Kind of taken the attention away from me.
The Royal baby has been born. My child is due in 8 days, it is still too hot to sleep and I have water retention in my feet and lower legs, I get spontaneous heart burn and my last day at work is this Friday. Want to experience unreasonable cruelty, try being my partner for the next few weeks.
(Free pens 100, 101, 102 is still counting on, Wed 24 Jul 2013, 4:46, 9 replies)

There was a girl in 3rd grade
called Sonia Kotcheff.

We called her Pissonya Cutyacockoff.
(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Wed 24 Jul 2013, 2:51, 1 reply)

Cruelty is always unreasonable. If it's reasonable it's justice or S&M.

( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Wed 24 Jul 2013, 0:18, 1 reply)

Think of this next time one of you delicate flowers calls a Waaambulance over internet bullying in QOTW
there was a girl at our primary school. she was a little bit fatter than the rest, though not really fat. She had glasses, and an Eastern European name, though she was born in the same country as the rest of us.
When she would have been seven years old, some kids started calling her Bogga, and if Bogga made any physical contact with you, you then had the "Bogga Germs". the only way to get rid of them was to touch somebody else to pass on the Bogga Germs. All through the day, at assembly, in PE, kids, including myself, would go to great lengths to avoid being touched by her. This went on all day, then every other school day for the next 4 years until she moved to another school.
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Tue 23 Jul 2013, 23:06, 4 replies)

Something about a pencil sharpener over someone's head.
Can't really remember it properly.
( Slippery Mick ‏, Tue 23 Jul 2013, 19:00, 3 replies)

I leave the toilet seat up.
Fuck the lot of you.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Tue 23 Jul 2013, 18:13, 8 replies)

Oh yeah....
I petitioned successfully for numbers to be put on the back of buses so you know exactly which one you've just missed.
( Muns, Tue 23 Jul 2013, 16:52, 5 replies)

Glaswegian.
I knew a slightly mental Glaswegian bloke who, for no apparent reason, emptied out his brothers shampoo bottle and replaced it with Immac cream the night before he had a job interview.

They did do stuff like this to each other all the time though, his brother once managed to superglue his mobile to his head by smearing it with glue, then calling him from the phone he'd 'borrowed' from his better half.
( Muns, Tue 23 Jul 2013, 16:52, Reply)

sometimes the devil in me gets out
and I go to the 5 items or less till in Sainsbury's - but with as many as 8 items!!! They tick me off and I promise not to do it again - BUT THEN I *DO* DO IT AGAIN!!!!!!
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Tue 23 Jul 2013, 16:13, Reply)

sometimes the devil in me gets out
i'll see that someone is running for the bus and i won't tell the driver haha, and he just drives away
( The Doveston haunted by the memory of his own amnesia, Tue 23 Jul 2013, 16:07, Reply)

Sometimes the devil in me gets out
If I ever get in the cashier lineup in front of some Armani suit wearing ponce I have to pull out my pouch of small coins and slowly count out what I owe.
(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Tue 23 Jul 2013, 13:14, 14 replies)

Once
I put on some music I quite liked in the presence of another person who, as I was fully aware, was less enthusiastic about that genre of music than I was.
( .Yeti., Tue 23 Jul 2013, 11:43, 10 replies)

I once went to the zoo.
In the primate area there was a massive cage containing all different kinds - you could say they were 'mixed apes'!!!!!!!!!! Starwars
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Tue 23 Jul 2013, 10:50, Reply)

the internet i bullied got upset but i didn't care and bullied it more

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 23 Jul 2013, 8:57, 2 replies)

.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Tue 23 Jul 2013, 1:37, 20 replies)

This
www.b3ta.com/board/10985509
( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Tue 23 Jul 2013, 1:12, 2 replies)

b3ta.com/questions/questionsyoudliketoask/post2023278
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Mon 22 Jul 2013, 18:44, 4 replies)

We showed him Narnia. Sort of.
A bunch of years ago when I was a teenager, I had stayed the night with a couple of friends. The guy whose home we had invaded with our funny-smelling mid-adolescent angst happened to have three younger brothers, two of whom were well behaved kids who we could get along with.. The middle one, however, was a sniggling little goblin. Their mother was going to take us all for their regular grocery shopping, as she needed the help of we strapping young lads to do the heavy lifting and with dad at work the young ones had to come along too. The other two got dressed right quick; The middle one threw off his shirt, dropped his pants down about his ankles and ran around screaming like a manic chimp. I knew what had to be done. I scooped the little bastard up and passed him to friend No. 2, who dragged him to the top of the short staircase and stuffed him upside down into a clothes hamper. He had me hand him the roll of plumbing tape from the counter, and we sealed it closed. Then from the back of the room came Big Brother with a full-on head of steam, punting our dastardly sarcophagus off the landing and down the 5 steps into the living room, thus securing our first class tickets to hell.
(Chikarasaurus n; A very powerful laxative, Mon 22 Jul 2013, 18:26, 2 replies)

alright Happy Phantom

( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Mon 22 Jul 2013, 17:29, 6 replies)

You know what's really cruel?
Making baby lizard people wear human skin suits just so they'll be accepted as our heads of state.
( Muns, Mon 22 Jul 2013, 16:31, 8 replies)

Cruel, Cruel Summer.
I pushed a drunk into a really stinky pond on Saturday night. Not unreasonable, he deserved it.

I once got a giant blind South African man to piss on a bar because the landlord had said something sarcastic to me. Sarcastic or insulting, I forget.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Mon 22 Jul 2013, 16:31, Reply)

How is royal babby formed?

( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Mon 22 Jul 2013, 13:54, 16 replies)

Anybody enjoying the cricket this morning?

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Mon 22 Jul 2013, 12:34, 34 replies)

The Zone
I went to a boarding school. Yeah, I know, bumming fags in the showers who burnt your toast, very funny. One of the ways in which the school attempted to "give back to the community" was to run a charity fair every November, at which each boarding house would be tasked with providing some kind of paid entertainment, with the profits going to a worthy local cause. On the one hand this promoted leadership and entrepreneurial spirit among the boys but, honestly, its true value to the school was that it soaked up a lot of idle hands in painting "Soak a teacher!!" signs and constructing rat-whacking tubes, which would otherwise have been vandalising school property or, frankly, lifting cheap lagers in the pub.

The top earner at the fair was always the raffle, for which one dull but eminently profitable house had been granted some kind of unofficial monopoly, but attaining second place was a hotly contested challenge which many boys took quite to heart. The year before I started, my house had offered "put out the candle with the water pistol" which, due to a lack of advance experimentation, turned out to be so easy it actually made a loss. The following year, we did a rowing machine challenge which very few people were energetic enough to actually pay for. It wasn't going well.

The following year was time for a shake up. One evening two senior boys were tooling around the corridors on their usual bedtime-enforcement rounds, armed as was the custom with rolled up copies of The Sun. While causing actual injury was generally frowned upon, landing a good whack with the masthead, leaving !AHCTOG or similar imprinted on an arm or a trouser leg was usually enough to send all but the hardiest of tardy first years scampering for the safety of their duvet. It also had the satisfying side effect of being quite the stress reliever for strung-out A level students.

Discussion between the prefects had turned to the charity fair and what kind of activity teenage boys might pay money to enjoy when one of them, it remains unclear exactly who, looked down at the paper staff in his hands and was struck with inspiration. Rolled-newspaper gladiatorial combat.

The school's theatre studio was promptly booked, for a "performance art installation" according to our housemaster, being perfectly proportioned and having a suitably dramatic entrance corridor which we resolved should be almost unlit to heighten the anticipation. We collected "safety equipment" in the shape of pillows, which were to be strapped to competitors with two of the fattest kids' belts, and two plastic helmets, stolen from the housemaster's children and labelled inside "NOT SAFETY EQUIPMENT, FOR PLAY ONLY". We installed as many strobes as my mates could "borrow" from the theatre supplies department and Ollie the mad Swiss exchange student was recruited to play the loudest German techno in his collection. And, yes, much time was spent crafting the large, blood-spattered sign welcoming all comers to... THE ZONE.

In the days leading up to the big event all newspaper recycling stopped and piles of copies of The Times and its brethren started to build up in the common room. On the night before we stayed up until the small hours rolling, taping and cramming into plastic bins the glorious weapons of traditional schoolboy combat. As we worked, excitement grew - this was going to be the ultimate, the break-out event of the fair. We speculated on how, many generations hence, we would be lauded as heroes for inventing the greatest stall that charitable school events had ever seen. Occasional bouts of "product testing" were broken up by industry-oriented prefects, determined to take the raffle down. We weren't going for second place, we were going to own the afternoon.

The fair opened at 11am. I was one of the first to try out the experience, and went in with Arthur, a good friend against whom I bore no malice. I had pillows strapped to me front and back, the helmet placed on my head and was handed a rolled paper which I noted with some satisfaction was a good broadsheet of considerable density, probably rolled by an older boy.

The first blow caught me by surprise with its ferocity. The disorienting blare of "Eins, zwei, Polizei" made the flashing, oppressive room into some kind of personal hell, like being waterboarded with sound and light and I hadn't had time to get myself ready. I struck back, catching a sideways impact on Art's arm and pillow, so hard the newspaper sabre bent halfway down. He caught me on the head and the helmet immediately cracked, pinching my face on the rebound. Bastard! I smacked him in the face, then whirled it around and got him in the back of the knee, making him stagger backwards. He clocked his head on a supporting beam and dropped like a sack of rocks. I was triumphant, but he was faking, rolling over twice to strike me in the midriff right below my trusty pillow and knocking the wind out of my lungs in an instant. I felt myself falling away from him, stumbling in the flashing darkness as I attempted to stay upright, then as I saw him rush in for the kill I managed to swing at just the right moment and connect with his shoulder, a glancing blow which simultaneously moved him sideways and pushed me in the other direction, right into an open store-room door. Or maybe one of Olly's speakers. I don't know, all I know is it hurt like a bastard and I was having the best time of my life.

Anyway, after about 60 seconds of this we were pulled apart by force, stripped of our frayed swords and safety equipment and bundled out of the door, blinking in the bright autumn sunlight. Outside, The Zone had been open barely fifteen minutes and there was already a queue. By noon the line was round the side of the building and into the quad and people were actually blocking other stalls to queue for THE ZONE. This continued all day. Adolescent boys' thirst for beating the shit out of their mates had far exceeded our wildest expectations.

In the end, sadly, the profit just wasn't there; we only had so many hours in the day and, even though we were busy all day, with a two minute turn around time it was just impossible to make all the 50ps add up fast enough. A brief experimentation with a higher fee nearly caused a riot from those who'd been queueing for the lower price, and putting people in more than four at a time made getting in to break up the resulting brawl almost impossible. It was a brilliant business plan, exploiting the inexhaustible resource of schoolboy violence, and held back only by the limitations of practical reality.

Out of over 1,000 pupils I think only a small minority didn't visit THE ZONE, even if it was just the viewing gallery, and for days afterwards talk was of little else. Those who'd braved the plastic helmets bore cuts on their faces which were worn with pride. We thought we were the arm-baring guy out of that speech in Henry V. "THESE SCARS WON I IN THE ZONE". It was, of course, subsquently banned by the school and never happened again but there is a small slice of the UK population who will never forget that glorious day when entrepreneurship overtook the authorities just long enough to prove that when it comes to physical violence against each other, teenage boys have no limits.
( pineapplecharm D d M Y, H:i, Mon 22 Jul 2013, 11:51, 4 replies)

I think that they way the Mods pick or poor little rory is unresaonably cruel
he provides a public service holding up a terrible mirror to the liers, cheats and grief whores that skulk around QOTW.

Really you should thank him.
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Mon 22 Jul 2013, 8:55, 55 replies)

alright?

(alright alright, Mon 22 Jul 2013, 8:14, 10 replies)

Poor Skippy.

( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Sun 21 Jul 2013, 20:48, 3 replies)

Not being able to tell the boss to fuck off or buy a house until you're 50.
Cheers, Dad & Mum.
(SSSSSSSSSS, Sun 21 Jul 2013, 20:32, 84 replies)