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This is a question I'm going to Hell...

...because I said the Lord's Prayer backwards at a funeral to summon up the Goat of Mendes, Freddie Woo tells us. Tell us why you're doomed.

Thanks to Kaol for the suggestion

(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 13:09)
Pages: Latest, 22, 21, 20, 19, 18, ... 1

This question is now closed.

The Round Table
I once built a time machine. It was a clunky affair, not like the kind of machine glorified by the likes Of Emmett Brown, or Alexander Hartdegen - oh no. I'd describe it as more of a simple featureless steel box, which contained within all the wonderous equipment which made time travel possible.

Of course the discovery of the ability to transform the machine and its content into photons was key - as was the ability to project those photons at above the speed of light, thus allowing them to be projected into the past. Of course there also had to be the ability to put the box into complete stasis, allowing travel into the future. These two differing methods were not without their problems - how to put the photon projector within the box to retain internal control of the time reversal? One day I cracked it.

Oh the fun I had, travelling through the whole of history, all the while of course having to plan carefully - I had to make sure not to upset the thread of history, lest I caused a paradox, or changed things in too heavy a way.
What if you accidentally killed one of your ancestors? Would you cease to exist?

That being said, the further back in time I went the less chance there was of this happening, as travel and geography enabled the avoidance of ancestral links to become more predictable. I felt that since my ancestry lay in Russian peasantry I would be pretty safe in most parts of the world.

On one of my jaunts I visited Britain around the beginning of the 2nd Millennium AD. The people there were very backward, and I found it very easy to explain away my strange ways and mode of speech. I came to be one of the main advisors and friends of the King at the time. I especially made friends with a highly intelligent friend of his, who he had installed as his main scientific advisor. Between my hinting and the obvious intelligence of this man we made life very much easier for the King to instill a sense of peace on his kingdom. Until he unfortunately had a falling out with one of the soldier types over a girl.

It was of course a magical time, and sooner or later I had to take my leave. Unfortunately one of the servant girls happened to spot me getting out of the bath and drying myself one day. I hadnt realised she's seen me until I had returned to the present time and a colleague of mine (a historical scholar no less) showed me an ancient tapestry which had been found, which seemed to depict amongst other things a semi naked man wearing a Knights helmet.

She said "One of the Knights pictured on the tapestry seems to be lightly clothed, as if he had just been taking a bath"

I told her "I WAS one of King Arthur's Knights"

"I'm 'Gawain Towelle'"
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 14:30, 1 reply)
Short-time lurker, first time poster.

Anyway, I would imagine the fact that I laughed at every single post in 'World's Sickest Joke' QOTW would get me some way there.

Also: The other day in the office one of my female colleagues was talking to another female colleague about her recent scan (she's about 13 weeks pregnant) and they were squealing and everything like girls do.
I turned to my mate and said "I don't know what all the fuss is about, she could lose it yet"

Be gentle
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 14:22, 2 replies)
Pics will be posted on Flikr
from last night's gash in the next few days.
I felt shit this morning btw,
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 14:20, Reply)
no one has started the last buisness this week...........SO
Last last lasty last
change the QOTW
also I wonder when it`ll change next week being christmas and all that
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 14:10, 5 replies)
Quick and dirty
Not really a moment that will send me to Hell, but certainly a moment where I had the devil in me.

Laying in the arms of a friend with benefits last night, after a brief but pleasurable exchange of bodily fluids, we were engaging in small pillow talk.

The evening had come about after I had told her "you give the best oral sex ever". I apologised for saying something that sounded slightly sleazey, but that it was a fair reflection of her talents. "Thank you," she replied, "I take it as a compliment more than anything."

So when she upped the ante with the pillow talk by looking me in the eye, still glowing slightly in the post coital haze, and asked me completely seriously: "So how was the blow job?" with a surprisingly self satisfied and confident smirk, I'll need some kind of forgiveness for looking slightly into the distance, as if trying to find the right words to describe her talent, and then replying completely dead pan: "Hmmm... Average to above average tonight..." before turning back to her and looking her straight in the eye and continuing "... Could do better."

Bridge burnt, I think.
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 13:30, 1 reply)
I am going to hell according to everyone in my office.

A guys wife here is expecting a baby in January and we were discussing good names for it.

My suggestion was perfectly logical, given that it's going to be a 'Baby' and his surname starts with 'P'.

Ah well, can't please everyone
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 12:52, 2 replies)
'signing' music videos.... is it just me or?
I just couldn't help howling with laughter that they actually 'sign' music videos? I was doubled over with laughter at the signing and the moves the woman was doing to that rnb 'tune' 'wanna make love in da club' or some other such shite at some ridiculous hour one saturday night / sunday morning.

**edit** I was a bit pissed at the time...
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 12:48, 5 replies)
I once sent
a rather filthy, rude and downright saucy txt to a one time love interest (sorry; couldn't think of a better term). I was rather surprised not to receive his usual instant, eager beaver response.

Turned out he'd received it at his mate's dad's funeral.

(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 12:37, Reply)
I just
...bought a Sitar.

I touched it with my foot this morning by accident, and one of my kids stepped over it on the way to the kitchen.

Apparently, according to Indian tradition, I will now be burned in hell for displaying lack of respect to whichever is the God of Sitars.

...or something like that.
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 12:34, Reply)
The cinema is a gateway for the hellbound
Me and my good buddy were sitting in a packed cinema thoroughly enjoying Shaun of the Dead. At one point there was a Zombie in a wheelchair. I have never laughed so hard, yet so silently, in all my life. I looked across at my buddy, and she was also silently pissing herself at the Zombie in a wheelchair, which then made me laugh even more.

People were beginning to notice and give us strange looks. "Why are those two girls laughing at the Zombies? People are getting eaten!" I could hear them thinking. I had to get out of there. So me and my buddy left the cinema, and went outside to have a good ol' guffaw about the Zombie in a wheelchair. It still makes me laugh now.

A Zombie in a wheelchair. Genius.

Right, off the hell.

First post after some short-term lurking. Be nice
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 12:31, 3 replies)
return to sender.
A christmas card arrived through my letterbox last week - It was addressed to a guy that used to live in my flat but moved out months ago. Obviously i opened the card,thinking that a christmas card might brighten up the place a little. There was a 20 pound note in the card. It read 'Have a merry christmas and a happy new year, love Nana xxx' In the scrawliest handwriting ever. Luckily she wrote a return address on the back of the envelope.

I spent the 20,put the envelope in the bin and the card in the living room.

My reasoning being that i'd never get round to writing a note and posting the money back to Nana before christmas and would feel silly doing it in January.And im a greedy bastard.
I didn't even need the money - it just saved me a trip to a cash point one night.

Hell, indeed.

Length? All the way from Scotland to London by her majesty's royal postal service.
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 12:23, 4 replies)
My mate was a bit of a ‘one with the ladies’…

I was always insanely jealous…after all I'm better looking than him, better dressed, have more money…

What did he have that I didn’t?

The answer was…a pick up routine based on total cheesiness.

He just approached a beautiful girl, made ‘clawing’ gestures with his hands and pretended to growl…a la Austin Powers.

To me it seemed utter crap – but it worked every time – the babes were round him like flies round shite!

Well, one day, I went to a bar and tried his technique for myself…I approached an attractive young lady, did the gesture and made the sound.

The girl could hardly contain herself!” – she was all over me! Result!

So I did it again…and another girl just walked right up to me and fired in!

So I tried it again…but this time it backfired…because women young and old, attractive and fugly started to approach me…then men…and animals….they all rushed up to me and wanted a piece of my particular love action.

In a panic I called my mate, explained my situation and asked him what I should do…

He said: “I think I know what your problem is…

You’re ‘Grrr'-ing too well"

(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 12:05, 13 replies)
Corrupting children
Christmas shopping the other week, I popped into a branch of Early Learning Centre to pick up some things for my youngest relatives. In amongst the shelves of generic noisy toys and building bricks, there were the tacky TV tie-ins; perfectly ordinary toys wrapped into the shape of a popular children's TV character, to make them sell better.

One such example was the magnetic drawing board. This device, a small writing surface which can be turned black with a magnetic pen, and whitebeige again by wiping the whole thing with a lever on the toy's back, was covering the front of a character from In The Night Garden. Macca-Daisy, or Upsy-Pacca or something. Whatever. The blue one with the red rag.

Naturally, I did what any adolescent trapped in the body of a 31-year-old would do, and drew a massive cock'n'balls on the drawing board, in a roughly anatomically correct position (as anatomically correct as you can be when your schlong reaches half way up your chest. Hello, ladies). I then replaced Macca-Packing on the shelf, behind an unadulterated version of himself, so that his Ninky-Nonk would remain undisplayed until the next person in the shop removed the toy at the front of the shelf.

The only mitigating circumstance which may save me from the fiery place is that the shelf in question was over a metre from the ground, so the kiddywinks won't be the ones to find it.

I think I've dealt with the length already.
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 12:00, 8 replies)
Dad would have been proud.
Finally, a QOTW so perfect for me that it has snapped me out of my habitual procrastination and forced me to register to share my story.

2008 has been a shit of a year. I lost my Grandmother at the end of March and then my dear (not so) old Dad in June, meaning my poor Mother became an orphan and a widow in the space of three months. A messy business all round.

The task of organising Dad’s funeral rolled around, made easier by the fact we had got a bit of match practice in a few months earlier, and I decided I wanted to write a eulogy for him.

As an aside, Co-op Funeral Services (other funeral directors are available) do not feel it is appropriate to offer a loyalty card system for funerals.

The funeral, at Dad’s request, was to be a happy occasion, with bright clothes, rock and roll music and a big party afterwards.

The day came; we arrive at the crematorium in the cars, piped in by a lone bagpiper. There are literally hundreds of people stood waiting. I’m cacking it. I’m not the best public speaker, and the thought of standing up in front of a capacity crowd, combined with the emotion of the day was not one I relished.

So, yer man in the dress does the God bothering bit and then it’s my turn to speak.

I take a deep breath and begin to address the masses:

"This is the part of the service called the Eulogy; it comes from an ancient Greek word, (Dad always insisted we look up a word if we didn’t know what it meant) it means to give a speech praising someone. Eulogies can also be used to praise those that are still alive, and I would like to think that today is more about keeping alive the happy memories we all have of Dad, rather than focusing on the sadness of his passing."

It’s going well. Lots of people in the audience cooing and muttering things like, ‘Isn’t he brave’ etc.

… and then I got to this bit.

“I have Dad to thank for my dry, slightly dark, sense of humour. You could always rely on him to tell a most inappropriate story or joke.

Right now I am sure he would be telling the one about the boy who went into school one day and apologised to the teacher for not being there the previous day.

‘Sorry I wasn’t at School yesterday Miss, my Dad got burnt.’

The teacher says; ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, I hope it wasn’t serious’

He says; ’They don’t fuck about at the Crem’ Miss!’”

I should have just got onto the conveyor belt and ridden it down with him.
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 11:56, 6 replies)
Pet Euthanasia
I am going to hell for this for sure. My dad's thankfully now ex missus had a dog. She loved the dog. She was so over the top about this fucking dog. Anyway, the dog was old and suddenly came down with a rather bad case of diabetes. The dog went blind, walked round and bumped into things, pissed and shit all over the place, was visibly petrified constantly, never daring to venture more than a foot from where it was shivering and cowering..

I personally thought, and so did my dad, (and he's a big dog lover) that the afore mentioned creature would be best dispatched from its mortal coil, for its own sake and dignity, and my sake and sanity at having to live in a house that was constantly being covered in dog shit and piss. (she point blank refused to take the dog to be put down)

I did what any decent person would do. I gave the diabetic dog a very big bar of chocolate. That didn't work, although it did make the dog a bit happier.

Plan B...replace the doggy insulin for a 'sugar solution' made up from icing sugar to look the same as the insulin....

That did the trick...very quick.

It also gave me a evil bit of pleasure, as I hated and still do hate the evil nasty bitch that was my old man’s ex, and the thing was...she injected the dog....oh how i smiled inside when she cried and cried over the dog.

I will burn for this. No doubt people will hate me....I don't care. It was better for the dog in the long run, and in a round about way got her back for screwing my head up!!!
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 11:52, 5 replies)
The 1st time i was going down on a girl
i thought "i'll show her i'm a modern man and up for anything", so i did of all things, "the shocker" for those of you not familiar with this technique, "2 in the pink one in the stink" "2 in the goo 1 in the poo"

it's not as fun when you don't have a goo :'(

needless to say that relationship didn't last long
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 11:50, 8 replies)
Drug induced nightmare
I was once prescribed some drugs which gave me particularly vivid dreams. On one occason I had a nightmare that I was in a fight to the death with a crazed nazi in an SS uniform.

I had the bugger pinned down and went straight for the throat. I was drawing back my right fist to land the killer blow for the free world when I heard screaming.

Female screaming.

I woke to find that not only did I have hold of ex-Mrs PJM by the neck, but I was moments from popping her right on the nose.


I still think the whole thing was my subconscious trying to tell me something.
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 11:40, 5 replies)
Apparently I'm destined to go to Hell
As I'm sure is fairly common, I love watching films. I have an extensive DVD collection that covers most genres, and go to the cinema as often as I can.

What relevance does this have to the QotW? Well, sure, I 've laughed at inappropriate moments in films (generally horrific death scenes), but the most that's elicited from others is a disapproving glare. No, my biggest crime against humanity, according to people with whom I've discussed, is this:

I didn't like 'Lost in Translation'.

I try not to mention this film amongst some of my friends, because they go all soppy and talk about it like it's God's loving smile immortalised in film. They all act as if this film has enriched their lives in ways they never thought possible, that each of its 102 minutes provides an orgasm for the soul.

It bored me. There's a lot of hanging around, he cheats on his wife, and it ends.

Whenever i make my viewpoint known, my friends look on me like they've walked in on me beating a nun to death with a sack of kittens. How could I find it boring? How can I not see the beauty?

Nothing happens! Why would I want to watch a film that's the equivalent of waiting for a bus?

I expect to get flamed, but I really didn't enjoy the film, and nothing is likely to change that. Merely having this opinion has apparently condemned me to the fiery pits of Hell.

Oh yes, I also have no desire to ever see Top Gun, I really like Vanilla Sky, and I thought No Country for Old Men had a shit ending.
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 11:36, 16 replies)
It was worth it!
If I go to hell for this, I don't care.

Years ago when I got together with my alkie ex we had a night out at a country pub in Derbyshire. It was a beautiful starry summer night and we slept out in a field in our sleeping bags.

I must point out here that I didn't have any idea of what a lying drunken bastard he would soon show himself to be - it was all sweetness and light at that stage.

Back to the story. Apparently in the middle of the night I got up from my bag of sleep, kicked him in the head and broke his nose. Then I went back to bed.

Next morning he wakes up covered in claret and I have absolutely no memory of anything. I was asleep throughout!

I still maintain it was my subconscious trying to warn me about him. How I wished I had listened.

I have no remorse so - bring on the demonic hordes!
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 10:46, 11 replies)
Drunken outbursts
We've all done it. One time I was in the pub and to all intents and purposes effectively passed out with my head on the table amongst a large group of mates. It became clear that I was at least peripherally aware of my surroundings when I interrupted one friends rant about how shit all of her boyfriends were by raising my bleary head and saying, "It's because you're fat."

To be fair, what I meant was "It's possible you're subtly sabotaging yourself due to self-esteem issues, and frankly that's crazy as you're very pretty and great fun to spend time with. You just need to spend more time thinking positively about yourself. And less time eating."
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 10:44, 1 reply)
I'm not proud of this one.
A few years ago, I was in A Bad Place. I was staying at my folk's place after being kicked out of my house a year earlier, I was mentally fucked and drinking heavily to escape my demons. The following is an account of something I did which I think qualifies me for hell, and I'm completely open to criticism for it.

The month was October. Summer had managed to drag its heels and the leaves were just starting to turn brown on the trees.

Not that I was really paying that much attention. I was professionally sticking to my daily routine: work, pub, beer, food, TV, bed, hangover... repeat daily.

The day previous to our story, I'd noticed our neighbour's car hadn't moved for a few days, and the curtains remained open despite the earlier sunsets. They were a nice family - mum and dad in their mid thirties, two kids toward the end of primary school. They kept themselves to themselves and we didn't really have much contact.

I'd guessed they were on holiday from the continued lack of activity in the house, and made a mental note to keep an eye on the place for them.

This particular evening, I was on my sixth pint of Stella before dinner and my stomach told me it was time for something a bit more solid. So I bid my farewells and staggered the hundred metres to my parent's house.

Six pints of wife beater doesn't sound like much, but I pride myself on being a cheap date and, on an empty stomach, it had worked its hazy magic, and I was feeling somewhat cheeky. So I did what felt completely natural and suitably mischievous at the moment I arrived at my front door.

I climbed next door's fence and broke into their house.

After spending fifteen minutes snooping through the cupboards and drawers to see what wonders awaited my alcohol-fuelled light fingers, I came across the study which had a nice shiny computer, a laptop and a vast collection of computer games, all boxed, for gamers of all ages.

Faced with this situation, what do you think I decided to pilfer?

I stole two Barbie computer games, and made quick my escape.
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 10:41, 7 replies)

(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 10:37, Reply)

(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 10:37, Reply)

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(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 10:37, Reply)
Bloody Morphine
I greeted my girlfriend's parents in the sterile lobby area at University Collage Hospital London. They looked tired. I looked tired. We'd had a hard day.

I received a call from them at lunchtime to advise they were getting the next coach from Cardiff to London and that they would be at the hospital a.s.a.p.

My girlfriend had had major surgery earlier that day to sort out the constant, agonizing pain she has suffered from for the last eighteen months; a gynacological condition that meant she could hardly walk and was hurting so much that once she actually cracked one of her teeth cuz she was clenching her teeth so hard through the pain. Painkillers just didnt work.

What was supposed to be an hour long operation turned into two hours, then three - eventually stretching out to six hours in surgery. And all this time I was mulling about the hospital, trying to find out information with no luck, stepping outside to chain smoke, then returning to be sent to another department to speak to somebody else in a white coat or nurses uniform who didnt seem to have a clue what was going on with my girlfriend.

"Liz is on the thirteenth floor," I said in my best Tom Waits chain smoking all day gravel voice. "She's ok."

We filed into the lift, not even talking. We were all so tired.

Then we shuffled into the ward - the nurses there had got used to my face by now and we were allowed straight in.

My girlfriend, Liz, opened her angelic blue eyes and sort of focused on me as we approached her bed - she was on so much morphine she didn't appear to notice her parents were with me.

Liz then told me that the surgeon had just been to visit and had told her her fertility was fine and that if we wanted to try for a baby we should start as soon as she'd recovered from the surgery.

I was just happy she was ok, but this news made me feel so incredible inside. I never wanted kids before, but when you meet the one you just want to give them everything, to hopefully bring a new life into this world who's part you and part the person you love.

And so, in this moment of serenity, of absolute love, with her parents standing on the other side of the bed looking relieved that their baby daughter was still alive and ok, Liz fixes me with a sly look and says:

"So no more bum sex for you, Spanky."

Bloody morphine.

Her parents are dyed in the wool Catholics. Yep, I'm probably gonna burn for converting their daughter to the ways of the dark side.
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 9:59, 13 replies)
I'm not going.
.. Not yet anyway.
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 9:56, Reply)
Finally remembered one!
A few years back when I was still with ex Mr Chickenlady I was often party to his evil ways as far as the nuggets (our kids) were concerned.

Calm down, I'm not going to tell you all about strange country goings on that involve goats and your sister.

I don't know your sister.

Back to the story...

Every night the nuggets would go to bed at around 7pm and I would always check on them at about 10pm when I went to bed.

About once a week or so the ex would come into the nuggets' room with me.

Keep calm. No therapy inducing pr0n will be appearing here.

The ex would then almost wet himself with laughter before turning on the bedroom light and shaking the nuggets gently and calling out,
"Come on! Time to get up! Come on! You'll be late for school! Come on! Come on! Hurry up!"

The kids would then open their red and bloodshot eyes, mutter, "Okay, okay, I'm getting up, I'm getting up" and drag themselves from their beds.

Did I mention that this was at about 10pm?

The poor little buggers had had around three hours sleep.
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 9:43, 7 replies)
all your base...
When 7/7 happened i went on irc later that morning and told everyone "someone set up us the bangbus"...
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 9:04, Reply)
Schindler's List
When Shcindler's List has just come out on video, a bunch of us were sat in the pub, discussing it.

We were mostly talking about the iconic and, more often than not, tear-jerking moments in the film, lke the red coat, the bit where he saves the children, claiming they can polish the inside of 20mm shells and the bit at the end where you see the real-life people he saved.

We had been drinking for a couple of hours previous to this, so we had very little volume control, which had attracted the attentioon of people around us. Some people even suggested their favourite parts of the film.

I hadn't said much for a little while, bnot least because the conversation was getting quite depressing and I was trying to think of a way of changing the subject. My mate said to me "Scouse, what do you think is the saddest bit of the film?"

In an attempt at raising the mood a little, I said "When they hung the German at the end"

You could hear a pin drop in the pub. Taxi! Hell, please.
(, Thu 18 Dec 2008, 8:31, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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