Book signing session
I've travelled a fair bit for recreation and for work (less so these days - public sector sucks ass for jollies).

In every hotel I stay in - be it a Travel Lodge or a five star nirvana - I make my first task to find the Bible provided by the Gideons, turn to the first page, and proudly write:

'Thanks for buying my autobiography. All the best, Jesus'.
(Bappage, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 12:26, 8 replies)

not too long ago
i drew a beard on a friend's oyster card photo, with her eyeliner pencil thing. she wasn't best pleased.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 12:24, 3 replies)

Cutting my nose off to spite my face
A group of us were going for a night out in watford and were waiting for a mate to come and pick us up.

I called shotgun which as everyone knows is pretty much the law but the fucker let some other prick sit in the front. So I have to admit I became rather petulant and refused to get in if I wasn't allowed in the front.

I forgot that all my "friends" are cocks and just drove off leaving me to pay £30 for a cab.

Next time i think i might just get in the back
(NuffMuff fucks shrubbery, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 12:22, 4 replies)

I never get tired of annoying my girlfriend
Mostly it happens when we do the shopping. As soon as we walk by the tampons and other lady products, I'll usually pick up a box and shout "here's the jam rags my love". If she's actually buying some, I'll throw them out of the trolley in front of people, pretending they're hand grenades, complete with sound effects. And I can't resist running with the trolley down an empty isle and putting my feet up on the wheels which usually ends up with me slamming into the sides and knocking loads of stuff off the shelves. I seriously don't know why she still insists I do the shopping with her.
(Visionaryofthe1980s www.myspace.com/visionariesofthe1980s, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 12:10, 2 replies)

Ok last one for a while
a few days ago my girlfriend left her Facebook account logged in and walked away for a minute. Just enough time for me to change her statu update thingy to 'Smells of wee and poo'. Even funnier was the fact she blamed her brother in the next room as I giggled while hiding behind the door.
( Funkenschlag still likes dogs more than cats, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 12:10, 1 reply)

laughing
at the word bum. for hours and hours and hours...

I wish I was 7 again :)
( Kyazrael Juan, two, three, floor?, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 12:06, 2 replies)

Another one
I've just thought of, a few years ago I was doing a Master's degree in London and have laughed my head off at the usual sights 'e.g. 'Cockfosters' - that one kept me laughing damn near non-stop for a tewenty minute bus ride, 'Holburn' - It, sort of, says Hole burn - snigger and many more.
( Funkenschlag still likes dogs more than cats, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:53, 10 replies)

Brew?
One of the 'workmen' fitting my roller gate used to be the school bully. He and a few of his mates cornered me one day and slapped me around a bit. Got everyone of them back over the next couple of terms except for the fat cunt that was stood in my back yard.
It was 30 years ago so I should really have left it. But I didn't.
Rather than start a fight over something so trivial as a slap 30 years ago, I decided to stick my finger up my ring and wipe it around the rim of the cup of tea I'd just made him. And the next one, and the next and........
(daveduke67, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:50, 2 replies)

At my sister--in-law's wedding
I persuaded a few of her family members to smile and say 'Hail Satan' for a picture while in Church. We giggled.
( Funkenschlag still likes dogs more than cats, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:49, 1 reply)

Eating a fish finger sandwich
on white bread, with ketchup
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:42, 8 replies)

Up Down Left Right ABC Start
I'm still useless without it, and I'm 22. The shame!
( mango_charlie, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:42, 11 replies)

Anyone noticed that most of these stories are not childish at all.
They are things only an adult would do.

Last Monday a couple of friends and I went to the local theme park.

I pissed myself.

I hadn't been drinking.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:32, Reply)

New toys
For me, nothing quite beats the buzz of riding my bicycle along leafy singletrack trails, enjoying all that the great outdoors has to offer.

So earlier on this year I treated myself to a new mountain bike, which duly turned up on my doorstep one cold and snowy morning. Despite the inclement weather, I couldn't resist taking it for a little spin.


(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:29, 20 replies)

The last temptation of the trolley
I'd just finished assisting my parents with their grocery shopping, and being a good son, helpfully offered to take the trolley back to the nearest drop off point.

After I'd been pootling along for a couple of minutes, and was about half way to my destination, I could realise my true purpose for being a temporary trolley monkey. I started jogging, and then running, and with sufficient speed, I jumped onto the trolley and began gliding gracefully through the Asda car park.

Sadly the graceful part only lasted a mere 5 seconds, before I hit a pot hole, developed a severe wobble, and turned over my vehicle, landing in a heap.

I got up without any real damage, uprighted the trolley and carried on my way, gratefully smug that no one had seen my childish fun go awry. My smug feeling quickly disappeared when I saw a young girl, maybe 10, looking disappointed and shaking her head at me.

I was 25 at time of said incident.
(ShiftyBastard won the World Cup on World Soccer Champs 2010!, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:17, Reply)

Pzzzzowwwww
Fighting my dog with iPhone lightsaber app...
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:14, Reply)

Spaced
After Tim Bisley, from excellent sitcom Spaced whenever someone askes if I "want anything from the shops". I always reply with either "A crossbow" or "PORN".
(Amos Moses, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:11, 4 replies)

Supermarket Freak
Supermarkets. Don’t ask me why but they have a tendency to make me revert into a young flim-flam. Maybe it’s the large space, maybe its all the killer hiding spaces available… maybe I just don’t like food shopping? Who knows, but near enough every trip ends in madness, same applies for my hubby, I guess we are quite well suited in that respect – we’re both odd.

One of my favourite supermarket hijinks involved me and my other half being weird around a massive Waitrose in Dorset. We had started so well, mainly because my mum and sister were with us and we had to be on best behaviour, but soon enough we split off from them and my hubby started playing up. He started hiding from me down different aisles and then jumping out at me at different points, I was trying to be sensible and ignore him but I could feel the child within desperate to escape and do something daft. We carried on for a few more minutes quite sensibly and then he gave me a weird look and was off, racing up and down the aisles again. Right, I’m having him, were my thoughts so as he bolted down yet another aisle I calmly strolled down the one running parallel to it making sure that he had seen me go. I knew he was going to run to the end and then jump out at me so instead of carrying on the normal course I turned around and followed him. Careful to leave a sneaky distance between us I watched him hide at the end of an aisle ready to jump out… and jump out he did, onto a complete stranger; a rather hoity-toity middle-aged horsey type to be exact. She recoiled in fear, hands covering her face from the madman that had just launched himself from behind the biscuits leaving me just enough time to dive in and pounce on my other half, grabbing his sides and screaming ‘GOTCHA SUCKAAA’.

I won that round. :D
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:05, 2 replies)

Yesterday
I moved to university in London. My parents loaded my stuff into the car, drove me 300 miles and dropped me off. Dad came with me while I enrolled, but got bored of queuing and decided to wander off, telling me he'd be out the front of the main building.
Fifteen minutes later, all enrolled, I walk out to where he said he'd be and...nothing. He's not there. I walk up and down and round and round and still nothing. A kindly student ambassador comes over and says 'Are you alright?'
20 years old, first day of university, first day of my new independent life outside the family home (I have my own set of pans and everything) and what comes out of my mouth in the panicked tone of a toddler whose mum isn't by the cheese in Sainsbury's any more?
'I've lost my dad!'
(and now for someone completely different, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:00, 3 replies)

courting Alice part 2.
In this post, I told the story of how I gained the notice of Alice, and noted that I eventually went out with her. This post is about how we actually became an item.

One glorious day I went on a date with Alice. Or at least sort of. Me and Alice and a couple of other people were going to see Nick Cave, but the others dropped by the wayside. Backsliders and hypocrites unwilling to answer the call of Saint Nick, and yet I silently thanked rather than cursed them, and when the day came it was just the two of us.

Could you have but seen the magnificence of me that day! Clad in four shades of black, my hair a very Icarus ascending to the heavens, and as if servants went before me throwing rose petals, a pleasant scent of hair products attended all. Mephistopheles in denim, ready to tempt who he will, and no doubt these things in my stomach are no butterflies but sleek and scintillant incubbi.

I arrived early. Actually three hours early, so anxious was I to not be late. So there was no-one there but people setting up, and this one guy drinking at the bar...

No way. Fuck, I think it is.

"Excuse me...are you Mick Harvey?"

He turned to me, and replied

"Yes, I am."

Even then I didn't know whether it was really him, or just some random fan having a lend of me. He pretty much looked like every other male that was going to be there:

(although in our minds we looked more like this: )

"I...I really loved 'The Adversary'. That was pretty much my favourite song for a while."

At the mention of his lesser-known solo career he bid me sit down (no mean feat in my jeans) and talk to him. Soon we got on to my meeting Alice and the whole situation.

"Are you gunna ask her to be your girlfriend?" he asked when I'd finished.
"Oh, yeah...I mean, not today. Soon, when it's..."
"No!" he slammed his hands on to the bar, and I jumped.

"No! You've got to ask her today. Today or you won't ask her at all. You'll wait and wait for the right time, and there'll always be some reason not to, and then you never will, and she'll go out with Some. One. Else!" the last emphasised with more crashing of hands.

"No, I will, I really.." I said weakly, for it was as my heart was a bell, and those hands the clapper that struck it truly, bringing forth the note that was within me.

"No, you won't. You say you will but you won't. Listen.." and here he leant forward, and his voice lowered.

"Listen...you know what groupies are?"

I nodded.

"We get groupies man. Everywhere, just...beautiful girls. And, it's not...it's not the same thing..."

He stopped, and turned away from me. Did he softly say the word 'Deanna', or has my imagination added that in?

Again his eyes looked into mine, and he held my suit-coated arms.

"I want you to promise me, promise me now, that you'll ask her today."

"O..OK, OK, I promise" I said, actually a bit scared of him, and more than ever wondering if this was really Mick Harvey, or if this was a drunk who had been pretending to be the bass player from AC/DC last week.

"Good man. Good man. I've gotta go and get ready, but yeah, good to meet you apeloverage."

And with that he left.

My brain awhirl, I simply sat for an unknown time, until both relief and new fear came in the form of Alice herself.

I considered casually mentioning that "yeah, I was just talking to Mick Harvey actually. Cool guy", but said nothing. Almost literally nothing. I wasn't that good at talking to girls at the best of times, and this was the worst of times.

The support band passed by like the last bus, and then it was time.

And the guy I was talking wasn't one of the band.

I actually grinned, so great was my relief. If he wasn't Mick Harvey, then I didn't have to follow his advice, which was no doubt part of the jape, trying to get me to make an ass of myself. Or so I told myself.

Some time later, and "all right, this is the last one! This is called the Ship Song!" But wait! The guitarist (Blixa Bargeld) made 'hang on' motions to Nick.

"Hello...er, I am Blixa Bargeld."

"And...er, Mick Harvey was not able to play today, because he fell ill. But he has a note here, which he wants me to read."

"'I met someone before the gig today called apeloverage. And he promised me that he was going to do something. But I don't think he's going to.'"

Oh no. Alice looked at me, and I looked at my oncoming doom.

"'So, I'm going to do it for him. Alice Liddell, apeloverage really likes you, and he wants to know if you would be his girlfriend.'"

And she did.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:46, 9 replies)

Actually this is the most recent
Its my partners birthday tomorrow, so today I baked him a cake. A sumptuous carrot cake with the usual creamcheese filling/icing.

I wasn't sure what design to put on the top (used pumpkin seeds, as no gelatin-based sparkly things for vegetarian friend who will be eating cake) but I didn't have to ponder for long.
Yup, a badly-drawn/seeded spunking cock in pumpkin seeds now adorns the top.

Even better is that I've stashed it with one of my neighbours (reason? Since my Boy got home, he has been searching high and low for his presents and cake) and have arranged for her to bring it down tomorrow morning. She's a lovely lady, but not the sort you would ever imagine deigning to scribble a badlydrawn spunking cock at any point of her life, she'll be mortified!! (I did ask her to text me if she found it too crass, and I would go bring it down myself)
(maggotriddendirtbox fast, feral and sharp as a tack since, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:45, Reply)

"What sort of car does he drive"
Is a question which I'll always answer, in my most patronising voice

"A brum car"
(teebie jeebie, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:44, 3 replies)

Watersports with the kids
My arse was palpitating like a humingbird with a heart condition at an Iron Maiden gig that’d just necked a load of viagra and was also suffering from a stress related ilness caused by an unusually nervous disposition brought on by the effects of live heavy metal music when the police officer enquired: “Haven’t I seen you before?”

I said, nervously: “Hah, no, officer. Never...”

My girlfriend and I had collered the copper near where we live to show him the delightful cock and balls grafitti some little shitrag had put up overnight. My girlfriend wasn’t best pleased and wanted to alert the authorities, going off on one in her typical gobby Cardiff way. I hid behind her (hard to do when she is almost technically a midget), and tried to look like someone else. I had seen the copper before. And it was while I was doing something incredibly childish. So childish it could’ve landed me infront of a judge and left me with a hefty fine, or possibly a short stint at Her Majesty’s pleasure.

Lets go back to the start – I have a little mate named Sam who gets the same bus as me in the morning. He’s eight. I’m thirty-four. But we seem to have alot in common. The first time I saw Sam (imagine an eight year old Maurice Moss out of The IT Crowd), he said: “Awight.” I looked round, standing in my zombie-going-to-work-mode, waiting for the big red bus to take me to the dreaded hellpit also known as my office. I didn’t see anyone, I was half asleep. Then I looked down. It was Sam, stood next to me, grinning, adjusting his wonky glasses. “Nice weather, innit?”

And that’s how I struck up a friendship with Sam – we’d have a little chat every morning for a few minutes while we waited for our bus. He’d tell me what he was going to do at school that day, I’d try and radiate a I’m-not-trying-to-fuck-this-kid aura to the others waiting at the stop while I chatted with the little tyke. He asked me what I did for a living. I told him I was a secret agent, like James Bond, and if I told him anymore than this I’d have to kill him. The little cunt didn’t believe me. He asked me where I was from. I said I was raised by sheep on a hillside in Outer Mongolia. He didn’t believe this either. And this is how I’d wake up every morning, talking to one of my peers – an eight year old boy with quite possibly the worst hair in the history of the world.

Then, at the end of July, Sam wasn’t at the stop anymore. He was on school holidays. I’d wait alone, drooling, trying to keep upright, waiting for the sodding bus. Then during the hot spell we had in London in the first week in August I had a particularly tricky client to deal with – I had to get suited and booted in my best expensive clobber. Posh suit, posh shirt, gleaming shoes, the fucking works. Took me ages to get ready that morning. And as I left my flat and walked towards the bus stop I saw Sam with the 2009 equivalent of the Red Hand Gang; his mates, in civvy cloths. No school uniforms today. And they were tooled up. When Sam saw me he grinned his big shit eating grin, screamed: “Gettim !!!” And he and his mates took aim and fired.

And drenched me to the fucking skin with their high powered super soaker water pistols (these things were fucking HUGE, bigger than my cock, infact).

The... Little... Fucking... BASTARD !!!

Had to go back home, do some frantic Olympic-speed ironing, change my cloths, and rush to fucking work. Could really have done without the hassle.

Then that weekend I spied Sam and his mates hanging round the primary school near where I live. There’s a big wall there where the kids can bounce tennis balls, play footie, and generally arse about away from the prying eyes of would-be kiddie-fiddlers and overbearing parents. REVENGE !!! I went into my flat, filled up the washing up bowl with water, said to my girlfriend: “Just gotta do something, will only be a few minutes.” And then I went outside armed with the water-fighting equivalent of a nuclear-fucking-weapon. I walked the few dozen paces to the school. I could hear Sam and his mates round the corner, chatting. Ooooh, this was FUCKING PERFECT !!! Super-sneak attack mode engaged, I padded quietly closer, hugging the wall, trying my best to stop the water in the bowl sploshing about. After a few agonising seconds I reached the corner, my back against the wall. I could hear Sam and his little gang just round the corner, could just make out their voices.

Then, cat-like, I sprung: “AAAVVVVEEEE IIIITTTTTT !!!”

SSSSS – PPPPPP – LLLLLLL – OOOOO – SSSSSSS - HHHHHH !!!

Then I looked up – revenge, ahh sweet revenge – and saw...

... the back of the local beat copper, sopping wet from head to toe, water pouring down his neck and into his shirt, his tittacular helmet all askew. And Sam and his grubby little mates just on the other side of him, perfectly fucking dry, staring at me wide eyed. The copper turned, saw me, saw my empty bowl. And – being the reasonable, responsible adult that I am, I ran like the fucking wind.

Go back to a couple of weeks ago, the local community copper asks me again: “You sure I don’t know you?”

“Absolutely not, officer.”

Sam’s very pleased with me now. His little gang’s always getting hassled by this plod, apparently. I think Sam may actually believe I have secret services training now, the way I managed to disappear like Bat-fucking-man in a split second on that fateful hot August Saturday...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:43, 6 replies)

Dog turd...
My brother once came in from a night out with his girlfriend when I was about 17 and found me and my mates getting smashed in the living room.
We were probably quite obnoxious, but what made him really angry was that our springer spaniel, Brandy, had curled out a nice big turd on the sofa and he'd sat in it.
Obviously we started pissing ourselves laughing, but he didn't get the joke, in fact he became so enraged that he actually picked up the turd with his bare hands and threw it at my head!
That was a pretty childish thing to do, but I'm glad he did it.
(sparagus14, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:42, Reply)

Probably not THE most childish
but probably the most recent.

I'm rather partial to sneaking up on my partner and jumping out on him, ie if I get home and he's in the shower, or not heard me come in, the shoes come off and the creaky floorboards are avoided.

A few weeks ago, he was on a work-type do out, had a few drinkies, came home late. I'd been home alone all night and had just thought about getting ready to go to bed when I saw the taxi pull up outside (the road's down a load of steps from our flat).
I snuck out to the hallway (we have a non-traditional layout here: you come in through the lounge, bedroom to one side, hallway to rest of flat to the other) and hid behind the hallway curtain in the dark. In he came, light on in the lounge, heard him glance into the bedroom and then charge through to the hall.
Of course my timing was executed perfectly. He did not expect this in the slightest and granted me the split-second utter panicshockfear face I had hoped for, then backed away looking pissed off - for longer than usual.

Apparently he'd come in, concerned the door was still unlocked at this late hour, no lights on, seen that I was sat not at the computer, nor in bed (the usual haunts).
Noticed a note next to the computer.
Realised that for most of the last week I'd been at rock bottom, crying constantly and querying the point of life (had a miscarriage and my world fell apart).

He'd thought the worst and imagined I'd gone and done myself in, half-expecting to find me on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood or something. Not to find a cackling idiot half-wrapped in curtain pointing and howling with laughter.

Poor boy.

NB, in no way am I making light of suicide, I actually think the fact he thought I'd have done this was really sad. I'm more amazed that for a couple so close, we were so worlds apart that night.
(maggotriddendirtbox fast, feral and sharp as a tack since, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:34, Reply)

Not relfecting well on either of us...
My old boss had a phobia of bananas.

Quite weird, I know (apparently, it's something to do with finding the texture of both the skin and the fruit really repulsive).

On one occasion, we had a blazing row, which ended abruptly when I picked up my banana and threw it to her over the desk.

She instinctively caught it, looked down at it, and then screamed, dropped it, and ran off in hysterics to the toilet to clean her hands, while I laughed my head off.

She then tried to ban me from having bananas at work.

Quite childish from both sides, really...
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:27, 3 replies)

When I was younger..
we had a dog. I used to copy the dog by going down the stairs on all fours, hands and knees (I really don't know why!). Anyway the other day I wondered if I could still do it............I can't and I have the carpet burns and lump on my head to prove it, I am 36!
(Studentken is looking for motivation on, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:25, Reply)

oh god.. .Why am I about to admit to this?
quite some years ago, as a 20 year old student, I worked sundays in a store, situated in a shopping mall. To get in early to get my dept. organised, I had to enter through the delivery/trade area, under the centre, passing the security bit, and though a series of grey concrete corridors, and into a service elevator to the store. It occured to me how very "resident evil -like" the area was.

I managed to get hold of a number of music tracks from Resi 2 and stuck them on my MP3 player (aahhh, student loans!). Yes, I crept around like I was trying to avoid attracting the attentions of zombies, and yes, I was imagining heading up the stairs/ opening doors/ traveling in the lift as if it were mini cutscenes whilst listening to the tunes...

I'm actually surprised that no one from security saw or stopped me...

ironically, many of the other members of staff and nearly all of the customers were quite zombie-like...
( theoriginalsteve <this space intentionally left blank>, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:25, Reply)

Morning farts
I'm in the habit of doing loud farts after getting out of bed in the morning (Mudskipperess doesn't appreciate dutch oven pranks). A few days ago, I rattled out a particularly euphonious effort while making Daughter #2 (aged 6) her breakfast. "That disgusting, daddy" she said (she has a slight speech impediment).
I promptly blamed the budgie.
Far from finding that funny, Daughter got angrier. "No, it you! You do fart! Stop lying!!"
I responded by doing another fart.
"STOP IIIIIT"
I blamed the budgie again, and to compound the hilarity I wafted the smell over the Daughter and the caged bird.
"WASN'T HIM!!! IT WAS YOOOUUUU!!! STOP IIIITTT!"
By this time, Daughter is close to tears.
What's a loving father to do?
If you're me, a final, hideously rancid fart, this time while wordlessly pointing an accusing finger at the budgie.

It took a few minutes to regain my daughter's love after all this.
(mudskipper, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:24, 9 replies)

The Wonder of Woollies
When I was younger and not involved in earning my keep I would go shopping with my mother so she would have someone to carry her heavy shopping bags. Unfortunately she had a habit of wandering off in large shops leaving me to trawl around the shop looking for her, seeing as she is only 4’10” this sometimes took awhile as she was easily able to inadvertently hide behind pushchairs and buggies. One day in Woolworths this had happened a couple of times and I was a bit fed up anyway. So I stopped dead in the middle of the aisle and shouted “Mammy” in my best window-licking voice. No reply. So I continued. “Mammy! I want my Mammy! Where are you Mammy?” Complete with Gurgling distressed noises and real tears (easy, just tug the hairs inside you nose).

By the time she returned to be greeted by a huge belming grin and “Look! It’s my Mammy! I love my Mammy and she loves me!” I had a large and sympathetic audience of old dears tutting hard enough to rival Skippy. At which point I picked her up and gave her a huge bearhug while continuing in the same vein. We left rather quickly. I was 23 and had a shaven head with a big beard and wearing bike leathers. It didn’t help though. Apparently she still wanders off in shops.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:23, 1 reply)

This bloke was leaving work to go to Uni
where I used to work.

we shrink wrapped his car and fork lifted it on the top of a shipping container.

I'm 9 1/2. Mentally.
( spesh., Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:22, Reply)