It wasn't pre-meditated,
but I was once rifling through the top-draw of junk looking for some money or something, when I came across a box. Without thinking (that's me!) I took out the box, turned to my girlfriend who was sat on the bed and went down on one knee.

"Sarah?"
"Yes??" *glee hands*
*opens box*
"Have you seen my cuff links? They're ace aren't they?"

I won't fully describe what happened next, but much tears and flouncing was involved (and that was just me).

They were ace cuff links though.
( Zak McFlimby Twibbling @McFlimby, Thu 16 Jun 2011, 13:48, 16 replies)

not me, my dad
WWII, my dad and his younger sister playing in front of the house.

A shell explodes VERY near. Luckily the ground wasn't even, and the shell fell in a place where the ground was a bit recessed.

So, the shrapnles travelling in horizontal direction were stopped, and the shrapnels flew around in a sort of cone, sparing the lives of the two kids.

Anyway, the house was fully hit bt the shrapnels. Imagine the scene: a hude boom, plaster falling off the wall, smashed glasses, dust flying around.

My granma was in the house, called her sons and started running to go outside to see if they were ok.

My father to his little sister: "lets lay down and play dead".

Hilarity ensues.
( frox, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 14:08, 15 replies)

Had to go meet my sister one day
So on the train changed into some really nasty shiny traccy bottoms, pulled one leg up to my knee.
Put on a really stained t-shirt and a big bobble hat.
Then to top it off I pulled my extra large boxer shorts (pants grey) out of the waistband of my traccies right up to my chest.

Stepped off the train and shouted "Biddy, look they let me travel by myself" in my bestest spacker/mong voice and waving my arms wildly.

She took one look at me turned and ran for her car in the car park.
So I ran after her shouting in mongy terms how pleased I was to see her and could I have some crayons to chew on.
She did eventually let me in the car.
(Captain Spacker I lick windows, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 7:54, 5 replies)

Poo annoyance

When Mr DBS is on the toilet, I like to stand just outside the door sounding worried and alarmed saying things like: "What was that noise? ...Are you ok? ...WHAT WAS THAT JUST THEN? ...Did you hear that? ...Is everything alright in there?"

This absoutely enrages him, because apparently I 'ruin a good poo' and he 'can't go'.
(DBS, Thu 16 Jun 2011, 15:54, 13 replies)

My worst/best easter
My then girlfriend and I had not long bought our first house. We were both earning but not great amounts so times were hard and we didn't have a lot of spare money. It was coming up to easter and we'd agreed that since neither of us really gave a shit we wouldn't bother with easter eggs. Nice and simple, we didn't need to go spending money we didn't have and neither of us would be disappointed on easter morning.

So, along comes easter sunday. I get up and head to the bathroom for a piss. I come back to the bedroom and there's my wife, sat up in bed holding a present out to me. 'Happy easter!' she says. Sounds lovely, but I've got her nothing, just as we'd agreed, and she'd spent money, even though we'd agreed not to. 'FFS' says I, 'well pass it here then'.

I took the parcel, sat on the bed and started to unwrap it. Little silvery confetti-type stars started to fall out of it, all over the bed and the floor. This didn't help my mood as I knew who'd get the honor of picking them all up off the carpet. I look at the missus and she's just grinning. I pull the rest if the wrapper off and turn the box round to see my gift.

It's a chocolate easter egg in the shape of a sports car. It has the words 'Will You Marry Me?' in a lovely icing script on the windscreen. I take one look at it and relax, she's obviously got it at a bargain knock down price because someone had it done and then changed their mind. I told her of my relief that she'd saved a bit of cash with a second hand egg and shuffled off to put the kettle on. As I was leaving the room she just said 'I asked them to write it...'

Have you ever felt completely incredible and utterly wretched at the same time? Yeah, it's strange.

For a while I'd been thinking of how to propose to her. Id' bottled it as I was so worried she'd say no. She was and will always be the most beautiful person I've ever met and my closest friend. I was so scared of asking her to marry me as I felt it would somehow break the spell and I'd lose her.

This Angel who had let me share her life for a few years was now taking the bold step of asking me to be with her forever. Committing to our love and wanting to be with me. It was all of my dreams come true.

And my response was to call her a cheapskate and offer her a cuppa :o)

To this day that moment still haunts me. She found it in her heart to forgive me and we've been married nearly five years now. Please click if you can find it in your heart to forgive me too. I promise you I have never been so sorry in all my life!
(robbersdog, Mon 20 Jun 2011, 20:32, 10 replies)

One morning, the former Mr Quar was enthroned in the the bathroom and the door opened a little.
He called out to our 3 year-old, 'Sonny! Will you go and ask Mum for some toilet paper for me please?'

Unknown to the ex, I was in the bedroom next door. I sent Sonny back to ask, 'Mum says, do you want NEWSPAPER?'
'No, Sonny, tell mum I want TOILET paper.'

Sonny returned with Dad's request and this time I offered sandpaper. No, Daddy would like TOILET paper, please.

As little Sonny was so articulate and diligent, and the ex was so stupid, I was able to send Sonny back many times to offer creative alternatives to toilet paper: wallpaper, a coathanger, a wire brush, a cactus, a handful of gravel, a broken bottle, etc, all of which Daddy politely refused.

I suppose I eventually caved in and sent Sonny in with a bogroll but all I can actually remember is kneeling on the bedroom floor with my face buried in the duvet to stifle my laughter.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 8:20, 5 replies)

If you're wearing a nursey uniform, people tend to believe you.
Years ago, wearing mine in a big shop with my mother, when Mother was out of earshot I told the till girl that 'She's a sweet old thing but she thinks she's my mum!'

When Mother came over to pay, I patted her shoulder and said 'You think I'm your daughter, don't you?'
Mother said 'Of COURSE you're my daughter!'
I turned to the till girl and said 'She gets quite upset. Watch her hit me now!' and said to Mother, 'Awww, you love me really, don't you?'
Smack! across my shoulder.

The till girl gave me that 'Glad I don't have your job' look as Mother dragged me out of the shop, threatening hell.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 11:07, 4 replies)

She's always cold.
This works best in the middle of winter.

On long car journeys she usually falls asleep after 10 minutes or so. I put the air con to the coldest setting and wait for the cold to start waking her up. I then put the heating on full blast.

When she finally comes to she can't work out why she's so cold yet the heater is on full. I've been doing this for years...
(Yellow Car is now red, Sun 19 Jun 2011, 14:54, 2 replies)

She fell asleep (a pearost)
My ex girlfriend, Emily, and I were travelling home from Brighton on a beautiful Sunday afternoon two years ago. The journey itself was about an hour and a half long, so I thought it very rude of her when she fell asleep about 20 minutes from home, rather than keep me company. Afterall, she was meant to be navigating.

The part that comes next may go some of the way to explaining why we are no longer together. I pulled the car over at an angle down a country lane and up slowly in front of a tree so that the bumper of the car was just touching it. Then, I put my head down on the steering wheel, closed my eyes, stuck my tongue out the side of my mouth and sounded the horn.

"Shhiiiiiit! Wake up, wake up!" a rather startled Emily screamed, shaking my shoulders. "We've crashed!"

A broad grin formed across my face and Emily realised what I had done. She didn't speak to me for the rest of the journey.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Sun 19 Jun 2011, 2:03, 3 replies)

My mum...
lost her front two teeth when she was young; she cycled over a football that someone kicked, and unceremoniously flipped over the crossbar and kerb-stomped herself. As such, she has a plate which she can put in which clips onto her palette behind her teeth with two fake front teeth to replace her gap.

This tooth plate is usually left, when not in use, in a glass of water which is meant to keep the plate supple, or something like that. Anyway, it gave me hours of fun as a child to secretly pour things into it and watch her face as the liquid registered on her tongue. A particular favourite was to simply supersaturate the water with salt. It resulted in a response, but my mum loves salt, so it wasn't so funny in the end. I scoured the kitchen for things that I could mix with water that would remain clear. Saccharin was quite a good one, resulting in a painfully sweet flavour. That got a good reaction for a while, but nothing more than a screwed up face and a slap round the head...I wanted more of a spectacle.

The beginning of my eventual downfall came when I tried Tabasco sauce. The resulting chilli-water wasn't so transparent, so I was worried I'd get rumbled. On that day, she was due to go into town on the bus with me and my sister, and we were running super late. The bus stop was outside my house, and I ran out to stall it while the rest followed. We caught it just in time, with my mum popping her teeth in last minute. I had a big grin on my face, and I saw the chilli-heatwave slowly make itself apparent, as I stood in the doorway of the bus. As my mum finally ran to me, her face was screwing up, and her eyes were watering as she looked at me with the angriest stare. She just about bought the tickets from the driver and sat down before pulling the plate out and smacking me across the head. I didn't care, as I had been doubled over laughing since we stepped out the door. The whole rest of the day I watched her put in the plate in order to converse with shopspeople, red-faced, then come back to us, remove it, take a swig of Cola for the spice, and shout at me for being an idiot.

This event still hadn't quenched my thirst for mischief, and a few weeks later I planned my ultimate prank. The piece de resistance of fake-tooth guerilla warfare. I considered a few things...soap? No...that was too much...or was it? I even thought bleach at one point (being too young to really know that it was *that* bad), but I knew it smelt too strongly. I'd get caught for sure. While still planning, I did a small prank just to tide myself over, which inadvertently became the big one...the MOAP (mother of all pranks).

I replaced the water with white vinegar. Again, it smelt quite bad, but just the concept was making me laugh; thinking of my mum's face was funny enough. The teeth remained in the glass for the rest of the afternoon untouched...and then through the night...I woke up and had completely forgotten about it until I heard my mum shout, "What the HELL?!"

I ran into the kitchen smirking to catch my mum's face as the vinegar filled her mouth, but instead she stood there...angry and toothless. In one hand was a cup of opaque brown liquid, and a mangled lump of plastic attached two black tooth-shaped blobs in the other. She sniffed the glass, and shouted, "VINEGAR? You little shit!"

Alas, is didn't end well for me (dissolving a hundred pounds worth of orthodontic craftsmanship in vinegar rarely does). I bought myself a few seconds by pulling a chair over behind me as I fled, and I was spared a further few seconds as my mum went through the drawers to find a suitably hefty wooden spoon to hit me with...but the punishment was inevitable.
( guffguff fuckes your gradeds balls!, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 13:36, 15 replies)

This will make your eyes water.
My wife was in the garden and had got some dust or grit in her eye, so she sat down in the chair in the living room and sent me upstairs for the Optrex.

No problem, I went to the cabinet, grabbed the distinctive little blue and white dropper bottle and went downstairs. She tilted her head back and I proceeded to drip the soothing fluid into her eye. It didn't seem to be working very well.

It was only when the smell hit my nostrils that I realised that I had picked up a bottle of Vicks Sinex nasal spray, and was happily squirting menthol and eucalyptus oil into my wife's peepers.

At this point, I ran back upstairs, found the real Optrex, used most of the bottle flushing her eye out, told her the amusing mistake and then ran away and hid.

Amazingly, all parts of my body are still intact, although it was a close run thing.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Thu 16 Jun 2011, 15:11, 6 replies)

8-legged revenge
My sister used to be a vindictive little shit when we were little. She was forever pilfering my favourite toys and hiding them in her room, then denying all knowledge of ever seeing them. My parents refused to listen, putting their loss down to my untidy bedroom.

I used to wait until she'd gone to ballet lessons to retrieve my treasures and drop a spider in its place knowing she had a bit of a dislike for them.

One week she went too far and hid about ten of my favourite star wars figures (I know right? Unforgiveable!). After that it was on like King Kong. I bided my time until she was out doing her girly dancing for a full day and went into the garden with jam jars and yoghurt pots and collected as many spiders as I could find.

I was sneaky enough to make sure I only collected the same species so my folks would just put it down to some kind of nest or infestation and then released them under her bed, in her sock drawer and among her toys. Must have been about a hundred of the little buggers scuttling off in all directions looking for a new home.

It's strange how waking up in the middle of the night with spiders crawling in your hair and across your face can turn a dislike into a full blown phobia.

25 years later my brother in law tells me she occassionally sits bolt upright in the middle of the night, rips the duvet off and starts sweeping at spiders that aren't there. I can't quite bring myself to tell her I'm the source of her night terrors.

Never underestimate the power of the dark side of the little brother :)
( Draconacticus Reject shampoo. Demand real poo!, Mon 20 Jun 2011, 16:27, 3 replies)

My sister's husband
When my sister invited me to meet her boyfriend (husband as of yesterday!), he had only seen some very old photos and was told that we looked somewhat alike. What he didn't expect on his return home from work was to find us in the hallway of their house like the Shining sisters. With us wearing the same outfit, hairstyle, spectacles, he was taken aback because he knows that his girlfriend doesn't have a twin sister. He had a twitch of fear when he looked at us, but the crowning moment for me was the facial reaction somewhat akin to trumping with a possible follow-through as he wasn't prepared for me to have the same voice as his girlfriend. When we turned in unison, staring wide-eyed and whispered "Hello John" before bursting into high pitched laughter he all but ran back out of the door.

This story was told at the wedding reception yesterday as a means of introducing me to his family as "the fake-twin sister of the bride".
(Mrs Ballunatic counting calories, not votes., Sun 19 Jun 2011, 17:38, 2 replies)

I sometimes snore
I have always told people that if I'm keeping them up then they are welcome to wake me up in whatever way necessary; I never remember it.

Soooooo......

Sleeping in a small room with 2 other people (who love me. That's the tenuous link). I'm in the top tier of a bunk bed. I'm snoring. Burly bloke in bottom bunk opposite gets up and pokes me. I stop. He goes back to bed.

I start again. He gets up and pokes me again. I stop. He goes back to bed.

I start again. He gets up, quite pissed off, and belts me on my arse (I'm lying facing the wall). I stop. He goes back to bed.

I start again. By this point he's had enough. He hauls himself out of bed, winds up, and punches me as hard as he can on my arse, determined that I will actually wake up properly this time, and give him a chance to get some kip.

Except it's not my arse. I've rolled over.

I woke up.
( kappynitty doubled your entendre on, Thu 16 Jun 2011, 23:59, 4 replies)

Poor baby
Our thirteen week old daughter was crying quite a bit last night. I was trying to shush her, when Mrs ScousersPet suggested I should wind her.

I thought this was a little bit cruel, so just gave her a dead leg instead.
(ScousersPet, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 14:06, 5 replies)

My tale of shame and woe
So I was involved with a girl I'd been friends with for ages, we lived a few hours apart, so didn't see each other very much. I traveled to see her when I could, on promises of great times, romantic meals and general couple crap that we never got to have normally.

Each time I went, I was slightly let down, she never seemed that happy to see me, we'd always do what she wanted, watch her choice of movies, her choice of tv. I spent new year with her friends yet she flat out refused to meet mine for an afternoon. I told myself it was just cos times were hard for her and she was shy, and it was most likely my fault.

The last time I went to see her, I booked train tickets, only to find she isn't texting as much, I'm getting one word answers and she seems totally different. I manage to find out what's wrong, and apparently she isn't in the right place to be with me right now, and she just needs time. I ask her if she still want me to come visit and she says of course, she really wants to see me and I have to go.

I travel down after work, get texts to say I'll have to sort myself some food as she can't possibly wait until 8 to eat. I'm a bit gutted, say I'd take her out when she met me off the train. Apparently she wasn't meeting me off the train, I was getting the bus. I was pretty annoyed, but still, I reasoned it was a waste of her limited money to get the bus home after work, then back to pick me up. Then I was told she'd pick me up in her car (friend would be giving her a driving lesson) which was better. Got in the car, got told we were going to McDonalds, but not the one in town on the way home, another one a few miles off. I Sat in the back of her car while her shit music blasted, unable to talk to her.

We got to McDonalds and they told me they didn't have money, I'd be buying. I accepted this as I'd already said I'd buy her food and her friend did offer to pay me back. (I refused as I'd be staying in her house, using her electricity and heating). She didn't talk to me much as we ate, one word answers,she spoke to her friend about people they both knew who I didn't, essentially blocking me from the conversation. Her friend tried to include me, but it was pretty difficult and I was getting annoyed. We got in and went pretty much straight to bed. I was told we would watch White collar, a program she loved that I had never seen until she fell asleep. It wasn't my cup of tea but she fell asleep in the first episode, I got to turn it off and have some sleep before the next days big plans, watching her friend get a tattoo!

I don't know if you've ever watched some one get a tattoo, but it's a slow process, trying to make small talk failed, she still gave me one word answers so I chatted with the tattoo guy, who was pretty sound, but obviously needed to concentrate on his work.

Two hours later, we left and went to town, she walked infront of me with her friend, went clothes shopping and made me feel like a stalker. A friend of her's I'd met at new year's turned up, I chatted with him while texting friends who lived near by to see if I could maybe crash at theirs that night. She told me her friends were coming round that night and asked me if I minded. My exact words were "Would it matter if I did?" she asked what I meant by that and I told her we'd talk when we got home. Of course, when we got home, her friends came round and I didn't want to argue in front of them. More gossip about people I didn't know for four hours until finally, they left, she went to bed and I had the opportunity to talk.

Only, she was too tired to talk apparently, which tipped me over the edge, I had a massive go, told her she'd ignored me, been rude to me, cared more about her self and would have had the exact same weekend if I'd not been there. She said she had no idea what I was talking about, I told her to stop lying and that I'd have left there and then if I had the option. She seemed indifferent. "If that's what you want." she said.
"Of course it's not! I want you to at least talk to me, I've spent more then a weeks wages for two days of feeling like Bruce Willis in the sixth sense." I got a "Sorry." out of her. I told her that I knew things were rough, and we weren't a couple right now, but I needed to talk. She didn't feel like talking, so we didn't. Eventually she offered me a hug. I took it.

As I lay there, I realised how fucking pathetic I was. I was willing to let myself be treated like crap by some one who was clearly using my attention to make herself feel special. I thought about how many outher women had done the exact same thing over the years and how I would always fall for it. I realised it was no wonder I was always being screwed over, my self esteem was so low that I was actualy willing to accept this sort of crap rather then expect to find some one who actualy valued me, afterall, how could some one value me if I didn't value myself?

The next day we went to see anouther friend of her's, the usual talk of people I don't know, being ignored and then I finaly headed home, tired, saddened and disserpointed. But I took away with me a new sense of worth, the feeling that I was better then this, that I shouldn't settle for the first woman who'l have me.

So the terrible thing I'd done was not to some one else I loved, but to not love myself. I'm not 100% of the way there yet, but I'm on the right path. I know that I'm not perfect but I'm not a bad catch and I won't settle for some one who treats me like crap just because I'm afraid to be alone.
(Mong goose, Mon 20 Jun 2011, 2:17, 16 replies)

Mrs Quackblast doesn't like birds, because they 'flap at her'.
I am a thoughtful, considarate, caring husband and once wished to help her face her fears. Although scared of birds she is ecologically minded and doesn't like seeing food go to waste so every weekend we'll take a little jaunt along the river feeding the ducks any stale bread we had. Now Geese REALLY love bread, don't they? I think you could even use it to train them. You could lay a trail of bread from the river, across the towpath and down a track to were your wife is picking some berries for some reason that she hasn't made entirely clear. This would have the added bonus of not only conditioning the geese to follow trails of bread, but you'd also get to see your wife frantically scrambling up a tree whilst simultaneously crying and screaming for help whilst about 12 geese surround her honking for blood.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 9:27, 2 replies)

My mate works with a woman called Sandra
Sandra is a small wee person, about 5ft 3 at the most. Sandra is married to Mike who is by comparison, rather large and hefty. He sounds a bit of a cunt because he uses it to his advantage and pins her down and farts on her head.
One day, she decides to get her own back. He was in the bath and she burst in, dropped her pants and farted at him in the bath.


And promptly followed through.

Apparently he moved extremely quickly.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 16 Jun 2011, 14:53, 3 replies)

Sort of accidentally absolutely terrified my father.
When I was about 10, we went on holiday to somewhere in Cornwall, and my father and I went for a walk up on some cliffs. One section had some interesting rock formations close to the edge, and we went to look at them - they were huge, bulbous things ranging from knee-height to tens of feet. The drop to the sea was bloody huge - big enough for sea birds nesting in the cliffs to be flying underneath us while searching for fish.

The sound of the waves crashing was soft below us, and the sun shone brilliantly - a beautiful day.

My father went over there to look at some of the more interesting formations, and, as "a bit of a laugh", as his back was towards me, I suddenly cried Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!!!!" and hid behind a rock.

Oh dear gods the look on my dad's face as he came rushing over, searching frantically for me. Oh how crushingly he hugged me when I revealed that it was all just a lovely joke.

Oh how I didn't get supper that evening.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 9:11, 4 replies)

Mimsy the Jack Russell terrorist.
Mimsy was a short-haired terrorist, and rather small for the breed. She belonged to the woman I was with at the time. I had what could best be described as a love-hate relationship with the dog- she could be needy and annoying and destructive and shat on the rug, but she could also be sweet and snuggly and loved to play with me.

Like most Jack Russell terrorists, she insisted on sleeping under the covers behind someone's knees. Usually it was her owner's knees, but often it was mine- she was generally partial to me over her owner, and would sleep with me if she could get away with it. She would run her nose down my spine and curl up in a miserable little shivering ball whenever it was cold, until the middle of the night when she was warm, when she would stretch out and insert a pointy little paw where it was least welcome.

Some nights I would drink Belgian ale with a bit of scotch. This invariably has the same effect on me every time- in the middle of the night and into the next morning I get the Death Farts. As a rule I avoid the combination for that reason, but on certain nights it was irresistible.

So on occasion I would climb into bed, tired and full of good ale, and the dog would run her cold little nose down my spine. An hour or two later I would feel the pressure build, and would let loose with a blast right on her head.

I always felt a bit of joy when it was enough to drive her completely out of the bed.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 17 Jun 2011, 2:32, 5 replies)

The fella and I
Often get into those most panic-inducing, vicious, exhausting of fights - the Tickle Fight. On one of these occasions he had me immobilised on the floor, I was losing badly, he had both my legs pinned with his knees, my wrists clasped above my head held firmly by one of his hands and was using his free hand to tickle me mercilessly around the ribs and armpits.

It was horrible, I could do nothing but laugh. Not enjoyable, happy laughter, but ragged, desperate, uncontrollable laughter. He wasn't letting up either, relentlessly continuing to tickle and grin wickedly at me as I hooted and panted, eyes bulging, trying to suck air into my collapsing lungs and probably looking for all the world like Arnie in Total Recall when he was on the surface of Mars with no helmet.

I writhed, trying to shove Mr Droog off me to the side so I could free my legs and kick him away, but he kept his balance. Finally one of his knees slipped to the outside of one of my legs, freeing it, giving me a clear shot at his pods. Normally I would never have stooped so low as to take such a dishonorable pop at the love-of-my-lifes' goolies, but these were desperate times and, stealing myself, I jutted my knee sharply upwards.

OOUUURRRGGGHH he said. Finally, blissfully, the tickley death stopped, the strength seemed to leave Mr Droog in one long exhale and he collapsed on top of me, whimpering. As if this were not good enough, as he fell he let rip with a great big trump, as if his bum were saying "Awwwwwwww" :( sad that the tickle war was over.

Bad sportsmanship on my part, but a victory nonetheless.
( Droog is too orangey for crows, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 15:46, 10 replies)

technically not to one I loved
Some years ago I was trying to extricate myself from a relationship with a bloke who had been lovely for 3 weeks but had then turned into psycho paranoid twat. He worked shifts and would finish work sometimes at 0200hrs and then fetch up at my place with keys he refused to return to me. I couldn't get the locks changed as I was totally skint. I used to leave the key in the lock to stop him getting in but my dogs would raise holy hell and to save the neighbours sanity I had to get up and let the bastard in, he would usually then search the house for secret lovers and then demand I cook him a meal. If I refused he would launch into a tirade about how he 'couldn't continue to love me ' if I kept being so difficult.I got a bit tired of this as I had to be up at 0600 to do the horses and then go to work. My dogs also became a target for him and he would threaten to take them away and dump them somewhere or kill them, so I was completely demoralised and tired all the time. I couldn't get rid of him , he just would not leave me alone, and the police in the 80's were not interested until he actually murdered me. I hatched a plan which took a while to perfect, but I bided my time and eventually one day after his night shift he fell asleep after eating all my food, I got his keys out of his trousers without him waking up. I removed my door keys, and there in my palm were his shiny new bmw keys. I went out taking my dogs with me , and as they were excited about going out I thought I would give them a run down the fields then leave them with my neighbour whilst I did the deed. I then decided to kill two birds with one stone, put the dogs in his new BMW and drove it about 5 miles to a well known spot near Buckingham along the A421 where the dogging fraternity gathered.
It was hidden from the main road, the river on one side and a stone bridge that had been bypassed when they improved the road was a perfect spot. I walked the dogs about 5 miles up the river , they played, ran , and got very very dirty.
I then went back to the car, took off the number plates, shat in the boot, and scratched a rude word beginning with c on the bonnet.
I then walked home across the fields.
When got home, it was still asleep but stirred, and demanded food.
'who are you? I said, what are you doing in my house ,started screaming and generally feigned a nervous breakdown cross psycho woman type event. He was very groggy after being asleep and just could not take it in, I was dishevelled after a wintery walk with my dogs, it was getting dark, I was screaming and brandishing a broom handle, so he just looked at me and said I will come back when you have calmed down. I continued to 'no recognise' him and picked up the phone and said I was calling the police. He went out of my house, where upon I locked the door and started dancing about my house. At this point I must point out I lived in a very old end of terrace converted cottage thing, there were six in a row out in the wilds of Buckinghamshire and up a dark lane with no lighting. He must have got into the car park and feeling for car keys not found them and he came back to my door started hammering on it. It was raining and windy. I smiled back at him through the frosted window, then poked a large knife through the letterbox and told him to fuck off.

He did...
I have no idea what happened after that, except when the police arrived I was cleaned up. I was lucid, I was polite, I denied knowing him. My neighbour was round with me having a glass of wine, and she bless her denied knowing him as well.

he had never bothered to learn my dogs names, or knew where I worked as I had changed jobs and not bothered to tell him, so the police went away.


I think it took about 2 weeks for his car to be found, stripped of wheels and burned out. I didn't do that, but applaud the people who did.

I had accidentally thrown the keys in the river.

I still hate the bastard.
And MICHAEL JAMES if I ever set eyes on you again, I will spit in your face.
(Jessypuss Fiddling with stuff since 1957, Sun 19 Jun 2011, 15:12, 11 replies)

I have a late entry!
A friend Ollie hadn't been married very long. He was suffering from anal fissures and had applied a thick layer of cream to the area. Lying down on the sofa he said to his wife 'can you do me a massive favour and look at my arse it's stinging like mad'. She dutifully took a tentative look and said she couldn't see anything. 'please' he replied, 'I really think something's wrong i've never had pain like it'. So she peered in close and was greeted by a colossal fart that squirted African bum cream into her face. She later reported that she could see right into his anus 'at the red flesh inside his guts'.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Wed 22 Jun 2011, 19:44, 7 replies)

I just farted in my cats face
No fucking cheezeburgers here, mate.
(McChinaman banned, Tue 21 Jun 2011, 15:59, 6 replies)

When I started dating my future wife we ended up in the sack for the first time together. Post-coitus she said 'You're the biggest I've ever had'.

'Ditto' said I.
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Sat 18 Jun 2011, 21:15, 2 replies)

Told my GF
that men had two bladders. "The fact we dont have a uterus, gave us more space for an extra bladder, hence why we Wee more times in the pub"

Fully believed me, and even rang her dad to check.

Also told her Paella was a spanish pie.

I love winding her up.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Mon 20 Jun 2011, 16:21, 9 replies)

The Coalminer - Revenge on my cousin
Years back, my brother and I had hatched a plan to pull an extraordinary prank on our cousin, James. It came on the back of him getting one over on us with a joke of his own. In private, he had farted into a Pringles tube and quickly sealed it with the lid. Then he found each of us individually and asked if we thought the inside of the tube smelt funny, cue hilarity when we were hit with the fresh pong of his arsehole. We knew we wanted to get him back, but we were undecided about the best way to do it. James often stayed over in the summer holidays for days on end and early suggestions as to how we were going to get him back were quite feeble, including things such as farting in his face whilst he was asleep and putting his hand in water so he pissed himself. What we needed was something that would make James think twice about ever pulling a stunt like his Pringle tube fart ever again, something that would go down in legend amongst the rest of the family and our friends. After a lengthy discussion one evening, we came up with an elaborate plan that, if executed well, would get James back twice over. We were going to scare the shit out of him.

James was due to stay the following night and we knew that despite his bravado, he was scared of one thing in particular; ghosts. He was absolutely petrified of them, and my Mum used to tell my brother and I off if we mentioned them around him because she’d get in in the neck from our uncle, James’ Dad. If we started telling ghost stories, James would put his fingers in his ears and bury his head under his duvet so he could drown out all ghost talk. Like Gary Glitter and his relationship with small boys, any mention of ghosts put the willies up him. We wrote down our plan of action and then went through a couple of practice runs, ensuring that we could carry out the necessary actions in the time we guessed we’d have available. Once sure that we could, we sat back smugly, looking forward to the events the following evening.

We spent the next day playing football in the local park with James and a couple of other friends. There was no mention to anyone of the plan we had put in place as we didn’t want to put it into jeopardy. The day passed and the evening came and as it was the school holidays we were allowed out late, so we hung around in the local park, doing nothing in particular. Eventually, we decided to call it a night and my brother and I gave each other a knowing look as we made our way home; we were finally going to get our revenge.
The three of us sat in my brother’s room playing his Super Nintendo. All my brother and I had to do was wait for James to give us the prompt we needed to start the prank. We didn’t have to wait long.

“Pause it lads, I need a piss”, said James. This was what I had been waiting for.

“Go on then, be quick” I replied. James stood up and headed for the bedroom door. As he opened it, I put the prank into motion.

“Oh, mate, just to warn you; don’t look out of the small bathroom window that you can see in front of you when you’re having a piss.”

“Err, why?” asked James.

“Because of the coalminer”

“The coalminer?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him, my brothers seen him. Even my mum has mentioned seeing him”

“Who’s the coalminer?” James looked scared already.

“I’m not sure why he’s started coming here”, I began, “but the last few times I’ve been for a piss late at night and I’ve looked out of the window, I’ve seen the face of a small boy looking back at me. The face is covered in soot and is wearing a coalminer’s helmet. It’s really weird and scary”

“Yeah, whatever”, said James. I could tell he was shaken, that was the main thing, and we’d also planted the seed of doubt in his mind.

He made his was slowly out of the bedroom.

No sooner had James left us to cross the landing and go to the bathroom, had my brother sprinted downstairs and to the front door. Here he picked up a torch which we had hidden the previous day and then made his way to the front of the house. Once outside, he climbed on top of the wheelie bin, also positioned strategically the day before. This gave him easy access to the flat garage roof to which the small bathroom window looked out over. The practice runs had been worth it as he was up on the roof in no time at all. I meanwhile, had snuck across the landing and was listening at the bathroom door. I could still here the urine trickling out of James and into the toilet and I braced myself ready for the prank’s finale.

My brother was crouching below the bathroom window. He turned the torch on and held it against the top of his head with one hand. Then he leapt up and pressed his face to the window.

“WAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH” he bellowed as he jumped to his feet. As I heard this I burst through the door.

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK”, screamed James and he collapsed to the floor, covering his head with his hands.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” he shouted, still not entirely sure as to what was going on.

My brother and I erupted into fits of laughter. I opened the bathroom window and my brother poked his head through.

“Woooo, I’m the scary coalminer boy!” he teased. James looked up from the floor.

“You are fucking bastards! Fuck you!” He was still shaking with fear.
“We got you! We fucking got you!” I replied. My brother had tears rolling down his cheeks.

After a while James got to his feet. What we saw delighted us. Not only had we scared him something silly, but we had forced James to piss all over the front of his trousers. My brother and I were deliriously happy with our achievements.

“I think that makes us about even”, I said to James, once the commotion had died down and we were back in the bedroom playing the computer.
“All I did was a fart…one fart…that was it. A fart” was all that James could muster
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 13:30, 4 replies)

I didn't even know I'd been horrible.
Years ago I and my girlfriend went on a trip to New York. We'd been dating for a long time, had moved in together and everything was going swimmingly.
It was expected by all - myself included - that inevitably we'd get married, have kids and live happily ever after.
So. We're in New York and Valentine's Day arrives.
"Here's an idea," I say, "Let's go to the top of the Empire State Building and take in the view.*
"...... Fantastic!...." she replies, looking gob-smacked, delighted and otherwise overly-enthusiastic about visiting what is after all a fairly common landmark..
So a few hours later we're enjoying the view, I'm pointing out sights (and non-sights, like "Look! That's where the World Trade Centre isn't any more!") then we leave.
And she says little.
Days later the penny drops. She'd been expecting me to get down on one knee and produce a ring.
On Valentines Day. At the top of the Empire State Building. On our New York holiday. Which does, in retrospect, seem like the logical time/place combination.
She'd even had a manicure so her hand would look perfect for the "inevitable" pics of the engagement ring she could email home.
To family and friends who were also expecting the proposal.
Basically to a lot of people I love dearly who were now disappointed in me for not doing something I hadn't even thought I was supposed to do.

* At this point every girl who hears this story says something like: "Ah, of course! She was expecting a proposal" and every guy says "Ah, of course! You were going to the Empire State Building". Venus, Mars, etc.
( difficultchild, Fri 17 Jun 2011, 2:34, 11 replies)

Nose picking
I once woke up yelling in the middle of the night with my girlfriend's finger stuck up my nose. I mean so far up that it really hurt. God knows how she managed to get it up there while we were both asleep. Because she woke up to me screaming her immediate reaction was to jerk her hand away, which hurt even more. I had blood in my snot for days afterwards and my nose looked like I'd been 10 rounds with Muhammed Ali.
(Smale is stuffed, Thu 16 Jun 2011, 19:35, Reply)

Not me directly,
but my pet. I remember when my friend gave me the bad news.

"Your walrus hurt the one you love," he said.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Wed 22 Jun 2011, 4:22, 6 replies)