Sontarans
I am a Citizen of the Universe and a gentleman to boot, therefore my parameters are rather wider than this ‘fair country’ or indeed planet, solar system, galaxy, universe, dimension and time-stream.

I have, however, experienced boorish behaviour on holiday, the worst example being a bunch of Sontarans that were enjoying some shore leave on the pleasure planet of Florana.

Sontarans generally are no problem. You know where you are with them. They are obsessed by war, and as long as you stay away from their many theatres of conflict, you’ll be fine. When you encounter them off-piste, though, there can be problems.

This happened during one of my female incarnations, when I was a tall, ivory-skinned, green-eyed, copper-haired goddess. I was on the rebound from a particularly bruising love affair (full story here: www.b3ta.com/questions/breakingup/post2089317) and so had checked in to the Hotel Magnasplendos on Florana for a few weeks of much-needed R&R.

Unfortunately, so had a troop of Sontarans.

I first became aware of their presence in the small hours of the morning on my second night. I was rudely awoken by a rhythmic thudding from the room above, a stomping so heavy that the whole ceiling shuddered and flakes of plaster detached and drifted down onto the bed. As I lay there grinding my teeth in anger the sound of singing penetrated through the shuddering stomps. ‘SONTAR-HA! SONTAR-HA!’, I heard.

‘Sontar-CUNTS,’ I thought, swinging myself out of bed.

Clad only in a short pink silk nightie I stormed out of my room and walked up the stairs to the next floor, quickly locating the source of the disturbance: a suite of rooms usually reserved for business conferences. I pounded on the door until someone – or rather something – some Sontaran – answered.

I smiled sweetly. ‘Do you mind keeping the noise down? I am trying to sleep.’

Piggish, red eyes burned deep within the Sontaran’s potatoey head. It snarled at me, and then turned away. ‘This puny HUMAN wants us to be quiet!’ it roared. ‘What do we say to that?!’

About a dozen Sontaran voices bellowed back, ‘Sontar-FUCK OFF!’

With an incongruous, disconcertingly prim smile, the Sontaran slowly and gently closed the door in my face.

‘Sontar-bollocks,’ I muttered, returning to my room to pass a very poor night’s sleep indeed.

The next morning, over breakfast, I glared at them angrily as I tucked into my bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and fried slice, but they ignored me. Even worse, they proceeded to break wind thunderously all throughout breakfast, to the clear disgust of all the other guests. I don’t know if you have ever smelt Sontaran farts, but they are the worst in the entire known universe. The smell was so bad, I thought at one point that I was going to regenerate. How to describe it? Imagine a big pit dug in the middle of the desert. At the bottom of the pit, 125 dead dogs. On top of them, a layer of camel shit. On top of that, a layer of fish. Any fish, it doesn’t matter. On top of that, a layer of vomit. On top of that, a layer of Stilton cheese. And to top it off, a layer of hard-boiled eggs. Simply leave for three weeks in the burning, broiling sun, and the resultant odour will be similar to, though not nearly as bad as, a Sontaran anal emission. Sontar-POOER.

After a particularly potent guff I shoved my plate away and strode up to the leader of the troop, Commander Stor.

‘I’ve had it up to here with your immature, inconsiderate behaviour!’ I screamed. The Sontarans all roared in laughter.

Stor stood up and got right in my face. ‘And what do you propose to do about it, puny human?’ he said in his incongruous Cockney accent.

Twelve pairs of Sontaran eyes stared at me and my indignant heaving bosom. As Sontarans were sexless, I couldn’t even try to seduce the non-fuckers. ‘Well, for a start, I am NOT human,’ I began.

‘Yes, you are!’ bellowed Stor. He pointed at my throat with a stubby three-fingered hand. ‘You are a puny female human, going by the construction of your thorax!’

‘That’s beside the point,’ I went on, but my words were drowned out by Sontaran jeers and catcalls. They then began a food fight that ended up like something out of a Laurel and Hardy film.

I complained to the maitre’d, a charming elderly Draconian going by the name of Valdrax, but he informed me solemnly that this particular troop of Sontarans had just won a strategically important battle, and were entitled to let off a certain amount of probic vent steam on their well-earned their shore leave. Moreover, Sontaran High Command paid the Hotel Magnasplendos handsomely for the ‘honour’ of hosting such an esteemed troop of Sontaran ‘heroes.’ So it was like it or lump it for us poor civvies.

So lump it I did. Sontaran behaviour I had to endure included:

- Projectile vomiting from their balcony onto the sunbathers below – which included me. I’ve already described Sontaran farts, I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions about Sontaran spew.

- Eating the hotel cupboards bare, and drinking its bar dry.

- Incessant vandalism of every single object they came across.

- Singing and stomping throughout the small hours every single night.

- Blockage of toilets leading to complete failure of the hotel plumbing system.

- Scrawling pro-Sontar graffiti e.g. ‘FUKK RUTAN CONZ’ and ‘PUNEY HUMANZ R PUNEY’ and ‘SOTARANZ ROOL THA UNEVERSE’ absolutely fucking everywhere.

- Murdering of a bunch of holidaying Slitheen, but to give the Sontarans the benefit of the doubt, they were greatly provoked and the Raxacoricowhateverthefuckitisian cunts were asking for it.

It all came to a head when one night they decided to start lighting each other’s farts, and blew up half the hotel. After this, Valdrax asked them politely to leave, and they killed him, running him through with a broken curtain rail!

At this I confronted them, this time managing to assert my Time Lord identity, and vowing to bring Time Lord vengeance down upon their sorry Sontaran asses. This did not go down too well and there was an altercation, which I barely escaped. I just about made it back to my TARDIS. On reflection, this incident was probably what prompted Commander Stor to lead the Sontaran invasion of Gallifrey, the so-called ‘Invasion of Time’.

Sorry about that. But they really were a bunch of annoying clone cunts.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 21:43, 13 replies)

Some guy in a Moroccan tea shop offered to shag my mum in exchange for a camel
True. She's a Scouser, BTW.
(IHateSprouts is baking a huge pie shaped like an enormous pie, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 21:22, 7 replies)

18-30 cunts are cunts
when i was 18, a gang of 12 of us went to kavos for our post-a-level celebration holiday (NOT with 18-30). when we arrived, the girls checking out of our little block of apartments said grimly, "welcome to hell," which was nice. it was a truly terrible place, so they were right on the one hand, but on the other, if you're on your first trip abroad without parents, with loads of mates, and you don't have an awesome time... you're a nob.

but my god there were some disgusting sights. people facedown in the gutter asleep at 8am, people running into the sea to vomit (ok that one was my friend SJ), the greek burger flipper who stuck his finger up my friend's bumhole and then casually carried on flipping burgers without even licking his hand clean, the girl in the queue ahead of me for breakfast who looked down at herself and said, "shit there's spunk all over this dress"...

however, the worst was about 10 days into the holiday, when we were really beginning to feel it. we all had kavos throat and could barely speak, and some of us hadn't slept for about 3 days. we made a big effort to walk all the way down to a quieter part of the beach for a recovery day in the sunshine.

then i spied it: a big raft floating out in the sea, away from all the plebs. it was quite a swim (i'm not going to claim honda accord, but you had to be a good swimmer) so only 3 of us decided to try it. fuck, it was further than we thought. and the current was quite strong. eventually we made it, and hauled ourselves up onto it. jo had helpfully stuffed some suncream in her bikini, so we slathered ourselves in it, and lay in the baking sunshine on the gently rocking raft, blue water and blue sky everywhere. bliss. one by one, we gossiped ourselves into silence and slept. until we were awoken by a deafening blast:

SO SHE SAT ON MY FACE
AND I TRIED TO RELIEVE HER
BUT SHE STANK OF PLAICE
WITH A TAMPON UP HER BEAVER

(to the tune of "i'm a believer"). fucking 18-30 boat. it was moored right next to us. slowly, sadly, silently, we packed up our suncream and swam back to shore :(
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 20:05, 7 replies)

Hmm many abroad things
I used to fly round the world doing e-security stuff and alike.
I can state I was never treated badly, maybe its a reciprocal aspect of peoples communication.
Too many places to list, but I treated them with respect and was greeted with.
Ohh, except for LAX airport... wankers.
(Master_Slob UK minister for cultural appropriation., Fri 25 Apr 2014, 17:54, 2 replies)

Crown Cunts of Norway
I'm British, but while I was on the train from Oslo to Trondheim even I was horrifically pissed off by this one English family sitting behind me. They just wouldn't fucking shut up, and Norwegian trains have a similar level of conversation to the London underground.

Their children just kept talking, trying to pronounce every Norwegian safety sign within reach loud enough for everyone to hear, and of course mispronouncing every word in their horrible high pitched Surrey accents. Their mother kept commenting on the apparent bleakness (it was February and getting dark at 5) and telling her vile spawn how 'we need to remember to respect those worse off than ourselves' (Norway is the 3rd richest country in the world in terms of GDP).

Anyway, these ignorant bastards kept at it for the six hours until we reached Trondheim, but the carriage was saved briefly by someone shouting 'Hold kjeft fir helvete!' (shut the fuck up). Anyway, these cunts caught up with me as soon as they realised I was british in Trondheim station, and asked me 'Excuse me, can you please direct us to the nearest convenient car hire?' No fucking clue. 'Why don't you ask someone?' 'Oh, we've tried, but they all speak Norwegian.' you don't say. 'Most of these people speak English, you know.'

'But so do you.' Well noticed. 'So fucking what?' I was getting really impatient. she and her spouse looked shocked: 'Where we come from we don't use that kind of language!' I raised my voice, 'Where I come from people don't bring up their bratty children to think of 'us and them'. Most importantly, we don't let them act like cunts.' I then poured abuse at them, until I stormed out of the station to find the hotel. I could hear the children crying and the man getting indignant behind me.

Why can't brits just learn a bit about the country they're visiting and control their bloody children?
(a humble reindeer herder serial milk-drinker, compulsive liar., Fri 25 Apr 2014, 15:43, 18 replies)

Yes she is
Get it? Get it? Because 'brit' is a woman's name, and 'broad' is an archaic word for a woman. Lol, lol, puncunt.
(teebie jeebie, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 15:40, Reply)

The funniest thing that's ever happened to me abroad
Was when I was on a lads holiday to Budapest. Great city, fantastically pretty. We were out on the lash and some guy tried to plug a titty joint with the following fantastic slogan:

BIG BOOBY, BIG BEER! SMALL PUSSY, SMALL PRICE!
(McChinaman banned, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 15:19, 7 replies)

Can’t believe I only just remembered this
I did some volunteer work in my yoot in Guatemala City. The group of happy helpers was mainly made up of Muricans with some English and Scotts and also some Scandinavians.

The three month placement mainly involved educational work, the country is still getting over being ruined by years of war, so this meant a lack of decent teaching and classrooms etc.

One project required putting together a particularly difficult roof on a large classroom, using a load of shitty building material. I was up on some makeshift scaffolding that even a load of pikeys wouldn’t be seen dead using. A couple of the Scandinavian lads were helping me out as I was trying to secure a couple of the cross beams in place – all the while in a very precarious position.

Their grasp of English was far better than my Danish/Swedish, I was struggling to hold both hammer, nails and the bit of timber I was holding, the guys watching me had no idea what to do. So I shouted to one of them through clenched teeth, trying to get him to help me.

“Brits, a board”. I need you to hold that board for me.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 14:51, 8 replies)

In my country, we do not do this.
Back when that bastard Icelandic volcano erupted, I found myself stuck in Hamburg - really fucking stuck. After countless hours milling around the airport terminal, BA finally decided to arrange hotel accommodation. Nearly two hours of chaos and confusion later, I was allocated a room in the decidedly shabby Hotel Ibis

At hotel reception, 100's of people in dozens of languages, harassed and harried the poor staff until finally, I was given a key and collapsed onto the only single bed in my room. I then attempted to take a shower in the piss-poor 'bathroom' - but of course, there was no hot water, as the hotel was full to bursting and everyone was attempting to wash at the same time. Cue 100's more people charging downstairs to harangue the poor receptionists some more.

I decided to retire to the bar.

A few strong lagers later and I was feeling slightly better about my situation. I didn't have to be back in Blighty urgently and after hearing reports from around Europe, I knew I was lucky to even have a hotel room. And then I met the lovely Anke. And things got even better.

We chatted for a while about our situation, amused ourselves debunking national stereotypes - for a German she was very funny and for a Brit I have perfect teeth - and generally passed the time, happy in each other's company. When the bar emptied, I let slip that I had a decent single-malt from duty free and suggested we retire upstairs to sample it. As we'd already complained about our rooms, she knew I had a single bedroom, whilst she'd been allocated a double - and we agreed there'd be far more room in hers. I was most definitely in.

I grabbed the Glenlivet, some ice from the machine and was at her door in less than funf Minuten! We chatted some more, really began to relax and then the moment arrived. I leaned over, ostensibly to grab another cigarette, and in one deft movement our heads were millimeters apart, she looked up at me, blinked twice and we kissed. So far, so good. But the lagers had caught up with me, so I gently pulled away and entered the wonderfully appointed Hotel Ibis bathroom. I'd almost started to piss, when my body told me a dump was also going to be required. So I dropped my trousers and began my completely not at all OCD 'away from home toilet ritual' - a simple, thorough cleansing of the seat, followed by the careful laying of a further 'paper seat' on top.

I looked for a towel, there were none. I looked for some toilet paper, there was none. Not even a fucking bath mat. The place was bare, save for Anke's unopened toiletry bag. I took a long look at the toilet seat, it wasn't too bad, plasticky and very worn...but not too bad. I ventured down for a closer inspection - and lucky I did, as sitting there proudly was a single, very dark and curly pube. No matter, I thought, I'll simply blow it away. So I bent down even lower and puffed at the nasty thing. It didn't move. So I crouched right down, head almost touching the seat and gave another, colossal lung-filled burst of air. Nothing. But I needed a shit! So I blew and I blew and I blew. So much so that I failed to notice Anke standing in the doorway.

When I did clock her, she simply stared at me, an English bloke sat on the floor, trousers round ankles and to all intents and purposes, sniffing hard at a toilet seat. Her eyes said it all. Her famous German humour deserted her. A quick flick of her head towards the door meant my opportunity had gone. I sheepishly pulled my trousers up and slipped away. There was no explanation I could give.

I never saw her again at the hotel. But I know she still tells the story of 'Ze English Seat Sniffer'.

And I thought all Krauts were pervs?
( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 13:42, 56 replies)

Asia
I live in Japan for a while and hadn't seen a white person in ages.
I take a little trip to Thailand and in a bar I meet the first English girl in months. She pointed out that i was sweating!

In a Thai summer! Humid as hell! 45 degrees! Pissing sweat was the only option. dumb bint.
(waxdart hello., Fri 25 Apr 2014, 13:29, 2 replies)

Liverpudlians!!!
Sorry Smash but it's true, they travel as well as soiled underpants on a summers day....Always the blokes mind you.
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 12:27, 12 replies)

Code
There is a respectable hotel in Prague where if you ask for a box of matches at reception, two prostitutes are immediately dispatched to your room.

This was quite a surprise for a couple of Brits who were staying there as part of a part of a corporate strategy week....so I hear.

And no, you can't expense it.
(BinDipper, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 11:51, 5 replies)

When I lived in Tianjin, an hour from Beijing
There were a few Irish bars. One day I went to one and there was a drunk Scottish bloke in double denim, white socks and trainers, getting the staff to play "Loch Lomond", "Sailing" and "Caledonia's Everything I've Ever Had". Now I'm as Scottish as a kilt-wearing crap-at-football whisky-soaked haggis, but... when he came up to yabber drunken shite at me, I pretended I was English.
(McChinaman banned, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 11:31, 7 replies)

Maldives
We had an idyllic stay in the Maldives a few years back for our honeymoon.

We were the only English couple on the small island resort we stayed at, the rest were a mixture of Chinese honeymooners and Russian oligarch sluts I think this afforded us several privileges – mainly because we were the only people who would even speak/look/be generally human to the Maldivian and Sri Lankan workers who ran the resort.

I was even asked to take part in a game of cricket one late afternoon/evening with the locals, which was great.

Also, there’s nothing like watching a magical sunset over crystal clear waters while a fat, sweaty Chinese 20 something serenades you with his phlegm hocking. Even the local fruit bats were disgusted.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 11:06, 15 replies)

My Brother In Law and I are keen photographers.
Having become familiar with the city over a few trips, we booked up a further week in Prague; ostensibly for "An architectural study of the Prague underground, with paricular notes of 1960s modernism in the central stations".

This brief morphed within a couple of hours into "A study of Czech beers, with particular notes of monastic brews and semi-dark lagers, while carrying photographic equipment".

My BiL is a Landan-Oirish chap - jolly good company, but a little bit nails.

At one point, a well-presented, very pretty young lady came up to us, and enquired - directed at him "Oh hi guys - do you want a massage? Or a blow job? Full sex? Anal?"

At this, BiL suddenly became all shy, and the most singularly and terribly cod-British anyone has been since Hugh Grant and replied "Do you know, actually -I'm absolutely fine and I'm afraid I've got a girlfriend!"

We rated the beers, including one where tbe notes were "2/10 - like drinking farty bathwater" - this was an exception, though.

Great place, Prague - go Sunday-Friday to avoid the stag dos.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 10:06, 12 replies)

What do you do when you miss the culture from home? I met a Pom who through force of will recreated it around him
Before the banks went fucked and the gringoes started pouring into Brazil looking for work in one of the few economies that was still rolling, you didn't get many ex-pats in Sao Paulo. A pommy mate of mine invited me out to an amateur rugby club to watch a match. He'd founded the club, and after an Irish mate had left, was the only gringo in a club of just Brazilians. Now it wasn't so much the fact that he'd got a bunch of Brazilians playing rugby that impressed me. But more so after the match the seventy or so Brazilians playing drinking games, singing rugby songs in English, I felt like I could have been in Wigan or Dunedin. He'd managed to recreate the rugby club drinking culture to a tee, and the Brazilians had taken to it like ducks to water.
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 6:28, 4 replies)

I've been in the USA for about 6 years now
Most spectacular fuck up I can think of, is wondering why everyone referenced Incredible Debbie, when my wife was buying stuff.

After a few months understanding the accent, turns out they were saying 'credit or debit?'

Yeah I felt like a tit. Other than that, I look a chump counting out dollars as they all look the fucking same, have been told to 'fuck off back where I came from' by amusing rednecks, and found the local hippie grocery sells Crunchie bars which is nice.

Had one face tatted skin head ask me about 'the white mans struggle' in the UK, so I made up a bunch of lies about how everyone has to read in Urdu now, all road signs are in Arabic, and the kids have to read the Koran in school instead of the King James Bible. Daft cunt cried a racist tear.

Also portions are far too fucking big, and the chocolate and bacon is shite.

The reams of medicinal cannabis (MASSIVE DRUGS!) and the fact my town only has 6000 odd people in it, and the weather, and my mother fucking salt water pool, 5.79377274 × 10^20 liters worth of salt water baby is well huge (..well OK its the pacific ocean, but that counts right?) make up for it tho.

*edit*

Last year I got hit by a car for looking the wrong way when crossing a 4 lane highway whilst drunk, on a mission to score more beers from the local garage. Do not like these massive roads.

I defaulted to the Green Cross Code and took a Chevy to the mid section. Still made it home with the beers tho, pretty sure it bruised something important.
(yeswehavenopasties, Fri 25 Apr 2014, 0:40, 10 replies)

I Once Paid A Large Undisclosed Sum Of Money To Miss Belgium
Entirely.
( joefish It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks, Thu 24 Apr 2014, 23:23, 2 replies)

Took your fucking time.
www.b3ta.com/questions/questionsyoudliketoask/post2144260
I only wish that I had an amusing anecdote.
For anything.
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Thu 24 Apr 2014, 21:08, Reply)

i came on a broad's tits
then had a cup of tea
(heine is living in a recurring nightmare of jibberish, Thu 24 Apr 2014, 21:01, 5 replies)

I've been in Spain for 5 years
sadly no humorous cultural misunderstandings have taken place, sorry about that.
( broadsword w⚓, Thu 24 Apr 2014, 20:52, 2 replies)

west country cider drinkers
working in a sports \ social club in hereford in mid 90's. All the football lads mainly drunk the local ciders (GL, stowford press, strongbow). about 20 of them booked to go on holiday to a greek island, so thought they better get re-acclimatised with lager. In 4 weeks they drained us dry of bottled lager that had been hanging around on the shelves for years. Once they turned up at their hotel, they found Stowford press cider on tap. Made 10 miles from hereford. They got pissed and made a spectacle of themselves most days i'm told.
( nikdude, Thu 24 Apr 2014, 20:29, 24 replies)

Vegetarians
On my honeymoon in Greece, I dredged up my high school classical greek language skills to try to make vague attempts at conversation with the locals. One seemingly useful phrase was to point at my pretty, smiling wife and say to to waiters "my bride, she's a vegetarian" - We would then be regaled with laughter, great veggie food, and I often would receive free drinks.

Returning home, a Greek friend pointed out that, while technically accurate, I'd told half the service industry in Zante that "my bride is a herbivore" - which would explain the free drinks, and the laughter, and the stony silence for the next 6 months at home..
.
.
( gp_guineapig, Thu 24 Apr 2014, 18:36, 3 replies)

Rubbish tea = science
On holiday in Colorado, staying in a cabin in the Rockies, I was pleased to be confirmed in my prejudice that Merkins can't make proper tea.
Yup, their tea bags are just shite. The tea was weak and insipid, and brewing longer only made it more tannin.

Except, no - it was the altitude. We were at about 9000 feet. The kettle boiled at about 90 degrees. It was like trying to make tea with the hot tap.
( Invisible Wizard - 9th Level Pissant, Thu 24 Apr 2014, 18:14, 19 replies)

Cheers
.
(Guy Debord cette mauvaise réputation..., Thu 24 Apr 2014, 17:39, 5 replies)

first person to mention jacob dyer is a dribbly cock

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 24 Apr 2014, 17:13, 8 replies)