And that's the thanks I gotOn getting screwed over by people for whom you were doing a favour:
I spent several weeks helping my best friend - a complete layabout - with his A-Level computer science project so he wouldn't fail his course. In the end, he did so little work I actually ended up doing the whole thing for him in a half-term week I should really have spent revising for my own exams.
I got back to college to find that while I was hunched over a red-hot BBC Micro, he had spent the week screwing my girlfriend.
Then he didn't bother sitting the exam because "I'm going to fail anyway".
And that's the thanks I got. How have you been screwed over whilst doing someone a favour?
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Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 24 May 2007, 10:20)
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Arsehole farmerWell, not a farmer of arseholes strictly speaking...
One summer's day about 15 years ago, I got a phone call first thing in the morning from a pretty hot girl I used to knock about with. She lived on a farm and asked if I wanted to come and help out for the day. Eager to make a few quid dossing about in fields and sensing a rematch with said hot girl, I got changed and got up to the farm sharpish.
Well, what an utter, utter bastard of a day that turned out to be.
Lifting half a million bales of hay onto a trailer, pissing about in a hay loft doing pretty much the same thing, dodging dangerous farmyard machinery wielded by boss-eyed inbreds, getting shouted at constantly by her arsehole father and basically doing all the shittiest jobs the proper farm labourers didn't want to do.
After a generous 15-minute lunch, we were off to another farm about 5 miles up the road. I thought things might improve a bit with a change of scene. Wrong. As everyone jumped in the tractors, I was shown the trailer behind one of them and invited to climb on.
It was a truly humiliating journey. Sat on the this rickety wooden trailer, clinging on to the bastard while it bounced around all over the place, I was dragged agonisingly slowly through all the villages between the two farms, people stopping and pointing, as I was continuously pelted with chunks of poo flying up from the shit-caked wheels of the tractor. Really good.
So 8 o'clock rolls around and I'm pretty knackered, what with working since 9 with 15 minutes' break, I tell the farmer I've got to get home. The miserly twat wasn't happy since he was expecting me to stay there working presumably all fucking night, and left me to walk the 5 miles back. Totally shagged out, covered in insect bites and scratches, and covered in cow shit.
And the magnificent reward for this day of labour? 5 quid. FIVE whole pounds.
I still hope all his cows get AIDS, the minge bag, Jasper Carrott-lookalike bastard.
And not a sniff off the hot daughter either, gah!
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 16:46, Reply)
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