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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.

Busted for tea smuggling
While on holiday in Turkey, I discovered a local drink called "apple tea" (actually more sugar than apple) and resolved to take some back to Blighty. So on my last day, I trotted off to a local market and got 3 bags of the stuff.

Trouble is, a light brown powder sold in a sealed clear plastic bag looks innocent enough in the market, less so when customs at Gatwick decide to search your bag. There was a look of triumph on the officer's face as she pulled the stuff out of my rucksack while I pleaded my innocence. On closer inspection, they decided it smelled of apple so they let me go without feeling the need to search my bum.
(, Thu 16 Dec 2010, 10:20, 1 reply)
Ladies' underwear-related pearoast
When my daughter lived in Switzerland, her cousin Gav - male, six foot-odd, quite butch-looking - popped over to visit her for a weekend of drunkenness and Swiss cheese.

He kindly volunteered to take her some things from home. I handed over a bag of clobber and he stuck it in his case.

He was randomly stopped and searched at Customs. 'This your bag, sir? Pack it yourself?'

Out came assorted bras, panties and skimpy tops, including a full Bunny suit with ears and fluffy tail.

'Yes it's mine, yes I packed it - erm...'

Poor Gav.
(, Thu 16 Dec 2010, 5:47, Reply)
Amost but not quite getting busted
About 12 yrs ago I rented a place in a quad round a communal garden.
Entrance to the flats was by a covered alleyway off the main road.
One afternoon while pottering the garden one of my neighbours came over to point out a rather dodgy looking guy who had apparently been standing in the alleyway. for over an hour.
Being nosy and suspicious I went up and asked him what he was doing there.
He flashed some card at me and said he was drugs squad waiting for T*** from the flat beside mine to come home so they could do a raid and catch the guy red handed .
Erm oh, ok then.
Knowing a few of my other neighbors indulged in the odd smoke or two I popped round as casually as possible to let them know that drug squad were hanging around and went back to my weeding ( no pun intended)
With half an eye on the guy in the alleyway I carried on, chucking stuff onto the bonfire inside an half oil drum we used as a BBQ
Then all hell broke loose.
Shouting, a door being smashed in and cops everywhere.
Neighbours spill out of their flats to watch and some shout obscenities.
Then someone nudges me and nods towards the bird table.
And there under it amongst all the other things grown from the seed spillings are several very small hemp plants.
Now we all know that such plants grown from birdseed are useless for getting high on, but nevertheless, not something you want in evidence when the drug squad are around.
So we sidle over and start to pull them up.
One of the cops comes over to ask the crowd to move back and calm down
Then glances over at us, looks at whats in our hands.
Then someone shouts, he gives us a look then runs back to the melee happening next door and we lob the plants into the bonfire
When all the fuss died down and the door was being boarded up, a couple cops came over and looked, but of course there was nothing left to see.
And even if there had been , it wasnt technically what it looked like
(, Thu 16 Dec 2010, 2:17, Reply)
Its not a small horse...
I have to blame spending too much time in here for the story im going to tell.
I was sitting at out local having a few beers with friends, and talking absolute shit , as I do.
It got to the stage where we were trying to out do each other with horrible stories. After regaling us with one such story I turn to said friend and say" Fuck i wish i had some mind bleach"

Then procceded to simulate pouring bleach in my ear, which from passers by must have looked odd, as while i was doing this my mate yells out drunkly "Looks like your wanking off a small horse!"

Cue much laughter and mimicing for the rest of the night.
(, Thu 16 Dec 2010, 0:24, 5 replies)
and everyone knows that droids don't do very good pillow impersonations, unless...?

(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 22:46, 1 reply)
They just looked like a random couple of droids, really

(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 22:43, Reply)
Those aren't PILLOWS!

(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 22:23, 2 replies)
Many moons ago I had the dubious pleasure of being “allowed” through customs.
It is not what you think, honest; it really was very unusual.

I flew into an airport, hours after leaving a weekend festival, and the sniffer dogs at customs sniffed out the residual smell of those naughty “massive drugs” takers standing next to me wherever I went.

Off to a “special” room with 3 officials, who got bored after they searched both my bags and didn't find them full of said illicit substances. All my, quite justified IMHO, protesting my innocence had obviously entitled them to a doughnut or two, over a coffee in the customs canteen.

Anyway, this other guy was still there, thoroughly searching every single thing I had. He even found a photo of me smoking a bong, quite artistic if you ask me, saftely folded within the pages of a book of no less than 200 pages. He said I shouldn't carry it across borders.

The only thing he didn't search was a stash tin. It was a survival kit I was carrying in my rucksack, just in case of one of those adventures that never happens. The customs guy picked it up, looked at the garish logo on the tin, turns it in his hands, and looks back at me. It is sealed with sticky tape, and he asks me: “Sir, is this sealed?” I replied that it was, and he put it back in my bag and said I should pack up my stuff and I was free to go.

I still don't quite know what to think of it: there was nothing incriminating in the stash tin, but I still wonder if I was being “let off for smuggling drugs."
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 21:40, Reply)
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.
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 16:40, 4 replies)
The time Miraclefish accidentally accused the deputy editor of sexual abuse...
Well it started, as things often do, with an in joke. Being the younger journalist on a magazine I used to work at, I quite rightly got some genial abuse from the older hands, and I gave back as good as I can get. Someone mentioned that 'you can't be nasty to a 20 year old, it's practically child abuse!' It was all fun, if edgy, banter, the kind that only comes from working all the hours that god sends for a pittance with a bunch of like-minded social outcasts.

When the jokes got a bit near the bone, someone would say 'I'll tell HR! and we'd all chuckle and wander off for coffee and a browse on eBay.

Then one day I sent a joke email to the dep ed cc'd into a fake address (something like [email protected]) that mentioned that I was a bit concerned that the deputy had 'tried to put his finger inside me' a la Team America.

We all had a good old chuckle.

Then a few weeks later I got an email from a human resources drone asking if I 'wanted to arrange an appointment to discuss 'the incident'. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I cast my mind back and oh no OH FUCK NO SHITNOFUCK!

So I emailed back, very quickly, and explained that it was 'an in-joke which was never meant for anyone but him and me to read and that I'd purposely involved a fake, non-format email address for HR, so I was confused as to how it got to them'.

Anyway next thing I knew, my editor was called to a meeting with HR, leaving me and the dep editor nervously waiting. "I've just accused you of putting your finger inside me and..." 'That's not the end of it?' asked a colleague. "No, I also said that he told me to... keep it our little secret."

Oh. Dear God.

I've just accused my boss of... I don't know what, really. This is what they call a 'career-limiting move'.

Thankfully the editor came back and said that he'd smoothed it over and that in future, HR 'would prefer it if we didn't make jokes over the email system and, if possibly, not to make jokes involving sexual harassment either'.

I can see their point...
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 16:30, 1 reply)
Me chalfonts were giving me gip
Popped into the supermarket to get some soothing lotion for my piles. Also picked up something for lunch and some moisturiser for my missus.

When I got to the checkout I noticed I was getting seriously odd looks from the staff and other customers. Then I looked at what I'd put on the belt: A large stick of salami, vaseline and some Anusol.

Use a different supermarket now.
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 13:35, 5 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
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 11:41, 3 replies)
I have never ever won a game of Pictionary.

(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 10:54, 7 replies)
Doom doom doom
I was the walker in...
My younger brother was, for a period in his life, an insufferable Christian twerp. He caught me surfing porn and gave me a right smarmy bollocking.
Some months later, I'm fixing his computer, and check his internet history out of spite. As you can imagine, filled to the back teeth with high-quality, premium grade filth.
Here, more or less, is his excuse:

"We were reading in bible study about the state of fallen women, and the material you can get on the internet, so I was doing some research and..."
"Then how come your computer autocompletes the debit card fields? With mum's card?"
"Oh...fuck."

Mercifully, the boy is now cured, and is much more fun to be around.
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 10:07, 5 replies)
I pulled off three men in a boat in under 2 minutes
I love playing charades.
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 10:02, 4 replies)
It was 1993 or 1994....
and while I was an 8-year-old minding his own business, the IRA was up to their usual no good. So one day was approached by the parents......

"Cmon Diablo, we're going to a rally"

This was met with suprising enthusiasm from my young-self, and off I went with the parents and my suspiciously less enthusiastic older brother and sister, and we packed ourselves into our stunning navy-blue '83 Nissan Sunny. In the car I had great expectations for what lay ahead on my Sunday afternoon - my last day off before school.

So, I was fiercely disappointed when this "rally" turned out to be a gathering of sorry looking crusties standing around a cold, wet Dublin street shouting:

"Gerry Adams is a bad man" (or something of the like)

A peace rally!

I had been had. Conned. Duped. Bamboozled by my own parents! Such reckless use of the word "rally" made me think I was getting a new bike. Curses to you Mam and Dad, you dastardly fiends!
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 8:43, Reply)
Walking around Toys R Us
on my own then leaving without buying anything.* You could see people thinking "Lone 30 year old man in Toys R Us.....he must be a peado"




*They didn't have the Thomas the Tank Engine train my nephew wanted which meant more uncomfortable trips to other toy shops.
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 8:32, 9 replies)
I don't have anything to offer
personally, so I'd just like to refer everyone to S01E07, 'A Christmassy Ted'.
I thank you.
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 6:44, 7 replies)
Most of my greatest mistakes are self driven. Or as a result of social anxiety.
Walking down a street in town I noticed a lady at an ATM drop her gloves. Clearly failing to pick them up she tried to unceremoniously crouch twixt cashpoint and the ground with her arm hovering, searching for them. She couldn't stay in that position for long of course, and wanting to be discreet she wasn't going to do it quickly either.

It was evident with no-one else watching I was left with the choice of to help or not. I'm not normally one to avoid helping someone, regardless of how much it stupidly puts myself out of the way. I have rushed to open doors for people I barely know and it's obvious I look like a twat. This time however, someone's credit card was involved. I've never been comfortable when someone else is using them.
Not wanting to be suspicious in perhaps the most conspicuous way possible (as well as looking like a man who's lost his invisible friend - who is also a fly) my eyes have to dart around anywhere but the console when a pin number is being keyed in at the check-out.
I genuinely feared if I did approach her to help I might be misinterpreted as a potential thief ready to grab and run - something I had seen happen in roundabout the same area. However, I understood this was probably me being highly paranoid, which would be something to confront in of itself but I wasn't going to disregard all these concerns easily. Walking as I was thinking, I felt tense - ill at ease with either solution.

Nevertheless back to the action and what seems to be a lengthy debate in my head has actually taken barely a few seconds. More of as a result of indecision continuing to walk past the problem was to be my solution. I was in the clear, leaving the lady to fend for herself and an experience I'd shake off by the next corner.

"Aw, that's Fuckry!" cried a voice from the side.
"You saw that woman drop her gloves but you din't help, that's fuckry, man!"

A young mother had seen me watching the lady in distress and clearly in disgust was now approaching the to help while I was left speechless and now feeling distinctly more awkward in this crowded area than before. Frustrated, I wanted to explain my own inner turmoil but I realised I had if by action and not by choice made perhaps the wrong decision anyway. And so I sheepishly left, daring not to look in anyone's face. Oh, the shame!
(, Wed 15 Dec 2010, 3:06, 8 replies)

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