on a college trip to poland this year
on the finl night me and some friends slpit of from the group as we didnt like the bar everyone was in. We found a brillinat little place with greta music and cheap ddrinks. Had a real blast and got back to the hotel around 5, the tutors none the wiser. Trouble was one of my mates had a room to himself and failed to get up almost making up all miss our flight. Apparently it was my fault. TBH im 21! I should be able to choose where i drink.
(Ash_Pow is now available in extra medium, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 13:49, Reply)

Shanvishnu
Sounds like a case of constructive dismissal to me.
(Vic Flange, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 13:49, Reply)

I've just been told off
by my bosses for taking 23 days off sick so far this year, only 13 of which are certed.

The great thing is they told me that I'm the best engineer they have, "we just wish you were here more."

Fuckin sweet!

The other great thing is I told them I had to leave early today so could they hurry it along please. And they did. Result. I think I'll have me a long weekend.
(shanvishnu, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 13:35, Reply)

Gravel carpark..
.. I slightly span the wheels on my car and this jobsworth came over and told me off.

I told him to f*ck off and also insulted his brown corduroy trousers.
( Signify, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 13:35, Reply)

I was told off by my sister recently
for telling a joke about a paedophile.

She ranted on about it for ages.

Can't think why she didn't find it funny. After all, she is a primary teacher.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 13:31, Reply)

Trick or Treat
One halloween when i was a student two little kids knocked on the door asking for treats. As a threadbare student house, all we had was baked beans and slightly stale bread.

I didn't want to send the little devils away empty handed, so i delved into the depths of my memory to think of something they might enjoy.

Then i hit upon it MATCHES, every kid loves matches. I duly handed them over only to be told with a sneer which didn't even try and hide the disdain that the little kid obviously held me in.

"Don't you know never to give matches to kids, there dangerous" (there was a definete dur everone knows this kind of emphasis)and handed them back!

i was dumfounded, and chastised. I have never since tryed to encourage kids to play with matches
(Batemonkey, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 13:25, Reply)

I used to work at Ford...
....and whilst under their employment i sold cars.

One day i got a prticularly long, loud and lairy telling off for selling a car from the one's we had in stock.

Cmpod didn't understand. There was no discount, there was a full warranty sold with the car, even some optional extras. To all intents and purposes it was a top notch sale.

One thing though.

The car i'd sold was the dealer principals Escort Cosworth that he's waited 6 months for. Ooops.

Lenght? 6 months....duhhh.
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 13:13, Reply)

I gawped the law and the...law won
A couple of years ago I was driving down the road when I passed a police car on a junction to my left.

Now even though I am a decent, law abiding citizen (mostly), I used to get pulled over all the time when I was a kid, probably because I looked young for my age and used to drive cars which could be accurately described as a ‘seemingly unending fleet of sheds’. As a result of this, and even though I am now old and respectable, my arse-nut tightens to almost inside-out proportions every time I pass one of the filth’s jam sandwiches.

But this one was different. Driving this fucker was THE BIGGEST BASTARD I HAD EVER SEEN. He seemed to take up the whole of the front area of the car, with various bits of pig heaved against the dashboard etc.

Shitting myself, I tried desperately to look innocent (don’t ask, I don’t know) but looking straight ahead and sitting bolt upright, I happen to mention to my missus:

“Fucking hell, look at the size of that copper”

My missus, however has not mastered the art of 'staring at something whilst not looking like you are staring at something' (perfected by men over the years by leering at jubbly ladybumps etc).

So she pressed her mush against the window and gawped a loooong gawp for all she was worth. Her eyes fixated on the monster in the plod-mobile as we drove passed.

“Stop staring at the fucker” I screamed, but it was too late.

The sasquatch in the squad car pulled up behind us and started to follow.

I was driving impeccably, mumbling to myself: “fuckshitfucketybollocksfuckholes. You stupid cow, he’s going to pull us over now”

Lo and behold the lights flash and the world falls out of my cack-canyon.

I stop and sweatily get out of the car as giant haystacks’ pet brontosaurus walks up to me.

“What seems to be the p-p-p-p-problem, officer?” I wheeze, staring up to his belly-button

“Do you know what speed you were going?” Asks the silverback gorilla

“Erm………….” I say, knowing perfectly well that I was going at the exact speed limit but I didn’t want to antagonise the cunt-stick. (I wasn’t going to say “You’ve only pulled me over because I’m an easy target, you scrotey freak-of-nature” was I?)

“Before, you continue, may I warn you that if you do NOT know the speed that you were travelling, then that can be construed as dangerous driving, and is a CRIMINAL OFFENCE?” he boomed

“I’m very, very sorry if I was speeding sir, it was a lapse in concentration. It will NEVER happen again” I gushed, sucking up so much that I’m surprised I didn’t start kissing his thick neck.

“I do NOT want to have to go to the house of a local mother and say that her child has been killed due to YOUR petulant driving” he roared (he really said those exact words)

What I wanted to say was “Go and fuck yourself. You’ve just picked on me ‘cos my missus can’t control her staring when she spies a bloke the size of the rock of Gibralter”

What I actually said was: “I’m so, so sorry sir. I was in a hurry and wasn’t thinking. Sorry. Sorry.”

“Do you think that your being late constitutes the death of a child as ACCEPTABLE?” he asks (this guy isn’t letting up, how much sucking up do I have to do?)

“Of course not” I murmur. “I can’t apologise enough. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry sorry” (remember, I had actually done nothing wrong all this time)

It appears that by this point, he felt sufficiently empowered. “Very well”, the man-mountain growled “Drive on”

“Oh thank you, thank you” I grovel, getting back into my car, muttering ‘cunt’ under my breath and wanting to slap my missus round the face for putting me through that.

Still, all’s well that ends well. At least he never noticed that I was rat-arsed.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 21 Sep 2007, 13:09, Reply)

Attack of the Giggles
As a child I found the best way to combat a good bollocking was to laugh at the person telling you off as it has the effect of taking the wind out of their sails somewhat. However as I now move into my 30’s I find that no matter how professional the environment I’m in I find it hard not to start laughing when getting told off.

Now for the science bit.

It noticeable that response from the bollocker will depend on the working environment that the said bollocking is taking place in. For example there is nothing worse to your average public sector manager than a well timed laugh. Done right it can make then realise they are an insignificant nobody who wouldn’t last 5 minutes in the real world. Compare this to laughing at a self made entrepreneur; chances are they’ll end up laughing with you realising that they haven’t got where they are now by being too serious.

My personal favourite has to be Union Officials as an inferiority complex is compulsory for them and a good giggle usually causes maximum offence and in my case means there no chance of me joining the Union (which is fine; if I want to be a workshy c**t I’ll come on B3ta everyday, rather than having the Union deduct fees from my wage each month).

On the topic of sliding, wet floors, ice, I have to give it a go. Usually when it snows I can be found sliding my way to work which means some old dear ends up telling me off. My usual cutting response is something along the lines of “consider icy paths Darwinism in action” but it always seems to come out as a rather meek “sorry………”
(Rev O'Lucian will unfortunatly age on, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:55, Reply)

Booooo!
Recently after that annoying No Doubt song 'Hella Good' had come on the radio at work with that 'Booo!' noise in it (similar to the one in 'Ring My Bell'), me and a few others took to shouting it over the lines.

By the end of the night I had successfully encouraged around 30 people to go 'BOOOOO!' whilst working, mainly with the assistance of the Countdown themetune. Doo-do-do-do-diddly-doo (in unison) BOOOOOOO!

One friend of mine was getting increasingly irritated after half an hour of 2 dozen people making the same silly noise and told the boss.

He immediately jumped out of his chair and shouted "Nanny, Marie says will you stop making that bloody stupid noise!" Then to the dismay of Marie he added a "BOOOOO!"
(chakaflange, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:53, Reply)

wtf?
So, a few a years ago when I was still in Uni, I went one year abroad as a exchange student. Back then, before I left for Belgium I was still living with my parents( lame I know). Anyway, after 10 months of absence I come back, my friends are all waiting for me at the train station, we go to my place have coffee, talk a bit, after which they fuck off.It was decided that in the evening will meet in order to get properly hammered.
I sit and talk to my mom, it gets evening I explain to her largely that we are going out, have huge amounts of alcohol, get really drunk and all that.
Everything is fine I’m getting ready to get out the door and my dear mother screams:
“At what time will you get home?”
WTF?
I move out very, very soon after that.

Rhatanu, living alone ever since. No questions asked!
(rhatanu, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:49, Reply)

Sorry seems to be the hardest word



The only time I can recall any burning shame at a dressing down was over ten years ago.


I used to work in an office where I was the 'go to guy' for any computer problems. One of my colleagues, Linda, was amiable enough but prone to misunderstandings due to having no sense of humour and bursts of irrational hysterics over the square root of fuck all.

One day, as I sorted out one of the computers after some numpty decided to 'tidy it up' by deleting every icon off the desktop, Linda approached me and wanted to use the computer. Thinking that she'd been the numpty who'd fucked it up earlier, I replied "No, you can't. I've been told by (name-of-manager) that you're not to be let anywhere near computers as you'll only break them" in a crap-joke manner.

There was only herself and myself in the room at the time and she stormed off in a huff as I got back to sorting out the computer. About ten minutes later and the phone rang. "Fanta? This is (name-of-manager) please come to my office immediately." I arrived to find the manager and Linda who had been crying. "Linda says you verbally assaulted her and accused her of being incompetent in front of other staff members." I repeated what I'd said and mentioned that I'd been joking and that there was nobody else in the room at the time. I then offered to apologise to Linda over any offence I may have caused but she wasn't having it. I must make a full apology in front of the entire staff - from Director to Receptionist - or else she was taking it to an employment tribunal. Apparently, by questioning her competence and using our manager's name, I'd gone and ruined her reputation within the organisation.

So, that Friday afternoon, I had to stand on the main stair, facing three dozen people lined up in front of me and give the most crow-eating apology of my life to Linda, who looked as though she was grieving for the love of her life as he was being laid to rest. It didn't make me feel any better when the director took me aside and said that Linda was a complete loon and that he agreed with me that she'd made a mountain out of a molehill but that he couldn't risk an enquiry so just give her a wide berth in future eh?
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:47, Reply)

Does this count...
I am well known to be quite a childish person (when its windy I still put the hood of my coat on and pretend its a cape), however this childishness occasionally rubs off on other people around me.

Anyway, this particular occasion I was in the pub playing pool with my mates when Anastacia started playing on the Juke Box. Now, I like most sane people, am not the biggest fan of hers and so as a result, cue me and my mate Dave putting on our best female operatic singing voices and singing along. "All my life I've been waaaaaiting, for you to bring a faaaaaairy tale my waaaaaay" we harped at full volume.

We felt that we had crucified the song adequetly, and everyone else in the pool room found it suitably funny when another friend of mine, James came hurtling round from the bar telling us to be quiet because...and I quote "theres bigger boys". We're 22!
( Furness, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:43, Reply)

Drink! Cars! Police! Fines!
Danny and I decided to go out. We went to go to the student union and take advantage of the 60p vodka on offer. As you can imagine, this was one of my less brilliant ideas. By nine o'clock I was singing. By ten o'clock I was sicking. By eleven o'clock I was at home, on the sofa, semi-conscious.

I was lying there in the centre of a party, and, come 5am, when it was beginning to fizzle out I was prevailed upon to drive everyone home. The problem was, I was a bit pissed still, and had no car. Danny hopped into the passenger seat of his, threw me the keys, and off we went.

I spent the next hour or so bombing about the city and Rotherham, having a whale of a time. A couple of hundred yards from home I noticed I had a police car behind me. Oh fuck. I drove onto John Street, adjacent to Bramall Lane and the blues came on. Oh fucketty fuck. The police came to the window and were overwhelmed by the odour of booze. Danny, paralytic, was covered in wine and had spilt a bottle on the car floor.

"Have you been drinking, Sir?"
"Erm, would you believe I'm teetotal?"
"No Sir. Breathe into this please."

Fuck fuck fuck.

"You're nicked, sunshine..."

I was escorted into the back of a police car, and was officially cunted. Still singing to myself, the custody sergeant booked me in, bollocking me for dancing on the spot and humming. I was asked what drugs I'd had, and honestly replied none. I wasn't believed, but they couldn't do anything about it. They called a doctor for a blood test; miraculously, despite feeling pissed as a parrot, I was borderline on the breath test. The blood test read 81. The limit is 80. They knew I had no insurance. They threw the book at me, then made me walk the 4 miles home in a shirt, at 8am, with 10p on me, in the freezing November morning.

Obviously I had to go to court. This was a worry. However, all I had to was stay in the night before, have a drink and early night then, with Danny and Vicky, go to court in a suit, say the right things and take my ban and fine on the chin.

The best laid plans...

Danny and I, at 8pm, were a little tipsy on Bitch Drinks and fancied a game of pool. We went to the Surrey and got plastered. Wending our way home at 11 I received a call from my girlfriend; would I like to go out for a drink at a cheesey new club. Erm, yes. Yes, I would. I got battered. The four of us got home at about 5, and I was ill. Feeling dire, I woke at 8, and walked back home, to get my suit, before driving to the court.

I was white and shaking. Due to my hangover, my awful awful hangover. As opposed to fear. We got bored. And when Danny and I got bored, we got mischevious. We spent hours imitating the burps of the Budweiser frogs and sliding up and down the corridors. Vicky was mortified.

Anyhow, the hearing was a farce; my brief didn't know the case, fucked up the facts, and I defended myself. I got the minimum punishment available; a years ban and a £100 fine. I also had to endure a severe telling off about my irresponsibility...

Went to the pub, did some trips then went to work.

Fantastic day out, in the end.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:39, Reply)

My mum
My mum used to treat me like shit. Most of the time she was OK, but she'd look for the smallest thing to blow up about and yell at me. Often it was about the tiniest of things - a small speck of muck on the bin, dust on the lamp covers etc. She has this obsession with cleanliness and tidiness, and I'd hate it when she came down to my house or flat in case she blew up. She ruined a holiday to America years ago due to her grumpiness. Now she doesn't like the fact that I have a new woman in my life. I'm due to be getting married in November.

And guess what? She has said she isn't coming. I suspect she felt that if she didn't come, the wedding would be cancelled, the bitch.

www.paullee.com
(Wrecked Tums, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:36, Reply)

Union Rep
I joined the rank of those poor souls who got busted by there emplyers for going on blocked sites via a proxy (i.e. B3TA)

I got a bollocking from my employers and threatened with the sack so I called my union rep.

My union rep gave me a bollocking too and patronised the hell out of me telling me if I get away with it then I'll be a lucky boy (I'm 26) I told them that if they punished me for doing what most of the school was doing since the implementation of a filter that the Chinese Government would love to have then I would quit and find a better higher paid job. They laughed in my face and told me I was on thin ice and one more incident I would be sacked.

Three months later I am sitting behind my desk writing this at my new workplace where I work less hours for nearly twice the pay. I send daily emails to my old employer telling them just how happy I am and how I will be recommending to everyone there to get out because they don't have to work for a bullying control freak.

No filters here! I told them what I did too and they all laughed. People have told me for a long time that all jobs are as bad as each other, well its crap I enjoy my job here and I am respected and work with a lovely group of people so up your ass Andrew!
( Peej, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:31, Reply)

Pub etiquette rant
I am a pub lover and like my real ale. I am also British, this means I appreciate good manners and queuing etiquette. In a pub situation, this means, first come first served and wait your turn patiently even when it's busy. If the staff mistakenly offer to serve you when someone who was before you, refer the barkeep to the correct punter.

Yes that means you the snotty little bint who gleefully pushed in front of me last night in The Station public house. You knew what you were doing and the smug grim you gave me whilst I scowled at you gave it away. It was my birthday too and you are a rude, ignorant bitch and I hope your pint of Stella gave you cholera.

I therefore make no apologies to the pot bellied, sweaty middle aged knobhead who tried to push in front of me after the above incident. Yes you tried to laugh off me telling you off and making you look stupid in front of the attractive young barmaid but you just got redder and sweatier. Oh and by the way, moustaches like that went out with the Miners Strike you cretin.

This country!
( abefroman skating on the thin life of modern life on, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:28, Reply)

Disasterprone
Is going to have a madras tonight?
Then I fear someone will be giving him a stern telling off tomorrow at the air quality in his bed/state of the toilet pan.
(Vic Flange, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:24, Reply)

You are about to enter another dimension, there's a signpost up ahead - your next stop, the Twilight Zone!
Consider the case if you will: Colonel Dracula, a 30 year old chartered accountant is about to be rudely awoken on this dreary work-day morning by the ringing of his bedside telephone:

Me: "Urghhhhello?"

Caller: "It's your mother"

Me: "Mum? It's really early...OH SHIT WHO'S DIED?!"

Mum: "Your tea towels are disgusting!"

Me: "What?"

Mum: "Your tea towels"

Me: "My what?"

Mum: "They're disgusting"

Me: "For fucks sake mother, I was asleep..."

Mum: "Don't swear at me"

Me: "Sorry Mum, look I was asleep and I now have to get up for..."

Mum: ..."it's not good enough you know, your tea towels are disgusting!"

Me: "Mum, I’m a grown man..."

Mum: ..."That's NO excuse for disgusting tea towels, I’m embarrassed when I see them, so I’m bringing round some clean ones"

Me: "What? SHIT...no-sorry, Mum can we do this another time, I have to get ready...

Mum: "I'm coming over now and I bet your kitchens in a state...and when did you last Hoover your stairs?"

There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, between living with your parents and owning your own house and it lies between the pit of a man's fears of his mothers displeasure and the summit of his knowledge that his tea towels are a bit dirty. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:23, Reply)

Gayers! Police! Dwarves! Umbrellas!
This is shamelessly nicked and abridged from my blog, but I feel it's relevant to this topic.

This is a familiar start to one of my tales. We'd decided to go out. On a big big big one. To Nottingham. 10 of us. Some who barely knew each other. There was me, Welsh Matt, Peculiar Neil, Darren, American Neil, Welsh Tim and some dudes from Leeds who were American Neil's mates and bonkers.

The group was of mixed ages, 22 (me) to 40+, American Neil. We met up early on, and sorted out who wanted what. I chuckled as I folded up all the cash from the pills, stashed it at Matt's (other than what I wanted for the night) along with the excess pills and skunk, got dressed and we were all ready to go!

We had to stop off to allow one of the party to get himself ready so we pulled over at a convenient green and stood at the roadside, tunes belting out and us in our clubbing finery. Then the police drove past; I have never seen a group of men simultaeneously put hands in their pockets, pull out plastic bags and drop them on the floor before. The police slowed to a crawl, gave us a knowing look at rolled on. We all bent over as one, picked up our bags and called American Neil, desperate for him to hurry up so that we could leave there.

We eventually left, and moved on to Nottingham. Tim, Welsh Matt and I were sharing Tim's car and following the guys from Leeds and Yankee Neil. We were discussing the erratic driving of the car in front, and as we began to do laps of the Nottingham one way system we called them. It seems that the driver had decided to eat a couple of trips rather than drop them on the floor when the filth turned up, and consequently was getting a little confused. We looked at one another and began to pray for them as they weaved from lane to lane. Eventually though, we parked safely, abandoned the cars (Tim whimpering gently as we were leaving his beloved GTI in an unlit and CCTV free car park) and did some pills before meandering down to The Bomb...

We entered, and fuck me it was ace! Sophisticated, cool, affordable with great ddep house playing and with an incredibly happy house room in a Hawaiian style, and a ferocious room of intense, paranoid drum and bass. Mega! Best of all though, was the enclosed courtyard at the back of the club. It was a balmy (and barmy) evening, and Matt and I were sitting outside on a low wall, embracing ocasionally and muttering loved up comments about how wonderful the world in general was; despite this being 6 or so years ago I remain convinced I was admiring the dragon on his trousers. In hindsight, perhas my admiration of his trousers caused what happened next.

A girl came up to us and said "Are you friends?" We replied positively; of course we were friends or we wouldn't have been out together. "Close friends?" she said. "Well, yes" we said. "OH, HOW SWEET! LOOK EVERYONE, THERE'S A QUEER COUPLE HERE!!!" she bellowed, garnering the attention of almost everyone in the courtyard. Matt and I protested, but these were drowned out by cries of admiration at our courage. We left the courtyard and went to find the others... I found Tim, and Sasha turned up and played an unannounced set. Matt found Darren, who was mid freak out, but seemed ok on the way home.

The journey home took 25 mins. Terrifying...

We got back about 4am, and a party ensued... a great time being had by all. Except Darren, who went to have some time alone. We all continued to get trashed upstairs, getting more and more caned until we heard a knock on the door at daybreak. We looked out of the window and began to panic; Dibble was here. There followed minutes of non-comprehension and people running around like headless chickens before Welsh Matt, who also lived there, displayed significant bottle (especialy seeing what state he was in) to go and investigate...

Thank God he did... Darren had let them in and they were heading our way. Peering through the ajar door, the black dude from Leeds organised us. We ate our stash, many pills and trips were done, the window was thrown open, ashtrays were hidden. This took some time, but Matt was downstairs putting all his experience of sheep-worrying to good use, and buying us enough time to do what little we could.

Soon enough though, Plod came in, and smoke wafted into their faces; they knew the score instantly from the smell of the smoke and the terrified expression on all our faces. They knew however that there would be a lot of paperwork if they nicked 10 people, and also they'd have to call vans in and left us with a warning, telling us of the dangers of drugs, and telling us how serious it was to waste police time.

As they left I went downstairs to find out what the hell had happened. Darren, hallucinating wildly, had thought we were invading the house along with 20 dwarves with umbrellas and called the police to help him. He was very concerned.

Gradually though, the impact of the telling off receded, the tunes kicked back in, and we waited for the impact of the next hit.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:10, Reply)

I was told off by the cat...
Not sure if this qualifies as an answer to this QOTW: however, my girlfriend is away at the moment, enjoying the sun and heat of southern France for a work do - so I'm left behind to look after the cat and the flat.

A bit pongy and as a long haired cat with a winter coat coming through a matted summer one, I gave her a trim and then a bath: she's a good cat and will stand still while you do it but has that look of "you'll pay for this" in her eyes as you pour buckets of water over her head.

...and she did too: I woke up this morning to find a piece of runny cat poo in my laptop bag. Fortunately the laptop wasn't in there at the time but I'm not sure now how to remove the smell...
(paulplex erm, hi..., Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:05, Reply)

Snobby sis-in-law
All sat round formal dining table around Chrimbo time. Me and Mrs YC were being pretend veggies, another story. So we were given huge amounts of veggies and no meat "I didn't know you were veggie and have nothing in, you just have to have vegtables".

After we'd eaten our fill Mrs was struggling with her still half full plate as the plates were being collected by s-i-l.

"You don't have to eat it all" I said to the wife...

"I'VE BEEN TO CUBA, THERE ARE CHILDREN IN THE STREETS DYING OF HUNGER EAT: IT ALL" s-i-l bellowed at me as she headed for the kitchen.

Took me a few seconds to realise I was 30 years old and didn't have to take abuse.

"Well post it to them" I said, then realised she was out of earshot but 10 of her relatives sitting round the table were all now staring at me.
(Yellow Car is now red, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:00, Reply)

Dogging! Bright Lights! Terror!
This is a pretty recent tale about dogging. Dogging, for the more innocent amongst you, is the practice of meeting in lonely car parks or lay bys to indulge in al fresco sex with strangers. I am not a practitioner of this.

However, I was driving home late one night, and was about 50 miles from home. I always have really shit cars, and this was no exception. It was overheating, smoke was pouring from the vents, so I pulled into a deserted car park to allow it to cool down and to pour specially bottled water into the radiator.

While sitting there, I turned on my interior light and thought, well, I may as well take the opportunity to skin up. So I did. Not being in a hurry, I rolled a lovely joint, sparked it, cranked up the tunes a little and relaxed.

I leant down to try and find a cd, but as I was truffling about the floor I was surrounded by light. Figuring that aliens were unlikely to be involved I leapt up, banged my head on the mirror, saw a police Galaxy outside with full beam searchlight pointing into my car, swore, burnt my hand on the joint, stubbed it into an ashtray and flew out of the car, moving more quickly than Linford with a red hot poker up his bum.

"Yes, Officer?" I enquired, trying to look law abiding. "What are you doing?" "Oh, just having a rest, my car's overheating." Anyway, a lengthy conversation followed, in which it was insinuated that I was a pervert (although not far from the truth, I do draw the line at trying to fuck strangers in car parks).

Eventually they told me to go home, I agreed (perhaps even saluting) and as I gently pulled away, I relit my spliff, put my foot down and disappeared before Stan Collymore had a chance to accost me.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 21 Sep 2007, 12:00, Reply)

Old People
I walked past a shuffling old git last week who mumbled something as I passed. I was happily smoking a fag and looking forward to my sandwich, so I just kept on going.

Then I heard a fake cough and turned around to make sure he was okay.

"Smoking's bad for you!" he says

"I know!" says I

"You should stop doing it" he says

"Erm...right!" says I

I carry on walking and he continues shuffling along whilst shouting (surprisingly loudly):

"It'll kill yer, y'know!"

I still haven't been able to work out if he:

a. Thought that I didn't know about the dangers of smoking and was just trying to be helpful

b. Hadn't spoken to anyone for forty years and finally thought he'd found someone friendly looking enough to talk to

c. Was lucky I didn't turn around and beat him to death with his own arm that I would have happily pulled from his arm socket, he looked like a zombie, so I don't think it would have taken much effort.

Why do people think it's okay to tell strangers off about smoking? Smokers know it's stupid and expensive and unhealthy (and cool). If people could give up just because a crusty, mindless stranger tells them too, most probably would.

The next person that does it is going to get told to mind their own bloody business.



Fellow posters to QOTW, particularly those who include:

"click I like this if you blah blah blah"

or

"LOL"

Go to your rooms and don't come out again until you understand the difference between imaginative anecdotes/clever prose and spouting desperate-sounding "why can't I get on the front page?" tripe that your entries are producing.

I'm very disappointed in all of you.


Now go and think about what you've done.....
(Jugular, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 11:57, Reply)

Not me...
but my other half was told off by our 3 year old daughter last night when they were playing hide and seek. He hid on the windowsill in our bedroom behind the curtain and when she found him she told him off because it was "a very dangerous place to hide".

She does tell the pair off us off on a regular basis anyway, god help her when she's a teenager, she'll never leave the house because we're so embarrassing.
(mrsfluffles Bitter & twisted? Probably., Fri 21 Sep 2007, 11:52, Reply)

Races! Police! Puke! Office!
Recently my company had a corporate day out at the horse races. The full story can be found in a past post, but in it's essentials I got mullered, then nicked.

I was quite rude to the policemen, christening them PC Cheesyfeet and PC Munchkin, and consequently was kept in the cells for a whole day. This was tedious.

Upon my release I was told off by the police for being foolish, and told, sternly, not to be a dickhead.

I made my way to the office. Now, I have been with the same company for a long long time and have a good relationship with the MD. I stumbled into his office, foul after a day in the cells, and began to mumble apologies.

He cut me off; "DP", he said, "You are an adult. If you want to go out, get wrecked and get nicked that is entirely your perogative. No apology is necessary, don't worry about, get back to work!"

Then as an aside... "Although, as a manager, do you really think it's the best example to set - it wasn't at work, and you're good enough to not let it affect your figures, but others don't have your advantages. You can do what you like and perform well, but others may try and imitate you, fail, and be sacked."

I left his office in a thoughtful state of mind, thinking "Yes, you have a point", popped to the gents, barfed and went home for some well deserved shuteye.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 21 Sep 2007, 11:50, Reply)

I told off a woman once
at a wedding I was playing at. At half time, as oft happens, someone came up and wanted to sing. Unusually, she had an "accompanist" who wanted to play my keyboard. Fine, I said, go ahead.

So said accompanist sat down at my big expensive workstation synth with its weighted keys and all of its knobs and buttons, plonked a few notes, and proclaimed "This is useless, I can't play this", because it didn't have Casiotone auto-accompaniment rhythm backing built in or something, or the keys were too heavy. Whatever.

So I replied, "It's a professional keyboard. If you can't play it properly then don't complain to me. I can't compensate for your incompetence".

That told her. She shut up and went back to her table and didn't bother us again. Result.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 11:31, Reply)

The youth of today
My lad is nine. A lovely little chap although a little naughty on occasions. His mum (AKA Slag that ripped me for my first million) had bought him a new mobile phone and he was really excited about it.

"Dad, it's got MP3 ringtones" he said gleefully.

"Thats nice son", I said, looking at this girls tits as she walked past the window and not really paying attention.

"Abi has put me a Blink 182 ringtone on" he chirped.

Abi, his sister, is a 13 year old emo with the IQ of a planet and the cutting wit of a razor sharp knife.

"Would you like to hear it?", he chirped again

"Oh go on", I said, scratching my balls as the big breasted woman walked the other way again.

Fuck me, I nearly fell off my chair. I mean Jesus, what sort of group releases a track called "I want to fuck a dog in the ass"

We both looked sheepish. I mean, what does a 38 year old say to a nine year old with that as a ringtone?

I made my excuses and left his mother to sort out that train wreck....
(Mong The Merciless Older not wiser, Fri 21 Sep 2007, 11:14, Reply)

KFC! Racism! Arrest! Innocence!
Back at the Good Old KFC...

Danny and I worked with our mate Martin, a black guy who was our manager. He persisted in calling us Honkies and we naturally engaged in the banter by way of making regular references to Slavery.

We regularly used to borrow money out of the tills to go out with before payday, and put it back the next morning and occasionally we'd empty the safe and pretend gamble with the dosh.

One day, however, the Old Bill turned up, seized me and excorted me out of the front door, my hands in cuffs. I was concerned, as not only had they nicked me on suspicion of theft there were loads of drugs in my bedroom.

As I left the building I was seen by a number of friends who happened to be walking to the pub. I was applauded and cat-called in equal measure and my affected cockiness did not endear me to the coppers. Inwardly I was panicking. Fortunately though, Danny sprinted to my house and removed my stash.

I got to the station and a great many questions were asked of me. I was unaware of their purpose, but eventually managed to understand a large sum of money was missing from the safe.

Danny was given the same treatment the next day, our homes were searched, but obviously nothing was found to incriminate us, largely as we were innocent.

We eventually discovered that Martin, improving on our pretend gambling, had borrowed all the cash from the safe the night before payday and gone gambling at the dog track. He had been caught out by a completely unannounced stock take. They had also noticed a lot of missing fillets and special breading (I actually had nicked them).

Martin was fired, but had mentioned our pretend gambling. Our bosses called us in and spoke to us at length; they didn't rant and rave, but were quietly disappointed.

Danny and I felt only inches tall and reformed our behaviour; not stealing, stripping or doing anything unsavoury for 3 days.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 21 Sep 2007, 11:08, Reply)