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James.

FAO Ric Flair (or any other suitable candidates)

By James., in General Chat

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Rincewind

Rincewind

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The Newcastle story was bril. Would make a great fiction story as it is. So natual, it's got everything a story needs. Suspense, romance, intrigue, rejection, humour and a good ending. You could not make up a story like that A few stories like that and it would be a bestseller.

Well maybe.

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SOCCERROO FOX

SOCCERROO FOX

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Around 20 years ago, me and my mate from work went to York races on pub trip and on getting back decided to pop into town for few, mate drove (he wasnt a big drinker). At the end of the night we bumped into a girl who also worked at our place and she asked for a lift home, mate said yes "no probs". Now this girl looked like a beach ball with limbs, small and round, and I tell my mate I want a kebab, gets kebab and off we go. Half way home I said to girl "hey Kristy (we used to call her Krusty behind her back) do you fancy 2`s up" ?, she says "you what", I say "you know, me and mickey, shaggy shaggy", my mates going "hey, you what, hey, what", then she says "ok then" at which point I feel a stirring down below. We arrive at my house which had a lane next to it and I tell my mate to go first because my kebabs going cold. So im chomping on my kebab listening to the sound of the springs on the back seat of his Nissan Sunny pissing myself laughing when he gets off her, and pulling his jeans up says "your turn", I looked him straight in the eyes and in a giggly kebab voice said "you must be fvcking joking" and I fell about laughing...... He replies "you bastard, I knew you wouldnt, you bastard, you fvcking vvanker" and off I stagger up my drive nearly falling over with laugher with him shouting "you fvckin wait, you bastard, dont tell no one you tvvat.... I fell asleep that night pissin myself laughing with look on his face in my head.

I was on afternoons on the Monday and walked into work still laughing to myself when I see her, I point at her and go "AAAAAAAAGH" !, Beetroot face time for Krusty.

Me 1-0 Mickey :dance:

Harsh but funny

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Alexikokopops

Alexikokopops

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Ladies and gentlemen, I give you four classic Ric Flair stories. All in his own words (with some slight edits from me to avoid people's work filters). 4,697 nuggets of solid gold. WEGUA

THE OCTOSTACKER

I received a link from you tube, the middle o' last week, informing me of a bit of business being sent my way. I opened it, I watched it, I liked it. They knew they had me hooked as soon as I had watched it. My pals goaded me all week in to taking it on. A couple of the lads had had a crack at it and failed.

So after an absolute skinful on Thursday I decided the time was right for Friday afternoon. Everybody would be at work, I could go and do a reccie and see how the land lied. Little did I know that word had spread i'd be in town and a few had made their way down to the eatery. I rocked up, wasn't dressed appropriately.

I must admit I panicked a bit, a few months back I ordered a three quarter pounder from some orrible kebab shop and so did me pal. I wolfed mine, but he only had a couple of nips at his, so I thraped that as well. Let's just say, the old bill had to move me on from the shop after an hour of being in there as there had been complaints about what i'd chundered down my regalia.

Anyway, I soldiered on up to the counter. Gave it the Lineker stare, when gazza got booked against Germany and put the invoice in. There was a little bit of commotion break out from the gallery but soon enough the party in the mouth arrived. I found an empty booth and in I got.

It took me 2 minutes to unwrap the swine, then picking the beggar up was like trying to finger an eel. Anyway, I copped holt of it and I must admit the first half a dozen bites were like poetry. But then it got messy, a little bit like Sloth when he eats that Baby Rooth on The Goonies. My stomach wanted to do a runner as well and every bite was sending alarm signals to both the sh1tter.

My biggest mistake was only ordering one drink with the little fancy, you need at least 2 large cokes to get the job done. I didn't want to upset my vibe and get up and order another one, so I had to go dry for the last half a pound or so. Some of the noises coming out of my mouth were horrifying, but the crowd were lapping it up. The home straight was an absolute blur, I knew i'd be seeing it all again but I knew i'd at least be able to keep some dignity if I gave them what they wanted.

Once it had all gone though, it didn't get any easier. It got worse, at least shovelling in a sh1t load more food took your mind off the pain briefly. I really needed a poop, a drink, a p1ss, a sick, a death. I chose to settle for one of the latter 2 and it was push and shove what was to come first, I honestly thought I was going to pass out.

The boffing up though was just horrendous, it was coming out in blocks and about choking me. A poor little lad was in the trap next to me minding his own business when i've waded in and what can only be described as give birth oraly to something from another planet.

As soon as the was a break in proceedings I fled the place. Literally legged it. Got home and just sat in the bath in my clothes and shoes and had a little cry.

I definitely recommend it.

THE HAIRIEST HAM WALLET

I was 18/19 and had gone through a lean spell with birds. One of my mates good friends was a bit of a slag and I knew it wouldn't be hard to give her one and it was getting to the stage where this option was becoming very plausible. A matter of days later, I spotted her out on the p1ss and rattled her cage. I was plastered and so, as far as I was concerned I shouldn't be ashamed of myself. However, there was an alterior motive from this boiler. She knew I drank myself silly at the weekends and I was easy pickings for her for the future, so much so that the following few weekends i'd wake up to her gobbling me off and i'd got no prior memory of me sealing the deal that night previous. It started to really wind me up, I was angry with myself that I let it happen and then I did something I find disgraceful, I actually slipped her one when I was sober. I don't know how it happened, i'd gone round there to try and tell her to fook off. But she whipped the johnson out and i'd turned the opportunity, yes.

The following week, I decided I was going to tell her it was the end of the road. She'd got the hairiest ham wallet as well (Marshall, can I use that? I know it's yours). I'd only got £15 on me that night, so had gone up the weatherspoons and it used to be 4 Aftershock for £5 so I had 12 and bollocked them all down in quadrouples. I met up with her, went for a walk through this orchard type thing, fook knows what it was. Anyway, from what I remember I got chatting, was dead set on being brutally honest.... but still to this day I wasn't a witness to what actually went on. I woke up, still in this orchard with my trousers and boxers round my ankles and a nodder on. I literally have no recollection and this gal was nowehere to be seen. I couldn't believe i'd been fooled again, tricked by a John Virgo of s3x tricks. I buggered off home with my tail between my legs. Charged my phone up, only to find the following message on my phone ' I am so glad we are now officially going out with each other. ' I can't believe you asked me out, I thought you were going to finish with me before '. I thought it was some sort of joke, but it wasn't.

I have always been incapable of telling girls I want to finish with what I really think of them, and i'd landed myself right in the gary. So how did I get rid of her, you may ask? I said i'd lend her mum a video (think it was Green Mile or something) but I put one of my brothers filthy p0rno's in the box instead. Worked a treat, why I didn't do this early doors i'll never know.

HELLYN

Ok, well here goes. I'm not sure whether this will be funny, because the actual mental anguish I went through is still with me today and when reading it, you might have to ask yourself why would I put myself through this? But, I am a man who doesn't like confrontation and ends up in situations that he really doesn't want to be in, especially with orrible women.

It's early 2002, I think it's nearly easter. I've had a few eggs. I am 18 and i'm working at Transco (now National Grid) I work on an I.T. Helpline and there's another one up in Newcastle, so we're kind of the same team. We speak a lot, share logged faults and discuss the similarities and differences of Dez Hamilton and Jonathon Stevenson. I started getting a bit friendly with one of the boilers on the phone from Newcastle, had a lovely sounding voice and she were about 24, so it was game on as far as I was concerned. We used to have job swaps, some of us would go up there and some would come down to Hinckley every few months. Turns out this slag was soon to come down, she'd sent me a photo of herself and she looked like it was worth going up her tubes. So I made a subconscious contract with myself that i'd try and do the john if I could. This is where the first problem was encountered. If I decide things like this, I find it hard to go back on it when drunk even when the goal posts are moved (i.e. turns out she's a fookin horror).

So down they came, I had already met a few of the lads before and they were a right good laugh. Anyway, I clamped eyes on this girl, her name was Hellyn, anyone who spells Helen like that has got to be a bit micey anyway. I should have bloody known. She didn't look very nice, but as I said, there was not really any going back as i'd already insinuated to her I wanted to get busy with her when she came down. So we all went out and got leathered the first night they were down, as the night wore on, I convinced myself she was worth a couple of minutes of my time. Ended up back at her hotel, thought it would be a standard sh*g. Oh no, she was in to some weird sh1t. She had calves and thighs like Geoff Capes and I found it really difficult to brush her off when she straddled me and started properly biting me. Eventually she'd got her cheap thrill and finally fell asleep so I did a runner and walked down the A5 back to my house, took me about 45 minutes. I am sure I cried on the way home.

The above is more than enough ammunition to never speak to the girl again, I mean, it's not as if I had to see her at work every day and if she ever called me, i'd accidently slip and hang up. So why did I then agree to the invitation of going up to Newcastle to see her for the weekend? I suppose tickets to see Newcastle did raise a brief interest with me, but as for any other positives there weren't any. So off we go to Newcastle, about 4 hours on the train. Dreading it, but in a perverse and sick way, actually wanting to. Met her at the train station, she looked even worse than before. Looked like she'd got herpes or something as well, and there was something else. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on at first. There was another member present with us, a smaller person who was wandering along with us as we looked for the bus to South Shields. Oh yes, it was a 5 year old girl. She'd got a child, she was also recently divorced apparently, lovely then. Oh for fook sake, what am I doing? I'd had about 6 cans of Stella on the way up though, so I rolled with the punches. I had heard a lot of positive press about Whitley Bay so I thought, worst comes to the worst i'd drop the shoulder on her at night when she was at the bar and do a runner down there and enjoy some upper class girls. Her mum and dad both looked like Rab C Nesbitt, but thankfully I wasn't stopping the night there. I'd been booked in at the Travel Tavern as there wasn't enough room for me (Hellyn even paid for me, although to be honest so she fookin should, the beast). I was getting ready at the hotel on my own, or atleast I thought I was on my own when this naked creature appeared in the bathroom as I was about to get in to the shower. It was her, she'd let herself in somehow and thought i'd like some company in a shower, only fit for one, let alone 2 people and one of them being a tank. I'd like to say I didn't sh*g her in the shower, or sh*g her at all that weekend but I did and probably in excess of 5 times, i'm not sure whether it was because she'd had a kid, but it was like stirring porridge when I gave her one. Touch the sides? They were about 3 feet away. I feel sick just typing this, what sort of a man does that? Especially given he didn't want to, or claim he didn't want to anyway.

The weekend passed and I got home after a horrendous train journey back. My face was greasy, i'd had to endure the best part of 5 hours next to Mick Hucknall's biggest fan.

Never again, never gonna see that fat trout again. NO NO NO NO NO

May bank holiday

' Alreet? what er ya deein ova the bank olideh? '

' Erm, not really got any plans '

' Champion, i'll come down un see yers then '

' Oh, erm, well, yeah if you want '

What the mince, why have I agreed to this? I've probably already caught herpes and god knows what. Also, it dawned upon me that my mates might actually see this specimen, i'd got away with it the first time as I was out with work when I was molested by her. I met her at the train station, she'd got a golf cap on, it nearly tipped me over the edge. I'd not been as productive in booking her a hotel room as she had with me and infact i'd told her to sort it herself. She booked some dubious guesthouse that I didn't even know existed. I really wasn't in the mood for this, i'd at least been relatively civil when I went to Newcastle, but I was incapable of showing any kind of enthuisiasm or affection. She must have known something was up, but no, she didn't. She checked in to the guesthouse, I said i'd nip home and get ready and come and meet her later, but she insisted on coming with me. OH GOD she's gonna meet my mum and dad, they'll be horrified. Please, please, please don't my brothers be home, they'll p1ss themselves. We turn up, oh sh1t, bingo full house. They're all in, I open the door, even the dog sh1ts itself and scurries off in to it's basket. I literally want to die, want to end worlds, be anywhere but here. She meets the folks, and my brothers, I can read what they're thinking, this is horrible. I quickly get ready and get out of the house as quick as possible, i'm so agitated. We head in to town, I need a beer, I need a million beers. I get a text off my brother ' Wahahahaaaaa '

I needed to do something, this couldn't go on. She couldn't meet my mates, there was a party that night, there's no way I could take her there. I'd never live this down, i'd got previous for going through a few 'butter faces' and what not, but this wasn't cricket, not this time. Then I spied an opportunity, I couldn't believe I was thinking it, but this was serious and I needed to step up to the plate and save myself. She had said she was going to meet up with one of our work colleagues for an hour or so, I obviously agreed to this wholeheartedly. When she buggered off, I rang my brother. I needed his wisdom. We met up for a beer, he was still p1ssing himself laughing. I let it lie, I deserved everything that I was getting. I ran the idea I had past my brother, he looked shocked but liked it, loved it infact and said it was my only option. He'd used this in the past and wasn't shocked by the nature of the idea but the fact that I was willing to use it, the ultimate get out. So I had a couple of absynthe's to pluck up the courage and I rang her.

' Hellyn, it's Bean '

' alreet pet, what ya deein? '

' i'm really sorry, but i've just had some really bad news. My nan has fallen down the stairs and I have got to go and see her. She lives in London though, so i'm going to be gone for the whole weekend '

SILENCE

' you joking me? '

' no, sorry to do this to you. i'm so sorry, but i've got to go. '

I must admit, what I did there is bad and I left the poor girl in Hinckley all on her own for the whole weekend. I was a bit p1ssed off to be honest, I shot myself in the foot a bit because I also sacrificed my weekend as I couldn't be seen out just incase she was still milling about. So I sat in in my bedroom and hid, even though I knew she wasn't going to find me, I hid from myself more than anything for getting myself in to such a predicament. The weekend passed and when I knew she'd definitely gone home, I celebrated by nailing about 10 Newcastle Browns and chundering.

So there we have it, a fine piece of mess. I'd got away with it though hadn't I? She were none the wiser about my nan and thankfully my mates never caught wind of this whole shenanigans. WRONG.

I forgot to add an incident that took place about 4 months later. I had little to do with the girl after Grandma-gate, even though I think she bought it, we didn't speak on the phone at work any longer and there was very few emails. So once the summer had arrived i'd forgot all about it, was too busy getting myself in other situations to remenisce. Then news filtered through that National Grid was taking over Transco and that some of us would be taking on new roles. There were new job opportunities and a 4 week training course in Cobham, Surrey. I was all over it like a wet flannel, 4 weeks down there on the rip, hopefully a few boilers and what not. ERROR. I get down there, and guess who's also on the gig? Hellyn. Looking fatter than ever, I briefly pondered that she might be pregnant again and i'd have to donkeypunch the bitch. But fear not, it was just greed. Word got round to me from one of my colleagues who was friendly with her that she wanted to 'teach me a lesson' for what had happened back in May. I'd foolishly told a few of the lads back at work about what had gone on and some rascal had let it slip and it had got back to her up north.

I tried to stay out of her way, but it lasted about 2 days before she collared me. I'd got a brand spanking new denim jacket on and she threw a snakebite and black at me, couple of windmills pinged at me and then I ended up sh*gging her again. No word of a lie. My darkest hour ever. I'm livid as I type this, what a moron.

I knew I had to bail. I wasn't overly keen on the job I was training for either, I wanted to go back and do my old job again, i'd been told we could do this if we wanted to. I called my boss, things had changed though, bodies were needed to learn the new jobs and then teach new staff and only then could we go back to our old jobs. That wasn't on my agenda, not one bit, there was no way I was doing that. So the next day, I didn't turn in. I sat in my hotel room and ordered a p0rn movie and some salmon on room service on to my team leaders company credit card. There was uproar (not about the p0rn and salmon, they didn't find out about that until a later date) threats were exchanged from my boss and myself and I verbally stuffed my job up her ar5e. Problem was, I didn't have a car with me, it was 7pm and I needed to leave very quickly. Transco had been a bit foolish though and paid our weekly hotel allowance in to our accounts to settle before we went home. So I fooked off with about £550 and got the train to London, rinsed the majority of it and woke up the next day without a job.

I felt invigorated though, the shackles were finally off. It had cost me my job to finally rid myself of that fat geordie parasite and none of this was necessary had I have done what most human beings would have done and nipped it in the bud early doors. But what's the fun in that?

Incidently she's got 4 kids now and owns a pub in Gateshead. Let's hope one of those little urchins wasn't born around about the summer of 2003, otherwise i'm 7 years in arreas on Child Maintenance.

I need a lie down after re-living all of that. What a tw*t.

ROBBIE WILLIAMS

September 2007, i'll hold my hands up. I've gone a Robbie Williams concert with my ex girlfriend, my mate and his boiler. We've signed up for this gig because we thought we'd be done and dusted in time for a night out in Leeds afterwards. As the day unfolded, it slowly dawned upon me, that was as likely as a combination from Stephen Hawkings.

We've set off at 5 am, apparently it was imperitive for us to get there 5 hours before the gates opened so we could get to the front, I mean please. But i've bitten my lip, i've got 18 cans of Fosters to get through. We get there, park up and then find out we've parked 3 miles away from the venue and have to flag down a taxi to get us there, this later came back to haunt me in a very traumatic way. Stay with me.

Me and my mate got to work on the tins, they were being bollocked down well easy. Going for a p1ss isn't an issue, there were bogs and bushes. I'm p1ssed up and oblivious to the numbers. Gates have opened, mayhem. Running down massive fook off hills in Roundhay Park, i've hit the deck early. I mow down a few others, it's bedlam. Manage to get to my feet about 100 yards down the hill, we get to the makeshift arena. Oh jesus, we're 4 rows from the front. Surely a good thing, right? The bitches were lovin it, I however wasn't as I needed yet another piddle. I'd done a bit of a reccie though and took an extra hooded top to tie round my waist the wrong way so that I could p1ss in to pint cups without anyone rumbling me. Everything was fine, i'd emptied mesen and then I turned round to see that I couldn't actually see anything other than bodies. Turns out there was nearly 100,000 other fookers who'd also got nothing better to do with their saturday than come and stand in a park to watch some sincerely sub standard music.

Me and my pal attempted to make our way through the party to get a few more ales. It took us 45 minutes to get through them all, bought 5 bottles of minature wines each and then returned about another hour later. Still no sign of Williams. By the time the first act came on (Orson, didn't he write books?) i'd started to get a bit of movement in the stomach area. I thought I just needed another slash, standard. But no, I unzipped him and flopped him in a cup but there was no room at the inn. It confused me, I couldn't work out why I had stomach ache. It genuinely didn't dawn upon me that I might need a pony. It was 4pm, I knew that at best i'd be here for another 5 hours. I was starting to panick and a few forced farts weren't really helping matters. The natives behind were disgusted as well, so I was in a bit of bother. Orson came and went and on came Basement Jaxx, who to be fair I quite liked in my yoof, but when your abdomen is doing a few Tom Daly's, it could be Elvis Pressley for all I care. I battled through their set, pinching my cheeks together tighter and tighter with every minute that passed. It was horrible, I was starting to consider ways I could get out of this sh1t hole, excuse the pun. I couldn't push myself back through the crowd and up the hill, there was literally too many people and I couldn't walk, I was on tip toes. As I was only 4 rows from the front I fancied feigning injury and being carried out, but I knew i'd cr*p mesen if there was any sudden movements and being hoisted over the railings would have filled me knickers.

Robert came on at fookin 9.30pm, absolutely furious with the man. I'd been in this damn park for the best part of 14 hours. I'd had a skinful, and it felt like I was having a nervous breakdown. I couldn't give a monkeys whether he was a better man or on the road to p1ssin mandalay. I wanted it over, I wanted to squit me bag. Some more gas, but this time not forced, literally had to delicately thread a few trumps through the enclosed bum cheeks. The smell was enough to scare police horses. 11pm game over. But was it really? No it was only just beginning for the lad. Williams was off on his helicopter, could cr*p himself if he wanted to and no-one would batter an eye lid. I'd been moaning and mrs mrs had had enough of me, she went wild. The crowds slowly dispersed and very gingerly I shuffled up the hill and out of the park. Then we realised we had a 3 mile walk back to the car and not really a clue in what direction. I didn't need this. I was looking for appropriate bushes to do the john, but where there was plenty early on, right now there was nothing. People everywhere, no restbite.

About a mile down the road, I spot an opening. McDonalds!!! Hello. I steam in there, my heart sinks. The queue for the sh1tter is 50 yards long. No hope. Off I go. Back on the road. Old bill everywhere, can't muddy someones garden. Another mile passes. We get to a row of shops, pizza place, chinese, brothel. Any can for me to use? NO. My mate even has the audacity, and get ready for this. To ask me if I wanted anything from the chinese. WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT??? I've needed a poop for the best part of 6 hours and yet i'm still going to wolf some chinese down as a little treat to myself? I nearly planted him, but i was no use to man nor beast.

Then a little nugget popped out and ended my world. I was devastated, I had a little cry in the bus shelter. I was at the end of my teather, I was 24 and i'd bobbed myself. The problem was, it wasn't just a token nugget, I knew there was more to follow so I had to take action. I ran round the back of the shops and flung my jeans down and just fired out the worst bout of explosive muck I have ever been privvy to experience. Hooded top was removed, mopped myself up and came back round the shops a new man. I was back in the game, i've never felt a euphoric feeling like that one, no drugs has ever achieved that, no boiler has ever got me feeling like that and the blue army even at wembley have never took me on that sort of roller coaster.

So there we have it, pure filth of a day. So I went in the chinese and spent £25.

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Alexikokopops

Alexikokopops

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And this the fifth story that I couldn't find for the above email:

HOLIDAY

Picture the scene, really soak it up.

I've just turned 13, i've arrived in Almeria, Roquetas De Mar to be precise. It's fookin hot, really hot. I usually go about my business looking the colour of casper the ghost so to be presented with 35 degree heat is about as welcome for me as a p1ss and a fart at the same time. Anyway i've shrugged it off as i'm armed with my brand new Agassi Tennis Racquet, pickings!

Now at 13, I was old enough to not trust my Dad when it comes to holidays. In the past he'd took us on some dubious holidays where we'd had to fly from Bristol, Bournmouth and Cardiff respectively. The menace didn't care where we flew from as long as he got what he classed as an 'Ian Beale' (Deal). I'd tried to quash my reservations about this trip though, as my older brother was bringing his girlfriend along who came from a wealthy family, so surely me old boy would show a bit of decorum? The answer to that question was answered 20 seconds after the bus driver had dropped us all off.

My brother and his girlfriend, my other brother, my mum, my dad and me. Stood there, couldn't say a word. Absolutely gobsmacked, bewildered, scared, the audacity of the man! My eye sight in recent years has took a turn for the worst, contact lenses are worn at all times, but back then they were Lee Sharpe. I was witnessing what could only be described as terrorism. The building was brown, always a no no in my eyes. It was barren and david pleated. Inside it was just as bad, furniture that even fleas and turmites vacated long ago. 2 weeks, 2 fookin weeks here. You'd do less for bum rape.

Anyway, I went and had a butchers at the bedrooms. I mean, I wasn't going to be spending much time in the bathroom or the kitchen was I? I was going to be up early, chatting to the honeyz on the beach in the day and then partying at night. I must admit, I was daydreaming. Reality soon set in, there were 2 bedrooms. Oh dear, he really has excelled himself this time.

'There's 6 of us Dad!' I said

'Well you and your brother will have to sleep in the lounge, there's a camp bed and a sofa, well chair thing'

Lovely, what a gent, what a salt of the earth. As you could imagine, me and my brother couldn't contain our delight. It was like fighting who would rather have a bout of the sh1ts or a mug of sick. And don't worry readers there was plenty of both which you will find out later, keep with me.

My brothers went wild at my dad, tempers frayed and I took myself away from the gig. Went exploring. In recent years i'd got in to a bit of bother on holiday, i'd got previous with the Belgium kids and I was hoping they'd not made the trip. I walked across a bit of desert, i'm not joking either Sierra Nevada or some boll0cks like that. I found a swimming pool, as you might have guessed, our palace didn't possess one of those luxuries. I jumped in and all of life's problems I just shaked off. Next thing I knew, BANG! Out of nowhere i've been bombed in the pool, right on the bonnet. I was all over the place, trying to catch my breath. Who the mince has done that I thought? Anyway, I regained my composure and surfaced from the water. Fookin knew it, one of the Belgium's! What is it with them? Anyway I got out of the pool, walked straight up to him who was playing some foreign version of pogs and kicked him in the head. Job done. Where's yer pogs now yer tw@t?

The next few days went without incident. Gullit was some sort of penis, Izzet had signed on a permanent for £600,000, I was buzzing. The initial protests of the gaff we were in had been put to one side, I mean, what could we do? I was on about £3 a week, I could hardly up sticks and check in to Es Paradise for the fortnight could I? So Don Scratto it was (I am not joking about the name of the place either, questions surely had to be asked by my dad when the booking itinerary came through, but no, don't be daft!) The sleeping arrangements were disgraceful, I had lost a mammoth game of Pass The Pigs with my brother, so I had the chair. I'd also discovered that the property we were residing in had been built on old swamp ground so we also had some other company join the party. Mosquito's, thousands of the bast@rds. The first night I slept in my Garry Parker City shirt and shorts, good combination I thought. Rookie error, very bad combination. Not sure whether the fookers were jealous of Parker's range of passing, but they took it out on me. About seventy bites, head to toe. I looked like John Merrick. So for the rest of the holiday I slept in jeans and a jumper, which was very pleasant. I lost about 3 stone and had hallucinations that I was a farmer and I had a dolphin as a scarecrow.

Things took a turn for the worst when we went to this other beach a few miles down the coast, it was meant to be good for snorkelling and surfing. The wind picked up from the African coast apparently and made some big waves. I got the li-lo out and went for a swim, the waves were big and soon enough I was out of my depth. I turned round to look for my dad but apparently the water was too boisterous for him and the current of the waves had about kegged him so he got out. I was stranded, the waves were about drowning me. I don't really know what happened next but I remember being pulled out of the water by a man who still to this day I am both thankful to him and scared of him. He saved me from drowning, but he also had the naughtiest pair of speedo's on I have ever seen before and it put me off my spaghetti hoops.

That night we all went out to celebrate my near death experience. Foolishly, my dad was put in charge of finding an appropriate eatery. We rocked up to this authentic Italian restaurant, looked ok, so we sat down. I ordered the cannelloni and even had half a shandy to wash it down. Weaker men would have been off their tits, but not me. The pasta turned up and I allowed myself for the first time all trip to let my guard down, i'd settled in to the hostile environment and was almost enjoying myself. SLAP. I took a bite, it about bounced out of my mouth. As soon as i'd eaten it I knew I was in trouble, alarm bells were ringing and so was my other ring.

Everyone elses food was of similar ilk and there was a bust up. My brother squirted salad cream at my other brothers girlfriend after she voiced her displeasure, a fork came back the other way. My family stuck up for my brothers girlfriend and I didn't think it was on myself. The slag deserved the salad cream. Things got quite bad actually and joking aside it is still a memory that haunts me to this day.

Let me explain. My brother stormed off and I went to find him, he'd always been looked upon as the cretin of the family and I wasn't having it not this time. Time to show some solidarity and stick up for him. I found him in the arcade pumping the bandit, he were getting nowhere with it. Pesatas were flying about left, right and centre. Now, my brother has always been a dab hand with a pellet gun, once shot me up the 'arris when I was on the golf course and he was in the bushes on my backswing, still made birdie. Anyway, he had a crack at some shooting game and won a couple of bottles of moody foreign babycham. We boll0cked them down us and went home, turns out my mum and dad had started arguing about the nights proceedings and so much so that my mum threw a bull hammer at my dad. It was bad, really bad, you don't want to see your parents fighting. I got involved and took one in the melee, it was an accident I know, but I planted my dad anyway and then I cried.

Although it was 'orrible, it did make me forget about the impending investigation that was filtering through my system and sure to make an appearance and some point in the near future. My mind is a little hazy of what day we were on when the explosive diahhorrea hit town, it was towards the end of the holiday i'm sure, certainly in to the 2nd week. The term ' i'd leave it fifteen before you go in there pal ' is often used willy nilly and has lost it's value, but in this instance it was the real deal. It was enough to scare police horses, even the mosquito's fooked off. I was going through bog roll like no man's business and I didn't see day light for a few days. What was a welcome surprise though was that I wasn't sick at any time during this solitary confinement and I thought i'd got a way with it.

I think I finally got the all clear with a day or so of the holiday left, so with ground to make up I hit the beach with the family. I was still suspicious of the sea, so I just milled about on the sun loungers peering over my comics to look at the tidy boilers. Anyway, I was minding my own business, may have even been nodding off in the shade when I felt a nip. When I say a nip, it was more like a red hot poker being furiously stabbed in to my foot. I looked down to see a very small scorpion playing cowboys and indians with me. I about sh1t mesen, which granted given my recent predicament wasn't much of a surprise, but you don't need this. Not on yer fookin holidays, what had I done in a previous life to deserve this? What sort of holiday destination has scorpions on beaches? The little swine got drowned in a bottle of Evian and I took no pleasure out of the victory but a win's a win.

That was it for me, I didn't sleep that night or the last night. I didn't trust man kind, I stayed up and kept checking things to make sure there was nothing on the way to get me. Kept checking the bins, the sh1tter, the sinks, to make sure no snakes or anything had come through the Spanish sewage system to have a nosh at me. Refused any food and brushed my teeth with my finger just incase this place had a milkman or postman that had had an itchy arse on shift and reached for the nearest instrument.

The bus journey back to the airport was going swimmingly, even all the debris from the unfinished buildings that was flying through the windows felt nice as I knew I was on the home straight. Then I had an unpleasant burp, which bought more than I bargained for. There'd been a bit of sick. ARTHUR fook sake, why me? Hadn't I been through enough already what with the mosquito's, nearly dying, the sh1ts, the scorpion and my dad. Luckily I was sitting next to my mum who acted fast and whipped out a bag for me to be sick in, downside to that was that the bag belonged to me and it had my Alba Walkman in it, Fat's Domino was ruined. In fact I don't think i've heard Chubby Checker and The Fat Boys - We're Doin The Twist since. We got to the airport armed with a bag o' sick to greet customs with. I gave them the slip and went straight in to trap 2 and ralphed and ralphed. I don't know what had gone on next door, but I think some kids had thrown a few stink bombs in and locked the door, it wasn't what I needed. I took bodies.

After I had nothing left to give to the services of sickness, I fled the scene. Got out in to the departure lounge and went to find my family. I caught a glimpse of myself, it wasn't pretty. The 2 weeks had taken their toll, either that or i'd had an uphill paper round as a kid. I couldn't see my family, but instead I was faced with Mike Sheron the Stoke City Predator. It perked me up a bit, I gave him the nod, he knew the nod. The nod that says, i'm a Leicester fan, stick your deliah up your arse, Garry Parker 1-0 on the volley, Wembley for us, Almeria for you for your holidays. Then it dawned upon me, yes I had the Wembley win and the Premiership, but I too had the mispleasure of Almeria like Sheron. What I couldn't fathom out though is why did Big Ears Mike look relaxed and refreshed, tanned and drunk on life? And I looked patchy red, bitten to fook, p1ss wet through in sweat and sick and a couple of stone lighter. Turns out he'd gone 5 star about 40 miles down the coast, couldn't really compete with that so with my tail between my legs (mainly as a safety measure to prevent any further follow through) I scurried off to finally get out of this sh1t hole.

Plane journey was sweet as a bell, even managed a bit of scran without seeing it again and did some colouring in. Then the plane landed, well it didn't land, it had a little crash and although it was fairly innocuous, the baggage door got jammed and we had to wait an hour and a half for the bags to come through the flaps. Mix that in with about a 4 hour drive home from the arse end of England and you've got yourselves a winner.

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Kitchandro

Kitchandro

Posted
Posted

OK so it's not quite in Ric's standard of story but it's Christmas related.

For the 2nd time in 3 years I'l be spending Christmas in Italy with my Auntie, Uncle and cousins. I hope it goes better than the last time.

In this country most people get wasted on Christmas Day, but over there everyone seems to get pissed up on Christmas Eve. So by 11pm I'd have several beers, a load of prosecco and god knows how much limoncello, as well as a dangerous amount of fish pasta which was too nice to stop eating until I was so full that I couldn't move from my chair for an hour. We then stumbled to the Cafe/Bar 5 minutes up the road for some more drinking. 'Don't over-do it'. Typical worrying parents.

So we're in this little Cafe, the whole village was crammed in there and they cracked the champagne out. Now I don't speak any Italian and I was already sloshed so there was only one thing to do, I just kept drinking. I can't remember anything from about midnight onwards until we left and I threw up outside the car. I'm told that I was literally reaching across tables and taking any glasses that weren't empty and downing them, and then trying to start conversations with people in Spanish (which I'd given up on pretty quickly at GCSE). I'm usually quite good at handling my alcohol but not in Italy, I think it's because I feel compelled to drink absolutely everything my cousin's mates hand me in an attempt not to look a lightweight. Which in turn ends up making me look a lightweight.

Anyway so I was carried to my bed by 3 young girls (sadly they were all related) and then got up by one of them at half 9. Still badly hungover I managed to drag myself out for some present opening, still feeling ropey. One of my cousins said 'take this, you'll be fine in half an hour', and then handed me a glass of water with dissolved pain killers in. Of course in the state I was in it didn't cross my mind that I was allergic to pain killers.

At the time I thought it was just specifically paracetamol, which I had had a reaction to a couple of times before (I'm a slow learner). 20 minutes after taking the pills and I knew something was up, I needed to burp every 5 seconds, my chest was hurting and saliva was flooding my mouth at an alarming rate. Baring in mind that there was about 20 people at this do that we'd flown over for, some of which I only see once a year, it was a nightmare scenario. The saddest part is I probably would have been fine by midday if it wasn't for the intervention of the pain killers.

So I spent Christmas Day 2009 in the bathroom and in my bed, throwing up at regular intervals. You see it's not one of those things I can just get out of my system in one go, it comes in stages, I chucked up the previous nights meal in the first go, and then I had to wait a while for it all to happen again, and it went on for hours (sorry to be so graphic but it's necessary to explain why I missed the whole day).

I managed to emerge from my room at about half 6 when I was greeted with a lot of head shaking and a lot of pointing and laughing from the remaining guests.

So, that's the story of how I ruined Christmas.

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Rincewind

Rincewind

Posted
Posted

Can I have a go. Not as funny or dramatic as Rick flairs but one of the few positive memories i can recall.

Someone once said that everyone has five minutes of fame. How true this is. Whether it is written, spoken, legal or illegal what you do with your life can have an effect on others so that they remember you for at least five minutes.

My five minutes of fame happened a few years ago, I forget the exact year. It was while I was attending creative writing classes. In the class you were required to read your work out to the rest of the students. This I managed OK after a few nervous moments. Well, the others work could only be as bad or better than mine.

At this time I used to go to an acoustic night at a local pub. Performers sang solos with a guitar or read poetry. One particular night I took samples of my efforts hoping that one of the more experienced poets could give me their opinion. One said to me why don't you read one out. I was not keen on standing in front of a mic in front of a roomful of people but eventually I agreed. The one I read was Deidre Blues. I was surprised how well it went down and the buzz I got from being in front of an audience. I was asked to read that poem a few more times after that.

Aside from this I must mention a mentor. His name was Chris Challis. He was a writing tutor and one of his published works was 'Quest For Kerouac' He had long hair, a beard and was slightly deaf. He sat on the edge of the table when the students read so to hear better. He found positives in the work and never made the student feel bad, always encouraging them with constructive comments

He also wrote for a motorbike magazine, short stories about a mysterious character that rode around the country on a motorbike and solving paranormal mysteries. One of his interests was the history of the American Indian. In fact He was a very clever bloke and bit of a rebel.

He sadly died in 1996/1997 aged 50 years young, after a fall down stairs at home. He liked the odd drink so this may have been a contributory factor. At his funeral, his coffin arrived accompanied by a Trad Jazz band playing When The Saints Go Marching In.

There was a wake after where one or two famous poets attended, one being Sue Townsend author of the Adrian Mole books. Probably better known in the UK. I wrote a poem for the occasion in tribute. Can't find it at the moment but I said how much of an inspiration he was. If I have writers block or stop writing I think of him and I feel the encouragement to carry on.

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General Smuts

General Smuts

Posted
Posted

You'll not know fear till your alone in the house with a wifi connection loading up a video called 'Barely Legal' when the old bill knocks on the door.

This was last nights adventure for me. I nearly smashed the laptop screen closing the bugger when the rozzer wanted in the house for a statement.

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1shotwot

1shotwot

Posted
Posted

Last night I left work full of Christmas cheer as it was my last day for a couple of weeks. I was also full of mince pies, wraps and some tongue tingling samosas that were brought in to work on account of it being many peoples last day.

As the little hand edged (much too) slowly towards the number 5 I failed to recognise the stark warning that my body gave in the form of a 6 on the richter scale rumble. Not extraordinary but definitely noteworthy. Unfortunately I failed to take heed of the warning, logged off and made for the exit under the belief that I would make it home before shedding my innards like an overturned lorry on a dual carriageway. As I got in the car I felt another rumble but this one was accompanied by an internal shift as things began to slide, much like a bookshelf snapping under the weight of a heavy tome. I was in trouble. I naively thought that if I stay still and just move my ankles and arms I would get out of this sticky situation with both my dignity and my work trousers unsoiled.

I knew what was to come, but it didn’t stop me praying to god, allah, Buddha and the rest of the gang that traffic around Burleys Way would be minimal at 5.10PM but not one of those ingrates helped me out. Of course they didn’t, why would they? The traffic lights confirmed that lady luck was not smiling upon me either and her bitch of a sister had me firmly in her cold stare, but despite this adversity I made it home in one piece. Having fumbled with my keys like a swaying drunkard I negotiated my way into the house under the knowledge that I am like a house of cards, one false move that the whole thing collapses. 10 steps to climb. IM HOME AND DRY…LITERALLY. 8 steps. I MADE IT. 6 steps. YOU CAN DO IT OLD BOY. I was already congratulating myself and the upper lip chewing wince was forming into a self satisfied grin. 4 steps.

WHAT THE FUCCCCCKKKKKKK!! I trip. I lurch forward and sprawl across the last three steps. Disaster. OH JESUS NO. it has happened. I have done the unthinkable. IVE SHAT MYSELF. I am a grown man with a house and a girlfriend who lives with me and ive shat myself. I’ve done something that hasn’t happened since that dark day at nan’s house when I was 6. OH CHRIST. I can only imagine what I looked like, laying face down on the top 3 stairs with my satchel still over my shoulder and a distraught look upon my face but that look didn’t last long. Another problem was rearing its ugly head. My girlfriend was in the house. A woman who loves and respects me could at any minute walk out of a room and see me at my lowest ebb. SHIT. But wait, is that you lady luck? It’s about time, where the hell were you on the A6?!?! The patter of water hitting the bottom of the shower tells me that my other half has just got in. That gives me approximately 7 minutes to make sure this sad tale has something of a happy ending. I manage to clean myself up, put the incriminating evidence in a bin bag and dump it in the neighbours wheelie bin and change into something a little less shit stained before the good lady emerges from the shower.

I shared this anecdote with my mates and each of them were touched, even inspired by my unflinching honesty and dug out some stories that they repressed where they fell victim to the human body’s stubbornness to unload when it damn well pleases regardless of your location. I consider myself and my mates to be your usual football loving, pie munching, booze supping gentlemen and not gimps who need to be wearing nappies for the next time they shit themselves in public so can only assume others have similar stories.

Anyone care to share?

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HEGGSY

HEGGSY

Posted
Posted

Last night I left work full of Christmas cheer as it was my last day for a couple of weeks. I was also full of mince pies, wraps and some tongue tingling samosas that were brought in to work on account of it being many peoples last day.

As the little hand edged (much too) slowly towards the number 5 I failed to recognise the stark warning that my body gave in the form of a 6 on the richter scale rumble. Not extraordinary but definitely noteworthy. Unfortunately I failed to take heed of the warning, logged off and made for the exit under the belief that I would make it home before shedding my innards like an overturned lorry on a dual carriageway. As I got in the car I felt another rumble but this one was accompanied by an internal shift as things began to slide, much like a bookshelf snapping under the weight of a heavy tome. I was in trouble. I naively thought that if I stay still and just move my ankles and arms I would get out of this sticky situation with both my dignity and my work trousers unsoiled.

I knew what was to come, but it didn’t stop me praying to god, allah, Buddha and the rest of the gang that traffic around Burleys Way would be minimal at 5.10PM but not one of those ingrates helped me out. Of course they didn’t, why would they? The traffic lights confirmed that lady luck was not smiling upon me either and her bitch of a sister had me firmly in her cold stare, but despite this adversity I made it home in one piece. Having fumbled with my keys like a swaying drunkard I negotiated my way into the house under the knowledge that I am like a house of cards, one false move that the whole thing collapses. 10 steps to climb. IM HOME AND DRY…LITERALLY. 8 steps. I MADE IT. 6 steps. YOU CAN DO IT OLD BOY. I was already congratulating myself and the upper lip chewing wince was forming into a self satisfied grin. 4 steps.

WHAT THE FUCCCCCKKKKKKK!! I trip. I lurch forward and sprawl across the last three steps. Disaster. OH JESUS NO. it has happened. I have done the unthinkable. IVE SHAT MYSELF. I am a grown man with a house and a girlfriend who lives with me and ive shat myself. I’ve done something that hasn’t happened since that dark day at nan’s house when I was 6. OH CHRIST. I can only imagine what I looked like, laying face down on the top 3 stairs with my satchel still over my shoulder and a distraught look upon my face but that look didn’t last long. Another problem was rearing its ugly head. My girlfriend was in the house. A woman who loves and respects me could at any minute walk out of a room and see me at my lowest ebb. SHIT. But wait, is that you lady luck? It’s about time, where the hell were you on the A6?!?! The patter of water hitting the bottom of the shower tells me that my other half has just got in. That gives me approximately 7 minutes to make sure this sad tale has something of a happy ending. I manage to clean myself up, put the incriminating evidence in a bin bag and dump it in the neighbours wheelie bin and change into something a little less shit stained before the good lady emerges from the shower.

I shared this anecdote with my mates and each of them were touched, even inspired by my unflinching honesty and dug out some stories that they repressed where they fell victim to the human body’s stubbornness to unload when it damn well pleases regardless of your location. I consider myself and my mates to be your usual football loving, pie munching, booze supping gentlemen and not gimps who need to be wearing nappies for the next time they shit themselves in public so can only assume others have similar stories.

Anyone care to share?

lol lol

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FoxyPV

FoxyPV

Posted
Posted

put the incriminating evidence in a bin bag and dump it in the neighbours wheelie bin

:crylaugh:

Brilliant.

I've told this on here before but hey ho.

One fine spring day (it's over ten years ago no - depressing) I decided to take the morning off school and got the bus into the town to have a dander about and a few cigs. I was walking past City Hall and try to squeeze a wee fart out only to find I'd squeezed a bit too hard and got more than I bargained for.

Fortunately the is a Burger King facing the City Hall, so I waddle over and up threee flights of stairs to the toilets where I cleaned up as much as I could. Unfortunately the boxers were beyond repair and had to go into the nearest bin and the back of my trousers were stained through. My school uniform was black so nothing was visible but it felt rather uncomfortable. I had the brilliant idea of going down to the nearest Primark and getting new trousers. I walked the brief journey as quickly as I could to said shop where i lifted a pair of new trousers and went to try them on.

I put said new pair on and put my stained trousers back over the hanger and walked out of the changing rooms fresh as a daisy. The assistant offered to take, what they thought were their trousers back, but since I was being such a gentleman I said no and left my stained trousers back on the rack and quickly got the bus to school free of shit.

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Nick

Nick

Posted
Posted

Where's the five minutes of fame come in???

Another month has passed, time to take a look at one of your posts to see if today's the day you demonstrate you are grown up enough to come off 'block', after all, it is Christmas.

It's still not that day.

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EnderbyFox

EnderbyFox

Posted
Posted

Last night I left work full of Christmas cheer as it was my last day for a couple of weeks. I was also full of mince pies, wraps and some tongue tingling samosas that were brought in to work on account of it being many peoples last day.

As the little hand edged (much too) slowly towards the number 5 I failed to recognise the stark warning that my body gave in the form of a 6 on the richter scale rumble. Not extraordinary but definitely noteworthy. Unfortunately I failed to take heed of the warning, logged off and made for the exit under the belief that I would make it home before shedding my innards like an overturned lorry on a dual carriageway. As I got in the car I felt another rumble but this one was accompanied by an internal shift as things began to slide, much like a bookshelf snapping under the weight of a heavy tome. I was in trouble. I naively thought that if I stay still and just move my ankles and arms I would get out of this sticky situation with both my dignity and my work trousers unsoiled.

I knew what was to come, but it didn’t stop me praying to god, allah, Buddha and the rest of the gang that traffic around Burleys Way would be minimal at 5.10PM but not one of those ingrates helped me out. Of course they didn’t, why would they? The traffic lights confirmed that lady luck was not smiling upon me either and her bitch of a sister had me firmly in her cold stare, but despite this adversity I made it home in one piece. Having fumbled with my keys like a swaying drunkard I negotiated my way into the house under the knowledge that I am like a house of cards, one false move that the whole thing collapses. 10 steps to climb. IM HOME AND DRY…LITERALLY. 8 steps. I MADE IT. 6 steps. YOU CAN DO IT OLD BOY. I was already congratulating myself and the upper lip chewing wince was forming into a self satisfied grin. 4 steps.

WHAT THE FUCCCCCKKKKKKK!! I trip. I lurch forward and sprawl across the last three steps. Disaster. OH JESUS NO. it has happened. I have done the unthinkable. IVE SHAT MYSELF. I am a grown man with a house and a girlfriend who lives with me and ive shat myself. I’ve done something that hasn’t happened since that dark day at nan’s house when I was 6. OH CHRIST. I can only imagine what I looked like, laying face down on the top 3 stairs with my satchel still over my shoulder and a distraught look upon my face but that look didn’t last long. Another problem was rearing its ugly head. My girlfriend was in the house. A woman who loves and respects me could at any minute walk out of a room and see me at my lowest ebb. SHIT. But wait, is that you lady luck? It’s about time, where the hell were you on the A6?!?! The patter of water hitting the bottom of the shower tells me that my other half has just got in. That gives me approximately 7 minutes to make sure this sad tale has something of a happy ending. I manage to clean myself up, put the incriminating evidence in a bin bag and dump it in the neighbours wheelie bin and change into something a little less shit stained before the good lady emerges from the shower.

I shared this anecdote with my mates and each of them were touched, even inspired by my unflinching honesty and dug out some stories that they repressed where they fell victim to the human body’s stubbornness to unload when it damn well pleases regardless of your location. I consider myself and my mates to be your usual football loving, pie munching, booze supping gentlemen and not gimps who need to be wearing nappies for the next time they shit themselves in public so can only assume others have similar stories.

Anyone care to share?

Best first post ever?

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