I hope hell has bike racks
To the cyclist who sped through a red light this morning, narrowly missing me as I correctly waited for the green man, and who shouted 'why do you have to cross the road!?' at me: the answer is 'to get to the other side, dickwad'.

There's a place for him in hell. He'd get there a lot quicker if I could've jammed a stick in his spokes.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 10:17, 17 replies)

Once, when I was a child
I popped a tadpole.
I cried.
Mum asked what I was crying about.
I said a bee stung me.

Also, a few years ago just after I moved stateside, my great-uncle was on his deathbed. I drove up to north LA to see him with my dad, aunt and cousin. We had a grand day spending time with him, although his mind wasn't completely there.

I hadn't seen him in about 10 years, and he shook my hand from his bed. He held on a little too long and I tried to pull away.

The regret I feel from this is insurmountable. He died two days later. The last memory I have of my great-uncle while he was alive was him shaking my hand, and me being a prat and pulling my hand away.
( Grokthought wouldn't pay that for Chinese 5-Spice, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 10:16, 1 reply)

Doubt this will send me to hell
but it was fucking funny, so I thought I'd share

a couple of years back me and some of my amigoes headed to Hay Tor on Dartmoor for some sledging action, it having just snowed properly.

The day was chock full of humourous mishaps, two of which I will now relate to you:

The first involved a group of guys similar in age to me and my friends but where we had old bodyboards, crap plastic sledges and an enormous victorian wood and iron contraption, they had snowboards, state of the art sledges and a large table from a set of plastic patio furniture.

They were just leaving and loaded all their stuff into the table, including themselves, for a graceful descent.

I looked at this, then looked away. Then I looked back.

By this point one was left on the table, holding on for dear life, two were sprawled on their backs sliding slowly down the hill, and one was holding on to the table at arms length, being dragged along on his face as they careened down the slope.

The second story is much funnier, and a little more shaming for laughing at.

By the time we arrived so many people had slid down the hill that it had pretty much turned into hard packed ice.

We saw a young boy, must have been about 8-10 mincing across the slope to get to his father (I assume)

Slipperiness being inherent in the properties of ice he slipped and fell to the ground, seemingly hitting his head.

We watched for a moment when, like a bat out of hell, a guy riding an enormous Boddington's sign flew down the hill and bailed at the last minute, leaving this big sign to hit and wrap itself round the kid at high speed.

A lot of people rushed to see if the, now unmoving, kid was ok.

Me and my mates? For our part we collapsed to the floor in gales of laughter...
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 9:50, 3 replies)

other peoples' misfortune
This was at the local golf driving range; not just a long strip of land with markers, oh no, this is one of those rather swish high-tech driving ranges - pits and targets, micro-chipped golf balls, automatic scoring system and the like.

I was on the top tier with some mates, all being crap as usual. Amazingly, what follows, almost seemed to happen in slow motion, how I managed to see the whole thing, I guess I was just looking in the right place the right time (or wrong place at the wrong time).

In the tier below, someone was trying to chip his or her ball into the target nearest. Each target is a big segmented pit, and in the centre of each, is a small metal tube - essentially the hole. Whoever it was managed to hit this tube, with some force.

I saw the ball ricochet up, my sight followed it all the way up to the bay next to us, where upon it hit a fat little 9 year old square in his t-shirted chest. Needless to say he fell flat on his back, having had the wind knocked out of him, and he proceeded to cry his little eyes out.

Now I could have rushed over to help his parents and friends pick him up, or I could have called for assistance. No. All I did was burst into fits of hysterics. I was in tears. This had the unfortunate effect in setting of my mates who all started laughing.

That poor little fat kid - not only had a stray golfball nearly killed him, but the bay of twenty-somethings next to him were revelling in his pain.

I know I'm going to get a good pitchforking at the big barbeque at the end of time for that one....
( theoriginalsteve <this space intentionally left blank>, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 8:54, 2 replies)

Tomorrow
I have got to tell my ex that im leaving the country for a year or so to go back to the UK.

She will NOT be happy , but she cant complain too much as she is moving to Australia very soon taking little Miss Welgar with her. I think this little nugget of informationis going to go down like a fish milkshake.
Yes my life is going to be even more of a living hell tomorrow.
(welgar, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 5:23, 6 replies)

A Poem (Inspired by Bazmorningstar)
When I was a lad around two months or more,
I had a strange skill that I had not before.
I lay in my cradle 'til one fateful day,
when my mother had changed me, and then gone away,
to pick up some Pampers from the room perpendic'
I discovered this fantastic, wonderful trick.

I lay on my back, and with all of my might,
I opened my legs and spewed forth the shite.
It covered the walls, the windows and then,
It wasn't done there, for again and again,
The orangey muck that, in bowels babies make,
Was spread 'cross the carpet like a dropped pasta bake.

'Oh no!' cried my mother in woe and disgust
For my mother hates even the presence of dust
'This mess will take hours to clean and shampoo!'
Why couldn't you have waited 5 minutes to poo?
This is the first reason I'll be sent to Hell
And it's a good thing my mother has no sense of smell.

True story.

I fancied writing a poem. I wish it had been about something other than poo, though.
( Grokthought wouldn't pay that for Chinese 5-Spice, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 4:34, 1 reply)

Damnation forever
I have broken or bent my fair share of the big 10.
1. I dont realy believe in the ol' man.
2. I swear, sometimes.
3. Sundays pay the most.
4. I realy realy hate my mother.
5. Does roadkill count?
6. Busted, but i think my then GF punished me enough.
7. Broke this one as a mini-me.
8. Talked shit about someone. Check.
9. Envy your new car? Your new apt? Your cell?
10. Does this include a GF?

Well. 9 out of 10 aint bad. Guess you got to break em all to go to hell? No. See your sweet ass there.
(Spng, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 3:38, Reply)

A legendary piece of banter from a few years back.
A mate of mine and a lady were having a discussion. My mate,as usual, had his mind on more than just conversation. However, the lady in question was concerned about her weight.

"I'm dead fat!" she wailed.

"Shut up, you're not that fat, he replied.

Straight to chauvanist hell.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 1:30, Reply)

Not my finest hour
Years ago I used to go out on the town quite regularly, the rave night I attended consisted of folk who used to get pilled off of their face but were lovely people. I, on the other hand, enjoyed my beer and used to take great pleasure in getting spasticated off of the Red Stripe they sold out of the paddling pool of ice.

One night I was a bit shattered and escorted my friends girlfriend home as she only lived a half mile from mine and planned to walk the rest of the way. I accepted a cup of much needed tea and went on my exceedingly merry way - Rather than turning left a VERY drunk yours truly turned right.

I wandered about in pissed up confusion for about an hour an a half, as it was a pretty large Northern city everything looked the same and I couldn't get my bearings. Pretty soon nature started to call and I could feel the my bowels signaling that one was primed in the bomb bay and ready to be dropped.

I frantically hurried, I tried to make head or tail of the road names .... to try and make it home to drop off my stinky payload ... But alas I was faced with an unenviable choice: Shit my pants or indulge in some al fresco defecation. Option A was not an option so I darted into an enclosed, high walled front yard, dropped trow and curled off a turd which would make at 2 girls 1 cup weep at what they could have won.

If you lived in Sheffield in 2003 and had some utter bastard shit out a death otter in your front yard then it was probably me. It's not exactly a Hell worthy trespass but it's the thing I'm most ashamed of.
(SpunkyMcSpunkbubble Diddled your nubbin on, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 1:23, 2 replies)

Eternal Damnation
A friend of mine died of cancer. He had it for a couple of years, and I never once visited him in hospital.






Sorry if that wasn't as funny as the others but I deserve hell after that.
(Jezziah, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 1:01, 1 reply)

my collegetutor is an ex copper
and he knew someone who took part in this immortal exchange.

somebody had just been killed, shooting, carcrash i dunno i didn't listen but this policeman had the unfortunate job of informing his wife (widow)

knock knock
'wife/widow opens door'

Wife/widow-hello?
Copper- Hello there i'm PC nameiforget
W- hello..?
C- How'd you like to go out sometime, get a drink together?
W- Sorry I'm married
C- Think again love...


I think he got kicked off the force for that
I know it's wrong of me but when i was first told i don't think I could breathe for a good 10 minutes due to laughter.
(Freddles, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 0:46, 3 replies)

Crimewatch.
Were you in Edinburgh on a saturday last month?

Were you driving along a dual carriageway at around half past three in the morning?

Did you see a drunken scotsman wearing a blue cowboy hat standing atop the embankment next to the dual carriageway freely urinating straight towards the passing cars?

Call us now, and please, don't have nightmares.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 0:35, 2 replies)

Bullying a 5 year old
Me nephew Fin has been mentioned on these boards before (damn kid said I should shave my goatie because I apparently look gay the little fucker) and even though he's 5 he has still managed to rack up more time in hospital than I ever have. He was born with a weird ingrowing cock disorder where he needed extensive plastic surgery to his cock at the age of 1-3. After many ops, he's still not quite 100% but he now doesn't require to carry a piss-sack like a handbag around with him which is a plus. His eyesight is very very poor due to a mis-diagnosis by a doc ("Oh I'm sure it's nothing, here's some Retinol") and with his glasses on he looks like Harry Potter.
Still, after all of this he's a nasty little fecker and is a regular to dish out abuse to everyone, to me included.
I went to hospital this evening for a checkup; I'm currently the proud owner of a "Pilonial Sinus" which needs to be operated on. This lovely gift of God is a painful little fuck of an infection, situated on the edge of me arse-crack. Thanks God. As I told the doc, "Can I tell them in work that I just broke me leg instead? Sounds more manly." Anyhows, I get back from the consultation (the results of which are that I am being booked in for an operation, yeys) and I go to pick me daughter up from Fin's house. He's sitting there and he's overheard his parents talking about where I was going.
"Is it true that you are having an op?" asks Fin.
"Yes Fin."
"Where? Is it on your bum?" he grins.
"Yes, they just checked me out to make sure now Fin" says I.
"Have they just looked at your big rosey cheeks?" says Fin. Grins all round. The little fucker. My turn now.
"Yes, yes they did. But hey, you're the expert on operations mate, you had your willy sewn back on."
"No, they fixed it."
"What do you mean? Can't you remember when you were a baby, they had to cut it off the side of your head and sew it back on to the right place."
"What?" says Fin, taking this quite seriously.
"Yeah, you had a rare defect where your willy grew out beside your ear and the docs had to cut it off as you couldn't pee through it there."
"Why?" He's taking mental notes of this now.
"Well your bladder which is where your pee is made connects to down there," *quick crotch motion* "so the docs had to put it back there otherwise the pee couldn't get out. The skin which was covering it was cut off and grafted by your ear to make it look normal again."
"Cool." Oh dear, he's believed me.
With that, he walks out of the room to have a chat to his mum about it (who was out in the kitchen doing something womanly most probs). I could hear him asking about a cock being cut off his head and his mum asking what the fuck he's talking about. God if he mentions it in school he's going to be beaten. Some more.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 0:35, 9 replies)

If only this were real...
It would be so worth it:


( jim_bob can herd cats., Tue 16 Dec 2008, 0:31, 1 reply)

My father's second wedding
No-one likes the bride, apparently not even her own family. I'm sat there with my sister and grandmother, who both look like they've just fellated a man in a citrus condom.

The priest does the inevitable "Let any person who knows why these people should not be married speak up now" bit. I look at my gran, fighting a smirk. We hate her, but not enough to ruin dad's day. In response to my ever-growing grin, she mutters the immortal line:

"Whatever you do, don't piss yourself."

That was it. Game over. Gasping for breath, face in gran's shoulder, trying desperately to hide my tears of laughter.

It didn't work.

Length? About 45 very awkward seconds.
(bad1dea, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 0:31, 2 replies)

Sharing's Caring
About the same time as b3ta.com/questions/cougars/post325152, my (younger) brother and I were hanging out a lot, getting wasted, hitting on (sometimes) unattainable womanfolk, and having a jolly old time.

Younger bro has this girlie he's kinda keen on- this girl isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but nice enough. They dally for a bit, until one night we all get off our tits and younger bro goes home, for whatever reason.

Young lass and I then proceed to do the horizontal mosh (as if you couldn't see that coming), which in itself is enough to comdemn me.

But, I couldn't stop it there. I used to be much prettier, and poorer, and supplemented my income by accompanying rich ladies to functions, largely for them to rub thier ex-hubby's noses in it. At that age I thought it was uber cool (it actually wasn't).

Why I'm *really* going to burn is that I recruited this young lady into the agency I got work through. Younger bro was not amused, but comnemned himself to damnation by years later tracking down my first serious girlfriend and bringing her, arm in arm to a family barbecue.

We've never talked about it since, oddly...
(pizzaforcat ate some cement and HARDENED the FUCK UP on, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 0:08, Reply)

Brownies
Forgive me, for I have sinned.

Back when I was 14, my mum had taken on the role of treasurer of the school Brownies pack of my sister's school (she wasn't old enough to start secondary school so was at a different school from me). At the time, I was interested in finding special-edition coins in the hope they'd someday become valuable, so my mother decided to let me sift through the takings of the Brownie-pack to see if there were any.

There was however a flaw in my mum's plan - she trusted me. I abused the trust. Even though it was only a few coins here and there, it's something I'm not proud of.

For that alone, I'm bound for hell in a hellbound thing that goes to hell like a bat out of hell wanting to go home, but it gets worse...

My mum, being the treasurer also did the book-keeping. The thing is, even a tiny discrepancy in the volume of coins gets noticed when under scrutiny. However, she blamed it on her perceived inability to book-keep. She persisted for a few weeks, but got it wrong each time. She ended up thinking she was a hopeless treasurer and lost confidence in her ability to book-keep.

Even though she never found out, she at least takes it with good humour when she reminisces about her book-keeping skills. I've heard her tell story a few times over the years, but I just don't have it in me to confess.

The worse thing was that at the time, I was going through a 'socialist' phase. Now that really makes me cringe.

I really am not proud of this at all.

Anyway, I'll be seeing my parents this Christmas. Click 'I like this' if you think I should confess.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 23:55, 4 replies)

was reminded of this gem..
i happened to be a wee bit drunk. went out with a couple of friends from work, one of which was a lovely lady who happend to be in a wheelchair, electric, as she had mangled hands too.

Anyway, a couple of drinks turned into a massive session, as usually happens. This particular lady cant really handle her drink, a couple glasses of wine usually has her racing home at top speed of about 5mph, weaving in and out of pedestrians. its actually quite the sight to behold, as she plows through people. but back to why im hellbound.

So i decided to get her smashed. just because i thought it was quite amusing. I made her dance with me. you havent lived until you have danced with someone in a wheelchair. its amazing. it would be similar to dancing with davros.

So that in itself is bad enough, and actually had a couple of paople remark to my friends about how nice i was dancing with her, until they mentioned it was only because i found it funny i was doing it. But my favorite bit was passing her cigarette after cigarette. Not because she was a chain smoker, but because of her hands, she couldnt hold onto a smoke properly at the best of times, never mind when she is hammered. Why is this amusing? imagine her trying to knock lit cigarettes off her lap with said hands, and then imagine me pissing myself laughing on the dancefloor at her while she flails at her lap...

Thats pretty bad actually. now i feel bad. ill get over it though..
(danglesmurf, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 23:25, Reply)

I'm going to Hell..
Because I kissed a girl and I liked it.
(Dylanpants, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 23:21, 2 replies)

lets just say this is based on a true story
www.b3tards.com/u/f9d89e8a11037c5bd200/pound-of-flesh-46b.png
( Tom OBedlam I have control of a tank, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 23:04, 1 reply)

I've done worse, but...
SD says:
hey
SD says:
you alright?
D - Hates being broken and in so much pain says:
mehh
D - Hates being broken and in so much pain says:
you?
SD says:
i have man flu...can it get much worse?
D - Hates being broken and in so much pain says:
broken back and septecimia?
SD says:
...man...flu

Luckily my friends seem to expect this kind of rubbish reply XD
(suicidalducky has too much time on his hands, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 22:18, Reply)

Jehovas witnesses and me; a conversation
Two jehovas witnesses came to my door once, old ladies to be precise.

I was slightly bored and didn't have the heart to turn them away without at least engaging them, theyre just doing their religiousy job, etc. so decided to be politely interested and converse with them while firmly maintaining a distance between myself and religion. However being politely interested is difficult when theyre talking an absolute load of shite and youre stifling laughter and keep smiling like a bloody loon because of the urge to laugh at them.

After a minute or so of smiling and barely-hidden giggles while chatting the shorter of the two said said 'why do you keep laughing at what we're saying?'

Thinking on my feet I replied 'Well, like Jesus said, without laughter there can be no joy!'

"Well Jesus also knew there was a time to be serious."

"Yeah, I guess he wasn't laughing on the cross, was he."


They didn't come back.
(McDave, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 22:06, 1 reply)

one more mamed child for good luck
i swear people are going to think im some kind of sicko especially after the last one. When i was in primary school there was a boy who joined our year from ireland, not that where he was from had anything to do with this. anyways, his legs were covered in scars and he was missing a pinky finger or at the least it was a lot shorter than it should be. being young and curious at that age we couldnt help but ask how it happened. he told us that when he was 5 or so he was ran over by a lawn mower! i remember most of the class sitting sniggering and trying really hard not to laugh, what kind of idiot gets ran over by a lawn mower?? whenever, anyone from school decides to get reminicent he always gets brought up, there have been many tears of laughter over him.

also i think i'm going to hell because i used to refer to moira stewart the black newsreader on the beeb as the chocolate woman!
(fernbrittonsexcessskin will give a shit later, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 21:57, Reply)

For one....
I like watching blind football just for a laugh.

For two...
I saw some child slip on the ice and fall over when i was driving to work this morning. I nearly crashed my car from laughing so hard.
(bangorip fears all is not well, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 21:44, 1 reply)

Welll...
Well, recently, a kid in my town (Mike) killed his parents. Now Mike used to live in the trailer park, with my good mate Casey. So, I know Mike, and his girlfriend, who helped him.
S'posedly, Mike strangled his parents. But I don't know who first, mum or dad. So anyway, a few of my friends from school were pretty upset about the whole thing. They either were neighbors with him, friends with him, friends with his girlfriend, whatever. So I'm telling mofaha about this whole thing, and we manage to get off topic. We ended up spending about 10 minutes discussing what order Mike killed his parents in, and how we would have done it. *sigh*
( Killerkitti Like my coffee black, just like my metal, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 21:30, 1 reply)

.....
Asking the staff in Woolworths when the sale items are coming back in stock.....
(Scrumpy does not negotiate with terrorists,, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 21:27, Reply)

funeral crashing
the example of the funeral jogged my memory.

last summer at my uncle John's funeral his neice, Rebekah, got up to read a poem she had written for him. Rebekah is from my uncles side of the family (he married my blood relative aunt). I had met her briefly before at a wedding a few years back and remembered her instantly due to her stunning looks. Think one of the twins from sweet valley high (the non-evil one), anyways there she is breaking her heart, sobbbing, reading out what was a well written message from the heart when my brother, Lewis, 5 years my junior (Im 27), nudges me slyly and leans slightly into my ear and hisses the words "maa, meatloaf!"

we were standing 1 row from the front which contained my now widowed aunt and her sisters+our father. Thankfully he had emitted it lowly enough so that it sneaked under the sobs and rustlings of tissues. It was only after in the pub after copious booze that I started to laugh.

In retrospect my uncle John probably woulda found it funny.

Lewis and I have a continual war to shock each other, and that day Lewis won forever.
(Raol Duke, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 20:54, Reply)

I have too many of these...
Most recent one:

For laughing like a drain when I was told the following joke:

"What's the difference between a Pakistani's minge and a cricket ball?"











"If you try really, really hard, you can eat a cricket ball".
( MatJ LOOK, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 20:06, 2 replies)

Here's a few more.
In the 70s I was living in an area that had miles upon miles of housing, but no commercial stuff that you could get to without a car. As I was still three years away from even having a learner's permit, there wasn't a lot for me to do most of the time.

(Bad planning on someone's part, really- if kids can't walk to stores or movies or other places to amuse themselves, they invent their own amusement which can often be quite destructive. But that's another rant altogether.)

The usual things were done, of course- firecrackers in the snowbank to see how big a crater we could make, playing with fire, all the things teenage boys do- but there were a few things that jump out in my memory.

You know the sort of sling that David was supposed to have used to kill Goliath, the sort with two strings and a little pouch that you whirl around over your head? Well, we discovered that you can make a very nice one of those out of drapery cord and a Handi-Wipe that resulted in a pouch big enough to hold a rather large snowball. With a bit of practice a thirteen year old Loon could launch a snowball at least 80 yards and have it be pretty accurate.

The apartments down the hill were built about fifty yards from the edge of the woods, and had these porches on them that had aluminum siding on the inside that sounded like a cannon when hit with a snowball launched from an improbable distance away by a kid who could duck behind a large tree.

We also discovered that 10 gauge sheet steel makes a pretty nice shuriken when cut with the shear in metal shop. With a bit of practice we got to be quite accurate with those as well from a pretty good range, as they act like a little frisbee.

They stuck nicely into wooden siding underneath a second story bedroom window at night, and the firecrackers that we taped to them usually blew them off of the side of the house so we could collect them later.

And back in those days they tended to wire houses so that a large portion of the house was on a single breaker, rather than splitting it up into zones. So if you took a plug from a lamp, cut the wire to an inch long, twisted the two leads together, put on a wire nut and held it securely on with black vinyl electrical tape, you got a thing that you could stick into the outside electrical outlet on a house and cause an instant blackout.

I made one and gave it to a friend, but warned him not to hit a certain house because I had almost gotten caught last time. So what does Numpty do?

Sorry, Hal. You really should have listened to me.

So if domestic terrorism will earn you a spot in the flames, I'm well on the way...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 15 Dec 2008, 20:01, Reply)

my mum is
i overheard the following conversation in my kitchen yesterday.

mum: oh i'm going on my works night out tonight, i'm gonna be dead tomorrow
friend 1: aw
friend 2: *silent*

this might not seem going to hell worthy.
but what i haven't mentioned is that friend 2's husband had passed away a year ago and was found dead the morning after going on a night out.
.
(i eat crayons, Mon 15 Dec 2008, 20:00, 2 replies)