Was it wrong?

I have a space of open land next to my house with a twelve foot wooden fence seperating us from the riff raff on the otherside, recently however there has been a series of small fires, set by a certain nipper on his way to school.

The local fire officer has been here on a daily basis to try and catch him in the act but as yet no luck.

This moring I put out another fire, and to avoid making a 999 call I belled him on his mobile to make him aware..... He came around immedialtey.

We had a brew, put the world to rights and he confessed to once being a matelot, and I told him how much I hated firemen and called him a workshy Mofo in the politest possible way.. we had a bit of a banter and we went to look at the area of the most recent fire.

We both started to sneeze, hayfever seemed to kick the sh1t out of us at the same time..... 'No problem I said I've got some anti histemines at home'

When we got home I looked in the cupboard to find just one tablet left.... no way was I giving him that.... I did the decent thing and took out one of the other halfs contraceptive pills and a Senokot, and handed him the pair laying it on thick that they work wonders for me. He troffed them with water without question....... I tried to hide my grin and could feel my fingers itching wanting to share with you turds.

Bearing in mind the forces / fireman abuse thread and the blokes giving up leave to stand in for the Trumptonites, I feel justified....... I do however have a slight feeling of guilt and it it would be just my look that I will hav emy house torched and he won't be able to attend due to him being welded to the trumping pot.

Do I phone him and tell him? Proud that I have stitched a complete stranger or do I let him suffer from both the heyfever, fcuked up hormones and a runny bottom.

One bonus I suppose, if he comes back I could cum inside him without worrying about getting him pregnant
You Sir, are feckin evil :)

Let him suffer.

Fantastic stuff.

I can't believe you even asked the question - let him suffer! Snigger at the thought of him dripping from every orifice. Brilliant.
Sir you are a legend and I kneel before you...

BALLS LIKE CANNON BALLS! (considdering this guy was trying to catch the little fecker thats been causing you grief lol)
You did the right thing with the tools at your disposal mate. Fire bizzies are jack ba$tards and deserve any abuse you can dish out. Can you lure him round again, and this time get him to inadvertantly drop some acid?
You can then follow him to the next shout, and enjoy the spectacle of him decapitating innocent bystanders with his axe, in the deluded belief that they're three headed munsters from the planet Zannussi.
There will be some poor sod on the Trumpton Rumour Site posting something like;

'I went down to this overweight balding ex squaddies house because he is hasnt got the swingers to sort a small boy out. Whilst he was in the kitchen, I rimmed his Thomas The Tank cup and skiffed his toothbrush (although I dont think he uses it much because his breath smells like a rotting badger). I disabled the cunts smoke alarms too. That'll teach him for wasting my time! Although if his gaff does go up in flames, a 25K council flat wont require much of an insurance claim. Must dash, my arse is in tatters'.



Book Reviewer
As for the kid, I reckon that tomorrow morning, about 08.15 and just before the school run gets going, you should put a squirt of barbeque gel and Zippo fuel under a pile of dry grass cuttings and leaves in an attractve manner.

When the little git gets his Swan Vestas out and ignites his eyebrows you then lob a bucket of petrol and sugar cubes over the fence followed by an exdited little jig to the chorus from "Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead" from The Wizard of Oz.
Nah, he deserved it!

Back, many moons ago when I was a young school girl, we had a big fat kid in our year called Robbie the Blobby.

We despised him, not just cos he was obsese and offensive to eyes, but because he was one of them that would always run up behind you and give you massive wedgies.

Anyway, one evening, when a friend and i were trawling through her mums make up case, we found these funny tablets with LAXATIVE written on them, and a plan was formed.

The next day we crushed up, ooh i dunno - loads of these fcukers and slipped them into a cherry flavoured panda pop. (Think Miss Marple and the case of the cyanide poisoner)

I pretended to have a swig and casually asked, "Does anyone want the rest of this?", knowing old Blobby would rip my arm off to get his sugar fix. He duly glugged the whole lot in one, while me and said mate stiffled laughter and walked off sporting bubbles of snot and tear streaked faces.

Now all this occured on first break, by the time the lunchtime bell went, poor old Robbie was surgically planted on the lavs behind 4B's classroom, with his insides pouring down the pan.

It didnt take long for word to get round who dunnit, partly because we thought we were dead clever and told everyone, but thats neither here nor there - someone grassed!

Cue two naughty girls in Mrs Reynolds office getting the almightiest of bollockings and being suspended from school.....resulting in our exclusion from school permanently. Bit harsh I thought.

I saw Robbie years later, and he was looking fit as fark - so i reckon those laxatives worked wonders. :)
MDN, that was fcuking comedy genius... i now have to explain to my boss why i'm crying at my desk

Good work fella :clap:
I once got stitched with laxatives by an ex, which resulted in me fizzing a litre of hot botty gravy into my trainer at work...so yes, let the f ucker sweat (quite literally)

I wouldnt like to be one of the people in his taxi later, when he parks his lower colon into his trousers.
Nevermind the laxatives, get some more hormones down him, invite him round again and give his new udders a good fondling then maybe angle for a t1twnak!
He has been back this afternoon with two beat bobbies.....

I was wondering whether I would get a knock at the door, but all I recieved was an acknowledging nod of the head as they passed by.

He shook his foot, imagine my disappointment when it was just some gavel in his shoes and not a leg full of sh1t.
minister_doh_nut said:
He has been back this afternoon with two beat bobbies.....

I was wondering whether I would get a knock at the door, but all I recieved was an acknowledging nod of the head as they passed by.

He shook his foot, imagine my disappointment when it was just some gavel in his shoes and not a leg full of sh1t.
"So this was the house here sir?"

"Yep. The bas-tard fed me 2 pills whilst I was offering to help and I now need to park my botty every 4-5 mins and I have developed this propensity to talk about flowers and fricking face cream..."

(Nods head) "That's the cnut"

"Right sir, we'll go in first, jemmy his ricker open by about 4 inches and you stick whatever you can up there as far as you can"

"Will this do?" (Shakes foot)

"Yup, up to about the third lace hole should do it..."

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