For Sale: Foffa Single Speed Custom-built bicycle

Portugal, 2011.

I have 2 incredibly rich friends, the first one's dad owns a very profitable motorcycle company, the other owns a used car company that has a catchy/annoying tune they play on the TV.

We stayed in friend no.1's apartment in Lagos in the algarve for 2 weeks. One night I met a girl at a place called Grand Cafe in Lagos town and we well, hit it off. This girl invited me and my friends back to her house. When I say house I mean mansion. This thing was stupidly big, about 15 bedrooms or so, 3 pools and a huge garage. The girl looked like Audrina form The Hills and in my drunk state, that's what I called her for about 6 hours, but even though I was drunk, I know she was hot as I saw her on the beach the day before when I was sober.

While everyone was partying I took this girl upto one of the bedrooms and once again, we really hit if off. After we had finished playing cluedo, she went for a shower. I was hammered and was starting to feel ill, really ill. I did what I thought was best in that situation, spew up all over her expensive bed, then try to cover it up by putting the covers over it and spew up all over them. As I did this I could hear the shower stopping and her drying herself off, I couldn't find any clothes except my boxers so I slung them on a dashed and for some bizarre reason I took her house keys with me. I ran for my life and was sick in one of the Jacuzzis on the way out, flagged a taxi down just in my boxers and went home to my friends house.

Best part of it was, I went onto Facebook when I got home a week later and had a friend request from her wanting to meet up when she gets back in the UK (this was 3 days after I had puked in her bed, stole her keys and ran away)

Cash back.

What happened next?!!!!!

We've been married a year this week :)

Fuck off. Seriously?

^ Congrats :)

Never been married, seems that's where I went wrong, I didn't puke anybody's bed yet. Unless this only works on females.

According to the boyfriend I've my own style of retching/throwing up. He can, quote, pick me out in a field of people throwing up. See kids, romance isn't dead yet.

SHUT the front door

Haha, kidding.

Another story.

When I was 15 I started year 10, for this I had to change to a 'big' school. I met some new people and one chap in-particular called 'BB'. No idea why we called him that, we just did. BB's Dad used to ride a motorbike with flames down the side, his mum used to make clothing out of pressed flowers and they used to go to didgeridoo festivals, you know the type.

One friday night BB was having a small party in his summer house. His parents where out of town, all was great. We snook into the house at 2am and found some interesting tomato plants, there was only one solution but to roll them up in a rizzla, so we did.

30 minuets later I was baked. Seriously baked, but if we took anymore his parents would know. I had just received my first debit card through the post so I could now draw cash out and pay with my card, little did I know that it was a junior account and my mum received my personal statements through the post, it went a little something like this:

TSB CASH WITHDRAWAL: 10.00
CARD PAYMENT RIZZLA X1: 00.50
CARD PAYMENT LIGHTER X1: 00.98
CARD PAYMENT DORITO CHILI X5 : 04.00

and that's how I got caught..

By this time it was 4am and I didn't have a house key, so I had to sleep round BBs house. The crisps, pizza, chinese, indian takeaway and chips I had eaten earlier really did not feel too good in my stomach, I had to get rid of them. Where? In BBs 18 y/o brothers bed, while he was still in it.

His brother still works at a bar in Leicester, I still can't look him in the eye.

this thread just keeps on giving...

SHUT the front door

The bathroom and bedroom door were both already shut. Yep.

9 years old, I was moved to the naughty table in school for being well eerrrr naughty?

There was a lad who I'd never spoken to even though we had gone to the same school for 4 years, his name was Richard. We became great friends in the whole 3 days I was on this table so I invited him to my house with a few of my other pals from school. We had just had our living room decorated so I had to be on my best behavior...muhahah.

Mum picked us up from school and dropped us off, my sister was looking after us but was busy sunbathing or something so just us lads in the house.
Richard had this bizarre ability to fart on demand. At 9 years old, this was like having a ferrari or a Rolex, it was something everyone else wanted.
We used to play this new game on our new sofa called Crocs which was basically jumping from 1 sofa to another without touching the floor. We told Richard to do it but fart when he was in the air, he did it and it was hilarious.

That day we had sports day so everyone was still in there P.E shorts and richard went from one sofa to the other and farted, but got a little more than he bargained for, he shat. It ran fell out his little red shorts and landed on my brand-new cream carpet.

To this day I have never seen someone cry so much, I still remind him about it.

^^^^I believe the term is that you earned your "brown wings with battle honours".

New jersey honours:

^^^^I believe the term is that you earned your "brown wings with battle honours".

Where I come from, earning your 'Brown Wings' has completely different meaning. Same area, different direction.

There was a craze about 10 years ago for Mini moto bikes and one kid who always used to get everything he wanted was a lad called Jordan. His mum was extremely poor after separating from her husband and her husband used to spoil Jordan to get back at her. Nike shocks, PS2 games, RC planes, you name it. Jordan just rolled up on this Mini Moto one day at the park. We all had BMXs or mountain bikes, being a total badass if you had suspension or gears, but this guy had an engine, he was the shit.

After about 20 minuets of owning this thing, Jordan got a little cocky and started tearing up and down the path as fast as possible. All was good until he fell off and ripped most of his skin off (was wearing shorts and tshirt, probably doing about 25mph). He slipped on the biggest pile of dog shit I have EVER seen. It was all in his hair, down his face, all up his legs and it covered his bike. He went to hospital and never came back to school, I haven't seen him since.

Where I come from, earning your 'Brown Wings' has completely different meaning. Same area, different direction.

Aaaah, the Cleveland Steamer.

Whats the difference between a Cleveland Steamer and a Hot Karl?

The craze for learning to fart-on-demand went round our school.

The technique was to kind of do a shoulder stand, propping your hips with your hands, then just let your arse relax.

Lads were propped round the classroom with their legs in the air, and suddenly you'd hear a wet sucking noise.

"SLUUURP!"

Everyone would giggle.

An arse had inhaled.

Then an almighty ripper would go off to the amusement of all.

"PAAARP!!"

One lad, Glen, couldn't do it. He laughed loudest and just fucking loved it, but he couldn't get the technique right.

"Practice tonight at home, mate. you'll get it right."

So he did.

He adopted the position, relaxed.

Nothing.

He stuck at it, wishing for his arsehole to open and suck in a great bowelful of air, but no joy.

He realised that his trouser belt might be inhibiting his techniques so he stripped off and gave it another go.

"SLUUUUURP!"

He'd done it!

PAAAARP!

Glen was away.

"SLUURP! PAAARP! SLUUURP! PAAARP! SLUUUUURP! PAAARP!!"

Laughing with undiluted glee he blew off great big rippers into the sky.

Then his mum walked in to find her favourite son pointing his gaping, sucking arsehole at her, giggling like a loon, farting madly in her direction.

She took ages to get over it. For some reason she thought this made him gay.

A Hot Karl is when you shit into a sport sock, and then hit your sexual partner across the face with it.

I went to a house party about a year ago in Nottingham. The guy who was having the house party was called Eddy and he was a sound guy, problem with Eddy is that he used to drink a few pints and be off his face, this night was so exception.

We got there are around 11pm and he was hammered on the floor foaming out his mouth, probably about to die but hey, when has alcohol ever hurt anyone?

At around 1am, someone went in his dads room and found some very strange male 'toys', pump up ones, spike ones, big black ones, vibrating ones, you name it.

We did what any normal human being would do and duct tape these toys to Eddy's hands. Lots and lots of duct tape, so he couldn't get them off himself.

To this day his name is still Edward Dildohands..

It was the evening of my graduation ball.

A ball organised by soon-to-be-ex-students that enjoyed a privileged lifestyle of champagne and charlie, and monthly allowances in excess of the average national income.

So it was to be an entirely louche and lavish affair, set in the grounds of a castle, some 40 or 50 miles away from the university town itself.

I barely made it to the last coach to leave town, having dragged myself, bleary-eyed, furry-tongued, muddle-headed and sweat-encrusted, out of some strangers' bed (note the entirely correct use of the apostrophe) at some ungodly hour of the late afternoon, and torn back to my flat to shower, shave, and clothe myself in a blanket of 18oz barathea dinner suit.

Christ, was I dehydrated though. My eyes were still gummed, my tongue was sticking to the top of my mouth, and the inside of my nose was like broken glass. Bottle after bottle of water was drunk (I know, right - starting on the heavy stuff), and vague feelings of humanity, tinged with nausea, returned.

About 10 minutes into the coach trip, I of course needed to pee. Proper leaky-winky, tears-in-my-eyes, can't-sit-still need to pee. So when we arrived at the castle, over an hour later, I was as close to first off the coach as could be, and definitely first to the portaloos set up outside the back of the marquee.

Jacket off, braces down, buttons undone (on the belly-button high trousers), and mini-TW2 is giving big-TW2 the release and relief he has been waiting for for the last 90 minutes.

I think we all know what happens next.

Release and relief are, apparently, contagious, and a 3 day alcohol and substance binge isn't conducive to the finer points of sphincter control.

I shat.

I not only shat, but I literally filled my pants.

3 days of crapulent karma in my kecks.

While standing in a blue plastic box.

In a field.

50 miles away from clean underwear.

At 7pm, among hundreds of my peers, who are all very, very sober at this point.

Even with hindsight, I think I chose the best course of action - Stripping off my top half, and hanging everything out of the way, then putting my shoes and socks on high ground, I started on the more delicate operation of removing my trousers.

At this point, I was not sure of the extent of the damage, and was as relieved as I could be to see that the fallout was minimal (as far as I could tell, against the jet black interior of the trouser). My grunts, on the other hand, had to go.

It's a tension that I had never felt before, and have never felt since - Gingerly poking poopy pants down the flap of a chemical toilet, while standing naked and soiled, having to flush again and again, while a queue can be heard outside hearing inside, willing said pants to fall into a hole that seems to be getting smaller and smaller over time.

The clean-up itself was as practically performed as possible - it was early in the evening, so bog roll was plentiful, and there was even a little soap dispenser and sink.

Still, by the time I walked out of the loo, eyes forward, briskly striding and avoiding looking at anyone or anything, the bog roll was almost non-existent, the soap was depleted, and the sink had a used look to it.

The rest of the evening past as a complete blur - the booze a convenient anti-mnemonic, my shame forgotten until the next afternoon, as I woke bleary-eyed, furry-tongued, muddle-headed and sweat-encrusted, in some stranger's bed, to dress myself in a blanket of 18oz barathea dinner suit.

A suit that smelled unmistakably of shit.
you're my hero!

My brother joined the Metropolitan police force and lived in a section house in Holborn for a couple of years. We went there a few times for some pretty drunken parties, once he threw fire extinguishers into people's bedrooms at about three in the morning and got into quite a bit of trouble.
One night there was a party planned in the common room, and me and my other brother turned up hours too early for some reason and being a bit bored we decided some practical jokes were in order.
We covered all the toilets and the urinals with cling film and removed all but one of the light bulbs so it was really dark.
During the party several people fell victim to the splash back from the urinals, and we were on the lookout for people with damp patches on their trousers. We got quite a few laughs pointing them out, and generally taking the piss, if you'll pardon the pun.
Really late on someone fell victim to the cling film on the toilet, which completely covered the bowl, but below the seat. He must have had one of these explosive episodes, because it went everywhere. His pants and trousers were round his ankles and the shit was all over his legs and clothing. He was discovered by someone who went in for a piss and saw this poor bloke, really pissed, trying to clean himself up, staggering all over the place. The guy that found him burst out laughing and rushed out to tell everyone. Loads of people crowded into the toilets to witness this horrifying spectacle.
I have no idea how this ended, I was fairly certain we had been rumbled, so once we realised we had a victim soiled much more than we bargained for we left and never went back.

Ooh, you reminded me of a barmaid from there I was seing for a while, I used to get in free as I worked behind the bar of the White Horse by the courthouse and we used the same security firm so no queue and in through the back door for free. Speaking of which, after a few months of intimate romance she agreed to let me earn my brown wings. It didn't take me long to take off and land and I had the biggest fucking grin in the world, briefly.

When I withdrew I looked at mini Ramaye and realised that she must have had a very large one in the chamber primed and ready to fire. Gobsmacked and wondering how best to get cleaned up, she fired the rear barrel all over the little fella and his sack of jewels. Fortunately we were at her place so I sprinted to the shower got cleaned up as best I could and went to fix some drinks while she sorted out the mess which was once a nice bedroom.

Later on after a few beers, once the sheets were changed and I knew the chambers were empty, biggles got back in the plane and flew another lap of the aerodrome.
fucking amazing!

a friend did this with another friend, when he withdrew ( with some difficulty), the impacted fecal matter sculpture was akin to a baby's arm clenching an unwrapped chocolate orange

.

cough "a friend" cough

a friend did this with another friend, when he withdrew ( with some difficulty), the impacted fecal matter sculpture was akin to a baby's arm clenching an unwrapped chocolate orange

When you he withdrew did it go pop like some kind of shitty champagne cork?

that was a bonus, yes, erm, apparently...

cling film
You must spread some Reputation around before giving it to adroit again.