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This is a question Bedroom Disasters

Big Girl's Blouse asks: Drug fuelled orgies ending in a pile of vomit? Accidental spillage of Chocolate Pudding looking like a dirty protest? Someone walking in on you doing something that isn't what it looks like?... Tell us about your Bedroom Disasters

(, Thu 23 Jun 2011, 15:14)
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Mysterious intruder bested by confused rage
Many moons ago my father had three major influences in his life -the Royal Navy, a chronic sleep disorder, and quick fists. Thanks to the first of these, he and my mother found themselves living a balmy tropical lifestyle on the island of Mauritius in the early seventies. Idyllic, halcyon days of rum and sunshine, tempered only by my father's minimal duties and occasional, absolute batshit mentalism

One typically enchanting night, my parents were sleeping blissfully in the silence of their quarters. Unfortunately though, the nasty night demons were toying with my father's mind. Mumbling, tossing and turning, he suddenly sat bolt upright in bed like an electrocuted lobotomy patient.

Fuck there was someone stood in their room!

There was no time to think. The time for action was now. "I AM MAN, AND MY KNUCKLES ARE LEGION" I like to think he screamed as he leaped at the shadowy stranger. A thunderous left hook was delivered right into the face (the FACE! Man this must have been exciting). So strong was my father's righteous justice muscle that the force of his almighty punch made the hapless intruder literally explode. Everywhere.
Just like a mirror would, in fact.

Yep, he'd decked his own reflection, completely severing an artery in the process.

My mother woke to the glorious vision of a totally bewildered, adrenaline-fuelled sailor squirting high pressure blood all over the bedroom, with a demented grin of victory on his face. She wrapped the wound and they hastily made their way to the hospital.

It being mid-week, the on-duty Navy surgeon had expected a quiet night. Quite reasonably, therefore, he had turned up for his shift and proceeded to get absolutely shitfaced. Nevertheless, he was determined to face the challenge of my father head-on. Operating under the assumption that 'nerves are a myth', he proceeded to sew my father's wrist back together with all the care and zeal of a depressed butcher.

40 years later my dad still has no feeling in half his hand, and an absolute canyon of a scar. He's never fought with his reflection since.
(, Fri 24 Jun 2011, 9:10, closed)
No sexy tiem or scat
this gets a click
(, Fri 24 Jun 2011, 9:29, closed)
Like a lot
The rum totting legend!
(, Fri 24 Jun 2011, 10:32, closed)
i like this

(, Fri 24 Jun 2011, 10:57, closed)
The penultimate paragraph alone is worth a click.
This: *click*
(, Fri 24 Jun 2011, 14:30, closed)
This for the win.

(, Fri 24 Jun 2011, 14:39, closed)

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