Crime Scene Investigates...
Very early on in my illustrious career as a lazy fuckwit I used to answer the phone in a call centre for a large energy provider who’s name sounds a little like British Gash. It was an ok job. Mainly sitting round pissing about on the internet, chucking empty paper cups at my colleagues, and finding new and interesting ways to not appear absolutely shitfaced at work after one too many JD and cokes at lunchtime. But, as with most things in life, there was a fly in the ointment, a bit of gravel in the eye, a positive test for a sexually transmitted disease at the clap clinic – yep, we’re talking the inbred, knuckle-scraping, hairy-palmed, cock-sucking cunts who the company had installed to be Team Leaders. The only difference between them and the normals was that they a) never had a laugh, b) never had a drink after work, c) never appeared to get laid, ever, and d) did even less fucking work than we did for a shitload more money. Oh, and they shouted at us plebs – lots.

My Team Leader was a chap named Duncan. He was the typical type of moronic git who used to sit and stare at his service level screen all day, stopping occasionally to give some poor fucker a bollocking for daring to take a couple of second break between calls. If he could’ve got away with installing a big fucking drum and beating it rythmically in the style of a slavemaster on a Roman galley, he fucking would’ve. And one time he got a girl transferred off the team because my mate Dave was making a move on her. Duncan didn’t like the idea of any of his underlings actually having a bit of sexy fun on account of him being a twenty-five year old virgin with the wit and charm of a slice of cheese. Duncan was just plain nasty.

We had our Christmas Party at a swanky hotel that year. Duncan being a cunty prick, came dressed like he was going to a fucking wedding – posh tux, clean shoes, even a wierd looking top hat. The uber-boss overlords were delighted someone had made such an effort. Everybody else just thought he was a brown-nosing prick.

After the meal and a fair bit of cheap plonk and beer, I found the sudden and urgent need to have a shit. And not a nice, solid shit either. We’re talking a dambusting runny fucker. A little worse for wear, I ventured to the bogs and found my mate Dave in there, staring at something on the sink. I walked over to him. It was Duncan’s hat. Obviously the cuntbag had unintentionally left it behind after using the conveniences.

Dave turned to me, a little shaky on account of being pished as a newt, and said: “Look inside.” So I did. And I noticed the hat was a quarter full of lovely reddish vomit, complete with floating carrots, masticated turkey, and the odd bobbing brussel sprout. Dave said with pride: “I did that.”

I laughed heartily. In my drunken state this was absolute comedy gold. If there was a Nobel Prize for comedy, I’d have given it to Dave there and then. Then a thought occured to me. I took the hat, hmmm – nice n warm, and took it into the bog cubical with me...

It was an odd bollocking the following Monday at work. Dave and I had been pulled up to one of the meeting rooms. There was Duncan and a few other of the Team Leaders, even the Team Team Leader, and another older woman who must’ve been her boss – her job discription was probably the Team Team Team Leader. They proceeded to give Dave and I a final verbal warning. We protested our innocence, but when it was pointed out to us by Duncan and a few of his Team Leader colleague ‘witnesses’, that we’d actually gone and sought him out afterwards with the hat brimming with hot vom and hotter runny shit, just to make sure he knew it was us, well, our defence fell flat on its arse.

But the best bit was when Duncan produced a small container from a breat pocket and held it aloft like it was He-Mans fucking sword. It looked like one of those little screw jars you get lip balm in. He held this recepticle on high and proclaimed: “Don’t deny it!!! You two made a big mistake!!! I kept a sample!!! .... For DNA purposes!!!”

Everyone in the room just stared... Yeah, Dave and I got a severe bollocking, but Duncan was the one who came out of that room looking like a complete and utter fucking tit.
( SpankyHanky, Mon 22 Jun 2009, 12:35, 2 replies)

I love it...
When you get the chance to score one for justice against your tormentors.

I'm glad you keep remembering these gems...The memories this QOtW is bringing back for me is making me want to reach for the weapons grade mind bleach.

*mucho clickage*

EDIT: Curse my arse-grindingly shoddy work connection speed! - I pressed 'post this message'...fuck all happened, so I pressed it again, and again, still fuck all...then 3 replies! WTF? It's also taken me ages to delete the other 2...sorry Spanky.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 22 Jun 2009, 12:50, closed)

Here we go again
SpankyHanky and his bodily fluid posts. Love it.
( gareth_alien will be human again at, Mon 22 Jun 2009, 13:55, closed)