Teenagers eh?
When park-drinking during my early teens, I was asked for a cigarette by a girl who was rather the worse for wear. The memory is rather fuzzy as I wasn't on top form myself, but as far as I recall I insisted that the price of a cigarette would be a BJ. I even took out my knob while twirling the ciggy tantalisingly.

I later heard that the girl had somewhat more sinister recollections of the scene and believed that I was atempting some sort of assault. I feel terrible for scaring the poor girl, but I didn't realise that she must have been in posession of slightly more morals than all the other sluts who'd gladly accepted the deal.

I really hope that it wasn't any corruption on my part that led to her being shagged in the park in front of twenty or so other people a few weeks later.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 18:02, Reply)

me too....
b1ta, I too have a certain rude fondness for rachelswipe. I think it's because of the golden rules of lady-business that were branded onto my impressionable mind. In particular, the one about posh birds being reet dirty ganners. It seems to be quite true.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 17:39, Reply)

rachelswipe
My guilty secret is I have a crush on rachelswipe simply from reading her posts about her random sexual antics.

And that she has a pair of sexy red heels...
(quantum raspberry quizzically quashing Quebecans, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 17:19, Reply)

just remembered my actual guilty secret....
I've only ever related the full extent of this to one person, and will now share it with you.

I had been seeing my ex for two and a half years. Both of us happy and in love for most of the time, albeit I was stoned at least half of it.

We had been living together before we got together at uni, and continued to do so throughout the whole of our relationship. this never caused any troubles.

We shared the same group of friends, a very close group, and everyone got on amazingly well. (and smoked a lot of dope)

it happened that on my course there was a girl who I had liked from pretty much the moment I met her (before I met my ex), she was attached at the time unfortunately, and I was a long-haired overweight metaller. not a good basis for a relationship.

This girl and I became good friends to the extent of sitting together in pretty much every lecture we had for 4 years; we had an arrangement whereby she informed of what work I needed to do and by when, and I checked hers for spelling and grammar. This worked beautifully for both of us.

There was never any thought of a relationship between us until towards the end of our final year at uni we had a field trip to Barcelona, and it became apparent to each of us seperately (when incredibly drunk) that after another month or so that we might not see each other again. (I was no longer a long-haired overweight metaller)

Nothing happened on this trip save for a couple of hours holding hands (possibly some of the happiest hours of my life, and I was unbelievably, rip-roaringly drunk. Three sheets to the wind. Nissed as a pewt. etc.)

On return from Barcelona we parted, with some thinking to be done.

At this point I had decided that my future with the (now ex) girlfriend was not going to be to my liking. Frankly she was becoming a little annoying.

Coupled with this, on a night out with some coursemates, the new girl and I again ended up holding hands and repaired back to hers for a talk (and talk we did). we also shared the best first kiss one could imagine.

I walked home on cloud 9, although with every step closer to my house it was coming home to me that I'd have to split up with my (then current) gf, who I lived with, shared a group of friends with, and who was in the middle of writing her dissertation and would shortly have her finals...

this left me in a dilemma. my nature wouldn't let me break things off with her due to the things mentioned above, and clearly I couldn't continue the way things had been. I wanted to be with the new girl.

So I broke the news to the current gf that I wasn't sure if I loved her anymore, and needed some time to think about it. This led to me jetting off to Swansea for a few days to visit my mate at uni there and going on a massive bender (I think)

a few days later I returned to work on my dissertation etc. to find that my gf had gone to home to work on hers thus leaving me in relative peace.

Now, at this stage I didn't know who knew what out of my friends, so I resolved to keep as much to myself as I could. Spending all day in the library or computer room revising and writing my dissertation and coming home in the evening to lock myself in my room, smoke fags (had given up pot for the duration of this) and chat with the new girl on msn.

Some afternoons were spent in the arms of the new girl, never going that far, but far enough to make me feel somewhat guilty about my double life.

this went on for some time as exams were dealt with and dissertations finished.

One day I was at home and my old gf had been shopping in town. I had finally insisted to myself that today was the day I had to break up with her, regardless of how hard it would be.

I see her arrive by taxi via the gift of my window, and basically run upstairs, bursting into my room.

Her bag and contents including phone, wallet etc. had been stolen while trying on shoes

(a lesson here for you girls)

I naturally tried to comfort her. While I didn't want to be with her anymore, I still cared for her very much, and respected her as well.

Unfortunately she detected "something wrong with my hug" and decided that I did indeed not love her anymore.

This led to the breakup where I uttered all the cliches (It's not you, it's me etc.)

The part I felt guilty about (and did up until I heard that our friends had found out the truth some time later and informed me that I did the right thing) is this:

she repeatedly and insistently, whilst staring at me, asked if there was someone else. I went through a massive debate in my head in a split second, looked her in the eye and said a clear, firm "No"

this was repeated several times with her asking "why don't I believe you?"

eventually this passed, there was some awkwardness, and I once again, drove to Swansea for an almighty 3 day bender in relief and celebration.

I've seen her once or twice since then, and things were awkward (what can I say, I'm awesome, I affect people) but now things are all good, she's happy, and the new girl is the current Mrs Vipros of 3 years and counting. we are just about to buy our second place together.

I'm certain I did the right thing. and the few people who I've told or who know the story have backed me up on that, so I feel vindicated.

The moral of this story is that while honesty is the best policy, a lie if delivered effectively and with conviction can save someone you care about a lot of heartache.

and save you from a whole load more explaining!!!

many apologies for length, but it's wasted my last half hour of work, and I like to think it's a reasonably interesting tale.

if I've blurred any details, and you are dying to know more then message me and I'll try and clear things up.

that is all
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 16:50, Reply)

I told her I loved her...
... I didn't.

But I was very horny.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 16:06, Reply)

Teran
I am *so* glad ;p
( e.m.m.y. foxtrot uniform charlie kilo india tango, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 15:53, Reply)

Miss Emmy
*mock serious/consoling tone* That's alright dear. I'm taken so don't feel bad about it. :)
(Teran Thinks Pogonophobia is funny, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 15:48, Reply)

Teran
Sorry Teran, I'm a big girl, but I like my men big rather than skinny.
( e.m.m.y. foxtrot uniform charlie kilo india tango, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 15:36, Reply)

Whoo!
Hooray for Vipros!
(Teran Thinks Pogonophobia is funny, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 15:31, Reply)

Teran
not the case. against all odds, I have already found myself a lovely hairy-back-liking partner
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 15:30, Reply)

Oh oh Spaghetti oh!
I think Vipros is coming on to Emmily Bruce-Dickinson. And she might be coming on to random hairy blokes.*checks back for hair*

Can you tell I'm absolutely bored at work and have nothing better to do?
(Teran Thinks Pogonophobia is funny, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 15:24, Reply)

thought I didn't have one for this QOTW but...
Emily Bruce-Dickinson reminded me....

I have a hairy back


oh the shame!!!
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 15:21, Reply)

Bonus anyone?
Having come back from a perfect 6 months travelling around the world, I began work at one of the lowest levels of the food chain, that is at a well known pub chain whose prices are suprisingly cheap.

Friday nights were hell incarnate as wave after wave of thirsty rude and cheap ass punters would bend you over said bar and rape you solidly calling you all names under the sun just because you were serving all the pretty girls first. So being ingenious slackers we made up a game.

To make sure we could serve quickly, all our tills had quick keys for nearly all drinks we sold. These quick keys overlaid a normal qwerty keyboard. The better our stock was, the more bonus we got. The more money we made the rude bastards pay, the better we felt. And so the alphabet game was born.

At 9pm on a Friday the game was afoot. Starting at A and working your way through the alphabet you had to add drinks to peoples bills. A - J was pretty easy, as reef and stella was only about £1 / £2 a pop. It was when you got to W that things started to get a bit hairy with £7 bottles of wine.

And in the early morning, after all those thirsty, puking, violent, pikey, racist bastards staggered out of the door, we would lift a pint to them.

We did this every Friday, for 1 and a half years.
(Meganinja, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 15:20, Reply)

I don't think I was ideally suited to be a member of Amnesty International
I felt strongly about the cause, but I also found the others who were involved tended to lack severely in the sense of humour department. I mean, a person can only hear so many harrowing torture stories before wanting to let off some steam...

So it didn't go down very well at one particular AI conference when, in the bar after a long session about the systematic abuse of women in certain middle eastern countries, I began to improvise the "Female Genital Mutilation" song.

Later we were all led outside for a photo op: each person was given a life-size, cardboard cutout silhouette, which represented a 'disappeared' person from a particular regime. We were to hold them up in the air so that they could get a 'group photo' for promotional material. It was cold, it took a long time to organise, I was bored. So I started a Mexican wave.

...I was never invited back.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 14:49, Reply)

Fat girls
I am a fat girl and I like guys with hair on their backs. :D
(Emily Bruce-Dickinson http://jovialfellow.blogspot.com/, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 14:49, Reply)

i once wiped the toothbrush of a total stranger around the bowl of an unflushed toilet in a youth hostel in italy
i was drunk and he was annoying. no excuse really though
( monstrinho do biscoito teeeshurts = www.nogunarmy.com, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 14:36, Reply)

Inappropriate titles
The John Adams piece Short Ride in a Fast Machine has a somewhat strained relationship with the Last Night of the Proms. It was due to be played at the Last Night in 1997, but was shelved in the wake of Princess Diana's unfortunate death.

Then it was rescheduled.

For 15th September 2001.

Whoops.

I laughed when I heard this. All my colleagues now think I'm a twunt of the highest order.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 14:32, Reply)

Lovely, milky milky
I have recently been informed that my new boss is lactose intolerant and the Soya milk in the work fridge is his. As he is a complete twunt and stabbed in the back the old boss who was a lovely lady who I had a very close "working realationship" with he's getting very special milk right now. On a good day it's laced with double cream, on a bad day well...... I don't feel guilty and it's now no longer a secret.
by the way Teran, I too like big girls. As Mika big girls they are beautiful.
(The kneeling rifleman Is slowly getting there.., Mon 3 Sep 2007, 14:24, Reply)

Jack Russell revenge
I was house-sitting for an acquaintance who happened to have both a cat and a Jack Russell called Jacky. I hate dogs, and this one was the worst of its kind: yappy, irritating and with an aggressive streak. It would snarl at my heels whenever I was around and yap incessantly if in the same room.

The dog would chase the cat round the house pretty much all day, yap yap yapping endlessly. This pissed me off no end as I tried to enjoy Rambo III one evening on DVD, and I wished the dog dead on numerous occasions. But something better happened.

All internal doors had a catflap. On this occasion, the cat came rocketing through the flap to escape its tomentor and the chasing dog's head became wedged in the gap, causing a frenzy of high-pitched barking. I swear I heard the cat laughing.

So I got up and approached the door. Cue the dog going into yap overdrive and snarling at my legs. I opened the door and the dog moved with it, still barking. Then I closed the door and stood behind the dog, whose stumpy little legs were twitching insanely. I couldn't resist. I kicked its arse.

This resulted in an ecstasy of yapping and a frenzied tapdancing of canine legs. I found it so funny that I gave the arse another belt and grinned at the yaps became one uninterrupted yowl. It was quite securely trapped in the flap. There was some fun to be had.

In an upstairs room, I found a can of compresed air - the kind with a long plastic tube attached to clean camera lenses, keyboards and the like. So I went down and stood again behind the dog, which had not stopped barking the whole time. I positioned the end of the tube mere milimetres from the animals clenching knot and let loose a stream of chilled, compressed air.

And, do you know, the result was quite striking. Those stumpy little legs thrashed and jumped so fast that I fancied it a hummingbird. The howl was one of apocalyptic surprise - and not in a good way either. No - it was a crescendo of frustration... the kind of noise you'd want Scrappy Doo to make as you put him through a mangle. And then I gave the dog another kick, just for a garnish.

I don't know how many minutes we spent like that. But by the end of it, little Jacky was sobbing doggy tears and it's little arse was quite red raw. I didn't stop until the little fucker went silent. Then I sat down to enjoy the rest of Rambo III in peace.

I left the dog stuck in the door all night and the owner found him the next day, quite silent and forlorn. I denied all knowledge of the accident, but I think we'd reached an understanding, Jacky and I.
(frankspencer, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 14:20, Reply)

At a gig one night
in a club somewhere in Scotland which shall remain nameless, we were being fed and watered during the interval in the committee room. The sign on the door was one of these little pegboards with push-in plastic letters. I removed them and changed the words "COMMITTEE ROOM" to "COME MORE TO TIM", which is the only anagram I could think of .

We chuckled about it for a bit, then it was forgotten. The thing is, that was three years ago, and I was there again a few weeks back and they've not changed the sign back. I wonder if it's because no one knows how to spell committee?

I only feel guilty because I'd be so embarrassed if anyone from the club found out I'd done such a puerile thing!
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 14:08, Reply)

Farmyard Frolics - Long
I've mentioned before that I used to occasionally work on a farm in the summer, so here's a tale from those days.


An incident springs to mind and that was the night of the cider run. So this is how it happened.......

After a hard few weeks in the fields, Roger the farm manager decided to take a bunch of us out in a couple of mini buses to a town a few miles away that had a cider-house. It was a kind of pub but it only sold cider in two-pint stone flagons. Well I say cider, it was really a kind of lethal scrumpy which I'm sure couldn't have been legal.

When we got there, we grabbed a couple of tables - big old-fashioned solid oak jobbies the were which could seat about 12 people. We grabbed seats and settled in for a night of drinking and silliness. Roger had already warned us not to have more than two flagons as "It be straaanger than it looks". Heh.. What did he know? I was a Geordie and was proud of my drinking capacity. 10 plus pints a night wasn't unknown in those days. (Jesus. If I tried that now I'd be in bed for a week!) And so we bought our flagons and started drinking.

It tasted a little odd "That'll be the dead rats they throw in to give it some body" cracked Roger and I wasn't entirely sure he was joking. Still, it went down and stayed down and I was soon on my way for my second flagon. That one went down without problems as well. It was also having the usual effect of making the conversation sparkle and anything anyone said was funny. 2 flagons down and I still felt fine so it was soon off for my third. After finishing that I felt marvelous. On top of the world. A tiny, tiny bit tipsy but nothing much. So I decided to get myself another one. After all, what did a farmer know about drinking? So I started to stand up and......

My knees didn't work. Halfway through standing up they just gave way and my face came down with a horrible bang straight into the solid oak table. My nose took the brunt of the impact and there was claret (blood) everywhere. Of course, everyone (including me) found this hilarious. After cleaning myself up I did finally get my fourth jug of cider and then everything became a blur. I've no memory at all of leaving the cider-house, the journey home or why I was waking up in the wood-pile back at the campsite.

No work got done that day. At least not by any of us who'd been to the cider-house. Most of the day was spent drinking vast quantities of water and trying to hide from the sun. Still, by the evening I was feeling almost human again so it was off to the local pub for a very quiet nights drinking. When we arrived, Roger (who hadn’t been drinking the night before as he was driving) filled us in on what had happened when we got back to the camp-site.

"It was like a bomb exploding" he said "Every door in the bus opened - including some sill bugger who managed to crawl out of the roof - and you all just wandered off in totally random directions. Jeff fell in the cess-pit, Sue and Chris were being sick in the cornfield and Legless was trying to make a nest in the woodpile. I did watch for 10 minutes or so to make sure nobody hurt themselves and I did pull Jeff out of the shit but I was most interested in watching Craig trying to find the door at the back of his tent....."

As a footnote to this tale, something amusing happened the following week when instead of going to the pub we sent a car over to the cider house to get a couple of gallons of cider which we intended to drink around the campfire. That week, there was a load of Moroccans guys over who were strict Muslims. As we were drinking, playing guitar and singing around the fires, a couple came over to chat to us.

(I can't do accents even when I'm writing so bear with me...)

"Wos is zat you are drinking" says a Moroccan?

"Apple juice mate. Just Apple juice" I said.

"Oh - can we try some?" says Moroccan.

And in the interests of International brotherhood I said

"Course you can mate. And here's some for your pals" and slung a gallon container over to him.

Well how was I to know that Moslems didn't drink? There were bugger all Moslems where I came from. So the silly buggers had about half a pint each and they were away with the fairies. It was fucking Bedlam. A couple of fights started, three of them were trying to climb one of the greenhouses but the funniest were a group who decided that they were going to try and shag Paddy.

Paddy was a young, good-looking Irish lad (Never!!) with bright blonde hair and the Moroccans were fascinated with him. They pursued him around the field, babbling away in French about what they wanted to do to him and eventually he holed up in his tent. Even there he wasn't safe. About 5 of them were clustered around the door to his tent and were trying to persuade him to open the door.

"Legless" yelled Paddy - "Legless!! - You speak some frog. What's French for fuck off?"

"Err. That would be Je t'aime mate. Try that" I said trying to get the words out through my laughter.

"Je t'aime you bastards, je t'aime!!!" screamed Paddy and the Moroccans redoubled their efforts to get into his tent....

He never did forgive me, and I've always felt a wee bit guilty about it...

Cheers all
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 14:05, Reply)

My Guilty Not-So-Little Secret
My guilty secret is I like fat girls. Nothing wrong with that I hear you say. And yes I agree with you. Nothing wrong with it. But as a rather skinny bloke, some part of my brain thinks its rather dirty. *insert Austin Powers reference about Dirty Pillows here*
(Teran Thinks Pogonophobia is funny, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 13:48, Reply)

My Guilty Secret
I'm Gay.
( aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 13:39, Reply)

Found a Wallet
after clubbing at the Fridge in brixton (yay for hard trance) we went for a lucozade in a little shop.
On the floor was a wallet, clearly fallen out of some other poor souls pocket.

Now, we figured that this could have been the worst place to lose a wallet so pocketed it so the dodgy looking shopkeepers didn't claim it and got the first train home.

Once on the train, we looked through to a veritable treasure trove of amusement.

There was (check if my memory still works...)

3 years of Bus Travel cards with pictures of him on it.Very amusing to see it get grown to a pony tail (didn't suit him) and then cut.
Cash card, and a little slip of paper with 4 digits on it - may have been his pin.
His Driving license, with more pictures of him.
A passport application form partially completed.
And £20, and a selection of storecards and general crap.

So, thrust into this morale dilemma we formulate a plan. We spent the £20 and wrote a list of what we had bought. Frijj milkshakes, donuts, newspaper, Haribo, and more lucozade some baccy and some kingsize orange doobie makers.

We then posted all the important stuff back, to the address on the drivers license with an addtional letter, explaining how close he had come to his life getting cloned and how lucky he was! and that he should never grow his hair again.

We thought we did the right thing, but occasionally i feel we were too harsh on his hair.
( bazza van der trance , ooh baby baby, baby baby. Get up on this., Mon 3 Sep 2007, 13:36, Reply)

I pissed on someone's grave.
Nothing personal; I just needed a piss.
( Bob Todd whee, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 13:31, Reply)

Working in a ski resort
A long time ago, before I started uni, I spent a winter working in a ski resort in France. It was a mind numbing job, and I basically spent my mornings cleaning rooms and the afternoons skiing! However, we weren't allowed out skiing until all the rooms were cleaned, and we had to do a proper job as the manager inspected them.

One week we had a bunch of proper chavs in (I'm not sure the term chav had been invented then, but they clearly were) - and every day they left their room in a proper state - it took hours to clean, and seriously cut into our skiing time.

So at the end of the week we got some revenge - we pissed in all their shampoo bottles, and then proceeded to shove their tooth brushes (brush end first) up our arses. The best bit is that one of them had left a camera in the room, so we took some photos.

I'd love to have seen their faces, when they came back from boots, to realise they'd been brushing their teeth with brushes that had been up someone bum!

And I don't really feel guilty at all - they deserved it!
(charlie1105, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 13:29, Reply)

My Guilty Secret
A few years ago I stayed with my mate at his girlfriend's house for New Years Eve. We all went out, got arseholed, and unbeknownst to me my mate's girlfriend dropped an E. We get back, he goes to bed, and suddenly she was all over me like a rash. We snogged for a bit and that was it, but had her mum not been in the room (yes, you did read that right) I definitely would have "allowed it to be taken" further. Still, when her mum told her about it the next day, and she "didn't remember" (ahem, yer right) it and promptly told him, I persuaded him that it was all her fault and I had to push her away. What I didn't tell him is that I blatantly kissed her back, more than once, and that I enjoyed it.

Sorry mate, but she was up for it.

Interesting side note, I believe she's done this with at least one other person since me, and others before me.

Rather him than me, I say.
(d371ght back again since, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 13:26, Reply)

Guilty Secret
I've got a guilty secret and I feel so guilty about it I can't tell you. Yes, it's that bad I can't tell a bunch of people I've never met and I'm unlikely to meet.

Sorry - it's just too bad, I mean really bad. Worse than any of you could imagine.

Mullered.
( JeffTheDogFucker Can you dig it?, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 13:20, Reply)