It's murder on the dance floor...
Dancing away to the classics such as Doop and The Grid, a sweaty and youthful 15 year old version of me had got into 5th Avenue in Portsmouth, with his 18 year old mates.

This was what being grown up was all about - buying Diamond White for 50p, staring at girls in hardly any clothes - I was in teenage heaven.

As I was coming off the dance floor I stopped to have a chat with a girl I really liked (probably to check out what she thought of my awesome moves - fear the cardboard box, stare in awe at the big fish) when the guy stood behind me fell over.

I looked round to help and noticed I had blood on me... and he had a knife sticking out of his back Jessica Fletcher style.

In the midst of the dancing, heaving bodies someone had walked up to a random person and stuck a knife in them and then walked off.

Looking back now it could easily have been me, except at the time I was annoyed that I had blood on my white shirt (new from C&A don't you know), the taxi wasn't due for 2 more hours and I'd paid a fiver to get in...
(Wooden meal is. Or is he?, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 20:18, 2 replies)

Unfair!
You can go around forever after and tell people that story and impress them. What can I tell people?
(TheWonderfulWombat It came to me in a dream., Wed 8 Apr 2009, 20:24, closed)

How about
That one time, at band camp...
(Wooden meal is. Or is he?, Thu 9 Apr 2009, 13:00, closed)