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» When Animals Attack

Raped by a bee
Having gotten home from work late, then having had a lengthy telephone conversation with my lovely girlfriend (with whom I shall soon be moving in - yay!), I found myself taking my evening bath at the unusually late hour of 01:30.

Being a short sighted person my contacts were nestled safely in their case, so my eyesight was soft, blurry and most definately not in focus as I probed the pedal of the pedal bin with my foot, nicely softened up by my long hot soak in the bath.

I felt a pinch on my big toe, which rapidly turned to a masive burning sensation and about 2-3 minutes of white hot agony before the adrenaline kicked in.

Two things of importance then occurred to me:

1) What the hell sort of bee was awake and ready to sting at bloody half one in the morning?! (By now it was crawling around dying on the bathroom floor, its guts attached to my toe via its sting - karma is a bitch for bees, I guess...)

2) What do I do with the sting?

The first question remains unanswerable, but for the second I turned to that portal of infallible knowledge (wikipedia) and, alongside the answer of what to do (pinch it out), some interesting info about bees and beestings.

It turns out that a bee sting is the malformed genitalia of a bee, since only the queen bee can reproduce. The sting is the tube down which eggs would roll if the bee it was attached to happened to be the queen.

So, the bee stuck its genitals, violently and unbidden, (definately without my consent) into my toe.

In short, I was raped. By a bee. In my toe. And it bloody hurt.

It could at least have used some lube...

Length and girth? Why thank you I have both, blessed as I am with an enormous schlong.
(Mon 28th Apr 2008, 22:24, More)

» Banks

Oh to be so naive again...
When I was really young (around 5-6) I received some birthday money from my grandparents, the princely sum of £5.

Around that time I was watching quite a few cartoons where the bank robber would steam out of the bank with sackfulls of cash with dollar signs on them. You know: the type where the next scene would be them pouring the gold through their hands and laughing manically.

Realising that there were 100 little penny coins in every one of the pounds in my fiver, but not having any concept of the volume of said coins, I decided to take my £5 into the bank to be changed into pennies, thinking I'd be walking out laden with cash, legs bowing with the weight of it all.

Imagine my crushing disappointment, then, when I was handed a sorry little bag with 500 horribly small pennies in it, that required all of 1 hand to carry. I think my mum actually had to help me stop crying.

Ah, the destruction of childhood...
(Thu 23rd Jul 2009, 1:21, More)

» Good Advice

You only need two items in your tool chest...
Duct tape and WD40.

If it moves and it shouldn't, use the duct tape.

If it doesn't move and it should, use the WD40.

(Mon 24th May 2010, 11:15, More)

» Shit Stories: Part Number Two

Northampton Soundhaus
Quite appropriately a shit name for a venue.

Out on the lash to celebrate us old uni housemates reunion-ising (how the hell do you verbalise 'reunion'?!), in the hole known as Northampton due to fiscal shortages of the one member of our party unable to afford a train ticket out of Northampton. So we all went to him.

Innumerable beers later and we're moshing away. Quite a good DJ that night - some suitably violent music was getting played, and much drunken fun was being had by us all.

Until, that is, my body decides to fast forward the next mornings beer shits to the very definite present. However, there's still a lot of liquid in my stomach/bowels. It just had to be messy. A shining thought pierces the drunken haze: THIS IS GOING TO BE A BIG ONE: KEEP IT ALL IN!!!

A couple of fruity farts creep out. The big, slightly moist variety that can make your trousers flap, and without the covering noise would have most definately made people stare. I subtly (well, i'm 6'6" and was very drunk - take that last thought with a pinch of salt) head bang/mosh/beat my way to the other side of the dance floor. Result! People are shaking their heads in disgust at some other poor pleb who happened to be standing in the area recently vacated by me.

A few more farts, each fruitier than the last. My mates have now noticed and are shooting a couple of questioning stares. I've run (snarf snarf) out of fresh dancefloor.

I couldn't let it happen. I wouldn't let it happen. I........let it happen.

In most rock clubs, the toilet cubicals are best avoided, and the Sound Haus is no exception. Finding just one stall, i'm thoroughly unsurprised to find its filthy, there's liquid (please let it be water) flooding the floor, there's no toilet seat or lock on the door, and there's just a shred of toilet paper dangling from the dispenser.

Still, the cramps were unbearable, i was unsure of my drunken ability to ensure the next fart would be dry, and i also figured (accurately, its turned out) that i was never going to go back to Northampton, let alone that godawful club.


You remember that scene in American Pie where Stiffler has added laxatives to Shotbricks mochacino, and he dives into the ladies toilets? That was me.

Wedging a foot against the door, and doing a pretty good drunken swaying to remain hovering just above the seat-less bowel, i let rip.

Armageddon ensues. I'm in there for about 20 minutes, completely and utterly annihilating that toilet. Its pretty much entirely liquid, and being as i'm hovering and swaying slightly its going EVERYWHERE in and on that toilet bowel. The water turns brown. The inside turns brown with a few white spots peeking through the mess. The rim gets a good pebbledashing. To this day i have no idea how i managed to avoid my trousers around my ankles.

Everytime i felt the contractions subsiding and my colon contracting, a fresh wave would hit. I swear - the horrors of war have nothing on the sights, sounds and above all the *smell* that i was reducing the toilet cubicle to. Remember, this is the only male toilet in the venue, and the venue is pretty small, so pretty much the first jet had filled the toilet area with the most unpleasant of poo aromas. I'm usually comfortable in the smell of my own farts (as are most men), but this aroma was positively chompable. By the end even i was gagging as it completely filled the entire (small) gents toilet area.

Much careful toilet paper origami on the few remaining toilet paper scraps later, and i was sorted. Assuming anyone had long since left me to (two) it, i was very much amazed to see someone patiently waiting to use the toilet. Personally, if i'd been in line hearing and smelling such inhumane anal destruction being unleashed within, i'd have run a mile.

His comment will stay with me forever: "Dude - you just don't *do* that...

I felt pretty good after. All cramps were gone, i had a pint waiting for me and some grindcore had just come on.

When i smelt my shit stink waft over the dancefloor about 5 minutes later, i just pretended not to notice.
Inwardly, however, i glowed with pride.

This is my first b3ta post. My dick is fucking enormous, so please be gentle...!
(Wed 2nd Apr 2008, 22:54, More)

» Asking people out

Written by me in a Valentines Day card to the object of my (teenage) affections. No need for any explanations here, the body of work speaks for itself...

"There is a young man with big feet
Who wants to go out with Louise
He hasn't the guts
To ask her upfront
So please, will you go out with me?"

Needless to say, it tanked. The sheer humiliation has left those words imprinted on my brain for all eternity.
(Fri 11th Dec 2009, 0:55, More)
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