At a house party at a mate’s house, and properly pi55ed, me and my girlfriend decided to have some fun in a bedroom, and once we were done, we went and rejoined the party without a second’s thought. A couple of days later I was informed by the mate that his mum had cleaned out that room, found a condom on the floor, and used some toilet roll to pick it up. Thing is, in my drunken state I must have forgotten to tie it up, so when it was picked up by my mate’s mum the contents came out onto her hand. 😳

Booked in for the snip. On the instructions was ‘shave’.

So I did.

Laid on the ‘slab’ and the Dr commented how been ‘bald’ was becoming more popular. I said, but it said to shave.

Yes he said, pointing to my sacks, just this bit…

High fives baldy snip buddy.

Oh
Eh
Ahem

Meeting MIL for the first time which happened to be Xmas and staying over. Arguments ensue and wife and I take to the hotel to see the New Year in, I get drunk, get argued at by a Scillonian Nationalist. We retreat to streets to order food, wind up with takeout phal curry (stealth named ‘bangalore’ for some reason)

Wife too gets drunk, ends up doing handstands in the guest lobby with a mad mare from Bristol who henceforth pursues her company for entire evening. We end up locked in our hotel room with door locked to very friendly Bristolian woman who keeps trying the door from other side and giggling and we have no escape, just the curry. My Phal is monstrously stupid hot so bad I think am dying from inside out but I refuse to be beaten, nothing to drink, don’t have napkins nor even have bog roll so blow my nose and wipe tears on the cold naan bread as I stuff it all down just in time to welcome it back.

HNY.

Probably being dragged out of a gents toilet by my shoes .
Im not proud
I was probably 22 or 23 . Drank 2 bottles of red wine. Decided to be sick so went to toilets. Must have fallen asleep as my mates came to look for me and could see my shoes just inside the locked toilet door.

Fearing that I had passed out and knocked myself out on the bog they grabbed an ankle each and pulled me out on my face , but it was Tenerife so the toilet was spotless, uuhhhmmmm.

Had to be put to bed by my housemate having consumed a bottle of Southern Comfort and he found me cuddling the bowl in our rental house.
Cant even remember her name now.

Not drunken, but the lowest point of my teenage life had to be while racing the Trans-Pennine kayak race along the Leeds-Liverpool canal. Stupid o’clock in the morning, suffering a few saddle sores, waddling along the towpath at one of the pages with shorts round the knees while one of my support crew slaps Sudocreme on my behind and a banana in my mouth simultaneously. Fortunately he got the two the right way round…

globalti – Member
Let me see…. no…. no…. I definitely can’t think of a low spot im my life, it’s all such a disaster.

^ This

Today’s been good though. Was fully intending to cycle to work for the first time this year, but the combination of a very early (5.30) start and a dodgy weather forecast was enough for me to swallow the self-loathing and drive. I did at least remember to check (and top up) the oil for the first time since buying the car.

Oddly, this seemed to make it run worse, not better. Cue the dawning realisation that I couldn’t remember replacing the oil filler cap, moments before the “Check engine” warning light appeared on the dashboard! Think it might be borked. Bugger.

Second year at the big school, last minute rush to catch the bus. Sitting on the bus I began to notice my feet felt odd. I looked down in horror to see my dads slippers. The day didn’t go well.

I think it’s time for me to tell you about my experience in the public toilet in Karachi airport. I was queueing to check in for a very early flight to Lahore when I got that runny guts feeling so I left my laptop case with my agent and hurried off to find the bogs. The terminal was absolutely brand spanking new and the men’s bogs were gleaming marble, spotless, beautiful and attended by a young Pakistani boy who was going round with a mop and rag, really proud of his new job as sweeper in the newest and most beautiful toilet in Pakistan.

Unfortunately though some dirty so-and-so had been standing on the seat, which was covered in dirty wet shoe prints. So not wanting to sit down I dropped my keks and just bent over and hurriedly let rip. Slowly it began to dawn on me that I wasn’t hearing the expected sound of hot liquid pouring into the pan so I turned to investigate and discovered to my horror that the whole lot had shot out horizontally, hit the wall in a burst and was dribbling down over the pipework and spreading across the floor like runny gravy. What to do? I performed my ablutions and did my best to clean up with the water hose but in the end had no choice but to leave most of the suppurating mess slowly spreading out across the marble like the waste from Chernobyl.

I felt terrible as I washed my hands and as I left the men’s room I looked back to see the sweeper who had reached my trap and opened the door; I watched as his jaw dropped in horror and he looked up at me in disbelief… all I could do was shrug with a weak smile and make that universal “sorry” gesture and leave him to clean up. Now I know how the French make such a mess in campsite squatters….

😆

The first night at the student union having worked my charm on a particularly nice lady I got the invite back. Thought I’d show her some of my wannabe porn star moves. I literally dropped her on the back of her head. It took the edge off a great night to be fair 😳

Fueled the car up ahead of a jaunt up the M1 from London to Sheffield to visit some mates for the weekend. Not paying attention I didn’t slow down with the pump as the tank made the almost full gurgling sound resulting in backwash of unleaded spurting all over the crotch of my khaki combats before the auto shut off valve on the pump clicked in. Paid for fuel smelling like I drink petrol and looking like I’d pissed myself. No matter i thought, let’s get on the road and the trousers will dry out. The smell of the petrol in the car was preferable to the torrential rain outside, so left the windows up. Just past Watford gap I lit a cigarette, the spark igniting the petrol fumes leading to some alarming high speed lane changing on the M1 with my ‘gentlemans area’ on fire. Pulled onto the hard shoulder and leapt out of the car to exstinguish the blaze very much focused on the task at hand. Moments later I found myself having a very awkward conversation with my be nice traffic officer, who had seen my erratic driving, as to why I was standing next to one of the busiest roads in the uk slapping myself in the balls with one hand, whilst pouring water over my groin with other, screaming ‘oh that’s better’ with the smell of burnt pubes hanging in the air

My best mate from school came back from uni with the young lady he was trying to impress into bed.

We all went out, and had too many drinks. I ended up snogging his intended girlfriend. When we came up for air, she said rather breathlessly “Chris won’t be happy about this”.

I looked over her shoulder and said ” You can turn round and ask him?”

😳

He’s still my best mate. Neither of us married her.

Big snow and ice. 16 years old, ride sports moped to shop 4 miles on untreated roads (feeling v pleased with myself). Come back to bike, set off up road to a sharp corner which happens to have local ner-do-wells hanging around. Close throttle to find it’s iced up. End up in big heap. At least the engine kept running so I just about escaped..

^^^ 😯 ^^^

I’ve been lucky thus far (if you skip projectile puking all over a newly opened fast food place aged about 6 and aa good few comedy SPD moments).

The best one I’ve witnessed so far was a mate approaching a rather attractive lady at a gig with:
“So, Where did your sexy friend go?”
“Pardon?”
” Your sexy friend… The wee blonde lass…”
“Oh, you mean my daughter…”

Not as bad as some but on the way home from my parents with the family the boys (ages 7 and 9) say they need the loo. Just coming up to services so pull in grateful that it’s just before and not just after like it normally is. So I take the boys into the loo and both say they need a poo. Ok older one ok on his own. Younger one just needs a double check that job done properly. So I hang around outside the cubicle keep asking if he’s finished. Eventually done and checked – all ok. Older one comes out and asks how to flush. They are hands free flush sensors. I tell him to how to do it. The younger one has washed his hands. Just then the cleaner is coming up checking the cubicles. Older one flushes. Cue swirling maelstrom of poo and paper going nowhere. He says what do we do? I look at cleaner one away. Younger one shouts “LETS GET OUTTA HERE,!!” And runs. We have no choice but to follow him at the exact moment the cleaner first notices the destruction and stench left behind. Not my proudest moment.

Making a delivery to a well know brands main shop in the centre of Chester where I knew the manageress, On entering the shop asking one of the girls “so wheres Sarah the lazy cow? (Not delivered to the shop in a few months but had previously delivered there on a daily basis for the last 18 months a report had been struck )

To be met with floods of tears and the words she passed a few days ago … never felt sooo bad

Late teens and I turned up at the pub one lovely summer’s evening on my Honda 550-four (it was a while ago). All the young dudes are sat outside on the grass with their beers and smokes. I think I’m James Dean, I’m cool and I’m on it. Rev the engine, kill the ignition, flick the side stand down and hop off the bike all in one smooth action. Saunter towards the pub and then hear the crash of metal on tarmac as the bike topples over – side stand hadn’t gone all the way down. Makes me blush even now!

Christmas two thousand and summink.. I’d been out on it for a week or two

Went to my cousin’s place for the big family Christmas lunch and was made to sit in the garden away from the children to eat my dinner

It got worse after Hogmany when I arrived home after further partying to find the only thing in the fridge was a couple of mackerel fillets marinated in lemon and chilli that had been there for more than a good few days..
I was very very hungry, probably suffering alcohol poisoning and dehydration too, so I stuck the mackerel under the grill and waited impatiently for them to cook..
10 minutes later I realised that the grill had been on it’s lowest setting but I could wait no longer and scoffed ’em double quick..

I spent the next two days sat in the bath crying out of every orifice, wishing for a swift death (which I’m sure wasn’t far away at all)

Obviously not anywhere near my lowest point but we’re keeping it light hearted so I’ll leave it there 🙂

I used to live on a farm in the hills above Machynlleth, a really lovely spot. The ‘flat’ I had was a cow byre that had been converted to be holiday accommodation but was done so shoddily that the Tourist Board wouldn’t allow it. So I got it instead 🙂 Lots of shortcuts had been made during the conversion, including making the stairs up to the Heidi-loft bed platform out of skinny old floorboards nailed together. None of the treads were the same width, the whole thing flexed like a flexy thing in a gale…

For some reason, my lovely mum had given me a ‘wee-willy winky’ style nightshirt and cap, in fetching red and white, my gf had the same too, we looked just so… ..special.

Waking that morning I got out of bed, stumbled blearily to the stairs, slipped on a cat sh!t one of the farm cats had left for us over night (WTF!!!) and slammed my full weight onto the top step of the stairs. Which collapsed, deck of cards style, leaving the nails sticking out to drag the nightshirt up my body and gouge and lacerate my sides and legs.

Covered in cat mess and bleeding like a stuck pig I landed with a thud downstairs where I had thoughtfully stored a fan heater. Three pin plugs are really difficult to remove from your heel once embedded there.

That is funny :

EDIT what’s even funnier is that it took me long enough to read the page that my comment about gavin’s funny kid story ends up looking like I am laughing at Ambrose and his severe injury.

My gf was in stitches- until she had to climb down the remains of the blood and sh1t covered stairs. 🙁

A friend and I were in the shop we worked in watching the world go by, an attractive young lady was approaching the store, my friend noticed her and her figure and started exclaiming how nice she was and how good her assets were, quite a lot. He suddenly went very quiet, I asked if he was ok to which he answered “that’s my sister”. She then came in the shop.

I was on a MTB holiday in Morzine with Endless Ride about 12 years ago. Ive never been much of a drinker, so doing lots of it at altitude on the first night was a very bad idea and I was rat-arsed early, so the two Kiwi lads who I’d gone out with carried me back to the chalet and dumped me in bed. I woke up the next morning in the wrong room, naked from the waist down. I assumed the lads had had a joke and dropped me there so I went back to my room, dressed and went downstairs.

Halfway through breakfast Sian (I think it was Sian) comes in to announce there was shit all over the balcony. And a pair of underpants, also covered in shit. Everyone at the table was looking at me and in a blinding flash, everything came flooding back.

I’d woken up about 2am needing a squat but being drunk and disoriented Id mistaken the toilet door for the room door and headed out into the hallway. Lost and in an increasing panic, Id opened most of the other guests’ rooms and been turned away, till I found my way onto the balcony, dropped my dacks and curled one out. A big one. I wiped my bum with my undies, went back into the hallway and managed to find the only empty room in the chalet, where I passed out once again.

Once the laughter died down, I went and cleaned up the balcony and then, with the deepest and most profound shame, offered to pack my bags. Thankfully Sian and Gareth were very understanding and unreservedly accepted my apology. Ive never forgiven myself though.

Had to take a stool sample to the Doctors, I sheepishly handed it to the receptionist for her to tell me I had stuck the wrong sticker on it so she’d have to print another. I felt rather awkward watching her struggling to peel the sticker off a transparent poo pot full to the brim of my own liquid sample so offered to do it while she went to the printer for the correct sticker.

She handed it back to me but as she did I managed to drop it, I tried to cushion the blow from the floor by sticking my foot out but instead I half volleyed it across the floor of the (full) waiting room. Cue me chasing a pot of my own shit round the waiting room only for it to be handed back to me by my next door neighbour of all people.

We move out next week.

Another one to entertain Fred..

Me and my mates had spent a long hot early 90s summer on the meth and come the end of it we needed to get away..
So we robbed one of our more sadly deluded crew members who had made a little dough from our exploits, and decided to sail to a South Devon town to spend our ill-gotten gains on coke and hookers..

First we would need to steal a boat, and spotting a suitable candidate in the estuary we clambered aboard to await high tide, enthusiastically eulogising about our exciting future..
After many hours, once darkness had fallen, we came to the sad conclusion that our chosen vessel was moored above the tideline, and upon realising this we looked at other aspects of our plan in more detail, only then noticing that the town we had been about to set sail for was actually landlocked and unreachable by sea..
We sullenly traipsed back to the squat with our tails between our legs to explain our treachery to those we had left behind..

We were beaten up and evicted the following week in an unrelated incident 🙁

I cannot compete with this masterful performance

Midget olympics.
Midget steeplechase.

I really cant say any more.

I was fortunate enough at uni to have a lot of friends, but they fell into two quite distinct categories who never really mixed:

Day to day mates: People with whom I spent most of my time. They liked beer and were reliable. I could hold my own in this group.

‘Cool’ mates: They’d start the weekend on Thursday night and finish it on Tuesday morning. Clubbing. Lots and lots of narcotics. The prettiest girls were part of this group. It was quite important to stay relevant in order to be included in the next round of misdeeds (not because you’d be purposely left out, just they’d forget to invite you).

I was happy spanning the middle ground between these two groups, but whereas I had no need make my presence known in the first of the groups, if an opportunity arose in which I could show off a bit to the second group, I’d try and take it.

In my third year, I lived next door to our local pub (literally next door, you could almost pass a pint from the beer garden to our back yard). It had been a very heavy Saturday night and come Sunday afternoon, I was sitting on the flat roof of our kitchen having a recovery smoke in the sunshine. You accessed the roof via my housemate’s bedroom window. She was away.

I became aware of my trendy clubbing mates entering the beer garden. Almost everyone from the night before was there, and the camaraderie of drugs kicked in, we needed to get the party going again. Get us a pint, I’ll see you in a minute guys.

I climbed back in the window to my housemate’s room, and saw she had a top hat and cane. I have absolutely no idea why. I decided they would make a great prop and allow me to make a big entrance in front of my cool mates. Down the stairs, out the door and round the corner, top hat on, cane in my hand.

As I walked into the beer garden, I sang “The minute he walked in the joint… bom BOM” and kicked up a leg, raising the hat from my head, cane under my arm, damn, I looked awesome.

Thing is, after a couple of nights of drugs and alcohol, bowel control isn’t at its best, so as I kicked my leg out – bom BOM – the act of raising my leg also relaxed the poo management zone, and I violently and audibly shat myself.

Luckily, it wasn’t far to waddle home for a shower and a change of clothes. Strangely, they’d all left the pub by the time I made it back to the beer garden.

global, I too have shat myself transparent in Karachi airport bogs. It’s all part of the experience.

First ever lesson as a trainnee teacher – doing about meteor impacts – show a dramatic clip with music playing as a CGI meteor hits earth – big tough lad from the class gets up – tells me he has to go and runs out.

Next day the head of student support comes to see me – turns out I played the main song from his dads funeral the previous week.

@Easygirl

Had a morris marina with a sidepipe on when I was 17

You could have stopped your story right there….

So many stories about poo, I think I’ve been lucky…

My story isn’t half as chucklesome in comparison. Riding home from work one evening, near Aston university. Approaching a pub with a beer garden full of students, I approach a very high kerb and instead of lofting the front wheel and popping effortlessly up I (don’t ask me why) take one hand off the bars and switch my lights on instead and ride square into the kerb and over the bars. All credit to the punters in the beer garden as they kept their laughter to themselves until I was out of sight and seemed at least partly concerned as to my welfare. I couldn’t get out of there quick enough… 😳

Drinking in the park on a summer sunny day as a student in Glasgow and going for a pee in some bushes. Slipped in what I thought was a muddy puddle – didn’t occur to my inebriated brain that it hadn’t rained in a week or so. Came out of bushes covered in mud, which my mates then pointed out to me was mainly piss-based and stinking.

Still ended up going to the dancing that night (after a very long shower)!

I would just like to thank the contributors of the thread for cheering me right up.

Many years ago a girlfriend and I lived in the middle flat in a converted Edwardian townhouse. Lovely exposed wooden floorboards throughout. I went out on the lash with some mates one evening, rolled in at some ungodly hour, managed to find my way into bed.

Next morning I woke up and even before I opened my eyes I knew someone had been sick. Took a few more seconds to work out that it must have been me… It was on the pillows, the duvet, the sheets. I had dried sick on my face and in my hair. Oozing class.

Turns out that I had yacked in my sleep, partly in the bed but mostly I had managed to get my head over the side and hit the floor. The lovely floorboards. With the gaps between the boards.

So I spent a miserable morning pulling up floorboards to clean it all up. Luckily there was a decent amount of insulation which was remarkably absorbent, so I was spared the humiliation of having it leak into the downstairs flat 😳

Not my finest hour, but luckily my girlfriend had low standards and wasn’t put off (we have now been married ten years) 8)

Was on holiday with my folks and my best mate as a teenager and had been at cafe in the village playing pool with my mate and my two brothers. It was Easter Sunday.
About a minute after we left I realised i’d left my wallet in the pool room so we turned the car back and my older brother parked on the opposite site of the busy road from the cafe.
I jumped out of the car and waited ages for a gap in the traffic.
When there was a gap I dashed across the road and ran in between a parked car and a pickup.
What my brothers and my mate had seen from the car, which I had failed to notice, was the towrope stretched taut between these two vehicles. I barrelled into the rope, went arse over teakettle and face planted right onto the corner of the kerb.
I picked myself up, assessed the damage, spat out one tooth, wrenched another two straight, retreived the wallet and returned to the car to find them helpless with laughter at my humiliation.
This wasn’t the lowest moment however…. on return to my parents caravan, my mum listened to the tale, inspected the damage in my ruined mouth and instead of sympathy for my plight offered me these words instead…

“Here, have a Creme Egg, It’ll maybe straighten your greetin’ face”

I remember a time at Uni when my mate paul and I were really on on our uppers, no cash and no prospect of it for a long time to come. We had exhuasted all avenues, overdraft, loans, fraudulent applications to the hardship fund claiming alcoholism/drug dependency (not all that far from the truth), even bouncing cheques to cash in the students union… at the lowest point in a gesture of camaraderie I leant Paul my last emergency tenner to get some food to last him out till the next loan instalment came through. This gave me a warm sense of wellbeing and pride in my humanitarian instincts which was as well cos I couldn’t put any money in the meter for heating. Buoyed by generosity I went for a walk around campus to see what other good works my fellow students we busy with. Strolling past the onsite bar eaterie I notice my ‘comrade’ merrily chatting to some of our other friends at a table. I deceide to pop in to say hello. As I entered Paul looked up and suddenly seemed abashed at my unexpected arrival, which he **** well should because the **** had spent my last absolute emergency tenner on steak and **** chips. ****.

One low event was when I was living in Taiwan. I was sitting outside at a local restaurant with some other friends eating when the owner’s baby son toddles over to us, squats and does an enormous dump next to our table and wanders off. Before anyone of us could come out of our shocked state one of my dogs (I rescued two from the streets whilst I lived there) jumped up and ate it all up. Put us all off our food that night!

Once after a night out at university, somewhat worse for wear and eye rolling, sitting in someone’s living room.

For some reason, I don’t know where this came from or how it lodged itself in my mind, I decided that the best way to get rid of the most annoying character in the room was to puke milk all over him. Why this seemed like an appropriate action to take, in a half mate’s, someone I sort of knew living room I don’t know.

I walked about 1 mile to the nearest 24hour garage. Bought the largest bottle of milk I could, 2 litres? walked back to the house, went inside where it was starting to quieten down. There was maybe a dozen or so people I knew, and probably another half a dozen who were close mates.

Steve was still being at tool, and was his usual loud lairy self, and never did fit in with the ambiance of the room.

I premade myself a large bong, asked the people closest to me if Steve was still annoying them, the usual rolled eyes said it all to me, so I stood up, opened the milk downed all of it, walked towards Steve, and with what felt like a whole cow in my stomach, and proceeded to projectile vomit milk all over him.

I then sat down and smoked my bong. Nobody really knew what to do at that point, Steve was in shock, people were rolling around laughing, the house owner was not so, as I had just puked milk all over his fabric sofa, bean bag and carpet.

I was escorted out the door, a couple of mates walked me home, mainly in silence as they still couldn’t really believe I had just puked milk everywhere, and not much more was said about it. I paid for the sofa and carpet to be cleaned, and Steve, well he continued to be a knob.

It was a definite low point, as for the life of me I have no idea what made me think it was an acceptable thing to do. Or how I managed not to get a beating for it.

—

Another time, a fellow called Jock , had fallen asleep, he was a tosser, he used to be locked outside the living room after a night out as he always wanted to fight people, nice enough guy when sober, not so when pissed. I seem to recall once having to handcuff him to a radiator he was so bad.

He had come into the living room, kicked over the skinning up tray, knocked over a table with bongs, booze and gear on it and passed out on the sofa.

For being such a twunt, we decided to do the Rizla burn trick, where you stick a Rizla to someone, when they are passed out and set fire to it. Hilarious it was, a small Rizla here, a king size there, Jock waking up slapping the burning Rizla out, and being left with little red lines on his arms before passing out again.

Well we got a bit carried away, sticking them together to make longer ones, and giant ones. How we all chuckled and laughed. The most sensible of us,James, left the room to make tea, at which point it got out of hand, with rizlas stuck to Jocks face being lit, Jock slapping himself in the face while passed out, and us laughing harder.

James, the most sensible of tea makers returned just as we were sticking bits of A4 paper between Jocks toes and about to burn the paper as we had run out of rizla.

I still remember the look on his face and the “Howay lads, thats **** ing torture there” followed by “you burnt his face!!!! That is going to scar!”

And it did. We were reminded of it every time we saw Jock afterwards, with this little scar about two inches long down his left cheek. He didn’t come out with us much after that either.

One the weirdest things I ever did and I have no idea why I thought it would be a good idea even now.
I still feel shame.
I was probably 9 or 10 living in Calgary for 6 months whilst my dad was on sabbatical to the University.
It was winter and it had been snowing. There was this big modern Catholic church which we went past on the way to school. I got it into my head that I wanted to kick one of the church windows in. So in broad daylight I did it and got busted.
Theres not much in my life that im truly ashamed of, but thats one of them.

Sorry, its not funny, just needed to share.