There I was working hard, studying, to make something of my life.
When all of a sudden, New Labour got in, fucked everyone's pensions, encouraged the mother of all mortgage debt, encouraged everyone to piss away 20 grand on a media degree, and sycophantically took up with the Yank's idea of a Police State based on some "War of Terror" predicate.
Then the ConLibs did fuck all except kick the can down the road and avoid too many mass riots, hoping not to be elected next time so that Labour, for once in their history, would have to deal with the consequence of populist chequebook incontinence.

And you're putting up with it. You cunts.
(SSSSSSSSSS, Sun 21 Jul 2013, 20:12, 24 replies)

I was making irish coffees for people one day at my flat
When I suddenly had a idea of a great joke to play on my flat mate.
I filled the bottom of his large mug with very thick gravy.. then carefully created the irish coffee on top of it, lots of whiskey and cream to hide the fact it was sitting on an inch of thick bisto.
I placed it on the sideboard next to where he was sitting and sat back to wait...
10 mins later he picked it up as it had cooled down and took a massive slurp... "this is really nice" he said.. then took another slurp...this is where the whiskey cram and bisto fountained from his mouth and nose across the room...

Later he shot me with the BB gun on my ear as I fell asleep in the front room
( The invisible ham Fig rolls are the best, Sun 21 Jul 2013, 15:32, 4 replies)

Late nineties, backpacking through Nepal.
We spent 9 days trekking in the hills outside Bharatpur. If you’ve never visited Nepal, it’s a stunningly beautiful country, but extremely poor – the rural areas especially so. And take it from me, genuine Nepalese cuisine (as opposed to the Westernised version) is nothing to sing about . So hiking all day with only the local delicacies to look forward to can be a fairly dispiriting experience.

One particular favourite is ‘bhat’, a kind of stewed rice and grain porridge flavoured with locally foraged herbs, moss, yak’s milk and whatever the fuck else they can find to put in it. Worse, to make it go a bit further they massively overcook it to allow the herbs to ‘brew’, then water it down to a thin consistency and drink it out of mugs or bowls. Pretty soul-crushing when there’s nothing else on offer.

Another common myth about Nepal is that it’s bollock fucking freezing the whole time. When you think of the place you imagine snow, sherpas and toes lost to frostbite but parts of it are actually fairly warm all year round, and pretty fucking hot in the summertime (we were there in July, and it was 30+). Despite this, they insist on serving steaming hot mugs of delicious bhat all year round, regardless of the weather.

Long story short, after a long day’s hiking I’d have chewed off my own arm for a cold beer, but all we could get was unseasonable gruel tea.
(Joy Division Oven Gloves Death to false metal, Sun 21 Jul 2013, 14:27, 6 replies)

This is going particularly well.

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Sun 21 Jul 2013, 11:40, 25 replies)

We warned him. But did he listen?
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Wavy lines.

Our young hero is sharing a flat in the pub/nightclub district with 2 beautiful sisters - Madge and Morgana. Things are great - Mandrake (Mandy as in Patinkin), the elder sister's boyfriend works away in "Kal" and has a lovely habit of turning up on the doorstep every few weeks with a shit-load of pot and a few nice cartons/bottles of piss.
Madge, the older girl is a design student and spends a lot of her spare time baking "special" choc-banana cakes for when myself and her younger sister (Morgs) arrive home from our respective day jobs.

Anyhoo... Madge and Mandy decide to tie the knot. Sweet - lots of pissups, a wedding with lots of her attractive friends and best of all Mandy and I get to spend more time "bloke-ing it up". Mandy leaves it to a couple of his mates to organise the bucks do. Which they decide to do the night before the nuptials.
I take Mandy aside one pissy Friday night - "I don't want to piss in your pocket in any way, shape or form but..." I tell him. Doing his stag-night the night before he gets hitched is bad on so many levels.
Least of all, all the blokes under 50 will most likely be still pissed or hungover. Then there's the shenanigans.
Now Madge and Mandy are by no means traditional and Madge understands that there is a certain level of shenanigans to take place (at least the same amount that might have happened at her hens night a week before the wedding). But and it is a big one - Madge want's Mandy to turn up sane and sober on his wedding day. I had my doubts that Mandy's mates were going to comply.

On the night we got very, very, very drunk. I once again warned Mandy about the 'night before the morning after' issues. Which fell on deaf ears. I left them at a late night sushi bar eating raw fish off the bits of a lady that some people suggest smell like raw fish.

I got woken up (fuzzily) about 0600 with a reverse charges call from Mandy from Kalgoorlie. Apparently he'd passed out and his 'mates' had stripped him and managed to bundle him onto the Overlander on its late night run into the middle of fucking no-where.

I bought a ticket for the early morning train from Kal and woke up the girls. I told Madge that Mandy had been taped to a lamp pole and had a hiccup with the cops, and that he'd crashed at a mate's that I knew but no one was 'driveble' to drop him off for at least a couple of hours.
Madge and Mandy only *just* managed to get married by their celebrant on time.

The knife twist.
I got all Mandy's mates to sign a card. I also charged the ticket to Madge's card (it was the only credit card we had in the house - given to her by her parents "for emergencies"). I got the bill for the ticket and put it in the card from Mandy's mates.

Some might say a small mercy.
Me I still say - if you're dumb enough to get married the day after your bucks night, expect the unexpected you stupid motherfucker!
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Sun 21 Jul 2013, 9:35, 21 replies)

not sure if this counts
but there was a very stupid boy in my class at school. I managed to sell him fuzzy little pussy willow catkin things as pets. I told him they were In the pupal stage and would soon emerge as poisonous fighting butterflies. when he came to me 2 weeks later to tell me nothing had happened, I told him they'd obviously died due to his mistreatment of them.
I did feel guilty watching the tears well up in the poor little fucker's eyes, but not for very long.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 20 Jul 2013, 18:58, 10 replies)

I like to water my plants with ice cubes

(DingoChavez I will be good. I will be good., Sat 20 Jul 2013, 13:15, 14 replies)

I used to have a blacksmiths dog called Fido,
If I kicked him in the head hard enough, he would make a bolt for the door.
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 21:14, 82 replies)

I heard that b3ta mod Scaryduck, has very long fingernails.
Poor Fido :(
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 20:39, 3 replies)

Box of Broken Kittens
Taking a walk with two friends, we came up to a roadway, and noticed a family of motherless kittens on the other side. We started cooing at them, which just encouraged them to come upon the roadway. Suddenly, we realized we made a terrible mistake. Three vehicles quickly raced by and unceremoniously smashed the entire family.

What to do? The kittens weren't dead, but we were far from home, so we scavenged a cardboard box, tried to arrange the shattered kittens as appealingly as we could under the circumstances, knocked on the door of an unsuspecting family's home, and receiving no answer, simply left them on the door step.

(Admittedly off-topic, but admittedly cruel on unsuspecting family.)
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 20:30, 1 reply)

Death of a Facilities Support Unit
As some of you may already know, during one of my incarnations, I held a senior position within a large organisation. One year, after a merger, we inherited a substantial number of the other organisation's staff. This included Tim, an autistic fellow with a speech impediment and significant learning difficulties. He was a nice chap, but almost completely useless: because of his speech defect, he couldn't answer the phone; he was terrified of using a computer; and couldn't handle any but the most menial of tasks. The other company had employed him as part of their Diversity Plan and used him for filing, which he was admittedly quite good at; however, we already had enough filing clerks, so Tim had no role to play in our organisation. Senior Management were all for making him redundant, but I thought of a way we could retain him, and - once I'd explained this to them - they agreed to my plan.

So one day I called Tim into Meeting Room 2.2 and sat him down to explain his options. He could either accept redundancy and take three weeks' notice, or remain in employment in a brand new role with reduced pay as a Facilities Support Unit. This role would involve acting as various inanimate objects as and when required. Each morning, when he came in, he would need to report to the Facilities Office, where he would change out of his normal clothes into a body-stocking, and then be stored in a cabinet until he was required. When required, he would be taken from the cabinet, and used. I had to explain this several times to get past Tim's learning difficulties, but, once he understood what was required of him, he accepted. He had little choice - the alternative was unemployment, and, in this economy, who would employ such a one as Tim?

The next day he duly reported to Facilities and changed into the body stocking. I then showed him to the cabinet where he would be stored. It was a beauty: a pearl grey metal Triumph Metrix double-door model with fully-welded carcass construction for increased strength and stability, wardrobe-sized, just big enough to accommodate a person standing up. Tim stepped inside as I reassured him that the casing was scratch-resistant and anti-static. As I began to close the door he said, "What if I need to go to the toilet?" I smiled and said, "Inanimate objects don't need to go to the toilet", and closed and locked the door.

His first task in his new role was at a meeting where I was not present, so I heard about it from a colleague who chaired the meeting. The meeting room (1.3) didn't have a coat and hat stand, so Tim was required to, er, stand in. So he was fetched from his cupboard and told to stand, arms outstretched, in a corner of the room so people could hang their coats on it - I mean him. This he did, and he stood there for the entirety of the two and a half hour meeting, laden down with half a dozen coats (including a couple of heavy overcoats) and with two umbrellas inserted between his legs. I was quite impressed by his performance so went to Facilities to congratulate him. I opened the cupboard and Tim's gleaming eyes stared out at me blinking in the sudden light. There was a strong smell of urine. "Well done Tim! You're settling in to your new role very well." I then closed and locked the door and walked away. Did I hear sobbing? I think I imagined it.

A few days later we had two important clients turn up for a visit, but all our meeting rooms were booked so they had to use the break-out area, which had plenty of chairs but no tables. No problem; Tim was brought out and deployed as a table, kneeling on all fours between the two clients so they could rest their papers, laptops, cups of coffee etc on him. This wasn't a complete success - papers and laptops were okay, but Tim's back wasn't too level so there was some spillage of scalding hot coffee. I therefore requisitioned a section of appropriately-sized hardboard which could be strapped to Tim's back next time he needed to be used as a table.

The next task was even less satisfactory - in fact it resulted in disciplinary action. One afternoon we had an emergency all-staff meeting and despite using the biggest room (1.1) we ran out of chairs. A colleague went to get a chair from another meeting room but I intervened, and so Tim was fetched and deployed as a chair, again going down on hands and knees so that the delegate could sit. This worked very well indeed, until, an hour into the meeting, Tim's lisping voice was heard to splutter loudly, "This isn't much fun for me you know!" I apologised to all present, and bent down to order Tim to remain silent or face immediate dismissal.

Tim did stay quiet and after the meeting I took him into Room 2.2 for a quick chat. "What the FUCK did you think you were doing?" I shouted at him. "Chairs don't speak!" He started crying so I kicked him, hard, on the shin. He fell to the floor and started wailing. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, you CUNT" I screamed. "Chairs don't make any sounds AT ALL!" I kicked the chair next to him. "See? Nothing!" I spat on the chair and kicked it again, harder. "I can't hear anything - can you?!" His sobbing had subsided and he had crawled into a corner of the room and curled up into the foetal position. I loomed over him and hissed into his ear, "Chairs don't make any noise. I am going to hurt you again, and then spit on you, and you are NOT going to make a SOUND. Understand?" He just stared up at me through a face full of snot and tears. "UNDERSTAND?" I bellowed. He got the message and nodded, choking back another sob. So I kicked him in the stomach a few times, grabbed and savagely twisted his ears, stepped on his ankle until I could feel the bones start to crack, and then spat copiously in his face. To his credit, he remained completely silent through all this. I then helped him to his feet and shoved him limping from Room 2.2 back to his cupboard. After I closed and locked the door he banged and bashed from the inside, and I was worried that he might damage the cabinet, but the good people at Triumph Storage know their stuff, and soon the clamour subsided. I then went to the toilets for, yes, you guessed it, a well-deserved power wank.

I don't believe we treated Tim - I mean, our Facilities Support Unit - too harshly; well, not until we deployed it outside as a cycle-rack in mid-January and it contracted hypothermia and expired. Took us ages to get another one.

TL/DR - fuck off you lazy cunts, go back and read it.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 20:25, 11 replies)

Some re-posts...
I think these fall under the remit of this week's question:

www.b3ta.com/questions/sayingtheunsayable/post1830292

www.b3ta.com/questions/thenaughtystep/post1863191

I have another - I'll post it when I've finished tweaking it to make it suitably wacky and excruciating.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 19:29, 1 reply)

All I did was feed a few peasants.
I may have turned some water into wine also.
Fuckers nailed me to a fucking cross!
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 18:50, 9 replies)

I find it terribly cruel that The Mock Turtle has me on 2.0.
I must be missing out on loads of top Internet.
( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 18:04, 13 replies)

The Ashes.

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 17:38, 8 replies)

I have a firend who is a massive fan of a band from the 80's who had overwhelming success
in the US of A and indeed Bristol. This friend went to as many of this bands concerts as possible and the money they spent on merchandising was frankly ridiculous.

One day he appeared at work with a new necktie and on that tie was an image of the lead singer Robert Smith. How much I asked. £150, it's silk!"

I thought it an unreasonable Cure tie.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 17:35, 5 replies)

Custard Factory Birmingham.
The Custard Factory in Birmingham was home to the Medicine Bar, it used to put on Drum and Bass nights and the like.

In the centre of this venue was a big pool, with bars either side and the main room where the Dj's played and people danced around in a mass of swinging chins. For big events this was sometimes drained and used as a dancefloor.

Occasionally you would see scallies throwing unsuspecting ravers into said pool.
( Slippery Mick ‏, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 17:01, 1 reply)

The fountains in Nottingham's market square.
Before the square was redeveloped there were two fountains in front of the council house.

On occasion someone would fill these with a bottle of washing up liquid, leaving nothing more than a mass of foam until the council had them cleaned out.

Sometimes, people would climb in to the fountain to cool off on a cool day, using it as a giant paddling pool.

The victim in this story was on a stag weekend, he had stripped out of all of his clothes and climbed into the fountain, which fortunately had received the fairy liquid treatment and therefore protected his modesty. He was prancing about, acting the fool for the amusement of his friends who were drunkenly encouraging him from the steps of the council house.

Unfortunately, he had neatly left all of his clothes in a pile on the edge of the fountain. This meant that an opportunistic Chav, reasoning that his wallet was still in his trouser pockets, ran from the onlookers, grabbed all of his clothing and proceeded at speed down a nearby street.

The victim looked a little crestfallen and just sat down in the fountain to the sound of his 'friends' pissing themselves with laughter. They fucked off to Yates when a few police on beat arrived.
( Muns, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 16:33, 1 reply)

Not in your league but...
Not the usual School time taunts although I never inflicted any cruelty at school but did a corker a few years ago on Facebook. I friended an old school pal who is now an occasional theatre player and had always got on well with him. He is friends with another school pal who I did not get on with at all well at school. Dan would taunt me endless about my accent, physical build, mannerism, lack of friends etc - you get the picture and being of slight stature there was little I could do. Fast forward 30 years and the actor friend had a show coming up so I wished him well by saying "Break a leg" on his Facebook page.
To my utter amazement Dan added a comment along the lines of "Oh yes Pat, good luck, what ho, kiss kiss Hope you do well, love you" and so on, exactly how he used to mock me all those years ago. What did I do? Well I deleted my comment so it appeared as tho Dan had promptly wished Pat a very gay good luck. Pat then replied "Oh thanks Dan, kissey kissey to you too", etc and a very gay reply at that.
Browsing Dans FB page a day later and I saw a post about how he thought it was about time he lost weight and how he couldn't believe anyone could hold a grudge for 30 years. Not long after he pulled his FB page. I hadn't held any such hatred for him but found it absurdly amusing that he had relapsed into his school bullying with the first sight of my post, so I kept my cool and thought of the most vulgar way I could manipulate his riposte. Which I thought was fairly cruel.
(luckylife , 0 guests and 3 bots are online, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 15:41, Reply)

I may have mentioned before that I do occassional security work.
This is generally quite tedious, until summer arrives, at which point in time it becomes a series of weekends away at music festivals up and down the UK. At one of the larger UK festival a call comes over the radio from a fairly bemused response team.

The victim had a lobe extension, what this effectively is, is a ear piercing that has been stretched and a hoop inserted to give a clear opening. Sometimes these are a few millimetres at most, sometimes they're wide enough to fit a can of redbull through.

Someone completely unknown to the victim approached him and after a brief conversation, then said the following "You know what would make a cool picture? If I was to padlock you to that fencing through your ear!"

The victim agreed that it indeed would make a cool picture. The protagonist produced a padlock from his pocket, they approached the nearest fencing and he was duly locked to it through a lovingly stretched hole in his flesh.

The protagonist unfortunately didn't stick around to take a picture. He didn't even release the poor sod. Instead, he just fucked off and left him.
( Muns, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 14:43, 25 replies)

Can you all please just stop goading Misery McUglywife. It really is unreasonable cruelty.
He's running out of effective responses and 'zingers' while at the same time trying to convey an air of nonchalance, and it's really embarrassing to read.

Countdown to 'zinger' in the replies begins now...
( The Great Architect is still waiting for his account to be deleted on, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 14:35, 5 replies)

My own memory is an unreasonable cruelty, The abiltiy to recall the obsolete rubbish and dwell
in the past. The heartbreaks, the breaking of hearts, the success and then the great Humpty Dumpty style fall. Oh misery me.

That and all that bad stuff I done to people, like making them eat raw vegetables with aioli or other such dips. The unreasonable crudité that I have inflicted.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 14:34, 2 replies)

My mate has seventy pepper grinders and over a hundred salt cellars.
His kitchen is unreasonably cruet-y.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 14:26, 2 replies)

Condeming someone to misery, for . . . well, nothing as far as I can see.
We had a girl at our school who for some reason became the object of everybody's scorn. She was the benchmark for anything nasty - "Hah, your Mum is uglier than [girls name]" - "Yeah, so I shit myself in PE, but you love [girls name]", etc.

I have no idea why, she was fairly normal as far as I could see, but I joined in as enthusiastically as anyone else.

I was browsing friendsreunited a couple of years ago, and found she'd registered. She said something to the effect of "Yes, it's me, the one you all hated. It took me 10 years to get over it, but I'm finally happy now'.

I idly wondered what she smelled like nowadays.
(username failed moderation, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 14:06, 1 reply)

i bullied an internet once

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 13:55, 14 replies)

High voltage
Capacitors come in a wide range of shapes and sizes. When I was about 12 I would charge them up to a few hundred volts and either persuade my sister to pick them up, or throw them to her so that she would reflexively catch them. What jolly japes we had then.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 13:30, 6 replies)

once, many years ago
I was in the bath, with an erection, but didn't really need a piss.
long story short, I accidentally pre-cummed into my own mouth
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 13:20, 1 reply)

To go with lemon juice story. And I am nicking this because I wasn't there but I know all involved.
Three chums were many years ago enjoying summer sunshine at one of their houses. These chums all blue eyed and two of them blonde, in fact one strawberry blonde with the palest of skins, well not albino pale.

The blondest one concerned with his easily burnt skin asked the mother if she had anything to protect them. "Oh yes, I have olive oil."

For whatever reason, perhaps bowing to the superior years of experience they all agreed to a nice coating of olive oil. How they enjoyed the sun with the certain knowledge of UV protection. Well, the blondest one was nearly hospitalised and the others were cooked lobsters.

I say hats off to you Wendy, you always thought the blondest one was a bit up himself.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 13:01, Reply)

As a littl'un, about 6 or 7 years old
we used to hang about and ride our BMXs in a gravelly lane behind a friends house. One day someone came off their bike at speed and scraped practically all the skin off his forearm.

He did the whole 'I'm a grown up and don't cry' breathing, wincing and lip-wobbling thing when an older girl, probably about 16-ish came running up with a bag of shopping. 'Bloody hell, are you OK? I've got something for that in my bag' she says and promptly gets out a plastic lemon full of lemon juice and squirts it all over his arm.

She then ran off up the lane laughing while he screamed his fucking head off. I imagine she's in prison now for poisoning people's pets or something.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 12:40, 2 replies)

I am ashamed to tell this story but it is true.
In about 1992 I locked a chap in some girl's larder because he was annoying me on LSD. He went completely mad that night and has as a result never worked in his life. He is effectively a vegetable and I am at least partly to blame.

He was being very annoying though.
( wanderlust, Fri 19 Jul 2013, 11:54, 12 replies)