Have a go hero oh...
Walking home late one night, I saw a couple ahead of me, clearly engaged in a massive row, shouting and screaming at each other.

Just as I was reaching them, the guy reached around and pulled a knife from his back pocket and lunged at the woman. Before I knew what had happened, I was pinning him against the wall, with the knife hand held up and out of harms way. I must admit I was as surprised as anyone, it was an automatic reaction: shout all you like, but pulling a weapon is unacceptable.

Unfortunately for me, it turned out it wasn't a knife. It was a piece of paper that he intended to wave accusingly in her face.

Somewhat sheepishly, we all stepped back and went on our way. Bit embarrassing, actually; there's no real etiquette guide in that situation. Still, at least they seemed to have forgotten about their row.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 14:41, 6 replies)

Oh dear...
My good friend Stu was on a training course for work, a number of years ago. He and a number of the other delegates were staying at the same hotel as the trainer. The course was going well and everyone was getting on, so come the final evening, Stuart suggests they all meet for a few drinks in the bar. One drink follows another and, as so often happens, a couple of quiet drinks turns into an all night session.

It's late, the bar has closed, all the others have left, it's just Stu and the trainer chap. I'm not sure what the thought process was, but I'm guessing Stu wanted another drink, so thought of his mini-bar, in his room, but then remembered that he wasn't allowed to charge anything to his room, it having been paid for in advance by the company, so he then thinks of the complimentary tea and coffee which gives rise to the question "Would you like to come up to my room for a coffee?"

Stu and trainer chap wander upstairs and Stu is not sure, but something is not right. They get to the room and trainer chap looks distinctly uncomfortable. Stu puts the kettle on and nips to the loo where the penny finally drops and he realises that it looks like he's just propositioned the poor chap sitting in his hotel room.

Back in the room Stuart says he's changed his mind and he doesn't want another drink after all and has decided to call it a night and ushers the confused but relieved looking bloke out of his room.

Stuart skipped breakfast and decided not to attend the last day of the course.
(lardyboy Next stop, Fissplap Central, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 14:37, Reply)

A recent party
Where some friends had a part-glazed clay dish above the sink in the bathroom, partly full of a fine white powder. "Wow, we're really being open about it these days", I thought, on visiting the amenities. "How very Scarface". And returned to my bottle of ale, and the conversation in the lounge, and felt it polite not to mention it.

The following day two friends mentioned how they thought much the same thing, but had taken the time to ask the host/hostess what a massive dish of cocaine was doing in their bathroom. It was bicarbonate of soda, they were assured. My mistake.

Edit: Wow - three MASSIVE DRUGS at once!
(sabre-tooth monkey, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 14:29, 2 replies)

Strangeness
Years ago at a house party where some were indulging in massive drugs, I walked into a bathroom that the occupants had forgotten to lock. In front of me I was faced with one lad bent over, another staring right up his bum hole, and the third in the act of attempting to wipe the guys arse. They were so off their tits that their faces had sagged and had that translucent quality that you only see on corpses dredged from rivers in shit ITV crime dramas.

One of them did later say to me that it wasn't what it looked like, although I still have no idea quite what it was that it looked like anyway.

I put it to the good people of b3ta to enlighten me as to this novel fetish.
( rofl harris, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 14:01, 10 replies)

Many years ago, when I was first going out with Mrs Moon Monkey
We were at a party where there was lots of coke. Now, she knew I was into MASSIVE DRUGS at the time, and that wasn't a problem in general, even though it wasn't her thing at all. But, she admitted that she had a bit of a downer on cocaine.

At the time I did coke occasionally, but to be honest I wasn't that into it. Couldn't see the point, really. So I decided to turn my lack of interest into a major points-scoring exercise: I declared that, out of love for her, I wouldn't touch another grain of Columbia's Finest, as long as I lived.

It so happened that I was due to go to the USA for work a few days later, and I had a bunch of US currency in my wallet. So later, when I was chatting to some mates who WERE doing coke, it occurred to me that they should really be using the $20 bills I had, for the full charley experience.

Naturally, the GF walked in just as I was standing over the line-filled mirror, with a rolled up $20 in my hand. Not half an hour after my solemn declaration to forswear the lure of the nose-candy.

More than 10 years later, she STILL doesn't believe the explanation. Or that I've kept my word.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 13:40, 1 reply)

"It smells really manly doesnt it"
Just remembered another xmas themed one.....


Me and my mate Steve were off up in Newcastle doing some gift shopping, one of those hour or so mooching about followed by a few pints over some dinner then too tired to continue jobs.

We venture into Fenwicks (big department store) cos I wanted to treat myself to a new aftershave. After the initial assault of bright lights and a million scents rolled into a physical punch to the nose, we're looking at Lancombe's Hypnose (or the Clive Owen smell, as i call it).

One of those industrially made-up pushers shuffles over as Steve's telling me he recently bought this for himself. I like the smell of this and he's pointing out its not one of those metrosexual scents that smell like bubblegum and strawberries or whatever, its a typically manly smell.

For some reason he proceeds to mention this more than once and is even putting his theory to the nice lady, who is nodding and simpering and saying she could throw in some freebies for us too.

I agree to purchase this bastion to manliness, and nice lady is chucking mini eye shadows, toners, lipsticks and assorted other make up-ey things into my bag.

"you could give them to your mam's", the lady says.

Its only as we're walking out i ask Steve why she didnt suggest we gave these freebies to our respective girlfriends

She totally thought we were bumming
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 13:33, Reply)

Blow Ho Ho
To set the scene; last year me and the fiancee (fiance...? i forget...) were putting up the Christmas tree in the living room. There were little boxes all over the floor that the baubles had came in and she was tidying them up.

So I'm standing with hands on hips, appraising our homage to Santa when the in-laws-to-be's car pulls up unbeknownst to me. She utters something to me so I look down at her, rifling through the assorted carpet flotsam. At this point I hear the door shutting outside and so give a little wave to her parents and sister walking up the path.

The GF kneels up and looks and her mother turns a fair shade of beetroot, her sister is giggling like a loon and her dad is looking bemused.

I assume there has been some joke made in the car and only mention this after they've seen the lights turned on, had a cuppa and buggered off home again.

Now it was her turn to go beetroot at the thought of her mam thinking she was piping me off in the sitting room, whilst I merrily waved to passers by.....
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 13:19, 4 replies)

So my brother-in-law took me into town with him as he wanted advice on buying a new camera for some family portraits.
So in we wandered - two men in their mid-thirties.

He found a couple of cameras that he liked, and said to the salesman "Out of these two, which would you buy?"

"Erm ... " said the salesman nervously, "What would I be taking pictures of?"

"Oh - kids, mainly."
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 13:15, 2 replies)

I'll never live it down...
I was chased off a farmer's land because he thought I was trying to shear a sheep and make off with the stolen wool. I wasn't, I was just using an electric razor while giving his prize ewe a good seeing-to.

I don't know how I'll show my face in Aberdeen again.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 12:01, Reply)

... so I was feeling pretty low, and decided to drink away my blues with a couple of girls I know.
We'd got on the outside of the best part of a bottle of whiskey, and talk turned to sex.

"Have you ever kissed another girl?" asked one to the other.

"Sure" came the reply, "It was lovely - very soft. Have you?"

"No" she replied, "I've never tried it, but I'd like to."
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 11:53, 15 replies)

Morning! Wanking! Intrusion! Horror!
It was a bright sunny day. I'd woken mid-morning, as was my custom, and I thought I'd begin the day by relaxing in a gentleman's way and making the most of my natural morning glory.

I conjoured some filthy thoughts, and commenced. As I was approaching the point of no return, tongue hanging out of the corner of my mouth and peculiar expressions aplenty, my bedroom door burst open.

Standing there, open mouthed and shocked, were two of my housemates. Immediately I was struck by the horror of the situation; I wanted a hole to open up and swallow me (fnarr!). Fortunately though, I retained my presence of mind. Aware that if I showed my embarrassment my life would be made excruciatingly cringeworthy for months, I gave a cheery wave and said "Alright lads, just wanking myself frigid. You couldn't give us a minute could you?"
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 10 Dec 2010, 11:30, 10 replies)

Another "Not what it sounds like"
I was camping in the New Forest with a group of friends. It was the first night, we'd got a nice fire going and were settling in for a long night of beer, spliff and talking bollocks.

One couple, who were rather straight-laced, decided to have an early night and retired to their tent. After about half an hour of silence, we suddenly heard the girls voice, rather muffled due to clearly having a mouthful of something:

"Urgh! I don't know what to do with it!"

"Well, just swallow it then!"

As you can imagine, there was a fair amount of beer shooting out of nostrils and actual rolling-on-the-floor laughter.

Eventually, when we'd calmed down and could look them in their rather puzzled faces, we were told that they had been cooking soup, and it was the guy's experimental recipe that his GF was objecting to, nothing more.

I think I believe them...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 11:05, 10 replies)

Not funny, but actually true
I am so very glad the following happened, because I got to utter the line "babes, this isn't how it looks!"

Way back when I first started living with my now-wife, she was still a student. One weekend, it was the 21st birthday of one of her classmates, so a big night out was planned.

There were 9 of these student lasses and me heading out this night and a theme was decided on - they were all dressed as nuns and I was dressed as a priest. This isn't particularly relevant, but it sets the scene.

So much drinking comenced, cheap fizz was drunk in our flat, shots were downed in a nearby bar and then we wobbled to a student-haunt club (5th Av in manchester) where more booze was thrown down our necks.

As is innevitable in these cases, I needed to wee after a while, so staggered to the bogs. In this particular club, they had unisex toilets. So I wobbled past the line of girls doing their make-up at the mirrors and went into one of the cubicles and relieved myself.

When I came out of said cubicle, my drunken hands had extreme difficulty in doing up my belt. I couldn't do it at all, in fact. I stood near the sinks for a little while and tried to get my belt through it's buckle. No dice.

After a couple of minutes, one of the lasses at the sinks tutted, rolled her eyes and said "Come here, softlad" and tried to do my belt up for me. She also had difficulty, so squatted down in front of me to get a better look at what the problem was and had another go.

At this point, my wife walked in and saw me stood there, with some random student lass squatting down in front of me, fiddling with my jeans.

At which point I got to utter the immortal line mentioned at the start of this story...

God's honest!
(ScousersPet, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 10:50, 5 replies)

I got had
***The Setup***
There was a girl at work called Debbie. Short, obnoxious, ginger hair with a piggy face and acne. Steve was one of those skinny weasely guys and he wanted to fuck her, because Steve was into fat birds and Debbie was just about spherical.

***The Tale****
One Friday everyone from work went out for a bit of a piss up. Steve was busting out all his moves on Debbie and it was working, so much so that the two of them tottered over to me and asked if they could come back to mine at the end of the evening and ‘use’ my spare room. Why not I thought, I was feeling drunk and benevolent.
So the evening ended with me collapsing into instant coma on my bed while Debbie and Steve made the beast with two backs and one fucking huge gut in my spare room.

***The Switch***
Directly after, Steve being a class act, asked Debbie if she fancied some food. Of course she did, so Steve fucked off to get some and never returned. Which is how I woke on Saturday morning to find Debbie, short, obnoxious, ginger hair with a piggy face and acne, in my kitchen in MY FUCKING DRESSING GOWN munching on a slice of toast like a cow chewing the cud.

***The Sting***
As soon as I heard the knock on the front door I knew I was fucked. The look on my Dad’s face, shock, surprise and amusement all at the same time, has never left me. Years later he still occasionally mentions “that ugly bird” and I’ve long given up trying to explain myself.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Fri 10 Dec 2010, 10:46, 6 replies)

I was an 11-year-old tubby spaz who liked reading and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
I also thought Charles and Eddie made good music.
Despite this catalogue of personal shitness, I had a friend who was awesome. He was in the year above, could bench press 100lb, dribble a basketball between his motherfucking legs, and had pubes, for fuck's sake. Radical.

One day, just on a whim cos he was fucking wizard like that, my friend tossed me one of his basketball vests from a folded pile. "Keep it, I've got loads," he casually said.

Fucking. Hell.
I was now a bitch-titted Wesley Snipes. Street-court hustler par excellence. This baggy vest was never coming off. I made a solemn vow to myself to wear it to bed every night, so that I might absorb its inherent brilliance.

True to my word, that night I crawled into bed in full slam-dunking regalia. Flicked the tv on – it was Quantum Leap. Life, I thought, gets no better. Then bloody hell, mum has to come in and tuck me in. For goodness sake mum, I'm like ELEVEN, and a total bad-ass. I don't need tucking in.

Nevertheless, tuck me in she does before popping back downstairs. Then, weirdly, about five minutes later my father came into my bedroom.
"Just thought I'd tuck you in as well, son."
What the fuck? He never does this. It's completely beyond his remit. Knots, darts, and oxtail soup are the only fatherly things he has to offer. This, I thought, is highly irregular.
His perfunctory, rough-handed interpretation of tucking-in left a lot to be desired, and after a few seconds huffing and rearranging my duvet, off he fucked, leaving me to Dr Sam Beckett and dreams of shooting three-pointers from downtown.

In the morning, the bizarre 'loving father' charade was playing on my mind. "Mum," I enquired through a typically large mouthful of Coco Pops, "after you tucked me in last night, why did dad come and do it as well a couple of minutes later?"

"Oh," she muttered cagily. "Well, erm, it was that vest you see … Errr, I asked him to come and take a look, because … well, I thought you were wearing one of my bras."

The whole family felt it best to ignore one another for the rest of the day.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 10:37, 8 replies)

Have a pea:
My mum is a very light sleeper - I discovered this in my teens when trying to return to the house intoxicated in various forms, and get to bed without waking anyone up.

Now I'm in my mid-thirties, and a few years ago was visiting my mum.

The second or third Harry Potter film had just come out on video, and she loves it, because she reckons she's just like one of the teachers in it - the one played by Zoe Wannamaker - and to a certain degree she's quite right.

Now - she was insistent that I watch - or at least try to watch - the video, but her and hubby were off to bed (they're in their sixties and anything beyond 9pm is a stretch these days), so here's the telly, here's the video, here's the remotes - off you go, and you know where the fridge is if you fancy a sandwich.

So I started watching it, and I vaguely got into it - I had enjoyed the books when they came out, and - irritating child-actors aside - I thought the film was quite engaging.

Half way through, I decided that yes indeed a sandwich and another beer would be a good idea , so I hit "Pause", and go and make myself some sort of BLT-type affair.

I return to my seat, and look around for the remote, which seems to have hidden itself entirely from my ken.

Now - the older children among you will recall that certain telly-and-video combos mean that after the video's been paused for a while, it stops the tape and flicks back to actual telly automatically, at the volume the telly was before you turned the video on.

This happened at this point, and BANG the telly came on and what was it? Channel Five. It was now late at night, so showing was soft porn - cue some topless girl bouncing up and down shrieking excitedly at the top of her bleedin lungs, at top volume on the telly because my mum has the telly loud as she's a bit deaf.

In desperation I look for the remote where the fucker is I don't know under the chair by the sofa on the pouffe on the table where the FUCK are you DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CHAIR DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CHAIR I desperately start reaching for the remote, my back to the living room door as I search with my hand where is it where is it where is it oh god where is it

when I hear

"Erm ... Vagabond ... " I turn and stare, terrified, over my shoulder - the living room door is open a tiny crack, "Could you, ah ... turn the volume down please, we are actually trying to sleep upstairs ... " as I turn back to the screen, the actress finally reaching the climax of the scene.

Oh god.

I honestly was just looking for the remote. I swear to god, mum.

Will I ever be able to raise this in conversation, and the truth be known?

Will I fuck.

Length? She might as well have made me a cup of tea.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 10:20, 1 reply)

My commute to work used to take me down some narrow country lanes
one morning I spotted a cat lying at the side of the road, being fond of cats I pulled over and ran to the poor kitty who unfortunately turned out to be very stiff and very dead. I determined this with a light prod from the toe of my shoe, at which point an attractive young lady drove by, did a double-take and shouted "YOU BASTARD!"
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 10:10, 5 replies)

I can explain...
This may be a pea, apologies if so.

Way back in May 1992, I was a first year student enjoying life on campus at the end of the summer term. It was Saturday, and I was keen to watch the Pilkington Cup Final, but sadly, sharing a hall as I did with a bunch of Northern ruffians, found that the big TV in the JCR was showing something called the Challenge Cup Final instead. Undeterred, I asked my neighbour if I could borrow his telly to watch the game - this wasn't a problem, he explained, but as he was going out for the night, he'd leave me his room key, and I was to stash it in a known secret hiding place in our shared bathroom.

As everybody will know, Bath went on to win a classic with an injury-time drop goal from Stuart Barnes, and life was good. Flushed with victory, I wandered across to a friend's hall of residence across campus, where a small gang had agreed to meet for drinks and the formulating of a plan. Said plan never actually materialised, as more and more beers and the contents of various bottles were quickly seen off, since it was a hot summer's day, and everybody was quite thirsty.

I must have been more parched than most, as I found myself waking up to discover the room not quite as I left it. The music and conversation had ended, all the girls had gone, leaving me and an acquaintance sleeping on the floor, and the inhabitant's bed full of peanuts and a fat ginger Welshman. As I went to leave, I found the door to be firmly locked, sending me into an indignant drunken rage. After considering my options, I decided that the obvious form of retribution would be to confiscate all my friend's underwear as payback, so stuffed my pockets with every bra, G-string and pair of panties I could find.

Escape was effected by exiting through the second floor window, creeping sideways along the outside wall and shinning down a drainpipe (probably best I don't think about that too much), and I was almost home and dry. Unfortunately, when I made it back to my own room, I found that I didn't have my own key, and the vague memory filtered through that I'd gallantly offered it to my friend earlier in the night when her bed was made uninhabitable by peanuts and fat ginger Welshmen. She'd clearly not taken me up on the offer (or was ignoring my pounding on the door), so I stopped to consider my options.

Brainwave! I suddenly remembered that I'd left my own window ajar to keep my room cool - it was two storeys above an overhang, so safe from intruders from below, but should be easy enough to get into from my neighbour's room... which of course I had a key to. Everything's going to be OK after all...

So, Dr Jon Hind, if you're reading this, THAT'S why you came back at 3 in the morning one weekend to find me stood in the middle of your room looking like a mobile lingerie shop/pervert Japanese businessman. Apologies again to you and your lady friend for any distress caused.
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 9:58, 1 reply)

TV Hospital
Whilst working in the emergency theatre one evening we receive a call from A&E that an urgent life saving operation is on the way up to us, so I quickly scrub up and start preparing the instruments etc. It was only then when I realise that I’ve still got the controlled drug keys in my pocket.

Cue me lifting my gown up around my waist and a male colleague on his knees rummaging around as BANG! The doors slam open and patient trolley, medical and nursing staff dash in, flanked by a camera crew filming in our direction. Our expressions of horror probably didn’t make it look any better…

They were filming one of those fly on wall hospital documentaries, but for some reason they didn’t show that part…
(jugglinbob Not giving a damn since:, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 9:58, Reply)

Some dipstick I went to Uni with
Everyone had to share washing machines in the cellar of the halls. One day, I needed to do a wash so I went downstairs - there was stuff in all the machines so I was going to have to empty one. Picked one at random and started taking stuff out and piling it on a chair.

At which point said dipstick walks in:

"What the fuck are you doing handling my underwear you fucking pervert?!?!?!?!"

To which I calmly replied:

"Getting it out of the washing machine so I can do a wash"

Which seemed to be a massively confusing concept, and it took me about five minutes to allay her fears that I was some sort of knicker thief.

Said dipstick generally had problems understanding what was going on. She also once accused me of using 'her toilet', apparently under the impression that in University halls, the single toilet block in our building was reserved solely for her use.

In retrospect, I think she might have been a bit thick...
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 9:55, 4 replies)

I'm more concerned with what it must have felt like
During my Uni days we had various crap "entertainment" evenings down the Union, only one of which really sticks in my mind. It was one of those events when many factors combine and produce a moment of absolute magic, if magic can be indelibly seared onto the retinas of those who witnessed it.

So this one night we had a hypnotist. I've never really investigated the science, or whatever, behind this, and have no idea whether it's all a bunch of hocus-pocus or whether people really can be lulled into a semi-conscious state and encouraged to act abnormally by a stranger with a microphone. Luckily, this being a student night, there was enough alcohol sloshing about to ensure such activities would probably go off without a hitch anyway. But this time, on a stage.

The poor bloke trying to entertain a load of half-cut middle-class dickheads with a ludicrous sense of entitlement, mostly called Ollie and Marianka an' that, was having a particularly hard time of it because the night coincided with one of the Rugby team's many, many socials. Eventually he gets tired of the abuse and invites them to come up on stage and be hypnotised. Much macho posturing and bullshit bravado later, he has seven hulking volunteers on stage, all keen to prove that they were so hard as to be unhynotisable, which is totally a word.

There was a glint in the conjurer's eye as he sat them all down and put them under. Those of us who thought the Rugby team were mostly pricks (ie, everyone in the room who wasn't on the Rubgy team) were thoroughly looking forward to seeing what humiliation they'd be subjected to. We got more than we bargained for. But not as much as the hypnotist.

Once the lumbering dullards were drooping in their chairs, the practioner of stage magic told them "you will obey my next command TO THE LETTER..." turning to the crowd to flash an evil grin, he rounded on his victims with a flourish.

A little too much of a flourish. He tripped over the microphone cable, and as he hit the deck he cried out "Fuck me!"

What happened next will haunt me forever
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 9:53, 9 replies)

Not what it looked like, but what it sounded like....
i got home from work a little earlier than usual to find an empty house. 'Shopping' methinks. . .then I heard it. Moaning from upstairs. Little wincing moans with a slight humming noise in the background.
Admittedly, my first thought was I'd get a free show of my lovely wife pleasuring herself, but then I heard a cry of pain? Pain? Again I could hear this incessant humming followed by gasps, moans and squeals of pain. 'Holy hell,' I thought, 'it's big enough to cause her pain!' My ego was shrinking to a pityful size. If her toy was big enough to cause her pain, and she just kept going, how would I compete?
About 15mins later she appeared in the lounge and threw an object onto the table muttering about 'whoever thought electric epilators were a good idea was a fucking idiot!'
An epilator. Of course! She was removing the hairs from her legs/bikini line and wincing and moaning about the pain of hair removal.

Ego restored but was still slightly disappointed at not getting a show. Nevermind. Maybe next time.
( NooShmoo It's a fantazmagorical pile of ultra bollocks, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 9:51, Reply)

I used to work with an epileptic guy
and once when I was chatting to him, he gave a little cry and started having a fit.

After thrashing around for a few minutes he went to sleep, I knelt next to him checking his breathing and airway prior to putting him in the recovery position.

At that precise moment a lady walked into the office screamed and said "Oh I see!" and marched out! She obviously thought we were indulging in gay sex¬
( Vambo, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 9:21, 2 replies)

Some years ago, my mate Matt
had a daughter who was in the toilet training phase and would still have occasional accidents. So he and his wife would carry spare underwear and trousers for their daughter just in case.

One day he nips into a public toilet in a shopping centre for a pee. As he's finishing and is shaking the last drips off, he sneezes and pulls out a hankie to wipe his nose. But, it wasn't a hankie in that pocket, and other patrons of the toilets are now looking at a bloke with his cock out who appears to be sniffing a pair of pants that would fit a two year old girl.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 9:06, 9 replies)

I once let
my ex take a picture of me pulling the buffalo bill pose from silence of the lambs....I hope that picture never get's into the public domain. I took a nice arty one of her lying on her side covering her lady bits.....I still have it somewhere......If looks could kill at the boots processing shop.
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 9:02, 2 replies)

Spousal abuse is funny
A few years ago, I was married. My ex-wife had a massive temper, and it wasn't strange for her to burst into tantrum, or sometimes even use violence. Not that being slapped bothered me all that much; there are worse things.

Once, we were moving to a new apartment, but there was a week in limbo when we had to be out of the old place but the new place wasn't ready, so we stayed with her family.

The night before we were to move, she insisted we pack up. But we hadn't unpacked, so there really wasn't much need. I worked until I was satisfied, and after about 10 minutes I sat down at the computer. She worked for several hours doing Christ knows what. And complaining to me.

Things got worse, to the point where she started shouting. I was pretty mad too, because there wasn't anything I could do, not even to make myself seem to be useful. We were loud enough that it got the attention of her family.

Right before they barged in, she slapped me across the face, loudly. She was going to hit me again, so I pushed her over, landing safely onto the bed. That's when the whole family barged in.

First they heard a loud smack, then they opened the door to see their daughter/sister falling backwards. Fortunately they were Koreans so husband-on-wife violence was not totally intolerable to them, and it wasn't mentioned again.

I made a point of bringing this up after the divorce when I was talking to her sister and her mother, just so they would be certain what happened despite what they may have thought they saw.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 8:56, 2 replies)

Not loving it!!
This may sound very contrived, but this really happened and I still cringe about it with the people concerned about a decade later!!

Many moons ago I worked as a delivery driver for a sandwich shop in Lincoln and one day I was asked to pick up the daughter of the owner from nursery, take her to MacDonalds and take her home to watch a dvd (101 Dalmations) until her mother came home.

Having taken her to MacDonalds, and managed to get her name wrong on a couple of occasions (to which she replied, 'thats not my name' very loudly) she then asked at the top of her voice "I am bored, can we go and see the puppies now?"

The atmosphere changed very rapidly, and I imagine I went a very nice share of red!!

For those of you in MacDonalds at the time, it certainly wasn't what it looked like!!!
(the_icks has the sweet essence of giraffe, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 8:48, 1 reply)

Not how it sounds, saddly
In my final year at uni, my house mate had hurt her back, and it was causing her alot of pain. In despiration, she asked me for a massage, despite my lack of any training.
I agreed to help and we soon discovered the best way to help was for me to dig my elbow into the painful area and wiggle it around. The caused an odd reaction, she started to gasp, then moan and groan. "Harder mong, deeper! There! YES! It hurts but it feels soooooooo good!" she cried out in pleasure.

As soon as I stopped and she lay panting on my bed we heard a round of applause from
next door. This made us both giggle rather a lot. Ever the gentleman, I hid the semi I was sporting as she left.
(Mong goose, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 8:36, Reply)

Is that....?

( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 8:09, 3 replies)

This story is 100% completely true
There was a penguin who...........

really liked ice cream and driving.

So one day he was driving around in his Honda with no less than half a dozen super models in the back seat (all completely shattered from the endless rogerings he had given them) meeting out justice to those who where deserving of a little justice metering.

He noticed Mr. T, stealing candy from babies and calling them rude names like "poo bum face" and making them cry. Being a Honda Accord driving penguin with a taste for justice, he swerved across 27 lanes of speeding traffic, mounted the footpath and deftly pinned Mr T to the nearest wall with the bumper bar of the Honda until he pissed and shit his dacks, cried for his mum and gave the candy back.

Unfortunately while performing his Honda given rights of justice enforcement, something went wrong with the engine and the Honda started to make a funny noise and smell. Having a great love for his Honda Accord of Justice, he quickly kicked the super models in the back out into the nearest gutter and drove to the nearest mechanical repair shop (ignoring several opportunities for dispensing of justice) to have the funny sound and smell addressed.

The mechanic told the penguin that it would take about an hour for him to assess the problem and give a diagnosis and the penguin should come back then.

To fill in time while he waited, the Penguin decided to indulge in his other great love, ice cream. The only thing being, that as penguins don't have hands (they have flippers) eating ice cream was a messy affair. But, regardless, the penguin toughly enjoyed his ice cream although he did get a lot of it on his face and chest before finishing it and returning to the mechanic's to get the diagnosis.

Upon entering the workshop, the mechanic spotted the now ice cream covered penguin and called out.

"Hey mate, looks like you have blown a seal"

"NO! NO!" replied the penguin, its just ice cream!

~gets coat and ducks for cover~
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 7:49, 2 replies)