My black belt in greed.
From the ages of about 8 to 10 I took part in the second most useless martial art that exists. Judo. It would have come in handy in a playground scrap against the girl doing Tai Chi in the corner, but that's as far as it goes.

The classes were dull, although I did get to meet Brian Jacks once. Even at that young age I could tell he was an arsehole though. I don't know which of the young Mums fawning round him got fucked by bins behind the leisure centre that night, but I am pretty sure one of them did. But anyway, that's off point. One lesson just before Christmas (Is lesson correct? is it class? session? I can't remember what they were called. Knowing Martial Arts they probably have a proper name like DoDo, Dim Sum or Darjeeling) was a bit different, we were set up to take part in a bunch of games and competitions with sweets as rewards. And at that age, I wasn't exactly restrained when it came to my sugar based snacks. In fact, my reputation for having a sweet tooth is such that the best judgled birthday present I received last week was a big box sent by a friend in America containing Peeps and Red Hots and ButterFingers and Idaho Spuds and Nerds and Gummi Army Guys (I can't wait to get my lips around a bunch of Army Guys...), but at that age, I really didn't hold back. So when the sweets were thrown out on to the mat and we had to forward roll our way to them, I was off tumbling like an acrobat. When we had to raced round to the four corners of the mat to get back and have first choice from the pile of sweets laid at the instructors feet, I jack rabbitted my way around as if my arse was on fire. Challenge after challenge resulted in win after win for me and my pile of sweets grew ever larger.

There was a wider point to this. The team who's members accumulated the most points were going to win some sort of trophy. I don't remember much about it, it wasn't made of chocolate so I wasn't interested, but there was some sort of benefit or kudo attached that allowed you to go first on the warm up excercises each week or store your clothes in the bigger lockers or some other inconqequential thing that seemed to matter greatly to everyone else, and by the last challenge, the teams were pretty much neck and neck as we entered the relay race. We lined up and every member of every team had to run from run end of the hall to the other and then run backwards to where they started in succession. The winning team would win the nights challenges and the sweets and the trophy. It was tense. It was fraught and we were determined. The first pair raced, pretty close, then the second, then the third, fourth and fifth, and my team was building up a lead. The six, seventh and eighth and we had almost a full lap lead. And then it was my turn. And we couldn't blow it now, we had built up an insurmountable lead. But I ran properly anyway, no room for complacency as I charged headlong down the hall, touched the wall and started my backwards run home. I was almost there before my rival ran past me only just starting his leg of the race when suddenly I saw it...there, in the captain of the opposite teams hands, dangling between his fingers, bing waggled enticingly in my direction, an irrestistable temptation...a little bag of sweets. My backwards run halted and I headed full speed back down to where he stood, a slight look of shock on his face that his not so subtle plan had worked as I grabbed the sweets from him, becoming slowly aware of the gales of laughter from the other watching parents and the look of shame on my Dad's face as I realised I had ruined the whole compeition for my entire team because of my inasatiable lust for sweets.

My team were furious, my instructor gave me a massive lecture on the need for discipline in Martial Arts (tell that to Brian Jacks banging the queue of 30 year old mummies among the black sacks and food waste, i say) and my Dad couldn't look the other parents in the eye.

I wouldn't mind, but all that had been in the bag, were Parma Violets. Parma Fucking Violets. Jesus, even I have some limits.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 15 Apr 2011, 8:51, 4 replies)

Parma.

(meat2veg hello!, Fri 15 Apr 2011, 8:59, closed)

That's
what I said.

*shuffles feet, whistles innocently*
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 15 Apr 2011, 9:04, closed)

Parma Violets?
What the fuck is wrong with Parma Violets?
( His Popiness the Hole Invaded Poland on, Fri 15 Apr 2011, 21:50, closed)

My friend's dog
was always obedient, but torn between food and other tasks. He would walk off with owner and I would wave a treatie in front of him, upon which he would sneak a look at owner, then run full pelt to treatie. Treaties - should always stop you in your tracks.
(boozehound is drinking your bar dry, Fri 15 Apr 2011, 10:30, closed)