A sweet tale from my childhood
When I was very young I spent most summer holidays on my uncle's farm. There was a whole crowd of children: cousins, friends and hangers-on. One year, when I was 8 or 9, the crowd included the lovely Susan. A schoolfriend of my cousin, she was around the same age and, to my eyes at least, utterly beautiful. I was head-over-heels smitten, as only a young child can be, and when I was in her presence I was reduced to a gibbering, staring, bright-red wreck.

One day, when Susan wasn't there, someone asked me why I never spoke to her. "Because she's too beautiful" I blurted out, in front of the dozen or so children standing around. The farmyard went silent: the cows stopped mooing, the hens stopped cackling, time seemed to stop.

Everyone stared at me, until eventually someone asked, "What did you just say?" My face burning, heart pounding, I said "Because she's annoying and I don't like her." Amazingly everyone seemed to accept that I had said this: I don't think they could believe what I'd said originally as it was so unexpected. "No she's not," said someone; "yes she is," said someone else. They all started arguing, then we went off to throw stones in the pond, or something. Susan wasn't there after that.

Epilogue
I met Susan again, years later, at my cousin's 21st birthday party. It was a barn dance and she was still beautiful: I plucked up courage to ask her to dance, and we were partners all night. There's nothing like getting hot and sweaty in a barn with a load of drunk farmers. But after this occasion I've never seen her again. Sniff.
(Smale is stuffed, Thu 19 May 2011, 9:34, 6 replies)

I was accosted by a bloke collecting for The Alzheimers Society on my way home one evening.
So I said 'I donated this morning. At least I think I did. You know what, I can't remember'.


(This QOTW has become 'things I didn't really say to chuggers' hasn't it?)
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 19 May 2011, 9:08, 91 replies)

Sometimes ... just sometimes ... a conversation really should be killed before on of the participants commits intellectual suicide.
www.b3ta.com/questions/conversationkillers/post1205870

If anybody has a bright idea how to dig this idiot out of a hole ... I don't know ... something hilarious about funerals ... anything ... please throw it in here. Consider it a mercy killing.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 19 May 2011, 0:04, 50 replies)

Gertrude
My mother, sister, aunt and I were discussing unusual names we know and their abbreviated monikers. My mum knew of two ladies, a mother and a daughter, who were both called Gertrude. My mum said,
"The mother got Gertie and the daughter got Trudie.......

........and the father got murdered."

Stunned silence followed by ripples of mirth then uncontrollable laughter.
(The Caped Avenger's other sidekick needs a lasagne, Wed 18 May 2011, 23:40, Reply)

Chugger
I was accosted by yet another charity mugger in Sutton high street after I left the supermarket. He was wearing a puffa jacket with 'POVERTY' written across the back in big silver letters. He asked me if I thought about all the poor families who can't afford groceries. I told him the truth - my luxurious groceries consisted of some apples and 18p 'smart price' pasta because at work - after a three year pay freeze - we were told that morning that not only was our pay review cancelled, but to expect 40% of our department to be made redundant in the next three months (around 20 people).

He looked like a stunned mullet, so I walked away. Twat.
(Supermonkey, Wed 18 May 2011, 22:37, 4 replies)

G-g-g-gobsmacked
Quite a few years back now I was lounging on the 662 out of Bradford, half-earwigging on the conversation of the teenage girls sitting on the seat behind. They were talking at the speeds only teenage girls can reach and hadn't drawn breath for the past half-hour.

"Yeah well, Gareth Gates has admitted he shagged Jordan now, it's in Heat n all"
"That'll be why 'er kids blind, innit"
"...."
(roszser, Wed 18 May 2011, 21:07, 1 reply)

Been Broached Before
This was touched upon in a reply to a response for the 'Random' QoTW t'other week, but thought it fits slightly into this week's garrulous gambit.

Early this year, three generations of AeroClubs - me, my son and my Dad - were in B&Q (a DIY chainstore for all non-UK QoTW-ers). We were in the queue (queuing, as one does when found in such situations) at the tills. We were having to wait as firstly someone had purchased something which didn't have a barcode on which necessitated a callout; bringing forth a teenage mouth-breathing employee who was tasked with finding the same product somewhere in the labyrinthine depths of the Hangar 18-like store. Then the next person decided to pay by cheque - you get the hold-up idea.

My Dad and my nipper were winding each other up in an amiable way as kids and Grandparents are wont to do. My Dad was doing the age-old "See that?" (holding up one hand) "That's the one you've got to watch!" and tapping him with the other hand. This went on for a minute or two before little 'un, trying to imitate my Dad, and getting slightly riled that he was being got the better of by someone more than 50 years his senior, suddenly spout forth the immortal phrase "Granddad, I'm gonna kick you in the bellend!"

Of course, children's volume levels never tend to be set to the lower end of the dial, and most of the assembled queuers as well as checkout staff heard this missive. Thus, the mixed looks of contempt, smiles, indifference and stifled laughter from the general public whilst we hung our heads in silence for the remainder of the transactional consummation of our visit...
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Wed 18 May 2011, 19:26, Reply)

GOD — don't be so english

(unicornflakes, Wed 18 May 2011, 16:12, 14 replies)

Boots Chemist
The one in Britain’s second city. (you can fight out amongst yourselves if you think it's Manchester or Birmingham)
Wandering round the perfume section with the ex on a busy Saturday when she was accosted by one of the trouser suited reps with more product on her face than on the counters. She spent a good couple of minutes trying to get the ex to buy some chemical shite they claim would reduce wrinkles, stop the aging process, cure cancer, find Maddie etc. I stopped listening as soon as she’d started her spiel as my focus wandered.
After the verbal diarrhoea had continued for a couple of minutes I didn’t let her pause but just spoke over her. “You do realise your fly’s open?”
Even with all that crap on her face she still blushed quite a colour.
(TitanLX, Wed 18 May 2011, 15:53, 5 replies)

I interviewed Vanilla Ice once
In 2003. After 12 seconds of interviewing him, I didn't feel the need to continue.

Here is said interview: soundcloud.com/freegiant/vanilla-ice-quickest-interview

/edit: NSFW because of a swear word, btw.
( intesvensk can't recall when I last checked the newsletter, Wed 18 May 2011, 15:49, 5 replies)

Bollocks! Oh, never mind....
Many moons ago, supervising the door at a gig at my college, I spot Mick Jones of The Clash, *the* band of the moment, looking a little lost. I wandered over and asked "Not coming in then?" He pointed out that he needed to be signed in by the holder of a valid NUS card (we'd had a little problem with non-students trashing the place at previous gigs and we could do that for ourselves, thank you very much!). "No probs" says I, "I'll sign you in". I did, and Mick disappeared, promising to buy me a pint. I didn't believe for a moment he would but, five minutes later, he reappeared with a pint for me. Wow!

We got to talking and it was going well until, in my stupid star-struck mind I though I'd ask "So how did you get to join the Clash?". An icy curtain descended, "I *formed* the Clash" hissed Mick and walked off to talk to someone sensible.

At least I managed to stop myself from calling out "I knew that...."
(Roladex, Wed 18 May 2011, 13:58, 7 replies)

Dorking
I'd bumped into some people who worked for the same company as myself in a pub one summer. Being an international company, it's not unusual. Polite conversation follows with their alpha male and I ask where they're visiting Brighton from. "Dorking" they reply. (i dont know why i said this, and i'd've probably said this about wherever they were from) "Oohh Dorking, all webbed fingers and toes in that place!" All of a sudden every one looks away and everything goes deathly silent. I look to the ground, and through the guys flip flops, i see, to my horror - webbed toes! I drank up and left without saying a word!
(sunray18, Wed 18 May 2011, 13:30, 5 replies)

In a posh shop in Harrogate a month or two back
I was standing around bored whilst my better half was looking at clothes when a mum with her baby in a pram came in. The very nice old lady who was running the shop started chatting to her and asked her the baby's name, having been told it was Jack she said to him, "Jack's a lovely name I can't think of any nasty Jacks"

I think to myself, "Yeah, except the Ripper" and have a wry smile. Then I realise that I didn't so much think it as say it loudly enough for everyone in the shop except my fiancee to hear, a truely deafening silence follows. Ten pairs of eyes all staring daggers at me when I try to make the situation better by saying, "Well they weren't sure that was his real name." My better half comes over takes one quick look at the situation, looks at me with a classic "what have you done?" look and forcilbly drags me from the store.
(hating swallows is 20 yards from the nearest Jaffa cake, Wed 18 May 2011, 13:13, 15 replies)

Pub Times..
*pop* first post so go easy....

There was a group of us down the pub Monday evening to celebrate a member of the groups birthday, nothing particually conversational stopping about that, as the beers flowed so did the banter, anyhoo I digress, the conversation got round to chatting to one of the barmaids, when I noticed that she looked like there was a bat in the cave... So I did what any normal person would do and attempted to diffuse the situation by privately informing her of the bat.

The earth shatteringly cringworthy conversation stopper was then announced to the whole pub at a volume that drown out a jet "Oh don't worry its not a bogey, its a skin tag"

There was a stunned silence for what seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds..
(_kg_ has finally come out of hiding, and is scared..., Wed 18 May 2011, 13:10, 9 replies)

Riverdunce
I was at a party I was a bit pissed weaving my way through the people and I passed a lady with a bandaged foot propped up on an adjacent chair I caught a snippet of conversation about Irish dancing.

"Bloody stupid that Irish dancing is" I slurred doing a little foot wiggly hop with my arms down my sides

"it's quite difficult to do properly you know" said the lady with the bandage

"well then it's even more bloody stupid, all that effort and practice and what do you get? You look like a twat with no arms, anyway what's wrong with yer foot?"

"I sprained it Irish dancing"

"ah"
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Wed 18 May 2011, 12:58, Reply)

Hm
In a bar in Asuncion, Paraguay, in 2000 my friend and I were at a slight loss due to lack of Spanish / Guarani and were helped by a friendly old man of European extraction. Conversing in a mixture of Portuguese, halting German and English he told us all about the country and what sights to see etc etc etc. My friend piped up, asking if he was from Paraguay (there is a sizeable German Mennonite community in Paraguay dating from at least the 1900s)? His reply? "Oh no, I spent some time in Russia and Poland but then I had to move over here due to legal and political difficulties in 1945."
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Wed 18 May 2011, 12:38, 1 reply)

Actually my mum's dead.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 18 May 2011, 12:38, 30 replies)

so obvious it must have bindun x 100
I met a girl I had known from school many years later.
We arranged to meet up with her friend and my friend to make a 4 for a drink. After a while odd little comments along the likes of ' it's a bit like what Jesus did. . 'kept cropping up.
It soon became clear we had fallen into the grasp of that most evil of creatures - the evangelical fuckwit.
When the conversation was steered to 'Of course, the bible says homosexuality is wrong.. .' James, my friend, squeezed my knee and said
'We had better get an early night, Dear.' and we left.
She had a nice pair of Temple Mounts though.
(BigAndyBee, Wed 18 May 2011, 12:01, 5 replies)

I was working on the night shift last week
and one of the Healthcare assistants I was on with said, about the alcohol hand gel stuff we were discussing at the time, "Oh, it's the same as embalming fluid if you drink it."
( Funkenschlag still likes dogs more than cats, Wed 18 May 2011, 11:54, 3 replies)

English etiquette
Sat with my old boss once in the quaint old English tea room (the only place for miles around remote offices which sold edible food and drink), we'd ordered a pot of tea and some scones, being that we are done proper English posh types who liked to pretend we were civilised and that.

Anyhoo, the pot of tea arrived at our table accordingly, with the elderly lady who'd served us bustling back off for our scones. Remembering my manners, I picked up the pot and directed the question to my boss in a loud, toffy voice: "SHALL I BE MOTHER FUCKER?"

Just at the unfortunately timed moment the little old lady - who had shuffled up behind me silently - lent across my face to put down our plate of scones.
(DBS, Wed 18 May 2011, 11:52, 3 replies)

Standing in the Pub
Having some banter with some chums, when a fella was spotted in the corner with foreshortened arms...

"That looks grim" says one mate. "Aye" says another, "His Mum probably took Thalidomide when she was pregnant...poor bastard, it must be terrible to be like that"

It was probably not a good idea to say "Don't knock Thalidomide, its a wonder drug if you're shit at knitting sleeves!"

Things were quiet for a while after that...
(frightfullybored, Wed 18 May 2011, 11:49, 11 replies)

Back to around 1980. I had a radio cassette recorder, that
I used to take everywhere with me.

Most Sundays I would religiously rush home in time to listen to the Top 40, and record all the tunes I wanted, to be played over the coming week. I also had a rather nasty habit, as was not uncommon in 13 year old boys, of recording other miscelany such as burps and farts.

So, I'm sure you've guessed where we're going here.

Grandma and Grandad were coming to stay for the week. They used to get the train from their house in Surrey, to redhill. My parents would pick them up from there.

In the car with Mum, picked up said grandparents, we're driving home, chattering away happily. Mum has borrowed last weeks top 40 tape to play in the car. Approaching Westerham, some jaunty Michael Jackson tune or similar is playing.

. . . living off the waaaaall . . . .

*crackle, crunch *

"Wait, wait, I've got one coming" *giggling sounds, banging and crashing noises*

"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!"

*more giggling sounds*

"you dirty cunt!"

*laughter* *cruch, bang*

. . . . living off the wall . . . .

Silence. Granny looking at Mum, Grandad looking at me, Mum staring at the road ahead, all thinking 'Was that what I thought it was???'.
(username failed moderation, Wed 18 May 2011, 11:31, 2 replies)

Playing her Song
My maternal grandmother's funeral, though sombre, was not a particularly emotional affair. This was for a couple of reasons, the most important of which was that she had been doolally for quite some time by the time she died: whatever had been important about her had vanished long before her body gave out anyway. Moreover, my family is not the sort to display emotions publicly (or at all, for that matter). We're quite a stoic bunch.

After the service, we were standing outside the church chatting with some of the people who'd come along. My mother was in conversation with one well-wisher when she was interrupted by someone she vaguely recognised, but to whom (she later said) she couldn't put a name.
"I just wanted to say," hissed the half stranger, "that I knew your mother, and she would not have approved of those hymns."

By the time Mum had processed what had been said, the indignant stranger had stalked off into the February afternoon. We're still not sure who she was.

It's a reworked pea from a couple of months ago, but I reckon it works here...
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 18 May 2011, 11:01, 9 replies)

Greenpeace
Greenpeace chuggers in NZ need a new approach.
"Have you drunk any milk today?" is not a great opener.
I can't be the only person who drinks black tea and doesn't really do breakfast, didn't even break my stride to answer that one!
(cmouse is pondering about life in other jobs, Wed 18 May 2011, 10:31, 5 replies)

Two daughters
Guy in office picks up my work colleagues family photo. Nice daughters. She replies. Thats Louis, hes a boy. ouch.
(Peno Lives In a Coal Bunker, Wed 18 May 2011, 9:44, 3 replies)

The Old Mariner
[Insert first post related warning.]

I had a friend who was working away with a group of 20 somethings and a grizzled ex-merchant navy boy who kept himself to himself and was generally not part of the larger group.

After work one evening while they were having a couple of jars one young chap mentioned the rope burn he'd received earlier, and said it "Hurt like buggery".

The old sailor growled "Nothing hurts like buggery." and suddenly it was a bit late and everyone was tired.
(fairynuf, Wed 18 May 2011, 9:44, 2 replies)

I had to go to a training seminar..
..where I would be joined by all the UK representatives of the company I worked for........in Swansea.
My head wasn't particularly in the game as we checked into the hotel en masse. In an economy drive the company got us twin rooms and I was first to check in. They called out my room mate (a stranger) and in the effort to break the ice my first words to him were,

"You'd better be careful mate, I sleep rape"

Surrounded by the horrified expressions of the hotel staff and my peers I wished that perhaps my internal appropriateness filter worked a bit better.

My room mate was a good sport about it and had an uninterrupted nights sleep.
(SlowLoris among the pigeons., Wed 18 May 2011, 9:32, 3 replies)

I once went to QOTW and pointed out to them that stories are formulaic, and then I pointed out that I had spotted which formulae they were using.
That told them, the fucking, FUCKING CUNTS!

ARRRRGH! FUUUCK!
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 18 May 2011, 9:18, 32 replies)

Mong goose reminded me...
Standing in my local one day with my back to the door, I suddenly could smell chinese food.

Sniffing the air in a scooby doo way, I remarked "I can smell chinese", only to turn around and come face to face with Christine, an oriental looking woman.

Oh how everyone else laughed as I blustered "No, no - I meant FOOD! I can smell chinese food!"
( snee held his breath since, Wed 18 May 2011, 9:15, 6 replies)

A couple of years ago
A friend had people round, we played video games, watched movies and drank beer. A couple of guys ordered a Chinese take away, which was running late. I was passing the door when I heard a knocking, which I quickly answered. Shouts of "Chinkeys finally here!" started to erupt behind me. It wasn't. It was my friend and his Chinese girlfriend, who were also running late. Slightly awkward, but she didn't take offence. I shouted the food wasn't there and who'd arrived.

I walked into the room, followed by my mate most people greet him by name, then in walks his girlfriend, to the sound of more knocking and another chorus of "Chinky!"

Very awkward moment, though she didn't seem too offended.
(Mong goose, Wed 18 May 2011, 8:51, 8 replies)