» Public Transport Trauma

I am posting this for the Chav on the 163
Last year, during the Rugby world cup, I was on my local bus going to the pub to watch the England match. On the bus were about eleven South Africans who were clearly avid fans and avid players. Some of them were huge. The type of blokes you would address as Sir yes Sir.

One of the larger blokes had brought his younger brother along to watch the game. The boy was about 17 and was quite weedy. I am sure that in his family he was the academic while his elder brother was the sportsman. The majority of the group sat on the back few rows of the top deck with the younger brother sitting on his own in the row in front of them.

We pulled into the next stop and just as we did the younger brother’s phone rang. He turned away from the group and started talking to his mate on the phone.

It was at that exact time that a group of five 16-18 year old chavs got on the bus.

They had hoodies, music blaring from their mobiles and bright white trainers on. They were doing nothing for stereotypes.

They approached the younger brother and said/spat

“Let me see ya mobile innit”
“No” said the younger brother in a remarkably brave voice
“I’m taxing ya mobile, give it ere or I will blade you with me flicky innit” replied the Chav gang leader
“Your do what” said the younger brother
“Ill cut you”

Now I am sure you’re expecting me to say that the group of South African rugby types stood up and kicked several shades of shit out of the chavs, but, they done something quite unexpected

They sat there and waited until the next stop in silence. As the bus come to a stop they walked past the chavs (giving a sly wink to the younger brother) as if they were heading to the stairs. Once they were all past the chavs they had them cornered on the bus with no where to run.

The elder brother approached the chav gang leader and advised him that he, and his entourage, would be best advised to take a seat at the back of the bus. The Chavs kicked up a bit of a fuss, but, eventually decided to comply when the older brother lifted the Chav leader clean off the ground by the neck. With one arm.

Once the chavs were at the back of the bus the South Africans demanded there phones, ipods, door keys, wallets etc. When they had collected the entire contents of the Chavs pockets they opened the bus window and dropped the items out one by one.
They then spent the remainder of the two mile journey writing words like “thief”, “robber”, “Chav” and “cunt” on the thieving-chavy-cunts faces.

And to add a final insult – the elder brother gave the chav leader two options. Piss himself in the middle of the bus or have his teeth removed.

The entire top deck laughed as a dark patch quickly appeared on his Kappa jogging bottoms.

As they got off the bus the South Africans were singing

“Chavy boy has pissed his pants do dah do dah”

Perhaps that was his most traumatic journey on public transport. It was one of the funniest for me!
(Fri 30th May 2008, 13:13, More)

» DIY disasters

Yey - I have loads of these
I have loads of stories for the QOTW. YEY.

I am a DIY GOD. Well, I mean I am handy with a drill. I think it started off from playing with Lego and Mechano. Over the years it got bigger (flatpack furniture) then moved even bigger (fitted wardrobes, kitchen etc). At least once a month I get asked to help a mate or family member out and I have seen a few things.

But first a story about me.

Me and the then girlfriend moved into our first flat together and done what all sickly loved up first flat couples do – decided to “make it our own”.

For those who have never done that, it involves painting the “Apple White” to “Apricot White”. If you are finding it hard to tell the difference – its very easy.

THEY.ARE.THE.FUCKING.SAME.

Anyway, the next day we went off to Ikea (sorry to digress again, but, Satan himself designed that fucking hell hole, Satan’s spastic cousin designs the furniture) and stocked up on kitchenware, bedside tables, rugs, blah, blah, blah.
As we wondered the lighting section my girlfriend stopped dead in the aisle, looked up and made a strange cooing sound solely reserved for occasion of lust.
“Its soooo pretty” she said.
I followed her eyeline to be confronted with a (ahem!) mock bronze chandelier. Now I am not a particularly fashionable guy, I think Sarah Jessica Parker looks like Mick Jagger in shit drag, but I could not get my head round why anyone would want this pig ugly piece of junk anywhere near their house.
“oooh We must have it”
“Are you taking the piss, Mrs KMWIP”
“No, Its sooooooooooooooooooo pretty”
“It looks like something Del Boy would try and flog for a fiver”
“What do you know”
“Fair point – what do I know – well I know how to put it up and you don’t”
I folded arms and grinned smugly
“Yes I do”
“What……..HAHAHAHAHA – okay – you can buy it if you put it up”

It took about six hours to go through the checkout, but, we finally made it to the car and shot back to our new home. We immediatly started to construct, rearrange, move stuff back, move it again, slightly shift, put up, put down, put up again but at a different angle and then readjust. To my complete shock Mrs KMWIP managed to put the chandelier up. To my greater shock, up it stayed.

That night, after sharing a warm bath, we walked into the front room to try our new sofas. A bottle of champagne was opened and we kissed in that sickly, doughy way that you do when you first live together. Within a few minutes I was removing her dressing gown and caressing her body. After at least an hour of award winning foreplay (what – its my story) we were gently making love on the sofa.

I remember looking deeply in her eyes and thinking how lucky I am.


I required 5 stitches when the chandelier fell on my back. My spine was so bruised that I was unable to walk for a week. She thought that the Rawl plugs were little plastic sleeping bags for the screws so they wouldn’t bang about in the bag they were supplied in. She had carefully removed each one before screwing the screws into the half inch plaster ceiling.

The chandelier was returned to Ikea the very next week.

Very sorry for length and sp£ll1ng M1stake5
(Thu 3rd Apr 2008, 20:04, More)

» This book changed my life

The big book of mischief
The below happened when three or four months before my 16th Birthday.

It must of taken at least an hour to download the txt file from my incredibly crap dialup internet connection. It took about the same time for my dot-matrix printer to print out the 50 odd pages, but, I had it. I had the big book of mischief. This summer was going to be fantastic.

After a very careful study of each section I decided that the most valuable use of time would be to make some explosives. I found a section called “grey powder” which seemed easiest to make. I quick wander into my dads green house and I had found the oxidant fertilizers which made the core ingredients.

After following the recipe exactly I was left with a small dish of runny paste – the book said to leave the paste to dry to a powder somewhere warm over night – I choose on top of my radiator. By the morning the paste was powder. I was getting very excited.
Now making the fuse was even easier – just run some cotton in the paste and leave it out to dry too. I just needed to make the container for the “Bomb”.
I found a plastic case that you used to get camera film in. I poured in the powder, which half filled it, slit a small hole to run the fuse in and taped the lid down hard.

My very first Bomb was ready.

On walking to high school we past a small common and I decided this would be my ground Zero. With a crowd of sceptical friends surrounding me I placed the device in a squirrel hole and lit the fuse. I had barely run four foot when the fucker exploded. And my god it went off. It ripped the small squirrel hole to whole large enough to put a football in. I was covered in wood chips. The crowd cheered. I instantly became a hero – considered dangerous – I was a bomb maker.

Straight after school I ran home and had about 3 hours of bomb making before my parents got home. I had told the entire school that I was going to make enough to blow the tree up and was under a lot of self induced pressure.

“How much to make” I thought – well the last lot made a hole, but, this time I want to blow down a tree. I will multiply the amount of ingredients by 10. Just to be safe.
After empting the fertilizers into a large bowl and mixing well – plus making a far longer fuse – I poured the mixture onto some old newspaper.

Now it took all night to dry out the small batch. This mound was clearly going to take a long time. My parents would also be a little concerned to see a mound of white powder drying out in my room. I needed to speed up the process and decided that setting the oven to 100 degrees will not do it damage, but, will speed up the process something.

I watched it for a few minutes and went upstairs to watch TV






My left ear had the largest ringing - my right ear had stopped working. I could not see as the picture above my bed had smacked me in my eyes. I stumbled downstairs to see what damage had been done. The oven door had been blown clean off the oven, through the tile and plasterboard wall on the opposite side of the kitchen and straight through my dad’s fish tank.
There was not a single uncracked tile. The ceiling was black and burnt. The kitchen was completely fucked up

I was completely fucked.
I was COMPLETELY fucked.

My mum went apeshit when I spilled coke on the carpet. I have just blown a hole in their fucking house. Panic took over, I went to the cleaning cupboard and found a Mr Muscle can and a duster. Christ knows what I was thinking, but, I furiously scrubbed the walls and ceiling of the black smoke stains.
The doorbell went
It was the fire brigade
I was completely fucked

The fireman practically barged in and inspected the mess. As there was no fire they decided to use the half hour they stayed to rip the piss out of me. By the time they left I was just a broken shell of a 15 year old boy. The last comment they made before they left was “the police will be here in a minute”

Unfortunately for me though – my mum got home before the police. I could have done with the police protection really.

I am sure that most parents will, at some point, come home to a wrecked home. Maybe the child left the tap running and flooded the floor. Maybe they had a party and some wine got spilt. Perhaps they got mud on the carpet.

I had blown the oven up. Sent the grill about a foot through the cupboard above. Blackened the walls. Broke the Tiles. Burnt the work top. I had put a two foot hole in the kitchen wall. I had smashed a fish tank, killed two fish and ruined a carpet. I had wrecked the downstairs elecrics. I had really fucked up.

As you can imagine – my parents went stir-mental-apeshit-scary-daggers-lock-that-waste-of-our-DNA crazy on me.

The very next day I was marched to the local co-op and forced at mum-point to apply for the job opening. I was told that I had to account for every ten minutes during the summer holidays. If i was not working at the Co-op i was working for my dad.

It took me 6 months and about 500 hours to earn the money to pay for the repairs. I worked my arse off to make sure that I paid back every single penny.

The big book of mischief taught me to think things through first. It taught me the value of a pound. It taught me about hard work and it what it can achieve. It taught me that work is rewarding. It taught me that plasterboard walls are not too strong. It taught me that my dads right hand was fucking lethal.

It also gave my parents a story to tell - which they do - at every single occasion.

Beat that for life lessons learnt
(Fri 16th May 2008, 12:08, More)

» My sex misconceptions

Hello B3TA
Last week I posted a message for the QOTW about the time I put some chilli powder on my cheating girlfriends Rampant Rabbit.

I have recieved a lot of messages about this - most have been pretty positive - a couple have been from femails who done the same to the BFs Y-fronts when he was caught with his pants down. 6 messages told me that I was a "wanker" (Yup!) with a small penis (depends on outside temperature) and a Cunt (Yup). One message I was sent went like this

----------------------

No doubt a few people have dropped you a line to tell you what a complete cock you are, but I felt I just had to be one of them.
I was raped by my partner when I attempted to leave him. It wasn't the first time, but he followed up by- you guessed it- a handful of chilli powder. There were other aspects to the assault, but I won't bore you with them.
It may interest you to know that you are in no way original. My experience with survivor groups of sadistic rape is that bleach and capsican are fairly common.
Now, let me tell you something you may not be aware of. This hurts. It burns like hell, and it did not stop burning for days, despite the yogurt douche that I, like your unfortunate expartner, was administered.
Capsican-based inflammation of the vagina and labia is much more painful and potentially dangerous than exposure to eyes or penises. This has to do with the fact that the vagina is a tight tube that maintains a high temperature, rather than an exposed area that can be flushed easily.
Quite aside from the traumatic aspects of intense genital pain, the constant stimulation of nerves in the vaginal area can trigger temporary or permenant vaginal dyspareunia, making sex anywhere from extremely unpleasant to impossible.
You are an irresponsible, violent man. You committed sexual assault by proxy upon your expartner, and appear to think this was clever and admirable. I hope the woman you injured reported it to the police.
Relationships end. Relationships overlap. Adults deal with heartbreak and anger in many ways. Deliberately harming your partner is never an appropriate reaction.
If you have a moment, please indulge me by picturing a woman you love- your mother, sister, grandmother, a close friend- confiding in you that a man had deliberatly harmed her by forcing a capsican-coated sex toy inside her. Picture her telling you how much it hurt, and how nothing seemed to stop it, and how the burning was so intense that she could do nothing but cry in a cold bath, rocking back and forth. Picture her telling you how worried she was that the pain would not stop, that it might damage her in some way or hurt her fertility. Picture her telling you that even though she's now physically fine, she worries that this man might become more violent, might do something else. Picture her being uneasy or uncomfortable with sex.
Then picture yourself, going round to her attacker's house in order to congratulate him. Afterall, that cunt probably deserved it.

And now, go and fuck yourself, you privileged, raping piece of shit.

----------------------

(Persons username witheld for obvious reasons)

This is my post for "Sex misconceptions"

I posted a story of (what I thought was) harmless sexual revenge on QOTW and NOW I have been branded a rapist by several people

EDIT: Just want to say thanks to all the people that clicky me to the best page - Woo you

-----------------------------------

On next weeks show we have Live DNA test results - only on QOTW

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KMWIP
(Mon 29th Sep 2008, 16:16, More)

» Food sabotage

Contains food and sabotage - but - in a different way
I was with a girl for eight years. She meant the world to me and she made me the happiest man in the universe - well - that was until the day I found out she had been shagging her boss behind my back. I was devasted. Completely cut in half. Broken.

Fast forward two months, she goes off on holiday and I am in our house clearing the last of my stuff out. I was clearing under the bed I pulled out our box of erm "Toys" to get to box of junk.

I could physically hear my brain wurr into action.

Off I ran to the supermarket and purchased a packet of Scotch Bonnet chillies. These fuckers looked hot, very hot.

Once back home I covered each one in cling film and let them sweat in the sun for a few hours. I then cut them in half and made sure her rampant rabbit was given a liberal coating of pure fire. I let that coating dry and repeated, and repaeted and repeated. Each time the chillie fluid dried to an invisible layer of heat ray death.

One week later I had a phone call from the Ex. She was screaming and crying and swearing. It was safe to say she wasnt in a great mood.

"Whatevers the matter" I said (through laughter)
"AAAHHH MOOOTHHERR FUCKER IT BURNS" she poetically replied
"Oh dear...What burns"
"You mother fucker.....ahhhhhhhhh"
"sounds painful - I have to go now - good day" I laughed so hard I almost fainted

According to a friend - it took several baths and a yogurt douche to stop the flames - but - the bit that made the story for me was that she wasnt using it in a "self love" way. Her boss had used it on her. When she started screaming he thought she was cumming so pushed it in further and further.
(Mon 22nd Sep 2008, 11:44, More)