Why did I call it that in the first place?
Back in the day when I was knee high to a grasshopper, ie about 5, I had a rather unusual name for my ladygarden, holy of holies, whatever you want to call it. It was an innocent name and one only used within our family. That was until the day I had to go visit our GP as said area was very irritated and itchy etc. When you got to the Doctors the receptionist would ask "what appears to be the problem" and then your Mum would give her a brief synopsis. I did not know this. And upon the question being asked, I blurted out at top kiddie-volume, in a waiting room not unfilled with punters
"I'VE GOT A SORE DIDLA".
Cue much sniggering from the poorly masses.

My Mum delights in telling folk that story. I'll get my own back when I'm picking what home she ends up in.
( Sallyrsm, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 21:32, 3 replies)

Mistranslation Cringe
A couple of years ago I was seeing a girl who originally hailed from Sweden.

Although she'd spent a good many years in the UK, she retained a good many customs and attitudes gifted by the nation of her birth.

She invited me over one Friday night. As I walked into the lounge, something on the table caught my eye.

"Oh, that's very considerate of you Simone. But I can assure you that you don't need it" I smiled, trying to be gallant.

"What are you talking about?" Simone enquired.

I was remarking on the blue aerosol spray bearing a typically efficient Swedish product name, to reflect it's intended use.

"It's body spray." she sniffed.

"Er, yes. I'd guessed that... but you, erm, don't need it." I replied as I nodded meaningfully downwards.

"But my mum bought it for me, she said the smell was really nice and I'd like it."

"Your mum bought it?! Wow...that's...er....very. Swedish."

"What? Mothers and daughters don't buy each other perfume and deodorants here in Britain for gifts?" She looked rather askance at me.

"Well...er, yes" I stammered, "But not, er...well...intimate ones."

"What?"

I nodded even more meaningfully towards the can on the table and meaningfully waggled my eyebrows in a meaningful way, meaningfully.

"Well...its name makes it pretty clear, doesn't it?"

She looked blankly at me, "It's called Fog."

"Ahh...erm...of course. Yes. Er...very nice. Haha. Very...er...inventive people the Swedes."

"Hmm." She replied as she left the room obviously wondering what her idiot British boyfriend was wittering on about.

And I was left staring at a blue can marked "V A G"
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Sat 29 Nov 2008, 21:05, 2 replies)

Fist
I was house-sharing with a couple of mates back when I was at uni. We were robbed while Winston (one of us) was overseas on holidays.

The thieves made quite a mess of things (stole 150 of my CDs - bastards - I now feel no remorse at all the music I've downloaded to make up for it - hee hee)..

Anyway, as the house belonged to Winston's mum I thought i should let her know what had happened given that her boy was not around. She came over, went into his room, and found the "fisting" porno mag which had previously been hidden under a chest of drawers and had obviously been moved around by the thieves looking for stuff to steal.

I'll never forget the look on her back-end-of-middle-aged face as she picked it up and said "Oh dear, is that what Winston's into?"

CRINGE!

This was before mobile phones.. so I simply had to wait for Winston's next call home to say hi.. Dear readers, would you care to take a guess at which bit of news made him more upset...?
(pit, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 19:46, Reply)

My Dad
About 15 years ago my dad sat down for Breakfast with quite the horrific hangover, however what was more impressive was the cut he now had covering his nose, one of those Hollywood scars that just look fucking cool.

I began asking him how he got it, imagining him as a drunken pugilist, one of those swashbucklers from yesteryear. He wouldn't actually tell me though, just saying that he walked into a lamp post whilst drunk. Now he's quite a big bloke and I was (still am) a 6 foot drip, so I was fascinated by all this going out with the workmates, drinking, fighting.. stuff I'd never really do.

Anyhow 10 years later and I'm at my sisters wedding, me and my dad are bonding and I bring up the nose thing again, finally he's drunk enough to tell me what happend.

Turned out he'd gone to the cash machine, started to withdraw cash and a car pulled up behind him full of the usual bored scallys...

By now I'm leaning forward in anticipation he's looking around making sure no one is listening, just me that gets to know his dark side, man stuff

..anyhow car pulls up, my dad thinks shit, I'm going to get mugged, grabs his cash as fast as he can, turns to run and bounds straight into a lamp post, knocked him out cold, apparently as he came round all he could see was the car bouncing around as the buggers lost a lung laughing.

I think he just lied there for a while, crying
(Snuffy114 demands a cyber razor cut, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 19:35, Reply)

Hairdresser mishearing cringe
The most cringeworthy moments for me date from my teenage years when I was desperately interested in girls but shy as a very shy thing with absolutely no idea how to strike up a conversation.

On one particular occasion I'd gone to get my haircut, and lucky me it was the pretty young female hairdresser who beckoned me to the chair. I sat there, a quivering heap of teenage sexual torment while her delightful breasts brushed against my shoulder as she leant across to cut my hair.

Then she spoke: "Are you having a party?" Well my birthday's in march, and this was october, and I thought it a bit of a weird question, but I didn't worry about that, so I launched into an explanation of the Halloween party I was planning. I made it sound like I was going to invite all the most interesting people and it would be basically excellent. I was just plucking up courage to say "you can come if you like" in a very casual manner, when she said, "No, I said are you having a parting?".

I blushed as red as a baboon's arse in mating season and came out with a side parting you could ride a bike down. I found a new hairdresser after that.
(Smale is stuffed, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 19:26, 1 reply)

I have a theory
Let's call it, "The theory of roadworks."

In some hidden part of the Road Traffic Act, there is a section that declares that traffic cones must be:

a) of a satisfactory condition to be used in roadworks,
b) used for a minimum of 7 days out of every 26 working weeks.

In the mid 80's, this didn't seem to be a problem. Traffic cones would do there bit to prevent workmen from getting squashed by blind pensioners given their licences in the Great War so they could drive tanks for the army, and spent most of their time happily in dry storage in each city council's transport depots.

But slowly, the volume of roadworks increased, and it became quickly apparent that the traffic cones of the day were not weather tested and as such wore out at a seemingly biblical rate. Because of this the government set up a secret task force to deal with the problem (think MI5 but without all the glamour.) The job of this force (lets call them the Cone Utilisation and Nationalism Trust, or C.U.N.T for short) was to ensure that cones could be used effectively, to increase the lifespan of the country's most consumable asset and provide a network for councils to share cones, creating a "central cone network" by which to share cones.

Their first task was to increase the lifespan of their cuurent stock. So, after consultation with top scientists, the idea was chosen. All the cones in the country would be melted down, blended with anti-matter and voila! Anti-cones which would perform as well outdoors as the current stock would indoors. The only problem was the anti-matter. Luckily, Saddam Hussein had a plentiful supply, but a haggle over price caused tensions between nations, and may or may not have been one of the factors causing the Gulf War. A successful insertion was mounted on Cristmas Eve 1990 and 2 days later, with a stock of stolen anti-matter at their feet, the plan began.

The next problem was that the cones now performed fantastically outdoors, but barely lasted a week indoors. The solution? More roadworks of course! But you can't just throw up roadworks everywhere to preserve the longeity of new "Anti-cones" can you? Of course not. So the next plan was to contaminate all the lane markings in the country.

Thanks to a technicality in the RTA, a full set of roadworks can be set up for the complete purpose of repainting white lines. So, armed with this knowledge, and another trip to the scientists, C.U.N.T came back to base with enough Sodium Dimetrohodydroxybetaferrusdioxyribosulphate to pollute every white line ever painted. For those that dont know, Sodium Dimetrohodydroxybetaferrusdioxyribosulphate is a very nasty chemical, with a 1000 year half life, which eats away at white line paint, whilst doing no damage to the road surface or car tyres. The upshot for C.U.N.T of using this chemical was that white lines would need painting again every 6 weeks or so and so, problem solved!

After a 6 month programme of adding this chemical to the roads up and down the country, the team could then sit back and relax, while councils up and down the country order anti-cones to repaint lines on their many roadways.

I came upon this theory as I pondered why the motorway I was on (i forget which one) was closed down to just one lane at rush hour for 2 miles, only to find 2 fat blokes repainting lines on the first lane, surrounded by thousands of cones. Sitting in the traffic jam I decided to poke around the car I had just bought from my sister, see if she had left anything interesting in it. I opened the glove box and got my answer. A single sanitary towel.

Worst thing is, its the second car I've bought from her, and the second time she's done it to me.
(guyie failed to be witty on, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 19:24, 2 replies)

How to look like a twat at a gig.
Anybody remember Phantom Blue? All female Metal band from the early 90s? They were quite good, honest.


Anyway, I went to see them at the Underworld and at some point was overtaken by utter fuckwittery. I thought it would be a wizard idea to bellow "Oi, Michelle, give us yer fucking drumsticks" during a gap betwen songs.

Yes, I know, I was a twat.

A twat who had forgotten that the drummer was named Linda...
(Big D, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 19:24, Reply)

Hmmm, cinema finanigans.
When I was about 18 I habitually had at least 2 boyfriends. Things could get complicated.

When Star Wars came out, I arranged to go with both the current boyfs on the opening night, knowing that I'd fall out with one or another and end up going with the other. Winner.

The night duly arrived and I went with one of the blokes. A mate of both had, I noticed when the lights went up at half time, consoled the other boyf by accompanying him to the movies. Ooer.

The cringe factor here is not from shame at running simultaneous relationships, or from being busted for two-timing, or even from being keen to see Star Wars on its first night.

No, I'm faintly embarrassed that I can't remember which bloke I went with, even though I lived with one and married the other.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 19:20, 2 replies)

the shame of gay porno
A few years back in the days of 56K modems and Nokia banana phones, me and the girlfriend were invited to our friends place for pancakes and fun and some booze, for t ‘was the very eve of Shrove Tuesday.

We arrived at our friends flat only to find that they had overlooked the all important lemon part of the pancake equation. It was decided that my friend Jamie and I would go down to the local newsagent type food hole, to pick up a few. Now my friends are as bent as corkscrews, so whilst waiting for Jamie to sort himself out and get his shoes on, I relaxed in the lounge and flicked though one of their many Gay Lifestyle type men’s mags. This was quite a novelty for me being all man and I quickly noted that all of the mags had vast sections dedicated to ‘fashion shoots’ which basically involved various young muscle bound models wearing next to nothing and trying to look all smouldering and shexy. This of course had no effect on myself in the pant department but it did lead to an interesting conversation on gay porno as we entered the local newsy boozy grub shack.

The zenith of which came when I was quietly explaining to my friend standing beside me that:

“I have noticed a lot more gay porn mags in newsagents lately. Look! There’s one up there!”....

Except my friend wasn’t standing beside me.

A man I had never met was standing beside me.

I was standing alone in a newsagents talking to a stranger about sissy jazz mags.

My dominant emotion was now that of embarrassment with a large dollop of bewilderment.

He looked at me like -WTF are you going on about mate!? Are you coming on to me or what?
We stared at each other as he joined the cue to purchase his beer and tabs. I thought about trying to explain to him that I was with someone else and that he was gay but I wasn’t, I was all man and that we were just having an innocent conversation about homo grumble mags because of the shexy men in his gay lifestyle magazine, but don't worry because they didn't do anything for me in the pant department...

But I decided that this would only make matters worse. So I just stood there with a kind of contorted, pained expression on my face for a moment.

After he paid for his goods, he glanced back at me as he was leaving and told me “you’re weird”.

Oh the shame.

Jamie came back with a fist full of lemons and asked me what that was all about. I told him and he pissed himself. We then went back and had yummy pancakes with lemon and sugar.
(L E T S G O "Stop buying into and spreading this shit", Sat 29 Nov 2008, 18:51, 2 replies)

Macc Lads are NSFW
One afternoon the conversation at work turned somehow to offensive lyrics. It seemed natural to bring up The Macc Lads and I was regaling my colleagues with a medley when, unnoticed, the office pie-monster waddled round the corner. The fact that I was singing "Has anyone seen him eat? He's never seen his feet. THE FAT BASTARD!!" was purely coincidental.
He sat down.
Tumbleweeds drifted across the room.
Then my mate gave me a thumbs up and the moment passed.
(Big D, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 18:47, 4 replies)

My mate's cringeworthy moment turned into mine.
My mate happened to bump into me on a date at the cinema. We said our hellos and he left me to it.

A few nights later he was cajoled into going to see the same film again, and was somewhat surprised to see the same girl at the same film on another date with someone else. Naturally he gave me a discreet heads up and then a detailed account of the face sucking.

I asked her about it. She told me it was her brother.

Turned out it really was.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 18:39, 3 replies)

I've got another one as well
Grandma found my porn. My mate had "stashed it" in a copy of the radio times. She came to my room looking for the radio times. Found Razzle... I was 14. The whole scenario was rubbish
(Snake (on a) Crane FKA thwack, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 18:11, Reply)

Love - One
I popped round to my friend's house to deliver a set of gaskets, as is customary around these parts. He wasn't in but his housemate was. I asked him please to put the gasket set in Dan's room and please not to bend them. I thanked him for his trouble and made to leave, and I thought I heard him say, "would you like a cup of tea?", which I mulled over, and thought, yes that'd be nice, so I said "ooh yeah I'd love one!"
-"Love one what?!"
-"er... did you just say, do you want a cup of tea?"
-"no..."
-"er.... . .. "
-"...would you like a cup of tea?..."
At this point I chickened out and scarpered... "No thanks I better get back home"
Awkward...
(Snake (on a) Crane FKA thwack, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 17:47, Reply)

By the numbers....
...Just to save time...

1) Beautiful new girlfriend.
2) Social do @ posh parents' posh crib.
3) Champers in the conservatory.
4) Wups! Touching cloth! 'Scuse self, to the lav.
5) Give birth to U-boat.
6) Won't flush away.
7) Retrieve with bog brush, hoy out the window.
8) Return to the party.
9) Disdain and shuns from all personnel present.
10 Look up at chod sliding down conservatory roof

FIN.
(apologies_for_length, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 17:05, 16 replies)

Long Goodbye
This is going to make me sound socially retarded but here goes; I've always hated it when it's time to leave extended family gatherings or any other social occasion that my parents have dragged me to over the years, where I don't know the people involved very well... and it's not because I don't want to go!

Nope, it's down to the prickley kiss goodbye from an aged and unfortunately bearded great-aunt, an embrace from a distant uncle or that horrible kiss on each cheek thing (which I've always found cringeworthy in itself- you can barely get away with it if you actually are French, for god's sake!) favoured by pretentious colleagues of my Mum's.

Which brings me nicely to a few weeks ago when it came to saying goodbye to a cousin who I'd previously not seen for four or five years. I lent in to give him a hug goodbye, he seemed to be going for a peck on a cheek- you know when you bump into someone on that street and you both do that funny little dance to try and get past each other (ooo another cringeworthy experience!)? It seemed to happen like that... only with our heads. I think he thought I was trying to pucker up for some sort of hideous cousin snog!

Why oh why can't we go back to the Victorian times where a simple handshake or wave was completely acceptable as opposed to an unwelcome personal space invasion by people we barely know?!
(Ella Mentree, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 16:44, 2 replies)

Trafalgar Square
Summer 2004, I was in London meeting up with a boy I'd met at a university open day. From what I remember he was quite easily taken with anything young and female that showed him any attention.

We saw some of the sites and eventually came upon Trafalgar square, packed with people and what appeared to be some kind of tv broadcast. It was a roasting hot day so we decided that we'd cool our feet in the fountains. I thought that I could get just that little bit more cool if I stood up...
... and promptly slipped, landing on my arse in the fountain infront of hundreds of people and the boy I was with.

And I made sort of a "WOOOH!" noise as I did it, falling over with all the grace and style of a dyspraxic elephant.

One way to make a splash in London, I suppose...
( Peapod Has returned to the fold on, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 16:13, 2 replies)

Movies and unicorns...
Many moons ago when I was working in a drive-through liquor store (bottle-shop) which was part of a pub back in Melbourne...

My mate Joe was quite the clubber and he would always be telling me about how on a Sunday night "Chasers" was the place to be.. he had drilled this into me over a couple of years despite me having no interest in clubbing at all..

There was a really hot secretary (Trish) working at the pub.. Very attractive, heaving bosom and flirty as hell. Joe somehow managed to wangle a date with her, much to the astonishment (and jealousy) of the rest of us. Trish had no idea that we all new this date was in the offing..

They went to the local drive-in where they had a regular "dusk til dawn" session every Sunday night.. A good night was had by all.. especially for Joe who had his first experince of fellatio for the first time that night - at that age this was a massively big deal..

The following week at work, Joe's telling me the story of his conquest.. Trish comes out to the bottle shop to change the tills..

Joe and I yak away, as we do... and somehow the discussion came around to things to do of a weekend. Wanting to be cheeky without being obvious, I said to Joe "and you know the place to be on a Sunday night?" He expected me to say "Chasers". *I* expected me to say "Chasers"! ..but my subconscious got the better of me and I accidentally blurted out "Dusk til Dawn"...

Trish glares at Joe. Joe glares at me.. I sink into the ground.. CRAP.. how am I going to get out of this one? Their "secret" date was clearly no longer so..

I make up some lame story about how I'd been to the drive-in myself recently and loved it... the story was lame, and we all knew it.. It was an unbelievably awkward 30 seconds that followed. Trish changed the tills and left without really saying anything..

Joe was unimpressed.. His and Trish's their brief dalliance ended their and then.. I'f it had been deliberate I would have been Ok with it. As such I still feel bad some 15 years later.. Sorry mate...

*****************

My second most cringeworthy moment was at the pub Christmas party that year.. Trish had brought along her new boyfriend to the dinner. A real muscle head.. Big muscles, brain the size of a pea (and let's face it - most likely hung like an elephant)..

This boyfriend had never met any of us before, yet before main course hit the table he blurted out "Trish sucks my d!ck until it's like a unicorn's horn".. Oh the imagery.. Like, how do you respond to that?? Silence at the table.. Needless to say, he was never seen again...

Apologies for the boyfriend's length..
(pit, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 15:58, 2 replies)

This happened literally an hour ago.
Mr Maladicta is at work today, so I took the opportunity of nipping into town to buy his birthday and Christmas presents, as well as the ones for the rest of the family I'm palming off on my mum tomorrow when she brings my psychotic grandmother to visit.

Being in a rush because I have to be back for Tescos to deliver at four or thereabouts, I don't bother making too much effort going out and instead decide that the shorter and sweeter my trip into town is, the better, and especially as I need to clean and tidy the flat when I get home.

I burn through the first little bit of Christmas shopping braving the chavs (it's a classy place, Ashford), godawful Christmas music and that I Kissed A Girl song (whose awfulness doesn't yet have a word to describe it), and feel pretty productive.

All goes swimmingly until I walk into HMV and BAM. Twat Ex With Child at twelve o'clock, complete with his his Mrs (who looks about twelve), probably stocking up on bad vampire films and pr0n, hand in hand and gazing sloppily at one another. Eeeww.

In an unusually charitable, probably Christmas cheer-influenced move, and temporarily forgetting that a) TEWC won't so much as acknowledge me if he is with his girlfriend/fiancé/whatever and b) TEWC is the champion douchebag of the county, not to mention a twat ex for a reason, I choose to say "oi!" as he walks past with her clutching his bags of presents.

"Hi mate." Then gone.

Except when I saw them five minutes later going NOM NOM NOM on each other's faces in the middle of the shopping centre. Classy.

I cut my shopping trip very, very short and have been berating myself for being pants on head retarded ever since, because I know he will have got the wrong idea from my decision to be mature about these things...
( Maladicta, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 15:55, Reply)

I took my girlfriend to the zoo,
and we went to see the seals. Suddenly she jumped the rails - oh shit. I'd forgotten she was Canadian. She only managed to get one of them though.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 15:50, 2 replies)

three more i just remembered
my mum was kind enough to buy my ex and i a new bed after i moved in with him. My ex's dad, being a kind fellow aswell offered to help remove our old bed and help build the new one.

as he was taking apart the old bed he commented on scratches on the frame. the word handcuffs was mentioned. my ex turned bright red but thankfully i managed to play it cool so it was blamed on his ex girlfriend :D

-------

after leaving said ex and moving into a flat on my own, i invited a friend from college over, got very drunk and did the nasty with him. all is going well and just as the event reaches it's climax, he looks up and sees the little girl that lives upstairs looking in the window :s in our haste to ravish eachother we forgot to shut the curtains.

-------

in this flat i had what i called the "wall o sex", which was basically the wall beside my bed plastered in lots of pictures of lovely naked ladies. not many people know that i play for both teams so you'd think that when i moved out i'd have remembered to take them down when said ex's mother and father from the first story came to help me move out :/ i did not. que lots of awkward questions from ex's mother and ex's father saying "now i understand why you left him"

i probably have more, will post later if i manage not to die from shame
(panda_sam, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 15:48, Reply)

Jumping someone else's train
1985. I'm 14, and mature enough to be let loose on the train with a mate to go into Newcastle to buy obscure records, because our small market town doesn't really have much in the way of decent record shops. My Saturday job has provided me with a bit of spare cash, and so one weekend I get the day off to venture into the big city with Sean.

A few hours later, and armed with plastic bags bursting with vinyl delights purchased from HMV, Virgin and Pet Sounds, we decide to head back to the railway station and go home. Noting that there is a train due in about 5 minutes, we dash down the street, desperately trying to avoid bumping into people, and burst into the station...

Just in time to see a train begin to slowly pull away. Fuck.

Now at this point; rather than think "we'll just get the next one", our 14 year old thought processes actually screamed "shit, if we don't make this we'll be stranded, or, horror of horrors, have to to get the BUS". And so, with a speed and agility not previously known to man we shot along the platform. My mate grabbed the door handle, pulled the door open and leaped on board. I followed suit, secretly impressed by my athletic prowess and thinking that everyone on the platform would think we were so cool...

Slamming the door behind me, we both leaned against the wall in the vestibule area, trying to catch our breath. As I moved to go into the carriage, a sudden realisation dawned on me...

The train was completely empty.

It crossed both of our minds at the same time - "We're on the wrong train", we both mouthed. Crap. There was no option; we had to jump off again before we ran out of platform to jump onto.

And so, two spotty, skinny proto-goths flung the train door open again and leapt (well flopped, really) back onto the platform, in front of hundreds of passengers doing a slow hand clap, and a couple of somewhat irate looking British Rail staff, one of whom was desperately flagging the train to stop whilst the other gave us a stern lecture on the dangers of jumping onto a moving train.

If the platform had developed a gaping hole into which to throw myself, I would have gladly obliged.

And if anyone thinks that this tale rings a bell, then it's probably because I sent it in to Gary Davis' radio 1 show a couple of years later where it was read out on air.

I don't know what's more cringeworthy.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Sat 29 Nov 2008, 15:43, 3 replies)

my ex
while having a bit of naked fun he felt the need to shout "how does it feel to f**k a winner?" at the top of his voice.

his hockey team had just won their first match in months :/
(panda_sam, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 15:30, 4 replies)

Squirting over David Gray
I must have been 18/19 was working for BFBS in Germany - I found myself accompanying a colleague who was interviewing that nodding dick David Gray before he played at E-Werk in Cologne.

Said colleague decided to let me do the interview - the interview I'd found out about that morning and not prepared for. At all.

Stupidly I did ... after a few "insightful and intelligent" questions - the likes of which a spotty brat with his finger jammed up his nose on Going Live would've been ashamed to have asked - I posed something about inspiration, citing "This Year's Love" as an example, as I think it happened to be out at the time.

He responded: "Well, it's for a film - you know, the film 'This Year's Love' - so, I was inspired by the fucking big cheque they offered me to write it ..."

After that my colleague jumped in and took over, while I went a fetching shade of puce.

I topped off the impression I'd made nicely by standing up to shake his hand and knocking a bottle of water over him.

Have a lovely picture somewhere of him in water-stained shirt posing for a pic with me, looking as though he'd rip his own cock off just to have something to beat me with.
(Penguins_Made_Me_Do_It is a dolt ... and she don't care, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 15:13, 3 replies)

Can someone re-post
the link to that goth guy's really bad mp3s?
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 13:55, Reply)

Loves young dream 2
The local girls high school held a Xmas dance.
Of course most of the other boys at my school (we were all boys so 'twinned' with them) started "I'm going with....", "Well, I'm going with...." until "And who are you going with, paof2?"
"Sandra P" I said without a moments hesitation, to a moments silence and then laughter.
Please don't get me wrong, but as I was the class loser she was their class loser. Overweight, glasses, skin ailments, but a lovely personality... you know what I mean.

I thought nothing of it, until going home I turned a corner and she's stood there.
"Since when have we been going to the dance?"
"I was going to ask...."

We actually went out for a fortnight, practising our tonsil hockey on each other but me getting my face slapped if I tried to go further (like putting my finger inside her bra strap on her shoulder.)

Then she came to my house, to help babysit my brother who was almost 12. (We were 16.)
He was a shit.
Refused to go to bed at the time he'd agreed with my parents.
Demanded a seat between us.
Eventually I get him in a headlock, and as I drag him out of the door he yells "paof2 wanks every night!"

I cringed.

She didnt. Her reply of "So what, we all do it." surprised me.
(I was incredibly naive, until that moment I didn't even know girls could wank...)

It sort of killed the evening. A few minutes later she was asking for bus times, and him following us to the bus stop in his pyjama's didn't help things.

Sort of killed the relationship as well, I don't recall either of us saying it was over but my calls were met with "oh, she's just gone out..." and suchlike.

Strangely enough a few months later I was talking to one of her classmates and she said Sandra had left school, a big scandal involving her, a sailor from Poland, and an expanding stomach...

I've seen her a few times since, and she went from being surrounded by about 5 kids under 6 to being surrounded by grandkids,

Maybe she should have stuck to wanking?
(paof2 Nude might not be rude, but rude could be nude..., Sat 29 Nov 2008, 13:33, Reply)

Wedding fun
A few years ago my aunt got married for the third time. Not being particularly religious, she went for a registry office wedding, and because I was deemed to be "more sensible" than her kids I was left in charge of playing the music when they signed the register.

Despite jokingly moaning that a church wedding would be better as you could have a live action opening to Metallica's For Whom The Bell Tolls, I assured her that I would be sensible and wouldn't ruin her happy day. She handed me a cheap compilation CD and told me she wanted me to play side one, track one.

"Ah," thought I, "a nice soppy Queen ballad. That'll be nice" as I picked up the first CD from the case and cued it up. The ceremony went off without a hitch, and as they went to the register to sign it, I got the nod and pressed play.

Smugly, I sat back down, just as the first few lines of "Gangsta's Paradise" filled the room. If I'm ever allowed to be in charge of the music at another wedding, I'll check which disc I'm putting in first.
(jamesthegill opens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 13:05, 4 replies)

Years ago, my brother would take his family on camping holidays in a converted minibus/ambulance vehicle.
Early one morning, all the family were asleep inside on a full Welsh campsite when he woke up with bad guts.

He sneaked out, wearing just boxers and trainers, to find the bog, but realised that he wasn't going to make it.

So he glanced around, saw nobody else up, and decided to relieve himself right there.

He quickly dropped his shorts and laid a huge squirty pancake immediately behind the van. Then he ingeniously backed the van a few feet to conceal it.

However, he found when he went to check his parking that he'd failed to notice an elderly woman sitting nearby in one of those caravan awnings.

Her knitting lying forgotten on her lap, mouth hanging open in shock, she'd obviously seen everything.

He crept back to bed and didn't come out again until everyone was up and they could slink off to another site.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 12:47, Reply)

Holiday
A few years back I went to France; nothing unusual in that is there? I was in a lovely Parisian hotel, gorgeous views etc. So this one morning Im sat there, on my room's veranda enjoying a croissante and glass of wine when *bam* some fucker takes a photo of me. Next thing I know I'm all over the internet looking like a right smug cunt.

I cringe every time.
(kitescreech still here, Sat 29 Nov 2008, 12:19, 2 replies)