Tales from when you should've known better

[Blagger]

This thread is a place for all and sundry to share some of the more bizarre, scary but mainly irresponsible tales that have remained with them from since they should've known better.

To protect identities, you may invoke the 'a friend of a friend excuse'.

Right, I'll start.

Location: British Army Bootcamp, north of England.

Date: Behave!

During basic training, the drill instructors would go to great efforts to keep us on our toes. When I say keep us on our toes, I don't mean anything that would have any bearing on our service in the field. No, these 'exercises' came in the form of some of the most creative, yet humiliating practical jokes and wind-ups. One such wind-up occurred during an abnormally hot summer. As new recruits we were forbidden from drinking alcohol or from leaving the base. Finding ourselves in such circumstances, we took the opportunity we could to do what any normal young man would do as regularly as possible, we wanked/rubbed ourselves dizzy.

The NCO's soon picked up on their sections bouts of 'fist of fury', and did what any normal adult would do under the circumstances, play a practical joke on their horny charges.

One particularly cunning Sgt took us all into his confidence by telling us that when he was stationed overseas with limited options, he'd replicate a vagina with what he had to hand by filling an orange with toothpaste; after which, he and all his mates soon had minty fresh cocks and pips under their foreskins (urban legend? Who knows...). Some of us prided ourselves by taking his advice with a pinch of salt and said we'd sleep on it, but there was particularly naive recruit called Clive Sharpe, who was unaccustomed to the savage humour of the British Army.

The following day we were in our barracks cleaning our kit and smoking whilst another recruit was recounting the advice we'd been offered the day earlier. Whilst he was about to tell us the bit about "how it's meant to feel just like a vagina", Clive walks in and hears the familiar info and and cuts in by proudly exclaiming: "Ha, it fucking doesn't". But before he could finish our commanding officer strides in with the most phenomenal, unintentional comedy timing and bellows at the top of his voice: "I don't know who's responsible, but some daft ****'s tried to flush an orange down the toilet!"

Some of us were actually sick from laughing.


Over to you, America.

 

[Paulie]

 

[Blagger]

It's not a story, Paulie. It was a genuine event, recorded in history by veterans scribbling on latrine walls: 'Sapper Sharpe lost his virginity to a citrus fruit."

How about you, Paulie, old fig? Any squalid events of your own to share?

 

[Paulie]

It's not a story, Paulie. It was a genuine event, recorded in history by veterans scribbling on latrine walls: 'Sapper Sharpe lost his virginity to a citrus fruit."

How about you, Paulie, old fig? Any squalid events of your own to share?

Yeah, once I got so drunk at a party that I pulled out my penis and pissed on the floor in the living room of the house we were at and thought everyone was in the bathroom trying to spy on me while I went.

Then I passed out and was subsequently beaten about the ass with a fraternity paddle.

Kids...

 

[manifold]

I should've known better than to get into a snowball fight with Randy Johnson.

 

[Blagger]

It's not a story, Paulie. It was a genuine event, recorded in history by veterans scribbling on latrine walls: 'Sapper Sharpe lost his virginity to a citrus fruit."

How about you, Paulie, old fig? Any squalid events of your own to share?

Yeah, once I got so drunk at a party that I pulled out my penis and pissed on the floor in the living room of the house we were at and thought everyone was in the bathroom trying to spy on me while I went.

Then I passed out and was subsequently beaten about the ass with a fraternity paddle.

Kids...

Good heavans, Paulie, you've just reminded me!

When I was a younger, less responsible Swagger, a few chums of mine arranged a little get-together. Planning to spend the evening over a few light beers and a pack of cards. Surfice to say the evening didn't go to plan. A few more chaps and chapettes arrived and the wine did start to flow and merriment was had by all.

After one too many glasses of Sherry, cocktail sausages and bong hits, my bowels started to growl rather impatiently. I realised that if I didn't off-load the 'chocolate hostage' soon, I was going to make rather a fool of myself.

So I ran out into the garden, climbed over the neighbours fence, pulled down my trousers/pants and proceeded to foul all over the neighbours lawn.

We all awoke the next morning with the most barbaric hangovers and a rather impatient neighbour knocking on the front door. We opened the door to be greeted by a rather muscular chap who quite calmly asked us who did a shit in his garden the night before. We protested and said that his dog must have done it. To which he replied: "Perhaps, but my dog doesn't wipe his arse with grocery store receipts and leave them all over the garden."