My Best Mate
at school had said he found a stash of his bigger brother's porn, and he could bring some over to my house for a giggle (as 12-13 year old boys do), I agreed.

He did so, but left them on my bedroom floor, so in my infinite wisdom, I put them in my school bag and awaited the Monday to give them back.

On the Monday, I walked into school and spotted a mutual friend, so the following conversation ensued:

"Have you seen Beecher* yet?"
"Nah, whats up?"
"I Have some mags for him that he left at my place, I want to give them back before anyone sees them"
"Oh right, I'll let him know if I see him."
"Thanks"

Nothing happened until 4th period, Art.

I go to get some paints like a dutiful young half-geek, and upon my return, I open the door to see the teacher fuming and the "cool gang" giggling at the far table.

I set the paints down, and then head to my desk next to the cool kids.

There I see that they have taken pages of aforementioned magazines, and made a collage, with my name on the bottom.

I then spent the next 3 days going between the teacher, form teacher, head of year and the headmaster explaining the situation, each time getting closer and closer to my parents being informed (only about 3 weeks after my mum found a "special magazine" of mine), so Ickle Ethel is getting seriously worried.


After protesting my innocence, the teachers finally agreed that I was telling the truth, and got the offenders to stand at the front of class and apologise, which in fact, made it 100x worse, as the whole class found out rather than those involved.


*His nickname, don't ask.
(Ethelred is watching cheese grow, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:18, 1 reply)

Run into the ground
About ten years ago, my friend and I inherited a rather well off business.

Whilst not thriving, it was in good shape and was only in need of a tweak here and there to keep things ticking along nicely. I was doing the accounts, my friend was CEO.

Of course, there were things we needed to change. Everyone who knew us could see the deal to take it over had been planned for a long time. Everyone was happy, and everyone was expecting things to get better. Well, we told them they would, and we didn't want to break our promises.

As I dug through the accounts, I noticed we were spending rather a lot on pencils. I immediately introduced a pledge that no more that forty percent of the company's profits would be spent on pencils. Most people were quite supportive, some said they preferred pens anyway; all of them started calling me the 'iron accountant', which I kinda liked at the time.

But then we found we really didn't know how to run a whole company. Luckily we had lots of friends, who had some friends, who's friends had helped out the previous guys on some minor projects. We gladly accepted their help, though grudgingly had to buy some more pencils for them to use at work. It was good help though, these guys really knew what they were doing, and it gave us lots of time off to take our families on holiday.

These friends spotted all kinds of things which we hadn't been doing, which would otherwise make the company fold any day, or at least have it bought out, and told us they had some other friends who could come and look after some parts of the company for us. Proper experts, they were. They wouldn't be cheap, and we might need to lose some of our in-house staff, but they were damn good.

They even had an idea to have them buy their own pencils, really decent pointy ones, as long as we paid for them over lots and lots of years. This was pure genius, as it meant I could still be the 'iron accountant' only spending my magic forty percent of our profits on pencils, whilst promising our friends around sixty percent over many, many years.

We got new computers throughout the office and were told that, for a price, we could even have the offices linked together by some kind of 'office network', increasing productivity and customer response times by a million, million percent. That was five years ago. I had a memo this morning telling me they'll be linked by next year, for definite this time. Then we'll show 'em.

The trouble is, this kind of thing meant we didn't really have much money to put in to other areas of our business. If only we'd had a look around before we started out and realised that to run a business profitably, you need to be prepared to get your hands dirty. Paying other people to do our jobs meant they got rich while we tried to look busy.

So we had to put our prices up. Only for our small customers. Our big customers wouldn't stand for it. In fact, we decided to totally do away with a lot of the checks we'd normally do on our big clients, to make sure they were using our products properly. They could do what they liked, it could only make us look better, and attract more custom, surely? Our smaller customers didn't have such a good time of it, naturally; we lost a lot over the years, as they found our prices too steep and the order forms too complex. They lost interest and found it easier and safer to buy through, and rely on, our larger customers.

Not that it mattered. Our larger customers got bigger in direct proportion to the number of small customers we lost, which was brillient. Less paperwork to deal with AND more money. We couldn't lose.

What we didn't realise was that it wasn't our money we were paying our friends with. It wasn't their money our customers were paying with. It also wasn't their customers' money.

So when one of our largest customers told us one day they couldn't pay a particularly large invoice, we took the usual steps, giving them notice, adding on interest, taking them out to dinner, wine, cigars to make them feel still wanted, even giving them a little handjob in the back of the taxi on the way home.

Then they told us how much debt they were in, how many of our products they were looking after. We had to offer some hefty rebates to avoid looking like we didn't know what we were doing. And bad we would look, as it turned out they had been selling on our products without the instruction manuals. Their salesmen weren't properly trained, like the smaller companies' staff were, and we hadn't been round for a cup of tea to find out how they were doing for ages.

Then we almost lost some other clients. That got really scary for a moment, and we had to take a good look at what we'd been doing, and work out how to get out of this hole.

I tell you, it's a lot harder to deal with losing one massive client than it is ten small ones. And now I'm CEO, I feel quite responsible. My friend's become a director of a local golf club and he doesn't much care for this company any more.

Whenever I ask my friends what to do - and I have no shortage now, though we're really starting to run low on pencils - they give good advice, but it still comes at a cost. I can't tell if its good advice any more, I just use it out of habit, I suppose.

And the friends I've put in charge of the company health insurance need new pencils too, to keep track of the scheme itself. Not that there's any money in the scheme, per se, but one day there will be. So I'm told, and all our employees will be rich.

Hopefully the price cuts we made yesterday will kick in soon, as a lot of our products are going mouldy on the shelves now. We just found out that the clients who ran out of money had to let go all their staff, which comprised almost a quarter of this company's customers, and our other customers are being a bit more thrifty now.

Who would have thought diversity was important or that my rather expensive friends' advice wasn't worth the pencils they wrote it with?

Boy, do I feel silly now.

Length? About seven years too long.
(MrOli is ugly, but in the morning you will be sober, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:17, 2 replies)

Milton Keynes Bowl - Metallica
Halfy, there must be something about this band/venue combo that jinxes those of us prone to bouts of stupidity...

I too saw the 'tallica there ('97?) and, as an impressionable young lad at the time, decided to dye my hair a dark purple. My light brown locks didn't take well to it and it turned bright, fucking, Barbie pink.

I managed to get sunburnt that day too. This coupled with the fact that I was halfway through growing my hair and was at the 'shoulder-length bob' stage, meant that all the bigger boys took great pleasure in pointing out that with my throbbing red body and giant pink hair-helmet, I really, REALLY resembled a massive penis.
(Colonel Santiago Introduced surprised kitty to the world., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:15, 3 replies)

Sexual Harassment
For some reason my large breasted french teacher decided that I was sexually harassing her at school. (Admittedly I had plunged a broadsword between her legs at the school play that time and leered suggestively, but that was all just harmless banter)

My parents and I were called to the school to discuss (deny) this outrageous slur on my good character, whereupon in front of every conceivable authority figure I had, Miss Frenchy delivered the quote that echoes in my mothers brain to this day:

"Wrigglesworth then feigned masturbation and proceeded to flick the imaginary semen around the classroom"
(wrigglesworth, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:13, 1 reply)

There are worse things than being caught having sex by a parent
Being caught by her spinster aunt for example

Whilst she was leading an six year old neice into the room to get changed into a party outfit.

When its your birthday shag and as such its a bit more depraved than usual.

With over a decade's hindsight events had reached such a nadir, I should have looked over my shoulder and invited the aunt to join in but I instead uttered a small cry and lurched unsteadily to one side causing us both to fall off the bed in a sweaty naked pile of limbs.

Length? Spectacular shrinkage in the spate of less than ten seconds.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:11, Reply)

I can't stop thinking of these today
A few years ago I was at a very close friends wedding.

I’ve known her since my first year at Uni.

The wedding was lovely. The reception was ace. The food was great and the wine flowed freely.

Slightly too freely to tame my tongue it would seem.

Late in the evening, I am talking to the brides Mum, who I had only met a couple of times before.

‘[bride} looked stunning today’ I say ‘you must be so proud of how she has turned out because I thought she was a minger when I first met her’

WTF?

a) That’s not even true, she’s always been lovely and b) even if it was true, what the hell possessed me to say it out loud.

To anyone.

Let alone her Mum.

And, c) if someone can tell me why I followed it up with ‘Mind you, I always thought [bride’s elder sister] was really fit’ I’d be delighted to learn.

I am surprised I ever get invited anywhere really.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:11, Reply)

Brother on phone.
Never realised that he was on the phone, to someone about a job, i burst in and shout "You utter cunt!" (in a blind rage for what he did earlier), he cringed and so did i when i found out.

Shit.
(Looneytwuns, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:09, Reply)

They call me blunt man...

Once at the pub with two friends, Dave and Luke, I mentioned that I thought Matt's (another of our friends) grandmother was a bitch. There was a reason for this as she'd blanked me in the street or something.

Luke started laughing his ass off while Dave just stared at me. Luke let the odd word out between tears of laughter roughly making out the sentence "That's Dave's nan too mate".

It had completely slipped my mind that they were cousins.

I tried saying something to get out of it but it wasn't happening.

Meanwhile, Luke is sat in the middle pissing himself.

Dave later agreed that she was in fact a bitch.



And on another occasion at the same pub I was enjoying a drink with a friend of mine, his sister and his parents.

I was completely wrecked and someone took a photo of us all then showed us on the screen on the digicam. I asked 'who's that bloke on the end?' to which his mum replied 'that's me!'.

Again I tried to change the subject but the sister was too busy howling as her sense of humour broke.

I'm not very good at changing the subject.
( Regger, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:07, Reply)

killer meal
a few years back, i ran into a friend of mine whom i hadn't seen in a while. she looked depressed, so i asked her what was wrong.
"my dad just died," she told me. "i went to visit him and found his body. he'd been dead for a day or two."
i was horrified. "i'm so, so sorry," i says, "how did it happen?"
"he choked to death on a sausage" she replied.
i couldn't help it.
i burst into gales of laughter. choked to death on a sausage? at that moment, it seemed like the funniest thing i'd ever heard.
within 2 seconds, however, i was filled with deep feelings of shame and guilt. i apologised profusely, of course.
"don't worry," she says, "everyone i've told so far has laughed."
glad i wasn't the only one.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:06, Reply)

If only the floor could have swallowed him there
Every Wednesday, myself and as many friends as we can muster play 5-a-side football at a place on the other side of Bradford. We have done for the past year or so, and despite some of us not being very good we have managed to maintain a steady dignity around the football hardened bradford scummers that frequent the place. That was until last week when I was treated to front row seats for the most cringe worthy experience of my friends life.

On the journey there that evening he was trying to describe a new PSP advert that had just been released that features a small boy playing on the console, but seeing as nobody had seen what he was talking about he was having quite a hard time of it. As people kept interupting him, it had taken until we were just walking into the bar at the side of the pitches for him to reach the climax of his story. And so it was that he, frustrated at not being listened to blurted out loudly to a bar that had just at that very moment fallen deafly silent:

"WELL I'VE HAD THAT LITTLE BOYS HANDS AROUND MY COCK!"

The place ground to a complete halt, as the regular neanderthals turned around to look who had said it. It turned out after further explanation that although the boy is playing the console in one shot, they use a hand model for the close-ups of it. The advertising company, rather than spending money on a professional hand-model had instead used one of his exgirlfriends who happens to work for the advertising company responsible.

Still...its hard to explain that to a room full of people who think you're a peadophile isn't it?
( Furness, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:05, 1 reply)

First and last time I ever have a soup starter
I had a hideously cringe worthy moment just yesterday. I met the wife for lunch at the local Thai and we decided to have 2 course. The only problem was I was a tad jumpy in case said wife realised that the staff were a little too friendly to me, and thus realised that I'd been there more than the 1 time i'd owned up to (she doesn't like me spending money on lunch!)

Anyway, I decided to order soup as a starter, sometime i've NEVER done before or will ever do again. So the soup is ordered, is tasted and is delicious but sadly the chunks of chicken are too large to manage in one bite. I endavour to "slice" the chicken chunk with the huge blunt special thai soup eating spoon and tip the entire contents all over my lap, shirt, table, floor, shoes chair, everywhere!

So i'm frantically trying to clear up, trying not to lose face and not let on to the owners that i've made the mess of a very small child! Needless to say everyone noticed, including the table of 6 work colleagues sitting directly behind me.

Spent the entire day covered in and smelling of thai hot and sour soup.

/pop first proper post, be kind?

Distinct lack of funny or one of the infuriating puns that seem to be so popular. Also, no length joke either, as frankly I don't get them!
(mr_spongmonkey, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:04, 4 replies)

the thing i am to relate here fills me with embarrassment
The young Fuckpig (and I am still quite young,though not nearly as cheerily stupid) was a boy obsessed with his own abilities.he could play chess like a grandmaster,play piano,draw,sing,write and talk for hours on a number of interesting and abstract topics.
Of course,all that went south once i became a neurotic teenager.these things do.
-wibbly lines-
The summer of two thousand-odd was glorious.i was young,carefree and pompous.having read most of the Bunny and Raffles stories over the spring,i was convinced i had it in me to be a master criminal,devilish,naughty and playful with the ladies.An Arsene Lupin in short trousers,if you will.
One night,after a little drinky-wink (alright,it was really maybe a couple of glasses of the old Pinot grigio,but i've never been one to hold my booze) I had reached a stage of comfortable self-confidence.lacking proper diversions,my mate of fifteen years suggested an amble up to the local pub to see what we could steal.
And so,hiccoughing slightly,the young Fuckpig and companion swayed up the road,discussing earnestly what we could get away with.my friend,being of the sort of indefatigably brave sort had his eye on a bottle of booze and some cigarettes.Five-finger discount.lovely.
As we entered,the drunk old shopkeeper eyed us beadily and gave us a frowning 'evenin''.right,thinks I,time for some A-grade cleverness.
in my drunken state,I was feeling boisterous and rebellious.I walked calmly up to the sweet-rack,took a pack of minstrels off the shelf,gave a cheery smile,a 'good evening!' to the shopkeeper,and wandered out.
Waking up the next day,compus mentus,if a little haggard,i reflected on my crime.I had stolen.With no wit or guile.I had quite clearly left with unpaid goods.i was going to prison for sure.He would call the police.I was doomed to a criminal record and a tarnished reputation.My mind was full of thoughts of prison,being picked on for being puny and girlish,being beaten to a pulp and all the horrid,illogical things that occur to us when we feel guilty.
This,friends,was the worst moment of my life and the most embarrassment i have ever felt.I considered my options.Running away over some stolen sweets would really be a step to far.i awaited the arrival of the police at my door with a pounding heart.
The moment never came.It hung over me for months,like a neurotic thundercloud.
This morning the police came to my door,looking for any kind of information on a suspected carjacking in our area.and i suddenly felt the horror,the embarassment and the fear all over again.
a life in crime has been ruined by my one drunken mistake.This is my embarassment.
Length?A long stretch in prison over some stolen confectionary.
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:04, Reply)

Swearing on National TV?
Fuck Yeah!

So picture the scene, its June 1993 and an 18 year old Heavy Metal Halfy is at the Milton Keynes Bowl to see Metallica, clad in his finest demin patched jacket, roooooooooooock tshirt, jeans and DMs oh yeah! however I had been drinking since before we arrived at lunchtime and im feeling happily squiffy.

There is a gig, we rock out, the only thing I can really remember is copping off with some girl from Didcot and my balls aching enormously on the walk back to the car.

Fast forward a number of years, 2002-3? and I am no longer dressed in Heavy Metal gear. With a zero haircut, heavy bags under the eyes and a stressed out pallid complexion I can now best be described as looking like an Eastern European football hooligan / heroin addict.

slouched in the lounge I spy a music programme on BBC2, oh wow it heavily features the Metallica gig i went to, this was back in the days when metal wasn't maintstream and rarely appeared on TV before midnight.

So there I am chilling out and reminiscing on the good old days when on screen a thin, spotty, greasy, lank haired little lickspittle is shambling towards a tv camera.

"Oh dear god no, thats me!" I exclaim, and start to slide down the sofa, watching the tv through my fingers as the realisation dawns on me on what happens next and memories crash into my brain

On screen this horrible pizzle of a thing lurches up to the camera, presents a twin V salute and in fluent Neanderthal shouts "murggghhhh fffffuuuuuurrrrrrrkkk offf!!" and then staggers off stage left.

I am now behind the sofa rocking backwards and forwards chanting "oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck" I reach towards my phone to turn it off and its like an explosion! I am bombarded with texts and calls on how lanky greasy spot spot younger me has just abused the nation and shamed himself into an awful stereotype.

I was red for about a month, and roundly heckled and greeted with twin V's by all of my friends for years, sigh.

so that Ladies and Gentlemen is how I can claim and shame myself to admit I have sworm on national Telly, wooo!


Im not even going to start on the appearance on Win, Lose or Draw with Big Bob Mills and Kris "Yak Yak Yak" Akabusi
(Halfy By light alone, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:02, 3 replies)

That girl's named like my name
New uni.

Student union.

Drunk.

Chatting to a girl.

‘What’s your name?’ says I.

She says the same unisex name as I have.

‘Oh cool, that’s my name too’

We chat.

I get drinks.

And an hour later, we’re getting on really well, and I say

‘I am so sorry about this, but what did you say your name was?’
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 14:00, Reply)

clubbing
Back in my hedonistic days I used to frequent the glorious sweat pit that was the Lost Weekend in Nottingham.

One particular night I'd eaten a few too many magic biscuits, and felt an overwhelming urge to sick coming along, and was wondering around trying to find the toilet. I barged past a few people milling around the corridor that led to the toilet, and tried to turn down it but I immediately ran into someone.

You know how it is when you bash into someone - you move left, they move left, you move right, they move right. Embarrasing. This went on for far too long, and I could feel the urge to puke becoming stronger, so I tried to make light of it:

"Listen mate, I'm desperate, let me past"

He smiled back at me but when I advanced, he still went the same way.

"Mate seriously..."

But he just seemed to be grinning inanely back at me. What the fuck was wrong with him? He seemed to be leering at me in a really weird way, so I tried to make smalltalk, but couldn't get any sense out of him at all.

"Oh for fucks sakes!", I muttered and ploughed right through him - except I didn't - I walked straight into my own reflection in a mirror which I'd just had a five minute conversation with, knocked my head, and fell on the floor. At which point I was sick.

Drugs are bad.
( rofl harris, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:58, 5 replies)

Charlie
A group of us agreed to meet up the next day after our university graduation party the night before. Lots of people's proud parents were around to celebrate their offsprings' success.

So we ended up with the very nice parents of one of the girls on the course. She had warned us about her Mum. She was a very good Irish woman who was not very worldly wise (she had been sitting in the Doctors reception reading a Cosmo or something and asked her then 18 year old daughter - what's an orgasm!). She was a lovely and caring lady but we were told to keep the conversation clean.

Buoyed with success and the after effects of the alcohol we proceeded to have a lovely lunch, a couple of beers and everyone took it in turn to tell a joke. A couple were a little risque but we just about managed to keep the conversation on the straight and narrow. That is until it was Charlie's turn.

Charlies hushes everyone and thrusts up his left hand in the air. "Why should women masturbate with this hand?" he asks the hushed group, parents and fellow diners. SILENCE. Broken by gasps. Then cringemaking bottom shuffling while everyone turns to look at Irish Mum and her daughter who has by now turned purple and clearly wants to run screaming from the restaurant.

Cringemaking for a good 15 seconds before hysterical laughter from everyone (including Irish Dad) except Irish Mum who still looks non the wiser.

Oh, Charlie just about got to the punchline: "because its mine".
(Gusofnavarone always makes a map of france from sarnies, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:57, Reply)

I am Napoleon!
The guy I was seeing, we'll call him P, was recently sectioned due to a bout of mania, something to do with the fact he is bi-polar (I didn't know this, long story). I didn't want to break up with him whilst he was in the bin, so went along to visit and Show I Cared with his brother and his brother's future wife. There is a smoking area in the unit, surrounded by glass so that the nurses and wotnot can keep an eye on you, which is where we were led to during the visiting hours.

P was still very manic and ranting about the Catholic Church and agents sent to destroy him, when I noticed out of the corner of my eye, his brother removing his jumper and t-shirt, before putting his jumper back on, with t-shirt over the top. I was about to enquire as to why he was giving the ward a peep show when he began screaming 'I am Napoleon, I AM NAPOLEON' at the top of his lungs.

Cringe worthy? If the doors hadn't have been locked, I would have run a fecking mile.
(missc, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:56, Reply)

Screwed
All 300-odd of us at work got called to an all-hands meeting. We piled into the canteen where the big-cheese announced we were all being laid-off. Then out from the silence blasts the saccharinely cheesy and camp Alex G remix of Screwed by Paris Hilton from *my* mobile phone.

And to ensure maximum embarrassment, my brain refused to tell me how to unlock the keypad. People sat near me got sunburn from my blushes.
(mr_spoon, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:51, Reply)

Sitting duck reminded me.
House party a long time ago. Me off my tits and as happy as a pig in shit. Dancing near the dj's decks and then deciding to have a go at scratching records for a larf!

Oooo! he wasn't happy.


Why is it that when your twatted, you never forget the stuff you really want to forget.
( girlinthehole, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:49, Reply)

One More...
My parents have been friends with a Jehovas Witness couple for many years, and as such they would pop round every sunday with Watchtower and Awake and explain Christs glory and how it could be achieved by refusing blood transfusions and forsaking wanking, etc. My mum would sopend this time nodding in a polite but non-committal manner.

As a teenager, and also an atheist who was a huge fan of wanking, these visits bugged me, so I sought solace in nipping out for a ritual known as the Sunday Joint, a few strong spliffs and a stroll round the park before home and monging in front of the Antiques Roadshow.

I returned after one particularly muddy trek with my boots caked in mud, so carefully, in that slow, confused manner a huge intake of smoke lends one, removed my well-laced chunky boots on the mat outside the door.

Fiddling witrh the laces, I didnt hear the door open before becoming startled by someone standing over me, leading to a blurt of 'JESUS FUCKING CHRIST'. Inevitably, the startler was the aforementioned Jobos.

Several things happened at the same time then. I lost all blood from my face and bolted upstairs to my room, as the Jobos decided i WAS the antichrist as previously expected, and my poor mother, after years trying to show we were moderately pious decent people, collapsed with shocked hysterical laughter into a heap behind them.

They still come round, but only after Id left home.
(trumplefahrt, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:47, 1 reply)

Bloke I used to work with...
... told us about the first time he met a former girlfriend's mother.

She walked in on the couple as they were going at it hammer and tongs.

Oh, did I mention the mother was an actress?

Best known for playing a longstanding character in a popular soap opera?

Coitus interruptus thanks to Dot Cotton.

I'd like to think she went straight into character, with an "Ooh I say!" while lighting a fag and offering up a prayer while the drums did the doo-doo doo-doo-doo Eastenders outro music...
(Capo, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:40, 1 reply)

In my WavyRavyDavy days
I was at a rave in a non nightclub venue and the decks were on one of those little wooden stage things.

A cracking night was had by all, it was packed and the last DJ played an awesome set. I was having a fine old time right at the front.

The DJ was playing the "one more tune !" tune (to the uninitiated the DJ will usually hold back an absolute belter for the DJ equivalent of an encore) it was one of those tunes that build and build to a frenzy, and it was frankly messing with my seriously drug addled brain and I had a little stumble, ......just a little stumble

into the decks


knocking them over


ending the night somewhat prematurely

I blearily looked at he DJ then the crowd, clocked their faces, and legged it

I am truly sorry I'm actually blushing typing this out
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:36, Reply)

I was in the pub (surprise surprise!)

with the other half and one of my mates 'Shorty', anyway I pop to the loo and on returning, sit down at the table and put my hand on my girlfriends leg.

Over the course of 'at least' 1 minute my hand is getting higher and higher up her leg, until she exclaimed 'look, if you're going to touch Shorty up at least do it when I'm not sat next to you'.

She was to my left and him my right and for some reason it just didn't compute quick enough.

And why the hell Shorty didn't say anything is beyond me, maybe he couldn't believe it was happening?



(Kip, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:36, Reply)

Dum, dum, dum, dumadumadum
September 1986, I’m a long way from home, working in Larrrrrrrndon, staying in the company’s halls of residence during the week. I’ve been staying here for months and haven’t really made an effort to get to know any of the other employees also resident. They spend time in the bar or are out enjoying the fleshpotty delights of the crapital, I spend quite a lot of time camped out in the teevee lounge.

It’s Eastenders, Lofty and Michelle are about to get wed and the teevee room is packed to the rafters. I have a seat, others are sitting on the floor, standing along the walls, hanging from light fittings, the works. Older folk could remember the moon landing, the next generation would get the twin towers to gape at but for us, this is the television event of the decade.

Soilers follow:

Michelle jilts Lofty.

End of spoilers.

Lofty goes back to his flat to have a bit of a cry, slumped against his door he draws breath prior to some manly sobbing. The screen is silent. The room is silent.

Except for one bloke at the back who, timing his line to perfection, shouts ‘never mind Lofty mate, have a wank!’.

Events followed thus: hundreds of traumatised ‘stenders fans all draw breath at the same time to laugh and, in just that moment, there is a sound like a thunderclap in a tin shed as my bottom laughs just a half second ahead of everyone in the room guffawing.

Everyone is howling with released tension, laughing at the joke and laughing at Fart Lad.

The room was packed, I couldn’t even exit gracefully, just had to sit there with a face so red I suspected somebody might try and post letters in my mouth. Programme finished. My shame took far longer than that to leave me. Strangely, I did not get laid that night.

Months later somebody asked if I was ‘the bloke who had farted during Eastenders?’.

Twenty two years later I can laugh about it, but only after clenching first.
(Macnabbs may contain traces of exaggeration on, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:36, 4 replies)

Walnut Dangle.
Back in the heady days of the mid-nineties, I would don a pair of gloriously tight jeans to show my sticking-it-to-the-man rock sensibilities off. At a not very rock and roll pub quiz one night, said trousers were worn and bought me luck, as we finished joint first. Called to the front for a tie-break, I ran up, oblivious to the tearing noise of denim as I did so, and in front of a crowded watching pub correctly guessed some random question and accepted the prize before realizing that my whole time as the centre of attention had been spent with a gaping tear in the crotch of my jeans, and with my rather forlorn dangly scrotum hanging out like a swollen wattle. I declined to defend my title the following week.
(trumplefahrt, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:31, Reply)

This happened today at work.
People around me were discussing what muslim women did for Id* and what their headdress was called. Burka was suggested as a name, then a colleague turns to the indian gentleman who sits next to me and says "[Name of indian gentleman]You'd know what they're called, is it a Burka".
*Don't ask.
( BindiBaji, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:29, 2 replies)

The Cinema
I used to participate in a film quiz every week.

I was sat with a few friends and kept seeing this chap out of the corner of my eye.

After a while, it was bugging me, I KNEW him from somewhere, but I just couldn't think where from.

Eventually, I got so irritated that I went over and asked him if I knew him.

Him: Don't think we've met
Me: Do you live near St. Michaels station?
Him: Nope
Me: Did you work at so and so?
Him: Nope
Me: How on earth do I know you?
Him: I am an actor, you might have seen me on TV

He goes on to list some adverts and bit-parts in soaps. But I'm not much of TV person, so it didn't mean much.
Eventually......

Him: I've been doing a play recently too, at the Unity

*Ding*

Me: That's it! I saw that play

~~Brain Disengages - Mouth continues~~

Me says: I walked out half way through, thought it was dreadful

Me thinks: WTF am I saying.....make it better

Me says: You were the best thing in it though

He says (pointing to his quiz-team): Let me introduce you to the director, the writer and the lighting engineer.

Arse-biscuits!

The sequel to this story is that everywhere I went for about three months afterwards I saw him. The gym, the bus stop, the supermarket, bloody everywhere!

He must have thought I was stalking him, which must have been really weird.

Random girl approaches you, insults your profession, your friends and then follows you around everywhere?

Dammit!
(Jugular, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:29, 3 replies)

The only time I've EVER slow danced with anyone.
It happened to be with my ex-girlfriend's dad who is about 5ft tall, (I am nearly 6ft tall), in his living room while he was sloshed and surrounded by other family members who were all laughing. Jokes on him though, as he didn't know his lovely daughter was gay and that I was her girlfriend, or that the other short-haired, jeans and shirt clad female friends attending the party were also as bent as a nine-bob note.

He was a lovely chap though.
( girlinthehole, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:24, Reply)

I've seen that guy somewhere...
Mum's are a magnet for cringable episodes it would see, god love them.

I was walking with mine through the mighty heart of Kingston Upon Thames, when I spotted a face in the crowd I know I recognised, so I pointed him out to dear mother, saying "I've seen that guy somewhere before, on the telly I think, do you recognise him?"

Minutes later I worked it out and breathed a sigh of great relief that she'd said no.

He was, of course, mega-star of the 10 minute TV-X teaser, Superdick.
(babydad, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:22, 1 reply)

Proposing a toast...
One fine evening Mr. Gloom, a couple of friends and I visit the new pan-asian buffet in town. We coo at the tasteful decor (despite looking a little like the lobby scene in The Matrix), and rub our hands with glee when we see the myriad of oriental delights laid before us. Our drinks arrive, and as it's such a lovely occasion, I propose a toast by lifting my bottle of Tsing Tao and shouting "CHINK!"...

... then immediately freezing in bug-eyed terror at the enormous faux-pas I had just committed.

We haven't been back since :\
(cherrygloom could kick your ass at Guitar Hero any day, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 13:21, 1 reply)