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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.

i was in a park in the middle of town
a dodgy park, i should add, and when i got up from sunbathing, i found i'd been lying on top of a switch blade knife. (i know... it was a VERY dodgy park and also, i am absent minded enough to not notice and lie on top of a hard piece of metal.)

me and my friend wonder what to do and happily, the police station is across the road so over we trundle.

this was in my "ahem" slightly more gothic days (i just missed the emo craze by a feather) so me and my friend might have looked slightly dodgy but im sure this didnt justify the police man going 'riiiiiiiight... just put it in the box' when we told him.

it was knife amnesty week.
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 2:43, 4 replies)
my brother is quite a lot younger than me
so much so that when i used to take him to the park, i used to get some very dirty looks and some tuts about teenage mums.

the highlight was when we were walking the dog and he wandered off to inspect the golf course. i shouted over to him and of course the nearby warden pipes up;

'thats right sonny... you listen to your mum.'
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 2:38, 6 replies)
Wrong kind of wood.
My friend Stacy has been filming porn in her new house before the services are fixed. She had to palm her neighbour off with an excuse when he asked if her chippy would be free to work on his back door.
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 18:07, 4 replies)
When I was 11
Being in the country one could quite easily have a shit wherever one wanted. Within reason.

One afternoon whilst out and about, the turtle's head started touching cloth and so I proceeded to find a suitable place to shat. In an orchard, under a tree.

I says to my mate I says "Keep your eye out for anyone", "No problem" proffers he.

2 minutes later a farmer appears and sees me defecating under one of his trees. "What the fuck are you doing?" enquires the farmer.

To which my mate replies "We just thought this was a little field in which we could play."

I got a smack in the head and a walk home I'd sooner forget.
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 15:42, 6 replies)
I was in the toilet at work with my elbows on my knees
Someone goes into the stall next to mine, pauses, gags very loudly and then quickly leaves the restroom.

I swear it smelled that way when I got there!
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 15:29, 3 replies)
I'm not a peado!
A few months ago, waiting for a bus to work, I bumped into my younger cousin, who was getting a bus to school.

We chatted for a while auntil family event that weekend until my bus turned up. "I'd best get on then." I said, "See you on saterday" I said, giving her a quick kiss, as is the family custom. "Have a nice day at School!" I called as I joined the bus queue. 

Looking around, I saw alot of people giving me dirty looks, which was confusing. Then it dawned on me that they had just seen a grown man kissing a young girl in school uniform openly in public. 

The looks continued for the rest of the week.
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 14:35, 9 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.
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 12:37, 17 replies)
Not sure what it looked like?
When I was a student, I lived with a rather interesting chap (who has the same name as me). One evening, I was heading out the door and waved to Rich and his lady friend (who were both in the living room on the sofa).

After 3 minutes of walking, I'd forgot my asthma inhaler. Being a pathetic asthmatic I started to walk back to the house and retrieve one from my room.

I walked in the house and run up to my room while shouting to Rich "I forgot my inhaler mate, see ya later guys). I came back down the stairs and was just about to open the front door when I just noticed, in the corner of my eye what they were doing. Rich was topless with his lady friend straddling him in the middle of the living room floor. They were also sitting on a large (one of those huge wall ones) map of the world!?

His exact words to me were "We're map reading".

Priceless! It wasn't the act I had caught that made it so funny but his reply. Who knows what kinky map related things they were up to! I never asked what they were doing (some things are best left alone).
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 11:39, 6 replies)
An engineer came earlier
I answered the door and the guy said "I've come to fix your washing machine". A neighbour walking past overheard this and gave me a funny look. The sort of look you give someone when you suspect they're making a blue movie.
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 11:35, 3 replies)
Falling asleep on a toilet
At a wake wasn't my finest hour. Compounded by the fact that my cock was hanging out for all the female visitors to see. Compounded even further by the fact that it was fucking freezing in the toilet.
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 11:04, 11 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.
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 9:32, 3 replies)
A bloke I know
is a builder/decorator/landlord sort of person. He buys knackered old houses cheap, fixes them up and rents them out.
About 10 years ago, he bought a large house for about £15k cash. Spent another £15k doing it up and then decided to move in with his family. The place is now worth about 6 times what he's spent on it.

Anyway, being an old house, it doesn't sit on a concrete slab foundation like newer houses are, and as such has a sub-floor void. If you take the floor up, there's a 30" drop and then just the bare earth.

In that crawl-space beneath the front room, there are three piles of earth about 6ft long and maybe 3ft wide. Each one is headed by a small wooden cross with some illegible scrawl on it. I imagine, they'll be living in that house for at least another 30 years, then one of their kids may take it. There's a good chance it could be anywhere up to 80 years before that floor needs to be taken up by some workman or other, who will discover what look like 3 shallow graves.
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 9:29, 9 replies)
Well, the first thing I could think of
was the Nuremberg Trials.
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 8:47, 2 replies)
This qotw is about as dull as my old posts

(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 6:09, 1 reply)
They are NOT my Barbies... I swear!
Starting some 15 years ago when my niece was very little, ruthlessly adorable, and completely into Barbie Dolls and anything related to Barbie. As I adored her and could never say 'No', I would shamelessly indulge her. For Christmas I would always buy her one or two of the special collectible Barbie Dolls from FAO Schwarz (price range $150-$300 each, each serialized, etc, etc). Since I always paid by credit card, they had all my information, so they would send me ‘focused marketing’ catalogs.

Yep, I started getting Barbie Collector catalogs & brochures in the mail. At this period in time, I was a single male living alone and doing some traveling for work. And yes, my neighbor (ex-jock, regional sales manager for Dewalt Power Tools) was picking up my mail while I was away. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, I was dating a very nice woman who came over to my house just after my neighbor dropped off the stack of mail he collected for me.

Thank god my niece sent me a “Thank-you” drawing/note for her presents. I rushed over waving the evidence in their faces saying “See, I told you they weren’t for me, honestly”.

Oh, when she was turning 17, she let me know that she figured out that if she sold off her Barbie collection, she could get a nice used car. A few weeks later she decided to keep her collection and get her dad to buy her a nice new car.
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 0:46, Reply)
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....
(, Tue 14 Dec 2010, 0:11, 5 replies)
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.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 23:17, 6 replies)
Women Are On Their Guard In Seedy Parking Garages
Several years ago, I was clambering out of a car in a parking garage in downtown Las Vegas when I decided, once again, to change my shoes. (As the Las Vegas Strip has boomed in recent years, downtown Vegas has become increasingly-dodgy, and people there have become warier about thieves, drunks, and homeless people.)

I had been pretty indecisive all day about the shoes - do I wear the comfortable ones or the good-looking ones? - and so I laid the shoes out in front of me and squatted in-between the cars to swap them.

Just at that moment, a group of four women in nightclub dresses passed by. They didn't look at me directly - they didn't dare. All they glimpsed from the corners of their eyes was that I was squatting in-between the cars with my clothes in apparent disarray at my feet. To them, it looked like I was defecating.

"OH MY GOD!" one woman shouted with absolute disgust. They all hurried away on their stilletoes to the elevator, fearing to look back. My soothing reassurances fell on deaf ears. And as I recall, that was just about the closest I got to women the entire evening.

Yes, I should have worn the good-looking shoes....
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 22:12, 2 replies)
There are many things that are not what they appear to be...
Take a look for yourself. (worksafe)

One

Two

Three

Four

Five
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 21:14, 6 replies)
Years ago...
A long time ago, in a bedroom far, far away; my friend and I had - for once - got lucky in a wing-man-style-piloting-top-gun fashion.

First thing in the morning, he burst into the bedroom I was snoozing in, duvet up round my paramour and unfortunately, for my chum, also my belly.

He said, "Blimey, they look like twin zeppelins!"

I disagree, that's not what they look like at all. They look like a pair of overripe kiwi fruit.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 20:51, Reply)
That's no walnut!
That's Iapetus!
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 20:49, Reply)
How to give my mum a heart attack.
My mum is quite traditional in her views was rather shocked to answer the phone to, "It's the Child Support Agency, could we speak to JVZ please." I had applied for a job there. I was desperate.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 20:36, Reply)
I was just doing my job!
My bosses had taken on a contract, I suspect without the government's knowledge, to provide help and security to a group of Germans who were working on some secret project out in the middle of nowhere. I still have no idea what they were doing out there, but they weren't the sort of people you'd want to ask too many questions, so I just shut up and did my work.

Sure enough, there was a security breach when some foreign guy started snooping around. The Germans were getting very upset as this guy was somehow single-handedly managing to really mess up their project and cause a lot of sabotage. He had some woman with him who was not exactly helping matters, so we managed to grab her and restrain her while they were out in a crowded market.

The guy went nuts and started raising hell trying to find her, knocking into people and tearing apart innocent businesses. I heard the commotion and got over there as fast as I could. The crowd parted, giving me my first good look at him.

He wasn't very impressive- dirty, dressed in old beat-up clothes and a battered hat, unshaven. No problem- I can handle this idiot. I pulled out my weapon and brandished it so he'd know that I meant business and wouldn't take any crap from him, chuckling to myself at how easy this would be.

Only thing is, he didn't reach for his whip- he pulled out a gun.

Bastard.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 19:11, 1 reply)
that's no moon!

(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 18:42, 2 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.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 18:36, 1 reply)
A long time ago, in a Guildford
I moved into a rented house. The people moving out were two ladies who were off to live with their respective partners.

Anways, one day, about months after moving in I cam home to find a message on the answer phone for one of the previous occupants. The message was 'Hi this is Jane Smith the midwife, I'm going to have to change your appointment from Monday to Tuesday. Bye' (or something like that).
I figured this might be important and the expectant mother would need to know the change of appointment.
As there was a doctors surgery at the top of the road I figured it might be them. So I gave them a call.
The phone was answered and I said 'hello, do you have a midwife at your practice ..........' just as my boyfriend walked through the door and looked horrified.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 18:35, Reply)
I don't know what they are called but....
they grow in my mum's garden, they look like giant feather dusters and grow to over 6ft tall. Anyway she uses them as a decoration in the house, always has since I was a child. My parents also smoke and would always leave their cigs upstairs for some reason. Being the youngest I always got sent to go and collect them by following their cryptic clues as to their last known location.

This one evening my dad sent me to collect his lighter and fags from his bedside cabinet. He had bought a new lighter, it was one of those fancy ones you press down and it would open up and spark. It didn't work very well. I was walking across the landing and down the stairs to my dad, flicking away at the lighter, trying to get it to spark when I heard a loud fizzing and a slight *whoosh*.

As I turned around these plants had caught light and were literally going up in flames from s stray spark. At the age of 12 I jumped into action, I pulled them away form the curtains, and into the bathroom, straight in the shower and switched it on. Fire out, not even smoke damage....disaster averted.

I then dutifully went downstairs and informed my parents of the event, thinking for certain they would be pleased with my actions.

They were not.

To this day, almost 20 years on, they are convinced I did it on purpose and it was the reason they hired a babysitter until I was 17.

Cunts.
(, Mon 13 Dec 2010, 17:05, 5 replies)

This question is now closed.

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