So, why is he called Annie?
.
Waaaaay back in the dim and distant past (otherwise known as the 80's) my brother and I were big fans of Top of the Pops. Every Thursday night we'd be sat in front of the telly, which had a whole EIGHT channel buttons I'll have you know, waiting for that week's selection of cool tunes.

Mum would be pottering about, or reading, or whatever and generally not paying much attention.

She happened to wander into the room one particular night as the Eurythmics were giving it big licks - can't remember which song, but never mind, that's not important right now.

Mum double-takes at the telly and asks,

"Is that a man or a woman?" as Annie Lennox, with her incredibly short hair, wearing trousers and nothing but a bra on top, belted it out. My brother couldn't resist.

"Well, Mum, a bit of both really. She used to be a man, but has only got so far with the surgery. Still has boy bits down below."

All delivered with a perfectly straight face. Bear in mind the fact that this was the 80's and long before the LadyBoys rose to fame. I don't think my mother had ever "seen" a transsexual. I don't think any of us had.

She looked at me for confirmation and I merely nodded, being unable to speak without giving the game away. Poor Mum didn't know what to say on the subject. She wandered off, a little shocked and possibly even mentally preparing a stiff letter of complaint to the BBC.

Later that night, she was telling Dad about this "person", and you could see the inverted commas around that word, who'd been allowed on the telly to pollute her innocent childrens' young minds. Dad, bless him, was a little more aware of the music scene, but for reasons of his own decided to play along.

"Ah yes, Annie Lennox. Used to be Alan I believe, but got some *gestures in front of chest with cupped hands* and changed his name to Annie."

The subject was brought up regularly for a while, but after about three weeks Dad gave in and told her the truth. Annie Lennox is, and always has been, female. No boy bits. At all. Mum didn't find it as funny as we did, and showed her disapproval in the way only Mums can. We ate a lot of casserole for a while. And we all hated casserole.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Fri 22 Aug 2008, 20:23, 2 replies)

I posted this as a reply...
...much further down the thread, but I think it stands on its own (in an expanded form) as a post for this QOTW;

My experience of organised religion involved my first stepmother, who followed a perverted version of the Baptist faith. Dad was non-committal, so of course I followed her. I believed.

Beatings were frequent - but only when my non-believing father wasn't around. After all, you have to beat the sin out of a child - and you mustn't let the infidels stop you in your holy mission.

Hi Jan! Yes, I remember how you punched me in the kidneys for having the temerity to be ill and throwing up on my bed!

Dad only found out about this years later, after she had left us to take on with some other single-parent family that needed 'fixing'. Pity that kid.

So I was faced with cowardace, violence and hypocracy all in a package that guaranteed me to be a nasty little misogynist until the day I met a wonderful woman who, if you assume that the sky-fairy has a purpose for everyone, taught me that people can be responsible for the most remarkable acts of magnificence and beauty.

She died five weeks after we were married from the motor neurone disease that she'd suffered with for five years. And I might have hated any God that there might be for taking her away from me, but the 18 months I knew her for made me a better person. Able to function.

Whatever I might worship, and however I do it, it won't be because some effete, money-grabbing, self-interested control freak shitstack connned me into believing that it's in compliance with their ridiculous vision of their violent, emasculated "Lord".

If I worship anything at all, it's the glory of the truly righteous human.

And that is how I learned that, through an abuse of trust, organised religion had not given me a gullible moment, but gullible years.
(Guizmeaux, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 20:11, Reply)

Not me, but over half the world's population
Their parents told them that there's an invisible man in the sky who controls the universe, and denamds to be worshipped.

Countless human hours (and lives) have been wasted on this ridiculous concept.

All because parents said so when they were young and naïve, eh?
(EuroSong I love horse meat: best of all the animals, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 19:55, Reply)

Thankyou Lady of leisure!
My two little ones were just drinking their milk before bedtime while the eldest (three) regaled me with stories of their visit to the local farm. It seems they had fed all kinds of animals and a puppy had even eaten her cake.

When she told me they'd seen a Llama, EvilArgyle (he's red and sits on my right shoulder) immediately thought of Lady of Leisure's story of shiraffes. GoodArgyle was busy watching cbeebies and didn't have much to say.

"Did you know that when you have a mummy sheep and a daddy giraffe you get a baby llama?"

"Really? That's amazing!"

"Aww - that's sweet," I hear you say. And it would have been, apart from that fact that it was my wife that said it.

Yes, she believed me. As outrageous a claim as it was, she believed me. One hundred percent. Without a shadow of a doubt.

I only stopped laughing after she kicked me in the nutsack.
( argyleblanket The man on the roof works for me, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 19:38, Reply)

balloons and bastard brothers
when i was but a wee smash, i went with my older brother to spend my pocket money.
as we got near the shops, we saw a group of teenage boys blowing things up outside the chemists' shop.
"look, smash," says evil brother, "they've got balloons! you like balloons, why don't you go and ask them if you can have one?"
so i did.

that was the first time i ever heard the word "condom".
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 19:21, Reply)

Choccy the guinea pig
When my other half's cousin was younger, he was given a long haired multi-coloured guinea pig (bits of him were brown and hence the name) on Christmas Day and much excitement ensued. Unfortunately, at some point during the joviality the cousin was holding the guinea pig in his arms but lost control and dropped him on his head.

Now the guinea pig apparently looked alright after the fall, but the next day Aunty and Uncle found poor Choccy dead in his cage. A period of panic came over them and rather than teach their child the facts of life, they decided to go and buy another Guinea Pig because he probably wouldn't notice (this happened to me when I pointed out that my old Goldfish had lasted 8 years that I won at a fair, but my mum had just simply been replacing them when they kept kicking the bucket).

So Aunty and Uncle go to the pet store where they had bought Choccy to find a replacement, but the festive season had meant the store was in short supply. There were no long haired Guinea Pigs to be found nor any with any brown colour in their fur. Unbelievably they still bought a new Guinea Pig, but they had a cunning lie to reason why it looked so different.

So when cousin sees the very different looking Guinea Pig, what do they tell him? They tell him that Santa had taken "Choccy" away because he had become ill. They proceed to tell him that as part of the remedy, Santa had shaved "Choccy" and these were simply the colours found on the short fur of the Guinea Pig. This reasoning had obviously been convincing as cousin never questioned anything that was said.

Finally, fast forward over a decade and I was told the story for the first time by my other half. We happened to see cousin a few days letter and I was mocking him for believing that Santa had healed his Guinea Pig and that he'd in fact dropped it on it's head. Turned out he never knew that Choccy wasn't the original Choccy (despite not being brown!).

Sorry for length etc etc.

R
(nospoon The Olympigs would have been more entertaining., Fri 22 Aug 2008, 19:15, Reply)

Not me but,
A friend of mine always believes people when they say "Not me but a friend" on a popular website.

He says he's got a massive cock too.
(Shippy likes linebreaks and doesn't care what you think, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 19:12, Reply)

my step sister
when she was a lot younger she hated cabbage

so we cut some up differently and told her it was cabaaage, a french vegetable, different from cabbage of course.
shes nearly 18 now and...

she loves the stuff.
(hollyannivy, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 18:02, 1 reply)

Interesting
that 80% or so of these stories involve the phrase "Not me, but someone I know" or similar. I wonder how many of these posts have had their first and third-person verbs swapped around...

Anyway, click "I like this" and you'll get a free iPod.
(Axeman Jim, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 17:56, 4 replies)

A sort-of poem.
In university, I took Pre-Calculus, hated it and struggled to get a C-.
Everybody said: "You need to take Calculus, that's where it gets fun."

So I took Calculus, hated it and struggled to get a C-.
Everybody said: "You need to take Engineering Calculus, that's where it gets fun."

So I took Engineering Calculus, hated it and struggled to get a C-.
Everybody said: "You need to take Calculus II, that's where it gets fun."

So I took Calculus II, hated it and struggled to get a C-.
Everybody said: "You need to take Calculus III. That's where it gets fun."

I asked my advisor if I should take Calculus III,
and he said "Why the hell did you take Calculus II and Engineering Calculus? Those classes are no fun."

I still wonder if I should have taken Calculus III and Differential Equations.
Those sound like where it gets fun.
( setimret likes his metaphors mixed, not stirred, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 17:51, Reply)

I was a gullible child
I swallowed all kinds of lies, mostly from my parents. Some of the whoppers I fell for included:

"I'm going to bed now, so you have to go to bed too."
"The things you learn at school are really important, you use them every day when you grow up."
"We sold the cat to a nice farm in the country."
"School is great! You'll make loads of friends!"
"Your daddy and I love each other very much."

Lies! Lies! Lies!

and the biggest of all:

"You'll understand these things when you're older."

Sorry. I'm 27 and I still don't understand. Any of it.
(Axeman Jim, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 17:47, 2 replies)

Me and a mate and a mate
Back in the mid-nineties I lived with a chap I'd been friends with at school, Kingsley, and we spent much our time with mutual friend Terry. As many of our age did, we spent a few nights each week in the pub playing pool, drinking and talking crap. We'd be in there every night at the weekend and probably one during the week too.

It was around this time that the National Lottery started. If you remember, at the start, the Lottery was quite popular, until the more intelligent members of the population realised it was a tax for people bad at maths. So every Saturday we'd buy a few tickets, then go into the pub, drink and play pool, and at eight o'clock Meta, the adorable Irish landlady, would come downstairs with the lottery numbers so everyone could check their ticket - note Old School pub, so no TV in the bar. The more wise of you may see where this is heading.

One dastardly evening after a few joints, Terry and I decided to set our mate up. We went into town as usual, bought our lottery tickets, and headed to the pub. Our mate was distracted from his wallet and we copied down his numbers, then surreptitiously passed his numbers to the landlady to give us at the usual time.

Eight o'clock was approached, the anticipation building like a match burning to your fingers. Terry and I kept throwing each other knowing glances and smirking across the pub, and Kingsley was happily playing pool and drinking his beer.

Finally, the landlady came downstairs and the scrap of paper containing the magic numbers was passed around the bar. It reached Kingsley and he whipped-out his wallet to check his numbers. He checked, and checked again. He went very pale, like all the blood had drained from his head, and started shaking.

"I've won!" he exclaimed, jumping up and punching the air, "I've fucking won!"

By this point, the entire pub is staring at him, wondering what's going on.

"Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" he shouts, running around the bar like his arse is on fire, "Get yourselves some drinks, I've fucking won!"

We let him live his dream for a couple of minutes. During this time he went through most of the classic phases: disbelief, yearning, anger, depression and acceptance. It was upon his acceptance that we decided to break the news that, unfortunately, he'd been stitched-up by his bastard mates and, unfortunately, he was still a pauper.

It turned out he'd won a tenner.

---

As an epilogue, if you're feeling sorry for the guy, he consequently fucked-off with my girlfriend... then, a few years later, he fucked-off with T's fiance.

On reflection, perhaps that was his sweet revenge.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 17:32, Reply)

Selfish?
I’ve convinced my girlfriend I can’t go down on her because I have cold sores (oral herpes)

Really I just wake up early and Ketchup cornflakes to my face.
(Asser, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:48, 2 replies)

Oh, now HERE'S a beauty for ya...
Mrs. Mary Janec C.
Head of Claim Dept,
HSBC Bank PLC
8 Canada Square
London E14 5HQ
England

Dear Friend,

I am seeking your cooperation to present you to our bank as the Next of kin to Mrs. Sigrid Fassnacht, a foreign contractor from Germany who died on a plane crash on Monday, 31 July, 2000. Mrs Sigrid, her husband Rudi Fassnacht, and their two daughters perished in the air France Concorde new York bound flight. please click here below site for verification,
news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/859479.stm

Before her death, she was a contractor to British national petroleum Cooperation (BNPC) and has a bank balance with my bank to the amount of 30 Million pounds sterling GB) which will be paid to you as her Beneficiary. For your information, I am the head of Claims Department with HSBC Bank PLC London. The board of directors of HSBC Bank PLC mandated me to look for any known relatives of Mrs. Sigrid Fassnacht since after her death all my efforts traces have not been successful. It came to my understanding that there is no relative left.

Based on that I am writing you to ask for your cooperation to front you to my bank as the supposed next of kin/business partner to the Late Mrs. Sigrid Fassnacht to enable us claim this money and it will amount to injustice if we do not take this decisive step to secure this Deposit and invest it because if nobody comes forward to claim the fund it will be forfeited to the government for that reason, I am contacting you to assist me in making! this transaction a reality.

I only have to approve your application as the next of kin and the Fund (30 Million pounds) will be paid to you as the Beneficiary. We are to share this money between ourselves, 10% we will donate to charity organizations and tsunami victims. If you are really interested in this
offer, you should contact me through this Email Address:
[email protected]

I will need your name in full, address, fax and phone number to enable me commence on securing all legal documents that will proof you as the next of Kin/business partner to our deceased customer Mrs. Sigrid Fassnacht.

Note that this transaction is 100% risk free. I will commence immediately in securing all legal documents in your favor on your acceptance to fully cooperate with me.

I await your urgent response to enable us jumpstart this project and nature it to reality.

Yours faithfully,

Mrs. Mary Janec C.

===============================================

Okay, any of you English types wanna get in on this one? *snerk*
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:43, 1 reply)

See its a foreign bike luv...
So my mate at work had just bought a new bike, it was a grey import from Japan and had the speedo in Kms but apart from that was fine. It was cheap cos of this but suited him perfectly and he was dead happy with it.

So following Friday night I'm with him and the gf at the post work beerage on the Queen Mary (should you be familiar with the floating beer palace). He mentions his cool new bike to her and then wanders to get his round in. I conspiratorially lean over and say yea, but its not that good a bike, I mean its a hassle to ride cos its not from the UK. Oh and why is that says? said gf.

Cos its a left hand drive bike.

She nods and goes oh that must be really difficult in traffic then.

Uh yea, cough splutter, beer spillage.

Said mate returns and sees me dribbling beer in distress and asks what.

Gf comiserates with him about the old left hand drive status, he sniggers, I gufaw and gf punches me in a hard sweary way. Much loling and a significant huff followed.

One of several examples so clicky for more tales of resultant punches:)
( b3tz, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:38, 2 replies)

Bloody Yanks
I was sent on an 'around the world' business trip, firstly flying from Manchester to Houston for brush up training, then on to Los Angeles before catching a connecting flight to Sydney.

The trip was "THE MOST IMPORTANT TRIP OF MY LIFE" ..so don't fuck this up, like you usually do, you fuckwit..no pressure or anything. Not. Was repeating over and over in my head - especially as the company had forked out so much cash on booking my flights.

So after a 9 hour flight, I get to Houston, pick up my hire car, do the training.. This is a piece of cake..but don't fuck up.. ok I won't, just relax, I know you've never done this before.. just whatever you do.. don't fuck up and miss a flight.

Catch flight from Houston to LA. No problem.

Body is starting to feel weird..like I've had alot to drink. I'm tired stressed.. oh AND NOBODY FUCKING TOLD ME LA HAS 7 TERMINALS. Each terminal being the size of a small country..and I have to find my connecting flight!

I manage to procure some abrupt but helpful advice and make my way to the departure queue by the metal detectors.

I have my "itinerary" so I know what time my next flight is, but luckily for me...I don't wear a watch. So I ask the Yank in front of me what the time is..

"Sure thing Buddy..What time's your flight"?

What a bloody nice bloke I thought as I relay the info from my itinerary..

"Man ! Your flight leaves in 10 minutes".

Panic sets in. Cue the voice in my head.. I TOLD YOU, YOU WOULD FUCK UP!! ONLY A FUCKING IDIOT WOULD MISS HIS FLIGHT. WHAT A DUMB FUCK.

"SHIT..you've got to let me past" I say desperately.

Laughing, the Yank reveals I have at least an hour before my flight.

Wanker.

Oh how I laughed in my head as I informed the airport staff that Mr.Jokey had a bomb in his bag.
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:38, 5 replies)

The Red Hand Gang
I was 18, so it's a few years ago, I'd failed my college course and been kicked off my apprenticeship, so I got a temp job at a local factory in the plastics workshop. I was basically operating injection moulding machines, repetetive and boring. This is the sort of job that leads some minds to occupy themselves with mischief.

I arrived in the morning, still sleepy-eyed and longing for my bed, to find a note on my workbench, "Please come to the supervisor's office". I duly trudge in to see the supervisor and am presented with a small bucket, with a checklist of times, 0700 to 1200, and a note from Health & Safety. Apparently, they are doing a check on staff to see if they are suffering any ill effects from the chemicals we are using and would like a sample of urine at each of the times shown on the receptacle.

The 0700 sample is easy to supply, I'd had a couple of beers the night before and it was more a case of making sure I didn't supply too much. 0800 was the same and 0900 (just after morning tea-break), the same. By 1000, the flow had dried up a little, 1100 a little more. The 1200 sample was a bit of a struggle, I had to strain quite a bit to force a little dribble into the half full bucket.

Happy that I'd contributed enough, I wandered, warm bucket in hand, back to my work bench, wondering when Health & Safety would send someone to collect my sample. Back at my bench there was another note, which read "Dear Lardy, someone has been taking the piss out of you. Signed, the Red Hand Gang". A snigger from the other side of the workshop drew my attention to all the other employees lined up to point and laugh at the new boy being so stupid and gullible.

Bastards

Length? Quite long to begin with, but very short by lunchtime
(lardyboy Next stop, Fissplap Central, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:34, Reply)

'Scuse me while I kiss the sky

While at school a friend, Tom, and I obtained a small quantity of weed and we hurried into a local copse to smoke and giggle the afternoon away.

Stumbling back up the road a few hours later, eyes like piss holes in the snow and with sufficient munchies to devour a family of pygmies; we clocked another school 'friend' approaching in the distance.

To say this kid was thick would be more of an understatement than to say Hitler had a 'bit of a thing' about Jews. He was shit-eatingly stupid.

Rolling small balls of tobacco as we closed the distance between us and the stupid one, Tom and I hatched a plan to help lighten his pockets of the money that always seemed to adorn them: we would sell him some of the great 'weed' we'd spent the afternoon smoking.

"Wow, maaaaan. I'm soooo stoned, dude." Tom dribbled like the idiot teenager he was.

"Yeeeah maaaan. Me too." I responded in kind.

"Hey, [stupid kid], you should try some of this weed." Tom suggested to the feckless one.

"Oh yeah!." he replied with an eagerness reserved for terminally naive, and I passed the remainder of my roly to him, claiming it was a spliff.

"Woooooow." he exclaimed after just one exhalation, and Tom quickly displayed a paw full of tobacco that had been rolled into small balls, and looked exactly like tobacco that had been rolled into small balls.

"Not got much left, but as you're a mate; £20 for the lot...".

He was driving a hard bargain, even had it been real weed, but the stupid one thrust a crisp twenty toward us before Tom had a chance to finish his sentence.
( Moey, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:26, 2 replies)

Ah thats sweet
When I was a young notsosecretagentlad myself and my mates bought some really good acid man!! from a hippy in the park,they were blue and the size was of small pills they turned out to be hermesetas sweeteners for coffee/tea coloured with blue marker pen.

No tripping but at least we did not rot our teeth
or get fat.
( notsosecretagentman, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:22, Reply)

Legless
I was so gullible, that when I first started reading QOTW, I believed that all of Legless' post were actually true
(uniquestar, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:11, 11 replies)

msn messenger
i once convinced my firend i could answer any question in the world

i was on wikipedia :D
(PaulGadd -, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:09, Reply)

Not me but....
Another B3tan.....still tell people this today and it still makes me cackle in an undignified fashion.

Someone posted here (I think in the lies your parents told you QOTW) that his family used to live somewhere exotic, India possibly and had a house trained monkey. They lived there for some time before he was born so family photo's often featured the afore mentioned monkey.....when old enough to comprehend such things he was told, the monkey was in fact him, as a small child ane looked like that until he was at least 5 or 6. Believed this until well into his teens apparently. :-)

Sorry to steal, but that was one of my fav answers ever. :-)
(Princessbadger, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:08, Reply)

You know those
Automatic barrier things at car parks? You put your ticket in and it opens?

Well, near me there is a pair of them. One you put your cash in to get in to the car park, the other you simply drive up to and it automatically opens to let you out of the car park.

We told our mate that the gate was operated by a guard who could hear and see you via a camera and mic on the barrier and he gets arsey when you don’t thank him.

Anyway, crap story short, 5 years on and he’s still thanking an automatic barrier.
(Tibble off the crack since, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:07, Reply)

Halfords Saturday boys
Will go and look for a flux capacitor for a 1.2 Nova if you ask them nicely.
(cupc@ke, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:04, 3 replies)

I have a few
I have been known to be able to bullshit quite well when I want to, which is handy seeing as I'm training to be a lawyer.
During my early days I practiced my skills on my sisters:

Sister A was told (during the time we had AOL, *shudders*) that should you have no new emails the voice that normally told you that you have X amount of emails would say "You have no friends"

She also believed that when she got the blue screen of death that she was responsible for the millenium bug, it would now spread to other computers because of her (she was only 8 at the time so she didn't know what it really was and had only heard it on the news, it still made me and the parentals laugh though)

Sister B was told, upon accidentally deleting the internet explorer icon, that she had in fact deleted the internet.

Upon reaching adolescence I convinced my girlfriend that you could get 'jelly headaches' and that they weren't that well reported because jelly is normally eaten with ice cream, with any headache being blamed on the ice cream.

As for my gullibility?

Not to sound too cliche or anything but I believed Labour would do a good job in power.
(Evilweevil is covered in bees, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 15:40, 1 reply)

bidets
Curious to see a bidet for the first time at my grandmother's house in France, I asked my sister what it was for.

"For crapping in", she said. "French people like to crap in big bowls".

Happy with the explanation and not overly surprised, thinking 'those dirty bastards', I left it at that.

Later on that evening in the (toilet-less) bathroom, about to have a shower, and full of a ridiculously large quanity of French food, I was caught short.
"Sod it", I though, "I'll go for it", and proceeded to have the most enormous crap of my life into the bidet.

It was only after I finished that I realised there was no flusher, and absolutely no way something akin to a mutant dung-beetle's wet dream would go down the plug hole at the end of the bidet.

I'd also left the door unlocked.

For a Father, there's nothing quite like the sight of your son on his knees attempting to force a giant mound of poo down a bidet plug hole with his bare hands.

I stopped listening to my sister after that.
( rofl harris, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 15:38, Reply)

My mate Woody
You'd like him. He's the life and soul of any party, loves a beer and is also a qualified medical doctor. He's also extremely popular with the ladies, not just because of his profession. A fast talker, he's gotten himself out of many situations and into many boudoirs over the years.

Yes, yes, I know I should hate him. Which is why I'm going to write about his medical japery over the years (only joking Woody, but you've been a tad jammy, you bugger!).

As a young junior doctor at the mercy of some prank loving colleagues, he receives some paperwork for a patient known as "Legg, Arthur" who's apparently due a below the knee amputation. Could Woody head over to the other side of the hospital and collect the unfortunate chap. Except he doesn't.

No, he's too sharp for that.

Instead, he completes some paperwork and sends it back requesting that his patient; Kathy Terr is taken down to Urology. Unfortunately for them, his colleagues miss the obvious and make tits of themselves in front of the nursing staff.

Revenge was swift and devastating though. A senior colleague is attending to a patient behind a screen and nips out to ask Woody to assist.

"Can you go behind that screen and give the patient their suppository?"

An unpleasant task, but one for which every junior medic should be experienced with. Woody calmly pulls on the latex gloves and his most professional attitude as he walks behind the screen.

"Ah, good morning madam, I'm here to...."

All of a sudden he stops in his tracks. Unable to continue further.

"I've just forgotten my notes, I need to nip out and get them. Be right back" he splutters. Oh yes, he'd been properly done like a kipper this time. He simply couldn't go through with it and disappeared, tail between his legs.

As Woody himself later explained:

"Imagine how you'd feel, opening the curtains and being unexpectedly faced with the most stunning looking woman you've ever seen, on all fours with her arse in the air expecting you to stick your finger up her bottom?"

He had a point. I don't think I could do it either.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 22 Aug 2008, 15:35, 4 replies)

perscription windscreen
not my most gullable moment...

my friends dad is old and has trouble with his eyesight as any old person can expect during the later years of life.
picture the scene phill (my friend) comes running into the kitchen, me in tow trying not to laugh, and annouces to his dad that he has just seen an advert that a certain windscreen company have just started offering perscription windscreens!
i didn't think this would go any further and his dad would tell us bollox!, but i was supprised. he literally jumped up from his seat in the kitchen throwing the paper down and says, "Brilliant! I won't have to wear them damm glasses when i'm driving!"
he then asked his son where he'd seen the advert and set off. At this point we both pissed ourselves laughing at the thought that he was actually going to go to a garage and ask for a perscription fucking windscreen!!!

after naturally telling everyone what had happened including his wife, my parents etc. we waited for him to come back.

he came back, he was not happy. we fucking pissed ourselves, apparently the guy at the garage told him he didn't have one but if he went to the other branch (9 miles away) they would have one, obviously they didn't and cue more laughter and one extremely red face!


pop! 1st post sorry about grammar and spelling :)
(uscmrisc Rules!, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 15:34, 4 replies)

My passport? Certainly...
I can't remember if I've posted this before...

Anyway: in 1999 I was travelling through Africa. The crossing between Tanzania and Kenya was a chaotic little place, and we got held up for a while. I went off for a wander around the stalls that had sprung up.

A guy approached me and told me that I had to follow him to show my passport. I assume I was tired, because I followed him. Moreover, not only did I fail to ask why or to ask for identification - I also failed to pay any attention to the fact that he was wearing Adidas shorts, a jumper and flipflops. In short, he was not the most official looking person ever.

I heard my name being called as I wandered into a building with him. It was V, my travelling companion.
"Enzyme! What the hell are you doing?"
"Oh, this guy just wants to see my passport..."
"What? Who is he?"
"Oh, I don't know. I won't be a moment."

V, rightly, went ballistic. I'm still amazed at my gullibility - I don't know what'd've happened had she not noticed me wandering off - but it goes to show that you can convince anyone of anything if you have the confidence.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 15:17, 2 replies)

My cousin Maria
was 6 months older than me, and so when we were tiny her word was complete gospel.

Among the things she convinced me of were that she had a magic carpet which of course only worked with your eyes closed, and that when we flew on it we had to take pencil crayons for the stars to eat.

When she was 4, she told me she went to stay with her gran in Scotland, and as everyone knows, the snow in Scotland can be about 6 feet deep. Anyway, she was cold, but she knew that if you dug down into the show and made a little cave, you would be really warm. So in the middle of the night she dug an entire cave out, and then dragged her bed and most of the contents of her bedroom into the cave and spent a happily snug night in there.

She also convinced me when they had moved up to Scotland that their house was infested with vicious red squirrels, which caused havoc by chewing through wires and scurrying about after dark. I was so terrified by this that I couldn't sleep unless I was on the top bunk with the ladder kicked away and I had completely cocooned myself in the duvet. Her brother apparently slept with a baseball bat under his bed in case of a midnight squirrel attack. I think I was probably about 13 or 14 before I realised this was all nonsense, and they moved when I was about 6.

The worst one though was when I was a very naive 10 year old, about to go through the very exciting topic at school of sex education. In England we'd be in the same school year, but since she moved to Scotland she was the year above me, and had done the topic some months previously.

She managed to convince me that her younger brother (who would have been 6 or 7 at the time) had started his periods, but he had a rare medical condition which meant that the blood went up inside him and didn't come out.

The best part of all this was it worked so well because I was terrified of her parents and never would have thought to question her far superior knowledge of the world. I dread to think what she convinced me of that I just don't remember.
(Marmite Omelette ...but I feel better having screamed, don't you?, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 15:08, Reply)