Silly mummy!
My mum has always been on her own planet. She's not a stupid women but she asked me once if eggs were classed as dairy and she calls falafal, kerfuffle.

I take after my dad, I'm told.
( girlinthehole, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 15:24, Reply)

my Dad's really embarrassing

I took him to the art gallery to see an exhibition of abstract art.

The ENTIRE time, he was buttonholing people and saying "huh - my *kid* could do that."

Signed,
Jackson Pollock.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 15:18, Reply)

My nan
I loved my Evil Nan - she was belligerent, scheming, emotionally manipulative and slightly racist in the way that so many of Britain's older generation are. So many stories, but this is one of my favourites - note that this happened before I was even born, and therefore Evil Nan partook in this course of action without the excuse of old age brain-addlement.

My Nan has an argument with my aunt (her daughter in law) about the correct recipe for rock cakes. Aunt goes home, thinking all is well, and everyone is jolly again. Little does she know that Evil Nan was just lulling her into a false sense of security before exacting her terrible punishment for aunt having the gall to point out that the name 'rock cake' should maybe not be taken so literally. Evil Nan then goes around the house, taking down every photo of her son getting married to said aunt. She takes them out of the frames, cuts aunt's head out of every single photo, and then puts them all back up, ready for aunt to see when she comes round again the following week.

Some part of me hopes her talent for vindictiveness is genetic - mwah ha ha ha...
( hanabanana, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 15:16, Reply)

I still say that it's me...
...and I think my kids will agree to that.

I had to take my son to the doctor to have an ingrown toenail fixed. For those who don't know, a toenail can sometimes be too wide for the toe, so the outside corners of it become embedded in the flesh and get infected. (Sorry for the unpleasant image there...) To fix it, the doctor removes a strip of the toenail along both sides and destroys the nail bed below it so it can't grow back.

The doctor my ex's insurance dictates she go to is in a teaching clinic- that is, they get medical students there to get their practical experience, and have a few experienced doctors on hand to guide the Doogie Howsers. This particular day it was a girl in her twenties who saw my son, and who had never done this procedure. As one would expect, she got one of the older docs to demonstrate the procedure for her, so my son and I got to listen to a lecture on how to anaesthetize the toe to achieve digital blocking, then how to cut the nail, and so on. All quite educational, and somewhat over the heads of a teenager and his father the engineer.

When all was done, my son looked at me and said, "Dad, what did he mean by digital blocking?"

The nurse bandaging his toe said cheerfully, "That means to block all the pain signals from the toe by injecting the anaesthetic into the nerves to make it numb."

I leaned closer to him and spoke in a conspiratorial voice. "Actually, when you weren't looking the doctor hooked your toe up to a USB port on a laptop and copied an mp3 file of the Carpenters into it. If you put your foot near your ear you can hear Karen Carpenter singing 'Close To You'."

The nurse looked at me as though I had seven antlers, then turned to my son. "Is he always like this?"

He glumly nodded...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 6 Jul 2007, 15:14, Reply)

We're all going MAD!
Given that so many of us seem to have grandfathers who went nuts, imagine what it will be like if we all go that way too. How much fun is b3ta going to be in 50 years time if we're all still posting?

We could have the same QOTW every week and nobody would remember!
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 15:06, Reply)

in what's becoming a tradition here
my grandad was also a few clowns short of a circus.

his last christmas, we turned up to pick him up from the home. (yes, he was in a home. he used to be in nice, cosy sheltered accommodation, but he menaced the little old ladies for their evening sherry, stole toilet rolls from the latvian club [why? why??] and ran up a £500 tab at the pub across the road, so he got booted out of there.)

he was sitting waiting for us in his coat and russian minge hat, happily eating the christmas dinner of someone else who had fallen asleep in front of it. "rachelswipe and mummyswipe! i didn't know you were coming today," he said, clearly having forgotten it was christmas.

when he stood up, he was still wearing his slippers. mummyswipe told him to go and change his shoes, so off he trotted. we stood there for 20 uncomfortable minutes being prodded by the other inmates and watching one of them try to feed cigarettes to the cockatiel.

eventually my grandad reappeared. still in his slippers. but now wearing a proper yorkshire flatcap over his russian beaver.

"rachelswipe and mummyswipe! i didn't know you were coming today," he said, clearly having forgotten it was christmas.

and the entire previous half an hour.

dear god...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 14:45, Reply)

the adorable sweetness of my granddad's brainwrongness
My granddad used to leave pudding out in the garden.

Slightly mental in itself, of course. When asked why, he responded:

"It's for the grey squirrels"

Not just squirrels, though of course that's somewhat banana-brained in itself, but specifically grey ones.

And why might that be, granddad?

Bless his fucked-up excuse for a mind, he was under the impression that grey squirrels were simply elderly red squirrels.

And being elderly, they most likely wouldn't be able to chew nuts as well as in their youthful red-haired days. So a nice soft pudding seemed the obvious solution.

My parents were apparently so in 'awww' of this adorable expression of senility, that they never corrected him and he continued preparing roly polies, spotted dick and rice pudding for the 'old dears' until he died.

Bless!
(Confused, would we? doesn't know what time it is at, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 14:21, Reply)

My crazy relative is famous!!
God, I can't believe I'd forgotten this till now....Remember the "Dancing Priest" Neil Horan who has stopped F1 races and stopped that poor Brazillian winning the marathon in the Olympics? Well he's Irish and he and my Dad are 3rd cousins or something. I remeber my Dad telling me with a faint glint of pride in his eye.
Here he is. Wonderful.
news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/olympics_2004/athletics/3610598.stm
(jackdonaghy has a special helmet, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 14:01, Reply)

Most of the relatives on my dad's side were criminals and miners
which took a bit of explaining when I applied for a page in Debrett's Peerage.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 13:59, Reply)

Grandmothers...fucking hell...
Mine is mentally possesive over me....she treats me like i am her only son, and if she had it her way i would live with her in her bungalow, sewing and watching countdown.

To be fair, she has her reasons. My Mum died when i was 4, and although my Dad is a proud man, he had to face up to the fact that he couldn't work full-time and be around to look after me all the time. So my grandma took care of me every night after school until my dad got home from work. Because of this she built up a huge sense of feeling needed and valued (which came as a refreshing change i think because she was, and still is, on the brink of divorce with my grandad, who only talks to her to complain about his dinner being shit lol).

I am now 19 years old, but she still sees me as her poor vulnerable little grandson who needs sheltering and nurturing and "has been through a rough start in life" as she always says. She rings our house to talk to me practically every night, and gets really upset when i'm not there or something. it's hard work keeping her happy, but i know i should because she probably hasnt got too long left, and after all she is really just doing what she thinks is best for me.

Could be worse...my mate's dutch grandmother has serious autseimers (can't spell) and, not remebering who he is every time he sees him, starts asking him in dutch (which he can't understand) if he can find her family for her. mental.
(BatCountry organised, attended, and was thrown out on, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 13:53, Reply)

P.I.M.P.
My best friend's grandad was deported from New Zealand a few years back - for running a brothel. He was 86 and only moved there when he was 80.
Not so much crazy as in mental, but as in 'whoah, dude'.

Oh, and (a pedant writes) it's Peter Stuyvesant ^^^
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 13:50, Reply)

kerrymonkey
I don't care about seeing baby's backsides on adverts, but I do object to the bit where the doting mum kisses them.

Why the fuck do I want to see some perverted old bint snogging a toddler's arse? Why is that appropriate in an advert about nappies, is she supposed to be kissing it to prove that it isn't smeared with piss and shit?

I had a bit of rant about this one evening to my family and they boggled at me. Apparently thinking this makes me the crazy one.
( Kroney, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 13:44, Reply)

My Uncle's wife....
Has been dead for some time now. However in her time on this earth she provided us with much mirth. Highlights included:
*Formally complaining to broadcasting standards commission about babies' bottoms appearing in ads for nappies.
*Asking another relative (who was quite handy) if he could make her a stair lift. She was in no way impaired just lazy and thought a stair lift would be great in their run down farm house. He didn't make it for her.
*Chronic hypochondriac.
*She had asthma but was too crazy to use an inhaler properly so her doctor made her use one of those tubes small kids with asthma use before they move onto inhalers.
*Would randomly wear a white bandage on her head for no particular reason. I think she may have believed it cured headaches.

Funnily enough of all the things she claimed to be diagnosed with “being barking mad” wasn’t on of them. Having said that she died younger than she should’ve so I guess she showed us!
(jackdonaghy has a special helmet, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 13:39, Reply)

My mates mum
is pleasingly bonkers, in small doses. She specialises in saying “did she just say what I though she said” type stuff pretty much constantly – recent examples (affect a strong east end accent)

“During the war you couldn’t get beef, we ate Venice”

“No fanks cucumber don’t agree with me” on being offered some cake topped with kiwi fruit.

“Mary’s got a new red vulva” commenting on her daughters no car.

“I prefer a big purple head” while viewing some flowers.

“that’s the problem when they try and teach you stuff you don’t know” random pronouncement.

“That’s Lord Brocket's personal satellite” commenting on Venus in the early even sky. Although the object appeared to be just above Brocket Hall, I’m reliably informed it is in fact a planet many hundreds of millions of miles away.

“I smell a heron” who knows perhaps she did.


The problem is the other 99% of what she says isn’t stupid and amusing, it’s just stupid. So the overall experience isn’t as entertaining as you might first think.

.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Fri 6 Jul 2007, 13:39, Reply)

My Nan has dementia
does that count?
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 13:08, Reply)

Crazy Relatives
First Post so be gentle.
My mum has five sisters, most of them are nuts.
The eldest lives in an absolute pigsty, i mean absolutely hideous.
A few years ago her grandchildren came to stay at her house, now the place was so dirty that her heart pills and other pills were liberally strewn about the house floor. Cue younger grandchild eating a load of pills off the floor and being hospitalised. She then had the nerve to suggest that it was her husbands fault for not warning her grandchildren to avoid eating the pills on the floor, when that didn't wash she said "it's fine, they don't do anything for me".
For me the best thing I ever experienced when I stayed with them was when she rang my mum (200+ miles away) and asking my mum to ring me (about 20 feet away) on my mobile to make her a cup of tea.

Absolute hatstand.

length - nothing to write home about.
(skipping merrily in the meadows, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 13:05, Reply)

ME!
and I've got the medication to prove it. mwhahahahahahaha! (Kill who?)
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 13:03, Reply)

My grandfather
My granddad, Dilly, was a fantastic guy. An ex WW2 fighter pilot and then vicar. He had endless stories about the war and numerous ones after as well. This is one of the ones that had me and my mates in stitches. If you can, imagine a slighty larger Rowley Birkin QC (http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/fastshow/characters/rowley_birkin.shtml) with all the sound effects.

A good few years back, he was working in his workshop where he was cutting some wood up and my grandmother comes in and asks him to help chop up a turkey.

This turkey weighed 56 lbs.

It weighed this much as my grandfather had got some growth hormones or some weird shit like super streoids for these turkeys and had wondered how big he could get them. Some turkeys have trouble when they get too heavy. these ones didn't. Think something out of jurassic park and add feathers and you're there.

Anyway, Dilly figures that instead of arsing about with a knife it would be far quicker to use his circular saw. Up comes the blade and he fires it up. Half way through and the walls and ceiling are plastered in bits of meat yet he perserveers...straight across his thumb.

Half his thumb flies off, hits the wall and bounces into a big pot of stew my grandmother had left in the workshop before we had lunch.

We found the thumb after going through the stew with a ladle by which point dilly is asking for super glue to fix his thumb.

It was never reattached and he never used the saw to cut food again. We all miss him.


Length? About an inch less by the time he finished.
(71 hour Ahmed wasn't working at, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 12:58, Reply)

my dear granparents
my dads parents are both odd in their own special way...
my gran's mother was turkish, yet she (my gran) still remains slightly racist...she went to pick her sister from the airport a few weeks ago at the same time as a PIA plane had landed, so the arrivals gate was pretty full. when her sister appeared, looking confused, my dear gran called over to her...in her very queen like voice...'dont worry dear you are in England'
my grandfather however...chain smokes because he forgets hes already had one...
(littlebusstudiesone, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 12:45, Reply)

My step uncle Charles
Owned an estate in the north west somewhere outside Manchester...

As i recall we used to play wonderful games of hide the sausage. He would then feed me cocaine laced bonbons and shortly afterwards we would play doctors, where he would inject me with heroin and insert a foot long pipe into my arse and shout derogatory remarks at me.

In all fairness I was only 28 at the time.
(Snailfighter Mk VIII MASTER of the bits underneath the ledges on fences, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 12:44, Reply)

my uncle bill
never worked a day in his life after leaving the navy - he spent the entire time knitting his own skirts, wearing no underwear (nice combination) doing drugs, writing about the experiences ,building surfboards and taking them surfing all over the world. He also managed to fit in having 2 kids and a fairly normal family unit.

He died 1 year after attending my auntie's funeral in full make-up, a leather overcoat and a basque.
(jim, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 12:39, Reply)

Mad uncle
One of my uncles has an invisible friend, and although he never really brings it up when he's at our house, I understand that he goes on about it constantly at work.

Mind you, he is a vicar.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 12:33, Reply)

Mad but loveable
See, my gran was a fruit loop and pretty nasty with it - imagine the granny from the Catherine Tate show crossed with a mad gypsy (hence the cursing)

But I've been blessed with getting to know other folks equally crazy but very loveable folks including:

slimtallgoth's parents going to a party a few years back, and his dad deciding to go as a woman - even though it wasn't fancy dress - and going to quite some effort in his costume, giving himself an alter ego name of Davinia. Apparently he spent all night flirting (and giggling to himself) at the bar while their friends kept asking his wife how come she was there on her own...

BTW slimtallgoth's dad looks like Kojak :D

My bro-in-law's uncle does a lot of jogging, and takes along his bicycle bell to make people move out of his way as he's pounding the pavements - he shouts at them too

My sister's inlaws take the biscuit though - the parents live apart but always have tea together, (still happily married, maybe this is the key!)

The father prefers to be naked at home and refuses to answer the door to anyone, even family, even if they've travelled a couple of hours to see him, unless they've made a prior appointment.

He also goes skip trawling, and regularly wears clothes he's found in them. He collects any kind of food/drink cans - from anywhere - bins/gutter etc and sells them on for scrap. He spends most days going round all the supermarkets looking for the stuff that's been marked down and about to be scrapped - he gets very offended (well, they both do) if any of their humming offerings are refused by any of their kids - not long ago they'd brought round some grey furry steak which was declined - only to ring up the next day and go on about how lovely and tender it was - iron constitution or what!

Having just sold his business he's now planning on buying some woods, with a hut in, as he believes there should be more trees...he is intending on living in the hut...naked, presumably?

He's bought his wife a nice house though, so she's happy...
( curvylittlegoth heard the voices in your head on, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 12:08, Reply)

My uncle....
.....has a boat tied to his house. In this boat he keeps his car.


Just in case it floods.















He lives in Arizona.
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 12:00, Reply)

'click this if you like toast'
That is all.
*Edit* That makes me a CRAZZZZY relative if you ask me.
(iamyounotme I'm a window licking retard, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 11:51, Reply)

Circle
My mum's brother's wife's brother is married to my dad's sister.

That is all.
(Zutroy started without you, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 11:47, Reply)

Fed up.
It might be a good story. You might even deserve to be on the front page. But I'll be dammed if I'm going to click your bloody story if you feel you have to add 'click this if you like toast' or similar at the bottom. Don't beg, it's pathetic. If your story is good enough, it'll win on its own merit. Sorry for off topic, but this epidemic is starting to get out of hand, it's making a mockery of these hallowed pages.
(menashem, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 11:41, Reply)

My wonderful gran.
In her mid-80s and, despite an episode a year or so ago when we thought she'd flipped, still as sensible and kind as she was about 20 years ago.

Despite this, she's got the attitudes of someone you'd expect that age to have.

We were at my Dad's house a few months ago, talking about decorating for some reason. 7 year old Fishcake Jnr is playing with his Grandad and my Gran was regaling us with tales of her first house.

"When me and yer Grandad moved into our first house, the people that lived there before had decorated it really badly. Eeh, the walls were lime green and nigger brown". Then proceeded to use the phrase "nigger brown" at least twice more.

Gran - I love you, but you're a little bit racist :)
( Mike Fishcake teamfishcake.co.uk - better than your mum's face, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 11:31, Reply)

Well, if you want delusional fantasies...
My mother, who is technically an educated woman, recently told me that she thought Barack Obama made a mistake saying that he was against the war in Iraq from the start, because "nobody could have really predicted that it would turn out badly. I mean, nobody could really know that." She believes it, too.

She also thinks that she's an expert on EVERYTHING. My brother spent years managing a gourmet fish shop (as in, fresh fish to bring home and cook). He really knows his fish, right? My mom works with children, and has nothing to do with fish other than that she eats it sometimes. A couple years ago, she made a comment at dinner that she always buys frozen fish, because they can freeze it right there on the boat, so it must be better fish. "well, no," says my brother, "they freeze the worst cuts of fish, because they can't sell it fresh, and they send the nicest cuts to the fresh fish shops." Most of you believe him right? Makes sense, businesswise, and also it was his fucking job. What does my mother counter with? "I don't believe that." No defense of her logic. No rebuttal. Just refusal to believe anything, as she's the expert on everything. She'll repeat this argument with just about anything. My major in school? She knows more. Anyone else's job? She knows more. My hobbies? She knows more. Stuff she knows nothing about? She knows more. Why, you ask? Because I am 24, and she is 62, and therefor she has MORE EXPERIENCE.

If you're driving with her, and she needs to call someone (for directions, for example), she tells you what she wants you to ask, you make the call, and then once you're on the phone, she starts talking at you, loudly, telling you what to say (even though she's already told you), adding totally irrelevant information, and generally making it impossible for you to actually communicate with the person you're trying to talk to. Then, she waits til you're off the phone and asks, confusedly, "why didn't you say such and such?"

She does the same thing with computers and electronics. "Will you set up my new DVD player for me?" Sure mom! Just let me at it, and leave me alone. "Oh, shouldn't that go there? Do you need this? What about this one? Don't fidget with that thingy there!" Mom, do you want me to do it or not?

We've been visiting her elderly uncle every year for as long as I remember. She still tells me to make sure that I don't pack my ripped up jeans and skimpy clothes (I don't even wear skimpy clothes anymore!). She reminds my brother every year to make sure that whatever he brings covers up his tattoos. She's finally gotten to a point where, when I respond with "Do I ever wear ripped up jeans there?" she acknowledges that I don't, at least.

Sometimes, it's like talking to a brick...
(RDT <>< <>< <>< <>< <>< <>< <>< <><, Fri 6 Jul 2007, 11:31, Reply)