When I was five, I went to a friend's birthday party at Chuck E Cheese's. When I was little, we always got dressed up for birthday parties, so i was wearing a dress. After playing for a while, and watching creepy animatronics dance around, we were all eating and I got up from the table to go to the bathroom. I remember not wearing dresses often when I was young, but liking them because when you go to the bathroom, you don't have to deal with all sorts of buttons, zippers, velcro, ties, etc, you just pull the dress up, pull down your underwear and go. Well, I forgot about the whole underwear part of this process, so I proceeded to full on pee all over in my underwear, while sitting on the toilet. I frantically (as I remember, which is not well) tried to dry my panties off with toilet paper, and went outside to cry to my mom.

gravitypinsusdwn wrote:When I was five, I went to a friend's birthday party at Chuck E Cheese's. When I was little, we always got dressed up for birthday parties, so i was wearing a dress. After playing for a while, and watching creepy animatronics dance around, we were all eating and I got up from the table to go to the bathroom. I remember not wearing dresses often when I was young, but liking them because when you go to the bathroom, you don't have to deal with all sorts of buttons, zippers, velcro, ties, etc, you just pull the dress up, pull down your underwear and go. Well, I forgot about the whole underwear part of this process, so I proceeded to full on pee all over in my underwear, while sitting on the toilet. I frantically (as I remember, which is not well) tried to dry my panties off with toilet paper, and went outside to cry to my mom.

same thing happened to me at pizza hut a few days ago

Some awesome stories here. I doubt I can top any of them, but here I go:

One time, back in sixth or seventh grade, I attempted to confess my love for a fellow classmate via a gift.

We were living in Ohio at the time, and -- as you all know -- it's pretty much customary for friends and loved ones to give and receive animal carcasses of various sizes in OH on any given occasion.

So I brought this dead raccoon to my Social Studies class. Just a really BIG fucker with a big bald spot where my big wheel's tire had landed the killing blow. The animal really reeked. Even though I'd never said a word about my intentions to any of my peers, I knew that they knew exactly what I was going to do. The smell of love was in the air.

I present the girl with my gift, and all is going well, when I realize that I'm piss drunk. Suddenly, I'm vomiting little chunks of raccoon up everywhere, and this bitch is just BAWLING because some of it got on her dress or something.

I try to walk out the door, but slip on some vomit and piss and fall on my back. Fuck. I realize I'm balls-ass naked and, without the raccoon carcass to distract my peers from my crazy-straw pecker, I'm the fucking laughing stock of my entire middle school classroom.

This is when things get really bad.

I slipped in such a way that positioned me directly underneath the chair of my infatuation. She's so shocked that she shits herself, and it's just rocketing down onto my chest and into my mouth and up my pee hole.

Everyone's just laughing their tits off at me, so I crack a racist joke to ease the tension in the room.

It was only after I belched out a smarmy "ABOUT NINE MONTHS, AM I RIGHT?" that I realized that my crush was black. Straight from Africa. And my friend told me that that's pretty much the motherfucking motherland for black people.

I'm still living that shit down.

Surely it is too early to be this drunk?

Congratulations! That's definitely the most embarassing post I've ever read on here.

miseryandthesun wrote:Some awesome stories here. I doubt I can top any of them, but here I go:

One time, back in sixth or seventh grade, I attempted to confess my love for a fellow classmate via a gift.

We were living in Ohio at the time, and -- as you all know -- it's pretty much customary for friends and loved ones to give and receive animal carcasses of various sizes in OH on any given occasion.

So I brought this dead raccoon to my Social Studies class. Just a really BIG fucker with a big bald spot where my big wheel's tire had landed the killing blow. The animal really reeked. Even though I'd never said a word about my intentions to any of my peers, I knew that they knew exactly what I was going to do. The smell of love was in the air.

I present the girl with my gift, and all is going well, when I realize that I'm piss drunk. Suddenly, I'm vomiting little chunks of raccoon up everywhere, and this bitch is just BAWLING because some of it got on her dress or something.

I try to walk out the door, but slip on some vomit and piss and fall on my back. Fuck. I realize I'm balls-ass naked and, without the raccoon carcass to distract my peers from my crazy-straw pecker, I'm the fucking laughing stock of my entire middle school classroom.

This is when things get really bad.

I slipped in such a way that positioned me directly underneath the chair of my infatuation. She's so shocked that she shits herself, and it's just rocketing down onto my chest and into my mouth and up my pee hole.

Everyone's just laughing their tits off at me, so I crack a racist joke to ease the tension in the room.

It was only after I belched out a smarmy "ABOUT NINE MONTHS, AM I RIGHT?" that I realized that my crush was black. Straight from Africa. And my friend told me that that's pretty much the motherfucking motherland for black people.

I'm still living that shit down.

And the agent says, "What do you call it!?"
And miseryandthesun says, "The Aristocrats!"

Okay, so I'm about 11 or 12 yrs old and we're in science class. The teacher's this old guy, suit and glasses, deadpan with no sense of humour. I can't remember what the class was about, but he's describing this process with lots of vibrating and tingling type action.

So he talks for about ten minutes before posing the question "..and what is this sensation called?"

I just couldn't stop myself, and shouted out "An orgasm!"

Hilarity ensues. So much so, that most of my classmates were still crying with laughter about ten minutes later. The only person not laughing was Mr. deadpan.


Finally the ruckus dies down, and then he hits me with it: For disrupting the class, I have to write an essay on orgasms. Two sides of A4.

Writing it was bad enough, but actually handing it in and having to stand there while he read it was possibly the most embarrassment I have ever experienced.


I suspect he did have a sense of humour after all.

I have a similar story to the one above.

8th grade. I'm in health class. The teacher had made me move my desk a few days earlier since she previously put me next to my buddy Ryan, who would make me giggle incessantly and we'd make stupid jokes and stuff and she was sick of it. No more of my pal Ryan.

Now I'm sitting way in the back of the 1st row by the door. The teacher calls names going up and down the rows and asks each successive person in each row to read a 'section' of the chapter. Simple enough. We're reading the chapter about "Sexual Health" and all that good stuff. We didn't really have a 'Sex Ed' at my grammar school, but this is as close as it was going to get. As luck would have it, I read the heading of "Genital Warts" and realize thats the section I'm going to have to read after Dale (the kid in front of me who smoked weed since 6th or 7th grade and got his girlfriend pregnant) reads about condoms, contraception, etc..... no joke. Mrs. Collins calls my name. I sigh, look down at the book, and put on the most straight-faced, evening news reporter imitation I can muster. Unfortunately, this is all to no avail. I start to giggle. This giggling evolves to into a full-blown laugh-attack. I can barely catch my breath. So, my hysterical laughter goes on for about a minute and a half until she asks someone else to read and tells me to go out in the hall after the other person finishes. A few minutes later I'm explaining to the principal what I thought was so funny.

Thats my embarrassing story.

As a young boy, my parents would send my brother and I to Sparks meetings. It was some kind of Awana bible camp ccd funcare cult for kids, and I don't remember too much about it other than the red felt uniform vests we had to wear and the bronze, silver, and gold crown badges that we were somehow supposed to fill up with plastic "gems" to show our progress towards making Jesus happy. Aaaanyway, I guess it was something I liked at the time, but I really didn't have a clue what was going on and it wasn't until later that I realized how embarrassing my retirement from Sparks was for all involved.

During the course of the meetings, many activities were available to us. Typically, if I remember correctly (this was long time ago when I wasn't too far removed from eating dirty band-aids off of sidewalks), we would break into groups according to age for a period of "storytelling" or "sports" (usually duck-duck-goose, in which both my brother and I were evenly matched and undefeated champions), only to later regroup as a whole. On this particular night, once all the kids had been herded into their chairs, the first whole-group activity was hangman. The priest fellow drew the little 2D gallows and the spaces for the letters, and began to call on the most eager of us for guesses. As the number of letters grew, the first two words took shape. "God is..." was what we had to run with.

At that moment, sanity flew the coop, and I had a wild idea. Looking up at the smiling priest, it seemed to me that we both knew a wonderful joke, and that I had figured it out before anyone else. Something in my delirious joy over discovering the secret must have attracted his attention, because (and I can remember his face clearly to this day) he called my name. Since we were all good little girls and boys, it was silent in the room, but my confidence momentarily faltered, and I was only able to mumble my guess at the puzzle. He smiled even more broadly and beamed at me. "What was that?! Say it again?!" He said, loudly and happily.

I spoke.
"God is an asshole?"

The next thing I remember was having my head dragged by his crane game-like head until I was inches from the corner and hearing him hiss "don't move". It wasn't long before my parents came to get me. I never went to another Sparks meeting, and neither did my brother. I don't even know where I'd heard the word "asshole" at that age.

The stories above have left me crying. So awful, so great. Salut!

I had a rough day yesterday. Late to class, bad grade on a lab (though my lab partner got a 96%, we were graded by different TAs. Different TAs means wildly differing grades on the same work.), work-work was skullfuckingly boring.

I treated myself to lunch out where my chair had an oddly protruding screw which caught onto the buttonhole of the back pocket of my new, cool and much-loved pants. The button hole ripped completely open. There was cursing out-loud.

Six hours later, my boyfriend picked me up at the train because he knew I'd had a shit day and is a sweet boy.

"Oh man, you tore your pants, too!"

I related the weirdly protruding screw catching my buttonhole story. "That was just one syllable away from being a lot worse, ha ha."

"Well yeah, and then on the seat, too."

I had missed the large ripped gaping-wide-open area on my left buttcheek. (Two things going for me: the pocket lining covered most of what would have been exposed and I was wearing normal panties for the first time in a long time.)

I must be the coolest girl on the planet. Please kill me.