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This is a question Mistaken Identity

Jizzbiscuits-Murphy writes, "I was punched at a friend's party by a drunk who thought I was Russell Brand"

Well, if you dress anything like him, you probably deserved it, but who have you been mistaken for/mistaken other people for?

(, Thu 31 May 2007, 14:49)
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This question is now closed.

Mistaken Identity
I was once at a foam party at a club in Leeds. As the foam got thicker I wondered drukardly further into the depths to see if I could find a bar. As I stood gathering my surroundings and wondering where the hell I was I felt a pair of hands pull my shorts down a little, shortly followed by swollen member being thrust into the mouth of a girl who really knew what she was doing.

And so, thats where I remained for an undisclosed amount of time, after which she stood up looking rather pleased with her handy work. That is until she realised I wasn't her boyfriend who she'd been waiting for, and who had the same excellent taste in shorts as I did.
(, Thu 31 May 2007, 15:50, Reply)
I can't walk past a cider-sodden tramp without shouting "DAD! Dad! It's me...don't you recognise me Dad?". Always guaranteed a response. Nine times out of ten I'm greeted with incomprehensible abuse, but it's that almost tear jerking one-in-ten "S...S...Son?" that makes it all worthwhile.

Click if this makes me a bad person.
(, Sat 2 Jun 2007, 1:17, Reply)
Awkward pint.
I saw a bloke in the street who I hadn't seen for yonks.
"Hey Dan, what you up to? Long time no see".
"Going for a pint" he said.
"Cool, I'll join you"

Got to the pub, he bought me a pint and as I took it from him my face dropped.

"You're not Dan"

"Yes I am"

Not the Dan I knew but someone else who looked like him and was called Dan. He'd even bought me a pint and must have been racking his brains as to who the hell I was.

That was the most awkward pint I've ever had. I left after necking it, didn't even buy him one back.
(, Thu 31 May 2007, 16:12, Reply)
Rudderless Hippies
A few years ago in some pub in Birmingham, some pissed up bloke spent about 3 hours convinced that I was his hero. But he couldn't tell me who his hero was. I was allegedy just "you know.... wossname. its you!"

So, rather than get into some sort of drubbing incident, I played along.

Everything I did caused him to crease up and laugh. Any shite joke. Some impropmtu puppet show using nothing but Wetherspoons menus. And the cunt was laughing.

At this point his mate told me who he though I was.

So, an hour of psuedo-hippy bullshit drivel later, I left.

To this day, the drunk probably thinks he spent the afternoon with Bill Bailey.

Note: I do have some resemeblence to Bill Bailey. I have a big gurning face, a stupid beard, and receding long hair.

Sadly, i'm about a foot taller that Mr. Bailey, and my hair is jet black (dyed, due to greyness), rather that a sort of greying dirty blonde.

I did meet BB once. He was entering somewhere carrying a guitar case, just as I was leaving carrying a bass-guitar case. I looked at him, he looked at me.
"Scary scary giant goth replica" spoke the man.
(, Mon 4 Jun 2007, 5:28, Reply)
Many moons ago
I found myself living in Cape Town doing nothing more than drinking cheap beer and smoking cheap weed. One of my regular haunts was a place called Fat Boys where you could drink as much as you like for 30 rand (about 4 quid).

So one night, after consuming vast quantities of lager, wine, spirits and whatever other low quality alcohol they had going, I was pretty damn shit faced. It was about 4am in the morning and the cleaners had turned up to start clearing up all the plastic cups and beer cans. As I didn’t have anything else to do at the time I decided to join in.

My mates stepped over me on the way out asking me what the fuck I was doing as I was crawling around on my hands and knees clearing up after myself and others. They told me to hurry up, pointing out that I didn’t want to be left by myself in the centre of Cape Town at 4 in the morning. Not the safest place to be.

I eventually stumbled out and found myself alone on the warm, dark streets of Cape Town. Luckily I spied a cab and jumped in the back. “Observatory” I slurred, for that was the name of the suburb in which I was staying.

“I don’t know where that is” replied the young lady behind the wheel.

Hmmmm, I thought, a young lady driving a cab at night in South Africa, doesn’t seem the safest vocation. Oh well. “I’ll direct you.”

We eventually made it home and as I was getting out of the cab I asked how much? The poor girl who was looking quite terrified at this point meekly pointed out “I’m not a cab.”

It would appear I had just jumped in some poor woman’s car and demanded she take me home. Ooops.
(, Fri 1 Jun 2007, 7:54, Reply)
Not me, but I wish it had been...
When I was very young I went to a small college from '81 to '83. At that point the legal drinking age in New York was 18, so the campus was pretty much awash in cheap beer.

So one night two guys were rather trashed and went into the girls' floor of the dorm and entered the room of two girls they kinda knew, although not well. The bolder of the two climbed into a bed with a girl, expecting her to wake up and pound on him in outrage- after all, this was just a prank.

To his surprise she put her arm around him and kissed him.

Well, as things tend to go, they got very hot and heavy very quickly, and they had a very nice shag.

As the sweat was cooling and they were catching their breath, she ran her hand through his hair and said, "Andrew, where are your glasses?"

"What glasses? I don't wear glasses."

"You're not Andrew!!"

And indeed he wasn't her boyfriend Andrew.

Hilarity ensued.
(, Thu 31 May 2007, 17:11, Reply)
take that Shane !
Some years ago I was sitting in Mcd*nalds with my friend and his girlfriend 'enjoying' a Big Mac meal (Fillet 'O' Fish for the lady…) and chatting leisurely about Quantum Physics and the like.
Suddenly from behind me a shrill voice exclaimed the immortal words: "Take That Shane!",
and proceeded to tip an extra large bucket of Fanta over my head.

Now my name's not Shane...

As the ice dripped slowly down my spine and sticky orange fizz beaded from my hair into my food, I turned around to face a triumphant looking 13 year old girl and her spotty accomplice chortling at me.

"What in the name of Hamburgler are you playing at?" I politely enquired*

As she realised her blunder, and that I was not in fact "Shane" her face contorted into some awful little piggy fizgog and she replied:

"Fuck off"

Yes dear readers, that was her apology.
I must admit I am slightly ashamed of running out in the street after the little tykes with two large Sprites and launching them (unsuccessfully) at them in front of several horrified shoppers.

Way I see it, this Shane character owes me BIG TIME.

*Words to that effect, only louder, more sweary and less burger franchise orientated.

Length? - Supersize...
(, Thu 31 May 2007, 16:31, Reply)
Ahh, Daddy
Many years ago my mum was in the local paper and out of the corner of her eye she spotted a familiar face, several in fact, on the front of every tabloid. Closer inspection revealed a police mugshot of this chap and details of his antics over the last few years

bizarrely 40 years before this my mam had married this handsome fellow

and she was somewhat surprised to say the least. My dad thinks it's a hoot, not much else he can do under the circumstances, although Doctor Harry's demise put pay to a tribute act unfortunately but there you go.

Then a few months ago the Metro had news of the first gay civil partnership to end in a separation, involving these 2 gents, pay close attention to Darryl Bullock, the one on the right

which caused great amusement at work and everywhere where anyone knows this ugly twat aka me

Brilliant that. How I laughed!!

Edit: Anyone calls me a gayer I'll get me Dad to do yer granny in.
(, Thu 31 May 2007, 23:28, Reply)
Twice by two seperate people who didn't know each other...

Although this was about 5 years ago, I hope to god that I don't any more.
(, Sat 2 Jun 2007, 22:54, Reply)
Oh the fun I have.
...eating pork and inciting jihads, and letting him take the blame.

Omar Bakri Mohammed (The Tottenham Ayatollah) and Tepid Halibut (You 'umble B3TAN.) I forget which is which !
(, Thu 31 May 2007, 19:41, Reply)
Wasnt me but...

Nuff said really!
(, Mon 4 Jun 2007, 14:09, Reply)
Crucifixion shenanigans
I was travelling through a remote part of the Philippines during holy week. They take their Catholicism pretty seriously out there, going so far as to do a pretty detailed re-enactment of the crucifixion. In fact, young men volunteer for the 'privilege' of being nailed to a cross.

An example: www.ifilm.com/video/2667496

Being a crusty backpacker type at the time, not only was I tall, slightly emaciated from the latest bout of food poisoning, olive-skinned, but also with a beard and shoulder-length hair. Oh, and I have a prominent hooter. Basically, to your average Filipino, I was pretty much a perfect match for their biscuit-tin imagery of Our Saviour. This was remarked upon pretty frequently, at least once an hour some passer-by would shout 'Hey Jesus!', which was mildly entertaining.

However, on Good Friday, being chased across a market square by several hundred filipinos shouting 'Jesus! Jesus!' and making hammering gestures, accompanied by Tagalog which I can only guess translated as 'stop the lanky git, he'll really top off our re-enactment', it didn't seem quite so light-hearted.
(, Sat 2 Jun 2007, 22:22, Reply)
Wrong band mate
Leeds Festival, several years ago...

A great day of bands had just ended with Metallica. As the crowds stumbled back to their tents in the dark, we wandered into a tent in the arena and settled down on the grass to watch a midnight showing of Donnie Darko.

It may have been the heat of that August summers day. Perhaps it was violent mosh pits he had experienced that evening. Or maybe it was the cocktail of alcohol and narcotics that Yan had consumed that day. Most probably, it was a combination of them all.

Looking around him and then squinting towards the screen at the front, he took a puff of the large jazz cigaratte he was holding and uttered the now infamous line,

"'ere, is this still Metallica?"
(, Fri 1 Jun 2007, 12:10, Reply)
My driver's license photo always seems to get Nicholas Cage, for some reason. It's about six years old now though, so bugger that.

I most note now that I was very, very drunk in the following photo.

But, yes. Macaulay Culkin. Fucker.

That isn't a black mesh vest top, I swear. The full photo is even worse.
(, Sun 3 Jun 2007, 15:37, Reply)
Shave off the beard and sort out the lips, and this man is me

He is Kristian 'Varg' Vikernes, Norwegian murderer, Nazi, black metallist, church burner and general tabloid fodder extraordinaire. His Wikipedia is here, which gives a bit more detail on the man's ideals and crimes.

The resemblance is so strong that many a pissed up metalhead has asked me why the hell I'm in Belfast and not composing pathetically faux-artistic ambient bullshit in some Norwegian prison cell. I simply smile enigmatically, wink and say 'Beer is good, ja?'

Then they buy me Guinness all night in return for on-the-fly fabricated anecdotes about how I wrote such and such a song and why the icy fjords are so hauntingly beautiful and other such patent bollocks. They leave with a sense of understanding and mild awe, and I leave very very drunk indeed.

Every cloud etc.
(, Thu 31 May 2007, 18:56, Reply)
in the early 80s I was standing around near Queen's University in Belfast waiting for my cousin to finish for the day so we could go for a swift one in the pub around the corner. As I'm waiting, a huge stretch limo pulls up and out gets Sir Richard Attenborough, who is speaking in the university that evening. He marches straight up to me with his hand outstretched, gives me a warm and vigorous handshake, hugs me, announces "absolutely marvellous to see you again, old man" and bustles off inside.
(, Fri 1 Jun 2007, 16:15, Reply)
People always say.....
...how much I look like my mum, which I don't mind, because she's alright, but I always thought I looked more like my dad.

This was until I was looking for her in M&S recently, I spotted her, ran over to grab her, and walked full on into a mirror.

She was in the food department when I actually found her and she bought me a sandwich, so that was nice.
(, Fri 1 Jun 2007, 11:39, Reply)
My ex-girlfriend had
a rather enterprising friend who used mistaken identity for the purpose of blag.

See, matey was skint, and he fancied a night out at a rather prestigious London nitespot, and he had the choice of paying to get in and staying sober, or blagging his way in and getting pissed. So he hatched a plot, and a cunning one it was too.

He arrived with his friends and went to the VIP entrance. Who goes there, went the bouncer. Matey adopted his false persona.

"Me. The bassist out of Placebo."
"You know the band Placebo?"
"The one with the androgenous singer a load of people jacked off over when our first single was out when they thought he was a girl?"
"Er,(remembers), yeah?"
"I'm their bassist. The bassist in Placebo. The Placebo bassist."
"I don't recognise you."
"No-one ever does. In fact, I dare you to find anyone who knows what I look like."

Conferring briefly with his colleagues, the box office and cloakroom staff, he found that no-one had the faintest idea of what the bassist out of Placebo looked like. So he let him in anyway, either as a benefit of doubt or as a reward for having that much cheek.

And the moral of this story is: the bassist out of Placebo
(, Thu 31 May 2007, 23:13, Reply)
Worth it!!
I was in a pub in my home town, minding my own business when a random guy walked to my table and sat down. I looked at the guy who then said "I'm really sorry Macca, I've been mening to give this back to you for ages" and thrusts an envelope in my hand. He then stood up, said "no hard feelings then mate" and left by the side door.
Strange, I thought. On opening the envelope and finding a cash sum not unadjacent to £700 in used 20's I made my escape.
I am not Macca. I don't know anyone called Macca.

I haven't been in that pub since, he might want his money back!
(, Thu 31 May 2007, 18:19, Reply)
Signor Fagiolo
A week into our honeymoon, my new wife and I were sunbathing on a beach near Venice, Italy.
I went to go and get us both an ice-cream and passed a group of italian kids playing on the beach who started pointing at me and shouting out: "Mr Bean, Mr Bean, Mr Bean!"
Quite upset, I went and sat back down next to my wife and said
"I can't believe that group of kids think I look like Mr Bean", to which she casually replied, as if the whole world knew and I was the last to find out.

"My whole family think you look like Mr Bean."

and I always thought I was more like noel gallagher
(, Thu 31 May 2007, 17:17, Reply)
After changing our daughters nappy, (and not washing his hands), my husband mistakenly identified the brown goo on his fingers for mustard, and licked it off.

My how I laughed.

I still secretly giggle in the middle of the night as I remember his face as the realisation hit him.
(, Thu 7 Jun 2007, 15:38, Reply)
I'm a big chap, and at one point I used to have a big black beard...Any way, during this beard period, I went to see a comedian in a pub, whilst wearing a white & navy blue horizontal striped t-shirt. About halfway thru the act I stood up to go to the bar, only to have the comedian say..

"OI ! Are you that guy whos' been fucking Popeye's wife ?!?!"

I sat back down VERY quickly
(, Tue 5 Jun 2007, 12:35, Reply)
18 stone of overcoats...
I once mistook Johnny Vegas for a pile of coats at a party in Edinburgh. I chucked my jacket down and it wasn't until I head an "Oi!" then saw a hand clutching a pint of Guiness appear from under it that I realised...
(, Fri 1 Jun 2007, 13:01, Reply)
Forgot the worst:
My mother often says that I look like Nicholas Cage. In the same breath, she will say how sexy she thinks Nicholas Cage is. I find this very disturbing.
(, Thu 31 May 2007, 17:13, Reply)
Baying hate mob

I was walking to the shops to pick up a copy of 2000AD - the thinking man's masturbatory aid - when I heard the cry.

"THERE HE IS - The knob who beat up my sister!"

They couldn't mean me. As the first punch sailed dangerously close to my head, I realised they did. I gave the kid with the blubbing sister a limp-wristed punch and did what any coward would do. I ran away.

Looking over my shoulder, I noticed there were no fewer that twenty teenage kids after me, baying for my blood.

I hid behind the scout hut, and later under my bed, plucking up enough courage later to find out that mobs were roaming the street all weekend looking for me.

I never even found out who the girl was, let alone the kid I punched, but the original sister-puncher must have got away scot free.

And ...er... that's the thanks I got.
(, Sat 2 Jun 2007, 10:28, Reply)
I'm not gay
But I thought I'd post my favourite case of mistaken gaydentity.

When I lived in Jamaica (yawn he always talks about Jamaica after a few blah, blah, blah...), I found out that almost the entire village thought I was gay. Now, anyone who knows about jamaica knows that is a dangerous thing indeed.
How did this come to pass (especially as I'd spent the entire first month there with my girlfriend)?
Well, there were two pieces of evidence presented to me.
1) I had spoken to a gay man and said to him "See you later". turns out that one night, whilst standing outside the local go go club the only gay in the village (literally) came over to speak to me. Apprantely we chatted for a few moments before he went off. On parting, I'd said "See you later" as this is a common thing to say where I come from in London. It purely means that maybe, at some point in the future our paths might cross again.
In Jamaica this was secret code for 'lets meet up later and have lots of bum sex'.
Nobody seem to appreciate my explanation that I'd been inside the go go club for hours and had stepped outside to wait for my mate who'd gone back to the house in search of weed. Nobody cared that the whole conversation I had with the man was:
"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine, just getting some air. It's a hot night to be surrounded by such beautiful girls."
"ok, cool. Well, you have a good night."
"Cheers, see you later."
Anyway, turns out that the local gay man only thought I might be gay by the other piece of evidence.
2) I play a few musical insturments, so on my departure to that fair Isle I chose one of my favourites. A big black saxaphone.
Anyway, when I first arrived I kept it hidden away for a bit as I was paranoid that it might get stolen. After I'd been there about a month, my mate and me decided to have a jam. He played the Djembe, so it looked like it could work out really nicely.
Before we got to that point, I was showing him the sax. It was lying in its case still and when 'Dragon' (a local ganster type) came in the room, we shut the case quickly and leant on it so he couldn't see it.
Dragon knew something was up, but we just carried on as usual.
Turns out he thought we were having bumsex when he came in. Despite both being fully dressed and standing in his mums kitchen, who was in the other room.
It was two months before we found out what he was telling everyone.
When I found out lots of things clicked into place. The mad guy who kept telling me he knew I wasn't a battyboy, the kids who followed me home one night calling me batty.

Anyway, I don't really give a toss if someone thinks I'm gay. This was crazy though and it's only after I found out that I realised how close I'd been to getting stabbed on more than one occasion. Only my wide eye'd innocence kept me out of trouble.

I still wonder about that gay guy sometimes. He must have a really shit life.
(, Fri 1 Jun 2007, 19:59, Reply)
How I didn't get punched....
We were on a big session in nice sedate Bath. We had gone out at 11am and were still caning it at 4pm when said incident occurred.

My mate Tom had gone to the Bar so I looked around to see if I could see my other two mates, Les and Steve. I saw Les at the fruit machine wearing his blue jumper, and being a friendly chap I thought I'd go over to say hello.

The first clue was that he didn't play fruit machines but I digress.

I snuck up behind Les, my old University mate, put one hand up his jumper to squeeze his man-teet; the other down the back of his jeans to squeeze his scrawny backside and put on my best John Inman accent to yell "ooooooh Hello!" while squeezing.

A shocked, frightened and angry stranger turned around to see who was sexually assaulting him - a lot of very prefuse apologies and backing off on my part to avoid a thoroughly deserved panneling - I turn round to see a confused looking Les sat at the table and my other two mates, who witnessed the assault, hyperventilating on the floor with laughter.

A sadder and wiser Guy.
(, Fri 1 Jun 2007, 16:36, Reply)
Bad Father
Now, in my defence, whilst I love Kite Jr dearly, I have to say all little babies look pretty much the same to me. Which explains why some years ago Mrs. Kite came into the cellar where I was working and looked at the photos I had on the wall - my folks, the dogs, someone else's child...

Im a bad bad Dad.

(a cock joke would be slightly uncomfortable after discussing children I feel)
(, Fri 1 Jun 2007, 16:31, Reply)
I'm not Peter!!!!
* Ring-ring *


"Is that Peter?" It was a woman's voice, one I don't recognise.

"No, sorry, I think you have the wrong number." This was true as my name was most definitely not Peter and, surprisingly, still isn't.

"Peter! That's not very nice, is it? I know it's you. Why haven't you called?"

"Probably because I'm not Peter."

This carried on for a while. I could not convince the woman she had the wrong bloke. Eventually, I did what I should have done right at the beginning and put the phone down. She rang again a few minutes later but I put the phone down again.

About half an hour or so later on, she rang again. She just had time to say, "Peter! It's my husband. I told him." before the phone was snatched out of her hand.

"You've been shagging my missus."

I wish I had thought of a better answer but I was sick of the pair of them by this time so I answered with the truth.

"No, I'm not Peter and besides I'm gay," I said and put the phone down.

I often wonder what happened next.
(, Fri 1 Jun 2007, 13:35, Reply)
I mistake people on purpose.....
...no, really.

I drive somwhere within the region of 75,000 miles a year so i have to find things to do in order to keep myself amused. So i do this....

...wait till i'm in a 30-zone (slower speeds make for extended confusion) and then, when i see an oncoming car i flash my headlights and wave and smile frantically at the occupants of said oncoming vehicle!

9/10 times they wave back!

I then sit back safe in the knowledge that the rest of their journey will be taken up by them wondering who the hell the bloke in the Capri was!


Oh, also try driving past a crowd and shouting "DAVE". The law of averages says that if the crowd is big enough then at least one of them has to be called Dave.

Length, none. Girth..very little. Confusion, oh yeah!

Click i like this because you know full and well you're gonna try it on the way home.
(, Fri 1 Jun 2007, 10:25, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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