On a very large pile of lego
there's nothing quite like waking up, half drunk, half hungover, looking in the mirror and seeing the word ogel imprinted onto your face several hundred times.
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 10:07, Reply)

Under a bench at Washington Dulles airport.
Not so much is the strangeness of the place, but the circumstances leading up to my being there.

I was flying to Minneapolis, Minnesota from Manchester England via Washington Dulles, Washington D.C to see the lady who is now my wife. I had done a lot of flying back and forth prior to this flight, which happened to be the final one. Anyone who's done a lot of international flying will tell you that you gather a lot of interesting stories on your travels. Out of all the catastrophes I faced on my travels, this is by far the most incredible.

My flight arrived arrived in Washington Dulles airport at around 2pm US Eastern time. By this time I had already been travelling for 15 hours and was not feeling at my best. Of course, upon entering a US airport from another country, my first port of call is the immigration area.

Upon arriving in the immigration area, I am overawed by what I see. A queue of what turned out to be over 2000 people were waiting in those long windy queue things they rope off. Of the 16 available immigration desks, only one was being manned by an immigration officer.

Time was already tight for me 'cause I only had 2 hours before boarding for my next flight began. In this two hours I had to get through immigration, exit the security area, collect my luggage (which included two cases and a fucking huge box containing my PC & monitor), re-check my luggage and get a new boarding pass, and make it to my gate.

2 hours later when my flight was scheduled for departure, I had only progressed about a quarter of the way through the line.

In the line I met a lot of nice people who all had their own horror stories. The worst was a family of 5 who had booked a flight to some obscure island for a once in a lifetime holiday on some unspoiled paradise. However, the airline they're with only flies to/from this island every 4 days, so missing their flight pretty much fucked their entire holiday.

By 8:45pm I made it to immigration. Immigration was not happy. You see, out of the 12 months prior to this trip, I had spent 7 of them in the US, which they now decided to try and tell me was bad. I had adhered to the 3 month visa waiver thingies they give, flying back to England once my time was up then immediately returning to the US.

Mrs Immigration woman did not seem to appreciate that I could continue to work for a British company while in the US, since I'm a software developer and can pretty much work from anywhere I like. She eventually stamped a yellow piece of paper, handed it to me, then pointed in the vague direction of some corner and said "go there and wait for them to call you."

I went in the direction she showed, but only found a disorganised collection of those carts they let you hire for an extortionate fee to haul your luggage around. After a while someone walked by who looked like he worked there, so I held up the yellow paper and asked where I was supposed to be. He started ranting in some language of which I have no understanding, so I just held up the paper and smiled. The cunt then proceeded to slap me up the back of the head, grab me by the shoulders and thrust me towards an unmarked door, jabbing his finger at it wildly. I went in.

Inside was a waiting room and a reception desk. I went to the reception desk and showed the woman the piece of yellow paper I had. Without pause she snapped at me, practically yelling "You will sit and wait until you are called for! There are others here who have been waiting much longer than you." Fair enough, I thought, and I took a seat.

With me in the waiting room was some old guy who looked Indian, a family of folks who looked like they were perhaps from some north-eastern European country, and some Mediterranean looking woman who was crying wildly. She was the first to be called to the desk... after about an hour.

They proceeded to tell her that they were not allowing her on the flight, which was to California to see her daughter was apparently dying of cancer and had mere weeks to live. She went fucking mental. She grabbed a handful of shit from the receptionists desk and threw it in her face, then slapped her. Then she proceeded to pick up a pair of chairs from the reception (they were in pairs, welded together, and looked pretty heavy) and threw them both at the receptionist, who was running into the room behind her yelling "security!"

Two men in light armour, carrying big ol' guns, came running out and pointed them at the woman's head. She shut up real quick. They escorted her away. The next hour comprised of the receptionist reorganising her shit.

By 10:50pm I was called in to speak to an immigration officer. I was led into a small office lit only by a lamp. I shit ye not, it was just like those old interrogation scenes in crappy films where they shine a light in the guy's eyes and bark a bunch of questions at him. The immigration officer had the bare bulb of his lamp right in my face, and he was yelling at me, accusing me of working illegally in the US. I managed to remain calm and rational, and explained to him a bunch of times that I was working for a British company over the internet and bringing British money into the US, which is a benefit to their economy. After 20 minutes of this silly little exchange he flipped the main light on and told me he was letting me into the country despite it being against protocol simply because I was one of the few that day who had remained calm and not lost composure. I shook the man's hand and proceeded on my way to find my luggage and see what the airline could do for me.

Upon exiting the waiting room and coming back into the big immigration area. It was much darker by now, and through the big windows at the end of the room that looked out over the runways I could see a rainstorm of epic proportions beating down on the land. I saw a woman wearing a uniform branded with my airline's logo, so I asked her what I could do. She said my flight had been delayed due to weather, and wasn't due for takeoff for another hour and a half. If I was quick I could make it, she said.

So I ran as fast as my weary body could carry me all the way to the luggage checking area. On the farthest belt I spotted the box containing my PC and monitor. I ran up there and snatched it up, along with my two cases. Now I had to carry all this lot (a big, heavy box, two heavy cases, and my hand luggage) about 300 yards through a crowd of disgruntled flyers to get it re-checked. I spotted one of those cart thingies and dragged my shit over. It was mounted on a rail that would only release it after it received $5. So I tried my debit card in the little slot... no luck. And I had no cash with me. I started dragging my shit by hand when I realised I had $5 in the zippy pocket of my backpack. I turned to go back and claim the cart, but some cunt got to it first. It was the very last one.

So I begin to drag my shit across the floor. I am very tired and very weary by now, and the 300 yard haul through the crowd felt like miles. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, I get to the baggage checkpoint.

Then the cunts tell me my stuff is too heavy. "It obviously wasn't too heavy for the last flight!" I argue, but they demand that I drop two pounds and 4 ounces or my baggage will not be checked. I checked in my PC and one case, and went to work lightening up the other. From it I had to cram into my hand luggage a few pairs of jeans, a bunch of English chocolate (my wife's kids love English chocolate 'cause American chocolate is fucking horrible) and a bunch of CDs. After this haul, my case finally came in under the weight cap. However, my backpack now felt like a lead block on my back.

Which made the run to my gate a whole lotta fun.

If you've ever been to Washington Dulles, you'll know its a fucking labyrinth. Most of the screens and signs were giving me conflicting information as to where I needed to be. One small favour was that re-checking through security did not take long. But getting to my gate (which nobody told me would require jumping on a bus) was a nightmare. After a while someone told me where the bus was, and how many stops it would take to get to my gate.

I get there with mere minutes to spare, or so I thought.

Delayed.

My flight had been delayed again. It's now just before 1am and I am knackered. I sat down and waited.

I opened my eyes and everything seemed a bit different. FUCK! I had fallen asleep! How long was I out? I had no idea. I panicked and looked at the screens to find out if I'd missed my flight. It wasn't on there! SHIT! FUCKING CUNTYFUCK! COCKING FUCKETYSHIT! I am about to turn away and run to a representative when I see a blink out of the corner of my eye. More flights popped onto the screen... it was just updating. My flight was still in! Delayed 'til 3:15am. Thank cunt for that.

But I can't fall asleep again! What am I to do? I walked.

I did laps around the gate building. I don't know how many, but it was plenty. I'd occasionally talk to the people at the boarding desk, and they told me my flight was stuck in Toronto but would be here soon. I walked. And walked. And walked. For hours. Tired. Sleepy. Aching. Stinking of sweat.

Then I felt a funny feeling in my legs and my vision blurred. I collapsed.

Not only did I collapse, but I collapsed against the sharp shutters of one of those airport shops, grazing my face and cutting the side of my wrist. I came back to my senses as soon as my head hit the floor. From the floor I could see a rush of feet heading towards my boarding gate. Had my flight come in, finally?

I gathered my senses and made my way up there. The plane had indeed come in, but the woman at the desk informed us all over her little loudspeaker that they had the plane, but the crew had gone missing! FUCKERS! THEY LOST MY FUCKING CREW!

They vowed to find the missing pilot and crew, then boarding would begin.

At this point I was just pacing in a small circle near the desk, when a little kid, looking Indian or something (he looked like one of those little shoalin kids to me) tugged on my jacket. I turned to face him, and he was looking up at me smiling. His hand was outstretched towards me, and in it was a can of Red Bull. He jabbed it towards me twice, and I took it, then he grinned even wider, then run away, back to what I assumed were his parents.

That is without a doubt the most surreal moment of my entire fucking life.

I obviously drank the Red Bull, and its excessive caffeine did bring back to me some of my composure. Which was just as well, 'cause a few minutes after I finished it, my flight was cancelled.

There was a surge of people all running to the corner of the building to get in line at customer services. Owing to the caffeine I managed to get there before most, jumping lines of benches like hurdles where I had to.

I figured that since there were only 9 people infront of me (comprising three parties of people) it would take no time at all for them to resolve my situation.

Unfortunately it seems the cunts move fastest in airports. All three parties infront of me were comprised of total twunts who made a 10 minute affair of being booked onto a different flight into a half hour shouting ordeal that couldn't possibly achieve anything. I mean, these poor cunts are just customer services monkeys, what is the point in complaining to them? It's not like they have any fucking authority. So getting these fuckers out of the way took a grand total of one hour and fourteen minutes. Fucking cunty cunts.

Myself and some blonde girl I had ended up paired with in the line approached the desk next. We were both on our way to Minneapolis, and the girl said she could get us on a 7am flight to Chicago, which would then transfer to Minneapolis. She also offered us a hotel room each to stay in, which was a totally dickish gesture since it would take an hour to get to the hotel, then I would only have about 20 minutes sleep before I'd have to get up to get back through security. But I made them book the hotel room anyway, just to be a dick and cost them some money. My blonde companion did the same. By now I was crashing. The Red Bull was wearing off and I was swaying on my feet. I basically followed the blonde to my next gate. There was no way I coulda done it myself, so thank fuck for her. When I got to my gate at I had four hours before boarding time. When I got there they offered me a cold pop tart and a pillow. How nice of them.

This is when I ended up sleeping under the bench. Thankfully the airport people had provided an alarm clock on the desk nearby. I tried to sleep on top of the benches, but they were those concave arse shaped moulded plastic fucking things and were thoroughly uncomfortable. So I slept under them.

The alarm went off and I woke up feeling a little better, but completely unrested. I woke up my blonde companion, whose pretty young face had been transformed by bad sleep into something less than attractive. I told her she looked as bad as I felt. She wasn't amused.

By this time I smelled really bad. I'd been in the clothes I was in for over 24 hours. So I went into the airport bathroom to clean myself up. I'm not a shy person, so when I got in there, I unloaded a towel, a washcloth, some soap, a toothbrush and some toothpase, and proceeded to wash my whole body using the sink. Lots of people looked at me like I was walking through a school playground with my dick in my hand, but I didn't care, 'cause I had everything I needed to freshen up, including a fresh change of clothing.

One thing to note is, all through this I was out of contact with the woman who was picking me up in Minneapolis. The woman who would eventually be my wife. Turns out she had waited for me at the airport until night-time, where the airline had told her of the cancellation of my flight, and given her a hotel room.

My flight to Chicago went off without a hitch, and in Chicago my transfer went as smooth as silk, since my baggage was transferred automatically this time. I finally got to Minneapolis 25 hours later than I should have.

I haven't flown since.
( MarkyH feels like the H in Bob Hoskins' name, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 20:35, Reply)

a final bedtime story
At a party during my mid teens, got hammered and ended up on the floor amongst all the other bodies. Waking up next to a couple half undressed and groping each other made me feel horny, but unfortunately they weren’t up for a threesome. Things improved sometime later when I awoke to see some lads lifting a comatose teen into a wardrobe on the floor and slowly turn it over. Sometime passed and they waited drinking juice and keeping quiet…. Eventually the contents of the wooden box stirred at which point someone began reciting “ashes, to ashes, dust to dust we commend his soul to all eternity, etc, etc” and chucked some coins, pasta, rice and other crap onto the box. The contents murmered, stirred, paused and then began screaming, kicking and sobbing loudly that he was still alive as the books and piles of clothes (sods of earth) were thrown onto his coffin. I’ll never forget the pure white tear streaked face of that dead teenager when he was dug up out of his tomb.
(Readmarx, Tue 2 Jan 2007, 16:28, Reply)

As a cadet
I was lucky enough to be part of a group who were sent on a ride in a Chinook chopper for a quick buzz around where ever we were at the time.

Having spent the entire of the night previous in a ditch or on overwatch I was absolutely knackered and promptly fell asleep.
Unfortunately for me, the rear crew decided to play a little joke on me, hooked me up and stood me infront of the wide open rear doors.

The pilot started doing some fancy low level stuff and, with me passed out hanging from my tether, the crew came over the comms directly into my right ear.

Try to imagine waking up and seeing only land and sky rotating at very strange angles, the wind rushing through your DPMs and the crew screaming
"Holy shit, how the fuck did he fall out the back?" repeatedly.

It took me exactly 3 seconds to get from the LZ to the bar, and about 4 hours to stop shaking.
Bastard flyboys.
( Pointy Head poked another hole in my anorak on, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 21:50, Reply)

Bouncy bouncy...
When I was young I went to a summer camp where we slept on camp beds in classrooms in a school. One of the boys leaders was a really heavy sleeper, and we all envied that dorm coz they could do what they liked at night, with the leader never waking up.

The other leaders decided to take matters into their own hands.

Remember we're in a school. With a fancy gym containing the most massive trampoline ever seen. (Think olympic standard.)

So, one night the other leaders lifted Sleepy's camp bed, with him still on it, carried him through the school to the gym and lifted it to the centre of the trampoline. Not a twitch from Sleepy.

They left a couple of guys to sleep on the floor beside him in case he woke up the next day and killed himself falling off the thing. He woke very confused, apparently :o)

F x

PS: he later went on to marry a friend of mine, then had an affair and left her when she developed MS in her twenties and became wheelchair-bound. Click "I like this" if you agree he's a twunt.
(Flurble - The Innocent One, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 11:40, Reply)

New Year.
New Years Eve. Dartmouth.

Dartmouth on New Years is a fun place to be - everyone dresses up in fancy dress, and the streets are packed. It's lots of fun.

There is also the frission of knowing, if you live on the other side of the river, that the last ferry is at approximately 10minutes past 12. On the last bong, you either leg it down to the slip, or you think 'sod it' and head back into the pub. Or, you're completely crammed into the pub so tightly you ain't going anywhere anyway.

Few years ago me and a mate found ourselves stranded in Dartmouth after 12. No way home, nearest bridge is Totnes, 12 miles away, nowhere to stay, and it's starting to look like snow. Shit.

So we went up to the marina to see if we could 'borrow' a tender (little rowing boat) to get across the river. None about we could get to, but we did find one of those huge luxury yachts, ginormous 50foot thing, with an awning on over the cockpit. Ah cool, we'll kip under there.

We climb under the awning and realise the cabin isn't locked. Result. Clamber in and find a nice cabin with a double bed. Oh yeah.

First light, and we're woken by footsteps overhead. Shit, the owner is back. Oh shit.
Panicked, we hide under the bed.

'What the fuck are we going to do? He'll cast off and we'll be stuck here until he gets to bloody france?!'

Shit shit shit.

An hour later and the footsteps are still audible, but the guy still hasn't come below. We've been under this bed for ages, and he hasn't come in. In fact, why haven't we heard him pull back the awning?

We sneak out and have a peek through the plastic of the fore hatch.

To see half a dozen seagulls wandering about, there big webbed feet making loud thuds on the fibreglass. No crew anywhere.

Bloody seagulls.

We left a tenner to apologise for borrowing the boat, and legged it.
(inflateable, Tue 2 Jan 2007, 18:13, Reply)

Gibraltar...
Alone and bored, I took a stroll up towards Gibraltar's summit.... and sat whistfully looking out over the sea as the sun went down. It would have been the perfect time to smoke a pipe.

The sun had been warming the cliff all day, and as the it dropped, a gentle breeze picked up caused by the cliff warming the air and sending it upwards. Smiling like a child, I slipped into sleep, surrounded by the sound of twittering swallows drifting on the updraught and catching insects.

I woke a couple of hours later to discover that I was surrounded by some Gibraltar's finest residents... Barbary Makaks.

12 monkeys and I, Sat on a rocky cliff looking out to sea, and looking at each other. After a few minutes of appreciative silence, One of them then got up, turned around and walked off through the bushes... the others followed suit, and I was alone again.

Truly sublime, and one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

I walked back down the twisting road, hands in pockets and smiling all the way.

*********************************************

Edit.. I went to see them the next day... There was a bloke up there who got a little one to come and play... awesome. Kinda makes you want to have kids. www.pichotel.com/pic/5760vcBwB/107777.jpg
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Thu 4 Jan 2007, 12:17, Reply)

Unintentional outback trip
I was living in a northern suburb of Sydney, and after an all-night bender in the centre of the city, I got on a train for the 45 minute journey home at about 6am.

Obviously, I fell asleep.

I was woken by the ticket inspector who asked for my ticket, which I dutifully handed over. He then asked me for ID. In my bleary-eyed unthinking state, I handed over my passport.

The twunt then proceeded to write me out a fine for 100 dollars, and forecfully kicked me off at the next station without explanation.

Still pissed and confused, I stumbled off onto the station platform. As the train pulled off, I wondered a) why it was so brain-fryingly hot, b) why no-one was around and c) where the hell the whole of Sydney had gone. I was on a small unmanned platform, without a soul around, in blazing late morning heat, in the middle of a desolate Australian plain.

Turns out, after I'd missed my stop and the train had reached it's terminus in the city, it had changed to the morning inter-city service to Brisbane, and I had snoozed peacefully most of the way to Newcastle, and was in the outback about 250 miles north of Sydney.

I spent the next 4 hours, waiting for a train to come in the other direction, napping fitfully in a maintenance alcove off a shadeless platform.

There are hangovers and then, there are hangovers.
(meepmeep is, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 19:14, Reply)

In the 6th form dormitory….of the local boys school
I went to an all-girls convent school which shared its sixth-form with the local all-boys school run by monks. One of my ‘A’ levels was Politics – taught at the boys’ school and I was the only girl in the class. Our very nice politics master (just out of the army and unbelievably cool – he took us to the pub on a school trip….) wanted us to watch the state opening of Parliament on TV. The only available television was one in the sixth form dorms…..and this being the middle of the school day he thought there was no problem taking half a dozen pupils up there…even if one was a girl….

So we all casually wander up to the dorm….me feeling a mixture of sheer terror and warm excitement, particularly as some of the upper sixth had just come back from playing rugby and were wandering about their dorm getting showered and changed – of course I averted my eyes and our teacher shouted at the top of his voice, “Dicks away gentlemen, lady in the corridor”.

Anyway, we went into this small room to watch the TV, I take a seat at the back. Unusually for most catholic boarding schools they had turned the heating on and the seats were very comfy.

For the first ten minutes or so I was fully conscious and even taking a bit of interest in the proceedings at Westminster, but the heat of the room soon got to be too much and I was asleep.

I’m not sure how much I missed but I came to as I felt a warm hand edging up under my skirt and pausing only when it reached the top of my stockings (compulsory uniform – honestly). My eyes were still closed and I allowed myself to enjoy the moment; hoping it was our teacher…..the fingers were now trailing along my stocking top towards my inner thigh…..I’m embarrassed to say but my legs naturally started to fall open and….

“Here’s Black Rod hammering against the door of the Commons demanding entry”

My eyes opened, the warm insistent hand withdrew and I found myself looking at the class geek…..
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 16:03, Reply)

Oh bloody hell
This QOTW stirred something scary I thought was tucked away for good. To cut an insanely long story short:

I slept next to a corpse in a family-to-a-room dwelling in an extremely poor part of Singapore, as the 'honoured' guest.

It's not the sleeping, it's the dreams and the waking up...

*shudder*
(baldie, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 12:25, Reply)

Well..
While still living with my parents, I used to earn my living as a baker, getting up at 3am, working till 1pm and then still trying to have a social life in the evening. This of course meant that I was surviving on 4 hours sleep a night - which caught up slowly over a period of several months. I would simply fall asleep whenever I stopped moving - Buses, trains, supermarket aisles (sitting on a cardboard biscuit display case), on the loo, in restaurants, etc. Usually I would feel the sleep wave arriving and would simply lie down on the floor wherever I was and sleep.

I finished work one afternoon and ran myself a nice bath (after warming up the bathroom with the hairdryer - top tip #46), got undressed and realised the water was too hot. Then the wave arrived. I lay on the bathroom floor and was asleep in less than 30 seconds.

I was awoken by the distressed shouts of my mother, having come home from work and finding her bollock-naked 20 year old son lying 'dead' on the bathroom floor, still clutching a hairdryer.

I tried to go to bed at sensible times after that.

My mother apologises for length.
( Dixipoos Bye Bye Blackbird, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 14:29, Reply)

My friend's house in Birmingham, two miles from my house
Which was decidedly odd, because we had started the drinking session at his uncle's house. In Devon.
( Dave the Mighty, Sat 30 Dec 2006, 14:23, Reply)

Confession Box
A confession box at a catholic church in southern Poland.

When I was 16 we clubbed together for a few bottles of vodka and got hammered, knowing I was in big trouble if I went home drunk I decided to break into my local church and sleep there.

The confession box looked like a good hiding place so in I got put my legs up and passed out.

I was awoken by the priest climbing in the other side steaming mad at me for breaking in, he promptly made me switch seats (I was in his) and confess what I’d got up to the previous night.

I did, he forgave me (just) and off I went home my last night’s sins forgiven.
(Czestochowa, Tue 2 Jan 2007, 15:47, Reply)

It started off as a typical drunken night of carousing at a friend's house.
Then suddenly everyone got naked.

I have dim memories of posing for pictures absolutely starkers with my male and female friends, combined with furious scribblings with a permanent marker over various body parts. There was also some anatomy comparison. At one point everyone, ladies included, lined up against the railing of the porch (it was January), and pissed off the railing to the ground two stories below.

I woke up in the morning on the couch buck naked, hungover, and with a treasure map scribbled in permanent marker all over my torso. The "X" was marked over my left breast. Suddenly now very confused I tiptoed through the house to find all of my friends with CDCs on various parts of their anatomy, also naked, and slumped over furniture.

After everyone woke up we all ate breakfast and never spoke of it again.

I never did find the treasure.
(Avacado Platypus, Sat 30 Dec 2006, 4:05, Reply)

In work
Fell asleep after an all-nighter finished at 6.30am and work started at 7am. Walked into work, pissed and half-shattered, and started taking phonecalls on fixing pcs.

I can recall the first few calls, which were comical by normal standards as I was slurring and randomly swearing at customers eg
Granny "How do I fix this please?"
Me "Click on My Commuter please luv."
Granny "Done that, now what?"
Me "Now click on....errrr what the fuck's it called? Control panel luv, yeah..."
Granny "Ok, done that..."

This went on for about an hour until I literally fell asleep mid-call. I woke up 10 minutes later with a voice in my ear through the headphones saying "That's great, it's working now, thanks for fixing that."
"Errrr.....thanks for calling?" was all I could manage. What the fuck did I say to her, still don't know to this day.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 11:37, Reply)

Bouncy bouncy!
On a park bench in Bordeaux. You get an altogether classier type of wino there you know.

Unfortunately I can't top the antics of a bloke at a party hosted by my brother and sister. He fell asleep against the side of the bouncy castle pint still clutched in hand. Not particularly unusual except that the aforementioned bouncy castle was then deflated as a response to excessive quantities of bouncy shennanigans going on (obviously they wanted to avoid losing their deposit as a result of unsavoury staining). When it was subsequently re-inflated it ended up over the top of the sleeping bloke leaving only his legs sticking out and looking very much like the wicked witch of the east. On being pulled out (complete with pint) he uttered the beautifully understated "Thanks mate, I was suffocating under there."
(flimflam_machine, Thu 4 Jan 2007, 14:09, Reply)

Not to me (Thank God) but I was there to witness it.
Many years ago I went to a friend of a friends party in a first-floor flat in Whitechapel. When the party fizzled out in the small hours I was one of about ten people who crashed on various floors and when we got up next morning we found someone snoring loudly behind the locked loo door.
Now you dont need me to tell you that this is the last thing you need the morning after a skinfull and no amount of hammering on the door could wake whoever was inside. Eventually, in desperation, the bloke whose party it was borrowed a ladder from a neighbour and set about climbing into the loo through the open window. The rest of us stood outside the locked door, hopping anxiously from foot to foot or with knees clamped together (Depending on gender)and listened as the window creaked open wide enough for him to get through, the clonk and rattle of him moving aside all the usual things that live on bathroom windowsills, the grunt as he dragged himself in and . . .
"Oh God! You disgusting bastard!"
It turned out that the idiot inside had gone for a dump and been so pissed he'd fallen off the loo in mid crap. In the process he'd left a big smear of shit across the wall and for some reason had ripped up a carpet tile to try and wipe it off. Only he'd got shit on the carpet, too, so only succeeded in spreading even more of it over a wider and wider area.
He'd ended up getting it on all four walls, the back of the door the ceiling, even, and all over himself -even in his hair! He had then fallen asleep in the middle of it.
The neighbour who'd loaned the ladder generously let us borrow their loo and then we went off to the pub for well deserved hairs of the dog, having locked the still sleeping idiot back in the loo with a hot bucket of soapy water and a note telling him we werent going let him out until he'd cleaned up the mess he'd made.
(mikemm, Tue 2 Jan 2007, 18:45, Reply)

train
I once fell asleep on a train home to Brighton, as it pulled out of Victoria station. I woke up just as it arrived back at Victoria, having been to Brighton and back again. I think that was my angriest ever moment.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Sat 30 Dec 2006, 17:18, Reply)

I still shudder at the thought
On the last night of the Glastonbury festival 1995 I fell asleep in a green portaloo.

When I say I "fell asleep", what I mean is when I walked in it was dark and when I walked out it was daylight.

When I say I "walked in", what I mean is I was almost crawling as I was puking from too much booze & dope. Dope has a laxative effect on me & I was having those spasms that tell me I was about to shit myself.

When I say I "walked out", what I mean is I stumbled out wondering where 5ish hours had gone.

Kids, tsk.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 9:45, Reply)

Scare of me life
When i was 17 i'd gone to Six Flags Magic Mountian ( for non yanks thats a giant roller coaster park) And had gotten on This giant coaster called ' Goliath' by myself, as my cuntsock friend didnt want to ride it. Piss on him, thought I. Well, I got in the seat, they strapped me in and lowered the chestbar, then when starting it up there was this " BZZZZZPSSSSSH!" noise, the cars jilted, then stood still. the operator, some ugly as hell cockrag with tapped glasses says in a very effeminate voice:" sorry folks, If you'd want to stay put we'll get the generator working in a few minutes." Many people wanted off naturally, but oh, not me. I stayed put, dolling my head against the chestbar and snuggling down into my seat. Soon, even through the Din, i was asleep. I didnt even feel it when the Cars jilted again and started to MOVE! imagine my suprise when i wake up screaming to a 50+ story tall DROP!
luckily i'd gone wee beforehand...
well, thats it from me.
(well that went better than expected, Tue 2 Jan 2007, 17:38, Reply)

How I lost my protest virginity.
When I was sweet 16, due to an awful bunch of circumstances, I found myself starting uni while in a sharehouse where I was scared to fall asleep. Never mind the typical b3tan "they've shaved my eyebrows off lolz I'll kill the pricks", I was a young girl in a testosterone-fuelled nightmare from hell where the drinking game of choice of my housemates and their boofhead friends was to sit and rate my tits if I dared to venture into the loungeroom. It actually progressed beyond that at one point and I won't go into the details here.

So I found myself literally phobic of sleeping, crashing on friends couches for two or three hours at a time in a desperate bid to stay away from my house while I found somewhere new.

In the middle of this, I had the opportunity to go to my first protest ever, which was exciting as I had dewy-eyed visions of Vietnam-era hijinks and fun when I decided to go to uni in the first place. So off we toddled to make the government feel our wrath for locking up hundreds of refugees for years on end.

The downside was that it was in the middle of a desert in South Australia, a two-day bus trip away. With other smelly students, anarchic twats, and some idiotic movie starring 'THE ROCK' on repeat as it was sooooo ironic to rip the shit out of it.

I worked out on the trip that I had slept around 15 hours in two weeks at this point. I dozed off on the bus with my head between my knees, something which I had perfected while working the markets with my stepdad a few years previous. With a big pile of blonde hair at the time, everyone thought I looked hilarious and spent so much time ripping the piss that I kept waking up, thus defeating the purpose of my endeavour. At one point I woke up and started screaming at them, only to find that they *had* in fact moved on to something else now, and I had dreamed the ongoing mockery. Got some funny looks after that.

The big tamale was to come when we arrived there. As a properly-leftist kind of a set-up, I perused the 'massage tent', where you could rub sweaty hippies with oil in exchange for a backrub of your own, before wandering off to the 'autonomous wom*n's space' which was designed to be some kind of Gaia-loving, utero-centric peace enclave. Score, methinks. If I'm going to be able to relax anywhere after all this time, it'll be somewhere where any bloke who walks in will have to pay with the wrath of a hundred militant-lesbian harpies for desecrating their space. Bonus!

So I wander in, and despite the tent not having any furniture spare a couple of sad old cushions, found myself nodding off. When next I woke, the air felt different, as though it were charged and crackly. The sun was going down and the dust had been stirred, and through my sleep-caked eyes I could see a bit of bustling activity going on.

I flagged down some girl walking past, who seemed a bit out of it, and asked what was happening.

"Oh" quoth she "we stormed the fences and broke a bunch of refugees out. Now the police are searching tents".

Aha, I think, this mad bint has some choice drugs. I'll have to remember her face for later.

Nope. I wander out, the police are running through the camp in full riot gear, cracking scones and pulling tents apart. It took me over an hour to find my tent in the confusion, and my mates had put a refugee in there seeing as I couldn't be found to put it to a vote. Thanks guys!

Funnily enough, we didn't get caught, but that is one of the weirdest things I have ever woken up to.

Other highlights of that trip mostly came about from a hurried ingestion of all of the pot to hand (a weeks supply for a bunch of hippy uni students in the desert, you work it out) resulting in my mate nearly burning the tent down while refilling his Zippo inside the bloody thing (and burning his arm quite badly in the process), and me deciding that flashing my tits at all the police cars that came by in the evening would be a fabulously subversive way to overthrow the conservative regime. I even convinced some other idiots that it would work, and I have never seen that many U-turns in one small space before.
(Angie the Redneck Wonder, Sat 30 Dec 2006, 2:32, Reply)

Completely and utterly trashed out of my mind
Whilst at a now demolished RAF training base, for some particular reason, I decided, with another lad, to climb up one of the radar towers that were used for training, and have jolly good fun urinating off the side. With glee, I found the hatch had been left unlocked (noone gave a shit anymore as the base was closing). So, on the tower framework about 40 foot in the air with a big old rotating radar dish (obviously switched off) and the other lad, somewhat inebriated, like me, but looking rather green (who said the Welsh can handle their beer?)
Obviously, Stu vomits over the side of the Watchman tower, and I laugh at his dizzy attempts to climb back down the tower (which, if he had slipped, would of ended up dead!) to retreat back to the accomodation block.
So, theres me, 40 foot up, and decided to spark up a fag, and have a sit down while smoking and take in the lovely pretty twinkly lights in the darkness of this rather shitty RAF base.

Oh dear. Guess who falls asleep up there?

Bear in mind for one second, if you please, that the Watchman radar system is a Air Traffic Control radar, and this one kicks out roughly 10 kW of S band microwave energy.

Oh yes, the output power is over 15 times the power of your average microwave oven.

Cue then, the morning, and a strange clunking noise waking me up. Its the radar head, jolting from side to side. Fuck, fuckity fuck. How the hell had this happened? (Hatch open, therefore safety interlock switch will not allow power to be applied).
The rather distinct steam being exhaled from breathing out had caught the eye of a Tech who was on the way for a early bash in the Gym.
He decides to grab the night crew, and they rewire the interlocking circuit to apply power to the main rotating motor.

Then sliding down the ladder faster than you can imagine, literally shitting myself open to be greeted by the aforementioned Tech pissing himself laughing, and threatening to be given a dose of the fucking TWT if you pull that stunt again!

Slept in lots of other strange places, but, thats the most surreal of them all.
Apologies for Length? None, none at all.
( Tesco Quality 60.825659, -0.788337, Sat 30 Dec 2006, 2:17, Reply)

You are feeling veeeery sleepy......
As a Narcoleptic, I have, unsurprisingly, loads of tales of where and when I have fallen asleep. A taster :

1. In my seat at an Iron Maiden gig, Birmingham Odeon, during the support band (whose name escapes me). Apparently, according to my colleagues, the band could see me from the stage and were getting most agitated about "kicking that fucking asshole's ass" with their particular brand of HM mayhem, only for me to stir as the final notes of their last number died away. Don't give up the day job lads!

2. On the floor of my warehouse, trousers and grunts round my ankles, with the door wide open. Waking up with the sun shining, I breathed a sigh of relief that my neighbours were yet to arrive for work, thinking I would just make myself decent and shut the door, no-one would have glimpsed my pellet.
Then I noticed the pile of mail, thoughtfully left by the postie, by my leg. (Note. That has nothing to do with Narcolepsy, more to do with the Demon Alcohol)
(Rsoles, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 13:52, Reply)

A Barge
Far too many to accurately remember. The usual front gardens, train stations (complete with commuters milling around - very surreal) and a golf course.

The worst, or at least the most terrifying, was a barge moored somewhere in a little Oxfordshire village called, somethingorother-On-Thames.

How I came to be here is a story in itself, but I'd insisted on passing out in a field after spending a great deal of the day drinking brandy and alco-pops. All topped off with an excessively bawdy session in one of the local pubs.

Anyway, the last I remember is waking up and thinking 'bugger this, I'm walking home'. I was later told that the people on the barge saw me stagger blindly into the river and carry on walking. They pulled me out when they realised what was going on. Christ knows what would have happened if the barge hadn't have been there. The people who pulled me out very probably saved my life.

I awoke on their barge soaking wet and freezing cold. They told me what had happened and I don't think I've ever sobered up so quickly in my life. I had, and still have, absolutely no recollection of my little wander at all.

Far from minding that I'd soaked their bed, they offered me cups of tea, a change of clothes and made sure I was OK. They even found out where I worked so they could return the travel card I'd accidentally left there. All for a drunken stranger.

So, if any of you happen to be reading this, thanks again! True stars the lot of you.
(Speculum, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 13:22, Reply)

washing lines?
No-one who reds this will probably beleive it, but I kid you not.

on the night of my stag night we all decided to go to Amsterdam, but the place we had to rent was owned by this senile old bint who couldnt find her arse with both hands, so 5 lads wo are pissed beyond beleif are in control of a house, not a hotel room, a house, and on the last night I passed out from a martini contest and awoke feeling like an astronaut, I was in a sleeping bag, upside-down and pegged and glued to the owners washing line, only after 4 hours (no joke)was I able to wriggle to freedom, and pass out again, having cocks drawn on my face with permanet marker.

Bastards...
(the cactus kid- what a prick..., Fri 29 Dec 2006, 11:41, Reply)

Carrying my woman home
I just remembered an actual real narrative story.

Back when I had first started dating my wife, she loved drinking soju. After about two bottles of the stuff (at around half a pound each), she'd just turn off like a lightswitch and not wake up. I have a picture of her passed out on a pile of guitars at a very loud concert somewhere.

The worst time was when she passed out in the park about four blocks from our apartment. I picked her up fireman-style and carried her home on a crowded night. Being a white guy carrying an unconscious Korean girl home is a dangerous thing to do, but I made it all the way home, stopping several times to put her down so I could rest. Finally I made it into the building and went to the elevator. When I saw it was on the top floor, my spirit gave out. I fell and she landed on top of me, pinning me to the floor. By then I was too weak to escape, so I was trapped there until someone else came along and freed me (later on I helped that guy bring his unconscious girlfriend to his apartment; at least I hope she was his girlfriend).

Another time, she passed out at a very loud punk show. I showed up late after work and carried her home. She was out cold so I went out drinking again, got incredibly drunk, came home and barfed everywhere, tried to clean it up, passed out, and woke up in the morning to find she'd cleaned it all, thinking she was the one who got sick.

Length? Reader, I married her.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 10:13, Reply)

Mid-Pat Cash
A friend of mine was at a house party a while back and, as he was wont to do, got fucking reeking.
Anyway, later on his friends at the party had not seen him for a couple of hours, and quickly assembled a search party. Of course, the was completely unneccessary, as he was in the first fucking place they looked, namely the toilet.

The sight that greeted them was a true spectacle. My friend was unconscious, with his head in the bath, his legs up in the air, his pants round his ankles, and, rather crucially, his hands lightly gripping his dribbling cock.

It seems that my friend had fallen asleep whilst having a pish, and had fallen Del-Boy-through-the-bar style into the bath. Without waking up. Even after two hours upside down. Holding his knob.


Length? Apparently there are photos of him somewhere, so I'll get back to you.
(Last Night a DJ Shaved My Wife, Thu 4 Jan 2007, 15:16, Reply)

My brothers housemate
came back from a hard nights drinkin and went straight to bed. Later in the night he woke up needing a piss, so opened his first floor window and promptly fell out onto the roadside below. Naked. And fell asleep. He woke up several hours later, pulling dried leaves over his body trying to keep himself warm. He couldnt wake up anyone in the house, so broke into his mini, as traffic was starting to pass. All he could find was an oily t-shirt to keep him warm. Postman woke him up at 8 o'clock. Good work.
( DumbMonkey The penis mightier than the sword, Thu 4 Jan 2007, 13:47, Reply)

Not so much were I slept, more 'what happened when I was asleep'
Happy new year B3ta’ers!

Now, my story is a simple one, I got drunk at a house party and fell asleep in a chair, this was no bad thing as I had to get up to go to work the following day.

I woke up the following morning to find my ‘friends’ had drawn all over my face with a thick-tipped black marker pen. Usual malarkey, the word ‘twat’ over my forehead, fake ‘clown-tears’ on my cheek, a really rather badly drawn goatee beard on my chin, that sort of thing…

Anyway, I managed to get all of this off with some intense scrubbing, and despite my face being scrubbed to within a millimetre of bleeding; I got all of the offending marks off.

So, the journey into work on the bus, nothing much happened although I did get some strange backwards glances off a few passengers, but I thought nothing of it, why would I?

It was about lunchtime when I was approaching by my then manager, the sort of manager who tried way way too hard to be ‘right on!’ – but even he expressed some concern at my tattoo.

In fact, he said he was surprised he’d not seen it before.

I wasn’t sure what on earth he was talking about, so I enquired…

His response was something like this, ‘hey man, you know, it’s good we have different views and things, but I’m not sure how comfortable people are going to be working with a man who has a swastika tattooed on the back of their neck.’

Turns out I didn’t get all of the pen marks off, neither did I fully appreciate until that point, just how, if washed in part, black marker-pen ink can take on that faded ‘green’ of the classic prison tattoo, right in the middle of the back of my neck.

Oh, how we laughed…

L&G apols.

Mullered.
( JeffTheDogFucker Can you dig it?, Thu 4 Jan 2007, 11:57, Reply)

1 way ticket to Hull please....
Possibly also counts as the most embarassing thing i have EVER done

15 years ago, i was about 17, Christmas Eve was ALWAYS the best night out for going on the piss with your mates, in the locals. fuck New years. Anyways, 8 or 9 pints of wife beater and i was hammered - no questions. Walking home, with a mate around midnight, notice lots of people going into the local methodist church "ahhhhh - midnight mass" my brain tells me. "lets go in and have fun" says the booze.

Stood at the back, giggling, nudging each other, thinking we were being quiet, singing the wrong words, pretending to 'polish' an old mans bald head in front of us by making a squeaking noise and polishing motion. All the time we were getting evil looks. God, looking back now, i wish i could remove the memory of that night - it fils me with shame.

It's very warm, we sit down, calming singing, all very pleasant, i'll shut my eyes for 2 mins, you know, jus...............................................


Next thing i know, the vicar is prodding me awake "your friend ran away with a 2 kneeling cusions" he says, then i remember where i am. it's 1:30am and i've been a little sick down my shirt and into my pocket. i manage to stand and run off into the night crying...

I'll probably get my come-up-ance - and throughly deserve it.
(TheManofScience, Thu 4 Jan 2007, 11:55, Reply)