Mr Millar.
My old primary 4/5 teacher was a right cunt. I hated him and he hated me. (though we did strangely make peace on my last day of primary 5 when he gave me back my toy penguin from a kinder egg that he had confiscated from me months before hand). I maintain he had a pick on me but selective memory and that.
We (the class) were on our way to the swimming pool for lessons which meant walking through the grounds of the secondary school up the road. Passing the P.E block there is a steep slope about 8ft long or so. The class was making a lot of noise so he turned on his heels to shout at us, lost his footing and went rolling down the slope.
The wet slope.
The wet muddy slope.

As a class of young kids is wont to do, we pissed our pants laughing.

He came stomping up that slope a brown, dripping, streak of fury.
NOW... he came stomping right up to me, finger in my face, ready to shout at me, even though the whole class was laughing and he had to walk halfway down the 2x2 line of kids to get to me, but at the last moment remembered my mum was the parent volunteer walking at the back of the line to keep an eye on the kids.

Cue a last minute swerve to Stephen standing next to me, a waggle in his face and a sharp "It's not funny" and a very pissed off "AYE, I SAW YOU!" from my mum at the back. One sheepish twat later and my reveling in glee for the entire day.

Mr Millar. If you're reading this, you made my life a misery. I was only 7 or 8 and you were nothing but a bully to a small fat kid who had plenty of other problems to deal with at the time.

I still laugh at it now. The muddy bearded wanker.
( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Fri 18 Dec 2009, 1:49, Reply)

Kamikaze Chicken
Once upon a time when I used to be in the Navy, we were loading stores onboard ship
this is always done by hand by the old human chain system.
On this fateful day we were loading up the freezer and I happened to be at the top of a hatch passing boxes down
to another bloke standing halfway down the ladder (think very steep narrow stairs rather than a conventional ladder)
The box of frozen chickens I was passing down fell apart as it was all soggy from having sat around far to long to
be refrozen (but refrozen it would be.) one of the chickens managed to slide between the rungs of the ladder and
fell down another hatch directly below all up a fall of over 4 metres.
I hear a big yell from down the bottom and ask "you alright mate?"
to get a reply from a dockyard worker "no I'm fucking not!"
At which point I was laughing like a loon..whilst it must of been like getting a brick dropped on you
and his head was well and truly split open all I could think of was this poor bugger going home to his Missus
who would no doubt ask "what happened to you" and having to explain "a chicken fell on me"

as a side note when I got hauled up in front of the XO as part of the inevitible health and safety investigation
there were lots of chicken flying coop remarks that made me feel a bit better as he was trying as hard as I not to laugh, and I
got off scott free.

The supply officer however was a cunt who reckoned it was my fault that he had so much paperwork as a result.
( Jimocles I post therefore it is, Fri 18 Dec 2009, 1:12, 1 reply)

Let's rrrrroast some peas!
Yep, here's a pearoast from not too long ago.

A dear little old lady was once doing her shopping in a little old lady way, wobbling from shop to shop with her little old lady shopping bag over one arm. Sadly (for me as well as her) her ankle gave way as she stepped up a kerb and down she went, in a little old lady heap.
As she lay there wailing with shock and pain she let go of her (little old lady) bag, and the contents spilled forth.
Oranges.
Oranges which, suddenly released from captivity, seized their chance and made a break for freedom.
Away they rolled, slowly at first, but picking up speed as they went, and, as it was a cobbled street, they were hitting the lumps and bumps and catching some serious air.
Away they sped, faster and faster, higher and higher, like tiny spherical salmon, while the little old lady continued bleating mournfully, lying on the pavement while people fussed and plucked at her arms.
And what did I, your hero, do?
Did I go over and offer my assistance?
Did I call for an ambulance?
Did I fuck.
I sat on the kerb and laughed and laughed and laughed, til tears pricked the corners of my eyes and breathing became a chore, all too aware of the evil looks being fired in my direction, and all I could do was wheeze "but... the oranges! THE ORANGES!"

I offer no apologies. It was the biggest laugh I'd had for ages, and I hope that, one day, when I'm frail and old, someone, somewhere, laughs just as hard at me if I do anything similar. I'll shake their hand. Life's too short to stifle laughter.
(Paolo Nutini's Bikini Better than Frederick Fleet's optometrist, Fri 18 Dec 2009, 0:47, Reply)

So, two of my friends were walking down the street.

(Jake-of-all-Trades, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 23:47, 5 replies)

Don.
My friend Don is often referred to as Osama Don. He's got long hair and a beard and looks like a tramp. However, he's worth about three million dollars.

2 years ago, on his birthday, he got totally drunk and there were some skateboarders outside the bar. We were all laughing and joking as Don (who's 65, by the way) hopped on the skateboard and started going full pelt on it in the parking lot.
He fell off. Leg bone jutting through skin, as we're all stood there in shock and at least 8 of us are trying to stifle our laughs at the same time.
We called the paramedics, and he REFUSED to go with them until he had one more beer and a cigarette which we duly brought outside for him.
He did the EXACT same thing last year, and we all pissed ourselves laughing. Brought him a beer and cigarette before calling the paramedics.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 23:43, 2 replies)

Me and the dog; a shit story
Many years ago when I was still living at home, we had a Cocker Spaniel called Paddy. He was essentially a very nice little dog. We'd rescued him from the Blue Cross, and not much was known about his background. He was quite 'challenging' i.e. he was a pain in the fucking arse to take for a walk, given the chance he'd leg it out the front door and scream across the main road to the recreation ground from where he was a bugger to catch, he loved emptying the kitchen bin all over the floor, and he'd shit everywhere.

Being a teenage boy, and not being possessed of a great deal of patience and perhaps being a little antagonistic, the dog and I didn't always see eye-to-eye. Namely, he growled at me when I went near him, and I aimed a size 9 at him when he went near me.

Anyway, one morning, I opened my bedroom door to see my sister walking past, barefoot. I caught the moment perfectly that she squelched, full-on, into a mahoosive, cold, dog-egg. I nearly prolapsed from laughing so much, watching my sister gagging and retching while she hopped to the bog and flushed, while dangling her shit-ridden toes in the birthing pool.

The best bit is - and I shit you not - it happened the next day as well! 20 years later I can still smell it, and it still makes me laugh. The dog and I got on better after that, although I'm sure it was meant for me.

My sister got her own back one Sunday morning. I was the first up and went downstairs for an early morning cup of tea and some toast, and to watch telly in peace. As I tip-toed downstairs, in my dressing gown and barefoot, i spied the dog in the back garden drinking the grotty pond water (always gave him the runny shits, so was to be discouraged). I quietly opened the back door and stealthily crept towards him. About 4 or 5 foot away, with my prey in my sights, I sprang into action and made a lunge for him, trying to scare the shit out of him.

I needn't have bothered. He'd already done a steaming great shit on the path. I didn't see it and planted my bare-foot right in it and skidded, landing on my arse with my dressing gown flapping in the wind, with my less-than-impressive cobblers on show to the world. The dog nonchalently minced passed me while I hopped into the downstairs cloakroom (cos we're posh) and held my foot in the deep end and flushed my shit-ridden toes while trying to hold down last night's lasagne. I don't think the neighbours saw. I did tell my sister though. T'was only fair. She laughed. A lot.

When there's a 'shit' QOTW, as opposed to a shit QOTW, I'll post the story about how I trod doggy-poo into my GF's student house and into the single bed we were sharing, and how I couldn't identify the squishy stuff between my toes and was about to taste it, when the GF turned on the light.

I'm not 'into' shit. Honest. I've just had one or two 'accidents'. Haven't we all? Please say yes.....
(Tighthead, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 23:29, 2 replies)

May be a pearoast but hey, it's xmas
I once took a client's pension book to be cashed.

The clerk informed me that the new book had come so she must destroy the old one in case of fraud, looking pointedly at me, because of course I was prime suspect, being a lowly carer an' all.

She pointedly held the book up in my face and ripped it in two, noticing halfway through that she was tearing the NEW book and not the old one.

Hilariously, she stared in horror as her hands completed their disastrous task, and could only stammer 'It's not funny!' as I collapsed laughing. 'Oh yes it is!' I replied, in between snorts of joy. 'You ripped it up!'

Oh, what fun I had. I asked to see the manager, and the clerk had to tape the book back together, ring the litigious Mrs Hag in front of me to explain why it had been vandalised and later write her a letter of explanation.

I was able to stand there openly laughing at the pompous bitch for a good 15 minutes while she repaired the book and rang Mrs Hag, who was incidentally the nastiest old bag for miles.

Mrs Hag later complained to my boss that I'd laughed as I told her about the incident. I swear I kept my face straight but perhaps she could see the laughter in my eyes.

For years afterwards I'd crack up at the memory. Happy days.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 23:07, 3 replies)

bitch cunt from hell
I used to sing in a group as a kid and as is often the case the musical director lady was an absolute cunt. She used to pick people out of the group (about 30 little kids) and shout at them until they were ready to (or acutally did) cry. She was a round lady of short stature and walked with a stick.
On an outing to a theatre to watch another group it seems she has a slight mis-hap. She lost her stick and went plummeting to the floor landing just at my feet. As other went to help I couldnt help but burst out laughing right in her face as she looked up with me. Kama is a wonderful thing.
( SiX and his hat, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 22:51, Reply)

A cunt in Kenya did me out of $100,000+
used to talk about how/what he would do on retirement to his estate in Kisumu near Lake Victoria (racist cunt too).

He dropped dead of a heart attack 6 months into retirement (an old mate in the company free'ed up 14K for me because of this).

I toasted his death with booze and a big fucking grin.
( The Scrunt Wants a Dozen Pints, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 22:27, Reply)

The motorcycle kid
Back when I was a young 'un (ah, the heady days of '78), and all my buddies of said time were getting into the moped craze- let me explain, 50cc mopeds were not regulated to 30 mph like they are now, they could do whatever speed the manufacturers decided was safe in the hands of a 16 year old pubescent homicidal maniac, or "boy" as they are more commonly known- one of our friends decided the way of the Suzuki or Yamaha (FS1e, or Fizzy for the Yam, FA or FZ for the Suzi),was not the way of choice. Oh No. He decided that the best way to go was the Puch SDP Grand Prix (or big prick)(SDP stood for Steyr Daimler Puch), which looked like a normal bike/moped hybrid.See here: motorbike-search-engine.co.uk/classic_bikes/grand_prix_puch.jpg
Before I bore you with Bike specs, this was shitting fast, faster than a very fast thing, and was driven by what can only be referred to as a grade 1 nutter. And as for build quality- it sucked. The jap bikes were much more sturdy, and we said at many times that they were better. "Oh, but mine can rag the arse off that jap shit along Shanklin Seafront", pipes up the maniac. And tries to prove it every night thereon, down he comes round the corner, scraping his knee (in just jeans), full open, thrash the fuck, pissing past, arse in the air, going at least 60 mph.
This went on all summer long, until that fateful August night. The EF students were around, so all the boys were eyeing up the Swedish girlies, as they were much less inhibited, and goes past at a mighty speed goes our hero, full whack. As he does this, a throng (or "clunge") of students start to step out into the road, and the mad moped fiend has to slam on his brakes. The forks begin to dive- and then give up, and snap in half.
This is where our hero has his moment of "I wish I had listened to my friends about build quality", as he flies off of his bike, straight over the handlebars, and goes full chat at a bevy of nubile swedes. How he missed them, whilst screaming "GETOUTTATHEFUKINWAY", and making a swimming motion, I will never know. Faceplant, crump, thump, splat, he lands. Gets up after 5 seconds, with the " I meant to do that" look, berates said totty for stepping out onto the racetrack, and then has to suffer his so-called friends giving their full and frank opinion.
Which was, needless to say, "I told you they were shit".
( Duke Of Belmsford has got 99 records, but Jay-Z ain't one, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 22:25, 3 replies)

Schadenfreude
When do I laugh at the misfortune of others? Every day, I'm a policeman.
Drug dealers beaten up by other drug dealers, then they phone the police to report it - join the back of that very long queue my friend. Cheating husband has heart attack at mistresses house and wife has to come and identify the body still laid in mistresses bed - I couldn't make it up. Goat loose in a clothes shop, manageress doesn't know what to do - who ya gonna call? Goatbusters.
(Pere Ubu, Duke of Lithuania, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 22:22, 2 replies)

The worst place I ever worked was the warehouse of a national chain store that sells discount clothing and overpriced tat.
It had a sullen, hostile atmosphere, people never stayed more than a few months at a time, and the management were control freaks to a man. An example of the latter: one day, I clocked in at 5.57 instead of 6.00, and received a 15-minute dressing down for my heinous crime. Out of everyone I've met who'd worked there, not one of them had anything positive to say about it.

Imagine my delight two years later, when I went past it on the way to a new job and saw its once ostentatious frontage reduced to an ugly, bare expanse of nothing, overlooking a completely empty car park. The hell-hole had been mothballed.

This malicious feeling of joy was short-lived, though. When I'd worked at the old place, a dwarfish woman-like thing had been my supervisor and had never once spoken to me directly, communicating through her senior colleagues instead. About an hour after starting at the new place, I saw she too worked there; not only that, but she held an authoritative position in a section where I was due to start the following week. To say I was gutted would be understatement of the year.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 22:17, Reply)

Drunk cycling error
My good friend and myself had disembarked from Tooting Broadway tube after a rigorous drinking session in central London, and we were looking forward to a stagger home. I had, however, left my bike chained to the railings before going out and getting plastered, and recalling this dutifully went to reclaim it. After a struggle with the lock , my ‘Saracan’ was ready to go. I mounted and prepared to head off, much to the protestations of my chum. He saw no reason why I should get home before him, and after a little bit of gentle persuading I agreed to relinquish my saddle and pedal him home. He came off best in this arrangement, as he only had to sit on the saddle and hold onto my back, sticking his legs out stupidly behind him, while I had all the donkey’s work to do.

We were cycling in the middle of a quiet, flat and straight suburban road just behind the station, and it was about midnight, so there was little danger of us being flattened by some twat in an SUV. This is just as well, as our first two attempts to gather enough speed to stabilise us ended in inelegant failure, with us both on the floor, chuckling gently to ourselves at the absurdity of our travel arrangements and our light hearted disdain of drink-driving regulations.

But things took a nasty turn for the worse on the third attempt. The secret to stability lay in building up enough speed, but this accomplished just keeping the handlebars straight was proving to be a real effort. Nonetheless, I was determined to succeed, buoyed on by the thought of my mate telling tales of my manliness to my girlfriend the next morning. With this small triumph already mapped out in my head, I was pumping away at those pedals like Chris Hoy on ‘roids, while leaning perilously over the handlebars.

The inevitable happened, I leaned too far, the handlebars swerved and I went flying through the night air, face-planting gloriously at speed. Unknown to me, my mate had managed to execute a delicate little jump and land on his feet perfectly unscathed. My chin took the full force of the impact, but my head actually bounced and attacked the cold, unforgiving concrete for a second time. This time I knocked half of my front left tooth away and split my lip. Remarkably I didn’t pass out, but staggered up almost immediately, not in great pain, which I could only thank the alcohol for. I grinned sheepishly at my buddy, who looked on with a mixture of shock, awe and great amusement at my battle-scarred face. “Shiiiit...You look like youve been in a war. And Where’s half your tooth gone?” he exclaimed. It was here I began to panic, and I dropped to my knees and began frantically scouring the road. Moy amigo, realising the amount of blood pouring from head wasn’t normal, kindly called an ambulance, into which I was ushered, looking for all the world like a ginger Shane McGowan on St.Patricks Day. They made me feel like the prick I was for wasting their valuable time, and some of you taxpayers’ money, and clearly felt no sympathy despite my pitiful lamentations concerning my face, my busted bike, a hefty dentist’s bill and the sound bollocking my gf was sure to administer.

*PostScript: I did end up having a small laugh out of it all however. Mon ami, acting selflessly, accompanied me to A&E. Between waiting for the ambulance and watching my toof hunt, he had managed to score some weed. Happily he only received oregano or nettles or something, and had to sober up watching ITV in A&E for 3 hrs!
My tooth was found lodged in the top of my gum.
( ProjectWeasel The Bird is the Word, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 21:45, Reply)

I now believe in the bastard that is karma.....
I have experienced instant karma in its rawest form after guffawing at one unfortunate individual....

I had been dragged round the shops by the now ex (thank shuddering fuck) mrs on a saturday afternoon as penance for an earlier indiscretion, the nature of which slips my mind.....probably eating crisps too loudly or some such triviality.....

She had arranged to meet her frankly quite stunning mate for few drinks and something to eat in a nameless 'trendy' bar chain (read lifeless shithole). I'm sat there, bored shitless oggling her mates tits whilst they pap on about shite. I have a few pints to take the edge off, food gets ordered and the bar starts getting busier.

The rather petite and blonde (thats the way I like 'em!) waitress caught my eye as she ambitiously carried a rake of plates loaded with food....our food to be precise. As she rounds the end of the bar, something unsettles her balance and several of the plates connect with the hard tiled floor...... a brief moment of silence ensued.....then some kind of instinctive force took hold of my vocal chords as I belted out a solo WHEYYYYY!!!!!! Grinning like a mong, I noticed that several fellow patrons were staring at me; the mrs and her mate had shuffled round to put some distance between us. She shot me a look that I knew was code for denial of entry into her special place. I felt bad...the waitress was very apologetic and I felt such a twat because she was a definite 9 out of 10'er.

The food was quickly replaced and the waitress apologised (again). As she turned to leave I asked her for some ketchup; she swiftly returned with a small glass vial containing the saucy goodness.

Now dear reader, this is where the tale takes its violent and shocking twist; as a person of experience with condiments, I know that ketchup by its viscous nature is difficult to pour from these ill thought out and badly designed vessels. As such I employed the tried and tested 'flick of the wrist' technique to get the sauce to the correct end of the bottle. What I had not banked on was the fact that the lid had not been screwed on. A sizeable arc rose though the air before reaching its apogee....as any physicist will relate to you....what goes up must come down....perfectly down my front as it happened. I looked like something out of a Tarrentino flick. All eyes were on me, for the second time and for all the wrong reasons again. 'Serves you right' cackled the mrs, the waitress looked over and gave me a knowing look.....
(tofer is sweating like a dyslexic on countdown......, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 21:32, 3 replies)

First lecture of the year
this happened only a few months ago at the first lecture I had.
there was this slightly chubby (by which I mean politely as really fat) girl trying not to draw attention to herself at the back of the lecture theatre. half way through the deadly silent lecture theres a massive snapping sound followed by the inevitable thud. what makes it worse is that the lecturer even started laughing at her pointing her out even more... haven't seen her around much after that.
(nikkibic is like a candle in the wind... unreliable, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 21:28, Reply)

I didn't buy a house in 2007.
Ahahahahahaha.
(SSSSS, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 21:27, 4 replies)

Crosspost from another site.
I know this thing isn't really 'done', but for those who haven't seen it, this is the very definition of schadenfreude.

Will try and dredge some memories of my own for the reply, but generally I'm the one fucking things up and am too pissed to remember afterwards.
(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_ =o.o=, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 21:18, 3 replies)

Tescos- "Every little helps". How ironic.
I turn into a gasping, weeping, shrieking mess when someone even just stumbles over slightly, but the closest I've ever come to shitting myself laughing at someone else's misfortune is back around three years now, when we took a family trip to Tesco. My gran, aunty, her two kids and I were making our way back to Chesterfield (Shit hole) after spending the weekend in Lincoln.

We'd stopped off in Tesco's, and my smallest cousin was sat in those stupid, uncomfortable child seats at the front of the trolley that my gran was pushing. Bit of a tangent now, my gran's like the nicest woman in the world. She'd take Josef Fritzl in and call him a "nice, misunderstood man" if the chance ever came around. This is why what happened was so brilliant. Being pushed about backwards, my tiny little terror of a cousin looks over my gran's shoulder and sees someone with dwarfism going down the same isle, walking straight in front of her mum. What does any little kid do when they see someone slightly different for the first time? They point and laugh, which is exactly what my cousin did. She got the whole of the isle staring at her whilst she outstretched her chubby little arm and screamed at the top of her lungs "LOOK AT THAT STUPID SMALL WOMAN! HAHAHA! LOOK AT THOSE SILLY LEGS!".

Now my gran may be nice but she's also thick. She sees my cousin doing this, and turns round. Doesn't see the victim of my cousin's verbal tirade, just my aunty Vicky. Afterwards, when I endured the most awkward car ride of my life, my gran INSISTED she thought my cousin was laughing at her. I could of guessed that, but the horrified members of the public that witnessed it didn't. Neither did the woman with dwarfism. All they saw was my gran, grinning like a twat, point her hand straight in the direction of the dwarf and shouting "Hahahaha! Why did they let her out the house! What a fool!".

Tesco's, the fucking whole of Tesco's, went deadly silent. I think some man might've dropped his eggs he was that shocked. My aunty actually covered her face. And I think that was when my gran realised she'd just brutally mocked a disabled person without even meaning to.

She felt terrible; it was all she talked about for ages.
Fucking funny though.
(SpamHammer thinks the world will end on, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 21:08, Reply)

Does a metaphorical fall count?
Hubby developes a serious infatuation for another woman.
She doesnt want to know
I get fed up of hearing about how she is everything he wants, specially when i discover he is often sitting in his car outside her house while i think he's at work.
Hubby becomes ex.
His stalking eventually must have worked as they then become a very smug couple.
I dont see them for years.
Until recently when I passed that way and saw our old house in a dreadful rundown state.
Then him, totally bald, beer gutted and looking miserable as sin.
Apparently he is truly under her thumb
Schadenfreude?
Well it made me laugh
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 20:58, 3 replies)

She wanted drama
I had been in a relationship with Helen* for nearly 2 years and everything was going as well as a world champion well digger in a regional well digging contest. Basically I was in love and was even planning how I would ask her to marry me in a couple of months.

That was until I found out she was cheating on me. She told me that she was bored with the relationship and needed something more exciting. She hadn't told me any of this before nor had she made any attempt to introduce anything new into the relationship. I was as gutted as a fish in a japanese fish gutting contest, (note to self: learn some similies). It took me a long time to get over it and I went the next few years without any serious relationships.

A while later I bumped into a mutual friend and she said that the new couple had lasted 6 months and then exploded pretty dramatically. Her new boyfriend started using her as a punching bag but she only left him after she found out that he had cheated on her.

I'm not saying that she deserved to get beaten and humiliated, but I didn't feel like a bad person for buying a celebratory round of drinks in the pub when I told my friends. It cheered me up like a cheerleader cheering... argh, forget it

*may or may not be her real name²


²it is.
(Bo Nidle Coming back in from the cold., Thu 17 Dec 2009, 20:55, 1 reply)

Another snow story - Churchill would've been proud :D
Was reminded of this earlier with the next wave of potential white stuff dropping upon me from above tonight (phwar phwar).

During this years blizzards back in Feb/March time I was one morning stuck in the office. I'd braved the snow and picked up me car-sharing bud Richard from his flat and travelled a few miles to our office through the ice and snow. I made slow progress but the roads were relatively quiet as it was about half seven in the morning and no-one else was fucking mental enough to drive in those conditions. We arrive in work and expect another shit day of phonecalls and abuse from people who dribble on keyboards as a hobby.

But lo, it was not meant to be! About an hour into our shift we see that the snow is back, and it's coming down heavier than a Jordan Wanking Party in Tokyo (those Japanese will wank about anything). Me 'n' Rich sit about wondering what the fuck we are doing in work while the managers argue about "Well should we close the building as an emergency? I dunno, what do you think?" in the corner. I email Rich and say "Fancy a walk back home?" to which he quickly replies "FUCK YES!" and we go awol.

We leave the office and immediately see that the office car park is completely snowed in, so we decide in terms of safety to leave my car there and walk back to my house. Normally this takes a good 2 hours (and that's downhill while I carry no bags or weight and I've just had 4 cans of lucazade/red bull) but in the snow/ice it was slow going.

After a good hour 'n' half's sliding about like twats we make it to the halfway point; just outside a conveniently placed pub. I check me wallet and cha-ching, enough for a few pints, result. Only prob now being that the pub was closed and didn't open for a few hours (bastarding cuntog). Outside the pub however was something altogether brilliant. The pub itself was on one of the main roads leading through this estate we were on, but it was raised up on the side of a hill and had a sitting area and carpark which was a good 15 feet above the road level. This meant that anyone can walk into the side entrance to the front of the pub, and overlook the main road.

Now mix this in with snow and about 30 young teenage kids who were now off school and you had your own mini-Normandy beach landing.

Cars were slowly braving the weather were snaking up the road past me 'n' Rich, when as we reached the pub we see shitloads of kids appear from behind parked vehicles, looking over the pub-front wall and wherever elese they were hiding and pelt ten shades of shit out the cars going by with as many snowballs as they could make. The cars would beep but never stop, and the kids all laughed like fuck then prepared for the next victims.

Me 'n' Rich were initially expecting the worst, but after a quick bit of negotiating we were given ring-side seats to watch up on the pub wall with them.

Now fucking finally I've gotten to the entire cunting point of this QOTW answer, which is of course Schadenfreude. I've most probs bored you to fucking tears by now so I'd better just get on with it (before I get RSI from typing this bollocks). Rich points down the road and sees this blue Sierra Cosworth slowly advancing towards our mini-Nazi companions ambush. The Nazis have made their ammo, and many of them look red in the face. But they are not tired - the adrenaline is there in their eyes, focused, non-blinking. The smell of blood in in the air, and the wolves are gathering.

The Cosworth reaches in front of the pub, just in time for 30+ snowballs to twat every fucking side of the car. But unlike the last cars which beeped and continued driving, this driver has snapped. Handbrake comes on and out of the driver seat comes a lanky muscle built Neanderthal of a man with veins popping out of the side of his angry face.
"Which one of you fucker....." was all he managed, as by this time all the kids had reloaded and pelted as much snow as they could muster at the cunt, who was literally battered by snow back into his car before he rather sheepishly drove off into the distance.

We laughed all the way home, even managing to nip back to Rich's flat for some Carling and some Call of Duty 4, but it just wasn't the same :D
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 20:48, 3 replies)

Quick one
I've got a better longer one to post soon, but I was on my way home from work today on the bus reading through the first few pages (especially sandettie light vessel automatic's one which had me stuffing my scarf into my mouth to avoid laughing out loud).

As it got nearer my stop I stood up, collected my things and slowly walked down the aisle, still reading and not paying attention to my surroundings. It was at that point that the bus stopped suddenly. I didn't.

I pitched forward and faceplanted, smacking my nose on the floor to loud guffaws from everyone else. The universe getting revenge for me laughing at others' misfortunes? POssibly.
(jamesthegill opens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 20:46, Reply)

Tourettes post man
Once or twice a week, on average, our regular Postie is replaced by a temp. A guy who I can only assume they keep in the office unless they are absolutely desperate.

We live near the end of a rather quite cul-de-sac and if I'm working from home I get about 5 minutes notice that the post is arriving when I hear repeated shouting of the word "wank" echoing around - without fail it makes my day.

However yesterday he was shouting "ank" instead, which was considerably less funny. I fear he may be getting some kind of medical/therapeutic assistance and my morning chuckles are gone forever.
(Penguins_Made_Me_Do_It is a dolt ... and she don't care, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 20:42, Reply)

Llandudno Ski Slope
I was 12 at the time and we all went on a school trip to the ski centre, I'd been 'real' skiing with my dad for the first time the year before so I was the cocky one saying I knew it all. Here's a photo of the slope: img14.imageshack.us/img14/1043/skip.jpg as you can see it's pretty good for a dry run. If you look a little closer you'll see that there's a picnic table at the bottom (there were more than that when we went, maybe 7 or so), you'll also notice a nice wooden fence, well that wasn't there 23yrs ago, so imagine a 12yr old show off, hurtling down the slope at break neck speed, hitting the grass and flying (literally) into a load of other children who were trying to eat their packed lunches. I've never been as embarrassed since.
They put the fence up in the next few weeks because of moi!

Muh!
(Kip, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 19:34, 1 reply)

Superman's Achilles Heel
Doesn’t seem to be limited to just kryptonite. Aged about 12 on a school trip to the Science Museum in London I noticed a boy (4-5 years old) running around in his own little world having a good old time. That was until his mum took her eyes off him. He climbed onto a bench and declared in his loudest, squeakiest voice “I’m superman!!!” Launching himself off the 1ft high bench arms stretched out in front, legs straight back, perfect superman technique. At this point gravity remembered its job and he accelerated towards the solid marble floor. He landed face first with a double thud, oh yes dear reader, one onslaught against the marble floor wasn’t enough so his head bounced, whiplashed back and ‘had at it’ for a second time.

He was out cold for a good 20-30 seconds before the inevitable crying began. I look back on this and still laugh, and I’m sure many of you heartless bastards would have at the time. But I could only visualize the pain and it almost felt as if I had multi face-planted myself. I was so affected that my testicles buggered off to hide up north, it felt more like they were trying to make good an escape through my mouth!

Even though I felt too ill to laugh at the time, I hope you don’t mind my telling of this story as it still makes me chuckle.
(Fluffy_Giblets, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 19:09, 1 reply)

Kiting again
Earlier this summer I was mucking about doing a bit of tandem kite buggy flying (along the lines of this) for fun and for various charities. Autistic kids love it, I was surprised to discover. Anyway, one fact about tandem buggying is that it works much better if the person in the back is considerably lighter than the person in the front - i.e. a child in the back and an adult in the front is ideal. This is where I went wrong.

I am not particularly big - about twelve stone. The guy I had in the back was a thirtysomething who was easily sixteen stone. This does not make for an easy ride, but I wasn't doing too badly at first - getting some speed up and while the turns were a bit hairy I was keeping it together. Until I got cocky. "I know". "I'll give him a full speed downturn, that's always impressive" I thought. I was doing about 25mph with minimal safety equipment at this point. "Watch this!" I shouted. I wrenched the kite from one direction into the other, just as a massive gust hit me. BANG. The front buggy flipped instantly pinning me under it face down, unable to reach the seatbelt release. I'm told the noise of me hitting the ground was clearly audible a hundred metres away. That would have been bad enough, but it wasn't over. The kite powered up again and started looping. I was dragged over thirty metres at high speed over short, dry grass. It first ripped most of the top layer of skin off my right upper arm, then added friction burns to the next layer.

I finally stopped when my kite broke - to give you an idea of the forces involved, the part the broke has an approximate breaking strain of 200kg, and there are two of them. In other words, nearly half a ton of force was dragging me across the ground.

Fate, however, was't quite finished with me. In order to release the seatbelt I had to ask a couple of guys to lift the buggy up a foot or so in order for me to reach it. Because of the way I had shifted in the buggy during my short, painful trip, the seatbelt was lying right.across.my.bollocks. I'm not sure which was worse - the arm injury or how my balls fealt after my kind friends had got me out of the buggy.


The crowning moment of the incident was when I got home after a twenty mile drive, leaking blood onto my dad's car armrest the whole way. I parked up, walked into the house, and announced to my dad that I had "Had a bit of an accident", holding up my mangled arm.

"Where? I can't see anything"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T SEE ANYTHING! IT'S COVERED IN BLOOD!"

"Oh yes. So it is."



The laughter? That came from the thirty or so people who saw me have the crash. They still mock me about it, the bastards.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 19:08, 3 replies)

Seagulls
Now, I know it's wrong to laugh at the disadvantaged, but sometimes they're funny. There's a guy who lives in Bath with a massive head and a penchant to shout at cars, often in sign language. No, I didn't think you could do that either.

Getting a lift with a mate one day we get stopped at some traffic lights and notice something of a commotion to our right. Always hungry for entertainment we both look at what turns out to be local mentaller going nuts and shaking his fist at a seagull that just shat on him. Brilliant! Look at him g- hang on, what?

The seagull clearly didn't like this, as it turns round comes back and shits on him again! Hilarious! Covered! Dark clothing provides the perfect contrast to light bird shit. Mentaller does not like this one little bit, but, most probably due to being a mentaller does not seek cover. No, now, NOW he gets really angry, signing at the birds for all he's worth whilst moaning and shouting. People in other cars are starting to notice. The bird flies off to a nearby roof top where it is joined by another bird, and they both swoop the guy and crap on him, one down the front and one down the back. Some hits his head. I am crying, and in danger of having a hernia, or at the very least give birth to a brown mirth-turtle. My mate is the same when we both notice the traffic lights changing, shit, we will be robbed of an ending!

Cars slow, and lights change. It's not us! Yay! It's the other line, and look here comes a police car! Mentalist is going (pardon the pun) absolutely spastic, and bird count is now up to three as the police car turns right and drives towards the incident. Mentalist notices them and appeals, arms open wide to the police. They, clearly are crying with laughter too as is pretty much every other person in a car and drive past, slowly. Mentaller is COVERED in crap but holding his ground while the world around changes colour from so many people laughing so hard they cannot draw breath. The birds are joined by a fourth and the shit fest continues, the lights change and we hold our place in the road, wanting to know what the hell can make this worse/funnier but we have to move, and drive off round the corner leving behind what has to be one of the funniest things I have ever, or will ever see in my life.

Why did the birds pick on him? I have no idea, I could see no young around which would normally trigger them off but I will never forget this, neither will the other dozen or so people that saw this either I guess.

Length? Could happily have stayed for more.
( Jimbuktu See? Right here, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 19:06, 3 replies)

First of a couple around the theme of power kiting:
Some years ago, I was at a nighttime festival, raising money for children in need. Flying happily away, I started to build up the power for a jump. I started running, flicked the kite across the sky and up, and leapt.

And flew

And flew

And flew

Oh shit I'm getting close to that little girl

Better shout a warning

Oh shit, all she's done is turn this way

Oh shit oh shit oh shit I'm still in midair and I can't stop

This series of frantic thoughts was interrupted by a double footed flying kick to the side of her head that Bruce Lee himself would have wept in awe to witness.


I was torn between laughing at the sheer stupidity of the situation, making sure the girl was OK, and trying to apologise to the rather large father.



P.S. I got clotheslined by a marquee guide rope later that night, which on reflection I probably deserved.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 18:44, Reply)

And down she goes
Me and a friend of mine were sitting in the Friends meeting house gardens eating our pizzas when a pneumatic blonde stalked past. Smartly dressed, high heels, beautiful. She catches us pair of grebs ogling her out of the corner of her eye and gives us the evils. Just then her heels catch in the pavement and she goes down hard. Proper faceplant. We both started howling with laughter, she picks herself up and off she went, suitably chastened.

I don't think I'll ever get tired of people falling over.

And all hail Harry Hill for ushering in a golden era for You've been framed.
(Man Worm, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 18:43, Reply)

nasty little part of me
When I was a kid the ol' man took us for a Sunday drive. A dog runs out on the road - dad hits it with the car. He pulls over with real concern for the dog which lies broken in the gutter -- goes to stroke it. It bites him. Screaming 'Cunt' dad kicks the thing square in the face and we drive off.

Some nasty little part of me deep inside found this very amusing.
( hismastersvice cunting flange-jammer, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 18:39, Reply)