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This is a question Caught!

MJPerry asks: Masturbating, stealing, making the cat dance... when did someone catch you doing something you wanted to remain secret?

(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 14:01)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

The urinals are over there...
Some years ago, I was driving the wagon up through darkest Lincolnshire at about 5 in the morning, when the chocolate U-boat alarm went off. It was a rural B-road, nobody about.

Just up ahead I spied a layby. Result! Park up, grab yesterday's Daily Spurt and leg it for the field gate that I'd carefully obscured with the trailer. Drop half the paper over the gate and on the deck, kecks down and bombs away.

Just as I was hiding the evidence, another wagon pulled in. The driver leapt out and ran for the gate, obviously on the same mission. He saw me, pulled up short and stuttered out an embarrassed question about a local industrial estate.

"2 miles up the road mate. Oh, and you might want to go to the right of the gate when you climb over it."

Length? Standard adult descending colon. And yes, I washed my hands, with wiper fluid.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 20:35, Reply)
a few words on porn
most recently my dad was helping me with something on the computer that required an image - the last folder i has saved into was my *special* folder so i clicked on open and the screen filled with thumbnails of my collection of images (im glad it wasnt anything too *unusual* just a lady using vegatables in an interesting fashion) i turned redder than the slapped arse of a baboon and shot the mouse out to close the window but he obviously saw it but was very good about the whole thing - he left the room to allow me to kick myself over and over and over (which i then did) and never mentioned it again.

another one that happened a while ago - i was with this girl - il call her alex as that was her name - now she was by all acounts rather fucking filthy, any how to get to the point she had an acount with a website called fistsflush - her mum caught us watching a video from said site while giving each other some hand based relief. she just backed out the room but i heard her vomiting in the bog some 30 seconds later, the girl told me after i had gone the mum yellwed at her for about a hour straight about being a devient and so forth. still i dont think it helped much when the same thing happened 3 weeks later....
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 20:15, 1 reply)
A mate of mine from Belfast,
whom we will call Jack for the sake of argument, was making his unsteady way home from a club one night with a group of friends when he walked past one of those large triangular 'STOP' signs on the pavement.

Aha, said Jack to himself. That'd look lovely in the corner of my bedroom.

He picked up the sign in a manner akin to a Womble hurdling, since it was bulky and triangular and he was rotund and wasted. Thus waddling down the High Street he devoted so much of his attention to balancing and holding on to his treasure that he failed to notice Plod standing right in front of him.

Plod: "You've got thirty seconds to decide whether to put that back where it came from or spend the night in the cells."
Jack: "Fairrrrrr enough..."
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 19:26, Reply)
bloody diet!
as a permanent porker, my mother would usually have me on a diet. being 16 stones at the age of 14 was not a good thing. however, i love food. this meant that i would find any way possible to cheat on my diet. mum phoned the school to instruct them to only serve me salads? i bought my anorexic mate's packed lunch every day. small and healthy portions for tea? i'd go to my mate's house and scoff all her biscuits. i was the master of the 30-second sandwich and could eat a bag of crisps without making a sound.
but, i hear you ask, if you were so sneaky, how did you get caught? well, i'm coming to that bit.
one day, after being denied a sandwich, i decided i was VERY HUNGRY. mum had just gone out, but i knew she wouldn't be long, so i set about finding quick and easy food. bingo! there in the cupboard lay a tin of smash, that cheap and rather nasty instant mash. i'm ashamed to say i love the stuff.
quick as a flash, i boiled the kettle and made myself a bowlful. i couldn't put the empty packet in the bin, or i'd be rumbled. so, i took it upstairs with me. the only room in the house with a lock on the door at that time was the bathroom, so i locked myself in and started to enjoy my fake potato treat. after quickly gobbling it up, i opened the bathroom window and flung out the empty packet, watching it sail over the wall into the alleyway behind the house, before taking the bowl back downstairs to wash it and put it away before my mother discovered my secret.
an hour later, i was called downstairs by an irate mum, who proceeded to bollock me for breaking my diet. i tried to deny it, but to no avail. i asked her how she knew and was told that, as my brother was coming home from his friend's house, he decided to take a shortcut through the alleyway, only to have an empty smash packet bounce off his head. he put two and two together, helped by the fact that he could see me closing the bathroom window. of course, he couldn't wait to tell mum.
guess who got no tea that night...
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 18:40, 12 replies)
"May I use your computer?" "Um.."
Visiting the family I asked my brother if I could use his computer. When we were out of parental hearing he said that a picture came up for a few seconds when he switched the computer on, he couldn't get rid of it and a mate of his who knew what they were doing with computers was coming up later in the week to sort it out. Said picture was of a topless large chested young lady. It was great watching him squirm and I decided not to tell him that I knew all about his penchant for WAM sites as he didn't delete his history from when I'd house sat a short time before.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 18:32, 2 replies)
There be treasure
I may have smuggled a girlfriend in and out of my parents' house (whilst in sixth form many moons ago) one snowy night for a quick fiddle before driving her home and then having to come up with some ridiculous excuse as to why I was driving around in the snow at 4 in the morning.

Was also caught naked in her room with her by her mum one afternoon during a double free period at school when we thought we were alone, but it wasn't funny just slightly awkward, she managed to feign ignorance and just said "I'll leave your tea here shall I?"
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 18:29, Reply)
I have caught mates at it with assorted 'ladies'...
...of variable quality and wished I hadn't. Scarred for life I can tell you. One was using an Addis fliptop bin to get purchase on a kitchen floor as he drunkenly rattled some poor crazy nutbunny. Another decided that he would start energetically humping another lady less than a foot from my sleepy head and refused to stop even when I told them to pack it in. Some people are so selfish!
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 18:25, Reply)
Caught by the fuzz
Twas 1993 or 94 and I was enjoying an interesting time with my then girlfriend in my mum's car (mine was being serviced and she had kindly let me borrow hers (before I get any grief from you lot)) in a quiet beachside car park at about midnight when another car pulls up alongside. Cue much scrambling, swearing, righting of seats and doing up of zips. Tap on window and a policeman asks that we wind the window down.
"Is this your car, sir?"
"No" (Oh bugger......here we go methinks)
"Then why are you sitting in it in a deserted car park in the middle of the night with this young lady?"
"Erm,.................(time passes).... I was too tired to drive and didn't want to wreck my mum's car so thought I would have a quick kip first." (Please please please be nice to me!!!)
"And your lady friend here is she tired too?"
"Erm,........(more time passes)......she's not insured for this car."
"Well sir, you look refreshed now, don't you think it might be a good idea to drop her home?"
"Yes officer, I think you might be right." My heart stopped beating quite so fast some hours later. My mum would have killed me.

Similar situation happened when I was rolling a joint in the car parked in an out of the way clifftop car park with my mate who shall remain nameless and a set of headlights appear in the rear view. You will never see two teenagers move so fast to hide weed and apparatus under a car chair (of all the places!!). Nearly passed a brick as they pulled up alongside. Looked at us, probably decided we were young gay lovers or similar and just drove off.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 18:19, Reply)
text message shame
my now ex missus was bored and wanted to play around on my nifty new phone as she was pretty ill and bored of tv, being the great boyfriend i said sure after 30 mins she turned to me and roared "what the fuck is this all about??"
she was referring to how i was telling my mate via text that once she was better i was gonna "dump her and start enjoying me life again and catch as many std's as possible!"
needless to say she beat me to it and punched me in the face
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 18:05, Reply)
Caught shagging
A few months into our teenage relationship, we began to get somewhat amorous on her kitchen floor. (The future) Mrs Sandettie slipped a leg out of her jeans and we made like the beast with two backs. However, her dad walked in.
"What the bleeding hell are you doing?" he asked rhetorically. We both jumped up, he gave us a disgusted look and then he wandered out again. Had he have come in a few minutes later at the point where I was about to blow my beans, he would've had to wait because in that situation King Arthur couldn't have pulled me out.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 17:55, 7 replies)
In my first year of university
... flatmate burst into the room in the middle of my first shag of freshers week, then danced about the bed making a Zoidberg noise.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 17:43, 2 replies)
Not caught, but too close by far
Back in the days before Youporn, I discovered, by genuine accident I might add, that various porns could be found via Limewire. So, I set a few downloads going. After a few minutes, the first couple finished and I watched them. Being home alone, I enjoyed my me-time after which I then thought "Urgh porn, it's disgusting" and so I deleted the lot.

I then got on with other stuff. I cut the grass, fixed the toilet cistern and other manly household things.

That evening I arranged to go out to my mate's house. I drove maybe 2 miles before it hit me.
"Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! Did I cancel the downloads?" I span the car round in a way Bo and Luke would be proud of and raced home. To compound matters, I had left the computer switched on. If my missus decides she wanted to download an mp3 or something, she will see if indeed I had neglected to cancel the downloads. I felt the pit of my stomach sink into my feet at the thought of the consequences.

I got in and casually ran into the living room where the PC was set up. Luckily, Mrs Sandettie was in the bath. I opened up Limewire to find that my downloads folder now contained a few quality vids of pretty ladies scissoring and spectacular bukkake displays one of which was aptly filed as "cock mess monster.mpg". I deleted them with Window Washer (just to be safe). The 187mb video of "Lena rides the Sybian" still had a couple of mins left. I'd watched a shorter excerpt of that one that afternoon and I was reluctant to let it go, so once it had finished I stuck it in an innocuously named .rar file and buried it in the Windows file system.

I then wiped the download folder and the Incomplete folder just to be certain. Then I uninstalled Limewire itself, such was the precautions I had been shocked into.

Five mins later, Mrs Sandettie comes downstairs.
"I thought you were off out?" she asked
"Nah, I felt a bit icky, I think it was that pie we had for tea so I came home"
"Are you uninstalling Limewire? I was going to download a song I'd heard on the radio earlier."
I made an involuntary squeaking noise. "Err, yeah I was about to download a song but it kept crashing so I'm going to try reinstalling it."
"Ah ok." she said and sat down to read a magazine. "Oh, by the way, what's a Sybian?"

My heart stopped.

"Err, why?" I said trying to keep my voice calm.
"It was in the search history when I started typing in Google earlier"
"Oh, it's a sex-toy but really expensive" I explained, trying to make light of it.
"You weren't going to get one was you?"
"I would but they're about $2000. If we win the lottery I'll get you one"

She lost interest after that and began reading her magazine again. I searched the hard drive for any more 'incomplete' folders but all traces of Limewire were now gone.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 17:40, 5 replies)
Good old 14.4k modems
It could have been awful. And my elderly relation might have gone to the grave ten years earlier. But at that bitrate, any choice was an illusion. My hand was forced (as it were), I chose text over images, and with my hand resting casually precisely, in my lap, to the observer I may as well have been perusing... well, I've no idea what alternatives might have been available, not being one to rack up a conspicuous phone bill. Doubtless, detailed deconstruction of the Dwarf's continuity cockups could have flowed from my fevered fingertips using usenet, but perchance this particular pensioner's peepers did discern smut from smegups, either optical obfuscation or cerebral self-censorship avoided the antiquarian's appalling awareness of artful auto-arousal.

I'm awfully anxious about "artistic" ascii accelerating away aesthetically and avoidably. Well, why wank wearily wishing wepwoductions of witless white women would want your weaselly willy while wily writers warp weality into wapturous ewotic wisions which wifey would warely wecognise as

[Aaaaaah! My mum just caught me alliterating!]
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 17:32, Reply)
It was a scorching hot saturday afternoon
and I was sunbathing in the garden wearing my bikini with my very attractive housemate who was wearing his boxers and a sombrero, when I decided to go inside and cool down a bit. Noticing his phone inside I took the opportunity to have some fun and locked him out of the house. He had to stand looking through the window as I worked my way through every female name in his phone book sending them embarrassing texts. Once I'd finished I let him back in and he swore revenge.

Skip forwards an hour or so and I'm enjoying some 'me' time reading a BSDM fetish site with my hand down my pants when there's a knock on my door. I shout "Busy!" and hear back "I know!". My phone then goes off and there's a text message from my housemate with the opening line of the current story - about a girl who gets tied up and fucked by santa. He then proceeded to post it on a website full of seedy weirdos obsessed with honda civics.

At least that's how she'll probably see this.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 17:20, Reply)
A friend of mine
(honest)was doing some gardening for a neighbour at the time cos he had had a very serious stroke and couldn't do it himself. lets call him A to protect the name of the....well guilty. A was at that age where any kind of thought about a sexy lady would be instantly dealt with by the rhytmical strangulation of his little chap, so lets say between 14 and 16.

Anyway in his ultimate wisdom he decided to bang one out in the shed. Furiously flicking through the wank bank to find suitible images for his mini wankathon, probably thinking about someones mum or something. after about 5 mins and still no end goal the door suddenly swings open and A looks up cock in hand to see said stroke victims wife standing there, as the cup of tea she was bringing him fell from her hand, he had his weeny "firmly" back in his pants and she walks out without a word.

Few days later he told me about the story, for he had no shame, which in a way I used to really respect back then.

However my mate had the last laugh as his neighbour couldn't comminicate, so all he used to shout when he saw my mate was der der, der der.....I think he was probabaly calling him a wanker.Before this guy had his stroke he was known as a bit of a grumpy mean old man so don't feel sympathy. However it did make me think who the real stroke victim was in all this.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 17:17, 2 replies)
i remember this conversation between my dad and my youngest sister fondly
we'd found my other sister's doll lying broken in the toy chest. obviously, debbie is not going to break her own toy. and i am too old by this point to go near the doll. my youngest bro is unable to walk, talk or... lift up the toy chest... the dog is ruled, the cat is ruled out, my parents aren't that malicious ... who could have done it?

well, alice insists its not her. so my dad goes to great lengths to make her admit what she's done before pulling the meanest trick iv ever seen...

"alice, if you tell me the truth, i'll buy you a present."
"ok, i did it."
"no present. go to your room."

(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 17:15, 2 replies)
When I was a 3rd year undergrad, I lived in a nice modern College-owned block that had student facilities and also a few really nice, swish conference rooms which were rented out for events and conferences to make a bit of extra money. If you wanted to go the whole hog and get a really big room, you could rent out the common room, which annoyed us lot because it meant our common room was shut to us.

The particular time in question it had been closed to students for a few days whilst some sort of conference had gone on, which had culminated in a load of people getting pissed up to celebrate the end of their 'away-day', or whatever it was, before sloping off in the late afternoon...

Straight away, an email goes round to tell people we're allowed back in the Common Room, so me and a few mates who were too busy/poor to have gone out for the evening headed down for a cuppa and a natter.

One thing stood out to us like an Oasis in the desert as we entered - there was a table left in the corner of the room with a few bottles of still-cool Champagne. Bonus! For a poor undergrad, of course, free booze is the ultimate thing to make your day, and we all gave thanks for this incredible blessing....

Then, we opened the fridge.

Other than a couple of milk-cartons, it was jam-packed with more Champagne. Just sitting there - shiny, cold, and expensive looking... Shit! The tension of an unspoken, but universally felt doubt hung in the air.... This was an amazing opportunity, clearly, and had fallen into our laps without our asking. At the same time, however, what had originally been a chance to swipe a couple of bottles had just escalated to a question of pilfering £200 plus worth of (very heavy) booze. Of course, we were going to do it. We couldn't really help ourselves. How could we live with ourselves if we passed this up?

Coat pockets were loaded, and we each grabbed a bottle or two under our jackets.... we still only had about half of it. One trip up to the nearest of our rooms to dump what we had, and we headed back down to the Common Room with bags.

This is where it all went wrong. In our desire to get the booze out as fast as possible, we'd ignored the CCTV Camera outside the Common Room, so Nigel, the porter, had been sitting in his little office at the gate to the complex, watching us wander out of the Common Room laden with booze. Naturally, his curiosity was aroused. Just as we were loading the remainder of our loot into bags, in walks Nige.

'Hello Lads. What's happening here, then?'

We all froze. It was like a cliched scene in a film where someone's caught in the act. He might as well have had a gun trained on us, for the way we reacted...

'Someone left this behind Nige, so we were just thinking about having a bit of a drink, mate.'
'Hmmm... I don't know how they'd feel about that, now... What do you reckon?'

Another pause...

'Reckon it serves the silly bastards right, to be honest, Nige'

He thought, for a moment. Our fates hung in the balance - whilst this wasn't necessarily going to get anyone prosecuted/kicked out of college, it certainly wasn't going to look good. We also had a Dean who was remarkably fond of giving out cash fines, and we were all broke (which, you will recall, had partly led to this in the first place, as we weren't out like everyone else, getting pissed). He was a decent Man, Nigel, but that could also swing him either way in this situation - he might decide that he could let this one go, or he might decide we were thieving toerags who deserved what we got.

Having mulled it over, he drew in breath to deliver his judgment...

'My Missus is quite fond of Champagne, you know.'
'Really, Nige. Why don't you have a bottle, then...'
'My daughter's home this weekend too.'
'Take two - plenty to go round...'
'Alright... I would thank you, like, but it's not yours anyhow, is it...'

Hmmm... what to make of this? Our bribe had been accepted, but he was still a bit frosty. He took his two bottles, and withdrew. The question of whether he'd betray our confidence or not would now only be resolved tomorrow, when the fallout from the missing booze would no doubt happen. In the meantime, we had a room full of Champagne. So we got pissed. Royally pissed. The effect of getting drunk solely on the fizzy stuff was euphoric. We had so much we actually struggled to drink it. The party went on for hours. As it wore on, we introduced a competitive element by seeing how far out of the window we could fire the champagne corks when it was time to open a new bottle. Eventually, of course, we went to sleep.

Next morning, 7am, there was a loud banging on the door of the chief instigator and negotiator from last night. Understandably, waking with a shocking hangover and recalling the previous night's events, and our total reliance on Nige to keep schtum, he was shitting himself. Moving to the door and opening it to peek round, he finds Nige, back on shift and still with a look of disapproval in his eyes, despite the bribe.

'Whilst I don't especially want to mention yesterday EVER again, I would suggest that you get rid of the bottles discreetly, do you understand?'
'Yes Nige.'
'And soon...'
'Yes Nige'
'...probably now - before the cleaners turn up at 8am.
'Yes Nige'

So we were each rounded up, given a binliner each, and formed a slovenly, drunken procession out of the back door of the building (no CCTV), and down to the recycling bins on the council estate nearby, then we slumped into bed.

Inevitably, questions were asked the next day. An email went around asking for information about what had happened and chastening the entire student body for what had happened, and the effect it had had on the college's relations with its paying customers.... but nothing came out. We were well and truly protected by our inside man, bought off with his two bottles of Champers.

The note that ended up going out to the company who had rented the room apparently read "Regrettably, when such items are left unsecured in the Common Room of a student residence, after an event had finished and after the room was no longer, in fact, rented to yourselves, these sort of things are liable to happen and the College can accept no responsibility."

Thanks Nige...
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:56, Reply)
Sorry not me, but a mate...
...was caught by his dad whilst going down on his girlfriend.

Embarrassed dad says, "Oh, hi son, do you want a Chinese?"

Reply, "No thanks dad, I've already eaten".
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:54, 6 replies)
Not so much me getting caught...
...my brother.
Known for his sleepwalking antics, during which he has previously pissed on his flatmate's bed (with him in it), snuggled in and spooned another (male, both straight) housemate, and taken a shit on the floor at a colleague's shared (with five girls) house.

Last night beats them hands down.

Two days off, and a night out dancing is what was called for. So brother Marcus, along with unfortunate associates Jack and Denny (slight name-changes), head for Cambridge Town.

Wednesday is, of course, cheap slag-fuel night, and Marcus - normally a real-ale sort of fellow - is much the worse for wear having downed numerous pints followed by two entire pitchers of some godawful sticky concoction in everyone's favourite overpriced shit-tip, Vodka Revolutions.

Much dancing ensues, dancefloors are cleared, kebab-burgers purchased, dropped and re-assembled, and the trio head back to Denny's 13-room student house on the busy Hills Road.

Marcus collapses upon reaching Denny's room, as he is wont to do. Jack and Denny pass out some hours later, only for Jack to be awoken at around 5am by arguing from downstairs.

Looking out of the fifth-floor window, he sees Marcus. Naked. In the street. Having sleepwalked down five flights of stairs, unlocked the front door, and had a little wander.

No-one was entirely sure how long he'd been out there, but Denny's female housemate was not about to let the ordeal come to an end. "I'm not letting you in. You're naked and I don't know who the fuck you are!"

"Please, I'm a mate of Denny's, I'm staying over!!" Marcus is by this point very cold and very angry.
"Fuck off," she replies, "I am calling the rozzers."

Jack relented in the end and let him in just before the fuzz turned up, and literally couldn't stop laughing for forty hours.

So that's how he ALMOST got caught by the bizzies, and did get caught wandering Cambridge bollock-naked at 5am. Winner...
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:54, Reply)
Caught No.2
caught with about a teeeeeeeeeeeeenth of weed at my first ever festival V97/98 with 2 of my also skinny spotty naive teenage mates. V security stamped it into the mud in front of us.

By today's rules we should have donned hoodies and smashed his fucking kneecaps in and shanked him in the face, the jobsworth fucktard.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:54, Reply)
My Auntie should be working in forensics for those cold-case police investigation teams.
When I was a wee slip of a lad I'd spend every Tuesday at my aunties. From time to time I'd need to sneak out a little poo and to pass the time on the pot would invariably fiddle with her fascinating array of bathroom assortments.

One one occasion I'd got my hands on a 'bath pearl' which appeared to be a squishy ball of bubble bath abou the size of a large marble.

While grunting out a little log I found myself squeezing the bath pearl in time to my strainings. About the same time as I gave birth the pearl went pop and spaffed all the way up her bathroom door, which was some brown cheap jobby off of the early 80's, and it wasn't painted.

The soapy mess soaked quickly into the brown wood and I thought nothing more of it.

A few weeks later she quizzed me as to what I'd been spaffing up the door. I was just around the age where little seaman gabber was indeed producing the lubrication for his little Seamen and when questioned immediately thought she meant I'd been wanking up her door.

Best way out - Deny absolutely everything and she seemed to let it pass.

At my 18th birthday party which was a good few years later she triumphantly announced to the family that she'd rumbled my game and proceeded to tell me that it was a bath pearl that had left a suspicious stain up her door for the next 6 or 7 years.

When it came for them to replace the door she took a sample of everything that had been in the bathroom at the time and squired it up the door until she'd got her answer.

I cheerfully owned up to it, gleeful that after all that time she'd finally realised I wasn't pasting her door with pre-teen man goo.

Few years later when she was approaching that 'certain age' she had a son. I feel sorry for that poor blighter.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:52, Reply)
Caught out perhaps...
Being caught in flagrente delicto isn't something that happens too often nowadays thankfully. But when I were a lad...

A young sixteen year old me, and her also, walking back to her place after a party of sorts, couldn't help but stop on the way back for some real rumpy. On a desolate path. At midnight. Pants down and all. A bloody cyclist came past, so we paused. He stopped and waited.
"Yeah, and?" I think was my comment to speed him on his way, dirty pervert.
We decided that perhaps it was the best to stop there, as I was about to meet her parents for the first time. So I rolled off... into a huge patch of stinging nettles. (Pants down, remember?)
So the worst part wasn't really being caught, but having to meet her parents while not being able to stand upright due to the huge welts appearing down both legs and buttocks.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:52, Reply)
You can tell I wasn't caught,due to the fact I am still alive
First of all, my parents, as has already been chronicled in the pages of this great site, were not incredibly wealthy people. Not poor, but they would never have been able to afford to send me to a grammar school on their own. So, when I won an assisted place at a grammar school, they were delighted. My mum, being a) fron NZ and b)catholic, took great pains to assure me that this place was a privelege and not a right, and any abuse thereof (i.e. being a lazy little shite) would not be tolerated.

I worked hard. Oh I did. Until 6th form, when I discovered free periods. My first 6th form report was - shall we say -less than promising. Mum assured me that if I didn't buck my ideas up, then I was out of there and also would be chucked out on the street for the no good waster son that I was, so help me Mary mother of Jesus, etc. etc.*

Anyway, I digress. The intelligent B3tard will have worked out where this was going. The summer term report came out and it was a complete flangeweasel. Although I was a lazy little embuggerance, a lot of it was patently unfair, mainly from my chemistry teacher, a man for whom I had a similar hatred that Hitler had for the chief rabbi of Berlin.

"Oh fuckity fuckity fuck wanky ball cock arse felchery" uttered the young carrot upon seeing this report. "This is likely to result in a second hole in the ozone layer if mum reads this." I genuinely feared for my life, my liberty and my growing collection of art pamphlets. However, two small items could have saved my testicles from the proverbial half bricks of matriachal anger.

1: Reports were seen by us before being sent out to the home address by post. I knew that this would give me about 3-4 days leeway to sort things out.

2: My school made use of a high tech new-fangled system called "MS Word" to type the reports, so that they could all be collated etc. etc. I knew enough about computers (most of my spare time being spent trawling late 90's websites rather than revising) to know that I could fake my school report! Huzzah!

So, the summer holidays started. I got up early every morning (used the excuse of wanting to watch the cricket) prior to the post arriving. On the 3rd day, the dreaded A4 envelope arrived. I collected the post, hid the school letter and delivered the remaining post to breakfasting progenitors. (I was so devious that I even kept a letter back from the previous day to use as an "emergency letter" just in case my school report was the only one delivered and parental suspicions were aroused by the clanging of a letterbox.)

I waited until Dad was at work and mother was cleaning something, then carefully...oh soooooo carefully opened the letter. I scanned both sides of my report (as I needed the headmaster's signature and the school crest) created a quick excel table, inserted the relevent text and hey presto - ready made report! I took a great deal of care over the comments to make them believable. I printed it off, agonising over the headmaster's signature as it was a bit blocky, re-sealed it in the envelope and chucked it in the post the next morning.

10 years on, my parents still have no idea what a devious little fuck they bred...thank God, because I reckon I would still have 7 shades of crap beaten out of me!
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:47, Reply)
Caught being a twat
Recently, just before the election, I had got several political telemarketing calls in succession. I am usually very quick and polite at giving them the brush off as well as with telemarketing calls.

As I work for myself and partly from home I can get a occasionally get a little stir crazy and sometimes answer the home phone in different accents(my work line is different)

So, a week before the big day I had a call from a perky Scottish lady who asked for me by name
‘Hullo, is that Mr. Nimrodihnio?

Adopting an old, out of breath, hard of hearing, cockney codger accent i said, ‘yes darling oos that? do I know yer?’

‘no Mr. N I’m Susan calling from Scottish power do you know you can save money by switching energy providers’

'Wassat darling your doing wat?'

'You can save money by switching energy provider’

‘Ooo do you say you are?

slowly and loudly ‘SCOTTISH ENERGY’

‘No darling av voted labour all me life I int changing naa’

‘No Mr N I’m calling about saving you money?

‘Thas wat them Tories said last time’

'No Mr N, it’s about saving you money through changing your supplier’

‘A int votin for ya, anyways I live in London you int got no candidates ere, that trout fella in charge always going on abat haggis and whisky’

By this time she is taken in and amused with the old duffer on the other end of the line

‘We are not a political party mr N’ She patiently explains yet again

‘Sorry Darlin am not gonna vot for ya no matter how much money I can save, be lucky’ says I and then feign chest pains

‘ooooh’ (groaning) ‘can you do any fink abat power for me pacemaker its a bit dodgy at the mo’

‘Oh no’ she says concernedly and I fake some more pains ‘oooh me chest, gotta go love and find a batt.....’ and I put the phone down.
Giggling to myself I go and make a cup of tea in the kitchen and reward myself with a hob nob, highly amused at my cleverness and ‘improv skills’

Less than 10 minutes later I hear the sirens coming closer and screaming to a stop outside the door bell rings and there is a desperate banging on the door.
I answer it and 2 paramedics and a policeman are looking for a Mr. Nimrodihnio and is he ok.....

In shock I invite them in shamefacedly explain all that has just occurred while my neighbours and various random passersby rubberneck outside while I am dearly wishing the ground would open up and swallow me forthwith.
Susan had apparently desperately tried calling but as I hadn’t returned the phone properly to the cradle and was in the kitchen not hearing the buzzing and not hearing the please hang up was unaware of this. She then phoned 999 hence the visit to ascertain my well being.
I was let off with a severe warning and a lecture on wasting the emergency service time and putting others lives in danger.

3 sincere letters of apology later, I have not been remotely tempted to do any comedy accents on the phones ...or change my energy supplier.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:44, 5 replies)
I was a teenager - probably 15
And all I had was a bit of weed on me, but that was enough to get nicked.

It didn't help that I was still quite stoned when I got a pull from the Old Bill and that trip to the police station in the van was shocking - I had to support my head with my hands the whole distance. Nightmare.

Offered legal representation (as is the norm), I couldn't see past getting my older brother down to the police station to start building my case, I felt he'd be the best person to help me. Rightly or wrongly.

So there I am, banged up and feeling sick and a copper has been allocated to me, and he's spouting all manner of questions trying to get a confession from me. 'Who did I buy the drugs from?' being his main line of attack. Of course I wasn't going to tell him that as, whilst i'd get released, someone else would end up getting nicked.

Worse than my nausia, request for my brother, angry copper and the underlying feeling that I should have stopped in that day, is the fact my Mother then turned up.

Talk about kick a man when he's down, telling me I should be ashamed, how I've damaged the family name and how my old man would kick me out the house if he found out what I'd done.

The incident is recorded in more detail at the link pasted below.

(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:43, Reply)
My german mate
was once detained while attempting to wheel a flatpack baby's bed out of a Judges' chambers. He was very tight-lipped about it. In other words...

Curt Kurt caught in court kit cot cart.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:35, Reply)
Have a pea that's been roasted:
This is in it's entirety completely bloody true, I promise:

My mum is a very light sleeper - I discovered this in my teens when trying to return to the house intoxicated in various forms, and get to bed without waking anyone up.

Now I'm in my mid-thirties, and a few years ago was visiting my mum.

The second or third Harry Potter film had just come out on video, and she loves it, because she reckons she's just like one of the teachers in it - the one played by Zoe Wannamaker - and to a certain degree she's quite right.

Now - she was insistent that I watch - or at least try to watch - the video, but her and hubby were off to bed (they're in their sixties and anything beyond 9pm is a stretch these days), so here's the telly, here's the video, here's the remotes - off you go, and you know where the fridge is if you fancy a sandwich.

So I started watching it, and I vaguely got into it - I had enjoyed the books when they came out, and - irritating child-actors aside - I thought the film was quite engaging.

Half way through, I decided that yes indeed and sure enough - a sandwich and another beer would be a good idea (she knows me so well - it's like she's my mother), and so I hit "Pause", and go and make myself some sort of BLT-type affair.

I return to my seat, and look around for the remote, which seems to have hidden itself entirely from my ken.

Now - the older children among you will recall that certain telly-and-video combos mean that after the video's been paused for a while, it stops the tape and flicks back to actual telly automatically, at the volume the telly was before you turned the video on.

This happened at this point, and BANG the telly came on and what was it? Channel Five. It was now late at night, so showing was soft porn - cue some topless girl bouncing up and down shrieking excitedly at the top of her bleedin lungs, at top volume on the telly because my mum has the telly loud as she's a bit deaf.

In desperation I look for the remote where the fucker is I don't know under the chair by the sofa on the pouffe on the table where the FUCK are you DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CHAIR DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CHAIR I desperately start reaching for the remote, my back to the living room door as I search with my hand where is it where is it where is it oh god where is it

when I hear

"Erm ... Vagabond ... " I turn and stare, terrified, over my shoulder - the living room door is open a tiny crack, "Could you, ah ... turn the volume down please, we are actually trying to sleep upstairs ... " as I turn back to the screen, the actress finally reaching the climax of the scene.

Oh god.

I honestly was just looking for the remote. I swear to god, mum.

Will I ever be able to raise this in conversation, and the truth be known?

Will it fuck.

Length? She might as well have made me a cup of tea.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:33, 3 replies)
If there's anyone who reads this knows me in real life, they'll get who I am from this post alone.
I'm not a fan of labouring the point, so I'll convey this as briefly as I can.

12 year old Pat Gash

Likes playing football a lot, plays every lunch time at school.

Mum makes corned beef sandwiches, not his favourite.

Most days would forget to eat sandwiches due to playing football from the starting bell to finishing bell.

Also, then forgets to bin them on the way home some days, so occasionally have a sandwich I need to dispose of without mum seeing when I get home....but she empties ALL the bins. What to do?....

Yes, Genius, throw them out my bedroom window onto a wide flat ledge that hangs over the door underneath. Noone will find them there.

Except, pigeons, and seagulls, lots of them. Parents think "That's odd"

Mystery of the most bird-attractive house in Essex solved when a mouldy green lump in a plastic bag that was once a sandwich falls onto the front lawn to greet mum home.

"Why don't you like my sandwiches Young Pat?" says mum, "Are you a spannerexic or something?" asks dad.

"No, I just like playing football more than below average sandwiches" I explained whilst crying like only a geeky 12 year old boy can.

My family still take the piss, and my best man told everyone I know at my wedding last year. Fuckers, one and all.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 16:30, Reply)

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