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This is a question Trouble

This week's theme is 'getting into trouble'. Tell us about the worst trouble you've been in - or about an occasion when somehow you got away with it against the odds.

(, Tue 8 Sep 2015, 14:18)
Pages: Popular, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

My Erotic Adventures with Jeremy Corbyn by [REDACTED]
I sat on the bed and waited for Jeremy to finish in the toilet.
"Yes, two wipes clean!" he shouted from the bathroom. A big flush followed. He dropped his trousers and sat down next to me and put his hand on my knee. "I love a bit of rumpy pumpy," he said. He proceeded to take off his socks, which had holes in them, and swung me around and started to take my knickers off. After pulling them past my knees, he fainted. A minute or so passed before he regained his composure. "Sorry about that, it's been a while." Straight in he went down on me like a cow chewing on new pastures. I had to tap him on the shoulder to stop. "I hadn't finished down pit!" he quipped then he began to penetrate me, well, as best he could. I received two thrusts of his member before he uttered 'Hezbollah!' a clear indication that he had orgasmed, but not in my vagina. "Sorry, I'm not comfortable releasing my juices into your fanny." He rolled off me, farted, and then fell asleep.
(, Mon 14 Sep 2015, 9:06, 10 replies)
Bob's House
I used to do the family grocery shopping on a Saturday morning taking the three year old nipper along for the ride. After a joyless hour and a half or so, during the drive home, I would suggest stopping at Bob's house to say hello.
The nipper always agreed because he got to run around, eat crisps and have an orange juice.
When questioned by mum, the nipper's response of a visit to Bob's house was innocent enough.
Until that fateful day... she who must be obeyed told me that the kid had pointed out Bob's house.
I had to laugh. I had had a good run but my leisurely pint on a Saturday afternoon in my local was curtailed.
(, Tue 8 Sep 2015, 17:40, 1 reply)
"Do you know the meaning of 'amoral'?" thundered my headmaster, veins popping out of his forehead.
He looked like John Major during a stranglewank; grey suit, grey hair with a side-parting, ashen skin flecked with the crimson of burst capillaries in his apoplectic rage. I looked back at him, my sixth-form phizzog bearing a punchably smug grin.

"Yes sir, that's why I wrote the letters".

He wasn't expecting a frank confession. For two weeks, boys had been pulled from classrooms at the whim of the Head to be interrogated about a series of letters, published in the local newspaper under the name 'Mrs. Mullet', shaming the school's recent spending policy. Once the rumour mill had coughed up a suspect, I was hauled in for questioning.

"Wipe that idiot smile off your face. You think this is funny?" he blasted. "You've dragged the entire school into disrepute." The vice-head, called in to witness the meeting, nodded his agreement.

"Did I sir? Most of the parents who wrote in seemed to agree with me, that a new boiler was more important than a third cricket pitch".

The headmaster exploded. He screamed, he shouted, he threatened suspension, expulsion, banning me from taking my A-level exams, stripping me of my prefect's badge (as if I gave a single flying fuck about that). I stood facing him, to attention, hands behind my back, outwardly calm but inwardly struggling to keep my sphincter sealed, while he flew completely and utterly off his handle.

"Well?" he finally concluded, staring me down while my own gaze darted towards the dry spittle in the corners of his lips. I swallowed in a desperate attempt to spread some saliva around my own painfully dry mouth.

"Is that your official comment, sir?" I replied, my voice ever so slightly breaking with the forced bravado. "Only the editor has asked me for the story, since you wouldn't return his phone calls."

The vice-head managed to bundle me out the door before the Head had completed the vault over his desk, and as I was frogmarched away the corridor shook with the furious cry of "GODFUCKINGDAMMIT I HATE CHILDREEEEEEENNNNNNN" echoing from the Headmaster's office.
(, Fri 11 Sep 2015, 10:43, 8 replies)
Kirk squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.
"Goddammit Jim, I'm a doctor not a psychic, just tell me what the problem is".
"Well, Doctor its kind. Of. Embarrassing", Kirk stuttered in his usual overly-dramatic way.
"Just tell me man, I'm your doctor."
Kirk sweated profusely, eyes darting around the medbay. "It happened when we. Met. That. Thing. On Magalfa 9."
McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd warned his captain untold times about putting his cock in green-skinned alien bints, but Kirk was wont to listen. "What have you picked up this time?" he droned. "Drop your pants and let me look."
"It's not the. Woman. That's the problem," Kirk enunced, as he unbuttoned his fly. "But after. Our. particularlyamourouspassion I. ReachedOut. Forsomethingto. Wipe myself clean. And now it's. Stuck."
McCoy had turned his back to pull on some medical gloves, fearful of catching another virulent rash from the captain's log. As he turned around to face the patient, his eyebrows soared so high up his forehead that even a Vulcan would be impressed. "Good God Jim, is that a merkin? Your whole damn area is covered in fur!"
"That's. Not fur, Doc. I'm telling you, that's how I got. Into. Tribble."
(, Wed 16 Sep 2015, 7:39, 17 replies)
about 15 or so years ago, a mate and I were driving in a van through the bayous of Lousiana heading to New Orleans, when we saw the flashing lights of a police car in the mirror
I wasn't speeding, couldn't think of anything we might have done, but this copper was closing in fast and wanted us to pull over. We stopped and two policeman got out of their vehicle. When I opened the door, one pulled his gun and yelled at us to stay in the car. He then commanded us to get out slowly, still with his gun drawn, and put our hands on his police car and not move. I asked them what we were being pulled over for and he said he had a report of an escaping van from the next county, and we were all just going to wait until the other county police arrived. He thought that it might be a break-in.
I exchanged a glance with my friend, and his stare back showed me he was thinking the same thing. We were going to a big street party in New Orleans, not the Mardi Gras, and had bought LSD in San Francisco, to add to our substantial stash of marijuana. On top of this, an open bucket-bong was sitting unhidden in the rear of the van. If they opened the van door, we were fucked. If it's a break-in, they're going to search the van I thought, whether we did it or not. I also recalled reading that Louisiana had automatic jail time for class A possession, and was silently cursing my idiocy for not at least hiding it somewhere. My mate had also just got married to a Mexican girl in Austin (who years later left him for another man and then got a role in the Star Wars movie, by the by), and had even more to lose if we ended up in a backwater jail.
More police kept arriving, and had the sort of exchanges that in hindsight were amusing, but at the time my mind was a bit preoccupied. "They're Orrstraylian." "Do they speak English" "Oh yeah. They speak it real good". After half an hour in limbo, the sherrif of the next county showed up and was able to explain why the call had been put out. We had stayed the night in the carpark of a Fisheries and Wildlife office. My mate had woken up and taken a morning piss against a tree. Some women had rung up who must have been sticky-beaking from the window of a house at least 100 yards away to say that a man was flashing his cock at her.
We apologised, the police lost interest and started talking about gumbo that one of their wives was cooking, I shit you not. After driving a few clicks away from the scene, my mate had a bit of a turn as the reality sunk in of how close we'd come to whole heap of unwanted shit, I imagine, and asked me to take over the driving.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2015, 2:30, 1 reply)
I worked on a demolition site in Yorkshire a few years ago.
Some scaffolding gave way beneath me, and that's how I ended up in t' rubble.
(, Wed 9 Sep 2015, 21:52, 10 replies)
In which a wildly out of his depth Richard does a burglary in South East London, gets caught, but talks himself out of it.
I have been debating whether to share this tale as it is most unsavoury, and merely recalling it fills me a not inconsiderable amount of distress, it was truly not good.

In the early 90s an 18 year old middle class Richard is selling small quantities of hashish to fund his own consumption and the odd beer. I was doing this for an older fellow (the son of diplomats, unrelated and pointless fact fans) with some quiet success for a while, when through friends I met a chap who could sort out large numbers of Es; this being the golden years of rave there was much to be made and my hash supplier decided to invest in 100. I had a couple of merry nights out with the supplier in London, he was a right ‘geezer’ but highly entertaining company. I stayed at his bedsit in Orpington once or twice after fun-packed nights out sampling these tablets.

Unfortunately he was also a little scrote, and promptly vanished with the money. No pills, hash man v cross and broke. He made me take him to where this chap lived in the hope of catching him there, I suppose. And this is where it gets really fucked up. I noticed an open window in this chap’s building and was able to climb in, the hash man waiting in a car park opposite. The room was clearly deserted so I began to fill a suitcase with the meagre belongings of this fellow (I got a great Frankie Bones mixtape out of it). As I was doing this, the door opened and to - my horror - the landlord came in, with a prospective new tenant for the room. I nearly vomited with fear – but on the spur of the moment blurted out some bullshit that the chap had left me in his room and had fucked off, owing me money. Incredibly, the chap bought it and let me fill the case and go.

The look on my chum’s face as I walked out the front door shaking the landlord’s hand was fucking priceless. The truly sordid additional twist on this horrible tale is that not two minutes before the landlord came in I had been caught short and, with no other option, had crapped in the sink.

This is 100% true and I have never told anyone before except my brother.

The end.
(, Fri 11 Sep 2015, 15:05, 12 replies)
I got put on the nawty step for programming a /talk chatbot that called someone a prick every time they said 'wanker'.
Admittedly things did get a little out of hand when someone else made a bot which replied 'wanker' any time someone said 'prick'.
www.b3ta.com/talk/7548951
(, Wed 9 Sep 2015, 20:24, 9 replies)
High four
When I delivered stuff and such like down South, the traffic was a real problem on the return leg. To avoid the chaos that is known as the A34 northbound at 4:30pm, I sought out a quiet back road that had quaint turns and picturesque location. It also had a hump-back bridge which could barely be taken at 30 without going light. One week I had use of the company 405 and I thought that if I took the bridge at 70mph I should defiantly get some air under the wheels.
The approach to the bridge was a longish straight and I got up to speed and checked the seatbelt. A car was coming the other way but I was confident of making the bridge well before it, so kept on with the challenge. I reached the point of take-off, everything went silent and I distinctly remember looking down on the roof of the other car as I cleared the bridge. The car landed on four wheels quite cleanly and I vacated the area pdq.
Two nights later on the evening news it was reported that a motorist in Oxford had jumped his car over a bridge and left tire marks on the roof of an oncoming vehicle. I had made the news again.
(, Tue 8 Sep 2015, 17:10, 30 replies)
Dear Jim,
Please could you fix it for me to meet Rolf Harris.
(, Thu 10 Sep 2015, 22:28, 5 replies)
School trip to Reculver
Geography trip day. Location: Reculver. Probably the most boring word ever heard by a 15 year old.

My dad drove me to school and dropped me off a little way off from the gates. I waved a big wave goodbye, then turned around. After a few steps I glance back - he's going the other way. Turning 180 degrees, I traipsed off on an adventure.

Well, I sat in the park and drew for a bit. Then got bored and went home.

Sneaking around the back, I peered out of a bush to scout out the interior. Shit! That was my mum at the window. Pretend not to see her. Wait, that won't work.

She went ballistic. Turns out the school had called home and everyone started to think I'd been kidnapped. They almost called the police. I felt pretty shetty.

Worst part was my dad drove me to Reculver and I had to go after all. It was as shit as it sounds.
(, Fri 18 Sep 2015, 22:10, 11 replies)
I was driving over a bridge in Oxford once
when a magic flying car driven by a wooden Italian marionette with a rapidly-extending proboscis sailed right over me. You couldn't make it up.
(, Tue 8 Sep 2015, 19:42, 3 replies)
hi there, 'question of the weekers'!
Richard here, I hope this finds you well.

Why not post a story?

All my love and fondest regards,

R x x x
(, Tue 15 Sep 2015, 17:52, 2 replies)
A load of us all gathered round at rachelswipe's flat one evening and skyped psychochomp
It was totes hilare, until he found out it was us.
(, Mon 14 Sep 2015, 15:29, 22 replies)


(, Thu 10 Sep 2015, 15:20, 3 replies)
I suspected trouble
Thankfully, I faced the music and danced
(, Wed 9 Sep 2015, 21:16, Reply)
Shampoo

(, Tue 8 Sep 2015, 14:23, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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