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This is a question I didn't do it

Chthonic wants to know about awful, terrible things you have definitely never done. But secretly have. Confess!

(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:16)
Pages: Popular, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

What I didn't do.
I didnt ever post a 100% truthful QOTW.
Sometimes people on here take everything too literally.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 16:15, 22 replies)
You know how I told you that it was over between my ex and me when we first got together?
Well, that was true. It was definitely over.

But what I've never told you was the timing: we broke up about ten minutes before you and I hooked up.

Not exactly wrong, but definitely a bit... grubby.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 16:10, 2 replies)
Police! Lies! Bloodshed!
Not sure whether I should post this.
It’s been 12 years, and just recalling this whole episode still gives me a little knot of anxiety in my stomach. It’s a bit of a long one …

As I’ve mentioned in some other posts, my father used to be a policeman. This brought a strange set of perks and pitfalls to my youth – colleagues of his would give you an “Ah, it’s you eh lad? Well go on, on your way” when they caught you drinking in the park, rather than driving you home to your dad (their boss). On the downside, if he himself caught me or my brother doing anything remotely untoward, we would feel his full wrath.

Consequently I had mixed feelings when he retired from the force. In a way it felt like a load had been lifted. He’d long proclaimed how my brother and I were ‘ambassadors’ for him when we were out and about, and it was a relief to feel that if we were ever in the shit in future, we only had our own reputations to worry about, rather than his professional one. But in an odd way I was very proud of him as a policeman, and I knew of lots of instances where he’d made peoples’ lives immeasurably better. Also, being a bit of a whelp (18) I was nervous about what would happen to our family with him retired. Our lifestyle was far from lavish, but would it get worse? Would we keep the family house? Would sacrifices have to be made? Could I go still go to uni? To my panicked and selfish young eye, it felt like a whole load of change was coming.

By chance, his retirement party fell on the same day as my last ever A-level lesson. We were both leaving systems that had become our lives, and the party was an emotionally charged event, held in a local hotel lounge. Like all good 18-year-olds, I got riotously pissed and danced like a fucking dickhead, before being overcome by the emotion of the night and sloping off to cry in a corner. My dad wandered over and gently suggested it was time I got myself home. I nodded tearfully, and set off on the walk back.

The walk back, incidentally, took me past the very college I’d left that day.

I remember swaying there in the dark, peering up across the basketball courts at the building that had dominated my life for four years, pissed-up sentimentality sweeping over me. And then I spotted something I’d never before noticed – the central spire of the building had a weather vane on top of it. An idea formed, and I staggered over to the nearest drainpipe.

Over the course of twenty minutes I grunted, heaved, shimmied, crawled, climbed, slid and scaled, and eventually was hugging the top of an incredibly steep spire, victoriously clutching a cast-iron cockerel. I had my prize. I should have just got out of there. I wish I had. But I thought “Fucking hell, you don’t get to do this very often. I’d best have an explore.” And so I found myself pottering around on the roof of my old college at one in the morning, cockerel in hand, marvelling at the unique views from the various departments. Until, inevitably, there was a shout.
“POLICE!”
I was suddenly lit up by a powerful light from below.

In panic I ducked behind a skylight, weighing up my options. With the true logic of a shitfaced kid, I knew what had to be done. They must not catch me. I took a deep breath, stood up, and illuminated in all my glory, I ran like fuck towards the edge of the roof. In my mind's eye I’ve falsely romanticised this scene – I see it in slow motion, the fleeing fugitive being tracked by a spotlight as he bounds towards the precipice and jumps into the night ...
Falling …

Falling …

Falling ….

SMACK onto the playing field 20ft below, twatting my face into my knees. Barely catching my breath I jumped up and took off like a maniac across the darkened field. I could hear a wheezing copper right behind me but I knew I was losing him, and by the time I’d galloped the 200m to the fence, he was way behind. I leapt over onto the road, and then made another stupid decision. Rather than carrying on running, I veered into a garden and crawled under the nearest bush.

The wheezing copper turned up about twenty seconds later, followed shortly after by two police cars. They knew I couldn’t have disappeared into thin air. I could hear about five of them milling around angrily just metres away. Then footsteps approaching. The crunch of leaves underfoot. And finally the awful, firm grip of a hand on my shoulder.
“Get up. You’re under arrest.”

I was terrified. “For what?” I asked.
“Suspicion of burglary.”
BURGLARY!
I felt my whole future drop away in a heartbeat. My stomach lurched. Fucking burglary. Burglary. Three months inside on a charge associated almost exclusively with smackheads. Kicked out of home. No uni. No job. No more mates. Just me, a convicted burglar. What a fucking let-down.

Then I noticed that the white shirt I was wearing was completely soaked with blood.

“I HAVE BURGLED NOTHING!” I intoned in my best ‘respectable’ voice as he bundled me into the back of the squad car. “I have been assaulted, officer, assaulted grievously, and I was hiding up there from my assailants.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I sat in the back of the car for half-an-hour while they pored over the school, looking for damage, signs of a break-in, discarded loot, anything that would prove I’d been up to no good. Thank god, they found nothing, and had to return to the car and formally ‘unarrest’ me. As far as they were concerned, I was simply a drunkard on a roof. I never thought I’d be so relieved to be officially declared ‘a drunkard on a roof.’
“Sir, would you like to make a formal complaint about the assault you claim to have been a victim of?” one of them asked.
“No thank you.”
“Well then, would you like us to drive you to hospital, because your face is a bit of a mess.”
“Yes please.”
When I had landed on the field, the impact had driven my bottom teeth through the flesh below my lip, leaving a hole I could poke my tongue through. A&E gave me a local anaesthetic and sewed it up as best they could, before sending me on my way.

The next morning I woke up in my bed. I had that glorious millisecond beloved by drunks everywhere in which your mind is totally clear, before the stupidity of the night runs in like a pack of starved wolves. I groaned pathetically, got up and inspected my face in the mirror. A fucking mess. My mouth looked like a worn cushion, bursting, black, with loose threads poking everywhere. And then my dad walked into my room.

He’d heard it all. Officers at the party had been paged. He’d suffered the ignominy of his retirement do being overshadowed by his son’s stupid, pissed-up wankery.
“Why were you up on that roof?”
“I was assaulted.”
“Bollocks, why were you on the roof?”
“Well, I thought someone was after me …”
“BOLLOCKS, why were you on the roof?”
I stuttered along for another few moments, before he cut me off with the line that probably made me feel worst of all.

“You know what, I don’t even care anymore. It’s got fuck all to do with me now. You’re 18, I’m a civilian. If you want to behave like a wanker, it’s on your head.”
Then he walked out, quietly closing the door behind him.

And afterwards all I could think was – I can’t believe I left that fucking cockerel up there.

I was a prick as a teenager.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 16:07, 4 replies)
I know I did something awful
I helped Jim Henson kill JFK. There were six of us. He was pulling all the strings, we were just puppets in his great caper.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 16:06, 2 replies)
Ummm....
....dear Wife. That smashed photo frame in our living room from a year ago, which somehow occurred when you were out on the raz with a few mates and I was stuck in the house wasn't the result of the cat chasing a fly, like I said it was.

It was the result of me getting drunk and watching Star Wars A New Hope on dvd while swinging the kitchen broom around my head, pretending to deflect laser fire from a training drone.

Ahem.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 15:54, 5 replies)
Little Sis
Remember when you broke one of mums ornaments and I helped hide the evidence and she didn't find out of a week and then I took the blame for you?

Remember when a few months later when I broke one of dads plant pots and you helped me hide the evidence? And how you then ratted me out as soon as they got home?

Well you might also remember how mums fave necklace was found in your jewllery box and dad yelled at you about being a liar and taking other peoples stuff without asking.

Payback can be a bitch :-)
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 15:51, Reply)
Mike
That stupidly hot, drunk goth girl that was into you and I ended up snogging. You know how I said that she took me back to her place but we did nothing?

We did something. We did something for a good few hours. And then I rocked up to the club, told you we did nothing, and apologised by buying you a beer. I rubbed the beer rim with my sticky fingers.

I'm not even sorry.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 15:43, 2 replies)
Banged a girl my mate was trying for.
Next!
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 15:16, 1 reply)
Dear Husband
You know I told you that it must have been God who came down to Earth and made me pregnant? I'm really sorry, but it was actually Barry from the next village.

To be honest, I wasn't really expecting you to believe it - I mean, it was a pretty lame story. I was just trying to relieve the tension with a little humour. But you actually went for it. And then that whole "messiah" thing just got completely out of hand!

Whoops!
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 14:57, Reply)
Son.
I didn't kill your father.

I am your father.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 14:53, 8 replies)
I put the screw
in the tuna!

;-;
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 14:38, 3 replies)
I'm useless at lying to my Ma.
When having found all the stringy bits snipped off the ends of a nice expensive rug my Mum had bought this conversation happened;

Ma; "Did you cut the ends off the rug?"
Sauronwibble; "NoooOOoooo, I didn't do it"
Ma; "Whose scissors did you use?"
Sauronwibble; "My sisters"

I was very little but seriously, I didn't see that one coming! Idiot.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 14:28, Reply)
Your mum!

(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 14:21, Reply)
Mr Bennett.
When Ian called you "Old Onion Head" and you went red in the face and nearly cried and demanded to know who told him about that and he said he didn't know what you were talking about, it was just a silly name he made up and you must have assumed that you had a such a ridiculous onion looking head for two schools to independently give you the same nickname?


You taught my friend Stuart at your previous school.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 14:14, 4 replies)
I'm fairly sure it wasn't me.
Back in 1993, Colonel Boris was a mere patrol leader in the Air Scouts and as such, we got to go to airshows for free in return for litter duties (and when older, crowd control).
We went to the Royal International Air Tattoo at RAF Fairford, which meant best part of a week camping and being allowed into the airfield before and after the crowds so we could get some good photos of the aircraft wihout dozens of people in the way.
On a break from litter picking, a few of us went to see what the Ukranian pilots were selling. This being just after the breakup of the USSR, they had a lot of old Soviet kit for sale, so we all bought Russian Air Force badges so the chaps could pay for vodka. I knew two words in Russian, so said 'spassiba, tovaritch.' At this point, the chap starts talking animatedly at me, thinking I can understand him. I sort of nod, smile and walk off, the pilot looking quite happy.
Now, I sould explain that at the age of 12, I was rather tall, and looked a bit older. I was uniform and had official airfield passes on me.
A little while later, two Ukranian MiG-29s takes off and perform a manouver resulting in 50 million quids' worth of Ukranian fighter jets falling out of the sky and two pilots coming down on large silk hankies.
I heard from someone later that one of the pilots had asked a member of airshow staff if the flight controllers had agreed to them performing that particular piece of aerobatics and apparently he had nodded and smiled before walking off...
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 14:09, 8 replies)
When i was 8 years old, I once set fire to the living room rug
I claimed it was an accident at the time, but luckily i confessed to my parents when they were teenagers, so i kind of confessed to it.

Marty.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:59, 8 replies)
Dad....
You know when you went next door and shouted at Christopher's dad until he paid to have the fence panels replaced that Christopher kicked to death?

Yeah, it wasn't Christopher.

Neither was the greenhouse.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:58, 3 replies)
I knew I'd have to admit this aventually,
... she caught me on the counter
Saw me bangin' on the sofa
I even had her in the shower
She even caught me on camera

She saw the marks on my shoulder
Heard the words that I told her
Heard the scream geting louder
She stayed until it was over

Darling, I'm afraid it was me.

Our whole courtship and subsequent marriage was all based on lies.
Although it has to be said, when I review the evidence, you were pretty gullible.

(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:56, 1 reply)
Mum
You know when the gate post got knocked down when I was 17 and there was a big dent in the back of the Fiesta and you yelled at Dad for being an idiot and that he shouldn't be allowed to drive and that you can't believe you ever let him teach me how and that you were going to use the money you were going to spend on his birthday present to repair the dent?

Sorry Mum. And Thanks, Dad.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:47, Reply)
Forget phone hacking, it's written in the stars...
I used to work at a tabloid newspaper in Lunnon. It featured a "Your Stars" column. Being very, very far down the food chain, one of my jobs was to sub it and put it on the page. The astrologer was advanced in years and, perhaps due to unforeseen circumstances, would often forget to file their copy or file the previous day's "predictions". In these circumstances I would use older columns but mix around the different signs' "predictions" so Ares, Pisces, Yog Sothoth and the rest wouldn't have a repeat reading.

I was not alone in doing this and nobody in the editorial hierarchy gave a toss.

My second job of the day was to sub the letters, most of which went on about how spookily accurate the horoscope was...
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:40, 7 replies)
Blood
You know when I said that the blood on the sheets was from my leg that got cut by a bit of glass hidden in the grass when I was playing football and I even had that bandage on? Well the blood was actually from Lorna's vagina when we had sex and she was on the plop...and the bandage covered nothing.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:40, 13 replies)
Mum
When I was 17 I know I told you that the front door window pane broke because a gust of wind caught it.

The truth is, when you were on holiday a couple of old blokes kept stopping in the front doorway for a chat, they were very loud so I thought I would get their attention somehow. I didn't think a 2p coin would do any damage to a stained glass double glazed window pane as a I hurled it at the door. I had never felt as sick as I did that moment when the small cracking noises started and then the large crack as the pane split in two. I promise to put you in a good nursing home when you get old.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:34, Reply)
Community noticeboard shenanigans
Somebody - I know not who - is posting increasingly bizarre notices on our local community noticeboard in Reading. As soon as they are torn down by the self-appointed noticeboard guardians, a new one appears, to the detriment of the sanity of all those involved.



It is absolutely NOT ME*.

* May actually be me.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:34, 3 replies)
Bart did it.

(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:32, Reply)
5th? Fuck's sake.
I've definitely never been first.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:29, Reply)
Mum? Dad? Remember that odd, gooey mess
on the partition window? The one that I said was probably from where I sneezed?

You know it wasn't. I know it wasn't. Let us never speak of it, again.
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:26, 3 replies)
304th?

(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:20, Reply)
2nd?

(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:19, Reply)
1st
Yay! NEVER DONE THAT BEFORE!
(, Thu 15 Sep 2011, 13:18, Reply)

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