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This is a question It's Not What It Looks Like!

Cawl wrote two years ago, "People seem to have a knack for walking in at just the wrong time:
"Well, my clothes got wet, so did his... Yes, officer, huddling together to conserve body heat... Yes officer, he's five... No Officer... I'm not his Dad."

What have you done that, in retrospect, you'd really rather nobody had seen, mostly as things just get worse the more you try to explain it?

(, Thu 9 Dec 2010, 21:56)
Pages: Popular, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Just remembered...
I will try and keep this brief.

Background: For many years I have attended the Worthing mixed hockey festival. Being a mixed festival, involving more alcohol than hockey, this has led to many relationships, several weddings and one baby. It has also meant a great many trips to A&E.
In 2009 one of our keepers stage-dived off a table in the beer tent and managed to face-plant on the hard plastic flooring, knocking himself out and leaving St Johns ambulence to pick up the pieces and the bar manager to wash away a great deal of claret. Later in A&E His face looked like a bag full of smashed crabs. His family were very upset and with his sister due to get married the following year, he needed to be constrained to prevent it happening again. So in 2010, to keep him on the floor, a Ball & Chain was created for him (using a kids medium sized plastic ball, a chain, cement and ankle cuffs from tinternet). Padlocked in place and with a chain too short to hold standing up, he was going nowhere fast.

The set up: Our hobbled hero had been planning to Tar & Feather another player (take one large tin of treacle and a feather pillow. Pour on the former, throw on the latter) but unable to give chase, he was soon out witted, hoisted by his own petard and covered in treacle and feathers.

The relevant bit: amusing as it was, no taxi was going to take him back to the hotel and so he needed to get clean. This was a two man job and so so it came to pass that somone walked in on two people in the communal showers, one naked, half covered in treacle and feathers and padlocked to a ball and chain, the other...not. It wasn't what it looked like.

Apologies for length, timing and content. If anyone can tell me how to post pictures, I will put one in replies. (EDIT - Pictures now in replies)

P.S. Posted from my shitty phone, so doubtless contains several spelling / gramatical errors. My bad.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 16:13, 2 replies)
Sexy checkout girl in our local supermarket
In order to impress her, I put a pack of extra-large condoms in my weekly shopping, so she thinks I have a huge cock. I don't.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 15:56, 6 replies)
Last Thursday...
I thought that this was a brilliant QOTW and that it would get loads of comedy answers.

(No. I don't have one either. Some of the TopTips were great though.)

(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 15:12, Reply)
A couple of years back (as all these stories are)
I popped into my local newsagent/off licence for nothing more than a magazine and a bar of chocolate. It was about half past ten in the evening, and all winter and freezy and stuff, so anyone in their right mind was tucked up safely at home. As a result, I was the only person in the shop.
As I approach the till with a copy of GamesTM and a bar of Galaxy the girl behind the counter looks up and helpfully points out that Galaxy is two-for-a-pound, so I trot back over, grab another, and head back. As I approach for the second time...
...she's dancing. "That's odd" thinks I, "especially as there's no music playing". As I get closer I realise her head's tipped back and her eyes are slightly glazed. She's having a fit.
She can't have been too far gone, because, through clenched teeth, she squeezed out the words "hold me", before stumbling backwards into the tobacco.
I looked around - I was still the only person in the store, so I ran behind the till and held her. There was very little room to maneuver, and as I struggled she knocked a bottle of vodka off the shelf. I catch it with my foot, but wasn't quick enough to save the sweet display, which tumbles onto the customer side of the counter. She shakes violently, and the only thing I can think to do is bear hug her.
...and at that point, when everything's going flying, a little old man and a little old lady decide to totter in. And what do they see? Me, in a hoody, with my beanie pulled down and my collar pulled up, wrestling with the young girl behind the till while she thrashes, seemingly trying to escape.
Shit. Again.
The only words that come out are "It's, it's, I, she's". Not the most believable protestation of innocence.
Thankfully, before they could yell or do anything the fitting stopped, and when I carefully laid her on the floor and didn't run they realised I wasn't a Daily Mail style hoody, merely a common-or-garden hoody who likes to keep his neck warm.
Every now and again I pass the girl in the street, and I always snigger internally and think "You don't even know me and I bear hugged you from behind".
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 13:06, 4 replies)
Neighbourhood rapist
I had this awesome dark wool felt army jacket, big warm and baggy. It was winter so I grabbed a spare beanie and some black leather gloves as it was damn cold. I hadn't shaved for a few days. The quickest way to the shops was through the playground of the local school, lonely and abandoned at this late hour.

On the way, there was a really cute girly checking me out. I returned the flirt and tried to catch her eye, and she took off for the shops at a full run. For a few seconds I was a bit puzzled until the reflection in the window and realised I looked just like those pics they show on the news.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 13:01, 2 replies)
They were more than just decoration
They were a bundle of twigs/sticks, around 30" long, tastefully arranged (apparently) in a decorative flowerpot displayed in the bathroom. I never really got the point of them to be honest, 'specially as they were bought, as in 'we' paid for them, twigs FFS!

Anyway, I did learn to appreciate them for what they were...great for poking and breaking up the stubborn turds which just wouldn't leave! mash 'em up 'til they would flush then drop the stick out of the bathroom window and throw in the bin later (being careful which end to grab obviously)...real Pooh Sticks

Okay, it's a very tenuous link to the question, but it's all I've got...and there's worse been posted
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 11:52, 3 replies)
Another camping embarassment (gotta love them canvas walls!)
Camping in a family campsite in the Lake District, with my GF and another couple. It's the first night, and all is well. Until, that is, the GF chose this night to have one of the Night Terrors that she sometimes suffered from.

This meant that she started moaning and crying out, thrashing about and generally acting as if she was being attacked. At this point we hadn't been going out long, and while I'd experienced these before, I hadn't yet found any way to wake her out of them. I'm also acutely aware that the noise is completely audible to anyone else nearby.

So, she's wailing in apparent agony and crying out "No! Please, No!" and so on; I'm desperately shaking her, and through gritted teeth imploring her to "Shut up! Shut up! Shut The Fuck Up!" trying to be loud enough to wake her (which I later discovered would have required the foghorn from a channel ferry jammed against her ear) while at the same time not being heard outside the tent.

Of course that was futile, and in the morning I emerged into the crowded campsite, surrounded by breakfasting families, to the kind of looks reserved for those caught buggering teddy bears in a creche. Not helped by the fact that the GF never had any memory of these night terrors.

(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 10:40, 4 replies)
Some 18 years ago…
In the deep midnight quiet of a still neighborhood, a woman could be heard, moaning, and only some of her words could be understood, “Now! Now! Hurry! Take off my panties!” Thumping and pounding sounds, grunting and moaning, a woman’s voice calling out a man’s name, a man’s voice calling out the woman’s name, saying, “Yes, yes, that’s it, just like that!” More moaning, and more grunting and pounding, and finally a man’s voice, “Wait… not yet, wait, wait wait! Okay now!" "Now?" "Yes! Now! Yes!” And then a small whimper and the man yelling “Whoo-hoo! I got ma girl!”

6 lbs, 9 oz. Her papa had the presence of mind to stop her mum from pushing until he could unloop the umbilical cord from around her neck, otherwise her surprise arrival at home was remarkably uneventful.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 10:19, Reply)
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.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 9:27, Reply)
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."

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.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 6:06, 12 replies)
Kissing people right after the countdown. Mates mum. Long peck. Twinkle in her eyes after. Turning round to see his face. Lost a friend, gained some BITTY.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 4:49, 7 replies)
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
(, Sun 12 Dec 2010, 23:48, 13 replies)
Yet another pearoast
I've recently found I've lost feeling in the skin of my left hand, a little all over, but completely on the skin of my finger joints. I discovered this after neatly removing the skin from my left ring finger second knuckle with an extremely sharp pair of scissors.

I only noticed when a colleague fainted (due to the sight of my blood) and I went to help her. I covered her blouse (and a bit of her face)with blood from my hand, which alerted me to my injury. Unfortunately it meant that, when she woke, she saw herself covered in blood..................and promptly fainted again.

When the paramedics arrived they saw a burly guy with a very bloody left hand, standing over a slightly-built woman with a blood-spattered face and blouse.

Oh, how we laughed!*

*(Once I'd explained the circumstances to the two coppers that the paramedics called.)
(, Sun 12 Dec 2010, 22:41, Reply)
I once looked
almost exactly like I knew what I was doing.
(, Sun 12 Dec 2010, 19:55, Reply)
Back when I were a lad
at college in a central English town I had been home for the weekend and was getting the train back one sunday night. I usually had a few beers for the journey and this time was no exception. After a while I went for a piss and before I got to the toilet I noticed the unmistakable smell of MaryJoanna. The carriage was empty except for a bloke about my age with long hair and a single mum with a couple of little ones. I decided on my way back from taking a leak to ask the bloke if he would mind if I joined him, gave him a couple of beers for a smoke. So off I go and come back with my bags and beers. He agrees, turns out he's on his way to visit his GF who lives a few streets away from me, so we get chatting and he rolls a big fat one. Rather than smoke it in the carriage I suggest that we retire to the quite large toilet as it would be safer if the guard came and also because of the two young kids sitting not too far away. So we both go into the quite large toilet, light up and smoke a big joint with some particularly strong weed in. Half way through I noticed a used condom on the floor which I mention to my new mate and he says 'yeah, there was a randy couple who got off at the last stop who had dissapeared into the toilet for quite a while and it must have been them', we carried on smoking the joint and thought no more of it until we had finished and opened the door to return to our seets. As we had been in there for about 10-15 minutes a bit of a queue had formed outside and as two long haired young looking blokes stagger out of the toilet there were about 4 or 5 big hard football fans waiting to use it. They saw us come out of the loo all red eyed and staggering and the first thing they'd hae seen upon entering the loo was a sticky spunk filled johnny on the floor.
We got a few funny looks as people walked past us after using the facilities. Got quite matey with him and his missus in the end and even ended up giving her one a few times after they split up and she'd decided she was more comfortable in 'comfortable shoes' if you get my meaning but still missed a bit of cock every now and again, which was when I would get a call. I felt cheap and used.
(, Sun 12 Dec 2010, 16:29, 7 replies)
I have had an aversion to wearing underwear for years, my thin waist means i end up with a permenant wedgie, so getting changed at work always takes some timing to make sure no one else is going to burst into our little cloakroom.

One day a few years ago I was getting changed in there with a good mate so imagine the scene...

He was topless, I was bottomless changing my trews at which point he asks if I would like any free condoms (he ran a youth club so had a lot lying around and I am a cheapskate). I replied yes and so as he held out said jonnies, still half starkers and with me bending over about to pull up my bottoms... in walked our boss. He paused for a heart beat, then slowly closed the door.

I could barely finish getting dressed for laughing.!
(, Sun 12 Dec 2010, 9:03, Reply)
A few years ago when I was on duty as a firefighter we decided to take the truck to Subway for lunch. The young girl (15 or so) who was serving asked me what I would like to order and without thinking I asked her the following question "do you ever find that six inches isn't enough, but twelve inches is too much????" The look I got in return was priceless! I couldn't get out of there quick enough.
(, Sun 12 Dec 2010, 5:50, 2 replies)
(, Sun 12 Dec 2010, 1:02, 3 replies)
More said than seen
Back in the day when i was assisting on cadet survival courses, my kit consisted of whatever army clothing was going spare.
I had all the basics but after a particularly cold, wet and miserable course I was feeling the lack of extra kit and warmer items.
With most of my clothes in the drying room, I'm sitting on my bunk in just shirt and boots while someone has a rummage for spare dry clothing.
Someone at the other end of the dorm holds up a british army norwegian shirt and asks if its any use.
Colour sgt walks in just as im shouting back
'ooh yes please i'd love a norgie'


(, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 22:59, 14 replies)
can't a girl have a male friend?
one of my good friends is a bloke with whom i have a lot in common. as we are both single, i often invite him to family parties. we sit together, as friends do. we talk, we laugh, we enjoy ourselves.
my family and other friends just can't seem to get their heads around this. they are all utterly convinced that we are either a couple or both gay. we are definitely not a couple and are not gay, either. well, i know i'm not and i'm fairly sure he isn't.
no matter what they think, it's definitely not what they believe it is.
(, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 18:58, 35 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.
(, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 15:13, 10 replies)
It's not what it sounds like.
Part of working freelance means that I rarely meet any of my clients, as it is easier to use email or the phone to arrange the work and then send it when it is finished. However, once I had to meet a client to discuss a job and we arranged a mutually convenient spot to rendezvous - a hotel lobby midway between his office and my studio. I got there on my scooter and when I couldn't spot anyone who might conceivably be the client, went outside and rang him on my mobile.
"Sorry about the delay" he explained "I've been stuck in traffic. Be with you in five minutes. Where will I find you?"
"Oh, that's easy" I replied, "I'm outside in the carpark, holding my helmet."
(, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 14:27, Reply)
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.
(, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 14:26, 1 reply)
In last week's QOTW
I made a reference to prostitution being legal. Now, I see a lot of whores on Oranienburgerstraße but almost nowhere else, so after I posted it I got the urge to check my facts and googled "berlin prostitution legality", checked the wikipedia article and left, satisfied that my QOTW post wan't misrepresenting German law.

Fast forward to yesterday, I'm in work with a coworker sitting next to me, and I go to google my area of town, "Berlin Prenzlauer Berg." Google gets helpful with it's auto-fill and in big letters auto-completes to prostitution. My coworker turns to me and asks if I want to bring someone to the company christmas dinner after-all.
(, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 11:36, 4 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.
(, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 11:32, 2 replies)
My old school used to have both toilets and offices for the teachers hidden away in the strangest places. One particularly unfortunate teacher had the benefit of both; his office was tucked away on the ground floor of one of the older buildings, with a tiny (and smelly) gents toilet right next door.

One afternoon, the then Head Boy of the school was enjoying a quick piss in the trough. Such was the size of the room, a friend of his was leaning in the doorframe and able to continue the previous conversation they'd been having outside. The topic of the conversation is hazy these days, though it certainly involved the activities of another pupil from the school getting himself in trouble, as usual.

The tale of the pupil had just reached its conclusion; the friend in the doorway took that moment to shake his head wonderingly, and in a tone of awe exclaimed, "What a cock!"

The unfortunate teacher had emerged from his office next door scant seconds earlier, and gave the two pupils a very wary look.
(, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 10:32, Reply)
Airman Gabber reminds me of the pain of my own childhood injustice
Aged about 9, shortly before xmas I accidentally caught sight of my youngest brother's exciting present. I kept my mouth shut but later my other brother saw it too and asked Mother about it.

I got an almighty walloping for telling my little brother, which I accepted in silence as protesting only would make it worse. As our mother's only sanction was frenzied violence it made sense not to wind her up any more than necessary!

40-odd years later I still fucking HATE rocking horses.
(, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 10:10, Reply)
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...
(, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 9:13, 2 replies)
NOT Massive Drugs - Honest!
Well, okay, it's not what it SOUNDS like, but anyway.

A few years back, me and my friends were all watching a slightly obscure Anime series called E's Otherwise (The 'E' stands for 'Espers', a kind of psychic, if I remember rightly.) Since it hadn't yet had an American or European release we'd download episodes online and save them onto memory sticks to take round to each others' houses to watch. We'd also refer to the series as 'E's for short.

One day we were renewing the contract on our rented house, and our landlord had come over to witness the signing. Without thinking what it sounded like, I asked one of my other housemates if our friends were bringing any 'E's over later... which caused the landlord's eyebrows to just about shoot right up off the top of his head. It didn't make it any better when I tried to explain what I meant, since it turns out that middle-aged Welshmen in business suits don't have an extensive knowledge of modern Japanese cartoon series. Oops. he probably thought we were the most well-behaved, geekiest drug addicts that he'd ever met.
(, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 8:54, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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