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This is a question Real-life slapstick

Fact: When someone walks into a lamp-post it makes a very satisfying and hugely hilarious "Ding!" noise. However, it is not quite so funny when the post is in the middle of town and you are the victim. Tell us about hilarious prat-falls.

Thanks to Bob Todd for the suggestion

(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:07)
Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, ... 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Here's one:
Few years back and one evening I'd borrowed the then GFs car and shot back to mine to feed the cat or whatever. Driving back to hers is easiest if I go past Lidl, and as I approach the closed store, I notice the local chavs are on the move - chav A in his 'souped-up shitheap hypercar' is in the correct lane (ie. on the left, waiting to turn right), chav B is in his knob extension in the right hand lane, and is wanting to turn left...you can see where this is going huh?

I'm poodling along - no need to hurry, warm evening, good tunes playing, and all is good with the world, and so it unfolded...

Chav A decided he'd get out before me and toed it just as chav B realised his way was clear to go...

It was perfect - the coming together of minds as it were :)

I had to pull over and sat there for a good 5 minutes with tears rolling down my cheeks from laughing so hard.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 13:43, Reply)
I'd just been working on my decrepit old racing bike
...and was busy testing out my handiwork on the road outside the house. I tried a wheelie, which would've been magnificent if the front wheel hadn't fallen off. The forks hit the tarmac, throwing me over the handlebars to land squarely on my oh-so-pretty face.

Picking gravel out of yours cheeks isn't fun.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 13:39, 1 reply)
a bit of a pearoast....
This was at the local golf driving range; not just a long strip of land with markers, oh no, this is one of those rather swish high-tech driving ranges - pits and targets, micro-chipped golf balls, automatic scoring system and the like.

I was on the top tier with some mates, all being crap as usual. Amazingly, what followed seemed to happen in slow motion; how I managed to see the whole thing, I guess I was just looking in the right place the right time (or wrong place at the wrong time).

In the tier below, someone was trying to chip his or her ball into the nearest target. Each target is a big segmented pit, and in the centre of each, is a small metal tube - essentially the hole. Whoever it was, managed to hit this tube and with some force.

I saw the ball ricochet up, my sight followed it all the way up to the bay next to us, where upon it hit a fat little 9 year old square in his t-shirted chest. Needless to say he fell flat on his back, having had the wind knocked out of him, and he proceeded to cry his little eyes out, whilst rolling around like an overweight seal trying to right itself. The perfection of the shot, the spot on timing and the comical reaction could have been straight out of a slapstick movie.

Anyway, I could have rushed over to help his parents and friends pick him up, or I could have called for assistance. No. All I did was burst into fits of hysterics. I was in tears. This had the unfortunate effect in setting of my mates who all started laughing.

That poor little fat kid - not only had a stray golfball nearly killed him, but the bay of twenty-somethings next to him were revelling in his pain.

I know I'm going to get a good pitchforking at the big barbeque at the end of time for that one....
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 13:34, 1 reply)
Tube etiquette
I'm 6 ft something and have quite a broad chest. Generally I will be taller and broader than the average. Subsequently, when waiting in lines or crowds I can stop people trying to push their way to the front by simply standing there and being ready for the impact. I tell you this because it's relevant to the story (and so that you will be my friend).

Anyway, I was waiting for a tube train and the platform was crowded. As the train pulled up it to was crowded. You could tell that everyone had realised that some people were not going to get on this train.

The doors open and the push begins. Quite close to the door, I make sure that my lovely lady gets through and then I catch a blur out of corner of my eye. I tense, expecting a hit and bang. A businessman who had been close to running and had been pushing others out of the way met my left shoulder, bounced off it and ended up face first on the side of the tube train.

The man had the splattered on the side of a cliff face look that Wil.E. Coyote often had. He then pushed himself away from the train looking pretty dazed. Whilst this happened I had boarded the train, the doors had closed and had started to pull away.

I will never forget the look of confusion on his face and the people who had got on the train and seen all this laughing at the marks left on the window by a squashed businessman's face.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 13:34, 5 replies)
I've already used "guy in crutches slips on banana peel"...
One time, walking with some friends down a street, I pointed out something to one of them, and he turned his head to look...

*clang* went the lamppost as he walked into it.

Best of all, he was turning his head back as he did it, and so he got a face full of post.

Both of us were pissing ourselves. Nobody else seemed to care much.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 13:33, Reply)
The Shopping Trolley (or how to permanently alter one's facial features)
Back in the heady days of my youth, I'm ashamed to say i was a chav of the highest order. Puffa Jacket? - Check. Fila Trainers? - Check. Disgusting yellow-gold jewellery from Elizabeth Duke at Argos? - Check.

With this in mind, and it being the early '90s you can see why I thought the coolest thing in the fucking world (and the one thing SURE to make the ladies swoon over my puny 11 year old frame) was to be the best rollerskater this side of side of the zider farm.

I went religiously to the roller disco and gradually got good enough that I was allowed on the ramps with the bigger boys, for a precious 10 minutes per week whilst my peers were temporarily banished from the rink to watch forlornly from the sidelines.

Having been granted my new god-like status, I felt it was time to 'up' my game. I went with a select few friends to an empty Safeway carpark one Sunday afternoon and we made jumps. Stupid jumps. Jumps made from beer crates and hardboard. We didn't know how flimsy wet hardboard can get and our jumps failed horribly.

With no ramp left, out only option was to jump OVER things.

1x beer crate - Easy
2x stacked beer crates - Done
3x stacked beer crates - BOSH! - I'm a jumping god!
But, hang on, 3 crates are higher than a trolley, I bet I can jump one of those...

I took a hefty run-up of around 15 parking spaces and wet full steam ahead towards the trolley. As I flew majestically through the air, I knew something was wrong. I was dropping too quickly. I managed to land IN the trolley! But my momentum, coupled with the fucking stupid wheels trolleys have, whipped my legs from under me so fast, I didn't even have time to put my arms out to break my fall.

What I did do, was break my fall with my teeth. A full-on, face-plant, front teeth landing. There was barely any skin left on my face and man, was I covered in blood...

I did what any 11 year old would do and bawled my fucking eyes out whilst skating home fuelled by pure adreneline.

My mates tell me they couldn't leave the car park for a good ten minutes due to sheer pant-wetting hysteria.


EDIT: I am no longer a chav.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 13:33, 1 reply)
From here I could see a building site
Some YTS was carrying a floorboard over his shoulder. Someone shouted of him and he swung around and knocked Jimmy Edwards dressed as a policeman off his bike.

No wait, that might have been on telly.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 13:32, 7 replies)
One of my mates at university was a lovely girl named Kate Bucket Fanny. Kate acquired this name on account of having a vagina the girth and volume of your average JCB digger bucket. And like a JCB, she’d had plenty of builders inside her in her time. Midway through the first term Kate bequeathed my flatmates and I an object of wonder and delight: her knackered old vibrator that she’d ridden to mucky, gloopy oblivion. It was a crusty pink double-handed broadsword of a motorised dildo which leapt and bucked like an electrocuted break dancer whenever one of us plucked up enough courage to twist the base and turned the damn thing on.

It probably had the DNA of half the people in our halls splashed all over it and the remnants of all the best venereal diseases.
We put it on our windowsill between the spider plant and our collection of empty Coors bottles, pride of place, you could see it from the road outside.

Then one night after a particularly heavy drinking session, one of my flatmates, Ian, more pissed than George Best after a liver transplant, appeared in our communal kitchen stark bollock naked. This was alarming. He then staggered over to the fridge, grabbed another beer, and in another jerky, drunken C3P0-esque move lifted Kate’s former best friend from the windowsill.

“Errr, Ian,” said one of my other flatmates, Blackpool Ben.
Ian wasn’t listening. He tottered back over towards the closed kitchen door, revved up the mighty plastic phallus of dread, bent over and wiggled it round his brownstar.

“Err.... Ian... ???”

But Ian just replied in an incredibly drunken slur, so drunk he sounded like he’d had a stroke: “Look at me! Look at me! I’m Kate! Huuh, huhh, huuuh... I’m cumming! I’m Kate! Huhh, hee, hhuuuhh, haa!”

At which point, one of my other mates, Dan, barged into the kitchen, slamming open the door and ramming Ian’s hand forward. Kate’s vibrator, humming and revving like an idling motorcycle, shot forward and disappeared, embedded deep inside Ian’s stinky sweetcorn tunnel. Ian screamed like, well, like he’d just been anally raped. He leapt forward, twatted his face on the kitchen counter and then landed in a heap face first on the kitchen floor, out cold, arms splayed either side, the final couple of inches of the massive though now somewhat muffled vibe doing a little jig buried between his buttocks.

The rest of us just stared.

We waited for Ian to come round himself – it would’ve just been a bit too gay to help our naked, drunk, machine-buggered mate out.

Just far too gay by far.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 13:25, 33 replies)
Sitting in the callcentre, taking premium rate calls
Me and a gal called Sian were taking calls on a premium rate support line. Now doing this involves being completely focused upon the customer and sticking to certain regulations (I believe they are called ICSTIS), so for example we cannot put customers on hold or talk about anything other than what service we provide (nothing offtopic etc). Also putting on a sex voice for a call to do with fixing computers was frowned upon, so it was meant to be regarded as doing our job seriously.

Had been a busy evening and we are hammering away at the calls when this largish girl walks past our desk towards a break area. As she walks by she suddenly stands perfectly vertical still and litterally falls face first like a domino straight on the floor beside us. As me and Sian are both on calls we are not allowed to say or do anything about it, so we continue on the calls while flapping our arms to get the manager's attention to help the poor girl up.

After some help arrives, she's back on her feet and somehow still smiling. She says to me and Sian and quickly says "I sometimes get a trapped nerve in my back and my spine locks up; same thing happened to me in Tescos last night" and she stumbles away.

As soon as she walked out of earshot I cupped my hands together over me mouth and said in a tinny voice to Sian "SPILLAGE ON AISLE 4 PLEASE, WE HAVE A SPILLAGE ON AISLE 4!"

That was to become her nickname from now on, Spillage Girl. And everytime she walked near Sian, Sian would look away from her and laugh like hell. Poor nerve Tescos cow.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 13:25, Reply)
» Schadenfreude

We caught my particularly well dressed mate, by just as he was walking past a well known pizza restaurant on a packed saturday lunchtime - we called him when he was 1 step away from a lamp post.
Not original I know, but the timing worked perfectly - he looked back, walked in to the post with a loud clang and bounced off landing on the pavement out cold for about 30 seconds. Most of Pizza Express laughed, we are still laughing 5 years later
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 13:01, Reply)
I wish I could have watched this in slow-motion repeatedly
It was a warm summers day, and me and my mates were outside playing football. Granted, I say playing, we were more flailing around the field in a manner more akin to a barefooted mong on a griddle pan, but we were enjoying ourselves.

As this was a friendly kick-about and not serious, we weren't really trying our hardest, and were messing around a lot. My mate M, for that is his initial, had the ball passed to him, and went to score.

Then it all started to go horribly wrong.

Unbeknownst to all of us, M included, M had a problem with his right knee and kneecap. In that his kneecap tended to dislocate at really awkward and inconvenient times, which causes his knee to fuck up. As he's running towards the goal, he goes to kick the ball. His kneecap pops out, followed by him still moving and trying to kick with a leg that won't respond.

And of course, momentum is still carrying him forward.

He spangs into the goalpost with a sickening, yet hilarious, crunch from his face and general body, and collapses on the floor, blood pouring from his nose, twitching gently. His kneecap decided that the impact with the goalpost would reset it.

We all stood and looked in shock as he finally gets up, only to promptly go down like a sack of shit again because his knee gives out again. At which point, rather than be helpful and get a responsible adult, we instead laugh at him. And carry on doing so at his feeble attempts to walk that keep resulting in him falling over like a drunk on merry-go-round.

Good times were had by all but M.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:52, Reply)
Time for a pearoast

Sheffield gets a lot of bad press regarding its public transport system. To be fair as if you don't live on the tramline you're stuck with First (the worst) Buses.

Being fortunate enough to live slap bang in the middle of the City Centre I am able to catch trams to just about anywhere that I may need to be.

Right so having begun the trip out towards the cinema just outside the City Centre I am happily sat upon the tram as we pass through the outskirts of Sheffield. As the Tram arrives at the Attercliffe stop for whatever reason the driver has pushed the wrong button in the cab and both sets of doors have opened. Nothing overly fascinating in that. My attention is drawn away from the extra set of open doors to an elderly lady in her mobility scooter. The tram platform and the entrance to the tram are about level, occasionally there is a lip of a couple of inches.

As the lady is trying to get the scooter on to the tram she is hitting the lip. The conductor makes his way down and utters the immortal line.

"Jus' rev it me duck, you'll be reet"

She follows these instructions with aplomb. Backing the scooter up about ten feet. She hits the accelerate and becomes a blur. She hits the little lip buggy bounces up into the tram. Sadly she didn't apply the brakes as quickly and promptly shot out the (mistakenly) open doors opposite landing on the opposite side of the track and crashing into the platform.

To this day it is probably one of the funniest things I have ever seen.

The conductors reaction was just as funny. After looking through the doors to make she was ok, which she was, he simply called after nher

"Look here Penelope Pitstop, this is a tram stop not the start line in Wacky Races"

I have never had the misfortune to simultaneously wet myself and soil myself but i was pretty fucking close that day.

Length she went a good six feet past the tram before she landed.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:50, 7 replies)
It's a semi-pea!
I used it before in another question but this is my favourite slapstick thing that I've witnessed. And I made it happen *prouds*.

My wife and I were walking with friends to a pub, holding hands. She was walking backwards briefly, talking to someone behind. So I maintained our path - mine, clear; hers, blocked by a BT phonebox. What I couldn't have planned was that she would turn round to resume walking forwards at the exact moment we reached the phonebox and splat, insect-like against the perspex.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:46, Reply)
Indiana Jones
As 10 year olds having just seen Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, me and my mate were trying to recreate a famous scene (Indy is in a network of caves and has to escape using those mine-cars. He has to use his foot as a brake to stop the cart. His shoe overheats, starts smoking and he shouts "Water, water" or something before a tsumani appears in the tunnels towards them... etc)

I was on my beaten up old racer, he was on his new birthday present BMX. The idea was to cycle to the top of a fairly steep road (nice a quiet one thankfully) then come down it and brake at the bottom by pressing our feet against the tyre and shouting "Water, water!".

We'd done it a few times successfully until what funnily enough happened to be the last attempt.

Rather than against the tyre, he accidentally put his foot in the spokes. As a rule in cycling, this is something you should try to avoid.

Inexplicably (to us) he somersaulted fully over his bike and must have done a full 360 in the air before landing on his backside.

A big dent in a bar across his handlebars a more lasting reminder than the scraped elbows.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:44, Reply)
Walking through the streets of Oldham...
....looking at the girls on the other side of the road.

They giggle, we smile, it's teen flirting at its best.

My friend nearly walks into a lamp post, missing it by inches. He gives the now even more giggly girls a knowing, 'I knew that was there really' look and carries on.

Friend promptly walks into next lamp post. Lands on his arse.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:43, Reply)
What a pane...
...sorry about the tenuous title.

Anyway, I used to work at Electronics Boutique in the Trafford Centre. It was, with a shadow of a doubt, the most mind numbing job ever. It consisted of either dealing with the nerdiest of nerds or panic-stricken mothers who had no idea what they were meant to be buying. Lisa Riley came in once and bought an absurd amount of gambling games, which was odd. But anyway, I digress.

So, it was a normal, busy, annoying Saturday. I had been lumbered with till duty while my equally bored 'sales assistant' mate was changing all the graphics in the shop window, leaving it naked for a period of time.

Anyway, the next lady I serve hands me a case for the hit PS1 game, Driver. Now obviously we didn't keep the games on the shelves, that'd be daft. No, we kept the discs themselves in a big drawer behind the tills. So I rifle through the draw, find 'Driver' and stick it in the case. Lady gives me the money, I hand over the bag and then, out of nowhere we both get 'chavved'.

A small, skinny hand reached between us and grabbed the bag. The lady shrieked, I yelled, the thief panicked and made a bolt for sweet freedom. His malnourished tracksuit-clad legs powered him towards the door, he turned to make his exit, people jumped out of his way in sheer panic, then...


...as the window he ran into at full, adrenaline fueled pelt resonated loudly. He rebounded beautifully, landing in a heap on his back, nose bloody, wailing like a schoolgirl with a skinned knee, all while leaving a rather grim blood-splatter on the window.

The manager grabbed him and he was handed over to the security guys.

Instant karma or real life slapstick, you decide. Going off the stalled eruption of laughter from his epic face-plant I'd have to go with the latter!
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:39, 1 reply)
My uni housemate
managed to slip on a banana skin

it was hilarious
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:38, Reply)
Gene Kelly, I am not
Once, walking back from a nightclub, I decided to try and surprise my two mates with an impromptu dance move. So, as we were casually strolling home through the streets of London, I dashed ahead, stuck out my arm and swung gracefully in a little circle round a lamp-post.

However, in my slightly inebriated state, instead of the hoped-for solid two feet on the ground landing, I let go, spun round in mid-air and heavily landed, square on my arse (to gales of 3am Soho laughter).

I spent the rest of the walk home half hunched over, clutching my back and moaning about my coccyx.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:34, Reply)
A quick pea about "The car boot sale of tranquility"...
About 8 years back when me and the ex were getting by on our means but still grateful for a handout we were offered the chance to join her parents on a caravan holiday in Somerset. Initially aprehensive I gave in when I figured a week by the sea for £70 (our share of the cost) was about the only break I'd get that summer. Plus I was still trying to gain favour with her family by showing I was a nice bloke and not a snob.

Having driven down in hot sticky furnace of a car at a pace that would make an undertaker get irate we arrived to a naff park of static caravans alongside a railway line with a glimpse of sea somewhere near Minehead.

I did my best to hide my dissappointment, even when we went to the pub for a plate of lowest cost highest markup deep fried imported sewer fish and value chips. The highlight of which was watching a family of scousers (i.e. about 15 of them) literally dressed in shell suits with perms just like the Harry Enfield sketch all arguing at another table while one of their criminal in training kids spat chewed up napkins through a peashooter drinking straw at the back of their grandads (i.e. about 45) head.

Anyway, after a few days of the mundane the ex could see I needed a dose of something I might enjoy (no not that) so we went along to a sunny car boot sale in a lush green field nearby.

The place was a haven of tranquil calm, the waves on the shore close by and all manner of bargains on offer. I sauntered around happy as anything, until the ex came up to me clearly a bit put out and explained about the no holds barred granny.

This old northern wench had pretty much steamrollered my ex out of the way having spotted a box of unmatched miscellaneous crockery on offer. Fearful this young lady may deprive her of a set of 5 assorted plates & bowls she waded in, taking no prisoners and loudly demanded to know the cost of such treasure. This much I had heard from several stalls away. Evidently a deal was had and you could see she struggled to get the coins out of her purse quickly enough.

Calm returned to the field and I continued strolling along, occasionally stopping to peruse some nik nak, until said brash granny caught up to me.

Like a Crow to a shiny trinkett she was drawn to something just out of reach and right in front of me. Obviously phrases such as "excuse me" or "could you pass that over please" were foreign tongue to her, so I watched as she stretched forward, counter balancing her box of assorted crap crockery at her side....

Then in slow motion her "Kankle" foot squeezed into shoes clearly not designed anything as impractical as grass gave way and she began to topple. Stood right next to me, I'm sure I had plenty of time to yell "Timber!" had the comedy of what was unfolding been realised, as instinctively she fell like a sack of spuds and the hurled the box in her arms upwards.

Imagine if you will the perfect serenity of a quiet morning at the seaside when the quiet is pierced by the comedy soundtrack of a box of 20 pieces of cheap crockery hitting the deck. It was like time stood still. The whole field turned to look in my direction to see a pair of Granny legs in Nora Batty tights pointing skywards, a fat old lady like a craggy island in a small sea of shattered crockery.

I'm sure I should have offered her a hand to get up.... however I had to focus on finding a tissue.... to deal with the candles of snot I accidentally decorated myself with as I failed to stifle a serious fit of giggles. I could only turn, go bright red as I sniggered as I sauntered away. By the time I could raise my head to look others in the eye it became clear I wasn't the only person to have enjoyed that and many of us exchanged looks of "that was good that" and "she deserved it" with all knowing smiles.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:32, Reply)
Playing frisbee at a local park with a work colleague (both in our 30's). The park had a football pitch on it but the goal-mouth area's were pretty worn and the owners had 2 big mounds of earth ready to redistribute across the pitch.

We were stood probably 30 yards apart and were whanging the frisbee to each other quite successfully.

I threw the frisbee and it must have caught the wind slightly as it rose a bit more than normal and headed over said colleague's head.

He started running after it whilst keeping an eye on it. I suppose could see what was going to happen before it happened and kept thinking "No, he'll spot that huge mound of earth. 'Course he will. He won't run into it.."

On that point I was wrong. He ran, full pelt into the waist high pile of earth. The last I saw of him for a good few minutes were his feet, totally upside-down, dissappearing behind the mound.

I was creased over in pain from laughter. He was, by all accounts, also in pain; from the tumble as well as the laughter.

It took a while for us to strike up a conversation about it due to the laughter.

It was one of those moments that brings a smile to your face whenever you remember it. Just a shame I didn't catch it on camera. £250 smackeroos would surely be mine.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:23, Reply)
Might as well get the story about crushed bollocks out of the way quickly
Eddie, for whom I would otherwise spare some sympathy, put it around school that I only had one bollock.

A scurrilous slur, for mine were – right up to the moment of vasectomy – both in perfect working order. Which is more than could be said for Eddie himself, who used this fearful untruth to cover his own sorry tale.

Poor, poor Eddie.

He had been playing on the swings with some mates, trying to out-do each other with tricks and stunts. The stunt of choice was one where they swung as high as they could, jumped off, landing on the soft grass congratulating each other on their rock-hard stuntman status.

This wasn't flash enough for Eddie. He had to take the stunt to its inevitable conclusion. Having seen it done on countless westerns and car-chase movies, he decided to swing as high as he could before jumping off and landing on his bike, riding away in triumph as his friends roared their appreciation.

What could possibly go wrong?

It was - for a whole thirty seconds - a beautifully comic moment. Then someone called an ambulance.

Now, as the late Peter Cook might have said, I had nothing against Eddie's singular bollock. The trouble is, neither did he.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:19, Reply)
now for an actual story...
Setting the scene: A busy High-Street. Well, ok, a quiet high street in a suburban craphole, just south of Croydon.

There's a big hole in the pavement, shoulder-deep, four feet across and some eight or ten foot long. It has fluorescent barriers on the road-side edge and nothing on the other three sides. Sun-reading, arse-cleavage-modelling lout in hard hat and dayglo vest leaning on barrier smoking.

A blind man approaches with guide dog. Guide dog leads man closer.

Guide dog walks to side of hole.

Blind man disappears from view, still clutching now-stretched lead. Guide dog stops walking and looks puzzled.

Onlookers yell "why didn't you stop him?" at workman/workshy layabout, who responds with "well, it's big enough to see, innit?"

Cue a response of "He's BLIND you fuckwit - the white stick and the guide dog were a clue, surely?"

Watching from the other side of the road, I could barely breathe for laughing so hard...
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:18, 5 replies)
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:16, Reply)
Yay! Story to follow, I promise.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:15, Reply)
The Fridge
Whilst putting away the milk, I once shut my nose in the fridge door right in front of my appreciative mates who I was making cups of tea for.

I was stone cold sober, and no, I don't have a big nose.
I just forgot to move out of the way when shutting the door.

It really hurt and cut the right-hand side of my nose.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:14, 8 replies)
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:11, Reply)
That's a first for me.

Should have a story too in the dark recesses of me noggin.
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:11, Reply)
Instant karma
A short while ago I was sauntering down the landing of my house past the door to the bathroom. My girlfriend was stood in the door, and as I walked past she bent down to pick something up from the floor. Seizing my opportunity I smacked her across the arse with a paperback book that I had in my hand. Unfortunately for me, I was a little over-zealous with the follow-through swing and solidly hit myself right in the eye with the spine of the book.

Baffled the hell out of my girlfriend who turned round to find me rolling on the floor, clutching my eye (socket, my eye hadn't popped out) and wailing.

What a fucking dumbass...
(, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:09, 7 replies)

This question is now closed.

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