i'm going to hell.
have just stagered gome af sast as i can from party
still very drunk
it's 1:16 am here.
have just shagged my mate's girlfriend on the balcony.. 'not good. not good at all.
miniskirts: great
too much drink: bad.,
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Sun 12 Nov 2006, 0:18, Reply)

Cat Sex
I once lived in a flat with a house cat. It never went out (only on one occasion when it froze and shat itself in fear). When rutting season came along and the alleys were full of wails and screeches, the poor female cat would be driven insane with horniness and rub her bottom on me all the time. I couldn't help but notice a pearl of liquid oozing from her overactive feline parts.

I pitied the poor creature and wondered if I couldn't do something. So when my flatmate was out (it was her cat), I obtained a piece of plastic which seemed to correspond exactly to the kitty aperture. And I delicately inserted it thence while holding the scruff of her neck as male cats do with their teeth.

She moaned. She wailed. She writhed. She growled. Then she rolled around ecstatically on her back with legs akimbo, fully satiated. I had done a good deed.

Imagine, then, my feelings of embarrassment as my flatmate walked in to see me with the plastic cat penis poised ... having just heard the moans and groans of her cat.

"You fucked my cat!" she said.

I had gone too far.
(frankspencer, Fri 10 Nov 2006, 14:37, Reply)

Way too far (its long but worth it)
One of my mates occasionally has too many when we go to the pub, and rather than leave his car there, has the nasty habit of driving home trolleyed. One night he did it when I was staying at his, and to this day he swears he'll never do it again.

You see, the next morning after a heavy session at the local he was still in bed nursing the mother of all hangovers. I'd got up a few hours before him due to my not being totally wankered the night before, and happened to catch the local news. It turned out that some old duffer had been knocked over and killed by a hit and run driver the night before. Well...the opportunity was just too tempting.

So with a spring in my step I almost ran down to the town center. I had three stops on my list:
The butchers (Pigs hearts a free if you ask nicely)
The hairdressers (They look at you funny but they'll give you a bit of hair if you ask)
The Off-Licence (You still have to buy a local paper)

So back I go to his house. The coast is clear. Good. No going back now. After little more than 2 minutes my master piece is ready for action. The corner of his car looks like an Iraqi. Its doused in pig blood and little bits of flesh and hair, and the headlight is smashed. I paused a bit before smashing it, but decided that it would make it look more real, and wouldn't cost too much to replace.

An hour later up he gets, still half asleep. He glances at the perfectly placed paper but thinks nothing of it. Then about half-an-hour later he goes out to his car. The look of slow realisation dawning on his face has he realised what must have happened was absolutely priceless, and worth any amount that the headlight would cost.

Then it reached a new height of funny for me. He started almost crying saying that he'd have to turn himself in. At this point most people would have stopped, but not me...no way.
I offered to go with him, and let him get all the way to the front door of the police station before I told him the truth.
( Furness, Wed 15 Nov 2006, 16:27, Reply)

Chips
My brother also once ate so many chips at Harvester restaurant that he started crying and had to go outside for air.
(yiddo, Fri 10 Nov 2006, 15:27, Reply)

Indian Restaurant Challenge - Going Too Far
Some time around 1995, myself and mates at my local set up a challenge to see who could nick the most innovative / difficult thing from a curry house.

The first few weeks were fairly mundane, with menus, napkins, poppadum baskets etc mounting up. The first really good effort was a table cloth which one guy had stuffed down his trousers to smuggle out. This raised the bar significantly, and was soon followed by a chair (sneaked out under several coats), a couple of balti pots, a large ceramic elephant and a toilet seat.

A couple of weeks later, we were at a party discussing who had "won" the challenge and had decided on a prize of a crate of lager (naturally). It was reasonably late and we were all hammered, when two of the guys disappeared. Half an hour later they return carrying....drumroll....a waiter with a mail bag over his head and his ankles tied together.

The small indian chap was more confused at being kidnapped than annoyed. However, once he had got his bearings, it took some effort to placate him.

Stealing a waiter....that's going too far...
(Mandrill, Sun 12 Nov 2006, 23:28, Reply)

Scarring The Children
A close friend of mine is a forty odd mother of three boys (aged 7-13) and I've always enjoyed listening to her rather dubious parenting methods (this may be based on a feeling of nostalgia and camaraderie being that at the age of four I was a biter, which my mother corrected by waiting until I bit her and then turning round and biting me so hard she drew blood. It worked incidentally, but thats another story). Anyway, the eldest had started tormenting the youngest by scaring him repeatedly. He'd hid behind the curtains in his room and jumped out screaming at him as soon as he'd got settled in bed, resulting in a rather damp mattress. He'd curled himself up inside a cupboard and waited nearly an hour for his brother to open it so he could jump out screaming at him, resulting in his brother runnning away so madly in panic that he fell down the stairs and narrowly avoided braining himself on a radiator. Finally, and maybe this was going too far, after their mother had allowed them to watch Psycho, later in the day the poor little youngster had gone to the toilet and almost as soon as he'd sat down the shower curtain flew open revealing his brother wearing one of his mother's dresses, a shower cap and brandishing a kitchen knife. Apparently a seven year old spazzing out and running away mid-toilet usage produces many new and interesting bodily function related stains that you wouldn't believe.

When the mother told the eldest to apologise the only response she got was huge disappointment that the youngest wasn't getting in the shower when it happened just so it could be like the film. With the youngest now wandering around in permanent shellshock, too afraid to open cupboards, go to the toilet on his own and now sleeping with his parents every night, their mother decided some serious parenting was required. So, what did she do? Grounding? No pocket money? Naughty step? Good old fashioned kicking? Of course not. Being parent of the year, she let the eldest go to bed whenever he wanted. So she waited until he was engrossed in a late night computer game marathon. She turned all the lights off in the house and sat for half an hour in the dark in the living room waiting until she heard him go to the bathroom, knowing he'd see the darkness and presume the rest of the family had turned in for the night. Once this was achieved she began her mission.

This forty odd year old PARENT commenced commando crawling on her stomach from the front room, up the stairs and towards his bedroom. She told me it took her two hours to complete her mission as she wanted to remain totally quiet as she inched her way up the stairs. Including having to stop for ten minutes and bury her face in the carpet to avoid detection as he went for a shit. She gradually made it to his bedroom and opened the door a centimetre or so every thirty seconds in case he looked round. Door opened, she could just say see him sitting on his bed, back to her, completely engrossed in his games, so she continued edging towards him until finally she was under his bed, staring at the back of his legs. With a scream of 'GOTCHA' in a suitably low, growly voice she grabbed the back of his ankles as hard as she could. Apparently this resulted in several things all happening at once. The 13 year old screamed like a girl, jumped up, wet himself, then tried to run away without realising someone was holding his ankles, falling forwards and knocking himself out as his head hit the floor.

Going too far? Personally I think him coming to, still wailing, five minutes later to find his mother standing over him, the lights now on howling with laughter at him might have just been pushing it. I think she realised this when, for the next week, she and her husband shared their bed with both the youngest and the eldest. "He never did it again though!" She told me triumphantly at the end of her story. "Funny that." Was all I could think of to say....
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Sat 11 Nov 2006, 9:18, Reply)

More Twat Uni people
.
I went out with girl who lived in halls once who had one of the most miserable, pedantic, non-sharing mean flatmates you could ever imagine.

They had a shared kitchen and *every* single thing belonging to this girl was labelled.

Cathy's milk
Cathy's butter
Cathy's tea
Cathy's tea-pot
Cathy's saucepan.

I'm sure that some of you who've lived in shared houses have come across this sub-species of human.

Anyway, one night me and gf and a bunch of mates arrived back from a club and drunkenly decided to help out Cathy a bit. So we labelled *everything* in the kitchen.

Cathy's wall
Cathy's floor
Cathy's ceiling
Cathy's light bulb.

If you could stick a label on it, it got the treatment. But Stu had to go that little bit too far. He was speeding off his tits and sat up all night and individually labelled her teabags. But that wasn't where he went too far. He actually sat at the kitchen table with a roll of masking tape and carefully stuck a single grain of sugar to a bit of masking tape and labelled it Cathy's sugar. An entire two pound bag.


Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 10 Nov 2006, 15:16, Reply)

my mate
lets call him Bob. He goes too far. He pulled an 18 year old (he was 30 odd) and they strike up an unlikely relationship. He is weird anyway and has a very unusual taste in everything, especially women.(Disclaimer, his current fiance is a return to normality thank god).

Lets call her Jen. Jen is fucked up. Like you've never seen before. We're talking everything. Drugs (many & varied). Prostitution (between ages 12-15). Rape (paternal). She looks about 12 but we saw her birth certificate, when Bob met her, she was of age.

Turns out, Bob relayed with great delight, thanks to years of systematic abuse, that Jen can only get off in one way. Imagine the shit she went through to find this out.

Some people might need to turn away about now. I guarantee this is really messed up. It invoves sharp things and blood.

(no-one has stopped reading have they? Its like a car crash).

Jen likes it like this. Firstly, she has to be tied up naked. By all four limbs, to the bedposts, and none of this loose rope shit, it has to be done properly, leather belts or chains. There's no fucking 'safety word' either.

Using a clean scalpel or knife, she requires her clitoris and labia to be 'nicked' so that they bleed in a few tiny little cuts. This, I'm told doesnt hurt much anymore.

She then requires some solitude. About an hour. Enough time for the cuts to scab over.

Bob, or whoever, then returns - and this is a must, naked, with a hardon and must fuck her as selfishly as possible, and roughly. It must look like he is only interested in getting himself off (not a difficult task for many men, however probably best not, in this particular scenario to do it with their eyes open). At some point, the scabs will break and there will be fucking bloody mess, and at the end, it will look pretty fucking bad.

Somewhere in there she will get off on it.

I have never relayed this story and not found everyone to be sat there afterwards, slackjawed and speechless.

Beat that.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 10 Nov 2006, 16:32, Reply)

picture this...
i have my girlfriend to stay for the night, and my parents are easy going, so we're staying in the same bed.
yay! thinks i.

we have my aunt to stay at the same time, and since me and said girlfriend will be in the spare bedroom since it's a double, and mine is a single, the aunt is sleeping in another room.
cue this wonderful conversation:

dad: you're aunt's staying in another room cause of you and your girlfriend
me: m'kay then
dad: yea, could be quite embarassing for you if she were to walk in... eh eh *wink wink*
*yeesh*
*rolls eyes*
dad: yea, you could be like... reading books, or something...
me: ha, yea, or like changing a lightbulb
dad: ha...yea... me and your mother were changing a lightbulb in the kitchen this morning
OH GOD RIP OUT MY THIRD EYE!!!

too far dad, too far.
(quibble, Sat 11 Nov 2006, 2:11, Reply)

Debt Collector
Strap yourselves in.. another Catchag long one...

It was September 1989 - I was just about to start my second year of A levels and was working during the summer in a local Cinema as an usher - absolute cushy job - watching all the latest releases and getting paid for it.

I had a full suit uniform and looked very smart (this was an independant cinema and the proprietor was very traditional) but I was meeting a friend of mine from Chester off the C84 bus that night. My mate John was 6'8", a former junior power lifter and a drummer in a metal band - long greasy hair denim jacket covered in band sew-on patches and a bullet belt... and a totally uncouth drinking monster.

Another old school friend (Lee) had been for a lads camping holiday during the summer and copped off with some girls - Lee had invited his girl to come and stay so they could continue their horizontal persuits - but his overprotective mother wouldn't allow him to fraternise with girls whilst he still lived at home - so she went to stay at Kenton's house - whose parents were away on holiday.

I met John off the bus and we were walking back to my folks place so I could get changed before we made pissed idiots of ourselves when I stopped next to Kenton's house - Kenton was at work - Lee was at work - girl was by helself - time for wind up.....

I told John to hang out of sight until I called him and knocked very loudly on the back door, waited, then knocked some more. A very timid girl opened the back door a crack and said - "Yes?"

"Mrs Kenton?" - I asked

"No.."

"But this is the Kenton's residence?"

"Yeessss..."

"My name is Mr Catchag, I'm from the Berland debt recovery agency and I'm here to collect goods to the value of £2000 for non payment of credit card bills.."

My foot met the closing door and wedged it open

"You can't come in - they're not here - you can't do this....."

"I'm sorry but there has been months worth of correspondence and I have a court order (I produced the folded timesheet for next weeks shifts at the cinema and waved it at her)I am legally entitled to enter this property and recover goods to the value outstanding"

She had started crying and was banging the door against my foot whimpering at me;

"You can't come in - I won't let you come in"

"This is my colleague, Mr John, who is here for such eventualities"

John stepped under the porch from where he had been out of sight

There was a loud wet fart from the girl and she let go of the door and took a step back with her eyes wide - then burst into tears.

I said her name and she looked at me confused through her sobbbing - so I said her name again and then explained that I was one of Lee's friends and this was a wind up and bless her, despite the state she was in, hawking with upset and stinking of shit - she said

"Oh - do you want to come in then?"

We declined and left - and literally had to hold each other up for laughing all the way back to my folks place

7.30 pm that evening the phone rang

"CUNT" - was the only word said and then Lee hung up.
(Catchag "You know!....For Kids!", Mon 13 Nov 2006, 14:23, Reply)

More Scary Dave
By popular request, (ok not really), more Scary Dave.

It was a very odd workplace in which Dave was just the oddest and scariest - there was one guy who could only get it up by shagging his wife's armpit (and would happily tell us this) and the guy who accused every other man of wearing anal intruders to work. The list, unpleasantly goes on. It's the only job I have had where I have been glad to be considered boringly normal by my workmates.

At work one day, Dave suggested that we should all club together and buy, as he termed it, "Some East European tart. You can get them for about five grand you know..."

He even claimed to have a rota worked out. Sort of like some twisted prostitution timeshare.

I worked out a way to deter him (and some of the others, who were marginally less odd than Dave, one of whom was known as Uncle Fester because of his physical resemblance and shambling zombie gait).

I said "I see where you're coming from Dave, but I know what would happen. One day, you would come in and say 'Sorry lads, I've broken her'."

He looked thoughtful for a bit and said "Yeah, you're probably right."

'Moisty in a box' is the inevitable sorry conversational conclusion if you work in an all male environment, on shiftwork doing a job you all hate. The culture and banter becomes increasingly obscene. Not for those guys normal obscenities, they invented their own. One particular one sticks in the mind: 'Moisty'; pejorative term for the female gentalia.


So on yet another day Dave said "Ok, if some fit bird went under a train and you could get there before the ERU or emergency services what would you do?"

A normal person might think that he was angling to get someone to say he would shag her corpse.

Unpleasant, but far too obvious by Dave's standards.

He said "What you could do, is get a knife, cut out her moisty, put it in a box and take it home and fuck it. You could put it in the freezer and keep defrosting it in the microwave when you needed it."

When he finally left our work for a job as a layabout we were all very happy.

Although reading a story a bit further back, I think he might be a plumber now, I recognise his handiwork...
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Fri 10 Nov 2006, 20:10, Reply)

Sorry cows
About 3years ago, I was visiting my cousins who live in a rural area. I’d been looking for something to get them, as was our custom. My gift found the form of a water bomb catapult. I had a glance at the description, saying it needs 3 people to fire (perfect, there were 4 of us, but one was on crutches after knee surgery) very powerful and for over 18s only. I pay my £20 and a few days later it arrives.

I should have known from the sheet of warnings/legal disclaimers that I had something I shouldn’t. I should have known to follow the advice, maybe it said don’t fire at people animals or property for a reason. But being 17 and with equally immature boys of the same age we proceeded to get a few practice shots in before we take to finding targets.

But what to shoot? Why I saw a herd of cows and thought “I see no moral problem with shooting cows.” Now, we may be immature but we weren’t daft. Realising the farmer may have objections to use firing on his cows, we came back just after midnight and crept into the darkened field. We moved silently like marines on a recon mission, catapult over my shoulder, to my side was one of my cousins with a bucket of water bombs and water to cushion their journey. A few feet ahead was my eldest cousin, finding our rout.

At this point I feel compelled to mention that the catapult could throw a water bomb the size of a large orange for well over 200 meters, or if fired vertically, could send it aloft for 5-7 seconds.

We found our targets and got into position, taking it in turns to fire on the cows. How we laughed as the water bombs thudded on their sides, how we shrieked with glee at head shots. How we laughed when the calf caught one in the side. We hit 10 cows all in all, from close range, before deciding enough was enough and returning home to tell tales of our adventures to our fathers. The sad part is that’s the proudest my Dad has ever looked of me.

The next day while sitting around a table talking of the previous nights adventure my uncle returned from his walk looking troubled.

“The cows have been moved from that field boys.”

Nine words that made my balls go back in a little way.

Being men of science, we deduced that some mark must have been left, and decided to set about testing the catapults strength. Using a piece of chip board as a shield, my cousin agreed to test the strength of a water bomb fired from a similar distance to we were to the cows, pulled back the same amount and of course, the water bomb was the same sort of size.

“FIRE!”

It took a second to realise what had happened, why was Nick clutching his ribs and shouting? Why wasn’t the chip board wet? Then we noticed the hole. We had blown a hole into a piece of chip board, to thick to stamp in half with a water bomb. It had carried on with enough force to bruise my cousin’s ribs.
That force had hit cows in the side, arse and face. Even a little calf had been hit in the attack.

I still laugh about it to this day, but I also feel slight shame, the type I’d imagine you’d feel after beating some one up who didn’t really deserve it.

That’s when I went too far.
(Mong goose, Fri 10 Nov 2006, 16:13, Reply)

You're Not The Boss Of Me!
At work I do a rather pathetic but very important job that only I am trained for. As a result, I ignore my legal rights and play nice by arranging all my holidays around said task. So its May this year and all attention is focused on the World Cup which England are definitely going to win (sob) and I'm trying to plan shifts. I manage to reach an agreement with my boss whereby I can come in when I want, for how long I want as long as this job gets done. At first she protests, in case there's problems and I'm needed but I casually remind her I can legally put in all my saved holidays and take the entire month off for footy goodness and leave them screwed so she reluctantly backs down, a little miffed. There's just one problem. I have to attend a meeting with area managers and deliver a presentation. I can't spit the dummy out on this one because it has to be done. So in the spirit of compromise I agree but remind her when England are playing and beg her to try and avoid those dates. She says she'll try her best but the glint in her eye screams of revenge for me pullng the legal blackmail routine.

Everything goes smoothly (with the exception of the poor performance and narrow win against Paraguay) and on the Thursday I finish work just after lunchtime safe in the knowledge that we'll be destroying Trinidad and Tobago that evening. By three o'clock the beers are in the fridge, the friends are all invited, the chairs and sofas are all positioned to face the telly in the front room, the barbecue is clean, the sun is shining and the steaks are slowly coming to room temperature. Thats when the phone rings. It's the boss. She casually informs me that the area managers have just turned up and I have to come back and deliver the presentation.
"On the day of the England match?' I growl in accusation.
"Oh is it? I'm sorry, I didn't realise." She replies. Her voicing dripping with insincere remorse. "Well you might have time to watch it, they're not arriving until 5." She says sweetly.
"The exact time it kicks off???" I accidentally shout.

I don't consider it going too far that I hung up on her. I definitely don't consider it too far that in my fury I quickly re-edited the presentation and chopped it from thirty minutes to just five and I certainly don't think its too far to mentally prepare myself to answer all questions with just one word and refuse to expand. What I do think was going too far was my boss, after the beers had been removed from the fridge and replaced with the steaks, the barbecue being wheeled back into the garage, the living room being put back and the friends all being uninvited, ringing me five minutes before I left the house and beginning the conversation with the immortal line "I can't believe you were going to fall for that!" and laughing her arse off at me. After several exasperated "WHAT?"'s she told me the area managers had cancelled on them and postponed till next month and one of my collegues had told her I was so nice (and gullible) I'd agree to come in even if she pretended it had been arranged for the exact time of the England match.

BASTARDS.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Sat 11 Nov 2006, 10:07, Reply)

Bit of a wide ranging Question this one.
My girlfriend and I were having a conversation, in the usual mock-bickering way, and she ended up flicking my ears, which was rather annoying. My response was something of an overreaction. "Stop that or I'll hold you down and rape you".

Class act me.
(LickOutTheJamsMotherfuckers!, Fri 10 Nov 2006, 15:34, Reply)

Lamp-post Challenge
A few years ago me and some mates were at Riley's snooker in Dunfermline and missed the last bus home. So it was a six mile walk back. Along the way we passed East End Park, home to Dunfermline Athletic FC (c'mon The Pars), which was in the middle of having two new stands built. Somehow, two of the lads came across a workman's hard hat. And of course, one of them put it on. It was then that the best-ever alcohol fuelled idea came into our minds.

"Hey, Adie. Bet you can't run head first into every lamppost on the way home."
"Bet I can."

The challenge was on. And at first it was pleasantly amusing. Gentle runs at the lampposts were met with a soft thud and laughter all round as we moved onto the next lamppost. It was after the first ten or fifteen that the entertainment began. Encouraged by our "motivational musings", the run up become longer and more intense. The thud of head on metal become louder and the recoil from impact more exaggerated. Each walk from one lamppost became more and more unsteady, every word increasingly slurred from Adie's mouth. But the determination was now set in stone. This challenge would be completed, or so it would seem.

And there it was. After about forty or fifty lampposts, came a thing of beauty: a new bus shelter, which was only too enticing.

"Hey Adie, bet you can't add a few bus shelters along the way."
"IIIII bettt aaaa cannnn."

And with that, he turned, run across to the opposite side of the road and took on a full blooded (if woozy) run at the shelter and dived Klinsmann style with every last ounce of energy. Halfway through the dive the hard hat fell off. CRACK! Thick glass met unprotected head. Adie rebounded off the shelter into the middle of the road. As for us? Did we rush over and check he was OK? No, because we were pishing ourselves laughing on a grass verge. It took about a minute to regain our composure to check if he was still in the land of the living. To top it off we walked him home dismissing his complaints about having a sore head and needing to go to hospital. There was a hospital a few hundred yards from his last hurrah but we all called him a wuss, until he backed down and staggered home. His mum took him in next day.
(Rob Roy The Postie is looking for alternative employment, Sat 11 Nov 2006, 18:10, Reply)

Going back a couple of years
I was at a house party, surrounded by mates from all over Chesterfield.
The party was going well , the beer, vodka, whiskey, rum and various other beverages were going down steadily and we had played almost every drinking game under the sun.

Then , someone bored of playing 'I have never' decided to say "I have never gone streaking."

Now, none of us had, so this posed a challenge that any drunken 18 year old would have taken up.
So we lined up in the freezing Summer night, cheering as the lasses ran past wearing only bra and knickers, and the lads ran past hoping that the cold wouldn't get to them too much.

I, as the last in the queue, decided that I had to out stage everyone.
So I disappear behind the 'changing' bush, get nekkid, and do the only thing I can think of to upstage them.

I go one step too far.

I get hard.

Rather than the rapturous applause I was expecting however, there came only a stunned silence as I came bouncing down the road.

The picture of me, jogging straight backed with knees high, manhood flailing wildly for anyone to see, is still etched onto some of my friends minds.
Poor sods.

Apologies for length, the night was very, very cold
(also I thought a bit of back-story would make a better story than 'I went streaking with a knob-on')
( Pointy Head poked another hole in my anorak on, Fri 10 Nov 2006, 16:37, Reply)

Scampi goodness
A mate of mine had a very jealous, neurotic girlfriend. We were in the pub for one of our regular evenings listening to local bands etc. He had a bit of a whine about his missus giving him grief for getting home smelling of booze so I calmly finished my last scampi nik-nak and wiped the inside of the packet over his face. "See what she thinks of that then!"

Apparently he went home and his first words were "I am sorry that my face smells of minge but..."

Probably too far.
(lardaholics anonymous, Fri 10 Nov 2006, 16:05, Reply)

Sheep herding - a step too far
Not me but my cousin and his mate, on tour through Scotland.

Picture the scene: 2 tall German lads, fresh from a year in the army, skin-headed. The rolling hills of the Highlands, lush vegetation, the freshest summer air, livestock quietly grazing in the fields.

They stop the car. They get out to stretch their legs. They take in the scenery with smiles on their faces... until their eyes catch a herd of sheep in the distance. A plan is formed. A plan that we've probably all considered at some point. Sheep herding.

And with the upmost subtelty that only 2 skin-headed ex-soldiers could manage, they charge up the field sending the herd into a panicked frenzy. The sheep gather together and sprint up the field and onto the horizon. And then they disappear.

Cousin and accomplice eventually reach the horizon point, expecting to see the sheep charging down the other side of the field. This is NOT what they see. What they actually see is a cliff edge, and several sheep carcases strewn in bloody tatters on the rocks below. Ooooooooooops.

They had indeed "gone a little too far".
(Mean Mad Mutski, Tue 14 Nov 2006, 12:28, Reply)

Mobile Masturbation
My friend, proceeding to do his early morning paperound, was cycling along on his bike when he came across a discarded porno magazine in the bushes.
So he did what any young teenager would do, and browse through the magazine and have a wank.

While still riding on his bike.
(Nibi, Wed 15 Nov 2006, 0:43, Reply)

4-0
I went clubbing in Watford on Saturday night (yeah, I'm that classy) with a few people from my taekwondo club.

Walking down the high street trying to find a cab afterwards, we passed a bunch of Watford supporters. My friend Steph, a massive Chelsea supporter, decided it would be a great idea to say, "Four nil" as we passed them. It was like a red flag to a gang of tanked-up, adolescent, Burberry-clad bulls. They were not best pleased. A plethora of jibes ensued, ranging from the innocuous, "You just fancy Mourinho" to actual death threats. I was absolutely cacking it at this point because a black belt is no good when you're wearing a miniscule skirt and high heels.

Anyway, it took a few minutes of painstaking negotiation but eventually we came to a non-violent agreement. We even had some jovial banter. Unfortunately. one of the Watford boys, who looked about fifteen, took a bit of a liking to Steph, who is twenty-seven, and asked for her number.

"Sure!" she said. "Four....nil...."

All amicable relations disintegrated and we legged it down the high street. That really was going too far.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Mon 13 Nov 2006, 14:00, Reply)

Scent too far
Vets - don't ya love em?
There is a proceedure which causes a vet's heart to sink, and it's prefaced by the phrase 'My dog is rubbing its backside along the ground'.

The reason dogs do this is because their anal scent glands get blocked, and kinda itchy. Anal scent glands get stimulated (i.e. squeezed) every time a dog lays a toffee. They produce, as you might expect, anal scent. In essence, essence of dog shit. It's a translucent brown oil.

The proceedure to unblock them is simple, simply insert a gloved finger up the dog's doodah, and with your thumb on the outside, squeeze like a mother.

These things can, apparently squirt quite a distance, making the six or so inches for the average spot on to a mirror seem quite paltry.

His claim to fame was that he once aimed a dog's anus into the handbag of an overly snobby pooch fancier.... and covered the contents, including her chequebook and purse in essence of dog shit, from six feet away.

I think he made her pay by Visa.
(Countryslicker, Tue 14 Nov 2006, 16:32, Reply)

some of my old SS chums decided it would be a good jape to try to pass me off as a priest at the local church for a few weeks ....

bollocks
(Pope Benedict XVI, Mon 13 Nov 2006, 14:38, Reply)

Weekend away in Dublin
Rory having sex in my bed wasn't nice.

Rory having sex on my prized Joy Division-tastic trenchcoat was even less nice.

Rory (18) having sex with Samantha (14) and thus qualifying for a free 25 year holiday at Her Majesty's pleasure probably edged it into the realm of 'too far'.

Samantha being on her period just dropkicked it over the line.
(SurferRosa causing the lamentation of the womenfolk since, Sat 11 Nov 2006, 22:13, Reply)

7th July bombs
So I went to a halloween party last year, a couple months after the suicide bombs on the London underground. One guy turned up dressed as a bomb - basically he cut holes in a suitcase for his arms, legs and head and put it on. On the front he strapped a timer. This was fairly tasteless, but not that bad.

What makes it perhaps going a little to far is the fact that he had travelled to the party on the underground dressed in full costume.
(veniceboy lives in California, Fri 10 Nov 2006, 23:30, Reply)

Basic Instinct
I was sat in pub with an old friend called Stacey (a bloke by the way) several years ago - We had had an afternoon toking but decided to venture out for a couple of beers before I made the long walk home.

It was a quiet weeknight and we were sat in the main part of the pub, surrounded by couples and old blokes, all supping their pints of bitter and mild to some shitty jukebox in their conservative northern idiom.

Stacey kept looking at his watch whilst we were supping and looking very anxious to get out of Dodge so I asked him what the matter was,

"BASIC INSTINCT IS ON IN HALF AN HOUR - I CAN GET AT LEAST 4 WANKS IN BEFORE THE NEWS!" - was his extremely loud and resounding response.

I spat my beer out choking in suprised and embarassed laughter as the locals all turned and looked - Stacey continued

"WHAT? HAVE I EMBARASSED YOU?" - He stood up, pointed at me and bellowed,

"THIS MAN'S BEEN IN ME!" -

I spluttered, choked on my beer with embarassed laughter but managed to squark out -

"THAT'S NOT TRUE!"

He leant over the table and said quietly - "I know that, but these other cunt's don't" and with that grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and walked to the door, then turned round - pouted at me and hollered over the pub

"YOU'RE A SHIT FUCK ANYWAY - GO BACK TO YOUR MOTHER"

And he left - and I sat there nursing what was left of my pint surrounded by a pub full of people looking at me - wondering..... as I sat there wondering how do I get out of that with some composure, trying desperately to finish my pint and crawl up my own arse
(Catchag "You know!....For Kids!", Fri 10 Nov 2006, 16:56, Reply)

Drunkard nights out
One of my mates thinks that VK Blue tastes of piss. This is because the only times he's ever drunk it is when we've pissed in a bottle and given it to him.
( Furness, Wed 15 Nov 2006, 16:30, Reply)

Circumcised? OK fine....but.....
My friend Jeb (name changed to protect *myself*) had to get circumcised in his early twenties for obscure but wholly genuine "medical reasons". I don't envy anyone going through a procedure like that, and that's putting it mildly, but I digress.

His doctor gave him all kinds of heavy duty painkillers afterwards, and he stopped by my house to let me try some. I wasn't home, I was at the dentist. So, Jeb proceeds to the local bar, drinks a substantial amount, eats several of whatever-the-hell-his-doctor-gave-him, and staggered into the Dentist waiting room just a few blocks away.

I was between procedures, sitting reading (or trying to read) a magazine with a huge bloody wad of cotton stuffed in my mouth,my head as dead as a slab of beef, when Jeb - as stoned as I've ever seen him - fell through the front door.

He saw me immediately, and with a grin which I can only describe as a grin of pure evil announced in a loud voice that he'd; "had the procedure, and I couldn't refuse him any more!" Then whips his dick out and ffs...SHOWS this still bloody stitched up member to anyone in the waiting room!! I watched in mute horrified fascination as he paraded up and down a couple of times, then announced he had to go because he was going to buy some Astro Glide; "ready for when you get home, I'll make you feel better!" then abruptly zipped up and left before the receptionist could call the cops...which it was fairly clear that once she got over her "deer in the headlights freeze", was exactly what she was going to do.

People just sat and looked at me with sheer loathing, I sat and stared back at them not having the slightest clue what the hell to say (or in my case...sign) until called back in for the remaining work on my gnashers to be finished.

Now, that was a bit too far.....
(speedwank, Mon 13 Nov 2006, 12:46, Reply)

A very nice man
I used to work with a really nice bloke, I mean, really nice.

We were, as blokes, discussing losing our virginities. Now that's natural. Mine was embarrasing. His, well...

He was 15, at his girlfriend's house. Her parents out for the night, and as such free licence. However, as a nice bloke, it had taken a fair while to reach the stage of nudity and no-return.

And her Dad came back in.

And when the nice bloke recounted this to me, I was obviously impressed, 15 years old and 'active'... And the 'rental was moderately nice about the whole situation, white leather couch and 'all. However...

I said that if I caught him in such a compromising situation with my daughter, I'd kill him... Cutting off his diseased testes and would culminate with shooting him quite dead.

The poor, nice lad looked horrified and said 'crikey, why?'

I told him my daughter was four years old.
(Chickenwire social lubricator extraordinaire, Sat 11 Nov 2006, 7:10, Reply)

pease
once at work (pub) the chef (female, minger bad tempered & ginger too) ran out of peas and kicked up a massive fuss, and started shouting at me or workmate aaron to go get some peas from the shop. stupid bitch. not being one to miss out on the oppertunity to push her low tolerance level to the limit, i & aaron decided to wind her up with an array of very poor pea puns for the next few hours. she was getting quite upset now, and her poor communication skills only allowed her to shout a torrent of profanaties at me, but really if it wasn't for her obnoxious attitude....

anyway, this all calmed down, we finally ran out of pea puns, and humbly apologised to the chef, only to get a HUGE piece of card and write the words 'no peas' on it, and then stick it on the windscreen of her car. we both knew she wouldnt find it funny and knew it was going too far, and she would most definately get very pissed off. anyway, she finished her shift, so we ran out to the yard, which overlooks the carpark, hid behind the fence and waited for her to leave.

her jaw dropped. "RIGHT! GET HERE NOW!"

i stuck me head over the fence, 'c'mon we're just having a laugh.'

me & aaron wetting ourselves, him unsucessfully trying to sneak away, shirking the blame on me, twunt.

the sight of her having a full blown tantrum, toys out the pram and all, in the carpark was ace, albiet slightly undignified for her.

humourless bitch grassed up to the boss..

he said, 'dont worry, ginger people havent got a sense of humour' and left it at that. result.

the irony was we had peas along, she just looked in the wrong freezer.
(rollerdisco, Wed 15 Nov 2006, 13:16, Reply)

I really wanted to impress my dad
So I found out this guy I used to know had some toys that I told him he wasn't allowed to have, so I told all my friends that I was going to go and find him and take all his toys because he talked funny and didn't listen to what I told him to do all the time.

Anyways, so I go over to his place and I looked all over for my toys... I mean his toys, but I couldn't find them and he wasn't around. I couldn't even find his friend that came over to my house one time and played. If I had found him, I would've probably punched him hard or something.

Anyways, I trashed his place, even though it was already a shithole. I called it "improvements" lol! Also, I went back home and told all my real friends that he was a liar and he was just trying to act all cool like us or whatever and he didn't even have those toys like he said he did. What a loser!

So yeah, my dad has got to be the proudest dad ever, like for sure.

Mission accomplished wooyay!

I don't 'pologize fer nuthin'!

It's 'cause I'm so awesome.

-George W.
(GeorgieBoy, Tue 14 Nov 2006, 23:54, Reply)