A kick when you're down
A friend of mine, Helen, had spent her whole life wanting to go to a particular university and had done everything in her power over a five year period to win their vote as a successful candidate. She joined umpteen clubs and societies, mastered every art in which they excelled, studied night and day, wrote and asked for their guidance, I mean EVERYTHING.

Amidst great excitement the day finally arrived when she would learn her fate and a gaggle of girls crowded round as Helen clutched the envelope containing the outcome of her entrance interview...

With tears welling in her eyes and a quivering bottom lip she read the rejection "I'm sorry but we will not be offering you a place etc...we wish you luck etc...yours sincerely Mr Barter"

"Cheer up" I chimed, desperate to break the awkward silence with a joke "at least your name doesn't rhyme with farter..."

Helen Carter and the room of girls looked at me in horror. I got my coat.
(MsZuzu, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 22:59, 3 replies)

The Mayor's Charity Event
When I was about 10, my grandmother and her husband were the mayor and mayoress of a couple of towns in Surrey. They hosted a charity event, (of which about 300 people turned up) where 50 or so brave men and women of all ages, abseiled down a huge building. One unfortunate old guy who was also extremely overweight, let out too much wire and was left hanging upside down, and everyone and everything just went silent. Just so happened that at that moment I needed to burp.. And I did. I swear to God it was like a nuclear bomb, never done such a cracker since. It quickly diverted everyone's attention to me instead of the man clinging on for his life, hanging upside down from the top of a building. It wasn't so cringeworthy for me, more for my nan and her bloke. I found it quite amusing to be honest.
(plecko, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 22:07, Reply)

Gassing Zee Germans
In 1987 I went on holiday to Yugoslavia, as it was then, with my Dad. I was 15. Cheap beer, nasty commie food and nastier locally produced spirits. To break up the week, we went for a day trip on the ferry over the Adriatic to Venice.

Well, what a shit hole. Venice was boiling hot and ridiculously packed with people. Everything is too expensive, and once you get the “town on water” thing, the interest level drops like a stunned potato cod.

Anyway, around lunch time, after two hours of plodding around trying to find somewhere to sit down and eat our packed lunches, Dad spots a table currently occupied by a family of Germans. “Fuck this” he says, and proceeds to sit down, perching his arse on the 8cm of free table top space on the end. Embarrassingly watching the looks of disdain from the hun, I too squeeze my buttocks onto the tiny space on the end of the table, not covered with garlic sausages, coleslaw and so on.

After an initially uncomfortable silence, conversation resumes all round. Then as my Dad finishes the last bite of his sandwich, he proceeds to release a stunning ten second, loud wet fart. It sounds like a fat man jumping up and down in the bath, and I am amazed later to learn that he had not followed through. It was a sopping ten seconds long, staccato arse bark, followed after a short pause by the final trumpet. Then the smell…oh my god. A combination of heavy drinking and shabby Yugoslavian “cuisine” makes this a bad one. It smells like some one is crumbling desiccated diahorrea into your sinuses.

In dread I turn round…the frauline (mommy german) is immediately behind the Old Man. Her face practically level with his arse and no more than two feet away. She has taken the full blast of rectus spray and her lunch is only six inches from his polluting Khyber. I see she is visibly gagging, trying to keep her sauerkraut down.

The Old Man then makes thing worse, by turning round, grinning like a wanking Jap, and laughing, before saying …”What ?”

I am laughing now, but I can assure you, the sight of them rapidly packing up, kids almost in tears etc was cringe-worthy at the time.
(Mandrill, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 21:59, 4 replies)

so, how DOES a hot wate bottle smell?
rocknroll_temptress just came out with the awful (and ever so slightly racist) joke along the lines of

"Hey rocknroll_pirate, how does a hot water bottle smell?"

"I dont know"

"RUBBERY!"

it wasnt the joke that made me cringe, it was the pulling of the eyelids while she did it.

oh the shame!
(rocknroll_pirate had a dream involving holly willoughby and custard, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 20:57, 3 replies)

Sometimes topless isn't the best
My mate D had taken one of his more serious ladyfriends, R, over to meet and stay with his dads family. During their stay, it was the usual family stuff, meals out, few trips to the pub, but on the last day, Sunday, a special final lunch was planned.

The meal seemed to be going off with a hitch, D's dad, step mum and step sister were chatting away with R, everyone was getting on famously and enjoying the food. There was a minor lull in the conversation, maybe one subject had been talked to death, who knows. R in her infinite wisdom took this opportunity to open her top and reveal her tits. That's right, in the middle of a normal family sunday lunch, she got her norks out on full view, and as a kicker, continued to eat unabated.

Various looks were exchanged, some shocked, some bemused, some amused, and still she didn't put herself away. And then, after some period of silence, she did her top back up and continued as if nothing had happened.

After the meal, R was excused from cleaning up duties and retired to her room, leaving D to try some sort of explaining. Try as he might he had no idea how to explain why she'd done it, and so retired himself to join her.

"I thought it'd be funny" (I always imagine that line in a stereotypical essex model voice) was the only reasoning he could muster from her.

Now, so far, so cringeworthy, the following morning, eye contact was already proving hard between D and his family, but just before departing, he received the final cringe inducing blow from his dad, when he took him aside, smiled, and simply said "Nice tits".
(ShiftyBastard won the World Cup on World Soccer Champs 2010!, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 20:49, Reply)

Accidental Racist
I was on holiday a few years ago in Scotland with a few friends at New Year. It was foul weather and we ended up sheltering in a deserted pub on the Isle of Skye - not a soul in it. Very dull, but at least it was warm and dry and had beer.

Conversation turned to the ill-advised cowboy boots a friend back home had been seen in. With my back to the rest of the empty pub I stood up and did an impersonation of him walking down the street, cowboy style and as my hands hovered over imaginary six-shooters, I made the sound of the imagined spurs, "Chink, chink, chink..."

...admittedly not the funniest thing I've ever done, but I didn't expect the shocked faces on my audience. Turns out three Chinese people had walked in the door behind me at exactly the wrong moment.

What's the odds of bumping into three Chinese people in the middle of winter on the Isle of Skye at the exact time you innocently shout, "Chink, chink, chink", eh? Well, if you're me, it's pretty much a dead cert... I shouldn't be allowed out.
(superscape blames it on the bogie, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 19:55, Reply)

I was going to keep this one to myself
*Warning, may contain nuts...

About five years ago, my then boyfriend and I took his father up on the lovely offer of a week on the canals, in the narrowboat that he lives on full time with his girlfriend. Now I should have heard warning bells ringing about four months before that, when the said father grabbed the arse belonging to his other son's girlfriend at a party. I ignored it because I was a grown up girl of 39, and she'd have been about 19 at the time, so I thought I was out of danger. Rather than her age and status marking him out as a total sleazebucket. Nope that didn't register. Despite even finding out that his own girlfriend was younger than me. Not even a blip..

Now, we were on a traditional built narrow boat, narrow being the operative word. So for a whole week, every time my boyfriend's Dad has occasion to pass by me on board (and believe me, I lost count of the times) he found that he had to press right up against me so that I could not only feel his paunch against my back, I was made aware of the contents of his packed lunch as well. Every time. Lots of times.. I'm cringing now and it was five years ago...

Mind you I had the last laugh, when the last evening of the week, he nearly blew the whole boat up in a filling lighter/gas cooker incident, that saw me running down the towpath with my handbag, and no backwards glance to see if he was ok...

Length? I got a good 50 metres away before I looked and made sure the boat was still there..
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 19:27, Reply)

Pretty girl in office cringe number 2
Having clawed my way out of the stultifying miasma that is Gloucester I find myself, in 1996, behind a new, important and responsible desk in Leeds.

I'm the new gaffer, and I'm anxious to ingratiate myself with a team who had expected one of their own to be crowned head honcho.

Another office, another attractive girl. But this one knows it. She walks about the place with a catwalk swagger and her chin pointing to Jupiter. Because I've tried and failed to be prententious it's a characteristic I've little time for.

Management meeting time, after about a week. The ice is'nt quite broken but it's now thin enough that you'd not want to be skating on it.

The others are getting inquisitive and start pushing tentative questions my way - "Will there be redundancies?", "Will there be reorganisation?" etc..

The atmosphere is distinctly relaxing and I let slip that I'm recently seperated and in a new city. "Oh" comes a voice - "See anyone you fancy in the office then?"

"Well" says I, picking up on the lightening mood "That Sarah's a bit of alright but you'd think she was Kate Moss the way she struts about."

From one corner "She's got a deformed spine, you know."

From another "She's my sister."

Dogs cocks.
( The Disappointed Caravanner of the year, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 19:21, Reply)

'It seemed like a good idea at the time.'
My motto. Soon to be a tattoo. Why? I'll merely point at it in way of explanation. I'm so cool...

Anywho, here goes the incident in question. I am fairly well known for 1) not getting self-conscious, 2) being up for anything if I think it'll be funny and 3) still, after 23 years, not realising that acts do have consequences.

Picture this conversation.

I work for a magazine. In our offices is a rather classy lads' mag/modified car publication, named after the highest possible setting on a hair dryer. They were doing a feature on dogging-busting, featuring the staff chasing a dogger through a car park dressed in camo gear, setting off flares and smoke grenades.

Oddly, they had difficulty securing someone to play the part of the dogger. (Using a real gentleman of the car parks would cause all kinds of legal 'worries').

So they turned to me.

Busy tonight?
Nah.
Have you got time to... help us out in a photoshoot?
I was gonna head home and watch a movie.
We'll give you a crate of beer.
Deal. What's it about?
Oh, nothing big. Just, sort of, a feature on dogging.
Oh, ok...
Yeah. We need to, umm, chase you naked through a car park.
Right.
We'll be there, in army gear. There'll be a couple of girls modelling.
Ok.
So, er...still up for it?
Sure, why not.

Long story short, the whole building finds this hilarious. Every person I walk into asks if it's true. I mention it to a friend of mine, who laughs.

I forget, my friend knows my family and friends back home.

When I visit home next, when stopping by my parents to say hello, 'I hear you were photograped in a magazine going dogging?'

Ahh. Umm.

"They gave me a crate of beer...?"

*Cringe*
(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 19:10, Reply)

The obvious one, but sadly true...
a few years back, i had some stuff to clear out of my house, and had also bought some stuff ridiculously cheap from stores that were closing down etc. Now as this was before the onset of ebay as an online leviathon, i did quite a few car boot sales to get rid of the stuff. Was making a nice little sum every other weekend.

So one weekend my parents decided that they had some stuff to clear out too, so they came with me. All was going swimmingly until a rather portly lass with her guy came round looking, and got talking to my parents. as it was summer, they were dressed in suitable attire, and the girls stomach was bulging out under her top. Obviously not preggers, as the belly button area wasn't at all stretched.

So what did my dear old dad come out and say? 'So when are you due then?'

Cue mortification from my mum and me (i pretended i wasn't actually with them). Of all the cliched things to say....

luckily, they sortof saw the funny side...
(delta was very bored on, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 19:05, Reply)

Back in June
my boyfriend and I went on a fishing trip with my team. (He's 59, I'm 34).
I'm walking his dog one morning, and one of the guys on the team who doesn't know me that well said something along the lines of "wow, that dog's taking you for a walk".
I responded with "it's not my dog"
He said "Oh, is it your dads?"
Me - "he's not my dad...."

Penny drops. At dinner that night I told the story to everyone and again he cringed.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 19:00, 2 replies)

Beer compass
When I was at university I went to Durham for a schoolmate's 21st. We started drinking when the pubs opened, and continued until they closed. Now at some time in the evening I really needed the loo so before I went I checked with my mates which bar they were going to next.

Once I'd been to the loo, they'd already left so I stumbled out into the street, looking for the fourth door on the left. Now maybe due to the copious quantity of booze we'd been enjoying, my usually reliable mathematical skills let me down somewhat. I knew that the door of this bar would be shut at this time (it was freezing cold outside), so I got to the door and pushed it open. I didn't realise that this might not have had music or cigarette smoke or anything you'd have associated with a bar at that time until I'd walked into a family's front room. Aware that this was not my intended destination, and not being such a huge fan of Family Fortunes as they obviously were, I made my excuses and left sharpish.
(Elephantine Galoot is on the M62 heading east at, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 18:59, Reply)

Boney M
Now, Boney M are fairly cringeworthy in themselves but there's a guy called Pete somewhere in this world who will damn their miming for ever more.

Fast backwards to 1992 and I'm working in Gloucester. It's summer, and as usual all the admin staff have buggered off to Butlins at Minehead at the same time so we hire in a temp.

And what a temp! Beautiful, witty, intelligent, charming, stunning figure...ooh, everything a boy could possibly want. Even Fray Bentos the office shirtlifter was heard to remark that if he was straight he'd go for her.

Most importantly, she's of mixed race and is just about the colour of your favourite chocolate bar (unless you're the Milky Bar kid.)

Friday nights saw us invariably in the pub over the road for "a couple", which usually resulted in the landlady propelling us out with the mop she'd just swilled out the urinals with at a time considerably greater than last orders.

Eventually, we persuaded Jenny to come for "a couple." And against all that is good, true, right and holy she toddled off home at last orders draped around Pete.

Pete was a tall, leering Mancunian with sinister translucent hands and the ability to turn any conversation into a celebration of his misbegotten - and probably invented - sexual antics.

What a blow.

Come Monday, Jenny was allocated to our department for a week. There were five of us in the office, and two banks of six foot high filing cabinets at the back.

In comes Jenny, looking a little sheepish, but we're all gentlemen and ask her to help us with some filing, a task she gratefully accepts as she can hide in the cabinets.

Then, five minutes later, in swaggers Pete, leering from ear to ear. Never one for subtlety at the best of times, he commences to sing "Brown Girl on my cock, Tra-la la la la, had a Brown Girl...." and stops, as he realises from the expression on our faces exactly where Jenny is.

He moved to Australia shortly afterwards; he'll fit in well there....
( The Disappointed Caravanner of the year, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 18:37, Reply)

Uncle Comrade reminded me...
When I lived in Blackpool my ex and I went to see Jim Davidson in concert at the end of the North Pier, and really enjoyed most of it.
At the end we were walking along the pier when we heard a high pitched wailing behind us.
"Sounds like Davidson's bloody singing again" I said laughing, and turning to see the source of the noise.
CRINGE ONE; It was a handicapped girl in a wheelchair.
CRINGE TWO; being pushed by Jim Davidson.
(paof2 Nude might not be rude, but rude could be nude..., Sun 30 Nov 2008, 18:22, 2 replies)

at a work thing with my wife
get introduced to very burly man with a very swollen black eye

me: oof! how'd that happen mate - rugby? Still never mind, probably looks a lot worse than it is, be gone in a week. Hehe.

bloke: actually it's a cancerous tumour.

/coat
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 18:11, 2 replies)

at an art gallery
I was trying to enjoy this exhibition of modern art, but as usual there was someone mouthing off about how "my kid could do that".

Eventually I got sick of this and said to him "look, who the hell do you think you are?"

It was Jackson Pollock's father.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 18:09, Reply)

On Shaky Ground
One Christmas me, my brother and my uncle were out doing a bit of last minute shopping. Laden down with many heavy bags of chrimbo pressies for our loved ones we all trundled through a very wintery Newcastle back to the car. Sadly, my uncle suffers from Parkinson's disease which affects his ability to walk so the meander back was quite a slow trek. Despite the illness my uncle still insists on driving so when we eventually made it back to the car he spent an inordinate amount of time fishing his keys out of his pockets and then fumbling around trying to get them into the lock.

"Christ, I can't stop shaking!" He said by way of explanation.
"The parkinson's acting up?" My brother asked.
"No. I'm just bloody freezing!"


My brother's face wasn't until at least the new year.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Sun 30 Nov 2008, 18:03, Reply)

few weeks back
at my sisters wedding at a country house hotel in Scotland

The vicar was standing next to the hotel owner who i had already had a run in with. he was like Basil Faulty but more snooty and decidedly less organised.

at small oriental woman dashed by...

Vicar: oh is that a little Filipino you have? Marvelous! They're so charming aren't they, very subservient.

Snooty Hotel owner: Yes she's my wife actually. From Thailand.

Vicar: Ah well ahem yes. I think i see the best man now. Whoosh!
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 18:02, 1 reply)

I went to meet a group of friends
and there was a homeless person standing right next to them, who smelled kind of bad and was mumbling incoherently.

I said hi to everyone, and the guy didn't seem to want to go away.

So I said "look, here's five dollars, now bugger off OK?"

One of my friends said "ah..this is my new boyfriend."

I'd forgotten he was hobosexual.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 17:57, Reply)

Ladies and Gentlemen...
Imagine you are 17.

Imagine that your family has moved from the UK to Rio de Janeiro.

Imagine that its December 31st 1999.

Imagine you are drunk on Copacabana beach.

Imagine that a 26 year old Brazilian lady, a friend of another friends girlfriend, is showing you interest.

Imagine that after a moderately vigorous kissing session she suggests that you relocate to her apartment, right at the top of Copacabana.

Imagine that you think that after several years of bad luck with dowdy English girls, a Brazilian sexbomb is going to ravage you.

Imagine you, rather unwisely perhaps, had been drinking since 10am on the beach, and had been liberally partaking of marijuana, and locally caught fried shrimp - that is, shrimp caught in the obscenely polluted local waters, and fried inside an oil drum.

Imagine your Brazilian paramour takes you upstairs and is rummaging with your undercarriage as you start to feel the involuntary twinge and pressure of a bout of shrimp induced gut pain.

Imagine she's ready for the act, as are you, when, with raging erection bouncing around, you have to sprint to her small bathroom and shit for Britain for about 30 minutes.

Imagine being a beautiful Brazilian lady, reposed naked on your bed, listening to the sounds and being assaulted by the smell, of the British boy you picked up. Imagine that when he emerges from the toilet, you ask him to leave.

Imagine that you then pick your mobile phone up and dial your friend and tell her everything.

Imagine that your friend tells her boyfriend.

Who tells everyone.

Including the British boys father, whom he is friends with.

I think that I have just about lived that one down.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 17:33, 4 replies)

Squashed bees
Visiting the house that some friends had just bought.
It was in serious need of updating and decorating.
Did the grand tour and made the appropiate noises of appreciation about how it would all look when finished.
Till we got to one room that nearly gave me a migrane.
It was all black and yellow stripes and checks.
I said something like
OMG, but It'll be great when you redecorate it.
Stony silence, followed by the words
Actually this is the only room we have decorated

'was praying for rotten floorboards to fall through'
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 16:57, Reply)

This makes us both cringe, even now after 17 years
Another erotic interlude on the bus back from the seaside. This time from Scarborough, being early evening, the bus was much fuller; we were sitting halfway back, upstairs on the left.

Feeling a bit horny again, she started rubbing me up. Being 18, it didn't take much either. She asked me to get it out.

"On a bus? Are you mental?"
"Put your coat over your lap." she suggests.

So I did. She undid my zip, released my todger and slowly tugged away. She wouldn't go any faster because someone would get suspicious and see the coat moving.

"Urgh, you've leaked, it'll get on your coat".
"Rub it in with your thumb" I suggested.

Now, I'd discovered 5 years previously that doing that was rather pleasant. When she did it, it was mindblowing. It made my toes curl the wrong way. My body tensed up like a corpse at the onset of rigor mortis.

I was helpless, I couldn't do anything except just lay there, overpowered by this whole new level of pleasure I'd not felt before. It took a major effort not to start moaning and groaning.

She had to stop because it was getting a bit obvious. "You'll have to wait until we get to my house" she told me.

I put myself away rearrnged my coat so it just looked like I'd been holding it on my lap all along.

I mentioned to Mrs Maudlin about this week's QOTW, and the first thing she said was, "You with the coat on your lap on the bus back from Scarborough"

She had a point, the bus must've been a good 80% full. A good 30 passengers sitting around us must've realised something rude was going on.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 16:57, Reply)

Not me cringing, but Mrs Maudlin when she remembers this pearoast..
Seeing as I'm from Dull (sorry, typo again), me and my g/f of 16 months (now wife of 12yrs) decided to skip college one afternoon in 1991 and get the bus to the nearby piss-poor resort of Withernsea. "Come to Withernsea, as the last resort" should be the tourist board's tagline.

They claim it's been improved over the last few years, but tbh, the only improvements I've seen were in the form of renovating about an acre of parkland which is flanked on one side by hideous bemusement arcades with missing letters from the hoarding with it's peeling paint. On the other side is a large Edwardian public toilet block (as in building, not those yellow or blue things you see in urinals).

Anyway, digression aside...

Anyway, after spending a few hours in the lacklustre resort, feeding on scabby chips, burgers with less meat in them than Linda McCartney's toilet bowl and sticking 10p coins into 'Outrun' (possibly the most modern arcade game they had), we boarded the bus and went home.

As the bus went its merry way down the dark roads, we were feeling slightly horny. There were only half-dozen people upstairs apart from us, and they were sitting near the front. So we went to sit at the back for a bit of "hows-your-father". For convenience sakes, I sat on the back seat, in one corner. I got my todger out, she pulled her jeans and knickers down and sat on my lap with her back to me.

Being behind the second to last seat meant that if someone got up to get off the bus, she could slide to one side, and we could still be concealed while they went downstairs.

So, she's bouncing away, having a great time.
Several minutes later (being a teenager having sex in an unusual place meant I wasn't going to last until we reached Hull) I was about to blow my beans.

Seconds before I did, some clown with a deathwish had tried to overtake the bus on the twisty East Yorkshire roads. However, there must have been a car coming the other way as there was a loud screech of tyres.

This gave everyone else on the top deck a good reason to turn round with mutterings of "What was that noise?" etc. Obviously they weren't going to see anything out of the back window of the bus, upstairs, at night.

What they did see was the look of horror on my girlfriend's face, and over her shoulder my gurning, vinegar face.

Everyone turned back round rather sharpish as she slid off my lap frantically pulling her trolleys back on, dripping warm spunk on the bus seats, whilst I sat there trying to stuff my still rigid, twitching and dribbling tool back into my jeans all the while giggling like a buffoon.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 16:30, Reply)

Vanquishing hitchhiker
Some years ago, I was driving up to Wales alone for a climbing trip, and I picked up a hitchhiker. He wanted dropping off 200 yards off route, which was cool. Over the next hundred or so miles we chatted about hill related activities. However, he had this weird accent, which I couldn't quite place. It sounded a bit Brummie, a bit Eastern European, and slightly slurred. Just as I was dropping him off, I asked him what it was.

"It's not an accent, it's a speech impediment."

Fucksocks.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 16:29, Reply)

In a pub.
me with 3 mates whome we shall call K, C and N. N is is blind. He still can use a computer, but has that magnifying software on full and sits really close. Even so, he needs a white stick and so on.

Anyway, getting merry, we notice this "Olive from On the Buses" look-a-like dancing about and looking pissed.

Being several years ago, when camera phones were still a novelty, C produces his and offers to go over and take pictures of her, saying he's from the local free-rag.
The free-rag used to send a photographer round pubs and clubs each week and take a few pics which would be published. If you face was circled, the you phoned in and claimed a tenner.

So, C goes over claiming to be that photographer. He takes a few snaps and comes back to sit down.

The picture didn't come out well at all, the flash didn't work properly and I think it was only a VGA camera anyway. So, we had a vague picture which looked like something "Most Haunted" would be pleased with.

C hands the phone to K, who passes it to me. I laugh and then hold it up to blind N "have you seen this?"

"No, not really" N replies.
Arghh, I shrink in my seat whilst C and K almost soil themselves.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 16:28, Reply)

The boss
Came up to my desk one morning to talk to me but the conversation was strained with him
spending time making occasional glances at my screen.

It was only when he left that I realised that I had a number of analysis spreadsheets open
that I had minimised and due to having many applications open, the taskbar had truncated
their names to things like "INTERESTING ANAL" and "COMPLETE ANAL".

*wince*
(lochii, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 16:11, 2 replies)

Frequent fliers...
There are always a few people in every city that are frequent fliers when it comes to calling the police or ambulance, and as harmless as they are, the truth is they can really piss you off when you have an already heavy workload.

I turned up for a day shift at the ambulance station I work out of and asked a colleague how his night shift had been. He grinned broadly and told me that our shifts would be a little easier from now on.
He then pointed to the whiteboard.
He’d written up details about a case he’d attended that night which stated (in the most undiplomatic terms possible) that a local Aborigine, who called the ambulance for anything from a stubbed toe to insomnia, had had a heart attack and died that night.
A few “woo-hoos” about how we wouldn’t get called out every 5 minutes had been added to the whiteboard message.

Just then in walks another colleague. He stops dead in his tracks and reads the whiteboard. He looks at me and whiteboard-boy and says "Fuck…my uncle’s dead?"

I could see whiteboard-boy cringing, but frankly I suspect he was more worried about being sacked than having offended our indigenous colleague…
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 15:47, Reply)

Always check to whom you are referring first
A few years ago, when I was still an active diver and not one who opens the shed every now and again to admire my rubber suit, the club helped out in the local town clean up.

The clean up happens every year in advance of the Northumberland in Bloom contest. A bunch of well-meaners, including the local boy scouts, go around the town removing litter and stuff, whilst a few volunteers from the dive club drag stuff off the river bed, helped by some shore cover to collect the old motorbikes, traffic cones, knives, guns (yes, really), and discarded porn DVDs.

I was in with Phil, whilst Tourette's helped out on shore. We had our dog with us, who was assisting in the proceedings by getting under everyone's feet. Another woman with a dog hoved into view and began to engage Tourette's in conversation.

After about an hour, when we'd hauled as much off the river bed as we could before our air ran out, Phil, myself and the rest of the divers, dekitted in the car park, got dressed and went for a much deserved pint at the pub down the road. Woman with dog had by now disappeared.

So we're sat there, enjoying a pint of foamy ale, and having bit craic, when Tourette's pipes up something to the effect of "I've really enjoyed myself this morning. Mind, I couldn't get rid of that woman with the dog. Christ she talked now't but shite. Who was that fuckwit anyway"?

To which Phil replied, "That was my wife".

Even if I'd known who she was at the time I couldn't have done anything to stop her from blurting that sentence out. Talk first, think later - that's my girl.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Sun 30 Nov 2008, 14:45, 2 replies)

Bloody NHS
I had been seeing Mr Fannypack for quite a few months and as the mature & loving adults we are we had discussed and decided that we would no longer use condoms. Ride the bare back beast as it were.
Now Mr Fannypack used to go to work on the Greek Islands in the Summer and had been working as a doorman for a few years also, Summer trysts happen as do 'door-whores'. I asked him if he would go to the GUM clinic to be tested for STD's etc and in a show of solidarity I would also go get tested. As a side note to this story I had also been for blood tests because of a long standing iron problem. So we go, he gets the cocktail umbrella, I pee in a cup. Would you like the results via text or letter. I request a text.

Fast forward a week or so and I call home and my Mum mentions I have a letter from the NHS I ask her to open it because I know its for my Blood tests. I ask her what it says...her words will haunt me forever...I think you can guess the rest.

"Oh! Well.....you don't have Chlamydia"

*puts phone down*
*dies*
(fannypack, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 14:15, Reply)

Back when I was thin!
in the mid 80's, when I was still playing in a band we were booked to do a new years eve gig at a big pub/club place.

We were to do a 90 minute set from 9pm until 10:30ish, when a DJ would take over to whip the plebs into a frenzy for midnight.

It was going really well, we were doing a bluesy, light rock cover set with a couple of our own in there, out of 300 people in the place, almost 100 were at the front of the stage watching or dancing like drunken spastics

And then it happened!

The landlady/manageress of the place, a little worse for wear staggered up to the stage and insisted she do her "party piece" of stand by your man!

You've all seen the blues brothers right .... it felt like that, chicken wire, our singer doing the dance behind the drunken leviathan etc .... the singer handed over the mike to the landlady (think Dolly Parton only much rounder with her boobs down by her bellybutton and the powerful square shoulders that only an ex professional boxer or transexual can have).

We did our best, she was slurring and aweful beyond belief and we were treated to the sight of a club full of 300 people staring at us, slack jawed in abject cringing horror!.

It got worse. As a finale she stumbled backwards and fell into the drums displaying to all and sundry that she was knickerless, not a natural blonde and long long overdue for some brazilian gardening!

Her husband was very apologetic afterwoulds, but ... again in a mirror of the blues brothers deducted our drinks (which we thought were complimentry) out of our fee.

Bastards!
( RadG Drinking Mojitos in the sun, Sun 30 Nov 2008, 14:09, Reply)