Teams
Forum List
Toggle sidebar

***Official Friday Confessions Thread***

I find it annoying/disapointing that the most popular thing to confess is that you recently took a dump, are on the toilet, or have really bad gas.

I guess I'm a Friday confessions snob.
 
  • Like
Reactions: ElephantPie
I found a toad in my yard awhile back and didn't want to deal with it so I chucked it into my neighbor's yard.
 
Cyclone711 said:
I find it annoying/disapointing that the most popular thing to confess is that you recently took a dump, are on the toilet, or have really bad gas.

I guess I'm a Friday confessions snob.
Click to expand...


What do you expect?

One guy confessed last week to planning an affair and got strung up by his acorns on this site..
 
cyclonesurveyor said:
ha ha. i got this email this week, an oldie but a goodie......

HOW TO POOP AT WORK
We've all been there but don't like to admit it. We've all been working in our cubicles and suddenly felt something brewing down below. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the WORK POOP is inevitable. For those who hate pooping at work, following is the Survival Guide for taking a dump at work.
Click to expand...

After reading this i was reminded of an oldie but goodie i recvd a few years ago. To this day it still make me laugh.

If you can read this whole story without laughing, there's no hope for you. Not only was I crying by the end - I had a mild asthma attack.
This is an actual account as relayed to paramedics at a chili cook-off in Texas.

NOTE: Please take time to read this slowly.
If you pay attention to the first two judges, the reaction of the third judge is even better. For those of you who have lived in Texas, you know how true this is. They actually have a Chili Cook-off about the time Halloween comes around. It takes up a major portion of a parking lot at the San Antonio City Park. Judge #3 was an inexperienced Chili taster named Frank, who was visiting from Springfield, IL.

Frank: "Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the Judge's table asking for directions to the Coors Light truck, when the call came in. I was assured by the other two judges (Native Texans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy; and, besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted and became Judge #3."

Here are the scorecard notes from the event:

CHILI #1 - MIKE'S MANIAC MONSTER CHILI
Judge #1 - A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing kick.
Judge #2 - Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.
Judge #3 - Holy crap, what the hell is this stuff? You could
remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me 2
beers to put the flames out. I hope that's the worst
one. Texans are crazy.

CHILI #2 - AUSTIN'S AFTERBURNER CHILI
Judge #1 - Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight jalapeno tang.
Judge #2 - Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken
seriously.
Judge #3 - Keep this out of the reach of children. I'm not sure what
I'm supposed to taste besides pain. I have to wave off 2
people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had
to rush in more
beer when they saw the look on my face.

CHILI #3 - FRED'S FAMOUS BURN DOWN THE BARN CHILI
Judge #1 - Excellent firehouse chili. Great kick.
Judge #2 - A bit salty, good use of peppers.
Judge #3 - Call the EPA. I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels
like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine
by now.
Get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the
back,
now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm
getting ****-faced
from all of the beer.

CHILI #4 - BUBBA'S BLACK MAGIC
Judge #1 - Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.
Judge #2 - Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish
or other mild foods, not much of a chili.
Judge #3 - I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable
to taste it. Is it possible to burn out taste buds? Sally,
he beer
maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills. This 300
lb. woman is starting to look HOT...just like this nuclear
waste I'm eating! Is
chili an aphrodisiac?

CHILI #5 - LISA'S LEGAL LIP REMOVER
Judge #1 - Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly ground,
adding considerable kick. Very impressive.
Judge #2 - Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato.
Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.
Judge #3 - My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead, and I
can no longer focus my eyes. I farted, and four people
behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended
when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage.
Sally saved my toungue from bleeding by pouring beer
directly on it from the pitcher. I wonder if I'm burning my
lips off. It really ticks me off that the other judges
asked me to stop screaming. Screw them.

CHILI #6 - VERA'S VERY VEGETARIAN VARIETY
Judge #1 - Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of
spices and peppers.
Judge #2 - The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and
garlic. Superb.
Judge #3 - My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous
sulfuric flames. I crapped on myself when I farted, and I'm
worried it will eat through the chair. No one seems inclined
to stand behind me except that Sally. Can't feel my lips
anymore. I need to wipe my butt with a snow cone.

CHILI #7 - SUSAN'S SCREAMING SENSATION CHILI
Judge #1 - A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.
Judge #2 - Ho-hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of
chili peppers at the last moment. **I should take note that
I am worried about Judge #3. He appears to be in a bit of
distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.
Judge #3 - You could put a grenade in my mount, pull the pin, and I
wouldn't feel a thing. I've lost sight in one eye, and the
world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is
covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My
pants are full of lava to match my shirt. As least during
the autopsy, they'll know what killed me. I've decided to
stop breathing it's too painful. Screw it; I'm not getting
any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck it through
the 4-inch hole in my stomach.

CHILI #8 - BIG TOM'S TOENAIL CURLING CHILI
Judge #1 - The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili. Not too
bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.
Judge #2 - This final entry is a good, balanced chili. Neither mild
nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge #3
farted, passed out, fell over, and pulled the chili pot down
on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. Poor
feller, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot chili?
Judge #3 - No report.
 
  • Like
Reactions: longtimeclone
Someone just came into my office as I was wiping the tears off my eyes from reading that chili story. Best thing I read all day on this thread.
 
urb1 said:
Someone just came into my office as I was wiping the tears off my eyes from reading that chili story. Best thing I read all day on this thread.
Click to expand...

I have another one called "Hook em Horns".
I hate posting it too bc it's really long as well.
I will though if others want me to
 
I work in a trailer with thin walls, and my office is next to the bathroom. The girl in the office next to me is cute, but I think she has Irritable Bowel. I hear her just DESTROY the toilet 3-4 times a week.

Not a dealbreaker.
 
  • Like
Reactions: Trice and cycloneted
KFitzy87 said:
post it tre!!!! CONFESS
Click to expand...

Hook Em Horns​
Fan on Game Day​

This is pretty long, but it’s HYSTERICAL! If you have ever been drunk at a sporting event, or been with someone who has, you can relate. This is an e-mail from some guy named J.D. Horne, who, according to the messages that were attached to this, is not a 21-year-old frat boy, but an attorney of indeterminate age. He sent it to his friend, Brian Brice, and it got forwarded around the country. You have to give the guy some props for being self-deprecating.

A chronology of events for Saturday, December 4, 1999, and the early morning hours of Sunday, December 5, 1999.

6:00 Arise, play The Eyes of Texas and Texas Fight at full-freaking blast.

6:20 Get in car, drive to New Braunfels.

7:30 Tee off (me and a buddy were the First tee-time of the morning)

8:50 Turn 9 (crack open first beer)

8:53 Crack open second beer

8:58 Crack open…(you get the idea)

10:30 Finish 18 (holes, as well as beers), sign scorecard for smoooooth 95

10:35 Headed for San Antonio (Alamodome – Nebraska vs Texas)

10:50 Buy three 18-packs for pre- and post-game festivities

11:10 We decide we don’t have enough booze, so we double-back to a liquor store and buy the good ol’ 750 ml plastic bottle “Traveler” Jim Beam.

11:50 Arrive at the tailgate spot. Awesome day. Not a single cloud in the sky. About 70 degrees.

11:55 I decide that we’re going to kick the **** out of Nebraska.

11:56 I tell my first Nebraska fan to go **** himself.

12:15 The UT band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. We’re on the second floor of a two-story parking garage on the corner (a couple hundred of us). We’re hooting and hollering like wildmen. The band doubles back to the street right below us and serenade us with Texas Fight and The Eyes of Texas. AWESOME MOMENT.

12:25 In the post-serenade serendipity, 50-100 grown men are bumping chests with one another, each and every one of them now secure and certain of the fact that we are going to kick the **** out of Nebraska.

1:00 The Nebraska band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. Again, we hoot and holler like wildmen. Again, the band doubles back and stops right below us to serenade us, this time, however, with the Nebraska fight sons. Although somewhat impressed by their spirit and verve, we remain convinced that we are going to kick the **** out of Nebraska.

1:30 I begin the walk to the Alamodome, somehow managing to stuff the “Traveler” and 11 cans of beer into my pants.

1:47 I am in line surrounded by Nebraska fans. They are taunting me, I am taunting back, still certain that we are going to kick the **** out of Nebraska. I decide to challenge a particularly vocal Nebraska fan to play what I now call and will forever be remembered as Cell-Phone Flop Out. Remember flop out for a dollar? The rules are similar. I tell this Nebraska ******* that if he’s so confident in his team , he should “flop out” his cell phone RIGHT NOW and make plane reservations to Phoenix for the Fiesta Bowl. And then I spoke these memorable words: “And not those damn refundable tickets, either! You request those non-refundable, non-transferable sons-of-*******!” He backs down. He is unworthy. I call Southwest Airlines and buy two tickets to Phoenix, non-refundable and non-transferable. Price: $712. He is humbled. He lowers his head in shame. I raise my cell phone in triumph to the cheers of hundreds of Texas fans. I am KING and these are my subjects. I distribute the 11 beers in my pants to the cheering masses. I RULE the pre-game kingdom.

2:34 Kickoff. Brimming with confidence, I open the Traveler and pour my first stiffy.

2:45 I notice something troubling: Nebraska is big. Nebraska is fast. Nebraska is very ****** off at Texas.

3:01 The first quarter mercifully ends. 9 yards total offense for Texas. Zero first downs for Texas. I’m still talking ****. I pour another stiffy from the Traveler.

3:36 Four minutes to go in the first half: The Traveler is a dead soldier. I buy my first $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. While I am standing in line, a center snap nearly decapitates Major Applewhite and rolls out of the end zone. Safety.

3:56 Halftime score: Nebraska 15, Texas 0. I wish I had another Traveler

4:11 While urinating next to a Nebraska fan in the bathroom at halftime, I attempt to revive the classic Brice-ism from the South Bend bathroom. “Hey, Buddy, niiiiiiiiiice ****.” He is unamused.

4:21 I buy my 2nd and 3rd $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. I share my beer with two high school girls sitting behind me. Surprisingly, they are equipped with a flask full of vodka. I send them off to purchase Sprites, so that we may consume their vodka. I have not lost faith. Nebraska is a bunch of *******.

4:51 No more vodka. The girls sitting behind me have fled for their lives. I purchase two more $5 beers from the Alamodome merchants.

5:18 Score is Nebraska 22, Texas 0. I am beginning to lose faith. This normally would trouble me, but I am too drunk to see the football field.

5:27 I called Southwest Airlines: “I’m sorry, sir. Those tickets have been confirmed and are non-refundable and non-transferable.”

5:37 I try to start a fight with every person behind the concession counter. As it turns out, the Alamodome has a policy that no beer can be sold when there is less than 10 minutes on the game clock. I am enraged by this policy. I ask loudly: “Why the **** didn’t you announce last call over the ******* PA system??!!”

5:49 Back in my seats, I am slumped in my chair in defeat. All of a sudden, the Texas crowd goes absolutely nuts. “Whazzis?,” I mutter, awaking from my coma, “Iz we winnig? Did we scort?” Alas, the answer is no, we were not winning and we did not score. The largest (by far) cheer of the day from the Texas faithful occurred when the handlers were walking back to the tunnel and Bevo (the Texas mascot) stopped to take a gargantuan **** all over the letters “S”, “K”, “A” in the “Nebraska” spelled out in their end zone. I cheer wildly. I pick up the empty Traveler bottle and stick my tongue in it. I am thirsty.

6:16 Nebraska fans are going berserk as I walk back to the truck. I would taunt them with some off-color remarks about their parentage, but I am too drunk to form complete sentences. With my last cognitive thought of the evening, I take solace in the fact that if we had not beaten them in October, they would be playing Florida State for the national championship.

6:30 Back in the car. On the way back to Austin for the basketball game. 8:00pm Texas-Arizona tip off. We can still salvage the day! I crack open a beer. It is warm. I don’t care.

7:12 We have stopped for gas. I am hungry. I go inside the store. I walk past the beer fridge. I notice a Zima. I’ve never had a Zima. I wonder if it’s any good? I pull a Zima from the fridge. I twist the top off and drink the Zima in three swallows. Zima sucks. I replace the empty bottle in the fridge.

7:17 There is a Blimpie Subs in the store. I walk to where the ingredients are, where the person who usually makes the sub is. There is no one there. I lean over the counter and scoop out half a bucket of black olives. I eat them. I am still hungry. I lean further over the counter and grab approximately two pounds of Pastrami. I walk out of the store grunting and eating Pastrami. The patrons in the store fear me. I don’t care.

8:01 We are in South Austin. I have been drinking warm beer and singing Brooks and Dunn tunes for over an hour. My truck-mate is tired of my singing. He suggests that perhaps Brooks and Dunn have written other good songs besides, “Your going to miss me when I’m gone” and “Neon Moon” and that maybe listening to only those two songs, ten times each was a bit excessive. Perhaps, he suggests, I could just let the CD play on its own. I tell him to **** off and restart “Neon Moon”.

8:30 We arrive at the Erwin Center. My truckmate, against my loud and profane protestations, parks on the top floor of a nearby parking garage. I tell him he’s and idiot. I tell him we will never get out. I tell him we may as well pitch a ******* tent here. He ignores me. I think he’s still ****** about the Brooks and Dunn tunes. I whistle “Neon Moon” loudly.

8:47 I am rallying. I have 4 warm beers stuffed in my pants. We’re going to kick the **** out of Arizona.

9:11 Halftime score: Texas 31, Arizona 29. I am pleased. I go to the bathroom to pee for the 67th time today. I giggle to myself because of the new opportunity to do “the bathroom Brice”. There are no Arizona fans in the bathroom. I am disappointed. I tell myself (out loud) that I have a “Niiiiiiice ****”. No one is amused but me.

9:41 I walk to the bathroom while drinking Bud Light out of a can. Needless to say, they do not sell beer at the Erwin Center, much less Bud Light out of a can. I am stopped by an usher: “Where did you get that, sir?” I tell him (no ****): “Oh, the cheerleaders were throwing them up with those little plastic footballs. Would you mind throwing this away for me?” I take the last swig and hand it to him. He is confused. I pretend I’m going to the bathroom, but I run away giggling instead. I duck into some entrance to avoid the usher, who is now pursuing me. I sneak into a large group of people and sit down. The usher walks by harmlessly. I am giggling like a little girl. I crack open another can of Bud Light.

9:52 I am lost. In my haste to avoid the usher, I have lost my bearings. I have no ticket stub. I cannot find my seats. Texas is losing.

10:09 Texas is being screwed by the refs. I am enraged. I have cleared out the seats around me because I keep removing my hat and beating the surrounding chairs with it. A concerned fan asks if I’m OK and perhaps I shouldn’t take it so seriously. I tell him to **** off.

10:15 After the fourth consecutive “Worst ******* call I have EVER seen, “ I attempt to remove my hat again to begin beating inanimate objects. However, on this occasion I miscalculate and I thumbnail myself in my left eyelid, leaving a one-quarter inch gash over my eye. I am now bleeding into my left eye and all over my shirt. “Perhaps,” I think to myself, “I’m taking this a bit seriously.”

10:22 I am standing in the bathroom peeing. I’m so drunk I am swaying and grunting. I have a bloody napkin pressed on my left eye. My pants are bloody. I have my (formerly) white shirt wrapped around my waist. I look like I should be in an episode of cops.

10:43 Texas has lost. I put my bloody white shirt back on my body and make my way for the exits. I am stopped every 20 seconds by a good Samaritan, cop, security guard to ask me why I am covered in blood, but I merely grunt incoherently and keep moving.

10:59 With my one good eye, I have located the parking garage. I walk up six flights of stairs, promise that when I see my friend I will punch him in the face for making me walk up six flights of stairs. I find the truck and collapse in a heap in the bed of the truck. I look around and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights and no one is moving. I take a nap.

11:17 I awake from my nap. I see my friend in the driver’s seat. I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights and no one is moving. I am too tired to punch my friend. I call my friend a “Stupid **********.”

11:31 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights and no one is moving. I call my friend a “Stupid **********.”

11:38 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights and no one is moving. I call my friend a “Stupid **********.”

11:47 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights and no one is moving. I call my friend a “Stupid **********.”

11:58 I am jostled. The truck is moving. I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is beginning to move on the second floor. I jump out of the truck, walk to the edge of the parking facility and pee off the sixth floor onto the street below. My friend looks at me like I just anally violated his minor sister. I turn around, pee on the front of his truck while singing the lyrics to “Neon Moon.”

12:11 We are moving. We are out of beer. I jump from the truck and go from vehicle to vehicle until someone gives me two beers. I am happy. I return to my vehicle.

12:26 We have emerged from the parking facility. We make our way to my apartment and find Ed sitting on the couch with a freshly opened bottle of Glenlivet on the coffee table in front of him. We are all going to die tonight.

12:59 We have finished three-quarters of the bottle of Glenlivet. We decide it would be a wonderful idea to go dancing at PollyEsther’s. Ed has to pee. He walks down the hall to our apartment and directly into the full-length mirror ant the end of the hall, smashing it into hundreds of pieces. We giggle uncontrollably and leave for PollyEsther’s.

1:17 The PollyEsther’s doorman laughs uncontrollably at our efforts to enter his club. “Fellas,” he says in between his fits of spastic laughter, “I’ve been working this door for almost a year. I’ve been working doors in this town for almost 5 years. And I can honestly say that I ain’t ever seen three drunken mother ****ers than you three. Sorry, I can’t let you in.” We attempt to reason with him. He laughs harder.

1:44 We find a bar that lets us in. We take two steps in the door and hear “Last call for alcohol!” I turn to the group and mutter: “See, dat wasn’t that ****in’ hard. Day don’t ****in’ do that at the Awamo….the Awaom…. the Alaba….**** it, that stadium we was at today…” We order 6 shots of tequila and three beers.

2:15 Back on the street. We need food. We hail a cab to take us the tow and one half blocks to Katz’s. The cab fare is $1.60. We give him $10 and tell him to keep it.

2:17 There is a 20-minute wait. WE give the hostess $50. We are seated immediately.

2:25 We order two orders of fried pickles, a Cobb salad, a bowl of soup, two orders of Blueberry blintzes, two Reuben sandwiches, a hamburger, two cheese stuffed potatoes, an order of fries, and an order of onion rings.

2:39 The food arrives. We are all asleep with our heads on the table. The waiter wakes us up. We eat every ******* bit of our food. Most of the restaurant patrons around us are disgusted. We don’t give a ****. The tab is $112 with tip.

2:46 I’m sleepy.

9:12 I wake up next to a strange woman. She is the bartender at Katz’s. She is not pretty.

HOOK ‘EM HORNS, BABY!!! Out-
​
 
The people that send chain emails have discovered CycloneFanatic. Run for cover!
 
Doc said:
I work in a trailer with thin walls, and my office is next to the bathroom. The girl in the office next to me is cute, but I think she has Irritable Bowel. I hear her just DESTROY the toilet 3-4 times a week.

Not a dealbreaker.
Click to expand...

This is my vote for Friday Confessions post of the day.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Help Support Us

Become a patron
Top Bottom
Back