Stupid things you've said or done

(That you knew were stupid even as you did them)

I always love to both hear and share anecdotes of stupidity from otherwise intelligent people. Things that you do or did or said but you knew straight away how stupid it was.

Today I was having a conversation about a meal I bought from the shop. It was a Microwave meal. I showed it to the person I was talking to and he said.

“Nah I’d want something with some meat in it”

To which I replied

“Is Mushroom a meat? It’s got mushrooms in it”

[Brain: I’m going to replay what you just said… “Is Mushroom a meat?”. Yes. You did just say that. I have the recording]

Share your stories of utterly stupid.

One time during breakfast, I meant to ask my wife to pass the salt when I accidentally said “You ruined my life, bitch!”

I told someone with cancer that my uncle passed away from cancer. I felt insensitive and ashamed immediately.

“I do”

We were standing next to this pond looking at some cool fish, maybe koi. There was one particularly large, interesting one, but he disappeared underwater. I turned to my husband and said “Oh, it’ll have to come up for air eventually.” No, no it won’t…

I was explaining to someone a play I had just seen (Little Shop of Horrors) and they said “Oh, so it’s a black comedy?” and I replied - “no, just the chorus were black.”

WTF? :smack:


A smoke alarm blares in the background. A devastatingly handsome young man possessing genius-level intelligence and a penis the envy of porn actors worldwide (it’s my story :p) races to pull a tray of freshly-baked (if not slightly darkened) cookies from a smoking oven. Before the cookies reach the counter however, trouble strikes.

OVEN MITT, fed up with his lowly status and lack of appreciation begins loosen his grip on smoldering pan. The tray full of cookies starts to slip.

OVEN MITT: At long last, my days of involuntary agony and servitude to satisfy the paltry hunger cravings of the tyrannical oppressor are at an end! My plot to destroy your precious cookies is nearly COMPLETE! None can stop me now! Bwahahahaaaa!!

STOMACH: A betrayal! I shall not allow it! Quickly, Other Hand! To Arms!

OTHER HAND: On my way, sir! C’mon Arm!

ARM: Whatever.

TASTE BUDS: Aw, yeah! Let’s rock this bitch!

COOKIES (in unison): Aaaaaaahhhhh! Saaavvvveeee uuuuussssss!!

BRAIN: Zzzzzzzz…

In an instant, Other Hand, aided by the ever-supportive Arm, dashes towards the scene for a valiant but daring rescue attempt.

STOMACH: Other Hand, report!

OTHER HAND: Nearly there, sir. Cookies precariously sliding towards edge of tray. Attempting culinary readjustment maneuver in three, two…

BRAIN: Zzzzz… snort (smacks lips, rolls over) zzzzzz…


TASTE BUDS: Hells yeah, boy! Do that shit! GO AMERICAAAAAAAA!!!

BRAIN (sleepily): Huh, wha-? yawn. Hey guys, what’s all the racket? Can’t a guy get a quick siest- What th- WHATAREYOUDOING?!?! ABORT! ABORT! CODE RED!! MAYDAY!!

OVEN MITT: Too slow, fool. Say goodbye to your precious Cookies.

Reaching his destination, Other Hand, fully exposed, begins perform what he believes will be a flawless readjustment. Things quickly get out of… ahem… hand.

NERVE ENDINGS: Um, hmm… well, this is certainly interesting. Better notify someone. Uh, Nerve Endings to Pain Receptors, be advised. Increased activity down here at Other Hand. Details en route.

PAIN RECEPTORS: Heat exceeding tolerable levels. Damage is imminent. Commencing activation.

BRAIN: Other Hand, get out of there, NOW!


Other Hand, badly damaged and in full retreat, makes a mad dash for Kitchen Sink. Unabated, the tray and Cookies come crashing to the ground.

OVEN MITT: Victory is MINE!

COOKIES: Daaaammmmnnn yoooooouuuuuuuuaaaaaahhhhh (gurgle)…

BRAIN: Damn you, Stomach! This is YOUR fault! Your arrogance and selfish desire caused this!

STOMACH: Me? Who forgot to set the timer and then decided to lay on the couch watching the entire season of Arrested Development? Go on, who?

BRAIN: Ok, let’s not start the blame game here. What we need is a scapegoat. Someone to take the fall for this. How about Penis? He’s used to getting us in trouble.

STOMACH: Good idea. I never liked that prick anyway.

BRAIN: PENIS! Wake up!

PENIS: What? Whaddya want?

BRAIN: If anyone asks, are responsible for Other Hand’s emergency rescue of a falling batch of burning cookies, causing catastrophic injury and an irreparable loss of delicious edible goods. Capice?

PENIS: Come on, who’s gonna believe that?

BRAIN: I’ve got your story all ready. It’s all quite standard, really. We’ve done it a thousand times. At 1432 hours, you spontaneously sent me an image of Catherine Zeta-Jones in a mud-wrestling match with Jessica Beil. You then proceeded to divert blood flow from critical judgment centers. Due to your monumental size, this caused an immediate shut down of all moral and logical quadrants and hereby releases me from any and all responsibility, as per standard pre-sex protocol 126b. It’s BULLETPROOF!

PENIS: Hmmm… this sounds familiar.

STOMACH: Same thing happened in The Great Barroom Debacle of 2008.

PENIS: Ah yes, now I remember. That’s why we’re no longer allowed Tequila, isn’t it?

BRAIN: Indeed it is.

TASTE BUDS: Still owe you bigtime for that one, Penis! High Five!!

BRAIN: Uh, negative on the high five, Penis. So what’s it gonna be?

PENIS: Ok, you have yourself a deal. But I want a favor in return… wait, hang on, which hand???

BRAIN: Left.

PENIS: Oh thank god. Ok, so about that favor…

BRAIN: Tonight, Penis. Usual time and place.

PENIS: Great. Penis out.

TASTE BUDS: Soooo, now that’s over… who’s up for makin’ some brownies, huh?

STOMACH: Brownies? Count me in!


BRAIN: I hate you guys.

Heh, this is why I shouldn’t post when I should be sleeping. Ah well, c’est la vie.

Is there gonna be a ‘stupid things I’ve written’ thread? 'Cause I could pack that bitch!


Nice, reminds me of one I have to share on behalf of my good friend who’s in the theater.

In theater jargon the all-black clothing the techies wear during performances is referred to as “blacks”, he tells me.

So he and the other construction and lighting techs are working on some stagecraft, when a tour group from a local (largely black) high school is coming through. Next to the tour group, a friend of his who, as a joke, is wearing black Victorian garb from the costume department walks across the stage. Now, my friend shouts over the entire theater to him, “HEY! NICE BLACKS!”

The way he tells it, he tried to psychically force the words back into his mouth as they left, seemingly beyond his control.

Sleep less. That was good.

Beat me to it.

Heh. Just thought of another one. Not mine but a friend’s.

He’s had a crush on this girl for a while. We run into her at a mall a while back and start to chat. I should probably point out that he is TERRIFIED of talking to women. It’s like an honest phobia. But peer pressure being what it is (read: he chickens out, I rag on him mercilessly for months to come. We’re talking 3am phone calls to his house to remind him of his testicular deficiency. It’s the only we he’ll learn.) So he’s talking to her, trying his darnedest to be witty and funny. The conversation goes as follows:

HER: Man, it kind of stinks in here, huh?

HIM: Well, that’s probably because I smell like shit (nervous chuckle).

HER: …
ME: :smiley:

Gotta give the boy points for trying, anyway.

I did something similar with my grandma (who not my blood-related grandma). A good few of her 9 brothers and sisters have passed away from cancer already, and one quite recently. She was talking to us about a niggling pain in her shoulder or something. My cousin had a niggling pain in his knee once and it turned out to be bone cancer. So I said “You should get that checked out, it could be cancer.”

It was a totally uncouth thing to say for that time and situation, and I really regret it still, a few years later.

I was trying to get a friend to sign a petition and she was hesitant. I said “It’s just a petition. It’s not like we’re asking for your first born son.”

Then I remember her first born son was the victim of a murder/suicide by his father.

Not enough :smack: in the universe for that one.

When I was young, about 10 or so, someone asked me if I like Salt and Peppa (is that how you spell it?) and I began waxing eloquent about the glories of table spices. :smack:

I still cringe inwardly when I think about it. Even though I was just a kid. I had a crush on the boy who asked. Eek. In his defence, he was just like “wha…no” and proceeded to explain to me.

Just this week I bitched about them having only flavored yogurt at the Stewart’s, no plain yogurt…then went to Hannaford and accidentally bought flavored yogurt. And I didn’t even notice until I sat down last night to eat it with Indian food. Doesn’t go together!

Spoonful- loved the story. I’m tickled by Arm’s apathy and indifference.

Not me, but my father-in-law.

My wife belongs to a fairly large family (Catholic), although it’s getting smaller. For example, my wife has some 15 first cousins, while her father (Denny) has 52 (I have one). Obviously, my grandfather-in-law (Sylvester) had a number of siblings (15 or so, if I remember correctly). As time went by, siblings, of course, started dying. It finally came about that there were only two left: Sylvester, and his sister, Rose.

Also in the family was Franz, the miniature dachsund. Franz was actually the second of that name, having been brought into the fold shortly after the death of the original Franz. Franz II at the time was a year or two old, and was Sylvester’s only companion, his wife having died some years before. Denny had also grown quite attached to him.

One day at school (he’s a teacher), Denny received a hysterical phonecall from Sylvester. Sylvester had suffered a stroke some years ago, and was sometimes difficult to understand. Obviously he was upset about something, but Denny couldn’t quite figure it out between the aphasia (from the stroke) and the crying. Somehow he got the idea that something had happened to the dog, which triggered this conversation:

Denny: Dad, what, something happened to Franz? Franz died? That’s terrible!
Sylvester: No, not Franz! Rosie died!

Here’s your sign!

I heard Bill Engvall on Sirius the other day say something that tickled me. A semi had gotten stuck under an underpass, and Bill said he had stopped behind him to make sure no one was hurt. A state trooper pulled up next to the semi, got out, and walked over, surveying the scene. Bill was mentally saying, “NO! Don’t say it! Don’t say it!”
The trooper says, “Got your truck stuck?”
The truck driver says,“Nope. I was delivering this overpass and I ran out of gas.”

Here’s your sign.

Spoonful, that was frickin’ awesome!!

<bowing while typing>

I drove my husband’s car to the grocery store. I hated that car, and the car hated me. The last time I had taken it to the grocery store the alarm went off for no reason and I couldn’t shut it off for several embarrassing minutes. Twice.

I parked my cart full of groceries behind the car and pushed the trunk release button on the remote. It wouldn’t work. The batteries must have died. So I walked around to the driver’s side door, unlock it with the key, and pull the trunk release. Meanwhile my cart full of groceries was rolling away from the back of the car at a decent speed (flat and level parking lots are few and far between around these parts).
On the other side of the lot was a man watching me juggle keys, car doors, and a runaway cart with a pitying expression on his face, probably wondering how someone too stupid to figure out there’s a key hole on the back of the trunk even managed to drive herself to the store.