» Cougars and Sugar Daddies

Getting a Marshmallow into a Piggybank.
She was 46. I was 21. She had Bowie-esque angled features and a body not ruined by giving birth to her son, my friend, who we shall call Abel.

Outside a kebab shop at Canon Circus, Nottingham, she recognized me from Rock City, as I had spent the night getting hideously drunk with her son. We chatted, and, as is customary in town at 2.30 am early sunday, swiftly got down to tongue-exchange, much to the joy of horn-blowing passing taxis. 'Come with me' she purred,and gestured down Ilkeston Road, where she resided, 'spend the night'. I considered this proposition, weighed it against the fresh, satisfying prospect of eating the kebab I had just purschased...the kebab was binned. I was careful to inform her of this sacrifice. 'Thats romantic', she said demurely, and seemingly without irony.

A night of passion ensued, for about thirty minutes, whereabouts the booze took hold and I passed out, still in the process of a second run, a process akin to stuffing a marshmallow in a piggy-bank. In the morning, I hastily dressed and left, happy that her teeth were still in her mouth, not swimming in a bed-side jar.

For fear of Abel's revenge, I kept away from him and avoided Rock City for several weeks, until in a fit of Thunderbird Red-inspired courage, I ventured in. Instantly, I saw Abel, he saw me, and a game of cat and mouse ensued, ducking through the crowds, down corridors and stairwells to avoid the chunky thug. Then, just as I thought I was safe, he cornered me by the Gents, pushed me against the wall, pulled his head back ready to butt...then kissed me full on the lips and said, in an infantile voice...'Daddy'.
(Tue 9th Dec 2008, 0:25, More)

» The thing I've been most ashamed of doing with a penis

Welsh Horses and Hungry Dogs. NSFW.
Pony trekking in North Wales, aged about 12, with my four year old brother. We're in the courtyard of some stables, and Im idly admiring the semi the chestnut horse has raised, apropos of nothing. As Im watching, a dog toddles over, and employing a technique that suggests this is a practised manouevre, starts licking the cock, which in turn, swells to a tumescent that would render Ron Jeremy inadequate. At that point, my brother walks over, and fearing his corruption, reach over and whack the dog on the muzzle to stop his/her perverted ways. In doing so, I caught the helmet of the horse cock, and got for my troubles a little squirt of equine pre-cum, which I had no chance to wash off before donning riding gloves, and spending the rest of the morning trotting round with a drying horror pressed between suede and flesh, like a spunky Lady Macbeth.

My brother, now 29, remains unscarred. I however, flinch at the Grand National.
(Thu 12th Mar 2009, 23:57, More)

» My Worst Vomit

A royal visit
Early nineties, en route to the pub. My friends and I notice swarms of biddies and police crowding a street, and, after questioning several of the oldies we realise Princess Diana is opening up some medical centre in an hours time. A friend has a great idea to streak in front of her as she arrives, so we go to the pub for dutch courage. Many shorts later and we're pressed against the barriers as a limo appears, and out steps Diana. The promised streaker suddenly gets stage fright and asks if i'll do it, to which I reply forcibly in the negative. In response, he replies forcibly with an upper cut to my kidneys. I gag in response, and then regurgitate a guiness and carrot medley all over several old ladies and the path of the Princess, who gets escorted round the stinking puddle. I swear she gave me a really evil look. And a sweet old lady called me a wanker with such venom she nearly dislodged her dentures.
(Fri 20th Aug 2004, 11:05, More)

» Vandalism

Sending dogs deaf.
Its the mid-eighties, and Playstations are still a twinkle in a Sony engineer's eye. Thus, we had nothing to do, and no money to do it. So an evenings entertainment would be to go up the local council tip located deep in a wood on a country park,and with matches nicked from our parents, set fire to the accumulated council rubbish.

Occasionally, you'd find some aerosol cans that we'd delight in exploding, or some weird pots of solvent that would burn funny colours and make you feel pleasantly scoobied should you get too close. However, one otherwise unpromising Sunday afternoon, we discovered a great, great thing. A huge fridge,its white body crying out for a pyre to be built beneath it. Which we promptly did, lit, and retired to a mound high above it where we could safely observe the inferno.

It quickly started making weird whistling noises, and seemed to vibrate on the flaming branches below it. We were ecstatic, but then terrified as a man, walking a tiny shaggy mongrel, came walking out of the woods close to the tip.

He seemed to be non-plussed, and carried on walking, but the dog lingered, curiously sniffing at the flames. We tried to throw sticks at it to scare it off, but they fell short, and just as it seemed to be contemplating moving on, there was a huge explosion, a blue fireball ten feet high, and the fridge door blown at an acute angle into the forest. The shock wave was enough to make me nearly lose bowel control, so that poor dog must have been hit hard. Still, it ran off alive, albeit looking terrified and yapping manically.

We thought little of it until the following Thursday, where the local free paper had as its headlines 'PARK ARSONISTS DEAFEN DOG', followed by the heart rendering tale of how 12 year old cross-breed Sammy had been permantly rendered deaf by evil teenage arsonists.

Thankfully, a friend bought an Atari ST, and my energies were diverted from canine-maiming arson to more sedate, sedantary pass-times. Still feel terrible, though.
(Mon 11th Oct 2010, 14:48, More)

» My Worst Vomit

My worst Vimto...
It was a warm one i had on a train in 1995, left a purple stain on my shirt when it overfizzed.

Oh hang on, I read that wrong...
(Fri 20th Aug 2004, 11:11, More)