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When have you had to be brave when all you've wanted to do was weep like a blubber-titted bitch?
Tell us so we can judge you.

via Smash Monkey

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chthonic, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 17:36)

Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1

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From Bad to Worse.
I said goodbye and put down the phone. There was nothing they could do, she said. He was still alive when they got to the vet but my wife said he took one look at the little guy and his expression changed and she just knew. Apparently the woman in the car had been completely distraught. Her voice broke as she told me how she had been forced to comfort the woman who had killed her beloved pet.

Normally this would be the point where I got stuck into a drink but I had been worried about my intake lately. Too many too often, feeling like I "needed" it to cope. I felt like I was standing on a knife's edge.

Ah, fuck it. I walked down the street to the pub. I got as far as getting the pint in my hand. I stared at it for about a minute before handing it back. I didn't want this. I didn't want to go this way. Anyway, I still had that important meeting to go. Had I really sunk so low as to turn up half-cut to a meeting with the top brass? I turned to leave.

"Oi, are you going to pay for this or what?" I turned back around. "Oh, sorry, I... I forgot," I stammered as I produced a crumpled fiver. "Fucking muppet," muttered the barman as he made change that later turned out to be a whole pound short. I gritted my teeth and walked to the door. "You want to watch yourself, you snotty bastard. Attitude like that get you a proper kicking, like as not."

The meeting was already under-way when I got in, dizzy with grief and confusion. "12 minutes late, young man," said my manager with a smug look on his face. It only got worse from there. This was meant to be my big chance but that officious little turd had his hooks in them and he wasted no opportunity in undermining me at every turn, taking credit for all of my hard work, talking over me when I attempted to stick up for myself and generally making me look a complete useless tit in front of the big bosses. But I tried to man up, to maintain a professional veneer on top of the boiling storm of emotions.

The impressed looks on their faces as this preening twat told lie after lie was almost unbearable. I didn't know whether to cry or scream. Something caught my attention and I started listening again. I realised he was taking total credit for the web application project that had been my baby for the last eight months. I had designed and developed it all by myself; it would drastically increase productivity, it was the thing that was going to get me noticed, and here he was claiming all the glory and basically writing me out of history.

"For fuck's sake, Gerry, is there no low to which you will not sink? You malodorous cunt."

My cheeks burned with regret as I realised what I had done. Several of the bosses began to sigh and tut. Gerry prodded me viciously in the chest. "Young man, I think you and I need to step outside and discuss your future with this company."

The final straw broke. My lip trembled and the room began to blur. I began to cry, deep bubbling sobs. As the tears hit my cheeks I felt my bladder relax and felt the stream of hot wee begin its journey down my trousers. My eyes were crying and my penis was crying along with my eyes. "I want my mummy!" I blubbered as my liquid shame began to pool in my shoes. My sobbing continued, interrupted only by the occasional loud fart as I lost total control of my body. Suddenly a kindly voice cut across the pissy weep-show.

"It will be okay. You will be okay." The CEO got out of his chair and walked over to me. "Just remember that I love you," he told me before kissing me tenderly on the lips. "Who ARE you?" I asked him. "You know very well," he said.

I stared in disbelief as he pulled his face off, which turned out to be mask instead of a face and underneath it was another face, the face of a man who I knew's face. It was my old headmaster, Mr. Wilson! "I have wanted you from the moment I first laid eyes on you," he said. My wee of shame became a wee of joy. "Take me!" I wept, and we made sweet, sweet love, right there on top of Gerry's briefcase.

I woke up at that point, the hot humiliation of a wet dream burning a hole in my bicycle shorts. I looked around me, uncomfortably aware that I had almost certainly just yelled "NOB ME IN THE GOB!" at the top of my voice.

It took all my emotional strength to keep it together when the vicar informed me that I would not be welcome at next Sunday's service.
(Frank Snow, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 12:14, 10 replies)

Marry me you fucking genius

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Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 12:22, closed)

That's libellous
You might want to reconsider that post.
(Frank Snow, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 12:25, closed)

I suggest this shall not be beaten!

(Inflatable Giraffe Punctureless since 1985, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 12:28, closed)

Now, this is more like it.

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drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 12:30, closed)

Cycling shorts? In church!
Didn't your dad tell you to wear proper trousers?
(sarcastic fringehead feet of clay, buns of steel, head of lettuce, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 12:53, closed)

Pfffft.

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