The horror... the horror...
1) Was out down a club with my ex, B, and a couple of mates, including one single mate. I had foolishly/drunkenly/idiotically *delete as applicable* agreed to help him score for the night. Found him a nice girl, but as he was really shy, I'd offered to introduce her to him. Swagger up to her, standing at the bar, full of drunken ambition, and start to talk. Or at least attempted to talk.

She had the perkiest pair of norks that I have ever had the fortune of seeing. And because this was a club, the dancefloor was vibrating, and so were her pneumatic tits. Added to this was the fact that she was wearing a string top, and my brain essentially stood no chance of resisting.

"Hey, my mate thinks you look fantastic, you have really great tits..."

I started to say, only to be stopped by her slapping me and walking off. Turning around to tell my mate that I fucked up, I instead got slapped again, this time by the missus for outright flirting directly in front of her.

I got no tits for a while after that.

2) I have used quite possibly one of the worst flirting techniques/chat up lines ever. Actually, scratch that, two of the worst chat up lines. Both were to my missus, before she started going out with me (whether through pity or the fact that she had worked her way through the guys in our school group before getting to me, I have no idea.)

The first, and less horrible one was when she had a boyfriend, and I didn't know at the time. I just flat-out stated "I'm really fucking horny, can I fuck you?". She said no and proceed to launch into how she had a boyfriend and was really committed, etc. So I then ask her if I can finger her, as "that's not really cheating.". Really fucking smooth. Smoother than James Bond. I get a slap for my troubles.

The worst chat up line I have ever used was the immortal "I can't cum any more, I think I'm having trouble down there. Could you wank me off please, just to check?". Again, this was to my future girlfriend, about a month before we started dating officially. This time she was single. I didn't get a slap this time, but I did get an offer to go to the doctors to check out my tackle. I hastily decline the offer, as my goolies are still working fine and I'd rather not have a random man stick his finger up my arse and handle my tackle unless he buys me dinner first.

I am still not sure how we got together after that.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 18:30, Reply)

When I was about ten years old
I had run out of things to talk about with my girl friend. I thought "Well, what is going on in her life that I could talk about?"

Then, I came up with a subject of conversation.

"Sooooo," I started, "how're you getting on with your period?"

I learnt a lot that day. Probably more than I needed to. I also learnt never to ask that question again.
(tarbin tarbis, tarbit, tarbamus, tarbimus, tarbant, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 18:25, 2 replies)

Being a mans man
Out with my cousin and the lads for cuz's 21st feelin very much the big man having just turned 18. Anyways we end up on a "pub tour" cuz in front looking for a suitable venue for the celebrations. Cue jazz music from a back alley and a cozy but stylish pub/club.
Happy days and we pile in. A few Boozes later I decide I need to bleed the bladder and slip into the jacks. Standing there with drainin the man and I see the guy next to me blatently staring. Well!
Straight back out to the lads and fervent whispers of I reckon this place is.... ya know. So I turn round bar and see a guy in a fluffy pink top who states it is "ya know".
Cousin says fuck it we'll stay on so we do.

Now the flirt. Sexy woman least 10 years my senior wearing the traditional lezzy banner of the nineties the dungarees looking over at me no less. Que me swaggering over and asking said lady to dance. She leans close and says yes and after a few stumbling steps grabs me all grrrr like and says I'll lead. Next I'm sitting next to her and chatting bout all the freaky shit she's into and growing a grin that'd put the chesire cat at unease.She's all leaning closer then another dance and I'm feeling quite the man with this (bi-sexual!) wonder. Just as It's looking like action a fucking huge guy sits next to her and pecks her on the cheek. Well not impressed to say the least wondering who this chancer is.

She introduced him.

Bi-sexual pervy (and huge) husband. Who proceeds to sit and sandwich me between his wife and tell me all the great stuff he gets up to. Not feeling such a big man and much a child outta place cue the gay friend who traipses in and begins kissing cheeks of couple and then moves to me who panics and shouts "I'm not into that kinda thing" loud enough to be heard over the music and entire bar so hops up and legs it outta bar with mates in tow.
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Thu 18 Feb 2010, 17:26, Reply)

18 years old, full of liquid courage and eager to pull
It was a private party at a local hostelry, and I met the girl of my dreams.
Being a shy sort, I had to work my way up to asking her to dance. so I thought I'd get the DJ to play a song I had recently purchased - Joan Armatrading's 'Love and affection'. I knew all the words and could maybe even sing a little bit in her ear as we got close
I asked the DJ to play it and sat back and waited for the right moment.... and waited... and waited, as another guy came and started to chat her up.
half hour later the DJ finally played MY song and to add insult to injury Mr chat-up-my-bird took his new conquest up to dance to it.

so, I did the only possible thing in the circumstances... I got drunk
(essexfriend, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 17:18, 3 replies)

Instant regret
Ok, so last summer, I started work at the flu service phone line, my only job was to go though a questionnaire with people to see if they had swine flu, and to give them a code for medicine if they did.

Some of you may remember the media coverage saying how staff basically did nothing for 8 hours a day, due to lack of calls. This is fairly accurate as we would get less the 8 calls a shift, so did very little work. As a result we needed to fill in the time some how. Poker sets were brought in, monopoly, scrabble, and the ever popular Pictionary.

It was during a game of Pictionary that, by some miracle, I and a girl I was rather into were the only too players not on a call. I quickly decided now was the right time for a romantic gesture.

I drew an arrow on my sheet of paper and said "its a movie, two words" then I pointed the arrow at her. The answer was pretty woman, which seemed so charming and smooth, but as soon as she started guessing I began to regret it. It wasn’t charming at all, it was creepy and weird and very much the actions of a social misfit. As she began to give up, I racked my brain for any movie I could think of to take its place, but alas, no. I cringed as I admitted the film. Her face was a picture of awkwardness. "Awwwww, thanks." came the rather forced reply.

I got the last laugh though, turns out she was a compulsive liar, telling us she was a medical student despite being rather dim, that she had an identical twin who tried to overdose on coke after getting breast cancer and that she had just got a car, despite never driving.
(Mong goose, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 17:17, 1 reply)

Flirting Isn't Harmless
When I get nervous my mouth engages before my brain has a chance to catch up.

A while back I went to the dentist at the end of Kentish Town Road in North London just next to the Greek Cathedral on account of losing a filling in a freak eating-a-bacon-sandwich-whilst-drunk incident. Dentists make me nervous. I’m not skittish about going, I’m just not too keen on the INTENSE FUCKING PAIN caused by all the injections and drilling. And those little balls of cotton they pack your cheek out with make me feel nauseous and strangely violated.

So, I’m in the waiting room flicking through the Readers Digest, checking out the tits on the Aboriginal girls in this article I’d found, when my name gets called. Trembling slightly, I venture into the dentist’s office and spot the chair and the elderly dental nurse and the incredibly fit Spanish dentist with long silky black hair and a figure I’d have liked to ski down.

“Hello,” said the dentist.

“Hello,” I said, suddenly confused. I was feeling slightly aroused and petrified at the same time. I imagine this is what a male praying mantis feels like just before he shoots his insect junk, knowing he’s about to have his head chewed off (and not in a nice way).

I sit in the chair, get a whiff of fit Spanish dentist’s perfume. It might’ve been the pink stuff they get you to swill your mouth out with, but fuck it, it smelt good on her. Then she puts her arm on my shoulder and tells me to calm down with a little chuckle.

“You look rigid!” she said.

Instantly, I glance down at my cock – the little fella was sleeping, thank fuck. No tent pole toga action going on there. Getting a hard on while laying back in a dentist’s chair would just be, well, fucking weird and uncalled for.

“I just get a bit scared,” I admitted. And then fit Spanish dentist set about putting me at ease while she set up all the gear and started prodding round inside my gob with a little mirror, inadvertently rubbing her boobies on my arm. I tensed. Finally she reached for a syringe and my eyes went wide.

“You’re going to feel a little prick in your mouth,” she said.

To which I instantly shot back: “I bet you say that to all the boys... “ with a little chuckle. It went down like a pork spit roast with anthrax seasoning at a Jewish wedding served up by a couple of members of the Hitler Youth. As my dentist’s amiable smile turned sour, as if she was suddenly smelling the heady aroma given off by a skip load of used nappies smeared with cream cheese and left out in the sun for a few days to ripen, I quickly added: “shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

So, let’s run through that again:

Dentist: “You’re going to feel a little prick in your mouth.”

Me: “I bet you say that to all the boys... shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

It made absolutely no sense at all.

I’d just alluded, in one incredibly fucked up sentence that this incredibly fit Spanish dentist was actually a lady boy complete with fully functioning pocket rocket and twin furry asteroid combo, and that ‘she’ enjoyed whipping down her pants and t-bagging ‘her’ package in the mouths’ of her prostrate patients where they lay.

And even as my brain processed this information I remembered what I’d followed this up with... Namely, I’d suggested to this woman – this woman armed with a great big fucking needle and surrounded by enough torture equipment to make Genghis Khan’s japs eye weep with excitement in his grave – that I’d quite like to put my cock in her gob.

And, as the silence intensified and became almost tangible, I realised the worst part of all. I’d admitted to this gorgeous vision of perfection that I had a ‘little prick’...

Fit Spanish dentist sort of frowned down at me. She didn’t say another word.

And she didn’t even wait for the novocaine to kick in properly before she started drilling. I think we were both a little embarrassed.

I was out of there in fifteen minutes flat. Hurt like the proverbial muttha-fucker...

I go to a dentist over in Chalk Farm now. His name's Dennis. We don't discuss putting cocks-in-mouths. We're both happy with this arrangement.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 17:10, 4 replies)

I'm a terrible flirt.
Which is where being Asian comes in handy. I can just get the folks to find me a bloke. No more making an idiot of myself on the off chance a bloke would actually find me attractive. I'm 26 years old and have had one boyfriend. I'm evidently not cut out for this sort of thing.
(ToysForBigBoys would spread her legs for Nick Clegg., Thu 18 Feb 2010, 17:10, 18 replies)

Not good at flirting
OK, I'm not good at flirting. As a matter of fact, having Asperger's and the social skills of a SuBo, I'm not good at people, full stop.

So, after an evening with college mates in a particularly lively pub in Farnborough, we spilled out into the car park rather the worse for wear.

John puts his arm around my shoulder and offers me the following observation: "You utter, utter, utter twat!"

"W... what?"

"Did you not see the way that bird was flirting with you?"

Nope, I was too busy with my pint and the tenth retelling of an amusing tale on how I had nearly wiped out the SAS single-handed, armed only with a spoon.

"Come on, you oaf, surely you *must* have noticed. We did."

"How so?"

"The way she sat on your lap, skirt up to her waist, pushing her tits in your face for a start."

"Oh, THAT? I thought there weren't enough seats."

How I lost my virginity, I shall never know.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 16:57, 6 replies)

Assistance required
OK here's the deal.

After 14 years of near-constant whinging - from her, not me - I've finally managed to shake off that torn-faced old harridan of a wife.

Tomorrow night I have my first date in 17 years.

All helpful advice gratefully received. If you're good, I might let you know how I get on.

Cheers

RF.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Thu 18 Feb 2010, 16:41, 37 replies)

my first ever pea roast
Love Hearts
I had a hankering for Love Hearts while walking round Tesco, doing the weekly shop, so in the basket they went. The missus put them on the conveyor belt first, I think it was so I would eat them and keep out of her way while she bagged the shopping. I was enjoying them so much, and keeping out of the way, I thought that the young lady on the till might enjoy one, especially as the next one out was 'Smile'. She did smile, but didn't want the sweetie, so I ate it and found that the next one was 'You're Lovely', she didn't want that either. We finished packing and I paid, leaving checkout lady with a lovely big grin on her face, chuckling to herself and me and the missus giggling like teenagers. I like to think that this 40yr old brightened her day a little bit. Growing old is inevitable, growing up is optional.
(lardyboy Next stop, Fissplap Central, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 16:39, 1 reply)

It's funny but

I've been flirted with by gay guys more often than you'd expect. Well, more than I'd expect anyway. Even when I've been with Mrs G, waiters have been very attentive, much to Mrs G's amusement. Don't think she'd be quite so amused if it was waitresses, but then, that doesn't seem to happen.

The oddest one was when I just having a quiet drink after work in a pub in York. I was on my own sitting at the bar, just enjoying a well-earned beer. After a few minutes, the bloke sitting a couple of stools down started up a conversation with me.

"You know, there are only two racecourses in Britain without the letter 'E' in their name. I bet you can't name them." I'm fairly sure that's what he said.

"Well Ascot's one of them," I said, having been there fairly recently for a craft show, "and then there's York of course."

He seemed a bit put out, "Well, yeah."

"What about Ayr? and Plumpton?" I added, "they haven't got 'E's either."

Hah. That'll teach him to try to chat me up. Anyway, he had a funny cap on and he was a bit old for me.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 16:34, 6 replies)

Ooooh fuck.
In an earlier post, I said that I was to flirting as earthquakes are to Haitian architecture. A common problem I suspect for quite a few of the more socially awkward people round here. However, this one takes the biscuit in terms of sheer idiocy and stupidity.

It was a few years ago, in the middle of summer, at a party. And as I'm apt to do at such gatherings, I was drunk. So drunk in fact, Bacchus himself would probably look at me and say "Steady on a bit!". I was drinking you see, to try and boost my confidence. Because there was a Girl. A very nice looking girl, who for some reason had caught my attention. I'm guessing it was because she had a pair of tits. I wasn't too choosy back then. And conversation was flowing, freely, like the booze. Whilst I wasn't exactly in like Flynn, she hadn't run away screaming, either. And then I had to go and ruin it all. She mentioned she was at the party with her sister. It was in fact, her sister's birthday. Why on Earth I decided to ask her if she considered herself the fit one to this day confuses the hell out of me. Even more so, how I managed to avoid a pasting.

Perversely, to this day, I'm rather proud of that one.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 18 Feb 2010, 16:30, 1 reply)

So, not a funny story or anything, but about flirting:
When I was a kid most of my friends were boys. I never went through the "cooties" stage like a lot of the girls around me did, and I never really made a distinction in how I acted towards the genders. I was open, and honest, and friendly to everyone I spoke to. This went on until I was fifteen, where I was taken aside by my mum and told that people were getting the wrong idea about me- that I was flirting too much with all the boys. People were talking!

This confused the hell out of me. I don't "flirt" at all- I don't really know how- I just like to be friendly. It never occurred to me that anyone would misunderstand that. It also never occurred to me that being friendly was a bad thing. Because I was suddenly under close parental observation, I became incredibly introverted and hardly spoke to anyone. I still can't flirt, but I've now started treating people in exactly the same way I did as a child. Whether or not they "read into" what I'm saying is up to them, as I honestly don't care.

In the five years or so when I was in an embarrassed shell, I lost friendships, didn't make friends with people who I now speak to socially, and generally felt miserable.

So, about flirting: Sometimes when someone's being friendly, they really just want to be friends. Just sayin'.
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 16:30, 2 replies)

Repost of riposte
I'm not the sort of bloke who would normally approach a random lady and begin a conversation from nothing, unless far too many sherberts have been quaffed; as last Friday evening can concur.

A rather pretty lady stood, roughly five to ten feet away from where I was sitting with a friend, and some acquaintances. She had been standing on her own for a little while, looking somewhat miserable so I decided to be the valiant, charming gentlemen and approach.

In my attempt to refrain from sounding desperate and sleazy, i come out with the quite amiable "Chin up kid, might never happen." She replied with something stunted, and it was clear she was not in the mood to exchange pleasantries, let alone fluids of any nature.
I resigned myself to defeat and returned to my seat to shrug the incident off with a downing of my drink.

As I placed the glass back upon the table I noticed a rather pretty lady standing roughly five to ten feet away from where I was sitting. She looked somewhat disheartened so, full of dutch courage, I decided to venture over and raise her spirits. Upon arrival I chanced upon a cordial, yet witty phrase "Chin up kid, might never happen." As she gazed upon me I felt immortal; I had managed to woo her with such a simple phrase. Until she opened her mouth and I realised what I had interpreted as awe, was more along the lines of incredulousness.
"You've already tried that one" she spat.

Oh....
(TheColonel, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 16:25, 1 reply)

My finest hour
It was to be my dream moment.
Her name was Anna, and in sixth form she was without doubt the hottest of the hot. Long wavy blond hair, the most beautiful (huge) norks to die for/in.
I was a quiet nerdy type, (exacerbated by the new national health tortoiseshell specs I had recently acquired (thanks mum)) and finding myself in the lunch queue next to her was a (wet) dream come true.
Note; My specs were bifocals, and as any of you who have had to wear them will know, there is a blind spot where the two lenses meet. I tried the crappy small talk, but as per usual she feigned disinterest.
After the dinner lady slopped her wares on our trays it happened.

She dropped her knife.

Here was my moment. In a show of gallantry I could win her over. I balanced my own tray, bent down and picked up the cutlery. As I went to place it on her tray I looked in her eyes, those grateful eyes that would no doubt take me to heaven.

My sweaty shaking hand reached out as did my smile and my heart, and plunged the knife (sideways fortunately) into her ample cleavage. Her grateful smile dissipated along with any chance of me finding my breasty heaven. She went to sit at the cool table. I went into a stupor.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 16:17, 6 replies)

At a Reclaim The Streets gig in King's Cross at New Year, on my first pill
I flirted with and ended up eating face with a girl towards the middle of the morning. After a while we sat and drank tea and chatted, and her friends turned up to tell her they were leaving.

She turned to me with a look of terror and said, "Er ... I would invite you back to mine, er ... only ... I've heard sex binds two souls together, and, er ... well ... I don't know about you but I'm bound to some people I really wish I wasn't, so, er .... "

Hahahahahaha
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 16:16, 1 reply)

God, the memories.

When I was about 18 and trying to figure out what to do with my life, I spent some time travelling round Europe staying in Youth Hostels. I was supremely self-confident in some ways - none of my friends could understand how I could go off travelling all on my own with no itinerary, no company, but for me, that was the fun of it. On the other hand, I was a very late starter when it came to the ladies. You might know how it is: you get kind of pigeon-holed at school, either a cool kid or not. I'd become cool, but no-one else had noticed, least not the girls.

So there I was, hanging around the Youth Hostels, quiet and mysterious, sitting on my own, writing my diary or reading a book, occasionally being drawn into conversations. At one point, I was at the hostel at Marina di Massa on the north-western coast of Italy. It was right on the beach and peaceful after the noise and bustle of Rome. Until a school party of Germans arrived, 16-year old Germans, boys and girls. I was trying to concentrate on my book, but you know how it is; there, in my line of sight was a girl, and every time I looked up, she was looking over at me. She was lovely, neat and petite but not skinny, shiny straight shoulder length dark brown hair and sparkling blue/green eyes.

She was laughing with her friends but at least 80% of her energy was focused my way, I could feel my heartbeat quickening as she held my gaze for far longer than was necessary or usual and I could feel stirrings in the old loin department. There was no way though that I was going to speak to her. I'd dropped German after two years when I came bottom of the class and anyway, I'd have to break into her little group, and what could I say? I sighed, lit a cigarette and went back to my book.

It was only later in the evening, just before bedtime, that she came over and spoke to me.

"Hi, my name is Barbara, but my friends call me Babsi."

"Oh, hi. My name's Che."

"We're just staying here tonight. Tomorrow morning we go back on the coach. We're going to Pompeii."

"That will be nice." You can see why I was such a hit with the girls in those days - my sparkling repartee.

"You know, you have very nice eyes." she said, leaning very close to me, gazing into said eyes with her own, very nice eyes.

"Really? No-one's ever said that to me before."

"You know my nick-name: Babsi. It means 'kiss me'."

"Oh. That's a nice nick-name. Che is a Spanish diminutive interjection commonly used in Argentina. It's a form of colloquial slang used in a vocative sense as "friend", and thus loosely corresponds to expressions such as "mate", "pal", "man" or "bro"." [Not actual dialogue, but it gives you an idea of my chatting up style]

"Well, Che, I'll have to go soon. We have to go to bed as we leave early in the morning. You really do have very nice eyes."

"Thanks."

"Well, I suppose I'd better be going."

"Oh. Ok, I'm just going to stay out here a little longer."

"Ok. I might see you in the morning then." At this point, she was standing very close to me, looking up into my lovely eyes, willing me to kiss her. I failed.

The next morning, I said goodbye to her surrounded by her friends and then, when the coach pulled out, I kicked myself black and blue.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 16:01, 6 replies)

Flirting with checkout girls is one of life's great little secret pleasures. Let's face it, it's a crap job which pays crap wages and 99.9% of the punters they deal with on a daily basis are arseholes who treat them like shit. To say nothing of what the majority of supermarket "managers" must be like.

A friendly smile, a joke, and a bit of harmless banter go a long way in such situations if you ask me. Especially if she's got nice tits.
(Roger_Irrelevant he's completely hatstand, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 15:51, 8 replies)

Can any b3tans help me with this?
I need a method of flirting. It has to something I can do from more than 200 metres away.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 15:43, 8 replies)

The Boots girl
I have the pleasure of working near a Boots, and as a result of this me and a colleague often go in to take advantage of their meal deals. Over the past few months my colleague, who we shall call James (for that is his name) has been shamelessly flirting with a particular checkout girl (for anyone who works near Birstall retail park its the fit blonde one). Anyway, this had been going on for months and she would always have a little chat and a grin and blaady blah blah.

Then one day we went in and the tills had changed from being separate till queues (like you'd expect to see in most supermarkets) to those used in every other Boots in the country where you have one queue that leads to all of the tills. As a result of this James was no longer guaranteed of getting to chat to the till girl of his affections. So we queued and James ended up at the till next to hers being served by a middle aged Asian guy who neither of us had ever seen before and who we (well I) haven't seen since. As the guy served him however, the till girl looked towards James, smiled and said "Hello". "Hi" said James with a big cheesy grin on his face.

And with the utterance of that small little word, he now refuses to go back in to Boots. She wasn't speaking to him at all, but was actually calling the next person in the queue behind him...which was me...who (with arm outstretched and pointing) took great delight in loudly proclaiming to anyone in ear shot what had just happened. It was brilliant.
( Furness, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 15:38, 2 replies)

Hello Daaave?
Wanna buy some pegs Daaaave?

You're my wife now.
( JeffTheDogFucker Can you dig it?, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 15:32, Reply)

"To the woods! To the woods!"
"But I'm only 13!"

"I'm not superstitious."

"But my mother wouldn't like it!"

"Your mother's not going to get it."

"I'll tell the vicar!"

"I am the vicar."
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 15:25, Reply)

My first experience in a gay bar
18 years old, going out for a friends 18th.. I don't know why, but there was an all round consensus to take our friend to the only local gay bar as we thought it'd be the "ironic" thing to do as we were all straight.
Enter the bar, I was pleasantly surprised. I was expecting drag queens, glory holes in the toilets, Celine Dion being played continuously with a high pitched camp bar tender.
The bar had a wide selection of alcohol all at very fair prices, the music was a mixture of Indie and Soft Rock and not too loud, with a very calm relaxed atmosphere. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I went to the bar ordering two double Jack Daniels neat with ice [by this point I was really drunk and I thought this would give me a sophisticated façade]. This seemed to get the attraction of a female at the bar who seemed to show some interest. I chatted with her for only several minutes, and she lit up a cigarette and casually blew it in my general direction. I, as an ex-casual smoker, just gently wafted it away from my [already blood-shot] eyes and nose where the following conversation took place:

Lady 1: "Sorry, I didn't mean to blow it in your face"
Jon_LTD: "It's OK, I smoke a bit any way, it doesn't bother me?"
Lady 1: "So you don't mind me blowing it in your face?"
Jon_LTD: "Only if I can blow my load in your face!"

Being incredibly chuffed to bits with my razor wit, I had a smile from ear-to-ear.. Only to receive a disgusted look and a VERY hard slap. I picked up my two drinks and casually walked to my table of friends and was still thoroughly impressed with my efforts and a smile just as big as the moment the punchline was delivered. Awesome.

I still maintain that was one of the sharpest moments of my life.
(Jon_LTD Treat the world like a head!, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 15:16, 2 replies)

Blissfully ignorant
I am it seems largely oblivious when the ladies are flirting with me.... so much so that I've missed out on many an opportunity, generally only pointed out to me by friends at a later date.

One of these days I must get my head round it and act on it, although these days there tends to be less flirting from the girls and more a look of sympathy!
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 15:13, 1 reply)

I can't believe I avoided getting slapped for this
but

it was Cinderellas' in Mumbles circa 1992.

After using the line "Hey babe, you look really good in black, now show me a bit of pink" to a young lady, I approached the same young lady an hour later and said "Can I smell your feet?" when she replied in the negative I quipped "OO it must be your gash then"

Ah the follies of youth.
(magic the cat will someone please think of the kittens, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 15:10, 3 replies)

Smooth! Cats! Bets! Ouch!
It was a late Monday night. I was out with Danny and Ryan, at Blessed. I'd had a bit of a dance, and was in the downstairs bar hitting the shots. I got chatting to a girl nearby. She was pretty, slim, dark; all in all, just what I'd go for. Even better, she was wearing combats, a vest top and a collar (this was 1997/8 guys...)

Amazingly, things were going ok. I was chatting away, getting a few little laughs and smiles, and hands were being gently laid upon one another. I was a happy guy.

Then I turned round to neck a shot and get a couple of beers for me and my potential new squeeze.

"Hey, J, c'mere" said Danny. I smiled, and expected congratulation on my smoothness. "I bet you a score you wouldn't mock that collar she's wearing!" I just smiled and went back to my girl. Then that little mischievous demon I have working away inside me decided to get involved.

I gazed into her eyes, reached to her beautiful, slender neck and stroked her collar; "That's lovely" I said. she smiled bashfully and expressed pleasure in my opinion. "My cat's got one like that, but hers has a bell attached to it. Did you get it in Pets at Home?"

The resounding thwack as she slapped me echoed above the music.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 18 Feb 2010, 14:53, Reply)

Check out girls - Yay!
1. Checkout Girl was a cartoon that ran in the Daily Star in the 80s. And she was always an up-for-it kind of gal.
2. Hovis Presley told a poem about how he fell in love with a checkout girl because she smiled at him when she gave his receipt. And that's me that is.

I usually go to Waitrose, because they have the better looking ones. Sometimes I go to Tesco's in the Zombie Hours, because I beleive the checkout girls are grateful to speak to someone not in pyjamas and dragging their knuckles on the floor and can string words together.

I try and get in the queue for the prettiest till jockey, regardless of length. I don't really flirt, but I do like to start a pleasant conversation. Generally I have normal things in my basket (fruit, veg, pasta, sauce, bottle of wine, fish) and not anything that would expose unnatural behaviour (Lazy Town DVD, Nivea, 2 x Giant Box of Kleenex), so I expect I'm viewed as a pleasant gentleman who comes in the shop to buy his groceries. My conversation is varied, not weather or pricecheck related.

Behind the scenes and in my head though, I'm probably thinking what I would look like pulling down their wooly tights, and ripping open their green sweaters to reveal those pert 19 year old tits, etc.. etc.. etc..

But, alas, I take my groceries, receive a smile as I get my receipt, get my car park ticket stamped for the 50p off.

I then pop my voting disc in the least appropriate venture on offer.

Length: If longer than 3 they open another till.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 14:37, 10 replies)

Business trip to Cardiff
Check-in at the hotel.

Fit Aussie Receptionist: "Would you like a newspaper in the morning sir?"

Me: "Yes please. I don't suppose you could get your hands on a 'Scotsman' for me could you?"

F.A.R : "Oh I'd love to get my hands on a Scotsman sir!"

Me: "Perfect. What time do you finish?"

F.A.R : "11 o'clock!"

Me: "Excellent, I'll see you in the bar."

My female colleague, stood just behind me, rolled her eyes and turned to the man behind her in the queue, muttering "I have to put up with this idiot for a living."
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Thu 18 Feb 2010, 14:34, 3 replies)

I totally flirted with a girl and then had sex with her

( wotofco pissing in your swimming pool, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 14:31, 11 replies)

I'm a terrible flirt
That's why i'm single.
( JeffTheDogFucker Can you dig it?, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 14:29, 3 replies)