY OWN ANECDOTES which he was not there for.

The heartbreaking thing is that deep down he’s a lovely bloke but he is such a fucking knob it all got too much for me and having spent 20 years apologising to all and sundry for his knobbishness I finally got him out of my life last year.

The end.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 11:37, 15 replies)

But I don't even have any friends.
*sob*
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 11:37, 1 reply)

I have a friend who's a Man Utd fan.

( Ya What Skiddlyboop, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 11:18, Reply)

My friends are all smashing.
I must be the twat.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 11:07, 5 replies)

I'll drag this out again:
I used to be in a band. Having recorded a demo (yeah - this was back in the day where you couldn't just do it all on your fucking iPad, kids) at considerable personal expense, one evening before a gig we were sitting with mates, and discussing what to do with said demo - where and who to send it to.

Suddenly matey-boy over there clicks his fingers loudly and declares triumpantly, "I know! You want to send it to Jo Wily on XFM! She'll play any old shit!"

Cheers, mate.

Hearing the entire two tables of us go silent and stare at our shoes, he followed desperately with "No! I mean ... er ... I mean I don't think she listens to any of the stuff she plays before she puts it on ... "
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 10:58, 10 replies)

Has anyone said "b3ta" yet?
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 10:53, Reply)