Your mum
Also from my school days...
Being schooled in the classy town of Birkenhead (for those who havent heard of it, its more or less the town for companies and people who couldnt afford to build/live in liverpool. Yes, its that shite), I picked up some bad lingual habits.

Through the chavs(not scallies, went to a grammar school dont you know), one of the most over used habits picked up was "your ma". Need a comeback in an arguement? "Well, so's your ma!" And of course, being young teen boys, we just had to add "...IN BED!" Oh, how we would laugh!

Unfortunately for me, two close friends had both lost their mums(Can you see where this is going?).Many a time would I would harmlessly "your ma", then notice you were talking to A or S. And hate myself for it. Still cringing now thinking about it
*sorry for lack of funnys
(violent pacifist ;now with 20% more paradox...., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:53, 3 replies)

Ah, school sports, part deux
As mentioned before, I suck at sports. So imagine my surprise when I found one I was actually good at!

I've always been a big guy, tall, built like a brick wall with a beer gut before I even tasted beer. So I was a natural for rugby.

After much practice and no real playing, the teacher one week decided we would play a proper match and split the class up into teams. I don't remember much about the match, except for one incident...

We scrum, everyone brakes out and one of my team goes running up field with the ball. I'm running a little behind him, so when he gets gang raped, he passes it off to me and I run on.

Now, being crap at sports, I've never scored a good try, or a decent goal, or even hit a rounders ball more than 3 feet. So when I see the try line, and the only thing between me and it is a kid called Ross, I'm in hogs heaven.

Ross, you see, was built like a stick insect, and about as tall as a leprechaun. A sane person might have tried to around Ross, but I could see only the try. I was going to take the most direct route possible to the end of the field. Give him his dues though, he stood his ground as I beared down on him.

I have a vague recollection of something bouncing off of me as I barrel to the end and score my first and only try. I'm ecstatic! I look around, expecting a victorious cheer from my team, but everyone is gathered around Ross as he lay on the floor. They cancel the game and Ross is taken to see the nurse, tears streaming down his face.

The (most likely exaggerated) reports from onlookers was that Ross flew about 10 feet and landed on his head. All I could do was apologise and cringe a lot.
( Damocles wants no part of your debauchery, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:50, 1 reply)

well...
back at school. PE lesson. it was raining and interform was in 2 days, so they didn't want to damage their precious fields. so we played swedish longball. if only it were an international sport... anyway, my turn to bat. ball comes at me, I swing the bat. I hit the ball, and dropped the bat while the force from my swing was still in effect. said bat swings right round my head, hitting me in the face. the PE teachers showed their kindness... they laughed more than the other students.
(venort apparently exists, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:44, Reply)

Booze
Whilst being carried out of bar by a couple of friends, the cold evening air worked it's normal drunken alchemy and I promptly shat myself.

That was a low moment.
(Cock it says kapow!, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:41, 1 reply)

Hair
So I'm sixteen years old. The girlfriend has come around to my place for the day, the folks and the sister are out, and the afternoon is ripe for lovin' -- or at least, kissin' and some awkward groping, which is the best a fairly shy guy such as myself could have expected.

But something is wrong. From the moment the ladyfriend walked in the door, she seemed a little nervous, a little distracted -- basically, the complete opposite of her usual self. After I realised something was up (it took about an hour or so... I'm really that observant), I asked her what was the matter. She refused to tell me. We played that game for a while (What'swrongnothingreallyyesyousureyesoh, the one I would soon come to recognise as an old favourite), but I eventually manage to get it out of her. In a quiet, delicate voice, quite unlike anything I've ever heard her say before, she comes out with:

'I've... you know... *shaved*.'

For some reason, my mind doesn't quite realise what's going on, so I respond with, 'Wow... Well, I have to say, it looks a lot better. I didn't want to mention anything, but I'd definitely noticed a little bit of fuzz there.'

All the while, I'm gesturing to her top lip. The lip that, in fact, was not one of the ones she was referring to.

There was to be no more fumbling that day. It took three hours for me to get her to even speak to me.

Length? Not insubstantial, but firmly out of sight that day. I was lucky she didn't rip it off.
(Ellinikos contains a source of phenylalanine, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:40, 13 replies)

The troubles of biro vs desk fan
In 2005, I used to work in a call centre. Considering the bastards fired me, I have no problem naming them- T-Mobile. But the embarrassing mistake was of my own making, not theirs. Well, apart from maybe employing me, but hey-ho.

As we all know very well, apart from those who haven't had the somewhat dubious pleasure, working in call centres can be very dull. Mind-dumbing tedium could be considered a compliment.

As such, when faced with such a situation, a mind such as mine will tend to wonder, unless kept occupied. In hindsight, perhaps my method of occupation could have been chosen with a little more care.

As it was a warm day, I had an electric fan on my desk, running at high speed to keep me cool. And in my hand, a pen. It was these that provided me with the seeds of that day, my latest downfall.

I was amusing myself by sticking the pen in the fan, and listening to the noise it made, whilst pretending to listen to the latest dullard droning on in the background.

And then, she said something that made me sit up and take notice. I still had the pen in my hand, idly sticking it into the fan. I stuck it in a little too far, resulting in the pen being ripped from my hands and creating the most unholy racket. Need I remind you I worked in a call centre?

So this noise is now being created, I am fumbling for the off switch whilst trying to hide, placate a rather confused customer and also wonder what in Hades I'm going to say to the rather annoyed shift manager I noticed was coming my way. Whoever said blokes can't multitask was clearly wrong, I was a master of it that day.

The manager arrived, predictably with a face like thunder, and confiscated the fan from me, never to be seen again. I was left without a fan, a pen, and more importantly a slight fear of aircooling devices.

The one thing I learned that day. Pens and fans don't mix, unless it's a gaggle of autograph hunters.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:39, Reply)

Ah, school sports.
I was never very good at sports anyway, but this didn't help matters...

Playing rounders (because my school was too cheap to buy proper sports equipment), and there's a rule that if you fail to hit the ball properly 3 times, you may run to first base.

I swing and I miss 3 times. Somewhere in my young, bored brain, I realise I'm supposed to move now. So what do you do when you have to move from the hitter position? That's right, you run like the clappers and try and get as many bases around the diamond as you can before the ball can reach the next base. So I set off, legs whirring as fast as they can, leaning sharply into the diamond to turn corners faster. I felt like I was running on air, with angels carrying my every step. I was doing it! I was doing sports! I was a real boy! I made it all the way to 3rd base before I decide it was too risky to go on.

The teacher says, "Well, that was a great run, but you were supposed to stop at first base".

So I walk across the diamond, head hung in shame, as all the other kids laugh at me.
( Damocles wants no part of your debauchery, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:39, 2 replies)

Drunken voice message of Doom...
Some time ago when I lived in Brum I was working at a large media company where it was traditional to kick the arse out of it on Friday evenings, Dot Com boom and all. At the time there was a young lady, we’ll call her Blodwyn, at our establishment that had caught my eye, she had bumps in all the right places and interestingly enough was about 6’4’’ tall (I have a complete weakness for tall women! Mmmmmm….). Oddly enough, she hadn’t screamed when I started talking to her during the previous weeks, and seemed vaguely (I may be wrong) interested in this short balding Welshman.

One Friday saw about twenty of us drunk in the local pub, but it was getting late and the evening was being wrapped up. The lovely tall, really tall girl said that she was going home whereupon I gallantly volunteered to walk her home. Ulterior motive? Me? No, no, no. Slander, I say! But she refused! Bugger. (Sensible girl I think, looking back) It was at this point I colleague of mine, we’ll call him Tim, offered to walk her home as he was going in the same direction, and no, he didn’t have any thoughts in that direction, she was safe.

But I did know that he was completely unreliable, especially as he was also very drunk. So what did I do? I got home an hour later (God knows how!) and decided to ring his home number and ask if everything went okay. At least that’s what I thought I did….
Next morning at work I was sat at my desk in our large open planned office when Blodwyn came up to have a chat and we begin to compare hangovers. At this point I heard from the other side of the office “Hey Spango! You called us up last night so we recorded the message! HAHAHAHAHA!” Apparently, he lived in a shared house.

CLICK!

“Oi, Tim! This is Spango, you better have got her home all right otherwise you’re fucking dead! And you’ll know I’ll enjoy it! I’ll really, really hurt you.” plus other ranting and ravings, snorts and gibbers.
Of course, everyone in the office instantly realise what this is all about, Blodwyn however, sitting right next to me, did not.

“What’s going on? Why are they all laughing?”, looking at me all confused.

“No reason” I replied, as I slowly slid down my seat to curl up underneath my desk. I did not come out for a full half hour.

Funny enough, a week later a good friend of mine got hold of a copy of the message, sampled it and turned it into a bastardisation of Mel & Kim’s Respectable.
(SpangoTheWonderBadger is brewing beer, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:38, Reply)

Pretentious Drama Students
I don't know what the GCSE English syllabus looks like these days (if it's still called a syllabus; I'd heard they were now calling it a "specification"...), but when I was in the midst of it, but a few years ago (clinging to youth as long as I can), we were required to study a handful of poems from an anthology compiled by the exam board.

I've never cared much for poetry. I thought some of the Ted Hughes stuff was alright, and a few of the others were quite funny, but a lot of it was just pretentious wanky stuff by modern poets desperately trying to seem modern.

I don't know whether it was to try and raise the enthusiasm of my fellow students and I, or whether it was just because they had nothing better to do, but the A-level drama students from the 6th form college across the river decided to put on a performance for us.

They decided to perform these poems as short plays, interpretive dances and other such bollocks.

You know the times when a performance is so eye-wateringly, bowel-churningly bad that you feel embarrassed for the people performing, and just wish the ground would swallow you up on their behalf? This little montage epitomised that feeling.

They took on the roles of the characters described in the poems (badly); they emphasised the lines which were supposed to be key to the poem and particularly meaningful (predictably); one guy even decided to rap one of the poems. To be fair, he was black, built like a brick shithouse, and looked the part in baggy jeans and a bandana, but setting this diabolical poem to a hip-hop beat was just embarrassing to watch.

They honestly seemed to be so far up their own dramatic arses that they were performing without the slightest hint of irony - they seemed not to have thought for a moment that if we were able to watch this performance from the safety of a TV screen, away from the ire of the English teachers (who seemed to be loving every minute of it) then we would have been howling with laughter at this trite crap.

And so, for an hour, we cringed, winced and visibly shuddered as we had to watch this pretentious bollocks being unfurled before us. We knew these bloody poems already (read: we were sick of them already) and all these bastards managed to do was make us hate them even more.
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:37, 4 replies)

At work just now
two identical girls walked in, so I says, 'Oh hello, are you both twins?'

'No,' said the first, 'only one of us is,' while looking at me like I'm the world's biggest retard.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:36, 5 replies)

Sex toy ads & Mother
When I was about 14 me and a mate of mine found some pages from a pron mag discarded in a hedge, a treasure trove indeed.

I stuffed some of the pages up my jumper and headed home. I popped into the lounge to say goodnight to the parents then headed up to bed...

Now when I'd walked out of the lounge, unbenownst to me a page of my pron haul had fallen out of my jumper onto the living room floor...

A minute or so later there is a knock on my bedroom door, Mum confronts me with a the page of pron (which just happens to be an advertisment page for dildos, vibrators, blow-up-dolls, you name it...) and asks where I got it, telling me how it's all "very adult" and that I shouldn't be looking into things like this.

The ground did not open up and swallow me (damn you ground) and I whimpered some excuse that I'd got the page off a mate and hadn't looked at it yet.

Luckily they never found the rest of my pron and the incident was never mentioned again, but I'm sat here cringing just thinking about it
(Bad_Dogg, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:34, Reply)

It backfired at...
the disco the cinema
First proper date when I was but a violent pacifier, went to the cinema to see some (probably hugely cheesy and crappy)movie.

Except said date doesnt turn up. Then a chav from school turns up, sees me on my bill, and decides to tell all his friends. Cringe number one.

Followed by me calling date up and asking, most likely quite rudely, where the hell she was. She replies that her Grandad had fainted and she was on her way to see him. Cringe number 2.

But happy ending, grandad was fine and she payed for my ticket the next time we went ;P
(violent pacifist ;now with 20% more paradox...., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:32, Reply)

My girlfriend's
a petite lady, size 8 n perfectly formed if I do say so myself.

Last time I visited her parents house in Cardiff I ventured downstairs in the morning wearing her dressing gown. Her mum was in the kitchen. We had a chat about the price of fish, she made me a cup of tea and I went back up stairs.

To be greeted by a look of complete and utter horror by my girlfriend who was just waking up. 'You didnt go down stairs looking like that did you?' Says she.

Now, I know pinks not my colour, but I thought she was overeacting ever-so-slightly. Til I happened to glance in her full length mirror and notices my cock n balls dangling free n easy beneath the dressing gown and looking rather proud of themselves. The damn dressing gown only just about covered my hips.

'Did anyone see you?' Says my girlfriend.

'Erm, your mum asked if you wanted a cup of tea bringing up.'

Bugger...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:31, Reply)

When around a friends house for supper one night

we were discussing charity shops and the merits of each different variety.

I commented that while at school Scope had always been a rice source of dead peoples clothes for me.

"Of course it used to be the spastics society, but you can't say that anymore"

"What is teh PC term for spastic?" my friend questioned.

Silence descended as the collective racked their brains for the sensitive infomation.

At which point my girlfriend piped up "Is it a retard?"

Laugh, I almost shat myself like a spastic!
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:30, Reply)

I worked in the local "all American" diner all summer...
It was by and large a great laugh, messing about, seeing how much stealing of cutlery, puddings, tips, each other's girlfriends etc we could get away with.

We were a great team, but there was one waitress with whom I never quite saw eye to eye. Her name was Em, she'd come over from Dubai or somewhere equally hot and posh in order to improve her English, and it was clear that she thought mere kitchen work was below her.

Eventually, her snubs of work nights out and conceited comments even got on the nerves of the supervisor, who (with my help, I'm ashamed to say) devised a brilliant plan to bring this girl down a peg or two: he composed an awful radio-style jingle, all about the steak deals we had on that week, and one day announced to the whole kitchen that one very special person would be taken off their normal duties...
*her eyes lit up, and she edged towards the front, teeth gleaming in a winning smile*
...to stand in the square outside, between 5 and 7 every day, and proclaim to the town about the 2 for 1 platters.
By then it was too late to save her dignity. I still feel a little twinge of sympathy for her though, every time I think of having to sit there and watch Em Baraz sing "My Steaks".

sorry.
(jothemofo, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:20, 3 replies)

My wonderful father
Aged about 11 or 12, I wanted to bike it down to a nearby village to visit friends.

The trouble is, it was going to be dark soon and I would have to go down a country lane that had no street lights.

Looking back, that seems like a perfect reason for my parents to say no and leave it at that.

So I am not sure how we ended up in a situation where my Mum said ‘you can’t go after dark, you might get raped’

Now, I was at the age where I knew about erections (oh boy did I know) but was too embarrassed to let my parents know that I knew. (not that I have ever explicitly let my parents know, come to think of it. It’s not like one day I sat them down and told them excitedly ‘look what my penis can do!’)

But I was young and naïve enough to believe it to be true when I said ‘I’m a boy, boys can’t be raped’

Cue an excruciating half hour of my Dad bum raping me to prove that they could.

Sorry, couldn’t resist saying that.

What actually ensued was a genuinely excruciating half hour for both of us after my Mum said ‘Yes they can, go on Dad, you explain it to him’

And, bless, him, he did.

The poor poor man.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:15, Reply)

Wiltshire County Council
I work for... well never mind. Anyway one day going through an old file I found a letter I'd written to Wiltshire County Council informing them of some grant they'd been awarded or other.

Only it was addressed to:

Wiltshite Cunty Council

These being the days before electronic filing I simply tore the letter out of the file and shredded it.

I spent the rest of the day cringing as I imagined the recipients reading it, but in restrospect it probably gave them a laugh.

Dktr S
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:15, Reply)

I once
wore a pair of Crocs. Outside.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:08, 6 replies)

The milk bar is open...
I'm currently breastfeeding, and sometimes it's easier, when I'm home alone, just to wander around with the milk bar constantly open.

This is fine, except for when the phone rings. I'm sure that sounds like it could be fine, I mean, it's not like the person phoning you can see you, is it?

The problem, you see, is our phone is on the windowsill. Of a very large window which not only looks straight out onto the street, but is also next to a junction, so we get a lot of stationary cars outside it.

I really must remember to make myself look decent before I pick up the phone... it seems the instinct isn't there unlike when answering the door!
(Marmite Omelette ...but I feel better having screamed, don't you?, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:07, 2 replies)

Dildo
When I was an innocent 11 year old, I called my 6 year old little brother a dildo. In front of my mum. I don't know who cringed more: my mum, who having shouted at me for saying the word then had to explain what it meant; or me, when she explained...
(Moniker1, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:05, Reply)

Triple Cringe
Not me a mate, he was still staying with is parents. His girl friend was staying over. So they were having some mutual oral fun when he needs to go to the toilet. He meets his mum on the way, she smiles says nothing and he goes to the bathroom, finishing up he goes to wash his hands looks in the mirror only to find his face covered in blood. Ouch.

And another, a friend she has been out on the town she gets home in dire need of a pee runs up stairs sits down and lets go. Her neighbour then walks out the bedroom to ask her what she is doing ? Yes she was sitting on the toilet with her nicks round her ankles toilet door wide open in the wrong house. Easily done when you’re a bit drunk the house is part of a terrace, in a town where people don’t tend to lock their doors.

Me, well telling my mate that his brother had offered me a blow job. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut. He didn’t know his brother was Bi.
(nee22 NL ExPat, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 15:59, Reply)

Oops
I was the only person in the office on a cold December day, other than a contractor we had got in to do some website stuff.

It had been quiet for a while when he turned to me and said "I'll tell you what...mumbly mumble mumble mmm mum MumBle mumble"

I have a terrible habit of replying to things I don't really hear with "heh, yeah", and then hoping I'll gradually work out what was said so I can then do a thoughtful face and give a proper answer that probably starts "actually..." or "now I think about it..." or "isn't that..."

I felt that this approach wasn't going to work however when I slowly parsed that what his sentence was was "I tell you what, christmas is going to be a lot cheaper this year now that My Wife has left me"

We were stuck there for half an hour before someone else cam in and broke the silence.
(teebie jeebie, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 15:59, 2 replies)

Hellooo!
My sister and I are getting ready for work (which includes reading QOTW seemingly) and as I have rather long hair I can't get it up very well in a way that would allow it to be put in a hairnet myself. Wee Squishy volunteered to put it up for me.

My brother, due home, rang the doorbell while we were doing this and so as to carry on we marched through in unison, her still pleating, and I answered the door with an enthusiastic "helloooooo!"

To be greeted by the shocked face of a man who is not my brother.
( vix0r was not Matthew on, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 15:56, Reply)

Ooh, I nearly forgot this one!
It's been two months since Mrs Monkeysex and I saw each other and had 'relations'. So I've been feeling even hornier than normal, and my usually firmly focussed eyes have started wandering a little.

I was walking down the street last week, when a couple of girls happened to walk by, one of whom was really rather attractive,
'Christ, I'd fuck that til it was dead,' I thought to myself.

Only I didn't think it.

The look of shock and disgust on both their faces, as I carried on walking by quite happily, will remain in my wank bank forever.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 15:42, Reply)

The price of a big mouth
is regular cringing.

Today, at work, my boss, always ready with a smart arsed remark, dropped himself into the cringe-zone.

I'd taken a day off yesterday, and he'd obviously forgotten why ...

"Morning, WeeWitch. Enjoy your day off yesterday? Nice and relaxing? We were rushed off our feet, but don't let that worry you. So long as you had a nice time."

"I was at my uncle's funeral, remember?" was all I said as I walked past.

His neck kind of disappeared into his shoulders and he went bright red. Good times.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 15:29, Reply)

George Harrison
A few months before he died, George Harrison encountered a burglar in the act of burgling his house. I was at a friend's house, recounting the way the situation had (genuinely) concluded.

Harrison, being a died-in-the-wool Peace And Love merchant, attempted to defuse the negative energy in the room by repeatedly chanting "Hari Krishna Hari Krishna Hari Krishna".

Unfortunately this didn't have the desired effect since according to his statement the burglar thought he was speaking backwards, concluded that he must be in league with Satan, and therefore stabbed him.

I thought this chain of events was hilarious, and said so.

"Don't you think that's hilarious?"

"No."

Everything went rather frosty after that. I suppose I should have made it a bit clearer that it wasn't the stabbing part that I found funny. Or, perhaps none of it was funny. I'm not sure.
(richardm, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 15:24, Reply)