4 simple words...
To me.
To you.
(cornishbob is going to hell on, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 23:24, Reply)

Never gatecrash staff parties at the nurses home.....
because you WILL get hammered, you WILL steal Marmite/tapes/the cat and you WILL fall out of a closed window. Second floor up....not a scratch. Great healing shag afterwards though.
(pussy twaddle performs indiscretions in branches of Millets..., Thu 21 Jan 2010, 23:02, 2 replies)

Iron bridge
Last year on vacation up in the Sierra mountains, the boyfriend and I had found a nice little fishing hole. You had to scramble down some rocks and walk under an iron bridge to get to it all while holding the fishing gear. No problem going down.
Coming back up, I'm walking up to the bridge and my brain is telling me "remember to duck".
The bridge made a resounding SPANG as I headbutted it, went down and fell into the fishing hole, soaking myself from head to foot.
I spent the rest of the week with a huge black and blue bruised bump on my forehead, having to explain to people what had happened.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 22:35, Reply)

Boredom & GCSE Biology lessons
often lead to stupid challenges. Henceforth me and my friend were attempting to throw a pen in the air, and catch it like you would hold a pen, forefinger and thumb in position etc. Oh the Hilarity.

Now this was a biology lesson but I clearly hadn't paid any attention in Physics either. I threw the pen slightly too high, leaned back and it struck me directly, point down on the forehead. There was a slight pause, and then I fell straight off the stool flat on my arse.

There was much laughter all round, but the joke was on the other wankers when my teacher said I could get out of the lesson if I'd hit my head. I took the opportunity, and took the slowest possible walk to the medical room. The envy from my more sensible, focussed classmates was delicious.

And at the end of all this? Grade A in Science. Fuck yeah.
(Voodoo-Child16 Pissed in their Champagne on, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 22:19, Reply)

Traffic lights
I managed to hit some oddly placed traffic lights with the top of my skull, in broad daylight. They were hanging lower than usual and I was engaged in a conversation when it happened.

It was on the High Street, indeed. At first, I was stunned, then looked back to see what hit me, with no people behind me for at least 20 meters. Then I saw the lights and started laughing to pretend I'm not embarrassed. Sure.

That's nothing, though, compared to what happened to a friend of mine on a drunken trip to the seaside. Pretty dark, we toured between hotel bars and he decided to cut corners, jumped over a waist tall green fence and landed on a manhole. He suddenly disappeared with a thud and groan following shortly. And a broken arm to discover, seconds later.

Why would somebody place a manhole just behind the fence, on the grass, is beyond my comprehension. Being there, though, it did make sense to leave it uncovered knowing the sort of crowd populating the resort during that period of the year.
(randomset, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 22:19, Reply)

Automatic garage shutters coming down at work at the end of the day.
I couldn't resist so I Indy-rolled under them. Having skilfully negotiated the shutters, I used my momentum to launch myself back onto my feet on the other side whilst simultaeneously breaking into a fast run to balance myself out.

Straight into the bonnet of a range rover that had reversed out moments before I arrived.
( PMGT -Bacon., Thu 21 Jan 2010, 22:09, 1 reply)

About 6 years old
Climbing on some scaffolding. Uttered the immortal words ‘look mummy no hands!’ Before falling off backwards and cracking my head open.

Had to have stitches, in retrospect: really funny.
(Saaandwich, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 22:01, Reply)

The snooker incident (apologies for length)
I used to work for a major high-street bank - the one which had a lot of newspaper headlines over the last year or so. The branch I was based in was actually quite a large building. The counter and back office occupied the ground floor, and the first floor had the Small Business Unit) which was essentially a group of business managers who dealt with a portfolio of small clients. Above them, there were two floors used for storage, and finally the top floor was full of telephony equipment.

One day we went up to the second floor to get some printer paper and we found that there was a snooker table, complete with a full set of balls and cues. The rest of the floor was occupied by large steel shelving units, a few easy chairs, and a very dirty rough wooden floor. After a tentative few taps with the cues we decided that it would be a good idea for us to have a nice game of snooker at lunchtime every day.

The games were extremely enjoyable, at least until one fateful day. Greg and Tim were playing and I was watching from one of the easy chairs. At one point Greg hit the ball and it shot off the table, rolling down the aisle between two of the racks of shelves. A thought crossed my mind, and with an excited cry of “I’ll get it!” I almost killed myself.

I sprinted across the floor in the direction of the aisle where the ball went and jumped onto an easy chair which stood at the end of the racks, using it as a springboard to hurdle its back, aiming to land in the aisle where I would collect the ball, then easily jog around the back and return to the table. That was my plan.

The reality: I jumped onto the chair, sprang over the back, but failed to notice that the shelves were all joined together by an L-shaped metal bracket welded across their tops to stop them toppling over like an enormous game of “Domino Rally”. My forehead made contact with the metal bracket, immediately stopped moving, but due to my momentum my legs carried on in the same forward direction, spinning me through the air with my forehead as my axis until I was vertical, feet upwards, at which point I fell, landing head-first on the floor with my bottom on the seat of the chair. As I crumpled into a heap I heard Tim laughing very loudly and Greg running over, shouting my name, over and over again.

I jumped to my feet, shouting “I’M OKAY!” until I realised what had happened, clapped my hand to my head, and asked “am I bleeding?”

“Look at your shirt!” said Greg. I looked down and saw my white shirt was now absolutely filthy from my roll on the floor. We looked for Tim but he had disappeared: he had gone downstairs to tell Neil (the manager) what had happened, in between fits of laughter anyway. I stumbled down the stairs back to the branch and saw Tim having to use a desk to keep himself from falling to the floor, and as I opened the door Neil raised his head and looked me in the eye.

“Knob,” he said. “I’m taking you to casualty – you might have concussion or something.”

“No, I’m ok, I’m not bleeding.” The door opened behind me and one of the managers from the SBU entered.

“We heard a bang from the second floor a few minutes ago. Do you think we need to call the police?”

“Not really – it was his head,” replied Neil, pointing in my direction.

I returned to my desk, pulling my suit jacket on to hide my filthy shirt, but after a few minutes my left eyebrow started to hurt. Greg had a look and said it looked as though it was swollen, and advised me to go to the chemist for some Lasonil ointment to suppress the bruising.

“Have you been fighting?” asked the assistant when I asked for the cream.

“No!” I exclaimed, frantically trying to think of an explanation for how I had bruised my eye. “I work for a bank and I was in the strongroom, and a safe deposit box fell off a shelf and hit me in the eye.”

“You shouldn’t fight, you know,” she said.

“A box fell on me!” I insisted, to no avail.

I returned to the office, finding a small group of SBU managers in the branch, all talking about my incident with Neil, and I quietly sat at the foreign exchange desk, rubbed the cream into my eyebrow, and proceeded to try to balance the till. As I added up the figures I rested my head against my left hand for a few seconds, and when I moved my hand away I noticed something.

“Neil?” I asked. “Have we got any Germolene or Savlon?”

“Why?”

“My head’s bleeding.” I held my left hand towards him, a large patch of blood visible on my palm.

He jumped to his feet. “That’s it – I’m taking you to hospital! You might have a fractured skull or something!” Needless to say, I refused.

That night I drove to see my girlfriend but spent most of the evening asleep on the sofa as I suddenly felt very tired, so as soon as I woke I drove home. The next morning I headed back her way to get my hair cut at the salon where she worked. She washed my hair very carefully (I’d told her all about the snooker incident) but the stylist had no idea, so as soon as I sat in the chair before her she took a comb, vigorously combed my hair, and ripped all the scabs off the top of my head. I actually screamed, and so did she when she saw the brush.
(nasalhair The Twix guy!, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 21:58, Reply)

But does it really go "Spang"?
Wavy lines...

Myself and a few friends were sat around in someone's living room drinking. The conversation meandered around various topics, but eventually ended up with a discussion of the noise it makes when you hit someone on the head with a frying pan. Suddenly, one friend left the room and returned with a frying pan. And, you know what, it *does* make a "Spang" noise. How we laughed (except for the chap who'd just been bashed on the head with a frying pan).

But the slapstick part? The best bit of the whole thing was that the person who woke up with a headache and a massive lump on their head? Who walked slightly sideways for a week? That would be the frying-pan wielder. The chap he spanged was absolutely fine.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 21:49, 1 reply)

When I was just five or six...
I hated the toilet. My mum or dad would always hear me yelling and screaming. Usually, I had just slammed the lid down on my wee cock. I had one bad day though, with my pyjamas. My parents got me a set of those head to toe type ones, that zip up the length of the front, from crotch to neck. I was happily pissing away, and finished up. Like most guys I know, I was just looking around, trying to seem nonchalant about doing up my zipper, when I caught the very tip of my penis in the thing and zipped right over it. Much screaming ensued, until I realised it probably would stop hurting if I unzipped.

Edit 'cause I forgot to put the story in before hitting enter. And I can't spell worth a damn today, apparently.
( Ithyphallophobia, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 21:37, Reply)

Sleepwalking
I fell down the stairs last year. Whilst sleepwalking.

Here is the supposed order of events (based on circumstantial evidence and the wife's hearing)
-Sleepwalking, I decide to get a drink.
-I open the baby gate.
-I then trip over, falling down the stairs.
-I hit a set of drawers at the bottom. This breaks the wooden frame, cracks my elbow, creates a large, black bruise across my back that takes a month to disappear and gives me a later diagnosed concussion.
-I get up WHILE STILL ASLEEP and continue into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water.
-My wife runs downstairs, and tries to have a conversation with me.
-5 mins later, I wake up, stating "Uh.. where am.. what.. OW!"
( Rev. A-MOL is lurking around these parts again, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 21:36, Reply)

Oh Arnanth, you're so cool
All of Year 6 were visiting the Cutty Sark on a school trip. We had seen the boat, not learnt anything (for this is the point of school trips) and were on our way to the nearest Tube station.

Arnanth decided to walk backwards (cos he was *cool*), to tell us about how cool he was (*oooh*).

"...And I can run really fast and I'm the best at football" etc etc

After he had bombarded us with this monologue of narcissism, he turned round at exactly the right second for

SPANG!!!!!!!

his face to connect perfectly with a lamppost.

So I guess we learnt two things that day:

1. Lampposts can reveal things about people by means other than light
2. Arnanth was a bit of an arse bandit
(tarbin tarbis, tarbit, tarbamus, tarbimus, tarbant, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 21:02, Reply)

Raymond
A lad at my school. Big but none too smart. He was a natural choice for the basketball team, being about 6:4 aged 16.

First PE lesson of term, and Mr Thomas, the basketball-loving P.E. Teacher, has ignored most of us and just lined up some of the tallest lads to see if any of them can slam dunk.

A couple of lads have a go and fail while Raymond, towering above all of them, smiles and looks confident. Raymond's turn comes, he runs, jumps through the air, dunks it, and grabs the rim in a celebratory flourish.

Now - you're expecting it to break off and him to fall on his arse, aren't you?

Well, no...

Mr Thomas, seeing his beloved sports equipment so flagrantly abused, attempted to aim a playful kick at Raymond's dangling backside, but over-reached himself due to the lads immense height (and him hanging from a 10 foot high basket).

Stood around watching the scene unfold, we witnessed a strange little dance as the force of his kick into air with his right leg made him lose his footing with his left. His attempt to regain his balance failed, and with his centre of gravity now well behind both his feet, he did a brief sort of kossack-dance-styled backwards run across the gym... accelerating at a remarkable pace until he hit the wall and crumpled into a dazed, twisted pile on the floor.

In fairness to us, there was a concerned pause of at least 1.5 seconds before we all pissed ourselves laughing. I swear I saw him murmur 'Cunts!'...
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 20:50, 2 replies)

Breaking rocks in the hot sun.
news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/8471629.stm

Well, perhaps not slapstick, but it certainly has the schadenfreude element.
(Toucan - http://www.titmonday.com, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 20:49, Reply)

Yeah I do
I slap my dick quite often
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 20:40, 1 reply)

Not sure if it's slapstick or not...
... damn, it was funny. This happened when I was about 10/11.

~~~~~~~~wavy lines, etc~~~~~~~~~~

Back when I used to live in a nice little village just outside of Chatham, a little village named Lordswood, I had a nice little selection of friends.

Anyway. One day my mum and stepdad went out for the day, luckily taking my sisters with them. This left me and my brother. My brother went to the garage to get some gaffa tape out to "repair" the little bottle holder in his bike, as he'd fell into a bush and knocked it off (he's 2 1/2 years older than me, but that irrelevant).

He left the tape on the floor in the porch while he rode off to check it'd stay on, and myself and friends found it.

Being kids, as we were, we took the tape and stuck whatever we could to things. Rocks to trees, bottles to cars, cd's to front doors, whatever. Eventually my mate, J, got a bit tired from running around all day (he was a tad... "larger"... than us at this point, most likely still is) and sat down by a tree. Myself and my other friend "R" carried running around, arsing about, as kids do.

Eventually J fell asleep. I'm sure you can see where this is going.

He was leaning against a tree that we'd taped a rock to. We still had most of the roll of tape left. Me and R looked at him, then the tape, then each other. We both knew what was going to happen.

Carefully, trying not to wake him, we placed a small section of the tape on his face. Nothing. Not so much as a flinch. So we though we'd tape a rock to his head. Again, nothing.

SO we took it further. We placed a length of tape to his face, and then took it in turns to run around the tree, taping J's head to it. Eventually, the tape ran out. So there we were. 3 boys, 1 taped to a tree.

J woke up, panicked because he couldnt see and was utterly confused as to why his head wouldnt move.

In short, watching someone pull a roll of gaffa tape from their face is delightfully amusing. Surprisingly, he was cool with it.


Length? About 15 feet of shiny, shiny tape.
( Kyazrael Juan, two, three, floor?, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 20:31, Reply)

Best Cross Ever
I'm not a good footballer. I like football, but the only thing I've got going for me is a fairly handy left foot, inherited from my (much more skilled) Dad.

Despite a lack of skill, I occasionally turned out for the third or fourth string eleven at university, usually to make up the numbers. So I wound up being invited to play in a "Leavers vs Non-Leavers" muck about game the year I left.

Whilst having the inevitable knock-about beforehand, one of the balls we were practising with came out to me on the right. A good mate was standing at about the penalty spot, with his back to me receiving a pass from the other side. Without really thinking I launched a firm left footed in-swinger for him to head, oblivious to him looking the other way. Then I called hs name.

The timing was perfect. He turned and caught my somewhat out-of-character decent delivery full in the chops, going down like a mighty oak. Fortunately the damage wasn't that bad because he sprang up shortly after, and wiping away a small amount of blood from his nose, he managed to trot over to me and give me one of the sternest bollockings I've ever had from a mate as I tried to stifle any laughter.

Once the match was on, he soon saw the funny side, and took every opportunity to remind me what I'd done. He still does, when I see him, and the sound of that ball connecting with his mush is firmly etched in mind.
( milkybarnick is calming down Boris on, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 20:02, 1 reply)

Electric Six
I saw them in the Patti Pavilion in Swansea with a few really good friends of mine. Awesome gig, and the beer was flowing freely. In the crowd was Bez of the Happy Mondays, who was playing a DJ set elsewhere in the city later on that night. After the gig, we went up to him to say hello. My friend Leah (who I had a huge crush on at the time) got a picture with him and we all said we'd be going to his DJ set later on in the night.

Saying goodbye, we headed for the door. Full of energy and having a great time, and having just met Bez, famed for his moves, I did a bit of freaky dancing across the floor, which was covered in beer spilled during the gig.

With six friends around me and the girl I wanted beside me, I slipped on the wet floor.

All went into slow motion. My legs flew out to my right-hand side, upwards and outwards. Reacting franctically, I turned towards the floor, arms out. My left hand contacted the floor first. It planted firmly. But not for long. As my weight began to act on it, it slipped. My right hand contacted just as this took place, but it was too late. Facing a rapidly approaching, beery floor, I believe I had just enough time to get the words "Oh shi-" out before I faceplanted.

A solid THUD echoed around the emptying room.

Two seconds of silence passed.

"Ow." I said.

It began. Leah, her face a picture of shock half a second before, cracked into a grin, which quickly became a picture of utterly gleeful yet guilty hilarity. She let out a snort, which became a giggle, which became a guffaw, which became peals of laughter. Everyone else around me followed, although some also came over to help, still laughing.

I never did shag her.
(cypherspace is not a toaster, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 19:56, Reply)

The 'Walker: Texas Ranger' Punch Noise
I dated this gal in college whose father LOVED Walker: Texas Ranger. So much that he even liked to joke that Chuck Norris was her real father.

Well, she and I stopped in my dorm room one day to grab a book, and when I bent over to grab it off of the floor, she got it in her mind to goose me with a pen! Yikes!

Reflexively, I shot straight up and turned around in a panic. She had not expected this, and caught my elbow perfectly between the eyes, damn near knocking her out.

She was truly a keeper, though, as her initial reaction was to laugh about it because, as she put it, "it really made that corny 'ka-psh' noise that you hear on tv when Walker punches out the bad guys!"
(jessemoya, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 19:50, Reply)

The Sport of Kings
Way back when I were but a feral teen hanging out in parks drinking cheap vodka bought from dodgy corner shops my friends and I had a simple but brilliant game known as 'Shoe Flicking'. The premise was to simply swing on the swings and flick your shoes off as far as you could. Like I said, simple. The playground we went to was perfect for this as there was a small fence surrounding the playground which was the perfect distance away to aim for. It wasn't easy to reach it, but not impossible either.

The game had evolved, incorporating rules such as 'You cannot transfer shoes from foot to foot'. This was made relevant due to some people having a cracking right foot but a piss poor left foot. I was one of these people.

One Sunday morning, the playground devoid of children, we had decided on a quick game of this majestic sport. Jay, who was the best at this, had taken his usual swing, far on the left. Matt placed next to him and me to the right of Matt. Jay went first, right shoe, over the fence, left shoe, hit the fence. It was a good attempt. Next up was Matt, he wasn't the best but got both shoes a respectable foot or two from the fence. Then it was my turn. I geed myself up and shuffled my shoe off. I swang and swang. I had to beat Jay, I just had to. My first shoe went sailing over the fence. I could do this, I could be the first to get the 'Double Whamee'. I could get both shoes from the same round over the fence. I swang as hard as I could. I could feel my heart pumping and I knew the time was right to release.

...There it was, rising higher and higher, higher still. Only, it wasn't going forward. I had managed to flick my shoe directly above me. There was nothing I could do but wait. As if Fate himself had conspired against me, my shoe hit me square in the head as I was swinging forward. I backflipped off the swing and hit the floor, a plume of dust rising. The swing kept swinging, now behind me. As I attempted to regain any dignity I could, I slowly started getting up. I had barely moved when the swing crashed into the back of my head, forcing me to the ground yet again. This time, I just stayed down.

Length? A good 50-60 feet on a good day
(Martin1337 was trying and failing to be funny at, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 19:41, 1 reply)

Icebreaker
Back in 2000 I think it was, I decided to meet some internet types for the first time and travelled there by train. Wasn't really sure about the route so I just kept watching the stations roll by hoping I'd eventually get to the one I wanted. After an hour or so I was drifting in and out of consciousness when the announcement came up that we were at the station. Or at least that's how I heard it, what it had really said was we'd shortly be arriving at the station. So I jumped up, grabbed my bag and headed for the door, pulled it open (back in the day of slam door trains) and stepped off sleepily.

It soon dawned on me that we'd only reached the front of the platform and were travelling at a fair pace still, and it occurred to me that I must look pretty silly as I bounced off the platform, rolled backwards several times and stopped, arse up in the air, covered in dirt right by the people who I'd gone to meet.

As ice breakers go, it was pretty much perfect.
( Imhotep is Invisible - Consider this a divorce, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 19:26, 1 reply)

Splat
My friend A has a very clean and highly polished set of patio doors. At a party last year I left the group of people I had been relaxing in the garden with and went to get more beer from the kitchen. Spang, stright into the doors. Much laughter ensued, which I took in my stride. With a dismissive wave of my hand I turned and walked into the doors again.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 19:10, 2 replies)

I teach year 1, who are 5 and 6 year olds.
A couple of days ago we were getting changed for PE.
One boy had managed to get the cord of his PE bag caught in his shorts. As he walked off to line up his bag was following him.
He turned round to see it on the floor and took it back to his place, only for it to follow him back to the line.
I watched this happen four times before I helped him out.

Am I evil?
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 21 Jan 2010, 19:09, 2 replies)

Flies revenge
The other night i was lying in bed drifting off to sleep, when all of a sudden i heard a fly buzzing close to my ear which made me jump a bit.
When a fly is near, everyone else will do the lame wafty hand gesture thing. Not me, thru the whole sleepy "making me jump" bit the wafty hand gesture turned into a full on punch in the face. What a twat...
(Fishbone-didi, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 19:03, Reply)

I was walking with a friend in ashdod
When I notised three cars in a row waiting at the trafic lights.

as the light turned green the outside cars, in perfect sync, dove forward whilst the car in the middle revesed instead of going forward.

it splutterd for a few seconds before driving off into a red faced distance
(Totach arf, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 19:00, Reply)

Flying Kick
Once upon a time I was, as many people were, 11 or 12 years old.

My younger brother and I used to fight like cats and dogs at the time and many hilarious injuries would occur.

But this was my favourite.

We were arguing in the living room about who's He-Man figure was the best or something, and something made him really, really angry.

He ran at me, full pelt, before launching into an epic-looking flying kick.

Somehow, I stepped out of the way at the last second.

He went flying into the sofa.

And disappeared.

Somehow he'd managed to land perfectly between the sofa cushions and got himself wedged inside - completely concealed from view.

I couldn't breathe for laughing while his muffled rage emanated from within this soft, comfortable prison.

Ah, the good old days.
( mrlogic is copying your beard, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 18:41, Reply)

Achoo - Thump - Giggle
Not me, thankfully, but a colleague of mine.

In his earlier days, still living at home with good ol' mom and dad, D (as we shall call him) was putting away his folded laundry like a good teenager. With the top dresser drawer open D leaned under it to put some clothes into the bottom drawer. As you can all see where this is going, D sneezed so hard his head drove up into the open drawer above him, knocking himself out cold.

He came-to to the sight of his mother steadying herself in the doorway, laughing so hard she nearly pissed herself.
(Turtlenuts, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 18:34, Reply)

Bikeov
This is a pearost. I am not sure if I made a "thonk" noise as my head hit the road, but I like to think it did.

~~~wavy lines~~~

Picture the scene if you will. It's Northumberland in the summer. The birds are tweeting and suchlike, and all is good with the world. This is the area that inspired Postman Pat.

I was around 8 years old. My parents lived in a village in the middle of nowhere (no shop, no pub, but there was a church...) Now, the newspapers got delivered to the next little hamlet around a mile from where my parents lived, and as a child I was entrusted to get on my sister's old bike (phnar phnar) and ride along the lane to get the papers.

My sister's bike was a monstrous green contraption that looked like it was made in a tractor factory in Treblinsk during the dark days of the Soviet Motherland. Somehow, bikeov (for that was what my sister had christened it) had made its way from the icy steppes to the slightly less icy hills of the north of England. Now, bikeov was far, far too fucking big for me, but as my sister had bought herself a brand new racing bike, and my old bike was far too small for me, and my parent's were tighter than an ugly nun's clunge, it was bikeov or walking. So, I picked bikeov out of the shed and wobbled up the road.

As I was returning with my newsly bounty (one could virtually hear bikeov complaining at the lack of state controlled media in the imperialist west - well, it was the Guardian) I saw a wonderful thing. It was half a broom handle. Discarded at the side of the road. Yes, OK, there was no broom attached, but to an 8 year old boy, suddenly, this was a gun! Huzzah! So I pulled over on bikeov, picked up my trophy, hauled myself back on, and started cycling away, with the pole held in something akin to a jousting position.
"Hmm," I thought as I rode along "I wonder if that scene in Indiana Jones really works." For those of you scratching your heads, I was of course referring to the scene where Indy sticks a flagpole through the wheels of a motorcycle being ridden by a Nazi. The Nazi then does a fairly spetacular somersault. I pull out the broom handle...

...here, things go a little fuzzy. I have had to work out the details afterwards.

I wake up to see a rather concerned neighbour standing over me. I can see sky....well out of one eye. The other eye I can see purple fireworks. Hmm...this is an interesting sensation. What's that noise? It seems to be a car. Mmm...this is nice and comfy lying here. I wont move too much. The neighbour has disappeared. I can hear him talking to someone quite urgently. Ah well, I might just go back to sleep....

....hey, what's this? I seem to be being lifted onto a bed. Ah, that's nice. My road was very comfy. Ohh...the bed seems to move. Oh, the sky's gone now. I'm in the back of some kind of van...oh well, quite tired....

...ah. I'm somewhere else. I don't know where. There's mum. She looks a bit worried...hi mum!!

....BLAUEUERUEURAGHHGHGHHHHHHHHHHHH.....

oh, sorry mum, I seem to have been a bit sick there. Why does my face hurt so much....?


I was in hospital for several days.

Bikeov survived in stoic communist style.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Thu 21 Jan 2010, 18:23, Reply)

So very nearly much worse.
Pub. Toilets in basement. Tiny step up about 3 feet away from top of descending stairs. Misjudgement on my part. Relief at going straight to a crumpled heap on the ground rather than careening painfully to a crumpled heap at the bottom of aforementioned stairs. Relief turns to embarrassment as pub patrons find it quite amusing. Damn.
(Grobie, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 18:19, 1 reply)

Reposty time
Its from the Schadenfreude Question, making it quite a recent repost, so my apologies.
----------
Ex and I were sitting in the car waiting to go through the barrier of Canterbury Park and Ride, the car in front was just pulling up to the token machine.

Unfortunately the driver had stopped too far away from the machine to get his ticket. So we giggled a bit at the arm waving forlornly out of the car, desperately grasping at thin air.

We had given him plenty of room, if he had wanted to back up and realign the car he could have done so quite easily, but he didn't.

Oh no, he got the missus to get out of the passenger's side, walk round the back of the car, get his token for him and hand it to him. The barrier raised up, presumably on a timer, he drove forwards leaving her at the token machine. - We both looked at each other thinking "She's not going to.. is she?" Yes, she did.

She walked after her husband, timing her passage under the barrier perfectly. It descended onto her head with an audible *clonk* and part of the plastic covering snapped off and fell onto the road beside her. After seeing stars for a few moments and rather embarrassed, she quickly shoved the debris to the side of the road, and then tried to work out where the hell her husband had parked the car as he had completely buggered off now to find a space.

As it was a Park and Ride scheme, we then had to share a bus with them into the city centre, and unsurprisingly we were giggling the whole journey.

(I don't apologise for length, as some of it had snapped off)
( Thrill_My_Chinchilla is old and unimproved, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 18:15, Reply)