At least I never saw them again...
Ah, it was all a dream. Thank some god or other for that. I thought as I shook the sleep from my weary head and took in the strange room that surrounded me. Why am I sleeping on the floor with only a thin blanket to keep the cold off my bones? Why on earth am I not using the bed that, hold on… yep, the empty bed that’s only a foot away.

I couldn’t make myself comfortable so I clambered onto the empty bed, where I immediately sank into the middle of the mattress and disappeared into a world of softness that couldn’t have contrasted more with my previous spot.

Ah! My brain said again, the girlfriend’s grandparents house. The ridiculously soft bed that forced the pair of us to occupy the precise same part of the mattress. My endless complaining, which meant either a makeshift floor-bed or a needless and ultimately futile argument. Then the dream. It really was a dream, I’m sure. There’s no way I wandered, naked as nature intended, around her grandparent’s house in search of another bed. It must have been a dream. I couldn’t possibly have had a conversation with her Grandmother, while my tackle hung uselessly in the cold night air. Sure I’m naked now, but I didn’t, nay, couldn’t have wandered into their room and…

“Morning, Sleepy.” Ah, she’s back, and all chirpy too; well whoop-de-fucking-do for you.

“Hey baby, sleep well?” Is what she should be asking me.

“Yes, thank you. Need I even ask if you did?” That’s better. Kind of.

“No, you don’t need to ask, I slept very badly, thank you.”

“So I understand. Breakfast’s ready, if you’re hungry.” What did she mean by “So I understand”? I'll ask her...

“What do you mean by...”

“There’s a towel if you want a shower.” Don't interrupt me woman...

“Thank you sweetie, but what...”

And out the door she goes, without listening to a word I'm mumbling at her.

Then she puts her head back round the door and, with a huge piss-taking grin spread across her face, she delivers the very words I really didn't want to hear:

“Oh, and Gran says it would be nice if you'd put some clothes on before you come downstairs. We don't want you wandering about all naked again, if it's all the same.”

Fucksocks.
( Moey, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 14:49, 3 replies)

The Nurse
My Dad is from an older generation (he's almost 80) and has a dislike for anyone that isn't white. Always has, always will. However he is very polite and keeps his racist views in check (some of the time)

Anyhoo, when I was about 3 or 4 I had a stay in the hospital for a minor eye operation. The day dawned that I was leaving the hospital and Dad was there packing up my bits and toys etc. when the nurse who had been looking after me (a large, older, friendly black lady) come to say goodbye to me.

My dad was all smiles to the nurse and said something along the lines of "thank you very much for looking after Snollock"

To which I apparently piped up, "ere Dad, I thought you didn't like black people?"

I think he wanted the ground to swallow him instantly.
( Snollock Biffer I don't really sniff Bollocks, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 14:48, Reply)

Ohh God
I was but a mere 15, hot under the collar, having been mixing it up with my then girlfriend for a few months of dry humping / oral endeavours, we broke up, as i was pressured into studies by my parents, and really i could just masturbate and play video games... Wait that's still what i'm doing... Procrastination at it's finest? I think so!

But yes it's just past 2 years i think we'd been broken up but still chatting (she was foreign and had a small social circle at the time) and pleasuring / dry fucking each other on and off behind her boyfriends back, she cheated on him for about 6 months, then went cold turkey and left me high and dry... However all was not forgiven apparently, i was approaching my 16th birthday and randomly we're just chatting on the interbots thingy ma jig (MSN) and came the bomb shell "Name do you want to sleep with me?" well dot mutha baggy pingu cunt festering fuck scrotum dot, i could not believe it, the girl of my obbsessions (1st love's i.e think with my dick) i was a bit skeptical, thinking maybe it's a set up, but no! This offer of sex with my bonafide sex godess that i would masturbate to before i found free pr0n was asking me for sex! So i agreed, and we set a time and a date she asked me what i wanted her to wear, i didn't really care but she came dressed in smoking hot lingerie and a nice skirt and jacket, the house was empty, and we got down to business, after some foreplay, and getting rid of the clothes, we were finally there, i was about to lose it, and it was going to be like her 2nd "first time" since i was "that speical" to her, all words that pleased my aching heart and swollen member, so no condom on (she insisited "i'm on the pill it's fine") i went for it, cloud 9, the big score, SEX. i was in, ohh shit this is good, ohh ahhh,, ITHURTSOHHGODI'MGOINGTOCUMANDIDONTWANTTOCUMINSIDEYOU,YOUMIGHTGETPREGNANTANDTHENWTF *pull out cum all over her stomach* AWKARD.... but reassureingly says it's ok and that i'll last longer next time, i knew what to expect, but not that! So back we go and do nothing but fuck for 3 hours straight, i came out of that room feeling like a seasoned veteran off all those pron movies that i'd be watching! We left the house together, my hand on her arse and a shit eating grin on my face, she said i had "a million dollar smile" i felt like a million bucks i'll tell you that much! This carried on for about a month until she said she had to stop (she came back for more) and then things got a little bit sour, and accusations of sleeping around were made! I MEAN for the love of something holy, she was still going out with her man and she's still with him to this day! And she's trying to get the higher ground on me!

It ended horribly we didn't speak for months but slowly we reformed our relationship but it never returned to thee state it was, or even our friendship was that good anymore, she was evasive and scared of me on her own, i was (and still am) a horny teenager so i groped her when no one was looking, sometimes it was fine others it wasn't.

But that was then and this is now, she took my heart and tore it to pieces and then she left for uni in her perfect world with her new friends and boyfriend, and i'm the outsider that's just now "that guy", i miss what we had, but i've been told and know that she's by no means the hottest girl on the planet, but to me she was everything.

Thats about it really

i cringe telling this story and it breaks my heart and i'm getting teary eyed at work! It's been 2 years surely i should be over her by now??

FOR FUCK SAKE B3TA i'm sorry for being a mopy cunt the cringe bit was about 3 paragraphs up!

length ??? 2 years and it still hurts!
(My name was taken by me Is Sleeping With Your Sister/ Daughter/ Mother On, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 14:27, 14 replies)

It would be fair to say...
that my mother never really approved of my 'girlfriends'.

For a while I worked, and lived, in a hotel in London. (London Brothers Hotel, as it was, right over Euston Square tube station.)
A girl called Alice came to work there, and I fell for her.
(Yes, she has been mentioned before: www.b3ta.com/questions/smoking/post132897)
After probably no more than knowing her a fortnight my mum came for the weekend. (She'd been at a party conference in Brighton, and was staying overnight on her way home.)
On the Saturday morning we went to Harrods, my mum hadn't been impressed by Alice the night before, and was even less impressed by her smoking walking along the road.
At one point we 'lost' Alice for a couple of minutes and I said "oh Alice said..." and my mum broke in with "Oh Alice can get stuffed."
That was bad enough, but then both of them needed the toilet, and the nearest one was in the section that had all the prams and buggies in.
And, as Alice walked ahead, my mum looks at a pram, looks at me, and say "And thats not how I mean she can be stuffed either."

Now, please bear in mind that I was not 'stuffing' Alice in any way, shape, or form, but it wasn't for want of thinking about it.

She also said that the girl I had the 10 yr relationship with looked as though she had downs syndrome, and actually asked me whether they were mine when I told her I was going to be a dad.

But I think the most cringeworthy moment was her deciding, apropos of absolutely nothing else that we'd been talking about, to tell me my dad was impotent following an accident at work....
(paof2 Nude might not be rude, but rude could be nude..., Mon 1 Dec 2008, 13:55, Reply)

Being a bit pissed, (totally wrecked) on an opening night..
And making a comment about the possibility of the stage manager taking it up the wrong un.

I didn't notice her sitting on the floor, sorting a guy's costume. And she'd heard. The thing was, the opera had quite a few weeks to run, and I had to see her every night. Theatres being what they are, everyone had heard of it in about 2 minutes. It didn't help matters that the crew would simulate doggy style every time her or mtself walked in.

Oh and my mum finding hedgeporn in my bed, when I was about 14. Was a hero at school though, when I told my mate the story, and asked him not to tell anyone. Again, round the whole place in about 2 mins.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Mon 1 Dec 2008, 13:54, 1 reply)

Back when I was
Just discovering the wonders of internet pornography.

At the time i didnt have a computer in my bedroom so if i wanted to get in a cheeky wank i had to use magazines etc instead of the internet. Those were the days.

Anyway, day off school for whatever reason, and during the day i go upstairs to the family computer for a bit of a session. The magazines I used in my bedroom were getting a bit outdated and tedious, so instead of saving me the difficulty of somehow getting my hands on another magazine with better material for later, I thought i would print off a few pictures from the internet. I mean I could obviously find better stuff there anyway!

Later on that day, mum comes downstairs and asks to have a word with me.

Yep you guessed it. From behind her back she shows it to me. The picture i printed off from the internet. A picture of Briana Banks getting fucked by some dude from behind - on a tractor. I'd obviously forgot to pick it up from the printer when i left the room.

Shoulda just got my hands on another magazine really.
(arse_biscuit, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 13:37, Reply)

Last orders.
I have a friend who, with his Mrs, enjoys an erm, "exotic" sex life. The kind of friend who likes to share. And film. And post to their website.

Weeeell, anyway, whilst enjoying a pint together at his local as we waited the call that the aforementioned Mrs was ready for us to return and entertain her, he excitedly told me about a fantastic location he had found for interesting content for his site.

"It's great, tucked out of the way, you can tie her to a tree, dominate her, piss all over her and no-one is going to see. Great for photos."

Excellent. Except no-one in that pub needed to see, they all had a mental image of the scene branded into them because the place had inexplicably fallen silent as he bellowed the words.

Worst of it was, he never batted an eyelid, I was the one dying of embarrasment, and I am no shrinking violet. The walk to the door had to be one of the longest I have taken, especially with him leading the way, whistling merrily and checking his camera batteries.
(Rsoles, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 13:36, 3 replies)

Old dears
I gave a best mans speech a few years ago.

It actually went pretty well. I wasn't too rude, but slightly risque.

I got plenty of laughs, lots of 'aw, how lovely' comments at the right moments.

I was really quite proud of how it had gone.

The grooms grandnother came up to me afterwards and thanked me, saying it was really lovely.

And then said 'but I didn't understand why everyone laughed at the start. What did you say?'

As it happened, what I had said was 'I'm told that the best mans speech shouldn't last any longer than the grooms performance on his first night with his new wife.

But as I've already gone on for longer than that...'

Which suddenly felt hugely innapropriate as I repeated it to an 88 year old woman.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 13:35, Reply)

Yesterday...
I work in a pub/restaurant, behind the bar, and, just yesterday a rather large group of fatties came in. My co-workers and I, quietly and rather informally, referred to this party as 'the big party', due to the fact that there was rather a large number of them.
A while into their session, I was asked by one of them (the fattest fatty whom I had built quite a rapport with) to investigate a previously ordered coffee, which they had yet to recieve. I walked a short distance to the coffee machine and asked a colleague to make the drink.
I was asked by her where said beverage was to be taken to once prepared, to which I instantly and absent mindedly replied, "THE BIG PEOPLE", accompanied by a blatant point in their direction, and the realisation that they had watched/listened to the whole thing.

Needless to say the rapport and a generous tip was lost.
(I Am The Duck thinks aliens probably sound like cats, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 13:23, Reply)

Mass public humiliation appears to be my speciality...

Just over a year ago (therefore not completely justifying wavy lines) I attended a course / conference lark in a swanky hotel in Birmingham. There were about 500 delegates, primed to be lectured and tutored on the joys of a dull-as-shit Time and attendance system, and the HR implications of giving somebody a proper verbal kicking when they were late etc.

Therefore part of this ‘course’ entailed ‘people skills’.

Hmm now…there is a simple equation which applies to me in these situations…

Pooflake + People skills = an impending outburst on somebody’s behalf of “Oh sweet spluffing Jesus”.

Whilst the cunning ploy of ‘sloping off to the pub and making up a story about how the whole course was triffic’ ran through my head, I failed to notice that we were all being split into groups of four or five. I was then grabbed by a couple of cockscratchers and forced to sit at a table to begin the exercise.

At this point I should tell you something else about me. In small groups I am alright – I can introduce myself and settle in quickly and comfortably. But Big groups scare me rigid, & public speaking gives me the total-red-faced-shit-attacks. However, in front of half-a-dozen or so bell-ends that I’m never going to see again, I can become quite the confident, cocky, carefree cunt cake.

And so it began. We were handed out whopping great big name tags and marker pens. As part of the exercise we had to write down not only our names, but some oh-so-interesting fact about ourselves too, to ingratiate ourselves with our group.

One chap’s badge (I kid you not) was as follows:

Name: ‘Big Pete’
Company: [company name]
Special Talent: Winning attitude
Hobbies: Being a Sales hero

I know, I know…for the love of pine-scented arse-bananas.

Now I didn’t give a kung-fu fuck about this course, or about ‘bonding’ with the Mongspack McShitwitts in my vacinity, so I decided to display my indifference and disrespect for the whole malarkey by way of my badge comments.

I wrote the following:

Name: Pooflake
Company: [company name]
Special Talent: Massive dong – (here I accentuated the fact by scrawling a crudely drawn cock, with obligatory pubage and spaff spurts)
Hobbies: Thrusting and Jizzing for England

I then sat chuckling to myself through the intro section, thinking It would at least raise a smile for Big Pete and his 3 dweeb mates throughout this pointless (and brief) objective.

It didn’t.

But then I quickly discovered that the ‘name tag’ part of the exercise was only ‘part one’…

Two minutes later I was informed that ‘Part two’ was to go around to every single table in the conference and ‘break the ice’ by introducing ourselves to everyone else, utilising our newfound people skills by striking up a conversation based solely on the info on our name tags.

Oooh my crinkle-cut bollocks.

I asked my tutor for another badge. He refused, saying they had run out. What a cunt.

So there I was, face aglow, mingling with upper management, Directors and the like…men and women of all ages around…and the only topic of conversation allowed in my direction was regarding my boink-ability, the hugeness of my internal gut-prodder, and the quality of my graphic design skills.

I cringed so hard that my chin descended into my chest and my spine almost shuddered itself loose from the relative safety of my skin.

But eventually, after multiple apologies, a couple of drinks and a trip to the buffet it was over and I slowly forgot about the name tag.

The way the day was going, I suppose I should have expected what was to happen next…

It was the very end of the day, when the presenters were saying their 'thank you’s and I just so happened to be firmly seated on the faecal depository, when I heard the announcer call out:

“And now it’s time for today’s raffle draw”

Remembering I had bought a ticket, I quickly wiped, shook and heaved up my trollies, before tanking it to the bog door just in time to hear:

“And the winner of the raffle is…Mr Poo…Flake”

*round of applause*

Me: “Wooo!” and I bound up out of the lavvy and up to the stage, where I receive my gift token and bottle of wine; triumphantly raising it aloft before enthusiastically shaking the hands of the strangely stunned organisers.

Slowly, the applause dies down, and I start to hear some muttering and ‘tuts’

‘Ha – jealous fuckers’ I gloat to myself…yet as I stand on the stage I slowly realise that not only do I still have my name tag on…but when I look down to inspect the tag I noticed a thick stream of piss splatters down my leg, where in my haste to hear the results, It became painfully obvious that I had not quite shaken my lamb cannon to the required proportions.

Why do these things always happen to me?

( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 1 Dec 2008, 13:11, 7 replies)

Snatch
A few years back I was having a quiet pint in the local chatting to a friend and I asked him if he'd seen the film Snatch yet as I had rather enjoyed it.

He confirmed that he had and to prove the point announced in a loud voice with a bad cockney accent "I fucking hate pikeys".

Unfortunately at this very moment an old Indian guy walked in the door.

The pub descended into silence and the old guy just turns around and walks straight back out into the night.
(Harold's hip man!!, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 13:07, 10 replies)

Dead Presidents
My collegue was confused about the news about Obama's Election.

'They say Obama's the first black president....
Wasn't that that Martin Luther-guy?'

I just stared at her and informed her he wasn't....
(rcn, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 13:02, 1 reply)

I'm a bad person
A few years ago I went on holiday to Toronto,

I’m walking up the hill to Casa Loma along Sedina Road. Suddenly, the relaxing stroll on a goregous sunny day is disturbed by this incredibly off key, ridiculously loud rendition of ‘Happy Birthday To You’.

Honestly, it was seriously awful. I mean, Celine Dionne being anally douched with a sulphuric acid and sand solution could not have made a worse sound. (Oh Christ, there’s an image I wish I hadn’t created for myself)

The friend I am with looks as horrified at the sound as I am, and we start looking around to try to find the source of the ungodly racket when we spot the sign on the building in front of us:

‘Metropolitan Toronto School For Deaf Children’

I am not sure what was worse, the sound of the poor kids desperately trying to acknowledge their friends birthday but obviously not having the faintest clue what the tune was supposed to be, or the overwhelming feeling of guilt that hit when I saw the teacher staring at me disapprovingly when she overheard my hysterical laughter.

I just stared at the floor and shuffled off in shame.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 12:55, Reply)

-dar's on the blink, Mazza!
In this one class I had last semester we didn't really do much in the tutorials. We had "groups" that were supposed to be "discussing" "issues" but it was mostly a bit of a general gabfest, which was sort of unfortunate since I happened to have drawn a different time slot from anyone I knew. I ended up tagging along to a group of people who all knew each other and had had shared classes last semester as well, I was a bit of the odd one out but I tried to play it cool, join in the conversation when it was in my purview and keep quiet when they were obviously referencing stuff they had all done together/knew about each other. I managed to keep the faux passes (...fauxes pas? faux pas'?) down to a minimum for most of the semester, but alas.

About a month ago a girl, let's call her A, was drawing on the hand of a guy, let's call him B. She painstakingly wrote "I [heart]" in a pretty curlicued font, and the table was joking about what B was going to heart. Fairly innocuous conversation, it appeared, so I was participating. I wasn't even the one who brought up vaginas, I was just the stupid twat who said "Unless you don't heart vaginas, hur hur."

"Mm." He said, looking a little taken aback. The conversation moved on.

Five minutes later, me doodling on my notes as the others discuss an event they were planning:

A: "Oh, you have to bring your boyfriend, B, he's adorable!"
C: "Oh yes, I can't believe the rest of us still haven't met him!"
A: "Go on show them some pictures on your mobile!"

I tried very hard to sink into the table.
(Lieutenant Colonel Oblivious brought to you by intravenous sugar, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 12:45, 7 replies)

Damn you comic timing
Years ago I was down the pub with my mate Neil, the pub was packed and a juke box was blaring so you had to shout to be heard. I was explaining to Neil how all the fields near my parents house were bright yellow because the farmer had planted oilseed-rape, unfortunately the jukebox finished and there was one of those quiet pauses just as I shouted "RAPE". Every head in the pub turned to stare at me, I was mortified but I had no chance to explain myself as the jukebox started up again. Neil was absolutely fuck-all help, he had laughed in the process of drinking and a geyser of lager had erupted from his nose drenching the immediate vicinity in beer and snot. I am actually cringing as I type this and Neil has never let me forget that night:

Neil: "Guess what?"
Me: "What?"
Neil: "RAAAAAPE!"

*Phone rings*
Me: "Hello?"
Voice: "RAAAAAPE!"
*Click*

...along with dozens of emails, text messages and voicemails all shouting "RAPE!". I still won’t check my answer phone messages if there is someone in the room who may get the wrong idea about 10 consecutive messages all shouting "RAAAAAPE!"
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 12:25, 8 replies)

Just because
Just because when you lived in your own house and you didn't have a window cleaner, doesn't mean that your parents don't.

Just because you get divorced and move in the spare room at your mum's place doesn't mean that you wank any less than you did before.

Just because the room is one storey up with a window behind you when you're surfing online porn, tissue at the ready and gland in hand doesn't mean that you won't get the shock of your life when you hear the squeaking of a window being cleaned and a window cleaner being able to see EXACTLY what you're looking at and what you're doing.

I'm never going downstairs again.
( SeasonTicketless is too often the statue, and rarely the pigeon., Mon 1 Dec 2008, 12:24, 1 reply)

I never met a white supremacist who wasn't a wanker.
There's a downside to aquiring lots of music from anyone who leaves me alone with their computer and a flash drive.

One good thing about being alone in the house is that I can have a bath with the door open. I can hit the 'random play' function on my computer and turn the volume up good & loud and have music in the bath. It's really nice; with (at last count) 85ish gb of music, I rather like hitting random - there's a lot of stuff I don't know about in there and random play throws up some interesting variety. Of course, one thing I hadn't realised during my music-filching from friends and acquaintances is some of the stuff I'd pick up in the process, amongst which, it turned out, were the jolly complete works of White Supremacist C&W singer 'Johnny Rebel' sitting in the depths of my hard drive. You can probably guess the rest.

Belting out of the speakers, good and loud, a cheery rendition of a song about what you might expect to see if you walked through an immigrant area of town. Suffice to say, it wasn't a song you want playing at full volume on Saturday afternoon in South London with the window open.
I sat bolt upright, hopped out of the bath, and ran through to turn it off before the neighbours grabbed their pitchforks and stormed my flat. Running through, I stubbed my toe painfully against the step and was reduced to a pathetic hopping and flailing into the living room. As I did so, I looked up through the window and directly into the eyes of the yuppie couple in the flat across the road.
Their thoughts could not have been more clear if they'd held a couple of flags and semaphored them to me.
"There is a fat, naked, wet man covered in bubbles in the flat opposite dancing to loud, White Supremacist Country & Western Music."
I turned the music off and fled from the room. Behind me, as if by telepathy, I could hear their conversation. "I'm going to sue that Estate Agent."

Once I got dried I searched my MP3's and deleted Johnny Rebel.
You can't be too careful.
(davywavy, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 11:54, 8 replies)

alcohol is to blame
last year i was at an 18th, and it was more of a family party.
now i hate family parties just for the fact that you get constantly harrassed by members of the family you don't like so don't make the effort to see.

so having to sit through an hour of questions like "Oh do you have a boyfriend?" "oh why don't you have a boyfriend your sister does!"
and all that i decided to get very very drunk.

i then proceeded to stand on the table announce that i was getting my clit pierced and decided i was going to show everyone exactly were i wanted it.

fortunately (though not much fortunately) i was confused and then lifted my top up and my bra, instead of removing my skirt.

at the time i didn't think anything of it.
the next day however ... well let's just say i dont see those relatives anymore.
(i eat crayons, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 11:46, 6 replies)

Cringe!
I used to work in a special ed school and went on a one-day conference on reducing truancy or something equally worthy. After a series of not very interesting speeches we were split into the inevitable workgroups - one large group for each geographical area of the city. Because these were inner-city comprehensives the groups were averaging 20 to 30 teachers each.

I was directed to the table for special needs staff next to which was standing one solitary teacher who happened to be a dwarf, standing a good 3'10" tall. "Well," I said in my best friendly voice, " What a tiny little group this is! I mean, small, you know, not very big. Minute really."

The silence was long and deafening.
(fergus the bogeyman Beware of geeks bearing gifs!, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 11:10, 1 reply)

First kiss
I guess I was 17.

I know I wasn’t old enough to legally be where I was.

And where I was was ‘The Venue’ in New Cross. Waiting patiently to see Thousand Yard Stare.
There’s a dance floor and stage downstairs and a bar with loud indie music and another, smaller dance floor upstairs.

I’m drunker than 17 year old has any right to be, and somehow have found myself sitting at a table with an older, sexy goth woman.

The alcohol is taking away my teenage nerves and I’m feeling pretty smooth.

I slide round the table to be closer to her.
She turns to face me, and I know I’m in like Flynn.

We talk a bit more, move closer and we kiss.
Holy fuck! I’ve pulled! I’m kissing a girl that isn’t someone I’m at school with for the first time ever!

She’s kissing me back!

She’s got a tongue stud and everything!

She’s older than me, she’s so cool and I love her.

Ohmygod she’s put my hand on her breast!
I am going to marry this woman, this is amazing, this is the best thing that has ever happened in the history of everything ever!

Our kiss breaks, I can still taste her, I look into her eyes.

Who is going to be the first to speak?

I don’t know what to say.

But it’s OK, she does. She goes to speak?

What will she say, will she say she wants to do it again? Does she want to be my girlfriend? Oh that would be so cool! What pearls of wisdom are going to drop from those amazing lips that have only just unlocked themselves from mine?

‘Um…do you mind if I ask you something’ she says

No, of course I don’t you can ask me anything, anything at all, I will have no secrets from you oh new found love of my life, what’s mine is yours, we can share thoughts and ideas and…oh I love you so

‘are you gay?’

*crushed*
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 11:09, 9 replies)

Not me, but my aunt
My aunt, uncle and two kids used to live in Nowheresville, Dorset (well, a town called Swanage, truth be told). The kids used to go to school a little way away, which would require a relatively lengthy bus ride each way.

To stop the kids turning into the spawn of satan (which they did on a daily basis), my aunt would point out hings to them along the ride to keep them occupied.

One fine spring morning, she spots some young rabbits frollicking in a field and shouts "Oooh look! Bumnnies!".

It was only then that she remembered that it was Saturday and the kids were still at home. Everyone else on the bus just stared at her for the rest of the journey.
(ScousersPet, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 10:57, Reply)

My Best Friend's Wedding, Part II
Following on from a couple of pages back, there was a second incident at my best friend’s wedding which thankfully this time didn’t involve me. Shocking, I know.

My best friend is a rather eccentric individual. I’ve known her since I was 10, when she was assigned to look after me when I rather abruptly changed schools in the middle of a term. She has always been totally unapologetic about her likes and interests, which include the music of the Bee Gees and Barry Manilow, musical theatre and an obsession with maps.

She also adores dogs and has a golden Labrador who she got during her first marriage and who was the subject of a protracted custody battle between her and her ex, which was only resolved weeks before her second wedding. She sees the dog as very much part of the family and wanted her involved in the wedding, so much to her mother’s chagrin, decided to walk down the aisle with the dog. She even bought a white sparkly lead to complement her wedding gown.

On the day of the wedding, the hotel was also being used by the alumni of a local well-to-do girl’s school. There was a reunion party who were having their drinks reception in the foyer bar of the hotel before moving into one of the ballrooms for lunch. My friend arrived at the hotel, and made her way into the foyer to meet the hotel manager who was going to escort the wedding party to the function room for the ceremony. It was the slightly hysterical hotel manager who told me what happened next…

My friend was walking through the foyer, in her wedding gown, on the arm of her father, past all these well heeled women in their 50’s, with a golden Labrador on a white lead… Out of the general background chatter, a cut-glass voice, the sort that would have been used to dressing down servants in the days of the Raj pipes up;

“Oh look Hettie, what a terrible shame, the poor bride’s blind…”

Nope, but luckily she must have been a bit deaf as she didn’t seem to hear the comment. The hotel manager, however, did and spent the rest of the ceremony collapsed in a chair heaving with silent laughter. I made the mistake of telling my mum the story while the happy couple were signing the register and true to form, she got a fit of the giggles and had to pretend to be really interested in the floral arrangements.

I’m keeping this story from my friend and hope to bring it out at her 25th wedding anniversary, if she’s still talking to me…
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 10:55, 1 reply)

Funky bunch
I set the scene: Leicester Square, 2001.

My best friend from the United States had come to visit me. As we perambulated merrily through Leicester Square, the movie business was hurriedly getting ready for the screen opening of the day: Planet of the Apes. A giant poser of Mark Wahlberg had been erected.

We began to sing Marky Mark’s biggest hit, “Good Vibrations.” As we were dancing around the place, we got rather carried away, doing the ‘running man’ and ‘cabbage patch’ in circles, pulling our underpants above our waistbands and shouting a guttural ‘uhhhh, c’mon feel it feel it’.

I violently funky bunched into a gentleman, turned to apologise, then realised it was Marky Mark himself…
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 10:44, 3 replies)

Christmas tidings.
Christmas '02 - i'd been dragged to Christmas dinner with my entire family for the day.

First off, i hate most of my family, they are boring gits.
Second off, i hate Christmas. If one more person buys me a Lynx deoderant/shower gel kit - i will anally penetrate them with a shattered glass dildo with megadeath sauce lube.

Anyway, to deal with the most horrific of days i decided to drink. Drink a lot.
By the time dinner was served i was nodding and swaying back and fourth in my chair at the table watching everyone chat away and watch their jaws nod up and down in rapid repetition, i'd remained silent for almost 15 minutes when something inside me compelled to drunkenly blurt out;

"Mother, how long exactly have you been a dyke?"

It made my 15 minutes of silence seem like the blink of an eye.
(nojness, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 10:40, 4 replies)

I made a bus full of teenagers cringe whilst pissing myself laughing
Mate of mine is a Nordie - this means he's from Northern Ireland. We live in the west of Ireland but I'm from the east. We all have fairly distinctive accents, the Nordie more so than most.

We spend quite a bit of time in one anothers company due to a mutual love of alcohol. My love of coupling food with alcohol results in the fucker getting fed quite often.

This has led to some ribbing from colleagues regarding the nature of our relationship.

Basically, Im the bitch.

So, a room has recently become available in the house where I live and yer man has decided he wants to move in.

Grand - he can start paying for his food and the satellite television he has been watching for free for the past five months, thinks I.

So we're on a bus on saturday afternoon heading to town. I hate the bus. It was his idea. I wanted to get a taxi but he's too skint/mean to pay for it.

He sufficiently audibly says on a bus load of youngsters,

"baz, when I move in to yer gaf, are you going to do my washin'?"

I chuckled.
He laughed.

"Do yooz have a tumble dryer?", he then adds, in his distinctive Derry drawl.

"Aye", says I, "But you cant use it", in my well-to-do Dublin brogue.

"Why nat?" says he, in his unmistakably Ulster twang.

And this is where the cringing begun.

My mate is a Derry (not Londonderry) Catholic Nordie all-singing, all-dancing, all-drinking, shouting and fighting, my-brother-lived-in-a-squat-in-Landan-wi'-Jarry Kahnlan, 32-county Irishman of the highest order - you do not disparage his paddywhack credentials or suggest for one nanosecond that he is a subject of the crown.

But he'd gone too far that day, so I said,

"My tumble dryer's only for real Irishmen"

Gasps were heard and a few people muttered in shock, "Jaysus", "holy shit", "this is going to kick off".

Some well-meaning Limerickian even ventured, "ah we're all Irishmen here".

This was deliciously hyprocritical given Limerick people are the most provincial inward-looking people you have ever met - do NOT start me off on Munster rugby.

Yer man and meself proceeded to break our bollixes laughing and the sigh of relief on the bus was audible.

rafter
baz
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 10:19, 1 reply)

Eyy!
For the past few weeks I have been repainting parts of my house. To help with this my darling wife has been taking the kids out and leaving me free to put the CD Player on, listen to my own music and finish the job with as little annoyance as possible.

Last week I was near the end of finishing the hallway when my wife walked in with the kids. My wife then made a comment about how I was similar to Pierce Brosnan, happy for the ego boost I thanked her for the compliment, only for her to reply “Its not a compliment Mon, I was comparing you to him in Mama Mia we could hear you murdering Clint Eastwood (the song not the director/actor) from the bottom of the street".

Turns out most of the street have heard me too, my neighbour made a comment this morning before I set off to work.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 10:09, Reply)

The BINT, & her loud music
Some years ago, we lived in a flat, being the top half of a converted Victorian house.

When we moved in there was a delightful old lady living below whom we enjoyed as a neighbour because she was for the first part a wonderful human being, and for the second part because she was quiet, and we valued quietness. It’s just nice, not to be disturbed, and we disturb no-one.

Sadly, the old lady died.

Then the BINT moved in.

Her name was (& probably still is), Jill, & she’s a BINT.

She had a habit of playing loud music late at night, & she particularly favoured a Jimmy Hendrix track with an ascending base line that just ripped right through us, and was slowly driving me crazy, though I didn’t realise at the time.

We had several confrontations but the stupid tart never really saw eye-to-eye with us. She thought it was AOK to play her music at Midnight because we got up to go to work at 6am, and our small noises disturbed her. She was the fucking disturbed one!

Occasionally she’d get it on during the day, too.

Anyway, one Sunday afternoon, all is well, and then the music starts.

I had had a small argument with my wonderful wife and we were sat in separate rooms for the duration of the cool-down when Bob’s bass riff started up. I took it for a while, and then, no doubt because Mrs RichardInSydney & I were in a tense situation, I just lost control. You have to understand, this business with the music had been going on for a while. Anyway, the red mist came down & I stalked to the rear of the flat and threw open the sash window, and looked down upon the BINT and her chav mate sat in the garden , music BLARING.

“TURN THE FUCKING MUSIC OFF, TURN IT OFF, FUCKING TURN IT OFF NOW” I screamed, and slammed the window. So hard did I slam it, it shattered and rained shards of glass down on the BINT & her chav mate in their Argos recliners.

I turned around to see Mrs RichardInSydney stood in the bedroom doorway, completely horror-stricken, and she said…

…”it’s not them”

At a property over the way they were having a party, and they had a live band.

Oops
(RichardInSydney would like to know why teh date & time is, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 9:53, Reply)

pc
A couple of weeks back I was wandering in a bit of a daze around the lower ground floor office and tripped and fell over the water cooler.

We have a few special needs staff members working here, and one of these saw me fall.

"Are you alright?" She asked,

"Yeah, fine", I said, and without thinking added "I just had a bit of spack attack"

"What's a spack", she asked?

A part of me died when I explained that it meant a clumsy person, and she ran off round the office singing "I'm a spack! I'm a spack!".
( rofl harris, Mon 1 Dec 2008, 9:50, 1 reply)