Oh Johnny, where art thou?
I'm fairly sure Johnny only came to Portsmouth University because he got lost on his way home from his A-level exams. Stumbling into the admissions office, he must have been so utterly bewildered by the Hampshire accent (so different from his native Essex drawl) that he blurted out an inquisitive "English?" at the enrollment officer, which is how he ended up studying Language and Literature alongside me all those years ago. Somehow, we even ended up sharing a house for a year.

Vacant-eyed, slack of jaw, Johnny was a loveable little bundle of podge without a single opinion of his own - he'd bimble backwards and forwards through a conversation trying to please everyone, then reach the lacklustre conclusion of "well I dunno reaaaalllly", bringing his contribution to an indecisive end.

Yet somehow Johnny was blessed with superhuman powers, which could only be unleashed through serious alcohol consumption. After three pints of cheap lager, this young drone from Colchester would become agitated, perplexed, then increasingly outraged, until he would tear at his clothing in a desperate attempt to get naked like The Hulk, all the better to rain down his furious anger on the unwitting and undeserving. No pint glass would go unsmashed, no pub table left unturned, when Johnny succumbed to his alcoholic rages.

This Jekyll-and-Hyde transformation became so legendary that students from other courses, other faculties, possibly other fucking universities, would hunt him down once classes had finished and offer to buy him booze. He lapped that shit up, felt like he was the most popular man in Portsmouth, but he was little more than a wind-up toy for the millenial generation. Like a drunken Buckaroo, it was a game of finding just the right amount of alcohol to reach his tipping point, at which moment he would unleash the full force of his tiny mind and feeble muscles.

Johnny was able to curl out a log into each pocket of a pool table in a single session, squatting on the baize like an apoplectic robin forcing out some particularly large eggs. He didn't wipe after.

Johnny lay back and let strangers force-feed him Maltesers, while a rugby forward jammed a thumb under his chin to prevent him swallowing. The resulting photo, named "54", was entered into a photography competition at the local gallery, and came third.

Johnny bought a load of used porn mags from a junk store, tore out the staples, then set about plastering his bedroom walls with the loose pages, using his own semen as glue. He only managed one page before passing out, and we found him the next morning, grey y-fronts round his ankles, unable to stand because his arm had gone numb and he couldn't get off the floor. The sight of his bare arse atop a sea of bemulleted naked women, voice plaintively mewling "help me mate, I can't get up, I think I'm done for" is forever etched in my mind.

And yet, despite the complete destruction of our university house, the endless visits from the police, the lingering stench of ferret shit from one of his odd pet experiments, and the sight of his mum burning everything he owned in our back garden, I sort of miss that flubbery sack of gormlessness and malice. I haven't seen him for over a decade, but I hope he's avoided prison.
( Grrrmachine the indifference engine, Tue 7 Jul 2015, 8:20, 10 replies)

This story is well lol even if you think it isn't
I have a mate who is a liability, lets call him Alan. Growing up he used to do daft stuff like running over the top of peoples cars and stuff like that. He would always get caught and bollocked for it too. He hasn't changed much.
One night we were walking home escorting some young ladies back from the pub to an after pub party at my house. Alan saw two massive blokes walking up the other side of the road and thought he would offer them a chip. When they replied to the negative my dear friend thought it would be best to help them change their mind by throwing chips at them. We dragged him away but they followed us home and after some strong words they decided the best thing to do was to kick my front door in.
The police were called and came out they asked who got the best look at them and one of my other mates replied that he had and off he went in the police car to see if he could find them. The rest of us sat down with the other policeman and some of us gave statements. Shortly afterwards we realised Alan wasn't in the house, very shortly afterwards it came through on the radio that they had found them. All three of them and arrested them. Alan had gone in to the kitchen and nicked a carving knife and was found outside a supermarket holding them at knifepoint. He tried to explain to the police that he just didn't want them to get away and was helping them out. They of course bought it and gave him one of those hero medals? No, he spent the night in the cells and was let off with a caution for possession of a bladed article the next morning (luckily). The two guys went to court and had to pay compensation to the tune of about a third of what it cost to replace the door and frame. Thats why we have insurance apparently.

Months later I received an unexpected delivery. The police sent me the knife back.

Oh yeh and it made me shit my pants!
( MEATSNAKE Richard Hammond, Thu 2 Jul 2015, 14:23, 8 replies)

Well, I Suppose Yes...
A few years ago a bunch of Mancs and me, the token Geordie went over to Amsterdam for a mates Stag Night. We had a cracking weekend but the funniest bit was our last night.

On our final evening there we all headed for a nice pub I knew that was just on the edge of the Red Light District. While we were having a few beers, somebody took up a collection to get Johnny, the groom, a whore for his final night of freedom. Well we raised about a hundred quid and one of the lads, a known fanny-rat, scuttled off into the darkness to find the best-looking whore he could find. After about an hour he came back and announced he'd found a cracker and we then all tried to persuade the groom to go and do his duty.

Well Johnny was adamant. He was getting married the next week to the girl of his dreams and there was no way he was going with a lady of the night. And he didn't care that we'd already paid her.

"Hold on" said Alan another of the mob. "You mean we've already paid?"

"Yup" says Fanny Rat. "She's waiting in a room just round the corner"

"Well" says Alan "If we've already paid I suppose that I better go and shag her - it'd be a pity to waste the money"

So Alan and Fanny Rat headed off into the night.

"Hold on" says Chris "I put in some of that money so I want to at least watch!"

And with that, we all looked at each other and trooped off after Alan. We found Fanny Rat waiting outside a door to one of the prostitutes working rooms. Chris marches up and knocks on the door. BANG-BANG-BANG.

After few moments, the door opened and a slightly dishevelled, partially dressed girl opened the door.

"Yes?" she says.

"Hi" says Chris "You've got our mate in there and as we paid for you, we want to watch."

"Fuck off" says prostitute and slams the door in his face.

"So what do we do now?" says Chris "She won't let us watch!"

"Well we could give him immoral support" says someone at the back and with that a chant started by 20 pissed up blokes:

"Alan! Alan! Alan!"

As we were shouting encouragement to Alan, a bunch of about 40 Geordies turned up.

"What's going on?" says one of them

"Oh - our mates in there with a whore and we're just giving him some encouragement" I said.

"Marvellous!" says Geordie "We'll help you"

And with that the 40 Geordies joined the Manc contingent and this mighy roar split the skies.

"AA-LAN - AA-LAN - AA-LAN"

After a few minutes of this enormous sound the door flew open and tart was stood in the doorway, stark naked and tits heaving.

"Can you keep the bloody noise down please" she yelled. "Alan's trying to concentrate"

Cue 60 blokes collapsing in hysterics.

Cheers
( tangledupinblue hairy badge with moving eyes, Thu 2 Jul 2015, 14:17, 7 replies)

I knew a bloke called alan. A plumber with a red face, crushing handshake and a love for drink
He also liked swearing. "Fucking get fucking-well fucked" and similar. As he got older his behaviour got worse. Where once he'd been funny and irreverant he slowly turned boorish and cruel. Often he'd turn up unannounced with a six-pack, drink it all himself and some of our grog. Sometimes he'd pass out and shit his pants. Some old friends refused to speak with him after he told them he wished he'd fucked their daughters. He left his wife for this wierd English lady. She was bookish and introverted, but they had drinking in common. His adult kids hated her. His doctor told him he'd die if he kept drinking. He kept drinking and died of liver failure and other complications.
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Fri 3 Jul 2015, 23:52, 3 replies)

I dont know an Alan, but I do know a load of blokes in the middle east keep blowing things up in the name of him, does that count?
(SketchPhile http://tinyurl.com/ot5apbm, Fri 3 Jul 2015, 15:45, 4 replies)

in wales, they have to put signs up telling allan where the exit is
allan must be thick
( The Doveston haunted by the memory of his own amnesia, Fri 3 Jul 2015, 10:34, 4 replies)

Whassupp motherfuckers. Isn't this site dead YET?
TL:DR - Alan's a nonce..


My ex-mate Alan, who we shall call Ray because etc. skived, coasted and basically fiddled his way through life after leaving college. Don't think he ever had a proper job from 1991 to 2001, except for a YTS at a hi-fi store for a year after being booted out of college for hardly ever turning up. Went on an IT training course because he'd get an extra tenner in his dole. Found out if he got a work placement, he'd still get his extra tenner. Got a builder he knew to say he was working there, took 18 weeks off doing fuck all.
Anyway, in February 2001 he was arrested for having kiddie porn on his computer and also allegedly interfering with his 13yo brother in law. How we all laughed. Then in the September, he sold all his stuff, skipped bail and fled to France. With his pregnant wife and 3yo daughter. Did he succeed at this? No. Because rather than staying at cheap B&Bs and such, being smart and lying low, he booked them into a hotel in Cannes for two weeks. Ran out of cash, had to come home. Got put on remand, and eventually got 4 years. And that was pleading guilty. If you plead guilty, they knock a third off the sentence. So whatever the final indictment was, it carried a 6yr sentence.

In October 2013, the police knocked on my door and told me that he'd gotten a passport in my name, and his wife and daughter a passport in the names of another friend and her daughter. I've never had cause to apply for a passport, but if I do, I'm going to have to go to Durham with all the ID I can muster and tell them that I am who I say I am.

So Ray, you're a colossal cunt and hope you get bully raped by someone with horse AIDS, and then the hospital burns down.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 6 Jul 2015, 19:53, 15 replies)

"Alan?" aid Mr Beaver.
"Why, don't you know? He' the King. He' the Lord of the whole wood, but not often here, you undertand. Never in my time or my father' time. But the word ha reached u that he ha come back. He i in Narnia at thi moment. He'll ettle the White Queen all right. It i he, not you, that will ave Mr Tumnu."
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Fri 3 Jul 2015, 20:15, 5 replies)

I had an ex called Alan about 15 years back, who had temper issues
He once cracked someone's windscreen for nipping into a parking space that he was starting to reverse into.

While punching the offending car, he screamed, "Bitch, cunt, whore!" at the white-faced lady driver, then after a pause, added, "I'm a Christian."

We split up.
(Porcupine, Fri 3 Jul 2015, 14:20, 6 replies)

My mate, Chinese Arron, is a complete liability.
Whenever we get something to eat he complains constantly about how rubbery the food is.
(Roger McGough-Pipe, Fri 3 Jul 2015, 13:17, 1 reply)

( gone, Thu 2 Jul 2015, 16:04, 2 replies)