This one's from a while ago.
I was on the pool team. We were fairly rubbish, but had bonded well, and spent a fair few hours in the pub together. When bored with pool, we used to play cards, and used to set each other forfeits. One example is that of my brother who had to crawl the whole length of the pub one night grunting like a pig, and did.

On this particular occasion I lost at cards and my forfeit was to be 7-balled at pool by the pub landlady (for those who don't play pool this means that I would be utterly humiliated as my opponent potted all her balls, and I would pot none.) Now I reckoned I was a bit of a hot-shot at pool, I'd recently had a trial for West Yorkshire, had not got on the team, but had 7-balled an opponent and came away with my pride intact. Maureen, for that was the landlady's name, was completely crap at pool and was only allowed to play to make the numbers up if we were short of players.

My dare then was terrible, as one of the "best" players to be completely twatted by the worst, it was a dare of horrifying magnitude and for 3 weeks I could not for the life in me achieve my goal as whenever I played her, Maureen would always accidentally pot one of my balls. (I told you she was crap)

Fast forward to Christmas Eve 1991. I lived alone with my Gran and I was woken up this day by her cleaner with the news that Gran had fallen on the floor and wouldn't wake up.

A frantic day ensued. I drove at 90mph behind the ambulance to the hospital, alerted other members of the family, and we found out she'd had a stroke. After hanging around in the hospital for a few hours I was told by my parents to go and do all the dropping off presents and stuff I'd planned to do today as I couldn't be of any use there. 3 hours later Gran was dead. I found out at a family friend's house by accident as the friend thought I already knew.

After seeing my Mum and Dad I drove back to my now empty house. It got to about 7 O'clock and knew I couldn't stay in there alone as it would do my head in. I packed up a book and walked to my local to hide in a corner and read, but just be around people. I still had to go back home afterwards, but at least I would be somewhere warm and friendly.

Well. Scouse Bill gave me a bollocking after seeing me driving so fast that morning, and despite Maureen's desperate attempts to shut him up he still insisted on calling me a "fucking nutter" who had no right to drive that fast no matter what the circumstances. Maureen eventually tried to take the heat off me by challenging me to a game of pool. She knew I liked pool, and the scouser would now leave me alone.

I did start out trying to win, but my heart just wasn't in it. Maureen potted a ball, I missed. Maureen potted another, I missed again, and the pattern continued. I had 7 balls left on the table, Maureen had 3, when I had a brainwave. "I know", I thought "I'll get that forfeit out of the way". I then proceeded to play the worst game of my entire life as I let Maureen (whose skill by now had disappeared) beat me, humiliate me, and make me write my name onto the C_________ Inn's 7-Ball Wall of Shame.

Rather than look elated by her fantastic win Maureen looked rather downcast. I, feeling quite pleased with myself at getting a horrible job done rather painlessly wrote my name up on the board and went back into the corner to continue reading the book. By the end of the night I'd had a few pints, read a good book, and now felt able to go back home.

I found out later that Maureen was gutted. That poor woman had tried her best to cheer me up on what she knew was a terrible evening for me. She'd only challenged me at pool so that I could at least have the satisfaction of something going right, and she had blown it big time. Instead of helping me she thought she had destroyed what was left of my pride and self-confidence. She knew how much my standing at pool meant to me, and how humiliating it was to have my name up on the wall not only 7-balled, but 7-balled by the worst player in the pub. Not only was she upset that night, but she still felt guilty the next day. She couldn't stop worrying about how I was, she knew I was depressed, and she was seriously worried in case I did anything daft.

I completely destroyed that poor woman's Christmas. She had a screaming row with her husband who told her to "just get over it", she was totally devastated by what she'd done, and until I walked in on Boxing day worried frantically about my mental state.


Maureen. I am sorry. I am sorry for being a heartless bastard who was totally uncaring about the feelings of a lovely person who was simply trying her best to do the right thing.

I am sorry for putting you through a hellish Christmas.

I am sorry for leaving the table in such a way that you thought you'd seriously upset me.

Most of all I am sorry for pissing myself laughing when you finally dared broach the subject a couple of months later and I am sorry for not telling you how grateful I was that someone cared so much about me that it upset them to see me lose a stupid game of pool.

Here's to Maureen and all the people like her who have hearts of gold.
( Occulus Swallowed, instead of spat, on, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 20:25, 6 replies)

Huge inflateable hammer.
Sitting in the back seat of a mate's car as we trundle around Torquay, I find a something wrapped up in the back.

Hmm, on closer inspection, it turns out to be an inflatable hammer. 'ah yeah' says my mate the driver, 'I won that at the fair ages ago'.

Bored, I blow it up.

It's a huge inflatable hammer.

I start tapping it on the heads of the driver and passenger until they get annoyed.

Then we see a mate, walking along the pavement...'Dare you to whack him on the head as we go past...'

RIGHT, WIND THE WINDOW DOWN...

I slightly overestimated the effect of the impact of an inflatable hammer, wielded with force, from the window of a mini clubman doing 40mph. I caught him on the back of the head, expecting it just to bounce off with no harm, other than surprise.

He went absolutly flying headfirst on to the ground.

We slow down to laugh. And then realise it wasn't our friend after all....

Hope he was ok...if you've were hit on the back of the head by an idiot with a inflatable hammer in Torquay - sorry.
(inflateable, Sat 3 Nov 2007, 18:15, 1 reply)

Mad Ben
Now I'm certain that someone on here will have come across this bloke. Mad Ben from Sheffield. As far as I can remember he's some sort of Estate Management type bloke. Public school hooray-Henry - and he went to Newcastle Uni.

Right. Bona-fides done, let’s get on with the story.

Mad Ben can drink for England. Hell, he can drink for Europe. If there were drinking Olympics, he'd be a medal winner. Sadly, there aren't so he uses his talent to win bets or dares.

One trick, that I've seen him do at least 20 times, is to bet someone that he can drink a pint of beer and eat a packet of peanuts in under three seconds. Every time he makes this boast, there's always someone who bets that he can't. So he does.

He gets the pint, opens the peanuts and asks an independent person to time him. Then, on go, he pours the peanuts into the pint and necks the lot in one swallow. He's got the knack of just opening his throat and pouring stuff straight down it.

Aye - impressive. But not as impressive as his other trick which is to drink three pints in under 10 seconds. Seen him do it many, many times.

But his best performance, *ever* was in a pub in Gosforth. The locals were wise to him now and wouldn't dare him to do anything regarding beer drinking as most had been stung for at least 20 quid and the cost of the beer he drank. So Ben was getting more and more boastful to try and lure his marks into betting him. this one night, he went from offering to drink 3 in 10 seconds to 4 in 12.

So up steps Mr Duns, a legend in his own right.

"OK Ben - I bet you 50 quid that you can't drink 4 pints of Speckled Hen in under 12 seconds." quoth the man-mountain, Mr Duns.

"You're on" says Ben.

Now Ben has a little ritual he goes through before attempting one of these feats. He goes outside, into the fresh air and does a lot of deep-breathing and psyching himself up for the challenge. In truth, it doesn't do buggery for his drinking abilities but, as he explained to me one night:

"It adds to the show - gives the punters what they want to see and makes what I do look more difficult.."

In short, he was just a showman....

So, this night, the 4 in under 12 challenge, he went outside to do his usual pre-match warm up. And he huffed, and he puffed and he drank in oxygen and then charged back into the bar where four pints were lined up on the bar.

"Timekeeper?" he snapped

"Me" says the landlord.

"Them on my mark. Three. Two. One. GO!"

And he ripped into the first pint. Then the second, and the third. Then he grabbed the fourth with two hands and chugged it down. Slamming the pint onto the bar, he looked at the landlord.

"10.7 seconds I make it" says landlord.

A few cheers, a lot of claps then Ben looks at Mt Duns.

"That'll be fifty quid please" belches Ben.

"Err - not quite" says Mr Duns "The bet was for you to drink four pints of Speckled Hen in under 12 seconds"

"Aye" says Ben

"Well you haven't done it yet. You've just drank four pints of Exhibition" grinned Mr Dunns - "Your Speckled Hen is over there, on top of the bandit...."

Now a lesser man would have crumpled. He'd have folded, given in - but not Ben. He marched over to the bandit, put the four pints of Speckled Hen on a table in front of him, called for a timekeeper and sank the lot in 11.3.

Then he was violently sick. But he won the bet....

Cheers

I'll spell and grammar check this later. It's past midnight here and time for my bed....
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 13:28, 8 replies)

where Christians dare
I was at a Bible Retreat with a few of my friends and we were all sitting round the campfire singing our faves like "Oh Lord," "Lord, You Are Our Lord," and the timeless "Lord Lord Lord" when Jacob got a glint in his eye.

"Dare you to drink that whole 1.5 litre bottle of Irn Bru!" he yelped at Caleb.

In a flash, Caleb had pulled the plastic cap off and started glugging it back. To our amazement, he polished it all off and did a nasty belch too! We were well impressed. So then Jacob turns to Judith and says, "I dare you to recite Psalm 14 backwards!"

A hush settled over the group, but Judith was game and - from memory - recited the whole thing in reverse, to our universal admiration. That girl sure knows her scripture.

The Jacob turned his bucktoothed, freckled gingernut of a head to me and shouted: "Frank! I dare you to hold your hand over the flames for as long as you can!"

My mind was in turmoil. 'What would Jesus do?' I thought. Then it came to me. I opened my Bible, slipped my palm inside and then wrapped a piece of baling wire around the book so that my hand was sandwiched between the covers of the good book. Then I thrust my hand into the fire.

An ominous silence settled over the group as the cover began to smoulder and the Lord's word began to go up in smoke. Judith started to sob and Jacob soiled himself. Isiah (the fat kid, not the prophet) went into convulsions and let forth a sloppy fart as he passed out. And I kept my hand in the fire for five minutes, protected by the Holy Scripture.

"You... you b-b-b-bburned a bible!" said Jacob through the stench of his own ordure.

"And now it's my turn," I said. I dare, you, Jacob, to get your cock out and toss into Judith's open mouth."

And that's pretty much how I was found to be a non-believer at that Bible Retreat.
(frankspencer, Wed 7 Nov 2007, 12:34, 8 replies)

If you're walking home from the pub, drunk and....
...your mate dares you to run over the next parked car you see, don't do it.

It might have a full length Webasto sunroof. You might go right through said roof. You might snap your ankle as it hits the steering wheel on the way in. You might end up buying an unfeasibly expensive roof to replace the one you wrecked.

But worse of all....

...the nurse that treats you at the hospital for your broken ankle, while your details are being taken down by a policeman, might....JUST MIGHT be you're girlfriends mum.

Try explaining that one.

Bugger.
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Sat 3 Nov 2007, 16:35, 1 reply)

Echoing ladyredshoes
I once clambered over a parked car for a dare. Almost as soon as I started dancing the 'robot' on top of it, passersby yelled at me to get off. One even dared to berate me to stop being so disrespectful to people's property.

The look on their faces as I (soberly) got down off my car, unlocked it, and drove off was a picture.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Sat 3 Nov 2007, 21:54, 3 replies)

A friend of mine
(this story contains me)

A fair few years ago in a sunny place called cambridge I was single and so was my flatmate, I was single because I had dumpted my girlfriend after she cheated on me(previous qqotw) and my friend was well i'll put it this way grubby.

He was a skinny type with a beard and he was reading physics. He has little to no social skills and he could not dance.

He admitted to us that he had never kissed a girl, and he was 20. But he could roll a mean joint and we use to get on well me being somewhat of a nerd aswell.
He also had a thing about if anyone dared him to do somethig he would just to prove a point, so i coluded with another flatmate of mine in a way to get him to find a girl.
I dared him to get a girlfriend within a month and he said "well ok but whats in it for me?"
"I'll bet you 100 skinny pounds you can't"

The race was on, he got his hair done, shaved his beard off, got new clothes, he even went to a dance night to learn to dance at the union.

he first Friday night came, he looked nervoulsy around til he found a girl, she rejected him then he spent 3 days alone in his bedroom , welll being depressed at such a minor rejection.

At this I felt terrible racking my brain for a way to make it better, I spoke to a few people and we fopund out that a girl called Sarah, was alos hopeless at romance, so we se them up. My flatmate met her and went for a drink. We were also there being noisy twats, apparently he had said the first thing that came into his head and it was "will you consider marying me because i don't know but i think I love you and we could move in together and start a family one day"

But it worked she actually said okay then.

he ot married about a year ago to Sarah 4 years after meeting her in a dusty pub in cambridge and bursting out with a stupid line.

I handed over the £100 pounds when they met and I have never spent a 100 pounds better.

p.s I only did it because I fancied her mate who was fanfuckingtastic in bed! I ended up asking her to marry me!

£100 = 2 weddings and 4 happy people. Can't complain

length = 100 pounds
( Super piat I am the owl, Mon 5 Nov 2007, 0:57, 4 replies)

Circus trick*
Vous savez that circus trick quand un homme catches un bullet shot out d’un pistol entre ses teeth? Alors, c’est un old trick, et un classic aussi.

J’ai dared H a faire quelque chose similar – mais avec un difference. J’ai dared lui a catcher un arrow avec son eye. Et – sacre bleu et bon appetit – il a agreed. Oui – pouvez-vous believe it? Un ARROW! Avec son EYE!

Alors – pour couper un long story court – tout allait assez badly pour lui, et quand un result, j’ai became Roi de England.

Yours,
William the Bastard, Duc de Normandie

_{* I am soooooo sorry – Enzyme.}
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Sun 4 Nov 2007, 16:09, 9 replies)

My father was a policeman
And *he* had a friend who worked in Maintenance on the Tube. As is well known, every so often some businessman or other will snap under the pressure of owning all those Jags and houses and jump under a train. The little-heard aspect of the story is that someone has to clean up the resulting mess. It is the 1970s and my father's mate is one of these people.

After shutting down the Tube station, he and his team are merrily cleaning away, picking up arms and legs, bits of torso etc. There were a few mops and buckets and stuff.

They couldn't find the guy's head. Anywhere.

"Somebody's going to have to go up the dark, echoey, badly lit tunnel with all the trains rumbling through it creating a suitably hellish environment in order to find a grisly, bload-soaked, disembodied head, probably frozen in a grim rictus of pain and terror," were one man's paraphrased words (well, it was Halloween yesterday, bugger off).

My father's mate drew the short straw. Off he wanders with a torch. An hour goes past. His mates start to worry and wonder if they're going have to do another clean-up operation somewhere in the tunnel network. They are just about to send somebody to a phone to shut down the tunnel when they see the bobbing light of a torch and the sound of whistling.

My dad's mate comes strolling out of the tunnel with the head held carelessly by the hair. He then flicks it up and drops it, bringing his foot up in a wonderfully executed drop kick. Aimed straight at the guy who suggested drawing straws. Who screamed and threw up.

Not quite a dare really, but a suitable story for the time of year. Dad told me that his mate's foot hurt for two days after that. Heads are heavy.
( Kroney, Fri 2 Nov 2007, 11:03, 3 replies)

Pickled Eggs
It was a saturday afternoon in a pub in the middle of the peak district, myself and 3 "crazy student' friends go for a pint.

After one drink and a Pickled egg I was skint. So my friends clubbed together and offered me £20 if I ate the rest of the Pickled eggs in the Jar. There where 19 more eggs.

We asked the barmaid to line them up on the bar in shot glasses (which she duly did) by this time we were attracting quite a crowd of locals who wanted to see what the 'crazy students' were getting up to.

So I began. Egg 1 fine, I like Pickled eggs, this was going to be a breeze. Egg 2 still good. By egg 4 the dry yolk texture was beggining to dry my mouth out, and the rubbery white was making me feel ill.

By egg 12 the crowd had subsided, people lost interest including my friends as this was taking some time!

Egg 19 finally came I quietly collected my money and went off to the toilet to be sick.

It turns out however that after 20 Pickled eggs it's quite hard to be sick. So I spent the rest of the evening feeling really rough and the £20 I had earnt for more drinks was useless.

Also I didn't poo for a week and when I did it was like two coke cans placed on top of each other. I had to get a stick from the garden to help it through the U bend.
( Wildyles is back to rimming chimps, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 14:46, 2 replies)

Andy..
There's a bloke who lives in the village I've just left called Andy. Lovely, lovely bloke but, as he's happy to admit himself, not the sharpest knife in the rack. Oh, and nothing to do with the story, but he also looks like a film-star.

Fuck off Pawlack, this has nothing to do with you

Now Andy has a talent, a trick if you like, in that he's *very* good with a Samurai sword. His party-trick is getting someone to put a bath-towel (for the blood you know) on their head and placing an apple on top of the towel. Then he'll split it. He'll either half the thing horizontally, leaving half an apple on your head, or vertically where the bisected apple will just drop, in two halves, to the ground.

I'd heard about this, when I moved to the village, but never seen it.


Then, one drunken night, I saw it. Some bloke was giving Andy grief and daring him to prove that, what was said about him, could be done. After much to-ing and fro-ing Andy eventually gave in and went and got his sword. I was there.

Drunken hard-man stood there with a bar-towel on his head, apple, dead centre, and Andy drew his sword. He kissed the blade and looked straight into the eyes of the hard-man. And swung.

The blade hissed, it really did, almost, but not quite, the sound you hear in bad kung-fu movies, and sliced the apple into two pieces. One, about 95% of the apple, fell to the ground, and hard-man was left with a sliver sitting on top of the towel on his head.

"I thought you said you could do it into two individual pieces" sneers hard-man..

"I normally can" slurs Andy "But this the first time I've tried to do it drunk"

Hard-man goes white.


Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 14:07, 4 replies)

I watched my mate bum my other mate IN THE ARSE
Over a decade ago, after giving up actively trying to off myself and instead taking to drown myself in gin, [I know, I know: boo hoo hoo] it naturally followed I should acquaint myself with others who also thought naught of breakfasting on cornflakes and vodka. Two of these were called Kev and S******. Workmanlike names for two eccentrics. S****** had an obsessive fixation with the Sex Pistols and Kev was, well, he was Kev.

We were sitting in Kev’s flat. He’d rented if from a Russian émigré – it was bedecked with crushed red velvets, had a dead tiger skin by the fire and a four poster bed. Because of the cold, and the tedium of the gas board, we were in his bedroom, huddled around the gas heater. Because we were us, we were drinking so much that only the smoke from the high tar cigarettes was keeping us afloat.

I can’t quite remember how it started, but I remember kissing Kev for a dare. It wasn’t pleasant. As I ran my hands up his face, and my tongue explored his mouth (“In for a penny”), I was perturbed by stubble and the faint but all too tangible taste of burped up lager. After the kiss, Kev dared S****** to kiss him. Which S****** did.

“Alright then” said S******, as easy as the first drink after the first drink. “I bet you wouldn’t suck my cock though!”

Now, Kev never backed down from anything – which is why he is dead. Kev got on his knees.

“Jesus” I said. I remember that I said “Jesus”.

Kev took S******’s cock, tugged it a bit and put it in his mouth. It was like being on the wrong set of a bad porn. I could see his head move. When he took it out, of course I looked. S****** was not hard. He looked bored.

“Impressive” said S******. "But you wouldn’t..."

“Jesus” I thought

“You wouldn’t dare fuck me, would you." So, with a sigh, Kev pulled down his jeans. He was not aroused.

“This is odd” I thought as, ever the gentleman, Kev turned away to try to get hard. He couldn’t, so we had a laugh about it and my girlfriend took him in her mouth.

“At least I’m not a tourist in life” I thought “Everyone hates a tourist, eh Jarvis” Then Kev fucked S****** in the arse. It was a workmanlike performance. The grunting and panting reminded me of Wolverhampton Wanderers. They sounded like a Second Division defender, diligently tracking back. The ashtrays looked like burst explosions. The gin looked as sweet as broken glass. And that’s what I looked at. That's what I looked at, as I tried not to hear them.
“Fuck, this is grim” said Kev.
“Want to be where I am” complained S******.

At this point I noticed my girlfriend had gone quiet. I could see the way she was drawing on her cigarette. I could see the way, and I didn’t like it at all.
(sirolimus, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 14:54, 14 replies)

The consequences aren't particular impressive...
But it WAS stupid. And maybe worth sharing.

I was 13 at the time, at school, and one of the guys in class had brought in a video.

"Check it out boys, I've got some porn!". Cue impressed "ooooh" from all the other guys in the class, myself included.

Anyway, he left it in his bag and left it on his desk when he went to the Canteen for some food. A few of us sat there in the Form Room just staring at the bag of mystery and wonder.

"I bet it's just Bambi or something. Go on, Banwen... I dare you to put it on" one of them said, indicating the old school TV and VCR combo on one of those trolleys with a long extension power cord curled up behind it.

I uttered those immortal words (Which Dr Pepper totally stole from me for their ad campaign) "What's the worst that could happen?". And I grabbed the tape from his bag. Nervously approached the TV. Turned it on. And put the tape in.

Yup.

It was porn alright. Everyone started laughing. My mission was a complete success. I had done the dare, entertained the masses, and would surely be elected to the highest possible popularity group in the school.

Well, almost. For not 2 seconds later, some of the older kids ran in saying "Eh, look lads! PORN! PORN! Check it out! PORN!" and before I could turn it off they had taken control of the situation. With a riotous chant of "PORNO! PORNO! PORNO!" they wheeled the TV out into the corridor... And gave it a hard push in one direction.

Next door, a teachers meeting just so happened to be adjourning. So, all the most senior members of staff open the door... And the first thing they see... Is black and white, hardcore porn rolling past, facing them.


Pretty stupid, eh? I got into quite a lot of trouble, I got the "Are you curious?" speech from Mum and the humiliation of a lifetime for the remainder of my time at Secondary school. I was the Porn-on-wheels boy.

Ah well, c'est la vie.
(Uhmfhshhghd, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 14:25, 7 replies)

Chilli sauce from hell
A few years ago I was give a bottle of Dave's Insanity Sauce. For those of you who've never had it: it's hot. I like spicy food but one drop of this in a bowl of soup renders it almost inedible, it's ridiculous.

So, one day at work, my colleague Mo mentioned spicy food (Mo's already starred in a previous qotw answer).

I mentioned the Insanity Sauce, Mo sugested it probably wasn't as hot as I was making out, so I dared him to eat some on a rice cracker the next day, when I brought it in to work.

So the following day, I wandered over to Mo's desk, presented him with the sauce, whereupon he assumed I was playing a nasty trick on him and it would be horrible. To prove it was edible I had a tiny drop on a cracker first, which was decidedly unpleasant.

Seeing this, Mo did the same, and exclaimed "Oh, it's not that hot, it's no worse than a vindaloo!".

He then proceeded to liberally douse another cracker with mucho sauce, and eat it. I was (secretly) gutted that he wasn't impressed, congratulated him and sat back down.

A couple of minutes passed, and then another colleague, Amy, who hadn't seen the cracker episode came into the office and asked "Why is Mo out crying by the water cooler?"
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 2 Nov 2007, 12:23, 6 replies)

Double Donkey Dare
When someone is dared to do something, they have the option of declining, albeit while losing face in the process. As some of you may know, when someone is Double Donkey Dared to so something, they simply must. There is no forfeit or anything, because you simply must do it. This in itself acts as a sort of check, since daring someone to do something too fucked up would inevitably come back to haunt the bastard darer, as they would have to do something even worse as punishment.

This is an awesome rule in school (how I miss that place) or out, since you end up doing a lot of fun things. Moon the teacher? Check. Stroke the leg of the incredibly shy? You must! Draw a large cock at the bottom of your work before handing it in? Diminished responsibility Miss, I was Double Donkey Dared.

We realised that the power was too much for us mere children to wield as soon as the words, 'Kit, I dare you... nay Double Donkey Dare you, to kick Mrs Mullins. Hard. In the arse' had been spilled. It took about two days of waiting, but finally the moment came, standing in the dinner cue. Said teacher pushed her way to the front, (as some of the cuntisher ones often did,) at which point Kit spotted his opportunity, rushed forwards two meters and kicked her. Hard. In the arse.

By the time she was back on her feet, Kit had slotted neatly back into line, and despite her shouting and threatening, no-one cracked (because she was a cunt, seriously, an absolute cunt.) He got away with it, but as one, we knew the time of the Double Donkey Dare had passed. It was over.
(Daveh, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 15:26, 1 reply)

How to Annoy Your Dad

When I was eight, my sister dared me to push a paper clip up my nose (for some reason). I duly did this, all the way up, and lodged it nicely in the depths of my sinuses. This was followed by a severe panic when I realised I could not get it out again, and it was causing a nasty metallic grating pain in the middle of my face.

As a result, my dad had to take me to A&E where we waited for two hours to be seen. A doctor finally saw us and removed the offending paper clip with a long thin pair of pliers. There was a bit of blood, and a nasty little bit of flesh on the paper clip once removed. This was followed by a long lecture from both the doctor and my dad (who was very pissed off by this time).

We get home, and I head off to catch up with my sister. After ten minutes or so, she dares me to put the paper clip up my nose again. MMmmm...after a minute of so of thought, and taunting, I thrust another paper clip up my nose, again losing the end and lodging it in my sinuses again.

You can imagine how pleased my dad was when I sheepishly went to report my predicament for the second time in one day. Cue, three more hours at the hospital, and the same doctor....very annoyed this time.
(Mandrill, Sun 4 Nov 2007, 23:31, 2 replies)

shout a swearword at school
Many many years ago, while valiently failing a plethora of GCSE's we had a dare during a class. How loudly can you say the word "bollocks" without getting a detention.

It started very quietly, with the first few whispers, followed by a mumble of said curse.

It escalated up to "cough cough cough BOLLOCKS cough cough" then a sneeze along the lines of "ahh ahhh AHHH CHOOOOOBLLOCKS" blown nose. This left me next, in a bit of a quandry.

so i inhaled.

exhaled

inhaled

and in best Pavarotti style unleashed a

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLL OHOHOHOHOOOOOHHHOoooooooOOOOOOOooooohhhHHHhoh HOOO LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKSAH!"

dissolving a line of children into tears of laughter. luckily the support teacher was deaf as a post and I just about got away with a "what the bloody hell are you doing you noisy little bugger" and being thrown out of the class.
(Halfy By light alone, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 13:06, 6 replies)

Outrageous
I was in the pub celebrating losing my job when Lenny suggested that the spirits we'd been drinking all night weren't working. Could've fooled me: I'd lost all motor functions and had pissed myself three times because I was unable to walk to the lavs. I was sitting there in a pool of my own urine but everyone was too drunk to notice.

So Lenny opens his backpack and brings out a selection of perfumes he stole from the street market. "Who wants Calvin Klein's 'Eternity'?" he roared, cracking off the top against the table edge and drinking it down in one go. A scent of cedarwood and lime filled our corner (smothering the reek of piss).

Gimme Naomi Campbell's 'Delicious' yelled Dan, and gulped down a throatful of delicate ylang ylang and citrus highnotes. Not to be outdone, I snatched a bottle of David Beckham's 'Shooter' and hammered it. My nasal passages were filled with a musky yet masculine scent.

By now we were fuckin' well off our tits. The Beckham scent had me rocking back and forth like a hasidic Jew on acid and Lenny was snorting salt of his McCoys mature cheddar. I found myself lying in my own piss and weeping like a little girl.

"Dare you to fuck the barmaid up the dirt chute whle she's serving that off-duty copper a pint!" yelled Dan from the floor, where he was evacuating from every orifice.

"Done!" I growled. I staggered to my feet, a vision in piss and cologne, and walked zombie-like to the bar. I lifted up the swingy thing, walked up to the barmaid and started to unzip my trousers. Despite my inebriated state, my tool was as hard as Cleopatra's needle and I started to wave it about.

Enraged by my swollen weapon, the barmaid put down the pint she was pulling and dropped to her knees to swallow my cock. I couldn't beleive it! Right there in front of the whole bar, she sucked, groaned and tongued my throbbing helmet as I tilted my head back and emptied a bottle of vodka from an optic into my eyeball. Just as my orgasm gushed forth into her hot throat, I cracked open two bottles of WKD blue and chugged them both.

At least that's how I remember it. In truth, I woke up in a psychiatric ward three days later smelling of piss and David Beckham. Don't drink perfume, kids. It's bad.
(frankspencer, Fri 2 Nov 2007, 13:17, 11 replies)

More Brotherly Love
So, you're playing with your Lego, making a scale model of the architectural might that is Hillsborough stadium, when your brother says to you...

"I bet you can't get that big bit of Lego up your nose."

Do you:

a) Laugh
b) Laugh, crack your annoying little bro round the head and make him eat said piece of Lego
c) Laugh, stick the piece up your nose, fail to retrieve it, run crying for your mum, who similarly fails to retrieve it (as does your stepdad, the next door neighbour, Graham from number 38 and the milkman), then has to take you to the Northern General hospital to get it surgically removed?

Yes, you're right.

Still, I do have amazingly large nostrils in my adulthood, and on many occasions I have managed to fit about £2.80 in loose change up one of them, which has won me many pints as a result.

Click 'I like this' if you want to know how I manage this.
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 20:21, 8 replies)

Poland! Are you joking?
But I'll get in trouble..

No you won't it's only little and no-one's looking.

Yeah but, if Neville finds out he'll shit on me head!

What's wrong.... you chicken?

No, it's just that!

Gay chicken! Gay Chicken! Gay chicken having bum sex with other gay and bi-curios chickens!

Fine I'll invade fucking Poland, honestly Goebells you can be such a cunt-monkey sometimes.


And that is the true story of how World War 2 started.
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 13:23, 5 replies)

Chewits? I don't think so!!!!
Many years ago when I was young, stupid and tucking into a big bag of chewits with my brother, he made a passing comment about the name of such sweets.
"I know why they call 'em chewits." He said.
"whys that then?" said I (see, told you I was stupid)
"Coz you gotta chew 'em" He points out.
"Nah you don't" I retort.
" Go on then. I dare you to shallow one without chewing" He grins.
"Alright"
Bang. Straight down. At least it would have been had it not got wedged in my throat.
Cue much coughing, choking and laughing (from my brother, not me. I was scared shitless!) until my dad nearly smashed my spine though my back forcing it out.
As I lay there in tears, dribble and blackcurrent flavoured drool my brother said,
"told you,twat"
(FerretTrout be illin', Thu 1 Nov 2007, 18:34, Reply)

ahh magaluf
I was trashed one night on a stag doo in Magaluf this summer, we ended up in this empty'ish bar on BCM square with some quite good tunes playing. With the promise of some free drinks we hung around hoping the place would fill up. It didn’t. So we made the entertainment whilst the free drinks were distributed. Dancing away on the dance floor I decided to get my camera out to video the lads anyway I got chatting to a mate mid film when all of a sudden a girl on stage right next to me slammed my face with her hand... she was bitchy little 17 yr old with her pals celebrating their GCSE's and believing the world owed them.

I was angry and demanded an explanation for her punch, BANG!! she hit me again.... now I’m not the angry type, and in my usual stupid ideas thought if I could talk to this girl I could pull her.... BANG!! Another slap/punch. I was getting angry... I couldn’t hit her, so I turned to my mates...who in turn swiveled me round and said 'dance off'...... now I’m an ok dancer, but the fact I had drunk enough, that 10 minutes earlier I was pissing all over my leg proves that I couldn’t attempt to 'dance off' with anyone. There was a push from behind me followed by chanting of Dance off from my 'mates'. It then became apparent that she was in no better shape than me as she stumbled off the stage to my left and stood in front of me. I could win this I thought.... but no, she stepped back and let her friend take charge of the dancing... if anyone is familiar with the term 'bodyguard' you will be able to picture her standing before me...bigger than me.

At this point the crowd had doubled... from the lads I was with (10 or so) and her mates ( about another 10) there were even more people flooding in to the venue... all chanting dance off... word spread fats across BCM square as more people flooded in to see what the commotion was …..with a scratch of the record player a brief silence hit the bar, all of a sudden the unmistakable beats of 'its like that' by the Run DMC came on... we were indeed in an impromptu dance off situation, with the whole bar fixated on me and the body guard. I started limbering up like a boxer before the bell, rotating my shoulders and rocking my head from side to side giving the illusion I had done this at least once before... i hadn’t.

The crowd was now at 70 or more, with the circle at least 6 people deep and 30 wide around the dance floor.

She starts... 10 seconds of easy dancing followed, which I dually equaled and exceeded. We were winning. My mates were egging me on to go a step further than her….She then upped the tempo with some unusual moves, i followed just equalling them...then, to my dismay she pulled off the caterpillar... something I cannot do...how can i better that?

I looked around for inspiration, I found none.... I looked at my mates for advice, 'take your kecks off... she doesn’t have a cock....

It was like hypnotism... I immediately did what I as told... off went the kecks ..and the underpants.....

Thenthere was chanting … it was a like a bad dream…

“ what the fucking... what the fucking... what the fucking hell is that ....”

I was having a 'small' day. it was damp and shriveled due to my piss soaked pants... I have never been so embarrassed. I had lost...


When I got home I realized the girl hit me was because I was unknowingly filming her crotch from approx 3 inches away from it. Something I was totally unaware of at the time as I was looking the other way...bitch

Length?… its usually about 3-4 inches when asleep… he had shrunk to about 2 inches… a little alf’s nose.... the dance off lasted about 4 mintues
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Fri 2 Nov 2007, 14:58, 1 reply)

Mad football players!
A friend of mine told me quite a few stories from when he was in college in Buffalo in the late 70s. Pat was about 5' 6", but was such a maniac about weight lifting that you never realized it until you got right up to him- he was extremely muscular and carried himself well. He was also an incredibly fast runner, so he was on the University of Buffalo football team as a corner back.

On their way to the bars, he and his teammates used to pass by the Security building. One night one of the guys noticed that the sign for the Security office was a sheet of plywood mounted on a pair of posts at either end, so he ran like hell and leaped feet first at it. Splintered plywood flew everywhere, and they laughed as they legged it out of there.

The following week a new sign was made and installed, and again the guy launched himself through it. The same performance occurred the following week as well.

The week after that they saw the nice brand-new sign, and his teammates dared him to break that one as well. The guy let out a mighty scream and ran at it full tilt, flying feet first through the air.

You know how Wile E. Coyote runs face first into something and then just kinda drops?...

SPANG! *thud*

They had replaced it with a rather thick sheet of aluminum.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 1 Nov 2007, 18:41, 2 replies)

Climbing Tower Bridge
I was once dared to walk the length of London's famous Tower Bridge - along the blue supporting structure right to the other side!

I heroically accepted, and managed to climb a good 3 feet off the ground before panicking and shouting for assistance, clinging to the bridge like a koala.

Luckily someone threw a shoe at me and I fell safely back on to the grass.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 15:48, 2 replies)

Turn up the heat...
Most of my dares seem to revolve around chilli or other hot foods so here we go...

Dare #1:

Tiger Balm. This stuff is kind of like deep heat in that it warms and relaxes muscles. My mate, Fish, was curious about the stuff so i told him it was a numbing agent and dared him to rub a couple of fingerfulls into his eye lids. The Fish, never one to back out of a dare, stepped up the challenge and proceded to really scrub that balm in. It took about 5 seconds for things to kick off by which point it was well beyond the point of no return. He started yelling and ran out of the room but crashed into the door as his eyes weren't quite working as well as they used to and then spent about 10 minutes with his head under a cold tap cursing me and saying that when he could see again he would kick the shit out of me. It took about 2 hours before his eyes could focus properly and come even slightly close to normal again. thankfully, by this point he had seen the funny side and has looked for other victims to try this prank out on.

Dare #2:

The sauce of death. Not the hottest sauce in the world but, at a bracing 120,000 Scovilles, is about 50 times hotter than Tabasco. here is the link if you want some: www.hotsauce.com/Da-Bomb-Beyond-Insanity-Hot-Sauce-p/1321.htm

Anyway, This stuff is like thick dark ketchup and even the tiniest smear can leave your tongue, and any other place you touch if you forgot to REALLY wash your hands, burning for really rather a long time. The worst thing about this is that the delay time before it kicks in is in the order of about 5 seconds. before that it has a lovely smokey flavour and then blows your head off. Fish, again, and his brother Gus were over at mine to help me move house and the drinks were flowing. Gus was emptying my cupboard when he saw my hot sauce selection and asked what was the hottest. Da bomb was duly pointed out and he dared us to dare him to drink a teaspoon full. Bear in mind that I like my spicy foods and three drops on a triple decker bacon and egg sarnie nearly rendered it inedible for me. This was too good to pass up and so Gus was soon lined up with said spoon. Quick as a flash, spoon in the gob and then rinsing it down with beer.

"Ah, that's not too bad" says the gus.

"3...2...1..." says I.

" Naa, it's not that baaa..aaaarrrrggghhhhh!!!!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!

I have never seen someone in that much pain before. it was spectacular. his face was the colour of beetroot and tears were running down his face. his nose was snotting and he was almost puking. Thank god I had three tubs of yogurt in the fridge as I swear he was almost passing out. Over the next twenty minutes he made my kitchen look like a bomb site as he smeared yogurt over his mouth and lips to cool the burning and spooned the rest of it into his mouth to stop the pain. he couldn't move his mouth properly so half of it dribbled onto the floor and countertop. Fish and I were almost as close as he was to passing out and crying just as hard but for entirly different reasons. Fish had a swig of beer and proclaimed that even the tiny smidge left on the bottle made his eyes water.

Top tip? If you are doing a chilli dare, always have plenty of yogurt about.

Top tip 2? Never try my hot sauces without sober supervision.

Length? It brought tears to his eyes.
(71 hour Ahmed wasn't working at, Wed 7 Nov 2007, 9:22, 4 replies)

I had almost forgotten about this one...
No one dared me, but it was rather daring nonetheless.

I was working in an aging factory that produced polymer- specifically nylon and polyester- and was on the second floor of one building, and often had to go find my boss on the second floor of the next building. The plant was built in the 1940s or so and had been modified in odd ways- and in this case, the buildings were connected by a walkway with a door at either end.

At my end of the walkway was the lab I worked in, which had to be kept at a precise 72 F and 50% humidity at all times (Standard Temperature and Humidity as defined by ASTM and ISO). As the offices were not regulated like that and neither was the hallway, they kept the lab at a positive pressure- that is, they pumped in air so it pushed out the outside air. The result was that there was always a breeze along that corridor if you had the doors open.

One day something happened to one of the door closers- that thing up at the top that gently pulls the door closed and keeps it from slamming- so that now it had no resistance at all, so the door could slam.

And it did. Very loudly. Especially as it was in a hallway, so it sounded like a fucking cannon. And as the offices were mostly full of administration types who were typically female, it caused a fair amount of upset when it happened.

It had been like this for a few days, and we had generally gotten used to it and were careful about closing it ourselves to prevent the slam. But I was in a hurry and was moving quickly and pulled the door open against the pressure and ducked through.

BOOM!

Ever just get one of those insane urges?...

"I AM THOR!" I boomed in my most stentorian bellow. "BRING ME YOUR WOMEN TO QUENCH MY LOINS!"

There was a stairwell at the end of the hall. I made very good use of it.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 2 Nov 2007, 14:37, 2 replies)

Outraged, Lwr Scudless
I bought a pr0n video from a dodgy corner shop one day only to find that it was censored to hell and back, with less flesh on show than a taleban WI outing.

My mate Andy then dared me to take it back and complain if I was that bothered. So I did.

Marched into the (now busy) shop, slapped the video on the counter.

"I'd like my money back please, as this pornography you sold me is shit. There's no oral, no anal, no fannies, and the best part of it is on the floor in some studio."

'Errr, we can give you another one'

"No. I want my money back now please. Your porn is quite frankly sub-standard."

Whisked my tenner back off the cashier, and marched out, head held high.

Do me out of a hand-shandy eh? We'll see
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Thu 1 Nov 2007, 19:12, 2 replies)

"Show your love for her"
At school there was a special needs unit who hosted actual lessons seperately, but the kids were registered along with the rest of us, which meant we had lunch breaks which sometimes consisted of Mongtastic adventures.

The lad in our registration group was Charles. Charles was an amiable but chromasome-laden kid with thick NHS glasses and sunken eyes which gave him a slightly unsettling appearance.

He fancied Tania, who was out of the league of almost everyone but the best looking, adonises in school. But Charles thought he was in with a chance.

She spurned most of his overtures, but they were classic tired ones like a single red rose (or in his case a single daisy picked from the school field), a card which declared his intentions.

One day he was bemoaning the hopeless situation with me, and I suggested he should show her his love for her.

"Really?"

"Yes go on, I dare you" (I may or may not have said this, but for the purposes of staying on topic, I did)

So that lunchbreak I saw him walk up to Tania, who was sitting in amongst a group of girlfriends, unzip his fly and produce the largest erection I have ever seen. Really he held it in 2 hands and his swollen phallus was level with his nipples.

There were screams, girls ran in all directions, I tried to explain to him that this was not quite what I had meant, but he chased after Tania, 'cock in hands' with an anguished look on his face.

To this day I still chuckle as I think of a bouffant blonde, running in terror from Charles proferring his gargantuan spam javelin for her as though t'were a peace offering.
(Vic Flange, Thu 8 Nov 2007, 9:12, 6 replies)

I dare you to defecate in a box...
I was once dared by a school friend to leave a box containing my freshly passed faecal matter in the headmaster's office.

This was in repayment for his humiliating three of us during assembly that day for laughing (almost uncontrollably if I remember correctly) at the concept of "the virgin mary's womb".

I took an empty cardboard box from the painting cupboard and stole into the boys toilets (well it would've drawn attention to me if I'd stolen into the girls).

The next 15 minutes were gainfully employed in straining several large portions out of my pink hornless squid-beak.

On completion, my foul-smelling felicitation was ready and I placed it on the headmaster's desk.

He walked into his office (which was next to our classroom) and instantly hit defcon1. I still firmly believe had I been sat 5 metres closer I would've been knocked down by the shockwave.

As teachers are wont to do, he jumped to a conclusion and punished the kid who was always in trouble, dragging him by the scruff of the neck to his study to berate him at full volume for his "revolting act".. every so often you could hear the kid mumbling some defense which was then bellowed over as more ire was thrown at him.

I owned up at a reunion a couple of years ago, shortly after my 32nd birthday.
A look of thunder fell over his face and he dragged me off to his study and bellowed at me for half an hour as though I'd only just done it.

Bastard.
(LunarJim, Wed 7 Nov 2007, 16:50, 3 replies)

Office dares and bullying...
(Sorry for posting this so late in the Qotw folks, I'm guessing most people will have given up reading it by now - but I've only just seen it and realised I have a tale worth the telling!)

I work in a large office, in a group of ten other people - all CAD monkeys, apart from the boss. Of this group, only the boss and one other person are staff - all the rest of us are agency workers (which means that whilst being transient, we are also very well paid. Staff people being not so very well paid). The staff guy that isn't the boss is Phil (name not changed - I don't want to protect him, I'm mean and victimising as you will soon see) and he's your typical 'worked at one place since leaving school' type guy. Lovely bloke though - just a little poor - with his only other fault being that he can easily be baited into a challenge.
So at some time in the past - the 'Phil's office challenges' began.
The rules are simple:-
1) Phil cannot gain more cash from a challenge than us agency guys earn as an hourly rate.
2) The challenge must be at least fairly degrading and humiliating, if not downright nasty and/or dangerous.
3) The challenge must make me laugh (did I mention me being a bit of a bastard?)

To date so far the challenges have included - in chronological order:-

Swallowing an entire cocktail sausage whole, with a glass of water - as though it was a tablet. Purely to see if it could be done (and because I was interested to see if he would choke to death in the office).

Standing two desks away from me and catching those little plastic pots of coffee cream (you know the ones - the nasty little long-life stuff you get?) one at a time, as I threw them to him. Opening them, downing the creme in one, and throwing the pot into the nearest bin. If he dropped any, he lost. If he didn't down it in one/spilt any, he lost. If he missed the bin, he lost. Oh - and the pots (eight of them) were something we found in one of our old desk drawers after an office move, and we just couldn't bear to throw them away - even though we had no use for them anymore and they were 'undated' (we were moving from a 'make your own' tea and coffee office to a 'use the machine you bastards' office you see). Fair play to Phil, he managed it - winnings approx £3.50 in change (and I mean change - total shrapnel).

The arrowroot biscuit challenge. Have you ever heard of arrowroot? Its a powdered thickening agent used in cooking - its like inverse moisture if you will. Well you can buy (if you search really hard) biscuits made using this stuff - I think its an 'old' people kind of thing, something from the pre-hobnob years. Anyways - take it from me that these things will dry your mouth out. The challenge would earn him £1 per biscuit he managed to eat past the first 5, with no drink allowed along the way - although he was also allowed to pay £1 for a capfull of water, up to three times during the challenge. He managed to earn £14 from that challenge - although admittedly £2 of that was from a sub-challenge when someone bet he couldn't jam two in his mouth and eat them simultaneously (mainly because that person wanted to see how savaged his mouth would become by the ravages of two solid biscuits being crunched in a dry mouth - good addition sir! Thanks for that Jason!).

Next was the pepperami challenge. We used to have a small fridge in the office that we bought to keep drinks and snacks cold. Anyways - officer uber-fascists declaired we couldn't keep said fridge and so we needed to clear out from it all the many things we had been storing in it. Well Tescos quite often have offers on pepperami, so we seemed to have a fair few stocked up in there. Phil's challenge was to eat all of them, in one sitting, again with no liquid relief during the ordeal. With the aid of one of our co-workers (good work Paul - he might have given up if not for you!) Phil managed to consume 14 green pepparami (normal), 5 red pepparami (spicy hot) and 4 black pepparami (extra hot). He was lovingly handed each stick, ready part-unwrapped - to make it easier for him of course, not just to egg him on for our pleasure - and even had someone mopping the sweat from his brow. Bless him. That challenge netted him a cool £17 odd in change...
(you seeing the pattern of degradation here?)

Then came the pickle challenge. We had some jars of pickled goods (onions, gerkins, chillies, more onions) and over the course of about a two or three months we had been spicing up one particular jar of onions. You know how there's always someone who says 'I really like strong pickled onions - those ones are shite, you should taste the ones from my greengrocer/aunt Flo/grandad Bill'? Well we took a spicy jar of onions and added chillies, tobasco sauce, mustard seeds, marshmallows (don't ask), more spicy onions, shallots - in a nutshell we added anything we could find that would make them hotter/nastier. These onions were tried and eaten on a day-to-day basis, but they got hotter and hotter and the vinegar got murkier and murkier - until it went totally black and you could smell the jar being opened from the other side of the office! So the challenge was born, to eat everything solid in the 'evil' jar to win the cash - which was once again the donations of the majority (totaling about £25 this time if I remember correctly). Fair play to Phil, he chose to eat everything large enough to pick out and chew, and then drank the remaining vinegar and dregs - except that the dregs remained mostly within the jar, causing him to have to top it up with more vinegar from another jar of onions, swill it around and then neck that.

Ahhh bless him and his challenge taking-on ability.

The next challenge coming up (assuming I'm not arrested or otherwise taken away for being the office bully) is to eat 15 McDonalds hamburgers in 20 minutes. Just plain, no sauce, no onions, no nothing - just burger and bun, no drink - 15 in 20 minutes.
He refused the one where I wanted him to drink a cupfull of raw sugar - said somthing about it clogging in his throat and choking him. Spoilsport...
(Nogin the Nog is the good one! Beware Nogbad the Bad!, Tue 6 Nov 2007, 15:22, 6 replies)