Making a mockery of an R.E lesson
Don't know if it's a ticket to the underground plane, but it certainly feels a little blasphemous - and the telling off I got from the loudest teacher in the school was probably a taste of things to come for my indifference towards his R.E lessons.
We were asked to write what we thought suitable punishments for various crimes should be, burglarly, murder etc etc - and a friend and I thought it'd be really funny to treat it as a joke (and I still to this day think religion is a joke) - and put answers like
'Send them to the moon', 'Make them eat fifty ice lollies', 'superglue their fingers together' etc...and it was really funny, when we were in lesson giggling to ourselves about it.
It wasn't so funny the next week after he'd marked our exercise books and took us into the corridor for a good shouting at, everyone in the class heard and there was a deathly silence when we came back in the room... He threatened to send a letter home to my Mum, so I told her about it first - she just laughed.

On the plus side, we weren't allowed in his lessons again. Excellent.
(Davethefan began lurking again on or around, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 8:03, Reply)

Catholic School...
... turned me atheist by the time I was around 11, but I was still obliged to take Religious Education (and later Religion Studies) for GCSE and in 6th form (so, up until 18). We were all given copies of the New Testament for one of the modules.

Did the exam, and being a smart fucker came out with an A (though admittedly it isn't hard to bullshit your way through), went home and burnt the Bible.

It burned surprisingly easily.

Hell worthy? probably not. But it looked cool. And reading through these I see I'm not the only one.

lenth etc.
(Nikkusama, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 2:26, 1 reply)

It's all true
I'm going to hell because I told 4chan they weren't half as original nor entertaining as b3ta. Well I think that's what they said...
(PhosphorBurnedEyes Swastika Shop opening here soon, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 1:49, Reply)

i am going to hell because....
i lolled at the post below
(Papa Chocolat, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 1:42, Reply)

I feel like I'm pretty much in hell already...
My GF of ten years left me at the beginning of this year (2008). We kind of grew apart and realised we wanted different things. For one thing, she wanted to return to her home country, and I didn't want to go there...

I took this philosophically at the time, but I guess it hit me harder than I realised.

It would have been easier to cope with the breakup if I could turn to my best friend for support and advice. But he'd died suddenly and very unexpectedly three months earlier, so I couldn't.

Around March, my old man got seriously ill, was diagnosed with unstable angina and suffered a heart attack. He was seriously weakened and needed a lot of support that my mum couldn't give him, as she's not in the best of health herself and has a dodgy hip.

I started commuting, by train, over to parents several times a week - for I live & work in a different city - and helping out with basics like shopping and cleaning. The travelling alone took up six hours of my day and combined with a full-time job, it all left me utterly knackered.

I slid into depression. And started drinking far too much far too often.

I was signed off work for a bit, but stopped seeing the doctor eventually as it didn't seem to be doing anything. I just want to unplug the phone - not a problem now, as that's been disconected for non-payment - draw the curtains and sleep forever...

Just to add the icing to the cake, three weeks ago my mum had a heart attack, was hospitalised, got an infection in hospital, but thank God survived and is now out. She'll never be the same as she was, just like the old man.

They're both starting to look very, very old and I doubt they'll last long...

Last week a very good friend, probably my best friend now that the bloke I spoke of earlier is dead, decided they were tired of life, took a metric shitload of prescription painkillers and was tired no longer.

Due to my extended absence, I'm on the very brink of losing my job while the country is on the downslope of a major recession. It doesn't look hopeful.

All in all, it's been a shitehouse year.

I forget which bespectacled, probably beret-wearing French philosopher said it, but I'm starting to agree with the lad:

Perhaps the Earth is some other planet's hell?
(dante gone wrong, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 1:32, 13 replies)

Every year...
... we send at least one flight to Krakow. It's normally a special charter organised by East Renfrewshire Council for that local authority's HUGE Jewish population, for their annual pilgrimmage to Auschwitz.

Last year the usual selection of elders and grandchildren who make up the bulk of the passengers on these flights were taking a long time to work their way down the airbridge onto the aircraft. I will never forget the looks I got for innocently commenting to the Rabbis and the (also Jewish) tour reps that "we'll be pushing it for an on-time departure if this lot don't stop gassing and get on board"...
(clearasmud, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 0:51, 2 replies)

In the clink
A few years ago I was stuck in Alice Springs, desperate for a job. Alice is a weird place to live- there's loads of work there for pretty much anyone with any qualifications whatsoever (even if you made them up- I had a mate once who ended up driving a steamroller because he got drunk and fibbed that he could in front of someone desperate for a driver).

So, one day I got a job working in a gaol, teaching aboriginal fellas how to use computers (which quickly turned into teaching them to read first, then trying to remember how to use NT4, as they weren't allowed to use anything with usb support).

Which is all very well and good. Except that when my mum came for a visit, I told her that things didn't work out too well, and I've had to go to prison, and could she pick me up on her way through...

Sorry Mum :)
(pizzaforcat ate some cement and HARDENED the FUCK UP on, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 0:23, Reply)

Does this count ?
A few years ago I lived in a shared house. One of the other people there, lets call him Bill, was initially fine until my girlfriend moved in.

He changed from being mildly irritating to an obnoxious, foul mouthed arsehole.

All attempts to sort it out amicably failed so girlfriend and I got our own place and only had to suffer 2 weeks of the arsehole while we waited for our place to become available.

Those 2 weeks were great for us, the arsehole didn't get any less unbareble however, but it was the thought that everytime he used his sponge in the shower to wash his face, I had previously used it to wash my arse earlier that morning.

He got a really bad skin complaint the week before we left.

Shame.
(bluetuba has a special friend in Blue Label Smirnoff, Wed 17 Dec 2008, 0:02, 1 reply)

My parents are off to hell.
The older generations of my dad's side of the family are devoutly Greek Orthodox. I'm talking crosses, holy water, hideous icons of a miserable, very Greek-looking Jesus. Most of the great uncles do backup vocals for the priest. Fun fact about the Greek Orthodox church: masses are sung. Sometimes with hand actions. Imagine an ageing, swarthy Backstreet Boys.

My dad, on the other hand, is an atheist. As is my mother. And as, inevitably, am I. From the age of six, every Easter they've wheeled out a battered copy of The Life of Brian, which means I find it impossible to see a crucifix without "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" popping into my head.

Due to pressure from the grandparents, I was dragged to the Greek church every month or so to be doused with holy water and choke down their manky excuse for communion. The Greeks don't believe in delicious rice crackers like most churches, instead they chuck heavy bread into the wine and spoon the resulting mush into people's mouths. It's exactly as unpleasant as it sounds.

I hated it.

Then one magical day, when I was eleven years old, I was told I didn't have to go anymore. I didn't question why. In fact, I briefly believed in a kind and merciful God for not having to sit through all that.

As it happens, my parents had developed a cunning excuse. Very devoutly religious Greek Orthodox people do not believe menstruating women should be allowed into church. My parents conveniently gave that excuse for me every time I was expected to go.

Pity they didn't do that for my swimming lessons, too.

I have been in the church precisely once since I was eleven, for my grandmother's funeral. I expect everyone is familiar with the Giggle Loop and it hit me with a vengeance. Remember those sung services I mentioned earlier? They did a verse in English. The day after the Eurovision song contest.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 23:46, 3 replies)

holy jizz
We decided to go to a carol service.

What i forgot was that along with the singing there are the long tedious prayers and readings.

so one reading is going on (and on...) and my mind starts to wonder and suddenly these words pull me back to reality:

(angel: blah blah you'll get pregnant with the christ child blah blah...)

'How will this be,' Mary asked the angel, 'since I am a virgin?'

The angel answered, 'The Holy Spirit will come upon you'

cue VERY loud and totally uncontrolable snort of laughter, which sets of my friend, and the failed attempts to suppress giggles contunue throught the entire remaining service.
(peapwincess, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 23:43, 2 replies)

hullbound...
whilst in high school english i noticed that my portugese friend had nodded off next to me.

his sleeves where rolled up.

I had a permanent marker.

The english teacher was this v.hardcore bitch who was extremely PC.

once I had seen this opportunity and considered these facts I then proceeded to draw an iron cross on his left forearm and a swastika on his right.

portugese friend then had a mahoosive lecture from the beast teacher about the holocaust and the fact that if he had been alive and in nazi occupied europe he would have been gassed. as if this wasn't enough she then sent him to the science teacher for a lecture on blood poisoning and the dangers of drawing on oneself.

well at least i know theres gonna be a few germans who'll appreciate the joke when i reach the hot place...
(MungBean is still awake on, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 23:14, Reply)

i'm not going
but my fucking flatmate is for playing shit christmas songs on an endless loop. if i have to feed the world, wish it could be christmas every day or drive home for christmas one more time, her head is going in the freezer.

how do people work in shops/pubs where they have to listen to this all day from september to january??
( rachelswipe with a fork, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 22:48, 26 replies)

When I was about 10..
I sprayed a butterfly in WD40, set it on fire then watched this ball of flames fly into the sky before crashing back down.
(wordsfromlee you cannot be serious!, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 21:52, 1 reply)

The tale of the stolen shell
Aged 8 when I was going through my "annoying little shit" phase, I did something I really am not proud of at all.

In my class, we would from time to time bring in interesting possessions to show around the class. There was a girl called 'C', who brought in a spotted glossy seashell (Persicula (see here for a better pic)). I had never seen one before. I was impressed and envious. She also had a second smaller shell.

The moment I set eyes on it, I wanted one. We were sitting in rows on the carpet, and passed both shells around. Seizing my chance, I took the lesser shell and hid it when it was my turn. As we were sitting in untidy and unevenly formed rows, nobody seemed to notice I hadn't passed it along. Maybe they were all waiting for the bigger shell. I got away with it.

Seeing how easy it had been to nick the shell, I was feeling bad with myself for not having taken an chance to pilfer the big prize. One was not enough. I wanted that one too. But soon, an opportunity presented itself. I saw it unguarded and took it. I was amazed with myself that I even had the audacity to steal it. And whatsmore, I managed to keep it until it was time to go home.

A few days later, my mum saw it. She asked me where I had found it. I told her I had found it at a beach that I went to from time to time. She didn't believe me and kept pressing me with questions, but finally, she gave up.

At the time, I was proud to be in possession of it. I took it on summer holidays that year when we returned to the UK. During that holiday, I managed to lose the smaller shell so I only had the bigger one. I was proud of it for some time, but gradually over the years, just forgot about it but would still occasionally see it around.

Many, many, many years later, I came back to visit my parents one day. I had completely forgotten about the shell. By now, my parents had put it on display somewhere. All of a sudden, it came flooding back to me. My mind had long since been in a completely different frame. How could I have possibly done such a thing? My parents had accepted the shell as part of the living-room decorations and I felt guilty about it. Even so, I did not say anything abut it, and once I left, I didn't think of it much more.

Fast-forward another 6 years. I was going through a time of massive self-analysis, and then, an even worse thought came to me. It was only then that I realised the true horror of what I'd done. The following year at school, our teacher had asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. When it was 'C''s turn, she said she wanted to become a burglar. At the time, I thought she was being silly and quickly forgot about this, but it was only recently that it dawned upon me that there was a connection. 'C', having been deprived of her possession had lost her faith in humanity and had chosen a path of not conforming to society's norms in a negative kind of way. Was it vengeance of sorts, or just lack of faith? Even a couple of months after the incident, she must have still felt bitter and ended up thinking that she had lost faith in society so decided to go against society and become a burglar too. Had I started a downward spiral of negativity, or had I just made a small contribution? The last I saw or heard from 'C' was when she left the school for a different school. She was aged 8 or 9 at the time. I can't but help wonder if she re-gained her faith in society or if she carried this bitterness through to her teenaged years and adulthood.

If the school ever has a re-union, I wonder if I should bring the shell along and give it back. Would this restore her faith in humanity, or would it just open up old wounds? Last time I checked, she wasn't on FriendsReunited. I've not heard anything from her since she left the school back in 1984. Today, I feel more guilty about being responsible for her losing faith in humanity and all the accompanying consequences than I do for depriving her of her possession.

Length? It's been 26 years.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 21:41, 3 replies)

Raising money for charity's thirsty work...
When I was at uni, my girlfriend was into all that raising-and-giving/charity stuff. I never quite understood what it was all about, but I'd do things with her because that's what nice boyfriends do.

So, one night, we were going round a nightclub (Ziggys in York - for those in the know) collecting money for some underprivileged children or something but we came up with the fantastic idea that we should just pay for our drinks from the bucket of money we were collecting, in a 'this is our wage' kind of way. We spent about 80% of what we collected.

The dirty looks we got from the bar-staff haunt me to this day. As does the thought that anybody who asks me for money for charity is actually just going to spend it on Stella... It put me off charity for life.
(mr major no thanks, I don't use the horse, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 21:17, 5 replies)

gluttony
I butter my ginger nut biscuits.

And eat maryland cookies with a pile of whipped cream on the top.
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 21:07, 3 replies)

For many Reasons
Listening to Black Metal, denouncing faith, "converting" Christians to Atheism.

Though, turning school into a satanic worship site on the 6th of June 2006 was always fun (yes. I'm a young 'un, don't hurt me)

Eating the bibles we got given, and burning one too. Also giving the Christians ladybird a Viking funeral.
(Maccy Divided by 0 on, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 21:02, 6 replies)

Love lies
Being 19 years old, my girlfriend 17. We'd been together for a year or more.

After work I started having a couple of beers (just 2 bottles of miller mind) as I was a bit stressed out, and would then sleep for a couple of hours (I worked 7am to 3pm), I'd recently been given a promotion and was finding it intense. After a few months this turned into waking up and then having a few more beers.

Retrospectively, I think I couldn't juggle my job and my girlfriend at the same time.

Anyway, I realise that we're always having sex after I've had a few beers. I start to become concerned, and I stay off the beer for a few days. Could I get it up without beer? No. Could I get it up by creating a spontaneous rubbing/grinding motion whilst fingering her? Yes.

I'd lost interest, I knew it. How did I resolve this?

I didn't. Either A) Alcohoilism took over, B) I didn't love her or C) I'm gay.

I stayed with her until I was 21. 2 years. To this day I've never told her. The answer is B.

1 ticket to Hull?
(allywilson, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 20:28, 1 reply)

Just last night
I was out with Rob and Richard, my old college friends, having a beer or three at their favorite establishment- a place whose slogan is "Delightfully tacky, yet unrefined", and whose waitresses all wear skin tight tank tops and orange shorts.

Me, I really hate the place- it's full of chavs and rednecks, it's loud and echoey, the food always gives me the lethal farts the next day, and frankly the waitresses are usually not very pretty and are rather dim. But as the boys like it so much, I go along with it.

So here we are at our table and the waitress comes up and starts trying to banter with me. As I was tired and in a mood I gave her a brittle smile as she was prattling and told her, "You've met me before. The first time we met Richard asked you your age-" at this point I could see Richard's eyes bug out and a flush starting- "and when you told him, it turned out that you're younger than my son."

Richard looked well on his way to aneurysm, the girl looked shocked and Rob was trying to be inconspicuous behind his beer. The girl recovered and said, "Well then, maybe you could set me up with him!" and retreated as fast as her skinny little legs could carry her.

I looked at Richard, who had up until that point been flirting with her, and saw defeat in his eyes. "Oh come on, Richard! She's a two synapse cretin! You can't be serious! There's a twelve year gap between you!" I took a pull from my beer. "Besides, I'm the one that got mistaken for my daughter's boyfriend over the weekend!"

I'm pretty sure that if he could have, Richard would have sent me to hell right then.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Tue 16 Dec 2008, 20:27, 17 replies)

.
I read Sickpedia daily, and laugh.
(jamesthegill opens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 20:12, Reply)

I was the grand old age of 22,
Just coming to the end of my MA and slogging through 15-hour days, seven-day weeks on my dissertation.

However, such qualifications do not come cheap and I’d stumped-up my life savings and holiday earnings to cover it. ‘Cos edukashun is valubul, innit? In the final month I’d hit the bottom of my overdraft, had numerous rent and bills due, no savings, no chance of claiming benefit (full-time students can’t), no job and the ‘rental bank was currently sorting out my recently-divorced, single-mum sister.

Buggerations.

I needed a hundred squid and fast.
Salvation came in the form of an internet “dating” site for well-educated young ladies such as my esteemed self. The site would offer the charming company and intelligent conversation of a young man or woman at dinner in return for a fee (decided by said man or woman). Naturally this would attract lots of wealthy older men looking for some hot university totty that they could quite innocently take to dinner. Dinner only, got it? I signed up straight away and banged on a price of £80 for a meal with my incredible banter and barely visible cleavage, stuck a few flattering photos up and waited.

Hurrah, joy as I received the message that ‘bob’ has asked me out on a date! I received his details and Googled him instantly. 36, *Whereversian and with assets £250 million, ranked Xth richest man in Whereverland. £250 million??!! Holy mother of feck, yes! He messaged me; inviting me to his apartment, a prestigious address on Park Lane, no less (not actually on a Monopoly board – the real Park Lane). I knew his wealth was legit but was wary; this was supposed to be a dinner date with lots of people around in case my lady bits were unduly fondled. Oh, but I needed the cash and he was loaded. I put on my tottery heels, tight black dress and went anyway thinking, “I’m from the North and no one’s gonna mess with this biatch.”

How naive I was.

The apartment porters were immediately suspicious when I turned up. I could hear their thoughts screaming, ”PROSSIEEEEEEE! Dirty, clap-infested prossie to visit our pervert tenant.” I said I was a friend of Mr Rich and they were content to allow me into the plush lift. I ascended to his flat, knocked on the door and was greeted by an overweight, spotty and greasy (if well-dressed) man. Real age: 36; chronological age: 67. But then he did go on a dating site to pay for my company so fair dos.

The apartment was hideous. Everything rich people buy when they have lots of money and no Keenbean to tell them how to spend it. He plopped £100 into my bag straight off. You can predict what happened next. Kisses exchanged for information, bragging about wealth, eating sweets and getting naked. Did I mention he was like a big kid? Bags of Haribo everywhere. Maybe that was for me, being young and impressionable and all.

Anyway, long story short I didn’t do the full works but acted as ‘inspiration’ for his wank.

I refused to do any bishop-bashing so basically I lay there naked while he did the business himself. Turns out Whereversians have differently-shaped cocks from the Caucasian male to which I had become accustomed. Didn’t expect that.

Ms Keenbean BA, MA, Scholar, Prostitute.

Fucksocks.

I left at 5am, as soon as the tube started up again and travelled home with the numerous other leftover drunks.

I recently Googled this guy and he’s now some fantastic philanthropist so he won’t be joining me in hell...unless I tell the minions on my shoulder...bwahahahahahahaaaa.

The website’s still there and, no, I’m not on it any more.

Length? One night of degradation, 6” and possibly eternity in hell. Poobum.

*Why am I protecting his identity?
(KeenBean objects to this comma, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 19:58, 8 replies)

Not funny
My late father died of "A left occiputal astrocytoma" according to his death certificate.

It may be alleged that he actually died of a Diamorphine sulphate and Haloperidol overdose, administeredby person or persons unknown, at his written request.

The only people who, in the course of a hypothetical conversation, would (and have) condemned the aforementioned "person or persons unknown" for the alleged administering of said overdose have been Christians.


It would have been illegal to allow a dog to carry on in such unrelenting agony, yet it's right to allow it to happen to a human?

Whoever "person or persons unknown" are, they're going to Hell. I'd give them a pat on the back while shaking their hand.*







*If it wasn't anatomically impossible.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 18:46, 12 replies)

Genitals and hygiene do mix.
A few years ago I became involved with a very, very strange woman. Three hours after meeting we officially became boyfriend and girlfriend. We went back to her flat and good times were enjoyed by all.

A couple of weeks later she tells me that she's returning to Worcester for Christmas and that she'll probably break up with me while she's there. Being based in London and looking forward to being dumped over xmas, I formulate a plan.

Now, where I work has many, many dirty objects that are often left undisturbed for years. I'd been handling many of these one day and had hands that were rather filthy - the worst areas being the thick, black rings of mire underneath all my fingernails on my right hand. I go to her flat without washing my hands and keep them from sight where possible under the guise of attempting reconciliation.

A cuddle and some charm later and we're getting naked on her bed amidst some candlelight. We'd not had sex yet but explored other avenues of adult fun, and my hand slowly, unerringly slid up her thigh as she moaned in anticipation.

Ho ho ho.

I'd never fingered a girl for over an hour, but my wrist was very, very tired afterwards. As I sat on the bus to go home I looked at my hand to find that two of my fingers were completely clean, and every trace of black crust had disappeared from under the nails.

She dumped me like she said she would.

There is a worse story to follow, but that's for when I get back from Tesco.
(ElectricMonk is falling awake on, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 18:36, Reply)

I may miss hell becuase this was unintentional...
Ironically I'd just been to visit my friend at Preston Royal Infirmary and driven into the centre with my accomplice to do a spot of shopping.

Times up on the car at about 4.45 so we have to head home through the rush hour traffic. We'd had a bit of a poo day what with my friend not being very well n'all so we were listening to the radio to cheer ourselves up, and it turned out to be rather funny.

After a good few miles of us crying with histerical laughter at something that probably wasnt that funny, I realise that we'd shimmied through the traffic a bit too quickly and easily for my liking. Not only that buy you could still see gridlocked cars trying to get through the traffic lights. What was going on?

Id been following an ambulance at speed for a good 15mins.

From the centre of Preston right back to the hospital. Next to the motorway.


Oops.
(i should have joined myspace, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 16:56, 7 replies)

I saw a girl limping near my old flat.
My first thought was "wow, hot mong".
(teebie jeebie, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 16:36, 2 replies)

Gran died
Long time lurker first time poster ect ect

My gran died recently, and the first thing i thought was "Well thats me 20 quid down this xmas"

length? about 80 years or something.
(nytrolic, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 16:28, 2 replies)

Thou Shalt Not Steal
Stealing money from a village church collection box (i say box, more of a jam jar) as a 7 year old to gorge myself on cheap pic'n'mix.

*hangs head and waits for the villagers to light the fire*
(m@rolo, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 16:27, 1 reply)

Neo?
There's an NSPCC advert depicting a "violently abused" baby called William.. hooked up to life support etc.

"Its a low budget Matrix!" was the comment I made...

Hull please..
(LittleWhiteTreat, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 16:13, Reply)

According to Levitical law my leg is going to Hell!!!

( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 16:00, 11 replies)