Now visible on Google earth.
About 20 years ago* I was playing waterfights with my brother and then step-brother. We lived in a newish detached house with garage attached, and the garage roof was attached to a small overhanging ledge on the front of the house.
One of my tactics was to jump up, catch the lip of the overhang, and climb onto the roof of the garage -- from there I could drag up a bucket of water, which could either be dropped on my brothers or used to fill a bicycle pump to be used as a "water shotgun".
On one occasion as I pulled the bucket-on-a-rope up I felt my left foot sink quickly, and it was only my youthful quick reactions and agility that kept me from falling off the roof. It turned out I had put my foot through the flat roof of the overhang in front of the garrage.
Now, I should point out that I was the only one capable of routinely climbing onto this roof, because my brother was too short and my step-brother too rotund.
So, I said nothing to anyone and, amazingly, to this day nobody but me knew about it (now you do).
The other week I went on Google Earth and found the house -- the roof still hasn't been repaired, as can be seen from the aerial photo and, if you know to look out for the signs of damp, the street view pic too.
I'm half tempted to send an anonymous letter to the current owner, or even send them a few quid.
*well, between 18 and 21.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 17:46, Reply)

This sprung to mind.

(Generator cannot be named for legal reasons, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 17:45, Reply)

when i was about 7
There was a sycamore tree near my house that I used to climb up a lot. One day, I went about 20 feet up and with the aid of a sharp stone, scrawled the word 'tIT' into the bark of the trunk. (in that lower/upper case style).

I was worried sick for about a week afterwards in case I got found out. I was nearly going to go back and scratch it out but then I thought "what if someone might see me and tell on me". But as days passed into weeks, I realised I wasn't going to get into trouble afterall and that I'd gotten away with it.

That was 30 years ago. Last year I was in the area and remembered about it, so I went back to that tree to see if it was still there. The tree was, and barely legible were my scratchings. It also wasn't 20 feet up either, it was more like 6.

I got out my keys and re-scratched the word in again, and added an 's' to make it plural.

I may well go back in another 30 years and add another even ruder word like 'willy'.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 16:27, 2 replies)

Two years ago, I moved to Plymouth for university
It is a wonderful little city which, due to it's history, has earned itself the title of "The city of discovery".

So, two years ago, when I left my home town with all my possessions packed into the back of my dads corsa, I knew I'd made the right choice of new home when, on crossing the city border, I saw a sign that read "Welcome to Plymouth, city of disco".

Beautiful :)
( SugarSpunSister Yeah, whatever, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 16:27, 8 replies)

An ad for Whiskas, way back in the late 80's,
showed a cat looking up with the slogan "What makes his eyes light up". Underneath someone had scrawled "240 volts".
(GingerIrishTosser isn't dead yet., Fri 8 Oct 2010, 16:26, 1 reply)

Criminal mastermind
Bank robbery might be taking the definition of anti-social behaviour rather far but stuff it. Some friends and I were walking down Catford High St (south London) one saturday evening around 6pm. The place was absolutely packed with shoppers and, although it was winter and already dark, really well lit. In other words the last place you'd want to be doing something you don't want anyone else to see. Like, for example, if you were a boy of about 14 trying to crowbar open the doors of a bank. None of the many, many people passing anywhere near the bank could have failed to see him which is possibly why the police turned up so quickly. Our budding Raffles was concentrating so hard he didn't see them until the last moment and was swiftly aprehended.

We had a bit of a nosey at the doors on the way back. They were massively thick wooden things and his efforts hadn't even left a scratch. In fact it looked like nothing short of a small nuclear device would make any impression on them. I'd love to know what he was going to do if he got in - perhaps he'd not been in a bank before and thought the money was just lying around?
(purplelizzie, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 15:52, 2 replies)

When i was very much younger...
About 14 or so, back in the mid-80's, and at school in a small town, we used to do the usual routine of hanging around in the evenings and getting drunk on cheap cider and thunderbirds in a graveyard. To liven weekends up, we used to have an informal competition on fridays, where we all chucked a quid or so into a pot, and the person who stole the 'best' thing and bought it back to the graveyard just before the offy shut got to spend it all on booze.

It started off relatively innocently enough, with garden gnomes, traffic cones and the odd roadsign etc, with the stuff usually even getting put back at the end of the night, until it got out of hand.

One evening, i came back (with something like a sack of spuds in a wheelbarrow, or something equally pointless like that) to find that someone had stolen an entire, freshly laid turf lawn from some poor sod's garden, and re-laid it neatly on the car park that backed onto our meeting place, complete with table, chairs and an umbrella. That made me take it up a notch.

The final straw, after which we had to call it off, was when i was prowling a building site, looking for something interesting, and noted that some dozy prat of a builder had left the keys still in a lovely, bright yellow JCB. Seeing a golden opportunity to win a bottle of cheap vodka, i decided that'd be good for a win, started it up and swiftly learned to drive it. Badly. Very badly as it turned out, even for a 14 year old, JCB's are bloody complicated things to drive.

After driving it through through the fence, and onto a road, i got it all the way to the car park, trailing bits of chainlink fence, before not managing to stop it in time, and embedding three feet into the graveyard wall. After that, we had to start meeting somewhere else, as that car park had a police car sat in it for weeks afterwards...

I won the vodka though, and for years afterwards, was known as 'the guy that nicked the JCB'.
(dieselmonkey, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 15:52, Reply)

Workplace vandalism
I work in retail hell and plastered all over the walls in the break room are posters filled with stuff for us to say on the shop floor to increase sales. One of these posters has gaps for sales staff to fill in answers to questions they may be asked eg. "do you have this in a different colour?" etc. I noticed that both the printed questions and answers were riddled with grammatical errors and spelling mistakes so I spent 5 minutes correcting them with a felt tip.
At the next team meeting the store manager asked who had defaced a 'perfectly good poster' that she had spent a while filling in for the benefit of shop floor staff. Oops...
(justgirl, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 15:44, Reply)

In Stratford
about a million years ago there was a massive sign saying "Jubilee line extension", at the end of which someone had written "up your mum's fan-hole".
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 15:42, Reply)

don't think it actually counts as vandalism
and i haven't done it yet, but i will, next month.

my plan is to buy many poundland gnomes and sneak them, under cover of darkness, into peoples' gardens, just to surprise them, or possibly freak them out.
let's see if it even makes the local paper, eh?

EDIT: GNOME DAY, NOVEMBER 20TH. CHECK THE CALENDAR OR GAZ ME FOR DETAILS
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 15:23, 8 replies)

Potential future Darwin Award winner
A similar story to one in the lucky escapes question but will hopefully make someone smile. A lawyer I used to work with told of a rather special man (why is it almost always men?) they'd prosecuted who had thrown a manhole cover through a large shop window just for sheer vandalism's sake - he didn't even plan to take anything. The reason he was caught was because, on stepping back to admire his handiwork, he fell down the hole he'd just removed the cover from.
(purplelizzie, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 15:14, 3 replies)

Aged 15
I decided one bonfire night that it would be a good idea to see what would happen if I were to douse a box of fireworks in petrol and ignite the soggy result in a red telephone box by throwing a flaming box of matches through a smashed pane. It was, to say the least, spectacular. So much so that we were all still standing there in open-mouthed shock when the police arrived. As I was of previously good character they weren't initially going to do anything but when they considered that this took place about ten metres from the station from where I had bought the petrol they eventually gave me a written warning, which I still think was a result looking back.
( routine has perfected burgers, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 15:09, Reply)

Standing outside the pub one evening,
probably about 20 years ago, I bet my friend a tenner that he couldn't throw his pint glass over the house on the other side of the road. Without a word he took a short run-up and launched the glass with all his might. It smashed just above the front bedroom window. The lights went on and a few seconds later the window opens and an extremely pissed off-looking gentleman leans out and exclaims something along the lines of "What the fucking hell do you think you're fucking doing? We've got kids in here asleep you fucking idiots". My friend looks at me and says "Double or quits?".
( routine has perfected burgers, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 14:57, 3 replies)

Not my own work
The sign at the entrance to the village says "Please drive slowly".

Creative removal of the 'r' and 'v' from drive ensures that it now reads "Please d i e slowly".
(Bad Monkey hasn't had an abusive gaz since, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 14:49, 6 replies)

Lit up like a Christmas tree
My Dad's cousin lives a short walk from my parents, and has a small raised bed at the front of his drive where it abuts the pavement. There's a couple of dwarf conifers in there, and, each Christmas, he hangs a string of fairy lights around them. Very twinkly and pretty they are, too.

My parents have this tradition of inviting everyone they know around for mulled wine on Christmas Eve; when I was a student in the mid-to-late-90s, I piggy-backed this tradition, and each year would invite my schoolfriends around prior to going into town to get leathered and try to get off with people celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ ^TM.

The doorbell rang, and my mother answerd it. Standing there were my friends R and O, already a little worse for wear. (I've mentioned O here before - and this may have been a prelude to the sluggy events of this post.) Both were a picture of politeness, and Mum was - as ever - plesed to see them both. But she did ask O to remove the traffic cone he was wearing as a hat before he came in. (Notwithstanding that it was only one of the small yellow ones, he must still have had a neck like an ox.)

R and O shambled into the living room, and greeted the other guests - among whom were my Dad's cousin and his wife. Someone complemented O on the string of fairy lights with which he'd bedecked himself, and asked him if they lit up.
"Oh, no," said O in a fit of alcoholic honesty. "I just sort of grabbed them from someone's garden down the road here..."

Well, that killed the atmosphere.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 14:05, 1 reply)

Not me, but my high school
It used to be a tradition at my old high school for the seniors to do a senior prank. Generally, these were harmless and fun, like turning a hallway into a beach or the student center into a rave club. The class ahead of mine was the last one to do it. They planned to turn the school into a farm.

Why were they the last to do it, you might ask?

Because they were all morons who showed up to prank the school while drunk off their asses. Apparently they wanted to put kiddie pools of fish around and turn one floor into a hayloft.

When the rest of us showed up to school, we found:

Over 1,000 fish in kiddie pools around the school. 700 weren't moving.
6 eels in pools
Hay everywhere
About 8 extremely upset chickens
And about 15,000 dollars worth of property damage.

Some morons had completely taken apart a bathroom, and the drunks decided that with the bathrooms out of order, people's lockers would do just fine. You know how most lockers have vents in them? Remember how expensive textbooks are? Yeah. Most of the freshman class got their entire stock of textbooks soaked in urine.

Everyone was appalled and disgusted. Everything smelled like urine and only 300 of the 1,000 fish were still alive. Turns out drunk people don't know much about making good habitats for fish to live in. The school reeked like rotting fish for DAYS. Also, extremely upset chickens can do a lot of damage in their own right. Most of the couches near where they were had to be replaced.

Rather than sitting around bitching about the mess, I jumped right in to cleaning it up. Some of the fish were still alive after all, and as the World's Biggest Softie I could hardly let them sit around and die with their fishy companions. So, me and maybe 4 other people started running around with buckets and bowls, grabbing all the live fish we could, and taking them to the bio lab. We were able to rescue about 300 fish, and 2 of the eels. We then took them to a pet store that had habitats for them all. It felt good to get those little critters to safety.

The class that did the pranking tried to make it up to us all by doing a stupid "reverse-prank" where they left a bunch of cakes and cookies in the cafeteria. Each cake had "sorry" written on it.

Seriously, though? Sorry is NOT enough to cut it! 700 helpless little animals died for no reason, and most of the freshmen had all their books ruined just in time for finals week. There was no reason why any of this needed to happen, and if the prankers had just had enough sense to put down the damn bottle none of this would have gone so wrong.

I lost my taste for both pranks and drunks after that. I'm fine with people having a few drinks, don't get me wrong, but once somebody's drunken behavior starts messing with other people's lives or results in senseless death, it is NOT okay. People need to learn their limits, and not get so wasted that they mess everything up for others.

/end rant.
(Audienda, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 14:00, 12 replies)

Seen in Prague
Someone had written "Fuck of" in big letters using a spray can.

Another graffiti professional clearly objected to the poor use of the English language, and added, much smaller, another "f"...

Fuck of(f)
(BombayMick Dogs are better than cats, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 14:00, 1 reply)

Some people I know....
Vandalise the sausages on the BBQ by pricking them with a fork while cooking. They should be summarily rounded up and shot.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 13:51, 5 replies)

"Please leave"
Written above a circle surrounding the biggest bogie any of us had ever seen.

Considering the classroom was about 150 years old, speculation about whodunnit was rife.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 13:49, 3 replies)

This one time me and thousands of my mates were in Germany and we all got on our horses, rode south, and sacked and looted Rome.

( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 13:42, 5 replies)

British Rail poster, Bridlington railway station sometime in the mid 70's...
The poster gave you contact details of whom you should approach should your journey have not been up to their usual high standard.

However, it had been amended to read "If you have a complaint about rail travel, try fucking walking"

Fair point, well made.
(zebby wasting irony here on, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 13:32, 1 reply)

Not me, well, kind of me...
I couldn't see my own hand in front of my face, such was my level of inebriation. I'd been out since around 6pm and it was now 1:30am, I was functioning solely on the need to get home. There was one more thing I needed to do though, I needed to secure a lady to take with me. The plan was simple: I would select one of the foxy lasses from the club and invite them back to my place where I would then sex them until the early hours. Or I'd burp at them and fall asleep. One of the two.

Unsurprisingly my slurred attempts at conversation fell on deaf ears. I was destined, after a relentless stream of rejection, to go home alone. Or was I!

I had my eureka moment! I would phone Becky, my random-shag friend. She would come to mine and we would have the sex. Yay!

I punched her number into my phone and did my best "I'm not that drunk really, please come and have sex with me" patter. It worked, she agreed to leave the club she was at (way on the other side of town) and come to my place. Success, all I had to do was go home and await my prize.

I did get home. I got into my room. I dropped my phone down the side of the bed. I fell asleep.

Becky arrived but I was dead to the world. Her calls and knocks went unanswered, no matter how persistent she was. She called another cab, at her expense of course, and went back across town to her place. We never spoke again.

So, the vandalism? Well, before Becky called a cab she left me a present. Or, she left my Sierra 1.8GL a present. Not one panel was left straight. Each one had a huge dent and an accompanying heel mark. The mirrors were on the floor, the boot spolier was hanging off and all four tyres had been let down. The best bit? That would be the "COCK!" she scrawled across the windscreen in lipstick. Or should that be "COC..." thanks to her being a little to aggressive with her Max Factor application, running out half way through.

When I saw it in the morning I was a little taken back, but I still laughed.
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 13:00, 1 reply)

This sort of counts, and it's too entertaining a story not to tell it
First of all, this did not happen to me. I was told the story by a mate, and frankly I have no reason or inclination not to believe him (it's funnier if it's true). Sit as comfortably as you can and allow me to entertain you with the parable of... the ULTIMATE DANGERWANK.

I'd like to assume that you all know what a DangerWank is (I think the capitalisation gives it a certain quality, like it should come with a sidekick called Penfold... I'm sure Richard Gere would appreciate that), but for those who don't, it's when you nip off to the communal toilets at work and have a crafty one off the wrist. Brightens the day, apparently. Gives one something to look forward to. And it gets you off the phone for five minutes. This is a guideline rather than a rule; it's really up to the individual how long they masturbate for. Might be significantly less than five minutes. I won't be stood outside the cubicle with a stopwatch or anything. Don't know where you got that idea.

Anyway, my mate, who we shall dub "Dean" (for twas his name) decides that this isn't particularly dangerous, and one day whilst bored elects to develop the idea to a level of risk appropriate to the name. Don't want Trades Descriptions getting involved, do we. To elaborate, Dean worked for a relatively small company, in the contact centre for a website that sold photography gear an' stuff, and with only 20-odd people in the building the toilets were a one-room affair rather than a succession of cubicles. As such, there was no way that a DangerWank involved running the risk of someone in the next cubicle hearing you. Unless your cum noise was so gratuitous that it could be heard through the wall in the girls' toilet. Now there's a thought.

How to make the DangerWank truly dangerous, pondered Dean. What he came up with makes me truly envious, I wish I could lay claim to having devised this myself, although I'm bloody glad someone else road-tested it, for reasons that will become horribly, horribly clear.

One afternoon, Dean went to the toilet

Locked the door

Whipped out his John Thomas and gave it a few preparatory strokes...

and called the office hunt number from his mobile. Seriously. Oh, it gets better.

He explained that he'd locked the door, and was now unable to unlock it. He needed someone to come and break it down (this is the vandalism part, don't expect the story to get back on-topic after this, it doesn't). He even sped up the dolphin-flogging as he talked to one of his colleagues to ensure the appropriate level of sweaty panic entered his voice. After hanging up, he continued his disgusting act of self-pollution, the concept of the Ultimate DangerWank having been established - he had to finish before they broke the door down.

He did. In fact, he finished about 30 seconds thereafter. Too much groundwork done.

But now he faces a predicament. Does he unlock the door, wander back to his desk and explain that he'd failed in the relatively simple task of undoing a bolt? Or wait for the cavalry, which would at least keep him off the phone for a few minutes? No contest. But what to do to alleviate the boredom?

He had another wank.

I know what you're thinking, but he was only 18 at the time, plenty of get-up-and-go, these young'uns. A minute or so in, he hears voices outside the door. This spurs him on, unsurprisingly. What follows was more worrying.

The frame of the door shakes as a shoulder is thrown against the other side. And again. The bolt holds firm. A third and fourth attempt are heard. The bolt shifts. It's on its way out. He's got to finish. Not so easy the second time around, is it? He's in trouble here. He needs inspiration. He needs to conjure the memory of the first time he saw Salma Hayek in From Dusk Til Dawn. He needs to think about the arse on Rachel from Marketing. It's not working! That door could go at any minute, bursting open to reveal the burly form of Steve from Accounts! He needs a miracle...

In fact, what helped Dean across the finish line in time was the thought of big, sweaty men throwing themselves bodily against a locked door in order to get at him. He's gay. Did I mention that? Apparently this was something of a "turning point" for him. Prior to this he was (mostly) all about the poontang. Not any more. I am prepared to accept that the chronology of Dean's sexuality may have been adjusted slightly to fit the story, but you have to admit it makes for a hell of a yarn to spin the grandkids he's ruled himself out of having.

So, in conclusion, the Ultimate DangerWank; it's risky as hell, results in damage to company property and may inadvertantly drive you to deviant lifestyles.

Length? I'm not asking him, he might try to tickle my insides with it
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 12:58, 3 replies)

Unexpected vandalism
Whilst an adolescent TitanLX, a day of the school summer holidays was spent cycling round the local area with a mate (whom we shall name Simon, for that was the identifier his parents gave him), looking for something to do.
Being of an easily swayable persuasion, Simon convinced me that we should drop something off the railway bridge onto a train. There were some traffic cones nearby but as they would be too difficult to cycle to the bridge with, they did have a bag of sand in the base of them to stop them being blown over so these were removed. (mild vandalism)
We positioned ourselves on the bridge each holding a sausage shaped bag of sand and as a coal train passed under the bridge we threw the sandbags onto its roof. Simons’ splodged onto the roof and much childish chuckling was had. Mine however landed on the roof air vent and proceeded to split and fall into the fan causing a plume of sand to puff out of the top of the train.
So depending on the below, the result of this post is either a win, average for 1st posts, or Kerry Katona
1. Sand did nothing to the internal workings of the engine
2. Sand caused the fan to fail at some point and did minor damage
3. Sand got into the engine and it ground to a halt on the main line / exploded like a Hollywood blockbuster, required recovery, massively inconvenienced all concerned, and a full engine rebuild was required at a cost of thousands.

Length? At least 150 yards long for the train.
(TitanLX, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 12:54, Reply)

Do you want fries with that?
I used to live in the St Paul's area of Bristol. The area made famous for the riots in the 70's. I deference to the large black population there was a statue of Malcolm X in a park near to my house. It wasn't on a massive plinth you could look him in the eye and his pose had him holding out one of his hands palm up and every Sunday morning for about a year there was a burger in his hand. I love to think of the guy getting "one for Malcolm" on the way home. I salute that particular loons dedication
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 12:49, 4 replies)

Micky White is a grass
I forgot about this graffiti nugget, which I see when off to visit the 'rents. It's been painted and removed countless times:

www.flickr.com/photos/tomsy/4552909068/

It seems the local rag picked up on it too, poor Micky...

www.bournemouthecho.co.uk/news/8196339.___I___m_no_grass______says_Micky_White/

The smaller pic in the news article refers to Micky being a police informer and even shows his address.

There's even Twitter feed dedicated to it: twitter.com/IamMickeyWhite
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 12:47, 2 replies)

A healthy crop
Back in the days when I lived in University halls I made the mistake of going home for a week or so.

I returned to find that my corridor mates has bribed the cleaner to let them into my room where they had then planted cress seeds on the carpet through the entire room. As the cleaner had let them in every day to water the crop, I came back to find my room converted into an Arcadian paradise of lush green cress pasture. I kept it for a while - it was actually rather nice vandalism.
( splorp ®, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 12:47, 2 replies)