I was asked to sign a form.
Not too bad, you might think, until you realise that it was a consent form for the doctors to basically take any and all measures necessary to save my wife's life. (Everything turned out OK, BTW.)
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 15:58, Reply)

CDs
While we're being audio-random....

If you know Tracy Chapman's first (and only decent album), you'll know it's an easy listener - nice, relaxing and chilling.

I usually listen to it on my iPod* at high volume as it's an album that you can do.

Anyhoo - The first time I listened to it on my iPod, it's midnight, I'm half asleep it gets to whatever was third on that playlist and a minute or so in, there's an almighty **CRACK!!** - I lept to the ceiling and stayed a while, heart thumping like mad.

Turns out the CD didn't rip/burn properly and there is indeed, a jump/crack in that one track - it still catches me out now.

Makes me jump in the air like a little frightened girl. Tragic!

Size - ha ha ;-)

* Other MP3 players are available :-)
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 15:45, Reply)

chillikitten
new found glory? I've been in exactly the same situation!!
(Clashrock is being stalked by his brother on, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 15:41, Reply)

Gas Taps, Cold mornings and whatnot...
I've just remembered another story that scared the bejesus out of me...

Back in the day where i had little understanding of the term "Child Labour" (more commonly known as "Slave Labour") I used to earn my way by getting up at the crack of sparrows to do a paper round. Every kid has/will do this, so it's only fair that i do it... £20 for 2 hours a day, 7 days a week? ripoff... Anyway, i digress...

I was always the first person awake in the house, so as any normal 14 year old would do, i went around the house and turned all the lights on (being dreadfully afraid of creepy monsters jumping out of the darkness at me). This was all fine and well until it came to the kitchen...

I cast my eyes upon the cooker (stove, hob, whatever) to find every single Knob (yes.. i said knob) turned to maximum. This would of been okay, apart from the fact it was A GAS COOKER. Someone was trying to kill me :-(

I decided to turn the taps off and get out the house to do my round, which i promptly did. I figured that if the gas taps had been left on all night, then the entire house would of smelt of gas, or at least the downstairs portion. So the taps MUST of been turned on recently. After returning home i quizzed everyone as to why they thought it'd be funny to play such a hideous trick on me. Cue much laughter and sneering "fool" comments. They did not believe me.

I still to this day don't know why that happened or how, but i do know i wont be waking up early again.

Just for the record, my bedroom is directly above the kitchen and at about 1am some nights i hear the cupboard doors opening and closing and the glasses inside said cupboards rattling.

These incidents have caused me many nights of unrest as a child...

*sobs*

Length & Girth? How do you measure? Metric or Imperial?
( Axai is in Montréal, Canada O.o, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 15:29, Reply)

Baby hospital trip
A few years ago, Baby Brocky #1 who was about 18 months old at the time was running a really high temperature and her breathing was very erratic and shallow.

Took her down to A&E to get it checked out asap, but as she was so tired and poorly wouldn't let the Triage nurse near her. The nurse in her infinite wisdom put down breaths per minute as the normal 20. A 3 hour wait later we finally see a Doctor. Baby Brocky #1 is even more upset now and won't go nowhere near anyone apart from Mrs Brocky or me.

After a lot of umming and ahhing by the Doctor (it's now about 11.30pm and Baby Brocky #1 is absolutely knackered, with no improvement), he decides the best thing to do is to give her some Calpol and send her home.

Parental instincts kick in and we refuse point blank, her breathing is still erractic and shallow and no amount of Calpol will get it sorted. The doctor leaves us his watch to time the breaths per minute and leaves us alone for 5 minutes.

When he comes back, we tell him her breaths per minute are actually 60. He panics and within 30 seconds she is hooked to up an oxygen nebuliser, with the senior pedeatrician in the room less than 3 minutes later apologising profusely.

When I can see she is stabilising, I go home to get overnight gear for her and Mrs Brocky. Got in and was getting her pyjamas out when I saw her favourite dummy in her cot.

That's when the scaredness came out and I had a chance to think about what might have happened if we had brought her back home. I sat down and cried non-stop for about 5 minutes with all sorts of horrible things running through my head.

She was discharged a couple of days later and although they wouldn't diagnose asthma until a few more hospital trips down the line, we knew what we were dealing with by then and took no crap from the doctors. She's fine now and hasn't had an attack for quite a while luckily, but I still get emotional when thinking about what might have happened
(brocky, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 15:27, Reply)

about 5 minutes ago
I gave one my employers customer's a piece of my mind... ...Then the managing director calls me into his office to say he's had a call from said customer's MD about my attitude. The sales rep starts to burst blood vessels because he's thinking he's gonna lose his precious fucking commission. Cunt - get a proper job with proper wages you faggot.

I started thinking "did I cancel my mortgage payment protection for loss of job insurance?"
(HairyBaldy, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 15:24, Reply)

In my grans house in
ireland when I was a kid. She was a typical Irish grandmother - sweet, absolutly doting and also very Catholic. As such, there were that many crosses and virgin Marys hanging from the wall that even the pope would consider it a bit over-the-top.

In the spare bedroom, where me and my two sisters slept when sent down to stay with her, there was a large black wooden fireguard with a white image of Jesus's face just as he was about to croke, with blood pouring from his crown.

Fucking hell, it was scary to look at in the day, but at night, the room was pitchblack apart from the moonlight hitting the fireplace and the luminous Christ in the corner.

The first night I noticed this is the same night I noticed that Jesus really scares the bejahsus out of me.

Length? Jesus wouldnt let me measure the fireguard.
(dillinja puts lotions into baskets, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 14:57, Reply)

Someone's in your house
The most scared I’ve ever been, I think must be the time when I was relaxing in my room, listening to a mixed CD and generally being all nice and chilled. I didn’t even notice when the CD stopped

Suddenly, I heard this bizarre disembodied screech/screaming noise. I thought it was unusual and it creeped me, but after a while of silence i thought i was hearing things, and ignored it, but shortly I heard a hoarse whispering;

‘Someone’s in your house…..someone’s in your house…..’

At this point I took the deepest gasp ever, felt that cold dread run through my body as you can only feel when you’re genuinely terrified. I could hear the voice of a fucking ghost, and it was telling me that there was someone in my cocking house!!

Thankfully it only took a few moments to realise that it was a hidden track on the CD. Now that was a cruel trick.
(chili_kitten Cheese, peas and honey bees, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 14:54, Reply)

Rooms
When I was little I remember being afraid of empty rooms. Well, not afraid per se, but more a case of I'd check for "things" in the room.

I'd push a door open and wait a moment in case some boogie-man was going to jump on me - then I'd turn the light on and peek in - then check cupboards and the like.

Mad? Just maybe.

Not helped by my sister who knew of this and would occasionally actually **be** in the room and then jump up and scare the feckin' shite outta me.

I don't get on with my sister at all.....

Evil cow.
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 14:45, Reply)

Night of the living bed
When I was young I had a real fear of something being in my wardrobe or under my bed, so much so I would have to check both before I went to bed. As the months went by I became more casual about this, and would just waggle my hand around under the bed to check there wasn't anything there (I know, logic would suggest that touching the zombie/Arthur C Clarke's "World of Strange Powers" ghost I imagined was there would be worse than seeing it, but so's thinking checking if its there would prevent it from eating me/stealing my soul).

So one night I go through my mildly obsessive-compulsive ritual only to touch a hairy, warm creature under the bed. Needless to say I nearly shat, and ran screaming downstairs. My Dad dragged me back up much to my squealing protests to discover the next door neighbour's cat had sneaked in to our house (never happened before or since) and chosen my bed as a hiding place. "He's more scared of you than you are of him", says my Dad. No. He wasn't.

Length? Enough, but its hairy.
( paulieg La, la, la, not listening, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 14:40, Reply)

Child 3
Christ, I am crap aren't I?

When first weaned it turns out that the little one had a milk intolerance. The first time he had weetabix* he managed to get it all over his face - of course.

10 minutes later his face, neck, arms and everything that came into contact with milk had flared up red - not just red, but RED. Not nice - he screamed bloody murder for about 2 hours - calamine lotion didn't really help, but all that could be done was to just try to calm him down.

The milk intolerance was odd as it only bothered him if it got on his skin. He had to have Soya milk prescribed.

Note - Soya milk is VILE - I dont' care what you hippies try to tell me!!

Note - he got over it and he now eats all sorts of dairy stuff :-)

* Other non-brand cereals are available :-)
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 14:38, Reply)

Child 2
Not that I want to paint an incompetency image of me, but....

When little he used to throw up a lot - a LOT which got real old, real fast.

Anyway, one morning he threw up blood.

Cue much panic.

He seemed ok on the whole, not upset or anything so we didn't rush him to hospital - we did call NHS direct who were brilliant and calmed things down.

Never happened again though.

And yes, it was bone chillingly terrifying. Horror films? Not a patch on it.
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 14:34, Reply)

Child
I'm inspired to write this one up as I was actually terrified and scared shitless.

I'm a hopeless parent - Well, ok, not that hopeless. Not that I see my son often often but that's another story.

Anyhoo.

He had not long started crawling and was quite pleased of the fact. Crawled damn fast too.

I'd just carried him, Mr Giraffe and a book upstairs. Fine. Put down child, Mr Giraffe and book, quite proud of myself too.

"Ok", thought I, "Child, check. Book, check. Stairgate. Uh. No."

My little boy had crawled to the top of the stairs, sat up and was sat there really proud of himself. I froze. He grinned and tilted sideways.

Needless to say I was terrified - not nearly as terrified as when he did the tilt thing as he tilted towards the stairs and went down. Head first. All 14 steps. Slid all the way down, round the corner and landed in a heap at the foot of the stairs, hotly pursued by me.

He was utterly distraught as was I - I was terrified that I may have killed my son by letting him fall down the stairs, etc.

He was ok, no injuries or anything - Not that I took him to hospital as he seemed ok.

It wasn't nice and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 14:32, Reply)

OH YEAH!!
also, when I found out someone was infiltrating my hotmail account and pretending to be me, offering all my contacts the chance to see me wnak on cam!! They even asked my bro. He declined.
(UnstableDan Bah, Humbug! ooooh, humbugs, nyom!, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 14:16, Reply)

TERMINAL FEAR
I HATE flying. And I mean really really dislike it. The idea of being 30-odd thousand feet in the air in a metal tube (i suffer from vertigo, oh and Im a bit claustrophobic)doesnt make me a happy bunny. Went to Prague last week with the boys from the office, (see ripped off QOTW)and on the flight back, it was like bieng with 'Balsa Wood Airlines'. It was actually Thompson, but meh. Takeoff ok, flight a wee bit turbulent, but it was the landing I will never forget. Clearly coming in too high AND too fookin fast, the pilot (bless 'im) decided to literally drop the last 100 or so feet like a bastard rock. A roof panel in the cabin fell on several of the passengers. I (and others) screamed like particularly terrified airoplane passengers and the full reverse thrusters were duly whacked on. So now we were hurtling towards the terminal and sounding like a kettle. Ive never been so glad to get off a form of transport in my life. The stewardess knew not to ask me if I'd 'Enjoyed my flight' by the look on my snow-white face. Next time, I'll fucking walk.
Length? it satisfied over 60 paying customers :)
(UnstableDan Bah, Humbug! ooooh, humbugs, nyom!, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 13:51, Reply)

bikers & misunderstandings = fear
I was a young weeny biker, long hair etc on my 250 honda (in, er, 1978) and was invited to a party of older, well hard bikers (no names but you know who i mean) my mate pulled a knife to open a party four can and misunderstanding his intention got pounced on and the tnuc ran off leaving me to face the rest of 'em. I got ruffled a little bit and they stretched me out on the floor with a bad ass at either end who'd poke me with a knife if i moved.
i was not in a happy state. esp. when the convs. were about what to do with the body...
after about an hour of this, I sat up and said 'I've had it, just do it if you're going to do it'
the feckers just laughed out loud and passed me a beer: 'you'll do they said' and more scarily, invited me to join up.

length? none, it had burrowed so far back into my body......
(mickturate if i could be arsed i'd be bored, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 13:26, Reply)

poor night sight
i had a mate lived in welford-on-avon; a less than one horse town that had upgraded to geriatric mule status, one night going to visit said mate, i had to walk the last three miles to his gaff. Having poor night sight i was walking along the middle of the road attempting to follow the white lines (don't do it etc.) because there are big ditches either side of the road...(which on occasion I have slept in, due to alkerhol)When I heard a scream. not just a little scream, but a bloodcurdling, long howling pitch that caused deep fear. I ran to me mates house. all 2 miles+.
only for them to howl with laughter & the bastids wouldn't say why.
the next morning they took me to where I'd heard the scream. it was a lone donkey: scared witless of me passing by in the pitch dark night.


just cause I can't think of a knob gag, doesn't make me short of length.
(mickturate if i could be arsed i'd be bored, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 13:09, Reply)

Kids
Getting a phone call from my child minder to tell me my daughter had been beaten up at school by a boy while she was getting changed for an after school dance club.
The journey home was hell, as I did not know what had been done to her and the boy concerned had waited for the teacher to leave the room knowing that it was girls only getting changed.
I have been afraid in my life many times that is in my top ten for certain.
(Siouxfan I'm not staring at you, I am just short sighted, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 12:54, Reply)

Steep Hills + Snow = Diving OAP's
I live in a hilly area so during snow season the 45-degree hill I live on is something of a deathtrap. One morning I awoke to the snow but noticed that the cars were queueing up outside my house to take turns at slowly edging their way to the clear main road. I joined the queue and duly made my way down without incident.

The next day (now feeling somewhat cocky about a piffling bit of snow) I attempted the same journey, but noted how there were no other cars about today. There was a good reason for this...

As soon as my front wheels touched the brow of the hill I was off. We had sideways, a bit of backwards and a whole host of post-watershed profanities. A bunch of wide-eyed schoolkids watching the whole episode unfold from the bottom didn't help either, but it managed to get worse. A little old man came pootling round the corner, oblivious to my Cresta Run attempts ahead of him. My silent sliding alluded him until I was within a few feet (why I didn't sound my horn, I'm still not sure). Anyway, he sees me about the flatten him and executes what can only be described as a textbook full-length dive to safety. Think Gordon Banks vs Pele in '70 - it was grace personified. Shortly afterwards I came to a halt, at which point he jumped up, dusted himself off and asked if I was OK, before continuing his ascent of the hill. What a guy.
(titusyouclown, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 12:51, Reply)

Phantom walker
Apart from every time I walk up Pentonville Road in dear old London Town, the last time I was scared was a couple years back while at uni. We rented out the obligatory shitty student house - I hated it on sight cos it had a strange atmos. Odd things happened but I put it down to the mentalist I lived with. Anyway, the morning in question, I was about to leave the house, checking I had keys, money etc, when I hear someone upstairs. Someone walking from the front bedroom, across the landing and start down the stairs. Not scary? The fact that no one else was in the house is most definitely scary.
(angelica666, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 12:46, Reply)

Losing a child.......to stoners
The background to this story will play into another that I'll probably tell. I once drove an old bus from England to Nepal and back. Don't ask why, it just seemed a good idea at the time. This tale happened in Pokhara, Nepal, which was pretty much end of the line.

It was myself, my then wife, and our 2 year old son, and we were sitting in a restaurant with some friends. These were: two dutch couples, Nettert and Marije, who we'd met in Iran, and who had travelled with us for 6 weeks - we'd just met up after not seeing each other for a couple of months, and Kees and Mitchi, who we had met some weeks earlier in Delhi. Also there were Magnus and Jon, a pair of Swedes who we'd recently met, who were on their way home from Thailand.

This restaurant was big, and open sided, with a straw covered roof, we had a big table, and had pretty much finished eating. Little Sammy was playing happily on the floor by the table, Magnus, Jon and Kees were smoking prodigious amounts of weed, and the rest of us were chatting. I realised I couldn't see Little Sammy, so I went off to find him - he'd probably be 6 feet away. But he wasn't. So, I went right round the restaurant, but no sign. I get the Missus, and we look together, asking in the kitchen, looking around the edges in case he's hiding, or has found some random place to play with his cars. Nothing.

So, now we're shitting ourselves. Back to the table, this time Marije comes with us, we hunt more, we go out in the street, still no sign. Back to the table for a conference, and this time Nettert and Mitchi come too, we go to all the shops along the way, asking if anyone has seen him, we're stopping people in the street, still no sign.

By this time, we're sure he's been kidnapped. Damndamndamn, why didn't we pay more attention to where he was? We'll have to go to the police, but they're not likely to be much help. We go back to the table, where the three lads are still sitting in a happy haze, to grab everyone and head for the Police Station. We attract their smoke-raddled attention; "Come on, we need to get to the police station, fast". Why, they ask? "We can't find little Sammy anywhere!". "What?" says Jon, "You're kidding? He's asleep here on the bench next to me!"

It turned out he'd got tired playing under the table, crawled up onto the bench, leant against Jon, and fallen asleep. The lads had all been so stoned that they hadn't noticed anything was going on, despite multiple paniced conferences at the table next to them!
(Sammyhaswoefullyneglectedyou, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 12:44, Reply)

Scream II
Just to give you an idea of what a feeble-minded big gay I am, after watching Final Destination, for three weeks I was sure I would fall over, break my neck and die, horrific accident style.
So when I was a young lad and had just been to a midnight showing of the recently released Blair Witch Project walking home through the woods alone in the middle of the night probably wasn't the best idea in the world.
After a while of walking through the dense forestry I heard what sounded like a terrified scream in the distance, panicking I looked around trying to find the source of the terrible cry, assuming that somewhere out there a woman was being raped or killed and I had to rescue her. The screams and cries went on for several minutes and I searched everywhere I could, looking for the woman I believed to be in serious danger, before eventually giving up and getting the hell out of there before whatever it was came for me.

It turns out that when foxes mate the male fox's barbed penis expands to twice the size of the poor ladyfox's nether regions, to prevent it from escaping before he's finished. The resulting screams and cries from the vixen sound eerily human and scared the bejesus out of me.
I don't know which I find more terrifying, the screaming, or foxes' gigantic barbed cocks. Poor little old lady foxes.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 12:41, Reply)

A few weeks ago I woke up in the middle of the night
And screamed to high heaven. The reason for the screaming was that a few inches in front of my face was a big white face, deformed to the point of inhumanity, unblinkingly staring at me with its pale dead eyes, as if willing me to wake up so it can do all sorts of ghastly paranormal things to me.

So, the manwife duly is awoken from his slumber, sits up in bed and shouts 'WHAT'S GOING ON?!'

'It's alright love, it's only Sally.' say I, sheepishly.


Sally is my new siberian tiger cuddly toy. I'm not used to her yet.
( Captain Wow currently being a cunt in Infamous, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 12:32, Reply)

Spiders...
Last time I was really scared, we were on a holiday in france in a reet old gite. around 2003, so i was 14.

Lovely place, had it's own water wheel (despite the pond it was in being full of algae)

I stayed in a room with my brother, and my bed was tucked round a corner with a rather dark space all round it. After spending the light hours looking around, I discovered that we had quite a few 8-legged friends living there. I proceeded to vanquish many with a can of RAID... however, come that night, I was trying to get to sleep when I became paranoid of the spiders crawling over me... I was convinced I could feel them making their way up towards my head... eventually, with the silence and the darkness all playing their part towards the atmosphere, I made my way downstairs to the sofa to try and sleep some more.

lol

there, I became paranoid of snakes (which I actually quite like) and otter/badger-like creatures coming in and biting me...
I slept with my brand new torch on, to keep them away...


I got less paranoid over the next nights, thankfully...

but i had to buy new batteries for the torch, it wa flat-as-a-pancake...

first post! =)
(ApacheRoflcopter Rofpmlmfaool since, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 12:14, Reply)

A bit abstract, sorry...
I found someone standing on my doorstep whom I wouldn't normally expect to see.

He had bad news. I was afraid of how bad it could be, and demanded that he tell me, right then, there in the street.

What he told me was so terrible that it made the fear seem like pleasure by comparison.

Embrace your fear: enjoy it. There are far worse things than fear out there.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 12:02, Reply)

Suspected Poltergeist
Not me but a friend in Japan woke up his neighbour screaming in the middle of the night.

What had happened was that, after living in the country for a year and not experiencing anything odd, he was jolted awake by his bed shaking and things jumping off of his shelves at him.

He leapt out of the room and ran down the corridor (in, as I am told, his Homer Simpson print boxers) to where a Japanese work colleague lived in his block of flats, trembling with fear and muttering about ghosts and poltergeists chucking books at his head and levitating the bed off of the floor. He also reported a strange ghoulish voice and a dark shadow in the corner.

His workmate was tired (it was 3am) but luckily amused enough not to mind being woken up at such a ridiculous hour, and explained to him about a little known phenomenon that is actually quite common in Japan called an earthquake.

Embarrassed by the slight over-reaction my distraught friend went back to bed, but I heard he slept with the lights on for the rest of the week and still refuses to watch scary films...
( hanabanana, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 11:51, Reply)

I hate burglars, me.
My parents were burgled a few times when I was younger, once with my sister in the house. So naturally, I quite hate the thieving bastards and would like nothing better than to get my hands on one.

Now I am big and grown up with my own house, and sometime last year I was just dozing off when I swear I heard something downstairs. I keep a baseball bat sized Maglite by my bed, just in case, you know, of power cuts. I grabbed this and tippy toed in the dark to the top of my stairs, heart going like a jack hammer. I stared down into the shadows and swear blind that I saw someone standing there, rather than a folded pram, coats, golf clubs and other things that at the right angle, and in the wrong shadows might just kind of look like one.

I shouted out a challenge, and when no response came ('he' just stood there, not moving staring back up at me), I'll admit, I was scared, but started down the stairs anyway. I got about halfway down before the sheet that had been drying over the banister brushed my shoulder. Shit, there's two of them - attack! Attack! Protect the children!

Adrenaline took over and I started swinging the Maglite like a beserker, breaking and damamging quite a few objets d'Ikea before I fell over the pram and quite damaged myself too. Silence.

I have no idea why I didn't just turn the bloody torch on, or any other light for that matter, or how much I had been drinking, but I do know that if the buggers ever came back, I'm ready.

Length? It's more the power of the beam.
(Hampton St.Roker (has probably had your mum), Wed 28 Feb 2007, 11:39, Reply)

I'm normally the one who does the scaring
One of my proudest moments, when I was 8 or 9, walking home through dark woods with an older cousin and making up stories about corpse candles ("you see the light - and you die!") Scared her so badly she shut her eyes and made me lead her home ("but if I see one and die..." "Shutup shutup don't look at it!")

Heh.

Anyway, wannabe rapists in car parks just made me sweary and violent, and Channel crossings with 16-foot waves made me queasy, but for pure undiluted terror I was sleeping peacefully in bed when a thunderstorm sneaked up on me and let off a nuclear warhead right overhead.

I woke up instantly, levitating about a foot off the bed in shock in a room full of light. For an instant. Then it was pitch black, but in afterimages I could see alien faces.

I spent the rest of the night downstairs on the sofa with the dog. God alone knows what help I thought she'd be against hallucinatory alien abduction though, she was bog all use as a guard dog. Maybe I hoped the aliens would think she was sexier than me.
(littlesunshine licked your blinky diodes on, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 11:26, Reply)

Someone mentioned bangers....
...which reminded of one of the funniest things I ever seen, which was closely followed by one of the true moments of fear I can remember.

In France, on holiday with my cousin and his family. We being about 12 and 13 decide to go and buy loads of bangers from the local shop. We buy a stack of them, including some about 4 inches long and a quarter inch across.

So we've got these bangers, and we're in one of the bedrooms of the gite. We decide that they need to be tied together to form a bundle like you see when they're about to blow a mine in a western movie.

So he takes about 8 of these things, holds them all together in his hands and I twist all the fuses together to form one massive banger.

We're standing there admiring this object of pubescent beauty, real dynamite!!!!, when he says to me "Go on then, light it".

Now, I had the lighter in my hand, he had enough bangers in his hands to blow them both off. So, of course, I lit the fuse! I couldn't stop myself, he'd told me to do it so I did!

We stood there looking at the burning fuse when we both suddenly realised what we'd done, I backed away mildly worried but smirking with that look on my face that says "Well you told me to!" He's stood there with a look of abject terror in his eyes. He looked around for somewhere to throw this TNT and spied the small 12 inch by 12 inch window in the wall 6 foot above the bed. He did what he had to do, and threw the TNT out the window.

Only thing is, the window was shut!

The bundle of big bangers bounced back off the glass and landed on the bed where they all proceeded to explode within about a quarter second of each other. Mayhem, it sounded like the battle of the Somme in that little bedroom, even from where we both were, lying flat on the floor with our hands over our heads.

Well that was the funny bit, the frightening bit was as we looked at each other and realised that our parents were all in the lounge approxiamately 10 foot away. Oh shit!!! How were we going to explain this one especially as the bed was now smouldering badly!

We only had time to make eye contact before both our fathers came in and lifted us by the scruffs of our necks and literally threw us out the front door of the gite.

We then had 5 hours of somewhat lessened terror as our fathers refused to let us back in the gite until they'd decided what our punishment was to be.

I don't remember what the punishment eventually was, I think they were so relieved once they'd calmed down that we hadn't actually shot each other that they kinda couldn't think of anything bad enough to do to us, we were just made to feel like twunts for the rest of the holiday.

P.S Dad, it WAS me that broke the vase in the front room whilst playing football in there, I swept it up and hid it in the bin before anyone noticed. I'm sorry that you had to have a stand up row with the owners of the gite denying that it had ever been there after you'd asked me if I'd ever seen it!

Phew, glad to have got that vase out of my system!

Length, girth: It was about 8 inches high, but my word the girth was HUGE!
(anon_is_best, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 10:10, Reply)

I went on /talk
...and enjoyed it
( The Great Architect is still waiting for his account to be deleted on, Wed 28 Feb 2007, 9:30, Reply)