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It was a Saturday evening. I had somehow managed to invite one of the prettiest girls from school over to watch a movie with me. Honestly, I couldn’t believe I pulled it off because I’m pretty average. I really wanted to make a good impression. Everything was going great. We cuddled a bit, talked after the movie, and even started kissing. At one point, she kissed my neck. Now, I’m terribly ticklish, so I immediately curled up and laughed. She asked if I was ticklish, and when I confirmed, she started tickling me. Everything was perfect—a Saturday night, a beautiful girl, tickling in bed—what could go wrong? Well, apparently, a lot could. She tickled me harder around my ribs, and I jumped up, flailing my arms, and…...awkwardly hit her in the eye, and we both just froze in shock, trying to figure out what happened....accidentally knocked over the lamp on my nightstand, which shattered, and suddenly the mood was completely ruined....unintentionally elbowed her right in the nose. Blood immediately started pouring, and she began crying. The mood was completely shattered, and she soon left......somehow managed to fall off the bed, and we both burst out laughing. The moment was saved by the silliness.
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Last year, I spent a week in the hospital. One time, while I was sitting in the hospital cafeteria at a large table, a blind girl sat down beside me. After a while, someone brought her a tray of food. Since she was blind, I shamelessly watched, curious to see how she would manage to eat. She touched the items on her tray until she found a small bowl of breakfast cereal. It looked like Cheerios. She lifted the bowl to her ear and shook it. A guy sitting at the same table, who was also watching her, asked if she knew what it was. She answered, ‘Cheerios.’ I was in shock. She had identified the cereal just by the sound it made when she shook it! My curiosity got the best of me, so I asked, ‘Wow, can you really tell it’s Cheerios just by the sound? Do other cereals sound different when you shake them? How did you know it wasn’t something else?’ She responded…...‘I guessed based on the weight.’...laughing, ‘Because I asked for Cheerios.’ The whole table erupted in laughter. I feel like a dumbass....‘It’s not the sound—it’s the texture of the bowl. Cheerios have a unique feel.’...with a smile, ‘I’ve been eating them since I was a kid. Trust me, I know that sound anywhere.’
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My mother-in-law makes the best marinated herring in oil, with onions—it’s simply perfect. Yesterday, we received a whole jar, and of course, most of it was eaten immediately. This morning, as I was getting ready to leave for work, I noticed the jar on the kitchen counter. I approached with hope, wondering if there might still be something left, or if it was just oil and onions. Slim chances, but maybe a small herring survived. I picked up the jar and examined it closely, like a hawk searching for prey, slowly rotating it. Just oil and onions. But maybe there’s one hiding at the bottom? I lifted the jar above my head to check from underneath. Oh, I think I spotted one! I tilted the jar with hope, trying to get a better look when suddenly......I realized too late that the lid wasn’t on properly, and a flood of herring oil and onions poured all over my head....the jar slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor, splashing oily onions everywhere....I realized too late that the lid wasn’t on properly, and a flood of herring oil and onions poured all over my head....the jar tipped too far, and the remaining oil splashed onto the counter, narrowly missing my shirt.
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A while ago, I had a wild night out and drank way more than I should have. Way more. The next morning, I woke up feeling surprisingly okay. I had a massive craving for chicken nuggets. I headed to the nearby McDonald’s and devoured six nuggets when suddenly, I felt an overwhelming and urgent need to throw up. Being the gentleman that I am, I ran outside to the nearest trash bin when......someone else darted toward the bin at the same time, and we both froze in awkward confusion....the bin tipped over just as I got to it, spilling garbage everywhere before I could even throw up....I tripped over the curb and landed face-first in front of the bin, adding insult to injury....I realized a pigeon was inside after I vomit on it. It was a disaster.
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The store I work at offers gift cards with a magnetic strip, like a regular bank card. Yesterday, a mentally challenged girl came in with her father or guardian, I’m not sure which. She had one of those gift cards. It took her quite a while to pick out her items, but she was smiling the whole time, clearly happy. Finally, they came to the checkout, and I scanned their items. The girl wanted to swipe the card herself, so I handed over the terminal. She struggled to swipe it properly—too slow, too fast, wrong direction. Both I and her guardian offered help, but she insisted on doing it herself. She kept trying and trying with no success. Meanwhile, a pretty long line had formed behind them, and customers were watching the situation unfold. This went on for about 10 minutes, and with each failed attempt, the girl became more frustrated, her face turning red. I felt so bad for her—it must’ve been awful to struggle with something so simple in front of strangers. When she was on the verge of tears, her guardian gently took the card from her. She broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, as people in the line came closer to see what was going on. Her guardian swiped the card through the terminal and... nothing happened either. That’s when I realized something was wrong......I looked at the screen and realized the gift card balance was insufficient to cover the total purchase....I noticed the card had been swiped backward the whole time. Once I pointed it out, we tried again and it worked perfectly....I checked the card and saw that the magnetic strip was damaged, making it impossible to read....I glanced at the terminal and realized I had selected the option for paying with a bank card instead of the gift card option, which caused the entire problem.
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I work at the same company as my wife. We usually leave work together. It’s the 9th floor, so we take the elevator down. I rarely have stomach issues, but something must’ve disagreed with me that day. Usually, even when I have gas, there’s no smell, so I let it go without a second thought. Oops, something went terribly wrong... The smell was awful, like something had died inside me. My wife shot me a look of pure disgust and declared that I was a disgusting pig and would be sleeping in the living room tonight. The elevator stopped on the 2nd floor, and two young girls, about 18 or 19, stepped into our gas chamber. My wife and I both stared at the floor in utter shame. Time slowed to a crawl, and it felt like an eternity before the doors finally closed, and the elevator began to move again. After what felt like the longest ride of our lives, we reached the ground floor. Salvation was near. We were just about to step out when......one of the girls said to the other, ‘It smells like a new carpet, don’t you think?’ We barely made it a few meters before my wife and I erupted in laughter....one of them gagged and muttered, ‘What is that smell?’ while the other fanned the air....my wife couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing as we both rushed out of the elevator....one of the girls turned to the other and whispered, ‘Did you fart?’ and they both started laughing.
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A few years ago in high school, I had a friend who wasn’t great with technology. I used to prank him often by adding fake contacts like ‘Cheap Vodka’ or ‘Pimple Emergency,’ and he always struggled to delete them. One night at a party, after having too much to drink, I decided to take it a step further. When he wasn’t paying attention, I grabbed his phone, went to the bathroom, and took a picture of my bare butt. Then, I set it as the contact photo for ‘Mom,’ so it would show up whenever she called him. A week later, I was at his house, and we were about to leave, but he couldn’t find his phone. His mom handed him hers to call his. We heard the phone ring from under a pile of papers where his mom was standing. She picked it up, looked at the screen, and shouted, ‘Oh my God!’”.......She burst out laughing and jokingly asked why she hadn’t seen this picture earlier....She dropped the phone and exclaimed, 'I’ve seen enough!' before walking out of the room, leaving us both in stunned silence....She looked at the picture, shook her head, and muttered, ‘This generation…,’ then handed the phone back without another word....She gasped, then called out, ‘Honey, come look at what your son’s been up to!’ while trying to stifle her laughter.
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A few weeks before Christmas, I returned from a business trip, and to say I missed my wife would be an understatement. I was really hoping for a romantic evening together, but with two kids (6 and 8 years old), it’s not easy to arrange that. Especially our 8-year-old daughter—she’s a real night owl and loves staying up as late as she can. That night, though, I was determined to get the kids to bed early. By 9 p.m., we had them bathed, teeth brushed, and tucked into bed. My wife read them a book and, before leaving, said, ‘Now, kids, go to sleep and don’t come out of your room. Mommy and Daddy are going to be at the computer buying Christmas presents, so you can’t see anything.’ Brilliant idea—those two ran to bed like they were shot from a cannon. We closed the door and got to enjoying our marital time together. Let’s just say, my wife had missed me just as much. After a while, we heard a knock on the door. We immediately froze, hoping whoever it was would go away. After a few moments, we heard our 8-year-old’s sweet voice, ‘Are you still buying those presents?’ My wife replied, ‘Yes, yes. Go back to your room.’......And just when we thought she was gone, we heard her say, ‘Can I come see what you’re buying?’ causing us to panic....Then she whispered, ‘Can I help wrap the presents?’ and we had to scramble for an excuse.....And then our little angel said, ‘Because all I hear from your room is OOH OOHHH OOH OOHHH.’...But before she could leave, she added, ‘Because it sounds like you’re wrestling in there.’ We were mortified.
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I came home from work in the evening, and my wife was out shopping. I had to go urgently, so I rushed straight to the porcelain throne. My phone’s battery had died, so I sat there bored, looking around. I glanced at the small trash can and suddenly saw the tip of a condom peeking out from under a tissue. For a moment, I thought it might be mine, but there hadn’t been any action in recent days... I started sweating. I finished up and immediately plugged in my phone, frantically trying to call my wife. She wasn’t picking up. I called my best friend and explained the situation. He told me to calm down and act rationally. So, I sat and waited. After a few minutes, I heard my wife opening the door. I jumped up and blurted out, ‘HOW COULD YOU CHEAT ON ME?!’ She looked at me, confused and annoyed. I grabbed her hand and marched her to the bathroom, pointing to the evidence......She looked horrified, then calmly said, ‘We need to talk,’ before turning and leaving the bathroom....She gasped, then angrily shouted, ‘Are you seriously accusing me of cheating?!’ as she pulled her hand away from mine....She stared at the trash can, then burst out laughing, ‘That’s not a condom, it’s a latex glove from cleaning!’...She glanced at the trash, then at me, her face turning pale. ‘I can explain,’ she whispered.
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I live in a ground-floor apartment, and my window is right next to the entrance to the building. Last Sunday, I stumbled home drunk around 5 a.m. and went to the window to get some fresh air. I stood by the open window for a moment and saw my neighbor, a woman in her 50s, leaving for work. It was dark, and I had the lights off inside, so she couldn’t see me. In my drunken brain, I thought of a ‘brilliant’ idea. I waited until she walked directly past my window, and then I stuck my head out and yelled, ‘Kaboooom!’ as loud as I could. She jumped, screamed, and dropped whatever she was carrying. I think she might have even started crying. I quickly shut the window and hid behind the curtain. When I woke up sober, the guilt hit me hard. I’m usually a quiet guy, but this time I acted like a complete idiot. Now, I’m planning to avoid her for the next few weeks, and hopefully, when I see her again, I’ll pretend nothing happened. Maybe she’ll forget it was me.....A week later, I ran into her in the hallway. To my surprise, she smiled and laughed it off, saying it had scared her, but no harm was done....A few days later, I saw her again, and she gave me a cold, suspicious look—clearly, she hadn’t forgotten....Later that day, she knocked on my door, asking if I knew who scared her, and I panicked, pretending I had no idea....But then I got a knock on the door from another neighbor who saw the whole thing and asked if I was losing my mind.