I once got knocked down by a parked car.
Nowhere near as exciting a story as it sounds.

Playing a nice friendly game of 'run-away-from-the-slightly-bigger-boys-or-they-punch-you' in the playground, and I decided that the best course of action would be to jump down a flight of stairs, rather than run down.

Mid air, I realised that, on balance, jumping up at the top of them was pretty unnecessary.

As I hit the ground, my left knee buckled like swooning milkmaid. My right knee, however, stayed firm. This effectively pitched me over to the left, and straight into the car that had been thoughtfully parked to aid my descent. The car span me around, seemingly endlessly, as I made my way groundwards, and I landed in a tangled mass of limbs and hurt pride.

Length? The scar on my knee is an inch or so, at best...
(Serotonicity was a naughty boy on..., Fri 22 Jan 2010, 23:25, Reply)

Noisy bugger
After a bad accident on the bike i was admitted to the A&E emergency admissions ward. Nine broken bones are no fun i can tell you! Lots of Tramadol later i'm starting to feel the wonderous affects and it's time to kip. Enter drunkard who has been hit by transit van at 11 pm at night, moaning and groaning at death's door. The constant beeps from his monitor followed by flatline noises and the constant ministrations by the staff to revive him are starting to wear a bit thin by 2am. The moaning noises finally start again. From a shadowy corner of the ward suddenly comes the comment from an old dear of about 80, admitted earlier in the evening..... ' Either shut up or fuckin' die will you? i'm trying to get some sleep'! Nearly wet myself laughing! Was funny at the time though. By the way, he pulled through.
(vamp1refrog, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 21:24, Reply)

I spend Friday nights pouring over QOTW entries on b3ta.
I do not have a social life, apparently. But I'm a big man on the interwebs.

now THAT'S comedy!

On a completely related note:

In my 17th year I was riding my skateboard across the street to my abode when I saw this incredibly attractive girl walking towards me. I tried my best to be impressive by ollying off the curb. I caught a pebble or something and landed; face first on the street. Right in front of her. FTW
( Scoopzilla http://www.slapwatch.com now get to fuck, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 19:56, Reply)

Wolfie
A guy I used to work with (tag = above), who now works for a large insurance company, sounds like 'Harsh'.

Wolf and I had been out for a bit of an insurance lunch, ie, large curry and as many Cobras you can squeeze down your neck before the 3pm curfew with a broker.

To be fair, that was me, Wolfie was on a saps OJ as he had his ACII (another cunt in insurance) exams shortly and wanted to study that night - cock.

I ordered the obligatory extra cobra at 2:55 and got the bill at the same time. Curfew was office returning time, but provided you had the bill signed off prior to 3pm you were safe.

Slurped up, and swayed back to the office (about 50m) @ 3:20 and ditched the broker en-route - ugly cow.

Back up to our floor in the lift and we are both dying for a piss. Me due to 5 large cobras and Wolfie due to 5 OJ amd lemonades.

One urinal and one sit down. Not a problem, take one each and after a considerable piss, washed up and left to go back to our desks.

As I had a few 'drinkies' I held the door open for Wolfie, and he was a gent and held the next open for me, but he didn't, he tried to sneak through like the slippery broker. Shame was that as he opened the door it hit his foot and as he had intention to stich me up in the first place already had the momentum to move forward.

The muppet spanked his forehead right in the middle on the edge of the door.

We laughed, and carried on back to our desks, me laughing like a school girl tickled by Mr Pink.

What then happened was that the pressure of the blood flowing to the injured forehead had built up enough to break through his skin.

Wolfie just sat there laughing as did I, whilst blood sprayed over his desk like a cartoon.

Everyone else in the office went mad and thought I had hit / shot him as I was laughing rotf!!

Cleaned him up - off to hosp and they glued him up.

He still has the scar!
(Suck it and Sea, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 19:48, Reply)

Pearoast, with profanity -
While the then boyf was changing the oil filter on his car I wandered over to the book case and picked up the relevant manual.

Hmmm, I thought, how clever the boyf is, to attempt that job without the manual.

Turning to the 'How To Change Oil Filter' page, I read 'do NOT attempt to remove old filter by piercing it with a screwdriver...'

Just then, a strange strangled sound was emitted from beneath the car, as the Boyf learned for himself that the rest of the sentence read (I paraphrase) 'because if you do a load of fucking oil will shoot up your fucking sleeve and you will fucking bang your fucking head on the fucking underside of the fucking car.'
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 19:36, 9 replies)

my life is a load of cringeworthy situations with worky bits in between
to say i am a real life bridget jones would be an understatement.I often 'fuck up' and make 'a boo boo' on a day to day basis. one time that came to my head upon reading the title of this weeks QOTW was when I tried my hand at impressing the new and very sexy member of staff that joined our ward at the hospital where i worked. I purposely wasted my make up on going into work one day, and put my slightly tighter uniform on, in the hope he would come and drop off a patient to me that day.

He did.. He came to my desk (my heart starts doing 500 beats per minute) and for a split second i still recon he looked at me and thought ''she looks alright today''.. So i manage to maintain my professionality through listening about the patient were discussing, until.. for whatever fucking reason, i start telling him about a demented loud twat of a patient we had in earlier who had been pissing all over the floor, generally being a pain in the fucking ass (through no demented fault of his own of course).. so i was going through telling him the funny things said patient had been getting up to whilst casually flicking my hair, chewing my pen when he spoke back, you know, acting like a teenager talking to a crush..

It was a good conversation actually.. until about 10 minutes in he decides to tell me that the pen i have been sucking on while we spoke was leaking ink all over my fucking face. I ran to the patient toilet and basically my face was more fucking blue than it was face coloured... and my teeth, and my ear, ALL OVER MY FUCKING FACE.. fucing mortified. and to make matters worse, my failed attempots of using alco wipes to get the shit off wasnt good enough, and when he came in with another patient 2 hours later my teeth and gums were still fucking blue.

But to be honest this is nothing. I once fell head first in to an oven after hitting my ass on the kitchen bin infront of about 5 people..my nose went through a metal tray of chips (that were ready to come out btw) and when i did get my head out of the shitting oven i had hot fat in a perfect circle on the tip of my nose.

I once tried to impress a aload of firemen who were stopped at a red light in their fire truck by deciding (for whatever fucking reason) i would leapfrog over a bollard.. gave it ago.. forgot i had a skirt on.. queue bollard coming straight towards my face.. I was stuck, by my skirt, upsideown with my face at the bottom of a fucking bollard. one of them kindly got out of his truck and un-hooked me.

The stories i have are fucking endless. I hate my life.
(nettestar meeow, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 19:30, 12 replies)

some mothers do 'ave 'em
Living in Cornwall as a yoot, your life really is pretty limited unless you've got access to wheels. Hence my mum was always fairly mellow about trusting me to drive round in her Peugeot 306. One day when I was about 19 I decided to go for a little drive - a couple of miles from our place there was a load of disused china clay quarries, some of which were now filled with water and formed a weird acquatic moon-scape when the setting sun reflected off them. A nice spot to get some photos.

One night I drove down to check it out, pulling off the busy main road to park up on a private dirt track that cut across it at right angles. I got out, slammed the door behind me and hiked off up the bank with my camera.

The only problem was I'd left the handbrake off.

The dirt track happened to be on an inperceptible slope - the car didn't roll back at all when I'd pulled up, but the slamming of the door was just powerful enough to start it off on the gentlest backward crawl.

I skipped away whistling, oblivious to the massive Frank Spencerism unfolding behind me: the wheels slowly starting to roll against the gravel, the car gradually picking up speed and eventually caning it full pelt in reverse right across the main road.

I came back from taking the shots to one of those moments of complete mind-bending miscomprehension - the car had gone. I'd parked it there, and now it was gone. My car had been replaced by a Peugeot-sized empty space. Ooh Betty, the twat has done a whoopsie. In his pants.

Then, just as the confusion began turning to shock, it shot right back to confusion again when I happened to glance a hundred metres to my right and see my car on the far side of the main road, two wheels off the ground, backed up on a load of boulders that'd been put there to stop things falling in to... the enormous quarry that happened to be lying in wait just behind it.

Then the shock kicked back in, up a few notches. Someone's probably died here.

I ran down the track, blood rushing to my head with the rising panic, fearing the devastation that my ineptitude had caused. Whereupon I was met by an extremely puzzled old Cornish couple in a little white Mini Metro. 'Is that your car?' asked the old boy in this incredulous high-pitched yokel brogue. 'I was drivin' along, and I saw this car comin' out, an' I thought "ee int bleddy stoppin'!"'.

Apparently the sight of my unmanned runaway 306 had somewhat unsettled him as it reversed right across in front him. But he'd managed to brake in time, and somehow there'd been no other cars around. Thankfully. Slapstick is ever-so-slightly less amusing when it's killed people.

Never did tell mother.
(leonard_weather, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 19:30, 1 reply)

Physics in action.
I want to go home so head for the bus that will take me there.
Unfortunately as I turn the corner into the road where the bus-stop is I see the bus just starting to pull away.
"Bugger" is the polite version of what I thought, but I noticed that the bus doors were still open.
So I sprinted like a (special olympics) champion and leapt for the open door, when an odd thing happened.
Rather than the usual thing of the bus driver having fun and closing the doors, he stopped the bus to allow me to get on.

Trouble is I'm moving at a pace to compensate for the speed of the moving bus. So I fly into the bus, meeting the windscreen at a great pace.

Classy. Though I have to say the rest of the passengers seemed to appreciate my actions.
(thebadangel, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 18:29, Reply)

Ad Lib Superman
We were once hiking cross-country, descending a mountain in New Mexico, when our progress was halted by the presence of a cliff. The cliff wasn't terribly tall - maybe 15 feet - but the slope below it was steep, and littered with boulders, agaves, and cactuses (plus a lone pine tree). To fall would be dangerous - it would mean being battered on stone, or maybe shish-ke-bobbed alive.

Leaping down the cliff wasn't an option, so my mates began picking out a route to the left. I whined and whined - too dangerous! I started picking out a route to the right.

Suddenly I lost my footing. I was falling! I had just one option - to try and reach the lone pine tree standing away from the cliff. So, as I fell, I pushed my feet against the rock and leaped like Superman over my mates' heads. And it worked - I landed in the tree, and excepting a minor scratch, I was safe.

My mates thought I was being overly-dramatic: a hectoring and heedless safety diva.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 18:24, Reply)

2 foxes fucking in the neighbours back garden are surprised by neighbour shouting at them.
for your information, foxes fuck facing away from each other and are locked together until boy fox cums.

these surprised foxes both try and run forward, much to my amusement as they discover that their genitals are moving in the opposite direction.
( monstrinho do biscoito teeeshurts = www.nogunarmy.com, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 18:13, Reply)

Comedy table
At a pub once, they had little round tables in the garden. They were poxy little things only fit for about 2 people, wobbly, and fucking heavy with concrete bases.

The beer garden was very busy, and the chances of grabbing a table were slim. As they were so small, when one became free, people often moved the tables together to be with friends etc...

I noticed one couple in the corner leave, and a split second later, some hawk eyed punter spotted the empty table, and he and his missus set about moving it nearer to their friends.

They picked it up, each on one side, but the concrete base and post remained where it was! They were just carrying the table top. I nudged my co drinkers and got them to watch the couple move the table top near to thier friends. When they went to set the table down, they couldn't work out why the table seemed to be sinking into the ground with no resistance! They were wobbling it all over the place and bending right over to try to set it down. The look of utter confusion on thier faces was a joy to behold.

As they lifted it to normal table height, one of thier very smartly dressed friends who was busy chatting very loudly to other members of the group placed his pint of Guinness on the table top just as the couple were bringing it back upwards. The couple hadn't noticed this, as the penny had dropped for them that something was amiss, and they tipped the table top over to see the bottom just as the smartly dressed man had placed his pint on it.

The smartly dressed man's pint of Guinness fell staight onto his balls and he lurched forward in surprise, just at the right time to recieve the table top right in the face, as the blissfully unaware couple tipped it up to see what was wrong. They laughed at the lack of post, and tipped the table top down again to reveal thier soaking wet friend holding his balls and head and scowling at them.

To cap it all off, about half the beer garden had been watching it all unfold and were pissing thier pants laughing at them.
(Spaff_Quaffer Wise fwom your gwave., Fri 22 Jan 2010, 18:09, 1 reply)

took the old pedal bike to the corner shop to buy some pasta sauce.
was carrying it home in a plastic bag dangling fro mthe handle bars. It started swinging about as i was steering so in a effort to prevent the glass jar smashing on the handlebars i chose to not steer at a crucial moment and prombtly crashed the bike and fell off, smashing the pasta sauce jar to tiny smithereens. I was only traveling at walking speed and a passing car asked me if i was ok? and if i was pissed as a fart. it seemed less complicated to just say yes.
( monstrinho do biscoito teeeshurts = www.nogunarmy.com, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 18:09, Reply)

If you go to San Francisco.........
Be sure to take two dogs of differing size. Ideally one massive fuck off dog and one teeny weeny one, and tie their leads together...It's all good fun when they're going in the same direction, and instrically amusing when the big one just stops...
(beatpig understands subliminalesbianmessagaying., Fri 22 Jan 2010, 17:30, Reply)

When I was at University...
(and when I think about this story I wonder how I got in)I was at home making the studenty of all student snacks - toast.
Unfortunately a wiley piece of bread got stuck in the toaster. So I thought to myself "Aha! Don't use a knife to get it out - that is, as everyone knows, v. dangerous". So I put my hand in there instead.

I got a nasty electric shock and went flying backwards but survived more or less unscathed.
(homeandaway, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 17:20, Reply)

Hit and Run
I was in the big white transit van type thing once with my boss driving along a narrow one-way street in Corbridge and he managed to twat some poor sod on the back of the head with the side mirror. Sent him arse over tit.
We did'nt stop because we saw him getting up off the ground in the mirror.
I am ashamed to say that I found this really funny. Never laughed so hard since I managed to trick my mate into nutting a brick once, but thats another story.
(Daisho Arseholes everywhere I turn., Fri 22 Jan 2010, 17:18, 4 replies)

My Best man 'Ginge'..
is the man behind 'Misery Tours' a ficticious company invented by he as a way of explaining why so many things go wrong when he's around. 'Welcome to another Misery Tours Adventure' accompanied by a gleeful smile & a frantic nose rubbing is his explanation for any recent acts of misfortune. Actions that he's almost certainly responsible for.

A large proportion of his misery is almost certainly related to him being as blind as a bat without his glasses/contacts on.

I'll document a small numbre of his adventures in bitesized chunks as they come back to my ageing memory. When told by himself, with [actions] and [embelishments] (herein created) and with participation and verification by legitimate witnesses he can hold his audience in the palm of his hand. He even made a small stand-up routine he acted out about his adventures in a comedy store in his new home city of Sydney. His most infamous episode is called

*The Lip balm Incident*

When he still lived in the UK one hot sunny Sunday he found himself with dry lips and ventured up to the medicine cabinet for some Bonjela or similar. Rubbing the soothing ointment on to his lips [gentle soothing lip rubbing motion] he sensed that something was not quite right [puzzled look]. As he looked into the mirror he realised that the chalky looking coating on his lips wasn't quite right [puzzled frown]. Looking back to the tube of Bonjela he read the fateful brand name 'Super Bazooka Veruccha Ointment' [dawning realisation/look of despair].

"Wash it off fast" [lip washing motions]
"It's not coming off" [look of horror more frantic lip washing motions]
"It's still there. Must read instructions." [frantic instruction reading motions]
"Forms a solid waterproof barrier." [look of panic]

[Even more frantic scrubbing motions]

As the substance continues to dry Ginge decides that a bit of vigorous scrubbing is in order and takes his toothbrush to his own lips. [Furious scrubbing motion]. Minutes later and the waterproof barrier seems undisturbed.

A moment of genius strikes him and he rummages in the wifes makeup bag for tweezers and starts to pluck tentatively at the scabby coating on his lips. [tentative plucking motions]

After some time there seems to be some progress being made but it's clear this stuff isn't going anywhere and he now has loose flaps of solid Veruccha ointment hanging from his increasingly tender lips.

Taking some small nail scissors and snipping away at the loose flaps
seems like a rational idea to Ginge [Delicate snipping motions] until he snips part of his already battered lips, dabs tissue on the blood and gives it up as a bad job.

"I know what will get this off. Nail polish remover. Solvents shift this sort of stuff all the time."


This is the moment in the story where his now ex-wife used to interrupt his story as she recounted how the blood curdling scream of her husband is heard from the garden and after sprinting up the stairs finds a grown adult on the bathroom floor in the foetal position crying like a girl.


The following day, a lovely Sunny Monday morning I get wind of this adventure from one of his work colleagues. Heading over to their building and pressing the intercom I announce my presence and Ginge comes down to open the door. My look of amused glee is enough for him to realise I know what's happened and I am greeted by a man with the lips of a snake trying to say 'Fuck off' like he's trying to be a Ventriloquist.


Apologies for length but when told properly he can spin this one out for about 1/2 an hour to the glee of his audience.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 16:56, Reply)

Don't drink and dive...
He was only about 5 and a curious soul. He had an eye for the forbidden and a pair of siblings who would encourage him into as much trouble as possible. In this instance it was the box of wine on the kitchen counter, the nozzle teasingly poking its wine filled eye over the edge as if out to tempt the unsuspecting boy towards its bounty. I could tell immediately that curiosity had sunk its teeth deep into his mind; drawing him ever closer to this forbidden territory. He was bent slightly about the middle and oppositely again at the neck, one eye shut tight and the other peering into the spout from which wine could come out.

"Go on; you know you want to." I wurzelled at him.

"I can't." he squeaked back at me before returning his gaze nozzle ways.

*enter older brother, stage left*

"Just fucking drink it, we all know you want to." he was 10 and so cool with his swears that we almost always did what he said.

Youngest brother gulps greedily at the wine teet and too much cheap, own-brand vino enters his belly. He looks green immediately, but this plonk was rank and even the most hardened drinker would suffer with its vinegar like nature.

He staggers slightly and his head bows, filled with heavy drunken delirium. A funny rumble stumbles from his mouth and momentum gets the better of him. Soon a charging begins; neither deliberate nor precise and walls are bounced off, but momentum still builds and quickly the front door is found. The distance between porch and gate is dispatched in moments and for a fleeting second nothing can halt the progress of this charging ball of drunken five year old. But alas, something has to give and the conversion of energy from movement to shuddering thud provides the thing as head meets post meets chest and stomach and arms and legs are propelled still forward until he sits at the base and warmly hugs his conqueror.

Then he was sick all down himself and we two are castigated for our role in his fall-down, but it was worth it; I think I still giggled in my dreams that night.
( Moey, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 16:46, 1 reply)

Picture the scene...
In Blackburn there's a single escalator next to the Post Office that takes you up into the shopping centre. Whilst waiting for the bus one afternoon, I saw a drunken chap shuffling towards it. He stood for a second or two at the bottom, one leg rising and falling as though trying to time his step with that of the escalator. He finally committed, shifted his weight, teetered and then started to fall backwards. A well meaning passerby caught him as he fell, hooking him under the arms and catching him just in time. In itself this looked like a perfectly choreographed slapstick routine and I was more than satisfied to have watched it.

However, the feet of the drunkard were still on the escalator, and the passerby watched helplessly as his new friend’s legs rose steadily, until he was almost horizontal. Rather than drop the man, he made the split second decision to jump on the escalator too and the pair rose uncomfortably and precariously out of sight.

I felt like applauding. This was the perfect ending to the slapstick routine, from the viewer’s perspective at least. I don't imagine that the drunk was in the least bit grateful when they got to the top and due to the daft layout of Blackburn shopping centre the passerby had to walk right the way around the block to get back to his wife who he’d been with right at the start.

Disclaimer: Each time I recount this tale, I never feel that I’ve done it justice. In my head it takes the form of a silent movie accompanied by a jaunty piano soundtrack. It starts with an intertitle card with a witty remark and at the end I imagine the crackly black and white film fading to black as the characters slide out of view. I hope you can too.
( e.m.m.y. foxtrot uniform charlie kilo india tango, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 16:44, 9 replies)

Shitty Tree Woe
When I was a lanky, skinny, ginger, spotty, double-braced, comic obsessed teen, I grew in Newport in South Wales. You can tell that when it was time to notice the opposite sex my body went on strike as it obviously loved only my adolescent fumbling. To try and pay for my expensive taste in Marvel and DC, I got a paper round in the hilly side of town where the big, 'posh' houses were. As I walked home from the hill trek that was my route, I notice the comely shape of a nice young lady, known to me as one of the most admired beauties of the town.

"She hasn't a clue who I am, I'll act cool and say hello," I thought in a uncharacteristically confident manner.

I strode towards her, luminous paper carrier nonchalantly tossed over my shoulder, continually practising my greeting. I secretly hoped that my boldness in striking up a conversation might make her melt at my physical plight and throw herself into transforming me from a (really) ugly duckling into a Prince - 80's MONTAGE STYLE. I began to distractedly think about my montage when all of a sudden she was 10 feet in front of me so I had to say something quickly as I had absent mindedly been staring quite intently at her since the bottom of the street and she looked a little comfortable.

As I began my final approach, T minus 5 feet, I felt my leading heel slip wildly and uncontrollably forward and my trailing knee hit the floor. I imagined it may have looked like I had had a massive Silly Walk fail, however I had actually placed my leading heel in a massive pile of dogshit and slipped forward, causing my trailing knee to hit the floor, before I tried regain balance and mask it as simple a normal part of the way I walk. All thoughts of speaking had vanished as she had stopped and was staring open mouthed at me. Whilst my momentum carried me forward in journey, I looked back over my shoulder, as you do after a trip or fall. I saw the smeared shit on the ground behind, winced inside, turned my head towards her and raise my eyes comically before walking on. Straight into an enormous tree that was on the Avenue that I had delivered papers down not 30 minutes before.

This time I stopped to check I had all my teeth and then blinkingly brushed down my trousers to find out my trailing knee had scooped up a healthy dollop of shit that had now been transferred onto my hand. The girl still stood there with her mouth open, the corners of her mouth beginning to turn into a laugh as hurriedly began my shameful, red faced walk home.

I showed her though, I quit the paper round and made sure I never walked down that road again. No more slippy, shitty laughs for her!

Sorry about the dirty, smelly length of it, it's my first time.
(AngryMonkey, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 16:34, 2 replies)

Cyclist abuse...
When I first passed my driving test, I couldn't afford a proper car, so had to settle for a rather nasty, rather knackered old Ford, which inevitably was suffering from the signs of old age.

Being keen to learn about how cars work, and being keen to avoid expensive and regular mechanic bills, trips to the scrap yard became quite a regular feature of my life.

My car had the engine power of an emphysemic 60 a day smoker, meaning that it would always struggle to go up hills.

So, there we were, my brother and I, travelling up a very steep hill at a snails pace, when I caught sight of one of those stupid lyra clad poncy cyclists that have got nothing to better to do with their time than cause road accidents.

As we started the ascent, the cyclist started getting bigger and bigger. I dropped down from third, to second, to first, no good, he was still gaining on me and I could see that he'd quite clearly got me in my sights.

Unable to do anything but but my right foot to the floor in the vain hope of going above 10mph, I heard my brother start to make the filthiest, stickiest, dirtiest piece of green phlegm I have ever had the misfortune to witness.

I heard him release the snot rocket, and all I could see from the back of my window was a cyclist covered in what looked like a large piece of nose slime tottering sideways towards the kerb.

Bastard didn't even try to overtake me after that!
(libraryboy Cheer up, you could be french!, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 16:26, 6 replies)

Aint it justa kick in the nuts
Many years ago I used to play 5 a side football of a fairly high standard.

They guy that uses to give us a lift, Alex, used to be the type of guy that was a fad monster, for example if he got into mountian biking he would have to go out and spend 3k on a brand new mountain bike....this used to annoy me and my mates a bit.......just setting the scene.

anyways I was known for my long distince shooting as I used to have a fairly cultured right foot, all i remember about the incident was a 6ft 4in Alex bearing down on me, bearing in mind I was in my own half I had already decided to shoot. I blasted the ball one of those shots where your foot hardly feels the contact as it was hit so sweetly. Next thing I know Alex had blocked the ball...damn i thought...but as the scene unfolded it appeared alex had made a world class tackle with his nuts...Firstly his knees buckled togther then his eyes rolled back in his head as he dropped to his knees.....Alex was also known for his temper too so was not best pleased with having his nuts crushed.

Too make matters worse 10 mins later I went for a shot again....you got it, Alex goes in for the tackle and takes another one square in the nuts. this time squirming round like he's just been shot in the groin.

He starts yelling at me, "if these don't work when i get back your a dead man" How he was going to impreganate a woman so quickly on his return is anyone's guess.

Good news for Alex was they did work as he now has two kids at last count, unfortunately for him he had them with the harpy hairdresser from hell, who insisted she dumps all his mates if he wants to be with her, bearing in mind she had not met most of us including me he obliged like a lamb to the slaughter.

So having originally felt bad for destoying Alex's nuts twice in one game I now see it as pre emptive karma strike and if you can dump your mates that quickly you don't deserve to breed imo.

Sorry for typos, i'm on a worldwide sales call for my upcoming kickoff...zzzzzzzz
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 16:19, 2 replies)

Browser just reminded me
Mrs SLVA likes to have her seat quite far back in the car. However, my kids have it in the middle. Consequently, whenever she gets in the car, she moves the seat. Providing we're already moving, once she lifts that bar under the seat to adjust the position, I will either accelerate or brake. On a good day, before she gives up and waits until we stop at traffic lights, I can get her to slide back and forth 4 or 5 times like some sort of giant ride-on printer cartridge.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 16:09, 7 replies)

Alky Vs Bus
Mid eighties, i was standing at the front of a double decker bus, waiting to get off. I am standing beside the driver and in front of the massive panoramic windscreen. The bus is approaching the bus stop and is therefore going really very slow, but going nonetheless. All of a sudden from the right a middle aged alcoholic appears, face ruddy with drink. He obviously decided that this is the bus he should be getting and runs right in front of it and towards it. The bus is still lumbering along, probably about walking speed when the stupid old drunks face collided with the windscreen, directly in front of me. The look of surprise and fear only inches away from me was simultaneously terrifying and hilarious.

He went down like a sack of shit and fair battered his head on the road. I get off and stand watching as two people with shopping bags go and scrape him up, they seem to know him. Hilarity soon turned to something a bit more sad as one of the woman reaches into her shopping and takes out a six pack of potato scones, she puts them in his pocket and says to her friend..

"He's had nothing tay eat aw day, he'll wake up later and find these, hopefully he'll eat them afore going back oot on the bevvy", and with that they bundled him into a taxi.

It was like something out of a Mike Leigh film, misery, defeat, pain and kindness all in the space of 60 seconds.
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 16:05, Reply)

My brother...
Seems to be able to fall asleep in a car no matter how bumpy the ride or noisy the road surface. Something about car journeys just sends him straight off to Bedfordshire.

Every time this happens, I look at Missus Dickus, count to three, and scream my head off. Occasionally I stamp on the brakes when it is it safe to do so, or weave side to side a little.

Every time we do this, my brother wakes up with a momentary look of sheer panic on his face, utters an expletive and goes back to sleep.

Every. Single. Time. It never gets old.
( Biggus Dickus , it was like that when I found it, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 16:03, 1 reply)

I've mentioned this before
but the qotws keep reminding us that "we last asked this in 1945" or whatever so we'll have to take their word for it....

My friend Sean's brother used to pick him up from the airport when he came home a couple of times a year. Just as they were setting off, he'd say "here Sean, could you do me a favour and look for a CD in the back of the glove compartment". And just as Sean peered into the glove compartment, his brother would slam on the brakes. Twice a year without fail, for about 8 years.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 15:56, Reply)

Bike/Hedge bike woes.
I remember causing a bike related spang to one of my ITEC (Some YTS I.T training scheme at the back end of the 80's) friends in the local park.

Racing side by side alongside the local parks bowling green it seemed like a good idea to give him a bit of a shove.

The next thing I see his the poor fellas bike weaving into a low hedge and his tiny frame going arse over tit to land on his back on the other side.

I felt a bit guilty about that as he was such a timid chap who had some serious health problems. Sorry mate!

Didn't stop me pissing my tits with glee though.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 15:38, Reply)

Fleeced
Was in my first year of uni and on the run down from Chemistry supervisions to my Cell Biology lectures. This route wasn't far, but had to be taken at a fair, albeit still walking, pace as my chemistry supervisor didn't seem to care for the fact that finishing on the hour meant we'd have to teleport the otherwise five minute walk.

One one such rapid journey I found myself suddenly yanked backwards my the bottom of my fleece, as though someone had pulled on the toggle. I turned round to find out who had done this, only to see a guy in his mid-thirties giving me a similarly annoyed look.

We both glanced down, only to see two chords of elastic stretched between us, with the toggles on the end of them seemingly interlinked. Not entirely sure how we managed that.
(JamesG, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 15:36, Reply)

Court Induced Concussion
When I was a very young attorney (I think I had only been in practice six months) I was sent down to the magistrate's court to adjourn a trial by consent. The previous incumbent to my position was a 6ft2 man and the only gown available was his. I am 5ft f*ck all.

Anyhoo - I am sitting there waiting for my matter to be called with my gown literally PILED up around me. My matter is called and I stood up quickly. Somehow I had managed to stand on the hem of my gown so as I stood up I was immediately propelled downwards and smacked my head on the wooden bar. After assuring the court I was fine and seeing stars and with a swelling forehead I managed to stumble out the words "Your worship may the trial be adjourned sine die by consent no order as to costs". I was dismissed - staggered out of court and was promptly sick in the bin outside the court clerk's office.

To the huge amusement of all and sundry I might add.
(MostlySunny, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 15:32, 1 reply)

Not sure if this is slapstick exactly
but when I was 10 or 11, my mum saw the postman at the end of our drive, and asked me to run and give him a letter, as he must have been doing the last collection.

He was on a bike and hadn't seen me, and just as I got to him, he cycled off. So I ran after him, he'd stop for a bit, but just as I had nearly caught him, he cycled off again. This happened four or five times.

I eventually caught up with him about a mile up the road, crying and purple from the exercise. Bent over double, I managed between tearful gasps for air that I had a letter for him, and handed it over.

He said "OK thanks", and stuck it in the post box.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 15:07, 2 replies)

My Stepfather sean drunkenly jumped down the stairs at our local dive of a nightclub
He woke in the morning with a massive lump on his forehead and it all came flooding back to him. He had jumped with such gusto that he smacked his head on the overhang and fallen backwards an smacked in to the stairs. He had hit with such force that he had lines of bruises across his back from his neck to his arse.
( Peej, Fri 22 Jan 2010, 15:04, Reply)