I up until recently...
Lived in a small town in Cleveland, OHIO, now I don't know if you guys watch he news over there in good ole Engerland but well there were these young girls stuck kidnapped in a house, I rescued them and have now become and Internet sensation.
( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Thu 9 May 2013, 19:23, 1 reply)

Houseboat + Kittehs = fail
Slight pearoast.

Got back from the boozer on a cold December evening, several pints down. Heard a desperate yowling from the towpath as we approached our boat - our 6 month old birman kitteh had fallen in the brent and unable to get out due to the sheer steel pilings holding the bank in place, had swum to the relative but very cold safety of our neighbours' rudder pintle.
For comparison, the next door luxmotor was four times the size of ours and there was no way I could hang over the stern of the boat to rescue the little bugger in the same manner as his slightly older ginger brother some months previously.

I did what any concerned parent would do - I stripped to my keks, lowered myself in over our stern, swam to our neighbours boat and detached the cat from the rudder. I then swam back to our boat where the future ex Mrs Magictorch the first leaned over, plucked him from my cold hands and wrapped him in microwave-warmed towels.

Id like to say he learnt his lesson, but he did it again a week later.
(magictorch, Thu 9 May 2013, 17:14, 8 replies)

alright

(woocfot friends with Sacha Distel, Thu 9 May 2013, 17:05, 14 replies)

Pussy in peril.
Note: Lacks LOLs and puns and is highly likely to be tl;dr

I had travelled to Cardiff for some meeting or other. When it had finished, it transpired that one of my colleagues – who I’d only met briefly once before – and I were going to be getting the same train back. Louise was going to Hereford, me to Crewe.

We got to the station platform just in time to see our train accelerating out of sight, leaving us with an hour to kill until the next one. As unappealing as station buffets are, it was better than standing on a windswept platform, so we went in for a coffee.

About twenty minutes into our wait, a large family bundled into the room, speaking loudly with Irish accents and looking like they’d just come from tarmacking over some lucky heather. One of the children was a little girl of about four years old who was carrying a tiny black and white kitten. I say “carrying” but she was actually holding the kitten up by gripping its front paws between her thumbs and forefingers and bouncing it up and down like you would when trying to make a doll ‘dance’.

I’m not normally squeamish, but watching this was turning my stomach so I suggested to Louise that we might be better waiting outside. I’d considered confrontation – very briefly – but given the belligerent vibes being given off by the adult members of the family, my fat yellow streak had taken over.

Of course, once we were outside, the mental image of the poor kitten wouldn’t leave me and nor, it would appear, Louise.

“How much money do you have on you?” she asked. Once the moths had flown out of the coin pocket of my wallet and the portrait of the Queen had stopped blinking at the bright light, I determined that I had five one pound coins.

“Right,” she said. “Give them to me, we’re going to buy that kitten.”

And with that she marched back into the buffet and started telling the matriarch of the family some bullshit story about the kitten being the spitting image of her recently-deceased and much-beloved moggie, and would they be prepared to sell the kitten?

“Ah well, it cost me fifty pounds,” announced the Pikey princess.

“I only have five,” countered Louise.

“Ah, go on then,” came the reply. I was happy to see that no spitting on and shaking of hands to seal the deal was required as the kitten was unceremoniously grabbed from the young girl and thrust into Louise’s hands.

Once we’d taken our leave and retreated outside, Louise turned to me and asked, “Do you want a cat? I have two dogs and they hate cats.”

And so it was that I found myself on a three hour train journey with a kitten that preferred to be held than kept in the makeshift carrier of an empty frozen chip box donated by the buffet manageress. At Crewe station my wife met me and we transferred the kitten to a proper cat carrier ready for a trip to the vet for a check-up.

Aside from being only about six weeks old and a bit under-nourished, probably from being separated too early from its mother, the only thing the vet could find wrong with the kitten was that her front shoulder joints were stiff, almost certainly from being put under strain by the ‘dancing’.

And then when we got the kitten home, it fell out with our cat, so we had to dump it on the in-laws, whose own cat had recently died.

Fifteen years later, Rosie the cat is still around. She can still jump on top of the kitchen cupboards but doesn’t really like going outside any more.

tl;dr – rescued kitten finds loving home.
( Snappyuk gets BIGGER with free sample., Thu 9 May 2013, 16:51, 7 replies)

MASSIIIIVVVEEE DDRRRRRRUUUUUGGGSS
So I was on MASSIVE DRUGS - specifically Ecstasy.

I had been at a rather lovely drum n' bass night in a warehouse, that was quite literally only five minutes' walk away from where I was renting a rather grubby little room off a chap that was like an unpleasantly real but Tesco Value version of Frank Butcher.

So at about 6am I unlocked the door, made myself a cup of tea, and went into the living room, where I bloody nearly stacked it over a body on the floor.

"Holy shit sorry sorry sorry!" I apololgised, as he tried to avoid my flailing form stamping on his head to correct myself.

"No worries it's all cool" he said, turning on the light.

It was a pretty simple picture - he'd come to visit Frank, and had kipped on the living room floor - not turning on the light I'd stacked it over him. He appeared to be very much of my ilk, if a bit older - Primal Scream t-shirt, unshaven, buzz cut hair, general 90s hippie prick.

"Wow ... " he said, looking at me closely, "You look like you're off your face!"

"Yeah, well - er ... I am ... " I said, "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"Nice one" he said, "Cheers. So where have you been?"

"Oh ... 'round the corner - there's a drum n' bass night - I just thought I'd pop back for a brew instead of buying one there, 'cos it's a quid."

"Nice. E, is it?"

"Yeah. Clean, too - very nice."

"Yeah, man - that was me until a couple of years ago - bosh a couple of pills, then a few lines of Charlie on the way down - hardcore was my thing."

"Nice" I said, "I can go for a bit of hardcore, although it gets a bit silly quite quickly"

"Well the whole thing's quite silly" he said - I was warming to this guy, "I realised that when I met Jesus."

"Yeah I've met quite a few weirdos at these things" I empathized.

"No - I mean - actual Jesus. Our lord; Jesus. He saved me."

"Haha yeah - I know what you mean - there was one time I was on some pretty bad acid, and ... "

"You're not getting me" he interrupted, intensley, "Jesus saved me."

"OK ... " said I, backing away now ...

"He can save you - you need to let him into your heart ... "

I decided then that I thought I might go back and catch the last couple of hours of the night.

As an epilogue, the reason he was there was because Frank had cancer, and he was visiting to cure him. It came to pass that Frank ended up asking him to leave him while in hospital, because the guy had the habit of wandering up and down the ward, trying to convert the patients.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 9 May 2013, 16:43, 2 replies)

I provide IT tech support for a very exclusive customer base.
Conversation the other day:
Me: Hello *name deleted here* tech support
Customer: Yah. My computers just lost some fate on me yah? Is there any way I can get it back.
Me: I think so, what have you lost
Customer: My save, yah.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Thu 9 May 2013, 16:21, 31 replies)

This honestly happened last Wednesday evening
I was walking up Highgate Road, came to a T-Junction and while I was doing my Green Cross Code a woman on a very flash mountain bike, with all the gear on, stopped at the junction.

Suddenly she toppled sideways, landed on her shoulder with the bike on top of her. Being the nearest person, I naturally helped her up and said "Are you OK?"
"Yes" she replied, a bit embarrassed, "it was very silly of me"
"I expect it was your cleat that got stuck, eh?" I asked
She gave me a look, shouted "YOU FUCKING WEIRDO!" and cycled off.

By the time I'd crossed the road, it dawned on me that she must have misheard.
( fred zeppelin II: Electric Boogaloo, Thu 9 May 2013, 15:54, 9 replies)

Not even one page of answers yet and there is already two tl;dr stories about pissed-up failed white knighting of dappy bints who were in trouble with their boyfriends.
Can't imagine how the rest of this week will go.
( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Thu 9 May 2013, 15:51, 10 replies)

Hail Seizure!...

Please have this pea...that is only mildly relevant at best.

Many moons ago I was but a fleeting young Cheeky, and my only skill consisted of being a bit of a techno-geek (as in technology and suchlike, not the ‘boom-boom-bloody-boom’ music sort of thing)

In any case, one day, my parents had decided to buy a new telly, due to the unforeseen circumstances of their previous one bursting into flames. (This was the olden days, remember – that used to happen a lot)

Anyhoo, in their ultimate wisdom they took me along, for my ‘expert’ 14-year-old opinion on what would constitute fulfilling the bare requirement of a 'bargain-tastic new-fangled TV-a-tron'.

One megastore later, as I wandered around the electrical shop pretending to know what I was doing, we were distracted by a 'bit of a kerfuffle'…

A young girl, about 10 years old…started positively freaking out by the wall of televisions that tends to line such establishments. Screaming wildly with arms flailing, the poor kid was acting as if she was either being electrocuted, demoniacally possessed, or could just no longer contain her excitement at the sheer magnitude of shoddy blenders and wotnot on special offer.

Her poor flustered mum didn’t know what to do – so she opted to 'flap a bit'.

Displaying the very worst type of human nature, like when driving slowly past a car crash, the entire population of the store decided to stand perfectly still…and cowardly observe what was to transpire. For fuck's sake, I could’ve sold popcorn to the amount of lazy-arsed, agog faces, gawping away as they turned their heads away from their potential purchases so they could watch the events unfold.

My Dad, however, had other ideas. Like a crusty, slightly wiffy old superhero, he decided to pause on humouring my increasingly fumbling ‘expertise’, and he strolled straight up to the poor girl and his distraught mother.

As the little lass continued to gibber endlessly, everyone else just stood and stared. I did too. If this had happened nowadays there would probably be phonecam videos of it on youtube…but nonetheless, everybody stayed rooted to the spot as my Dad cheerily approached them, and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Are you alright love?” He enquired gently, (edit - without even a whiff of 'Yewtree' about it before you start) as the girl uncontrollably wibbled. The distraught mum seemed quite stunned as she watched this bumbling old fellla amble over in the middle of a crisis…but immediately, before anyone could comment, the girl incredibly started to calm somewhat in the presence of this total stranger. He was like a crusty old Jesus...from the Midlands.

“Would you like a sit down?” my Dad then enquired, before heaving some big object over (using the strength that only Dads have - it could have been a MASSIVE fridge, but might have been a chair), and he reassuringly ushered the poor girl towards it.

She nodded her head tentatively, and started the slow journey towards being compos mentis.

The flummoxed young mum was obviously still startled, but she soon composed herself, stepped in and joined my Dad as everybody looked on, watching this blithering old fart involve himself…and completely take control of the situation. Thankfully, the girl continued to slowly calm down.

However, at this point, (if I remember correctly it was the store assistant manager…but either way he was some cunting lickspittle), decided to assume that my Dad must somehow be related to the poor girl, who must only be throwing a big girlie tantrum, and he promptly decided that he didn't want such an embarrassing display driving his precious customers away. He approached my Dad, straightened his corporate badge and barked: “Oi!, You!” before pointing his finger at the door and exclaiming: “Get her out of here!”

Now - I cannot state enough - my Dad is a kindly, wisend old bell-end who has lived a bit, and thusly it takes a lot to rile him. However, the actions of this insensitive management mongoloid seemed to be almost precisely the exact amount of wankerishness it took to boil my old man's piss. He manoeuvred the girl's frantic mother closer towards her daughter and clasped their hands together, before briefly leaving his post to step away; just a couple of strides towards the utter fucking twat who was thinking of nothing but his sales figures.

To this day I can’t remember how something spoken so quietly by such an unassuming man could be so intimidating. But Lorks…I mean, I nearly shat a brick, and I was only ‘watching from the wings’ as it were. I’m afraid my typed words do not do justice to the next thing that happened…My Dad calmly stepped towards the ass manager, looked him straight into his beady eyes and said:

“She will leave when she’s ready……but as for you……..you will fuck off…...NOW!”

The jobsworth jobbie proceeded to take huge backward steps in the fashion of someone who had just found a freshly severed horse head in his underpants drawer. Visibly crumbling like a freshly attacked World Trade Centre, the shop assistant simply slithered away and melted into the background, as some onlookers dared to glare at him from afar.

My Dad then turned and went back to the girl and his mother, speaking gently, yet confidently, and over a few minutes, managed to calm everybody down and then accompany the girl and her mother to their car. After ensuring their safety, the mum then asked for my Dad's number (silly sod probably thought he was 'in there') before she added that she would call later and let him know how the young girl was doing. With the panic now subdued, the mother then burst into floods of appreciative tears – heartily thanking my Dad for his heroic assistance. He merely beamed at her and answered: “No problem love. now if you don’t mind, I have to get back inside before my lad makes me fork out for some bloody crap over-sized telly”

The mother duly called later. It turns out that the girl was diagnosed epileptic, but her previous seizures had only been very mild. However, the strobe-like flashing of a veritable wall of TV’s managed to set her off like a cheap Chinese firework. It was a very real, proper emergency, yet nobody thought to do anything…except my Dad.

I was already proud of him…that was just some more icing on the cake.

To round this off, I would dearly like to big my Dad up some more with something like: 'Of course, this behaviour was natural for him because he used to be a Colonel in the army’ or ‘He used to be a Doctor / Psychiatrist’, or even something like, ‘He’s built like a brick shithouse’, but I’m afraid I can’t. He’s just a normal sized guy who, before he retired, was a forklift truck driver in a shitty warehouse in Coventry. However, He just so happens to be quite staggeringly good with people – and I consider that a genuine gift - so I won't try to add any more facts, bullshit or credence to my tale. He is just a quite phenomenal human being.

…but I still call him a silly old bugger.
(Mr Twisty Cheeky The worst kept secret in B3ta..., Thu 9 May 2013, 15:42, 5 replies)

Hero to zero
When I was about 14 a girl approached me at school and said that she had seen be heroically cross the road to help a woman who had been knocked over by a large dog in the local high street. I had indeed done this the day before so happily accepted the praise. She went on about how kind it was and that not many people would have done it. I began to think I might be in there until she added a few extra words to the end of that sentence: 'especially as she was obviously a drug addict'.

It was my Mum who I had been helping.
(Tom Jones's Mojo Hasn't had any since, Thu 9 May 2013, 15:09, 4 replies)

*somthing about the police in Cleveland*

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 9 May 2013, 14:41, 4 replies)

Have a pea
A few years back, I was enjoying a few post-work boozes with my colleagues on a Friday. The crowd slowly started drifting away, and as was usual, a mate Stu and I were to become the last men standing. Kind of an unwritten rule between us that once everyone else had gone, we’d carry on, stay out and get well and truly mashed.

However on this particular occasion, a new girl, Alice, asked if she could stay out with us. She’d only worked with us a couple of weeks but seemed a good sort and was clearly relishing being off the leash a little – she’d had a few already by this time (around 9pm; we’d gone out straight after work). ‘No worries’ we thought, and stay out with us she did.

As we moved to another pub it became clear Alice was very VERY pissed. An attempt to get cash out the cashpoint saw her fall flat on her arse, she was slurring her words and all the rest of it. In the next pub we were in, she was phoned repeatedly by her boyfriend – she hadn’t told him she was staying out and he was understandably worried (and, when he found out she had just stayed out and got pissed, angry).

They argued for ages – her in that way that only a pissed person who is completely in the wrong can. She hung up on him repeatedly and he kept calling back, only for her to tell him to fuck off and hang up again etc etc.

By now we were moving on to another pub, but Stu and I were concerned with how drunk she was, so we agreed Stu would nip into the next pub and order the beers up while I saw Alice to a cab (which we agreed we would pay for as she had no cash left).

As I walked Alice to the cab rank, alone, she decided she would walk home. She lived on the other side of town, would have had to walk through a park at midnight to get there, and – crucially – could not actually stand up unaided.

‘Don’t be daft’ I said. ‘We’ll get you to a cab’.

‘No, she insisted, ‘I want to walk’.

As we got near the cab rank, Alice decided to ‘make a break for it’ and tried to run away from me. She’d have gone headlong into traffic (if she stayed on her feet long enough) so I grabbed her arm and, getting a bit fed up with her, shouted at her: ‘For goodness sake, just get into the cab!’

‘I just want to walk home!’ she yelled back.

‘Get your fucking hands off my missus’ came a third voice from behind us. That’s right, her fella had come to find her in the car and had alighted to see me trying to force his drunk girlfriend into a taxi against her wishes. His anger was reflected by the many passing revellers who all clearly shared this misconception and I was convinced I was about to get a shoeing.

Luckily for me I’m a reasonably big bloke so the boyfriend didn’t fancy having a pop, but the looks of disgust from the people on the street as I trudged back to the pub after they had departed was not a particularly pleasant experience. A failed rapist – is there any worse kind?

And all from chivalrously trying to stop a girl putting herself at risk, and even offering to pay for the taxi myself. Bah.

Length? Well if her boyfriend hadn't turned up she'd have found out etc
(Bappage, Thu 9 May 2013, 14:16, Reply)

Another pun.
I did some temp work at a laboratory where they performed experiments on animals. I would remove hair from rodents to provide a site where monitor equipment could be attached.

Everyone referred to me as mouse shaver.
( Muns, Thu 9 May 2013, 14:05, Reply)

drunken rescuer
I'd been out drinking for a friends birthday. Had gone out at lunch, visited many a pub, gone to the footy, more pubs, then called it a night about half ten. On my stroll home I walked through the town centre. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted 'something' run past me, I looked round and a small puppy was sitting just up the path, head tilted, looking at me.

'Awww' thinks I, 'that little fella looks lost, he'll get squashed or freeze if he's not careful' (it was January and cold). So I walked over, picked him up and sure enough the little scamp was shivering away. Luckily I was round the corner from the old bill, so I thought I could just drop the dog off there and get home. But they were shut.

A nice lady on the emergency line informed me to take it to a vet. The vets was also shut but 'open at 7am'. I rang the wife and told her I was coming home with a puppy. She later told me her initial thoughts on this. They were a mix of annoyance and intrigue. I knock on the door and she soon changed her mind when she saw the little puppy shivering in my arms.

I made a little bed for the scamp and got some sleep. Next morning, 7am, I was back at the vets.

About two days later a lady rang to thank me for handing in her dog. She also informed me it was 14 years old and a miniature Yorkshire terrier, with a heart defect. Basically she wouldn't have lasted the night. She also explained that she was looking after it for her mum so was quite relieved that she hadn't lost the dog.

And that's about the only heroic thing I've ever done.
( Ya What Skiddlyboop, Thu 9 May 2013, 14:04, 4 replies)

this one time in the marines
there were some juicy colonists' daughters we had to rescue from their virginity
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 9 May 2013, 14:01, 4 replies)

A.A. Milne.
When I began primary school, I would often mix with the wrong crowd. I'd spend my time with children who were unruly and by extension, perceived by others to be, for want of a less annoying term, cool.

It got to the stage where my parents would desperately seek to instill a sense of right and wrong into me, whilst giving me guidance as to how different people have different qualities. Some perceived to be more desirable than others.

Eventually I was given Winnie the Pooh to read. Discovering that the different characters were, personality wise, so different yet full of great qualities and friendship eventually made me realise that I didn't have to hang around with people just because everyone thought that they were the dogs bollocks, but that everyone held their own special qualities. My circle of friends expanded rapidly.

In my teens, to remind myself of this childhood lesson, whilst hormones started to rage, anger grew and hairs sprouted, I got two stuffed toys. One tiger and one donkey, the very polar opposites in terms of character traits in Milnes world, but still best of friends.

They remained on my bedroom shelf collecting dust for years, serving a reminder of that important lesson and the importance of friends, no matter how much they differed to me. They remained in my old bedroom for some years after I had flown the nest. Eventually, my mum called and asked if I still wanted them, suggesting that I instead give them to my young Nephew.

Having thought about all they taught me, and all they could teach him as he grew, I eventually agreed to relinquish one of the toys. But I insisted that the toy that was the polar opposite of myself be kept as a reminder, so I instructed her; "Ma, Save Eeyore."
( Muns, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:54, 2 replies)

a running joke
I took part in an organised charity run and managed to keep pace with a raise cute looking girl. My only goal was finishing the race before her. That was it.

Sadly I was unfit and fat, and she quickly shook me off her tail. Imagine my surprise when, near the finish line I see her lagging. I reclaimed that lost distance and just as I glided past her, she stops and vomits all over her trainers.

I'd love to say I stopped and helped but I just thought "Fuck that..." and carried on running. And, like most encounters I have with women, I finished before her.
(plant rolls out of bed like a fat wobbly tub of lard, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:53, 10 replies)

I recall playing Hamlet at The Alhambra
When the stage hand tossed the prop skull to me and, catching it, I responded,
"My save Yor"

FFS put more words in the titles, this is getting ridiculous.
( edjogs Collared doves are shit., Thu 9 May 2013, 13:53, 1 reply)

Last night a DJ saved my life.

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:52, 4 replies)

Someone should rescue all those skanky females that Emvee has been photographing against their will.

( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:47, 19 replies)

I once suggested a rodentine dining experience.
The response I got was unsurprising. "Mice, AV? Errr!"
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:43, Reply)

I dressed up as a mouse once, if that counts.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:40, 1 reply)

Revenge of the Sixth.
star wars lol
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:39, 1 reply)

Last!

(Discocat is bringing sexy back, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:39, 1 reply)

Go Fourth

( Bartleby A dead man on vacation, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:37, 1 reply)

Turd
LOL! I wrote "turd"!
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:36, 1 reply)

Second lol

( broadsword now that's fresh, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:32, 4 replies)

First

(McChinaman banned, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:31, 1 reply)