Vandalism
I got a load of chalk, felt-tip markers and paint from friends one Christmas in a thinly-veiled attempt to get me involved with their plan to vandalise the toilets at the local park. My downfall: Signing my name. Tell us your stories of anti-social behaviour.
Thanks to Bamboo Steamer for the suggestion
( , Thu 7 Oct 2010, 12:10)
I got a load of chalk, felt-tip markers and paint from friends one Christmas in a thinly-veiled attempt to get me involved with their plan to vandalise the toilets at the local park. My downfall: Signing my name. Tell us your stories of anti-social behaviour.
Thanks to Bamboo Steamer for the suggestion
( , Thu 7 Oct 2010, 12:10)
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Not me, but the vilest I ever saw
was when I was but a children, catching the bus to my Gran's from Manchester. Catching it, in fact, from Chorlton Street bus station- a more wretched hive of scum and villainy etc. I have always detested using public bogs because of the plague-inducing state of most, and had I known what I was to encounter I would have had a dump on the bus in preference. I paid my 2p to use a cubicle, and with hand protected by a spare carrier bag ( I never touch anything in public bogs with bare skin ), I pushed the door open and stepped in. The walls, door, cistern, bogroll holder ( empty, naturellement ) and ceiling were covered in years of desperate pleas for bum fun. The worst, at eye level on the back of the door was, very carefully scripted in perfect serif capitals, PHONE 0161-XXXXXX IF YOU LIKE TO SHIT ON FAT BLOKES.
( , Thu 7 Oct 2010, 20:47, 4 replies)
was when I was but a children, catching the bus to my Gran's from Manchester. Catching it, in fact, from Chorlton Street bus station- a more wretched hive of scum and villainy etc. I have always detested using public bogs because of the plague-inducing state of most, and had I known what I was to encounter I would have had a dump on the bus in preference. I paid my 2p to use a cubicle, and with hand protected by a spare carrier bag ( I never touch anything in public bogs with bare skin ), I pushed the door open and stepped in. The walls, door, cistern, bogroll holder ( empty, naturellement ) and ceiling were covered in years of desperate pleas for bum fun. The worst, at eye level on the back of the door was, very carefully scripted in perfect serif capitals, PHONE 0161-XXXXXX IF YOU LIKE TO SHIT ON FAT BLOKES.
( , Thu 7 Oct 2010, 20:47, 4 replies)
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