» Well, that taught 'em

thought long and hard before posting this...
because i'm still not sure how i feel about what i did...

and i apologise in advance for the length...

many moons ago, whilst betrothed to the 1st mrs blaireau (we eventually got divorced, i'm married again and totally happy with 2nd mrs blaireau and 5 month old wee baby blaireau), she and i took it upon ouselves, whilst visiting her mother for christmas, to meet her estranged father (neil) and his whore (carol) for a "bridge building pint"...

what a fucking mistake that turned out to be!!!

leaving the pub in jolly mood we accepted their invite for a nightcap chez slapper. and things deteriorated rapidly from there...

once back in her own territory she turned feral and mental in equal measure, instigating a barney of large proportions which resulted in neil (a 40 year old hard-working, hard-drinking, hard-fighting brick shit-house of a farmer) using my body as a battering-ram on the back door. quite literally!

so we left. duh.

and as we slunk off down the road i silently vowed revenge. well not so silently actually. i screamed "i'm gonna get you, you psycho cunt".
and believe me, dear reader when i tell you that i did...

6 or so months later the future 1st mrs blaireau's mother had got her divorce through and we went to help her move out of the family home to make way for the happy couple to play at families, giving blaireau (a plumber and hero of this tale) the opportunity to exact his revenge.

a wee bit of house sabotage was carried out, specifically...

1) a bag of bones and offal in the loft (courtesy of the workers at the slaughterhouse where i did my meat-inspection training when i was a student eho years ago).

2) took all the lightbulbs into the garage and smashed them against the inside of the door. also took all of the fuses out of all the appliances (including the alarm system).

3) pissed (6 times in total over 1 1/2 days) all over 3 or 4 boxes of business and personal papers.

4) loosened the electrical connections in the 2 electric showers. this would cause arcing and possibly fire!! or at least premature unit failure.

5) closed all the radiator valves so tightly that most of the spindles sheared off. none of these valves would ever be opened again. also removed the bleed-valve screws from all the rads. also sheared off the spindle of the mains stop-tap under the sink and the one in the street outside before filling the hole in the pavement with neat cement.

6) drained the hot water and central heating system before loosening all the check-nuts i could find, so when refilled a million leaks would magically appear.

7) removed screws from door hinges before carefully shutting the door. a wee present for the next person to open the door...

8) sprinkled salt inside the expensive recessed light fittings in the 2 bathrooms. salt is hydroscopic and ionic i.e. it draws water from the air leading to lots of corrosion.

9) took the washers out of all the taps.

10) super-glued all the locks (including the alarm system, again) (5 tubes!!)

and the one that clinched the deal...

11) pulled the sky dish cable through the wall about 4 inches, cut it with pliers and glued it all back in place with a nice blob of mastic, ensuring the cable ends were pushed hard up against each other so there was at least some signal, but not a whole lot.

as it turned out neil "bit the big one" a few months later, from a heart attack, whilst watchin tv.

from the day he moved back into the house he had apparently complained about the shitty reception. i'm sure there was a connection...

that fooking well tought him, aye???

length? more than he could handle, it would appear...

if you think i went too far then click "i like this!"...
(Wed 2nd May 2007, 0:28, More)

» Dumb things you've done

as usual i thought long and hard before posting this...
when i was about 10 or 11 and just finding out what fun a stiffy is...
for reasons that still remain a complete and utter mystery to me...
i pushed a 10mm steel ball bearing down the japs eye of my erect todger...
and wondered why it wouldn't come out...
for 2 days...
had to use a magnet in the end, or should that be on the end...
and got metal splinters im my cock into the bargain...
it was very frightening indeeeeeed, especially when rusty stuff came out next time i had a wank...
and you are the first people i have ever told and that was 28 years ago!!!

and in reply to the questions raised...

couldn't pee it out, wanking was so painfull you wouldn't believe and in true scaredy-cat style there was no way i was going to tell anyone what i'd done. i mean, a steel ball bearing up the japs eye? you've got to be having a laugh???

as for length, about as long as it is now, give or take an inch but i gave up measuring it years ago...
(Tue 1st Jan 2008, 17:14, More)

» Food sabotage

about 17 years ago...
whilst working at a local hotel owned by the son of my parents' old next door neighbours...

there was this guy...

who used to visit us sometimes on a sunday or monday evening...

my 2 favourite tales involve him...

he was (and is probably still) an arrogant twat...

he KNEW that monday night was Chef's night off. on a monday night he would often turn up 10 minutes before close of service, tart on arm, DEMANDING dishes from the full menu despite knowing that only a (slightly) reduced menu was on offer.

one particular monday she ordered the potted shrimp starter and shoulder of lamb with redcurrant sauce entree.
the twat ordered a DOUBLE PRAWN COCKTAIL ie twice the prawns, regular amount of salad. DESPITE there being no prawn cocktail on the menu. what a cock. for main course he WANTED the Tournedos Rossini which is basically a fillet steak on a big crouton topped with a slice of foie grasse with a sauce of demi-glace and madeirra and i can't remember what else.

this was not on the reduced menu.

which he knew.

CUNT

and he wanted it WELL DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

what a troll!

washed down with 3 bottles of cotes du rhone.

all is going well until his main course arrives on a (warm) plate that is not "hot enough". this was 'par for the course' but still annoying.

"terribly sorry sir, will take care of that" says i (wanting to cunt him in the fuck), off to kitchen, transfers rossini to salver and pops under bottom of grill to keep warm. blaireau grabs fresh "dudson steelite tm" dinner plate from hot cupboard,(seeing the red rag he was shaking at my bull!) lights twin gas ring on hob and deposits plate above flames.

fresh pan and madeira and demi-glace produces re-vitalising sauce for the now tired steak.

literally glowing-red plate (I AM NOT FUCKING JOKING, THESE PLATES ARE FORGED BY SATAN HIMSELF TO TAKE THIS HEAT) welcomes rossini with a fizz and a splutter and the fresh sauce literally FROTHS with effervescent boiling energy, cooling the plate by maybe a hundred or so degrees.

even so, as i carried the dish the 15 yards from kitchen to table i could really feel the HEAT forcing its way through the many layers of my linen serving cloth.

as i approached table 5a the twat extended his arm to recieve his plate...

"i really wouldn't recommend touching the plate, sir. it is a little hot"

twat reacts by reaching out even further, almost grasping the still fizzing platter of meaty goodness.

"seriously sir, the plate is RATHER HOT AND I WOULD SUGGEST THAT YOU DON'T TOUCH IT"

i manage to negotiate the plate past his grasping paw and on to the table.

"once again sir, chef (me! cos real chef is off being a dirty shagger) literally took you at your word (ie is a pedantic angry twat) and the plate is RATHER HOT"

guess how many steps i managed from the table before i heard an anguished squeel?

5?

4?

3?

2?

1!

only 1!


hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!


CUNT WITH A BURNT PAW!!!!!!




being the ever professional and ever compassionate blaireau69 i fetched him a wet cloth and some ice for his mitt.

i did manage to point out that he had been warned too, the tart agreed and he could only nod somewhat meekly...








and he left a £25 tip too!









a burning ring of fire!!!





and i also phoned da feds and got him busted for drink driving that night. they picked him up 400 yards from the hotel.



revenge is a dish best served cold?


naah, red hot is best!!



if i get enough replies then i'll post the other (very dodgy) second story about this twat!


length? it was on the gas for a full 3 minutes.
girth? about 270mm of glowing red ceramic.
(Fri 19th Sep 2008, 1:30, More)

» I'm glad nobody saw me

I have always loved knives, for as long as I can remember. Even as a wee nipper...
===wavey lines===
I was 7 or 8, it was maybe 2 or 3 years after we moved house.
So that'll make it getting on for 35 years ago.
I had an Opinel pocket knife my dad had let me buy on holiday in france that summer, I spent my days throwing it and sticking it into trees in the woods behind our house. Pure bliss.
In the september of that year my dad's elder brother, an alcoholic and shadow of his former self came to visit with his wife. Andrew was his name. He'd been in the army, a PT instructor. As fit as buggery in his day. Sadly that day was long gone, he'd been medicalled out of the army after being stabbed in the belly during the riots that engulfed Delhi in the period following the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi.
Anyway, Andrew took a shine to me, he'd seen me throwing my knife and was impressed by the skill I showed. He could see how my dad was really critical of me all the time, hard on me for no reason. Andrew didn't like that and made sure his wee brother knew it. Sadly that only served to cause friction between them and generally made things difficult.
Just before Andrew and Elsie left to head back to Ardrossan Andrew took me aside and told me he had something for me, something secret. He reached into his suitcase and handed me a roll of soft beige leather, about 11 inches long, tied with an old black boot lace. I can still remember how the weight of it felt in my young hand. He told me to open it and as I did so he told me to be careful with it and to treasure it forever. It was a knife, but unlike any knife I had seen before. Or since, for that matter. A heavy, finely stitched leather sheath, worn with age and use. A black leather handle, wrapped with plaited silver wire, a large silver pommel. The blade of dark steel, seven inches in length, hollow ground on both edges and inlaid with fine gold detail of foreign lettering.
It was, he told me quietly and lifting his shirt to reveal the scar, the knife he had been stabbed with.
Little else was said, just a few looks between us before they left.
I can feel the goosebumps as i type this.
Can you imagine how this felt? I was in hog-heaven. I was the envy of my gang of wee pals. The knife was perfectly balanced for throwing and in my expert delinquent hand it was a thing of wonder.
I could (and still can) stick it in the shed door from 30 feet, under or over-hand throw. I was obsessed and would practice throwing it for hours on end.
Until one day...
I had just been given an utter bollocking for no reason I could perceive, as often happened. I was "playing" with the knife, torturing my action man probably. When all at once, in a fit of childish rebellion I threw the knife and stuck it into the kitchen floor. Oh, that was satisfying. The beautiful "thunk" as it stuck through the lino and into the boards beneath. I couldn't resist and did it again. And again. And again. Just as I was letting the knife slip for the fifth or sixth time I heard a noise, my dad approaching from through the house with a "what the fuck's that noise you little bastard" and I flinched, momentarily afraid of the secret being blown.
And in that moment I pinned my slipper clad right foot to the floor.
Dad stomped into the room demanding an explanation just as I dropped to my left knee, right foot still skewered, my back to him. I made some excuse about dropping something I think, but I can't really remember. He harrumphed and left the room and that was pretty much that.
It didn't bleed much thankfully, I guess it could have been quite serious but all I got was a small scar and a knackered slipper.
I'm glad nobody saw, especially my dad, he would have killed me.
I only saw Andrew once after that before he died.
I still have the knife.
Length? Like I said, the blade's 7 inches long.
(Fri 28th Jan 2011, 22:25, More)

» The Soundtrack of your Life

About three years ago my pal-since-juniorschool, Noel, was killed when a kid driving a tractor performed a right turn right in front of him.
Being a long-standing motorcyclist (23 legal years and half a dozen Honda 90 on the playing fields years) he took evasive action which resulted in him sliding 60ft along the Tarmac and then headfirst into a gatepost.
Dead on impact.
Fucksocks.
He was considerably larger than life, utterly loopy and a top bloke.
He had done allsorts with his life, TEFL in Japan, divorced, found true love, made a crossbow using a leaf-spring off a car suspension at the age of 13 etc. The tales that were told at his wake were truley fantastic.
It was the first biker funeral I had been to and the engine-rev salute from the hundreds of bikers who lined the route from his house to the crem still gives me goosebumps.
ANYWAY what capped it off for us all was the choice of music for his curtain moment at the crem.
"Firestarter" by Prodigy.
I doubt I will ever hear so much laughter in a crematorium again.
Good on ya Noel, you lovely, crazy bastard.
I love you and miss you!
X

and to those of you crying "fake" I can assure you it ain't.
(Fri 29th Jan 2010, 12:59, More)