mousetrap.
Once me and my mate walked in on his little bro browsing the hallowed pages of rotten.com. He was looking a a picture of a cock in a mousetrap.

nice.
(Amos Moses, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 21:35, 2 replies)

happy nude year!
one new year's eve, back when i was about 18, my friend and i decided to get utterly shitfaced in the local drinking hovel. by the time the horns went off(i live very close to the docklands), we were wasted. we were also skint. wishing my mate a happy new year, i wobbled my drunken way home.
as soon as i got through the door, my bladder gave me the old 3-minute warning.
now, i may be alone on this one, but does anyone else feel the need to take off all their clothes for a piss when they're drunk? well, i do.
having relieved myself, sitting in the warmth of the bathroom, right next to the radiator, i decided to take a little nap.
an hour later, i was rudely awoken by the sounds of my brother hammering on the front door and yelling "let me in, you fat cunt!". he's such a charmer.
i shot off the throne, ran downstirs and opened the door to my irate sibling.
stark. bollock. naked.
the looks of shock on the faces of him and my sister's boyfriend(who he'd been drinking with) as they caught me doing my naked thang were a sight to behold. as, i imagine, was i.
with a loud, guttural scream, my brother began to kick me up the stairs, yelling constantly and calling me all the names he could think of. now, you may think i'd be embarrassed by this, but as it's a bit hazy, i don't really give a shit. besides, i managed to mentally scar my brother for the rest of his natural life, so it's all good.

length? a good ten seconds before the screaming started.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 21:25, 6 replies)

How long have you got?
I spent 5 years of the 1980s at a slightly famous public (boarding) school in Scotland; a school that, predictably, was full of privileged twats (I suppose in relative terms you could include me in that - and indeed the point of this story is me being a twat) - offspring of minor celebrities and royals, etc. To succeed in such a place you needed to be either a) academically bright, b) particularly good at sport, or c) rich. I wasn't any of these, because I am naturally lazy and spend an awful lot of time pissing about - hence why b3ta has such appeal (and I have about £3 to my name). I spent my first two years there realising that I wasn't academically bright enough, so I resigned myself to getting by on the bare minimum. The spare time previously invested in academic effort would now be invested in pissing about.

The new intake of kids in 1987 brought a new guy, Paul, straight into the 5th form (15/16). He was rather odd: his 'music' collection consisted of a complete set of Churchill's speeches and nothing else, and he had a thing for knives, but nevertheless we got on because he was a) academically lazy, and b) spent all his time pissing about. We soon found out that two people can do much more pissing about than one person.

At that time drinking and smoking at school was completely banned - get caught 3 times and you'd be out. The height of rebellion was to acquire a single(!) B&H and sneak off into the woods with your 8 mates, and share it - then return to a ritual of chewing gum and dousing yourself in deodorant - as much to say "Look, I've just been for a fag, I'm well hard" as to say "I haven't been smoking, honest sir".

Not for us - too boring. In our final 2 years there, Paul and I embarked on what we would have said was a trail of destruction, but in fact was a string of petty, minor 'offences'. We started with the easy stuff: letting teachers' car tyres down. Phoning teachers at 3am (and 3.30am, and 4am...etc.). Ordering them pizza. Ringing the chapel bell at night (a long-standing challenge: see how many rings you can do before a teacher turns up and you have to leg it). We put on balaclavas and spent the occasional Saturday evening jumping up and down on the roof of the detention block until the teacher came out - then we'd soak him with water pistols. We bugged (thanks to some friends who were in the electronics club) the staffroom and our housemaster's office, listening in on 108.8 FM - range of about 250 metres.

So far, so petty. Soon it expanded to the slightly more serious. The fairly large school grounds were next to an RAF base. Paul had a plan for it. We donned our balaclavas and...er...camo gear, and armed with a pair of wire cutters (where did he get this stuff?) we sneaked off, snipped the wire and went trespassing. Outside one of the hangars was a Hawk - a training jet, same kind as the Red Arrows use - which was the 'victim' of stage 2 of our plan. We'd brought with us a shoebox covered in brown paper, with BOMB written on it. We gaffer taped it to the plane's canopy and legged it. The massive rush of adrenaline we got soon faded - we were disappointed that there was no comeback; no mention of a bomb scare, no RAF people at the school asking for an inquiry. No satisfaction of thinking "Yeah, we did that".

We upped the stakes a bit. A new boarding house - strictly off-limits - was being built. We investigated it quite often at night - but one evening we found a 2-ton dumper truck (one with the skip on the front) on the site, and - oh dear - the key was in the ignition. We started it; fucking hell, what a noise - and took it for a spin round the site. They're not easy to drive, but they are easy to drive into trees. And also remarkably resilient when being driven into trees. After about 20 minutes we got a bit scared that someone would turn up because of the noise, so we decided to call it day - only the fucking thing wouldn't stop. We turned the ignition off but no luck, it was still grinding away. We tried to stall it - put it in 4th and drop the clutch. No difference. In the end we just left it in neutral. It was still idling away the next morning when the site staff arrived.

The next day, at morning assembly, the headmaster strolled up to the lectern. If that happened, you could guarantee that something serious was up, and indeed it was - he gave it the "own up and your punishment will be lessened" treatment. Paul and I sat poker-faced and anonymous among the 500 or so other pupils as he read out the details. The "own up" tactic was an empty hand - they hadn't a clue who'd done it. We got away with it.

We also got away with stealing and joyriding a school minibus - the keys were kept in the staffroom which was always unlocked (duh!). Neither of us had a licence. I'm aware that this probably would have got us a criminal record had we been caught; I'm in equal parts proud (for sticking up two fingers to public schools) and ashamed of it. This was another one for the "own up" speech in assembly.

In my final term we got a bit creative: one of the things at school which gave you some kudos was having a treehouse (sounds a bit childish now!). A friend of ours was doing Woodwork A-level and had a key for the workshops, which we stole from him while he was asleep, and helped ourselves to supplies. We ran a cable from our treehouse to the canteen (about 150 metres away), plugging the extension in behind a freezer so we could have a TV in the treehouse. It was on this occasion that we noticed an opportunity to liberate as much chocolate as we could possibly eat, as we found out the location of the (locked) canteen storeroom.

We broke in through a skylight, then in through the crawlspace above the false ceiling - polystyrene tiles. It appeared to be the EU Chocolate Mountain, and we nicked it, along with - for some reason - a box of forks (curse you, forks!). We ferried the boxes of Mars bars, Marathons (those were the days) etc. back to the treehouse. Into assembly the next day and we managed not to smirk as an increasingly frustrated headmaster let us know that someone had burgled the canteen and they ought to own up.

About a month after this I accidentally (honest!) set my bedsit on fire (I wasn't in it at the time); I left a lamp on which had fallen over and set fire to the curtains. I remember hearing the house fire alarm and seeing the fire engines roll up, then going to see what was going on, only to find them pumping water through my bedsit window. Everything was ruined - either burnt or had water damage, including my precious Sisters of Mercy 12"s.

The next day I was in the housemaster's office.

"Ah, Nibus. The fire crew found these in your study. Can you explain?"

He handed me a small box. In it were 8 forks. The same forks I'd stolen from the canteen and which had eventually made their way, stupidly, back to my now burnt-out bedsit. Fuck.

"Ahhh, errr, I don't know where they came from sir."

"Well I'll tell you. They're from the canteen. I think you know exactly how they got into your study."

Fuck it - he had me. He'd caught me on the hop enough for "I don't know sir" to hold no water. He'd searched Paul's study as well and found a rather large amount of chocolate, plus Paul's ever-increasing collection of knives (which were also contraband).

We were both expelled the next day. The housemaster had been after us for a while - he'd twigged we were up to something - and he'd finally got us. He could pin all the chocolate on Paul (and of course his knives) but all he had on me was the fucking forks! Expelled for 8 fucking forks!

That was it for my criminal career, and a good thing too. Paul, however, is due for release in 3 years' time. Convicted in 1994 for a £300k armed robbery that went wrong, he served 8 years. He'd been out for a year when he was up before the High Court in Aberdeen accused of a stabbing and firearms offences. He got 15 years, reduced to 10 on appeal.

I eat my dinners with a knife and spoon now.

Length: I'm sorry.
( Mighty Nibus who dares gins | @nibus, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 20:39, 10 replies)

Truth or Dare Pics...
Was on my own in the front room having some recreational reading time of above site when my flatmate came down (very very hot young lady from Eastern Europe). Shut the lid of the laptop whilst chatting then she asked to see something online on youtube. Being half cut (and warning her so), I opened the screen and 'apple T'd' a new tab in Firefox which is normally instant but instead my Mac went into boot up mode and showed on full screen a nice freshly shaven haven for the best part of 30 secs... She didn't know where to look and kept saying "ohh, err, umm" in embarrassment whilst covering her eyes whilst I just said - "ooh whats that, that's not right" in an attempt to blame the Mac book...

Eventually a blank tab opened up and we chatted as if nothing happened and perused the net in a new window before she retired to bed and I carried on watching filth...

Though guess it's now even as the other week she was showing me photo's of her home town (and ex) and up popped a pic of her holding open her jeans with her hands down the front pulling the jeans away from her... rather than an 'ooh err' reaction I just leaned closer as she turned her laptop away in embarrassment...

One:all so far, waiting for the next step...

P.s. I hate Macs... Would like them more if mine wasn't so old and slow...
(Something funny, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 20:27, 1 reply)

The morning after new years eve a couple of years ago
i was performing the traditional walk of shame back home. i had somehow lost my belt and was keeping my jeans up (they were very baggy) by keeping my hands in my pockets. i got on a bus that was like gods waiting room and went to pay for my fare,in doing so i foolishly removed my hands from my pockets. inevitably my trousers fell to my feet. this would not have been such a traumatic ordeal had i not been wearing a "pirate" thong, with an eye patch, a googly eye, a "nose" and a "moustache". i was so embarrased that i didnt even bend down to pull them up,everyone had seen anyway, i just waddled to the nearest empty seat with my jacobs flapping like a flag in a gentle breeze and a sinking sense of shame.
( Glovington, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 19:03, 1 reply)

Not exactly 'caught'...
I've got a friend from my school days who I shall call Jim for the
purposes of this story. Jim was (and is) a bit of a lazy chap, able
to spend quite incredible periods of time in bed - long enough to test
most people's sanity.

One morning back when we were about 16, Jim was lying in bed, not
getting ready for school, when his dad took it upon himself
to give him a bit of encouragement to get up. Entering his bedroom he
walked over to Jim's bed and announced it was "Time to get up
lazybones", or something equally patronising, grabbing the end of
Jim's duvet and ripping it from the bed.

Somewhat inevitably for a male of his age, first thing in the morning,
Jim happened to be sporting a stonking erection, which was protruding proudly from his boxer shorts for all to see. After a brief but awkward pause, and not really having anything to say in response to this, his dad just turned around and, attempting to sound cheery, said "Erm, I'll see you downstairs."

Nothing more was ever said (and what would there even be to say?!), but we all had a good laugh at Jim's expense at school that morning.
(spaceweevil, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 19:02, 1 reply)

Pretending to be spiderman whilst 8
Yeah, well we used to live in a house which had a door with a broken doorhandle, and instead of it getting replaced, we sorta put up with it, and Foolish here got the pleasure of having that room.

Well, being 8, i wasn't a smart kid, so i thought hanging from the door like a monkey would be a nice way to emulate the Webslinger whose posters dominated my walls.

Well i ended up covered in red...my own blood. Fell off the door, and sliced my face open on the doorhandle. Cue my stepdad coming in to find me covered in blood seemingly gushing from my throat.

12 stitches later, my good looks restored and the stark warning if it was an inch deeper i wouldnt have been able to talk, and may well have drowned in my own blood.

Brilliant! Caught red-handed...and red faced... pretending to be Spiderman at 10 at night when i was supposed to be in bed. Yay
(DEADLINK 's head is spinning like a child in a tumble dryer, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 18:53, Reply)

It wasn't me, but a stranger on an old rickety bus in Spain...
that I was riding in with my friend. We were going through quite a dry, rural area, with dusty roads and some of the passengers holding chickens on their laps. You know the sort of thing.

One Spaniard was sat at the back chatting on his phone the whole way, really loudly, laughing and guffawing like a mentalist, and saying pretty much all of the Spanish swear words I knew at the time in every sentence. I could see all the old, grey haired wrinklies pulling the kind of frowns that could kill a small squirrel at 50 paces, and all the parents covering the ears of their young'uns. I couldn't even understand what he was saying, and he was pissing me off. Needless to say, he wasn't very popular with anyone on the bus.

About an hour into the journey, one of the old biddies at the front clasped her chest and keeled over. The bus driver stopped, and people crowded round to help. It was that point the driver asked if anyone had a phone. Considering that we were in the middle of nowhere, and this being a few years back, hardly anyone did. My friend took his out of his pocket, as did I, to find that we didn't have any reception. In fact, the handful of people on the bus who had phones had zero reception.

All eyes then looked to the back of the bus, where our noisy little friend was still nattering away, and hadn't even noticed that we'd stopped at all. The bus driver went over to ask him to use his phone to get help, where he sheepishly looked down the bus to find half the people staring at him, while the other half were attending to the suffering granny, before realising there was a problem.

He handed the phone over to reveal he didn't have any reception either...and had been conducting a conversation between himself and a 'friend' for seemingly the entire journey.
( guffguff fuckes your gradeds balls!, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 18:06, 8 replies)

Oh
And I once 'Caught' someone by buying a VCR from a carboot, plugging it in at home in my bedroom and finding a video cassette inside entitled 'sex film'. It was a lifesaver as the WiFi doesnt reach up to my room.
(mynameisntjonas, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 17:40, Reply)

oh dear
It was the sixth form ball. As a popular, but shy/inexperienced 18 year old, I was hoping to lose my virginity pretty soon; as games of 'I never' were getting very embarrassing. When someone said 'I have never had sex with a girl' everyone would drink and I would have to take a sly sip on my drink not to look like I was a virgin, hoping not to get caught out and shamed by one of my wanker mates.

Back to the story. Our ball happened to be at a racecourse, and the stands were outside, where everyone went to smoke. I got chatting to a girl and then later on I saw her again at the bar 'get me a pint' I said cheekily, and she bought me one, and i felt obliged to sit with her whie I drank it. The conversation dwindled a bit and I was pretty para by this time (not just off the one pint, i was already smashed);) . She said to me 'since i got you this drink you owe me something' and wanted to find somewhere to go. This girl was obviously looking for a shag anywhere she could find one, but this didnt bother me, and I was well up for it.

I suggested the boys toilets and we both went in, but there were still a few people in there, so we waited and talked until they had left (it must've been painfully obvious what was going on). After the few people had left, we went into the cubicle, began kissing and she started munching my meat. As this was happening I heard more people come in, they were talking. It was my mates!! They were talking about me and this girl that I was blatantly trying it on with (very embarrassing) but they left.

About 1 minute later a bloke was hammering on the cubicle door, it was one of the racecourse 'bouncers'. Shit. 'Get out of there!'. Very embarrassing. Luckily he wasnt a total wanker and didnt chuck us out/ give us a grilling.

The night wasn't a total failure because I did infact lose my virginity, as I took her off to a romantic spot behind a building down the road, but my camera fell out of my jacket pocket mid-pump and I lost one of my batteries, which put a bit of a downer on the night.
(mynameisntjonas, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 17:35, 4 replies)

Once upon a time....
I once fell asleep in class at school. The teacher had shut the shades, dimmed the lights and stuck on a boring video. I quickly fell asleep with my head resting in my hands. Apparently at some point during the hours lesson I had begun snoring, which alerted the little fuck next to me, who promptly, and quietly, let the teacher know I was asleep.

Luckily this teacher was more of a prankster than a twat, as I woke up to him gently shaking me, telling me it was gone past 6pm and all the buses had gone, and that I would have to stay the night with him. This was confirmed by the clock on the wall and the absence of the whole class.

Cue me thinking I was about to be bummed, I pushed everything into my bag and tried to run away. I got to the door to realise the whole class were outside and proceeded to fall about in laughter as I tried to escape the potential rape dungeon.

It turns out my teacher had quietly led the whole class outside, turned the clocks forward, and woke me, to make me panic about missing my bus. I nearly had a fucking heart attack, and never even blinked in his lessons ever again.
(g-rex, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 17:22, 3 replies)

Possible pearoast with gay porn
Soon after I bought our first family PC, which all the family shared, I found a floppy disc jammed behind a pipe under the stairs.

Being a nosy sort, I had a look. It featured a photo of two athletically-built gentlemen enthusiastically pleasuring each other in an almost impossibly gymnastic position. Looked as if they'd each scored a hole-in-one during a cartwheeling contest.

Who'd put it there? My then husband, or one of my two teenage sons or my teenage daughter? Daughter 2 was about 11 so it probably wasn't her...

I slipped the disc back, thinking 'Time will tell', and it did. Son 2 came out a year or so later.

I'm glad I didn't make an issue of it.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 17:20, 4 replies)

My drug paraphernalia
When I got home from a nice kick about in the park one Saturday in the summer, my mum was waiting for me, sat at the table, stern faced with a small item in front of her on the table.

'Sit down, you're father's on his way home. I want to ask first of all is there anything you're doing that you want to tell us about?'

Shit! I'm mentally tallying up everything that I've done as a 15 year old male. It's a bit. Nothing too bad. I'm racking my brains. Drinking? smoking? Weed? Porn!? Shit. I'll bet it's smoking. Fuck. My dad's a vigilant anti smoker...

'Ummm. No. What's up?' I said, eyeing the offending item and taking a seat opposite. Weighing up my options I considered confessing to something and hoping that was it. 'Sorry, but yes most of the phone bill was me looking at smut and wanking into a stupor' didn't seem like a good route to go down... 'let's see how this plays out' I thought.

'I was cleaning your room earlier and found this' She pushed the item towards me, still solemn faced. 'I know you've been smoking drugs, your father and I are both very upset'

Fuck, fuckety-fuck. FUCK! Anything but the weed. Smoking I'll get lectured for, but the weed will see me really fu... Hang on....

'Ermm. What do you think this is mum?'

'It's a hash pipe Scrumpy. I wasn't born yesterday.'

'You mean a kazoo mum....?'

'....... What?'

At this I picked up the 'hash pipe' and walked off, humming 'Crosstown Traffic' (If I was quicker at the time I would have gone for 'Purple Haze').

I heard my dad piss himself about 30 seconds after he came steaming through the front door...
(Scrumpy does not negotiate with terrorists,, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 17:16, 2 replies)

Aged about 12...
I was going on a family holiday to France, travelling by train. Having taken the Eurostar under the channel, and had a nice picnic in the Gare du Nord, we got on a sleeper train to head south to the Alps. French sleeper cars have 6 bunks, 3 on each side, and we are a family of 5. The train being full, we had just settled in and stowed luggage neatly under the bunks when a woman poked her head round the door and shouted back over her shoulder "God, how awful, there are people in here". She left her handbag and suitcase open in the middle of the carriage and left, not coming back until late at night, noisily.
A few hours later, she was under the influence of a sleeping pill and my 12 year old self leant over from the top bunk and managed to groan "I don't feel very" before hurling, straight into her handbag. Bullseye. Didn't miss a drop.
She, of course, was comatose the whole time, and because we were getting off the stop before, mum and dad did their best to clear up, and left a note apologising. We all found this story pretty funny for the rest of the trip, until our return to the station a week later, when we asked the rep where we would be sitting on our return journey. "Oh, don't worry", he smiled, "the French always put you in the same carriage on the way home".
Of course, my loving family pushed me on to the train first...
(billyh, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 17:03, 1 reply)

When I was but small
I and my esteemed family were on holiday in Cornwall somewhere. I was caught short near the pool, but having too awesome a time to go all the way to the toilets back in our room, or the (probably quite nearby) public loos. The writing was on the wall, in a neat typeface 2 foot high:

It was time for a stealth-dump.

This required a combination of cunning, daring, speed, agility, and above all, bog roll. Posessing none of these things, my little self scampered off behind a bush to drop trou, make mess, and get back to the pool, leaving no-one any the wiser to my James Bond-esque poopery. Alas, this was not to be. I quickly discovered a few things about the situation that were less than ideal:

1) The ground was very spiky behind the tree.
2) This caused me to tread very gingerly on the sides of my feet.
3) Once pants were round the ankles, I was basically going to shit on them, as they were directly underneath my arse.
4) It was too late the stop this from ocurring.

I had reached the point of no return, and as such my the best of the situation by pulling my underpants taunt from both sides quickly, in an effort to catapult the offending mud-monkey from twixt my soiled undies. Spiky floor + bad balance + childhood obesity + unexpected bum cigar+ keks-round-legs-catapult-action = staggering in a small circle, whimpering due to foot pain, before tripping over my poo-covered pants and landing in a pile of my own effluence. As well as a lot of spiky things.

Realising that the situation would require some aid, and being of sound enougn mind to realise that explaining this one to my parents was pretty much guaranteed to result in some kind of kicking, I had an inspired moment. I would wipe myself down with some leaves, and stroll back, to cool off in the refreshing pool. 'A temporary setback only...' thought I- '...I AM James Bond'.

Once again though, fate conspired against me, as if an army of invisible Blofelds and Jawses and that bloke with the hatses AND that wierd midget fella, decided 'No Mr Bond, we expect you to be imminently embarrassed and shamed beyond measure'. The wiping down went badly, due to my inspired choice of stinging nettles, so with a very sore bottom, still shit-streaked all down my back and legs, with knckered feet and my hat a distant memory, I was found by a kindly stranger, shaking in a ball on the floor, a wild-eyed feral child smearing in excreta, murmuring something about living twice.

To this day, I remember my reaction was to pull a remarkably shocked face, and cover my nipple areas with my hands. Please bear in mind that I was naked from the waist down only, and thus the nipple coverage must have been some sort of gut reaction (pardon the pun). I was eventually presented to my concerned parents, and laughing sibling/cousins/assorted other JOKERS, as my own tiny golgothon.
(Gertcha_cowson NAH MATE, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 16:40, 9 replies)

Sunday School
Many moons ago I was sent, most Mondays, to the local Methodist church. Id toddle up there in my shorts and smart shirt and sing and pray and colour in pictures...you get the idea. Most Sundays my folks would attend, but every now and again Id be sent on my own. Each week I had 10p for collection which Id put on the plate like a good boy. Then one Sunday, The Devil must have been near me. I was week. I kept my 10p and wentto the nearby shop and bought some sweets (Gentian Violets I seem to recall and refereshers). On the way out I was intercepted by Auntie L (family Friend) who asked why I had 10p; I lied "My mum gave it me" I lied (my soul is now roating nicely). "Hmmm" thinks she and phones my mum.

I got a tatering when I got in and had the sweets confiscated. Bah.
(kitescreech still here, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 16:30, 3 replies)

When I was a little girl...
...My mum and I went shopping. To Asda. And she bought me this lovely box of crayons. 100 of those lovely ones in all sorts of colours.

Lovely, I thought.

In the kitchen of our house, there was a hole in the floor.

Needless to say, being the little cow that I was, I put anything and everything I could get my hands on down that hole. Sweeties. Chocolate buttons. More sweeties. And yes, those crayons.

Mum comes in to find that I have dropped all the crayons save for one blue one down the hole, never to be seen again.
(Spy is dead., Tue 8 Jun 2010, 15:53, 11 replies)

Oh, God, The shame!
I once lied to an easy-going, Aussie diving-guide that I was a fully qualified diver, paid my hard-earned and set off on an all day trip to a remote archipelago to marvel at the wonders of the barrier reef.

You just suck your air in through a tube rather than from the atmosphere and then head for the surface when you run out, thought I. How hard can it be?

Surprisingly hard is the undeniable truth. The weight-belts were a mystery to me and I just couldn't submerge, dammit. The guide had had his beady eye on me after I'd leapt into the ocean like a drunken ballerina rather than sitting demurely on the side of the boat and plopping gently in backwards and, before I knew it he'd scooped me from the water and into a dinghy where he said bad, hurtful things to me.

I had to spend the rest of the day snorkelling and waiting in vain for a jellyfish to assault one of my fellow tourists who took turns to breach and tut at the moron in their midst. Poor, poor me.
(Happybara The jungle came alive and took him, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 15:42, 4 replies)

decorative bollards
My boss came to my desk (female btw) and she was discussing putting the above on either side of the driveway of our country house HQ.

I says "no problem", fires up google.ie, types "decorative bollards" in the search engine, turns the screen so we both can see the results, switches to image mode, (safe search on off ok) and I look away as my phone rings.

Cue her red face and me looking at the screen....... FUCK!!!!!
( The Scrunt Wants a Dozen Pints, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 15:33, 14 replies)

My son's supposedly secular nursery...
...busted for having a hardcore of Christian zealots. Three-year-old returns from school yesterday positively buzzing with enthusiasm for the biblical tale of Noah.
"Did anyone fall out of the boat?" I ask jovially.
"No Daddy, but the bad, dirty people were SMASHED by a flood!"

Couldn't they have just said that the flood washed the poor dirty people clean or something? Or perhaps I'm being oversensitive...
(Happybara The jungle came alive and took him, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 15:20, 2 replies)

Caught surfing for grot...when I wasn't...
Very late teens, still living at home with mum and dad but working as a techie, I'd invested some of my hard earned cash in a very large monitor, 21" which was a lot back in those days.

Anyway I was frequenting a certain type of site, not related to grot but that received it's advertising revenue by promoting grot sites, anyone of a like mind to myself will know exactly what I mean. Anyway, mum came in to talk to me about something, so I minimized the window I had open and turned around to talk to her, without looking at my screen.

Anyway we chatted for about 10 mins or so, then she left. I turned around to find that the site I was on previously had obviously spawned another window that I had failed to notice. Displayed on my massive monitor the whole time I was talking to my mum was a large picture of a busty blonde getting rammed in the rear by a guy hung like a donkey, while another bloke covered her face in man fat.....

To my mums credit the incident was never mentioned...
(repooc, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 14:02, 2 replies)

I was only going to borrow it!
A long time ago now, in a rare moment of public spiritedness I allowed myself to be co-opted into helping out at a local centre for people with physical difficulties. A friend regularly volunteered and he asked me to help out as they were getting some of them to do their Cycling Proficiency Tests. I helped set out the cones and with various other tasks throughout the morning and it was hard not to be moved by the way they applied themselves, hunched over the handle bars, the additional concentration showing on their faces and making it obvious how much it meant to them. With just a little bit of leeway(being allowed to have more than one go at some exercises), they all got through the test.
The organisers told those of us who had helped to line up and form a guard of honour as the proud cyclists received their certifcates and badges. Understandably they wanted to "big up" the award and give the fullest acknowledgement to their achievement. This is where it got a bit embarrasing for me. I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was 9 years old and had never bothered doing the Cycling Proficiency Test. Furthermore, thoughout the morning I had noticed that pretty much everyone else was wearing their own CPT badge (again in an attempt to show that it was something that those without physical difficulties were proud of). Now, what I did next is hardly a great crime, and I was fully intending to only borrow the badge which I took from the boxful on the table (waiting to be handed over). I'd like to state that wore the badge only to show my support for the scheme, but in truth there was also a slight feeling of embarrassment that I, a so called able-bodied person, had not achived something that the day's cyclists (in spite of their "shortcomings")had. Unfortunately a couple of the cyclists saw me and assuming that is was stealing something to which I was not entitled, something which they had worked hard to earn, were understandably annoyed. They shouted at me and gave me a couple of short armed jabs.

So in essence, I was abused punched and humiliated for what was essentially a small act of egotism, and one which I would have got away with if it weren't for those peddling flids.
(Cave Duck, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 13:24, 7 replies)

Speaking of repairing computers
My mate was asked me:
"Can you take a look at my nephew's computer?"
"Sure" said I. Correctly assuming it was the usual case of installing Realplayer and clicking those webpage popups that tell you your computer is being hacked and that you should use their protection utility/spyware.

So I booted it up an his msn account logs in automatically. Being a typical 15-16yo lad, I expected him to have a good few girls in his friends list. I didn't expect 90% of them to be girls.

The other thing that opened on startup was the folder "My Received Files". This contained the folder that contained the chat histories. For anyone not familar with msn messenger, the chat history (if enabled) for each person you talk to is saved in an xml file and stored in a subfolder of "My Received Files". I wasn't interested in the least in what they might contain - teenage chat sessions are the most banal conversations you could ever imagine and on top of that they're in some sort of illegible shorthand that I simply could not be arsed to decipher.

Besides, my attention was drawn to the other contents in the folder. There were subfolders named after most if not all of his contacts. There was also just shy of 120 other jpegs. I assumed they were of people on his contact list. Well, the girls anyway. All in various states of undress. I imagine they were images he hadn't gotten around to 'sorting' into subfolders yet.
Before anyone asked, I did not open any. I didn't need to as it was set to 'large thumbnails'. I cringed. Except for a few, they were clearly not over 18. Or even 16.

I installed Window Washer and wiped the lot. Properly wiped where they get overwritten with a load of zeroes.

I then did a good overhaul of his drive with various spyware removal and antivirus utilities. I rebooted and it ran a damn sight smoother and quicker than before.

I then set about writing a text file which detailed what would happened if he kept such pictures on his drive, making a point of saying that just because they were roughly the same age as him, it didn't matter. I explained how if he was caught and arrested, he would probably be put on remand, get a custodial sentence of 'several years' and how he would be on the sex offenders register which is not graded so that people charged with having sex with a 15yo is on the same level as Ian Huntley. I explained how his life would be pretty much ruined. How he would never get a job which required a CRB check, which is a surprising percentage - anything that involves public services, civil service or any trade that might involve going into people's houses to do jobs. Also, what would happen if his neighbours or work colleagues found out that he 'was a nonce'.

I saved it all in a text message called "READ THIS IT'S FUCKING IMPORTANT' and left it on the desktop.

I reckon it will have put the frighteners on him and hopefully made him see the error of his ways and be glad he didn't take it to PC World instead.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 13:21, 8 replies)

schooldaze
Sadly not a story about being caught behind the bike sheds with the cute English teacheress but rather something more nerdy.

Being a bit of a smarty swot some lessons used to get quite boring and one GSCE German lesson was no exception.
This was back in the days of fountain pens and hoarder that I am I kept the used ones in my pencil case. Anyways, this German lesson was going over stuff I already knew (and have now forgotten) and just seemed to drag so I took to playing around with the spent cartridges in my pencil case.
After a while I hit upon building little towers and building from the cartridges and other things such as staple boxes and pencils. I was so totally absorbed that a good few minutes went by before I realised the entire room had gone silent. I look up to see everyone staring at me and Ms Hughes the German Teacher with a raised eyebrow. I look down at the impressive cathedral of ink cartridges and stuff and embarrassingly dismantle it muttering "entschuldigung".

For weeks after everyone would look over at me everytime I opened my pencil case, and occasionally I would get requests.

Length: well, it covered a third of the desk
(TheProfessor For all your redbearded intellectual needs, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 13:18, Reply)

a quick nap.
Well, yes, as with most of these stories, there was a certain degree of alcohol involved. I'd recently turned twenty one and was back with my rents for the weekend, all fun and games and lovely jubbly. So yes, meandering over, I decided to get utterly sloshed with some friends of mine. We were sitting in the park getting merrily pissed when I got a text from a rather tasty dish I'd been working on for some time now, saying that she was coming over. "Holy duckfuckery!" I shouted as I ploughed through the undergrowth to go and buy some pimms. Girls love pimms. And I love drunk girls. Simple see? So yes, I'd bought a big bottle of pimms, some lemonade, fruit, the whole shabang. It was turning out to be rather fantastic.

We got back to my house and continued the festivities, myself getting changed into a suit (I think I must've been on a bit of James Bond high or something) and I'd mixed the pimms up and everything was lovely. Then comes another text "Sorry, can't make it, shattered and have to be up at six tomorrow, have fun though x". Gosh Darnit. Well, that was plan a) out the window. It wasn't much of a plan. Get her as drunk as me and then bump uglies if the situation arose. Ah well. Good to have a plan b). I drank the entire jug of pimms to myself and continued with lager thereafter.

Suitably hammered I stumbled my way to the toilet and dropped trousers, after making a quick detour to my brothers room to drop a bed on him (he was sleeping on his sofa, but that's another story). Pissing everywhere I thought it would prudent to sit down to have a wee rather than stand up and ruin most of the bathroom furnishings.

So yes, I had a sit down and a lovely wee and we all know how drunk pissing is, needless to say the sense of relief was overwhelming. So in my drunken euphoria, I thought what could be nicer than a quick nap, just to recharge my batteries.

So I fell off the toilet with my trousers round my ankles and a fresh new purple bruise on my face. Pain and confusion, I staggered to my feet to be greeted by camera phones clicking away behind the glass panel above my bathroom door.

Sigh. So yes, that's me there on facebook with my dick hanging out, vomit down my front and pissy trousers. Form an orderly queue please ladies.
(spiderslut, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 13:02, 1 reply)

I was thirteen........
and 2 of my mates had being banging on about this hoover, and how if you sit on it - with it's sheer power and force you could drive around on it like a go-kart.

Obviously I was suspicious of this, but this hype continued for weeks, until finally the day came, where they let me have a go of this powerhouse of a machine.

So eventually I'm brought around to my mate's house where I'm introduced to the beast, and I was sadly disappointed to find a standard small green household hoover - but they insist I sit on it, and one of them plonks a helmet on my head for added retardation.

At this moment one of the lads bursts out with a camera to take a long lost picture of me clutching a tiny green machine while wearing a white bicycle helmet.

They called me Warren for two years after that (as in There's Something About Mary).

Those brilliant, brilliant bastards!
(El_diablo_blanco, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 12:59, 3 replies)

A friend of mine works in IT security for a major financial house.
At the time of this story she was in a fairly lowly position but destined for higher things.

The financial house was having to upgrade some software on a remote site. A difficult job with many potential security implications and there had been many briefings on the problem but my friend, being quite junior then didn't anticipate being too involved.

With an engineer on a remote site ready to do the upgrade a conference call was placed from there to the security centre. My friend's boss swept through the office with many bigwigs in tow, very important people who'd flown from all over the world just for this moment. The boss pointed to her and the most junior office junior and indicated they were to follow him to his office many many floors above. She'd never been to his office before. The office junior was shitting himself. They got in the lift with the men in expensive suits and ascended.

The conference call began with the remote engineer saying, "I've done what I can but haven't got permissions to go any further. I need a username and password from someone in security."

Head honcho turns to office junior and says, "Give him your username and password.".

Obviously, this is why he'd been brought along.

Office junior pulls himself to his full height and replies, "I'm sorry, I can't do that, it breaks all the protocols."

Head honcho smiles benevolently, "Well done son, that's the right answer but I wrote those protocols. These are exceptional circumstances and we need your username and password. Give him your username and password and when we're finished you can go back downstairs and change them."

Remote Engineer: Right. Username?
Office Junior: J.O.H.N.S.O.N.M.J
[tap tap tap of remote engineer entering username]

RE: Password?
OJ: [sweating profusely] Erm.....A.N.A.L.R.A.P.E
[tap tap tap........]
RE: Fuckin' 'ell! Anal rape????
[exeunt OJ]
(twattybanjo, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 12:49, 9 replies)

Repairing computers
It amazes me just how many people store personal porn on their PC's

With the advent of digi cameras, phone cameras and web cams the likleyhood of finding some saucy pics on knackered PC's is very high.

Personal favorites are the phone camera backups that people dont realise they have

What have you found?
(resistanceisfutile, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 12:03, 7 replies)

dirtiness awaits you
While at Uni I took a girl home to meet the folks one weekend. The journey was 120 miles on the train and all the way there I was a walking sex hormone, luckily the carriage was pretty quiet. However once back home, we were kept busy seeing a lot of family friends and finally got to bed so late, we just fell asleep.

Next morning at sunrise, I considered a nice bit of muff munching would be a great start to the day for her, she agreed.

My Mother walked into the room at that point, saw what I was doing and let out a gargled squeak before she walked right back out again, firmly shutting the door.

Breakfast was a somewhat restrained affair that morning. Happy days...
( Rev. Jayneflakes Buy my book, I need the cash for drugs and hookers, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 11:45, 10 replies)

Only the other day, I was waiting for the tube at going home time on a Thursday. I was looking good, in my suit and hat - earlier that day I'd been likened to a classy mobster.
I was at King's Cross, and, being an experienced tube-getter, was standing right at the spot where the doors would open, and behind me was a crowd of similarly travel-wise commuters.

All of us were work-weary and silent, reading our papers, reading the adverts on the opposite wall, or staring into space.

I felt a fart coming.

"This is going to be a little naughty one" I thought, "Having been on the beer last night, this is going to be silent, and absolutely deadly". I chuckled to myself as I started thinking about the response and wonder about who dealt it among my fellow strangers.

Ready? Here we go - one cheek slightly higher and ...

PTHTHTHTHTHTHPPPPPPTTTTTTT!!!!!! shouted my arse - people 10 yards away were staring.

I decided not to get the next tube.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 8 Jun 2010, 11:12, Reply)