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This is a question I hurt my rude bits

Spent all day with a sore bum, went to the loo to check it out and found blood in my pants. Not good. Piles? Checked in the shower and pulled a staple from my arse. Serves me right for leaving an old pencil case in my underwear drawer. BTW: On relating this story to a friend they said, "some people will do anything for a prick up their bottom."

(, Thu 13 Jul 2006, 22:00)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Y-front Kerplunk...
Years back when my kid bro was 3 or 4, he had the great idea of seeing just how many marbles he could fit in his pants. Dunno what the world record is but he easy got 20-30 in his duds.

Full of childish pride he decides to go and show our Mum, giggling like crazy as he waddles out the bedroom in just his pants, across the landing and down the first few stairs.

Now child law clearly states that the bottom four steps should never be used, so he does the kid thing and jumps them.

As he gracefully flies through the air, every single marble separates in his pants... only to be brought back together at great speed on landing.

Poor little buggers face went from joy to sheer agony as balls, scrote, dick and foreskin were nipped simultaneosly between the colorful glass orbs.

...looked like he'd been attacked by chicken according to me Mum.
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 15:17, Reply)
Not me, but still painful
My mate (who shall remain unnamed) is a bit of a deviant so and so, and has done a few odd things (self-genital-piercing is one) but the best has to be this one time when we were all at his house. He snuck off for a few and after a few minutes we heard an almighty yelp and shouts of "I can't get it out, I can't get it out!!".

Said friend had his chappie stuck in a typewriter. Asked what he was doing, he said "I was trying to type my name on it..."

Several hours and a trip to A&E later, and we're back in party mode. He'll never live that down though.
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 10:12, Reply)
Cheesy Wotsit
Not me, but.....

After an lenghty game of hide the sausage with his ladyfriend, and using up a large amount of calories in the process, my mate gets the munchies and pops downstairs to the kitchen to pop on some cheese on toast. The post-coital snack preparation is going well, but it's taking some time, so ladyfriend pops down to see what's going on. Seeing my friend's naked bottom was too much for the poor girl and she gives it a friendly slap....

Unfortunately, my friend didn't see this coming and jolts foward in suprise, jamming his cock and balls into the hot grill. I'm not going into the details but hot cheese sticks like edible napalm.

Cheesy wotsit, indeed.
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 12:28, Reply)
Back Fanny
Last November, whilst in my final year of uni I spent a large amount of time sitting down doing my dessertation. Or looking at t'internet pron. Can't remember which, really... Anyhoo, One morning I awoke with a rather sore coxics. I just passed it off as a drunken injury.

The pain got worse over the next couple of days, and a mate recommended I see the doc. During the exam, I was told to drop me keks and bend over the examination bed, whilst the female doc poked around my bumcrack with her gloved hands. "Aaah, Mr Manbearpig, it appears you have a pilonidal sinus". WTF is that?
She explains I have an abcess at the top of my cleft, and it should clear up with the course of antibiotics she prescribes me.
Cue several days of unbearable pain, and increasing sickness as the antibiotics and infection take hold. I couldn't sit, stand, walk or lie down, so I smoked rather a lot in an attempt to numb the pain but that just made me worse.

After about a week, I was leaning forward and trying to put on my socks, when I felt a sharp pain from said abcess. As I put my hand down my crack, I feel a rather large amount of liquid. Upon sniffing, I decide I've shat myself and go to the bathroom only to notice my abcess has burst.

Being someone who has always enjoyed squeezing spotsd, I decide to clear all the gunk out and manage to spray the mirror, toilet and wall with a fine jet of foul-smelling, grey/bloody fluid. I get no better over the next couple of days, and anything that I eat or drink comes straight back up.

The folks are getting a bit worried, and my Pa tells me to head down to London where a friend of his will arrange an immediate appointment to check it out. As soon as his doctor friend sees it, I am whipped into surgery after having a drip hooked up to me. ("Have you eaten anything within the last 6 hours?", "Nope, but it's not for lack of trying. Fook, get me a bowl.... bleeargh!")

Usual surgery/hospital shiteness, but the best bit was when I got home. The dressings had to be changed, and the whole family was gathered round to take a look, as well as the family of one of my dad's climbing friends. Gasps and oohs and aahs, I wanted to know how bad it is. So dear Pa takes a photo, and says "Christ son, I never realised you were such a cnut!"

Here's the pic for you

Click for a massively scary back fanny size


Apologies for length, but I'm sure it'd fit up there

EDIT: The arse is the right way up, the abcess is at the top of my arse crack. BTW, it's puss in there, not any dodgy man-based substances. Just to clarify...
(, Thu 20 Jul 2006, 6:24, Reply)
Solero
Once at a party, a friend of mine who was the most awkward person around girls finally copped off (hurrah!) She was to meet him in one of the bedrooms upstairs. He dashed over to my group of friends all excited and asked us for a few bedroom gymnasium tips.

"Well"; I began; "food in the bedroom is always a winner. Try something cool which when replaced with your mouth will be a very pleasant sensation (or so ive been told)"

He darts to the freezer and grabs a nice fruits of the forest Solero and dissapears upstairs.

Fifteen minutes later, we hear a scream emanating from upstairs. This was closely followed by a naked girl running downstairs, through the crowded room and into the downstairs loo. oh yeah, with a fruits of the forest Solero firmly attatched to her flange.

Seems that icy produce is quite adhesive on wet surfaces. Imagine the tongue on a metal pole during winter. This poor girl had confectionary bonded to her clitoris.

No apologies for length girth or having to wash fruity sorbet off your flaps after trying this.
(, Sat 15 Jul 2006, 9:12, Reply)
Not my rude bit thank god
I was at a young farmers dance, although i wasn't a farmer I lived in a village and you don't turn down the invites it was always a great laugh and beer flowed freely. Although they tended to be held in barns, so toilets are those porta potties. Us gents being the gents that we are leave the porta potties for the ladies to use and drained ourselves near another field. As me and another two guys were getting rid of the beer we had drank one of them does that "See how high I can pee" thing and all of a sudden drops like a sack of shit onto the fence. Starts twitching and is still pissing all over himself. Turns out the field contained cows and had an electric fence around it to stop them from leaving. oh how we laughed. Suppose he did too, he was pissing himself.

random knob joke
(, Thu 13 Jul 2006, 22:41, Reply)
Crack Commando Unit
Me and my best mate Colin were having a game of toy soldiers at his house as he had just bought a new army, consisting of bunkers tents and tanks, so he was keen to show it off to me. Now my army was a bit of a veteran team (think Dads Army) and had lost several casualties due to mum standing on some, the dog chewing a few and some buried in mass graves in the back garden, so my army was made up of half the original crew plus a few cowboys and Indians, a hans solo and a mr T.

After playing for a few minutes I was getting rather annoyed at Colins insistance that I kept missing his men and the fact that when I did kill a few he kept sending them off to the first aid tent for recovery and said they were fit to fight again. My breaking point was finally reached when my crack shot Squatting Bull threw a tomahawk at a group of 6 of Colins soldiers and he claimed he had missed….my Squatting Bull, well within Tomahawk throwing range, the very same man that almost single handily had wiped out Brians action force team only 2 weeks earlier, miss??? I was fuming.

I pulled the biggest booger out my conk, flicked it as hard as I could in the enemies direction and there it was…the first aid tent with a slimy snot dripping from the flagpole. “Hah, no more doctors now to patch up your wounded” I said, and with that Colin took action which went against all rules of the Geneva Convention. “Time for the big gun to come out” he said, dropped his draws and proceeded to urinate over my army. “Time to bring out the trebuchet” I said to myself. Now I say trebuchet in the loosest term, it was really a Lt Columbo right arm loaded with the TV remote, and with that I chucked it straight at Colins weapon of mass destruction.

He went down. I looked around at my pish soaken army. I looked back at Colin. He was lying face down, clutching his privates, pants still halfway down his legs with his backside stuck in the air. I thought to myself “Show no mercy on the enemy”. I turned to my Sergeant, Mr T, “Now is the time to finish off the Imperial forces, if we strike now whilst the enemy is vulnerable we can finish them off once and for all. I need a man who can go in and end this godforsaken war”. I took the biggest decision of my military career, one that with make or break me, and with that I promptly picked BA up, walked over to Colin and head first stuck Mr T into the Death Star.

A couple of days later I gave an even browner looking Mr T to my younger brother.

I’d apologise for length, but the gold chains prevented it going any further.
(, Sat 15 Jul 2006, 15:17, Reply)
HB anal penetration
During a geography lesson on town planning, the teacher gestured out of the window to the neighbouring council estate as an example. We all stood up to look.

The boy sitting next to me thought it would be very funny to hold his pencil point upwards for me to sit down on, which I did. The blunt graphite point pierced my trousers and undergarments and plunged about two centimetres up my rectum, glancing slightly off my outraged anus before I recoiled. The pain (and surprise) was shocking.

I paled and began to sweat manically, so much so that the teacher asked me if I was OK. Of course, I didn't admit to being violated by a pencil in from of my classmates. Instead, I sat shaking as blood seeped into my pants.

I later saw my classmate sniffing his pencil.
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 14:04, Reply)
A pitta bad luck
I woke up one morning after a big night out, really late for work. I just jumped out of bed and pulled on my clothes and set off.
On the tube I could feel a burning sensation in my back, which was getting steadily worse. I reached back under my shirt, and to my horror I could feel a massive strip of skin peeling off. I touched it and it peeled off even more. Eventually a whole chunk peeled off in my hand, I thought I was going to faint. I had a look at what I was holding, and it was a large piece of kebab meat, that had been stuck to my back with chilli sauce, that I had spent the night sharing my bed with.
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 16:28, Reply)
Crushed Cock
Back in the days of uni, the misses of the time and I were attempting to have filthy water-accelerated sex in one of the miniscule showers of her student housing. We tried all sorts of weird and wonderful positions to get that optimal power-thrusting position, but not with much success. After trying a few out, I decided it might be a good idea to sit on the floor and get her bouncing on top.
As she prepares for the initial 'sex-landing' her foot slipped, and to avoid falling over she did the spacker dance to try and regain upward stability and, in the process, landed hard with the other foot onto my awaiting and skyward-facing cock.

I screamed like a girl and did a fart simultaneously. It took weeks to recover.
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 10:05, Reply)
I didn't hurt a rude bit
but the act was rude, & it hurt the area in question.

You know when you swallow something too fast sometimes, it comes out your nose? Yes, it's what you're thinking.
(, Thu 13 Jul 2006, 22:30, Reply)
BMX Bum Rape
1982. I was 11. Woolworth's finest BMX, the Scorcher was my wheels and it looked good. Chrome body, silver pattern, blue mag wheels and a blue seat. A long, hard, pointy blue seat...

My mates had grifters and old choppers and improvised racers with bull horn handlebars. My bike rocked by comparison. Off we went to the local building site where some raised manhole covers made good jumps.

All was going well until I landed front wheel first. I went forward over the handlebars and performed a very elegant handstand. The BMX though continued on its path to glory and the seat (that one, the long, blue, hard one) found a handstanding young boy's bottom hole just too much to resist and entered with some force.

Apparently, the sight of an 11 year old unable to move from the handstand position and screaming for a bike to be removed from his bottom was a sight to behold.
(, Tue 18 Jul 2006, 12:18, Reply)
Tales of Juvenile Flatulence
I have always had a problem with my bowels, especially in my younger years. To put it bluntly, my farts were frequent and consistently foul-smelling, a stench not unlike compost, with a few old eggs and a bit of rotten meat thrown in for good measure. It repulsed me, but worse, it repulsed those around me. It got to the point where I was being shunned by my peers and berated by my family and I decided to take matters into my own hands. Without doing any background research (this was several years ago, before we had the internet in my house!) I figured that if I blocked the hole then I would at least temporarily solve the problem, and I could unblock at night to let all the built-up gas exit my body. Both my parents are borderline alcoholics so there were always a lot of empty wine bottles around, and where there are bottles, there are corks! To my pre-teen mind it seemed almost too good to be true - and as it turned out, it was.

The next morning, before school, I took one of the corks and proceeded to insert it into my anus. It was tight, so I lubed up with some vaseline, and to my relief, after a bit of painful pushing, in it slid! It was uncomfortable but not unbearably so, and I got dressed and headed off to school without incident.

When playtime came my friends and I were understandably hyperactive, having sat through a couple of hours of boring lessons, and we quickly initiated a game of tag, the primary school classic! By now the pressure in my colon was mounting but I thought nothing of it and participated as energetically as the rest of the kids. Suddenly though, disaster struck - I had just been tagged and as I was sprinting after my quarry, I felt something slip inside me, and what was perhaps one of the loudest and wettest farts I have ever produced erupted from my sphincter. It truly was a beast of epic proportions, the enormous pressure in my gut forcing out what must have been several liters of methane. All across the playground children stopped and stared as my rumbling dwindled to a soft drone before fading entirely. After a brief round of applause the sheepish grin on my face soon turned to horror as I realised that the cork was not in my underwear as I expected, and after a frantic search of my trouser legs, the sickening conclusion dawned - somehow, as I was running, the cork had actually lodged itself deep inside my rectum.

"No worries", I thought. "It's bound to come out next time I poop!". No such luck. The next few days are but a blur in my memory; I was utterly constipated and my colon was becoming very full, causing me immense abdominal pain. My parents noticed my apparent illness and took me to a doctor, who prescribed laxatives. These served no purpose but to increase the volume of gas I was expelling, without allowing me to pass any solids. I subsequently visited the doctor once more who this time sent me into hospital, where they performed surgery to remove the blockage and buildup. I was under general anaesthetic so I have no recollection, but apparently along with the decomposing cork the surgeons removed over two kilos of fecal matter from my digestive tract. I had fourteen stitches and was forced to use a colostomy bag for two months while the wound healed.

That was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life. I still have the scars, both mental and physical.


Since that point I have understandably had a phobia of inserting any foreign object into my anus. I have altered my diet which has assisted the flatulence situation somewhat, but my digestive expulsions are still far from satisfactory. If anybody has any news about a revolutionary product which may soothe my colonic expulsions, such as a drug to inhibit gas production in the gut, please, please inform me post haste! I envy those of you who have healthy bowels and can reap the benefits, but alas, until an alternative solution becomes publically available I must grudgingly bear my pungent burden.
(, Sun 16 Jul 2006, 2:19, Reply)
Window-lickin' good!
I used to work in a concert venue that has a public leisure pool within the same building. One day I got a call over the radio (as a first aider) to go down to the pool because they had an emergency. I literally could not believe my eyes when I got there!
The pool had regular sessions for disabled people and their carers, and to help them in an out of the sloped pool were these special wheelchairs that were made out of rubber with little holes (like a shower-mat) so the water can drain out. Anyhoo, this mentally handicapped guy had pushed one of his testicles through one of the little holes, and because the blood could obviously flow in but not out, his bollock had swollen to the size of a small grapefruit.
By the time the emergency services had arrived, word had got out amongst staff and public alike, so a crowd of about two hundred people got to watch the Fire-brigade cut a howling mong's knackers out of a wheelchair!
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 20:53, Reply)
Itty Bitty Scar
I have an ickle red mark, right on the top of the bell, just down from the hole that stuff alternately shoots or splodges from.
Caused by catching said bell in zip.
If it makes the Best Of, I'll post a pic.
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 14:20, Reply)
Circumcision from hell
Some years ago I had to have a circumcision. Being shy and retiring I didnt tell my housmates and went off to hospital (on my bike. Dont try it). Anyway I woke up from the anaesthetic and had a quick look at my membr. It had a litle bandage at the end and when I pulled it open it looked like someone had strimmed the end of my cock.

Anyway as I was recovering I began to wonder what would happen to my cock if I were to get an erection while the stitches were it. Would it explode or something?

Needless to say as I went back home the only thing I was worrying about was getting an erection. So back home I thought lets get pissed! Then Im certain to fall asleep and I wont be getting a hard on. Half a pint of vodka later I fell asleep to wake up an hour later with the biggest fucking hard on Ive ever had.

I began to seriously panic. The first thing I tried was to run to the shower and pour cold water over it. Unfortunatley the shower had a fixed head, so to get my cock under the stream of water I had to get into the bath and sort of lean backwards and poke my dick out.

The shock of the cold water on my dick made me slip in the bath and I nearly brained myself. Undeterred and still with a raging hard-on I ran downstairs to the freezer, grabbbed a bag of frozen peas and stuck them on my cock.

It was at this point that one of my housemates returned to the house and asked me why I was cowering naked in the corner of the kitchen clutching a bag of frozen peas to my cock.

I just sort of whimpered.

Anyway God bless her, she took me upstairs, tucked me into bed and made me a cup of tea.

To this day I remember the senstation of plucking frozen peas off my wounded cock under the blankets as she left the room.

Doesnt get much sexier than that I can tell you.
(, Tue 18 Jul 2006, 15:08, Reply)
Chalfont St Giles
When Mrs Osok was gestating our little lad, she obviously had some wierd voodoo stuff going, 'cos I got all the pregnant symptoms instead of her. I could handle the barfing, even the bigger tits (could coincidentally be alcohol related) but then one fine morning as I was in the shower giving the old crevices a good soaping, I discovered something had appeared.

Forget 'grapes', this bastard felt like a fucking walnut glued to a tea towel holder. My first reaction was to see if it could be prodded back in, as you do.

Don't do this. Really, really don't do this. I swear my bollocks retracted so fast I had hamster cheeks as my manly falsetto squeal awoke the neighbourhood.

Cue visit to nearest pharmacy. Being cunning, I waddled to the supermarket where I could obtain arse soothing products in the main shop rather that explain my symptoms to a deaf pharmacist in front of 20 easily amused spectators. (Look at the funny man...he can't walk without stabbing agony shooting up his ring...ha ha ha ha ha CUNTS).

Buy the entire stock. John Wayne back home. Squirt. Aaahhh. Read box (UP TO A FUCKING WEEK??? Whimper). Shudder at the sight of the 'internal' applicator (whimper, sob).

Okay, a week. Had better weeks, but being so damn hard I could handle it. No bother.Then...

I got a bit of a dicky tum (trans: think tubgirl) I think the shock of my attempted prod made my bowels decide to really fuck me up in revenge. Multiple bog visits for about a month, passing what can only be described as razor sharp chilli coated pebbles of poo, that needed forcing past Nobby, accompanied by agonised grunting, straining,more pathetic girly whimpering, praying that someone would shoot me in the head that second. Oh, and the discovery that regular bog roll develops abrasive qualities after a few hundred wipes and I may as well have shoved my arse in a belt sander. (Moist is good BTW. Unless they are stored by the radiator so that the top one or two dry out and become razor sharp, so when applied to the tormented arse....eeek).

And the final insult. Mrs Osok developed a strange taste for grabbing/slapping me on the arse (and a complete lack of interest in the rest of the trouser department once up the duff....). And I hadn't revealed the extent of my arse related torment. Exiting the throneroom one evening after my regular torture session, I get a full-blown SMACK across the area in question. Cue 15 stone bloke levitating (David Blaine you're a fucking amateur)... and causing my back muscles to go into a locked rigid spasm thing that lasted another week and meant if I could get on to that fucking bog it took me 10 minutes to get off again.

God fucking hated me that month, and I hadn't even said Jehovah.


I've also got chilli juice on my dangly bits, caught myself in my fly at the age of 8 and had to be cut free by my Mum, nearly self circumcised myself by repeatedly shagging with a half healed frenulum (new hot GF) and all pale into insignificance before the arse of doom. Shredded wheat anyone??
(, Sat 15 Jul 2006, 14:05, Reply)
Having had my appendix out, I had been subject to a rather inconvenient local anaesthetic
meaning I was unable to squeeze my bladder, and thusly, not piss. There reached a point where I couldn't take it anymore, and the doctors decided, in the interests of the ward remaining a quiet and polite place, to do something about it.

I have never felt so much pain as when a tiny, hairy bespectacled nurse pushed a catheter down my jap's eye and into my bladder. I winced, I screamed. I'm unashamed to admit it.
"Ow, christ! That really hurts!"
He looked at me and asked
"Where?"

He wanted to hear me say the word cock. I know it.
(, Sat 15 Jul 2006, 17:39, Reply)
I like this one
I know some of them are made up, but some are ace...
I decided to rasie money for charity by taking part in a 10k hill race, and not being a natural runner (drink beer, smoke recreational tobacco yadda yadda) i needed to train a lot. I actually got quite good, lost a stack of weight and so on. All that friction over the course of 4 months of hard distance training chafed my nipples until they were finally like little hard bullets of scabbiness. Like grazing yourself in the same place over and over again. What I didnt count on was running the race and coming in all bug eyed with adrenalin, couldn't work out why people were pointing at me agape. Once the endorphin rush wore off, realised my nipples had both been rubbed off completely, effectively now just scabs they had been well and truly picked, and my white microfibre running vest was a very fetching shade of abbatoir. That really really hurt, and took forever for me to be able to get in a warm shower, tight tshirt etc. Very very hurty.
Worse, I bagged a girl about 3 months later, and she gets all playful and bites one of my freshly grown man buttons, which promptly came away in her teeth. I screamed louder than she did.
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 16:48, Reply)
Mike's medical complaints
I've been waiting for a QOTW like this for ages.

Bum and willy. Two stories for the price of one.

Extracts from an article originally posted on my website years ago....

====================================================

It’s 1994. I’m 17.

After nature taking its course one day, I found I was in slight discomfort. Inspecting this discomfort was the obvious course of action to take. Due to the awkward positioning of this pain, obviously I had to investigate by touch only. Some people would have used a mirror, but I had no particular wish to see my own hole. When my finger touched what appeared to be an unexpected protrusion, for a split second I almost collapsed with fear. Then, I thought “ahh fuck it, it’ll go away”. It did go away after a week or two. I didn’t tell anyone.

Wind forward a few years – 1999. Again, I got lovely bits of protruding anal vein.

So that time round, being obviously more mature (ahem) I decided to pay a visit to the GP to ask him what to do, expecting to receive some medical advice and maybe some tablets or cream to make it go away.

What I should have prepared for was the examination. It’s not every day you’re in a strange room that smells funny, sort of lay on your side with your legs sort of spread apart whilst a man you don’t know that well covers an appendage with latex, lubricates it up and inserts it in your body. But that’s what happened to me. What sort of conversation is suitable for the duration of the probing? Silence? Smalltalk about trivialities in the news? Or forgetting the taboos completeley and asking “so, do you do this often?”. Me attempting to add some amusement by saying “If I pay you an extra tenner, do I get extras?” did not help however.

But piles haven’t bothered me since then. Oh no. Something MUCH worse.

One Wednesday a few years ago was an interesting day for me. Initially, it went pretty much the same as any other day; arrive at the work car park, stand in the lift and glance an awkward semi-smile at someone who i don’t really know, go into workshop, throw bag into drawer, check out the diary to see what I had planned for the day, sat down, carefully chiselled a gelatinous nugget of snot out of my nose and sat down with the usual plastic cup of freshly poured machine-cooled water. How very normal.

After an hour or so, my body informed me that I had an excess of water in my bladder, so, choosing not to ignore this warning, I sensibly walked down the corridor, commenced the usual ritual of not saying hello to anybody else stood at the urinals, then performed the act of the wee-wees. Taking a cursory glance at my liquid stream to ensure that i wasn’t pissing over the shoes of the guy stood next to me, my eyes were attracted to an unconventional sight. I appeared to be urinating Vimto. It took a few seconds for my brain to actually realise that dark red piss was not actually a sign of a healthy digestive system. This was strange. Weeing didn’t actually feel any different than usual, so why did i appear to be emptying my heart out of my genitals?

Post-pee, I relayed the story in lurid graphic detail to a couple of work colleagues, who suggested that I actually go and see someone about it. Which was probably the best idea. So off I trundled to the Occupational Health department, with my mind working overtime, creating wild ideas about the reason my body was malfuctioning in such a colourful way.

The Occupational Health department where I work is just like a Doctor’s surgery. You know, walls bedecked with numerous posters and leaflets promoting various ailments and diseases, describing symptoms so vague that it’s possible to convince yourself that you’ve had every single disease known to humankind. I’m sure that most of the diseases promoted on surgery noticeboards are completely fictitious, made up for the sole purpose of frightening people. But, jumping off that tangent, the Doc called me in, I described what had happened, though I chose to replace “Fucking hell, I’ve just been pissing blood!” with “I went to the toilet and noticed that my urine had turned red”

So, I pissed into a jar for the doc, and, although the hue was less vibrant than before, her test concluded that there was indeed blood in my urine stream. After a couple of doctors appointments, I ended up going to the hospital for a “flexible cystoscopy”. I don’t know how many of you are unfortunate to have experienced one of these, but if you haven’t, it’s not an experience that I’d undertake voluntarily.

I got into the examination room after taking off my pants and putting on this delightful hospital gown, and lay on the examination table thingy. For some reason the doctor felt he had to put his finger up my bottom as well, tunnelling deeper than on my previous arse-examination experience. But that was nothing. Fucking zero compared to the main event.

Picture a long, thin, flexible tube. Picture yourself lying there in a hospital gown watching a man advance his way to your genitals whilst two women watch. And then close your eyes for the rest of the fucking experience so you don’t have to make eye contact with the painbringer.

So anyway, he grabs hold of my cock, holds it one hand, holds tube in other. Informing me to brace myself, he then begins the oh so very unnatural experience of sliding a foreign object the wrong way up my pisspipe, scratching its way along my tubes. Then the real REAL pain came. The tube was about to go through my sphincter. The closest experience I can actually compare this feeling to, is like that of the straw puncturing the seal on a Ribena juice carton. Pressing against it and then…… ooop! It just burst through on to the inside. How very pleasurable. After much poking around, he withdrew his long shaft, and I limped out of the examination room, and straight into the toilet. The first piss was reasonably interesting. Standing there, in the usual position, my willy started what I can only describe as "sputtering". Like I was pissing air. Strange, very strange feeling. But as the first cascade of urine commenced, a delightful stinging sensation burnt it's way up my tube. I said something along the lines of "Ouch. Dear me, that was rather painful indeed, I don't wish to experience that discomfort again". Or something similar.

So anyway, the hospital analysed all the information they got, and everything was ok. Just a bladder stone or something lovely like that. Apart from it feeling like I was pissing broken glass for the next day or so after the cystoscopy, that ailment hasn’t bothered me since. So people, the moral of the story is drink lots and lots of liquid! I know I fucking do now.

I’m taking bets over which part of my body is next on the list to go wrong. Who wants to see my chart?

LENGTH!!!
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 12:47, Reply)
The new plasma screen..
Ok so as a first post, I may as well regail something upon you all that, though didn't involve my nether regions personally.. still leaves a lasting mark in my mind.

A while ago, my parents were proud to be the new owners of a brand spanking new Hitatchi 60" Flatpanel TV. Naturally you weren't allowed within breathing distance of it for a while.. but all was about to change when I went downstairs one night..

So there I was, 2:34am, I went downstairs to get a cold drink on such a hot night and heard a muffled screeching laughter comming from the living room.. I walk in to find my brother crying with laughter into a pillow while his friend Hulio proceeded to press his spam javelin up against the new screen, specifically aimed at Cameron Diaz's face. Not realising how incredibly hot the screen can get, he ended up with 2nd degree burns on his bellend and cried for almost half an hour. I went to bed and left an aching Hulio holding a bag of mashed potato Shepards Pie mix on his todger to cool the burning. I woke up the next morning to find my mother cleaning the living room.. and she let out a tut saying "Somebody's got their sticky mits on my new telly!". I knew instantly that this was Hulio's burnt skin and penis juice burnt on the screen, and she was so innocently none the wiser that she proceeded to wipe it off with her hand. I fell to the floor with a sickened laughter, almost wretching I made it to the toilet and hurled for England, when asking me what was wrong I told her I'd felt ill all night and was getting the rest out of my system, I hadn't the heart to tell her what was stuck to her hand.

A few hours later I smell dinner cooking, I go downstairs to investigate and low and behold, what's cooling on the side? Shepards fucking pie.

Moral of that story is, always, always tell your mother she's just wiped up cock juice.
(, Thu 20 Jul 2006, 1:08, Reply)
Mr Oates is is big fat wuss!
Having had 3 kids on the National Health I know what it is to feel more pain that I ever though possible and loose all dignity. This is why I have little sympathy with the debacle detailed below.

Now read on.......

After having had 3 kids we found out what was causing them, and as a vasectomy is a far simpler procedure than female sterilisation I voted for Mr Oates to be 'seen to by the vet'. As Mr Oates didn't fancy having no sex forever he eventually gave in and agreed to be snipped.

Off he trundles to the local hospital to have the dirty deed done. Did I mention that Mr Oates is a big fat wuss who is scared of *deep intake of breath* everything medical that might, possibley, maybe hurt even a little bit.

When he'd not come home after a couple of hours I was beginning to wonder where he was. Then my Dad appeared on my doorstep looking like death and telling me to sit down as he had something to tell from the hospital

............... 'Holy Cow' I thought 'the dozey bastards died of a vasectomy!!'

I couldn't be that lucky. My Dad's strange expression was because he was trying not to piss himself laughing. Apparently every time the surgeon came towards him with the scalpel Mr Oates fainted dead away. They had to bring him round three times in the end.

Mr Oates had put my Dad down as next of kin in case of emergencies (I was at home with small children and he'd taken the car with him) and the hospital rang Dad to collect said wussy husband.

In the end they sedated Mr Oates to get the op done, but because he'd never taken anything stronger than junior asprin he was smashed out of his tree when he came home.

The sight of him staggering down the drive like John Wayne after a bottle of Jack Daniels will warm my heart forever :-)
(, Tue 18 Jul 2006, 17:03, Reply)
One-Bollocked Dave
Kids! When playing Super-Mega-Stuntman at you local park, on no account should you attempt to go as high as you can on a swing, jump off, land on your bike saddle and ride away to the cheers and applause of your mates.

Because you can't.

We didn't call him One-Bollocked Dave for nothing.
(, Mon 17 Jul 2006, 17:54, Reply)
I nearly hurt my rude bits
A few years ago, I was on tour with a chamber orchestra in Spain. One of the biggest differences between Spain and the UK is its low population density. You can drive literally for hours without coming across another living soul. In areas where there are few living souls, there also tend to be few toilet facilities.

An hour into the journey, my bladder began protesting slightly. Never mind, I thought, we’re bound to have a pit stop sooner or later. An hour later, I was rather uncomfortable. No service stations, gas stations or even just holes in the ground had materialised for the whole of the time we’d been driving. I was getting desperate. We agreed that we would stop at the next available bush.

That’s another thing about Spain. Owing to the relatively dry climate, bushes are few and far between. We drove and drove for what seemed like hours (it was probably only about twenty minutes). I was in complete agony.

Finally, bless the sainted heavens above, a bush appeared! It was large and leafy and perfect. I leaped out of the minibus and scampered over to the bush. I squatted on the ground and began relieving myself. I closed my eyes and grinned as the profound sense of calm that can be achieved only by emptying one’s bladder after a long period of time washed over me.

But wait – what was that buzzing sound? It was an angry sort of sound, rapidly increasing in volume, and seemed to be emanating from just below my lady parts. Yep, I was pissing on a hornets’ nest.

I leapt up, ran like the wind back to the minibus with these irate insects following me, dived in whilst still pulling my pants up screaming GO! GO! GO! at the driver and slamming the door, leaving a swarm of soggy and extremely angry hornets in my wake.

I am officially a legend.
(, Mon 17 Jul 2006, 12:20, Reply)
He lives there..
Again, another one of those stories that isn't mine, and if you are being pedantic, I'm guessing it didn't hurt. But it doies involve rude bits..

I went to a medical school info course at nottingham uni a couple of years ago, and we went to different talks from all these different doctors and their specialities. This Paediatrician comes on, and he's a nice bloke, blah blah workign with kids is very rewarding etcetc (not in a fiddling way though, how dare you think such thoughts) and then he goes on about his training. Apparently when he was a junior doctor this bloke comes in complaining of constipation and his abdomen is all swollen and hard. So they take him down for a scan of some kind and find he's very, very clogged. So they decide to have an explore, so he snaps on his rubber gloves, lubes up, and goes chocolate caving.
Imagine his suprise when he grabs hold of something hard, square, and removes it to find a cheap tourists imitation of nelsons column covered in faeces.
When asked about the item, the patient snatches it out of the doctors hand, and rapidly shoves it back into his rectum, screaming, "Thats Nelson, he lives up there!"
(, Tue 18 Jul 2006, 15:18, Reply)
As part of a magical trick
i put my brothers cock into a dominos box, then slammed the sliding door shut.

No idea as to what kind of magic i was trying to perform, but i believe i was still quite talented for a 4year old
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 21:36, Reply)
I usually love a hot cup of tea
8 years ago in my final year at uni I lived with 2 girls (Lou & Alex). Lou wanted to have an adult sit down & a chat about a recent argument, and by argument, I mean she had called me a cunt a lot for not doing the washing up.

Being a typical student I had waited until ALL of my clothes were dirty before I did any washing, and all I had to wear for this little 'clearing of the air' chat was a pair of tracksuit bottoms (sweatpants to the 'merkins) & a t-shirt. No underwear.

Anyhoo, we go into the front room, Lou sits down, I put my hot cup of tea on the arm of the chair next to her and plonk myself into the chair...pulling the covering sheet taught propelling the steaming cup of tea into my lap.

I jump up "OO AHH OOO AHHH OWWWW!" turn away & did the only thing that would relieve the searing pain, I yank my soaked trakkie bottoms down to my ankles, effectively shoving my big red scolded arse in Lou's face.

I waddle as fast as a man in pain with his trousers round his ankles can go to my room next door to rub copious amounts of E45 cream into my nether regions, Lou runs upstairs SHRIEKING with laughter to tell Alex, cue another explosion of laughter & them thundering back downstairs.

As I am rubbing cream into my bits, I hear sniggering outside my door...a tentative knock..."Ben...do you need us to rub in some cream"...more sniggering (not a serious offer methinks).

Long story short, the air was cleared and we all became the best of friends through that special bond that can only be achieved with spontaneous nudity and 1st degree burns of the cock, balls and arse.
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 10:02, Reply)
Similar story
Robs story reminds me of my own. I went out on the piss with my mates the night before I had to travel up to Wales from London to visit my Folks and sis. Had a right old laff. Woke up next day a bit rough and made it to the train.

Went to visit my sis first who lives 3 miles from my folks, had a chat and a few beers then left for the walk to my parents. Here's where it starts going wrong.. on the walk home I start getting a real sharp stabbing pain inside my bumhole, really starts hurting and I'm suddenly in agony walking all funny whilst pulling arse cheeks apart to releive pain and realising I desperatly need a dodgy shit. Get to my folks, say a quick hello tne rush to the bog for a poo.

OWWW... ARRGGGHH FUCKING OWWW NNNGGGG... WHAT THE OWWW.... look in the reddened bowl and see about 2 3rds of a COCKTAIL STICK poking out of my log!! To my recollection I had been nowhere near any cocktail sticks the night before.
(, Fri 14 Jul 2006, 0:43, Reply)
Wee nipper
Another fun filled agony related memory:

late 80's, metalhead in sunny Edinburgh. All my mates were musos or crap attempted musos (me) and regularly congregated at someones house to torture cats (well, that's what a neighbour said it sounded like, and this is in a country that claims to enjoy the bagpipes).

I am reclined at my ease, perusing a back issue of Kerrang (probably) while some of the other lads debated a great moral issue of the day, such as were Suicidal Tendencies(the best) better than whoever etc etc.

At this point my DFB (Dumb Fucking Blonde) GF decides that I wasn't paying her enough attention and decides to grab my scrote.

With a pair of big fuck-off pliers.

The resulting blood blisters and oddly shaped, even abstract bruising were much admired later, together with the nice baldie patch where the pubes had been wrenched out.

At the time, the vocals were something like "WHATHEFUAAAIIEEEEEEEBITCH" as the precious hairy objects firmly held by the cruelly serrated steel jaws attempted to withdraw into the safety of my abdomen, while the rest of my body was rocketing skywards in a bid for freedom. So the old scroty was under some considerable distress and tension, especially when the DFB lets go, and said pliers are hanging free.

Heavy things, pliers. Try this at home if you don't believe me.

I was restrained from garrotting DFB with a guitar string and limped home to survey the damage and apply Birdseye's finest field fresh to my violated spuds.

The DFB in question did have one god-given talent: she could suck start a Harley Davidson. Even with this available in lengthy, guiltily slurping sessions on demand, it was a few days before she was granted access all areas again.

And when she was permitted to display her skills, as she got into top gear the damaged bits (now the colour of a baboons arse) get turned into a hairy punchbag. Dilemma - continue with pain/pleasure mixture until I could hopefully come in her hair in revenge, or opt for plan B and lie in a foetal position cradling my now glowing sack and gibbering?

The relationship did not last.

Got her hair though.
(, Tue 18 Jul 2006, 16:16, Reply)
Fragrant Flutulence
Me: "Do you reckon if I spray air-freshner up my bum, my farts will smell like apples?"
Bro: "Don't know."
Me: "May as well try."
***Shhhhhhhtt***
Me: "Oooooooowwwwwwwwww it burns! It burns!"
Bro: "Ha ha ha ha, gufwaw gufwaw."

The End
(, Tue 18 Jul 2006, 15:19, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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