Grab A Grot
Me and my sidekick, Denty, used to often go out on the pull in Manchester. When I say often I mean every night except Thursdays and Sundays (my poor liver) and one of our ways to keep ourselves amused was to pick a type of bird that we intended to pull that night. As usual, the prize was a pint. We'd pick blondes, redheads, black-girls, hippies, rockers, disco-chicks - basically the rule was you had to trap off with whatever that nights target was.

This one night the target was brunettes. We had a few beers while trawling through our favourite hunting grounds before eventually ending up heading for the "Swinging Sporran" - our favourite rock bar. As we were getting served with more wife-beater we got into conversation with a lovely brunette at the bar. It was obvious that she fancied both if us (or rather was too pissed to give a fuck who she shagged) so me and Denty were competing with each other for her attention. After a while Denty pulled me aside and said:

"Fuck this mate - life's too short to argue over a tart. Let's forget her and have a grab-a-grot night instead, Bet you a pint that I can pull a bigger horror than you can. Meet you back here at 1 o'clock - may the best man win"

And so the competition was on. The night wore on and at at 1am I headed back to meet Denty with my prize. I'd picked up a fat, wall-eyed spastic (one leg shorter than the other) with a squint. There might have been a hunch as well but the details are lost in the mists of time. I got to our meeting place and, as I lay back against a wall with this grunter clawing at my knackers, Denty turned up with his arm around gorgeous brunette from earlier and handed me a pint.

"Looks like you won mate" he grinned.

I hit him.

Still banged the monster in the car-park though. Waste not want not. Then again I was
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 11:47, Reply)

How an old man made me who I am today.
"Well done, you've won yourself a fantastic prize, young man!" I was told. And following my efforts, I honestly felt I deserved one. Old Mr. Harrison from the farmhouse nearby was pleased with my paint-work and I was proud of what I'd done. His wife had been dead for 15 years and he was lonely and debilitated. Yet his 89 year-old eyes had retained the wicked sparkle that had won the former Mrs. Harrison's heart all those years ago. He led the way up the dirt track toward the rickety, ancient barn where he had conceived his only child back in '53, and as he walked ahead I observed the way his buttocks moved independently of one another, and his bow-legged gait had my imagination working overtime. Oh, Mr. Harrison, you tease!

We were within metres of the barn's dark entrance when the rain came, unexpectedly and fiercely, beating down on us as though God Himself was trying to wash away my sinful thoughts. But God had reckoned without my umbrella of unshakeable lust. The spear-like streaks of rain turned the buttercups inside-out, and the flowers all cried out like a chorus of jaundiced monkey foetuses begging for death. Mr. Harrison picked up the pace a little, flailing his besleeved arms to try and gain momentum.

Inside the barn, the damp, musty smell hit the back of my throat like a squid that had been flung against the bonnet of a Ford Cortina by an enraged Maltese girl, forcing me to drop to my knees. I vomited for a good fifteen minutes while my aged companion sat on a bail of old hay, sweetly blowing into his harmonica. The sound of the harmonica caused me to roll involuntarily onto my back where I lay, twitching like an erotic dung beetle. I managed to bring myself to my feet, but my vision was terribly blurred and I wandered around the barn like a Romanian child forced to live on a diet of elbows for all of its sorry, short life. I finally found the barn's entrance again and fled from it into the damp field. The rain continued, only hindering my vision further. I slipped, fell and slid, screaming a sort of desperate sexual hymn all the way down the dirt track and back to the farmhouse. The farmhouse wall finally broke my slide, and I let out an angry, cat-like grunt as my body struck the damp brickwork like a bag of Pringle socks against a child's thigh. Mr. Harrison found me some hours later, cowering behind the horse trough, weakened and shaking like a freshly-raped dog. It was then that he gave me my prize: the old harmonica. His saliva was still dripping from it. I lapped it up hungrily.

Mr. Harrison died only days later, although when I play that old harmonica I can sometimes feel his hot breath against my scrotum.
(stusut79, Wed 10 Aug 2005, 9:21, Reply)

literally
When my youngest brother was 17 he attended a "gentleman's morning" (fundraiser - pay $20.00, get strippers and all the beer you can drink) with my other brother and myself, at our local football club. Towards the end of the event they announced the winners of the 3 door prizes.
3rd was a carton of beer
2nd was a wheelbarrow full of assorted alchoholic beverages
And 1st prize, which my baby brother won, was 1 hour with one of the strippers. The lady was to put it nicely, "a tad past her use by date" and in all fairness, was probably not used to working during daylight hours and as such, probably did need the chemical assistance in remaining awake that she appeared to have taken.
With about 200 very pissed and incredibly amused punters cheering him on, my brother was dragged into the locker room by the now almost rabid erotic dancer.
After about 40 minutes the crowd was silenced by a blood curdling scream. I thought "God, I didn't know my little brother had it in him" and began cheering with the rest of the crowd.
At this point the door flew open and we all realised that the scream had come from my brother. He ran the length of the bar and out to the carpark, minus all clothing except a t-shirt, dripping a foul smelling yellowish brown fluid.
The next day, when he had calmed down, I asked him what had happened. He said that while they were in the act of consumating their passion, with him kneeling behind her, she yelled out "Oh sorry!" and then proceede to evacuate a very loose bowel motion. From his description I would say if you think tubgirl you wouldn't be far off the mark.
Funnily enough, he is still keen on football.
(peewee13, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 14:02, Reply)

I once also entered a competition at a school fete, aged about 7,
where you tied your name and address to a balloon and let it go, and whoever got a reply from furthest away within two weeks won a full football kit. Most people's never came back, but one kid got a reply from an English couple who'd found his balloon on a beach resort in Portugal - he got the prize.

Mine was presumed lost, and forgotten about. Forgotten about, that is, until about three months later, when I received a shockingly abusive letter threatening legal proceedings from some redneck dickhead in South Carolina. Bizarrely, he reckoned I owed him about $4,000 in recovered medical bills.

Turns out he'd fallen from his garage roof and shattered his pelvis while trying to remove the remnants of my balloon from his TV aerial. :)
( grey kid is breakdancing to save a community centre, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 15:08, Reply)

Bending the rules of the question slightly
My mum is a nursery school headteacher and they were trying to raise funds for the school. Since the Right Hon. Tony Blair MP had been on telly talking how education was his biggest priority she wrote to him asking if there was anything he could do to help. Being something of a smug, patronising cunt, he sent her a signed photo of himself that they could "perhaps use as a prize in a raffle".

On the day, my mum put it in an auction and not wanting to let the nursery down I opened the bidding at £5. Not a single other person wanted it so I ended up taking it home and put it up in our downstairs toilet.

Fast-forward five or six years to today where after this weekend's house party, I have just finished cleaning off the congealed spit and mucus our guests felt obliged to hock onto our esteemed leader's face while they took a piss. You may have won some crappy prizes, but to have won something that people feel compelled to spit on when they visit surely takes the biscuit as the worst prize ever.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Mon 8 Aug 2005, 12:42, Reply)

WOO! FIRST POST!
Do I get a prize for this?

[Mod Edit: Your prize is being demoted to somewhere random. It really gets to us sometimes, people doing that. Why, why, why do people have to celebrate being the first one to post their inane anecdote about a hilariously unfunny event that happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. I mean why. I makes me want to cry sometimes. It's worse than that. Sometimes I want to kill myself. Or kill someone else. Or, worse, kill a kitten. Fudge off, all of you]

[Edit: Ok ok guys, but all I was doing was reserving my place. Do you want to hear my crappy prize story? Well, this one time, at band camp, there was a tombola...]

[Mod Edit: Congratulations, you have won further demotion down the question board. We are fed up of hearing stories of you winning a crusty pair of socks that you yourself donated (fnarr, observe irony!) to some crazy hillbilly tombola. I suppose we asked for it with this QOTW.]

[Edit: what about the time I won a bottle of whisky when I was 8?]

[Mod Edit: Jesus H. Christ.

*Under breath, to aide* Send the killer kittens

*Aide* Umm, Sir, just because you put something in superscript cabbages, they can still read it. Furthermore, we are all out of killer kittens, having dispatched them all either to sabotage production of 'Cats and Dogs 2' or to savagely sever the slithery sinews of the other tombola bores.

*King Mod II* Well, call me a Rectum Raider and send me to Soho. Does this mean not only that the subject realises our intentions and weaknesses, but also that every other tombola poster will be up all night with his shotgun, thereby compromising the safety of the killer kittens??

*Aide* Yes, your evangelical holiness

*King Mod II, no longer under breath* My fellow B3tans, a great danger is facing our messageboard, attacking our citizens with underhand methods and weapons of mass distraction. We are facing such atrocities as length innuendo, leetspeak and, worst of all, Mod Impersonation. There is only one Mod. Believe and trust in Mod, and worship not the false Mods. In this time of great danger, we will not submit. We will not give in to these monsters. We shall instead excessively curb the civil liberties of our own citizens and invade other messageboards that few of you have heard of, from which we believe these terrible acts to have originated. A killer kitten (TM) will be sent to each of your houses and chaperone you at all times. Anyone who fails to adhere to the regulations stipulated in the FAQs will meet with a swift, cuddly and ferocious death. Fear not, for this is all in the name of Freedom (R)

*Subliminal messaging* Click 'I like this'

*Aide* Sir, they can see that.

*King Mod II* Fanny-flaps! Now they know that we are the true enemy, it is in fact us who use underhand methods to get our way? Do they know we rigged the votes at the last Mod election?

*Aide* They do now sir...

*King Mod II* Well, they all misunderestimated me! I now have a monopoly on the board's posts! Now I will take over the board!]

[Edit: Persons represented in this parody of the Bush Administration are fictional and any resemblence between these characters and any people or George W Bush are entirely intentional.]



*Then, suddenly from out of nowhere Mr Jums, a 17 year old civilian from North London, was shot from space with a death ray. BBC News failed to disclose any information whatsoever, in fact the only news channel which did was Fox News, which claimed that the Death Ray was an act of God as Mr Jums had recently extracted the Michael from the Administration. His fatal error, as the Metropolitan Police discovered 5 years later, was in writing the disclaimer, as up until that point the Administration hadn't noticed his misalignment. However, his use of the word 'Bush' attracted the attention of the Hunter-Seeker Algorithm (not because it is the name of our Leader, but because it is synonymous with Cunt, and all sexual references have been banned to preserve the Freedom (R) of our children). The Administration wishes at this juncture to inform all civilians that failure to comply with its wishes in clicking the 'I like this' button will automatically constitute membership of the Axis of Evil (C) and result in a death ray being launched from which not even your killer kitten can protect you.*

I live in the 51st State (Britain) and all they gave me was this lousy president. Allah akbar! *Spontaneous arrest by security squad*
(Mr_Jums, Sun 7 Aug 2005, 0:17, Reply)

Kinda won-ish
Its not something I won, really, but you'll understand..

Most people dont know that airports are allowed to auction off any unclaimed luggage left on their carousel after a certain amount of time, something like 18 months. However, they are not allowed to open the luggage, unless they believe it poses a security risk. So once in a while, a group of specially invited rich people (and scruffy me, who knew someone whose mum worked there) attend a dinner and a raffle where they auction off all the left luggage and give the proceeds to some charity or other.

As you can imagine, its quite good fun - its the nosiest thing you can do, looking through someone elses luggage y'see, so generally the women love it (not trying to be sexist, its just true). Generally though, there is nothing amazingly interesting - clothes, sun cream; things most people take on holiday, but it really is quite fascinating looking through other peoples things.. Most of these go for a decent sum (hundred quid or so), cause its charity and even if worse comes to worse you still get a (slightly dusty) suitcase.

Anyway, I was there, and cause I was a bit pissed decided to bid.. I waited for a battered looking one to come up and bid thirty quid, fully expecting someone to outbid me. However, they must have all been busy rutting their sister or something at the time, 'cause I only went and won it!

"Wooo!" Thought I. "I've gone and got myself a suitcase full of treasure. Its probably got gold and diamonds and crowns and treasure maps in." Looking back, I might have been slightly optimistic.. But you know how it is - something that you do is bound to be luckier than others...

Anyway, the time of collection came along - I went and paid my money and picked up the blue, slightly knackered suitcase/bag-thing.

It was lighter than I expected, but then again, I've never picked up a bag full of gold, so it was fine.

Got it home - broke the lock on it.. Pretty excited by now, as you might expect.. Opened it up.. Peered inside, wondering about the fortune it contained, and it was....









Absolutely fuck all.

Some !CUNT! had bothered to bring back an empty suitcase, and then clearly just thought "What the fuck am I doing? I'll just leave it here, for some happy-go-lucky, jovial chap to spend thirty of his hard-earned pounds on, while I am non the wiser somewhere else in the world."

I was fucking gutted.

No riches. No treasure trove.
F-U-C-K A-L-L.

I've never forgiven this random stranger. If you ever meet someone who said, "I once left an empty suitcase at Bristol airport. Ha-ha-ha." Can you go whoops-upside-his-head for me please, and ask for, nay demand, thirty pounds.

Thanks B3ta. Its been cathartic. I might let it go now. Maybe even give a quid or two to charity again.

Edit: Oh, just previewed that and its far too long. Never mind - its work time, and im getting paid, and you almost certainly are too.
(grr_boy, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 12:22, Reply)

YOU have definitely already won!!!
For this week only clicking 'I like this!' will enter you into a draw where you are GUARANTEED to win the prize of your dreams!!!*






(*To qualify for the draw your idea of a dream prize must be the empty sense of achievement at pointlessly clicking things.)
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Sun 7 Aug 2005, 12:21, Reply)

Lego
My friend Chris entered a Lego competition when he was a kid. The idea was to build something cool out of Lego and I s'ppose the winning design actually got made into a proper set or something.

Anyway, Chris got through the regional heat with his amazing creation, and went onto the national level competition. Each kid got an hour or so to build their Lego thing out of the bricks supplied, and you were allowed to take all the bricks you used home with you.

However, there was a snag. Chris had built his thing out of the rarer Lego bricks (space stuff or something) and only standard bricks were available at this event. He couldn't build his regional-award-winning creation out of these, and he knew he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of beating the other kids without his special Lego.

So what did he do? He built a huge box out of Lego and filled it with bricks. And took them home.
(Pachey, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 14:42, Reply)

the worst thing i ever won
was a competition on b3ta where you had to say what the worst thing you ever won was.

Click 'I like this' to make my dreams come true.
(well its not going to suck itself yadda yadda yadda, Tue 9 Aug 2005, 12:08, Reply)

I am a priest living on an isolated island off the Irish coast
A while back I needed to raise some money to fix a hole in the roof of my house. I had the idea of holding a raffle, but that started to go wrong when the car I got from the bishop got smashed up in an amusing incident involving smoothing out a dent.

So I borrowed an identical car from a friend. However, as it was borrowed, I quickly came up with another cunning plan - the raffle would be rigged so that my curate (who we'll call Dougal) won, thus enabling us to return the car to its owner. After I tried to explain the plan to him (with hilarious consequences) the raffle began.

Soon after he almost didn't win (by looking at the number 11 upside down) it transpired that an elderly priest who was also living with me (let's call him Jack) had, in a drunken stupor, crashed it into two trucks (which he explained loudly with the help of several empty beer cans).

However, we then discovered that the car's owner had recently died of a dancing-induced heart attack. At least we didn't have to get him a new car, and we still had the money raised by the raffle.

But then I found that it had all been stolen by a bearded twat in a stupid jacket to pay for gambling debts which, ironically, had accumulated through buying a huge supply of tickets for the raffle.

And just to make it worse, someone went and televised the whole thing.
(The Worminator I have discovered that Quavers are nice, Sun 7 Aug 2005, 19:16, Reply)

A duck
When I was about 5 or 6 we were living in Singapore (Dad was in the RAF). One evening we went to a local funfair and there was one of these "throw a ring around a thing and win a prize" stalls. The things were real live ducks waddling in a circle, and so were the prizes.

And I won one - pure fluke, but I won a duck!

So we take it home, the adults not saying but clearly thinking "ducks make better soup than they do pets". Got home from school the next day to find that the duck was already in the pot. I cried myself to sleep that night, thinking "selfish bastards; I'd won the duck, it was mine by rights, not theirs".

You see, all day at school I'd been looking forward to cutting the head off the duck myself.

Disturbingly, this is a true story
( De nada adan eD, Sat 6 Aug 2005, 15:20, Reply)

In 1980 (ish)
I won a car windscreen sun visor thing emblazoned with an advert for 'Popeye: The Movie'
( P45 Sent by my Bosch 509e in the year 2000, Wed 10 Aug 2005, 2:28, Reply)

Smartie meltdown....
When I was in junior school we had an annual leavers fete, where the year 6 kids had to make tat and sell it to us etc. I went in for the "how many smarties in the jar" quiz, with a guess of 207. 2 hrs later 2 year 6's walk in with my smarties! damn right i'd won!

Started scoffing them on the way home, and by dinner time, id finished the lot. My brother then pointed out that the scabby years six's had touched each and every one of my smarties in order to count them. He then proceeded with a graphic descrition of what year six boys do with their hands, which made me promptly throw up in a rainbow of colour and mulch! Cheers Jord.
(Picalillie, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 17:42, Reply)

Cancer resurch uk
are fucking sneaky cunts, when it comes to collecting money they nip round our local pub at chucking out time rattling tins and giving out stickers. they get a shitload of money this way off drunks. (it was the only time ive put more than 10p in a collecting tin).

i should know this as I personaly oversaw a raffle in thier name a few years ago. With the help of some friends I managed to extract ticket sales with maffia/debt collector effecency.

After i had about £100, i felt it was time to draw the prizes. First prize was a tenner, but i needed some crap to give away as back up prizes. Rooting around my room i found a (i shit you not) "best of ground force video" to give as second prize. In a truly inspired moment my friend suggested the third prize, and so it came to pass

for third place i gave a Broken biro and the leftover raffle tickets as a "make your own raffle kit!!"

If anyone dared to question the crapitude of the prizes the satndard response was " well ill just pop down to the CANCER WARD in lister hospital (local hospital) and tell them THEY cant have more money because YOU want a BETTER PRIZE"
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Mon 8 Aug 2005, 17:00, Reply)

Mate wins a night with another bloke
Out on the piss on a weeknight with a wog mate and his girlfriend.

For some reason we ended up at this gay pub.

When you walked in, each guy was given a number to stick on their shirt. Having been to this pub before (got dragged there by a couple of gay mates), I knew this was so other guys who were interested, could ask the host to make an introduction.

My mate didn't know what it was about, so I told him it was the lucky door prize.

Couple of beers later, the host reads out my mates number.

Up he jumps, yelling out, I've won, I've won. Runs over to the host asking where his prize is. The host points to a obviously gay bloke.

You should have seen the look on my mates face, while me and his girlfriend pissed ourselves laughing.

And yes, he did manage to extricate himself without too much trouble.
(Kaer, Mon 8 Aug 2005, 8:20, Reply)

Beware free gifts
Once driving upto Aberdeen I got my photo taken and won 3 points. Found out later that I had to pay some sort of postage, around £60.
(Jock McTavish, Fri 5 Aug 2005, 15:10, Reply)

Spelling competition at school
Let me regress you,
I'm 14 years old going to my nice Secondary school in Wigan.
There is a spelling competition in my english class, now I'm a good speller so I give it a crack. First prize was any vhs video of your choice (this was the days before DVD).
I did well in the competition but came a cropper in the 4th round.
The girl who won it was ecstatic as the head of English came to ask what video she would like.
She said "Grease". Fair choice I spose.
Two days later the head of English comes into our class to award her prize.
She hands over a blank video and tells her Grease is on tv this week so she'll be able to tape it on this and gives her a one pound coin as a bonus!

Wank. Glad I didn't win.
(Capt_Carl, Fri 5 Aug 2005, 10:01, Reply)

I won
a David Bellamy lookalike competition when I was about 10 (note: I am a girl).

My prize? A signed picture of the man himself.

I'm embarrassed to admit I was quite chuffed with this and stuck it on the door of my bedroom.
(Pachey, Mon 8 Aug 2005, 9:02, Reply)

Double dealing Budgie breeding fuckers
As teenager my parents tried to force me into things I didnt like, just to live out their sad dreams through me. One of these was to keep Budgies and I fucking hated them.

Anyway they entered me into all these shows where we'd turn up an associate with a load of sad wankers until the judges finished viewing the birds. Interestingly enough the judges always reminded me of collection of elderly gentlemen who other interests know doubt would see there names appearing on some register.

I won. Woopee-Fucking-Doo. I'm the 1987 Llantrisant and District junior Budgerigar breeding champion.

I won a small trophy (crap), some rosettes (crapper) and £10. Now that would come in handy as I was about the age where Id found the value of low cost cider and bus stops, so I knew where that money would be going.

However, the organiser of the event sidled up to me and said everyone else who had won had donated the money back to help with the costs of holding the event next year. Having considered his request and disliking the fact that he waited until I was standing by my parents, so as to try to get full moral attention, I pissed on his chips by telling him where to go.

Day after, up to the local Spar in Tonyrefail where I purchased 8 cans of 7.5% Pulse Cider. Buy 4 get 4 free for £3.99 a shout. Drank the lot and was sick on my mothers kitchen floor and THATS WHY IT WAS THE BEST CRAPPY PRIZE EVER!

PS: The budgie that won died a fortnight later as it caught something or other, and I had to assist in its shuffling off its mortal coil. Therefore I snapped its neck but the little bastard had the last laugh as its head came off in my hand.
(If it could happen to me like that i'd shit my pants, Fri 5 Aug 2005, 11:20, Reply)

Let me see
Well, how about the time I spent 20p on a raffle ticket and won...

*drumroll*

A can of lager and a bottle of shaving foam. Just what every six year old girl wants.
(PAMPAMPAM, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 22:30, Reply)

In our teens this kid used to hang around.
He was quite a bit younger than us and a lot smaller but he was very sharp and frequently made us laugh. I remember the time he challenged a mate to a "softest punch competition". He let the other guy go first and, slightly bemused, this guy hit him very gentley. The young guy them punched him as hard as he could, already shouting "You win! You win!"
(Garnett, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 12:16, Reply)

My parents went to New York on September 11th 2001
and all I got back was a Bloody t-shirt...
(David Fishwick Minibus Sales - notmad.co.uk, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 11:54, Reply)

Worst ever meet and great
On the last Britney tour in the US. 10 lucky winners were invited backstage to meet their idol. Overjoyed and dumbstruck with excitment they were taken into Miss Spears' dressing room where one of her assistants turned on a VCR and played a video message thanking them for being fans. The video ended with Britney telling the fans how much she loved them but was too busy to meet them in person.
(notquitewithit, Fri 5 Aug 2005, 12:51, Reply)

spiderman
I won a life sized Spiderman from blockbuster, only like 7 people entered because they figured no point in entering my chances are a zillion to one. I entered. I came to find the spiderman is made of styrofoam and it's arms breakoff easily if you dance with it too long.
(Willa'sname, Fri 5 Aug 2005, 5:22, Reply)

manchester tombola
oh and my mother teaches in a school in a rather gruesome part of manchester.

every christmas they have a school fete and all the children's families give donations as prizes for the raffle, tombola and other festive goodness.

until one year a little girl turned up clutching something. clearly desperate to contribute, she'd taken the bar of soap from the family bathroom. used, cracked and grey. with a nice glistening pube coiled neatly in the middle.

that did not go on the stall as the star prize...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 4 Aug 2005, 11:54, Reply)

Crapital radio
In my yoof I used to go to discos with Capital Radio guest DJs. I won an LP of some crap signed by Mike Allen.

For some reason the sleeve was wrinkly and stained - he later confessed that his dog had pissed on it in the back of his car.

Delightful.
(zarf, Sat 6 Aug 2005, 19:26, Reply)

"It looks like Tampax"
I've previously mentioned that I lived in France for several years while I was growing up. Kind friends in the UK used to send me copies of trendy teen magazines for me to read, and I went through a phase of sending off postcards for every free prize draw that was mentioned. However, living in France meant that, under the terms and conditions of most of the competitions, I was not eligible to enter. So I would put my Gran's address instead, thus pretending that I was a UK resident.

One summer, I saw every teenage girls dream prize: a rucksack full of beauty products, from a hairdryer to make-up and everything in between. I knew it had to be mine. So I decided to send off 20 postcards into the draw.

The following week, I saw the same prize in another magazine! What were the odds?! So I sent off another 10 cards in hope.

Then promptly forgot all about it.

Several months later, my Gran phoned my Mum, to tell her that "lots of packages" had arrived for me, and that "it looks like Tampax".

Yes, the promotion had been run by the UK's friendly fanny-pad manufacturer, and every entrant got a free sample. So sue me for not reading the small print.

It was a bugger getting the things over to France, but when they arrived their uses were endless (missiles fired from a blowpipe, dipped in paint and used to decorate the art room at school, they would get hidden in schoolbags and bedrooms of every male friend and relative we knew. oh how we laughed).

F x
(Flurble - The Innocent One, Fri 5 Aug 2005, 18:17, Reply)

Wasn't technically my prize....
We had Colin Murray, a 'top celebrity' at our Freshers Ball at university. I was young, naive and very drunk and when I saw him playing one of the fairground rides I ran up next to him like a weird stalker. He won this game and got a crappy cuddly donkey which he then gave to me. I was so amazed at this claim to fame (sad I know) that I spent the rest of the night telling everyone who I spoke to that ColinMurrayHadGivenMeADonkey!! I also kept on sneaking backstage and pestering the poor bloke as I clutched this toy.

Anyways, next morning arrives. My prize for my drunkeness was Colin Murray telling the listeners of Radio 1 that this really annoying girl who he had given a donkey too would just not leave him alone for the whole evening. He wished more than anything that he hadn't given it to me as I apparently was a complete pest.

Lesson learned.
( Sheep in Socks it is illegal to take a lion to the cinema., Fri 5 Aug 2005, 14:12, Reply)

7 year old malt
When i was 7 I won a bottle of Whisky in the raffle that was run in my uncles pub. My father took it off me.

When I was 24 I won a 5ft high teddy bear at a fair. I gave that to my little cousin.

I really need to start entering competitions that are appropriate for my age.
(ivebeenhigh i've climbed so high, Fri 5 Aug 2005, 11:11, Reply)