Gogo
A few years back I paid $2.50 to get an online TESOL certificate and made an expedition to China - the land of mass-produced crappy merchandise and pirated DVDs - in order to teach English to students. The first year I worked in a little known country town which may as well be known as Bum Fuk, which had only three other FTs (Foreign Teachers) in the town at the time. Suffice to say that the kids were mainly from middle class families, adorable, and eager to learn. I felt like Brittany shagging Spears that year, people would stop me to take photos with their kids and random people would take me out for dinner, pay for my groceries, look through my rubbish and comment on the contents etc. It was a wonderful time, and the only reason I left was because the lonliness was getting to me. But I digress.....

Fast forward a year and I am offered a job (with a big payrise) working at a Private School not too far away from Hong Kong. Private schools are quite expensive here (as everywhere), and while most of the kids are nice, I also see some of the best "spoiled little emperors" that China has to offer.

On Friday afternoons myself and some of the other teachers are paid quite good overtime to run private lessons - affectionatly called VIP classes. My group of seven Grade 3 students are a delight, and for two hours each week we learn our new words, make something arty-farty to show Mama and Baba and then I take the kids out to the corner store for an ice-cream. Fun for all, and a fairly pleasant way to end the week.

Until Gogo came along.

Gogo is a new student, and as Daddy is a big party official, he had been making his presence known all over school. Principal ushers him into my class and tells him if he is a good boy, he will get an ice cream at the end of the lesson. No worries there, or so I thought.

For about 15 minutes all is grand until Gogo stand up and says "Ice cream".
So I retort with "Sit down, please, we'll go for ice cream later".
"Ice cream NOW" the little mung bean replies.
"No, LATER" I shoot back.
Cue the screams and wails while my other kids exchange looks, and calmly explain to him that we will get an ice cream at the end of the lesson.
So Gogo sits and sniffles until we finish making our crepe paper creations.
Finally we get to the corner store and everyone gets to choose an ice cream.
Gogo plonks an ice cream, a can of cool drink and a snak pak of chicken feet on the counter.
So I takes the drink and chicken feet and put them back on the shelf.
Gogo retrieves the controband snacks and places them on the counter, with a what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it? look on his smug little mush.

"BAD boy! No ice cream for BAD BOYS!"

Cue wails and crying again so I picked him up and carried him back to school under one arm.

I found out later that he dobbed me in to his Dad, but Dad called the school and said that next time he shames his family I can feel free to "punish him" even more "severely". Don't really want to go there, though.

Better luck next week, kid!
(doggone, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 20:17, 7 replies)

Fun at the museum
While I visited the Museum of Scotland I encountered a group of young Spanish teenagers. They appeared to have a whale of a time talking loudly in Spanish while leaning on a mediaeval baptismal fonts and treating the whole thing like a pathetic attempt for their personal amusement. I was trying to read a something, English isn't my mother's tongue so eded some concentration for that, but I couldn't and got more and more angry about them.
Finally I turned around and said iwith my best deep English voice: "I'm sorry but could you be a bit more silent? I'm trying to read something here!"
They shrugged softend a bitand went the other way.
Later at a differend ward I heared them approaching again and assumed I hadn't made alasting impression. But when the first girl went round the corner and saw me she sucked air through her teeth and said something in Spanish to her mates. Addressing me again she said "Sorry" and forced her mates to go the other direction.
I think, I grew a cm that day.
( Wurst Puns Inc. Back in the future., Sat 11 Oct 2008, 19:39, 3 replies)

Another daddy's girl tale
A few weeks ago, while hanging around with my superfun new mates in their kitchen, a girl walked in. She had a bottle of Absolut (a warning in itself) in one hand, and was holding a phone in the other.

Her: "Guys, what's this place's postcode?"

I looked at the others quizzically, and they explained that she was ordering an Indian. The bill, it became apparent moments later, was £20 just for her and her mate.

Me: "Crivens! Twenty of your finest English pounds! We're students! I have £340 to last me until Christmas! There's a takeaway not 100 yards from the bottom of the tower; why are you doing this?!" I ask. She shrugs.

Her: "It's going on my daddy's credit card."

Me: "Aww, that's nice; your old man's forking out for you to get a nice meal on a Friday night."

Her: "Errr... no. He's given me access to his account."

Me: "OMGWTF ...And how much have you taken from this account?"

She looks puzzled at this point.

Her: "Dunno. Not really been keeping track. I've spent at least £400 this week, though."

There's a stunned silence, followed by another silence, this one composed mostly of building anger as everyone in the room looks at one another agape.

To break the tension, she offers:

Her: "In fairness, though, £300 of that was for me to go on holiday."

More silence.

Her: "Oh come on! You've GOT to have holidays!"

At this point I cursed and left, pausing only to punch a wall on the way out.

Cunt.
(bad1dea, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 18:46, 2 replies)

A relevant musical interlude
profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=18396271

Apologies for the Myspaz link, but check out the song "I hate your kid".

Not only does it cover this topic nicely, the man can shred an acoustic guitar.
(Generator cannot be named for legal reasons, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 18:30, 1 reply)

I was a terrible brat.
I'd be belted, told to go and stand in the corner etc pretty much endlessly, but if anything the more I got punished the worse I got.

Anyway that was my weekend, how about yours?
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 17:49, Reply)

I wasn't spoiled at all
In fact, I had a pretty crap start to life. I never knew my parents - in fact, they made it very clear they wanted nothing to do with me. I spent my childhood moving from place to place, not really fitting in anywhere, and certainly without many luxuries. Eventually, however, my luck changed. I was taken in by a very rich man, and I suddenly found that I had everything I'd always wanted. Perhaps it went to my head a bit. I was convinced I always knew best, and it led me into a lot of trouble and fighting - even killing a man, and covering it up. Even so, I found and married a beautiful woman, and looked set to live happily ever after. Unfortunately, murder has a habit of coming to the surface, and it wasn't long before I found out that the man I killed was really quite important. Turned out, in fact, that he was my dad! As if that wasn't enough, I'd only gone and married my mother by accident! Bit of a bugger, that.

O.R.
( MatJ LOOK, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 16:51, 6 replies)

Ahhh, Schooldays
My parents where not rich people, and as a result I used to dread non school uniform days, as I'd go in wearing cheap trainers, jeans and tshirts while a lot of the other kids (I went to a fairly upmarket grammar school) got to wear the latest trainers and addidas/Nike/whatever gear. Looking back on it it shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did, and I still feel a little guilty about moaning about it to my parents (guess that's my selfish bit) Anyway, most of the other kids didn't give a toss about what I wore, or the two other kids in my class who didn't have well off parents. That was untill A turned up. He was the most spoilt person I've ever come across, he could do no wrong in the eyes of his parents, and was pretty good at sports so for some reason the school decided to turn a blind eye to the little shithead and his obnoxious behavior, apparently breaking a bunch of athletics records guaruntees you immunity. Anyway, this utter cunt was something of an alpha male type, a bully with a large circle of friends. Of course when it came to picking someone to ridicule the greasy haired cuntsack chose me, cos I was kinda small, wore crap clothes and NHS glasses and tended to get on the teachers nerves by generaly being lazy. Suffice to say he turned most of the class against me, and because he was so fucking "special" he usualy got away with it. Made my life hell, ridiculing my family and me for being poor and on the one christmass my parents managed to buy me an addidas Tshirt (god knows how they afforded it) chucked pva glue over it. Anyway I grew up and realsised exactly what a prick he was and thankfuly my 6th form days where a damn sight more fun, even though he was still around and still being a prick. Unfortunately what with this being the real world there was no great comeuppance, Karma never ambushed him or screwed him over significantly. Mind you at our leaving "prom" (i hate that word) he managed to get drunk on very little alcohol and spent most of his time puking his guts out in the toilets, which was kinda funny.
(Fredz A graveyard of hopes, a dump of ambition, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 16:02, 6 replies)

Grr
I'm getting wound up already and I haven't even written it yet...

My dad's wife.

When me and my brothers were little we had pretty much an idyllic childhood. My parents worked hard in their own business to give us the best childhood they could. We weren't rich but we did fun stuff and were, we thought, a nice little secure family unit.

My dad was cool. He always had time for us, took us to interesting places every weekend, introduced me to Pink Floyd on his reel to reel, and when I accidentally threw a bag of rotten apples that exploded in his face, which I expected to be shouted at for, he looked at me sternly... then burst out laughing. He let me make fires. He taught me about self awareness, meditation, martial arts, and Eastern philosophy, mind over matter, and neat tricks like how to overcome fear, fall flat on the floor, or pull hot clinkers from the fire with bare hands. He had a little room at the back of the garage where he kept his stuff from uni... we weren't allowed in there but obviously we investigated. We found chemicals that burnt through the floor, and a human skull in a cupboard. And he told me how to make nitro-glycerin. That's how cool he was.

This woman, L, befriended my mum. She was married with two kids. She became my mum's best friend and worked her way into our happy little family.

Then she seduced my dad. She got pregnant. OK, I know she's not solely to blame for this, my dad is equally guilty so far.

This broke up two families. Not only that, but she moved into our childhood home with her daughters, and my mum and us kids had to leave.

It became apparent over the next few years that she was (and still is) a manipulative, devious, bullying, violent, attention seeking control freak.

To get her own way she would throw hysterical melodramas, sometimes culminating in violence upon my dad. As little children we were confused and blamed ourselves... "You all hate me!" she would scream. And my dad would sit us down and explain to us that we had to be especially nice to her and show her that we loved her, because she was "insecure" and had had a bad childhood. We tried to be as nice as we could, and we were scared of getting it wrong. Of course it didn't make any difference what we did.

They had another child, moved to Wales (far away from his business, parents and friends), and as well as her daughters and their boyfriends, she moved in her mother, sister, and... her ex husband, the one she left for my dad! She made him get rid of anything from his previous life. All his books, his albums, his uni stuff. And his entire family, including his elderly parents... She manipulated him into missing his father's funeral, pleading that she was scared of his mother (and of course he couldn't go on his own). My grandma was the tiniest, sweetest, gentlest woman who ever lived.

She completely disempowered him, not letting him do anything (except work to support the lifestyle she insisted upon for her and her extended family). He couldn't even sign our birthday cards. And we felt that if we dared to want some personal attention from our dad we would be in the wrong.

By this time we had stopped going to stay. We'd realised that all our dad's promises that things would get better were groundless, and we'd lost hope. We knew we'd lost him.

When I was 18 I phoned them. Just for a chat, I hadn't spoken to them in a while. My dad answered the phone and almost straight away he said "do you want to talk to L?". Not really, but I played the game, knowing how difficult she would make things for him if I didn't.

So she came on the line and I said "hello! how are you?" all friendly like.

""What? Why don't you want to talk to me?" she whimpered. And began to wail and scream, throwing the phone down and running from the room. My dad came on the phone, and I told him I had done nothing wrong. The next hour was one of the most painful I have ever endured. He eventually admitted that he knew I was blameless and that she had put on the show to cause a rift between us. But he couldn't stand up to her. I gave him an ultimatum. He chose her.

When his mother fell and broke her hip me and my mum went to visit her in hospital. She was not in a good way. Barely conscious and very frail. We'd had more contact with her than my dad had for a long time, and she referred to us as her family. And she despaired of my dad's situation, it broke her heart. We'd travelled 150 miles to see her. My dad arrived and asked us to leave the hospital so L could visit. We were so furious we were speechless. "She's scared of you and she thinks you all hate her" he said pitifully... We left, knowing that if we didn't there would be a scene of epic proportions.

He has become a zombie. The last time I saw him, at his mother's funeral, he looked like a rabbit caught in headlights... stooped into a permanant fight or flight posture. There was nothing behind his eyes. There's nothing left of the dad I used to know. Just fear.

She's managed to achieve everything she set out for. My dad all to herself, a nice house in the country far removed from the real world, my dad's inheritence, and ultimate power over all of it. All it would take, as with any spoilt brat, is for someone to stand up to her. But they are all too scared.

You may remember if you read my post on the last QOTW that I became trapped in my own nightmare with a control freak. Without going into the psychology of all that, I do find it ironic that everything my dad taught me about overcoming fear was ultimately wasted on him... but proved invaluable to me when I found the balls to liberate myself.

Apologies for length, lack of hummus, and lack of satisfying comeuppance.
( warmfuzzies Isn't here, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 15:14, 20 replies)

Back in my school days
Friend X was telling us that he had jokingly asked his dad for a (then) newly-launched Playstation 2. Not for his birthday, not for Christmas or a Bar Mitzah; it was just something he desired.

His dad was a man that would make Ebenezer Scrooge look flamboyant, so X was filled with astonishment and gratitude when his dad considered this for a moment before saying "Okay", and proceeding to the till to buy one.

We all shared in his astonishment, and exclaimed how lucky he was. Girl Y, the school's resident spoilt bitch, however, simply remarked thus:
"Gosh! I'd have to ask at least twice for a Playstation 2!"
(moltenretriever, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 15:04, Reply)

She came from Greece, she had a thirst for knowledge
She studied sculpture at St. Martin's college...
( Gerbilinafishtank Gerbil in a fish tank...TURTLE POWER!, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 14:09, 6 replies)

Two Of The most Spoilt
people I've ever met have been chicks.
I'd say there big F**ing mouths came in useful in the end.
Theres nothing quite like a good stiff argument that can't be bargained with.
( johnvile dsfadsfgafgf, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 13:58, Reply)

was it our fault?

We gave him everything.

He used to look so sweet in his stroller, with his little arms folded across his chest.



He's broken his mother's heart.

And not in the cool way either.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 13:43, 2 replies)

The supermarket brats're the funniest.
Years ago, a brother-in-law told me how he'd heard a little boy in the Co-Op trying to blackmail his mother.

He wanted sweets NOW or he'd tell everyone about how he saw Mummy kissing Daddy's willy last night.

I suspect it was the Daddy who was being spoiled there.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 13:05, 3 replies)

just look at
www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5OSrpW6SrY

and..

www.myspace.com/eulogyxforxanxangel

...that is all..
(Lord Chode, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 13:04, 6 replies)

Shallots, eh?
I'm surprised brackishboy hadn't heard of shallots, I mean it's not like they haven't been on sale in every supermarket and greengrocer in the UK for just about as long as I can remember. And, thereby hangs a tale...

One of my Mum's friends thought I was rather spoiled because, as an admittedly rather loud and annoying 8-year-old, I would often add stuff to the shopping list. Not being a particularly wealthy family, we shopped wisely but not extravagantly - no cheap crappy burgers, because there's very little actual nutrition compared to proper meat, kind of thing. So Mum's friend was a little taken aback to find that I'd come back with a big bag of shallots and a small (half-size) bottle of semi-decent red wine. "Mum, can I have these?"
"What for?"
"I need it for the boef bourginon, those onions we have are too harsh"

Yep. My Mum indulged my extravagant food shopping shopping (and to a fair old extent, encouraged it). Spoiled, though? I don't know, who got to sit down to a really keen meal that evening?

Length - about 2"-3", and about 1" to 1.5" across with brown or purplish skin, with more flavour but milder than an onion.
(gordonjcp, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 12:40, Reply)

Don't judge me
Ok so I spoiled my only son a bit, but I was trying to overcompensate.
I'm a single mum, I couldn't even tell him who his dad is and he always seemed such a special boy.
He was ok growing up despite my smothering him with love and attention and what little material goods we had.
But lately as he has grown into a young man he has been attracting trouble of a very bad sort.
You see he has become involved in a political movement, street protests, violent disorder that kind of thing.
He has been arrested for daubing anti-government graffitti on the walls of the city.
His fellow agitators look upon him as some kind of leader, just today there was a crowd of them outside the house calling his name and encouraging him to lead a violent uprising against our colonial masters.
Well I told them in no uncertain terms I said


"He's not the messiah, he's a very naughty boy.

checks flights to HUY
( notsosecretagentman, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 12:34, 2 replies)

Kids should damn well eat what they're given
I'm pissing sick of next door's kids. Not only do they behave like uppity little buggers, but aged 5 and 7, they've also perfected the latest eating fad in full flow.

I hear their desperately incompetent but well-meaning parents trying to shove good nutritional food - bananas, chicken, potatoes - down their whiny little throats, but these kids simply refuse. We've seen and heard tantrums, vomiting fits and some inevitable swearing from the parents, but all to no avail.

In fairness to these kids, at least the food they prefer is reasonably healthy. All they'll eat is fish. Small, simply cooked fish. And they'll scream and yell their heads off if you try to feed them anything but the fish of their choice.

It's really starting to piss me off, living next door to these nightmares. I can't bloody stand them.

Boiled sprats.
( ousgg is not seeking approval, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 12:34, 4 replies)

Spoilt brats...
further to the child in the supermarket and the shallots, I was once in a bistro in Fulham and heard a little girl, no more than seven, wailing
"Oh no Mummy! I've spilt couscous down my gilet!!"

That is so wrong on so many levels.....
( Sallyrsm, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 12:10, 2 replies)

I have been waiting for whole week for an excuse to tell somebody this.
I'm currently working in the fruit and veg department of a large supermarket in Edinburgh. Last week I was passed by a woman with two children, the older of whom couldn't have been more than 9 or 10.

As she skipped passed me, she excitedly exclaimed in a plummy accent: "Ooooh, mummy, shallots! Can we have shallots? I LOVE shallots!"

I don't think I knew what a shallot was until I was in my teens.
(Generator cannot be named for legal reasons, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 11:26, 7 replies)

My several kids weren't spolied.
One, when given a mobile phone in her mid-teens when they were first popular, once used it to deceive me.

I confiscated it, gave it back to her locked in a box and rang it at 3-minute intervals until I fell asleep.

She had it back first thing next morning with a few hundred missed calls, not all from me.

Another joined the army at 17 because I was, his father informed me indignantly, 'too strict'.

Two of my kids are now b2tans. You know who you are.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 9:49, Reply)

So there I Was, partying with a pretty rich chick.....
although I didn't know it, the girl (who shall be called Rachel, for that is not her name) had a very rich daddy. It wasnt until our third meeting that I discovered this, when I went back to her house with some friends to watch movies and possibly consume synthesised love-drugs. So being of a lower middle class, intelligent, well educated, but not, in general, an arsehole; I didnt fit in all too well.

It was morning when I went upstairs after being invited to play snooker in the loft bar room. "You can smoke in here" she says. I light up. she walks off; Her brother looks at me like i just shat on the carpet and rubbed it in, unaware of his sisters influence on me.

He clearly doesnt like me - "Who's up a for a game after this one?" I piped with a friendly a muster as I could manage. "No thank you."

Okay.....this is fun, I thought.....

"Oh wow, you have two Wurlitzers! thats really cool....I've always wanted one of these fellas" or something like that, I countered.

With the absolutely most stuck up tone of Arsehole he could muster, he replied:

"Thats not a Wurlitzer, its a Seeburg. Tchhhhhh"

The atmosphere was as cold as the coldest ice, and a whole lot less pleasant.

I felt like leaving so I did. What a funt. No wonder his mum fucked off and left them.
(Pensive, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 8:56, Reply)

Poor ickle Kittehs
When I was about 9 or 10 I used to go to my Gran's after school for an hour or so before my Mum got home from work. There was a stray cat that used to hang about that my Gran would feed. She was the most beautiful tortoiseshell and I called her Sally.

Next door to my Gran there was a similar setup although the little girl there lived with her Granny and Grandad during the week because her Dad was in the Army and her Mum used to work the Graveyard shift. This lack of interaction with their daughter inevitably made them quite guilty and they spoiled to hell out of her. Bear in mind this was the late 80s when the dole queue used to reach around the block. She had every material object that a little girl could want. She had a villiage of Sylvanian Families (as opposed to my 3 rabbits I got for my birthday), she had as many My Little Ponies as I had ever seen. She was the first person ever that I had seen that had their room painted with a 4 wall mural (a fairytale kingdom). Looking back I don't think her Mum could have afforded to eat to provide her with this stuff.

One Christmas I asked Santy for an Etch-A-Sketch as I'd seen an ad for it. It wasn't available in Ireland at the time, so Santy got me something similar and left me a note saying sorry. I was a little gutted but I was grand, I still had my Selection Box to contend with! I told the neighbour child this after Christmas. A week later she had an Etch-A-Sketch, "Daddy got it imported for me." My little heart broke a bit. Had Santy lied when he said that he couldn't get one?

Anyway, back to the kitteh. During the summer we noticed that Sally was getting round, not being a naive child I knew this meant only one thing... she had eaten too many cheezeburgers. Or that ickle kittehs were coming. A few weeks later in the middle of the spider plant we found Sally and her 3 kittens, it was like a manger scene the way the spider plant had splayed out.

Over the next week or so we found homes for 2 of the kitties and waited for them to be old enough to go. We were going to hold on to the third, Sphinxy, and she would be our very own kitteh.

Neighbour girl was not happy. Her grandad had Emphysema and her Gran hated cats so even though her parents begged them, there was no way she was getting one of our kittehs. My family was delighted at this because we knew they wouldn't be in the safest hands with her.

One Monday I came back to my Gran's and ran through the house only to have her stop me going into the garden. "Sally took the kittens away." She told me and explained that as she was a stray that she was never going to stay longterm. I didn't go outside that day but I looked at the empty spider plant through the kitchen window forlornly.

On Tuesday I went outside though. Neighbour girl had a smug look on her face. "What happened to your cats?" she asked. "Sally took them away to hide them." Then came the most chilling words ever. My stomach is doing a flip now just thinking of it.

"No she didn't, I took them, I put them under this box (an orange crate) and I jumped inside and squished them!" The crate was covered in kitty blood. :(

My blood drained into my feet and a fierce ball gathered in my chest and throat.

Still in my mind this is the most evil act I have ever come across committed by a child, it's like the work of a young serial killer. It really illustrated why it's such a bad thing to acquiesce to all of a child's desires and why it's called spoiling them. Such was her jealousy that someone else would have something that she couldn't that she was willing to kill tiny 2 week old kittens.

I asked my Mum if I could come straight home after school after that. Sally never came back either.




I hope this is cathartic in the long run but I'm feeling like crap now after dredging this up.
(DasKitty, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 8:56, 31 replies)

old v new money
If you've ever had to save for a Rolls Royce, you own one. If you've never had to save for a Rolls Royce, you don't want one.
( no longer a user, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 8:17, 1 reply)

an antidote
Every now and then most of us have to look after a spoilt brat or two . It may be for a couple of hours or for a week. I use just one rule . Its not mine but i like it so much .

Here is rule #5 from Alcatraz Penitentiary circa 1955.

You are entitled to food , clothing , shelter and medical attention . Anything else you get is a privilege.

Simple and too the point i feel . Please feel free to use it next time some whining little shit is dumped on you.
(welgar, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 5:55, 1 reply)

I finally achieved my dream of working for a toy company.
My first major project was introducing a new character to a flagging line. He was called Alfred. The story was that he was a witty and successful man, and yet a bitter, friendless alcoholic. He was significantly inspired by Tony Hancock.

If you pressed a button on his back he ranted angrily about his icy relationship with his parents and his recurring sexual impotence.

As well as Alfred himself, you could get a playset. It was a bleak and windswept plain, which was at once a distorted memory of his childhood in rural Scotland, and a representation of his inner sense of emptiness, of inability to connect meaningfully with other human beings. It was also to some extent a pastiche of the set of 'Waiting for Godot' - echoing Alfred's frustration at his perceived lack of true creativity.

While critically acclaimed, the toys were commercial failures. In the end not just Alfred, but the entire line was abandoned. And to this day, there are some who say that I'm the one who spoiled Bratz.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 2:17, 2 replies)

Trig functions or B3ta?
Back in the 70's, I went to see what my brother was up to. As I went in his room, a pungent smell hit me. He was whining.

"I was pretending to be Henry Cooper and was splashing it all over, but I spilt Brut

(It's late, and for those of you who don't get it, you can find your own references)
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 2:09, 3 replies)

my friend's homebrew
was called "Some of the Them Don't Even Speak English". It was white wine.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 2:05, 2 replies)

Short
My lad talks to some lass on MSN who goes under the name Brittz.

I told him it was

Spelt Brits
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Sat 11 Oct 2008, 2:02, 3 replies)