Under pressure
I was once in the back of a bus on a remote highway when people in the front of the bus stood up and started screaming. A woman driving a station wagon just in front of the bus had completely lost control and hurtled down a steep slope. The bus stopped and emergency services were called, but because of the remote location they weren't expected for an hour. Alone, I clambered down the slope to help.

The vehicle had rolled and come to rest on its roof. The roof had collapsed, pinning the woman driver's head hard against her left shoulder. She was alive, and mostly intact, but trapped. She couldn't move or say anything. All she could do was suffer in pain.

I tried to relieve the pressure on her head. I tried to roll the car a little bit so her head wouldn't grind into her shoulder quite so hard, but it was hard to gain any kind of leverage on that steep slope. I tried to use the fuel-filling inlet for purchase, but the timber I was using for leverage kept slipping. I could provide a few seconds of relief, but the timber would slip, and the car would roll back, with the roof just grinding away even harder on her head.

After a time, I was forced to realize that the good I was doing amounted to torture, to which even the long delay for the arrival of competent help was preferable.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 23:51, 4 replies)

Can we just confirm that absolutely everyone on here is a R** F******** spare account and be done with it?

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 22:13, 29 replies)

Poor Will.

( GeordieJay Bummers are deaf, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 19:33, Reply)

Remember this guy? Bit odd, seemed to be comfortable enough with who he was though.
www.b3ta.com/questions/roadtrip/post1282937
( Zuowan, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 16:51, 6 replies)

rape joke

( The Doveston haunted by the memory of his own amnesia, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 16:14, 10 replies)

I have a story in Badger's fail archive.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 16:12, 25 replies)

I once had a ride in a lift with Kipper Fillets.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 16:03, 1 reply)

A girl in a nightclub once rubbed up against my willy.
Well, I think she was a girl.

Ah, fuck it. Who cares.
(username failed moderation, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 15:58, 6 replies)

Whispers in the Moonlight.
I guess I was around five when I first heard them, the Voices. But it wasn't until my tenth birthday that I revealed my secret to anyone else. Since then I'd done my best to hide my secret, my power, my life force. Once it was out it the open I was chastised, bullied, poked, prodded and examined. All to no avail.

Until I started to act on their wishes, the Voices, everyone just assumed I was ill - but manageably so. The first time I acted on their instructions, people laughed. The second, they smiled. The third, they whispered and threw me looks of concern. And every time after that, they wept.

I seemed to scare people. My obsession seemed to tap into their deepest fears. And one time, I did it badly. I did it in the garden, I did it with my excrement and she saw, my beloved sister saw me.

She screamed and ran to tell Mum, who screamed in turn and ran to tell Dad, who picked up the phone purposefully and dialled that three-digit number. When they arrived to collect me I was disappointed, no men in white coats, no blaring sirens, just a dull and unexceptional private car, the only give-away being the lanyard hanging from the driver's neck, an access all areas pass to the dreaded Harplands.

During the ride they hadn't had to sedate me. I'd self-medicated by staring intensely at every tree, door and road sign that we passed, trying desperately to commit to memory everything that I knew I'd never see again. I was leaving my sanctuary, leaving the leafy lanes and aging oaks of my youth. I tried to concentrate on every blade of grass in the rolling fields, knowing full well that where I was headed, nature would be only visible in my mind.

When we pulled up to the dirty grey concrete slab of a building, my driver waved his pass and the gates parted. As slowly as a funeral procession, we cruised down the tarmacked drive to a collection of even larger, even dirtier set of concrete blocks. This was to be my home now. The threat had become my reality, I'd done it too many times, I'd used up too many last warnings, I was responsible for my own actions.

On arrival I was processed. And exactly as I knew they would, they forcibly cleansed me, injected me, shaved my head and threw me naked into a brightly-lit chamber. It was for observation they said. They needed to monitor me to see if I'd do it again. I couldn't have clothes, hair or any outside influences. I was to be sensorily deprived. They had to understand if outside influences were the cause. They had to be clear what the triggers were and that way they would be able to understand.

The first few nights nothing happened. In fact, the first few weeks provided not one episode. It seemed the Voices had departed. This was the longest I'd existed without them. Maybe the experiment had worked. With nothing to stimulate me and therefore the Voices, my mind was quiet. I simply sat for hours a day in a blissful stupor, clear of their noise and their demands. I hoped to God that all had come to pass.

Then they woke me one night, the Voices, and clearer than they'd ever been, they began again with their demands. I knew what I must do, I'd done it a hundred times before. And now I had to do it again.

In my chamber, my cell, my home there was nothing I could use. Padded, wide and high, the room offered no way for me to action their task. But their message, the Voices, was louder than ever. I had to obey, I had to comply, I had to complete.

My body would have to be my tools. Running my tongue around my mouth I felt my teeth, my strong, sturdy teeth. Quick as a flash I bent over and kneed myself in the face as hard a humanly possible. Perfection. My front two teeth came cleanly out of their gummy beds. I kneed myself again and again. I pulled, I yanked and twisted every single one of my beautiful teeth out of their sockets. The Voices would be pleased.

Gathering my bloodstained molars and incisors, I knelt and muttered to myself and I began to build. I knew what to do. I knew the dimensions, I knew the schematics off by heart. And using snot, phlegm and semen as glue, I finished my masterpiece and stood back to bask in its glory, the Voices exalting in my head.

There was a crackle. Then a noise. A voice was coming over the hospital's PA system, the voice was hysterical, not like my Voices, not calm, collected and clear. No, this was another voice entirely, a voice of danger, of fear, of doom.

'Get someone in here now!' It screamed, 'NOW!'
'What's he doing?'
'Can't you see what he's doing?'
'Oh Jesus Christ. Oh Jesus Christ. He's doing it again. He's doing it with his teeth!'
'Oh man...oh no...dear God...no...he's building a cunting pizza oven with his teeth...with his fucking TEETH!'
( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 15:17, 14 replies)

Changing my pants and doing the hoovering.
This is what my girlfriend makes me do AT LEAST ONCE A MONTH.
( Brandy_Bumwinkle, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 14:38, 12 replies)

Not long out of uni and off with my boyfriend on out first holiday together..
We were more culturally inclined than sunworshippers, and poor with it, so we were quite pleased to find a nice cheap deal for the boat across to Belgium for a few days of beer and architecture.

Two days in and it was clear, most certainly in the case of my other half, that beer was winning the day. And night. And well into the next morning. We'd done (fucking) Bruges on the first day as it was just up the road from the city we were staying in and had kinda ticked 'culture' off the list. So beer it was. After getting rather 'tanked up' on the local paint stripper my previously mild mannered boyfriend became rather, er, sexually suggestive. Now whether this was a previously unaired peccadilo or whether he'd always meant to bring it up, I have no idea, but it went well beyond the realms of what I personally would consider normal. Or even a turn on. Or hygienic.

Safe to say, my shock was clear for him to see and he fled into the Belgian night with a mix of drunkrage and embarrassment. I returned to our hotel room for a lie down and a wind down to await his return (his pissed state would aid rather than hinder his return so I wasn't worried). A few hours later he returned with a look of shame in his face and confession on his lips. He'd apparently wandered off into a particular 'area' of the city which, fortuitously for him, could provide the very needs he now knew would NOT be forthcoming from his girlfriend. So with a heavy heart and a lightened wallet he told me the whole story. I was kinda in love with the freaky pervert, so I forgave him and we spent the rest of the holiday pretty much sober.

There are many things I'll do for my boyfriend and many I wont, but at least he knows that if I wont do it a Ghent whore will.
( Ms Shenanigans put something interesting here later, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 14:20, 38 replies)

Outward Bound Course, Eskdale.
November, 1965, Eskdale, Lake District.Our group,Shackleton Patrol,were housed on the ground floor of a stable block in the grounds of the main building.Above us on the first floor were another group whose name I forget but let's call them Twats in line with the competitive ethos of the course.Anyway, one night midway through the course the group above us were being particularly rowdy late into the night and as I knew we had a long hike to face the following day,I was a bit pissed off.Now, I am no mimic but by chance I found I could impersonate the voice of their adult tutor really easily so I slipped out of my bunk bed, crept upstairs and on opening their dorm door told them all to pipe down and get to sleep using his voice.There was silence as I crept back downstairs and into my bunk but within ten minutes the racket had resumed as they had presumed their tutor had returned to his room in the main house.I was incensed... how dare they disobey their tutor.I crept back upstairs,opened their door and once again using his voice ordered them all to change into their PE kit,go down to the lake and run around it until further notice.It was November,it was 1.15am,it was snowing and it was fucking cold but I was not shivering with cold as I lay once again in my bunk.I was shitting myself.At 16 I was the youngest on the course and when I heard the muttering,swearing rabble trundling down the stairs I knew I faced a beating if they ever discovered it was me.A good forty minutes passed before I heard them return after being confronted by a staff member and they weren't at all happy.No-one,even members of my own group, knew it was me and I survived the course unscathed.
PS If you were one of the poor suckers I pranked:
1) what the fuck are you doing on this site you're too old
2)I'm sorry
3)can I return to this country from exile now?
(mallyjoe, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 13:41, 12 replies)

fucking manners
a couple of weeks ago, i went to my friend's fiance's 40th dinner party. it was in a very nice and rather fancy italian restaurant in notting hill. he is iraqi, and i was sitting next to his aunt. she speaks some english but with a very strong accent, and has a tendency to get a bit shouty with excitement when she is trying to make herself understood. we were having a nice conversation, when the food arrived, and the shouty started. the birthday boy had pre-ordered because there were so many of us.

being vegetarian, i wasn't able to eat most of it (which was fine by me, as the wine was excellent). but the aunt was most distressed by this. and when she saw some mushroom bruschetta, she practically mugged the other diners for me. i peered at it dubiously. it really did not look like mushroom, but it was hard to tell in the combination of crap light and excellent wine. the aunt insisted. so did i. finally the shouty got too much for me, and i gave in. and found myself with a big slimy mouthful of fucking bonemarrow on toast. it was beyond gross, and yet i couldn't bring myself to tell her, so i had to swallow it. urrrrgh.

next up: it was time for the many delicious looking stone baked pizzas. the birthday boy had only ordered a steve davis for the vegetarians, so you'd think that would be easy to spot. it's the one with no toppings. desperate to feed me, bewildered that i had eaten so little starter, the shouty aunt shouted around the table until a margharita was produced and sent across. she cut me an enormous piece, put it on my plate (my views on people sharing food/eating leftovers/touching food are well documented on here) and beamed at me. reluctantly, i abandoned the thought of getting a nice finger-free virginal piece for myself, and bit.

into what tasted like a victorian prostitute's pants.

fucking tuna and chilli, lurking under the cheese. the bitch had done me twice. and yet again, i had to swallow and pretend it was all fine, but i was full and didn't want any more, just so as not to hurt her feelings.

fucking hell. they'd better not sit me next to her at the wedding.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 13:36, 76 replies)

Well - in a nutshell
Now it's only 5' 4".
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 13:25, 15 replies)

Marching.
Right, left, right, left, right?
(The Magic Number is neither magic nor a number, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 13:19, Reply)

Yes

( CaptainCrackerjack live trout, slow motion, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 13:16, Reply)

b3ta.com/questions/badideas/post2332463
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 13:12, 1 reply)

haha, rape!

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 12:55, 1 reply)

Richard Fairbrass.
Right, Said Fred?
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 12:53, Reply)

Fuck everyone else's stories...
I wanna hear more about Freddy Woo's demented relatives.
(eViLegion Chief Commissioner of the Scottish Lunacy Board, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 12:36, 1 reply)

sausaging
right, stags?
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 12:25, 6 replies)

Disallowment of equal rights and recognition as perpetuated by the outmoded and obsolete social control mechanisms of the church, right, gays?

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 12:24, Reply)

Circumcision... Right Goys?

( GeordieJay Bummers are deaf, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 12:15, 1 reply)

Once, I drank too much, did too many drugs and threw up. I hate waste and so this was against my will.

( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 12:14, 4 replies)

Has anyone said b3ta yet?
Wearing trousers to a wedding, pissing in mouth, something about fartbelm, mods fingering dogs, Dr. Who, Madeleine McCann, Star Wars.

Next question.
(Figmaus, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 12:13, 3 replies)

Marriage, right, guys?!

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 12:11, 4 replies)

And now I have to face those consequences...

(Gusofnavarone always makes a map of france from sarnies, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 11:38, 2 replies)

I was made to go first or face the consequences

(Gusofnavarone always makes a map of france from sarnies, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 11:37, Reply)

FIRST

( GeordieJay Bummers are deaf, Thu 31 Jul 2014, 11:37, Reply)