Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?

Are we there yet?

Are we there yet?

Are we there yet?
(SpangoTheWonderBadger is brewing beer, Thu 3 Mar 2011, 14:34, 2 replies)

I went
on holiday with my mates folks when I was a teenager. We came home late to find his dad on the balcony having drunk most of a bottle of whisky. As me and my mate chatted, he disappeared in the kitchen and came out with a saucepan. I wondered what the fuck he was doing, when he put his hand into the saucepan which was full of cold mashed potato, scooped a handful and threw it at some guy in the street. Then dived on the floor, pissing himself.
( DumbMonkey The penis mightier than the sword, Thu 3 Mar 2011, 14:22, Reply)

The Official Poll
This weeks QOTW





( buffet_the_appetite_slayer ٩(●̮̃•)۶ jacked in to the ICE on, Thu 3 Mar 2011, 14:10, 6 replies)

Come on B3ta!
We need another subject to write about and upset /talk!
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 3 Mar 2011, 13:39, 76 replies)

Clubland...

In the 60's, 70's and most of the 80's, the Working Mans Club was King in the North of England. Almost all males over the age of 18 were a member of a club, and, through affiliation, were allowed access to to any other affiliated clubs in England. In the case of my club, The Buffs, it was many clubs world-wide.

Aside: The Buffs or R.A.O.B to give it it's formal title, stands for Royal Antediluvian Order of Buffaloes. I shit you not.

Now being a club member gave you a few benefits. Really, really, cheap beer. The occasional act you wanted to see for pennies - Jasper Carrot, Little and Large, Jim Bowen, Tommy Cooper et al - they all made their living and perfected their acts playing "The Clubs" before they were famous. It's difficult to over-emphasise how important Working Man's Clubs were, in the North of England in those days.

Anyways. Dad was a clubman through-and-through. He was also a useless, drunken, arsehole but that's only slightly relevant to the story.But what is important is that he was a committee-man. He was ON THE FUCKING COMMITTEE. That meant that, for official committee meetings, he got free beer. And the power to ban members, refuse to book certain acts, sort out club rules, negotiate deals with the Federation Brewery (that was the Brewery completely owned, jointly, by the CAIU. ( look it up you idle bastards...) In short, a committee-man held considerable power and influence in their own little ponds.

Bear with me here - I'm getting to the point....

Obviously, given that my Dad was a committee-man, it follows that with free beer, perks from agents and breweries and pints put "behind the bar" from sycophantic members, my Dad was pissed most nights for free.

Fucking hell - setting up the back-story takes ages. And I've had to miss so much stuff out.....

So, one night, in the late 80's I dropped into The Club. Hadn't seen or talked to Dad in years so thought I'd catch up and see if he was the same homophobic, NIMBY,racist twat that I'd always remembered.

Yup. Found him sitting with a few of his cronies at the back of the men-only bar. He wasn't happy. From 1960 onwards ( the year I was born) he'd ALWAYS been a committee-man. This year he wasn't.

"What the Hell happened?" I asked

"Fucking Russell(his brother, my uncle) stood as well and split the Legless vote."

I pissed myself laughing - he got upset and couldn't give me a kicking as I was twice the size of him - and we never spoke again.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 3 Mar 2011, 12:18, 25 replies)

Last night
My mum had one glass of wine, and we persuaded her to play the drift trials on GT5.

Next time I will give her two glasses of wine, and see if I can get her to play GTA4!
(sabre-tooth monkey, Thu 3 Mar 2011, 11:34, 12 replies)

This is my
question of the week, I have been here longest Wah Wah Wah. Read the abject boring shit me and my band of merry fuck nuggets/stains/tards come up with to waste time until Jeremy Kyle comes back on. Wah Wah Wah.

------Honda Accord Away-------
(Dr Shambollocks Like Dr Shambolic but less of a waste of space+ORC, Thu 3 Mar 2011, 11:20, 50 replies)

cowboy dad and the a r u
i am posting this fr my son cos he is to young to be here and he would post it him self if he had a chance.

My dad used to do western and civil war re-enactments and usually did a couple of dozen every year, and also went to a western club every friday night.
once at a civil war re-enactment on the Saturday he and many of his friends had a damned good skin full, and took the field of battle in a very very drunken state. After struggling for a few minuets to reload his musket he gave up a played dead for the remainder of the battle.

taking advantage of the nurses who went around the field dispensing medical alcohol to the wounded any dead.

at the end of the skirmish they all get up again and form a line in front of the crowd, then they present arms and fire a volley into the air so far all was well and there had been injury's until the call to shoulder arms was bellowed out and my dad being hopeless with co-ordination when sober caught his thumb in the trigger guard as he shoulder his musket trapping his thumb and with a scream to be proud of promptly snapped his thumb and passed out.

at a western meeting he and his brother and a friend had a another skin full and ran out of money for the taxi back home so being drunk and armed to the teeth with six shooters and knives and looking like a hedge dweller on a bad day they had to walk back . along the way one of them drew his colt and started shooting blanks into the air and drunks being drunks the rest followed.
now this part of there journey home was through a housing estate and several people must have called the police reporting gun shots because out of now where came the armed response unit followed by several police cars and dog vans, my dad being who he is started to try to explain to these armed cops that they only fired blanks and to prove it said he would show them. next thing he is lying face down on the ground with a gun pointed at him and several black clad cops jumping on him to restrain him.
this is the best cure for sobering up some one, needles to to say he and his fellow drinkers all got arrested and charged with disturbing the piece and had there guns and knives confiscated .
this all happened in the mid 80's and i dread to think what the out come would be now.
there are several more like this that he has done but they can wait for a another question
( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Thu 3 Mar 2011, 9:52, 31 replies)

Well, I got to meet Peter Cook.
But I was too young and just remember this thin pale man being in the same room as my dad in rehab. That's about the best thing that came from my dad's drinking. Meh.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Thu 3 Mar 2011, 9:45, 8 replies)

Drunk Dad
Only really seem my dad drunk once...(warning this story is funny...but only funny for me...or people that know my dad...you may appreciate it tho)

My parents are the kind of people who like to host parties (dinner and drinks) and they consequently have a HUGE liquor cabinet full of booze. But the weird thing is that they are not huge drinkers. (My wife's parents drink every night, mine only once in a blue moon.)The only time they regularly drink is when they go to church.

Anyhoo, I distinctly remember I was about 14, it was a Friday evening and dad had been out having work drinks. He came home plastered. Mum had to pick him up from the station. "Your father's had some drinks" said mum very evenly. I couldn't read her. Was she upset? Angry? OK with it all? I couldn't tell.

Dad came stumbling in grinning from ear-to-ear. He was so wasted he could hardly open his eyes. You could blindfold him with dental-floss.
"My son my son" he smiled and gave me a huge hug. "Oh I love you so much. You're such a good boy". As he was hugging me i looked over his shoulder to mum who was staring back extremely poker-faced.

Dad let go of me...walked to the bathroom muttering something about "my son" and "my boy" then proceeded to throw up violently. It honestly sounded like he was emptying a bucket down the toilet. It was loud and seemed to go on for ages. After what seemed like an eternity he finally stopped. The 2 seconds of silence was interrupted by him letting out a very loud fart. "Woops" he said. Then all I could hear was him giggling, obviously laughing at his own fart. Now my dad has one of those infectious laughs and I could tell that he was crying with laughter as he tends to sound a little like precious pup. He was laughing and laughing. That brought a smile to mums face who rolled her eyes and walked away.

Then he emptyed another bucketload down the bog before flushing stumbling out grinning. "Don't go in there" he said. "There's two smells going on" he laughed. I was laughing too by now. He gave me another hug and went to bed. He never spoke of it again. My parents never raised it in conversation. Looking back the whole thing was quite surreal. Apologies for lack of funnies, but this is just something that really stands out for me in my life :) weird huh
(Markygee Surname: "Balls". First name: "Lick-mah", Thu 3 Mar 2011, 0:15, 4 replies)

My Father pt.2
My father quit drinking when I was 4 years old, and started going to AA - he actually took me along for the anniversary meetings sometimes to hear the stories of people who'd made their first month, their five years, or to whichever milestone they'd made it to. He led the meetings and would share stories of his own as well which helped people feel more comfortable coming up and talking themselves.

I grew up hearing - often with brutal honesty - the stories of people who had hit bottom and pulled them selves back up, with the help of family, AA, and for some - "their higher power" (whatever that meant to them) - but always the first step was acknowledging - emotionally and completely - that yes, they really did have a problem. That they needed help.

It was educational in ways I'm not sure I can explain, as it's so inherently part of me now that it's hard to put into words, but when I see people today who cannot face their problems, who cannot - for fear, or pride, or sheer stubbornness - cannot admit they're wrong and they need help - I sometimes wish more people were raised in AA meetings, and were able to see how much of a good thing it is to admit there is something wrong that needs to be fixed, and to take responsibility for it and move forward - what true greatness was achieved by so many who were at such low points not so long ago...

I'm really glad I got the chance, both for myself - and for the time it gave me with my father - who is an amazing man and who (eventually - after 40 years of pain and avoidance) opened his heart and let himself care, despite what his abusive father and shit upbringing had taught him, despite what the whole world had taught him - and that having to drink was out of his control, to admit that This Was Not Right and that he had to change, he had to get better, that he had a problem.

He never hid from me who he had been, and he never pretended to be perfect, I don't think he even really thought he was that great a person after he stopped drinking and got his act together - but he is a great man and I'm truly grateful to have him as my father.

I've written a funny story in another post about him leaping off a cliff when drunk - and there are plenty more stories like that I've learned over the years - another (so this post isn't completely maudlin =)) was when my dad was pulled over for driving drunk and in an effort to impress the cop and hide his drunkenness, my father decided to get his wallet out and have his license and registration all ready to go like a good citizen...

Leaning against the door so he could get his buttock up off the seat and get the wallet out of his back pocket - he left a definite impression on the officer - who opened the door on him and watched my father fall out of the car and onto the street entirely before even getting to say "Hello, Ossifer".

But as my father says "That cop didn't do me any favors. He helped me up, gave me a warning - and sent me home - and I was able to pretend for a little longer that everything alright and under control."

To my father, a man who'd prefer to have been busted for DUI rather than not - if it only meant he could have figured out he had a problem that much sooner.

He's a good man, and he taught me so much, I couldn't be prouder of who he is today.
( Allisade would love to hear from you, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 23:24, 7 replies)

My father
Riding his motorcycle back to base at 2am my father was the epitome of cool - at least in his own mind. He had his leather jacket, his kick-ass shades (which he wore at night cause he was soo cool the sun shone on him 24 hours a day), a good buzz still going and he loved his motorcycle.

He was at the end of a weekend pass and had had a great time, drank his ass off, got laid, couldn't be happier - but he needed to be back in time for 6am roll call and so when the bars closed, back to base he went.

One problem - all the beer was doing what beer does and he had to take a leak something awful. (Q: Why do beer and apple juice go through you so quickly? A: cause they don't have to stop to change color along the way! ba dum dum tsh)

So he's looking around for a place to stop and he sees a fast food joint on the side of the road, he pulls in, swaggers up like the cool dude he is and bangs on the door - but it's after two in the morning and, as you would expect, they're closed. He bangs some more with the drunken righteousness of a man with a full bladder but eventually even he figures out it's not going to open up and give him access to the porcelain depository he so richly deserves.

Now he really has to go - looking around the parking lot he sees a short wall surrounds it, and behind that - some bushes. He runs over looking probably a lot less cool than his original swagger and does a hand plant leap over the wall planning on watering their bushes for them and moving on.

Except Drunk + Sun glasses + 2am means you can't really see shit, and what he had thought were bushes behind the wall, were actually the tops of trees. The little wall was to prevent people from falling over the small cliff at the edge of the lot.

Depending on when you hear the story, the fall was anywhere from 30 to 70 feet - and he remembers hitting every single branch of the god damn trees on the way down (which probably, combined with the drunken looseness of the truly inebriated, saved his life) he doesn't remember landing so distinctly - only waking up in the late morning, hungover, beat to shit, and at the bottom of a cliff. He also distinct remembers "and I didn't have to pee anymore."

He managed to get back up to his bike at the top of the cliff (an ordeal in itself) and back to base, but had to explain to his commanding officer why his missed roll call. Embarrassed and covered in bruises, and with a good story at least, he didn't get in too much trouble and thought that was the end of it.

Not quite - a couple weeks later he's called down to the base psychiatrist. The conversation starts with

"So, how long have you been having these suicidal feelings?"

It took him a minute to figure out what was going on - and then he had to explain to the earnest young man that he didn't jump off a cliff cause he's suicidal... he jumped off a cliff because he was drunk and stupid =)

My dad is brilliant, and for the record doesn't even drink these days, but these stories help me feel better about myself when I do something idiotic myself - may they help you as well! =)
( Allisade would love to hear from you, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 22:55, Reply)

Where's the URL to vote for next weeks QOTW?
I wanna vote for a crap one again
( buffet_the_appetite_slayer ٩(●̮̃•)۶ jacked in to the ICE on, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 21:40, 9 replies)

The saddest part about my childhood...
Is that dad would blow chunks before he went to the pub.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 20:05, 9 replies)

My dad took my brother and I to the pub
whilst I was still a student at university. After an evening of ale and chit chat, we walked home. At this point, my dear father pointed out that, as a student, I should be nicking traffic cones (he does love his stereotypes); I wasn't keen (I had one back at my uni digs, and the novelty had worn off pretty quick), so he swiped one from a nearby roadworks and plonked it on his head. He kept it on for quite a while, before confessing that he now had a number of spiders scurrying around on his head. Silly sod.

Nowdays, he just gets legless at home. Something of a turning point in a young man's life when he has to pick his wasted parent off the floor, and cart them off to bed, I feel.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 19:17, 2 replies)

drunk fireworks
On a few occasions I have been a very irresponsible father and got well and truly pished with a good friend which has resulted in us messing about with fireworks in a highly incorrect manner in front of our children. Highlights have included jamming a rocket into the ground on purpose so it explodes spectacularly right where we are, and waving spouting roman candles above our heads. I'm not sure what kind of example we set, but our kids are mostly fairly sensible
(teasus likes tea, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 18:52, Reply)

I heard about these two talking tree-like beings in Lord of the Rings
They both had a few beers.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 17:30, 1 reply)

AA
my dad once started a 12-step programme, although it was doomed to fail.
he lives in a bungalow.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 16:21, 26 replies)

My Dad
I was a young teen, not long had I been trusted to stay in the house on my own while my parents went out. And as a young teen, I did what every young teen would do when their parents went out and spent the time steadily masturbating myself into oblivion.

This night was no different, I was there on my knees in my room (those were the days, my knees wouldn't stand the pressure these days.) my masturbatory materials spread out in front of me and lost in a revery of activity. So lost that i didn't hear my drunken parents come home. Didn't hear my Dad come up the stairs. Didn't realise he had opened my bedroom door until I heard 'Hey...oh...' and the door slam shut again.

I had a restless night, dreading the embarassment I was going to face the next day. I stayed in bed as long as I could, then eventually, sometime after midday, i made my way downstairs to find my hungover Dad in the kitchen. He looked at me, I looked at him, there was an awkard pause and he spoke. 'God, i must have been drunk last night, I imagined I caught you wanking over a picture of Mary Whitehouse'.









(sorry. I know that amused no one other than me).
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 15:43, 2 replies)

My father would often consume drinks containing ethanol, a clear flammable liquid that boils at 78.4 °C
Sometimes he'd have slurred speech, euphoria, impaired balance, loss of muscle coordination (ataxia), flushed face, reddened eyes, reduced inhibition, and erratic behavior.
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 14:29, 15 replies)

One mild summers eve, a few years ago now...
My dad had set out with some of his nearest and dearest friends for a tipple or two at the local alehouse, and was expected back several hours before he eventually stumbled through the door absolutely annhialated. I had seen him drunk before, so this was nothing new in itself, but he must have been feeling particularly michievious on this occasion as he did something strange that gets funnier the more I think about it.

Almost immediately after entering the house he began sorting through all the DVDs in our possession at the time. After a few seconds he held one aloft with a proclamation of 'this is the one'. He had picked out 'V for Vendetta' and demanded we put it on and fast-forward to 'nine minutes and forty two seconds in'*. Once this had been accomplished we found ourselves at the scene where the girl returns to work the day after the Old Bailey has been blown up. After a minute or so he paused the flim, leapt up from his seat, pointed at an extra in the background and loudly informed everyone that 'he went to school with her and once fingered her in the park'.

Leaving everyone with this thought he ran upstairs to bed in glee and passed out with his clothes still on. My mothers expression can only be described as being not dissimilar to her expression at that exact moment. Breakfast the morning after was a frosty affair to say the least, but when quizzed about his exploits he revealed that his statements were in fact not true; he had never met the woman he singled out that night. In fact he had never even seen the film 'V for Vendetta'.

My dad was great.
*May not have been the exact time, but you get the idea.
(2_Killer_Mockingbirds Listened to all the same songs on, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 13:00, 4 replies)

My dad got drunk and climbed into my brother's bed by mistake
He meant to go into my sister's room. What a silly billy.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 12:43, 4 replies)

What is this life if full of care...
Between finishing my A-levels and heading off to uni, I went on what was my last family holiday. I didn't really want to, but I felt I ought to make up for the previous years holiday where I was a resentful snotty teenager who made it obvious to the world that they didn't want to be on a family holiday. Anyway, we went to Center Parcs and a most pleasant time was had by all. Mostly.

Most nights we had pleasant meals out or back in the chalet, with civilised quantities of beer or wine and early nights ready for another day of healthy walking, bike riding, squash, swimming, badminton and what have you. Apart from the night that my brother and I decided it should be a 'boys' night and we took my Dad off to play snooker while Mum stayed watching Dr Zhivago or whatever womanly film we had placated her with.

It was that night we realised what a good influence my Mum is normally. Dad was off the leash, the wallet was open and he was going to make sure he had fun. It started gently enough...coughing whenever it was someone elses shot at the table, then deliberately farting to put us off. We were laughing. The people at the next table less so. Then he was hungry, so sandwiches were purchased. Did we want ham? cheese? chicken? bacon? tuna? 'Sod it, mr waiter, bring us one of each' And a round of scotches while you are there. Then the stories started 'I played football with Jimmy Greaves...'; 'I once pushed a car all the way through the Dartford Tunnel';'More Scotch'; 'I was faster than Jesse Owen as a schoolboy'. Who knew, Dad? who knew?

Gross exaggerations aside, a good night...nay...a great night, was being had by all.

But as is always the case, good things end and the night wound down, we staggered back to where a sober and unimpressed Mother was waiting, almost but not quite in a hairnet and tapping a rolling pin in her hands. But Dad wasn't done, and out came more beers, more stories, more more beers and more more stories until...'I could still climb a tree better than you boys' he said. Which was undoubtedly true, as neither of us boys were really capable of standing upright by this point, let alone climbing anything more challenging than off the sofa. Still, I was not allowing this to go unchallenged. 'Prove it...'

And prove it he did. He could definitely climb the tree out the back of the chalet. He showed us. He also showed us he couldn't climb back down again. We had to talk him out of jumping though, and I had the bright idea of getting the picnic table out and telling him to hang down and stand on that. It was a great idea in theory I'm sure, but it didn't take into account two major things.

One, me and my brother were far too wasted to successfully erect the picnic table without so much crashing and bashing that the people in the adjoining chalet came out to see what was going on.

Two, picnic tables are not designed for the weight of a full grown adult suddenly landing on them from a tree.

I'll give him his due though, he managed to stay on his feet as the table buckled beneath him. He stayed on them all the while he flailed backwards trying to get his balance as his momentum took him across the grass, past us all and only stopping when his heels caught the step of the neighbours now open patio doors where he ended up on the floor on his back, being stared at by two distinctly unimpressed thirty something holiday makers, before getting to his feet and proudly saying 'Just showing the boys a thing or two about their old man, I'm sure you understand' as we led him away leaving a red faced mother blusterting apologies.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 12:12, 4 replies)

Only ever saw my Dad pissed once...
He came in, plonked himself down on the front room floor and sang me a song about Nelly Cartwright, who apparently couldn't fart right. This was due to a problem with her arse being airtight. A delightful tune accompanied by a chorus of brown noise from his nether regions.

My Mum on the other hand gets ratted on a regular basis and has recently taken to carrying spare knickers in her handbag as she has pissed herself at a number of family get togethers.
The shame of having your Mum barge past the queue for the loo and try to evict the current incumbent, only to return minutes later with piss all down her dress is something I have to put up with quite regularly.

None of the above has mentally scarred me, turned me in to an Alcoholic or made me want to cut myself, but I'm sure that the resident trolls and 'experts' will be along shortly to discredit my ramblings, accuse me of reposting an old story and then circle-jerk themselves into oblivion while I cry softly into my keyboard because of the bad men on the Internet.
(Bad Monkey hasn't had an abusive gaz since, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 11:35, 10 replies)

Cruelty to animals in the days before YouTube lols
We had my dad's mate's mother-in-law over one Christmas for reasons I was too young to be told, and she was absolutely ace. She drank gin from 9am, said "Good gracious!" much of the time, and sang us rude songs that my parents disapproved of.

On Christmas day we gave the dog milk as a treat, and she kept slipping gin into it.

At one point we let the dog out for a pee, he wandered over to the bush, cocked his leg, and fell into it.

Funniest thing I'd ever seen. Awesome.

The next day the dog appeared to be distinctly unimpressed with absolutely everything.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 9:49, 10 replies)

A friend of mine has an old man who’s always liked a drink.
One Christmas eve the then not so old fella returned home from the pub and decided to sneak his son’s Christmas present into his bedroom. He nearly reached the landing before he and the Raleigh Grifter lost their balance and tumbled back down the stairs in a tangle of very heavy bike frame and human flesh. The dad broke his leg and proved to his boy once and for all that Santa does not exist. The bike was undamaged.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Wed 2 Mar 2011, 9:39, 6 replies)

Pack your pee suitcase
My dad used to be great at getting p*ssed as a fart and ending up in daft situations.
Oldest story is he went out on the lash, came back, fell up the stairs, fell down the stairs.
At some point on the night, having got lost in the house and direly needing to take a piss, he somehow dragged himself and a suitcase into one of the wardrobes, proceeded to take a piss into the suitcase then lock it up, get back into bed and go back to sleep.

The next morning the suitcase was in the bath being washed out.

As an innocent child I asked
"Daddy - you're not leaving are you?"
( Razor What the fuck - a sig?, Wed 2 Mar 2011, 9:13, Reply)

Every weekend my old man would come home and blow chunks.


Why did we call our dog chunks anyway ??
(shezam slouching towards nirvana., Wed 2 Mar 2011, 1:51, 14 replies)

YMCA
When I was a kid I used to go to a Butlins rip off with my parents and other relatives. My uncle had been drinking on the beach since dinner time so by the time the kiddies disco was on in the club, he was absolutely trashed.
So much so that when the red coats put "YMCA" on hoping to fill the vacant dance floor, all they got was my drunken uncle standing on his chair singing and dancing along.
Much to the embarrassment of us kids.
That night, he sang Flying Purple People Eater all the way back to the caravan.
(FootOfTim, Tue 1 Mar 2011, 23:38, 1 reply)

ringofyre is drunk
and I'm a parent, so that must count for something.

Vote for me. Or not.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Tue 1 Mar 2011, 21:26, 5 replies)