farting
when you start going out/ entering into a relationship you and your future partner will cough , scuff your shoe or try to exit a area you have just guffed in by speed-walking away.

These days my mrs will lie in bed clench her aris and silently hiss out a fart. The only way i know a nasal assault is going to start burning my nose hairs and im going to start gagging is when she starts giggling like a loon.

Im a little bit more exhibitionist than my mrs , i like to deliver my bottom surprise whilst sitting on the settee next to my lady watching for instance dexter whilst silently farting and then cupping my hand into my lap and speed wafting the said cupped fart under my mrs nose. I then tend to run away and lock myself in the shit box laughing my head off , cos im in the trousers like that in my house.

Can real love include being able to make your partner gag on your guffs ?
(Cov Boy, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 16:41, 6 replies)

Ignorance is bliss, unless it's laxatives...
My granddad was a widower for many years before he died. As a result he mainly lived in his dining room and because of this, so did much of what he needed to live.

Now being 10 I was old and wise enough to understand what laxatives were, but, unaware that they came in chocolate form. Until, that fateful day, were I discovered choclax. Well... my brother, discovered chocolax.

A whole bar of chocolax. Which his normally stingy mean older brother handed too him claiming he wasn't hungry. How his eyes lit up...

Greedy fecker gobbled it all and spent entire day spewing liquid shit into the toilet. Sorry brother, it was worth it until your vile gut stank the entire house out for a few days...
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Fri 17 Jun 2011, 15:48, 2 replies)

The fella and I
Often get into those most panic-inducing, vicious, exhausting of fights - the Tickle Fight. On one of these occasions he had me immobilised on the floor, I was losing badly, he had both my legs pinned with his knees, my wrists clasped above my head held firmly by one of his hands and was using his free hand to tickle me mercilessly around the ribs and armpits.

It was horrible, I could do nothing but laugh. Not enjoyable, happy laughter, but ragged, desperate, uncontrollable laughter. He wasn't letting up either, relentlessly continuing to tickle and grin wickedly at me as I hooted and panted, eyes bulging, trying to suck air into my collapsing lungs and probably looking for all the world like Arnie in Total Recall when he was on the surface of Mars with no helmet.

I writhed, trying to shove Mr Droog off me to the side so I could free my legs and kick him away, but he kept his balance. Finally one of his knees slipped to the outside of one of my legs, freeing it, giving me a clear shot at his pods. Normally I would never have stooped so low as to take such a dishonorable pop at the love-of-my-lifes' goolies, but these were desperate times and, stealing myself, I jutted my knee sharply upwards.

OOUUURRRGGGHH he said. Finally, blissfully, the tickley death stopped, the strength seemed to leave Mr Droog in one long exhale and he collapsed on top of me, whimpering. As if this were not good enough, as he fell he let rip with a great big trump, as if his bum were saying "Awwwwwwww" :( sad that the tickle war was over.

Bad sportsmanship on my part, but a victory nonetheless.
( Droog is too orangey for crows, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 15:46, 10 replies)

2D2F?
A drunken fuck after a long day at the pub... the bouncy-bouncy (she was a big girl) suddenly had an undesirable effect on me. So I jumped up, ran to the loo, puked my ring up, then ran back and carried on.

Probably should have brushed my teeth, or at least rinsed my mouth out...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 15:37, Reply)

The current Mrs TitanLX used to be well adjusted
She wanted to read the paper with me as it would be a good bit of 'quality time' so I introduced her to the excellence of journalism that is the Daily Fail.
Nowadays, by page 7 she's ranting about benefits scroungers, lying politicians, lying footballers, self obsessed tv 'stars' etc

If anyone could recommend a paper that reports impartially on the news I'll try and wean her off it.
(TitanLX, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 14:54, 30 replies)

Sometimes, it's the simple things that have the biggest effect.
In the kitchen once, and Mrs Sandettie is swigging Fanta from a 2 litre bottle. As she's guzzling away*, I reach over and give the bottle a squeeze causing a fair bit to go all over her face*.
"Ahh, you twat" she shouted, which prompted me to run out of the kitchen and shut the door behind me, holding it shut. When she stopped trying to open the door, I let go and ran upstairs into our bedroom and hid under the bed. She gave up chasing me.

After tea later that day, I was eating a chocolate eclair and shoved my hand causing me to stuff it into my face*.

"ooh you bastard" I said
"Touché" she laughed.

* insert 'fnaar fnarr' here
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 14:36, 3 replies)

I took my beloved grandparents to the fairground
and won a headless doll on a random chance game while eating a hotdog that had the arse end of a mouse with all its stinky viscera hanging out of it "How come you only had three kids when all your brothers had about ten?" I asked my beloved grandmother "I've done her up the shitter since VE day" said my grandfather, which caused an awkward silence that was only broken when we were all arrested for possession of the massive drugs stuffed inside the doll and then we had some hunny the end needs more bommyknocker.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 14:29, 4 replies)

not me, my dad
WWII, my dad and his younger sister playing in front of the house.

A shell explodes VERY near. Luckily the ground wasn't even, and the shell fell in a place where the ground was a bit recessed.

So, the shrapnles travelling in horizontal direction were stopped, and the shrapnels flew around in a sort of cone, sparing the lives of the two kids.

Anyway, the house was fully hit bt the shrapnels. Imagine the scene: a hude boom, plaster falling off the wall, smashed glasses, dust flying around.

My granma was in the house, called her sons and started running to go outside to see if they were ok.

My father to his little sister: "lets lay down and play dead".

Hilarity ensues.
( frox, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 14:08, 15 replies)

Poor baby
Our thirteen week old daughter was crying quite a bit last night. I was trying to shush her, when Mrs ScousersPet suggested I should wind her.

I thought this was a little bit cruel, so just gave her a dead leg instead.
(ScousersPet, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 14:06, 5 replies)

I didn't do it, honestly
When The Exorcist was unbanned, it was released at various cinemas. This would've been about 1993 I think. Now, I'd seen it before it was banned in the early 80s, along with several other soon-to-be-banned films such as Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Driller Killer and Cannibal Holocaust.

However, Mrs SLVA hadn't seen it so we went to the pictures at a midnight showing. She didn't see what all the fuss was about, and to be honest she had a point. It wasn't even scary, except for one bit. One of the earlier scenes where the loft hatch rattles about and she goes up to investigate. That creeped her out.

A few days later, we were at home, I was downstairs playing Space Harrier 2 on the Sega when I heard a scream from upstairs.

"Eeek!, Sandettie come up here". So I ran upstairs, expecting a mahoosive spider or a rodent or something, but no. She was on the landing and pointed up to the loft-hatch on the landing ceiling. It was all askew and partly open.

"Did you do that?" she asked with a wavering voice.
"No, it wasn't me" I replied, and hand on my heart it wasn't. I did have a good idea what caused it though, it was really windy that day and I reckon when we opened the front door earlier when we came in, the pressure was enough to jar the hatch.
"Hang on, I'll go get the step ladder."
"Nooooo, don't! I don't like it. It was you wasn't it?" she said, now quite unnerved.
"No, really it wasn't. We've been out all morning and I haven't been upstairs." I got the ladder, pushed the hatch to one side and peered in. I did a good 360 view inside the loft, saw nothing and came down again. I put the hatch back and pushed the bolts across.

I was fairly sure it was the strong wind and that I most likely didn't bolt it again last time I went up there to put the Christmas decorations up there. If it had have been me, I would have played it up more by pretending I'd seen something up there, or act as if something grabbed me and was trying to pull me up, before frantically dropping down and bolting the hatch shut quickly. However she wasn't so sure. She blamed me for scaring her, probably hoping it was me pulling a practical joke.

Just recently we were watching Paranormal Activity. There was a scene where they find the loft hatch askew and slightly open. She actually gasped and looked at me. "It was you wan't it, all those years ago."

"No, really it wasn't, it was the wind" I maintained. This is probably where you expect me to admit that it was me all along. But I won't, because it wasn't me.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 13:40, 10 replies)

My mum...
lost her front two teeth when she was young; she cycled over a football that someone kicked, and unceremoniously flipped over the crossbar and kerb-stomped herself. As such, she has a plate which she can put in which clips onto her palette behind her teeth with two fake front teeth to replace her gap.

This tooth plate is usually left, when not in use, in a glass of water which is meant to keep the plate supple, or something like that. Anyway, it gave me hours of fun as a child to secretly pour things into it and watch her face as the liquid registered on her tongue. A particular favourite was to simply supersaturate the water with salt. It resulted in a response, but my mum loves salt, so it wasn't so funny in the end. I scoured the kitchen for things that I could mix with water that would remain clear. Saccharin was quite a good one, resulting in a painfully sweet flavour. That got a good reaction for a while, but nothing more than a screwed up face and a slap round the head...I wanted more of a spectacle.

The beginning of my eventual downfall came when I tried Tabasco sauce. The resulting chilli-water wasn't so transparent, so I was worried I'd get rumbled. On that day, she was due to go into town on the bus with me and my sister, and we were running super late. The bus stop was outside my house, and I ran out to stall it while the rest followed. We caught it just in time, with my mum popping her teeth in last minute. I had a big grin on my face, and I saw the chilli-heatwave slowly make itself apparent, as I stood in the doorway of the bus. As my mum finally ran to me, her face was screwing up, and her eyes were watering as she looked at me with the angriest stare. She just about bought the tickets from the driver and sat down before pulling the plate out and smacking me across the head. I didn't care, as I had been doubled over laughing since we stepped out the door. The whole rest of the day I watched her put in the plate in order to converse with shopspeople, red-faced, then come back to us, remove it, take a swig of Cola for the spice, and shout at me for being an idiot.

This event still hadn't quenched my thirst for mischief, and a few weeks later I planned my ultimate prank. The piece de resistance of fake-tooth guerilla warfare. I considered a few things...soap? No...that was too much...or was it? I even thought bleach at one point (being too young to really know that it was *that* bad), but I knew it smelt too strongly. I'd get caught for sure. While still planning, I did a small prank just to tide myself over, which inadvertently became the big one...the MOAP (mother of all pranks).

I replaced the water with white vinegar. Again, it smelt quite bad, but just the concept was making me laugh; thinking of my mum's face was funny enough. The teeth remained in the glass for the rest of the afternoon untouched...and then through the night...I woke up and had completely forgotten about it until I heard my mum shout, "What the HELL?!"

I ran into the kitchen smirking to catch my mum's face as the vinegar filled her mouth, but instead she stood there...angry and toothless. In one hand was a cup of opaque brown liquid, and a mangled lump of plastic attached two black tooth-shaped blobs in the other. She sniffed the glass, and shouted, "VINEGAR? You little shit!"

Alas, is didn't end well for me (dissolving a hundred pounds worth of orthodontic craftsmanship in vinegar rarely does). I bought myself a few seconds by pulling a chair over behind me as I fled, and I was spared a further few seconds as my mum went through the drawers to find a suitably hefty wooden spoon to hit me with...but the punishment was inevitable.
( guffguff fuckes your gradeds balls!, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 13:36, 15 replies)

The Coalminer - Revenge on my cousin
Years back, my brother and I had hatched a plan to pull an extraordinary prank on our cousin, James. It came on the back of him getting one over on us with a joke of his own. In private, he had farted into a Pringles tube and quickly sealed it with the lid. Then he found each of us individually and asked if we thought the inside of the tube smelt funny, cue hilarity when we were hit with the fresh pong of his arsehole. We knew we wanted to get him back, but we were undecided about the best way to do it. James often stayed over in the summer holidays for days on end and early suggestions as to how we were going to get him back were quite feeble, including things such as farting in his face whilst he was asleep and putting his hand in water so he pissed himself. What we needed was something that would make James think twice about ever pulling a stunt like his Pringle tube fart ever again, something that would go down in legend amongst the rest of the family and our friends. After a lengthy discussion one evening, we came up with an elaborate plan that, if executed well, would get James back twice over. We were going to scare the shit out of him.

James was due to stay the following night and we knew that despite his bravado, he was scared of one thing in particular; ghosts. He was absolutely petrified of them, and my Mum used to tell my brother and I off if we mentioned them around him because she’d get in in the neck from our uncle, James’ Dad. If we started telling ghost stories, James would put his fingers in his ears and bury his head under his duvet so he could drown out all ghost talk. Like Gary Glitter and his relationship with small boys, any mention of ghosts put the willies up him. We wrote down our plan of action and then went through a couple of practice runs, ensuring that we could carry out the necessary actions in the time we guessed we’d have available. Once sure that we could, we sat back smugly, looking forward to the events the following evening.

We spent the next day playing football in the local park with James and a couple of other friends. There was no mention to anyone of the plan we had put in place as we didn’t want to put it into jeopardy. The day passed and the evening came and as it was the school holidays we were allowed out late, so we hung around in the local park, doing nothing in particular. Eventually, we decided to call it a night and my brother and I gave each other a knowing look as we made our way home; we were finally going to get our revenge.
The three of us sat in my brother’s room playing his Super Nintendo. All my brother and I had to do was wait for James to give us the prompt we needed to start the prank. We didn’t have to wait long.

“Pause it lads, I need a piss”, said James. This was what I had been waiting for.

“Go on then, be quick” I replied. James stood up and headed for the bedroom door. As he opened it, I put the prank into motion.

“Oh, mate, just to warn you; don’t look out of the small bathroom window that you can see in front of you when you’re having a piss.”

“Err, why?” asked James.

“Because of the coalminer”

“The coalminer?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him, my brothers seen him. Even my mum has mentioned seeing him”

“Who’s the coalminer?” James looked scared already.

“I’m not sure why he’s started coming here”, I began, “but the last few times I’ve been for a piss late at night and I’ve looked out of the window, I’ve seen the face of a small boy looking back at me. The face is covered in soot and is wearing a coalminer’s helmet. It’s really weird and scary”

“Yeah, whatever”, said James. I could tell he was shaken, that was the main thing, and we’d also planted the seed of doubt in his mind.

He made his was slowly out of the bedroom.

No sooner had James left us to cross the landing and go to the bathroom, had my brother sprinted downstairs and to the front door. Here he picked up a torch which we had hidden the previous day and then made his way to the front of the house. Once outside, he climbed on top of the wheelie bin, also positioned strategically the day before. This gave him easy access to the flat garage roof to which the small bathroom window looked out over. The practice runs had been worth it as he was up on the roof in no time at all. I meanwhile, had snuck across the landing and was listening at the bathroom door. I could still here the urine trickling out of James and into the toilet and I braced myself ready for the prank’s finale.

My brother was crouching below the bathroom window. He turned the torch on and held it against the top of his head with one hand. Then he leapt up and pressed his face to the window.

“WAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH” he bellowed as he jumped to his feet. As I heard this I burst through the door.

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK”, screamed James and he collapsed to the floor, covering his head with his hands.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” he shouted, still not entirely sure as to what was going on.

My brother and I erupted into fits of laughter. I opened the bathroom window and my brother poked his head through.

“Woooo, I’m the scary coalminer boy!” he teased. James looked up from the floor.

“You are fucking bastards! Fuck you!” He was still shaking with fear.
“We got you! We fucking got you!” I replied. My brother had tears rolling down his cheeks.

After a while James got to his feet. What we saw delighted us. Not only had we scared him something silly, but we had forced James to piss all over the front of his trousers. My brother and I were deliriously happy with our achievements.

“I think that makes us about even”, I said to James, once the commotion had died down and we were back in the bedroom playing the computer.
“All I did was a fart…one fart…that was it. A fart” was all that James could muster
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 13:30, 4 replies)

Jeremy Vine is a bastard
I should have known better but after "seeing what's on Radio 2" yesterday I found myself listening in to everyone's least favourite Vine brother who was discussing online infidelity. A woman had called in to tell her story, involving her husband of some years sharing intimate conversations and photos with another girl through the Internet.

She'd been tipped off, an almighty row had ensued and even after so long together she had found herself unable to forgive him and had thrown him out of the house. Her voice cracking with emotion at the recollection, she soldiered through Jeremy's sensationalist probing into the intimate details and bravely weathered his opining about how "Men don't think it's cheating if there's no MECHANICAL action," as if for all the world he was some weird third gender, innocent of any irrationality whatsoever.

She told how she had eventually decided to give him a second chance for the sake of the family but was finding it very hard ever to trust him again - the episode had robbed her of the secure marriage she thought she could rely upon. By the end she was clearly on the brink of tears and I was genuinely moved as she said goodbye.

"Thank you for that," said Jezza, the intro of his next record playing. "And now Stevie Nicks with 'My Secret Love'..."
( pineapplecharm D d M Y, H:i, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 13:24, 6 replies)

Not my story but this is very mean
www.youtube.com/watch?v=uQkq1lxRWP8

Although I think her end reaction is a tinsy bit psychotic

Here's their channel: www.youtube.com/watch?v=dpXXI_Xoijs&feature=BFa&list=SPD78DCEB83F819441&index=1
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 13:12, Reply)

has anybody done
'I took a loved one to a shit fairground' yet?
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 12:45, 6 replies)

My friend had a little pet rat....
This was when he was about 6. He loved that rat so much that one day he gave it the biggest hug he could. He squeezed it so hard its eye balls pretty much popped out it's skull and it's skeleton collapsed under the pressure. He loved that rat to death.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 12:40, 4 replies)

Siblingery
I told my sister she was adopted.

She didn't believe me.

So I told her that I was.
(teebie jeebie, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 12:36, 2 replies)

My milkshake once brought all the boys to the yard,
even though there was a chernobyl on outside, and the all the boys got radiationised and now they look like Gail Porter.
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 12:34, 3 replies)

I go on an annual hiking and camping trip with a bunch of about 20-30 other people
In which my sister and her family are included.

Early one evening everyone was sitting around the fire, and my sister and her then 6yo son were sitting opposite me on the other side. We were discussing food, and it's place in the family, and how the kids were getting along.

"John's very good, aren't you John?" said my sister, "You like salad, don't you?"

John nodded and smiled shyly.

"And you like tomatoes, don't you?" she led.

Again the nod and smile.

"And cucumbers?"

Nod and smile.

"John - it's your birthday soon, isn't it?" I asked.

This time a more enthusiastic nod and smile.

"Well, John - legally speaking - this is law, this is - you can do anything you want on your birthday, and mum and dad can't tell you off for it, because it's your birthday, and they have to let you do whatever you want to do" I instructed him, to his very great interest.

"So ... do you like pancakes, John?"

A very enthusiastic nod and a broad grin this time.

"Pancakes with lots of butter on, and perhaps some jam? Maple syrup?"

Independent of the conversation, the resultant nodding and smiling would perhaps be perceived as psychotic.

"Well then, make sure you have pancakes for your breakfast lunch and tea."

The collective intake of breath from all the parents present was absolutely musical.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 12:17, 4 replies)

Once I was really upset with me for something I'd done.
So I refused to wank for a couple of days, until I'd apologised to me.
( flake has nothing against your right leg, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 12:01, 2 replies)

The Wardrobe Showdown
I was 16. My dad and I were carrying an old wardrobe out of the house to take it to the dump. The phone rang, and without thinking he pretty quickly put down his end, letting it drop the last few inches, the jolt of which caused me to lose the grip on my end and drop it on my toe from about a foot up. There was that horrible pause you get when you hurt your foot and it takes a while for the pain to register. I was stood in the hall, face a grimace, teeth clenched against the inevitable agony. It didn't disappoint - I felt like my big toe was going to drop off.

By this time, he was chatting to Mum on the phone (she was still at work), and was not expecting me to march in, hobbling due to my toe, shove him onto the sofa, and call him a twat, The shock was so great, that he kicked me in the balls, at which point I lashed out at the nearest thing, and threw the big, expensive TV off the table onto the floor.

We both knew I'd gone a bit far. We both knew we'd both gone a bit far. When that realisation dawns, 90% of the time, you both decide that this is getting silly and it's time to stop. On this occasion, however, the surreality of the situation (my Dad still not understanding why I was suddenly angry), drove us both onwards towards greater destructiveness.

And so it was, that as I hobbled over and picked up the phone to tell Mum that Dad had just kicked me in the balls, he ran off upstairs, and I watched out of lounge the window as my own TV landed on the lawn. When Mum got home, we both got such a bollocking that the atmosphere in the house didn't return to normal for about a month. I got slightly more sympathy because my big toenail fell off, but I still had to pay for half the cost of the new TVs.

We sort of realised after that that revenge on each other always resulted in worse things for both of us.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 11:23, 2 replies)

If you're wearing a nursey uniform, people tend to believe you.
Years ago, wearing mine in a big shop with my mother, when Mother was out of earshot I told the till girl that 'She's a sweet old thing but she thinks she's my mum!'

When Mother came over to pay, I patted her shoulder and said 'You think I'm your daughter, don't you?'
Mother said 'Of COURSE you're my daughter!'
I turned to the till girl and said 'She gets quite upset. Watch her hit me now!' and said to Mother, 'Awww, you love me really, don't you?'
Smack! across my shoulder.

The till girl gave me that 'Glad I don't have your job' look as Mother dragged me out of the shop, threatening hell.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 11:07, 4 replies)

When I was 5 and my sister was 3 she broke her toe quite badly
It was nearly healed when our parents were invited to a wedding. When we arrived one of the guests asked my sister how her toe was healing. "ITS NEARLY BETTER NOW!" I yelled and stormed in "LOOK!" I preceded to stamp on her foot in front of everyone to demonstrate just how well her toe was doing.

It bled, a lot! I spent the wedding locked in the car.
( Peej, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 10:28, 3 replies)

A friend and I whilst aged about 9...
...found that sticking Princess Leia's head into a small dog poo so that her hair buns appeared elongated sideways was the funniest thing we'd ever done.

I can still picture her dressed in white plastic with a sub-shaped overlarge brown head.

My sister, who owned said figurine was not pleased in the slightest. The princess always had brown bags under her eyes from then on.
(Demis CousCous, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 10:14, 1 reply)

Mrs Quackblast doesn't like birds, because they 'flap at her'.
I am a thoughtful, considarate, caring husband and once wished to help her face her fears. Although scared of birds she is ecologically minded and doesn't like seeing food go to waste so every weekend we'll take a little jaunt along the river feeding the ducks any stale bread we had. Now Geese REALLY love bread, don't they? I think you could even use it to train them. You could lay a trail of bread from the river, across the towpath and down a track to were your wife is picking some berries for some reason that she hasn't made entirely clear. This would have the added bonus of not only conditioning the geese to follow trails of bread, but you'd also get to see your wife frantically scrambling up a tree whilst simultaneously crying and screaming for help whilst about 12 geese surround her honking for blood.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 9:27, 2 replies)

Sort of accidentally absolutely terrified my father.
When I was about 10, we went on holiday to somewhere in Cornwall, and my father and I went for a walk up on some cliffs. One section had some interesting rock formations close to the edge, and we went to look at them - they were huge, bulbous things ranging from knee-height to tens of feet. The drop to the sea was bloody huge - big enough for sea birds nesting in the cliffs to be flying underneath us while searching for fish.

The sound of the waves crashing was soft below us, and the sun shone brilliantly - a beautiful day.

My father went over there to look at some of the more interesting formations, and, as "a bit of a laugh", as his back was towards me, I suddenly cried Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!!!!" and hid behind a rock.

Oh dear gods the look on my dad's face as he came rushing over, searching frantically for me. Oh how crushingly he hugged me when I revealed that it was all just a lovely joke.

Oh how I didn't get supper that evening.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 9:11, 4 replies)

I did this to my wife

(McChinaman banned, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 9:07, 20 replies)

One morning, the former Mr Quar was enthroned in the the bathroom and the door opened a little.
He called out to our 3 year-old, 'Sonny! Will you go and ask Mum for some toilet paper for me please?'

Unknown to the ex, I was in the bedroom next door. I sent Sonny back to ask, 'Mum says, do you want NEWSPAPER?'
'No, Sonny, tell mum I want TOILET paper.'

Sonny returned with Dad's request and this time I offered sandpaper. No, Daddy would like TOILET paper, please.

As little Sonny was so articulate and diligent, and the ex was so stupid, I was able to send Sonny back many times to offer creative alternatives to toilet paper: wallpaper, a coathanger, a wire brush, a cactus, a handful of gravel, a broken bottle, etc, all of which Daddy politely refused.

I suppose I eventually caved in and sent Sonny in with a bogroll but all I can actually remember is kneeling on the bedroom floor with my face buried in the duvet to stifle my laughter.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 8:20, 5 replies)

Just keep on drinking..
I'm a long time lurker and this is my first post so.. Please be gentle and not too much grit in the Vaseline!
Our little daughter is three months old now, and I've managed to blame quite a few farts on her. And my darling hubby has been none the wiser so far. .
One day when she was the tender and squiggly age of six weeks we were in the middle of a feed when I had to let go of some rather hot and Chinese food-generated botty air. As the silent payload assaulted my darling's tiny nostrils the look on her helpless little face was priceless, but she kept on drinking.. That's my girl!

*edit* I've just twigged why she has a sly smile on her face when she pukes up on me..
(scythesmith is doing something boring on, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 8:12, Reply)