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This is a question Guilty Laughs

Are you the kind of person who laughs when they see a cat getting run over? Tell us about the times your sense of humour has gone beyond taste and decency.

Suggested by SnowyTheRabbit

(, Thu 22 Jul 2010, 15:19)
Pages: Latest, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Pearoast: a bit long, but this one still cracks me up
years after the old bag's probably popped her clogs.

I had a job where I had to do home visits and do jobs for clients. One old cow used to watch for my car to arrive and then complain to my boss - before I'd even parked - if I had anyone in the car with me. Obviously my time was all hers and I wasn't allowed to give my mum a lift.

I used to have to cash her pension and do some shopping - incontinence pants, haemorrhoid cream and so on - for which I took care to collect itemised receipts, which she would carefully scrutinise for fraud.

All in all she was a hateful old witch, always looking for a way to do me over.

One day I went for the pension as usual and was told that there was a new pension book.

The Post Office clerk said 'I'll have to tear up the old book in case of fraud', while looking meaningfully at me. I swear the old bag had rung ahead to warn the Post Office of the Famous Embezzling Home Help.

So... the snobby clerk then flourished in my face, and ripped in half, the NEW pension book.

The look on her face was priceless - she realised what she was doing just too late to stop herself.

I immediately collapsed into helpless laughter and pointed at her and gasped 'You ripped up the new book! You ripped up the new book!'

The clerk answered 'It's not funny!' but as I assured her, oh, it was, very funny indeed.

She wanted to keep the new ripped-up book until the next week when the replacement came, but I refused on the grounds that Mrs Hagwitch would accuse me of stealing it. The boss was called and she and I stood over the clerk as she taped up every page. Then she had to write a letter of explanation and apology.

I screamed with laughter all the way back, trying to get it out of my system, and really did think I'd kept a straight face when explaining the incident to the old boiler.

Must've let something slip though as she was soon on the blower to my boss, complaining that I had laughed at her pension book.

I wasn't in trouble though as everyone in the office was hysterical too. Happy days!
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 19:11, 1 reply)
Well I guess my name is stupid in Indian.
Working in A call center, you get a lot of funny names, but this tops em all.

Get a call from an indian bloke, he was the perfect steriotype, imagine apu but with a high voice. This isn't really funny, it's just a slightly difficult voice to funny. Then I see his name on screen "Pinkal" I ask him to confirm his name "Pinkal" he squeaks (rhymes with twinkle). I hold it together, but eventualy need to transfer him. Speak to a tec support girl, she asks his name "pinkal" I say. There's a moments silence, then we both start laughing very hard. She composes herself, I pass him through, then realise I didn't warn about the funny voice (it's considered polite) she takes the call, he opens his mouth and she starts really laughing, like almost pissing. Poor pinkal just had to sit and get fed the old "fell off my chair" line.
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 18:06, 1 reply)
I still laugh at farts.
I've been seeing the current poor unfortunate other half for a couple of months now, and we're still in the stage where we don't let rip with all nature's fury whenever the whim takes us. I tend to hold fire on the methane machine-gun until I go to the toilet, being a gentleman and all.

About a month ago, just as we were retiring to bed, I popped in for a quick widdle and was taken surprise by an enormous blast of arse gas just when I didn't expect it. This made me laugh, which in turn forced more previously-held-prisoner-pumps out their newly blasted escape tunnel to freedom, resulting in a sound which went sort of like "*parp* *snigger* *PAAAARPFlaffleprrrrparrprrrft*"

I was literally in tears. I tried to stifle my laughing as best I could, but trying to keep it quiet only made it funnier. After I had calmed down, I toddled through to bed and hopped under the covers.

After a few moments of silence, she said "I heard you farting then laughing like a maniac. What's that all about?"

I was away again, full on tears running down my face. I can't help it. Farts are funny.

I got her back too. She returned from the bathroom about a week later to me asking her if a P&O ferry had just passed by her house as she went red and had a good giggle herself.
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 18:02, 1 reply)
Mostly armless.
When I was about 6 or 7 my whole family went on a summer holiday in the very north of Scotland, which I'm sure to this day was some kind of tasteless joke but it is however, not the subject of this story. While on this 'holiday' we took a day trip to Wick, which was at the time, in my tiny mind, the amputee capital of the world. I must have seen at least 4 people with an arm or a leg missing which was 4 more than I had ever seen in my life.

At one point as we walked under a scaffold and a kilted man with no arms passed us. At this point I started to point and laugh as hard as I could to which my Mum responded by giving me a really hard smack and an immense bollocking which, on the face of it, was less than I deserved.

I was crying too hard to explain and I'm sure to this day she isn't aware that as we walked under the scaffold with the armless highlander approaching us, my older brother, who was in front of me, was hit square on the top of the head by a massive drop of water falling from the scaffold which, in my young mind, was the funniest thing ever and definitely merited pointing and laughing.

Timing is the most important element of comedy. That was the lesson I learned that day.
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 17:58, Reply)
Back during the half remembered battle that was my marriage,
my ex and I were visiting some friends of ours. They, too, were a married couple destined to break on the rocks of life, but in this case, although the guy was a friend of mine and generally a top bloke, it turned out that he treated his missus, a very nice young lady, like shite and often had very public, over the top rage fits ending in half the house being trashed or some such.

But he seemed like a throughly decent bloke with a razor sharp wit. Behind closed doors and all that.

So there we are. We're sitting having a conversation which somehow veered off into a minor disagreement between the two of them. During this very minor spat, the retort "that's because you're a fucking witch" was uttered.

The guffaw that I emitted was made all the worse by the stunned silence of everyone else in the room. Where I had thought this was a playful taunt between a couple having a pretend tiff, it was actually a spiteful comment that had genuinely hurt her. And I went "Bwoooahahahaha.... oh."

Oops. Well, it's not my fault, I didn't know he was a mentallist at that point.
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 17:47, Reply)
When I was a lad, my dad was a DIY god - could fix anything, build anything, could even put things back together and not have bits left over. But everyone has an off day...

A few hours after he'd done some minor rewiring in our house, I wandered downstairs and heard a strange noise. Investigating, I found water dripping from the ceiling, under the point he'd been working. Electricity and water don't play well together, so I thought I'd better alert him.

He lifted a floorboard, and gave it to me to hold. Peering into the space, he announced that he could see the problem - a nail in the next board had clipped a pipe. So he started to lift that board as well.

As soon as the nail came out of the pipe, the full pressure of the water was released, and a powerful jet hit him full in the face. The suddenness made me jump, and I lost my grip on the board I was holding - which toppled over, and hit him square on the head. It even managed to have a nail in exactly the right place.

So there he was, sprawled on the floor, soaking wet, bruised, punctured, and mildly electrocuted. But clearly the thing that hurt the most was me and mum pissing ourselves laughing.

Comedy Gold!
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 17:33, 2 replies)
Ex Girlfriend Guffaws
A few years ago when I was with one of my ex-girlfriends, we had to get up early on a Sunday morning for her grandmothers birthday.
We’d been to a friends party the night before and the ex was nursing a pretty full on hangover as we got into the car for the hour long drive up to her grandparents’.

About twenty minutes in to the journey my ex decided that she was going to be sick and asked me to pull over, which I did into a nearby layby. Just as we pulled in, her stomach gave up its contents and she puked what looked like parboiled rice all over her jeans and into her handbag.
She then got out of the car to clean herself off as best as possible and I got out of the car to smoke a cigarette to calm my fraying nerves.
As she bent over a wall to be sick again, she immediately got stung by a wasp right on her forehead. Which in itself was a little bit amusing, the noise however was great “huuuuurrrr-aaaargh!”

Eventually the ex stopped crying and hurling abuse at me and we get back on the road and finally to the grandparents’ house.

When we get there the grandmother lends the ex this big frumpy and flower riddled skirt to change into upstairs whilst she puts her jeans in the wash. By this point the ex is stomping about in an indignant huff and promptly steps on the hem of the skirt and falls down the stairs on her arse.

Her granddad and I are then promptly expelled to the garden for laughing like spooked ducks and then spend an enjoyable morning sat out in the patio listening to the cricket on the radio.
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 17:00, 1 reply)
I've always steered clear of the pedals that attach you to your bike having occasionally seen people cartwheel through the air with a large metally object attached to their groin or just generally fall over when they stop.

I did the Dunwich Dynamo at the weekend - 120 miles from Hackney to the Suffolk coast overnight, so thought the extra oophm SPDs give would probably be worthwhile so stuck mine on the bike. at about 3 am we stopped, tired, to work out whether to go left or right and managed to clip out with my right foot and lean to the left. Arsecakes. Landed in a grassy verge thing. People laughed, bastards. Felt even more stupid as i'd laughed at someone doing exactly the same thing at the lights the week before.
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 15:11, 4 replies)
Oh dear...
Just read this and did an office lol. I might have a banana to assuage the guilt.

(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 15:08, 22 replies)
Another Benny Hillarious scenario
The players:

Old fat-arsed lady (1) bending down to retrieve contents of spilled shopping bag in parking space, arse facing towards:

car(1), very slowly reversing into said parking space

curious bystander (1) (me) with public responsibility alarm temporarily on hold

fate (1)


I still have to say, it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed.
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 14:51, Reply)
In which Chickenlady confronts feminism, cultural differences and naughty boys
These days it seems rare for me to post on Question of the Week and in fact I thought this week would be another no show from me but then yesterday I was down in Ramsgate on the beach with the Chicken Nuggets (my sons - 12 year old twins) and this gave me something to write about....


So, yesterday it was warm but overcast - a grey sky which matches the grey pallor of most of Ramsgate's chav population. We had walked down the high street past a group of young women pipe-cleaner thin, covered in 'Chinese' character tattoos, Elizabeth Duke bling and the very best that Sports Direct and Primarni can provide. Each had the obligatory snotty nosed, dead eyed baby or toddler Calpol-ed to keep 'em quiet until the next refill of Maccy D's.
What a stuck up cow I've become
Anyway, I'm walking down the street towards the beach with my two sons - one of whom is muttering, 'Chav, Fat Chav, Old Chav, Skinny Chav, Dog Chav, Baby Chav' as we pass the Carbrini clan, the other boy is silent but his eyes say just one word, 'BOOBS!' As we walk on so we hear the Chav mating call sent out across the street to a young man, "You wanna come 'ere and say that? You facking caaant!"
All of this against a backdrop of Pawnbrokers, Poundland, Newsagents, formica tabled cafes and a lingering smell from the fishmongers. A fishmongers! You can't say Ramsgate isn't on the up!

We reach the beautiful sandy beach - Ramsgate has a beautiful sandy beach generally overlooked by visitors who are put off by the town's current dilapidated state and prefer to go a few miles down the coast to Broadstairs which has kept its Victorian charm and remains the jewel in Thanet Borough Council's crown of seaside towns untouched as it is by poor furrin types and beloved by Cath Kidsonesque DFLs.
The strand is almost empty; a group of slender, hairy and tanned Euroteens on an exchange holiday (they come in their millions every summer), an all female Afro-Caribbean family with very young children (probably DFLs revisiting their childhood haunts), a couple of Mediterranean looking families - dad wearing a pork-pie hat and looking like Angel from Dexter while playing in the sea with his small son (probably also DFLs), two Orthodox Jewish families and the only pasty, white British people on the beach - us. An unusual mix but being the middle class white liberal that I am, I took pride in the fact that we were all there for the same reason - to enjoy the sea, sand and.... overcast skies. Family time.

The Nuggets ran off down to the sea and gave me time to observe our neighbours - the Orthodox Jews. I had mixed feelings about seeing their young son run around in swimming shorts while their three daughters were all fully dressed in black tights, grey pinafore dresses, and long sleeved black tops. Likewise the father was just changing from t-shirt and shorts in which he'd been swimming, back to his traditional black suit and shawl, yet his wife and mother remained dressed like the girls and also wore dark turbans to cover their hair. His wife in particular struck a lonely figure - she was wandering along the shoreline looking like a L S Lowry stick figure against a wide band of grey-blue sea. The children all behaved as children do, however, laughing, whooping and splashing in the water and the girls edging ever closer to the Nuggets.
I stopped worrying about cultural differences and the Position of Women in Orthodox Jewish Society vs. the Position of Women in English Chav Society and instead watched Nugget #2 drawing or writing something in the sand. I quietly applauded myself for producing two 'nice' boys, well-rounded personalities, kind and gentle and here was one being creative on the beach - perhaps he was recreating something he had seen on Art Attack - that used to be his favourite television programme when he was younger.
Oh Chickenlady, haven't you remembered that pride always goes before a fall?
Yes, I thought, everything was right with the world and here on this beach only a few miles from France we had a microcosm of international society and culture and we were all getting along nicely.

Until the Orthodox Jewish father wandered over to his daughters who were shyly smiling at the Nuggets and looking at the artistic creation Nugget #2 had made in the sand. The girls looked questioningly at their father as his tense face glanced down at the image. His heavy brows knitted together and the gathering clouds darkened - I'm guessing it's the same face Moses made when he saw the Israelites worshipping the Golden Calf. The girls in their grey and black outfits were rapidly removed and the family began to pack up to leave the beach but not before casting a few disgusted glances towards both me and the Nuggets.

Did they somehow sense my disapproval of covering up their daughters - they kept their black tights on even when they paddled in the surf - surely every child should be allowed to know the feeling of sand between the toes? Did they sense my unhappiness at the freedoms afforded to the father and son but not the mother and daughters? Did they guess at my internal battle - torn between the middle class liberal notion of Multiculturalism and heartfelt sadness of the failure of feminism?

Or did they notice the guilty laughter of my sons?

Guilty laughter caused by drawing in the sand a fifteen foot spurting cock with hairy seaweed balls.
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 13:02, 16 replies)
Crockery Avalanche.....
The place - Student Village mid-year Ball
The time - July 1988
My girlfriend J was an inmate at Student Village, so when it was time for their mid-year ball, I was duly dragged along.
The beer was free anyway.....
The drunken carousing went on and on, and things got a bit looser, until there came the half-time coffee break.
Those wishing to partake trooped into a servery straight out of the 1950s which incidentally was the last time it was renovated.
Coffee cups and saucers were stacked on a bench - cups upturned and a saucer on top - 4 high, 4 deep, and 20 long.

Now as well as the crockery, there were two young lasses, girls A & B - both in the throes of drunkenness, dresses straining at the seams to contain them - seated on the bench as well, having a chat.
Then girl A decided to remove her ample bottom off the bench by pushing herself off. The movement of such a large amount of flesh moving affected the tensility of the bench and causing a ripple effect which traveled to the stacked crockery.

Time slowed to the point where you could enjoy the tragic majesty of it all. Row after row of cups and saucers slid off the bench and fell to the floor like a porcelain avalanche. They shattered and the shards flew everywhere. It was almost too perfect in its execution, but this was nothing manufactured; this was nature at her malevolent worst.

The drunken revelers stopped and stood open mouthed, transfixed by the proceedings into a room full of living sex dolls. The serving staff had seen it all, and had murder on their faces.
Taking in the surroundings, J and I burst out laughing, and laughed until our stomachs hurt.

But what really sent us to the floor in an undignified gasping, giggling and guffawing heap, was seeing girl A look at the mass destruction, point accusingly at girl B (still sitting on the bench and rooted to the spot in shock) and shout "LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!!!!"
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 12:37, 1 reply)
It's all my fault
I once laughed at an episode of Two Pints of Lager and a packet of Crisps.

Because of that they made seven series of the fucking thing
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 12:08, 11 replies)
Im a chicken..... no your not, yes I am....
That documentry about the lad with Turrets syndrome.

Funniest thing Ive seen on TV in years.

I remember texting more or less everyone on my phone alerting them to the program.

Edit: ah yes - it seems Outlook spell check has made me look a fool.

(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 10:39, 13 replies)
I meant to go to Leeds
but I think I might be going to Hull.

On a train to Leeds yesterday, I was sat at one of the tables. I had the table to myself until we got to Derby, at which point a teenage girl and her mum got on. The girl was on crutches, I assumed with a broken leg. However when I looked over I realised that she had lost one of her legs, just below the knee. I found it pretty shocking - after all, this was a pretty, trendily dressed 15 year old, not a war veteran. She sat in the aisle seat and spent the the remainder of the journey playing with her i-phone, as teenagers do.

The time came for me to get off the train and I thought I'd better give her plenty of advance warning so she could let me out. She sensed I needed to move and began to reach over for her crutches. As she did so I felt the words,

"Can I just hop past you there please..."

forming in my mouth.

I got as far as the "h" in hop then finished with a strangulated "mmmmmph". The idiocy of what I had nearly done hit me and I started to laugh. I sniggered all the way to the vestibule, continued to laugh as the train doors opened and was practically crying as I got off the train, mainly in shame and relief.

The next thing I knew I had lost my balance (ah, karma) and almost went crashing to the platform. When I looked to see what had caused my fall, I was faced with a young bloke, about 20 or so, carrying a 4 foot stuffed toy duck which in my hysteria, I had neglected to notice.

I just made it to the bathrooms before the wee came out.
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 10:13, Reply)
The Paralympics
It's wrong, I know, but I sometimes find them really silly.

I also get a #thwack# from the other half every time I call them the Cripplympics, which I just think is a better name!
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 9:32, 4 replies)
I suppose it could be classed as guilty...
Because it ruined a couple's day.

On the whole, my family is not particularly religious. We were raised Baptist, but it only really took on with one of us, the rest of us just don't care. However, when my Sister's child was born, he was to be christened, as that's how it was in her Husband's family. With this in mind, I drag my extremely hungover self out of bed, and get into a shirt and tie. (Beer festival the day before, ugh!)

My housemate and I get to the service a little late, and the only place we can see a seat is halfway up. We sneak in, and take our seat, next to a middle aged couple. Glancing round, I can see my family spread around the church, but cannot spot my brother with his son (J)anywhere. After about 15 minutes, I spot him 3 rows back. We look at each other, and roll our eyes. Boring service. (I wasn't really expecting much else)

However, we know that as Mature Adults, we have to keep ourselves in check. This means that when we (as everyone else in this weeks Question) sing 'All Things Bright And Beautiful', any sniggering must be kept to a minimum. Still enough to earn daggers from the couple next to us, who actually swapped places, so the woman wasn't near us 'heathens'.

The amusement continues further, when a child a few rows in front of us, decides to turn round, and seeing us, decides to start sticking his tongue out at us. We, as Mature Adults, return with aplomb. He then pulls another face, I return a belm, just as the mother turns round, sees me, and utterly panics. She then grabs the lad, spins him round, and demands he face the front.

Now at this point, I'm close to hysteria, knowing that I can't really laugh loudly, as 90% of the church will know me as my Sister's brother. But, as Mature Adults, we must be sensible. I forgot this rule didn't apply to children...

As the Vicar calls for the children to be brought to him, my darling nephew J decides that this is boring, grabs his dummy, and WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK. He's started his own drumkit on the wooden pews. Luckily, a song starts a few seconds later, where I'm able to get out a full belly laugh.

We eventually calmed down, just as the service ends. I then turn, wishing to apologise to the couple if I'd come off as rude, but I couldn't help myself. I opened my mouth, and just burst out laughing in their face, before running off.

Boring as hell service, but we did what we could to keep it entertaining!

Length? Hour and a half methinks
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 9:32, 75 replies)
Got home last night
and asked the missus how her day had been.

"It was ok, except the dog farted and it was so bad it gave me a headache".

I laughed in her face.
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 9:19, 1 reply)
Mopeds! Mirrors! Hypnotism! Cyclists!
Last night, I was driving through the city centre on my way to the gym. On my way down the hill, I went past a nice looking mod-style moped. It was mint green, mint condition, and a really nice looking piece of kit.

I thought no more of it, and pulled up to the t-junction at the bottom of the hill. As is customary, I checked my rear view mirror and saw the moped trundling gently down the hill towards me. I watched, transfixed by the hypnotic flickering of the late afternoon sun reflecting off the raindrops present on the multitudinous mirrors.

The flickering made me feel almost as though my vision was shifting, a feeling compounded as I saw the rider begin to lean left and right increasingly rapidly. His pendulum-like behaviour continued for a few seconds, then the bike swivelled round and he toppled; there was the sound of The Who weeping as mirrors crunched and shattered, there was a terrible scraping sound, like Paul Weller struggling to contain grief as the immaculate paintwork and panelling dragged along the asphalt, and it was topped by a scream of pain as the bike landed on the riders leg.

My reverie abruptly ended, and I reflected on what had happened. I began to laugh pretty much uncontrollably. I pulled over to the left, put on my hazards, and took a moment to compose myself before getting out of the car, running to the guy and seeing that his leg was fucked. I called the paramedics and offered my assistance.

Manhandling mashed-up mod-mobiles is harder than it looks -they're very heavy. As I moved it, to protect it from further damage, I slipped and dropped it. It made a hideous crunching sound and further mirrors dropped off. Stifling a laugh by sticking my hand in my mouth, I began to emit a sound similar to that of a choking hyena.

The poor guy on the floor, already in pain, winced further, and I began to try cheering him up by talking about the time I came off my bike and shattered both my wrists. I even showed him scars. Then I talked about how quickly my broken leg healed. He blanched and I began to chuckle.

Eventually the paramedic arrived, on his pushbike. I'd never seen this before, and laughed again. He was very efficient and began to cut off the guy's trousers. At this point the guy said they were brand new jeans. He looked further distressed. I corpsed, again.

At this point, gratitude for my help seemed to be turning into irritation at my finding everything hilarious and I decided to leave. As I pulled off, laughing, I didn't notice the cyclist coming past me, I pulled out, and he went straight over my bonnet.

I pissed myself laughing. He didn't.

I checked he was ok. He was. No damage to his bike, however I found a dent in my front wing. I was irritated. The cyclist thought it hilarious.
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 8:09, Reply)
At the pool
I used to take a lad to a disabled swimming club (Autistic/Learning difficulties etc) and had to go poolside to keep an eye on him. The lane nearest me was used by the younger children. I heard them being told to swim on their backs holding the ball above their heads. A few seconds later they came into my line of sight. Balls held in the air a few inches above the water in front of their faces. Children submerged stopping every few yards to surface, splutter and breathe. As they passed me I suppose I should have stopped them and shown them what the instructor had meant. Maybe if I hadn't been laughing so much.
Length: 2
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 8:01, Reply)
Is it wrong
That I watched that programme on BBC3 tonight about the 16 year old lass with dwarfism who was her mum's registered carer? Probably not. A sensitive portrayal of the difficulties young people experience in caring positions, I thought.

What probably was wrong was that when she was filmed going to a little people's convention in New York with her mum, and the announcer said that there were four thousand attendees that weekend, that I waited until the missus had just taken a gobful of wine before exclaiming, deadpan; "Four thousand midgets? Christ, that's equivalent to two thousand people in proper money."
(, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 1:49, 5 replies)
Love affairs, LARPers and Letters of Doom
This will be a long one as I have to go into the dim recesses of my life at University when I was but a little Cockroach.

'Twas back at the beginning of the 2nd year and I was living in a shared housw with the then-boyfriend Vampy-boy, a guy from sci-fi soc and another guy called Thomas. Now VB, Thomas and I were all members of the university LARP society (Live Action Roleplay) I am aware that there are some b3tans who are LARPers but for the benefits of those who are not, we got to dress up at the weekend and play with big fake weapons in the local woods, which was a great deal of fun and got you out whatever the weather.

Anyway back on topic, as is often the case in societies people had paired up quickly in 1st year with pretty much all my friends inside the LARP society and outside having a partner. All except Thomas. Now it wasn't that Thomas was unattractive or no fun its just that he was somewhat nervous and generally felt awkward having been to a rather repressive private school and was only now relaxing into University life and persuing interests beyond parental control like cross-dressing for instance - he was mosty into LARP because he could play female characters and could pull that off pretty well.

He felt the lack of a girlfriend particularly keenly so he was overjoyed when someone introduced a new girl to the society called Jordan. Now Jordan was a bit older than us, was an ex-student and didn't exactly look after herself, what with being overweight and rather fond of the ciggies and had what looked like a receeding hairline. But she was smitten with Thomas and so was he so they became an item.

All well and good you might say. But since we lived together some rather odd behaviour started emerging. She had a tendency to try and grab your attention, including once when she burst into my room wearing Thomas's basque and stockings asking how she looked. Or offering to give lifts into town and then dissappering at the agreed time. Strange balls of red hair started appearing round the house - one of her other quirks was a rather nasty case of tritchotillomania whic explained the receeding hair line. Still Thomas seemed happy and a happier Thomas made for a happier house.

Until the fateful day that a rather stunned Thomas comes back from lectures announcing that Jordan has dumped him for some 1st year LARPer known to us as Greasy for that is what he was. Thomas was still a bit stunned by the evening but was up for going to the weekly LARP Tavern night. So we, that is VB, Thomas and I trooped down to the Union for the tavern night.

Only to find Jordan and Greasy spending the whole evening in the mddle of the tavern kissing and snogging and generally getting a lot of kicks from rubbing it in Thomas's face. Not good when your planned night out involved hitting goblins and smiting undead, not trying to calm a distressed housemate.
Thomas, who was a sensitive soul at the best of times spent the rest of the evening in tears while we spend most of it consoling him. One of our friends ended up giving us a lift home as he was in such a state.

So once safely home our house held a Council of War. Having ruled out any revenge involving GBH, sabotage or anything that could break the law, Thomas hit upon the ultimate plan: Write a letter.

Now JOrdan's relationship with her mother whom she lived with was a tad strained to say the least. So Thomas wrote her a letter detailing all of Jordan's misdemenors in the past month - including unauthorised credit card spending to buy Greasy a kilt and 'borrowing' of her mothers car without her knowledge - and of cause all the more salacious stuff.

So he wrote it, posted it and we waited. Thomas was getting over the dumping and coped with seeing Greasy and Jordan together by leaving the room.

Until the fateful day when Jordan steamed up to me white with rage and looking not unlike a tugboat in a moth-eaten ginger wig saying "I knew it was Thomas who wrote that letter to my mother. Did you put him up to it!"

All I could do was bite my bottom lip and croak out a "No" and hurry somewhere where I could laugh my arse off out of earshot. Apparently everyone on the lower level of the Union could hear her when she finally found Thomas. He wasn't phased by it as he spent the rest of the evening giggling about it too.

The result of the letter was that her mother did not speak to her for 3 months. And just after she'd started speaking to Jordan, Jordan "borrows" her car and manages to write it off and break her arm. Cue another 3 months of not speaking.

Well done for getting this far.
(, Tue 27 Jul 2010, 23:56, 3 replies)
Sales manager where I used to work
Bit of a twunt, ex-copper, arrogant, racist, short fuse, violent streak - once held the software manager up against the wall by his throat.

He was walking past my desk when he suddenly stopped and without saying anything picked up my packet of Extra Strong Mints, popped one in his mouth and bit hard. "Argh!" he exclaimed and after reaching into his mouth and poking around with his fingers, pulled out half of a tooth. I opened my desk drawer, took out my emergency packet of Softmints and said "Perhaps you'd prefer one of these".
(, Tue 27 Jul 2010, 23:26, Reply)
wrong way round
Cycling home this evening I went into the back of a stationary bus at about 18-20mph. Normally had I seen someone do this I'd piss myself laughing but as i was picking myself up and drivers were stopping to ask if I were okay, I couldn't help but laugh at myself.

Luckily my bike is okay (2nd day I've had it). Though things come in threes and it was the 3rd bike accident I've had today (well 2 very near misses). I should take my bosses advice and not do anything but sit still on a chair as whenever I do anything remotely dangerous, I somehow hurt myself in a spectacular way. Knowing I'm jinxed I can always see the funny side and laugh through the pain :D
(, Tue 27 Jul 2010, 21:28, 5 replies)
Knives are fun
I was on the phone to my Gran about a year ago, and she was telling me about a nasty cut she got on her hand while cutting some cheese. In great detail, and to my complete discomfort (as I do not like blood), she explained how much blood was dripping from her hand onto the floor and how she had managed to wrap a teatowel round the wound as a temporary bandage.

Now, my Gran's not too quick on her feet (I'm ninety-two, you know), so she explained how she shuffled through to the bathroom with her zimmer frame to get the plasters, and how she had to clean the wound, and all the trouble of getting a plaster on before the bleeding finally stopped. I sat patiently and sympathetically listening to my poor old Gran's tale. All in, she reckons, the whole traumatic episode took about half-an-hour between her cutting herself and finally getting the plaster in place. Old age is a bitch.

Finally, she cleaned herself up and shuffled slowly though to the kitchen again, where the bloody knife was still sitting. She slowly took the knife over to the sink and gave it a good wash, then zimmered back to the cheeseboard, knife in hand. She positioned herself in front of the cheeseboard, picked the knife up, then promptly dropped it, pointy tip downwards, into her foot.

At this point, I burst out laughing and struggled to speak. Fortunately my Gran is a bit deaf, and did not hear the strangled guffawing at my end. She then explained how she had to shuffle back though to the bathroom, with a sharp knife protruding from her foot, trying not to bump it with her zimmer frame as she inched her way forward. By the time I got off the phone, I was crying with laughter. I am going to hell.
(, Tue 27 Jul 2010, 21:00, 5 replies)
bringing up the rear
my aunt edna, known to the rest of the family as the queen of green, was having a little trouble with the local youths. her husband had been in the army before going mental and was fond of threatening to beat up the local kids. they, of course, took this as a damn good reason to harrass my aunt and uncle relentlessly. they loved congregating in the alleyway at the side of the house, making a noise and drinking, then throwing their empties into my aunt's garden.
when shopping with mum, we ran into my aunt and mum asks her how things are going. what she said will stay with me forever and caused me to wet myself a little in the middle of boots: "oh, it's terrible! i've got those damn teenagers stuck in my back passage every night!"
how the hell mum kept a straight face is beyond me. i laughed so hard i almost ruptured something!
(, Tue 27 Jul 2010, 20:25, 1 reply)
Watching the cutlery explode
Me mum decided to take my daughter who was aged 18 months at the time into the city centre. When they were looking around a granny knocked over a 24 piece cutlery set, making the biggest noise imaginable. Everyone stood there quiet, while this poor woman picked up everything in quiet shame...until me daughter runs over, points at the mess and screams "OH MY GOD, SHE MADE A MESS, LOOK EVERYONE!"

And that's when everyone pissed themselves laughing at the gran. I have taught her well....
(, Tue 27 Jul 2010, 19:13, 1 reply)
I'm going to Hull...
On my way home from work just now I saw a four year old girl fall off her Dora the Explorer scooter and epically faceplant straight to the concrete. The best part was when her dad tripped over a loose bit of pavement and did exactly the same thing as he was running over to console her. There were giggles. I was wearing earphones, so I just pretended to be talking on the phone and carried on my merry way.

First post ^___^
(, Tue 27 Jul 2010, 18:45, 1 reply)
Aunt Iris
Was my grandmother’s sister. She was short, had wiry grayish brown hair that stuck out like Larry from the Three Stooges with hair extensions and unlike anyone else in the family, would sneak to the basement for a smoke.

This wasn’t what made her unique, however. She had no teeth. She had apparently had such poor tooth hygiene that it wrecked the gums and they couldn’t put dentures on (I don’t know the biology of all this, just following what mom said). She also had a long nose and prominent chin, which by the time I arrived on the scene had grown within an inch of each other. She was the epitome of a Grimm’s fairy tale witch, except nice. How she ever got her lips past the gate of her nose and chin to give us sloppy great-aunt kisses I’ll never know.

The icing on the cake was the fact that she had a really bad stutter. Imagine, short, funky hair, no teeth and an inability to get a phrase out without shaking her head and sounding like Mel Tillis on meth. Saying “Hello sweetheart” turned into “heh heh heh hlo thweet thweet thweet, dear”.

Now I had two brothers, one five years older, who was/is evil, and the parasitic baby, two years younger. We had discussed this interesting creature called Aunt Iris and imitated her while sitting in grandma’s barn or in the corn fields, etc. The evil one had picked up on mimicking her to a “T” and would regale us with hour after hour of Aunt Iris trying to quote Shakespeare, sing church hymns, etc.

Mom had caught on what we were doing and told us at the pain of death to stop and told us how much we would hurt her because she loved us so much. This just made all the more funnier.

Cue a family dinner looking like Norman Rockwell’s Thanksgiving. Everyone was eating, there was little conversation due to the sumptuous feast. Then I made the mistake of looking at my evil brother. All he did was mimic Aunt Iris’ toothless grin. The first time he did so, I quickly looked into my plate, got control of my breathing and mastered myself.

But that’s where it went wrong – the anticipation. I could not eat correctly because I knew the next time I looked he would do the same thing. I started sweating, I started being unable to control my breathing. Then it happened. I looked up he did an animated toothless grin and shook his head side to side like she did when she was excited. I laughed, but with my mouth closed. This meant that all air, mucus, and part of my corn and mashed potatoes came out of my nose. I was busted (and almost institutionalized), because I couldn’t stop giggling like a madman with dripping snot and corn garland hanging from my nose. I was excused [forced] from the table to go clean up.

I later got a major beating. My evil brother and his doe eyes of innocence went unscathed. My mom was never so ashamed (well until later).
(, Tue 27 Jul 2010, 18:14, 2 replies)

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