Ok if we're doing not me buts
my sister [blonde babe type whom I adore]

Watching Nigel Benn fight on Sky live from Newcastle [or Manchester all much the same to us Londoners] upon hearing the chimes of Big Ben proclaims to the house full gathered together to watch the fight


......"I didn't know you could hear Big Ben from that far away"

Family legend, gets pulled out every Christmas.
(bensMum I'm a tart. Why can't you cope with that?, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 13:42, 2 replies)

oh and another stupid
i went to dinner with my then boyfriend and his grandmother. quite nervous. i was a shy lass. i somehow managed to catapult a full plate of spaghetti bolagnese onto my lap and the floor.
(ladyintheradiator, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 13:00, Reply)

In... OUT
In a previous career, I was a glassblower.*

I inhaled.



^{*Some may suspect that this is actually a distortion of the truth for the sake of the lame joke that follows. What do you think?}
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 13:00, Reply)

well just how stupid can one be???
Short and too the point -
With just ten weeks left to go, I've just signed up for another six months in Afghanistan!! Ha Ha, beat you all!!!
Merry Christmas one and all.

Stille Nacht,
(The kneeling rifleman Is slowly getting there.., Sun 23 Dec 2007, 12:41, 3 replies)

picture the scene
house party in a friends bungalow. i am there, smoking the dope (this was many years ago. kiddies. don't do drugs...they aren't that cool)

anywho, i am chatting to this rather lovely girl, let's call her harriet, for that was her name, and we start getting flirty and touchy feely.

i open my eyes from a kiss, and lo and behold see me friend floating outside the window. i run over to greet him as i havent seen him in a long time.

unfortunately, i had mistaken his being outside the window, it was his reflection on the large glass french doors :|

i threw myself full force into a greeting hug, yet just jumped through a glass door, anding up having 24 stitches to my arm and chest.

still ended up shaggin the bird though :)

apologies for length, your mama didnt seem to mind
(scarydylan has lost his scare :(, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 12:27, Reply)

Fell out of a London bus (the old routemasters)
You know when the bus slows down before a traffic light, you know its not going that fast, its safe to jump off right???

WRONG, don't do it.
Especially not at Piccadilly circus.
Especially not at Christmas.
Especially not in front of a tour group.

Hit the floor running and after two steps my momentum caught up with my feet. Down goes head, up goes feet. Rolled three times before stopping in a heap with a group of tourists staring wide eyed at me.

My head and knees hurt for a day or so after but my cheeks still blaze at the thought.

WAIT FOR THE BUS TO STOP BEFORE GETTING OFF!!
They should put a sign up or something.
(astrosinmyeyes is hoping Manson is released before, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 12:01, 2 replies)

If I ever write a book, passing on all the knowledge I've learnt from life -
and believe me, it would be short - then this wise little maxim would have a whole chapter devoted to it:

NEVER FLUSH ANOTHER MANS POO

This has just happened to me - I toddled off for a well earned pit stop, opened the door to trap one, and was greeted by a fairly innocuous clump of toilet paper at the bottom of the toilet bowl. So I flush. omg. Theres a violent churn, and the toilet paper reveals its hidden bounty - enough poo to end world famine, mountains of the stuff, doing its best coco pop impression with the water...the water which is slowly rising to the top of the bowl...the water which is now overflowing. Oh noes. I do the honourable thing, what any stand up man would do.

I put the lid down. And walk away.

NEVER FLUSH ANOTHER MANS POO
(bacontrout got ska, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 11:16, 4 replies)

sticking a chisel in my head
When I was a student me and a mate went out stealing road signs one evening. I was trying to hack off the plastic tag of a "Men at work sign" when, after a slight slip, I discovered that the chisel I had been using was now stuck right between my eyes. I pulled my hand away in horror and the chisel remained where it was for a second or two before slipping out and landing in a patch of sand. Within a few more seconds my entire t-shirt was covered in blood.

Before I turned round to face my friend who had been busy with a sign on the opposite sign of the road I calmly explained the situation and told him not to panic. Then I turned round and he went nuts and called for medics to take me to the hospital.

I was very drunk and smiling and not in too much pain. I told the guys in the van that I had a bit of amnesia and couldn't remember how I sustained the injury.

I got to the hospital. There was a fairly cute girl sitting opposite me in casualty. She had a swollen foot resting in a baisn of warm water. I was trying to chat her up, asking her if she liked my scar and did it make me look rugged. She ignored me.

I got home at about 3:30 and my mate already had the sign stuck on the wall in the flat. Just gave it a bit of a tug and it came off he said.

Bastard. I must have softened it up for him.
(batteryoperatedlettuce Soon to be nine b3ta yrs old, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 7:17, 2 replies)

Throwing things off from high places
When I was in college, and thinking I could actually achieve getting a degree in chemistry (I didn't) and studying late into the night trying to learn on the eve of the final exam everything I'd been avoiding throughout the quarter while discovering all the positions of the kama sutra with my then girlfriend... what was I saying? Oh yes, I was studying frantically late into the night with a fellow miscreant, when we decided it would be wise to take a break. As it were, in the room where we studied, there sat a large office typewriter abandoned by a fellow student that we unanimously detested as being annoying and pedantic. We hit up the plan to throw this from a high place. We discarded the plan to throw it from the roof of the engineering building as having too much risk of having someone pass beneath and exactly the inopportune moment. So we decided to throw it from a bridge on campus. And so we did. And when we found that unsatisfying damage had been done to it, we fetched it and threw it down againg. And again. Three times rendered it unrecognizable as an instrument of producing correspondence, so being the conscientious students we were, we picked up as many of the big pieces as we could, threw them in the back of my friend's car, an proceeded to return to our fruitless studies. It was not to be, however, as flashing red lights alerted us to the presence of a police car wishing to attract our attention. The nice office wished to know what we had in the back seat, and when we acknowledged his desire, with some trepidation, he asked the question: "Please show me the serial number." It seems we needed to give proof that the instrument of our embarrassment was not stolen. After much poking, proding, and examination, we could not turn up any part of the unrecognizable mass of twisted metal, minute springs, wires, keys, platens, and typewriter-like parts that had anything like a serial number on it. So the nice officer led us back to the scene of our crime, and we proceeded to locate all the pieces we hadn't been able previously, for lack of the beam from the flashlight the nice officer provided for us. When we finally located a two-inch fragment of metal with a serial number on it, and the officer, thanks to the miracle of his radio, was able to determine that our hated colleague's device was not stolen, he began to point out every tiny spring we'd missed, so as not to be fined for littering. Several hours later, we returned to our studies, cursing our hated comrade all the more.
(tintinmilou, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 4:22, 3 replies)

dumb or just plain unlucky
i like to do sports to pass the time, cheerleading, trampolining and gymnastics.

you'd think that the chances of injury in one of these sports can be quite high. I can't remember ever sustaining heavy injury in any of these.

instead i've

dislocated my right should once by pole dancing, i swung round with my right hand clasping the pole above my head. My shoulder proceeded to pop out and back into the socket. It's been two years and it still feels iffie :(

Also a month ago i trod off a bus and sprained my ankle good a propper, this meant i can't be running jumping or climbing trees till i've healed :(.

years back i managed to sprain my ankle swollen to the size of an orange by simply jumping up and down on the spot and happen to accidently land on the side of my foot.


It really suck big time when i get injured from doing obscure or seemly innocent things
( schizophrenic_sheep, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 1:57, Reply)

Hot Girl cools down
I was 17, had just bought my first car (Not a sexy car, but clean, reliable, and most importantly, had a huge back seat). One of the hottest girls in school had been very friendly with me, but I was still surprised when she agreed to go out.

Took her to this retro "drive-in" that's been there since the year one. (A place where the waitress brings your order out to your car on a tray -- an anachronism even back then.)

So I'm feeling great, sitting in my own car, with Hot Girl right next to me. She's laughing at all my jokes, and is flirting madly with me. She spills a small amount of Coke on the seat, and I realize we have no napkins ("serviettes" in the UK, I think?) to blot it up with. No problem, say I, I'll get some from the counter.

So I open the car door very carefully, due to the food tray hanging off the driver's side door. I trot up to the counter, grab a handful of napkins, and get back into the car.

And slam the car door.

Two giant cups of Coke flew across the car, drenching Hot Girl (and me) in cold Coke and crushed ice. That, combined with the cool Wisconsin air, quickly evaporated any passion she may have felt that evening.

The drive back to her house was very quiet.
(unmutual, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 1:06, 6 replies)

What's the stupidest thing you've ever done to yourself?
I am spending ten days with my family this Christmas.

Please send help. Or valium.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 0:56, 2 replies)

SCHOOL THICKO
Once when my youngest was still in junior school, i was walking down the playground after visiting the school for some mundane reason . As i approached the gate and ambled towards the direction of the car with which my hubby was waiting in i noticed a huge white painted sign on the playground floor just before the gates.
MOTS
The upper right of the letter T was missing but i stood for a while looking at the white painted sign musing that the school must have upped their campaign to add to school funds by servicing cars.
Then my musing wondered to whether they were invloving the children into the scheme as a motorworkshop lesson.
Then my confusion magnified when it dawned on me that the school was being very irresponsible by offering to MOT parents cars in an enviroment where lots of small children were in harms way, after all with MOTs come big scary tools that can injure a small child not to mention the cars coming in and out of school during the day.
So as i stood there mulling it all over i decided that after all, this was not such an ingenious plan to swell the school coffers but more a very silly and ill thought out plan and it was my duty to complain to the school about its irresponsibility towards its young charges placing them in such danger just for a bit more money to buy sports equipment, i mean whats wrong with saving Tesco stamps!?
So i walked out of the school playground to tell my hubby the shocking discovery.
As i approached our car i took one more look back at the white painted sign with the slightly deformed T in MOTS.
Seeing upside down to my previous viewpoint.
Then it hit me.
The school wasnt doing MOTS i was looking at it upside down it simply said,- SLOW, and i was very!
(cornish_breeze I havnt failed! I found 1000 ways that didnt work!, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 0:49, 2 replies)

This still affects me on a roughly two-yearly basis.
When I was nine or ten I was just big enough to ride my mum's bike, except it was a big ungainly thing and the handlebars were a bit wider than a teeny nine-year-old girl can handle.

This is how I came to smack into the pavement and relieve myself of a corner of one of my front teeth, that has cost me (well, since I was 18) pounds of dental surgery to replace the fillings when they fall off (most recently on a baguette when I was having a sophisticated lunch with a friend in a posh cafe on my campus). I live in fear of the damn thing deciding to dislodge itself (second only to having to wear my hated glasses) as it makes me look like a hobo.
( Maladicta, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 23:56, Reply)

When I had just passed my driving test
I had driven from school to a chip shop about a mile away. Got back in the car with my chips and started eating them. I then finished and whilst waiting for my friends to finish, I was messing around with the little plastic fork you get. It was just small enough to fit inside the ignition and just small enough to be unable to take it back out again.

I had to walk back the mile or so to school (my friends got a lift of another friend, who didn't offer me one because I was so stupid) and then spend a few hours in the D+T department trying to covertly borrow as many pliers as I could.

Pockets bulging, I walked back the mile or so to my car and set about trying every single set of pliers. None of them could pull the fork out and one of them even pushed it futher in. Frustrated, I walked back the mile or so to school.

Upon entering, I noticed a discarded pair of old scissors that were dirty and broken. They were much thinner than the pliers and looked as though the blades would fit into the ignition slot. I would have ran back up to my car, but from all the walking I couldn't be bothered, so I walked back the mile or so and tried the scissors. They freed the fork succesfully. I then drove the mile or so back to school.
(Cuthbert Annihilator, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 23:38, 1 reply)

The Ring of Pain
This story is in two parts, separated by some 30 or so years....and one generation.


Part One
I was about seven years old and then (as now) I
was rather fond of dressing up.
Picture the scene....

Small Chickenlady dressed in her mother's 1960s and 70s finery - beautiful little Jackie O dresses and fabulous stiletto winklepicker shoes.

All of these stunning outfits had to be set off by just the right costume jewellery.

My favourite items were the necklace, bracelet, ring and earring sets that could be bought for about 25p from Woolworths - the cheaper and gaudier the better (to be honest, I've not changed, I simply get my accessories from Primark now and not Woolies).

On this particular occasion I was sporting a lovely acid orange plastic set of jewels and even if I do say so myself, I looked stunning in a way that only a small child wearing oversized clothes and trashy plastic junk can.

I was very happy with my outfit that day and went off to bed a satisfied Chickenlady.

Just one thing....I had overlooked removing my jewellery, namely the orange ring.


The following morning - a Monday and therefore a school day - my finger was swollen and the ring seemed stuck fast.

First of all my mother tried to use soap to slide the ring off.
No.
Butter.
No.
Cold water and then butter.
No.
Cold water and then soap.
No, no, no.

So my dad came to the rescue...he had just the thing in the shed...out he went and then returned...with a hacksaw.

I began to scream - as would any normal sane child who believes her finger is about to be amputated.

Both my parents attempt to calm me down...utterly useless.

So my mother holds me tight and my hand is held firmly while my father begins to saw. Backwards and forwards went the hacksaw (I can honestly remember every draw of the blade across my young finger) until the ring was broken and eventually my small dimpled digit set free without so much as a scratch upon it.

I was late to school that morning but entertained the class at Show and Tell time with my story of Frankensteinesque proportions - even then I was never one to understate things for the sake of a good (or indifferent) story.

Part Two

Thirtyish years later.....

Chickenlady is now the proud mother of twin boys.

Boys for whom no stone is left unthrown when their brother is in sight.

Boys for whom no torture or adventure is avoided.

Boys, in other words, who will no doubt follow in their mother's footsteps and become, one day, true B3tans (god help us).


Son #2 has a magnet set which comes with various bits of washers, coils and springs and other odds and ends of metalwork.

Can you see where this is going yet?

I have to say that I'm eternally grateful that this happened when he was about seven or eight and not five or six years later........

So, adventurous soul that he is, decides he fancies wearing a ring on his finger (see...that's why I'm glad it happened while he was under 10) for a while...overnight actually.

Around half past ten I went up to bed and as usual I checked on them to ensure they were both in bed and the wreckage in their bedroom wasn't too bad or life-threatening.
Fortunately I notice that son #2 has a swollen finger and is sporting a fetching metal ring on said finger.

Yes, like mother, like son.

So I call the ex-Mr Chickenlady (the boys' father) and we decide we can't leave the child like this overnight. I wake him up and first of all I try to remove the ring using soap.
No.
Hand cream.
No.
Cold water and soap.
No...and for god's sake woman, do you not have a memory!

Ah...yes....

Bearing in mind this was all taking place on a farm, we didn't have a shed at the bottom of the garden with a hacksaw...no...we had a tractor shed with a small pair of wire cutters - Ideal!

Son #2 is quickly kitted out with slippers and dressing gown and sleepily walked over to the yard.

We open up the huge shed doors.

We go into the workshop.

The first thing he sees on the workbench is...


A CHAINSAW

He screams and becomes hysterical.

Both ex-Mr Chickenlady and myself try hard to both calm the child and stop laughing like loons while also attempting to find the wirecutters....We finally find them and the boy is set free, but forever mentally scarred by the experience.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 23:02, 3 replies)

Trying to stop my bike, whilst simultaneously popping the back wheel stylishly skyward
I jammed my sandal clad foot into the spokes of the front wheel, aged 8 or so.

The back wheel certainly went the way I intended, alas I was somewhat unprepared for the side order of hefty foot pain, and having knackered my foot, fell off sideways onto the pavement and grazed my elbow for good measure.
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 22:15, 1 reply)

About 1/2 an hour ago
Thought I'd cook a nice tea for me & Mr BA. Potato cakes in the oven, beef & onion pasties warming nicely, so thought I'd put some nice fresh cabbage in my steamer (one of those stainless steel tower thingies) to go with it all, which I duly did - only I forgot to put any water in the steamer, just left the ring on high for ages. Cue melting the bottom of the steamer all over the cooker and the place now reeking of burnt cabbage. Now I need another steamer to cook my Xmas veggies. MUST remember to put water in the thing this time! Bah
(BlackAjah, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 21:52, Reply)

My first car...
bought with my own money whilst at college and for which I had to get up at 5am every morning and go and polish the local Boots floor to keep in petrol and insurance.

I was very proud.

Even more so when a month or so after getting it I was invited to a friend's 18th birthday party and I was getting to give a lift to a girl whose knickers I was rather hoping to get into. Failing that at least actually have a glimpse or perhaps smell of.

Euphoric at the prospect of the night ahead. My lovely friend Charlotte and said girl Jo in my 1984 orange Fiesta, I pull out of the college road.

In front of approximately 300 other students waiting at the bus stops, many of whom knew me, I ran straight up the back of another car.

I got out my car to massive cheers and clapping feeling about as clever as a burst condom. I'd love to say my pain and anguish ended there but oh no... As I started walking towards the car I'd just run into to offer my apologies, the driver gets out.

It's one of the teachers from college.

The cheers and applause start again but louder this time.

And I didn't get near that miserable cow's knickers either though on the plus side have since learnt to point my eyes in the same direction the car is travelling.
( dan j what the buggery bollocks is this?, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 21:16, Reply)

Stupid shoes nearly killed me
Wearing a Walkman (it was 1989) and very spiky shoes.
Chose a nice busy street ( Brummies - it was Stephenson Place by the Ramp where all the bus stops are) to fall legs akimbo in front of the 999 to Coventry bus and packed bus stops. Much to everyone's amusement not only had I shown my pants to the commuters, I was laughing so much I couldnt get up and my Walkman had shot under the bus.

A lovely man came and helped me up and even retrieved my broken Walkman from under the bus.

I owe that kind man big snog, though he probably won't want to claim it having seen my pants.

The bruises on my knee and thigh lasted a month. Poor me....{pouts}
(Siouxfan I'm not staring at you, I am just short sighted, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 21:03, 1 reply)

Last biology teacher loved playing pranks on us.....
........so i cupchicked him. chunder everywhere.

3 weeks suspended for that one

length ? didnt quite reach the first row
(papa bouba slap your face, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 20:56, 1 reply)

And Then
2. Joined the Army. NOW THAT WAS A FECKIN' STUPID DECISION
(Katabatic wasn't, and will never be on, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 20:17, Reply)

To begin with
1. Aged 17, drank all-but-a-mouthful of a whole bottle of vodka (only reason I didn't down the lot was because my mates, who were busy getting stoned which I wasn't interested in on principle, realised and stopped me 'cos they wanted some). This was on a night out in Huddersfield (another mistake). We then went to the Crescent and had a drink where I felt fine, then to a place with the rather unfortunate name of 'Beyond Beach Babylon'. I was totally fine for about an hour, perfectly sentient, a bit drunk but otherwise Ok.

Then I blacked out.

I only remember two other things about that night. One is me standing outside the club, half-dead, wondering how the hell I was ever gonna get home, where the hell home was. For some reason I remember this as a kind-of out-of-body experience, a sane, awake me looking at the totally smashed beyond recognition me. The other memory is of being in either a taxi or someone's car- someone (I never found out who) made it their mission to get me home- thank God they did- with someone having to hold the door open whilst the car was moving so I could throw up.

I picked up what else had happened later from other people. I'd blacked out in the club and collapsed, then woken up and been violently sick whilst being carried out by the bouncers, who proceeded to beat the crap out of me. Some good soul got me in a car and managed to decipher where I lived, got me home, knocked on the door whereby my Dad answered:

Saviour: "Are you Martin's Dad?"

(Dad looks at me slumped on the steps)

Dad: "Yeah."

They dragged me into the house and left me on the living room floor. I woke up about eight, and despite feeling like death went to college, though I had to go home after a while. I got home, slept off the hangover, then went to work pushing Trolleys round Morrisons car park in the evening. Then I went out again....

....hmmm, it's a dumb thing to do but in hindsight it's part of being a teenager. I must have done worse things since. Oh wait, I have....
(Katabatic wasn't, and will never be on, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 20:16, Reply)

Bus Shelter
Coming back from a party, i was at a bus stop (waiting for a bus as ya do) and there were two metal bars, one slightly raised and one lower for you to sit on. I stood on them and was walking back and forth, eventually the inevitable happened... One leg down one side and the the other through the other side. I cried for about an hour. I was of course about seven years old at the time and the party was a birthday party.

And another time, when i was about three years old, I was stung in the eye by a wasp...
Needless to say, it hurt. A lot.
(DudeSimpson I Didn't Help Save b3ta!, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 20:02, Reply)

Alcohol
and all of this is what I can remember from the last 12 weeks,

Turning up to the bar at 6 o' clock drunk out my tiny mind, stroll up to a lecturer I have on Tuesdays, brain wave. I subtly tell him I'll "See you next Tuesday" at least I thought i was being subtle, as it turns out I raised my voice to compensate for the non existent music and was literally screaming at him over and over until a bouncer escorted me out.

I occasionally go swimming in a pond when I get back from this one club.. do not question why. Upon finding it frozen over I punched the ice over and over till there was blood pouring from my hand then went for a wonder around tesco with blood dripping everywhere looking for "DONUTS OR THE BATHROOM" I eventually got lost in the electronics aisle, still bleeding everywhere.

Jumping off the top of some stairs over the railing and compacting my coccyx.

Hiding from my friends I thought I would scare them by leaping off the top of a wall right over their heads! I managed to do this but didn't land it, I have two holes in my elbows where I hit the tarmac (oh yeah it was onto a road) smacked my head on the ground and was out cold for 5 minutes.

Walking around a shopping complex mooning people I thought I knew, I didn't. nearly getting arrested for being D n D and then when the police left I screamed " we beat the mother fucking popo" turns out police do not like being called popo.

Wearing a suit made of cans for Halloween, turns out cut can edges are sharp.. I looked like I had tried to slit my wrist with a wooden chip fork, again alot of blood which I concealed remarkably well.

I'm a walking anti alcohol campaign.
But thats what university is about right?
(Actually, I hate tea is probably Drunk and Dissorderly right now, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 19:01, Reply)

Paintball
I've done many many dumb things while paintballing, among them:

Misuse of grenade - pulled out paint grenade, lit the fuse (like a massive match), burned fingers on white hot fuse, dropped grenade at feet... BANG
Result was me and two angry team mates down. Bugger.

Shot myself in the foot - was given a crappy old marker, aimed it safely at the floor, thought the safety was on. Turns out both safety catch and trigger were loose. Bugger again.

Rambo charge - tried to single-handedly charge position held by what must've been the entire enemy team. Ow.

Combined arms - tried to storm fort with my mate M, turns out it was held by the rest of OUR team. Muppet.

Holly - tried to take cover by diving into a holly bush, which is not only prickly, but also gives sod all cover. Ow

There's probably more that I've forgotten. Still think paintball's great though!

Apologies for length, I've been hit in the crotch too many times
( Panjandrum brought to you by tea and biccies, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 18:09, 2 replies)

Springs in letterboxes
About a year ago I read a story about a postman who had lost the tip of his finger in someone's letterbox because of the strong spring in it and was awarded £16,000.
A few months before that I was at the door of my mates house and I did the same but I only lost my nail so i was awarded nothing but weeks of 'Mr. Letterbox' as a nickname.
The End.
Moral of the story: Beware of letterboxes.
( waffle1 is lurking on, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 17:15, Reply)

at the age of 5
i tried running down some coffin hole stairs (they kind of circle round at the bottom) which where made of stone, and that had no bannister...wearing my grandfathers slippers. i ended up screaming with a tennis ball sized lump on my elbow and still have a lump of displaced bone there 15 years later.
( Mr Jamie, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 17:08, Reply)

offered to build my parents a pond

three days of back breaking spadework later i'd sort of gone off the idea.
(Nobody Likes Mortal Wombat, Sat 22 Dec 2007, 16:51, Reply)