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This is a question Vandalism

I got a load of chalk, felt-tip markers and paint from friends one Christmas in a thinly-veiled attempt to get me involved with their plan to vandalise the toilets at the local park. My downfall: Signing my name. Tell us your stories of anti-social behaviour.

Thanks to Bamboo Steamer for the suggestion

(, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 12:10)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1

This question is now closed.

There was a graftitto of the side on the gable wall of a house -

"Tonight Matthew, I'm going to be Jim Bowen".
I have to say, this made me laugh like a drain every time I went past.
The pure surrealism of that cracked me up every time.

On a wall that was continuouly painted over due to senseless grafitti was -

"Wall...Huh... What is it good for?"

That also gave me a chuckle.
(, Tue 12 Oct 2010, 3:57, Reply)
See that M. Khan?
That's you, that is.
(, Tue 12 Oct 2010, 0:13, 7 replies)
In a town nearby where I used to live
you would often see 'crack iz wack' scrawled on any available surface.

I'm just intrigued as to whether this is a general anti-drugs message or a testament to the poor quality of the produce in the area.
(, Tue 12 Oct 2010, 0:00, Reply)
Cheered me up no end...
The reason I've not been online in fucking ages is because Mr Anodyne and I split up about six weeks ago and O2 Broadband apparently needed FIVE FUCKING WEEKS NOTICE to come and fit it in my new house. Achem. So yeah, we split up. No great loss to me, but shit is decidedly not good between us.

A few days after this happened, he went out with a local girl that he's always got along with, and I never have. She somehow manages to be both spectacularly retarded and an evil, conniving psycho cunt at the same time. His friendship with a crackwhore had been the source of many an argument over time. Anyway, they went out to a club, and she managed to slip three different kinds of drugs into his drink, whilst taking the same herself. When they went back to hers, she had a huge freak out and tried to kill him while he was tripping his balls off. So he manages to get out of her house, but he's really badly hallucinating and freaking the fuck out, and he's hurt. So, at 4 a.m. he calls my Mum and starts spouting gibberish down the phone at her (none of his family live near and they've always been close). Bearing in mind that he has severe mental health issues, she gets up and goes down to his house, where he's passed out on the floor. An ambulance is called, and he ended up in hospital for a week. In short, this bitch drugged him and he nearly died. Even though we'd split up, this was VERY BAD.

Fast forward about three weeks and my friend has taken me out for an afternoon sesh at the local rock pub to cheer me up. It wasn't working very well until I walked into the loos and sat down, only to look at the legend carved in angry, six inch high, letters on the door:


Which I thought summed her up quite nicely, really. I immediately whipped out my phone and sent pictures to everyone I knew. And I smiled for the rest of the day.

I saw her about a week later at the same place and ended up in a massive slanging match with her in the street (classy, I know) and when I called her a crackwhore, she said "How the fuck can I be a crackwhore? I don't take crack!". Like I say, spectacularly retarded.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 21:31, 32 replies)
School, 1990, lunchtime.
A friend and I were eating jaffa cakes the PROPER way. Nibble the edges, peel off the chocolate, then the sponge. When we got to the jammy jaffa bit my friend flipped it in the air like a coin where it stuck fast to the ceiling. It stayed for at least 8 years.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 21:09, 4 replies)
Year 7 Spanish.
At the tender age of 11, I was sat quietly trying to learn Spanish, when I heard a squeal of glee from behind me. "Somebody drew a knob on the frog!" cried one of the boys, his face a picture of delight.

Before the teacher could react, the book was hurridly passed around. The book came to me, I drank in the picture, memorising it's every detail. The perfect shade of green, the little black eyes, the smile with a hint of pride and of course, the massive knob. Muy bien. Muy muy bien!
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 19:45, 1 reply)
Virtual vandal
My music teacher at school was a fat, arrogant tosser, he hated me for not being interested in his subject, I hated him for being so up his own arse.

My friend was dating a girl who sang in school productions, so we used to hang out in the music rooms alot. Every day I'd change the properties so the screen savers would say "Mr Rose is a silly donkey hehehe!" or "Mr Rose is a tosser."

This continued for a few weeks untill he had passwords put on the computers, so my revenge had been thwarted! Then, one day, I saw a goldern opertunity, his computer, already logged in. I changed the "my brifecase" foulder to "Mr Rose's lunchbox". It stated for weeks!
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 18:28, 13 replies)
My mum's a brave lady.
She had just got her position as a trainee art teacher at one of various shite schools in the city. Clinically disabled with an incredibly bad back and other painful problems to boot, getting this far was worthy of some sort of award or recognition. One female student seemed to agree.

One day in one of the many lessons that required an extremely large amount of preparation the girl, apropos of nothing, stood up and thrust her hand into her unused carrying section and ripped out a bloodied sanitary towel. Grasping the item that oozed a red hue she slapped it against the wall, where it stuck silently for some time so I'm told.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 18:10, Reply)
"Big Daves Gusset"
Used to birghten up my journey into London...everyones seen it if they got a train from London Bridge to Waterloo in the 90's (is it still there?)...I'm sure they meant something other than "gusset"..."gooch" maybe...whatever big man, I hope you beat the cocky YTS placement to a pulp with a rubber mallett for giving your gusset such renown.

(edit) heres one image (picture added by request)

(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 18:01, 3 replies)
I drew a big cock on a pink panther
I used to work in a cafe run by a complete tosspot boss whom I mentioned in the thread about crap employers, so I won't bore you with the details again. After I was deprived of wages, accused of things I hadn't done and sacked on hostile terms, I went round simmering.

One day, after a Sunday afternoon drinking session that went on a bit too long, and after a friend pressed a permanent marker into my hand, I wrote "Ben --- is a cunt" on a tram stop near the cafe. I then turned my attention to the expensive advertising sign on the wall outside the place, that featured a cool-looking pink-panther cat lounging on a sofa with his legs spread. I drew a huge cock and balls on the sign, complete with pubes.

Both were still there months later, much to the amusement of the various friends I'd confided in when I got home.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 17:46, Reply)
I live near the River Uck,
the nearby presence of which is proudly announced by a sign on the A22.

The council recently customised that sign by trimming off the space where so very many people had paused briefly on their journeys to goodness-knows-where and added the inevitable letter 'F'.

The river, populated as it is by notoriously mischievous and puerile naiads, rose up and took its terrible vengeance this August by flash-flooding Uckfield station and the nearby Blockbuster Video.

True story.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 17:37, 2 replies)
Teacher smashes up classroom

Kind of feel sorry for the guy...
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 17:30, 3 replies)
Local poachers
On a road bridge near Lord Lambton's estate;

"Pensher woolybacks eat deer"

They did too.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 17:29, Reply)
My pint got vandalised...

(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 17:21, 10 replies)
I have no idea who Tom is, but he had something to do with the construction of our house.

Last year, we decided to remove the crappy wallpaper in our hallway and recover it, ready for painting. As the paper came off, in white spray paint, was the phrase "Tom sucks off donkeys" with a crudely drawn donkey being blown by a stick man.

I had to stand back and admire the work; where as my wife went off to Focus to get some white paint to cover it up.

I would have rather left it alone; ready for some other person to find. Perhaps in a thousand years, Time Team 3010 would uncover them and try and find deep meaning in the words on my wall...
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 17:20, 3 replies)
It is well known
that the East Yorkshire coast is home to the fastest eroding cliffs in Europe.
When I was 15, me and a mate were on a bike ride and arrived at the cliff edge east of Hilston. About 6 inches back from the edge of the cliff was a crack where the next bit of cliff waits to fall into the sea. My mate wedged his heel into the crack and shoved hard. This caused a chunk of boulder clay the size of a loaf of bread to tumble down the cliff and thump onto the (empty) beach along with a load of shrapnel that it had gathered up on its way down.
"That was fucking amazing" we implied. So we began our quest to make the county smaller by systematically doing the same for about 200 yards in each direction.
We then came across a section where the crack ran inland a bit so it was maybe 4 feet from the cliff edge. The crack was quite wide at that point and we sat behind it, trying to shove it with our feet. It moved a little bit but wouldn't go.
My mate wandered off and came back with a big stick he'd found up the track.
He wedged in our ad hoc lever and pulled and pushed and wiggled until it loosened. One good push by us both and a chunk of clay the size of a large sofa toppled very slowly and then rolled down the cliff with a rather loud rumbling, gathering up more clay as it went before landing on the beach with an incredible thump.

However, we then heard an "OYY!!" and a hundred yards up the beach there was a man carrying a load of sea-fishing gear, so we decided it best to get on our bikes and fuck right off. Why he shouted, I don't know. It's not like we almost crushed him.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 17:01, 4 replies)
Scott Marshall is a Bastard
...was a piece of graffiti visible round the back of the Earley (South Reading) branch of ASDA for at least a year round about 1986. So iconic was its status among us that the first album of my friend's band was "Scott Marshal is a Bastard".

To this day, we have no idea who Scott Marshal was, nor why "Rebecca was also there playing plum". Oh, and the band was crap too.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 16:59, 2 replies)
Community service
A friend of mine who shall nameless, was once embarked on community service after a petty incident.

Most of his time he spent the time smoking, clearing nettles, painting schools etc.

Apart from the time him and his fellow ruffians were tasked with removing graffiti using some sort of spray and hose thingie. Anyhoo they managed to remove a certain patch of graffiti and somehow managed to damage three resident parked cars with the resulting cloud of dust, chemical and paint.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 16:21, Reply)
I was a bit goodygoody as a kid....
the extent of my vandalism was flicking wet clay onto the ceiling of the Art room, and wet toilet paper onto the ceiling of the loos.

Since leaving school however, I've vandalised a bloke's office by putting prawns in the tower of his pc. He was my boss, and he was a right bastard. I also glued his phone receiver to the handset.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 16:18, Reply)
Legitimised vandalism
At the same school as my last post in this QOTW (but before being slung out) our headmaster interrupts his normal assembly address to ask for volunteers. Myself and a couple of chums slung up our arms, and were duly chosen for a special task - smashing up the sixth-form pool table, which was being replaced.

Given a selection of hammers and axes, we were told that we could do as we pleased, provided that the valuable slate came off in one piece. We merrily chopped, hacked, stomped, splintered, crunched and smashed our way through the next two school periods until we were left with a pile of woody bits, the coin mechanism (which I took home as a trophy) and the pool balls. The school groundsman came and set light to our pile of achievement, congratulated us (swore), and sauntered off.

Now, given that this great big blaze was on the same day as PE, half-empty deoderant cans were lobbed on the fire as soon as the groundsman turned his back. We were treated to a rippling CRACKcrackCRACKCRACKcrack as they went off in quick succession - broad grins were exchanged. We eyed the faux-ivory pool balls.

On the fire they went.

As we legged it to the safety of a hedge, we spotted the school badboi (innit) saunter up and add his deoderant can to the pile. He must have got the shock of his life – instead of one measly 'crack', he was treated to a juddering calamity of explosions as several of the plastic balls went at once. The other balls went off shortly after - neatly drowning out the headmaster's vitriol-filled ravings as he raced up to Mr Badboi and accused him of trying to blow up the school.

This was fun for, ooh, all of thirty seconds, before I discovered that my warm glow of satisfaction was in fact a slightly on-fire jumper.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 15:45, 1 reply)
Pool is the future
CPR Regeneration is an Urban Regeneration Company set up to help redevelop Camborne, Pool and Redruth in Cornwall. They have put up a massive sign.


Every couple of weeks somebody will paint over the L so it reads Poo is the future. This is so unsubtle that its sorted within a day or two. However for a while now some amusing edits have gone unnoticed. As you can see in the picture, Poo gives birth to new beginnings and Everything is possible in poo.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 15:30, 9 replies)
I vandalised my cat by playing Japanese techno so loud that it was sick.

Does that count?
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 15:30, 3 replies)
Not really vandalism as it was sanctioned, but there's nothing quite like
Knocking down an old wooden shed using nothing but sledgehammers.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 15:13, 8 replies)
Sending dogs deaf.
Its the mid-eighties, and Playstations are still a twinkle in a Sony engineer's eye. Thus, we had nothing to do, and no money to do it. So an evenings entertainment would be to go up the local council tip located deep in a wood on a country park,and with matches nicked from our parents, set fire to the accumulated council rubbish.

Occasionally, you'd find some aerosol cans that we'd delight in exploding, or some weird pots of solvent that would burn funny colours and make you feel pleasantly scoobied should you get too close. However, one otherwise unpromising Sunday afternoon, we discovered a great, great thing. A huge fridge,its white body crying out for a pyre to be built beneath it. Which we promptly did, lit, and retired to a mound high above it where we could safely observe the inferno.

It quickly started making weird whistling noises, and seemed to vibrate on the flaming branches below it. We were ecstatic, but then terrified as a man, walking a tiny shaggy mongrel, came walking out of the woods close to the tip.

He seemed to be non-plussed, and carried on walking, but the dog lingered, curiously sniffing at the flames. We tried to throw sticks at it to scare it off, but they fell short, and just as it seemed to be contemplating moving on, there was a huge explosion, a blue fireball ten feet high, and the fridge door blown at an acute angle into the forest. The shock wave was enough to make me nearly lose bowel control, so that poor dog must have been hit hard. Still, it ran off alive, albeit looking terrified and yapping manically.

We thought little of it until the following Thursday, where the local free paper had as its headlines 'PARK ARSONISTS DEAFEN DOG', followed by the heart rendering tale of how 12 year old cross-breed Sammy had been permantly rendered deaf by evil teenage arsonists.

Thankfully, a friend bought an Atari ST, and my energies were diverted from canine-maiming arson to more sedate, sedantary pass-times. Still feel terrible, though.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 14:48, Reply)
Dean Lewtas Grass!
This headline, daubed on the walls along Salford train lines, was a daily fixture on my train journey to work in Manchester years ago

I've no idea who the guy is/was or what he did to gain such notoriety as a fixture of the graffiti laden walls of Salford & Manchester but unless he was running a viral marketing campaign for a landscape gardening business... then it seems clear to me that the people of Salford/Manchester harboured a serious grudge
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 13:51, Reply)
Banana skin/school pearoast
In about 1972, during a little pre-class skylarking, I used a ruler to catapult a banana skin across the classroom.

Instead of hitting my mate square in the face as intended, it flew upwards and wrapped itself around a metal roof girder. We were on the top floor and the room had a high pitched ceiling so I couldn't possibly reach it.

I spent the lesson in awed fascination, waiting for the skin to slip off and land on the teacher's head immediately below.

It didn't though, not that lesson or the next or ever. It stayed on its beam, growing blacker and more shrivelled as time went on.

Years later I visited the classroom when my own kids were pupils there and saw the banana skin, painted over but still recognisable to those in the know. Well, me. Never told a soul.

A few years after that during renovations the roof was boxed in, probably to improve insulation, ensuring that the 'nana skin will remain undisturbed forever.
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 13:43, 2 replies)
JuAn Iz GAb
In year 11 (last of high school), I was prefect of door 2 in B block. It was the maths area of the school and me and my friends patrolled it with a decadent nonchalance, letting past pretty girls and denying toilet access to younger/weaker kids depending on our mood at the time. There was meant to be 2 of us but we ran it mob handed by allowing our non-prefect mates to hang about there too.

One fine schoolday me and Paul, for that is his moniker, decided it would be hilarious to leave a chalked note on the tiles beneath the windows for a friend who would soon be heading for maths when the bell tolled. Depleted in numbers today we left Graeme to keep watch while we both proceeded up to the maths room on the 1st floor.

Paul and I took turns to hang out the window and write the very witty and cutting "John is gay" message 1 story up. Obviously when break finished, everyone would walk past and upon seeing this their knickers would know moisture and much hilarity would be had at John's expense. We would of course protest innocence and become cult heroes of the playground, whispers of our daring feat echoing the corridors for years to come.

Pleased with our handywork we headed for the stairs only to see two Valkyrie's marching towards us, no somethings wrong....these werent beautiful maidens come to take two battle hardened warriors to a better place, they were two math-teaching harpies on a path of destruction and ruin.....namely right for us.

Our hands still chalky we were being frogmarched towards door 2, straight for the headmasters office in A block when the bell rang. At least our prank would be bitter-sweet, the pain of discovery mixed with the howls of laughter as we're taken to the firing squad.

Daylight spilled onto our faces and we were not met with the expected wall of laughter and cheers, but instead bemusement. A lot of people indeed had seen our scribbles, and they proceeded to ask one another, what does "Juan Iz Gab" mean.....?

Writing upside down is not as easy as you think when hanging out of a window
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 13:27, Reply)
Dont get him angry.....
Just when I thought I had nothing of any importance to add something happened yesterday that I think is worth entering in this week’s QOTW.
My son is in a football team and as such I have had to say goodbye to things like a weekend lie in bed and will spend many a Saturday and Sunday morning stood at some park in the arse end of nowhere watching a team of kids slowly learn the rules of football.

While his team has only just got together there are a number of other teams in the league that have a long team experience and also more fanatical parents that will sap most of the idea of the game and spend their time yelling at the fruit of their loins to “play better or will be walking home”*. One of the aforementioned teams turned up this weekend when a fleet of cars arrived carrying a team of kids wearing a green kit and squad of parents wearing the accompanying training tops and long football coats in matching green and black. Upon closer inspection I also saw that each car had its own team car sticker in the back too.

Turns out that the matching dressed parents was one of the only highlights of the day with our team being beaten 8 – 0. Our side took it all in good spirits and chalked it up as one to learn from. We were then approached by the opposition manager who requested that we should have another game as the team had travelled a fair distance and some of the strikers believed that they could get their goal tally into double figures.

Rather than be pissed off at being classed as a pushover team our manager agreed and after a quick break we started again. To make a long post a little bit shorter the team my kid was on seemed to, well, play like a team and managed to win the game 1 – 0. Satisfied with the win our team all cheered and met up at the centre half to shake hands with the opposition and settle down for a team talk before packing the kit up. The idea of fair play wasn’t on the agenda for the opposition keeper though.

Allegedly this little tyke had not been beaten so far this season and letting a goal in had hit him pretty hard. He had at first started to cry about it but after the final whistle went he flew into a rage. The little sod started kicking the goalposts until the plastic support for the netting cracked and fell out of place and then grabbed one of the corner flags and pitched it into the nearby waterlogged ditch. The mini hulk decided that his final target was going to be our teams refreshment stand and charged toward that screaming. Thankfully one of his family members grabbed him before he got anywhere close to the place (I was actually stood at the stand drinking a cup a soup and flirting with a few of the mums that ran the place- I was totally oblivious to the little buggers path of destruction until afterwards).

I did get to see the little spawn of the devil being dragged to the car by his parent while he thrashed around and managed to dint a part of his parents car bodywork while being bundled into it. As we were packing up what was left of the pitch and fishing the flag out of the nearby ditch our teams goalie said something that I found quite amusing; “Imagine if I did that every time I let one in. We wouldn’t have anything left”.

Why the hell do parents push their kids like this and why do they let them cause such damage before trying to stop them? (The parent that grabbed him was sat behind the goals he was in and willingly let him break the posts and throw the flag into the sodding water before doing anything). Apologies for length

(* True remark said by a bloke who genuinely meant it- the fact that the team was away and this meant the poor little sod would have to trek a good few miles didn’t seem to phase the stupid parent)
(, Mon 11 Oct 2010, 12:59, 4 replies)

This question is now closed.

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