the best one was where
i found an unmarked bottle of pills in the car park i was working in and being an idiot, went home and took about 8 of them....cue weird dreams about literally not being able to talk & walking into walls in my boxer short while nearly *everyone* I ever knew seemed to call up to the flat to visit.

Next day - realise slowly at work (high as a kite) that those dreams were probably true. Being roundly laughed and pointed at when I got home that night proved it beyond doubt. Shame.
(shanvishnu, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 17:32, Reply)

last christmas
i went home to see the folks with girlfriend in tow, got hammered on a bottle of whiskey and proceeded to look around the house for skins of some kind with which to roll up the little bit of doob i had...i was informed the next day I got really angry at my dad for not letting me make a pipe out of an empty can, massive row, decided in a huff to *walk* the 40 miles or so back to my flat in Dublin, got dragged back in the front door by my mam, and put to bed. Amazingly I didn't piss or puke anywhere other than the toilet! Go me

The shame part is my parents were totally fine with me the next day, as was my girlfriend. Top people!

No more whiskey for me though.
(shanvishnu, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 17:27, Reply)

Sorry Mrs Blurrrrrrrgghhhhh
When indulging in the the joys of underage drinking I got really pissed on a mate's home brew. Got truly royally bladdered. Problem was it was rough stuff. And I remember vividly throwing up constantly, unable to move, on his spare bed. As his mother cleaned up my continually arriving sick. The words "Sorry Mrs Bleeeeeuuuuuuurggh," are burned in my soul.
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 16:59, Reply)

Bloody Disabled Toilets
On a train from London to Edinburgh i needed to take a piss. Loos on trains being loos on trains, the main cubicles were both blocked and i didn't want to add to the fluids slopping about in the toilet bowls, let alone the sink (whoever pissed in the sink and blocked it with a paper towel - further shame on you).

So i trundled further to find the disabled toilet. Joy joy, i get to hold onto that handle and have infra red lasers flush the toilet for me when i leave.

Not sure if you've used one of these toilets. You push or wave your hand across the button on the outside and it opens and closes. I hadn't.

I pulled the door around to enclose the cubicle -ah so much room. I didn;t notice a similar button to lock the door.

I'm taking a leak and stepping back in the spacious cubicle, pissing about four feet as the crow flies into the bowl, just becuase i could. Then it happens.... the door starts to peel open SHIT it's automatic. I grab at the door to try to stop the motion, no luck. Outside there are three passengers waiting their turn is this loo of the gods, one a mother with her young daughter. So as the whole side this cubicle vanishes, they see me battling with a door, cursing, while trying to negotiate my piss into the bowl from four foot away.

My fingernail on my hand left hand (which hand do you think i was aiming with) got ripped back and it hurt - cue my frustration "fucking cunt" not sure which upset the mother more.
(quimdaloo, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 16:42, Reply)

more private guilt than shame...
Once, when my boyfriend pissed me off, I put his toothbrush up my arse. Bristle end first. Then replaced it nicely in the toothbrush jar.

I later saw his mum merrily using it, as I'd picked up the wrong one.

Lovely woman too.
(mrmistoffeles, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 16:20, Reply)

Hrm where to start, pretty much all of mine involve waaaay too much drink. Think I would have learned by now >.<

- GF's freshers week, 1st night out in her new students union in a new town where she will be living for next 4yrs, with new people who might be her friends for said yrs. I get completly hammered, fall down 4 flights of stairs, sit at bottom crying for unknown reason, have to be helped out of union by bouncers...all while her new uni hall mates are asking if im alright.

- I have an awful fear of heights/falling and decided 1 night after drinking too much (as well as coke - 'nough said) that the best way to get over said fear was to go for a climb. 60ft up off unknwon party hosts balcony. Where i dangled waving at everyone and having a great-time. Aint been invited back since

- While 17 got invited to a formal (like a prom) by a friend of mine. Cue lots of drinking and some light fooling around between me and said friend until i head back to another mates house to kip for night as girls folks would not have been impressed with her arriving home with me in tow. So bunked down for night in top bunk in his room. Slept until about 4am when i woke up and projectile vomited EVERYWHERE. Worst bit was his mum heard, came in and changed bedding for me and took others of to be washed. Still cant look her in the eye 6yrs later.

- Hammered in a club at uni when decided needed a monumental dump. Staggered to toilets (luckly was still quite early on so place wasnt very busy) grabbed a cubicle and proceded to empty my bowels of the smelliest, most liquid substance every to leave my colon. All while singing along at the top of my voice to some crappy pop tune that was been played in the bogs. But the icing on that cake was when i left cubicle to notice distinct lack of urinals and quite a few girls whos looks of shock were only out-weighed by their looks of revulsion.

- And lastly my own freshers week, first night in union with my new halls mates they were giving out free vodka shots with your ticket stub. Only problem was you had to drink them straight though a ice-luge which was shaped like a male torso (guess where the vodka comes out?) So while every other guy shyed away from this as it seemed a lil gay to be sucking vodka out of an ice cock i decided free drink was free drink and went up to claim mine. Shamefull enough in itself, oh no i would have to do better than that. As the girl in charge started to pour the vodka into the top her assistant said something which caused me to turn my head to ask what....just in time for me to get a shot of vodka straight in the eye from this ice-mans willy while the uni photographed snapped a shot. A picture which remained on the union noticeboard (protected from removal by the protective glass) for the rest of the term!
(v_Ln, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 16:16, Reply)

Illuminous Horse of Course!
I once spray canned the words "I AM A CUNT HORSE" in massive letters on the side of a horse in illuminous green paint. Obviously I was very drunk.

However I nearly had a seisure 2 days later when I saw said Horse in the same field being scrubbed by a geezer as I flew past on the Blackpool - London train
(hoogie Original Cunt Horse Author, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 16:14, Reply)

Once
I hit an old man and a little girl with my umbrella in the same morning.

That's the best you lot are getting out of me.
( Funtastic Pony Magic, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 15:53, Reply)

Morning Glory
Whilst living at home as a youngster with my parents and siblings I awoke with my usual dawn horn and proceed to crack one off in the privacy of my own bedroom. Deed done I throw soiled tissue into bin and go downstairs for breakfast with the family. A couple of minutes latter the family mutt is pattering into the kitchen with a bunch of tissues proudly clamped in its jaw’s … “Come here Jamie” says my mum bending down while I look on horrified… “What’s that in your mouth.. drop.. drop.. good girl” – my mum then picks up the tissue I’d previously and furiously masturbated into and looks curiously at them! She then proceeds to sniff and touch the contents. I look around everyone else is busy eating their bacon and eggs and I’m nervously looking down at my plate… when I hear an almighty *SLAP* and look up to hear my mum call my bedazzled and confused farther a dirty bastard…. (sorry dad)!
(tarkatronic stand back I don't know how big this thing gets..., Tue 29 Nov 2005, 14:40, Reply)

oh yeah, and another one
I was at a friend's wedding, nice and drunk and chatting up some posh bird. Turns out she's there with her family. I go and meet them.

Her Dad's a proper cockney geezer, pretty intimidating himself, whereas her brother has got to be the biggest motherfucker I've ever seen. The ladies weren't exactly ladies, either, and I was being wound up good and proper, and couldn't wait to get away.

When I finally escaped, I met up with my mates at the bar, describing my experience. With added (and very loud) impressions of this bird's dad and brother.

Very loud, and very drunk.

And yes, they were standing right behind me.

I do feel ashamed, but that's probably only because I got sussed.

Never did fuck her, either.

fucksocks.
(onedotzero, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 14:35, Reply)

Ohgodohgodohgod
A few weeks into a relationship, my girlfriend and I went to visit my mum so that she and the gf could meet. We had a nice day, and all was going swimmingly until my gf and I went to bed. We were both sat naked on the bed, me behind her with my legs and arms wrapped around her all loving and cozy, when suddenly with no warning I farted.

And followed through.

Fortunately, my gf had retreated to the other side of the room to escape the smell with a whispered cry of "that's disgusting!" and didn't notice that I had left something resembling an Iced Gem biscuit www.nicecupofteaandasitdown.com/biscuits/previous.php3?item=85 on the bedsheet.

Too scared to say anything I tried succesfully to block it from my gf's view, but realised that it was on her side of the bed and it was at about chest height so she was bound to find it when it was time to sleep. Cue me saying that the bed was at completely the wrong angle for me to sleep in relative to the window/door (fake insecurity - genius) and we should move the pillows to the other end (with the result that only my feet would be near the poo).
Gf wasn't stupid and got me to admit, red faced, what was really going on, and to my surprise rather than dumping me, just laughed! We took the sheet off the bed and went to sleep.

However, the shame was not over because the next morning I bundled the sheet into my mum's washing machine, muttering something to her about 'the sheet got a stain on it' and left my mum to assume that my gf was on the blob and had 'leaked' during the night, having expressly promised my GF I would do no such thing.

It's been some years now and I still haven't told her.
(Plyck, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 14:32, Reply)

My dad
My dad recently informed me that he used to be a member of the NRA.

If that's not fucking shameful, I don't know what is.
(Pachey, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 14:32, Reply)

I regularly...
...shave my nose hair with my brother's beard trimmer.

And sometimes my pubes, too.

I'm not ashamed, though.

And once, when I was 14, I dumped my then-girlfriend by passing her a note in English class. It read:

you're dumped

and she burst out crying. Right in the middle of the class.
I'm not ashamed of that, either.

Suppose I'm a bit of a cunt.
(onedotzero, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 14:23, Reply)

shame on all of us....
Our friend had invited a few of us up to his Manchester flat, in a post-uni reunion drinking etc plan. We had all been picked up along the way from various places by our friend from Basingstoke (Hi sam!) and looked forward to a few sherbets and a bit of a smoke etc.

Anyway, we had been told that my friends dad was staying with him, but must have forgotten along the way as once we arrived we just dumped the bags on the lounge floor and started to unpack rizlas etc, ready for a celebration spliff.

"Er, guys, this is my dad" came the embarrased but forceful hint at us to pack the stuff away! Turned out our mates dad didn't know he smoked and that our friend had arranged for his dad to be out for the evening to make room for us and our intended 'antics'.

His dad left very quickly, John looked very shamed. We skinned up quickly to cheer ourselves up. The end.
(downhill without brakes . It was the worst day of my life, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 13:49, Reply)

A..
while back, when I was doing up my house with my ex g/f, I used to go out on Friday nights, with mates, to let off steam, as it were. Anyway, every now and then (well, ok, every Friday) I'd get absolutely trashed and to avoid the embarrassing phone call from her in the morning I’d simply leave club, go directly to house-in-progress and sleep there, so when she did call me I'd already be at the new place, working! (still in bed, having slept for about 15 mins)

Anywayyyy...this she never caught onto. The shame bit though was one particular Saturday morning, being dragged around the local B&Q with my head in a sling, feeling like I was about to die, I bumped into an OAP in one of those motorised shopping trolley things. On seeing him in my delicate state I said
"God I could do with one of those today"
to which he answered...
"I'd rather be able to walk"


ouch..
( Jinkeys! bumflakes, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 13:41, Reply)

Ouch...
Back in the tender days of college, I went on my lunchbreak with a boy I liked, in the hope that he might go out with me... or at least put his hand up my jumper.

Out we were, chatting and haveing a laugh, when I paused to ask for a quick snog... All of a sudden, my A Level history teacher comes storming over, demanding to know why I haven't handed in any assignments over the past month (the answer was because she was a fannybatterbrain but that should have gone in QOTW a few weeks ago really...)

Cue me wanting to die of shame, and blokey making his excuses and scuttling off. Fucksocks.

And then I got chilli on my cock and it really stung :-(
(theneuroticpanda, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 13:34, Reply)

The one when I effectively ended my career...
I went on a high powered conference earlier this year with my boss to a small private college in the US. Behaved impeccably all week, spoke to all the right people and showed a keen interest in furthering my career. Until…

On the last night I got drunk. Monumentally, phenomenally drunk. On rum. Finally got to bed at about 6am, set my alarm for 8 as I had to catch the bus to the airport. I was awoken from my coma like state at 8.55am by my boss shrieking “What the f**king hell are you doing, the bus is leaving now. I mean now, this second.” A quick glance round my room was enough to tell me that while I’d tried to pack, all I’d done was throw clothes all over the floor. Chucked stuff in a bag while my boss went to go and tell the driver to wait. No such luck, I got outside and they’d gone. Leaving me 2 hours from the airport, still plastered. Managed to persuade a guy to give me a lift to the airport, remember very little of the dribbling conversation I must have had with the poor sod. Got there in time, checked in and found my boss. We had a good laugh over how wrong it had all nearly gone. And then…

As I queued for passport control, the hangover started to kick in. I’d drunk a bottle of coke and a coffee, but that was it. And my stomach wanted revenge. Feeling worse and worse I edged towards the desk, mentally willing myself through security so I could go and barf to my tum’s content. Handed my passport to the woman behind the counter, smiled sweetly and fainted. When I came to, I’d been propped against a wall and was being shaken by airport security. The panic in my eyes must have articulated what was coming next and the guy silently handed me a bin. Which I was promptly exorcist level sick into. In front of my boss and about 150 people queuing for passport control. Once the vomit-fest had subsided, I was asked would I like to go through security in order to board my flight. (Seriously, they were actually going to let me on the plane. Ah, these small provincial airports…). Except I couldn’t stand up.

So * takes deep breath * they put me in a wheelchair and pushed me through. And on the other side? All the people from the conference who’d had the good sense to stop drinking at a reasonable time and get the goddamn bus to the airport. Thus my humiliation was complete. I was sat in a wheelchair, covered in sick with one contact lens missing in front of a group of people who’d I’d tried to spend a week convincing they wanted to employ me. (*) I spent the 40 minute flight being sick in a bag. I then spent the 5 hour stopover at Newark on the floor in the toilets crying in shame at what I’d done. I still wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat thinking about it.

On the plus side, it’s a great story and one that’s caused much hilarity, especially as my boss reckons it’s the funniest thing she’d ever seen. Did somebody say schedenfraude? I think I just did…

(*) They didn’t. I’m still looking for a job. Oh god…
(Rakky, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 13:18, Reply)

Floor Shit
At my girlfriends place for Christmas....lovely day and lots of nice pressies....then on Boxing Day proceeded to eat the house out of all leftovers...a tiny bit of constipation ensues in the evening. Sat on the throne trying to crap for what seems like hours and then remembered that jumping up and down sometimes loosens the muck.

It worked, I dropped my load, wiped washed and walked out. Girlfriend goes in next and starts screaming. She had slipped in her new Christmas socks, on the loose piece of faeces that had escaped to the floor whilst jumping.....oh, the shame...as the mother runs to find out what the screaming was and girlfriend was instantly on the phone telling others...
(essbeenz there done that, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 13:13, Reply)

so many...
the morning after a friend's baby's naming ceremony (they were members of some proto-christian cult, i dunno) me and the ex were in our church-going finest on the train on the way into town...a lot of her uni class were there, i stumbled out the doors about half way into town to get spectacularly sick on the platform. The train driver bless the cnt decides to wait till i'm finished, with the whole carraige looking on. Needless to say the ex was mortified. Actually i don't feel any shame about this, sorry scratch all that.

i do feel shame for pissing in the laundry bin a few months ago whilst drunkened, at least it wasn't the girlfriend's laundry bin it was mine. I don't use it anymore.
(shanvishnu, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 13:10, Reply)

The horror of gin.
As far as I remember....When I was at school me and some friends went to see a band at the Portsmouth Pyramids but thought it'd be an excellent idea to go onto the beach first and consume copious amounts of cider and gin. When I say copious I mean I drank a can of cider, then filled it with neat gin and drank that.

Cut to entering the gig and feeling a little worse for wear. By which I mean passing out in the reception part with a perfect silhouette of myself in vomit on the carpet around me. I vaguely remember coming round to see a woman frantically trying to scrub the carpet while I added more puke to the cleaned parts.

10 minutes later and I was in an ambulance answering the 'what is your phone number?' question with "phrrrrblrrrspluuuuhhhhhhh!"

My parents were far from pleased and in the worst punishment ever they made me go to school the next day where everyone in the bloody place knew of my night out. Luckily I was still too pissed to notice most of the Nelson Muntz style pointing and laughing but the shame has lived with me to this day. Maybe that explains why I'm such a beer monster and make it a point to tell people I know now just how much booze I can get down me a night....

It was a long one but hurrah! my posting virginity is gone!
(chakaflange, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 12:57, Reply)

Shagging, not one, but two
Some time ago when I still lived with my parents, I had the fortune of a friend staying over (female friend - I am male).

My girlfriend was also staying over and at the time and I only had a single bed in which we would both sleep. In the middle of the night the aformentioned friend crept, naked, into the single bed that was occupied by myself and girlfriend. Much to my delight much lesbianism and shagging ensued.

Shortly after, my mum, who had got up to go to the toilet heard a variety of noises coming from my room and came into my bedroom.

A very quick shuffling followed, which ended up with all three of us sitting upright at the end of my bed, with me in the middle, and a naked girl on each side of me, both with uncovereed breasts.

My mum says "You don't all have to share the same bed you know. We have a spare I can make up."
"errr....it's ok mum" is all I could manage.

I still think she honestly thought it was all inoccent.

I am actually rather proud of the events, but ashamed that my mum came in.
(dchurch bah, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 12:25, Reply)

Simply this.
Caught with cock in hand, spurting over a gynaecological depiction of lesbianism. By my Christian ("FHM is too rude") mother. Fwapping ceased for some time after. But not too long, as I was about 14.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Tue 29 Nov 2005, 12:15, Reply)

No shame at being a cheating, cheaty, cheat
I lied through my teeth to get onto a market research focus group recently. Why on earth do that you ask? Because it paid £50 cash and I'm a spendthrift.

I had to pretend to be a car driver (which I am not). I prepared in advance, researching which car I 'drive', make, model, colour, year etc. I worked out how much the insurance would cost and prepared pointless car driving anecdotes like I was a sad Jeremy Clarkson wannabee. All of which were as dull as an Arnold Rimmer Risk story ("Then I rolled a two and a one").

Totally wasted effort as all of the questions bar one (which you didn't really need to be a driver to answer effectively) were about cycling. Which I do a lot of and therefore had no problems.

Free sandwiches, wine and beer etc was also provided; after a few hours conversation and free drinking, went home with my ill-gotten £50.

I feel *no* shame.
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Tue 29 Nov 2005, 12:05, Reply)

I..
... Used to be a glam rock star in teh 70's, everyone wanted to be in my gang. But then I was found with kiddie porn on my computer, moved to Vietnam where I'm going to be hung for shagging 12 year old. However, when I was arrested I was wearing burberry pants. Oh the shame!
(Mong-the-Merciful, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 11:24, Reply)

The George Best Will-He-Won't-He-Morbid-Curiousity-Media-Frenzy-Sweepstakes!
Quite a few people have posted stories about their mixed sense of shame and pride at winning a George Best Sweepstakes. In contrast, I was one of the people who opened a book on his inevitable demise.

Personally I cared very little about George Best but observed that the press, however, was determined that we must all pay attention whilst the greatest footballer and party fiend of his generation degenerated before our very eyes.

Therefore, I proposed a game to my friends to make watching the poor hacks camped outside the hospital more fun:

The George Best Will-He-Won't-He-Morbid-Curiousity-Media-Frenzy Sweepstakes!!

It was a very simple game. All you needed to do to enter was email me and promise that you would cough up the £1 entry fee and when you thought good old George will finally succumb to multiple internal haemorrhages and complete immune system collapse.

At first betting was slow and i recieved little response, in fact the only response I got was frosty silence punctuated only by the scribbling of biros crossing my name of christmas card lists. Eventually, as my email updates on George's health and the betting situation increased in both number and hysterical volume more bets came in. They ranged from 1946, Thursday 24th November; to the wildly optimisitc 1234, Wednesday 1st February.

Finally, George died and the media plucked our heart strings, like Princess Diana all over again but hairer, smellier, yellower. The winning bet was by a young lady who went for 0715 Friday 25th November, several hours out but she walked away with the staggering £13.00 jackpot.

Still the shame of this story comes not from having run such a despicable scam and encouraging my friends to bet on the death of another human being; not at effort that I into the many updates that I spent my time at work writing; or even that I spent more than few days signed into MSN as "George Best's Liver" and had a picture of a cirrhosis riddled organ turning even my own stomach everytime I used it. No, my shame comes from something else, something more fundamental: I made nothing from the whole scheme. Nothing at all. What was i thinking?

First rule of gambling: the house always wins.

No apologies for length, girth, etc. It's my first time, I was nervous.
(Gyre, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 11:12, Reply)

Benitses, Corfu
16 years ago went for a very drunken fortnight with my mate Mick. We spend our time sunbathing or trying to be very drunk. Mick forgot that to get a shag you need to talk to girls so come the last couple of days he was getting very frustrated. I know I walked in on him performing the Fist of Fury twice.

//shudder

He decided that a more forthright approach was needed, so after a few beers he went along one of the bars trying to chat up each girl in turn, all of whom told him to go away.

“Mick your trying too hard just relax,” I said, whilst thinking pack it in you’ll not get a shag like that.

“So you think you can do better then ?” he says

“OK I’ll pull the girl behind me, four cans of lager if I do?”

“OK” he says, all hyped up I turn around.

//shudder

Fuck me, I thought a Yeti in knickers, but as I’d turned around and looked at her she did the same to me our eyes met. I was caught like a rabbit in the headlights, I knew I should have ran and never looked back, but somehow I couldn’t. I can’t be rude even to the worst minger and looking back a bets a bet.

I managed to get away from her room at 07:00 the next morning. Mick said nothing when I went back but I muttered something about the beer he owed me and went for a very hot shower.

When we got back home all the lads went out. Mick decided to tell all my mates about the monster, when I was at the bar. But he’d forgotten to mention the bit about the bet. Which, when I told the chaps they all agreed I’d won the bet fair and square and it was his round.

A couple of weeks later we all decided to go the beach for the day. When we were there Timmy Mallet was doing a show on the beach, actually that could be another story but no. Sitting two seats in front with her mate was the monster. Luckily Mick didn’t see her and I managed to make myself invisible.

Fat, ugly and the personality of rancid cheese, still at least she had big tits.

//shudders uncontrollably and hides
(Yellow Car is now red, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 9:42, Reply)

Everyone I know, knows this...
So a little self-outage. I've even had people I barely know bring this story up.

Anyway back in the golden days of University my long-term girlfriend had just ditched me and hooked up with another guy from my course. I wasn't expecting this at all and of course recovered in time honoured tradition by getting completely bladdered for a while.

On reflection this is my first bit of shame as it ruined my degree somewhat and I didn't achieve what I had been earmarked to do. Still I'm content now. I digress...

About a month later and my best mate was away at home in London so I head out with his girlfriend and one of her mates for a few drinks. The evening begins well but soon she starts buying me Sambucas, we progress through the evening with me getting more and more worse for wear eventually ending up in a nightclub.

In the club the drinking continues, spiced up with a bit of dancing. Eventually culminating in me pulling my best mates girl. Shame number two.

Walking home we pick up takeaway and head back to hers. At this moment in time I was thinking two things:

1) She screams like buggery.
2) My ex lives in the room next door.
1&2) Revenge.

From here on in things become a little hazy and I wake in the morning to find myself bollock naked next to the girl. In my now hugely hungover and sober state I am in full on shame #3. What the fuck am I going to tell my best mate? Anyway as a bit of damage limitation I decide the best course of action was to run the away. I hop out of bed to gather up my clothes only to discover they are piss wet through. This is a bit odd thinks I. On further investigation (a bit of a sniff) it turns out to actually be piss. Getting into my soaking clothes I discovered I'd even pissed on my t-shirt! The overwhelming sense of shame of pissing all over my clothes in my best mates girlfriends bedroom was only further compounded when I found a neat pile of crap at the end of her bed!

This was now far too much, so without explanation I bolted out the door and left her to sort it all out.

The walk back to my flat was truely a walk of complete shame. Covered in my own piss, I had no idea what I was going to say to my best mate, his girlfriend or what I had really done.

Anyway the end result is that my ex didn't speak to me for a good long while. My best mate was knobbing his ex back home in London and was looking for an excuse to dump his current girlfriend anyway. The girl in question moved away a year later and we haven't heard from her since.

The shame has been dulled by the retelling and has got to the point that it's generally the first story people will tell about me. I hope to trancend one day to ludicrous urban-legend.

But my god the shame!

Longest. Post. Evar. And I cut bits out.
(mehmeh 0% witty, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 9:39, Reply)

drunken
I like my willy/todger/pork sword/whatever, but when drunk the thought never occurred to me that my friends wouldn't like it. I showed them, they said 'ugh' (I noticed with pride that no-one said 'oh that's small'). The next morning, in a strange show of bravado, I said 'I wasn't that drunk'

'drunk enough to show us your cock' came the reply.

*shame*
(Stu Moo winner of five nobble piece prizes, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 9:38, Reply)

ouch
1985, i was 6 years old and had a japanese australian woman called mrs jones as a music teacher.

she had strong , operatic voice, and would sing with us while playing the piano. ..it was one of those voices that really wavers from the force with which she sang.

so i, being young and not really understanding much, thought that the whole idea of music class was to sing really loud and make your voice wobble.

during one rendition of the do re mi song, i sung as loud as i could. and did the wobbly voice. ..but mrs jones would have none of it. midway through the piece she stopped, stood up, and demanded of the class:

"who sing like dog????"
(softporn 70's sink fixer, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 9:14, Reply)

I have no shame
probably why so many people hate me
(Mildred is a slimy, double-crossing, no-good swindler, Tue 29 Nov 2005, 9:00, Reply)