Well, I was surprised, anyhow
I went on an date with someone I'd been chatting to on an internet dating thing - and found Mrs. God. We're still happily together after almost 18 months. I don't think I'll ever be luckier than that!

(If you click 'I like this', I might send you a wedding invite!)
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Thu 14 Sep 2006, 22:29, Reply)

Smuggling a 7ft Welshman into the fortress of Glastonbury...
I'm not sure if this is appropriate to the question but i've been waiting for an opportunity to unleash this puppy for a while.

Me and my friends once smuggled an enormous Welshman into Glastonbury. All it took was some cunning, strength (both mental and physical), some human rights violations, and luck.

As you're all aware, obtaining tickets has been obscenely difficult in the past few years. 2005 was made more difficult for Welsh Battleship, Rhodri, as he'd had about 10 pints of turbo-Rosie the night before and was asleep (and unwakeable) during the 10-minute-ticket-buying window.

A glastonbury without him was inconceivable so me and my friends plotted various schemes to try and smuggle him in.

If 8 of us carried him rolled up in a big army tent, would that work?

How about carrying him in a kayak case?

These were all ridiculous ideas and it was finally midnight the night before my friend fil and I were each to drive our respective cars to the festival bright and early that the final and ultimate solution struck us.

As we sat despondently in my bedroom, head in hands.. fil noticed a larger than average suitcase in the corner. Obviously rhodri couldn't fit in it but if only we could find someone small enough... someone with a ticket... someone asian perhaps?

quite handy that we had studied computer science at university. we found someone we knew who was quite small (asian) and had a ticket. we exagerrated the size of the case by about 150% (making it sound, quite frankly, unrealistic... who on earth would have had a suitcase that big?). Anyway he said he would have to have a look at the case and then see... and he would meet us in the car park the next day. Good enough for us.

Next phase: fil was to convince Rhodri to come to Glastonbury (in the middle of nowhere) without a ticket. My job was to handle the small ticket problem.

Glastonbury tickets must be accompanied with an ID bearing the same name as on the ticket.

It occurred to us, that our abominable Welsh friend didn't not look like a 'Nathan Chong'. So not only did I have to make Rhodri a fake ID, I had to change the name and he would have to explain about a typo when he purchased it. 'Nathan ChongER', he would now be officially called. I knocked up a perfect absolute spot-on copy of a Jersey driving licence (as they still use paper cards) with Rhodri's passport photo ('shopped from a picture of him drinking a forementioned 'turbo-Rosie) and the name Nathan Chonger. I was up until 4 am but enormously proud of my work.

===================

CHAPTER 2

We arrived at the carpark at about 2pm. It was a stifling 30-something degrees and the suitcase was all laid out on my back seat. Inside it was a ready-and-waiting pillow and a carton of pineapple juice.

Rhodri arrived and awaited his destiny. He was very nervous. We on the other hand were entirely confident.

When Chinese Nathan arrived we took his tent off him and sent a scout team to erect it just inside the gates, where we would release him from the suitcase and into the wild.

Nathan didn't however mention that he was claustrophobic and although wasn't previously worried given the measurements of the case, was now terrified upon actually measuring the case. Due to his extreme reluctance, it took 4 of us to get him into the case. He was instructed not to talk as it might blow our cover but to comfort him we spoke to him referred to as 'the stella' (i.e. i hope the STELLA's not too hot in there, only 5 more minutes until we can get out the STELLA etc.)

We estimated (randomly) he had about 20 minutes of breathable air in there and so hurrying the heavy little bugger 2 miles from the car park was going to be tough. especially after the wheels broke off the case within 10 minutes.

Lucky bit:

We finally arrived at the gate, red, flustered, gasping, and moist. at the crucial moment the handles broke off, leaving our precious cargo right in the middle of the track looking very suspicious. luckily backup came in the form of a fil's girlfriend clanging pre-prepared (empyty) glass bottles in her back to distract the converging security. it worked and we hauled the case back up and swiftly moved through.

threw it into the tent and about 5 minutes later emerged the sweatiest chinese man anyone has probably ever seen ever.

rhodri had no problems blagging the security muppet with the typo story and he triumphantly marched through to meet us.

it's difficult to live with the fact that we shall never again achieve anything as great in our entire lives.

proof? photos:

www.flickr.com/photos/philchambers/22547035/in/photostream/

www.flickr.com/photos/philchambers/22547320/

www.flickr.com/photos/philchambers/22547269/in/photostream/

The bad news was that 2 days later Nathan was evicted from the site for not having an arm band. Sorry Nathan.

Longest answer ever?
(dazsnow the "ever amazing" - cowjam said so once, Tue 19 Sep 2006, 18:40, Reply)

Best night ever...
Working late, someone passing my desk said "Anyone want to go see the Foo Fighters? I've got two free tickets". So I grabbed them, requisitioned two cab chits because it was a "work-related activity" and called a mate who said "drinks are on me!" Picked him up and drove to the venue, a notoriously crowded place. As we walked to the door, the bouncers decided to open a second entrance so we completely missed the long queue, walked to the packed bar just as a (small) fight started and everyone cleared away, once again missing the long queue, then walked straight past the bouncers guarding the VIP area by waving arms full of beer cans and shouting "it's in my pocket". As we arrived, a couple started arguing and got up from their utterly stage-side table so we sat down, the band started to play about two uninterupted metres in front of us. End of the gig, walked out, once again hundreds of people standing at the cab rank so we head to a side street, turn the corner just as a taxi stops to let some woman out at her home. Jumped straight in (the cab, not the woman) the guy actually spoke English and knew the way to my house. The girlfriend had just returned home from a night out with the girls and was as horny as all get out so straight to bed for fun. In retrospect I probably should have died in my sleep that night.
( difficultchild, Fri 15 Sep 2006, 3:23, Reply)

blown away
Staying on a campsite in Greece, I returned (quite inebriated) to my tent one night to find a group of attractive girls giggling nearby. Thinking little of it, I entered the tent and began to clumsily disrobe.

Then I heard a female voice at my flaps: "Hey, can I come in a minute?" I unzipped the tent and one of the giggling girls just stepped in univited. She too was drunk and got straight to the point:

"Look, me and my mates are doing this thing where we score points for getting off with lads. It's 5 points for a snog, 10 for a wank, 20 for a blow job ..."

Even in my pickled state, this sounded good to me. Before I knew it she'd pulled off my shorts and was working my swollen tadge with an enthusiastic tongue. However, I was so off my tits that I couldn't come and she gave up with a sore jaw and some expletives. Never mind, I thought. I'd have a good story to tell ...

But what was this? Another voice at the flaps and another of the girls. "I'll see about this," says she and starts working on my bulb with a hot mouth. This continues for many pleasurable minutes before she too gives up with a curse.

By now I'm expecting the next girl and am not disappointed. Only this one is more pissed and more up for it than the other two, and gets right to it: "Right, we're going for 30 points," she says.

Cue about fifteen minutes of multiposition shagging during which time I am still unable to come. She gives in after a while and I'm left grinning like a moron on the groundsheet, not believing what's just happened.

I woke up next morning covered in jizz.
(frankspencer, Tue 19 Sep 2006, 14:30, Reply)

How about this for luck
Unexpected good fortune?

Well I was born into quite a rich family. Well I say quite rich, I mean absolutely stinking rich, and then it turned out I was heir to the throne. And I don't have to have number plates so I can go down all the bus lanes and through red lights and that, and no-one can fucking touch me.

And I've met Rolf Harris.
(The Queen, Fri 15 Sep 2006, 15:12, Reply)

Back in 97 when I was still a student living in a manky bedsit.
Went to the pub one Friday evening... had a few drinks (for courage!) and split up with the girl I was seeing.
She didn't take it well and I walked all the way home feeling like a complete and total bastard.

Got home to find an ex girlfriend waiting for me (news travels fast!) who proceed to bonk my brains out all night long and then left about 7am...

7:02am there is a knock at the door... It's the girl I had split up with the night before (christ! they must have passed each other in the hallway!) Who announces that she still wants to be friends and there is no reason why she can't...well... bonk my already addled brains out all morning in some of the most kinky and dirty sex I've ever had. She wouldn't take no for an answer too (I tried to resist... honest!)

I'm sure I'm going to hell for that night's work... and for the on/off no strings attached bonking we had for the next five years!
( Beastie is doing science with his arse, Fri 15 Sep 2006, 12:54, Reply)

Honesty Being One Policy Amongst Others...
A fine summer's day, and my Croatian friend insisted we visit the "Henley Boating Fair", as he so quaintly termed it. Off we jollied, stopping at a few hostelries en route. By the time we got to Henley, we were pretty mortal and shouting slavonic curses at all and sundry. A few pubs down the line and a few more hoorays insulted...we ended up in some form of hotel bar full of decent chaps with more than a passing resemblance to the Major in Fawlty Towers. Croatian friend was in heaven, discussing military techniques with the passion and knowledge that only stems from having participated in a recent civil war...the Major types were a very appreciative audience.
I slipped out to powder my nose. Bingo! Wallet on the floor of the cubicle. Wallet stuffed full of pink grannies (£50s to you BACS people). Slipped it in my back pocket and made ready to prise the Croat away from his military meanderings...opened the cubicle door to find a very drunk, very old Major type looking quite concerned. "I...I don't suppose you've seen a wallet anywhere, old chap?" he slurred.
What to do? I handed the wallet back, and the old duffer's eyes lit up. "Damn good chap! Damn good chap! Come on, let's have a drink!". Spent the next 5 hours alternating between brandy and champagne, putting this dreadful world to rights and cursing the youth of today. Come midnight, myself, the Croat and the old fella were utterly wrecked and in tears of laughter/sadness. Booked a room each, crashed out and staggered down for breakfast the next morning...the old fella had checked out, having paid our entire room and bar bill. He'd also left an envelope containing £100 with instructions to eat a decent luncheon. A true gentleman.
( wotofco pissing in your swimming pool, Fri 15 Sep 2006, 1:26, Reply)

Money money money
I once found a £20 note poking out of a cash machine. I say found, I had to first deck the old lady who was withdrawing it... I say deck, it was more of a 'beat to a pulp' sort of situation. Mind you, saying that I did have to kill her. Well, mutilate and have sex with.... oh wait, yeah money.

I found £20 once. That's my story.
( McBadger COW, Thu 14 Sep 2006, 19:46, Reply)

APOCALYPSO!
When I was working in London as a script editor I was sent a mysterious script one day in an unmarked brown paper package. It was the story of a man who left his home and family in search of kung fu skills which gave him immortality and immense power so that he wound up ruling the planet.
Once I had read the story, I couldn't get it out of my head. The man in it was so similar to me it was scary. He looked the same, he had the same homelife, job, car... everything.
In the end, I realised that this was some sort of sign. I was destined to follow the story of this man in real life. So, within a week, I had left my wife and three children and sold all of my possessions to fund the journey to the mystic east. I took an Easy Jet flight to Tibet where I intended to start my studies at a Shaolin temple.
After a bumpy landing, I was met in the airport by a tall, thin monk with a very long beard. I had told no one I was coming so I was surprised that he seemed to know me. He led me to his Harley Davidson in the multistory carpark and, just as I was about to get into the sidecar, he sprayed me with mace. Tears streaming down my face, I blindly tried to run away. However, with no knowledge of my surroundings, I fell over what felt like an Austin Metro and the next thing I felt was the monk coshing me accross the back of the head with something hard and metallic.
I awoke around noon the next day with a throbing headache and very poor vision. I was tied to a rock at the top of a mountain. All of my money had been stolen. As far as I could tell, I had been left on my own to die. I began to weep.
Lost in my tears, it wasn't until the footsteps were very close that I heard them. I looked up, and despite my fuzzy vision, I knew what this was; a wolf. A fucking huge wolf. As a trained backwoodsman, I knew how to scare a wolf away, so I began to scream at the wolf in a shrill manner. This angered the wolf terrifically and he immediately savaged me by biting clean through my arm. This rendered my bindings worthless, so I stood and began to run away as fast as I could. The wolf pursued me, so, to distract him, I untied my dismembered left forearm from my right wrist and threw it to him. It worked.
As I made good my escape, I vowed to return home to my wife and family as quickly as I was able and to give in on my kung fu quest. I began walking in the direction of the sun, for want of any better guide to civilisation.
A week later I crawled into the village of Nykbll and collapsed, dehydrated and malnourished, in the middle of the main road through the village.
A truck ran over my legs, crippling me for life.
The driver, repentent and wishing to help, put my unconcious body on the back of his truck and drove me to the nearest hospital, ninety miles away. However, with no money the hospital refused to help. I was left in the gutter outside, begging for pennies just to eat. No one would even look at me as my body was so hideously contorted.
One day, I decided to use the money I had made begging to phone my wife and beg her forgiveness and help to return home.
However, when I called I ended up speaking to a neighbour who was clearing the house out. A week earlier she had accidentally left the oven on. It went out and gassed her and all three of my children. Our oven had always been temperamental and she had no sense of smell and always relied on me to notice when this had happened in the past.
It was only through unexpected good fortune that I hadn't been there to die too.
How I laughed.
( baldmonkey a frothy foul-smelling vaginal discharge, Wed 20 Sep 2006, 11:38, Reply)

The day I won the lottery
My mum is possibly one of the smartest people I know. Even now as I approach thirty and she’s an OAP, I go to her for her help with so much stuff.

However, my poor old mum is prone to the odd “blip” every now and then. Usually it’s repeating something she’s already told me, or asking me a question that she knows the answer to but has forgotten.

At Christmas time in 2003, she excelled herself.

Alongside my normal Christmas present, mum gave me a card with a lottery ticket inside. It was called a “Millionaire Maker”, and the general idea was that if you matched the numbers, you were guaranteed £1m no matter who else won. Lovely.

Seeing as I’m a cynical sod, I didn’t bother checking the numbers, knowing damn well I wouldn’t be winning. I’m also the complete opposite to my mum, who was extremely excited to find out if either of the two tickets she had bought me were winners.

As it was Christmas Day, there were no papers to check, and despite my protests that I wanted to check them in my own time, mum insisted she had written the numbers down when the draw was made and scurried off to the kitchen to find them.

Two minutes later I was handed a piece of paper with the winning lottery numbers written down. I can’t remember now what they were, but they matched perfectly the numbers on one of my tickets. I checked it, and checked it again.

“Did you win?” mum asked.

Never one to overstate a situation, I handed her the tickets and the numbers she’d given me. “You tell me.”

She checked the first ticket – no numbers matched. She checked the second ticket, blinked, checked it again, and starting beaming. “You’ve got all of the numbers, haven’t you?”

I checked the ticket again, and yes, I was a winner. Not just a winner, but a millionaire! In the few seconds it took to sink in, I knew what I would do. I’d give up work, pay off the mortgage, have a big holiday, organise a much better wedding than the one we had planned. It was all crystal clear.

For five minutes the room buzzed – Me, mum, and my fiancée. Even the kids knew something good was happening. Me being me, I HAD to double check – This kind of thing NEVER happens to me.

I booted up the PC, and jumped online. The lottery site was down, so I was left trawling news sites for confirmation of the numbers. After a couple of minutes I found them. I grabbed my lottery ticket and began comparing the two.

Strange, the numbers were different. Ahh, they hadn’t updated the site, these were last weeks Millionaire Maker numbers! Then it hit me – They only do the Millionaire Makers once a year.

It turns out that mum had jotted down the numbers on the tickets she’d given me so that she could check them for herself. For some reason, she’d only written down the numbers from one ticket, and though she’d written down the winning numbers from the night before, she’d given me the wrong piece of paper to check them on.

In some ways I was unlucky – I truly believed that I was a millionaire. In other ways, I was lucky, as I got to experience what it feels like to win the lottery: The breathless, heartbeat-skipping, total elation of it all. Better than sex, drugs and scoring the winning goal in a Cup Final.

I’m still skint though.
( SeasonTicketless is too often the statue, and rarely the pigeon., Sun 17 Sep 2006, 8:42, Reply)

Not me my brother
Early nineties and my brother does what every Irish man of school leaving age does and buggers of to the building sites in London. Every night on the way home from the pub he used to meet this homless guy, buy him a sandwich and talk to him whilst he waited for the bus. After a couple of weeks he notices said chap not begging but waiting by the bus stop for him. His (what my brother thought imaginary)£4000 cheque had came through and proceeded to take a suit out of his backpack and took my brother on a tour of what can only be described as Londons finest gentlemens clubs. And to top it all off a £100 on the way home for helping out! So folks be nice to beggars the really might be waiting on that cheque to clear.

I know its long but if my luck changes it'll get longer!
(Adaminho, Thu 14 Sep 2006, 21:00, Reply)

God's own consolation prize
My kid bro had a mate who'd entered a competition to win the first ride on the London Eye. She won it, and was allowed to take 10 mates. Kid bro and his fiancee were 2 of them.

As everyone knows, the engineers didn't pass the Wheel in time for the Millenium, so BA hired a barge and laid on a free bar and party on the river. Bro and g/f get ratted, yay!

It gets better. 15 minutes to midnight, the head of BA stands up and announces that not only will everyone get the first go when the Wheel is spun up, but everyone gets a free open first class ticket anywhere in the world during 2000!

Then my bro got down on one knee as the fireworks were going off, and proposed. That got them in the paper, and they were married in Oz later that year.

It's not the size but the technique...
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Tue 19 Sep 2006, 17:12, Reply)

Business Trip Away? Check Your Hotel Wardrobes
My sister graduated from Cambridge when I was 17, and the folks decided we all needed to attend...much to my annoyance. This meant staying overnight in a Halls of Residence room. So we all arrived, had dinner that night and retired for the night.

Then, for some reason I'll never understand, I searched the room, looking through all the draws and oddly, on top of the wardrobe. Where I found a copy of Razzle.

Result!

17 year old boy, alone, in a hotel room, with a piece of serendipitous grot.

I was sore the next day, believe me.



And now, 11 years later, a married corporate goon, whenever business takes me away for a night to some soulless Travelodge/Jury's Inn/Holiday Inn/Whatever, I still always check the room for filth, just in case. Because - believe me - if you ever chance upon a porno mag and have the opportunity to abuse yourself to it, the feeling of wonder never leaves you.
(TheCrownPrinceOfZanzibar, Thu 14 Sep 2006, 23:10, Reply)

I was 8..
Aged 8, me and my dad were in a pub and we needed the bathroom at the same point in time.

So we proceeded to the bathroom and to the urinal ignoring the strange man there.

Just as i was beginning to let fly, the strange man spoke to me "Hi" he said.

I looked at my dad, confused. Then back at the strange man "Um... hi?" The man quickly said back "You shouldn't talk to strangers!" This confused me as obviously he was a stranger and he was talking to me..

He continued "But luckily I'm a good stranger! I own a whole string of retaurants and am very rich." He then proceeded to pull out the FATTEST wod of cash you have ever seen, peel off a 20 pound note and hand it to me, then peel off another and hand it to my dad.

"Now you can put that in a bank account and when you're older, you can open your own chain of restaurants" he said. Staring in disbelief at the most money i'd ever had in my life i thanked the strange rich man and promised to take his advice.

I spent it all the next day on sweets.

Ignore all those stories you hear about creepy peados, some random guy gave me 20 quid! Not the luckiest thing that's happened to me but comes close.

Length etc
(Black sky No accidents since, Thu 14 Sep 2006, 22:20, Reply)

Oh altright then
It's been a long time... and this won't get to the best page...

I Had a relationship that lasted nearly two years, and had been going down hill ever since buying a flat in St Knuts Torg (Malmö, Sweden) with her. Broke the news of my "leaving" plan in october, and by mid November, a buyer for the flat had been found.

I set off to Spain for a little business trip (one week as usual) and spent a week donig thigns that the spanish guys should have been able to do, and getting pissed off.

The return trip: Feeling a bit down, Not having been laid for a month or so, I was on the platform at Kastrup airport waiting for a train between Copenhagen and Malmö to take me home.

My Danish colleague was whittering away as usual, and I - as usual - was ignoring him.

The train - all 50 meters of it - pulled up, and from the window that stopped next to me, a pair of blue eyes peered out. I looked back, and our eyes locked. Wierd, but true. It DOES happen. We both smiled...

Anyway... Karsten goes for a door, I go for the door, and I make a b-line for where this lass is sat. We make childish eye-contact throughout the journey, (with Karsten still being ignored) . Upon arriving in Malmö her mate runs for the bus, Karsten stays and goes for the next station, and this bewitchingly gorgeous lass and I end up walking down the platform together. We talk... We walk... We end up at the end of the platform, and our paths nearly part.... but neither of us wants that to happen.

To cut a sickeningly cute story short, that afternoon we spent 2 hours drinking coffee together and having a great time.

It was November the 18th, 2005.

She's going to move in before too long...

We're both climbers, Adrenaline junkies, and snowboarders.. Infact, she used to be sponsored snwboarder... our list if similarities is huge, and life my friends, is just starting. I've never been so happy.

Had I not been delayed that day, Had I not stood there, Had she not have been delayed... We wouldn't have crossed each other's paths. Now, we have met, and have discovered that after a good few years of failed relationships we are both exactly what the other has been looking for.

Simple good fortune lead to me meeting the girl of my dreams: the lass who will oneday be my wife.

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

Ogwen69 met her a few weeks ago... and while he and his missus were doing something else, Mrs Humpty and I christened his new cellar... nothing to do with good fortune... just a good shag: and I thought I'd share that with you... :D

Pure class.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Thu 21 Sep 2006, 14:00, Reply)

I had the shits this morning.
But what luck when i noticed 3 crisp £50 notes fall out of my arse.

...and a winning lottery ticket.

...then a random blonde bird sat on my face and pedalled my ears.

you cant make this stuff up, you really cant.
(nappy rash, Wed 20 Sep 2006, 14:58, Reply)

See - Yorkshire isn't all bad
I once left my wallet on a bus, and some scrote nicked off with it. (Stay with me, this gets better)

It was a week before I went on holiday, so cue frantic ring round for replacement credit cards, ID cards, and provisional driving license (which I needed for my test the week after, worse luck). I finally got everything together by Friday and headed off for the sunny North of Yorkshire.

First day there, we decide to take a walk along the beach to Sandsend - about two miles - and it's a hot day so I'm carrying my coat. We're just getting to the end of our little trip and I check in my coat pocket for my new wallet - nothing. I've only gone and lost the sodding thing again, and it's lying forlornly somewhere on about two square miles of sand.

In a massive huff now, I decide to retrace my steps and quickly find it impossible with the hundreds of holidaymakers that are milling about - and then out of the blue I'm approached by these two unassuming-looking women.

"Are you Umeeksk?" one of them asks.

Astonished, I reply yes - and they produce my wallet and hand it back to me, complete with the fifty in cash I'd drawn out that morning. Turns out they'd found it, checked out my driving license and then - rather than keep it, or hand it in to the police - spent twenty minutes actually *looking* for me.

Thanking them profusely, and gesturing to a nearby pub, I ask, "Can I buy you a drink or something?"

"No thanks - we're Jehova's witnesses."

*How lucky is that?*

The moral of the story is - be kind to Jehova's Witnesses, one day they might find your wallet.
(Umeeksk subtext? what subtext?, Sun 17 Sep 2006, 14:33, Reply)

Twix Twix
Yes! Last week, I put 40p in the vending machine at work, and not one but TWO Twixes came out.

Best day ever.
(amazingmikeyc internet ninja, Sat 16 Sep 2006, 20:46, Reply)

It drives her cuckoo

My girlfriend likes me to tickle her bum with a feather. Fortunately, my mother has just recently bought a pet budgie.
(Lt Columbo, Fri 15 Sep 2006, 16:40, Reply)

Is this Clare?
A long time ago I met a girl in a nightclub who (at the time and in my drunken state) I thought looked a bit like a slightly fat Gwyneth Paltrow.

I was kipping on a friends floor that night, and bounced in proudly displaying her number on a scrap of paper. Which he promptly ate for a laugh.

After fishing it out of his mouth and sulking in my car overnight, we tried to piece it together the next morning. I could make out 3 of the 6 numbers.

The local numbers all seemed to begin with "2" so I only had 100 numbers to dial to find my true love. I made a grid and started dialling.

At about the 70th number I asked for Clare and was put through to her.

"Could I speak to Clare please?"
I was put through to her.
"This is Clare"
"Do you remember meeting a lanky bloke in a nightclub last night who thought you looked like Gwyneth Paltrow?"
"No... Oh hang on - you must mean my friend Claire. She doesn't live here. Do you want her number?"
"Yes, yes I do!"

She gave me the number. I rang it. It was her. We spent 2 months together till she realised I was a knob (result!). And yes, I got laid.

The number she had actually given me was COMPLETELY different to what I thought I had made out from the chewed remains of her number. Not one common digit.

Everything that you have read here is true. Except she looked nothing like Paltrow.
(lemmiwinks, Fri 15 Sep 2006, 14:51, Reply)

One christmas when I was a mere pre-teen

I opened all my presents to find that my bigger brothers girlfriend had bought me a rubber cock, handcuffs, a police womans outfit, and finally, a gimp outfit. My brother got a pirate boat lego set, the complete series of Bananaman and some Brut aftershave.

The pile of pressies should've been clearly labelled, and to this day I stand by that statement.
(Lt Columbo, Thu 14 Sep 2006, 23:26, Reply)

Bit long, not very funny, but pretty lucky
Way back in the winter of 1997, and after a prolonged illness, my best mate's grandma passed away. He was sad, but the fact that he inherited four thousand of your english pounds considerably softened the blow.

Once the money was safely deposited in his bank account, he did what any self-respecting 17 year old would do and promptly went out and spunked the lot on a D-reg 1.6 Ford Orion Ghia. Looking back on it, it was a shit car, but at the time cruising around the A roads of Cambridge countryside, we felt like nothing less than Crockett and Tubbs.

Because my mate had only just passed his test, he pranged it a couple of times over the first couple of weeks and we used to laugh at the rapidly increasing number of dents and scrapes on the Orion's matt black paintwork.

So one evening me and my mate are larraping alone some road in The Fens pushing about 70 miles an hour. It was pitch black and the road had deep water-filled ditches running either side of it with fields beyond. Like I say, my mate was pretty inexperienced behind the wheel. A trecherous bend in the road appears out of nowhere - cue my life flashing before me as my mate looses control and the back end of the car snakes about behind us.

Although I have no recollection of it, apparently I screamed "GET CONTROOOOOL" at my mate, moments before the front end of the car dipped off the edge of the road into the ditch causing the back end to lift, and launching the car into a spectacular, straight-out-of-a-hollywood-action-movie roll.

The car took the time to bounce on both its bonnet and boot before coming to a rest in one of the fields beyond the ditch.

I was later told by emergency services that, unlike in the movies, it is extremely rare for a car to catch fire after an accident. However, as myself and my mate sat shell-shocked in the car in the middle of this field in the middle of the night, staring through the shattered windscreen, the entire bonnet burst into flames - almost instantly.

So I push my door and miraculously it opens and I fall out into the cold night air and leg it a few metres away from this burning wreck - expecting my mate to follow.

To my horror there's no sign of him and for a few awful, awful, awful seconds I contemplate the possibity that i'm going to have to rescue my mate from this burning car. Luckily, as i stand there deciding whether I'll be living the rest of my life as a hero or a dispicable coward, my mate appears through the smoke hobbling towards me.

We both give each other the once over, expecting to find some godawful gash or exposed bone - but nothing. Not a scratch on either of us.

Being a more innocent time before mobile phones, we had no way of contacting anyone, so both just stood there laughing hysterically, adrenaline pumping through us, watching the car burn out. I remember we'd had the Spice Girls Tape (I know, i know ) playing in the car and even as the fire consumed the entire car the tape deck blasted out Wannabe for ages and ages. It kind of felt like the car was singing at as, mocking us.

Anyways, after a while a car comes along in the distance and gets closer. Seeing two young ethnic guys standing in the middle of nowhere, next to a burning car, clearly made them shit themselves because they turned around sharpish without stopping to speak to us to see if we were alright.

Fair play to them though because they must have raised the alarm as about twenty minutes later a fire engine and ambulance turn up sirens blazing. Admittedly, due to the fire the car was in a pretty bad state by the time the rozzers arrived, but one of the fireman said that he simply couldn't believe we'd walked away from the accident.

Despite that world weary demeanour all emergency services people have, he did seem genuinely shocked.

So we go to hospital and have x rays on our necks (who knows?) and aside from a bit of whiplash we're both fine. Hilariously, the hospital actually sends my mate (As the driver in a single vehicle accident) a 'voluntary' bill for the treatment we recieved. Standard now apparently.

The next day my mate's parents drive us out there to see the wreck in the daylight, and it's well and truly fucked. The car came to rest two metres away from a metal pylon stuck in the field that would have meant curtains for one of us if we'd hit it.

Also, because it was such a heap of shit the front passenger seatbelt used to lock when you pulled it to put it on, and you had to spent 10 minutes trying to tease it towards you so that you could put it on. Often I didn't bother, but for some reason (maybe the mad glint in my mate's eye) I'd made the effort on that particular evening and put it on. Again, curtains if I hadn't.

So there you go. Pretty lucky I'm sure you'll agree.

To bring it home to us how lucky we'd been, about a month later, on roughly the same streach of road, four kids lost control of their motor and failed to clear the ditch.

Three of them drowned because it had been raining so the water level had risen, and they became trapped in their car which had flipped over.

All true. I've got a picture of the burnt out Orion which I had up on my wall throughout University. I thought It conveyed on me a certain dangerous cache, but it mainly just made me look like someone who liked looking at pictures of rusty, brown shits.
(MrTea, Wed 20 Sep 2006, 13:24, Reply)

For fuck's sake, don't try this.
You know the deal if you have a rear wheel drive car. If you get the chance, you give it a bit too much right foot, and try and get the tail out on a corner, starsky & hutch style. We have all tried it if we have had the chance.

Well, I drive an Iveco long-wheelebase van that is rear-wheel drive. It had just rained, after 2-3 months of blistering sun, so all that yellow sap has been washed off the trees, onto the road. It was about 4 o'clock, and the traffic was starting to biuld up, and I had stuff to get done. I wanted to make a gap at a roundabout, so put the boot down, without realising how ludicrously slippery the ground would be.

Long story short, as onlookers watched, staring through their wndscreens, slack-jawwed, I put an 8 metre long, 3.5 ton long-wheelbase van into what can only be described as a perfect opposite lock power-slide, at 50 mph, during rush-hour, and saved it to fire it off up the road, leaving the entire roundabout at a total standstill.

Even the pedestrians had stopped.
(Superfool is going to skull-fuck your ladyfriends..., Wed 20 Sep 2006, 1:44, Reply)

Liver
My friend had liver failure. They never found out why, her liver just completely packed up. She had about 2 days to live when some kid died and she got their liver. Absolutely awful for the family of the dead kid, but my friend is still alive, so I have someone to go to the pub quiz with. :)

Apologies for lack of humour but none for perspective.
(Pachey, Tue 19 Sep 2006, 21:29, Reply)

Hot Birds Bum...
As I was walking down the stairs for the northern line at waterloo last week I spotted a nice young lady wearing a summery dress, looking hot and stood with her boyfriend examining the tube map.

As I walked down the stairs I thought "wouldn't it be great if her dress rode up to reveal what was underneath..." HUZZAH!!! low and behold the southbound train came in and her dress rode up high enough for me to see her cheeks!

Playing my luck like the skamster that I is, I took a seet on the bottom step of the stairs for a few moments and then the northbound train came along and I was perfectly SEATED and ready to view the spectacle again!

Happy days...
(aroe_m0rre, Mon 18 Sep 2006, 15:00, Reply)

Pink or brown first? Eeny meeny, mo....
My rather good stroke of luck (well, vinegar strokes really), was when I went out "for a quiet drink" with my deviant friend who had previously introduced me to swingers' parties.

Up until then I had been the "extra single guy", handy for helping out with the odd spit roast, or providing a few cc's of basting fluid, which is not so bad, but you definitely feel like erm, well, a spare prick at an orgy.
SO, anyway, after several convival drinks in the local, it's back to the Man's place where he decides he's actually pretty knackered, and had recorded some football match, which he really wanted to watch. Would I mind taking care of his wife and her girl-friend while he settled down in the lounge with the game?
Does the Pope shit in the woods? Ding Dong! I fucked like a hero (as I always do, natch), I balled the pair of them this way and that, I winked at myself in the full length mirror at the foot of the bed. I even did that one-hand- behind-your-own-head-and-one-behind-your-back silly pose whilst the two lovely ladies had their heads down doing lady things. My face actually ached from grinning so much, (anyone remember the Warrant video for"Cherry Pie"? Where Jani Lane's grin actually extends past his ears? That was me!) The spoff shot would have had Peter North wishing he could do one with so much force and elegance. Total heroics.

I was knackered, both girls walked out like John Wayne, and my mate was long asleep on the sofa when I finally staggered out of his bedroom. I just wanted to tell EVERYONE what a lucky bastard I was, including my Maw and Paw, the next day when they asked if I had had a nice night, and why I had such a spring in my step. It nearly killed me to just shrug my shoulders and say, "yeah, not bad, y'know".

Never been the same since, and I have got up to far filthier antics than that, on a regular basis! Oh yes.
You never forget the first time you are lucky enough to bag 2 bi chicks!!!!!


What the fuck am I doing typing this? I'm on holiday.........
(Rsoles, Sun 17 Sep 2006, 19:49, Reply)

On second thoughts ...
I was born a white, English-speaking male with no genetic disabilites (yet). I wasn't molested as a child, wasn't bullied and have never had a serious accident.

Mustn't grumble.
(frankspencer, Fri 15 Sep 2006, 11:29, Reply)

Mobile Phone Sales Revenge
Heard this one from a mate; was a very good reversal of luck so to speak.

There was a large mobile phone sales callcentre in Swansea which ran for about 2 years (just as this thing was starting to take off), and for ease of explaining this I'll call it "Company A". The office was nutorious for selling phones to pretty much anyone, and every member of staff was earning between £800-£1200 a week due to the vast amount of commision they were generating.

In early 2000 the owner of "Company A" famously laid off every member of staff claiming bankrupcy, and didn't bother paying anyone for they're last two weeks employement (and dropping a few people right in the shit too). It made the papers and the local news as 200+ people hit the unemployed queues, all complaining about the lack of notice too (they'd literally turned up one morning and the office was closed). Bad way to finish it.

About a year later, the owner had opened up another business which funnily enough was named very slightly different and did exaclty the same thing. 3 members of staff from Company A who were still owed a fortnight's pay started work for Company B and found out it was the same owner. They were not happy, as the boss had scammed thousands away from themselves and their friends.

So they concocked a plan, and laughed menacingly as I just typed cock.

There was a top-end sales package, which if sold gave the member of staff £39 commision per sale. This included something like the top-end mobile at the time with insurance, 24 month contract etc; was the bee's knees of sales. These 3 members of staff had learned of a contact in Glasgow, who worked in a market there (no idea which one). The 3 guys sold the package to him repeatedly, making the 3 of them rake in about £3,000 each a week in commision alone. The guy in the market receives his phone, then sells them on at £20 a time to anyone who wants to make as many calls as they want for a month, until they get cut off.

They did this for 9 weeks and funnily enough the business did not survive. As well as avenging the previous staff from Company A they had the unexpected good fortune of making roughly £25,000 - £30,000 each in commision too.

Moral of the story; if you fuck your members of staff, they'll normally find a way to fuck you right back, and sometimes harder.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Tue 19 Sep 2006, 11:55, Reply)

Christmas was just round the corner
...a few years ago, and I had been working day and night to repay my family. A couple of years prior to that I had suffered a bad accident and my family looked after me, sacrificing many things for me, including foregoing getting presents for each other at Christmas to pay for my treatment.

I was determined to pay them back any way I could, but it was a long time until I was able to work again. But I managed to get a job in a bar at the beginning of November. I worked as many hours as I could, sometimes 72 a week, for terrible pay, but I didn't mind, I'd be able to pay my parents back. Unfortunately I still had lots of debts to pay, but I had worked it out that I would get all debts paid and still have money for their presents.

Now I didn't want to chance it, and such was my desire to repay them I thought I would buy theirs presents early. But on my way to the shops, near a pub, I somehow must have dropped my two fifty pound notes. I didn't realise for a good while, but I went back as soon as I realised and searched for them. I was totally desperate, the area was awful for my wheelchair and I fell out twice while desperately scrabbling about trying to find my £100. I couldn't leave without finding it. Once, when I fell out, I crawled along the cars instead of getting back in, to see if it was underneath any of them. I was there for hours...

Mum and Dad eventually found me, shattered, lying beside my wheelchair, which was now a bit mangled, and I was covered in mud and blood from cuts. My Mum went into shock apparently, and went into hospital, never to come out.

It was the worst day of my life, even beating the day of my injury.

And sometimes I wonder: what happened to those two £50 notes...
(Lannes, Tue 19 Sep 2006, 2:41, Reply)

Penniless in Heathrow
You can imagine my horror last year as I put my hand in my pocket to remove my boarding pass for my three week Japanese holiday to find something missing.

Not the boarding pass.
But my wallet.
With my Yen, all my credit cards and other means of fiscal sustenance.

I knew I had it earlier as I had used a card to pay for the beers in the pub on the OTHER side of security.

The plane was boarding and I was up a certain creek without a certain paddle.

I ran past security, and then got tackled. [They do not like people running through security in any direction!]

I then spent a hectic 10 minutes retracing my steps looking like a psycho pushing people out of the way while looking behind chairs and under tables.

Deciding that I would not miss my flight, and as worst seemed to have come to worst I could phone a friend to cancel my cards and wire me cash, I dejectedly returned to the gate.

But then, as I went back through security, I saw a Sun reading security drone flicking through my wallet while talking on the phone to someone.

I went up and identified myself and he grunted at me and said "don't fuckin' bother mate" to the guy on the phone.

Too happy to care about the antipathy of the drone, I returned to find that I was one of the last of the passengers to get on the fully loaded plane.

I approached the gate and produced my boarding pass.

"Sorry sir, we are very busy today, and your seat in economy has been taken..."

"Oh shit," I thought, "all I need."

"... so we have upgraded you to business class"

I had a nice glass of champagne to celebrate my newfound spawnyness.
( coder.keitaro I like pies!, Sat 16 Sep 2006, 16:28, Reply)