WE HAVE OUR 3 MILLIONTH MEMBER!
The FML members meet up for a party on a beach
So, who is it? It's someone called hannahbananahann. Yes, odd name! She's actually called Hannah, she's 19 and is from the UK! She says she's studying Mathematics at University, but we have no proof of that. But then again, who would lie about something like that? Exactly. So well done Hannah, you are officially our 3 millionth member!
As we promised, member number 3,000,000 wins a prize, so Hannah will be sent two FML books just as soon as we're done with Xmas meals, and all the booze has worn off!
See you all in a few days then!
Until then, keep your eyes peeled on what's going on over here...
It’s been an eventful 4-and-something years since FML was launched; some weird-looking babies were born; some famous couples split up; the whole world and his dog went bananas for One Direction while everyone turned their backs on the poor old Jonas Brothers, and Maxime, the benevolent creator of FML, has been invaded by a bunch of cats. It’s been a heck of a ride. But despite the ups and downs, we’re still here, fighting the fight for the little guy, the (wo)man in the street who has had enough of life’s lemons and who needs to fight back by throwing those lemons back at life by letting off steam on FML, spilling the beans and… OK, that’s way too many mixed metaphors. All you need to know is that we’re always here whenever you need to talk to someone about your shitty day, a bit like a trustworthy friend or an old sweater that smells vaguely of dog fur.
In any case, our user base has never ceased to grow, much to our amazement. We never expected that this whole shebang, which was initially created in our garages with sticky tape and badly painted cardboard boxes, would become so popular. We’re overjoyed to have so many of you on board; it’s like having an extended family. A weird, creepy, dysfunctional family, but a family all the same. Every day we garner new members: an odd looking uncle here, a strange cousin there. We’ve even got a randy second-cousin who likes to eat his own toenails, but we’re naming no names.
(the original FML book, cat not included in the prize)
We’re now rapidly approaching the 3 million members mark, which is so astonishing that our minds are blown. Not literally, that would be disgusting and we would have even more trouble than usual remembering where our keys are. We thought we’d mark the occasion by offering someone the chance to become the actual 3 millionth member; a bit like in the movies when someone wins a prize in a supermarket for buying a tin of cat food at the exact right moment, and pandemonium breaks loose. All that you need to do is create your own user account on FML; even without the added bonus and glory of being the 3 millionth member, the benefits of doing so are numerous, and are listed here. If you become member #3M, our system will single you out, and we will send you a book, as well as our warmest congratulations!
If you are already a member, tell your friends and family about FML! You could be our ambassador, introducing new people to the FML experience, spreading the word. After all, we're a family united by the ability to laugh at ourselves and the crap that happens to us in our lives, maybe your nearest and dearest would benefit from taking part.
As you have probably guessed, the number above is the amount of user accounts currently on FML. Pretty obvious. If you refresh the page, you can watch the membership tally go up, so hurry if want to be the one and only! All you have to do is sign up for an account, so get cracking.
I was a teenage werewolf. No, not really, I was a teenage twit with acne and a bad haircut, but I’m guessing being a teenage werewolf was a bit more fun than my own ghastly condition. It certainly seems so, judging on the goings-on in the classic movie of that name. Anyway, as you may or may not know according to much you enjoy dressing up as a bat or a slutty gravedigger, it’s Halloween. In celebration of the agoraphobic pedophile’s favourite day, here at FML we’ve got an endless list of horror movies, scary situations and monsters that strike fear and unwanted urine ejection in even the most calm and collected person.
Today, I was called to a house for a devil possession. I wound up getting covered in a young girl’s pea-green vomit and told that my mother is sucking cocks in hell. I need a new career. FML
Sent in by Father Karras
OK, I made that one up, sort of. This is from ‘The Exorcist’, the classic horror movie from the 70s. What could be more of an FML than being on the business end of a hissy fit from the Devil himself, set to Mike Oldfield’s wonderful ‘Tubular Bells'?
I already wrote an article about Halloween last year, with many examples of FMLs (click here to read it if you haven’t already), so I’m not going to do that again. Besides, I’m a bit frightened of Halloween. Well, not exactly frightened, more suspicious. I’m not saying I’ve become superstitious or anything, but last year’s Halloween was pretty rubbish for me. After I’d posted the article, I went out to a Halloween-themed party in a nice English pub in the south of France. I hadn’t worn a costume because I look pretty strange on the best of days so I was counting on my natural features being odd enough to let me off the hook with regards to the mandatory scary costume. The pub was decked out in all the classic Halloween trimmings and looked great; the staff were all in full costume and it’s owned by two of the most charming landladies ever so they all looked great, and the turn out was pretty impressive. I met up with my friends, and all was OK. Unfortunately for me, the night was about to turn a bit sour. Or should I say “bitter”, because beer then started flowing freely down my gullet as I tried to wash away the pain of being a sad sack single man who lives with two domineering cats. Everything was going fine up until closing time, and I got back to my place. Now, I know that drinking booze is not big, and it’s not clever, but I enjoy it so sue me. No, don’t sue me, please, I'm poor.
Walking home, the streets were spinning around and I managed to push my sleeping cats out of the way and crawl into bed, alone again, naturally. Flashback to a couple of years before: I’d had surgery done to my nose due to a deviated septum, and one of the drawbacks of this procedure meant that I got a load of nosebleeds afterwards, which required me going back to hospital to get it fixed again and again. Back to present day: I fall asleep in my inebriated state only to wake up in the middle of the night with a nosebleed. I start to panic, thinking, due to my booze intake, that I’d have to go back to hospital to get it patched up, so I rush into the bathroom. For some reason, I decide to put my nose over the bathtub to avoid getting blood everywhere, and in my haste I hoist one foot over the side of the tub a bit too quickly. I slip, due having missed the bottom of the tub, my ankle goes "crack", I go crashing into the wall, smashing my nose in the process, then fall backwards onto the sink, hitting the floor like a sack of drunken potatoes. I decide to call it a night, and crawl into bed.
The next morning, my right ankle was killing me. I hobble about, crashing into the walls and doorframes, avoiding the cats who are typically terrified of anything out of the ordinary, so they’re hissing at me while I’m swearing at myself. Thinking I’d sprained it, I start calling doctors, but the 1st of November is a holiday in France, so nobody is available. I manage to get hold of a friend who takes me to hospital: one X-ray later, I’m told that I have broken my ankle and need to have an operation to get it fixed. The next morning, they knock me out and put metal parts into my bones to hold it together, telling me that I have to stay on crutches for a month and a half. The upside is I get to take some morphine home with me, but a limited supply and I’m in pain and very embarrassed about the whole thing. Remember, this happened on Halloween night. Was I cursed? Had I been staring at a witch’s cleavage for too long in the pub and she put a spell on me? Or was it just my fault for drinking beer? In any case, I spent 45 days in discomfort, hobbling about my apartment, having food delivered to me and having to get injections every day to avoid bedsores.
It made me realise that living alone can get pretty depressing if you can’t get about, stand up to cook meth or even go out to buy a newspaper. I won’t start getting all philosophical about the meaninglessness of life, love and how fragile we all are when faced with a slippery surface, I’ll just say to everyone to be careful when getting into a bathtub on Halloween. Oh, and extra bang to my FML here is that since I was an idiot and told everyone I know about what happened, now I can't get away from jokes about bathtubs. I'm a bathroom health hazard. I'm constantly reminded that I fell over and broke my ankle due to a bloody nose and a tub.
That is all. Now go out and enjoy yourselves, it’s later than you think. This year, I'm spending Halloween dressed as the invisible man. As in, I'm not going to any parties or any social gatherings where the curse could strike again. Bring me some chocolate back; I’m staying home tonight to avoid spells, further injuries and humiliation.