My apologies to the washroom attendant
As a kid some 20 years ago my family went on a tour of Europe. It was only a few days into the trip when we went to see The Tower of London, the Wax Museum and Harrod's. All were splendid - especially Harrod's mens washroom which was clean and beautifully appointed with an attendant and full counter of manly niceties. As I entered the attendant tipped his hat and took a brief leave of abscence.

I proceeded to completely blowout the commode in a few shuddering seconds that felt at the time like hours. The smell was horrible and I was sweating as I gathered myself up and buttoned my trousers.

I turned around, flushed and noticed the tell-tale signs of a toilet that would-not-soon-be-going-down.... I watched in horror for a moment as the pile of brown stew (it must have been the shepard's pie I ate) mounted the brim of the bowl. Seeing nothing I could do to stop it, I made for the exit. The attendant and I crossed paths just as he re-entered. Sheepishly, I dropped two pounds in the dish and bolted.

Sorry buddy. I only had two pounds, I would have left you 20 if I had it.
( teknikl, Tue 1 Feb 2011, 0:56, Reply)

bad postman
I once stumbled into my house at about 5am one Saturday morning so utterly drunk fucked that I literally could not make it to my bedroom.
So I shut the front door behind me and passed out in the hallway with my head using the inside doormat as a pillow.

Fast forward about 3 hours and the postman delivered me a book from amazon... Which landed on my macara fucked, door matt dimpled man face and woke me immediately the fuck up..

I bet the postman didn't even realise that some dumb bint was the other side of the front door trying to be quiet as poss as he checked his bag for my other letters.

THANK FUCK.

I still laid there for a good 45 minutes more before finally taking my shoes off and moving to the sofa.
(nettestar meeow, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 23:55, 2 replies)

Cat Talking
I was walking down the street from work a few years ago...It'd been a shit of a day to be honest. We'd just laid some people off and our CEO had come down to "make everything better".

Didn't help at all. He kept introducing himself to everyone in the office by saying "And what's your's name?" "What's your name?" "Your name?" "And what's your name?"
He was plesasent enough but he had a bit of an annoying nasally voice.

Anyhoo...so like I say I was walking home...rather exhausted. I passed a house a few doors down from my place. The garage door was open and it was completely empty except for an orange cat sitting in the middle of the doorway...his tail swaying violently...looking at me bewildered.

So in my exhausted state, and in my loudest voice I screeched, like the Spice girls in a room full of helium: "AND WHAT'S YOUR NAME!!!!"

The cat just sat there...but from the side of the garage a man stepped into view. "I beg your pardon?" he said.

I froze...
...after an eternity I said "your name?"
"Graham" he said.
"I'm mark" I replied...
...and promptly walked away as quick as I could.

And that is the last time i ever engaged in a conversation with both Graham, and his cat.
(Markygee Surname: "Balls". First name: "Lick-mah", Mon 31 Jan 2011, 23:49, 6 replies)

I was in Bristol
And fancied a pizza.
( Larry Death Anger Pain Fear Aggression, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 23:22, Reply)

I walked straight into
a 'Claims Direct' advertisment by a bus stop. The irony...
( Norbert Lightowler, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 22:19, 1 reply)

morning postie !
Not me but my mate, Hired a cottage in the middle of nowhere at the edge of civilisation on the island of mull

his missus makes him a bacon buttie so he, naked, retires to the front garden , buttie in hand to enjoy the scenery

local postie had a shock but didn't seem surprised - must happen all the time over there
(toadrunner, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 19:37, 6 replies)

I'd just started going out with the to be Mrs Ring Of Fire in the distant future.
My Mum had invited us for a stroll along a canal and a Sunday afternoon pub lunch.

We hadn't been going out quite long enough to be totally honest about our revolting habits, still on our best behavior as it were. So when a little cough deposited a gilbert the size and consistency of a shucked oyster in my hand I didn't thrust it towards her face with a shout of "CHECK THIS OUT". I bent to one knee to 'tighten a shoe lace' whilst surreptitiously wiping my hand on the grass....and right through a huge soft dog turd.

The Mrs turned just in time to see me looking in horror at the hand of shit but she never saw the snot that caused it all, so one nil to me I think.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Mon 31 Jan 2011, 19:31, 4 replies)

Surfing...
Late take off, slight fade, lots of speed, pulled in, came out, off the lip, and a few people on the shoulder saw me and hooted, big grins, pump, back down to the bottom and hard bottom turn, full rail, back up, floater, hold it and then off the back before the shorebreak folds, landing on my feet in knee-deep water.

Very sweet. I am so fucking cool. Probably one of my best ever waves, but don't show it. Be cool. No expression. I do this every day. Hardcore. I can see people out the back looking towards me to see how my wave ended. Nice. Stop grinning. Cool.

Then, stepping forwards to jump back over the shorey I put my foot in a hole just under the water, sank to my hip, and got the whole of the next wave full in the face which sent me sprawling back up the beach flat on my back, eyes full of sand and water, coughing and spluttering, board tugging on my ankle, tiny stones filling up my wetsuit..

'I really hope no-one saw that' I think as I finally stagger back to my feet.

As the water drained from my ears, I could hear all the people who'd hooted me seconds earlier pissing themselves laughing.

Bollocks.
(inflateable, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 17:49, 5 replies)

Broken Arrow and the case of the missing underpants
Now first of all, this isn’t my proudest moment but in hindsight I laugh my ass off at my stupidity.

Cue wavy lines to about 30 years ago when I was 5 years old. In those days the estate we lived on was perfectly safe, or so it seemed, so kids were let out all day, without parents worrying that some paedo was going to nab them in broad daylight. In other words, the days before peado mania hit the headlines

So most weekends were spent riding round on my bike looking for things to do, it was a grifter if my memory serves me right and my trusty stead, sporting spokey dokeys was ready for action on the upper part of the estate.

Usually there was some sort of competition going and on that day it was who could leave the biggest tyre skid on the pavement (grifters ruled the roost in that dept, due to the pedal back breaking), although the competition had nothing to do with the story, skids were definitely going to happen again that day, just not from a tyre and not on the pavement.

Anyway after my glory of winning one skid competition I was suddenly hit with an almighty shit ache. A shit ache of such epic proportions that I couldn’t actually move. I had to think fast as I didn’t want to be riding home with a full load and like a German bomber saving fuel, I knew I had to un-load the cargo somewhere. Eureka ka ka ka!! -Paul’s house.

Paul was one of those kids your mum dropped you off with when she was busy and his house was meters away. Brilliant I thought, I’ll knock on Paul’s house, explain the difficulty and that would be that.....Wrong....very wrong, I knocked once, no answer, knocked again, still nothing. By this time my bowels had decided that Paul would be in and had set off a silent timer and it was coming close to explosion time...Think Broken think mate...FWAPP !!!!! Too late!!!!! Although I would handle the situation totally different now, a young Broken decided in his ultimate wisdom that this was one shipment he didn’t want to take back home, in fear of a tanned shitty backside. So this is what I did next.

With the precision of a surgeon and in broad daylight I took my pants off and tried to chuck them over Paul’s fence...Opps hit the fence and left shit stain, I had to try a different technique. Ah Yes, I thought, the faithful slingshot, now my shits in those days were perfect, because I hadn’t had time or authority to ruin my diet so no sticky mess just a perfectly formed turd.....Bingo, got the turd and the pants over there first try, result!!!!!! A sneaky look out to the pavement and I was off, a little discomfort due to non- wipeage but still feeling fairly proud of myself for dealing with the situation and the ride home smelt of victory....Well kind of.

Got home and all was well, just in time for bath time, sweet I thought, good opportunity to clean up my stinging rusty sheriffs badge. Fobbed my mum off in regards to why I didn’t have any pants, however I will always remember my mum’s words when she uttered this sentence.

“Well god knows where your pants went Broken but luckily I brought this new machine a couple of days ago and I have written your name in every pair of Y-fronts you own, so they may turn up”

Weirdly enough I never did go round to Pauls to play again and we moved shortly afterwards....I always wondered whether it was my shitty sling shot that was the reason for getting out of there......I guess I’ll just never know.
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 17:37, 12 replies)

Skating.
I never mastered the kickflip. Once while practising ollies, nollies and fakie ollies, I realised that my deck had just spun around its length with beautiful, flowing grace. Such was my surprise, I impeccably failed to catch and land the exquisite kickflip.

What makes it hurt the harder is that nobody saw me nearly land that trick.
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 17:26, 3 replies)

When I was young and irresponsible*
I was into building model rockets. Now, this was before the law was changed to make it legal, so the only source of power was fireworks. I'd buy up a bunch of rockets, strip off all the stars and other gubbins, to leave a simple motor tube which I'd then use in a model.

I was working on a project, testing a fuse. My lighter wouldn't work, because of a draught - so I grabbed a plastic tub and stuck my hand in it, to act as a wind-shield.

Cleverly, rather than the empty pot I'd expected, I'd managed to grab the pot containing several rockets' worth of stars and other pyrotechnic effects. Then made a spark inside it. With my hand.

When the smoke had cleared, I was amazed to see very little obvious damage to my hand - hurt like a bastard, though, and it blistered up nicely the next day.

Really very, very stupid.


* I'm older now
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 16:34, Reply)

I hid her body
under a pile of leaves in the Cemetery.
( bane, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 16:20, Reply)

Very similar to Not Pineapple Anymore's....bit of a pissroast
Sat on the single carriage train to Newark one day many years back listening to my CD player or whatever, and kind of not knowing how loud I was breathing or sniffing. The headphone paranoia. So I was clearing my phlegmy throat a little bit and suddenly a huge reflexive cough sent a Creme Egg filling sized lung spaff flying across towards the window, splattering just above head height where it was visible to the rest of the passengers on the carriage. The flying bit was amazing, because I saw it in true slow motion as it spun around bolus-like, one end impacting the window before the elastically-attached other half swung round. I have no idea of the noise unfortunately.

So yeah. I took off my headphones and had a look around to see if anyone had noticed. No-one was making obvious signs of having noticed it (whether they had or not) but there was still 20 or so people within gandering range. Someone surely must have seen it. Or had they?

The choice was difficult. Do I ignore it? Do I acknowledge it and lay claim to the gooey bubbly oesophageal jizzball? I knew full well that I couldn't wipe it off without having to stand up, drawing attention to my actions especially as it would smear horribly and I didn't have anything to wipe it off with except for my ticket.

So I pressed my ticket over the gooey blob, applying plenty of pressure to make sure it stuck whilst rotating it back and forth. I didn't want it falling off now, did I? Success.
(Klangtarnflatchslapper looks just like a Telefunken U-47, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 15:50, 2 replies)

Snow joke....
During the last snowfall that caused this great nation to grind to a halt I had to make the treacherous trip to work....

So I bravely walk to my car, open the boot, forgetting that the car is covered in a few inches of snow.

I go to put my laptop in the boot and BANG! I manage to hit my head, leaving a nice clearn spot on the number plate, as the weight of the snow meant it didnt rise up as far as it normally would!

Luckily every sane bugger in the vicinity was still in bed asleep....
(Lip Up Fatty Fatty Reggae still loves BBQ food on, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 14:32, Reply)

The garden of my childhood home was big and untidy
As a consequence it was great for hiding in and making dens.

One summer's day, I was sitting in the long grass, reading a book, when the dog suddenly started barking, and charged from the garden towards the sitting room, through which the cat was walking.

The dog crashed into the newly-cleaned, closed patio doors with an almighty crack, and, picking himself up, wandered away with a look that definitely conveyed his relief that no one had seen him.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 13:53, Reply)

Car Door and Face
Outside a garage where I had just dropped a head gasket off for a friend to be skimmed, I opened my car door and didn't think to move my face out of the way. Result - a massive CRACK as the metal met the bridge of my nose with brute force I didn't know I had. I slid in the seat and drove away sheepishly and very slowly, as I couldn't see where I was going because my eyes were streaming and my nose made a hooooot noise whenever I breathed through it.

Only done it with doors in the house since when they bounce off my foot as I open them too fast and my nose/face isn't even that big.

*Edit - wasn't dropping off the gasket, was dropping off the block. Not that it matters but stops me looking so DUMB*
(imanaturalblonde, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 13:20, 2 replies)

I've just been to a fucking dog's birthday party
Unbelievable. No-one outside of the other attendees saw me there.
(mersault, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 12:45, 18 replies)

Way back when the government actually gave you money to be a student,
I was living in town and commuting to uni on a 100cc Honda motorbike. One damp morning the little sod refused to start - typical Honda electrics, which appear to be made out of rice-paper and baulk at the merest hint of rain. So I attempted to bump-start it, which usually worked fine.

Not this time, however. For some reason it just refused to fire; I ran up the road, I ran down the road, I sat at the side of the road and sweated. After about twenty minutes of hustling the thing up and down the street, I was hot, tired, annoyed and swearing profusely. I slumped over the machine at the end of another futile attempt, and my face found itself close to the fuel tap.

Which was turned off.

Bugger.

Assuming that some of the local curtain-twitchers might have noticed my performance, I still started it by bumping, so that it looked like I was a persistent hero who'd finally managed to defeat the beast, rather than, say, complete numpty who hadn't bothered checking the basics first.

EDIT: I just remembered: when I got to Uni, I fell off. In front of a group of pretty girls. *sigh*.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 12:26, Reply)

A genuine Tear-Jerker.
Read this to yourself in a slow, gentle, and un-hurried way.

NEARLY FOUR

A teddy bear sits on a mattress
One glass eye and threadbare paw
Looking at a cuckoo clock
Which shows it's ten to four

Four o'clock is teddy's teatime
Lots of friends and fancy cake
Although it's only pretend eating
Oh how long ten minutes take

Shadows grow on distant hillsides
Orange sun on glassy sea
All in his amber eye reflected
And still ten minutes left 'til tea

The mattress, striped, is old and broken
Rusty springs through stuffing show
The cuckoo clock is also broken
But how's a teddy supposed to know?

Unaware he's been discarded
That this is not the nursery cot
The hills and sea just glass, old papers
On a disused rubbish plot

A telephone that no one answers
Empty tins that once held tea
The clock that still says nearly teatime
Where can all the children be?

For ages now he's lain unwanted
Saluting with his threadbare paw
He'll never know he's been abandoned
'Til the clock reads after four

Don't tell him that the clock is broken
For as long as teddy doesn't know
It'll always soon be teatime
As it was so long ago.

********

Makes me well up every time.

However....

In the early days of wanking I used to shag my old teddy - Right In his little brown fuzzy arse. So while causing me to blub, this poem with a naughty little bear - *clearly* begging to go dogging on his worn out mattress - also makes me horny.... and as my mum taught me: never waste a hardon.


The good old Tear-Jerk: Best done without witnesses.
.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Mon 31 Jan 2011, 12:15, 13 replies)

My Bad Comedy Film Moment
A couple of years back, in Copenhagen, I'd nipped in a pub for a swift one before meeting some mates at a pub further down the street.
Half way through the drink, I went for a "jimmy". It was a small pub, and it just had a single toilet used by all.
So I used it and flushed.
And the bowl filled. And kept filling. And started pouring over the sides.
I didn't panic. I didn't try to stop it.
I just left the room, necked my beer and left the pub very, very quickly.
I'm sorry for flooding your nice pub, Danish people.
(greatoldone Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl f'tagn, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 11:16, 3 replies)

Man tears
I was playing red dead redemption on the PS3, theres a very emotional moment near the end of the game, which did make me cry a little bit. I haven't cried in years but this reduced me to manly tears.

Last week I was sat listening to my iPod when the song dead man's gun, which plays at the end of game came on. I sat with a solitary tear rolling down my cheek. I'm glad on one saw as it would be difficult to explain without looking a bit strange.
(Mong goose, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 10:36, 10 replies)

London
London is full of cunts that don't care. Well, I'm pretty sure this is true of most major cities - something happens inside people that makes them care less about their fellow man, or maybe just less perceptive of the other.

This was the GCSE level philosophising that went through my mind very early one morning in Euston station as I watched, from my vantage point 5 metres away, an old woman slip on the escalator, and then in comedic slow motion get dragged up backwards the full length of the escalator to be deposited as flotsam at the top with her head thud- thud- thudding against the top step as she found herself completely unable to extricate herself.

"Why does nobody go to help her?" I thought, in my 12-hour booze binged mind as I walked away and got on my train.
( rofl harris, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 10:27, 2 replies)

One of my collegues tells this one
but i'll trot it out for ya.

He's on a fairly busy tube one morning, standing up as there are no seats. He has a bit of a cold, and has been coughing. He suddenly sneezes as he's coughing.

A 3cm lump of pleghm comes whipping out of his mouth, and spins across the carriage, much like a ninja throwing star. It lands on the shoulder of a rather pretty girl standing in front of him with her back to him.

Frozen in horror, he is about to offer her profuse aplogies and help her clean up when he realises despite there being a fairly good crownd of people on the train around him, nobody actually saw it. So, being a gallant type, he ducks his head down into his newspaper and gets off quietly at the next station.
( Not Pineapple anymore, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 9:44, Reply)

I fell over a fence.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVi9572RnWk

So far a couple of hundred people saw me...

Length? About 6' when flat on the ground.
(gordonjcp, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 7:54, 5 replies)

The 1998 TV3 weather fiasco: Disey saves the day.
The phone rang in Graphics, and it was Dianne calling me from downstairs in the TV3 program control room.
“Hey AJ, the weather’s gone.”
It was one of those telescoping pull-focus horrorshow moments like when Paul Scheider first sees that shark in Jaws.
“Oh shit, I just overwrote it with the Nightline weather!”
FUCK! It was 6.52 on a quiet Friday evening at TV3 and we were in the last commercial break before the weather bulletin. After the Friday bulletin the News Department always shouted Heinekens, wine and nibbles for the Friday evening crew, so, being on the Nightline late shift skeleton crew, I thought I’d be really efficient, save time and generate the late weather while the 6 o’clock went to air, then go kick back with a few brewskis in the newsroom.
Except that I’d forgotten which commercial break we were in, jumped the gun and overwritten the 6 o’clock weather still frames with the Nightline weather stills. Totally different ball game.
FUCK!
“Is there a problem, graphics?” I heard the news director ask, noticing Di’s sudden flurry of activity further down the console as she attempted to test the weather playback.
It was standard practice for graphics to monitor the control room comms during the bulletin. The director was an incompetent prick, one of those assholes who tries to bury his own mistakes by distributing the blame for them across as many departments as possible, in the hope that his signal would get lost in the noise.
Therefore Di hated him every last little bit as much as I did.

However just as history books are written by the victors in any war, TV station Fault Logs are written by the News Director. And this fiasco was a career breaker. And I was the department newbie.
Suddenly I had a flash.
“I can fix this. Tell him it’s OK!”
“No problem. It’s OK,” I heard Di’s icy reply to the director over the comms.
“What are you going to do?” she half-whispered into the phone.
“Praise God, I didn’t delete the 6 o’clock source files. I can re-copy them back down to your machine while we’re still in the break.”
“...In three minutes?”
“No, we’ve got about 6. I can still keep writing to your machine while we’re on-air as long as you’re not trying to read the same still frame that I’m writing.”
“…And if Rose doesn’t read too fast off the autocue and catch up. Go! Go then! Go!”

16 still frames, each with a 5 digit file name, and I would have to do it all manually. Using the auto routine would just re-dump the Nightline weather again now.
Run across the room, crank up the sleeping weather computer, load the first still frame onto the router, back over to the still frame store, grab the still, dump it to Di’s program control room computer. And again, all in exact sequence, 16 times, plus the cloud loop.

Just one digit out of place and God knows what half a million unsuspecting New Zealand weather punters would have seen: a blank frame, an error message, a picture of a frog, one of my bizarre Photoshop doodles… anything. Rose the weather girl could read faster than I could dump stills, and by the time I hit “save” on the last still it was a dead heat, and when I glanced up at the program line monitor as that last frame went to air I had no more idea what she would see there than she did, or Di.

YES! Off air! Nailed it, with literally milliseconds to spare! 12 years later and I still hyperventilate and my heart races when I think about it.

Downstairs, cool as a cucumber, Di put the presentation computers on standby and casually strolled back up to Graphics. By the time she got upstairs I was shaking like a leaf and the still frame store buttons were slick with sweat.

She didn’t get mad, she didn’t say anything. She waited until my normal hair colour returned and my pulse slowed and then we went out into the newsroom and drank beers with the news crew as if nothing had happened, because it hadn’t. Although the Director had his suspicions and the Producer (who sat next to graphics) was certain that something was up when Di spent the whole weather break whispering on the phone, because that never happens.

I quit TV3 on `04 but Di still works there part time and we are friends to this very day. If she hadn’t trusted me to fix the weather in that split second, both of our asses would have been well and truly in the fire, so if you’re reading this Disey, thanks again for saving my ass, I will never forget that.
You rock!!
(Brian O'Blivion contains hazardous material, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 7:42, 3 replies)

Dogs dinner
As a teenage he-pigeon, I once came back late to the family home one night, stopped via the kitchen to drink the traditional pint of liquid before heading to bed (pissing like a racehorse preferable to a dehydrated hangover), only to be stopped in my tracks by the sight of some worryingly familiar looking pieces of crumpled paper underneath the kitchen table.

The dog had been through my bedroom waste-paper basket, and had found a weeks worth of knotted condoms cunningly wrapped in said crumpled paper by way of disguise. As was her custom, the dog had taken her prize back to the kitchen, where she had proceeded to shred the paper and its slimy semen filled contents all over the rug underneath the table.

I can only hope that nobody saw the mess before I had the chance to clean it up. I don't really want to think about what my parents reaction would have been, sitting down to dinner and squelching their feet on my tattered spunk bags...
(he-pigeon, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 5:45, 2 replies)

Science robot
When I was doing the last set of experiments for my PhD, I often found myself alone in the lab at night. Often, these experiments required the use of a refrigerated (4 degrees) room. Since I'd done several of these, I'd taken to bringing along a beanie to keep my head warm, and since the lab was empty, I could get away with listening to my mp3 player (normally banned for safety reasons).

Anyway, the cold room, being built long before OH&S was an issue, had a concrete floor which got quite slippery. Combine this with the need to stay warm, repeated one-minute waits for a centrifuge, and some Grandmaster Flash playing on my iPod, and I was quite often to be found attempting to dance the electric boogaloo or the robot in (apparent) silence while wearing a lab coat, latex gloves and a beanie. Of course, since I'm fat and middle-class white, my "hip-hop dance" more closely resembled an epileptic walrus in the throes of a grand mal seizure.

Not a problem when the lab is empty, however. The problem came about when I got complacent, and started doing the same during the day when everyone was around. I lost count of the number of times the door suddenly opened and I had to hurriedly stop my awful attempts at popping and locking and pretend I was reaching for something on the shelf.
(oball needs Satan more than he needs me, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 22:36, 2 replies)

Not a very
interesting one, but it does have a twist.
Many years ago during summer, I was struggling with loosening the wheelnuts on my car. During this episode, and having cursed and sworn about the fool who'd previously tightened them, my wheelbrace slipped causing me to lose quite a lot of skin from my knuckles.

I threw down the wheelbrace and started hopping around the garden 'fucking and cunting' it quite loudly.

No-one saw what I did, but the neighbours (who had not long fired up their BBQ) had to retreat into the house about 20 mins later - not because of my swearing but because it absolutely pissed down with rain. I'd clearly done a rain dance whilst nursing my injury.
(Appleseed Is getting married 24/05/2014. All invited., Sun 30 Jan 2011, 21:37, 7 replies)