Ever bobbed for apples. A pretty mundane activity but children do seem to enjoy it. Of course,
if you are of a practical joker nature you let a few children have a go and then the last one once blindfolded you swap the lovely bowl filled with clean water for a bowl filled with a mixture of piss, blood and urine (for the more conservative parents they may use blancmange, jelly, tinned fruit cocktail and cream.) Once the bowl is swapped the child bobs their little precious head into the rancid bowl. The adults and children laugh and usually the tricked child sees the fun in the joke.

If the tricked child has an undiscovered Anti-social personality disorder then what you have unwittingly released is hell and slapstick events that did cause harm. Your imagination can takeover as to what a psycho 7 year old does when humiliated in front of a group of friends. Not quite Damien but close.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 10 Oct 2014, 13:12, 2 replies)

MESSING WITH THE ORNAMENTS
One of my mates at university was a lovely girl named Kate Bucket Fanny. Kate acquired this name on account of having a vagina the girth and volume of your average JCB digger bucket. And like a JCB, she’d had plenty of builders inside her in her time. Midway through the first term Kate bequeathed my flatmates and I an object of wonder and delight: her knackered old vibrator that she’d ridden to mucky, gloopy oblivion. It was a crusty pink double-handed broadsword of a motorised dildo which leapt and bucked like an electrocuted break dancer whenever one of us plucked up enough courage to twist the base and turned the damn thing on.

It probably had the DNA of half the people in our halls splashed all over it and the remnants of all the best venereal diseases.
We put it on our windowsill between the spider plant and our collection of empty Coors bottles, pride of place, you could see it from the road outside.

Then one night after a particularly heavy drinking session, one of my flatmates, Ian, more pissed than George Best after a liver transplant, appeared in our communal kitchen stark bollock naked. This was alarming. He then staggered over to the fridge, grabbed another beer, and in another jerky, drunken C3P0-esque move lifted Kate’s former best friend from the windowsill.

“Errr, Ian,” said one of my other flatmates, Blackpool Ben.
Ian wasn’t listening. He tottered back over towards the closed kitchen door, revved up the mighty plastic phallus of dread, bent over and wiggled it round his brownstar.

“Err.... Ian... ???”

But Ian just replied in an incredibly drunken slur, so drunk he sounded like he’d had a stroke: “Look at me! Look at me! I’m Kate! Huuh, huhh, huuuh... I’m cumming! I’m Kate! Huhh, hee, hhuuuhh, haa!”

At which point, one of my other mates, Dan, barged into the kitchen, slamming open the door and ramming Ian’s hand forward. Kate’s vibrator, humming and revving like an idling motorcycle, shot forward and disappeared, embedded deep inside Ian’s stinky sweetcorn tunnel. Ian screamed like, well, like he’d just been anally raped. He leapt forward, twatted his face on the kitchen counter and then landed in a heap face first on the kitchen floor, out cold, arms splayed either side, the final couple of inches of the massive though now somewhat muffled vibe doing a little jig buried between his buttocks.

The rest of us just stared.

We waited for Ian to come round himself – it would’ve just been a bit too gay to help our naked, drunk, machine-buggered mate out.

Just far too gay by far.
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Thu 9 Oct 2014, 20:37, 9 replies)

Bus crotch mis-hap
I was once attempting to alight from an Edinburgh double decker bus with a couple of mates. We'd been on the upper deck and I was the first to go down the stairs.

The bus will still in motion as I got to the bottom. The exit door was in the middle of the bus and there was a distance of perhaps a yard and a half that had to be negotiated between letting go of the rail on the stairs and grabbing the rail at the door.

As soon as I let go of the stair rail the bus driver slammed on the brakes as a parked car pulled out in front of us without warning. This sent me flying up towards the front of the bus, head first RIGHT into the crotch of a young lady. It's quite tricky to remain cool when you have your face wedged into an attractive girl's mimsy and a crowded bus is collectively laughing it's tits off at you.

20 years later, it still periodically gets brought up by my mates. Cunts.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Thu 9 Oct 2014, 15:16, 16 replies)

idiot
One time, I managed to run over my own finger while skateboarding.

It really hurt.

I was 23 at the time.
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Thu 9 Oct 2014, 14:53, 21 replies)

Bike
My mate Rob once fell off his bike because he got his leg stuck in the front wheel.

His feet were clipped into the pedals at the time. We can't work out how he did it.
( Dervel OTBC, Thu 9 Oct 2014, 13:15, Reply)

I've never reposted so hard in my life
I was walking home from shop when I saw my mate cycle past. I shouted and he looked round to see who it was. However, whilst he was doing that, a car just ahead of him had stopped at a crossing. My mate, who was going a fair speed hit the back of the car and his bike stopped dead. He didn't however, and the momentum carried him over the handlebars and onto the roof of the car. He would've most likely glided right over the car to land on the road at the other side if the car aerial hadn't snagged on his jogging bottoms, which caused him to slide out of them.

Now, the occupants of the car had spun round to see what the bang was and then turned back around in time to watch my mate slide down the windscreen minus his trousers with his bare genitals pressed against the glass and being stretched out, doing a fine impression of Deirdre's neck (from Coronation Street), finally coming to a halt, face first, with his chin resting on the car bonnet in a very awkward upside down position.

He thrashed about a bit trying to get down, and resigned to pulling his legs out of his trousers completely, whereby he rolled rather gracelessly off the side of the car bonnet and onto the pavement. He picked himself up and in front of a small crowd, stretched up to retrieve his jogging bottoms from the top of the car, giving him the opportunity to press his bollocks against the passenger-side window this time.

I laughed so much I started getting a bit light-headed and had to sit down, and for the next three days my sides ached as if I'd been beaten up.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 9 Oct 2014, 12:08, 9 replies)

we had a barbecue at my house once, and this fat bloke walked through our glass sliding door, believing it to be air
that was pretty funny, apart from picking up all the glass
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Thu 9 Oct 2014, 9:06, 7 replies)

C2C
A few years ago, a couple of mates and me rode the Coast to Coast route from Newhaven to Sunderland with an arranged tour as a pre-stag party in Newcastle. There was 4 of us, another group of 3, a guy on his own and the guide.

The group of three and us got on really well, but the bloke on his own was an utter plank. We were all pretty shit cyclists, but he turned up with all the gear, a bike worth more than my 1st flat, all the gels, shakes and rehydration stuff and enough GPS/sat nav's to invade a foreign country. To compare, I'd bought my phone and some bags of Disco's (best crisps ever).

First day goes well and we all go out for a few pints in Keswick, and on the second day we get further than we should and we reach what the guide calls "the worst 10 miles on the route". All I remember was a pub, a left turn and then uphill for ever. About 6 miles (I'm sure it wasn't very steep but at the end of the day we were all knackered) up and we reach the top at a complete crawl, and stop for a quick drink before descending.

To be fair to our guide, he warns us that the way down is steeper than the ascent, but we are ok until the cattle grid; after that, just roll and keep your back brake on. The chap on his own gets out his spare bag, swaps his front and back wheel out for less drag and then just says "You guys get started, I really want to burn this"

We all enjoy the descent, clocking about 35mph and then there is a cattle grid, and we all brake. Thank Jebus we did; for at the bottom is a 90 degree turn with a nice dry stone wall in front of you. Down comes Mr "Burn this", and he must be clocking 50 mph, goes to pop on his brakes, and all we hear is "Shit....... cables aren't done up".....

He smashes into the wall, attached to his bike by his pedal cleats, and flies about 20m through the air, somersaulting like a Charlie Chaplin extra, and lands arse first in a field full of shit.

I have never laughed so hard....
(The Kitchen Sink, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 23:17, 3 replies)

The perils of ridiculous hair wraps
When I was 16 I suddenly turned very hippy. I had long (and big) hair, outrageously colourful clothes and a hair wrap that I'd gradually added to until it reached my knee. I have no idea why. Probably seemed like a good idea at the time.

I was in the college lift one day, and darted into the lift just as the doors were closing. Unfortunately, my hair wrap didn't quite follow me in, and as the lift went up, it stayed put. Thankfully the bit at the top where it tied into my hair was perished, so it just slid down my hair and disappeared out of the door as we went up.

Of course everyone laughed at me, and my reputation as a fruit cake was cemented yet again.
(teasus likes tea, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 22:47, 1 reply)

Badgers are bastards
I used to live in the middle of the countryside, and had a very small smallholding. I grew fruit and veg and kept chickens, ducks and geese. It was great, and I'd do it again in an instant, but dusk was badgertime. Which is a lot less fun than hammertime. At dusk the badgers would come and if I hadn't put the birds to bed, they'd get eaten. I know it's fair enough, as they've got to eat, and it didn't happen very often, but when it did it was horrible. One night the badger came a bit early (they did this from time to time) and I heard a crazed frantic quacking. The fucker was in the process of ripping a duck's throat out. I chased it away and then had the not such fun task of finishing the poor duck off. While I was doing this, the badger had snuck back in and started chasing the other duck around. I picked up a metal pole and lobbed it at the badger. Of course it missed, but it also ripped a huge gash out of my hand, and the badger just kind of snorted in disgust and wandered off, not in the least bit intimidated.

This was but one of many battles between myself and the badgers of doom. I was so traumatised that for years I'd get twitchy at dusk; and about 5 years later, when a friend I had visiting moved slightly in the night I sat up and whispered "what's that?" to which she replied "it's only me". I lay back down muttering "well at least it's not a badger!"

Sorry if this read like one of those build up to a pun stories. I can think of no pun for you, but I'm open to suggestion.
(teasus likes tea, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 22:14, 8 replies)

Mountain biking with my other half in the Cairngorms recently
She doesn't cycle much. I approached a ford at some speed.

"Watch how I do it dear, it's quite tricky"

Of course I fell in. She sailed over, laughing. I cycle for a living, and have yet to live it down.
( MatJ LOOK, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 21:29, 5 replies)

Cycling through the outskirts of Edinburgh
Clipped into my pedals, didn't want to put a foot down as I came to a stop near the front of a line of traffic. Reached out to lean on a bus. Bus drove off. I fell over.

Seemingly every car driver in the world laughed at me. I couldn't really blame them.
( MatJ LOOK, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 21:25, 4 replies)

Swipey's myth reminded me my dad had an old Enfield.
There was something wrong with the compression or saink so when he went to start it he got a broken ankle. This was put in a pot and he got the bike fixed by the local expert (his mate at work).
Mate brought the bike back and the old man had to try starting it. No intention of trying to ride it I think. So it seized again and he broke his other ankle.
Expert mate shoves him in the sidecar with one leg in and the other one out and takes him down the hospital.
( edjogs Collared doves are shit., Wed 8 Oct 2014, 14:15, 6 replies)

The Ceiling
When I worked at a warehouse dealing in animal foodstuff as you can imagine, there was a great deal of heavy sacking stored on vertical racks. The admin offices were at one corner with racking surrounding them but with no storage allowed above it. Although discouraged, people occasionally climbed onto the racking to retrieve a single sack or two rather than have the forklift called out. One fateful day, Fiona did just that even though she was afraid of heights. She fell through the roof of the canteen but arrested her fall by clinging onto a roof joist. She remained clung to the joist even tho her feet were no more than 3ft off the ground. With office personel surrounding her, encouraging her to let go she steadfastly clung to the joist and screamed in terror. The MD's secretary was talking directly to her when a large piece of plaster swung down from the ceiling and struck her in the face, nearly breaking her nose. After 5 minutes of this fiasco Fiona was coaxed down from the joist, helped in part by her failing strength.
At the end of a long day after a boozy night out, some of the local hands were getting restless and invented a game of chase, up and around the racking and over the office roof. The old hands watched this reckless amusement with growing disbelief, waiting for the inevitable. We weren't sure what had happened but something had and they all quickly dropped down from the racking and dispersed around the warehouse. Debbie, the personel manager walked out from a meeting with the MD and asked "Er, who just put their foot through the office roof?". No one answered, we didn't because we weren't sure who it might have been, and the pranksters just kept quiet. "OK, who's got red Reeboks on?" asked Debbie - It didn't take long to find the culprit and Russell was marched into the office.
(luckylife , 0 guests and 3 bots are online, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 14:12, Reply)

(wrigglesworth, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 14:04, 9 replies)

Motorcycle Emptyheads
On the first day of motorcycle training, us n00bs were arrayed on our titchy little bikes, while the instructor started his speech astride his impossibly beefy (to our nervous eyes) throbbing 1000cc beast. "So," he said, "I'm going to ride around the cone course, to show you how it's done. If I can do it on this monster, you should have no trouble on your little step-thrus." And so saying he set off around the cones.

...and fell off at the first corner. Not surprisingly, we all pissed ourselves laughing - especially when he had to get some of us to help him pick up the bike.

But actually it helped, as we no longer saw him as the scary biker man -- now he was just another farty like us. And so we progressed through the course, until the day finally dawned and we took our tests.

My test went without problem, and I parked up with the others to watch the remaining candidates. One lass on a scooter was approaching a corner, when she managed to fuck up royally: rather than slowing, she accidentally grabbed a large handful of throttle. The bike shot forwards, hit a wall, and somehow bounced in such a way that it actually drove UP the wall. It came to rest about 2m up, hanging from the ivy that covered the brickwork. The rider had been deposited on the ground below, perfectly placed to receive, full in the face, the stream of petrol now pouring out of the tank filler cap...

Insert "pissed in her own mouth" joke here, if you like
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 13:48, 4 replies)

Ondura Remoulds
I still remember with pride the buff brown clocking in card with my name and number on it. A deft slide into the slot,a firm press of the brass handle and at 7.29 AM I was in. Pushing open the dirty cream swing doors with my foot I once again entered another world; a world of hissing steam,fiery furnaces and the pungent smell of rubber. I trudged past half naked blackened men, crouching over the row of grey porcelain sinks, smattering Swarfega all over their faces,arms and chests.The night shift.
Pops and loud bangs filled the smoky air as I passed other half naked men fighting with long, iron tyre levers and truck tyres. Their sweaty torsos glistened in the orange light as though melting in the fierce heat from the open furnaces.
Almost overcome by the intensity of the heat, I was relieved to feel the waft of cooler hot air as I pushed through the rubber doors and into my work area. Alf had my grubby mug of tea ready and I sat down to enjoy the bacon and egg sandwich mum had risen early to make me.
The factory nestled in the smog of the once proud and dying textile town. A former mill, the new tyre remoulding set up was seen as a saviour for the unemployed and was also handy for students like myself labouring for tax free booze and drugs money.
The idea was that old truck tyres could have a new tread moulded onto them and then resold cheaply. The business boomed in the early stages and before long our work could be seen everywhere ... scattered on the hard shoulder of every motorway in the country.
Anyway, my job was to cut off the inch long spikes of rubber left on the 'new' tyre by the moulding process. I then had to coat both tyre walls with black, sticky rubbery paint to complete the illusion of newness.
On the morning in question Alf asked me to stack the tyres at the far end of the shed after painting them. Those tyres were trucking heavy and the only way to manoeuvre them successfully was to get them rolling at a decent speed, otherwise they would wobble and topple over. I can still feel the heat of the bastards as I write.
I had mastered the technique by the fifth tyre and with flushed face and a wet brow I heaved number six upright and pushed off for the 50 metre roll down the long passageway bordered by piles of tyres. It was just after hitting maximum speed that I noticed them. The civic dignitaries. Invited to inspect the saviour of the dying town. The mayor didn't look too dissimilar to the columns of fat black tyres but his wife, resplendent in a powder blue two piece with matching hat,shone out through the gloom.
I leave you with me, a skinny 18 year old chasing a huge, sticky black runaway tyre and a menopausal mayoress losing her race to a place of safety.
(mallyjoe, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 12:49, 5 replies)

Three tales of buffoonery
At school we monkeyed around on BMX bikes doing jumps and such. We found a freshly cut ditch with a ramp of earth and a deep ditch beside. Exciting. Along came Eliot, the school tough - and said "Give me a bike, I want to do it". So we did and explained it was quite a jump so he'd have to go fast. He took the approach and cycled painfully slow toward the jump even tho we were yelling at him to speed up. Up over the ramp he went, the front wheel dipped down and jammed on the lip of the ditch. This threw him over the handlebars and he landed on his face (skidding a bit). He lay there for a while as we hooted with laughter then got up to look at us with a tremendous gravel rash on his face. A true Laurel and Hardy moment.
Walking back from a boozy night out, it was kick out time so the street was busy. A couple were walking along on the other side of the road and the guy was clearly worse for wear. He was also yelling something at people behind him and walking closer to a Zebra crossing. His girlfriend tapped him on the shoulder rather urgently to warn him of this, he turned around to look why and PING!!! Clacked his front teeth right on the metal post.
Working on an assembly bench, one of the favorite tricks was to quietly sneak up behind someone seated and jab them in the side of the ribs (I didn't start this, I only caught on). Carl was sat down at the start of the day and was absent mindedly reading a paper. Adam crept up behind and gave him a big jab to the ribs. Carls unusual reaction was to bring his knees up ie. curl up in a ball and inadvertently tip his castor wheeled chair underneath him and the desk. So with the chair tipped up and below him Carl clung onto the bench with his elbows. Adam, seeing his misdemeanor started to 'help' him back upright. Putting his arms around his waist and pulling up for all his worth. Unfortunately the pair resembled an invalid being humped by a workmate. One of the funniest things I ever saw there.
(luckylife , 0 guests and 3 bots are online, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 1:20, Reply)

Ted Nugent, shitting his pants in 2013.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 21:51, 3 replies)

Little piggies on a Sunday morn
Ahhh Sunday mornings in the Nu Nited States Air Force; good for sleeping in. Semi-sacred for peace and quiet. Except for our military constabulary: The APs, or Air Police as they would prefer to be known, or "The Apes" as we enlisted swine called them. (This was 1975. Del Rio Texas. Not quite the end of the world, but you could see it from there. Started out doing our duty, but ended up just doing time kind of boring.)

Sgt. Ed Clark, on patrol and vigilant: Caught himself a bicyclist at 7:30 in the A.M. swinging through a stop sign on an otherwise car-deserted air base. "Whoop! Whoop!" said his siren in a quick double tap blip. "Pull over to the side of the road!" growled his loudspeaker. He turned on the twin rotating Smokey-and-the-Bandit bubblegum machine lights of his patrol cruiser and yanked the emergency brake with a ratchety grind.

I'd always been an early riser, and the siren blip got me up to see what the miniscule excitement was about. Got to the baracks window in time to see Sgt. Clark closing his cruiser door, eyeballing his quarry, adjusting his wheel cap, flipping open his ticket pad, hitching his gun belt up over his just-a-hair-under-regulation gut paunch, and saunter slowly over to the bicyclist.

A bit of background: Ed Clark was a beady-eyed Silurian, an I.Q. just above room temperature, with a flabby moon-face graced by a very unflattering child molestor mustache. He'd come to the base fresh from cop school only a month or so before, and to our barracks' Shit List just a week or so after by giving in to his curiosity with the "thingy" in the middle of his room ceiling, thereby setting off the fire alarm at 2:45 in the morning mid work week. The thingy cover was found in his room floor center by the fire department as they made the rounds throughout the recently vacated rooms as we all grouchily swatted night bugs in the road out front.

Ed launched into his cop explanation as to why he stopped the cyclist. As he was warming up and getting going, he stopped mid-harangue and noticed that one of the lights atop his cruiser had stopped rotating.

He strode quickly back to the car, piggy-eyeballed the offending light up and down and swiftly smacked the mechanism upside its' perspex cabesa. The light once again started 'round. A curt head nod, he quick stepped back to his perp, and continued to explain in police parlance punctuated with pen wags that a bicycle was no different than a motor vehicle when it came to obeying traffics signs and laws and that a ticket was in order.

A click of his ballpoint, pen poised to do the deed, ... aaaaand he spies that his light has once again stopped rotating. Shoulders up, chin out, stomp-stomp-stomp back to the car. A scowl, a lip pout, a cocking back of a pudgy right shoulder and a mighty open-handed Thuh-WHACK onto the plastic cheek of the light covering .... which promptly dis-attached itself from the chromium plated base, liesurely arced, tumbled, and spun through the air, bouncing singularly off of the cruiser hood, twice along the ground, and came to rest at the feet of the bicyclist. A pregnant pause as all of us watched it rock once and come to rest.

At this point Your Dear Narrator doubled over laughing loudly enough to be heard by Constable/Ape Clark who was last seen by me attempting vainly to see which room window the hoo-raw was coming from. No idea as to the fate of the cyclist.
(shamblinthru Grasshopper! Next time use the potholders!, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 21:39, 5 replies)

Woman on fire!!
Many moons ago while paying my way through uni (a little anyway), I worked as a waiter in an Italian restaurant.
Pretty standard fare for an Italian other than making ice cream or being a hit man really.
As anyone who's ever been for a meal on valentine's day will know, Italian restaurants are the winds that fan the flames of romance. Rightly so with candles on tables and warbling fat mustachioed men singing in the background as the chefs scream at each other and smash up the kitchen.

And so it was one particular valentine's day that I had agreed to work..everything was the usual busy kinda get people out fast scenario that you'd expect when I noticed one couple close by holding hands, chatting away and looking affectionately into each others eyes.
It was at this moment the very pretty girl knocked her fork accidentally to the floor.
I immediately went to fetch another as she was already reaching down to pick it from the floor, although I told her it was fine and to leave it the damage was done.
Her beautifully styled and very very laquered hair had already been ignited by the candle which the couple were longingly looking at each other over just moments ago.
Her dining partner was sat catatonic just staring at her hair was burning merrily away.
She had about 5 seconds to look at him and wonder what he was staring at before the towel I was holding was around her head and batting the bejeezus out of her near destroyed bouffant.
Her muffled screaming protests of 'ghmnt the fghh are you hmmming' still didn't take the stunned look from her partner's face and so when I finally lifted the towel to reveal a singed and smouldering head..much to the amusement of other diners, she realised what had happened.
Scowled at her partner long enough to utter 'You bastard!!' and promptly ran out of the restaurant.
When the guy finally stirred he just looked at me..finished his drink in one slurp and said 'That's a shag out the window then. Get the bill dor me when you have a chance r kid.'
(johnny_commando, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 20:52, 1 reply)

My, oh my.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 20:29, 1 reply)

oi wizbit, you prick

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 20:28, 1 reply)

v Dis Go Dis Way v

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 20:14, Reply)

^ Dis Go Dat Way ^

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 20:13, Reply)

v that v

(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 20:03, Reply)

^This^

(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 20:03, Reply)