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This is a question I witnessed a crime

Freddy Woo writes, "A group of us once staggered home so insensible with drink that we failed to notice someone being killed and buried in a shallow grave not more than 50 yards away. A crime unsolved to this day."

Have you witnessed a crime and done bugger all about it? Or are you a have-a-go hero?
Whatever. Tell us about it...

(, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 11:53)
Pages: Latest, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, ... 1

This question is now closed.

What? Still the old question?
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 13:06, 4 replies)
Despite my previous story..
Whilst working as a mechanic in another garage, (This time a Toyota dealership which was the best two years I ever spent as a Motor Vehicle Technician), I saw a bit of blatant robbery.

We were an MOT station, as well as doing repairs & servicing on other cars. I was wandering back from the valeting bay after washing a car, and saw someone leave the garage and sprint up the bank outside. I went in and asked the other two mechanics who that was, and they didn't know what I was on about.

About an hour later, a rep from a rental company came by to pick up a car. He asked where it was and we told him out the front where he should have seen it. We checked the board for keys and they were gone. I wandered outside and the car was gone too. Uh Oh.

Then another customer came in to pick up a Celica from a service and the keys were missing for that too. I rushed out (being a younger person) and checked that the car was still there. It was.

Whilst discussing the problems and getting a new key cut for the key, I saw someone getting into it. About five of us rushed out and made an attempt to stop the guy from driving off with it. Including me by standing in front of it. Bad idea thought my brain and I agreed. I jumped aside as the pikey scum drove off, door swinging open.

Celica was recovered a day later intact, the rental Astra had been burnt out.
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 12:59, Reply)
Witness? Technically suppose
I did witness it..

from the passenger seat... and the driver seat... and the rear seats.

As a younger Thatguy, I worked for a local second hand car dealer, who also did accident repair for the local police force & ambulance service. (The same place that I left after being "greased")

When I first arrived, I was intrigued to see a Ford Sierra Cosworth in full marked up police clobber. The engine, gearbox and front suspension was missing. Turns out it had hit something up the arse and needs a new front end. Once this work was done, we rebuilt the car and gave the local station a ring to advise them it needed roadtesting.

"Sure thing" said the gullible officer. "Just tell me where you'll be driving it and ensure that you do not speed, use the lights or siren or generally behave as though you're in a police car"

"OF COURSE" says we "We're completely trustworthy"

The "peace" of the M4 was shattered that afternoon as we took turns giving the car the full beans, blues and twos going and cars diving out of our way. Those Cosworths didn't half shift you know?
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 12:51, Reply)
Not only witnessed, but foiled also
In the course of my duties as a barman, I noticed that a gentleman had been nursing the same pint for some time. Not only that, but the pint still had a head on it. Then I realised that I'd turned my back on the jakey* bastard at some point and he'd leant over the bar to top up his pint from the tap.

At this point, I could've just got a manager to throw him and his 3 remaining teeth out the building. However, having not served anyone for hours sent my brain into overdrive for cruel pranks. When Jimmy-No-Teeth next averted his eyes from the sacred beer pumps, I removed the nozzle from the one he'd been using.

For those of you not in the know, this is the equivalent to putting your thumb over the end of a hose. Think of it as using a garden sprinkler to fill up an iron.

Result: punter gets soaked, embarrassed and booted. I did have to clean it up, but I think it was worth it.

*If not familiar with Scottish colloquialisms, replace 'jakey' with 'pikey' for similar effect and great justice.
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 12:50, Reply)
Since everyone else has posted stories about drugs...
I will too.

About 7-8 years ago me and a friend had gotten hold of some very potent mushrooms, and after taking them had gone for a walk. We start walking through a forest along a country road in the middle of the night, looking at all the pretty colors now suddenly coating the forest, talking and rolling up as we went.

After walking for a bit we felt like yet another smoke and sat down on the side of the road. Started skinning up, and just sat there chatting, enjoying the warm summer night. Saw a car in the distance and jokingly said to my friend "Wouldn't it be a bummer if that happened to be the cops?"

Take a guess....

Fortunately, they didn't think 2 guys sitting in a forest in the middle of the night was odd enough to investigate, but hey. So I sorta witnessed a crime go unpunished...comitted it too.

Ok, not funny or interesting...sounded better in my head.
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 12:37, 1 reply)
I changed my mind.
Inspired by a post below, I got to thinking; What the feck did we actally go to war in Iraq for? (British perspective)

To be honest, I thought from the outset that the whole thing would be about oil. It made sense to me that they could overthrow the questionable dictatorship and eventually install a puppet government to keep the black stuff flowing our way at a greatly reduced cost.

I even justified it against my own conscience. Those in the forces will probably disagree, but I reasoned that the forces are there to do the bidding of our benevolent (pah!) government. If we must kick some middle-eastern arse to get cheap petrol, then so be it.

The problem comes with the current price of fuel. We're paying more than ever, so what the feck was the 'war' about? Fukkin' CRIMINAL ah tells yeh!
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 11:20, 19 replies)
murder part 2
....a low rumble permeated the air as a series of violent shudders made the fat man rock back and forth on his seat......

....it had been 11 days since he had last visited this place, he had started to wonder if he would ever need to come here again at one point, but he never gave up hope, his earlier training with the territorial army in his slimmer days in the early 90's had given him hope, even in his darkest hours............

....again, the stillness of the early morning air is broken by a series of low rumbles, his knuckles white as he grips the lever......

....once when he was twelve the man had beaten a badger to death with his bare hands after it had shat in the packed lunch his mother had made him for the school trip to badgerland.....

....a hissing noise preceded by another low rumble broke the silence, beads of sweat were now running down the fat mans face....

....the school was never allowed another trip to badger land, and his classmates remained in counselling for 3 years after witnessing one of their own glory in the disembowelling of a half dead badger

....a rapid fire cacophony of noises which resembled gunfire preceded the opening of the mans anal sphincter and the splattering of a loose running substance, known to outsiders as diarrhoea, painted the inside of the once spotless white toilet bowl, at last he had been able to take a shit, and although he knew he would suffer from ringsting after he had a smile on his face, as 11 days of digested foodstuffs streamed from his rear passage, never mind the splashback now hitting his volumous rear end, never mind the smell, he had waited 11 long days for this moment....

....sometimes he still dreamt of rubbing his face in the badgers soft belly fur as it breathed its last....
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 11:16, Reply)
this is murder
'hello' said the elephant to the giraffe
'why hello there mr elephant, how are you keeping?' asked the giraffe
'i am keeping fine' said the elephant, ' How are you and Mrs Giraffe?'
'oh we are good thanks, just got back from our holidays, living it large in Ibiza' said the giraffe
'how very nice for you' said the elephant
'have you been away anywhere?' asked the giraffe
'no' said the elephant, 'although we were supposed to take the baby elephants to EuroDisney TM but i ended up with severe diarrhoea and we couldn't go, it was pissing out of my ass for 4 solid days, ring sting?, you've never felt anything like it' the elephant continued.
'oh' said the giraffe
'yes' said the elephant
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 11:13, Reply)
Just had a thought
If auto insurance is something that's legally required, then why doesn't a government organisation provide it at a reasonable price?

It seems strange to allow private companies to have a monopoly on something which people actually need.

After all, they don't allow different companies to provide passports, or road tax.

That was the crime I witnessed - my insurance renewal.
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 9:22, 10 replies)
Blood and Curry - Not a good combination (apparently)
Heard/saw a heated argument in a Curry House kitchen erupt into the restaurant when one of the kitchen hands flew out of the kitchen and slashed a waiter across the face with a meat cleaver. (Cue loads of blood spattered towels from quick-thinking locals).

The real crime was that my mates decided to lose their appetite at that point and wanted to leave. I was starving, and I they didn't appreciate I NEEDED MY CURRY. Bastards.

(BTW Didn't even make the local news)
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 9:15, Reply)
My first trip abroad.
I was in New York with my girlfriend and got accosted by a young perp with a switch blade who demanded my wallet .

My girlfriend: Give him your wallet.
Me: What for?
My girlfriend: He's got a knife.
Chuckling to myself: That's not a knife. [Draws a large Bowie knife]
Me: *That's* a knife.
[I slash the mugger's jacket. He runs away]

(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 8:59, 2 replies)
Stupid criminals
Around here, one of the popular things to steal is the cash register from conveinence stores. Most of the stores are all owned by the same company. Here is where the stupid part comes in: whenever you shop there, you often notice that the clerk's are constantly dropping money and large bills into a floor safe. This means the registers have very little money in them at all times. And their CCTV cameras are everywhere and of a good quality. So every idiot that feels the need to steal the cash register ends up with less than $50 and several felony charges...which leads to prison time. Fun!

Crimes I've witnessed? The usual drug use, petty theft, simple assault, DWI. But I had to make it on-topic.
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 1:55, Reply)
Various crimes of differing seriousnesses
Man chasing another man and subsequently scaring the shit out of him due to wielding a chainsaw at the time (albeit only witnessed on the news...but it was next to my college where I went every day at the time)(Lincoln)
Twunt threatening man in the street with large knife...sidestepped that one thankfully (Nottingham)
(also Nottingham) My brother got mugged and his chin slashed - in his own car
(again Nottingham) Skip outside my brother's house set alight....he thought all the banging and crashing noises were the binmen....at 3am...
Wanktards setting fire to telegraph pole next to our flat via mattresses and wheelie bins (Sheffield)
Having one arsehole jump on my back and get to me the floor to allow him and his mates to give me a good kicking for no reason whatsoever (to my credit, I held onto the bag of crisps I was eating at the time throughout, and miraculously they remained intact) (Sheffield again)
Various thefts back home due to general bastardry, including (at school) a lad wanting to take a look at my watch, then taking it and putting it in his pocket in full view and then deny ever having seen it....tithead.
Many more but I can't be arsed.
Length, girth and whatnot, use your imagination.
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 1:35, 3 replies)
back in the day
my sister rode a bike to and from school. we lived next door to an estate.

and lo! one day the bike was stolen from our back garden.

my dad angrily hammered nails into the top of our fence and added an extra bolt. the following day, the thieves had returned to steal more goodies from our back garden. only, they couldn't get in. outraged by this, they set fire to the bin bags outside our gate. how dare we not let them steal from us!

meanwhile, my sister had begun the daily trudge to school.

one day, after the bin bag incident, she comes across a lad dragging a bike into school. it is identical to her bike. she does not mention this to the lad but follows him stealthily to inspect the bike. he leaves the bike in some bushes nearby the school... not the allocated bike sheds. it is also blatantly a girl's bike.

sister marches into school, the police are called and at the end of the day, she smugly rides home on her bike.

not really the witnessing of a crime rather but points for catching the thief i think. idiot.
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 1:15, Reply)
Violence... and old ladies
Back in the day (1990) when young Davros was a scrawny 19 year old - 28 inch waist, fuck me those were the days - I was also heavily into my Goth phase.

Now, Goths had a bit of a misunderstood reputation back then. I would consider myself a bit of an old school Goth (see profile), none of this modern Marilyn Manson nonsense. Proper big hair, big hats, and liberal sprinklings of flour for that 'dusty, aged look'. Ripped jeans with spandex leggings underneath, plus long leather coats were considered de rigeur back then. And to this day, I still own a long leather coat...

My particular look evolved to include a black and white mohiecan haircut (courtesy of a mate doing a hairdressing course at college - we won a regional competition and came third in the all expenses paid national finals in Blackpool - for which I had to have my hair styled and sit very still in a menacing position for 20 minutes), countered by the aforementioned leather and spandex, plus chains hanging from various 'fashion' statements. Although oddly, at that particular juncture, no piercings - my only concession to that came at age 23, when I got my left ear pierced, and still wear the earring today...

Anyway, the Goth thing kind of had a small foothold in my home town (a small market town which happens to be the most northerly town in England - major clue). By this time I was at college doing graphics (which is why I ended up in the civil service), staying away during the week but returning home at weekends to get my washing done - thanks Mum (RIP). For a small town, me and my mates didn't get a lot of flak - probably because we boosted the town's economy significantly by drinking a lot and also hiring local pubs and hotels for regional bands to play at, thus greatly swelling the coffers.

I'm rambling. I'm slightly pissed...

Anyway, one week, a college mate came up to stay with me and my then GF. The three of us were walking down the high street, in full regalia, and passed a small group of old ladies.

For some reason, panic filled their eyes, and, as we walked past, I was subjected to an almighty clattering to the side of the head from the umberella of one of the group. Now, I would be the first to admit that at the time my appearance may have been somewhat uncomformist and a tad bizarre in a small town, but many who knew me at the time would probably acknowledge that I am, at heart, a gentle soul and one of the least offensive people you could ever meet.

But still. I got assaulted by an old lady. While my so-called-mates rolled around in the gutter, pissing themselves. Apparently she had thought I was going to mug her. Hmmph.

In a seperate incident I was jumped by a bunch of (what would now be classed as chavs) in the same town, who had been thrown out of the pub I had been drinking in for being cunts. Their motive? I had been in the same pub as them.

I took them to court for the assault and won my case.

My reward?

£50 in compensation, paid over 26 week instalments. I felt like a fucking catalogue purchase.
(, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 0:36, 5 replies)
The broken nose
Such a sad one this......

Years ago, when I was a student, I worked in the cafe of my local Wm Lows (Tesco now!). The work wasn't bad, much better than stacking shelves, and I actually learned a few things - such as how to make good fried eggs, coffee etc, and the necessity of giving the kitchen a bloody good clean once a week. Also, being the only male in the shop, I could spend the hours flirting with the good ladies who worked there.

As the cafe was near the front doors of the place, we always talked to the security guards. Bizarrely, because the cafe had originally been run by sub-contractors, the rest of the supermarket staff were a bit stand-offish. But the guards were fine. One of the lasses even married one, as I recall.

During the summer months the guards, who were also sub-contracted in, would go on their hols and the company would send replacements, who would fit right in.

But then came Reg, a skinny, ageing fellow who was about as much use as a guard as your average daffodil. Tall, thin, and blessed with a shy demeanour and a stutter, he completely lacked the necessary growling menace associated with your usual supermarket security detail.

However, as he was only there for two weeks, no-one minded and he managed to get on with the job ok, although the store manager - a fearsome 4ft 5 parcel of sheer malevolence - did most of his work in apprehending thieves and scaring off the neds who hung about outside.

But disaster was waiting in the wings....

On his last night he came in for his usual chat and to say goodbye, and as I was the only one on, I made him a free coffee and wished him well. Afterwards, he sauntered out to fulfill his last every duty as a security guard and close the shop doors before going back to tend his flowers and talk to the noddy people, or whatever it as he did in his spare time.

As he slid the glass doors shut, a drunk from the nearby pub staggered up and asked to be let in. Reg smiled, and said 'sorry, we're closed', in as non-threatening a way as you could imagine.

Without so much as a pause or an exclamation, the drunk threw his head back and smashed his forhead full force onto the bridge of Reg's fine longish nose, splitting it across the middle and shattering the bone.

With blood pouring - no, gushing, - out of the wound, he staggered back inside the cafe, where I tried and failed to stem the flow with armfuls of paper towels while trying to reassure Reg all would be ok. It clearly wouldn't, but I tried anyway....

Meanwhile the store manager and a burly trolley jockey ran outside, found the drunk and detained him by simply pushing him over and pushing him again every time he tried to stagger to his feet, until the police arrived.

Reg was taken to hospital, clearly in shock, and I had to spend the rest of my shift cleaning the copious amount of blood he had shed off the floor.

There's no real happy ending to this - I didn't see Reg again as it was his last day, although I'm sure his recovery was long and painful. His nose was really shattered...

As for the drunk, I'm sure he got fined for assault, or even a little jail time. But, somehow, I don't think that would make up for his actions, or help poor trusting Reg get over the shock of being visiously assaulted by a complete stranger for no reason at all....

Isn't life shitty sometimes?

Length? It was a long nose indeed.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 22:01, Reply)
I wasn't trying to steal anything, officer...
This is tenuous to say the least, but humour me, please...My work collegue is annoying the fuck out of me. You know me, I'm a calm, rational person, not given to outbursts of uncontrolled rage, but this week...

So in a bid to be new improved "all growed up" Rakky, I decided to find a useful outlet for my ire. Instead of a bottle of fizzy and a pack of Marlboro to numb the pain, I went for a run. Popped my stuff in a locker at the gym, put on some nasty dance music and spent 30 minutes trying to blank out the image I had of me beating her head to a bloody pulp by smacking it repeatedly against the centrifuge.

Duly worn out from my exercise, I return to my locker to get my clothes. It has one of those combination padlocks that all Americans know how to open from birth, but that confuse the bejeesus out of anyone else. I spin one way, then the other, twist and pull and... nothing. I repeat, with the same effect.

I'm getting worried. It's -20C outside, my coat and keys are in this damn locker. Huffing and swearing, I spy a member of gym staff. I explain my predicament and we both try once more to get the reticent padlock to budge. We've tried forcing it, cajoling it, all to no avail. We're discussing getting a crowbar to break the lock off when a voice behind me exclaims "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I turn and see an irate student. She pushes me out of the way, spins the lock and amazingly, it opens first time.

It wasn't my locker.

I've decided to manage my stress in future through the time honoured technique of chocolate, coffee and Vicodin.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 21:51, 9 replies)
In which Teenage Chickenlady Made a Solicitor Look a Fool
My Finest Moment - The Court Story

Many months passed after the flashing incident and the wheels of justice ground slowly in Thatcher’s Britain (yes, these were the Thatcher years).

The culprit had been caught and charged but only after I had positively identified him in his school car park running to his parents’ car – he refused to do an ID parade but foolishly ran right in front of the unmarked police car where I was waiting to pick him out.

The day arrived for me to have my say in the local magistrates court – juvenile of course. I went along in school uniform with my Vice House Captain badge proudly displayed (come on, this is Chickenlady – did you expect anything less that a Vice House?). I was accompanied by my dad – he didn’t even need to take time off work, what with being a non-uniform rozzer himself.

We were ushered into the staff canteen and plied with tea and custard creams while the prosecution lawyer explained what would happen. Of course, I already knew - I had grown up watching Crown Court.

I was excited – I had spoken to my headmistress (Sister Mary) and offered to tell the entire school about my experience during assembly but sadly she told me it would be unnecessary. Now I had the opportunity to perform, as it were, in court!

As I was the prosecution witness I got to go first – called to the stand and just like Crown Court I read out the promise to tell the Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing but the Truth, while laying my sweaty palm on a battered King James.

The prosecution lawyer stood and asked me to tell the court, in my own words, exactly what had happened on the day in question. I recounted the tale pretty much as in my previous post, although I did leave out the Kafka and Freud remark. He asked me some questions about details and then sat down.

Then my potential nemesis the defence lawyer stood and smiled with reptilian superciliousness – I believe it’s a module on most law degrees these days.

“Hello Miss Chickenlady. That was a terrible experience that you went through. I do hope you’re not finding today too stressful having to stand here and tell us all about it.”

*Thinks – Are you kidding?

“No, not at all, I’m fine thanks”

“So, you are in the Sixth form at the convent. You look a fit young lady, and I see you’re a Vice House Captain. Which teams do you play for?”

*Thinks – I know where you’re going with this sunshine and it’s a pathetic line of questioning. Richard Wilson wouldn't have done that in Crown Court.

(Yes, before he was Victor Meldrew he had been a barrister for Granada TV)

“I’m on the debating team” Ha! Take that!

Lawyer looks a little crestfallen. “Not netball? You’re a tall young lady – I would have thought you would make a good goal shooter! Haha!”

*Thinks – piss off – I can’t catch and I can’t throw

“No, I’m useless at sport” (Not entirely true but school didn’t let us do yoga, hiking or competitive arrogance, although I was on the competitive talking, sorry, debating team).

“Oh. But of course you go and support your school when they’re playing against other teams don’t you? Especially as you’re a House Captain.”

*Thinks – you can still piss off

“Erm, no actually I live a long way from school and get the school bus each day so I don’t attend any matches”

*Thinks – and why on earth would I? Just to watch the brainless bimbos running around and showing their knickers while chucking a ball at each other? (Although it had been known for me to watch the local boys’ school play rugby, but that’s another matter entirely….)

“I see. Now you said in your statement that the road was deserted for that time of day. Are you normally outside school at around 2.30?”

*Thinks – I can see what you’re doing here too…bloody hell, you’re a crap lawyer

“On a Friday afternoon I’m usually walking up from the boys’ school at that time – I take one of my A levels down there, so I know that normally it’s busy” Ha! Foiled you again!

“Do you know any pupils from my client’s school?”

*Thinks – you’re clutching at straws now mate

“No, no one. I live twenty-five miles away – that’s why I was catching the bus”

“Oh. Thank you. No more questions”

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. That’s what fifty pence and an old bus ticket gets you these days – a lawyer who can’t even better a seventeen year old (I’d had my birthday by then).

Soon Granny (the owner of fifty pence and an old bus ticket now passed to said crap lawyer) was called to the stand and she quietly perjured herself in the very best Ealing comedy style: “Yes sir, ‘ee wos wiv ‘is dear old gran all the time. 'Ee's a good boy 'ee is”
But isn’t that what grannies are for?

Then Mum got up there and if ever the cliché Rabbit in the Headlights was personified it was this poor woman. Except she didn’t appear to have even the gumption of a rabbit – a harvest mouse was nearer. She too perjured herself, nodded a great deal and whispered that her dear son would never do anything like that to a nice young convent girl – he’s frightened of girls you see….And she appeared frightened of the entire world.

Father of the perv remained at the back of the court room throughout and he was perhaps the most interesting character.

He was over six foot tall, still had the look of a 1970s striking worker who hasn’t seen a hot meal in months, Del Boy car coat in grease brown, Teddy Boy hair slicked by latent dirtbag and brylcreem, and the memory skills of a doting parent on the opening night of the school play when their child has the leading part.

Finally said perv was called and his treatment by the fifty pence bus ticket lawyer was similar to mine with the prosecuting lawyer – “Just tell us your version of events son, all everyone wants to hear is the truth, okay?”

Perv boy’s eyes flick over to Father who nods in encouragement. Perv boy begins to tell the story of leaving school early because he goes to keep his dear old granny company and granny lives in the other direction from the bus stop and he didn’t even walk past it and he didn’t see the young lady and he's never seen her before today and he's an honest boy who never lies and he's good to his granny too, honest.

His eyes continued to flick to Father.

I look over at Father….yes; he really is the doting parent, why he’s even helped his beloved boy to learn his lines. In fact he’s reciting them along with Perv Boy.

I nudge the police officer sitting next to me and nod over towards Father. The police officer sees and nudges the other officer sitting next to him. One of the magistrates sees us nudging and nodding – think Churchill on speed (the insurance dog not he of WW2 and cigars – although I dare say he also did a fair bit of nodding in his time, but was of course more known for sticking his fingers up at the Nazis).

The magistrate then realises what’s going on and starts his own nudging and nodding.

Soon enough it was all over – the magistrates retired to decide on Perv Boy’s fate and I went off to eat more custard creams with the friendly rozzers.

We were called back within half an hour – the magistrates had also had a custard cream or two while deciding the outcome I dare say.

The verdict was as everyone, except Perv Boy and his family, had expected – Guilty.

I returned to school high on biscuits, smugness and a rather short lived belief in the fairness of the British Justice System.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 21:26, 7 replies)
American Foreign Policy?
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 21:15, 4 replies)
This happened to a friend of mine who shall be called Bob, now Bob is a nice guy and looks like he couldn’t hurt a soul. We were also about 17 years old and a bit naïve.

Now back home I live in Zoetermeer a town in Holland east of The Hague, my friend lives a couple of towns further away and had to take the train to The hague. Now the train station where I live (Voorweg for those in the know) is not exactly the nicest one ever. I have even heard that it is classified as the most dangerous in Holland. In any case there are 2 nightclubs about 300m away and there aren’t any houses around the station for about 500m so it means that late at night on the weekends there are drug dealers at the station pedalling there wears to the punters. I have to say I’ve been mildly terrified when I came back home one night and the stairs (needed to go up them to cross the track) were lined by a bunch of big guys. Turns out they were just selling drugs and quite friendly!

But enough of the scene setting. Bob had come to my house for a party and was going home a bit earlier than the rest so he was travelling alone. He went to the train station alone and sat there waiting for the train. So he is there minding his own business when two guys come up to him. The first says gimme your money, while the second says I gotta knife in my pocket. My friend sees a buldge in his coat pocket that could be a knife a finger or a dildo for all he knows.

So my mate pulls out his wallet and sheepishly says look mates I’ve only got 5 Euros. To which the muggers respond by laughing their asses off. One of them says mate this is Holland if some one says gimme your money you say, no fuck you gimme your money! They then left my friend alone and walked of laughing. Bob was a little shaken up by it all but survived.

I have to say I’ve lived there for 12 years and I’ve never had any problems being mugged or with any other crimes. Ah I miss that place.

Cherry pop etc.

No excuses for the length, learn to take it like a man.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 21:02, Reply)
Last summer
I was back home briefly from Uni and went into town to meet a few friends. At the top of town there is a garage thats open all night. Its on a corner of a fairly busy road, and a fairly quiet road, with a small window set high in the wall on the quiet road side. This leads to the stock room. As I was walking to the garage I noticed two rather shifty looking chavs standing next to the window. Pretty normal for that part of town so I didnt think anything of it.

I went inside the garage for snouts and as I was being served the attendent excused himself, picked up a broom, hurried into the backroom and proceeded to beat the shit out of a tracksuit clad arm that was snaking through the window in pursuit of a carton of camels. After two minutes or so of beating, and swearing in English and Urdu, he came back, served me, and I left.

Outside the two chavs were on the otherside of the road, taking out their frustration of being foiled by running a key down the side of a car.

Length etc.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 20:50, Reply)
I just saw a ned get a slapping!
On the way back from Brownies with JuniorWitch#2, walking with another two mums and assorted daughters, we heard the sounds of an altercation as we approached the local shops.

As we got closer, we could distinguish the fact that a ned was verbally lambasting his ned-ette for something. Every second word was fuck or fucking. Charming.

Ned-ette decided she'd had enough and went to walk away, but he grabbed her by the hood and swung her round. As she swung, we caught sight of her face, and Big K stopped dead in her tracks.

"That's my niece" she muttered, before flying over the road, grabbing the lassie and hauling her away from the ned. Niece was then ordered home.

Big K then proceeded to pin him to the wall by the throat - one-handed, mind you - and deliver on-the-spot justice, a slap punctuating each word.

"Don't *slap* you *slap* ever *slap* touch *slap* that *slap* lassie *slap* again *slap*.

She let him go, and he stood staring at her in utter bewilderment. Then delivered his killer line,

"Am tellin ma mammy you hit me"

Big K laughed in his face at that, and suggested that he go right ahead. She then crossed the road, nodded at us, and carried on walking home as if nothing had happened. Class!
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 20:33, 5 replies)
stockport again!
scene of many crimes.

my friend parked her car in the ropey public carpark, again near the george pub. halfway through the night she wanted her cigs from it, so i volunteered to walk there with her as the carpark really isn't very nice at all.

it was the only car there. and there was a skinny man... t0ssing off over it...

as we arrived, he groaned and shot his load all over the bonnet, then legged it. it was an H registered astra. what is so horny about that??

we called the police, who took details, but as all we could tell them was that he had a skinny arse and blue jeans, it didn't ever get very far...
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 19:03, 10 replies)
yet again my friend sam makes for a story. although no sh1t this time, thank god.

when we were about 17 and very stupid, my friend jo and i were driving everyone home from the pub in 2 cars. as jo went round a huge corner (past the classy george in stockport) sam decided to hang out of the sunroof and flash her waps at the great nightlife of downtown stockport. well, a few insomniac pigeons and some tumbleweed, anyway.

the police pulled jo over and started talking about giving her 3 points. at which point sam got involved. we were watching helplessly from a bit further up the a6. we saw the policemen snarl with rage and turn on sam, handcuffing her, and driving off with her!!!

shit, what would her parents say? we dialled the police station for about an hour, and they were very nice and friendly. then their voices changed on the 15th call.

"about 5'6, long brown hair, white t-shirt? foul mouth? yeah, we've got her. you can stop calling now." and they hung up.

the following morning, sam limped into where we were all staying at about 8.30am. apparently she had abused the police the whole way there, telling them her name was "samantha bl0w j0b" and that she lived at "44 f*ck you avenue" etc. they thought she was on drugs, she was so unpredictable and vile.

at about midnight the head of the police station tried to be nice to her and talk to her sensibly. sam spat at him and laughed manically. he wiped his face and it turned to stone.

the next morning he woke her up at about 4am by banging on the bars of her cage. er, cell. trembling, sober, distressed, sam crept forwards and smiled piteously at him.

"it's not funny now, is it?" he said gently.

"no," she whispered.

"do you want to go home?" he said kindly.

"yes please," she said.

"now that's funny," he retorted and walked off, pissing himself.

2 hours later they charged her, told her to expect a summons and made her walk home. at 6am. with no money.

did it teach her a lesson? does the pope sh1t in the woods? 2 years later she was in my passenger seat and we were driving somewhere. we'd been clubbing and it was about 3am.

next minute i've been pulled over, which is odd because i knew i was driving perfectly correctly. as i pull over, sam confides,

"oh shit, i threw a sandwich box out of the window and it hit that policecar..."

nice one, einstein.

however, as the police were breathalysing me and searching my bag, they told me that they were just scaring sam and that they had just wanted to stop us because they were bored and wanted to read the sign writing on my summer holiday job car. stupid job.

sam was much more penitent this time, and the policemen were hot, so actually this one had a bit of a happier ending...

she still got fined for dropping litter though!
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 19:00, Reply)
I used to work for HMRC
I used to post a LOT of CDs of data.
It was commonplace, and approved by management.
It's criminal how a lowly AO was blamed for the child benefit disc fiasco, when he was only doing his job.

/dismounts high horse.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 18:54, 1 reply)
Comedy Shoplifter Chasing Story
Right - anyone know Bradford?
Anyone know the retail park at five lane ends with Morrisons and focus?

Well, if you do, you'll understand this better, so skip to the line of stars while i set the scene for everyone else.

Imagine two rows of retail sheds, at right angles to each other, both the same length. Well, at one end of one you have Focus, and at the other end of the other you have the entrance to Morrisons. Both shops as far away from each other as it is possible to be.
This is Bradford
There is a drug rehabilitation place next to focus.
We both got a lot of shoplifters.
Right, everyone back with me?
I hope that was worth it.

So, I chase a lifter with a handful of screwdrivers etc, maybe a tenner, fifteen quids worth? But I quite like chasing shoplifters despite the syringe incident and i'm up for a jog. Off we trot out of the door and he heads over the car park.

At the same time the Morrisons guard, a chap we knew well, was chasing someone who had also robbed something trivial.

You can see this coming can't you? Yup both lifters running towards each other, with me and the guard in Hot Pursuit!.

Neither me nor the guard were on the ball enough to stop each other's lifter as we passed in the car park, but at least we got chance to exchange a cheery 'mornin' as we ran past each other.

Outcome? His got away. Mine got into a car, i didn't let go of him and after being pulled around the car park (which was very busy for a saturday morning so he couldn't beat a hasty retreat) the returning morrisons guard helped me drag him out properly.

One out of two aint bad?

That was funnier at the time, and sounded funnier in my head. Meh i've typed it now - go on give me a click for effort?
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 18:51, 2 replies)

This question is now closed.

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