I'm glad *for them* that noone witnessed it....
I was once in a group of people who drive little kit.cars based on the original Mini. They're road legal, but more amusing offroad. One weekend each summer, we'd all meet up and hammer them around a massive area usually frequented by landrover-ish people. This used to be a "Blokey" thing with only a few hard-core lasses turning up... and then women started to come, and then some guys decided that the ladies needed comfort, and bought frikking landrovers and caravans instead of tents.. and it all started to go tits-up.

Before too long, it had become an event that needed to be "organised" and a porta-toilet was ordered at great expense. No longer was taking the shovel up the field a valid option, and sooner or later, it became frowned upon.

************'

One morning after spending the night on the ale my guts and body weren't feeling too good. It was long after sunrise and desperately in need of lettings a serious cludgie go, I exited a foul-smelling CO2-rich tent and swayed off to the porta-toilet which by this time, had spent 3 days in the sun. I opened the door to a horrific smell, a fly-swarm and a pile of shit that peaked at seat-level. I baulked: No way was I going to manage to keep my guts from exploding at both ends...

I toddled off into the morning with a small roll of bog-roll clutched tightly in one sweating hand, and vainly attempted to walk smoothly lest I should upset the growling beast that was my bowel. About half way up the hill I realised that what I needed most was a drink of water... momentarily I stopped and considered the re-percussions of returning to camp, but instantly resumed my waddle of shame on when my sphincter was nearly overcome by a wave of hot pressure.

A few minutes later I was deep in the woods, surveying the area and getting pissed at myself for not bringing a spade... The day was hot and still, the woods were warm, and the buzz of insects held the promise of a seriously frustrating crap.

I stood and surveyed the site. After a deeply agonising moment, weighing up the known blast-radius that my arse was capable of, the lack of hole and blast wall (didn't have a spade) and the predicted consistency of what was to follow.... I decided to squat on a slope, hoping that exit would be brought closer to the ground, thus narrowing the blast-zone.

After another brief moment of thought - (those of you who know me well will remember that I'm genuinely scared of my own arse's capabilities) - I decided to remove my boxers, trousers and boots.. working on the theory that it was easier to clean crap off my legs.

So.. Squatting on a slope in the woods, wearing only a T-Shirt and a hung-over grimace, I closed my eyes, concentrated on the buzzing of the insects and tried to relax my sphincter gently... I jumped as a fly landed on my ring-piece.. calmed my nerves and tried again.

The next 5 minutes are etched into my mind as a "what not to do" tutorial for the future.

The resulting flow of man-slurry exited fast, It flowed downhill at speed, and my placement of the bog-roll (infront of me) suddenly seemed less than smart. Then the smell hit me. Buoyed up by it's own heat, the stench floated upwards in the still humid air and assaulted me. Suddenly I was retching again, and on an empty stomach I produced only bile. Gasping for breath resulted in large nasal inhalations, more retching... for the second time of my life I was in a disastrous shit-induced positive-feedback loop. Morbid curiosity forced me to look as green bile surfed atop a torrent of liquid turd, only to realise with horror what I was looking at - and the cycle would start again.

I moved - Sideways - like a shitty crab. Clutching a trees for much-needed stability, I evaded the stench and rode out the rest of my bodily convulsions in relative comfort: even the flies trying to munch my ass were pleasant by comparison.

I walked back without underwear and T-shirt.... always put your bog-roll uphill. Always.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Sun 30 Jan 2011, 21:35, 7 replies)

Piss
Almost every weekday I wake up to the following situation: I need a piss, quite badly, and my house-mate is in the shower (and thus preventing me from accessing the only available toilet).

Knowing that she takes bloody ages in the bathroom, I have now taken to donning my dressing-gown, walking downstairs and pissing into an empty bottle whilst I'm waiting for the coffee to brew.

I haven't been caught yet but I feel the day will inevitably come on which the aforementioned bathroom-hogger's better half will wander into the kitchen to see me looking sheepish with my cock in a bottle.
(ConanTroutman thought we would free the vulture, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 21:33, 16 replies)

I once lost my phone
One night I was being dropped off at home by a few mates after quite a heavy night drinking. After fumbling around for my keys, I realised that my phone wasn't in the pocket where I usually keep it. Hoping that I'd left it in the car, as opposed to losing it in the pub, I quickly rang my friends who were at that very minute speeding away. The conversation went something like:

"Hi"
"Hi, have I left my phone in the car, cos I don't have it?"
"What are you speaking to me on?"
"Shit"
( Furness, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 21:31, 5 replies)

I don't even care to consider the number of times
that I've picked up a stick and twirled it around, pretending I was some amazing portmanteau of shaolin monk, ninja and Batman effortlessly fighting off a legion of adversaries, right before whacking myself in a) the arm b) the back of the head or c) the knackers (depending on how flashy I'm trying to be).
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 20:36, Reply)

Leap of faith
Coming back from t'pub, a skinful of real ale and a kebab heavier, I decided to take a shortcut. This involved navigating several levels of stairs and walkway across an open, landscaped area of city-centre. This I had done many times before, as this was my usual route from the local to my mate's home, where we would continue to imbibe after last orders, until it was time for me to head to my home up the (short) hill beyond. My mate, I won't name him as it is irrelevant to the present tale, decided to play it safe and watch as I leapt, Parkour-stylee, over the low concrete walls and fences. In my inebriated over-exuberance, I leapt a metal fence with unusual vigour, spinning my shoulders so my body followed suit in a classic, mid-air pirouette that would have made Tony Hawks proud. Unfortunately the ground was rather further than I had expected. In fact, having leapt from a 4 foot high fence another 2 feet into the air, the full distance to the concrete floor was about 12 foot, and it was dark. My mate described his surprise as I launched myself into the firmament, only to disappear, with a faint yelp, behind the wall. He was the only witness, and he was far enough away that he didn't see much. I'm glad no one else saw me, although while I was writhing in agony at the bottom of the wall I was mainly thinking "Fucksocks this hurts!" Had to be carried home, hospital the next day, x-ray all fine. The doc said bruised heels - a roofer's injury sustained mainly by builders sliding too fast down ladders. Sounds lame (I was lame for 2 weeks) but I could not walk for 2 weeks. Two bloody weeks. I keep my skateboard fantasies firmly in my mind these days.
(IdlePeAcEsign if trouble were my mistress, i'd send her to them, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 20:02, Reply)

Ahh student halls.
Any male who says they didn't piss in their wash-basin either didn't have a sink, was en-suite or is a liar.

Anyhoow, i get up in the middle of the night, and didn't fancy a cold dash down the corridor, and start pissing in the sink. Once i finished i returned to bed, and noticed that my curtains were open, my room, that was on the ground floor, directly visible from the entrance to the building.
( Slippery Mick ‏, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 19:58, Reply)

i was once having a wank at night over internet porn
I stood up to jizz into the handy sock, finished, turned round
to recall that we'd taken the curtains down to decorate
so I was standing with my cock out in well-lit view of the entire street.

Mortified with fear I looked desperately around, and to my relief there were no lights on in any of the visible houses, and no pedestrians in the street below

was a bit edgy talking to the neighbours for a few days though
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 19:22, 2 replies)

Hmm
I was playing darts in a doubles match in my local, and I was having a mare. There was about 30 people watching and I just couldn't hit a cow's arse with a banjo; but my partner leaves me 80 to win the match and go into the county finals.

I stride confidently to the oche and throw; 20, treble 12. My favourite double 12, and it come "off the wire" as the Almighty Sid Wadell would say.

Still now, I have no idea why I did it; but as the dart headed to the floor I volley it.

It goes through my trainer, and lodges neatly into the space between the knuckle of the big toe and foot. I bloody scream, fall down and smack my head on the edge of the pool table.

I wake up about 10 mins later, lying on the floor, blood over my shirt and a dart in my foot. Lee my darts partner was doubled up with laughter as was most of the pub.
(Strump striving for imperfection since, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 18:43, 4 replies)

Watch out for the bush!
After a night shift, I was walking home around 12.45 in the AM, I was busy writing an e-mail on my iPhone to look where I was going. I walked head first into a bush and had a little panic, very girly but thankfully every one else in the area had a job that ended at a reasonable time.

The next night I saw a beautiful owl, it looked directly into my eyes and gave a slight cry, as if to say "Evening".
(Mong goose, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 12:53, Reply)

Good luck, my foot!
I was traipsing around town one Wednesday afternoon, hadn't long finished work and I needed to pick something up for a friend's birthday or engagement or somethingorother that I've forgotten about. It also happened to be one of the busiest streets where I was just heading to the bus station to go home when a precision bombing of admirable accuracy took place. A bird flying overhead had emptied it's little bird bowels directly onto my head, and hit with just so much of an angle on it that it also managed to run down my face. My mouth was open and all sorts.

I tried to maintain some kind of dignity so without breaking stride I used the sleeve from my coat to wipe off most of it til I could get to a restroom. I looked ahead of me for some smirking faces but luckily no one seemed to have noticed. I looked over one shoulder for someone behind me who could have witnessed it and luckily there was no one there either. Hoorah! I've gotten away with it, so I thought, until I saw the crowded front of a local Starbucks with an entire row of people pointing and laughing or giggling into their sleeves.

Bastids.
(baldylocks, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 11:35, Reply)

Back when I loved the disco-biscuits
Used to get together with friends once or twice a month, get pretty fucked up... starry-eyed, red-lipped, nonsense-chatting, gurning moron. Fact.

Post party, strolling home with a stogie of a joint to the family household, safe in the knowledge that at 5am no bugger would be awake, leaving me to sneak to my bed, wake up at about noon feeling like shite, but safe.

Bumbling along with nary a care in world, rounding the corner, to see ALL the lights on in the front of the house.

Fuck.

Fuckitty fuck fuck.

My parents are straight-laced immigrants, lovely people but no idea of drug culture. To put it bluntly, had they suspected anything, I would have been disowned.

In the weird otherworld that I tend to inhabit at the tail-end of a night of psychadelics, I reasoned that it wouldn't be so bad, and if it came to it, I'd just tell all and be done with it... No more hiding.

Deep breath, key in the door, my jaw clenching repeatedly as I try to relax... Finding my dad, asleep on the sofa, in front of the Ashes.

*exhales noisily*

Saved by cricket, whowouldathoughtit?
(Ragathi wants to know where his evil twin is on, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 11:30, Reply)

I consider myself to be highly attuned to people's sensitivities.
an example of this comes just several days ago when I was the sole witness of a middle-aged lady slipping on ice and falling on her back, and hilariously continuing to slide slowly down the slight slope. Brushing herself off she looked around for witnesses and hobbled on her way.

A lesser man would have helped her to her feet. But I believe, while she may have seriously injured her spine, my unselfish act of pretending not to see spared her of any injury to her ego.
(augsav forgot about B3ta, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 7:05, Reply)

Attack of the Cyberman
I was pretty much a goody-two shoes child but one time I lived life on the edge once by combining my love of Doctor Who with my love of explosives. A schoolfriend had come back from France with loads of those small red bangers and donated me a set.

Just detonating them on their own seemed a bit of a missed opportunity so I looked around for something I could explode. My tiny plastic model Daleks and Cybermen (the Citadel ones) seemed ideal so I snuck out into the garden, stuffed a banger into a Dalek and lit the fuse. It exploded into a very satisfying number of pieces and so I went through the rest of the pack of bangers, alternating between blowing up Daleks and Cybermen.

The last one to go was a Cyberman so I tucked the banger between its legs and watched intently as I set the fuse off, only to witness the top half of its body fly straight at my right eye. Fortunately (in just this one particular instance) I was a speccy twat so it just bounced off, leaving a gash right in the middle of the lens, thus sparing me the world's lamest "How did you lose your eye?" story. Other than the shattered corpses of the former resident of Mondas and Skaro, there were no witnesses and this is the first time I've told the tale. So unless my mother is a B3tan, I think I've gotten away with it.
(johnson, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 20:17, 11 replies)

power kites , the early days
Mat J reminded me of one of my early power kite experiences.

over on the rugby fields near cannon hill park in Birmingham,
stack of two flexifoil super tens "remember them" with those padded wrist straps, in an absolute howling gale.
fuck me the biggest fastest scariest air i ever got i was yanked bodily up about six feet, fuck i thought this is ace, then a freak gust caught me and i sailed up another ten at least, shit i thought am going to die
the sheer violence of those stackers in a high wind is something to be believed.
the float is of course non existent i came down very fast and hard, then i got dragged through the mud and dogshit for a bit.
i wrestled the kites back into the bags and fucked off sharpish, nobody saw it, it must have been quite spectacular.
( amoebaboy chose for death by unga bunga on, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 19:52, 3 replies)

Walking to my grandmas house about 2 years ago.
Came to a section of the road with a barrier round the edge of the pavement. Can't be arsed walking round (it was quite a long barrier), decide to be like Fonzy and hop over it casually.

Too casually. Didn't put anywhere near enough effort into it, caught my foot on the top of the barrier and nearly faceplanted into the ground.

Midway down, i realise I'm about to smash my face into the concrete in what would undoubtably be a painful and embarrassing memory to cherish for years to come, and elect to try and commando roll out of it, thus saving my dignity and teeth.

I quickly tucked my shoulder in, got my head down and did my best ever commando roll, right across the road.

Headfirst into a wall on the other side.
( PMGT -Bacon., Sat 29 Jan 2011, 18:04, Reply)

the safety dance
about 3.30 this morning, after getting back from the pub, i decided to listen to some music. i was pissed and overheated, so i was only wearing my underwear. well, i got a bit carried away and started dancing round in my pants. drunkenness being what it is, i managed to kick my computer desk, really quite hard. i was hopping about the place like a pissed-up angry frog.
on the plus side, nobody saw me.
on the minus side, i now have a broken toe :(

EDIT: yay! it's not broken!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 17:44, 2 replies)

I once took the bins to the bottom of the drive
Wearing a pair of crocs..
(Frample Tromwibbler climbs an obstacle like old people fuck, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 17:32, 3 replies)

I am really glad no one saw this
It was dark I was driving along in my truck when i had the urge to have a piss, so I pulls into a quiet layby being the health and safety concious kind of guy that i am instead of getting out on the drivers side i move across the cab to the passenger side.
I open the door and step backwards onto the cab steps, step one, step two, step three onto what I think is a grass verge, oh so fucking wrong in so many ways!! I step off into a 4 foot deep ditch full of ice cold stinking water.
Had to drive back in my underwear took weeks to get the smell out of the cab, my workmates thought it was fucking brill I had the piss royally ripped out of me.
(raith50, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 15:47, Reply)

I was in the Blue mountains, Australia ...
..having a walk alone through the lovely mountain trails when i heard a helicopter and stepped over a small two foot fence and through a thin hedge to have a look. What greeted ne was a comedy moment of standing on a ledge with a 300 ft drop below me. my toes were hanging over the edge and the ground below me was crumbling away. My arms immitated a helicopter and i managed to grab thin branch and scatter back saying loudly to my self "you absolute wanker john" you f*cking idiot" and other simular self inflicting insults.
No one saw me. No one would have ever known i had fallen. I survived.
The helicopter was a yellow one.
(John Elton, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 11:25, Reply)

I'd just passed my driving test
...and was going out with a girl from Canterbury University, which essencially meant that I was a free taxi driver to and from her parents house and Canterbury (about 30 odd miles).
I had a MKIII Tincorna which was somewhat temperamental to say the least. Those things were NOT lightweight, and most days I'd have to pushstart it by myself - sometimes after lighting newspaper underneath it to warm it up first, as this made it start a bit easier.
One Friday evening around 5pm, I was driving her back home (again), and after push starting the car, and of course, as to be expected in a city at 5pm, the traffic was chocka. I pulled into a connecting road to join the Old Dover Road and all along side the road were parked cars.
I simply pulled out and drove past them all, about 50 in total.
It turned out that they weren't parked at all; simply queing to get out of the junction at the end of the road.
The looks of disgust from the drivers now coming towards me - as I was on the wrong side of the road, was unbearable. I shrunk down in the seat in shame.
Then I had an idea.
I got my girlfriend to stuff her jacket in her t-shirt and pretended she was pregnant and that I had deliberately overtaken the cars in an effort to get to hospital faster.
I'm pretty sure no-one believed me, or cared for that matter.
Stupid...yeah, pretty much.
Did I get away with it.
Hmmmm....sort of.
(dchurch bah, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 10:15, 2 replies)

I couldn’t have been any older than 6 or 7
when I was taken along to the park with my mother to watch an outdoor performance of Wind in the Willows. Staged by a theatre company for children, it involved a high level of audience participation, moving from one section of the park to another as the costumed performers encouraged the pack of enthusiastic children to run along with them, searching for Badger etc, while the parents followed quietly behind.

It was at the moment in the story when our heroes were attacking the weasel stronghold that the limits of audience participation seemed clear to all but me. Sitting on the grass at the very front of the audience, and by this time fully engrossed with the proceedings, the yells of attack from Badger and the gang prompted me to jump up and wildly fire punches at the nearest weasel actor. It was only 4 or 5 seconds of this before I realized all the other children were still seated and quietly watching the show. I swiftly and subtly returned to my position seated at the front of the audience, red-faced, but with the strange feeling that no one in the audience of 40 or so parents and children appeared to notice.

Somehow, the uncertainty of that has tormented me for years since.
(augsav forgot about B3ta, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 10:13, 2 replies)

About 5 yrs ago....
I worked in a factory and made fabrics for the paper industry. (boring but well paid). One job involved slicing the edge of the fabric perfectly straight using a special knife (a bit like a stanley knife but it's heated). Anyway, no matter what I did, it wouldn't work, cut straight or give the required sealed edge. I lost my rag and threw the knife into the corner of the area I was in. It skipped off the floor, pinged up off a metal cupboard and rebound of the side wall to smack me in the face.

I just stood there, eyes streaming from the impact to my nose, and prayed that no-one had seen me.

the big man must have been listening because none of the four staff within the same area had spotted my idiocy. Got made up to supervisor the following month and had to train staff on the correct use of the knife. Made sure they were taught to throw underarm only.
( NooShmoo It's a fantazmagorical pile of ultra bollocks, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 9:16, Reply)

Rattlesnakes are not my power animal.
On the last bit of a beautiful day's hike in the California hills, I see a pretty big (at least five feet long, more girthy than any but the most huge of pickles) really healthy looking (greenish blue almost) diamondback, it's all peaced out in the sun and I reason thusly:

The head is nearly six feet from the tail, so if I stroke the tail what's the worst that can happen.

Well when a snake coils up quickly the head and tail head move toward the middle, so now it's less than three feet from my hand, all pissed.

The strike of a snake like that really doesn't have a great range, but I still got my Stupid Monkey Gold Star that day when I was looking for a nice reptile moment.
I *do* share a common ancestor with chimps, there is no other explanation.
(Smoked Oysters Yes, magick helmet! And I will give you a sample!, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 6:34, 1 reply)

Icicles of doom
In the recent cold weather, I was lobbing snowballs at the icicles hanging off the guttering of the house. A combination of the outside security light, the dark night and me squinting to see if I'd managed to score a direct hit together rendered invisible one of the snowballs I'd just thrown and numerous bits of broken icicle that then happily spanged me in the face.

There's a chance the missus may have seen it, but by now she sees things like this happen to me so often that I think she's come to expect it...
( Biscuitzs -.. . -- ----- ...- -.- --. -.-, Fri 28 Jan 2011, 23:47, Reply)

Panic on the throne.
I'm a guy with a poor sense of direction.
Me, not exactly new to the job, have a righteous call to nature, so I flee to the restroom, jump into a stall, and launch my rockets. In walks another, chooses a stall next to mine and lets fly a thunderous piss which I thought was kind of odd because:
1) Men just cannot piss that hard.
2) I usually piss after dropping my bombs.
It was when the stall next to mine uttered "*ahem*" two octaves high for a normal male that I realized I was in the wrong room.

So I waited, and waited, and waited for the place to be empty, and then dashed out.

No one saw me. Also, girls are gross.
( I smash things in my sleep uruk-hai ...and I'll look low. Now where'd they go?, Fri 28 Jan 2011, 23:05, Reply)

I have always loved knives, for as long as I can remember. Even as a wee nipper...
===wavey lines===
I was 7 or 8, it was maybe 2 or 3 years after we moved house.
So that'll make it getting on for 35 years ago.
I had an Opinel pocket knife my dad had let me buy on holiday in france that summer, I spent my days throwing it and sticking it into trees in the woods behind our house. Pure bliss.
In the september of that year my dad's elder brother, an alcoholic and shadow of his former self came to visit with his wife. Andrew was his name. He'd been in the army, a PT instructor. As fit as buggery in his day. Sadly that day was long gone, he'd been medicalled out of the army after being stabbed in the belly during the riots that engulfed Delhi in the period following the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi.
Anyway, Andrew took a shine to me, he'd seen me throwing my knife and was impressed by the skill I showed. He could see how my dad was really critical of me all the time, hard on me for no reason. Andrew didn't like that and made sure his wee brother knew it. Sadly that only served to cause friction between them and generally made things difficult.
Just before Andrew and Elsie left to head back to Ardrossan Andrew took me aside and told me he had something for me, something secret. He reached into his suitcase and handed me a roll of soft beige leather, about 11 inches long, tied with an old black boot lace. I can still remember how the weight of it felt in my young hand. He told me to open it and as I did so he told me to be careful with it and to treasure it forever. It was a knife, but unlike any knife I had seen before. Or since, for that matter. A heavy, finely stitched leather sheath, worn with age and use. A black leather handle, wrapped with plaited silver wire, a large silver pommel. The blade of dark steel, seven inches in length, hollow ground on both edges and inlaid with fine gold detail of foreign lettering.
It was, he told me quietly and lifting his shirt to reveal the scar, the knife he had been stabbed with.
Little else was said, just a few looks between us before they left.
I can feel the goosebumps as i type this.
Can you imagine how this felt? I was in hog-heaven. I was the envy of my gang of wee pals. The knife was perfectly balanced for throwing and in my expert delinquent hand it was a thing of wonder.
I could (and still can) stick it in the shed door from 30 feet, under or over-hand throw. I was obsessed and would practice throwing it for hours on end.
Until one day...
I had just been given an utter bollocking for no reason I could perceive, as often happened. I was "playing" with the knife, torturing my action man probably. When all at once, in a fit of childish rebellion I threw the knife and stuck it into the kitchen floor. Oh, that was satisfying. The beautiful "thunk" as it stuck through the lino and into the boards beneath. I couldn't resist and did it again. And again. And again. Just as I was letting the knife slip for the fifth or sixth time I heard a noise, my dad approaching from through the house with a "what the fuck's that noise you little bastard" and I flinched, momentarily afraid of the secret being blown.
And in that moment I pinned my slipper clad right foot to the floor.
Dad stomped into the room demanding an explanation just as I dropped to my left knee, right foot still skewered, my back to him. I made some excuse about dropping something I think, but I can't really remember. He harrumphed and left the room and that was pretty much that.
It didn't bleed much thankfully, I guess it could have been quite serious but all I got was a small scar and a knackered slipper.
I'm glad nobody saw, especially my dad, he would have killed me.
I only saw Andrew once after that before he died.
I still have the knife.
Length? Like I said, the blade's 7 inches long.
( blaireau69 , the Cumbrian Travis Bickle., Fri 28 Jan 2011, 22:25, 6 replies)

Stupid changing rooms
My secondary school didn't have its own changing rooms for PE, we had to share with the leisure centre on the same site. The changing rooms had plates on the doors designating what you needed between your legs to change in there. And these plates could be easily slid off of their place on the door and switched around. Stupid chavs.

Cue me on my first day at the school, absolutely fucking terrified and not paying attention to much. I somehow turned up 20 minutes late to my first PE lesson, so I rushed in to get changed a.s.a.p. to prove that I wasn't totally unlikeable and unfit and stuff (Ha, sports equipment somehow seems to be attracted to my face at high speed). Getting changed in the cubicles (Ah, the life of an awkward teen) I hear a door open. "Oh, just some sweaty/fat/annoying person. Great.

And then I heard the high-heels. I hoped to hell it was just a tranny, and then the clacking sounds multiplied, like bacteria. A god-damn yoga class has decided to get changed in the men's changing room? Just by coincidence? No. Stupid titflaps decided to swap the door plates and I actually went into the women's changing room. Someone must have changed the plates back after I went in. I waited for a good ten minutes, through some of the most TMI conversations I have ever heard ("Sandra, you'll never guess what! Franky's BF only went and cheated on her with some skank from St Paul's! And they had sex the other night and now her vag won't stop oozing this yellow gunk and oh-mah-gawd they look like total tramps anyways!" etc.) until there was what seemed like one or two ladies left, who had both just decided to go to the toilet (Question, ladies. Why do you have some need to have a friend stare at you whilst you piss/shite?)

I snuck out of the cubicle as slowly as squeaky Nikeys could let me. This is the closest I have ever felt to a somewhat pervy ninja. I got two feet from the door when I heard "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN HERE, YOU DIRTY LITTLE TWUNT!" screeched at me like a flipping pod-person.

I think Usain Bolt would have been proud of how I belted it out of there. I'm just happy that none of the kids put two and two together when they heard about this woman going mental because some kid had "perved" on her friends when they were changing, which happened to be during our lesson.
( Trogdos The Raging Cuntmuffin, Fri 28 Jan 2011, 22:22, Reply)

Oh god, this is grim
Got back to my car after a long day at work, only to discover that some friendly bird had done an enormous poop on my windscreen, right in the middle of my field of vision.

I had nothing in the car to clean it off with - no water, no tissues, no scraper, nothing. But I couldn't have driven off, I wouldn't have been able to see anything.

So I cleaned it off with my hand.

Then, I reached into my pocket for my car keys. As I pulled them out, I had a bizarre moment of brain-fade and thought "What's that all over my hand?".

So I cheerfully licked my hand.

And then, of course, realised exactly what it was. And then immediately commenced with hacking, gagging and spitting to try and get the bird poop out of my mouth. I am an idiot. An idiot who was lucky not to be ill. An idiot who was also very lucky not to be seen by anyone for doing something so stupid and embarrassing.
( biscuitbiscuit is in ur garden, watering ur plantz, Fri 28 Jan 2011, 18:24, 18 replies)

sadly
Every time I have ever done something where I have looked like an absolute idiot, someone has seen me.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Fri 28 Jan 2011, 18:15, 1 reply)

It seemed fun at the time...

..to tug repeatedly at the 'For Sale' sign attached to the wall outside the house we passed on the walk back from the pub.

I don't really know what we planned to do with it, but we wanted it.

So we pulled and shook and tugged and pushed and with one last yank, we stumbled backwards, sign in hand...

,,,as the whole wall tumbled towards us.

I am not an athlete, but I have never run so fast in my life.

I am glad I wasn't seen then.

And I am glad I wasn't seen the next day, when I, with my paranoid gloved hands, withdrew £100 from the bank, put it in a brand new envelope and walked up the garden path to put it through their letterbox.

Noticing as I did the cement mixer and palette of last few brand new bricks next to the pile of now broken ones that must previously have been their brand new wall.

I hope £100 went someway towards the cost of the wall.

but i doubt it much made up for the delay it must have caused in selling their house.



It's OK to hate me for this. I still do, and it was nearly twenty years ago.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 28 Jan 2011, 17:26, 5 replies)