» The thing I've been most ashamed of doing with a penis

I might regret this.
In the bath once, as a youngster, I found myself struck by the sudden urge to piss. So sudden, in fact, that a little bit started coming out.

In panic I pinched my foreskin tightly and held the rest in, but that little bit of wazz demonstrated a previously alien phenomena to me. My foreskin had swollen slightly from the urine contained within.

Fuck it, I thought. Let's go down the rabbit hole.

Still pinching tightly, I started very gently letting a stream of wee into my sealed cock chamber, and fuck me sideways the bugger wouldn't stop swelling. I kept going, watching the skin stretch out and expand til my cock looked like a fleshy toffee apple.

Unable to contain myself, I shouted for brother to come witness the miracle, but hurry, you must hurry, cos I can't hold it much longer!

He pounded up the stairs, burst into the bathroom, and was greeted with the sight of me in the bath pinching my ridiculously top-heavy child nob and giggling hysterically. He pointed, let out an almighty guffaw, then FLICKED my bell-end with all his might, sending a good egg-cup's worth of piss all over my chest and face and making me cry like the child I was in the process.
(Thu 12th Mar 2009, 17:22, More)

» Blood

Tough ex-Navy turned copper.
That's my father.
One night he was roused from his sleep by some internal commotion of the mind. Sitting up in his marital bed he saw a darkened stranger stood in the room – "Protect the queen!" screamed his better senses.

Like an heroic bastard he leapt out of bed and clocked the intruder an almighty thunder bollocks of a left hook, right in the fucking gums.

Sadly, the demented twat had simply been having yet another nightmare. The evil burglar was nothing more than papa's reflection in the tall mirror next to the bed. Cue lots of screaming and a rather horrified Ma Bag Shanker waking to the sight of her beloved squirting high pressure arterial blood all over the room, right out of the wrist.

He has no feeling in that hand to this day, and a veritable canyon of a scar. But I tell you what – his reflection has never fucked with him since.
(Thu 7th Aug 2008, 15:12, More)

» Mobile phone disasters

Long one, in which murder is on the cards.
No polite way to put this – I used to enjoy cocaine. That’s not quite right. As an alarming amount of people will say, I used to fucking LOVE cocaine.

Due to my insatiable desire for this fucking glorious, devilish shit, me and a remarkably friendly dealer (read: fella that really enjoyed getting me hooked on his product so that I spunked all my money on it) became quite pally, and I’d often go round his gaff and spend a rather jolly 24 hours completely fucking myself up at the cost of just a few hundred pounds. Bargain.

After such a session, I retired back to my own place in the morning sun bracing myself for a pleasant day of mild ales, light comedy DVDs and the occasional pathetic failure of a wank (main reason I stopped the stuff), when I got a text from a chap I knew. I hesitate to call him a friend. He was a bloke who largely I spent my time subtly avoiding, because he was an unpredictable fucking psychopath of the highest, knife-wielding order, but I’d sometimes drop in for a pint with him then make my excuses quick sharp. Think Begby, but with a long beard and a penchant for uninvited buggery when he felt slighted. Unfortunately, that’s true.

“Alright m8, how the fuks it going?”

Civilised enough, and pretty much par for the course for him. “Not bad,” I sent back, “Only just got to bed!”.

“Well dont get 2 comfy, I’m poppin round in a min”

Oh for fucks sake. This got me on edge. You know in Sexy Beast when they find out Ben Kingsley’s coming round ‘just to have a chat’ … yeah, like that. I really didn’t want this, especially in my ravaged, paranoid state. I figured a charm offensive would be the best bet – just make my excuses, and pray he understands.

“Aw man, bad timing. I’m only getting half an hour’s kip then I’ve got to drive my sister to the airport.”

I thought that combined everything – family obligations, unavoidable deadlines, incredible self-sacrifice and effort on my part. But the text I got back was:

“Fuk u ya fuking cunt Im on my fukin way uve been fuking me off 2 much lately an Im gnna fuckin show you what fuckin happens to cunts like u”

Eep.

I took this seriously. You just did not fuck about with this guy – the kind of bloke you either killed, or run away from as fast as your out-of-your-depth legs can carry you. I’m not really into the whole ‘murder and prison’ thing, so I had to choose the latter. I jumped in my car, still wired to hell, and just drove like fuck pouring with sweat and shitting myself, straight to the only hard guy I knew that might be able to help – the aforementioned dealer.

Burst through his door and almost collapsed in his arms, whimpering “Man, fuck man, fuck, fucking [absolute raging lunatic I’m still too scared to name] is after me and I don’t know why, you’ve got to fucking help me.”

My mate was none too pleased. I believe his response was along the lines of “You dozy cunt, what the fuck have you come round here for? If he finds you …”

Then, rather inevitably in retrospect, he was cut off by the sound of a car screeching to a halt outside his house.

Psycho got out and kicked the front door in in one go.

Me and matey tried to leg it up the stairs. Psycho grabbed my legs, threw me into the hallway, then weirdly, I thought, completely ignored me and carried on running. He got to my mate, rabbit punched him like a fucking bulldozer, then sat on his chest and began smashing his face over and over again, shouting “You ain’t going to the fucking airport now you cunt!”

Need I carry on?

When I’d left that morning, I’d picked up my mate’s (identical) phone. And had consequently told a very dangerous man we both knew, much higher up the ‘selling pyramid’, that I wasn’t available to pay him a considerable amount of money cos I was “going to the airport.” Apparently that doesn’t sit well with maniacs that want cash.

Thank fuck I figured this out before my mate got beaten to death. Simple shout of “Psycho, he’s got your money, I texted you from his phone by mistake” worked a lot better than I could ever have hoped. Especially cos I had no idea whether he had his money or not. Turns out he did, and we all lived happily every after.*

*Old dealer is in prison, psycho is very much no longer of this earth.

Length? Shrivelled as you like.
(Tue 4th Aug 2009, 20:13, More)

» What's the hardest you've tried to get dumped?

More of an accident really ...
But I was glad it ended.
I was in the dying breaths of a drawn-out relationship, and naturally ended up drunkenly rutting with a friend. Sadly, I did this sans sheath, and contracted the most virulent strain of chlamydia imaginable. When erect, it looked like a stiffened murder victim. Flaccid, like a sulking clitoris with hayfever.
I gritted my teeth and hoped it would go away, and successfully abstained from nude tomfoolery with my gf for about three days. Finally, again after lots of booze, I allowed her to de-trouser me, hoping a quick gobble would pass without incident. Of course, it did not. As soon as my pants slipped off there was no mistaking that a lot was amiss. My stinking, suppurating womb ferret popped out, angry tumescent foreskin glistening with what looked like ghee and smelled like Grimsby. We were only young, but a woman instinctively knows a wrong-cock when she sees one. Bit like with wasps. They just scream ‘danger’.
The whole sorry story spilled out and we were done. Unfortunately she told a not inconsiderable number of friends, and being in a small town, I soon became known as ‘the one with Aids’ (god bless Chinese whispers) and didn’t get any poontang again til I went to Uni.
(Thu 5th Jun 2008, 15:55, More)

» Blood

Venison doom.
Just before christmas a friend and I stopped on the way home from work to move a crippled deer out of the road – it was twitching in the middle of the lane and drivers were skidding and swerving to avoid it. An accident was inevitable.

Yes it was.

My mate tossed the dying beast onto the verge and crossed the road back towards me, which is when a car zoomed over the hill at fifty and splatted the poor fucker like, ahem, a deer in the headlights. He sailed about 20 metres through the air and landed in an ungainly heap on the other side of the road. I could see immediately that his leg was destroyed – it was pointing in four different directions. Unfortunately, another car then came along and went over the mangled limb, crushing all the bone ends and muscle into the tarmac.

I got over there and found him with the left side of his forehead hanging off, making what we now jokingly refer to as 'the bad noise' – think of a sheep being forcibly deflated through its japs eye, something like that. Paramedics and the like soon turned up, and cut away his trousers, exposing a horror the likes of which I've never seen.

Basically, everything below the knee had pretty much exploded. There were three large gaping holes with muscle and bone and blood oozing out. On top of that, it later transpired that he had a broken skull, snapped left arm, broken collarbone, fractured vertebrae, broken pelvis, broken knee cap, broken ribs, and severe tissue loss on both legs from the second car. Also, they had to take out his stomach muscle and graft into his calf, as the original leg muscle was still on the road. Amazingly, he'll have made a full recovery in about six months from now. Jammy twat.

Went back to the scene two weeks later and got that fucking deer's bastard head. It's in a bucket of bleach in the garden still.
(Mon 11th Aug 2008, 16:12, More)