shagboy wrote:high school. slow dance. boner. need i say more?

holy geez. between this and the korean bathroom story, this is totally the best thread of '04. no doubt. i am at work almost convulsing with laughter.

I know I have many locked away. I can't access them right now because I have suppressed them so efficiently. This will have to do for now:

I was playing a bit of rough and tumble with a girlfriend's three year old nephew, tickling him, rolling around, tickling my girlfriend, getting him to tickle my girlfriend. I was not in the good books of said girlfriend's family as I had previously "encouraged" her to sag off school with me. At some point I accidentally headbutted him in the mouth, hard enough that it really hurt my fucking head. His screams were blood curdling. The family came rushing in and they did not like me and I wanted to go home.

There are more. God, there are more....

Incidentally, I really enjoyed the brutal simplicity of this:

Maria wrote:this is extremely embarassing but what the hell. basically i got really drunk one night and couldnt drive home so a friend insisted i stay with him until i was ok to drive. before i knew it i was giving someone who was supposedly my friend a blow job. it was really bad. we havent really talked since.

Supposedly Canadians often say 'chesterfield,

A chesterfield is a type of couch (or settee as we say in England) where the arms are as high as the back. I dont know why I'm telling you this.


I had an embarrassing moment with Dave Pajo actually. It was at ATP this year and I told my friend I'd try to get a picture of me with him. Though I didnt expect this would happen. As I was leaving the room after his set, however, I noticed him standing by the door. No one else seemed to realise who he was, they walked straight past without even glancing up at him.

So I shake his hand, tell him I enjoyed his set and politely tell him about my friend in America who couldnt come but told me to get a photo if I could. He smiles and says sure but then someone he was talking to before (an older couple who seemed quite out of place at ATP) said something to him. So he turns to answer them and they keep talking and I'm standing there with my camera in my hand and people start to notice who he is. Then it seems like all eyes are on me, everyone who passes is looking at me thinking either "Ugh, fanboy" or "Hmm, maybe we should get our cameras and form a queue".

After what seemed like an eternity with security staring at me and everything, Dave finally finishes his conversation and puts his arm around me and smiles. It was a great moment (I'd never met any musician I admired before) and the security dude took the camera and took our picture.



The camera had no flash. They both look at me like "Nice going Sir Isaac" and I grab the camera, say "oh well, thanks anyway" and run. Oh if the ground could have swallowed me up. It wouldnt have been so bad had I not waited for so long for the damn photo.

One night I went to see The Hives playing at a club in London with a swedish friend who was working at the same place than me.
After a lot of drinks,we ended up at the aftershow party....still don't remember how.Probably thanks to her swedish mothertongue and her nice body....
The bar was full of swedish people and british journalists trying to get a glimpse of the singer.....anyway not my cup of tea.
Being a bass player myself,I managed to have my 32nd beer and talk to the fat bass player of The Hives and one of his swedish friends next to him.We were talking about swedish bands and being really pissed,I started to say how crap and shite swedish punk rock bands like Millencolin can be.....the guy next to the fat bass player was playing bass in Millencolin......
Instead of apologising,I told him to quit and reform Refused or to play with Meshuggah,Breach or even The Hives.
JUST QUIT MILLENFUCKINGCOLIN!!!!!
I finished my beer and left the party.
Next day I still felt embarrassed for that guy playing in one of the worst swedish band ever.

LAD wrote:Note * Do Americans say 'couch?' Supposedly Canadians often say 'chesterfield,' but I have never personally heard this.

Yes. In my initial draft, I had typed "couch" instead of "sofa," but then that changed for some completely mundane reason.


Faiz

diego wrote:One night I went to see The Hives playing at a club in London with a swedish friend who was working at the same place than me.
After a lot of drinks,we ended up at the aftershow party....still don't remember how.Probably thanks to her swedish mothertongue and her nice body....
The bar was full of swedish people and british journalists trying to get a glimpse of the singer.....anyway not my cup of tea.
Being a bass player myself,I managed to have my 32nd beer and talk to the fat bass player of The Hives and one of his swedish friends next to him.We were talking about swedish bands and being really pissed,I started to say how crap and shite swedish punk rock bands like Millencolin can be.....the guy next to the fat bass player was playing bass in Millencolin......
Instead of apologising,I told him to quit and reform Refused or to play with Meshuggah,Breach or even The Hives.
JUST QUIT MILLENFUCKINGCOLIN!!!!!
I finished my beer and left the party.
Next day I still felt embarrassed for that guy playing in one of the worst swedish band[s] ever.

Salut, discerning Swede.

Rotten Tanx wrote:A chesterfield is a type of couch (or settee as we say in England) where the arms are as high as the back. I dont know why I'm telling you this.

Well I'm glad you did. Now I know.

This was probably our first or second full week of being in Europe, and we were travelling through Francia. I was the seven years of old, and so much of the sickness. Constantly the puking.

So we arrive to the Mount Saint Michel, this infamous structure that has the quicksands and other things I cannot to remember.

So we are getting there, maybe after a big breakfast or somethings. So it is not sitting well with my stomachs, this French breakfast and I say "Daaaaad, I need to go to the bathrooms" and he say to me, "Hey, wait, we'll pull over soon so you can go". So I say, no, papa, I have to go now. He is getting very of the angry with me, because there is no real ditch or hidden place where I can be making this #2- it is all in plain sight of the Jean-Michel's and Claude's who will be passing by in their cars. Unfortunately, it is not a solid poop, more like diarrhea spray, and I am so of the embarassed for myself and the father. It is still talked about in the family.

Similarly embarassing was when my brother had to go when we were in Greece. We were near a port or something and there weren't any bathrooms in sight, so my Dad held him up and he pissed straight into the Aegean Sea.

Summer of '89: pissin' and crappin' our way across Europe...

Summer camp, I was maybe 12: we're starting our swimming pool section of the day. At the time, I was really worried about taking showers there because I was being victimized on an almost daily basis. So I skipped it. However, apparently I had lost a tiny amount of bladder control, because there appeared a dime-sized stain right on the front of my trunks. I, thinking quickly, blamed it on the shower.

That's probably why I hate to go swimming.