Not me, but... someone.
I once had a flat on Cleethorpes seafront that I shared with a family of slugs. On one occasion I heard a terrific banging coming from the front of the premises (my flat was behind a stamp shop or something) and went round the front to see what was going on.

A shirtless, drunk skinhead had kicked in the upper half glass pane of the front door and was attempting to gain entry. Instead of carefully removing all of the broken glass and stepping through one leg at a time, he had both feet on the wooden crossbar and was perched in the busted-out frame.

Where he got stuck. On the shards of glass he hadn't removed. The same shards that were now stuck in his back, pinning him quite effectively.

Turns out he was also busting for a piss, and he promptly relieved himself there and then, with half the nightlife of Cleethorpes looking on in interest.

As if that wasn't bad enough, he then fell inside, landing in a puddle of his own piss and blood, just as the police rolled up. Understandably, they didn't want to touch him.

The landlord was called and he turned out to be the rent-cheque-stealing pisshead from upstairs. It made my night.
( Biggus Dickus , it was like that when I found it, Thu 20 Dec 2007, 23:26, Reply)