Working as a labourer in my teens
I was given the task of making spotless the top floor, the first finished, of a posh office development in The City for inspection by the top brass of the developers and owners.

I did all the heavy lifting then got to hoovering. The hoover was a sort of industrial Henry vacuum cleaner and the floorspace massive.

My task nearly complete in plenty of time I started arsing about, walking like C3PO and dragging my R2 like hoover after me while going, "Master Luke! Master Luke! BRRR BRRT PHWEEE trrrr BWEEE OOOON THRIP!".

Turned round to see all the big nobs staring at me in disbelief.
(twattybanjo, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 10:52, 8 replies)

I was 15, I had Guns n' Roses on my stepfather's good stereo at top volume, no one was home, and a cracking guitar riff was coming up.
I played air guitar shamelessly, head-banging - I was Slash at Wembley, performing to hordes of teenage girls who wanted nothing other than to repeatedly shag and blow me, and as I gesticulated wildly, reflecting their adoration straight back at them with the devil horns, I continued playing and head-banging, until I saw suddenly reflected in the mirror my stepfather standing behind me shouting - apparently wordlessly as the music was so loud - that I should turn it down as he was trying to sleep.

Ah.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 10:20, 1 reply)

When I were a lad
I swapped between schools a few times. In years 5-7, I was in an all boys school. Before that, I'd been in a mixed school, and thus I came back to a mixed school, having spent the years when girls stop being yucky having never seen any I wasn't related to. This meant I had no idea how to be with girls, socially.

This meant that any girls I met during this period never quite got past how strange I was, and never bothered with me again. Fine by me. However, there were a couple who I'm still friends with now. One of these is a girl called Charlotte.

I'd met Charlotte (not her real name) through a friend of hers who used to get the school bus with me, therefore rendering me completely unable to ever get near her knickers, but willing to try. We met again when I was in year 9, and was able to actually talk to girls, but still completely unable to flirt. At this time, we both just gave each other shit everytime we saw each other, we weren't pleasant at all.

I then didn't see her for a couple of years, then we had a chance meeting one day. We traded numbers, and email addresses, and promised to keep in touch, entirely pleasantly. I was shocked when she contacted me first, as I'd thought she was just being nice. Gradually, we started talking, and found that we were actually quite attracted to one another. At the time I couldn't do anything, as I had a girlfriend, but there's no harm in dreaming, right?

Eventually, things with that girlfriend came to an end, and me and C started to get closer, talking til all hours on the phone, emailing each other, the usual crap. Unfortunately, at this time I'd moved away, so the trip between our houses wasn't so much half an hour, as 2 and a half hours. In half term of that year, I made a trip up, and we arranged to meet at her house.

Nervously I made my way there, and knocked. I was directed to the top floor of the house, and told she was in a certain room. I was shitting myself as I went up the stairs, as this was the first time we'd been face to face in over a year, and we both had images of what we wanted to happen (I was 16, what do you expect?). I went in, and found her sat in bed, half asleep. I lay next to her, and gave her a kiss, waking her up.

We spent the next few hours happily enjoying each others bodies, knowing we weren't going to be disturbed. In the end, she grabbed a condom out of the side draw, and we started going for it. It was different this time though, we weren't 'shagging' or whatever, it actually felt like we were making love (Don't care how soppy that sounds, I really did adore the girl). Eventually, the mood changed, and we went from delicate and gentle, to shaking the foundations per se.

What we didn't hear at this point was footsteps coming up the stairs, followed by her Dad opening the door. Luckily she moved quickly, pulling the duvet over us, and pretending I wasn't there. I could hear his booming voice asking what was going on, and for some reason it utterly terrified me. That voice was familiar, I just didn't know why.

After a few seconds, he leaves, and there's no way in hell we can carry on at this point, both struck by a fit of the giggles. We then decide we should actually get out of bed, and go out for a while. Later on, as we head back, she asks if I'd like to stay the night? This was fine by me, so as we walk back in she walks into the living room, and asks if I could stay the night. Her mum says it's fine, her Dad enquires what my surname is? As she replies 'Antichrist...', I heard his confused response of 'Hang on, Agnostic? Agnostic Antichrist?'

At that moment, I could have died. I discovered the reason for my fear at the sound of his voice. How could I have not made the connection, same surname and all?

Charlotte's Dad was my Maths teacher. Not just mine, but he'd taught every single one of us kids, and he'd just walked in on me diddling his daughter.

Ohh fuck.

Ended up staying the night, had a nice time, and left in the morning, counting down the days til I'd be seeing her again. Sadly, it never happened. About a month later, I met another girl. I thought she was alright, quite sweet, etc. She asked me out a few weeks later.

Charlotte - Sweet, amazing, friendly, lovely, great in bed, and I was head over heels with her, but she lived a long way away,
Carrie - Sweet, attractive, down the road.

I went with Carrie. I don't regret my decision, as I spent 2 cracking years with her, but I still can't help but think, what if?

Length? 3 years frostiness, 1 years courtship, 5 minutes shagging, 5 years wondering what if? Oh, and half an hour to write this incoherent babbling piece of shit post.
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 10:04, 14 replies)

I stole a pirate.
I was arrrrrrested.


But I only got yo-ho-home detention.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 9:45, 2 replies)

Fans will recall that I am something of an adventurer, and, true to form, some years ago I was in Greenland, staying with the nomadic Hegulenk tribe.
General transport there is dog sleigh, and in order to keep their dogs safe from predators and protect them from the harsh winds that blow across the land, when staying anywhere for a significant amount of time, they will dig large protective holes with retractable ramps for the dogs to go down into them. This means that any predator that fancies a crack at them will have to face a whole pack in a confined space - thus maximising the dogs' chances.

Aaaaaaaaanyway, after staying with them for a few weeks, the head of the tribe's daughter and I had become quite close; I was an interesting foreigner, and she an almost Inuit-like beauty, and nature took its course.

But a few secretive liasons later, surprisingly enough she drops the bombshell on me - she is now with child.

This would not do at all, as tradition dictates that I would have to marry her and take her to start a tribe of our own.

Well, being the coward I am, I decided that that night I would steal from the camp and make my way back to Europe, and promised never to grace them with my presence again, and thus that black, starless night, I crept from my bed, gathered belongings enough to survive, made my way from the camp and promptly fell head-first into one of the dog enclosures.

I would have got away with it if it hadn't have been for those huskie pits.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 9:20, Reply)

shit in a lift
i once took a dump in a ferrys lift between harwich to hook of holland. have you ever tried to find a toilet on a ferry in the maze of corridors?
as soon as the doors opened someone walked in, and i walked out.
a perfectly laid log on the lifts floor..
(slipmatt Thats sooper dooper, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 8:01, 18 replies)

We have a "family" PC everyone shares.
Ever so often, I'll use it when I'm not bothered with mine. According to the Google browser history, one member* was really desperate to see "Angelina Jolie nude", and another had his eye** on "Emma Watson anal" and "Miley Cyrus pussy".

*sigh* men.





*pun intended
**pun not intended
(SMD, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 6:24, 12 replies)

If I tell you will you promise not to send me to jail?

(SSSSS, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 5:43, 2 replies)

Family Holidays
Keeping it brief (mainly because I'm at work) but one family holiday when I was a teen I awoke to a glorious morning so thought a bit of self abuse was in order. Having performed the deed I cleaned up and showered with haste.

Later in the day my dear old dad mentioned in passing that the caravan was wobbling that morning.

"Ah..." I said, "couldn't get comfy dad- beds are lumpy y'know.".

He nodded his head sagely and told me to make sure mum never caught me in such an uncomfortable position.
Served me well that did.

Length is in the eye of the be-fiddler.
(British Steel was participating in awesomeness on, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 5:01, Reply)

I got my willy caught in my fly once
i think i was five. i have had the utmost respect for zip flys ever since.
( Mortal Wombat - he's just an excitable boy, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 23:58, Reply)

Year 10
My friend and I managed to smuggle some soft porn into English class. Sitting at the back, giggling and feeling very pleased with our cunning plan of hiding it under the desk- suddenly, the sound of a throat being cleared behind us. Slowly turning around, we see Mr. English Teacher, a 6 ft 3 body-builder type, is standing right there, and demands to see what we find so funny. Shamefaced, we hand it over. He stares for a long time. Then he hands it back to us and asks quietly, have we finished our work?
"Yes, Mr. English Teacher sir."
"Well, carry on then."
(Second sign of madness, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 22:54, 1 reply)

taking the piss
living in a shared house can be an issue. Usually because of the extra housemate Mr Nobody.

Unless you catch someone in the act of being a tool, you will be forced to admit defeat and live with the fact that Mr Nobody stole/broke/befowled your thing.

When you do catch someone in the act therefore you really want a good explanation.

So when flatmate A was caught standing in his doorway openly pissing out of his bedroom and onto the hall carpet an explanation was due.

us: "A! there is a toilet 10m away. What are you doing???"

A: "but that's EFFORT and shit man." *stumbles back to bed*

Don't see much of A these days
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 20:37, 4 replies)

Bee in my bonnet
Twas a loevly warm summers morning and there was no-one home. I was living in a big old caravan in the back garden. Thought I'd roll a big fat one and have a wonder round the garden. We had a big garden and a big field next to it with some stables which we rented out to people to help pay for our horses. We also had bee hives at the bottom of the field. That year one of the hives had gone rougue. Usually the bees would leave you alone if you left them alone but this year one hive would attack you if you got anywhere near them. So I'm walking around in a pair of shorts and flip flops smoking a big spliff when a bee flies right into my hair. I had long hair at the time and it was a right mess. So I start to swipe and tug at my hair in an attempt to get rid of the bee and move as far away from the dodgy hive as possible. Then another one joins his mate and so I start running around slapping at my head and then another becomes entangled. I look up and see three women all dressed up in their horsey finery staring at the hippy looking freak at the bottom of the field running around slapping his head. I run around a bit more until the evil bees are either dead or have escaped and then think I'd better go and explain my actions but the 3 women have all gone. You had to be there I guess but at the time I was quite embarressed at the thought of them seeing me doing some sort of rain dance all on my own in the middle of a field.
(Wagane, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 20:31, Reply)

Sunny & Moony
This isn't a story about a shit cover band. It's about Alan Butler.

Alan got me to believe in 'invisible dust' at the age of five. With a printed catalogue of magic items... Even my Mum pissed herself when I told her about my plans to buy loads of it and sell it to the army.

Alan was overweight, impressionable and just as gullible six years later when in Year 6. This meant he would do lots of bizarre activities for sweets. Activities such as pull a 'Sunny' or 'Moonie' upon command.

Whilst simultaneously doing the 'truffle shuffle'. Whilst doing this, we started a 'dog shit fight'... this meant getting sticks and flicking the encrusted shit at each other. Fucking feral. All was 'well' until Alan slipped over in a particularly massive pile. Whilst semi-naked. Whilst a dinner lady watched on from the top of the school field.

Trying to explain to the Headmaster was bad enough. The confusion and shame on my Dad's face was ten-times worse...

Ahh school...
( elgordo, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 19:34, Reply)

Stones & Rock Lords
Brassy was one of those friends who lived across the road who you were best mates with one day and worst enemies the next. He loved to whinge and whine, especially as he was an only child.

One day, we were 'bezzing' around on our wideboards (c 1989) when Brassy cut me off. I fell off, grazed my knee and Brassy scuttled off indoors, aware that I was less than happy.

*plan hatches*

Being the little bastard that I was/am, I decided to drop Brassy in it. I took a stone from the side of the road and proceeded to his Mum's Opal. I crouch down. I start writing "Brassy was ere" and "Brass = skill" in shitty kid-writing across various wings, doors and panels...

Satisfied that my work is done, I creep off home. I glance back one last time before making my escape. To see Brassy's Dad watching from the upstairs window. Bugger.

Brassy triumphantly struts outside the door and makes toward my front door. I beg for him to stall, oddly, he agrees. I sprint off home and come running across the street with my car-boot-sourced pride and joy: A collection of 'Rock Lords' (http://www.ikp.uni-koeln.de/~scholl/rock/rl.html)... think geological transformers. I bribe Brassy. He accepts and walks away...

But he doesn't. He takes the toys, goes around the side of the house and blurts out to my horrified Mother what I've done. I'm now grounded, toyless, friendless and shamed.

Caught twice. Don't blame him. Love you Brassy!
( elgordo, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 19:28, Reply)

The lovely Jessie was always pretending to spot something behind me...
...and using the distraction to steal some of my food/sweets/beer/whatever.

It was a standing joke between us, mainly because I always fell for it.

One Sunday we were in a Chinese restaurant, and she suddenly exclaimed "Ah, that's why those fish look weird, they're sucker fish!"

I craned my neck and looked at the fish tank. Unable to see any "sucker fish" and also hurting my neck from the angle, I swivelled round on my seat.

"I can't see any su..." my words died off as I turned back round just in time to see Jess giggling like a loon and dropping the scalding hot Szechuan king prawn she'd just stolen, not realising that it was going to burn her mouth.

We laughed lots at that... I realise it's lost something in the retelling.

Fuck I miss her...
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 18:56, 17 replies)

A roasted pea.
How rare..
So the party was fancy dress, in a nice big hall, it was a friend's birthday party, but with all her relations, friends of family etc.-her parents had let her do the teeny house party the year before,and it was never going to happen again- it was also Halloween.

Now I had been working all day so a couple of mates had gone to the fancy dress shop to get the costumes, what did they get me, a fucking pink fairy, replete with wings, cunts.

Anyway I've always been game for a laugh, so we show up at the party, an evil monk, some weird thing that looked like the creature that radios the storm troopers at Los Isly when they're about to get on the Millennium Falcon for the first time and a fairy.

The party went quite well for a bunch of drunken teenagers with a load of older relatives and such.

So, a couple of mates and I are walking back to my house in our costumes at about 3 in the morning on Halloween, and are very drunk indeed.

We were walking past the local convent when I had my great idea. Let's break into the convent and find the dormitories, you know what they say about catholic girls, it'll be an orgy.

So we climbed over the gates, checked all the doors and windows, and found one unlocked, hurrah. We were then confronted by a hound from hell, barking, snarling and generally looking like it was going to rip our throats out. Two of us turned to run while one of our number-not me-calmly walked up to it, and started to stroke its head, it promptly rolled over to have its belly tickled. Bonza! 'Let's find the girls' says I.

So I'm wondering round these classrooms looking for the dorms, I walk into a dark room and a voice shouts 'Freeze!', so of course I run. I'm running down these corridors, when I look behind me and there's a very short, very bald naked man chasing me. I got away and hid under some stairs.

A few minutes later, my mates walk by with said naked man chatting away. I come out of hiding, and all comes clear. He was the caretaker, when he saw us in fancy dress, he realised a Halloween prank was afoot, and no police were called, he just wanted to know how we got in, and how we got passed the dog. I was finding all of this very funny, as he was still starkers, and us in costume.

It turned out it wasn't even a convent anymore. A prep school had bought it a few years before.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 18:53, Reply)

Trust.
Helping care for some friends severely disabled 3 yr old daughter I was comforting and reassuring her after a nocturnal seizure which always distressed her. Normally I would kneel at the side of the bed but on theis occasion I couldn't get the rail to lower. As I could be there for quite some time till she settled I clambered over the rail and lay down next to her on top of the bedding.
I'd been there a while when from the door behind me I heard her father ask "Is she ok?" I jumped a mile as I hadn't heard him coming and from where he was it would have been extremely easy to jump to the wrong conclusion. I replied n the affirmative and he carried on to his room and after a few more minutes while she dozed off I returned to my bed for a few hours till the next seizure.
(jvz, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 17:57, 3 replies)

Caught in adulthood having a spot of ladies' cocoa (slight pearoast)
Most of us have been caught in the act of ultimate self-indulgence - by a parent / carer / proper grown-up at one time or another. Usually in our teens. Being interminably late for everything, I didn't discover the joys of creamy self love 'til I hit 20 - cue the purchase of my first vibrator. It was hearing-aid beige and ribbed from root to tip. Hours and hours ON END of this fantastic new pleasure spent I; until it went for a shit.

Being an electrician's daughter, I had half an idea what might have gone wrong with my favourite toy. Having already left home, I conjured up some lame excuse of wanting to catch up with my folks - why not make a night of it and sleep over? I waited until both parents had hit the sack - gave them half an hour to doze off - then went in search of my old man's soldering iron. I found it in the cubby hole, together with the solder and the bit resin stuff. Brimming with confidence in my Mad Soldering Skilz, I set about the minor surgical procedure.

Scalpel to the BOTTOM END, rotating 45 degrees.........
Expansion clamps in situ...........

Solder/surgery complete success. I bandaged the gaping wound with thick black NCB insulating tape (very fetching).

I tentatively turned the end, not sure what reaction to expect.....
My beloved beige bell end sprang into life, growling Aston Martin DB9 style. Eager to perform a test drive, yet anxious not to push my luck with the sleeping household, prudent methinks, to bide my time.......

Thus, I stole myself to procrastinate. Proper grown-up-getty-up time the following morning, both parents exit to Downstairs. Hoofuckingray! Nobody within earshot.

Jeremy Clarkson is about to test drive the DB9...
The powerful engine springs into life (all 0.28 horsepower of it).
Young Tourettes is literally in the throes of passion - ribbed rubber ruminator is doing it's thing.........

Ooooooooooooohhhhhhh....
aaaarrrrhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....
MMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...........
Yeah-yeah-yeah-oh-my-fucking-sweet-jesus....
pant-pant-pant-sniff-pant-etc.

My mother enters the room, or more accurately, what USED to be my room. Tis now the spare room.

This is what she says.........

"I was about to go up the street for a bit of shopping.
I was wondering if you'd like to come.........????"
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 17:27, 6 replies)

I grew up on a farm in the eighties
this meant that my parents bought almost everything on account cos we were skint, and because we were rural, a lot of local traders would visit us at the farm in their vans. As a result, us kids got to be friendly with a lot of adults. A particular favourite was the baker. He was a jolly bloke (hindsight tells me he was probably in his early twenties and probably the owner's son, but at the time he was an Adult with a capital A).
The baker would drive up, the dogs would go wild barking and he'd open the back of the van to show my mum his wares. Pretty soon he was lobbing the dogs a stale bun or two to shut them up, which of course only spurred them on. Now, at some point my brrther and I had a brainwave, and when the baker turned up next we lined up with the dogs and yelped and 'begged' for a bun. Fair play to him, he tossed us a currant bun, and we went away happy.
This became just another part of the weekly ritual, and a great wheeze for free food. Until the day the baker turned up and we acted up for our bun, only for the back door to open and reveal one of my primary school classmates in the back (turns out he was the baker's son).
The cheek-reddening shame of knowing our 'begging' would get spread around school was too much to bear, and even though it never became an issue, the fact that he knew made me cringe inside every time I saw him.
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 17:21, Reply)

My mother dropped me early into school
one winter's day. It was about half eight and we were never allowed in the buildings before ten minutes to nine. However since it was absolutely freezing and there was almost no one else there, I decided to risk going inside the classroom.

Wandering into the school, I peered through the glass bit of the door into the classroom. Inside the room on top of the desk was my form tutor in shorts and a short-sleeved top (bearing in mind this was winter) moving her leg up and down, as though demonstrating a leg exercise. There were four or five other members of staff watching her. When they saw me, they gestured angrily for me to get outside, and when school started I was strictly told off and told never to come inside before the start again.

Even after perhaps eleven years I cannot work out what on earth was going on in that room
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 17:07, 2 replies)

antimatter
A pastime that i rather do take delight in is the sensible discharge of bottom growls. They can happen in the mall elevator, or crowded buses in the midsummer bake, and the such. Any place that gives me antipathy to the sense of crowding is worthy of such olfactory decoration. In particular, when unnerving events occur, one can expect that weapon of disrespect to charge its volatile venom caverns. The story relayed here is somewhat unrelated, as all was in favour, and nothing all right.

We were leaning at the porch of one hip and happening dance barn, me and the gang. Consumption had been taken part in, bodily pressure built up, me with my then object of desire were oh so casually, ever the heavier getting close. She was somewhat beyond my sphere of influence and thus to be admired, and dumbly grinned at as lack of better exppression of my utter delight in joining her. No fuckaroo intents as the gentleman / total dork in me tried to play it right. So there we are, mates of mine playing cool, hers being all grown up.

Someone tells a joke, and in guffawing at it really horrorshow like, i let rip in mighty beer monster fashion. And to evade the impossible, then exclaim the name of a person next to me. Who then, and the cheeky bastard took delight in this particular super villain timing, lets rip himself, as sign of proof to his not-involvement in this base drum innuendo. Which i retorted in hysterically contracting my belly muscles further (when monkeys laugh, it is always the nerves) and such pushing a series of trumpeters delights into the cool industry backyard air. Interwoven with just about every person around suddenly doing armpit or freestyle quotes of the arselingo. Had to make my excuses then, but yeah, you imagine the comments.

What was once "caught" had freedom once again. Same for bespoke ladyfriend.
(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 16:52, 4 replies)

Having a big shit
Some funny fucker decided they'd burst in as I was nipping one off, at precisely the point of no return.

Trying to articulate "Get the fuck out of here" while coiling one out just makes you sound like you're in the throes of a stroke

HHHYYYNNNNNGETTAE(gasp)FUHHH

In their defense, they thought I was having a crafty wank.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 16:41, Reply)

Blamed the dog, got caught.
If you are male, alone, and near a toy lightsaber, it will played with. No matter how old you are. This is 100% Fact.

So there was young Roddimus, bored and looking for something to do, when I spyed my rather nifty looking lightsaber at the back of the cupboard. 'Awesome!' methinks, 'No one in the house, lets dust off the saber and do some serious 'whom whomming!'

After some seriously mind melting saber skills, young Roddimus goes for the final deadly killer blow, sweeping the saber through the air.... straight into the light fitting.
Shit!
Glass everywhere, mum will be pissed.

The lightsaber is quickly hidden, glass cleared and the cover up formed.
"The dog was playing with her ball, and managed to ping it in the air and smash the light!"
Mother Prime, although upset at the loss of her lovely light fitting, can see it was an accident caused by the stupid dog, and nothing more can be done. Dog gets told off, I'm scott free! Huzzzah! My cunning plan had worked!

Several hours later, I get summoned over to the computer by my mum, where I had foolishly left MSN running for all to see. She did not say a single word. She just pointed at the screen and gave me a look, 10 times more soul destroying than any telling off had ever achieved in my life;

RPrime: "Dude, can't believe what just happened!"
Matt: "What is it me old mucker"
RPrime:"I was playing with the old lightsaber earlier in the lounge, and smashed a light! I blamed it on the dog playing ball, and Mum fell for it. Can't believe I got away with it! lol"


Where was the most shame? In blaming the dog for something she didn't do? Or was it the fact I was 17 at the time?!
(Roddimus_Prime Should be revising, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 15:45, 1 reply)

The Park
I was at the park with a few mates when I was about 13. The park we were at is fairly big and we were playing football on a field that has a road next to it, everything is surrounded by trees so the road is secluded.

So there we are, happily having a kickabout, all the clichés were there, hot summers day, jumpers for goalposts etc.

We notice that out of the four or five parked cars on the road one still has people in it, as I run to fetch the ball after a horribly scuffed shot I can see into the car and notice that there is a lad with his ladyfriend bent over, she was sort of slumped over the dashboard and he'd kindly taken the time to fold the seats down to gain himself easier access to her 'exhaust pipe'.

As all 13 year olds would in this situation I turned to my mates with a smile that only a 13 year old catching somebody shagging can create and screamed at the top of my voice "COME HERE LADS THESE ARE SHAGGING"

Everybody is standing about 2 feet away from the car, pointing, laughing and generally having a ball. The fella in the car (about 20ish, so automatically harder than us - the rules of being a youth) tells us to "fuck off or die".

Because we knew that newly introduced hardman wasn't actually a hardman as we'd never seen him before we pretended to follow his orders and walk away. Within 5 minutes we were 'accidentally' kicking the ball at his car, all is well until my mate "bully" steps up and smashes the ball at the car, straight through the side window of their love-wagon.

We all, as you would, shit ourselves and start to run away, once at a safe distance we all stop and turn around to see what damage we've done, Mr Lover Lover is opening the back door and in perfect slow motion he gets out with just his boxers on and then falls flat on his face due to trousers-round-ankles syndrome.

Turned out he was a mate of my brothers and since then we've all become friends, apparently he was borrowing his mums car at the time and had to explain why a ball had been kicked at the window and why he wasn't willing to phone the police, as he'd gone to do so he noticed that the CCTV camera was looking almost directly at his car.

Happily ever after.
(nobface part time paperboy full time gangsta, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 15:14, 1 reply)

When I was 15...
My friend Stuart's father walked in to find his son (also 15) drunk on the sofa, trousers around his ankles, legs over his head with me standing at the end, hands on hips peering at his arse. I can still see the crestfallen look on his face as he walked away, and Stuart stumbling after him trying to pull up his jeans and shouting "We were lighting farts...Dad, we were only lighting farts!"

And before you ask - we were only lighting farts.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 15:11, 4 replies)

Big farts, bigger crowns.
I once had opportunity, during a memorial service at St. Paul’s Cathedral, to sit directly behind Tony Blair, Gordon Brown, Prince Charles and The Queen, amongst a collection of other dignitaries and their spouses.

I admit having, under great and unfortunate stomach duress, let a silent one pass the fleshy gates. The Queen, no doubt, tasted my bum particles. I’d have gotten away with it, had Cherie Blair not commented and sent a scowl hurling towards we plebs behind her.

The great and the mighty got me back, though – one of them passed a real stinker and I had to choke on it. I may have smelled The Queen's insides.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 14:59, 4 replies)

Oh for the invention of mindbleach...
My own experiences of being caught doing things are relatively similar to those told on here, and therefore don't bear much re-telling. However, an experience from university does spring to mind.

I'd just arrived back, ready to start my third year of university which was *cough* some time ago. I was all moved in, with my computer set up, bed made, text books on their shelves, and clothes in their respective drawers. It was a state of tidiness which was sadly not to last. It never does. I was however lacking a rather important feature in the room. Curtains. Not really important to me personally, as my room was good and large, and therefore had a bit which was effectively out of the gaze of well, anyone. Not sure anyone would want to see a fat final-year student in the buff anyhow. Well unless they did sport science and lived in the college gym, but I wasn't one of those people.

But thanks to my lack of curtains, my window was angled in such a way that it looked straight into my next-door neighbour's room. It wasn't such a problem as you'd think, as he was the proud owner of a pair of curtains, and everything else on point of fact. Problem was, he was quite forgetful. It wasn't bad enough that I looked up from reading a book and saw him naked. Oh no. My life isn't as simple as that. I looked up, and saw his bare-naked arse rising and falling. And as time slowed down and my perception of the event increased to near zen levels, I noticed something else. Another pair of legs. Yup, he was nuts-to-guts with his girlfriend of the time.

I got a pair of curtains the next day and no more was said of the matter. Apart from him buying me several drinks for my silence.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Mon 7 Jun 2010, 14:58, Reply)