Karma, dish out your own.
A couple of years a go I found out my loving fiancée of 2 and partner of 6 years was fooling about with a lard ass fool at the local bar behind my back.

I hacked her email to discover she had changed a holiday we had booked and I paid for, got the travel agent to change my name for his on the tickets.

When I confronted her she denied everything, even when I showed her the ticket change as proof. I couldn’t believe that the bitch could look me straight in the eye and lie through her teeth without even blinking.

As it was my house I dumped her gear in the driveway while she was at work, changed the locks and as a parting gift I put Immac hair removal cream in her shampoo and pissed in her conditioner.

Come holiday time that I paid for, her and the new fat lad went away on my trip. Now as I hacked her email I was able to reset her EasyJet account password and then was able to change flight details, you can see where this is going. I never changed the outgoing flight but when they arrived at Malaga airport for the return flight they found themselves 24 hours too late.

Turns out the couldn’t get another flight home for 2 days and as it was last minute had to pay £100’s extra for a seat.

On her return she bleated to the cops who came to my house and nicked me. I ended up at the loal cop shop where all the coppers patted me on the back pissing themselves laughing saying that was the best revenge they had ever seen and telling me the bitch deserved it.

All I got from the cops was a caution from a grinning sergeant much to my ex’s dismay. She wanted full prosecution to which the cops told her to look at her own 2-faced actions.

2 months down the line the fat lad grew bored and kicked her out of his place too.

She now lives in a room above the crappy bar she picked him up in where as i now own the 3 bed semi and have a 23yo girlfriend who i know would do anything for me.

Karma....gotta love it.
(mabazaritchie ...Its not rape if she cums first..., Fri 22 Feb 2008, 10:31, 3 replies)

Karma
I married my childhood sweetheart just a smidge before my University graduation. We had been overjoyed and loved up in one another’s company for many years at this point, so I had no qualms in giving in to marriage at such a young age. We were destined to be together forever, you see, God smiled love upon us. I was riding the dot com boom and made a fortune; I bought a house, purchases nice cars, ate nice meals, took nice holidays, and generally lived the good life, rutting as often as the clock chimed.

Moreover, as happens when people get married, things changed. It was not the typical ‘can’t put your finger on it’ alterations to everyday life. He started beating me with regularity and severity. “Never in the face!” he would proclaim, knowing that it would be difficult for me mask a black eye. Rumours of his gay cottaging dalliances began to emerge, details retold to me by those who saw him getting his end off in a notorious public toilet. Then he started to drug me; I would often wake up with sore, bleeding nether regions. He spent our money wildly and freely on fripperies he kept secret from me. Life was miserable; I could not carry on. I hatched a plan to leave; I had to, I was afraid for my life.

I began saving every penny I had, squirreling it away in my ‘escape’ bank account. I bought the plane tickets, I put in secret notice at work, I had a new flat is this faraway location. Few people knew of my plans, but my plans leaked. My phones, you see, had been tapped by my father-in-law (who also hit me, as did his mother and his brothers.) My ex-husband’s brother turned up at my house for the specific purpose of killing me, but managed only to beat me instead. I did not call the police, I was meant to leave in two days. Nothing, not even somebody trying to kill me, would stop me.

I woke up the next morning and set about getting my things in order. By this time I had saved £16,000 which I was going to transfer into a different bank account (I had stupidly, to avoid suspicion, given the ex access to my account.) I had nothing. Everything I had was gone. I went home and found my ex-husband gleaming, polishing his brand new motorbike. He threw me against a wall for one last ‘hurrah’.

And so I escaped with nothing to my name, just a couple of suitcases crammed full of sentimental items. I arrived without a penny to my name, unable to afford the flat. I moved into a crack den in a bad part of town, ate a cup of rice for every meal, and snuck onto buses until I got a job a couple months later. Life changed its miserable nature, but at least I was away from him.

Then word started coming back to me – my family did not believe my story. Such a ‘nice boy’ would not do such things, you see! How dare I try to ruin this poor man’s life because I did not like being married! My family – my large, extended family – became hostile towards me. I was, they said, I liar. While they persecuted me, he was invited to family gathering and children’s birthday parties.

He told tales of me racking up massive credit card debts. He told tales of my infidelity. He told people I was an emotionally abusive alcoholic. He told people that my behaviour had driven him to suicidal thoughts. With every flourish, people ate it up. How could they not? He was such a ‘nice boy’.

When the divorce proceedings began, I could not afford a lawyer. At this point, I had moved on to being able to afford two cups of rice a day. He, on the other hand, hired a bastard of a solicitor. Together, they were bent on screwing me. I submitted papers to the courts outlining the abuse; I sent pictures of bruises the size of dinner platters. They were never entered into argument.

In the end, he got my house, my cars, the boat, my £16,000 – everything but two suitcases worth of sentimental trinkets and clothing. Everything of value that I left behind with my family and friends had to be given back or sold for cash, which was to be handed to him. If you ever hear somebody say that the courts are always on the woman’s side, remember my story.

I still do not speak to my family – they still believe that I made it all up. He now works a high profile job, receiving a mighty pay package. I open newspapers to find him staring out at me. He travels the world drinking champagne, one might say he truly leads a great and happy life. In the end, after selling my house (love the London boom) and cars, he pocketed a cool £130,000. After all that abuse and fearing for my life, I had absolutely nothing.

I now have a great job, a decent house, and a loving partner. Oh, and I’m not a fucked up mentalist after all of that. The dude was nuts.

Karma? I don’t believe in it.

Apologies for the length, I really really really REALLY like words.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Fri 22 Feb 2008, 9:53, 17 replies)

A quickie…

I managed to ‘obtain’ (ahem) some lovely, brand new top-of-the-range pc bits…almost everything, in fact, to build a PC that would be worth some £3K when completed.

However, I had to invest in the final bits of the job – processor, motherboard and case. I bought the case and processor brand new but went on Ebay for the motherboard. Thought I’d save even more money.

It arrived quickly. I was chuffed as a badger’s left testical and got straight to work.

Yup. You guessed it. After spending ages building my dream PC I discover I’ve been shafted. The motherboard is an utter piece of non-working shite and I’m now in a bitter battle with the owner about getting my money back.

Fuckity.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 22 Feb 2008, 9:27, 5 replies)

What goes around, comes around.
Not really sure if this is Karma, but since when has that stopped anyone from posting a good tale?

When I was about 10, one of the houses that back onto my folk’s place was owned by a local “hard nut” gangster-wannabe type, along with his wife and two kids. Really nasty piece of shit he was.

Every Sunday, he had the same routine, he would drive his prized BMW 5-Series to a pub a few miles away, have nine or ten pints with his “well’ard” cronies, probably glass some poor fucker who looked at his pint funny, then drive home. Once he got home, it would start “MY DINNER’S COLD YOU STUPID BITCH!” *SMACK* “HOW MANY” *SMACK* “TIMES” *SMACK* “HAVE I” *SMACK* “TOLD YOU” *SMACK* and so on. It would then move on to “AND YOU TWO CAN SHUT UP AS WELL!” *SMACK SMACK*.

You could hear this shit through two closed windows and a distance of about two hundred feet. And it would last for hours. His two kids went to my school, but kept having time off with things like “measles”, which they must have got a couple of times a year and “the flu” which caused mysterious swellings around their eyes.

So anyway, lovely guy.

One Sunday, he was down the pub as usual when he spotted a black kid walk past the afore mentioned Beemer. Did I mention he wasn’t exactly fond of the darker-skinned members of society? Well, he wasn’t. He comes flying out of the pub and accuses this kid (who was about 8) of first trying to steal his car, then of keying it. After hurling a bit of racist abuse about, he gives this kid a normally reserved for immediate family members slap and goes back to his drinking and general hardcuntness.

Ten minutes later little black kid arrives back in the pub, still crying, being dragged by his dad, points at knobhead neighbour and says “that’s him”. Guy goes up to big bully boy and says “what the fuck do you think you’re doing hitting my kid”. Bloke, safe in the knowledge that 1) He’s well’ard (in his mind at least) and 2) he’s with 10 of his “crew”, turns to the guy and says “Oh fuck off, you stupid n*****” (radio edit for racism).

Father of crying child sticks the head on the racist, bullying prick, slamming him straight down to the deck. One of the “crew” looks like he might intervene, but is stopped by a look from the now very angry father. This angry bloke then proceeds to paint the pub with the guy who hit his kid. He proper battered him. He actually beat him so badly that he lost an eye and walked with a limp for the rest of his life, since he was pretty much paralysed down one side. All while the guys “crew” stood and watched, shitting themselves in case they caught some of what he was getting.

Funnily enough, we never heard him hit his wife and kids after that, possibly because he couldn’t anymore. He moved out about 9 months later, since he could no longer afford the mortgage and, rumour has it, his wife took the kids and fucked off not long after, since she was no longer scared of him.

You lie down with dogs…
(ScousersPet, Fri 22 Feb 2008, 9:10, 8 replies)

karma cat...
once my uncle brought a friend over, who was quite taken with our then cat Oscar, calling him a big gay boy and all. Now oscar was possibly the biggest domestic cat youd have ever met. Not fat, Just massivly built. But he was a soppy big boy (RIP i still miss you buddy.) So my uncles mate lets Oscar sniff his fingers, Oscar then commences 'you now belong to me licking' and this guy says to him:

'you know i pick my nose with that finger?'

que sniggers at the silly cat.

i replied: 'you know he licks his bum with that tongue?'

que helpless gales of laughter and possibly the most funny, on the ball, witty remark i ever retorted with.

me and Oscar (and karma)1 - uncles cat-laughing-at-mate 0....


not hugley karmaric but it was funny cos he'd spent some of the evening calling Oscar a big gay boy....
(Serbitar Has a furry shit canon called Whitey., Fri 22 Feb 2008, 8:59, 4 replies)

My mother, the criminal
My mother is always one to play by the books.

There was this once when she decided to take a walk on the wild side:
She decided to run a red light, while she was riding a bike.

She passed me and my brother, who were patiently waiting, with a look of victory on her face.

That very instant a bus came around the corner and only missed my stunned mother by an inch.

That's how my mother learned that crime does not pay!
(we, of course, rubbed it in her face more than once)
(rcn, Fri 22 Feb 2008, 8:56, Reply)

Time waster
My tight wad boss decided a couple of years ago that ' Turtles head - because I know you work hard and don't skive, you can be our I.T. guy WHILE STILL HAVING TO DO your normal job, and don't say you are not qualified as i know you have got a pc at home.'
Basically, all the people who come in to work and pass the time yawning and scratching their bits are left alone, and the guy who actually has a conscience and does some work gets heaped with some more, for no extra money or thanks. My reply that 'I've also flown in a plane, so does that make me a qualified aero engineer' fell on deaf ears. Cunt.

The Macs are easy as they hardly ever go wrong (Legless, what the fuck did you press!!), but one of our pc's in reception kept coming up with an error message.

So seeing as i have no IT training whatsoever (apart from being taught how to use a Commodore PET at school in the early 80's), i googled it.

I can't remember the exact wording i used, but about 3 or 4 results down was a result i eventually clicked on. I can't remember the exact reply, but the 'forum' in question was

www.b3ta.com/questions/clientsarestupid/

And that folks, is how i discovered b3ta - nice bit of karma for me. So now i spend virtually all my working day 'looking up a problem on b3ta', scratching my bits and basically doing A LOT less work than before, purely on principle.

Serves the cunt right.
(turtles head is touching cloth poked a dwarf on the forehead at, Fri 22 Feb 2008, 6:49, Reply)

Karmacone
Once upon a back in the day i'd been mountain biking with a friend, he suggested we stop and get an icecream which prompted me to recite the eddie murphy "you can't have no icecream cos you is on the welfare and your mothers an alcholic" sketch. Not two seconds after i payed for my 99 i dropped it cue my so called friend reciting "you dropped your icecream" at me for the last 20 years.
(roastdinajima, Fri 22 Feb 2008, 6:03, 2 replies)

Fucking Great...
.
I mentioned the other week that I'd just bought a shiney new Mac. And I mentioned how much I hated and despised the fuckers.

Well guess what.

It's just fucking died on me.

Karmas a bitch.


Told you they were piles of fucking junk.

Back to Apple for you my son....

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 22 Feb 2008, 1:08, 13 replies)

Payback
.
This has nothing to do with me. I was just there.

I was with a bloke from work in a pub in Reading having a few beers. I didn't know this bloke too well, he was just another techie and he seemed to be up for a laugh. I'd bought the first beer and Jim went to the bar to get the next round in but he seemed to be taking rather a long time. He eventually came back and he was pissed off.

"Thieving fucking pikey bastards" he spluttered. "I gave her a 20 for the beers and the bitch gave me change of a 10 and point blank refuses to give me the other tenner."


He was not a happy punter. So we drank our beers and decided to head for another pub.

"Back in a minute Legless" says Jim heading for the bog

Couple of minutes later Jim comes back.

"Come on, lets go" he said heading for the door

"Oh - darling" he yelled back at the barmaid "I've left your tip in the poolroom" And we exited the pub.

"Come on, run" says Jim

"Eh? Why?" I asked.

"'Cos I've just shit on their pool table" grins Jim

We ran.


Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 22 Feb 2008, 1:05, 8 replies)

Just Desserts..
You know when you are playing away... having a little fun with another woman behind your girlfriends back and she has a slight inkling she knows something is going on.

So you allay her fears with text after text and smile to yourself as you KNOW you have convinced her enough.

And then you send a dirty text to the "other" woman.




To your now ex-girlfriend.
(elfinpunk Touching Cloth Since, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 23:33, Reply)

bullying chicken
My family used to keep chickens, and there was one rooster who was a terrible bully, always pecking the others and harassing them. But karma got him in the end. The other chickens staged a coop.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 23:19, 5 replies)

Don't fuck with cats...
My old cat from back when I was a teen managed to exact retribution on me. I've spoken of him before, he was a crotchety old rescue cat, with the demeanour of a old man in a flat cap. He used to be called Sultan, but was rechristened Satan after I realised the true extent of his evil powers. He was ace...

I was sick and tired of finding him in the airing cupboard, sleeping on my clean school shirts, so I would regularly turf him out from his warm cozy nest. But next day he'd have manged to get back in and would be shedding scratchy black fur all over my pristine uniform.

Eventually I left my linen basket with a couple of hardbacked books in it infront of the door to the cupboard. I saw him try to prise open the door, mewing plaintively. He saw me looking and stormed off.

Next morning, I jumped out of bed, late for school and belted out of my bedroom door to grab a clean shirt from the cupboard...

...And fell over the cat, who had taken up residence outside of my door, like a malevolent feline doorstop, landing head first into the linen basket I had placed there the previous night.

As I lay on the floor, the cat stepped over me and walked away looking smug, as only a cat can.

I left the door to the cupboard slightly ajar from then on and we never spoke of it again.
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 22:44, 2 replies)

The swarm of mitochondria and kharmic retribution
I was in my early twenties and I had been working as an Assistant Manager at a nationally known pizza place. I had a wonderful girlfriend that I did anything for, and very little care in the world.

I didn't make much working there, but I always had money to take the afore-mentioned lady friend anywhere she wanted. This was due to the activity of skimming from the pizza joint. See, back before the interwebs and computers in every pocket, most restaurants worked on a percentage of food to profits. It was a weekly percentage, so, say you sold a day's worth of pies, said you sold none and pocketed the money, none were wiser.

My girlfriend had been wanting to go to Magic Mountain (A local amusement park) for some time so I lined my filthy ill-gotten coffers with the profits from an entire week's worth of pizza.

I had nearly $200, which back in 1991 was a monstrous amount, so we set a date and went to amuse ourselves. I paid for us to get in, then for a small lunch...

Little did I know that karma was about to reciprocate ten fold...

Not more than an hour after we got there I lost my keys on an attraction, to this day I have no idea which. This wasn't really that big of a deal since I had a spare in a secure place under the vehicle. We went about playing and eating and having a good time when karma hit me for the second time.

Not ten minutes after I had lost the keys a plane from the local airport was flying too low, lost control and slammed into the above ground power lines that fed directly into the park. Now there were no attractions, no food and nothing to do.

So we decided to leave. Deciding to make the best of a bad situation we were going to high tail it to another fun location. I had not spent much of my ill gotten wealth and after all the day wasn't that.

So we walk to the car and I reach gingerly under the vehicle where the magnetic key holder was located. Alas, it was not there! Karma's final blow was to ensure that we had no choice but to spend the day walking in over 100 degree heat, with rides working sporadically and no possible hope of escape. I burned through my money playing arcade games and had to spend the last of what I had calling a locksmith to come and make me a new key.

An entire day was destroyed, all because I stole pizza monies. The first and LAST time I ever took from an employer.

No apologies for length.
( Scoopzilla http://www.slapwatch.com now get to fuck, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 22:27, 1 reply)

For the sadder/geekier among us
I'm in an irc channel (chatroom for the daily mail readers and the non geeky) that implements a karma system.

So if you like biscuits, you type:
biscuits++; // tea dunking goodness
Or if you dislike Jaffa cakes (god forbid)
Jaffa Cakes--; // the orangey bit makes me think of teddy bear eyeballs.

This also applies to people, obviously enough. The idea is that people who help others will get rewarded with positive karma and negative behaviour will be rewarded with negative karma.
This information all gets collected, and people with positive karma get certain voting privileges

(I'm pretty sure as soon as I post this, they'll come and comment that I shouldn't paste this)

They range from the sensible:
Name--; // spam
Name++; // cheers for that

To the slightly pointless but satisfying:
gas man--; // randomly tripping the fucking power out and causing me to lose all my windows.

And um... the rest.
IE++; // You can do fun things with it. Like rape.
Firefox--; // Gay off you stupid gay.
gravity--; // my arse hurts :(
spiral poo++; // comical mess

There was also an odd karma fight between "cunthorse" and "masturbation"
cunthorse-- // For great justice
cunthorse--; // wtf is a cunthorse?
cunthorse-- ;// Masturbation++
cunthorse--; // I fucking HATE horses! O______________O

masturbation++ // God love the self-guided-tuna-boat-tour!!!!!
masturbation++; // keeping geeks and the shy happy since forever
masturbation++
masturbation++; // i repeat my earlier comment
masturbation++; // for those times where you end up spooning a mate you really fancy anyway and go home all starved
masturbation++ for that reason :(
masturbation--; // Doesn't involve horses or cunts.

Overall, irssi (a command line irc client) has much higher karma than sex, masturbation and jaffa cakes combined. Althought tea and coffee are pretty damn high too, so priorities are there (I think).
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 22:12, 14 replies)

The Omen
Called my niece a demon child (shes 16 months) today for screaming at the cat until it cowered into submission, picked her up and her head made sharp contact with my mouth.

Lip bled for 30 minutes.

demon child....
(boshalake attempted to be sober on, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 22:10, Reply)

When
I was an undergrad I fell heavily for a girl I shall call R. I thought R was wonderful, in my hormonal and alcohol fuelled state. At the time I was drinking heavily and behaving like a total arse, but everytime R showed up I behaved myself and managed to actually flirt with her. Weirdly, despite my utter awkwardness with women I actually managed to get together with her and it was, to date, the happiest time of my life.

Unfortunately over the Christmas break she decided that she preferred an older guy on another course and dumped me the first day back at uni.

I took this rather badly. I started drinking in the morning, and my already fragile mental state began to deteriorate even more. I started hearing voices, seeing things and generally trying to drink the pain away. The lowest point came when a friend of mine found me at a James Bond themed party sitting on the floor of the toilet attempting to commit suicide with a toy gun someone had brought.

In this drunken, hallucinogenic state, I met another girl, whom I shall refer to as T. I have other terms to refer to her, but they aren't pleasant or nice.

T and I started going out. I was still massively in love with R, and T was still (unbeknownst to me) going out with her chavvy ex. T, who had obviously had a bad relationship beforehand, seemed to decide to take out her entire frustration and anger with men on me. She deftly deconstructed my already shattered self image, openly talked about how she wanted to fuck other men, mocked me both mentally and physically, and was an absolute master at mind games.

This state of affairs continued for several months, with myself still head over in heels in love with R, but going out with T and being destroyed personally. Eventually the summer holidays came, and T went back to her town, and I went back to mine. I was still very fucked up and after speaking to her on the phone the only way I could deal with the feelings of inadequacy that she induced in me was to either punch myself in the head or to headbutt the wall, or a cricket bat. I was drinking more than ever, getting fatter, more unhealthy. She used every opportunity to twist the knife further mentally and to extract every possible iota of selfconfidence from me and to stamp on it. I admit that I wasn't always perfect to her, but the fact is that she knew I was fucked up and she actively chose to make it worse. All of my friends hated her and couldn't understand why I was going out with her, but the truth was that after R dumped me I needed someone, and she was there. Admittedly in a weird way.

Anyway, in the August of the summer holidays I got a call off her saying that we had to meet up in the city in between our two towns. I go and meet her and she totally destroys the rest of my self respect and confidence by telling me, rather boastfully actually, that she'd gone out that saturday beforehand and had sex with three guys in the back of a car, and then the next day had met up with a guy from her school and had sex with him too. This was apparently OK as she was in love with him.

Unsurprisingly we broke up. The next few years were bad for me, excessive drinking, smoking too much weed, increasing hallucinations and voices, and three suicide attempts. On top of being dumped by the girl of my dreams, then being fucked over by a nightmare girl, my parents were drinking more and more and screaming arguments were a regular occurance. Mainly though, T had utterly destroyed me inside, as I was already depressed when I met her, and she merely made it far worse.

The karma part? About a year ago she somehow got my new mobile number, phoned me when drunk, and sobbingly apologised for the way she treated me. I hung up on her. I've subsequently heard from mutual acquaintances that she now works in a shitty job, is living with the three kids she has by the guy she went out with after me who, incidentally, is in prison for assault. Self confident, amoral, unpleasant, and selfish to dreary existence in 6 years. Maybe I'm nasty, but I'm happy about that.

As for me, I went through a lot of problems, was medicated heavily, eventually managed to get my head together (no suicide attempts since last summer wooo!), travelled abroad, and am now doing a postgrad degree in the subject I like. Still have many problems, but the fact that the girl I went out with, who had no regard for any other human being, has seen all her hopes and dreams die, and has been reduced to an utterly dreary existence brings a small spark of pleasure to me. Perhaps thats harsh, but every time I feel compassion for her I remember when I sat in my room, blood running down from the cut in my head from headbutting the wall, with a very large kitchen knife, listening to voices tell me that it all has to end. I know I already had problems, but she pretty much pushed me over the edge and screwed up the next 5 years of my life.

Sorry its so long, and perhaps not so karmic, but I needed to get it out.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 21:51, 7 replies)

another 'karma comupance' bus story
this one happened a few yards down the road from the incident in my last story

sat on the bus one morning and was in a long tail back approching a major junction near the college, it was wet and grey everyone had wipers and lights on, the bus i was on was very old and rattled a lot, the suspension was obviously on its way out as everytime the driver creeped it forward in the traffic jam and breaked, the front of the bus would sort of bounce.

The knob head driver in front of the bus mistook this bouncing as the bus driver flashing his lights at him, unfortunatly it seems he also either woke up in a crap mood or the traffic jam had done it too him. He suddenly leapt out of his car slammed the door, walked round and punched the button to open the bus doors, stomped on and said loudly "WHY ARE YOU FLASHING YOUR LIGHTS AT ME ? IF YOU FLASH EM ONCE MORE IM GONNA SMACK YOU ONE" then stomped off and into his car once again, this left the bus driver and the rest of us pretty much gob smacked, the bloke wasnt even a yob in a saxo or an arrogant suit in a bmw, he was just a old middle aged man in a beaten up rover

we edged forward some more and of course on breaking the bus bounced some more the driver in front honked and waved his fist out the window and now the bus driver was getting worked up (not the same driver as before, not as calm) the we got a clear run of about 50 yards when some people jumped out of the queue and turned around, all the way down this 50 or so yards the driver bunny hopped his car in front of the bus doing lots of starting and stopping forcing the bus to brake lots and throwing everyone around (including a little 2 year old who fell and bumped her head) it was at this point a woman at the front of the bus pulled out her mobile and rang her husband who was a copper and the station was 5 minutes down the road.

the driver was so busy looking in his rear view mirror,waving his fist and bunny hopping down the road that he failed to notice a patrol car come through the traffic towards him and pull up nose to nose a few inches from his own, he didnt notice it until he bumped into the patrol car, and when he did everyone on the bus saw his face in his rear view mirror as his jaw dropped and the colour drained to his feet, the officer got out and walked straight past his car and onto the bus as the man scrabbled to get out of his seat belt and his car and get to the officer first, alas he failed and the officer exchanged greetings with the bus driver when he burst through the doors and exclaimed loudly "THIS MAN WAS FLASHING HIS LIGHTS AT ME" the officer calmly came back with a classic line "considering your driving sir im not surprised" he then protested very loudly and so the officer pulled out his cs spray and held it by his side and even more loudly stated "SIR IF YOU DONT SHUT YOUR CAKE HOLE I WILL ARREST YOU RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW!" he shut up then the officer said calmly "right, now i shall take a statment from this driver and let him on his way so these good people can get to work, and then sir we can discuss your grievences and more importantly the damage to my patrol car, until then.. belt up!"

everyone cheered

apologies for length, i got a bit carried away but i love seeing people get what they deserve
(maxumus HEY!.... diddly dee, de de de de de de, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 21:26, 2 replies)

Only slightly karmic, but quite funny nonetheless
After graduating from a fine university in the West Midlands, I hung around Coventry for a year, generally bumming around and unsure what to do with myself. Eventually the money ran out and I had to go back to my folks' place in London.

Feeling not a little upset at leaving my friends and some of the best curry houses on the planet behind, I had one last look at the TV before I unplugged it. The programme was 'Midlands Today' and if the region could be summed up in one news report, one news report that demonstrated quite why my prospects were in fact better down South, this was it:

Apparently some 13-year-old scrote in some cesspit like Walsall (and I *have* been there, so I know) had broken into an allotment shed and stolen a garden strimmer.

Having liberated said appliance, he did what presumably comes naturally to the glue-and-bovril infused adolescent brain and whirled it around his head by the 20 foot power cord...

...under some power lines.

25,000 volts later he was in intensive care.

I miss the Midlands.
(Axeman Jim, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 21:19, 3 replies)

don't mess with the big guy
Friend of mine just told me this story. He was visiting a church in Madrid. Wandering round, admiring the architecture he makes a puerile joke about Jesus (his sense of humour's about b3ta level) when...

*CRACK* a large piece of masonry had somehow dislodged itself from the roof and shattered on the ground not a foot in front of him.

He took it as a warning.
(pmsc, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 21:16, Reply)

An old ex-girlfriend....
She dumped me under dubious circumstances then spent 3 months making my life a misery in varying ways. I found out she slept with a good friend of mine (repeatedly, after he convinced her she was unhappy with me and was then the "shoulder to cry on") after I decided to give her a second chance.

Shortly after doing some well timed dumping myself she called me to advise me to get checked out at a GUM clinic..

Karma had given the bitch the clap, guess who she caught it from?!

Length: Average, but more importantly - disease free!
( Mister B is eating an icanhazcheezburger with lmaonaise, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 21:16, Reply)

Karma, eh?
I once boned my girlfriends mum then I got chili on my cock
(Purple Jessop Jessoping Purple all over your father, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 21:08, Reply)

Not all that funny, but...
My Grandad on my Mum's side was a really nasty piece of work. A very capable and respected intellect, he was, especially when my mum and her sisters were young, a horrific bully, using his intelligence and skill with words to humiliate and belittle those around him, both at home and at work, reducing his daughters and his subordinates to tears on a daily basis.

The one fear he had was mental illness - apparently he refused to watch One Flew Over the Cuckoo's nest because the subject matter frightened him so much.

So, Karma being what it is, he got Altzheimers. For the first year of the disease, when he was sufficiently compos mentis to realise what was happening to him, his voice went up an entire octave to a terrified squeal as he realised his worst nightmare was coming to pass. By the time he died about 10 years later, he was a drooling vegetable who didn't know which way was up.

Some say you wouldn't wish something like that an anyone.

Really?
(Axeman Jim, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 21:07, Reply)

OmFGLolZZ!2!!11!
My karma has just run over my dogma!
(PassTheKhat, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 20:54, 2 replies)

The adventures of gonorrheoa boy
A while ago, I went to a friend of mine's birthday party. Now my friend throws brilliant parties because he lives on a farm, so of course there are fields and barns and all sorts. Anyway, at this party, I met this guy. We immediately hit it off, and he was very nice and rather good looking. However, as the night wore on, he got drunker and drunker, and his kissing got worse and worse until he wandered out to a random field and he tried repeatedly to take my pants off. Luckily, I was sober and wasn't having any off it, and told him where to go, which he took quite badly.
I steered well clear of him for the rest of the night, and had a marvellous time. A few weeks later, I saw the guy who's birthday it had been. Turns out, that this guy was so annoyed and evidently desperate, that because I refused to have drunken sex with him, he found a lovely girl who was of the tender young age of 14 and had already had drunken sex with 5 different guys -that night- and had drunken sex with her instead......








And caught gonorrhoea off her.

Length? I have no idea, ask her....
(Applebite Uh! A cow!, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 20:46, Reply)

This is from my online diary I kept two years ago.
18th February 2006

It goes like this.

I have university interview offers pouring in through my letterbox like liquid. It's getting annoying. I'm having to miss work, which means missing out on money, which means not being able to pay my horrendous -£8 debt I'm in. I work two shift on a Wednesday.. a 12-3pm shift, and a 5.30-8.30pm shift. That's a good six hours there. That's £30 right there.With the interviews being all over the damn place, I'm going to have to miss both shifts. However, with them being on Wednesdays, I can use it to my advantage.

Basically.. all of the interviews are planned already. Starting 1st March, I have pretty much every Wednesday booked. Except one.. the 29th. Coincidentally, this is the birthday of one of my good friends. The plan was, I would drive down, we'd take a spin in my car, she'd fill it with petrol and then we'd go through a car wash. We'd be inside the car though. It's not like we'd walk through the car wash ourselves. That'd be silly.

I booked the day off work and claimed it was a university interview. But, I said that I'd be back to do the evening shift at 5.30pm. Everything was sorted.

No.

Today, Northampton mailed me to tell me my interview has been moved to the 29th.

The ironic thing is, I'll be back in time to do my evening shift at 5.30pm.
(__, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 20:36, 3 replies)

Curry-mic Retribution...
Apologies for the shit pun in the title. You can probably see where this is going with the title...

About a year and a half back, I was into my really spicy curry stuff. Vindaloo, madras with extra spices, home-made curries with far too much peppers and spice in it which made it virtually inedible to everyone but me and two of my mates (who were both Indian, coincidentally, whereas I'm mostly English, so I have no idea how I got an immunity to spicy curry). Whatever is spicy, I'll have it happily.

Alas, this was my downfall. One curry night, me and my brother had a bet going on. To see if I could eat a curry with double the normal amount of Habanero chili's I usually have in it (6 this time, instead of three) as well as a couple of drops of Dave's Insanity Sauce we'd acquired from a trip to America. Face meltingly hot. He'd pay me twenty quid if I ate this spicy bastard. Gleefully, I accepted, as who the hell passes up free money for doing something they like?

First bite in. Okay so far, slight tingling. Five bites in. Slight burning. Another five bites in. I've broken out into a cold sweat. Two bites later I'm feeling like I'm on fire in various places. By now I'm halfway through the curry and I'm actually struggling to eat this concoction which seems to have been shat out of Satan's arsehole. My brother is having a whale of a time watching me gasp for breath and leaking sweat like a priest in a playground. I somehow finish this monstrosity and he passes me my twenty quid and I wander off, sweaty and in pain but happy in the knowledge that I am the king of the curry, the titan of the tikka, the master of the madras, etc etc. However, my body has other ideas. The next day, I go to the bog.

Johnny Cash had it right on two accounts. Ring of Fire and Hurt. That was the most painful toilet experience in my life. Karmic retribution indeed. Nowadays I stay off the spicy stuff for fear of the above happening again.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 20:25, 6 replies)

Karma uncontrolled and fatal
This is not my first QOTW, but very appropriate for all the wrong reasons. As a recreational Buddhist, I believe in karma, but it works in some vicious ways.

A few years ago, I got to be friends with a financial adviser. The friendship bloomed and I got to meet his wife and family, and we all became good mates. So far so good. He was a nice bloke, though a bit "Walter Mittyish" but we learned to ignore that. He drank in my local, was friends with just about everyone, and seemed like a nice chap. However, I didn't realise quite how often he drank...

However, at some point, I got a bit behind in my tax returns and turned to him for advice. Now, kids, don't mix business with pleasure, (it NEVER works), and so he put me on to an "accountant" who specialised in "tax advice".

Anyway the upshot was I let this new guy, a wigged, basically criminal idiot "accountant" take charge of my tax affairs, and he succeeded in taking about 60k of my money due to Herr Taxman and fucked off with it. Now I'm in deep shit with the Revenue. You don't bugger about with these guys. If you're asking, he's being hunted in at least 3 countries for similar offences. I can say without any comeback that this crook is called Ian Paye.

Ok my bad, but you should trust friends, shouldn't you?

Cue to me taking very serious (and very expensive) legal advice about what to do. The brief advised me to sue the arse off my IFA mate and take him to the cleaners. The consequence of this would be that he'd lose his IFA status, no job and his family would have no income (his kids were in the midst of being at uni, doing A levels etc.)

I was concerned. A more bloody-minded person would have taken this course, but I, being a family friend and knowing that his wife knew nothing about this debacle, decided to take the hit and liquidate my company. I therefore would spare his family the ignominy of his downfall.

You may say, "What a mug", but I was basically in the clear, and would let him grovel to me for eternity. That'll do, I thought.

Less than a year after this happened, he died totally suddenly of a brain haemorrhage in his sleep at age 48. Even as an IFA he hadn't taken out any life insurance for his family, and left his widow and children with an unsustainable mortgage and debts beyond their elbows.

Now, that may not be karma in my book, but it doesn't help anyone. I didn't wish it on him, certainly not on his family, but it just goes to show what goes around comes around, whether you like it or not...That's true karma. It's not who it affects directly, but the indirect victims, who usually don't have a clue about what has happened.
(Dr Teeth Who asked you, you fuckin' hobbit?, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 20:07, Reply)

There is a trend amongst young tosspots up here
and I assume everywhere, as twats will be twats, to push each other into people. They will walk side by side at the same pace as somebody and then one will shove another one into a total stranger.

All very annoying until you notice the signs, them looking at each other and adjusting their speed, and all you have to do is stop.

It is utterly satisfying stepping over the useless little turd as they look up at you as if they really didn't see it coming.
(tinypod will never learn. Ever., Thu 21 Feb 2008, 19:58, 2 replies)