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Stay from about my bins.
Proud winner of the prestigious
http://www.b3ta.com/links/This_story_is_brought_to_you_by_the_letter_C
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» More Pet Stories
Not all cats are cunts
My mum grew up in a small cottage in the middle of a wood because my grandparents didn't have a pot to piss in. They kept pigs and chickens, ferrets to catch rabbits, got water from a well and always grew up surrounded by animals.
Of the many pets they had (which included a black chow with a very unpolitically correct name) were a german shepherd dog called Lassie and a cat named Tiny. They generally got on pretty well, but later on into her life Lassie began to lose her sight and as she did so her and Tiny began to have a much closer bond.
When Lassie eventually went blind the two became inseperable. Tiny would stick her tail straight up, then Lassie would put her nose on Tiny's tail tip and then Tiny would lead her around the woods on walkies, making sure the route was obstacle free and ensuring her bezzie mate was able to lead an active life. No one knew how either of them had learnt how to do this, it was just something they had worked out on their own.
When Lassie finally died the cat stopped eating, slept all day and seemed to be pretty ill. When the vet saw her he said health wise she was fine. Diagnosis: dying of a broken heart.
Tiny passed away two weeks after she lost her best friend.
(Thu 31st Jan 2013, 20:31, More)
Not all cats are cunts
My mum grew up in a small cottage in the middle of a wood because my grandparents didn't have a pot to piss in. They kept pigs and chickens, ferrets to catch rabbits, got water from a well and always grew up surrounded by animals.
Of the many pets they had (which included a black chow with a very unpolitically correct name) were a german shepherd dog called Lassie and a cat named Tiny. They generally got on pretty well, but later on into her life Lassie began to lose her sight and as she did so her and Tiny began to have a much closer bond.
When Lassie eventually went blind the two became inseperable. Tiny would stick her tail straight up, then Lassie would put her nose on Tiny's tail tip and then Tiny would lead her around the woods on walkies, making sure the route was obstacle free and ensuring her bezzie mate was able to lead an active life. No one knew how either of them had learnt how to do this, it was just something they had worked out on their own.
When Lassie finally died the cat stopped eating, slept all day and seemed to be pretty ill. When the vet saw her he said health wise she was fine. Diagnosis: dying of a broken heart.
Tiny passed away two weeks after she lost her best friend.
(Thu 31st Jan 2013, 20:31, More)
» "Needless to say, I had the last laugh"
Dicks in Dixons
When I was a poor student I always tried to fill every holiday with a job of some kind in order to keep the wolves from the door during term time. The choice back home in Cheltenham was a bit limited as temp agencies always saved the cushy office jobs for the ladies and us blokes were left with the crap jobs.
I managed to get a job one Christmas working at Dixons thinking this would be a pretty decent job for the holiday. The pay was pretty awful, but it was working in the warehouse and stocking shelves which didn't seem like it was going to be too taxing. Totally wrong. The manager, and his young deputy were little hitlers. The exact type of executive wannabes that I just can't stand.
They gave the guy I was working with so much shit that he stormed out on my second day, leaving me as the only person in the warehouse trying to frantically keep up with the Christmas rush - shoving orders in the elevator, stocking shelves, wrapping up display model TVs (we're talking enormous CRT ones here that recommend a two man lift on the boxes) in their original packaging, trying to find all the missing bits from boxes that the sales staff had flung to the four winds... hated it. At one point I had deputy weasel in chief calling me on the radio literally every ten seconds asking if I had found a box for a display item yet as he massaged his own ego in front of a customer by balling out the lad in stores.
One particularly stessful day I was on the shop floor trying to restock the joysticks and trying not to be trampled to death by the Christmas stampede. Whilst I was sticking the price labels and security tags on boxes a wall of fur coat descended on me and started a tirade about something she had bought that wasn't working. I started to give her my speech about how I was not shop floor staff but I would find someone who could help her but I only got half way through explaining it until she went red, started shouting and gnashing her teeth (she had posh person teeth - the type that could eat an apple through a letterbox) and bits of spittle were dropping in a fine mist onto my face.
The manager saw an angry customer and took this as a great opportunity to exert his authority and rushed over, gave me a dressing down and started to try and calm poshtits down.
She had her back to me at that point, but she kept lifting her heel up and down, banging it on the floor as she stated her demands. In a rare moment of inspiration, I peeled off one of the security tags and slid it under her foot when she next lifted her heel. She stamped it down, it stuck. Victory.
As she had been returning an item, and didn't want a replacement she left the store without any Dixons bags, only her handbag. Off went the dulcit tones of the alarm accompanied by cheery red Christmas disco lighting.
The security guard was a really nice bloke. Also a temp, he'd taken enough shit off the cock weasels that worked in that place to spot an opportunity to restore the karmic balance. I really enjoyed watching poshtits being taken aside so they could search her bags and coat like a common tea leaf, trembling with rage and embarassment as my comrade took his sweet as time explaining he had reason to believe she had been shop lifting in front of a very full store.
They found the tag eventually. The manager just thought it had fallen off something and she'd trod on it. A small achievement though it was, it was a little ray of joy in an otherwise miserable Christmas surrounded by some of the most poisonous, self aggrandising people I have ever met.
(Thu 3rd Feb 2011, 13:59, More)
Dicks in Dixons
When I was a poor student I always tried to fill every holiday with a job of some kind in order to keep the wolves from the door during term time. The choice back home in Cheltenham was a bit limited as temp agencies always saved the cushy office jobs for the ladies and us blokes were left with the crap jobs.
I managed to get a job one Christmas working at Dixons thinking this would be a pretty decent job for the holiday. The pay was pretty awful, but it was working in the warehouse and stocking shelves which didn't seem like it was going to be too taxing. Totally wrong. The manager, and his young deputy were little hitlers. The exact type of executive wannabes that I just can't stand.
They gave the guy I was working with so much shit that he stormed out on my second day, leaving me as the only person in the warehouse trying to frantically keep up with the Christmas rush - shoving orders in the elevator, stocking shelves, wrapping up display model TVs (we're talking enormous CRT ones here that recommend a two man lift on the boxes) in their original packaging, trying to find all the missing bits from boxes that the sales staff had flung to the four winds... hated it. At one point I had deputy weasel in chief calling me on the radio literally every ten seconds asking if I had found a box for a display item yet as he massaged his own ego in front of a customer by balling out the lad in stores.
One particularly stessful day I was on the shop floor trying to restock the joysticks and trying not to be trampled to death by the Christmas stampede. Whilst I was sticking the price labels and security tags on boxes a wall of fur coat descended on me and started a tirade about something she had bought that wasn't working. I started to give her my speech about how I was not shop floor staff but I would find someone who could help her but I only got half way through explaining it until she went red, started shouting and gnashing her teeth (she had posh person teeth - the type that could eat an apple through a letterbox) and bits of spittle were dropping in a fine mist onto my face.
The manager saw an angry customer and took this as a great opportunity to exert his authority and rushed over, gave me a dressing down and started to try and calm poshtits down.
She had her back to me at that point, but she kept lifting her heel up and down, banging it on the floor as she stated her demands. In a rare moment of inspiration, I peeled off one of the security tags and slid it under her foot when she next lifted her heel. She stamped it down, it stuck. Victory.
As she had been returning an item, and didn't want a replacement she left the store without any Dixons bags, only her handbag. Off went the dulcit tones of the alarm accompanied by cheery red Christmas disco lighting.
The security guard was a really nice bloke. Also a temp, he'd taken enough shit off the cock weasels that worked in that place to spot an opportunity to restore the karmic balance. I really enjoyed watching poshtits being taken aside so they could search her bags and coat like a common tea leaf, trembling with rage and embarassment as my comrade took his sweet as time explaining he had reason to believe she had been shop lifting in front of a very full store.
They found the tag eventually. The manager just thought it had fallen off something and she'd trod on it. A small achievement though it was, it was a little ray of joy in an otherwise miserable Christmas surrounded by some of the most poisonous, self aggrandising people I have ever met.
(Thu 3rd Feb 2011, 13:59, More)
» Sticking it to The Man
Stairlift to heaven
Dr Fishfinger's story about Safestyle UK has reminded me of my Nan's victory over telesales.
She was plagued with endless phonecalls from peddlers and snake oil salesmen who like to prey on the elderly and vulnerable. I signed her up to the TPS and that cut a lot of them out, but some of these bastards just don't quit.
One company that was particularly virilent kept trying to sell her a stairlift. In the end she just gave up, talked to the guy about her hip replacement for half and hour and how it'd certainly help to have a stairlift to get up stairs.
It ended up with one of their goons coming round to give her the hard sell and quote for installing a spanking new stairlift... in her bungalow. They never called again.
We miss you Nan xx
(Mon 21st Jun 2010, 14:41, More)
Stairlift to heaven
Dr Fishfinger's story about Safestyle UK has reminded me of my Nan's victory over telesales.
She was plagued with endless phonecalls from peddlers and snake oil salesmen who like to prey on the elderly and vulnerable. I signed her up to the TPS and that cut a lot of them out, but some of these bastards just don't quit.
One company that was particularly virilent kept trying to sell her a stairlift. In the end she just gave up, talked to the guy about her hip replacement for half and hour and how it'd certainly help to have a stairlift to get up stairs.
It ended up with one of their goons coming round to give her the hard sell and quote for installing a spanking new stairlift... in her bungalow. They never called again.
We miss you Nan xx
(Mon 21st Jun 2010, 14:41, More)
» Horrible things I've done to a loved one
8-legged revenge
My sister used to be a vindictive little shit when we were little. She was forever pilfering my favourite toys and hiding them in her room, then denying all knowledge of ever seeing them. My parents refused to listen, putting their loss down to my untidy bedroom.
I used to wait until she'd gone to ballet lessons to retrieve my treasures and drop a spider in its place knowing she had a bit of a dislike for them.
One week she went too far and hid about ten of my favourite star wars figures (I know right? Unforgiveable!). After that it was on like King Kong. I bided my time until she was out doing her girly dancing for a full day and went into the garden with jam jars and yoghurt pots and collected as many spiders as I could find.
I was sneaky enough to make sure I only collected the same species so my folks would just put it down to some kind of nest or infestation and then released them under her bed, in her sock drawer and among her toys. Must have been about a hundred of the little buggers scuttling off in all directions looking for a new home.
It's strange how waking up in the middle of the night with spiders crawling in your hair and across your face can turn a dislike into a full blown phobia.
25 years later my brother in law tells me she occassionally sits bolt upright in the middle of the night, rips the duvet off and starts sweeping at spiders that aren't there. I can't quite bring myself to tell her I'm the source of her night terrors.
Never underestimate the power of the dark side of the little brother :)
(Mon 20th Jun 2011, 16:27, More)
8-legged revenge
My sister used to be a vindictive little shit when we were little. She was forever pilfering my favourite toys and hiding them in her room, then denying all knowledge of ever seeing them. My parents refused to listen, putting their loss down to my untidy bedroom.
I used to wait until she'd gone to ballet lessons to retrieve my treasures and drop a spider in its place knowing she had a bit of a dislike for them.
One week she went too far and hid about ten of my favourite star wars figures (I know right? Unforgiveable!). After that it was on like King Kong. I bided my time until she was out doing her girly dancing for a full day and went into the garden with jam jars and yoghurt pots and collected as many spiders as I could find.
I was sneaky enough to make sure I only collected the same species so my folks would just put it down to some kind of nest or infestation and then released them under her bed, in her sock drawer and among her toys. Must have been about a hundred of the little buggers scuttling off in all directions looking for a new home.
It's strange how waking up in the middle of the night with spiders crawling in your hair and across your face can turn a dislike into a full blown phobia.
25 years later my brother in law tells me she occassionally sits bolt upright in the middle of the night, rips the duvet off and starts sweeping at spiders that aren't there. I can't quite bring myself to tell her I'm the source of her night terrors.
Never underestimate the power of the dark side of the little brother :)
(Mon 20th Jun 2011, 16:27, More)
» Prejudice
I hate vegetarians
Especially the preachy ones, piss me right off. Man's evolution has largely been attributed to meat eating. Research has shown that meat eating hominids had larger brains than their vegetarian counterparts because the amount of calories contained in the meat left more time for thinking as they weren't constantly scratching around in bushes for manky berries.
We don't have four stomachs, we have canine teeth, and the fact our appendicies have shrivelled up like a cock in the cold leads me to the conclusion that vegetarians are wrong, wrong, bloody wrong. Nature intended for us to eat a varied diet which includes meat and who the hell are you to tell us otherwise, you nut-loaf scoffing, holier-than-cow fart factories? You are part of nature's great cycle, and it knows more than you and your hairy shirt will ever know.
And don't start with that healthier diet crap. Didn't do Linda McCartney much good now did it?
(Thu 1st Apr 2010, 16:51, More)
I hate vegetarians
Especially the preachy ones, piss me right off. Man's evolution has largely been attributed to meat eating. Research has shown that meat eating hominids had larger brains than their vegetarian counterparts because the amount of calories contained in the meat left more time for thinking as they weren't constantly scratching around in bushes for manky berries.
We don't have four stomachs, we have canine teeth, and the fact our appendicies have shrivelled up like a cock in the cold leads me to the conclusion that vegetarians are wrong, wrong, bloody wrong. Nature intended for us to eat a varied diet which includes meat and who the hell are you to tell us otherwise, you nut-loaf scoffing, holier-than-cow fart factories? You are part of nature's great cycle, and it knows more than you and your hairy shirt will ever know.
And don't start with that healthier diet crap. Didn't do Linda McCartney much good now did it?
(Thu 1st Apr 2010, 16:51, More)