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This is a question Cringe!

Chickenlady winces, "I told a Hugh Grant/Divine Brown joke to my dad, pretending that Ms Brown was chewing gum so she'd be more American. Instead I just appeared to be still giving the blow-job. Even as I'm writing this I'm cringing inside."

Tell us your cringeworthy stories of embarrassment. Go on, you're amongst friends here...

(, Thu 27 Nov 2008, 18:58)
Pages: Latest, 27, 26, 25, 24, 23, 22, ... 1

This question is now closed.

And the hits keep on coming...
Some musically-minded cringes.

First: Met (then) Cradle of Filth Guitarist Gian Pyres at Wembley (this was on the Slayer tour just after 9/11 when Pantera pulled out. Gutted.), shook his hand and asked him his name, not twigging who the bloody hell he was but thinking "he looks very familiar". My friend pointed out who he was and it was then that I could feel my cheeks burning and all I could muster was "Oh" before running away to find a hole to throw myself in. Found out afterwards that he found the whole thing very amusing and said that I was "Cool", so it all worked out in the end.

Second: Standing at the bar down The Dev in Camden, minding my own business when I feel a tap on the shoulder. Turn around to find someone showing me a Cannibal Corpse top. He thinks it's mine and I've dropped it, I thought, so told him "Sorry mate, it's not mine". Turned out it was his, he was showing it to me (I had a Cannibal Corpse top on at the time so it was some show of camaraderie I guess) and he started chatting to me about them. All nice and good until I ask him his name. Turns out he's the guitarist (and founder member) of Dark Funeral (top top band) and, once again, I had failed to recognise him. Sadly, I went into full-on, gushing fan-boy mode and I cringe when I think back to how much of a TWAT I must have looked at the time, saying stuff like "I've got all your albums, you guys are sooooo good!" (in fairness they DO rock).

(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 18:10, 2 replies)
kill the reverb!
sitting on a bus shelter 'bench' you know the 5" wide plastic bit designed to resist the sleepy embrace of your hobo types.
earphones in, waiting for the bus. pretty girl sat at opposite end of the bench. we exchanged glances, a smile.. saw her most days on the route. AND she was my type. she's got her earphones in, so i decided to relieve the building pressure in my beleaguered colon before we got into a more intimate (enclosed) bus environment.
lifting a cheek surreptitiously, i snuck out a quick toot. glancing her way, not a flicker. emboldened by my success, i decided to tryr and shift the mother lode.

alas, due to the shiny nature of the seat, and the thin material of my kecks, the two elements conspired against me. unbeknownst to me, i appeared to have the kind of rectal pressure required to summon cthulhu.. a quick crack, a pop, then the beats was free.. growling like an infuriated rottweiler with a megaphone, my arse drummed a staccato warning of impending disaster on the bench... reverberations rattled the glass of the flimsy shelter, her head snapped round, a look of shock and disbelief on her face, clearly doubting the rumbling to be of human origin and maybe hoping for my look of confirmation that the world was indeed about to end.
alas, my bright red face did little to reassure her.
then the Smell made itself known. this Smell deserves capitalisation. shit this Smell should probably be allowed to vote and drive a motor vehicle. it was indescribable, picture underpants from the bottom of satan's laundry basket, boiled with week-old sprouts and rotting egg, sieved through the putrid corpse of a fox and regurgitated by john prescott after six pints of bitter and a kebab and you're close. this smell was nearly visible. i initially hoped it would sink to ground level and slink away to join a telemarketing company somewhere, but a capricious breeze bore the beast aloft and to the nose of said fair maiden. she blanched visibly, and stood up, moved upwind, and shot horrified glances at the source of this vile outburst, the now nearly purple peteloaf, vehemently wishing the ground would swallow him, and smelling like old nick himself was hiding in his grundies.

when we got on the bus, she made a beeline for the front window seat and opened it fully.

cockblocked my my own colon.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 18:06, 8 replies)
More to the point, MY Countdown appearance. I can't look at it now without cringing (which is a shame as it was always my ambition to appear on the show and I fulfilled it), the only real highlight was the fact that I got the word "Poofter" onto tea-time telly.

If I was a turtle, you wouldn't see my head. Ever.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 17:12, 11 replies)
More than a little embarrassing
A few years ago I was at a seminar which included a large proportion of people with disabilities. During a break a little person read my nametag and said "Ah, I've been looking out for you. Apparently we both know..." and he named a good friend of mine.

"Really?" I replied. "Small world."
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 17:10, 3 replies)
Don't you hate it when you think you're going to fart....

but you end up shitting all over your father's face.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 17:09, 1 reply)
One more. At school I was challenged to say which football team I supported.

Not knowing anything about football I panicked and said the only team I had heard of - "Wembley".
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 16:58, 8 replies)
Death notice
Just remembered this one...

I briefly worked for a newspaper classified ad's department. I dealt with a lot of death/funeral notices. Most of these were done via the undertakers, but some were placed by the relatives themselves.

The standard format for the funeral notice was xxx died, wife/husband/mother/father of xxx, funeral at xxx. Family flowers only please, any donations to xxx to be sent via funeral directors.

I think I was nursing a grade 1 hangover when I proofed, and approved, a notice reading:

The funeral of Joanne Bloggs, dearly loved money to James and ...

Nobody complained, but I was in a perpetual state of cringe for about a week.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 16:42, 2 replies)
B3ta inspired cringe moment !
I just remebered this one, involving a B3ta joke I told to my friend Darryl. He is black.

The joke goes..

"What do you call a black bloke flying a plane?"

The punchline being delivered after the inevitable pause "A pilot you racist bastard".

He thought this was hilarious, and proceeded to tell it to everyone in the pub who would listen to him.

Cue our lovely blonde friend Claire walking in to be asked the same question. She paused, thought about it, then answered;

"A Thief?"

We lolled, they hooked up that night.....
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 16:38, 1 reply)
Hanover Airport.....
A few years ago I had a rather bad incident with a friend who lived in Germany (turns out she was a total nutjob) whilst visiting her and I therefore decided to flee the country at all and any expense and return to the safety of Blighty. I spent about 4 hours trying to get on what must have been the last flight out of Hanover the same day and made it to the airport in the nick of time.

Not one to travel lightly I had a heavy rucksack and carrier bags in either hand. Having made a speedy departure from said nutjob's house I had also flung on a pair of jeans that I should have worn a belt with, a small t-shirt but alas no undies. Therefore, I arrive in a mad panic at the airport desperately trying to catch my flight (which I had been ripped off 400 quid for - wtf?! But I dirgress) and put as many miles between me and the German Witch as possible so I began running up the escalator. I was halfway up said escalator when I realised my jeans were beginning to slip down with each step... my brain said to me 'for God's sake stop running you stupid girl' however my fear was saying 'run for your life woman!!!'. So - by the time I had reached the top of the escalator my trousers were round my ankles and my 'private areas' were on view to all those that were (before I decided to decently expose myself) looking at the info screens at the top.

Having had such a bad weekend already and not thinking it could get any worse I did what any normal person would do... I slowly put down my bags on the floor, pulled up my jeans, wrapped my remaining rags of dignity around me, picked up my bags and continued on my way like nothing had happened - all the time with torrents of the hot lava of shame and cringeworthiness running over me and random men winking and smiling at me whilst giving anyone and everyone a 'what? that is totally normal behaviour?!?' look ...... weep.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 16:24, 2 replies)
could be misspelt so lets call this free running.I used to work with a man who could best be described as a lying tosser, if your dad brough a car his dad “owns a plane, well I say owns, he co owns it, with the sultan of bruni” I found him hillarious, I got caught by him at works buying a gram of coke he was stuck trying to work out whether to fire me (he was my supervisor) or lie… he chose what he knew best , “buying a gram? Oh I only buy by the ounce” etc etc…

So it’s a works christmas "do" and at the time free running was all over show, this new extreme sport and he was apparently one of the founders… apparently (though he didnt sound very french…)

Can you see where this is going – I give him a few massive lines of pretty poorly cut coke and he’s in overdrive ranting about his preternatural skills, downing pints and soon is convinced by all to give a demonstration….

As I saw him drop 2 stories on to concrete and fold like a deckchair I couldn’t help but feel partially reponsable…. And I did cringe when I heard his ankle snap…
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 16:23, 1 reply)
Del Boy
My friend Tim was never v good with the ladies, but he really liked this girl that worked behind the bar.

He ordered a couple of bottles of beer, and when he'd got them he said "I think you're really nice" or some similar nonsense. He then coolly took a swig from his bottle. But unfortunately as he was holding the other bottle in the same hand at the time, he poured the whole lot down his front. He just walked back to our table and it was never mentioned again.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 16:13, 1 reply)
the black horse
at university several years ago me and some friends, having indulged slightly in various liquors and substances, went out to play pool in a pub with a very very small pool area.

i was attempting a very difficult shot when someone tried to pass behind me, i left it a second or two and tried again, the person was still there. i was staggering a bit but left it again a couple of seconds. amazingly, the guy was still behind me blocking my shot. i gave a vicious backwards jerk with the pool cue and heard a crash, i turned around and saw a man and two crutches on the floor. his agonised cry of 'can't you see i'm disabled!' lives with me to this day.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 16:10, Reply)
Climbing Cringe
I made friends with a lot of folks, One was Jonathan a local business man and sports fanatic.

I met him through my climbing buddy Andrew, what set Jonathan aside from other men was the sad fact that he had suffered from a horrible disease (Polio I think) in the fifties and his childhood effectively ended in pain and hospitals. His legs were severely damaged and he walked with sticks, but this did not stop him from climbing with us. Jonathan was also very capable of being extremely rude and stepping on the feelings of others.

So stood in UCR in Bristol with Jonathan, climbing rope hooked to the top of the double fang over hangs. We were chatting about mountain bikes and he asked me if he should get one by some cheap make or other.

I had just bought my first Kona and had spent a fortune on it and was feeling rather smug. "In my view Jonathan, you should buy a Kona. Anything else is for spastics!" Jonathan visibly sagged and I asked the gods to kill me where I stood. Ouch...

He bought a Kona Explosive and working together we adapted it so that he could ride it with out stabilisers. In effect I gave him a new form of freedom, but in my heart I carried a black mark because I knew that I had hurt him.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 16:09, 2 replies)
Whilst at uni, I once had a flatmate who was not the most worldly wise person you could meet, and would often use entirlely the most inappropriate of phrases due to not fully understanding their meaning.
Come the end of term we were all packed up and waiting for our various lifts home. When my flatmates lift arrived she greeted him with the now immortal words: "Dad, am I pleased to see you, or do I have a CANOE in my pocket!"
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 16:05, 1 reply)
Oh what a glorious morning
Having lurked for over 4 years and only posted 1 message I though I'd better increase my posting average, particurly as I often wake up in the middle of the night cringing over this thought...

As a boy I used to sleep in quite loose pyjamas. Morning routine was to get up, go downstairs and get breakfast before showering etc.

As quite an early developer I was totally unaware of such things as erections and consequently also unaware that I was walking downstairs and in to the front room with a raging tent (of steadily increasing proportion of course) in my 'jamas each morning.

The day I realised, I nearly died at the thought that I'd walked down to breakfast with a throbbing hard on each day.

If you're ever sat with me and I suddenly go quiet and red it's becuase that thought has just popped in to my head. Kinda like losing the game. But worse. Much worse.

Length? Ask my mum.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 16:03, 5 replies)
Star Wars
Episode 1.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 16:02, 4 replies)
Being somewhat of a lazy bastard
I used to called into the little convenience store next to my flat in Japan and buy a bowl of pre-cooked rice, which the little man would heat up for me.

One day, I bought two, thinking I'd egg-fry the second one the following evening (always better if it's left in the fridge for a night). The little man asked me if I wanted them both heated up, but I just said, 'No, only this one.'

In Japanese, that would be, 'Kore dake.' I said that, and he looked at me with a bemused and yet scared expression. 'Eh?' he responded.

'Kore dake. Kore. Dake.' He continued to look scared and I'm thinking, 'For fuck's sake - it's your bloody language I'm speaking.'

This went on for some time, before I suddenly realised - I wasn't saying, 'kore dake' at all. I was saying, nay shouting, 'Kore dare! Kore dare!'

The poor man was just trying to understand why the crazy gaijin was pointing at a bowl of rice and shouting, 'Who is this? Who! Is this?'

I spent the next few weeks frequenting the store across the road instead.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 16:00, 2 replies)
Just told a guy I work with that he needs to sort out his music tastes...

He's deaf...

I'm going to Hull...

After I watch the Pigeon Detectives tonight in Manc
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 15:58, 11 replies)
Working for a telecomms company, we were in the middle of putting together a bid for a major client. An multi-addressed email arrived stating that the client had asked that we should put together a 'Workshop'.

I replied quoting Alexei Sayle, 'Anyone who uses the word workshop when not employed in light engineering is a twat'...


30 seconds later, agonised phone call from the account manager berating me for not noticing that the client was on the email distribution list...

Strangely, we didn't win that deal...
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 15:30, 1 reply)
The Happy Cupple
Years ago my ex gf's sister married a disabled guy (she seemed to have a thing about going out with disabled people for whatever reason).

He was a nice enough guy, but had some mental problems because he was in a head on collision with a big lorry and must of knocked something out of his head.

Generally this would mean he would spend most of his days drinking and in a kind of mental stupor.

The ex gf's sister had no problems with this as due to the accident he was in line to receive a cool £1 million.

Obviously a wedding was quickly arranged and everything went swimmingly. Me & the gf were invited to the reception where the bride, groom and the bride’s father was well and truly wasted.

As we were sitting speaking to the parents of the groom about how he’s coping these days etc the exs' father plonks himself down and attempts to converse with some sane people (the ex excluded).

A short while later, in front of the poor disabled guys parents he shouts the immortal line "What!? You think she's marrying him for love!?"

I was actually hoping for a fight to break out, but the only thing that followed was a nervous silence.

Needless to say the ex gfs sister stayed for as long as was legally required to acquire her 'share' of the wealth while leaving the poor guy to drink himself to an early grave.

Good times..
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 15:25, 1 reply)
that reminds me of a bad one...
We had a stand in teacher for one whole year before our GCSE's - for geography. He genuinely had fallen off a chair rocked backwards and damaged his spine so one arm and one leg were pretty much passengers on his journey through life.

He fell ill and had a couple of operations - so was off for a couple of months, and we got a proper temp teacher call Mr Shields. He was a proper areshole. Short tempered, didn't know any topics to be taught and so generally we played him up. As time wore on he got more and more miserable and kept taking it out on us - and us putting it back on him.

We made sure he knew he was a misery, and i think mutual hatred sprang up between our class and him.

Fast forward until half term in feb, and he didn't come back. We cheered. They then told us of his back cancer which ended his days. We fell silent. He had said nothing, but was probably in agony. I have never seen a group of 13-14yo kids astonished at what arses they had been to a miserable old coont. I still cringe now.

I don't know about anyone else, but i regularly have flashbacks to cringe moments from years ago. Like a wank bank but worse. I often get asked if i am ok by my mrs as i look deep in thought and conversation - yet say nothing externally. Odd that. It may be from 20 years back, but the feeling of dying a little inside is as fresh as ever.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 15:21, 4 replies)
Me, My Catholic Guilt, and an Elderly Priest
I now have a biblically cringe worthy story to tell. It involves me, my catholic guilt, and an elderly priest.

I am not religious in the slightest. However I was brought up to be Roman Catholic, which entailed me going to religious schools, serving as an alter boy, in the choir before they yo-yoed (yes, they went back up for a while after they first dropped. No, me neither, but they’re down now), and even receiving religious instruction at my house by a nun.

I thought it was all a load of tosh after I was about 14 and finally rebelled about 15, when I refused point blank to get out of bed to go to church on a Sunday. However that did leave an unfortunate window, whereby I had been to Confession probably every month until I was 13. The window being me starting my continued and frenzied onanism and dealing with the Catholic guilt, and finally not believing in God and thinking nothing of it.

I remember finally working out how to polish my lighthouse when I was in the bath. Then everything was a furious blur from then onwards. At least until, I stopped to think about what I was doing, and reconciling this with the adolescent propaganda that the Vatican pumps out regarding relationships, masturbation, and the prohibition of prophylactics made me feel extremely guilty.

I was racked with remorse. The Lord was watching me think of Charlene from Neighbours, and watched when my hands wandered into my inhabited crotch. I stopped doing it. I had to do something.

So I went to Confession before Church. My parents were thrilled, as they thought that my enthusiasm was finally sparking for the one true church. They didn’t guess my dark, vile secret (well, I am sure the guessed eventually, but not then).

I went into the darkened Church, and lit a candle for my redemption whilst I waited for the previous occupant of the Confession booth to finish. It was my church friend, Dale. “Alright Dale, what did you get?” “two Hail Marys and an Our Father” “sweet, catch ya later”.

Dale went to kneel to say his penance, and I went into the booth. I was really nervous, and I kept on thinking I could just make something up, like lying or stealing sweets as I usually did.

“Ignosce mihi, Pater, quia peccavi.” I said into the hatch. Bless me Father, for I have sinned.

He muttered back in Latin and asked me to tell him his sins so he could absolve them for me.

I said that I had had impure thoughts. He asked me to clarify was I meant. I wanted to chicken out and I had become as crimson as the red part of a radish but I was committed.

I told him about Charlene.

He asked me what I did to myself.

I was now horrifically embarrassed and would have gladly killed myself (sadly that’s also a sin).

I started stuttering about my John Thomas. He asked me who John Thomas was.

“It’s… it’s my penis”, my face now as purple as my newly worshipped idol.

“Do you think about this John Thomas?”

“No! No! It’s a name for my willy, penis.”

“Do you touch it…?

“Ye –e-e-e-es” I stuttered.

“Well, don’t.” Blah blah in latin, and say 2 Hail Marys and an Our Father.

And that was that.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 15:18, 16 replies)
And another thing...
I have a lot of friends. Some are very nice from nice back grounds, some are somewhat less than posh. All of them are people I love dearly, even if they are rough diamonds.

Cue a day out climbing with two friends. One is Jenny (ex prostitute) and the other is Faith and her pre teen daughter Rebecca. Jenny had been very badly beaten by a client and was facially disfigured with broken teeth. Faith is a lovely woman and a good parent.

Jenny is sat in Faith's car talking about her working. Faith looks grim and I am cringing while thinking "Please God stop talking like that in front of Faith and Rebecca!"

Then Jenny turned the talk to what happened to her several months before. The talk then turns a shade darker with gratuitous use of the word cunt. Faith is getting a tad fed up with the filthy diatribe being uttered in front of her sweet young child. My head is in my hands and I know that Faith is about to say something.

Cringing as Jenny talks about clients being beaten by, for want of a better word, her pimp.

Eventually we arrive at the crag and I take Jenny around a boulder and have a quiet word.
Jenny is mortified that she had upset gentle Faith and apologies are quickly uttered. Faith takes me to one side a little later and asks that next time we go climbing, can we leave Jenny at home? The journey home is quieter and with out incident.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 15:12, 6 replies)
Oh lord, I just went red thinking of this
about 10 years ago while trying to make a bit of extra cash, I had a job walking around Berlin, going into cafes and asking if I could hang up a theatre poster (advertising the latest English language travesty).

My German wasn't up to much, so I could just ask "darf ich ein Plakat aufhängen? (Can I hang up a poster)" and point to the poster.

I went into one bar and the person behind it was very camp and very flirtatious. I asked him if I could hang up the poster and he said something like "yes of course darling, you can hang it on the toilet door - Ladies or Gents, it's up to you" and gave me a big theatrical wink.

Feeling saucy, I grinned, leaning forward and said in my most charming/flirtatious way possible "I'd prefer the Gents *giggle*".

Actually, that's what I attempted to say.

What actually came out in German was something like "I love men *giggle*".

So instead of sounding like a flirty, good-time homo, I just sounded a bit scary and utterly retarded.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 15:11, 2 replies)
Yet another culturally inappropriate joke
Kaol’s post below reminds me of a Japanese language class at high school. We had a temp teacher in for a month or so; a short, rotund Chinese woman, funnily enough. Her english was nowhere near as good as her Japanese (or Mandarin for that matter), but she still understood enough when we were regularly playing up and taking the piss out of her.

One lesson, we got side-tracked into competitive Sickipedia-style joke telling while we were supposed to be preparing for some role play exercise. This is 1989, just after the tanks rolled into Tianenmen Square, so the following joke didn’t go down too well:

Q. What’s the difference between a lobster and a Chinese student?
A. Nothing. They’re both crustaceans (crushed-Asians – badoomching)

The teacher burst into tears and hurried out of the room. That caused enough *cringe* to start with. But when we later found out that some members of her family had been caught up in the government crackdown, the cringe factor went through the roof.

Still feel kind of bad about that. But hey, I was 14, an age when most boys have about much tact as the bastard lovechild of Robert Kilroy-Silk and Prince Phillip.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 15:01, Reply)
You couldn't make it up
As coincidences go, I have experienced quite a few. However, this is the single most cringe-worthy coincidence I've ever experienced.

Me and my mates (16-ish at the time) were on our way to Thorpe Park for much frivolity and fun. We had no car so we had to get the train from New Malden to Staines. The train we got to Staines had individual compartments like ye olde trains, so we spied a near empty carriage, save for one inconspicious man, and bundled in.

We reverted to the normal teenage boy talk of football, video games and hot chicks you saw on the TV last night when the topic of conversation turned to my computer after seeing an ad in a newspaper. I'd recently been having trouble with it, unsurprisingly because it was bought from Tiny.

If you don't know, Tiny are (were) a computer company that went bust due to the tremendously bad quality of their computers.

Cue us slagging off Tiny, mostly me though because I had first-hand experience of how bad my computer was.

The man in the corner then piped up and said to our astonishment: "I used to be a managing director of Tiny." We couldn't believe the huge coincidence, and I felt myself go bright red. We'd just slagged off a company in front of one of the most important people in the company. The carriage went quiet for a moment, until the man said:

"Yeah I resigned before I was pushed. The computers are a pile of shit". Or something to that likeness.
We then spent the rest of the train journey slagging off Tiny, with the help of the former MD.

As unlikely as this story sounds, it is absolutely true. Not the most cringeworthy as some of the entries so far, but almost certainly one of the biggest coincidences.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 14:55, 2 replies)
Aged twelve
Biology lesson in school.

I am asked to demonstrate the flexing of the arm so teacher can talk about muscles.

Cue me flexing like a twat.

Then sneezing a huge glob of dark green Phlegm on to the shirt of teacher.

Not sure who cringed most, me out of embarrassment or him for being "snotted" by a kid.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 14:54, Reply)
Half a lettuce anyone?
I was a teenager working in a busy green-grocers and a rather large and foul smelling man was standing in front of me waiting to be served.

"Can I help you?" asked I.
"Gimme half a lettuce" he responded in a none too friendly tone.
I politely explained that we only sold whole lettuces and that perhaps I could select a smaller lettuce to suit his needs.
He glared at me and repeated in a much louder voice “Gimme half a lettuce”.
Again I explained that we did not sell half lettuces but he just interrupted and continued his rant: “Gimme half a lettuce - want half a lettuce - gimme half a lettuce”.

Fuck this I thought and decided to get the shop owner. He was in the back room and asked what was up.
I replied “There’s a fat stinking twat of customer in the shop who wants to buy half a lettuce...”
The manager looked past me with a look of abject horror on his face.
The customer had followed me and heard every word.
Oh. Shit.

So I turned to the customer and said to my boss “...and this lovely gentleman would like to buy the other half”.

*May be totally made up...
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 14:51, 1 reply)
speaking of weddings
i went to one over the summer. the bride was about 36 and it was her second marriage. the groom was 29 and it was his first.

father of the bride is a total character - he is a total silver fox, if a bit past it now, always has some dollybird 30 years his junior hanging off his arm, and his job is a treasure hunter - he spends his time looking for wrecks and gold. i didn't know that was an actual job.

anyway, he stood up for his father of the bride speech. loving, tender, devoted to his daughter... it was none of the above. instead, he kicked off by saying: "i call my daughter the boomerang bride - cause i've given her away once before."

i never understood what a deafening silence meant until that point in the proceedings.

my friend jan thought this was a bit much, so later on in the evening, when she was really drunk, she purred up to the father of the bride at the bar. jan is exactly his type (in fact, she's most men's type), being a voluptuous 6' blonde from newcastle with thighs like a baby giraffe and legs up to her chin. she is also very loud, very blonde, and very very outspoken. she thought she was giving him a hard time - and she probably was, so long as his viagara had kicked in - but what she actually said was this:

"why do you only go out with younger women?"

"i find them more entertaining," the father of the bride replied lasciviously, leaning closer in.

"rubbish!" declared jan, waving her glass of red around. "you just prefer juicy wet young pussies to dried up withered old ones."

again, we were all stunned into silence, apart from the man himself. he thought it was hilarious. she refused to believe she'd said it in the morning, and insisted we were taking the piss, but her underwhelmed boyfriend persuaded her otherwise.

mind you, this is the same girl who has:

bent over her car bonnet on a main road to remove a flyer, not realising her skirt was undone, and her bum and pink thong, complete with jaunty bow, were on display;

worn a white broderie anglaise skirt to work with the modesty panels the wrong way round , revealing her red thong and bum to the world whilst snugly covering up her thighs;

announced "who is this sharon stroke?" to a roomful of partners after seeing the headlines about ariel sharon all day;

told her boss that he shouldn't be jealous of her client invite to lords as it was "only a test match";

screamed at her boyfriend on a packed tube that "2 and 2 = 3";

been asked by a tramp whose dog she was trying to feed to "leave my dog alone. can't you see he's not interested in your sausage?"

it's a good job she's academically bright, because the rest is not quite there!
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 14:36, 1 reply)
Bride's father's speech
Raindance's story a couple down just reminded my of one of my sisters' weddings. Talking to my father just before the whole shebang kicked off I told him the oft-used line about how a good speech should be like a lady's skirt - long enough to cover the essentials but short enough to keep the interest.

Roll on the wedding breakfast. Father dearest stands up in front of a hundred eager faces and starts: "Somebody once told me a good speech is like a lady's skirt. It has to be long enough to be interesting... erm, no, that's not right..." Downhill from there, poor bugger.
(, Wed 3 Dec 2008, 14:16, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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