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This is a question Twat Friends

BraynDedd tugs our sleeve and asks: "You know the one, the mate who is guaranteed to ruin every social situation by being an embarrassment/sexist/racist/bellend etc. Tell us about your twattiest mate."

(, Thu 19 Sep 2013, 10:50)
Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Got this friend, right
Big furry oaf. Always yowling and baying in some inexplicable dialect. Sits shotgun when I'm in my vehicle, like he's the co-pilot. Always thinks with his stomach.



I love my dog, really.
(, Tue 24 Sep 2013, 22:24, 11 replies)
B3ta is like a friend
But it's a complete twat.

9 years, 11 months and 29 days does not make ten fucking years.

Cake please.
(, Tue 24 Sep 2013, 16:18, 10 replies)
Nothing more infuriating
than getting back from a week's expedition digging up a ship from under the Antarctic ice and hunting inflatable space tomatoes than finding that one of your flatmates has eaten a kebab so dodgy it burst through his chest walls and danced out of the room singing vaudeville and the other one has used up the last of the milk eating a massive fuck-off bowl of chocolate Ewoks.

I looked at my surviving flatmate and said "You're a twat."
(, Tue 24 Sep 2013, 10:06, 6 replies)
I'm quite a political person, and want to do the best by everyone.
I was sort of in love with this guy who was helping us out, but he was only in it for the money.

Or something.

Oh I don't fucking know - it's Princess Kalkotron and The Grand Lord Bas'tard or whatever from that sci-fi adventure you dicks.
(, Tue 24 Sep 2013, 8:52, 17 replies)
Not all cunts are cunts
I used to hang out with a friend who lacked social skills,a bellend by most standards. He was just one of those of people who couldn't gauge anybody else's emotional state, entirely insensitive to moods, his Alan Partridge knob was constantly on 10. I saw him guffaw at car crash scenes, put his arm around the shoulders of a surly Glaswegian bouncer to cheer him up, and tell a mourner to look on the bright side - he was lucky it wasn't both his kids. Most of my other friends hated him, but I persevered because I could see he genuinely had no malicious intent, in fact all that aside he was a pretty generous soul. I lost interest and 'chucked' him when he became a fanny rat and would pursue girls way out of his league long beyond you and I would have got the message. From their boyfriend.

Seriously, he was a fucking liability, a dangerous bloke to have in tow.

20 years later and I'm married to a woman who's son has Asperger's, and another of life's little mysteries is resolved. Kind of like when I found out Babapapa is Spanish for candy floss.
(, Tue 24 Sep 2013, 5:49, 34 replies)
...and then DelBoy fell through the bar!!!1

(, Mon 23 Sep 2013, 21:48, 5 replies)
Have I told you about Squatter and the ant?

(, Mon 23 Sep 2013, 19:50, 5 replies)
Biggest twat I know should have been my answer to last weeks question. Like the amusing
Two Ronnies Mastermind skit.
(, Mon 23 Sep 2013, 19:02, Reply)
I went to school with a bloke called Matthias Thwaite.

(, Mon 23 Sep 2013, 18:31, 6 replies)
I had a mate who, if people were sitting down, he'd back up and fart with his cheeks pressed to the back of their heads. he'd do this in pretty much any social occasion
Whether this makes him a boorish cunt or a funny fucker depends entirely on your perspective.
We went surfing once but there was no surf so we went for a swim off the pier. There was a big scuba diving class treading water practising something with their kit there. My mate swam out amongst them and did a huge shit which floated to the surface. He climbed up onto the pier and started pointing and yelling out "poofish! poofish!" 'til he had their attention.
I guess I'm in the "funny fucker" camp, though he did fart on my head at my wedding reception
(, Mon 23 Sep 2013, 13:18, 28 replies)
Ant.
Dec.
(, Mon 23 Sep 2013, 11:19, 6 replies)
It seams to me this has everything required to win. A picture in qotw, Friends, a twat and some Star Wars. Where's my 5 pounds?


Probably could do with more shed.
(, Mon 23 Sep 2013, 1:45, 21 replies)
The Rise and Fall of Bobby Bum-Bum
Like that other Time Lord, the tosspot who calls himself the Doctor (huh! He’s not even a proper doctor, unlike me), I have had travelling companions. Not as many as him, the needy cunt; I prefer my own company, but over the centuries a number of life forms of varying gender and shape have joined me on my adventures. This is the story of a humanoid called Bobby Bum-Bum, the most annoying and ‘twattish’ of them all – and why I put up with him for so long.

I met him on Svartos (aka Iceworld), where he was eking out a living as a very bad public performance artist. His mime act was as woeful a thing I had ever seen, more wretched than a pair of shitted-in Y-fronts abandoned in a gutter swimming with syphilitic piss and with all johnnies and turds and fag ends floating in it. I took pity on him, because he was quite fit, and I desired his oiled, muscly, completely hairless body. We spent an afternoon fisting, fucking, and felching, and then he thought it would be a great idea to visit the body-beppling parlour.

Most people go for cool, impressive body-bepples; lizard or big cat are popular, for example. As are famous or historical figures (I’ve seen countless Elvis Presleys, Adolf Hitlers and Beverley Cravens). But not Bobby Bum-Bum (I forget his real name, I think it was something boring and blokey like Bob Fairburn or something). Oh no! The idiot went for ‘fluffy pink bunny.’ He ended up with clumsy great big rabbit feet, a huge swollen arse complete with fluffy pink tufty tail, lollopy rabbit ears (also pink), big gormless buck bunny teeth, whiskers and a ‘cute’ bunny nose, all with a complete covering of neon pink fur. And the idiot wondered why I didn’t want to fuck him any more!

I tried to lose him in the cavernous chaos of Iceworld Mall but the bastard ran after me and managed to squeeze past me and get into my TARDIS. I was about to liquidate him on the spot but he pleaded and begged me to take him on ‘just one trip through time’ and, softy that I am (or was in that incarnation – he wouldn’t have fared so well against some of my others!) I relented and agreed. Just one trip – and then I’d bring him right back to Iceworld. Bobby Bum-Bum agreed excitedly and hopped friskily around the console room. I felt sick but I gritted my teeth and set random co-ordinates, as I didn’t really care where we ended up.

I should have taken more care! And taken the twat somewhere bland and safe like Victorian Bath or something – because we ended up slap bang in the middle of the Cyber Wars!

To cut a long story slightly shorter, you’ll be somewhat relieved or perhaps more accurately utterly indifferent to hear, we found ourselves trapped on a distasteful little rock called Gilpong’s World, all caverns and caves, outnumbered by hundreds of Cybermen.

They had us in this vast cavern, armed only with the torches we were using to see our way around, backed against the wall. We were fucked – they were going to catch us and convert us, and not even Time Lords can survive Cyber-conversion. My mind began to race back over my lives and I started to mutter Gallifreyan imprecations, when, to my complete amazement, Bobby Bum-Bum stepped towards the advancing Cyber hordes, and shouted:

‘Go away and leave us alone! We don’t wanna be Cybermen. We’re happy as we are!’

I smirked at this. At least Cyber-conversion would get rid of that heinous body-bepple.

‘You will be like us,’ intoned the lead Cyberman, rather predictably, but that’s Cybermen for you.

Bobby Bum-Bum pouted and put his hands on his hips. ‘No! Bugger off! We’ll – we’ll fight you!’

To my surprise the Cybermen halted. The leader droned, ‘That is illogical. You are unarmed. There are only two of you. There are five hundred of us. You cannot fight us. You will be like us.’

The Cybermen started forward again, but Bobby Bum-Bum stood his ground. ‘Wait! Five hundred? Are you sure about that?’

The lead Cybermen seemed to consider. ‘Yes.’

‘How do you know?’

‘All Cyber minds are connected. We know.’

‘Bollocks!’ cried Bobby Bum-Bum. ‘You’ve miscounted or there’s a glitch somewhere, or something. There’s never five hundred of you! Four hundred and seventy-five, at most!’

‘Yeah!’ I said, once I’d got over my surprise at this strange turn of events. ‘Or even four hundred and fifty!’

The Cybermen were silent for ten agonising seconds (it might have been eleven. Or nine.) Then the leader intoned, ‘We are five hundred. But even if we were four hundred and fifty, or fifty, or even just one, you would still be outnumbered. You. Will. Be. Like. Us.’

I held up a hand. ‘Wait! You admit that there could be a glitch? There might not be exactly five hundred of you? If so – what else might be wrong? Your conversion process might be fucked as well – so you’ll have to let us go!’

This was taking things too far, perhaps, but it bought us time.

‘We do not make errors.’ Was that the merest hint of tetchiness creeping in to the so-called ‘emotionless’ Cyber-voice?

Now we had them in a logic trap! ‘But how do you KNOW? If your information is incorrect, how can you know that it matches up with reality?’

‘We’re going to have to count you before you do anything else,’ declared Bobby Bum-Bum. ‘Come on! Line up by tens, against this wall. And we’ll see if there are five hundred of you or four hundred and fifty or whatever!’

The Cybermen did not move or speak.

‘Well I’m going to have to count you where you stand!’ said Bobby Bum-Bum. He then proceeded to do just this, with exaggerated slowness. Picture, if you can, the scene: a dimly-lit and chilly cavern, with an army of Cybermen standing motionless, whilst a neon-pink human-sized fluffy bunny pranced up and down in front of them going ‘One! Two! Three… Four! There’s five! And you’re six!’ and so on.

It wouldn’t be long before the Cybermen worked out we were having them on but before they reached this logical conclusion, a squad of Alliance troops burst through the wall of the cavern and engaged them in battle. In the ensuing chaos, Bobby Bum-Bum and I were able to make good our escape.

Of course, after that I could hardly kick him straight out, especially not back to Iceworld, so I endured his presence for a while. What he’d done in that dingy cavern on Gilpong’s World had actually been very brave, and I was genuinely impressed – and it takes a lot to impress me. Stalling a horde of 500 Cybermen is impressive whatever you look like.

Bobby Bum-Bum was, of course, insufferable after this, and dined out to an obscene extent on his victory. I allowed him leeway, as ‘every dog (or human-sized pink bunny) has his day.’ But things came to an ugly end when Bobby Bum-Bum started making sexual overtures towards me. I told him in no uncertain terms that I would not touch him with a bargepole as long as he wore that ridiculous body-bepple. At this he got upset, saying that the bepple was based on Flopsy, a beloved childhood toy. Repulsed by this insight into his psyche, I resolved to despatch him as soon as possible. That night, I smothered him as he slept, and then roasted and ate him (except the head which I had frozen and sent to Gallifrey as a birthday present for that mardy old cunt Borusa).

So that is the story of Bobby Bum-Bum, my most twattish (but most delicious) friend.
(, Sun 22 Sep 2013, 18:12, 13 replies)
me
not 20 minutes ago, my best mate sent me a text to tell me his partner has had a stroke. i immediately replied "lucky bugger, i haven't had a stroke for ages!"
instant guilt :(
(, Sun 22 Sep 2013, 17:02, 11 replies)
JOANNA IS A STUPID HEARTLESS BITCH

(, Sun 22 Sep 2013, 15:55, 4 replies)
When in his late teens,
my mate Nameless Bob spent most of his evenings sitting with a group of his mates in a garage getting stoned, and it was there that he met Davies.

Davies was a bullshitter, one of only two chronic, compulsive liars I have ever met. He did small stuff, imaginary girlfriends he'd talk to on a phone that he'd answered but hadn't rung, but by and large it was industrial strength batshit. He'd been born in the bed next to Mark Morrison's mum's in Ipswich. He failed his basic six-week army training, but in that time had trained bomb disposal dogs, fought three wars and cradled his dying best mate in his arms. During the first gulf war, a scud missile had hit the house where he lived with his grandparents, and was still there, in the loft, despite there being no sign of structural damage on the house. While slobbing in the garage he'd found time to be world amateur rally champion, with Colin McRae as his co-driver, and had become the world's best drummer without owning a kit. He was secretly a multi-millionaire.

One day he dragged Nameless Bob into the pub I worked in. They'd overpaid his dole, and tonight, he said, they would drink like kings. After an hour of drinking stronger lager than he was used to and hinting at free drinks he fell forward and began blubbing like a bairn, unravelling into a great weepy mass of woe. After a few choruses "are you alright?" from Nameless Bob and I, he spat out

"She's got cancer"

For about a year he'd been shagging a much, much older woman from his road, ending her marriage. She had been diagnosed with cancer, he said, and a in a few days time they'd find out how bad it was. He grizzled and sobbed and bought drinks until closing time, while we all swapped 'is it true?' glances.

On the way home he asked Nameless Bob if he would join him in sleeping in a field, so he could get his head together. Bob, erring on the side of sympathy, agreed, and ended up kipping under his jacket in a field in November, while Davies slept snuggled in the army surplus sleeping bag he'd got from his house on the way.

Morning came, and Bob shivered in the frost, unable to feel his fingers. Having had it before, he suspected he had mild hypothermia, and needed to get somewhere warm. As he lay on the ground he saw Davies wake, sit up, and put his head in his hands. He shook his head. He saw Bob was awake.

"I've had some good news" he said "my missus dropped by in the middle of the night, cos she'd just got a letter telling her it was all a mistake and she doesn't have cancer!"

After promising that he wouldn't let on to his missus about the whole cancer thing 'in case it upset her', Nameless Bob went off to get hot food and medical attention.
(, Sun 22 Sep 2013, 13:30, 2 replies)
When I first moved to China,
I was in a small town (only about a million people), teaching English at a university. I had a nice apartment on campus, the refectory had nice meals so everything was fine and manageable, except that I was the only foreigner there. For a month I didn't really have anyone else to have some downtime with - I made some friends amongst the students and teachers, but you know how it is, you want some people with the same kind of background and assumptions to relax with.

Finally this guy appeared - another Western male! - a teacher in the same building as me. I bumped into him just outside, and it'd been so long since I'd since another western guy that I was all friendly like a university fresher desperately trying to make chums to ward off the homesickness and social anxiety. "Yes, come round some time!" I said, pointing to my apartment.

This guy though, turned out to be the douchiest douche I've ever met. I hadn't known too many Jewish people before: this guy was a prototypical New York Jew. I have nothing against Yids, but it turned out this guy embodied every negative Jewish stereotype you could imagine. He was a flaming tightwad - every day at the canteen he had somehow "forgotten his mealcard" and would hang around waiting for someone to buy him lunch. (Meanwhile he would brag about how he was smart with his money and how much he saved). He was a mummy's boy (despite being about forty), unable to look after himself properly (as suggested by his constantly dirty hair and clothes).

What else? He wore a woman's coat in winter. He could not spell (quite a problem WHEN YOU'RE TEACHING ENGLISH). His manner with female students and teachers was lecherous. (I had to show him how to watch DVD files on his computer, and couldn't help but notice the vast array of Asian porn he had). He got worse as the year went on (and as other teachers refused to hang around with him). One time he asked students from one of his classes to help him buy a cellphone. Sure, they said. At the store, they helped him pick one out and go through the bureaucratic hurdles of registering. When it was time to pay, he said, "So... are you guys going to help me buy it?" He wanted them to chip in to buy it for him. The students were mostly children of peasant farmers struggling to provide their only child with a better life. Another time, he went out to the local nightclub with one of his students (presumably from another class). The university would lock the doors to the student dormitories after 11pm, so a few beers in he said the student could stay at his apartment. They got back, he makes a meal... and doesn't offer any to the student. Same at breakfast time.

What a schmuck.
(, Sun 22 Sep 2013, 12:42, 20 replies)
Second-Degree Murder
I was once on a murder jury in Arizona. The murderer was riding a motorcycle with his mate's girlfriend, when they were beset by two off-duty paramedics. A complicated 30-second brawl evolved, featuring bluff and counter-bluff, threat and counter-threat.

Conclusively figuring out blame in this situation would be hard. The murderer stipulated he had shot the victim (which was a relief to us, because it considerably-shortened the trial), but said it was a matter of self-defense. The prosecutors argued otherwise. Our purpose was to determine the degree of blame.

In a tough-on-crime initiative, the Arizona state legislature had recently made the definition so airtight that a determination of second-degree murder was theoretically impossible to reach. If the murderer had a moment to reflect, we had to determine that it was first-degree murder. It need only be a moment. It need only be 'the space between two consecutive thoughts.'

A Surprise Witness presented himself to the court after the trial had started. The first question put to him concerned when he realized a brawl was occurring. He testified he heard someone say "Hey, Fuckhead!" He was asked what he thought when he heard that, and he explained he started looking all around because that was HIS nickname among close friends. (So, he was Bellend #1.)

Fuckhead further testified he saw the murderer point the pistol at the paramedic, turn away, then turn back and fire. In deliberation, the First-Degree caucus argued that there was plenty of time here for more than two consecutive thoughts.

The majority of the jury was composed of less-righteous people, however. They were convinced that all the antagonists were Bellends, with thought processes clouded by fear and rage. Who says how long it takes a bunch Bellends to process consecutive thoughts anyway? Their opinion was it might take a long time. So, notwithstanding law-tightening by a gang of righteous, Bellend authoritarians like Arizona legislators, we quickly convicted the fellow of Second-Degree Murder.

Our determination caused dismay alike with the Defense, who were convinced we could determine nothing more severe than Manslaughter, and the Prosecution, who believed that it was an outrage that a public servant like a paramedic could be gunned down on the street and the perpetrator not suffer the maximum consequences. The Bellend Judge was furious too. He had a reputation of being a Hanging Judge (and had himself pointed a gun at a burglar in his own home that week), and we had taken away his Hanging Power.

The only people who were happy with the verdict were the people on the jury. I suppose we were the Bellends, but sometimes that's what you have to be when dealing with a world of dicks.
(, Sun 22 Sep 2013, 5:58, 3 replies)
Apparently it's me
seeing as I've just been Ignored by Dr. Shambolic and had deletion by Brayndedd.

I guess I must have hurt their feelings. Oh my. Poor little kittens.
(, Sat 21 Sep 2013, 23:00, 41 replies)
I know a bloke called Kunt.
He's alright as far as it goes.
(, Sat 21 Sep 2013, 22:44, 8 replies)
this guy I know Robbed a Care home

(, Sat 21 Sep 2013, 16:54, 15 replies)
It's okay, I've got him on real life ignore2.0

(, Sat 21 Sep 2013, 13:53, 7 replies)
My mate Gordon ran off with my girlfriend.
He's a moron.
(, Sat 21 Sep 2013, 12:37, 9 replies)
I had a friend called Gordon.
One morning he swaggered in looking like he'd just shagged one of the student nurses next door.
'I've just shagged one of the student nurses next door.' He said.
How did you meet? We ask.
'Got chatting over the fence last night.'
But the fence is over six foot and you're a short-arse Weegie.
'Oh. I was perched on the wheely bin.' Gordon explains.
Because ... ?
'Well I couldn't find my keys and I was desperate for a shit.'
 
 
 
So there's a shit in the wheelie bin?
'Aye. A massive one. Anybody want a cup of tea?'
(, Sat 21 Sep 2013, 12:27, 17 replies)
What this week needs is another couple of self-indulgent weepy threads from cuckold and recent divorcee [Mod edit]
Then the mods can prevaricate a bit about why the dreary mental hasn't been banned yet.
(, Sat 21 Sep 2013, 11:11, 6 replies)
Met Baldmonkey a couple of times.
He was alright...actually no, I'd like to change that to 'a massive wanker.'
(, Sat 21 Sep 2013, 10:04, 3 replies)
Doctor Shambolic came to my wedding.
He was alright and so was his wife.
(, Sat 21 Sep 2013, 10:03, 3 replies)
I was the twattiest mate!
You may all now lift your jaws up off the floor.
A few years ago I had a mate called Gavin. I'd met him when I was driving a truck and he worked on the loading dock for one of my regular stops. A friendship blossomed and every couple of Fridays we'd meet at the pub, get stoned and then steadily drunk and more vociferous.
Then Gav's girlfriend Steph and her sister Justine bought a house just (literally) around the corner from where me and my missus lived. In to which Gav promptly moved in. From there the friendship transformed into a solid entity.
Every Sun. morning we spent hours getting copiously stoned and then either riding our push-bikes to various out of the way destinations - where we would imbibe a few whiskey-laced coffees from the flask and blow another spliff before returning home, or in the summer months we would start early (0500 or so), get stoned, go fishing along the coast or in the river, drink a few strong coffees, smoke some more and finish up having a snorkel up and down the banks or seawall that we'd just been fishing off.

As I spent a bit of time at Gav's and he at mine our other halves got to know each other and between the girls a friendship began to bloom. They spent more than a few nights up at the local pub enjoying the atmosphere. Steph's older sister Justine was a bit of all-right to boot and since she knew my missus fairly well and her useless Norwegian boyfriend would disappear at the very mention of "actually having to physically do something", she was always up for a bit of no-nonsense flirting.
I wouldn't say it was an incestuous friendship. But as a group we certainly knew enough about each other and how we behaved to make a stranger feel left-out if not uncomfortable.
Steph and Gav had been together for quite a few years and what with her buying a house and him moving in as 'the lodger' they were clearly at the point where something should happen with their relationship. My missus and I had been married about a year then and between us we would regularly give Gav and Steph shit about making that next, big step.

Then one day Gav took me aside and told me he was breaking up with Steph. To say I was knocked for a six was an understatement.
"Crikey mate, what brought this on?" I asked him in disbelief.
He told me that a new girl Tonia had started at his work and that things had steadily progressed between them to the point that he no longer wished to be in the long-term relationship with Steph so he could pursue "other avenues" with Tonia.
I gave him my spiel about not shitting where you eat, making sure there was NO 'crossover' & I made it very clear that I wasn't going to lie for him. I offered to help him move but under the circumstances he'd roped in his younger brother for assistance. Apparently he simply broke up with Steph overnight, telling her with little or no explanation that it wasn't her it was him and he needed "space" to work things out. In other words he was a gutless, no-cojones wimp who could't spare his newly ex-girlfriend a whole heap of heartbreak by being honest.

My wife and I had a few tearful visits from Steph. Most of the time I tried to be as restrained as possible if not trying to actively avoid Steph completely. A couple of weeks after they'd broken up Gav asked me to go over to Stephs to pick up some stuff for him. At this stage he was dossing with friends whilst he and Tonia looked for a place together.NO 'crossover' indeed....
So off I trotted up to Steph's place with packing box in hand. Once I'd done the somewhat distasteful deed (with Steph in the background sobbing and Justine glaring at me as tho I was Jeffery Dahmer buying a freezer) I took the (cool) offer of a beer up and plonked myself on the couch.
"Is there someone else?" she asked me tearfully. I told her that she really needed to talk to Gav about that. Which was clearly as much as I needed to say in order to confirm her fears.
That night Gav came came to pick up his stuff with a face on him like a Cane Toad that'd been licked once too many times. Apparently Steph had rung him and given him "what for" over his supposed infidelity. I explained to him what had happened openly and honestly and he left shortly, our friendship in somewaht tatters.

I saw Gav a couple of years later. He'd headed OS to South East Asia with his new, young girly. It hadn't worked out or so it seemed. He still blamed me for the fact that Steph was dark on him since once he'd got back he'd tried to rekindle things with her - only to find that she'd moved on, got married and was soon expecting.

TL;DR - I dobbed my mate in for pretty much being unfaithful because I wasn't going to lie for him.
For the "Bros before Ho's" mob - It's complicated.
For anyone I've got on ignore - since I've got you on ignore do feel free not to logout, read this post and then login in order to reply. Unless it's so you can click "I like this" in which case feel free to do so.
(, Sat 21 Sep 2013, 8:03, 28 replies)

This question is now closed.

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