TIFU By secretly eating mushrooms while my wife was asleep in a house full of cats
This happened a good long while ago now so not really today…
It was April when I started this journey. During the winter I became a member of a magic mushroom forum and was learning all I could about growing magic mushrooms. I tried it once before and grew only a yellowish green mush that smelled of sweaty socks but this time would be different. I had a spore print sent to me and was off to the races.
I had tried mushrooms once before about 10 years prior and the experience was rather enjoyable. I have had way too many bad experiences with LSD to ever think about trying it and from what I remembered the mushroom experience was much less chaotic and harsh for me than the majority of my acid trips had been. After following every tip I could gather and about a month and a half of waiting, I have viable mushrooms drying in the food dehydrator.
The whole journey, from spore print to fruit, was done for reasons I don’t yet have a great grasp on. I was thinking at the time that growing them would impart some spiritual meaning into my experience. It had been a long, long time since I had taken any illegal substance and I wanted it to be special in some way. Growing them myself was an attempt at providing that, I guess.
The night I took them I really wasn’t planning on doing so. I was borde out of my wits and chatting with on-line friends. I told them I was going to eat my mushrooms but didn’t know how much to eat without a scale. I took a few pics of my intended dose and posted them and immediately got advice to cut that dose in half. So, with my wife asleep, I went down to the kitchen and made a concoction of purple slushy and powered mushrooms and gulped it down. I came back up and told the chatters that the deal was done and that I was taking shower and would be back once the fun started.
In the shower about 5 minutes when I felt a rush like I consciousness was being pulled away from my body. I was fighting to keep it with me. It felt as though is I had let it fly away I would have had a full out of body experience but for some reason I felt compelled hold on to it. I quickly turned off the water and looked down at my feet. They seemed miles away. That is when it hit me that the shrooms were kicking in!
Out of the shower and I put on the same clothes I came in with and headed up stairs. The shower Is in the basement of the house and there is a door at the top of the stairs. Opening the door, the light from the kitchen blasted my eyes and I got a good gauge of how far along in the experience I was. I would see that the kitchen floor looked smooth and had a liquid like texture. But before I could survey any more my black cat ran down in the basement.
I didn’t want to forget about him down there and it never really thought that I could just leave the door open and shoo any members of our herd that wandered down there after my trip. I trudged down the stairs after him and scooped him up and started back up the stairs. Half way up, a brown blur flew down the stairs as another cat dove to the basement. I tossed the black one in the kitchen and went after the brown one. While s picking up brown one, the black cat came back down the steps again and I scooped him up too. Now I am carrying 2 cats up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs, the door is wide open and I see our other 3 cats had come to investigate the commotion. As I made the final push to the top they all jumped into action like they planned it in advance. I started laughing hysterically, let go of the cats in my arms and sat on the top step as I watched all the cats bounce down the stairs. I found the whole situation so funny. Here I am coming up hard on mushrooms. I can feel the confusion building every second and now I have to figure a way of getting all 5 cats out of the basement.
By the time I had collected myself and devised a plan my face was hot and objects were starting to move. The time dilation had manifested and minutes were seeming to take longer and longer. My plan was to go down and capture one cat at a time and usher them up stairs. Once I got to five, the task would be complete. I raced down and grabbed the first cat I came across. And ran to the up to the landing and toss it, pretty forcefully, up the last 3 steps into the kitchen so it would get the point that I didn’t want them down there. Back down I went and did the same thing…that’s 2 down and 3 to go. I was getting more confused by the minute and on the fourth cat…..I had forgot how many cats I had previously ushered up the stairs. face palm
On my way back down I decided to count the cats down stairs and that would let me know how many were upstairs. Unfortunately, the whole time I had neglected one key detail in my foolproof plan….The door was still open. Just as I reach the basement floor, the whole heard can stampeding down again. Plan A was an utter failure.
Formulated just as quickly as Plan A, was Plan B. Cats have got names right? I will count the cats as I bring them up and remember the name of each cat so that I don’t lose track like the last time. BRILIANT!!! I thump back down the stairs and grab Funchee, the black one, and take him up stairs. He quickly tries to run back down and I push him back and close the door. Back down stairs I grab another cat. “Sammie…number 2”, I think as I put her up stairs and close the door behind me.
At this point my mind is worn out. Things are moving very well and walls have waves in them and on them. It is all but impossible to keep my mind on the task at hand. Those 2 things, coupled with the fact that the time dilation is making the last 5 minutes chasing these beasts feel like I have been at it for hours, is making this fool’s errand about as much as my brain could handle in its current state. I trudge on trying to complete this task and grab another cat but again at the top of the stairs I forgot where I was in the order. I put that cat up stairs and tried to count the cats up there to give me an idea of how many were left. But of course, they are not in the kitchen anymore. And again it escapes me that if I just keep bring up cats until I run out of cats to retrieve I will be through with this cluster fuck.
Unable to think pass my current predicament, I race around up stairs looking for the cats that had been brought up and they are nowhere to be found. My state had grown worse and I start thinking that maybe they got outside. But there was no way they could get out because no one opened the……..DOOOOOOR!!!!!……. The DOOOOOOOR!!!!! I forgot the close the basement door. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!!
Ran back into the kitchen and down the stairs for the 50 quadrillionth time and BAM….there they were all 5 of them… Safe and sound. I had found the missing cats. Hallelujah!! They weren’t outside…my wife would have killed me if they were gone. Me, all high and shit and the cats go missing? I might as well pack my shit and go! What a relief! I love my kitties! *kiss * kiss kiss…..wait! Are we still in the basement?!?!?! FUCKING COCK SUCKING SON OF A BITCH MOTHER DAMN SHIT HELL……
I am done. My mental ability is gone. Each trip up and down felt like an eternity, I had only just enough energy left to get up stairs to the couch. I kneel by the couch and think about what I am going to do. I am mentally exhausted because apparently, counting to 5 is impossible while on mushrooms. My mind racing to come up with a solution to this impossible problem and never once did I think of just leaving them down there until they found something more entertaining to do than drive me out of my fucking mind. The white flag was up. It was over. I needed the big gun. It was 2 or 3am, and she had to get up and go to work in the morning but I had no choice…I needed an adult. I have to wake my wife. She would make it all better. She will tame those damn hellions and all will be fine……but it wasn’t fine.
I went up stairs to our room and woke her in the gentlest way possible. By jumping on the bed and yelling “help!! I took mushrooms!!!5 cats in the basement and I can only count to 4.” Not the way I had envisioned it going down in my head but I was happy to get that much out without forgetting the reason I woke her up In the first place. Sleepily she marched down the stairs and I lead her to the kitchen where the basement door was still wide open. All I could do was stand at the door and point down the stairs. I think I may have whimpered a little too with my gesture. She was not amused! I thought I was finally going to get closure. She would get the cats from the basement and I would be saved but NOOOO…..my savior turn to tormentor as she said the only words in the word that could crush me into an even more pitiful state. “well…Go get ‘em” she said. She didn’t understand that I was fighting this fight for what seemed like days now and wanted nothing more than to curl up in the corner and cry until I fell asleep.
She had no clue how close I was to a break down. Tears welled up as crossed the threshold of the basement door and descended again into my personal hell. I scooped up a kitty and carried it slowly up stairs setting it on the kitchen floor. One, my wife said in a long drawn out voice like she was talking to a 2 year old. Back down I went and grab up another “bundle of joy” and slinked up the stairs only to be shamed again by a long drawn out 2. By the third cat, short audible “poo, poo” sounds were coming from me as I was almost to the breaking point. My wife had begun to laugh at me and seemed to laugh harder each time I came up even more beaten than before. When the last cat came up I was greeted by a sighing “5” and a “now was that so hard” from my wife. I tried to apologize but she waved me off with a stern “we’ll talk about this in the morning” and walked up stairs to bed.
The cat ordeal was over but the trip was far from it. I was immensely grateful to my online buddies who talked me into halfing the dose because the rest of the night was filled with confusion and mind fuckery and intense time dilation. Not really a bad trip as bad trips go, but not at all enjoyable. I think I can cross mushies off the list of viable boredom relievers. I won’t be doing them again anytime soon that is for sure.
TIFU By enraging the parents of my girlfriend by pretending not to know what a potato is.
Let me tell you that I have made a bad mistake this evening.
My girlfriend (who let me tell you is only my 2nd girlfriend of all time) said I am “invited to dinner” with her and her parents. I was very aghast, nervous, and bashful to be invited to such a situation. But I knew it must be done.
I met them nicely, I should tell you, and it started off in a good way. The idea slapped my mind that I should do a comic bit, to make a good impression and become known to them as a person who is amusing.
When I saw that baked potatoes were served I got the idea that it would be very good if I pretended I did not know what potatoes was. That would be funny.
Well let me tell you: backfired on my face. I’ll tell you how.
So first when the potato became on my plate, I acted very interesting. I showed an expression on my face so as to seem that I was confused, astounded but in a restrained way, curious, and interested. They did notice, and seemed confused, but did not remark. So I asked “This looks very interesting. What is this?”
They stared at me and the mother said “It’s a baked potato.” And I was saying “Oh, interesting, a baked….what is it again?”
And she was like “A potato.”
And I was like “A ‘potato’, oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good.”
And then they didn’t see I was clowning, but thought I really did not know what is a potato. So I knew I would be very shamed, humiliated, depressed, and disgusted if I admitted to making a bad joke, so what I did was to act as if it was not a joke but I committed to the act of pretending I didn’t know what a potato is.
They asked me, VERY incredulous, did I really not know what a potato is? That I never heard of a potato. I went with it and told them, yes, I did not ever even hear of a potato. Not only had I never eaten a potato I had never heard the word potato.
This went on for a bit and my girlfriend was acting very confused and embarrassed by my “fucked up antics”, and then the more insistent I was about not knowing what a potato is was when them parents starting thinking I DID know what a potato was.
Well let me tell you I had to commit 100% at this point. When I would not admit to knowing what a potato was, the father especially began to get annoyed. At one point he said something like “Enough is enough. You’re fucking with us. Admit it.” And I said “Sir, before today I never heard of a potato. I still don’t know what a potato is, other than some kind of food. I don’t know what to tell you.”
Well let me tell you he got very annoyed. I decided to take a bite of the potato, and when I did I made a high pitched noise and said “Taste’s very strange!”
That is when the father started yelling at me, and the mother kept saying “What are you doing?” and my girlfriend went to some other room.
Finally the father said I should “Get the fuck out of his house” and I said it was irrational to treat me like this just because I never heard of a potato before. Well let me tell you he didn’t take that kindly.
Now in text messages I have been telling my girlfriend I really don’t know what a potato is. The only way I can ever get out of this is for them to buy that I don’t know what a potato is.
I wish I never started it but I can’t go back. I think she will break up with me anyway.
TIFU By Throwing My Steak Out The Window
Last night, my wife’s boss from her brand new job invited us over for dinner. On the drive over, my wife reiterated many times to me just how important it was to make a good impression.
I scoffed and arrogantly informed my silly wife that I always make good impressions.
My wife’s boss is a single lady in her fifties, so it was just the three of us. We chit chatted over drinks and salads and seemed to really be hitting it off. She laughed at my well-timed, perfectly-appropriate jokes and my wife seemed pleased.
Soon she brought out the main course, a nice big juicy steak for each of us. As I began to cut into my steak, I was discouraged to discover how undercooked this steak was.
Now, I’ve had my fair share of rare steak. I prefer medium, but I can handle rare. This was several-minutes-on-a-hot-grill short of rare. I probably could’ve resuscitated the cow had I tried. Instead, I sat there fidgeting with my knife and fork, worrying about how I was going to get away with not eating this steak.
Claim vegan-ism? No, I’d already feigned great enthusiasm upon seeing the steak.
Just then, our hostess excused herself to the kitchen to take care of some dessert preparations. As I looked across the fancy dining room table at the open window of this 3rd story apartment… a cartoon light bulb appeared over my head.
I knew I had to be decisive, realizing that she could return at any moment. I committed. I grabbed the steak with my hand, gently shook off the juice and executed a perfect throw right through the center of the open window.
Here’s the big time FU. The window wasn’t open. It was the cleanest fricking window you’ve ever seen in your life. That is, until my mostly raw slab of steak slammed up against it and slowly slid down leaving a trail of bloody juice in its wake.
My wife – who’s steak was a nice medium rare and was unaware of my predicament – turned, jaw dropped, and stared at me like I was an alien from another planet. This look then slowly morphed into more of a there-is-no-place-on-this-planet-you-can-ever-hide-from-me expression of demonic anger.
My wife’s boss heard the thud of the steak-on-window impact and came quickly. She took in the scene, the steak sitting on the window sill, the blood trail, my empty plate, and then gave me an inquisitive, puzzled look.
I just didn’t know what to say. It felt like a minute of silence, but was probably 3 or 4 seconds. Finally, the best I could manage was “I… I’m so sorry. I am such a clutz… I don’t know… I was just cutting it.. and… it… … it slipped… just ask my wife, I really am a clutz… right honey?… (no help coming from that direction) … I will clean this up… I can’t believe this… I am so sorry” etc… etc…
Both women continued to stare at me like I had escaped from the loony bin, as I smeared the blood around the window with my cloth napkin, dusted off the steak, and continued to mutter my incoherent explanation. I knew no one was buying the story.
I knew what I had to do. I sheepishly returned to my seat and proceeded to eat every bite of that disgusting, cold, chewy, bloody, raw steak.
I remained pretty quiet the rest of the evening. My wife’s only two words to me since the incident are “I’m fine”.
If you were sentenced to, let’s say 10+ years in jail what would you do with your time
I would go into the most crowded room. The dinner hall maybe. Then I would squat out a shit right in the middle, while maintaining eye contact with anyone I could. Marking my territory, y’know? And who’s going to tackle a dude squating out a deuce? Anyway, I would likely get disciplined for that, but I would continue to do it at any opportunity. I would do it in a shared cell if I had one as well.
Then, when I feel I’d made it clear that this was my town, I’d get myself a shiv. Nothing fancy, just a reliable shanking tool. I’d go around eating other people’s food, and shanking anyone who tried to stop me. Starting to make a name for myself now. People are going to know who runs shit around here. Pretty soon even the guards would be wary of me, probably leave me to do my own thing. No one is going to want to get stabbed over a couple of french fries.
Once I’d made a name for myself as the don of the jail, I’d unite all factions. Asians, whites, blacks. Nazis, Crips & Bloods, Triads. They’d all join to make one, super gang, with me at the head. Then eventually, we’d make the break. No way can a prison stop a full scale breakout if it’s properly planned and executed, with each individual working as part of a unit.
Then we’d go to the nearest town, and pop out shits at every public area, while keeping eye contact, of course. Then private areas, like houses and such. Make the population know that we run this town. After repeating the prison process and making an entire town a part of my gang, we’d go onto the nearest city, dropping deuces e’erywhere. You know the drill.
Really quiet, soft-spoken, polite guy. A total gentleman and a graduate student in the liberal arts. Also, pretty inexperienced, tentative, and vanilla sexually.
He’s dating this really cool girl for maybe two months. She is much kinkier in bed. She floats the idea of dirty talk, and apparently likes to be objectified, even demeaned a bit, from time to time. He’s hesitant, but wants to please her and doesn’t dismiss the idea outright. Changes the subject and figures that they’ll revisit the idea another time.
Anyway…they have sex a few days later for the first time since the conversation. Really going at it doggystyle, and she tells him to talk dirty to her. He says that he can’t think of anything to say, so he says nothing, and she then repeats the request, but the second time she is not fucking requesting, but demanding it.
He comes up with: “Yeah…you like that, you fucking retard?”
He’s never struck me as one for embellishment, so I believe him. He said that was it for sex that night, although they are still together two years on now.
Steve and his girlfriend Samantha went off to college in August. She went to Florida State, he went to Penn. So, she decides to fly to PA to visit him. He was really happy to see her so he decided to give her some oral action.
He had done this numerous times before and he always enjoyed doing it…but for some reason, this time, she smelled really horrible, and she tasted even worse. He didn’t want to offend her though because he hadn’t seen her in months…so he put a Jolly Rancher in his mouth to cover it up, even though it didn’t do much to help.
In the course of eating her out, he accidentally pushed the candy inside of her… and stuck a finger in to grab it out. He took it out, and put it back into his mouth and bit it. Only…it wasn’t the Jolly Rancher.
It was a nodule of gonorrhea.
As in, the blister-like structure that gonorrhea makes filled with diseased pus was the size of a fucking Jolly Rancher and the poor guy BIT it. I guess it was really dark in the room. He freaked out and started vomiting all over the place when it exploded in his mouth…
He demanded to know what was going on, turns out she had cheated on him at a club like, the first week of college, and fucked some random guy and the stupid bitch had no clue what was wrong with her. She noticed a strange smell though.
So now, Steve is freaking out that he now has gonorrhea of the mouth and God knows what else.
In response to the guy who jizzed in his own mouth…
In case you see this- I think mangoes work best when it comes to the taste but it was easy to get my hands on mangoes back when we were in India. It’s the squiggly, slippery texture of it that takes a good while to get used to.
Frontpage edit:- Holy shit! This blew up. Thanks to everyone who commented. For those wondering (or more likely not wondering) how I did this- it was basically a ritual. I would gorge myself on mangoes for two days prior to masturbating. (I would jerk off once a week or so). Have a clean bowl, spoon and mints ready on the day. Jerk off and cum carefully in the bowl while lying on the bed and sorta leaning off to the side. Eat up, lick the residual, stuff myself with mints to stop the nausea. I also had to wash the bowl and o my lawd, the smell of semen + water is one of the most horrific out there. Kinda like raw eggs + water but made worse by the fact that you had just licked the cum off of the bowl.
Throwaway time! What’s your secret that could literally ruin your life if it came out?
Well, it is exactly what it sounds like. It’s a shoebox, or at least once was, and whenever I masturbate I cum into it. I’ve had it for two or three years now I think, so it has a fair amount of cum. It smells atrocious, and I tried to burn it once. When I lit it on fire, it was too damp due to the cum that it simply sizzled and didn’t manage to actually lite up. Turns out burning cum smells awful, so I had to spray it with a deodorant body spray just to get the old smell of burnt cum away. It also has some drenched papers stuck to it. That’s pretty much it.
Source: r/TIFU means Today I Fucked Up