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This is a question Too much information

Rakky writes "A friend of mine, when quizzed why she was late to the pub, announced 'I was at accident and emergency, having a stuck tampon removed. They had to have a right old dig around for it.' Suffice to say, no one was interested in their Scampi Fries after that."

When have you shared just that little too much?

(, Thu 6 Sep 2007, 10:09)
Pages: Latest, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Mulch can be used to

Control weeds by blocking the sunlight
Retain water by slowing evaporation

And that's Two Mulch Information

Shakes head at himself

(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 19:33, Reply)
I have posted this before, but the story is still relevant.

Note that it's a bit vile......

Actually, it's very vile - you've been warned.

A friend of a friend was out drinking - I'm so glad I didn't see this as when I was told this story I was with about a dozen people and as one, we all went green.

6 guys drinking and they're bikers, so they're being pretty vile* and much beer has been drunk.

One guy, let's call him spoon-boy (I just made that up) says he'll drink just about anything.

Anything? They all chimed - Yes anything.

Money is offered - about £50.

Spoon-boy takes the dare/bet.

5 bikers then proceed to hock, sniff and do other unmentionables to get the vilest, greenest lung butter imaginable - in fact I think this was offered around the pub.

In short order, there's half a pint of the vilest, greenest, vilest smelling, putrid green slime you can (or can't) possible imagine.

"There, drink that" - they say.

Spoon boy takes a look. Sniffs a bit. Cricks his neck.

And leans over, picks up the glass and downs it. In one. All the phlegm, bogies, hair and the rest of the fetid mass goes all the way down.

The 5 bikers, hardened psychos that they are, all go green - one runs out to vomit.

Spoon-boy puts the glass down, licks his lips and says "right-o, cough up"

And they did.

I'm glad I didn't see that as the story alone, when I remember it, makes me ill. Every time.

In fact, I think I might go and be sick.

*I know not all bikers are vile.....

Now, hearing that - over lunch was definitely TMI.

(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 19:27, Reply)
Too much mum-information...
Being extremely sick *and* open minded and having an like minded circle of mates, I am quite used to having way too many moments that almost anyone normal would describe as TMI.

However I think the real icing on the cake was when my then new boyfriend was meeting my mum for the first time. All was going well until the lightweight had consumed perhaps one too many glasses of wine.

It was at this moment that he chose to inform my mum that "your son really does give the most amazing head!"

Bless her, she chose to politely ignore him, although she did later threaten to throw him off the balcony, so perhaps the two are related. I'd like to think so.

Also ..my mates and I reguarly discuss toilet habits...with me often describing my output as "like giving birth to a mud fish".

A subsequent megadump was described as "son of mudfish" until one day after a particuarly heavy toilet session fuelled by way too much pizza the night before, I emerged wasted from the shitter to be greeted by my mate Angela. "Remember the son of mudfish?" I asked innocently, "....well, that was the whole mudfish family..."

TMI to be sure, but I do seem to have created a circle of friends who are almost totally unembarrasable...and I'm so proud :-)

Actually, this was demonstrated to me recently when my mate Ryan emerged from the toilet after using up what sounded like 3/4 roll of toilet paper and I asked him "Did you just give birth to a mudfish?" and he replied "It waved and called me daddy!" Gotta love him :-)

Length?...nah..more a sort of runny girth...:P
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 19:11, Reply)
thanks for the info lance
I work at a posh country club, one of our members walks into the managers office while im sitting there pretending to do inventory work and such.
Manager : "so where have you and your family been"
lady: "our daughter had a bad bicycle accident"
--this answer would have sufficed but nooo
lady: "she hit a pothole and the bike seat went up her vagina, yeah she spent 3 weeks in the hospital...."
length, bigger than the bicycle seat
me: gross
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 18:57, Reply)
Grandad´s manky willy
Wasn´t there personally,but apparently t´was one of the defining moments of my younger brother´s life.
Picture my parents and brother begrudgingly sitting through the twice annual luncheon with my Granfather(RIP)and his rather batty wife.
To be fair,she had had a brain tumour removed years ago,and was on the wrong side of sane-we loved the stories her friends would tell us about how she ran into shops and collapsed or dropped her skirt etc.....
ANYHOO...during this ill fated dinner,my Grandfather needs to go to the men´s room,and while he´s away his wife pipes up(in a very loud voice).....
Cue choking and stares from across the crowded restaurant and spontaneous embarrassment combustion from my nearest and dearest...
He returned from the toilet and when he sat down he asked why everyone was looking at them.Poor bugger.
FIrst post and obligatory length remark.At least mine doesn´t leak goo.....
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 18:38, Reply)
At a family barbeque
Mummy TGP of all people decided to inadvertently take me up on a notion I put forward, in that she always seems to say the most inappropriate things at important gatherings (such as telling my girlfriend's parents upon first meeting them just how ill I was on my 18th birthday... another story).

So yeah. She suddenly pipes up, in relation to my cousin's unplanned baby - "It was the same with TGP."

"Cheers Mum, really needed to know I was an accident."

"At the time, me and your Dad just thought I was going through the changes."

Cue me not wanting to eat any more salsa dip
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 17:54, Reply)
Another acid - cock pain.
My brother worked in a garage for some distant relative (in-law of an in-law or something) when he was younger. I remember him telling me in a little too much detail about 'Fat Stevie' using the acid bath (apparently a nasty mixture of petro-chemicals etc. used for cleaning grimy engine parts.) and failing to wash his hands before going for a slash.

Apparently, almost his whole knob scabbed over and he would have to break off part of said scab from the end of his cock (prompting screams followed by audible whimpering) every time he needed a piss for about a week afterward.
I had to suppress my childish giggling a few times at weddings etc over the following couple of years.

No Length joke required.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 17:39, Reply)
I know too much information about something

It’s also a guilty secret
It happened when I was sleepwalking
(Which was a result of terrible parenting)
It got me fired from my job
I was informed of my sacking on my Family Holidays
By the Council. Cunts
Depressed, I drank meths
And lost a bit of bodily control. (Pfft)
My crazy relatives didn’t help
All they cared about was why I was late (and strangely quiet) for the family dinner
They didn’t understand my trauma that I’d just witnessed the most horrific thing I’d ever seen
It was also the worst sex I ever had…
With one of my pets…at least I THOUGHT it was one of my pets
Turns out it was a case of mistaken identity. I was arrested and imprisoned. I thought I was doing them a favour.

And that’s the thanks I got.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 17:04, Reply)
In the name of research I will find out!

Edit: Dear god!
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 16:53, Reply)
Waxing... and another painful hair removal story
Waxing is one of those things, like shaving, skin care products and reactions to alcohol that are different for each person, so if someone tells you it will work in a specific way *don't believe them*.

I've tried waxing my arms and legs with over the counter waxing products. It's not quite as effective as using professional wax blocks, and probably more painful, but it does the job.

Arms are tricky things - either try it on the more visible but less sensitive forearms, or the less visible but more sensitive underarm.. I went for the forearm - wax on, over the hair, gather courage and riiiip. owowowowowow. Normally it ends there - and you move onto the second strip, which is how it works with my legs. Nice and smooth for weeks.

Unfortunately it left the skin red and tingling. For 24 hours! From that you can guess I'll never be letting wax anywhere sensitive, even if I did want to do so.

Of course this pales into insignificance with the exploits of a friend's ex. He arrived back home after a few beers.

What would you do beered up? Watch a film? Cook something particularly unhealthy, or epilate your scrotum?

For those that aren't familiar with hair removal, there are options ranging from shaving (works well, needs doing every couple of days, risk of cutting), waxing (works, can't be used on face, risk of skin inflammation and ingrowing hairs), chemicals (bit nasty, can't be used on face) and epilating. Epilating pulls a big group of hairs out by their roots in a circular motion, pulling the skin tight.

This is not a good idea in a scrotum, which is never designed to be pulled tight. I understand there was a lot of blood..

Length? More than his after that escapade, I bet..
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 16:46, Reply)
I suppose, if you're not keen on horse-tail buttplugs, that Robert Mapplethorpe's infamous self portrait wouldn't be, er, up your alley.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 16:35, Reply)
My Guilty Secret
Is that I always found the people that put an answer to last week's QOTW in the next one funny.

Okay, seriously though, a friend at my workplace has just come in through the door yelling "I've got cheese on my cock!"

Sandwich accidents ftw.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 15:28, Reply)
oh, i suppose for good measure i should post one about someone else
i'd come into town to meet a few of my mates for a drink. with this particular social group, they are all lads. one of them, we'll call him Shawn for these purposes, particularly put-upon by his girlfriend, gets up to go to the loo. as soon as he's out of ear shot, one of the boys grabs me, whilst the others start giggling.

'we need to ask you a, er, girl question..' he says. they all nod in assent.

'ok then', i say.

'Shawn just told us that his girlfriend had him shave his pubic hair because she says it looks bigger and sexier that way. what do you think?'

you know, i genuinely think they wanted me to answer that. i just felt terribly sorry for him, and five years later they're married and i still can't quite look him in the eye.

(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 15:26, Reply)
i hate alcohol
why why why why why why did i admit to having wanked in my car, every single time we are drinking with our friends now it is brought up! oh pissflaps now ive told you lot
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 15:22, Reply)
I dunno about too much information...
but definitely too much.

I have friends who are swingers. No I don't ( before I get gazzed to hell and back!) but I take a polite interest.
He likes to show me homemade films and photos of their escapades.I can cope with that.

I can cope also with her coming downstairs in full pvc regalia. And having to zip her up.

I can even cope with the fact that she's quite happy to be starkers around me.

I can just about cope with the attempts to get me to involved. (Thanks but no thanks!)

But the pictures with the horse-tail buttplug? That was too much.

So you can imagine I really did not want to see the real thing. Pity that.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 15:16, Reply)
TMI from my good friend Ed
Y'know those flourescent plastic tubes that make a noise when tipped one way or the other (apparently called Groan Tubes)?
Well one day, in the middle of a quiet drink, Ed decides to share with us the time his neurotic ex-girlfriend used one to pleasure herself while he watched.

Why he told us this we'll never know, and he grew to regret it as we were merciless in our piss taking.
It was, however, a bit TMI for his (then) shy, innocent, virginal new girlfriend (now alcohol-loving, slightly saucy, pretend-innocent ex-girlfriend) when she heard the story less than a week after they'd started seeing each other. Luckily she didn't hear the story of the pretend rape they did (with Ed amusingly roleplaying the victim) as that probably would have been too much for her.

Length is 40cm, according to the product description.

If you're reading this Ed; Ha ha ha. Now the internet knows your shame.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 14:59, Reply)
you know the end of a cold, where you're sniffing as much as blowing, and your throat is strangely sore? well, once, in that state, i blew my nose on a tissue. as i pulled the tissue away, a trail of snot remained, so i gathered it with the tissue,, until i realised i was effectively pulling a cord of solid mucus from my nasal cavity that had run down to the back of my throat. As I pulled, i could feel the progress of it threading its way through, well, my head, until the ropey green/grey string flopped onto the tissue.

you don't waste moments like this.

i ran into the living room, brandishing it at the boyfriend, shouting 'look! look! it's that wierd 80s sticky goo stuff!', which for a moment he actually seemed to believe before almost retching.

still, five minutes later he was in hysterics, so i suppose i didn't cause too much harm.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 14:34, Reply)
Cock burn
I frequently use dangerous chemicals in my job, and while I generally handle them with the respect which they deserve, I am only human and occasionally make mistakes.

OK, sometimes I'm just sloppy.

One day I was removing a sample from a fairly concentrated sulphuric acid-based solution. It was just before lunchtime, and I popped out of the office without labcoat or gloves, picked out the sample, rinsed it and dried it. However I must have managed to get a bit of acid on my hands because I then went for a pee.....

and a few minutes later, I had a rather hot and nippy bell end.

Fortunately no lasting damage was done, but it did go a bit red and I had to wash it in the sink (in the bogs, not in the lab!)
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 14:20, Reply)
Being of the homosexual flavour, lord knows how I ended up working on a building site, but nevertheless for a few months I did. As site-secretary.

I moved to a new site. A rather fit scouse builder came up to me in his dirty high-viz jacket and said 'Alright? I used to fuck guys like you in prison'.

I think I replied with an 'Oh'.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 14:19, Reply)
Don't worry about having the old walnut whip. It's a piece of piss. Well the op itself is anyway.

When I got my appointment card through, I was (only slightly) amused to see that my op was scheduled for the date of my youngest's first birthday.

I very bravely drove myself to and from the hospital, and didn't cry, faint, or barf.

Upon arriving home I very tentatively waddled into the living room and sat down, only to be greeted by my son (3 at the time) who proceeded to jump on top of me, clattering me squarely in the plums.

The hole in the ceiling where I rocketed through it has subsequently been repaired, but the memory is forever etched in my mind.

Oh shit, was that TMI?
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 14:14, Reply)
Please stop
...with all the vasectomy-gone-wrong stories, please.

On Saturday I got the confirmation letter from the clinic that's going to be doing the deed on my own poor tackle at some point in the near future. I had my very own TMI moment when I turned the page to be confronted with a series of diagrams explaining the procedure in some detail. I really, really don't need to see that thanks.

*crosses legs*
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 13:56, Reply)
Just yesterday...
I got a phone call off my friend.

He asked if my girlfriend and I were ready to go out, I said "Give us ten minutes".

He replies "Why?"

"Just going to have a coffee" said I.

"Don't bother, let's go!" is his retort.

To which my girlfriend chirps back "We're naked in bed!"

"I wasn't going to tell you that you see" I diplomatically got in.

"I'll need ten minutes now" my friend says.

"Why? Too shocked?"

"No, I'm going for a wank!" and he put the phone down.

Not too bad really, except my girlfriend is his cousin.

Had me laughing like a loon though.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 13:32, Reply)
What's wrong with a cold?
I used to have a very strange girl working for me. She'd often come out with something quite jaw dropping, but giving still feeling a bit slack from bum sex the night before as an excuse for taking a sickie was the icing on her cake, and even better than when she shat herself sneezing.

Length? I imaging it was the girth that did it.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 13:12, Reply)
Taking the wife luxuriantly from behind just the other day, I complimented her on the slick tightness of her nethers.

"Enjoy it while you can," she said. "After we've had kids, it'll be like a carrier bag."

The mention of kids and carrier bag in one sentence saw little Frank quite withered.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 13:04, Reply)
While strolling with a girlfriend through a park, she sneezed and went pale.
"Shit, my tampon's just shot out into my gusset!" she said. They do that, apparently, when they're really soaked and heavy.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 13:02, Reply)
Le minitel
I've been living in France since i was seven, so bear with me: Over here, before internet we had the Minitel which is a pretty crude attempt at a sort of phone network terminal, just a screen, a keyboard and a modem, useful for national yellow pages searches, etc.

Of course, a few minutes after it came out, it'd already been subverted to be used for sex chat services. If you've been to france in the 80's-90's you might've seen ad campaigns for these lines, usually 3615 (something) with a picture of a big breasted lady on it.

Anyhoo, during my stint at toulouse university, i answered an ad in a local paper, and ended up working for one of the companies behind the services. Basically i was paid to pretend to be a bunch of women, and had to get the sad saps who connected onto these things to talk for as long as possible.

As for the TMI part, well, i suppose any part of the conversations could fit in, but the weirdest was the fact that these services would have "hotesses" at the beginning of the listings, somebody supposed to represent the service in case of a conflict between two connectees or something... the thing is, a lot of blokes would connect on to the service only to talk to the "hotesse", and we each had our own. I was "Virginie". Erm, thats TMI already. They did so under the reasoning that "at least i know it's someone real", without imagining for one second that i might not be a foxy french lass but a slightly podgy student from bristol, who is also controlling "Emilie F25" and "SEXY GIRL 22a".

We also had a PO box so at xmas some of the clients would send chocolates and stuff.

So one of these blokes who only talked to my hotesse started asking me to come on a cruise on his yacht which was moored in st tropez, blablabla the whole nine yards... i knew he was in his fifties, and as a laugh i asked him to send me his photo.

Which he did.

One picture was sort of a shot of his top half, naked. He had a moustache and looked like some pervy uncle, which just in itself was pretty scary.

The second picture was him TOTALLY naked, and seemed to be at a party, talking to someone with a glass of whisky in his hand.

Naked. With his knob out, all casual like.

Waaaaaaay too much visual information... shame i didn't get to keep it, i could've scanned it for ya.

As for the rest of them on there, it was usually along the lines of "i'm at home, stroking my whatsit, i wanna do you on the coffee table"... i could waffle on for ages about it, an awful job, really awful, two and half years of TMI really.

One other bloke would tune in every single day for two months, and in the end got a 50000 franc phone bill (roughly 5000 pounds), and he had to sell some property to pay for it.

the only thing positive things i got out of it was fantastic sex with a married girl from Amiens, and the fact that i can type really fast with only two fingers.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 12:41, Reply)
I have a friend who is always late,
so regularly to the point that if I tell her to meet at 11:30, I'll arrive at 11:25 -ish, safe in the knowledge that I'll still be there before she arrives.

Anyway, one day I asked why she was always so late, she replied,
"You know when your getting ready and you catch a glimpse of yourself either semi-nude or completely naked, in the mirror, and then it's just so arrousing that you have to compusively masturbate? Well, that happens and I end up being late."

I always feel slightly uncomfortable now when she's in the changing rooms a little longer than everyone else.

Thing is, she's not even that attractive.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 12:34, Reply)
way too much
Talking to some friends in one of their rooms at boarding school when one says, out of the blue

"the first time I wanked, I shat myself"

as if that wasn't already too much information
he then continues

"and I could tell by the way my butt-cheeks glided"
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 12:29, Reply)
I heard something ‘snap’
...in my head when I read some of these posts. It reminded me of another time I had to go through such extraordinary pain and anguish that I spouted every conceivable detail to everybody around me so they could bask in the general hideousness of it all. TMI?, tough turds, matey! Sit your ass down and listen!

Firstly, I am in quiet, jealous awe of people who go to the doctors with ‘non-embarrassing’ ailments: tennis elbow, touch-of-the flu, manic depression, severed limbs and such. With me, one way or another, I always end up having to drop my kex, park something on the quacks desk and watch his jaw drop. But I digress.

One time (not at band camp) I went for a good old ‘Forrest Gump’. Not an unusual occurance I grant you, but when it got to ‘happy wiping time’ there was blood…quite a bit of it. Lummee! I thought…So off I trundle…

Doc: Morning Pooflake, what seems to be the trouble?
Me: There’s blood heaving out of my ringpiece, doc
Doc: Crikey Christmas…You know the drill then,… pants-a-drop, and on you pop.
Me: Oh god almighty, here we go again

Next thing, bent over on one side, curled up hugging my knees I detect the sound of gloves being put on…

(I might like to add at this point that I am NOT gay – not that there’s anything wrong with that, but for all you ‘spot-diagnosis’ folk who think you’ve sussed the end of this story, the reason my dirtbox was bleeding was NOT due to 'too much cock'). Annnnyway, moving on...

This isn't going to be pleasant, I think to myself. I grit my teeth and prepare for the unholy…

YEEEOOOW! In it goes, then a bit further…then pushing harder and deeper. I think his personal goal was to tickle my tonsils from the inside. ‘I hope that’s just his finger’ I thought…(it was, by the way…this actually happened, it’s not the joke about feeling two hands on my shoulders).

Still, he had fingers like King Kong’s big brother.

Suddenly….squelch…and ‘pop’! Out it comes and I try to mentally pat myself on the back for my bravery and dignity, conveniently forgetting the fact that I was still on a doctors’s table in the feotal position with my grots round my ankles. It would all be worth it, I thought, If the quack could come up with a quick and easy medicine-related solution to my problems. Jesus, a tampon would do.

Doc: Other than a mild touch of the 'farmers', I can’t find anything wrong with you Mr Flake
Me: Never mind, you did your best…let’s just forget this ever happened shall we?
Doc: Not on your nelly boyo, you’re going into hospital for more tests
Me: Aw……….shit

So a couple of weeks later, I’m lying on a hospital bed for the preliminary test…which involves another finger….mmmf….then the doc produces what appears to be a big, cold, metal Ice-cream-cone-like thing.

Me: What are you going to do with th……AAAAARRRGGHHH!

Still no results…so they whisk my sorry, shivering cack-chute off to the ‘camera-up-the-jacksie’ department.

Now this is serious stuff…apparently at this point, I need an enema to clear out my weeping guts so when they shove the camera in, they can have a good gander round.

Cue a friendly looking, plump nurse greeting me and closing the curtains round my bed.

Me: please…I’ve got money…..noooo
Nurse: Just curl up into a ball for me, deary.
Me: …whimper…

OOOOOF! Next thing I know, something that felt like a Polaris missile was being shoved, then abandoned, up my poor pitiful poo-pipe.

Minutes tick by…

I suddenly feel an uncontrollable urge…. All I knew was that I didn't have long...

I hoist up my all-in-one back-to-front gown thing with my arse sticking out the back, and tank it to the bogs, which were thankfully not very far away…

With my legs in the air and shaking like a jelly with Alzheimer’s, my arse erupts like Krakatoa. HUUUURRRGGGHHH!

There was just one thin door between this event, it’s resultant noise accompanied by grunts, screams and general blasphemy, and the rest of the ward, listening with increasing concern for my wellbeing.

I stagger out a few minutes later with wobbly legs and all the colour drained from my face. Incredibly, that part was one of the more pleasant experiences of the day.

A few more minutes pass by, and the blubbering mess that is my body is wheeled off to the camera ward.

It seems obvious, but these doctors are not idiots, and subsequently they came up with a top-drawer idea to put my mind off what was about to happen.

They introduced me to a drop-dead-gorgeous young nurse. From what I could gather, her whole job was to 'stand there and look pretty' She rocked at this job.

Suffice to say though, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for idle chit-chat and realised that the chances of me pulling her in this state were slim to fuck-diddly-all. But I’m cataclysmically stupid and so therefore gave it a bash.

“Mmm hello there, have you been a nurse long?” I ask, trying to lie as masculinely on the bed as I could considering my attire and the circumstances, and completely oblivious to the fact that I was being wheeled into another room with monitors etc.

“Oh, not long. Don’t I recognise you from somewhere?” the hottie says, occasionally glancing at the doctors behind me.

“Oh well, It’s very possible, ah-hem. I’m in a very popular local band you know” I modestly reply. I could be getting somewhere here...

“That’s nice, would you mind curling up into a ball for me?” She asks.


Now this camera was definitely NOT one of those tiny little fibre-optic jobs you see on the key-hole surgery programmes. This bastard seemed like an industrial TV job, with seat, hydraulics and cameraman attached.

In fact, for good measure, It felt like they threw in a whole film crew, boom microphones and Ant & Dec to present the show up my quivering turd-tunnel.

And so it went on…and on….and gibbering on….and you know what they found?


In the end, they came to the following conclusion.

When I had the “Brad-Pitt” I mentioned about half an hour ago, it must have been a really big one, that split my rusty bullet-hole a bit, thus resulting in the blood.

So I went through having more things rammed up my heterosexual arse in one day than Kenneth Williams had up his gay arse for the whole of his life…..for that diagnosis.

length? longer and wider as the day went on. In fact, it took about 2 weeks for me to stop walking like John Wayne.
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 12:27, Reply)
My friend
Greeted me with a delightfully chirpy "I've got a boil on my foof!" last weekend. :|
(, Mon 10 Sep 2007, 12:19, Reply)

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