Best job in the world
Only been at it 2 1/2 years mind you and loving it, got a flexible job so playing all afternoon with my daughter when other mates are stuck in an office or on a 2 hour commute home as I read her a story is what it is all about.

She'll soon grow up only want my money or picking up and refuse to talk to me the rest of the time, but until then I'm making the most of it.
(bluehamster, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 20:41, 1 reply)

My Dad, of course!
First time post and probably a lot rubbish. I've lurked on here for years now so it's about time I said something!

It's safe to say that my Father and I didnt have that much of a close relationship when I was younger. Partly due to the fact that I was a little bastard who liked to go out, get drunk, experiment with drugs and be a bit of an arse. This was kind of a shock to him because as a young child I'd been a darling! Rebel we must though.

With age I mellowed, and I now not only adore him, but am slowly turning into him. We have the same sense of humour, he even has me liking Sci Fi even though I *hated* being *forced* to watch it as a kid. He's not even phased by my being gay. In fact he asks ultimately embarrassing questions like "so, have you got yourself one of them life partners yet?"

Ive recently moved from newcastle to manchester for work and I miss not having the opportunity to visit whenever. Not that I did when I lived there.

To sum up. Visit when you can, for you'll miss them when you cant or some other words to that effect.

No funnies Im afraid but Im just dipping my toe in the water.
( GeordieJay Bummers are deaf, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 20:18, 1 reply)

Nine Lives
My Dad seems to have the knack of averting life-threatening accidents and incidents, so much so that I always joke he was probably a cat in a past life. He isn't accident prone or clumsy, but just very, very lucky. Here are a few of the ones I can recall:

-As a child he got stuck in quick sand, was rescued by his dad
-A firework exploded on his head but escaped any scarring or 3rd degree burns
-Got run over by a lorry whilst on a bicycle, not even a scratch
-Involved in a horrific car crash with a lamp post at high speed in icy weather, car was more than a write off, dad 'slightly shaken'

I actually think he may be a real life superhero...
(Assorted Jellybean, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 19:46, 1 reply)

Amsterdam
My dad died in January 2009 - had a massive heart attack while on the toilet and fell to the ground, cutting his face open on the concrete corner of a shower enclosure. So when they found him, he was face down in his own blood with his trousers round his ankles.

I wasn't there. I was in a different country but arranged to fly our for the funeral. The baggage handlers went on strike while I was in the air, however, and I got waylaid in Amsterdam for 24 hours.

I missed the funeral. Instead, I walked pointlessly around central Amsterdam in a freezing mist and stayed in an anonymous airport hotel full of other people caught halfway between.

He'd been overjoyed when he found out I was having a book published. But he missed it by six months. The second one was dedicated to him. There might still be a copy of it on his grave, faded and wrinkled now from the weather.
(Brand name, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 19:35, 3 replies)

Not my Dad.
Not even my stepdad, but as the bloke my Mum was shacked up with until she died more or less was a constant presence throughout mine and my siblings childhood, I suppose he qualifies in some respect.

He and I always got on well, same with my brother, but my sister... well, they used to fight like cat and dog at times. This could make the house a somewhat frayed residence at times; however, we managed to get along most of the time.

When my Mum died, he appeared devastated but promised to look after my brother and sister. Well, my brother really as he was only 13 and my sister was 16 and therefore didn't need so much guidance. But anyway, he promised, and I believed him; no reason not to. I'd moved out by then and was firmly set up in a job and a house some 50 miles away, but would still return back 'home' at weekends regularly. About two months after the funeral I got a 'phone call from my sister. John (for 'twas his name) had been taken into hospital on account of him being found in his car down on the Dock Road, with a hosepipe running from the exhaust and into the car.

Nice one.

Very quickly after he was discharged, he moved out and was shacked up with a woman who, on reflection, he'd been seeing to since before our Mum died. I wanted nothing more to do with him, but as the years wore on my attitude mellowed a bit, and he was still in regular contact with my siblings; the relationship with my sister seemed to have progressed and they now appeared to get on. The ice breaker was an invitation to his 60th birthday, at which his real life long abandoned kids would be making a surprise appearance. A good night was had, and my previous feelings of antipathy towards him faded completely.

Fast forward to this year, and his long term partner (the one he shacked up with after my Mum died), died of emphysema. Which was quite sad as she was really a nice person, although I'd only met her on a handful of occasions. I debated on whether I should go to the funeral, but in the end decided I didn't know her well enough to justify taking a day off work, and decided to ring him, offer my condolences and apologise that I couldn't be there.

He was utterly pissed and rambling, so anything I said probably didn't go in, and everything he said was about him. So after I had spoken to him, I called my sister to say I wouldn't be at the funeral, said I'd just spoken to John and couldn't get much sense out of him.

Turned out that barely 48 hours after she had died he had:
- Gone on a massive bender.
- Tried to sell all of her jewellery and furniture (the fact that she had children of her own that might actually like some of this stuff never seemed to occur to him)
- Emptied her bank account (note: hers, not a joint account) to the tune of around two grand.
- Wailed to anyone who would listen about how unfair life was and how could this happen to him twice. And so on.

What I also discovered, though, was that after my Mum had died he tried to do the same thing with her stuff; sell jewellery, try to get his name on the deeds of the house so he could sell it (not a fucking chance). Had I known this at the time I'd have been livid, but hearing it just a few months ago, well... My initial reaction after Mum had died would have probably stayed with me.

I also found out that he'd been shagging the wife of his long lost son (who is a decent chap) at any opportunity he could (which was basically anytime they visited from Reading). Oh, and he left his partner's wake within about half an hour in order to go into town and get utterly ratarsed. A few days later, he was shopped by someone for drink driving and has now lost his licence, thankfully. My brother and sister now want nothing more to do with him; he rang my sis a while back and left a message on her answer 'phone, gasping and wheezing and struggling to get his breath and basically sounding like he was having a heart attack. Which he patently wasn't; he was just angling for sympathy and besides, if you were having a heart attack you'd call 999 and not the home of someone you knew would be out at the time of your call.

John Chandler, you're a grade A, self absorbed, needy cunt. I hope that you do take up your son and daughter in law's offer to go and live with them in Reading so that your kids can maybe see that growing up without you all those years was actually no bad thing. God knows it took me long enough to see you for what you are.

My real Dad is, in turn, a lovely bloke who's been shat on by his current (estranged wife) and I can't wait for him to come to ours for Christmas as it will be the first one I've properly spent him him for years.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 25 Nov 2010, 19:14, 2 replies)

Pushing the definition slightly, but I'm quite proud of this.
I found out through my dad quite recently that my great grandfather was an inventor. Bit of a genius with a lathe, apparently. Had a reputation in certain local circles for it. When people wanted something clever done with tools, they'd call on him.

One of those people was the man in charge of Nestlé, a relatively minor company at the time. So it became that my great grandaddy was the man who designed and built the original mould for the Walnut Whip. Also, the machine that puts salt into sachets for Salt 'n' Shake crisps.

I wish I knew more about him, because I'm sure he must have invented some other awesome stuff that I don't know about.
(The Ghost of Stephen Foster, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 19:11, 3 replies)

Ahh, I've got so many.
Whenever there's Lady Gaga or Kesha blasting in this house...you know who it is. My dad. Yes. even had me make him a Lady Gaga ringtone, haha. Strange indeed.
(gingerdeadgirl, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 19:03, Reply)

My dads dad
Ok, slightly cheating.

He was a legend. Grew up in Yorkshire where it was either the mines or the army. He joined the latter at 16. Was one of the last off the beach at Dunkirk and first on at D-Day. It was ways fists first then talking later, but when I was born all that changed.

He was the most generous, giving person I knew. I used to love hearing his stories as a child. He had so many. One of my favourites was about his youth. As I said he grew up in a mining town. Every friday his old man would gather the three brothers and march them to the end of the street. They would then fight it out with other kids. If victorious, the old man would have his beer paid for.

He also threw the three of them in the canal to 'teach them to swim'....

Will post some more tales later.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 18:37, Reply)

kung fu
when my sister was 7, she joined the local judo club.
after her first lesson, she came home, excited to show off her new-found skills.
"watch this, dad!" she says, taking a stance and moving her hands about in a vaguely jackie chan-ish way.
"are you watching my hands, dad?" she asks.
"yes, i'm watching," he replies.
my sister then proceeds to plant her delicate pink patent-leather shoe very forcefully into my dad's spuds. as he writhes in agony on the floor, poleaxed by his small daughter, my sister looks at him smugly and says "should have been watching my feet."
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 18:34, 3 replies)

My dad the perv
When I was about 17 I went out with a right little minx who was up for a bit of fiddly dee whenever and where ever she could get it, this was a lovely state to be in and I may just ponder on it for a while..........

Anyway one day I had her back at my parents house, the parents were out and the opportunity was ripe so it didn't take long before it was decided that we should get down and dirty.

Everything was going smoothly, we'd kissed, fumbled, I'd worked my way down, got her knees up by her ears and started writing the alphabet with my tongue, but then just as I was getting in my stride my dad walks into my room. Fuck knows how he'd got into the house without us hearing him but it appears that he may be a ninja. So anyway I look up from my lunch and my dad looks back at me and just says, "dwarf please.." in that sort of really disappointed tone that only parents can do, but, and this is why my dad is a perv, he then he walks out of the room, shuts the door, waits about 5 seconds then comes back in looks at me, has a good look at all of her and says, "not when we're in the house". He actually came back in for a second look, the dirty perv. She was fit though so I can't really blame him
(Dwarfsmuggler Has hogtied Snow White, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 18:24, 1 reply)

My dad is not the most observant of people.
I would like to prefix this by saying that my Dad is a genuinely intelligent person, who has always tried to give us everything we need/want. However, he can be shockingly unobservant sometimes. F'rinstance, although he is properly awesome with computers and usually takes to new technology like a duck to water, today he confessed to me that the reason he'd never taken a picture on his phone is because he couldn't figure out how to make it switch from being on 'video' mode to 'camera' mode. He gave me it to look at, and RIGHT next to the 'take picture' button is a button which is clearly intended to make the camera switch functions. He's had his phone for two years.

My favourite example of this was a conversation we had a couple of weeks ago though:

Dad: Belladonna - are you drunk?!
Moi: No...
D: You're drunk! You're supposed to be working in an hour!
M: I'm not drunk Dad!
D: You are! I can tell when you're drunk!
M: Seriously Dad, I'm not drunk! Honestly, I'm not!
D: Well...... SOMETHING'S different about you...
M: I had my hair cut this afternoon?
D: Oh yeah, that'll be it... *wanders off*

Seriously - eh?
(BelladonnaAnodyne Melissa's gonna wet herself, I swear..., Thu 25 Nov 2010, 18:13, 6 replies)

Not mine, but a friends
(There are a few about mine, which may come up later...)


A little background: his wife was pregnant with their 2nd child, and the first had been premature, so the early april due date was taken with a pinch of salt. Them and my parents got along very well, and my mum was asked if she could drive them to the hospital when the baby came along.

Unfortunately, he was a well known piss artist, and would make a joke about just about anything.

So my mum gets a call at some ungodly hour in the morning, telling her to get over there as soon as possible, and goes speeding off towards their house, after gathering a few things that might be useful (because she's like that...). Tired, nervous, and breathless, she knocks on the door, only for it to be opened by my friend'd dad who puts on a cheeky grin and shouts "April Fool!", for it was indeed April 1st (though only by an hour or so).

Just as my mum is deciding whether to punch him or storm off, he quickly goes serious "no, it's really happening, and can you tell her family for me, they won't believe me..."
( Tedium Alduce me to interlow myself., Thu 25 Nov 2010, 17:56, Reply)

we can always rely on my dad
to lose his temper.
as kids, the 4 of us(2 sisters, a brother and me) were little fuckers, especially when we were forced to play together. fights were a daily occurence. i don't mean shouting fights, there are still gouges in walls and doors in my parent's house, due to us chasing each other with hammers, screwdrivers, knives, chairs, whatever we could lay our hands on.
anyway, we came up with a little trick that took advantage of dad's frankly terrifyingly unstable temper: we'd close the bedroom door almost all the way, balance something on top of it, then pretend to have a fight. when dad came roaring up the stairs to dole out parental arsekickery, he'd slam the door open, dislodging whatever we'd balanced on it, which would hit him on the head.
much hilarity and running like fuck would ensue.
our fun came to and end one day when dad's head was narrowly missed by the iron we'd placed on top of the door.
ah well, it was fun while it lasted.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 17:50, Reply)

Never let your son help out with DIY
Or you may end up locked in the attic, in the dark, when he decides he's had enough being ordered about, bolts the attic door, and unplugs the inspection lamp you're using, stranding you on a cross-beam. Hilarity will then ensue when your wife returns home to an apparently empty house with what sounds like an enraged baboon with tourettes in the loft.

Or perhaps when erecting some fencing, and you've tensioned the fence so it makes a twang noise when it's touched, and your son decides he's going to throw your hammer away, meaning you have to watch 150yds of fencing unfurl in the blink of an eye as you weigh your options up.

How I never got thrashed to within an inch of my life is beyond me.

EDIT : Dickensian revenge was exacted by making me run plumbing through the underfloor areas my dad couldn't reach. I was six.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 17:36, 1 reply)

My Dad is a sick sick man
And I love him for it. He's embarrassed me more times than I care to consider, but he's made me laugh far more times.

The best example I can give of his humour comes from my Primary School days. In year 2, we went to visit a local farm, and got to see the tractor, the animals, etc etc. While we were there, we also got to 'meet' one of the horses, who was massive to my 7 year old eyes. He was the highlight of the trip.

When we got back to school, our project for the next few days was to make a collage about horses in class, including thinking of a name for our Horse. I couldn't think of one at all, so I eventually went to the fountain of all knowledge, my aforementioned Dad.

He smiled, wrote down a name for me, and explained it, before breaking down into hysterical laughter. I didn't know what was so funny, so I just went to play with my *generic childhood toy*.

The next day, we have to do a presentation of our collages, and it comes to be my turn. I stand at the front of the class, and start off with 'My horse's name is Super G', and continue on to the end. Afterwards, the teacher asks me 'What does the G stand for?'

I responded with the line I'd been practising all night 'Glue, because that's what he's going to become!'

Ooh, the bollocking my Mum gave my Dad later that night. Now I look back and think it's hilarious, and I fully intend to pass on my knowledge in the same way when I have children.

Length? Well, it's been 15 years...
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 17:25, 2 replies)

Silly Sod
My dad, in an effort to get me out of a nice long hot bath, went outside opened the bathroom window a crack at the top and hurled in a glass of ice cold water. Unfortunatley it hit the hot light bulb which promptly exploded showering me with tiny shards of glass. It had the desired effect off getting me out of the bath, furious. Unrepentent old bugger could barely stand for laughing. I miss him though, missed him most of all at my wedding ..... then remembered what he did at my sisters wedding and realised all the awful practical jokes that might have happened, no wonder my middle sister eloped.
(3badcats, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 17:16, Reply)

I love my dad
Despite his sometimes erratic and frankly terrifying behaviour.

He had a tough upbringing, and sometimes it came out when he dealt with me and my siblings when we were younger, however he never got to a stage of ultra violence (although we have had our bust-ups).

When I was about 7 he woke me up at midnight for a spot of stargazing, telling me all about the different constellations and old stories behind them, obviously being 7 I didn't care much for the stories, but the fact that he had taken the time to impart some of his knowledge to me only struck me as a special father/son moment some few years later.

He used to play in bands as a younger man (although he used to have a stupid mustache that I take the piss out of whenever I see his old tapes) and released a few albums, even at one point headlining a festival in Belgium. My mum recently pulled out a home recording of my dad holding my up on his shoulder and both of us are headbanging to Rage Against the Machines "Killing in the Name". He's been teaching me how to play bass guitar on and off for the past 2 years, and can learn by ear almost any song you give to him.

When I lost my virginity at 14 my mother went absolutely ballistic at me because I was having under-age sex, and that was naughty, my father on the other hand, bailed me out of the house under the premise of a stern talking to. Instead, we went to his local, and he announced "My son has just become a man" a cheer went up across the bar, while the barkeep looked the other way to my first pub pint.

Now at 18, we go to the local every Friday for a few pints and a meal and have a good chat about how things are and what dirty jokes he's heard on site.

All in all, my dad is awesome.
(Maccy Divided by 0 on, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 17:15, 1 reply)

His cunning plan...
I've been dating my girlfriend since April, since we live in different towns time spent together is often just us, as such I suspect her Dad hadn't had the chance to find out all about me that he might want.

So last Friday I was up to hers for the weekend but she had plans for the Friday night already. So out of the blue I was encouraged to go to the pub with her Dad.

Having been at work all day and driven up I arrived with an empty stomach and was whisked out the door after a quick change of clothes.

What proceeded was her Dad nigh on force feeding me 4 pints of strong cider in quick succession. The questions started off nice and generic. By the 4th pint I think I was confessing to anything asked. Needless to say his mission accomplished I was dropped off at her house and he seems satisfied with his newly acquired info. I can't help but imagine I'm filed in a dossier now, perhaps in a drawer of previous boyfriends who got a similar interrogation?

I'm pleased to say though that we're still together and he's being nice to me, so who knows, perhaps I had the right answers!?
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 16:56, 3 replies)

My old man
and my godfather 'taught' me how to play in goal by tying my hands with belts to the goal posts and kicking footballs at me till my mother and godmother came back home from the shops.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 16:55, Reply)

Perfect timing
This tale begins in the cold early morning on this very day just over a quarter of a century ago. We find the subject of this yarn my father (on topic already... Check) asleep as his 8 month pregnant wife is downstairs in the kitchen, of their housing association house in the once famed 'resort' of Bognor Regis.

Awoken by a bit of a commotion he goes downstairs too find my mother getting into the swing of that giving birth alittle early but it's ok she's done it before she'll be ok should probably call an ambulance or something. That done he finds that his new son will arriving somewhat sooner than someone with medical experience.

And to make matter worse it's all happening on his birthday (my dads and mine this is the point of the story)

Does mean I never forget his birthday, thanks for not dropping me dad and happy birthday!
(epicsnail Likes working nights, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 16:53, Reply)

My Dear Old Dad
is a cunt.
( blaireau69 , the Cumbrian Travis Bickle., Thu 25 Nov 2010, 16:52, 15 replies)

Mrs Sandettie's Dad
is a good bit older than she is. He came from Brentford and in his late teens in the late 1930s went out on the lash with a few mates. Late in the evening he somehow got separated from his mates and must've drunk himself to a standstill, for he woke up in a strange bed in a strange room.
He was lying there, trying to remember what had happened when he realised there was a girl in the bed with him. He didn't even remember picking her up.
"Wahey, I got lucky" he thought to himself. She stirred and turned over. She was quite a looker too. But then, he felt something behind him. He turned and looked over his shoulder to see another girl in the bed with him.
He'd got absolutely wankered and somehow picked up two Irish lasses and had ended up in their flat in Wandsworth. How he got there he can't remember, nor remember what he'd said to them to talk them into bed with him.

Damn his memory, such advice would be worth its weight in gold.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 16:15, Reply)

My daughter has just turned 1
About 6 months ago I get a phone call at work with my missus in a right state at the local accident and emergency. Turns out some idiot had flicked a cigarette butt in the direction of our pushchair during a wind gust. The butt had gone straight into my baby's eye and the cherry had stuck on her eyelid. It was about 1mm away from her eyeball and had burned her quite badly, the phone call was short so I didn't have time to find out how badly.

If you've ever felt nauseous for worrying about something too much, imagine the most nauseous you could probably feel, knowing your child had been harmed in such an dangerous and unfair way. Plus we had to go through all the protocol in the hospital afterwards to prove we hadn't done this ourselves on purpose.

Despite Mum and Baby having visited the Doctor ten minutes before it happened, witnesses, and her panicked attempts at the local Debenhams to get some medical assistance, the social services still had to be informed. Luckily the Dr's were understanding and believed Missus Wibbles story.

All turned out ok in the end, at least as ok as it could have been, thankfully it healed up fine without any permanent damage. and no action was taken, phew. In a weird way it's good to know the authorities are that thorough when it comes to harmed children. Although it's a horrible feeling thinking someone may be pointing the finger at you.

On a related note I was an hour away, when this happened and my Dad rushed me down to the hospital no questions asked. Dads, gotta love em.
( SauronWibble I'll hold it, you lick it..., Thu 25 Nov 2010, 16:13, 5 replies)

My favourite time I spend with the bodach is when we don’t speak.
Out in the boat lifting the lobster pots, one steering the other with the hook doing the lifting. The only communication is an occasional arm movement, for all purposes we’re acting as a single entity.

I like arriving back at the house, all wellies & oil skins, out of breath from the climb up from the shore. A beer and a whisky while we clean the fish and shell the lobsters. Half a day’s activity and perhaps no more than five sentences pass between us, and two of them concerned how much whiskey to pour.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Thu 25 Nov 2010, 16:13, Reply)

In which my dad bums some furniture...
Picture the scene... It's early Christmas evening. The presents have all been opened. The Christmas dinner has been demolished. Her Maj has been toasted at 3pm with the first sherry of the day (A tradition at my folks' house - though they give nary a tinker's cuss for the royals for 364 days of the year) and it's just about that sort of time when...

Ma Jimlad: "Anyone for charades?"

We never learn. It always descends into trouble. But we're all rather merry and in fine festive fettle so myself, my brother and the 'rents settle into a game.

It's all jolly good fun. To begin with. Ma pulls off an impressive 'Gone With The Wind' with a flatulence mime. I get lucky and manage to do 'Imagine' in under 5 seconds while my brother raises a few guffaws by goose-stepping his way through 'Fawlty Towers'. So that brings it round to...

My dad loves a game of charades. Though it does tend to bring out his competitive side. This will quickly be illustrated by what happened next. I'll be as descriptive as possible, see if you can guess what he was trying to do....

Having read the card he pauses for a second in thought and looks around the room.

"Are you ready?" I ask, in my role as time-keeper for the round, "Go!"

"No! Wait!" he screeches and belts out of the room.

Cue three puzzled faces from the remainder of the family while we hear him unlock the back door, run across the patio and burst in to the garage. We can hear some commotion and the clock is still ticking.

"Is it 'The Invisible Man'?" quips my bro. Ho ho!

We hear him coming back and, even though we're all au fait with his competitive nature, none of us were quite prepared for the sheer WTF-ness of what happened next.

He *leaps* back into the room. Wearing a welder's mask and a weird sort of tea-towel scarf *thing*. He has a Christmas card in his hand. The one from Aunty Carol if memory serves.

After standing there in a "Well? Isn't it obvious?" pose for a few seconds, he points at the Christmas Card. Then resumes said pose. We all look at each other, not sure wether to laugh or have him sectioned. He gives us an exasperated look then starts jogging round the coffee table holding the Christmas Card by his side. He stops and gives us a pose that screams "oh come on! You must have got it by now!". No-one's made a single guess since he returned. I think we were all too stunned. We don't know how many words or anything, he forgot about that bit.

I look at the timer and in my stunned state barely manage to blurt out "15 seconds left, do something else quick!"

I so wish I hadn't said that.

He gives us one last infuriated, exasperated stare. Pulls me off the sofa and proceeds to dry-hump it. Hard. Still holding the Christmas card by his side and occasionally looking at it as though it was keeping him going in his furniture-bumming ways.

The buzzer goes.

He continues to give the sofa a seeing-to.

"Come on!", he shouts, now that he's allowed to. "It's obvious!"

"I don't think we're gonna get it dad..." ventures my brother, which is finally enough to stop the cushion-thrusting.

He gets up, red faced and beaten. We can all sense the frustration and anger bubbling under the surface so no-one wants to say what has to be said. He looks at us all in turn like we are dirt. We're an idiot-convention of the world's worst charade-guessers and he hates us.

It was my mum that finally cracked.

"What was it love?"

If, at this point, anyone has guessed correctly then I would suggest you are some form of superior being for if we had guessed for the rest of the day I don't think any of us would have expected him to bellow:

"I'M FUCKING BATMAN!"

There's a silence.

"BATMAN! Look!", he pulls off the tea towel. "What the hell did you think this was?"

Silence. And shrugs.

"It's a cape!"

Then came the questions... And the giggling.

"And the welders' mask?"

"It was the most bat-like mask I could find!"

"What was the little jog round the coffee table all about?"

"You must know the 'Batman Run'!!!? That's how he runs!"

"Oooooo-kaaaaaay... What the hell were you doing to the sofa?"

"THAT WAS THE BATMOBILE!"

We're in hysterics at this point and he's just getting angrier and angrier. Through tears of laughter my brother asks "Since when did Batman carry Christmas cards around with him?"

My dad picks up the card, turns it to face us and points with great conviction at the one detail that might have helped us.

"IT'S. A. FUCKING. ROBIN!"

He refused to play the next year.
(R. Jimlad twitter.com/sirmarkymark, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 16:13, 12 replies)

He looked so proud...
Quite a few years ago I was standing in the doorway of my bedroom, just next to the bathroom, first thing in the morning. My dad rushed into the bathroom from down the corridor with a pair of last night's socks in his hand. He looked around and after a moment's indecision, lifted the toilet seat and hurled the socks into its watery depths. He spun on his heel with a happy smile and started to walk out again. As he reached the doorway he paused and his face fell as he looked at me hyperventilating with laughter, and realised what he had done.

To this day (some thirteen years later) we still ask him if he's thrown his socks in the toilet lately.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 16:09, 4 replies)

I recently went to see a psychiatrist
I told him I was having these alternating recurring dreams. First I'm a teepee, then I'm a wigwam, then I'm a teepee, and then I'm a wigwam.
He told me I was two tents.
(Dad Joke, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 16:08, 2 replies)

The man the legend
My girlfriend is a professional classical musician and pretty darn top flight as well. She often does concerts either as the soloist for the orchestra or completely solo and flogs some of her CDs after the concerts, (classical music seems to be paid more in kudos than actual money).

Anyway, we had met up with my dad for the evening, (the second time they had met), and the discussion turned to what sort of merchandise, (a business my dad is involved in), she could flog to up the cash. After mini musical instruments etc dad stared into space for a bit and then suddenly announced, "I've got it! Pre wetted T-shirts!".
(Falco, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 16:03, 2 replies)

Art and craft
When I was 5, my first christmas party came around at my primary school. I don't remember it, but my dad made my party hat, probably because my mum worked at Reckitts packing Brasso and Dettol or something of an evening.
Three decades later, I find a Facebook group for my old school, and on there someone has posted a class photo from that first party. But I'm not in it. Everybody else is though. There's one little unidentified blonde kid and I show my parents and ask them if it is me, even though I'm 90% sure it isn't.
"No, that's not you" said my mum.
"That wasn't the hat I made you anyway" said my Dad. "It had snow on the top. But we didn't have any cotton wool, so I pulled apart a couple of sanitary towels and stuck it on with flour and water paste."
My eldest burst out laughing. "That's probably why you aren't in the photo, he didn't pull it apart enough and a teacher probably realised what it was"

so, cheers Dad for sending me to school for that Always Ultra Christmas experience.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 25 Nov 2010, 16:00, Reply)