3 years of age
...and my gran has taken me to church, as she did.

The minister is leading the Lord's Prayer:

"For thine is the Kingdom, and the power and the..."

Me (top of my tiny lungs): "By the power of Greyskull! I HAVE THE POWER!!!"
(Phase3Profit pees too much, Sun 14 Dec 2008, 11:14, 6 replies)

Mocking the afflicted
To set the scene, this happened last night. Boss Keloid, happylittletulip and myself had all been drinking, and were standing at the taxi rank awaiting our chariot for the night. As in the way at these times, there was a massive queue. But it was civilised, and people were in good spirits, if a little cold.

And then, some marshals appeared, asking the queue to move against the wall. The trouble, or rather the twouble, was, that one of the queue marshals had a wather unfowtunate speech impediment and had a gweat deal of twouble pwonouncing the letter r. Naturally, we all found this hilawious.

But that's not the end of this sad sowwy tale. As we were sat in our taxi, quoting Monty Python and giggling howwibly at "Welease Woderwick" quotes, we thtarted to develop lithpth. It wath like an Igor convention without the thpit. And tho our journey pwotheeded on the way home.

And when we awwived at our dethtinathion, the taxi dwiver, with infinite majesty and calm, thimply thaid "That will be eight pound thixty pleathe". Ah, poor old tulip, it was too much for her. She squeaked "Keep the change!" as we all bundled out of the car twying to keep the fitth of laughter under contwol as the taxi made its' way into the dark, cold December night, accompanied by the dimming sounds of our by now vewy high-pitched laughter.

It may well be wrong (or wong, if you like) to mock those (or thothe) with a speech impediment, but by fuck it was funny.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Sun 14 Dec 2008, 9:57, 5 replies)

I've had my brains on the rack
for this qotw, since while I've done wrong things, stupid things, things I've wished I'd done otherwise... I just haven't been able to conceive of anything I've done that would be actually evil.

However if bad taste counts:

I wanted to see Princess Di's funeral. Not out of any morbidity, and not because I was a big Diana fan, but just because I was curious as to what a royal funeral would entail.

I live in western Canada at -08:00 and I worked a straight job, so I was planning to set my alarm for stupid o'clock and see what I could.

My then girlfriend suggested that I come over to hers, as they (they being she and her roommate) had a hide-a-bed in their living room, and I could just watch the tv from bed.

Instead we partook in a bizarre pastiche of sex, play-wrestling and tickling, sleeping, laughing, and more sex. Like doggy-style so we could both watch the screen.

And really, we both fell asleep before we saw much of anything other than crowd shots and endless repetitious patter from the announcers, a few shots of the exterior of Westminster Abbey, and a glimpse of a carriage.

Woke up, fooled around some more, I went home and got ready for work, and off I went. I was disappointed that the funeral wasn't more interesting, and vaguely wondered if the interesting bits of it that I imagined had taken place while I was sleeping, but that's it.

So... didn't break any commandments other than a boring post, but there must be some sort of an "ew" factor to it.
(Ejaculantern was caught desecrating pumpkins on, Sun 14 Dec 2008, 8:54, Reply)

i feel like I'm in hell at the moment
I am suffering from that horrendous and debilitating disease, man-flu, and can't sleep so am supping a couple of brandys to warm my cockles and help me pass out.

However, a cruel genetic defect means when I sleep after drinking spirits, my brain doesn't shut off properly so I get, according to my wonderful girlfriend, "a bit kicky".

This usually results in her transferring to the sofa.

Tomorrow I shall be both on death's door and in the doghouse.

Hell would be a welcome release.
( nightbuffalo needs more duct tape, Sun 14 Dec 2008, 4:11, 3 replies)

Anti-Santa
Ten years ago I was a naive, pretentious, shy student type. Nine years ago I was into drugs, then eight years ago I was a burnt-out unemployed waster, still living in a monumentally dirty student house with a few other dropouts who I'd had a lot of fun with before the cabin fever set in and the drugs stopped working.
It was around this time that one housemate decided that he was going to be a graffiti artist. I wasn't very interested in this new hobby at first, but one day I joked about how funny it would be if he went round spraying pentagrams on the front of churches. Over the next couple of weeks he did just this, usually riding out on his bike to sully the entrances early on a Sunday morning to make sure the parishioners saw his handywork.
My contribution to the project came soon after. Walking back from the shop I noticed a man changing the sign on the front of the local church. The sign was for a youth group called "Urban Hymns" and each week would have a theme along the lines of "God Is A DJ" and the like. The board had no lock and the theme was merely a piece of white paper with 64-point comic sans italic writing. Hm.
The next day the front of the church looked like this:



For some reason nobody at the church noticed this, so it was up there for almost a whole week. Later I would introduce obvious themes like "Jesus loves you, everyone else thinks you're a cunt" and "God hates you, worms". These were funny in 2001.
The apex of our defilement was probably the alpha course sign which we stole, turned into a horrific Francis Bacon style vision of hell, re-titled "The Alpha Whores" and nailed across the front door at 5am on a Sunday morning.

That morning at about 7 we were playing Beneath A Steel Sky and considering bed when we heard a noise in the kitchen and went to investigate. In there we found a dishevelled old man with a beard in a red jacket muttering about how he was being pursued by some kids. How he got into the house is still a mystery. After we'd kicked him out we arrived back in my room for a last joint and found he'd stolen two phones and several other items of value. It was Anti-Santa himself.
A sober person who didn't smoke so much hash would probably have been able to rationalise the experience, but such a person was not around. A decision was made to stop defiling churches, smoke less hash and try to find jobs. I eventually did this. The graffitist ended up getting committed a couple of years later. I think we've all learned our lessons one way or another.
( Zuowan, Sun 14 Dec 2008, 4:11, 3 replies)

wait,what?
you mean i've missed the procrastination post?
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Sun 14 Dec 2008, 2:25, Reply)

Not me but a friend...
Is going to hell for turning a strong faithed Jehovahs Witness into one of the biggest slags in the city, who happened to be the best friend of his then and not for much longer girlfriend.
(Seanus, Sun 14 Dec 2008, 2:13, 1 reply)

i'm going to hell because
i was raised by the resident loon. enough said.
(Phoenix211, Sun 14 Dec 2008, 2:09, 3 replies)

my guilty pleasure
is posting 39 weeks late.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Sun 14 Dec 2008, 2:05, 1 reply)

Bloody well deserves to burn too, backwards N writing fool

( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Sun 14 Dec 2008, 1:33, 6 replies)

Already been there, not going back
A few decades ago, working for the MFO in South Sinai. The expat Brits had a bar called the "Wild Geese" (we were only there for the money).

It was coming to the end of a quiet night, the 82nds spiritual guide was Father Jim Blewitt, Master Sergeant George was looking for forgiveness.

George asks Jim if he would take confession. No problem, says he, just kneel down under the picture of the Queen.

George mumbled something, Jim thwacked him on the side of the head, and said, "don't do it again, mines a large Jamiesons". A field blessing!

Same place different night. Jeff Tobin and Odd Job re-enacted a scene from a USA TV "preacher", getting the demons out. I laughed so hard I had a nose bleed.

Sad to say, no video available, it was a long time ago.

Where ever you are lads, I hope you are all doing well.

As for those I have fucked over in the past, you deserved it. For those on the waiting list, patience, it's on it's way.

For those two lovely old ladies from the local Baptist Church, you didn't know I was just off a 12 hour night shift, sorry about the towel dropping like that.

As for hell, 15 years in Sunni Saudi, that's enough. Thanks to the decent folks I met, as for the arseholes, pay back is a bitch.

I still believe it's important to treat people with the same respect that you would like to be treat with. For the fuckwits that don't realise this, the gloves are off.

Merry Christmas to all the B3tards, I hope you have a good one.
(alanrbnsn, Sun 14 Dec 2008, 1:32, 3 replies)

See through Toilet
Once upon a time in a desert far far away (Dubai) there was an entertainer brought from Edinburgh to entertain the masses.

At first he was OK, good guitarist and handled his repertoire quite well, but, with a month of his contract left he became extremely shitty.

Borrowed money from people, slandered others while on stage and in general became a prize cunt!

He had borrowed the equivalent of about 250 quid from me and right up until his last day never paid it back.

I got rather pissed off and discovered from my then girlfriend (Ex British Airways) that there was a Narcotics Hotline that could be called to report drug smugglers.

One trip to a call box later, Heathrow had been alerted to our man's arrival with a 1/2kg of Cocaine.

About a month later, we discovered that he had spent three days in detention with a glass toilet for company while Customs and Excise sifted through his every defacation!

If I am to be judged on my eventual final abode, I'm sure this one will tip the balance.
( fagilliD Fuck I'm good!, Sun 14 Dec 2008, 1:19, Reply)

First time I tried the evil weed
There were four of us. One guy was VERY experienced (now an addict to prescription meds and alcohol) and three pot virgins. Of course, the experienced one supplied the dope and the place and the expertise. After taking a few hits as he directed (hold it in, &tc.), one of us neophytes noticed writing on the rolling paper.

"Oh, I usedpages from a Bible," says our guide. Cue us good Catholic boys going apoplectic, and he assuring us, "Don't worry. I only used the index pages."

We relax somewhat, as much as Catholic boys could, until he shared the information of where he got the Bible.

He stole it from his old school. . .

You know, all we wanted to do was try smoking marijuana. We didn't expect to doom our souls doing it.
(ChiTown Guy Dating when 35+: sane, single, attractive - pick 2, Sun 14 Dec 2008, 1:13, 1 reply)

So many reasons...
Brought up as a catholic so really I'm screwed anyway..

But generally probably at least one of the following will be brought up when I reach the pearly gates...

My mum still thinks I'm a virgin.. what she doesn't know can't hurt her..

I once snogged the (cute!) young local priest when we bumped into each other on respective christmas nights out...

Way too much alcohol and other naughty things over the years and pretty much all of my last year and a half in Bristol..

Nuff said..

I'm a terrible young lady.. a bad influence (not that anyone ever complains!)
(miss.spanky.pants .. is looking for a handsome prince..., Sun 14 Dec 2008, 0:50, 2 replies)

The cancer incident.
It's, I think, time for me to pop my proverbial qotw-cherry, because for the first time I actually have a story to tell instead of just lurking.

This story is well known in my circle of friends as the cancer incident, and I've been constantly reminded of it for the last six years to their endless enjoyment. If it doesn't grant me passage to the place below, nothing will.

Six years ago, I still had "plans for the future" and other naive ideas, and as such, I went to university. This was around 550 km from my home, and thus I had to get a proper place to live. This was not easy - which is a completely irrelevant story at this point, so to make a long story shortish, I managed to get hold of a room at the first day of school in the apartment of an old lady who was originally from my neck of the woods.
It was a nice apartment, I got my own toilet, and we shared kitchen. Her husband, second one, around 75 years old, and I used to sit up late drinking whisky and watching Jackass many a late night. Suffice to way, it was awesome.

The lady herself, also somewhere around early seventies in age, had a small obsession about eating and living healthy. She was doing qigong and nordic walking and all that crap, ate basically only steamed food, and so on. She constantly told me, while I was cooking, to not use that much salt, and don't sear that steak, you'll get cancer and die! One particular quirk was her coffee habits.

To expand a little here, where I'm from, cowboy coffee made in a proper kettle is the only acceptable brew. We might move to big cities around the world, go to operas, save lifes and recieve words of praise from kings, presidents and dictators - but we will not quit our kettled coffee, dagnabbit! Now, my landlady here insisted on only drinking instant coffee. And since she had no proper utensils and I was using her kitchen, that forced me into drinking that despicable bile as well. After one semester of that shit I had had it up to here, here being somewhere around my neck in this case.

This is where my tale of woe begins. I went in to my landlady's reading room to pay my rent before going home a couple of weeks for christmas. After the paper work had been taken care of, I told the lady that when I was coming back, I'd bring a proper kettle so we could get real coffee. As I'd expected, she smiled, looked at me and said "That stuff will just give you cancer". Now, I'd grown a bit tired of these warnings at this point, so I looked nonchalantly back and said "Some cancer never killed anyone".
She responded with a short "Oh, I do believe it has". This is the point where I should have admitted my defeat and backed down. But no. Not me.
"Name one." That's what I answered. "Name one."

In retrospect, it's quite obvious that I was lost at this point. I knew the response before hearing it. The health obsession had to come from somewhere, right? Time slowed down, and the lady's eyes where sternly locked with mine. "My husband." This is where I finally chose to shut up. Long silence, before awkward apology. I'd heard this information before. Long loving marriage, three kids, bowel cancer hits, two years of endless pain and screaming before the sweet relief of death. I only wish that i'd recalled that before opening my mouth.

To make matters worse, when I moved in, her new hubby had just removed a melanoma from his face and walked around looking like a mummy for a couple of weeks.

I didn't bring any kettle when I returned.
(Moophl, Sun 14 Dec 2008, 0:26, 1 reply)

I posted a message in rather poor taste on a humourous website well-known for releasing a book of jokes in such appalling taste that it had to be wrapped in plastic otherwise bookshops wouldn't take it.
In response, I got a flood of pointless whinging, vitriolic private messages and death-threats from the kind of Daily Mail-reading office-bound dullards I thought I could normally escape from on there - they'd clogged up the site since then and filled it up with insipid rubbish and essays Charles Dickens would have chucked out for being too long-winded.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 23:45, 9 replies)

Princess Di's funeral.
The hearse collected the coffin and began the long drive to the chosen resting place. In a spontaneous gesture of..something or another, affection I suppose...the onlookers began throwing flowers before the wheels of the car.

Some of them had really crap aim.

I think I may be going to Hell for: Thinking that the sight of this car trundling along while daffodils bounced off the windscreen was one of the funniest things I'd seen in ages.
(Big D, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 23:40, Reply)

In my defense, I WAS in fucking shock
Years ago, I had to resusitate a guy on a plane with a doc. It was hard to ventilate him because he was vomming copiously, so we cut a trache with sewing scissors and a outside of a ballpoint pen (biro?). We had to do CPR for 45 min til the plane landed and shocked him back into a rhythm twice. It was the most intense code I've ever been in.
We were awesome, though-the two of us meshed like gears in a clock. We didn't even need to talk; we pumped and counted and blew like a training demo.
Finally we landed, the ambo guys carted him to hospital with the doc and I was left alone in the back of the plane with the flight attendants, (who had been awesome-go NorthWest!)shaking with relief and praying we had done the right thing.His wife had stood at his feet imploring us to save him, sobbing "Please, please, he's all I've got!"

One of the stewards said something not even that amusing to me and I erupted into fucking uncontrollable cackling. I couldn't stop! All the plane could see was the rotund, vom-covered, sweaty nurse laughing like a loon while the poor man was trundled away.

I was so embarrassed. No one would meet my eyes as they de-planed.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 23:10, 8 replies)

When Friend's Reunited...
... first started, I was a little bored at work one day and thought I’d check it out.

All was well until it dawned on me that there was no way of them checking that I actually was who I said was... Cue me thinking of probably the most obvious "cunt's trick" available.

I proceeded to log on, and attempt to join as various people I went to school with and didn’t like, generally because they were grade A sports playing, mungo-brained fuckoids who enjoyed nothing more than terrorising those people who could actually read and write and string coherent sentences together etc.

Initially thwarted by my lack of any valid email addresses to sign up with, I didn’t lose faith, and shortly my quest was back on track, complete with made up hotmail accounts for "verification" purposes, in the names of twats I used to go to school with.

I had quite a bit of fun, writing profiles for bullies and wankoids, filling their lucky ex school friends in on what they were currently up to etc.. except I wasn’t them. So lead bully had Aids, contracted from his H' riddled sister, another had taken to rimming old men for cash round Kings Cross station to fuel his addiction to completing his My Little Pony collection etc etc.

Now, none of this was "straight to hell" stuff in my book... They were cunts to me and lots of others at school, they deserved at least a little public humiliation, even if some of my "backgrounds" on them were somewhat unbelievable and a touch over the top.

But I couldn’t leave it at that. No, I had to do what I always do, I had to go further, push the boundary a bit more, too far as usual.

It's probably at this point I should mention, that one of the boys in my year had only one testicle, who was immediately and inevitably christened "Womble" by the entire year.

I proceeded to write a profile for said "testicularly challenged" classmate, not being held back by anything as pure as "the truth", or the simple fact that this lad had never done anything to anyone, and had probably borne the brunt of more wedging & insults than the rest of us put together.

For him, I wrote a lovely précis of his years since school, informing all that he was now gay and in a loving relationship with a dwarf from Tipton. However, he was suffering from a little lovers angst at present, as he had fairly recently got a prosthetic testicle fitted, to make him feel more of a man.

However, it had transpired that he was seriously considering have said "stunt-nut" removed, as his new "bum-chum" was thinking of leaving him, as he couldn’t get used to the feel of two, not one, scrotal sacks slapping against his arse cheeks during sex. Could any of his ex-classmates help him in his quandary? One nut or two?

Initially things didn’t go too well, as I almost got sacked for sitting crying with laughter at my desk at work, whilst writing my phoney friends pieces. But all was well within 24 hrs, after I’d told all the people I was still mates with from school, they'd all looked and pissed themselves, and declared me as a comic, if slightly disturbed, genius.

Almost as an afterthought, after my mates had almost forgotten my webscapade, I decided to check the email addresses I’d supplied for my “co-schoollies” website verification. I don’t think friends reunited used to vet their site entries very well back then, because my dodgy entries must have stayed up for a couple of months at the very least...

Inevitably there were one or two messages saying was I taking the piss, did so-and-so really have Aids or shag his own sister etc, but worst of all, there was a message from "womble", sent to his fake alter ego...

"I don’t who this is, but it isn’t me and that’s what matters. I suppose you think you're funny. Well, I’m not gay, do not have a "stunt-nut", and for your information I’ve just had to have my other testicle removed for reasons I am not going into...

I am a grade A cunt, and I will burn, burn, burn....



Incidentally, as a footnote, me and a mate tried doing the same thing years later, when friends reunited thought it would be a "good" idea to let you put your fond memories of your favourite teachers on their site.

We proceeded to have a few hours pissing ourselves whilst writing on one particular English teachers section.

We told all who would care to read that my mate had pissed in his kettle, which he kept in his classrooms stationary cupboard, and had subsequently watched him drink a cup of tea from it. Also how the same teacher had tried to strangle my mate to death when he’d asked him if it was okay to call him dad, as his elder brother was seeing the teachers daughter. The same daughter, who we now continued to tell all, enjoyed being taken from behind by my mate’s brother, with the teacher’s sheepskin rug on her back and four teacup saucers under her hands and knees whilst she got "shunted" round the teacher’s front room by the elder bro.

This time these stories were actually true, but were removed off Friends Reunited within 24hrs... site admin wankers...
(Life, the Universe and Everything. ...it's big, isn't it?, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 22:26, 2 replies)

And yet another reason Satan an I will be Best Buddies!
Back in the dim and distant past when I was all of 16 years old, one of my cousins had her first child. Being 16 I really couldn't be arsed to go and see this sprog that she'd pushed out!

As it happened my entire family ganged up on me and forced me into going to the hospital to see this kid.

I walked in, looked disinterested, turned round and said "It looks like a prune!", then turned round and walked out!

I heard later that there were tears! I laughed at that.
(Herr Doktor Lemminge Is bored, so cheer me up!, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 22:09, 5 replies)

A Simple Test
If you can read this article with anything other than a smug desire to 'save' the author, you are going to Hell.

www.infidels.org/library/modern/donald_morgan/atrocity.html
(Sir Harrington Titsmith disgraced himself on, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 21:53, Reply)

Glastonbury festival
In my munted state I'd been slipped a dodgy fiver. Looking around to decide what to do with it, I saw a guy in an ice cream van leaving his (8, 10 year old?) son to mind the stall.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 21:08, Reply)

i'm bypassing hell...
for something much, much worse...

this could be incriminating so i'll refer to the lead culprit as "a friend".
when much younger and wilder "a friend" once broke into the local church and methodistically began the removal of any and all items of value..
these included...
a 400yr old bible, silver candlabras, trays, cutlery etc, brass curtain poles, flag poles, a 2ft brass eagle the aforementioned bible was displayed upon and ought else not firmly nailed down.. such as the lead holding the entered window together...
needless to say, it made the local front-page and the stuff was completely unfenceable, absolutely no-one would touch any of it.
a week later and "my friend" returned it all, next days headline...
Thieves have change of heart...
(rancidpete has lost all hope in the proles..., Sat 13 Dec 2008, 21:02, Reply)

Well...
Seeing as I have not spent my every waking hour sitting up straight in a hard wooden chair, fully clothed in hessian and incessantly droning the praises of a tyrannical mass-murdering rapist in the sky, I should imagine that my ticket to Hell is well and truly in the celestial post.

Still, difficult to view this as a loss. I imagine the entire population of Heaven to be around two hundred, every one of them pale, nervous and bored out of their fucking gourds. Forever.

Edit:

My son was conceived in a church, now I come to think of it, by two unwed parents. No numerical birthmarks on the boy, but I'll keep an eye out.
(Sir Harrington Titsmith disgraced himself on, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 20:22, Reply)

Electric wheelchairs
When we were about 15-16 one of the first year kids at school had Spina Bifida. He was in a pretty bad way and had an electric wheelchair to be able to get around school. The switch to it was on the back. What else were we to do? He couldn't get out of his chair to switch it back on...

Once he was stuck in the Science corridor for about half an hour before someone found him.

Yes, I feel bad.
(Lex scripta, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 20:03, 3 replies)

Guilty, God, so guilty
Once when I was fourteen and fancied myself a super rebellious rebel, I was caught during Maths class texting under the table (I know, out of control).

Ah shit I think, not wanting my precious, precious cell phone taken off me, what excuse should make its way out of my mouth?

'Oh sorry Miss I was texting my mum- my sister's in hospital.' Despite the utter crapness of this lie (why would I TEXT my mum under such circumstances?) my teacher immediatly switched to being sympathetic and concerned. 'Yay! Phone is safe! Now I can continue texting the friends I am going to see in twenty minutes at lunch anyway pointless fourteen year old crap!'

As if telling lies like that isn't bad enough, I later found out the reason for my teacher's genuine concern:

All four of her siblings had died from cystic fibrosis.



I would trade the phone's confiscation in a heartbeat for the guilt and awfulness I now feel every time I remember this incident- four years on and counting and it still makes me want to cry.
(Mr._F is not actually a man- this username is a lie!, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 19:53, 3 replies)

I just remembered another reason
When I heard about 9/11, I was like "COOL!" Then I went home, pulled out some blocks, made some buildings out of them, then pretended one block was a airplane and crashed it into them.
(NERDYLURKER is attempting to divide by zero, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 18:52, 3 replies)

I've already got my accomodation sorted...
Once at a house party I shut my finger in a door, causing it to bleed loads...I drew pentagrams and wrote 666 all over the house in my blood!
(Cockney_Jesus is targetting your mum in V.A.T.S!, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 18:48, Reply)

ok so i have no time for organised religion
lets not even go there

aside from the the fact i can say with complete assurance the more shallow the intellect the deeper the faith

my wifes family have some hardcore irish catholic JC groupies in there

i have had to watch in utter disgust while an ego maniac creep who had been just ordained as priest had the gall to allow elderly aunts to kneel before him at a family gathering to be blessed. the pious look on his face as he placed his sweaty hand on their heads while looking to the 'heavens' will never leave me. I have never seen such a smug self satisfied cunt in all my life - he just oozed altar-boy-fucker from every slimy pore.

at the same do, one particularly cretinous aunt had been chatting with another attendant priest who had worked as a missionary in south africa. he was recounting a tale of having visited a mine. aside that its hot down mines. he joked that it was so deep you could hear 'the cries of the tortured souls below'.

the daft cunt/aunt took this AS GOSPEL and would tell people this in complete sincerity at every opportunity

so yeah I'm going straight to hell because i refuse to believe in its existence

paradox my arse
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Sat 13 Dec 2008, 18:32, 3 replies)