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This is a question Schadenfreude

There's nothing like administering first aid to cyclist who has just spanged into the back of a milk float when you have tears of laughter running down your face. The world is just one long episode of You've Been Framed - when have you laughed at the misfortune of others?

Suggested by althechristmasgeordie

(, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 12:05)
Pages: Latest, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Oedipus fecks
It has been argued that, as b3tans develop, they become fixated on different and specific objects through their stages of development—first in the oral stage (exemplified by an infant's pleasure in nursing), then in the anal stage (exemplified by a toddler's pleasure in evacuating his or her bowels), then in the phallic stage.

I dare anyone here to shat on Freud...
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 21:29, 3 replies)

This evening, driving past all the idiots who tried charging through a foot of snow in their incredibly expensive cars - only to find themselves spinning aimlessly and stranded in the arse end of nowhere for the next 24 hours:

I was the guy in the bright red HiLux, laughing my ass off at you as I rolled past at 5mph with 4WD engaged. Next time, try slowing down and not gunning your engine, you dopey twats. Might I also reccomend not driving into drifting snow at 60mph. Cheers.
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 20:56, 8 replies)
football crowd chant
Literally the day after Mandy Smith left Pat Van den Houw, the bloke she married after being Gary-Glittered by Rolling Stones wrinkly Bill Wyman, Pat was playing and the chant went round
"Who's up your Missus now, Van den Houw?"
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 19:48, 1 reply)
A familiar story
Many moons ago I was watching a friend playing football from a balcony down into an indoor football pitch. This was at one of those local Youth Club type of venues in the days when they were known as Boy's Clubs and there was a slight undercurrent of seedy goings on in the upstairs "smoking room". Back to the story, and my friend was playing football in this week's tournament. Of course, his team was losing, as was mine (quite incidentally and not at all a reflection to taint my awesomeness). He managed to get the ball, which was a surprise of Forrest Gump can't half leg it size proportions, and ran with it towards the goal.

Just like Forrest Gump he didn't stop at the goal.

Just like Forrest Gump he didn't stop at the pitch line.

He did stop at the wall, quite suddenly, and with a loud crack. I would have gone down to help him, but I was too busy pissing myself laughing. Turned out he had broken his arm, which wasn't in and of itself funny, but became progressively funnier every time he had to explain to someone how he had done it. He got his own back though. Every time someone laughed in his presence for being such a tit he clonked them over the head with the cast.

It had to be reset three times.
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 17:35, Reply)
my bro hit me!!
we're best friends. he's a great guy, i'm the younger.
as kids and teenagers we did the usual teasy things to each other. dead arms, getting eachother into trouble with mum etc.
one such day i was board, he was studying for O-levels.

i thought the only correct course of action for the day was to turn up the younger bro annoyance dial to 11.
i started off the day quoting from the film 'ALIENS' over and over and somehow that turned into me whispering 'Cinderella Rockefeller' into his ear when ever he wasn't paying me attention or was trying to work.
typical little shit thing to do.

anyway i pissed the guy off sooo much that he punched me in the back (i was running away) and broke his knuckle.

he held up his hand limply to show our mum, it was shaking with pain and had a great big egg of a bump on it. i was laughing my ass off. and whispering 'Cinderella Rockefeller'. it was even funnier because he hit me so wrong that the blow didn't hurt me one bit!

of course my mum gave him NO sympathy for braking his hand trying to punch me and took him off to hospital for the win!.

now he, and you guys know i was a complete arse for doing this to the poor chap, but to make matters worse he STILL tells work-mates this story as an anecdote. like 20years later and he still hasn't got the message that he's the one that comes off sounding like a wanker.

look i'll show you what i mean in this scenario:
my bro chatting at the water cooler at work..

bla bla.. yea talking about injuries or what-have-you; you see my hand? see that knuckle is raised?
i broke that hitting my little brother in the back because he was annoying me.

in the back?


so he was running away and you hit him?


in the back?

yea lol, he was really annoying..

*work mate fills plastic cup as fast as he can and goes back to desk*

(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 16:13, 3 replies)
There were no buses from Finsbury Park station last night, so I had to walk home up Crouch Hill
I passed a very large number of Mercedes, Audis, BMWs and the like all sitting with their wheels spinning on the compacted snow and ice, only to be eventually abandoned by their drivers...

Though my *real* laugh out loud moment came when I saw the former driver of one such car struggling along with his wife and (I think) mother-in-law. Unsuited to the slippery conditions, he took one step, slipped straight over on his arse, and dropped his baby. It was in one of those big plastic car carrier seat/cot things, so it just bounced a couple of times before starting to wail, but I doubt he'll be allowed to forget "That Christmas when you dropped the baby" for a long, long time.
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 16:12, 3 replies)
My younger brother was my parents' favourite
and still is. Y'know - he was bought things and taken out when I wasn't, and got away with more, and so on.

I didn't actually begrudge the favouritism because I knew no different, but now and then I'd have my nose rubbed in it. Like when our father gave him and not me a watch.

The watch was of an old-fashioned wind-up fob type, quite useless really to a lad of 9, and indeed all Bro did with it was open the back and prod at the springs with a screwdriver.

When our mother heard me warn him against doing this she threatened me with a belting for being 'just jealous!'

Fair enough. I watched the spring-prodding in silence after that, waiting with interest for the day when Bro'd go too far.

Didn't take long - a few days later he opened the back, commenced the usual prodding and then jumped back in shock as the entire guts of the watch exploded everywhere.

He groaned in shock, 'My watch!' as I collapsed in hysterics, and I immediately collected a severe beating for laughing at poor Bro's rotten luck.

It was WELL worth it.

The watch was never spoken of again.
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 15:21, 2 replies)
France vs UK
I was over in France last week for a pre-christmas binge of croissants and vin rouge with my French mate Jean-Pierre. He's a good laugh, but like all French thinks that France is the best country and everyone else is scum.

When the snow came on Friday, we decided (after a few glasses of grape based restoratives) to fight it out with snowballs to see just which country was best. The results were inconclusive, so we decided that a target shoot out would be required. We set up some empty bottles on a bridge and went for it. Too easy - we both hit them all. So Jean-Pierre suggested a moving target - the high speed trains that passed nearby, so off we went to a railway bridge near a tunnel to see if we could get a line of sight.

We decided the target would be a little ventilation grille that they all seemed to have on the front of the locomotive. This finally separated the men from the boys. Jean-Pierre was rubbish, but I managed to hit 5 in a row! He was totally gutted, how I laughed...
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 15:03, 18 replies)
Reading ESP's post about facedoor reminded my of the days of kangol coats and the lethal twangy toggles that could be grabbed by twunts and fired back at you from full elasticated potentiomety!


I had recently got my new bright orange and black kangol coat and was keen to wear the thing everywhere. They were the rage at school and i was chuffed my mam had got me one.

Young Monks headed into the kitchen after a days outings to peruse the contents of the fridge (as you do), when confusion reared its neon claws. He had just shut the door over and was heading off to the big white (hopefully) snack filled mecca where his hungry pilgramage would surely come to a choclatey end, when something tugged at his attire.

There was a quick spin as the coat tightened and mild horror barely had time to register at sight of the long black cord extending from his jacket to the door, as the door creaked past its latch (which was never a tight fit anyways) and rocketed a tiny piece of black platic death at our poor hero. No chance at all of avoiding it and fucking 'PING' it went, thankfully (cheers God) not finding private parts but instead just right of centre on the left thigh.

This in itself was excruciatingly painful, but the smashed pride at not only ruining my coat was compounded by my onviewing mam and brothers sidesplitting laughter.

twats......(but i woulda laughed too).
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 14:56, 4 replies)
Traffic Wardens
We live in a flat above an Opticians Shop. To get to our parking space we have to drive down a dingy road, and turn into a private muddy track.
Now, in the daytime we are often blocked in by shop workers, and other residents.
I often have blazing rows with people blocking the lane, or the side road who park outside the white lined area either side of our track. This could be locals or people using the legendary Chickin Treat kebab shop on the corner. (look it up, it has a Facebook group.
One Day The Other half was a bit late for work, so we were in a panic. I went out to start the car only to find the track was blocked by a clumsily parked car.
Naturally I went up to the car and looked around for its owner.
At the end of the road were two Traffic Wardens in the act of booking the many illegally parked cars,blocking my lane with their car in the process, (thanks Boy Monders)
I unleashed a torrent of abuse, including, but not limited to, 'is this your fucking car? can't you see the clearly marked parking area? did you deliberately block me in, or are you just fucking stupid?' and so on.
I got a round of applause from 2 neighbours.

afterwards I realised that I should have got out my mobile and filmed it; I should have said 'that will be £60 please', and if they had protested I should have said 'Sorry, its in the machine now'
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 14:45, 4 replies)
The Mrs and I went off to Prague...
A couple of years ago, by way of a wee jolly. After a couple of days wandering about looking at things, eating smoked pork and drinking heroic quantities of top notch lager (I don't normally touch the stuff, Carling can literally gum my glans) thoughts turned to entertainment, and noisy entertainment at that. We'd seen several of the prevalent dixieland-esque jazz quartets knocking about, all pick-banjos and clarinets with wild sideburns, and by now we needed something harder. In short, we needed ROCK.

Having consulted the handy guidebook, we happened across the Lucerna complex, and its in-house music bar. Our proferred korunas at the entrance met by a terse 'is free', and the bar was as usual dirt cheap (and you could smoke in there. WOO)- the place was half empty, and a motley bunch of older gents were tuning up on stage. We took our seats on the balcony, and sat back to enjoy what would doubtless be a musical extravanganza. The band of the night was to be Brutus, and we were told that they were Czech rock legends, this was their 25th birthday gig, hence free admission.

Well fuck me, they were SHOCKING. Seriously, this was worse than the ropiest pub-covers band you've ever seen (although the approximations of English used during such standards as 'Cocaine', 'I Shot The Sheriff' and a wonderfully skewed 'No Woman No Cry' were in some way entertaining) after about an hour of stop-starts, bum notes and hilariously out-of-tune backing vocals, we were about ready to fuck it all off and head back to the hotel for some more beer, and depraved rumpy.

'One for the road' we decided and got chatting to a local who could chat away in passable anglais, who informed us that the previous band were made up of various ex-members of the bands history, most of whom hadn't played in years (rather obviously looking back) and a couple of whom who had suffered career ending injuries- in particular, a short, lithe little fella whose pronounced limp was due to his having one false leg. They had just got together to celebrate, and the night proper was just beginning...

At this point we noticed that the place was fucking heaving, with boys and girls of all ages sizes and persuasions. One man however, stood oot from the masses- about 6' 8" of hairy, Viking-esque drunken fury, this enormo-man was moshing on his own and there wasn't even a band on, scattering people right and left. Bizaarely at this point, TV Smith (of The Adverts fame) turned up and did an acoustic set much to my delight. The fleshmountain bounced merrily throughout, much to everyone around him's increased chagrin.

Brutus then kicked into life, and it was a a blen of old-school rock'n'roll with some folkier elements, a bit of ska, and lots of men singing 'OOOOOHHHHHHHH YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!' (I believe these were the only lyrics) and ol' Buster Bigjob is going sick, do you know what I am saying? He is out of control and frankly ruining a lot people fun, he needs to go. Security grabs a hold of him, and he shrugs them off- one particularly big, nasty looking fella swings a beauty of a left hook that would have knocked a hole in an oak tree, this bloke doesn't even notice. Security eventually give up, and it isn't long before the gigantic twat has invaded the stage.

He is clearly a fan, and the band alternate between sharing vocal duties with him and trying to very pleasantly tell him to FUCK OFF OUT OF IT NOW YOU CUNT. He heads for the short guy with the false leg, intending to pick him up by the looks of it. The little guy is having none of it, and deftly side steps him whilst at the same time leaving the leg at an unnatural 90 degree angle to his body. The big fella lurches past, trips over the leg, and falls through the back curtain. Did I mention the stage was layered up about 20' from the ground level? The little chap looked over the precipice, and the single motion from 'nonchalant shrug' to 'one legged full-on rock-flute solo' will stay with me to the end of my days. Along with the Mrs breaking into the public transport system later on using her BRUTE STRENGTH (5' 3", weak).

Sorry about that, its a little longer than I remember. Still, ever since I put on all this weight I rarely get a chance to see it...
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 14:41, 3 replies)
A lot of people are confusing Schadenfreude with banal, uninteresting anecdotes and stories that end with, essentially, "needless to say, I had the last laugh"

FTR, I have no interesting/amusing stories associated with the topic.

Edit: there have been some fucking corkers too, so it's evening out ok so far. As you were!
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 13:39, 13 replies)
The Arsehole
A bit of a long one, but bear with it...

Back in the day, as they say, I was part of a large group of assorted social misfits who used to hang around together, smoke loads of dope, take mushrooms and the occasional acid tab, and generally have lots of fun.

Our little social scene was mostly centred around a cellar somewhere in Birkenhead, that belonged to the parent's of two brothers, one of whom was the drummer in a couple of bands I played in. People would call round there all the time, get stoned and have endless jams. His parents were remarkably tolerant, all things considered. These were good fun times, until the smack started to appear...but that's another story.

Most of the people 'on the scene' were pretty cool. This was early 80's, so there was the usual assortment of punks, rockers, goths, skins etc. An interesting and colourful melting pot. There was of course, the occasional arsehole who nobody really liked...

There was one guy in particular who was made Steve Martin's character in the Jerk look like the Dude from the Big Lebowski. He was loud, obnoxious and had a peculiar lisp-like speech defect, so was destined to be a figure of fun from the word go.

His worst quality though was his constant bullshitting and bragging. If you had done something noteworthy, anything at all, and were telling someone else about it, he would jump in and tell you how he had done it bigger and better. He constantly bragged about how much money he had, how many women he was shagging, how much drugs and booze he could handle etc, etc. You get the picture - he was a twat of the highest order.

At some point, he started turning up regularly at the cellar late at night, totally off his face, having spent the evening at the local rock nightclub. He would then generally fall asleep, and be subjected to various forms of mild torture - dead arms and legs off four people at the same time was particularly memorable, he would writhe about like a slug and mumble some insult but would still come back for more next week.

One evening, myself and one of the brothers had partaken in a fine mushroom and dope cocktail, and were leaving the house for a visit to the all night garage for some munchies, when who did we spot lying on the grass by the half constructed flats down the road but...yes, you’ve guessed it, it was the arsehole himself!

We poked him a bit to make sure he was alive - he was, but was in an advanced state of dishevelment. He’d obviously been on his way to the cellar for some abuse, but decided to have a bit of kip instead. It was then that we noticed the money sticking out of his top jacket pocket.... tenners, and quite a few of them, 40 or 50 quid in all.

Now I’m not generally given to thievery, and I’m not particularly proud of myself, but this guy was the bane of everyone’s existence, so we weighed up the options...and we dipped into his pocket and took a tenner each. We left the rest of it, we weren’t completely ruthless, in fact I think we even zipped his pocket up for him to assuage our guilt a little.

It wasn’t a particularly cold night, and such was his monged out condition that we couldn’t have moved him anyway, so we decided to leave him there and go for munchies, and check on him when we got back. When we returned, he’d vanished.

The next night, we were in the local boozer, enjoying a pint or two on his money, when lo and behold, in he walked...

“You’ll never guess what happened to me last night” he says. “What was that?” we replied innocently, as we sipped our beers bought with his cash. “I got jumped and someone stole all my money!”.

If it was true, then it kind of negated us taking a tenner each, if it was just more bullshit, then I guess he deserved it anyway. In spite of a few pangs of guilt, it was a delicious moment.
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 12:45, 85 replies)
When I was a younger ESP, family holidays were a 24 hour drive to somewhere in France or Italy to stay with some Johnny foreigners at a Eurocamp; although we'd always stay in a caravan rather than a tent. We may not have been able to afford trips to Disneyland every 6 months, but we were better than the plebs covered in canvas, damnit.

Anyway, my story of schadenfreude took place when I was about 13. Wavy lines ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My family had spent a week in Provence, eating baked goods and watermelon for breakfast; having some culture forced down our throats by the rents; the incredible local food for dinner; playing table tennis with hot Dutch girls whose mannish mothers put me off the windmill-livers for life.

I had found a holiday girlfriend, a pretty yet plump creature with a lust for chips (she dumped me a day after this story happened after I refused to give her a chip. I don't regret my decision) and would spend hours laying in the sun, shyly kissing on the lips and holding hands. In the evenings we’d play in the arcade. Well, I played while she and her cousin drank coke and chatted about... fuck knows.

I decided to make my way back to our abode for food and to annoy my sisters for a few hours. Meandering through a campsite in the dark has a certain magic about it. Families of tanned tourists share company and sustenance around mozzie repellent candles, lovers drift by arm in arm, you can see proper amounts of stars. Lost in this wonderful array of sights, and still with the sweet taste of cokey lips on mine, I arrived home.

*To set the scene, the mobile home had two large, clear glass doors leading directly into the living room area where my older and younger sisters were playing a game. Outside there were three steps leading down to the patio where my parents were sitting. The place was somewhat illuminated by the light spilling through the double doors.*

I waved a cheery hello to my mum and dad and ran up the stairs to the apparently open doors. The doors weren't open. I ran into it headfirst and rebounded off, fell back down the stairs and landed in an undignified heap at the foot of them. Instant gushing nosebleed, swollen nose, sore arse and ringing ears from my entire family falling off their seats. My sisters, while laughing until tears are flowing, re-enact my moment of glory repeatedly. After a few minutes mum has managed to contain herself long enough to form coherent words and ask if I'm alright, but can't finish the sentence as my sisters are now pushing their faces into the doors from the other side and doing slow motion impressions of my face impacting, squashing and the look of 'gormless shock' I apparently had as I fell to my doom.

It was a long night, a longer last week of the holiday and a good 3 years before they stopped gurning at me through glass whenever the opportunity presented itself. Can’t say I blame them one bit, really...

Apologies for length, it’s my first time and if in doubt more is usually better.
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 11:09, 16 replies)
How a boy earned the nickname Queef
Strolling between classes at school one day a lad who felt himself a lot cooler than he was deemed by his peers (not me, I'm a straight up dork) farted as he reached the top of a nice big flight of stairs. This was amongst a fair crowd of people so he got a fair number of peoples attention with this. His downfall was to then fall over backwards down the stairs just as he did this.

The noise, combined with the sure knowledge that the propulsion from a botty burp would not allow you to fall backwards led to the obvious conclusion, it must have come from his front bum. Queef was forever tarred with his name from that point. I even bumped into him at the shops a couple of months back and stopped to say hi. Had to call him Queef the whole time because after 15 years I can't remember his name but I sure remember that.
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 8:26, 2 replies)
I should have felt bad... but meh...
Suicidal Tendencies (The band) were playing in Sydney and I, as an aging punk, decided this was unmissable.
They start playing and I place myself on the edge of the mosh pit, just out of reach of the spinning mass of similarly aging punks who have all come out for one night and are suitable pissed up and energetic as they run around in circles and slam into each other like men who know they're only allowed out once in a while and better make the most of it.
Behind me are a pair of bogans who are clearly smashed and clearly having a ball playing at being alternative. Amateur goth makeup, a t-shirt with "fuck" written on it in marker men and a few safety pins dotted around. You get the idea.
So after about ten seconds they both start jumping into me, their idea of a mini mosh, I assume.
I've been in moshpits for the better part of 20 years so I wasn't too fussed at first and then when I got annoyed I moved a bit to the side, but they moved too and continued to run up and jump into me and a couple of others who were also standing at the edge of the mayhem, pushing me again and again.
I turned around between a song and asked - politely, honest! - if they minded.
"If you don't like it, fuck off home!" screams the girl.
OK. So I move over a bit more, she follows and starts pushing into me again as soon as the next song starts. I turn around, she gives me a big smile and pushes again.
Or at least that was her plan, I moved out of the way as she started and she sailed past straight into the middle of the mass and disappeared from view. When the song ended, she made her way back out, looking utterly traumatised, with hair everywhere, tears galore and blood streaming out of her nose.
Poor little thing.
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 4:36, 15 replies)
French Pikeys
This summer I went to stay with some friends at my mate's parent's house in southern France, beautiful little village in the sticks right on the River Orb, anyway the main road through it is slightly uphill and I was standing with 3 friends as the little pikeys who all dress like Cristiano Ronaldo were going up and down the road on their mopeds.

So to set the scene we were standing downhill on a corner and I'd decided to walk uphill to the newsagent to buy some fags, and as i'm walking up one of the pikeys decides to come and be a badman and ride alongside me and stare me out, because French hillbilly's don't like the Anglais. Anyway as i'm walking he's riding along he's got his head turned all the way staring at me and I see he's about to crash into a parked car at 4mph.
So I maintain eye-contact as he crashes head-on into the parked car and flys off backwards and does a backwards rolly-polly. At which point the owner of the car who was in the newsagent comes running out, angrily jabbering in French and starts slapping him round the head, while i'm rolling around laughing as are my mates down the road having witnessed the whole thing.
Later that week we bumped into him (who we affectionately named Jean-Claude) with two mates, he tried to prove he was a big man by blocking the path with himself.

As we told him in English he should fuck off pulled out a rusty pen-knife with a white-flag attached and told us to "sook his duck", we laughed and carried on walking. We figured we'd let him think he'd banished us from his town.

Excuse for the length it was around 2 inches covered in rust
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 3:04, 2 replies)
Driving to Cornwall
With my Dad, Cousin and Uncle.
Happily going along the motorway in the fast lane. When some tit in a Audi comes right up the arse of my dad's car, honking his horn flashing his lights generally being a twat, my Dad gives him the finger as he swerves out and overtakes and we watch him continue up the motorway doing the same to any car he meets, weaving inbetween them all.
Around 5 miles later, we go past him and his car on the hard shoulder on it's side with him sitting on the verge crying. Luckily whilst managing to crash he'd done it without taking anyone else with him.
I think everyone slowed down as soon as they saw him to point and laugh.
(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 2:44, Reply)
We liked to get one over on each other.

His to me went as follows:

While getting changed after a sports lesson I was shoving him and being a bit silly. He was searching for something in his bag at the time. Unbeknownst to me his hand had discovered a tenis ball. He proceed to throw it full force into my right testicle at point blank range. Needless to say I dropped like a sack of potatoes, crawled around on the floor in a lot of pain, thougt I was going to be sick and tried to cry but was in that much pain I couldn't. Everyone else thought it was funny.

My revenge was served as we walked back to school, after a smoke break. On one side of the path were houses and the other some grassy bits and the odd bush. As we passed one of these bushes I gave him a good old shove and he fell side ways into the bush. He ended up at a weird angle. Which in itself was funny. What was funnier, was him shouting out for a hand, then saying never mind, hearing the branch snap and spying him fall further into the bush and giving out a girlie scream due to it being a very thorny bush.

sparky also fell down a long and tall flight of stairs, when he told me about it I imagined him doh'ing like homer all the way down. What made it tho was Fed. He had seen the whole thing from the top of the stairs leaned over banisher and shouting "sparky look how far you fell"

(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 1:37, 6 replies)
Was at a surprise party for a friend who is off to work in the states in the new year. One of the guess joe made me laugh till I cried on two seperate occasions.

On my iPod I have an app that plays a high frequency noise, is it call annoy-a-teen. I was curious to see who of my peers could hear it. Joe couldn't but he commented that Ellie (who was stood behind him at the time) probably could. Instead of saying "she has ears like a dog" he said "she had dog like ears" then paused and with a what the fuck did I just say look, and tried to correct it. I think it was the lack of sleep on my part that made it so funny for me.

The second slip was later outside as we were enjoying a smoke. He was talking an mutual friend of ours who has a lot of sex appeal and he has a thong for. He tried to ask her if she was a good cook, but instead asked "are you a good cock" her response was pretty good "I am good with cock". The look on his face was excellent.

Still makes me giggle.

(, Tue 22 Dec 2009, 1:25, 5 replies)
Cardiff today
Outside the train station the snow had iced up and become very slippy underfoot. An old woman came walking past me into the station and slipped over, promptly landing flat on her not inconsiderable arse. A man ran over to help her and make sure she was OK, only for him to slip and land on top of the poor fat arsed woman.

Even the doctor who attended was doubled over on laughter when he was told what had happened.
(, Mon 21 Dec 2009, 21:43, 11 replies)
2 for 1
both of these happen in the same place, on the same day, but with different victims.

the railings
being a porker, i was never very good at climbing as a kid. because of this, my brother and sister would always want to play in the woods, where the best hiding places and most interesting trees were on the other side of a 6-fool railing fence, which i had bugger all chance of getting over. this particular day, as always, my sister was taunting me for my size and climbing ineptitude. "look, fat arse" she says "it's so easy to climb over!" and climb over she did. well, until she slipped and got a railing spike right through her thigh, anyway. after much screaming and surprisingly little blood loss, i managed to unhook her from the railings and get her home. she didn't get sympathy, she got a smack and was told that, if she hadn't been climbing the forbidden railings, she wouldn't have been injured.

the swing
about an hour after my sister's kebabing, i was once again playing in the woods. there was an old tree with a rope swing attached, which swung out over a very steep slope. i never went on the swing myself, my weight and puny grip made it an accident waiting to happen. my brother and his friends were there, all swinging and enjoying themselves. my brother spotted me and decided to indulge in one of his favourite pastimes; making a cunt out of me in front of his mates.
"what are you doing here, you fat bitch?" he asks lovingly. "you can't even swing! if you weren't so fat, you'd be able to swing like me!" and, with that, he leapt at the swing. unfortunately for him, only one hand managed to reach its target, leaving him spinning wildly, before plummeting to the leafy floor and rolling down the slope. the sound of cracking branches was punctuated by curses and little "oof!" noises. then, just as he reached the bottom, my brother let out an ear-piercing shriek. rushing down the slope, his friends and i were treated to the sight of my brother leaping wildly about, clutching his arse and yelling "pull it out! pull it OUT!"
as he spun past us, we saw a thin piece of broken branch, about 5 inches long, sticking out of his right buttock. to say that we laughed would be an understatement. one of his friends yanked out the offending greenery and we took him home. my dad had to take him to the hospital to get his poor bumcheek looked at. mum couldn't take him, she was already there with my sister.
after 2 tetanus jabs, 6 stitches and 2 utter bollockings, they were both banned from playing in the woods again.
(, Mon 21 Dec 2009, 20:08, 6 replies)
The Dressing Gown of Fire
Back in my ol's scummy student days, where the height of society entertainment was to stick riza's on your mates ceilings, there was this one night where my friends and I where chilling at our mate P's flat.

P had just had a shower and walked into the lving to discover our fine young selves playing with fire and socks. You konw the game, take a worn, dry sock and hold some fire against it for a second or 2 and wattch a wave of fire burn across the sock burning off the bobbles on it. Much merriment.

So anyways, P was standing there wastching in merry bewilderment at the rest of use setting our socks on fire. That is until someone pointed out that his dressing gown seemed to be made out of the same matreial as our socks (shower remember?) "hehe yeah" was probably not the best reply from him as the person he was standing next to decided to test our little theory and bought a flame in close contact to his dressing gown. A nice, iumpressive wall of fire started speeding across the garment mcuh to the amusement to all, but then, unlike with our socks, the fire didn;t stop with just the outside of the dressing gown, it decided to flip over the edge and carry on on the inside.

P didn;t seem that happy with this developement, but for the rest of us. Watching someone flail about bashihg themselves in an attempt to put out the firey robe they were wearing proved to be extremly entertaining and provided several months of entertaining remenissing.
(, Mon 21 Dec 2009, 19:51, Reply)
NOT a carefully thought out post

(although is it me or is this running REALLY slowly?)

This clip has been on my desktop for months plus, (got it in an email originally) and NEVER fails to make rofls fall out.
(, Mon 21 Dec 2009, 19:43, 1 reply)
The Resident Loon reminded me
The family and I were driving through a small town in Alsace in our 2cv. We were on holiday and there was lots of traffic-calming on the road so we weren't hurrying. The frog in the BX GTi behind us didn't think we were going fast enough, tailgated all the way and, when an opportunity eventually arose, planted it, swerved round us and roared off into the distance. By coincidence, so did the gendarmerie van which had been right behind him as he vented his spleen at us. How we enjoyed the pretty blue lights and the the sight of him getting the "evenin' all" treatment. Dim frog should have known British 2cvs don't go slowly unless they mean to.
(, Mon 21 Dec 2009, 19:01, 1 reply)
little shithouse...
My son is four and the youngest kid in the street by two years. As such, he is a bit gullible and the other children can make him do naughty stuff by suggesting it's a good idea. You know the sort of thing, emptying someone's driveway of gravel, playing knock and run, etc.

Today a little lad we'll call Josh (for that is his name) was chucking snowballs and taught the fruit of my loins to put stones in the middle of the balls and hoy them at cars.

I was eating my lunch when the doorbell rang and it was Josh's Mum, with a sobbing Josh, who is now the proud owner of a split cheekbone and a nicely brewing eggy bruise under his eye because yes, you guessed it, it wasn't just a snowball that hit him. It was fully loaded with driveway gravel.

I didn't laugh until the door was shut behind the little toerag.
(, Mon 21 Dec 2009, 17:57, Reply)
the blind boy who used his voice to see *mimicking a bat* and then puts on rollerblades , then to his misfortune he skates into the back of a car *sorry for length*
(, Mon 21 Dec 2009, 17:26, 1 reply)
Moped riding shitehawks
When I lived in Kent some years ago, the local pre teen chavvy fanny products used to ride their (usually stolen) mopeds up and down a field where I walked my dogs. They kept away from me as my (remaining, I had two at the time) GSD is pretty hysterical when it comes to being mobbed by moped riding cunts and has to be muzzled for fear of savaging the lot of 'em. The sprogs realised pretty quickly that the dogs could run faster than they could ride, should I have chosen to let them chase them (not that I ever would, I love my dog/s too much to put them/him in a situation like that.) They buzzed every other person using the field with great joy and shouts of abuse tho, and soon it became a real problem.

However one day they decided the field was old hat and took to riding up and down the pavement of the road I lived on. Many a time I had to leap out of the way (they never did it when I had the dogs with me, I wonder why). I felt it prudent - me versus kid on a moped heading straight for me - well, I'm not fucking stupid, I jumped to avoid them. The residents reported them to the police countless times who of course showed up long after they had gone and never did a thing about it.

One day I decided I'd had enough. I waited in my porch until I heard them coming along, made sure they were indeed tearing up and down the path, and as one passed by I rushed out and pushed my wheelie bin into their path.
The little shit couldn't brake quick enough, couldn't get off the pavement as cars were lining the road, and promptly plowed straight into it, dropped the 'ped and fell off into a hedge.

I laughed my fucking head off. I pointed and laughed and laughed some more when the little darling emerged with a bloody nose. I laughed as he approached me, and I laughed as he took a swing at me, dodged it and kicked him in the knee joint. I laughed as he went down for the second time in as many minutes. Oh, how I laughed as he turned tail and staggered off at the sight of a very angry woman looming over him as he lay on the pavement, a woman plainly in a position to kick the shit out of him when he was down.

They didn't do it again outside my house. They did it on the other side of the road instead. Until the people living there took to doing the same as I did with their bins. The 'ped riders moved on pretty sharpish after a few mangled peds and cuts and brusies. Result.
(, Mon 21 Dec 2009, 17:21, 2 replies)
my mrs borked her shoulder in Feb (fell over on some gravel that shouldn't have been there), and after spending best part of a day in hospital having many many x-rays we finally had to go home.

As we pulled out of the Car park we had just paid royally for, the little machine said "We hope you enjoyed your trip".

How did they know? I managed to stumble out, whilst laughing all the way home. My Mrs found it less funny. Schadenfreude indeed
(, Mon 21 Dec 2009, 17:11, 1 reply)

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