Hello, I am a mod
and right now I'm chortling away at the thought of you lot mashing your fingers to a pulp on the F5 key as you wonder when this QOTW is ever going to change.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 29 Jul 2010, 16:57, 11 replies)

Laugh at the cancer man
For my sins I used to review shows at the Edinburgh Fringe. Ye gods and little fishes, I sat through some keech and could not walk out.

The worst was Edward the Deckchair - an "hilarious!!!" student revue. I will not bore you with details of how utterly shite this was but I've had funnier kicks in the happy sacks.

The one amusing bit was when a member of the cast tried to improvise and started mocking a bald man in the audience of five. Don't get me wrong: the banter was painfully unfunny. The unintentional humour came from the fact that the rest of us could see what those on stage could not: that the man's tufty baldness was obviously caused by some very heavy chemotherapy.
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Thu 29 Jul 2010, 14:43, 4 replies)

My last day of primary school
has largely been purged from my memory by years of ill-advised hedonism, but I still remember this for some reason.

My primary school, by the way, was named after Oswald Mosley. I shit thee not. It was called Mosley Primary School, and the school logo is a very Nazi looking eagle. Really. Here's the website.

I emailed them a few years back to tell them the story of the time in assembly when the headmistress brought out a bible signed and donated to the school by Oswald Mosley. She told us that he had been a very famous local man and an important historical figure. I asked them if they were aware that the school was named after a local fascist, and if they would consider changing it. I never heard back from them.

That's all totally unrelated though.

OK, last day of primary school, and as the final few minutes of the day ticked down, 20 or so youngsters excitedly prepared for the moment when they would never have to return to the Nazi-est little primary school in the East Midlands.

James, a friend of mine (the same guy from my previous QOTW), shouts out "three cheers for Mr. Cameron!".

Mr. Cameron looks pleased for a moment.

Silence.

I start laughing uncontrollably. Rolling on the floor, crying, unable to breathe.

Eveyone else in the class laughs too, but then they stop and I continue. Then everyone starts laughing again. For the rest of the class, it cycles between 'funny' and 'unfunny' a few times. But I'm having some sort of comedy seizure. I'm just beginning to recover when I open my eyes and see that poor Mr Cameron, a big, blokey 30 year old primary school teacher, has started crying like a little girl. He runs out of the room, wet-faced and humiliated, and I continue to laugh, with everyone else staring at me like I am a total pre-teen cunt, until the final bell rings out the end of school.
(leviticus no longer likes the cut of your gib on, Thu 29 Jul 2010, 14:04, 5 replies)

Mongs on bouncy castles.
Ab-so-fucking-lutely, arse-shudderingly hilarious to me - not even remotely funny to the other people at the school fete whose wooly tutting only made me cry and laugh even more.
(Tugnut I got them all..., Thu 29 Jul 2010, 13:50, 6 replies)

My husband is-a crazy
He say 'I no want to eat-a peanut', then he go and eat peanut! But he-a allergic to the peanut! Him-a swell up like blimp again! Ha ha! Oh no!
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 29 Jul 2010, 13:43, 1 reply)

Shit, I forgot it was Thursday.
Aren't I stupid?

Quickly, laugh at the stupid person* before the QOTW changes!


*_{Not him, me.}
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Thu 29 Jul 2010, 13:06, 7 replies)

I mocked a shit story on QOTW
As a result I've received several hilarious gaz messages from serious QOTW'ers. I feel guilty that I should really be putting my time to better use.
( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Thu 29 Jul 2010, 10:59, 120 replies)

This happened only yesterday, in appropriate timing.
I'm currently living apart from my girlfriend, in more ways than one. We're in different cities, and no matter how hard you try the physical distance creeps into the emotional. It may only be slight, but it's there. Fortunately, we're only a morning's travel from each other, so the impact is limited; it's the the fact we don't have many opportunities to make the easy journey, because one or the other of us is working, or otherwise busy. She has resits to study for; I have to undertake serious work on the house to make it a home.

So when we do get to see each other we tend to make the most of it. Yesterday she arrived early - like, ridiculously early - and we had breakfast, and played some xbox, and spent some other time together that's none of your business. Then after lunch, I took her strolling round my city - the one was born in, live in, love, but she's barely familiar with. In the Grassmarket we paused for the single cigarette I allow myself when I'm with her - giving up is easy, but I have good associations with smoking around her - and a pint at one of the open-air beer gardens on the extended square full of people enjoying themselves.

People strolled or sat all around us, enjoying themselves, taking the air. In the distance something sounded like an argument, but it was far away. A group of children strolled past us with their carers, and as we watched them skip and stumble by, I leaned over and whispered in my beloved's ear:
"Did you know, retarded kids bounce further when you drop them?",
and she fell off the bench, weeping with laughter.


_{Apologies for floridity}
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Thu 29 Jul 2010, 9:50, 5 replies)

Got out of the tube on Tuesday morning, and standing at the entrance was a very pretty girl in her late teens/early twenties.
She was dressed very like a cheerleader - cropped pink top, short pink skirt, white socks, trainers. She had a lovely face and long dark hair - she was a real eye-catcher.

Imagine my surprise, then, when she walked off with the massively penduluminal, spasticated gait of the club-footed.

I had to pretend to be having a coughing fit.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 29 Jul 2010, 9:47, 1 reply)

I want to see W-W-WINDOWS!!!!!
Obligatory disclaimer for being a heartless bastard:
We were young, we were drunk, we were wrong.

And so it was that we were on the Eurostar in those heady days following its grand opening, when the price of a Eurotunnel share exceeded the price of a packet of rizlas. As a school kid in the south east of England, me and my classmates were afforded the rare privilege of attending a multicultural, bilingual festival in Lille, to be attended by schools from Northern France and England. It was to be a culturally enriching experience to enhance the mutual understanding of two different nations, under the proud banner of Euro Enthusiasm. Boney M was even doing a live set! Golly. Needless to say a few of us skipped the whole thing and got ruthlessly bollocksed on pastis in a dodgy backs street café. It was ace.

On the train on the way back, our drink dumbed senses were alerted by the panting of a kid a few seats back. It got worse and worse and there was a general feeling of concern mounting in the carriage, until the word "claustrophobe" begin to be bounced around. At this point the kid was in the corridor, breathing into a paper bag and saying "I want to see w-w-windows!!!!!" and sounding a lot like Dustin Hoffman in Rainman. Laughing was not an appropriate response to this boy's plight, but It was I am ashamed to say it was the sniggering path that a few pissed kids took. In retrospect, I suppose his bravery for trying to overcome his fears in quite a dramatic fashion should be saluted, but at the time we just couldn't understand why a claustrophobe would ever take the Eurostar, especially to see Boney M....
(impossibly witty twat No, YOUR Mum etc etc, Thu 29 Jul 2010, 9:38, 3 replies)

It's probably been mentioned
But this is just so damn funny:
www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1293165/Nanny-30-died-sexual-arousal-watching-pornography.html
(Darramouss Powered by Monster Munch and hate., Thu 29 Jul 2010, 1:02, 14 replies)

I blaim my father
Christmas eve is a big deal in my family, big party, we take turns hosting it, lots of work yet it's always a pain.

When I was about 18 it was our turn to host. All was going well, untill my little cousin announces she has brought her clarinet and will be playing us "away in a mainger". This was a supprise, but as she was only young, about 10, you can't really say no.

Family is gathered, music turned off, song book open and everyone await with baited breath. The first note rings out clear and correct. Maybe she might have some tallent after all....then silence. Note 2. Silence. Note 3. Silence. There is a 2 second gap between each note, which dosent exactly help the flow of music. My eyes drift across the room. Aunties have polite smiles and sympathetic looks, uncles have expressions of tedious acceptence that they are in for the long hall.

Then I see my father. He's never been a subtle man, he's very loud in every sense, his yawn is like a shout, sneezes can be heard by people walking past the house and his laugh is suitably booming. I see him having some sort of seizure trying to keep his laugh underwraps, entire body shaking with effort, he seems me, my look of ammusment and he let's go, he roars with laughter, I try to tell him he's a monster but I start laughing too, all the while, a little girl plays on bravely before she too starts to laugh and says we are putting her off.

All seemed to end well, until auntie boring declairs we need an encoure and must all sing. At first the song came out choppy. A. Way. In. A. Main. Ger. Until people started to extend the notes and it became like songs of praise in slow motion. This tickled both me and the man who planted my seed. Father and son lay on the floor holding thier sides in fits of laughter at a childs attempt to spread Christmas cheer.

Next time I saw her, she had given up the claranet.
(Mong goose, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 23:13, 1 reply)

One more
I was consulting again, this time in London. A colleague and I were working on a very good site. Our main site contact was a nice guy, friendly, and helpful. He was also out, and flamboyant. He'd happily discuss his conquests, his many games of hide the sausage, and all sorts.

So, my colleague and I were building servers in a machine room, and talking about the customer guys. The convo got onto this particular gentleman, and we both agreed he was a top bloke. Then we both cracked up.

We got ourselves mostly sorted, managed to stop laughing, and started breathing normally. Then came the ugly moment of comparing what we'd been about to say.

I'd been about to say "Yeah, you always know he'd be straight with you!"

However, we decided that he'd won with the utterly stupendous comment: "Yeah, he wouldn't stab you in the back!"

Luckily the machine room was nowhere near the office where this chap worked.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 22:59, Reply)

Oh, God, I can't help but laugh, at this
A woman goes to Lourdes to get her cerebral palsy fixed by the magic genie, and comes back with two broken legs. She dies.

www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1298252/Sick-woman-went-Lourdes-cure-cerebral-palsy-returns-broken-legs.html
(Iggy Pop's Teeth, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 22:49, 6 replies)

Smug, smug, ouch!
So my brother was sharpening a knife. I was being all supportive and making sure that he was doing OK.

He smugly and condescendingly told me he knew what he was doing. Then took a big chunk out of one finger. I was sympathetic. He push dme out of the way and stuck it under a tap, just as Pink Goddess told him that'd hurt. It did.

We wrapped him up and decided to take him off to the local hospital, where they have a minor injuries clinic. We joked about a bit on the way there, and I carried on teasing him gently as we booked him in with the nurses. I came back from making a phone call to find a nurse had called him through. He was being sewed up as I got back. I just managed to catch the nurse asking him if he had a partner that they could call... or if this hand *was* his partner. This is where I lost it completely.

He's down to four fingers across both hands which he hasn't managed to scar up permanently. Yet.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 22:27, 1 reply)

Someone else did this to me...
For those who didn't ever experience Windows NT 4.0, Terminal Server Edition, it wasn't great. I was on-site being a computer consultant, and the customer had one of these boxes. I was divorcing by ex at the time, and thinks were a bit raw. Indeed, these guys had had to cope with me turning up and moaning about my ex and the problems I was having.

As I stroll in, this happens:

Customer 1: "Damn server's still a bit unstable!"
Customer 2: "Don't tell purple god, or he'll try and marry it!"
Me: "Err, hi guys..."

I left at this point to compose myself. When I got back, they'd managed to stifle their giggles to the point where you'd hardly know they'd been pissing themselves laughing. So I told them that I'd laughed too. They apologised at lunch through the medium of beer. All was well, and I felt a damn sight better for that.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 22:19, 2 replies)

Pearoast (in handy bullet point format)
* Travelling home from work on one of those small shuttle buses.
* Cyclist pulls out in front of the bus.
* Bus driver brakes hard.
* Old lady on the front set of seats slides along the floor and ends up on her back right next to the driver.

Hilarious, absolutely fucking hilarious.
( mr.dogshit The world's premier anthropomorphic canine faeces, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 20:45, Reply)

Pearoast: a bit long, but this one still cracks me up
years after the old bag's probably popped her clogs.

I had a job where I had to do home visits and do jobs for clients. One old cow used to watch for my car to arrive and then complain to my boss - before I'd even parked - if I had anyone in the car with me. Obviously my time was all hers and I wasn't allowed to give my mum a lift.

I used to have to cash her pension and do some shopping - incontinence pants, haemorrhoid cream and so on - for which I took care to collect itemised receipts, which she would carefully scrutinise for fraud.

All in all she was a hateful old witch, always looking for a way to do me over.

One day I went for the pension as usual and was told that there was a new pension book.

The Post Office clerk said 'I'll have to tear up the old book in case of fraud', while looking meaningfully at me. I swear the old bag had rung ahead to warn the Post Office of the Famous Embezzling Home Help.

So... the snobby clerk then flourished in my face, and ripped in half, the NEW pension book.

The look on her face was priceless - she realised what she was doing just too late to stop herself.

I immediately collapsed into helpless laughter and pointed at her and gasped 'You ripped up the new book! You ripped up the new book!'

The clerk answered 'It's not funny!' but as I assured her, oh, it was, very funny indeed.

She wanted to keep the new ripped-up book until the next week when the replacement came, but I refused on the grounds that Mrs Hagwitch would accuse me of stealing it. The boss was called and she and I stood over the clerk as she taped up every page. Then she had to write a letter of explanation and apology.

I screamed with laughter all the way back, trying to get it out of my system, and really did think I'd kept a straight face when explaining the incident to the old boiler.

Must've let something slip though as she was soon on the blower to my boss, complaining that I had laughed at her pension book.

I wasn't in trouble though as everyone in the office was hysterical too. Happy days!
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 19:11, 1 reply)

Well I guess my name is stupid in Indian.
Working in A call center, you get a lot of funny names, but this tops em all.

Get a call from an indian bloke, he was the perfect steriotype, imagine apu but with a high voice. This isn't really funny, it's just a slightly difficult voice to funny. Then I see his name on screen "Pinkal" I ask him to confirm his name "Pinkal" he squeaks (rhymes with twinkle). I hold it together, but eventualy need to transfer him. Speak to a tec support girl, she asks his name "pinkal" I say. There's a moments silence, then we both start laughing very hard. She composes herself, I pass him through, then realise I didn't warn about the funny voice (it's considered polite) she takes the call, he opens his mouth and she starts really laughing, like almost pissing. Poor pinkal just had to sit and get fed the old "fell off my chair" line.
(Mong goose, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 18:06, 1 reply)

I still laugh at farts.
I've been seeing the current poor unfortunate other half for a couple of months now, and we're still in the stage where we don't let rip with all nature's fury whenever the whim takes us. I tend to hold fire on the methane machine-gun until I go to the toilet, being a gentleman and all.

About a month ago, just as we were retiring to bed, I popped in for a quick widdle and was taken surprise by an enormous blast of arse gas just when I didn't expect it. This made me laugh, which in turn forced more previously-held-prisoner-pumps out their newly blasted escape tunnel to freedom, resulting in a sound which went sort of like "*parp* *snigger* *PAAAARPFlaffleprrrrparrprrrft*"

I was literally in tears. I tried to stifle my laughing as best I could, but trying to keep it quiet only made it funnier. After I had calmed down, I toddled through to bed and hopped under the covers.

After a few moments of silence, she said "I heard you farting then laughing like a maniac. What's that all about?"

I was away again, full on tears running down my face. I can't help it. Farts are funny.

I got her back too. She returned from the bathroom about a week later to me asking her if a P&O ferry had just passed by her house as she went red and had a good giggle herself.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 18:02, 1 reply)

Mostly armless.
When I was about 6 or 7 my whole family went on a summer holiday in the very north of Scotland, which I'm sure to this day was some kind of tasteless joke but it is however, not the subject of this story. While on this 'holiday' we took a day trip to Wick, which was at the time, in my tiny mind, the amputee capital of the world. I must have seen at least 4 people with an arm or a leg missing which was 4 more than I had ever seen in my life.

At one point as we walked under a scaffold and a kilted man with no arms passed us. At this point I started to point and laugh as hard as I could to which my Mum responded by giving me a really hard smack and an immense bollocking which, on the face of it, was less than I deserved.

I was crying too hard to explain and I'm sure to this day she isn't aware that as we walked under the scaffold with the armless highlander approaching us, my older brother, who was in front of me, was hit square on the top of the head by a massive drop of water falling from the scaffold which, in my young mind, was the funniest thing ever and definitely merited pointing and laughing.

Timing is the most important element of comedy. That was the lesson I learned that day.
( Raindance Work is inversely proportional to post-count, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 17:58, Reply)

Back during the half remembered battle that was my marriage,
my ex and I were visiting some friends of ours. They, too, were a married couple destined to break on the rocks of life, but in this case, although the guy was a friend of mine and generally a top bloke, it turned out that he treated his missus, a very nice young lady, like shite and often had very public, over the top rage fits ending in half the house being trashed or some such.

But he seemed like a throughly decent bloke with a razor sharp wit. Behind closed doors and all that.

So there we are. We're sitting having a conversation which somehow veered off into a minor disagreement between the two of them. During this very minor spat, the retort "that's because you're a fucking witch" was uttered.

The guffaw that I emitted was made all the worse by the stunned silence of everyone else in the room. Where I had thought this was a playful taunt between a couple having a pretend tiff, it was actually a spiteful comment that had genuinely hurt her. And I went "Bwoooahahahaha.... oh."

Oops. Well, it's not my fault, I didn't know he was a mentallist at that point.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 17:47, Reply)

DIY SOS
When I was a lad, my dad was a DIY god - could fix anything, build anything, could even put things back together and not have bits left over. But everyone has an off day...

A few hours after he'd done some minor rewiring in our house, I wandered downstairs and heard a strange noise. Investigating, I found water dripping from the ceiling, under the point he'd been working. Electricity and water don't play well together, so I thought I'd better alert him.

He lifted a floorboard, and gave it to me to hold. Peering into the space, he announced that he could see the problem - a nail in the next board had clipped a pipe. So he started to lift that board as well.

As soon as the nail came out of the pipe, the full pressure of the water was released, and a powerful jet hit him full in the face. The suddenness made me jump, and I lost my grip on the board I was holding - which toppled over, and hit him square on the head. It even managed to have a nail in exactly the right place.

So there he was, sprawled on the floor, soaking wet, bruised, punctured, and mildly electrocuted. But clearly the thing that hurt the most was me and mum pissing ourselves laughing.

Comedy Gold!
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 17:33, 2 replies)

Ex Girlfriend Guffaws
A few years ago when I was with one of my ex-girlfriends, we had to get up early on a Sunday morning for her grandmothers birthday.
We’d been to a friends party the night before and the ex was nursing a pretty full on hangover as we got into the car for the hour long drive up to her grandparents’.

About twenty minutes in to the journey my ex decided that she was going to be sick and asked me to pull over, which I did into a nearby layby. Just as we pulled in, her stomach gave up its contents and she puked what looked like parboiled rice all over her jeans and into her handbag.
She then got out of the car to clean herself off as best as possible and I got out of the car to smoke a cigarette to calm my fraying nerves.
As she bent over a wall to be sick again, she immediately got stung by a wasp right on her forehead. Which in itself was a little bit amusing, the noise however was great “huuuuurrrr-aaaargh!”

Eventually the ex stopped crying and hurling abuse at me and we get back on the road and finally to the grandparents’ house.

When we get there the grandmother lends the ex this big frumpy and flower riddled skirt to change into upstairs whilst she puts her jeans in the wash. By this point the ex is stomping about in an indignant huff and promptly steps on the hem of the skirt and falls down the stairs on her arse.

Her granddad and I are then promptly expelled to the garden for laughing like spooked ducks and then spend an enjoyable morning sat out in the patio listening to the cricket on the radio.
( Dervel OTBC, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 17:00, 1 reply)

SPDs
I've always steered clear of the pedals that attach you to your bike having occasionally seen people cartwheel through the air with a large metally object attached to their groin or just generally fall over when they stop.

I did the Dunwich Dynamo at the weekend - 120 miles from Hackney to the Suffolk coast overnight, so thought the extra oophm SPDs give would probably be worthwhile so stuck mine on the bike. at about 3 am we stopped, tired, to work out whether to go left or right and managed to clip out with my right foot and lean to the left. Arsecakes. Landed in a grassy verge thing. People laughed, bastards. Felt even more stupid as i'd laughed at someone doing exactly the same thing at the lights the week before.
(Alphabet Soap boshboshboshbosh, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 15:11, 4 replies)

Oh dear...
Just read this and did an office lol. I might have a banana to assuage the guilt.

www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-leeds-10773267
( e.m.m.y. foxtrot uniform charlie kilo india tango, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 15:08, 22 replies)

Another Benny Hillarious scenario
The players:

Old fat-arsed lady (1) bending down to retrieve contents of spilled shopping bag in parking space, arse facing towards:

car(1), very slowly reversing into said parking space

curious bystander (1) (me) with public responsibility alarm temporarily on hold

fate (1)

........................

I still have to say, it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed.
(roysin, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 14:51, Reply)

In which Chickenlady confronts feminism, cultural differences and naughty boys
These days it seems rare for me to post on Question of the Week and in fact I thought this week would be another no show from me but then yesterday I was down in Ramsgate on the beach with the Chicken Nuggets (my sons - 12 year old twins) and this gave me something to write about....

Warning - CONTAINS MANY WORDS -

So, yesterday it was warm but overcast - a grey sky which matches the grey pallor of most of Ramsgate's chav population. We had walked down the high street past a group of young women pipe-cleaner thin, covered in 'Chinese' character tattoos, Elizabeth Duke bling and the very best that Sports Direct and Primarni can provide. Each had the obligatory snotty nosed, dead eyed baby or toddler Calpol-ed to keep 'em quiet until the next refill of Maccy D's.
What a stuck up cow I've become
Anyway, I'm walking down the street towards the beach with my two sons - one of whom is muttering, 'Chav, Fat Chav, Old Chav, Skinny Chav, Dog Chav, Baby Chav' as we pass the Carbrini clan, the other boy is silent but his eyes say just one word, 'BOOBS!' As we walk on so we hear the Chav mating call sent out across the street to a young man, "You wanna come 'ere and say that? You facking caaant!"
All of this against a backdrop of Pawnbrokers, Poundland, Newsagents, formica tabled cafes and a lingering smell from the fishmongers. A fishmongers! You can't say Ramsgate isn't on the up!

We reach the beautiful sandy beach - Ramsgate has a beautiful sandy beach generally overlooked by visitors who are put off by the town's current dilapidated state and prefer to go a few miles down the coast to Broadstairs which has kept its Victorian charm and remains the jewel in Thanet Borough Council's crown of seaside towns untouched as it is by poor furrin types and beloved by Cath Kidsonesque DFLs.
The strand is almost empty; a group of slender, hairy and tanned Euroteens on an exchange holiday (they come in their millions every summer), an all female Afro-Caribbean family with very young children (probably DFLs revisiting their childhood haunts), a couple of Mediterranean looking families - dad wearing a pork-pie hat and looking like Angel from Dexter while playing in the sea with his small son (probably also DFLs), two Orthodox Jewish families and the only pasty, white British people on the beach - us. An unusual mix but being the middle class white liberal that I am, I took pride in the fact that we were all there for the same reason - to enjoy the sea, sand and.... overcast skies. Family time.

The Nuggets ran off down to the sea and gave me time to observe our neighbours - the Orthodox Jews. I had mixed feelings about seeing their young son run around in swimming shorts while their three daughters were all fully dressed in black tights, grey pinafore dresses, and long sleeved black tops. Likewise the father was just changing from t-shirt and shorts in which he'd been swimming, back to his traditional black suit and shawl, yet his wife and mother remained dressed like the girls and also wore dark turbans to cover their hair. His wife in particular struck a lonely figure - she was wandering along the shoreline looking like a L S Lowry stick figure against a wide band of grey-blue sea. The children all behaved as children do, however, laughing, whooping and splashing in the water and the girls edging ever closer to the Nuggets.
I stopped worrying about cultural differences and the Position of Women in Orthodox Jewish Society vs. the Position of Women in English Chav Society and instead watched Nugget #2 drawing or writing something in the sand. I quietly applauded myself for producing two 'nice' boys, well-rounded personalities, kind and gentle and here was one being creative on the beach - perhaps he was recreating something he had seen on Art Attack - that used to be his favourite television programme when he was younger.
Oh Chickenlady, haven't you remembered that pride always goes before a fall?
Yes, I thought, everything was right with the world and here on this beach only a few miles from France we had a microcosm of international society and culture and we were all getting along nicely.

Until the Orthodox Jewish father wandered over to his daughters who were shyly smiling at the Nuggets and looking at the artistic creation Nugget #2 had made in the sand. The girls looked questioningly at their father as his tense face glanced down at the image. His heavy brows knitted together and the gathering clouds darkened - I'm guessing it's the same face Moses made when he saw the Israelites worshipping the Golden Calf. The girls in their grey and black outfits were rapidly removed and the family began to pack up to leave the beach but not before casting a few disgusted glances towards both me and the Nuggets.

Did they somehow sense my disapproval of covering up their daughters - they kept their black tights on even when they paddled in the surf - surely every child should be allowed to know the feeling of sand between the toes? Did they sense my unhappiness at the freedoms afforded to the father and son but not the mother and daughters? Did they guess at my internal battle - torn between the middle class liberal notion of Multiculturalism and heartfelt sadness of the failure of feminism?

Or did they notice the guilty laughter of my sons?

Guilty laughter caused by drawing in the sand a fifteen foot spurting cock with hairy seaweed balls.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 13:02, 16 replies)

Crockery Avalanche.....
The place - Student Village mid-year Ball
The time - July 1988
My girlfriend J was an inmate at Student Village, so when it was time for their mid-year ball, I was duly dragged along.
The beer was free anyway.....
The drunken carousing went on and on, and things got a bit looser, until there came the half-time coffee break.
Those wishing to partake trooped into a servery straight out of the 1950s which incidentally was the last time it was renovated.
Coffee cups and saucers were stacked on a bench - cups upturned and a saucer on top - 4 high, 4 deep, and 20 long.

Now as well as the crockery, there were two young lasses, girls A & B - both in the throes of drunkenness, dresses straining at the seams to contain them - seated on the bench as well, having a chat.
Then girl A decided to remove her ample bottom off the bench by pushing herself off. The movement of such a large amount of flesh moving affected the tensility of the bench and causing a ripple effect which traveled to the stacked crockery.

Time slowed to the point where you could enjoy the tragic majesty of it all. Row after row of cups and saucers slid off the bench and fell to the floor like a porcelain avalanche. They shattered and the shards flew everywhere. It was almost too perfect in its execution, but this was nothing manufactured; this was nature at her malevolent worst.

The drunken revelers stopped and stood open mouthed, transfixed by the proceedings into a room full of living sex dolls. The serving staff had seen it all, and had murder on their faces.
Taking in the surroundings, J and I burst out laughing, and laughed until our stomachs hurt.

But what really sent us to the floor in an undignified gasping, giggling and guffawing heap, was seeing girl A look at the mass destruction, point accusingly at girl B (still sitting on the bench and rooted to the spot in shock) and shout "LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!!!!"
(Sebulba continues to fight evil with evil....., Wed 28 Jul 2010, 12:37, 1 reply)

It's all my fault
I once laughed at an episode of Two Pints of Lager and a packet of Crisps.

Because of that they made seven series of the fucking thing
( Joe Scaramanga with a G-double-O-D vibration, Wed 28 Jul 2010, 12:08, 11 replies)