rSlash - r/TIFU by Burning My Balls

Episode Date: April 5, 2026

0:00 Intro 0:12 Bathroom 2:15 Paying for it 6:32 Artists costs 10:37 Shaved 13:26 Interview Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Welcome to R slash Today I FFed Up, where OPE breaks into a single mother's household to perform foul acts upon her toilet. Today I effed up by using a stranger's bathroom. My friend lives in a single mother's household, one of those complexes where every building is identical. It's like the backrooms or something. I've been to my friend's place before. I thought I knew the door. The door was slightly open. I knocked twice, pushed it open, and went, yo, I'm here. No answer. Walked in anyway.

Couch, kitchen, vaguely familiar smell. Close enough. Now, here's the thing. I had to poo. Not like, oh, I should find a bathroom soon, but like a full-on toilet-destroying, full-emerger. And like, instead of waiting 30 seconds to confirm that I was in the right apartment, I walked directly to the bathroom, locked the door, and then immediately committed a biohazard event in the toilet. Mid-atrosity, I hear a kid's voice from somewhere in the apartment. Mom, who's in the bathroom? I was a bit confused at first, because why is there someone calling for their mom? I was pretty sure that my friend lived alone, and then it hit me. Different towels, different shower curtain, rubber ducks I've never seen in my life.

I was in their house and they'd heard everything. The loud sharts and all. I opened the door. A woman with a laundry basket is standing in the hallway. Behind her, a small child was peeking around her leg like I'm a crack addict who just broke into their house. Then, after coming out of the toilet and washing my hands, I embarrassingly asked, This is Aaron's place, isn't it?

It was not Aaron's place. I apologize so many times to her. She just stared at me and then I explained the situation. She was honestly kind of chill with it, but it was still so effing embarrassing. I effing hate myself. Down in the comments, people are posting about the murder of Botham Gene, who was a black man just living in his house, when a white cop accidentally entered this guy's apartment,

thought she was being robbed, and shot him dead. So I guess the moral of the story is lock your doors. Today I effed up by paying for intercourse. I paid an adult worker to sleep with my friend who was still a virgin at the age of 28. For the record, I had nothing against my friend being a virgin at that age, but he was beginning to behave like an in-cell. He made it seem like women hated him, even though he never bothered to get to know any women. I was getting sick of listening to him complain about almost being a 30-year-old virgin, so I joked about paying someone to sleep with him. He was laughing at first, but then he asked enough questions afterwards to convince me that he might be interested in an

arrangement like that. I decided to set it up for real. My friend, reluctantly, allowed me to share his contact information with the escort service as soon as I showed him pictures of the adult worker I selected. I did my part. A date was set. Payment was made. All my friend had to do was the deed. I received several sporadic calls from my friend throughout the evening that made me feel like I should have never done this. Call number one, he wanted to know if it was a good idea to take care of himself before the worker showed up so he could last longer. I encouraged him to leave that alone and let the outcome be whatever it ends up being. Come what may. Come what may. My stupid puns made him laugh and managed to relax him a little. Mission accomplished, or so I thought. Call number

2. He wanted to know if he could send me a dick pick so I could tell him if it looked good enough. I said, I did not want to see that. He promised it would be soft in the photo to make the whole thing less gay. I said it was going to be gay either way before repeating that I did not want to see that. Call number 3. He wanted to apologize for sending me the picture anyways, but he also wanted feedback since he sent it. I told him to stop calling. I ignored calls 4 and 5, which probably prompted him to send me messages to please answer my phone. Call number six! He said he was thinking of calling off the adult worker

because his bid apparently had a huge dent in the middle, which was unsuitable for the act. I suggested he flipped the mattress on the other side, or used the couch. But to cancel the date because of a dent in the mattress that never bothered him before sounded like an excuse to back out. Call number seven.

He wanted to know what kind of food adult workers usually eat because he made spaghetti. I asked if he was asking me what kind of food people eat because adult workers were not a different species. He said, most people he knew enjoyed spaghetti. I asked if there was anything else he wanted to know because I wanted him to stop calling. He said, the next time he called, it would be to debrief. Call number eight. He wanted me to know that he was spying on the adult worker through his bedroom window while she was talking to one of his neighbors outside. He said, Based on their body language, it was clear the two of them knew each other. I asked if he was no longer a virgin.

He said he struggled to get it up and subsequently gave up. And now, he was watching her laughing about it with his neighbor. I said that's probably not what was happening. He said he was thinking of going out there and confronting them. I advised him against it, but he hung up. Call number nine. The call came from me this time. No answer.

Call number 10. I called again a few minutes later. My friend finally answered the phone and said the adult worker left in an Uber when he eventually made it outside with the intention of inserting himself in their conversation. He said he asked his neighbor how he knew the woman who just left in the Uber, and the neighbor said that he was one of her first clients. According to the neighbor, he was going through a divorce at the time after spending years in a sexless marriage. So the first thing he did to fix that was hire a 20-year-old batty. My friend asked me if I was willing to pay for his therapy too, because not only did he fail at the deed, but now his effing neighbor knew they both hired the same adult worker.

I said I was just trying to help. My friend thanked me, albeit sarcastically, and said goodbye. I think he's ghosting me now. That's the top comment. I lost it at trying to feed someone's spaghetti before intercourse. Today I effed up by asking an artist how much their materials cost. My girlfriend of five months is an artist, and I accompanied her to a rather significant art show. I know dick all about art. I don't own jewelry. Everything on my walls is mass produced, and the only

thing on my shelves are souvenirs. Nonetheless, she worked so hard over the past several months that I figured I'd be supportive and at least make sure she was well supplied on drinks and snacks while she talked to clients. It also gave me the opportunity to meet more of her artist friends. Here's where I'll mention that they all are, like her, native artists. I am not. I'm white. This is unpopular with some people. They respect her choices of dating a white guy, but it still puts me on thin ice. Now, my girlfriend works with silver and gold, the price of which has gone up dramatically over the last year, meaning that everything that she and artists like her make has also increased in price. There's open discussions about this. My girlfriend is well known, but has so,

some much more established friends, one in particular who makes pottery and earth and sculpture. This is where I screwed up. Said sculptor mentioned to the group that she sold a piece for $20,000, which was cause for celebration. It was a rather large piece. So I, curious, asked how much of that was raw materials, and how much of that value was just talent. Everyone got very quiet, and my girlfriend quickly stepped in to change the subject. Apparently, it's extremely rude to ask an artist how much it costs to make a piece. You really shouldn't even ask how much they sold a piece for and count yourself lucky if they volunteer that information. I found this out about an hour later when the first thing my girlfriend said, as soon as we were out of earshot of the other

artists, was how offensive it was for me to ask that. I am an engineer for the government. So, not only is my salary public, I regularly have to discuss with my coworkers how much they cost per hour to ensure that a project's labor budget is high enough. I assumed that better artists simply had a higher hourly raid that they added to the cost of equipment and materials, and bam, that's how much a piece is worth. Art pricing does not work this way. It especially doesn't work that way with something like clay that is literally dirt cheap. So my girlfriend, as she later told me, had to spend the rest of the evening trying to quietly explain why I would ask such an offensive question to someone with such a valuable name. I, meanwhile, had to try to make it up to this artist without mentioning what I'd said

that I was trying to indirectly apologize for. I might not be banned from future shows, but I'm definitely not allowed to ask any questions. Down to the comments, someone posted a story that I was looking for because I've heard this story before, and it reminded me of it. Picasso was having a drink in a restaurant. He doodled on his napkin as he drank his aperitif. An admirer recognized Picasso's doodles in his face and exclaimed, Oh my goodness, are you the famous Pablo Picasso? The painter nodded nonchalantly. The admirer looked at his napkin and asked if they might have it.

The artist was happy to oblige and handed over the napkin, but asked a considerable amount of money in exchange. The admirer was horrified and said, But that took you less than five minutes, they exclaimed. Picasso leaned over, carefully took the napkin back and said, No, that took me a lifetime. Also, I have a funny fact about Pablo Picasso. So if you guys don't know, Picasso was very famous when he was alive.

So he was rich during his lifetime, which not all artists got to benefit from. Anyways, whenever he paid at places, he would pay by check and he would doodle on the back of the checks. So, you know, let's suppose Picasso buys something from you for $1,000 and he writes you a check for $1,000. You're faced with a dilemma. Do I cash the check and take $1,000 from Picasso's bank account? Or do I keep this potentially valuable work of art from Pablo Picasso, in which case Picasso doesn't have to spend the thousand bucks? Today I effed up by shaving my head and balls and going to a sensory deprivation tank. My birthday came and went, and my wife decided to book a sensory deprivation tank session for me.

I've done a few of those in the past and really liked them. For those who don't know, a sensory deprivation tank is basically a closed-off room with minimal to-knowing. light and a big tub filled with Epsom salt water. The idea is that you float effortlessly while your body decompresses and you relax in silence are with some chill music. I've done it a couple of times before and really enjoyed it. So I was pretty happy when she got me a session. Now, I haven't been able to grow hair since I was about 16. When I turned 21, I decided I was just going to be bald for the rest of my life and I've been shaving my head ever since. I got a new electric razor for my birthday and I've been using it daily because it's quick and easy. While I was in the shower this

morning, I decided to see how the razor would work on the boys. Turns out it works surprisingly well. The razor doesn't actually come into contact with the skin, so my first thought was that there shouldn't be any issues since the skin itself wasn't technically being cut. I dry off and get ready to head to the sensory deprivation tank. I see the amount of salt they put into these tanks, and think to myself that I'm totally fine. They even provide an ointment for people who have cuts or abrasions to protect the area. I figure it I would put some ointment on my head and my junk and just enjoy the experience. The moment I got into the water, it felt like a thousand ants were stabbing me with needles.

I tried to steal myself and told myself it was probably temporary and that I should just deal with it until it subsided. I lasted about five seconds of what was probably the, worst stinging pain my nuts have ever experienced before climbing out of the tank. My senses were definitely not deprived at that moment. I think the salt from the tank may have mixed with the gel that was supposed to protect my regions because it still stung like crazy while I was trying to shower off. After about a minute of blasting water directly at my pelvis, the pain finally stopped and I started weighing the pros and cons of going to the front desk and explaining

what happened. I got dressed, cleaned up as best I could, and walked out to the main room. I told the person behind the desk that I'd completely forgotten that I shaved my head that morning, and that as soon as my head hit the water, it started stinging so badly that I couldn't stay in. They were very accommodating and asked if I wanted to reschedule. I quickly googled how long it takes for shaved skin to repair itself, and I set my next appointment for 14 days out, just to hedge my bets. I got in the car and laughed for a solid minute before I decided to head to Publix and get some chicken tenders. Today I effed up by nailing my first professional interview, but instantly ruining it when the hiring manager asked about salary. I'm a recent graduate who just started actively applying for jobs. I managed to land my

very first interview invite for an accounting role, and I was absolutely terrified. I was so scared of technical rounds and those annoying behavioral, tell me about a time, questions. I wanted this job so badly, so I spent the entire night locking myself in the room. I researched the hell out of the company's business model. I used an AI mock interview tool that I found online to practice my Star method answers over and over again until I stopped stuttering and sounding like a nervous wreck. Fast forward to today, the interview actually goes flawlessly. The first 40 minutes are a total breeze. They hit me with the technical questions, and I'm completely chill. I nail the behavioral questions perfectly. The senior accounting manager interviewing me is literally nodding, smiling,

and seems genuinely impressed. I'm internally screaming with joy thinking, oh my God, I'm actually getting this job. Then comes the very end of the Zoom call. The vibe is great. He leans back, smiles warmly, and asks the final question. So, the starting salary for this position is around $55,000. Does that align with your expectations? And guess what? My brain just completely short-circuited. I've never negotiated a professional salary in my life. I haven't even had a real adult job yet. The adrenaline drops, sheer panic sets in,

and instead of using a normal functioning adult response, like, yes, that sounds reasonable, or literally anything else, I looked this senior manager did in the eyes through the webcam and say, Um, I think so, but I'll need to go and ask my mom first. I'll let her. I'll let her decide it for me. The silence that followed was deafening. It felt like an eternity. His smile instantly vanished into a look of pure confusion and pity.

He literally blinked twice, picked up his pen, wrote something down on his notepad and just said, Okay, well, we'll be in touch. The Zoom call ended exactly 30 seconds later. I'm currently hiding under my blankets, questioning my entire existence. The preparation helped me beat the technicals, but clearly there's no amount of practice in the world that can cure my sheer stupidity when put on the spot. Is there any chance they just think I was joking or being quirky? Will I get the position or am I completely cooked? The top comment is, what'd your mom say? I wouldn't feel too bad, O.P. I think you have the social

skills of the average accountant. I say that from a place of love by the the way if there's any accountants listening. My dad's an accountant and I love him very dearly. That was our slash today I effed up. And if you like this content, be sure to follow my podcast because I put out new Reddit podcast episodes every single day.