Motorbikes
When I was a wee slip of a lad 10ish, I had my very own 50cc monster that I used to keep at a friend's farm and he and I would scream around like pre-pubescent Evil Kinevles all holidays long.

One balmy summer he had his cousin staying and he was, in short, a complete twathammer and commandeered my mate's bike and set off for what looked like a patch of crusted over mud. Maybe because of the helmet or the exhaust note sounding like demented wasp he didn't hear our warning.

He got halfway across when the crust cracked and he started slowing down as the front wheel sank into the slurry pit he had just ridden into, as his momentum slowed, his balance failed and he went head first into 2 foot of fermenting cow shit. We were pissing ourselves with laughter as he slowly emerged looking like the creature from the shit lagoon, we then made him wade back in to attach a rope to the bike so we could tow it out.

Then to top it off, his aunty made him stand in the farm courtyard in his pants so she could hose him down all the time my mate and I are pissing ourselves so hard that I'm sure I shot vimto out of my nose.
(Speshal, Fri 18 Dec 2009, 12:30, Reply)