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This is a question Twattery

Nigella Pussycat says: Tell us about utter twats doing remarkably twatty things. Or have you ever done something really twattish to a friend, loved one or pet? In summary: Twats

(, Thu 12 Apr 2012, 13:30)
Pages: Popular, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.


(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 23:47, 2 replies)
Buying Cars Twattery
To accompany Tesco Quality's twattery a couple of posts down.

The missus' little Micra recently failed its MOT fairly spectacularly. '17 hours of welding' was mentioned, at which point we flogged it for £150 to the slavering mechanic who - if I read him correctly - was actually LOOKING FORWARD to spending an entire waking day with his torch in his hand.

And off we went on the second-hand car trail. Being the conscientious husband, I had a scout round some local yards and press in advance, and presented wifey with a shortlist on Saturday morning.

We went about it astutely and by mid-afternoon had put tentative ticks by a few of them. Our final stop was the car yard close to our home, where I had seen a five-year-old Ford Ka in decent nick for under £3,000.

A swift test-drive and tinker under the bonnet later, and we drove back to the forecourt where Mr Twatty Dealer was hanging around smirking with a couple of his twatty friends. I kicked off my bargaining position with:

"Sorry, mate. Not for us."

The chap looked genuinely amazed.

"Why not?"

"There's cold start damage, the alternator's packed up, it needs a new clutch and new front brake pads, front tracking is off, the crankshaft rattles at low revs, and the stereo's broke"

"Oh. Really?"

Fuck's sake! Had this man actually so much as set foot in the car he was attempted to sell? Well, yes, of course he had. He'd very kindly put £1:20 worth of petrol in it and changed the pine air freshener for our test drive.

I started the engine. Immediately the crankshaft started clanking about like Douglas Bader in a washing machine.

At this point, one of his mates chips in.

"Nah, mate. All Ka's make that noise."

"No they don't."

Sales technique number two not having gone according to plan, Mr Twatty D comes back with an offer that will almost certainly lose him money. Yes...LOSING money - a whole new way of life for people in the sales business:

"Er...if I fix all them problems, would you take it?"



"Bye, then."

"Want to give that Citroen a test drive?"

"No thanks."

"Why not?"

"It's 10 years old, has 140,000 on the clock and is an automatic. Plus, Citroens cost a fortune to service."

"Automatic? Really?"

We left at that point before he fell into genuine danger of losing the intellectual assets of his business to his Golden Retriever (who was very sweet and friendly, by the way).

There's no twat like a car salesman twat. Even if they are sometimes a pathetic twat.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 23:41, 6 replies)
Going underground.
The Tube. Oh gods, the Tube. I know it's a pretty easy target in this context, but I swear TfL must have a giant warehouse of twats that they dump at a station every morning and allow to percolate through the network just in time for everyone to be trying to use it. In fact, the only reason the Tube shuts overnight is so LUL employees can go round with monkey nets rounding up all the twats ready for the next day of inconsiderate twattery.

(They're pretty easy to track. You just follow the unmistakeable sound of the International Shit Music Podcast played too loud on the dire pair of headphones Apple bundle with all of their devices.)

It's got to be official. One of those old Victorian byelaws of the type that get wheeled out for man-in-pub-esque "Did You Know?" newspaper articles during silly season. A statute that every Jubilee line train must have one person who sits in their seat right up until the moment anyone else tries to get on, at which point they get up to test the limits of adherence to the "let people off the train first" rule. Mandates on the percentage of people determined to stand in the middle of the vestibule despite the empty corridor beyond (99%). A rule that no matter which way someone moves to let other people off at the station, there will always be just that *one* who has to shove past in the opposite direction. It's just too perfect, too regimented, too one per train carriage to be mere accidental, everyday twattery of the sort enjoyed above ground.

I can see this actually. A committee of 19th century mutton-chopped gentlemen gathered in the club puffing at pipes debating whether every station needs someone trudging endlessly up and down the stairs with a piece of wheeled luggage the approximate size of a VW camper van (as described in the popular science fiction of the time), or whether just the ones which are really, really busy will do.

So yes. For this question, I nominate those bastard secretive Victorian cabals who made the rules. Twats. Monocled, sophisticated twats, but twats nevertheless.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 23:00, 1 reply)
The fucking idiots who stand in doorways

(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 21:05, 14 replies)
Selling cars twattery
Recently sold a car, tax and mot up soon, advert says sold as seen, spares or repairs only due to mot expiry impending.
Sale made and receipt signed, sold as seen, spares or repairs etc etc.

Twat then phones up a week later to say "Oh, car is really fucked, clutch is knackered and theres **millions** of things wrong with it. I'm going to sue you for misrepresentation and sale of a unsafe car... blah blah etc."

Explained to twat that he had bought a car second hand, is nearly 12 years old, test driven it, signed a receipt to say sold as seen, spares and repairs, etc, so please fuck off and annoy someone else.

The car was sold for £600 by the way, but I then got a letter (which I may just scan and pop on here for shits and giggles) with the worst grammar and spelling imaginable, declaring that the car was a deathtrap, and needed over £800 of work doing to it.
However, if I paid for half of it, then he would drop the ***IMPENDING*** court case, as he has consulted a solicitor, the police, DVLA, etc etc.

My letter, quite simply back to him (fair enough, I'd had a few scoots round some motoring forums) was in the happiest of fonts, the Comic Sans Serif.
In big letters.

(Just to be a twat, of course.)

"I refer to your letter dated 17/03/12. You bought a car which was sold as seen, fully inspected and tested, for spares or repairs. You signed a receipt to this fact that I will produce at any, as you state, impending court case.
In this instance, I will refer to you to the reply given in the case between Arkell vs Pressdram (1971). That is all."

What the fuck is wrong with people? Why do people think they can just have something for nothing these days, then expect people to pay for their total and utter fuckwittery?

(Surprise to say, since my reply, I've not had a reply back.)
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 20:50, 10 replies)
when i was still a young ASSASIN, i used to be an outrageous twat. When my freinds told me to mellow out i just became even more of a twat.when i was at my freind peter's (cause that's his names ) sleep over i put clingfilm ove the toilet.Next morning:
We stopped being friends after that. i wonder why? Still, he was a great friend and i still miss him from time to time.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 18:24, 4 replies)
One evening
I was tootling along a B-road behind a learner driver. After we'd passed out of a 30 zone and into the national speed limit zone, and onto a straight road, I decided to overtake him. I pulled out and began overtaking. As I got to half a car length in front, he started accelerating, which meant I had to.
We both increased speed in that position all the way up to nearly 60 before I had to slow down and pull back in behind him, upsetting the car that was behind the learner.

I wasn't going to let it go. I'm never one for road rage, as in at all. But this seriously ticked me off because (a) it was an incredibly dangerous thing for him to do, and (b) that poor kid was paying £20 an hour to be told to pull a dangerous stunt like that. I followed him to where he dropped his pupil off, then went over and had a word.

The instructor was a bit argumentative at first, until I started quoting the law at him (which I got Mrs SLVA to look up on her phone) after which he went quiet. I then said I was going to report him to the DSA and then told the kid to find a better instructor who knew what they were doing and wouldn't get them killed.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 17:47, 1 reply)
Noel Edmonds


that is all...
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 16:53, 10 replies)
Old Neighbour
The guy has a massive thing about being able to park infront of his house. To the point where he would ring on doorbells and shout abuse until people moved their cars (or called the police)

I think the worst thing he did was refuse to move either of his cars to make room for his next door neighbour's herse.

Although I did discover that enough layers of urine over a long enough time period strips paint from cars.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 16:23, 3 replies)
Vagabond's post reminded me
I once worked in a casino, got the full roulette/chip handling training. There were a few airheads working there, including a guy who used to indicate that he found something funny by saying, "Lol!"

(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 16:16, 6 replies)
spolier twattery
Got a text from a friend asking me to go see Saw at the cinema. I had just seen it the week before.

I replied: No thanks. Seen it already. The bloke in the middle of the room isn't dead and he did it.

I don't get invited out to the cinema all that often now.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 16:09, 6 replies)
Telesales people calling from outside the UK
What sort of company is happy to try to take money off you yet when you ask them for details of their business (as you want to make a complaint against them via the TPS) they put the phone down - scummy companies is the answer.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 16:06, 2 replies)
not mine, thankfully
i met this particular little turd when my mate started going out with him. the fact that he deliberately picked his nose before attempting to shake my hand(his idea of high humour)didn't exactly endear him to me. he was an arrogant and aggressive prick, so i kept my distance from him.
a few months later, i ran into my friend at the shop. i invited her to come to my house for a cuppa, but she told me she only had 5 minutes to get home or there'd be "trouble". i didn't like the sound of that.
after that, i tried to meet up with my friend at least a couple of times a week, just to check up on her. it wasn't long before his twattish behaviour was revealed to me.
he would:
make my friend light his cigarettes, then burn her with them if she hadn't been fast enough
spend all of his money on booze, fags and gambling, forcing her to pay all household expenses out of her money*
allow her one hour to do the shopping, reporting her to the police as a "vulnerable" missing person** if she took any longer
tell her his doctor had forbidden him from walking(a total lie), which meant she had to do all the household chores
spit in her face if she answered him back.
there's a lot more, but i'm getting wound up just typing this.
i didn't try to intervene, because i knew her well enough by this point to know that, no matter what i said, she'd stand by him. she did, too. you just can't help some people :(

*the money had been bequeathed to her by her late father. the twat boyfriend worked his way through £17k of it in one year.
**she had learning difficulties and had had a social worker as a child. apparently, this made her vulnerable.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 15:36, 6 replies)
the man
who knowing the lift doors are closing

runs and opens the lift doors up

gets inside and presses for the next floor

Edit: or woman for that matter...
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 15:02, 1 reply)
Mrs Vagabond (and therefore I do as well) has a flamboyantly gay friend
who says "Oh. Em. GEEE!" when very excited.

Should I:

A: A cunt him right in the fuck, thereby risking Mrs Vagabond's not inconsiderable wrath?

B: Tell him he sounds like a twat saying it, meaning he'll say it more around me deliberately?

C: Let him continue?
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 14:55, 23 replies)
I spat out a baby
and now men keep nagging me to shave.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 14:39, 2 replies)
ubergeekian reminds me...
Two or three times a week, I go for a swim. I'm not the fastest person in the pool - and I've never once managed to do a racing turn without coming close to death - but I'm faster than most, even if it's not by all that much.

The pool is divided into lanes: there's usually a couple of slow lanes, a couple of medium, and one or two fast lanes. I tend to go into the fast lane, where I'm faster than some, but not as fast as others. Fair enough: if you can overtake, you do; and if you get to the end of the pool, it's only polite to look over your shoulder to see if there's someone catching up with you whom you should let pass. The system usually works well.

But sometimes... well, sometimes, people don't get it. Like the guy who was in the fast lane, happily sculling along feet first about 20m from the end of the pool. Not only was he slow, but he wasn't even keeping to the correct side of the lane - he was kind of in the middle, which made overtaking difficult.

I took a breath and swam beneath him; then I finished the length, and did the 50m in the other direction. On the return length, he still hadn't finished sculling his way to the end, and I had to overtake him a second time - this was slightly easier, as brownian motion (it can't have been his own effort) had moved him to the edge of the lane. But by now he was nearly at the end of the pool, and my goggles needed adjusting, so I waited for him.

Maybe he simply hadn't seen the sign that said which lane this was. I thought I'd drop him a hint.
"You do realise that this is the fast lane, don't you?"
He had a slightly faraway look in his eye, and smiled beatifically.
"It's OK," he reassured me. "You can overtake..."

I did not kick him in the face next time I passed him. But nor did I try very hard not to.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 14:26, 7 replies)
Three wheels on my wagon
I have a confession to make: I used to be a Reliant Robin driver. Yes, I know, not exactly the height of coolness, but they have two important features: 1) you can drive them on a motorcycle license, and 2) you can buy one for less than the cost of a full tank for most other cars. I never minded the jokes and insults, in fact I collected them.

And they are nippier than they look, because they're light - about 450kg all up. So while their top speed is laughable -- about 85, though anything over 70 is an "interesting" experience, about as relaxing as owing money to someone whose middle name is "the" -- they do have decent acceleration. It's possible to leave people standing at the lights, which is fun, and a guaranteed way to get a certain kind of driver really, really annoyed. Somehow, they think that it's an insult to their manhood to be burnt up by a plastic pig.

My favourite was a guy towing a caravan. He was doing a steady, reasonable speed, maybe 55 or 60 mph. No problem to overtake. But as soon as I moved back over to his lane in front of him, he sped up, indicated and passed me - simply to drop back in and slow down again, once he was back in front.

This happened three or four times; every time I passed him, he'd try to get back in front. Clearly he was insulted by the thought of my shit-brown (apart from the mismatched yellow door) little pig having the temerity to think it would ever be allowed to be in front of him. Naturally, our speed began to creep up each time. By the fourth time he re-passed me, we were approaching 70mph, and the caravan was rocking and fish-tailing, threatening to turn over - but still the idiot had to get back past.

In his foaming, wheel-biting rage he clearly hadn't seen the police car which was now in front of me, and which he also had to pass in order to complete the manoeuvre. It's safe to say they weren't impressed as a caravan went past bouncing around like a toddler on espresso.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 14:09, 15 replies)
Some people just reinforce stereotypes.
I was northbound on the London to Yorkshire Motorway, the other week, heading to my home near where the Bodmin to Mansfield Road crosses the Newcastle-under-Lyme to Mablethorpe Road. Anyway, I pull into lane 2 to allow someone to join from a sliproad. I go to move back to lane, only to me surprised by the very same someone undertaking me at a fair rate of knots.

Stereotypes? It was a BMW...
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 14:06, 1 reply)
Sorry Robin*
Burnley - 1987. Having just started at college, and found a pub, conveniently just down the road which would serve me and my colleagues beer, proceeded to enjoy playing Pool and generally having a good time. Not long afterwards, came some meeting at school for all the leavers, I don't recall the reason why ex-pupils and parents had to return to this, but we did. So I went.

I bumped into Robin*, let's call him, who had gone to Blackburn College to do the same course as I had started. Like Burnley, Blackburn had their own Prime Minicomputer, which students used for programming exercises, [and in our case at Burnley, storing BBC games on so we could play them from the BBC computers which we used as terminals to the Prime.]

Robin gave me his account details at Blackburn. This was his first mistake.

We'd discovered, at that we had access to a nascent network client for connecting to Prime computers at remote sites, called Netlink.

So, using Robin's account details, we successfully logged into Blackburn's Prime and had fun for a few hours talking to students there and spooling large files to what we thought was our printer at Burnley.

Except it wasn't, it was a Printer at Blackburn. We only had 1 Printer at Burnley, but at Blackburn, they had 2. All our prints were spooling to the System Administrator's printer.

Clearly, he wasn't very happy about this, and first pulled Robin into his office for a proper bollocking about "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Robin knows nothing of this, it must have come as a hell of a shock to him to face getting kicked off his course because we were remotely arsing around.

Blackburn's Sys-Admin got on the phone to Burnley's Sys-Admin, a small but formidable dark-haired pitbull of a woman, called Denise. Now Denise had a temper at the best of times, but in this case turned positively incandescent with rage and stormed into one of our spod-labs determined to find out who'd been perpetrating cyber-anarchy.

No-one admitted anything, which of course sent her from "livid" to "volcanic"..

No-one was ever singled out or punished, but afterwards Denise watched us like a hawk and would suspend account logins if people even simply cleared their screens when she walked into a room.

Of course, similar things happened again when we took a visit to Lancashire Polytechnic. The difference being that in that case, they volunteered remote login details to us.

So, sorry for being a twat and almost getting you kicked out of college Robin...
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 13:59, 1 reply)
I nominate myself.
for many reasons, but one of them was that I bought a spanking new pressure washer 2 weeks ago, which was about 2 days AFTER Thames water had announced a hosepipe ban would shortly come into effect.

They are now saying it may last until Christmas.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 12:52, 7 replies)
The Rude Not Chilled Peckers.
A bit of context 1st.
A few years ago I worked as a cookie for a catering company. We did the meals for the talent performing at our city's Entertainment Centre. I helped prepare the meals for quite a few famous people and also for the hundreds of local klingons who appeared each week to quaff wine and munch canapes with the glitterati.
One week we served up a meal to an internationally famous band prior to them going onstage. I wouldn't say I liked them but having partaken in a few of their "pub anthems" and the fact that 1 of them had some Aussie roots - we were keen to impress.
After the show the chef, myself (as sous) and even the dishpig were requested to join them in their dressing room.
"This was it" we thought. Slurping cocaine infused Cristal out of the navels of the most expensive escorts that Perth had to offer with some genuine rockstars, eating diamond-encrusted oysters out of the labias of the local supermodel-wannabes & ending up being the chef-de-partaaay to the stars.
We were in!
We went up.
No broken furniture, no drugs, no hookers. Just said band eating our meal of steamed fish, rice and vegies as they sucked down bottles of the local sparkling mineral water.
Mutha-funking, sheet box, pies-taking wonkers!
I read Scar Tissue a few years later and weeped.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 12:33, 8 replies)
so apparently some vegeterians insist that their dogs and cats be vegeterian.
That's very twattish.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 10:42, 12 replies)
playing 'who am I'
Last xmas at my parents house.

each person had to write a name on a piece of paper and stick it on the forehead of the person next to them. My dad was next to me.

So for his 'famous person' i put

"just say no"

It went on for hours, my dad was adament he would get it sooner or later.

3 hrs after the game had finished he was still walking around the house (being careful of mirrored surfaces so he wouldnt get clues) I remember him doing recaps of

"so Im not a man, not a woman, not an animal, not on TV, not alive, Im not a celebrity, not a child, not a cartoon character.... (ponders)

...am I a computer?


We kept it up for hours...
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 10:41, 14 replies)
Swimming in lanes is not difficult
You go up one side, across the end, down the other, across the end and repeat. If someone is going slower you wait for a convenient moment and overtake. If someone is going faster you help create that convenient overtaking moment. When everyone knows what they are doing and acts with a bit of courtesy it all goes swimmingly (ha ha) even with quite a range of speeds.

Unfortunately, every pool has its twats. Normally these are old, fat or both and they are almost invariably slow. They will. not. be. overtaken. under. any. circumstances. and they will go to considerable lengths (ha ha, again) to obstruct anyone faster than them.

Yes, fat man with the muffin top and the blue earplugs who wobbles his way back and forth along the medium lane at Dalry Pool in Edinburgh at 7.30 every morning, this means you. The two old dears with the yellow and white swim caps aren't much better.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 10:27, 3 replies)
IKEA twattery
This year, after years of ignoring Valentine's Day, I decided to make the wife something for this Halmark holiday. Making something is not only cheaper, it makes you look like you thought about it and gets extra brownie points.

For part of this creation, I needed a box frame. A quick google revealed that IKEA had exactly what I needed and, by a stroke of luck, I had to go to a meeting just by Warrington IKEA.

So I nipped in after my meeting, bypassed the showfroom and grabbed the frame I wanted, heading to the chekcouts as quickly as possible, lest I get tricked into buying a load of shite I neither need, nor want. Whcih is what normally happens when I got to IKEA.

When I get to the chekcouts, there are three open, with somewhere in the region of 30 people waiting to pay for their trolley-loads of tat. There were self-service tills open, which no-one was using, but I didn't want to use them, as I wanted to pay cash so my wife wouldn't notice I'd been to IKEA without her.

So I joined the back of one of these queues. At the front of the queue were two just past middle-aged WAG-wannabes (who I later notcied had parked their X5 in a disabled space, with no sign of a blue badge). They had a trolley each and were gassing away as the checkout bloke scanned one trolley load. Once everything had been scanned, the first harridan started to pack. Once she had finished packing, she started looking for her credit card.

"Fuck this", thinks I and I walked past all the people queing and said to the second old bag and said "'scuse me, love. I'm only buying this one frame and I'm paying cash, can I just jump in front of you?"

She looked at me and said "No".

There was a proper commedy collective intake of breath from everyone in the queue and the checkout bloke let go of the frame in my hand - he'd assumed she'd say yes and had started to take it off me - and said "sorry mate, nothing I can do"

I then started trying to decide whether to just walk to the back of the queue or to work me way along, asking each one if I could jump infront of them, when the bloke stood right behind the woman I'd asked said "'ere y'are lad, get in front of me".

I said "cheers mate", to which he replied "twat". Seeing the shocked look on jmy face, he said "not you, her". Said twat then turned round and looked at him incredulously, to which he said "Yes, you. Twat."

I could have hugged him.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 10:20, 13 replies)
Another list post
People who stop and have a good look around as soon as they step off an escalator.

People who don't indicate properly on roundabouts.

The mate of a mate of mine who got convicted for two very violent rapes and trafficking underage girls for older blokes to have sex with.

The knobhead Chelsea fans who refused to observe the minute's silence before Sunday's FA Cup Semi-Final.

People who refuse to live and let live when it comes to religion. In my experience, the atheists are worse than born-again types for this.

People who don't park straight in spaces in carparks.

People who walk along side their trolleys in supermarkets, instead of pushing them from behind.

People who can't chuck rubbish in bins and decide just to drop it wherever they are stood / walking. See also: people who don't clear up after their dogs.

ACAB types.

Those mental "My team is the best, your team is shit. This is the truth, I won't hear any different" football fans.


The Welsh.

Anyone who participated in last summer's riots.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 9:49, 19 replies)
Affluent, self centered, judgemental internet twats
I've been here less than a week and I've already had to deal with my fair share. Most of you have been very welcoming though - thankyou
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 8:21, 10 replies)

This question is now closed.

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