Conversation KillersThatNiceMan asks: Have you ever been talking with people down the pub when somebody throws such a complete curveball (Sample WTF moment: "I wonder what it's like to get bummed") that all talk is stopped dead? Tell us!
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Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 12 May 2011, 12:53)
This question is now closed.
IgnoranceFrom my partner's colleague, overhearing some chat about the Gurkha legal battle some time ago:
"What's a gherkin?"
She's pushing 40 and is, frankly, thick as fuck.
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 18:45, 4 replies)
I work with this man and still can't look him in the eye.A couple of years ago a new guy joined the company I work for, and I found out he lived in the village I grew up in. So chatting away I found out he lived in an area named "brookside" (it was built in 1986) While chatting away talking about how I used to know a bloke that lived their I mentioned the hot blonde girl that lived down that way and how she had lot's of naughty peircing and how I spent many a night trying to "fire in" (This was me being tactfull as I didn't really know this guy) then I finished off with the words "but she's dead now.
After a second or so of silence he replied "That was my daughter" and walked off
I am an arse
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 18:09, 6 replies)
Charity workers (inspired by the below post).I once popped into town on the way back from a holiday so I could buy a book and a few beers.
On my way to the bookshop I spotted a bunch of charity-clipboarders acosting people. Now, while I admire a charitable sort I view being acosted by people as an invasion of my personal space.
So, on my way back from the book shop one of the clipboarders manages to intercept me and asks "Do you like animals?". I don't break my stride as I reply "I like eating them!".
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 17:42, 19 replies)
Charity workersNow, I do donate money to charity when I can, if I can't afford it I won't, if I can, I do. I usually do a quick bit of research into what ever charity I feel is most relevant to me at the time and make a regular donation until my funds are a bit small. I do not respond well to volunteers on the street following you and getting in your way when you're rushing.
Now Charity workers are rife in my town and they hound you, no talk of 'running late' or 'not being interested' stops them. Best conversation killer for the volunteers: "I already support your charity" they normally then wave you off with a thank you. Simples. Plus sometimes you're not lying, and support doesn't always necessarily mean money.
Or, if someone is trying to get you to join a gym, you say "Are you calling me fat?", that shuts them up. Sorry for lack of funnies...
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SauronWibble I'll hold it, you lick it..., Tue 17 May 2011, 17:28,
Reply)
BabytalkI'd met my best friend Lisa for lunch one afternoon years ago, and invited two of my work colleagues along to meet her. Having told my colleagues earlier that Lisa was pregnant with her first child, I warned them both that - while she and her partner were over the moon - it was fairly early stages still and they weren't telling everyone just yet, so asked my colleagues kindly not to mention their knowledge of the pregnancy until Lisa brought it up herself.
Over lunch Colleague no.1, my good friend Carl, never being the brightest sandwich in the rocket salad but usually the life and soul, was uncharacteristically shy and quiet to begin with. Upon inspecting his face closer however - and knowing Carl is generally unable to hold his own piss - I soon identified the cause of his subduedness, fancying I could almost read the internal dialogue on loop flashing in neon letters across his brain: "DON'T MENTION THE BABY DON'T MENTION THE BABY DON'T MENTION THE BABY" while his eyes flitted from his plate to Lisa's belly to his napkin to Lisa's belly.
The conversation duly moved on the topic of worklife and jobs, and here Carl's face lights up as he spies an opportunity to contribute his twopence worth (tuppence, teehee!) on the subject, opening his mouth to speak.
"...I know what you mean. Once I nearly lost my baby. ....JOB! I MEANT JOB!!!"
Silence. Mortified looks. Cringing front-bums shrivelling inwards like a prodded snail. Luckily Lisa found the funny side, spitting her drink out laughing. Before reassuring Carl that he hadn't inadvertently caused any future damage to the baby by being daft.
It was only a few years later, colleague no.2 having moved up the dizzy ranks of success to become the current Mr DBS, we both found ourselves sat in Lisa's kitchen enjoying a brew and congratulating her on the news that she was newly pregnant with her second child. Mr DBS, making a rubbish joke in the vein of Alan Partridge along the lines of him not believing she was telling the truth as he knew how much she enjoyed skiving off work for 9 months the last time, finished by mock exclaiming "is that blood down your inside leg??"
A conversation killer in its own right, I think you'll agree. A shocked silence almost ensued, if it weren't interrupted by him unnecessarily trying to clarify with: "...oh GOD, I meant I can see your PERIOD and you were lying! Not that you've MISCARRI....um...ohhhh."
Luckily, Lisa is still my friend. Though she isn't planning any more children.
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 16:41, 2 replies)
So the answer is basically:"My [insert most relevant relative] died last night."
Or any freudian slips involving at least two of the following three topics:
1. Fucking
2. Death
3. Babies
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Extinct Jesus Dossier "...I think it counteracts Hitler's magic...", Tue 17 May 2011, 16:40,
22 replies)
I was a young Irish man living in London.....I was on the 18 bus heading home to Wembley. A pregnant lady got on and, as there were no seats because it was rush hour, I did the right thing and offered her my seat. The following short conversation followed:-
Lady:- Why are you offering me your seat?
Me (pointing) :- Because you're pregnant
Lady:- No I'm not (silence descends upon the bus)
As I was already standing in preparation of giving up my seat, I decided to leave the bus at the next stop. As soon as I was off the bus and my face had quietened back from scarlet to it's normal pasty colour, I was left to wonder "Why didn't she just take the f*cking seat and say nothing?". 18 years later and I'm still not sure.
As I stood at the bus stop waiting for the next bus to complete my journey home I thought of some brilliant, witty and cutting comeback lines which would have got the whole bus laughing, defusing the situation whilst making me a kind of jovial superhero spreading joy to miserable London commuters. Instead I stared intently at my shoes ignoring the tutting and praying for the next stop to come along as quickly as possible.
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sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Tue 17 May 2011, 16:21,
49 replies)
A lazy sunday afternoonWhile at university there were a group of us who worked in and around the Students' Union - either as student staff, recent graduates, or just permanent staff - who had a regular Sunday afternoon appointment with the SU bar. Nice chilled afternoons, we were inevitably the only business that the 1 or 2 bar staff had to deal with until about 5pm when students started filtering in for another night of boozing. As a result, the girls (for that is what they mostly were) behind the bar tended to finish the line cleaning and general tidying pretty quickly, and the afternoon would turn to the serious business of talking bollocks.
One memorable afternoon the question of what embarrassing childhood hobbies we all had came up for discussion. There was a slew of answers, often involving Games Workshop, and occasionally probing the depths of stamp collecting and, in one case, 'inventing my own language'. As we went around and asked everyone, we finally reached Alison - the young and pretty barmaid - and she wouldn't tell us. After some probing she muttered something about collecting mugs. However, we sensed that this was just to fob us off.
It quickly degenerated into a game of us guessing ridiculous activities, and her getting increasingly exasperated/red/flustered, collapsing occaisionally into laughter, but point blank refusing to tell us.
This carried on intermittently all afternoon. No joy.
The evening dragged on, she finished her shift, came round to the front of the bar and pulled up a stool to join us. She started drinking.
Some hours later there were a couple of us that started throwing increasingly obscene guesses as to what her hobby had been. Eventually she cracked. She muttered something under her breath.
'Eh?' say I. 'say it again...'
She said something louder; audible, but somehow nonsensical. As her designated tormentors we looked confused at each other, trying to decipher in out heads what she'd said. She now had the attention of the rest of the group.
'Say it again' I ask
A slightly more confident sentence, but it sounds the same as the last one and she's still rushing the words out in such a way that we can't understand them. Other people in the increasingly busy bar are beginning to take interest in the 8 people all staring at the apparently incoherent red-head. All of us had that really special Neanderthal look which everyone assumes when trying to decipher something in their head. Seconds pass and still no one has it.
'Again?' I say, an edge of nervous laughter creeping into my voice
"I COLLECTED RAISINS IN THE SHAPE OF FAMOUS PEOPLE" she yells across the now silent bar, her last attempt at subtlety being shattered by hours of hounding, evasion, and Vodka and Orange.
For months afterwards people were turning up with peculiarly shaped dried fruit asking her if it was any good for her collection.
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 15:59, 13 replies)
Din din poo poo Due to an unfortunate twist of fate I ended up being related to a rather morbid and sullen old bat and her decrepit husband. Even more unfortunate was that they turned up at our house one day and were somehow given access to the kitchen to make us dinner. I was at the time living a spirited existence in my teenager years and as such looked down upon such occasions with considerable disdain. In all honesty I still do, but let us not get derailed from the question at hand.
As these relatives were from England they used their considerable culinary skills to conjure up something uniquely British. Or so went the preamble that preceded the unveiling of their hours of toil in the kitchen. The food was delivered to the table with considerable pomp and ceremony as was befitting of these upper class toffs. Or so I'm sure she imagined herself to be.
The plates of dry meat and vegetables that had been meticulously boiled to remove every last vitamin were summarily passed round the table. As I was positioned in the far corner I was the last to help myself to this pseudo feast. However, by the time each serving dish arrived it was virtually empty. The stupid bint hadn't cooked enough. On noticing her gargantuan error the bat helpfully commented that there was a little bit of extra bread in the kitchen if I didn't have enough on my plate. I quickly surmised that four fucking peas, the remains of a Brussel sprout, a sliver of a carrot and the dry crust of a bit of over cooked beef probably wouldn't suffice so I forced a smile, thanked her for the suggestion and wandered off the to kitchen to find some bread.
The conversation was typically stiff and morbidly boring as was to be expected. We were all rapt in attention at a story about how the old bat had undergone some sort of check up with a particularly insensitive gynaecologist when the dog trotted into the room. His claws click clacking on the wooden floor made a sufficiently distracting noise for the riveting conversation to end and we all trained our eyes on him. He made his way to the carpeted area of the room and turned 180 degrees so his eyes were facing us. He held eye contact with everyone at the table and then they widened to size of small plates. He then assumed the squat position and started to squeeze out a monster turd.
I swear the little fucker was almost grinning as expelled the stinky log from his arse. It was also totally out of character as he was exceptionally well house trained and hadn't poo'ed in the house for ages and didn't do it after that ever again. I can only conclude that he felt exactly the same way about our relatives as we did. Needless to say the conversation took a welcome lull as the dog was escorted outside and the bomb squad were summoned to deal with the mess. On this particular day I was the bomb squad.
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 15:42, 4 replies)
A shit storyThere was a bit of banter about outdoors shagging in the office just now, when one of the older guys piped up and told us that several years ago he pulled on a night out which led to some drunken shagging in the carpark outside. He went on to reveal that, mid-thrust, he discovered that the lady in question had a (very full) colostomy bag attached to her.
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 15:37, 3 replies)
Conversation killerqu'est ce que c'est?
fafafafafa fafafafafa.
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 15:04, 8 replies)
I once accidentally affronted someone's sensibilities.It was terribly embarassing.
Then I had sex with them.
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Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 17 May 2011, 13:07,
6 replies)
Aborted bus journeyI remember it so well, unlike a lot of half recalled fuzzy memories from my early days. This one just resonates with me, mostly because it fucking mortified my dear old UnstableMum.
Sat on the 892 bus to Wellington (Telford, not Somerset, folks) my sister was sat next to my mum, who had me on her lap (I was about 4, and a fidget). My sister was 8 at the time, and probable knew exactly what she was saying.
The bus stopped, and on got a very large, very black man. Very.
'OOOOH LOOK MUMMY' she shouted, 'A SAMBO'!!
Everything halted, the grannies chatting ceased, the kids swinging off the luggage racks at the back looked on agape.
I had no clue, at the time, why my mum forced us off the bus 6 stops before where we were meant to be.
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 12:56, 5 replies)
PubWas talking with a guy in the pub last week when I piped up with 'Don't you think its really funny when peoples families die?'. Turns out that not only did the guy I was talking to have a family, but he was also dead.
WHOOPS!
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 12:39, 2 replies)
That Phil Harding, he's a bit alright.(
Sextant goes to him is emotionally erect, on this day, Tue 17 May 2011, 12:35,
2 replies)
pearoast from School days QOTW, but worth it I think-We were standing in the playground in a group just chatting and discussing who we'd like to finger. A quietish lad in our year (who'd always seemed a bit odd in retrospect) pipes up 'hey lads', and we look around.
'hey lads, you know when your mum comes in to your room in the morning...'
there's a couple of quizzical looks and a few nods.
'you know when she comes in, and checks your balls...'
no nods this time, more quizzical looks.
'yeah, you know, she checks your balls to see how they're developing'
quizzical looks turn to blank, staring looks.
Again, 'yeah, you know, she checks your balls to see how they're developing ?' but this time with hand-cupping/weighing action accompanying the question.
He stares back at the now horrified faces and you could almost see the split second where he realises that actually, this isn't very normal behaviour.
Ever-caring to our school friend's obviously abnormal upbringing, we spontaneously burst into laughter, prompting him to run crying from the group.
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 12:12, Reply)
cakesif the girl with the dog at work asks what you think of her cakes, do not say "blinding, thanks"
tried to eat my fist as I ran away
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 12:11, 2 replies)
A roundhouse kick to the jaw generally does the trick, followed bya backhand punch to the groin, and a super-double flip, grabbing their neck between the legs and twisting, before driving off, avec supermodels, drugs &c.
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Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 17 May 2011, 12:00,
Reply)
17th May 2010Mid morning, phone rings.
Me: "Hey mate, how are you this fine morning, you OK?"
Him: "Hmmm, no, not really."
Me: "No? Wassup then?"
Him: "Nina was killed this morning"
Me: "Fuck. You're kidding...?"
That pretty much dropped an anvil on that conversation, to say the very least. Just what can you say, I still can't think what's appropriate?
Yes, it's a year today that my good mate Prof Kenny Martin had his life turned upside down, and Nina had her's brought to an abruptly tragic end. So, no laughs in this story, just putting this up as a mark of respect to her and support for him.
I did think it might be seen as a bit precious, that there will be people reading here who have no idea who Nina was, Kenny is, and they quite frankly couldn't give a flying fuck, are probably sick to the back teeth hearing this that and the other about 2 people they don't know. In other circumstances, I'd be one of them, no doubt, reaching for the sick bucket whilst soft people on the Internets gush meaningless faux-grief messages of "support" for strangers, Princess Diana Funeral-style. There's something about public outpourings of grief that is undignified and makes a circus of something that can only be really felt inside each person it affects, IMHO. And then it happens, so close to home, you don't know how to best show your sorrow,and knob gags become less important just for a while. A long while, for some concerned.
Anyway, that's it, no jokes, no hilarity, but if Mr M is reading, he'll maybe get a bit more out of this than my shitty telephone calls (which seem to coincide with me having a coronary whilst walking my fuckwitted dogs).
* Fuck it, I was going to try and add something here about a purple-headed custard chucker for light relief, but can't be arsed now...
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 11:48, 5 replies)
Stag Don'tOn a stag do the weekend just gone. We were all staying in a bunkhouse behind a pub in Wales.
One of our number had drawn the short straw and ended up in drag. As a consequence he was getting a bizarre amount of bawdy, sexually charged attention from the other stag do attendees.
I ended talking about this to the pub landlord and one of the bar staff who were outside on a cigarette break, and mentioned that the guy in drag would be in trouble when we got back to the bunkhouse, with all the randy stags after him.
The landlord quipped that'd it'd be more like a 'bonk' house than a bunkhouse. As quick as a flash (and I don't know why I thought this would be appropriate) I blurted out 'More like a Rape-House!' expecting an explosion of laughter. ABSOLUTE silence for a couple of minutes while they finished their cigarettes, and then promptly went back inside.
Oh dear.
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the_ships_cat is it meeee you're looking forrrr, Tue 17 May 2011, 11:09,
6 replies)
FFSI’ve always been a fan of the unintended double entendre. From my wife declaring “I prefer a nice big purple head”, something to do with flowers apparently, to the overhead down the pub “…so I says to ‘im your mum might ‘ave swallowed it but I’m not swallowing it…”
I don’t fall into such traps, probably due to my superior intelligence or something.
At work I’ve got the keys for the all the doors, internal and external. The theory is if there’s some sort of emergency I‘ll be able to get in. In practice it means I can park in the little underground car park at the back of the building, open the door to a short passage and get the lift from the basement. I’m the only person in the building with the power and authority to take this shortcut.
Last year a manager from another department parked at the same time as me. As he was getting out of his car I looked this man in the eye and said to him “Do you want to come up the back passage.”
His reaction was a hard to read moments glassy eyed silence followed by ‘No thanks’ as he headed off for the three minute walk to the revolving doors at front entrance, which for consistency sake I shall start calling the Flap Hole.
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Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Tue 17 May 2011, 10:57,
3 replies)
Whenever engaging in conversation with someone who thinks incorrectly, I correct them.That usually shuts them up, I can tell you!
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Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 17 May 2011, 9:29,
Reply)
My mate used to konw the manager of the 1st lesbian strip bar in europeWe used to occasional visit the bar for free drinks. Everytime we went in everyone stopped talking and stared at us. Strangly the longest we managed was 2 free drinks before the stares of pure hate overwhelmed us.
and no we never went to the area with the stripers.
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Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Tue 17 May 2011, 9:20,
4 replies)
My conversation in the garden died suddenly last nightwhen I stepped on a frog. In bare feet.
Not a moment I care to remember, but I bet I will.
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 9:12, 18 replies)
My eldest (10) pulls out some doozies."What's that brown stuff you put in milo?"
"Is that your car?" - pointing at another white ute driving up the road whilst we are both sitting. in. my. car...
"What's that white thing you were looking at?" - as we are driving thru suburban wherever. Turned out to be soccer goal-posts but honestly could've been absolutely anything.
"You know when you chop-snap fabric?" - we've even made some hand gestures to be used when saying that 1.
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 0:53, 30 replies)
Probably dedicated to Jeff ;)I have dithered a bit about posting this because its a bit ugh
A bunch of us were sitting in the beer garden having post work drinkies.
Suddenly there is the sound of a dog yelping, followed by a woman screaming for help.
We get up and look and across the road a little spaniel is being humped by a much bigger mongrel dog.
Spaniels owner is frantically pulling at her dogs lead while screaming 'get off'
Which is obviously what the bigger dog is doing
Settling back down to our drinks as there's nothing we can do really, the talk turns quite obviously to the subject of dogs mating, and how they can get stuck together etc.
Then Pete chimes in with the immortal line
'Does anyone else find it sexy to watch dogs shagging?'
Pete who lives on a farm with his aged parents and 6 dogs and as far as we know has never had a girlfriend.
Awkward silence followed by swift subject change and any talk of dogs was never brought up in his presence ever again
(, Tue 17 May 2011, 0:11, 3 replies)
Mother-in-law shocked into silence.Being situated in the outer 'burbs, there are a few agricultural fields dotted around the vicinity. A couple of which my MIL would walk between on her way to work as a dinner nanny.
During one sunday lunch she retold how she'd noticed a man lying on his back among the wheat. Ever a helpful and slightly naive sort, she approached asking "Are you ok? Do you need any help?" it wasn't until she got closer she realised he was having a crafty alfresco tug. As it dawned on her that he may take her up... on her offer, she turned toe and pegged it the rest of the way to work, ensuring she took a 2 mile detour to avoid the track on her way home in case he was still waiting.
(, Mon 16 May 2011, 23:55, Reply)
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