» LOL Bigots

My eldest son Dan is a shy lad...
...very smart and studious and might be considered by some to be "a nerd". But he's a nice boy - friendly and wouldn't hurt a fly. Being as my daughter (the youngest) is exhibiting some exceptional diva-like qualities, I feel I can be objective enough about my kids faults and Dan's main fault is that he (like many young lads) is a grubby little soap dodger! It's hereditary unfortunately, as his dad is a bit grotty sometimes as well.

He'll be 11 in the summer and I have seem to have finally impressed upon him the importance of showering everyday and keeping himself clean - if only so that he doesn't end up being labelled as "the smelly kid" when he heads off to Secondary School in September. This has meant however, that we are all constantly coughing and spluttering in a haze of lynx each morning, but it's still a lot better than the foul stench of B.O. we can come to expect as puberty rapidly descends on us.

Anyway, I digress...

A couple of years ago, Dan was having a bit of trouble with one of the lads in his class. Darryl (and yes, that is the little sod's real name), had taken to calling my son "Dirty Daniel", after picking up on my son's (admittedly disgusting) habit of chewing his fingernails/clothes/etc. He kept on at him for some time and my son - not being especially streetwise - wasn't sure how to respond. Until one day, Dan caught his tormentor "digging for treasure" inside one of his nostrils. Almost with glee, my socially awkward young man shouted out "Haha - Dirty Darryl!" at the boy, who wasn't best pleased at receiving his own medicine, as he then promptly went and told the class teacher that Daniel was hurling racist insults at him (I should probably mention here that Darryl is black) and that my son was calling his skin colour "dirty".

*Bearing in mind, these lads were 8 at the time and already one of them knows how to pull "The Race Card".

Anyway, all hell breaks loose: Daniel is hauled in front of the headteacher and I receive a stern phone-call demanding that I come to speak to them that afternoon URGENTLY. Upon arrival at the school, I walk into the headmistress's office where I also see the S.E.N co-ordinator (for anyone without sprogs, the abbreviated letters stand for "Special Educational Needs) and my tearful, bewildered looking son.

After being given a run-down of the situation, I tell the school of Daniel having told me of this young lad calling him the exact same name for several weeks/months previously and that it was almost certainly my son's way of retaliating rather than any kind of racist remark. My son is not a racist at all and in fact this incident was probably the first time he had been made aware of what racism actually is. I also told them that the other kid in question seemed to think it was fine to snape at my son, but obviously didn't like having it done back and perhaps in fact Darryl was the racist after all? The school weren't having any of it though. The S.E.N actually said to me "how can you be sure that your son isn't racist?" and "well if you think that Daniel said this innocently, then maybe you should get him tested for potential autism, as this is the kind of thing that 'THEIR SORT' come out with". I was both gob-smacked and horrified - this is a woman who has to work with 'THEIR SORT' every single day and appeared to have nothing but contempt for them! It was becoming clear who the real bigots were...

When they tried waving something in my face for me to sign and making mention that my son would forever have this incident on file, I point blank refused and told them I wanted to reschedule this meeting again for Monday morning before school (this was a Friday afternoon) to try and resolve it after letting things cool down over the weekend. They agreed and off we stormed. My poor lad was a bit shaken up (he's rarely in trouble) and it was clear to see from a thousand paces that he didn't have a clue what was going on.

Monday morning came around and we trundled off up the school, nervous, but with an extra person in tow - my husband Chris, who had taken the morning off work to give us some moral support. See, what I have failed to mention until now, is that Chris is a big, 6ft1" black man with a pretty hard stare. He's as soft as shit really, but could easily moonlight as a bouncer. He also happens to have been my son's stepfather since Daniel was less than a year old and has since provided him with a beautiful, brown-skinned little sister. So clearly my son was learning all this racist terminology at home! NOT.

The head and the S.E.N. teacher's jaws just DROP when we walk into the room! Chris puts his iphone onto the table and informs them that he will be recording our conversation today. They look very uncomfortable, but don't say anything. Chris continues "so, what did you want us to sign?" The headteacher blurts out "Oh that's really not necessary Mr ***** - we've looked into the incident further (what, over the weekend?!) and found Daniel to be innocent so you can consider the matter dropped".
Chris: "And there'll be nothing on my stepson's file labelling him as a racist, now will there?"
Headmistress: "No, no - absolutely not. the matter has been resolved. And Daniel, we are very sorry you were upset on Friday. We will be keeping a close eye on Darryl and making sure that he doesn't bother you any more."
Chris: "Good. Okay then lets go - I need to ring ma'nigger Rusty before I go back to work".

I JEST, I JEST!!! :-D Of course that last sentence never happened, but the rest is all 100% true. And funnily enough, Dan's not had any trouble since then...
(Tue 26th Feb 2013, 12:03, More)

» School Days

I have a myriad of hilarious school tales I could tell.....
.....but one of my favourite ever actually belongs to my ex boyfriend - the father of my child.

Now *Andy's a nice guy, but personal hygiene was never his strong point. Showers were a rare indulgence, he kept the same toothbrush for 14 months and I'm fairly sure it was his feet that were used on that hideous 'criminail' advert. He also considered his bouts of flatulence (which arrived approximately every 30 seconds) to be epic performances, so what he did in the sixth form common room, should have been no surprise to anyone.....

Let's go back a decade and set the scene: a painfully strict, Catholic, all boys school, run by a sprinkling of Jesuit monks and fearsome oirish teachers. Andy would have been 17 - soon to be 18, and was mucking about in the common room with a couple of mates, playing pool or some such rubbish. Anyway - he wanders off into the kitchen to make a cuppa, just as the bell goes off signalling the end of lunchtime and the start of the last period. Our man fully intends to skive this lesson and so he stays hiding in the kitchen with the view to dashing out of school after everyone has left. "Fair enough", you might think; "we've all done it!" Perhaps.

You see, what Andy DIDN'T count on was a teacher locking the door after all of the lads had seemingly vacated the room.

"Oh buggery fuck", thinks Andy and ponders on what to do next.

He shoots a few solitary games of pool when he gets that oh-so-familiar bubbly feeling in the pit of his belly.

The carsey's on the other side of the locked door. Shite.

"I'll hold it in", Andy decides. Trying hard to ignore it, he sits down on the sofa and switches on the telly - no doubt to watch a repeat of some cunty daytime DIY show.

Nope. It's not going away. His violent bowl twisting is accompanied by some nasty griping pains. Ouch.

Andy stands up and tries his hand at a lone game of darts. Round the clock, perhaps? (Evil rules, obviously). But gravity does not benefit him and by now things are desperate. His guts have gone completely spastic and his ring-piece is straining against the pressure of the doubtless explosive turd threatening to cause carnage in his boxers. He needs to back out a cack and he's running out of time.

Panicking, he looks around the room and spots the waste-paper bin in the corner of the room, thoughtfully lined with a plastic Tesco bag (every little helps, right?!) - I assume you know what's coming next?!?!?!

Yep. it's the only thing for it. Andy whips off his keks faster than he used to cum and shats in the bin. Big time.

The relief felt by our protagonist (or antagonist, if you're a member of the faculty) is immeasurable, but it is quickly followed by worry as Andy realises that; a)he has nothing to wipe his shit-box with and b)what the fuck is he going to do with the shit?!

He turns round bare-arsed to study his creation and is mildly surprised at not finding the bin swimming with turgid brown anus-water. While it is not quite a pebble dash effect, neither is it a log - more of a gooey, bitty, sticky shit with very slight form. And it's massive. And rotten. And it smells worse than a morgue on fire.

Obviously, owing to the type of shite resting at the bottom of the bin, it is clear that Andy MUST wipe his batty, otherwise the smell will linger around him like a clingy child. But there's a dilemma: Andy has no tissues. So what does our hero do? Well let's put it this way, his mum never washed that particular pair of boxers again. Nor either of his Donnay socks.....

After dropping his soiled draws in the bin, he pulls up his school trousers and wonders what to do about dilemma number 2: disposing of the plop.

He can't throw it out the window - for he doesn't have the key to open it with. He point blank REFUSES to tie up the pony bag and hide it in his rucksack to throw away later - even Andy has some standards and plus, the stench is so horrific that everyone will clock. So what does he do?!

At this point the bell rings. It's 3:30pm and schools finished. His mates'll be back any minute! Panic-stricken, Andy looks around the room wildly for somewhere to stash his shameful mishap and decides upon shoving it down the back of the sofa cushions. Genius!

Andy then legs it back into the kitchen to hide and moments later, the door to the common room is unlocked and in bounds dozens of his adolescent peers, none the wiser. They laugh about his 'good' fortune at being accidentally locked in the common room. Andy leaves school for the day (weekend, actually) and skips off to get the bus, unchallenged by any teachers as to his whereabouts. Nobody guesses he is going commando. Phew.

So fast-forward two or three weeks. Everybody at school has been avoiding the common room like the plague. It's got this nasty smell in there you see - really rancid, like a dead animal or something. No-one's found out what it is yet. Until one wet, Thursday morning, the headmaster's furious roar booms out across the assembly hall.....

.....Apparently, the poor cleaner had made the gruesome discovery the previous night and was so traumatised that she quit on the spot! You see, what Andy had forgotten in his haste, was that the sofa in the common room backed on to the radiator. No wonder the smell had stayed put for so long.....

Of course the school head was incensed in the way that only teachers can be and used words such as "defecated" and "culprit" - even "expulsion!", (as they do). When the head asked the rest of the school if any body wanted to own up to anything, there was deafening silence (despite the fact that most of the pupils were probably biting there fists trying not to laugh).

So Andy fearfully kept stum. And as a result, got the ENTIRE sixth form banned from using their own common room for the rest of the school year.

It was only November.

Oh.




Length? Which length do you want? Andy's 6ft5, his shat was about a foot, his punishment half a year and his cock, well let's not embarrass the poor guy even more, eh?!

*Name not changed, because he's sooooo proud!!!
(Mon 2nd Feb 2009, 18:52, More)

» Brain Fade

About 15 years ago...
...my old man was driving down the A10 whilst enjoying a ciggie, when suddenly his brand new mobile phone started ringing. (Remember those Nokia's that you could get different colour fascias for and swap them around? It was one of them).

So, he takes the call and then struggles to navigate the triple-whammy of multi-tasking he has bestowed upon himself. Driving, smoking and chatting on the phone at the same time - tricky stuff.

Anyway, the call ends at the same time as the ciggie. He goes to lob the fag out of the window and dump the phone on the passenger seat...








...If anyone's driving around in a second hand, 1995 plate, Peugeot 406 in Burgundy, check your passenger seat for a nasty little burn will you? Cheers!
(Fri 22nd Mar 2013, 20:57, More)

» Where Did It All Go Wrong?

In a tent...
...in France, one August in the early 80's.

Mum: "Steve, I'm chilly. Shall we zip our sleeping bags together and snuggle?"

Dad: "Oi, oi! Let's do it babe!"

...NEXT SUMMER...

Dad: "Shit Di, I've dropped the baby! I've only fucking gone and dropped her!"

FFS...
(Thu 28th Feb 2013, 16:43, More)