once, right,
I did this thingohfuckititwasdulldocarryonminesastellainastraightglass...
( janet aylia y'all motherfuckers need jesus, Sat 14 Apr 2012, 9:22, 7 replies)

Post graduate twattery
It was me. I was the twat.

Just finished a degree in anthropology/archaeology and was at a gallery exhibition for a well-known Aboriginal artist. Being an Aboriginal person and anthropology graduate, well, you don't need to tell me that I know my stuff!

So using my new-found knowledge, I loudly proclaimed to my friend and adorning crowd, upon reading the first info card that said artist first started painting at 70 years of age, that it was probably to do with Law and not being able to tell the story through painting until someone died or blah blah. Looking around at the crowd, with wisdom glinting eyes and pursed lips of knowing, I noticed that no-one seemed to care about my opinion.

Onto the secord info card where I read that said artist had never picked up a paint brush until she was 70 because she never had had a crack at it before. Nothing at all to do with my profound knowing statements.

I was a post graduate twat and left without a croissant.
(boozehound is drinking your bar dry, Sat 14 Apr 2012, 9:04, 3 replies)

This could be fun for the employment tribunals eventually
We have a newish quality control system at work. Our product is sampled and errors are assigned on a Tier one (serious, though some of them are arguably not serious) Tier two and Tier three (typo eror etc) scale. Get enough Tier ones in a year and you can be looking at demotion, reduction in income etc. So it is damn serious for the person accused of making the error.

Trainees are supervised, so any errors they make are assigned to their supervisors. The supervisors typically have 8 or more years experience, some a lot more than that. The quality controllers are typically people with 4 - 5 years there.

So we have this situation. A supervisor goes on leave and a less experienced person acts in the position. The acting supervisor lets through a product that has a Tier one error, and the quality controller assigns the Tier one ping to the usual supervisor.

The usual supervisor points out that they were on leave and the supervision was actually done by someone else.

So the quality control twat demands documentary evidence from "human resources" that the supervisor was actually on leave.

I can see this shit ending up in a court some day.
(Redemption blamed it on the Bossa Nova since, Sat 14 Apr 2012, 2:34, 4 replies)

Fridge selling twats
My parents had brought a fridge on a buy now, pay later deal. My dad had finally paid for the fridge and happily living off the extra money. Recently he had a phonecall from the company who had delt with the finance. They offered him some insurance for this fridge and apparently dad still owed for one payment. Being a typical man, he said he would talk to them about it another day and booked an appointment. This is where the twattish behaviour comes in.

My nana died (dad's mum) after a long battle with cancer, living out her last days in a loros hospice. Dad didn't turn up to fridge meeting. Fridge man rang dad to demand another meeting and berate him for not turning up. Dad explained it was becuase of his mother dying. Fridge man said “ it is funny, isn't it Mr. Kenney, how mothers always die when people have meetings! How many mother's do you have?”

I should mention my dad is 6ft 6, my uncle is 6ft 7 and my cousin 6ft 11 and not happy with this reply. Fridge twat rang my dad every hour of nana's funeral. Dad decided to take problem up with the twats manager.

He turns up with said uncle and cousin and politly tells the manager that either twat apologies or he will: “throw him bodily through a fucking window”.

Manager agrees this is the case, however may go against safety rules. Fridge man made to write apology and never heard of again. Moral? Twats should not mess with 7ft men...
( squiddylyd Once you pop you can't stop!, Sat 14 Apr 2012, 0:33, 6 replies)

Café etiquette
I detest the people who arrive at a busy self-service café and occupy a table while one or more of their number queues. Meanwhile people leaving the till with their food have nowhere to sit.
(ubergeekian, Sat 14 Apr 2012, 0:17, 9 replies)

My liver
For still making me feel like shit even though I stopped drinking 24 hours ago.
Looks like the only thing for it is to get back on it.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 23:43, Reply)

Pea: Bouncing a big posh car!
Got blocked in on a car park, not long after passing my test, so was a bit stuck for a plan and would soon be late for work.

A big posh car was parked at right angles behind the row I was on, obstructing a few other vehicles too.

As I stood scratching my head a small crowd gathered. A couple of blokes tried to back the car out for me with no success.

Eventually, some of the chaps decided to take things into their own hands and bounced one back wheel of the offending car up onto the very high pavement beside it. Another whipped my old banger out.

I thanked them profusely and asked, will you be putting that back now?

Naaah, they said, laughing. I fled.

After work I popped back to see what had gone on, and the car was still there, hanging off the high kerb. The owner, a young woman in a smart business suit, was looking on as the police and a couple of breakdown men inspected the car's back end.

I drove carefully past and slunk home.

There were double yellow lines there within weeks and CCTV a few years later. Wouldn't get away with it now!

The posh car driver was a twat, for sure, but the 'bouncers' were a bit twatty too, if only for the stress they caused me as I drove past later.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 23:28, 4 replies)

my baby died
and the talk board made japes about it


:-(
(FRIZ my baby died on, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 23:26, 9 replies)

A collegue recommended a good garage. As the banger is in desperate need of various repairs I popped along to case the joint.
It was the usual open-fronted workshop. The only person I could see was a woman standing smoking beside a van which was up on the lift. I did a double-take and asked, er, are you the boss? No, she says, I'm his daughter, he's out, can I help you?

I said, 'Well, first, why are you smoking in here? It's illegal.'
She replied 'No, I can smoke here, just not in the office.'

I said 'I was going to start bringing my car here on a friend's recommendation but i'm having second thoughts now!'
We had a short, terse discussion about the legalities of smoking in the workplace.

To change the subject, she invited me into the office. As she talked I looked through the window, back into the workshop, and we both saw a mechanic stroll across the place, with a car wheel in one hand and a fag in the other. He saw me watching him and hastily tried to hide the cigarette, a bit too late.

I turned to the woman and shook my head and laughed in her face, then left. How twatty, to not only smoke openly around potential petrol spills - and clients' cars - but to try to bullshit a potential customer, as if I was an idiot. I was furious, and I didn't go back.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 23:20, 11 replies)

My boss the annoying twat
I actually get on really well with my boss, but he is nonetheless capable of being the most annoying twat imaginable. A case in point: we are currently developing a bit of software about evolution that includes a sexual selection element. Now my boss has decided that each time the word 'sexual' is mentioned, he will leer and rub his nipples while saying 'sexeh'. What's more, he started musing about how to make it more offensive, and eventually decided to turn it into 'sexeh spazz', said in a mongy voice. As he pointed out, the only way to make it worse would be to do it blacked up. Now every few minutes I hear him from his office saying 'sexeh spazz' and I know he's rubbing his nipples.

A few years ago we did something on space and it was all 'Uranus' jokes. For fucking months. Please God let me die now.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 22:58, 1 reply)

Not going to name names or places,
but one of my previous jobs, working in a TV and film environment, was the worst job I've ever had and run by the worst people I've ever met. Twats, the lot of them.

A few excerpts -

After signing my contract I discovered that part of it actually claimed that by signing the document I was waiving European employment rights (always read the fine print. Lesson learned there...). This allowed them to put me on 2 weeks of 15 hour night shifts, with a 30 minute break. I would start work at 6, and get home at 9am the next morning. I didn't see daylight for two weeks straight on the run up to christmas that year. I'm not exaggerating when I say by the end of that fortnight I felt like I was about to die.

The kitchen in which we used to congregate over the course of the day (this was our base essentially, and any jobs we were given were sent there), was not equipped with any means to sit down. We were informed by a senior staff member that if anyone sat down, they would be fired. I thought this was a joke at first, until I was told that the boss used to place one chair in the kitchen when new people were hired. If that person sat on it they were immediately dismissed. So for the nine months I worked there, every single day was sent stood up, with a 30 minute break to eat dinner. That doesn't sound all that bad, but try it. On top of that, both of my knees and ankles are already rigorously fucked from a condition I had as a teenager which made my muscles mature faster than my bones. Every single day I would come home and be in agony, needing to soak my feet in cold water to reduce the swelling around my ankles. I was told I could not have a chair to sit on during the day.

We were told anyone who picked a cup up by it's rim instead of the handle when serving cups of tea and coffee would be fired.

We threw away about £80 worth of fresh fruit and cakes every single day of the week if they weren't eaten that day. When I suggested we give them to a shelter or something I was told that the idea had been put forwards before, but the boss didn't like the idea of having homeless people hanging around outside the building waiting for free food. I have no idea how you come to this conclusion from "give it to a shelter". This was the thing that pissed me off the most. We were supposed to treat the people that came into the facility as though they were in a hotel as opposed to at work, and the sheer volume of food that got thrown away every single day made me want to be sick. I have never seen anyone so wasteful. If "important people" were coming in, they would spend £150 on a buffet spread in a heartbeat, which 9 times out of 10 didn't get touched. It then went in the skip at the back of the building.

Aside from these and the numerous other incidents that made those 9 months like a living hell, we got treated like children all day every day. It was like being back at school and trying to avoid the strict teacher that would give you detention for being late if he caught you in the corridor when the bell rang. I was 22 at this point.

After nine months working there, and being miserable for every single day, I was told my contract was not being renewed. To this day I cannot recall a time when I have felt happier than that moment.
( PMGT -Bacon., Fri 13 Apr 2012, 22:46, 15 replies)

Those Who Abide /Talk
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 22:04, 18 replies)

Gassed pea.
My clunker runs on autogas
it takes f-u-c-k-i-n-g ages to fill up & there are only ever a maximum of 2 gas pumps at any servo. Most of us "autogassers" will politely move our vehicles out of the way once filled when we go in to pay. Not so the wankers who I have to sit behind whilst they spend 5 min. filling up (usually on petrol NOT gas but meh - going to happen anyway) but then go into the servo, spend 15 mins. shopping & come out with 764 placcy bags full of stale, over-priced servo junk food! I could have filled, paid, got home and be cracking my first coldy by then! Chaps my chuddies that does.
Interestingly the autogas nozzles reach both sides of my car too!
From here - b3ta.com/questions/irrationalhatred/post1144459#post1146939
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Fri 13 Apr 2012, 22:04, 2 replies)

I used to work in a minicab office awnsering phones.
There was a lot of twats in there, I call them Life Losers, because that is what they are, and always will be. They gave me the oompth to better myself so I don't end up like them. There was a handful of times where I cried, I'm not going to see the worst, or anything that isn't legal, but here is a couple of things.

The Jewish Holiday
It was the jewish festival of Rosh-a-shona, I believe. Someone left their sydor (bible) at home, where there was something important happening, I can't remember what, a blessing on an individual (perhaps a barivement or mitzah (celebration) of some kind). On this day, she couldn't handle money directly, I don't know the details. The Instruction was to leave the book in a special bag (that also contains other religous artifacts), with the money in an envolope. They wouldn't accept the job, followed by load of anti-jewish comments. In the end, I said I'll pay for it if the envolope isn't found, and thats the only way he sent the job. They told me there was no envolope, so I paid for it, it was only a £8 job, but I was getting £5/hour. A week later the driver gave me the money back, telling me not to tell anyone, and that he had the envolope but shared it with the controller... he said they wanted to teach me a lesson, but driver felt sorry for me.
TLDR: - Made me pay for a job that they got paid for already.

The Toilet Paper
The boss wouldn't pay for toilet paper, I had to buy my own, every few days when I came in. After a few months of this, I put it on an expense thing, where the responce was "I didn't tell you to buy it" and wouldn't give me the money back. I probably bought £5 worth a week on account of everyone using it.

The worst haunting thing in my life
It was 9 in the evneing on a saturday, when we got an account job. We were totally packed, 30 minute waiting queue, and nobody wants to do an account job on a night like that (as account jobs get paid a good 6 weeks later). It was a hospice to pick up a prescription from the phamacy in the 24 hour ASDA (closing at 11, sunday trading and all that). They called every 5 minutes asking where they were, it was an old lady with cancer needing painkillers. I was pushing and pushing the job, but he wouldn't give it out 'cus we had all the pub'n'club lot which pays more and pays on the night. Eventually at 10:45 he gave the job out, and suprise suprise, the ASDA was closed by the time he got there. I cried myself to sleep that night, I can't say I know what happened to the lady, but I am a pain patient myself, she was living her last nights in agony becasue of this guy.
tldr: - Wouldn't send a cab out to the phamacy to give some cancer old lady meds 'till it was too late.

Footballer's wages
I used to get fined £5 for every 5 minutes I was late, even though I was on £5/hour.

Website Woes
I created a website with online booking and price estimating and they only paid me half , then "sold the company" with exact same names, numbers and staff, and told me they're not going to pay for the rest. I spent a year building that system giving them everything they want.

Granny Sexual Abuse
One guy was talking about how this granny pinched her bottom in a club, so he did the same to her, but he was doing hand movements and went "I stuck my finger right up her crack." The granny then called him a cunt (or something like that) so he shouted at her 'till he had to be removed from the club.

There is a lot more.

That job taught me something there, there are some horrific people in this world, and I am a damn site better than that scum. And if anyone did the things they said they have done to my family, I'd firebomb them in their car infront of a police station, then hand myself in.... and I'd take an oath on that.
( G/PP 💩💩💩💩💩&#128, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 21:02, 4 replies)

I notice that motorway lane etiquette - or the lack thereof - is a recurring topic
Here's my version. Cue wavy lines

I used to drive to and from Leeds for meetings at head office and, on one particularly fine summer's afternoon, when a meeting had finished surprisingly early, I found myself on an almost empty stretch of the M62 (incredible I know) cruising at a comfortable 80-ish mph admiring the fine West Yorkshire scenery.

Unfortunately, this almost Nirvana-like state was shattered by the appearance of a shit-box Citroen AX doing just under 60... in the outside lane.

Now, both inner lanes were empty as far as the eye could see, but Mr Fucknugget and his female passenger obviously liked the colour of lane 3's tarmac, or they were Armco spotters and they showed no intention of moving over into the correct lane(s).

For a couple of minutes I waited patiently behind them - not right up their chuff - but at a distance which meant the driver could clearly see me in his mirrors and, realising he was hindering my progress, move carefully across.

There was, however, a fatal flaw in my plan, inasmuch as Monsieur le Wankbreath was too stupid to use said mirrors. Finally, my patience deserted me and I moved into the middle lane, undertaking the Citroen at about 70 mph, without either gesture or comment, intent on putting my frustration behind me and continuing my journey unimpeded.

Unfortunately, my actions had obviously stimulated Turdface's single brain cell and he believed himself to have been unfairly slighted in the presence of his wo-man. I know this because, for the next ten miles, he drove right on my back bumper with his headlights set on full beam and a murderous look on his poxy, gurning face, only abandoning his pursuit when we reached his exit junction.

At which point my sphincter ceased twitching.

tl;dr - twatty driver drove like a twat.

Length? Ninety-three miles each way.
( Snappyuk gets BIGGER with free sample., Fri 13 Apr 2012, 20:13, 8 replies)

people buying a round at the pub
who order one drink at a time, having been on both sides of the bar during my years nothing annoys me more

while your pints of guinness and guest ales are settling i could have got your fucking bacardi and cokes and vodka and tonics ready so why waste my time and that of the people standing beside you? and why when i say "is there anything else?" for the third time are you so fucking silent until i plonk another pint down in front of you?
( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 20:02, 6 replies)

Inconsiderate customer holds up shop with repeated impulse buying.
Last Christmas I went to buy someone a present from a small coffee shop in Leeds. By "small" I mean it had about 20 square feet of floor space. When I went to pay there was a customer before me, with one or two items - or so I thought.

CUSTOMER: Can I have have 250g of [coffee type A]?
Assistant weighs out and seals up a bag full (this takes about a minute).
ASSISTANT: Is that everything?
CUSTOMER: Actually, I'll have 125g of [coffee type B] as well.
Assistant weighs out and seals up a bag full.
ASSISTANT: Is that everything?
CUSTOMER: No, I'll have 125g of [coffee type C].
Assistant weighs out and seals up a bag full. A queue is building up.
ASSISTANT: Is that everything?
CUSTOMER: Thinking about it, I'd quite like 125g of [coffee type D] too.
Assistant weighs out and seals up a bag full.
ASSISTANT: Is that everything?
Assistant weighs out and seals up a bag full. The queue has now reached the door.
CUSTOMER: Erm... 125g of [coffee type E].
Assistant weighs out and seals up a bag full. By this point, the queue is covering most of the shop floor.
ASSISTANT: Is that everything?
CUSTOMER: Oh, you've got [coffee type F]! I'll have 125g of [coffee type F].
Assistant weighs out and seals up a bag full. The rest of the queue silently commits murder inside their heads.
ASSISTANT: (still polite, but her mask of pleasantry is wearing thin) Is that everything?
CUSTOMER: Yes it is.

Having finally paid after ten minutes impulse buying half the stock behind the counter, she and her friend left the shop blithely chatting away, the two of them totally oblivious to the grim-faced and forbidding angular mass of quietly seething Leodisians in their wake.

I almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of it. It seemed like the kind of thing that only happens in sitcoms. And I still can't quite believe there are folk around who have genuinely survived well into adulthood with such scant knowledge of basic everyday courtesy and consideration.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 19:57, 14 replies)

I'm trying to work out if the car attracts the character or there's some statistical fluke in my observations
With apologies to Mong Goose who admitted to being an owner of the said motors...

Plenty of times in the manifold motorway journeys I've made over the years you can be overtaking someone in the middle lane by kicking it up to 80 and swooping around in an elegant space-respectful manoeuvre that is all smoothness, delicate touches on the controls and a lack of scaring the shit out of the person you are getting by.

But then you have a BMW 3-series (or a Passat or an Audi A4, typical repmobiles, why they're always German I don't know) zoom up behind you and then sit approx. 1mm behind your rear bumper, waiting for you to move back into the middle so thay can perform what I refer to as the 'BMW Whoosh', i.e. even if you are doing 95 at that point, they HAVE to sail past you with another 20+ mph on top and disappear into the horizon.

So, we have probably all had that, it's not a unique experience. However I suffer from Yaris drivers, who I will always give a massive berth if in the same square mile and especially on roundabouts.

I assume It's because it's a small car so new drivers and old people feel less anxious about parking or some other reason that I have yet to fathom, but the inordinate amount of time I've had to make violent course adjustments to avoid a Yaris a)undertaking b)weaving between lanes without signalling c) cutting up on roundabouts and d)parking like cunts.

Might be just me but blimey, they ALL seem to be twats.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Fri 13 Apr 2012, 19:07, 4 replies)

i drive a honda accord
i also do massive sex and drugs with super models daily

but when i tell anyone they never high five me and tell me i am awesome, they must just be jealous because my dick is so big
( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 18:43, 1 reply)

A special place in hell should be reserved for
those who park obstructing others purely cos they are too lazy to walk another 20 yards.
(localboy purveyor of pisspoor puns, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 18:17, 1 reply)

Anyone
who tries to get on a bus/train/tram before the people getting off have got off should be murdered.
( PMGT -Bacon., Fri 13 Apr 2012, 18:13, 3 replies)

I could just say "School Run" and "Parking" and you'd get the gist
Let me set the scene. Time: 8.30 am and everybody is trying to get to work. Location: A smallish back road between Havant and Portsmouth. A busy roundabout feeds into a tight bend and just beyond that bend are the main gates for a school. There is not a great deal of space to play with, especially for a bus and this particular young mother was about to make it worse.
Mrs Dopeyknickers decides to park her car as close as possible to the gates. Or to put it another way, she pulls up right on the bend, hops out and drags her spawn off to school.
Meanwhile the bus that was right behind her suddenly found the way ahead thoroughly blocked. As did the cars right behind it.
With the way out of the roundabout blocked, pretty soon nobody could get onto the roundabout either.
Fifteen minutes later, a certain young mother finishes chatting to her bezzie mate and saunters back to her car, oblivious to the chaos she had created.
She seemed a bit surprised when her cheery wave at the bus driver was met with a scowl and a suggestion that she use a live hedgehog as a tampon.
May her tits become infested with weevils.
(Big D, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 18:05, 3 replies)

I drive a white van.

(Frample Tromwibbler climbs an obstacle like old people fuck, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 17:47, 3 replies)

not escalator users per se...
but tube escalator users that use the particular kind of hand luggage that have wheels and a handle.

you know the ones - like the apprentarse candidates have when they rock up to the boardroom.

when the handle is used at full extension, these little items of luggage force the person behind to Dice With Death, effectivly trapping them on the escaltor behind the 'carrier' as the escalator rolls the unwary toward thier doom.

bah *shakes fist*
(magictorch, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 17:21, 2 replies)

Queue twats
There are an abundance of twats located in any public place that caters for multiple customers via the modern convenience of multiple cash registers.

Why then, do these twats insist on creating ONE MASSIVE long queue behind just the one.

I take great pride in stunning these mouth breathing toss pieces by walking right past them, and straight to a till with 1 or 2 people in front of me or even better, an empty one.

The best of these situations was when one guy took particular offence to my initiative and told me to get back in line.

Me: "Mate, there are 10 tills here, you're the idiot that's decided to que in the longest lane"

Twat: "nah no no no, get back to the back of the fucking line"

At this point, a polite voice from behind the register piped up:

Voice: Actually sir, he is right, we have 10 registers open, this gentlemen is free to choose any one he pleases, and he has chosen mine.

Upon hearing this, the massive Queue dissipated like a flock of migrating birds.

It was beautiful.

Don't be a fucking sheep, don't join the first queue you see.
And if you join that big queue, then you're a fucking moron.
(Oobla, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 16:05, 15 replies)

You Park Like an Arsehole, Arsehole!
To begin a bus stop is not a parking space, it is, in fact, a place for a bus to pull over and stop, allowing passengers to embark and disembark, not that you'd know that from the HGV drivers passing through my parents village. No they park like the massive twats that they are, sometimes one on each side of the road completely blocking all the traffic and making it impossible to pull out of the T junction from the main part of the village and escape to somewhere more interesting. To really up the levels of twatishness however and to tip me from slightly angry to full on enraged is when you try and ask them to move.

As I was staying with Mummy and Daddy Whiskey this weekend I've had the pleasure of an interaction quite recently. After sitting in my car unable to pull out for nearly 5 minutes I casually strolled into the petrol station to inquire as to whether I could expect to get to the shops that afternoon or if I should give up and go home. This fine gentleman decided to ignore me. And continue to ignore me when I double checked if it was his lorry. And carried on ignore me when I followed him back across the road asking why he parked there when it was clearly a bus stop. Told me to fuck off when I told him he'd parked like an arsehole though.

Sadly for him the village harridan lives behind the bus stop and rather than spending time moaning about the youth of today, like she did when I was younger, she now calls the "how's my driving?" number on the back of the lorries and lets them know.

I don't dislike all lorry drivers at all, just the ones that park in the bloody bus stop, twats.
(anotherdoublewhiskey, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 15:52, 3 replies)

Perhaps too simple I'll admit
But I'd happily watch those who unnecessarily stay in the middle lane of motorways be gassed like badgers.

I routinely drive on motorways during very slow times of the day and some drivers seem afraid of the leftmost lanes, needlessly forcing others into the rightmost lane.
(Chopper3, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 15:51, 5 replies)

Twat Cat
This is a friends story. Said Cat is a twat because its a fish thieving scoundrel and moreover I was going to fit this answer in to whatever this weeks question was regardless of relevance.

Twat cat enters my friends Garden and promptly proceeds on over to the pond to do some fishing. A number of fish have gone missing out of the pond lately so there's now a fence around it to stop any herons, who were getting the blame. The fence has 3 horizontal wires but with the bottom wire removed to allow smaller birds to get to the pond for a drink. Unaware cat is unaware however, because this is an electric fence. Cat crawls through the wet grass and safely under the fence. The greedy little fiend pokes his paw in the water, scouting for the ponds chubby residents. Getting all excited like he is however now unaware of what he's doing with his tail, which brushes the wire behind him. Mayhem ensues as cat shoots 5ft in the air, does 2 backflips and lands on all four paws. In the middle of the pond. Poor thing swims out and sprints out the garden, presumably to go dive on its owners bed covered in pond slime and old leaves.

Maybe I'm the twat for spending all day laughing
(i dont get it tell them a badger got me, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 15:41, 2 replies)

Two for one twattishness...
A couple of years back, my wife and I had popped to the local pub for lunch and refreshment (for her, I was driving and so being a good man/evil corporate consumer opted for famous brand of sugary Cola)

After a rather nice eating session, the pub was filling up so we decided to call it a day and pay, before it got too busy.
Off we go to the till, table-identifying spoon in hand and arrived behind an elderly lady ordering for her table.
Alas, it was either a very large food order or a mortgage application, as we were there for a while. But "not a problem" thinks I, for am well fed, it is a nice day and my mood is good, so I happily wait.

Eventually the order is complete, a spoon deployed and happy elderly lady is off back to join her family. "Who's next please?" asks the man at the till, looking in my direction.

"Ah.." I begin, readty to proceed. But before I can even lift my foot to take a step forward into my rightful place at the till, a shrill voice calls out "Yes! I want..."
I look to my right, and from nowhere a harradrian has arrived at the bar, stealthier than a velvet-clad ninja in a black room, and hurridely shuffles her way along to the till, in a blatant act of queue jumping.
The man at the till smiles the warm smile of servers everywhere and says "Yes love, what can I get you?", and said harradrian proceeds to order a round of drinks.

I look up at the sign over the till that says "Food Orders". Yes, I am definitely in the right place. I look at my wife. Yep, she's in the right place too. I look at my hand. I can see it, so I'm probably not invisible. My wife looks at it too, then back at me with a "what are you lookin at your hand for, you daft twat?" expression. Definitely not invisible.

So dear reader, what do I do? I queue. I do not rant, I do not rave, I do not even protest, for I am a gentleman and an Englishman, with generations of queueing and politeness coursing through my veins. I stand my ground and queue harder than I can remember, an indignant beacaon of How Things Should Be Done, shining against the darkness of the rude and the impolite.

As the harradrian conducts her business and I am busy queueing, another middle-aged lady appears on my left. "Are you in the queue?" she enquires, looking at me and failing to observe my wallet, spoon, coat or infact the general "I am in the queue to pay" aurora that is emenating from me.

"Nay good woman, my wife and I are waiting for the next train to London" I am tempted to say, but looking at her again I realise that 747s fly at a lower altitude than how far above her this snippet would be.

"Yes, we are" I reply with a smile, expecting her to form up behind us.

"Oh, okay" she replies warmly, but proceeds to move exactly nowhere.

Harradrian's business concludes and she starts to move off.
"Next, please?" enquires the barman, waiting for his next customer

"I am!" states the woman to my left, making her way forward towards the till.
This was too much, even for my vast reserve of Gentleman-ness and Patience. I can deal with one person taking their time. I can deal with another person moving down the bar to take the place that was rightfully mine. But the line is drawn at the cheek of someone pushing in who had the brazenness to stand next to me and ask if I was queueing.

Inside, I snap. But again I do not shout, I do not threaten. I simply step forward and say in a pleasant, non-threatening voice "I'm sorry but she's not. We were here first and I would like to pay, please"

The woman looks at me like I've started to publicly masturbate on her shoes. The barman looks at me like I'd admitted to being an acquaintance of Gary Glitter.


"There's no need to take that tone!" says the barman as he takes my spoon and rings up my bill in silence. He grunts as the amount is displayed and looks away in disdain as I enter my PIN. Something inside snaps again, and this time the ancient Celtic blood in me boils forth. "PUT THE SPOON THROUGH FUCKING HIS EYE!" The voice in my head rages. "STICK HIS CARDREADER SO FAR UP HIS ARSE THE WIRE LOOKS LIKE A TAIL! WE'LL SHOW HIM THAT TONE!"

But I ignore the voice. I withdraw my card from the machine promptly and put it back in my wallet. My eye lingers on the five pound note nestling in the rear section (steady there!) I look at the barman's suddenly expectant face, and then down at the small bowl of coins on the bar with a note on it reading "Tips for Staff. Thankyou".

I then have my revenge. The finest, sweetest revenge any Englishman could have in such a situation. "You'll be lucky" I mutter, putting my wallet away and heading for the door, leaving shocked woman and barman behind me.
(CaptnJack isn't really called Jack!, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 15:27, 5 replies)

Anyone that leaves a shit-stain in the toilet bowl
Should be taken outside and shot.

Nothing like having to clear up someone elses crap before you feel comfortable in taking your own
(Apothecaries' weight - I'm a cyborg, but that's OK, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 15:19, 4 replies)