b3ta.com user Godwin's Lawyer
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Hi there

Come in, sit down. Can I get you anything? Cup of tea, biscuit, Nazi uniform? No? Fair enough.

So, I guess you're here to have a nosy around. There isn't much here, I'm afraid. I've not long moved in. I thought this B3ta place seemed like a nice neighbourhood - from what I hear, there's hardly any bum-raping taking place any more. Well, we can't have everything, I suppose.

So, what do you want to talk about? Hitler? Nazis? The final solution? It is the internet - let's face it, it's only a matter of time before someone mentions it. Just thought I'd get it out of the way.

What's that? This isn't a real conversation, you say? Well, no, fair point - I just thought it'd be nice and friendly. Welcoming, you know...

What was that? Did you just insult my mother?!

Well really - I don't think there's any kind of call for that language...

WHAT?! Her diseased cunt, you say?! How dare you!! I think it's best if you leave right...

That's it, I've had enough. Get out!! Go on - fuck off. Right now!

Cheeky bloody bastards...

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» Iffy crushes

There seems to be a drought of actual stories this week
It's time to rectify that - so sit down, get yourself comfy, and let me tell you the tale of...(dramatic pause)...Fiona, my one true iffy crush.

Our story begins many moons ago (and no, I won't say how many), in a high school in Scotland, in the middle of morning registration


As usual, I was sitting beside my good buddy and occasional partner-in-crime Craig, having a heated discussion about the merits of the latest pop craze or TV show it was cool to like. We were so caught up in our discussion, we barely paid any attention to the rest of the room, until Mr Carr (our registration teacher) cleared his throat, and announced, "Class, I'd like you to meet our newest pupil."

Irritated by having our conversation interrupted, I grudgingly turned my head to look with barely-concealed contempt...

And froze.

Standing there, beside Mr Carr's desk, was the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on. She stood, shyly clutching a folder, eyes on the ground. She was gorgeous. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, could barely think - it was as if I had been electrocuted. I could feel an incredible tension throughout my entire body, and I became uncomfortably aware of my heart beating in my chest. As I stared and fought to control my breathing, lest it give me away, Mr Carr continued, "Her name is Fiona. It's her first day here, so if she needs any help and directions, I want you all to help her out."

Her eyes flickered upwards for a second, and briefly caught mine before she lowered them again. I felt my heart begin to beat even faster - her eyes! Oh, God, her eyes. The burned themselves into my soul. I had never felt this way before - this incredible, painful attraction and desire for another person. As Mr Carr motioned her to a spare desk, I dealt with my new-found crush in the time-honoured tradition; by turning to my mate, and saying, "Woah, did you get a load of the new girl?"

"Aye, what a munter" he said dismissively. "It's a shame we never get any decent-looking birds in this place"

"What?!" My mouth must have dropped open in shock. "You think she's a munter?"

"Total dog. I wouldn't touch her with yours. Now, as I was saying..."

As Craig restarted our previous conversation, I just sat there in shock, barely joining in. How could he think she was in any way ugly? She was beautiful. It didn't make any kind of sense. So I just sat there, saying very little, while desperately resisting the temptation to turn round and gaze at her.

The bell rang, and we filed out of the room - she was sat near the front, so I lost sight of her in the melee. It turned out she wasn't in any of my classes that morning, so I spent most of the day in a state of distraction, longing to see her again, yet fretting over what I would actually say to her if our paths did cross. I was a wreck, and I'd only seen the girl for a few minutes - I was suffering from the strange kind of obsessive love which only either teenagers or psycho stalkers seem to feel.

Walking between classes, I suddenly spotted her up ahead in the corridor, staring shyly at the floor while shuffling along with everyone else. She was heading towards me, and my stomach flipped out. Oh God, maybe I should talk to her? But what would I say?

As she passed me, the boy who was walking in front of me suddenly caught sight of her, and said, loudly, "Jesus, what an utter minger" As his mates burst out laughing, she turned, looking puzzled, then when she realised they were laughing at her a look of pain flashed across her face. Before I could do or say anything, she was past me. I fumed inside, yet I was also puzzled - she was gorgeous. It couldn't be just my imagination - she genuinely was. So why did everyone else seem to think differently?

After making it through the morning, I headed for lunch in the company of Craig and Tom - Tom was one of Craig's mates, and was the kind of cocky, loud-mouthed one-of-the-lads wankers that seemed to proliferate in high school. Still, he was a mate of a mate, so I put up with him.

Tom was dominating the conversation as usual, probably telling us one of his many (bullshit) stories, when all of a sudden, I noticed her heading the other way again. She had her eyes glued to the ground yet again, hugging a folder to her chest. Her long, blonde hair lay around her shoulders, and her perfect porcelain face looked both beautiful, and fragile.

As we passed her, Tom turned to her, and bellowed, "Hey, Lassie. Shouldn't you have a leash on? Hahaha, what a dog"

I think we both reached the end of our tether at the same time. As I started to say, "Shut up Tom, you massive wanker," she stopped, hugged her folder tighter, and burst into tears. Massive sobs wracked her slim frame, and tears streamed down her eyes. She made no move to cover her face or move away - she just stood there, and cried.

At that moment, I knew what I had to do. Ignoring my inner instinct, which was screaming at me to not make a fool of myself, I stepped forward, and spread my arms. She looked at me, uncomprehending, before I stepped forward and threw my arms around her.

Ignoring the mocking cheers behind me, I held her against me, feeling her sobs grow weaker. She detached a hand from her folder to wipe her eyes, then gazed up at me. As I stared into her gorgeous face, with its delicate nose, large eyes, and sumptuous mouth, I found myself saying, "My God, you're beautiful."

She sniffed, and whispered, "So why does everyone keep calling me ugly."

I sighed deeply. "Well," I said, "going by most of the posts on this QOTW, no-one seems to be able to tell the difference between someone who is unmistakeably attractive, and someone who no sane person could fancy."

"Really?" She looked at me. "But wouldn't that make them fucking idiots?"

"Yes," I said. "Yes it would"

True story
(Tue 11th Oct 2011, 23:49, More)

» Famous people I hate

You know who I hate?
Anyone more successful than me, who managed to get there with less talent than a drunken five year-old..

Like David Walliams and Matt Lucas. I could have come up with some stupid catchphrases and one-dimensional characters, and re-recorded pretty much identical sketches, and made a fortune. Easily. Like a camp homosexual McDonalds worker, who would leer whenever he said, "Do you want me to make it a large one?" in a vaguely threatening homosexual manner. Or a mental-health office receptionist, who was herself (stereotypically) 'mental', and who constantly did 'hilarious' things like trying to answer a banana, or mistake a visitor for a hatstand. See? That's at least as good as anything they came up with for 'Little Britain,' that steaming pile of televisual horseshit.

Or any kind of sports commentator. All they do is tell you what's happening (in front of your very eyes), and, occasionally, spout the kind of useless facts Rainman himself would have found too boring to bother with.

Footballers, and any other sportsman who is obscenely overpaid. You get paid more than most doctors and nurses - they save lives, while you chase each other about a field and occasionally rape and kill a stripper. How is that fucking fair?

Or Bono, who blatantly sees himself as the Second Coming of Christ and attaches his name to any charity event going, while hoarding vast millions and swimming in a vault full of change like Scrooge McDuck (in my imagination). "Oh, you want to save Africa, Bono? You need loads of money to do it? Why don't you use the millions you amassed selling your boring faux-rock to idiots, then? You smug, hypocritical cunt."

And Stephen Hawking, for not electing to wear a full Dalek outfit and have his electrical voice match the Daleks'. Because that would have been awesome.

And, lastly, I hate Samuel L Jackson. Simply because he is easily cooler than I will ever be. And when I say, "Motherfucker," it sounds nothing like the way he says it. And that makes me sad
(Mon 8th Feb 2010, 4:48, More)

» Drunk Parents

Wine and mild racism
First off, let me just say that there's no harm in my mother - she's a lovely, well-meaning woman, who nevertheless has an incredibly mild racist streak that only comes out when she's had a few.

Case in point; The whole family was out celebrating something-or-other in a rather fancy chinese restaurant in Glasgow. My mum had already demolished most of a bottle of wine, and was merrier than Santa Clause on Ecstasy, when she spotted a grand piano in the corner. "Oooh, that's lovely - I wonder how they got it up the stairs?" she slurred.

At that moment, one of the (chinese) waitors came over to take our desert order. My Mum turned to him, and said, "Piano velly nice. How you get up stairs? You carry on back?" in the worst stereotypically racist chinese accent she could muster, while miming carrying a giant piano on her back.

As I started to close my eyes in shame, the waitor looked at her blankly, and said, in a perfect Scottish accent, "I dunno, it was probably already here when we got the place"

"Oh..." said my mum, and shrank in her seat as the rest of us burst into laughter
(Fri 25th Feb 2011, 13:45, More)

» Stupid Colleagues

I used to work in a call centre in a small Scottish town on the West Coast
Minimum wage job mixed with small town mentality meant I had loads of 'interesting' colleagues to keep me amused.

Many instances stick in the mind, but one in particular beggars belief. It involves L, one of those ditzy blonde kind of girls who always look slightly puzzled at everything, like a labrador being taught how to read.

Anyway, one day a few of us were out in the smoking shelter, whiling away the blessed minutes spent off the phone by committing slow suicide, when the discussion turned to the weird shit you can buy online. Someone mentioned that Christina Aguilera's bath water had been sold over ebay, and we were discussing how easy it would have been for the seller to rip someone off (I mean, it's not like you can test for this kind of thing) when L pipes up with, "Yeah, they probably just sent them some black guy's bath water"

Hands pause in the middle of lifting cigarettes to lips, and all eyes turn to L as we try to digest this.

"Uh...why a black guy, L?" I ask.

"Well, she wears a lot of fake tan, right? So, it would be better if it was a black guy..."

"Fake tan...L, you do know black people don't dissolve in water, right?"

L's look of slight puzzlement turns into outright confusion. "But fake tan comes off in water, so I just thought so would the blackness..."

The poor girl had went through life thinking that every time a black person takes a bath, they slowly dissolve.

(Tue 8th Mar 2011, 22:42, More)

» Iffy crushes

Got to be The Queen
Simply to see if she tastes of stamps...you know, down there
(Thu 6th Oct 2011, 16:24, More)
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