Share the pain
Middle school, 1984. Metalwork class to be precise.

A bunch of spotty teenagers have been let loose with the furnace, so we can bend bits of metal. Since there's about 20 of us, and there aren't enough tongs to go round, we each patiently wait for our turns before we are allowed to literally play with fire.

However, one of the more mongtastic classmates, once he's finished heating his bit of metal to supernova-esque proportions, bungs his tongs back on the rail without cooling them off first. Little Davros doen't spot this, goes over to collect tongs for my turn, grabs the nearest set by the end and...

"Oohyafugginbasabuggerinchrist", hopping (why hopping I don't know) around the metalwork room, sucking my severley burned fingers.

That wasn't the dumbest bit though. No, the dumbest bit came seconds after, when a classmate, on spotting my pain, asks "are they hot"?, before reaching out to grab the self same set of tongs that I had just freshly barbequed my fingers with...

Squealed like a pig. The stupid cunt.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 24 Dec 2007, 10:56, 1 reply)

Ugh
I got married.

(Been done?)
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 9:28, 3 replies)

phone
Typing this on christmas eve with my plans in ruins.

Took a lovely lady, who I have been seeing for 18 months back home last friday after giving her at least two very important hours with my colleagues from the office. All expenses paid no less.

Anyway. Home and 'job' done I was feeling a little tired so snuggled up and fell asleep with her in my arms. Ah, dreams do come true. Needless to say she wasn't tired and had to get home to her husband (oops - forgot to mention that), but before she goes she goes through my phone. Bollocks.She found out my plans for seeing another 'friend' of mine the next day for 'extras'.

She phones other girl (oh, she's married too) and discovers that I've been seeing her for about 12 months and agree that I'm dumped by both!

Stupid boy!!! Turn your phone off before you get into bed.Stupid mistake!!! School Boy error.

She only wants her thong back as well. Bloody cheek if you ask me. Good job she doesn't want her christmas presents back. FFS she is a grown married woman. If she is playing around then why does she expect everyone else to be holier than thou! She wasn't that good anyway!

On the way to the office now, so plenty of time to pull a cracker for Christmas.

Gunna make them........
(Suck it and Sea, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 9:13, 6 replies)

Christmas Party
Like most girls at the Christmas Party- lubricated by one too many Gins, I did the stupid thing of telling the developer I fancy the arse off...that I fancy the arse off him.

He is married, with kid - I mean WHAT did I think would happen?
(audreyforbes audreyforbes, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 9:08, 5 replies)

happening right now
I bought a new contact lens cleaning system. I didn't read the instruction properly, and forgot to put a sanitising tablet into the mixture.

I just put undiluted hydrogen peroxide into my eye, and now my eye is bloodshot and sore.
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Mon 24 Dec 2007, 9:02, 4 replies)

i've opened the flood gates
last story reminded me of other stupid antics and drink.

Halloween this year, a fucking doozy this one was.

I went out in my airsoft gear, kitted to the nines in my Vietnam kit, including combat boots, ammo pouches and real, heavy flak jacket. Strapped on some bloodied bandages and looked like an extra from Platoon. This will bear relevancy in a few minutes.*

After consuming much Appleton Estate Rum [the rum of GODS] i left the house party i had been attending on my own.

Stage one:

Stumbled into a kebab shop, mumbled something about 'schwarmi' and paid a lot of money for an awesome sarbeni. Schwarmi, i think, is an Arabic dish native to Morocco. I requested this, in a Turkish kebab shop. Never mind.

Stage two:

Find taxi queue. Is huge. I drunkenly yell 'Anyone for Monifieth?!' before being rescued by some acquaintances of mine. These being the people i know vaguely as sisters' of friends who are a lot younger than me. Anyhow. Get taxi, get food, get home.

Stage three:

Gate is locked, i vault the fence. 'Aha' says i, staring down at the ground some 6 feet away "I'm wearing full combat gear! I can drop onto my face and survive!"

*drops over wall*

Suffice to say, not a smooth move. I land on my arm. It's fairly sore, although i hope not broken.

Swaying toward the door, i reach for my keys. The keys... are already in the other side of the lock. This angers drunken wounded soldier. I swear lots, kick in the cat flap with my size nine combat boots and attempt to reach the lock from there. This does not work, i hammer the door with fists. I cut hands a little.

Brain says "Wait, the side entrance! You must reach the front door from the side entrance!".

Amble toward the side gate, a nice 6-7 foot high work of wooden art. I try to work the mechanism, but it is locked. 'Aha' says i, staring at the slats in the wood "I can use my boots to get through this!". I hoof down three slats, damaging my legs and splintering things into my body [bear in mind i was /drunk/ and trying to do a successful breach entry on the door with limbs that weren't quite kosher to movement].

This is where my night ends. Apparently, i make it into the house. Apparently, i make it to bed. I wake up feeling with a mouth like a badgers arse, and feeling as if i've been subject to bamboo beatings all night. My body is covered in welts, scrapes scratches and real blood. As is my kit.

Stage four:

"I can't believe you: you were hitting on H something awful. What will K [my girlfriend of the time] say? You lech"

"Dude, what happened?"

Text messages appear. A formal note also appears requesting that i pay for various damages to the house.

It was EPIC. Epically stupid.

*a picture is available for all to view.
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Mon 24 Dec 2007, 7:59, 5 replies)

Religion and Drink
Now, i'm a prat when i drink. I'll argue any point for the sakes of arguing a point. I'm not a debater or anything (nor a master debater, ho ho)but i enjoy a good high-spirited conversation. And being a somewhat philosophical prick and devil's advocate, i will initiate one.

So, here i was at 12:10am after closing time, arguing that i'd wage jihad in the name of Allah and murder children with a recently demobbed para because i could. Not because i wanted to, but because i could - what with freedom of choice or summat.

Dumbest thing? Saying that the British army were a useless shower of cnuts anyway.

Funniest thing? Running. Running as fast as the wind when said para motioned forth in a gesture akin to 'smacking you upside my head with my fists'.

Length? half a mile to my house.
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Mon 24 Dec 2007, 7:46, Reply)

the dumbest thing I've ever heard
A good college friend was once engaged to a very nice woman whose smoking hot body was matched only by the mind-boggling stupidity of the things that came out of her mouth. The one that stuck in my memory came during a game of Scrabble, when she asked if it was okay to use "ebonics-type" slang words (if you don't already know, "ebonics" means African-American urban vernacular language, ie, rapper-talk).

By way of example, she used her word in a sentence for us. The sentence, in its entirety, was "I seen the big bird."

The "slang" word she wanted to use was "seen."

Yes, Kristen. You seen the big bird.

Ebonics.

*sigh*
( madrabbit is fully prepared, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 6:58, Reply)

2 Strokes...
As in motorbikes and not as in "who needs two strokes when it's usually over in ONE"...

My first motorbike - an '81 RD250LC. Had aftermarket expansion chambers (exhausts) with aluminium cans. These needed de-coking every couple of months. (And whilst it would qualify for this QOTW in it's own merit, soaking the aluminium cans in Cuastic-bloody-Soda is another story, damnit..!)

For those not quite up to speed on two-stroke technology (isn't that an oxymoron..?!), there are no valves in such an engine. So, as the piston pulls up and sucks... ahh sod it - wikipedia is your friend.... Expansion chambers work on creating back pressure from the exhaust to keep the fuel mix inside the cylinder ready for the next ignition.

You burn a fuel/oil mix which passes as burnt carbon and coats the inside of the exhaust which then needs to be cleaned out to maximise your power output.

The theory that I had heard was that to clean said carbon the bike shop would fill the exhaust (removed from bike) with acetalene and then light it. This got very hot very quickly and made a huge BANG which would dislodge the carbon. Quickly done but at a high $$$ cost.

There had to be a cheaper and quicker option for DIY cleaning, with something at hand that can burn quickly and give off a load of heat. Top of the class to those that immediately thought of Petrol..!

Thankfully for my own bottom-of-the-class-edness, methylated spirits first came to mind. And hand. Thankfully I DIDN'T think of petrol - because I poured nearly a LITRE of meths into the exhaust and gave it a good swirl to coat the insides and hopefully get into the oily, carbon deposits. Then I light it and get back...!

Hmm.. not at all explosive....exhaust's only a bit warm... can still feel meths swishing around inside. Starting to think about camp stoves now and just why this may now not work. Swirl around for a while and the liquid slowly dissipates in the heat. Thinking that it may have done the trick anyway, I prepare to give the exhaust a big blow of air to make sure the fire's out and maybe dislodge some of the soot.

As I suck back a huge lungful of air and lift the exhaust toward my mouth, I catch a glimpse of blue flame rushing UP the upturned pipe and the bastard backfires in my face...!!

Singed eyebrows and lashes and nose hairs. And a big face-full of black soot. EXACTLY like you see those cartoon caracters after looking down the barrel of a shot-gun!

And now you see why I was thankful that I didn't think of using petrol.


(Sorry about the length - must have been that extra stroke that put me off my stride..!)
(Sir Jester, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 3:58, 2 replies)

Target drawn in the sand...
...and a four-pronged pitch-fork in my six year old hands. Sound like a recipe for disaster..?

Close eyes
Lift fork over head.
Stab into ground to see how close to the bull.
Open eyes.
Not close enough..?

And repeat.

After a few lucky misses, I finally hit the wrong target. How those other 3 prongs missed my foot is anyones guess. But that fourth one.. one of the middle two, didn't. Right through and out the other side.

Pretty cool scar though.
(Sir Jester, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 3:20, Reply)

I made a knife
At the steel factory I worked in, some of the older guys made knives as a hobby. A few were really good at it, selling them at shows etc. So I decided to have a go:
- I used the wrong stainless steel, they told me, so it wouldn't take an edge;
- ran out of time, so made a simple handle out of beaten copper tubing;
- put the thing in my pocket;
- picked up a box, which rubbed against the knife in my pocket;
- said knife slashed through the fabric, and in to my hand. Blood everywhere.
- Cue language. Knife went flying in some random direction, where I expect that it killed a kitten.
No more knife-making for me, then.
( bnt what, me worry?, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 3:15, Reply)

Pub sign theft.
This literally happened an hour ago and I'm still not entirely over it. Maybe venting will help.

There's a pub 5 minutes from my house. It recently closed, and all the windows and doors have been boarded up, it's a sad night. A week and a half ago, my nan was talking about said pub, and mentioned that she wishes she could get into contact with the ex owner of the pub so she could buy the 'D' from the sign.

I remembered this today, and after getting suitable pissed with a friend, we decided this 'D' would make an awesome christmas present. We snuck into the beer garden by all climbing over a dodgy fence (destroying it in the process), and then then clambered through a thorny bush. Although we were both covered in scratches, we considered this a victory in itself, and celebrated accordingly ( shouting about being king of the world etc). We turned over a picnic bench, and then used it to climb onto the roof of the pub. We then stole the D, somehow managed to get down (my ankle still hurts) and ran off shouting and screaming about our victory.

Being as we're both losers, this was the most exciting thing we've possibly ever done. So when we felt we'd run far enough to not arouse any nosey neighbours suspicions, we sat down for a post heist cigerette and can of Koppaberg.

Whilst we recounted our exciting tale of peril and genius, I was spinning the D on my wrist.

And then I dropped it.

And it smashed.
(Pixelpops, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 2:59, 1 reply)

Where do I start?!!
I have done so many dumb things in my life I'm not quite sure where to start but am also scared to start as it may cause buried memories to come flooding back like some kind of waking nightmare!


Like the time in primary 6 I stood in front of the whole class and sang 'The 12 days of Christmas'

Apart from the really crap singing everyone was bored stiff after the first 5 mins and I knew it.....I could see it in their eyes but knew I had to see it through to the end or would have been so much worse!
Wish I'd just stayed at home with the tonsilitis I had at the time...........and yes, I'd decided it would be ok to sing with tonsilitis!!!
('O' She's my rolemodel!, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 2:29, Reply)

Enzyme's parsered the basic Maddie joke but I wanted to rewrite it
All was going wonderfully successfully in my plan to do away with my small child whilst on holiday in a non-English speaking. Unfortunately I didn't count on the persistence of the Portuguese police or the tenacity of British newspapers.

Just plain stupid.
(seanfish, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 2:23, 1 reply)

Get the net!
So, about 6 weeks ago it was trout season opener at my local fishing lake.
After spending 5 months going for catfish, we couldn't wait for trout season to start! Bait? Check. Right rig up? Check. Beer? Check. Fishing buddies together again? Check.

So, after battling for a place on the best part of the lake.......and winning, I might add.....one of my pals hooks up on a fish.
I have all of the net skillz, so I grab the net, get close to the shore to bring that baby in..........smack. Face down in the water.
I felt like a tit and a half after that one, and still haven't lived it down.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Mon 24 Dec 2007, 1:47, Reply)

As mentioned in a previous post...
i used to live in a sleepy village when I lived with my family. My friends were all from the next town, so I always had to walk / cycle 2-3 miles through the countryside on an old railway embankment, before my friday and saturday nights could kick off. So far, so interesting... Anyway, after one particularly heavy night of booze and drugs (don't mix them, kids); I was going along this track in the dark at about 3am, and my pedals just locked suddenly - sending me flying over the handlebars, and landing in a heap. Once i'd got over the pain and sworn at it a few times, I clambered back onto my bike. Almost immediately, the same thing happened again! This time i'd had enough, lifted the bike over my head, and with a mighty "RAAAAaaaaarrrrrr!" threw it over the side of the embankment, and down into the surrounding fields several metres below.

I still had to get home, so I dusted my hands, probably did a little cackle, and staggered off. A good walk later, I convinced myself I was going in the wrong direction (it was very dark out there), and turned around... A very long walk later and I found myself back at the familiar lights of the town (i'd been going the right way before). Eventually made it home, the whole trip took more than two hours in the end.

I woke up the next morning with a cracker of a hangover, when I remembered my bike. Now apart from the fact it chucked you over the handlebars, it was a pretty good machine and was worth a bit of money. Unfortunately, even with the aid of my trusty dog, it couldn't be found; probably picked up by a tramp, a farmer, or as I like to believe, a small troupe of foxes.
(jnewco81, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 20:22, Reply)

Stupid things I've done ?
I draw your attention to the Leadmill Nightclub in Sheffield and a young lady who is now known to all of my mates as BigBird.

Without doubt the dumbest thing I have ever done.

(user Snugglesacks has seen her and will describe her to you all,I dont even want to think about again)

The really stupid thing was I went back

for seconds

.....and thirds.

She took it up the arse so it wasn't entirely without good cause.

length ? She was 6'5"
(kickstandrich last had sex with your mum/sister/wife/daughter on, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 19:11, 6 replies)

Stapled my thumb
I was about 5 I think. I was fascinated by lady in the Post office using her stapler and wanted to staple something myself.
I chose my right thumb, don't know why.
It bled and bled...
I blamed the neighbours cat.
I feel bad about that but how could they believe me? It was about 19 and toothless.
(Siouxfan I'm not staring at you, I am just short sighted, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 18:55, Reply)

Drunk dad part 3.
Last one unless my mum can remember anymore.

One evening my mum got a phonecall from the Kenwood club (a shithole where the workers drink which has since been turned into a block of flats) saying her husband was a little worse for wear and could she come and pick him up.

We got there in our clapped out Land Rover to find my dad sitting in a chair staring into space. I seem to recall some Brandy being involved. Being young I have few memories of this night.

1)Us sitting in the club watching Telly Addicts while my mum yelled at people. Everytime I got a question right my dad would turn to me with one eye half open and say "Thass....thasss masin. How you know the an....ansarrrr to thisss?"

2) My mum trying to get his crappy old bike into the back of the Land Rover but not managing to get the straps down, my dad attempting to help until my mum got so irate she told him he could pick up his bike the next day.

3) Dad constantly asking me "eerreee you ok? How you knows the ansuuurs to Telly A-A...this programme?" while I was sat on one of the benches in the back, worried my dad had gone insane.

4) Finally getting home where my dad burst into tears saying "help me...help meeeee" where my mum called him a drunken old bastard, promptly went to bed and left him in the front room watching The Bill with tears pouring down his cheeks. I watched him for about half an hour then went to bed myself.

Now I come to think about it he might have been a bit of a piss-artist. I like to think I'm making him proud by doing the same.

Length? My dad was a drinking legend, it had to be done.
(chakaflange, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 18:51, Reply)

I once drank too much.
Then went for a crafty spliff.
Then vomited on my crotch.
Then couldn't walk.
It's allright though. My flatmates got me home
( Slippery Mick ‏, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 18:50, 6 replies)

Stupid, stupid, stupid me
For years I have managed to keep the mother-out-law away from my house at Christmas. This year the pressure and emotional blackmail was too much for my other half, and she caved in. I didn't put enough effort into making her change her mind. She arrives at 1pm on Tuesday- I would appreciate any religious readers mentioning me in their prayers. Thank you. I'll need it.
(randomstupidname would really like this signature field to be bigge, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 18:35, 1 reply)

Drunk dad part 2.
My dad's favourite haunt was a Wetherspoons in town and I often wondered how he got home on his knackered old bike in one piece. After something his friends told me I wonder even more.

One evening after several pints of the kind of cider that could unclog a drain my dad pushed open the double doors of the pub and started to stagger out when the doors closed and jammed his head. His friends inbetween fits of laughter helped him unwedge himself and watch him go on his way....only to get his head jammed again.

After several minutes he finally got to the outside to unlock his bike from the railing and attempt to load a bottle of wine into the saddle bag which promptly smashed on the pavement. What a man.
(chakaflange, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 17:58, 1 reply)

My lovely mate
- has asked 'what language do they speak in Sweden?'
- has broken half her face whilst throwing up in a club loo off the rim
- laughed so hard she bit her tongue and bled like fuck
- broke up with her girlfriend because she thought she'd cheated on her and felt guilty. Because somehow she got her own lipstick in her knickers


I can barely talk.

One night I downed a lot of alcohol at my mum's before going out. I was shockingly sober, despite accidently not eating (made sure my mates had but not me). Get to the faghouse [home that sells dodgy fags for cheap] and got to their gate. Fell right over. Went for the bus, and fell over at the bus stop. Apparently I knocked myself unconscious. Got up, got on the bus and went to the pub.

When I'd gotten funny looks off people for an hour, I went to the loo. When I looked in the mirror, there was a big flap of skin missing, but I carried on nonetheless, after cleaning up.
Went to a+e after PAIN the next day and it turns out I'd broken my cheekbone.
( Methylene Blue - electrohead, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 17:52, Reply)

Drunk dad.
Not me but my dad and I couldn't stop laughing. The man liked a drink I will admit.

In one of the old houses I lived in my dad had done up the attic into a game room of sorts. By gameroom I mean it had a tv, record player and Sinclair Spectrum ZX. One night after his usual 4 cans of Tennants there was a loud bang and some mumbled swearwords. My dad had lost his balance coming down the ladder and scraped a large portion of skin from his nose.

All the while my mum was covering his bloody nose in gauze I couldn't stop laughing despite the threats of a good beating especially after I'd investigated the attic to find he'd spilt his beer on the way down.

Two weeks later my dad's nose was all but healed. I was sat in the front room watching the A-Team and there was a loud bang followed by slightly louder swearwords. My dad, after several more Tennants had walked into the closed door to the room and skinned his nose again. He couldn't argue with me for laughing that time, especially since the door was wood and far from invisible...
(chakaflange, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 17:46, Reply)

anyone can make a mistake but doing it again?
My dad got nabbed by the boss,on a fleeting visit while on holiday, we were going to museum row in south Ken His workmate babysat me whle the meeting went on. His son was about my age at the time, I still remember being told "my son came to me in tears with a staple in his thumb, so I took it out, cleaned it up,and asked him how he did that, and blow me, he went and got the stapler and fired another staple into his thumb, honestly....."
(tootired Is searching for a funny sig, nothing good so far, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 17:20, 2 replies)

never ever put your cock in an inanimate object ( that includes an unconscious woman )
Once upon a time at a student party while very drunk I picked up a paul Masson carafe with no hands, big cheer and and appreciation from the girlies, one of which I copped off with, but she passed out so the potential wasn`t realised.

Fast forward 3 years to another party, another Paul Masson Carafe, and girl shall we say called Janet? we were pretty merry and I said i`d show her my party trick Tah-dah! Problem,either this was a standard one, not the litre size as before, or they changed the bottle neck. nice snug fit, Snug enought to stop one relaxing, panic set in. A full bladder added to the effect. And it was dry I tried to move it but it hurt

I had visions of staggering out of the bedroom into the kitchen and trying washing up liquid or oil or....going to A+E.

Thinking very hard about margaret thatcher was the cure. It took a while. And yes to the next question.

Length? not as important as width
(tootired Is searching for a funny sig, nothing good so far, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 17:05, Reply)

I live in Key West...
...and I'm moving to Fairbanks, Alaska next month.
(FleetlordVT, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 16:52, 4 replies)

It took her three films to understand the concept
Saw spiderman 3 in a fairly empty cinema. Funniest bit of the whole terrible film was:

Emo-spidey is on the roof of a tunnel and sort of appears suddenly. Cue my friend Claire jumping in shock and spilling her coke everywhere, then in a frightened and very audible voice saying

"Oh god, he was like some sort of giant spider!!!"

Smooth Claire, real smooth.
(WhitieMcPaleface, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 15:47, Reply)