Presumably this is a video of some young arrsers from back in the early Nokia phone and 56k internet days.
RA?I grew up in a house that backed onto one of the tributaries of the river test. Over the bank was a bit of open countryside and woods. As long as I remember we had loads of air guns, a couple of 2.2s a 177 and two or three pistols. In the summer my three cousins used to stay and we had a blast shooting, fishing and getting into trouble. One day I remember looking downriver and an old bloke who lived down there called, let’s say Jim ( for that was his name), was in the river in his waders weeding or generally buggering about. With knowing looks we loaded up and all four of us started blasting away at him. It was like a scene from the junior ok corral. I’m not sure we actually hit him but he turned and started walking up the river towards us. He shouted “are you boys shooting at me” well no shit Sherlock... after a few more volleys we ran off, hid the guns in the shed and laid low for the afternoon. No comebacks so we must have missed him.
The depressing thing is, assuming their reference to an '05 Clio dates it correctly, their offspring will now be around a similar age and making similar videos, just in better quality on iPhones.Presumably this is a video of some young arrsers from back in the early Nokia phone and 56k internet days.
If you had worked hard at school, you could have made something of yourself,Last one about German class I promise.
One day we were doing some shite role playing exercise about how to get from A to B.
There was a crudely drawn map and we had to get into pairs. Using our best German we’d say:
“What is the fastest way from the library to the swimming pool.”
Your partner then had to check the map, see which mode of transport was most suitable and answer with:
“Taxi is the best way to get from the library to the swimming pool.”
When it got to mine and Doug’s turn we decided to liven things up a little.
“What is the best way from the school to Auschwitz?”
We were both internally suspended for that one and had to write long essays about the Holocaust for the head mistress.
Great Panjandrum walt!I don't know why we did it, but we found this 6ft radius timber cable reel left by some workmen, and being little Scrotes, decided, as it was close to the edge of a hill, overlooking some deserted farm buildings and fields, it would be great to see how far down the track we could get the reel to roll. As it turned out it was bloody exciting seeing that thing gain momentum as it careened faster and faster down the hill, crashing through a gate to an open field before rolling in ever tightening circles and coming to a crashing halt on it's side, Behold, the farm wasn't deserted afterall as the cry of "put my gate back up you little sh---ites". Which we did, then scarpered.
Model? Seffrican? Called Candice?I was recently reminded of some more childhood cuntery when a “someone you may know“ popped up on Facebook.
Candice was one of the fittest girls in our year, but was quite stuck up with it. I think her parents were South African or something. She’d done a bit of childhood modelling and whatnot and was probably heading for a career on stage or some other performing arts thing.
As luck would have it, we shared a French class together.
Now French was by far the most doss worthy lesson at school. I’d deliberately put in zero effort so that I’d be placed in the bottom set with my best mate Ben. Most of the kids in there were semi retarded, it’s where the proper dregs went who couldn’t be taught. The teacher didn’t attempt to teach us anything at all, it was merely crowd control for an hour. For the most part she’d just let us get on with messing around as long as we kept the noise down.
Ben and I had this thing going on where we’d flatten a coke can and frisbee it at each other for a laugh. Making a sort of Ninja throwing star.
One French lesson we were in full ninja mode, flicking this flattened coke can back and forth around the room when the teacher wasn’t watching.
I was in possession of the can and waited for my moment to strike. With her head buried in a book, the teacher was oblivious to what was going on so I frisbeed the can as hard as I could at Ben.
Except I missed and it hit Candice square in the face, leaving quite a tidy cut between her eyes that required stitches.
A cursory stalk of her Facebook profile reveals that she is still fit and still has a scar between her eyes.
Same.Used to take bottles back to the Offie and collect the deposit.
Then the following night go over the wall of the stock area, nick the same bottles and take them back again. Was a decent earner until a German Shepherd appeared on the scene.
The Red Rose Inn, Lees New Rd, Oldham, must have cost the landlord a fortune between nicked bottles and dog food.
We used to hunt each other with air rifles I had an advantage-- Webley MK3.Way back in the early 80s ( a time long ago before xbox and playstation to keep obnoxious shitz occupied) there was an old farm house near the housing estate where i then lived. In said farmhouse lived a miserable old toerag called Jack. Jack didnt like the estate kids being near his farm and would shout abuse at us if we went near.
Now. In them days no self respecting 13yr old didnt come out for a mooch round unless he was tooled up with either a throwing arrow, a gadder ( catapult) or a gat gun.
Anyhoo, some genius had seen Zulu and we mutually decided we would all rock up at Jacks gaff, form line, load,present and fire a volley of weaponary at his roof. (Most of us were tooled up with gadders and 1 inch steel ball bearings nicked from the local engineering works. ) much smashed slates and hilarity amongst the spotty halfwits.
Now. This continued on and off for about a fortnight. Till the following happened.
We was just at the present stage when Jack burst out of the adjacent hedge with the cry of "got you now you little kuntz!"
He had a shot gun.
Loaded with rock salt.
Ask me how i know it was rock salt?
Being spread eagled over the kitchen table whilst my dad, inbetween crying with laughter and trying to tell you off whilst digging said rock salt and bits of jean out of my arse and thighs with his pocket knife was most informative and educational.
Glad I'm not the only one who found childish delight in CTR, some of the sneaking about as a kid probably helped set us up naturally for it in green later on.Another one I remembered was when me and my cousin were about 14 and we went out on mischief night around the village with a couple of lads who were a few years older than us (November 4th round there, and we fully believed the myth that it was the one night of the year when the police turned a blind eye). One of them Steve, who was, and still is a complete reprobate, had bought a bunch of those huge firework boxes that fire volleys of 100 or so screaming rockets from his mate, and had them all in the boot of his Vauxhall Nova. He told us his sophisticated plan with a swift "let's set these big bastards off in Bazza Hakners garden" and so in full stealth mode we sneaked over the fence with our arsenal at probably around 11pm. The Hakners grew flowers for interflora and had a big garden of greenhouses and growing boxes so off we went sneaking around bristling with adrenaline to plant these boxes of fireworks in various places, then once set Steve ran round lighting all the fuses with his fag end before we beat a hasty retreat behind the trees on the slope over the other side of the road. Next thing it looked like that WW2 footage of the Katyushkas firing with dozens of screeching rockets, multi coloured flashes and huge bangs going off. All the lights came on in the house and Bazza came running out shouting obscenities closely followed by his wife while the kids were looking out of the windows from behind the curtains. The fireworks must have gone on for about 15 minutes with every dog in the village barking it's head off while we were laid behind those trees watching and absolutely pissing ourselves at what had unfolded. There was an attempt at finding us with torches but they were looking in the wrong place which added to the thrill of it.
The only feeling that comes close to those levels of mischief these days is doing a CTR on exercise and sneaking around the "enemy" harbour area trying to steal stuff without being caught. I miss being a teenage little shit at times!
**** me I’d completely forgotten about the happy slap craze.I've been up to all sorts of mischief in my young age.
Worst thing I ever did (which I DO regret) was being pissed one night on the back of a mates moped and doing a "happy slap" on someone whilst cruising past them ond actually recording it on my phone, you can quite clearly hear the sound of the crack and how he recoils forward with his mate supporting him as me and the biker zoom off into the night...
Now I'm on kind of on the straight and narrow now that I've got kids, a wife to look after, bills to pay and an excellent prospect job which I've been shortlisted for which offers an excellent starting salary and plenty of international travel, no need to contemplate pissing that away, the immaturity can stay on Arrse
Glad I'm not the only one who found childish delight in CTR, some of the sneaking about as a kid probably helped set us up naturally for it in green later on.