Not signed in (Sign In)
  1.  (10363.1)
    Memories are all that stand between us and Galvani’s frogs. Here is where we burn our anecdotes onto the face of the Interweb and persuade history we’re more than twitching amphibian meat machines.


    1. Recount a tale on the below topic. You have 300 words. Anything more than that will be flambéed with the righteous heat of Deletion. Repeat offenders will be banned.

    Linking to a longer version of the story, or posting subsequent chapters, or anything which indirectly pushes it past that 300 word limit, will be similarly nuked.

    2. Read – and comment on – the other entries, before you post your own. Partly that’s because you’ll look like a plum if your story is a rubbish shadow of someone else’s. Mostly it’s because you’re not an impolite shit, are you?

    [3. Additional emphasis: “Topic.” TOP-IC. That means your anecdote should revolve around a specific subject, yes? The one below, in fact. Not just any old tale you care to share. Deviation = maggoty pee-hole disaster.]


    By telling us your story, it’s in the public domain. Don’t get pissy about that.

    Right now you’re in a pub, surrounded by writers, artists and socialites. If you recount an interesting tale to entertain and endear yourself to your fellows, you do not get to bitch about it if a twisted version of the same tale shows up 30 years later on the other side of the planet. Stories are contagious. My advice? Be honest. Don’t make shit up. Don’t treat this like a fiction thread. It’s a chance to entertain and move us with your life experience. That’s plenty good enough.


    "Dear Holiday Season: I hate you with flame, and here is why."

    [Let me repeat, for the sake of the dinlows out there: YOU HAVE 300 WORDS. Lack of net access prevented me from being heavy-handed over the previous thread. No more free passes.]
    • CommentAuthorFlabyo
    • CommentTimeNov 28th 2011
    A short one to start you all off.

    It is my birthday on Christmas Day.

    I could go into more detail, but you've probably worked most of it out already.
  2.  (10363.3)
    Oh you poor thing. A few of my friends are in that season.

    Here's one from the vaults (do remember that all conversation is primarily in Russian):

    My grandad occasionally has a resurgence of religious feeling, and insists at the last minute we get together to do some Jewish holiday or another “properly.” One Passover, a few years ago, was such a time. He had lit a candle in the window and was wearing a jaunty white headpiece which kept falling off. He also insisted on loudly mispronouncing some prayer or another at dinner. Meanwhile my mother was desperately trying to feed my brother his (totally not kosher-le-pesach) porridge, an event which escalated into him crying and her yelling at him and trying to shove the spoon in his mouth, still to the tune of grandad's incomprehensible Hebrew, and my grandma and I just shared this Look. It went something like "you've gotta laugh or you'll cry."

    Then my grandad started going on about how we were supposed to have an egg, and bitter herbs, and a shank bone, whatever that is. So I rolled my eyes, got up, pulled a raw egg, an onion and a random piece of meat (raw) out of the fridge and dumped them on the table.

    "And apples! Apples and honey!"
    "Grandad, that's for Rosh Ha Shana."
    "Apples! Ira, pick up my hat, it's fallen down again."

    Next time I turn my back, what do I hear but a crack and the following:

    "What's the matter?"
    "The egg's raw."
    "I thought it was boiled?"
    "'s not."

    The egg was now sitting drippily in a bowl on the table.

    Naturally, we all cracked up laughing.
    • CommentTimeNov 29th 2011
    GIANT YELLOW Y-FRONTS - worst christmas present ever
    • CommentTimeNov 29th 2011 edited
    Oh, jeez...let's see..

    - When I was a kid the stress of the season would get to my parents, leading to a very loud argument and my dad leaving the house (and eventually coming back) on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day (just before dinner was ready). That always ruined things for me.

    - We don't do the trees anymore because my brother, who was severely disabled and adored the christmas lights on the trees, passed away. There's always a touch of sadness this time of year.

    - I always end up buying my parent's presents to each other since neither totally knows what the other wants. This triples my shopping stress.
      CommentAuthorAlan Tyson
    • CommentTimeNov 29th 2011
    @Flabyo - you too, huh? I'm not quite a Christmas baby - I was born in the "seriously is there EVER going to be sunlight again?" hours of the 26th, having just, I'm sure, ruined my mother's Christmas with going into labor.

    I've got some good ones, but I need to think on just the right one to put up. Hmmm...
  3.  (10363.7)
    I recall Christmas day two years ago, when full of happiness and goodwill after spending a surprisingly enjoyable day with the family I walked in my front door and caught my foot on my newly purchased, fairly expensive exercise bike.

    I slammed into the ground, almost breaking my jaw and my right knee. The exercise bike followed, smashing me in the small of the back. A second later my pushbike - which had been leaning against the exercise bike - joined in, whacking me in the back of my head.

    I lay on the ground swearing loudly for several minutes before dragging myself free.

    I walked with a limp for the whole of January, and the exercise bike was a write off.

    (believe it or not, I hadn't had a drink all day)
    • CommentAuthorflecky
    • CommentTimeNov 30th 2011
    Yes.I believe i will be able to tell a tale of the true darkside on this one.Lovely.
  4.  (10363.9)
    I mentioned this before in my blog about my folk's accident, but the short version is this:

    Didn't get to be with my family on Christmas due to work.

    After the holiday they were vacationing in Florida, and on their way to the airport to come home, they were in an accident that put everyone in serious condition, and killed my grandfather.

    After a month of helping people get out of the hospital, I had to fly home to my parents house and help make it handicapped accessible because my Pop wasn't going to be able to walk for some time.

    Upon checking in with my mom, to get more instructions on what needed to be done with the house, she told me that my Christmas presents were upstairs in her closet, and I should open them when I get a chance.

    So, it's like late February, I'm in my parent's house with a bottle of whisky and I'm opening Christmas presents. Its one of those moments where you start laughing, and then you realize that you sound completely insane.
    • CommentAuthorflecky
    • CommentTimeNov 30th 2011
    @ government spy: Ouch! The hora...
  5.  (10363.11)
    A few years back we went to Spain for Christmas to visit my partner's family. She was pregnant with my third daughter at the time. It started badly, my then-three year old went ballistic on the plane at take off and had to be restrained by the cabin crew. Hours after we got there, she got a vomiting bug and puked all over a restaurant. Then we were hit with the worst weather to hit the Malaga region for 25 years - we didn't have warm clothes and I ended up spending days wrapped in a tablecloth because that was all I could find to keep me warm, as the wind howled through the whole flat. This was not supposed to happen in a place where you can see fucking Africa on a clear day. My daughters and partner and partner's mother nearly got swept away in a torrent of mud and rocks that came down from the mountains and hit their car. The spanish do not amend their driving style even in torrential rain - while anxiously waiting for them to come back, I watched about a dozen pile ups as the cars hit the flow of water on the roundabout outside. The dismembered body of a prostitute was found on the beach. We all fell out. I drank a bottle of absinthe the night I was meant to go out with my partner on our own. Christmas itself was a nightmare, half of us were ill, the in-laws refused to get up until mid afternoon by which time the kids were freaking, my eldest daughter told my partner's dad (ie her grandfather) that he was a horrible smelly old man and headbutted him in the stomach. He called her the worst child he'd ever encountered. And spent the rest of christmas pissed on gin talking to his cats. And when we got back to Luton airport (which I hate with the fire of a thousand suns), the car battery was flat and my eldest child told me how much she hated me all the way back on the airport bus.

    Not one of our better family occasions.
    • CommentAuthorflecky
    • CommentTimeDec 2nd 2011
    @ Singularity jones: Fookin' 'ell!! Bleedin' 'eck!!

    When's the film coming out? Remember to invite me to the opening night.I'll be on the door handing out the vomit buckets.

    Hardcore xxx shit mate!
    • CommentAuthorTimbo
    • CommentTimeDec 2nd 2011
    The above make my sleepwalking and pissing on my mum's Christmas tree seem a bit tame really.

    I am still glad the fairy lights were unplugged though.
    • CommentAuthorflecky
    • CommentTimeDec 10th 2011
    Bit quiet ? The tale i was gonna post is a bit doom and gloomy and we got enough of that stuff at this time of year already.

    Xmas cake!!
    • CommentTimeDec 19th 2011
    @JP: HOLY SHIT, man. Has your child grown more tolerable?

    Enter part of the Miki-saga:
    A few years ago, I was pregnant. Having never been pregnant before, I decided to give it a shot. I found myself just casually ignoring the fact that in a few months, I would be a mother. After three months pass, I find myself excited (“HOLY SHITFUCK, THIS IS REALLY GOING TO HAPPEN!”). Halfway to term, one morning I get up to go to class. My crotch is wet. I reach down and think, “I’m going to be the pregnant lady who pisses herself for months until the baby is born.” I smell my finger… it smells sweet. Amniotic fluid.
    I proceed to call my MD. I am to come in right away. Ultrasound: 1/10 of the amniotic fluid left. They tell me that I’m likely to spontaneously abort. I go home on bedrest for a week, hoping for a miraculous reaccumulation. I’m scheduled to go back in a week later – 3 days before Thanksgiving - since the baby would be severely brain-damaged and is not viable if no change occurred.
    A week later, induced. MD tells me it was just going to come out on its own at any time and there is no way that the baby would survive the process. I ask for a fuckton of pain and anxiety meds and won’t allow any non-medical staff in the room. I’m the only one to suffer this tragedy as a live viewing. Three days later, begging to have it cut out of me – I deliver after the MD dilates me manually. I had to do the FULL labor maneuvers to get him out, no surprise shitting of baby.
    The resident is still in the room fifteen minutes post-birth. I ask why. She tells me, “he’s still alive.” 41 minutes later, dead baby. Day before thanksgiving. Fuck the holidays.
  6.  (10363.16)
    Here we go a cheery tale for the season, to fit with the tidings of the time.

    I hate hollidays. Not just because stress brings out everyone's inner asshole, but because family and friends of the family tend to die between thanksgiving and new years, and usually around Christmas. This year the death was an uncle, and an elderly friend of the family. At other times, it's been great aunts, grandparents relatives, and most of the people in my family who I felt I could really understand. One year the Holliday disaster was my stepdad's friend having his gun malfunction, and the pieces flew through his hand- all at a shooting range the night before Christmas. Don't ask me to explain Christmas eve at the range, it was a macho guy thing and has stopped.

    It makes me edgy until a few days after new years, when it's "safe" again.
    People keep telling me to get over it. That death happens.
    My grandfather used to say "green Christmas, full graveyard" and laugh a funny- sad laugh.
    He died a few years back, on new years, a few hours after the ball dropped.

    As a child, I thought he was just being creepy and morbid. As an adult, I find myself repeating the phrase, only thinking it should be "Christmas season, full graveyard".
  7.  (10363.17)
    Christmas Eve is my birthday. (So, I feel you on that, Flabyo)

    Question: If we have more than one tale of holiday doom, can we make more than one post? One for each story relating to the topic?
    • CommentAuthorRenThing
    • CommentTimeDec 20th 2011

    I hear you. We got news that our first child had a cystic hygroma (found in .1-.3% of the pop) a week into December. The ultrasound doc, who was the gentlest she could be, told us that in her experience she's never seen a fetus survive one as bad as we had. We had further tests done and we were told on December 23rd the kid had Downs at least and was most likely not going to survive. After a lot of soul searching my wife decided she couldn't go through delivering a dead baby and we had a DNC on the 28th. Between the 23rd and the 28th was Christmas with both of our families where we had to put on a smiling face and fake being as happy as the rest of them (they were looking forward to being grandparents very much) and we only told them after the operation. Worst Christmas ever.
    • CommentTimeDec 20th 2011
    Sadly, I was too far along for anything other than a C, section. They refused to do it. You can rest assured that I was BEGGING them for one on day three of labor. Those poor nurses.

    Anyhow, at least it sounds like you had another, hopefully healthy. :)
    • CommentAuthorRenThing
    • CommentTimeDec 20th 2011
    We did and he is healthy and a fucking rockstar, thanks.