Most embarrassing moment.

Well, I got over my monastic impulses as soon as I got out of the ethically degenerate environment at the resort. I have a tendency to rebel against my surroundings. I'm sure if I ever signed on at a monastery, I'd probably go AWOL on a quest for beer and tail.

Pennzoil? Was Arnold Palmer filming the proceedings?

 

You greased up sportschick the midget, chased it around for a while, got tired and then fucked the monkey?

 

Thanks, Arnie

 

This thread is going in a very strange direction. . . And by no means am I complaining.

 

Doc's Dead. To. Me!, and he knows it.

My most embarrassing moment was my senior year of college. My friends and I are at a bar (Tony's, for all you fellow Ohio freaks), and I'm peeing in the bathroom. One of friends come in screaming "(Hot hockey player) is here!" In my haste to get out of the bathroom to go flirt, I fall off my heels, spraining my ankle bad enough that I had to go to the emergency room the next morning. That night, though, I drank enough that I didn't realize I'd sprained my ankle.

Oh, and I puked in my boyfriend's trash can at the frat house.

 

One of my frat brothers would enjoyed the Herb would often go the local watering hole for a beer or 12. On more than one occasion he manged to shit is pants.
He had no qualms telling people either. I don't mean right after he did it, but days, weeks, even years later he would tell just about anyone (guess the guy was an open book) how he shit his pants, not once, not twice, but on three separate occasions!

Me, If I had ever shit myself - in public or private - I would never tell a soul. I'd take it to the grave and deny it to St. Peter himself.
St. Pete: Orville, I think we are about done here. Um, let's see ... Oh, looks like you shit you pants when you were 22?
Orville: Huh? Um, no. No, wasn't me.
St. Pete: The book says so. Right here (turning the book toward me).
Orville: You sure you got the right guy. Cause It wasn't me. Dude, I have never, ever shit my pants. Never, ever.
St. Pete: No. No. It was you. Says so right here.
Now if you want to get in to Heaven, I need you to sign here and acknowledge this stuff.
Orville: Don't I get to contest this or something? Yeah, I did all this other stuff, but I. Never. Shit. My. Pants. (Using the Bill Clinton finger wag to emphasize my point).
St. Pete: Well, you aren't getting in, 'til you fess up.
Orville: What are my options?
St. Pete: Sign here or you go to Hell, there's an opening for, let's see .... Brittany Spears needs a personal assistant, They have lots of front row seats for the Dane Cook, Carrottop show and oh, here's a good one they are looking for volunteers to give Andy Dick an enema.
Orville: Andy Dick huh?
St. Pete: Or you can douche Paris Hilton, Roseanne Barr and clean the smegma off Rosie O'Donnell's penis.
Orville: I did NOT shit my pants!
St. Pete: (Staring at me silently) Um-hm.
Orville: ..... .... .... (sighs) Sign me up for Andy Dick duty.

 

That is embarrassing. You obviously found you should have used the longer-life Valvoline durablend.

 

First is probably tearing off a three-foot long fart at my aunt's funeral. Resonated off the wooden pews rather nicely.

Second one was when I was on the trapshooting team at college. We were in Omaha for the national championships. I went into the men's room and there was this circular urinal where you stepped on the black ring near the floor to flush. Water came out from the tower at about chest-high level. I'm standing there draining the lizard when someone informed me that I'm pissing where you wash your hands.
I'm a hick from Kansas. Never had seen one of those new-fangled devices before.
Whatever happened to good ol' sinks?

 

I say you guys are lucky you even got the chance to shoot early. I was at work once when my mom (yes, my mom) called me to tell me she was at a party, and the host's hot Slovakian foreign exchange student was drunk and flirting with every guy on the premises. All were married and wives were not happy. I was called in to distract seduce this girl. I arrived, did my job and soon we were crusing the Wisconsin countryside in my car...found a back drive in a cornfield somewhere, and of course, me being a 19-year-old late in my rookie season of sex, didn't have a condom. The broken English and hotly-accented "Why not?" was heartbreaking. I drove her back to the party and went home alone immediately after. I told that story the next day to my friends, and all I heard was bullshit, bullshit, bullshit all the way through until the end, and then they knew I wasn't lying

 

First: Your mom rules.

Second: That blows. I usually have an extra condom with me -- either in the house or in a bookbag or travel bag depending on where I'm going. Unfortunately, condoms are only good for a short while. I had to throw out a bunch a few weeks ago. I don't remember what they cost in 2005, but I'm sure I threw down a couple pretty pennies. All for nothing.

 

Three-foot long fart? Does that mean how long it lasted?

and well done, sir, on the second moment.

 

"And here's Tiger Woods looking over a five-second putt..."