Drunken stuff
I fell over on the way up the escalator, and then fell down the escalator while getting back up. I then did a Superman impression back down the escalator on the way out which didn't go according to plan and I ended up in little drunken heap on the floor.

I offered a stranger a fiver to touch the MDs willy but he said no. I got up to £50.00 if he'd just poke it. He agreed. I asked the MD for the money but he refused to pay.
( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Tue 6 Jan 2015, 12:52, Reply)

Can't think of anything worse
I'm an atheist so not Christmassy anyway, but is there anything as soul destroyingly shit as office Christmas parties. I enjoy a good social life all year round, and the thought of legislated 'party' eugh. Even a quick drink in a pub just before Xmas told me everything I needed. Just standing at the bar listening to the moronic small talk... the middle-aged women with their glittery dress and glittery bag and glittery hair trying to be all glittery talking to someone they never normally even give the time of day.

VILE.

Okay that's a rant. Can I provide anything funny? Not really. I did go to one a few years back and when going to a club after stored a colleagues's dildo (she'd got it as a gift) in my pocket as my pocket could support it. As a gay guy, next day forgetting all about it, it's quite something to just put your hand in your pocket casually and produce a plastic cock.
(LokiMD, Mon 5 Jan 2015, 18:55, 10 replies)

Quietus interruptus
I pulled at one of our Christmas parties a good few years ago. The party was on-site, there was a bar and dance floor in the basement restaurant, club on the ground floor, staff rooms & offices upstairs.

She was new and certainly up for it. We sneaked off into the upstairs staff room where I locked the door behind us. We were disturbed by the night watchman within 30 secs ('It's alright, Charlie, we just want a bit of peace and quiet...'), who came in through the door from the manager's office. He grumbled a bit, then disappeared off to his festering cubby hole in the attic.

We got down to business and were pretty much naked and writhing on the floor when I heard a noise behind me, followed by a non-passionate groan from my co-coitee. I looked over my shoulder to see one of my colleagues (another new boy, looked like Clark Kent on a bad skin day) watching us from a vantage point next to the tea facilities. Fuck knows how long he'd been there.

Me: 'What are you doing? Fuck off, will you?'

Him: 'I'm having a glass of milk.' (And he was. There was a milk dispenser and he was drinking a glass of the white stuff.)

Me: 'FUCK OFF, WILL YOU?'

He was determined not to - I think he just wanted to see her naked. I was determined to preserve whatever shreds of modesty we could cling to by not moving an inch (apart from shrinkage). But he finally fucked off and we returned to our carnal preoccupations.

She said: 'I hope he doesn't tell anyone else...'

At which point I realised that Charlie the night-man had exited through the door I'd previously locked, the door that Clark Kent had used, which
I'd neglected to lock after he left... All this coupled with an emerging thunderous roar from the floor below told me that he most certainly had told people. Lots of people. I locked the door a hair's breadth before the pounding of drunken Mancunians threatened to break it down.

Clark Kent hadn't actually told people and waited for the word to get round, he'd simply cut out the middle man and told the DJ, who of course told everyone all at once.

It didn't happen that night - we just got dressed and rejoined the party. Lots of ribbing but no bone. Clark Kent suffered for it, though, in the subsequent months - I made sure of that.

She, on the other hand, got a new job shortly afterwards - in Beirut of all places. She obviously preferred a quieter life.
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Mon 5 Jan 2015, 14:08, 6 replies)

Ain't no party like a QOTW party coz a QOTW party don't stop.

( Zuowan, Mon 5 Jan 2015, 13:48, 1 reply)

Some poor sod (not me) at work
got a message in mid-November - "organise a Christmas party for the Company (about 60 people), make it in Reading."

So that's Reading, the University town with a massive technology park and lots and lots of offices, and roughly three weeks' notice to organise a do for five dozen people in the lead up to Christmas. Oh, and it had to be a Friday night.

They ended up in the Option Of Last Resort - the Hilton hotel griefhole on the A33 south of the town. Shit food, deaf level shit music, and a massive hangar of a room filled with similar work fail 'parties' so a heaving bar and the worst kind of cooking lager with nothing better on offer. A lot of people made excuses & bailed early.

Blame for this omnishambles must lie with the MD who failed to see Christmas coming & book early. It's almost like it came as a surprise that it happens every year.

Apols for lack of funny.
( Fathter Puddytat Kill Kill dat widdle boid is mine on, Sun 4 Jan 2015, 13:50, Reply)

A BOTTLE OF RED WINE!
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Sun 4 Jan 2015, 2:47, Reply)

Never open your Secret Santa gift at the evening do
in case, like mine, it turns out to be two porno mags. The thought was there but they don't look good sitting on the dinner table or carried under your arm when you go to the bar. Or, worse, the toilet.
(rogerzilla, Sat 3 Jan 2015, 20:56, Reply)

hahahahaha yeah

(katie hopkins telling it where its at, Sat 3 Jan 2015, 17:17, Reply)

It's 10 years since we last asked for your office party woes
last most recently
(Guy Debord cette mauvaise réputation..., Sat 3 Jan 2015, 14:07, Reply)

I'm guessing the Christmas party must have been pretty good for the mods.
Looks like they're still too hungover to post a new fucking question.
( Colonel Boris "...a desperate Buzzfeed imitation...", Sat 3 Jan 2015, 9:24, Reply)

no fat chicks

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Fri 2 Jan 2015, 21:58, Reply)

alright

(McChinaman banned, Fri 2 Jan 2015, 13:13, Reply)

Cheers

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Fri 2 Jan 2015, 10:19, Reply)

As a great philosopher once said
Bah humbug.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Tue 30 Dec 2014, 15:10, 2 replies)

when i was a trainee, a new girl joined the team
she was weird. proper anorexic with scrawny legs and fly-away hair. you'd see her at lunchtime, wandering around the m&s on fenchurch street, with a tiny tuna salad, staring for hours at the crisps and chocolates. if you said you might try and lose a couple of pounds, she'd turn up that afternoon with a massive toblerone for you. and she would get pissed (never ever buying a round herself) and then demand of the blokes, "WHY HAVEN'T I HAD SEX IN 8 YEARS?"

but she excelled herself at the christmas party. she was sitting next to a male trainee from the manchester office, and he must have mistakenly been nice to her. part-way through the starter - not even at midnight, when nobody would have noticed - she suddenly leapt on him and straddled him, right there at the table in front of 800 people, trying to snog him.

there was a mexican wave of people taking photos and the next day, views of her profile on the intranet hit quadruple figures. horrific.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Tue 30 Dec 2014, 12:56, 7 replies)