What comically embarrassing moment can you share?

[BarnOwl]

It was so long ago, that I don't even remember the plot line of the play, Come Back Little Sheba. Nevertheless, I was the lead, and toward the very end, I come home (from rehab, I think) to my wife.

It's a very tender scene. She is sitting in an arm chair, I drop to my knees in front of her, put my head in her lap. I was about to utter something soft and endearing...

and she farted.

It was loud enough for both of us to hear, but not, I hope to this day, loud enough for the audience to hear.

She was so startled she uttered a barely audible, "Ooh-ooh!"

This woman was, in real life, a very proper, very shy, very nice English lady. So, I was profoundly embarrassed for her, and simply went on with the scene as if nothing at all happened. I never mentioned it to her or anyone in the cast - just my wife, months later.

[racer72]

A very proper and nicely dressed older woman strolling through the jewelry section of a Nordstroms with the back hem of her skirt stuck in the waistband of her panty hose.

An instructor in contract law strolls through the class of about 30 students, talking about a court case that he was involved in years earlier, with a large and very obvious booger hanging out of one nostril. 4 or 5 students held out tissues as he walked by as a gentle reminder but he ignored them, he was engrossed in his story.

The co-worker returning to work with an obviously used piece of toilet paper hanging out of his pants.

A group of about 6 at a buffet style restaurant, all appeared to be well lubricated prior to their arrival. One younger blonde woman in the group was sitting quietly, with her upper body making small circles when she slowly leaned forward and and face planted in her plate of food. She suddenly sprang back up and sat there with a grin and mashed potatoes on her face.

[Lillith Fair]

We were putting on a skit of "The Hundred Eyed Argus" in 7th grade. My friend Margaret was supposed to say, "Here is a pleasant place to sit, shepherd!"

That's not what she said. Oh my gosh, we had to take a laugh break. Even the teachers were out of control.

[The Stafford Cripps]

I was sharing a house with someone I didn't get on very well with. It was a Victorian house with the kitchen in an extension at the back and the bathroom leading off from the kitchen. I came back from work to an apparently empty house and went to the toilet. I was then washing my hands and looking at myself in the mirror when I said to myself out loud "Now that was a good crap". I exited the bathroom to find my housemate unpacking groceries in the kitchen. There is no way she could have failed to hear me (she'd also have been able to smell how good it was).

[Shecky]

Today, I got to witness my neighbor do the ol' cartoon/rake maneuver. Twice on the same rake.

[Ms. Pumpkin]

Today, I got to witness my neighbor do the ol' cartoon/rake maneuver. Twice on the same rake.

Oh, jeez - I've done that. Also, stepped on a banana peel, with the expected result.

[ivylass]

I was taking a linguistics course in college. It was an elective course, I didn't have to take it for my major, but it looked interesting in the catalog.

The professor was boring and I could hardly follow his lectures. He'd ramble on and on about stuff that didn't have any relation to the class.

One day, he's sitting on the back of a chair with his feet in the seat. Being a man, his legs are naturally spread, and he has a HUGE hole in his trousers on his inner upper thigh. Any higher up and I could have told you the color of his underwear.

I took one test, then withdrew from the class.

[descamisado]

We were putting on a skit of "The Hundred Eyed Argus" in 7th grade. My friend Margaret was supposed to say, "Here is a pleasant place to sit, shepherd!"

That's not what she said. Oh my gosh, we had to take a laugh break. Even the teachers were out of control.What's so funny about pronouncing a word incorrectly, as "Sepherd?" :D

A good friend and I were at the pool hall. I'd won the first game and was demonstratively celebrating -- small victory dance, arm waving, etc.

My feet flew out from under me, as if I'd slipped on a banana peel. I landed flat on my back and because I still had the pool cue in my hand with I landed, the stick slapped against the floor and caught everybody attention.

Every game won after that was lauded with a restrained, "Good show, old chap," and a dignified handshake for good sportsmanship.

[descamisado]

. . . . One day, he's sitting on the back of a chair with his feet in the seat. Being a man, his legs are naturally spread, and he has a HUGE hole in his trousers on his inner upper thigh. Any higher up and I could have told you the color of his underwear . . . .ivylass, when I was young and impressionable lad of 13, a favorite pair of jeans of mine had a hole in the crotch but I wore them to baseball game; I thought I could hide the hole by keeping my legs closed.

My friends pointing and laughing at the "impression" I was making when a cutie I was attracted to walked by and I forgot the hole was there was quite embarrassing.

[Lust4Life]

Once when skiing there was a wide steep run that at the very end became a very narrow,very steep run indeed.

Everyone used to take their skis off at this point and walk down to the drag lift.

But I mastered it and started sweeping down the narrow bit at speed and then smugly racing along the drag lift queue before stopping in a shower of snow.


Smug factor ten.

But then one day I got some ice under my boot and treated several hundred Germans and Swiss in the queue to the sight of me sliding face down in the snow at a rate of knots for quite a fair distance and afterwards trying unsuccessfully to act as though I didn't feel a
complete and utter wanker.

Another time I was playing pool in a pub close by to a couple who by their sheer attentiveness to each other were obviously on a first date.

I hammered the cue ball on my shot,it went off of the table like a rogue asteroid and hit the bloke right in the bollocks.

He took it very well when he became able to speak again.

[VunderBob]

I'm losing weight again, and having trouble with my beltline.

About 2 weeks ago, I took a rescue call at the local Baptist church, and in the process of loading the patient into the ambulance, I inadverantly mooned them.

[Jackmannii]

I proudly contribute The Affair of the Exploding Breast.

For those expecting the salacious, I regret to say that this did not involve a torrid encounter with a Victoria's Secret model whose air bra catastrophically ruptured, but rather an incident in the surgical pathology lab.

I was cutting in (dissecting) a mastectomy specimen removed for carcinoma. The patient had had a prior biopsy so there was a cavity in the middle of the specimen. What I did not realize as I sliced into it, is that there had been hemorrhage into the biopsy cavity and a considerable amount of blood under pressure had accumulated. As I made the crucial cut, a geyser of blood shot out, drenching the counter, walls, floor and me (fortunately, mostly on my arm). The poor laboratory assistant looked up from her desk to see a yelling, knife-wielding pathologist and gouts of blood spewing everywhere (she thought at first I had severed one of my own body parts). It's a good thing the early-shift lab assistant wasn't there, as she is very easily startled and we would have had to pry her off the ceiling.

The embarassing part of this was what I yelled when the blood started flying. I am capable of florid and inventive cursing, even when not under stress - but at this moment what came out of my mouth was:

Jesus H. Christ on a crutch!!!.

While this relatively mild expletive was desirable from a work-safe standpoint, I can do better than that. :(

[vetbridge]

My Organic Chemistry final exam was given in a large auditorium. Most people taking the exam did not complete it. One pre-med asshole not only finished, but did so in record time. He could have spent the remaining time checking his work, or left quietly. Instead, he gathered his stuff noisily, then bounded step-to-step from the rear of the auditorium to the front, getting everyones' attention so we'd know he was done. On the last step he tripped and slid face first a few yards. The auditorium erupted in laughter.

[Kythereia]

I was so painfully, excruciatingly shy in Grade 2 that when my teacher came up to me--in front of everyone in the classroom--to give me a certificate of achievement, I burst into tears, whirled around, and stuffed myself into a nearby locker (cubby? that's I think what we called them) before banging the door shut. In front of everyone in the classroom.

It was devastating and, of course in retrospect, absolutely hilarious. :)

[mnemosyne]

Not me, but on my trip to Cuba there was a very drunk, topless girl, maybe about 18 or so, on the beach. She went to get some (more) drinks for her and her friends from the bar, and started to meander back in the general direction of their beach chairs. Holding 6 cups at a time proved a challenge, and the majority of the rum&cokes ended up on her arms and stomach, but when she came across the tree which grew sort of horizontally for a bit... well, that proved to be too much! You should have seen her face, standing there, looking at this tree trunk baring her way, and completely unable to figure out what to do about it! After about a minute, some kind soul showed her how she could walk around it. I'm amazed the laughter from everyone else on the beach didn't completely destroy her!

[ChiefScott]

Travel back in time with me to the summer of 1993.

I was just wrapping up a three year stint as the head of the Armed Forces Radio and Television station at Sigonella, Sicily. My wife, now ex, and myself had been packing for weeks, excited about my tour of duty in Philadelphia, Pa., as a recruiting district public affairs officer and bringing my newborn son home. We’d shipped most of our household goods already. The furniture was gone, car shipped, most of our clothes.

Since we were leaving in two days, we were making the final sweep around the apartment at about 10 p.m. We had to vacate the premises by 8 a.m. and would spend our last night in a hotel. The ex passed by the bathroom and told me to take down the shower curtain and pack it.

We had nothing to stand on, so I hiked myself up on the toilet seat and proceeded to unhook the curtain from the rings.

A moment of digression, if you’ll indulge me. Italian toilets are not like American toilets. The bowls are narrower, their rims are higher off the floor. While many toilet seats in America are made of laminated wood or sturdy plastic, the seats and lids of Italian toilets are made of flimsy, semi-rigid plastic.

As I stood on the seat, leaning over, I felt the seat cover buckle. It went from convex to concave but still supported my weight. The next part of the story comes from the ex’s observations, ‘cause I don’t remember this part.

She was in the kitchen feeding Skirmie when she heard a crack, yell and thud. She set down my son, ran into the bathroom and began screaming. Alerting our downstairs neighbors, who happened to be Navy corpsmen.

The lid had snapped in two lengthwise. I dropped straight down and my foot crunched through the bottom of the toilet all the way to the sub-floor. The bowl cracked and all the water had run out, now tinged red from my blood. I laid on my side, unconscious as blood spouted from a wound in my foot up out of the bowl onto the back wall (The next day I hobbled into the bathroom and the blood was easily 4 ft. up the wall!). My knee was twisted at an impossible angle as my foot was impaled on the jagged porcelain at the bottom of the bowl.

My downstairs neighbor had run up. He helped my ex pull me out of the shitter, apply direct pressure and got me down the stairs to our car. His wife remained with my son.

We had a Seat Cinque-cento, a very small car with a 500 cc engine. We’d sent our American car home already! They got me in the back seat, my wife drove and Jason attended to me. I remember a little of the 40 minute drive to the hospital.

Once at the hospital they asked my wife what happened.

“He fell in the toilet!” They about busted their ribs laughing.

Anyway, to make a long story short (too late), they sewed up a nick in an artery, installed a drain, shot me up with all kinds of drugs to prevent sepsis, and sewed me up – laughing the entire time! My plight eventually was written up and used as an example for bathroom safety in a Navy-wide newsletter.

They held on to me until about 1000. My wife had to leave, cause our land lord was to inspect our apartment at 0800. He about fainted when he saw the bathroom. He told my wife we’d have to clean the entire bathroom and replace the toilet before he would sign our paperwork! No paperwork, no flight home!

So I get discharged. We try to check into a hotel. I’m confined to a wheel chair and the first thee hotels won’t accept me. They don’t want to deal with the liability. I finally make an imposition to another friend and we move in for the evening.

I say, fuck the wheelchair, and start to hobble about. I still had to get up to the apartment to get the paperwork signed. By now my foot is numb from all the pain from trying to hobble around. I borrow a set of crutches. I get there, throw a shit load of money at the landlord and he reluctantly signs the paperwork. He seems really nervous. Finally he says, “Senore, you are leaking.”

Apparently he didn’t have in his vocabulary the word for bleeding, ‘cause I had busted my stitches, and was leaving bright red footprints all over the apartment. Another trip to the hospital.

“Why were you up and about?”
“I had to get my toilet fixed before I could leave this blasted island.”
“Are you the guy who took forty stitches after he fell into his toilet?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. They already have the interview sheet the admitting nurse filled out with your wife posted in the lounge. It’s a riot!”

Thank God they don’t issue sidearms in the Navy.

Well, we spend the night. I get wheeled down to the airport. We present our paperwork preparing to board the 18 hour flight.

“I’m sorry sir. You can’t board without note from your doctor saying it’s alright.”

“Don’t move,” I tell the ex. I see another friend of mine in the terminal, tell him I need to borrow his car. He throws me the keys. I get out of the wheelchair, grimacing all the way, walk outside, get into the car and realize it’s a standard! I can’t fucking drive it.

I grab my buddy. He drives me to the hospital like a madman – I’m gonna make this plane!!

We get to the hospital. Get the doctor. Get him to call the gate. Hobble back out to the car. Dash back to the airport. I drop into a wheel chair and he rolls me to the gate. My ex and son are already aboard.

I show my ticket to the stewardess (a civilian contracted plane).

The doctor had apparently called to clear things up because I was greeted with an enthusiastic: “Are you the gentleman who fell into his toilet the day before yesterday? We thought that was a joke!”

“Fuck you very much.”

So get on the plane we take off. 18 hours of cabin compression. I had to sit in the aisle with my foot elevated ‘cause the entire flight was booked.

We land at Philly. I get to be the first person of the plane. They radioed ahead for a skycap to meet us with a wheel chair.

I hobble off.

“Are you the guy who fell in the toilet? That cracked me up!” says the sky cap. Grumbling I look at his nametag for a name to curse: Steve Wentzel.

I say, “My sister is marrying a guy named Bob Wentzel in three weeks!"

“You’re Sandy’s brother? Wait till I tell Bob what happened to you!”

Being wheeled through the airport. Cab ride to Moms. Hobble up to the front door. Ring the bell. Dad opens it.

“Please don’t break my toilets.”

Needless to say, my family has never, and will never, let me live down those two seconds of stupidity.

p.s. The damn shower curtains were too stained with blood to save. We ended up throwing them away.

Note: I originally posted this around the turn of the century.

[Dung Beetle]

ChiefScott, you are now labelled in my brain as "that guy who fell into the toilet". :) Great story!

[Santo Rugger]

And, we have a winner!

[Madd Maxx]

It was the end of the school year and as a senior, I was doing what ever I could to escape going to classes I had already passed and/or taken my final exams in. I wound up helping clean up the theatre's backstage area. I was tasked with taking a paper-mache tree stump from the spring musical to the dumpsters around the back of the building. Being a football player and a lineman to boot I figured I could lower my shoulder and simply push the tree stump to the dumpster as it was on wheels to make the scene changes easier.

Apparently, who ever made that monstrosity must have taken an actual tree stump, dipped it in molten lead and simply wrapped it in paper-mache to make it appear realistic. :rolleyes: I managed to push the damned thing around the first corner of the building before my calves and back were burning with the exertion. Being a thinking man, I noodled that pulling the stump would be easier than pushing the stump. I went back to the theatre and found a length of rope. I tied one end around the stump and the other around my waist. As I leaned into the pull, the stump begrudgingly followed. Victory shall be mine!

So here I am pulling a tree stump along by a rope tied to my waist, leaning into the pull to use all my considerable strength, slowly but surely approaching the cafeteria and just beyond that, the final corner and my goal; the dumpsters. It is about then that I realize that every window in the cafeteria has faces peering out. I look to my left to see what everyone is looking at. Seeing nothing but the empty bus lot, I come to the horrific realization that I am the spectacle that has caught the attention of the entire cafeteria. At this point, I am sweating, red faced both from exhaustion and from embarrassment, and yet there is nothing else for me to do but continue in my Sisyphean task.

I did manage to pull the damn thing all the way to the dumpsters even as the freshman bastards opened the cafeteria windows to taunt me, called their dumb little friends over to laugh at the poor bastard pulling junk around the school, and pined for the day that they too would hit puberty. And that, teeming millions, is why a couple of my closest friends who know the story to this day call me Husky.

[Jolly Roger]

Well, I've embarrassed myself so many times its hard to pick the most embarrassing thing....but without thinking 2 come to mind....

My grandmother caught me playing air guitar on my bed when I was sixteen, wearing nothing but tighties whities and singing "Heat of the Moment" from Asia. Apparently she was watching me for a good minute before i noticed. Gawd, I was so embarrassed. She just walked away muttering "That boy ain't right in the head..." but when she told my mother and sister they laughed at me for days.

The 2nd time actually came before that, but it was at least for me, more embarrassing. I was a clumsly, awkward, skinny kid. Everyone always made fun of me and I had really low self esteem. (low enough that I bought a T-shirt for myself that said "worlds biggest loser". I was convinced that I was at the age of 13.)

Anyway, it was around Martin Luther King's birthday, and they were showing a movie about MLK at the church. I got there a bit late and the movie had just started (this was 1977, so it was a reel to reel projector, for the kids out there) I tripped over the power cord, fell, knocked the projector over and everything. Everyone laughed at me and made the obligatory clumsy/useless guy jokes....and then someone called me "Captain Disaster". That name stuck to me for years. :(

I was a pretty miserable kid.

[fachverwirrt]

In my senior year in high school, I took a class called Shakespeare for performance. It was a joint class by the English and drama departments, and ended with a truncated version of A Midsummers Night's Dream, which we performed at a school assembly. If I recall, it consisted of four scenes: the opening scene, one of the forest/fairy/lovers scenes, the mechanicals' rehearsal, and the Pyramus and Thisbe scene.

I was Theseus. The girl playing Hippolyta had to change her costume between the first and last scene; she wore a ragged dress as if I had just captured her from the Amazons in the first scene; for the last scene (which was supposed to be our wedding) she wore a toga. She didn't have much time to make the change, so I, not having a costume change, helped her.

We had it all planned out. After the opening scene we rushed back to the green room, she stripped down to her skivvies, then we wrapped the toga around her, ready to go do the last scene. The part we didn't plan was actually figuring out how to tie on a toga. After struggling with the thing for about ten minutes, we realized that we had about two minutes to go, so we jury rigged something up, tied a knot somewhere, and rushed out on stage.

At which point her toga promptly fell off.

On the scale of entertainment, I would say that for most middle-high schoolers, Shakespeare ranks relatively low. On the other hand, a reasonable attractive young lady performing an inadvertent strip tease on stage probably more than made up for it.

[Dung Beetle]

My grandmother caught me playing air guitar on my bed when I was sixteen, wearing nothing but tighties whities and singing "Heat of the Moment" from Asia. Apparently she was watching me for a good minute before i noticed. Gawd, I was so embarrassed. She just walked away muttering "That boy ain't right in the head..." but when she told my mother and sister they laughed at me for days.


Somehow, this just warms the cockles of my heart. *wipes away a tear*

[Ghanima]

I'm sure I've posted this before, but what the hell. When I was in college, some people at my coop invited me to go see a friend do some stand-up comedy followed by a jazz band. Well the comedy part went rather well. But as the band played, I began to feel more and more ripped off. They were terrible! I leaned forward and whispered indignantly to my acquaintances "It sounds like they're just making it up as they go along!!"
When they were done laughing at me, they explained to me: that's what jazz is. Oh. Oops. My bad.


Then there was Saturday night. We're watching the Sopranos. Tony killed a guy, so they cut his hands and head off to bury separately from the body. I am confused:

Me: They forgot his feet!
Friends: :confused:
Me: What;s the point of cutting off his hands if they don't cut his feet off too?
Friend: I could see your point...if they had his toe prints on file, but, WTF?
Me: Can't they just take the prints off his toes to identify him?
Friends: Wha..?
Me: (suddenly realizing what an idiot I am) NEVER MIND!
Friends: :p :p :p
Me: :eek:

[Pithy Moniker]

Continuing in the school play vein: My class put on a version of Macbeth and I was Macduff. When we rehearsed the last fight scene, the guy playing Macbeth always made this hilarious face right as he died and of course I was the only one that could see it and I kept cracking up.

So, on the night of the play, we're doing the scene and I'm concentrating hard on not laughing when Macbeth dies. After he fell, I was supposed to run off the stage. Well, I was so focused on not laughing that I didn't notice that the costume's long cape had gotten tangled around my one of my legs. I ran! and promptly fell on my face. It got a lot of laughs.

[pprgrl]

About three years ago, my best friend was getting married and she asked me to be a bridesmaid. It was the first (and most likely last) time I'd ever been asked to be a member of a wedding party. It was a pretty small, informal, afternoon backyard wedding with a Hawaiian theme. It was one of those weddings where everybody started drinking before the ceremony, which was blessedly brief. Did I mention it was small? The cooler of beer was stashed in the DJ booth, which was set up right next to the altar area. So as the minister says "You may now kiss the bride," someone slid a Budweiser into my hand. That's right, I had a Bud Light in hand in all of the wedding photos. Anyway, there was a pool in the backyard, and all the guests had been encouraged to bring suits and swim. My date was a co-worker who was driving me crazy - she claimed she was straight but was flirty as hell and I couldn't read the signals at all. So about 9 o'clock that night (after a good six or seven hours of drinking) I convinced her to hop in the pool with me and we proceeded to frolic. More Esther Williams than Girls Gone Wild, but still I felt I was making progress. After an hour or so, I was feeling pretty pruney so I hopped out of the pool to go to the bathroom. I wandered over to the deck, where most of the bridal party was hanging out and shooting the shit, figuring that I'd drip dry for a few minutes before heading into the house to pee. I stood around talking to the bridal party and assorted other guests for a good fifteen minutes before someone was kind enough to tell me that one side of my bikini top had twisted around and one of my breasts had popped out to say hello to all and sundry. Co-worker promptly stuck her head out over the side of the pool and shouted out a rhyming nickname that refers to my exhibitionist tendencies that I am still known by to this day. At least there weren't any wedding pictures of that. :o

And she was straight after all, the goddamn tease.

[Clothahump]

Some of my friends tend to be....shall we say...a little gross. Naturally, I join in on the fun.

I was helping one of them conduct inventory in his auto parts store. About halfway through, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and thought it was him. I raised up and ripped a fart that would stop hearts.

It was his girlfriend. :eek:

[whiterabbit]

This thread is hilarious!

Okay. College choir rehearsal; there's maybe forty of us altogether, plus our director (who was a great guy and I miss him, I should email him sometime) and accompanist. We're doing warmups, which always begin with breathing exercises.

So there I am, on the front row among the other sopranos, and we're told to take a deep breath. It's totally quiet, nobody's making a sound. I open my mouth to inhale and...

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP!

Cue forty people laughing their asses off at me.

I never drank soda within a half hour of choir again!

[yanceylebeef]

1988, South Korea, I had just graduated from DINFOS and started as the radio news guy on air at the AFKN headquarters in Seoul. My first on air job in the Air Force. I ended my first newscast with a little story I had ripped off the AP wire.

Seems a man had sat down on a toilet after his wife had emptied an entire can of roach killer into it in an attemp to kill a very pesky roach. He finished his post defecation cigarette, he dropped it in the pot, igniting the roach spray.

When the paramedics arrived, he explained how he got the burns in that delicate of an area, and they started laughing so hard they dropped him down a flight of stairs.

By the time I got to the end of the story, I was in tears, unable to inhale, and laughing uncontrollably.

I laughed through two other news breaks that hour. Anytime I made eye contact with the DJ, it would start all over again.

Later that morning an alert bell started ringing on the AP wire machine, stating the news service could not confirm the veracity of the story, and warning everyone not to read it.

I had never heard the term Urban Legend, but that started a quest for truth that ended ultimately with me finding the Straight Dope.

The very next week, I mispronounced Dominican as dom-ah-Knee-can on the air. Ed Bradley was touring the station and heard me. I still cringe crimson at the introduction I had with him later that morning.

[Katriona]

The Scottish group I belong to fields a member on the Kansas City Mayor's Ethnic Commission. The Commission puts on two big events every year: the Ethnic Festival (outdoors, in a park, where each member country has a booth) and the Diplomatic Ball, which is what it sounds like - diplomats, attaches, etc., are invited to dinner and dancing. A different country hosts it every year with their traditional entertainment and food.

Our member has been on the commission forever, at least 10 years. That means she gets her pick of tables, so we're always right up front, near the dais where the mayor and other big-wigs sit.

The first year I went, I organized a formal-ish outfit around one of my tartans: a light gray angora sweater and a darker gray "ball skirt" (big, long, and poofy, although not hoopskirt territory) with my black, gray, and red tartan sash.

Unbeknownst to me, during dinner my skirt got tangled around a chair leg, so when I started to get up, my chair went over backwards and took me with it. Right in front of the Mayor and big-wigs.

[Batsinma Belfry]

After our wedding reception, my new in-laws took us out to eat at a local restaurant. I was still wearing my wedding dress which was not a full-length gown, but still obviously a wedding dress. The whole time we were there, we could hear people whispering about how cute we were, and how sweet I looked in my dress. Then as we were leaving, I stood up and bonked my head on the hanging light fixture above the table, and it started swinging, and every body else at the table was either ducking out of the way or trying to stop it. There were a few snickers from the other tables, and I was trying hard not to bust out laughing because my poor incredibly shy hubby looked like he wanted crawl under the table. But I couldn't hold it back, and clasped my hand over my mouth. So my laughter busted out of my nose instead, in the form of a very loud snort and flying snot.

[Hostile Dialect]

Not much to add, except that I once coughed a wad of snot right into the middle of the table while trying to ask a girl out to the prom.

Needless to say, I had to find another date.

[Jackmannii]

By the time I got to the end of the story, I was in tears, unable to inhale, and laughing uncontrollably.

I laughed through two other news breaks that hour. Anytime I made eye contact with the DJ, it would start all over again.This sounds uncannily like something that happened to me during my radio days.

I was working at a small station which was going through an acute labor shortage caused by two of the announcers getting injured in a motorcycle crash. Near the end of my shift (which at that time went from 5 a.m. to 6 p.m. with a brief break in the middle) I was running the board while an equally overworked newswoman read the 5 o'clock report. During this I accidentally dropped a pencil (hilarious, right?). This for some reason started the newswoman giggling, which got me laughing, which sent her into near-hysterics...and so on. This would not have been so bad had it not been for the fact that the story she was reading at the time was about the gruesome death of a local resident. And his relatives were listening to the broadcast. :eek:The very next week, I mispronounced Dominican as dom-ah-Knee-can on the air. Ed Bradley was touring the station and heard me. I still cringe crimson at the introduction I had with him later that morning.If it makes you feel any better, it once took me three tries on-air to pronounce "Namibia". "Nabib..Nabib...NAMIBIA!".

The award-winner in this category though was a guy doing the late night news on a competing station, who ran afoul of the word "indigent". He made four failed attempts to pronounce it correctly (going through "in-din-gent" and "in-dig-nant", as I recall) before finally just giving up and moving on. :D

[BellRungBookShut-CandleSnuffed]

I had never heard the term Urban Legend, but that started a quest for truth that ended ultimately with me finding the Straight Dope.

The very next week, I mispronounced Dominican as dom-ah-Knee-can on the air. Ed Bradley was touring the station and heard me. I still cringe crimson at the introduction I had with him later that morning.

Well, at least they're both in the Caribbean (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dominica).

[ChiefScott]

Reposteth and stateth jackmannii, "Quote:
The very next week, I mispronounced Dominican as dom-ah-Knee-can on the air. Ed Bradley was touring the station and heard me. I still cringe crimson at the introduction I had with him later that morning.

If it makes you feel any better, it once took me three tries on-air to pronounce "Namibia". "Nabib..Nabib...NAMIBIA!"."

Ah, we DINFOS Trained Killers are alot alike.

At the same duty station I mentioned above, I too did an occaisional Saturday radio show, though my primary duty was in TV. Now remember in those days, we didn't receive many satellite feeds so the majority of info we received was in a written format.

I was doing a "new tunes" show (from a new batch of CDs we'd received from AFRTS), highlighting bands just breaking into the Billboard Top 100 and there was a super song I played which several people called in and asked me to re-play. I don't remember the song name, but I'd pronounced the band's name over the air as the "Inks."

My morning DJ called me early Monday, because he'd had a request for the song and the listener couldn't remember the name of the band. I told him what disc the song was on and that the band's name was "Inks", but it was written in all capital letters.

So, for three weeks my morning DJ is spinning this tune, plus a few others by the same band. We have folks calling requesting one tune or another by the "Inks." And we feel we're doing a really good job.

Until a kid, fresh from the states checks in.

"You're a moron, boss," he greets me. "That's "INXS" not the "Inks."

Mortification ensued....

[BarnOwl]

Reposteth and stateth jackmannii, "Quote:
The very next week, I mispronounced Dominican as dom-ah-Knee-can on the air. Ed Bradley was touring the station and heard me. I still cringe crimson at the introduction I had with him later that morning.

If it makes you feel any better, it once took me three tries on-air to pronounce "Namibia". "Nabib..Nabib...NAMIBIA!"."

Ah, we DINFOS Trained Killers are alot alike.

At the same duty station I mentioned above, I too did an occaisional Saturday radio show, though my primary duty was in TV. Now remember in those days, we didn't receive many satellite feeds so the majority of info we received was in a written format.

I was doing a "new tunes" show (from a new batch of CDs we'd received from AFRTS), highlighting bands just breaking into the Billboard Top 100 and there was a super song I played which several people called in and asked me to re-play. I don't remember the song name, but I'd pronounced the band's name over the air as the "Inks."

My morning DJ called me early Monday, because he'd had a request for the song and the listener couldn't remember the name of the band. I told him what disc the song was on and that the band's name was "Inks", but it was written in all capital letters.

So, for three weeks my morning DJ is spinning this tune, plus a few others by the same band. We have folks calling requesting one tune or another by the "Inks." And we feel we're doing a really good job.

Until a kid, fresh from the states checks in.

"You're a moron, boss," he greets me. "That's "INXS" not the "Inks."

Mortification ensued....

I'll have to ask my daughter to explain INXS vs. the Inks.

However, I think I could do a passable pronunciation of AFRTS on my own but you'd say it stunk.

[fachverwirrt]

I'll have to ask my daughter to explain INXS vs. the Inks.

However, I think I could do a passable pronunciation of AFRTS on my own but you'd say it stunk.
"INXS" is pronounced "in excess".

[ChiefScott]

Hooted BarnOwl, "I'll have to ask my daughter to explain INXS vs. the Inks."

Lemme help...

INXS is not pronounced "Inks."
INXS is pronounced "In Excess."

Your "Hip Quotient Meter" is pegging in the red...

p.s. -- Yes, AFRTS is said aloud as "Ay Farts."

[cedman]

Right after Judy (my highschool sweetheart and wife of 17 years) decided she "preferred the company of other women" and moved out demanding a divorce, my very good friend Terry called on the telephone and invited me to dinner with her and her husband Bob.

She said that she would invite Judy for dinner also.

I went OFF! No profanity as Bob and Terry were and still are dear friends, I still made it clear how this would NEVER happen and what was she trying to DO, and are you out of your MIND, you must be CRAZY and every other negative thing you could think of. Terry pensively said, "Well, ok then, if that's how you feel."

Two weeks (TWO WEEKS!) later.... Bob's sister walks into our church; a kind, caring, beautiful, talented SINGLE woman with a GREAT sense of humor who's just moved here from California. I've only heard great things about Bob's sister who's name is... Judy.

How could one man be that stupid and still breath on his own? Yeah, we all think it's funny now but I still think of this when I need some humility.

[pbbth]

Last night my roommate and I had a friend over for dinner. We ordered pizza and hung out for a while, and then my roommate went downstairs to smoke, leaving our friend to chill with me for a bit. Not a problem since he and I get along very well so we chatted and finished watching the movie while she smoked a cigarette on the stoop. I was laying on the couch with my feet over the arm and he was sitting on the other side of the couch, both of us comfortable but me sprawling out over 2/3 of the sofa. The movie ends and he gets up to head home so I shift around to sit up and walk him to the door, but as I am shifting the tank top I am wearing bunches under my back and my left breast popped out of my shirt. He didn't mention it and just went on his way but when I told my roommate what happened she laughed so hard she almost fell over and left me a message this morning to be careful to keep my boobs covered up.

[ChiefScott]

Pics?

[Solfy]

I was a church organist at the tender age of 15. I wasn't all that experienced, but our previous organist broke both a hip and an arm right before Christmas. They asked me to fill in just for the holiday season, but somehow that stretched out to five years. (organists are hard to find)

Not only did the church have trouble finding organists, but cantors were hard to come by, as well. I had one cantor, a sweet old man named Rudy, who was very nearly deaf. He could lead the singing for me as long as I sang along with him as loudly as I could. Mostly I think he read my lips. The rest of the congregation tended not to sing much.

The church did not have air conditioning. In the summertime the doors were left open to generate a cross breeze. The organ was situated a few feet away from one of those open doors.

The song was "One Bread, One Body." Rudy was singing, I was playing, and I sang along, doing my best to keep him on tempo (he tended to really drag out the slower hymns). All was silent in the church as people filed up to the front for communion. I took a big breath for the next phrase, and inhaled a fly, which lodged in my throat. "One bread, one body, one Lord of all. . . "

I started choking. The fly was struggling in my thoat. I could feel it. I either had to cough up the fly or swallow it the rest of the way. I tried swallowing. Meanwhile, the communion hymn marched on. "And we, though many, throughout the earth. . . " I reverently played on while choking on the fly. Rudy was oblivious. My mother and everyone sitting nearby, however, noticed me turning all sorts of attractive colors as I choked on a fly.

The fly started to go down, but then it struggled its way back up. It was buzzing around my mouth. I spat it on the keyboard. "We are one body in this one Lord!"

I finished the hymn, never missing a beat. There on a G on the lower register was the fly, doing circles in a puddle of saliva.

I still can't sing that song without laughing internally. My mother threatened to get me one of those church hats with the mesh veil. A few weeks later a squirrel came running in the open door during mass. . .

[corkboard]

Love the stories, and I have one question for the ladies: is it really possible that a boob could be hanging out and you don't realize it?

[ivylass]

Completely hanging out? Probably not without a lot to drink first.

Some peekage? Yes, that's possible to do without notice.

[pbbth]

Well, in my defense I noticed when it happened so it isn't as though I was unaware of the situation. My mortification knew no bounds. If you were in a swimming pool or something I can see it happening without being at all aware of it though.

[UncaStuart]

I was bicycling down the hill towards home when I was around 11 or 12. I rode past a female classmate who lived on my street, and in the boneheaded tradition of boys who need to show off in front of girls, I picked up speed to make a swooping turn into my driveway.

The driveway is at the outside of a curve at the bottom of a hill and usually had a triangle in the middle of it where dirt and gravel would be blown by passing cars, and shaped by cars going out of the driveway in either direction. So, going too fast I hit that patch and bam! down I went, bouncing a bit down the driveway and coming to a halt with my foot trapped in the rear triangle and wheel somehow. More embarrassed than hurt (boy, I wish I had resilient bones like that now!), I started dragging myself on my elbows down the driveway, the bike still wrapped around my foot, hoping to get out of sight around the bend ten yards away.

My crash had been witnessed by a motorist who stopped and asked me if I needed help. “No,” I said [drag-scrape], “I’m” [drag-scrape] “fine.” [drag-scrape] “Really.” At this point my classmate came into view and looked over curiously. I thanked the motorist, managed to disengage my foot, and scrambled away in acute embarrassment, disappointed in myself for succumbing to the showoff urge.

[pprgrl]

Love the stories, and I have one question for the ladies: is it really possible that a boob could be hanging out and you don't realize it?

Well, before it happened to me I would have said no, absolutely not. I have not worn a bikini since that night.

[Sitnam]

Seven years ago I was jumping through the hoops to get my pilots license. Part of the requirements are going into the air with and instructor to do maneuvers and simulate various dangerous situations. After hours and hours of this you get use to doing exactly what you're told, no more no less. One of the maneuvers had you wear a visor (much like Luke Skywalker's blast shield) so you flew by instruments alone. You then closed your eyes while the instructor put the plane at an unusual pitch and the idea was for you to use your instruments to right the plane again. This seemed at the time to be just too incredibly easy and added to the fact that the instructor never told me to open my eyes. For 5 lessons or so I tried to level the plane with my eyes shut until the instructor discovered what was wrong.

[BarnOwl]

Well, before it happened to me I would have said no, absolutely not. I have not worn a bikini since that night.

Don't feel too bad. I have a couple of Ballet DVDs - standard stuff, not porn - in which Prima Ballerinas show, inadvertently or not, their pubic hair out of the sides of their panties. Briefly flashing a tit is cute; flashing hair isn't.

[neofishboy]

....
A few weeks later a squirrel came running in the open door during mass. . .


Okay, so you swallowed that ... then what happened??

[Testy]

OK, I've told this before somewhere and it happened 30+ years ago, both my parents are gone, and this still makes me squirm when I think of it.

I was in high school, maybe a sophomore, and loved chemistry because you could make such cool pyrotechnics. While scrounging through the chemistry supplies one day I came across a rusty and disintegrating can of metallic sodium with a prominent warning label saying "Caution! Reacts violently with water!" "Great!" I thought, "Just what I need." and took the can home with me. My parents took a dim view of my incendiary play so I stashed the can in the garage and waited for Sunday.
My father was a Baptist preacher, the kind where the women wear little makeup and no one has sex standing up because it might be mistaken for dancing. When you went to church, you wore a black suit, white shirt, and a tie. Sex was something that never happened and my own existence was due to a lucky find under a cabbage leaf. Well, Sunday rolled around and my parents got dressed and left. I stayed home with some excuse.
I puttered around a bit and then got out my can of sodium. I didn't want to make a big explosion, so I used some pliers and got out a greasy chunk of sodium about the size of a quarter or half dollar and maybe four times as thick. I threw this into the gravel driveway and got around the corner of the garage with a garden hose. Carefully peeking around the corner, I started spraying the sodium which sparked and hissed and crackled as the oil was washed away. Seriously disappointed, I stepped out from the corner saying, "Shit! They call that 'violent!'" . . . And that was when the thing detonated. Neighbors later told my parents that it sounded like a 12 gauge shotgun.
I was suddenly covered in tiny chunks of sodium that were eating through my clothes as well as my skin. I had to get this stuff off me before it reached something vital! Almost panicking, I ran to the house, shedding clothes as I went. By the time I got through the back door and into the kitchen I was completely naked. I grabbed a bottle of corn oil and dumped it over my head, frantically sluicing the sodium off me and onto the floor.
So there I was, maybe 15 years old, standing in the kitchen stark naked and covered from head to toe in corn oil.

And that's when my parents walked in. All nicely dressed, just getting back from church, and confronted with this little visual.

I've never been sure exactly what my parents thought was going on but am fairly certain they thought I was up to something kinky rather than simply illegal, a much worse crime in their books.

Regards

Testy