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This is a question Real Life Slapstick II

What's the best slapstick thing you've ever seen?
Have you witnessed someone walking into a lamp-post? A food fight? Someone clonked round the face with a frying pan? All your favourite moments please.
(suggested by social hand grenade)

(, Sun 5 Oct 2014, 16:03)
Pages: Popular, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

vv that vv

(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 19:49, Reply)
v that v

(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 19:45, Reply)
I hope I die in a fire.

(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 19:05, 9 replies)
The Revenge of Little Chadderleigh
Helloooo Sweeetiez!

A few months after my departure from the planet Pharxon after the ending of the reign of the insane King Ploptus -

- I was knocking back a great many pints of Space Stella at Vabberpinge Spaceport when I witnessed a drunken Sontaran trip over a sun lounger and almost fall into a swimming pool. It was hilarious!

As I watched and laughed an extraordinarily sexy felinoid sidled up to me. ‘Hi, sexy,’ she purred sexily. (Note – I was male back then).

‘Well, hello, sexy cat woman,’ I said, hardly believing my luck. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Li,’ she breathed. ‘Li, the feline – and I am indeed a lithe feline.’

By now my erection was immense. ‘And what can I do for you, Li?’

She leaned in and whispered into my ear: ‘You can come with me and fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Ohhh… fuck me.’

I stupidly allowed her to lead me into a back room in which I was brutally and efficiently clubbed into unconsciousness. I never saw her again.

When I came round I found myself strapped in a chair unable to move a muscle. I was in a large rust-walled room in some abandoned sector of the spaceport. In one corner was a glass-walled chamber that looked like it was a recent addition. As I took in my surroundings a door opened and a strange, grotesque figure approached.

It was a half-human, half-machine cyborg – like Charles Dance out of Space Truckers. As it came nearer I realised who it was. ‘Little Chadderleigh!’ I exclaimed. ‘Alive! But – how?’

‘I didn’t die on Pharxon,’ the creature began. ‘My body was thrown away but found by soldiers of General Azeeb. They rebuilt me and now I have come for my revenge, my revenge on YOU, Banger of the Bum Drum!’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well, it’s good to keep busy.’

Little Chadderleigh blinked rapidly in a clear effort to control his rage. ‘I know you are a Time Lord, Skagra, and so I have devised your punishment accordingly.’

I yawned. ‘You’re boring. Bring back the sexy felinoid, for fuck’s sake.’

‘You will be sealed within this glass chamber,’ said Little Chadderleigh, pointing at said chamber with a cybernetic finger. ‘The glass is Titan Mega Glass – the toughest ever devised - no escape! Every million years, a drop of water will fall from the nozzle you can see in the ceiling of the chamber. One tiny drop, every million years! Thus the chamber will, after an insanely long period of time, fill with water,and you will drown. And then you will regenerate! And then the chamber will be drained, and the whole process will begin over again. And again and again and again, until you reach the end your regenerative cycle, after countless vigintillions of years of mind-lacerating torment! Ha ha ha! Aaah ha ha ha haaaaa!’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said, and, using my special Time Lord powers, freed myself from my bonds and rendered Little Chadderleigh unconscious.

Then I got to work.

When Little Chadderleigh regained consciousness, he found himself strapped naked to a vaulting horse, much like the one he had been strapped to in the court of King Ploptus on Pharxon. In his mouth was a ball-gag, in his nose were 35 shiny pins, on his ears were 6 bulldog clips apiece, and on his bald bonce I had re-tattooed the words ‘PLEASE BUM ME.’ On seeing me Little Chadderleigh’s eyes widened and his skinny body strained to be free – vainly, as I had ensured the bonds could withstand the extra strength of his cybernetic enhancements.

‘Nnnnnnmmmgf! NNNNNMMMGF!’ he said.

‘Hello again, Little Chadderleigh,’ I said jovially, smiling down at his prone form. ‘Let me explain what is going to happen to you. We are on an abandoned space station in the middle of absolute nowhere. The station is cloaked, so no-one will ever, ever find it. As you can see, I have re-created the throne room of King Ploptus. See around you, standing in a circle, 36 enormous muscly oily dark-skinned men in animal masks, all with enormous cocks – eight inches at the every least – and all desperate to fuck you – UP THE BUM. Except, these are not men; they are biomechanical constructs, who do not need to sleep, eat, or drink, and whose lifespans are approximately 500 years.’

‘Nnnnnnmmmgf! NNNNNMMMGF!’ said Little Chadderleigh.

I pointed out a robot standing nearby. Round its neck was a toy drum, over which it held a drumstick. ‘See this robot? Once activated, it will commence to bang the drum steadily and rhythmically, at which point – well, I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen.’

‘Nnnnnnmmmgf! NNNNNMMMGF!’ said Little Chadderleigh.

I pointed at another robot. ‘See this other robot? It is programmed to change your feeding tube and replace the pack when it runs out, as I have fitted you with a nutrient feed to keep you fed and watered over the coming years. I don’t want you dying of hunger or thirst on me!’

‘Nnnnnnmmmgf! NNNNNMMMGF!’ said Little Chadderleigh.

‘Both of these robots’ power-packs will last at least a thousand years each. Now, given your cybernetic enhancements, I estimate that you will live for about another 150, 200 years, maybe even more.’ I brought my face down level with Little Chadderleigh’s. ‘And for all that time you are going to be brutally and relentlessly BUGGERED! That’ll teach you to fuck with a Time Lord, you little CUNT!’

‘Nnnnnnmmmgf! NNNNNMMMGF!’ said Little Chadderleigh.

Without further ado I activated the Bum Drumming Robot and it began to beat the Bum Drum.

Instantly, the biomechs sprang into action. 'BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM!' they chanted, whilst stroking their immense erect penisis with greased fists. 'BUM! BUM! BUM!'

I clapped my hands, and one of them scampered forward and slid his erect penis, all eight glistening inches of it, right up Little Chadderleigh's ass. He fucked the boy savagely, brutally, and roared as he ejaculated fulsomely deep within the unfortunate youth's innards. He then slid out, panting, and the next one took his place.

'BUM BUM BUM!' chanted the masked biomechs. ''BUM BUM BUM! ME NEXT! ME NEXT! BUM BUM BUM!’

I stayed for an hour or so to ensure everything was running smoothly, then went into my TARDIS and zipped forward ten years. When I stepped back out, it appeared as if only ten minutes had passed. Little Chadderleigh was being brutally buggered by a by a biomech, whilst the others danced around chanting 'BUM BUM BUM! BUM BUM BUM! ME NEXT! ME NEXT! BUM BUM BUM!’ The only difference was the vast pool of fresh and dried faeces, blood and semen on the floor around the base of the vaulting horse.

I watched for a while, smiling with grim satisfaction. I then went forward a hundred years. The scene was still the same, though Little Chadderleigh’s face was now showing signs of age. I looked into his eyes – they were the eyes of a dead flounder, dull, flat, listless, dry even of tears, as the biomechs pounded and pounded and pounded away, and chanted 'BUM BUM BUM! BUM BUM BUM! ME NEXT! ME NEXT! BUM BUM BUM!’

I then zipped forwards another fifty years. By now Little Chadderleigh’s body was showing signs of age, its flesh visibly withered and dry. This did not seem to bother the biomechs, who were having at his ass with undiminished vigour and enthusiasm. 'BUM BUM BUM! BUM BUM BUM! ME NEXT! ME NEXT! BUM BUM BUM!’

I watched for a while, and when the current biomech had grunted and groaned and shot his lot up Little Chadderleigh’s ass I switched off the Bum-Drumming Robot. Instantly, all the biomechs ceased their chanting and dancing and wanking and sat down cross-legged on the parquet floor.

I inspected Little Chadderleigh’s ring, my shoes squelching in the mess of blood, faeces and semen. After sixteen decades of use, it was in a very sorry state indeed. The flesh of Little Chadderleigh’s ass hung in bloody shreds. It looked like the very entrance to Hell itself.

I went round to the other end of Little Chadderleigh and stared into the wretched being’s eyes. Although he was still alive, there was no life to be seen on those dull orbs. I flicked him on the forehead. ‘Hello, Little Chadderleigh! Me again!’

Very slowly, a spark of life returned to his eyes. He blinked. ‘Nnnnnnmmmgf! NNNNNMMMGF!,’ he said on seeing me.

I rubbed my hands together. ‘Now then, Little Chadderleigh, I am going to offer you a choice. Death now, or more years – maybe even decades – of brutal, relentless buggery, before you finally die of old age?’

‘Nnnnnnmmmgf! NNNNNMMMGF!’ said Little Chadderleigh.

‘Oh! Sorry.’ I removed the ball-gag. ‘Well? Your decision? Death now, or at some unspecified future juncture, after many, many more years of relentless assrape?’

Little Chadderleigh muttered his first words in 160 years, but I didn’t quite catch them. ‘Sorry?’

A trembling whisper issued from the wretch. ‘Death now.’

‘Death now, what?’

The whisper came again. ‘Death now, please.’

‘Death now, please what?’

Little Chadderleigh raised his head to look at me. There was nothing in his eyes. No fear, no hate, no pain, no broken heart, nothing. They were empty of life. He was already dead. ‘Death now, please, Sir.’

‘Okey dokey,’ I said. ‘Give me a minute.’

I set to work. I deactivated the two robots and all but two of the biomechs. I then constructed a mincing machine – no, not that sort of mincing, the other sort, that grinds up meat to make mincemeat.

When it was finished, I said to Little Chadderleigh: ‘See this? It is a mincing machine. You will be fed into it feet first and minced to death. The process is designed to be as slow and as agonising as possible, and will take several hours.’

Little Chadderleigh said nothing.

The two biomechs unstrapped him from the vaulting horse and held him over the jaws of the mincing machine, which were grinding hungrily inches below his emaciated feet.

‘Any last words, Little Chadderleigh, before your slow and agonising death at the hands of I, Doctor Skagra, Time Lord?’

Little Chadderleigh said nothing.

‘Right, in with the cunt,’ I said.

The two biomechs lowered him into the teeth of the mincing machine which promptly reduced his feet to mincemeat. And Little Chadderleigh began to scream, and scream, and scream. Was that a note of relief, of release? No, the cunt was just screaming in sheer mortal agony.


Blood splattered everywhere as the machine consumed more and more of his body. There was a joyous crunching crackling sound as his skin, flesh and bones were pulped into mincemeat. His cybernetic enhancements meant he survived longer than a non-enhanced being would, and so he suffered for longer.

I watched and wanked, and ejaculated all over his shrieking face right at the last moment of his life. Good timing, or what?

And then I blew up the abandoned space station, and fucked off in my TARDIS. I later made a kick-ass chilli con carne out Little Chadderleigh’s minced remains.

So let that be a warning to you, sweeties! Don’t fuck with a Time Lord – or Lady!


(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 19:04, 12 replies)
Motorcycle Mayhem
I was walking the dog in one of our local parks when I heard two dirt bikes roaring around in the low, flat area next to the pond. Curious, I headed over just in time to see one of the bikes climb a fairly steep bank and stop on the edge of the pond. His buddy, oblivious to the existence of the pond, decided to also climb the bank, but failed to stop at the top and went sailing straight into the pond, landing with an almighty splash and a cloud of steam from the hot engine. He surfaced unhurt but covered in weeds, filth and muck which had lain on the bottom for years. As the bike was only in a couple of feet of water, they were able to drag it out. Although apparently undamaged, it too was covered in stinking black muck. I could smell the decomposing plants and fish from fifty yards off. Even the dog winced at the odour. Did the lad get any sympathy from his friend? Of course not - just an almighty ass chewing for submerging his bike in shit and getting water into the motor. That was the final straw for me, and I laughed so much I was afraid I had torn something. I was still giggling and snorting when I got home.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 18:16, Reply)
The Picnic Bench and the German Holidaymakers
When we were on holiday, my wife and I decided to go for a late lunch at MacGochan's, the pub/restaurant next to the main car park in Tobermory. We sat at one of the picnic benches outside, at the front of the restaurant.

Next to our bench was another such bench, at which a couple of German tourists sat down shortly after our arrival. They were - how shall I put this? - a little on the large side. They were also sitting next to each other on one side of their bench.

This would have been fine if the bench had been screwed into the paving slabs, but it became apparent about 30 seconds later that it wasn't.

The bench flew backwards, catapulting them along with it, as though someone had pressed an ejector button. The third member of their party arrived soon after, with drinks for them all, and was puzzled to see them looking annoyed and embarrassed, and brushing themselves off.

Laugh? I had to hold it in until we got in the car and drove back to the hotel. And then I shat myself.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 15:29, 2 replies)
I was walking with a freind up on the hill fort at the top of brighton,
we decided to walk a little bit down an extremely steep hill to sit on the hillside and smoke a joint. my mate took about 3 steps before sliding about 3 and a half metres on a massive dog turd. He was sliding on one foot, untill said foot picked up momentum and travelled faster than his body at which point it kicked up into the air above his head as he landed on his back. Assuming he had landed in the turd he quickly rolled over onto his front, only to land face first, directly into the turd...It was fucking hilarious.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 14:18, 5 replies)
While my colleague was distracted…
I put a basketball on his chair. I thought he’d try to sit back down, find an obstruction, and that would be the limit of the ’amusement’. Instead, he bounced right up in the air, like Sonic bopping a Crabmeat.

As a short, compressed screamlet caught in his throat, his arse caught the back of the seat, which swivelled around, making the whole chair s-l-o-w-l-y tip up onto one castor, before toppling entirely against a radiator. My friend ended up trapped twixt chair and wall like a foldaway bed, his knees around his ears, his specs comically askew and his eyes having a strange blank look I can only describe as ‘Does not compute’. We had to turn him off and on again before he even registered that he was on the floor.

I still laugh out loud every time I even think about it (15 years later) and wish I had the words to do it justice, especially the final image. If anyone is familiar with Flaming Carrot, the panel in ‘What are they doing in the Hyacinth House?’ where the alien gets caught up in the ‘click clack chair’ is the closest analogue I have yet found.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 13:44, Reply)
I had long hair, I had just received a letter from a girl I fancied, and I was late for a lecture.
Thus I hurried down the street, as I read the letter.

My hair fell in front of me, and I was just getting to the good stuff when I proper walked - CLANG! Fully into a lamppost, causing the children on the opposite side of the road to fall about laughing.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 12:25, 2 replies)
Un Idiota
A few years back we celebrated my father's 70th birthday in Tuscany and he took the whole tribe to the sumptuous Villa Casanova, just west of Lucca.

The Casanova was a small but beautifully formed hotel with only 14 suites, which led to a high level of intimacy with our fellow guests and within two days we were on first name terms with a couple of rich Americans on second honeymoons, overfed German retirees and members of my highly dysfunctional family.

Being the height of summer, meals were taken outside, with tables perched precariously around the pool, allowing residents to eat with an unrivaled view of the Tuscan hills. One night, the night of my Dad's actual birthday, we returned en-masse to the hotel at around 11pm. We'd put away a fair few bottles of Tignanello, I was drunk but not falling down drunk. The hotel's front door was locked, so we entered via the villa gates that led down to the pool.

Spying one of the American couples - a particularly attractive, well-kept, fortysomething brunette and her husband, a refined tidy-bearded dotcom millionaire - I waved and strode over to the their table...completely failing to notice the swimming pool between us. I took a full, purposeful step...directly into the deep end.

As I slowly and embarrassingly swam to the steps, hauled myself out and began the ritual of pouring water from my Italian loafers, I took stock of the situation. Trying to ignore the din of my family screeching in hysterics, I glanced at the brunette, now looking far less attractive with red wine pouring through her nose.

Whilst wringing out my linen suit, the noise died down enough for the obnoxious male-half of the yank couple to declare at full volume, 'Amazing! Whaddya do for an encore?'

(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 11:41, 27 replies)
Perpetual stumble.
I was walking home one day with a lady friend when she tripped, most likely on a raised paving slab. As she did so she attempted to correct the stumble and avoid falling flat on her face. She used the standard technique of reaching her arms out in front of her, bending at the waist and taking a few giant pounding steps until the momentum had ceased.

Unfortunately it wasn't a few steps, she never seemed to be regaining control, one or two steps turned into four or five, which quickly turned into ten or twelve. As she accelerated away from me with her giant's gait I went from a mild smirk to a soft snigger and eventually broke out in fits of laughter. By that point she was at least 20 yards ahead of me so she couldn't hear.

To this day I'm not sure how she managed to fall for quite that length of time or distance. If it were me I'd have given up and allowed myself to sprawl on the pavement after the first few steps.

Incidentally, nostalgia may cause the distance to increase every time I tell the story, but it was at least three times as far as I'd ever seen anyone stumble before.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 10:44, Reply)
In which a naive country mouse travels to the Big Smoke, goes shopping and gets his paw stuck in an automatic door.
We find our hero visiting the city mice in their palatial up&down apartment in the inner city. Our hero knows nothing of the Big City Life having spent his few precious young years nestled into the hearty bosom of a small rural village and the local people who treat said village like it's home.
Our naive young mousey sets out with his more worldly cousins to purchase some vitals at the Super-Market. Country mouse has never even been into a supermarket before. His sum total of experiences as far as shopping goes extend to the local store, markets and fairs.

Once they arrive at the supermarket via the city mices' "family saloon" auto-mobile, country mouse alights and strolls across the carpark towards the sliding doors of the supermarket. Remembering the missives about 'sliding doors' that Grandma Country Mouse had told him; that "anything that opens and closes that doesn't have a hinge is evil"; country mouse was wary. Yet he felt he had to be a gentlemouse and open the doors for the ladies following him.

As he reached for the door it started to open of it's own volition. The door quickly opened and took his hand with it, sliding our hero's delicate paw into the recess of the automatic doors innards. And in doing so, dragging our young hero from a standing position to prostrate in seconds.

Our young country mouse then begins crying and screaming like a bitch due to his hand being caught in between the panes of an automatic sliding door and the doorway around it.

The supermarket supervisor manages to isolate the door's mechanism as other customers quietly step over our hero and eventually free the country mouse.

Country mouse recovers his paw intact and vows never to return to a supermarket or the Big Smoke ever again.

And yet I managed to forget both chicken thigh fillets and cat food today at the shops today.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 10:31, 2 replies)
Slow motion granny RTA
Walking through sunny Ellesmere Port town center, quite a bit stoned, witnessed a bloke in a metro doing about 2mph reversing out from the arcades front parking, slowly and inextricably hit a very slow moving granny, who was coming out a shifty alley way, with her walker, and she fell *bosh* right on her arse and shouted 'YA FUCKIN CUNT!' at the driver. There was no way they had both not noticed each other, so I figure they decided to Chicken it.

I thought it was hilarious. Got some well dirty looks for breaking up laughing. It just all happened so slowly.

She got up and was OK, and I got stink eye from everyone involved and there was no need for ambulance calling or anything, but I could not help wonder, if the bloke needed to exchange insurance details with her, as her walker dented his wing.

Retelling this, I do sound like a right cunt.
(, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 4:32, 11 replies)
My old boss was a pub landlord, and he had locked himself out of his first-floor flat.
He asked one of my work colleagues if he'd climb on the big metal sign out the front, shimmy up the frontage, let himself in through the kitchen window and open his front door for him. Being half cut, my colleague agreed. He didn't have a problem getting on the big metal sign, or shimming up the frontage, but ended up dangling Keaton-esque from the window frame, legs flailing over Upper Street.

He then fell eight feet onto the big metal sign, and landed squarely on his bollocks.
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 21:30, Reply)

(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 13:57, 6 replies)
Describe some visual humour.
(This weeks image challenge: Anecdote TOAP)
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 12:50, 1 reply)
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 12:44, Reply)
my mate's dad's mate did a thing but I didn't see it because it didn't really happen but apparently it was hilarious but you had to be there but it didn't happen so you weren't

(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 12:43, 13 replies)
another shameless pea - the QOTW was 'Food Sex'
Many moons ago, long before the lovely Mrs Spimf happened along I had another young lady on the go, and blimey did she go. Up to all sorts (no this isn’t about liquorice) I’ve never really understood the food sex thing, the aerosol cream can and the mimsy were never destined to be happy bedfellows and I find it disconcerting to have a saveloy in the room during coitus. Similarly the alfresco thing escapes me: if I want a Cornetto I can do so without the slightest of hint lasciviousness and if I fancy some sexual intercourse then I find soft furnishings compliment the act quite satisfactorily.

Nevertheless young and keen to experiment I agreed to kill two birds with one cone. A picnic rug and (sensibly) a cool box were sourced along with some of Wall’s best selling chilled confectionary (Chocolate & Hazelnut naturally). We found a spot in the moonlight in some (slightly creepy) local woodland.

Despite my apprehensions my young hormones were unperturbed at the prospect of calorific copulation. I won’t dwell on the frippery, I’m not an erotic writer, I'll leave that to Mr Spankey et al. To be honest I was somewhat unsure what to do, clearly I was aware some degree of smearing and quite possibly insertion was required. My first attempt at ice cream carnal capers was to insert the Cornetto into my eager young partner’s rather splendid mimsy – pointy end first mind, she wasn’t a slag. This quickly left me bereft of ideas and things were melting fast. Ah! cunnilingus I thought – hurrah! In our comfy mossy spot under the creepy tree I crouched down and set to work, lapping alternately at clitoris and cream based confectionary with vigor – buoyed by my newly found decadence I decided to see if I could push some of the chopped nuts up her slippery balloon knot with my tongue, shifting down I set to work. This quickly proved ill advised, my adventurous young filly was suddenly possessed by a fit off giggles which served to force the Cornetto back out and on to my forehead and push melted ice cream into my eyes. As I recoiled the Cornetto remained stuck to my temple at a somewhat rakish angle – more giggles. I’ve never looked good wearing a hat. Humiliation was setting in quickly.

Happily my filthy little friend realised this and reached into the cool box and grabbed another Cornetto whilst deftly plucking the spent one from my forehead, tossing it in the air with impressive abandon. My fumblings were quickly forgotten as she tugged at my trousers. I can safely say the first time an ice cream cone is applied to the end of ones throbbing member is a moment never forgotten. With a wicked glint in her eye she knelt down, pushed the ice cream further down my hot shaft then suddenly lunged and bit down hard on the end of the cone! As soon as my pulse returned to mere humming bird levels I began to enjoy this impromptu porno picnic.

All too soon nearly all the ice cream had been eagerly sucked and devoured and my own churns were stirring, as my little minx delivered one last suck something terrible happened – as I flung my head back in ecstasy – the discarded cunnilingus cone felt out of the branches above where it had been lobbed with lusty abandon – smack in my bloody eye. This caused me to thrust forward, pushing the bell-end Cornetto halfway down the poor girls throat, I’ll never forget the horrible choking noise echoing through the woodland; like a lone goose honking at sunset, in fact I realised the whole situation was fast becoming my own willy honker and the chocolate hat tree.
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 12:09, 2 replies)
Pearoast from a year ago
Arrived at the Odeon outside Coventry. Huge warehouse-style monstrosity of a multiplex with a big glass frontage. When you go in through the central glass doors, there's a box office desk about twenty yards away to your left... and another, identical desk the same distance away to your right. So my bestest friend and I walk in, and look left... bugger, there's a queue. A queue, it transpires, of unobservant dolts, because when we look to the right, SCORE! There's a rather nice young lady sitting there, just waiting to sell us some tickets. None of the dolts has noticed, so they're queueing like mugs. We, on the other hand, are now smug.

As is traditional, between us and the box office is one of those saggy thick velvet ropes designed to corral the queue into a space-saving zigzag. No need to walk around, oh no, I'm far too cool for that, and besides, the rope's barely four inches off the ground at its lowest point. Hands in pockets, I approach the rope, hop nimbly over it, and approach the nice young lady.

That's how it was supposed to go.

Hands in pockets, I approach the rope. I lead with my right foot, but my toes go UNDER the rope, not over it, lifting it. Thus, when my left foot leaves the ground, it also encounters the rope, and wraps round it. Now... if I was Buster Keaton, or Jackie Chan, I'd have tucked and rolled, and made a priceless moment of physical comedy look great.

I am not Buster Keaton. I am not Jackie Chan. I went down like a sack of shit. Hands in my pockets. Onto my FACE.

And I lay there for a bit. I thought about having a little cry. Then I got up. And I helped my bestest friend up off the floor. He hadn't tripped... he had literally fallen down laughing at me. He was still having difficulty breathing when we finally approached the nice young lady (whose face was a bit redder than I remembered) and bought our tickets.

On the up side, none of the unobservant dolts in the other queue noticed.
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 12:06, 1 reply)
Jon-Jon's Lack of Spacial Awareness
At college I made the acquaintance of a fellow I'll refer to as Jon-Jon. He wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, scribbling in textbooks like a tot, bullshitting about how he shot at pensioners in the park, was a 'satanist' etc...

One day a small group of us were standing outside a seminar room as Jon-Jon approached the door whistling to himself with a very large cricket bag slung horizontally over his back. As he attempted to pass through the door there was a dull 'donk!' noise as the bag wedged itself against the frame.

'Huh?' said Jon-Jon as he took a step back before trying to pass through the doorway once more. Once again the bag responded with its characteristic 'donk!' as it conspired with the door frame to deny his passage.

The scene repeated itself about four times, whilst I and my equally dweeby few chums sniggered and pointed at Jon-Jon, ultimately rousing his attention to turn and look at us, allowing the bag to finally pass through the door with him following behind.

Last I heard (around 2007-8ish) Jon-Jon was working for Anglo-Irish Bank, at their head office in Dublin.
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 12:03, Reply)
hilside halls of residence
When I was at University, for the first year I lived in halls on campus - Hillside in Dundee if you insist. The buildings were identical – toilets, kitchen and showers in a block and (from memory) 8 bedrooms on either side of a long corridor. The campus was split male female with a strict ‘no overnight visitors of the opposite sex’ rule that was of course roundly ignored. One fateful Sunday night, heading back up from Glasgow on the glamour wagon that was the late night Stagecoach, I found myself next to an attractive, curvaceous and very friendly redhead, let’s call her Pauline for that was indeed her name. We got chatting and it quickly transpired we lived on the same campus. The poor lass must have been missing a screw or two or simply felt sorry for me because, well basically by the time we got to Perth I was most definitely ‘in’. When we finally rocked up at her halls I noted how much they differed from my own, the layout and furnishings were absolutely identical yet the place didn’t smell of blokes, weed and overflowing bins. The kitchen and toilets were also remarkably clean however my new bestest friend seemed keen to usher me swiftly past all this to her room at the end of the corridor. Presumably before we were spotted by wandering hall mates. Basically i was being sneaked in. The girly, fragrant Pauline had delightfully fresh bed linen, another novelty – which we duly set about doing our best to sully.

I woke some time around 3am needing a piss. Pauline it seemed was a heavy sleeper and did not stir. No worries I knew my way around. Whether I was being a bit daring, blasé or simply foolhardy I have no idea, but in my infinite wisdom I decided to step out into the dark empty corridor and pad along to the toilets stark bollock naked. On my way back the inevitable happened, a door clicked in front of me, a girl in pyjamas stepped out, saw me, froze, then screamed, leapt back into her room and slammed her door loudly. So, in true pantomime farce style more doors were flung open behind me, more screams, lights were switched on, hysteria set in, threats were made, all whilst I’m standing there butt naked, trapped in the middle of a corridor of screaming girls in assorted nightwear, stammering that it was ok, I wasn’t some pervert intruder I was in fact there with…

Shit. I had forgotten her fucking name.

Have you ever tried to describe a person you barely know whilst naked and being ranted at by half a dozen irate young women? It's a bit stressful. For all the sense I was making, I might as well have been Manuel spluttering 'I here to see girl'.

Naturally this didn’t go down well and more cries of ‘pervert’ and ‘call the police’ were going up. All the while I’m standing there cupping my now pathetically shriveled meat and two whilst pointing frantically over the shoulders of a pair of seething first years towards the door of the girl who I claim to be a guest of, yet cannot even remember her bastard name.

After about 300 years she-who-was-remaining-resolutely-nameless stumbled out of her room, bleary eyed, blinking at the unfolding commotion. Not only did I have to suffer the shame of outing the poor girl as being somewhat easy I then had to explain after sitting next to her on a bus for a couple of hours, working my feeble charm then exploring her most intimate orifices I didn’t even have the gallantry to remember her fucking name.

The relationship did not flourish.

tl:dr charmless Muppet gets caught naked in a girls dormitory at 3am and isn’t even the 13th Duke of Wybourne
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 11:58, 5 replies)
Schrödinger's slapstick
It had been pissing down in Bristol for months, so everything was miserable and underwater. In an effort to cheer myself up, I wandered into town (across Bristol Bridge, fact fans) to buy myself something tarty.

On the way, I skirted the huge puddle that had formed with the grace and elan of a were-gazelle. On the other side, I came across (as in "encountered", not in a filthy way) a blind chap pottering along, oblivious to his imminent peril.

After briefly debating whether helping someone could be considered being patronising, I stopped him and warned him of the huge puddle. I then helped him onto a higher path that was dry.

Good deed of the week, done. +1 to me.

On the way back, I was mildly interested to see an ambulance blocking the path. It seemed that the higher path had been washed away by the rain and that some poor bloke had taken a nasty tumble.

I still don't know if I was a gent or a twunt that day. Although given my track record, I have a pretty good idea.
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 11:57, Reply)
in fact, fuck it, worthy of its own (fiftieth re)post
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 11:56, 2 replies)
My sister-in-law had to drive her boss's Porsche to the airport to pick him up. While waiting for him to arrive she opened a pack of peanuts, but as she pulled it open it burst and peanuts sprayed everywhere. She hurriedly cleared up the mess just before her boss arrived. "Everything alright with the car?", he asked as they set off. "Yes!", squeaked his secretary. But it was a hot day and so the boss put the air-blowers on full blast, whereupon peanuts came shooting out of the vents, all over him.

OK, I didn't see this one, but my sister-in-law swears it's true.
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 11:50, 8 replies)
I coulda been a doctor, me.
So there we were. Pasty faced nerds, about to sit down to a good hard game of Cosmic Encounter. (It's a wonder we weren't knee deep in totty, really.)

Being teenagers and therefore stupid, we decided to race through my mate's house to the room where we had all the gaming stuff. One of our lot then discovered that if you try to slow down whilst running across a rug that's on a polished floor, you perform a credible bicycle kick and land like a sack of shit on the small of your back.

So far, so funny. However, when he landed there was a loud cracking noise and he started to scream in pain. "My back! My back! I've broken my back!"

If this happened today, I would be very worried, would keep him from moving and call an ambulance. Probably. But then, aged 14, I had a more direct outlook on medical care.

"Oh no you haven't you big poof, get your fat arse off the floor. If you'd broken your back you'd not feel -this-."

*cue a series of vigorous kicks*

Thatcher would've been proud.

In the end, it turns out that I was right. He'd landed on a plastic dice case which had merely embedded itself into his tender flesh. He probably lost 1 HP or something.

tldr: I cured a broken spine, like a boss
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 11:48, Reply)

(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 11:43, 6 replies)
Looks like QOTW is down one user today
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 11:27, 12 replies)
They were planning on modding that Bea Arthur picture a lot quicker than 'three weeks after it started appearing' but Scaryduck slipped on a banana skin and accidentally got al his fingers impaed on Jack Russells.

(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 11:21, Reply)
I used to work in a large open plan office
I sat at a group of 4 desks. Directly in front of me was another group of such desks.

Ken, my supervisor, was a lovely guy but of no use at all. He liked to walk around the office with a sheet of paper in his hand, feigning activity.

On one such day, he quickly stood up from his desk and burled round with the now-customary sheet of paper in hand.

Tragically he had forgotten about the small waste-paper basket that was right behind his chair. Somehow he managed to plant his foot RIGHT in it, leading to a quite memorable series of cartwheels down the office.

All I could see from my seat was a pair of feet, then a flailing pair of hands, then feet, etc.

It was at that moment that I realised that mankind breaks down into 2 main groups; the group that immediately stands up and offers assistance to a senior member of staff who's now head-first under someone's desk, and the group who sits and pisses themselves at their desk.

I'm so sorry Ken.
(, Mon 6 Oct 2014, 11:19, Reply)

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