Stained Carpet.
It was the summer after I graduated.

The plan

• To enjoy my last summer holiday before full time work.
• Use the time to prep my portfolio

I had finished work on a saturday, and was chilling out with a cold beer whilst playing some shenmue on the dreamcast.

My old nokia started bleeping, and I reached over and noticed that is was one of the lads from work.

Matt - a hyper intelligent guy was working part time at the game store with me, and was studying some science thing at University - way beyond my capacity.

He was a nice enough guy, although he could talk the hind legs off a donkey - which sometimes got annoying.

Anyhow - he tells me that he and some of the other guys were in a club / bar in town, and wanted to know if I fancied joining them.

I really wasn't keen, I was nearly done with Shenmue - and wasn't really in the mood to go out.

"come on mate, please come - my sister's here, you haven't met her before"

---

After some back and forth banter, I eventually gave in, threw on some clean clothes and a jacket and shot out the door.

At the time, I had a flat not 10 minutes from the town centre - so getting there was no hassle at all.

---

Upon my arrival, I instantly clocked Matt's sister - oh hell yes I thought. Athletic build, amazing ass, tits just the right size, brilliant. She clocked me, and by some miracle there was a connection.

We chatted, danced, laughed and had a bloody good time before the two of us swiftly and quietly departed from the club and headed back to my flat.

We were both pretty pissed, but still able to perform, and the two of us writhed around doing the nasty several times until we were both spent.

---

Eventually, we called it a night, and I sank into a comfortable post sex deep sleep.
Awesome….

4:00am

BANG- BANG- BANG- BANG

What the hell???? I woke up sharply - Matt's sister no where to be seen. I get up, the banging persisting.

In the hallway, Matt's sister is stood butt naked, bathed in light from an outside street lamp, opening and closing my boiler closet door.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"It's the stargate" she said

"Ummmm, not sure what you mean" I responded

Her legs gave way, and she collapsed in a giggling heap on the floor.

Christ….

Seeing the funny side, I grinned, and picked her up to put her back to bed.

As I started back for the bedroom. I felt water running down my boxers, down my legs, and moisture on the carpet beneath my feet.

She was pissing herself, literally. All over me, all over the carpet, everywhere. And she wasn't stopping.

I darted back for the bathroom, and placed her in the bath. I couldn't believe it. Dirty cow.

I spent an hour scrubbing the carpets - during which time she woke up, cleaned herself up and got back into bed.

Semi-Satisfied that I had cleaned up adequately, I rejoined her, and went back to sleep.

The following morning, she was up before me, and woke me up asking if I could drop her home.

Fair enough I thought, and we chatted quite pleasantly in the car until we reached her flat - both of us knowing full well that as much fun as the sex had been, that we wouldn't be crossing paths again.

I kissed her on the cheek - and headed back home.

When I got in, I realised that where I had been scrubbing, there were now noticeably fluffier areas of carpet scattered around the hallway, with obviously darker hues than other areas.

It looked weird, and everyone always asked what had happened when they visited.

I told them I had spilt a plate of beans on toast and it had gone everywhere.

Moral of the story. Don't fuck your mates sister - it'll leave stains on your carpets.
(Oobla, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 14:25, 6 replies)

A moose.
It's too long a story for here..
( blyerkit e k trilby, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 14:15, 9 replies)

Pay attention to your surroundings when planning to pilfer from a pub.
My friend and his wife were admiring the shot glasses they had just emptied and decided they'd rather fancy a set. So after ordering another 2 rounds they had a nice set of six hidden behind her handbag, ready to be snuck inside before they left.

Before the final stage of their plan was put into action a waiter walked over, calmly leaned over and retrieved all 6 shot glasses from behind her bag.

It was only then they noticed that the entire wall behind her was mirrored.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 12:56, Reply)

Rewritten DNA
After a fairly messy Saturday night, I emerged late on Sunday and decided to ease into the day slowly, with a long bath. The warm water caressed me like a womb, and I started to feel that I would be able to face the day after an hour or so.

And then I glanced down at my knees. That's odd, they seem to be patterned. Or rather, now I looked closer, scaled. With rising panic, I examined my legs, then the rest of my body, and discovered that my entire skin was covered in scales. I seemed to have turned into a reptile overnight.

A rather panicked visit to the doctors followed, and I discovered that it was a rare form of psoriasis. It took several months to fade, during which time I shed flakes like a hole in a cornflake packet. Thank fuck that it wasn't too severe on my face, just a slight patterning, and that my girlfriend at the time was a nurse and not fazed by unsightly medical conditions!

Sadly (or perhaps luckily) this was before the advent of camera phones etc, so there are no pics.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 12:54, 5 replies)

Builders Sign....
Also whilst at uni, 16 of us all from the same floor in our hall of residence went out together, during the course of the evening the group split into smaller ones, and I eventually went off with other friends and found my way back early the following morning.

Imagine my surprise then to find in the pantry an 8' high by 10' wide sign of the type they put up outside construction sites (so you know who to blame) leant casually against one wall. This was impressive because we were on the 3rd floor, and there were no building sites that anybody knew of in the vicinty, so it must have been carried quite some distance....

The hall porter came in later in the morning and to his credit all he said was "That won't be there tomorrow morning will it!". I understand it was dumped at the end of the road very late the same night and an anonymous tip off was made to the building firm as to where they could find it.
(repooc, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 12:38, Reply)

I woke up one morning to find boxes of yoghurts and rice puddings
I must have been completely mullered...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 12:34, Reply)

A friend once woke up
with his arms wrapped around a very heavy, white-painted, wooden sign which said, "Warning: CCTV cameras operate in this area."
( Corkydog is neither a dog nor made of cork., Fri 27 Apr 2012, 12:27, 1 reply)

A Stella Artois pint glass
Hahahaha! The pub didn't even notice.
( Pope Shax XIII uses Visio for picture editing, does it show?, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 12:16, 4 replies)

According to the sign
My sister's garden is Brookfield Drive. It's also the 9th hole of Bloxwich golf course.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 12:01, 3 replies)

Thomas Crown affair has nothing on us.
A few years ago the new landlord of our local found an original oil painting in the cellar - It was a portrait of some stern looking chap who they christened The Headmaster, named thusly because in the pre-war era my local used to be some correctional facility for naughty boys and they figured maybe he was the guy who used to run the place. None of the staff liked this painting and as a result it was moved all around the pub for at least 12 months until it was ingraciously dumped against a wall behind one of the tables.

"I don't like the way they are disrespecting the Headmaster. I'm having that." Declared the wife somewhat drunkenly, pointing to the dumped painting one night.
So giggling like kids we hatched a plan. Waiting until the bar area was largely clear of unfamiliar customers I went to the far end of the bar to run my distraction.

"Come and look at this distraction!" I remember calling to the guy who was serving at the bar. Daft bastard fell for it and in the corner of my eye I saw the wife grabbing The Headmaster, giving the fingers on lips 'Shussh' signal to one of the other regulars and rapidly making her exit.
So we are now the proud owners of The Headmaster who is leaning against the wall in our spare room. He's facing the wall as he's a bit creepy looking.

We plan to return him one day, when there's someone running the place who will appreciate him more than the current management.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 11:48, Reply)

Knickers!
I'm one of those sad people (so friends used to tell me) that never get so drunk I can't remember what happened the next day. I did it once, was violently ill and vowed never to do it again, and never have.

So one morning whilst at uni I was most perplexed when after a great night out and a full memory of it, I put my jacket on and shoved my hands in the pockets to find no less than 5 pairs of quite obviously worn knickers in them. To this day I have no idea who they belonged to, or how they got there.....
(repooc, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 11:33, 12 replies)

Best story I know
is a musician friend who was on tour. Had a night out at the last performance, and woke up the next morning INSIDE a piano. With the lid shut.

Said he thought he was in a coffin, until it went "ping".
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 11:06, Reply)

Amnesia and wildlife
Some years ago I was working with a great bunch of guys who were the epitome of the 'work hard, play a billion times harder' ethos.
We'd secured a mahoosive contract to supply a large Danish company with some serious hardware and, as I was the 'Engineer' of the company it fell to me to be there when it arrived - fuck knows why, I wasn't doing anything to it but hey ho.
I'd been on the lash with the guys in the departure airport for quite a while whan the flight was called and I was 'quite refreshed'. Luckily I was allowed on to the plane into first class, whereupon I was given more booze. And then more booze - rinse and repeat.
The plane was then diverted to Schipol - where I hit the complimentary (at the time - dunno if it's free now) first-class bar. An hour later, now 'heavily refreshed' I got on a plane to Copenhagen.
On bumbling out of baggage claim in Copenhagen I was at a loose end for a while until the car we'd re-booked could come for me.
I don't remember getting from Copenhagen to Roskilde. I don't remember booking into the hotel. I don't remember getting to my room.
I DO remember waking up thinking I'd got a Somali refugee camp in my mouth and a drummer's convention in my head. In my bleary state I looked for a familiar room landmark to let me have at least an idea of which country I was in. Luckily there was a brochure from the hotel on the nightstand next to a polystyrene box bound with blue tape that clearly I'd put there the previous night.
I opened it.

There was a lobster inside.

I looked again.

Still a lobster.

Where the fuck did I get a lobster? WHY the fuck did I have a lobster on my nightstand?
I had not a scooby, no frickin' idea.
I closed the box, went for breakfast and waited for my car to the factory, brooding on the fact that I had a/ clearly bought a lobster and b/ what the fuck was I doing with it?
I gave it to the hotel kitchen. They looked at me like I was a pissed Englishman trying to pass off a lobster to them - and they were right.
All was revealed when my lift came. It's not easy to raise the subject of random lobsters on your nightstand - to a man who has only just met you - but raise it I did.
Apparently there are lobster salespeople in Copenhagen airport who sell lobsters to travellers. I'd bought one and promptly forgotten, Thank god I didn't think it was a kebab!
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 10:59, 20 replies)

What has it got in its pocketses?
After a drunken post-gig party (I played in a band at college) I woke up on the sofa in a common room somewhere. My nice black jacket was considerately hanging on the back of a chair next to me. I stood up, put it on, and put my hand in the pocket. It was full of vomit. I never found out whose it was.
(Smale is stuffed, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 10:36, 6 replies)

As a student
A length of green plastic piping from a roadworks that was so long we had to thread it through the hall, through someone's doorway and out of a window, while the other end was still sticking out of the (open) front door. Didn't really think that one through.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 10:22, 1 reply)

Swords
At school we had been in a big production of Macbeth as the summer play, and as was traditional at the end of the run, everyone went to a big play party where much underage drinking and massive drugs went down (I think this was the one where I produced a bottle of Ströh 80 and lots of people were quite ill). Anyway, for the fighting in the production - of which there was loads - our English teacher had knocked up 12 or so swords out of, well, iron in his garage. They were plenty blunt, but weighed an absolute ton and every single one of them had somehow been smuggled off school grounds and back to my house for the party.

Given the level of alcohol consumed and the reckless joy with which the revellers were swinging these swords at each other in the back garden - which only increased once they discovered that if you hit them just right against the wall it would send up a shower of sparks as well - it's an absolute miracle that no-one was decapitated as a result.

The following Monday the school announced a swords amnesty and I think all of them were sheepishly returned with massive great big notches and gouges along their lengths, later that week my mum set me to work rebuilding the garden wall.

(I've still got King Lear's throne, but that's another story...)
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 10:06, Reply)

During my University Wanker period
Out on the piss (amazing what £5 would buy you then) and back to the house where a 'hilarious' water fight broke out involving any reciptacle that we could find. Did not take long for the pint glass to become involved.

Then with distance judgement impaired house mate throws a full glass at my face. Glass makes contact with my face. Glass shatters and cuts my face just under the eye and house mate's hand.

So off to A&E on a friday night in a big city. Perfect. We were both lucky, small scar under my eye and 10 stitches in his hand. However, we did get to spend 5 hours sitting next to a real nutter who was bleeding quite a lot from his arms (both of them).

So my souvenir? In depth knowledge passed on from nutter how to cut your wrists 'properly' i.e. right up the middle not accross. Including graphic demonstration. Also he proved that you can spark up a fag while sitting next to the oxygen supply without blowing the A&E ward up (the nurses did not agree)
(LetsGetDownToIt, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 10:03, Reply)

Visiting the Sister down london
She'd moved there when she was 20 for a job. I remember she had a nice little flat share somewhere. We'd been out on the lash as you do and decided to head back to the flat to partake in some wild turkey drinking games. Lot's of alcohol and a lost memory or two later I recall waking up on my Sisters bedroom floor wearing a pair of womens trousers and clutching a bottle of peach schnapps (we had no peach schnapps that night and the trousers didn't belong to my Sister either!)

I left and headed home on the train only to receive a phone call from my Sister. She began to tell me that, in a inebriated state, I'd charged into her flatmates room whilst she was in bed with her boyfriend, and proceeded to put her trousers on and go straight for the peach schnapps sitting on the dressing table. Her shocked flatmate asked what I was doing to which I proclaimed "It's okay I found some trousers" and left. I think most of that night was also spent in the bath covered in my own vomit.

Good times
( Fadgebadger (1 like), Fri 27 Apr 2012, 9:59, Reply)

Some time in the mid nineties.
Imagine a much younger badger slowly opening his eyes. Then closing them hurridly. The light. God, not the light. Try and turn over carefully so as not to disturb the angry, rapey bear in your head. But you can't. The bed's too small. Shit, you've got a double bed, right? But this is a single. And there's someone in it. Oh. Arse.

But .. on the plus side, it's very, very definitely female. And stunning. Oh my. Search memory, fuckfuckfuck .. nothing. Not a sausage. There was ... it must be Thursday? there was definitely a BUSA game yesterday afternoon, we were at home, I think we won. Oh, christ, that probably means Los Locos. Fuckspiders.

She stirs. A bit of a cuddle. Good stuff. But I've not the faintest fucking idea what happened so I need to try and extracte myself with panache. I get up and try and find my clothes, conspicuously writing down my phone number so I don't get accused of legging it. Now the tricky bit

"erm, I'm a little hazy about exactly where we are now?"
"we're in my room, obviously"
"...."
"in the nurse's accomodation here?"
"...."
"Walthamstow Hospital"
".. ?"
"hang on ... can you even remember my name?"

Oh shit, that's the sucker punch. Desperately scan the room. Fair bit of Catholic stuff, sudden flash of inspiration! "of course I can, Mary!"

She punched me. So, my morning after souvenir was twofold. A lovely black eye, and no bastard memory whatsover, to this day, of a night spent with a gorgeous Catholic nurse.

she did call me though. She was called Sarah.
( the mighty badger Aphrodite, on a bar stool, by your side, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 9:49, 42 replies)

Our friends are thieving bastards.
Mrs Airman Gabber had made her own table centrepiece for each of the 10 tables at our wedding reception evening party. This consisted of a glass jar filled with those little coloured stones and a set of battery operated faerie lights which were strategically glued around the outside blue-peter style. They looked rather good for a home made effort. It seems our guests agreed as at the end of the party there were only 6 left.

I'd witnessed at least one person stuffing one into her bag but at least someone was polite enough to ask whether they could nick one though.

That was my mum.

Bastards. All of them.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 9:42, Reply)

At the wedding of some friends of ours
The bride and groom handed out bottles of sparkling wine to various people who had stayed until midnight, and many of these were opened and consumed before we left the premises. One friend decided she was going to steal the easel that was being used to hold up the table plan. It seemed hilarious at the time.

When we got back to the nearby Travelodge, a few friends had managed to gain access to our room, and surprised us as we walked in. The revelry continued. One of the group was the girl who stole the easel, so the easel was still there in the morning, after she had made her way back to her room in the early hours.

We met her in reception, and she was a shadow of her former self. There was more red in her eyes than white, and she wasn't speaking in words of more than one syllable. We handed her the easel, and she looked at it for a moment, confused. Then realisation struck, and wordlessly, she nodded in acknowledgement, and slowly trudged in the direction of the venue to return it.
(sabre-tooth monkey, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 9:29, 1 reply)

You Shall Not Pass!
In which Purple Martin stopped traffic (for the wrong reason, unfortunately).

In my first year at Uni I had a habit of collecting bollards, flashing yellow roadworks lights, etc. Every morning I'd wake up to find a couple more of said items in my room. Sometimes there was even a 'ROAD CLOSED' sign or two.

It got to the point that I could hardly move around my room for all the council-clutter. So I hatched a cunning plan, and later that very night I swung (staggered drunkenly) into action...

I closed off an entire, admittedly quite small, road. Yep, there were ROAD CLOSED signs, dozens of bollards, and plenty of those yellow flashing lights. Very impressive if I say so myself (and if you happen to be interested, the street in question was Upper Marsh in Lambeth).

Length? It stayed closed for four whole days, with annoyed looking drivers trying to turn into their usual short-cut then having to reverse back out into main-road traffic. Only on the fifth day did the council come and unblock my road. Yes, that's right, I now consider it to be MY road, forever more, because for four entire days I OWNED that road. Hell Yeah!
( Purple Martin is board sigless, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 7:56, 4 replies)

Had friends staying over.
Staggered downstairs bleary-eyed, and got caught in a elaborate spider web constructed from two rolls of sellotape that the drunk visitors had found.

I now understand the fly's predicament more clearly.
( Pope Shax XIII uses Visio for picture editing, does it show?, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 6:12, Reply)

The morning after Christmas Eve.
Wake up to my parents asking why I have a plaque from Solicitors office blu-tacked to my bedroom wall.

And then asking why is there an extra recycling bin in the forecourt.

I don't remember taking the sign, or even know where I found blutak, but I do remember carrying the recycling bin for 2 miles to stop the rumbling wheels giving me away, and hiding behind cars whenever I saw headlights.
( Pope Shax XIII uses Visio for picture editing, does it show?, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 6:06, Reply)

Here's a shorter one:
I stole a sign that said "Roger Bagueley's parking space" on it whilst pissed. I have no idea who Roger Bagueley is, but I like to imagine he's still driving around looking for his parking space today, 7 years later.

Roger, I'm sorry. It was funny at the time.
( PMGT -Bacon., Fri 27 Apr 2012, 4:47, 5 replies)

Going to try and keep this one short and honest:
I used to drink a lot. Too much in fact. When I was at University, I would wake up in the afternoon and start drinking from a bottle of vodka I kept next to my bed. I never went to any lectures. Despite this, I completed my first year, but then quit. I spent nine months looking for work to no avail. I felt like I had fucked my entire life up by dropping out and failing to get work. I would drink all day because I was hideously depressed, for a variety of self-pitying reasons. I nearly joined the army (part of me still regrets not doing).

After nine months, I reapplied to university to study film. I was accepted back and saw it as being my second chance at doing something with my life. But, for whatever reason, I could not get my head together to actually apply myself to the course. I missed lectures regularly, missed coursework deadlines and was basically a law unto myself. I had a shaved head at this point, looked like a scrote, and spent all day every day feeling pissed off without ever knowing why. This was when I met my girlfriend, although we didn't start going out until two years later, when I grew my hair long and got my shit together. She told me years later she was not attracted to me in any way at this point. I also had my arm in a cast from a fight I'd gotten in where I shattered the knuckles on my right hand. Definitely boyfriend material.

Eventually my attitude caught up to me, and the University decided to kick me out. I was dragged up before a senate committee, where I had to explain to a panel full of people who I had never met, why I thought I should be allowed to stay. This was a humiliating and uncomfortable process that involved me speaking about things I had never spoken to anyone at all about, and now they were taking notes on me. This largely consisted of me explaining why I fucking hated everyone around me and why I couldn't cry at my Grandad's funeral that had recently taken place (I don't mean that in a dodgy way...) and a whole host of other self-pitying topics that I was not comfortable discussing at that point. It's no exagerration to say I had never talked to anyone about how I felt about anything at that point.

They let me continue on the course, providing I was under report. Basically if I fucked up, I was gone.

This should have been enough to kick me into touch but it wasn't. I was in my second year by this point, and still not falling in line. I received several more cautions over the next few months.

How does this have any relation to this week's QOTW?

My morning-after souvenir was not a pleasant one. A few months after the meeting with the senate, I had gone back home to Manchester, and went out with friends. At some point in the night I got into an argument with someone, then got into an argument with my mates who were trying to calm me down as I had over-reacted massively and flown off the handle. I stormed off apparently. I don't remember it.

I woke up the next day, still dressed and covered in blood. I had no idea if it was mine or not. This is one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me. I could not remember for the fucking life of me what had happened. I genuinely thought I might have killed someone, or beaten the fuck out of someone. There was a lot of blood.

I looked down at myself, and saw a shard of glass about three inches long sticking out of my hand. That was where the blood had come from. I pulled it out, winced for a while, then had a bath.

At that point I felt like I had a complete lack of control over myself, and that scared the shit out of me. I decided there and then - in the bath - that I wouldn't drink any more. Out of all the things I felt were wrong with my life, that was one thing I could control. I literally stopped drinking on the spot.

From the second I decided that, I was completely teetotal for the next three years. I didn't touch a single drop of alcohol whilst I forced myself into sobriety, and more importantly, adult responsibility. I was 21 at this point and it was like being reborn. I went into my third year of University completely sober, and actually managed to apply myself for a year. I got a 2:2 in the end. I could have done better. I spent the next few years rediscovering a love for learning and educating myself, and I found a lot of things to replace drinking; martial arts, film-making, writing music... I can drink in moderation now, and do. To be honest, I don't really enjoy it though. I don't think I ever did. I'd much rather be sober now.

So, that's how a morning after souvenir changed my entire life.

By the way, eventually I remembered how the glass got stuck in my hand. I had put my fist through a bus stop on the way home because I didn't have a constructive means of dealing with or venting my frustration. I remembered this a couple of days later when I walked past said smashed bus stop. I was a fucking idiot.
( PMGT -Bacon., Fri 27 Apr 2012, 4:21, 7 replies)

He woke up after a heavy night out
He had passed out on his friend's couch. There were a group of them asleep in the living room.
Then he discovered that one of them had tattooed "DM 'hearts' DRUGS" onto his knee with a pin and a biro while he had been out cold.
It is not his worst tattoo.
(cs1ca, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 3:14, Reply)

When I was 18
I had an ace night out.
9 months later all my nightmares* came true.
I was 41 yesterday. He is now taller than me.
The little shit has cost me a fortune.






*not really. Little bastard is a fucking legend.
( Herb Alpert's Taxi Driver I have very beautiful lips, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 0:03, 9 replies)