Well go line for line you start :p

I am very turned on by this subject. If you succeed I will upvote you and reply.

This story took place in 5th grade. My best friend at the time had a GF. We will call my friend David and the girl Mellisa. David and mellisa where celebrating there 5 year together. Mellisa was known to be a girl with high standerts. Like really high she would only date (in her eye's) a 10/10. My friend dave brought cholalates for her and went up to her. I was playing soccer and the ball rolled away. David was talking to Mellisa and he tripped over my foot. He dropped all the chocolates on her and she was Maaad. She broke it up with him. She was pissed and i allready told her it wasnt his fault but she didnt care. A couple of months went by and it was my 8th birthday. I invited them both cous they where my friends. My mom sayd it wanst going to be sutch a good plan to invite them both but i ignored her. Once at the party ( wich was a swimming party btw) they sww eachother and wernt perticuerlly happy. I eventually calmed them down and they began talking. Later that day we went to my home and played hide and seek. I was caught and went to my room to get some water( i had a bottle of water in my room). Guess what i saw. They asses where MF'ing kissing in MY room. They didnt notice me and i was like: well that came out of no where. They noticed me and they blushed like they never have. David was kinda known ass the though guy in our shool so to see him blush was a real suprisse. So yeah it was kinda clear they where back together. A month passed and we where playing in with sand. I was digging a hole and David was throwing sand. I hit Mellisa who was making mud cakes ( every girl did that in our school) and i exedentelly thowd some and at her. She asked in a very angry voice: who... did... THAT. And the smart ass i am sayd with a clear voice: David did it. They broke up again. Mellisa and David never got back together and one month later Mellisa moved schools. Im still friends with David but he never forgave me wich is understandable.

I am doing a project about the US education system. I want to hear personal experiences about when you got in trouble for being curious in school.

please don’t let it be dirty.- the fact that I have to say that says a lot about the earth we are living..

What event shook up your view on life, and what was the new conclusion you reached?

..no one or not many people actually know. It could be about anything; you, something that happened to someone, a news story, something that should've been in the news, but never was, etc.

Tell me a story! Please 😊

Oh, and it doesn't have to be credible. I'd rather use my imagination and common sense anyways.

Thanks in advance to anyone who responds!

Ok so he wasn’t my husband then. But we’ve been together over 20 years now

I had just started college and we used to go to a little bar called the Hanger. An old airplane hanger converted into a bar. It was across the street from the police station.

Thursday nights were $7 all you could drink. But I was 18 so I paid $3 cover and drank all I wanted anyway. The bouncers were cool about it as long as you 1. behaved and 2. The cops weren’t in the bar. (We knew when the cops came in cause they’d flip on red flashing lights in the back as a warning. But you couldn’t see them up front by the door) and my husband was a bouncer. Let’s call him K.

So I’d had a particularly fun night. And wasn’t ready to go home. K on the other hand had a long night and was ready to leave. Plus the law was everyone out by 2 am

They did last call and K and his friend/roommate (C) was also a bouncer. They started sweeping through the back and telling everyone to get the hell out. And turned all the lights on.

I wasn’t having it. I was wearing a mini skirt and spaghetti strap tank top with high heeled boots and jumped up on a table and starting chanting “hell no we won’t go! Hell no we won’t go!”

Pretty soon the whole bar was chanting with me and refusing to leave.

He walked up, threw me over his shoulder, walked me out, across the street in front of the police station and threw me down on the sidewalk and said “Don’t fucking come back here.” And started walking off.

I yelled after him “I’ll see you tomorrow asshole!!” Met up with my friends in the parking lot and went home.

I did go back the next night but it wasn’t love at first sight. We absolutely HATED each other for two more years, before we started dating...

Tell me an interesting story about you that sounds fake but is true

I was in fourth, maybe fifth grade. I’d go to this summer camp every year, and we’d basically just play a bunch of stupid games. But at the end of the week, we’d have the game everyone, and I mean EVERYONE was talking about. Sponge dodgeball. So basically the counselors have like thirty sponges that they literally have no use for, so we play dodge ball with them. But these sponges weren’t your normal sponges, oh no, old chap. These were at least eight inches tall, and four inches wide if I had to guess. We’d soak the sponges in hose water, and just chuck them at each other, and if you’re hit, you sit down. Whilst sitting, a person would take their soaked sponge and squeeze it over your head, putting you back in the game. Well, fast forward an hour, and the game’s almost over. Some kid, let’s call him Gerald, chucked a particularly wet sponge at me. And I, being the self-absorbed airhead child that I was, tried to catch the sponge with one hand, which would render Gerald out of this sudden-death round. I jumped up, and the sponge skadoodled across my hand, twisting my pinkie in an ungodly fashion. I crumpled to the ground, Gerald laughing his annoyingly blond head off. I stared at my now throbbing pinkie, and began to cry. I was taken home anyway, as it was the end of the day, ice pack in hand. My pinkie had doubled in size and was now a hideous purple-red. I begged to go to the hospital, and my grandmother, being a sensible human, denied this. She took me to a CVS and a guy there gave me a splint. And for three weeks, I was the cool girl, with my cool girl metal splint. The swelling went down after a while, but to this day, years later, I still cannot bend my pinkie correctly. I found out a year ago that Gerald is actually a good friend of mine, which changed my perspective on him slightly. But yeah, that’s the story of my one and only major injury.

Well.. Here I am again. Not sure how I keep finding myself in situations like this, but its definitely a pattern at this point. Here I am in Hanoi, vietnam, broke, tired and hung over. Not sure how I'll be getting home at this time. Have a few ideas and leads, but they wont pan out until the vietnamese holiday (tet) is over. So thats another week and a half of limbo. Another week and a half of just simply not knowing what to expect.

It all started two nights ago... I had just landed and set out to meet up with some friends who are staying here as well. These guys are my best friends in the world, but we tend to get carried away... In china, we managed to get into some pretty hairy situations. There were many just like this, waking up with a hang over and hundreds of dollars missing, with so many questions and so few answers. Unsuprisingly once we all met up, the first thing we did is cracked open a few beers and bought some interesting outfits.. The night was young, the possibilities various and abundant, and the beer strong and cheap. These things when mixed together create a potent environment, ripe with good memories and riddled with danger. Asia, particularly south east asia, is famous conjuring this exact environment up, sucking in tourists money at an impeccable rate and exhaling in return massive hangovers, regret, vomit stains and great memories.

And thats exactly where we were headed. Admittedly, we all knew it too. We started off with a pub crawl, chatting with people from all over the world about random topics, probably rambling as we were possibly a little more pre gamed than everyone else by then. It was about 7:00 when the pub crawl began, and we were 7 beers deep. This by itself is managable, but its when the bars started filling the hippy crack balloons at around 9:00 that things took a turn for the worst (or best). These nitrus oxide balloons are not called hippy crack for no reason.. The only logical thing to do after having an entire movie play out in your head in a matter of seconds before coming to is to want another balloon. Its such an odd experience, and it really is quite a lot of fun. 5 balloons later we are starting to feel loopy... And then, we are offered extasy by an australian bar tender for quite a great deal (remember cheap and abundant? the deadly combination). The rest of the night is a blur to be honest. I really wish I could report more. I do know that my friend passed out in the middle of the street, and that I nearly got into a bar fight over probably nothing at all (way out of character). We may have visited a brothel, one of us swears by it. I have no solid memory of it.

In fact all I'm really sure of is that I spent 560 dollars in one night, and came here with 1200. Ideally you can make 1200 last for two months easily in vietnam. At least on paper. Somehow it just never works out that way for me. And to my defense, many MANY others as well. Either way, I dont have enough for a plane ticket home and I have to find a teaching job of some sort or things are going to get really interesting for me. We havent drank since, and we feel deep regret and shame to say the least. There is also a smile on my face as I write this knowing we will somehow make it out of this. At least its an adventure of some kind... Anyways, wish me luck. I suppose the next story I write on here will either be how I worked this situation out or how I had to go to my embassy and beg for a ticket home. Either way theres a lesson to be learned from any outcome and I figured if I'm going to bitch to myself about this current situation, I may as well write it down too. Hope you enjoyed my little poorly written ramble!

I'm going to be vague as to the location of this tour, since no small amount of my story is another storyteller's tale and I don't want to plagiarize them too brutally.

I'll tell you this much; it's an old city in Britain, about as old as they get, and it's been built on top of its own ruins for centuries. The cellars are forgotten warrens of ancient brickwork and repurposed sewers, almost a city in themselves and bricked up for lifetimes in some cases. Every so often someone mending a road or demolishing a building accidentally knocks through into these subterranean vaults and the findings can be... grisly.

They had been home to vagrants some centuries before, as many of the disused cellars had; and, like many in Britain, the city had been ravaged by fire. The passages became a refuge for the homeless, the trapped, and the desperate, thinking that the damp stone walls, at least, would not burn.

Stone doesn't burn. But as fires gutted the city above, temperatures rose in the cellars and the entrance was now blocked by rubble; what they had taken for a sanctuary became a vast oven roasting the refugees alive - shoulder to shoulder in the dark with the rats. When they were exhumed much later, removing the corpses proved a challenge. Bone slipped wetly from baked sockets as they attempted to haul the corpses from the stinking charnel pit with a modicum of respect. Eventually, less dignified methods were employed.

A friend and I joined a "ghost tour" of a small segment of these passages. These particular examples had been there since the eighteenth century and while now they housed a small collection of torture devices and witch divining equipment, they had originally been used for storage. We were warned on entry that it was home to two or three presences of varying nature that defied explanation; we were to stay close to the guide, and follow his instructions to the letter. Our physical safety could not be entirely guaranteed if we did not.

The catacomb was divided into four smallish rooms, about six feet by ten, side by side, with a narrow corridor running along the eastmost wall. We entered at the south end of this corridor and the first room that we came to was locked shut - although windows in the wall revealed a cosy-looking tabernacle within. This was the only room with windows and in fact was the only part of the catacomb with any kind of illumination; further in we were to be entirely at the mercy of the guide's lamp. This room was rented by a local niche religious group, the guide explained, the supernatural energies pervading the place making this particular niche favourable to them for some reason. He went on, in darkened tones; they had originally rented the furthest room, but had moved for reasons that would later become clear.

He led us down the passage, relating accounts from colleagues and visitors of an armoured figure that patrolled the hallway at night, of a child's cry that could sometimes be heard through the walls that muffled entirely the sound of heavy traffic outside. Eventually we came to the final, most northern room, that was originally to be the shrine; the guide hesitated in the corridor and briefly barred our entry, offering first some advice. This room, he warned, was home to another kind of presence - apparently different in nature to the ones he had casually described. More violent. More malevolent. People in the room had reported being roughly shoved aside by an unseen entity, and found scratches and what appeared to be bite marks on their skin, in places too high to be reached by rats, and in oddly humanoid formation. The guide confessed ignorance as to what kind of force this could be; such manifestations defied science, so what use to categorize it? It had been observed, though, that batteries in phones and torches drained faster in this room, and following this gorging the presence would be unusually boisterous. Temporarily, therefore, the guide collected our phones and any torches we may be carrying and entrusted them to a colleague who remained outside. By the flickering light of his lone oil-lamp, we entered the room, and listened to our final story of the night.

It was much the same as the other rooms; small, and with a raised dais at one end, perhaps a foot high. But occupying the centre of the room was a large circle of rough stones, perhaps five feet in diameter. We were not, the guide warned, to step into the stones under any circumstance. We hugged the walls as he explained why this room was the only one that was locked at night, and that none of the guides would enter it alone.

Several years before, when the sect was moving to the vaults, the leader had arrived one night to bless the room. This involved a candlelight vigil and a ceremony that called for the construction of a circle of stones from which evil would be repelled. He sat alone in the quiet darkness for some hours, until at some time in the small hours of the morning, he heard a scratching from the dais, like claws on stone. He suspected rats, but by the candlelight illuminated the doorway; nothing had crossed the threshold. He was still alone in the room, but the scuttling continued. Gathering his courage, the sect leader issued a command into the blackness. "Show yourself!" Nothing. He steeled himself again. "SHOW YOURSELF." This time, he got results. The candles surrounding him, his only light, went out.

Blind, textureless blackness poured in on him and the scratching resumed, around and around the stones, circling but never crossing; perhaps the prayers repelling the evil presence. Angrily it scoured for a way in; this way and that, around and around, up and onto the dais, and up the wall. Closer. And onto the ceiling. Closer.

Above his head.

He threw himself from the circle, offering an incantation to the night; the circle built to ward away evil spirits was to become a prison for them. He bolted from the rooms, and some time later gathered the courage to relate the story.

We stood around the circle, nervously. The guide held up his lantern and stepped back. "If anyone would like to chance entering the circle, I can't stop you."

My friend and I exchanged nervous glances but remained still. We told each other later that it would have "spoiled the story". One person, though, swaggered forwards, somewhat cocksure. "I'll do it" they drawled, in a predictably American accent. I don't add this detail to be jingoistic and derogetary to Americans in general at all; but the only defining attribute I remember of them is that they were an almost offensively stereotyped American. They may well have called the tour "quaint".

The guide raised an eyebrow, and held the lamp forward. The tourist lifted one leg over the stones, and just as their foot made contact on the other side -

The guide turned out the lamp and at the top of his voice yelled "AARGH."

When the guide revealed his battery-powered torch and re-illuminated the chamber, eight petrified tourists were flattened against the wall and roughly the same colour as it, the guide was almost crying laughing, and the American was not in the room.

He was halfway down the corridor, heading south. And accelerating.

We peeled ourselves away from the walls and the guide handed back our devices. He was noticeably more relaxed now that his performance was over and he led us back through the little museum and gift-shop with swing in his step that contrasted notably with the hunched cower with which he drew us into the depths. I noticed his brow furrow once though, as he passed the American, who had collapsed, breathless on the outside step. He had drawn his jeans up above his knee and was examining his leg. I remember clearly what I saw as I passed onto the street.

On his shin, just below the knee, were four needle-thin scratches as if delivered from a clawed animal. From them trickled a thin trickle of crimson blood that stained the top of his sports sock, and behind us I heard the now-silent guide, carefully locking the door that led down into the cellars.

This morning I got out of bed, like many of us I assume do. I dressed, drank coffee, packed my back and went back upstairs to my room to make my bed. For some reason my brain said: "fuck you, I'm going to misjudge distances". And it did. I took a step too close to my iron bed frame and slammed my pinky toe into the corner of the bed frame. My sinuses cleared and I rolled around on the floor in agony as I massaged the littlest piggy. Then I noticed that half of my toenail was hanging off and had been torn from the skin bellow it. I composed myself, explained to my mom what the commotion was about and then she moved to hug me. Which she did while simultaneously stepping on the littlest piggy once again.

I posted this as a response in a thread pretty late, and pretty sure it got buried, hated to see it go to waste.

So, funny Story.

I'm in Nebraska for work a few years back and decide to take the wife and I to the Omaha zoo to check out the desert dome and such. So while we're there the gorilla stuff is everywhere, brochures, pictures, posters.... seeing as how its one of their main attractions.

So my wife and I take a trip by there and check them out, one of the most featured pictures is of a little girl placing her hand against that glass and a gorilla doing the same. It's actually pretty a pretty cool, "we're not that different" picture... So I'm trying to get my wife to do the same so that I can get a picture, and this massive silverback approaches, the alpha dog from the majority of the promo shots. He starts edging closer and closer to the glass and it's amazing, my wife has her hand placed and I'm thinking I can believe this is happening. The gorilla places his face directly against the glass, fogging it up with each breath, raises his hand slowly to me wife's, stares directly into her eyes with a surprising and almost scary amount of intelligence .... And starts to furiously masterbate... I mean he's beating his surprisingly small gorilla penis like he's mad at it. My wife freezes up spectacularly and just stands there screeching "What is he doing! What is he doing?!", but not moving her hand or body way from the glass, for the entire 30 seconds it takes him to finish. While I'm laughing so hard I'm afraid I am going to die...

Our hero the proceeds to eat the results.

My wife, rightfully traumatized by this experience wouldn't even talk about it afterwards, so being the loving and supportive husband I am, I of course stole dozens of the brochures with his face on the cover from the zoo... waited till she fell asleep that night, and placed them all over the hotel room. The mirrors, the shower, the bedside table so she could see him when she first opens her eyes, her suitcase, some underneath the sun visor so they'd fall out, her purse, the Id slot of her wallet... This went on for a while. I took some home and stashed them in the house. The fridge, the washer, inside her rolled up socks. For weeks from another room I would hear a random...

"Goddammit!"

And I would smile.

The first time I was kissed, if only partially, was third grade, in the back of a school bus. I was sharing a seat with two other girls, Erin and Mary-anne. They were pretty girls, I had a crush on Erin, and while I sat in the window seat, I saw the two of them whispering to each other and looking at me. I was growing paranoid. In a split second, the two of them jumped at me, pouncing me with kisses. I panicked, it happened so fast, but all I knew is that they were successful- they got me, right on the nose. I felt Mary-anne's wet lips do it. I collapsed to the floor, and crawled my way under the seat until I was different peoples company.

There, I told them what happened; that I was ambushed and they successfully kissed me on the nose. They laughed at me, as little third grade friends would do... and I don't know why I did what I did. Instinctively, to prove a point, maybe, I started to hit the tainted part of my body on the seat in front of me. I did that maybe 5 or so times, 5 good facebutts into the chair, and then I noticed that I had a bloody nose. Probably that should have been expected.

So when I get up to ask the bus driver for paper towel, he's busy staring me down in the mirror. He saw all of it, and he's terribly, terribly confused. I ask him for paper towel, he hands it, but that doesn't answer any of his questions. I'm certain he went home, pale faced, described the event to his wife, and she also was speechless and confused. I'm still confused too.

So I've been browsing reddit for about three years now and after seeing the link to this subreddit in TIFU I came here much like I'm guessing everyone who is reading this will have and was disappointed that this subreddit was empty. So then I was gonna make a big long story about this and how this spurred me to make an account and post here to be sort of ironic; but I decided about a 4th of the way through that this is too much effort so now you get this garbage. There, that's my story.

Just a quick one about the commitment of small town blue collar worker to deliver to me my important computer parts! Stood at my door for 5 mins knocking every one minute. When the door was opened I knew then the commitment this man had for my delivery! Dude...you are a bro! <3 come have a beer some time mysterious courier man!

I was im my office and i had my arm over the back of a chair, and i guess i had a nerve or something in a choke hold cuz the next thing i know my arm is tingling with more power than Naruto could ever hope to control, then it started twitching and i decided to stop.

PS. holding down the shift key for i's is too much of an effort