University
A standard afternoon found a large group of us avoiding lectures in a mate's living room, drinking tea and talking about sandwiches.

It went something like this:

Mate A: No way, cheese and tomato sucks. It makes the bread all gooey.
Mate B: Fuck off, they're the best.
Mate C: I found out my dad punched my mum in the face at the weekend.

That's how you kill a conversation.
(Cylon Bum Raider already knows how this will end, Thu 12 May 2011, 14:12, 2 replies)

One of the characters who frequents my local broke his nose and jaw in a bike accident last month,
and mentioned one evening (with stitches and swelling still in place) that this would mean that he would 'have to give up his modelling career'. Another customer named, rather appropriately, 'Simple' Bob, remarked that he shouldn't be so hard on himself, and that there are all types of modelling agencies looking for all types of people and that he had himself signed up to one of them and had a gig modelling underpants on 'This Morning' back in the Richard and Judy days.

The conservation abruptly ended as the rest of the pub either thought 'What?', mulled over whatever the appropriate response is to an old man informing you that he has been on live television in a state of near undress, or immediately got out their phones and tried to find it on Youtube. (No luck so far).
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Thu 12 May 2011, 14:10, Reply)

25years or so ago I was a bouncy hyperactive toddler....
and my brother was a baby, not much more than a year old.

My parents had been invited to a wedding and brought us along. Not the most sensible thing to do...a toddler and a baby sat in a church for an hour or so listening to some guy drone on about god and honouring each others rings or something...anyway about 30mins in I'm bored, really bored, but I wasn't that much of a little shit so sat quietly right at the very back, probably with my arms crossed and a face like I've just smelt shit...

...Now at this point I'd love to say that I jumped up and announced my disapproval of the marrige, but my brother beat me to it...Without the slightest hint that it was coming my brother let out the loudest, nappy filling fart/shit combo in the entire universe...my parents were surprised they didn't hear it in Mexico, but the Vicar heard, oh my he heard it and was NOT happy...and the stiffled laughter of a hundred or so wedding goers just caused a chain reaction of people completely losing their composure and pissing themselves laughing. That was all but the Vicar, who just stopped the service until everyone had calmed down...they havn't spoken to the couple since :D
(Bushcricket, Thu 12 May 2011, 14:07, 1 reply)

Was in a bar
with a mate and some of his new college friends (All girls), when he mentioned one of them used to go to a summer Irish school with us. She was duly introduced but I couldn't for the life of me remember her. Several examples were given but nothing. She then pointed out she used to have red hair and not black, to which I cheerfully replied "Oh yeah! You're the girl everyone used to finger on the beach..."

Silence ensued.
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Thu 12 May 2011, 14:06, Reply)

My Cousin is now Three.
She likes this game we play with a puppet- you hide it behind your back, then make it "run" forwards, tap her on the nose, shout "Doink!" and then "run" away again. It makes her laugh.

This christmas we had a family reunion, and did the thing where the whole family gathers around in the lounge, opens presents, and has a chat. Grandpa had just started a long tangent about somethingorother, and my cousin was playing in the corner somewhere.

Then, out of nowhere, she appears next to him with the puppet and raises it slo-o-owly above her head. Grandpa hasn't noticed, but the whole family is transfixed...

She brings the toy crashing down on his head, yells "DOOOIIIINK!!" at the top of her voice, and runs out of the room laughing manically.
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 12 May 2011, 14:02, Reply)

Half listening to Woman's Hour, R4 this morning,
presenter talking to the mother of a child abduction victim, because it's been 4 years & she is/would be 8. Doing a national radio show is her way of "moving on" as a private family, she says. At the time, I was queuing at the ace, old fashioned proper DIY store at Merrion, Leeds (you know, the sort of place will sell you one screw and advise about what rawlplug you need), with the radio on my phone in one ear, and was juggling a few items & looking for the final few by the till.
'Oh.and some of those, please'
'5p each'
'Can I have a whole pack?'
'That's a lot of cable ties!'
'Yes, Maddie McCann reminded me'
I didn't say the last part, just thought it - I plan to shop there again.
(sarcastic fringehead feet of clay, buns of steel, head of lettuce, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:57, 4 replies)

Top Tip:
If entering into conversation with two lesbian members of Amnesty International and their friends, all of whom sport t-shirts saying "RELIGION: MYSOGINISTIC BRAINWASHING BULLSHIT" and "THERE'S PROBABLY NO GOD, NOW GET ON AND ENJOY YOUR LIFE" and similar, then it's probably not best to start opining about how, having brought oneself up on a diet of New Model Army, the Levellers, anarchy and rebellion, one is now rather bored with worthy, self-righteous tossers espousing "worthy" causes from the comfort of their warm, expensive houses which are heated using cheap foreign oil, and who wear whether deliberately or not clothes created almost entirely by child labour, and who appear to claim to support such causes primarily to further their own egos as a fashion statement, as opposed to actually caring about the cause.

They won't thank you for it.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:47, 8 replies)

I'll get my coat
Our little pool team were due to play a team out in the sticks, and when we eventualy found the god forsaken social club we noticed that the clientelle looked as if they could count up to a bakers dozen using the digits on their hands. Notably, there was one fellow who limped around, had a claw hand and one side of his face was flacid. When he spoke it was like the text book mong of schoolyard taunts. He duly played his game and wiped the floor with our player.
All in all we weren't doing to well, then the mincing barman pranced to the table and handed out a almighty whooping to Ticey, one of our best players, who only got one shot. Dejected and cursing, Ticey returned to the table where, as club captain, I thought to cheer him up.
Speaking loudly, to overcome the volume of the jukebox, I utter the immortal line "At least you only got beat by the gayer. Junior got done by the spastic!"
Just as the song on the jukebox stopped.
We promptly got up and left before some Deliverance style punishment could be meted out.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:45, 1 reply)

Post-pub smoking session, Camden, circa 2003
Everyone was deep in animated conversation, no doubt due to the frankly MASSIVE drugs that were being consumed that night. We'd brought back a couple of girls from the pub who were attractive and witty and everything was going splendidly until, during one of those badly-timed lulls in conversation, the really fit blonde one piped up:

"But actually, Hitler was really cool!"

The evening took a turn for the worse after that.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:43, 8 replies)

Early in my life
we used to attend the church. Until I fell asleep in the church and managed to stop an entire sermon by filling the whole church with the sound of my snores.
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Thu 12 May 2011, 13:42, Reply)

Conversation Killer
"I like to write made up stories and argue with people on the internet."
(Bushcricket, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:42, 8 replies)

In a crowded beer garden on a sunny day
One of those spontaneous, general lulls in noise coincided with me loudly proclaiming to a friend "I only like watching women get fucked if there's a baby inside them."

Everyone heard. Everyone went quiet. Many scowled. A few giggled.

Amazingly, there was a justifiable context for this statement. But I thought it would be foolish to try and explain it to hostile strangers and their families.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:40, 6 replies)

At an occasion when being unexpectedly being offered Pimms...
Me to the bloke next to me: "Oh how lovely. Let's put blazers on and change our names to Quentin".

Him, predictably: "Um, my name IS Quentin".

And up until then we'd been having a nice chat.
( prince-igor si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:40, 2 replies)

Sat in Old Orleons in Oxford with my Mum & Dad....
And my mum says to me and my wife...

"How do you make a woman scream"

"Wipe your cock on her curtains"

Thanks mum! conversation stopper and more scarring for life!
(Lip Up Fatty Fatty Reggae still loves BBQ food on, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:38, Reply)

"I'll put a Jihad out on you!"
Back when I was on my illustration and design degree, sometime in 2002, myself and the regular gang would sit around or on my desk and chat about the usual nonsense - how to fix the socio-political problems of the world, whether or not God existed, and who would you rather fuck - Wilma Flintstone or Betty Rubble. You know, the normal high-brow stuff.

This particular day was no different, we happened to be all sitting around discussing what we were doing for our dissertations. We had been chatting for a good fifteen minutes or so on the subject when Crazy Richard piped up.

Now I have to digress momentarily here - I'm fairly dark-skinned; I'm of a mixed European decent. I have been mistaken for a wide range of nationalities from Spanish to Greek, from Turkish to Pakistani. In actual fact, aside from English, a sizable portion of my ancestry is Portuguese. All of my friends on the degree - all those sat around my desk on that day, just happened to be white.

When Crazy Richard decided to join in the conversation, he asked, in a serious and thoughtful voice with genuine curiosity, whilst the rest of us were focused on matters of literature and art:

"So, Steve, have you experienced any backlash since the September 11th bombings?"

The loud and animated discussion on our dissertations fell silent. Our studio - that hub of activity and opinion went as quiet as the grave. Everyone’s jaws had dropped. Only my good friend Ben had the ability to say anything - all he managed in a quiet and shaky voice was "...but he's not even Asian".

Richard never understood the reaction he got for his question...



He was never one for subtlety, and here is an older post on another of his many crazy adventures:
www.b3ta.com/questions/flirting/post643796
( theoriginalsteve <this space intentionally left blank>, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:38, 3 replies)

Not me, but a friend
(Both participants are sixteen)

B: "You're gay"

A: "Not as gay as your dad"

B: "Yeah, well your granny fucks sailors for biscuits"

A: "My granny died last night".


(She really had)
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:38, 2 replies)

"Jesus Adrian, what happened to your face? Did you get into a fight with a waffle iron?"
"No. I was mugged."

...
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:33, Reply)

Not quite on topic, but it's what came to mind.
We were driving back from a night of MASSIVE DRUGS once. Everyone was gouging out in their own little worlds, when my mate came out with,'you'd die really quickly in a nuclear holocaust, wouldn't you.'

We wre sitting in a tent at Glastonbury in a similar situation to the first story, when my mate jumped up and shouted,'You didn't have to kill him, did you?', then ran from the tent and wasn't seen for the rest of the festival.

Good times.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:32, Reply)

Repeated conversation
Three times I have heard a friend say that, if he had to go gay, his choice of partner would be Johnny Depp.

Zero times have I heard anyone ask said friend what, if he had to go gay, his choice of partner would be.
(teebie jeebie, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:31, 7 replies)

You know what should be a conversation stopper, but very rarely is?
The start of the fucking film.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:18, 13 replies)

The Gardener's Arms, Oxford, circa 1999
Sunday lunch with my two flatmates N and C, a married couple of friends of C's, and a mate of the husband who'd been the best man at their wedding. We'd finished the main course by this stage and were all a couple of pints south of sober, so we'd got quite chatty. The husband and his mate were talking about the stag weekend and how much of a sensitive, intellectually stimulating time they'd had in whichever European city of culture they'd decided to visit to celebrate his status as someone who was become a man and hath put away childish things. So we heard all about museums and concerts and traditional shoppes, culminating in dinner in a national architectural treasure of a restaurant. Best man decided at this point in the tale to take a large swig of his pint and say to the husband "You should have seen your face when the stripper turned up!"

It instantly became clear to everyone round the table that this was something Not To Be Mentioned to the wife, who was rivalling the rôtisserie grill when it came to glowing red and giving off steam.

The four of us around the table who were unmarried found this immensely funny.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:12, Reply)

Ahhhhh!!!!
We had this teacher at school - Mr Marsden, who fancied himself a bit of a James Bond, and to be fair, quite a few of the girls were taken with him (girls in 6th form that is - the rest was all boys).

One day, during a 3rd year English lesson, some 6th form girl sticks her head round the door and said, with a massive, drawn-out girly sigh 'Ahhhhhhhh, Mr Marsden? When is the English homework due?' He responds in his usual gruff manner, and she shuts the door and leaves.

Perhaps 30 seconds later the classroom door opens again, and the same girl pokes her head round. As ONE, the entire class does a unprompted, harmonius sigh of 'Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!'. The girl looks at Mr Marsden for help, who just starts laughing in her face, at which point she slammed the door shut. Fucking ace moment.
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:12, Reply)

In a pub in Gloucester one evening
I was sat with a couple of friends, when Chris (for that was his name) who had until now sat quietly drinking his pint of Stella (which should be a warning of what comes next) when he pipes up during a slight lull in conversation with this gem:

"Ya know..." he pauses for a sip "I reckon women love being raped."

Cue open mouthed astonishment and mouthful-of-beer/table interaction as Chris takes another sip.

"Because, at the end of the day, they all love it up 'em."

Nobody could really find the words to follow this proclamation, so the conversation changed to less awkward subjects.
( M3rx likes the Asian ladies, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:07, 12 replies)

Fifth
My lucky number.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:04, 1 reply)

Poor, poor Tracey and her fruit-based woe
Another tale from my mis-spent youth, this time from the age of fifteen, in a crowded school classroom.

It's the end of the school day, and we wait for "Donkey" Delaney to come along, tick off our names in the register and dismiss us for the afternoon. It is a Friday, we are so excite, because tomorrow is Saturday, and Sunday comes after...wards. Conversation is, as you'd expect, quite animated.

Then, Donkey Delaney walks through the door - typical physics teacher, all dandruff, arms, legs and a neck that looks like a piece of string with a knot tied in the middle. The class falls silent.

All except for Tracey. Poor, poor Tracey with her pneumatic, hypnotic chest and the conversation killer to end them all:

"Well, I prefer a banana because it's got just the right curve on it."

Monday came, and her desk was piled high with bananas. Tuesday came, and there was a new school rule.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:03, Reply)

Someone asked for a tenuous pea?
OK, then:

The unit I work in deals with quite a lot of sensitive and confidential information. As such, we have huge metal filing cabinets, which have shelving units inside that rotate.

To rotate them, you must release them with a foot pedal. It's a very basic mechanism, and often jams a bit, requiring a few tries. As such they clank quite a bit.

My unit used to sit next to these cabinets, and one day a guy came along to use one. This guy is a stereotypical nerd. He's in his late 40s/early 50s, really fancies himself as "intelligent" and does, as he pronounces it, "kahrahtay". I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he's a virgin.

He pushed the foot pedal and got no response, and kept trying, resulting in quite a bit of noise.

Ever jocular, my boss said to him, "Oh Steve, are you breaking the cabinet again?"

"I DIDN'T TOUCH HER!" was the immediate, forceful response.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:02, 3 replies)

Ressurrection Nan
When I was at school, aged about 5, there was there was this girl who really didn't like me. She can't remember why anymore, I am glad to say, but she would be mean to me at every opportunity.

The day I went to school the day after my Nan died, and i couldn't take it anymore when she started picking at me. I turned and yelled at her, 'Shut up, My Nan died last night'. And lo, she did shut up. And rapidly, a new defence was born. Sadly, even at 5 years old, you can only claim your Nan has died so many times before the other kids count them up, but it's a lot more times than you might imagine.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:02, Reply)

second?
That's it.
(betty swollocks, Thu 12 May 2011, 13:02, 1 reply)

'Hi honey,
I'm home'.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 12 May 2011, 12:57, Reply)