Embarrassing tales to waste your time

[The Enigmatic Dr X]

My brother once went out with his girlfriend's family (brother, sister, parents) to an Indian Restaurant. They were celebrating her dad's 50th. A lot of drink was consumed, and both her dad and my brother had the hottest curry available. They all then spent the night at her parent's house. (He slept on the couch).

Anyway, next morning he wakes up to find that he urgently needs to make a deposit in the porcelain bank, if you get my drift - the curry from the night before is back with a vengance. Problem is, there is only one bathroom... and her dad is in it with the same problem as my brother.

Frantic pounding on the door ensues, but to no avail - her dad can't move because he is copiously releiving himself.

With nothing left to do, my brother has to form a little pouch with his underpants and then do his business. He throws the resulting mess out of a window, only for it to stick on the kitchen window sill.

They all have breakfast -  a good old fashioned fry up to clear their heads. It gets a bit smokey and the window is opened.

The resulting breeze brings with it an overpowering aroma of freshly deposited jobbie.

He gets married in April, to someone else. Think I should mention this in the best man speech? (No, I won't - don't worry!)

[Matt Timson]

I almost can't believe that I'm so willing to gain the Trout's favour that I feel it necessary to relive another painful moment from my past that still haunts me to this day....

Obviously, this story involves alcohol, as all the most humiliating stories tend to.  When I was nineteen, back in the halcyon days of 1990, I had the misfortune of working for my Dad- who's ok in his own way, but nothing at all like me really.  I should explain that as I've never actually lived with my Dad, working for him was an opportunity to get to know him a bit and was, I suspect, a bit of an eye opener for us both.  

He owns and runs a garage and body repair shop (that's cars and stuff as opposed to bionic refits) and at the time, I was mainly engaged in the bodywork side, so I tended to always look like I'd been sleeping rough for a few days as I never bothered with overalls, but tended to just wear my knackered old clothes.  Again, as with the last humiliating story, this not too important sounding detail will make more sense later on.

Cut an exceptionally long story a little bit shorter- a celebration was in order one summer afternoon, for reasons I'll not go into, and Dad brought out a couple of crates of beer that he kept out the back for just such emergencies.  At this time, I hadn't drunk beer or lager for a couple of years (a whole new tale of pain and anguish in itself) and I was a bit of a cider drinker.  Thankfully, these days have long since passed and I now drink my lager, as any self-respecting lout should.  Anyway, I felt a bit left out, not being able to stomach the beer, so my Dad kindly produced a bottle of gin from his secret stash of booze and told me to go and buy myself a mixer from the garage.  I came back with a big bottle of Orangina and proceeded to pour myself several hefty slugs.  It tasted like somebody had poured aftershave into my fizzy pop- but I was desperate to be one of the boys and pretty soon, didn't much care what it tasted like- I even started to like it once the initial need to retch had passed.

And so it went.  The afternoon rolled on, I swore at some poor fool who rang to find out where his car had got to- I weed on my Dad's leg as he attempted to fix the chain on the toilet I had incapacitated only moments earlier by clutching on to it for dear life.  How we laughed!  Eventually, my Dad's patience wore a little thin and he suggested that I leave work early (it was about 4.30 and all the gin and Orangina had been drunk).  I made it as far as the corner of the road before falling into a deep sleep on a bench, only to be awoken some indeterminable time later by one of Dad's grease monkeys who was on his way home for the night.  This kind soul put me on the bus to town, where I could catch a bus home to my sleepy little village of Fleckney.

My next major error was to not head straight for the bus station, but go instead to my nearest comic shop to see a mate that ran the place- mainly because I quite fancied one of the girls he had working for him.  Thankfully, the shop was now closed; otherwise somebody might have listed me as their "scariest fanboy moment" elsewhere on the board.  After trying the door several times, both pulling and pushing, I gave it a few solid kicks before falling over and deciding that it might actually be shut.  It was at this point that I realised I might in fact be a bit worse for wear and decided it would be for the best if I was to head for the bus station and home.

I was now acutely aware that not only did I smell like a crazy homeless type, but I also looked the part- due in no small part to my attire of torn jeans, smeggy trainers and moth eaten old jumper- all of which were covered in various splodges of paint and dirt (I'm pretty sure it was a Thursday, which meant that I'd been wearing them all week).  I was also clutching a plastic bag that held my sandwich box as though my very life depended on it and was probably wearing a look of steely determination in the face of adversity that more than likely translated more along the lines of "p*ssed out of head- attempting to retain some dignity".

After what seemed to be an eternity of stumbling and people crossing the street to avoid me, I made it to the bus station- only to find that all the day busses were gone and that I was now on the night service- i.e. 6.30, 9.30 and 11.00.  It was about 6.45.  Whilst cursing the comic shop excursion and wondering what to do for the best, I lost my grip on the precious sandwich box and as I bent down to retrieve it; I accidentally kicked it away from me.  I did this several times until one kind lady picked it up for me and asked me if I was all right.  I lied, said that I was and told her that I needed to make a phone call before lurching off, trying not to breathe on her as I thanked her for her concern.  I tried ringing people- difficult when you can barely count your hands and you need to remember long numbers.  I also only had pound coins on me (remember, this was in the days when mobile phones had suitcases attached to them), which made it expensive as well.  First port of call was my girlfriend- although I don't know why, because she was in London and I was in Leicester and there was very little she could actually do for me.  Maybe I was just practising- I can't really remember to be honest.  By this time, I was little more than a dribbling moron and my legs kept ignoring the signals from my brain and buckling underneath me.  Fortunately, the phone cord was made of pretty sturdy stuff and managed to take my weight quite admirably, although it did mean that I was spinning around and banging against the wall a lot.  It was at about this time that I became aware of two men standing at either side of me.  Turns out that they were security and wanted me to leave.  Thankfully, they agreed to speak to my girlfriend, who assured them that I had never done anything like this before and she implored them to keep me safe until the 9.30 bus.  I also managed to ring my mum at some point and explain to her my predicament.  She wanted to come and fetch me, but I insisted that I was fine and that I was with friends and would catch the next bus.  

Unfortunately, she believed me.

Now.  The story doesn't quite end here, but there is a big gap.  The last thing I remember is the bit with the two security guys (although actually, one of them was a cleaner).  The next thing I remember is waking up- more lying down than actually sitting- on a toilet, in a cubicle of what I assumed was the bus station.  I was a bit confused to be honest, as I had no recollection of even needing the toilet- much less locking myself into the cubicle.  There was a smell.  A sickly smell.  The smell was me.  I was drenched in regurgitated Orangina- you could still see the itty-bitty orange bits.

Sadly, I had also wet myself.

I emerged from the cubicle and washed my face and neck as best as I could- dimly aware of some activity going on behind me.  I looked, only to see the cleaner swilling out the sick from the cubicle I'd just vacated and I remember thinking "the poor sod, some dirty b*stard's puked in the bog and now he has to clean it all up", but failing to make the connection with this and my being drenched in sick.

Eventually, the bus pulled up and I got on it.  The driver, a woman, looked at me with disdain.  I had toyed with the idea of simply stating my destination and handing over the money as if nothing was amiss, but felt that something needed to be said, so I apologised for the state that I was in and told her that I desperately needed to get home.  Her expression didn't alter, but at least she took my money.  I made my way to the top deck and promptly fell fast asleep, it being a good forty five minutes to Fleckney.

Interesting point about Fleckney's bus service- it runs in a loop.  It drives for miles and miles around all the surrounding villages before hitting Fleckney and turning round to head back for Leicester.  Which was where I woke up.  We pulled into the station and I thought that there was something wrong with the bus before putting two and two together.  It was very much like being in Hell.  All I wanted was to get home!
Fortunately, the driver took pity on me and didn't make me pay again- which was lucky as I had no more money to give her- and this time, I actually got off in Fleckney- although sadly, I managed to forget my sandwich box and could only weep for its loss as it made the lonely journey back to Leicester without me...

My Mum wasn't best pleased with my Dad, I can you that for nothing.

[damnandblast]

"you could still see the itty-bitty orange bits."

A masterpiece, Mr Eyebrows!

Nigel

[MOONSHINE]

Didn't involve me per say, this proud moment belongs to my brother.

My bro's lying in his scratch after a night on the town, and my Cousin, who regularly camped out on my bro's floor when his family visited every other weekend or so, had passed out in the usual manner.

Later in the night however said Cuz decided to work up a sneaky midnight hand shandy.

Poor bro woke up to some dubios huffing and puffing, and in dawning horror shouted 'will you just feckin quit it" - just as Cuz hit the vinegar strokes.

Needless to say there are some things that shouldn't be kept in the family.

[Matt Timson]

Cheers- it was all going so well until the last line- when I forgot to include the word "tell".

I feel that I ought to point out that my two tales of woe did take place with a good ten years between them and that I am indeed a reasonably normal bloke who goes out all the time and has a couple of sociable drinks before skipping merrily hojme again.

I've never been able to face gin again though-

Ugh...

[Devons Daddy]

another tale from the says of QE2.

ships have an ice routine which basically means they close all doors in certain seciton with uge metal panels.teh only way out is up, along the deck and down again.
now in one of my often large bouts of alchol i had arranged with my cabin mate to sleep else where,as he would be entertaining a member fo the female crew.and best to him as well.they introduced me to her cabin mate. a lass who we shall describe as a salad avoider,who wore XXL sized clothing.anyway ,
in my drunken haze, which i think she may have helped by keeping the beer glass full. i agreed i would stay the night in her cabin.

on our way back to the cabin, and i was drunk i remind all males here.she asks if have any condoms. which i did not have.

so i happily walk to the 24 hospital onboard and wake the night nurse. and ask for some condoms. she duly informs me she is only supposed to be woken for emergencies.
to which i am told i inform her
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY,:~).
the only real mistake it will later turn out.

i manage to find the XXL ladies cabin.

i awake the next morning to find myself in a the wrong bunk, the wrong cabin ,severly squeezed against the bulk head(wall)naked. in my extreme state of panic, i get out of bed and look out the door.

step outisde, still in a considerable drunken state i might add.
the door closes, i am in the corridor of the female accomadation , NAKED,
the water tight doors are closed. im four blocks from my cabin.
i have to walk up 7 levels, along the promanade deck and abck down seven levels. to my area of accomadation.on route the only item i can find to hide the fact im a NAKED is a life jacket. in bright orange,
i don this. and try to look as natural as possible as i wander down a the luckily deserted promande deck.to the male accomadation.

once there i get to my cabin and awake my cabin mate to let me in.
who i swear to secrecy about my escapade.
sadly the night nurse was less then amused and felt it was funny to tell the entire ward room the incident.which when the officer of the deck heard put two and two togehter to realise the maked passenger wearing nothing but a life jacket on the deck at 5am may well infact the same person.

the jungle drums being what they are.by the time dinner service had commenced the word was out,
i was the the life jacket attired Naked Dragon slayer.
i avoided the crew bar for an entire week. until a college managed to humilate himself to such a high degree which made my escapdes old news.

ahhh the days of sea life.
i truly believe the term worse things happen at sea to be very relevant.

[Trout]

You all thought I'd forgotten this, didn't you?
(I had, but only temporarily)

Many thanks to everyone who humiliated themselves over the last fortnight, especially to those who described drunken embarrassments, which are always entertaining.

However: the runner-up is

Bou, with her women's curse horror. I was pretty freaked out. But don't drink and drive, oh my subjects!

And the grand prize winner, with the new title of Undersea Fool is...


WILS!

For the sheer comedy value in singing Cheggers Plays Pop in a crowded room!

Well done, ridiculous one!

- Your mighty King