I have never ever won a game of Pictionary.

( Dervel OTBC, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 10:54, 7 replies)

That's not a knife.
In my first year of university, I lived in a student village, which was pretty cool. What wasn't cool was the me vs. All mate at once play fights that happened most days. Now it was all in good fun, I gave as good as I got, but the bruises were adding up. I picked up a giant metal spoon from the kitchen which served as a weapon. I took to wearing this in my belt, like a sword when I was in the flat with my mates.

I was walking to a friends flat, I passed a couple walking out the building. I smiled said hi andheld the door open for them. The girl looked shocked and afraid. I heard her say to the guy "My god! Did you see the massive knife that guy was carrying?!" to which the guy replied. "That wasn't a knife, it was a spoon.". Before I could even think, I heard my self say in a comedy Australian accent "I see you've played knifey spoony before!"

The guy came back to high 5 me.
(Mong goose, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 15:13, 10 replies)

Some years ago, my mate Matt
had a daughter who was in the toilet training phase and would still have occasional accidents. So he and his wife would carry spare underwear and trousers for their daughter just in case.

One day he nips into a public toilet in a shopping centre for a pee. As he's finishing and is shaking the last drips off, he sneezes and pulls out a hankie to wipe his nose. But, it wasn't a hankie in that pocket, and other patrons of the toilets are now looking at a bloke with his cock out who appears to be sniffing a pair of pants that would fit a two year old girl.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 9:06, 9 replies)

Accidental Indecent Exposure ...
"There is a perfectly innocent explanation Officer." quoth I as I stepped out of my car, butt naked and freezing on the A1 just south of Newcastle.

So let's wibble those lines way back to 2002 when my husband and I, full of youthful enthusiasm and naiviety, bought an abandoned CofE church to renovate. Oh what fools we were.

We would work our 9-5 jobs and then drive out to the church and usually work until midnight or whenever we fell over.

To set the scene; it was 2:00am, and I was trying to finish the external rendering. Hubby had helped out until he had to leave to catch his flight for a conference and I stupidly thought I could finish the job myself. It was so very late. I was tired and I was rushing and I was NOT wearing any special protective clothing, so I have no one but myself to blame for what happened next.

I was handling a highly corrosive substance called quicklime when a gust of wind blew some of the powder up onto me. I felt like someone had thrown a colony of fire ants at me. My clothes quickly started to dissolve, so I followed the most sensible course of action at the time. This involved screaming loudly, flailing about wildly, ripping off my clothes and rolling around in a muddy puddle.

"Right!" I shouted into the empty night, "I've had enough! I'm going home!" So that was how I came to be driving down the A1 in the wee small hours, butt naked and covered in mud.

But the most disastrous night of my life did not stop there, oh no. When I had been flailing about ripping off my rapidly dissolving clothing, I had knocked the lights that I was using into the back of my car, breaking the tail light.

And yes, you guessed it, I hear a siren and there's the blues and twos behind me. "Oh please let it be a copper with a sense of humour." I silently prayed as I pulled over. I opened my window just a fraction. Nope, a young lass who looked like she'd been on the job for about 20 minutes.

"Step out of the car please."
"I can't do that."
"Why not then?"
"I'm naked."
"Wot!"

Rinse and repeat for a bit until I finally stepped out of the car and demonstrated my state of undress and need for medical attention. Did she laugh and point? Did she let me go? Did she BAH! I was cuffed, placed in the back of the police car, taken to Durham Police Station, where I was given a handsome forensic jumpsuit, charged and bailed.

Even the Desk Sergeant didn't want to book me. You could see it on his face.

A few weeks later, I was summonsed to appear in a Magistrate Court on a charge of Indecent Exposure. Yay me. Thankfully, the beak did have a sense of humour. He pointed out that the act of Indecent Exposure did not occur until I stepped out of my car at the direction of a police officer. Therefore, I had no case to answer. Phew.
(Que?, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 6:06, 12 replies)

The case of the Bleeding Gash
My mate Simon used to be an illustrator, often working late into the night at home. One night he was mounting some work when he sliced a bit of his finger off with a scalpel -- really badly. He couldn't stop the flow so, panicked, he went to wake up his flatmate in the hope that she'd be able to help him staunch the bleeding.

She opens her door, takes one look at his finger pumping claret, and promptly falls to the floor in a dead faint. A few seconds later she comes to, apologising for being a wuss, and Simon helps her up, smearing blood all over her in the process. She helps him get to the bathroom in order to wash his finger, only to faint once again at the sight of the bleeding gash.

As she falls, her nightshirt rides up and -- whoops -- she's naked underneath. Intent on protecting his friend's modesty, Simon goes to grab her nightshirt to pull it down, which is when his other flatmate arrives home and opens up the bathroom door: to find Simon poised over the unconscious, bloody body of their friend, hands dripping gore, apparently attempting to strip her naked....
(MrsP, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 0:11, 5 replies)

I was an 11-year-old tubby spaz who liked reading and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
I also thought Charles and Eddie made good music.
Despite this catalogue of personal shitness, I had a friend who was awesome. He was in the year above, could bench press 100lb, dribble a basketball between his motherfucking legs, and had pubes, for fuck's sake. Radical.

One day, just on a whim cos he was fucking wizard like that, my friend tossed me one of his basketball vests from a folded pile. "Keep it, I've got loads," he casually said.

Fucking. Hell.
I was now a bitch-titted Wesley Snipes. Street-court hustler par excellence. This baggy vest was never coming off. I made a solemn vow to myself to wear it to bed every night, so that I might absorb its inherent brilliance.

True to my word, that night I crawled into bed in full slam-dunking regalia. Flicked the tv on – it was Quantum Leap. Life, I thought, gets no better. Then bloody hell, mum has to come in and tuck me in. For goodness sake mum, I'm like ELEVEN, and a total bad-ass. I don't need tucking in.

Nevertheless, tuck me in she does before popping back downstairs. Then, weirdly, about five minutes later my father came into my bedroom.
"Just thought I'd tuck you in as well, son."
What the fuck? He never does this. It's completely beyond his remit. Knots, darts, and oxtail soup are the only fatherly things he has to offer. This, I thought, is highly irregular.
His perfunctory, rough-handed interpretation of tucking-in left a lot to be desired, and after a few seconds huffing and rearranging my duvet, off he fucked, leaving me to Dr Sam Beckett and dreams of shooting three-pointers from downtown.

In the morning, the bizarre 'loving father' charade was playing on my mind. "Mum," I enquired through a typically large mouthful of Coco Pops, "after you tucked me in last night, why did dad come and do it as well a couple of minutes later?"

"Oh," she muttered cagily. "Well, erm, it was that vest you see … Errr, I asked him to come and take a look, because … well, I thought you were wearing one of my bras."

The whole family felt it best to ignore one another for the rest of the day.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 10:37, 8 replies)

My commute to work used to take me down some narrow country lanes
one morning I spotted a cat lying at the side of the road, being fond of cats I pulled over and ran to the poor kitty who unfortunately turned out to be very stiff and very dead. I determined this with a light prod from the toe of my shoe, at which point an attractive young lady drove by, did a double-take and shouted "YOU BASTARD!"
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 10:10, 5 replies)

I am probably on a register.
A few months ago my girlfriend and I were on holiday in Croatia.

In a (shit) town called Sibenik, we called into a local Konzum to buy some snacks and booze. Wandering around the shop, I noticed a stack of notepads, one of which had on it a totally inappropriate picture of a scantily-clad woman with massive, bulging tits - there was simply no reason for this image to be on it, particularly as the notepads were in a section with other bits and bobs that were clearly for kids.

Turning to my girlfriend who was a few steps behind me, I caught her attention and held up the notepad, pointing at the bikini-clad woman on the front and making a kind of pervy, suggestive "phwoar!" face.

She gave me a puzzled look, so I continued on, motioning towards the notepad, intimating that it was odd to have a sexy, near-naked woman on the front and again making a face meant to imply in a comical way that the sexy lady on the cover was turning me on.

At this point I spotted my actual girlfriend a little further back in the supermarket, looking at some crisps. My eyes focussed properly on the scared Croatian woman in front of me who clearly thought I was a filthy, mental sex pest.

I began earnestly to proclaim my innocence, but as she obviously didn't speak a word of English I ran away and, grabbing my girlfriend, left the shop. I explained to her later what had happened; she very nearly pissed herself.

In my defence, the woman did look quite a bit like my girlfriend and was standing exactly where I thought she was - my brain simply didn't work out that it wasn't her until I registered the shock and fear on her poor Croatian lady face.
(irv made you eat your parents in a chilli on, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 11:32, 2 replies)

Blacklisted by Jehovah's Witnesses
Several years ago I was 'working' from home as my car was in the garage. It's pretty rare that I get the house to myself so decided to screw work and spend the day sat at my PC in just my pants surfing the net and writing music with the volume set to 11 - I left msn on so my boss knew I was at home and was there if they needed anything.

A bit later I had a bath and was mid-way through a thorough 'cock-washing' session when I heard the chime of msn. Thinking it was work, I jumped out the bath, my erection slapping against my belly as I ran wet and naked down the hall to my 'office'.

It was one of those 'gotta see this' links from a mate. I was annoyed that he had interrupted my wank as I was still very much aroused, but clicked it anyway, and waited for it to buffer.

Suddenly, the doorbell went and my puppy, Ten, started barking like a bastard, going crazy and pissing all over the floor. There were no clothes in my office so I quickly grabbed a small hand towel that was on the radiator, wrapped it around as much of me as I could and opened the door enough to stick my head through whilst not revealing my semi-naked/erect state.

The second I opened the door, Ten started trying to get to the two prim and proper Jehovah's witness women on the other side, whilst biting fuck out of the leg and foot I was trying to 'restrain' him with. A well timed bite to the toes and he was free.

The two old birds stared open-mouthed as the horror unfolded in slow-motion in front of them: As I lunged out the door trying to grab the savage puppy intent on eating them, the tiny towel slid off me and fell to the floor unveiling my rapidly-deflating but still obviously semi-erect penis. At that exact moment the buffering video started playing, at volume 11, and my stammering apologies were promptly drowned out by the sound of an enthusiastic woman being double-fisted by German sadists.

They looked at me with utter disgust, as though I was the most godless creature on earth and promptly left whilst I covered my now-shrivelled genitals with a three month old whippet, almost in tears.

It certainly wasn't what it looked like, but on the plus-side I have never had another visit from them since then.

Apologies not just for length but also the glistening trail of pre-cum I left on your hand-bag.
(tinpixel, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 16:40, 4 replies)

I'm more concerned with what it must have felt like
During my Uni days we had various crap "entertainment" evenings down the Union, only one of which really sticks in my mind. It was one of those events when many factors combine and produce a moment of absolute magic, if magic can be indelibly seared onto the retinas of those who witnessed it.

So this one night we had a hypnotist. I've never really investigated the science, or whatever, behind this, and have no idea whether it's all a bunch of hocus-pocus or whether people really can be lulled into a semi-conscious state and encouraged to act abnormally by a stranger with a microphone. Luckily, this being a student night, there was enough alcohol sloshing about to ensure such activities would probably go off without a hitch anyway. But this time, on a stage.

The poor bloke trying to entertain a load of half-cut middle-class dickheads with a ludicrous sense of entitlement, mostly called Ollie and Marianka an' that, was having a particularly hard time of it because the night coincided with one of the Rugby team's many, many socials. Eventually he gets tired of the abuse and invites them to come up on stage and be hypnotised. Much macho posturing and bullshit bravado later, he has seven hulking volunteers on stage, all keen to prove that they were so hard as to be unhynotisable, which is totally a word.

There was a glint in the conjurer's eye as he sat them all down and put them under. Those of us who thought the Rugby team were mostly pricks (ie, everyone in the room who wasn't on the Rubgy team) were thoroughly looking forward to seeing what humiliation they'd be subjected to. We got more than we bargained for. But not as much as the hypnotist.

Once the lumbering dullards were drooping in their chairs, the practioner of stage magic told them "you will obey my next command TO THE LETTER..." turning to the crowd to flash an evil grin, he rounded on his victims with a flourish.

A little too much of a flourish. He tripped over the microphone cable, and as he hit the deck he cried out "Fuck me!"

What happened next will haunt me forever
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 9:53, 9 replies)

I got had
***The Setup***
There was a girl at work called Debbie. Short, obnoxious, ginger hair with a piggy face and acne. Steve was one of those skinny weasely guys and he wanted to fuck her, because Steve was into fat birds and Debbie was just about spherical.

***The Tale****
One Friday everyone from work went out for a bit of a piss up. Steve was busting out all his moves on Debbie and it was working, so much so that the two of them tottered over to me and asked if they could come back to mine at the end of the evening and ‘use’ my spare room. Why not I thought, I was feeling drunk and benevolent.
So the evening ended with me collapsing into instant coma on my bed while Debbie and Steve made the beast with two backs and one fucking huge gut in my spare room.

***The Switch***
Directly after, Steve being a class act, asked Debbie if she fancied some food. Of course she did, so Steve fucked off to get some and never returned. Which is how I woke on Saturday morning to find Debbie, short, obnoxious, ginger hair with a piggy face and acne, in my kitchen in MY FUCKING DRESSING GOWN munching on a slice of toast like a cow chewing the cud.

***The Sting***
As soon as I heard the knock on the front door I knew I was fucked. The look on my Dad’s face, shock, surprise and amusement all at the same time, has never left me. Years later he still occasionally mentions “that ugly bird” and I’ve long given up trying to explain myself.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Fri 10 Dec 2010, 10:46, 6 replies)

A failed rapist writes...
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, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 11:41, 3 replies)

Pearoast, but a goodie.
Many years ago I used to work in theatre as an assistant stage manager.

We we working on a production of The Rivals, on stage was a bowl of fruit. As the fruit had to be practical, i.e. eaten, we used real fruit. One of my jobs was to buy fruit every so often from the supermarket over the road. They used to give us gift vouchers in return for a mention in the programme.
One other thing that we managed to get for free was fags. Yes this was that long ago that we could get fags to smoke on stage for nowt in return for a mention in the programme.

One problem was that when people smoke on stage they have to put the fag out in an ashtray filled with water. When changing the set the water tended to splash. So we came up with the idea of using KY jelly.


So that is how I one day found myself in Sainsburys buying bananas and KY jelly with a gift voucher.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Mon 13 Dec 2010, 18:36, 1 reply)

PhD research
A fellow tutee was doing his PhD research into shining lasers at windows and measuring the reflections to eavesdrop conversations in the room (basically spy stuff back in the early 80's). In the lab, for calibration and tests, he used to use latex sheets with a mirror adhered to them to prove the concept. And of course he was wonderfully socially naive too, but seeing as latex sheets were easily available at the chemists...

"Hi, can I have 2 gross of condoms please?"
"Erm, yes sir - do you want them with teats, or without?"
"Oh, it doesn't matter - I cut the ends off them before using them anyway"

Bless.
( 0nyx, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 18:25, 2 replies)

No no, that's not what I meant at all!
My wife and I split many years ago, amicably, and my son carried on living with her. When he reached about 13 and joined the Army Cadets, they told him he would need to shave to smarten up. As I only saw him at weekends, I wanted to impart all the tips I'd learnt by shaving daily for 25 years or so (use a hot flannel, make this funny face so you don't get razor cuts etc. etc.), but I wondered as I always do these days whether the internet might offer something I hadn't thought of. So, about 3 seconds before my girlfriend walked into the room, I typed "shaving teenage boys" into Google...
(potatan, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 9:13, 2 replies)

WORK FARTS!
bit off topic but here you go.

OK I work at the Institute of Education in Russell Square, there I said it!

the stairwells are like a giant echo chambers, all concrete, lots of reverb.

so I was walking up from level6 on the stairs and there happens to be the lady (a professor lady) who works a couple of offices down from me also coming up the stairs. she's behind me as we're going up (im a guy btw).
I fart. Loudly. I decide the best policy is to 'run' up the stairs. doing so makes more farts come, FART FART FART FART FART. all loud, all made worse by the acoustics of the stairs. oh the shame. I get out of the stair well with a look of pain on my face, eyes screwed up, kind of face you pull when you don't want to accept reality. i get back to my little office and close the door. I still cringe about it now. this hapend 4 years ago.
(L E T S G O "Stop buying into and spreading this shit", Tue 14 Dec 2010, 12:37, 17 replies)

Not loving it!!
This may sound very contrived, but this really happened and I still cringe about it with the people concerned about a decade later!!

Many moons ago I worked as a delivery driver for a sandwich shop in Lincoln and one day I was asked to pick up the daughter of the owner from nursery, take her to MacDonalds and take her home to watch a dvd (101 Dalmations) until her mother came home.

Having taken her to MacDonalds, and managed to get her name wrong on a couple of occasions (to which she replied, 'thats not my name' very loudly) she then asked at the top of her voice "I am bored, can we go and see the puppies now?"

The atmosphere changed very rapidly, and I imagine I went a very nice share of red!!

For those of you in MacDonalds at the time, it certainly wasn't what it looked like!!!
(the_icks has the sweet essence of giraffe, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 8:48, 1 reply)

I pulled off three men in a boat in under 2 minutes
I love playing charades.
(TitanLX, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 10:02, 4 replies)

It's a valid subject!
I did a zoology degree back in the good old days when you could afford to fuck about and put work off for a further few years without incurring the debt of a small third world nation. As part of the course I spent a summer in Portugal doing some research. I was paired with a rather attractive girl from my course which was lucky because the majority looked like Bill Oddie's groupies. One of our experiments involved the requirement to smear the branches of a shrub with vaseline in order to isolate some branches from the local ant population. The next stage of this experiment/folly was to remove any remaining ants from the branches. Essentially we were trying to achieve an ant-free branch. Don't ask why - there was a valid purpose! Anyway the instrument that we were using to remove these ants was called a 'pooter'. For those not in the know this is basically a jar with two pipes running from the lid. It acts as a vacuum - you point one tube at the insect and suck through the other and the insect is sucked into the jar. It's the quickest and easiest way to collect small insect samples without harming them. Some of the ants were persistent little buggers and were trying to crawl their way through the vaseline barrier. And it's for this reason that our professor, who had come to check on our progress, witnessed me standing behind a bush with my research partner on her knees loudly stating "I'm not sucking you off whilst you are all covered in vaseline!". He immediately turned tail and came back half an hour later, whistling loudly as he approached.
(Grezmo, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 16:46, 3 replies)

Many many years ago I was a chorister.. (in the choir if I have just had a spelling fart)
I was only 7, and my brother was 10 (head choir boy, and labelled as Shropshire's answer to Aled Jones..Not that Aled was posing any questions like "Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough" as this would have lead to even more questions.. but there you have it). It was by anyone's standards an absolutely awesome choir, 30 or so strong, boys and men, the sound of our singing was like it was sent from the heavens, and as there were a few lads my age, we were always mucking about and playing jokes like pissing in the font..that kind of thing (Not really..we just pretended to..which for a young lad of 7 was comedy gold dust). A couple of mates always joked that I could hit the high notes because the air whistled through the braces on my nashers..which of course was nonsense..my voice could make the sternest of granny's weep with joy! No dental aids necessary to achieve such greatness..*coughs*.

Anyway, word was spreading of our fine choir of angels, and Lo..it came to pass.. that the Bishop of Lichfield was to visit our little country church with the idea of having us perform at his 'more grandios stage'.

Well our Reverend was in a proper flap, it was as if he'd got 10 chocolate eggs for Easter! There were to be no mistakes, and we practiced our little socks off, night after night, until it was note perfect.

The day came, and as usual, us lads were pratting about in the back where we got changed. As a laugh..one lad stuffed his cassock (choirboy outfit) into his mouth and said "Sorry Bishop, Michael can't sing today as I've eaten him".. to which we all virtually wet ourselves with laughter (we were 7). So I decided to do the same, stuffing it in my mouth and trying to speak..something was wrong.. My braces had caught onto the fabric! In a panic I pulled down, only for it to grip tighter..Oh shit..today of all days..All of my family had come to watch and there I was looking like a twat with a gown hanging out of my mouth. Cue the rest of the boys roaring with laughter...There is no fucking way I can go out looking like this! How can I sing? I'm normally stood right at the front...maybe if I snook in at the back nobody would notice?

The rest of the choir is out in front of the congregation..waiting for me..and I am hiding in the back room. Our Reverend comes looking for me, and following him is one of my 'so called mates that fucking deserted me in the first place' grinning like a fucking cheshire cat.

Reverends are not supposed to get angry..at least I don't think they are..but he went red in the face..calling me all the things under the sun.."STUPID BOY!! On THE MOST IMPORTANT DAY OF HIS LIFE"..frantically tugging at the garment, making it worse and worse.. I begin to cry.

Everyone is sat waiting for us, including the Bishop, we're running out of time....then the Reverend has a moment of "Genius" and tells my mate to put on the garment best he can to 'stretch' the material, and he would then attempt to pull me in the other direction.

The Bishop of Lichfield, curious as to the delay decides to see what is holding up proceedings, and flings open the door, only for himself and the whole congregation to see me bent over with tears in my eyes, mouth at the crotch of a startled 7 year old boy, and an angry red faced Reverend pulling at my waist..saying "JESUS FORGIVE ME!".

There were gasps, and there were sniggers. One of the congregation passed out, and sadly that was the last time I was in the choir..funnily enough me and my family stopped going to church after that.

The choir did however get to visit Lichfield..minus one silly little 7 year old.
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Tue 14 Dec 2010, 9:32, 3 replies)

Have a pea:
My mum is a very light sleeper - I discovered this in my teens when trying to return to the house intoxicated in various forms, and get to bed without waking anyone up.

Now I'm in my mid-thirties, and a few years ago was visiting my mum.

The second or third Harry Potter film had just come out on video, and she loves it, because she reckons she's just like one of the teachers in it - the one played by Zoe Wannamaker - and to a certain degree she's quite right.

Now - she was insistent that I watch - or at least try to watch - the video, but her and hubby were off to bed (they're in their sixties and anything beyond 9pm is a stretch these days), so here's the telly, here's the video, here's the remotes - off you go, and you know where the fridge is if you fancy a sandwich.

So I started watching it, and I vaguely got into it - I had enjoyed the books when they came out, and - irritating child-actors aside - I thought the film was quite engaging.

Half way through, I decided that yes indeed a sandwich and another beer would be a good idea , so I hit "Pause", and go and make myself some sort of BLT-type affair.

I return to my seat, and look around for the remote, which seems to have hidden itself entirely from my ken.

Now - the older children among you will recall that certain telly-and-video combos mean that after the video's been paused for a while, it stops the tape and flicks back to actual telly automatically, at the volume the telly was before you turned the video on.

This happened at this point, and BANG the telly came on and what was it? Channel Five. It was now late at night, so showing was soft porn - cue some topless girl bouncing up and down shrieking excitedly at the top of her bleedin lungs, at top volume on the telly because my mum has the telly loud as she's a bit deaf.

In desperation I look for the remote where the fucker is I don't know under the chair by the sofa on the pouffe on the table where the FUCK are you DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CHAIR DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CHAIR I desperately start reaching for the remote, my back to the living room door as I search with my hand where is it where is it where is it oh god where is it

when I hear

"Erm ... Vagabond ... " I turn and stare, terrified, over my shoulder - the living room door is open a tiny crack, "Could you, ah ... turn the volume down please, we are actually trying to sleep upstairs ... " as I turn back to the screen, the actress finally reaching the climax of the scene.

Oh god.

I honestly was just looking for the remote. I swear to god, mum.

Will I ever be able to raise this in conversation, and the truth be known?

Will I fuck.

Length? She might as well have made me a cup of tea.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 10:20, 1 reply)

TV Hospital
Whilst working in the emergency theatre one evening we receive a call from A&E that an urgent life saving operation is on the way up to us, so I quickly scrub up and start preparing the instruments etc. It was only then when I realise that I’ve still got the controlled drug keys in my pocket.

Cue me lifting my gown up around my waist and a male colleague on his knees rummaging around as BANG! The doors slam open and patient trolley, medical and nursing staff dash in, flanked by a camera crew filming in our direction. Our expressions of horror probably didn’t make it look any better…

They were filming one of those fly on wall hospital documentaries, but for some reason they didn’t show that part…
(jugglinbob Not giving a damn since:, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 9:58, Reply)

Water, water everywhere.
I think most men can relate to this.

I haven't just pissed myself. The tap just ran a lot faster than expected and splashed everywhere.
( Kovacs Slogan free since 2003, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 23:17, 6 replies)

A Right Royal Tit...
It was late on a Thursday evening. Two of us were left in the office, me and one of the PhD students who was in the final death throes of writing her thesis. A peaceful air of academic activity had descended upon us and I was putting the finishing touches on a review article. The student, in order to conserve what sanity she had left, had taken to plugging her headphones into her PC and listening to the radio, or things that she had downloaded on iplayer. So it was no surprise that when I called over my shoulder to ask if she could take a look at a schematic I had drawn for the paper, that I got no response.

I spoke again and spun my chair round to face her desk; at the exact same moment she must have heard me and hit pause on the programme she was watching. My eyes flicked to the monitor. It was filled by a large, perky pair of breasts. Naked breasts. She followed my shocked gaze and looked back sheepishly.

Turns out she was watching The Tudors, which has an amount of nudity in it and had managed to freeze frame exactly at the point where (probably) Anne of Cleeves had wapped her norks out for Henry VIII’s approval.

Not sure she should have been that embarrassed, had she glanced over at my screen she would have seen that I was looking at crudely drawn magenta cocks and reading stories about supermodels in Honda Accords. Lucky escape there, I reckon.
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 9:27, Reply)

It turned out it was what it looked like
Years ago, I attended a party with a friend. The apartment was high above the sea with a big curving balcony. Everything was smoked glass, dim lights and people believing they were too sophisticated for words

In the centre of the main room stood a tall, circular glass case, filled with object d'art on glass shelves. My friend (who wasn't unlike Mark Strong in the Long Game ) had been invited as a living item of interest, I think, seeing he was the opposite of the city banking crowd there. He'd made the effort and was wearing a suit and tie. He wanted to do justice to the host, who'd invited him. Basically the host had been slumming it when he met my friend and must have thought my friend would amuse the others

Friend spotted a glass container in the spot-lit glass case. He moved closer, said nothing for several minutes, staring at the container intently. Finally he asked the host in what I knew to be a dangerous tone of voice, 'Geoff --- this isn't what I think it is, is it ? '

Host gave a snuffle-chuckle. ' Yes, a nursing friend of my old girlfriend gave it to me. Unusual, eh ? '

It was a foetus. Would have fitted into my friend's hand. Floating there in fluid in the glass container, tiny and white, spot-lit for the amusement of the sophisticated set. Not a friend in the world

My friend opened the circular display case and extracted the foetus in its container. He looked at it for a long time, saying nothing. I realised later, he'd been praying. By now, the chatter had died. Everything was quiet. People were looking at him as if he were a monkey in a cage. You could hear them saying to themselves, ' Oh, look how bad mannered he is, touching the ornaments '.

Speaking to himself, he said, ' This is wrong '. Looked at the foetus again then went out onto the balcony - paused a moment - then threw it far out to sea.

He came inside. Gave the host a look as if to ask, ' You have a problem with that ? ' Host didn't. We left
(Miss B3thpot, Sun 12 Dec 2010, 23:48, 13 replies)

Most heterosexual women like 'sporty' men,
even women who aren't very active themselves.

Also, research has shown that jazz lovers are considered more intelligent than anyone but classical music fans; however classical music fans are considered 'cold' and elitist whereas people think of jazz fans as 'warm' and empathetic.

So be sure to update your profile to say that you're into watersports and scat.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 14:26, 1 reply)

Apparently a good way to get a dirty look at the supermarket
is to get a load of alcohol, and a single packet of nappies. At the checkout ask them how much the nappies are. When they tell you the price, decide not to buy them.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 22:26, 9 replies)

My wife and I were in the kitchen
and I decide to slip a courgette down my trousers, wait for her to notice and then say something on the lines of "this isn't what it looks like".
However, it came out as "It isn. IIEEEEHHHH!! It's freezing". In quite a high pitched squeal followed by a struggle to fish it out as it slid down my leg.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 15:14, 2 replies)

"What do you want me to take off?"
I asked. "Everything," she breathed back, and then left me in darkness. My heart leapt at the chance. We were just getting into the constant-nudity stage of relationships that comes somewhere after you've just discovered that the both of you have genitals and the mutual fun found in playing with them. I tore my clothes off with reckless abandon, tearing the top button from my shirt in the process. From start to finish, I went from clothed to stark-bollock naked in about three seconds.

In the dark, beneath my covers, I waited for her return. And she came, a minute gone or more, and through the dark I felt her glee at my newfound nudity. Under the covers she crept and her hands ran over me, all over me. If I'd been hard before she came in at just the thought of being naked with her, my cock was so hard now not even diamond would stand a chance of cutting it. I was itching for her to touch it and barely half an inch away from humping her leg - I blamed the thrusting on her hands tickling me. If she felt a bit of the steel flashlight rub itself along her thigh, so be it.

All of a sudden she climbed on top of me. Excitement flared throughout me. A bit of spunk dribbled out of my throbbing bulbous bell-end. If the lights were on my face would've been redder than the swollen, disease-ridden pussy of the hooker that hung down by my local late Friday and Saturday nights.

Down she went below the covers and ...

... started kissing my chest and stomach. That was it. That was all she wanted to do and it's all she was going to do. She asked as she went down. All the excitement gone, off went my hopes for a spontaneous blowjob, and with the revelation all the go went out of my penis and it shrunk like the air being let out of a balloon.

At that moment, my sister walked in with the phone pressed against her head and flipped the light on. It was my mum, who was on the phone for me for whatever reason - something inane, I forget now, because at the time my mind was more concerned with the fact that 1) I was naked, all my clothes splayed out across the floor for my sister - herself a teenager and well aware of the goings-on of couples - to see, 2) my girlfriend was now crouched under the covers and decided she would NOT come out; rather that it would be best to just stay put and complete the illusion, and 3) my sister decided that instead of walking out and pretending she had seen nothing, proceeded to stand there and tell my mum down the phone, "He's getting nooky! Urgh, he's getting nooky!"

I protested that I wasn't, that she should leave, but no, nothing of the sort. She reiterated the nooky sentiment to mum then thrust the phone at me and left, my cock more flaccid than it's ever been in my life and my girlfriend FINALLY deciding to get out from under the fucking covers from kissing my stomach and not giving me the blowjob everyone in my family was soon to be under the assumption I was receiving.

My sister asked my about it some time later. "It wasn't what it looked like," I explained. "She was kissing my stomach." "Yeah right," my sister scoffed, and that was that.

I wish it was what it looked like. At that point, if I had just been walked in on being given my first blowjob, I would've fucking shouted it to my sister, mother and the world. She wouldn't've even had to have walked in on me.

Length? Started off strong but praise ends there.
(ratthingbazzterd, Thu 9 Dec 2010, 22:38, 4 replies)

There are many things that are not what they appear to be...
Take a look for yourself. (worksafe)

One

Two

Three

Four

Five
( Wanderer, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 21:14, 6 replies)