Pearoast
When I was learning to ski last year, I started out in the bottom group of three (no previous experience). After spending five hours more than I needed on the nursery slope, I asked to move up to the middle group, and was obliged. Turns out there was rather more of a gap there than I had expected.

As I picked myself up from my fourth crash in as many minutes, I looked down the slope to spot the rest of my group waiting impatiently for me to get of my arse. "Sod it" I thought. "I'll just go straight for them and swing gracefully blunder clumsily into place at the end of the line". I started down the hill straight toward one of the smaller kids in the group. It was going fine until I hit the bump. I didn't fall off straight away, but rather fell onto the backs of my skis while still picking up speed. Straight toward the kid five years younger and four stone lighter than me. He was standing with his skis splayed out so they formed a kind of V shape pointing down the hill, and looking over his shoulder. He must have had some sort of sixth sense, becuase he turned back just as I came too close for him to dodge, but with still enough time for his expression to change to shock and a cry of "NOOOOOOO" to escape his lips.

By some quirk of fate, my trajectory was aligned with him in such a way that I was able to tuck myself in and pass between his legs and on down the hill. I, however, was not having this. I didn't want to pile on down the hill for another hundred metres when there was such a convienient method of braking so handy.

I extended my arms and, as I sped between his knees, swept his legs out from under him in a tackle any American football player would be proud of.

When we finally came to a stop twenty metres on I was laughing too much to get up for a full minute. He did not share my mirth. Nor did the ski instructor. The rest of the group, however, agreed with me. My only regret is that it wasn't captured on film.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 18:15, Reply)

Our shop window.
My boss cleans the front window everyday.

During the day we have a freezer trolley in front of the window. Strangely when customers are inside, and are looking into the front trolley. They can't quite figure out what has happen, when they lean over to grab something in it, and an invisible forcefield has smacked them in the head. This always makes us laugh, and has a number of different ways this can happen.

1. The Chinese Twin thing. Could have been mother and daughter, and probably from Thailand. Anyway both of them standing at the window, both looking into the Trolley. One leans forward bangs head on the glass says something to the other, rubbing her head. Then the other leans forward.....

2. The Poster Boy. We usually have posters displaying stuff on the window too. Bangs his head where the poster is, step back with a stunned look on his face. See the gap in between the poster and the trolley and aims for that....dong.

3. The Multiple Offender (TMO). As the title says, he's hit the window more than once. (As in every time). This is his best. TMO looked around and came to the counter to be served. I stepped up to serve him.
TMO "I want..."
Me "That's in that trolley in the front"
TMO turned around and storms into the window...now most of the offenders stand and bend into it, now and again they walk into it. But he was almost at running speed. His ass hit the floor. As did I when I started to laugh.

Length? 6 foot by 10 foot, and not broken once.
(Dante licked your nipple on, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 18:12, 1 reply)

Postman splat
I was sat in a pub for a quiet drink with a pal, vacantly staring out of the window. I thought nothing of the Royal Mail van parked across the street.
That is until without warning the backdoor burst open and the postman fell out backwards throwing letters in every conceivable direction landing in a (rather painful looking)heap on the road. The icing on the cake so to speak was definitely watching letters softly rain down on him, amazing.
(Fennestrator, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 18:01, Reply)

I always manage to show my complete lack of any grace or coordination.
For some unknown reason I am allowed to be a Board member for a national organization that works to get regulators aware of, trained in, and accepting new environmental technologies. This is a pretty big organization with at least a little bit of prominence in the environmental remediation field. (Like I said, I still don’t know how I managed to fool people enough to be invited to be on the Board).

We were at a meeting in San Antonio Texas which is very proud of their canal system which channels surface and groundwater through canal through the city (a real waste of water in a semi-desert climate but it brings in the hick tourists to ride the stupid swan boats). As our meeting brought +/- 400 people to the city to stay in hotels and blow lots of money in the bars, the Board was invited by the Mayor to take a personal tour of the whole water system workings. They pike us up in a b us with the city dignitaries and proceeded to drive us all over to see a bunch of pumps and locks etc. At one stop, being Texas, the ground was completely flat with a well watered lawn and a flat sidewalk. As we walked towards the building we were supposed to see, I of course found the only small crack in the sidewalk, tripped, spun around, and spectacularly managed not to fall, all the while being watched by the Mayor, the other Board members and members of the press who were on the tour.

OK, embarrassing but even with everyone laughing at me and asking how I could manage to trip where it is completely flat, I could live with the shame. Unfortunately, on the way back to the bus, I managed to find the exact same spot, trip and instead of spectacularly avoiding falling, I spectacularly twisted, fell, rolled, and ripped my pant along with cutting my hand. I lost all credibility amongst all of the laughing at me and being asked if I was OK. (I should say that I also have the ability to blush very red which kept happening so much that some people were worried I was going to have a heart attack.

It didn’t help that all of the rest of the stops, the Mayor and other dignitaries would all surround the bus steps laughing hysterically while pretending to try to keep me from falling.

It’s been a couple of years since then and thankfully I have done enough other stupid stuff that I am no longer reminded of it to often. (The story of me drunkenly hanging my ass off of a cable car going through downtown San Francisco is much more fun for people to tell).

(Sorry for the length)
(MichaelS wasn't picked again, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 17:50, Reply)

Saldy there wasn't anyone there to witness it, but ...
My first weekend to spend consisting of just me and a proper girl - really fit, really up for it (details had been exchanged of what would be happening) - and who's parents were away for the weekend and had left her the house to herself.

It was the early 1990s. I was 17, she was 18. It was Saturday morning. I was getting ready for an hour's train journey through the West Country summertime countryside, to explode out into a world constructed only of the stuff poetry and porn is made of.

Naturally, to preclude all this, I listened to a steady diet of heavy metal, old school punk and new-school indie at top volume, while I laid out my finest, blackest band t-shirts, and made sure my dishevelled look was just so.

One particularly riotous, rebellious song came on, and I moshed enthusiastically around my room gleefully, tripping on a fix of caffeine, nicotine, hormones and the sheer, unadulterated, magnificent joy of the teenage horn.

I BELTED my head against my wardrobe, causing it to fall half-into me. In my stunned haste, I spun 'round, smashing my face against my shelf full of books, tipping several of the heavier volumes on top of myself, and one particular tome landing cornerside into my crown, causing me to sit down heavily on my bed, to be pelted by the rest of my books, my cassettes and CDs, the speaker of my stereo and all the other various pariphinalia and shelf crap of a teenage punk's life.

As I sat there, surrounded by the debris, I realised that in all the excitement my cigarette had dropped onto my bed and was burning a sizable hole in my duvet and it's cover.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 17:43, 2 replies)

A rousing finale.
A few years ago I was doing a concert in Northamptonshire. The main piece for the evening was Shostakovich's Symphony No.10, which is fast, furious and very tricksy. Nevertheless, we ploughed through the entire piece with nary a mistake (something we had hitherto been unable to do, even in the final rehearsal). Our conductor was beside himself with joy and pride, and getting ever-more excited at the piece drew to its dramatic, rousing finale.

Sadly he got a bit over-excited and violent with his conducting, and managed to neatly impale himself in the nose with his baton. He conducted the final few bars with his dress shirt rapidly being stained with blood, and then fell off the podium.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 17:36, 9 replies)

The Krazy house stairs
If anybody has ever been to the once brilliant Krazy house in Liverpool, chances are you would have seen countless people (in a comedic breach of health and safety regulations) slip and tumble down the metallic stairways due to the over abundance of sweat and spilled beer.

But NEVER will you ever see anyone spill their pint as they do it.

I've seen a guy nearly break his arm as he plunged sideways down the bastards, but he managed to save BOTH his drinks.

Legend.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 17:28, 5 replies)

Walking down Camden High Street
the other day, I saw this lad legging it down the road.

He tripped on a wonky paving slab and kissed the pavement with such ferocious velocity I was suprised an imprint of his face wasn't left in the concret afterwards.

Naturally, I pissed myself laughing, pointed at him and shouted over: "Oi, mate! What you gonna do for an encore, gonna go and play with the traffic? Gonna fall down some steps?"

Didn't go down well.

Apparently its the height of rudeness to heckle a four year old who's just run off from his mum and performed the perfect faceplant.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 17:28, 2 replies)

London
On the train to London for the first time, i had a proud moment of being northern, no doubt the ladies would fall for my Lancastrian dialect when i reached my destination...

I got off the train, breathed in the heavy air of the train station and saw the exit... Yes, here i would strut my stuff and impress the locals, i would even develop a semi-swagger to prove that i'm not arsed at the fact that i'm completely alone in the big city.

I walked out onto the street and promptly tripped over the curb as i was texting my mate that i 'had arrived'.. In some sort of mad flail i dove headlong to catch my phone, whilst my legs continued in a kind of half-run, i even caught the phone but spastically juggled it away onto the road causing it to smash and send my battery skidding off into the traffic.

I finally landed after three paces, knuckles first in a sprawl of six foot four inches of lanky limbs and scraggly hair. Right next to three pretty girls.

I vaguely remembering shotuing 'IM FINE!' and then had to dodge traffic to recover the shards of phone, much to the amusement of the girls.

I got a laugh out of them, so it kind of worked out for me... even if it was at my own expense...
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 17:21, 2 replies)

Roasted pea for your pleasure...
Many years ago...
...and a young MattInAHat had embarked on the great adventure of living in sin with the artist formerly known as Mrs Hat. Unfortunately living with She of the Spectacular Norkage was not the filthy, sordid fuck fest that I had previously envisaged and pretty soon we had gone from liberally exchanging bodily fluids at every given opportunity to the kind of sexless existence usually found on the problem page of the Mail on Sunday.

As another evening was being endured watching shite on a fuzzy portable television, my beloved's sweet voice drifted through the icy atmosphere.

"I'm out of fags. Nip round the shop and get me some"

"Of course my sweet" I replied.
"nothing would give me greater pleasure than to hasten to tobacconist in the pissing down rain and get you 10 Lambert and fucking Butler" I didn't add

So collar turned up and head down against the rain I made my way to the shop and duly purchased the requested tobacco product, all the time hoping that this selfless act would result in my getting a shag. Or a quick hand shandy. Even a quick grope wouldn't have gone amiss.

As I stepped out of the shop I looked up to watch the rain coming down, and as I did so, my vision was drawn to a window. A window with the curtains open. A window with the curtains open and the light on. And the resident of the room, (The young, blonde resident of the room) lit up like a Las Vegas magic show was seemingly getting ready to go out.

I started walking so as not to be too obvious a pervert, gaze locked on the young lady slipping out of her blouse.

"Go on!" my sex starved brain screamed at her.
"Show me your tits!"

And she somehow heard.

Her hands reached round to her back and fumbled with the clasp of her bra, TheMattInThePants suddenly waking up and remembering what he's been missing.

The bra went slack as the object of my ogleing succeeded in freeing herself from her clothing....


At the exact same moment the the side of my face came into rather abrupt halt against the previously unnoticed lamp post thoughtfully left in my path and leaving me with a rather fetching bruise.


"What the fuck happened to you?" asked my beloved upon my return.

"I was watching some bird getting changed and I walked into a lamppost"

"Well you deserve it you fucking twat"


I didn't have sex that night
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Thu 21 Jan 2010, 17:13, Reply)

Damn brain
Sitting on a train with the missus, t'other week - her travelling backward, me sitting opposite.

Sat happily staring out the window, the lady points out something of interest, which due to the train moving, is rapidly disappearing behind us.

My body's automatic systems kick in and attempts to move my head into a better viewing position. However, unconscious reflex doesn't know what glass is, and the best viewing position, reckons my reptilian brain, would be if my head was about six inches outside the train.

CLONK!

Result: hysterics from the lady, minor concussion for me.
(SimianKid internet faffer, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 17:11, Reply)

Winning by a nose
I used to play squash quite a lot: as a student, I joined the squash club and would play several times a week. I was not brilliant, but not too bad; more importantly, I was enthusiastic. This was important, because not being too bad in comparison to those who're pretty good means an inevitable drubbing. You don't have to be beaten by much: what counts is that you're beaten.

Still: I lived in hope.

One day, I was challenged to a match by one of the team members; I was feeling pretty good, and had a feeling that my defeat may not even be inevitable as I made my way onto the court. And, indeed, things seemed to be going well. I was winning fewer than half the points, but I was at least winning some.

The ball came hurtling towards me. I responded, and hit it. I hit it well: exactly on the sweet spot, and it rocketed down the court and back up. My opponent was somewhere behind me; for once, I'd forced him to surrender the centre of the court.

THUMP

The ball didn't come back. The "thump" should have been a "thwack". I looked behind me, just in time to see him land. Others rushed onto the court to make sure he was OK. I retreated out of the way.


The lesson here is that squash raquets were invented so that we don't have to use our noses to volley. Noses break.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 17:08, Reply)

I was going out for drinks with a few friends from work.
We needed to change at Euston from the Victoria to the Northern line - one of the easiest changes on the entire Underground, as it's only across the platform. However, the Northern line train was already there and waiting when we pulled in. I led the way in dashing from one to the other, and had just jumped into the carriage when the doors started to close. My friends were not as fast as me and were not going to make it, so I panicked and went to get off the train again. The doors slammed shut on my head, leaving me slightly concussed, then bounced open again. My friends then gratefully boarded the train, pissing themsleves laughing.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 17:06, 3 replies)

Near Miss
Second year of university and I wasn't having much success with women. However every now and then one of them would lower their standards enough to sleep with me and this was going to be one of those night; or so I thought.

I was in a night club with my flat mates getting slowly drunk, when one of my group introduced me to a friend of his, she was a she, she was pretty, and she seemed to like me - life rarely gets better than this.

So we got to talking, and then we got to kissing, and then it was time to go home; and when I suggested she might like to come home with me she agreed - brilliant - I was going to have sex for the third time that year!

I was very, very excited, so excited indeed, that as I got into the taxi that was going to whisk us away to all types of carnal pleasures I misjudged the size of the taxi door. Crack, I hit the door frame with the top of my head hard, very hard. A little dazed, but feeling Okish, I put a brave face on it, nothing was going to stand in my way tonight.

However half way home, I smile at her and she looks back with a look of shock, I put my hand to my head - it is wet, and on closer inspection red - I was bleeding, "It's Ok" I say "It's nothing"

But it's not nothing; I am now bleeding a lot - a waterfall of blood is dripping down my face and obscuring my vision. She suggests that she should just go home and that I should go to hospital, but desperately I beg her to come back with me and that I would be Ok.

As the taxi pulls up to my house I get out feeling a little light headed. As I exit the cab, I turn around, the door slams shut and the Taxi roars off, with my sex for the night inside.

No rampant coupling for Mr Hungry tonight and I never saw her again (I suspect she studiously avoided me for the next two years - fair enough really).

The bleeding stopped 5 minutes later too - we totally could have had sex, damn it.
(MrHungry, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:41, 1 reply)

My 3 year old nephew is a wuss…
He gets extremely scared of sudden loud noises. Looking after him one day on behalf of my big sister, he notices my small assortment of guitars and asks if he can ‘have a go’ on them. Whilst beating the fretboard of my Strat, he enquired as to what the dials do. “They make it go louder and quieter” was the most elaborate explanation I was prepared to give.
Obviously he wanted a demonstration so I duly obliged and flicked on an amp. Guitarists amongst you will know the irksome bang that often accompanies plugging a jack into a guitar / already switched-on amp. Sure enough the amp gave a loud, baritone cough and lo, there were tears and hysterics, and my feeble attempts at paternal sympathy and reassurance ensued.
Later on the same day; same room with guitars and I’m showing him that it’s not all loud bangs and scary noises. Satisfied by my explanations, he toddled off whilst I switched off the amp and stowed the guitar.
“What’s this?’ he asks from behind my back.
I should point out that some decorating had occurred recently and all things in the house weren’t where they should be.
So barely had I spun around and issued the words “a smoke alarm’ before he pushed the test button with it aiming directly into his face. Cue a Benny Hill-esque, hands clasped over either ear, terrified look on his mini-boat.
Length? A full toss.

(I’ve got my own nipper now, and he puts up with all kinds of racket)
(i.charlius *Two Ronnies Theme*, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:40, Reply)

Glazed and confused.
I once replaced a pane of glass that had cracked in the fanlight above the garage door.

I'd got most of the job done, and had spent fifteen minutes smoothing off the putty beautifully, finishing with a final flourish. I was so pleased with my workmanship that I took a step backwards to admire the effect.

Unfortunately I'd forgotten that the fanlight was ten feet up the wall, and that consequently I was standing up a ladder. The resulting crash to the ground wasn't so much painful as incredibly surprising. I could hear hysterical laughter coming from my wife, so I quite quickly gathered I wasn't dead, which is the main thing I suppose.
(richardm, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:33, 2 replies)

I'm going to hell for this...
It was a glorious sunny day in Whitby last summer. We had just walked down the 199 steps and were wandering along the road towards the harbour. There were so many pedestrians in Whitby that day that the road we were on was absolutely rammed with people.

Coming the other way through the crowd I noticed a man pushing an empty child sized wheelchair. Seconds later I noticed the usual occupant of the wheelchair, the man's disabled son, being supported and led by his mum from the main throng towards one of the interesting curiosity shoppes along the street.

I passed within inches as I stopped to let them past me onto the pavement and over to the shop. As the young man leaned forward to look in the window he smacked his forehead into the glass with a loud and satisfying boinnnnnng! He then immediately uttered the classic line 'mmmuuuhhh'.

I didn't acually laugh then and there, but once out of range I lost control. I was still laughing hours later. The missus kept giving me evils everytime she saw me chuckle. I feel very guilty for laughing but his comedy timing was excellent.
(I'm sure he didn't hurt himself and his mum actually laughed a bit, but nowhere near as much as me)
( TheFinch is getting to grips with the complex plane on, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:20, 2 replies)

Colin vs the Icy Canal
Way back in 1996, my final year in Secondary before the inevitable promotion to the sixth form, we experienced a bit of a cold snap - some snow and every body of water freezing over. One thing that our school had was the "Canal" - an (obviously) man-made water-way that was in all honesty, just an over-elaborate pond system.

Something else that our school had was Colin - chief trouble-maker, mental case and tormented ginger. He was never a bully, never really picked on anyone, but had a predilection for acting the fool purely for attention (for example, kicking the water tap at the front of the biology class room, flooding it to "show me how it's done"). Others, however liked to target him from time to time.

Anyway, this particularly cold day, the Canal had frozen over. As was the way, we were all outside during lunch, freezing our respective behinds off. Someone managed to grab Colin's bag, and within moments, it was sliding down the canal having been released by a fellow student with the skill and grace of a champion Curler.

Colin was livid, and after a few minutes of rampant cursing and swearing, he scaled the railings that were present on only one bank and literally dashed, without sliding (to his eternal credit) over the ice, snatching up the bag mid-run and coming to a halt on the far side. The crowd of students cheered. A huge grin spread across his face, and at the same time as a wonderful idea filtered through is brain:

"If they loved that, surely they'll cheer even louder if I do it again!"

Suddenly, Colin leaped from the far bank, minus the skill and control of his first attempt, sliding half the distance and crashing into the railings, this side of the Canal. A faintly audible *crack* was heard by those of us not cheering.

"AGAIN, AGAIN!" went the rabble of students.

Now at this point, any sane person would have said "thank you ladies and gentlemen!", taken a bow, and not tempted fate for a third time. Colin was not a sane person, and proceeded to perch himself on the railings.

In his troubled mind, he must have seen himself soar off the railing with the grace of a ginger bird of prey. In reality, he plummeted 4 foot onto the ice which gave a satisfyingly loud series of *cracks* and promptly gave way. Colin, after much difficulty dragged his half frozen and extremely wet self onto the far bank.

The cheering had ceased, and in its place the sound of everyone laughing.

I nearly passed out from the lack of breath and how much my diaphragm hurt form the laughing I did; and soon the tale of Colin vs the Icy Canal passed into my school's rich tapestry of lore...
( theoriginalsteve <this space intentionally left blank>, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:20, 1 reply)

Orchestra Pratfall
A few years ago my orchestra was selected to play for the BBC Children in Need concert, to be broadcast on the radio and attended by numerous impressive people. The "head honchos" had never seen our orchestra before, and wanted to make sure that we would look and sound suitably professional against the choirs of five years olds, nose flute quintets and so on.

So, they come to the dress rehearsal. And there sits the entire orchestra, perfectly prim and poised. The conductor walks on, takes a bow, and begins to conduct (It was the Borodin "Prince Igor" Overture, which is an incredibly OTT Russian style piece.) The conductor attempted to restrain his normal conducting practices and look serious, but soon reverted back to the "windmill" approach favoured by many.

What he'd forgotten was that he was standing on a podium.

The increased momentum of his swinging arms tipped him off balance and launched him in a flying dive into the viola section, all of whom gripped their instruments with absolute terror. It was a surprisingly elegant spectacle, considering that this conductor was, to all intents and purposes, Father Christmas in a tux.

Cue the BBC people in the audience to the shocked silence. "Oh my god!"

(a pause)

"Are your instruments broken?"
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:19, 2 replies)

Almost daily occurance now
I read and walk. It's an aquired skill the involves being aware of your periphial whilst reading a book adn walking along. I don;t have problems with it: I notice discolouration on the floor I look up and avoid the dogshit. I notice movement, I look up and avoid other people. I see dark, I look up and cross the road. Pretty easy.

My way to and from work and lunch means I take this 10 min walk 4 times a day. My journey's away from work are always fine but my journeys back almost always include this firggin end bit of tree branch that is at just above eye level for me. It;s position and size means that I don't notice it until I'm about to collide with it and sometimes not even then.

The end result is an almost twice daily occurance of me walking along and reading and then suddenly violently twisting the top half of my body and then straightening again. I do think it must look quite strange to people watching me walk as they too probably can't see the branch.

This weird display of acrobatics does mean that I do soemtimes miss the branch. I keep meaning to break the branch next time I walk past it but when I reach it I'm too engrossed in my book...
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:15, Reply)

Thrills and Spills
Working late at night in Bahrain in the midddle east, none of this health and safety type business, driving off site on a haul road miss the turn back on to the completed road.

"Ah I'll just do a little three point turn"



The rear of the pajero was lodged on a concrete ring in the bottom of the hole.


( SoBadItsGood Its only a crime if you earn <£100000, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:13, Reply)

Learning when to quit
On topic, eventually, so bear with me.

I've always had an issue with closing time, so to speak. When the party finally dies down, I'm usually still up drinking. When the bar announces last call, I'm usually grabbing another couple pints. When the vacation is over, I put off leaving as long as possible. You get the idea.

This has allowed some rather painful experiences, as snowboarding is one of my all-time favourite hobbies. It's an expensive sport, and I don't get to go all that frequently, so when I do go, I try to make the best of my time. Spend most of the day getting back into the groove. Slowly build up to bigger tricks, harder hills, higher drops, etc. When the resort finally announces last run (as they're closing the lifts) I take the opportunity to attempt something I didn't have the balls to attempt earlier in the day.

This particular occasion takes us back to when I was in high school (insert wavy lines). It was nearing the end of the day, and I had been boarding with a somewhat large group of less than sober individuals. Calling each other on tricks and upping the ante all day. Finally, last run is called. I, ignoring that nervous twinge in my gut, decide to try something that will put "the boys" to shame.

See, there was this quarterpipe (I would say made of snow, but ice is a better description) and at the top of the quarterpipe were these 2 drums (the kind you'd see a tramp burning stuff in to keep warm) stacked one atop the other. All day "the boys" had been going up the pipe and tapping their boards/skis on these drums, getting higher and higher but never quite getting past halfway up. For some reason, I decided I would just jump over the barrels and magically land unscathed on the other side, riding away into my glory.

I gather everyone round, and line up for it. It's late in the day so unfortunately my mate Shawn (and we had argued about this) had put the camcorder away and was dead set on leaving it away as I "wouldn't actually do it." Angered, I begin to ride down towards my ticket to high school fame, picking up plenty of speed on the way. I fly up the quarterpipe and leave the comforting embrace of earth. Unfortunately (and you all saw this coming), at the critical moment where I was leaving the quarterpipe, I didn't push off. This caused the painful scenario of events to unfold. I didn't quite have enough distance between my board and the 2 drums. As I was passing overtop, my board clipped the lip of the top drum. This threw my upper body forward and sent me flying over "a la superman". It also sent me crashing down onto the hardened icy snowballs that fall off behind snow quarterpipes "a la superman-with-the-intention-of-breaking-something-with-his-face".

When black faded back to white and began to come into focus again, everyone was hysterical. Not only "the boys" but also most of my school who were finishing their final run nearby, as well as my sister and her large group of friends who just happened to be passing. And what should I hear but my mate Shawn screaming, between hearty chortling: "I wish I would have recorded that!"

Length: About 14ft high and 3ft across
(Turtlenuts, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:13, Reply)

Window-fecking-cleaners!
We had a glass vestibule fitted at work and the very last thing that the contractors were obliged to do was clean down the whole thing and polish the glass.

One of the glass cleaning monkeys decided to move our business Xmas tree, which was never meant to be moved once errected, and the base snapped.

He called me over, reported his crime and I sighed loudly. He said he had to press on and get the cleaning done and asked if I could sort the tree. Being a charitable type I agreed, but I should have realised this was going to be beyond me. A 12foot fake tree covered in decorations knackered at the base is a remarkably heavy and unstable object to try to manhandle back on to its stand and the damn thing fell on me.

"Fuck this!" I said and extracted myself from under the tree, stood up and spun on my heel to go back into the building, feeling a little self concious, to fetch help.

Just as the cleaning twat manually shuts the internal sliding glass door.

*FUCKO!" went the noise of me hitting it at speed.

"Are you ok mate?" he said meekly

"NO!" I said, rearranging my now squint specs and looking at the huge face and hands smudge I made on the closed door. Quietly seething, and a little dazed, I sloped off back the offices to stop me from killing the bastard for his gross stupidity.

As a spotscript, mysteriously the next day someone rocked up with those opaque stickers that should be stuck to large windows and glass doors to help indicate its actually there.

Bet that bastard eats out on that tale now...

/scans earlier posts for evidence
( Fire & Forget it's the only way to be sure, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:13, Reply)

During a rather riveting lecture about Freud
the lecturer was getting more and more into what he was saying and more and more excited, taking great bounds of delight across the stage at every mention of the Castration complex, and waving his arms with abandon at Oedipus. He got to the climax of the speech (as it were) by telling us all about phallogocentricity.

"So this is the idea that there's this massive penis watching over us all!" (A Bound, a dramatic gesture) "And since this is Freud, we must assume that he really, really meant a HUUUUUUUUUUUUU---"

Alas, with this final leap and demonstration of size, he fell right off the stage and into the front row of students. Amidst the laughter, you could hear the tiny remnant of his voice from the floor, almost defeated but not completely:

"...uuuuge peeenis...."
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:13, 4 replies)

Oooh oooh here's one...
I used to work in a large IT office. Now I just work in a small IT office, but that's progress for you.

Anyway, the desks were grouped together in groups of 4. Everyone, for reasons unknown, had their own individual waste bin positioned just behind their desks. This information will become pertinent to this tale. You have been warned.

My desk looked over onto another bank of 4 desks, and Ken, my supervisor, sat at one of these desks.

Ken was a strange guy. Quite likeable, but could talk the arse off a donkey. Not really much of an IT mind it has to be said, or indeed a supervisor for that matter. He was quite a nervous chap, and would often scurry about the office, sheet of paper in hand, trying desperately to look busy.

One day he pushed back from his desk, stood up from his chair, turned round - sheet of paper in hand - and proceeded to hurtle up the office.

So far so good. Sadly for Ken, his foot not only made contact with his bin, but his foot actually went INTO his bin, catching his foot and sending him cartwheeling up the office. He was quite a tall bloke, and the sight of his long gangly arms and legs spinning and whirring wildly as he vaulted like Hugo Sanchez between the desks was a memory that I will always savour.

Everyone, almost to a man, put hands to mouth and gasped "Oh Ken, are you alright?" etc. Except for one man. The man now pissing himself at his desk. The man now typing this tale.

Oh Ken. I'm sorry I laughed. But it was funny as fuck.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:12, Reply)

rakes
when I was a young lad I would regulary be conscripted to help my parents with the odd jobs around the house, such as raking the leafs into one big pile so they could be delt with. however me been a samll boy I wanted to test to see that if you did step on the pointy end of a rake wether it craked you in the face, and so with my trusty rake (twas a rather large metal one) layed on the floor I jumped on the bussiness end of the rake.
suffice to say it did work just like in the cartoons and I ended up flat on my back with a red stripe running up my forehead.
(radial head fracture, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 16:12, 4 replies)

Walking home in the dark
When I was doing my A-levels I had a job as a potwash, this involved a lot of walking home in the dark. I was nearly home and just walking down the main road that led to the housing estate I lived on. This main road was also responsible for transporting water to various housing estates. Water pipes that seemed to posess the structural integrity of a wet paper bag. As such, it was not uncommon for there to be roadworks, as they applied the water-board's equivalent of elastoplast to the shitty pipes.

Anyhow, so there I was, just coming up to one of the temporary traffic lights, just as they change and a car has to stop. This driver was clearly an inconsiderate one, by virtue of the fact he couldn't be arsed to switch his lights to dipped-beam. I'm unimpressed by this, so I'm leering at where I think the driver should be (too dazzled by the aformentioned headlights), leering and walking, until my expression of discontent is interrupted by me falling over the 'temporary traffic lights' sign. At which point the lights changed and the driver fucked off.
( Slippery Mick &#8207;, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 15:57, Reply)

When Seaman Gabber was nothing more than Cadet Gabber...
..he remembered his mate leaning too far backwards on a bar stool and plunging to the floor below...

But not before Seaman Gabber had heroically plucked a full pint out of his mates hand. Handing back the saved pint almost made up for the embarrasment of said previous fall.

Hurrah for saved pints!
And boo for talking about himself in the 3rd person.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 15:53, Reply)

Tony Hawk (not)
Many years ago a group of us were walking home after a skinfull in the pub. We called in our local chippy and as we came out there was an abandoned skateboard on the path.

"I'm fcuking ace at that!" said my mate (who I'd never heard mention skateboards in his life)

There was a 15ft, 30 degree slope handy, my mate put the skateboard at the top, then, holding his Fish & Chips, he jumped on the board.

Needless to say the board fcuked off at alarming pace and my mate did a comedy fall as it set off.

Thump! Went my mate on his arse - flinging his supper in the air. Just as he looked round at us - Thump! His airborne Fish landed squarley on his head, and just sat there!

I think I did a wee.
(MichaelLinge (ywc), Thu 21 Jan 2010, 15:53, Reply)

Bloody hell this is good timing
This genuinely, honestly, only happened to me on Tuesday of this week.

As is common in January in Britain, I've got a stinking bastard cold. And as I got it from the girlfriend (please remember this last point, I will be referring to it shortly) I can't play the man-flu card and claim I've got some freaky new kind of Ebola mixed with AIDS and should be stuck in bed getting nursed back to health with chocolate and blowjobs. In fact I decided to pay said illness as little attention as possible, and won the acclaim of my ballet class (girlfriend! Remember the girlfriend! I'm not making any of this up!) by admitting at the start of the class that I had man-flu - and saying, OUT LOUD, in direct violation of the Bloke Code, that I was well aware that this did not mean I was dying.

Karma, especially when allied with germs, is a twat.

Maybe this happened because I was trying so hard to ignore The Ill (as I have now respectfully termed it) that it felt compelled to remind me of its existence. Maybe it was my comeuppance for flouting the Rules of Manliness in favour of trying to impress 16 ballet dancers of varying levels of hotness. But when it happened, I am assured it was hilarious by everyone I told the story to.

I sneezed, so violently, that my glasses fell off.

While I was having a piss.

A STANDING piss.

You do the maths
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 15:49, Reply)