Wow, can't believe this came up today.
On Tuesday night, I was out at a pub picking up a printer from a friend. I went outside for a smoke and me and this other guy saw someone get out of a car and key a brand new Mercedes and a brand new Land Rover.
We both yelled "hey" at the guy (who had his shirt over his head) and he leaped in his car to take off......but not before I'd gotten his license plate number written down.

We asked around the bar who's cars they were that had been keyed, but nobody claimed them, so I called it into the PD. At this point, I also put notes on the windshields saying I'd seen it, got the guys license plate and had called it into the cops.

PD came out and found the owners of the cars - they worked in another building across from the bar.
Witness statements were duly taken, we gave good descriptions of the guy as well as having his license plate number.
It turns out it's a disgruntled ex-employee who they had fired for getting high at work.

All's well that ends well, they got the guy, the insurance will cover the repairs and hopefully the guy will plead guilty so I dont' have to go to court.

Oh, and two people in the bar actually yelled at me for calling the cops - they were worried about getting DUI's!
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 16:11, 2 replies)

You swines!!!
As a policeman (before I get all the usual 'why aren't you out catching criminals' bollocks..IM ON MY DAY OFF!) I should report all you individuals for failing to report a crime and not assisting in the course of justice. But do you know what, I just cant be fucked. The paperwork would be a mile long!..... ;p

On a serious note, please don't ignore a crime if you see it. Even if you don't jump in to stop it, at least report it. Any information is better than nothing at all...WITNESSES, YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU!.

have fun crime spotting y'all. peace out.
(CaptainFellatioNelson is trying to kill me, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 16:09, 4 replies)

G'DAY Copper !
I was sent on a business trip to Australia last March, and although it sounds glam, when you are on your own it can become the lonliest place on the planet..and when you have 2 weeks on your own it just intensifies the feeling (guess thats the same whereever you may be).

Anyway, I would do my days work, have something to eat, and then hit the bar and drink myself into a lonely stupour, before heading back to the hotel room by myself.

One night I was heading back at 3am (my body clock was still on English time)and I was very nicely pissed, when I heard a woman screaming as if her life depended on it from down a dark alley.

I thought she was being raped, so I ran to help her.

I could see the woman stood screaming as she watched 2 guys beating the living shit out of her fella. He wasn't even fighting back. He fell to the floor and then the pair of thugs started using his head as a football, kicking him over and over again.

Now I don't care where I am in the world..That shit aint acceptable.. 2 on 1. Not in my books. It was time to let old painless out of the bag.

So I crossed the road, and prepared myself to even the odds. The one guy looked up, and I punched my fist so hard through his face that his nose instantly showered me in blood as his head snapped back and he fell to the floor.

Now, your balance isn't too good at the best of times when you've hit the beers hard, and I had thrown my whole body weight behind this punch - so inevitably, I followed the thug down to the ground where I continued to go to work reconstructing his face.

Meanwhile, I had completely forgotten about his mate, who then turned his attentions to pummelling the back of my head. Very quickly I was becoming the victim, but ironically, nobody came to help me..

I managed to get to my feet, and the pair of them ran off..not only was I pissed, but now I was concust too. A few lumps on the back of the head, but nothing more.. I was lucky. His mate could have had a knife.

I watched the girl pick her fella up. Holy shit..his face was a real mess, black and blue and pouring with blood.

They told me not to worry and left..I stood there dazed and confused for a moment, then walked off.

Around the corner, no more than 100 yards, stood 2 Policemen. I went up to them.. "Didn't you hear the screams ? Why didn't you help? ".

To which the Policemen just shrugged their shoulders.

Although looking back, I could have been seriously hurt or even killed.. I would do it again any day of the week. I just wouldn't be able to walk by and not do anything..as thats as bad as the crime itself.
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Thu 14 Feb 2008, 16:07, 4 replies)

The Off License
Ah the heady days of working for Threshers and Victoria Wines. I was witness to several minor shoplifts (chavs nicking cider etc) including the gypsies from the funfair, all piling in at the same time (about 30 of them) while only one member of staff was on, meaning 25 were buying sweets whilst 5 were stuffing as much booze up their woollen jumpers as possible (I won't be accused of racism or stereotyping here - every time the funfair came to town crime shot up four-fold)

A man tried the old "grab box of vodka from the window and run for it" technique but there were two of us on so I was able to chase him with the shop radio, directing the CCTV people to his exact whereabouts. A passing plod car came to assist and he was nicked! Hurrah!

But the worst one was an aggrevated theft when I was working on my own at Victoria Wines. Two guys walked in whilst I was serving and tried to empty the champagne fridge into a Head bag - I confronted them but kept myself behind the counter and they made their escape, yelling obscenaties at me. Fairly decent CCTV footage of the crime, car reg collected. I was a bit shaken up but otherwise ok.

The trial went on for three occasions with me being cross examimed by a wild-eyed Indian judge that was representing the one bloke who wasn't a great shot on CCTV. His defence was that they were both so pissed they "couldn't remember" committing the crime and so they couldn't be tried for it. He was charged with aggrvated theft but was given a pathetic sentence. The shop manager went out on a massive bender with the compensation money and didn't invite me.

Those sort of shops often run with only one staff on to save money. If the place gets robbed and the shop worker is traumatised they are replaced by another till monkey. Bastards!

length: fucking concave today *brrr*
( h3donist tryin' to play me out as if my name is Sega.., Thu 14 Feb 2008, 16:07, 1 reply)

Apologies for lack of funny
This isn't about witnessing a crime, more being in the same vacinity.

The girl was fifteen and was feeling down. After escaping an abusive relationship, she turns to the internet in search of solace. She finds a guy who's charming and friendly, and they begin to chat, get closer until the inevitable time arrives when they meet. She thinks it would be a good idea to have him to her parents house, for safety. The man, who's in his late twenties, comes to the house and after the initial small talk, is lead to the bedroom to watch a DVD in 'private'. The man, abusive and hateful, attacks the girl and pushes her face into a pillow before raping her, not taking the 'conventional' entrance, all the while her parents are sitting downstairs. After he finishes, he calmly dresses himself and leaves, waving to the parents on the way out.

The parents hadn't heard a thing.
(missc, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 16:06, 10 replies)

straight from the horses mouth
A few years ago I was the manager of a bar in south london and on a quiet tuesday night I started chatting to a leather clad roadie type, mainly to wile away the time (but also to befriend him in case he turned postal). He was very loud and full of it but had some great stories so it was good fun for a normally boring tuesday evening. Anyway he gives me a tip on a horse race the next day. Tells me loads about the history of the horse, the owners, how he knew its mother, its mothers mother etc and that I should put all I could afford on it and I would win big.

The next morning I get to work just before 10am and nip to the bookies. It's closed. I never really gamble or frequent bookmakers so I didn't know they opened at 11. I was eager to get in there asap because, as he put it, 'get in there early because everyone will be betting on it and that will make the odds lower.'

So at 11 instead of opening the bar as I should have, I go down the road and into the bookies. As I walk in to the bookies a guy rushes past me and out of the door. I walk up to the counter and there is no one behind it. I need to get back to the bar to open or the boss, who lives upstairs in the bar, will kill me so I tap the counter and shout 'excuse me!', and from below the counter a hand reaches up, fumbles the telephone off the wall, dials a number and says 'Hello? Police, I've just been robbed'
I rush around the counter and this crumpled distraught girl is lying on the floor so I comfort her until the cops arrive. I tell them I have to go to work to open up and they let me go. About an hour later they come into the bar to take my statement and I give them a description of the guy that had rushed out. They were kind to me because I had foiled the robbery, he had attacked her and it could have been a lot worse. I was a hero.

A few hours later they ring me at work and say they have apprehended a guy that fitted the description and would I come down to the cop shop to identify him. By then I've told everyone how I foiled an armed robbery and that I'm a hero and I'm expecting a call from Esther any time soon.

I get an hour off work to go and be an upstanding citizen and go down to brixton police station. For the first time ever I'm looking at a line-up and trying to identify the robber. I'm being followed up and down the line by the arresting officer, the defendant’s solicitor and an independent witness to ensure I’m not led along. As I look at the people in the line-up I'm sure in my mind it's definitely number 4.
'Number 4' I say
'Are you sure?' says the friendly cop.
'Yes' I say.
'Are you sure?' says the defendants solicitor, 'Are you really really sure?' he says with a twinkle in his eye.
'Yes' I say ' Number 4, without a doubt.'

It wasn't number 4.
I had got it completely wrong. I thought I was good with faces but that caused me to re-think my life-long 'I'm good with faces me' stance. All the coppers thought I was a twat and I was led out of the station as quickly as possible in a ' Thanks, but no-thanks, thanks for coming' kind of way.

I thought that was the end of it and I stopped telling the story because I knew I was a twat for getting it wrong.

That was until three months later and I've got a 'proper' job and I get a summons to go to the crown-court in kingston.
The reason?
I was being called as a witness by the robbers defence as 'Someone who 'didn't' recognise him at the scene of the crime.'
I was a character witness for a criminal.

Embarrassingly I had to explain to my new employers why I was being called-up to get the time off and then I had to spend three days in the waiting room of kingston crown court with the victims of the robber’s previous crimes, trying not to tell them the reason of why I was there.
They never called me to the dock to testify.
It was a complete waste of time.

I still don't know if the horse won.
(twistngo, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 16:06, 2 replies)

An Australian international football player
whose club is Everton FC (but for the sake of privacy I won't name him as Tim Cahill) used to regularly park his stupidly big Cadillac Escalade halfway across the road round the corner from my house when getting his hair cut, and across two disabled bays in Tesco.

unfortunately I never did get round to letting his tyres down, too worried someone would witness said crime
(cs192 is sucking on a Koala at, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 16:03, 4 replies)

Two crimes for the price of one!
When I was at university a friend of mine fancied himself as the local dope merchant. He carried around a little bag full of twists of clingfilm containing lumps of resin and made himself quite a tidy sum of money.

By his third and final year he decided to really clean up, and set up an excellent deal with the Leeds mafia or whoever it was in charge of that sort of thing. They would supply him with a family-sized amount of cannabis resin at a really good price - discount for quantity, as it were.

In order to maximise the killing he was going to make, he got out the maximum student loan he could, put in all his savings from the previous years and borrowed from here and there with promises of great returns. And off he went to the rendezvous.

The mafia boys met him in the appointed alleyway, counted the money, and told him "Thanks. Now fuck off". And drove away.

Poor chap was quite upset about it. We did suggest that he call the police but for some reason he didn't think this was a very good idea.
(richardm, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 16:03, Reply)

.
Back in t'day c2001 I was but a saleboy for a well known highstreet store that may or may not be the namesake of a certain member of Arsenal's Famous back four I'll give you a little clue, the shop is not called Winterburn, Kewon, or Bould.

It was a Saturday like any other. A clear, sunny day. Nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. What happened next could have changed one man's life forever.

Ian (for thats his name blah blah blah). Ian is the deputy manager of the above nameless store. A medium hight, skinny lad with a bad right knee with the kind of glint in his eye that said 'there is someone home, but the lights on'. He was always on the ball, and always knew everything that was going on around him.

Sasha, a rather buxom young thing with raven black hair and an arse that could crack wallnuts (hired mostly for her looks), she could charm the wallet out of your pocket, the birds out of the trees, and superman from the sky's (ok that last one if a bit of an exaggeration, everyone knows Lois was the only one for Superman)

Several members of staff are milling about, trying to get the great unwashed to but their merchandise. Then we all have a star-trek moment. It was surreal. We all became aware of a guy running form the store and alot of shouting from Sasha about how he's half inched something. Time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time.

This guy was a tall guy, but not muscular. He was lean and dressed in a dirty ripped white t-shirt, jeans and trainers. Carrying a holdall. As this guy ran from the store, Ian and myself (being the nearest guys) legged it after him. He jumped over one of those railings that sit on the side of the road into the oncoming traffic. Several cars screetched to a stop and this guy half ran/stumbled from the road. We got a hand on him as he tried to get away but momentum had the better of us and he was able to get away. All the while not letting go of this holdall.

Ian and I in hot persuit, we legged it down the highstreet following him. He was running full pelt, and so we were. Ian and myself arent exactly unfit, but damn this bloke must have ran professionally.

What played out next haunted me for a few weeks.

This bloke, looking back to see how close/far behind we were, didnt see a pram (or buggy for you 'merkins) emerge from a shop. The dad didnt see three lads running as if their life depended on it. This guy bundled into the pram. The baby was strapped in (luckly) but the pram went tumbling. So did he and he was cut. The dad obviously saw to the kid, who was crying like a trooper. Poor little mite.

The guy was on the floor for a few seconds, enough time for Ian and me to catch this scene of carnage, wrecking an innocent family day out. The guy reached into his holdall. Instantly we knew why he wasnt going to let go of it. He had needles. Lots of them. All dirty. With packets of powder.

Grabbing a needle, we could hear the sound of sirens in the back ground. He uttered the immortal words "come near me and i'll give you HIV" We all froze. Ian, myself, the mum and dad. Only the baby was crying. balling her heart out.

It was another one of those star-trek moments. Time slowed down, yet within seconds Police were on the scene. He was hit a few times with a baton and arrested (and possibly maced I cant remember)

As we took in the gravity of the whole situation. Ian turned pale. He looked at me and I could tell instantly he would need me to say something to re-assure him. He made dead-level eye contact. "I'm cut". He slowly lifted his hand and sure enough he had cuts and grazes on his hand. I looked at mine. I was grazed, but not cut.

It was another three months before Ian got the all clear from the hospital. Three months of worry. For a skinny lad he lost weight. Three months of not being able to have sex with his ultra-supportive girlfriend.

We went on the biggest bender once he got the all clear.
(drain_bamaged, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 16:02, 5 replies)

Really should have known better.
A friend of mine is a bar manager. While working as a relief manager in a particularly unpleasant part of Derbyshire she was witness to a rather impressive pub "discussion". Resulting in the attendance of the local plod in full on riot van and defcon3 attitude. Much truncheon swinging ensues and discussion is halted. As the police go back outside to load the wagon they are confronted with someone stood on the roof of their wagon having a piss. Not just anyone however, the gentleman in question was the chef from the pub.

Awesome.

Length ?

£80 fixed penalty for breach of the peace.
(kickstandrich last had sex with your mum/sister/wife/daughter on, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:59, Reply)

Busted.
I used to go out with what I regarded to be a very lovely bloke. I thought we were head over heels for one another. Sparks of love flew everywhere; oh! I was happy! Joy!

Then his laptop was stolen from a flat. He had to admit in the police report that he was ever-so distracted by the sex he was having to properly investigate those tell-tale signs of a break-in, like the stranger stealing the laptop from beside the heaving bed. His shag was not me.

He still tried to deny it. If I had my way, the burgler would have stolen his scrotum, too.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:54, Reply)

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...
Big-ass SUV vs. Weedeater.

I was driving from Richmond VA to Myrtle Beach SC last Thanksgiving with my kids to see my parents for the holiday. My girlfriend had my sons in her car, while I had my daughter in mine (there are too many of us to drive six hours in one vehicle).

My car is a 1999 VW Jetta TDI which has seen better days, thanks to my girlfriend's daughter. I had bought it from her for $500 because it's a diesel, but she had run it for a while without oil- so the turbo is shot, and it has little to no compression on two cylinders. Result: if I get on the expressway with it, I hold my foot to the floor and keep it there, and I kinda keep up with traffic. Due to the ruined turbo making a high-pitched whine and its complete lack of power, I call it the Weedeater.

So here I am, driving with my daughter in the Weedeater, trying to drive along I-95 with all the holiday traffic and the tractor trailers (lorries, for you English types), and doing my best not to either block traffic or get stuck in a knot of cars behind an even slower-moving vehicle. My daughter is not a small girl and I'm over 200 lbs, so the Weedeater was struggling. As I'm going along I find myself coming up rather fast on a slow moving tractor trailer, so I get in the left lane to pass him-

-and then find that we're going up a hill, and I don't have enough power to do so.

I said a few bad words, but as I was still going slightly faster than he was, I knew that I should just stick with it, especially as there was now a line of cars behind me, led by a very large SUV driven by a rather fat middle-aged man with a beefy red face who was now glaring at me in my mirror. I was in truth trapped there, unable to shift lanes to let them by without slowing down a lot- which would have been rather dangerous in that traffic and besides, I was still driving at the speed limit. It took about two minutes, but I finally got past the truck and pulled into the right lane to let the other cars by.

As soon as I did, Beefy Face swerved toward me, leaning on his horn and giving me the finger, just before jamming hard on the gas and roaring off at about 85 mph.

Too bad his big-ass SUV was so high off the ground, or he would have noticed that directly behind him was a state trooper. I think he was pulled over in about a quarter of a mile. Speeding, improper lane change, tailgating... I imagine that his Thanksgiving was spent in a drunken rage.

My daughter was still grinning about that when we arrived a couple of hours later.

Length and girth? Probably a hell of a lot more than Mr. Beefy Face has, given what he drives and how he drives it...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:52, 5 replies)

Pearl Harbour
The movie, that is.
(castortroy, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:52, Reply)

Pre-drink kicking, not big, not clever
Whilst on my way to meet friends at the Walkabout in Exeter, my journey into town took me past the City Gate pub on the Iron Bridge. Not a violent pub nor place but for those that know Exeter it gives you a sense of the geography.

Three yoofs were setting about a young man. One had him in a headlock, the other two were taking turns at pummeling him. I thinks to meself "Hold up, that ain't right" and promptly run over to tell them to stop. What happened next was quite unexpected.

They dropped said bloke and turned on me with the intention of doing more of the same. I'm no Van Damme but I can hold my own if necessary. Twas from this point onwards, when yoof #1 and yoof #2 were on the floor that yoof #3, who I thought was old enough to know better decided to call off his whimpering dogs.

My heart was beating, I was late for meeting my mates and where was victim #1? Who knows, he'd scarpered and left me to it.

It wasn't until I got to the Walkabout and went to the loo that I noticed a footprint on my jacket. I don't recall taking it off during the fracas! Ouch.
(castortroy, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:44, 3 replies)

That taught him...
I was giving a workmate a lift home one evening after work in Aberdeen. We were going along westnorth street past Safeway which is dual carriageway in my beloved Ford Orion GL.
Anyway, on the pavement a fight was in progress...well, it was more of a one-sided beating. As we got closer we saw it was a girl getting the shit kicked out of her by some guy. This wasnt just argy-bargy, she was getting a real beating.
A few other motorists were slowing down a bit to gawp, but not actually doing anything to intervene. This seemed a bit unfair to us. We were past the scene so I pulled a U-turn at the next traffic lights and we went back. I stopped opposte them. The guy immediately laid of the girl and started screaming at us "....mind your own fuckinging business, ill do you next blah blah..." The girl claimed she was "alright" despite the blood pouring out her face. "hes my boyfriend, its ok" .... she refused our help, didnt want a lift, we offered to run her wherever she wanted, but she just started walking awasy. Well, we couldnt force her to accept help and at least the guy had stopped hitting her, so we carried on.
We were now going the wrong direction though so swung another u-turn and carried on, the way we had been going. The problem was this would take us right past where the guy was still standing at the roadside. I reckoned he might throw something at the car, so was prepared the hit the brakes. As we approached at 30mph or so, he started walking across the pavement to the roadside. Thinking he might kick the car, I prepared to swerve away from him.
I still cant get over what he did though, He stepped out directly infront of me and tried to punch my rapidly aproaching bonnet! I could have swerved, but clearly remember thinking "If your stupid enough to try that, you deserve the consequences" and hit him. He was clipped by the corner of the car and flung over the roof to thump into a messy heap on the road behind me. I skidded to a stop and got out. His hardman attitude had changed. "you fucking nutter, you run me over, your fucking nuts, man" he got up and limped off.
I called the cops, but the operator didnt seem to give a damn and was more concerned with whether I wanted to press charges against the guy for damaging my car, so we let it drop and buggered off.
For all I know, he made it round the corner, where he might have died from internal injuries, but I dont really care.

I later found out that somewhere round that area is some kind of drop-in clinic cum hostel type of thing for junkies, and this sort of scene is quite normal in the area.
(dave likes cheese, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:39, Reply)

my sister told me this one
someone decided to help himself to a few of the computers in her universities library: when questioned he said he was taking them to be fixed, he even got a few members of staff to help him load up his car cheeky sod
( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:38, 2 replies)

yes
a few years back i was walking to a friends house when i was 3 chavs pushing a car, it wasnt until i was a bit further down the road that i realized that the car that had been recently broken into and had not had its broken windows replaced yet

presumably the same 3 chavs had helped themselves to the radio a few days before, found out it was worthless and came back for more
( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:36, Reply)

I not only witnessed...
...this crime but took an active part in it too.

Many moons ago when I was younger and foolisher I happened across some tearaways giving someone what for in the approved modern fashion. There was some good use of boot- to- head with a fine variation on rib pummelling and just a soupcon of colloquial invective that added real local colour.

Being (A) with some quite large friends, (B) equipped with a skateboard which is essentially a street legal war club and (C) worryingly keen on martial arts I charged in with great and, as it turns out, unwise ferocity.

Thus I did mightily smite them and, with suitable support from my large friends, chase them off. I felt good. I had rescued someone who was, although very drunk, effusive in their thanks and their praise of our good deeds.

The attackers went to the police.

I went to court.

I am still paying them money now.

I really really really hope that one day I will encounter a Judge’s/lawyer’s/Juror’s child being brutally raped so I can ignore it and cross over to the other side.

Bloody lefties.
(Pig_of_Doom, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:33, 15 replies)

On a more serious note.
I do have a tale of two crimes. A very bad one I missed, and an even worse one that I saw in all its horror.

Step back to the halcyon days of 2003. A just-turned-18 Mr.6 03 is celebrating in the pub (The Town Hall in Eccles, so you can all avoid it) with a group of friends, as his close companion Mr. H has decided to bite the bullet, drop out of college and pursue a career of dodging bullets in the sand - or so he thought.

Enter three of the pikey-est scum known to man, the sort of hairy knuckle-draggers that prove Darwinism works in reverse too, the kind of person who couldn't tell his head from his arse until he started shitting. In short, the sort of person that populate all the answers in this QOTW.

We think nothing of it, until the youngest one starts hanging around the pool table. He challenges one of us to a game, our best player duly dispatches him. Spitting mad he challenges me.

"Wot rules we playin' mate?"
"Swinton rules chief. That alright?(ie the rules I played every week in the Swinton pool hall)"
"Ooo da fuck's Swinton? Cunt, yoor in fuckin' Eccles now, innit?"

Fair enough, thinks I. Game played, he wins - mainly because the mad animal glint from under his neanderthal forehead put me off slightly. I drink up, and have a quick word with Mr. H about how if we stayed, it'd kick off. He assures me he'll be out after the girls have all drunk up, and satisfied I leave the pub with the most sensible of the girls.

Fast forward 3 hours. I have a phone call from a sobbing girl and hotfoot it to the local A&E.

During those three hours, the first of the crimes had been committed. True to his word, Mr. H had rounded up the other revellers and moved to safer ground. All bar one girl, who thought knew better. Persuaded to return 20 minutes later, our group agree to another game of pool. Neanderthal the younger attempts to grope one of the girls, she slaps him, and all hell breaks loose.

The girl in question is punched to the floor. Her boyfriend receives a broken arm when he stops a stool being smashed into her prone head and is duly hurled through the jukebox. Another one of our friends is beaten about the head and neck with a pool cue, leaving him with a six inch gash to the scalp and lots of bruising. Then the three pikeys make their getaway. But they stop at the door, spot Mr. H calling the police on his mobile and grind a bottle into his eyes before stealing his phone.

Back in the A&E, I've just walked in to see three of my friends bloodied and battered, and the air filled with the screams of Mr. H, who is currently having broken glass removed from his face and the insides of his eyelids - a procedure that cannot be done under sedation. That sound, and the sight of him in a wheelchair, head bandaged, will stick with me until the day I die.

Fast forward 12 months. Mr. 603 is now a student, returning home for the first time - to accompany a now fully recovered (to the point that he can see just well enough to fail the army medical) Mr. H to the trial of two of the three thugs that nearly blinded him. The trial should have taken place four months earlier, but the defendants' brief had managed to delay the hearing. Into the court we go, seats are taken, and I view the most horrific crime ever committed against one of my friends as a helpless bystander.

Those four months are important. The brief points out to the judge, that the glass-grinding thug now has a job for the first time ever, and has been working for the past three months. Sending him to prison would deprive his three-month pregnant wife the income to support his unborn daughter. The criminal in question, a fucking judge who wouldn't know justice if it picked up a WKD bottle and blinded him with it, passed his verdict.

"In light of the fact that the guilty party is now in gainful employment, and about to become a father, it would be unfair to hand down a custodial sentence. Therefore he will serve a 2 year sentence, suspended for 18 months as long as he stays out of trouble. Case closed."

Now that is, without a doubt, the worst crime I've ever seen. Aiding and abetting a thug in robbing my friend of his dream.
(Psycorp603, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:28, 13 replies)

Poker Night
A few of us used to play poker at my house (low stakes nothing interesting) every first Thursday of the month. It became quite popular so we limited it to the first 5 people to arrive. We had a hard and fast rule that you had to be there before 9:00 otherwise I wouldn't open the door.

Anyway about 10:30, and we've had a few dozen hands when there is a knock at the door.
"Tuff!" is the unspoken thought as we ignore the tapping and continue with the hand.
The house was an old terraced house in Reading where the front door opens straight into the front room.
Then a credit card is slipped thru the gap in the door frame. Someone was trying to pop the Yale lock. Dave, the largest of our party, quickly springs up and opens the door.

Cue somewhat startled looking chaff, arm still raised with credit card in hand. Looks past Dave at 5 not at all small people smiling at him.

"Is er,...er... er Pete in " says chaff.
Dave says "Start running!"

About ten minutes later, Dave comes back with the guy's jacket, trainers and HIS socks.
(bugboybeast, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:28, Reply)

Paperboys Bike Stolen!
My older brother was a die hard paper boy. He took on the local free paper round and championed it. It was the hardest and longest round in the town which took 4 hours to do. Nothing would stop him, no viscious dogs, no locked gates. Not even a few muggings or kids from school beating him up. Everybody was sure to get their papers on Friday evenings.
No one but him would go to the efforts and courage to deliver papers up the black hill. He was held as legend, an icon that no one could beat.

After many years, the time came for him to move on. He went up in the world to become a morning newsagents paperboy. More money, much less papers and better clients.

After years of hammer, his bike could take no more and started to fall to bits. So he ended up using my bike whilst waiting for Santa to bring him a new one. He was on the stern promise that he would have it back to me before I needed to ride it to school.

One morning, I'm barely awake when he bursts into the bedroom in a fit of panic "SOME BASTARDS NICKED YER BIKE!!!!" errr what!!?

Seems he was in the middle of his paper round when he badly needed a piss. So put the bike down next to some woods, and went in there for a minute to relieve himself. Out he comes and the bike's gone. Would you believe it? 7am in a quiet area for just a minute or so and someone had off with it!!! Unbelievable!!

My mum reports the crime to the police. Who incredibly phone back 15 minutes later to say that they think the bike has been found! Off we went to someones house. To a lovely elderly couple. They had found the bike whilst walking their dog that morning.

It was all smiles and grattitude and lovely, Until I asked where they found it.... You know where this going don't you? "Oh yes dear, it was abandoned next to the woods."

Doh!

Un-phased by these dramatic events, My brother continued his paper round for many years to come. To this day, his pictures and monuments are still up in the newsagents. And at the local free papers office they have a little museum dedicated to him.

The town observed a minutes silence when he retired. But he did have to go to University at some point. He did his last round on the morning he left for Uni.

Had he have not taken so long over his peeing, he would have witnessed two OAPs nicking his bike!

Length. 7 years and about 80,000 papers delivered. What a legend!
(Miggyman, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:21, Reply)

riots
A few years back, there was a protest that errupted in my mums estate. A fairly common occurance, happened usually once a year. normally the protests involved a group of angry women staring out a group of cops in full riot gear comparing trunceons. anyway, this year it kicked off BIG STYLE. burning cars, petrol bombs, guns, raids. not the first time i'd witness such an event. But certainly the worst for several years.
There was this one kid, best described as bull fighting a police landrover - with a gas cannister. he would lift cannister above his head chuck it at the landrovers front windscreen and dodge round the side of it before it ran him over. he repeated this 6 maybe 7 times before fleeing, in front of maybe 100 people. but this isn't even the worst of it. obviously, being from the estate "the lads" know who i am and although i take no part in their goings on. i could walk freely amongst their ranks. so heres me, not long back from a sabatical on the mainland. slap bang in the middle of a riot that kicking off, camera phone at the ready taking pics like a japanese tourist. i went down one entry and round to behind the police to get a good view of what they were doing before getting bored and heading back up an entry. to see a group of masked men getting ready to assault. one of these men was loading a fucking crossbow! I was told on no uncertain terms to fuck off, and rightly made a hasty retreat. I circled back to the other side of the road to see this guy back to wall, ready to pop out and take a shot at the cops, to which he wasted little time in doing. Of course this is serious shit. so my sensible side kicked in and i made a quick retreat to a safe distance. a short time later there was a gun shot.. The guy with the crossbow had been disabled by the police sniper several streets away from their position. I arrived to see him being bundled into an ambulance and whisked off to hospital with an armed police guard.


Bullfight
Police show of strength
seems my ISP thinks you're all too greedy :P
( Kingtoke was shit at life on, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:11, Reply)

Griffin Close #1: Irredeemably stupid.
I have only once tried to be any sort of have-a-go hero, and, in retrospect, I blame it all on the absinthe I’d been drinking.

When I was a supervisor in student accommodation, I used to live in a flat close to the roadway that was the main thoroughfare on the site. It was narrow, straight(ish), and, at night, very quiet. B3tans familiar with Griffin Close in Birmingham will know what I mean, for it is of Griffin Close that I speak.

One evening, I heard an engine roaring outside. Looking out of the window, I saw a car barrel along the roadway. A little later, it came back in the other direction. It was very fast and very noisy. Not only was it monstrously dangerous: it was also incredibly annoying. I decided that something had to be done about it, and went outside. My flatmate R, another supervisor, accompanied me.

I waited for the car to make another pass and flagged it down. Amazingly, it stopped. It was occupied by a group of steamingly drunk Brummies. I tried to be polite and asked them please to vacate the site. They pointed at the flats on their left, which were reserved for students with families – often postgrads from the developing world – and expressed bafflement that I was sticking up for foreigners. I let that one pass. One of the Brummies got out of the car. He resembled a walking beerkeg with a bulldog’s face. He was not in a good mood.

I am not a hard man. I am most of 2 metres tall, but am built like a beanpole at the best of times. Additionally, I have never been in a fight, and have never learned to defend myself. R was short and… well, a classicist. Handling ourselves in a confrontation was not an option; but, as I intimated before, we had been drinking. I looked bulldog in the eye. Already he was on his guard.
“Get back in the car!” I didn’t shout, but I was speaking in as close to an authoritative, stentorian tone as I could manage.
“Wha-”
I stepped towards him. “GET BACK IN THE CAR,” and then, to the driver, “AND GET OFF THIS PROPERTY BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE.”


mirabile dictu, it worked. They left.


For a few minutes, all was quiet. And then I heard the sound of an engine. They were back, playing the same game. Emboldened by my previous success, I was out like a shot. Again, R followed.

I waited for the car to begin its approach from the far end of the driveway. When I judged that I would be visible, I did the most stupid thing that a person can do in front of a car driven at 40 mph by a drunkard.

I stepped into the roadway.

I looked straight ahead. I didn’t blink. There was a screech of brakes. The car stopped a couple of metres away. The driver started to shout obscenities; I held his gaze. He shut up. And then he drove away. He stayed away.

For my part, I went inside and ate jaffa cakes. Oh, and I trembled with a ferocity rarely witnessed that far away from the edge of a tectonic plate, too.

Length? I’m still trembling as I write this, so that’s about 9 years.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:10, 2 replies)

I didn't witness this crime
Although I have HARD evidence of it's occurence. There is a thief in Davros's Granddad's family. You see, someone stole two stars from the sky and put them in his eyes...

*slopes off sheepishly to take industrial strength cod liver oil*

V is for Valentine's Day and Vaginal discharge
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 15:07, 4 replies)

Making fun of criminals
.
When we were newly-weds, we lived in a small flat near the centre of town. The flat was in a solid tenement building, both windows to the front. Our enchanting view was the back of the cash and carry, and ours was the only building in a very short dead-end street.

The street was also not well-lit, and was a target for drunks looking for a quiet place for a pee on the way home. Now that sounds pretty minor, but the stench was indescribable, and the residents took turns in tipping bleach or dettol laden water down the unused gate they all aimed at. If I'm honest, I'd never considered pee-ing somewhere public much of a crime until I was personally affected.

Being fairly near the city centre, regular police foot patrols passed by the end of our street, and any time I spotted them I made a complaint about the regular "piss-ups" in our street. Nothing, of course, ever happened. The local fuzz clearly considered a couple of dozen drunks fighting on Lothian Road more of a priority. Tut tut.

Direct action was called for. Summer was approaching and the prospect of not being able to have windows open should a hot day occur wasn't filling me with excitement. A plan was hatched....

My first course of action was simply looking out for the drunks pee-ing, and yelling at them through an open window. Much hilarity ensued as they pissed on their shoes, their mates' shoes, and on one occasion in his carry-out bag when startled. It was fun, but the novelty soon wore off. I then borrowed my wee nephew's water pistol - one of those big muckle things with a pump on it. Now this was real fun. Out on a Friday night, have a few drinkies, then home to spray the pissing drunks with water. Soon, though, I got bored again. So I swapped the water for Hi Karate. The very very cheap aftershave sold in pound shops at the time (£1 bought about a gallon). It had a very odd, and very powerful, smell.

This was the thing that actually worked - after a few drunks had been sprayed, the smell seemed to permeate the tarmac. Okay, we got a whiff every time we passed, but it was (marginally) more pleasant than stale kidney-filtered alcohol. And it seemed to stop anyone else using our street as a toilet.

Not sure if the effect lasted very long, but long enough for us to sell up, pocket a nice wee profit and move to the 'burbs. Where we spend the whole time dodging dog-shit on the pavements.

Shouldn't have given the wee guy back his water pistol, I could have tried the same stunt on the dog-walkers.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:57, 2 replies)

OAP Terror!
To set the scene, a couple of years ago I was happily sat in my car in the car park of my local Tesco reading a book while waiting for the wife to whizz round and grab a few foody essentials.

I was parked a few spaces away from and opposite the "parent and child" reserved spaces and so had a perfect view of what unfolded before my very eyes.

With a squeal of rubber and a cloud of exhaust smoke a very nice very new looking BMW M3 screeched into one of the "parent child" places
and out gets a fairly big bloke (big & buff rather than big & fat) with the cliche shades, baseball cap, designer gear etc.

He starts to walk away from his car when he is apprehended by what I can only describe as a shorter version of Foggy from last of the summer wine. An old feller well into his 70's, military bearing walking with a brass topped cane.

As it was summer I had the window down and so could just hear the jist of the conversation. The old feller tells the steroid freak off for parking in a child space when he is obviously without the required child and asks him to move his car. Steroid freak then proceeds to lose it with the old feller shouting screaming and swearing at him and prodding him in the chest for a good minute or so before he turned round and carried on walking into the store.

I was shocked, the old feller was shocked and was just stood there for a fair few seconds white faced and imobile.

I was just about to get out of the car to see if he was ok when I found out why he was just standing there ... he was waiting to make sure steroid freak was out of sight. The old fella then walked around the BMW and with his brass topped cane put a deep dent in every body panel, a couple on the roof, took out the rear light clusters then walked off past me giving me a huge wink and a grin as he went past.

The wife was back a few minutes later and I told her what happened ... she laughed and made us wait until steroid freak came back so she could see his reaction.

He cried

He cried a lot

He cried a huge amount in fact, but not as much as my wife. Hers were tears of laughter mind you!
( RadG Drinking Mojitos in the sun, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:56, 14 replies)

Crap cop stories
Ok, I might as well get them off my chest.
Used to live in Burngreave in Sheffield, an area with many problems.
I had bought my first house, and lived on my own.
First time I was burgled - arrived home to find ladder (not mine) against back bedroom window, window broken and valuables missing. Called polis. 'Oh no, they wouldn't have come in that way' was one of their helpful comments, looking at the ladder and broken window; another was that it was my 'fault for living in the area'.
Burglary no 2-had to go next door to phone the polis this time as they had trashed mine.
After phoning for the second time I was told that 'they would try and get someone round when they had finished with the motorists'.

Also while sitting watching tv one evening there was a knock on the door. 2 polispersons.
'Do you have a car?'
me 'Yes'
'Where is it?
me 'Outside on the street'
'No it isn't - its wrapped around the lamppost at the bottom of the road.'
(The twoc-ers hadn't been able to get the steering lock off).
They then proceeded to tell me that I would be liable to any damage done to the lamppost.
Gggggrrrrrrrr!

Ok - rant over.

Postscript: I went to survey the damage then called a garage to pick it up. I went back to the car & just on the offchance tried to start the engine - it started, so I decided I could drive there (half a mile and down hill all the way). Went indoors to phone the towtruck & tell it not to bother. Back to car. In the time it took me to make a phonecall the little ##%*)##s accross the road (who had almost certainly taken it in the first place) had nicked all the spark-plugs.
More gggrr.
(misspiggy In danger of having to get a job, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:53, Reply)

crime prevention
This is my mate's story but as he is not a B3tan I'll tell it on his behalf.

His nick name is Two Tonne Mick; because
a) his first name is Micheal,
and
b) he wieghs about two tonnes (probably 22 stone).

He and his girlfriend are drving back to their flat in his GF's car. They pull up the communal drive when they see a proper skanky looking skelly using a screwdriver to force the padlock of Two Tonne Micks works van.

Mick casually walks up to the thief just as he gets the padlock off. He then slams the guy's head into the rear door of his van resulting in a near perfect impression of the guy's slack jawed, sloping forehead cranium in the door panel. (will try and get photo of this over the weekend)

You can actually see the thief's startled expression in the dent.

He then started to cry.

Mick never got the panel beaten out, he reckons it wards of other skellies.
(bugboybeast, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:53, 2 replies)

Not quite done nothing
One day, at Uni, I was walking (with a friend) to the local Maccy D's to get some food. We passed by a branch of the Nationwide, which, oddly considering it was 12:30 on a weekday, was shut.

All of a sudden, a policeman appeared, dragged us in to the building society, explained that it had been robbed, and asked had we seen anything. When he was told we hadn't, he just said we were useless and threw us back out.
(Ok, I'll get me coat, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:52, Reply)