Your best story

Oh, Jesus. I have to narrow this down to one?

All right, I'll go back to high school for one, since I love this story.


Deni and Friend Take On the Establishment: Establishment Here Being an Art Show

Setting High School

Dramatis Personae

Deni - Our intrepid hero
MS - A long time partner in crime and one of my best friends.
Mr. Mitchel - A brand new teacher to the school.
Mr. Coleman - A teacher who got a kick out of Deni and MS' antics.
Vice Principal Henderson - A VP who gets a kick out of Deni and MS' antics, but has to be disciplinarian anyway.


Ok, so, to set the stage. Deni and MS have been friends since they were about 4, with spaces left out due to one or the other moving. It's grade 11, and neither of them are especially dedicated students. Above petty vandalism, but big into drinking and smoking pot instead of going to class and generally fucking with people. Have a reputation for being trouble makers of a high caliber. Antics ranging from instigating an inter school fight just to see if they could make it happen to rigging a student council election to convincing a local news station that someone we didn't like was staging a gay pride rally in support for those who chose the same lifestyle as him (he was, of course, straight... and quite livid when the camera crew showed up asking him about how it felt to be gay in high school) etc... etc...

So in my high school, we had this day that was fondly referred to as "Club Day." On club day, people could create a table for their school groups or clubs and have people sign up to participate. There was also the IB (International Baccalaureate... advanced classes) art show up on display. A lot of parents there to see different aspects of the school etc. Anyway, in the students section of the university, MS and I have set up our own little table and are currently hosting Pyramid Club. To join pyramid club, you pay ten dollars. For that ten dollars, we give you a pin. Now, anyone you get to join up in Pyramid club, you get one dollar for that. You get the idea. This was a follow up to our previous year's club, the United School Socialists Review, or U.S.S.R., a club that focused on musical theatre with socialist themes.

So we're running Pyramid Club, completely unhindered because the teachers and the students were distracted by the art program's little show in the auditorium. So, after a few hours of making money off first years who thought this was a good money making scheme, we get bored at no authority figures taking notice of our misbehaviour and decide to go make trouble elsewhere. So we stick some little grade 9 behind our table, tell him how the scam works, and let him make money while we go out to check out the art show.

So, the two of us are sitting outside the auditorium, watching people sort of move in and out. And we notice that there are a lot of people making really blowhard statements about the shitty pieces of art sitting on pedestals in front of us. One of them was just a bunch of melted crayons, titled "my soul" and people are milling around it, talking about the ephemeral quality of using wax, the way the melting colours are indicative of the flow from life to death, blah blah blah...

So we decide to run a little social experiment. When the hallway clears for a moment, we chuck the melty crayon soul and replace it with my buddy's leather two-tone wingtip shoe, quickly rename said entry on the appropriate card to "Vagabond shoe" and sit back to observe.

Sure enough, in a matter of minutes, we've heard "the transience of wealth to poverty" all the way to "the inherent tragedy of the world of inherited wealth." So we think this is pretty funny, and we decide it's time to put on a series of works. So, when the opportunities present themselves, we begin going down the hall replacing things. Vagabond Watch, Vagabond Rock, Vagabond Sock, Vagabond Hat, Vagabond Action Figures etc... and sure, some people got that someone was fucking with them, but the HUGE majority of people were taking it very, very seriously. My personal favourite was the "loss of innocence" portrayed by Vagabond Action Figure. As we'd positioned Skeletor to be dry-humping He-Man. Classic.

Anyway, this goes on for a while, and we decide we want to fuck with our favourite target, Mr. Mitchel. Now, Ian is a good guy. He looks like he's 12, he's 20-something, it's his first teaching gig, and he landed MS and I in a class together. It's just... bad luck is what it is. It's also unfortunate that he had a picture of his smoking hot wife on his desk, as it gave us extra ammunition to torture the poor boy whenever we wanted to.

Now, Mr. Coleman was a second year teacher who'd come to appreciate what MS and I brought in terms of entertainment, and he agreed to open Mr. Mitchel's class for us so long as we didn't tell him why we needed him to do it. Which we were happy to do, or not do, as was the case.

So, five minutes later, sitting in the hallway, is a picture of a beautiful blonde woman, titled "Vagabond Wife." So for a good twenty minutes, my cohort and I get a solid chuckle out of people talking about the significance of loss and beauty, blah blah blah. And then I hear MS mutter: "This just got awesome." And sure enough, coming down the hall is Mr. Mitchel. He walks up the row, talking out of his ass about the "vagabond" series of art, about the meaning of the shoe, the watch, even skeletor trying to bone (get it?) He Man.

Then he stopped.

And then he looked pissed.

And then he took the picture and stormed off to his class while asking everyone if they'd seen us. If he'd had the presence of mind to look in the enclaves in the side of the hallway, he could have yelled at us right then and there. But, alas, he had to wait.

So, cut to the next day. There's an assembly called for all the grade 11's and 12's, and MS and I are sitting up in the top right of the room, near the top of the bleachers. And VP Henderson launches into it. A full explanation of the pyramid scheme, and that it was not, in fact, a club. The necessity for the differentiation between a teacher's professional life and their private life. The inappropriate nature of hijacking other people's art for your own amusement, and he tops it off by saying they are unable to prove who did it, so there will be no repercussions, but the entire class had been put on "notice." The entire time he's saying this, he's glaring right at MS and I.

On your way out of the assembly, Henderson pulled me aside and said: "Funny. Very funny. But give Mitchel a break. I think he almost had a heart attack."

And that was that. I never heard about it again, except from Coleman, who brought it up at a bar a few years later when I ran into him.



Not my best personal story, but one I don't think I've told to anyone here before. All for you, Sprout.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Paco, we have a similar trophy. We did a karaoke run about four years back, and my buddy won the award for worst performance (He butchered Highway to the Danger Zone. It was epic.) and the award was this joke seven foot wooden spoon. God knows why. Now, you're supposed to carry it around as a badge of shame, I guess, and give it back. But Andrew decided if they were going to give him a fucking spoon, he won the fucking spoon (he was, as he describes it: Turbo Drunk at the time) and he was keeping it. So he bolts for the door, stumbling because he's drunk, dragging a heavy wooden spoon behind him and screaming "CALL ME MINT JELLY, BITCHES! I'M ON THE LAMB!"

So, as good friends we take off after him, toss him and the spoon in the back of my buddy's truck and peel out. Meanwhile, Andrew is in the back, middle finger in the air, nigger, grip on his balls screaming: "SUCK IT, JOHNNY LAW!" at the bouncer.

So, long story short, that spoon now sits over the door at my cabin up north and we salute it as part of the family every Summer.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Originally Posted by Shin

Well I've told this story before but I think it's worth telling again...

This tale takes place in the early summer of 1999. I was at university in Salford and doing all those things students do so well, drinking, taking drugs and having recently split up with a fairly serious girlfriend, shagging anything with tits. In Manchester, the city to which Salford is attached, there were at the time a number of clubs where during the week they had ridiculous drinks offers, sometimes as little as 50p a drink. Needless to say, we were all smashed most of the time. The routine was to hit the club, drink lots, quickly then scout around for a young lady to go home with, starting with the fittest there and gradually lowering your standards until youfound someone compliant.

On this particular evening, the drinking had reached previously unfounded levels. I'd bumped into my ex with her new boyfriend, the sleazy guy she had the audacity to cheat on me with (I can't really take the moral high ground here, I'm fairly rubbish at staying faithful in relationships and I did beat the ever living shit out of him at uni in front of all his mates and several campus security who luckily, me and a mate were paying off to turn a blind eye to our weed dealing business and who took very little interest in the whole business. Got me quite a reputation that little skuffle) and it had hit me hard so all thoughts of women was replaced with a fervent need to get completely slaughtered. So I did.

Round after round of beers with double vodka chasers; in three hours I'd drunk enough to kill a normal man and was frankly in no fucking state for anything. The night was drawing to a close and in my drunken state, I decided the time was right to go on the pull. I lurched around the club, upsetting several young women until eventually and some might suggest miraculously, I got chatting to one bird and five minutes later, we were full on sucking face.

If I'm honest, I remember very little of the rest of the evening. I remember leaving the club and getting in a taxi heading east out of the town centre (Salford, where I lived is west of Manchester). We got back to this girl's flat, a pokey dive on the edge of Mosside as it turns out, murder capital of England at the time. One thing led to another rather rapidly and we ended up attempting to have sex. I was truly plastered, absolutely incapable, I remember falling off the bed at one point and when she asked me to take her from behind I stuck my dick right in her arse, she wasn't too impressed. Anyhow, after an hour or so I passed out.

A few hours later I woke up again. I had no idea where I was, no recollection of how I'd got there and only a splitting headache to show for it. I could see a digital clock and it was about 6 in the morning. I groped around for a glass of water and it was at this point my hand encountered flesh. I looked down and saw a sight that damn near struck me blind.

Lying next to me was the fattest, ugliest trog-beast that human kind has ever spawned. She was repulsive in every way, the gold thong round her ankles gave her an air of Jabba the Hutt wearing Princess Leia's bikini. I damn near vomitted there on the spot. I rolled out of the bed and hit the floor with a bang. The she-beast grunted but luckily stayed asleep. Still fuzzy (And probably still pissed) I had only one thought on my mind, escape!

I grabbed my clothes and dressed as quietly as I could and began to sneak towards the door and freedom. At this point though, my natural criminal tendencies kicked in and I looked around the room for stuff to steal. In the end I took a couple of cds, The 1999 Ministry Album and a couple of others I didn't really want but figured I could use for coasters. I also noticed she had a table covered in shot glasses, each marked with a different national flag, clearly a full set. I stole Spain and Canada.

I made it out of the house and when the door slammed behind me I fucking RAN, randomly through the streets until I was sure she'd never find me.

Sadly this left me in the position where I had no fucking idea where I was and with an uneasy feeling that I was in Mosside. I remembered that the taxi had gone east so I did the only sensible thing, put the rising sun behind me and started walking. I found a newsagent that sold me a can of beer long before I found a main road but luckily, after a good hour of walking I found a bus stop with a numebr on I recognised. Jumped on a bus and made my way home.

When I got home my mates were all still in bed so I simply laid out my spoils of war on the kitchen table and went to bed myself. The following evening they all asked me all about it but what else could I do but feign amnesia and deny all knowledge.

I'd love to say I learned a lesson from this and I probably did. Next time, I'll nick her fucking wallet...

Nobody tops this story. Fucking. NO. ONE. This is the primary reason Deni and Shin get along like a house on fire. The pure genius of the man.

Seriously, mate. Tell this story constantly. It's never too early to see it again. Hell, just post it in graphic detail in every TQP thread we have. Learn them kids some knowledge.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.