Sorry to do this - not me, but...
when I worked in London there was a guy called Mo, who was nice enough - keen to please, I think he may have been bullied at school, due to his somewhat excessive size, and was now overcompensating.

Anyway, he fancied this girl Amy who worked with us, and didn't stand a cat in hell's chance with her. One day, whilst talking to her he was walking along the office, whereupon she interrupted him with "Mo, are you staring at my boobs again?!"

Mo, to his eternal credit, dropped his eyes, and said "Yeah, sorry mate" then left the office.

Teh shame was all his - but he got my respect for such an honest answer.
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 13:54, Reply)

oh god, reading this stuff brings back memories....
Called my teacher Mum when I was 8 or 9.

Started crying while in the lunch line for no
aparent reason (I had no fuckin' idea myself) when I was 12. might be connected with the next
one.....

trying to commit suicide by stepping out
infront of a car when I was 13. Ok, the idea
itself is really stupid, but I'm ashamed
because I didn't think about the poor driver of
the car getting the scare (and possibly guilt trip) of a lifetime.

being a bit of a "new age" twat when I was 14

um
when I was 16 or 17 there was a party that I
got invited to. At this party there was a girl
I knew that fancied me. She was there with a
friend who she had told that she fancied me. of
course I got drunk and wound up behind a pair
of bushes with the friend. These bushes didn't
offer as much cover as we* had hoped and we
where partially seen going at it by most of the
people at the party. Adding to the shame of
this is the fact that the friend was not at all
as good looking as the girl who actually
fancied me. Later I found out that there was
another girl at the party (who was quite fitt)
that fancied me who totally lost interest after
this incident.
smooth..

*the bushes where her idea....some friend....


everyone loves the length!
( The little pink animal is mostly harmless, except on, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 13:49, Reply)

George best is dead
and im pleased, nay... fucking over the moon i actually shouted 'THANK FUCK FOR THAT' while drivin me van.

what a waste of a liver that someone could have used properly for years...good riddance to bad rubbish..

but im ashamed at the level of my pleasure at his death :(
(big finger, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 13:33, Reply)

Best
I have no shame.

However the "popular" fucking press ought to fucking develop some for the rather disturbing amount of milking of the non death of a footballer for ratings.

If he's died whilst writing this then just change the tense or something. And then assume the same for the post mortem death.

edit: bollocks. He actually just died.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 13:31, Reply)

I am ashamed to say...
...that Calgacus' reference to one of my old posts really took me aback. Thanks, mate.

And now I'm putting a personal message on the QOTW. Naughty me.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 13:22, Reply)

I've just won
A bet that George Best would snuff it today. I'm now £25 up - I'm happy, and yet slightly shamed by the morbidity.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 13:13, Reply)

Wascally Weasel
never ever feel shame about a your marillion love! i was gutted when fish left (not as gutted as when i heard 'hooks in you' by the new singer though) and even showed a tear or two.

i still sing the tunes out loud when wandering or cooking, and my favourite tune ever is possibly grendal. if i had a vynal player i'd be listening to them still.

you take the highroad and i'll take the low road and i'll get a ston-ed before ye ;)
(unlawful odour i dunno..., Fri 25 Nov 2005, 13:10, Reply)

I was....
..seeing a gorgeous girl from work and had been for about a year. I'd actually left my ex girlfriend for her and things were going great. Unfortunately, my ex girlfriend was a barmaid at my local. And at about this time I stupidly got drunk and took her home. This went on for ages as she was blackmailing me that if I didn't take her home with me on the end of a friday night then she'd find a way to tell my missus. She was a bit of a pyscho.

Eventually the ex's mum got wind of this and ended up phoning my missus up at work and telling her what was going on.

As if I wasn't ashamed of my actions before now, it got worse.

I lied to her, my mates and my family that there was nothing going on with my ex. I made them all believe me and everyone grew to hate my ex because they thought she'd made it all up. I even got family members (my mum) to vouch for me to my missus.

Eventually the weight of the guilt got to me and our relationship ended.

Can't believe I'd ever been so bloody stupid. And the shame of breaking everyone's trust haunts me now. Years later.
( Evil Bastardo, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 12:47, Reply)

Code
The code that i'm currently writing as part of my PhD - i'm ashamed of that!
(basshedz2, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 12:41, Reply)

Post piss up & meeting her parents.
My g/f's father and stepmum had invited me to a meal at a posh restaurant as a belated birthday present. I was under strict instructions to get to her place no later than midday to be picked up and whisked off to charm the in-laws.

No problem. Except that the night before I'd gone out with some mates and got absolutely munted. I'd crawled back to my flat and decided that I was hungry, so I cooked up a one off creation known as "Quorn Jalfrezi" which tasted pretty dire and left a mess on the hob that resembled a Glastonbury portaloo.

Next morning I felt ill. So ill in fact that I gagged after drinking a sip of water. I grabbed a bath, put on my finest white Ben Sherman shirt and made for g/f's house. I stopped for indigestion tablets on the way and felt fine...

An hour later, I was sitting down for starters and wishing I was still in bed. One bite of a bread roll had me scarpering to the bog. The lack of signage in the posh restaurant meant that I stopped in my tracks, puked up horrible red stained, quorn ridden chunder in full view of most of the diners (although out of sight of g/f & co). My shirt was covered in Jalfrezi sauce and I smelt like the floor of a kebab house.

Blushing in shame, I made my way to the toilet, guided by a waitress who could barely conceal her disgust. I washed my shirt in the sink, dried it under the drier and did my best to mop the vomit off my jeans and shoes.

I skulked back to my seat safe in the knowledge that I'd got away with it by the skin of my teeth and having spewed, could enjoy a meal and turn on the charm. Which I did....

Feeling smug on my way back home being driven by g/f's Dad I felt a slight twinge in my stomach. Oh no. The next ten seconds were the longest in my life. I asked him to pull over, which he did. I grasped in desperation at the door handle, pleading with g/f's dad to unlock the door quickly, with my other hand clamped over my mouth.

Bleeeeuuuuuuurrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh!

The door opened, but a full two seconds too late. I'd boffed up all over the inside of the car door and to add insult to injury, a large tomcat sauntered over to the now stationary car and started feasting on the chunks of vomit on the pavement.

Oh, the shame
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 25 Nov 2005, 12:36, Reply)

Sinful Skinful
By some quirk I ended up managing a large retail outlet of the kind where they make your glasses in an hour. When I wasn't stealing from the till or stealing stock, I presided over a major infatuation with one of my staff members, a delightful 20 year old lass. One day we were slouching together on the back counter of the shop and she mentioned to me that she was peeling after getting sunburnt. I asked her to peel some skin from her back and show me. She busied herself under her blouse and produced a sizeable piece. I then issued her with the only direct command I had given her as I usually let her do what she wanted as long as I could drool over her. Eat it I commanded. She did.
(rodgerroop, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 12:31, Reply)

Was once woken up by the DIY-mad neighbour next door
Drilling at 7.30 in the morning. Not impressed. Constant bloody noise that got me out of bed in the end. Mentioned it to my mum who gratifyingly seemed geniunely interested and came up to my room to listen to the drilling. We couldn't tell if it was coming from the first floor (level with my parents' room) or the second (level with mine) and we spent a few minutes trying to work it out. Mum pointed out it was odd because it sounded like it was so close it could almost be in my room. She even looked around a bit. It was when she started to look under my bed that I realised the source of the noise. My girlfriend's vibrator. Under the bed. Just where mum was about to look. (Still don't know to this day how it switched itself on). I managed a lame effort to cover it up, and mum went downstairs, and every time I think about it, it takes a healthy dose of willing suspension of disbelief on my behalf to pretend she didn't see all...
(Garnett, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 12:31, Reply)

My shop lifting streak
Between 1988-1991
The loot?-Penny sweets
How I got caught_pink skulls in my gob found by mum. At least I didnt piss on the floor of that shop like someone i know
Punishment-rainbows,brownies,girl guides and visiting the salvation army every year to be a smart arse at the bible (still couldn't remember the saint's days)

Im so ashamed. (about the staeling, the bible stuff wasnt bad, but girl guides is full of whores)
( Blobcat Less Jaffacakes this year, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 12:27, Reply)

Calling a teacher "mum" is nothing
I once called my high school geography teacher "Grandad". He was in his mid thirties and took it as a personal insult. my Grandad was staying with us at the time.
(Slyph, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 12:06, Reply)

Shame
1. Leeds, c. 1995. 7 of us in a room smoking heavily and munchies are attacking. An advert for Mars Bar ice creams comes on the telly and so we instantly require their creamy goodness. I foolishly volunteer for the munchie run.

The list is endless - I stack up two baskets full of crisps, coke, chocolate etc and lay 7 Mars Bar ice creams on the top.

I am sweating with the paranoid effort. As I finally reach the front of the queue and pay for my items, I rush to the door only to hear two girls in the queue behind me and one saying to the other:

"Eyyyeeeeeww! Did you see what that fat bloke just bought?"

Cue laughter from rest of queue. I, have now dropped one of the bags and am fumbling by the exit in shame.

2. London c. 2004. A very mad warehouse party. Annie Mac of Radio 1 fame (although not at the time) is a vague acquaintance and we are chatting away merrily whilst pilled to the nines. I am holding my own comfortably, not letting my usual wit drop despite the huge quantities of MDMA pummelling my system.

Anyway, having convinced myself of my ability to communicate with other people, Annie finally looks at me and says:

"So, do you know you have been staring at my tits without a break for the last 10 minutes?"
( pilchardboy, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 12:03, Reply)

Don't do Drugs Kids.....
Oh, I also came home ten years back, full of E during my pill taking
phase (won't touch em now, for reasons to become clear) to my father
having a fully fledged heart attack in the front room. And simply went
to bed as it was giving me The Fear and left my panicking mother to
deal with it.

Top eh? What a *bastard*……

He's alright now (and better than ever to be honest) but that incident was the final straw where anything
stronger than hash was involved.

Anything that destroys your ability to care about a family member
possibly dying is no good in my book to be honest……

This goes beyond shame. This is absolute gut wrenching self hatred at
what I did…….
(Pandaemonium, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 12:00, Reply)

I am not ashamed to say
Since I read Amish Information's System's "let's run" post I have actually said that to my son "because we can". Beautiful.
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:58, Reply)

arrgh! the horror!
i used to have this mad obsession for boy bands when i was a teenager.. east 17, the backstreet boys, five, westlife, 98 degrees, nsync....

in particular i used to collect anything east 17.. posters, stickers, any teeny little snippet written about them in the paper.. i have all of their albums and most of their singles.. videos.. while i still don't mind some of their music, the fact that i had posters of pastey little pommy gits on my walls makes me cringe...

i was worse with the backstreet boys, mainly because i had more pocket money to buy their stuff with.. i have all of their cds (bar their new one... *shudder*) including every single they released, some double-ups because they differed slightly... videos they released, even one of their rare "shape cds" where they are being interviewed in swedish.. a scrapbook full of pictures cut out of magazines, a ring binder packed full of magazine articles of them, photos, badges, keyrings, everything!

oh the shame...
(brotagaia, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:58, Reply)

Thumbs Up
Once on a work bash I learnt a lesson about drunken memory loss when some twat from Sales started shouting at me about some perceived insult and I simply had no clue what he was talking about.

I found out later that "it" had happened only minutes before the shouting match. What I do remember is thinking he was homophobic and trying to wind him up somewhat with tales of bloke-kissing (despite my being straight). What I *don't* remember is, in an apparent further wind-up attempt, trying to stick my thumb up his arse.

I wasn't with the company much longer after that. To this day I find it odd that I have a clear recollection of him being pissed at me, but even at that point my memory of the event itself had already disappeared.
( wangmaster2000, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:52, Reply)

Spending my teenage years out in the country
was not good for the local wildlife population.

Using jamjars full of tadpoles as grenades, launching live frogs tied to rockets, spanging myxamatosis rabbits with spades, drying live eels out in the sun, shooting sparrows, robins and swifts with an air rifle, throwing live moles onto bonfires, massacring a shoal of fish which were trapped in a section of reservoir with spears.

I'm not proud. I'm ashamed. Now i sometimes wonder how many of those little birdies were mothers who will never be able to return to feed their nest full of chicks, which will long ago have all starved. I shiver.

Well, i've now been vegetarian for 10 years and am a fervent supporter of the World Wildlife Fund, so there is hope for even the most evil of teenagers.
( 100% Cock Raw like carrots., Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:52, Reply)

I could never...
print half the things I'd like to... they shall go with me to the grave... and probably an early one at that....
(MsRosalita, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:44, Reply)

One or two things (winces inwardly)
1. I broke my friends nose at a party. We were doing that thing where you stand back to back, linking elbows and you lift the other person onto your back. I did this to her, I was drunk, I fell over, on top of her. I had her arms wrapped in mine so she landed on her face.... oh I remember the blood.

2. One halloween, I was about 16, had a drunken snog with a boy. We wandered off from this party, down the road and ended up falling into a hedge right outside a Church. (I think being halloween we were looking for ghosts or something.) It was pitch black but then! We are startled out of our drunken fumbling by bright car headlights. The next day at school, in my RELIGIOUS STUDIES class, my teacher, who is a VICAR comments that she saw an 'awful sight' last night, 2 teenagers having sex in a hedge. I don't know to this day if she saw my face...

3. I told a Tunisian man to fuck off, when I was on holiday there aged about 14. This is apparentely a VERY HUGE insult over there and he jabbed me with his index finger, in my mouth! He made my gum bleed! I did feel very shameful.

4. The worst comes last... I was at school at the time. One night doing homework in my bedroom, I must have had an open school book on the floor. I had my rag and was changing my panty pad (I told you this was bad!!) and I threw it on the floor of my bedroom. I was a bit of a skanky cow at the time. So I'm in school the next day and the time comes to take out our text books.... I'm sitting on the FRONT row of the classroom and put the book on my desk, lo and behold it opens to reveal a used panty pad for the whole world to see.
(Sameranda, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:43, Reply)

Shameful things, in increasing order of shamefulness:
i) Losing my virginity in a field outside Grantham. Shame? Useful opportunism? Frostbite? Not sure about this one.

ii) At school, hitting someone over the head with a pool cue because the insufferable little scrote had just beaten me.

iii) The incessant, irredeemable crapness of my posts on the QOTW board.
(flimflam_machine, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:43, Reply)

wardrobe malfunction
A lesson to remember - while boxer shorts may be cooler than Y-fronts, they should NOT be worn with PE shorts - especially not when you might spend time sitting cross-legged.

The girls were discussing my length and girth all week.
( wangmaster2000, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:40, Reply)

Poor little birdy
A starling was nicely perched on the telphone cable between our house and next door, singly sweetly away. Until I shot it with an air rifle. The bullet passed through the birds brain from under it's beak. As if this wasn't bad enough, it rotated 180 degrees hanging on to the cable, blood dripping from it's beak onto the floor near me.

Also managed to break a sparrows neck with a home made catapult (elastic bands and old mattress spring). I left it food, it ate and I got the bugger with a stone. I rushed to the garden and tried to revive it. Alas it was not to be. I buried it in the back garden with a few sad words.

The silly thing is I quite like our avian friends!

The shame.
(Steve_LF, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:25, Reply)

shamE
oh the shame..

When i was living in Redfern.

I returned early from a holiday on the coast,leaving my girlfreind behind, and leaving me with the house all to myself for a week.

So anyway, watching telly that evening i am taking advantage of the fact, and cracking one off to an "oz aerobics" video my gf owned, when the front door lock clicked and i caught a glimpse of the lovely lady from across the road through the window.

She had come to feed the cat.

I'd totally forgotten.

I made the mad leap, pants around the ankles, across the lounge room to the door just as it was opening, and pushed it shut in her face, but she knew.

I still burn with shame when i think about it, she was such a cool neighbour.

oh well
(uptonogood, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:23, Reply)

Princess Di's funeral
1) My and a mate were pissed up during it on vodka (11amish?) listening to blasting Nine Inch Nails and dancing on his glass topped table.

I feel a little shame about the whole incident.

2) Another time me and same lad were leaving the pub at lunchtime, lashed again (a common thread in my experiences) and passed a garden toy sale this little girl was holding.

I feel terrible even writing this….

We bought a soft toy tomato off her for 50 pence. We proceeded to kick it down the street (she was bawling at this time) then impale it on the local church yards metal railings, and set fire to it. It was synthetic too, and went up in seconds.

I can still clearly remember the wails and screams of this horribly upset poor lass who’s just witnessed two yobs destroy a childhood toy, while her father attempted to comfort her with the subdued words “it’s theirs now…..”

No shame at the time, I cringe at the thought now.

3) Stealing a little baby Jesus from the local Catholic church’s nativity scheme, me and same lad, again pissed, again kicking it down the street, but this time managing to kick it’s eyes out. That one was in the local residential paper.

Probably more, but I feel a bit sick now……
(Pandaemonium, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:20, Reply)

Double shame
Fortunately I don't have a lot to be ashamed of, however one of the major ones though is how I broke up with my first proper girlfriend.

I was 18 and in my first year of university (I blame an all boys school for my late start) and got together with one of the girls off my course. It was all going well until that little voice at the back of my head kicked in(the one that thinks another shot of tequila is a great idea) "what are you doing?" it says "she's taking over your life!" (I used to get that idea a lot), "you need to end it now!" Now the shameful part isn't that I listened to that little voice, I'm sure most people do on occasion, and ended the relationship, it more how I did it. Basically I hid! For about 3 weeks I avoided her (quite difficult because she was in all my lectures and labs) and that successfully killed off that relationship.

Roll on 4 years, it didn't take me long to figure out hiding was not a very good option when dealing with the opposite sex, I've carried this shame with me for most of those years and it's the final days of my degree. I'm out in the Union on a Saturday night and see the afore mentioned girl, I then spend the rest of the night apologising to her for being a knob, thus reaffirming her impression of me. Hence more shame. Ah well my conscience is clearer now at least.
(penguinitis, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:16, Reply)

Gleeballs: thank you
Gleeballs,

I just read your "thanks b3ta" post, where you refer to answers to previous QOTW: those posts in themselves moved me deeply and your realisation that your shame was in making excuses to cover your tears was equally moving.

I'm a 35 year old bloke with a one year old son and I will never be ashamed to cry, wherever I am, if crying is the apprpriate expression of my feelings.

Thanks mate. Your post will stick with me for a very long time.

And when Louis' older, maybe mother inferior and me will take him to the park. On leaving for home, we'll say: "Louis: let's run"...
( <>Dog www.stevelaker.blog, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:15, Reply)

Nutmeggin'.
I wrote a (somewhat lengthy) recount on this a while ago, so I'll cull out the uninteresting parts.

I'd tried nutmeg only days before, a Sunday, after an amount of research. A simple kitchen spice, ingested in large amounts, being a fairly powerful hallucinogen. I didn't take much the first time. Testing the waters, as it were. It was nice, but not as mind-blowing as other reports had said. I'd had 6 whole nutmegs. I resolved to take 7 the next time.

Come Wednesday, I was ready to try it again. I'd re-stocked on nutmeg, though from a different supplier. I chucked 7 into the mortar, and ground at it for an hour and a half. After mustering up the courage, I swallowed it all (around 3 am) and retired for the night (I was to go to school the next day).

The next day came up. I was up and at school. Following a few hours of uneventfulness, it was the last period of the day. A filler subject, fairly boring.

A was sitting there, small groups had formed, incessantly chittering. The teacher stood by the door with one group. I was starting to feel somewhat ill, I could feel no colour in my face. Suddenly, my stomach contracted. Vomit sped up my throat, a small amount expelling itself into my mouth. I swallowed it, looked at the clock, 5 minutes left.

Again, a contraction. A slightly larger amount came into my mouth. I swallowed it, confident in my ability to swallow whatever my stomach through at me (I was off my head, alright?). Not 20 seconds later, my stomch contracted harder than before. It sloshed into my mouth, half filling it. I gulped it down, before resolving to stand up and be excused from the room.

I gathered my belongings, slew my bag around my shoulders, and walked up to teacher. I asked if I could leave for the toilet. He silently stepped out of my path. I thanked him, and made a hasty retreat.

This is the part burnt into my memory. The single feeling, the image. Not 10 meters down the hall, a small pool forming in thin air, right in front of my eyes. The relieved feeling in my stomach. The painful realisation of what was happening. As the ochre spheres rained onto the cement of the floor, I sped up my pace. I looked behind me, nobody was looking out of the door. The windows were frosted, so nobody had seen through those. Relief as it was, my stomach was still rumbling. The brisk walk developed into a jog, as I burst into the bathroom. I'd barely locked myself inside a stall before delivering two more loads of vomit into the toilet. My eyes were watering to the point where I could feel the tears running down my face.

I went to the sink, splashed some water on face, and made a retreat. I got to the doorway when the bell went. Being a bludge lesson, people were already lined up at the exit of the classroom. I spared another glance back. It had appeared that they'd walked straight past it without noticing. Something I still severely doubt. I half-ran out of their sight.

To this day, nobody has said a thing. But they know. They must.
( Le Brad, Fri 25 Nov 2005, 11:00, Reply)