Also at work recently
I was in a meeting with several German work colleagues including a German professor of law when someone was teasing him about a recent TV interview he was in and how it had become "infamous".

I replay this moment in my mind over and over again and do not know why I said what I said.

I asked him if he had dressed up as Hitler again.
( Dixipoos Bye Bye Blackbird, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 11:09, Reply)

Just one, and more uncomfortable than cringey

1981 or so, I was 18, my elder brother 20. We were having a chat about something or other when our mum walked past.

"There was a play on the radio yesterday and they kept using the word 'mother' as an insult. Why would they do that?"

My brother and I looked at each other, "No idea," I said.

"No. Me neither."
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 11:09, Reply)

My boyfriend is really into the rock band Trivium
So we went to see them at a meet and greet session at Rio’s nightclub in Bradford a year or so ago.

I was incredibly drunk as it was a Friday and we had gone out straight from work. When we got to the club there was a crowd gathered around the band. Now don’t get me wrong, I did quite like Trivium but I didn’t know what any of them looked like.

There was a big black dude who seemed to be getting a lot of attention so in my drunken haze I decided to ask him to sign my chest (nothing rude mind – I didn’t get my baps out or anything) – just above my top.

He seemed a bit taken aback but did it anyway. It was only after he had signed me that my lovely boyfriend let slip that it was the security guard!

*Double CRINGE!!*
( DUMBLONDE is a rubber lover girl, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 11:07, 2 replies)

Sushi Blues
I once was eating sushi from the barber shop floor and complained that the ‘floor’ apparently hadn’t been ‘swept’ in a while. I was then told that perhaps my ‘broom’ wasn’t big enough to do the job properly and she might have to rely on next door’s ‘broom’.

I felt *that* small.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 11:04, 4 replies)

Whiskey O Whiskey
Lets call her Michelle for that was her name.

Petite, around 5' 0 tall and absolutely gorgeous.

I had been pursuing wearing her down for weeks and was finally starting to get some where, however on the night it finally looked like she was about to surrender to my immature charms I discovered whiskey.

I was chatting her up outside the pub and was well on the way to getting a party set up back at mines when I decided to barf up the whiskey (a terrible waste but it was my first time).

I was reliably informed that I said "excuse me" before I turned around and made a roadside impression of a Gargoyle Fountain loosing of into a drain.

But that's not the worst part, oh no.

It seems I then wiped my moth with my sleeve and belched "that's better" before trying to get everybody into a taxi.



Fortunately I went home myself
(Dark Matter All The Wonders In The World & We Invent Boredom, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 11:00, Reply)

Pearoast from elsewhere: May contain traces of pie
Not so long ago, I scored some tickets to see the mighty Arsenal, and went with my father-in-law up to That London for the match.

Arriving at Paddington Station, I saw the familiar face of a young lady who I used to work with, but hadn't seen for some time. We struck up convseration, and I couldn't help noticing that she was - as they say - with child.

"So," I ask, "when's it due?"

"What? My train?"

"No... the baby."

"What? No... I'm not pregnant."

She wasn't pregnant. She had spent the months since she left our employ stuffing her face with pie. Lots of pie. And cake. And chocklit.

My dad-in-law - who had been respectfully quiet up until then, burst out laughing, and was still pointing and laughing several hours later, even through one of the worst footie matches I have ever seen in my life.

"Come on Arsenal - get your arses in gear!"

"Pfffftttt... not pregnant. HA!"

He still mentions it - especially at family get-togethers, and I still cringe.

In summary: Pie.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:55, Reply)

Quick Fire..
I kissed a girl, she turned out to be my sister. Also turns out the guy I was fighting was my Dad.

THERE, IT'S BEEN DONE NOW!
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:53, 3 replies)

Can I just repost this, please?
In my pre-teen years, I used to attend the Lewisham Academy of Music in south-east London. It was a wonderful organization, with a month's membership costing around £3 and giving you access to any instrument you wanted and fantastic teachers, many of whom worked for nothing, to teach you to play it.

While I was there I started off with the Recorder and moved on to the Saxophone, Guitar, Keyboard and eventually drums.

However, one incident really sticks in my mind.

One day, I decided I wanted to learn to play the piano, so I went to see one of the piano teachers - Angus, I think his name was. Lovely guy with a heart of gold.

Unfortunately, I just could not understand his accent. At that age I had all the social grace of a paraplegic, incontinent trout.

He asked me a question. I didn't hear him properly. He asked me why I didn't hear.

And what I said was this: "I'm sorry, I just can't understand black people."

"Out! Out!" he said. He paced up and down the coridoor for a bit, obviously hugely angry.

And that was it. I was expecting a bollocking from someone, and to go in the next day with everyboyd thinking I was the hellspawn of a pair of crazy hitler worshippers or something.

But nothing. He didn't mention it to anyone.

So I'd like to say thank you to Angus, for understanding that small children sometimes say the most stupid of things, and letting it go.

Well, I know I was only 7 at the time, but I needed to get it off my chest.

Length? Not much, aged 7.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:52, Reply)

At work we had to call customers to discuss refunds
During one call I mixed up the phrase "We will send the money via Bank transfer" with "We will send the money via Wire-transfer" (I would pick and choose depending on who the customer was).

Until one day I got them mixed and told a customer I would send them their money via wank transfer.

And everyone in the office heard it.
( Dixipoos Bye Bye Blackbird, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:51, 1 reply)

Autoerotic Asphyxiation
A couple of years ago I was shortlisted for a job at a very swanky law firm on Chancery Lane. I was nervous because I had, technically, blagged my way through to the latter stages of the selection process.

It was a pannel interview - three of them behind a desk and me on the otherside. The lead interviewer introduced himself as Michael Hutchins.

Interview went pretty well, but as Mr. Michael Hutchins stood to see me out I, for some unknown reason, pointed in the area of his crotch and said:

'I hope that belt stays firmly round your trousers.'

This Michael Hutchins was about sixty and probably wore a bowler hat out and about.

- Silence -

I had to rescue the situation, so I spent the next few minutes inadvertently digging myself into a hole by explaining how the other, more famous Michael Hutchence died in a wanking accident (I didnt use that specific term), and that I wasnt, in point of fact, offering the interviewer a go on me.

Tip: If you have an interview at a top law firm do NOT on ANY occassion mention mastabatory related incidents of death.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:44, 1 reply)

Many years ago, about a year after my Dad died...
... I bumped into my mate Rob. Hadn't seem him for ages.

"Hi Rob", I said.
"Hi Gordon", said Rob, "how's your Dad doing, I haven't seen him for ages!"
"Oh, y'know, still dead" - hey maybe Rob had forgotten, I don't know why I phrased it that way.
As I helped Rob reattach his jaw which had dropped so far it had actually popped off and bounced down the road, I discovered that he actually hadn't heard about it. Oops.
(gordonjcp, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:42, Reply)

Hmmm
I have a few of these, but this one in particular casts me in a very bad light. So please, please bear in mind that I was a naive seven year old, I didn't know any better. And me and this guy did, eventually, become good friends until he emigrated to New Zealand a few years ago. Even then he came back for a mutual friends wedding a while ago and, after a few glasses of wine, I still felt the need to apologise to him for this. As I have done many times over the years.


Way back in March 1982 my parents moved house and I had to change schools.

I didn't take too long to settle in, but there was one kid who I just couldn't get along with. I think perhaps because I was welcomed into his group of friends and there was some jealousy issues.

I’d still go round his house for tea sometimes with the rest of them, we tolerated each other to that level. Even though I hated his house, with its religious paraphernalia everywhere and his Indian mums strange spicy food (in 1982, curry was a strange and alien thing to a common as shit Basildon boy).

I didn’t like his Dad much either. This stern, very white, stiff upper lipped headmaster type who scared the shit out of me.

Anyway, somehow, we bumbled along without ever becoming friends and with the very occasional playground scrap or an extra hard tackle when playing bulldog.

One of our bust ups occurred while playing - and this is actually cringeworthy enough on its own – hopscotch. He trod on a line, so I called him on it.

He denied it. We argued, shoving started and then – cringeworthy moment number two – I ran.
Yes, I was a coward. Hated fights. Was terrified of getting hurt.
I sprinted across the playground as fast as my spindly little legs would carry me.

Which unfortunately was not as fast as his spindly little legs could carry him. He caught me, pushed up against the wall, was about to hit me.

I was going to die, I knew it.

So I did the only thing I could think of to save me. I came up with a smart alec remark.

And, I swear, (oh god, I am cringing still as I write this), I don’t know where these words came from, I can’t remember ever having heard them before, but they were enough to stop him in his tracks and leave him sobbing with tears and me still feeling guilty when I think about it some 27 years later.

I blurted out…

…’F…f…fuck off, you fucking religious half caste’

God I hate myself right now.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:42, 2 replies)

Summer love.
When I was a lad of 15, I had a bit of a crush on a Spanish student that visited these shores to learn English for the summer. She was beautiful to me in every way that it is possible to see beauty in someone.

I was painfully shy, so it took weeks just to get up the nerve to talk to her.
One gloriously sunny day ,I was taking my dog for a walk (not a euphemism), when I saw her sitting in the local park, I let my dog off the lead (again, not a euphemism) and strolled over and said hi.

She patted the ground beside her indicating I should sit. So I sat. And we talked for a little while.

Then she looked at me oddly. I felt a strange warm sensation rising up my back. So this is love, I thought for a moment.

She wasn't looking at me, though - she was looking past me, over my shoulder.

So I looked over my shoulder, and there was my faithful hound pissing on me.
( Lord & Lady Pants, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:40, 2 replies)

Keep it in next time
Just recalled a moment with the in-laws.

T'was my first Christmas with Mrs. Badger's family. Mother in law Badger has put on an incredible spread of most of the meats available on God's green Earth with a plentiful supply of roasted veg and sprouts. Followed up with a large degree of cider, wine and spirits, I'm soon feeling the signs of a large gas attack in the murky depths of the bowels.

'Goddamnit Foxy, you can't,' thought your author. 'You've been with this lass nearly a year now. Need to keep this family impressed as they already hate their other son in law enough. Talk about cars or something. Father in law Badger surely must like cars.'

Before I could begin reciting whatever pompous opinion had emerged from Jeremy Clarkson's mouth the previous Sunday and pretending I gave a shite about any monstrosity with wheels, said father in law Badger releases upon the world his contribution of the evening as it rattles the very foundations of the building.

It was like the growl of Cerberus with the nasal devesation capabilities of a rotting corpse. If you've ever tried to grow a potato in a jar of water, forgotten about it for a month and returned to find it got bored and turned into mash of its own accord, that's what we were facing.

Thinking that while the family were overcoming said reeking odour I was off the hook, I decided to let out a silent but deadly in hope it would slip under the radar.

At which point father in law stopped dead and gave me the most solemn 'have you been buggering my daughter' gaze I've ever seen. We haven't really talked since.

Probably because I was. Ground please eat me now.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:38, Reply)

Thinking back to my first day of primary school...
My teacher, Mrs Ray, was walking my class from one part of the school to another. In order to encourage bonding betwixt pupils each student was paired up with another student and made to hold hands.

This was all going swimmingly until it got to me, and my teacher paired me up with Jennifer...now, at the time, there was literally nothing worse for me to do as a four year old boy, than hold hands with a stinking smelly girl! I wanted to hold hands with Steve, my mate that id known for a year or so (my only mate at the time). I was having none of it, so initally i refused. But Mrs Ray came over and MADE us hold hands. By this point I had had enough, so i did what every rational 4 year old boy in the same situation would have done and stomped down hard on my teachers foot.

Needless to say my mother got a phonecall, on my very first day of school about her agressive son. And now Jennifer is hot as fuck...it could have been the start of something beeeeeeeutiful. But instead I now have to live with the memory being a total douche on my first day at school - jeeeesh!
( awsm! namaste bitches, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:38, 1 reply)

Bummer
When I was a kid I was round a friend of my mum's house. I was playing on the computer with her daughter, we were about 10 or so.

The game we were playing was some 2D flying/bomb targets/shoot down planes type game on their Acorn/BBC.

We were taking turns, one doing the flying, the other doing the weapons. I wanted to do the weapons next so I meant to say "I'll be the bomber" and as I was getting ready to say it, the thought went through my head "Don't mispronounce bomber and say bummer, whatever you do"

So what did I do? I said, very clearly "I'll be the bummer"

That was what we called gayers in those days and I felt like a right twat.

(Just for the record, I am NOT a bummer)
(Strangechap I look normal on the outside..., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:24, 6 replies)

awwww
I used to share lifts with a realy attractive girl to tennis training each week.

We seldom spoke, but admired eachother. That was until, one week when it was my turn to get a lift with her, i accidently blew a kiss to her mother as i got out of the car.

They both saw, and i cringed so hard i turned inside out. Then i ran away.

>.<
(ShitBitch, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:24, Reply)

Just now
Phoned a company I've talked to before about a quote.

Person answers the phone says the company name.

I say "Is that Stephen?"

They say "No, It's Helen"

Ouch
(KipperMinge has been watching out for the penguins since, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:21, 2 replies)

I'll get this out of the way now
My family have this very odd ritual of posting a QOTW answer a week too late...

Seems odd really but I hear it's catching on
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:15, 4 replies)

E.Coli at Glastonbury...

E.Coli used to be quite big news. A few years back there was an outbreak at the Glastonbury festival. Now in my circle of 'festival going' friends, it was mentioned quite a lot in the newspapers over the subsequent weeks, and I enthusiastically joined in with every topical conversation.

The only problem was with my pronunciation of the word. I had only read it, and had not heard it spoken out loud. I then proceeded to take my ‘best guess’ at how the phrase is spoken.

I chose: ‘Eeeeh, Colly’

wrong. wrong. oh, so very wrong.

The first time I joined in with a healthy debate on the subject I dabbled with: “Isn’t it terrible about the ‘Eeeeh, Colly’ outbreak at Glastonbury?

*some funny looks go my way, but nobody says anything*

I continue: “I mean, with the mud and the conditions, it’s a breeding ground for Eeeeh, Colly’, and ‘Eeeeh, Colly’ can apparently lead to a type of Meningitis…”

*some sniggers…still no fucker corrects me*

I don’t know if it became a standing joke with everybody, but the amount of times that I waxed lyrical to all who would listen about the dangers of ‘Eeeeh, Colly’ during that time was ridiculous.

The shame I felt when I finally watched the news, heard the proper pronunciation and realised what a world class cock-itch I had been to everybody I know, was the metaphorical equivalent of being slapped in the mush with a humpback whale who had lived solely on a diet of Concrete for 12 years.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:14, Reply)

Shaving issues
I have just realised that in my blurry eyed state of semi consciousness this morning I have missed a 2cm by 2cm patch just to the side of my chin while shaving....I can't even get away with saying...oh I am experimenting with beard growth because it's not symmetrical on my face and looks absolutely ridiculous...it looks rather like I have a hairy plaster on the right of my chin made all the worse for the fact I didn't shave yesterday, so it's 2 days worth of growth patch!! Oh god.

I'll have to start keeping a bath bag and shaving kit in my work desk draws for this occasion in future, unless anyone has any better ideas or suggestions about how to disguise rogue facial hair.
(iwantmybed Is counting down the hours till home time on, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:13, 6 replies)

Funerals
I'm sure a few stories like this will pop up (or may already have done)...

As a few of you know my Nan died a few months back and we had to attend the funeral.

First off we had the service in the church and then after that we went to the crematorium. All was going well and it was a very sad but dignified affair.

Up the point in the crematorium that I decided to comment to my mum (it was her mother who'd died)

'Is it me or is really hot in here?'

Although this wasn't as bad as after when a family friend was sitting with us and tucking into the buffet and casually remarked:

'These pork pies are to die for'

The ensuing look of horror on her face as she realised what she'd said and where she was was priceless!
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:11, 1 reply)

Not me, my girlfriend
First date. We'd been flirting by text and email for a few weeks before and the big crunch came when we decided to meet. We met at a quaint and rustic little pub halfway between our respective towns on a cold October evening with a big log fire going.
My GF was sat on a similarly rustic chair that, when she shifted her weight somehow half collapsed resulting in my her nicely sizeable arse falling through the top of the frame.
So there I am, first date, quite nervous with this weird girl stuck in a chair with her legs in the air, half laughing, half crying. I did help her eventually, after I'd stopped laughing.
She dies of embarassment whenever this anecdote is brought up as she's generally a very composed professional person, but I personally think it really broke the ice on a first date. We've been together for three years.
(Ghostlight, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:10, Reply)

Delayed Action Embarrassment Gland
First of all I would like to say that there is nothing like a good cringe is there? I have vicariously cringed in sympathy quite a few times reading these excellent stories.

Unfortunately I am well used to recoiling, wincing, flinching, squirming, and cringing as I have a delayed action embarrassment gland. It’s an actual medical phenomenon. Coupled with my ‘foot in mouth’ syndrome, the results are hideous. Throughout my life I must be responsible for hundreds of ‘hilarious’ stories that have been retold without me being present at my expense, to which I am probably aware of only a small percentage. This being so, I still have a ‘cringe factor’ rating that I regularly apply to my daily situations. In no particular order.

- there was the obligatory ‘caught conducting onanism’ incidents which happened multiple times. The really embarrassing thing was lobbing a used tissue away to the other side of my room, forgetting about it, and then remembering the next day only to be unable to find it. So remembering my responsibility as an author of baby gravy, I excruciatingly asked my mother if she had cleaned up my room, and after throwing away the tissue did she wash her hands because there might be a risk she could get pregnant. The horrifying pause that ensured makes sure that my toes curl at least on a nightly occasion. Cringe factor 10.

- At the end of a house party when people were leaving to go to clubs, I tried my hand at chatting up a girl who had her coat on over her shoulders with the coat arms dangling. I made an uproariously funny joke that her mother must have taken thalidomide when she was pregnant. Mistaking her shocked silence with ignorance, I then went on to raucously explain my joke, unaware until later that her younger brother was profoundly deaf in one ear, and was missing his right arm due to…you guessed it. Cringe factor 11.

- I was away at a conference at a fancy golf club, and got roaringly drunk on the oodles of free booze because I was bored and didn’t really know anyone. During dinner, I vomited ‘secretly’ into my napkin and left it on an empty chair. Then Lenny Henry came on as the ‘entertainment’, and started heckling the audience because there weren’t any black people in the crowd. I started shouting back saying that everyone was racist in the room except myself. Then someone coming over to talk to me (to tell me to shut the fuck up) made to sit down on the vomit napkin chair, picked up the vomit napkin, realised what it was, and asked if it was mine. I said no and said it was the girl next to me in a loud exaggerated drunken whisper. She said that it was mine and she had seen me being sick. Fuck. Incidentally all of the above is extrapolation and based on what people told me in the weeks that followed from the initial vomiting in the napkin part. Also I think Lenny Henry got the wrong end of the stick as his agent sent me an email banning me from any future performances of his. Cringe factor 88.

- Going on a works do where I ate loads of raw fish and shit loads of saké at a Japanese restaurant and loudly explaining that I thought my boss was ‘fucking brilliant’ and then starting to cry because I was so happy. Then I bowked rich white raw marinated fish all over the table. I was told what happened by my boss as I didn’t remember beyond sitting down at the table. Cringe factor 7.

- Falling asleep on my girlfriends couch whilst her whole family watched some inane ITV thing. My girlfriend woke me up because I was stretching my erection against my jeans pointing towards the TV with her family looking on. Cringe factor 9.

I am sure I have some more stories stashed away so I will return.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 10:07, 5 replies)

Tenuous
Cringe? Nothing makes me cringe more than Something About Mary.

It makes me cringe, because it's FUCKING AWFUL!

And the thing that makes it worse, is that I seem to be the only one who notices how bad it is!
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 9:56, 8 replies)

I live in a Large Southern City
but sometimes go back to my Large Northern City place of birth. When I do, sometimes a couple of really good friends meet me at the airport or train station, and they are usually carrying large amounts of 3P (powders, pills and puff).

One Saturday lunchtime, I was in a cellar bar in said Northern City, pushing powder up my nose and swallowing pills, and settling in for a real good afternoon.

Later on, we moved on to another bar, where I saw my old boss who I'd not seen for 10 years or so, having a drink with some buddies. Now for some reason unknown, I thought it would be a great time to go and catch up. I thought I was holding myself together as we chatted (although my mate said my eyes kept rolling into the back of my head).

Then to finish it off, I inquired about the health of a friend. My old boss told me that she was dead. I said I was sorry to hear that, when he said.. "you went to her funeral".

At that, I made my excuses and left.

I think back to that day and my toes curl in my shoes, and I feel tense in the pit of my stomach. Why oh why did I have to go and say anything, when I could quite easily sneeked out and got mashed with good company?
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 9:55, Reply)

You lot couldn't even begin
to comprehend the extent of the true definition of the word cringe.

A true cringe feels like your skin is being electrified, Coco the Clown is juggling with your insides, your head feels hot, and almost as if it's going to explode because of the sudden rush of blood to your face, it's a confusing mix of impotent anger and sheer embarrassment.

To truly realise the full meaning, you would need your Mum to throw you a 17th Birthday party, at her friend's house. With none of your friends invited.
You would then need to imagine the same mother getting very drunk on cocktails, putting her Abba Gold CD on the stereo, and dancing around the living room.
You'd then have to imagine that you were sat, totally bemused in an armchair, while the aforementioned drunken, dancing, mid-life crisis suffering, mother, points directly at you, with her best friend copying her every move, as they both slur the words...
'See that girl, young and sweet, only seventeen, diggit the dancing queen'
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 9:51, 2 replies)

Coming out to my dad
A few years a go, I met a guy I really liked, and as such we formed a relationship...problem was i was still living at home with my dad at the time, and he didn't know i was gay....so I thought the best way to 'come out' to him, was by simply allowing my new boyfriend to stay at our house in my room...and hope that i could just say to him...hey did this is my BF...oh by the way I am gay and carry on as if nothing had happend.

Well it didn't quite go like that...My BF stayed with me, and ended up staying for just over 2 weeks before my dad came up to me and said...son we need to have a talk......

I felt soooooo uncomfortable, and in the end had to just sit him down and blurt it out...'Dad....I am gay and **** is my boyfriend......he was very shocked as I don't come accross as a big flamboyant camp queen, and more of a 'normal' bloke....He offered to take me to a doctors to 'get you fixed'

I blamed the shock for that outburst!

I am still unaware of any doctor that can 'fix' a gay mans gayness..not that i would want to be fixed...I rather like being gay.

p.s hello to all b3tans as I am a first time poster....please be gentle with me!
(iwantmybed Is counting down the hours till home time on, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 9:44, 6 replies)